Colonel Truman made his way over to The Garage to check on his son after the attack. He hadn't wanted to believe that he would have to face this kind of thing. He didn't want to think that the White Rose existed, but he had since found out that not only did it exist, but it seemed likely that they were behind the attack.
Although he had wanted things to be different for both of his sons, he was no stranger to prejudice. He had struggled against it for most of his life. He had worked so hard and earned more commendations than anyone in his unit in order to break through the glass ceiling. Despite all the advances and equal opportunities legislation, much of the internal structure of the military was still a highly political environment. Nepotism wasn't just an unfortunate fact in the military, it was the rule.
Since he had no friends or relatives in the higher positions of power, the only way he could hope to advance was to perform deeds of such valour that they could not be ignored. He had to fight to earn everything he earned. He was a Colonel because he had earned it. As much as he didn't want to treat his children favourably, he had done all he could to ensure that they didn't have to face the same struggle. Of course this was different though. While he was no stranger to controversy or adversity, most of what he had faced was simply whispered insults. This was the first time anyone had seemed prepared to take their prejudice to the level of violence.
"Hi dad." Scott greeted him, making his way painfully to his father's side. "How are things?"
"Things are pretty good all things considered." Colonel Truman replied, taking a seat with him. "How are you feeling?"
"I'll live." He replied. "It looks like whoever did this only wanted to make a point. There's nothing serious, it could have been a lot worse."
"You are seriously hurt Scott." Dr. K called over from her work bench. "You do have severe bruising of the brain, and I haven't yet ruled out the possibility of internal bleeding."
"Thanks Dr. K." Scott groaned, looking to his father. He knew he would be worried, and the last thing he wanted was for his dad to try and convince him to lie low. It was bad enough that he had been hurt without appearing to be running scared from a few punks. "Dad, I'll be fine."
"Scott, this is a very serious matter." He told him sympathetically. "Do you remember anything about what happened in the alley?"
"Not really." He replied. "I remember chasing somebody, then the next thing I know I'm on the ground and guys are using my head as a kickball."
"So you have no idea who did this?" He asked him. Scott tried hard to remember the incident. He wasn't really surprised that he couldn't remember much. It had only been a couple of hours since the attack, and as Dr. K had reminded him, he had sustained quite a blow to the head. It was possible he would never remember what had happened.
"I think I remember one of them in a suit." Scott told him, thinking about it.
"You had been to the tailors to get your uniform adjusted." Colonel Truman reminded him. "Is it possible that you're just getting your facts mixed up?"
"For some reason it seems like an important detail." Scott said as he held his head. Colonel Truman looked at him a little concerned.
"Dr. K he seems to be in pain." He told her. "Could you give him something?"
"I'll administer a painkiller later." She told him. "Right now I wanted to give it a while before I inspect his injuries again. If there is any internal bleeding, then I'll know about it soon enough."
"Well that's reassuring to know." Scott muttered a little sarcastically.
"Scott, you aren't going to like what I'm about to tell you." Colonel Truman told him, putting down the evening newspaper. Scott looked at the page it had been turned to, reading the story about his attack. "They found a quantity of drugs at the scene."
"Dad, I don't do drugs." Scott told him flatly. "You know that, I'll take a piss test right now..."
"That won't be necessary Scott." Dr. K interrupted him. "If there was anything in your system it would have been picked up in my earlier tests."
"Dad, I don't take drugs." Scott repeated his assertion. "If there was anything at the scene, then it was probably dropped by one of my attackers."
"Sam's running some tests on the drugs to see if we can't trace them." Colonel Truman replied. "Until then, it's best we do nothing to attract attention to ourselves. The press is having a field day trying to suggest you were there to make a deal."
"Dad, this article's on page three." Scott commented. "Why isn't it the front page?"
"Would you rather you were being smeared on the front page?" Colonel Truman asked him in response. "Why don't you ask Summer how much fun that is?"
"Dad, you know what I mean; something like this should be front page news." Scott said a little impatiently, turning back to the headline. Colonel Truman shook his head apologetically as Scott read the banner headline.
"The Myth of the Hero of Corinth?" Scott read incredulously. "Marcus Truman a Coward?"
"I'm sorry Scott; it looks like you aren't the only Truman that's getting slammed in the papers today." Colonel Truman said quietly. "Someone from Eagle Squadron spoke to them off the record claiming that Marcus was flying away from the attack. They're saying he was a coward."
"Son of a bitch!" Scott snarled, throwing the newspaper aside in his anger. He got up, heading for the door, only to be cut off by his father. "You can't just stand back and let this happen!"
"Scott, I'm as upset about this as you are!" He yelled in response. "Marcus was my first born son. When I read that article, the only thing I wanted to do was find whoever told those lies about Marcus and break every bone in his body, but the way things are going that would only confirm what they're saying about us."
"Someone's launching a smear campaign against us." Scott spat bitterly. "Why would anyone do this?"
"I think I know." Colonel Truman told him. "Have you heard of The White Rose?"
"You're kidding right?" Scott asked him. "You think this is down to some non-existent cult?"
"A white rose was found on your body." Colonel Truman informed him. "That fact was kept out of the papers. I recently found out that they exist."
"So you're saying that it doesn't matter what we did for this city?" Scott hissed under his breath. "They're lying about us because we're not white?"
"Scott, think about it, there's now only a couple of million people left." Colonel Truman reminded him. "The objective of creating a single race colony's never been so attainable; the only real obstacle is us."
"We're the obstacle?" Scott asked him.
"Think about it, the Heroes of Corinth, the ones everyone owes their lives to, are the Truman family." He reminded him. "I think they're trying to sully our name."
"Well people can say what they want about me." Scott told him. "I don't care, but Marcus isn't here to fight back. They've gone too far."
"Trust me, I don't want to let this sit either, but until this dies down we can't risk alienating the public any further." He warned him. "Until further notice, the best thing we can do is lie low and not talk to the press."
Colonel Truman got up from his chair and placed a hand on Scott's shoulder reassuringly.
"I know this hurts, but we have to bide our time." He stated. "You know where I am if you want to talk."
"Thanks dad." He replied. "That's going to mean a lot."
With that, Colonel Truman left. Scott picked up the newspaper and looked at it once more in disgust, before throwing it into the trash.
He hated the fact that people were doing this to his family. It was bad enough that they were casting doubts on why he was in the alley, making it seem like he was there to buy drugs, but at least he was around to deny the fact. The thing that hurt the most was what they were saying about Marcus.
It wasn't fair that anyone was denying his valour or bravery during the Battle of Corinth. He had led the aerial assault. The evacuation would never have succeeded if it wasn't for him. Now though people were claiming that he hadn't done so. They were calling him a coward, and he wasn't there to defend himself. Since the wreckage of the plane was outside the dome, there was no way to prove the story one way or another.
"Scott, can I look at your injuries again?" Dr. K asked him, gesturing him over. Scott pulled off his shirt and came over to her, allowing her to look at the injuries to his ribs.
Dr. K inspected the injuries, feeling a little regret as she did so. She knew how upset Scott had been by Marcus' death, especially since he had found the flight recording. She knew that it played heavily on his mind.
"I'm sorry." She said quietly, checking some of the bruises tenderly. "What's happening isn't fair."
"It wouldn't be the first time something like this has happened." Scott told her. "Now I know how Summer felt."
"I'm sure most people will treat newspapers with as much contempt as I do." She said with as much warmth as she could manage. She hated how awkward she found social situations. Ranger Yellow seemed to make it seem so easy, but she just couldn't identify with the others in the same way. She understood feeling upset. She had more than enough pain in her own life, but she didn't seem to be able to empathise with others effectively. "They always report limited facts in order to achieve the story they want to write. Personally I like to know all the facts."
"Thanks Dr. K." Scott responded as she continued to examine him. "Sadly not everyone had an IQ of 218."
"Actually my IQ's too high to accurately measure." She corrected him, before rolling her eyes and groaning. As usual, she couldn't stay focused on the task at hand when a point of fact came up. She looked up, seeing Scott smiling slightly.
"Why doesn't that shock me?" He asked her. "I guess it just sucks that some people will believe the article. The worst part is I could have proved this is all a load of crap, and now I have nothing."
"You could have proved he was innocent?" Dr. K asked, feigning innocence. She knew about the flight recording, but she hadn't told Scott that. She didn't want him to know that as usual her curiosity got the better of her and she had copied it for further study. He had made her feel better at a time when she was certain that the other Rangers were going to turn their backs on her, and for that reason she hadn't turned the recording over to Colonel Truman. "How?"
Scott breathed a sigh as he realised what he had blurted out. He knew that by protocol he should have turned it in to his father, but in his desperation to hold onto his brother, he had kept it for himself. Over time though, it had started to mess with his mind, and he was becoming obsessed with it. In the end, he had confided in Flynn and asked him to dispose of it. If he knew what had happened to it, he knew he'd only seek it out.
"When I took the reactor from Marcus' plane I also took the flight recorder." He admitted. "I was just so desperate to have a piece of him with me that I never told anyone. It was starting to mess with my head, so I got rid of it."
He pulled his shirt back on and took a seat.
"I wish I'd just given it to dad like I was supposed to." He muttered. "Then we could do something about clearing his name."
"You still might be able to." Dr. K said quietly. She made her way to the computer and accessed the sound file, beginning to play the recording. "I know about the recording."
"How did you find out about this?" Scott asked her. "Where did you get it?"
"It was in your jacket the night you lent it to me." She confessed. "I made a copy. I know I shouldn't have, I know..."
Her words were cut off as Scott threw his arms around her, hugging her in his excitement, before turning back to the recording.
"I can't believe it; we have a chance to straighten this out!" He yelled excitedly. "Can you make a copy to give to dad?"
"I'll download it to a disk." She finally managed to say, feeling her face flushing as a result of his rather impromptu show of affection. "Just try to get some rest."
Scott made his way through to his bedroom, his excitement at being able to clear his brother's name obvious. It made Dr. K feel good about herself to finally be able to do something to repay Scott for everything he had done. It was then that she noticed something strange. She had been running the recording through a simulation to establish what had happened.
"This can't be right." She murmured. "I need to get a look at the wreckage."
With that, she pulled on her cloak and headed out of The Garage, making her way to Central Command. She needed to verify her findings before she presented them to the Colonel. If she was right, then there was a lot more to the incident than anyone thought.
Meanwhile, Ziggy and Flynn were over at the forensics lab with Sam as she ran some tests on the drugs. Despite her injuries, she insisted on going to the lab to help with the investigation. She made her way between a couple of different benches, using her crutches for support.
"You know I am here to help you know lass." Flynn reminded her, making his way to her side to help her as she stumbled.
"You know I have to get used to this myself." She reminded him. "I'm getting a lot stronger."
"You just don't want to push yourself too hard." Flynn reminded her. "You don't want to hurt yourself."
"If there's anywhere I'm not likely to hurt myself, it's the lab." She joked weakly. "I spend so much time here I could make my way around here blindfolded."
"So what are the results of the tests?" Ziggy asked her. Sam handed him a report.
"It's a pretty distinctive mixture." She told him. "One I'm sure you'll be familiar with."
"Diamond Dust." Ziggy sighed.
"What's that?" Flynn asked him.
"It's a kind of cocaine." He replied. "It's refined in a particular way that's unique to the Scorpion Cartel."
"So he was attacked by some of your old running buddies?" Flynn asked him.
"Unfortunately it looks that way." Ziggy replied, pulling out his cell phone. "Benny, it's me. I need to talk with you in private."
Meanwhile, Dr. K had arranged a small escort to take her from the city. Two soldiers followed her as she made her way to the wreckage of the plane, inspecting the fuselage for damage.
"Dr. K, with all due respect, can we hurry this along?" One of the soldiers demanded. "We don't want to risk running into a perimeter patrol."
"This shouldn't take long." She assured him, taking photographs of the damage. "Besides, the perimeter patrols aren't as active at night. We should be able to finish up here and get back to the city without being detected."
"So what are we looking for?" He asked her. "I take it you're trying to disprove the story in this evening's paper."
"If I'm right, I'll prove much more than that." She replied as she found the section of engine. "I knew it!"
"What is it?" He asked as he came over to her. "It's a damaged engine."
"The sound on the flight recording of the hit didn't sound right, and now I know why." Dr. K informed him, gesturing to the damage. "Venjix fighters use blasters. The scorching isn't what's interesting; it's the way the damage flares out like this."
She gestured to the twisted metal, mushrooming out from the main fuselage. "A blaster wouldn't cause this kind of damage, the laser beam would just smash straight through. This suggests that an explosion occurred on impact."
"So what does that mean?" He asked her, gesturing to his partner to move around as Dr. K was distracted by the wreckage.
"He wasn't hit by a blaster; he was hit by a missile." She stated. "That means he was shot down by someone on Eagle Squadron."
"So it was friendly fire?" The soldier asked her. Dr. K shook her head.
"No, the missiles on Corinth Fighters have a safety mechanism that scans any craft it locks onto for life signatures." She explained. "If there's anyone on board, the missiles will detonate at a safe distance. The only way those shots could have been fired is if someone disabled the safety mechanism. Marcus' plane being shot down was no accident. He was murdered."
Just then, she heard the click of a blaster being levelled behind her.
"Well it didn't take you long to figure that out." Her escorting guard told her. "It's just a shame we can't let that little piece of news get out."
"Killing me won't stop the truth from coming out eventually." She told him, holding up her hands where they could be seen.
"Who said anything about killing?" He asked her ask his accomplice handcuffed her hands behind her back. "Fortunately for you we still have a purpose for you."
"I'm not going to help you." She told them flatly.
"Trust me; the man we work for can be very persuasive." He replied.