It had been a week since his sentencing hearing. During that time, he had received only a minimal amount of information regarding Cyclonis. He had learned what her sentence was and that she had been in the infirmary ever since. No one had told him why, but he had his suspicions. He had waited patiently for a couple of days to see if Captain Swift would seek out his assistance, as he had before, but he never did. He wasn't surprised. They had staged a nearly successful escape attempt with minimal planning. It was hardly a shock that they wouldn't be trusted around one another now. So he had taken matters into his own hands, feigning illness convincingly enough to be brought to the infirmary.
It was a gamble that paid off.
He was examined by a dark-haired woman in her mid-30s. She had given him a look that told him that she wasn't fooled by his acting skills but had nonetheless told the guards who had brought him in that she would be keeping him for further testing and observation. She had then sent the guards to sit by the door before sitting at the medic's station and getting on the radio, having a conversation that was too quiet for him, or the guards by the door, to hear.
After getting off the radio, she spent a few minutes working on some paperwork before walking over to the only other medic in the infirmary, who had spent the entire time he'd been there peering into one of the cells on the other side of the infirmary through the window in the door. She gave the younger woman some instructions before beckoning over one of the guards. She then swung by the medic's station once more to gather some supplies onto a metal rolling tray and wheeled it over to him.
She rolled up the sleeve on his free arm. "Nice veins," she complimented him, tying a tourniquet. She grabbed a needle and vial as the guard and the other medic passed by, leading Cyclonis to a cot further down the row. "No," she told them, pointing to the cot next to his with the needle. "That one."
"But ma'am," the guard began, only to be cut off by her.
"But nothing. Inez, this is a good time to take your lunch. Weaver, it's easier for me to have them next to each other rather than walk back and forth the length of the infirmary between them. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Warden Cormorant. I've been complaining about how short-staffed my infirmary is for years. But maybe he'll listen to you." She punctuated her words by not so gently jabbing the needle into the crook of his arm and slotting the vial into the hub, drawing blood.
"Thanks, Lory," the young medic said as the guard, grumbling, cuffed Cyclonis to the cot next to his.
Lory removed the now full vial, waving Weaver back toward the door before slotting a second vial into the hub. She remained quiet as she filled the second vial and then a third before removing the tourniquet and the needle and bandaging his arm. She looked into his eyes, then Cyclonis', and back to his. "Don't make me regret this," she said before wheeling her tray back to the medic station, tossing the needle into a bin with a picture of a syringe on the side and sitting down, taking her time filling out labels and a requisition form.
He studied Cyclonis, noting how listless and downright sickly she looked. There were a couple of ways he could approach this. One was with kindness and compassion. The other way, however, was more likely to actually work.
"Haven't you pouted enough?"
"No," she replied irascibly.
"What is it you hope to accomplish?"
She gave him a look that answered his question better than words could, confirming his suspicions about why she hadn't been let out of the infirmary.
"You know you're giving them exactly what they want, don't you? Do you think the Council isn't being given regular updates on you? No doubt the Chairman pats himself on the back on a job well done after reading every report. He probably has an expensive bottle of champagne set aside for when you finally manage to off yourself. What a victory for the Free Atmos that will be. Public enemy number one, gone for good, and they didn't even have to lift a finger."
Her expression hardened. That was a good sign. But then she sighed and closed her eyes, the hopelessness creeping back onto her face. "That's not what they want."
"Why? Because they haven't made it easy for you? Of course they haven't. They have to keep up appearances, after all. But it's only a matter of time before they loosen up just enough to allow you an opening, and you'd better believe they're hoping you'll take it."
She frowned at him, and he pressed on. "If you were half the person I thought you were, you wouldn't even be considering giving them the satisfaction."
Oh, that earned him a proper glare from her. He almost smiled. Was it selfish of him to goad her into changing her mind? Perhaps. She was right. The tribunal didn't want them dead. If they did, they'd have done it themselves. The tribunal wanted them to suffer. But what greater proof was there that they had succeeded in their goal than trying to escape that fate in the most drastic way possible? He wasn't going to do it. And he would prefer it if she didn't, either. After all, misery loves company. And she was one of the very few people whose company he could tolerate. So if he was being selfish? So be it. He'd been called worse.
"At the very least, you should try to outlive the Chairman. The man's ancient, after all. How much time could he possibly have left in him?"
"Well, now that you've said that, he'll probably live another twenty years."
"Then so shall we, just to spite him."
"And then what?"
"Personally, I have a long list of people I'd like to see shuffle off this mortal coil before I do. Don't tell me you don't," he challenged her, but the brief fire he had sparked in her eyes earlier was fading.
"Outliving your enemies may be enough motivation for you, but it's not for me. Not when I know that they're out there living their lives, and I'm in here just…existing."
"You haven't even tried!" he said, more harshly than intended. "Don't be so short-sighted. So long as you're still breathing, nothing is set in stone. Anything could happen. We could still escape."
"We're being sent to Zartacla. Nobody escapes from Zartacla."
He huffed. "Please. Aerrow escaped from Zartacla."
"Aerrow is an outlier and should not be counted."
"Are you admitting to being less exceptional than him?" he baited her, but she didn't bite.
Instead, she flopped back on the cot and groused, "Why are you suddenly so optimistic?"
"What choice do I have? I'm no happier about this than you are, but I'll be damned if I'm going to lie down and die in response to this sentence."
She didn't respond, so he turned the screws a little more. "I don't think your father or grandmother would, either."
This time, her only response was a sigh, and he couldn't help but echo it. Was he really not reaching her at all? Having left them alone for as long as she could without making the guards antsy, Lory returned with her little wheeled tray. "Up," she said, and Cyclonis sat up. She took and recorded her vitals, then turned back to him. "Feeling any better?"
"Not yet," he answered. "I think I should stay here a little longer."
"Hmm," she said, sticking a thermometer in his mouth. Turning her attention to the tray, she handed Cyclonis a tiny pill cup, followed by a cup of water to swallow them with. Taking the thermometer out of his mouth, she glanced at it and said, "Yes, I would agree." She then handed him a little cup of pills. He peered into the cup suspiciously.
"They're vitamins," Cyclonis told him, noticing his look.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. Lory wouldn't poison us. Unfortunately."
"That kind of talk isn't helping you get discharged from the infirmary," Lory pointed out. Cyclonis shrugged, and Lory shook her head, clearly frustrated.
He took the vitamins, and Lory left them alone again under the pretense of updating the guards. As soon as Lory's back was turned, Cyclonis slumped back down onto the cot, looking sad and pathetic. Captain Swift and the medics had had to deal with this for two weeks? He'd been around her for roughly fifteen minutes, and he was already annoyed.
"Where has your sense of resiliency gone?" he asked her. "You win some, you lose some. Remember that? You used to pick yourself up after getting knocked down and be thinking three steps ahead by the time you were finished dusting yourself off. It was one of your most admirable traits. You seem to have misplaced it."
"I remember. I was hopelessly naive, wasn't I?"
"And now you're just hopeless. It's not a good look."
She didn't respond. As the silence stretched between them, he grew more and more peevish. He was about to call Lory back over, to ask her to clear him to go back to his cell, when Cyclonis finally spoke again.
"Fine."
"What?"
She sighed and sat back up, looking him in the eyes. "I'll try."
"Just so we're clear; when you say you'll try, you mean-" he prompted.
"I will do my best to not do anything drastic."
"What changed?"
"I owe it to you to try," she admitted.
"You don't owe me anything."
"You've stood by me throughout this whole nightmare. There were times when you could have betrayed me. You could have abandoned me. You didn't. I owe you."
He wasn't wholly satisfied. It was a precarious promise she was making him. He didn't doubt that she meant what she said at the moment, but he wondered if the motivation given was enough to actually follow through. He hoped that she'd think about what he said and add to her list of reasons to live. But for now, he'd take what he could get.
She stared up at the ceiling of her cell, her mind a tangle of thoughts since Ace's visit. His assessment had been harsh but not entirely unfair. Since the sentencing hearing, she'd cycled between feeling sorry for herself and numb. She supposed she was pouting, as Ace had so caustically put it, and she had little doubt that the Chairman was as pleased with himself over her response to her fate as Ace suggested.
She had to pull herself together and salvage what remained of her dignity. That had taken a beating lately, between the sentencing hearing itself and being watched every second of every day, no matter what she was doing. She could feel her face heat up, even though most of the medics had ignored her discomfiture at being accompanied into the room when attending to matters of personal hygiene. Only one had jeered at her and told her that bashfulness had no place within prison walls, and if she didn't like it, she shouldn't have gotten herself tossed into one. Sage advice. Why hadn't she thought of that before?
Her thoughts circled back to the promise she had made to Ace. She was a little embarrassed that it had taken Ace confronting her directly for her to question her own desire to end it all. Hadn't she, not so long ago, resolved not to do that so that the Free Atmos wouldn't brand her a coward? Granted, she had thought at the time that her untimely death was inevitable, so there was little harm in waiting for it to come at the hands of the executioner instead of her own. But then, it made a certain amount of sense to take your life on your own terms rather than let your enemies subject you to a potentially gruesome, excruciating death. Plenty of people might consider that prudence rather than cowardice. But to do so in response to lifetime imprisonment? There'd be no way to construe that as anything other than being shamefully gutless.
On top of that, Ace was right. She was clearly giving the tribunal what they wanted. She thought back to Ace's questioning if she had overplayed her hand. She hadn't thought she had at the time, but obviously, that had been the case. It was the only explanation for their decision. They knew what she wanted, and they denied it to her. This was vengeance, as sure as her own use of the crystal prison had been. Would she have been upset if any Sky Knights had chosen to fling themselves into the Wastelands rather than be pulled into the prison? Hardly. She'd have probably found it amusing. Why, then, would the tribunal be any different?
Unfortunately, she'd already put on quite the show for them at the hearing. They must have had a good laugh at her expense once she had been hauled out of there. Her face burned, and her eyes stung as anger and embarrassment flooded her again. The Storm Hawks had been there, too. That made it so much worse. She could already envision the gloating look on Piper's face the next time she saw her. Or worse, a pitying one. She hated both options.
The only way to move on from here and hopefully make herself and everyone else forget how pathetically she'd been handling things the past few weeks was to play it cool. And who knew? Maybe if she acted unbothered by her fate convincingly enough, she might actually be able to accept it.
Maybe.
Aerrow was getting a late start on washing the breakfast dishes while Piper sat cycling through radio stations, trying to find something good to listen to while they completed their chores.
Static. Hard rock that was more Finn's style than either of theirs. Static. Wallop opera. Static. Some sort of talk radio.
"Is it time for Chairman Tern to retire? For that matter, is it time for the entire Sky Knight Council to retire? The Council was formed to deal with the Cyclonian threat. They assure us that the Cyclonians are no longer a problem, yet the Council remains. What aren't they telling us? Is there something they know that we don't? Or do they just not want to give up power? Have we simply replaced the threat of one dictatorship with another? I want to hear what you think. Call lines will open up here in a second, but first, a word from our sponsors."
He threw a disbelieving look over his shoulder at Piper, who rolled her eyes in equal disgust and tuned to the next station. The rhythmic thump of techno music played for about twenty seconds before Piper changed the station again.
"-to tune in to tonight's episode of Inside Atmos where I, Guy Skyly, have an exclusive interview with Gunner, the aptly named ex-artilleryman of Terra Grotto's Sky Knight squadron, the Ballistic Bats. You may remember him as the man who served five years in the Stockade for manslaughter after a bar fight ended in tragedy. But since getting out, he's turned his life around and is currently an ambassador for the non-profit organization Project Rescue. He's spent the last two weeks at the refugee camp on Terra Esker, working with families from the Lost Nine to get them settled into new homes on new terras. As a former inmate of the Stockade, he's no stranger to privation. So how do conditions at Esker compare? His answer may shock you."
"Why does that sound almost as rabble-rousey as what that other host was saying?" Piper mused.
"Because it is," a new voice cut in as a woman with mousey brown hair and blue eyes strode into the kitchen. She was casually dressed in a black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt. "Outrage gets all the ratings these days. It'll die down eventually. Hopefully sooner rather than later."
"Hey, Starling," he greeted her with a smile, drying his hands as he turned and leaned against the kitchen counter. She returned his smile, fishing the chroma crystal she wore on a chain around her neck from underneath her shirt and pulling it off, setting it aside. Her hair and eyes reverted to their usual purple and green. The tribunal members still couldn't set foot outside without being harassed day and night. They were yelled at by protestors who were still clinging to their anger over their ruling. They were cheered by counter-protestors who recently began coming out of the woodwork, who felt that death was too good for the Cyclonians and that they deserved to rot in a cold, damp prison cell forever. And they were hounded by journalists trying to score interviews, or at least some good soundbites. Some, particularly Harrier and Suzy Lu, were taking it all in stride. But Starling, being the intensely private person she was, hated all the attention.
"Any news on when Ravess and Snipe's trial starts?" he asked.
"Hopefully never. They're aware that if this goes to trial, the charges against them for their recent actions can easily earn them a sentence of 25 years to life. And they aren't stupid, they know that with their…stop with the faces, both of you," she said with a poorly stifled laugh, and he did his best to look serious. "I'll rephrase. Ravess isn't stupid. And neither is Snipe's lawyer. They know that with their history, they're not likely to get out after only 25 years."
"What's the alternative?" he asked.
"They plead guilty to seditious conspiracy, serve twenty years in prison, and become ineligible to hold any public office within the Cyclonian Empire or the Free Atmos for life."
"People aren't going to like that," Piper said.
Starling shrugged. "There will be some grumbling, but I think Cyclonis unintentionally did them a favour by banishing them when she did. The average citizen doesn't really associate them with the worst of the crimes Cyclonia committed, and their failed revolt happened entirely on Cyclonian soil. Their names just don't generate the same level of outrage that Cyclonis' and Ace's do."
"Do you think they'll take the deal?"
"I know I would, but we won't know for sure until the end of the week. Speaking of the end of the week, what's this I hear about you volunteering to transport Cyclonis and the Dark Ace to Zartacla?"
"You know what they say: If you want something done right..."
"You don't trust the Stockade's staff? They've managed to transfer all the other Cyclonian prisoners without incident."
"It's not them I don't trust," he said, and she nodded.
"Well, I wish the timing was better. I'd offer to come along with you, but I need to be here for Ravess and Snipe's preliminary hearing."
"We appreciate it, but I think we'll be okay," he told her.
"We're not going to give them the chance to try anything," Piper agreed. "Aerrow and I plan to watch them like hawks," she finished with a grin.
"Besides, we need to introduce ourselves to the staff. We'll be visiting pretty often so that Piper can make sure those cuffs stay fully operational."
Starling grinned wryly as she reached for her chroma crystal necklace. "Lucky you."
Piper laughed. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta do it."
"Just promise me you'll be careful," Starling said as she redonned her disguise. "I wouldn't put anything past them. After all, what have they got to lose?"
"We promise."
Swift had noticed a slow but steady improvement in Cyclonis' demeanour in the days following the Dark Ace's visit to the infirmary. There were still times when she would become taciturn and moody, but overall she seemed to be doing better.
In response, they had slowly scaled back on the restrictions they had placed her under. They hadn't moved her from the infirmary; they weren't that naive. She could just be putting on an act, after all. But they had gone from watching her constantly to checking on her every fifteen minutes. She was given a blanket and a pillow, and when, after a few days, she hadn't made them regret loosening up a little, they switched to checking on her every thirty minutes.
As she recovered, however, she grew antsier. She was becoming snippier with the guards and some of the medics, and he could sense real boredom-induced trouble on the horizon. To stave that off, he started swinging by the infirmary every morning to drop off the daily newspaper. According to Lory, she read the damn thing cover to cover at least twice throughout the day, so after a few days, he started adding books to the routine. She seemed like the type to gravitate toward nonfiction, so he'd borrow books on subjects like science and philosophy from the library for her. He'd picked out a history book on the second day, but she accused it of being Atmosian propaganda and refused to read it. He'd made a mental note to steer clear of books on history and political science, a policy that had served him well in the days since. The guards hadn't had a single negative report to give since he started his little ritual, so he considered it a success.
It wasn't long before they received word that Zartacla was cleared to take on high-security prisoners, and with Cyclonis deemed to no longer be an imminent threat to herself, the transfer would take place at the end of the week. He waited until the morning of the transfer to tell her. After getting that news out of the way, he couldn't help but press one last time for a real answer to the question that had been plaguing him since he'd first gotten to know Cyclonis.
"I know you're sick of being asked this, but since this will be our last conversation, I would like an honest answer to this question."
"What question?"
"Do you regret any of the things you've done?"
She groaned in annoyance.
"You have nothing to lose by telling me the truth now."
"What does it matter?"
"I think I've earned an answer," he said. He didn't tell her that he considered himself good at reading people, and it bothered him that he couldn't get a bead on her. Because despite who she was, the things she had done, the trouble she had caused him personally, and the Dark Ace's snide warning all those weeks ago, she managed to trigger his paternal instincts. He didn't want to believe that she was the lost cause he had accused her of being in the wake of the verdict reading when everyone's tempers were piqued.
"It's…complicated," she hedged.
"Then let's make it simpler. Don't answer as Master Cyclonis. Answer as the person you are behind the title."
"I can't do that."
"Yes or no?"
"I made those decisions as Master Cyclonis."
"Yes or no?"
"I can't just separate myself from my position like that!"
"Sure you can. Captain Swift, Deputy Warden of this prison, has had to do things that Ethan Swift, the man, disagrees with. I have done things that I regret. See how easy that is?"
"Your name is Ethan?"
"That's one of the worst attempts at deflection I've ever heard. You should be embarrassed. Yes or no?"
"Are you just going to keep badgering me unt-"
"Yes or no?"
"Captain! I-"
"Yes or no?"
"Yes!"
He couldn't suppress a small smile, even as she looked troubled by her own response and quickly backtracked. "No! I meant no!"
"Having regrets isn't a bad thing."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is. It's a sign of weakness, and weakness is a quality that cannot and will not be tolerated in the Master."
"Having a heart is weakness?" Not for the first time, he wondered what the hell this child's upbringing had been like. Every time he talked to her, he was left with the overwhelming urge to go home and hug his own kids. "Did your grandmother teach you that?"
"Yes."
He usually wasn't in the habit of thinking ill of the dead, but he couldn't help the stab of hatred he felt toward the woman in question. "She was wrong."
"My grandmother was a great woman," she said, bristling. "She was never wrong!"
"In that case, it's a good thing that you aren't the Master anymore, isn't it? She wouldn't want such a weakling in charge, after all."
His jab was designed to illustrate how ridiculous she was being. Surely, she hadn't forgotten how close she had come to victory over the Atmos. Closer than the grandmother she obviously hero-worshipped ever had. She had been startlingly adept at conquest. There was a reason the tribunal had imposed the harshest sentence short of death that they could, and why even that wasn't enough for some. The thought of giving her the opportunity to finish what she started terrified many people.
But she didn't scoff as he expected. Instead, she looked stricken, like he had uncovered some deep, dark secret she had kept even from herself. He sighed inwardly. "You really think she'd be disappointed in you?"
"Why wouldn't she be?" she answered coldly.
"How old were you when you became the Master of Cyclonia?"
"Twelve."
"Twelve! I can't even trust my twelve-year-old to clean his room properly without supervision, and you had the weight of an entire empire dropped on your shoulders and were expected not only to govern it but expand it, too?"
"There was no other choice."
"She could have established a regency to rule Cyclonia until you came of age."
"That wasn't an option. There isn't a single Cyclonian who would be qualified to act as regent for six years and be willing to hand that power back to me once I turned eighteen."
"I'm sure she could have figured something out. If she had, you wouldn't be here now. She failed you, not the other way around."
"You know nothing of what it takes to rule Cyclonia, and you know nothing of her!"
"I know that nothing good can come from chasing after the approval of ghosts. Don't you think it's time to stop trying to be her and just be yourself instead?"
That just seemed to dispirit her further. "What does it matter?"
"You still have to live with yourself, don't you? Do you want to spend the rest of your life bitter and angry because you don't think you've lived up to the standards set for you by a dead woman?"
"Would you rather I spend it racked with guilt over the harm I've caused?"
"Are you racked with guilt?"
"No. Alright, yes, there are some things that I would do differently if I could go back and do them over. But I did what I thought was best at the time, what I thought would expedite the process of conquering the Atmos."
"After everything you heard at your trial, if you had to do it all over, you'd still try to take over the world?"
"Why wouldn't I? Cyclonia looked to me to restore it to its former glory."
"Which you could have done if you had focused your time and effort on improving your empire instead of conquering more terras. One terra cannot rule a thousand others. What's good for the people of Cyclonia isn't the same as what's good for the people of Bogaton, Mesa, or Amazonia. That's why the original Cyclonian Empire failed. It couldn't meet the needs of all of its people. The Chairman was trying to tell you that on the first day of the trial, but you wouldn't listen. Terras need the freedom to govern themselves. They shouldn't be dictated to by some out-of-touch royal sitting on a throne halfway across the world."
She crossed her arms and scoffed, and he decided to try a different approach. "Did you even want to rule the world?"
That seemed to catch her off guard. "What?"
"You heard me. Conquest is the fun part. But once you conquer the world, you have to rule it. A thousand terras, each with its own unique needs to meet and problems to solve. And every one of them would be your responsibility. You don't think you'd have burned out after a few years of that?"
"I'm under no illusions that it would have been easy, but it is what I was born to do, and I would've performed my duties to the best of my abilities," she said, but he could tell that he had struck a chord. And, going off the resigned look in her eyes, this wasn't the first time she had considered what a burden ruling the world would realistically be.
"I don't doubt that," he agreed. "But did you really want to?"
She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's not going to happen now."
"No, it's not. But we've gotten off-topic. I had a point I was trying to make. You need to find a way to make peace with yourself and how this has all played out. You'll never be able to do that if you can't let go of the person you think you should be and allow yourself to just be you."
She considered that with a pensive frown. "People don't want me to find peace. They want me to be miserable."
"You're going to prison for the rest of your life. Being miserable is a given. Do you want to make it worse by stubbornly clinging to the idea that you have to be your grandmother's clone and beating yourself up every time you think or feel something she wouldn't?"
She didn't answer him, but he wasn't bothered. At least she wasn't arguing against what he said, which was a promising sign.
"Speaking of not being any more miserable than necessary, I'm sending your radio with you to Zartacla."
"Is that allowed?"
"I cleared it with them. As long as you behave yourself, they won't take it away."
Again, she didn't say anything. He cupped his hand behind his ear, giving her an expectant look. She scrunched her face in annoyance but thanked him, and he nodded his acknowledgment.
He checked the time and sighed. "It's almost time for your transfer," he announced. "Remember what I've taught you. Be respectful toward the guards, keep your hands to yourself, and please stay out of trouble." He stuck out his hand and, with a look of mild surprise, she shook it.
"Take care of yourself, Captain," she told him, and it was his turn to be pleasantly surprised. She sounded like she meant it. He nodded again before leaving to finalize the transfer paperwork.
The trip to Zartacla was painfully awkward but thankfully uneventful. They kept their prisoners separated, leaving Stork alone to fly the Condor while he and Piper kept watch over Cyclonis, and Finn and Junko guarded Dark Ace.
Piper tried making small talk a few times, but all her efforts were rebuffed by Cyclonis, who seemed disinterested in even looking at Piper, let alone talking to her. After a while, the silence made him uncomfortable enough to try breaking the ice.
"So, uhhh, you excited to be going to Zartacla?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt himself turn as red as his hair. What kind of question was that? Why did he say that?
Cyclonis just stared at him before finally shifting her gaze to Piper. She didn't have to say anything. The look she gave her was easy enough to interpret. 'You chose this idiot's friendship over mine?' that look said.
Piper, who might have laughed at him under different circumstances and in other company, just frowned back at her as if it were Cyclonis' fault that he had said something stupid. "You don't want to talk? Fine, we don't want to talk to you, either."
"Fine by me," Cyclonis responded.
Piper struck up a conversation with him shortly after that, and while neither of them purposefully tried to exclude Cyclonis, she stuck to her guns and never once tried to join in. Communication between them was kept to a bare minimum during the entire trip. When they finally made it to Zartacla, he was relieved not only to have made it there without the Cyclonians causing any trouble but also for an escape from Cyclonis' oppressive stubbornness.
After being granted permission to enter Zartacla's restricted airspace, Stork called him up to the bridge. He watched through the windshield as they made their approach, looking down upon the prison. The prison as he had known it was still standing, but it was now flanked by two long, barracks-like buildings. All three structures were encircled by an imposing-looking wall, even taller than the one already surrounded the central prison. Outside the wall, crews in orange jumpsuits were clearing more land. Aerrow wondered how much farther they intended to expand outward.
As they got closer, he saw that the Cyclonian symbols had been taken down and replaced with aquamarine flags bearing Zartacla's new emblem, a black and white diving gannet. He also saw platoons of green-clad inmates running through drills within one of the large, enclosed prison yards surrounding the new barracks. The Council hadn't offered up much information about how Zartacla operated these days, but he had learned enough to identify these guys as the Talons who had refused to forsake their oaths. They were considered the lowest risk inmates, and their section of the prison was run like a boot camp. The justification behind that was twofold. First, it was believed that even the stubbornest of Talons would eventually get so sick of being treated like a raw recruit that they would finally concede and renounce their old oaths. Second, it would keep them in fighting form so that they could transition straight into the Cyclonian Defence Force should they choose to go that route after their release.
That meant that the other barracks housed the Talons they had been fighting against since the fall of Terra Cyclonia, who had chosen to follow Ravess and Snipe in their continued fight against the Free Atmos. That left the central prison for the high-security inmates: Talon officers and imperial officials who had been convicted of their own crimes, and soon, their two guests.
They were instructed where to land, and then he and his team escorted Cyclonis and the Dark Ace to the skimmer bay. The bay door opened, and he stood in shocked silence at the sight that greeted them.
"Always knew we'd meet again, but I reckon neither of us expected it'd be like this. Isn't that right, son?" came Mr. Moss' familiar drawl. Beside him, Hamish grinned and gave a friendly wave. They were dressed in uniforms similar to their old ones, except the olive green and red had been replaced by navy blue and aquamarine, with the Zartaclan gannet taking the place of the Cyclonian raven.
Cyclonis' and Dark Ace's snickering jolted him back into action.
"What're you doing here?" he demanded. "Last time I saw you-"
"You didn't think a few Fire-Scorpions would be the end of me, did you?" Mr. Moss interrupted, chuckling.
"I had hoped," he muttered. Louder, he continued, "That doesn't explain what you're doing here."
"This is my prison," the man answered matter-of-factly.
"How? Why? You're a Cyclonian!"
"Correction, I was a Cyclonian. Now, if you don't mind, I'm taking custody of my prisoners."
"Thanks for the ride, Storm Hawks," Cyclonis said smugly as she moved to disembark. He held out an arm, blocking her path.
"No, no way! No one's going anywhere yet."
"Dude, what are you doing?" Finn asked him.
"There's been some mixup here, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it," he told him. "I'm calling the Sky Knight Council."
Mr. Moss didn't look fazed at all by the suggestion. "That's a fine idea. Let's go give 'em a call," he said, starting up the ramp.
Aerrow jabbed a finger at him. "Stay off my ship!"
"Now, son, don't go gettin' yourself all worked up over nothing."
"Aerrow, maybe you should let him come with us. It might get this all sorted out faster," Piper suggested.
"Fine, but I want you and Finn to stay here with these two," he said, motioning to the Cyclonians. "Junko and Radarr can come with me to make sure the warden here doesn't get any funny ideas."
Radarr scrabbled up to his shoulder and bared his teeth at Mr. Moss, growling lowly.
"I think we should all go," Cyclonis suggested. She was clearly enjoying this, which made him even more annoyed. "I'd love to hear this conversation."
Piper opened her mouth like she would say something to Cyclonis, but Mr. Moss beat her to it.
"I don't recall anyone asking you your opinion, inmate. You're gon' stay right here." Cyclonis' pleased smirk faltered, plainly surprised to be spoken to like that by someone she still saw as an underling. But Aerrow wasn't impressed. This could easily be an act on Moss' part.
"What should I do, Mr. Moss, sir?" Hamish asked.
"You stay here, too, and help guard the prisoners. This won't take long."
Hamish snapped off a salute, and Aerrow turned and stalked off toward the bridge, Junko and Mr. Moss in tow. Stork, busy tinkering with the helm's instrumentation, looked up as they entered. He looked from Mr. Moss to him, not needing words to convey his message.
"I know, Stork," he sighed as he made a beeline for the radio and immediately got a Council Hall clerk on the line.
"This is Aerrow, Sky Knight of Terra Atmosia. I need to speak with Chairman Tern immediately."
"I'm sorry, Chairman Tern is unavailable. He's in court right now and is not to be disturbed unless it's an emergency."
"Are any other Councilmembers free?"
A few minutes later, he was being greeted by one. "This is Councilman Canastero. What can I do for you, Aerrow? I hope you haven't run into any trouble."
"No trouble, Councilman. I'm just confused why Mr. Moss is still the warden here at Zartacla instead of one of its inmates."
Silence.
"Councilman? Is Mr. Moss still the warden here?" he asked, casting a suspicious look over toward the man, who just smiled at him with that sky shark's smile of his. Maybe he had staged a coup and taken over the prison, but no one knew yet.
"Yes, Aerrow, he is."
Well, there went that theory.
"How is that possible? After everything's he done?"
"That's the thing, Aerrow, technically speaking, he hasn't done anything. There's no evidence of illegal activity occurring at Zartacla under his watch."
"That's ridiculous! Cyclonis and Dark Ace were convicted of falsely imprisoning people here!"
"Because of a lack of due process being followed before sentencing. There's no proof Mr. Moss had any involvement in that."
"What about the mistreatment of prisoners?"
"That conviction was largely based on conditions at Cyclonian labour camps and the inhumane nature of the crystal prison. No one is saying that Zartacla under Cyclonian rule was a pleasant place. And Cyclonian disciplinary practices tend to be harsher than our own. But as I said before, there's no evidence of anything blatantly illegal happening there. Mr. Moss knows that prison better than anyone. Furthermore, he's cooperated with us every step of the way since our acquisition of Zartacla, overseeing its renovation and working with us to ensure a smooth transition. He also readily renounced not only his Talon oaths but his Cyclonian citizenship, as well."
"That's awfully convenient. I don't believe for one second that he isn't still loyal to Cyclonia. To Cyclonis! And I'm just supposed to leave her here?"
"I can assure you that I am loyal, first and foremost, to this prison," Mr. Moss cut in. "It doesn't make a lick of difference to me which side claims it. It's mine, and I won't compromise its integrity for anybody."
"You believe this?" Aerrow asked.
"Yes, we do," Canastero answered for the Council. "Besides, he knows how it will look should he misplace any of his prisoners. Some more than others. Isn't that right, Jebediah?"
Mr. Moss' face darkened at the veiled threat behind the words, but he answered smoothly, "Right you are, Councilman."
Junko looked at him and shrugged. He knew what he was thinking. If the Council trusted Mr. Moss to keep running this prison, shouldn't they? It made sense. Not only did Mr. Moss take pride in running Zartacla, but would he really be willing to risk his own skin for someone else? Even if that someone else was his former empress? Maybe not. But he still couldn't shake his own doubts. "I'm sorry, but I don't buy it. I'm formally protesting this decision and requesting to return Cyclonis and the Dark Ace to the Stockade."
"Your protest is noted, but your request is denied," Canastero told him, not even hesitating. "Aerrow, Zartacla is more secure now than ever before, and half the staff are veterans from terras all across the Free Atmos."
"Which means the other half are Cyclonians," he pointed out.
"Former Cyclonians, now all citizens of the Free Atmos by their own choice. My point is that it has been decided that Zartacla is the best facility for all of our Cyclonian prisoners. So we expect you to follow your orders and complete your mission. If you wish to discuss the matter further, we can do so after you return to Atmosia."
The last was a clear dismissal. Aerrow wanted to keep arguing, but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere. "Yes, sir," he said curtly and ended the conversation.
"Doom, doom, and more doom," Stork muttered as he polished up the gauges. For once, Aerrow agreed.
"I told you you were workin' yourself into a tizzy over nothing," Mr. Moss said, clapping him on the shoulder. Hard.
"Yeah, well, I hope you're telling the truth for your sake. Cause it kinda sounded to me like if you're not, you'll be the one on the wrong side of the bars."
"Despite what you might think of me, I'm no liar. Now, I understand that we'll be seeing a lot of each other from here on out, so what do you say we bury the hatchet and start fresh? I'll even forgive you for what you done to Bessie. How's that sound?"
"Great," he said, not even trying to hide his lack of excitement.
They returned to the skimmer bay, where he filled the rest of his squadron in on what the Council had said while Mr. Moss wasted no time marching his newest prisoners down the ramp, where they were met by two more guards.
"We're burning daylight, boys. They should've been at reception an hour ago. I want 'em processed and locked in their cells by sundown."
Aerrow frowned as he watched them go. It felt like all his worst fears about using Zartacla to imprison the Cyclonians were being realized. He really hoped he'd be proven wrong.