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It was late noon when the recon team returned to Outpost Seven.
When Sgt. Sterling turned off the ignition key and killed the engine, the entire team just sat there with their rescued asset in silence, as they had the entire trip back. Autumn was the first to speak, and her first words were to convey her gratitude.
She looked at Sterling and placed a hand on his arm, "Thank you."
The sergeant stared back at her, but said nothing. He pushed aside the rusty old door and exited the vehicle, with his team following close behind. Autumn went after them, shadowing the recon team as they walked towards the gates of the military compound. When she neared the refugee camp, Sterling pointed towards the gathering crowd of tribal refugees coming to see what was going on.
"Go, your kid's waiting."
Autumn took a deep breath and hugged the poncho tight against her body. She approached the crowd of familiar faces, then stopped when a little boy peeked from between the crush of bodies.
"Mama!" Winter pushed his way past the legs of the other tribals and ran up to jump into his mother's waiting arms. "You're alive!"
"Winter! My sweet boy!" Autumn broke down into sobs as she held her son, but her relief was not shared by everyone. The other tribals approached the recon team, crying and demanding answers as to why she was the only one they saved.
"What of my daughter?"
"My mother! What about my wife?!"
"My sisters?! Why is Autumn the only one saved?"
The recon team ignored the tribals and headed inside, letting the guards at the gate do their job keeping the distraught people from storming the compound in a fit of rage. The guards, all suited up in power-armor, were just a few seconds from losing their patience. The whine of their miniguns started their shrill cry as the barrels began turning. But just before things got a little too heated, Woodland spoke on behalf of the Dominion soldiers who saved his sister and defused the situation.
"Enough!" He said to his fellows, "You yourselves have been put to cart for the Jagged Maw not too long ago, and it was our hosts who put a stop to that! You know very well that no one returns from the Lexxers once you've been claimed for their chains and collars. The very fact that they returned with my sister at all is a miracle!"
"Easy for you to say, that it was your sister who was saved!" Someone retorted.
"And even if she wasn't, I would not lay the blame upon the undeserving!" Woodland answered, "Cry not for our host's blood, it is not they who enslaved our mothers, our sisters and daughters! It is the Lexxers, the Badlanders- the Wasteland itself! Cry for their blood! Not the Dominion!"
The man's words were met with more angry howls and grunts. The refugees were still enraged, but not so much against the Dominion. Woodland's defense was strong, and they realized the folly of their actions. Disheartened and nonetheless angry, they returned to their camp without any more trouble to raise against the guards.
"Good job." One of the guards said, "For a minute there I thought we'd have to resort to violence."
Woodland noticed the guard didn't call him a 'waster' for once, there was respect in his tone too. "It is the least I can do for what you've done for us." He walked towards his sister and embraced her and Winter. "Come, Autumn. Let's get you something to eat."
"I thought I would never see you again." The woman said as she lifted Winter up to hold him close to her heart.
The boy wrapped his arms tightly around her neck, afraid that if he let go she might be taken away from him again.
Scribe Karter, seated comfortably next to the fire with Dex and Rose, watched the exchange with genuine admiration. "So they saved one? Impressive feat."
"I don't think her people see it that way." Dex replied, returning to his task of cleaning Rose's laser-rifle. "And yet, you can't blame them. A lot of folks get snatched up out in the Wasteland, and they just disappear for good. It happens so often that most just give up and try to forget it ever happened."
"But...we are gonna do something about it, right?" Rose asked.
Dex knew that the Dominion abhorred any faction who used slavery as its basis for its economy, so it was only logical to think that the expedition to the Texan Gulf Coast would herald the coming of another war. Dex lived to witness several wars against the neighboring raider tribes back when Elysion was just a city without the dome. This one would be no different, and he found himself growing anxious with anticipation.
This was one of the things he supported about the Dominion. They, as a people, could be quite condescending at times but they had the right idea. "We will, it's only a question of how and when."
Director Jack Holiday sat back in the bench as he waited in the lobby, trying hard to keep his excitement from messing up his image. It's been a long time since the High Marshal, following their emergence into the surface and his ascension into the height of Dominion political power, had had to deal with him personally. The director had no idea why he was being called up to the High Marshal's office in the Obsidian Keep, but he knew that whatever it was that required a face-to-face meeting was undoubtedly of great import.
He waited for half an hour, alone in that room with only the pretty blonde woman acting as a receptionist at the greeting desk. The cool air from the AC drifted in from the ceiling, making Jack shiver in his suit. His leg bounced nervously on the marble floor, and his hands rubbed together furiously as though he were planning to start a fire.
"Director." The receptionist at her desk announced, finally ending his long wait. "The High Marshal has concluded his meeting, he will see you now."
"Thank you." Jack said as he picked up his briefcase and got off the bench. He followed the path down the hall to the left of the receptionist's desk, stepping aside as Cerberian Guard marched down the opposite end ahead of Lord Commander Howard Keene. The director stood up straight and offered Keene his hand as he stopped to greet him in turn. "Lord Commander, you're looking well."
Howard's old and weathered face wrinkled up as he smiled. His grip was still strong in spite of his age, Jack noticed this as they shook hands. "Director Holiday! It's been a while, what are you doing here?"
"Honestly, I have no idea." Jack replied, "Although, I have a feeling I'm about to find out soon enough. Pardon me, I must head up to the High Marshal's office immediately. Mustn't keep our esteemed leader waiting."
"Indeed." The Lord Commander said with a nod, turning his heel to follow his coterie of guardsmen. "Farewell. It's good seeing you."
Having finished exchanging pleasantries, the director continued onwards to meet with the main man himself. He approached the heavily guarded office doors, had his identity card and code tattoo checked, then proceeded inside once his credentials had been verified. He found the High Marshal standing close to his office window, looking out at the vertibirds being tested at the White Bastion just a few blocks away from the Obsidian Keep.
The door slid shut behind him, locking the director inside with the High Marshal.
Lance was, as usual, never far from his master's feet. Upon seeing the familiar face and smelling the familiar smell of the director, the dog approached Jack with little hesitation. The director set aside his briefcase and patted the dog on the head, afterwards greeting Roman Stern with as much formality as he could afford. "Good afternoon, High Marshal."
"Jack." Stern turned around and clicked his tongue twice at Lance, commanding the dog to return to his place beside his desk. "I'll get right to the point, please take a seat."
Jack did as he was told and sat opposite of the High Marshal.
Stern took his time getting comfortable, seating himself nicely on the leather-covered cushion and adjusting his tie under his suit, which was an officer's uniform customized to better suit his tastes. Out of all the matching themes of dark blue and black that could be seen in the uniforms of the Dominion's officials, Stern was the only one who stood out by sticking to the old army green service uniform. His sentiments about the old regime could be seen rather clearly in his choice of attire.
"I'm dying, Jack."
The director studied the man carefully, saw the grim look in his eyes, and knew that the High Marshal was telling the truth. He had an inkling as to why the High Marshal summoned him to the Obsidian Keep. And his meeting with the Lord Commander earlier proved only to cement the idea. As director of the Achilles project responsible for the creation of their supersoldiers, there was only one reason why he was called there and it was to discuss a possible solution to the High Marshal's dilemma.
Stern's following sentence only confirmed it for him. "And I need your help. You're our top specialist in brain-scanning technology, I want you to find me a replacement body, one that holds my consciousness and memories- both intact."
"Sir, just to clarify, you're not suggesting we clone you, right?" Jack asked.
The High Marshal shook his head, "No, I know very well how those experiments ended up back in the day. What I'm asking is different, though I can imagine that it presents the same level of risks. I want you to scan my brain and imprint it into a hybrid's body."
"Oh." Jack leaned back and thought about Stern's request. He always liked the fact that the former colonel of 115 was familiar with the sciences, and that in this instance he knew exactly what he needed.
"Can you do it?"
"Well frankly, it's not an issue about having the necessary resources, sir." Jack said, "We have plenty, but we've never attempted a live subject's template extraction before. However, I'm confident that I and the Bishops are adaptable. We will have what you need, but it will take time."
Director Holiday served him and the Dominion well over the years, enough for the High Marshal to place a great deal of faith on his part. "That will be difficult. You won't have long, I'm afraid."
"I suppose I'd better get started, then." The director, not one to waste time, stood up and shook the High Marshal's hand. "I'll get it done sir, for the good of the people."
"For the Dominion." Stern gratefully shook his in turn. "I shouldn't have to say this, but I'd prefer this task to be kept with all due discretion. Wouldn't want to cause any unnecessary panic among our citizens, now would we?"
"Of course." As the director turned to leave, the door slid open. In walked a young officer carrying one of those new portable computers that folded and fitted like a briefcase, which they aptly called a laptop. Upon seeing the High Marshal, he set his computer down and saluted. "Scribe Elrik, reporting for duty."
"A scribe, High Marshal?" Jack asked out of curiosity.
"Ah yes." Stern replied nonchalantly as he sat back down to resume his work as leader of the Dominion, which mostly required of him reading and signing documents all day long. "Elrik over here's going to write my memoirs." At this, a look of distress crossed the director's face as he stared at the young man. Stern was getting ready for the worst regardless of his faith in the director's abilities.
"You may go now, director." Stern said, never once taking his eyes off the papers in his hands.
"Step away from the crime scene!" A peacekeeper yelled. "Move along, this is peacekeeper business now!"
The crowd of workers gathering around the entrance to the construction aggregate quarry pressed for a good view of the closed off section filled with peacekeeper officers and judges. At the sound of the firm command of the officer yelling at the top of his lungs, they reluctantly dispersed and went about their business. Some of the men working their shift the night before were called into questioning, along with a foreman or two for verification.
Ward lamps displayed the easily recognizable yellow holographic barricade tape in a wide perimeter, sealing off the scene for authorized personnel access only, giving the investigators ample room to get a good look at the results of last night's unpleasant shootout.
At about 11:45 in the evening, a pair of security guards noticed some lights and the distinct noise of an engine running in the far end of the quarry where most of the heavy duty mining equipment were located. The only security camera on site saw them approaching, then took fire from unknown sources, but was unable to record the shooters or the vehicles they used to flee. Come the morning, the bodies of the security guards were found where they lay.
A foreman called it in, right after seeing what the shooters were so keen on covering up. Several bodies were found half buried in grinded basalt rock and sand, all female. Bonepickers, or more formally known as Crime Scene Investigators, arrived on site and began scanning, documenting and collecting evidences.
Judge Kelly Diaz finished with questioning the workers and walked over to the burial site, where two bonepickers were busy taking pictures of the bodies before letting their better equipped colleagues exhume the remains. She took a moment to take in everything; the sprawled naked carcasses of the dead girls, the tracks and the bullet casings on the ground.
"Sloppy work." She muttered, grateful in the very least that there was enough evidence for them to start sniffing a trail with. The bonepickers gently lifted the bodies out of the pit and onto level ground, setting them down on open bodybags before zipping them up for transport. Diaz walked away and approached Greene, the other judge she was partnered up with on the case. He was busy exchanging details with another bonepicker over the bodies of the dead security guards.
"Six dead, all ranging from the ages of seventeen to twenty." Diaz said to Greene, "Non-citizens. Just like last week."
Greene stood up and stepped back to let the others finish with their work. Both judges thought about a similar case not too long ago, involving dead girls, all overdosed on med-x and dumped unceremoniously into mass graves. Still no leads, no matter how hard Greene pursued the case, only more dead bodies. Non-citizens were harder to track, so a mass grave of them pointed nowhere. "Doesn't fit their MO, though, too sloppy."
"I thought so too." Diaz replied, "Must've been the hired help. Could've buried them in the desert or sold them off to wasters-"
"Dammit Kelly, really?" Greene grimaced. Even after all he'd seen and done, the judge was still squeamish about the darker side of the world. Although, as far as he's concerned, he'd never allow himself to get desensitized by it all.
"They do it all the time, Ben." Diaz rolled her eyes, "A lot more than you think. Get used to it."
"Let's just focus on the case and not get carried away, alright?" Greene insisted, "Now, we both know it'll be a lot harder to identify non-citizens, so we'd best get to it."
"Judge, come here!" A bonepicker announced at the pit, where he held one of the girls' wrists up in his gloved hand. When Greene and Diaz went in to investigate, they found a large cut out portion of the skin of her wrist where a citizen code tattoo was supposed to be. The girl was a pretty blonde, no older than seventeen or eighteen. Large dark spots on her body along with several cuts indicated signs of abuse before her expiration, she looked like she died within the last 24 hours just like the rest of the girls. Though her code was removed, her face was still there, presenting a solution that until then was unavailable to the judges.
"Cut out the code from her skin, but left her face intact." Greene observed, "Makes our job easier at identifying the victim. We're finally one step in the right direction for once."
"Alright, boys." Diaz told the peacekeepers, "Wrap it up, we're out of here."
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