Yet again Dalton returned to his home base to discover that it remained intact, but his fear was worse than ever. That was two outposts now, two places fallen, and he knew that his own base was nothing special.

If the monsters came calling, there would be little they could do about it, apparently.

Being in that Control Room had been like staring into a dark, terrifying near future, given it was a carbon copy of his own Control Room.

As they got within range, he hit the shortwave. "Dalton to Miller, need to talk right now," he said.

The response was immediately. "Dalton! What the hell happened out there!? Was that explosion you?!" Miller demanded.

"Yes. We detonated Gamma Nine's Command Center."

"In the name of God, why!?"

"The creatures...they were doing something to the survivors. They had captured them and they were changing them somehow."

A long pause. "...I don't know what you're saying, Dalton. I don't understand."

He sighed sharply. "I'll tell you in person. We're almost there."

"I...all right. All right."

They still hadn't seen anything beyond some large, uncertain shapes on the horizon that might be ships or might be...something else.

It took almost half an hour but between the two of them, they finally managed to convey what they had seen and what they had done to Miller. The three of them and Dix were holed up in a side storage room in the Command Center since his office was too small to hold all four of them and Dalton and Dix in their bulky armor, and he didn't want to wait.

"So what are we going to actually do?" Dix asked, chewing on a cigar and fiddling with his flamethrower. "Because all this waiting around for something to happen is starting to get to me."

"Just before you two got back, we finally got a reply from the Confederacy," Miller replied. Dix looked up in surprise, but otherwise remained silent.

"What'd they say?" Dalton asked, his voice neutral.

"They told us to sit tight, they'd send someone to help reinforce us as soon as they could. They're aware of the problem, these things, apparently they're called zerg. They're aliens. They've been showing up for a few weeks now."

"Knew they were aliens," Dalton muttered, but he frowned. "How do they know they're called the zerg?"

Miller shrugged. "I guess that's what they decided to call them? But they said to sit tight for now."

"We don't need reinforcements, we need an evac," Dalton said.

"No, we have to sit tight. They said we can handle them," Miller replied.

Dalton shook his head. "You didn't see the bases. It was a slaughter. A slaughter, okay? Not one survivor. Not a one. They ripped through everything. Even if we survive for reinforcements, it won't matter. We aren't a full base, we're hardly an outpost. We can't take them on. We need to get the hell out of the Wastelands or we're all gonna die."

Miller looked uncertain. He glanced at Dix. "I'm with Dalton," he said.

A look of strain came onto Miller's weathered face. He looked older than he ever had, worn out and exhausted, buckling under the strain of stress. He began to say something but then a look of pain came across his narrow face and he winced, then shook his head. "No, we wait. That's my official decision, Sergeants. Base stays on high alert and we wait for reinforcements."

Dalton looked at Dix, who stared back at him, the slightest hint of disapproval on his face. He knew Ari wouldn't say anything. Finally, Dalton sighed. "Fine. Any chance I can talk with whoever you got in touch with?" he asked.

"You can try," Miller said, relaxing a little. "But the conversation was brief. Haven't been able to get anything else since then...Sergeant Dixon, Specialist Frost, I'd like you two on guard duty along the walls. When you're done, I'd like you to make sure our defenses are ready, Dalton, and then join them."

Frost and Dixon both nodded and disappeared out of the storage room.

"Yes, sir," Dalton said, going to follow them.

"Wait, Dalton," Miller replied, before he could get to the door. He stopped and looked back. "Did Frost say anything?"

"I asked her, she says she doesn't know anything about what's going on," he replied.

"Do you believe her? I know how these Ghosts can be," Miller muttered.

Dalton nodded. "I believe her. I've worked with a few Ghosts, and they're shifty, quiet, usually wouldn't tell you anything, but they aren't all bad. I think she's telling the truth."

"Hmm...did you find out why she's really out here?" he asked.

Dalton decided to take a calculated risk. "You know they take 'em when they're babies, right? The Confederacy? To make Ghosts?"

"Yeah, that's what I heard."

"They cut 'em off from their families...sometimes some of the Ghosts go looking for family members. They want to reconnect. She's got a cousin out here, somewhere...and she'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything."

Miller seemed to consider that, chew on it for a bit, then he sighed softly. "Yeah...I get that," he said, his features relaxing. "I got a son out there...was a time I couldn't give less of a damn if you paid me, but now? Past few years? He's all I can think about some days...I'd give damn near anything to see him again...yeah, I won't say anything," he muttered.

Dalton was surprised. He hadn't known that. He nodded and, unsure of what to say, left the room without saying anything more. He moved back to the Control Room and over to the communications console, which was being manned by Mulberry.

"Anything on comms?" he asked.

"No...what happened out there?" the young man asked anxiously.

"Nothing good," Dalton replied. "Call up the last message between Miller and whoever he managed to talk to."

"Uh...okay, Sergeant."

Mulberry worked his station and once he had the broadcast up, Dalton tapped into it wirelessly via his suit and played it over his own radio.

He expected there to be a haze of static but it was shockingly clear.

"We hear you, Lieutenant Miller. This is Staff Sergeant Muntz of Gamma One." Muntz sounded authoritative and collected, but...something was off.

Miller sounded immediately relieved. "Oh, thank God, Staff Sergeant! We've got a major situation out here. We have been finding evidence of an unknown hostile force attacking outposts in the area. Comms have been down for days. We need immediate advisement."

"Understood, Lieutenant, I hear you. We have also had encounters with these hostiles. They are called 'zerg'. They are an invading alien force and you are to eliminate them at all costs. Do you understand me?"

"I do, but we don't have the men or the resources. We're under-equipped for any kind of defensive operation, let alone an offensive one–"

"I understand that, Lieutenant. We're swamped at the moment, but we'll send out reinforcements when we can. Just stay put."

"Well-all right, yeah, understood."

"Good, we'll be...ztt...act...zzt…" The interference came on suddenly and strongly. Miller tried a few times to raise them again, but there was nothing. Dalton kept his face neutral. He disconnected from the workstation.

"Thanks, Mulberry. I gotta go check on our defenses," he said.

"Okay...uh...Sarge, should I be doing anything?" he asked, a little quietly.

Dalton considered it. "Make sure your gun is in working order and loaded. Be ready for a fight. This ain't a drill, we're in real shit here."

"Oh...yes, Sergeant," he muttered.

Dalton walked out of the Control Room, back down the central corridor, his stomach roiling. He'd heard enough radio chatter to know when someone was feeding someone a line of bullshit, and he'd bet his next paycheck that Muntz was feeding them bullshit. He wasn't entirely sure what portion of it was a lie, some or maybe even all of it, but it was the kind of thing that neural tampering could make you blind to, and Miller had been blind to it. And that interference there at the end...it was almost like they had been in control of it.

Like they'd cleared it up, made their call, and then put it back in when they were done dealing with Miller and didn't want to hear from him anymore. It was just too convenient. But what the hell did all that add up to?

Was the Confederacy in on it?

Did they know more than they were letting on...or less? Did they not want to talk because they knew Gamma Seven was fucked?

Or was it something else entirely?

Whatever it was, he knew it wasn't right. He walked back down to the storage room where they'd held the meeting and poked his head in on the off chance Miller was still there, and was surprised to find this to be the case.

"What is it?" Miller asked, jerking slightly.

"Miller–" Dalton paused, then slipped inside and closed the door behind him, "I think we're on own here."

"What?" he asked. "Why would you say that?"

"Listening to that transmission...I don't think they're coming for us. I don't think they'll send even a single dropship. I think we need to come up with a plan to get the hell out of here."

"You don't think you're overreacting? Why would they abandon us?"

"Maybe they don't have a choice. Tell me something, do you really think they'd tell us if there was no hope for us? Or would they tell us to just sit tight? You were there, in the field, Miller, I know you were. How many times did they lie? How many times did they feed us BS? You know how they are," he growled.

Miller looked like a man caught between a rock and a hard place. Frowning deeply, wincing almost, he looked away. Swallowed heavily. He was sweating. Dalton waited.

"We don't even have any dropships," he said finally. "We don't have enough rovers to get out...where would we even go?"

"Nearest settlement is Deadwood. It's fifty four miles north. We can make it. We'll need more vehicles, but remember, Gamma Six is the next nearest outpost. Let me take a team over there and salvage whatever vehicles they got. Hell, we can ride on SCVs if we have to," Dalton said.

Miller continued grimacing, sweating now. Dalton knew what was happening, the neural war being waged inside his weathered skull. He wanted to believe the Confederacy, believe in the Confederacy, and it wasn't just the mental tampering. That was good old fashioned human nature, and fear. Dalton wanted to believe it himself, wanted to believe a dozen dropships with Marines and Firebats and some Goliaths were on their way right now to save the day. But it almost certainly wasn't true. Even if it was, it was obvious they had to get the hell out of here, because the outposts weren't strong enough to stand up to these zerg, whatever the hell they were.

"Tomorrow," he said finally, and Dalton suppressed his reaction. He could see it already: Miller had made up his mind, lost his own internal war with fear or the Confederate conditioning or some other thing. "If they haven't come by tomorrow, you can put a squad together and go to Gamma Six and get the vehicles, if they have them."

"All right," Dalton said. "I'm going to get to work."

Miller nodded. "Me too."

They left the storage room.

"What are you thinking of?" Ari murmured, running a hand slowly down his arm.

"My plan to get us the hell out of here," he replied, staring at her ceiling.

"We already thought about that. We've done what we can."

"Are you seriously telling me to relax?" he asked, laughing a little.

"Yeah...is that a problem?" she asked.

"No, not a problem, just a...surprise. I never thought I'd be getting told to relax by a Ghost. You all aren't traditionally known for relaxing. But, um...you're right."

He resettled on the bedding and she did the same, getting closer to him beneath the blanket.

The day had gone about as well as he'd expected it to. His check of the defenses had turned up a number of problems. No surprise there. He'd put as many spare people as he could on the problems, and had spent most of his time checking over the vehicles. There were only three left now, the pair of rovers and the larger lifting vehicle. In a pinch, he figured it could carry somewhere over a dozen, perhaps a dozen and a half if they were really, really desperate. He had made sure they were powered up and had repaired as many problems as he could that might cause them to stop working. After that, he'd gone and done some work on his Gauss Rifle and power armor.

Though he'd worked until sundown, and past it, he still didn't feel great about his chances. The vehicles, the weapon, the armor, all of it was as good as it was going to get, but that bar was a bit low out in the Wastelands.

Eventually, he'd gone looking for first Dix, and then, after a quick and candid conversation about his true feelings on the situation, he'd tried to find Ari. Dix was on his side and was prepared to follow him wherever he went, it seemed. Ari, though, was nowhere to be found. Not back in her room and not in his, so he'd finally gone to the showers. There she had been. She was alone in one of the stalls to the back and had invited him in.

With what privacy they could find, they'd risked some fun in the showers, and then had a longer, slower, more fulfilling session back in her quarters.

He felt her fingers tracing the outline of one of his oldest scars across his chest. "Is this from the Refinery explosion?" she murmured.

He stiffened. "How...of course you know about that, you're a Ghost," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I...I read through everyone's file. I had access to them and it was a long drive out...I'm sorry, Erik."

"It's fine," he said, "not like it's a huge secret."

"What actually happened?" she murmured.

"The report should've been in my file, and they knew more than I did–"

"No," she said, planting her hand flat against his chest, "I mean...to you. What was it like, for you? If you don't mind talking about it."

He thought about it. Well, why not? The only person he'd actually told anything about it was Dix, one night when they were both chilling out on top of the Armory's roof, staring at the stars and drinking cans of Belter's Brew and smoking Yeheyuans.

That was the night he'd learned what happened to Dix's family.

"I was eight years old," he began, "it was past lunch...I was–" he paused, laughed, "–skipping school. Like a moron. Hated it there. Had two bullies. I just wanted to see my mom. I had this thought in my head that maybe she'd be so glad to see me she wouldn't be mad I'd skipped out. But, I guess, in truth, what was really running through my back brain was just that I wanted to see her so bad, even getting yelled and dragged back to school by her was enough. God...that was just over two decades ago now. Feels like two centuries…"

He shook his head, reached over and grabbed the Yeheyuans from the crate they rested atop beside her bed. "Gonna need one of these if I'm gonna tell this story," he muttered, pulling one from the pack and lighting it up. "I was sneaking through the industrial section of the colony, was maybe an eighth of a mile away from the Vespene Refinery when I heard alarms. Saw people running. Saw smoke in the skies. I knew what those alarms meant, I panicked...I ran right towards the Refinery. All I could think was that I had to save my mom."

He paused and took a long drag on the cigarette, closed his eyes, remembered.

"I'm sorry," Ari whispered, "this is upsetting you, I shouldn't–"

"It's okay," he murmured. Dalton opened his eyes again. "I got out onto the street that the Refinery was at the end of. I remember seeing people running. Someone grabbed me, no idea who, and then it blew. I remember this force, like an invisible hand shoved me so hard...I was blown clean off my feet. Me and whoever grabbed me went right through a window. I remember a sense of rushing, flying, and hearing glass shattering, and heat, and then everything hurt, and...nothing. The next thing I knew, I was in a hospital and it was a week later...my parents were dead." He paused. "A lot of people were dead."

He took another few puffs on the cigarette, then passed it to Ari. She took it without a word and did the same.

"Can you read my mind?" he asked.

"Sort of," she replied. "I haven't, though. I wouldn't do that to you, Erik. I only do it when I really, really have to. It's more that I can pick up on your emotions, and if a thought is strong enough, I get it. This is really upsetting you, I'm sorry I asked."

"No, it's okay. Sometimes...it's important to remember."

"Why? If it hurts you?" she murmured.

"I've learned the hard way that feeling pain is better than feeling nothing." She didn't respond to that. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes, sniffed, took back the cigarette when she offered it. "Ari?"

"Yeah?"

"Where do you see this going?" Again, she didn't respond. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"I...guess, the answer is, I don't know. With everything that's happening right now...I'm scared," she admitted.

"Really? Of the zerg?"

"Yes, but that's not what I meant. I'm scared, because...I really thought this was just going to be sex. That's what I intended. But I...like you. I don't really like people. I don't connect with people. It's hard for me, but I also don't like doing it, for a number of reasons. But I'm...connecting with you. And not necessarily on purpose. What about you?"

He sighed softly. "I mean, we're on the same page. I like you. A lot. More than I thought I would, really. Not that I thought I'd dislike you, it's just...I never thought I'd feel an emotional connection with a Ghost. Or any connection. But yeah...I'm starting to feel it, too. But everything is so unpredictable right now, I just don't know."

"If we could be together, would you be?"

"Yes," he said, after a quiet moment.

"Me too," she murmured. "But…"

"But what?"

"I don't know. I'm not-I don't know," she mumbled.

He thought maybe she did know, whatever it was, but let it go. Sometimes you just weren't ready to talk about something.

"Okay," he said, and kissed her cheek. They passed the cigarette back and forth until it was dead, then he turned out the small lantern on the table, throwing them into darkness. "Get some sleep. I can't imagine the Confederacy is going to show up by dawn, and I fully intend to get out there to that other outpost and start figuring us a way to the nearest colony."

"Whatever you want me to do, I'm ready," she said.

"Thanks. That means a lot to me," he said, pulling her closer.

They laid there together in the darkness.