Recoil Pt 5-0 (Patreon)

Friday afternoon, April 22, 1994

“Okay, pull over here.”

Obediently, I pulled the hire car – repaired after the incident with Marquis – to the curb. We were in midtown, with buildings towering all around us. “I'm still not sure why you insisted on coming out without Kinsey, or how you managed to convince him to let me come.”

Andrea grinned at me from the passenger seat. “Jim knows I'd never do anything to hurt you. And besides, he's been training me to defend myself. I'm your bodyguard, now.” She struck a pose, looking adorably fierce.

“I see,” I murmured. We both knew that I was still the more combat capable of the two of us, and in addition, I was carrying my Glock in a shoulder holster. Though I wouldn't have wanted to tangle with her in a straight fight; she fought dirty. “So why are we here, anyway?”

She pointed through the windshield at the tall building, still under construction, in the middle distance. “See that one?”

“Yeah.” I frowned, trying to place it. “It's not one that I remember from my time. What is it?”

“Ours.”

I slowly turned to look at her. “What?”

Her grin was reminiscent of a cat that has ingested a whole aviary full of canaries, just prior to discovering its own private lake of cream. “It's ours. I'm having it built. Top two floors are where I'll live – where we'll live, after you come home for good – and the rest is for managing your financial empire, including the under-the-table stuff. Your mercenaries and stuff. There's even a private underground entrance. I'd give you a tour, but as you can see, they're still building it.”

Shading my eyes, I peered out through the windshield again. The building wasn't the tallest around, but it was certainly taller than most. “That's … holy shit, how much is that costing us?”

Andrea casually buffed her fingernails, then studied them. “All paid for in advance. Trust me, we are solvent as hell.”

“Wow. Okay, I'm seriously impressed.” Leaning across, I hugged her. “Thanks.”

She hugged me in return, and threw in a kiss for good measure. I kissed her right back.

“Hey, it's fun,” she told me when we disengaged. “Besides, the look on your face … “

I snorted at the look of glee on her face. “You enjoyed that far too much. So, this is what you wanted to show me?”

“Yup.” She bounced in her seat. “What do you think?”

“I love it.” Reaching across, I squeezed her hand. “I love you. Thanks, sweetie. You just made my day.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder. “No. You just made mine.”

-ooo-

We were on the way back to the apartment when a memory made me chuckle.

“Whassup?” asked Andrea, her head still on my shoulder.

“Remember the date I had with Kimball?”

She sat up to look at me. “The one to save Jim, or the one after that?”

“The one after that, where you and Kinsey came along.”

Her grin told me that she remembered, all right. It had been by way of being an apology to Kimball; I had contacted him, and we had gone on a decorous date to the movies, chaperoned by both Kinsey and Andrea. “That was fun.”

I rolled my eyes. “You would throw popcorn.”

She grinned mischievously. “You're the one who bought me the extra-sized tub.”

I couldn't argue with that, but that wasn't the point I was trying to bring up. “Remember how we went for the stroll along the beach, after?”

“Yeah.” She'd run through the surf, such as it was, again. “That was fun, too.”

“Well, while we were walking, Kimball told me something interesting.”

Andrea perked up. “He's quitting the police force and joining the PRT to be with you?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Okay. He's got powers, and he'll be saving the city in his longjohns?”

The image I got of that was bizarre. “Uh, no.”

“Uh, Alexandria's really him in drag -”

I cut her off. “No, please. No more weird guesses. He told me that the crime rate in the city has gone down a couple of percentage points over the last week or so.”

“Hah!” She grinned at me. “And it's all because of you!”

“Well, he thought he was joking.” I rolled my eyes. “After the incident at Winslow, right?”

Andrea caught on to my point immediately, her eyes alight with interest. “He wasn't?”

“Well … “ I tried to look innocent. “Turns out that, according to Lisa … yeah, that actually had something to do with it. Plus, the raid that Gladys and I did to rescue Kinsey kind of sparked rumours of an elite PRT hit-squad getting around town. So the gangs are playing it safe right now.” I shrugged. “Who knew?”

-ooo-

Andrea was still giggling when we got back to the apartment block. “Oh, man,” she told me as we got out of the car. “That's awesome. I can't wait to tell the guys.”

“Yeah, we might want to keep that on the quiet side,” I warned her. “They don't know about Lisa, remember?”

“It's still funny if we tell it from Humperdinck's point of view,” she pointed out.

“Oh god, seriously?” I groaned. “His name's Humphrey.”

Her grin was unrepentant. “But Humperdinck's funnier.”

“If you keep using that name for him, I might slip and use it myself.” I tried to sound severe.

She nodded, her grin getting wider. “I so wanna see his face when you do.”

I sighed. “Seriously. You're incorrigible.”

Ducking in under my arm, she snuggled up to me. “Well, duh.”

-ooo-

“So what are your plans for tonight?” she asked as we climbed the stairs.

“Well, I wasn't thinking of anything wild and crazy,” I noted. “Just a quiet night in. Watch some TV, eat whatever meal Kinsey's prepared for us, snuggle on the sofa for a bit, then go to bed. Up early tomorrow. You know, the usual.”

“What is it with you and Jim and getting up early?” she wanted to know. “Seriously, does being in the military make you all into masochists?”

“No.” I paused, thinking about it. “It's the discipline. You end up with new habits.”

“Yeah, well, you certainly aren't the same Taylor who went away back when this started,” she agreed. “Still, I think I kinda like it. Except the getting up early thing. That's something I'm still getting used to.” She paused at the door to her apartment and turned to grin at me.

“Well, it's something that's part of my life now,” I began, as she opened the door and entered. I followed, blinking at the gloom. “Did we leave the lights off when we went out?” Instinctively, I reached under my coat for the Glock while groping for the light switch. Kinsey, where are you?

“SURPRISE!” The lights came on, just as the shout echoed through the living room and people jumped out from behind furniture. I jumped as well, curbing an impulse to pull the pistol anyway. Andrea was facing me, along with Danny, Anne-Rose, Gladys and Franklin; she was laughing out loud at the look on my face. Kinsey, his arms folded and his expression one of benevolent tolerance, was leaning on the archway leading through to the kitchen.

Slowly, I took my hand away from the pistol; just as slowly, I closed the door behind me. “Holy shit. You planned this? You planned a surprise party for me?”

“Well, yeah,” Andrea agreed. “You were never gonna plan one for yourself. And the guys wanted to say goodbye.”

“But I told you I didn't want to have any sort of party,” I objected.

“Yeah, you told me,” she agreed, taking a party popper from Danny and aiming it at me. When she pulled the string, it emitted a sharp crack and sprayed tiny streamers all over me. “But I ignored you. Because parties are fun.”

I sighed, aggravated, and looked over toward my one potential ally in all of this. “Kinsey? What do you know about this?”

“Andrea might have spoken to me on the matter,” he replied, deadpan. “I may have agreed to the idea.”

“Aren't you supposed to keep me apprised on matters like this?” I looked around at the balloons, the streamers, the decorations. “Instead of helping them?”

“I'm supposed to act in your best interests, ma'am,” he corrected me. “I believe this fits the bill.”

Danny came on over to me. “Come on, Taylor, lighten up a little,” he urged me. “We just want to show how much we appreciate you. How much we're gonna miss you.”

“That's right,” agreed Anne-Rose. She hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek. I couldn't help but hug her back. “You've done so much for us.” Her eyes slid sideways to Danny, and I read her meaning clearly.

“You guys've done a lot for me too,” I protested. “I owe you.” I was about to go on and remind them that Kinsey also owed them, but stopped myself when I recalled that Franklin hadn't been in on the Great Marquis Caper, as Andrea had irreverently dubbed it.

“So pay us back by enjoying the party,” Gladys told me. “You know you want to.”

Andrea took hold of my arm and clung to it. “Come onnnn,” she urged me. “Party. Partypartyparty. Par-tay.”

I sighed. “Okay, fine. Let's party. But no alcohol. I do not need a hangover tomorrow.”

“Yay!”

With Andrea still on my arm, as Danny and Franklin were setting up the dance music, I strolled through to the kitchen. Kinsey was just in the process of removing a batch of party pies from the oven. “Sergeant?”

He turned. “Ma'am?”

“We'll talk about this later.”

His expression never shifted. “Ma'am.”

I paused. “But for now … thank you.”

A very slight nod. “Ma'am.”

Andrea was tugging at my arm; I looked down at her. “What?”

“Gotta get you changed into party clothes. Come on.”

I sighed; it looked as though my life was not my own. “Okay, coming.”

“Wheee!”

-ooo-

Saturday morning, April 23, 1994
On Board the Ad Astra Per Aspera

“I suppose you're all wondering why you've been asked to be here today,” Lisa announced. I restrained the urge to facepalm; it wasn't what a well-brought-up young lady in that world would do, and in any case everyone else seemed to be hanging on her words.

'Everyone', in this case, was represented by the Captain, several burly stewards, and six passengers; the latter had, of their own accord, separated into two smaller groups. The well-appointed salon in which we were all assembled was quite large enough to hold everyone, despite the fact that we were on an aircraft. I still had trouble getting my head around that idea.

“As you are no doubt aware,” she went on, “one of the passengers on this craft, a Mr James Mulrooney, was murdered earlier.”

As a bombshell, it didn't do much to disturb the passengers. There were a few murmured comments, and a couple of the people looked uncomfortable, but then, most people were uncomfortable with the idea of murder and death. I tried to look for anyone who didn't look uncomfortable, but the predominating expression seemed to be a lack of expression.

“Wait a moment,” exclaimed one of the passengers, a heavy-set man with a red face and a mane of white hair; he was sitting with a woman who had to be half his age, if that. He was well-dressed, in suit and tie; if my memory of the passenger list held true, he was a well-to-do industrialist from Detroit, in what was apparently the Michigan Free State. “Are you accusing one of us of doing it? Damme, I won't stand for it!”

“Quite right, Mr Wilberforce,” Lisa agreed gravely. “You'll sit for it. Now, as I was saying, each of you is here because we haven't been able to specifically clear you from being in that corridor on or about the time that the murder took place.”

“Cleared? Cleared?” Wilberforce rose to his feet. “I'll not stay here to be accused by some little chit -”

Sit. Down. My voice cracked across his. Involuntarily, his knees folded, and he sat. I nodded toward Lisa. You will sit, and you will listen to my colleague, or we will presume you to be the murderer, attempting to escape justice.

“And you don't want any more attention paid to you, do you, Mr Wilberforce?” Lisa's voice was almost gentle. “Especially given that the young lady travelling with you is neither your wife nor your daughter, nor – as the passenger list states – your niece.”

The young lady in question hid her face in her hands, and Wilberforce's own face paled dramatically. “I – no – no need to draw attention,” he agreed hoarsely.

“Then you'll cooperate with the investigation?” she asked sweetly.

“I – yes – I'll cooperate.”

“Good.” Lisa's tone somehow managed to make it clear that she had considered this to be a foregone conclusion. And, I supposed, it had. “Mr Wilberforce, did you have any contact with the deceased?”

He shook his head. “We met once, briefly, in the corridor. I – we – stayed in our cabin, after that.” His hand sought that of the woman beside him. “We had our meals delivered.”

I'll just bet you did, I told myself, but didn't allow the thought to show on my face.

“So you didn't know about the murder?”

“No. The first we knew of it was when the steward knocked on our door to bring us here.”

Lisa nodded. “Good. One more question. Is your drink of choice tea or coffee?”

He snorted, some of his fire coming back. “Coffee, of course. Tea's a filthy drink.”

“Thank you, Mr Wilberforce. I might come back to you in a moment.” Lisa turned to the other group in the salon, made up of four people. Three of them, from resemblances, were related, while the fourth almost definitely was not. I pegged the older gentleman – of an age with Wilberforce – to be the husband of the silver-haired lady, while the younger gentleman, about my age, was almost certainly their adult son. The fourth was a delicately beautiful young lady with dark skin; she wore plainer clothes than the other three, and stood behind their chairs as opposed to sitting with them.

Lisa certainly wasn't missing any of the clues. “Sir Roderick Smythe-Browning the third, Earl of Bengal,” she greeted the older man; her eyes sparkled. “Or should that be Your Excellency, Viceroy of Her Imperial Majesty's Indian Dominions, and advisor to the British Raj?”

Smythe-Browning's lips pursed slightly. “Not quite yet, young lady,” he admitted in an upper-class British accent. It was matched by his clothing; equally as formal as that which Wilberforce was wearing, yet the style differed markedly; fashions were not the same in Britain and America, I presumed. “I was travelling with my wife and son in the Americas when the news reached us of my predecessor's demise; the appointment will be ratified once I am back in India.” He paused. “May I ask how you learned this information? It was supposed to be a secret.”

“Perhaps a secret to those who don't open their eyes,” Lisa confided. “But don't worry; I won't be telling anyone else.” She smiled slightly. “Now, then. Did you have any contact with the deceased?”

“A little,” he replied, frowning. “He accosted me in the passageway, and we spoke a while. I found him to be good company; it was pleasant to be speaking to someone from the home country.”

“What did you speak about?” Lisa asked; she didn't give much of an outward sign, but I could tell that she was very interested in the answer to the question.

“Oh … nothing much,” he responded. “Save that he was thinking of emigrating to India, and he wondered what the servant situation was like; how one went about engaging one, and so forth.”

“And you told him how you took on your own servant, no doubt, as an illustration to your explanation?”

“Well, yes.” He paused. “How did you know?”

Her smile widened slightly. “It seemed to follow logically. You haven't had her very long, have you?”

A prolonged blink greeted that statement. “My goodness, young lady. It is true that we only engaged Saleh after our previous servant was taken ill, just before our travels, but however did you know that?”

Lisa nodded toward the almost military jacket that he was wearing. “The creases aren't quite right yet, and if I had to guess, she still over-starches your collars. Thus, someone who hasn't quite learned all of your requirements.”

He shook his head. “When you explain it, it seems so simple. Yes, she is still learning, but she's a good girl. Very conscientious.”

“I'm sure she is. And tea is your drink of choice, no doubt?”

“Well, of course,” agreed Smythe-Browning heartily. “It is the very beverage of civilisation.”

“I cannot argue with that, sir.” Lisa switched her gaze to the younger man. “Your name is Roderick also, is it not? Fourth of your line?”

To my eye, he was more than a little nervous, but he came to a species of attention, while sitting down. “Yes, ma'am. Lieutenant Roderick Smythe-Browning of the Bombay Horse Guards, fifth regiment, ma'am.”

“At ease, Lieutenant,” she murmured. “I merely need to ask you if you had any contact with the deceased.”

“I didn't speak with him at all,” he countered. “I saw him, of course, but I was helping Saleh move our baggage into the cabin.”

“I see,” Lisa replied. “Now, did you attend the dining room with your parents?”

“I did,” he agreed. “Mother and Father decided to stroll about afterward; I came straight back to the cabin.”

“Very well.” Lisa looked at the girl standing behind them, and her tone changed. “Saleh, show me your left wrist, please.”

The girl looked up, her eyes widening with fright. “My – my wrist?” Her accent was strong, though not impenetrable.

“Your left wrist,” Lisa insisted. “Now.”

“What's this about?” asked Smythe-Browning, frowning heavily. “Saleh's a good girl. She couldn't have stabbed the man; doesn't have the strength for it, don't y'know.”

His son was looking more nervous by the second; I could see it, and I was certain Lisa could also. I cleared my throat. Roderick, do you have something you'd like to tell us?

Lisa flicked me an exasperated glance; I shot one back. What?

“I, uh, yes,” Roderick stammered. “I, uh, I tried to force myself on Saleh, after dinner. She has a bruise on her wrist from … well, from where I took hold of her.” He turned to his father, who was staring at him in horror. “I'll resign my commission, of course.”

I blinked. Okay, I hadn't expected that.

“Yes. You will.” Smythe-Browning's voice was hard. “No son of mine -”

“Oh, he'll be resigning his commission, all right,” Lisa interrupted, “but that won't be the reason. Will it, Roderick?”

The lieutenant stared back at her, obviously not wanting to answer. At this point, the Captain broke in. “Lady Wilbourn, ma'am, I believe that I quite fail to see where you're going with this. Would you care to elucidate?”

She beamed at him. “I thought you would never ask. You see, the murdered man was actually an agent of the British Imperium.”

That jolted him, I saw. Wilberforce and his lady friend were similarly shocked, although less so. Where it hit hardest was the Smythe-Brownings; Saleh closed her eyes tightly for a moment, while Roderick went so pale that he seemed about to faint.

“A secret agent? Are you certain?”

Smythe-Browning senior asked the question, his voice nowhere near as certain as it had before.

“Oh, I'm sure,” Lisa told him. “He had a false tooth with poison in it, and we located a coded message on his person.” I wasn't quite sure who she was looking at – I was looking at them – but she went on sweetly, “In case you're wondering, it was in his boot.”

Lady Smythe-Browning spoke up for the first time. “Was he … was he poisoned by his own tooth?”

“That would simplify matters, wouldn't it?” Lisa shook her head. “No, as I see it, he was assigned to travel on this flight in order to investigate one particular person. That person is described in the coded message.”

“Have you – have you decoded it?” asked Roderick, his voice shaking.

“No, but I don't have to.” Lisa's voice was firm. “Your old servant, what happened to him? He fell ill, correct? It was very sudden and unexpected?”

“I – yes,” Roderick answered. “Why?”

“Because as I understand it, there is an underground movement in the Dominions that calls themselves Free India. They've blown up buildings and assassinated government officials. Am I correct so far?”

Smythe-Browning the elder stirred himself to answer. “Uh, yes. For the most part. They're a rabble - “

“ - a rabble with plans, it seems,” Lisa put in. “Five will get you ten that your old servant's illness was arranged, so that Saleh could travel with you, and be well entrenched by the time that you returned to India.”

“But … why?” asked Smythe-Browning, bewildered.

“Because it was common knowledge that the old Viceroy was on his last legs, and astute political observers could see who was next up on the ticket,” Lisa pointed out. “If you got a new servant after becoming Viceroy, the background checks would have been a lot more stringent, you see. As it is, you had a spy right in your camp. Isn't that right, Saleh?”

The young woman was pressed up against the wall, her eyes wide. “No -” she gasped. “No, it's not true!”

I was almost fooled, but I reminded myself that Lisa usually knew what she was talking about.

Smythe-Browning was less confident. “You'd better have more than idle speculation to back that up, my girl.”

“The bruising on her wrist,” Lisa pointed out. “You ate in the dining room; Saleh, as according to her station, ate in the cabin. Mulrooney, wanting to make sure, dropped by. She served him tea. He was a little clumsy in probing for information; she panicked and slipped poison to him.”

“Wait, wait,” broke in Wilberforce. “Where would she get poison from, anyway?”

“They carry it,” Smythe-Browning informed him grimly. “For assassination and suicide. Free India does both.” He looked at Lisa. “Go on.”

“It made him drowsy, but while she was trying to search him for the coded message, he roused himself. They struggled, which was where she got the bruise on her wrist – you're still favouring that wrist, by the way – and he made for his cabin, where he no doubt carries the antidote to that poison. Roderick came in, saw Saleh in her condition, and went after Mulrooney. They struggled, Roderick pulled a knife -”

“You're wrong,” Roderick told her tonelessly. “It wasn't my knife. It was his. He pulled it on me. We struggled for it. He weakened suddenly, and went on to the blade. I never meant to kill him.”

“Huh. Yeah, I can see that,” Lisa admitted. “The one thing I'm still unsure about is whether you were just a fool in love, or if you actually intended to commit treason with her.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I'm a fool either way. No, I never knew what she intended. I knew who and what she was, of course -”

“You don't know half of what I am, you great English swine,” Saleh broke in, almost all accent gone from her voice. “I was never going to run away with you. Your words of sympathy for the plight of India are too little, too late.”

He rose from his chair. “Saleh – I love you – we were in love – weren't we?” If the break in his voice were an act, I'd never heard better.

“You were amusing. And useful.” Hers was cold. An act also? I couldn't tell. “But love? There could never be love between us. Not for who I am, and who you are.” A steward moved toward her; she backed away. Pulling her sleeve up – I saw for the first time the blotched bruises that Lisa had intuited to be on her wrist – she produced a small wicked-looking firearm. “Stay back.”

Everyone stepped back under the threat of the tiny pistol; the Captain frowned. “Firearms? On my aircraft? How did you smuggle it in?”

“I didn't,” she stated with satisfaction. “His Excellency here did.”

“Is this true?” the Captain asked.

“It was in a locked case!” protested Smythe-Browning.

“Locks can be picked – no, stay back,” she reminded one of the stewards, who had been sidling forward.

“There's only one way this can end,” Lisa told her. “You can't kill everyone here. That pistol literally doesn't have enough bullets.”

“It doesn't have to,” Saleh told her bitterly. “I will not go to the gallows.” From a pocket she produced a tiny vial. “Here is my end.”

“But you used that to poison Mulrooney,” protested the Captain.

“We always carry two doses. For our target, and for ourselves, just in case.” Saleh popped the top off of the vial, and downed the contents. Dropping the vial, she sat down suddenly, her gun arm wavering; it seemed to be a fast-acting poison.

“What are you going to do now? Shoot me?” Smythe-Browning's voice was bitter.

“I don't have to.” She coughed. “God, that stuff's terrible. Once this gets out, you'll never be Viceroy.” The pistol drooped, then slid from her fingers. “Free … free India … “

As the others closed in on her, Lisa took my arm. “We're done here, I think,” she murmured.

Yeah, I agreed. I think so too.

-ooo-

We strolled along the viewing gallery, with the ground sliding by, far beneath. So what happens now? I asked.

“We get congratulated by the Captain for cracking the case, I imagine,” Lisa replied. “We ride the rest of the way in luxury.” She patted the back of a chair. “I could get used to travelling like this.”

I snorted. I just bet. So, did you enjoy being the star of a murder mystery?”

Her vulpine grin lit up the gallery. “I've always wanted to do that.”

And was it as good as you thought it might be?

“Hell yeah.”

Sorry for almost screwing it up with Roderick, there.

She shrugged. “It's okay. I should've given you more warning.”

Well, I - I lurched, caught a seat. What was that?

“I think that was you coming out of the trance.”

Ah. I nodded. Makes sense. Well, this time was fun. See you next time.

“See you then. Kiss before you go?”

I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood. My eyes closed -

-ooo-

- then opened again; the taste faded into that of Andrea's strawberry lip gloss.

“Mmmmwah!” She broke the kiss with a loud smacking sound, then sat back, looking rather pleased with herself.

“So,” I asked her as I sat up properly, “was that really necessary? To make such a noisy production of that?”

She grinned at me. “Sure. Jim's still out there in the living room, cleaning up from last night. We've gotta make some sorta noise, otherwise he might wonder what we're up to. And if he thinks we're making out … “

“Then he'll specifically not come looking. Got it.” I eyed her suspiciously. “You do know that he's already seen us kiss before, right?”

“No sense in taking chances,” she pointed out cheerfully. “In fact … “ She got off her chair and climbed on to my lap. “The closer the better, I'd say. Just in case he peeks.”

I snorted. “Kinsey doesn't 'peek'. We're safe from that, at least.”

“Though I can't help noticing that you're not actually protesting.”

“That depends,” I retorted, my arms firmly around her, “on your definition of 'protest'.” Putting my head on her shoulder, I held her tightly; she returned the favour. Her lips found mine; I didn't put up much of a struggle. Or any kind of struggle, to be honest.

When we came up for air, she giggled. “Whew! I kinda like how you protest!”

“Yeah, well,” I murmured, snuggling into her, “you know I have a hard time telling you no.”

“Except in bed,” she retorted. “We've been together how many years, and I've still got to trick you into sex?”

I evaded the question. “We're not officially together any more, remember? Not allowed to be gay in the military.”

“Pfft.” She wrinkled her nose. “You were never gay. You're just … fun to seduce.”

I sighed. “Rules are rules are rules. I have to abide by them, or at least appear to abide by them, if I want to stay in the PRT. So … officially, we're just friends. Really, really good friends, but just friends all the same. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Just remember. They're not my rules.”

I tried to imagine Andrea in the PRT, and my brain locked up for a few seconds. “Yeah, I got it,” I agreed. “That being so, I don't seem to recall you ever following any rules you didn't approve of.”

She giggled and rubbed her cheek against mine. “Darn tootin'.”

“So anyway, I seem to have written down what you need,” I told her, unfolding one arm long enough to tap the piece of paper on the desk. “Hope it's all there.”

“It is,” she replied. “I checked with Lisa while you were writing it.”

“That's still weird for me.” I eyed her askance. “What do you two talk about?”

“You, mostly,” Andrea told me. “You get wound too tight occasionally. I can't be there all the time. She worries about you.” Her tone, for once, was serious. “I worry about you.”

I held her close. “I'll get the job done. I have to. Just seven more years, and I'm out. We can be together.”

“Yeah, but then you'll still be trying to save the world, but with the PRT watching your every move, depending on how noisy you make your exit.”

Once more, I was reminded that there was a brain under that ditzy exterior. “I'll deal with that when the time comes. And I will need to be a little bit infamous, just for a while.”

She sighed. “Doesn't mean I like the plan.”

I nodded, rubbing my cheek against hers. “Unfortunately, the choice wasn't between 'good plan' and 'bad plan'. It was between 'plan that will work' and 'a dozen plans that won't'.”

“Even the plan that works is gonna suck,” she pointed out.

“Well, true,” I admitted. “Which reminds me. The stuff from Synth?”

“Right here.” Without moving from my lap, she pulled open a desk drawer and extracted a vacuum-sealed packet. “It's in here. He says he made sachets out of it. They'll dissolve in water.” She held on to it for a moment. “Do I want to know … ?”

Gently, I shook my head. “I don't want to think about what I'll be doing with it. But it's gotta be done.”

She placed it in my hand, then wrapped her arm back around me. “So it's gonna be bad.”

“Yeah.”

“Worse than New York?”

Closing my eyes, I leaned into her. “Different kind of bad.”

“Oh.” Silence, as she digested that. “Well, I'll support you no matter what. You know that.”

I held her tightly. “Andrea, I … every time you say that, you blow my mind. All over again.”

Her voice was muffled as she burrowed into the curve of my neck. “Yeah, well, I love you, and you're trying to save the world, and it's kinda where I keep my stuff, you know?”

“Yeah.” There were no more words to be said. “Yeah. I get it.”

We sat for a long time, just holding each other. Enjoy this, I told myself. Because it's going to be a long while before you get comfort like this again.

-ooo-

Kinsey opened the trunk of the hire car and began loading our luggage in. I held hands with Andrea as we watched the play of muscles under his shirt.

“I still think you should … “ she murmured mischievously.

“Nope,” I replied, equally quietly. “Off limits. You know that.”

She changed tack. “Sure you don't want to fly back? You could stay an extra day.”

“Certain. The flight to Newfoundland and back was bad enough.”

“Oh, I had no problem with that.” She grinned up at me.

I rolled my eyes. “Watch it, or I'll leave the TV remote on a high shelf.”

Grinning, she stuck her tongue out at me. I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She leaned into me companionably.

“I hope you're feeling better,” she ventured.

“I am,” I told her. “Really. More relaxed.” Quite a bit of that due to her, and quite a bit due to … well, being able to relax, I decided. Being able to stroll along the Boardwalk, to watch TV, to not have to worry about anything.

“Good,” declared Andrea, oblivious to my thoughts. “The going-away party was fun.”

I sighed. “You do recall me saying I didn't want a going-away party, right?”

“Sure,” she agreed blithely. “But you enjoyed it anyway, yeah?”

My smile was just a little rueful. “Yeah. I did. Thanks.”

Beside us, Kinsey cleared his throat. “Ma'am, we're ready to go.”

“With you in a moment, Kinsey.” I looked down at Andrea. “Take care of yourself.”

“You take care of yourself, you big dummy,” Andrea retorted. There was a suspicious catch to her voice, and tears stood bright in her eyes. My eyes weren't too clear at the moment, either. She pulled me down, and we shared a kiss. It ended all too soon, and I hugged her one more time.

Climbing into the car, I fastened my seatbelt then buzzed the window down. She leaned in, and we clasped hands while she kissed me again, a quick peck on the lips. And then she stood back; I squeezed her hand, then let her go.

“Okay, Kinsey,” I told the Sergeant, my voice not altogether steady. “Let's go.”

He put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. I turned my head and watched Andrea's petite form until she was quite out of sight.

“Tissues in the glove compartment, ma'am.”

“Thank you, Kinsey.” I located them, and wiped my eyes before blowing my nose. “All this pollen in the air.”

“Of course, ma'am.”

Turning my head, I looked at him; strong and dependable. Supportive, even. “Thank you, Kinsey.”

He read the difference of tone correctly. “You're welcome, ma'am.”

Not another word was spoken until Brockton Bay was well behind us.

-ooo-

Monday morning, April 25, 1994
PRT Chicago

The nameplate on the door read:

LT COL HAMILTON
INTELLIGENCE

I fancied that I could see the fresher paintwork where the rank had been altered. Raising my hand, I knocked firmly on the door.

A voice from within, familiar to my ears, called out, “Enter!”

Opening the door, I stepped into the office. Despite an abiding sensation of unfamiliarity, everything seemed the same as it had been when I left, including Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton himself, seated behind the desk. Everything else is the same. It must be me that's changed. Or rather, I knew that it was. I was not the same person who had walked out of that office, four weeks previously.

Coming to attention, I saluted crisply. “Captain Snow reporting for duty, sir.”

He returned the salute. “At ease, Snow. Close the door and have a seat.”

I did as I was told, pushing the door shut, then pulling out a chair to sit down.

Hamilton peered at me over his glasses. “So, Captain Snow. Welcome back. How was Brockton Bay?”

“Interesting, sir. I caught up with old friends. Went camping. Enjoyed myself. There were the, uh, incidents, of course … “

He smiled disarmingly. “I've already read your reports on those incidents, and those of Sergeant Kinsey. Very interesting reading, Captain.”

I didn't dare ask him what he meant. Did Kinsey let something slip in one of his reports? I doubted it; I trusted the man utterly. “But yes, on the whole, it was a relaxing experience.”

“Good, good.” His gaze was steady on mine. “So how do you personally feel?”

“Better, sir.” I essayed a confident expression. “I've managed to come to terms with what happened in New York.”

“Good.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “How about what happened in Batavia, and in Brockton Bay?”

“It's all in the reports -”

He waved me to silence. “As I said, I've read the reports. I need to know your feelings on the matter. Do you think you acted hastily, due to mental trauma, or do you think you were acting logically and correctly even then?”

“Well, sir, I've been over both those incidents since they happened, and I don't think I would act differently even now. Do I regret killing that one guy? Not really. I regret that he had to die, but he failed to obey a directive, and was acting as a clear and present threat to my well-being. I'm still alive, and I'm fine with that.”

“And his partner?” Hamilton's voice was quiet. “Had you more time to think about it, would you have killed him also?”

“Actually, sir, if I'd had more time to act, I would have disabled both of them.” I paused, thinking about it. “If I'd had less time, I probably would have had to kill them both. But I used up all my restraint on the first one. I had the second one cold; he should have called it quits. He didn't.”

Hamilton was nodding slowly. “Captain Snow, one thing I have noticed about your fitness reports is that when the time comes for you to take action, you never dither, never prevaricate. You appear to be very good at sizing up a situation at a glance, and deciding what action needs to be taken. And when the time comes to escalate, you escalate very hard indeed.”

“I don't believe in hanging back and letting the other guy get the initiative, sir,” I pointed out.

He smiled again. “No, Captain, I don't believe that you do. I notice that in the Winslow incident, you didn't kill anyone, although you probably could have.”

“This is true, sir. However, I felt that it would be easier to work the situation out without bloodshed.”

“You could have instead rid Brockton Bay of a dangerous parahuman crime lord,” he argued. “Why didn't you?”

I paused; he wasn't arguing because of what he felt; he wanted to know why I had done it that way. “Because he was the only one holding them in check.” My voice was calm. “If I had killed him, they would very likely have shot me, and then perhaps members of the crowd. Getting him – and them – out of there seemed the best option.”

“You were very sure that you were safe from him.”

“I've studied him, sir. Just like I've studied the other parahuman gangs in Brockton Bay. Marquis' particular dislike for harming women isn't well known, but if you know what you're looking at, it's relatively easy to spot.”

He nodded equably. “Well, I wasn't there, Captain, but your results speak for themselves. Nobody was harmed, and Marquis left peacefully.”

“Thank you, sir.” I didn't dare relax; the other shoe, I felt, was on the verge of dropping.

“Which leaves the other problem.” His gaze sharpened. “Taking it upon yourself to redefine PRT policy, to a supervillain, in the middle of a confrontation.”

I met his eyes. “Sir, I considered it a hostage situation. I was negotiating. And if I were to get his attention, then I had to be unequivocal. To the point. Give him a good reason for my behaviour.”

“By telling him something that wasn't true.” His voice was challenging.

“Hostage negotiators do that all the time, sir. In addition, it kept the civilians calm; I was specifically extending the protection of the PRT over them. Also, it worked.” I took a deep breath. “And if what I said was so far off the line, why has the PRT not issued a statement correcting what I said?”

Leaning back in his chair, he smiled; abruptly, the tension in the room receded. “Because it wasn't all that far off the line, Snow. Well done.”

I blinked. “What? Uh, I mean, I beg your pardon, sir?”

Taking off his glasses, he began to polish them. “The powers that be were all in a tizzy, Snow, when your TV piece first hit the air. I got hints that some people wanted to bust you down to private, or cashier you altogether.”

I blinked. “Oh. I see.”

“Quite. But wiser heads prevailed; after all, what you did worked. Also, your description of PRT policy, while not being a verbatim representation of what we actually do, garnered us some public support. So the cries for your head on a platter faded away after a while.”

“Uh, sir, you do know that someone tried to have me poached me for DC -”

He nodded. “Yes, I'm aware of that. That someone jumped the gun, and has now been transferred away from the Washington office.” Fitting his glasses on to his face once more, he met my gaze squarely. “Of course, had his little ploy worked, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I would instead be having a much more stringent one with Sergeant Kinsey.”

“About Kinsey, sir. He was just following my orders -”

A gently raised hand cut off my words. “I do understand that, Captain. You saw what needed to be done, and you acted without hesitation. I have no doubt that had the good Sergeant confronted those men, he may well have been hurt or killed, along with a great many others. Whereas you, a woman, were able to defuse the situation and cause Marquis to leave.”

Finally, I began to relax, if only a little. “Actually, sir, while we're talking about Kinsey. Quite apart from my report, I'd like to make a note right now that his conduct was exemplary the whole time we were in Brockton Bay. He also backed me up exactly right during the Batavia incident.”

“Which was his job, Captain Snow.” Hamilton's tone was gently chiding, but then his eyes creased in an almost-smile. “But I will accept your verbal report. Interestingly enough, his written report included almost exactly the same statement about you.”

“Thank you, sir.” A hidden knot of tension, one I hadn't even known I had, loosened itself in my midsection. Oh, wow. He came through. I should never have doubted him, not for an instant.

“I will state that I am pleased to see you back, Captain,” he told me warmly. “The office has suffered a little from the lack of your particular analytical capability. Once you're cleared by the doctor, I'm afraid that you will be neck-deep in it once more.”

He rose from his chair; I took the hint to do the same. “I'm ready for it, sir. Honestly, those four weeks did me the world of good.”

“I can see that, Snow. When you left, you were twitchy, uncertain, questioning everything. Now … now, you seem much more centred. Sure of yourself.”

“It's good to be back, sir.”

The twinkle in his eye informed me that he saw through my lie, but chose to accept it at face value anyway. “It's good to have you back, Snow. Dismissed.”

I came to attention, then turned and left the office.

Well, that went more easily than I thought it would.

I had no doubt that it would not always be that way.

-ooo-

Friday, May 6, 1994

My desk phone rang; I picked it up and tucked it in between my shoulder and ear as I continued typing. “Captain Snow speaking.”

“Hello, Captain Snow. It's been a while.”

I paused. “Wait … Calvert? Lieutenant Calvert?”

“The very same. I was wondering if you would recall your old friends.”

“Lieutenant, we were never friends. Acquaintances, yes. Brief acquaintances, at that.”

“Now, Captain Snow, is that any way to talk to someone who did you such a service?”

“Service? What service is that?” But I already knew what he was going to say.

“Why, your promotion, of course. Didn't I let you know that I was going to be fast-tracking it?”

I resisted the urge to make a rude noise. Calvert had had no part in my promotion. The man was nothing but a grubbing opportunist. But still, I didn't want to drive him away altogether … “That was you?”

“I promised and you received. Did I not say so?”

“You did, yes.” I pretended reluctance. “So yes, I'm a Captain now, thanks to you. I have to warn you, I don't have much in the way of pull right now, so I can't help you with much.”

“Oh, don't worry. Any favours can wait. I just wanted to touch base, make sure you remembered who your friends are.”

“Trust me,” I told him truthfully, “I'm not likely to forget you.” Or forgive you, but that's another matter.

“Good. Well, I'll be in touch.”

“I look forward to it.” I put the phone down, then got up and went to wash my hands.

Calvert was to play a part in my future plans, so I had to be nice to him. But I didn't have to like it.

-ooo-

Tuesday, May 17, 1994

Again, I stood before Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton's desk. This time, he did not invite me to sit. Nor was there a smile on his face. “Captain Snow.”

I stood rigidly at attention. “Sir.”

“I have here a complaint – a written complaint – from Captain Gordon.”

“Sir?” I knew what the complaint was about, of course.

“In it, he alleges that you assaulted him. That you attempted to strike him.”

Whoa. I hadn't known that part. “Sir, that allegation is false.”

“Snow, he claims witnesses.” His voice was hard.

“Sir, those witnesses are lying or misled.” My gaze had not shifted from a point on the wall behind his head. “Before I joined the PRT, I was already good at hand to hand fighting. Since then, I have received regular training from Sergeant Kinsey. You know how good he is. Captain Gordon is barely adequate when it comes to physical confrontation. If I had seriously attempted to harm him in any way, then he would not be walking right now.”

“Hmm.” Behind his glasses, his eyes creased; not in humour, but in thought. “Your point is extremely valid, Captain Snow. I presume that there was a clash of some sort between yourself and Captain Gordon?”

“Yes, sir, there was.” I opened my mouth to say more, then shut it again.

“I notice that you did not report it.”

“Sir, I didn't consider the matter to be worth reporting.”

“Apparently, Captain Gordon doesn't see things the same way. Which means that I need to hear your side of things before this goes any farther.”

“I can write a report, sir -”

“No need.” He reached into a drawer and placed a tape recorder on the desk. “I'll take it verbally, Snow. I need to get to the bottom of this before it causes any more problems among my staff. That is, if you have no objections to being recorded?”

“None whatsoever, sir.”

“Good.” A click as he depressed the Record and Play buttons at the same time. “Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, receiving Captain Snow's verbal report on the incident of Monday, May sixteenth, at the Chicago PRT base. Captain Snow, proceed.”

I took a deep breath.

-ooo-

The Day Before

“Who's been at my desk?”

Nobody seemed to hear my question. I raised my voice slightly. “Has anyone been at my desk?”

A few people leaned out of their cubicles, but nobody spoke up. I pounced, before they could withdraw again. “Leroy. Have you seen anyone at my desk?”

Put on the spot, Leroy – Lieutenant Donelly – stepped out of his cubicle and approached me. “No, Captain. I haven't seen anyone.”

“Do you have any idea who might've been at my desk?” I asked him directly. “I was working on something over the weekend, and now it's all out of order. Also, someone's tried to access my computer.”

He blinked. “Your computer, ma'am?”

“Yes, Leroy, my computer.” I gave him a hard stare. “That big blocky thing on my desk. Do you have any idea who might have tried to get into it?”

“Uh, no, ma'am,” he replied; despite the fact that he was five years older than me, he was sweating. “I don't even have any idea of how to do something like that.”

“Not many of us do.” The voice came from behind me. I turned my head, even though I knew who it was. “Leroy, you're dismissed. Get back to what you were doing.”

“Sir.” Relieved, Donelly scuttled away. I turned all the way to face the newcomer. Captain Robert Gordon, ten years my senior, and general pain in the ass.

“I was still talking to him, Gordon.”

He curled his lip. “He had nothing to do with your computer, and you know it.” He managed to give the word a pitch and spin of its own. “In fact, most of us are still wondering why you're the only one in the department who rates a stand-alone terminal, let alone one of that power, with an encrypted server link to boot.”

“Because I needed it, and the Lieutenant-Colonel authorised it." Plus, I can use it better than you ever will. My tone was flat, but I looked him right in the eye. He didn't like that for several reasons, starting with the fact that I had achieved the rank of Captain at an unreasonably young age, continuing on with the fact that I was fractionally taller than him despite being younger and a woman, and concluding with the fact that despite being younger and a woman, and being more recently promoted than him, I never deferred to his age, experience or seniority.

“If you were supposed to have a terminal with that capability, Snow, we would all have been issued one. I'm still wondering what you did to get one issued to you, personally.” He paused. “Or who you did.”

Of course, that was the other set of reasons that he disliked me. He was bigger, stronger and had seniority in rank, but I was better at pistol shooting and hand-to-hand than he was, plus I was the resident computer expert, and everyone knew it.

The fact that I had used my analytical skills to 'predict' Behemoth's latest rampage was not known to the department at large, so Gordon was probably unaware of it when he went on his 'favouritism' kick. But his last comment was new; I had been about to turn away, my objective accomplished, when it registered on me.

I turned back. “What did you say?”

His lips tightened in a smile. “You heard.”

“No. I don't think I did. Did you just accuse me of sleeping with my superior officer in order to have a high-end computer issued to me? Is that what you just said?”

“Well, I -”

“No.” I stepped forward, getting in his face. “No. You do not get to say shit like that. Not about Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton. Not now, and not ever. He's a good man and a good officer, and he doesn't deserve to have that sort of shit whispered behind his back.”

He was taken aback, but recovered quickly. “Well, what are you gonna do about it?” His tone was mocking. “Go and whine to the old man? Make a Federal case over it? If it comes out, you know that it'll be up to him to prove that it isn't happening. And even if he does, it'll end his career.”

I paused. He was right. Even if it went to a judicial hearing and we were exonerated of all charges, the doubt would always be there; some mud would always stick. The whispers would continue.

In addition, I did not need this sort of attention, not at this point in time.

My eyes slitted behind my glasses, and I looked him up and down with contempt. “That's just like you, Gordon. You'd hurt an innocent man just because you can't get your own way.” A moment later, I regretted the words, but they'd been said. Despite the anger building in me, I turned to walk away. I need to distance myself from the situation.

“Hey, don't you turn your back on me!” He grabbed my shoulder; turning fast, I took hold of his wrist and twisted it just so. His eyes widened; with a strangled grunt of pain, he went to his knees, staring up at me.

“Don't ever touch me again,” I growled; releasing his wrist, I stalked back into my cubicle.

-ooo-

In Hamilton's Office

“So you didn't actually punch him.”

“Well, I struck his arm with the side of my wrist, yes, but no, I did not punch him. If I had, sir, he would be showing marks.”

“And you would be up on charges for the same.”

I nodded. “That's correct, sir.”

“As it is, he was guilty of assaulting you.”

“The trouble is proving it, sir. If he has all these witnesses lined up to say I hit him, then they're going to deny that he grabbed my shoulder first. I shouldn't have said what I said. I was angry; he had provoked me. But I do not offer that as an excuse for my actions.”

“You were defending my reputation.” His tone of voice did not indicate which way he felt about that.

“I regret that it needed defending, sir, and I don't know that I helped at all.”

“Well, now at least this particular vile slander is out in the open, where it can be met and countered.” His lips thinned. “I notice that Captain Gordon did not include any mention of it in his complaint.”

“I'm not surprised, sir.” I paused. “Permission to speak freely about a fellow officer, sir?”

“Granted.”

“Captain Gordon is … charismatic, sir. Friendly, open, gathers people to him. He's good at using them, turning them to his side. But if he perceives someone as a threat, he acts against them, spreads lies and whispers. He's a good analyst, sir, don't get me wrong. It's just that he's also good at politics. And as a human being he's a dick.”

Hamilton stifled a snort. “Very … candid, Snow. A good analysis. Unfortunately, this leaves me between a rock and a hard place. As you say, Captain Gordon is a good analyst. I'd hate to lose him. If I did transfer him away, it could cause problems among those of my staff whom he's influenced.” He looked at me soberly. “Whereas you're my best analyst, bar none.”

“I have a potential solution, sir,” I told him.

“You have my attention, Captain Snow.”

I took a deep breath. “Put me on administrative punishment. Send me out into the field, or transfer me to other bases, temporarily. Make it known that you're trying to deal with my 'attitude problems'.”

He rubbed his chin. “This won't cause problems in your work?”

“No, sir. I need to get out there and gather data anyway. Plus, this gives people less chance to mess with my workspace.”

“You mentioned that.” He frowned. “Is it serious? Do you think they're trying to sabotage your work?”

I hesitated. “I think it was more someone trying to see what I was doing. Breaking my computer would be easy; breaking into it, past the passwords I've put in there, is a whole lot harder. But I've found attempts to do just that. And I don't want anyone figuring out what I'm looking into until my data's a lot harder.”

“So what are you looking into, Snow?” he asked quietly. “The Instigator?”

“No, I've got that one on hold for the moment, sir.” I paused, then lowered my voice to match his. “I think I've got a line on where the Behemoth came from. What caused it to emerge. I might be able to figure out how to make it go away.”

“Good god, Snow.” His voice was intense, fierce. “Are you certain?”

“Nothing's certain where this sort of thing is concerned, sir,” I reminded him. “But … I'm hopeful.”

“Do you know anything at all?”

“Well, sir, I can give you a ninety-six percent chance that it'll be well outside the continental US, the next time it attacks. And I'd put it between October and November for the next attack. Apart from that … all I have is fluff and vapour. Hunches. I want to put numbers to them before I do anything else.”

He frowned. “Director Costa-Brown still wants you in DC for that think-tank. Would you be able to work better with them?”

“Sir, no, sir.” I shook my head. “I don't think I'd work well with other people. As you know, my thought processes sometimes don't line up with standard logic. And I don't need people second-guessing me, or worse, telling me that I'm on the wrong track.”

“Hm.” He paused. “Getting back to whoever is interfering with your workspace, do you think it's someone in the office, or someone from outside?”

“That's the thing, sir.” For the first time, I lowered my eyes to meet his. “I'm strongly inclined to think that it might actually be an infiltrator from outside. Or a mole, here in the base. Not all that many people know about the role I played regarding New York -”

“Damn few, which is a crying shame,” he interjected. “But go on, Snow.”

“Thank you, sir. But what I was about to say is that some people outside the PRT do know. It's a statistical certainty. And some of those people might not be friendly to our cause. They might want to know what I'm working at next, in order to see if I'm a threat or not.”

“Which means that you're under threat,” he concluded. “I can increase security -”

“Whoever it is, they're getting through our security now without even a whisper,” I pointed out. “If I'm out and about, Kinsey and I can keep an eye on our perimeter much more easily. Anyone who's trying to find out what I'm doing will have to play catch-up. And if it's a mole inside the base, that person's stuck here while I go on my way.”

He grimaced. “I don't like the idea, Snow. I really don't. You're our best asset, and to go out into the field -”

“I can check in with other PRT bases, sir,” I pointed out. “They can't all be infiltrated.”

“Hm.” He adjusted his glasses. “You did write the book on security protocols. Very well, Captain Snow. I'll have your orders cut accordingly.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He shook his head. “Don't thank me yet, Snow. Just stay safe, and let me know the instant you've got something.”

“That's a guarantee, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

As I left his office, I composed my features into a simmering resentment; it had to look like a punishment, after all. Inside, I merely felt vast regret. Not at the so-called 'punishment', but for what I was planning to do in the near future.

I don't want to do this. But I don't really have a choice. 

Part 5-1