Recoil Pt 5-10 (Patreon)

Part 5-10: One Thing After Another

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: Having never been near any courtroom in America, I have no idea how the proceedings would go in reality. This is my best approximation thereof.]

[A/N 3: I'm currently applying the advice that I have been given regarding court cases, but I can't promise perfection. Or anything near it, really. I'll do as much as I feel is necessary, but as this isn't due to be a courtroom drama story, 'necessary' is a variable concept.]

Monday, 27 June 1994
Austin, TX

I had seen the inside of more courtrooms than most people twice my age. Some of these court appearances had happened while I was still known as Skitter, in transition to becoming Weaver. Others had taken place after my transition to Brockton Bay of nineteen eighty-nine. But this was the first time since I had been sent back that I was in a courtroom for the purpose of defending my actions.

The hearing into the events involving the death of Rodriguez was being held in Austin. It was just eight days after the funeral of Amanda King, teenage aerokinetic and victim of the Brotherhood of the Fallen. Many others had died at the Battle of the Compound, as it was being called; I had attended a few funerals with Kinsey and Emily, but the lives lost threatened to overwhelm me again.

Despite all of Lisa's attempts to assure me otherwise, I was still being nagged by a feeling of certainty that had I moved a little more quickly or acted a little differently, Amanda would still be alive. I should've anticipated breaching charges. I should've realised that they'd shoot down the chopper. I should've planned better.

The fact that Lisa said otherwise didn't necessarily reassure me. She was under no stricture to tell me the absolute truth, and in fact I was reasonably certain that she had manipulated me on at least one occasion. If she judged that by telling me falsehoods she would better prepare me to face the dangers inherent in the future, then I had no doubt that she would lie through her imaginary teeth all the live-long day.

The government had formed the PRT in frantic haste, and by the very nature of being a rush-job, a few ‘minor’ details had gotten overlooked in the scramble. Arguably the worst of those ‘oversights’ was neglecting to create mechanisms to handle the jurisdictional and legal conflicts that would, sadly but inevitably, arise with our notional partner-agencies — with this delightful little SNAFU being the case-in-point and my lanky ass parked squarely in the eye of the resulting bureaucratic shitstorm.

Thus, the hearing was being held in a civilian court. A military court would have worked for an internal PRT matter, and we had offered the use of our own facilities for this case, but the ATF was determined not to give us an inch in the matter.

In the meantime, I had to admit that it was actually a really nice courtroom. Dark polished wood panelled every surface, with beautifully carved railings, so shiny that I could see my face in them. Behind the judge's bench, the Lone Star flag was crossed with the Stars and Stripes, both liberally fringed with golden tassels.

Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton had decided that I should attend in my wheelchair, to ensure that nobody forgot my own injuries during the battle. Thus, Kinsey had wheeled me into the courtroom, the rubber tyres making almost no sound on the thick carpet in the aisle. I was parked alongside the row in which the majority of the PRT contingent was seated, with my cane across my lap. Hamilton was seated beside me, with Kinsey one row back. Aguijón was alongside Kinsey, flanked by Emily. The kid's legal status was more tangled than a bowl of spaghetti; while he was a known supervillain and a murderer, there were mitigating circumstances involved. Also, he had distinguished himself during the New York Endbringer attack by saving the life of the PRT soldier assigned to his squad. Finally, while he had been affiliated with the Brotherhood, Kari had steadfastly denied that he had ever taken advantage of the situation with her. And then, of course, there were his actions during the battle itself.

At my suggestion, Director Grantham had offered Aguijón a probationary position in the Wards. While the boy had accepted, this didn't solve all of his problems. For instance, he had been involved with the Brotherhood of the Fallen, for all that he had turned against them at the end. If someone with enough clout wanted to make trouble for him, it could still happen.

Across the aisle, the ATF was there in force, along with the court prosecutor. The ATF people weren't quite throwing spitballs, but the sidelong glances of malice were exceedingly familiar to me. While Emily's observation that I seemed to pick up a fan club wherever I went wasn't totally inaccurate, I also seemed to have retained my ability to make enemies as well. No matter what year it is, some things never change.

-ooo-

“All rise.”

The soft murmurs stilled as the bailiff gave his order. Chairs creaked and feet shuffled on the polished floorboards as people got to their feet. Leaning forward, I used my feet to flip up the foot-rests, then placed them firmly on the floor. Using my cane on my left side and the bench-seat on my right to brace me, I came to my feet reasonably smoothly. My leg was knitting well, with only the barest of twinges as I put my weight on it, but days of enforced bed rest had done nothing at all for my muscle tone. Tensing my abdominal muscles elicited a dull ache in my torso, a reminder of the injury that had nearly killed me. However, Aster had assured me that I was healing quickly there as well.

Aster Anders. Even with everything else that had happened to me, I still had trouble getting my head around that part of the situation. Kaiser and Purity's daughter, sent back in time to help me.She had lived through the years preceding Zion's appearance, waiting for me to show up so that she could help me. Of course, events had conspired to make it impossible for her to be there from the start, but now that we were both on the same page, this made things … easier. At least now I had real firepower that I could call on when and if I truly needed it. On the other hand, said assistance would be contingent on her duties within the PRT, and her own secret identity. Whatever; I was just glad that she was there at all.

"The Western District Court of Texas,” intoned the bailiff, bringing me back to the present. “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All persons having business before the Western District Court of Texas are admonished to give their attention, for the Court is now sitting, the Honourable Judge Richard Francis Norman presiding. God save the United States, the State of Texas, and this Honourable Court."

As he spoke, an elderly man strode out from behind the curtains backing the bench. With a swirl of robes, he moved to his throne-like chair and took his seat. The bailiff inflated his chest once more. “Be seated,” he ordered. Everyone else sat down. I took my time, not wanting to collapse in an undignified heap into the chair.

Judge Norman reached into his robes for a pair of glasses, unfolded them and put them on. Then he cleared his throat, not bothering with the microphone before him. When he spoke, his voice was strong, with a deep Southern drawl to it. “This is a hearing into the matter of the United States versus Captain Taylor Snow, Parahuman Response Teams. The charge is disobeying the orders of a superior officer in the face of the enemy. The defendant has chosen to plead not guilty.” He turned to the ATF side. “Mr Peterson, does the government wish to drop the charge?”

I didn't respond to the words, outwardly at least. Inwardly, I felt a chill spread through me. While they weren't using the term 'causing mutiny', given that this was a civilian court, the end result could be much the same.

Thankfully, the weight of witness testimony meant that they had decided to quash the potential murder charge at the arraignment. However, even though I was reasonably confident about the outcome, that was not a reason to feel complacent. My actions, after all, tended to bypass Lisa's predictions of what was going to happen. And I had no idea which of my past actions could come back and bite me in the ass.

Peterson, the court prosecutor, stood up. He spoke, his voice confident and smooth. “Your Honour, the government wishes to carry on and prosecute this case in full.”

Judge Norman made a note with what looked like an elaborate quill pen, the feather bobbing from one side to the other. He looked up once more, and nodded. “Proceed with your evidence, then.”

“One more thing, your Honour, before I begin,” the prosecutor went on. “Evidence has been gathered that will allow us to press two more charges. Two counts of negligent homicide, to be exact.”

Judge Norman's eyebrows drew together. “The murder charge was dropped at the arraignment. It was clearly self-defence.”

“Not of Director Rodriguez,” Peterson told him. “Director Hanran and Amanda King. We intend to prove that they died as a direct result of Captain Snow's ill-advised actions.”

I composed my features to pretend surprise. I'd known this was coming, of course. But I still couldn't convince myself that I was innocent of the charge.

-ooo-

The ATF didn't have much. In fact, the only word of mouth they had about anything that had happened after the chopper crash had to have come from Kinsey, myself, Aguijón, or the traumatised girls whom we had rescued. But I had to give the prosecutor credit; he gave it his best shot.

He began with the 'disobeying orders' charge, which boiled down to my overriding Hanran and Rodriguez after the helicopter had crashed. Each man had been the local Director of his respective Bureau, while I was a (relatively) lowly Captain, an analyst under the command of the deceased Walsh. Technically, upon Walsh's demise, and in the absence of anyone from the PRT, my chain of command had defaulted to both Hanran and Rodriguez,.

Using the exact wording of my report, he pointed out that while Hanran wasn't sure what to do, Rodriguez had advocated a plan of action, which I had overruled. He carefully left out the fact that Rodriguez and Hanran had followed on once Kinsey and I had headed for the objective, which didn't surprise me. Nor, to my equal lack of surprise, did he air the part of my report which gave my reasons for not wanting to follow Rodriguez's plan of action, or the part of Hamilton's report where he wholeheartedly supported my decision.

As for the second charge, he pointed out that it was my decision that had led them to the building where the prisoners had been held. As an inevitable result of that decision (as he put it) Hanran and Amanda were now dead.

“I see,” Judge Norman said, once the prosecutor had finished speaking. He turned toward my lawyer. “Do you wish to respond to these charges?”

My lawyer was a man by the name of Mitchell. He was even quite experienced and well-respected in his field. Arranging for his presence, via an 'anonymous' cash donation to the PRT 'Captain Snow Defense Fund' (thank you, Andrea) had taken a little effort; making sure that it couldn't be traced back to me had taken quite a bit more.

The PRT hadn't actually had a Captain Snow Defense Fund. Until, of course, Andrea created it.

I had intended to sit quietly and let Mitchell have his say. But at the last moment, something rebelled deep inside me. Perhaps it was the fact that I had been through the Battle of the Compound, and I knew better than any of them what it had been like. Or perhaps I just didn't trust lawyers to get it right. I hadn't had the best experiences with them, after all.

I pushed myself to my feet at the same time as Mitchell rose. Beside me, Hamilton made a startled sound, but it wasn't a direct order so I ignored it. “Yes, your Honour,” I stated clearly. “I do.”

For the first time, Judge Norman showed something more than the studied indifference that he had been exhibiting to this point. His eyebrows rose, and he studied me through his bifocals. “State your name, young lady,” he ordered.

“Captain Taylor Snow, your Honour,” I said firmly.

Something akin to surprise crossed his features; it seemed that he had not been aware of who I was. He looked me over again, his eyes lingering on my medals and the cane that I was leaning on.

“And you wish to reply to the charges that have been levelled against you, Captain Snow?” He seemed less angry than curious at the minor disruption to court procedure.

“If the court will allow, your Honour,” I replied, giving him an out if he wanted it.

I couldn't be sure, but I imagined that one corner of his mouth crept upward slightly. “Far be it from me to forbid an officer and a lady from defending herself in my courtroom,” he stated. “If you will take the stand, please?”

Moving carefully, leaning heavily on the cane, I made my way down the aisle and across to the witness stand. By the time I got there, the bailiff had procured a Bible and was waiting with it.

“Do you have any objection to swearing upon the Bible, Captain Snow?” he asked; even using quieter tones, his voice was still commanding.

“None whatsoever,” I said, determined not to sound out of breath. I need to get back in shape, dammit! Leaning my cane against the stand itself, I placed my left hand on the worn leather cover of the book. It looked to be older than Judge Norman himself.

He nodded once. “Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

I raised my right hand. “I so swear.”

The formalities done with for the moment, he took the Bible and moved away, leaving me alone on the stand. Judge Norman looked down at me, then nodded. “Captain Snow, you may proceed.”

I took a deep breath. My right lung sent me a minor pang to remind me that it was still mending, but I ignored it. “Your Honour, I don't know if you've ever been in combat, but it's not a place that you can stop and make a reasoned, logical decision about your course of action. Of the four of us, two of us were wounded; I am still recovering from my injuries. We were in the middle of an enemy-occupied compound, with two pistols between us. We couldn't fight our way out and we couldn't stay where we were. As I saw it, we had just one chance. If we could reach the objective and barricade ourselves in, we could possibly hold out until rescue.”

The prosecutor straightened his lapels. “You were in the presence of Director Rodriguez and Director Hanran. Both outranked you. Why did you not follow their orders?”

“Because Hanran didn't know what to do and Rodriguez wanted to surrender,” I explained patiently.

“I understand that you're a military person first and foremost,” the prosecutor came back at me, managing to make the word 'military' sound dirty. “But why the objection to surrender? After all, it wasn't as if you'd be held prisoner of war in a foreign country. In your own words, you were wounded. No blame would be reflected on you. Why did you choose to flout their orders?”

I kept my voice as level as possible, trying not to break out in a cold sweat at the memory of the experience. “We were there to rescue half a dozen kidnapped girls who were being used as parahuman breeding stock. They'd already shot down an unarmed reconnaissance helicopter. I was wounded to the point that my life expectancy could be measured in hours. I could not in any way see a good outcome if I let myself be turned over to them.” Would you like any more reasons? I'm sure I can think of a few.

“And so you chose to ignore the orders of older, more experienced men.” The prosecutor shook his head, as if in sadness at my lack of wisdom. “These women who you thought were there; did you have any actual proof of their presence, or were you just using that as an excuse to ignore Director Rodriguez's authority?”

“They were there,” I snapped, then took a breath to calm myself. “We rescued them.”

“But did you know they were there then, or were you merely working off speculation?” His voice was smooth, reasonable. “Being found correct later does not excuse the act of disobeying orders at the time and place that it happened.”

“Objection!” called out the PRT lawyer. “The prosecutor is ignoring the fact that Captain Snow not only knew about the prisoners, but where they were.”

Peterson spoke up quickly. “I'm merely trying to establish whether the intent for disobeying orders was legitimate or not at the time, your Honour.”

“Sustained,” noted Judge Norman. “Although I will point out that this is a hearing, not a trial. Any and all evidence that may be germane to the case is admissible, including speculation and hearsay.” He turned back to me. “Please continue. How certain were you that there were prisoners in the Compound?”

“Absolutely, your Honour,” I replied promptly. “I'm an analyst. Correlating and cross-checking data is what I do. Between checking police reports and examining overhead imagery, I managed to trace six missing women and three parahuman criminals to that place. Satellite pictures alone allowed me to place two of the women and one of the supervillains on site.”

Peterson spoke up again. “Captain Snow, while I'm not an expert at this, I do understand that identifying any given individual from a satellite image is not an exact science. While you think you may have seen those people, can you state with exactitude how you managed to identify them so precisely?”

I stalled for a moment. My dead best friend told me didn't exactly seem like the most optimal thing to say. But then, up in the seats, Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton cleared his throat. “Your Honour, may I make a statement on this matter?”

“Objection,” Peterson said at once. “I had not yet finished cross-examining Captain Snow.”

“Your Honour, this is specific to the case at hand,” Hamilton persisted. “It has to do with how Captain Snow can be so certain that she identified those people.”

Judge Norman rubbed his chin. “Very well. Your name, for the record?”

Hamilton stood, and took a deep breath. “Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, PRT Intelligence Division. Captain Snow is under my command.”

“Understood, Lieutenant-Colonel. Captain Snow, you may step down. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, you may take the stand.”

Taking my cane, I moved carefully back toward the wheelchair. Hamilton passed me, his back straight and bearing steady. By the time I was sitting down again, he had been sworn in.

“Lieutenant-Colonel, you may proceed,” ordered Judge Norman.

Hamilton spoke clearly and firmly. “I am the senior officer in the Chicago PRT Intelligence office. Captain Snow has been under my command for eleven months.”

“As I understand things, you were in Chicago while Captain Snow was in Texas,” Peterson stated. “She was not under your direct command when she made those potentially erroneous identifications. How can you speak to her expertise when you weren't even there?”

Hamilton looked at him almost mildly. I knew that look. Someone's about to acquire a brand-new orifice. “As I said, the Captain has been under my command for eleven months. During that time, she has consistently proven herself to be the best analyst I have ever seen, in forty years of Intelligence work. She's quirky and occasionally insubordinate, but her hunches are more accurate than anyone else's informed guesses. When she says she's certain about something, I will bank my career on it. I have banked my career on it.”

“But how do you know she was right this time?” pressed Peterson. “You don't, do you? You can't. Isn't that right?”

“Yes. I can.” Hamilton may have been past sixty, but the tone in his voice could have shaved steel. “Because everyone gets it wrong sometimes. Even the best can make a bad call. But in the time that she's been under my command, she has never, not once, made a bad call. Identifying people from a satellite photo? She could have told you their shoe size.”

For a long moment, there was silence in the courtroom. Peterson looked a little stunned. I wasn't surprised; when Hamilton spoke like that, few people argued.

Judge Norman broke the spell by clearing his throat. “I see. Well, given that the women were indeed where Captain Snow said they would be, I will accept that as proof of her expertise in the matter.”

“Lieutenant-Colonel,” Peterson said then, “assuming that she did indeed know that, how does that give her the capability to know what to do in that sort of situation?” Being a mere analyst, he didn't quite say.

“As well as being a top-notch analyst, Captain Snow is remarkably adept at small-unit tactics,” Hamilton said. “She has been involved in several live-fire incidents, and has acquitted herself admirably each time.”

Peterson was getting frustrated; though it didn't show in his face or voice, I could pick the tells. “So she's a genius at analytical work and a tactical marvel?” Sarcasm was heavy in his voice. “No, don't answer that. No further questions, your Honour.”

The PRT lawyer rose at once. “Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton,” he said promptly. “If it had been you in the situation with Captain Snow, inside the Compound?”

Hamilton's reply was prompt. “I would have followed her lead, without hesitation. Yes, I am her superior officer, but in situations like that it's better to let the experts do what they do best.”

The ATF people were talking in hushed tones to Peterson. Papers changed hands.

“Your Honour,” called out Peterson. “Evidence has just been handed to me suggesting impropriety between Captain Snow and Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, thus occasioning the high opinion that the Lieutenant-Colonel holds for the Captain.”

I'd known this was coming, of course. Hamilton had not; I could see his shocked expression. Momentarily, I regretted not filling him in, but reminded myself that he probably would not have been able to act as outraged as he was currently feeling.

“That is absolutely untrue,” he snapped. “Moreover, I have documentation proving that the individual who supplied that falsehood has a long-standing animosity against Captain Snow. He has clashed with her in the past, and is currently under investigation regarding contraband substances found in his possession.”

I guessed that Captain Gordon – for who else could it be? - would be undergoing more than an 'investigation' when Hamilton got back. The idiot. But then, he had a proven track record of not looking where he was leaping. When the ATF came looking for dirt on me, he must have thought it was a dream come true.

Judge Norman cleared his throat. “We are reaching a little far afield here. Suffice to say, you are satisfied with Captain Snow's judgement in this matter, Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton?”

“Utterly, and without reservation.” The assurance in Hamilton's voice was rock-solid. I wanted to hug the man.

“Well, then. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, you may step down.” He waited until Hamilton was sitting beside me once more, then went on. “Given that it was in the heat of battle; that Captain Snow reportedly has the expertise required to carry her plan through; that both Directors saw fit to follow her lead; and that surrender would have been the least tenable option for her, I am hereby striking down the charge of disobeying orders.” Norman made a note, then banged his gavel once. “We shall take a ten-minute recess before addressing the charges of negligent homicide.”

-ooo-

I spent most of that ten minutes briefing Mitchell on what had happened in the building, and how Hanran and Amanda had died. By the time the recess ended, I was spent, emotionally drained. I didn't even want to think about what had happened.

Mitchell stood up and made his case for my innocence. He was a good lawyer; one by one, he refuted Peterson's points, then argued him to a standstill. When Peterson at last fell silent, Judge Norman banged his gavel.

“It is clear to me that Captain Snow acted under the best of information available to her at the time,” he stated. “She acted in a forthright and responsible manner, and did her best to keep them both alive. I am striking down the charges of negligent homicide.”

After a brief moment of stunned silence, a man stood up on the ATF side of the courtroom. I recognised him as the new regional Director, Martins. “Your Honour!” he shouted. “I urge you to reconsider! The charges -”

Norman banged his gavel again, cutting him off. “The charges,” he said harshly, “have been struck down. They are no longer valid.” The gavel sounded twice more. “This hearing is concluded.”

Voices arose, from my side of the aisle as well as the other, as Judge Norman arose from his seat at the bench. I half-expected Peterson to say something as well, but he seemed to be entirely unconcerned; the moment the gavel fell, he had begun to tidy his papers and replace them in his briefcase. Of course; he works for the court. He gets paid no matter what.

“Are you all right, Snow?” It was Hamilton who had spoken; I turned to look at him as he stood up. “You seem a little lost.”

“I … yes, sir,” I said. “I'm fine. It's just that … well, that seemed a little easy. Not that I'm complaining,” I added hastily.

He smiled tightly. “They were never going to win this,” he assured me. “Of course, your testimony put the nail in the coffin for them.”

“I'm sorry about that, sir,” I said. “I know that we're paying Mr Mitchell to do the lawyering, but it seemed to me that a simple and direct answer would work better there.”

“And as a lawyer, I'm incapable of a simple and direct answer?” That was Mitchell himself, who had come around the seats to get past Hamilton. He could have asked the question in a nasty way, but instead he chose to smile and make it into a joke.

I shrugged. “Well, I've known lawyers before. They do tend to overcomplicate things.”

He tilted his head, acknowledging my words. “The 'overcomplication' tends to be due to making sure that we're adhering to legal precedent, but I won't say you're wrong. However, while I would not have addressed the issue in quite the same way that you did, I have to admit that your points were well made.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling somewhat relieved. “After I started speaking, I was terrified that I might screw it all up.”

“Remind me never to play poker with you,” he replied dryly. “No, you did great. You got his attention, and you kept it.”

“Well, you did great for the second part,” I said with real gratitude. “I don't know that I could have gotten up and talked about it. It's …” I trailed off, unable to articulate the words.

“So, Mr Mitchell,” Hamilton said, smoothly covering for me. “Do you do many cases like this?”

Catching some kind of hidden signal, Kinsey turned the chair and started wheeling me up the aisle.

“Well, this has been the most interesting case I've had in a while,” Mitchell said. “Mind you, I've never represented the PRT before.”

I didn't hear Hamilton's reply, because Kinsey had stopped, mainly due to the man who had stepped out in front of me. This was Martins, the new ATF Director. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Can I help you?” I asked. Casually, I grasped the walking stick over my lap; while my eyes didn't shift from his, I measured Martins' stance and gauged that he was seconds from attacking me. Block his strike, handle of the stick into his groin, stick across his throat as he falls across me, choke him out.

“This isn't over, Snow,” he gritted.

“Actually, it is,” I pointed out. “We're done here. You lost.”

I felt rather than heard Kinsey set the brakes on the wheelchair, and step up alongside me. Martins looked at him for the first time, and I saw the quick calculation in his eyes. Can I take him?The answer was almost certainly 'hell, no'; I saw him force himself to calm down slightly.

“We can appeal,” he said, shifting his attention back to me. “We will appeal. Take this to the Supreme Court.”

“Excuse me, Captain Snow,” murmured Hamilton, squeezing past the wheelchair once again. He raised his voice, addressing the man in front of me. “Director Martins.”

“Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton.” Martins' voice was no more friendly than before.

“Let me make this clear,” Hamilton told him. “You can't appeal this decision. The evidence has been weighed and found wanting. This isn't a fight you can win, and the last thing you want to do is bring your whole Bureau into a pissing contest over a man who made some bad decisions and died because of them.” His tone became almost paternal. “Don't go there, son. Pick the fights you can win.”

Martins looked like he'd bitten into something very sour indeed. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. I watched as his fists clenched even more tightly. Finally, he focused his glare on me. “You'll screw up someday. Everyone does. And on that day, I'll be fucking waiting.”

I considered several responses, but most of them were more likely to escalate the situation rather than calm it down; I got the impression that Hamilton didn't want me antagonising Martins any further. So I picked the mildest one. “If you say so,” I replied neutrally.

For a moment, I thought he was going to try to punch me anyway, but then he got control of his anger and turned away. I sat there and watched as the ATF people filed out the door of the courtroom.

“Somehow, sir, I don't think they're going to give up so easily,” I said quietly.

“Somehow, Snow, I don't think so either.” Hamilton put his hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed. “But as I said, they won't be able to appeal. Double jeopardy applies. Which means that they're more likely to try other avenues to get at us.”

Such as Emily's court-martial. “Yes, sir.”

-ooo-

Thursday, 30 June, 1994
PRT Austin

Another day, another courtroom.

This one was in the depths of the Austin PRT building; unlike the one in which my hearing had been held, it held little in the way of old-world charm, with plasterboard walls and muted fluorescent lighting. Seats and railings were made of metal or plastic and painted a neutral beige, while the 'bench' was a row of simple desks. Director Grantham was the officer presiding over this court-martial; he was flanked by a major, a captain, and two lieutenants.

The specifications that had been placed against Emily for the events of the eleventh included assaulting the guard, insubordination and threatening senior officers with a loaded weapon. Although the ATF had lobbied strenuously to have her tried separately by each branch against whom she had offended, this had been overthrown at her preliminary hearing; she was a PRT officer, and so the court-martial would be prosecuted by the PRT.

The ATF was there, of course, as were the other plaintiffs in her case. The witnesses sat further back. As a character witness, I was placed off to the side a little with Kinsey, where we could observe proceedings until I was called upon. Emily, in her plain undress uniform, sat alongside her defence lawyer. He was currently on his feet, cross-examining one of the witnesses.

“When Lieutenant Piggot entered the command tent, did she seem to be particularly excited?”

The young woman, a lieutenant herself, paused before answering. “Not really. I mean, we were all pretty upset about what had happened, but -”

“Thank you,” the counsel cut her off. “Can you tell the court what she did once she entered the tent?”

The lieutenant paused again. “She … asked them what was going on. What the status of the rescue mission was.”

“And what happened then?” prompted the lawyer. His uniform wasn't anywhere near as expensive as the suits that our team of lawyers had worn at the hearing, but that was probably because he was PRT, not a civilian.

“The, uh, Captain Landing told her to butt out.”

“Really?” asked the counsel. “'Butt out'? Those were his exact words?” There was a murmur of amusement around the courtroom.

She flushed deeply. “Uh, no, sorry, sir. He told her that it was above her pay grade.”

“Ah, of course. How did Lieutenant Piggot respond to that?”

She took a deep breath. “She, uh, reminded him that there were seven people down behind enemy lines, and that they were, uh, arguing while their commanding officers were being slaughtered not one mile away. Or something like that. I don't recall the exact wording.”

The lawyer tilted his head. “Were they? Arguing, I mean?”

“Yes, sir. I guess they all had their own plan, and nobody wanted to follow anyone else's plan.”

“Well, now.” The lawyer rubbed his chin. “So what happened then?”

“Uh, they argued, and I think she called him a REMF, and -”

The murmur arose again, and he raised a finger to stop her. “Wait. She called him that?”

“Yes, sir. She did.”

He rubbed at the corner of his mouth, as if to wipe away a smile. “I see. So what happened after that?”

She was sweating by now. “He, uh, told the guard to remove her, and she subdued the guard, then she -”

“Wait. She subdued the guard? Did she use lethal means to do this?”

The lieutenant shook her head. “She knocked him out with her elbow, and took his rifle. I remember hearing her pull the bolt back. Then she asked Captain Jones if his plan involved kicking ass until we had everyone back, and Captain Jones said yes, so she said I like his plan, he's in charge.”

“Let's back up a second here. This is Captain Kelly Jones, of the Parahuman Response Teams?”

She nodded earnestly. “Yes, sir.”

“I see. Did Lieutenant Piggot point the rifle at anyone during this time?”

Slowly, she shook her head again. “No. It was pointed at the floor.”

“Very good.” He smiled encouragingly. “Now, this is very important. Was her finger on the trigger at any time?”

She frowned, concentrating. “Uh, no, I don't think so. I'm … I'm pretty sure that she kept her finger outside the trigger guard at all times.”

The lawyer nodded. “And did you, personally, feel under threat at any time during this incident?”

“Uh, I was a little bit concerned, yes, sir, but I didn't think she was going to shoot up the tent or anything. She looked more like …” She trailed off, frowning.

“Yes?” prompted the lawyer.

“ … like she was trying to make a point. Like she really, really wanted those officers rescued.”

“Objection!” called out the lawyer for the prosecution. “Witness is speculating on the state of mind of the accused.”

“Sustained,” Grantham ruled. “The witness will restrain herself from speculating. The court will ignore that remark.”

The defending lawyer took it in his stride. “What happened after she put Captain Jones in charge?”

“Well, he asked if she would surrender herself to his custody, and she did, and then she volunteered to lead the attack.”

He turned to Grantham and the other officers who made up the Board. “Let the record show that not only did Lieutenant Piggot lead the attack that liberated the prisoners and the survivors from the helicopter, but she was also instrumental in killing one of the three supervillains in the Compound, who had already racked up a substantial body count. Following that, she also volunteered her own blood to save the life of Captain Taylor Snow, who had been grievously injured in the helicopter crash.” He held up a piece of paper from his desk. “I have here a deposition here from Major Goldstein, the attending surgeon, stating that without Lieutenant Piggot's actions, Captain Snow would almost certainly have died.”

“May I see that, please?” Director Grantham held his hand out.

“Yes, sir.” The lawyer rounded his desk and placed the document in Grantham's hand. He then went back to his place while Grantham read it over.

“That seems to be in order.” Grantham looked at the defending lawyer once more. “Do you have any further questions for this witness?”

“No, sir.” The lawyer turned to his opposite number. “Your witness.” He took his seat beside Emily.

I watched as the counsel for the prosecution did his best to shake the lieutenant's story. He didn't have much luck in ascribing more sinister motives toward Emily's actions, although he did his best by concentrating on the assault on the guard, and the fact that Emily had chambered a round before making her demands. However, it didn't take too long before he too turned to the Director. “No further questions, sir.”

“The witness may step down,” Grantham ordered. As the lieutenant gratefully took her seat once more, he turned toward me. “I have been petitioned to allow a character witness from someone who has known Lieutenant Piggot since boot camp. I am inclined to allow this petition.”

At his nod, I rose, leaning heavily on the cane. I could walk more easily than I was currently doing, but it seemed to me that playing up my injury couldn't hurt and might even help. My medals gleamed on the breast of my dress uniform tunic for all to see; just for once, I didn't dislike the fact that they were there. If they helped people to take me more seriously, then it might just tip the scales for Emily.

Taking the stand, I leaned on the podium, looking out at the courtroom. Uniformed figures looked back at me, the pattern broken only by the sharp suits of the civilians at the back of the room. The contrast with the courtroom of three days previously had never been more clear. However, some things were still the same; Martins glowered at me with a poisonous hatred that did not seem to have abated in any way. I have to say, the man can hold a grudge.

“Captain Snow,” the Director said. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth before this court?”

“I do, sir,” I agreed.

“Very well,” he stated. “Defense may cross-examine the witness.”

“Captain Snow,” Emily's defending lawyer began. “Could you please inform the court as to how you met Lieutenant Piggot, and how long you have known her?”

Oh, good. A softball question. “I first met Emily Piggot during boot camp, in February of last year.” I wasn't going to mention the actual first time that we'd met, seventeen years in the future and a world away. “We became boot buddies. I did tactics, she did execution. She had my back, and I had hers.” I spared a glance for Emily; her head was up and her eyes glittered with appreciation for what I was attempting to do. “Lieutenant Piggot and I remained friends after we finished boot. However, this is the first time that we've been in the field together, which is a pity.”

The lawyer nodded understandingly. “What is your opinion of Lieutenant Piggot as a person and a soldier?”

My answer was as direct and uncompromising as I could make it. “I consider Lieutenant Piggot to be an exemplary soldier. I would have trusted her with my life before this incident. It's no surprise that she has proven me correct.”

I paused, looking from face to face. Before the lawyer could ask another question, I kept going. “If there was one word that I would use to describe Emily Piggot, it's 'dedicated'. I believe that the events covered in this court-martial have proven that no amount of intimidation or physical coercion will prevent her from doing her duty, even if it means the loss of her career or, for that matter, her life. The PRT needs people like that. I am personally proud to call her a comrade in arms, and a good friend.”

“And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” the lawyer said. “Captain Taylor Snow, originator of the Snow Protocols, holder of the DMSM and the DDSM. If anyone's opinion is worth listening to, it would be hers. The defense rests.”

“Indeed. Captain Snow.” The prosecuting lawyer stood, and eyed me in an almost predatory fashion. “So, tell me, what truth are there in the rumours that you have engaged in a non-regulation liaison with your commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton? Or that you -”

“None whatsoever,” I shot back, cutting him off. “I've been accused of this before, and -”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “When there's more than one accusation, surely there's some truth to the matter. It's an old story, after all.”

“Yes, and the truth is an older story.” I looked him right in the eye. “Jealousy. You got this story from Director Martins of the ATF, didn't you?”

He looked a little shaken, which wasn't surprising. I was cheating, just a little. “Uh, yes, but -”

“Let me clear something up for you,” I went on. “Martins got it from a certain captain, based in PRT Chicago. This man hates me, because while I was there, I showed him up on a daily basis. He made up that story months ago, after he tried and failed to get me into bed. That's the beginning and end of that little piece of scuttlebutt.”

“So you say,” he shot back. “This nameless captain, even if he exists, isn't here to defend himself, so you can say whatever you like about him. I believe I will require independent proof that you are as good an analyst as you say you are.”

“Certainly,” I retorted. “May I refer to my orderly for the answer to that question?”

“Your … orderly?” he repeated, somewhat surprised.

“Yes. My orderly. Sergeant Kinsey!”

“Ma'am?” Kinsey, although startled, responded immediately.

“What is the device on the ribbon of my Defense Distinguished Service Medal?”

“The letter 'B', ma'am.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, to steel myself for what I was going to do next. “And what does that 'B' stand for, Sergeant?”

He didn't hesitate for a moment. “Behemoth, ma'am.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.” I turned back to the lawyer for the prosecution, whose mouth was hanging slightly open. “Now, I'm sure that you can connect the dots. As an analyst, I got the DDSM for work related to Behemoth. Does that or does that not confirm my capability in my chosen field?”

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I decided that he wasn't staring at my chest, but at my medals, most especially the gleaming 'B' on the medal in question. However, I didn't want to waste any more time than necessary. “Do you have any more questions for me?”

I wasn't quite sure whether it was the muted snickers from the witnesses, or Director Grantham clearing his throat that goaded him back into action. “Uh, yes, Captain. By your own admission, you had no contact with Lieutenant Piggot for eleven months between leaving boot camp and reuniting here in Texas. How can you be certain that she would not have changed in that time? She may not be the person you knew back then.”

I shook my head. “Some people might be like that. Emily Piggot isn't, and never will be. She does not give her allegiance lightly, but once it has been given, her loyalty is ironclad. She will not compromise her ideals or principles for anything or anyone. I believe that implicitly.”

“Would you still believe that,” he shot back, “if I told you that Lieutenant Piggot has been charged with brawling with other ranks before now? On more than one occasion?”

I smiled slightly. This was one of the possibilities that Lisa had briefed me on. “Lieutenant Piggot did not have the best time of it in boot camp, due to her name,” I said. “However, I'm certain that not only did she win every one of those brawls, but that the charges against her were dismissed every time, due to mitigating circumstances. So yes, I still do believe that.”

He looked unhappy. “No more questions, sir.”

Grantham looked over at me. “You may stand down, Captain Snow.”

Taking my cane from where I had propped it against the podium, I limped back toward my seat. I glanced at Emily briefly, and caught her staring at me with something approaching puzzlement. This wasn't surprising; quite a bit of my analysis of her had come from my experience with her future self. The silence in the courtoom was only broken by whispering among the witnesses, some staring at me and some at Emily.

Once I took my seat, Grantham spoke up again. “Thank you for those stirring words, Captain Snow. We will now take a fifteen minute recess to decide the verdict.”

Suiting action to word, he rose from the desk. Followed by the other four officers, he left the room. They would convene, I knew, in Grantham's office, which had a fully stocked wet bar. Lisa had given me good odds that Emily wouldn't be imprisoned or even discharged from the PRT, but that was all contingent on how they reacted to my testimony on Emily's behalf.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, straightening my leg and trying to work the kinks out of it. Beside me, Kinsey cleared his throat; I opened my eyes to see Emily looking down at me.

I wanted to jump to my feet and hug her, but I figured that such a display probably wouldn't exactly suit a courtroom. Or any situation where superior officers might be watching, for that matter.

“Lieutenant,” I greeted her; I could see from the grin at the corner of her mouth that she could read me like a book.

“Captain,” she replied. “Permission to sit?”

“Well, of course,” I said, gesturing at the empty seats beside me.

Carefully, she sat; her lawyer stood a short distance away, just out of earshot.

“So, wow, you kind of canonised me a little there. I was left wondering who you were talking about, because it sure wasn't me.” She finished with a helpless gesture of her hands.

“You know I studied psychology,” I said.

“Criminal psychology,” she reminded me. “You gave me all the gory details, remember?”

I nodded briefly to acknowledge her point, then flicked my hand to dismiss it, all at once. “I've spent too many cold nights on exercise in the same tent as you to not know what sort of person you are. I can see what's inside you, even if you can't. Every word I said up there was true. If you can't see it, then you just need to look deeper.”

She raised one eyebrow slightly. “This is starting to sound like one of your bullshit hunches that comes totally out of left field and bowls everyone over.”

“And what if it is?” I spread my hands in turn. “Since when have you caught me out in one of those?”

She gave me a mock glare. “Never. Which means that now I've got to bust my butt to live up to what you said about me.”

“Nope.” I leaned closer to her and lowered my voice. “Just be yourself. You'll find out that I was right all along.”

“Hmm.” Very obviously, she decided to change the subject. “So yeah, I was told that this would've been a slap on the wrist except for …” She trailed off.

“”Martins, right,” I muttered, carefully not looking around. “What is it with that man? He can't get me, so he's going after you?”

“Well, you're the criminal psychologist. But my guess is that he wants to hurt the PRT somehow, so this is how he's doing it,” she replied, equally quietly.

“I hate that you're even in this situation,” I said helplessly. “If it wasn't for me …”

“If it wasn't for Rodriguez spilling the beans, you wouldn't have even been shot down,” she reminded me. “So it's back to him.”

“And that's why he hates us,” I realised. Or rather, the knowledge had always been there, but it was just now crystallising. “He's had it in for me since I shot his boss, and you were the one who forced the ATF to follow the PRT's rescue plan, so you're in the splash range.”

“So is it just us, or the whole PRT?”

I considered that. Asking Lisa would be a good idea, but I was fairly sure that I knew the answer anyway. “I'm thinking just us. Targeting the whole PRT would be a stupid move. It'd get him fired from his position in about a day. But just going after me or you? He can probably get away with that, if he's subtle about it.”

“So what do we do about it?” Her question was blunt and to the point. From her expression, she half-expected me to have the answer already. Well, I did, but I still thought she was pushing things just a little.

“You do nothing but keep your head down and not make waves.” I held her gaze until she nodded. “I'll talk to Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, and see if he can't talk to Director Rankine, and see if he can't get Martins' boss to tell Martins to back off.”

“Okay, and if going through channels doesn't work?” she prompted.

I sighed. She knows me too well. “I'm Intelligence. I'll find out dirt on him before he finds out dirt on me, and I'll make him back the fuck off. One way or the other.”

“And if there's no dirt on him?”

I snorted. “An asshole like that? There'll be dirt.” Even if I have to manufacture it. The idea that I might have to deliberately torpedo someone's career to save my own ass only bothered me slightly. It's not just me. It's not just Emily. It's the world.

-ooo-

“We have reached a verdict.” Grantham unfolded a piece of paper and read from it. “For the specification of assault and battery against Corporal Stanwick, we find the defendant guilty as charged.” I clenched my fists until the nails bit into the palms. “For the specification of insubordination, we find the defendant guilty as charged.” Murmurs swept across the room and back. “For the specification of threatening superior officers with a loaded weapon, we find the defendant not guilty.”

Even the murmurs were stilled for a moment, then started up again. A chair went over with a crash at the back of the room. “No!” shouted an all too familiar voice. I turned and looked, along with everyone else. It was Martins, of course. “How the hell can you say she's not guilty? She did it!”

I hadn't been sure if Grantham had a gavel of his own. That question was answered, as he banged it sharply. “Director Martins,” he snapped. “You are here as a representative of the ATF, not an officer of the court. You will contain your outburst or you will be found in contempt.”

For a moment, I thought Martins was about to keep going, but he leaned over and picked his chair up, and sat down. He knows when to shut up, I mused. But if he's not faced down, he won't stop. I think I might have to do something about him.

“In accordance with this verdict,” Grantham pronounced, “Lieutenant Emily Piggot will suffer a reduction in seniority and will undergo an immediate transfer, location to be determined. Once she arrives, she will be confined to quarters for two weeks, with the requirement that she undergo a competence review before she is permitted to take up her duties once more.” He banged the gavel twice more. “This court-martial is now concluded.”

It could have been worse, I knew. Much, much worse. If she hadn't led the attack, if she hadn't succeeded, she could be looking at serious jail time, with or without dismissal from the service. I watched as she shook hands with her defending counsel; the man seemed quite pleased with himself.

Carefully, I stood up. With Kinsey beside me, I approached Emily. She was now flanked by two burly MPs, no doubt there to escort her back to her quarters. Their gazes flickered to me and then to Kinsey; I thought I saw recognition in their eyes, but they didn't say anything.

“Lieutenant,” I greeted her.

“Captain,” she replied, equally formally. “Thank you for attending.”

“Thank you for saving my life. Do me a favour and stay in contact.”

She nodded, hiding a smile. “If the Captain so wishes.”

I kept my face straight. “The Captain so wishes.” I held out my hand. “Best of luck, Lieutenant.”

“And you too, ma'am.” She shook it, her grip firm in mine.

I watched as they escorted her away. Neither man touched her; I hoped that they'd gotten the message that a senior officer was interested in her well-being, and that any mistreatment would be cause for serious official scrutiny. Not that I thought they'd do anything on their own, but if an outside party decided to be malicious enough, things could change.

It was something that I would have to keep an eye on.

-ooo-

Monday, 5 July, 1994
Washington DC

“Attennnn-hut!”

Eschewing the cane for once, I stood at attention alongside Kinsey and Emily. All three of us wore full dress uniform. We were not the only ones there; other members of the assault force were also receiving medals for distinguishing acts during the Battle of the Compound. The steps leading up to the Lincoln Memorial were wide, and they needed to be; quite a few of us were standing there.

Before us stood Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown; her own dress uniform was just as immaculate as ours. A major stood by, holding a tray of medals, while Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton read from a sheet of paper.

"For outstanding gallantry under extreme hardship in the service of the Parahuman Response Teams against the enemies of the United States government, on the eleventh of June, nineteen hundred and ninety four, Captain Taylor Snow and Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey are awarded the Silver Star Medal. For injuries received in that same action, in the name of the President of the United States, Captain Taylor Snow and Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey are awarded the Purple Heart.”

He fell silent then, as the Chief Director took the first medal from the tray. Belying its name, the medal was actually gold, with a red, white and blue ribbon. The 'silver star' itself was set into the middle, within a wreath. Applause rang out as she pinned it alongside my other medals – for someone who had yet to be in the PRT for a full year, I was wearing a ridiculous number of them – then followed suit with the Purple Heart. This was purple, with a profile of George Washington in the middle of the heart.

We stood on the lower steps of the Lincoln Memorial, with press and public gathered before us for the ceremony. While I had desperately wanted to keep this quiet, I could not exactly refuse a medal for something that had been done so publicly. And so, I was forced to undergo perhaps a worse ordeal than the hearing or the court-martial. I had to stand there and be noticed by the public.

We were almost of a height, but as the Chief Director was standing one step down, I was able to look over her head. I kept my gaze level, not wanting her to read anything in my eyes that shouldn't be there. Standing there before her, I could not help but remember her as she had been just before I killed her; I didn't know how much she would pick up from that, and I had zero desire to find out.

She finished pinning my medals on, and turned to Kinsey. He had more than I did, from his years in service, but none were quite as impressive as those he had acquired over the last eleven months. Not that he had not earned them; quite the contrary. The man had gone above and beyond for me, and I deeply regretted how close he had come to death in the process. On the other hand, I was thoroughly grateful that he had been there, because I would not have been able to do it myself.

The Chief Director finished pinning the medals on Kinsey, and stepped back. Hamilton waited for the applause to finish before he began reading once more. "For gallantry in combat and unswerving devotion to duty in the service of the Parahuman Response Teams against the enemies of the United States government, on the eleventh of June nineteen hundred and ninety four, Lieutenant Emily Piggot is awarded the Bronze Star Medal for Valour.”

Silence fell again, as the Chief Director stepped forward with the medal in her hand. It was so intense that I could actually hear the tiny sound as the pin pierced the cloth of Emily's dress tunic. As the public applauded once more, she stepped back and took another medal from the tray. Hamilton read out the next soldier's name and his decoration. I took a deep breath and managed to allow myself to relax, which was a good trick while I was standing at attention.

-ooo-

The last medal was pinned on. Photographs were taken, and the assembled audience applauded once more. The Chief Director stepped up to the podium that had been assembled at ground level.

“Allow me to congratulate you,” she said warmly. “Ours is a young service, and we need all the heroes, all the legends, that we can get. We need people to look up to, to set examples for the rest. Your actions in the Compound are an inspiration to us all.” She smiled, then. “Dismissed.”

The crowd surged forward, while the soldiers who had received medals descended the steps to meet their friends and families. My family was here as well, thanks to Hamilton notifying George and Dorothy behind my back. I had known he would; short of actually asking him not to, there was nothing I could do about it.

I saw Danny first, then picked out the stocky form of his father. We came together at the foot of the steps; I hugged Anne-Rose, then Danny and Dorothy. Finally, I hugged George himself, despite his gruff protests. I had known that Gladys and Andrea wouldn't be able to make it, which pained me. Gladys' work as vice-principal was keeping her busy, and Andrea had her own responsibilities to deal with. But I did wish that they had been able to attend anyway.

“You didn't tell us that you had been hurt,” Dorothy fretted. “What happened? Were you badly injured? Are you limping?”

“Let the girl talk for herself, Dottie,” George said gruffly. His eyes measured me from head to toe. “You've been through a lot. Do you want to talk about it?”

I bit my lip slightly, trying to ignore the prickling in my eyes. “I … I can't. Most of it's … well, we aren't releasing a lot of the details to the public. Sorry.”

“Just tell me one thing,” Danny said bluntly. “Does the other guy look worse off?”

I considered that for a moment. “We won. That's all I can really say.”

He grinned broadly. “That's good enough for me. Until you can talk about it, of course. At which point, I'm gonna demand serious details.”

“Only if you want nightmares,” I shot back, but my tone was only half-serious.

They would be driving back to Brockton Bay that night, but we'd all been given leave for the rest of the day. Kinsey, having no family of his own to speak of, had elected to stay by my side. I was happy with this situation.

For this one day, for this magic afternoon, I could relax and spend time with Danny and his parents. To my surprise, my request for a private interview with Director Costa-Brown had been granted, for that very evening. However, until then, I wasn't going to be worrying about anything.

-ooo-

That Evening
PRT Washington DC
Chief Director's Office

Chief Director Costa-Brown sat behind her desk like any other officer, but her presence was astonishing; she owned the room. I stood at attention before her, with Emily and Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton beside me. What they were doing here, I wasn't sure; they had arrived at the same time as I had, so I had to assume that it was no coincidence.

“Just so you know, Captain Snow. If the Parahuman Response Teams had its own version of the Medal of Honor or the Distinguished Service Cross, you and Sergeant Kinsey would be wearing those.”

Without thinking, I opened my mouth. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“I was only stating the truth.” Her tone was businesslike. “What's on your mind, Captain?”

“Lieutenant Piggot is just as much a hero as Sergeant Kinsey or I, perhaps even more so,” I said bluntly. “We were not in the Compound by choice. She went in there deliberately. And if it wasn't for her, the sergeant may not have survived. I know for a fact that I would not have.”

She nodded seriously. “I'm fully aware of that, Captain. It's not often that I pin a medal on someone who has been court-martialled and suffered a loss in seniority as a result of the same action that she earned the medal for.”

“I understand that, ma'am,” I said. “I just want to request that she not be transferred to a nowhere assignment as punishment for her transgressions. She's a good soldier, a dedicated -” I stopped talking as she held up her hand.

“You don't need to say any more, Captain.” The words could have been cutting, but her smile took the sting out of them. “I've read the transcript of your speech during the court-martial. If the PRT had such a thing as a nowhere assignment, which I assure you is not true …” Her smile turned wry for a moment as we shared the joke. Every branch of the military had a nowhere assignment; it was where they sent the screwups and no-hopers. “ … she wouldn't be going there. As it happens, Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton has prevailed upon Director Rankine to take her on.”

I blinked. “Uh, thank you, ma'am. I do appreciate that.”

“Why?” Her expression turned bland. Had she been playing poker, I would have suspected a full house or a royal flush in the offing. “I had nothing to do with it.”

Yeah, as if. “Understood, ma'am.”

She nodded at what I had not said. “Very well. Dismissed.”

“Ma'am,” I said, nodding politely. Emily echoed me, in concert with Hamilton. The Chief Director shifted her attention to the paperwork on her desk.

We turned and left the office; Hamilton gestured for Emily and me to precede him through the door. After it closed behind us, I turned toward Hamilton. “Thank you, sir.”

He didn't need to ask why. “It wasn't exactly a hard decision, Captain. For one thing, she was just awarded the Bronze Star. For another, she broke regulations to save the life of my favourite analyst. And then of course, there's the fact that I trust your judgement implicitly.”

There wasn't much I could say to that. Emily took the initiative, stepping up to Hamilton. We were indoors and uncovered, so she could not salute, but she offered a respectful nod. “Lieutenant-Colonel. What are your orders?”

Hamilton held out his hand; after only a brief hesitation, she shook it. “You'll be flying back to Chicago with me, Lieutenant. I hope you packed your winter-weight uniforms.”

She smiled briefly. I knew for a fact that she'd done an Arctic survival course. “I'll manage, sir.”

“That's what I like to hear, Lieutenant.” He beamed at her, looking more grandfatherly than ever. “Welcome aboard.”

“It's good to be aboard, sir.”

I allowed myself a tiny sigh of relaxation. Everything was not yet plain sailing; I had years to go before I could consider my task even half done. But this had turned out somewhat better than I had expected.

Which meant, of course, that something else was looming on the horizon.

Because since when had my life been any other way? 

Part 6-1