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"I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair."
~Alfred Lord Tennyson
Chapter Forty-six: The Hunt
"And you just...you just left her there?"
Fatima Tariq jumped as Edward Gallant surged out of his chair. She winced when he slammed his cane down on Avenger's decking, hard enough to ring despite his office carpet. The sound was like a gunshot in the stillness.
"Commander, sir." She was a lot older than he remembered. Well, good. He wasn't the only one life had fucked over. "Commander Gallant, I tried to convince Doctor Vahlen to come, but-"
"But what?" He whacked the top of his desk, creating a gunshot-like noise that made Fatima and Bradford both jump. "But you got scared and your own stupid skin was more important?"
"Commander, I waited. But Said-"
"You should have waited longer!" Gallant no longer bothered trying to keep his voice down. Spittle flew from his lips with every word, but that wasn't what made Fatima fall back. "You left your commanding officer in the hands of a hostile force...left your fucking brother to die, too, so I guess you really loved him a lot-"
"Commander!" Bradford crossed his arms.
"Fuck you too, John!" Gallant growled from the base of his throat. "In case you missed it, the Hunter's got his stinking hands on Moira, and-"
"And that's no cause to go hammering in on Tisiphone's personal honor!" Bradford shot back. "I care for Doctor Vahlen, Edward, and don't you dare imply I don't-"
"If you gave a fuck, John, you would have cared enough to find her sometime in the last twenty years!" Gallant spat onto the deck. "You found me, didn't you? Maybe I am calling the wrong person's honor into question."
"Commander, this isn't helping." Bradford shook his head, visibly holding off from the bait. "Fatima risked her life running their air blockade to get us this information. We're ahead of where we'd be without it."
"By what? Inches?" Gallant fought the temptation to throw his cane at the XO. "Moira's in hostile hands, probably being tortured right while we're busy talking! If she-" he jabbed his finger at Fatima as if passing judgment "-didn't suck at her job, we wouldn't be in this mess to start with. My God, what happened to soldiers with the balls to actually fight?"
No one said anything. Gallant eyed the wellspring of tears in Fatima's eyes, and he buried whatever foolish, sentimental pity and regret he might be tempted into under a surge of contempt. Some warrior this was! Gallant had lost Moira and his entire family and Penny all at once, and had he ever yielded to despair since waking up? Not once! Never! John and the others, sure, on a regular basis, but Gallant had always been focused and had never let his demons get the best of him. This scorn was justified.
"And you blew up that ship." Gallant's lip curled. "You didn't even think that maybe we could have used it?"
"Commander, sir, I was being tracked." Fatima inhaled harshly, sucking in breath past her tears. "I activated the self-destruct on Doctor Vahlen's mission orders, in the interest of giving the impression a mechanical failure had immolated the craft and myself. It ended the trail, at least until I found shelter there in Iceland and set up."
"How long ago did all of this happen?" Bradford asked. Gallant just glared, hardly deigning to blink as he tore the Egyptian woman apart with his eyes.
"The base was hit forty-eight hours ago, almost exactly." She seemed glad to deal with him instead. "I flew around to avoid easy trace by enemy satellites, and ditched the craft as soon as I thought I was close enough to Iceland to swim. I set the autopilot and she went off into the North Atlantic to dispose of herself. I spent a day finding a good hiding spot before I activated the transmitter."
"Have you eaten?" Bradford asked. Fatima shook her head.
"No, sir. Not since the night before the attack."
"Jesus." Bradford hurried to the door, then leaned out. "Julie, you still there? Take Fatima down to the galley and get her something hot to eat. As much as she can stomach. Then find her a good berth."
"Central-"
"I will not accept no for an answer, Fatima." Bradford waved her out the door. "Eat, rest. Get a shower. Then we'll talk more."
"Damn straight." But Gallant left it at that and kept it to a low voice. His heart beat faster than it probably should as he thought of...
"Now." Bradford made sure to seal the door behind him, and he turned his eyes to Gallant. "What the hell are you thinking-"
"Don't be a sanctimonious old prick." Gallant glared. "Thanks to her-"
"Sir, it sounds like she did everything humanly possible to protect Doctor Vahlen. She tried, Commander." Bradford put his hands on his hips. "Are you going to hold that against her?"
"For failing, yes."
"Is a soldier doing their best and something beyond their control fucking up the operation really her fault?" Bradford demanded. "If she'd shot Vahlen herself, or if she'd led her astray, sure. But she did everything right, Edward. What's the cause to rake her over the coals?"
Gallant hissed, sounding so much like a snake he surprised himself. "You've turned me away from hunting Vahlen more than once."
"We had no proof-"
"If you hadn't, she'd be safe!" Gallant almost lunged at his XO then and there. "If not for you reining me in and tugging on my leash, John, Vahlen would be safe and warm here aboard-"
"You don't know that-"
"Fuck you I don't!" Gallant clutched the desk hard enough he thought it would crack. "The woman I love is in the Hunter's hands, and you were the thing that stood in my way!"
Silence. Bradford looked down, while Gallant struggled to keep his breathing steady.
"We'll find her, Edward," Bradford promised. "I swear, we'll find her. One way or another."
"We have to." Gallant refused to accept any other option. "I won't rest until she's on this deck."
"I'm sorry, Captain."
"Don't be." Jane Kelly nudged the little glass flask a little more insistently. "Seriously, are neither of you two going to-"
"Your Irish is showing." Da-Xia Liang managed a tired grin. Even after what rest they'd gotten after rescue, she and Cameron Rogers looked like something that had fallen out of the back of an Advent supply lorry on its return haul. The Grenadier shook her head. "Not yet. I'd love to, but not yet."
"Suit yourselves." Jane deliberately let a bit of brogue slip in as she winked...and poured for herself. "And I'll suit myself, too."
"You do that." Looking at Cameron Rogers' face was enough to make Jane wince. He in particular looked like what made him fall out of that Advent supply lorry hadn't been accidental. And it wasn't just the black eye or...the rest of it up top. One glance at his split and bloodied knuckles made Jane shiver. The Canadian, for all of that, didn't seem the least bit broken. "They knew."
"Come again?" Jane blinked. Liang gave Cameron a worried glance, as if she weren't sure they should say anything.
Or, Jane supposed after a moment, whether they should say anything to her.
"They knew," Liang finally repeated. "Our target knew Cameron's face well enough to recognize him in a crowd. And they put out wanted posters for me specifically."
"That's..." Jane frowned. "They must have intercepted communications."
"There weren't communications to intercept."
"Then..." Jane chewed on the possibilities. "Maybe there was a security breach on the local end?"
"Did the locals know which two operatives were being sent in?" Cameron threw up his hands when Jane didn't immediately answer. "See? Not possible."
"Well, what else could it be?" Jane knew she sounded testy, but she couldn't help it. She plucked up her glass, snorting derisively. "I mean, it has to have been a communications or local resistance breach, unless you're suggesting the idea that there's someone..."
Her laden hand ground to a halt.
"You're...you're not suggesting..." Jane glanced between two sets of eyes: one brown, one blue, both with the same angry light in them. She shook her head. "No. That's a...a conspiracy theory, literally."
"No one on the ground knew our identities. However the breach happened, they knew." Liang crossed her arms, and Jane did not like - did not like at all - the way she regarded her own captain.
"Are you..." Jane very slowly lowered her glass. "Are you accusing me of being an Advent spy?" The words sounded very hollow in her ears.
"Someone is." Cameron's didn't, but rather rang with conviction. He gave Jane the same shielded examination. "You are high enough in Officer's Country that you'd know where we were being deployed."
"Watch your tongue!" Jane glared. "I've half a mind to schedule another meeting with the two of you over this, after dark and without the Commander's authorization."
"Someone sold us out." Liang shrugged. "We're not saying we're sure it was you, Captain Kelly. But someone did it, and you could have. That makes you a suspect."
"A suspect-" Jane cut herself off. "By that logic, Sergeant - I'm sorry, Lieutenant, forgive me - your suspects are Commander Gallant, Central, myself, Doctor Tygan, and the Shens."
"Has to be someone." If being reminded of the sheer ludicrousness of their field of targets reminded Cameron of the insanity of the charge, he didn't show it. "Or maybe someone else who broke into the system or file registry. That Vermuelen character, or Mariah."
"You suspect Mariah, of all people?" Jane shook her head. "I take the offer back. You don't need any rum in your systems, either of you." She pulled the bottle over to her side.
"Don't close your eyes to it." Liang sighed, then rose. "We've told you what happened. We've told you what we think it means. If you aren't actually the spy, I suggest you look into it."
Perversity drove Jane to demand "And what if I am the spy?"
"Then," Cameron picked up, eyes cold, "you should be aware we're going to be giving the same observations to Central, and Commander Gallant if he'll let us in his office to report. Your only hope to preserve your position on this ship is to kill us before we leave this room."
"...my God, you're taking this seriously." Jane shook her head. "You may rest assured I am no traitor."
"Time will tell." Liang saluted. "With your permission, Captain?"
"Go." Jane returned the gesture of respect - and wasn't that ironic, given the exchange they'd just had? "I'm not going to shoot you in the back. I don't even have a gun in here."
"Unwise. The spy might come for you sooner or later." Jane wondered if that meant Liang didn't really believe Jane was the mythical Agent Advent. She hoped so, at least.
"A spy," she muttered, after the pair had left. "A spy, skulking around Avenger?" She shivered. "Impossible. Dragunova would have sniffed them out. Central would have..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. There'd been a lot of changes lately, and a lot of wild happenings. What if there was a spy? All these new arrivals...it could have been one of Meysam's friends, or Meysam himself. They weren't aboard when the covert op team was deployed, but getting information about a mission in progress wasn't impossible. And even basic surmising and a crew roster could have led an agent to realize which two soldiers were not present aboard the ship when a two-man mission was underway.
Slowly, Jane tossed her rum back. She drank it straight and she drank it in one go, which did a good job of making her wish she were on fire. She didn't really care, though: the burning distracted her from the altogether more damning thoughts now in her head.
"A spy. And they think I could..." Jane stared the far wall, eyes vacant. The cold burn of...was that fear? Worry that she would become a scapegoat? What if the spy planted evidence, now that Liang and Cameron clearly suspected her already? She wondered if this was how Miss Scarlett had felt while Jane so cavalierly hopped her around the board.
"Enough." She put the glass down a little harder than she probably should have. "A spy creeping around in the crawl-spaces? Not bloody likely." She coughed into her elbow, massaging the base of her throat. "Let's not dwell. Let's..."
Easier said than done. Jane chewed on her lip.
Someone had busted the covert op...
The first thing Elena Dragunova registered was one killer fucking headache.
"Oh, joy." She pushed herself up, alert as possible given the circumstances in a heartbeat. Her gaze flicked from item to item, categorizing them by importance: door, barred window set about ten feet up at the base of the ceiling, matte-black walls far too thick to do anything stupid with, three cots arranged with one on each of the non-door walls...
Two existing inhabitants of what was undoubtedly a cell.
"Zdravstvujtye." The woman on the window wall eyed Elena with unchecked and undisguised appraisal. "Reaper, da?"
"Da." Elena gave her a similar look. "You sound like Moscow."
"Da." She was blonde, she was short like her hair, and she had only one each of arms and legs. Her whole left side looked like someone had taken a hacksaw to it, and there was a nasty burn spread over her cheek and down her neck. Elena noted a functional-at-best locomotive prosthesis attached above where her knee ought to be. By how spindly it was, Elena suspected it broke under the Russian's own weight with depressing regularity.
"Name?" Elena asked.
"Who's asking?" Her green eyes showed nothing.
"Dragunova." She wasn't going to yield her proper name. Perhaps maddening over-secrecy, but she would rather be safe than sorry.
"Vasilieva," the blonde replied after a moment. Elena neither asked for nor received her own first name. She turned her gaze away from the cripple and on to her third new bunkmate. "And you, stranger?"
"Zhang." His hair was about a day short of white, and age painted a picture on his face. He had a rather nasty scar over his eye, but his posture was entirely bereft of any hunching or decrepitude. Something haunted lingered in his small eyes, but it was in the back, behind the sheet-ice wall of a professional who knew his business. Something about him seemed maddeningly familiar, but Elena couldn't make the connection.
"Hm." Elena glanced between the pair for a moment. "I'm new."
"So is he." Vasilieva cocked her head. "What put you in here?"
"The Assassin." Elena got her feet under her, literally and metaphorically at the same time. "This must be one of her prisons."
"Nyet." Vasilieva shook her head. "This is just a prison, not anyone's in particular. Don't ask me where we are beyond that. The highest-security captives and inmates go here."
"I suppose it's a badge of honor, then." Elena examined the walls. "Cameras?"
"At least two."
"Microphones too, I'm sure."
"Absolutely." Vasilieva cracked what Elena already suspected was a rare smile. "You're doing exactly what I did."
"Window's high. I could reach it perched on someone's shoulders, but it's too small to fit through."
"All you'll see is a facility yard. Did it with one of the cell's previous occupants." Vasilieva leaned back on her cot. "They bunk us in threes to conserve space. There's only two ways out."
"And they are?"
"Door number one: they decide you're not as big of a fish as they think, so your security level gets downgraded and they open a slot for another prisoner by shipping you to a second-level facility." Vasilieva cocked her head. "Door number two: firing squad."
"Neither one is an option." Elena didn't rise to the bait. "How long has Zhang been here?"
"Got here just before you did. Still conscious, but that's about that." Vasilieva spared him a glance, but didn't press. Neither did Elena. From Zhang's glassy-eyed stare, he clearly was in no space to be a constructive asset. Vasilieva returned her attention to Elena. "They take us out for a spin in the yard twice a week: Wednesday and Saturday. We're supposed to hit weights and jog. Not for our benefit: we can't give them intel if we wither away."
"Fair." Elena paused to feel the door. "Meals?"
"Twice a day. They give us maybe enough food for two if we split it wisely." Vasilieva leaned back. "They want us to turn on each other. They partner people they doubt will get along."
"I don't get along with anyone." Elena studiously did not think of Pratal Mox, and the absence stung. "Do the Chosen come by?"
"Every now and then, when they want someone in particular who's been dumped here. A couple of high mucky-mucks with Advent visit too. I've seen the Speaker, and I've seen some scientist woman, on her own and with him." Vasilieva shook her head. "Wasting your time, Dragunova. Escape is impossible."
"Hm." And she left it right there, remembering the cameras and microphones. Maybe Vasilieva was serious, maybe she wasn't, and maybe Zhang would or wouldn't be a useful asset in some kind of ill-advised escape plan.
All Elena knew at that moment was that the prison that could indefinitely contain a Reaper had yet to be built. She might not know how yet, but she was confident that one way or another, she'd make a truism of that no matter what security looked like.
"Doctor." Lily Shen wondered if anyone had ever actually checked to be sure Tygan's chip had been removed. He certainly scratched the scar an awful lot.
"Chief." Despite that, he was courteous. Not courteous enough that Shen wouldn't keep a weather eye on him, but enough that she didn't make a deal of it now. The scientist ran a hand over his scalp again. "Welcome to the SHADOW Chamber - such as it is so far."
"My people have moved mountains just to get it to what it is." Defensive, of course, but Shen didn't like the theoretical division and its eggheads criticizing her grease monkeys. Yeah, without Tygan's people they wouldn't know what to build, but without Shen's people they wouldn't be able to build whatever it was the nerds came up with. ROV-R hummed protectively over her shoulder.
"Believe me, I am not casting aspersions on your work, Shen." Tygan made a placating gesture that didn't do a lot of placating. He waved to the half-finished computers and the holed walls, the stacks of parts on pallets and the hanging, barely-tethered fluorescent overhead lights. "I merely meant that the current state of affairs-"
"Sorry I'm late." Matthew Kipler entered, stride unhurried. His white coat flapped around his arms - he was a small man, and the coat must have been a size or two up from his need. But it was the only one available, and he hadn't complained.
"Doing something important?" If Shen didn't like Tygan, she really didn't like Kipler. Smart he undeniably was, and he'd had some useful insights on how to break the alien codes, but something about the man simply shot warning signs into the atmosphere like fireworks. Maybe it had something to do with how he automatically jotted and muttered notes in the Advent language even now.
"I was studying some of Richard's research notes on the prototypical energy weapons project. They made for fascinating reading." If he noticed Shen's intent look, he didn't show it. "Where is your cousin, Chief? Or is she not required to join us?"
"No, she's coming. She wanted to take another crack at looking for that metal fatigue aft, that's all, and the call didn't come in until she was off." Shen shrugged. "I imagine she'll only be a few minutes more."
"Not even that." Jiaying strode in with brisk energy, rubbing her hands together. "Does this room have to be so chilly?"
"When it's complete, we'll put heat in," Shen promised. "For now, it is what it is."
"Unfortunately." That earned Tygan another dark look.
"Good, everyone showed up." Ironic, coming from the final member of the gathering to arrive, but no one would call him out on it on a good day. This was not a good day.
"Commander Gallant!" Shen was the first to salute, which made her happy. Tygan was right behind her, which didn't, and then Kipler and Jiaying fell in.
"Cut the shit." Gallant leaned heavily on his cane as he stumped past the little quartet. "SHADOW Chamber, yeah?"
"It is not yet complete, Commander, but yes-"
"Why isn't it, Doctor?" Gallant whirled on Tygan. "What's left to be done?"
"That..." Tygan looked uncomfortable. "That is more a question for Chief Shen than me."
Oh, good. Shen ground her teeth as Gallant's gaze - Gallant's glare, more like - bore on her. Thrown under the bus. Thanks, Doctor.
"Commander, we haven't managed to finish work on the decryption computer yet." She gestured. "Forging these alloys takes time, and first we have to figure out exactly what shapes we want them to go into, and-"
"And I want this facility up and running within twenty-four hours."
"Commander!" For a moment, Shen had no more words.
"That's not possible." Jiaying managed a few. "Commander, we might have the Chamber up and running within the week, but even seventy-two hours would be a miracle given-"
"I don't give a damn." His eyes shone with the truth of those five words. "Twenty-four hours, Chief."
"Commander!" Shen shook her head. "I won't promise that. We'll get the Chamber up and running as quickly as humanly possible, but I just don't see how that can be done."
Gallant's face contorted with fury. "The SHADOW Chamber is the key to finding Vahlen!"
Oh. Shen closed her mouth with an audible click. So that's what this is about.
"We will do what we can." Tygan made that placating gesture again. "I can't promise-"
"Kipler!" Gallant whirled on him, advancing so fast and so strong that Shen half-suspected he was going to pin the scientist to a wall. "You were involved in Advent's logistical efforts. Where is she?"
"I cannot answer that, sir." If he said it quickly, it was understandable enough, with an angry Commander's glare melting him where he stood. "I was a specialist working for the Avatar Project, not alien prisons. There are a few facilities I could name-"
"We'll start there-"
"-but they were for low-level dissidents. Civil unrest organizers and such." Kipler shook his head. "Vahlen will have been taken somewhere more secure."
"We have to find out where."
"We will," Jiaying promised. "But-"
"You were in Advent too!" Gallant turned on Shen's cousin, and she nearly threw herself between them.
"I don't know anything about prisons except that I didn't want to end up in one-"
"What the hell do I have you people for if you can't give me anything useful?" Gallant slammed his cane down on the floor tiles, the report loud like a gunshot. Shen didn't jump, but everyone else did.
"We've never let you down before," she reminded him. Her eyes flicked to the door. "Is there a reason Central's not with you, Commander?" Slowly, Shen crossed her arms. "Does he even know you're pushing us around like this?"
Gallant's eye twitched. "I don't need a nursemaid."
"And we don't need you breathing down our necks." Shen met his gaze without flinching. "We'll do everything humanly possible, Commander. We'll find her, and trying to strongarm us won't make it happen faster."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" He sounded like a wounded animal: a caged wolf, pacing and growling with nowhere to go. In the abstract, Shen even supposed she was sympathetic to his frustration: doing nothing was not her style either.
"You are supposed to let us do our work." Tygan might have been a man of the abstract, but here his vision and Shen's lined up very nicely. "Keep the ship running and await our conclusions. Take care of yourself as well: you're no use to Vahlen if you get so distraught you enter cardiac arrest."
"As if." Gallant didn't spit on the floor, but Shen thought it a near-run thing. "If we don't have something to work with within twenty-four hours, I hold you all personally responsible for whatever happens to Vahlen as a result."
"Commander!" Shen's protest died there, because the man her father had always spoken of in such glowing terms turned on his heel and stomped out, careless.
Boom!
Again, it wasn't harsh. It was low, it was deep, and it rumbled on into the sunset shade. Wetness tickled Edward Gallant's chest, and it made him realize how bare it was.
"Where am I?" Looking down, he again saw powerful, well-defined muscles - exactly what he'd possessed before his tour in Iraq. The breeze bore spray to plaster him - spray off the ocean he now recognized as the source of the rumbling thunder of waves. In the distance, city lights sparkled in dusk, and for a moment Gallant drank in the mystique of Los Angeles. That the city today was a half-slum Advent puppet district with none of the old buildings left standing gave the lights an all-new glory they hadn't had before Bradford and Jane rescued him. Gallant had thought he'd known homesickness when fighting overseas, but now time gave him a harsher lesson on its sting.
"Good evening, Commander."
"You..." Gallant turned, belatedly realizing he lacked his cane as much as his frailty of body. His eyes traveled the white beach, oddly devoid of college kids and families from Idaho.
He'd been right. Tall, fair, blonde as gold...her violet bikini she now enveloped with a long white sarong, blowing in the sea breeze but never forcing her to do the Marilyn, as if held in place by will alone. Those purple eyes...
"I remember you." Gallant frowned. "You're the woman...last time I had a dream of LA..."
"Coincidence?" She quirked one eyebrow. "Do you dream of other blondes?"
"Redheads, more often." Gallant didn't even think about the words. "Blonde is a close second."
"Hm." She chuckled at the base of her throat. A moment later...
"Jesus!" Gallant stared as her hair changed from the roots. They darkened and tinted, as if she'd upended a bucket of blood over her head, but the color never moved from her locks. Like a waterfall, it flowed down each strand from root to tip, until after mere seconds and not a twitch of her hand...
"It's good to see you again, Commander Gallant." The redhead smiled. "It's been far too long since we truly spoke."
"I don't...remember you at all." Not the sort of thing he was supposed to admit to a woman, but... "This must be a hell of a dream. Did John spike my drink with something? I don't normally react to my meds like this."
"It's a dream." Her smile never wavered. "And yet much more."
"Who are you?" Gallant dug his feet into the sand, wondering if he'd have to see if his drema-self had all the agility and strength he'd had when in life he'd had this body.
"An old friend." It was like non-answers amused her.
They didn't amuse Gallant. "Name. Now."
"Oh, alright." She laughed, as if his insistence on that was somehow funny. Her soprano voice was sweet like honey and charming like bird-song, flowing gently and lovingly over Gallant's ears. "You may call me Angelis."
Author's Note 46: OH SNAP
Yeah, deal with this one until Saturday. I love you guys!
Things are evening out. I have a buffer for a few weeks, and I'm planning on finishing my other project by Saturday afternoon. At that point, it's me and VC until the finish. Are you ready for it?
Until next time, Vigilo Confido.