Chapter 1 – Absentia
January 12th, 2552 - (09:25 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Csaba Mountain Region, Viery Territory
Falchion Base
:********:
Like always, the morning found Falchion's depths abuzz with activity. The streets bustled with UNSC and facility personnel in Warthogs, Mongooses and personal transports. Shadows swooped overhead. In the skies above were dropships transiting from one base to the next.
The roads were drenched in rainwater. Small pools from an early morning shower had gradually turned into dirty ponds. From the troop carrier section of Epsilon's Hog, Duncan watched every ripple the tires made through the murky shallows. The movement of the rest of the convoy both ahead of and trailing behind Epsilon did the same, creating a constant cacophony of revving engines and splashing water. More than once, a vehicle would dip down into a hole hidden below the surface, rattling and soaking those troopers in the back. It was like a mildly unpleasant river ride. Everyone was trying to avoid where others had dropped only to steer into new troubles further along the way.
Duncan kept an eye on the base's regulars passing up and down the sidewalks. They were smart enough to keep their distance, thereby avoiding their own dose of the unhealthy baptism. They were getting around faster with walking than he was in the convoy. He wondered about jumping out and telling the others he would meet them at the Dante Building. However, seeing that The Center lay not too far ahead, he decided to wait. Besides, he thought, he would need all his strength for when they got back to their bunks. He unconsciously slipped a hand into his pants pocket. His fingers touched the handful of Brute teeth rattling around inside. There was still a job to do, a promise to keep.
The convoy ambled down the main road until they reached the sidewalk framing The Center's squarish base. This time there was no Colonel Garrison to drop off. Having flown to a different location upon their arrival in Epsilon Eridani, he promised to be back later in the day. Meanwhile, the returning 7th Battalion were free to break off into their companies at what was essentially Falchion's town square. The individual convoys headed in different directions for their own parts of the base. Bravo took a westerly route. Turning a corner, they came to a stop before the doors of the Dante Building.
At 10 stories high, Bravo Company's barracks looked just as new as it did when Duncan first came on the scene. The walls were a stable model gray, the windows wet but well-cleaned, the inside tranquil and unoccupied. The maintenance staff were always on the ball it seemed.
The company hopped off their Hogs and zeroed in on the entrance. The front lobby was soon filled with dozens then hundreds of ODSTs armed with duffel bags that drooped off exhausted shoulders. Fatigued in their fatigues, they quickly checked into their room assignments at the front desk before flowing up the stairs and elevators.
Epsilon chose the latter. No one was in the mood for walking. They watched the others standing and waiting outside as the doors closed. The gentle upward lift of the elevator threatened to bring Duncan crashing to the floor. His knees weakened the closer they came to their floor. He grabbed ahold of a railing to steady himself.
The elevator dinged as it came to a stop. The doors slid open. Beyond lay the usual maze of bunks and dozens of lockers against the far wall, many of them having remained ownerless over the years. Now for the first time in a long while, another locker and another bed would be ownerless.
The squad stared ahead into the rows upon rows of beds, many of them as well-kept as the day those who took care of them departed and never came back. No one moved. Then when the doors began to close, the Staff put out a hand to stop them. He nodded the squad forward. Hesitantly, they filed out one after the next.
They stopped just past the threshold. The elevator doors finally closed behind them to descend for the next batch of troopers, leaving Epsilon where they were. They stood there for another long while. Then their grim faces turned to Duncan. He sucked in a breath and started to walk. The others followed him through the bunks.
They filtered to the opposite side of the room, to the bunk near one of the windows. Tied from one end of its frame to the next were strings with teeth weaved onto them; necklaces. The hundreds of teeth from all matter of species and the dozens of individual sets of jewelry were hung from the top and bottom bunks. They swayed in the morning breeze coming through the window.
Duncan spotted a small stool off to the side. He took it and placed it in front of the bottom bunk. He grabbed the handle of a container under the bunk and pulled it out. Popping the lid, he dug around through its contents. Soon his fingers found what he was looking for. He pulled out a pen-like device and thumbed the switch. Its sharpened head whined as it vibrated.
The rest of the squad gathered around behind him. They sat on nearby bunks or stood by to watch. Zack sat down on the closest off to his left and watched intently.
Duncan placed the pen down on the bunk and took out a napkin from the same container. He split it in two and lay the Brute teeth on top. There was still a faint red sheen to them where the blood had dried. A bottle of water appeared over his shoulder. He looked and saw the Staff holding it out for him, eyes set on the teeth. Duncan nodded in thanks. He took it and wet one half of the napkin. Then he took the teeth in one hand and started to clean them. Several light dabs helped to soften up the familiar stains. Long wipes finished the job, leaving behind clean canines. When he was finished, he took the pen and started drilling.
The high-pitched screech filled the otherwise noiseless room. The drill-head carved its way through the center of one tooth, spewing out dried enamel and cementum. When one was finished, he inspected the hole to make sure it was the right size. Then he lay it aside to work on the next. Once all were finished, he pulled a short string of wire from the container. He weaved it through the holes and strung the assortment of teeth together. He held it up to examine it, to make sure it was ready.
Duncan slowly brought the necklace up to the top bunk and tied the string securely around the frame. He stood up and backed away, leaving it there among the rest.
The squad looked on.
Duncan heard sniffles off to his left. The sounds evolved into muffled sobs. He turned and saw Zack still sitting on the nearest bunk, a hand now clasped over his mouth. It wasn't enough to hide the way his body quaked as he cried or how his eyes glistened as he looked at the last necklace.
Nova sat down beside him. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close. His hand fell away from his mouth, unleashing a torrent of jittering sobs and pained breaths as he lay on her chest. Nova hugged him tighter. All the while, she herself looked to be holding back the storm brewing behind the empathy in her eyes.
Duncan peered back at the others. Eyes shut tight, they still leaked. Jaws clenched, gasping cries still escaped. Arms crossed, they looked nonetheless like they were trying to hug themselves. Heads down or looking away, they still cried. Hector, Yuri, Rico, Renni and Mito wept.
Only the Staff kept his composure. He continued to watch the necklace swaying in the breeze with a long, grim stare. Even then, it was obvious the grief wasn't too far off from him either.
Ten full minutes passed in tearful silence as Epsilon remembered their sniper, their corporal, their friend.
Then one by one they began drifting back to their bunks and lockers like ghosts. They lay down or moved to put their things away in an effort to think on something else. Anything else.
Out the corner of his eye, Duncan watched Nova encouraging Zack to get up with the gentlest words she could muster. Soon he was able to stand again though not without help. She slung his arm over her shoulder and gave him the extra pair of legs he needed to walk. She steered him towards his bunk as he grasped at his mouth, as he worked through the last of his sobs.
Duncan was left alone. Alone save for the Staff who he sensed still standing behind him. They both stared long and hard at the newest jewelry set which the morning rays were now beginning to catch.
Duncan felt himself giving way. His vision flooding, his shoulders quaking, he started to cry. He shook his head at the thing he had made with his own hands.
Through gritted teeth, he spoke: "If-, if I'd just-...just been a little faster-"
A hand firmly clasped his shoulder. The Staff came up next to him, looked him straight in the face and shook his head with the most insistence he had ever seen from the man.
"Don't."
The word cut through the last of Duncan's defenses. He wept even more but somehow managed to pull himself together enough to nod. The Staff stood beside him through the bulk of his sobs. Once he quieted down, the Staff patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. He took one last look at the empty bunk and walked away.
Though it took him a minute longer, Duncan took a final eyeful of the scene as well. Then, wiping his face, he got up and put the stool away. He turned and went his way.
The bunk was left to itself as the rays of Epsilon Eridani found it, illuminating the assortment of toothy jewelry hanging from its frame.
It was finished.
Duncan returned to his own bunk, hoping that the corporal could rest easy now that his collection was finally complete.
:********:
Colonel Garrison was unsure whether Sword Base had changed at all since the last time he was ordered to visit. From the passenger bay of the Falcon, he was made privy to an aerial view of the whole region. As one of the Office of Naval Intelligence's few installations on Reach, the few he knew of anyway, the crystal-shaped structure surrounded by the glacial mountains of the Babd Catha ice shelf remained relatively unchanged.
His Falcon, Badger-4-1, zoomed up along the eastern coast of Eposz, Reach's northernmost supercontinent. Thanks to their proximity to the planet's northern pole, the waters 100 meters below them glittered with ice. The waves crashed against the rocky shores. Mist channeled up from the backwash into the cliff-face of the craggy labyrinth, a series of formations that spanned the southern end of the facility's outer grounds. Farther off to the west, he could see the passing walls of the base's private starport. It was a place shaped conspicuously like the number '4' but elongated at the middle. From the flight control tower to the anti-aircraft guns guarding the walls, everything looked normal. The thing he found profoundly different from last time, however, was that for such a secret facility there was an abnormally high amount of air-traffic.
A pair of Paris-class heavy frigates hovered a kilometer above the starport. From their open hangers flew out the large, boxy Albatross dropships. With a few stragglers moving out of the frigates, the majority had already landed on the runway. What he saw to be platoons of Army troopers were moving out from them, heading across the runway to the nearby terminal building.
Back at Falchion, sights like these were commonplace. Units from different headquarters, planets and systems transiting from one destination to the next were the norm there. But they were not the norm here. Not for a highly classified installation that lay right across the dried river delta between them.
Nothing had changed about Sword Base, neither had the condition of the wider planet. So why this new addition of Army troopers?
The question lingered in his mind as the starport receded from sight. The Falcon angled high above a rocky embankment. A few seconds later, it slipped over the natural barricade and emerged above Sword Base's inner courtyard. The main building loomed high overhead as the aircraft made a portside turn before continuing southward. Multiple ONI personnel moved about below with Military Police conducting perimeter patrols. Some stopped, briefly turning skywards to eye the newcomers.
The Falcon passed the facility's main bridgeway before coming to hover above the outer courtyard. The pilot aimed for the ONI symbol marked on the landing zone; a wide open space between a swath of crates and emergency fuel tanks. With a short rotation and a calculated winding down of his propellors, Badger-4-1 completed the softest landing of Garrison's life.
The colonel disengaged the security belts and threw his boots out onto firm concrete. He pulled the cool morning air into his lungs, spotted the main building and started for it.
"Welcome back, sir." The pilot said as he passed the cockpit.
Garrison gave him the thumbs up. "Good to be back, Badger."
He carried on past a lineup of concrete barricades. Behind him, Badger-4-1, his usual chauffer to Sword Base, set to work directing the base's refueling personnel who came up beside his aircraft with fuel lines ready.
The colonel strode up the leftmost rampway where he came to a stop at the first of several checkpoints. A pair of armed MPs stood at the top of the rampway. They looked like greenhands, newbies judging by the way they tensed as he approached. One of them held out a hand. "ID please, sir."
Colonel Garrison already had his card out and handed it over. The first MP swiped it through the TACPAD on his arm bracer. The results flashed onto the screen. He balked at them and quickly saluted. "Colonel Garrison, sir. Welcome to Sword Base."
At hearing his rank, the second MP mirrored his partner with a hasty salute.
The spectacle pulled a smile across Garrison's face. "You boys new here?"
"Ye-, yessir." The first replied. "However, just to make sure you're cleared, I'm going to also have to ask you personally for your-"
"50589-62343-DG."
"Ugh, right." The first MP stepped aside along with his partner. "Right this way, sir."
"I know which way it is, soldier." Garrison said, still smiling cordially at the trepidation of the two greenhorns. He walked past them and down the sheathed corridor that led to an ONI-branded door. It slid apart at his presence. He passed into a hallway with an open view to the floor beneath. The next door on the opposite side yielded to an elevator. He stepped inside. As the doors closed, he pressed the up arrow on the pad projection.
He felt the ascent begin a second later then halt shortly thereafter. The doors hissed away and he walked into a world of pristine corridors and air-conditioned rooms, steely floors and steps that glowed with inbuilt lights.
He reached a desk settled before a hallway that curved out of sight to the right. A man and a woman dressed in pure white uniforms sat behind it, typing through an array of floating interfaces. One of them, the woman, saw Garrison through the screen.
"Welcome back, colonel."
"Good to be back, Sands."
"Any weapons on you, pistols, personal items perhaps?"
"Come on, you know me."
"Yessir, I do. You are a minimalist." She singled out a screen and typed out the needed commands. "And... you're good to go." She held out her hand to the long walkway behind her. "Right this way please."
"Thanks." The colonel moved onto the walkway. As he strode along, lines of blue light passed beneath him, scanning him down to the bones for anything suspicious. Even with the guarantee that he was unarmed, it never hurt ONI to be certain, especially with such an important nerve center for their operations on Reach. Finding nothing, the scanners allowed him to pass without raising any alarms. He went right into the field of view of a pair of MPs standing at the other end. They would have raised the MA37s they currently held across their chests if the scanning system told them he was less than friendly. They never so much as looked at him as he passed. That was one thing he definitely could not get used to at Sword Base. Regardless of whether it was an important nerve center and that they were in different parts of the UNSC, ONI brass always seemed to think they were exempt from saluting superiors of other branches. Though it mildly bothered him, his pride thankfully wasn't so touchy that he felt the need to make noise about it. That was why he could immediately tell for certain the two he met back outside were greenhorns: they saluted. He hoped they maintained that sense of respect. Afterall, that was one of the few indicators they had left to show that they were all still on the same side; humanity's. Hopefully.
He righted down the corner, up a short ramp and right again. A final set of wide doors split apart for him. He walked through into the main atrium; one longer than it was wide. It was a hive of activity, bristling with dozens of MPs and ONI personnel. They moved here and there, up and down the network of glass staircases, through doors leading to bright-white office spaces or out along the ground floor.
Garrison infiltrated the foot-traffic in the atrium. As he passed through, he observed the bronzy pieces of Covenant technology sitting in a pair of decorative pools. They looked closer to art produced during the modernist movements of the last several centuries than recovered alien tech. They gave the otherwise bland space some form of character, even if that character was just as shallow as the pools in which they were placed.
He headed for the first staircase on the left which gave him a straight shot to that side of the second floor. Waiting for him at the top was an office-space whose white walls and bright illumination were almost blinding to behold. An air of sterility, passivity and secrecy pervaded among those he found working there. He stopped at the receptionist's desk. The man sitting behind it was typing away at a set of personal interfaces.
"Here to see the brigadier general, sir?" He asked without looking up.
"That I am. Where is he this time?"
Rather than answering, the receptionist pressed a small comm-device in his ear. "Sir, the colonel's here. Are you available to see him now?"
Following a reply that Garrison couldn't hear, the receptionist nodded. "Alright, I'll send him in." He thumbed a switch under his desk.
Seams appeared in the wall a few paces short of the receptionist's station. With a sigh, the seemingly hidden doors parted, revealing a personal office space within. A man sat behind a platinum desk inside. At first glance it was obvious he was deserving of the space by the silver-winged golden star insignia on his shoulder pads. At first glance it was also obvious to the initiated that he was not ONI; the army green of his officer's fatigues being a dead giveaway. That and the look of honesty in his eyes. With thick eyebrows tensed, tawny skin somewhat wrinkled and a bronze gaze balancing between worry and intrigue, it was clear the brigadier general was worried. One hand lay on the keypad of a projection screen, the other under his chin as he watched the morning's Waypoint broadcast playing on the other side of his office.
Garrison stepped inside. He stopped in front of the desk and saluted. "Brigadier General Abajjé, sir."
It seemingly took the colonel's address rather than his footsteps for his superior to realize someone else was in the room. Being a blend between Turkish and northern Mediterranean, his reactive smile made him seem more excited than he probably was.
"Garrison, good to see you alive again."
"Believe me, sir, it's not for lack of trying."
"I'd expect no less." Abajjé gestured to the seat in front of his desk.
Garrison took it and looked around. "So, they've got you in the south wing now?"
"Yeah." Abajjé sighed. Leaning back in his seat, he looked at the various fixtures, the few there were. "It's not as roomy as the north, or that skyline view they let me have up top. But its good enough."
"How long are you supposed to stay here again?"
"At least until the renovations they're doing at Lochaber wrap up, so a few more months. Until then, UNICOM's Reach branch has to stay headquartered here."
"For however long ONI will tolerate you, you mean?" Garrison joked.
"Basically." The brigadier general chuckled. "We're turning into more of a nuisance to them by the day. I can tell by the stares I get. They're getting less warm each time I pass the front."
"Sounds like they want their space back."
"Certainly does." Breathing in, Abajjé stopped to look over the colonel. Garrison did the same though in a less obvious fashion. By the shocks of white hair forming at his temples, it was clear the brigadier general was younger than the man a few rungs shy of his rank. Moreover, the actual 20-year gap between them was more substantial than the rank gap. As far as Garrison knew, his superior had still been developing in his mother's womb when he himself was busy hunting down Insurrectionists. The idea didn't bring him any sense of jealousy or thoughts of insubordination however. He had refused too many promotions throughout his later career to feel any kind of regret about that sort of thing. If anything, it only served to make him feel his age.
"Alright, let's get down to business, colonel." Abajjé reached a hand out to the holograph on the far wall. He swiped a finger down. In response, the volume of the Waypoint anchorman lowered to a whisper. Abajjé straightened in his chair. "One of the reasons I called you here personally relates to your battalion's status following your recent deployment to Ballast. From your after-action report, it's safe to say that every last one of your troopers deserves a medal. Especially for what they did in getting those ODPs up, and how crucial that turned out to be."
Garrison nodded. He was always ready to agree when it came to praising the men and women under his command. In his eyes, they more than deserved it. "We only did the legwork, sir. It was a smart move on the part of the Navy."
"Yes, Hood played his cards right. Those of you who survived the actual task deserve the commendations, but it seems those who didn't will make up the bulk of those getting medals."
The mood of the conversation changed instantly. Garrison knew where it was going and it pained him to now have to face it, to remember the faces of those on the lost station.
"Delta Company." Abajjé said with genuine care. "The loss of half their number, as well as that of Havenwinter station, makes the victory a bit harder to swallow than it would be otherwise."
"...Yessir."
"I also read your recommendation. You're sure you only want those who didn't make it to receive the commendations?"
As the words brought up their own memories, Garrison fought to ignore them. "I spoke with my officers about this. The majority agreed that it was the right thing to do."
Abajjé leaned closer. "And I wouldn't be wrong in assuming that you were of the same mind beforehand?"
"No, you wouldn't."
"Understood. We'll respect your decision. Now, what about the bodies? Of the casualties, you didn't list too many for return trips to families." He opened another interface and scrolled through a list of ID'd troopers marked 'KIA'. "It says here that no more than 23 out of 167 are getting shipped back."
"...Because those were the only ones with families left, sir. Of those we could still recover at least."
A hint of somberness slipped into the brigadier general's expression as he realized the depth of what he was looking at. "Understood." He respectfully switched over to a different screen, this one a new list of troopers with the unifying identifier; 'Active - Enroute'.
"Let's move on to the next subject."
"My reinforcements?" Garrison asked.
"Yes. My apologies, I know you prefer to personally see them brought in-system."
"It's not a problem. My hands were tied with Daedalus this time around. I just hope whoever's coming is high quality enough to replace our losses."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Abajjé scrutinized his screen. "You've only got 140 incoming, most of them from Sol and the rest from a few other inner colonies. That's enough to replace your Delta losses but not to balance out the casualties of the whole battalion. In fact, you might end up having to deactivate some platoons and maybe merge a few others."
"I'll take that into consideration. My goal was to bring Delta Company back up to full strength since they took the heaviest hit. Then I could parcel out whoever's left among the remaining companies." He cupped his chin in thought. "But since these reinforcements don't cover the bill completely, I'll have to rearrange personnel in each company to balance them out. Can I ask when the new guys will be arriving?"
"Says here, they'll be coming in sporadically over the next four days. The flight schedules are a bit more disorganized than usual, probably because of the recent win. Everyone's trying to get somewhere. As it turns out, news on victories is so rare that just one is enough to boom interstellar economies. Or so Waypoint says." He pointed to the other interface. Garrison peered over his shoulder at the news anchor. He was a classic white-collar personality caged behind a glass desk. He was chatting about economics with an illustration of rising company stock exchanges to boot.
"Good to hear."
"Indeed, it is." Abajjé's cordial demeanor hardened as he switched to several reports that synchronously appeared on his personal screen. "Now I'm about to tell you something not so good. I'll need your battalion ready to roll out in the next two weeks."
Garrison arched a brow. "Why's that?"
"Sorry to tell you this right after you've dried your boots but we're going to need you to get them wet again. There's expected to be action at the colony of Fumirole sometime between early February and late April."
"Fumirole? That industrial world?"
"That's the one. A local RSO detected a Covenant scout ship snooping around in a neighboring system. HIGHCOM's suspecting an invasion isn't too far off. They'd rather have ODSTs already waiting on the ground at hardened defensive positions than having to deploy them after the fact."
Garrison considered it. His deductions worried him. "Sir, that's cutting it awfully close, don't you think?"
"What, the deadline?"
"No, Fumirole. It's not that far from Reach."
"Yeah." Abajjé grimly agreed. "Crazy to think 30 lightyears is practically right down the street, but it's a reality. Which is why I called for this meeting to brief you on all of this personally." The brigadier general looked up at the Waypoint broadcast then at the door, as if searching for any listening ears. "Sadly, but understandably, HIGHCOM's becoming much more restrictive on information regarding the actual state of things. They don't want anyone to get a solid idea of how quickly our situation is deteriorating. They think it might start a general panic. Hence why Ballast was such a needed victory. So much so that they felt the need to emphasize it on every possible media avenue." He nodded to the Waypoint broadcast. "As per the norm, I would have just given your AI William the bulletin in order to pass it on to you. However, I didn't want to risk the information leaking out even through those kinds of channels. I'll also need you to keep your subordinates out of the loop on their next deployment orders, at least until you're about to board your transports. Sorry for the inconvenience but I hope you can understand."
Garrison pondered the news. "They're tightening the belt on the Nexus Beltway?"
"What's left of it."
"That's why they're adding so much additional security here? I saw them arriving at the starport."
"That's correct."
"So, they're assuming we might not be off-limits here either."
"At this rate..."
"...I understand. However, I have a concern. Can I?"
"Speak freely, colonel."
"Well, if HIGHCOM's getting more restrictive on information then they'll certainly have their AIs snooping around." He gestured to the sensor lines pulsing along the room's seams. "They're recording this conversation, aren't they?"
"It's an ONI facility, colonel." Abajjé said matter-of-factly. "That was never in doubt. I only looked around to make you aware of it."
"And you're not going to get a bullet in the back for being honest with me?"
Abajjé laughed. "Probably not. They need me too much. If UNICOM didn't have to keep jurisdiction over NAVSPECWAR then maybe it'd be another story. It would have freed the both of us. But here we are anyway."
"Copy that, sir."
"Well then, that'll be it on the updates. Congratulations on the victory colonel. Hopefully you can rope in this next one for us too. You're free to go."
Garrison got up and stood at attention. "Will do, sir." Following a salute, he left his younger superior to continue his work as he raised the volume on Waypoint. The colonel moved for the door.
"One more thing." Abajjé called after him.
Garrison stopped. "Sir?"
The brigadier general's eyes remained glued to the news. "You might want to buy a share in Kabord before they get too pricy."
"How much are they up?"
"Record high, a whole 3.1% above where they would have been before. Looks like they managed to save the majority of their capital investments and split them between New Carthage and here. All thanks to you guys."
"Understood."
"You better be a millionaire the next time I see you, colonel, or I'm going to be very disappointed in you. You're dismissed."
Garrison smiled. "Yessir."
The doors slid open for him and he walked out. He headed down the stairs to begin his accustomed trip back outside. Navigating through Sword Base's mazy innards, he eventually reemerged into fresh, chilly air.
He strode down to the two MPs who saluted the second they saw him. He stopped to scrutinize them. "What are your names?"
"Pardon?" The one with the TACPAD asked.
"Names, son. You got one?"
The young MP nodded emphatically. "Yea-, yessir. Private First Class Bisenti."
"Bisenti, alright." He turned to the next. "And you?"
The other MP straightened under his superior's gaze. "Private Second Class Gonzalez, sir."
"Bisenti and Gonzalez, I'll remember your discipline. Try to keep that up boys." He said as he went by. "That's the exception around here, not the norm. People here could sure use examples like you two."
The stance of the two MPs slackened, stunned at the comment, then quickly straightened. They replied: "Yes, colonel."
Garrison's smile deepened. He hoped the two really would keep at it as he headed down the stairway and across the courtyard to his Falcon. The refueling crews were already finished. From the cockpit, Badger-4-1 gave him the thumbs up. Garrison slipped beneath the quickening rotary blades and fastened himself into the rear seat.
The Falcon lifted off from the landing zone. It flew over the courtyard, across the outer wall and headed east. On the way, he looked out to the surrounding region. Tracks of gravel and soil rose into rocky crags and eventually into spans of icy ocean as they zipped over the coast.
Garrison took this last chance to reexamine the two heavy frigates hanging over the starport. But they were gone. The sole sign they had been present was the pair of exhaust trails leading further into the atmosphere. It seems they had departed once their human cargo was fully unloaded.
It worried him.
He slowly drifted from the solidness of the present into the smoky passages of his memories. He remembered seeing sights like the ones passing below back when other humans were the enemy, not aliens. Back then he felt a little more human himself. As he stared at the landscape, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He could hear a man's commanding voice telling him to sit back in his seat. He could hear others chiding that he should do the opposite and lean out for a better view, only for the voice of the first to tell them all to shut up.
It took a minute for him to remember that he was actually alone. His eyes dimmed. He stared longingly at the sights as they moved up the coast.
"Looks like things are coming full circle, Sarge."
Absentia – Absence
