Chapter 13, part 1.

Sandra Ford was already sitting at a table inside the wood-paneled café. She was dressed in another impeccable suit and had her short blond hair styled flawlessly, not a strand out of place. She stood up when Alice approached her—in linen pants and blouse, she felt quite underdressed, but the day was very hot and she decided on comfort rather than looks.

A harassed-looking server came to take their orders and a moment later they both were sipping iced coffees out of tall glasses.

"So, Major Boyd, first of all, let me thank you for agreeing to talk to me," Sandra began with another one of her signature professional smiles. In a weird way, it made Alice think of Kitty Watts, the nurse from Atlantis who'd taken care of her a number of times when Alice had ended up in the infirmary, and more recently was looking after Jake. Kitty Watts also had that beaming, uber-professional smile down pat. "I know it is not easy talking about things like this, and I can see that you are not really fond of the press in the first place, so I appreciate it even more."

"It's not that I'm not fond of the press in general, I think independent press is a vital part of a free and just society—it's just that I'm a little anti-social myself and—"

"Excuse me, Major—do you mind if I set up the voice recorder before we go on?" Sandra interrupted. "The recording is just for my own use, to transcribe the interview."

Alice frowned a little, but the shrugged. "Sure, I guess." She would have to be very careful about what she said anyway, so it didn't really make much of a difference.

"Thank you." The journalist brought out a small device and installed it in the middle of their table. "Please, continue. You said that independent press is a vital part of a free and just society—a very astute remark, if I may say so myself—but you have personal reservations?"

"I'm not a very social person," Alice repeated. "And most of what I do is highly classified, so talking to anyone who doesn't have the right clearance becomes a bit difficult, and to the press even more. There's a lot I won't be able to tell you."

"So I gathered from the trial." Sandra nodded. "I believe it was the judge himself who suggested your official occupation is a cover story."

"I can't comment on that," Alice answered smoothly, just as the young captain in the Press Office had instructed.

"That's quite alright. Just for the purpose of situating you a bit in the context of what we are going to discuss, could you tell me a bit about yourself?"

Alice frowned again. "I believe that, according to our agreement, you will not release any details on me, except my rank, age and branch affiliation."

Sandra sighed. "Yes, Major, of course, if that is what you prefer. But perhaps there is something you can tell me that will not identify you but would give our readers a bit of a background on what kind of person you are?"

"Like what?"

"Just what kind of experience you've had in life, your background. Are you a graduate of the Air Force Academy, or a civilian college? Did you major in STEM or social studies? Why did you decide to join the Air Force? What's your general career path—have you had a lot of exposure to the parts of the Air Force that are traditionally more male-leaning or the ones where the percentage of women is higher? All of this will allow me to situate you in the story a little bit, you know, get a feel of which parts are relevant to you."

Alice smirked, shaking her head. It was clear that Sandra did her homework well and knew all the answers to those questions—or almost all. But she couldn't use them in the story unless Alice gave her permission. She chose her words carefully. "Okay. I finished a civilian college and majored in STEM; I also have a PhD in a related field. My father was an aviator and he infected me with the love of flying, which is why I joined the Air Force. I was a fighter pilot for a while, and then did some other things. You will not find a more male-leaning environment in the Air Force than the fighter jockeys' community."

"Indeed. Isn't it true that the vast majority of women in the military work in Administration and Medical occupations?"

Alice nodded. "That is true for enlisted personnel. For officers, the vast majority work in health care–around forty percent, with a more even split between other specialties—from five to ten percent each for supply services, administration, science and engineering, intelligence and tactical operations. In contrast, for men, it's an equally even split except only little over ten percent work in health care, and over forty percent of officers are in tactical operations."

"And by tactical operations you mean combat positions?"

"It comprises both combat and non-combat positions." Alice nodded. "As opposed to other branches, women in the Air Force have been allowed to serve in aviation-related combat since 1993. In other branches, there's still a ban on women in combat, which does not mean there aren't any—many women serving in different occupations on or near the frontline have found themselves forced to participate in combat operations due to circumstances. But the Air Force is the only branch where we are actually equal to men in that capacity."

"It is quite a different thing to fly in combat and to go into a land-based war with a rifle," Sandra noted. "Do you think other branches will follow?"

"It is a natural next step. You're right, ground combat is different, but I do not see why women with the same qualifications, and meeting the same physical standards as men wouldn't be able to do it. As I mentioned, they already do—just not officially."

"Have you been in combat yourself?" The journalist asked, though she knew the answer very well.

"I got a Combat Action Medal for a flight mission," Alice answered evasively, though she could guess it wouldn't fly.

"Come on—I've heard you speak about your scars, and I've read the citations for your awards. They are very vague, but they clearly indicate participation in conflict on the ground."

"I cannot comment on what they indicate, or, in fact, talk about the circumstances of the incidents for which they had been awarded at all."

"It's not that hard to draw certain conclusions, Major. You have a Prisoner of War Medal, and that speaks for itself."

"Perhaps it does, but you will not be writing about it," Alice said coolly. "If you disclose my awards, it'll be easy to trace it back to me."

"But I have to say this—this is an important piece of information."

"Then just say 'decorated' or something like that." Alice shrugged. "It's not that hard."

"That sounds like it could be anything," Sandra protested.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Then pick one. One," she repeated, seeing her opening her mouth to resist further. "It's really the combo that's too traceable."

The journalist huffed. "Fine." Then she shook her head, smoothing her face into a mask of professionalism again. "I'm just trying to sketch out some background. But we can pass to the main topic now. Can we talk a little about the trial and the incident with Major Cho?"

Alice sighed. "Sure." Her voice must have been full of audible reluctance, because Sandra smirked. "What exactly do you want to know?"

"What are your thoughts on the trial—the preparation, how it went, and of course the verdict and sentence?"

Alice thought for a moment. "The only thing I was surprised about was the verdict—I had not thought they'd find him guilty of battery. In my mind, that charge was completely dependent on the attempted sexual assault—but after some contemplation, I had to admit it made sense. There really was no evidence beyond my word, and I understand why that could generate doubt. I was there and I know what happened—and what would've happened had I not fought back. But, I guess, there is still something reassuring in knowing that innocent until proven guilty isn't just a nice turn of phrase."

"So you agree with the verdict?"

"No, but I understand it." Alice shrugged. "And it was a more thoughtful one that I had expected. I was convinced that they'd acquit him of everything except larceny, since that was the only charge where we had irrefutable evidence. But the verdict that these five Army men gave makes me think they actually did believe me—they just couldn't, in their conscience, justify believing me on my word without anything concrete to support it. I can respect that." She paused, and then added coldly: "If I had my way, he'd be charged with full sexual assault and attempted rape. And he'd be dismissed from service at the very least."

"Not put in jail?" Sandra prompted.

"Not necessarily. I'm not really after revenge. I just want him out—him and every single man like him."

"Do you think it's possible?"

"Yes," Alice confirmed, though she wasn't sure if she truly believed it. "Eventually. We're only starting to make the necessary steps to do it, though."

"And what are those necessary steps?"

"Putting in a comprehensive policy and an office providing victim advocacy within the military was a good first one, but to make a real change, I believe, we need two fundamental things: first of all, more women in the service, plain and simple; and secondly, a change in culture. The first point is pretty self-explanatory: today, women make up only about twenty percent of Armed Services all told. The percentage is higher in the Air Force and the Navy than it is in the Army and the Marine Corps, so it's an average. And, as we've already established, there are specific occupations where the distribution of women to men is much higher. It is not a coincidence that sexual harassment and assault rates are generally lower in medical support units, where the ratio of women to men is higher, than they are in detachments closer to combat where women are far fewer. It is also not without importance that coming forward with accusations of harassment or assault is easier for women when their colleagues and bosses are female—it's simply more comfortable to talk about taboos like that with the members of your own gender, especially that there are hardly any women who've never experienced sexual harassment." She paused, wondering if she should go further with it. Screw it, she thought. "I can't imagine how much more reassuring it would've been to walk into that courtroom and see at least one woman among the members—not because I'd be hoping for a sympathetic ear, but for a single voice in the deliberations with a shared experience."

"Do you think it was done on purpose?"

"Not necessarily. Only about seventeen percent of officers in the Army are female—that percentage goes up to twenty-two for the Air Force, by the way—and generally the higher the rank, the more the scales tip towards men. It might not have even occurred to the convening authority to include female officers as well." She shook her head. "Being the only woman—and the only airman—in the room did not inspire confidence."

"And yet, despite all that, you seemed very collected and confident during your testimony," Sandra noted. "I was very impressed."

Alice had to force herself to reply truthfully. This is why you're doing it—to show those other women victimized by Cho that they can do this despite how scary it is, she told herself. "I assure you, that was not what I felt on the inside. Anxious and self-conscious would be a more apt description. I am not a particularly open person under the best of circumstances, so telling and re-telling my story over and over again is a little like my personal circle of hell." She smiled to soften up the message. "But I believe it is among my responsibilities to work towards limiting sexual harassment and assault in any way possible—if that means a sacrifice of my privacy, it's not a too high price to pay. And hence, we come smoothly to my second point, which is culture. There is a clear link between the rates of sexual harassment within a unit and the risk of being sexually assaulted. I don't exactly have the data to back it up—I don't think it exists within the DoD at the moment—but it is a simple fact that people who see sexual harassment being allowed are more likely to join in it, and also more likely to push the envelope and graduate to assault. And part of it is the responsibility of the commanders to punish harassment when it is evident, but even commanders with the best intentions won't be able to do anything if harassment is a daily occurrence within a unit. What I mean by that is that the onus to react is not—or should not be—on women who are being harassed, but rather on men who witness sexual harassment. If I am an Airman First Class in a supply unit—or, in fact, a butterbar lieutenant learning to fly fighter jets—and I am subject to harassment, I may have multiple reasons for letting it go and never reporting it—from fear of retaliation to anxiety over becoming a pariah in my unit, to concern about being dismissed for lack of evidence. So I learn to shut up and just take it, an attitude that conditions me to be more amenable and submissive to men, and that conditions men to think of me not as a fellow service member, but something separate, an object to be used or a toy—and it's a very short step from that to assault. And please don't misunderstand me: most men are not rapists or abusers. Only some will graduate to assault. But all men profit from the culture of harassment, because even if they don't harass themselves, it takes away their responsibility to react because it's so normalized and widely accepted as just something that happens. And so we badly need a change in that: it's men that must take up the duty to curtail harassment in their own circles. A woman cannot simply react to harassment for fear of escalation—we have to rely on post-factum reports, which, as I've mentioned already, are not always easy to do and often lead nowhere. A man, however, can react. Sometimes all it takes is to say to your buddy, hey man, that's not cool, leave her alone—and the most you can expect is some eye-rolls and accusations of lacking a sense of humor. That is what needs to happen much, much more often—men reacting to harassment in the moment they see it. We need to make it uncool and taboo—and I guarantee you that the rates of sexual assault will drop right down, too."

Sandra was nodding along, scribbling something down on a notepad she'd pulled from her purse—what for, Alice knew not, for the digital recorder was still planted on the table between them.

"Those are excellent points, Major, thank you," she said a minute later. "That's exactly what I was looking for. But I have a few more questions for you, if that's all right. They're a little more personal—nothing that'll allow anyone to track you down, just about your personal experience with harassment and assault."

Alice sighed and flagged a server to bring her another iced coffee. Her throat was dry from talking so much—and a little from stress, too, she had to admit. She was trying to sound confident, of course, but deep down she was feeling the pressure. It was almost like stage fright—mixed in with the heavy burden of responsibility when speaking about the Armed Forces: trying to be diplomatic and truthful at the same time.

"The first question I wanted to ask you is this: you said yourself that you are a very private person. Why a public trial?"

Alice took a sip of the coffee the server had just deposited in front of her. "What Cho did was premeditated. He let me win our bet so that he could claim I owed him—and that, more than anything else, told me that it couldn't have been the first time he did something like this. When I contemplated the court-martial, I figured the chances to actually get him convicted were low—but I thought, perhaps it would inspire other women to come forward. These kinds of cases have a tendency of doing that—once the dam breaks, the accusations will just pile up. And it worked. I can only hope that the result of the coming trials will be better than mine. I find the bravery of these three women truly inspiring."

"Well, you were equally brave."

Alice shook her head. "It's not brave when you're not risking anything. I am not Army, there is no way there could be any retaliation against me—I'm not saying there will be in the case of these three women, in fact from all that I've seen and the conversations I've had I'm pretty sure there won't be; but it is still a consideration they have to take into account, and I don't. I also have a very supportive CO—who even testified on my behalf."

Sandra nodded and moved to another topic. "There was one thing in particular you said during the trial that I wanted to ask about. The defense counsel accused you of making it all up because you didn't look traumatized, and you replied that it was only because he couldn't see your nightmares—and later you mentioned that you can deal with it because you've been through worse. Can you elaborate on that?"

Alice had the coffee glass in her hand; it trembled slightly as her hands shook, so she deposited it quickly on the table, peeking at the journalist to gauge if she'd seen it—and it seemed she had. "I can't," Alice replied curtly.

"Is it because it's too personal?"

Alice shrugged, but didn't answer.

"I can only imagine the things you've been through." Sandra's voice sounded less professional and more empathetic now. "Your scars and your awards bear a testimony to your endurance, but I'm sure there's much more to it than that—struggles that cannot be discerned from the outside."

Alice exhaled slowly. "I thought you wanted to talk about sexual misconduct in the military, and not about me," she said, irritated.

Sandra smiled widely. "Well, I wanted to do both, actually. I find you entirely fascinating, Major—I wish I could do a whole profile on you. But, of course, you are right. One last question, then. Can you give me some personal examples of harassment you experienced in the service?"

Not really, Alice thought defiantly, but then relented. "Most of it is just what you'd expect—nothing different than anyplace with a high men-to-women ratio. I've seen the same in college—fifteen years ago, in my majors there were only a couple other girls, so it was a similar gender makeup. You hear inappropriate jokes and comments, you get lewd stares, there are men casually brushing against you when they're walking by—even though there's plenty of space; or men putting their hands on your waist to get past you, as if it were impossible to say excuse me and wait until I move out of the way. Compared to college, there's a lot less catcalling—it's not really something to be done when in uniform, and when you're out of the uniform, it's really hard to tell if you're catcalling a fellow airman first class or an officer who'll have your ass for showing disrespect. But you get asked out a lot—and sometimes in very strange circumstances. I remember my first time in the T-6 Texan—it's a small trainer plane where student pilots learn the basics. I'd already known a fair bit—my father being an aviator, I had spent quite a lot of time in the air as a young kid, and then I learned to pilot a Cessna while in college—and my instructor was very taken with that fact. So much so, in fact, that he asked me out—sixteen thousand feet in the air, on my very first unaided flight." Alice shook her head. "He wasn't pleased when I refused and I was very relieved when it was time to move on to a Talon. T-38 Talon is a jet trainer," she explained, seeing Sandra's questioning look. "I had been asked out in many different situations—up in the air, getting out of my gear on the ground, in class, at the mandatory squadron PT and during a solo morning run, in the chow hall and on the streets… Like, don't get me wrong, there is nothing fundamentally wrong with asking someone out—but not while they're just trying to do their job. I don't really mind it if I'm at a bar and a guy chats me up—as long as he takes no for an answer. That's another good example. The number of times I said no and the guy took it as a challenge—I can't even count." She rolled her eyes. "And then there were the cases of unwanted touching… I already mentioned some examples, but in the service, especially at the beginning, there's plenty of other occasions for it: close-quarters combat training, especially when you learn chokeholds and other body-to-body techniques, it can leave you feeling pretty gross. When, during OTS, we were practicing fireman's carry, I, a five foot four and a hundred and five pounds woman, was somehow able to lift my much larger and heavier male colleagues without putting my hands where they don't belong, but for some reason every single one of them had to 'accidentally' touch my bottom or breasts. Or when I was still learning to fly, my instructors never missed an opportunity to get handsy with the straps of my safety harness—but of course they were merely 'checking' if they were properly attached."

"Gross," Sandra said with disgust.

Alice nodded agreement. "But it all depends on the unit. First two years, while I was in training, there wasn't a day without a lewd joke or a lecherous stare, or any of these other things. My next unit was much better—not ideal, still; I remember particularly the naming ceremony when myself and the only other woman in my squadron were made to wear revealing outfits to the delight of a drunk, lascivious mob of thirty or so men." She restrained a shiver at the memory. Over the years, she came to actually like her callsign, but remembering the circumstances in which it was given to her still made her angry. "But my last unit was perfect in that regard—I cannot remember a single instance of harassment, sexual or otherwise, directed at me or anyone else."

"And now?" The journalist prompted.

"Just one example." Alice shrugged, unwilling to go into details; Rennel's behavior still bothered her.

"Does it help to have a female leader?"

Alice cocked her head to the side. "I don't really think there's a difference in this specific case. The previous CO was also great and although I'd served under him shortly, I don't think the situation was any worse then. But in general, yes, I'm sure it can't hurt."

Sandra nodded and looked down at her notes. "I think this is all that I wanted to ask you, Major. Unless you have anything to add?"

Goodness, no. "No, I think you've made me talk for long enough." Alice smirked.

"Fantastic. Well, Major, I want to thank you for this interview—it has been excellent. You've provided me with a lot of material." She picked up the digital recorder and turned it off. "I will be in touch with your Press Office concerning the authorization. I expect the article to be ready within the next week or two." She stood up and extended her arm.

Alice shook it. "Thank you, Ms. Ford." She wasn't sure what else to say. "Have a good weekend."

"You too."

Alice nodded, turned around and walked out of the café.

The day was fair and warm, with gusts of wind blowing from the south. Alice pulled up to a parking lot in front of three large, officially-looking buildings that constituted the headquarters of the Air Force Space Field Command, the US Northern Command and the US Army Space and Missile Defense Command. The wind picked up the few stray strands of her hair escaped from under the cap and made them dance wildly as she walked over to the Hartinger Building.

Only half an hour earlier, she had taken a phone call from the Visitor's Center at Peterson Air Force Base that had brought her here in such a hurry; she merely had had time to change into her service dress uniform and drive down from the SGC. Now, she walked quickly through the corridors, escorted by a senior airman, her anxiety growing with every step. And then she was ushered through a door into a large, comfortable office, where two men sat on plush armchairs to the side of the room.

"Ah, here you are," said one of them, uncrossing his legs and sitting up a little. He was wearing an Army green uniform with a single silver star on his epaulettes. The other man had the Air Force blues and the insignia of a colonel's eagle on him. Alice knew both of them, but only one well. "Took you long enough to get here," her Uncle Simon commented good-naturedly, but with an interested twinkle in his eye.

"I'm sorry, sir, I was not expecting to be called here," she replied carefully, unsure if he was there in an official capacity or not. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Why are you here, Uncle?

"I decided to stop in Colorado on my way back home," he declared casually. "I wanted a little word with Colonel Martin here."

"I'm sorry I could not answer all your questions to your satisfaction, sir," the base's commander said.

Simon waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, Colonel—you've answered plenty enough." He stood up and shook hands with the garrison commander. "Thank you for all your help. I will be in touch."

"My pleasure, General."

"Alright, then. Let's go, Alice—I want to talk to you, too." And he marched off.

Alice threw a curious look at the colonel, nodded to him respectfully, and raced up after her uncle.

"Where can one get a decent cup of coffee around here?" He demanded as they walked out of the building.

"I'm not sure," Alice had to admit, putting her cap back on. "I think there's a Starbucks at the Exchange."

He grimaced. "If you call that good coffee… fine, let's get there. Where's your car? I'll follow you."

She would really like to know what he was doing here and why was he talking to Colonel Martin, but she decided to shut up for now and instead got into her car and drove the two-and-a-half miles to another parking lot in front of the base's Exchange—a military department store. Simon followed her in a rental Mercedes.

"Why are you here, Uncle?" Alice asked before they even got to the building, but he just waved at her and went in. People made way for him left and right. The line to the counter magically disappeared as soon as he approached and he did not even bat an eye. Alice merely rolled her eyes. At the SGC, her golden oak leaf secured her respect and courtesy from enlisted men and lower-grade officers for sure, but it seemed like Simon's mere presence changed the atmosphere of a place from casual to highly formal. She's never noticed the same effect with Carter—but, then again, this was a different scenario. While everybody at the SGC had deep respect for her personally, and for her heroic achievements, they knew her to be a rather easygoing boss, and the attitude of people around her reflected that. To the people in the room, Simon was a wild card, and so deference was a safe default to assume.

They got their coffees and sat down at a table outside the shop, in the gallery's corridor.

"Okay, Uncle, will you tell me now what's going on?" Alice asked desperately.

"Am I not allowed to just visit my niece?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "I told you, I came down here to talk to Martin. And I thought, as long as I'm here, might as well check in on you." He threw her a sidelong glance. "You never called me about the result of the court-martial."

She sighed. "I'm sure you've found out yourself anyway."

He nodded curtly. "I did. I had a little conversation with Heath today. He said this was a better result than you'd expected. Is that true?"

"Yes. I didn't think they'd convict him on the battery charge," she confirmed. "But, for me at least, the most important is that there are now other women coming forward with accusations against him."

"Not only him," Simon noted casually and then smiled a bit arrogantly when he saw her surprised expression. "You didn't know that, did you? Apparently your testimony has stirred something in there. Heath told me there are three women accusing Cho, and two more that have made reports on another guy, I can't remember his name—a tanker, Anderson or Anders perhaps?"

"Barry Andersen?" Alice's eyebrows went all the way up. "Really?"

"You know him?"

"He was the one who introduced me to Cho." Alice shook her head. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. His bet against me was for a date with one of his men." She paused for a moment, and then added with a bit of perverse satisfaction: "Good."

"I'm not sure if it's that good. This Cho guy deserves to be punished, but we don't want all officers to live in fear of saying one wrong word and ending up on the stand, too," her uncle commented.

Alice told herself not to take the bait. It was really not worth it.

He seemed disappointed that she was silent. "Anyway, how are you feeling with all of it now?"

She shrugged. "I'm alright. I'm glad it's behind me now. Though I'm gonna keep an eye on those other complaints, to see where they lead."

"If anywhere," he challenged again.

Alice half-closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. It was much more difficult to remain calm with Simon these days, and she had to work very hard. When she spoke, her voice was cool, but steady. "So what were you talking with Colonel Martin about?"

"Ah." He smirked and took a long sip of his coffee, prolonging the silence, before he continued: "Quite a lot. I found out a very curious little factoid from him, in fact. He is in charge of the entire Peterson garrison, and yet he is nowhere in your chain of command. How is that possible, Alice?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's just the way it is, Uncle."

"Come on. I'm gonna find out eventually. Might as well tell me."

"If I did, you'd have to report me to my CO and then I'd be the one getting court-martialed," she replied gravely.

"And who's your CO? Surely that cannot be classified!"

She had to concede that point. "Her name is Brigadier General Samantha Carter."

"Huh!" He arched his eyebrows, and Alice thought he was surprised—and probably a little offended—that it was a woman; but she was wrong. "I've heard that name before. She's a direct report of General O'Neill—I'd met him at my promotion party. I'm sure you remember." His look was very significant.

Alice rolled her eyes. "As far as I remember, General O'Neill gave you a very specific order back then."

"Oh, yes—to not ask about what had happened then. But I have never been told not to ask about you. After all, you're my niece and all I want is to ensure your well-being."

"Oh, sure." Her tone was cold and sarcastic. "So is that why you came here? To ask Colonel Martin about me?"

He puffed. "No, this was just a by-the-way." He paused and seemed to hesitate. This threw Alice a little; Simon never hesitated. "I came down to talk about Tobey."

She frowned. This was unexpected. "Why? What's going on with Tobey? And what does Colonel Martin have to do with him?"

He grimaced. "So I take it he didn't tell you?"

"About what? I haven't talked to him in a while," she admitted; she'd been so fixated on what was going on in her life that she didn't even notice a certain relaxing of contact with her favorite cousin.

"You remember his girlfriend, Samantha?"

Alice nodded. She'd met her at a few occasions—Jodie's engagement party, her wedding and at Tobey's promotion to First Lieutenant, though the celebration took place when Alice was on her convalescent leave and she could hardly remember what had happened; that time, the first two weeks at least, was veiled with a heavy cloud of haze in her memory.

"Well, he proposed to her—and she told him no. Of course, they've broken up now and he… well, he lost all focus, foolish boy." Simon shook his head disapprovingly, though not without a little bit of compassion, Alice thought. "I don't think staying there is serving him well, so I'm trying to get him reassigned—either here or to Schriever."

"Did he put in for a reassignment?"

"Like it matters," Simon dismissed the idea. "He doesn't know what's best for him."

"But you do?"

"Of course, I am his father!"

Alice sighed deeply. "Uncle, he's twenty-five. He's an adult and perfectly capable of making his own decisions. You can't take it away from him."

"Like hell I can't! He's still a kid—he needs a good push in the right direction!"

Alice put a hand on her left temple, feeling a little ball of pain starting to grow there. Maybe she shouldn't have drunk this coffee—it was her sixth that day. Though she rather suspected the pain was in connection with her uncle's stubborn arrogance. "He isn't a kid. He had asked a girl to marry him—he was ready to start a family," she said emphatically. "He is a great officer. He has grown immensely in the past couple of years. If nothing else, he deserves your respect. I'm not saying you shouldn't have any influence over his life—but you gotta do it through him. Just talk to him–ask him what he wants. If he indicates that he's ready for a change, then you'll be free to meddle to your heart's desire." Simon looked put off, but Alice didn't let him speak yet. "He is your son. I know you want what's best for him, but you need to let him decide what that should be—even if that means letting him fall on his face."

"He's such a headstrong boy!" Simon growled. "Choosing Air Force, then a civilian college, and now this?!"

Alice actually smiled at that. "But don't you see—that means he's his own man. A confident man, one who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to reach for it—and that's all thanks to you. You raised him to be independent and strong—how can you reproach him for that now?"

He grumbled unintelligibly into his coffee. Alice didn't continue—she thought it would be good to let him ponder her words for a moment.

"Fine, then!" He finally barked. "I'll talk to him about it—but I can't promise I'll do what he wants if it's too stupid."

Alice rolled her eyes again, but held her tongue. This was a great concession on his part, and for once she felt like he actually listened.

"But if he does get reassigned here—" he continued after a moment, his eyes now boring into Alice's "—will you help him out? Get him settled in here?"

She blinked quickly. "But of course! Why would I not?"

"I don't know, you always seem to be doing something important," he muttered accusingly. "Always away."

She sighed, telling herself to remain calm. She didn't want to destroy the tentative compromise they now had. "I'm sorry, Uncle—what I do is important and I give it my all. But I promise I'll make time for Tobey should he really move here."

"Good. Fine, then." He put down his empty coffee cup. "You know, talking to you sometimes is just like it used to be talking to your father."

Alice looked up at him, surprised. "Oh? In what way?"

"He was always trying to temper me just like you do." He shrugged indifferently, but there was something—a gleam in his eyes that said more than what his words would express.

"I miss him, too." Alice nodded, understanding.

"Yeah. Well, we can't turn back time, so we have to push forward," he said, trying to sound offhand and almost succeeding. Then he stood up. "I've taken enough of your time now—I'll be going."

"Where are you staying?" She got to her feet, too, and they began walking towards the exit of the building.

"At the Army hotel at Fort Carson. I'll catch an early flight from Denver onwards to L.A. tomorrow morning."

For one crazy second she wanted to suggest that he stayed in her guest room, but then she remembered that they didn't really like each other all that much and having him at her house would only be uncomfortable and awkward—for both of them.

They halted at his car. "Well, it's been interesting," he said. "Goodbye, Allie."

She smiled quite sweetly. "Goodbye, Uncle. Have a safe flight."

He nodded, got into his car and drove off.