11:27 AM Nineteen days after the Battle of Deil Nine
Dear Mr. Berislo,
First, on behalf of all the members of the Office of Transfers, we humbly sympathize with you over the loss of your wife—
Justin rolled his eyes. He was tired of hearing sympathy's over Sam. They made him think of her everytime someone said one. Skimming over that part, he continued to read.
Second, we wish to announce to you that we have made our decision concerning your request to transfer out of the Pilot Corps. and into the field of Strategy. After reviewing your history in battle and other tactical situations, and your scores on the written and simulation sections of the Placement Test, we would like to congratulate you on successfully being accepted into the Alliance's Corps. Of Strategists and Tacticians. We have concluded that you possess the skills, instincts and knowledge of some of the Defense Force's finest young strategists, and will do well.
Your first assignment in your new position will be as the Second Major tactician aboard the Cruiser Vaysil.—
Justin eyes widened in surprise. Second Major? He thought. Holy shit! I did better on the Placement Test than I thought!
—There, you will learn the remaining skills necessary to become a full Major tactician and, in time, take up the Major position aboard an Alliance Cruiser. Your tutor will be First Lieutenant Commander Dena Galvis, a top-rated expert in the field of Strategy. You will learn much from him.
We have kindly diverted a commercial transport to Sallop IV to pick you up and drop you off on the Cruiser Vaysil. It will arrive at Sallop IV at 033096-point–23. Please be prompt when it arrives, for it may be difficult to get another.
Congratulations again, Mr. Berislo! The Office of Transfers look forward to seeing you rise in the field of Strategy.
Sincerely,
Areun Peggas, Minister of the Office of Transfers; Alliance Defense Force.
Justin smiled wryly at Minister Peggas's signature on the message, wanting to feel excited, but thinking about how close he had come to reading the sympathy for Sam in the message, and how it brought back all the pain of Sam's death all over again. Slowly, his heart sank in a noose and remained locked there. Feeling the blood rush through his veins, he blew out some air and closed the message window, returning the computer terminal's monitor to it's main desktop. He then shut the terminal down, and immediately started for his room, wanting to get an early start on packing his things for the transport tomorrow. Truthfully, he wanted to ask if he could have some more time before he left, but he imagined that finding another transport after the next one would be difficult and he didn't feel like possibly arguing over the whole thing, especially not with the Office of Transfers. They'd had a history of never being dissuaded by anyone. He had sympathy points, yes, but he knew that would never be enough.
Outside, the Sallopian wind howled again. Justin reached up and scratched his neck, instantly eliminating the itch created by the delicate string of his necklace.
Out of the kitchen came a tall Trisalkan with dark red battle bruise on his left cheek, and fog-white hair just barely hitting the edge of his cheeks. Faddius Loken, a security officer aboard the corvette Cassaman, who had moved into the hotel room shortly after Arex had departed for Curansti base with Bach to find his brother. Once he and his brother had reunited, Arex stayed on Curansti.
By now, most people had either been reassigned, transferred, or had quit the Alliance. Sallop IV was slowly being emptied of all Alliance personnel. The only people that remained were people like Justin, who had requested transfers to different fields. Also, Commanders like Bryan, Captains, and just other people who hadn't been assigned anywhere yet. Two weeks ago there had been thousands of Alliance officers and personnel in Tesas City. Now only a few hundred remained.
"Hey Fad. How's the cooking going in there?"
Faddius smiled delightfully and spoke, the UT translating. "Great. I've practically had to beat my teeth with a stick to get them to stay away from the coolig." He laughed.
Justin forced on his own smile, then started for the bedroom. "That sounds great, sir. I got accepted by the Office of Transfers. Just sent me my acceptance letter."
Faddius's face lit up even more at that. "Good job! Congratulations. I'll bet your excited."
"Can't wait."
"That's great. What Cruiser?"
"The Vaysil."
Faddius nodded, trying to hide the fact that he didn't recognize the name at all. "That's nice. Good job."
"Thanks." He exchanged smiles with him. "But I gotta go pack. They said the transport for the Vaysil leaves tomorrow, so I got to get ready now. Call me when dinner's ready. That pasta smells really good. I'm lookin forward to eating it."
"Will do." Faddius started back for the kitchen.
Justin went to the dressers first, and opened the top drawer, revealing a bunch of Sallopian clothes donated to the Alliance. Almost all of them were a size too big or a size to small, but Justin was still very appreciative for them. And the shirts, pants, and g-string type underwear—those were really uncomfortable. Justin ended up borrowing some undies from some of his friends on surviving Cruisers—that they had supplied, amongst other things like the accommodations they had provided. One of Justin's only regrets was that he couldn't repay the Sallopians for all they the kindness and consideration they had shown. Everything he had been treated to had been free. That was the best thing they had done. Free meals, a free room, free comlink service, other free services a quick-set-up computer terminal, special discounts, a certain sum of free money, and the list went on a little further. The president, a woman named Wintra Hevvern had been in Tesas city for almost two weeks until he was done hosting several group dinners with all of the Alliance members present on the planet. These people deserved an immense compensation from the Alliance for everything they had done to make the outsiders feel at home and welcome.
Justin dug to the bottom of the drawer and pulled out his flight suit. Even though it had been washed once, it still reeked of his body sweat, which had sunk into it during the battle. Justin took one sniff and abruptly turned his nose away in agony. Quickly, he walked into the bedroom and set the dirty suit on his bed, then walked back out to the dresser. For some reason, he kept thinking he had a lot to pack, forgetting that what had been his was destroyed with the Defiance. Everything that been his...
He sensed himself slipping back to her again, and this time he welcomed it. She would want this new job for him. Pausing for a moment, he reached under his shirt and grabbed hold of the tiny disk at the end of his necklace. He sealed his palm around the disk gently, pulling it out, and closed his eyes, seeing her beautiful smiling face counteracting the blackness of his mind. The disk was made up of a crystal-like substance called Dirlin. Sam had fallen in love with it the moment she saw it on the planet Caresica, and Justin happily had bought it for her. Then, she surprised him on his birthday by getting him one as well. It symbolized the deep love and deep connection between them. Sam had put it: "this way I'll always be with you and you always with me no matter where I am or where you are." Those words had burned themselves into his thoughts over and over again for the past three weeks, and they were returning to him now. He knew she would want him to be happy, and he found that he always felt happier when he wasn't flying. This is for you, babe. He held on for a few moments, then finally opened his eyes—and felt refreshment invading every part of his body. Pressing his lips against the disk, he calmly put it back un der shirt and went back to packing. As he did so, he remembered that he still had to call Bryan back again. The man still had to explain this whole Afgalan trip he wanted Justin to take with him on July 14th. Said it was a surprise, and if Justin knew Bryan well enough, which he did, then he knew that the "surprise" was going to be something unexpected. So Justin made a mental and continued packing, almost ready to step into the pages of the next chapter of his life.
1:55 PM Festin time; Twenty-seven days after the Battle of Deil Nine; Festin system; Cruiser Saplan
Captain Vaughn Carrack extended his hand out to Kenny. "It's been an honor, Commander," he said in his gruff voice.
"Tha—" Kenny started as they shook hands.
"—goos luck to you."
Kenny smiled gratefully. "Thank you, sir. Same to you."
"You be sure to tell Captain Effairyou, or whatever his name is—"
Kenny laughed at the name attempt. His name was Captain F'ter'yu. Captain Effairyou...Kenny shook his head.
"—to make sure he calls me about when your feeding times are—"
He laughed again.
"–and when—"
"Thanks, Captain, but I think I can take care of myself, sir. Don't need a daddy anymore."
Carrack grinned.
"I'd like some money, though," Kenny said with sarcastic cheer, holding out his hand.
"No, sorry," Carrack replied. "I don't think I'm not nice. You'll have to survive without money. Sorry."
"Aww," Kenny faked disappointment. "Well it's all right," he assured him, picking up his bag. "I'll see you...out there I guess."
"Oh, sure. Space is big enough. My mother fits in it well enough anyway," he laughed.
Kenny chuckled and nodded in agreement. "I'll see ya around, sir."
They exchanged smiles one last time.
"Ciao," Kenny said, backing away.
"Ciao, Kenny."
He turned around and headed for the open ramp of the military transport waiting for him. Inside, he was as jittery as a grasshopper, excited to be returning to the Dalaman and see all his old friends again. It had been his original post when he had first joined the Alliance, but he'd then been transferred, much to his sadness, to the Saplan after only six months. He had made a lot of friends on the Dalaman in his short time, and hadn't seen any of them since he'd left.
The Dalaman had lost its Commander in the Battle of Deil Nine, and none had been assigned to it yet. Kenny had been the first one to call Captain F'ter'yu and the Office of Transfers. Now he was on the way back to his original post, as its new Commander, while Colonel Tor'al Pidek was promoted to Commander of the Saplan. Kenny felt a bursting pride upon hearing about that, but that was nothing compared to the excitement he felt about going back to the Dalaman again. He couldn't wait.
10: 21 AM Curansti time; Thirty-two days after the Battle of Deil Nine; Curansti Repair Depot.
"She's free! She's free!" Max Forrester called, like a happy child, out the window. "Wohoo, yeah!" Outside the window of the depot's Starlight Lounge, the winged Cruiser Dalaman pushed itself out of Main Cage Four, its repairs all done. The mighty starship's propulsion was a spectacle in itself, a symbol of power who's size and grace could pull inspiration, drive, and excitement out of anyone's heart with its presence and glory. It made anyone who watched—and many did, now, inside the bar—proud to be an Alliance citizen. "Cruis-er!Cruis-er!Cruis-er!Crui—" Max kept shouting.
Clara let herself roll with laughter before she tried to stop him. "—Max!" She pressed her palm at him in a "stop" gesture. "Max, stop, okay. Calm down."
Max just smiled and went on, standing up now and pumping his fist, shouting obnoxiously, "Cruis-er!Cruis-er!Cruis-er!—"
As expected, he attracted much attention by his shouting. People at other tables looked up from their drinks, some laughing, scowling in disgust, rolling his/hers eyes, telling him to "Shut up!" or "Be quiet!"in their own languages; one human even flicked him off, either drunk or just annoyed.
Max himself might have been a little tipsy, but Clara doubted it. He'd only had one drink so far, an Elasken crit, which was only twenty percent Elasken liquor, Elasken liquor being weaker than human liquor. He wasn't drunk, or close to it. Yet. This was the way Max acted a lot of the time. He was a "free spirit" human, a type of human found commonly throughout the galaxy nowadays. With enough liquors available to fill ten oceans, it wasn't surprising to find that many Alliance officers were "free spirit citizens," human and alien alike. But Clara had to admit, most of the "free spiriters" were fun to be around and, when they weren't drunk, were actually decent people. And she loved Max as almost a brother, so she could never bring herself to criticize him for any of his wild and crazy antics.
"Hey, fat boy!" came a shout over the loudspeaker, which Clara knew was tied into the Universal Translator. "Sit down and be quiet—"
Max suddenly stopped chanting and turned a full 180 degrees towards the bar, eyes angrily searching for the bartender. "Hey! Who the fuck said that!"
Clara's smile disappeared faster than light traveled.
"Who you callin' 'fat boy!'" He suddenly started charging for the bar.
"Max!" Clara tried to call him back. This was strange. Max very rarely took offense at the mention of his weight.
"Huh? Where are ya, coward! Little sonofa—"
Murmurs started filtering through the shocked crowd. Clara saw the security guards starting forward slowly, ready to pounce if the situations escalated any further.
"I'm right here! Right side of the bar coming out!" came the loudspeaker voice.
Max stopped and looked in that direction. Clara followed his gaze and spotted a tall, wiry Trisalkan step around the counter and out onto an edge of the bar floor. By now, all eyes were focused on the argument. People around Max were standing to try and get him to calm down. He shrugged them off, though, sizing up the bartender, face still frozen in anger. Then suddenly, the anger disappeared in a flash, and was replaced by a look that seemed as though he were mocking the bartender. "Oh, okay, man. Calm down, just tryin' to find ya, that's all. See whatcha look like You're a good lookin' man sir." He turned his big head sideways, batted his eyelashes and then winked at the bartender, as a joke. The whole crowd either laughed, chuckled, and sighed in relief. Clara was one the sighers. "I won't mess with ya," Max added, starting to back up towards his seat. "I'll stop chantin' 'Cruis-er!'...anymore. Sorry." He turned and started back for his table.
The bartender, looking surprised by this sudden turn in behavior, scowled at him. "You better not!" he told the human. Max just raised his hand up in a "thumbs up" as the security guards slowly stepped back to their posts again. The murmuring ensued a bit longer before regular conversations returned, while the soft music kept coming from the speakers.
Clara shook her head at him as he returned. "Max, you're a headcase," she said with a laugh.
He shrugged and straddled his chair again, next to her. "Its not my fault their bartender's a good-lookin' guy, I mean—"
She smiled in humor.
Max broke into his own grin. "Did you see the heinous look on his face when I winked at him?" He repeated the wink to show her. "It looked as if he was expecting me to jump on him or kiss him or something. He looked scared as hell, like I was about to rape him. 'Help me help me, get this fat piece-of-shit, but also very good looking guy, off me!'" He changed subject in the blink of an eye. "Do you think I'd look good in a wig?"
She looked at him like he was stupid. Then, wildly shrugging her shoulders, she answered: "I don't know. A little, maybe."
"Aw, come on, I wouldn't look good in a wig?"
"I don't know Max. Maybe."
"I think I'd look good. Depends what wig though. You think I'd look good in a blonde?"
"I DON'T KNOW MAX!" Clara said with moderate hysteria. She then scanned him once. "Maybe a blonde. I kind of see more of a brunette though. Look like Carmen Ashurst in Poppy Ponytails."
Max screwed his face in disgust. "Ew, please no."
Clara laughed delightfully. "'No, Poppy, don't do that. That's wrong for you to do,'" she said in a deep, sweet voice, impersonating the actress Carmen Ashurst as Heather Heartgold.
"Shut up," Max said, trying not to laugh.
"'I really don't think what you're doing is right—'"
"Stop," Max said, playfully shoving her on the shoulder.
Clara re-balanced. "You'd be so funny-looking. It would be like walking one day and looking over and seeing Carmen Ashurst come walking down the hall," she began laughing again.
Max decided to play along this time. His eyes became big and flashy, lips flattening into an elliptical "Oh" shape. Max sat up straight trying to impersonate good posture. He ended up standing up and walking like he was dignified; like Carmen Ashurst.
As he did this, and Clara got another laugh, a Hyrellian announcer walked up to a microphone placed on the stage and tapped it once to get the rooms attention. Behind the man, the stage was set for the evenings entertainment, with three stools, two on both sides of the stage and one in middle by the microphone, and a set of band drums near the back. Word around the Depot was that the Eggheads had been called in, from their Desperate Soul Tour. The Hyrellian stepped up to the microphone and began to speak. All around the bar and dining areas, species from dozens of different worlds, except for any Hyrellians of course, raised their UT boxes to their ears in preparation.
Clara didn't bother to put hers up. She knew he was announcing the band on stage, so she really didn't care. Next to her, Max put his up to his ear.
The Hyrellian spoke in his language, a clear-cut paragraph of syllables and pronunciations alien to Clara, though she decided to listen to the translation coming from Max's UT. "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time our musical guests will begin their performance." Clara grimaced slightly. She hated how all universal translators were so...monotonous. "Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen the Falsorn Eggheads." He started off the stage.
The band came out, the Caldoran lead singer Lorg Bearpolsin first, carrying nothing on him. The other three were humans, whom Clara didn't no much about. She only knew the name of their drummer: Josh. The other two—one short human guitar player, the other another human, tall and muscular who had an electric bass player—she didn't know at all.
The crowd cheered loudly as the popular band made their way on stage and took their respective seats; Lorg to the mike, Josh to his drums, the guitar player to his stool on the left, the bass player to his stool on the right. Before they were even in place, Lorg stepped up to the mike and started talking. "Hello Curansti base," he said in very good Basic. "How are all you guys tonight?"
The crowd cheered again, wildly, like at a huge concert. The sudden sound made Clara jump in her seat.
Lorg grinned delightfully. "Havin' fun? Ya know,—"
The crowd surged with shouts and "woops." Max stood up and shouted "Cruis-er!" Clara grabbed his pant legs and shoved him back down into the chair.
Lorg took a moment to snicker at the reaction and continued. "Ya know, you guys, you Alliance people, did an honorable thing up there a month ago. You-all, I mean...I can't even..." he shook his tan-colored head a moment in amazement, then stepped back from the mike. The crowd slowly began to applaud again. "Great job everybody," Lorg continued. He kept shaking his head, and eventually clapped his hands in applause. "Let's hear it for the Rebel Alliance everybody!"
The applause heightened greatly like the chorus in a song. Clara clapped along with them, Max going crazy next to her but not shouting "Cruis-er!"
"Truly amazing people!" Lorg finished. "All right, well we have a great concert planned for you, especially for you pilots and people. For those of you who've already been to one of our concerts, we're gonna play the same songs, just not in the same order. Just so you're clear on that...oh! And also, we're going to try a new song we just wrote in the last few months, called 'Fucking Bucket-heads.' I think you guys will like it. It's about how much we hate the Empire."
The crowd roared again.
"All right. Here we go. First song Josh the drummer back there wrote. It's called 'Beneath it all.' I'm sure you guys are familiar with it! So here we go! Josh,"—pointing right to the bass player—"Reggie"—pointing left to the guitar player—"Kyle"—pointing to himself—"my name is Lorg and we are the Falsorn Eggheads. Hit it!" Reggie began the song instantly, flicking one of the strings—Clara believe it to be top one from she could see in the dim light—up and down, up and down.
As the guitar layer was added to this, Clara suddenly felt someone approaching her. Turning around in her chair curiously, Clara at first looked at the waist of a wiry man in a plain black shirt, with light blue jeans on, and a plain brown belt with a gold buckle. Looking up, she locked eyes with a man who she hadn't seen at all in nearly four years.
Michael Morano looked down at her with sick, sad, nervous eyes. His lips were pursed, almost sealed shut, as if he was holding in air, waiting for someone to punch him. Attempted a happy smile, he said "Hi."
In a flash—the last time she saw him, piloting the green hovercar towards the block railing; him pleading for a place to stay for "one night!", that simultaneously flashing with the horrible memory of her dear husband Lionel laying dead on the couch, a gigantic hole in his stomach; digging her short nails into the skin of Michael's throat as they hid from Cinnigis the bounty hunter. All those memories—those nightmares—passed through Clara in an instant. All the feelings of hate and anger she had felt came rushing back to her at once, and her happy mood disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Still, she tried to suppress most of it. "Hi," she said, quickly and seriously, not smiling, as she turned back around, focusing on the plastic tabletop.
A long pause ensued between them, the loud music serving as somewhat of a metaphorical barrier.
"How have you been?" Michael asked finally.
"Good," Clara answered dully. She hesitated before adding, "You?"
"I've been pretty good."
. Michael nodded thoughtfully, seeming like her was scared of her, like he was some prisoner brought before Emperor Palpatine. "Did you...fight in the Battle?"
"What do you think?" Clara asked coldly. If I didn't fly in the battle, then why would I be here? What was he doing here anyway? She still blamed him for what happened to Lionel. Didn't he know that? If he just hadn't showed up on Sudia...
"I think you probably did," he said with a chuckle that was too big for the joke.
Clara rolled her eyes in disgust at the pathetic attempt. She was steadily growing weary of him standing so near her again after four years. Why'd he have to talk to her? "What do you want?" she practically spat, still not looking but instead trying to focus on the band, and phase him out, not expecting him to have anything good to say.
Michael held up his hands in surrender. "Just wanted to say 'hi.' That's all."
"Haven't you said it already yet?"
Michael's brow furrowed, congruent with his frown. He smacked his lips. "I also wanted to talk to you too, if you could spare a moment of your obviously busy life."
"I'm with somebody right now. Come back later."
"You'll be gone later. The Harvester'll be done in an hour, and you'll be gone."
Clara got up, grabbing her empty glass as she did. She planned to drop the glass of at the bar and then leave as fast as she could, desperately wanting to get away from him now. "Yeah, and hopefully you'll understand, I'm sure. Duty calls for us freedom-fighters. Don't kill anybody else over it." With that she headed for the bar.
Michael glared at her furiously, astounded that she would say something like that. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her upper arm. "Is that supposed to make me feel guilty—?"
She furiously slapped his hand off of her. "—Don't touch me—!"
He let his arm be batted away but continued arguing angrily."—for something? I didn't kill him, remember? Cinnigis did!"
"Yes, and he was hunting you," she snarled, speedily walking away towards the bar.
Michael gave chase, not wanting to lose her again. "You think I wanted—?" He barely got a step before Max got up and held him back, latching a fat, rigid hand onto Michael's shoulder.
"Hey. Leave Clara alone. She was enjoyin' herself until you walked up. Leave her alone."
Michael fiercely shrugged him off. "Let me go, I wanna talk to her." With a final glare, he started after her.
Max gave chase to him. "Don't you know how to listen? She said she doesn't wanna talk."
"Shut! Up!"
Max's face reddened. Anger flooding him, he charged at Michael's back, grabbing hold of his left arm, then reaching around and taking a handful of his shirt. Before Michael could stop him, Max—
"Get offa me!"
—backed him up towards the nearest table, as the music continued to sound loudly in the background. The table's occupants didn't notice Max dragging the other man towards them, all concentrated on the concert with their drinks all empty. "Excuse me!" Max shouted as he forced Michael's body into the table's rim. The customers sitting at the table all jumped and turned their attention to the action happening right in front of them.
"What the hell—!"
"Swe'rer hyt daser—?"
"Griffi das-sin juil—?"
Thighs buckling, Michael was flung flat onto the tabletop, stomach to the ceiling, with's Max's hands on his arms.
"What are you doing?" Michael growled as he furiously squirmed in Max's grip. "LET GO!" He kicked Max's legs as best he could, but he was helpless against the bigger's man presence and strength. When Max had had enough of getting hit in the sides of his knees, he vehemently brought his elbow down onto Michael's left knee, feeling his nerves spark with a temporary pain as a result. Michael yelped in pain and gritted his teeth, stalling his squirming for a couple of moments.
Max used the time wisely. "I can't let you talk to her. Because she said she didn't want to."
Michael resumed his squirming, more intense then before. The table was shaking furiously as a result, and its occupants were growing immensely discomforted, to say the least. One had already gone to get either security or the bartender. "It's important to us, not to you. Now let me GO!" He tried to lift his upper body, but's Max flattened him again instantly.
"Can't do that!"
Michael's dark look darkened even further. Max swore that Michael wanted to kill him right then and there. "This is none of your business. Stay! Out of it!" He tried again to free himself, now squirming to the point where Max knew he couldn't hold him down for very much longer. But the bigger man ignored the smaller one, searching the bar from corner-to-corner for Clara. He didn't find her, so he finally let Michael up, backing away from the supercharged man. Speaking quickly: "You lead Cinnigis straight to Lionel. How were you expecting her to react? Were you expecting her to hug you?" Max said in a sarcastic sweet voice.
Michael spun on his heels, yelling in rage, "It's none of your damn business! Stay out of it!"
Max yelled even more in his own rage. "Man don't you tell me it's none-a-my-damn-business. I understand her, I care abo—!"
"I understand her too!"
"What! No you don't! How could you?"
"We're old friends! I'm sure she's told you that! Now excuse me! I hope I haven't lost her yet thanks to you!" He stormed towards the bar's entrance.
"Really? And where have you been the last four years, huh!"
Michael stopped dead in his tracks.
"Where you been! You been by her side at all these last four years? Answer me, Mr. 'Friend'!"
The other man turned fast again, glaring at Max in coldness. "I've been busy running from the Empire. I didn't contact her because I was afraid the Empire would trace it. I cared about her and I didn't want her to get caught! I already feel bad enough for what happened to Lionel! I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I made another mistake like that! If she died because of my mistakes..." He paused to let his words sink in on Max. "So don't you try and make it look like I'm the bad guy. I came to apologize in person for what happened, and I was hoping she'd forgive me too."
Max's iron-clad stare didn't break. If he was affected at all by what Michael had said, he didn't let it show. "I don' think she wants to," he cautioned. "Call it a hunch, but..."
"Like I said before, it's none of your business. What happened on Sudia is between us. Stay out of it." He turned his head around slowly to scan for any sign of Clara. "Thanks to you I probably lost her for good." Starting for the exit, he finished with, "Idiot."
Max's face reddened again, and he was about to start running his mouth again. Until he saw the man from the table coming back with two security guards tailing him. The guards, one human and one large Fedrellon, were extremely muscular and scary-looking. It was then that Max noticed that almost everyone was paying attention to him and Michael, and not to the Eggheads still playing on stage, finishing up their first song. Suddenly becoming aware of the attention, he ignored his urge to revel in it, chagrined over Michael's attempt to talk to Clara. Before the guards could even get near enough to grab him, he shouted, "I'm going!" and barreled past them, speedily walking to the entrance, himself wanting to find Clara as well.