Port Farrall
Present Day
The Coalition of Ordered Governments still exists, the rule of law still exists, and our social covenants still exist. We may no longer be in a state of war, but we still have a battle ahead to survive and rebuild, and in these difficult days there will be no tolerance of lawlessness and antisocial behavior. Unity defeated the Locust. But disunity will be the certain end of us all.
-Chairman Richard Prescott, to the Remnant of Jacinto's Population, Port Farrall.
"Marcus," I finally said once my internal debate ended. "I can tell Marcus."
For a second I saw a look of deep-seated pain flash over Dom's face. It had to be killing him that his daughter would confide in his best friend, but not him. In a second, however, it had passed. All he was concerned with was finding me the help I needed. I could confide in Marcus. Hell, he had been my confidant for weeks now. He never judged, never pushed. And if he became upset by what I had to tell him, I honestly wouldn't be able to tell.
"Wait here," Dom said, striding past me. He left quickly, probably hoping I didn't see the disappointed look on his face.
I took advantage of having the room to myself. I took a few deep breaths to calm my unsettled nerves, and then pressed my hands to my eyes – hard, until I saw sparks.
This wasn't me.
I wasn't the kind of person to jump on somebody with a knife pulled. I didn't start fights; it was stupid, and all too often ended when your target's buddy sunk a knife between your ribs.
I wasn't only concerned with how I had tried to kill Darvish, however. Ever since that night I'd been on edge, an exposed nerve just waiting for someone to cross paths with me. I'd jumped down the throats of people who sure as shit didn't deserve it – Anya, Bernie, even Sam. Whatever Darvish did to me hadn't ended with Sam sinking her teeth into his leg. It had taken root deep inside of me, rotting and festering until it destroyed me from the inside out.
The door opened and Marcus walked in, shutting the door behind him so we had more privacy. The sunlight streamed in through a partially boarded up window that was miraculously intact. He didn't look surprised that I had requested to see him. He looked…tired, if that were possible.
"Tell me," Marcus said.
I thought the words would never come. I picked at the dry skin next to my fingernails, stalling for time. Marcus didn't speak, didn't shift his weight, nor tried to coax me into speaking. He simply stood in the doorway like a silent sentinel, weight balanced evenly on both feet, hands resting relaxed but ready at his side.
I went to the window. Through the cracks in the boards I could see the edge of the camp. To the right was the broken road that led back down to the camp and eventually to where Jacinto used to be. It was silent; there was no fuel for cars and it was too cold to walk. If I stared out into the distance I could almost pretend I was alone. It was easier that way, so I told my story to the window.
I started with everything that had happened that day – going to the camp to retrieve Sam, running into a dying Momma, the funeral. But unlike the story I had told Dom yesterday, I finished this one.
"I found Darvish near the woods, drinking from a flask. He invited me to join him, and I thought…I guess I thought it would help me forget, at least for a little while. So I went with him. We went deeper into the woods and passed the flask around for a while.
"Apparently he hadn't been drinking as much as I thought. He…he tried to pull a move on me, so I jumped to my feet. But I was unsteady, and he used the opportunity to grab my hands and pin me to the tree. My guns were on the ground and he…he…" I stopped.
"Say it."
I turned from the window and looked into his ice blue eyes. "He tried to rape me."
I would have expected anyone else to curse, punch the wall, or maybe pull a knife and head after Darvish like I had. But Marcus never even flinched. He simply stared at me the way I had once found chilling, but now saw it as reassuring. Steady. "Do you have any evidence?"
Anger flashed back up inside me like a snapped rubber band. "You don't believe me?!"
"Of course I do," Marcus sounded even more calm than usual, which probably meant he was trying extra hard to keep himself from losing it. "I need others to believe you."
I thought for a second before my eyes landed on Sam's dozing figure at my feet. "Check his left leg. He'll still have the outline of Sam's teeth in it."
"Come on," he instructed me. He held the door open for Sam and I to pass through and followed us out of the building. Once we were outside he took the lead, showing us to where Baird had decided to keep Darvish locked up – a building next to barracks. Sam followed us into the dilapidated building. As soon as she caught sight of Darvish her lips pulled upward in a snarl. The hair on the back of her neck bristled as she growled a low, angry warning.
Marcus didn't pause. He entered the room and strode right up to where Baird had duct-taped Darvish to an old wooden chair, wheeled back, and punched him in the face as hard as he could.
Ouch. A pop in the nose by Marcus Fucking Fenix had to feel like getting your face slammed in by a Berserker. Marcus had probably killed locust with that punch. I almost felt a little sorry for Darvish.
Almost.
Darvish's head popped back hard enough to give himself whiplash. Immediately his eyes crossed and started to roll upwards into his skull, but Marcus grabbed his chin and shook him awake. "Ah, no. You don't get off that easily," he growled. "Come on, wake up. There we go." He straightened himself upright to give a semi-conscious Darvish the full view of a fully-fed, heavily armored Gear. "Now," he said so softly it raised goosebumps up and down my spine, "Want to know what we did with pieces of shit like you in prison?"
For the oddest second I felt like laughing. It was just a release of tension, the wind down of overwrought nerves seeking release. Instead of giggling like an idiot and ruining Marcus' little demonstration, I glanced at the other three men in the room. Cole usually overcompensated for his size by being jovial and happy, putting people at ease. This time, however, he used his massive bulk as an advantage. His expression looked like something he'd wear on a Thrashball field to scare the shit out of his opponent. Nowhere to be found was the 'Cole Train'; now he was all hard, dark eyes and hostile glares.
Baird actually looked like he was trying not to shit himself. He'd evidently never seen the full force of Fenix in front of him. Even I had to admit that the effect was impressive. Baird had spent a lot of hours trying to piss Marcus off and get a rise out of him. It was probably a good thing he hadn't succeeded, because Baird's pretty face would never look the same after being met by Marcus' fist. When Marcus drew back for that beautiful punch, Baird's eyes had widened and I was pretty sure I saw him mouth the words "Holy shit…" He'd never needle Marcus like that again, I was sure. But once the initial shock had worn off Baird schooled his expression to mirror Cole's "I'm a bad-ass mother fucker and I will kill you" look.
It was Dom's expression that immediately sobered me, however. It was so filled with concern that it looked almost painful. He knew Marcus better than any of us, and he knew Marcus wasn't prone to fits of anger or letting himself get out of control. That meant that Marcus meant that punch, and he had to be extremely pissed off to punch anybody. Which meant Dom knew that whatever happened to me was bad. Really, really bad.
Marcus reached down and yanked up the pants leg that covered Darvish's left leg. There was the bite I had mentioned to Marcus as evidence. "Looks like a dog bite to me," Marcus said. "More specifically, a Sheppard bite."
"You obviously know what happened," Darvish panted though a nose that definitely sounded broken. "Aren't you going to go ahead and kill me?"
"All in good time. I've got a healthy respect for the law now, so we're going to do this right." That was surprising, considering how thoroughly the COG judicial system had fucked him over. "Cole, get Hoffman over here. Prescott too, if he's not too busy sitting on his ass. Tell him we need to start building a gallows."
"On it, boss-man," Cole walked out of the room, one hand already going to press on the comm unit he had in his ear. Dom was examining the freshly-opened wounds on Darvish's leg, trying to see if he could find the story behind them written in blood. Baird glared daggers at Darvish, every so often flexing the chain on the lancer, showing the man just how sharp his teeth were.
Marcus guided me over to the corner of the room so we could talk in private. "You know that you're going to have to testify if this is going to go anywhere," he said quietly.
I sighed. Somewhere along the line I had figured that out. COG officials wouldn't do much with my accusation of 'he has to die and that's final'. "Isn't there some other way?"
"Afraid not. We'll try to keep it as quiet as possible, but-"
Yeah. Boredom had set in quickly in the Port between boughs of trying not to die. Gossip was the only thing left to do with any interest. This kind of news – a Stranded being prosecuted by the last dredges of the COG judicial system – would spread like wildfire within the camp.
And that meant that Dom was certain to hear about it, no matter how hard I tried to keep him from it.
I leaned against the wooden wall, soft with rot. Unbidden my hand covered the bandage on my arm, my fingers playing with the fraying edges. I'd rather face down another pack of wild dogs – a hundred packs – instead of running the gauntlet in Port Farrall's rumor mill. But more than that I would do anything to spare Dom any more pain. Ducking my head, I peaked at him through my eyelashes. He had given up interpreting the wound on Darvish's leg and was speaking quietly to Marcus. I had to strain to overhear his conversation, but during a pause in the wind outside I heard him whisper: "She woke up screaming today. If it's because of what that piece of shit did to her…"
The door opened again, drowning out whatever Dom said next. I was expecting Hoffman, so I had to do a double take as Prescott ambled into the room. He wasn't nearly as tall as Cole who shambled in after him, but the way he carried himself made his height inconsequential. Prescott dominated any space he found himself in. He was slightly suffocating in that way.
Prescott rubbed his hands together against the cold. It was almost too easy to imagine the gesture as a maniacal villain greedily churning his hands with some nefarious plot. He scanned the room once, only pausing on Darvish for scarcely a moment. "Sergeant Fenix," he greeted Marcus, "How can I be of service?"
The terror that had been churning in my gut turned to anger with the memory of my last debrief with the Chairman – right after Ace died. Ace had died following Prescott's orders. But hey, the Chairman got what he wanted, right? We got the classified intel off the island. It only cost Ace his life.
The Chairman wasn't dressed in his typical suit, or even a COG uniform. Instead he wore a simple dark grey sweater as if to say to the civilian populace "Hey, we're all facing hardship right now. We're in this together." Only the idiots would buy it.
"Sir," Marcus returned the greeting. "This man has been accused of a crime that carries the death penalty, according to wartime penal code."
"I ain't done shit," Darvish sneered.
Prescott looked down his nose at Darvish, contemplating him. "I see," he said. "And what crime would that be?"
Marcus hesitated, waiting until I gave an almost imperceptible nod before he answered. "Attempted rape."
"A very serious charge indeed," Prescott looked hardly fazed as he began circling around Darvish's chair like a shark circling a boat. "And who is the accuser?"
I took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall. "That would be me."
I kept my eyes studiously focused on Prescott so I wouldn't have to see Dom's face. Although I still heard him curse, and the muffled sound of Marcus grabbing Dom's arm before he could attack Darvish.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cole and Baird exchange glances. That – the looks, the pity, the false concern – was everything I had been afraid of. But nothing could be done now. Like a boulder rolling down a hill, it would only pick up speed until it ran me over.
Prescott thought for a moment, examining me the same way he had looked over Darvish. "I'll need to hear the facts. Start at the beginning," he suggested. "Your name?"
You should know my name, I thought crossly. I wondered if he remembered me, or if he was putting up a façade. How could anyone forget the tiny, angry civilian who burst into his office with wet eyes and clenched fists, demanding answers? Then again, Prescott probably had had lots of angry civilians screaming at him over the years.
"Call me Bri," I began. "It happened two days ago…"
This time the words came easier, as if I was reciting a script instead of baring my soul. It became easier to disassociate myself from the drunk, defenseless girl in my story.
"That's when Sam attacked him. She bit him on his left leg. Got him good, too – she tore a lot of meat out of his calf."
Prescott motioned for one of his armed guards to lift Darvish's pant leg. He observed the bloody, dirty bandages with a semi-interested eye. He turned back to me; "Any other proof to offer?"
My mouth gaped while I reached for something to say. "He was detained under theft of wartime assets," Marcus interjected. "He was stealing food."
Prescott continued his slow stroll around Darvish, pausing when he stood in front of me. "You're injured. Was it caused during the attack?" He motioned towards the white bandage crisscrossing my forearm.
"Uh, no. I was down in the cache when a pack of wild dogs attacked…"
"So you also were attacked by a dog. Can you see how evidence of a dog bite is not sufficed evidence of attempted rape?"
"What, you think she's just making the whole thing up?" Dom stepped forward angrily. At that moment the door opened again. Everyone's attention was diverted as Hoffman strode in, followed by Anya.
"Assuming there's a reason I was summoned here?" Hoffman said in his gruff voice.
Prescott spoke first, filling in Hoffman. Hoffman studied Darvish's face curiously. "He doesn't look like a civilian to me."
"I ain't one of you COG fascists," Darvish said, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "You ain't got no jurisdiction over me!"
"You committed a theft on COG property. There's our jurisdiction," Marcus said.
Prescott was examining my open pack at my feet. Before I could kick it closed, Prescott nudged it with the toe of his boot. "If we're investigating a matter of theft of war resources, perhaps I should start with these?"
The silver wrapped meal bars – stamped with the COG emblem – tumbled out of my pack, one after another. The conversation halted as everyone stared at me like I was a thief.
"I didn't…I mean- I…" I stammered, searching for an explanation. My face turned bright red as the atmosphere of blame suddenly shifted to me. Prescott acted like I was the one on trial, not Darvish.
Dom felt guilty about the meal bars – I could see the emotion on his face, clear as day. "I gave them to her," he confessed immediately. "She's a COG citizen, she deserved them."
Prescott turned back to me with fake surprise on his face. "Really? A COG citizen?" Everyone in the room thought Dom was lying, including the Chairman himself. "Do you have an identification card? A ration card? Any paperwork at all validating this claim?"
I hesitated before answering. My eyes quickly glanced to Dom before landing back on Prescott. "…No."
"She's the daughter of a Gear!" Dom insisted. "That makes her a citizen!"
A heavy pause followed Dom's words. Those of us in the room who knew what Dom was talking about got tense. Those who didn't were visibly confused. Even Prescott appeared to be taken aback by the declaration; he examined me with new eyes. "Who is your father?" he asked.
I had no idea how to answer that. I could feel everyone's eyes on me – waiting, watching. Even the wind outside the building stopped bellowing for a moment, holding its breath. The world was quiet as I sweated and squirmed under their scrutiny.
The past – my past, more specifically – was sticky, hard to handle. Like bread dough with too much water added to it; the more I tried to wiggle out from under it, the more it stuck to my fingers. I guarded the secrets of my past as if they were knives with my name carved upon them. There was no telling the harm that could come from the wrong person wielding them.
Panicked, my eyes flashed to meet Dom's. "She's mine," he answered, and even from across the room I could read the apology in his face. "Sylvia Carla Santiago."
Prescott took a step back. He started to speak, coughed, and then fell silent. Even the Chairman was speechless.
"It's true," Marcus validated Dom's claim. "We only realized this recently."
"Ho-ly shit," Hoffman breathed. "Santiago, you're certain?"
"She had a locket with Maria's picture in it. I remember buying it for her back before the war started. I don't know how it's possible, but…it's her."
I squirmed under everyone's shocked expressions. Despite the cold room, I could feel small beads of sweat appear on my forehead. No one seemed to know what to say. Even Baird, who always seemed to have a quick quip at hand, was silent.
Prescot stared me down with a new expression on his face. "Well…this certainly changes things," he finally said.
"Just cause she's the crotch fruit of some COG bastard, doesn't mean you gotta take her word over mine!" Darvish said, sounding a bit panicked. "She's been living in the same shithole camp for years, same as me!"
"Right," Prescott seized the topic change like a lifeline. "You are correct in one regard. The alleged attack-"
"Alleged?! I interrupted, outraged.
"The…suspected attack?" Prescott continued. "Occurred outside of COG jurisdiction. As such, we have no substantial evidence nor grounds to convict. As for this man's other crimes, I hardly think it prudent to sentence a man to death for the price of a loaf of stale bread."
"So you're just going to let him go?"
"In case you haven't noticed," Prescott answered with a darker tone, "Our resources are stretched to the point of breaking. Our justice system is nonexistent. I cannot in good conscience surrender necessary resources to penalize a non-citizen for a crime that cannot be proven to take place."
My previous embarrassment forgotten, I settled back into familiar anger. "You'll unleash a rapist on the world because of lack of resources?!"
"I have no proof he is a rapist."
"Fine! You go ahead and let him go. I'll make sure he faces some Stranded justice."
The threat was merely that – a threat, but Prescott was momentarily taken aback. "Very well," he said, his voice cool and even. "Sergeant Fenix confine this woman to base for the next 24 hours. After that, she is free to do as she likes."
My eyes widened. Now he was imprisoning me? "What the hell? You don't want to impose jurisdiction over Stranded communities unless it's convenient for you? You- "
Prescott held a single finger up to silence me. "I would be very careful how you finish that next sentence, young lady," he warned. "We have just concluded that you are, in fact, a COG citizen, so I can place you under whatever sanctions I see fit. Fenix, see this man to the edge of COG territory and let him go."
I opened my mouth to protest yet again, but then a large hand clamped down on my shoulder. "Right away, Sir," Marcus said.
"But he can't –" I protested, like a petulant child. Marcus' hand squeezed tightly again.
"Enough," he said. "Baird, Cole, you heard the Chairman."
I looked at Baird with a pleading look on my face, begging him not to unleash Darvish on the world. "Please," I whispered, but he refused to meet my gaze as he stepped forward and cut the restraints on the chair. Darvish shot me a triumphant look as he rubbed the soreness out of his wrists and stepped out of the chair. Without another word, Baird and Cole escorted him out of the room.
Prescott nodded once as if the matter was settled. "Right then. Santiago, I congratulate you on finding your daughter. If that is all, I'm afraid I have important matters to attend to."
Marcus's hand was leaving indents on my shoulder in a silent demand to not say anything. No one moved as Prescott strode from the room. And just like that the fight was over. My case had been heard by the last leader of the Coalition and had been denied. I felt…defeated, and disappointed, but mostly crushed that of all the people in that room who I trusted to have my back, Marcus had abandoned me at the last second. It was a weird feeling of betrayal, almost, as if for so long Marcus and I had been on one team, but now suddenly he'd up and defected, pushing me aside for someone who would stick a finger in my face and demand respect he hadn't even begun to earn.
But just as he turned to shut the door behind him, Prescott's eyes unwittingly caught mine. I expected to see more of his cool disinterest that he had shown during the trial, but instead I saw…danger. Like the expression of a wolf as it hunts down a rabbit. His rancor wasn't personal, it was business. Professional, almost. Whereas mine was the exact opposite. He was the reason Ace died. Now what did he expect? If I hadn't opened my mouth in the past three years, what would make me start now? And who the fuck cared about the classified plans for a 'Maelstrom Generator' anyway? It's not like Prescott ever used the data we recovered on our mission.
Oh yeah, I thought to myself as the door finally clicked shut. He definitely remembers me.
Prescott swirled the liquor in his glass: an expensive, handmade crystal tumbler that was the last in its set. He stared out the window of what served as his office – the captain's quarters on the last destroyer in the COG navy. In the very distance he could see two men frog-marching a third to the border.
The girl was a problem. She probably didn't realize the immensity of the knowledge she possessed. How could she? But she had a piece of the puzzle named Azura. Just a piece – a tiny fragment of information that by itself was harmless. But if she started gathering other pieces and began putting the picture together, she could prove to be a very dangerous enemy.
He had tried to nullify the threat once before. Back when she was younger, more vulnerable. He had underestimated her resourcefulness, however. Whether she had ended up on a farm or in a Stranded community, he'd hadn't expected to see her again.
But now she was protected. Dominic being her father could be problematic. He wouldn't be able to get at the girl without going through the father. And if he recalled correctly, Hoffman was Santiago's commanding officer from before the war. Those sorts of ties held fast. He couldn't go after the Santiago family without alienating his Chief of Staff.
Prescott took a slow sip of his drink and allowed the warmth to fill him from inside. She didn't realize it, but this 'Bri' girl presented a political challenge unlike anything offered in the past fifteen years. A part of him thrilled at the contest. He'd win, of course. It would just take him a little while to figure out the best way to subtly pull her strings.
Family, he thought. Of course. Family was always a weakness. It was what destroyed the Fenix clan. The Santiagos would be child-play in comparison.
Author's note: It might take me until I'm old and grey, but I swear I'm gonna finish this story.
Leave a review on your way out, please! It helps to know I've still got readers out there! Thank you!
