Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Seven

Reflections on a Catastrophe

Lieutenant Elizabeth Cutler

I lie back on the bunk in the Brig, staring at the ceiling, while I slowly process the information Jeremy gave me.

I did a job on Malcolm alright. I meant to and I did.

They've sedated me again so I can't self-harm any more. It's as much as I can do to raise my arm, let alone bite it. Everything feels distant, as if I've been enveloped in a layer of cotton, and perhaps that's the only thing that makes any of it bearable.

Suddenly a thought dawdles into my mind, and using all the strength I can summon up, I struggle upright and look at Corporal Woods, who stares apprehensively at me as though fearing I'm so determined to destroy myself I can work miracles. "Burnell," I mutter. "I have to talk to the colonel."

"Colonel Burnell is very busy, Ma'am," he replies repressively.

"I know." Somehow I manage to wave a vague hand, dismissing that objection. "But I've got to tell him. Warn him…" For a moment what I have to warn him about slides into the fog, and I blink helplessly. "Warn him."

More of the fog eddies across me. My exertions have worn me out, and I sag back down onto the bunk.

When the fog clears again, Burnell is leaning over me. His expression is serious, but not condemning.

I would be condemning, if I were him.

"Lieutenant, you wanted to speak to me," he says quietly. I guess he's resolved the thorny protocol issue of whether to address me as 'Ma'am' or 'Lieutenant' by whether I'm with Malcolm or alone; at a guess it'll be 'Lieutenant' permanently from now on, at least until the Court Martial that will strip my rank away before the execution.

"Austin." My tongue fumbles with his name as though I've forgotten how to speak. "Tell Trip … tell him it was Erika. She sent it to me. She wants, wants…" Even in the midst of the fog, tears trickle down my face. "She wants Malcolm dead."

"I am truly proud of you," he told me.

"Remember that. Whatever happens, always remember that."

He won't be proud of me now. If he lives, he won't ever want to see me again.

He'll turn back into what he used to be. He'll revert to Pack. He'll make the whole Empire pay for my betrayal. Thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, of people will suffer and die because of what I did.

He hated Em and Alpha for what they did to him.

He trusted me, and I betrayed him. I tried to kill him. I nearly succeeded, and I still might have done.

I loved him, and he trusted me, and I betrayed him.

I've ruined everything, not just for Malcolm and me, but for Malcolm and Trip, and Mike and Anna, and Amanda Cole. For everyone down in the Bunker. Oh, God, and for Charlie and Elaine, Bert, Miguel, Rachel, and the others Tuckers I haven't met. Maybe Ginny, too. And everyone we were trying to help.

Maybe even the whole damned empire, for a generation or two.

I deserve to die. Maybe I should tell them to just skip the court martial.

"Hernandez," I gasp, as Burnell straightens and turns away. "Warn Trip!"

"The Commodore already knows, Lieutenant," he says gently. "You should try not to worry. Try to rest."

'Try not to worry'. When everything we've tried to build is lying in ruins around us, and the man I love is holding on to life by a thread. And it's all my own damned handiwork.

By the time I've stopped laughing, Burnell's gone.

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