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Eliza's Series "Z" was making it's way towards the Tau-37 jump hole in the Tau-23 system. Enma's recent verbal performance over the neural net had really pushed her plans into overdrive as Coronado was surely going to turn into a real mess quite soon if not already. The girl had mixed feelings about the whole mess and there was a tint of guilt that she couldn't help but feel in what she was doing. Whenever she thought about it all it felt all too surreal like a game of bluff between her and Enma over who snaps first. But the auburn haired girl was so deep in this mess that there was no way that she could simply turn back now. Loyola shouldn't have dared her to try and betray her anyways, it was all her own fault for getting in this mess, Valdez kept telling herself. And perhaps the National Council would show mercy? After all they didn't care much for Valdez herself since she had not obstructed them in any notable way. Sure Loyola was a whole different case but to the young pilot's knowledge the self-centered blonde had not taken any Maltese lives either, nor obstructed the cardamine trade in any noticeable way. Still, did it justify this grand betrayal Eliza was executing? Often enough it felt as if Enma was simply using her but was that a good enough excuse to sell her to the vicious sharks that made up the Maltese Council? How much simpler would've things been if all this never happened in the first place. Valdez sighed in hopelessness and tried to distract herself by checking on the cargo hold sensors. Everything looked normal - pressure was close to 1 atmosphere, oxygen levels were within acceptable levels and the tied up blonde was still there, not like she had anywhere to go, really. Another depressive sight followed.

"Core vessel, you are ordered to stop at once!"

A coarse male voice bearing a heavy accent snapped the girl out of her gloomy thoughts. Her eyes jumped in panic to the panel showing the scanner data. It was a Gallic Royal Navy patrol, 6 fighters and all in close enough proximity to intercept. Her ship still flashed Core colors, something she had neglected due to the recent complications of her plan and planned to fix once at Freeport 10, her last planned stop before entering Maltese sovereign territory. There was no way to run to Cali, not as a Core vessel at least. And not with 6 Gallic Lynxes on her tail either. And fighting them all at once? Hardly any realistic chance to win there either. Whatever trouble she already was in had just doubled.

"This is Core Sentinel Valdez heading to Freeport 10 on a diplomatic mission!"

"You are to halt your ship immediately and pass inspection! Refusal to comply with Royal Navy orders will be met with violent force."

The course voiced wing commander was not buying her made up story. Her worried tone and near stuttering was hardly convincing anyways. Beep, beep, beep! The sound of the Sabre's anti-missile ordinance system quickly alerted but without much time to react her ship's cruise mode was swiftly taken care of by the cruise disruptor warhead launched by one of her pursuers. Game over. There was no escape now. The girl pulled the throttle stick down to the end and the ship's engines deafened to the minimal purr needed to keep the ship online. Maybe she could bargain with them as well? She already planned to give Enma to the Council, it wasn't like anything would make her fall any lower anyways.

"You are to turn around and be escorted by us to battleship Guillestre where we will confirm your identity and that of the person inside your cargo hold."

Damn it, they knew about her 'passenger' in the ship's cargo hold. Eliza did not really believe in things such as karma but at this very moment very much felt as if the universe had gained sentience and omnipotence just to punish her for what she was doing. The dread overwhelmed the young girl. She couldn't even mumble a response. Her hands were shaking, she did not know what to do.

"I will give you one last warning."

The coarse, emotionless voice reminded her of the reality of the situation she found herself in. Hesitantly her hand pushed the throttle and set her craft into motion. The Gallic patrol soon enough followed the same action and formed around her ship to ensure she had nowhere to run. Guillestre awaited...

Enma completely lost any count of time by the time when Eliza got to Tau-23. She had no ability to count time as she was locked without any proper devices to keep track on it. Only small alert device that was hidden in her heel, it was used, but later Eliza found and took away even that. She also had no idea about her possible location. They made a stop on some stations, but her eyes were tied up with cloth. Eliza did not even want to feed her properly, or just could not. How much time have passed anyway? Weeks? Months?

Loyola have so many more questions to ask, but Eliza never answered any of them. Maybe they are already in Omegas where Eliza will just get rid of her. Maybe she is about to get transfered to the Order or someone else. She got tried of those thoughts during the first days, or the time period that she considered to be the first days. Anyway, she was moving from the point A to the point B, but after all this time she did not believe that those two are even real.

Over the days, she had more and more weird dreams and this whole situation first made her paranoid, and then apathic. She was remembering her life, her finest hours. Donna Loyola, where now to go without your ship and a fleet? The victory is for sure right ahead. She thought, feeling disgust to herself and everything that she saw around. Why is she not yet saved? It seems like the others have betrayed her too. She just imagined how her Sabre is being hit some other ship, that is blured and exploding very slowly. Well, then that would be my finish. Locked in some smelly cargo hold, and in a few months no one will even notice my absence. Enma closed her eyes not to see the reality and heavily sighed. But be honest, when did you care when some else died? Talking to herself in her mind became the only source of entertainment.

Once she's woken up by the sounds of her cargo hold starting to open. At the very same moment she heard a male voices, but did not manage to understand any words. If I am going to die, I will do that right now. She thought, hidding in the corner, she prepared herself to attack. It's not like she ever was any relevant in the close range combat, she just wanted to end it. As two man walked in, Enma furiously jumps at one of them, but instantly being punched by the heavy boot right into her belly. After feeling a couple more of hits, one of the soldiers finally using his shocker.

After being literally shocked, Enma felt like she was brought out of the cargo hold. She realized that her hands are behind her back, apparently in handcuffs. Few moments later, she's recognizing Eliza staying next to her. Random lights here and there are hurting her eyes. However, that's enough to realize that they both are surrounded. Enma again looked at Eliza, trying to realize what is even going on, but Eliza seems to be shocked too. Still feeling a pain from the hits and the shock, she tried to recognize the uniform, which just by the colour seem to be Royalist. That was something she did not expect.

Then she just recognized one of the faces that were surrounding them. This person appeared to be in charge for everything that is happening here. She could get it by the way of how others stayed near her. It was a person who approved their honeymoon trip. At this very moment she lost any sense of reality and thought that it's all just some delusional hallucinations.

The capitaine de vaisseau Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup was not a particularly patient woman. A family tradition steeped in the military arts and all the rigorous upbringing that it implies tend to leave a mark on one's psyche, especially when that upbringing is followed up by a distinguished record at the Ecole Navale and a remarkable career. She was driven, then, and couldn't suffer people to be slower to understand or to act than she was - a trait that had decidedly worsened with her advancing years, but one that proved well appreciated by her superiors.

That morning had been off to a bad start. Her coffee was ten degrees colder than usual and delivered to her four minutes after the ordered time. She had snapped at her aide-de-camp, not because she needed her coffee precisely that hot at that particular moment, but because she knew the many virtues of discipline and rigour. And that started with proper coffee served at the right time.
It was bad enough to be on inspection duty aboard the Guillestre, a rear-echelon (and that was the polite term) asset in the arse-end of Gallic sovereign space, away from the frontlines and away from home : the two theatres she was most preoccupied with, being a senior staff member of the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Intérieure, tasked with overlooking every security concern relating to Gallic interests. A daunting task, particularly with cold, belated coffee.

Trouble soon continued. Equal in rank as she was to the commanding officer of the Guillestre, she was to be informed of any significant event regarding the ship's activities. Part of the inspection, part of her role. So when a visibly distraught (and inadequately shaven) ensign walked up to her to stammer about some Sirian ship being at the core of two people (she didn't pay enough attention what with the bad coffee and all), she snapped again, with her usual half-clipped, half-barked tone.

"Lieutenant ! Your facial hair is unseemly and I can't make out what it is you're trying to tell me. Go shave, calm down, then report back."
The poor ensign wasn't accustomed to her. Yet. She shooed him away to ensure he had gotten the message. He returned two minutes afterwards, his face reddened from the quick (and she assumed dry) shaving. Having regained composure, he adressed her in the quick, formal tone proper Ensigns were taught at the Ecole Navale.
"Commandant, one of our fighter wings has stumbled upon a lone Core fighter vessel with what seemed to be two people onboard. One being in the cargo hold. We've apprehended the ship for a routine inspection to figure out what a Core ship was doing so far from its home... With what is certainly a prisoner. We...I... t-thought you might be interes-" She cut him off, abruptly but with no animosity.
"Thank you, lieutenant... Paoli. Good work, and good thinking. Take me to that ship, I'd love to hear this story".

On her way to the ship bay, she, the ensign and her aide passed by a handcuffed woman, surrounded by four fusiliers. Guillestre's CO had decided to split the prisoners right after their arrest as was standard procedure for various security reasons. That woman (she'd overheard her name but didn't pay attention : Varda, Ortiz or some such Maltese-sounding patronym - there would be time to check on that later), presumably the pilot, had been cooperative and was not roughed up by her guards. As they crossed paths, Montlaville eyed her, trying to gauge where she'd seen that face before. The poor woman was livid, and visibly shaken : not the air of a defeated warrior who had come to cause them harm. She looked surprisingly young and lost during those few seconds when their eyes met. Montlaville's gaze was as stern as usual, but with more open curiosity than hostility towards this newcomer. As was her custom, she made a mental note of all those details and thoughts she'd picked up from this brief encounter, as the group finally made their way to the apprehended ship's cargo bay, while the pilot was taken to one of the ship's brigs. Its passenger had been retrieved, more forcefully than her alleged captor : one of the guards looked a little roughed up... Which was enough for Montlaville to deduce what had occured, and the kind of response the fusiliers had given their prisoner.

She inspected her again - another woman. She wrinkled her nose. A sorry sight to behold. She was disheveled, visibly famished and exhausted. Large pockets under her eyes were a testimony to the living conditions she'd had to put up with lately, her cheeks were slightly sunken... And she frankly reeked. Her stare was the most notable : she had an empty gaze, as if her spark had been extinguished. A common condition in infantrymen back from the frontlines, or terrorists caught red-handed. This emptiness was always a source of discomfort to Montlaville : she had made a point of mastering reading other people's thoughts and feelings through their body language... Eyes were generally the most talkative. Eyes were supposed to express things.

And then it came back to her. Enma Loyola, the bride-to-be whom she had personally granted access to Gallic space some time before. A known high-level operative of the Core, which the Marine Royale had worked with, again not too long ago. And then this muffled distress signal, days after she'd granted her access... To which she had replied with no small amounts of sarcasm. Looking back, she felt a ping of remorse, as she hadn't imagined the poor girl in such a bad situation. Interesting, she thought. One of the most wanted people in the sector just happens by our doorstep. There's a story I'm very curious to hear.

"Lieutenant", she barked, seven seconds after she'd started her inspection. "Have this woman bathed, fed and clothed appropriately. You will then take her to Conference Room Bougainville and assist me with the interrogation. We'll start with her alone, then with the other one. Then we will have a little heart-to-heart... With all parties involved".

Moments later, a cleaned, fresher-looking Enma Loyola was softly ushered in the room Montlaville had been sitting in for the past two minutes. Good timing, she thought. Enma wore a blue and white flightsuit with "GUILLESTRE" written on the back. Some light in her eyes had returned, but she still seemed weakened and lost. Montlaville decided to go straight to the point.

"Guildmistress Enma Loyola. A pleasure to meet you in the flesh. Please, sit. I am Capitaine de Vaisseau Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup. You will address me as "Commandant", as befits my rank. Now, the last time we spoke, you were on your way to the happiest day of your life, ready to spend your credits at one of my facilities. An existence of milk and honey, built upon whatever shady business you had in your previous, barbaric life. And yet, here you are, half-starved, injured, out of your wits and wearing one of my flightsuits, while you should be getting drunk on champagne, eating cakes and parading in your primitive Sirian ceremonial clothing. Ah, oui, merci" she said to her ensign, who had brought three hot coffees, just as she finished her sentence. Excellent. The cups exhaled a strong Arabica smell that soon overtook the room.

She motioned him to sit. The man was plain-faced, with big brown eyes, an honest mouth and full (still red) cheeks. He had the air of a large and eager staffordshire terrier, a reassuring, comforting sight in any circumstance. The perfect counterpart to her.

"Now tell me, Guildmistress." The title was uttered with no irony, as she pushed a coffee cup towards her. "Seeing as we're all here, you might as well explain to me why it is that you're spending the happiest day of your life on my ship. I'd also like to know who put you on that ship, why is it a Core one, what was it doing here, and what happened to your spouse. We'll see where we go from there. Take your time". Her tone was gentle at first, warmer than the ensign was accustomed to... before switching naturally to her clipped, no-nonsense delivery.

The light in the room was warm, and the air recycler emitted a discreet whirr as it did its job.

All senses were real: a warm bath, gallic food and wine, new clean cloths. Such a simple things made her to feel so good, good but not happy. For now she can be sure that she will stay alive for a couple of days at least. Gauls can always remember her being a leader of Malta and other associated crimes. Her friends and allies, if there are any left, do not even know that she's here.

Now she will become a pawn in the Gallic game, in case if they will find her useful. Maybe she should suggest it herself in some way, maybe even directly. Why not? Not so long time ago she almost interested Claire DeFrance herself. Sadly she never got a reply in the end. It's not like Enma had a high hopes over that, she just wanted to fill a niche of Sirian leaders who will be in favor of the Crown. Huge reason to worry about, however, is the fact that she is in a way worse position than she used to be before. It's unknown how Gallics will react when Enma will open this card. On one hand, it will prove that she seeked for a friendship long time ago. On the other it was a private letter to a daughter of their beloved king. Violating Royal privacy? Is that even a good idea?

Her brain used all time it had before interrogation to find the best way to act. Years of the experience in politics were supposed to help, but in reality did the opposite. All the flashbacks just interfered with the mental process. It's not like she can see a clear reason to even live anymore. Next moment she caught herself on desire to live without having a reason, now she's following the instinct. Fear of death is her only motiation? She should have been shot down by that soldier who shocked her. Confused thoughts are coming and leaving, with them she had waves of different emotions. Enma is in panic, but she knows how to hide it. Hopefully

Finally some... sort of a guard came to take her. She blindly followed him, without paying any attention to look of the Valor from the inside. All her life is now in a hands of some Gaul, she could not get used to this position. While she was in that cargo hold, she all tried to convice herself that it isn't real. Now the illusions about her having illusions are gone. Despite her expectations, she did not see Eliza in the room. She shortly glanced at de Chanteloup and realized that her charm won't work here. What bothers her more, is that she does not really know what to expect from this person. Knowing your opponent is the key for success and sadly, she don't have that key in this situation.

Enma accepts a kind offer to sit, it's not like she have a choice, but saying "Mer'ci." would never harm. Carefully listening, Enma is strying to seek for the weak sides in this person. Apparently this was Gallic best interrogator to deal with foreign people. Why would she both approve their trip and now was here. It feels like facing the monster. Of crouse, those feelings are not quite justified, but Enma is in state when she can be scared of a Zoner. Well, not Zoner, no, it's not that bad, but she's still very scared.

Her fingers are drumming the table while Commandant was speaking. Enma felt like stabbed with a knife whenever she was called a "Guildmistress". Most likely she is not the one anymore and Supreme Guildkeeper became a new Guildmaster. She slightly bows and taking a sip of coffee, hoping that it will help her to calm down. She still drummed few seconds after she stopped talking and caught a cold look on her. She should really stop worrying as much, it's not playing in her favour at any point. Now it is time to force herself to speak, silence in the room is being held for a very long time.

With a low and screthy voice, she slowly starts to pronounce word by word. "Commandant, please let me express my sincere gratitude for saving me and..." She paused, looking onto the desk surface and trying to word it properly. "and providing me with comfort that I needed so much. " Feeling herself more confident with every words, she procceds with more natural speed. Her voice is starting to gain usual highness as she starting to speak more emotional. "I will stay here as long as you will suggest. I know that it's all for my own good and security." They already took her freedom of movement anyway, just asking to let her go would not work in this sort of situation. Enma would co-operate with them and she needs to show that by trading things that she do not even own.

Seemly trying to remember something, Enma is making yet another pause. This speech is not sounding impressive, as if she had something to impress this Gaul. "Answering your questions, sadly I don't know a lot more than you. Person that held me is Eliza Valdez de Loyola, she attacked my ships and transported me somewhere." She sighs, this cannot got any worse, right? "I would like to know her motives much more than anyone else, believe me. Maybe we could ask her?"

Taking another sip, Enma is going a little bit more offensive. "Perhaps I could be more thankful for your hospitality and be more useful. In my situation it's quite important to demonstrate more loyalty to the Crown and our... ah nevermind. So I bet that we could make a public version of events a little bit different. Some people were searching me and I could blame someone else for this incident." This is also an attempt to save Eliza..., for now. If she will make some sort of revenge, she would like to make it on her own. "Let's say I could make a public transmission where I will thank subjects of the Crown and blame some Council or Crayter... or both. What do you think, Commandant? "

As Loyola was speaking, Montlaville had picked up a pack of cigarettes. Gauloise Blonde, of course. As she produced an elegant lighter, she took an interrogative look at the ensign, who politely shook his head. She lit up the Gauloise, and acrid smoke soon began to fill the air and create a thin cloud overheads. Not what I expected, she thought. Not so long ago, this woman was covered in filth and distraught beyond recognition. And here she was, acting like a pretty little queen... And... What was that ? Offering to make a public transmission and go with a cover story ?! No. No no no no.

Montlaville took a long drag on her cigarette, and exhaled slowly, in Enma's direction.
"So let me sum this up. You are sooo very grateful for our help that you'd like to jump at the opportunity and get in league with us, openly accusing our enemies of your kidnapping. I am correct thus far, yes ?"
Not waiting for a reply, she continued, her cigarette glowing in her hand. Montlaville had uttered the sentence with no body motion : she wasn't naturally expansive... And most of all, she knew very well what information body language could transmit. And thus, learned to divulge as little of it as possible.
"You would have us expose yourself through OUR channels, in order to tell a lie about your own kidnapping, that you, as you've rather bluntly admitted just now, know NOTHING about. You, that I barely know anything about. You waltz in here, tied and famished, captured by... Eliza Valdez ? De Loyola ? Your spouse ?!" She had just connected that particular dot. She had several pieces of the puzzle but it wasn't clear by ANY stretch of the word yet. "Oh, dear. This is even more of a bordel than I anticipated. Your life really is a mess, isn't it ?" She watched Enma intently. She had visibly recovered, but her air remained vague. Barely a hint of internal turmoil. She's good.

"Place yourself in my shoes for a moment. You've got this runaway almost delivered to you on a silver platter, wanted by scores of powerful people, with ties to two of the largest organisations in Sirius... who claims to have no clue as to how or why she found her way to you, or was even kidnapped in the first place, and in the same sentence, practically begs you to pin her own kidnapping on your enemies... But to what end ? For what goal ? Our friendship" Montlaville had to admit she wished she knew more about this person. She was of paramount importance to at least some people - else she wouldn't have found herself in such a dire situation - but she'd never come upon her file. She never had a reason to, up until now. Royal dealings with the Core had been conducted rather secretly, and outside of her jurisdiction. Something escaped her, and she could feel Loyola was hiding something from her. And Montlaville could never abide secrets.

"From there, you can probably see why, for security reasons, I won't let you near any sort of communication device at present, at least until we've sorted all of this out. This could be a ruse in so many ways, with the potential to cause so much damage to us. I know it, because it's my job. And I suspect you know it too : you'd need to be this smart in order to survive for so long, living the life you had. I cannot risk it : you could just as well tell everyone where you are and to enact revenge upon us, before we'd be able to put you down. And we've got enough problems to deal with as it were. So here's what we're going to do. You're going to enjoy a good night's rest in one of my luxurious cells. Courtesy of our hospitality you seem to enjoy. That'll help you refocus and find your feet : you must still be shaken... And there's a lot more we need to discuss." An unusual hint of menace there. Montlaville could get aggressive when she felt she was being lead on. "In the meantime, I'll check on your wife. You will see her soon."

She and the ensign got up. He knocked at the door, and two fusiliers entered the room. They took Loyola to one of the Guillestre's brigs, a different one than Valdez's. She was placed in a modest cell, furnished with a single bed designed to be austere, a sink and a toilet. It was about as bare as cells get, but it was clean, and she was alone. Some down time on her own will prepare her better for what's to come next.

Before she went to visit Valdez, Montlaville headed to her personal quarters and accessed her computer, which was linked to the GRI's archive : this contained files of all people of interest to the Kingdom, Gallic and non-Gallic. She found Loyola's dossier soon enough and thoroughly went through it... Only to find that it contained what she knew already. Known but unspecified ties to the Maltese society, leadership of the Core paramilitary, traces of past dealings here and there... And a LOT of classified material. Classified ?! With HER level of security clearance ? That never happened ! That couldn't possibly happen. As befitted her rank and position, Montlaville was informed of everything even remotely connected to Gallic interests, including the Alien Threat. The only exception to this was... Ah. Royal affairs, which were kept to a ridiculous level of secrecy. Oh, great. The plot thickens...

With that lead essentially useless, Montlaville decided it was time to hear the other side of the equation, before they reunited the spouses. There were many holes in Loyola's story, compounded by her urgent willingness to cooperate without anything in return... And her offer of going public with a "different version" of the events... Different from what ? There was no truth here, only vagueness. The Capitaine de Vaisseau Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup never acted on vagueness.

And with that, she opened Eliza Valdez's cell, flanked by two fusiliers.
"Madame Valdez. We need to talk. Please, follow me."

A brief moment passed before the two women found their way into the room. The fusiliers exited just as ensign Paoli entered, bringing coffees. From their smell, Montlaville deduced they were exactly at the right temperature. We're getting there.

Eliza Valdez looked in a much better shape than Enma Loyola had when she arrived at the same conference room hours earlier. Not a big surprise considering she was the kidnapper and not the kidnappee. She had been offered no comforts other than food, given the context. Befitting her temperament, Montlaville went to the point.
"Madame Valdez. I am the capitaine de vaisseau Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup, whom you will address as "Commandant". Before you say anything, I'd like you to know that I've already interviewed your spouse. You'll be pleased to know she's recovering quite well from her ordeal and has already offered us to publicly denounce you. I understand that particular information would be of great interest to a significant amount of parties." She paused for effect, and to inspect Valdez. Her initial panic seemed to have washed off of her, and she merely looked drained at this moment.

"Now that this has been established, you will understand that I'm curious as to your side of this story. What could push you, a seemingly respectable member of this Core paramilitary and loving wife, to stuff your spouse in your cargo hold and take her through the Taus, right beneath our inquisitive noses ? I do not wish, nor have I a reason to forcefully demand this information from you. However, nothing compels me to release you, either : as you've seen, the Guillestre has plenty of room, and your actions fall in the category of human trafficking, which is about as illegal as illegal gets. Your help would make my job a whole lot easier, and we could put this all behind us all the quicker." With that, she pushed a cup of coffee in Valdez's direction.

"So then, madame Valdez... De Loyola. What's your story ?"

The solitude of the modest prison cell gave Eliza a chance to clear her thoughts and assess the situation. Looking at how things had unfolded made her think that surrendering without a fight a fight was a mistake. At least she would have had a chance, even if minuscule and practically insignificant it still looked better than her situation now. The girl closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. She tried to remember Malta, the planet she yearned to return to enough to consider this mad plan to begin with. The sun's rays on her skin, the vast orange fields, the slight autumn wind blowing in her hair. A tranquil image instilling both calmness and a hint of regret as it was all so close and yet so distant. Her ill fate now seemed certain - judgement awaited. Perhaps she deserved it for what she had done and planned to do if not apprehended by the Gallic patrol?

Eliza puffed in a sign of helplessness. She wondered what was happening with Enma now. Most likely the Gallics were going to be able to identify her. The blonde was sympathetic to them and her status as a Core Guildmistress obviously had to give her leverage, more than anything Eliza could ever manage at least. This irritated the young girl deeply as she didn't like this shift of dynamics at all. She stood up and began walking around the cell in a nervous step. The thought that she should get used to living her life in this small cell gnawed the back of her mind. There was also the question how long would the rest of her life be anyways? A most disturbing thought that she couldn't shake off in any way no matter how much she focused on her little walk. Seeing the futility of this exercise she tumbled down at the corner of the room into a seated position with her hands and chin resting on her knees. This was probably how Enma felt over the last few days, how ironic. The Maltese's eyes drifted across the prison cell. There wasn't even anything notable about it that could distract her. It served the most basic human needs and even made the quarters in Cali look good in comparison. Another depressive exhale came out as a result of said observation.

There were many more gloomy questions fumbling around her head but thankfully soon enough they were cut short for the moment by the cell door opening. Eliza raised her head to gaze upon her visitors. It was that important looking lady she laid eyes upon before being sent to her cell. Her commanding tone clearly supported the Maltese girl's hypothesis of the lady's importance. There wasn't much she could do anyways. The auburn haired girl slowly stood up and extended her hands forward, waiting for the handcuffs. Might as well get on with it, she thought to herself as the guardsmen prepared her for her short trip to the interrogation room. The trip to it was far from fascinating either as her mood warranted little for sight seeing and awe of this great warship's interior. Just as compliantly, as Eliza was now a captive herself, she took her expected seat across the table from her interrogator and awaited with a somewhat empty eyes. The detainee took note of the lady's rank as it was perhaps the most important bit of the opening pitch. The fact Enma denounced her came to little surprise. As if the blonde would simply turn the other cheek and forgive her after all what Eliza did or was about to anyways. It sounded like the natural thing to do, whatever the two had between them was now dead and gone, or so the young girl assumed. She would have done the same if she was in Enma's shoes anyways, no doubt in that.

The Commandant wanted to know Eliza's side of the story? Scratch that, she even almost hinted a possibility for bargain if she got it. This most likely was standard protocol. In Eliza's position there was no reason to not indulge the Gallic lady with it. With that in mind she wrapped her still handcuffed hands around the warm cup of coffee and looked back into the interrogator's eyes.

"Valdez would suffice, madame Commandant."

How pretentious she thought to herself but at the same time couldn't help but feel disturbed by her inner voice every time she was reminded that she was in fact betraying not just anyone but her spouse. Her fingers played around the cup as she tried to piece together her next few sentences.

"Neglect, jealousy and fury, I'd imagine. She pushed me over the edge with the way she treated me. I warned her not to try me yet she figured I was bluffing. It wasn't hard capturing her, we were all alone there anyways. My threat to her was simple - I'd turn us both in to the Maltese authorities. That was what I planned to do before being intercepted anyways. They promised to go easy on me if I surrendered them Enma as well, maybe they would have gone easy on her as well, maybe not. As things were already set in motion I had little time to contemplate that part. I could go into higher detail but doubt someone of your statute cares much for my failed marriage to warrant doing so, madame Commandant."

Her voice was dull and gloomy, much like her broken spirit at this very moment. With her hands still wrapped around the coffee, she raised the cup for a sip, still keeping her eyes on the interrogator. The coffee was good, really good at that. Or maybe it was the fact it was her only comfort today. At this point Eliza couldn't tell which either. She didn't have much mental energy to ponder on it much anyways and instead turned her attention back at madame Montlaville.

Smoke filled the room again, as another cigarette had found its way to Montlaville's lips, glowing remarkably in the dim lights of the room. This time, the ensign had accepted her silent offer and got one for himself, certainly to soothe his nerves. He was, unfortunately, as inexperienced in the field of smoking as he was in the art of interrogation. Nevertheless, and to Montlaville's satisfaction, he kept his dignity about him and only coughed slightly once.

Montlaville couldn't help it : Valdez fascinated her, after a fashion. Not morbid curiosity, nor admiration, either : it was some vague notion in-between. The men guarding Valdez's cell had, as per protocol, reported her behaviour to the commandant. One of them had compared her to an abandoned cat, trying to make sense of its surroundings while waiting for its master to return. She, naturally, had issued the fusilier a stern reprimand for such fantasy, but from what he described afterwards, she'd had to see the value in the analogy. No huge fuss, no smashing against the walls, no half-delirious pleading with her guards ; no outspoken anger, no energy of any kind. And now that she had her in front of her, Montlaville could vouch for it, herself. There seemed to be no fight left in this one, nothing left to lose.

She reasoned that Valdez had ended up on the edge of desperation before she went on that whole kidnapping business. And now that her plan had failed catastrophically, there seemed to be no resort left that she had managed to think of. She was resigned, defeated - clearly there had been huge stakes behind her attempt, ones that Montlaville had, thus far, failed to grasp. Loyola, compared to her, had recovered from a significantly more traumatic experience in a hurry : here too, a piece of the puzzle was clearly missing. The lie she concocted about Loyola offering to rat on her in front of all Sirius seemed to have been accepted with no resistance whatsoever, which was very telling of the kind of viciously passionate bond the two women shared. They're cut from the same cloth, for better and worse. Much to her annoyment, the GRI had no concrete file about Valdez. Some apparently overpaid analysts had deduced she was or had been an operative of some importance belonging to the Maltese Menace... And that was that, essentially. Once more, she'd just need to link the dots by herself.

As Valdez mentioned her disaster of a marriage (not that the commandant was any good at those, either), Montlaville emitted her usual sharp, loud and somewhat cruel laughter, which made the ensign visibly jump. She seized the occasion.

"I'm fine with not knowing the details, madame... Valdez, if you so insist." She allowed herself a knowing grin, more for the purposes of testing her than out of actual spite.
"You betrayed your wife because your marriage sucked. You planned to turn her over to the Maltese... In the hopes that they would "go easy" on you ?" She put particular emphasis on that expression.
"Now humor me. Gallia naturally knows about your ties to Malta, but your course of action seems very drastic compared to your goals. What did you wish to accomplish with this betrayal ? Did you have a Maltese duchess title to return to, using your spouse as an entrance ticket ? Were your ambitions focused solely around becoming an Outcast again ?" Immediately, Montlaville raised a hand, and her somewhat gentle tone thus far turned to ice the moment she dropped that word, with the quiet gravity judges have when announcing a death sentence. Outcast.
"Before you come up with another evasive answer in a vain attempt to downplay the severity of your situation, I do wish to make one thing perfectly clear. Your transparency and good will in the next few minutes will determine the nature and duration of the rest of your existence from this point onwards. It may be just what you hope for, too. Just something to think about while you consider your reply."

She let a brief moment pass before she added through a nasty grin : "No pressure".

Eliza felt numb and broken down sitting there in the interrogation room. She was ready to accept whatever was about to happen to her as a just punishment for what she had done. Yet the interrogator's cold demeanor and cruel laughter couldn't help but send shivers down her spine. A chilling awakening of primal reflexes for self-preservation which Eliza thought were completely numbed by her apathetic state. Perhaps from another's perspective her situation really deserved the mocking? She didn't know, nor did she want to care too much about that. Instead her eyes drifted away from the Commandant and onto the blank, dull wall behind. That lady crept Eliza out even in her current 'lifeless' state and the auburn haired girl just didn't wish to look at the Gallic lady any longer.

"I wished to return home. We both did. For us 'Outcasts' Malta is more than a planet. We're tied to it in a way, feel part of it. It just draws you back, other worlds don't feel the same."

Her voice was gloomy as she narrated her thoughts in the same fragmented manner as they appeared in her head. The young girl closed her eyes and gave out a sad sigh before continuing with the explanation that she felt like giving not because it could save her or justify her actions but simply because right there and then there was nothing else that she could be doing.

"Except Enma would never accept return in defeat. She's the one who cares for titles and power. I simply wished my old home back, the one I had before I threw everything away just to be with her. Having the time to think over what I've done it was foolish. She treated me degradingly, like nothing more but a pawn in her political plays."

The Maltese captive put another pause on her story. Her next thoughts held much regret and self-hatred. This could clearly be seen in her body language. She tried to adjusted herself in her seat, her empty expression become sunk in sadness. Eliza raised the cup for another sip, a vain attempt to remedy this state, but her life was in a much more bitter state than the coffee her lips tasted.

"We had an argument and things got violent. Before I knew it I had no way to go back, only choice I had left was to carry out that threat I made. I had nothing left to lose. Don't think it was easy on me, I still love her and could only wish things happened differently! But what was done, was done... She'll most likely never forgive me about this."

Saying out loud how she really felt about things was tough on the young girl. Perhaps this was what the Gallic interrogator wanted? To see her really broken down? Eliza uttered under her nose one last thing before sinking down her own thoughts which were becoming a steeper and steeper downward spiral of despair:

"One could go to desperate lengths when they feel they have nothing left to lose..."

Good. Montlaville's mind was already racing by the time Valdez concluded her reply on that last, sorrowful note. Very good. She'd more or less gotten what she expected from her line of questioning. The picture of a defeated woman, who had long jumped off the edge of desperation Montlaville had sensed her at. And although the Maltese remained tight-lipped about her exact role in Outcast society, the commandant deduced that there simply wasn't that much to talk about. She had neither the air nor the mannerisms of the working class, but she didn't come across, either, as one of those mob bosses that seemed to rule the barbaric Outcast society like so many parasitic worms, mercilessly feeding on the orange grasses of Malta. Valdez said so herself : titles and power were her spouse's thing, not hers. She was willing to believe this much on several accounts : no attempts at bargaining, meaning no real leverage ; no threats of utter annihilation, which would be expected in one with powerful friends or very dedicated and plentiful subordinates ; and perhaps most strikingly, none of that bragging, posturing and foul-mouthing that seemed so typical with powerful Outcasts. Instead, she faced this husk of a girl who was simply eager to go home after a bad time in her life.

Another ping of compassion hit her, harder than they usually do. Montlaville knew that strong emotions are extremely harmful to anyone dealing in high security and intelligence matters. Austere and reserved as she was, she was however disgusted by those who actively managed to suppress all their emotions. She knew a few from her line of work who could turn into absolute remorseless beasts ; to her, crossing that line meant they had become less than human, and paid too expensive a price for whatever successes they achieved. Montlaville actually cared. About Gallia, first and foremost : her happiness was tied, intimately, to the well-being of her House and its population. She knew she was hard to like, but she had her humanity for herself : that never prevented her from getting results, and it ensured those who got to work with her for a while often ended up appreciating her. In a manner of speaking.

Right now, what little heart she had was being tugged at by this girl's sad, sad story. A small price to pay : Montlaville had Valdez exactly where she needed her to be : her desperation all but confessed, her modest ambitions laid clear : "please let me go home". The commandant liked to think it was hard to lie to her and get away with it, and she could only sense genuine distress and plain-faced honesty from Valdez. Her body was like an open book to her trained eyes, and the sunken, evasive silhouette looked just as sad as her story sounded. Excellent.

"A costly decision, then, surely akin to the one you made marrying that woman. You have a remarkable spirit of sacrifice that I would not normally expect in those of your kind." She meant that : the biting irony she'd affected earlier was gone. She had what she wanted : there was no point in tormenting Valdez any further, for now.
"But you've not lost everything just yet. Gallia is a harsh mistress, but she gives back. What if I told you I could give you your Maltese life back ?" She gestured to the ensign, who silently produced a folder and laid it, closed, in front of Montlaville. She put her index finger on it and went on, softly.
"There would be a price to pay, of course. Your old life would come with a few refreshing extras." Then she went back to a harsher, clipped tone. "Or you could spend the rest of your days in a cell much like the one we've graciously lent you up until now." She let a moment pass to emphasize her point.

But, unexpectedly, from his own volition, the ensign spoke up, in a neutral, business tone.
"Madame Valdez. Would you hear our proposition ?"
He had a significant Corsican accent. This, and the fact that he spoke at all, surprised Montlaville, who'd never cared to notice this particular detail, despite his name : Paoli, as Corsican as it gets. Of this surprise, she betrayed nothing and kept her pale gaze locked on Valdez. It was too early to tell her, but she was close to reuniting with her estranged wife.

Eliza's all too recently lifeless gaze quickly darted back to the Gallic woman. Her eyes expressed childish hope, as if not all was in fact lost. Did her honest words really instill emotions into the ice cold interrogator? Or maybe this was part of the Commandant's game. The Maltese girl couldn't really know. The file her captors produced on the table caught her attention. She wasn't sure how much her wife had told them about her but they seemed to have plans prepared in advance. There wasn't a way to be sure what exactly said plans were without inquiring more into this offer. It didn't harm to ask, considering the alternative was quite grim and negative and as much as her conscience wanted to punish her for the grand betrayal there was still that dim spark of youth that beaconed her to consider the offer and not doom her life in a cell much similar to the one she was in not too long ago. Whatever punishment her own conscience dictated could surely be attained without wasting whatever time she had left of her own life.

"And what of my wife? Will she earn her freedom as well?"

Wife, that word was burdened with heavy emotions for Eliza. She betrayed the blonde after all but not without feeling deeply hurt herself in the first place. Ironically even though Eliza was ready to deliver her wife to the Maltese wolves in the Council, she couldn't bring herself not to try and bargain for Loyola's life as well now that she felt she had some minuscule leverage as the Gallics obviously had a use for her. It was a long shot but she'd be damned if she didn't give it a try. Nothing could make right the wrongs she inflicted but she could at least try to remedy some of the damage she had done with her betrayal, not for Enma to forgive her, as that was far unlikely, but for her own conscience's sake.

"I'm ready to bargain whatever use you can find of my life for her freedom as well."

This was a risky gamble as Eliza knew nothing of the discussion the Commandant had with Loyola beforehand. There was a chance her freedom was secured already and this desperate bargain would only drag the auburn haired girl into more chains to the Gallic kingdom. But there was no other move she could play on the board, she was cornered after all. It didn't matter really as they were the ones in absolute power right now anyways but there was the faint hope that they might show pity or even mercy for her lost soul.

"If you agree to this possibility I'll gladly consider your offer, madame Commandant. Though I must say this offer really begs the question - what use does the Gallia have in someone like me?"

Her eyes moved down to the folder on the table as her enthusiasm slowly diminished into concern. Whatever they had in store for her was going to have a pricey cost. As generous in this offer as the interrogator sounded, Eliza still doubted Montlaville was doing it out of her own good will for the troubled girl. Obviously whatever was at stake for her captors warranted bargaining with someone they could barely trust such as Valdez herself. She let out another desperate sigh before her blue eyes moved back to the Commandant in an inquisitive manner. Eliza was willing to play along and it was there turn to flip their cards on the table and tell her what they had in mind. Past experience taught Valdez that the Gallics were quite cold towards Sirians and even more so towards Maltese, or 'Outcasts' as the Commandant liked to rub it in. The girl couldn't help but think she was getting herself into a much bigger trouble but she really had no other choice, anything was better than spending the rest of her days in a prison cell.

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