Chapter Fifty-One: Recompense
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Tyler Island, Spring Sea.
October 14th, 2019.
0700hrs.
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"It's been four days."
Naomi turned her head away from the window, looking to where her father sat across the desk from her in one of the chairs. The office wasn't exactly hers, she had no idea who it belonged to, but given that the previous occupants of these offices were nowhere to be seen she and Beckett had just picked whichever ones were in one piece. Naomi picked this one because she had a perfect view of the hangars and the flight line from the window, which is what she'd been watching all this time.
Her father had invited himself in and made very little conversation, going quiet for several minutes before he made that comment. Ever since Naomi's outburst, she hadn't been punished by Beckett or the others in any way, but everyone that witnessed it gave her space. Tabloid spent most of his time helping with the refugees, while Avril busied herself with everyone's aircraft, Bandog busy with Sarge, and Beckett and Jaeger avoided speaking to her unless it was about work. She hadn't seen much of Tailor, but she'd tried to make conversation and he'd seemed terrified to death to speak to her. Only Count and her father spent considerable time with her, even then it was usually brief.
The relationships among the rest of the LRSSG became tense as a result. Word got around, and now everyone was split between whether their commander was justified or not in what she had argued for. No one outright disrespected her, they still believed in her, they just disagreed on her actions in this particular situation. As a result of not knowing how to handle this, Naomi just left it alone, spending time in her new office and quarters trying to figure out if there was anything to be done. It was like Count had said. She'd created a rift between everyone. The very same thing she'd accused the Princess of.
Naomi leaned her hand against her fist, blinking a few times before she answered her father. "Was there a point or did you just feel like pointing out the obvious?"
"You can't avoid this forever. Sooner or later you need to reach some kind of peace," her father said, leaning back in the seat with a sigh. He stared her down, his expression not angry or scolding. "Everyone's worried about you, including me. Anger will only get you so far, take it from me. It won't fix anything."
"I know that…I'm just not good at thinking things through," Naomi admitted, turning her attention back to the window. It had been raining on and off, and right now things were sunny but still damp. She could barely see much through the droplets still covering the window. She scoffed, mostly to herself. "This whole thing is just stupid. I never asked to fight the Eruseans. I never asked them to shoot their own people just over their heritage. I know we need to win this war, but…why do I have to take that step?"
"Because she already extended the olive branch to you. Stupid as it may be, you have to decide whether you're going to take it or burn it," her father told her. She didn't look at him, so she had no idea what expression was on his face. But in the barely visible reflection on the window she was aware he was still looking at her. "Look, all I know is that PJ is a very patient and forgiving man, but he's only going to take so much. He's giving you a chance to decide something, or else he's going to make a decision himself. And I can tell you right now he's more willing to negotiate than you are."
"If that's the case, then it's not really a choice, is it?" Naomi pointed out, tilting her head back his way. She frowned. "I mean, it doesn't matter what I decide if he's going to go over my head. So why waste your time with me?"
"Because just about everyone under your command trusts you above anything else. They may not like how you go about something, but they're more willing to follow your orders than they are PJ's," her father replied, almost without missing a beat. He seemed to have a counter for everything she might argue with. "Even if they disagree. Anyway, he doesn't want to undermine your authority. You've done good as company commander up until this point. You can't just bail on them."
"Yeah, well, I feel like a total failure for losing my temper. Wiseman never would have yelled like that," Naomi said, mostly musing to herself. It was possibly unfair to compare herself to him, but that was the best example she had. If she yelled like that, even at her own wingman, and couldn't set aside a grudge for the sake of peace and her men then what kind of a leader was she? She sighed. "I take it you think we oughta cooperate with her?"
"My say in this doesn't matter. You shouldn't be swayed by my opinions. To be frank…I just don't know what I think about all of this," he admitted with a shrug and a shake of his head. "But sooner or later, for the good of everyone, you're going to have to trust in people you don't want to. Because whether it's on a battlefield or through some tribunal, that's the only way this ends. Why not try and have some say in it?"
Naomi didn't answer him, not sure what she was supposed to say. Either choice she made she was taking a chance and risking everyone's lives, whether she agreed to hear the Princess out or denied any and all help from her. But that was just petty. This entire time she wanted this all to end and to go home, and while they could do it without the Princess' help it wouldn't look good in the long run. It felt like a selfish decision either way. Some part of her wished she'd never joined the air force, but that wouldn't fix anything. She'd be more a bystander than she was now.
Luckily for her, before the conversation could continue, there was a knock at the office door. Naomi's eyes flicked up and her father's attention was drawn to the door as well. Straightening up in her seat, turning the swivel chair around so it was fully front facing, she called out to whoever it was. "Yeah. Come in."
The door opened, the hinges squealing slightly in spite of the care that was taken when opening it. To Naomi's surprise, Tabloid appeared in the doorway, hesitating once he realized he'd arrived in the middle of their conversation. He became immediately apologetic. "Sorry, Trigger, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"No, wait. It's fine, Tabloid," Naomi said as soon as he began to back out, about to close the door behind him, getting to her feet. He froze, waiting for her to continue, and she glanced at her father. It wasn't often she had one-on-one conversations with Tabloid, so it was concerning he'd shown up like this. "Is something wrong?"
"It's nothing important, I just wanted to have a word with you. Mostly in regards to the refugees, but there's more to it," Tabloid explained, more awkward and uncomfortable than she'd ever seen him. He forced a smile to throw off her suspicions, immediately picking up on both Naomi and her father's concern. "Relax, it's nothing that can't wait. I promise."
"Actually…I could use some fresh air. I'll be on my way," Naomi's father said before Naomi could offer to step out with Tabloid, getting to his feet and heading to the door. Tabloid stepped aside, pushing the door open so he could leave, a gesture that earned him a light pat on the arm as her father passed him. Before he turned out into the hallway, he called out to her, "Think about what I said, Naomi. Try not to be so stubborn, alright?"
Naomi didn't answer her father, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from letting any annoyance from showing. Tabloid chuckled at her expense, so she gave him a smile of her own, less genuine than she probably could have been as she gestured to the now empty chair in front of her. "Anyway. What's on your mind?" she asked him, waiting for him to cross the room and sit down before she returned to her own seat. "I feel like every time I talk to you, Count or Avril…well, any of the others are usually around."
"When you say that it kinda makes me feel like a bad friend," Tabloid said with a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension. It was clear though, something was really bothering him in spite of his efforts to be upbeat. His smile faded. "Actually…yeah, I've been a really bad friend, haven't I?"
"What? C'mon, don't say that, I was just making an observation," Naomi said, his comment having done nothing to put her concerns at ease. He was one of if not the first to come around and treat her like a wingman in Spare Squadron, trusting her in their first operation. She cared about him a great deal, just as much as Count but in what she was realizing was a completely different way. "You're a great friend. If we don't talk much anymore, it's my fault just as much as yours. So what's wrong?"
"See…that's just the thing. I have been a bad friend. And a bad wingman. Back in the penal unit, you remember how everyone reacted to your parents being Belkan?" Tabloid asked her, and she noticed he didn't call her a Belkan. She nodded and he continued, speaking quickly to avoid getting hung up on the words. "Well, after Count reacted the way he did, it worried me. And yeah, he was just being an ass to you, really, because…well, because. So I kept my nose out of it, because I didn't want to make things worse. But the truth is, you and I were in the same boat, really."
Naomi quickly put the pieces together. Given his last name – unmistakably Belkan in origin – and then his reaction to finding out why civilians had been targeted, she honestly wondered how she hadn't realized this sooner. And she wondered why he chose to bring it up now. She processed the information, trying to figure out exactly what he was looking for in telling her this. "Have you…hid it all this time or…?"
"Huh? No, it's all there in my record. I just never brought it up because it doesn't matter," Tabloid told her, seeming more confident now that the first part was finally out. Or at least more confident with that particular answer. "It's not something to draw attention to. My parents aren't anyone special, certainly not soldiers. They're very ordinary people…just like most of those refugees out there."
"Okay…" Naomi furrowed her brow, unable to shake the feeling he was going somewhere with this. Ordinary people. So unlike her parents, nothing to hide. Somehow she wasn't upset at her parents in this situation, not that her father should be considered a saint. She went on. "If that's the case, why are you telling me this?"
"Because I've spent a lot of time with those people these last couple of days, and I connected with a lot of them. Over their upbringing or otherwise. They're terrified to death over something that wasn't an issue until someone needed to take the blame for all this," Tabloid explained to her, taking a deep breath. He sounded almost for a moment, but he kept himself collected. "They went out of their way to avoid trouble, even changing their names to sound local. And it did no good. But…that's a different story. Basically, I've just really talked with these people, and…that's why I want to talk with you."
"Talk about what exactly?" Naomi asked him, still finding all of this a lot to take in in one go, but she kept listening. She had a pretty good idea of where he was about to go with this, and she prepared herself for the worst.
"From everything I've heard, they don't think badly of the Princess. They're more neutral if anything, but they certainly don't hate her. Not after the way she ran at that tank for them," Tabloid said, taking a deep breath and bracing himself for a fight as he looked up at her. She looked away, having already seen this coming, and let him continue. "Count told me about what happened. And you arguing with him, too. I agree with you, on the surface this just looks like someone taking advantage of someone's suffering to look good once this is all said and done…so I'm not fully sold yet, but after what she did and the help she's offered since they've been here, I think she's earned at least one civil conversation."
Naomi stayed quiet. Unlike Tabloid, Naomi had a hard time letting go of grudges and swallowing her pride, but the more she talked with Count, and her father, and now even Tabloid she was realizing it was something that needed to happen. And if Tabloid, as rebellious towards government authority as he seemed, was willing to call a truce so to speak, maybe she could risk giving out a little trust. Even the refugees were surprisingly forgiving. Well, maybe not forgiving, but able to recognize an attempt at change.
"You really think so?" she asked, looking back at Tabloid, finding him watching her with a soft and almost sympathetic look on his face.
"If you don't like what she has to say, then at least you tried," Tabloid said, getting to his feet now. He didn't seem to have much more to say. "And then you'll know. All of us will. Whatever you decide, we're willing to stick with you until the end, Trigger. So…trust your gut, I suppose. You haven't let us down yet."
"Thanks, Tabloid," Naomi said, not wanting to give him an answer either way. He nodded and gave her a brief smile before he left, gently shutting the door behind him. Naomi stared ahead for a long while, still trying to work it out in her head, then she turned her chair back towards the window. Clouds were moving in again. They'd probably have another storm on their hands, which was a good reason to stay at the main HQ and put off a conversation she didn't want to have.
Because unfortunately, her voices of reason were right.
0955hrs.
Avril had gone over each and every aircraft belonging to the LRSSG personally, making repairs and adjustments as needed, throwing herself into her work to avoid talking to any of the people she probably needed to make conversation with. She hadn't meant for her words to come across the way they did, she didn't even know why they came to mind at all, but she wasn't one for tact. She hadn't spoken to Tabloid, not for a lack of effort on his part but because she avoided doing so. There was work to be done, or that was her excuse at least.
But now there was no work left for her to do. In four days, on her own, Avril had done far more work than one person probably should be doing, but she had confidence in her abilities. Most damage they had sustained had been light, needing few repairs, although that didn't mean they couldn't use her magic touch. It also gave her a chance to poke around Trigger and Fencer's new birds, get a feel for the aircraft and familiarize herself with it. The mechanics at their previous air base treated this thing like gold, and Avril wasn't going to treat it any differently. It was in good shape, but she found ways to further improve it.
Regardless of that, it didn't take very long for her to do, so now she found herself having to confront the one thing she'd been trying to avoid. It wasn't just Tabloid, it was Trigger and the Princess, too. She just wasn't good at handling emotions like that, unsure how to say or do the right thing in those scenarios without fear of coming across wrong and making matters worse. The Princess was the one avoiding her, and what Trigger was doing Avril only heard about from the others. Tabloid on the other hand, Avril had seen every day since, and each time said nothing to him.
He had gotten back from the main HQ a few minutes before, heading to spend more time with the refugees, doing whatever he could for them. Avril had been lending a hand, too, but she kept her distance. He seemed fine. Back to being normal, regular Tabloid. In other words, sunny, warm, and almost impossible to read. She occasionally glanced over her shoulder from where she stood leaning against the open hangar doors, keeping her head tilted up as she tried to think of something to say to him when she inevitably tried to apologize.
Maybe he had completely forgotten about it. He greeted her with a quick wave from a distance every time he'd seen her, almost like she was the first person he looked for when he came over that way, but Avril felt too guilty to respond. So she just ignored him. He probably thought she was just being a bitch because of the implications he'd made, all but outright stating his heritage, but that wasn't her problem at all. Maybe I could lead with that? Hmm…
Taking a deep breath and preparing herself for the worst, Avril shoved herself up and began to limp her way over to where Tabloid was just finishing up a brief conversation with a few Osean soldiers. They stopped talking as soon as they noticed her, offering nods and quick smiles which she returned to the best of her ability. The nods, at least. Tabloid's attention was then turned onto her, and she noticed his eyes almost lighten up as soon as he saw her.
He excused himself from the other soldiers and cleared the few steps' distance between them. "Hey, about time you finished slaving away out there."
"It's not really slaving if I want to do it," Avril pointed out, but she wasn't really sure why she bothered answering him. She felt very awkward, wanting to excuse herself then and there, but she was determined to follow through with this. She wasn't here for small talk, she was here to give him an apology. "Hey, look, I'm sorry I've been blowing you off. There's just…something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Oh? Everything okay?" Tabloid asked her, adopting a more serious air almost right away, his expression shifting. Now he seemed nervous. It was better to both of them if she didn't try beating around the bush. Quick like ripping off a band-aid.
"About what I said, after Trigger ran off. About Belkans being known for their conspiracies? I'm…I, uh…I never should have said it. I didn't mean it, really I don't even think it, it's just…lived in the back of my mind since I was a kid, I guess," Avril quickly tried to explain, stumbling over her words. It wasn't really a lie. She hadn't understood a lot of what her grandfather had said about his time during the Belkan War, the only one thing she'd gotten across from all the adults around her being that 'Belkans can be untrustworthy'. But Trigger, and Tabloid as well, weren't Belkans. Even so, she kept her distance from them, emotionally, which had more to do with them being pilots than their heritage. "But…none of that is any excuse. I wasn't trying to justify Erusea's actions. Everything that happened to those people was cruel and pointless…I swear I never wanted it to seem like I was defending them. And I…well, if I did, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You're…apologizing?" Tabloid asked her, seemingly stunned by everything she had said, and she quickly nodded. That dumb grin he always wore returned as quickly as it had disappeared, which alone was enough to make her feel a bit better. "Look, you're forgiven. I was over it in an hour – maybe two – tops. Once I calmed down I figured it all out…well, more or less. Is that why you've been avoiding me? And staring at me all morning?"
Avril suddenly felt her nervousness returning out of nowhere, and she didn't know why. She cleared her throat. "You noticed that?"
"Well…yeah," Tabloid admitted with a short cough, almost like he was embarrassed. He sighed, moving on to avoid any more awkwardness. "If I'm being honest, I thought you were mad at me. I mean, you wouldn't even wave at me."
"No, it wasn't that, I'm just…really bad at friendships…" Avril muttered, hating to admit it. She wasn't used to openly caring about people. That wasn't to say she didn't care, it was just something she had to work on expressing. Like this. She paused for a moment. "I avoid things, it's what I do…the only thing I guess I'm even kind of upset about is that you hid it from me. Or didn't tell me. Like you don't trust me or…"
"I didn't go out of my way to hide it. Well, not now, definitely not when we first met," Tabloid said with a shrug. "I mean, I definitely didn't broadcast it after most everyone freaked out about Trigger, but I guess I should have known you two wouldn't have held it against me."
"So why did it take something like this for you to speak up?" Avril asked, placing her hands on her hips. She wasn't really annoyed, just confused, maybe even exasperated.
"Simply put, it just didn't come up. That's my parents' story, not really mine. I spoke up now because…I want you to understand where Trigger and I were coming from, I guess," Tabloid said quickly, keeping a soft smile the entire time he spoke, though it was clear he wasn't sure what the best way to explain himself was. "I guess I didn't do a very good job of that, did I?"
Avril gave a short chuckle, hoping to break the tension. "Y'know, yeah, you probably could've done a better job. I can't understand anything without context."
"Okay, I can't really argue with you," Tabloid managed a small laugh of his own, almost a sheepish one as he reached up and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "We're both Belkan by blood, but Osean by birth, but some people only care about the Belkan part of us. And that's just the thing. That's not our home, for any number of reasons. Just like these people. They deserve for the people that did this to them to be brought to justice."
"The Princess wants that, too. At least, as far as I can tell," Avril said. She remembered a girl, barely an adult, running at a tank to save these people. That wasn't the actions of someone that wanted these people dead. She actually made an effort to do right.
"Yeah, I realize that now. It just took me a minute," Tabloid said, looking out at the crowd of people all trying to go about some semblance of a normal day with these conditions. He sighed. "I spoke to Trigger about it. Even if they don't approve of the Princess' early speeches encouraging this war, they're grateful to her for what she did for them down there. If nothing else, I'd say that's enough for Trigger to hear her out."
"Trigger's a stubborn girl…still, I understand. I understand better now than I did," Avril said, recalling all of the crap Trigger had put up with since the start of this war. From being sent to prison for murder, which Avril had found out had been orchestrated by Erusea, to being thrown in the spotlight like this. Few people would have reacted any better. "I don't like seeing her like this. I don't like seeing either one of you like this. Upset, I mean."
"There's nothing that can be done about it. She'll do what she thinks is best, like she always does," Tabloid said with a sigh, though it seemed to Avril to be less about frustration towards Trigger and more about his own powerlessness in this situation. He ran a hand through his hair. "But it's fine. I trust her. Whatever she does, I have faith in her decisions."
"Right." Avril didn't doubt her much, probably not as much as anyone else would have, but that didn't mean if she made a bad call Avril wasn't going to call her out on it. For now, Avril was keeping out of it. It was clear from the Princess' behavior and Trigger going more or less AWOL – at least towards her – that they didn't want her involved. So there wasn't anything to be done about it for now. When the time came, whether Trigger wanted her opinion or not, Avril would speak up then. For now, she wanted to worry about problems she could actually fix. "Er…Tabloid, I want to ask you something."
Tabloid looked over at her, more like down given the height difference he had on her. He only briefly looked worried, before he shook it off. "Shoot."
"Well, I haven't told you everything about my life, either. I keep details locked up. And you didn't tell me everything either. But…" Avril tried to think about her words, but it was frustrating. She felt like everything she tried to say sounded stupid. When did conversations become so difficult? She couldn't help but wonder. Nevertheless, there wasn't any turning back now. Taking a deep breath, she decided to be direct. "Can we start over? No masks, no fear. Completely up front and real."
At first she was worried he'd just reject her, but then he pretended to think about the offer, considering it with a few thoughtful 'hmmm's as though he was actually weighing the pros and cons. Right around the time she caught on and came incredibly close to smacking him was when he finally gave her another smile. "Alright, why not?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and holding out his hand. "Lieutenant Hartmann. You can call me Peter."
Avril smirked and rolled her eyes, taking his hand and giving it a shake. She tried to keep from smiling. "Avril Mead. Nice to meet you."
Tabloid grinned. "So, where should we start?"
October 15th, 2019.
0000hrs.
Rosa had found herself unable to sleep properly in the last few days. Ever since her fight with Three Strikes her mind had been a jumbled mess. It felt like once the refugees had been saved she'd finally found some sort of clarity, but then the fog returned after she'd been cussed out and once again nothing made any sense to her. The worst part was that, despite her feeble attempts to defend herself, she didn't disagree with a word that had been said. Every bit of this was her fault and she was powerless to prevent it.
The only thing she could console herself with was that Henri, despite the way she ended up lashing out at him, did not seem to hold it against her. She had tried to apologize to him, but he promised that after all she'd done when he'd been unconscious she owed him nothing. But really she felt like she owed him the whole world. Every single one of these people deserved better than what she'd given to them. Better than she could ever give to them. If she was back at the capital, she was certain she could find some outlandish thing to offer them, but in the end it would end up being more empty words.
All this time she thought she was doing what was best for her people, and instead she caused more hurt. She truly wanted Three Strikes' help to end this. All of the Oseans looked to her the same way the Eruseans had looked to Rosa. The difference was that one of them was proactive and could back up words with actions, while Rosa had barely had a taste of what real leadership was like. She just read from whatever script was handed to her and let herself be silenced every time she tried to stray.
Some rational part of her tried to reason that the constant, overwhelming flow of negative thoughts was the result of a lack of sleep, but the fog in her head was quick to block that out. So there she sat, in what she guessed was some kind of crew room, the only light being from the hall where she'd cracked the door. It was dead quiet, save for her occasional sniffle and Leo's concerned whines as he rested his head on her knee, curled up on the couch beside her.
Footsteps sounded from the hall, but she ignored them, assuming it was just someone passing by. But then she jumped and squinted when the door was pushed all the way open and the overhead lights flicked on, almost blinding her. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the light she was met by the figure of one of the Osean pilots. A tall, lanky young man with dark hair and eyes, a bunch of books tucked in the crook of his arm, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt with a flight jacket on. She recognized him as the young man that had been present during the argument, and noticed he bore a resemblance to the commander she'd spoken with, Colonel Beckett.
He'd been yawning when he turned on the light and stepped into the room, and as soon as he realized she was there he immediately became embarrassed and apologetic. If she didn't know any better she'd say he seemed almost starstruck, but he kept himself together. "Oh! Your Highness, I – I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone else was in here. I can go if you'd like."
"No. Please don't leave on my account," Rosa said quickly, feeling bad as soon as he started to turn away, intending to close the door behind him. She was a stranger here, she had no business dictating when and where anyone went. If Henri were here, he'd no doubt be on guard after what happened, but she wasn't the least bit concerned about what may happen to her with the state of her head. She started to get to her feet. "The room is yours. I'll find my way back to my quarters."
"Wait, no. I'll feel bad," the young man said. He gestured with his free hand to the empty tables and chairs all around the room, offering a small, tired smile. "There's more than enough room for both of us here. I'll do my best not to disturb you."
"I'd be more worried about disturbing you…" Rosa said softly, forcing a smile. She glanced down at the various books he was holding onto. It wasn't hard to figure out they were college textbooks, only a few and varying in size but still appeared rather heavy to hold onto. He also held a notebook or two with a few mechanical pencils carefully hung on the spiral binding. She nodded to the books. "You're here to study, then?"
"Uh, yeah. I need to catch up on some things. Everything was so busy with the operation that I didn't really get the chance to," he said, quickly beginning to ramble. Cautiously he ventured into the room, over to one of the small tables almost all the way across the room, dropping the books down with less care than he intended judging from the way he winced at the heavy thud that followed. He was quick to stifle the state of embarrassment he seemed stuck in. "Anyways…I'll leave you alone if you'd like. I promise you won't even know I'm here."
"Don't worry about that, I was just sitting here. Hardly anything important," Rosa said, and it was true. She'd take listening to a stranger ramble or mumble to himself over her own thoughts. Although she was willing to leave him alone, after a few minutes of sitting in silence as he began to read and scribble down some notes Rosa found herself looking for an excuse to talk. Or leave. She eyed the coffee machine across the room, doubtful she knew how to work it but willing to figure it out.
Quietly, she got to her feet, Leo groaning as she disturbed his rest, and she made her way over to the table where the machine sat, plugged in, trying to appear confident as she looked over the various filters and such on the table before her. She'd seen her mother make coffee before but she'd never attempted it herself, never having been one for coffee but figuring she'd try it. As she reached for the canister of ground coffee, which felt suspiciously light, she heard the voice of the young pilot behind her. "Uh, I think we're out, Your Highness."
She had already unscrewed the top by the time he finished talking, and sure enough there wasn't enough coffee ground to make enough for a full cup let alone a full pot. Or there probably was enough, it just wouldn't taste very good in the slightest. Awkwardly, she put the canister back and turned around, finding the pilot staring at her, almost seeming amused, and she tried to keep it together. Clearing her throat, she brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Yes, that seems to be true…er…why are you laughing?"
The pilot had stifled a laugh, wearing a smile that didn't fade this time after she addressed him. "Oh, it's nothing, it's just that…" As soon as he started to speak, he seemed to think better of it, collecting himself. "Sorry, Your Highness, I shouldn't be so casual."
"Oh. Uh…well, like one of your men said. I'm not really your Princess, so you can speak to me however you like, really," Rosa said, and judging from the guilty look on his face it had come across the wrong way. Given the tone of voice the comment she was referencing had been made, she couldn't blame him. She tried for a small, maybe reassuring smile. "Within reason, of course."
"What would you like me to call you, then?" the young man asked, seeming almost shy as he lightly tilted his head to one side. It was almost cute.
Rosa considered his question. She went by her first name in the presence of family, then her middle name to the public, using it within her title, then there was a nickname she chose for herself long ago. She'd long since outgrown it, but it was fitting for an ordinary girl. Still, she felt embarrassed looking back on it now. Finally, she made a decision. "Rosa…Rose…Rosie…any of those, I suppose, if you'd like."
"They're all pretty names," he said with a soft, genuine smile. "Roses are the Erusean symbol, right?"
Rosa nodded. She knew that definitely contributed to what her parents named her. Her name was always 'too Erusean' for her, which coming from the country's heir was a pretty silly thing to think. Though her family never would have guessed they'd ever assume the throne by the time she was born, and when their relatives did just that it was kept very secret. She missed her friends that only knew her as 'Rosie'. She chose not to keep the topic on her, not in the mood for one-sided, surface level discussions. "What about you? What's your name?"
"Uh…well, preferably James," he said, but then lowered his voice as he seemed almost embarrassed. His face and cheeks flushed as he went on. "Or if you must, Taylor. Or…TJ…Tailor. Whichever you'd like."
"Two 'Taylor's?" Rosa asked him.
"One is my TAC name," he explained, trying to hide his embarrassment. When he noticed she looked slightly lost, he elaborated further. "The name the other pilots call me in the air. It's 'Tailor', like the occupation."
"Really?" When he nodded, she was able to offer him a reassuring smile. Or the best she could manage, hoping to ease his embarrassment. "My father was a tailor, before he became the king. I think it's a lovely name."
"I can stomach it knowing it's my TAC and not my given name you're using," he gave her a nervous laugh.
"What's wrong with 'Taylor'?" Rosa couldn't help but ask. When no answer came right away, she quickly added, "If I'm not prying."
"Nothing's wrong with it, I guess, I just got picked on for it because there were a few girls in my class named Taylor. So, uh…yeah, you can imagine how that went," he explained, almost rambling, though he tried his best to laugh it all off and not seem brought down by it. "Carried on through high school and now here I am. The instructors took note of it, and that along with the way I like to fly led to 'Tailor' being born. Not an exciting story, really."
"What about your middle name?" Rosa leaned back against the table she stood in front of, propping herself up with her hands to keep from falling on top of it. "You couldn't go by 'James' to all of your friends?"
"See, it's funny you bring that up, because I really did try. But my parents ruined that…they didn't mean to, but they did. Taylor was my grandfather's name, and that's what they called me," he said, again through a smile to ease the tension. A habit of his, she was realizing, almost like he was just naturally nervous. He also liked to talk fast, another result of his nerves, she guessed. "It was a whole, stupid thing. My mom started calling me TJ after that…which got really confusing, because my dad and I have the same middle name and she calls him PJ…sometimes Patrick, but usually PJ. Aaand I realized that's a story you really didn't need to hear and I'm very sorry to bore you with."
Rosa couldn't help but laugh – well, more like giggle – at his expense. The story wasn't funny, it was more born out of pity and amusement. And something about the way he spoke, in spite of how nervous and embarrassed he was, that made matters a little lighter. Maybe that was his intention. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh," she said, forcing down her smile and covering her mouth with one of her hands. He didn't seem at all bothered by it, though. "After that, I almost feel bad calling you anything else, so…James?"
"You can call me whatever you'd like, Your – I mean, Rose," James said, quick to correct himself before he could call her by an honorific again.
"Then it's nice to meet you. James." Rosa smiled, stepping forward and holding out her hand for him to shake. A proper gentleman, he got to his feet and gave her a proper handshake.
To avoid any awkward silences, he quickly pulled out the chair sitting across from him at the table and offered it to her. "Oh, right. You can join me, if you'd like."
Rosa was about to accept, but then she glanced down at the textbooks on the table and hesitated. "I shouldn't disturb your studying."
"I welcome any disturbance, believe me," James said, giving a forced and breathy laugh, though he didn't try to force her. He moved to return to his own seat. "There's no pressure, really."
She hesitated for only a moment, then decided she had nothing to lose by joining him, quietly taking the seat across from him. He paused, seemingly surprised she accepted, and then took his own seat, returning to his books as neither of them could think of anything to talk about right away. Rosa took the opportunity to observe what books he had. Most of them were related to sciences she knew very little about, always being more well-versed in history and literature than in things like physics. The only book he had that stood out to her was one for the Erusean language.
Probably not an odd choice, most colleges around the world offered foreign languages. It was hardly necessary for anything other than reading and writing, with the common tongue around the world making things easier on the speaking end of things. A few countries, for example Osea, she knew considered the common tongue to be their default, native language. But Osea had a secondary language, still seen in much of their writing and names, that was historically their native language. Rosa knew history and literature, and through those things she'd learned about languages. An odd thing, but it gave her a common ground with her new friend she didn't know she had. Or she hoped it did.
"You know Erusean?" Rosa ventured slowly. He looked up at her, confused for a moment, and she nodded to the book. "You're studying it, right?"
"Yeah, but I don't really need to," James replied in Erusean with a shrug, with practically perfect fluency. He gave her a small smile, fiddling with the mechanical pencil he held in his hands. "My mother is half-Erusean, dual citizenship and all. I've known it since I started talking, I just keep it up now because it looks good on paper."
"I…never would have guessed you had Erusean blood," Rosa said slowly, taken by surprise by the knowledge. Maybe what she meant was that she found it hard to believe there was anyone here that actually shared some concrete connection with her country. She thought to ask him more about that, but he had already shrugged it off, so she guessed it wasn't something terribly important to him. So she decided to ask a different question. "How are you here? I mean, you're still in school, so…is there a story there?"
"Desperate times call for desperate measures I guess. They sent me to join the LRSSG back in June, not long after…er, our former President's death, and just said I had a lot of talent," he told her, trying to seem casual about it though it was clear to her he didn't have much confidence in this. "I mean, all of this is a waste of my time. I'm already a pilot now, with real combat experience."
Rosa blinked, noticing his tone changed slightly though not drastically. Even if his annoyance wasn't directed at her, it still made her hesitate. She was enjoying their conversation, though, and would have preferred not to settle into any awkward silences. "Why did you want to be a pilot? Especially now, seeing everything happening in a war. Do you regret it at all?"
James seemed surprised, taking a few moments to think about it. Then his smile returned, tired and faint but still there, and he answered her. "I dunno, I grew up on stories about pilots. I just wanted to try and make it, to see what it's like for myself," he told her. "Now, here I am. I spent my nineteenth birthday in a mess hall on a base in a foreign country away from my family in Osea, but…I don't regret it. War's awful, sure, but we're out here to end that, right? Besides, I've learned a lot out here."
"Do you ever miss your family? Your home?" Rosa asked. She wasn't sure why anymore. Partially she felt detached from everything, sitting tucked safely away and far from harm. She talked about her people suffering, but she never sat down with soldiers to have a normal, ordinary conversation. This was her opportunity to change that. To see them from a different perspective, something she realized she hadn't done well as she reflected on the words she'd said to Three Strikes.
"I don't know. I mean, my dad's kind of our new commander…trust me, he doesn't do me any favors, or else I would be asleep right now," James answered her with an almost playful grin, trying to crack a joke to lighten the mood. Rosa offered a short, breathy laugh, and he continued. Lightly tapping his pencil on his notebook as he spoke. "I miss my mother, but at the same time I don't want her to miss me. Or worry about me. Because our squadrons have a good thing going here, and I have more family than just my parents. And for the most part, I trust Major Foulke to take care of us all."
Rosa nodded, tensing slightly at the mention of the Major, looking down. "Right…"
His face suddenly went red, and he quickly lowered his head so his face was just centimeters above the paper he was writing on, practically burying his face in it. He sounded like he was speaking through a grimace when he spoke. "Sorry, that was incredibly corny wasn't it?"
"No, no, you misunderstand! I'm sorry!" Rosa said quickly, suddenly feeling bad and embarrassed herself. She didn't mean to come across the wrong way, too lost in her own thoughts to consider that her conversation partner couldn't read her mind. Her head was reeling, with grief for her own family as he spoke of his parents alongside her guilt and anger from a few days ago. "I was just thinking about…a few things."
James lifted his head, narrowing his eyes. For a few moments he was quiet as he realized he'd entirely misread her reaction, and a serious and concerned look appeared on his face. He sighed, lowering his voice, clearly sympathetic. "I can't exactly justify what was said to you, but…it's not my place to argue with my commander, either. For what it's worth, the Major isn't a bad person."
"In spite of my inappropriate words during our argument…" Rosa trailed off, then took a deep breath. No, she hardly thought the Major was a bad person. She gave a half-hearted smile. "I don't think that of her."
"You're not a bad person either." The response was almost instant, as though he saw right through the soft tone and practiced smile. He hesitated, ceasing his fidgeting and dropping the pencil with barely a sound, then he seemed to find the right words. "Both of you just want to do what's best for your people, we've established that much. The Major is only trying to keep everyone safe. She'll come around and see that you're not her enemy before long, once she calms down."
"You know her that well?" Rosa asked. They didn't seem particularly close, but she hadn't witnessed a lot of their day-to-day interactions.
"Well, we're not joined at the hip, but I believe in her. I look up to her, just like we all do," James told her, his nervousness from before long gone. Everything he said was a clear display of faith, as far as Rosa could tell. "None of us hate you, regardless of our stances on the matter. And the Major doesn't either. She just doesn't realize it, yet."
"That's reassuring, I suppose," Rosa said. She wasn't fully convinced on the matter, though. The people around her truly didn't seem to have any ill will towards her. Were that the case, they would have killed her the moment they saw her, and yet she was still having to unlearn the behavior and thinking that had developed after the last several months. Rosa considered what had been said. She wasn't being treated like a prisoner here, something that she guessed was also a good sign. Maybe it was right, but she wouldn't know for certain until amends were made.
James gave her an awkward but reassuring smile. "I can't tell you what to believe, though. I'm just telling you what I think. Or know. Whatever you find more reassuring."
Rosa found his efforts touching. He barely knew her, yet he tried to help her, even if he wasn't confident in his words. It was nice to talk to someone in her own age group. Someone who didn't see her as 'just a kid' and didn't seem to pity her. It had been so long since she'd made any new friends, and the conversation did help a little. She felt bad dragging it down, though. So, although it didn't mean much, she gave him a smile and offered him her gratitude.
"Thank you."
"Don't worry about it," he said, and returned to his reading.
The two kept each other company for a few hours, finding other things to discuss between James' short bursts of studying and the less than awkward silence they fell into. He had a kind of endearing sense of humor, and she found she quickly enjoyed his company. For the first time in a while, both of them were able to forget about the things going on around them and the challenges they were facing. For the hours they spent talking, they were just two ordinary people.
For the first time in years, she had made a friend as a mostly normal person.
Selatapura, Usea.
0630hrs.
The transfer of data was complete.
Schroeder stood off to the side of the hangar as Simon and Massa excitedly raced towards one of the aircraft that now served as the fruits of their labor. Hooked up to several different cables and computers was the ADF-11F. The Raven. They had codenames that General Parrish quickly informed him of, referencing old mythology that Schroeder was hardly familiar with. Hugin and Munin. Meant to be messengers, from his understanding, but looking at them now they seemed more like harbingers of death.
They'd been painted a dull black to resemble their namesake, and to Schroeder they almost looked like something right out of a horror story. It was the perfect weapon of war, equipped with a perfected version of the Zone of Endless AI that Gründer Industries had been slaving over to improve and protect for the last several decades or so. The aircraft could think for itself. Learn and grow, follow orders or discard them as it pleased, run an endless series of code and numbers in order to make tactical, last minute decisions. It was just like a human pilot, but not held back by the limits of the g-force or the constraints of empathy. And now, they were studying and learning from Mihaly's flight data, incorporating his flying style into their programming and refining it to create unmatched, unstoppable skill.
Schroeder should have been proud, and yet he found himself unhappy as he stared out at one of the aircraft. His students seemed overjoyed, or at least Simon did. Massa seemed happy, but perhaps only because it was hard not to share in Simon's enthusiasm. Mihaly's granddaughters had been dragged out of bed to accompany Schroeder and the others to witness this, and Schroeder hoped Ionela might see that all of Mihaly's efforts weren't a waste. But seeing the way Ionela kept her distance and stared at the aircraft with her arms crossed and an almost deadly look on her face told him it had done the opposite.
These drones would bring a decisive end to the war, that much was for certain. They wouldn't stop until every last Osean was destroyed, and Parrish would see to it that they didn't. Schroeder supposed he could console himself with the fact that he wasn't lying to himself when he said it all would be brought to an end. The war would end, and there wasn't any telling what the new cost of that would be nor what else would be brought to an end. He was starting to lose interest, finding himself exhausted trying to care either way what happened after everything.
Schroeder scowled, vaguely aware of one of Parrish's men photographing the aircraft at the request of their commander. The General himself stood staring at the aircraft with a look of pride and perhaps some kind of perverse malice out of knowing he could finally burn Erusea's enemy to ash. His injury wasn't bothering him much anymore, though it was clear he hadn't fully recovered. His movements were still slow, his face still pale, and the fatigue was clearly taking its toll. His mental state clearly wasn't any better, either, judging from the look on his face. The General glanced at him, noticing he was being observed, and Schroeder slowly looked away with a blank expression.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Parrish called out, slowly making his way over to where Schroeder stood, actively trying to avoid drawing any attention to himself so he didn't have to make conversation with anyone, let alone the General. It seemed that plan didn't work. "The months of hard work have finally paid off. Osea will finally be made to pay for their transgressions, and Erusea will be celebrated for bringing the world into a new era."
"Congratulations." Schroeder didn't look at him, keeping his hands in the pocket of his coat. Nothing about him showed any signs he was rattled by the General, though quite frankly he found him disturbing.
"Oh. And of course, Belka, too, I suppose," the General said quickly, clearly an afterthought. He sucked in a breath after that, apparently having moved his hands about in a way that his still painful injury did not take kindly to.
Schroeder didn't even blink. He was used to assumptions due to his affiliations, but he set aside all loyalties for the sake of his work. He took a practical, neutral approach to everything when it came to such things. In any case, if this project was one of Belka's last efforts for revenge then Schroeder didn't particularly care. He was a researcher first, Belkan second, and not even on the likely endless list of mostly horrible things he could be was 'soldier'. None of this was his fight. So why did he feel like a war criminal?
"I suppose you're right," Schroeder answered him at last, keeping his voice clear of any emotions. He was used to doing that, having learned long ago that if someone was looking for a reaction the best course was not to give them one. Whether Parrish was looking to provoke or not, he didn't know. He adjusted his glasses, moving them back up the bridge of his nose. "My work is completed. I have no more stake in this."
Parrish was silent for a moment, and the atmosphere felt almost stifling. "You're mistaken, Doctor, your work is far from finished."
"Is it?" Schroeder still kept a neutral tone, though he didn't like the sound of that.
"The latest batch of MQ-99s have yet to be completed," Parrish told him, almost seeming surprised or even suspicious, as though this was such an obvious thing to know. "They all will need that data, especially once the Z.O.E AI has been implemented in them."
"Are the Ravens not enough?" Schroeder couldn't help but ask, almost wanting to sigh out of exhaustion but he kept it to himself and continued with his poker face. "The previous MQ-99s don't have the same capacity for learning, and I doubt any AI in the latest will prove any different. They're hardly a long term solution."
"Of course not. Naturally, the Raven possesses superior technology and design in every way. It's even smarter. But every ace needs decoys, right? Did General Shilage's squadron not teach you that?" Parrish asked, almost sneering. He briefly glared at where Ionela stood, watching the two of them converse while Alma remained in the car, catching up on sleep. He looked back to Schroeder. "Obviously, much like Shilage's men, these drones are absolutely meaningless. Their only purpose is to learn what they can and then die to allow the Ravens to move in for the kill. And…if push comes to shove and somehow – no matter how unlikely this is – the Ravens fall, the MQ-99s will have some ability to see their mission through."
"I see." Schroeder couldn't agree with the comparison the General drew. While he hardly had any right to claim he cared about any of Sol Squadron's members, he knew just how much Mihaly's wingmen cared about him and how much he cared about them. His mind was a mystery, but the way he guided them and spoke to them, no matter how detached it may have sounded, was always done with great care. His students may as well have been his own flesh and blood. They were not expendable. At least, not in Mihaly's eyes. He chose not to argue this, though. "Am I to assume then that you expect me to oversee all of this?"
"You're the chief researcher. On some miniscule level, you have some claim to the genius of this program," Parrish said, stifling a cough and bracing himself for pain. Schroeder scowled. He had most of the claim to the genius, not that it was exactly a point of pride any longer. Parrish continued, unaware of Schroeder's thoughts. "I owe you the opportunity to see all of it through to the end. Perhaps even a chance to watch them finally fulfill their duty as they rip the wings off of that degenerate Three Strikes once and for all…"
Schroeder didn't think it would be that easy. If a pilot of Mihaly's caliber couldn't even take down Three Strikes, he wondered if the drones were truly up to the task. She escaped two encounters with Mihaly alive, and she'd challenged the drone fighters like they were nothing. Though she was only human. In old Belkan fairytales they often considered ravens to be omens of death and representatives of the damned. These Ravens could very well fulfill that role, and usurp those that called themselves aces once and for all. Something told him that Mihaly would lose his kingdom of the skies for good by the end of this. Even so, maybe he wanted to be optimistic that someone might end this.
He could have put a stop to all of this, if he was a braver or more noble man. Instead, he just continued to go along with it, and hoped someone else would clean up his messes. Just as the world always had in these situations. Adjusting his glasses, he started towards the aircraft, speaking mostly to himself as he said, "Time to get to work then…"
As he made his way towards the raven, he was aware of both Parrish and Ionela watching his every step. Whatever was going on in their heads probably should have concerned him, but as far as plotting went he was more concerned about the drone he was approaching. He wondered what it was thinking and how aware of these conversations it was. He hardly ever stopped to think just how intelligent they set out to make them, but he had a feeling it knew more than it should. In fact, he felt like he was being watched by a third spectator as he spoke to his students.
He thought he knew what he was creating, but everything was becoming so muddled. Whatever they had set out to create, any good that could have come from it, seemed to be fading fast. Representatives of the damned and harbingers of death. The Ravens had far exceeded their expectations.