Baird blinked at the face staring back at him. This mirror must be broken… I don't look that bad. I can't. Not even after a fourteen hour shift. To be fair, most of the other people in the plant were looking a little haggard these days. The warming summer temperatures were placing a greater strain on New Jacinto's beleaguered power stations as more and more fans and iceboxes were being turned on. Baird had no idea where one could even get a fan – he had enough trouble finding a toaster that didn't catch fire – but they were out there in surprising numbers. Sighing, he wrapped the damp towel around his neck and rubbed the last of the weariness from his face. He was due for four days off now – four days of not having to worry about vibrations, blowbacks, leaky pipes or mysterious noises that always seemed to be 'nobody's fault'. Plus, his replacement was a crusty old Navy sub captain whose knowledge of turbomachinery made his own look like preschool class. He tugged off his workboots and dumped them in his locker unceremoniously, smiling. The odds of being called back to handle a problem were pretty slim. He could pick up a case of homebrew on the way home, sit down on the couch, and close his eyes for twenty-four hours straight.

Fate had other plans.

A sleek black car was parked across the plant's gates, blocking his escape; a familiar figure in military dress uniform leaning against the hood. Baird groaned and slumped his shoulders as General Victor Hoffman walked forward, hand extended. His grip was every bit as commanding and crushing as Baird remembered. "Right, sir, I know I said things would be ready two days ago but I've been pretty busy and-"

"No need to 'sir' me any more, Damon. " Hoffman squinted, looking him up and down and Baird couldn't quite tell if it was sunlight in the man's eyes or if he was under inspection. "I was in Omagn on business and I thought to myself, 'why not swing by in person and rattle the saber?' Figured you could use a fire lit under your ass these days but it looks like someone beat me to it. Grab a bite?"

"Huh," Baird stammered. "Oh uh, yeah, I guess… Sam probably hasn't started cooking anything yet. There's nothing fancy here, though."

"There's always been someone in Ephyra who knows how to put together a cheesesteak," Hoffman replied, motioning to get in the car. "I doubt that's changed."

Hoffman's sense of style had changed, Baird thought. He'd never been able to picture the general in anything besides a Packhorse or a 'Dill, and here he was driving what would've been a high-end luxury sedan when it was first made. Time and use had brought it down to the level of an old family car by now. Hoffman's battle fatigues had been replaced by dress pants and a cotton jacket with shoulder blazes and a gold-trimmed nametag. It made him look smaller and older, somehow. As Baird closed the passenger door and buckled up he couldn't help but steal a few glances at the general, noting with worry the age lines that had suddenly sprouted across his face. Strange, that mortality would loom larger now that the war was over.

They pulled away from the plant and headed towards 'downtown' Ephyra in the day's end traffic. 'Rush hour' was definitely not applicable; even with twice the vehicles on the road compared to the afternoon, Hoffman had no trouble whizzing through the network of navigable streets. Very few personal cars passed them by; heavy trucks and improvised mass transit vehicles were the dominant force on the roads these days, with everyone else massing on bicycles on the shoulders or joining the throngs of people hoofing it to and fro on the sidewalks. Baird leaned back against cracked seat leather and smiled; a nice break this, getting to cruise along in something other than an overcrowded, rickety transit bus.

"Ephyra's coming along nicely," Hoffman observed, doing some rubbernecking.

"It is and it isn't. I mean, overall it's nice but there are a few spots they haven't cleaned up yet." Damon leaned his arm against the window ledge and propped his face up with one hand. "The northeastern part is still bombed out and there's a big tent city in the razed lots between Arlington and Tenth. Not that that'll be there much longer; seems like they open a block of refurb' apartments every week."

"Chalk up another victory for the labour organization schemes, I s'spose."

Baird laughed cynically. "Oh si-, err, Hoffman, it's not the labour that's organized in this town."

"You suggesting things aren't all above grade here, Damon?" A definite smirk had crept onto Hoffman's rugged features.

"I'm saying that someone's got control over the horsepower. See, these guys right here"- Baird pointed at a group of men walking out of a skeletonized building with hard hats and jackets as they drove past- "there's plenty of them around. What you can't find is heavy equipment, and that always seems to show up at certain sites first. They've had the ground prepared for some low-rent shoeboxes out by where we live for two years - can't rent a digger to start on it. Then there's this guy, Scorloni, big developer asshole, and he's put up four goddamned condo units in the last year alone. Four! You can't tell me that's a coincidence. Which is why I understand how important this data is, and I'll get it to you as-"

Hoffman held up one hand. "That's serious talk, Damon. No serious talk on an empty stomach." The tension in his face vanished when his hand lowered. "How's the lady doing these days?"

"She's still Sam."

"Popped the question to her yet?" There was that damnable smirk again. Hoffman must've become sadistic in his semi-retirement.

"Well gee, I'd love to but the Fortification Act states-"

"Gone as of two weeks ago," Hoffman shot back. "What's takin' you so long? Go on 'n' make an honest woman out of her."

"Bernie put you up to this, didn't she? She actually wants an answer to all of this?"

"Nah, I'm just buggin' ya. She said if you wouldn't tell me, she'll just sneak into your house one morning and find out herself."

"God," Baird groaned, "even in a world with a shattered transport grid and next-to-no fuel that woman still finds a way to get under my skin from two hundred miles away." He banged his head against the window glass, trying to pound out his ire.

"You think that's bad?" Hoffman replied. "Try bein' married to her."

"Now that is exactly what I've been lookin' for."

Baird stuffed another bite of sandwich into his mouth, melted cheese dripping over his chin. "This is what I was fighting for all those years. Fuck hearth and home." He swallowed the barely-chewed mouthful and looked at his plate wistfully. "I give it another seven years before they fuck it up with preservatives and crap again."

Without his jacket and cap, Hoffman drew no attention in the crowded diner. Baird kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting someone to recognize the new C-in-C of the COG army, but the other patrons were far to engrossed in their meals and conversations. Not that he was particularly fearful for his life; both of them had more or less kept their wartime physiques and he had a folding knife neatly clipped inside his pants pocket. Baird was more concerned with avoiding the embarrassment of having Hoffman pull rank on some cop or worse, Sam finding out he'd been involved in a 'scuffle'.

Hoffman noticed his discomfort. "You feelin' okay Damon? Hope that sandwich isn't getting to you."

"So far nobody in here has recognized who we are," he replied. "I'd just like to keep it that way."

"Most of the cities are fairly COG-friendly. Ephyra's received a lot of demobbed soldiers lately and plenty of funds. Reminds me, though, of why I came here. You're worried about who you can trust on the streets here… and I'm worried 'bout who's got my back in the halls of power." Hoffman finished off his sandwich and gave Baird one of his 'looks'.

"Yeah, I know I know." Baird scratched at the back of his head. "Honestly, I have been working on that, but the personal files are seriously fragmented. I'm talking eight or nine goddamn pieces scattered all through the directories. The program I wrote to descramble the other files can't put these togther so I have to sort them by hand and… eehh, I've managed to get six or seven done so far."

"That's a start," Hoffman offered. "Any names jump out at you offhand? People who were working closely with the UIR during the war?"

Baird waved his hands. "I didn't look at 'em. I don't really want to know who's UIR or who's corporate or anything like that. I'm not a Gear anymore; I left all this political shit behind me when I left the military."

"Fair 'nuff. Just gimme what you got later and I'll work with that for now." Hoffman poked at a rather emaciated looking potato strip experimentally. "Found anything else interesting in the files?

"Actually, yeah, there was something that came up a couple of times and I'd like to ask you about it."

"I'm listening."

"What do you know about Feria?"

Hoffman's expression turned quizzical. "Country northwest of Tyrus, lots of mountains and passes. Really a 'nowhere' place as far as I can remember. What did that come up in relation to?"

"Just a couple files relating to some 'Project Searchlight' operations that went down there. Looks like it was around the same time as Hollow Storm, right when they couldn't spare a man to wipe toilet seats, so I thought that made it interesting."

"You have any idea what this project was about?"

"Not a clue," Baird lied. "You wouldn't be able to find someone alive today who could tell me about that, could you?"

Sighing, Hoffman replied, "You had me worried for a second there. Feria had a lot of COG troops stationed there during the Pendulum Wars; helped boost the power of their own military. When the Locust attacked, the troops were withdrawn to Tyrus and Coracin, 'cause Feria sits on an old tectonic divide and the Hollow wasn't connected to it. Locust mounted a goddamn aboveground invasion and pushed the Ferians into the sea 'bout four years later. They think we knew about that invasion coming and well… there's a little bit of truth to that rumour."

"Oh terrific. I'm sure our Ferian contacts will be overjoyed to help me, a former COG soldier. Real great work, Prescott."

"I'll see what I can do about that," Hoffman laughed. "What is it you want to know?"

"Oh, just stuff about the mountains where this Searchlight team supposedly went, if anybody knows anything about what they did, maybe any unusual happenings today that could be connected-"

"Today? Why do I get the feeling you're up to something, Damon?"

"What, a guy can't have hobbies? You're the one bypassing your own security detail to find out who's on the take." Baird folded his arms and hoped the redirect would work. Hoffman's only response was to take out his wallet and shove a few worn bills under an empty glass. "Alrighty then. Bill's settled, come on an' I'll give you a ride back home."

"And then… head on back to your hotel? Or wherever they've put you up?"

"Oh no. I'm gonna come in for coffee and find out if 'Granny's clever boy' has been treating his ladyfriend all right."

Baird was already wishing he was back at work.

I wanna do something with Cole soon. I don't think writers give him enough love.