

Ages In Oblivion Thrown

The Sleep Trilogy

Kate Gray

Dedication

To D, for still putting up with all of this.

Acknowledgements

Song lyrics quoted from Wayfaring Stranger, public domain, mid 19th c.

Kate Gray

Copyright 2014

Smashwords Edition

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**The sky was no longer simply the sky when** **you lived in space. It was a cold progenitor. Wrapped in its embrace, it was easy to fall in love and forget planetary life. It could also bring on madness, to which those not used to the unfaltering darkness were prey. It was the unknowable begetter of life, as well as its end.**

At the center of the vast portrait lay a sun, a class G2V star, provider of light and chaos. It was a seething mask of eternity, veiling the impermanence that humankind loathed so much. There was no way to escape space on the Nimitz, however, as that behemoth structure drifted between the Martian asteroid belt and Jupiter. It housed nearly seventy thousand people, fifty-five thousand of which were military personnel. Since the days when age restrictions on military entry had been altered, ranks swelled accordingly with fourteen-year old privates and sixteen-year old ensigns.

The primary distinctions between those two were education and its frequent companion, wealth. Not that one could purchase a commission at this late date, not outright, at any rate. Those who could afford it paid to have their children sent to military academies that would turn their pre-teens into officers and gentlefolk. The Nimitz and its formerly empty cargo spaces had, in the last seven years, been slowly filling with these youthful troops.

These wide-eyed adolescents weren't allowed to marry until having turned twenty, nor were they allowed to bring any other family with them. Because of this, the Nimitz tended to boast a lively and rambunctious atmosphere. It was a self-contained base, a fortress city drifting otherwise serenely through its orbit. There were civilian sections; as with most other military posts, an economy and need for diversion dictated such things.

The commander of this base, Colonel Jorge "Tark" Tarkington, leaned against a bulkhead while staring out a portside window, lost in thought. As much as he'd been initially unsure of the posting after his billet had been announced, the Nimitz had become both his home and beloved child. The bridge was currently on night shift, nearly empty, and blessedly hushed.

Substantial solar storms had dropped travel coming and going from Earth to the station, as well as from many other neighboring systems, whose inhabitants had adopted a somewhat irritating human-like trait of superstition about the flaming eruptions. After years of lag during these times, the so-called government of Earth had decided to follow the nonterrestrial lead and had declared the storm periods to be perennial holidays. Tark regularly sent away a good twenty thousand of his people to regular liberty, put another ten on base liberty and tried to make the best of it with the remaining personnel.

The crew that stayed behind usually had a trying task in filling their days usefully. There were some creative minds, but Tark noted that there was a definitive rise in pranks, alcohol consumption, and general tomfoolery going on. The one person who consistently opted to stay with him sat across the bridge from him at her station. Tark turned his head, arms still folded, and contemplated Sa'andreniaeu, or as she preferred, "Sa'andy", Madoc. She was not human. All the Colonel's personnel were aware of a relationship between the two, a fact that prompted both of them to maintain high standards of decorum in public.

During this downtime she had volunteered to analyze the Terran system for her own people, with an in-depth survey of the planets, and all their satellites. This task was supposed to result in some suitable options for colonization and on-site research stations. It was a mind-numbing ordeal to his mind. Apparently it appealed to her perverse sense of entertainment. He decided to go chat with her and infuse some vitality into the otherwise dead atmosphere. Having made it halfway across the space, he found himself overwhelmed by an obnoxious aroma. He stopped dead, turned, and soon found himself glaring at the source of the smell.

"Lieutenant." Tark stared down at the other man, trying to blink past the smell. The younger officer hunched over his daily communications reports, trying to look urgently busy. He ventured to peek over his shoulder, knowing full and well what was to come.

"Sir?" The lieutenant tried and failed to feign ignorance. Tark would have gone over to him, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, but for the offending air.

"What exactly am I smelling? Don't worry about making it sound interesting."

"Uh...well, sir, the thing is, I've been doing research, and the cessation of laundering of socks is supposed to bring luck. You know, sir, because of the storms." He whispered the last word, as though some vengeful spirit might come and punish him.

"I think, that if those things are not removed from your person, and destroyed by your next on-deck time, you're going to need something more powerful than luck to preserve yourself." Tark wished his XO was back. This was definitely not his department. Lieutenant O'Leary, visibly deflated, tried to maintain some degree of bearing and not look like a whipped puppy.

"Roger that, sir. I guess I was getting some dirty looks anyway." He excused himself, hopefully to find something less redolent of death to wear. Tark barely held himself back from slapping a palm to his own forehead. What a weird kid. Good officer, but weird. Once removed from the polluted air, he took a deep breath of cleaner stuff, and finished his traverse over to Sa'andy.

Deeply engaged by whatever it was that she had found, she stared at what appeared to be a several views of the same image on her console. There was a certain thoughtfulness swirling in his mind as he approached, and a strong impulse made him halt his feet one more time, to peruse her. She had an intense look about her, which overtook her normally placid porcelain beauty.

Slender fingers selected a section of the display to magnify a certain area. Another light touch and the same area popped up into three-dimensional display. She manipulated the image until it skewed in the direction she wanted, like a gyroscope, and then she froze it, mid-spin. There she sat, chin upon fists, looking at the image as though she expected it to start conversing with her.

While he stood still, the lights changed to signal the start of the day shift. A subdued rustling denoted the changing of the guard, accompanied both by sighs of relief and resignation. For an instant, Sa'andy lifted her head to take note, and Tark felt his breath catch. The overhanging light enveloped her, until it transformed her face into a luminous oval of pale fire.

Completing the scene was the mass of her gleaming black hair, which flowed and coiled fluidly around her skull, down her back and over her shoulders. She seemed to expand into the air around her. It might have been hours before he finally became aware of the passage of time again. The art of her receded, until finally, he could move again. By that point, she had noticed him. Her smile was knowing, leaving Tark nothing more than to blush a lovely shade of plum. He stumbled to recover himself.

"Have you found anything? Otherwise I'll feel terrible that you got stuck with this job." He wanted nothing more than to place his hand on the back of her neck. Too many people standing around. She gleamed another tiny smile at him.

"You are fully aware of course, that I asked for this job." Sa'andy hummed while she zeroed in on whatever it was that she'd been working on. Tark leaned forward, in a mood to be funny.

"Oh, I see. Does that mean you've discovered that Jupiter's core consists of peanut butter? Or that Pluto is populated by dogs?" He grinned widely as Sa'andy responded with a human gesture that she'd picked up. An indigo-tinged tongue flicked out at him. "Very nice." He feigned a scowl. "Did you learn that in training?"

She smiled serenely, keeping her voice low. "If you would stop offering idiotic commentary, I would tell you what I actually have found."

"Be my guest." He swept his arm out to the image she'd been studying. She bowed her head, mock-deferentially, and pointed at it. A touch to the panel expanded the view, and it became evident that the image was that of a planet, or perhaps a moon. Tark frowned at the orb. "Which one is this?"

"Europa, mostly ice, iron core. Uninhabited and undeveloped as of yet, thanks to your government's laws." She slowly spun the image in lazy contemplation. Though he chided himself for not knowing, Tark already knew that it was because his military specialty had been intelligence. He didn't concern himself with scientific details about the Terran system planets and moons unless they were being invaded. Running the Nimitz was detail heavy enough.

"So, what's there? Someone finally buy enough lawmakers to put up a new luxury resort?" He was still transfixed by her, rather than by anything she might have to say. She held back a sigh. He could be so...what was that human word...silly, whenever he was talking to her.

"There appears to be some sort of hidden object. I mean, it's disguised, intentionally, through some sort of non-naturally occurring signature on a thermal level." She transferred the image onto a larger screen about ten feet in front of them. It became more apparent what Sa'andy was talking about then.

There was an area, about twenty by five meters, which was mimicking the temperature readings directly next to it. The "trick" would never have been apparent to the naked eye. A passive electrical signature had given it away. Once stripped of the frigid temperatures the moon gave off, a boxlike construct was visible. Whatever it was, Tark had an urge to see it. How strange, he thought, I feel like a little kid who's just found a time capsule.

"What the hell is it?" He said it louder than he'd intended. The entire forward observation crew went silent, all eyes on the ghostly image, all ears waiting for an answer.

"From where we are, it's impossible to know. We need to go and get it, don't you think?" She looked at him seriously. "There should be nothing on this moon. Europa was set aside ages ago. Off-limits." Her gut twisted as she recited what she'd been told to say.

"I agree fully with your assessment. Question is: whom do I send?" He mused aloud, almost instantly realizing his mistake. Too late now. The crew was silent a second longer, closing and opening a collective mouth like drowning fish. An eruption ensued, flooding the area with voices and pleas. Tark moaned inwardly, knowing that he'd offered too little sustenance to intellectually starved men and women. Blowing a sigh of frustration, he looked to Sa'andy for help.

It was terrible, but he knew he could rely on her to do her magic and save him. Actually, it was a good thing that she wasn't an actual member of his crew, or under his command. That would have been trouble a long while ago. All they had to contend with was working together, and the giant rumor mill of the military. Even that was too much at times, he supposed.

Just looking at him, she could see the wheels grinding along. He hadn't slept more than a few hours a night for some time, claiming insomnia. She suspected instead that it was some attempt to keep pace with her. Her species had evolved to sleep half their brains at a time. That meant she could be conscious whenever she liked, and Tark didn't like to leave her by herself all the time. In fact, his attentiveness was lately at an all-time high.

When they'd first met, it had taken a while for Sa'andy to come around to his affections. She'd been more than a little certain that he would lose interest once her novelty had worn off. This theorem had proven incorrect; Tark had grown more enamored with each passing minute of contact.

Because she had finally relented, there had been more than a few nights of surprises for them both. She did not regret her change of heart in the slightest. To be with Tark, she'd rejected suitors of her own species who were seen as highly desirable by other females back home. Naturally, she was considered quite mad back on her home world. A mad scientist, she thought cheerfully.

"Don't worry, I'll handle assignments. You go and have a breather, maybe try that cafe that opened a few months back." And take a nap, she would have added, but he was already trudging away.

۞

There was a new cafe on board? He ought to get out more. There was no telling what else might have sprouted up recently. He got the name of the place, and found that he had actually heard of it before. The large-sized business was crowded for breakfast, but was blessedly hushed. He guessed morning had that effect on most individuals, regardless of species. There were a number of varied individuals clustered in yawning packs throughout the rooms of the cafe. Tark paused to soak in this new scene.

The main area of the cavernous space was the bar, with tables pushed against the walls. A deeper recess held couches, providing a more intimate gathering spot. But the most interesting feature was a huge boulder, strategically cut to provide more seating. This was littered with large cushions, all of which were occupied by reclining bodies.

One group seemed to be locked in a heated, but good-natured debate over some intransigence of politics or another. Two of them were human, one was of Sa'andy's people, and the other two were heavily furred creatures of great height. The latter two were humoring the hushed furor around them with a great deal of what one might call snickering.

He walked up to the barista and ordered vaguely, the only stipulation being caffeination. He let the girl have free rein to create whatever she liked. Eyebrow raised, she set to work, wondering whether it was a practical joke or a test to have the station commander pop in unannounced. She peeked over her shoulder at him, wishing she'd washed her hair that morning, rather than leaving it wound around and tied up in a scarf.

Regrets...oh well. The barista mustered up her sultriest smile and handed him a latte, crisscrossed by salted caramel drizzle. Tark smiled back at her, noting the slightly crazed look in her eyes. He recalled Sa'andy's dry remarks as regarding female attentions toward him. At the time, he'd been inclined to disregard her words as exaggeration. Since then, he'd begun to notice these looks. He wondered if it had always gone on, or was a new development. It wasn't as though he was as rakishly handsome as his executive officer, after all. Now, there was a man who fished for attention and usually landed it.

With that thought as accompaniment, he strode back to his quarters, seeking out privacy, as well as the warmth and comfort of the space he shared with Sa'andy. Once inside, he sat gripping his mug of coffee, trying not to lose his comfort or think about the container. He drifted into a light slumber. As the forgotten sensation gripped him, he twitched while the mug trembled slightly. Steaming liquid hissed at its sides. Luckily the entire contents didn't pour into his lap. Relaxation finally and thoroughly found him and pushed him into a brief oblivion.

۞

Just outside in the immutable blackness, a small towing craft was returning with their mysterious find. It was still a good ten minutes away from their location, guaranteeing a few more moments of respite for Tark. Now serenely encased in a sleepy cocoon, a wake-up call would be like an ice bath when it came.

At that moment, he was dreaming of a childhood memory. About the only event of nature he could clearly recall; a summer thunderstorm. He'd been traveling in the reclaimed frontierlands with his parents. Those were the places given back to wildness after the last recent wars on Earth.

The soil had been hard and warm, angrily seething at the invading moisture. In the landscape of this dream, thunder shuddered across the sky. He trembled against it. Thor, of his favorite mythology, chased Loki across the sky, threatening to crush him with his thunder.

Tark came to, feeling lightheaded, smelling the long-buried scent of rain. He looked around, taking in peaceful surroundings. Half the day had passed. He rubbed his eyes, and stretched, while anxiety crept in. It was the lingering aftereffect of his dream. A tangible connection to whatever was being towed back to the station. It must nearly be here.

He felt that he could sense it just outside, as though it was watching and sizing him up. Looking at his tablet, he could see a dozen or so messages regarding the progress of the retrieval. Definitively an artifact. Earthmade origin seems probable. Possibilities sprang to mind. Time capsule, experimental station, or any number of other things. There were DNA storage projects he had heard about, seed storage...well, it no good to anyone to sit around speculating. He groaned to his feet, yawning as he walked out the door.

۞

Tark got to the cargo area a few minutes later. The bay was still cold from decompression. He could see his breath, and shivered a bit. Their find was much larger than he'd imagined, even having known the dimensions. It was comprised of dulled grey titanium, erratically streaked with prismatic color. There were two thick plated hatches; these looked like the proverbial window painted shut. Presumed to operate the hatches were old hydraulic hinges, though they were completely seized up, according to the mechanics and engineer.

"Sir, we've managed to hack our way through the locking mechanism. If you'll just stand back, we'll give a shot opening this can up." He obliged, feeling his fists ball up in anticipation. This was the most notable thing to take place since the beginning of his tour here, never mind the storm periods. As promised, the hatches eventually began to move, groaning out of an ancient sleep.

It took five minutes for them to pry the doors open wide enough to allow passage through. Just as they were about to give up and leave it, the thick titanium plates mischievously gave way to the pressure, sending six befuddled men and women crashing to the floor. An odd off-white mist billowed out, and almost immediately, ice crystals formed around the frame of the entrance. Tark squinted through the mist as he cautiously crossed the distance and went inside. He was followed closely by anyone else who could fit into the space. An audible intake of breath collectively sounded as the container began to give up its mysteries.

Nine compartments surrounded them, all with a glassed area at the top of each outline. These windows shaped like half moons; they were dimly lit from within. Tark approached the forwardmost compartment and polished clean condensation formed from the outside moisture. His jaw fell slack in surprise, while he drew in a clean knife of air that seconds later gave him goose bumps.

There was a young woman inside, her head tilted slightly back, eyes closed. What could be seen of her face was unbelievably pale. It was an unbearable semblance of death. It frightened Tark on some level he could not grasp. A mask covered the rest of her face completely, possibly to feed oxygen or protect from the cold. Her hair was fine and straight, to her shoulders. Its color was elusive; as he moved from side to side, he watched it shift in the flickering lights. One moment it seemed red, the next, brown. He wondered if she would be as difficult to pin down as her hair.

The rest of her body was covered similarly, giving nothing away. Around Tark, other personnel crowded in, peering into the other windows. Six were occupied, came the final count, two empty, one...expired. Tark maneuvered himself over to the spot where broken glass scattered around the floor, and saw for himself the mummified remains of some unfortunate soul.

Surely that would mean the rest of these people were alive, wouldn't it? Or were they just exceedingly well-frozen? He called the clinic, praying that one of the better docs was on duty. His joy was to be denied; soon enough one of his less-favorite individuals was making her way into the confines of the container.

"They're all human." The doctor observed this to no one in particular as she elbowed her way in. She moved authoritatively around the space, touching what appeared to be terminals and computer relays. The engineer politely requested that she stop, earning himself a nasty glare in the process. The doctor noticed Colonel Tarkington standing transfixed in front of one particular stasis chamber.

Involuntarily, her eyes rolled in disgust. He was someone she could have admired, had he not gotten involved with that off-worlder. She had her own private thoughts on non-humans, none of them very pleasant. Her name was Commander Maria Hawke. At times, she was capable of being a competent physician.

A bare minimum of her energies went into caring for the ill. The rest was poured into doing the work she believed she had been sent to carry out. She was not a missionary, not of the traditional baptismal sort. The word she secretly preached was something else entirely. It was a call to arms and action, to panic and fear. It was not new.

During her tenure aboard the Nimitz, she had carefully concealed her work. At least, her vanity let her think that. She'd had been some near misses. A low profile was necessary in order to serve the group that had secured her this posting. They had given her that message more than once.

This was a sticking point for her. It went against her every desire to remain a faceless servant. After the last warning, however, she'd realized she could only push her masters just so far. Anyway, eventually everything would be put to rights. Her role would become indispensable when the next phase of their grand plan was implemented. She had done everything in her power to make certain of it.

Tark, for his part, had noticed her behavior long ago, at first thinking that it might have been work stress-related. Many people cracked up a little on space rotation, especially if they'd been born planetside. If you couldn't handle it, you got out. Transfers weren't uncommon, after all. In time, he had come to know better the reasons for her behavior. There was a small stack of complaints regarding her refusal to treat non-human patients. There was a history of vague threat making.

She was under his command, strictly speaking, but every attempt he'd made in the way of disciplinary action had been denied. He took that as an indication that she'd gotten her position through some form of nepotism. It was aggravating, but he'd taken the hint. Leave her alone. This didn't mean he had to ignore her actions, merely that he couldn't do much about them. He sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, wishing his XO was by his side. Dmitry always seemed to know how to handle Hawke.

Dr. Hawke peered over Tark's shoulder. The woman inside the compartment had seemingly hypnotized him. At least this one was human, she thought, maybe there was hope after all. From what could be seen of her, symmetry of features lent to speculation that she might be pretty. Hawke felt the itch of a memory tickling at her brain. She tried to think more clearly, but the thought ran off.

Cryogenics was still a largely unexplored science, primarily because there weren't any successful cases to work from. Perhaps these people could change that. If she was the one to do it, it would be her name circulating. She allowed herself a brief fantasy of recognition, perhaps coming with an undemanding research position. If they would only allow it.

Personnel moved ceaselessly around her. Her thoughts continued along their own unbroken path. She recalled how there had once been those who'd sought out her honest and outspoken views. She'd been encouraged to look beyond the surface of so many things, to see the roots of evil hidden below. Through the years, her supporters had faded into wan shades of themselves.

They hadn't liked some of the notoriety that had followed Doctor Hawke. Ultimately, this had been the reason for her entry into the military. She'd been granted a commission and sent somewhere far enough away to keep out of trouble, but near enough to keep her under control. If she had been more introspective, she might have realized it. Instead, she viewed her current circumstances as the sort of menial work one must put in to attain eventual glory. Her stupor was broken by the sound of the Colonel's voice.

"Let's wake them."

He chewed his lip after tossing out the order. Strangely, he hadn't yet thought of this as a situation that would be dictated by command, so much as by science. But there it was. He stood silently by as the enlisted personnel moved in sync with their officers, getting things started. This in spite a lack of fully understanding the direction in which they were headed. Did they know what they were getting into?

The compartments were opened with far less resistance compared to the larger door. Carefully, with the delicate touch of archaeologists, they extricated cold bodies from metal tombs. Tark found himself needing to let go of the particulars of the mystery for now. He hadn't come to any plan of action, and he couldn't come up with any tangible reason not to inform his command.

Yet, he found himself reluctant to compose that message. The need to do so was an undeniable eventuality, if only to keep ahead of rumor-mongering. He did feel that it would be wise to proceed carefully when informing others of this find. In order to protect these unknown persons lying in deathlike repose, if nothing else. They were now on gurneys, perhaps to be ponderously making their way back to life.

If there was any way for Tark to make a promise to protect them, and still fulfill the oath of his office, he'd do it. He glanced back at the first of the "patients", the dark-haired woman. No clues as to her origin stood out on closer inspection. She was pushed out the hatch and down toward the naval clinic. He watched as the remaining five moved past him to join the strange caravan, while medical staff worked over them on the fly.

Three men, three women, in all. The men were of a common height. One was white-blond with chiseled features, very deliberate. The second had the look of a man who had learnt all the secrets of the universe, so peaceful and wise was his sleeping demeanor. The last male was more broadly built; a scar ran from an eyebrow into his dark red hair. One of the nurses commented that the last one would seem more natural with a long beard, animal skins, and a battle-ax. Tark felt the truth of that, purely from a visual standpoint.

The women were more diverse. Besides the one who had been pulled out first, there was a woman whose hair was braided in tiny plaits. It was gathered into a large knot at the back of her neck, where it continued down her back. She was dark, beautiful, frozen into perfect form. She was not as tall as the first woman was, not nearly so. Nor was the last one, who was fair, dusky blond, and curvy. She was pretty and compact; an embodiment of captured energy, like an insect trapped in amber.
۞

A swirling black hole looms in the distance, sucking everything in, wrestling consciousness away from helpless bodies. Later, she would say that was her last waking memory. Now, something tugged at her, splintering the darkness into needles of crystallized vision. She sucked air in, out, in, out; she was swimming in warm waters.

Yes, she was swimming, on vacation with her parents. Six years old, ducking under the sunny waves like a mermaid, until a voice called. Little fish, come out of the water, time to leave. Back to a landlocked existence. She ignored the calls a while longer, exchanging grins with chirping dolphins, tickling painted fish that were almost tame. Even so, air runs out. Her head bobbed above the surface, and that dream of childhood faded. Something unknown tugged on her again from above, then yanked...hard.

The young woman lay on an examination bed. She started to move slightly, and startled everyone with a sudden cry. Tark questioned Doctor Hawke with a gesture; she shook her head in response. They waited, anticipating the woman's next motion, sound, or response. It seemed to span an eternity before finally her eyes flew open to blink away tears from the assault of light.

Their patient gasped, feeling her heart protest after the flood of chemicals and electric stimuli had caused it to resume its normal function. Oh, it...hurt? Yes, hurt. Things inside her began to move, and she knew somehow that they hadn't moved in a very long while. Her lungs filled with air again, carrying a familiar scent. Sanity and civilization. She couldn't think whether she belonged to either of those or not.

The fabric of her memory was ragged and moth-eaten. Squeezing eyes shut, she concentrated so painfully she thought her ears might start oozing blood. Her brain struggled to respond to these internal pleadings. Thoughts jostled into place; years, months, days, until she began to slide down an unmarked crevasse. There was something missing in her mind, hidden just out of reach. Every time she thought she had a glimpse, it would dart away into the shadows.

Tark watched her face change expressions, wishing he knew what was going on inside her head. It was almost excruciating to witness this silence. She opened her eyes again after about ten minutes, and the look she gave him crushed him like the gravity of dying stars. She was living across time and space, not yet aware of the darkness of the vacuum just outside, trying to find familiar territory. It was time to ask questions, to sort out this tangled mess.

"Hello there. Good to see you awake. I'm Colonel Jorge Tarkington. Can you tell me your name?" His voice echoed back to him, while he realized that he'd addressed her as one would a child. Hawke was in the background, after he'd firmly told her to stand aside. This was not something he trusted her to handle.

"What is this? Am I in a hospital?" Faces gazed at her, unreadable, refusing to offer even a crumb of comfort. Someone say something. Please. The colonel person continued to watch her expectantly. "Maeve." She finally offered this while stubbornly withholding a surname. He smiled.

"What's the last date you remember?" He continued to watch her carefully. 0What kind of a question was that? Come to it, what kind of a hospital was this supposed to be? She put a trembly hand to her forehead, hoping that she was having some sort of hallucination.

"I don't know. A lot of guys want to buy me dinner. You might have to be more specific." Was she playing around with him? Or was she really that out of sorts? Tark wasn't looking to force her cooperation. It was up to him to set a tone, clearly. Tark tried to squelch his impatience. All the excitement of what was going on had gotten to him more than he'd realized, but that wasn't going to bring answers. Serenity, on the other hand, might. He drew in a deep breath and plunged in, trying to imagine how he might react what she was about to hear.

"There's no way to sugar-coat this, but there is something you should know about where you are." Not to mention when. "As far as we can tell, you have been in some sort of stasis for an indeterminate period of time." It had to be a joke, but the face of the colonel belied only seriousness. She struggled with emotion. Even worse, her brain still felt like it was running on quarter speed.

It was an effort to follow what this person was saying to her. There was a little too much to take in all at once. It was ridiculous though, because she couldn't immediately recall how she would have ended up in a cryogenic (was that the right term? she couldn't think straight) facility. She wasn't even sure she had ever given the technology any kind of credence, either. Why couldn't she think clearly? A doctor-looking lady spoke up, anticipatory in her tone.

"I think we should begin to revive the others. It's evident that..." She seemed ready to give a dissertation. Maeve cut off the woman.

"Others? What others? Why didn't you mention that yet?" She was getting agitated. They had to get her to lie back. She acquiesced, knowing that she was at the mercies of these people. She was powerless.

"I'm sorry." Tark said simply, and sent Hawke off to finish reviving the rest of the occupants of the container. Once she'd gone, he clearly felt freer to speak. He looked the young woman over, still feeling a protective urge that he couldn't explain. Blood flow had resumed its normal rate; she was not so pale as she had been. Death had removed its hand from her brow, and he was glad of it. The rest would take time to be regained. She looked exhausted and frail to the point of hollowness. A week or two in the long-term care facility ought to help.

"Do you feel alright?" She nodded, mouth set grimly against spoken word. He tried again. "Would you like to know what year this is? It might be a shock to you though, I suppose, if our people have dated your ship accurately." To that, her lips parted, and hovered, half open for a long pause before she said anything.

"Tell me. Let me in on the big secret." She might have been sarcastic, but the malice was absent. Her voice was barely above a whisper, conspiratorial.

"Twenty-two seventy-six." He pulled back, inches really, wouldn't have done much good if she'd wanted to grab at him, but his point was made. She stared at him, as though she could will his words to unhappen. Maybe it was a practical joke. That was a moderately comforting thought. Ah, or even more sensibly, a training exercise. Wait, training for what? The big blank spot in her brain mocked her.

"Well. What do you know. I can't think of a single thing to say that would make sense of any of this. And I'd usually have some clever remark, I think." She sighed, and looked down at the floor. It was just a matter of being utterly confused. Not that big a deal. Maybe a bolt of lightning would come through the roof of this place and remove her from the land of giving a crap.

"I have a feeling that things will sort themselves out. In the meantime, let me be the first to welcome you on board the Nimitz." He swept an arm outward, presumably to indicate the entirety of the place. She frowned.

"As in the admiral? Like we're on a ship?" She still didn't quite get it. Wrong kind of ocean.

"Well, more like the vacuum of space than water, and more like a big giant military base than a ship." He wasn't sure what she was making of all this.

"Don't I feel smart. Could someone just hit me in the head with a blunt object and make the bad man go away?" She was holding her head again. Tark wasn't sure who the "bad man" was, but he suspected that it was a turn of phrase, and not directed at him. He didn't have a chance to try and figure it out though; Hawke was back to making pronouncements.

The naval clinic had turned into a center of activity with the other five bodies on the tables. The doctor moved from station to station, waving her hands and giving loud instructions to her nurses and interns. Maeve struggled to her elbow, straining to see faces, desperate for a flicker of memory. Anything that might seem familiar in this strange, cold place would be a balm to her battered sensibilities. She shivered with tension and fear, and suddenly wondered why three people were missing.

"Doc?" Maeve raised her voice as loudly as she could muster. Hawke couldn't hear her. Everything came to a dead halt when a piercing whistle screamed above the rest of the noise. "Sorry. Where are the other three? I thought there were nine of us." Maeve felt the startlement of realization that they had said six, but that she had somehow felt a different number surface in her mind. The doctor looked momentarily sheepish, then stiffened.

"There were nine; one compartment was breached, its occupant, expired. Two other bod...persons were missing." One dead, two vanished. She felt that there was a specific someone she should be looking for, someone very important to her, context or significance was out of place. Or time. She had a sudden urge to jump up and scream, though it would be less than helpful. Hell, it might even make everyone in charge here think she was in need of psychiatric help. The overhead lights flickered in front of her eyes, and she saw a movie-like scene playing out behind her eyes.

...Water casually washed the shoreline of the Gulf coast, eerily placid after the late summer tropical storm that had sulked a mile offshore, never touching land. It was still rising swells the size of baby elephants in some places. Here, on this night, it was calm and smiled the thumbnail moon back at Maeve and....

"Are you alright?" Tark grasped her shoulder lightly and looked at her with furrowed brow.

"This is just a huge shock to the system." That was it, beginning, middle...end. She wasn't giving him anything else, if she remembered anything else at all. She was still a little groggy. Her speech slurred now and again, giving away as they talked how far she had yet to go.

۞

Hawke looked around her hospital with an emotion she rarely felt. Satisfaction. Now, five other cryogenic patients stared suspiciously at their new surroundings, while personnel took their names, dates of birth. But no matter how you looked at it, this could be hers alone.

This significant little piece of scientific accomplishment belonged to her. In spite of the reprimands she'd gotten, she knew she had to do this. There was no way she was going to keep it a secret like the Colonel thought they should. He'd see, when she got a nice citation. Maybe the wheels would get greased a little and some of her other requests would get paid attention to finally. Smiling most peculiarly (at least that's what her nurses whispered to each other), she made her way into her office and composed a message to send back to Earth. Things would begin to change here and now.

۞

"Dammit!" Rikert Shirk, second lieutenant, (young and pretty much freshly pressed) whacked a panel inside the cryogenics container. He cursed a few more times for good measure. His Chief Warrant Officer, 2nd grade, popped his head around a corner, and grinned when he saw the look of consternation on his lieutenant's face. The warrant officer was called Patrick, but he preferred Paddy when he was three pints down. He'd been working on the lad, but those shiny butter bars had given the kid a touch of gold fever. It was a common affliction; it was a warrant officer's purview to cure him of it.

"Whatsa matter, sir?" He tried to slip in a tiny bit of sarcastic inflection on the 'sir', knowing how it gave the lieutenant the twitches. "This old beast giving you problems with which you cannot cope?" Rikert did not prefer his own nickname, but everyone called him by it anyway. It was a joke from the locker rooms, taken on a life of its own. Dick glared at the mirthful CWO, who had a wicked gleam in his eye.

"I'm giving you fair warning, Chief, you start harassing me, and I won't go so easy on the pitch during our football match this week." Patrick wheeled back in mock horror.

"If you go and break my legs, who will keep my wife in the manner to which she's accustomed? Just tell me what the problem is, sir." He grinned at himself.

"I can handle it. You have better things to do than mollycoddle me." Patrick sighed at the stubbornness of the man, tossed his hands up, and shook his head mournfully.

"Aren't you a bit old, sir, to be acting like a greenstick? In Donegal," He glared as Dick choked back a snort of derision, "there are bloody sheep with more bloody sense. Bleeding Irish sheep, they are." That made the lieutenant crack a tiny smile, and he sucked in his pride to ask for help.

"Oh all right. I would have had this behemoth up and running an hour ago, but every time I try to access it, it goes crazy and shuts down. I just don't get it." Patrick closed his eyes and muttered softly in Gaelic, leaving Dick to chew his lip unassuredly for a brief agonizing time.

"Begging your pardon sir, but I might point out something that may have not occurred to you yet? Technologists were just beginning to piece together the first infant artificial intelligence systems at the point this hunk of metal was cobbled together. You're dealing with an antique. Don't get caught up in trying to make it do what you think it ought." Patrick knew that he could be perceived as overstepping the boundaries between the two men, or possibly even insulting the lad. He figured that his twenty-three years in service could justify a little scolding, at the very least.

He watched with a careless peripheral interest as Dick worked around the new limitations set upon him, gently nudging wires and boards. This continued on for a quarter of an hour. Out of the blue, the aged screens winked a sleepy eye, and burst into a scene of animated waves crashing.

Patrick leaned forward with interest, repressing the urge to touch the keypads. Dick was surprised enough that he jumped up out of his seat, banging his head on the bulkhead above. He shot Patrick a filthy look when the older man could be heard stifling a laugh. Then he looked back to the monitor, realizing that Patrick was pointing to it insistently.

The computer was alive, and now waiting to be commanded.

Hokusai's waves moved around imperial Japan in a repetitive cycle. It was what Dick did not recognize immediately to be a screensaver, although he was familiar with the artwork. The thing ran its diagnostics, computed the date (a few hundred years short, which might mean something, though Dick wasn't sure what), and immediately blipped into a program that functioned with a number of options for input.

"I hate dinosaurs..." Dick started muttering technological jargon under his breath, running through systems tables and variances. He had a talent and a habit for doing that, because of a photographic memory, and an underactive social life. Patrick shook his head at the young man for about the hundredth time today alone and walked off to investigate the individual chamber controls. "Come on, passenger manifest, puh-leezz, I want pictures, dates, favorite colors, anything!"

"Find anything?" The sudden noise snapped whiplike through Dick, causing him to rocket to his feet, and smash his knees into the control panel. Cursing mentally at the throbbing, now through his head and thighs, all while fighting the urge to fall over in pain; he turned to face the source of the voice, and stopped dead his planned tirade.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but I'm curious as to how well the retrieval process is coming." Colonel Tarkington stood immediately to their rear.

"Sorry, sir...."

"Shirk, is it?"

"Right, yes." He thought for a moment. "How are they adjusting?"

"Bit early to tell for sure, but they all seem well enough." Tark peered at the computer monitor, and then over at the diagnostics array.

"We've got access, still looking for any files that might give us...you the information you asked for, sir."

Lieutenant Shirk twitched uncomfortably under the steady scrutiny of his commanding officer. Tark smiled inwardly and shared a knowing look with the chief. Shirk could be no more than eighteen. His billet must have been won through sheer brilliance....

"Lay it on me, Lieutenant."

۞

So-called Lieutenant Dick had piled the technical trash high, explaining with elaborate intensity the problems he was having trying to reconstruct the recalcitrant hunk of silicate and metals known as their onboard computer. Not that it was broken, at least not physically, but after nearly three hundred years, even having been kept in optimal conditions, it had geriatric problems. It was damned lucky that they'd found those people when they had.

Shirk had said the onboard systems were at failure point before he'd worked on them. Tark noticed Sa'andy gazing at him peripherally, and he rolled his eyes gently, while hers snapped back into place. She smiled like a guileless schoolchild, though he suspected the affectation was designed purely for his benefit. He already knew she was secretly so pleased with herself she couldn't stand it. No sense in encouraging her, but he was strangely pleased as well.

۞

She wanted to be stronger than she was, but weakness was stalking her like a tiger. Three weeks had gone by in a blurry haze. She still felt exhausted and queasy. It had been difficult to stand unassisted, let alone walk. Maeve looked down at her body for the millionth time, willing there to be a visible change. There'd been an infusion of some sort every few hours for the first few days, with promises of smoothies once her body could tolerate it. The thought of ingesting anything had not been terribly appealing, but the sooner she improved, the better.

Sitting in bed was approximate to losing her mind, if there was anything left at all to lose. She felt the prickling of an active intellect protesting all the sitting still, and went back to the only exercise she'd been able to do. One by one, she contracted muscles, holding each one for a count of ten, over and over. That done, she moved on to jiggling her legs as they were, stretched out in front of her. Physical therapy was scheduled to start soon, but she preferred to try and be ahead of expectations.

A nurse came in, smiling at her in the way nurses do when they're about to tell a patient something not fun for anyone. Indeed. It was time for a wheelchair ride, wasn't that a nice step forward? No. Not really. Not unless it was a ride back home, back in time. The nurse kept up a smile, ignoring the acerbity of her patient. Maeve sullenly allowed herself to be manhandled into a sitting position. Then into the chair. Then the bombshell. It was social hour. Everyone was doing well enough to come out and say hello. Maeve wondered how many people would be witnessing this supposed reunion.

She'd been trying to get her brain back in working order over those three weeks, without a great deal of success. There was still a blank hole, blocking any progress. It was beginning to be a tiresome theme. Maybe seeing some faces would spark a memory. This realization gave her a tiny bit of hope. There had to be forward motion in this mess somewhere, right? She sighed and allowed the nurse to roll her out into a common room. Five other people sat around in roughly the same state that she was. Well, at least there was that.

They were all wearing what she was wearing. Standard issue shorts and tees in a lovely shade of olive green that was familiar if nothing else. They chatted quietly as she was wheeled in, falling silent once she was in their midst. Looks were exchanged, and Maeve found herself thinking that this didn't appear to be the first time they'd been together. She was trying to think of something to say when a lanky, unbelievably blonde man saved them all from the awkward silence.

"Do you remember any of us?" Us, she thought. Confirmation of some sort. Nonetheless, she looked at each of them carefully. There were no bells, no moments of unadulterated lucidity. Just one face in the crowd stuck with her. She couldn't have forgotten him even if she'd tried. He saw something in her eye, a spark, and grinned.

"Well," They exchanged glances laced with familiarity. Maeve took that as further proof that they, evidently, all had no problems with their memories. She felt as though she should know all of them. There was sense of familiarity that she couldn't explain otherwise. But no path made itself clear to her.

"That's okay. We're a little hazy ourselves." The first woman spoke, a voice with implications of gentility and a hint of bluegrass. Her curly blond hair was wild and loose, hazel eyes full of mischief. She was not a very good liar. Maeve chose not to call her on it.

"Perhaps reintroductions would be in order." A simple enough sounding task, Maeve knew, but imperative to further interaction as well. "I guess I'll start. Maeve Howard." Another exchange of glances, this time tempered with relief. What had they been worried about? It wouldn't be like last time...wait, what? She frowned, unable to catch hold of the fleeting thought before it turned to vapor. Closing her eyes, she felt a shudder of disorientation, fought it down. Once she opened them again, it was to find herself being stared at again.

"Leif Christensen. But you knew that." The ginger giant spoke up, that easy, disarming smile gracing his face.

"That, at least, is the reason that I'm still holding onto what little is left of my sanity. I would've had to have most of my brain removed not to know you." His smile widened, though he did not show his teeth, nor did he speak up again. It was best to keep moving forward.

"Jemila Solomon." This woman had a wistful smile, and a musical accent, which carried a note of homesickness in it. She had a long, narrow face, and smooth features, like a riverworn stone. Her beauty was of the kind that comforted and calmed; Maeve found herself staring at Jemila with that very sensation. Another voice broke into her reverie.

"Josh Yi." Maeve felt an impulse to ask him which island of Hawaii he was from again, though she did not act upon it, and couldn't explain it. He smiled as if he'd heard her thought.

"Grace Danner." The blonde spoke up again. This time, in her voice Maeve heard rolls in the hay, and white lightning.

"Antonio Assunta" She'd had the pale guy pegged all wrong. It should have been a name like Heinrich, or Kristoff to come out of his mouth. He must be one of those northern Italians that no one could really explain.

A long silence filled the room.

"Well, this is awkward."

۞

"Colonel, may I have a word?" Sa'andy was placid, unreadable.

"Of course." He shook his head at her, amused. "What's with the formality?"

"Oh, you know. Trying to behave professionally." She knew her pronunciation of the last word always made him chuckle. A moment later, she stopped smiling, remembering what she had to tell him. "Can we talk in your office?"

"Naturalment." They walked in together; he deliberately left the door open. The gossip mill needed no help from him. "What's up?"

"Although you never said we ought, I started trying to trace the origins of this container as soon as we determined its purpose." Tark made a face.

"I know, I should have asked you right off. I'm running a regular pirate operation as it is, though. Once anyone catches wind of what we've got, those folks are going to get turned into lab rats."

"Obviously." She sighed. "I do not question your intentions at all. However, as I have only been able to get just so far, it implies that if I look much further, someone will take notice."

"You want me to try to bring in someone."

"Just some means of penetrating records without sounding the general alarm would do."

"Well...that I think we can manage from here."

"Excellent."

"Of course, I might get court-martialed in the end."

"Pirates?"

"Pirates. You bet."

۞

They tried to make small talk for a while, until it was obvious that Maeve needed to go back and rest. She tried to seem a bit worse off than she was, to be honest. Being around all of them, had proved to be more wearing than she'd anticipated. It was primarily that she'd spent all her time trying to get over that obstacle in her brain, to seek out the answers she knew must surely be there. In terms of effort, it was akin to climbing a never-ending rope.

The nurse pushed her back toward her room. The five left sitting around the room wore expressions of disappointment and unhappiness. None of them was sure what they had anticipated.

"It's like we're right back where we started. She isn't any better."

"But she was, before they herded us up and made us into freezies."

"I suppose, but Leif, man, this complicates things." Antonio was the most vocally dissatisfied, as usual.

"She does? Gimme a break. The fact that we've been gone for over two hundred years doesn't strike you as more of a complication?"

"Well, as far as we know, our original mission may still exist."

"Antonio, you are nuts."

"Wouldn't you rather have a purpose than admit we're...."

"Dude, we are useless. Consider the reality of this. We're behind in everything. It's like being born a second time. We have no skills, no understanding of life in this time...I'd rather just go off and try to eke out a retirement."

"They didn't mean to do this to us. I cannot aceept that we were abandoned with no guidance." Jemila was still the voice of reason. Josh sat back, his eyes closed, trying to stay out of it. Grace was crocheting a sweater, waiting for a moment to stick an oar in.

"We were never supposed to be stowed away on some far away moon, either. Yet, there we were." Leif was giving himself a manicure, man style. Jemi's mouth twisted as she tried not to watch.

"They didn't have that capability when they put us under. I think we must have been moved." She was tired of sitting. They all were.

"And the other two?" Josh watched Leif's reaction carefully.

"They said it was Wallace and Ramirez." Leif shrugged. "They have no leads on that."

"You sound remarkably not unhappy about that."

"I don't not know what you mean by that." Leif refused to meet Josh's even gaze.

"She'll notice, sooner or later, if you keep up the goo-goo eyes every time she comes in the room." Grace batted her eyelashes to punctuate the point.

"Lock it up, Gracie. It's none of your business."

"Oh, okay. After ages of pissing and moaning about it, suddenly it's nobody's business." She held up her hands in mock-defense. "Never saw a big guy so afraid of nothin' before."

"We are getting sidetracked, people." Josh was the only one Leif never argued with; the others had learned to take the same cue. They never argued with him either.

"Well, what do we do, then?" Antonio knew what he wanted to do; go curl up in bed with as many books as he could, with a giant pizza by his side.

"The CO here has offered to keep us under wraps until we get that figured out. We should just keep getting ourselves back in fully working order, I think."

"Oh, alright. Whatever. I still want pizza." Antonio plodded back to his room. The girls headed back to Grace's room, presumably to discuss everything that had just happened. Josh hung back, eyeing Leif from across the room.

"What is it?" Leif was resigned to hearing whatever Josh had to say. There was little other option.

"That's your plan, then? Admit everything?"

"Not you, too."

"Dude, you have to admit that coming at her with this may not be the best ever timing."

"I already waited a long damn time."

"Try longer."

"Frick. Fine. I'll give it a few more weeks."

۞

Time continued to bleed away for Maeve, as she steadily improved, and put her whole focus into regaining strength. This desire had grown and intensified over another few weeks. She had moved past walking, and was secretly testing out jogging around her room whenever she was alone. Her regular routine of exercise was slowly coming back to mind. She was pushing the physical therapist to try things, surprising both of them in the process.

Finally, Tark visited her after getting a report that all of them were ready to leave medical care. He wasn't entirely sure why he was going to her alone, rather than all of them. There was just something in the way she carried herself that drew him in.

"We have temporary housing for you." He handed her a small bundle. "These are the keys, and we've put together information for you about the Nimitz, as well as some other topics you might find useful."

"Like a brief history of 'what the hell just happened?'" She looked at a device she was holding. It was somewhat reminiscent of the little tablet computers that had been everywhere in her day. In her day, jeez, listen to that. She sounded like an old lady.

"Something like that." He chuckled a little. "Look, I know this has all been a little crazy. I don't know how, but we'll get you sorted out eventually." He stood up to head back to his own duties. "Storms are dying down, finally. My XO ought to be back soon. I'd like it if you would have dinner with us once he's here." Maeve took a deep breath.

"Us?"

"Sorry, with me, my XO, and, um, my girlfriend, Sa'andy." Maeve smiled what she hoped was an affirmation. He nodded and left her to sit and stare at the pile of keys and tablet thingies.

They were being discharged in time for lunch. The nurses gave them a lengthy list of places to try. They'd been given food cards (and a list of the places that accepted them), leaving her to wonder how the Colonel was still keeping them under the radar. She hoped he wouldn't land in hot water over it.

Time to face the music.

She handed them all keys, out of some strange sense of duty, and became part of a quiet procession through halls, down flights of stairs, to the third deck. The third level was below, and not above. Life was wrong side up in space, apparently. It would all start to be knitted back together, she supposed. Only after it finished unraveling into a giant mess of yarn and fuzzy thoughts, though.

They found her room first. She scrutinized the door for a moment, before she stuck the key into its middle, feeling rather like she was poking someone's belly. This was reinforced when the door responded by chuckling. Then, it wrenched itself apart along an invisible seam in the middle. The halves swung inward, revealing a modestly sized living area.

Two other doors inside led separately to a bedroom and to a closet. A bath led off the bedroom. The decor was much more...natural than any of them had expected. Wood was used for the doors, and the counter, which separated the kitchenette from the sitting area, was stone. The cabinets and furniture were wooden as well. The rooms that they had been given clearly hadn't been lived in before. There was a greeting waiting for them as soon as the lights were switched on. A message flashed up on a wall-mounted screen, along with a soothing voice, reminiscent of a flight attendant.

"Welcome to the class two military quartering. These rooms are designated for either transient lodging, or visiting dignitaries. These are not intended for permanent living, but may be used for that purpose with approved modifications. The woodwork you see is all reclaimed. There are..." Maeve stopped paying attention. She poked into every drawer, cabinet, and cubby. There was a white rabbit in there somewhere. She just had to find it, and follow it back through the looking glass.

"Do we all get these?" Grace padded silently around the room, the possibilities swirling in those changeable eyes.

"Well, I guess. They're economical, but comfortable, and at this point...free." Jemila nodded in agreement, remaining steadfast in unusual silence. Antonio drummed his fingers restlessly on the arm of his seat. In the corner, Josh and Grace moved in an impromptu sparring, and at alternate swings, narrowly avoided crashing into the wall and the divider.

"This...of course, is why...my parents named me...Grace."

"What are we doing here?" Josh stopped swinging abruptly at the sound of Maeve's question. Everyone looked at each other and remembered why they had stayed with her in the first place. "Other than a few scattered memories, I have no idea how or why we got here." A few memories? What did that mean? She'd just let that slip before even thinking about it, and now they were all looking at her expectantly. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. But she wasn't ready to share her odd visions yet.

Antonio was the first one to notice that Maeve had suddenly lapsed into a state of silent confusion. He quickly cleared his throat, and interrupted.

"Well, I don't know about anybody else, but I think we're all feeling a bit dislocated and unclear." Jemila raised her eyebrows, marveling at the ease of deception. She was about to put forth her opinion of the whole thing when the screen on the wall flickered and put into view the face of Colonel Tarkington. In the background, the container was visible, as well as about ten crewpersons milling about.

۞

"I hope I'm not bothering you, but I thought you'd...ah, I see you have company."

"You're not bothering anyone. Leif, Josh, Jemi, Grace, Antonio and I were just trying to figure out how to kill some time." Tark's mouth twisted slightly; he understood her motive in pointing all of them out, but spoke calmly, no trace of any embarrassment in his voice or demeanor. He had never visited them as a group, and had kept his private visits with the rest of them tacitly quiet. They all seemed to understand, and played dumb accordingly.

"I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to meet all of you formally. We'll have to remedy that soon. We have some news, though." He paused, letting that take hold, and then smiled slightly before continuing. "That's why I've called, Ms. Howard. We've gotten access to the entirety of your files." Maeve blinked.

"Come again?"

"Sorry, the computer that was onboard your, er, ship, it took them a while to recover all the information. It was badly degraded, I believe was the word used." He did not mention that O'Leary and Shirk had also been working feverishly to locate any information about the container. What they had found had proven to be a bit troubling. Even more troubling was how much appeared to have been excised from what information there was. He was a heartbeat away from telling them to use whatever means necessary. His hole was getting deeper by the moment.

"Anything of note?" Leif's presence loomed up just behind her, as protective as ever. Looking back over her shoulder, she wasn't sure how she felt about being hovered over by him...like that. She looked back up at the screen. The colonel seemed to be thinking things over.

"Why don't you come to my office and look things over? I would say that you all should come, but we might not want to attract too much attention. A lot of personnel are returning from leave; I'd prefer to keep things as quiet as possible. Ms. Howard can bring it all back to you, if that's okay."

"It's alright, she can go on her own. We ought to get settled in our rooms, anyway." Leif walked around to face Maeve. "Go ahead. We'll try to rustle up some lunch in the meantime." Maeve studied her friend's face for a moment or two. What was he up to?

"Okay. I'll go." Not that she wasn't interested to hear what Tark had to say, but there was some weird current carrying through that she couldn't figure out. Leif had been treating her like a piece of fragile china for the past few weeks. Antonio would constantly sigh and shake his head when he thought she wasn't looking. Jemi and Grace were solicitous to the point of annoyance. Josh just kept trying to get her into a meditative state. It was as though they were sitting around waiting for her to do something. What, she didn't know. Maybe they thought she'd crack up completely.

Maeve walked down the corridor, feeling self-conscious. The colonel had assured them that most personnel on board had no idea she and her friends existed. This had been a good reason for placing them in otherwise empty temporary housing. Hidden in plain sight.

This didn't stop her from feeling as though everyone was staring at her. She wished she had a mirror to check and make certain her hair wasn't standing on end. She was utterly and catastrophically self-effacing, though she had long been at war with this tendency.

It was a benefit when facing into actual mistakes; otherwise it was a terrible habit. Yet, Colonel Tarkington seemed pretty convinced that she was the person who had been picked to be at the forefront of whatever happy little mission this was supposed to have been. And he based that on a few flighty details that almost anyone could poke holes in, given a reasonable debate.

Her head was aching again. She'd grown used to the pain, but not what came with it.

...There was water again, but this time there was a distinctly different feel to its presence. Its ripples were unfriendly, sending warning in their movements, while shouting echoed around her, seemingly emanating from the ground beneath her feet. The smell of blood hunted air currents to steal a ride on, reaching her nostrils, turning the sand ever darker before her eyes. A few steps took her over a rise, and she saw again the source of the shouting, the fires burning on the horizon, soggy forms crawling from inky seas.

These visions, or whatever one might call them, that was the hard part to handle. She knew it wasn't a genuine memory, either, a nightmarish amalgam of her past.... Frustration and terror boiled up, bringing the pain in her head to a peak of intensity like she had not yet experienced.

Maeve leaned against a wall, gasping for air. The smell of burning flesh hung round her; a specter of some forgotten evil. The image was there and gone, more quickly than she could try to remember where it had come from. It was a fragment of a fragment, too brief to discern what was reality or falsehood. She walked into the cargo hold, feeling like a fraction of herself. She tried to stow her unhappiness. There was no point in telling anyone about these visions she had been having. Not just yet, anyway.

"So, Colonel, what do we have?" He looked over her way, from his doubled over position next to Dick's inherited workstation, and as some form of answer, tapped the monitor.

"Come and see." His finger held steady on the screen, drawing her closer. She walked toward the container, toward the nameless beast of burden that had been her home of late, and stepped into uncertainty. Or maybe she was just being melodramatic.

"Interesting." The monitor displayed what evidently was her file. Maeve Brighid Howard, date of birth..., place of birth..., schooling, and then, below all the harmlessness, her military duty record. There was no gasp of surprise on her part as she swiftly pretended to scan the data, merely moving on to find the next person. Tark glanced her way to gauge a reaction, but found only an expression of displeasure shadowing her face.

"What's wrong?" Not for the first time, he wished he could read her mind.

"Let's see the rest. Then I'll discuss." She delivered those few words with a degree of terseness Tark had heard before. Maeve looked impatient and unhappy. Dick read the cue. He flew through his tasking to retrieve first the rest of the files, as well as other information that had been recovered.

They seemed to have been selected for some sort of experiment funded by their defense department, to be beginning test subjects for long-term space flight. Maeve remained unconvinced. It was tidy enough, to be sure, but it didn't sit right with her. The untouchable place in her memories sat back and smiled. It watched, waited, and knew. Maeve could only make conjectures, still looking through their files, thinking her thoughts in silence.

۞

Back on Earth during the storms, vacationers swarmed through plentiful biological preserves, beaches, and resorts. It was a comfortable and pleasant illusion. Holidaying military personnel could be expected to spend a great deal of money.

Families entertaining their bored children were similarly counted on to mindlessly part with cash. Society's ills were carefully hidden and scrupulously forgotten. The poor and homeless were pushed into tent camps, always just out of sight. Filth and decay, closeted and painted over. It was a world that Maeve and her friends would still recognize whenever the chance to reacquaint themselves came.

In fact, the only people on the planet who didn't really enjoy the lengthy holiday were high-level politicians, their aides, and that unpleasantly sizeable number of impoverished persons. Somewhere in the bowels of a four-star hotel, a certain group of individuals met. These were concerned with the former group. It was a small though powerful gathering of men and women.

Commander Hawke had sent her message to them, and they were not well-pleased. At that moment, they weren't even lamenting their lack of holidaying, much less quality family time. An air of grimness permeated the room, and no measure of gourmet food and drink plied on them would appease them. A terrible clamor had erupted within moments of their gathering.

"I thought we had been assured that this problem was long ago resolved." One woman spoke around an uncommon cigarette; she was supported by more shouting from the other thirty-odd gathered there.

"You said it had been destroyed. You showed us evidence."

"What about your other promises, Robert? Are they all worthless as well?"

"We're at considerable risk here. We need assurances!"

"Who did we send to take care of it?" A voice broke into the chaos.

"This is what I had always been told about the vessel: that it had been destroyed, nearly after its inception. Of course, there had been rumors, but nothing substantiative." The person speaking at that moment managed to silence everyone with a wave of his hand, and spoke on, "However, as we all know now, this situation that our forbears worked to suppress, simply has...arisen."

Robert Warden held off a new surge of voices, and looked around him carefully, and with a deadly calm in his voice, finished, "It, of course, means that we will have to eliminate the situation, with minimal risk to ourselves. I have taken the initial action of meting punishment to Commander Hawke. I think you'll all agree that the doctor's usefulness has long since passed. Boko?" Silent accord washed over the tense environment, as the person who had been called upon stood and began to speak. He read from a communiqué before proceeding.

"Well, sir, apparently your request regarding the commander was approved by the uh, JCS, and they have forwarded it through the chain of command. It should reach Colonel Tarkington's desk in a few days."

"That's what I hate about bureaucracy. It lacks decisiveness, and the ability to destroy your enemies quickly when you really need to." Knowing smiles were exchanged, and Boko spoke up again.

"Is it really true that these people were programmed with the expectation that they could destroy us? I find that a bit hard to swallow." Robert looked at the younger man, with only a hint of fear clouding his eyes.

"Trust me Boko, that's a myth. However, they were chosen to participate in an _experiment_ because of certain strengths they each possess." Not to mention a few weaknesses, he thought with satisfaction. "We will survive, of course, there is no other possible outcome."

Boko shifted in his seat. The intensity of his employer always put him on edge. He'd already begun to think that his time in service had reached its end. A flight to Peru, paid for in cash, reminded him that safety was only an hour away. That reassuring thought did nothing to keep doubt from rising up in Boko's mind. Like bile, it would eat away at his confidence until whatever was left peeked through.

۞

At the same time, on the other side of the planet, two other people were readying to begin a journey for which they had been preparing over the course of two years. They, like the recently awakened men and women back on the Nimitz, had started off shakily, unsure of their future. They had grown into their roles as well as their mentor had known they would. He surveyed them now with no little amount of pride, thinking of the risk he had taken to locate them, to retrieve them, and now, to send them out alone. For their part, the two looked forward to the mission that lay ahead.

Watching them from a distance, observing their interactions, Kun stayed well clear of an argument that was brewing between them. Though these two young people worked fairly well together, their personalities and sensibilities were quite opposite. After several minutes of listening to them squabble, he rapped his long walking stick on the stones underfoot. He motioned for them to follow him from the cave outside into the compound that they all lived in. Embarrassed, they quietly moved to their feet.

In the depths of a valley, set in the midst of Peruvian peaks, was their temporary home. It was quiet and remote, peaceful; an illusion of beautiful life. It had been tempting to forget the outside world on many occasions. Fergus Wallace looked out over the expanse of their adopted home. Their grass-covered huts were dug down into the soil, hidden in plain sight. They could move freely before sunrise, and after sunset. The rest of the time, they had to keep under the camouflage netting that obscured them from aerial view. They grew most of their food, but had to keep it scattered and removed from the camp. In spite of this, Wallace had come to love the place. He had been able to start over, leave the past behind. That would all come to an end now.

This was the crux of the argument between him and Julieta Ramirez, his companion. Well, not like that, good grief. She was like a brother to him. A mean older brother. He was trying to construct as many objections and obstacles to their departure as possible. Jules just wanted to get going. Creeping around in the dark was beginning to get to her. Wallace felt compelled to remind her that outer space was just as dark. That was the point when Master Kun had interrupted.

"You both know that the day has finally come, as we knew it would, when your comrades would be revived. Your mission is therefore initiated, and the end of our enemies is at hand." Julieta looked over at Wallace, eyebrow raised. This was an unspoken dare for him to continue his opposition to the idea with Kun. He rolled his eyes over to the horizon high above them. Sunset was only a few minutes off. He said nothing.

The next morning came early, unmoved by Wallace's prayerful pleas to keep it at bay. The two travelers looked up onto the path by which they would travel out of the valley. Their escort was comprised of a few goats and another of their companions. These waited patiently, in spite of the goats' desire to get to the sweet grasses along the trailside.

They were as ready as they could be for what lay ahead, and yet they both felt a nagging apprehension floating nearby. It was nothing readily identifiable. Julieta had felt this vague thing for some time. It was like an aching joint before a storm. She set aside any worry, however, with the anticipation of finally getting to be up amongst the stars. Sort of. She was almost giddy with anticipation.

Wallace was not. He was trying to avoid calculating all the G-forces and microgravity, and certainly avoided thought of how precisely anyone had sorted artificial gravity. He sidestepped these questions because he knew he was completely unqualified to answer them. His fears and nagging worries kept trying to talk him back into it, though.

"Jules, can I tell you something? I mean, besides that I neglected to put on underwear today." Julieta sighed and rubbed her temples. These had begun to ache more and more frequently of late, and she knew exactly who to blame.

"Yes, Wallace, you can tell me almost everything. We settled that after the last underwear incident, remember?" He grinned at her in that manner of his that made it impossible to be in any way serious with him. Even Master Kun couldn't keep a straight face when Wallace began to pontificate.

"I was just checking. Anyway, remember when I was telling you about those dreams I was having, and then you said you didn't want to hear about that kind of...."

"Yeah, I remember. Get on with the point of the matter would you?"

"Okay, take it easy. Well, since we're on our way, I thought we'd better discuss the whole situation." Julieta started to protest. "Not the dreams. Not exactly anyway. Just the main character. The girl I used to...well you know...Howard."

"Is that like 'A Boy Named Sue'?" Never let it be said I had no sense of humor, she thought. Wallace was grimacing. She had underestimated once again, his propensity to have his feelings hurt at the drop of a hat. He had his sad puppy face on. "All right, I'm sorry. Tell me."

"That's her last name, genius. Remember?"

"Her being who, then?"

"Maeve."

"You don't think that it's finally time to let go of this? We don't even know what kind of shape she's in. And I'd appreciate it if you could try to..."

"I know. You never really met her though, see, since you got there after the fact, but...." She looked at him sharply.

"I remember who she is. The question is, how well do you? Don't you think it's possible you've idealized her just a tiny bit?" He shifted uncomfortably under her glare. She wondered idly, as she watched him squirm, whether he was aware of just how much she knew. Maeve had been long gone by the time she got to the facility, it was true. But there had been plenty of other people to talk to and hear all the stories from.

"It doesn't matter. You're right, I don't even know what we'll find when we get there." He couldn't look at Julieta. She'd see straight through him. Instead, he fiddled with some loose threads on his trousers, hoping that he wouldn't walk off the edge of the trail, for lack of concentration.

Or that he wouldn't burst into flames for being the big fat liar that he was. He tried hard to forget his past, and sometimes he pulled it off, until night came, inevitably, and held him prisoner. He couldn't recall a full night of sleep in the past two years. The ever-distant Maeve had haunted him for almost as long, always running away, never granting him absolution.

Night was on its way again to where he was, on heavy wings, hunting him with oppressive abandon. He'd used to love darkness once, before he'd sold his soul away, before he realized that she'd never forgive him for it. She was then kept away from him, and asleep by the time he found her again. He'd paid dearly to be included. The hardness of the others, who would have liked it better were he not there at all, stayed with him as well.

"Rumor volat." He said to himself, with just a hint of the turmoil within.

۞ –Two weeks later – aboard The Nimitz –

"Dude, you know we could spend a year here and still never see everything on this base." Josh and Maeve were finishing a slow run along a trail through the extensive arboretum, staring off into the innumerable species of flora and fauna. Birds chirped and squabbled, frogs sang, and insects frustratedly tried to fly or crawl past the invisible barriers keeping them in their habitats.

"Yeah, you know, of all the places we could have been stuck, this isn't too bad."

"No argument there. I wonder what we'll do in the long term, though. It would be weird to just be here indefinitely, mooching off of whomever we're...mooching."

"I know what you mean. Nobody seems to realize that, to us, we all had a purpose only a few days ago. Though I'll be damned if I can think of what mine was."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. We're all suffering from a post-modern culture shock here. But we could all decide to become celebrities, or eccentrics...."

"Or carnies. 'A buck a look! See the three hundred year old kooks!' We just need a bearded lady."

"I'm not sure about that. Shall we move on to the next evolution of this workout?"

"You're killing me."

"Hey, you're the one who asked to get 'whipped' back into shape."

"I know." She made a dour face as she he directed her to do burpees.

"So what are you doing tonight? Gracie and I got invited to have dinner with some monks. You could come if you wanted." Next was crunch reps, as he pushed on her shoulders every time she got too high off the ground.

"Actually, tonight is the night that the Colonel's XO gets back, and I'm supposed to have dinner with them."

"Well, ain't you something? Colonel Tarkington seems a bit taken with you."

"Don't get any ideas. The man has a serious girlfriend, and he treats me like a kid sister. No, I think that he wants to discuss the future a bit, at least as it pertains to us. For some reason, he seems to think that I'm the chairman of this crazy coo-coo board."

"That's because you are. All the way to the ground, no cheating. That's it. We'll have you doing weights in no time." He watched to make sure she was hitting her pushups before continuing. "Nobody has a problem with it, if that's what's worrying you. More burpees!"

"I hate you." But she complied. "Yes, maybe it was a little. I don't want to make anyone upset, since we're all in this together. But I guess we do need someone to be at the forefront, if I've been volunteered, I guess I'm the donkey for the trail."

"It's fine with all of us."

"Not really."

"Antonio will come around. He's just a technical weenie who's really ticked off that his 4.5 GPA doesn't mean shit anymore."

"Hmmm. What's everybody else doing tonight, then?"

"I think that they're gonna hang with some of the officers we've met. Libbo and all, the weekend, party time, you dig?"

"Awesome. Hunky and or dory. Well, I better shower up before this evening. I don't want to gross out everyone in the restaurant."

"Nice try. You still have metcons to do. Get some!"

"I don't wanna."

"Tough luck. Go!"

"Damn you."

۞

The Nimitz shifted once again into evening. Maeve picked her way through what she thought were large crowds, though Tark had told her that there was barely half the normal numbers present on board. Alien species milled about, amply mingling amongst the humans, interacting with ease.

This would take getting used to. Not really the foreign species part, but that the residents of Earth seemed to have redeemed themselves from being such...slow learners. It gave her hope. She'd also discovered that war had been relatively absent in the last hundred or so years. And now she was on her way to be feted, apparently.

Leif and Jemi went out, as Josh had mentioned, with several of the other officers on board. The latter group had promised to show the former around and keep them out of trouble. Maeve had her doubts about that promise, knowing what she did about the military, at least how it had been back in their day. She found her way easily to the restaurant that the colonel had told her about. He stood just inside, along with another man.

This was his XO, introduced as Major Dmitry Petrovich. This man stood nearly as an equal to Tark's six foot four inch frame, an edgy hardness distinguishing him from his Tark's lean pliancy. His chestnut hair was freshly cut back into regulation, but she had the feeling he'd let it grow while on leave. Piercing blue eyes returned her stare with sardonic good humor.

She knew his type, to say nothing of what his off-duty pursuits were likely to be. Nonetheless, Maeve continued to look him over, assessing him as if dictated by instinct alone. He was good-looking, athletic. She found it a bit of a challenge to look directly in his eyes and not see raw animal energy staring back. The thought shook her. She hadn't expected to appraise him quite so viscerally. Even as she had these thoughts, there was also a sensation that she was betraying someone.

Dmitry, for his part, found himself nearly eye to eye with their newly arrived dinner companion. She wasn't his height, but within several inches. Though she was still a bit pale, it seemed as though a brief moment or two in sunlight might change that. She was thin, but not angular, tightly wound, intense. Her face was not quite what he would call pretty.

Pretty was what he normally went for, because one could ignore a lot of other faults with the distraction of pretty. No, she was not pretty. Beauty was different, at least to him. Sa'andy had it in spades, for instance, that kind of old Greco-Roman statuesque beauty. Maeve had something else entirely, something deeper, harder to define. He felt an unsettling sense that he could easily get lost looking at her. What was more, she hadn't blushed and averted her eyes, the way other women did when he put his full attention on them.

Instead, she was sizing him up. He could see her measuring him with flickering hazel eyes that conveyed, somehow, a sense of wary interest. Time seemed to slow somewhat under her scrutiny. He came to his senses, and shook himself free of her for the time being. There would be time to...get to know her later. Now was time for business.

She walked behind the two men to their table, purposefully, to watch them interact. They spoke to one another in an easy manner, as though they were old friends. She concluded that they must be. To her, at least, it seemed unusual for a major to be hanging around playing sidekick to somebody who acted more like a peer than a senior.

Dmitry turned his head, noting the way she hung back. He wrote it off to shyness. That perception was satisfactory to her. His eyes lingered over her as he continued to talk to Tark. He liked her eyes as well, with their color that refused to be any one shade. They were like twin oceans in the wake of a fury. She was not his type, he reminded himself.

And yet he watched her still, while he mulled over that last thought. Tark had said that she and her friends had all looked somewhat sickly after being awoken, but this was no longer the case. Between the efficacies of modern medicine and the power of what he presumed to be sheer determination, she at least was looking...fit.

She wore a simple black dress, made of a light material that hung off her body as though it knew her. He could not tell whether it was sleeveless or not; she was wearing a tailored denim jacket, which he felt must hide a multitude of secrets. He recognized her jewelry as something purchased from the open-air markets, and was instantly dismayed by this knowledge.

In his duties as station's executive officer, he had less to do with giving orders to personnel, certainly. It was his job to see to the needs of the personnel and the requests and complaints of the civilians. Essentially, to see to all the things with which Tark could not and should not be involved.

It would seem however, that he, Dmitry, had become overly familiar with his surroundings. If he was able not only to recognize a woman's accessory, but know who had sold it to her, and how much it had probably cost, the answer was yes. He wasn't totally sure how he felt about this realization.

Belatedly then, he began to realize that he'd been staring at her the whole time. Maeve didn't seem to mind. He sheepishly redirected his eyes. Meanwhile, she was finishing sizing him up, though he was blissfully unaware of that fact. He'd been so busy looking her over that he'd not noticed her doing the same thing. Nor, that he'd narrowly missed sprawling himself into a table encircled by elderly women, who were tittering under their red hats at him.

As they passed, Maeve would have sworn that she heard one of them say something like, "...bit of a biscuit, that," in high, York-tinged accents. She smiled, but was careful to hide it when Dmitry finally shook himself out of his daze.

The proprietor gladly placed them in the smallest of the private dining rooms, and kept everyone else out, excepting the server, who nervously took their drink orders. Tark asked for a decent wine, and Dmitry would have done the same, had Maeve not explained to the wide-eyed young woman how a lychee martini was made. He changed his mind, and ordered a whiskey. He wasn't about to let her outpace him. It wouldn't do. Maeve only knew that she felt like uncoiling from the tensions of the past few weeks, and planned to do so, whatever it took.

"So, Major, I would hazard a guess that you and the Colonel here are old buddies." Tark grinned at the glint in her eye. She was trying to put him on the spot for some reason.

"You guess correctly, Lieutenant. We've known one another since basic training." A slight frown washed away her tiny hint of humor. Did she ever smile?

"Don't call me that, please. That part of me is...dead, and meaningless." She looked away then. Though it was said without animosity, there was something there, some barely controlled emotion.

Dmitry liked the simple fact that there was something in her left to be tamed. Startled again by his own ruminations, it occurred to him that he hadn't had conversations with himself like that since well before Rebecca had left.

Once, he would have been bothered by such things, since the past provided much in the way of pain. He felt he no longer carried any illusions with regards to love. As far as anything like that went, he felt that he couldn't afford to let his guard down anymore. Work was his life; despite leaving the thrill of frontier patrolling behind, he was happy staying in one place for now.

He had the opportunity to do some good. It didn't matter that he had made mistakes before. Tark had given him a second chance, and he owed it to his friend not to screw things up. So he smiled and pretended that he'd thought nothing, although nothing was definitely fooling around with something right then.

"Hey, we're all learning about each other. This is great." He stared her down, willing her to come back with some smart-assed remark. She wouldn't be baited. The night was young yet, her drink only half-gone. He made sure she saw him dispatch his own whiskey swiftly, and ordered another, asking to have it served colder. He cleared his throat. Something was definitely taking him over. Its undefined yet sharp edges held him in thrall. On top of that, she was resisting him thoroughly. He didn't usually go for headstrong types. His inner voice was quite clear on that.

Maeve ordered another drink, feeling like the cat, rather than the canary. It was a rather strong feeling she had that Major Petrovich would spend the night catching up to _her_. She wasn't sure why she'd think in such terms. After all, he wasn't her normal type either.

She wondered briefly if he had any idea that she could perceive his thought processes as clearly as if it was written on his own forehead. He'd been watching her for the past hour, trying to be discreet, trying to read her and find her secrets. He'd fail in that, as so many others had. So far as she could recall, there had been only one person who'd known her like that in her whole life.

"Sure, we can all learn about each other. For instance, did you know that our food is here, and that I'm happy as a result?" Tark was good-natured, but aware that he was miles behind some subtext that was taking place. It unnerved him to see his friend suddenly go into pursuit mode, if anything could be judged by Dmitry's having leered at Maeve for nearly an hour. Maybe that was unfair, but he felt protective of Maeve, as if she were a long-lost relative. To be sure, Sa'andy had already noticed, and had made a quiet remark to him about it earlier in the day. Luckily, she thought it was endearing.

"Thank goodness. Good choice, by the way." Maeve couldn't think of how to address Dmitry; a problem she frequently encountered. She slipped into her habit of familiar conversation, unburdened by any kind of pronoun whatsoever.

"Thanks. Dem, would you mind throwing some of that bread over here, you greedy bastard?"

"Your wish is my command, gorgeous. Make sure that vat of grease and meat makes it over my way before our guest thieves it all." He tried smiling his most innocent smile at her, hoping to convince himself to calm down in the process. By that point, she was feeling slightly more talkative.

"Well, at least you have something else to think about now." She stared at Dmitry innocently. His heart dropped into his shoes.

"What do you mean by that?

"Hey, you two, how about getting to what we're actually here for?"

"You have something you want to talk about? Have at it." She tried to achieve an air of patience, made difficult by the torrent of emotions running through her head.

"You said you wanted to have something to do. Naturally the thing to do is to bring you up to speed, help you learn everything you've missed, and perhaps, in the process, discover a means for all of you to make new lives." Her head jerked up at that.

"Great. Like college? I already have a degree, you know. Though it's quite possibly utterly useless to me right now." She ripped a piece flat bread and waded it through the spicy stew. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be crabby. This just sucks, not knowing anything, feeling like nothing is ever going to be right again."

Dmitry knew exactly what she was talking about. Starting over, in any sense of the phrase was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life. He'd had a career already going, but Rebecca had gone before he could start the elusive family. Six years past, he could still see her every time he shut his eyes. He wondered how much more intense it was for Maeve, if he even dared to want to find out. His best friend was, at that moment, offering her some sympathy. Something from the depths of the counseling handbook, doubtless.

As in...life goes on, it perpetuates, the job of the strong is to lean into it, shoulder the weaknesses of those around them, and trust in fate to play her hand fairly. He was also in the process of fleshing out a rather detailed list of ideas for her, and for her friends as well. It was an offer of schooling, and exploration of future plans from that point onward. Maeve smiled politely at Tark's idea that this would all be so terribly easy to fix. He was kidding himself.

He avoided mention of anything that might bring celebrity, much less outside attention. Tark was not the type to encourage the wholesale marketing of anyone, but Dmitry knew that it would be more than wrong with these people to push them into the public eye. It would be incredibly risky, given the current political climate. It made Dmitry wonder why exactly it was that Tark would be offering anything to these people at all. Surely it would become noticeable before too long. He'd have to talk to Tark about it later.

"...I should probably get back, because, regrettably, I am only on my dinner break. Besides, there's no telling what could happen with O'Leary running the show." Dmitry started to rise as well, but was shoved back down with a firm hand. "You are still off-duty, my friend, take the night, show up tomorrow at zero eight hundred or so. It's not like we're hurting for help. Just...behave." The last part he spoke quietly into Dmitry's ear. He tried to have faith in his best friend, otherwise, he would have taken Maeve with him instead. As it was, Dmitry merely nodded, looking benign. Tark left, and the two of them sat in silence for a full minute. He was trying to think of something rude to say to her when he caught her watching him with a peculiar expression.

"What?" He was leery. She'd cornered him into reacting, rather than him being able to take the reins.

"I was just trying to decide what kind of personality you have." She wanted to spar verbally, eh? He decided to play.

"And what was your conclusion, doc?" Maeve was wading into untested waters. She held back, almost frightened of where she knew she was headed, but not afraid, all at once.

"You're what one might call an Alpha male. It's not all that complicated a conclusion, you know." Outside their small dining area, it seemed everything had stopped, that nothing and no one else existed any longer. Maeve felt her palms begin to sweat. This was not quite the reaction she wanted to be having.

"Humor me, I'm not all that bright." Dmitry seemed to be turning up the confidence level, filling the air between them with false modesty.

"Somehow I doubt that. When I asked you to not address me by any title, you didn't apologize the way other people might have. You're cocky. And unless you have a wedding ring hidden in your watchband, if you'll pardon me, it would seem you're single, perhaps deliberately so." He gritted his teeth momentarily. Not about to get into that story, not here, not now. Smiling guilelessly, he moved to outflank her yet again.

"How do you know I'm not married?" She shook her head, and pulled her trump card.

"You forget who I've been spending my time with. Your colonel talked about his girlfriend and you nonstop. I was beginning to wonder how you figured into their relationship." He was cocky, hmm? Well, she was holding her own in good fashion, he thought dourly.

"So what does that make you?" Holding off on offering his own observations, he searched for a chink in her armor. He was curious about what opinion she might have of herself. This question was not the key. He watched her fix a thousand-yard stare onto the adobe walls.

"Me?" He nodded, though she wasn't looking. "I guess I'm an Alpha too. Suited for someone of the same level of intensity only. I think I destroyed a few relationships on my way through the obstacle course of romance, if you could call it that." She swirled her drink thoughtfully and brought herself to meet his eyes. "Maybe I should have a warning label. 'Biohazard', something like that." She looked away again, and Dmitry chuckled.

"Seriously? That wouldn't really have entered my mind about you."

"The trick is knowing who you really are, but not letting anybody else see it."

"Is that what my problem is?"

"I don't think you know what your problem is." She gave him a steel-edged smile. He choked a little on his third whiskey. Perhaps it was time to have a glass of water.

"Perhaps you should help me figure it out."

He was being deliberately provocative, trying to draw her out of the reserve she was desperately clinging to, not unlike the jacket she was refusing to remove thus far. Against her better judgement, a certain part of her was getting sucked in by his goofy banter. The rest of her was choking back laughter, though she'd never have admitted it.

"You're very humble too. A quality not often found."

"My best quality is my humility." This kind of exchange wasn't usually his forte. He couldn't explain why it was that he even interested in someone who was trying to match him, wit for wit. But there it was, instead of being put off, he was finding it to be a turn-on. This could be a problem. Tark's last words to him echoed back to his brain. Screw it. What Tark didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Why don't we get out of here? I haven't had an official tour yet." She grinned amicably while he stood up, just as the proprietor was entering to enquire as to their enjoyment of the meal, the ambience, so forth.

"You are leaving us, then, going to enjoy the rest of the evening?" He and the server gathered dishes, noting the absence of food anywhere to be seen. He was pleased. These officers would be back yet again, all three hopefully, maybe with more friends next time as well? Certainly, certainly.

"Yes, my good man, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. I'll recommend it to all, with honors." Dmitry was feeling munificent, grandiose, even. He threw down a large amount of currency, snaked an arm through Maeve's, and strode out self-assuredly.

He knew where he was headed, weaving a direct path through bodies across a brightly decorated square. As though they were sailing through open air, they came down to a section that reminded Maeve of European market squares. On a corner, between a Romanisch restaurant, and something like an alley, a recessed but open doorway issued forth familiar sounding noises.

"Am I completely off, or is this place a club of some sort?"

"You're not off. This place has decent drinks when the barkeep is upright. Some dancing, some sitting; whatever you want, basically." The thought occurred that he might point out what she actually wanted, but it was probably out of line. He didn't want to take a haymaker to the jaw right then.

They walked inside, and found a blast of heat to greet them. The music was infectious, full of the essence of the station. People laughed, danced, and held each other, finding bonds; everyone making the night theirs in their own way. She checked what she was wearing against the unspoken dress code. She was nicely inconspicuous, the ageless color of her black clothes further blending her into the shadows. The bar was rampant with people, the air heavy and thick with the fetidness of so many bodies pressed into one small space. Dmitry tapped her, breaking her concentration.

"I'll be back in a minute. What do you want to drink?

"Just have a glass of something red." She scoped the scene further, deliberately unaware of Dmitry's scrutiny as he waited at the bar. She crossed her legs, an act of holding herself in, but she did it slowly, drawing one leg up the other, not even conscious of her own movement. There were other thoughts insistently crowding her mind. She felt overwhelmed still, and yet, maybe it would help to cut loose and go nuts for once.

Her past was cloudy, but she knew that fun had never been very high on her list of priorities. The flashbacks had receded for a while, leaving their fingerprints all over her brain, faded photographs of memories. If she thought back, painfully hard, she could not even recall the last time she'd worn a dress, or acted like a woman. She had an idea that, despite her contentment with the way her life used to be, she needed to crawl out of the wreckage of what she had been. At that, she decided to set reminiscence aside, and stay in the present.

Dmitry leaned against the bar. He found himself thinking about what was under the dress. And then whether he should be thinking like that. She'd been up and moving around for such a short time. Never mind that Tark would probably kick his ass. Perhaps these things just ought to play themselves out. His thoughts settled, he plucked up their drinks, and headed back to the table. The glasses thunked onto the tabletop. Maeve looked up at him quizzically.

"Let 'em mellow for a minute. Let's go dance." She looked up at him, and his hand. She took it, stood, and squelched nervousness. He had a firm grip, and a possessive embrace. She had some difficulty surrendering control, however, and he noticed.

"Are you going to let me lead, or what?" He gently guided her into the proper positioning. He noticed nervousness behind her confidence; it was peering through the shrouded distance between them.

"I'll let you know. I haven't done this in...ever."

۞

Elsewhere, situations were rising like a tide. The other five former human popsicles (as they had taken to calling themselves) had split off into their various chosen activities for the evening. Jemi and Leif were collected by O'Leary and his long-suffering, involuntarily appointed companions. Jemi's sense of humor seemed particularly tried that evening as Tim bounced alongside them, flitting through subject matter with breathtaking rapidity. He hardly gave anyone a chance to respond to one question before asking the next five.

Finally, after assuming that his excited state was due to lack of food (or oxygen to the brain), they turned themselves toward a casual eatery. At least with his mouth full, they figured, he would be forced to talk less. Another of his friends met them there. Haleh Rahimi, a young first lieutenant in the infantry patrol forces. She was O'Leary's direct opposite in temperament and a welcome and calm presence, in Jemi's opinion.

۞

A Buddhist temple awaited Josh, Grace, and reluctantly, Antonio, in the arboretum. Josh was a little in awe of the structure, made even more impressive by the flanking vegetation of mangrove and papaya trees. It was cut from asteroid rock; ancient stone that seemed to give off its own energy. The monks were working in the monastery's garden, but they broke off as soon as their visitors arrived for the evening meal. The gentle sounds of chimes and the natural setting surrounding them draped a sense of contentment over them. Only Antonio was having difficulty relaxing. He was sharing his concerns with Grace, as they ate.

"We have rules of engagement, right? I mean, they're in the computer or something, all we need to do is get into it and figure out how they apply to our current circumstance." Grace frowned the frown of the overly conscience-laden.

"That's really Maeve's thing. She's the leader, we're the led, that sort of thing?" Antonio waved an impatient hand at Grace.

"Yeah, well, she's not all pieced together right now, is she?" He held the hand up still, to ward off comment until he was through. "I mean, she isn't exactly remembering things the way they all thought she would. She's been glad-handing the colonel and all, I give her that, but instead of being with us now, where is she?"

"How would I know that?"

"My point precisely. There is nothing I'd want more than to have her out in front doing her thing, because she was supposedly unparalleled in that, but she's not who she was." Josh overheard the last part of the conversation, and interjected fiercely.

"Not to put too fine a point on this, but you don't know who she was before." Josh was trying to restrain himself in public, as Grace waved her fork at him pointedly, but Antonio remained skeptical.

"And you do? All you know is what Leif has told you. He's not exactly impartial, and if I recall, there were quite a few concerns...not least of which was four little letters." Antonio was beginning to be a bit red in the face. Grace stood to place herself between the two men. Josh was on his feet in an instant, leaning over the table to respond with an intense whisper.

"You can secure that shit right now, man. I'm the one with experience in that field, remember? What was going on with her then is obviously not at play now. This isn't when we thought we were going to be revived anyway. So just...stow it." Antonio clamped his mouth shut in response, but it was obvious that he was far from satisfied with the outcome. He stayed silent, as would befit a "team player". They were distracted from their high emotion by one of the monks, who invited them to join in evening meditation after dinner.

Josh and Grace elected to stay when the meal was over, feeling much like Maeve and her scarcity of desire to sleep. By then, Antonio was disgusted with himself, and chose to go back to his quarters. He wondered half-heartedly what Leif and Jemi were up to as he flung himself on his bed to read away his sorrows, and hopefully fall asleep.

۞

Tim was off-duty the next day, and suggested a nightclub, something of an old familiar to Leif. Reticence on Jemi's part was to be expected, she was more of a homebody. She was reluctantly coerced into it at the promise of a "relaxed" atmosphere. If she hated it, she could easily leave. This in mind, she ambled along with her increasingly noisy companions. It was brilliant just to be soaking in the amazing environment of the Nimitz. In spite of its stark military function, a chaotic architectural style flowed throughout the whole of the civilian side.

A spectrum of design, form, and function discarded anything that might appear haphazard, or ungainly. The whole place was an organic patchwork quilt, whimsically engineered for visual interest as well as utility. Walking spanned several minutes, touring past commercial and faintly ethnic neighborhoods.

Finally, they reached the corner in a new quarter, and stood, feeling a pulsation of sound through the street. Jemi had to remind herself that it wasn't actually a street that vibrated beneath them. Music reached out with a tentacled embrace, sending out a sensual, unidentified tone. Tim told them that the music was from a planet whose species who had many similarities to Earth's cetacean inhabitants. They went inside; all that was immediately visible was a view of bodies moving in time to the thundering harmony.

"This is great!" Leif bellowed over the din, not entirely buying his own shtick. Out of habit, he carefully surveyed the female population of the club, already separating the regulars from the occasionals. It didn't seem as frightening a meat-market as some places he'd been, but there were the obvious types to be seen. "On the prowl," versus, "just there to get shitfaced," were the two groups he usually separated the boys and girls into. They were the only two worth worrying about. Both were types he wished to avoid if possible.

The dance floor was packed, and there were few empty tables. Leif decided to establish a base of operations at one of the tables first, and then do a little recon. Tim was watching his every move, trying to sort out what it was that the big guy was doing. He was pretty sure that Leif was getting ready to find himself a dance partner, as it were. Everything Leif did seemed exacting, almost like a small unit attack was about to take place.

"Hey, man, what do you have, some sort of strategy worked out here?" He was only kidding, but the ginger head swiveled with a powerful force. Leif eyed Tim appraisingly. He wasn't ready to jump into the, er, dating pool yet, in spite of anything Josh thought. On the other hand, it might be more fun to teach the kid something than to sit stewing in his own juices all night. He smiled roguishly and clapped a hand to Tim's shoulder. Tim winced and tried not to fall to his knees under the force of the friendly gesture.

"Bet your ass I do. I can't dance worth a shit, got an extreme lack o' rhythm, y'see, but otherwise I know what I'm doing." He poked a finger out into the distance. "See her over there? Yeah, I know you do. She's a bad bet, know why?"

"Not really."

"She keeps sitting there while five of her gal pals orbit around her. Warning signal number one. Next, while she's pretty hot, every guy in this place is trying to keep the hell away from her. And she's sitting next to the men's room!" He was right. And Tim was suddenly very glad he was with Leif. His social life had been negligible to date.

"I see. You sure know your stuff...dude." Leif cast him a funny look.

"Do you guys really still talk like that? I mean, come on, at least I have an excuse." Tim was downcast. "Hey, look, I'm just giving you a hard time. Do you want to know how to figure out if a woman is going to be trouble, just from a casual conversation?" Jemi rolled her eyes.

"Great, the sex wars continue into the twenty-fourth century, thanks to an historical glitch."

"Very well, if you're going to take that attitude, me and the Timster here are going to get drinks, and you can all sod off...call me a glitch...silly females...only one worth it is..." His voice was lost as they trailed away. Jeshma was amused.

"Don't you want to go find out who the only one of us worth anything is?" Haleh watched the guys as they angled a spot at the bar. Jemi giggled at the comment, a light sound that felt good to let out. At the bar, Leif was making crude gestures and strange faces at them.

"No, I'm pretty sure I don't." Jemi didn't have to, anyway. She already knew. "We haven't been out in a very long while. He, in particular, has been needing to blow off steam." They sat together, taking lighthearted swipes at current fashions. The boys brought back drinks, joining in, and for Leif, that meant anything was fair game. Pretty soon, a competition evolved to see who could come up with the dirtiest joke.

A waitress adopted their table, and kept refreshments flowing, to ample tipping for her. Leif was nothing if not generous, especially with other people's money. Tim didn't care. He was learning at the knee of a master. He'd already gotten a few names and contact info, while his mentor glibly watched him harvest the fruits of the lessons. Leif was happy to sit on the sidelines and watch, knowing that his personal interests in the female species lay elsewhere.

"Let them come to you, grasshopper. Like reed down on a spring wind." Jemi groaned listening to the two of them, but came to attention as a familiar song began to play. Her head began to move to the beat in spite of herself.

"How did they get this on their playlist?" Tim grinned, a veritable Cheshire cat.

"My fault. I love late, old...er, classic popular music. I got a whole collection and gave it to the owner. Everyone here seems to love it." He was right. The whole floor bounced to the rhythm.

"Amazing. Time passes, and here we have, in eternal life, a singer whose greatest talent was reinventing herself every year or so."

"Hey, she never let herself get stale. And man, what a body she had. I wonder what happened to her?" Leif looked at Tim, wanting an answer.

"I think she did the music thing until she got tired of it and then she went off and became a nun."

"She didn't either. You're full of shit." There would have been further argument, but Jemi put Leif's arm in a death grip. "Ow! Let go, woman, or I kick your ass!"

"Hush. Look over at the dance floor and tell me what you see." He complied, but really only because she pushed his chin in the direction she meant. Tim twisted around in his seat, and Haleh stood to see over their heads. Leif's jaw fell off, and while he was trying to reattach it, his finger pointed accusatorily, stabbing the air violently.

"Who is that? He's got her pinned against the wall!" Tim was speechless. Haleh was trying not to laugh.

"That's our XO. His name is Dmitry Petrovich." Haleh was on pretty good terms with him, as a matter of fact. They had the same MOS, for one thing. He was an excellent officer, for another. At least, when he was all put together, he was. She'd been under his command when he'd...well, that was neither here nor there.

He did have a _certain_ reputation with women that she thought might not be a good thing to bring up right then. She wondered how it was that he'd ended up in this club with that particular woman. A question for another time. The primary concern was that the viking would probably make good on his threat.

His observation was true, however. Dmitry had Maeve up against a wall, not pinned exactly, just...surrounded. They were kissing. They all sat, frozen, watching the pair for some time. After a few moments, Haleh decided the best idea was to get out of the club before a fight broke out.

Leif was one of the ones who knew her better than most, having been in the same unit as she had. He had been as close to her as anyone could have been at that time. They'd had a blood bond of sorts, tied to the time they'd shared during deployment.

It was now reduced to a remembrance, consisting of smoke, blasted bodies, and the cries of the dying. He tremored a bit at its touch in his mind; a time he'd tried to let go of. Memory held its prey with the shackles that only the guilt-ridden can forge. But there was something else there in his mind as he watched her with another man.

"I don't care if his name is Ulysses S. Grant. He doesn't need to be doing that to her." Before Leif could stand up and walk over, Jemi spoke fiercely to garner his attention.

"If you would bother to check, you'd see that she doesn't really look to be fighting him off. Maeve is a grown woman. And it might be a good sign, if you stop and think about it for a minute." She shared the last observation confidentially. No sense in letting on too much at the moment. Just then, last call was given, and the lights came up.

Leif had to be content to sit and watch as Dmitry and Maeve wove their way to a table, where Dmitry picked up what had to be her jacket, and led her to the door. They made haste to vanish in the departing flood of people. It was as if they knew they were being watched, despite that the two had not once looked anywhere but at each other. Jemi had a feeling that there would be noise made over this. She looked over at Leif, who wore a grim expression. Good grief, the man was overprotective, just as he always had been.

۞

Maeve was completely unaware of anything taking place outside her sphere of perception. She stood in the street outside the club and smiled a small smile, as Dmitry went off on some tangent that she could neither hear nor understand . There was no better time in her mind, in recent recollection, than the exact moment she was in. They chatted their way back to his apartment.

He currently resided in the bachelor officers' housing. It was not optimal for privacy or separation from the masses of company grade personnel. He was planning on moving soon into the Odessa, where he'd be only down the way from Tark, instead of on a completely different level. He unlocked the front door, and tried to think of some ceremonious way to bring her into his world. Dmitry Onisim Petrovich, he said to himself, you are a piece of work. He came up with nothing, opting for a wave of his arm. She rolled her eyes, but strode in casually, examining every inch of surface area.

"I guess it'll do." He retorted with a withering sneer, and made his way through the low light to his somewhat cramped kitchen. Once there, he yanked out a bottle of whiskey, and shook it at her.

"Drink?" She shook her head with only a modicum of attention. She had decided to cut herself off, for once. Four healthy pours was enough, right? The aftereffects of those were only just beginning to make it past the adrenaline surge from being out and from being kissed...by a not unattractive man. Where might the evening go from here?

A warm swimmy floating feeling wrapped itself around her, and she felt the need to remind herself that she had no intentions of falling for him. It was just nice to feel slippery. He seemed more worn around the edges, as though this was just like every other night for him. It made her question why it was that vices were always the one thing to survive, cockroaching their way past every human disaster and triumph. Was Vice one of the four horsemen, she wondered? She couldn't remember...ought to be.

They fell down on his couch, feeling tired and comfortable. She found he was easy to talk to, even if he was alternately arrogant, self-deprecating, throwing caution to the wind, fearing eternal damnation, insightful, and naïve. He was Russian-born, British-bred (she wondered what Britain, or the U.S., might resemble these days).

He deplored ceremony, yet he was part of an organization that thrived on it. She let him ramble on about himself for some time. It was a relief not to have to answer more questions about her own life for a change. She'd done more of that in the past several weeks than she cared for. It was rather difficult to give answers if she didn't know them.

Dmitry resisted the reflex to try and direct her into the bedroom. It was a strange sensation. What was it? Circumspection? Maturity? He'd already had a long internal debate, resulting in the conclusion that she was both attractive and that he was attracted to her. His inner voice spoke up again, wondering what exactly was _wrong_ with him. There was no answer to that. He just felt strangely at peace. He'd kissed her. He'd had inappropriate thoughts. The drive to chalk her up as a conquest wasn't there. Some part of him protested. Of course it would. It had nothing better to do than offer helpful suggestions on how to self-destruct.

He looked over at her to find that she'd drifted off to sleep. With some effort, he wrenched himself to his feet, and carried her gingerly to his bed. A moment or two of poking around closets produced a clean pillow and blanket. These he carefully arranged under and around her, until he was satisfied with his efforts.

Somehow after that, he convinced himself that it would be alright if he slept on his bed as well. He simply pulled his own pillow to the foot, and rolled up in his sheets. From this vantage point, he tried to watch her for a while. A quick glance at the clock reminded him that he needed to be on duty in only a few hours. He allowed his eyes to close, while strange new dreams pushed old tattered ones aside.

۞

Tark had just walked in when the call came in from Dmitry, warning of his impending tardiness. It was zero eight exactly. There was a strange buzz on the bridge. This hazy excitement he was inclined to attribute to the return of a large number of personnel, but for the reaction of the corporal who gave him Dmitry's message. She'd blushed to her roots, and run off before she could be detained for questioning.

The odd behaviors only increased when Dmitry finally entered and fairly sprinted into his own office. All eyes cast intermittent glances in that direction, until Tark finally could stand it no longer, and went into his own office. After a few more minutes of fidgeting, he went through to the door that connected the two rooms.

It opened, revealing Dmitry sitting with his legs cast across his desk. Music played loudly. Tark made a twisting gesture with his thumb and forefinger, indicating his desire for a reduction in volume, to his friend. Dmitry complied, remaining in his position, waiting for what was surely to come.

"What the hell is going on this morning? I come in, you're late, and just when I think I know why everybody is all energized, in you come and prove me wrong." Dmitry stared at a monitor display of current Earth news. He didn't seem to react in the slightest, giving the impression that he was ignoring Tark.

Luckily, his friend knew better. "Did you do something last night that I should know about?" More silence. "How about something you want to share with me as your goddamn best friend." At that, Dmitry jumped out of his seat and came eye to eye with Tark.

"Look, if I think you should there's anything you should know, you'll hear it from me first. But there's nothing except rumor flying around out there." Not quite all true.

"What would have prompted this bout of gossip, then?"

"I don't know. Somebody might have seen me kiss Maeve last night." Tark's eyes narrowed.

"Might have?" Tark narrowed his eyes. "How's that?"

"Because I did, man. So what? I took her dancing, and that was just a logical ending to the night."

"Dancing? Is this going to turn into another one of your infamous tales of the many women of Dem?" Tark spoke perhaps a little too harshly, and he knew he was pushing his friend in a direction that was not entirely wise. He had the welfare of Maeve Howard in mind, and that outweighed diplomacy.

"Hey, screw you. I'll be honest with her." He turned the other way, standing in a tense pose that Tark recognized all too well. "You don't need to protect her. And you sure as hell don't need to be in my face, all but pulling rank on me." Tark blinked. He hadn't expected such defensiveness. Usually Dmitry had more than his share of a sense of humor about his philandering, but it was gone today. Perhaps there really was more to Maeve than he knew. She'd somehow cast a charm over Dmitry's sensibilities, one that might lead him almost anywhere.

۞

Maeve made it back to her rooms without running across anyone who might recognize her, showering and dressing in record time before she heard pounding on her door. She went and opened it as a round object sailed past her. It was an orange blur, that crashed into the opposite wall.

"Oops!!! Sorry, didn't mean for that to happen." Josh and Leif fought to get through the entryway after what proved to be a ball. It seemed they'd started their one on one a little prematurely. Grace sauntered in after them, carrying a tall covered mug, which she was smelling with a look of complete contentment.

"Cappuccino. Feels like an eternity. Chow hall coffee can't begin to compare." She settled into Maeve's couch with a sigh. A battle still raged behind her, as possession was warred over. Finally, with a cry of "HA!!!", Josh stood, the victor, with the basketball tucked under his arm. At least, Maeve thought it was a basketball, the only indication as to its possible use being the familiar orange hue. Josh saw her looking at it.

"Cool, huh? Supposedly it's 'indestructible'. I figure we'll give it the mother of all tests by the time we're done." Maeve nodded.

"I don't doubt it, from what I've seen already." Leif was standing again, red-faced, and scowling. He didn't like being bested. In spite of the fact that Josh was a head shorter than he was, they were pretty equally matched otherwise. It rankled. In this respect, Josh was fully aware. He had a long-standing tradition of messing with Leif's head, as if they were playing a life-sized chess match. One move up. He withdrew and sat next to Grace. Maeve watched all of them, wondering suddenly why it was they were all avoiding looking at her. Suspicion prickled in the back of her mind.

"I'm going to take a guess and say that you came here with a purpose in mind." Leif interjected before anyone else could in response to Maeve's question.

"Well, yeah. We thought that it would be good to go and PT, and while we're at it, we can tell each other all about our evenings." Maeve's eyes narrowed as Leif avoided her gaze, all innocence, while he guzzled a bottle of water to avoid further conversation.

"Sure. We can go and work out. What did you have in mind, more full-contact sports?" Maeve saw Jemi, who, having just walked in the door, raised her hand as though she were in a classroom.

"Pardon me for saying this, but if you all are beating each other to hell, I'm going back to bed." She wasn't going to escape that easily though. The others grabbed her and hauled her out into the hallway. They went and found Antonio after that. Actually, they invaded his room, seized him and dragged him out, kicking and cursing.

They made their way through the station's underbelly, all the way to the athletics complex. It was quite amazing. It had a full track, not 200 or 160 meters, but the entire 400. There were a few hard chargers out already jogging around it. Josh found a layout map, and waved them over. Two swimming pools, tennis, climbing walls, sparring rooms, heavy bag rooms, basketball; the list went on and on . The complex spanned all four levels of the station, and promised at all times something to occupy anyone who wanted a bit of exercise.

"Oh, they don't have a curling area? That's it, I'm filing a complaint."

"Grace, only you could come up with an arcane and useless sport like that. I think my grandmother mentioned it once, as something that everyone used to do, right between pillaging the countryside and getting cross-eyed on mead."

"What can I say, my giant friend, I'm an old soul."

"Dipstick is more like it." He tousled her hair. Grace made a motion with her hand, like a bird's beak snapping.

"Blah, blah, blah. Flattery will get you nowhere, honeychild."

"How's about we figure out what we're going to do?" Maeve still had her eyes on the map, wishing that she felt better than three hours' worth of sleep. They all voted and passed a resolution to seek and destroy the basketball courts. That was fine. As the rules were laid, it became evident that the only rule was that rules sucked.

"The first person who cops an attitude...dies." Jemi looked pointedly at Antonio, who seemed a lot less sullen than he had the night before. He made a face.

"How are you going to enforce that, may I ask?"

"I am the enforcer! Hulk smash puny humans!" Leif lunged for the lanky Antonio, who assumed a pretty decent imitation of terror. Antonio dodged, and broke into a run, loping up a flight of stairs, loudly declaring his assumption of an imminent demise.

There was no more to be heard. The last four of them clambered up the same stairway. They encountered an unamused woman and her four children, all of whom looked dangerously close to tears. Leif was plastered to a wall, one entire shade of russet. Antonio was nowhere to be seen. Maeve took the initiative to try and placate the shaken mother.

"I'm really sorry. You know how they get when you don't take them out and walk them every day. I'm thinking leashes might be a great investment."

۞

Tark was looking over his morning mail, still feeling the heat from his encounter with Dmitry. There was a visual reply to his quietly submitted report on what had been found, the container, and its occupants. He'd sent it on a secure line to someone he trusted in command back on Earth. He looked at what there was. A guideline mostly, for future proceedings, and a few other names that the colonel could look up if he needed more help.

The most important part was confirmation that this situation, such as it was, should remain a quiet one. Only essential personnel were to be included. As far as anyone else was concerned, the newcomers were just personnel on temporary duty posting. Tark had essentially given this guidance already. Now he had official word on it. Now all he had was Dmitry for a problem.

There was a rap at his door; he hit the switch next to his hand, and the cloudy white of the door snapped into transparency. He looked up. It was Sa'andy. She'd understand, he knew she would. Standing back up, he rapped the pad that opened the hatch. He took her hand, and led the way out of his office, off the bridge, toward his new favorite place.

"Do you want to let me in on where we're going?" She was cheerful, but aware that there was something bothering him.

"Breakfast."

"Is there a problem?"

"I'll tell you about it in a minute. By the way, you get to order. I'd like something from your homeworld, I think. I'd order for myself, I just can't pronounce any of it." She laughed, watching his expressions ripple as swiftly as the waters of a rain-swollen fjord. This would be an interesting morning, most certainly.

۞

Maria Hawke was in the midst of her own correspondence; currently paused was message from Earth. It was audio only, to ensure secrecy, but the aftermath left by it was just as powerful as any image could have been.

There was no reason for such a reaction, she found herself thinking frantically. They'd secured her position here for a reason, so that she could provide this very sort of information for them. And now, they had all but given her notice. Reduction in numbers. A formal reprimand, and the likelihood of being transferred someplace where she would be watched more closely. No place in a command billet. Her lifelines were being cut. Raising unnecessary alarms. All she'd asked for was a little recognition for living out in this wasteland.

She thought about sending a reply, a plea, or a request for mast. She was worthy, she had to be, otherwise, what did she add up to? At any rate, she knew what was bound to happen next. She'd seen it happen once before, to another colleague who'd been under suspicion for espionage.

He was dead, purportedly a suicide, and officially a traitor to the cause. She'd be damned if she simply sat back and waited for their measure of punishment. She knew what was coming, who was coming. It wouldn't be as quiet as all that. That left only one option, really. Her office suddenly seemed foreign, and unwelcoming. It smelt of betrayal, and she could no longer abide it.

Amazed eyes watched as the doctor flew by them, out of the clinic, toward her quarters. They were clueless, but not ignorant. Something was afoot. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to be done about it. A vendor had reported a discovery of food taint, so the clinic was teeming with nauseated patrons, all of whom were certain that they were at death's door. Everyone was too busy.

They couldn't have known Hawke had started a small fire in her office anyway. And so it grew, happily consuming all it could. It was a hungry, malevolent child, for the doctor had disabled the alarms and fire suppression devices in her office space. The flames crept about, teasing surfaces, indiscriminately tasting objects, looking for what would feed it best. Soon, the whole room was a boxed explosion, looking for an outlet. The flames laughed and danced, knowing with the surest instinct of evil that it was going to breathe ugliness into the world.

A physician's assistant was the first to notice something amiss. He needed something from the doctor's office, but as he drew near, he could sense the wrongness of what he saw. The door was contorting in agony, and as he got closer, he felt the terrible heat. Wisely, he stepped out of the hallway directly in front of it, and punched in the panic code that would send a fire squad reeling their way with the proper gear. At least, he hoped he'd gotten the code right. Fires were not that common an occurrence.

The security battalion, though it was virtually next door, wasn't fully manned, so the OOD, the officer of the day, had to call in personnel who were off duty. Men and women rushed in, listening to the brief as they donned fireproof gear. Evac readiness was a go for part of them, since the entire station clinic was in danger of being damaged to a point of lengthy repair. The armory also shared a wall with the offices directly across from where the fire was currently confined. Another team went in search of the wayward doctor. The barracks was a blur of motion and orchestrated pandemonium.

Another station, the Boorda (in orbit around Io) had been alerted. There was a short-range ship being readied for casualties. The firefighters deployed headlong to the clinic, which was not yet engulfed, but it seemed inevitable that the fire wouldn't be contained much longer. It wanted to be free of its too small home soon.

The unfamiliarity of peril was threatening to send normally calm civilians into frenzy, as they wrestled away from the vicinity of the clinic. Hoses were ready to pump foam into place, as soon as the door blew, which it did with a roar of fury and triumph. Glass exploded, flying outward into the unprotected crowd. At the same time the hoses churned into life, barraging the flames. The result was nearly instantaneous, as the onslaught of fire suppressant crushed every hope of flight for the fire.

There were cuts, ringing ears, and a few minor scorches. The crowd that had evacuated raised a cheer, thumped backs, and shook hands with the personnel who had in fact, saved most of their clinic. Only the offices were scorched, windows shattered, and the pharmacy a little worse for wear. It was damage that could be repaired within weeks, instead of having to entirely rebuild the section, or worse. Compared to what it might have become, it was so small. The exit of the doctor was forgotten in the moment of relief.

۞

Hawke had made the best possible use of the confusion to make it back to her quarters, where she threw most of her papers and belongings into the trash recycler. Then, she sprinted out and toward the shipping lanes, where there was sure to be some empty docks. She had her plan roughly sorted out, so long as she could avoid being caught, by the PMO's or anyone else.

It was a certainty that someone was out looking for her, she knew it, so she ran faster, trying to blend in with the other creatures who were going to and from their ships. She had to go up one level, to number four, where she consulted a digital slip guide to tell her what she wanted to know. It read that there were four empty spots, all on the other side of the great circle. No matter, she kept her pace and her purpose sure.

۞

Tark and Sa'andy surveyed the damage from the fire. Their breakfast lay abandoned in the cafe, long since forgotten. He cursed Hawke without really knowing why. She was a pain in the ass, and a bigot, but up until now, never of criminal intent. Something had made her snap, and he wanted to know what. He had a suspicion that it had to do with whatever had encouraged her foolish prejudices.

He was certain she'd never known that he was aware of her sentiments, nor that most of her outgoing messages had been monitored by the security manager, and subsequently given to the commanding officer, namely, Tark. They'd always been oblique, and never named anyone she was in contact with, but he'd also always assumed that whoever it was, they certainly weren't worth him expending much time over.

Most of the messages were usually idle grousing, never overtly threatening. Tark thought now that he should check with Dmitry to see if there was anything new that might shed light on this outburst of hers. Right after the doctor was brought in and questioned. A staff sergeant spoke in his ear, letting him know that the team currently trying to track Hawke down had just finished at her place, and found it in a shambles. The recycler had just been in use, so they guessed that she'd destroyed any items that probably would have helped them in understanding the situation.

Just then, a call came in from the dockmaster, desperately seeking a team to come up and resolve a problem. Someone had locked him...or her...self inside a docking ring. He couldn't see for sure, he said, but he thought it was a kid, and was worried about them accidentally blowing the seals. Tark took a deep breath. This wasn't going to end the way he wanted. What could have gone so wrong that Hawke would have come to this point?

"I think we've just located the doctor, Staff Sergeant." He pointed off toward the central staircase leading off the docks. The woman nodded vigorously, and called her team to meet them up there. Tark sprinted in the direction of the lanes, with Sa'andy close behind. They rounded a corner to the stairway, and nearly knocked down a group of people in the process. It was Maeve and her compatriots.

"Where's the fire?' She asked good-naturedly, until she read the expression on Tark's face. She took up the rear as he continued his ascent. The other five all shrugged and fell in as well. They alighted in a huge vestibule that separated the military lanes from the civilian docks.

Tark shoved through the curiosity seekers who'd already flocked to the ring where crew and the security detachment stood. They came to attention as soon as he approached, but he waved them back to ease, as he tried to see inside. If it was her, she'd cut the lights, and was staying out of the line of sight afforded by the porthole. He pressed the button on the emergency speaker and hoped for the best.

"Doctor, if that's you in there, just do us all a favor and come out. There is always a better way, if you're dealing with a problem. We'll do anything we can to help you out." He was trying to recall the standard operating procedure for this sort of thing. It was too far back in his memory banks, and the training had lasted for a mere week or two. He went back to try and see in the window, having gotten no response. A repair crew worked to restore lights, and to disable the outer hatch.

The doctor's face appeared unexpectedly in the small window, startling him. Her face was streaked with moisture, and dust. She looked at that moment like what he'd always imagined a banshee to be. She was full of that same rage, as she picked up a prybar from the supply locker inside, proceeding to smash the box which had given her the colonel's voice. That accomplished, she looked back at him, mouthing something. Over and over. She backed away, into the darkness, as the crew finally made headway. The emergency lighting came up, casting a pale amber wash over the scene. Hawke cast a desperate look around, obviously not expecting anyone to have reversed any of her actions.

She knew what she was doing, though, and didn't let herself get distracted. A knife in her hand was the failsafe. It was decided and done. Temptation to try and make a statement was abandoned; let fate run its course before man could reverse it. Her fingers found the command pad and prodded the last code needed. She felt a sudden cold rush at her back. She tensed, and turned her head slightly as fingers with incomprehensible strength closed around her and pulled her into the ruthless void. She felt nothing. She knew nothing. She was nothing.

A collective scream rippled through the crowd. Tark and Maeve stood transfixed in dismay as the vault-like hatch rolled out of the way. Silently, the doctor's body shot outside, as though it were pulled on a string. Personnel worked to get the outer door sealed and repressurized. Others stood by, suited to jump in and perform retrieval. Maeve hoped that she was in the last stages of asphyxia and not cognizant of what was happening to her body. That thought didn't make it any easier to watch.

Hands covered eyes among the onlookers, all anticipating what was to come. It didn't take long. Soon, all that mattered were the innumerable globular droplets floating past the warning lights outside the bay windows of the waiting area. It was almost beautiful, the way the red caught the light and shone through. Rubies in space. A few of them caught against the glass, hanging there, trembling in spacial currents before they froze solidly. The air was hushed. Loss.

The nature of what had just happened had a recognizable burn to it for Maeve. It was an atmosphere of utter helplessness. She wanted to be far, far away from it, viscerally, and psychologically. It reached out to her with skeletal claws; a long-buried but well-traveled descent into hell. Striving to stay in control of herself, she finally fled the scene. Her stomach wrenched and vision swam while images of flesh and blood fought to show themselves to her.

Maeve groped her way past the throng, down to the number two level. It was relatively abandoned there. No one gave her a second glance as she walked, then ran off the anxiety she felt. Escape seemed so very right; comfort was granted only by distance.

She had wanted never to see blood again, never know its brutal definition again. But she knew she would. It would follow her, just as surely as if it was her shadow. Revulsion surged up, only to be fought back down (like so much else), and sublimated. She had to get under control. She could feel sweat pouring off her body as she shivered in spite of having sprinted.

Leif had watched Maeve leave, feeling a faint sense of unease. More than just this incident had to be bothering her. Possibly she either was not sure why, or else she was hiding what she did remember about herself. He didn't think it was wise to chase after her yet, though. She needed time to process. Turning back, he saw that the colonel was involved in the process of undoing as much harm as he was capable.

Colonel Tarkington looked the way a leader should; unruffled, emanating calm. Under the surface was another story. That was how Maeve had been. Once, long ago. Leif wondered how much it would take to break a man like Tarkington. More, or less than it had for her?

"Guilt is a bitter pill."

He turned around again, looking to see who had spoken, realizing belatedly that it had been the voice of someone who was long-dead by now. Leif stared back out the huge windows into space, trying to forget that voice in the distant past. The sun burned on and on, while space suited crew began the grim task of collecting the doctor. It was barely past zero nine thirty. He rejoined the others, as they tried to make sense of this strange and unpleasant turn of events. A whole day waited to unravel ahead of them.

۞

That same tiring realization penetrated Tark's thoughts finally. The whole damn day lay ahead. He'd watched Maeve leave as well, knowing that he couldn't follow her and still do his job the way he had to. But he couldn't imagine letting her suffer alone either. He walked to a Comm panel and called Dmitry. The respondent was still on the defensive, until he'd been briefed. Then Tark could only fill the gap between them with an olive branch.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said to you, man. I felt like I had to look out for her, alright? And now, I'm still doing that. I need you to go find her and see if she's okay."

"I can do that. And...nothing happened. Just so you know." A hum indicated that he had gone off the line. Tark cocked his head back over a shoulder, surveying the scene. Personnel were milling about in a sea of inaction. He could predict being stuck there for a while, during the cleanup and concurrent investigation. It would have been one thing if Hawke had only had the good manners to see to her affairs in private. As he chided himself for the callous thought, he had to admit he really was pissed off. In his neck, muscles began to tighten into tiny fists, which were bound to start hammering away by nightfall.

This would most certainly suck. Maybe tonight would be the one that he took Sa'andy out to dinner, seeing how their breakfast had gone out the window. And later maybe, she might give him a backrub, while they sat in the whirlpool or something. He started playing that scenario in the back of his mind to keep himself motivated. This nightmare had to be the worst the day could get. It had to go up from here. After all, hadn't Dmitry just said, nothing happened? That had to be the uptick point for the day. The man was finally growing up.

A few hundred feet away, just around the curve of the hallway, a mob was being held back by a trio of lance corporals. The throng had disembarked from a ship, which had a layover on the Nimitz, just in time for the side show. None of them, save one person, had any idea who the woman was that had just thrown herself into the arms of the gods. They conjectured to each other, making wagers and speculations, while the personnel controlling them grimaced at the macabre sense of humor with which the currency changed hands. Some aspects of humanity never changed. They all pretended to be horrified and shocked, while their little hearts thrilled.

۞

One man stood in the periphery, trying to go unnoticed. He was handsome in a symmetrically unremarkable way. He was the kind of man that several of the single women in the crowd would have slept with and forgotten about by the next month. Some of them had, during the voyage between Earth and the Nimitz. He'd merely provided a diversion, the same kind of momentary thrill they felt from the flashy drama of the doctor's death. It was guaranteed that his presence in their lives was already washed away by it. As it luck would have it.

He felt pleased by the organic evolution that had come of this journey so far. One of his objectives had been taken care for him, and he'd managed to see to his own needs. And now, with this, he wouldn't have to deal with any of them in a permanent sense. He couldn't have planned it any better. He waited for people to start dispersing, noting how the women ignored him, some of them clasping onto their spouses' arms, others with family and friends. And he rode the wake of their exit, whistling a quiet hymn in memory of the passing of the doctor.

۞

Maeve wandered in and out of shops, feeling aimless, but hunted. There were blips of visual memory gathering like dark clouds around the edges of her consciousness. She had a sense of déjà vu, and saw herself sitting on the roof of a building somewhere, while a thunderstorm flashed and rumbled around. Her feet had dangled over the edge, she remembered. And the urge to tip over that edge...had been so strong. Just fall, just fall, go to sleep, fall asleep.

All around her in the fine gravel of the roof, little pink ovals lay scattered, and a mostly empty glass bottle lay on its side. She couldn't remember anymore. She didn't want to. There were far too many people around; she couldn't sink down to her knees and weep. It was too much. A voice from a faraway place began to ask, why, why did you do it?

Someone touched her and asked if she was feeling unwell. She smiled thinly and said she was fine, while cold sweat trickled down her back. Another someone asked if there was yet another someone to be called, and Maeve broke free from the small crowd. She moved quickly away, at not quite a dead run, still not knowing where she was or what to do.

Eventually she just roamed, finally coming to a stop outside a door. With no small amount of surprise, she saw that it was Dmitry's quarters. Taking a chance, she knocked. No answer. His doorway was inside a vestibule, which shielded from view of the rest of the corridor. It was dark and deep enough to hide in. She curled into a ball in the darkest corner, and fell into a strange sleep.

Reinforcing troops had been too late. Time was ticking back and forth; inconstant betrayer. No one wanted to say the word; there was still hope. Radio silence. And what was it that her company commander had always said? "The enemy is not evil; they're just wearing the wrong uniform." Except they were wearing the right one this time. And evil was evil. Blood in the water drew sharks, everyone knew that. She kept hearing the phrase, 'coordinated attacks'. By whom? Against whom? They were in the stronghold, the acropolis...it was supposed to be safe. She felt the phantom of pain in her belly, looked down, and watched her life slipping away. Screaming away.

"Maeve. Hey...wake up." A warm hand was on her neck. She pushed it away, as the anxiety of her dreamscape lingered. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, but then again you scared the shit out me."

"I didn't really know what else to do with myself."

"Right. Sleeping on my doorstep seems like a good last ditch option after despair."

"Who said despair? I never said that." She looked up at him as though she could get a line of sight into his brain. "Tarkington called you, I suppose."

"I cannot comment on what he may or may not have done. You're at my door, remember?" He pulled her to her feet.

"I was bored."

"Lucky you; I know how to fix such things." He held fast to her hand and opened his door. She hesitated. "I'm just going to change into civvies."

"Okay." She wandered in after him, seeing his living space anew. "I was hoping that last night wasn't going to be...." Dmitry walked out into the living area, shirtless, and she fell silent.

"What, awkward?" He chuckled. "More for me than you, I think."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Relax." He fished a bottle of wine from a cupboard and spent several moments rattling through a drawer in search of a corkscrew. "It's just that, ow! Found the pointy end first. Sorry. Well, I have a, um, how should I put this...reputation? Around here, people usually see me out with...ladies...on a regular basis."

"Are you trying to tell me that you're a 'player'?"

"A what?"

"Someone who plays the scene."

"I guess. Ahem. Well, the thing is, I have my own reasons. And I'm not to be taken seriously. So don't." He avoided her stare.

"You're getting ready to 'entertain' me, while telling me I, what, ought to go away?"

"No, not really. It's mostly that Tark will murder me in my sleep if I...." He fiddled with the cork, prying it out with some difficulty. "I hope this hasn't gone to vinegar. Smells alright. Anyhow, let's just say that I fouled up really badly a while back. Tark fought on my behalf, and got me out here on this duty posting. While he overlooks my socializing, he seems to be particularly attached to you and your friends. I would truly like not to infuriate my only real friend."

"So, he did send you after me."

"Only after he shouted at me earlier this morning."

"And said, or shouted, what? Hands off?"

"One might draw that conclusion." She came around the counter to where he stood, sullen fury knitting her brows.

"And what if I have other feelings on the matter?" Maeve took a step closer, he stepped back.

"And I should say what, that a vulnerable woman threw herself at me, while I in my...infinite whatever...had no power to resist?"

"No, I'm asking what you want." Dmitry was backed into a corner. It was an odd sensation, as she stood just watching him with that empty look in her eyes. He did the only thing he could think of. He took her into his arms and held her. She was tall enough that she could rest her head on his shoulder. It was a bit like cradling a wild animal. Every moment brought a new struggle, as her instinct to run fought for control, in spite of what she'd said. Finally, she looked up at him, hoping to see that he'd changed his mind. More than anything, she wanted to feel something. Anything.

His eyes seemed more blue than grey right then, like a stirred-up stream that is finally settling its sediment back down. How could she tell him that she was more like him than the fragile innocent that she'd been made out to be? Colonel Tarkington had transformed her into a younger sister. That much was obvious. She wanted to be different than that. Dmitry, in return, saw what was in her eyes and resisted with what remained of his dwindling willpower. He looked off into another corner of the room before speaking.

"That is just not fair."

"What?"

"Well, times have changed, and I like to think humanity has evolved a bit, but certain things are still controlled by biology." He gritted his teeth as she stood to her full height and drew in closer, as near eye to eye as she could muster. "Don't."

"You don't. I'm not a child." She was as near to both their limits as he could stand. He gently backed away from her, holding her hands, to keep her from leaving.

"He will...kill...me." This was probably only partly true. Dmitry was having a hard time trying to sort out what his true reluctance was.

"It's not his life. It's mine." She hated the desperation that crept into her voice.

"We both owe him." He was earnest, for once in his life; completely and utterly serious. Maeve's protest died unspoken; all her indignation dissipated. She fell back against the counter in his kitchen, as the morning finally caught up to her.

"So what now, then?" She allowed him to put his arms around her once more, to press his forehead to hers, to lose herself in that small comfort. It was all she would receive, apparently.

Dmitry was still trying to reengage his resolve. Thinking carefully for some few moments, he searched for another moment in his life such as this. He had turned down a woman. She'd been willing to go as far as he'd wanted, and probably still was. He'd resisted, not because he didn't want her, but for some other reason.

That reason sat grinning at him from a corner of his consciousness, but he wouldn't look at it. Not yet. Instead, he held onto her, as her breathing slowed, and she finally relaxed. Only then did he allow himself to kiss her gently, differently than the night before. That earlier kiss had come over them both in the heat of a moment, aided by spirits of many sorts. This was...better. Real. They both lingered in it, each with their own thoughts, neither wanting it to end.

"I'm exhausted." Indeed, she did look completely drained, though no longer so unhappy as she had. He ran his hand through her hair.

"You can hide out here, if you want." He let his hand stay resting comfortably on the back of her neck again. She smiled faintly, while his mind raced down a thousand roads. "I have to get back. At least I can tell Tark that you're ok."

She curled up on his sofa, and drifted off to sleep, away from whatever it was that haunted her. Lost under layers of slumber, she seemed safely within a dreamless expanse finally. That security might have come from being in his environment. In fact, she'd cocooned herself in a blanket and fallen completely silent.

It seemed to Dmitry, as he made certain she was asleep, that her life must be reduced to its mere elementals. Eat, sleep...human contact, that was all there was left. He was still reluctant to admit that Maeve was impacting on his life, but he felt as though a day of reckoning was at hand. The fires that he could see burning internally in Maeve were building in him as well. These were phoenix flames; low, dark, hot, bent on creating the world anew.

Dmitry eventually found his way back to the bridge. Tark hadn't returned yet. Apparently he was still too deeply ensnared with the investigation of the rather unseemly demise of the doctor. Personally, he figured they were both relieved that the woman was finally gone. Nobody ought to go that way, but still. He'd run across her doing more than anybody's share of strange things. It had been his tip-off that had prompted Tark to start monitoring her communications.

Unfortunate, really, that she'd been a wacko. Dmitry had been getting the reports delivered directly to him. He hadn't even submitted his final evaluation to Tark yet. Not much point to it now, he supposed, except to bolster the depositions given at the inquest. Not having witnessed it directly, he couldn't quite imagine how she'd managed such a thing in such a short amount of time. It should have required more planning, but he'd not come across any hint of it in her messages.

He'd never seen something like that in his experience, so he wasn't entirely sure. Tark would be able to tell him more details. Dmitry left forward observation in search of Tark, wanting the full truth before it got warped by too many retellings. It was barely past midday.

If he was lucky, he could catch up with Tark before he disappeared into the slew of meetings that were bound to take place. He knew he had his own long list to attend to as well, but it could wait. A little voice in his head reminded him that he was avoiding his job. It was true. He was not a fan of admin. It was not sexy. It was not fun. Loyalty and pride kept him doing it anyway.

۞

Another ship was docking, not far from the one that had stopped in with a layover; Dmitry casually noted it as he slipped through straggling clusters of onlookers. It was a moderately small sized ship, most likely a merchant looking to unload some goods. They had lucky timing. Tark had turned away a lot of traffic up until the end of the storms. He made a mental note to check and see how many new and returning sellers were due in. More work than he could shake a stick at on board this floating city.

Wallace and Julieta, at the same time, were preparing to leave that small craft. It would sit idle for however long was needed, until they were ready to turn around and go back. There would be a sizeable fee for renting the slip. Currency was, at least, one of their lesser concerns. More importantly, they had their stories ready, as well as identification cards that would withstand a fair amount of scrutiny. Wallace went off to secure the berth, coming back only minutes later, shaking his head. Julieta gave him a questioning look, which he didn't see, so she jabbed him with a finger and asked, "What? You look like you got yourself a mouthful of dirt." Wallace made a repulsed face.

"That's really nasty. Can't you come up with non-eating metaphors?" Shrugging casually, she ignored his complaint. "Anyway, I go down to get our dock keys, and paperwork, and there's some sort of crime scene or something. I ask, and it turns out that some nut offed herself this morning. My thinking is that we should get to our rooms quick and stay as far from this part of the station as possible." Julieta waved a letter at him.

"Not a problem, man. Master Kun gave me a letter of introduction to someone, and that'll occupy a fair piece of time." Wallace was struck dumb. Nobody had thought to let him in on the plan, fine, fine, but he didn't like operating in a vacuum. Julieta chose to ignore his puppy eyes this time. She strode past him, hauling her bags behind her.

"Sure I'd love to tag along. Thanks for asking. And while we're at it, I think we should tap-dance down the hall, singing 'Old Man River'. Or does that go against our rules of engagement...I wouldn't know, since things seem to get decided without me being told."

"Get over it. That's the least of our big deals. You know the important stuff, and what would happen if you knew all the little details is that your brain would fuse, and you'd be even more useless than you are now."

"Fine. See what happens the next time you need me."

"Same thing that always happens. You crack stupid jokes while I do all the work." They made their way down the grand staircase in the center of the docking level, trying to take in everything. It was unbelievable that something so unnatural could seem so right, and spectacularly simple. The Nimitz was playing its usual siren song to these newcomers, drawing them in with a familiarity which was not true. They meandered through the various levels, and sectors, until they stumbled into the one they were looking for.

By that time, they had been noted, and reported to the duty log back in the security battalion offices. The PFC assigned to monitor new arrivals was inclined to think that the two might be smugglers. If that was the case, they were doing a shitty job at being inconspicuous. It wasn't in their favor that they had just walked into the one place on board the Nimitz that was a known refuge for folks of a black market ilk. The PFC quickly made her report and marked it priority. She knew the XO had his eye on this place. The report circulated its way up the chain of command, garnering opinions, until it got hand-delivered to Dmitry.

"Sir? The gunny in security wanted me to forward this your way."

"Hey, thanks, Sergeant. What the heck is this...a suspicious persons report. Ah, yes." He looked it over. Female: late twenties to early thirties, Latin descent, black hair, dark eyes, five-six, medium build. Male: same age range, Caucasian, dark blonde, blue eyes, six-two, medium build. Business stated: commercial. Current location: Chinatown, the residence of one Mrs. Han, elder of the community, and a council member. He smiled grimly, thinking of the battles of wits he'd already engaged in with the old lady. She was canny, and seemed to enjoy stymieing his efforts. He could only keep on top of her activities and hope she'd slip up one of these days. That would have to wait for now, though.

He was too busy trying to wrap up loose ends, doing his best to get both Tark and himself out of the docking area. In response to questions on the topic of Maeve, he told his friend that she was safely asleep. Somewhere out of harm's way. Tark cast his friend a gimlet eye. This read that he wished a full explanation was forthcoming, but chose not to press it. Dmitry smiled beatifically, a feat indeed, as he knew he was anything but virtuous. However, they were back to joking around in no time; testament to their strong friendship. He handed the security report over to Tark, who shrugged at it.

"What is this supposed to be?"

"I dunno yet. It was handed over to me in my role as the man with the plan and knowledge superior."

"I wonder why they thought to flag these two?"

"Probably because they headed straight to the place of business owned by a former arms dealer."

۞Earthside: the Med, middle of the night.

Robert Warden stood outside, on a balcony, watching people walk along the coast. He had a sudden thought that he would dearly love to stand and throw thunderbolts at the ground below. He could already exercise powers at least as great as that. It would be entertaining to see a physical manifestation of them. The only god in my sphere, he thought cheerily, I am the Alpha, and the Omega.

He'd gotten word from his operative that the doctor no longer a problem. She'd seen to her own affairs. He'd expected this outcome, really. If fate were to have her hand, all might resolve itself with little effort. Warden appreciated that sort of synchronicity. No more loose ends, no more worries. Oh, he wasn't worried, though, was he? No, not really. Worry was for fools and weaklings.

He sipped at a glass of mineral water, mentally cursing his decision to stop smoking cigars. He felt it was his one vice, and had only surrendered it according to the wishes of his wife. She was asleep, not more than twenty feet behind him, so angelic. She kept to the light, too blinded by it to notice that he'd fallen into shadow. It hardly mattered anymore. As a woman, she was merely a tool, another piece of the false persona he had cultivated for around ten years.

He walked over to a small table that held a stack of books, a carafe of his water, and a sandwich. Nine people, asleep in space. For what? A couple hundred years, alongside a purpose that they must surely think pointless by now. At least one of them would know him for what he was, surely. Rubbing his temples, he considered the stories surrounding the vessel, dating back to the very moment of its inception.

At the time, none of the members of his organization had been able to get even the slightest hint as to its location. It was only generations later that information had finally been unearthed. The paranoia of his so-called predecessors had culminated in a unanimous vote for eradication of this perceived threat. By that time, no one could remember what precisely had been placed inside the metal womb. Nor why it was supposed to be so dangerous to them. Therefore, fear and violence were perfectly acceptable responses. If he'd been there, he'd have been able to tell them. He'd known what was in it. He'd known what the danger was.

He wished he had been there for all the interrogations and torture. That was more his cup of tea than all this false smiling and bureaucracy. The days of inflicting pain were far gone from his present life, at least in person. Now, he did it by signing papers, and sending disgusting creatures off to accomplish it for him.

Actually, Warden took the whole affair quite personally. He blamed himself for the rediscovery of the vessel. He'd trusted too well the decades-old reports. Having thought that the blasted thing was long destroyed, he had ignored any other scenario, probable or otherwise. It was more than inconvenient; it reflected badly.

After all, it had been his leadership that had brought in so many new people to the organization and its cause. Certainly, large bribes and carefully placed threats had helped grease the wheels as well. Warden derived small gratification from those things, though. He sighed, looking back out over the calm, gently rippled glass of the sea. The next move was up to someone else. Being on the defensive was something he hated. The only thing to do was wait, wait and see where the chips might fall.

Orders to mobilize could go out with very little lead time...perhaps it was best that the vessel had been found after all. The first initiative all those years ago had failed miserably. The organization had been forced into anonymity, trying to gain traction underground.

They had become agile, elusive, and careful. All those habits would pay dividends now, and he would have the satisfaction of seeing to the end of their only remaining threat. If his agent was as successful as to be hoped for, that would be one thing. If things went the way Warden actually expected, it would still be a success, but a far messier proposition altogether.

۞The depths of Peru.

Elsewhere, back in the heavily layered humidity of his forest home, Master Kun sat in a small temple, contemplating his situation with a characteristically open mind. He was a priest; trained to a level that he was able to serve without reservation or fear. It was a rare occasion when he would consider all the earthly trappings he had left behind whilst traveling his path. This was one of those moments.

He had family, scattered here and there, over thousands of miles removed. Amongst all those relatives were nieces, nephews, a sister, a daughter...a grandchild. Never more did he regret the distance than now, after he had sent away Wallace and Julieta. There was a void left behind, regardless of his responsibility to everyone else there. He knew he needed to send out the message to mobilize; that much was clear.

Kun stood in the evening glow, watching the sun hesitate above the mountains, and wished that it would hurry to set. He had a desire to go to his telescope, and see if he could find the station in the inky distance. Those bottomless depths he had once dived into, bringing back with him two sleeping warriors.

Fifty years from their discovery he had waited to resurrect them. And though he found Wallace to be more than unusual, he wouldn't trade their time together for all the wealth the universe could hold.

Kun looked to the fiery disk a last time before heading indoors, wanting some sort of connection to them again. They were so far away. If what Wallace had said was true, they had their work cut out for them. Kun was no longer able to control the outcome, though he burned incense to promote favor, and meditated on the fate of those far away from him.

۞The Nimitz – two days later.

Tark had given them the run of the station, more or less. They all had identity cards. He'd laid out the ground rules, given them briefings, and left them to their own devices. Tark felt they deserved a little liberty, given their circumstances. They were, after all, faced with a tremendous readjustment. Harsh reality would set in eventually as they tried to make new lives.

None of them was particularly inclined to argue the point. It was an unhappy thought; having to leave the protective womb of the station, and face into surviving on their own. They'd had skill sets chosen especially for their presumably now-defunct mission. One could only imagine that they would have to enter training all over again to make use of any of those skills. And the mission? They had no end orders.

Antonio argued that the passage of time was the expiration. There could be no person left who would have charge of those orders anymore. For once, Jemi took an opposing view and insisted that they ought to find out for certain. This discussion took place quietly, excluding Maeve. She had been, once upon a time, chosen as their leader. This was when it had seemed like a simple thing to join an elite program. Before any of them had met Maeve.

It had been touted as a program into which personnel fought to be accepted. This was the purported next stage of the space program, by then privatized. It had still been competitive. Antonio had been civilian, as had Jemila...as well as some of the others who were now lost. Fergus Wallace, for instance, and Hiroko Takemura. It had taken them months to realize that there were more than just a few similarities between all their life stories, though.

By then, they were too far into the program, too isolated, too aware of their precarious positions. Even if they'd tried to run, no one would have believed their stories. Even now, it seemed unbelievable. They wouldn't have left Maeve behind. They couldn't have taken her either. All that secrecy was pointless now anyway. They'd have to tell her everything soon, when they figured out how to. Would she be able to accept any of it? They had sat on that question for weeks now, while Leif mulled over other things he needed to tell her. Difficult, thorny things. He was not looking forward to any of it.

After all other considerations, they were all grateful that Wallace wasn't among them. From her behavior to date, it seemed probable that she would not have been as well off if he had been. They did mourn Julieta Ramirez and Hiroko, and that Maeve had never formally met those two.

Wallace was an entirely different question. He never should have been included in the program, as far as any one of them was concerned. They all had their reasons for believing this was so. The only truly important reason, in Leif's mind especially, was a matter of trust. There had been debate about whether Wallace's actions had been deliberate or sheer stupidity, but what he'd done had led to consequences far beyond anyone's control.

They halted directly outside the walls between Maeve's rooms and them. Loud music emanated through the walls. Music had always been her refuge. It was somehow reassuring that she was at least listening to it. Before, after everything that had happened, she had gone silent. No songs, no talking, no anything.

Once, though, she and her brother had played guitar together in a long ago time, only dim memory now. They would sit out in the dirt and grass yard of their cramped housing, picking out songs under the stars. Those nights had been filled with the smell of citronella candles sloshing around in glass jars and beer of the cheapest variety. Anyone who had wanted to join in had always been welcome. Leif recalled that she'd favored bluegrass and folk. What pounded on the other side of the walls, as they stood listening, was distinctly different. It seemed that some inner conflict was still raging.

Josh broke their inertia, caused by the intensity of the sound, and began thumping on the door vigorously. The music quieted slightly, and they heard her call to enter. The door opened on its own, revealing nothing of Maeve, until they rounded the corner. She hung from a bar, finishing a set of pull-ups, after which she dropped and started in on pushups. The music made slightly more sense now, given the sweat she had worked up.

"Three hundred to go. Just finished the first hundred." Josh nodded.

"You're gonna be on your face by the end of 'er."

"That's the idea." She gritted her teeth and focused on getting through the discomfort and the urge to stop. Grace stood staring at the pull-up cage.

"Where the hell did she get this? I'm not saying I want one, but still."

"I dunno. Let's ask after she finishes, though." They adjourned to her kitchen and began to raid the cupboards. Maeve ignored the rattling and banging. She struggled to find the focus to get through fifty more pushups, breaking them into smaller chunks. After that, one hundred sit-ups, while her body screamed at her, and then one hundred air squats.

Though she was finished, she waited several moments to peek at her timer. Twenty-eight minutes. Not great, but not poor, either. She reminded herself that this was not about sprinting to a finish line. She had to find her pace and hold to it. That was the trick, though. Finding a tempo, a rhythm by which she could live. A shadow loomed over her. She snapped out of her reverie.

"What do you say to a quiet night in?" Leif was smiling down at her.

"Somehow I can't see quiet being a part of it for long."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Innocence was not one of his better acts.

"I saw the bottles you just brought in." She forced a smile and waggled a finger at the kitchen counter.

"Oh, that. Just a growler and some wine. And some other stuff. Not my idea." He screwed up his face and stared at the ceiling. "Completely."

"Where did you find a growler?"

"Brewpub. They fill them right on the spot for you. We were thinking of getting some pizza, catching up on the cinematic treasures we've surely missed...what do you say?"

"Sure. Sounds, um, relaxing." She continued to towel off, ignoring Leif's pointed look.

"No other plans tonight?" He wanted to punch himself in the head. How could she fail to read him completely?

"None that I'm aware of." She quirked her mouth at his relieved expression. "Alright, out with it. You've been acting weird for the past couple days."

"No idea what you're talking about."

"Is this about Major Petrovich?" Maeve watched his face run through a series of expressions. She wondered if he was aware of just how poor a job he did hiding his thoughts.

"What?! Noooo...nah. Nope."

"Jemi said you guys went out to a bar the other night. He and I were at a very similar place that night."

"So? You're an adult."

"You've always looked out for me, like a br...you're a good friend. Probably the best friend I've ever had." He'd turned away, not wanting her to read his face right then. It was obvious to him why she'd pulled short of using the word "brother", but being thought of that way, or as just a friend...it cut deep.

"We might have seen you with him. No big deal." He willed her to keep asking, to admit finally that she knew there was more to it. Somehow, though, he knew she wasn't ready to go back in time yet. Turning back around, he strained a smile back onto his face. "Now, you still like the veggie pizza, right?"

۞

Tark was just stretching out on his bed, savoring the damp, fresh feel of just having had a long bath. Sa'andy stood leaned over the sink, toweling off her silky hair. She then tossed the cloth on the floor to mop up the excess of water that had escaped the confines of the tub. Sometimes she missed living in her watery world, but on fortune's side, Tark had grown up in an environment well-accustomed to moisture. She hadn't any idea what it had entailed, other than that he loved a good wet room. Someday, she hoped to visit his beloved bayou with him.

Humidifiers sitzed moisture into the air. Warmth seeped along the fog, creating a boggy atmosphere. Tark had tree frogs living with them, in a recessed terrarium. They loved the swampy air as much as the two bipeds that cared for them did. It was a simple and pleasant life. In fact, in spite of the day's events, Tark would almost call it a charmed existence. He was more than simply content, and said as much.

"It is always content, I notice, when we have time to bathe together."

"Doesn't hurt that you've been extra attentive since that cursed morning. I'm not going to question any of it. C'est génial to be in love. At least, I'm assuming love is what's driving this trolley. Otherwise, my whole universe is out of whack." That earned a smile. He was as much a sucker for those lips of hers as she was for his quaint sense of chivalry.

"Assume away. There isn't a thing in the universe to stop you." She drew him closer, and began to massage his forehead. Except exhaustion, he might have amended, but he was already out cold. He snored a bit on the loud side until Sa'andy gently rolled him onto his stomach. Then all he did was hiss. In, out, in, out. It was familiar enough a sound to lull Sa'andy into a restful state. She tucked herself close up to him, and slipped into her own state of partial consciousness.

۞

That lone disembarkee from the laid over ship sat in a stranger's room listening to the sounds of the station. It seemed almost alive to his perceptions. It had tremendous energy that he would need to make use of in order to complete his mission. He wanted to tap into its being, and make it bow to his will. Two hours had passed while he walked throughout the halls and chambers of the Nimitz, memorizing and planning.

No one had stopped him, not even to ask if he was lost. There did not seem to be even the least hint of suspicion toward strangers here. And that was its greatest weakness. It was exploitable, and he would taste blood again very soon because of it. There was a woman with him. She had willingly gone with him from a pub, a quiet little bar that had been the terminus of his tour.

And it was a veritable land of plenty, though after tonight, he'd have to orchestrate his return there carefully. No more pickups there anymore, though he'd go back. The woman lay very still on the floor. She appeared to be tired, after they'd thrashed together there for over an hour. So tired that she'd given up trying to seem alive.

He reached over and carefully undid his belt from around her neck. He'd been so gentle about it, skillful actually, that the marks left by the leather strap were hardly visible. She lived alone. Wouldn't be missed for a few days, longer than he needed to finish up. It didn't entirely make up for having had to abstain from cutting loose on the transport to this place. He always wanted so much more.

It was like that, wanting the ensuing experience while the current one was fresh-fiery in his mind. He knew where to go next to satisfy the bloodlust. He knew how to make the whole thing happen, like a match to rice paper, it was as easy as punching a time clock for him. Meditating, using the trance to rest his uneasy brain, he resisted delving into his fantasies. Dreaming was for cowards; people who lived in fear of acting on the urges of the true mind.

۞

Julieta and Wallace sat up late with Mrs. Han, going over everything that had taken place. The old woman fussed over them, bringing tea and plate after plate of food. She was a peanut of a person, with large, dark eyes that seemed to be overflowing with kindness. They hadn't met her before, but she was very much like her brother, from whose company they had so recently parted.

The truth was much more complicated, as far as Mrs. Han was concerned. She traded on her image, such as it was now, to appear harmless and grandmotherly. Many, many long years ago, her life had been distinctly different. In those days, she had traded on something else entirely.

She had once been known as báiliánjiào, the White Lotus. One might presume, having looked over information on her past, that she had been a dangerous and possibly immoral person. This was what Mrs. Han had aimed to achieve; a curtain from which to operate behind. The real story was certainly far removed from those records of her misdeeds. Truth was rarely easy or straightforward. Truth was dangerous.

It was her duty now to smile and continue to hide behind the façade that she had created. There was finally a ray of hope, however. She could dream that she might get to return home and leave the cold shroud of space behind. It was no mistake that Mrs. Han was on the Nimitz.

She'd been waiting years before the time had finally come. She had been searching, tapping on the rim of the cosmos, watching, until one day, a ghostly echo had eventually returned. Kun had only been able to take two of them at the time. They couldn't chance moving the entire vessel at that time. Nor had he a ship large enough for all of them.

Yes. She smiled at Wallace and Julieta, and felt the tiny bit of hope expand. The lotus would finally be able to fade away into dust. There were others to take up its mission, and succeed where she and Kun had failed. Their numbers were great enough now. They would win the day, she knew it. All that was needed now was a leader.

"Everything okay, Mrs. Han?"

"Certainly, child. An old woman is given to fanciful thoughts...that is all."

"Have you heard anything more on the death of the station's doctor?"

"I needed to hear nothing, Julieta. She was one of theirs. My contact has promised to let us know if it has anything to do with your arrival, or the awakening of the others."

"When should we go find them?"

"Patience, my dear boy. My brother did not send you all the way here to behave rashly." She sighed. "I think it best if we proceed slowly. We have no idea whether Warden has sent someone here to clean up after the doctor...or perhaps...."

"You think she might have been pressured into what she did?"

"That much seems possible. We must wait for some of those answers before we act."

۞

It was a slow morning. Dmitry had his head set on wrapping up the matter of the two mysterious visitors as quickly as possible. He grabbed a few people, and headed for Mrs. Han's theater. The old woman put on great shows, including the one she ran around her life.

Fortunately for all of them, the only thing she seemed to have a penchant for smuggling anymore was refugees. Her home sat atop the theater, a healthy stairway climb along the side of the building. They entered through the theater doors, antique art deco beauties that must have been worth their weight in gold and freight cost.

Dmitry made his presence known unceremoniously, hoping that his entire day wasn't about to be taken away from him. A young woman in stage makeup answered the call, giving the unfamiliar faces a once over. She was painted to look like a devil, in dramatic tones of smoke and blood, hair swept back into two separate french twists that rose into horns at the back of her head.

The effect was striking, the girl beautiful. Ordinarily, he'd have changed gears right into pursuit mode. Now, Dmitry found he was ignoring the girl in favor of business. Somehow, unconsciously he'd already promised himself that he wouldn't do anything that could hurt Maeve. The thought surprised him a little. The devilish girl led them to their destination with disinterested politeness, and with barely a blink of an eye, was gone.

He looked around Mrs. Han's parlor, soaking in the atmosphere of floor mosaics, glossed wall panels, and tapestries. Mrs. Han appeared from nowhere, standing in diminutive regality as though she had been expecting them. A wave of her small hand ushered them into a sitting room. It was a large, atrium style room, allowing a view of the hallway and lobby outside. Other people were in varied degrees of costume and makeup. There was the show tonight, a production of Faust, which explained the air of wickedness amongst the players.

"What can I do for you, honored guests?" The old woman spoke in a measured tone, while gauze and veil fluttered in the background.

"Well, first you can tell me where to get tickets." He threw a thumb in the direction of the actors. "Then you can tell me who your new friends are."

"I have new arrivals all the time. Perhaps if you were a little more specific, Major?"

"Okay, if you want to play it like that, the ones that we watched come into your place last night. Look Mrs. Han, we turn a blind eye to most of what goes on here, mostly because you help a lot of people. This might be different."

"I can tell you some small thing about them, perhaps. They did come seeking...aid."

"You must know that I wouldn't come asking questions if I thought it was as simple as two refugees looking for asylum. We've not gotten any indications from your end that you need help."

"Perhaps it is merely that they are a special case." The old woman was plainly going to root herself down and not allow him to dislodge her.

"Mrs. Han, I'm simply trying to do my job. I know that I don't have to remind you of what happens to people who harbor criminals." He leaned in close to her, and took her tiny, birdlike hand in his much larger one. He was startled at its warmth, but then, who knew what secrets, never mind power, lay in it. His grasp of it did not lessen. "Surely you have heard about the things going on around here." He watched her hopefully.

She smiled, and patted her free hand on his cheek. He knew it was useless. The others with him snickered softly, relishing the sight of the charm machine being halted dead in his tracks.

"You needn't worry. I do admire your concern and tenacity, but as you say, I have not yet sought help." Her dark eyes seared through the space between them, leaving him with a distinct impression of what she had been as a young woman. She was a woman of s sort he recognized.

"Not yet. I wonder what you might mean by that. However, there is also a matter of some individuals whose welfare we are seeing to. I guess you could say that we're giving them asylum as well." He took a breath, glanced at his team, and dismissed them. They filed out of the room wordlessly. "Don't misunderstand me. We, as in the Colonel and myself, have to pay attention to certain facts. Right now, that fact is that someone on our station has been in communication with a group back on Earth that we'd rather not see visiting our station...ever." At last, her smile faded into a mien of calm concern.

"I assure you, Major, that the two guests who you seek have no ill intentions. A very old and close...acquaintance of mine referred them. You must believe me when I say that I have some personal experience with this group to which you refer. My aim has always been to help those who oppose them." She watched Dmitry pointedly, willing him to understand. To her relief, he nodded, and made to take his leave.

"You say you help people...perhaps we may be calling on you for assistance soon."

"Major, if I may, please?" She took his hand, gently. "In life, we are always called upon to make difficult decisions. You seem to be at that point; I would suggest patience and careful consideration." He took his hand back quietly and rejoined his team in the theater lobby.

It was difficult to tell what Mrs. Han knew and where her loyalties might truly lie. His gut told him that he could trust her, in spite of the reputation she carried. There was nothing else to do but continue to proceed with caution. He could only hope that Hawke's last messages, in and outbound, would shed a bit more light on what had gone wrong.

On their way out, a young man barreled through the front door. A traffic jam ensued, nearly taking Dmitry off his feet in the process. He grabbed the heedless stranger's shoulders to keep him from caroming off his own body. At the same time, he had the strangest sensation that they shared some unknown common ground.

A tattered book wasn't as lucky; it skittered across the floor, shedding loose papers behind it. Dem went to assist in its retrieval. The other man cut him off, scooping up everything in one sweeping movement.

"Thanks, I'm good though. And lucky for both of us, I'm secure enough in my manhood to not be bothered by you feeling me up." He was grinning, while Dem recognized at the same time a dangerous light in the man's frank stare.

"Sure, no problem. Maybe just try walking with your head up next time." A quick turn on the heel of that remark left him with the last word, and a growing feeling of discomfort. He was put ill at ease by whatever it was that he sensed in the other man. There was something in that exchange, a ghost of an emotion. Dmitry didn't like those sorts of feelings at all.

۞Earth – Peru

The rainforest hummed the quiet joy of renewal, reveling in an afternoon rain, as a lone figure bounded up a familiar path to a place he had once called home.

"Grandfather, are you out here?" Kun rousted himself from a meditation to hear the footsteps of his only grandson. This was a sound he had anticipated for some time. It had been difficult to see him go, and know that he could not stop the boy. In his role as grandfather, Kun had never pushed, the way he would have as a father or teacher. He had merely waited, and opened his arms when he knew he should. Now was one of those times.

"Tea?" Not, where have you been all this time, and don't think I've missed hearing about your questionable associates. In the face of unconditional love, Boko's fears receded, while his grandfather prepared tea in the traditional way.

"Yes, please." Boko sat and watched silently for several minutes. "It took me a while to decide to come here, but I had to think it through."

Kun merely smiled and allowed silence to float like the tea leaves in their liquid. He handed his grandson the delicate cup, continuing his role as patient elder. Boko stared into his cup, wishing he could read the leaves as they floated, instead of waiting until the cup was drained.

"I want to come back to the jungle. I can't take the city anymore."

"Are you certain that it is only the city and not those who inhabit it?" Kun's voice drifted evenly over to his grandson. The young man looked up sharply. So the old one knew everything.

"What should I do, grandfather?" Despair, fear, and exhaustion were written sharply across his features.

"Wait, as I have done, but also help me, Boko. I need you to continue to be the person you have been with your associates for a short while longer."

"I just don't want you to be ashamed of me, grandfather. My life doesn't make sense anymore, and I want...I need your help." He hung his head, feeling the specter of Robert Warden hovering nearby, like the shadow of death. Kun placed a hand on Boko's head, the man who was a boy only yesterday, and felt the power of the evil that was trying to keep its hold on him.

"I have nothing but love in my heart for you. But you have to help us right the wrongs that you have seen." Kun smiled, and Boko felt as though he was a child again. Hope flooded like adrenaline through his body, expelling deep exhaustion. He looked at his grandfather, absorbing his energy of calm.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Boko, this is a matter of some importance. It will not be easy, and it will not be safe." He stood and lengthened to his full height, dusky ash-colored robes billowing out behind. "Come with me and I will tell you the story. It is time for you to know." He walked out of the gazebo just as the showering sky ceased to issue forth any more water. Soon, the sun would be back.

After a short walk, Boko found himself following his grandfather into what appeared to be a cave. It very quickly revealed itself to be of manmade origin, well lit and, surprisingly, full of delicate computer instruments. Books lined the entirety of the cylindrical wall, except for the interruption of several monitor screens, which displayed satellite imagery.

Kun walked to a section of the bookshelves, removed a thick, atlas sized specimen, and placed it on a large, polished stone reading table. He opened it to a page and indicated a section with an outstretched finger. Boko found himself sitting, enthralled with the tale unfurling from the slashes and strokes of ink.

Nearly two hours passed while Boko's head bobbed up and down, soaking in the full meaning and impact of a testimonial that was in direct opposition to everything that Robert Warden had ever told him. He felt deflated, the blinding light of truth still sending an involuntary twitch through his again-fatigued frame.

The story was incredibly mind-boggling. He could not deny its legitimacy, however. All the salient facts lined up, but moreover, there were too many other pieces of evidence. Grandfather had piles of fragile photographs, firsthand testimony...no one could possibly fabricate all of this. Beyond that, he wanted to have faith in the right cause this time.

In the distance, as if in accordance with the mood of the moment, temple bells sounded a call...to battle, or to justice? He stood, feeling a renewed inner strength, as though he'd been through a cleansing. The perception of languor fell off him, discarded like an old skin.

Grandfather Kun was laboring over some sort of data input terminal, peering at the monitor while he worked. Boko saw the Nimitz pop up on the screen, not failing to notice the significantly raised eyebrow cast in his direction.

"Is that what I think it is?" A simple nod asserted that it was. He walked over to the monitor and gazed at the terrible grace of the structure.

"You will see, Boko that you must help to break the circle of destruction that was begun so long ago."

"How can I let go of the things I have been a part of? I'm so afraid, grandfather, I've been haunted by myself for too long."

"Perhaps my two students will be able to help you answer some of your questions." Before he could respond, the face of a young woman solidified out of a static-ridden connection. She nodded deferentially to Master Kun, noting his company in the background of her screen.

"I see he came around. As you predicted." There was an edge to her voice, though, as she looked Boko over.

"What have you , Julieta? Have you seen them yet?"

"No. Unfortunately, we came aboard the station just as there was some sort of crisis going on. It seems that one of your grandson's associates killed herself."

"The doctor? But she was supposed to...." All eyes turned to Boko expectantly. Julieta's face deepened into a frown.

"This is going to complicate things. Not to mention the fact that Wallace literally ran into the station's executive officer. I think they may try to bring us in for questioning." She felt a growing sense of unease...or maybe just indigestion.

"You wish to lie low, is that it?"

"I think for a day or so, we'll try to blend into the scenery, yes. I don't want to be skulking around with their security battalion trailing behind us. I'll let you know as soon as we make contact. Welcome home, Boko." With that, she was gone, except for the faint impression of a smile. It was strange to be amongst people who trusted one another.

"How were you so certain I would come back?"

"We share blood, young man, and that is all I ever need to have to hope." With that, Kun walked out into late afternoon's sunlight, seeming to his grandson a great deal younger than he had remembered.

۞The Nimitz

The next morning, Maeve was at loose ends. It was getting a little tiresome that the only question she seemed to have in her days was what to eat, and when to work out. Naturally, she was avoiding the elephant in the room, but there was no reason to turn around and face it.

Facing it would mean having to look back at her own mistakes. That and the circumstances that had led her, ultimately, to the Nimitz. What was it that was there, lingering in the dark corners of her mind? The blood, floating in the obsidian and amber of space had brought everything rushing back. She'd been successful in driving it back down, but it was getting more and more difficult to manage.

She looked over at the counter in her little kitchen. Partially empty bottles from the night before were neatly arranged against the wall. Why had they left it all with her? It was possible to ignore them, of course, but she didn't necessarily want to. The problem was that she knew she ought to. She'd been down this road already. That particular memory was right up front; no hiding from it.

As she'd been brought out of sleep, just being in the clinic had brought it back to the surface. How many times had she cheated death? It was easy to lose count. It had been alright the other night, she argued. Even though she'd pretty much flung herself at someone, even though he'd turned her down not once, but twice.

She walked over to the counter, staring at all the different shades of browns and reds. Why today? Why not the night before last, when things were actually going wrong? Delayed, it was delayed. Merlot was the color of blood. And why had he turned her down?

The Major and the Colonel. They had a bromance. Who else was there to turn to? Nobody. Just the little soldiers lined up against the wall. They were quiet. Everyone had to be quiet. Wars didn't happen in your own country. They happened to other places. Other people watched bombs and rifle fire from their windows. Other people lived with visions of humanity torn to pieces. The bottles saluted, each in their own turn.

She set down a tumbler and poured for a very long time.

۞

"You know, I hated school the first time around. I just really would rather not." Grace frowned at her fingernails. Antonio shrugged, knowing he'd been on the unpopular side of opinion lately. Might as well run with it.

"Sorry. It just seems like one of our few options right now." He didn't mind the thought of being back in a university, actually.

"I prefer the simple act of blowing stuff up. How much school does that really take to carry over?"

"You're right. Let's just forget any possible advances in technology."

"I don't have to make the stuff, I just make it go boom." She mimed a detonation with her hands, and smiled at the logic of explosive agents.

"I think we just ought to worry about our own selves for right now, and take whatever comes our way." Antonio could at least be relied on to take a pin to anyone's inflated mood.

"You mean...split up?" Grace had let her hair go rampant of late. She looked like a golden-haired moppet.

"Yes, I do." Antonio got up, leaving the rest of them to sit and mull over his words. They stared at one another.

Grace, Josh, Jemi, and Leif were playing cards at a table under a weeping willow. They didn't like the reality, but it was possible that Antonio wasn't entirely wrong.

"But...." Jemi couldn't even begin to formulate her thoughts.

"What? How can we possibly sustain ourselves like this?" Leif shuffled his cards restlessly.

"Leif, man, you know I'm open to new possibilities, but I think parting ways might be a premature leap." Josh was immune to the stress as usual. He had better things to worry about.

"We could be a carny act, 'World's Oldest People'." Grace threw down a pair, trying to regain her sense of humor.

"We have no more mission. It's pretty obvious that some of us are already moving on anyway." Leif avoided Josh's appraising look.

"Oh, ho, so that's what this is about. You are upset over this whole Maeve thing with the station XO."

"I can't sit around hoping she'll see me any other way than she does. She almost called me her brother last night."

"So? Don't let your wounded ego get in the way of making good decisions. We need to have each other's backs for a while...my two cents, anyway." Josh made a play with his own pair, earning a hearty curse from Grace.

"With inflation, his two cents is worth a lot more these days." Jemi poked Leif pointedly. He swatted her hand away.

Conversation was interrupted by Antonio walking back up. He looked deeply thoughtful, and stood next to the table for several moments, saying nothing.

"What's up?" Josh was surveying the lie, looking for an easy victory. Maybe on the next play, he thought.

"Hmmm?" Antonio was still staring aimlessly into the distance.

"You look like you have something on your mind." Leif didn't really care, but it seemed as though he'd stand there until someone asked.

"Strangest thing. Still not sure I believe my eyes." Antonio smiled without mirth and shook his head.

"Would you mind sharing with the rest of us?" Josh was actually feeling a little annoyed by the performance. Antonio could get on the nerves after a while.

"I think I just saw Wallace." They all fell silent.

۞

She wasn't sure why she'd left her little apartment. It was probably a bad idea. Not one of her better ideas, anyway. Things were hazy. The actual memory of standing up and walking out the door was lost. All she knew now was that she was in the middle of the commercial sector, surrounded by little shops and cafes. How...odd.

It had too much of the noise of things gone by. Everything else was gone and obliterated by the passage of time. So much noise. How was that possible in space? Space was a vacuum that abhorred. It should have turned her to dust as well. She closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears. Only the sound of her breathing was left. Draw air in, let it out, in, out. It seemed that hours were passing by the second as she stood there, until a firm hand on her arm stopped the clock.

"Maeve? What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Trying to remember to breathe." She didn't want to look at him.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Not that it's really any of your business, Major, but I think you know the answer to that question."

"You're right, it isn't my business, but you're standing in the middle of a public place looking a little crazy. It's bound to draw attention sooner or later." He was overwhelmed by feelings of concern and irritation. She drew up close to him; a little touch of anger overcame her.

"What the hell do you care?" Her pain reached out and slapped him. Dmitry felt his surge of annoyance begin to draw heat.

"I'm beginning to ask myself the same thing." He kept hold of her arm as she turned to leave.

"Leave me be, if you don't care." She pulled, trying to break free, but he was unyielding by then.

"I can't do that."

"What, as in your duties require it? Don't you feel the need to ask your commanding officer for permission first?" She felt the bitter satisfaction of first blood.

"I don't know what it is you're doing right now, but I'm stopping you before you do something really stupid."

"I don't really know what I'm doing either. What is it you're proposing, knocking me out or arresting me?" He looked down at her hands; they were balled into fists, and her expression was one degree off dangerous.

"I'll take you home. You can sleep it off, how's that?"

"Boring." She waved a hand carelessly at him, heedless of the stares from passersby.

"Maeve, I've been down this road before. Except I was standing where you are. It can't end well like this."

"I've been there before, standing where I'm standing. Fuck." She ran her hands through her hair in anguish. "I don't want to do this anymore. It was just there...I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing." She was still fighting it down, whatever it was. "I'll go...back."

"Let me go with you." He drew close, pleading in a voice that sounded wholly unfamiliar to his ears.

"Why? Why? What are you going to do? Save me?" She looked at him with ragged emotion.

"I told you. Someone did that for me. Maybe it's time for me to repay that." He held out a hand and waited.

۞

"Where do you think you saw him?" Jemi watched her friends thoughtfully as she asked this question.

"Commerce. Near the entrance to a theater."

"They told us he wasn't in the container with us. What is going on?" She and Grace exchanged equally anxious looks.

"Maybe they don't know about him."

The card game was forgotten. They were all watching Leif, waiting to hear his reaction. Of them all, he was the only one who actually knew the history between Maeve and Fergus Wallace. The rest of them only knew that Leif did not like Wallace.

The extent to which he disliked the other man was notable, given Leif's typically dispassionate demeanor. Josh suspected there was jealousy in that dislike. Actually, it was more than just suspicion; Leif had confessed his feelings late one night, long ago. It was why they'd not asked any questions when they'd come to and found Wallace was not there. Less conflict, less stress; no possibility of homicide.

"I don't know how he got here. Don't care." Leif stood to leave.

"Where are you going, man?" Josh stood quickly after him.

"To get to him before he gets to her." There was no murder in his eyes, just turbulence. Leif was trying to resist the storm.

"I'll go with you." Josh moved swiftly, not wanting to be left behind.

۞

"I don't know if I can be saved." This was less self-pity than realism, at least in her mind. Dmitry knew what she was saying, though. He'd been there, ready to give up and jump off the bridge, literally. It seemed like forever ago, that it had happened to someone else.

"Why don't you stop fighting?" He gently turned her back to face him, and closed the distance between them. "Let me try?"

"And what happens when you get tired of your experiment?" She bit back harshly. He frowned. It was an odd choice of words....

"One thing at a time. Who's to say you won't get sick of me first?" He tried to put on a good show. She made a face.

"I'm a mess."

So was I, he thought. It was almost involuntary how he reached up to touch her face. He looked from the dark, hunted eyes, to the defiant chin that was still set to keep arguing with him. After all the resisting he'd done, it finally seemed like the moment had come, at least for one thing. He leaned in and gently kissed her. Just for a second. She was still drunk; he could taste the maltiness of her breath.

"One thing at a time."

۞

Wallace was put off. Or perhaps put out. Probably both. He drew back behind the corner from which he'd been observing. There she was, only a couple of months out of stasis, already intimate with someone. It bothered him that he was so obviously hung up over it. He knew how long it had taken Maeve to be intimate with him.

The guy she was with was familiar. It took Wallace a few minutes of hard thought to place him. The context had to slide back into place. That guy was the guy he'd run into in the theater. Mrs. Han had said he was the second in command for the Nimitz. Great. It didn't help that he was tall, athletic...Wallace supposed he was good-looking. He grimaced as he replayed the kiss in his mind.

He'd come to the station thinking that all he really needed from her was forgiveness. Now, he was not entirely sure what he wanted. It was time to get back, though. Jules had this compulsion to grill him and follow his every move. Like she didn't trust him or something. He retraced his route back to the theater, as he barely missed running into yet another hapless soul. Wallace brushed by the tall figure, oblivious to what the person even looked like. This was not going to be as easy as he'd thought.

۞

Leif turned and watched him walk away. It was definitely Wallace. The question: how to handle this development?

"I'd love to know how he came to be here. It's a little strange, don't you think?" Josh had seen what Wallace had been looking at. He hoped it had escaped Leif's notice.

"I'm sure that once we get our hands on him, it'll only be a matter of...squeezing the story out of him."

۞

After speaking with the harbormaster, Antonio was led down the stacked rings of docks by a seaman, until arriving at one that held small, schooner-sized vessels. He stared in awe at the slim and darkly metallic hulls, wondering why he hadn't come to the lanes before.

It was amazing! Thanking the young hand who'd guided him, he waited until he was alone. Then, he began to carefully investigate the locks to the docking doors. It was the same sort as the ones for the housing units. It wouldn't take much to break down its algorithm; he could be inside by tomorrow.

"You look like a man with a plan." Antonio restrained himself from jumping nine feet into the air, slowly turning around to face the source of the voice.

"Colonel Tarkington, sir. Did not expect to see you here. I was just wandering the lanes, marveling at all the ships." Tark smiled at Antonio, hoping he didn't look as crocodilian as he felt.

"To include a careful investigation of the electronic locks? And in front of a dock that holds a ship we also have some interest in?" The blonde man paled. Tark's smile grew fractionally. "Two people came in on that boat. Would you like to know what happened when we ran their photos through our computer?"

"I have a feeling you'll tell me anyway."

"We got nothing."

"Oh."

"Until someone expanded the parameters, and strangely, all the files from your vessel were included. We got a result then."

"Sir, I know this looks funny, but if I'm right, the people who came in on this ship are another piece of our puzzle."

"I knew it. You all do know what's going on, don't you? And be sure to include how it is that two of your shipmates magically appeared on board my base."

"We don't know how that happened. I mean, it's true that we all have our memories, except Maeve, I guess. But as to how we ended up where you found us? Your guess is as good as mine." Antonio threw up his hands. "We're as confused as you are about the other two. We thought they were probably dead."

Tark found himself trusting Antonio, and asked him to tell all he knew. The Colonel listened while opening the lock to the docking door. Three-quarters of an hour later, Tark knew as much as anyone could about the container, its occupants, and the nature of their mission.

It was supposed to have had practical application, at least how Antonio explained it. The ten of them had been chosen for many reasons. Intelligence, leadership, special skills, and finally, because they had no ties left. In one way or another, they were all devoid of family, friends. Anything that would normally distract from duty was gone.

"There you have it, sir, we were all orphans, loners, you know?"

"What you're trying to tell me is that nobody expected any of you to live?" Antonio laughed. The Colonel had hit something right on the head, while missing the point entirely. It was too perfect.

"Oh, they expected us to live through the initial process."

"What are you saying?"

"The plan was to place us, strategically, one might say. Then the timer would go off, ding, and we'd wake up, and do our job."

"What kind of job?"

"The kind that nobody walks away from." Antonio was very matter of fact. There was no point in sugar-coating it. He knew that some of them had accepted the parameters of the mission. Others, like him, had chosen to believe that they could come through the other side. The only problem had been getting rid of a leader with a death wish. Now, it didn't seem to matter. She was her own problem.

"The question remains, who were you working for...and against?"

"It was not the most stable period we'd had in our history. I mean, we had...bad economy, really big divides in ideology...after a while, there was a lot of domestic terror and...well, stuff I never imagined seeing." Their conversation was brought short when Antonio brought aloft, triumphantly, a handful of worn papers that appeared to have taken a vacation from their binding. Handwritten paragraphs crowded barely controlled doodling.

"What are those, and why do you look so happy?"

"These, sir, are from the journal of the young man to whom you referred, who might not be so young, come to think of it. He is what polite society calls a thorn in our rear. Fergus Wallace, and if you doubted his connection to us, only read." Tark took the pages, and did so, aloud.

'At this place, in my memories, I can see her so well, and know that I betrayed everything that she was struggling for and away from. In the evenings, when we would do her rounds, talking to the men, I could find in her eyes the light of so many stars. She was perfect in her wanting of a just world, and in the way she loved me perfectly. After that night, I saw her as a tree in winter, with all the things that should have been green cast down into death. And then she was perfect in her grief, after she of her brother's death. She looked at me, through me, and I saw on myself the black robes, while she saw the blood of many. It's a fight every day to force myself into penance, and to ignore the callings of an easier way. I know that I have to someday make amends, and restore the walls of the fortressed city I once inadvertently helped to rend asunder.'

"Jeez, this guy needs to get out more. He's gone goopy in the head. I presume he must be referring to Maeve...?" Antonio smiled grimly.

"That is something I can't say I'm an authority on. I mean, I heard the rumors, but by that time, Maeve was...gone, and they'd just thrown in Wallace at a wholesale bargain. His father bought him a slot, we were told. Maybe as punishment." On that subject, Antonio only had rumors. The colonel thankfully ignored the last comment.

"Who was his father?" Tark shuffled through the smudged papers.

"The Secretary of Defense. From what I understand, Fergus worked on Maeve for months before she would even give him the time of day."

"Fascinating. So, what did he do to her that was so horrible?" Tark looked over at Antonio, who turned a bit red.

"Like I said, sir, you should probably ask someone else about these details. I know next to nothing as to actual fact." He coughed and directed his attention to the rest of the ship's interior.

Tark nodded. He knew that Leif would be a safe bet. He seemed to have the protective instincts of someone who'd spent considerable time with Maeve. Tark kept the pages, slipping them into the leg pocket of his uniform trousers.

Antonio felt more at ease. Perhaps Leif had already found Wallace, and pounded him into a jelly. Maybe they could put his lifeless head on a pike and throw rotten oranges at it. Well, it was a nice thought, anyway. He left Tark standing at a window, and made his way out of the lanes. Hopefully Maeve had resurfaced, though he knew it wouldn't mean revelation time for her.

۞

۞

Tark felt at odds with himself. Part of him wanted nothing more than to take care of these people, assimilate them into the station's workings, and give them new lives. Realistically though, he knew it couldn't last. Sooner or later, someone would notice, or one of his own people would let it slip.

Now he had two other members of this strange little party, along with Antonio's unsettling tale. He left the window that had held his dazed attention, and made his way to the commercial district. Once he got there, he'd call Sa'andy to have her meet him, and they could talk all this through. That was if she'd left her work yet. She tended to get lost in it.

He wandered around the district, trying to smell everything, and figure out what he was in the mood for. Sa'andy had pulled the girl trick; she didn't care, he could choose where they ate. Seafood? Vegetarian? Comfort? Healthy? There were, as always, a few too many options. Nothing was piquing his interest just yet, so he started reading all the specials boards.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar form walking by. He turned his head, in time to see Dmitry walking with Maeve, in very close quarters. Tark frowned and took a step forward, only then seeing something that gave him pause. He recognized the look on Dmitry's face, as well as the protective arm that was firmly around her waist. It was the expression of a man wrestling with love.

"Bonswa, mes amis." He shook his head in awe. "I will not forget that too soon." He wondered whether this was because of the mysterious Maeve, or whether Dmitry had simply arrived.

"What will you not forget, my love?" Sa'andy smiled at him from around his shoulder.

"You will never believe it when I tell you."

۞

Wallace was lost, especially in the literal sense at this particular moment. He had no clue where he was. He hadn't meant to get turned around, away from his duties, away from what mattered. Jules was going to kick him in the ass, if he ever found his way back. Fergus, you're up shit creek, and you don't even have a boat, let alone paddles. Wearily, he leaned against a wall, and soon found himself sitting. There he sat with a glazed look about him until he focused on a pair of feet in front of him. He didn't want to look up.

"My night is made. We've been looking for you." Shit. That maniac was the last person he'd wanted to run into.

"Look, you Scandinavian fruitcake, we're all on the same side here."

"Relax, I'm not going to kill you. All I want to do is make life a little more...painful. Trust me, you'll get over it."

"Leif, can you back off a little?" Josh was clearly worried; Wallace shot him a look of relieved thanks. "If you want to hurt him, we can't do it out in public."

"What the hell! Can't you guys let go of anything?"

"No." They were set to jackboot him back to someone's quarters. That would make things less conspicuous, at least.

"Well, boys, this wasn't how I planned the reunion, but here we are. Can you drop him, please?" They turned around as one.

"Jules? Jeez, we didn't know you were here, too. Glad to see you!" Leif thumped her shoulder happily. Her expression remained unchanged.

"You're going to break him." They looked at Wallace. Leif shrugged noncommittally.

"No big deal. Modern medicine is amazing these days."

"I'm asking nicely. I like you guys. Always did." Julieta Ramirez was not to be taken lightly. She'd been a Brazilian jiu-jitsu and muay thai champ back when they'd first met her. One might imagine that she was still up to par on those skills. That thought having resurfaced, they let go of Wallace in unison. "Thanks. Now, I'd think you might like to hear what we've been up to."

"I do have one big question, well, okay, two questions, but I reserve the right to more." Josh held up two fingers, flicking a third up and down.

"Two years."

"Two? Seriously?" Josh paced a bit, mulling this over.

"The answer to your second question has a lot to do with our mission."

"Come on. You can't expect us to believe that a three hundred year-old mission could possibly still be relevant." Leif gave a firm shove to Wallace, hoping it would make him feel better.

"I can and do. If anything, it's going to be harder than we originally thought it would be. I mean, we've been cooling our heels for two years, trying to make a plan. We were trying to figure out how to come get you, but a bit of luck fell our way."

"Yeah, someone found us by accident."

"It wasn't any accident. We just had somebody offer to make the 'discovery', as it were." Julieta let that sink in. "Why don't we go get with the others? I don't want to tell this story two times."

۞

"You don't have to stay." She was clear-eyed, if not completely sober. There was a challenge in her voice. An hour and some food had made a difference. Dmitry had waited while she'd showered, as his thoughts turned over and over.

"That's not the question for the moment. It's whether you want me here."

Maeve could feel time slow for her consideration. She looked at him, his blue eyes meeting hers with equal intensity. For the first time she noticed that his hair was not completely brown, but more of a dark reddish brown. It would probably show up more in his beard. What would he look like with a beard? He was still waiting for an answer.

"I'd like it if you stayed." Her breath caught in her chest. "If you don't have anything better to do."

"Don't do that." He sat up in the chair he been waiting in, his jaw set in a heated angle.

"What?" Maeve's eyes stayed on his face. The trouble with military men was that they had to shave every day. Clearly, her thoughts were rapidly progressing past moderation.

"Go hot and cold." He stood and walked over to her. Her hair was still wet; the smell of whatever she'd washed with lingered. "It drives me a little crazy."

"You keep using that word."

"You have a tendency to bring it to mind. Frequently." How long ago had they met? He'd lost track. Some moments it seemed like it had been ages. Then he'd blink and realize how brief it had actually been. But a month? That was the longest he'd ever waited, wasn't it? He was still hesitating on the edge of something...what?

"I'm sorry if I upset you. Earlier." She seemed to know that he was at a tipping point.

"I wasn't upset. I find myself more concerned about and for you than I had expected." Great, I sound like an idiot out of Austen.

Maeve raised an eyebrow.

"Still sounds like you think I'm crazy."

"Crazy, no. Complicated?" There was a palpable sense of temperature. Neither one of them dared move; each willing the other to do so.

"I can deal with that."

"Good."

"Indeed." Less than a foot of distance stood between them. She held up a mug, "Coffee?"

"Screw coffee. Coffee can go to hell." He closed the gap and picked her up off her feet.

۞

"You think he's in love? Really?" Sa'andy was slowly twirling some spaghetti squash around her plate. Tark had told her everything that had transpired over the past several hours. She was a bit surprised that he'd put so much together in so little time. Leaving aside the question of his best friend, she knew it was time to be honest with him. She smiled, hoping that he would not be angry with her.

"I can feel you growing stronger. What conclusion have you arrived at?"

"Do you have to be so clinical sounding? They're people, not ratifications of a treaty." He pouted, staring at his goat cheese crostini. Had he ordered this? "I'm going to have to protect their interests no matter what happens."

She smiled, having goaded him into a discourse with his conscience, and he didn't even apparently realize it.

"Even if that eventually means the end of everything you've worked for? Even if it means you find yourself fighting a war?"

"Even when it means that all I have left is you, baby. You're the only thing I won't surrender. What's this talk about war, though?" He didn't like it. War was something he preferred to avoid at any cost. Not for the sake of cowardice, but that he knew what came with it.

"Never mind. You're sure?" He nodded, his look of confidence her answer, and she knew that she could proceed. "Then I have to tell you a few things."

۞

It took a bit to catch back up with everyone else. Antonio had scarpered off to "figure some stuff out". Jemi had been back in her room. Grace had been with some personnel she'd met in the weapons section. It seemed she was considering trying to go back into the service. Josh had to laugh at that. For someone who didn't want to go back to school, she was happy to overlook that if it meant being able to handle large arms again. Boom.

It had been a semi-happy reunion. Everyone was pleased to see Jules (Jemi thought someone might be more than typically happy to see her). None of them seemed able to muster up the same enthusiasm for Wallace.

"I'm not taking this personally, just so you know." Wallace hadn't expected a warm welcome, but this was way worse.

"Well, you could. Because it is."

"You know, Josh, Grace, we didn't really know each other. Jemi either, but she seems to be able to give me the benefit of the doubt." He gestured over to the latter subject, who drew back and began to run her fingers through her curls. She was still trying to get used to them. She figured her head needed a rest after a couple hundred years in plaits.

"Um, well, I just don't like saying mean things." She kept her eyes on her hair.

Wallace threw his hands up in the air and flopped down onto a couch.

"Great." He waved to Julieta. "You might as well get this show on the road. We have a compressed timeline, as you keep reminding me."

"Timeline?"

"Yes, Grace. I mentioned to Josh and Leif, we uh, still have our original mission."

"Say what?"

۞

It felt like they'd fallen off the edge of forever. Maeve had lost all concept of time while Dmitry held her, her toes just brushing the floor. She fought down the turning of her brain to other ideas and tried to hold herself in the moment. It was more than a simple kiss. Those were everyday. Even the kiss from when they'd gone out that first night seemed trivial; significant of nothing. If they had gone their separate ways afterwards, neither of them would have thought twice about that kiss.

This was different.

This was the opening of a door.

An invitation to investigate from every angle.

A long pent-up shudder and sigh worked its way from deep within her body, escaping with force. Dmitry paused, drew back to look at her, held her more tightly.

"What color are your eyes, anyway?" He looked into them, and grinned at her in a way that stole the breath from her lips.

"That's what you're going to ask?" She tried to resist, but his gravity pulled at her relentlessly.

"I already know where your bed is." He clearly had a handle on roguishness. She laughed quietly, and he realized he hadn't heard that before. "You need to do that more often."

"So do you." She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, listening only to the sound of their breathing. "Someone was knocking at the door earlier, weren't they?"

"Couldn't have been too important. They went away." He resumed his investigating.

۞

"Let me think about this. It's a lot to consider."

"I realize that this comes as a shock, most likely, but I've waited as long as I could. I feel very strongly about it."

"I can tell. Give me a minute."

"Jorge, just be honest with me." Tark knelt next to the bed where Sa'andy still sat, taking her hands, gazing pointedly into her depthless black pools. She was very cute, looking as though she was waiting for something bad to suddenly happen.

"I need to digest the fact that you've beaten me to the punch. No worries, see? I want to spend the rest of my life by your side. I'm not sure you realize that traditionally, I'd be the one asking you."

"Earth has many odd customs, not least of which are your marriage traditions. Why should it matter who asks whom?"

"It's...oh, never mind. You're right." He thought of a certain ring, one made from Ethiopian opal set in black gold. He'd been 'thinking it over' for nearly a year, and now...it seemed like an irrelevant notion. Perhaps it would be better for the wedding, anyway. "What was the other thing you wanted to talk about?"

Sa'andy grimaced. This was what had caused her to blurt out her proposal; fear of the unknown. She wondered how he would react to her confession. Breathing in deeply, she tried madly to sort out how to say it, and let it come out in one big rush.

Tark sat quietly for a few minutes. Part of him wanted to laugh aloud, while the rest of him sat in dazed bewilderment. Sa'andy had always seemed so straightforward and uncomplicated. Instead, she was turning out to be nothing short of a spook.

"Are you a spy, then?" She laughed at him, not without a touch of unease.

"Not a spy. At least, I don't think so. I was asked to help, so I did."

"Dare I ask who approached you?"

"I don't think that's a good idea yet. I'm sure they'll come to you before long."

He was at a loss for words again. She had kept secrets from him. Even now, she was keeping a secret. The question was what he would do now. His random coincidence, finding six frozen people in the middle of nowhere in space? Sa'andy had known all along why she was volunteering to scan and catalog Jupiter. She'd just needed the excuse to go looking. But why? Why bother waking these people up?

"Why?"

"There's not a quick answer. I don't know all the details anyway."

"I've got to know some of it, if I'm going to make a decision. Life around here may get a little crazy during the next week or so, and I need to be able to be ready for it."

"I know. We're not talking about the end of the storm season though, are we?" His forced smile answered for him. "They have a task ahead of them. It will be dangerous, but they are the only ones who can accomplish it." She wanted to tell him the rest, but she'd been compelled to remain silent. It was essential that he remain ignorant of certain things for now. They had promised he would be briefed fully when the time came.

Until then, he could not know that these people were the only ones...because they did not exist. Because they all contained the essential part of their conditioning and training. Sa'andy had asked her handler whether there was a trigger. Would they simply begin their mission once a signal or cue was given?

But she was not authorized to have that answer. That alone was enough to convince her not to tell Tark everything. Perhaps these people were simply time bombs. She did not want to think of them that way, but it was already in her mind. She could spare Tark that doubt for now. She smiled at him, hoping that he trusted her enough to let it lie for now.

"Well, we should make the most of our fleeting free time, then." No words exchanged. Just the quickening of heartbeats, and a mutual need for each other. It was love born of certainty, and had been from the first. Instinct drove them together, rather than apart.

۞

The stranger slept as he usually did, half-awake, reviewing the day's events while his body recharged. Knowing a great many more things than he had at the beginning of his stay, his rest was calm. Most of these details had been gleaned within the past twenty-four hours or so. He'd seen several of those walking meatsicles, and knew with whom he wanted to start.

It would be the beginning of the solution to the problem of their existence. Heat of divine inspiration blossomed in his mind, as it was flooded with plans and the promise of blood. The mission was to go forth and bend the arms of justice with his righteousness. Purity would be restored because of these steps, the first of many in the coming days.

Should be careful about getting ahead of oneself, he thought. Overconfidence tended to bring down hubris and wrath. Then progress would come to a dead halt. Emphasis on the dead. All in good time, that was his motto, patience was the key to success. In the meantime, there were other women.

That thought in mind, he rousted himself from his short nap, and ambled out in search of a date. Hopefully someone appropriate. He could buy her dinner, and laugh or frown at the right moments while she talked. During this time, he would really thinking about the power he would exercise, just out of the realm of her perception.

Oh, he wasn't a god. That job was better left to the man who had sent him here. He was the type of monster who enjoyed bringing to life the chaos that Robert Warden envisioned. An artist with appalling talent, he would carefully exact the tempests of his master, precision all that mattered. Like a destroying angel, a nephilim, with outward beauty and only decay within.

The ship he'd arrived on had already departed, naturally. He had a whole replacement host of unsuspecting cherubs, nymphs, and seraphim. So many assorted hues and textures, all living on board this military base and civilian city. So many possibilities in tastes and turn-ons. Who knew where the night could take him? At last, an object of his usual desires crossed right in front of him. She saw him check her out, blushing just enough to tease his sensibilities. Just his type too; long blonde hair, modestly endowed, excellent taste in clothing.

Someone you'd bring home to mother, except, well, his mother was dead. Just the same, he knew she'd have approved. Like the last two, but now he knew he'd have to proceed with discretion, and not have this one discovered the way the last one had been. He'd been skillful with the one after that. He couldn't afford to get lazy and careless now. If there was nothing to be found, there was no trail to lead back to him. He approached her with his usual disarming smile lighting up blue-grey eyes and perfectly white, straight teeth.

"Are you waiting for somebody? No? Do you mind if I join you?"

۞

It was deep into the night when Tark dragged himself from bed, leaving behind the enigmatically smiling woman who would soon be his wife. He didn't really want to be up, or do any of the work he'd set himself up for, but being in his office at this hour ensured quiet and privacy.

No prying eyes to tell tales. The officer of the day probably wouldn't make much of an appearance, and the couple of people watching sensors or comm would ignore him. He wanted to make a call back earthside on a secure channel. It would take a little bit of finagling, breaking of protocols, but he had to try to get some information.

He tiptoed around, getting dressed. The frogs watched him carefully, hoping that it was mealtime. They were to be disappointed. The distraction of purpose sent him out the door without even a glance in their direction.

A toe ached from where he'd stubbed it fumbling around in the dark. Sa'andy hadn't stirred. Maybe all that stuff she'd gotten off her chest had freed her up to sleep completely for once.

A few minutes later, he had slipped into his office, and was bypassing security to obtain an outside connection. It was an older method of communication, without the nice hi-res of current visuals, but it would do. Hopefully, he'd get through.

"Jorge? Is that you?" An older woman came into view, her silvery hair wound tightly up into a regulation bun. Even with a terrible connection, he could see her dark eyes twinkling. She was pleased to hear from him.

"Ma'am. Sorry to contact you on the low band." Why did he always felt like a schoolboy in her presence?

"I would imagine that there is good reason." She resonated with the dignity and authority she'd been practicing for some thirty years.

"I...need to know some things." He gave as detailed an account as he could, given his own role in the hiding of all this information from official record. "General, you know I wouldn't call you unless I couldn't get what I needed some other way."

The older woman was silent for several moments, her dark eyes closing in consideration. He had already asked a great deal. But he was kin, after all.

۞

"I realize that it's probably been a while...."

"You could probably stop talking."

"I like a little banter, don't you?"

"Maybe next time." She pulled him back close. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No." In reality, the moment was so powerful, he felt strangely inebriated. The way she watched him overwhelmed his senses and thoughts. It wasn't merely a physical attraction. He'd had plenty of experience with that. It had always proved to be temporary and disposable. This was different.

"Then what?"

"I don't know what you're doing to me." He still couldn't figure out what color her eyes were.

"The feeling is mutual." She put a wondering hand up to his cheek, as if to punctuate the thought. They had made it halfway across the small living room in a circuitous manner. Her heart felt excruciatingly tight. "I'm going to complicate the hell out of you."

"I don't care." He carefully worked off the shirt she'd put on, the dampness of her skin hanging onto it reluctantly. His hands moved from her neck, down her arms, finally resting on her hips. Briefly, he noted the jagged scar that ran from her hipbone to her navel. She seemed to sense it, and tried to cover herself. Angry tears rose, but did not fall. He kissed them away, taking hold of her hands. "I know what I said before...."

"I trust you." She laughed dryly. "I just don't trust me."

He ignored the bait, not wanting to lose the moment, and pulled off his own shirt. Placing her hand over a scar on his chest, the one that had almost taken him into the next world, he smiled at her shock.

"I told you. We all end up in the dark at one point or another. It just seems like we're alone, because we can't see past ourselves." He held her hand on his chest and let his body take the lead. The floor was as good as anywhere. They moved together as if half-starved, each trying to fill a vast emptiness.

۞

"Well, I am your mârraine, Jorge. And you never ask for anything."

"Can you help?"

"I will see, jenn jan. This is a strange story indeed, one I have never heard before." His godmother pursed her lips at him. "You are looking thin, is not that girl of yours feeding you?"

"Yes, ma'am, she is. And I know it's a crazy story. If I wasn't here, living it, I would never believe it."

"Hmph. That is how we may know its truth, perhaps. It will take me some time to ask questions without stirring up the bees, you know this."

"I do. Since we don't know what we'd be stirring up, I have to assume it would be bad. Sa'andy said that whatever these people have to do, that it would be dangerous."

"But she won't tell you any more?"

"I don't know that she can. She's not telling me everything, that's for sure, but I don't think she's on the wrong side of this."

"And you, what happens if she is? Can you make the right decision then?"

"I'll have to let Dmitry take the lead on that, I guess."

"Il est vraiment bête. Don't trust him to do what you cannot."

"I trust him with my life."

"Well, be ready with a shovel for him to dig you a hole." The general was not one to forgive bad judgment yet, clearly.

"Passer l'éponge, Madame. He's certainly paid for his mistakes to my mind."

"As you say. Let us hope, anyway." She made her farewells and signed off, promising to let him know anything that came to her attention. Tark wondered how she would have reacted to the idea of Dmitry in love again. It was probably better if that news was kept quiet for now. Rebecca was not that distant a memory to some people.

۞

The girl he'd brought back was not what he'd been hoping for. She'd deliberately ditched her friends, he saw now, telling them exactly who she was going after. It wouldn't work for him to do anything. Utterly ignorant, she'd foiled him without even knowing it. Luckily for the young woman, he was a creature of some small restraint, and though his disappointment was barely palpable, she read it.

"Your loss." And she was gone, forgetting him as quickly her last drink. He shrugged off the loss, refocused, searching and scanning until he found something new. More and more ships were arriving every day, filling the station back up to capacity. Distraction would not be long off. He still had his job to do, the little voice of remonstrance said to him. Ah, that would be the perfect outlet after a frustrating evening. Responsibility in favor of frivolity. He, the man of shadow and sorrow, slouched back into the throngs.

۞

They finally fell asleep, far too late to be of much use the next day. Saturday was the smiling balm to that difficulty. It didn't stop Dmitry from waking half a dozen times, fearing he was late for duty. Between that and a dream of Tark punching him in the throat, it wasn't a particularly restful sleep.

Maeve seemed not to have any trouble in that area right then. She'd said she was prone to waking frequently. That sleep itself was not something she enjoyed anymore. He couldn't blame her. It probably felt like she wouldn't come back one of these nights. Over two hundred years of being comatose, its effects weren't cumulative. Her body still needed rest, in spite of not wanting it.

He looked over at her. She was in oblivion, hugging a pillow tightly. Her skin shone in the dim glow of the dying candle they'd lit hours before. They had progressed from the living room into the bedroom, taking their time. Neither of them had wanted to come to a finish. Dmitry was surprised to find he hadn't cared about the end result at all.

Suddenly, he saw Rebecca for the first time in six years, as a ghost walking into the distance. She was bleeding away. He almost tried to cling to her, to grieve a bit longer, knowing at the same time that she needed to leave. It was time for peace, for both of them. He blinked and she was gone.

He looked at this new face, which had erased the old. This newness was a blank canvas, upon which his fingers drew new forms, delving into her. They had turned in a new universe. Maeve hung from its edge, dangling uncertainly until he brought her back. She opened her eyes, to see with fresh vision, how light and color had changed themselves. And she watched. He found her wrists, blindly gripping them, urging himself into the unknown.

Maeve wanted to let go. She felt the difference in the way Dmitry touched her, knowing she hadn't been touched that way before. Before was about being pulled along, being demanded upon, it was still steeped in loss and inequity. This was about being carried. It felt as though his hands could hold her together and keep her from flying into a million pieces.

She shivered, and he drew closer, warming her with his lips. They threw themselves from the edge of their cosmos together, twisting, burning, and exhaling; twin stars coming into being. He felt as though he'd known her for all those hundreds of years, while she'd slept. As though he had been with her in the darkness.

She had tasted that darkness far too frequently. She had fallen off the wall, with far too many bits of broken shell scattered around. How long had she been gluing herself back together? Forever, in the dark. This man, though, he had a torchlight, and a map. He was leading her out. Into what or where, she did not yet know. Perhaps the time had come to stop worrying and be led to safety.

۞Earthside – the Med _._

"Ah, there you are finally, Boko. What did you do, leave the country for the weekend?"

"Yes, Mr. Warden. I apologize for being absent. Did you need me for anything?"

"No apology necessary! I'm merely jealous when anybody else gets away from it all and leaves me behind. Anywhere interesting?" Warden was half-heartedly reading through his daily correspondence. Boko was prepared to lie; his grandfather had paid for an alibi thousands of miles away from where he'd actually been.

"Pattaya."

"Oh-ho, why didn't you say you needed a little R&R? I would have given you more time off, cowboy. You didn't happen to see a little stripper by the name of Bai, did you? What fast fingers that girl had; she'd rob you blind and leave you limp, languishing in the Thai heat. But that was years ago. She'd probably be at least twenty-two by now." Warden didn't bother to notice whether Boko gave a damn about his anecdote. Boko was in the midst of trying not to calculate the age that the stripper might have been whenever Warden had been with her. His shoulders strained against a shudder of disgust.

"You see Boko, the reason you're able to go and get your rocks off in places like Pattaya still is because of us. That's only the tip of the iceberg. We keep things in balance. Don't forget it." Warden smiled and smacked Boko happily on the cheek several times. Boko breathed heavily, weighing the possibility of what would happen to him if Warden ever found out where he'd really been.

"Have we gotten anywhere with the situation that was developing?" He busied himself with Warden's agenda for the day.

"The good doctor saved us some money and dealt with herself. I mean, really, wanting to inform news agencies, and publish a paper on the whole thing! It's just as well she's gone." Warden paused to smell the cigar that he was rolling between a thumb and forefinger. It was the only thing he could do with it, anymore. "As for the others, well, we're taking our time to assure complete success. It's my suspicion that there are planetside connections that haven't been fully discovered. But when I do...." He crushed the cigar with one swift squeeze, and let it fall to the ground, scattering a cloud of tiny fragments at his feet. "Let us say that I am like a cobra on the hunt." Warden stared at the debris on the ground with a mixture of satisfaction and dismay. Then, he walked off the terrace, into his offices, just as if he were any other normal man.

"The cobra does battle with the mongoose, and dies because he does not believe he can be defeated." Boko whispered this to himself, wishing that he hadn't had to return to this particular cobra's den. Grandfather had been firm about completing the circle, though. Only a few more weeks and then the whole thing would come to a crashing halt, if all went to plan. Boko only hoped that he'd be able to get clear before all hell broke loose.

۞

Jemi had withdrawn from the others. She was hiding out in a massive library, which sprawled over two acres of levels. It was open-air, with climate controlled glass cabinets to protect the books, some of which were centuries old. She was curled up in a corner sofa, poring over history books, trying to understand the past, which she had once thought of as the future.

Birds sang just outside, just loudly enough to conceal the whisper of soft movement nearby. She didn't hear anything, engrossed as she was in the development of environmental legislation in the latter half of the twenty-first century.

She was cursing aloud over a notation concerning test drilling in Alaska when a hand clamped over her mouth. She fought the urge to panic, and merely bit down hard onto a couple of fingers. She heard a familiar yelp, sighed, then turned around to find Josh nursing his hand. He tried his best to give her a baleful glare. It was difficult, given the rather foolish expression that was competing with it.

"Can't you take a joke? That was my friggin' trigger finger, dammit! They didn't train you to do that in the language institute, did they?"

"For a Recon dude, you sure seem to have a low threshold for pain. Kind of like a little baby."

"You're lucky we're in a library. I'd hate for you to scream and scare all the peaceful bibliophiles." Jemi got a chill up her spine, even though Josh was visibly joking again. She was aware of his abilities, just as he was obviously aware of hers. She remembered when they'd first met, at the listening post that had been remade into a "training facility".

She'd seen the unease in his demeanor, the look of a caged animal, trapped inside the frigid confines of their temporary home. He'd already been friends with Leif by that time, the two of them spending hours with their heads close together, speaking in low tones. It had been as though they recognized, each within the other, a common language.

She was an excellent translator.

Leif had been there first. Then Maeve. He'd watched over her zealously. It was apparent that he'd needed help, or respite, or just someone to keep him grounded in reality. That was Josh's job. They'd covered her with blankets when it got too cold inside their barracks, brought her meals, and read to her.

At first, they'd all believed that she was in a catatonia, until it became apparent that she was only active by night. Those were the hours during which she apparently saw to herself. They knew that by the damp towels and other debris, left in tidy heaps for them to find. Jemi could not remember a single occasion on which Maeve had ever spoken. The first time she'd heard the other woman's voice had only been a couple months ago.

"Is she going to be okay?" Jemi didn't have to say who she was.

Josh seemed to be weighing the question carefully.

"Don't know."

"We're going to bring her in soon, though, right?"

"Yeah. I think we're just going to get all the details fine tuned first."

"You think she can't do it."

"I don't think that, exactly. I mean, she was selected, and then all hell broke loose, and, well, you remember." No, they didn't. Not in the sense that they'd been there. Not like Leif, who couldn't get away from it. He'd picked her up, and tried to put her back together, now so long ago. His greatest sorrow lay in knowing that he'd failed.

۞

Saturdays still felt calmer. The streets were crowded with off-duty personnel, the restaurants were full, but everyone was relaxed. The stranger was still among them, observing and adjusting small details in his plan. He would begin soon, cutting off the head of the beast; the rest of the body would die soon after. It was necessary to plot out his movements accordingly. Once initiated, he would not be able to turn back, nor would his actions go unnoticed for long.

A route must be chosen. It was all too obvious where that fool of a commanding officer had put them. The stranger could smell his prey, down in the hushed and empty catacombs of temporary housing. They had all left trails of breadcrumbs, but he was only interested in one, for now. He would wait. He would strike, and wait again, to see how they scattered into the wind. No, not wind, he mused. There was no wind here.

۞

It was raining in the arboretum. Maeve watched as people laughingly dashed into the downpour. She supposed it was such a novelty as to seem enjoyable. Weather without the unpredictability. It was hard to tell whether the water came from sprinklers, or if it was so humid in that area that it naturally occurred. Confusing the issue even further, rumbles of thunder traveled along the seemingly endless expanse of trees and underbrush.

She had to give them credit. They had everything packaged up neatly and presented to those who lived here. A town, athletic facilities, shopping, arts, museums...she'd even seen wave pools, a water park, and indoor skiing. Colonel Tarkington had said that the Nimitz was one of the smaller stations. It hardly seemed comprehensible.

Saturday was, thankfully, still a day of rest. Dmitry had gone back to his place to sleep, he'd said. She wasn't sure if she believed him, but he'd said he would be back by evening. It was time to make use of the shops. She had an urge to be a bit domestic, and scoured the farmer's market for ingredients. Chile peppers, beef, bacon...mmm, bacon. Cilantro, garlic, fresh tortillas.

She was already hungry, and it wouldn't be ready for a couple of hours. She got a bag of kale chips to stave off starvation. And some chocolate. Olives were good-looking too. And the asteroid-aged cheddar (Asteroid-aged? Really? Fads these days.). Her bag was getting heavy. But there was a bottle of pinot noir winking at her too. Aaaand a spiced-lavender sponge cake with orange glaze. Okay, time to run the hell away.

She carried the bottle of wine under her arm, knowing Dmitry would frown at it. It was worth noting that she didn't feel quite the same way she had the day before. Clarity was beginning to filter through. She had a mental image of scraping black paint from a window, while sunlight peeked in. It had occurred to her during the day that she was making everything much harder on herself than it had to actually be.

The only trouble was, she didn't know how to let go. How to start over was the big hurdle. Being alone was the enemy at the moment, that much was clear. She didn't let herself think about what might happen if or when Dmitry might move on. Or if she did. A fleeting sense of lightness buoyed her as she skipped down a long staircase to the temporary housing. She'd taken the stairs in favor of the lift, still feeling strong from several rounds of kettlebells, wall balls, and muscle-ups earlier.

She walked into her rooms, set the food in the kitchen, and let the bottle land with a solid thunk of glass against hard wood. Not bothering to turn on the lights, she kicked off her shoes and padded around barefoot. She thought about showering, or at least changing clothes. Wondering what Dmitry was up to, she had a debate with herself on whether to call or no...but she stopped midthought. Something else was breaking into her consciousness.

She'd heard the sound of only one shoe hitting the wall.

Both shoes had gotten tossed the same direction, but only one had made noise. She turned to start back and switch on a light when she found herself flying into the opposite wall. A man, about her height, medium frame, had tackled her into a stretch of built-in shelves where she had begun accumulating history books.

One of them, The Rise of Decadence, fell into her face as she struggled to catch her breath. It was such a moment of unreal shock that she actually lay there momentarily wondering if she'd read it yet. It only took a few more moments to become aware that she still couldn't breathe. Her attacker had placed his hand on her neck and was squeezing, like a boa constrictor. He had a hold of her trachea, as though he was aiming to rip it from her body.

The instinct to struggle was strong, but she fought through the confused pain to think clearly. She did not try to pry his grip from her throat. Instead, she hammered a palm to one side of his head, and proceeded to secure a firm lock on his ear. She gripped it firmly, not incredibly hard, but hard enough to tear the ear halfway from his head before he howled and released her.

He stumbled backward onto his knees, holding the side of his head. She quickly tucked up her legs between them, and put all her surging adrenaline behind launching the intruder back across the room. He landed several feet away, and sat in stunned silence.

Maeve couldn't make out his face clearly, but she could see the glow of rage, and feel the rumbling of the monster within from across the distance between them. The threat was hers alone to confront. Dmitry wasn't due to arrive for at least half an hour, maybe more. Next door was empty, and the other direction was storage space. The great black beyond. The man spoke to her in a harsh whisper.

"That wasn't a good thing to do. I was willing to let you die painlessly, but now...you bleed."

"I think I got first. We'll see who gets last." She knew she'd have to rally every ounce of energy to make it through the next few minutes. She knew this song all too well. As before, she had to dance, or turn to meet death.

The stranger felt blood from his ear trickle down his neck. Nobody had ever managed to get to him before. It was a new, infuriating experience, and he had to put in effort to think past the raw pain. He launched himself again at her, this time without the leg sweep that had felled her before. This time was to break her. He listened for the crunch from her ribcage, disappointed that there wasn't the full crack of a rib popping in half. The hesitation cost him leverage, she made a half turn and grabbed his leg, yanking hard enough to knock him down.

While he was still down, she dropped her knee in his abdomen, using her leg to hold off his, while grabbing his shirt collar. She held his head a few inches above the floor and slammed her fist onto his face, allowing the impact to bounce his skull off the flagstones beneath. The only gamble there was that both his arms were free, and he wasn't insensible enough to forget that. He made a roll to his left and straight-armed her off into a side table.

A bonsai crashed near her head, scattering dirt and miniature tree branches. He stood, lifting the table as he went, while she sought out a shard from the bonsai's glass dish. She had to find a sharp piece before the heavy wooden table slammed down and finished her fight.

A sting from her index finger told her that she had found what she was looking for, and she slashed it out behind his leg even while the table was moving toward her. It clattered impotently to the floor; he fell beside it onto one leg, bleeding from the wound she'd just inflicted.

He knew there must be a severed tendon behind his knee. He moved quickly to stanch the flow of blood with a chunk of his shirt. He didn't want to leave behind too much of himself, even though no one would ever know whose DNA they had collected. There was no record of his existence anywhere. He smiled.

Maeve struggled to her feet, feeling the fire in her lungs as a signal that he'd probably managed to at least bruise a few ribs. It hurt to swallow, and her left arm was numb. She looked around for something else to fight back with, knowing that she'd looked away from him for too long. Momentarily, she heard the swish of something moving toward her, long enough only to anticipate the blow. It came directly to her thigh, rendering her leg useless, as the force it reeled her around to face him.
He had a collapsible baton in his hand. Her legs gave out. The sofa caught her in a crouching position, and she knew that she couldn't stop the next blow. The impact fell directly in the curve between her shoulder and neck. Her vision went white for a moment. She couldn't tell whether her collarbone was broken or not. The next blow was halted midair by the sound of the intercom ringing impatiently. The man froze, waiting to hear what came next, while the answering service picked up. It was Dem's voice.

"Maeve, are you there? Shit, I hate leaving messages. I'm on my way right now. I'll be there in less than a minute, so I hope you're there, waiting."

Maeve locked eyes with the monster in the dark; he snarled and rushed at her. The baton was across her throat. Her brain, losing oxygen, tried to flit off into fanciful thoughts. It was a terrible effort to stay present. It would be easier simply to drift away. What was worth fighting for, anyway?

The intercom went off again. Dmitry. He had just stopped to get a couple of things. Be there soon. Soon wasn't enough. She had to hold onto a rapidly crumbling precipice. It did not seem possible that this man could still be at her with such strength. Think. Remember.

She mustered up what reserves she had, and slipped her left arm up through his. Immediately, she cocked her arm to just past ninety degrees, and swung her elbow up as hard as she could. He lost his grip on the baton momentarily, swearing as bone connected with his nose and eye socket. During that short distraction, she snatched it from him and tossed it away.

Air flooded back in, clearing her head. Pain radiated from every corner of her body, but pain kept you awake. Pain meant you were alive. She struggled to lift her right arm. Not an easy task, but she boxed his torn ear again as hard as she could.

He let out a dull roar, knowing he had to end this. It had to be finished. This ridiculous battle could not continue; nor could he leave the task undone. He knew the price that would come with failure.

"I have last."

She could not see what he had in his hand, but knew immediately once she felt the sudden blossoming of fire in her chest. Her fingers searched, finding the handle of the blade that was deep into her left side, between ribs and who knew what else. She was slipping, down, into nothingness.

The stranger stood, looking down to make certain of his handiwork. She no longer moved; she only bled. The rush of adrenaline that he would normally enjoy at the end of a kill...did not come. Perhaps it was asking too much. This was a two for one night, after all. He'd only come here to start the process, to find this one. To his surprise, one of the others had already been here, waiting to talk to her.

He went into the bedroom, knowing he only had another moment or two to linger. It was a job well done. Of the evening's first act, he ventured to think that there was more than his usual poetry. A brush of fingers on the wall turned the bedside lights on, revealing another woman. She was beginning to be cool to the touch. The dark cascade of her hair spilled across the bedspread, like black water. This one had not needed to bleed, however. She had complied. Not a whimper, not a prayer, just total submission. He smiled, turning to leave. The lights stayed on.

۞

Dmitry walked down the wide staircase leading from the commercial sector to the temporary housing. He could smell something that reminded him of Maeve. Herbs and...oranges. A smile came to his lips unwonted. It was such a strange sensation, to have something other than work occupying his thoughts. Well, work or his typical diversions, anyway.

The crowds had thinned out completely by the time he had gone down two flights. It didn't prevent someone from walking into him. He stumbled to the side a bit, and had to push back in order to avoid falling upstairs. Angrily, he turned to deliver invective, but the other person had vanished.

"Good lord, what am I, a magnet for this now?" The flowers he'd gotten were now bent. "Damn." What was that on his free hand, though? His fingers felt wet. He turned his hand over, and found himself staring at blood.

۞

The stranger followed his plan as best he could. He couldn't run; slipping into the throng was not an option until he could get cleaned up. Worse yet, he had literally run into someone, in an area that normally had no foot traffic. Light-headedness told him he'd bled freely a bit too long. A pass by several kiosks earned him a long dark-colored scarf. He wound it around his head in a loose pagri, gritting his teeth as it came into contact with his ear. The end of the fabric draped over his shoulder, hiding the blood he could not wipe off.

His leg was more problematic. He could hardly snatch up a pair of trousers and hope they fit. It required a fast trip inside a shop, where he quickly located what he needed, changed, paid, and went back on his way. The cut that damned bitch had made was deep. Running was definitely out of the question. He wondered whether Warden had sent him thinking it might be a suicide mission. Wouldn't be too surprising. Warden hated him.

The blitz was also out of the question. He'd have to get clever. Cleverer, he corrected himself. Now, now, pride goeth before the fall. Be quiet, he ordered the voice that sounded a great deal like his brother-in-law.

"If I get out of this alive, Robert, I'm going to kill you next." He ignored the pain from his leg. He would fix that later.

۞

Still on the floor back in her room, Maeve picked away at the cobwebs to come back to the surface. She tried to stand. No good. Not yet. Maybe she could crawl. Breathing past nausea, determined to make the call for help. Whoever that guy had been, he couldn't get too far with his leg in the kind of shape it was in. Unfortunately, her resolve was worth squat at that point, she soon found herself sitting only feet away from her goal, sweating and swearing.

At least Dem would arrive soon. If he didn't get sidetracked along the way, that was. Her eyelids sank, she shivered as the environmental cooling kicked on; the only thing keeping her awake was the brutal throbbing of her leg and collarbone as blood pooled beneath the skin. Where was Dem, god...dammit, she needed him, or anyone with morphine. The urge to pull the knife was strong, but she fought it down.

The light in her bedroom was on. Strange, she had thought for sure that it had been off. Her vision swam and blurred for a moment, but she thought she saw someone in there. Was it him? Was he still there? She lurched back onto her knees, looking for a weapon, looking back up to see if he'd moved. But it wasn't him, was it? She could only see long hair, spilling over the edge of the bed. She jumped, hearing the door vibrate as someone pounded outside.

۞

"Maeve?" Dmitry had run the entire way from the staircase to Maeve's room. It was a strange, unaccountable feeling, and he prayed he was absurdly wrong. He looked more carefully at the door. There was a note from her to come in when he got there. She'd counted on being in the shower or something, getting ready. He took a deep breath and went inside.

"Shit." He suddenly felt that he had not been wrong.

The whole place was dark, except the bedroom. He only made it a few steps when he felt something crunch under his feet. Groping for a light in the darkness, he turned one on with a tap of his finger. The place was a wreck.

There was dirt, broken glass, books, but where was she? A scuffling noise made him whip around. Maeve was there, on the floor, looking into the bedroom. Her head was cut, there were marks all over her throat, and worse. He bit back the cry that welled up from deep within him.

"I don't suppose you fell, did you?" She shook her head wanly. "Hang on then, I'll take you over to the clinic."

"No, wait."

"Wait?" His voice was verging on frantic. "You've got a knife in your side! There's no waiting."

"Go look. Please. Go see who it is." She was still staring into the bedroom. Dmitry thought for a moment that she was delirious, but he turned his head and saw what she saw. He sprinted over to the intercom and called the emergency number.

"He was already inside, waiting for me. Please, go see who is in there."

"I think I saw him. Out in the corridor." The moment seemed more and more surreal as he gingerly stepped over the debris toward the other room.

۞

"Have you seen Miss Madoc?" Tark was down in the science labs, where Sa'andy typically worked. It was an hour past when she had been due back. He wasn't worried. She was prone to disappearing into research papers or protocols.

"Um, no, not for a while. She said she had something to do, someone to talk to, I think. She left at about fifteen-thirty, if I remember correctly."

"Huh. Thanks. If she comes back, just remind her that we're supposed to do some, um, wedding planning. Thanks." The knowing smiles worn by Sa'andy's colleagues said that she must have told them how she'd proposed. It felt awkward, even though he'd said it wasn't a big deal. His comm vibrated. He tapped his earpiece and answered.

"Tarkington."

"Hey." Dmitry sounded odd.

"What's up? You okay?"

"Not really. You need to get down to Maeve's room. Now." His tone did not brook questioning or argument.

۞

"Okay, what's up?" Grace looked at the three "boys", as she called them.

"Um, no idea what you're talking about."

"Aren't we all supposed to be headed to the theater?"

"Waiting for Jemi."

"She knows where it is, right?"

"Gracie, we don't leave a man...woman, whatever, behind. We said we'd wait, we'll wait. She probably had to use the potty."

"Wow. Just...wow."

"What?"

"Leif, you're a grown man. Women don't use the potty, unless they have a small child with them."

"She could have had."

"Josh? Did she say anything to you?"

"No. But that's because she hasn't actually been here yet today."

"Someone could have mentioned that!" They were all lazed out on the furniture, eating snack foods, watching something on the video screen. Grace turned it off.

"Hey! That was the 2020 Super Bowl! My daggone team finally made it, and you turned it off!"

"It's recorded, you ass! We're late. I'll leave her a note, or something."

"Listen, I know you're all excited that you might get to blow crap up again, but we're," he gestured to Antonio, Josh, and himself, "taking this news a little bit at a time."

"Get out the DOOR!" She put on her DI voice and let them have the rest of the boom. Boom.

۞

Tark felt a leaden weight begin to settle into his chest. It was difficult to imagine what might be happening in Maeve's room that required his immediate presence. It was probably not good. His foreboding turned to dread as he made his way down below decks. There were medical personnel and PMO's swarming. He stopped in his tracks as he saw a gurney go ahead of him with a body bag on it.

What in the name of god was happening on his station?

۞

Julieta was not at the theater either. They went up to the private apartments, and into a library. Wallace was pacing around, clearly distracted. Mrs. Han sat nearby, swirling a cup of tea as she listened to something through an earpiece. Leif pointedly ignored Wallace, and made his way over to scan the shelves for anything of interest. Their host was evidently a collector of actual print, including graphic novels.

"Something has happened." The old woman's voice cut through the still air. They all exchanged looks. "We may have underestimated Warden."

"Something? Is Master Kun all right?" Wallace stepped toward her anxiously.

"It seems likely that...I do not speak of things back on Earth, however. I was listening to the radio chatter here on the station. There is a manhunt. Something happened in one of the lower levels."

"We just came from down below. Didn't see anything...."

"Yeah, but we were on the near end, in my apartment. And we took the lift up."

"The near end? As opposed to what, the rear end?"

"Leif, our rooms were deliberately spaced out, right? And mine is all the way at the opposite end from the commercial district."

"And Maeve's rooms. Has anyone talked to her today?"

"No. She's been keeping to herself a bit since that whole thing with the station doc happened."

"I think that she hasn't necessarily been by herself." Grace wore a knowing smile.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Wallace interjected at the same time as Antonio and Josh tried to shush her.

"She's been with the base XO, Major Petrovich. He seems like an okay guy, for a guy." She kept her smile in place, carefully ignoring everyone else. Antonio smacked his palm to his forehead. How could Grace of all people be so oblivious to the need for discretion? Of course, she didn't have to be discreet anymore, so maybe she had stopped thinking before she spoke. Or maybe she wanted to toss out the apple of discord...for what, fun?

"I thought they had sort of gone their own ways, or something." Leif looked a bit grey around the edges. Josh joined in frowning as loudly as he could at Grace, who was still oblivious to any problem. Probably she thought she was just twisting the knife for Wallace, Josh realized.

"I think Gracie means that they've been hanging out, friendly like."

"Um, no, somebody told me that they saw her leaving his place early the other morning." She sat back and yawned. Wallace was miserable. He'd seen them together. He'd hoped it was just a distraction, but not so. Maeve had moved on. He failed to spot Leif's reaction. The other man had turned to look out a window. Josh went over.

"Hey. You ok?"

"It's her life. She can live it."

"Yeah, but if you never tell her, it's going to kill you. And who knows, maybe she just fell into the first pair of open arms she came across."

"Now that is comforting."

"Sorry."

"I did not see this coming."

"I think you may have said that already."

"Hmph." Leif threw himself into a chair to sulk.

Mrs. Han shook her head. Young people. She was just as glad that hormones were a thing of her past. She tucked her tiny earpiece back into place and continued to listen. Whatever was going on, station personnel were being very cryptic about it. It was as though they were worried about being overheard. Ludicrous.

۞

He brushed loose hair from her forehead, trying not to look at the rest of her.

Her face was peaceful, indescribably so. It didn't seem real.

Dmitry had seen the dead before. It was an unavoidable part of peacekeeping. Death hunted and stalked, always. But here, on the Nimitz, they'd been lucky. It had always been life in a protective bubble.

He sighed, looking away. Death had found their address. The spell had been broken. Tark was not going to like this. He walked back out to Maeve, feeling still that lightning strike of anguish at seeing her like this.

Emergency medical personnel worked calmly and swiftly over her. She was pale again, as when he'd first met her. Blood was everywhere, but one of the investigators, Carson, assured him that it was not all Maeve's.

"She must have gotten him good."

"We're positive it's a male?" Without considering the tests that the investigator had already run, he said this. A moment later, he noted the pitying look Carson was giving him. "Sorry, my stupid moment. Anything else to know?"

"Nothing. Absolutely zero in the databases. I mean, the blood is human, and male, as I said, and A positive, but aside from that...nothing." She held up her hands in defeat.

"How is that possible?" It was a universal (if not despised and debated) fact that every human child born got logged into a DNA base. That information was supposed to be inaccessible except to law enforcement. It was possible that some slipped through the cracks, but those people were usually not a part of mainstream society.

"I have no answer for that, sir. Once we start really poking around, we may find something, or an absence of something, if you know what I mean."

"You think somebody erased a DNA profile?" A far worse thought surfaced in his mind. "Or maybe it was never there to begin with." He looked over at Maeve. She surely would have said something if she'd known her attacker, wouldn't she?

"I don't think anything...yet."

"Frankly, I don't like either scenario." Trying to think back to the guy who'd run into him, he found he was unable to summon a clear description. He also saw that Carson was unwilling to say anything further.

A niggling memory from all the traffic that had gone in and out of Hawke's personal comm occurred to him. Embedded in one was the hint of a rumor he'd heard years ago, about some secret society. It seemed implausible now, but perhaps less so than when he had first heard it.

The emergency team were standing around the stretcher, getting ready to move Maeve. He leaned over her, holding her hand gingerly.

"I'll be right behind you. Just need to wait for T..." Dmitry gave a silent look around; the technicians turned away for a moment. "...the colonel to show.You'll be fine in a few hours. Do your best to try and retain everything that happened."

"That's usually what I do all too well." A hint of a smile passed over her lips. Realization washed over him.

"That's why you got blitzed."

"Bingo, you win the jackpot...."

"How much have you gotten back?"

"It keeps coming in bits and pieces." Her brows knitted, from pain, or unhappiness. "I hate it."

"Never mind. Go get put back together." He leaned down to kiss her, softly, trying to let her feel how much he wished he'd been there early, instead of just a bit too late. They took her to the clinic. Now it was just him and a dead girl, waiting together for time to catch back up.

۞

"Dmitry?" The voice was an anchor back to reality. It seemed as though hours had slipped away. Tark was staring around in disbelief. "What in six hells happened here?"

"Somebody was waiting for her."

"You weren't here." It wasn't an accusation. Dmitry had to fight down the instinct to defend himself anyway.

"No. I was on my way."

"Is she okay?" Tark pointed out the front entry. "I saw them taking her. But I also saw a bag out there. Was she questionable for a while?" Dmitry sighed.

"No. The bag is for...someone else." The weight dropped from Tark's chest through his gut, into his knees. He rested on the arm of the sofa for a moment.

"Who? Where?" He followed the direction that Dmitry's arm swung out, as it came to rest pointing at the bedroom door. It was closed. "The perp?"

"I wish. If I'd...." Dmitry breathed in and out, willing the rage to fade away. "Never mind. It's a female. Maeve says the light was off in there when she first came in, but by the time I got here, it was on. Our guy wanted us to see everything he'd done all at once, I guess."

"That assumes he thought he'd left both of them dead." Tark was staring at the closed door, trying to talk himself into going over there.

"One might imagine, yes." Dmitry noticed a peculiar look on his friend's face. "Are you okay?"

"Did you ID the woman?" Tark was barely breathing. "Is that why the door is shut?

"What do you mean?"

"Sa'andy, she's been out of the loop for a few hours. They said in the lab that she'd gone to talk to somebody." So that was it.

Dmitry reached out and put a comforting hand on Tark's shoulder.

"It's not Sa'andy. Jeez, you don't think I'd call you down here like that if something that bad had happened, do you?"

Tark slumped for a moment, obvious relief coursing through his body. The realization that there was still a dead woman in the other room sobered him again, however.

"Well, then, who is it?"

"You're not going to like it."

۞

"Okay, so Jules and Jemi have run off together for a spa day." Antonio was only trying to steer conversation away from delicate topics. He was surprised by Grace's reaction to what he figured was a joke.

"What have you heard?" She had her finger practically in...side his nose.

"Whoa, ease up. Just kidding."

"You wouldn't have said something like that for no reason."

"I was trying to lighten the mood?"

"Idiot." She stalked away. He reflected that Grace had suddenly gotten pretty strange in the past day or so. Well, they were all temperamental lately. There was just a little extra topping on some of their dispositions. Maybe Grace was having hormones...he looked over at her. She was furiously muddling some leaves in a tall glass. What was up with her? Women.

Grace didn't want to be pissed, but she was, so there. After all this time, she would have hoped that Jemi would get it. Don't go putting oars into other people's boats. Or lakes. Something. Why would she go off alone with Jules? It was not cool. Then again, why would she have?

Why would Jules, for that matter? Hadn't she just told Grace how hard it had been, for two whole years, knowing that she had to keep waiting? She thumped the muddler down into the glass once last time, noticing that she'd turned the mint leaves into goo. So much for that idea.

"We probably ought to go check and see if everything is okay down there." Josh looked to Mrs. Han.

"Well, you cannot do much here unless we have Miss Ramirez. I do not like the sounds of what I am listening to, either. Whatever has happened, they are taking it very seriously."

"Alright, we'll roll down there, check on things, and see if we can locate our little lost sheepies. Sound good?" Josh tried to sound as cheerful as he did not feel.

They all shrugged apathetically, but dragged themselves out the door regardless.

۞

They were walking into the grand foyer when Colonel Tarkington walked in with Major Petrovich and a detachment of PMO personnel. The two senior men looked a step past grim. Everyone came to a halt and stood staring at one another. Josh had a bad feeling.

"Colonel?"

Nobody moved. Petrovich was glowering at them all. Josh could hear Leif breathing, and the sound of fists tightening up. Oh, not now. Of all the moments he wanted to act like a jealous lover....

"Gentlemen," Tark nodded to Grace, "Miss Poole. We've had a little problem."

"Could you be more specific?" Josh tried to sound nonchalant while stepping on Leif's foot as hard as he could. Leif had his eyes locked on Petrovich.

"Not here. We need to head to security battalion offices." He paused, only for a moment. "Now." Tarkington did not look like a man to be argued with. He crossed the polished marble floor over to Wallace. "We've not yet been introduced, Mister Wallace. You come too."

Wallace blanched. They'd come in using false names. Nobody was supposed to know his real name, unless.... He scowled over at the others. Somebody must have talked. The whole mission was compromised now. Probably that's what this was all about, actually. He imagined that Jules was already in lockup, as he would soon be, all because someone didn't want to have to go back and get into original orders. Shit.

Nonetheless, they went without argument. Tark left behind two corporals, ordering them to stay in direct sight of Mrs. Han until he said otherwise. The old woman cursed inwardly. This was not part of their planning. And she would be unable to let her brother know anything for now. Very bad indeed.

۞

They walked at a brisk pace, all too aware of curious stares from onlookers. It was not every day that they saw their commander at the head of a procession like this. Tark knew he had to move quickly. By his count, there was still someone unaccounted for, and it was only a matter of time before rumor started running wild. There was no avoiding it.

"Colonel, I...."

"Not yet, Mr. Yi. Double time it." Taken aback by the terse tone, they instinctively fell into pace. They were in the boundaries of the base by then; no more civilians to gawk at them, they broke into a stride that had them at a light jog.

"This is a little wacky," Antonio muttered to Josh.

"You're telling me. You suppose they want us to reenlist?"

They were all thinking the obvious. Tarkington might have finally gotten orders of disposition for them.

"God, I hope not. I'm too old for this crowd." Josh looked around at all the bright shining faces moving about their duties.

"You're twenty-five, dude." They slowed down and stopped outside a large freight elevator.

"We're going down. Get in." Petrovich was downright surly.

"Take it easy, we're moving." Antonio found himself nose to nose with the XO. The guy acted like he was trying to read his mind, boring into him with those unsettlingly pale blue eyes.

"Major." Dmitry was unyielding. "I may not have authority over you, but you will respect my office."

"Yes, sir."

"Stand down, Major." Tarkington walked over, somewhat in awe of his friend's ability to suddenly seem like the most terrifying man alive. Petrovich backed away, still observing them carefully. Josh began to notice that he was only watching the men. As to Grace, be barely spared a glance. The elevator jerked, stopped, and groaned open its doors. Cold air gusted in from a glossy hallway.

"Uh, I'm sorry, this isn't the security battalion...is it?" Josh didn't like the direction things were headed. Tarkington did not respond. Petrovich, who had not taken his eyes off them, answered.

"It's the morgue."

۞

Maeve drifted back into the warm fantasy of swimming in bright blue water. She couldn't remember how old she had been. Where was Niall? Was he there, in the water, right beside her? Deeper in, she could hear his infant laughter. She sighed with relief. She must have been about seven or eight if he'd only been a babe in arms. The laughter continued. What had he been so happy about?

A seagull. There had been one of them squabbling with a pelican over a mackerel. Niall couldn't get enough of watching the smaller bird hop around the large, awkward one. They both squawked and carried on as they fought. She'd lost sight of him, her baby brother; he had been a good baby. Never cried. Trusted everyone to come to him if he but peeped. Good little baby.

Baby.

She was back in the ocean, but it had turned red. Everywhere red. She hadn't seen it coming. But come, it had. There and gone before she'd had a chance to think it through. Out with the bath water, and down the drain. Gone into neverland.

Pain tugged her back, as always. She put her hands down over her belly, expecting to see the illusion that was usually there. Her hands were clean. She blinked and shook her head vigorously.

"I wouldn't do too much of that. You're going to be sore enough for a day or so." A young doctor leaned on the doorway. Maeve noticed she was in a bright, clean room, with all manner of tubes and thingies stuck to her.

"How did I get here?" She still hated hospitals. The doctor came over, frowning. Lt. Cdr. Bahur was printed on his nametape. He wore blue scrubs and smelled of aftershave and antiseptic.

"You don't recall?"

"It's fuzzy. Last thing going on...I had a knife lodged in my chest." Dr. Bahur clucked his tongue in amusement.

"There, you see. You do recall. Of course you're fuzzy, you lost several litres of blood." He walked around the bed to check things over. Maeve let him fuss over taking her pulse, checking her for post-concussion symptoms, and more. He was looking over the chart when she saw a thin red line running along his ear.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Bahur looked at her quizzically. She tapped her own ear.

"Ah, yes. Rugby. Sometimes you get more than you bargain for in the scrum. Nearly came clean off. You should have seen the look on the face of the one who did it." He smiled innocuously at her.

۞

"The morgue? Like where dead people are kept?" Grace felt a wave of dizzy fear break over them.

"Colonel, please tell us what's happened." Josh seemed to be the only one who was able to speak calmly. He held up his hand to shush Leif and Wallace.

"Right after I get some answers." Tark took a deep breath, and then wished he hadn't. "We have one person in here. And we have another who nearly ended up here. And we have, or rather don't have, someone who is responsible."

"Not that I understood a word of that, but, I'll bite. What do you want us to tell you?" Josh spoke as he kept Leif in his peripheral view.

"You're going to start with where you've all been for the past few hours. And then, you can tell me why you're suddenly palling around with Mrs. Han." Dmitry had an instinctive feel that none of them knew yet, but he was running high off adrenaline and fury.

"Sorry. Not playing your game. Not inclined to tell you shit unless I know what's going on." Leif had worked himself back into a bad attitude. He and Dmitry began to square off; Tark sighed and realized that he had to rein things in.

"Alright. Major, come on." Tark's words might as well remained unspoken. Dmitry did not budge. Leif stood over him by several inches, was broader by several more, but Tark knew Dmitry would not back down. "Mr. Christensen, if you would? I'm sorry to have to do things this way, but I didn't want to have news traveling ahead of me." He gestured through a set of double doors. They all walked into an extremely chilly reception area. Tark slipped into a small office.

"You could play hockey down here." Grace's uncomfortable quip hung in the air, untouched. None of them felt jovial anymore. A sense of terrible anticipation fell over the group. An eternity later, Tark reappeared with someone. The coroner? She was hastily tying her hair up, tugging on exam gloves, commenting on the nature of "this one". As it were, that it was "better" than the last one. They all knew to whom she referred. Antonio wondered what state the doctor's remains were in. He shuddered a little.

"This way." The presumptive coroner addressed them, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Nobody moved. The reality of what might be beyond, lying on a table, and in what condition...had just dawned on them.

"Who is in there?"

Tarkington and Petrovich said nothing. The woman, in her dark blue scrubs, took the few last steps and pushed open another set of double doors. Along one side of the room beyond were the expected drawers, on the far side, the tables. Only one was being used. The overhead light shone down brightly. They looked in; tried to process what shouldn't be there. This wasn't right.

۞

A nurse walked in. Bahur was still watching Maeve in a way that left her unsettled. She wished she could stand up and walk out, leave him behind, but that was not possible. Not yet. She could only match his gaze, and hope that the nurse would linger. Exhaustion nibbled away at her resolve to stay alert.

"They haven't caught him yet, if that's what you're wondering." Bahur seemed amused by her stubborn resistance to sleep.

"I figured." She narrowed her eyes. "Actually, I was thinking about what I did to him. He probably lost a bit of blood...and the leg wound.... It does occur to me that he's not in the best of health right now."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Well, unless he's a doctor," she said with deliberate slowness, "one might imagine that he's gone to ground to fix himself up." She watched Bahur carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. He had an awfully good poker face.

"Why do you think he was in your rooms?"

"Garden variety sexual predator, I suppose. He must have watched some one of us and realized that there are no other occupied apartments down there."

"Seems a bit convenient."

"Hardly. We're not on the official rolls, if you know what I mean. We're just guests."

"We?" At that, Maeve relaxed. If he didn't know about the others, maybe it was all right.

"My friends and me. We're guests of the...station, I guess."

"I see. If you'll forgive my saying so, this whole scenario seems less random than it appears."

"What do you mean?" She fiddled with the bed to try to get it sat up.

"Well, in accepting your theory, I believe we should have seen some evidence of sexual assault. But he didn't try to do that to you, correct?"

"Um, no."

"And the other young woman, the one in your bed," he coughed uncomfortably, "no evidence there either."

"Really?"

"This is what I have from our medical examiner. No findings of that nature. To me, that sort of says this guy was there to do a job." Bahur fixed his cool grey stare onto the wall.

"A job. Killer for hire, that kind of job?"

"I suppose." He watched as Maeve touched her chest where the knife had been. The processing of his theory fell against strong opposition. It wasn't that she disagreed with his logic, merely that she hated the implications of it.

"When the other doctor, Hawke, when she was in the airlock...what she said, I thought she must have been delusional. Was she just warning us?" Maeve had seen her repeating her one small phrase.

"What did she say?" Bahur sat forward, seeming suddenly intense.

"They're coming."

۞ _Earthside_ **–** _The Med_

Boko had used up an entire ream of paper on airplanes, in an absentminded attempt to derail his insomnia. He sat in the half-light of daybreak, leant against his headboard, in the small bedroom of his apartment. He'd been awake most of the night, stubbornly refusing to turn on the bedside lamp. He told himself that he was trying to sort out his thoughts without the distraction of sight.

Fatigue hovered in the periphery, but he pushed it away. Folding paper blindly, he could hear his grandfather's voice echoing in the darkness. Kun had given him a second chance. Forgiveness had been granted without condition. Boko was sure that unspoken obligation had been in the gentle hand laid on his shoulder.

A touch that reminded him of when he'd left, in anger, cursing his family, his legacy, and unwanted responsibility. He still couldn't face those memories. It was far easier to simply accept the blame, and move on. It was only a weight, a burden. He could still hope that absolution might be granted him.

He dragged his reluctant brain back into the room with him, thinking about the task before him. The sheer magnitude of it was halved only by the fact that there was no need to infiltrate the organization that was being brought down. Boko the trusted and valued advisor would become the man who would kill Robert Warden.

Grandfather had not been eager to impart this responsibility onto his only grandchild, having only just gotten him back. But it was because of their long separation that Boko would be able to draw closer to his prey without arousing suspicion.

No one knew of any living relative to the man they knew as Bhujoung "Boko" Pritt, their associate who had come into his own after being a ward of the state during his minority. Boko had paid good money to erase his past, originally out of shame. Now he continued to use this to exact restitution. After it was all over, he would visit his mother. He owed her that much. He would never know if she could have forgiven him as his grandfather had done. She had passed into the shadow lands, from where honored ancestors watched over the living.

Warden was a man of habit, almost infant-like in his need to be on some sort of schedule from day to day. The results of a disruption were often felt rather resoundingly by his colleagues. Therefore, they'd all learned not to be the source of any such ripple. Boko had often felt as though, watching Warden move through their offices, that the man moved as though he was expecting an ambush at any moment.

He had been in the military for a few years in his younger days, according to the corporate dossier. Boko knew what had appealed to Warden about that kind of life, the power plays, the potential for destruction. But Warden had turned to more profitable ventures, and finally, to politics, when he could buy his way into them.

For Boko, that amounted to formulating a plan to destroy a man who had everything to lose, a man who was constantly aware of his own possible demise. It was a nearly impossible task, except, for some unfathomable reason, Warden saw Boko as a younger brother. Someone to trust and share all of his gruesome secrets with.

Boko didn't exactly consider himself to be an angel, but he found Warden's stories troubling, to say the least. Nor could he fathom why his boss had latched onto him. Not that it really mattered. Next week, they were set to go on a business trip together. Just the two of them, off to a remote operations headquarters. Next week, Robert Warden would have an accident. Boko finally put his head down; sleep had won him over.

۞The Nimitz

"What happened???" Grace shouted into the stunned silence.

"We were hoping you'd be able to shed some light...." Tark held up his hands to try and calm the crowd.

"On what? You think one of us would have done this?!?" Antonio felt ill. From across the room, all they could see was a pile of black hair.

"I think nothing, except that I have one more dead woman. Then there's Maeve, who nearly suffered the same fate." The room erupted into shouting.

The woman in scrubs, who was the medical examiner in reality, slowly backed out of the room. There was a little too much testosterone for her liking. This was why she only had dogs, truthfully. Training. As simple as clickers and biscuits.

"I will tell you everything I know, so long as you start doing the same. Enough with the secrets."

"Fine." Leif pointed to the steel table. "Start talking."

"We found her in Ms. Howard's rooms. Maeve herself walked in as the perpetrator was either finishing, or merely waiting for her. We're not clear yet."

"Why was Jemi in Maeve's rooms?"

"Not clear yet."

"Okay, what is clear? What do you know?"

"Perp was a male. Mid-thirties, average height and build, but 'wiry', Maeve hurt him pretty badly, from what we understand. He's still at large, unfortunately."

"What's being done to find him?" Leif put his face inches from Tark's, while the station commander tried to regain his bearing. Tark put out his hand to discretely back Leif off, while Dmitry moved to stand firmly by his friend's side.

"We have a door to door currently in progress. We'll find him. It's not like he can run."

"Colonel, have you forgotten what desperate people can accomplish?" Antonio did not take his eyes from Jemi's face. She was gone. It was the first time he had ever seen the body of someone he'd known. He might have seen his mother, but he'd been a toddler. There was no memory from those days. Jemi's hand was cool, not yet as chilly as the room.

"No, Mr. Assunta, that has not gone unthought. We've halted all traffic out though, and we can search this place rafters to rivets."

"And what if he forces your hand?"

"You'll be under protection. Critical areas of the station are already under guard."

"Us? Why?"

"We have reason to feel that this was not a random attack." Tark looked over at Dmitry. The other man shrugged. "We keep our ears to the ground when and where we feel it's prudent. I've had some information come to my attention. It sounds as though, impossibly, you're all on someone's radar."

۞

Maeve drifted in and out of sleep while present and past intertwined through her dreams. A sense of dread had worked its way in; she was slipping closer to the abyss. This time, though, there was an anchor. She could feel a tether to reality that had not previously been in place. She did not care to speculate as to its origins just yet. Rather, she needed to stop fighting herself and finally deal with the past.

Her dreaming mind walked along the edges of a black sandy beach. Bright blue waves churned to her left. Don't hesitate. Go. She turned and dove into a tall wave. Water closed in around her, and the instinct to fight the current, to kick free, was strong. Instead, she let go, and floated away in a rip curl of unconscious thought.

It was an unpleasant ride up and over storm swells. She fought down fear, remembering that these were only dreams. A paddleboard bobbed to the surface nearby. She swam over, took hold of it, and kept going.

It was all there, on a distant shore. She sat on the board, looking into the distance, where fires raged. They'd been burning for some time, fueled by her inability to face them. The daggerboard scraped sand; she stood and walked into the flames. It was time.

۞

Wartime deployments had ended. It was supposed to be a draw-down period. Gradually, it became obvious that there were other reasons for withdrawing from foreign war zones. Everyone laughed it off; they were just glad to be home. Rumors persisted, and then a group of active-duty personnel were arrested, charged with sedition, and then...nothing.

Nobody talked about it officially. It was water cooler talk for a short time. Maeve hadn't tried to make sense of it. It had just seemed too fantastical, too ridiculous. Besides, if something were truly on the horizon, wouldn't they have been training for it? There were other things to worry about.

She was her brother's legal guardian, except he was turning eighteen, wanting to leave. Then there was a boyfriend, who wasn't really a boyfriend. She'd figured that in order to be a boyfriend, one had to be semi-reliable, and not dropping off the off the radar constantly.

Fergus fulfilled neither of these qualifications. Not that she'd been overly concerned when she'd gotten home after eighteen months from a blast furnace of a deployment. It had been nice to have hot showers, carefree and endless nights, as well as beer and bacon. She had wanted to care about nothing. It should not have surprised her to see two little lines on a stick, but it had. She had been knocked back on her heels.

She looked into the fires still raging on the beach. Through the smoke, a slight figure emerged. Maeve swallowed, the smoke stung her eyes and lungs, but she knew who it would be. It was a wraith. A ghost of a child who had never come into the world. She remembered.

One night. One night had changed everything.

۞

"On someone's radar? You mean besides the people who sent him here?" Leif jabbed a thumb in Wallace's direction.

"I think he's talking about the Mithraic Alliance." Wallace was a little white around the edges. His eyes were fixed on the table where Jemila Solomon lay. He felt a sting of guilt at being relieved that they had not walked in to find Jules.

"What are we talking about?" Dmitry was watching Tark, trying to determine how much of this his friend had already puzzled out.

"The new face of the group we were originally meant to go after, am I right?"

"Yes. After everything that happened, originally, they went deep underground, and didn't emerge until about ten years ago. That was why Ju...Ramirez and I were pulled out. They wanted to find out if anyone was still viable. They'd been looking for us for a long time, and now we're supposed to do what we were always meant to do."

"Right. Wake up to die. Sounds like a perfect day." Leif ran his hand through his increasingly long red hair. "This is jacked...up."

"Wait a minute, who said anything about dying?"

"Colonel, Major, sorry, that's the part you don't seem to get yet. We were meant to be disposable...no, that's the wrong word. They spent a lot of money on us, but we had an expiration attached, see? They didn't want to have to spend the money to deprogram us, so they built in this...suggestion."

"Uh, right, I'm not following at all."

"We were...I guess you'd call it brainwashed. Or were supposed to have been. One of the researchers realized what was happening and rewrote the programming, from what we were told." There was silence in the room, and Wallace realized he and Jules hadn't mentioned this to the others yet. Crap.

"Excuse my asking, but just how did this researcher figure that out, precisely?" Dmitry had a feeling he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it out loud. Wallace sighed miserably. Leif uttered the kind of noise one might expect from a wounded bear. He already knew. Or had guessed as much.

"Are you kidding me? That's what was going on? All this time, she's been walking around thinking she was crazy." Antonio felt a pang as he considered all the unkind thoughts he'd had about Maeve.

"I know, I know. They took her, and...." Wallace shrugged.

"They said they took her to Bethesda." Leif was eyeing Wallace angrily. He didn't like what it implied that the other man knew all this.

"Who knows, maybe that's where it was in the beginning." Dreams of explosions were fading into the background. Grace realized that she was trembling at the thought of having been so irritated at Jemi. Now she was gone. And Jules? Where was she? She'd forgotten how fragile the threads of life could be.

"That sounds like a marvelous place to start." Tark indicated to the M.E., who came over. "Doc, sorry for the intrusion and all the noise. Let us know when you can release her."

Grace went over to her friend's still form, and gently smoothed the hair from her brow. "I can't believe this." She fought through angry tears. "Please tell me we are going to kick the shit out of the animal that did this."

"It's a promise." Dmitry took her by the shoulders. Grace was startled by the rage in his own eyes. "This does not happen on our watch."

"Not again it doesn't." Tark turned and stalked out, followed closely by security personnel. Everyone else followed, submerged in varying degrees of shock, grief, and anger.

"Here's one question I still have, people." Tark spoke as he continued to walk, purposefully, toward the lift that would take them to the operations deck. "Actually, two. First, did anyone ever reverse what was done to Ms. Howard, since you say it was discovered? And, since I suspect the answer is no, then the obvious second question is, what happens if she goes 'active', as it were?" They all looked at Wallace. He shrugged.

"Right now, it's hard to predict. I mean, they tried at the time, I guess. She was already...fragile. That was supposed to be the ideal mind state. It's not a pretty chapter of history."

"She was more than fragile, you idiot."

"I wasn't there, I admit, but she'd told me to go away. In a lot less polite way than that, too." He wasn't ready to tell them where he'd gone to. They weren't ready to hear it anyway.

"I know. Problem is, you never paused to ask why! You were so wrapped up in yourself...and then you got Daddy to help you ease your troubled mind, in whatever way you wanted." Leif was struggling to control himself, while Wallace finally let his emotions have free reign.

"Let it go! My father didn't use any influence to help me. You know what, though, by the time I got there, she...was...gone. I thought I could help, that's all. That's why I kept looking."

"Help what?"

"Fix her."

"Listen, you can think whatever you want, but it was pretty obvious what was going on."

"Oh right, that's all that matters. Like you know what my life was like? I'm not blind, Christensen, it was always really pathetically obvious what your motivations were, too." That was enough. Leif picked him up two-fisted by the collar and tossed him into a wall.

Dmitry dove in between them, praying that he wouldn't be mangled for his trouble. Leif was a titanic bulk when enraged. There was no predicting an outcome. It suddenly made sense for him to have been part of this strangely pieced-together team. Dmitry looked at the others, seeing the same logic for each of them, while they stood fast and did not interfere.

"Wallace, you have no clue. None." This came from Josh.

"Naturally. That's where you go, every time. Predictable. I'm the bad guy, I get it. The dilettante, the joker, the fool. It's okay. I can admit it." He pushed a finger into Leif's chest, reaching around Dmitry in the process. Dmitry could only imagine that this was a dangerous action. "You're the one in denial. But go ahead, keep blaming me. Keep telling yourself that I was the reason why, for everything, including your own cowardice." Dmitry's eyes widened. Leif might be big, but he was quick. Wallace was stumbling backwards with a bloody nose.

"That's enough!" Tark had been willing to let them get whatever it was out of their system, but he couldn't have wholesale brawling in the corridors. Leif stormed off down the hall, away from where they were meant to go. Josh cautioned Tark not to stop him.

"He'll be back. It's a touchy subject."

"I can see that." He turned back around to face the group. "Mr. Wallace, I don't know what that was about, but I'd recommend you not repeating it again." He got a curt nod in reply. Blood continued to trickle down Wallace's chin. Tark handed him a handkerchief, and walked on.

۞

Josh held out an arm to keep Wallace from following the others.

"It's tempting to see him the way you think he sees you. It's a hell of a lot more complicated than that."

"Josh, he's in love with her. We all know it. That's the only reason he's so overprotective, and he can't see past the end of his nose because of it."

"It's not the only reason. You know what happened with her brother, and what happened that night, but we, well, we kept you out of the loop about something else."

"The only reason for doing that is if it had to do with me, is that what you're saying?"

"Like I said, it's complicated. She didn't want you to know before, and so we kept our mouths shut." Josh twisted his mouth, searching for the right words, hoping that Leif wouldn't suddenly reappear at the wrong moment.

"Does this have anything to do with why she dumped me?"

"She didn't dump you, dumbass. You think she was kidding herself about a future with you? She was just letting you go back to where'd you come from."

Wallace took the blow, and swallowed it down. It wasn't an untrue accusation. Maeve had been a complication that he hadn't anticipted. He thought about the ways in which he'd rationalized using her. She'd let herself be used that way, he knew, because she wanted to have someone in her life. It had been her doing the pursuing, tracking him down. Maeve had been an easy refuge from reality. For a while, anyway.

He had decided that he'd give it a try. That he'd give the two of them a shot. It had been against his nature. Nights spent in the same place, over and over, in spite of intimacy...bored him. Now, of course, he knew why she'd wanted to stay rooted, why everything was always safe and secure. She'd been desperately seeking a stable life. That last fight, though, that had always stayed with him. It was like a small cancer in his soul, and it would not let him be at peace again until he excised it.

"I don't know what else to say. I was trying to put things right between us, but as you know, the bezerker there wouldn't ever let me near her."

"She was pregnant." Josh let the words come fast, intending them as a blow. He struck home. For a moment, the world reeled, and then Wallace remembered he was in space.

"She...I, what now?"

"You heard me." Josh stood impassively, unmoved by Wallace's shock.

"This isn't some sick joke, is it?" He was grasping at straws.

"No."

"That was why she told me to leave."

"Yep."

"What happened? To it?" He was afraid he knew.

"You're not going to ask the other question?" The obvious one, thought Josh, to most guys.

"It would have had to have been mine. She wasn't like that." Wallace was beginning to wish Leif had succeeded in knocking him senseless. "Frick." He sat back against the wall into which he'd recently been thrown.

Josh could only go by what he knew, which was a lot less than either Leif or Wallace. That said, he tended to agree. Leif had said she'd admitted that her 'wild' days had been brief, embarrassing, and not something ever to be revisited. Confined to a single ninety-six libbo, by all accounts.

"Uh, yeah. Look, I'm not trying to tell you that was what broke the camel's back. It was...."

"Complicated. Yeah, you keep saying that. But you didn't answer my question."

"I know." They watched each other for a few moments.

"Did she lose it, or did she...?"

"No, she did not do that. It may have crossed her mind, but as I have it, she'd apparently made up her mind otherwise. What happened was beyond her control."

"Nobody would tell me anything."

"She was wounded. Almost bled out. You can do the rest of the math, I'd imagine."

"Yeah. Well, you're right about the one thing."

"What's that?"

"This is frigging complicated." Josh shrugged. He turned to rejoin the others, and was gone. Wallace was left to measure out his wretchedness alone.

۞

Maeve sat on a grassy patch next to a random stream in the midst of what was designated as a meditation area. She didn't feel particularly reflective, but it was better than sitting around staring at walls all day. Most of her free time had been spent looking for her friends, who had been nowhere to be found, so she'd given up.

She yawned and fell back into the pillowy green, thinking for the dozenth time how odd it was to have grass in the vacuum of space. Exhaustion wracked her body, she couldn't even think of the last time she'd had an uninterrupted stretch of sleep. If she closed her eyes for just a bit, maybe the sensation would let up a little. The ground was so soft. Maybe it was synthetic dirt. It was too nice to be real. It wasn't real.

She sat up. The grass was something she had created. Her hands erased it as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind the scorched sands of the beach she had landed on. This too was a construct, but it was where she needed to be. She knew she could not let herself slip into false comfort. It was interesting that she had sought out the Nimitz as a place of refuge, though.

The ghost was still there, barely visible, until she focused on it. Gradually, it became more tangible. It was neither male nor female, though she knew that was because she had never cared to speculate.

"You were not to blame." Had that ever been the question, she wondered? Must have been, at least for a bit.

"I know. I've got plenty of other issues to lay blame on myself for."

"I know." This wasn't quite the discussion she needed. It was only just so productive to carry on conversations with oneself.

"I ought to go. There are things I need to look at."

"Do not forget to speak to those whom you must."

"Yes, thanks. Fly away now...." She saw her own smile in the hazy face, as small wings unfurled and carried the small figure up beyond the smoke and ruin.

She looked beyond the fires. It was time to deprive them of fuel. She walked through the flames, feeling the intensity of heat and pain, and came out on the other side. It was still night there, but the stars were out, and crickets sang. This was the place. It had been too easy to hide from that night for so long, to keep the memory contained on this burning atoll.

Her feet moved on their own, guided by her unspoken directive. There were other ghosts yet to be faced. These had been real men and women, who had crowded her dreams on endless nights. She moved through familiar landscape; wispy and dry prairie grass, ankle high pricklypear, loosestrife, and pigweed. The moon was full, as ever, as it had been. Gemini and Cancer were center in the northern horizon. She knew why she had noticed it then. It was a stupid detail to have clung to. She had already told Fergus to leave by then. One more regret. There was a long list.

۞

Julieta had been running for an hour when she'd seen the lone figure at the far end of the track. She squinted, seeing a female form with long black hair. Hmm. Not who she'd been hoping to see, but she slowed and stopped as she came around the turn anyway.

"You are Julieta?" The other woman was not human. Her skin was like alabaster, painted all over by lacey purple veins. "I apologize, my name is Sa'andy Madoc." She held out her hand.

"You. You're the one? I thought...nobody told me you were here, on the Nimitz."

"Ah, yes. I asked to keep that quiet. Selective information sharing, you know. I thought it might be time for us to talk, however." She smiled. Julieta felt a pang of loneliness roll through her midsection. How long had it been since someone had looked at her like that and meant it?

"Has any information come through? Mrs. Han started having trouble with her channel."

"Sorry about that. My fiancé might be the reason for that. Rather, he's had to put that into place after what happened with the doctor."

"Right. I guess we should have figured that out. Who's your fiancé?"

"Station commander."

"Shit." Julieta was suddenly nervous and pissed. She tried to decide what her next move would be, but Sa'andy held up a hand.

"Don't worry. He doesn't know everything, but he's getting there. He will be on the right side of things once he does, though."

"Yeah, sorry, I don't have the luxury of waiting around to find out for sure. We're going to have to get the hell out of this place before things get out of hand."

"I think it may be too late for that. We have it from a reliable source that Warden has sent an operative. Here."

"Damn it. How long ago?"

"This individual may have left Earth approximately when you did." Sa'andy felt the other woman's surge of alarm. It was palpable.

"Someone could be here, on the station...right now?" Julieta felt the exhilaration of logging seven miles fade away, leaving a sick pit in her gut. "How much do we assume they know?"

"The doctor sent a detailed message about everyone who was on that container. We can only hope that they don't know about you and Wallace."

"Like that's any comfort? Jeez. Do we know anything about this 'operative'?"

"The only thing I could pick up was that a cruise ship stopped here, and a day or two later, found a dead woman on board. She'd been killed in a way that suggests it was done by someone who's done it before."

"Oh my god...." Julieta sounded aghast. Sa'andy opened her mouth to elaborate, thinking Julieta was reacting to the news. Then she frowned, seeing Julieta looking off into the distance over her shoulder. Sa'andy turned. Four security personnel were walking up to them.

"Sorry, Dr. Madoc. Colonel wants you and the young lady here to come with us back to Ops." A gunnery sergeant was the lead; unmoved by their questions, he and the others led the two women on their way.

۞

It was a long walk back to the operations forward deck. For everyone. Tark directed the others into a conference room, while he and Dmitry closeted themselves in his office.

"This is a charlie foxtrot of the highest order." Tark hardly knew where to start in the process of unscrewing the situation.

"Ya think? What else did the general tell you, by the way? I know you're holding out."

"She's still operating under the theory that this container story is a blind for something else. Those guys weren't wrong about some shadow group maneuvering, though. The kinds of strings that would have to get pulled to erase an identity...wipe out a DNA record, I mean, that's crazy on its own."

"Mithraic Alliance, though? Have you ever heard of it?"

"No. Not that my lack of knowledge indicates anything. General also says that this Kun fellow is clean, but here's the kicker. Mrs. Han is his sister."

"Interesting. I suppose that explains a little, and creates about a million more questions. How the hell are we going to handle this? I know we said we'd shelter these people, but we've got a whole flipping station packed to the gills to think about." Dmitry was pacing back and forth. He couldn't help it. Too much adrenaline left unspent.

"I know. And you know that over half of this place is filled with men and women who took an oath to defend...."

"Yeah, against all enemies, foreign and domestic."

"It's the domestic part that's giving me agita right now." Tark rubbed his sternum. "Or it might be that I haven't eaten since early this morning." There was a sharp rap at the door, followed by the customary request to enter. It sounded like the gunny Tark had sent to track down Sa'andy. He unlocked the door. Gunny Thabano was standing practically inside the doorframe. Dmitry choked back a chuckle; the guy must have had his nose to the door.

"I hope you had success, Thabano." Tark shot a stern look over his shoulder to Dmitry, and mouthed to him; stop laughing!

"Yes, sir, we did. We located Dr. Madoc, and the other female."

"Quick work. Well done."

"It was no difficulty, sir. They were together at the running track." Together? Tark was beginning to be unsurprised by anything, and was glad they were both in one piece. His fiancée, on the other hand, was still apparently declining to divulge everything. It was time to lay everything on the table. If he was going to help, he needed to know everything.

"Very well. I need you to send a detail to Mrs. Han's theater, the guys there will need a relief. Hand deliver this to her as well." He gave Thabano a tablet. The other man looked at the device dubiously. "Humor me. I'm going to be hard on the side of caution for a while."

"Aye, sir."

"Dismissed." Tark returned the gunny's salute. Thabano exited, barking out orders to his subordinates, and left with the kind of intense purpose that Tark loved to witness. "I guess we'd better get this dog and pony show organized."

"What about Maeve?"

"I'll leave that up to you." The two men, longtime friends, stood face to face. Dmitry searched for something reasonable to say; Tark held up a hand. "Look, I don't know what your long-term plans are with her...."

"Whoa, slow down."

"Let me finish. I'm only trying to say that, whatever you decide to do, whatever she decides to do...she's had a good effect on you. And possibly vice versa." Tark decided not to mention that he thought his friend might possibly be in love. That sort of philosophizing usually only sent Dmitry into panic mode. Better to let him figure it out for himself.

Dmitry was trying to avoid the question of anything serious in his mind. The sensation of being gut punched on first seeing Maeve lying in a bloody mess had not gone away. He'd simply allowed undiluted rage to cover up the emotional reaction. The rest was left to sit and repeatedly remind him that he wanted to go and be with her. Possibly it would be easier to ignore this insistent voice if Tark had not just suggested the same thing.

"Let's get it over with." He followed Tark out the door.

They crossed the vast space of the operations deck. Dozens of men and women attended to the myriad of data, algorithms, communications traffic, and countless other details pursuant to the smooth functioning of the Nimitz. Not one of them had stopped to cast curious glances at the strange parade of unfamiliar faces earlier, nor did they interrupt their work now.

Tark breathed deeply, wondering how long this illusion could hold up. He and Dmitry walked into the conference room. In contrast to the tranquility without, everyone in the room was worked up. The noise level rose and fell, particularly when they noticed that the station's commander had rejoined them. Leif sat on the far side of the room. Wallace was nearest the door. Probably best if those two kept their distance.

"Alright. We need to get everything out in the open." He leaned on the large persimmon wood table running the length of the space. "I want to help. I can't do that if I'm operating in the dark."

No one spoke right away. Clearly something else was on their minds.

"We're leaving. Forty-eight hours." Julieta was grim, determined.

"Now, how the hell are you going to do that? That little skiff of yours will hold four, five max. You can't do atmospheric reentry with an overload."

"We'll buy something. We're prepared for that eventuality."

"Give me a break. You might as well do low orbit parachuting. Which, I have to imagine, none of you is trained for."

"Staying here is out of the question, you know that, Colonel. Don't try to tell me you were going to say something else. Besides, we only came to get them," Julieta indicated her friends, "and we were going to leave anyway." She tried not to let on that she'd failed to calculate weight load. It was embarrassing.

"Your plan lacks several key factors, fervor notwithstanding. You'll take one of ours." He held up a hand to quiet them. "It'll have the benefit of being registered legally, and your pilot will be one of my people. She'll be able to slip past the watchful eyes that seem to be everywhere right now."

He'd thought this through now about seven or eight times. It made sense. There were plenty of men and women he trusted wholly, but he'd picked Bijul Nandra to pilot. She was the best, most resourceful, wiliest he had. She'd trained as a fighter, moved to blockade running, and when that had died out, she'd settled in as a trainer.

۞

Bijul Nandra was in the hangar bay, staring at the container, or what was left of it. Colonel Tarkington had given orders for it to be dismantled and scrapped. The engineers team had happily taken plasma torches to the thing and reduced it to three neatly stacked piles of metal. Soon, it would become something else, and disappear entirely into the station. The rest of the massive bay housed craft that were in need of repair, or like her own, used as training aids.

After a few minutes of contemplation, she left the scrap heap and walked over to her personal craft, a Harrier Armour-class. She ran her hand over her call sign, "Bijoux", wondering if she'd ever get to fly it again, much less see action. Captain Nandra, best-ever...it was meaningless in these times. Everyone wanted peace.

The colonel was one of these. He didn't have the temperament for making ugly decisions. He wanted to trust, to see the light at the end of the dark expanse...to Bijul, she already understood these things to be unknowable. Trust was worthless. Hope was for the weak. She had been raised to be a warrior, in spite of her family's history. War was the great equalizer, the cleansing force that could destroy the old and usher in the new.

Colonel Tarkington might not understand that now, but he would, eventually. He'd asked Bijul to help prevent war, to keep the status quo intact. If she understood the situation correctly, she was to deliver a group of individuals back to Earth, that they might fulfill just that mission. Her blockade running tactics were what recommended her for the task, of course.

The other concept that the colonel could not grasp was that not everyone had a charmed existence such as his. Bijul had fought all her life for every rung of the ladder she'd climbed. From her father's mother, Bibi, she'd listened to stories of the caste system, of which her family had once been in the lowest rank.

Only willingness to do battle had freed them of low-caste status, while a larger-scale fight had broken the caste system entirely. Bibi was the one who had told her all the stories of long struggles and persecutions. It had been she who had given Bijul an engraved gold bracelet with the words of Guru Gobind Singh carefully etched on the inside.

'When all efforts to restore peace prove  
useless and no words avail,  
Lawful is the flash of steel,  
It is right to draw the sword."

۞

Maeve continued over the vast, rolling prairie-scape, not knowing when she might encounter what she expected to be there. She sensed that she was putting it off, trying to erase it in spite of herself. The moon was now a thin sliver, as it had been that night, and the wide Missouri was barely tangible.

There was nothing. The earth was devoid of those fearsome memories. It was emptied of the dead. She had been so certain that they would still be here. That had been the reason why she'd avoided sleep for so long, but now...nothing.

She squinted into the distance. There was an inky shape, its form pricked out by tiny lights. It was a bunker. Her breath caught in her chest. This did not belong here. It was not of her making. And yet, she knew it was where she had to go.

Cold air knifed at her as she walked blindly in the dark. Every step confirmed that it was not of her making; she could not affect it. She could not change it, nor draw it nearer.

It waited, willfully. She began to truly feel its magnetic pull on her, and realized that she had felt it all this time. It had been pulling on her for hundreds and thousands of nights of sleep. Maeve knew, once she entered it, she would be under that influence. A foreign control, something that had been placed in her mind without her consent.

She endured the uncomfortable twinges and prickling of anxiety. It was difficult to discern whether this was the result of her unconscious mind trying to protect her. Perhaps it was only the same weakness that had assailed her that night. She willed her mind to be still; this was an order it was used to defying.

Without warning, she found herself inside. It was brilliantly lit, impossible to see. Everything was blindingly white. She felt that it would be impossible to ever see again. Gradually, though, the glare began to subside. The room she found herself in was empty, aside from a dentist-style chair in the middle of it. A female figure was reclined in the chair, wearing headphones and an elaborate pair of dark glasses. Maeve looked more closely. Not glasses. Some kind of visor, really, that covered the woman's eyes completely. She felt the ground shift under her feet, as though a minor earthquake had just grazed them.

She walked closer to the chair. The female did not move. Only by the rise and fall of her chest did Maeve know that this was meant to be a living person. Now only mere inches away, she looked over this prone form and saw what she had been hoping not to see. A tattoo on the inside of the left wrist. It was normally covered up by a watchband or bracelet. The walls heaved and rumbled. She could not tell from where this seismic activity originated.

As if guided by a directive, she saw herself reaching for the unmoving body stretched out before her. The shaking of the beneath her feet began to intensify, but she could not divert her hand. Only slightly did she touch that wrist, to see if the image of a world tree could be smudged away.

But on the moment of that contact, the woman sat upright, and the tremors swelled in earnest. The bunker began to disintegrate around them. Maeve looked down; the other woman had a fierce and painful grip on her. Images began to flood her mind. Unreality fell away. And she arrived back where she had started.

۞

Dmitry had been sitting in Maeve's room for several hours. She was out cold, which was both deliberate and a blessing. Medicine being what it was, she'd be back on her feet in a day or so, no worse for wear. But the fact that she was unaware of what was going on...that was the lucky thing for right now. He was having difficulty imagining what her reaction would be to the news that her friends had chosen to go back planetside. Even more difficult, they'd be preparing to see through some mission that he still had trouble believing was plausible or logical.

He'd thought it up, down, and sideways, even taking Tark's confirmation into account. Secret societies were not something he'd spent much time worrying about before. Sure, he'd heard stories now and then. It was hardly a new concept. In fact, having looked at the origins of the Mithras cult, it was probably as old as humanity itself.

Tark saw in this an opportunity to nip a problem in the bud. He had convinced himself that this was a matter of preventing something worse down the line. Dmitry was having trouble getting his head around the idea that a shadow organization was planning on starting some, what, galactic war?

The Terran system was dependent on a lively trade interaction. He couldn't see it. Now, civil war, on the other hand, that made perfect sense. Get rid of opposition, isolationism settles in, tyranny rules...he smacked a hand to his head. The Mithras thing had its roots in Roman culture. Romans had loved to kill their own citizens, hadn't they? Had even given it a nice official name. State approved murder, proscription.

It was a popular tactic throughout history. Wipe out those who oppose, control through fear and ignorance. He tried to think of an old quote that niggled at the back of his memory, though he could not remember its source. "War is peace." Tark was so set on preventing a larger scale calamity that he had missed the more reasonable scenario.

Dmitry thought it unlikely that he would be swayed to change his mind now. Too many others believed the same thing to be true. It just made more sense. The doctor and all her ranting, what had she been ranting about? Outsiders, non-humans. They didn't want to destroy other species. They wanted to pull back to a time before there was intermingling, maybe. They could push everyone out, keep trade regulated at the boundaries of the system....

On the surface, it sounded far too complex, Dmitry realized that. Enacting such a plan would be far more difficult than open hostilities, but the end result was far cleaner. There were too many fronts to consider for large scale war, at least from a control perspective. Control was the end result; Dmitry felt that this had to be true. Otherwise, why wouldn't have there already been bombings, attacks, acts against non-humans? No, it had remained under the surface, if all this Mithraic Alliance talk was to be believed. To him, that pointed far more readily to the preparations for an internalized plot.

He went back to watching Maeve. This cloak and dagger sort of thing was not his milieu. Paranoia was a destructive force, along with its companions of doubt and fear. He could see the façade of peacetime duty rippling, showing what was hidden behind. What would the Nimitz resemble in a time of war? Or a worse scenario, under martial law? It was a massive hulking presence in the system, a symbol of prosperity and stability. Would it be used as a tool for propaganda? Would it become a contention point, at which time its destruction would be inevitable?

Dumbly, Dmitry realized that he had debated himself into belief. He took in a lungful of air and puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. Maeve slept on. Distraction was the only option left, so he devoted his attention to studying her. Her hair was completely fine, each strand so thin he could hardly see just one. She'd braided it, the results of which still lay in a thick plait over her shoulder. Long bangs covered her ears. He carefully tucked the hair away, smiling at tiny bright purple hoops through her lobes.

Wherever she was in her dreams, she was not completely at peace. This did not surprise him. She was not a restful sleeper, by her admission and his own observations. Now that he knew what had been done to her, it seemed a small miracle that she could ever rest at all.

He took her hand, shaking his head at the hematite-colored varnish on her nails, and the stack of multi-colored string bracelets around her wrist. Absently, he pushed these around in a circular motion, and then paused. Curious, he pushed the bracelets apart. Funny that he'd not seen it before. She had a tattoo of a small tree. He wondered what it symbolized.

۞

Tark was on the observation deck, trying to find some center of calm. The windows where he stood overlooked the civilian traffic areas outside the station, normally incredibly busy. At this time, it was completely still. He looked out, beyond the edges of the Nimitz, into the still untamed reaches of space. This was the calm he wished for. For nothingness to occupy his mind, to stare into the heart of eternity, and be at peace.

It was a dangerous desire. He realized this. After fifteen years in space, he'd seen his share of crack-ups. They all had. Places like the Nimitz weren't as challenging to the psyche. It was the deep space duty postings, or as had been the case with Dmitry, the endless patrols. Dmitry hadn't cracked up, he chided himself. He'd self-destructed. There wouldn't have been a place for Dmitry to come back to if he had lost it completely. He found himself wondering about Maeve, though.

Had she come back from a place like that? Self-destruction? It was certainly possible that she had. He had some doubts about how far she might have come, how far from the edge she truly was. At the moment, Maeve was unaware that this Wallace fellow and his partner, or whatever she was, were there. Nor did she know that there was a plan in progress to return them all to Earth, much less to enact some mission.

It was true that he wished to avoid, or at least forestall, violence and war. Tark had joined the military believing that it was possible to function as a peacekeeper. He was fully invested in the philosophy of offering protection, aid, and comfort to those who could not defend themselves. This had been his guidepost along the length of his career; to which he suspected his posting to the Nimitz had been due in part.

Now, he looked into the distance between the Nimitz and Earth. He did see war looming. What bothered him was that he could not put his finger onto it precisely. It was difficult to determine from what quarter it might arise, and to where it might spread.

He'd never been skilled at ground tactics; a failing he was more than willing to admit. That was Dmitry's area of expertise, and he was more than happy to let his friend run that end of things. Tark was actually a bit surprised that Dmitry hadn't come looking for him to dissect the latest developments. Perhaps things were moving a bit too swiftly, even for Dmitry's quick mind.

"Jorge?" A quiet voice broke into his ruminating. He turned around to find Sa'andy. She was standing with her hands clasped behind her back, a sheepish look carefully arranged on her pretty features.

"You don't need to apologize anymore. I think we pretty well covered apologies last night...." He smiled tiredly and put his arms around her.

"If I had told you everything, this might not have happened, though."

"We can't undo what's been done." Only to Maeve, he thought. Jemila Solomon was lost to time; snatched up by the desolate jaws of death.

"I know this. It's just that it seems for every bit of information we do not see how to interpret, something goes terribly wrong. Perhaps I ought to ignore my directives from now on...that's all I meant."

"How did you know?"

"The general's aide de camp is one of the resistance. We...um, they, try to have someone with every senior official, if possible. We have to imagine that the other side is doing the same."

"This sounds like the lead-in to a complicated joke: 'We know that they know, that I know'."

"It does get a bit tangled at times. Don't even get me started on how hard it is to make sure we don't have someone working both sides."

"Sa'andy." His voice was calm, but she recognized the edge to it and winced.

"Yes?"

"Just how involved are you? Miss I'm-not-read-into-everything?"

"I might be in a little tiny bit deeper than I said I was."

"Are you my shadow? Is that why you came here?"

"No! I was sent here, it's true, but you have someone else. Not me. It never had anything to do with our relationship."

"Who is my shadow?" He pressed a little harder, knowing it was pointless.

"I can't tell you right now. It would compromise everything."

"Do you suppose that Hawke was theirs, then?"

"We never determined that to a certainty. She didn't seem to be what I would call...bright...enough? If they do have someone aboard already, they're heavily invested, and that's why an outside operative was sent in to clean things up."

"A sleeper? You think there might be a sleeper agent here?"

"At a minimum. I'm sorry, Jorge, any timeline or idea of what we thought might come to pass has pretty well blown up in our faces."

"Merde. And here, Dmitry and I were just commenting on how the Nimitz is a safe haven."

"My love, if a move is made to begin hostilities, I think we can expect the Alliance to attempt to acquire this base as rote."

۞

Maeve looked down at her hand and wrist, which was a mirror of the one holding her. She pulled to no avail. The tremors all around them rose and swelled in a concerto of destruction. The bunker continued its collapse. Suddenly, Maeve realized her hand was freed; she covered her ears to the deafening roar that swirled all around, only to cry out in pain a moment later. Falling, helpless, she found herself pinned under the rubble that had been a building. She knew it was something in and of her mind, but she could not shift any of it.

A scrabbling noise caught her attention. The other woman...the other her...was standing up out of the dust, pulling off the mask and headphones. It was her, but not her. Like a sketch of her, a Maeve replica, smudged around the edges and incomplete. This other Maeve was a two-dimensional manikin, a golem created from mud and terror. She came close to Maeve, staring into her with brackish eyes that would not focus, burning between them like wet wood instead.

"Mission initiation commenced. Activation complete." Maeve was afraid to respond. She didn't understand what was happening. She was trapped still under the debris, paralyzed by uncertainty. The golem scowled at her, pressing a strange, too-long finger into her shoulder.

"Owner: confirmed. Incapacity: confirmed. Mission initiation complete." The false Maeve stood back up, and turned to the direction from which the true Maeve had come. She was going to go back, and leave Maeve behind. Panic crept in.

"Wait! Stop, deactivate!"

The false her turned her head back, slightly.

"Command not recognized. Password not given." She moved away from Maeve as if she had taken flight. An instant later, she was a speck in the distance. Maeve was alone in a dark wasteland; the stars had all blinked out and the crickets had deserted her. She could feel a scream rising, powerless against it; she let it out until she felt it exhaust itself.

۞

Dmitry yawned and stood. Maeve was still swaddled in her drugged cocoon, so he decided to go off to find Tark. A great many thoughts had been pushing their way past any sleep he might have otherwise got, anyway. He leaned over Maeve, and gently kissed her forehead.

"Happy healing. I'll be back soon," he whispered in her ear, wondering whether he was actually telling the truth. He turned to walk out, leaving her lying still. The door clicked softly shut, so softly it was barely noticeable, but her eyes flew open.

۞

It seemed that sleep was not going to cooperate with any of them. Mrs. Han had opened her doors to Leif, Grace, Antonio, and Josh, hoping to offer some comfort. Instead, they had all sat in utter silence for approximately three hours before trickling down to the street outside. Unspoken consensus led them to a rowdy Irish pub, fish and chips, and plenty of beer in which to cry.

"This has pretty well gone to shit." Leif was staring at a plate of haddock. Josh leaned over.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Not that, you idiot."

"Oh, right. Well...she's going to be okay. The rest...I don't know. Of us all, I never expected Jemi to be the one...."

"She was a civilian." Leif shrugged under the weight of responsibility, misplaced as it was.

"She was not a civilian. She wasn't like us, but...well, she wasn't just your average college recruit either. The CIA had found her, brought her in, and trained her up. I guess it didn't go too well. She wasn't really happy with the spook lifestyle, you know?" They all stared at Grace, who was mashing her chips with a fork.

"When the hell did you find that out?"

"Um, like the second day I knew her. What? Y'all were a little preoccupied." She pointed her fork back and forth from Leif to Josh to Wallace.

"I second that. Sorry, I know I came in late to things, but some of us were doing things that didn't involve babysitting a catatonic chick." The steely look in Julieta's eye didn't invite argument.

"We had our reasons."

"Such as?"

"I'm not going to sit around trying to rationalize what I did or didn't do. We were all trying to survive, if you recall." They did recall. At least from the time they'd come into the project, they'd all been trying to get by. Leif jabbed his finger into the tabletop between them all. "That's what we ought to think about. How many times have we been targeted? We didn't even really know what was going on." He heaved a huge sigh and rubbed his forehead vigorously.

"He's right. Imagine where we'd be if they'd managed to carry out the rest of the conditioning process?"

"Aside from dead?"

"Yeah, but we got pulled out, told we were 'safe' from the bad guys, and given a new mission. Here's what I have to wonder...do we think that the quote-unquote bad guys never went back to try again?"

"You think this alliance group is them? The baddies?"

"I don't think so. It wasn't really clear who was trying to carry out that original programming. Nobody would tell us anything. They just told me that they'd 'found' Maeve in a tiny facility in the middle of nowhere, and rescued her. They basically dumped her through the door, and left. No medical treatment, no nothing. All I had was their word to go by."

"You never told us that."

"Gracie, we were in the middle of nowhere ourselves...the Arctic to our right, our own devices to the left. Just like an experiment." Leif paused to let that sink in. "I had a strong feeling that if I shared my suspicions around, things might get worse. I...didn't want them to take her again."

"What made you think it was an experiment?" Antonio tried to laugh it off, but he felt a cold stone of doubt slither through his gut.

"Aside from being trapped in an icy hellhole?" This theory was nothing new to Josh. He and Leif had sorted out their thoughts on it some time ago.

"We were handpicked. Sent to an isolated location. There were cameras everywhere." As Leif spoke, Grace sat back in shock. Apparently she had never noticed. "But it was what went on at night that really convinced me. I never dreamt, not once, while we were there. I'd put my head down and come to after what seemed like five minutes, every night, like clockwork. Tell me any of you had a different experience." No one said anything.

"We couldn't figure it at first, and we didn't want to say anything. It was too chancy. The best we can figure is that we were being drugged or put into a hypnotic state. Maeve was the only one who never was affected. She'd already been through the whole process, which of course, we didn't know then either."

"You're implying that we've all been fully programmed. How would that work, especially now? Any trigger has surely got to be long lost by now." Antonio felt both relieved and unsettled by the thought.

"Maybe. Unless someone has that information. It's probably not that Alliance bunch they were telling us about, though. Otherwise they would have just flipped the switch and used us." A million thoughts were running rampant through Leif's mind. He was worried about their end of things, obviously. No denying that they might be in danger, even if the reason for it seemed a little loopy.

The real concern was the unknown. He'd never managed to figure out what had actually been done to Maeve. That had been part of the reason why he'd never wanted to talk about it to everyone else. Insofar as most of their group had disliked Wallace, they'd been uncomfortable with Maeve. She'd been like a worrisome thorn in their collective paw.

Even he had been worried, afraid of what she might do, but only because he had seen first-hand every stage of her unraveling. He'd been the one to pick her up out of the dirt and carry her back. It had been into his ear that she had spoken all her secrets. When she'd disappeared, he had gone looking for her. Likewise, when she had been brought to him at his remote new "posting", he hadn't questioned anything. Not until so many other people had arrived had he thought twice about his supposed duty at a listening station.

By the time Maeve had resurfaced, he'd almost convinced himself that she was dead. It wouldn't have been the first time someone killed in action had been swept under the rug. But no. Two men in fatigues had brought her to him. They'd had no insignia, no names...just a report, and they were gone again. She'd been in tough shape, if not physically, then in every other way.

Maeve wouldn't speak to him, wouldn't respond to his questions...not even when he'd tried force. That had been the worst moment, realizing that she was so gone that she wouldn't or couldn't react to a slap in the face. He'd put her to bed then, and pretty well left her alone, until Josh had magically appeared. Just like that, in the middle of the night, someone new to keep company.

"You can't let her stay like this."

"I feed her, do the other stuff...I don't know what else to do. I'm not a nurse."

"Yeah...I was a corpsman. Wanna let me have a look?" That had been the first hint. Leif had stifled the urge to look for cameras right then, thinking how perfect it was that Josh had happened to arrive.

"What's your MOS now?"

"Oh, you caught that, ha! Finished my degree and moved up in the world. Sorta. I do counseling." He'd missed Leif's sharp intake of breath. "They sent me here, said this would be a therapeutic facility."

It had taken several weeks for Leif to be sure that Josh was being honest. In that time, Josh had developed his own suspicions. They only ever shared their thoughts when they could slip past what they hoped was the outside edge of surveillance.

By then, everyone else had arrived, and seemed oblivious to anything strange or ominous. As Leif had observed slowly, he'd seen that none of them had families. No outside attachments. Each had a particular skill set within which no one else overlapped.

By his reckoning, the only person who seemed not to fit the mold completely...had been Jemila. It had never made sense to him why such a cheerful person had been in the midst of a group of introverted, anti-social misfits. And now Maeve was back in a mess. Things seemed to be going back to where they had been.

۞

Maeve sat up in her bed, slowly, carefully. She was testing her limitations after fighting through the ether to get back to consciousness. It had been difficult to get free. She felt fragile and weak. Some of that must be the medications she'd been given. Gradually, she started moving her toes, fingers, feet, legs, hands, arms...everything worked. Bruises were fading from all over her body. She peered down to where there had recently been a knife wound; new skin stretched shiny and pink over it. How long had she been asleep for?

Her fingers sought out the small probes stuck to her skin, pulling them off to drop onto the floor, one by one. A light began to flash on the monitors, after which a nurse soon arrived. She frowned at the sight of her patient sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You're supposed to sleep for another few hours. Let's get you back relaxed and I'll give you another dose of your meds." Maeve cocked her head; acknowledging, but not looking.

"I must decline treatment. I wish to be released." The nurse laughed in surprise.

"Um, I don't know if I can authorize that. If you leave against orders, I have to get one of the docs to sign off. Wouldn't you rather lie down and finish up?"

"No. I have to...get back to my friends." The word came off her tongue ponderously. It was a foreign object in her mouth, and she wanted to pull it out, as if it was a stray hair. The nurse shrugged and went off to look for the on-call. She wondered whether this one had gotten a knock on the head. She had the oddest way of talking.

۞

Dmitry had not found Tark. To be fair, he hadn't looked terribly hard or long. He was tired. Bed was seeming more and more to be the much smarter option. By the time he'd stopped walking, he was in the aquarium with no memory of how he'd gotten there. And there was a cup of coffee in his hand that he didn't really remember buying.

It was times like these that he missed an actual day to night progression. Even with the lights programmed to follow normal seasonal patterns, it wasn't the same. He missed sunset, the phases of the moon, and even thunderstorms. He had to work hard at not letting the days become one massive blur. When he thought it through, he realized that he'd always tried to do that in the most backwards manner possible. Partying, women, fights...it had been trying to feel alive through anesthesia.

He wasn't certain where his future lay yet. It had been difficult to reinvent himself after almost ruining his career. Tark had held his hand through most of that. Their friendship had survived all the storms and sabotage that Dmitry could summon up. Where would it go if Dmitry left? He was thinking about it, had been for a while. The difficulty up until now had been that never-ending sense of obligation to Tark. It was like trying to please yet another parent in some ways. He did know that his friend would be happy and wish him well if he got his own command. The same might not hold true if Dmitry left to go fight some shadow war.

Where had that thought come from? It felt strange but not unwelcome. After all, hadn't he just been thinking that he was homesick, in a way? He didn't necessarily want to go back as a tag along to Maeve and her motley crew, though. That would be awkward in at least two ways.

Wallace and Leif. The former wasn't much of a problem, except that he wasn't going away. The latter, a problem. The guy was an easy six foot seven. Dmitry remembered thinking initially that Leif wasn't too much bigger than he was, but that must have been wishful egotism. Plus, he was built like a rock wall, on top of being completely overprotective of Maeve. Dmitry was beginning to suspect the guy was in love with her.

It wasn't a completely crazy thought. The question was how far it might have gone in days past. She'd told him a little about Wallace, very little. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to bring Leif up, since he had been the one still around. He suddenly realized that Maeve didn't know that Wallace was on the station. She thought he was dead.

His head was swimming. Again, these thoughts seemed like they were coming from some unknown place. Hell, he'd even been thinking that it was time for him to tell Maeve about Rebecca. Now there was a conversation he thought he'd never have with anyone. His first wife...he'd thought she would be the last, given how it ended. What was he saying? She was the last. He wasn't interested in going down that road again.

He blinked. He was in front of his own door. Still in uniform, he wondered how many salutes he might have missed while walking around in a stupor. Time to get some sleep, for god's sake. This was getting ridiculous.

۞

Maeve. She reminded herself that this was who she was.

Somewhere deep inside, she put her hands over her ears. "You're not me!" She screamed it as loud as she could. The debris pinning her down shifted a tiny bit. This was a good sign, so she set to work, putting all her strength behind freeing her legs.

She felt something stir within. It was time to move. She had to get to where she was meant to go. First, however, she had to find the rest of her team. They would certainly be up to date on any alterations to the mission. She had not been able to watch them as closely as she would have liked. The other, the weak one, had blocked her, somehow. It was unanticipated. Even so, she had been able to sort out where she was. Another unexpected event. She was not entirely sure how to get back to Earth.

The on-call had signed her out, grudgingly. She was no longer in any particular danger, health-wise. He had tried, to no avail, to get hold of the station commander to let him know. The nurse touched his elbow and whispered in his ear as Maeve walked carefully out the door.

"Station XO was in here with her. Maybe try him?"

"Good idea." He walked back into the nursing station and made the call.

Maeve walked the corridors. She had no idea where to go.

"Get out of my head." Maeve was beginning to feel pissed. Beyond pissed. Who the hell did this bitch think she was? And where the hell had she come from? She wasn't an idiot, she knew it wasn't a real person. It too was a construct. A something placed in her mind to do some sort of job. A mission. That's what it was. It was a sleeper, in the manner of which the old school spooks had always searched. They'd found a way, evidently. What had they done to her?

She could sense the other fighting in the distance. No need for concern there. She knew how to handle her if she got free. It was in the programming.

"Maeve?" There was someone standing in front of her.

"Yes."

"What are you doing out here? It's dangerous. We haven't caught the guy who hurt you." The voice questioned her with some odd edge to his voice that she did not know how to classify. She had forgotten...not known? Which was it? "Are you okay? You don't look quite right."

"I am well. Please direct me to...my friends." She had to search for that word. My team had almost come out of her mouth, but she had known that this was not correct.

"What? Okay, alright, whatever. They're staying at the theater. I'll take you." The someone, whose voice was familiar, began to walk. Clearly he expected her to follow, so she did. "I have to warn you, though, there are a couple new people with them."

"People? Such as?"

"Some people you may know. Look, I don't want to get in the middle of anything. I just wanted to help."

"This information is not helpful."

"Now look, I know something isn't right with you. You shouldn't have left the clinic." He kept walking, though she could sense that he was ready to do something else.

"I am well."

"You said that already. What's going on with you?"

"Please direct me...."

"To your friends. Yeah, you already said that too. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It's not me. That's what's wrong. She doesn't even know who you are."Maeve wanted to weep with frustration.

"Nothing is wrong. I need to speak with them." She finally categorized his voice. He was the station's executive officer, with whom the other had spent not insignificant time. He would need to be disengaged. She was in the process of calculating how best to rid herself of him when he stopped suddenly. He remained motionless for a few moments, his back to her.

"Look, I don't know where we'll be in a week, let alone a year from now. I'm willing to take it day by day."

"I do not follow your meaning." He turned around heatedly. She did not flinch.

"I care about you, dammit! In spite of myself, and how outlandishly weird this whole situation is at moments...you're all I can think about." She narrowed her eyes. She assessed and compared his words to her programmed responses.

"You are attempting to distract or detain me." The man became angry. She could see in his eyes that she had been incorrect, but it was immaterial. He was detaining her, even if unintentionally.

"I'm taking you back to the clinic. Something is not right with you." He moved to put his hands on her, intending to heave her over his shoulder if necessary. To his shock and dismay, she immediately blocked him. In another second he was on his back, ears ringing. He saw stars, he fancied. She leaned over him, taking hold of his uniform collar tightly.

"Harming you is not necessary...yet. Stand down."

"Maeve, what the hell?"

"She is no longer...I no longer care for you." She turned on her heel quickly, and ran. Dmitry was left sitting on the ground. In spite of himself, his cool exterior crumbled away, leaving behind a familiar darkness. He indulged in several minutes' worth of self-pity and bile as he slowly stood up.

He wasn't sure whether he'd cracked his head on the ground, or whether she'd clipped him. The world tilted a little, and he gingerly felt around to see where the damage was. Right temple, he found. It throbbed when he touched it. How in the hell had she gotten the drop on him like that? She should have been weak and woozy herself. It was as though she'd been possessed...everything snapped back into focus.

"Shit." He thought back to the last thing Maeve had said. How had she said it? She is no longer. Right after he'd said her name. He shook off the cobwebs and dug out his earpiece, jamming it into place. "Get me the colonel, now. I don't care what he's in the middle of, get him!"

۞

It was approximately the middle of the night. Everyone had remained in Mrs. Han's library after raiding her kitchen one last time. They tried to sleep, with varying degrees of success. Worry and regret seemed to hang in the air; together, they chased away any real chance of rest. It seemed as though they'd been there for hours, if not days, when Mrs. Han opened the door and walked in. She turned and looked over her shoulder, waving at someone just outside. After a moment, Maeve walked in, and everyone sighed a tiny bit of relief. It was short-lived.

"Our mission is active." Her face was unreadable. Wallace frowned in confusion. He stood to make himself known to her, only to see Leif frozen in pale dismay.

"What's wrong?" He found himself whispering for no apparent reason.

"Depending on how you look at it, nothing and everything." Cryptic as a cat, Leif continued to watch her closely. What else was new?

Wallace jumped nearly out of his skin. Maeve had materialized right next to him, looking at him both curiously and appraisingly.

"You were thought to be dead."

"That was probably a relief to you."

"Your statement is unsound emotionalism. I am merely stating what a functional theory was. It is irrelevant, in any case. Briefing and mobilization are primary." She turned and faced the others. "Who has the briefing?"

"I do." Julieta twisted herself out of the chair into which she'd been coiled. She sized Maeve up, wondering whether she'd misjudged the other woman. She seemed okay, and certainly sounded like she was ready to take command and lead them. "Over here."

"Your tactical assessments are admirable. Who is the principal target?"

"This guy. Robert Warden." Julieta shoved a tablet over to Maeve.

"There is no photo."

"We won't need it. We have somebody who can identify him."

"Is this person on the ground with Warden?"

"Affirmative. He'll stay with or near him as long as he can."

"Where is Warden's current location?"

"We think here. It's his summer home, from what our source has told us." Julieta brought a map up on a larger viewscreen. "You can also see the other locations we know of where he either has operations, or else what one might call safe houses."

"He will be here." Maeve had walked over to the map. She touched a section in the Mediterranean, enlarging it until a tiny Aegean island was centered.

"Why there? His summer place is in the French Alps, protected by high peaks...it's like a fortress."

"He wishes to be found. An island is easily defensible, but accessible. Ask your source what he knows about this place."

"Whoa, wait. Why would you assume he wants us to hunt him down? He sent someone to kill us. That would indicate that he'd rather keep us away."

"A killer with his own agenda is what this guy sent." Antonio waved his own tablet at them.

"Are you hacking the station network?" Grace scrambled to peer over his shoulder.

"I think all bets are off right now. The colonel has a preliminary report on his desk, as it were, linking a murder onboard a tourist ship to what happened here. The ship happened to make a layover here on the Nimitz, on the day that the doctor...you know." He made a whooshing noise, moving his hand quickly at the same time.

"Great. What kind of murder?"

"Well, Signorina Julieta, it's a nasty little story. Victim was late thirties, female, strangled. Signs of sexual activity, but no confirmation on the nature of same."

"What on earth does that mean?"

"It means they don't know when the activity took place yet."

"But Jemi wasn't strangled. Why did they link it to her?"

"A curious little thing. DNA found on scene, not belonging to the victim, not on file anywhere."

"The invisible man."

"Not invisible. Maeve saw him. You saw what he looked like, right?" She was silent.

"Maeve?"

"I must have informed the station authorities. It is their responsibility now. The only relevant fact from what took place and what Assunta has added is that a killer with an obvious weakness was sent. This indicates that his role may be to provide intelligence, more than to actually accomplish a set task."

"You're saying that he was sent to size us up?"

"It seems likely. He may even be a liability to this Warden, in spite of whatever skills he has. Warden may have posited that, if his assassin succeeded, we were never a true threat anyway. But now he knows that he should not underestimate us."

"That would tend to imply that this Warden person is possibly a lot more dangerous than we've thought."

"Perhaps you ought to pay attention to your source, who seems to have no trouble in escaping Warden's watchful eye." Julieta's gaze traveled down to the briefing materials, which included a quick update on Boko's movements. She glanced over her shoulder at Mrs. Han. The old woman gave a nervous shrug, and quickly left the room.

Why hadn't Boko known anything concrete about this assassin? And while his grandfather had predicted his return, she was bothered by the timing. Had he gone to see Kun because he felt threatened or in imminent danger, or was he playing both sides? She sighed and looked back at Maeve.

Even though she sounded reasonably rational and daresay, leaderly, there was something not quite right. It wasn't Maeve herself giving the indication, though. Julieta had not known her well enough to know the difference there. It was plain on Wallace's face, and Leif's as well, that something was up.

"Mrs. Han said she'd have some food waiting for us in the kitchen. Leif, could you give me a hand?" He swiveled his head quickly, ready to voice dissent, until he caught Julieta's exaggerated eyeball rolling toward the door.

"I guess."

"We'll be back in five minutes." She waited until they were both in the hallway headed downstairs before pouncing. "Alright, Christensen. What is up?"

"Hard to say for sure."

"Well, give it a try."

"I think I mentioned that we weren't really sure what kind of programming she'd been through. When they dumped her up at the listening post...I took it at face value. It wasn't until later, when everyone else started showing up with orders that I really began to wonder."

"Um, you lost me."

"You're not stupid. None of us is. All that crap we were told, about dodging some evil plan to turn us into super soldiers or whatever?"

"You think we were being trained instead of saved?"

"Maybe not by the same people who got to Maeve, but yes. Do you remember having a single dream at any point we were there? Do you?" He was stuck on this point. Part of him wished that someone would disagree. He didn't want this to be their reality after all.

"You can't expect me to remember that!"

"We're ticking bombs, Jules. Maeve, on the other hand, is active."

"What!? Crap on a cracker...what the hell are we doing, shouldn't we stop her?"

"How? We don't know what she was programmed to do. And regardless of what you might think, hurting her is not an option."

"She must have gotten triggered during that attack. Warden wouldn't have done that intentionally...it doesn't make sense. His intel must not be complete."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. We've got to try and talk about this with the others, though. If I'm right about us having been programmed at some point, she may be the one to know our triggers."

"Shit...there's no fighting against that. What are we supposed to do?"

"Go along with it. Don't fight her. Maybe she won't initiate anything if she sees we're fully cooperating."

"Great. Then what do we do if she goes completely nuts?" She noted the faintly stricken look on his face. "Sorry, Leif, but this isn't a frigging opera here. We have to think about it."

"Somebody better be ready with a big dose of something to knock her out."

۞

Boko had received news from his grandfather. Things were not going according to plan anymore. Something had happened, and the others were coming back much earlier, en masse, while his own role was being rewritten.

"I want you to come back here, Boko, before he gets the news that they have left the Nimitz. It will be much more difficult for you to move freely once they have. Seek out a holiday, or an assignment that will take you away from his reach."

"But who will finish my end of things?"

"I will tell you that once you arrive. Please, just do as I ask." So, he had. He was on his way out of Athens, carefully making sure that he was not being followed. There had been a convenient flight out of the city, to within five hundred miles of his grandfather. After that, he would make his way slowly, and cautiously.

It hadn't been an easy thing to concoct a reason for leaving, either. He'd thought all night, and walked in to his office the next day without a single thought in mind. Providentially, or perhaps because Grandfather had realized what a task he'd set before his grandson, something had arrived just that morning.

A messenger was needed in the Americas, someone highly trusted, to carry back to Warden some documents and other materiel. It was not to be given over to anyone outside the organization. It couldn't be trusted to the postal services with their invasive screening procedures. No, it had to be given over by hand. Naturally, Warden had looked immediately to his "good friend" and trusted colleague. He had chosen Boko so quickly, actually, that suspicion had arisen immediately in Boko's breast.

There had been fear and anger in that man's mind as he had readied for his trip back to Peru. He had analyzed and rethought every moment of the conversation between Warden and him. One thought was that Warden was testing him. Another was that, for all his black heart, Warden might actually be naïve.

Boko still walked with an eye permanently cast over his shoulder. He decided to make his way to the mountains over the space of four days. That would give the others enough time to make their way back planetside, while he could be completely sure to lose anyone who might be following.

He'd emptied his apartment of personal effects before leaving, making sure to give no hint of being permanently gone. Most of his clothes were still there, as well as food, and plants. All his photos and letters were with him, while souvenirs or other telling objects had been dumped anonymously at charities in the city. He traveled lightly, carrying only a fifty-pound pack. He would take public transportation as far as it could go, knowing that he would have to hike the rest of the route to the way station.

Once he got there, someone could call Grandfather, and he would finish the journey the way he had last time. Of course, last time, he'd hired locals to drive him to the way station, and paid them generously to forget him. This time, he couldn't afford to part with money. He'd changed it all over to gold standard upon arriving in Peru. An extremely elderly man in a dingy storefront had accomplished this task, wordlessly calculating, running a tongue over toothless gums. No questions, no refunds, no negotiating, and most of all, no identity check.

He made his way over the countryside to the still-vast forests. The Ayamara farmers barely paid him any heed as he passed through. Mountain climbers were still a regular sight. The llamas were the only ones who paid him any mind. They all trailed behind him, bleating wistfully for a treat.

He gave them slivers of the fruit that he'd brought with him. After that foolish move, they adored him over quite a distance before heeding the herder's flute. Once they were gone, his only company was birds and monkeys. They only watched him from a safe distance, sensing that he had nothing of interest for them.

۞

She was still, buried, exhausted. All the digging and scrabbling in the debris she'd done had accomplished very little. There was no budging the long beams of wood and piles of concrete pinning her down. It was beginning to seem clear that she'd been drawn into her subconscious by this other entity. She still did not recollect how something as deliberate as this could have ended up in her brain. Maybe this was why her friends always seemed to be watching her, as if waiting for something.

Yes, she had been lured in, and trapped, deliberately. If this other...thing...could manipulate her mindscape, though, why shouldn't she be able to do the same? It was hers, after all. The trick was figuring out how to exert that much control. Or maybe it wasn't about a quantity.

She'd put out the fire after all. How had she done that? It worried her a little; what if she hadn't been the one to do it? Had it been part of the lure? The biggest unknown, though, the fear that weakened her resolve, was what would happen once she got out. What sort of battle might she face once she caught up with this invader? The uncertainty ate away at her until she decided to rest. Sleep would probably help her sort things out.

۞

"What's up Dem? You have a really crummy sense of timing, you know?"

"What did I interrupt?" There was silence on the other end. "Never mind. I'll just assume that you're with Sa'andy and leave it at that."

"Would you mind telling me why you had to send a PFC to come pound on the door to my domicile?"

"Sorry. Yes. Uh, the thing is, I ran into Maeve."

"I thought she was due to stay overnight in the clinic. No?"

"She was. They called me and said she was discharged against doctor's orders."

"This doesn't sound promising."

"So, no, not really. She was behaving a bit oddly, and then she knocked me on my ass."

"Define oddly."

"She referred to herself in the third person. Sort of. Accidentally."

"So you called me."

"Exactly."

"I'm missing a step here."

"You recall when her friends told us that she had been, at one time, subject to some sort of brainwashing scheme?"

"Ah, now I see the big picture."

"I thought you might."

"Any idea where she is?"

"Mrs. Han's."

"Shit." How the hell were they going to go in? He had no reason to try and take her out of there.

"They're planning on leaving soon anyway. What happens if they go back to Earth and she goes on her little mission?"

"I really have no idea. Christensen said he didn't even know what she'd been programmed to do. They were only guessing. I just don't want to see a war started for no good reason."

"Tark, man, one thing you may not want to hear, but you need to; we might not have a lot of control over that anymore."

"Bull. If we can keep them from going and causing trouble...I think things will quiet down."

"You know I love you like a brother, but you are a dude who can live in denial like a madman."

"You'd rather I wasn't such an optimist?"

"Not really. I mean, optimism saved my ass." Dmitry drew in a deep breath before trying to say what he knew he needed to say. "Maeve and her friends haven't exactly angered a sleeping bear. If anything, they've managed to point out the fact that we've got an already angry bear at our back door."

"A bear?"

"You're the one who likes metaphors. My point is, maybe we ought to be supporting this. Maybe we ought to get on the right side before things get crazy."

"What, you think conflict is inevitable?"

"I do. But if we can contain it, keep it on Earth, then it might not get as bad as it might otherwise."

"That's an awful lot of vagueness. Any reason in particular you feel this way?" Tark stared at the comm piece, wondering where all this newfound passion had come from. Could Maeve have had such a big impact on him in this relatively short amount of time?

Dmitry felt in his trouser knee pocket for his tablet. He'd held off from showing Tark the correspondence between Hawke and whomever she'd been in touch with back on Earth. It had seemed irrelevant at first, until things began to happen....

"I'm sending you a file."

"What of?"

"Just read it. I think it'll give you the context you need to understand my saying that I believe we need to act first. We ought to be on the offensive."

"Are you in support of Maeve and her friends leaving to be part of this?"

"Yes and no."

"Because of how she was acting? I don't know. If what they said was true, she might be equipped to go after some group like this Mithraic bunch."

"And yet...I keep going back to a doubt. Christensen says that they never knew who took her. They don't know what she was given for orders. What if she's trying to lead them into an ambush? I mean, not her, but whatever is in control...I still didn't even know this was possible."

"Any super soldier programs we ever heard about were complete flops. I don't know. Maybe everything they've said is true. If that's the case, maybe the best we can do is let them go and follow close behind." Tark's voice had gone suddenly hard. He was scanning the file Dmitry had sent him on his tablet. There were years' worth of messages, but the important ones Dmitry had highlighted.

These all detailed Hawke's feelings, certainly, but more importantly, they were the writings of an informer. All of Tark's courtship with Sa'andy was written in minutiae. Many other personnel and civilians on board the station were apparently monitored as well. They were regularly referred to as "enemies of humankind" throughout Hawke's messages. Tark had the feeling he could read on for several hours.

"Am I to assume you have read the entirety of these messages?""

"I have."

"I apologize, then. I had her for a garden-variety kook."

"I think she was chosen for that reason. She was eccentric, total crap for people skills; we all figured she was just a nut with unpleasant opinions."

"This explains why my requests for her transfer were denied three times."

"Three times?!" Dmitry was both surprised and not. Tark shrugged into the darkness and said nothing as he continued to read. Hawke's words certainly lent an air of truth to Maeve and her friends' talk of mission. Moreover, it seemed to point to some potentially influential people having a vested interest in the Mithraic Alliance. They were going to have to be a bit more cautious in their movements and communications from now on.

"You think that this alliance is going to try to initiate hostilities with other species?"

"It's difficult to say whether that's the primary goal, or whether they plan on sealing the borders to the system first. It seems obvious that something big is in the works, and the timeframe is not terribly far off at this moment." Dmitry paced in circles through the arboretum. The section he stood in was the edge of the rain forest; a stream ran its watery fingers through a mangrove stand. It was distracting, but only just so.

"Dem, you still there?"

"Yeah."

"You're trying to decide what to do."

"I've always been pretty obvious...."

"That's a flipping understatement. Go get some rest. We'll find them in a couple hours and try to settle on a common plan."

"But...."

"No arguments. You said yourself that she wasn't acting herself. You can't fix that on your own." Tark disconnected, leaving his words to echo painfully in Dmitry's head. He still wasn't sure which was worse; knowing that she was beyond his reach, or that she might be killed before he had a chance to figure anything out.

Maeve had told him to leave her alone, in so many words, in a voice that had sounded like hers. He was assuming that she was under the thrall of preprogrammed directive, but he couldn't be certain.

Perhaps it actually had been her. Then what? He shook the thought from his mind. It wasn't any help to allow himself to get depressed. There was no altering the situation as it stood. He was unlikely to find sympathy from her friends. Leif clearly wanted no part of him. And now this Wallace person had risen up from the past...it was untenable. He had to focus on what he could.

That thought firmly in place, Dmitry stalked back to his quarters, trying to sort through his conversation with Tark. It seemed as though he'd gotten his friend to see reason. It was a bit troubling that Tark had begun talking as though he intended to be a part of any return to Earth. One thing at a time, he told himself. While sleep might prove elusive, he did have alternate plans.

۞

Leif sat across the room, watching Maeve warily. Everyone else ate uneasily, silently, watching Leif. He hadn't uttered a word since coming back to the library with Julieta. She had resumed her spot next to where Maeve was still looking over intelligence and maps.

"There must be some way of identifying Warden."

"Boko will be that way."

"And what will happen if he fails to comply with his part of the agreement? His file states that he has only recently been turned."

"He came back on his own. He won't fail."

"And if he was sent by Warden?"

"Are you going to do this the entire time?"

"I do not understand."

"Naysay? You have a problem with every detail I have given you so far."

"If all your information is interpreted incompletely, then yes." Julieta threw up her hands in disgust and flung herself into a chair. Grace discreetly made her way over to perch on its arm.

"You okay?" She spoke as softly as she could. Julieta scowled. "So, no. Do you want something to eat?" Grace smiled disarmingly, her blue eyes twinkling in flickering candlelight. Julieta relaxed her frown as a few cheerful memories surfaced. It hadn't been long enough the first time around. Her second chance sat within reach; a happy distraction from being irritated to death.

"Sure. Let's go closer to the fire." She held her hand out for Grace to take hold of. The gas logs were across the room in the other direction. They walked past Wallace, Julieta jabbing him in the shoulder as they did. He looked up at her in startlement, and then smiled as genuinely as he could muster. It was about time. Julieta followed up her action with her trademark eye roll in Maeve's direction. He shook his head vigorously. She summoned up her mom face, and held up a warning finger. He sighed and stood up to walk over to Maeve.

"How's it going?" He looked over all the intel she'd taken to pieces so far.

"The question is irrelevant."

Great, he thought, this ought to be loads of fun.

"What do you need?" He was a little afraid to hear the answer.

"An alternate means of identifying Warden. There must be an image, a recording, anything."

"I don't know. We can try to see if Master Kun has anything, or whether Boko knows of something." He caught a look in her eye. "You distrust Boko."

"Not him, necessarily. Just the timing, as I previously stated. Coincidence is less frequent than one might imagine."

"Well, I don't know or trust him. But I trust Kun. And he has given his complete confidence to Boko. Good enough for me."

"And if this grandson is killed, or if he simply decides to go into hiding, rather than put himself in danger?"

"Okay, okay. I'll see. There could be something besides a picture, I guess. Because for that item, we've hunted two years to no fruition."

"Very well." Maeve returned her attention to the map of the Aegean Sea. She was trying to study it closely, memorizing the lay of the island, and its so-called vacation home. Slowly, she became aware that the Wallace person was studying her in much the same fashion. "What do you require?"

"What happens once we hit the end of the mission?"

"I fail to follow your meaning."

"What happens to her?"

"To whom do you refer?" She avoided his eyes, concentrating on marking the map with a red pen. He leaned in to whisper; she flinched in spite of her parameters.

"You know what the hell I'm talking about. Maeve. What happens at the end?"

"I...have not been briefed."

"I won't let you hurt her."

"I caution you against impulsive behavior. My orders are only to see the mission through to its end."

"And you're not surprised by the fact that we're several centuries removed from the time those orders were issued?"

"Some of the existing conditions could not have been predicted, but no." She was utterly sincere, he realized. It was a bit of a blindside, one whose implications he could not completely grasp yet.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are not read in, and I am not authorized to say anything further."

"I really think you'd better reconsider that." Moving to put his hand on her shoulder, he watched her face turn stony. He found himself on his knee, staring at his hand as it twisted impossibly in her grip.

"Remove yourself until you have further information." Maeve released his hand, while he stumbled back, trying to recover his footing. He ran into a solid obstacle, and turned to find Leif standing behind him. Wallace cringed, thinking of their exchange just a few hours before.

"I wouldn't bother. She's on the clock." He continued to rub his wrist.

"I know." Leif looked less angry and more despairing by now. "I always wondered what it would look like if she ever went active. Never imagined this."

"What...she seems pretty calm."

"Yeah, I know. I guess I figured it'd be a lot more on the feral side of things."

"That's ludicrous."

"You didn't see what she looked like...it was like she'd been in a gulag. All beat to hell, half-starved...not pretty."

"You never said that."

"I don't really like you a hell of a lot."

"Right."

"But I think we all have to function as a team if we want to see daylight at the end of this thing."

"Okay. That doesn't sound completely loathsome."

"Then are you going to try and get something on Warden before we all turn old and gray?" Leif was running on fumes; Wallace wisely chose not to push any further.

"Sure, man, I'm on it." Wallace walked away to try and get a message off to Kun. The loose end of that last "talk" with Leif still tickled at his brain, though he couldn't grab hold of it to remember what it was about. He shrugged it off for the time being. The more important task was to contact Kun and let him know what was happening. They had not anticipated Maeve being triggered so early in this process.

۞

They would need to proceed a lot more carefully...he didn't like to think about what might happen if Leif and the others went active on board a space station. This had definitely not been thought through well enough. His training as a handler had never once covered a situation quite like this. He wondered how much Warden knew about them. It certainly seemed as though he knew enough to access Maeve without any trouble, if the theory of the so-called assassin held up.

Wallace was still kicking himself that he and Kun hadn't thought of this possibility. It seemed stupidly obvious in hindsight, but it had genuinely never occurred to either of them. And now, he ran the risk of being exposed for what he was before the moment when it was actually practicable. Jules would be at the head of the line to punch him in the nuts, were she to realize that he'd been part of an act.

It had surprised him constantly how readily she'd accepted the explanation that Kun had chosen them randomly. That he, Wallace, was some kind of amateur bumbler. She should have seen through it, if anyone could have.

Maeve had been a different story. He'd known instantly that she wouldn't sort out what he was doing. It wasn't that she'd been naïve. She hadn't wanted to look too deep. His task had been simplified by the easy trust she'd granted him. At first anyway. Until his own head had gotten muddled by emotion. He'd failed to anticipate just how much that would screw everything up.

He had prepared himself to arrive on board the Nimitz and find a way to confess everything to Maeve. So far, nothing was going according to plan, and there was no longer any point. Nothing had ever really gone to plan though. If he'd only been able to see through his end, at least nothing would have gone so terribly wrong.

That was the demon with which he lived.

Allowing himself to develop feelings for Maeve had aloowed both their worlds to come crashing down. He looked over at Maeve who was not Maeve, and knew he had to put things to right. It might be long overdue, but it could still be done. First order of business, deactivate her.

They would have to wait until they reached Earth to undertake that process. She'd go along with a pretext more easily than outright trying to overpower her, anyway. Wallace's only concern was what might happen if she succeeded in neutralizing Robert Warden on her first attempt. He'd have to be sure that didn't take place. It was bad enough that there seemed to be several conflicting layers of orders. And no, he had not been privy to all of them, apparently.

۞

Robert Warden was still on his quiet island. He knew what storm lurked some distance away, and yet he remained. It was what he desired. His wife and children were gone. Very soon, he expected the difficulty of his brother-in-law to be gone as well. Only a few of his soldiers were left behind with him; the rest were mobilizing in anticipation of a muster and practice maneuvers.

His board members were aware that something new was in the offing. As far as they were concerned, it only pertained to the threat that had heretofore been contained within the metal box. As far as they knew, his only aim was to kill Maeve Howard and her companions. There would have been far too much anxiety and discussion if he had revealed his full agenda prematurely.

Instead, only his top ranking officers knew that what appeared to be a military exercise was anything but. Warden had worked quietly and efficiently through the course of a decade to build up a loyal and dependable army. That army soon would enact his agenda. Those that opposed him would be removed. The Earth system would finally be brought to heel.

None of this had happened quickly. It had been in opposition to his nature and impetuous inclinations. The first time around, reckless zealousness had been the downfall. He had learned to bide his time, amass wealth and power; become an expert at illusion and patience. He had learned to wait.

In some ways, he saw himself as a crocodile hidden in the muddy banks of a swollen river. Like cobras, those creatures were experts in stillness. They might appear to be something other than what they were, something harmless, tempting the weak into drawing too close. He closed his eyes, amber crocodilian eyes, and sank into the fantasy of snapping massive jaws shut around his enemies. It was a pleasing thought. And all that was required was a bit more waiting.

His breathing turned ragged, and he realized that he was aroused. It was not unusual, but he was never quite able to decide whether he should indulge the impulse or not. He walked over to an oil lamp that had been burning for several days now, and held a small metal rod over its flame. Once it began to smoke, he rolled the object back and forth, finally withdrawing it, and placing the hot end on the bare skin of his bicep. It was both a reminder to stay on task, and a means of releasing the pent up energy. The pounding of his heart slowed back to a more reasonable rate.

It would not be long now.

۞

"This is the most insane idea you have ever had." Antonio was having increasing thoughts of running away.

"I know. What other option do we have?" Wallace looked over at Leif. They had already discussed and come to a tense agreement on a plan.

"And what do we do if there are further permutations of this programming?"

"Meaning?"

"What do we do if she goes really dark and scary, man? Are you prepared for that?"

"Antonio, I respect your opinion on this, I really do. I think what we're going to have to do is split up, to be honest. You go with Jules, and head to Peru. Whoever wants to go with me...and Maeve...we'll head straight for the Aegean."

"That's more grabass than plan, Wallace."

"No, he's right. I'm going with them too. The rest of you get back to this little hideout in the jungle. The old guy will help us figure out what to do after that, right?"

"Leif! No way, no way! We're not going to let you guys go off and get yourselves killed!" Grace was not into this plan at all. Wallace held up his hand to silence everyone. Julieta frowned in surprise, but patted Grace's hand to keep her from interrupting further.

"That's not going to happen. Whatever else she might have been programmed to do, she's not going to harm either of us."

"Yes, but will she keep you from harm?"

"I guess we'll have to watch our own butts."

"You seem to know a little something, there Wallace." Leif was eyeing him suspiciously.

"Yeah...we've spent two years studying up on all of this. It's about time I stopped screwing around and do my job, that's all." He did not meet anyone's stare, standing instead to go and brief Colonel Tarkington. He left, looking older than he ever had before. Grace poked her finger toward the door through which he had just exited.

"That guy is not telling us everything." Grace was serious for once. Julieta scoffed.

"He's a goof-off. I can't believe he retained anything Kun taught us." She shook her head at the credulity of some people, even though she very much enjoyed sitting very close to this one person. Indignantly, Grace stood up and turned around to face all of them.

"I may not have a college degree, but I graduated with honors from the school of bullshit detection. He is lying to us about something. Something big. I never really paid attention to it before, but it's always been there. Why was he there?"

"I dunno. He was trying to get back to her, make himself feel better. His daddy must have pulled all those strings, in spite of what he said."

"No, not the Arctic. Where you guys were stationed before that. How did he just happen to stumble on board a military base and meet somebody who later on just happened to become part of a programming experiment? I guess it took being a few more paces back from the painting to see everything in focus...."

Leif had a dazed expression plastered across his face, his mouth working over the theory in a mute conversation with himself. Everyone else alternatingly frowned or tried to rebut this strange theory. None of them could.

"So...what role could he possibly be playing? Who did he work for?"

"The daddy rule still applies. His old man was hardcore, and liked the cold war stuff. I met him a few times...he was no joke."

"You think his own father recruited him?"

"Could be. Well, look, this is just a lot of guessing. I'm not solid behind the idea that Fergus Wallace is or was some kind of spook. He's just too much of a...." Leif had stopped cold.

"You see? You see what you did there? You just blew up your own argument against." Boom. Grace sat back in satisfaction.

"I don't get it. What did he do there?" Antonio was beginning to have a frantic edge to his voice. There was far too much crazy stuff going on of late. He supposed it was too late to finally tell them that he'd only volunteered because of the pay rate it had promised. His plan had always been to use it to finance his own internet startup. The internet was probably long gone by now.

"He's playing the Scarlet Pimpernel." Josh smiled. Then he shook his head and stopped.

"Playboy millionaire." Grace tapped the table in further satisfaction. Josh waved her off.

"He's not butch enough for that kind of acting."

"Please. Don't go giving me visions of him in any kind of tights. Let's get back to reality. Or unreality." Julieta was annoyed by all this talk. Wallace was anything but complex. He was an infant. Grace looked at her with a little bit of sadness.

"Yeah, sure. Reality is this: she is going to come looking for us soon. He is playing us all. We are going to get our asses handed to us."

"We're not going to let that happen. We'll split up, like he says. Leif is more than capable of handling Wallace. The rest of us will go back and try to get the truth out of your Master Kun."

"Whoa, Josh, who says Kun knows any of this? We're taking some pretty big leaps of logic, as far as I can see."

"Jules, I understand that you don't want to go down this road. Maybe his intentions have been honest, but we're going to have to realize that he might have his orders too."

"And us? Our orders? Why are we going along with any of this anymore? Any orders we had died with the guys who gave them!" They were losing Antonio to panic. This was the problem with civilians....

"Or the girls. Don't forget them, Tonio."

"Could you stop fooling around, Grace? Just tell me why the hell I should be going along with this?"

"I'd be happy to." Julieta gripped the arm of the chair she was perched on. "If we don't do something, this whole system will be at war, very shortly. We've been seeing it coming for a while. Oh, maybe Warden has told his investors and cronies that he wants only to go so far as shutting the borders. But we have seen what is coming. If I'd doubted it, Boko put those doubts to rest." She stood, and began to pace, hoping it wouldn't be difficult to convince them. "Warden plans on extermination on a mass scale, as a means of luring in outside worlds to open war. War is big business, but more than that, he wants to push the human race as the dominant species as far out as he can go."

In reality, they were only theorizing this. Julieta felt that it was time to lay it on the line, though. Grace frowned. There was probably something to say that was both wise and reassuring. She just couldn't summon it up. She preferred being a wiseass.

"Suicide mission, yay!"

"I think we pretty much knew that already." Julieta sighed and fell back into a nearby chair.

"I know." She frowned. "It just sounds less doom and gloomy when you say 'yay!' at the end."

Josh waited for a few moments to sidle up to Leif. He was hoping to talk some sense into his friend, though it was unlikely.

"Hey."

"Don't say it."

"Maybe I should go with you. Girls can handle themselves. They're not headed into the kill box."

"What are you worried about?"

"You destroying Wallace springs to mind. As does you not having a ton of perspective."

"He was never really interested in her. It was a scam. How did I miss that?"

"I can think of a few reasons. The better question is how did she miss it? Anyway, if what you told me is true, there must have been more than a job on his mind at one time."

"Right. Getting laid. Like that means a damn thing."

"Maybe it does. But that's not my worry. She is. Her altered mental status, if you will. I'd equate what she's going through to something like a fugue or dissociative state."

"I'm sorry, none of that means a thing to me."

"Both of those are events that occur after trauma or...something so psychologically stressful, that the brain physically tries to protect itself from further harm by creating a break, a barrier."

"So, you're saying that the programming she was given...."

"It created an artificial fugue. It's would be easiest way of brainwashing. Put the individual through a prolonged period of chaos and tension. And as we figured, while the person is in a sleeping state, that's when suggestion becomes possible."

"I don't know if I like the implications of 'prolonged'. How is that treated when it happens...not on purpose?"

"Ah, well, that depends on the individual. I don't think you can find a one size fits all for that, but this isn't an ordinary case. If it was an organic onset, I'd say therapy of some sort. But it isn't. It's a...surrogate personality, one that was put in place, which means she's probably somewhere in there, screaming to get out." It was obvious that Leif hadn't considered this possibility.

"What?"

"Well, think about it. This is a persona that has nothing to do with Maeve. It's like having a...parasite, or a tiny robot controlling her. The likeliest means of keeping Maeve out of the way, not cluttering up the process of the mission assignment, is to trap her somewhere. If we can get at her when she's in a sleeping state, or even put her under hypnosis, we can try to get her back."

"And you know how to do that?"

"Ah, no."

"So it has to wait."

"I'd say so. But I'd be willing to bet that our odds will improve if we finish up on that island and get her to someone who's an expert in meditative states."

"The old guy. Kun."

"That's what I'm thinking."

"So we just have to keep from getting our asses shot off until then." They nodded in unison, unwilling to think too far into the future on that count.

۞

Bijul was ready to fly. Her new ship was ready to leave the docks and head back to Earth. She'd made some interior modifications. Her cockpit had been reconfigured the way she preferred, and she'd carefully stowed an assortment of weaponry inside a bulkhead. These items were chosen with a specific intent.

Her goal was to prevent these people from carrying out the mission that Colonel Tarkington claimed they were going to do. They were supposed to prevent a war, he'd told her. She needed war to come. It was the only way.

Men like Tarkington didn't understand what conflict could accomplish. He saw it as a last resort, something terrible and ruinous. Bijul knew that war could open the floodgates to so much more. It always brought innovation, invention, and opportunity. The last would be hers, if she could grasp hold of it.

She knew now that the group was going to split. She would be piloting one portion of it to Peru, onto a mountainous plateau. The other half would be headed to a sheep-populated island in the Mediterranean. Somehow, she knew she would have to deposit her passengers and try to reach that island as quickly as possible.

۞

"I don't know why I'm agreeing to this, but Captain Petrovich concurs with your assessments." Tark chewed on his lip, feeling the sting of a bad habit indulged far too often of late. "You realize I could not only be removed from command, but probably get shot for this?"

"You're not going to be shot."

"Dmitry, neither of us can predict what's going to happen."

"You're going to stay here. We'll figure out how to deal with personnel later. I'm going to follow behind with...certain numbers...but if you're here, you'll be safe. You can always lock this place down." They were quiet for a moment as ramifications began to imagine themselves.

"I should do that now." Tark brought up a schematic of the station. He stared at it, unable to think further than the sheer numbers of living creatures on board.

"Colonel, Major, I appreciate your anxiety over all this. You don't know me from Adam, as the saying goes, but you can trust me."

"Sorry, Mr. Wallace, I doubt that's a selling point for us."

"Dmitry...."

"No, it's alright. I know what he wants to say. It's the same thing everybody wants to say about me. They think I'm a flake, a...cad, I guess. I couldn't ever tell them the truth." Wallace fidgeted uncomfortably with his stylus pen.

"What's the truth?" Dmitry could feel dread settling down all around them.

"I was a recruiter. Maeve was my assignment. My agency had followed her career for a while, she fit all the qualifications, they wanted her." He felt lightheaded, and realized he hadn't eaten in hours.

"You let her go through the brainwashing thing?"

"No, Major, you don't get it yet. I hit a snag."

"A snag."

"I kinda got in too deep, if you follow me."

"You fell for her."

"Sort of. We got a little involved...my agency dragged me back, reamed me out, and sent me back to bring her in ahead of schedule." Wallace seemed to grow more and more pale as he sat in front of them.

"They wanted to kidnap her?"

"Something like that. I definitely failed on bringing her in. We didn't know that we had somebody else watching the watcher. There was a secondary agency feeding off our intel. And...when they saw me hesitate, they moved in."

"This doesn't sound like a very great platform for trust."

"I didn't want to see her get hurt. We had no idea that anybody else was interested."

"So this other agency grabbed her and did the initial programming that you talked about."

"Oh, it was way worse than that."

"What do you mean?"

"The other agency was the nascent beginnings of the Mithraic Alliance. They waited until she was out running a night exercise with her company...she and Christensen were the only two who survived." Dmitry and Tark exchanged a look.

"I take it that this is why you're eager to see the destruction of the Alliance."

"Definitely up there on the list."

"Why did Leif live through it? Did they want him too?"

"No, not at first. He came onto my agency's radar because he kept looking for her. He was dogged. So we sent him to Norway to keep him out of trouble until we could find her. At that point, I got some help in getting reassigned to being a handler."

"You didn't answer the question." Dmitry was beginning to see why Christensen didn't like the guy.

"Leif lived because she sent him back to base. Something tipped her off. He said so himself in his report. Against his better judgment, he said he turned around and went back. Someone had to go, though, because all their radio equipment was dead. She must have known that he would do anything for her...."

"He's in love with her."

"He was. I can't speak to that now."

"Except he almost ripped your heart from your chest when you said something to that effect."

"Who knows. He was, and still is, incredibly protective of her." Wallace looked over to Dmitry sympathetically. "Sorry, Major. If it's any consolation, I don't think she ever felt the same."

"Nope. Not much help."

"Thank-you Colonel, though, for helping us." On that count, Wallace was completely sincere.

"You still plan on departure tomorrow, early morning?"

"Yes. We'll try to time it so we're entering atmosphere at a heavy traffic timeframe. Our ships are small enough to pass for tow-alongs, if we can slip behind something larger." At least, this was what Captain Nandra had told him. He'd have to trust his piloting abilities to keep them out of trouble, while the captain kept her end tight.

"Well, good luck. Keep Major Petrovich abreast of your location. You'll want him to find you if anything goes wrong."

"Oh, I calculate at least fifty percent failure odds." Wallace looked almost cheerful. Indeed, he felt a great deal more at peace, having finally confessed to someone other than Kun. He could finally see a little more clearly.

Dmitry watched him leave, feeling bleak. Maybe he'd give it one more try. The worst she could do was land another punch...she'd said she had no wish to harm him. He only knew that it would be impossible to watch her leave with Wallace and Christensen. Not without saying something. Not without feeling completely gutted.

۞

They were ready. As ready as anyone could be, in setting off for war.

Leif and Josh each had their own family references to war. The former still carried a photo of his grandfather standing on the beach at Normandy. The latter had only stories to remind him. Of an uncle who went to war for a country that had locked up the rest of his family in an internment camp. And a nurse grandmother killed when her hospital ship was torpedoed.

As they slowly packed, and organized themselves into two separate ships, Josh reflected on those two stories. He'd grown up not knowing how to interpret the muted pain that each circumstance had wrought on his family. After having had his own experiences on deployment, he'd begun to understand.

He understood that no matter what anyone tried to do, in some instances no one has any control over anything. His uncle had surrendered to that unstoppable tide. His uncle had believed that the only way to change ignorance and hate was through constant demonstration of something better. Josh had always struggled with this philosophy. Now he understood it, even if he disagreed a little.

He went to bid farewell to the monks at the temple, but could not bring himself to seek their advice. Instead, he sat in meditation for two hours, trying to collect and organize his thoughts. He needed to be clearheaded. It was possible he would be the only one who was, in the end.

They had all watched Maeve warily through the process of readying. She continued to behave in that disquietingly automatic manner. She resisted attempts to be drawn into conversation. She slept a precise eight hours for every sixteen hours awake. She consumed a precise caloric intake. She did nothing but research and prepare for what lay ahead.

۞

Dmitry could not help but feel utter hopelessness. Maeve, or whomever it was in control of her, continued to refuse his presence. She didn't want to see him. He'd begun to convince himself that she might die, or that he would, in the course of this madness. After all, why should he be allowed happiness? What had he ever done to earn it?

۞

Tark and Sa'andy watched as the two small craft detached from the station, and began their progress back to Earth. It was a final act. Irreversible. Tark wished he felt more confidence in himself and his own abilities right then. All too soon, Dmitry would be following the others, and the station would go into martial lockdown.

Dieu me pardonne, he thought, if I'm wrong, we will all be in the worst kind of situation.

"We are not wrong in this, my love." Sa'andy was watching him in her usual gentle manner.

"I thought you weren't going to do that anymore." He winked at her.

"I'm not exactly having to try. You are an open book, and we've lived together for long enough...it's all just out there."

"That's a distinct disadvantage to me." He pursed his lips as she smilingly entwined herself in his arms.

"Let's try to remember that I'm not like your Earth women."

"Hah, that's something I'm not likely to forget!"

"Well, then, let's work on not being so worried about all this." She took his hand and led him off in the direction of their apartment.

۞

They had split off fairly quickly. Leif and Josh tried not to contemplate their growing unease at being separated from everyone else. Not that they doubted Capt. Nandra's ability to keep their friends safe. They were rolling into a complete unknown. They'd be too far away to help if some ill befell them, as well as the reverse situation.

They had their plan pretty thoroughly choreographed, however.

A landing in a remote area of what had once been the Sahara would lead them up along the Nile to a seaport. From there, they would secure a boat, sail in, and swim the rest once they were close enough. A night with a new moon would give them, one might hope, enough of a cover to walk onto the island undetected.

It was a mad plan. Nobody had said it needed to be safe or survivable. Well, really, Josh would have preferred that type of plan, but Maeve was running on guidance from goodness knew where. He wondered whose programming was in charge, the more he thought about it. Was it from whomever had her first, or from whomever had them all? Even more disturbing in his thoughts was wondering what his own trigger might be. Or Leif.

What would they do if Leif went "active", for the love of god? They were on equal physical footing most of the time, but he doubted he could stop the big guy mid-rampage. Worse, he was beginning to have his own little flashback moments. These were making him doubt his grip on what had happened back in Norway, and how they had ended up in the container.

He wanted to ask Wallace about it, but there had not been a good moment yet. Leif seemed determined not to take his eyes off Wallace, and Maeve was constantly checking their heading. He hoped they would land soon. All sense of time and distance was completely lost out here. He hated it. Space sucked.

۞

Grace and Jules were ignoring Antonio for the moment. He was trying, and seemingly failing, to ingratiate himself to Captain Nandra. It was a little pitiful.

"Jules, if I'm being completely honest, here...I don't like the way this is all playing out."

"I know. Not a big fan of it myself." Julieta checked to see who was listening. The two in the cockpit were in deep conversation of their own. "Kun will be able to set us straight on some of this, but we haven't been able to tell him any of what's happened, not for days. Mrs. Han tried, but she couldn't get anything out."

"Colonel Tarkington said it was safer that way. Less chance of interception."

"I know. But he thinks we're all headed somewhere else, and has no idea we three are about to crash...um, land in his midst."

"Let's hope it isn't a crash. Jeez." Grace drew in a little closer. "Are we going to have to keep waiting, by the way?"

"What do you mean?" Julieta was suddenly nervous.

"For this." Grace moved quickly, before either of them could talk her out of it. She was damned tired of acting like it was a criminal act. Hell, she'd seen couples of all shapes and sizes on the Nimitz. The station's commander was shacked up with someone from another planet. They could kiss and be happy if they damned well wanted to.

It was nearly everything she had hoped for. To be fair, she couldn't remember the last girl she'd kissed, so maybe she'd built up the moment a little excessively. She'd dreamed way too often about it, that was for sure. After what seemed like five minutes, or maybe an hour, she sat back and tried to catch her breath. Jules was still wearing the same nervous look on her face. By the end, it was mixed up with a little of the same dopiness that Grace was certain she wore on her own face.

"I guess that answers my question." A small furtive smile crept out on her face. "Must have been waiting for you to make the first move."

"You, Jules? You're so gung-ho."

"I have a confession. It's kind of how I kept dudes off my six back in the day."

"I hope that doesn't include me."

"You're not a dude, Gracie, not last I knew."

"That ain't no lie." Grace sat up a bit more cheerfully. "If we live through this shit, I want to go dancing."

"That would be a very good idea." Jules took her hand. "Let's live through this, and get our asses out on the floor."

"Your old guy...."

"Master Kun."

"Um, yeah." She grinned. "Does he have copious munitions, I hope?" Boom, baby, boom.

۞

Amazingly, nothing had gone disastrously wrong yet. They'd skated through reentry, touched down, and left the ship buried under camo netting and brush. Leif and Wallace had argued for fifteen minutes on their next mode of transport before Maeve pushed them both on board a public dahabeeyah.

"Are you sure we're actually in Egypt? Where did the desert go?" Josh was staring out the windows of the boat disbelievingly.

"Climate changes, man. I'm not entirely sure what happened along here, but I think the land along the upper Nile is still arid."

"Wacky." Date palms and lush greenery stretched into the visible distance. "Any idea how long this will take?"

"A day. And then we will require a boat with a captain. Another few days will see us up into the Aegean. By then, the waning cycle of the moon will be in our favor." Maeve had been listening in the same way as over the past several days.

"Thanks. That was an extremely efficient answer." He looked over at Maeve disapprovingly. She was still busily poring over maps and tidal charts. If Josh's sarcasm had penetrated, she showed no sign.

۞

The rest of the journey proceeded in much the same manner. Three males, watching Maeve's every move, while she obliviously soldiered on. By the time they were on their second night aboard a swift fishing schooner, all three were beginning to tire of this activity. It wasn't producing any results; if anything, she kept withdrawing further and further.

Leif tried to reassure himself with the idea that he and Josh had formulated while still onboard the Nimitz. They would get through to the end of finding Robert Warden, and then drag Maeve back to her senses. Hopefully, she wouldn't pull a weapon on one of them. He heaved a weary sigh and tried to rub away a headache that had been lingering for days.

۞

On the third night, the ship's captain came to them.

"I take you only some few miles more. Too many eyes after that."

"Sorry?" Wallace went ashen.

"You not say what kind of place this is." A scarred finger poked at their map. "My boys, they say is heavy guards, is too much guns. We not go too close."

"And what, you think we can swim in five miles?"

"Nah. I give you dinghy. Is not too valuable." He looked at Wallace pointedly.

"How much for your rowboat, then, Captain?" Wallace reached around for his currency, which was in dwindling supply.

Half an hour later, they were crowded into the smelly dinghy. Actually, dinghy was a generous term for the thing. Their fishing boat was receding into the distance. No promises to come back, either. This was their first major hitch.

۞

"Just shut up and keep the weapons dry, what do you say?" Leif was feeling a bit surly.

"All I said was that we might not have a good way off this place...might implies a slight chance, doesn't it?"

"Wallace, I told you to shut yer face."

"Fine. We need to go silent anyway. Wish we had about ten more people." After that, he closed his mouth and sulked.

At least the weather was cooperating. Low clouds were drawing in around them, creating a misty haze that shrouded everything in sight. Wallace inwardly thanked satellite mapping, as they remained on course to the island. They were on an approach that would lead them into jagged shoals. This was, their intel said, the least guarded portion of the island's shoreline.

At last, their depth gauge read that they were at three meters. Manageable. They all slipped into the cool water, keeping their weapons high, and at the ready. Leif and Josh looked at each other, each knowing what the other was thinking. It had been a long time. Not long enough, and too long, all at once.

Before long, they could touch bottom, and began to have to weave around sharp rocks. The hydra's teeth, Wallace thought. Ahead of them, Maeve moved silently, uncomfortably quickly, and purposefully. She did not look back.

As they approached the shore, they could see a large house, perhaps eight to ten hundred meters away. A single light shone from one of the windows; the rest were dark. Josh frowned and pulled out the binos they'd brought. He scanned the entire perimeter, and around the house. There was not a living soul to be seen. He whispered as much to Wallace and Leif. Maeve seemed to have sorted it out for herself.

She stood and began to walk, ignoring their frantic attempts to stop her. After a hundred meters or so, she stopped and turned. A wave outward of both arms seemed to imply that there was, in fact, no one. She turned again and continued to walk.

"I guess we follow. Shit, shit, shit." Leif scrambled to his feet and did so as quickly as possible. Josh and Wallace cursed and brought up the rear. No shots rang out. Nothing happened.

The house came up on them more quickly than they'd anticipated, and suddenly they found themselves standing outside a thick plastered wall. Leif was trying to sort out how to determine if there were any guards on the other side of it when Maeve scrambled up and heaved herself over.

"Will she stop doing that???" To his surprise, she reappeared several dozen feet down, through a gate.

"Unlocked." They ran down to join her.

"Look, Maeve, I know you...her...whoever, that you were sure this guy was here. It's not looking so good right now."

"He is here."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Wallace obtained a recording of his voice. I can hear him singing right now." She pointed up to the lit window. They all looked at it, straining to listen.

"I can hear him." Wallace said with some surprise. "What's he singing?"

"Unknown. Irrelevant." She slipped off to a back door. It too was unlocked, and led into a large, old-fashioned kitchen. A fire was nearly to embers in the hearth. They had no idea of the layout of the building, but Maeve continued on, as though she knew precisely where to go. They all sighed in exasperation and followed her.

She had found a large central staircase, and moved up it unerringly. Not for the first time, they found themselves questioning who or what was guiding her actions. They could only hope it wasn't leading them into an ambush. Probably they should have thought of that several days ago.

The singing gradually became clearer. They could hear a healthy baritone, as it carried a mournful tune. Wallace tried to make out the words, but could only hear the same dirge-like tune, at least until they were within a few feet of an open door. The light that they had seen through the window must have been from this room.

"I want to wear a crown of glory  
When I get home to that good land  
I want to shout salvation's story  
In concert with the blood-washed band"

The voice abruptly halted its singing as they finished their approach. Maeve held up a hand to halt them as she sneaked a quick look past the doorframe. She then stepped into the space, pistol raised. Leif cast a look back at the other two before shouldering his own weapon. He walked behind Maeve. If it was Robert Warden, he had his back to them as he smoked a cigar.

"I had nearly, very nearly, sworn these off. The wife, you know? But she's not here." He continued to face away from them. "You're a bit later than I'd expected, but then I realized that no sane sailor would approach this place. And now you're stuck here, aren't you?"

"Bargaining with us will not procure your safety." Maeve kept the pistol raised and steady. The figure across the room began to laugh.

"You think I'm all alone out here, do you?"

"This island is devoid of any other life forms."

"Short sighted as ever, Maeve." He turned around finally, and leaned forward against his desk. "Ah, Leif, I see you are still glued to her side. Who else did you bring?"

Leif felt his heart drop into his boots. He looked at Maeve. Would she react? Could what was left of her true self see the man who stood before them? She was not outwardly changed, not perceptibly, but he could see her breathing alter. There was a struggle beneath the surface.

"What's the matter, don't recognize your own brother? No?" He laughed hollowly. "I suppose I'm not surprised. I've been up and kicking for, what, a decade now? No, longer than that...I keep losing track of time. Fifteen years, that's how long it's been."

Maeve had been fighting the landscape for what seemed like days or months. She could only manage a few steps before being knocked down by some unseen force. It was like climbing a rock face upside down. She'd listened to everything, had screamed herself hoarse at every fresh indignity brought on by this other entity. Now, she stood against the opposing strength, and stared off at the distant waters.

"Niall?"

"They told us you were killed in a training accident." Leif struggled to keep a poker face. Josh and Wallace both watched him with nervous anticipation. Besides Leif, only Wallace had ever met Maeve's brother, shortly before he'd shipped off to basic training. Leif looked over at them, mouthing, "It's him."

"I would think that you'd have learned to stop trusting that sort of thing by now." Niall, or whoever he was, continued to chuckle in that infuriatingly condescending way. "Even funnier, that none of you ever pieced anything together."

"What are we talking about?" Leif looked back to Maeve. Trickles of perspiration ran down her temple.

"Ah, come now, Leif, you still haven't gotten a clue? How tiresome. I was recruited, just as you were...oh, but not by the simpering government spooks who snatched you all up. No. Can't guess yet?"

"Screw this. You're the guy walking around as Robert Warden these days...that's good enough for me." Leif raised his rifle again, ready to fire. In one swift movement, both Maeve and Warden reacted. She moved to push Leif aside, as Warden pulled his own weapon from behind the desk. Gunfire erupted into chaos, and the single light was extinguished. Darkness and deafening quiet followed in its wake.

"Leif? Maeve?" Josh felt around in the blackness. A pained grunt was his reply.

"I'm hit. Maeve is gone. I think Warden, or Niall, he took off, and she followed."

Wallace produced chem lights, popping them so they cast a red illumination over the scene. Leif lay on the floor, holding his solar plexus. Maeve was indeed no longer with them. Josh moved into action, his days as a corpsman coming back to guide him.

"Good lord, what the hell is he using for rounds?" Josh was staring at a ragged hole in his friend's midsection.

"Felt like a frigging bowling ball." Leif let his head fall back. This was not how he'd foreseen things going, not by a long shot.

"Stay with me, man. We're not going out like this." Josh looked up at Wallace. "You'd better try to figure out where they went. I'm going to get him down to the beach and put on the beacon."

"They might not be here for hours. You think he'll hold?"

"Yeah. He'll be fine." They both knew this was a lie.

"I'm going to try to disengage her. If I read what he was saying correctly, he's probably got somebody incoming."

"We're pretty well hosed if that's the case."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather try to ride it out with her out of the equation. She'll only keep going until we're all dead, otherwise."

"I thought that was the point of all this." Josh laughed hoarsely.

"Maybe it's time to change the parameters." Wallace put a hand on Leif's shoulder. "Don't go anywhere, man." He picked up his own rifle, and nodded as Josh handed him a preloaded hypodermic. It was a healthy dose of tranquilizer, enough to take down someone fifty pounds heavier than Maeve.

Hopefully, it would be enough.

۞

Bijul had left the others behind. She was en route to the island, about twenty minutes out. Hopefully, it was not too late. She switched on the autopilot and pulled the heavy rounds out of the storage lockers. They were large, and she had a difficult time loading them into the upper chambers on her own. It was meant to be a two-person job.

She had never deliberately killed without orders before. It was a weird sensation. Not a welcome one, either. Her heart pounded as she flew around flight paths, avoiding detecting as she'd been trained to do. The plan was simple. Blow the house to pieces if they were still in it. That was easy to claim as collateral damage.

Other than that, she wasn't sure what the hell she'd do.

The minutes slipped away, until she found herself staring at a beach. She frowned. Two life signs were out there. The house was empty. She could see one figure standing, waving arms in the low light. Damn...how had she been spotted? Swallowing hard, she scoped out a landing site, and picked up her sidearm.
Acknowledgements:

This if for all the people who have encouraged me directly or not so directly through the years:

My husband, who always thinks I'm talented and pretty, even when I don't.

My parents, who put up with a lot of youthful nonsense from me (but I was never that much trouble, let's be clear!), and let me fall on my face now and then.

My kids, who simultaneously saved my sanity and demolished it. Writing with purpose is purely because of them. They remind me to see the world through others' eyes, that we don't all think alike, and to keep fighting, even when it seems a losing battle.

Friends, both near and far, who have read my writing. Even though I suspect some of you might be a bit biased, I truly appreciate all the encouragement. And yes, you keep me working, because I can expect anticipatory inquiries as to when I'll be done with the next thing.

Other writers who have amazed my senses and influenced me to be a better writer. Most of them have no idea who I am (or they have gone from this world), but I can certainly thank Susan Henderson for all her kind words, and for her excellent debut novel. It was a breath of fresh contemplation to read Up From the Blue so close to finishing this.

And to my tia and tio, who took me on a voyage to another world when I was young and foolish. The journey that year started me on this one...into the stars and beyond.

