AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another talky chapter, and none of the "Main Eight" are in this one. We need to get some things resolved with Ironwood, Winter and Penny...and it's about time Salem made her reappearance in person.

Originally I had planned a confrontation between Ironwood and Arashikaze, but the scene ended up working without her, so she'll show up next time.

Near Krosniewice, Republic of Poland

30 August 2001

Karelia Bighorn-Vlata watched the parade of refugees inching by, headed for the bridge over the Warta River at Kolo. "My dad told me about this," she said to her loader, Sammy Lougheed. "When he was a kid, and they evacuated California after the nukes, and then the GRIMM…just miles and miles of cars, people fleeing with everything they could stuff into them. Some people just walking. Days and days of it."

Lougheed took a bite of MRE cheese tortellini. "Yep. This isn't as bad, I imagine." She gave him a quizzical look, and he shrugged. "These people aren't crossing the Mojave Desert." He took another bite. "You're from Arizona…didn't you tell me once that there's still just piles of skeletons out there, people who didn't make it?"

"Yeah." Karelia had never actually seen the skeletons, but she had seen what was called the Last Traffic Jam, a sixty-mile stretch of what had been I-10, across the Colorado River, four lanes of nothing but rusted cars, abandoned in the evacuation. As she watched the refugees in their cars, pulling horse carts, and indeed walking, it reminded her of that sight.

"Besides, with us being pulled out, this area's going to be crawling with GRIMM in 24 hours. Gonna be academic, then."

"You're a cynical asshole, Sammy." Karelia finished her MRE—hers was a beef pattie—reached into the bag, and found a pack of M&Ms. There was a family passing by the M1 Abrams, on foot. Two boys, neither of which looked to be ten yet, stared up at her. She smiled at them. "Hej tam. Glodny?" They nodded, so she tossed them the M&Ms.

"Dammit, Cap." Sammy put his MRE aside, grabbed his pack of M&Ms, and gave it to the kids as well. They shared a grin. "Guess I'm not that much of a cynical asshole."

"I figured you weren't."

Heather Redfeather came out of the copse of woods to the tank's right, making sure her pants were buckled. She tossed a roll of toilet paper into the driver's compartment, then climbed onto the M1's hull. "Feel better?" Karelia inquired.

"Yeah. That damn MRE cheese…" She watched the refugees as well. "When are we pulling back?"

"The Old Man's trying to hold off as long as he can, let some of these people get across the Warta." Karelia motioned at the civilians. "Though I don't know how much longer, to be honest. The Danes and the Poles at Chojnice got hit two hours ago. They're holding, but if they break, this Salem bitch is going to be all over us." The thought filled Karelia with dread. She could look at a map like everyone else, including Salem. If the Danish Jutland Division and the Polish 16th Mechanized Division were forced to retreat more than about twenty miles, the GRIMM could turn south and cut off two US divisions, including Karelia's parent unit, the 1st Armored. Before that happened, the divisional commander, Miguel Calavera, would order his troops across the Warta River—the refugees be damned. Karelia wasn't looking forward to bodily pushing cars, and possibly people, off the bridge, but it would be either that or be trapped and destroyed.

"Look at that idiot." Sammy pointed past the refugees, to the fields. There was someone on a motorcyle, driving through the field, swerving to miss people walking through them. They were driving towards the front line, which meant they were headed towards the GRIMM, not away from them. Karelia watched the driver. "Wearing German battle rattle. Wonder what that's all about."

"She can't be a Kraut," Redfeather observed. "Not with pink hair."

"Probably a kid out for a joyride or something. Who knows? If she gets cacked by the GRIMM, that's cleaning the gene pool of a dumbass." Sammy finished his MRE. "Heather, you got any more cheese?"

German Armed Forces Hospital

Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany

31 August 2001

Penny tapped in a few words after a moment of thought. "Done," she told Pietro Polendina, who sat in his wheelchair, facing a computer. His fingers flew across the keyboard, then nodded. He turned in his chair. "Confirmed. It's finished, General. Penny is now the new third holder of the Winter Maiden." Pietro took off his glasses and slumped. "I want it on record that I did this under protest, General."

James Ironwood pushed off the wall he had been leaning against. "Duly noted, Pietro—as it was the last three times you said it." He walked over to the scientist. "And, for the record, I didn't want Penny to be chosen, either—it was Winter Schnee that was supposed to take over after Fria died. But she was Fria's choice."

Pietro scoffed. "Come on, General. This isn't some sort of hereditary passing of the torch, and I doubt there's a regulation saying we have to blindly honor the wishes of a dying woman—God rest her soul." Pietro had known Fria Gletscher slightly, enough to like her.

"Fria gave Penny the last code. By having Penny take over, it's one less loose end." Pietro opened his mouth, but Ironwood held up a hand. "Enough, Pietro. It's done. We've got other things to worry about."

Pietro stared at Ironwood for a long, angry moment. "Penny, girl," he said tightly, "will you excuse us for a moment?"

Penny nodded, tugged her sleeve down to hide the Maiden bracelet, kissed the man she regarded as a father on his balding head, and left. The two men watched her walk down the hall, instantly followed by two burly security guards. "I might not keep those guards assigned to her," Ironwood said. "We've tried locking the Maidens inside hoops of steel—I think that's how Ozpin put it—but maybe having them be anonymous would be a better idea. Besides, if any of Salem's bunch knows about Penny, they'll just think she's still part of the Paladin Project—they won't even suspect she's got the Maiden."

"You done?" Pietro was seething. "General, let's cut the bullshit. The reason you want Penny to have the Maiden is because you think you can control her. You think she'll just blindly obey your orders because she's a clone." He rolled forward and poked Ironwood in the stomach. "She's a thinking, breathing human being, you son of a bitch, and as her father, I'm not going to sit here and let you manipulate her into becoming your perfect little soldier."

"I hate to be the one who points this out, Dr. Polendina," Ironwood replied, "but being the 'perfect little soldier' is why Penny was created in the first place. Something you signed off on. Now maybe you did it because you wanted the daughter you could never have, but that was the entire point of the Penny program."

Pietro slammed a fist onto the arm of his wheelchair. "You bastard. If I wasn't in this chair, I would bust out your goddamn teeth for that, General. What kind of human being are you to throw that in my face?"

"A desperate one, Doctor." Ironwood moved away from him. "The Maidens were created in case Salem ever tried to come at us with everything she's got. What do you call the situation we're in now?" He walked to the door. "So yes, Doctor, I will cut the bullshit. I will manipulate Penny, you, everyone else in this whole hospital if it means saving Europe. There are good men and women dying right now so that we can have this philosophical conversation. I've already had to sacrifice their lives; I'm going to have to sacrifice thousands more, not to mention Poland, to stop Salem. Maybe you should think about their fathers before you start lecturing me on morality." He opened the door and left.

Pietro sat there for a moment, then angrily wheeled himself out of the room, looking for Penny.

Qrow Branwen watched Winter as she slept. He'd done it several times before: with her hair down, her face serene in sleep, it reminded her of the times he'd woken up next to her in bed. Awake, Winter was always intensely focused, her features hard, every waking moment devoted to her duty and her nation. But asleep, she was relaxed: it made her look younger, and in Qrow's admittedly biased opinion, even more beautiful. He reached out and smoothed a strand of white hair back from her face.

The movement woke her up. Her eyes slowly came open, Winter saw him, and she sleepily smiled. "Hello," she said softly.

"Hey there," Qrow replied with his lopsided grin. She had been in and out of sleep since she'd been recovered by Polish medics from the grassy field she'd landed in. Qrow had been with her since she'd arrived in Berlin. He knew that he was supposed to be commanding the 77th TFS, but he couldn't leave Winter, not yet. He'd watched Raven throw away everything, watched Summer fly off to her death, watched as they had brought in a crippled Yang and an unconscious Ruby into the hospital after Beacon. Qrow was tired of losing the women he loved.

"Were you watching me sleep?" Winter slowly shook her head. "Pervert."

"If you didn't have all those tubes and wires stuck on you, I'd do a hell of a lot more than watch." Qrow waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'd tear that smock off of you and do you right here in that hospital bed."

"Uggh." Winter rolled her eyes, though she continued to smile. "You're such a sick bastard, Qrow. Besides…" She held up her left arm—or tried to. Wrapped in a cast with a metal frame, it stubbornly refused to move. "It probably wouldn't be a good idea with this," she finished.

"I'd do all the work," Qrow leered.

"And my broken back makes no difference," Winter growled. She used her good hand to raise the head of her bed, fully awake now.

"It's not broke. Just a compression fracture of the spine."

"Oh, just that!" Winter snorted. "I feel better already. Thank you ever so much, Dr. Branwen."

Qrow took her hand, her good one. "C'mon, Winter. You know I'm just joking around. And it's really not that bad." That was true: as compression fractures of the vertebra went, Winter's was a mild case—not uncommon in a high-speed ejection. He checked the door, then his hands went under the covers. Winter gave a start as she felt them on her right leg, then Qrow moved them upwards to the hem of the smock. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Checking to make sure that there's nothing wrong somewhere else," he grinned. His fingers began moving the smock upwards. "You know, got to make sure everything works."

"I'm not wearing any underwear," Winter told him, her voice getting husky.

"Even better."

"We shouldn't. Qrow, you're insane…don't…" She made no move to stop him, and her breath quickened as Qrow's fingers reached her inner thigh.

The doorknob began to turn, and Qrow got his hands out from under the blanket in a hurry. Winter quickly composed herself and spared her lover a withering look as Ironwood walked in. He smiled as he saw her. "Good morning, Winter. How are you feeling?"

Qrow watched Winter's face go back on duty. "Very well, sir, all things considered. I regret it may be some time before I can fly again, but I can resume light duties probably within 48 hours."

Ironwood shook his head. "No, Winter. I want you to recover fully." He made sure the door was securely closed, and dropped his voice after a glance at Qrow. "Penny has taken over the duties as the Winter Maiden holder."

Winter was silent for a long moment. "I understand, sir." Qrow kept silent himself; Ironwood might not sense the catch in Winter's voice, but he did. Winter had been groomed to take over from Fria for well over three years, and just like that, she was giving way to a five-month old clone.

"It was Fria's wish," Ironwood said; it sounded lame even to Qrow. "Since Penny was already privy to the Maiden password, I felt that it would be best to have her take over." That had been one secret Winter had not known: Fria's password.

"Of course, sir." Winter kept the disappointment out of her voice. It was a skill she had cultivated since she was a child; she had been disappointed more times than not, growing up in the Schnee household.

"Well…that's enough of that, I suppose." Ironwood once more looked at Qrow, who stared back defiantly. He wasn't leaving the room, not yet, and General James Ironwood, Salem, and the entire world would just have to deal with it.

"What is the tactical situation, sir?" Winter asked.

"Not good, but the Danes and the Poles are falling back in good order. Salem's attack isn't quite as bad as we thought it would be—nowhere near the strength we had assumed." For Winter's sake, Ironwood left out his own suspicions about why the GRIMM offensive was not as heavy as anticipated: Salem was looking for weaknesses in the line. As thinly spread as that line was, she would eventually find it. "And we have some good news—the 10th Panzer Division crossed the border an hour ago. General Steiner's got them headed northeast as fast as we can get the roads cleared." Ironwood smiled at that.

"But…I thought the Bundestag had prohibited any movement of German forces into Poland. Did they change that?"

Ironwood's smile widened. "Steiner moved on his own initiative. He said that the Bundestag was welcome to try and stop him." Ironwood remembered Steiner showing up unannounced at Ironwood's headquarters, just before he had left for Berlin. Adam Steiner was a tough-looking man, he remembered, a man who had lost his entire family to GRIMM in the last attack on German soil 25 years previously. He wanted revenge, and no politician was going to stop him.

Winter nodded. "That is good. About time."

Ironwood suppressed a sigh. He couldn't put it off any longer. "Qrow, can I speak with you alone for a moment?"

"No," Qrow shot back.

"That's an order, Colonel," Ironwood warned.

Qrow was about to tell him what he could do with that order, but Winter squeezed his hand. "Go," she said softly. Qrow Branwen seemed bent on throwing away his career, and she was not going to help in that. He grumbled something unprintable, got out of the chair, kissed Winter on the forehead, and followed Ironwood out of the door, hands in his pockets and bent over slightly, like a bad student following the school principal into his office.

Ironwood led Qrow into an empty hospital room and shut the door. "Qrow," he began, "I know you're not going to like what I have to say, but hear me out. And I know we didn't exactly part on the best of terms last time."

Qrow sat on the bed. "I'm listening, Jimmy."

Ironwood massaged his eyes. "Your nieces and the 77th TFS moved to Swidwin last night. That base is more or less run by Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses, and—as you know—Hill doesn't acknowledge NATO authority. She works with us, when it suits her, but she's a mercenary. From reports I have received, Captain Rose made that decision, knowing that she has me on a technicality: I can't enforce my authority there. I could, but since that might end up with my Military Police getting into a fight with Hill's bunch, it's not something I have the time or the troops for right now."

Qrow snorted a laugh. "Ruby learns fast, doesn't she?"

"She's usurped your authority, Qrow."

Another laugh. "Like I give a shit, Jimmy. I told you when you promoted me that I wasn't going to be a good squadron CO. I'm better off working on my own. Oz knew it. I thought you did. Hell, I proved it getting here from Japan—half the time I was drunk. Pyrrha Nikos was running the squadron. And since Pyrrha threw her wings in your face, and I wasn't at Poznan, that means Ruby is next in line. She did exactly what she's been taught, by me, by Tai, by Major Oum, by Oz: she took command." Qrow rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Jimmy, you should be giving her a fucking medal, not threatening to court-martial her."

Ironwood sighed. "Qrow, what is it with your family and following orders?" Before Qrow could answer, Ironwood continued. "Ruby Rose disobeyed orders on several occasions. And now she's really done it. Yes, she's to be commended for her actions elsewhere, and I was prepared to do it. I honestly didn't think it would come to a court-martial—a letter of reprimand, at best; probably only a letter of counseling." A letter of counseling was the military's equivalent of a slap on the wrist: while a letter of reprimand could end a career, a letter of counseling would at worst interrupt it. "That's different now. She's taken a squadron of fighters and very qualified fighter pilots, given me the finger, and gone rogue. The military isn't run at Ruby Rose's whims. She is under orders, and she's wilfully disobeying them."

"Good for her."

Ironwood slammed a fist on the wall. "Dammit, Qrow! Don't even start with me! Do you think I want to do this?" Qrow shrugged. "That's right, everything's a joke with you, isn't it? Well, laugh this off, smartass." Ironwood stepped forward, towering over the other man. "Lieutenant Colonel Branwen, you are ordered to go to Swidwin by the fastest available transportation. There, you will take command of the 77th Tactical Fighter Squadron, and you will order the pilots under your command to fly to RAF Lakenheath and await further orders."

Qrow was not intimidated. He merely looked up at the general. "Or what?"

"Or I'm going to place you under arrest, on the charge of disobeying a direct order."

Qrow got up off the bed, which put him nose-to-nose with Ironwood. "Don't forget to add conduct to the prejudice of good order and discipline, Jimmy, because you can take that order and shove it right up your ass."

"All right. I tried." Ironwood stepped back from Qrow, opened the door, and raised his voice. "Lieutenant, could you come in here for a moment?" A security policeman came into the room. "Colonel Branwen is to be placed under arrest, on the charges of disobeying a direct and lawful order, fomenting a mutiny, and…" He gave a thin smile. "…and conduct to the prejudice of good order and discipline."

"Yes, sir." The lieutenant withdrew a set of handcuffs. "Colonel, you are under arrest. Under Article 31 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, you have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney…" Qrow held out his wrists for the cuffs, which were put on. He did not resist as he was led away by the lieutenant, only sparing Ironwood a smirk as he went out the door. Ironwood resisted the urge to punch him—or the wall, or something—and followed them out. He noticed that the window to Winter's room was open; there was no way she could not have seen Qrow being led out in handcuffs. "Son of a bitch," he groaned; that was another problem he would have to deal with. Winter Schnee would do her duty, but Qrow was her weak spot.

Ironwood turned and strode down the hall, trying to get his temper under control. He found another empty room, shut the door, closed the blinds, and took deep breaths. It was all coming apart. His pilots were going rogue, when they weren't threatening each other. One of his best pilots and friends, Clover Ebi, was dead. Fria Gletscher was dead, and the Winter Maiden now in the hands of Penny Polendina, who he was certain he could control—or at least he had been. There was no telling what Pietro was filling the girl's mind with now. Winter Schnee, his right arm, was injured. Ace Flight, his handpicked elite Huntsman unit, was leaderless. His second best team, the 77th TFS, wasn't obeying orders. Salem was just over the horizon, waiting to pounce and take advantage of any mistake he made, and then thousands more would die. He had Arthur Watts, but Neo Politan had stolen JINN; Cinder Fall might be wounded, but she was gone. And he had just lost a friend in Qrow Branwen.

James Ironwood was staring disaster in the face.

He leaned against the counter. The rage faded, to be replaced with a despairing sadness. "I don't know what to do, Oz," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."

The Palace of Culture and Science

Ruins of Warsaw, Republic of Poland

30 August 2001

The Palace of Culture and Science had been built as a gift to the Polish people from Josef Stalin. It was not a gift the Polish people wanted or particularly enjoyed: as the largest and tallest building in Warsaw at the time, it was less seen as a gesture of friendship and more as a symbol of Soviet domination—a constant reminder of who was in charge. The only good thing about the Third World War, the Poles observed after 1962, was that the nuclear detonation that destroyed Warsaw had also blown the tower off the Palace.

Still, Cinder Fall thought as she was escorted through the Palace's ruins by one of Salem's human lieutenants, the place had been so overbuilt that the lower levels had managed to survive the one megaton nuclear blast that had detonated east of the Vistula. The theater commanders of NATO and the Warsaw Pact might have agreed not to fire on each other, but that hadn't stopped an Atlas missile from the continental United States. It would be thousands of years before the east side of Warsaw was safe, it was so highly radioactive, but as the fallout had been mostly to the east, this part was relatively safe…assuming one did not remain outside too long, or the wind didn't shift.

The lieutenant led Cinder down into the cavernous basement beneath the Palace, and if the upper levels were largely deserted, here it was a bustle of activity. Maps were pinned on walls, with a large glass map in the center, constantly updated by men and women who were writing backwards with luminescent pens. Others were radioing orders and instructions to dozens of advanced bases where the GRIMM were sent on their missions, such as the one at Torun, where Cinder had managed to land her Gripen. Luckily for her, the human and Faunus personnel there knew her, and quickly drove her to Warsaw.

"Wait here," the lieutenant told her in English, and went towards a thick steel door, which stood partially open; Cinder recognized it as an old fallout shelter, probably for the Soviet apparatchiks who had been the true power in Poland before 1962. Cinder found herself feeling nervous: it had been months since she had seen Salem, and she was returning empty-handed. Salem could be forgiving when the mood was on her, but subordinates who continually failed were disposed of. She had no idea what the unofficial queen of the GRIMM would do: she might order Cinder taken behind the Palace and summarily shot. Cinder swallowed involuntarily. She wouldn't do that. I've got a lot to do yet.

Finally, after what seemed half an eternity but was only five minutes, the lieutenant came back out. "She'll see you," was all he said, and Cinder nodded. Her heart hammering in her chest, she walked through the steel door. She almost jumped when it was closed behind her.

Salem stood behind a map table, a pair of calipers in her hands. To Cinder's surprise, she was not wearing her usual black cloak, but an immaculately tailored black uniform, cut in the same fashion as the old Soviet style uniform, with light blue rank boards adorned with a single silver star. Her hair was still pulled up in the tight bun and braids, and the black uniform made Salem's skin look even more pale than it was. A single medal was pinned above her left breast: the gold star of a Heroine of the Soviet Union. She did not so much as look up when Cinder came into the room. The two of them were alone.

Cinder came to attention. "Your Grace."

Salem still did not look up. "Cinder." She set down the calipers and studied the map. It was several minutes before she spoke; the silence was more frightening to Cinder than if Salem had begun screaming. She finally spoke. "When I chose you to eliminate the Maidens, I put my trust in you. So I trust that you wouldn't possibly return to me empty-handed." Now she looked up, and Cinder barely resisted the urge to quail under that pitiless red gaze. "And yet you have."

"I…I managed to escape in Japan…" Cinder began, then stopped. It sounded stupid even to her.

"And here," Salem finished. "But outsmarting Pyrrha Nikos, Raven Branwen, and James Ironwood speaks less to your intellect and more to theirs." She put her hands behind her back. "You have been continually outfought by your opponents and have lost two high-performance aircraft that I cannot replace. Your one success since Beacon has been hiding. That's not much of an achievement, Cinder."

Cinder knew she had gone pale. Her artificial arm began to involuntarily spasm, the fingers moving on their own. Her life was hanging by a thread, and unless she managed to convince Salem of her worth, Cinder Fall's life would end ignominously in a shallow ditch on the shores of a poisoned river. "I…I would think survival was something of an achievement…" A single gray eyebrow rose. Cinder could not keep the desperation out of her voice. "And I shot down Winter Schnee…"

"Who survived. I sincerely doubt that Ironwood would have dispatched so many helicopters to rescue a corpse."

Cinder was on the verge of tears. Unable to decide what to do, she fell to one knee before Salem. "Please, Your Grace, I know I've disappointed you—"

"Stop it." Salem sounded disgusted. "Do not kneel before me, for I am only a woman myself." Cinder got back to her feet as the older woman came around the table. "I do not reward failure, Cinder. I have strongly considered liquidating you as being no longer useful to me." Then, to Cinder's surpise, Salem gently put a hand on her shoulder, the partially artificial one. "However, I will not, because I still see potential in you, Cinder. The past few months have indeed been failures, but your record before that was exemplary—especially given the obstacles you overcame as a child, as a teenager. And despite your overconfidence and foolishness, you are still a very skilled pilot, and do manage to inspire loyalty in your subordinates. And to be frank, I find myself with a dearth of allies, so I must not eliminate those who may yet assist me." She patted Cinder's shoulder in an almost motherly fashion. "And you did manage to kill the holder of the Winter Maiden."

Cinder's remaining eye widened. "Fria? But she was aboard Penny Polendina's B-1. I damaged it…" Cinder remembered her shells hitting behind the cockpit. "So I killed her after all."

"Yes. My sources saw her being carried from the B-1 on a stretcher, with a blanket over her head. So you did manage to accomplish that task." Salem turned and walked back behind the map table. "Unfortunately, it was not much of a victory—undoubtedly the Winter Maiden bracelet has now been transferred to Polendina. With Schnee at the least injured, it would be logical to assume that the clone now holds the power. For all intents and purposes, that means Ironwood does, moreso than before."

"Then as soon as my aircraft is repaired, I will return and eliminate Polendina the next time she flies," Cinder said, with new confidence, now that she knew Salem wasn't going to shoot her.

"I've given no such command," Salem told her.

"But now is the time to strike!" Cinder protested. "Polendina's inexperienced! She's also not very intelligent. I will—"

"This game is not yours to win, Cinder." The steel had returned to Salem's voice. "It's mine. Just because you're more valuable to me than a pawn does not make you a player. Everything is already in motion. All you need concern yourself with is your ability to act when I tell you to. To obey."

Cinder came to attention again. "Of course. My apologies." She lowered her head. "Without you, I am nothing." The words came so easily to her lips, but they burned. Cinder remembered with shame the times she had been forced to repeat them, as she was bent naked over a table and whipped with a cane.

"Hm," grunted Salem in reply. "There is one other item, of course." She motioned Cinder forward. Salem's pale fingers rested on a console, which reminded Cinder of a laptop; she had seen it on the map table, but paid it little attention. Then, as she got closer, Cinder involuntarily gasped: she did recognize it now. Salem reached over and pressed a button on an intercom. "Bring in the girl, the one who brought the console."

There was an acknowledgement, and a few minutes later, the door opened to admit two guards and a very upset Neo Politan. Neo had her hands cuffed behind her back, her ankles were hobbled together so all she could do was shuffle, and there was a gag in her mouth. "I assume you know her?" Salem asked.

"Yes." Cinder resisted the urge to grin in triumph at Neo. "She is the one who stole JINN. I had no idea she was bringing it directly to you. She told me she was going to put it up to the highest bidder." That wasn't exactly true, Cinder knew—Neo had merely implied it—but for once, the little assassin was unable to do anything but glower at her, and Cinder had not forgotten that Neo wanted her dead.

"I see," Salem said. "She did speak quite a bit about how much she expected me to pay her. When I refused, well…that accounts for why she is in chains. I have heard of Neo Politan, of course, and she lives up to her reputation. She put four of my people in hospital, and tried to bite me, of all things." Salem regarded Neo. "Should we simply throw her in the river, then?"

Neo's eyes went a little wide at that, and Cinder felt a thrill go through her: Neo was now completely in her power, to do with as she wished. All Cinder had to do was nod, and the assassin would be dead within minutes. She almost did, then realized this might be a test: as Salem had been merciful to her, she might expect Cinder to be merciful to Neo, to weigh Neo's future usefulness. For that matter, Cinder mused, Neo had been more successful than she had.

Finally, Cinder shook her head. "Neo Politan has some very useful abilities and has proven to be a valuable asset."

"You certainly do enjoy collecting assets." Salem regarded Neo and gave a short nod. "Very well. Miss Politan, I will have you unbound, but if you try to hurt me or any of my people again, I will drop you off in the Warsaw impact crater and see how long you last. Are we at an understanding?" Neo nodded, and Salem told her guards to take off the cuffs, chains and gag.

Once she was free, Neo massaged her wrists. "I still want to be paid," she said.

Salem laughed. "My God, what unbelievable cheek. You were seconds away from being a boat anchor, and you still want your money." Neo stared back defiantly, and Salem continued to chuckle. "Oh, very well, Miss Politan. I will pay you for your services, and even keep you on retainer for awhile, if you choose. It will not be as much as you like, but it will be more than adequate for your needs."

"And I'll need an airplane," Neo added.

Salem's good humor began to evaporate like a snowball in the Sahara, so Cinder spoke up. "She will need one, Your Grace. Neo is a good pilot. She also wants revenge against Ruby Rose for the death of her beau, Roman Torchwick."

"Ah. Well, I will consider it." Salem reached over, and without ceremony, opened the JINN console. She peered at it for a few minutes, ran her fingers over the keyboard, then tapped at the keys. Nothing happened. There was a bit of awkward silence. "I don't suppose either of you know how to turn this device on," Salem said.

Cinder looked at Neo, who shrugged. She then looked back to Salem. "I…I thought you knew, Your Grace."

"I'm afraid I don't. That was supposed to be Watts' job." Salem sighed. "It seems we have overlooked the obvious, ladies—that this fountain of knowledge is basically useless without the password to access it." She glanced at Neo. "Where did you find this?"

"In…" Neo had to think about it. "His name was Oscar, I think." She shrugged again. "I shot him and Penny Polendina in his room, then took the console."

"Oscar Pine." Cinder noticed Salem's hands clench into fists. "Of course. Ozpin would entrust his son with that knowledge." The door was still open, so Salem merely raised her voice. "Lieutenant. Bring the Hound here. I have a job for him and his team." The lieutenant acknowledged the order and walked away briskly. While they waited, Neo yawned and leaned against the wall, while Salem tapped absently at the keys on the console. She suddenly began typing on it, then laughed softly. At Cinder's look, she said, "I typed in 'Salem.' I suppose that would be a little too easy, wouldn't it…good. Here you are. Cinder, Neo, meet the Hound."

"Mistress." Cinder turned and nearly fell in shock. For a moment, she thought she was looking into the face of Adam Taurus. The two had similar features, the same lean build, and the same reddish hair. However, this Hound was a little shorter, his hair not quite as bright red, and wolf ears stuck out from the hair rather than horns. There was something else too, something that left Cinder in stunned silence.

"Did you have any difficulty on your last mission?" Salem asked.

"No, Mistress," the Hound replied. "I was able to observe the battle between the GRIMM and Ruby, Norn and Ace Flights to defend the Haisla AWACS. They neither saw me nor detected me."

"And the radio interception equipment worked?"

"Perfectly, Mistress."

"Good. According to our radar intercepts, it would appear that Ruby and Norn Flights, at least, relocated to Swidwin. You may assume that your target is there as well." Salem hesitated, then continued. "Your target's name is Oscar Pine. I want him alive. Bring him back here."

Neo raised her hand. Salem turned to her. "He's in the hospital, wherever he is," Neo informed them. "I shot him in the stomach. He won't be flying for awhile. When they carted him over to the hospital, Ruby was with him the whole way—they seem pretty damn sweet on each other." Neo did not tell them how she knew that: after she had shot Oscar and Penny, and stolen JINN, she had not immediately tried to escape the base. She had not even tried to leave the barracks, but broke into an empty room and hid there, watching Oscar and Penny be wheeled to the hospital from a window. It was then easy enough to change her appearance by getting into casual wear, stashing the console and her German fatigues into a backpack, use shoe polish to dye her hair, and pull up a hoodie to hide her features. A brisk walk, a picked lock to a trunk of a car, and then a surprisingly short wait for the owner of the car to leave the base. When that owner had stopped at a fast food place in Poznan, Neo had gotten out, called Cinder, gotten some food and a bottle of water, stolen a motorcyle, and she was on her way.

Salem's eyebrows rose. "You are handy, Miss Politan. Very good then, Hound—find Ruby Rose, and you will find Oscar Pine not far away. Again, I want him alive. If you have an opportunity to take Ruby as well, then do so. I think both Neo and I have plans for her." A savage grin from Neo, one so full of murderous anticipation that even Cinder found it disconcerting. "Anyone else is secondary. I will leave the details up to you."

The Hound gave a short nod, then a bow. "As you say, Mistress." He did not so much as glance at Neo or Cinder as he left.

"He has…" Cinder's voice trailed off.

"Silver eyes. Yes, I know. I do find that trait useful on occasion." Salem closed the JINN console.

"How did you find someone? I've only heard of three people with silver eyes, and Ruby is one of them."

"Oh, I didn't find someone with silver eyes. At least, not with him." Salem said, putting the console under one arm and walking out of the fallout shelter. "I created someone with silver eyes."