41: True Allegiances
Toron Kavellan was tired. So very tired. He practically collapsed into a vacant chair in the front lobby of the Varganian Governor's estate, his uniform covered in soot and dirt, as was every inch of exposed skin. The inside of the lobby was otherwise clean and tidy, an odd contrast to the mess the battle had left in the surrounding neighbourhoods. Some distant weapons fire could be heard, along with the occasional explosion; pockets of Union soldiers were being hunted down and either eliminated or forced to surrender. Troops from the Tornya colony had landed all about the city to reinforce the defenders, and it was believed that the battle would be over by sundown.
That was all this was: a battle. One single, violent conflict that spelled the start of a much larger war. The Union attack fleet had pulled out, presumably to head home and reinforce. They would be back, sooner or later. The High Protector would not allow a rebellion like this to gain any further traction, even if it was apparent that at least two major colonies had now turned against his rule. More could follow, with the Arkava colony being almost a certainty.
For now, Toron could get some rest. The lobby was mostly empty, save for a pair of defence force soldiers standing guard near the entrance. Grand General Masrak was presumably still inside the command bunker underneath the building, with the bulk of non-combat staff having long since been evacuated. The normally bustling centre of Varganian government was quiet, and before long Toron was drifting off to sleep in the armchair. He must have dozed for some time, because when he awoke it was well into the afternoon, the light from outside having dimmed as twilight fell upon the region. And there, standing above him, was Masrak himself.
"You look terrible, Captain."
"I feel terrible." He recalled the wound at his left leg, and he realised that he had left it unattended. The General saw this, his eyes narrowing with some concern.
"I'll get a nurse over," he said, and he departed the room for a minute before he returned with a young nurse in tow, a female in the uniform of someone in the medical corps. Whilst Toron remained seated, she started work on cleaning the wound, her manipulation of it causing the young Captain some pain. Masrak remained nearby, pacing about the room, seemingly waiting for someone. Outside, the noises of the battle had ceased altogether, suggesting that the fight was over. At least for now, before the home-world sent more troops after them.
"The Governor is on his way," the General said, as he turned again to look towards Toron. "He'll want to congratulate you, personally."
"Will he?" Toron winced as the nurse cut away his scorched trousers around the wound. She did not seem too concerned with his discomfort, and so proceeded to douse the plasma burn in a thick, blue gel, a regenerative agent that was supposed to encourage tissue repair. This caused an immediate and painful burning sensation, and Toron let out an involuntary yelp. The nurse glanced up at him, emitting a dismissive sigh.
"Sit still," she ordered, and Toron, gritting his teeth, tried to do just that. As the gel seeped into his flesh, she began to bandage the wound in a grey field dressing, one infused with certain chemicals intended to aid coagulation and healing. She put it on tightly, sending some further pain up Toron's leg.
"I don't like the ceremonial stuff anymore than you do," Masrak said. "Still, it's necessary. The Governor wants to reassure the people and he needs some heroes to help do it. You're one of them."
"A hero for killing our own people?" Toron did not feel terribly glad about that, no matter how 'necessary' it had seemed. General Masrak gave a light shrug and slowly shook his head.
"It was going to happen, sooner or later," he stated. "Each major colony was left with its own degree of autonomy, certainly. But they are all part of the Union as a whole, and answerable to the home-world government. A system like that was never sustainable, and it's a miracle it lasted as long as it did. Eventually, people want to go their own way. And with an illegitimate ruler in charge, it has simply amplified existing issues."
"What are our chances?" Toron met the old General's eyes, seeing in them a weariness that had not been there previously. "Can we win a war against our own rulers?"
"Maybe." Masrak sounded uncertain. Who could be truly certain about such things, really? "It will take some doing, of course. Which is why we need people like yourself, role models for the rank and file. Fine leaders of men, those who aren't afraid to lead from the front and put their lives on the line." He nodded to Toron's leg wound, which was now thoroughly bandaged up. The nurse stood up again and closed her first aid kit, giving the General a nod before she turned and left, no doubt to tend to others in need of aid. Toron moved the leg up and down where he sat, feeling some small pain, but otherwise it had been nullified by the chemicals that had been applied to it. Nonetheless, he would be limping about for some time to come.
At that moment, Governor Nalgen entered the lobby, accompanied by the Governor of Tornya, Veia Corron. They were accompanied by a dozen armed soldiers and another half dozen of their staffers. Masrak turned to the new arrivals and offered a salute, with Corron returning the gesture with a smile. Of the pair of Governors, she looked positively pleased.
"I think you owe me, Grand General," she remarked. "You were in trouble for a while there."
"We were in trouble the whole time," the General replied. "You have my gratitude, Governor. However, the fight is far from over."
"Oh, I know," Corron said. "It's just getting started. I'm not sure whether to be excited or terrified. Perhaps a little bit of both?" She looked to Toron there, offering the young Captain a smile. "And Captain Kavellan, I heard some good things about you. I would love to hear about your deeds during the battle."
"Perhaps another time?" Toron did not feel particularly interested in talking about it.
"Of course, Captain. There's still plenty of work to be done."
Governor Nalgen approached the General and offered him a curt nod. Compared to the Governor of Tornya, Nalgen was much more reserved. After all, the capital city of the colony he was in charge of had been the site of a ferocious battle, and there was no telling the full extent of their losses. Those exact numbers would not be known for some time to come.
"And where is that Vigilant?" Corron asked aloud, looking about the room, no doubt hoping to see him shimmer into existence somewhere. "He and I have some catching up to do."
"He didn't make it," Toron said, and Corron turned to him, her smile vanishing immediately. He saw some measure of remorse on her features then, her entire demeanour having changed suddenly. Somehow, the Vigilant, Jorran Casker, had convinced her to send some of her forces their way. Evidently, he had made a deal with her and Corron was keen on seeing her end kept. With the Vigilant dead, that 'deal' was likely never to be fulfilled. Toron had an idea as to what it entailed, and he thought he saw the stirrings of actual grief on the Governor's features. Nonetheless, she swallowed whatever she was feeling and put forth her former pleased exterior, even if it now came across as somewhat forced.
"We need to congratulate the heroes of the battle," Masrak said to the pair of Governors. "By that, I mean we put before the people those whose exemplary actions helped defend their city and their world. I was thinking of putting Captain Kavellan here up for such a commendation."
Toron perked up, surprised to hear the part of an official commendation, or as 'official' as one could get from what was essentially a rebel General. That was another thing they had to contend with now: if they were to keep this fight going, they would need to legitimise their cause. Announce their secession properly and the creation of whatever new nation would be in its place.
"An excellent idea, General," Nalgen said, nodding his head. "We'll broadcast our victory across the Union. We'll show the people that there are those who are fighting for their freedom and against the illegitimate rule of the false High Protector. We can rally more people to our cause, even if their respective worlds do not necessarily join our fight."
"What support can we be sure of?" Masrak asked. "Tornya is a given, and Arkava is likely to throw in with us, but who else?"
Nalgen considered this for a moment, before he slowly shook his head.
"Well, the other major colonies are perhaps too closely aligned with the home-world. Nothing is a certainty in this regard, but I wouldn't hold my breath. The battle today will certainly divide the Union, so I'm sure we'll find out just who is on our side in the coming days."
"We need a united front," Masrak said. "Otherwise, we have no hope of winning."
"We also need more soldiers like the Captain here," Corron interjected, smirking at the seated Captain. "You would do well, Governor Nalgen, to train more regular troops. Your militia is sorely lacking."
"It was the best we could attain on short notice," Nalgen countered. Governor Corron did have a point; the defence forces of Vargania were underequipped and undertrained, whilst the militia was as disorganized as one would expect them to be. "After today, however, I'm sure there will be no shortage of recruits. The people of Vargania will have seen that the Union government did not hesitate to attack its own citizens. More and more people will turn against them, that much is a given."
Toron flexed his wounded leg some more, listening in to the conversation. Any rewards given to him for his actions today would feel hollow, that was for sure. Seeing so many people under his command die was not something he felt should be rewarded, and yet here they were, outright talking of commending him for it. The first hero of the civil war; that was how they would bill him to the people, no doubt as part of a recruitment drive. Toron was not sure if he wanted to be the centre of attention and having all these officials talking around him only made him feel out-of-place.
"What of that planetary defence Captain?" Nalgen asked, looking to the General. "What was her name? Varollon?"
"Lahea Varollon," Masrak confirmed. "I haven't seen her around, but from what I hear she survived the battle." He turned to Toron, eyes narrowed. "Isn't that right, Toron?"
"She's alive," Toron answered. He thought of her, how she had been at his side during the fighting and how concerned she had been when he had been wounded. She cared for him more so than she let on, and Toron was starting to feel the same way.
"Well, I hope she comes by," Nalgen said. "She'll probably get the same award you will, Captain."
"I can go find her," Toron said, and he was itching for an excuse to get out of here. Rising to his feet, he hissed as he put a little too much weight upon his wounded leg, some significant pain shooting up the limb. His rifle, leaning up against the side of his chair, served as a decent enough walking stick and so he clutched it in his left hand, barrel to the floor so as to carry some of his weight.
"You sure you're in any shape to go wandering?" The General asked him.
"I'll be fine, sir," Toron said quickly. "Lahea's probably checking on her home, it's not far from here. It's what I would do, after a battle like this one." He was only guessing as to her potential location, but he figured it was a solid enough guess to go on. Any excuse to get out of here, and so he hobbled on out of the lobby, heading outside into the late afternoon light. The street beyond was full of military vehicles and wandering soldiers, with a field hospital having been set up in the city hall across the street. Wounded soldiers were being carried in, some even limping themselves inside. A troop transport idled a little further down the street, its engines humming quietly whilst a wounded male on a gurney was carried out of its rear.
Some plumes of smoke continued to waft high above the city, stemming from fires started during the battle. The fire control services were out there seeing to the various blazes, aided by remote drones capable of air-dropping water and fire-retardant chemicals upon the flames.
A family of four were off to Toron's right, the mother and father picking through the rubble outside of their townhouse while their two small children, a girl and a boy, played in the mess, their clothes and faces covered in soot. The air was filled with the smell of smoke and burning metal. As Toron passed the field hospital, he could hear the groans and yelps of the wounded being treated inside. Some of the more sophisticated medical machines were being brought over from outlying hospitals to assist. Off in the distance, something exploded, hinting that not all of the fighting had ended.
Toron limped his way through the winding streets to Lahea's house, a now familiar location for him. He stopped at the front door whilst a column of about twenty Union regulars (no doubt aligned with the Varganians) marched on by. None of them paid much attention to him, heading off to their assigned positions. Toron hit the buzzer at the door a few times, waiting a minute after the rings. No response came from inside. He figured that Lahea was elsewhere, yet he had to be sure. A lot could have happened since he had last seen her, hours ago. With the way things were around here, she could very well have been hurt, even killed. All it would take was for some sniper hidden somewhere, intent on causing as much damage to the enemy before they were found out, to sight an officer of significant rank and make one well-placed shot.
He was worrying himself over her, more so than he probably needed to. Putting one hand to the door, he tried the handle, usually locked by the computerised lock fixed to it. However, Lahea had given him the entry code during their last get-together. He punched it into the keypad by the door, allowing himself entry into Lahea's home. She had told him that he was welcome anytime, especially as he himself did not have an actual place of residence here on Vargania.
"Lahea?" There was no need for the cordialities of rank in her home. Even less so given that they were of the same rank. Her home was as he had last left it, and one could not tell that a battle had raged outside judging from the overall tidiness of the interior. Nothing was disturbed, and with hobbling steps, Toron made his way up the stairs and to the woman's bedroom. He called her name a few times, but it became evident that she was nowhere here.
Toron paused in the bedroom. The bed itself was perfectly made, Lahea's personal effects all in their appropriate places. He did notice, off to his right, that the wardrobe was half open. Curious, he limped over to it, peering inside. Maybe he was being a little too intrusive here, but curiosity was a powerful motivator. Inside, he saw the expected rows of hanging clothing, ranging from formal military wear to much less formal civilian wear. However, below all of this, Toron's eyes caught sight of something that he did realise was strange. There were a few pairs of boots here, the heavy and sturdy sort one would expect a soldier to wear; two pairs carried the blue grey of the planetary defence force, the third however was a deep black in colour.
Toron had seen similar boots before. He leaned on his plasma rifle, sighting a dark metal trunk at the back of the wardrobe. It was partially open, having been unlocked recently. Kneeling down, an action made somewhat painful by his injury, he reached over and pulled the trunk towards him. The whole thing carried no markings, it was simply a lightweight trunk of sorts one would use for all manner of storage applications. Driven by a mounting curiosity, he pushed open the lid, eyes widening noticeably when he saw the contents.
He recognized the uniform of an officer of the Union Political Directive right away. This one was neatly folded, but the silver trimlines were there. Just to make sure, he picked up the uniform, allowing it to unfold, revealing the emblem at the shoulders and the rank insignia of 'Captain' with them. His heartrate jumped then, and he placed the uniform aside before he sifted through the trunk some more. A whole UPD uniform was in there; that included a standard-issue armour vest and helmet. A UPD-issue plasma pistol was there as well, being one of the sleeker, newer models with a genetic lockout on the hilt.
There was another, smaller case within the trunk, a lightweight black polycarbonate one emblazoned with the UPD emblem. Toron popped it open, becoming startled by what he saw inside. There were four cut-outs within the foam inside, each one roughly four inches in length and three wide. Two were empty, the other two still contained their explosive charges. Again, they were the newest models, a mostly inert plasma-enhanced explosive that worked on a remote detonator. The detonators for each were contained within a pouch inside the lid of the case. As expected, two of the four were missing. Someone was putting two of these brand-new charges to use.
Of course, Toron knew exactly who that 'someone' was. Some denial remained, and he struggled to put what he had found together in his head: could Lahea really have been working for the UPD all this time? Was she not an established officer within the Varganian Planetary Defence Force? Her true loyalties must have laid with the home-world, with her position in the VPDF making her the perfect candidate to serve the UPD as a spy. A spy who had, it appeared, been recently activated.
Toron dropped the case, rose to his feet and started to run. Such an action was far too difficult with his wounded leg, and his attempt to run instead turned into a hobble, one that only got worse when he came to the stairs. He was forced to slow down here, lest he fall and tumble on down the stairs and likely make his injuries worse. A growing frustration broiled within him, and he stumbled out of the front door as soon as he was on the ground floor. A sense of betrayal filled him, bringing with it the pain of knowing that he had been so thoroughly fooled. So enamoured had he been with the officer who had taken him into her bed, that he had been blinded to her true intentions. She had fought alongside him, killed Union soldiers with him, and yet through all of this she had had a mission above it all. A mission she had likely received the call on in the last few hours, one last effort to put an end to the rebellion before it could gain any further traction. With two Governors and the General in the same place, Lahea could very well cut the head off of this movement in one fell swoop. It was what Toron would do, if he were in her place.
An errant thought occurred to him as he started limping down the street: who had killed Jorran Casker? The chaos of battle provided many opportunities for those with more dubious intentions to rid themselves of troublesome individuals. Could Lahea have shot him during the confusion? Toron had not seen it happen, so he could not be sure. Still, Jorran had been one of the ringleaders here; getting rid of him had put a damper on the rebellion. Now, she had turned her attention to the rest of its leadership. The battle was over, and in that defeat the High Protector had turned to more covert means to achieve his goals. Perhaps not so much the High Protector in this case; rather, it was more likely to be someone such as Supreme Commander Cassalis who would have given the order for a spy like Lahea to carry out their mission.
He could not go very fast, and each step brought with it some small measure of pain. It was frustrating, incredibly so, to find himself unable to get into a decent jog. He checked his communicator, which was fit snugly around his left wrist; he had not noticed before, but the display had been damaged at some point in the fighting and the attempts he made to get a call through to the Grand General did not work. The streets had fallen quiet in this part of town, and he stumbled over to a barricade at one corner where a trio of bored civil defence soldiers were loitering, no doubt having been assigned to keep watch on this particular intersection. They were quick to stand to attention when they sighted the flustered Captain. Toron turned to the nearest one, gesturing to his communicator.
"I need to borrow that," he ordered, and the soldier did as instructed. He passed it to Toron, who tapped in Masrak's number. However, he was met with a garbled tone, as if someone was jamming the transmission. He tried again, and then he tried the number for the Governor's estate as a whole. From that, he attained the same garbled result. Swearing loudly and startling the three soldiers, he handed back the communicator and started once more on his stumbling walk to the Governor's estate. Some of the transmitter towers and satellites about Vargania might have been damaged during the fighting, which would explain his difficulty in getting through to the General. Of course, it was also possible that someone was simply jamming the signal, and he wondered if Lahea was behind that as well.
He came upon the main street where the Governor's estate was situated. Seeing the building ahead, he managed a somewhat faster pace, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot up his leg. There were still a couple dozen soldiers outside the estate, with more support personnel in the field hospital across the plaza. He had no idea how powerful the plasma charges were, but there was no telling if they had been augmented with more conventional explosives, the kind that would be easy to come by in a warzone. He had no idea the full extent of the situation, just that he needed to get to the Governor and to the Grand General as quickly as possible.
He was partway down the street when the pain in his leg suddenly hit him hard, causing him to yelp and stumble. He caught himself against the short stone brick wall at his left, a wall that fronted an older, rustic house surrounded by a lush garden. His pained state drew the attention of a nearby Varganian Corporal, who ran over and knelt by the straining Captain.
"Are you all right, sir?" He put a hand around Toron's arm, helping him back to his feet. "You look like you need to lie down…"
"No, you have to spread the word. There's a bomb in the estate." Toron spoke breathlessly, leaning against the Corporal to keep himself upright. The Corporal appeared stunned by this latest piece of information, and it was apparent that he did not fully believe it.
"Didn't you hear me, soldier?" Toron snapped, turning his head to the Corporal. "Leave me here and get to the Governor. Get them all out of there…"
The Corporal had been joined by two other planetary defence force regulars. All three appeared confused by the information, although Toron's aggressive stance seemed to spur them into action. It was too little too late, however, as the estate exploded at that point. The detonation was sudden, cutting through the quiet of the central district like a crack of thunder; the estate seemed to erupt from within, all its windows shattering, blue flame blasting from each before the walls themselves gave out. The noise was deafening, and the shockwave that followed was enough that it knocked around just about everyone in the surrounding neighbourhood. Windows shattered all around for several blocks, flaming pieces of brick and steel and timber raining down all around.
The estate was there one second, practically gone the next. Some of the soldiers on the street outside were swallowed up by the detonation, smothered in the thick cloud of grey dust that blossomed forth, struck by debris and shrapnel that saw several of those soldiers dead within seconds. Toron was far enough away that he did not feel the heat of the blast, but pieces of twisted metal shrapnel and chunks of brickwork shot by him at lethal speeds. The Corporal who had been assisting him was suddenly on the ground, a twisted piece of rebar about four inches in length having embedded itself in the side of his skull. Other soldiers around him were thrown to the ground, as was Toron, who landed in a heap against the old stone fence. His ears were ringing loudly, the world around him seeming to spin. And yet, through this chaos, he slowly rose to his feet and began limping forwards.
He had lost his rifle at some point; it was presumably lying amongst the debris that now littered the road. The wounded groaned and shouted amongst the mess. Toron, now steadying himself with sheer will alone, pushed on into the dusty haze that had now taken up the central plaza. Panicked personnel from the field hospital nearby were running out into the mess, going straight for assisting the wounded. Toron paused by one hapless soldier who lay half-buried under blackened, smouldering timbers. The young male had seen a ragged piece of metal get stuck in his chest, and Toron paused to check him over. He was still breathing, and so Toron waved at one of the incoming medics, getting the wounded soldier tended to. With that done, Toron stood upright again with a pained grunt and pushed on for what remained of the estate. Along the way, he picked up a plasma pistol that had been tossed aside by the explosion. Its original owner was nowhere to be seen. Toron checked the weapon's charge, satisfied that it was in working order, before he slipped it into the empty holster at his waist and pressed on.
Some of the estate's walls were still up, partially, although little was left behind them. The roof was almost entirely gone, with what had previously been the interior now piled high with debris. Toron paused at the front steps, moving aside as a pair of terrified females in torn, blackened clothing wandered by. Blood was streaming from their ears and they looked utterly dazed, their eyes wide and unfocused. Toron's own hearing had returned to normal, although he surmised he would be struck with ongoing tinnitus in the months to come.
As he neared where the front door had been, a familiar figure emerged. At first, he did not recognize her, given the way that she was completely covered in soot and how her uniform was shredded in places. Blood ran freely from gashes across her chest and stomach, whilst her left arm ended abruptly just past the elbow with a bloodied and ragged stump. Governor Corron was bereft of her usual vitality and humour, and when she saw Toron a hint of recognition crossed her blackened features. It seemed that she had been looking for a familiar face to take comfort in, as she collapsed against him.
Toron eased her to the ground, shouting for the medics. Corron was still breathing, but she was in poor shape. A medic did come running over as soon as Toron announced that the Tornyan Governor was hurt. He left her with the medical personnel, standing up again as he regarded what was left of the lobby through the now non-existent front entrance and mostly disappeared front external wall. People would be buried under the rubble, and that was if they had not simply been vaporised in the explosion. Sifting through it all would be a monumental task, one Toron would be all too eager to partake in. However, his attention was diverted to a familiar figure standing further down the street, past the edge of the plaza. She had been looking his way, no doubt surprised and also relieved to see that he had not been caught in the blast.
Lahea's relief vanished quickly when she saw the look Toron gave her. The firm, narrowed eyes; the anger within the yellow irises and the way in which his mouth formed into a solid, single line that spoke of barely contained fury. She had to be about thirty metres away, yet across that distance she could sense the righteous fury emanating off of her fellow officer and lover as if he were some kind of beacon. Her expression faltered and, seemingly conflicted for a moment, she went to turn around and leave. Instead, she stopped herself and went to take a step towards him.
Toron climbed down the steps and started towards her anyway. It was perhaps the intent he moved with that encouraged her to turn and start running. No one else in the street looked twice at her, their attentions instead fixed upon the destroyed estate and the many dead and wounded inside it and scattered around its perimeter. Toron pushed himself into a slow jog, knowing full well he could not catch her in his current state. It was with this in mind that he climbed onto the first vehicle he came across, that being a simple four-wheeled all-terrain vehicle. The current owner, a member of the planetary defence force's reconnaissance branch, went to protest as he climbed upon it, yet he was stopped when he saw the very fierce looking Captain who had commandeered it. The controls were unlocked, allowing Toron to start the engine and send it racing down the street with a powerful whirr. Few others looked twice at him, assuming that this Captain on the ATV had his own duties to attend to, especially in response to this latest disaster.
Lahea saw him coming and started running at full pelt. She went down the main street, with Toron hot on her heels. He did not know what he would do if he got to her, just that he would need to do something. She was running, that just about made it clear that she knew he knew and, in turn, she was guilty of what had transpired. Toron came upon her rear on the ATV, slowing down a touch to put himself alongside her.
"What have you done, Lahea?" Toron shouted at her, and she glanced at him, her expression a conflicted one. Suddenly, she vaulted over the short fence to her left, disappearing into the ferns and shrubs and bushes on the other side. Toron braked hard on the ATV, bringing it to a halt nearby before he climbed off and followed her into the gardens of one of the many larger, wealthy properties near the city centre. This included the lush gardens, brimming with vegetation, and Toron found himself stumbling around a large fern before he emerged onto a more open stretch of lawn.
Lahea was ahead, darting around the side of the house at the centre of the property. Toron followed, pursuing her at a hobbling jog down a side lane, brushing past potted plants and knocking over a glass table. The owners of the house were absent, likely having evacuated before the battle. Once again, it was strangely quiet.
Lahea raced into the backyard, another garden brimming with ferns and thick shrubs. The fence here was a much taller stone one, and she stopped before it, looking up for a means to vault herself over. None presented themselves, given its mostly flat surface. Toron hobbled out of the side lane after her, pulling out his plasma pistol as he approached. He stopped several metres away, levelling the pistol at her, his finger floating some way over the trigger as he considered his options. Lahea was certainly considering her own, and the look she gave him as she turned around to face him was an almost amused one.
"Toron, what is this about?" She asked him. "You're scaring me."
"I was at your house a little while ago," Toron answered, his voice edged with something fierce. His emotions roiled within him, and his voice wavered a little as he continued: "I saw it, Lahea. I know who you really are."
"What do you mean? What did you see?" What irked Toron more than anything was how she continued to play coy. He wanted to lunge forwards and hit her, but he stopped himself. If she was really with the UPD, then she would likely be a dangerous hand-to-hand fighter.
"You're with the UPD," Toron said, and his voice almost broke as the reality of it finally hit home. "You betrayed us. You betrayed me!" He shouted this last word, his anger and his grief finally exploding out of him. "After everything, you betrayed me! I trusted you, I, I…" He stumbled then, stopping himself from actually saying what he felt out loud. It was Lahea who spoke then, her bemused glance gone, replaced with something much grimmer.
"You loved me, Toron?" She asked him.
"I thought I did," Toron countered. He tightened his grip around the pistol. "But now…"
"I was there on the home-world, when you met that doctor," Lahea interrupted, delivering the news in a level tone. "I could have killed you then, but I didn't."
"And that makes it all better, does it?"
Lahea shook her head slowly. She seemed resigned now, although Toron thought he sighted some genuine remorse in her eyes.
"No." She paused, meeting his gaze, glancing to the pistol he had aimed at her. "You won't kill me, Toron. Not if you love me."
"And you?" Toron did not lower the gun. He could not bring himself to do so, not after what he had seen happen over at the estate. All those people dead or maimed, all because of Lahea's apparent true loyalty to the High Protector. A UPD plant, which only raised the question: how many more of them were out there? Planted agents like her, working in otherwise ordinary professions with no inkling as to their true loyalties?
Lahea did not answer. She gave him a small smile, but it seemed that she was unwilling to admit it to him. Instead, she fixed her eyes on his again, some confidence returning to her demeanour.
"You won't do it, Toron. You're a soldier, not a murderer." Her smirk shifted to something broader, and she bared her teeth in a beaming smile that, on any other occasion, would have warmed Toron to some degree. Instead, it all felt so hollow to him now.
"You wouldn't shoot the woman you love, surely?" She asked him. It was the last question she ever asked of anyone, for Toron pulled the trigger and planted a plasma bolt dead-centre of her chest. Her eyes widened, both in pain and shock, the smile disappearing immediately. Toron, eyes streaming, fired again as he committed to his action. The second bolt killed her then and there, her lifeless body crumpling into a heap upon the grass.
Slowly, he walked over to her lifeless body, her eyes staring up vacantly. He knelt by her, put a hand to her face and gently closed those glassy eyes, before he paused to trail his fingers along her cheek. He caressed her in much the same way he had the night before, although this time he did so with a hollowness inside him that he knew would never leave him. No matter what he did from here on out, that feeling would always be there, an emptiness that only a harsh betrayal could create. Her beauty and her spirit had overshadowed her true allegiances, making them practically invisible, even to the man who had become her lover.
It took some hours to sift through the rubble. This, on top of the clean-up occurring all over the city, resulted in only general estimates being given for the overall loss of life. When it came to the governor's estate, Toron found himself in a position of de facto leadership. The soldiers, from both Union and Varganian defence forces, turned to him as did the remaining political leadership. He spent most of the remainder of that day helping search the rubble, with Major Voska there to assist, yet even that old veteran seemed to defer to him for the decision-making. It was strange, but the bombing and the loss of most of the Varganian leadership seemed to have thrown everyone right off. When Toron informed the Major of who had been responsible, he had seemed hardly even surprised. He simply nodded his head and remarked that he had always found something a little off about Captain Lahea Varollon. Voska no doubt noticed Toron's overall morose demeanour when it came to the subject and so said little more about it.
Grand General Masrak was dead, as was Governor Nalgen. With Jorran Casker, the renegade Vigilant, also dead, it had left this newfangled rebellion with few of its initial figureheads left standing. Governor Corron was alive and being treated for her wounds, lying in a guarded ward in a hospital on the other side of the city. Apparently, in her lucid states (they came and went), she had sworn revenge against the High Protector and his associates more than once. She was on board with the war, as would be the entire colony she governed. Not to mention the colony world of Arkava, the Governor of which had sent confirmation of his support for any further measures the Varganians would take after this battle. He was no doubt expecting a word from the leadership of Vargania, oblivious to the loss of that leadership. Toron needed to arrange something, even if it meant appointing an acting Governor or simply leaving the military in charge. The problem with the latter option was that Vargania's military was still somewhat disorganized. It was no wonder so many of them looked to him, a Union officer, for guidance.
Toron stood out in the street before the ruins of the estate, with Major Voska standing by him whilst the search teams continued to sift through the rubble. It was evening now, the sun having just set behind the horizon, casting the land in the deepening shadow of night. The city was quiet, still mostly bereft of its civilian population. Some were returning already, others elected to remain where they had left for prior to the battle. General opinion was that the home-world would send more soldiers and that today's battle was only the beginning.
"We need leaders," he said suddenly, getting Voska's attention. The older veteran nodded his head, his gaze drifting to the ruined estate and the soldiers searching the rubble. "We need them fast. With the General gone, we're going to need a military leader."
"No one else here on Vargania like that," Voska replied, setting his gaze upon Toron. "Most high-ranking officers here were loyalists, like the one at the fort."
"What about you?"
"Me?" Voska snorted in derision. "I'm semi-retired. I'm not leading a war effort. I'll help out, but I won't lead." He sounded firm in this mindset. Toron was in no mood to argue, seeing it as fruitless when it came to a weary, stubborn veteran like Voska. What he noticed then was that the old Major was staring at him, eyes narrowed, the look in them suggesting that the wheels of his mind were turning rapidly.
"I think we already have our new wartime leader," Voska commented, the smallest trace of a smile appearing at his mouth. Toron did not need to ponder the suggestion for very long to know that Voska was referring to him. It had crossed his mind, but Toron had assumed there would be others higher-up on the chain of command who could take on the role.
"I don't know about that, Major."
"But everyone else does," Voska countered. "You're a hero, you even hunted down the spy responsible for this mess. If the people don't respect you yet, they will soon enough. As far as I'm concerned, you're the kind of man we need to rally the people in a civil war." He must have seen Toron's reluctance etch itself upon his face, for his smile only broadened. "In all seriousness, Captain, you said so yourself: we need leaders, even more so now after what's happened. Sometimes, things happen to force us into roles we never intended for ourselves. Some might call it 'fate', but that's a little too metaphysical for me."
Toron said nothing in reply. He did not need to, for he knew that the decision had already been made for him. No amount of denial or protestation would change it. Voska knew it, as did so many of those around him now. All soldiers, all looking to him for some kind of leadership. They needed it, otherwise this whole rebellion would crumble. Toron had not gone through everything he had to have it all end so soon and with a loss; no, he would see this through. It would probably get him killed, but he could not back down, not after what had happened to his parents and now to the General and Jorran Casker. And not after what had just happened to him, the betrayal that would eat at him for however much longer he lived.
