In the meanwhile, somewhere in the depths of the Alaska system, an Osiris class ship cruised through space. Going closer, you could see the marks of many battles, dented hull, and the reminders of intense laser and cannon fire. Somewhere along the prow, it's name was etched into the hard alloy that made up the hull...
Battleship Atum.
Santos Bolevara was speed-walking to one of the transmission rooms. He'd been informed of the situation in Liberty by the Destiny's Embrace comm officers, and he'd been called upon to handle the situation. He walked quickly, or as fast as the suit would allow. Seeing as it was likely to be some sort of a mildly diplomatic situation, Santos dressed for it. He'd been given a tip once, that dressing for the part was an important part of the entire affair.
He sharply gestured and an aide broke off, to set up the comm link with the Gunboat, perilously entrenched in Liberty. Bolevara rubbed his forehead and wondered what trouble the kid had gotten upto again...
The commlink was soon set up, and Bolevara could now see the bridge of the Embrace, and they could see him.
"So...Kira, I was told about the situation. I take it this is the Navy bella you managed to rescue from the wreck?"
Kira yawned. "Yep." she responded. "Lieutenant Commander Jane Hartman. Formerly captain of the Liberty Logistics Ship Clearwater." Kira took a bite of cookie. "One of the only survivors. I also have a Navy vessel waiting nearby. So, uh, I guess it's your show...Ramirez." She chuckled softly, favoring Bolevara with a mischievous smile before settling back to watch. "And Ramirez, please, keep the mushy stuff for when I'm not around."
With grin, she brought her legs up to sit cross-legged and fell silent.
"Sir, TIM's found something." "Well? Is it Hartman?" "We aren't sure... but its two Navy personnel that the sensors picked up... and I'd advised running a more detailed scan... We're lucky enough not to get noticed yet..."
Another light... this time a big red one... lit up above their heads.
<<Communications signal detected... Source: Alaska system... Identification: Unknown...>> "Alaska?? Pfft... that can't be good..." "Sir, that be their evac crew..." "Evac? Coming from Alaska?? They must be nuts to try a feat like that.... unless...", Remus pauses for awhile... "Unless what sir?" "A cloak! What else... we better get moving... Are the men prepared?" "I'll send out the order"
The Navy bella in question watched the exchange with mild despair. Senior Officers were generally bad news, and senior civilians took it to an entirely new level. Despite their pretense otherwise, Hartman would not accept the Order as a military organisation. The man's attire was utterly impractical, more suited to a board meeting then a serving member. Not that it was ever likely to matter to him. Shadowy as the organisation was, the Order's brass were notorious for keeping their hands off anything that might place their own precious lives at risk.
Which beggared the question; why was he contacting the Embrace, a ship sitting in Liberty's core?
She caught Kira's smile and groaned inwardly. There was an entire level of conversation passing over her head here. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing for an early return to basic training. It might've been back-breakingly hard, but at least things made sense. As far as Hartman was concerned, the sooner she could find Taylor and get off the Order ship, the better. So, she bit her tongue and returned to her chair, watching the freshly-materialized Order Agent with barely-concealed distaste. Speaking when spoken to had become a reliable approach the Naval Officer resorted to when hitting the object of her frustration was impractical. Kira's crew had saved Taylor, but she didn't owe this new, suited Officer the same debt.
"So you're floating around somewhere close to Manhattan, with a navy ship on your back, and you're carrying out a rescue operation at the same time....."
Bolevara rubs his forehead.
"Damn kids."
He turns his attention to Hartman, expression sobering and taking on a stern cast.
"Right...Jane. Since Kira saw it fit to rescue you from the terrible mess you got into, I'll have to think about what to do about you..."
He considers. There was this order from Admiral Golanski. Something about not initiating hostilities against members of the primary fleet...kidnapping one of them would count as one, he supposed. He didn't really have much choice, but damn if he was going to let Hartman know.
"Since we're not terrorists and definitely not interested in shooting or otherwise doing anything...hmm, hostile towards the Navy or any human in general...you'll be free to go. In a while. But first, I'm sure you'll have questions."
Not terrorists. Certainly, and she was the Queen of Bretonia. At least this one wasn't trying to convince her that the Order were her new best friends. Well, he was, but compared to Kira he was being subtle about it. Jane bristled at the veiled accusation that she'd been responsible for Clearwater's destruction. The ship had been the only one to come to the aid of a civilian transport. As far as Hartman was concerned, the engagement hadn't been a choice.
She briefly wondered what it was the drove both the Agents to probe her for questions. Interrogations didn't usually go that way in her experience. The observation only served to heighten the unease gnawing at her. She felt as if she hadn't slept in days. Thinking was like trying to drag one Houston's mammoth recyclers through molasses. She lounged back in her chair, partly to create an illusion of nonchalance and partly to hide her exhaustion. If the Order wanted her to question them, command would never forgive her if she refused the opportunity.
"Only one question. You two. What are you playing at? Why call up this ship just to ask me for questions?" They'd already told her what they intended to do with her. Voluntarily giving information to captives that wasn't absolutely necessary would have been an act of utter idiocy in the Navy, and quite possibly treason. Yet, these civilians seemed to be creating opportunities for it to happen.
"I wonder the same. Really. I thought he'd be chasing Ayaki's skirt or something." She yawned a bit again. "My angle? One less person being a complete idiot when I coast by, watching for another Nomad that wants to hurt people. Because, you know what? I get tired of the crap you send at us. Do you REALLY know anything about us? For yourselves? Or is it all propaganda from Mother Liberty?" She frowns. "Stop asking on the way up how high you need to jump, and start asking before. Because one day you're gonna jump and get your head blasted off."
"Because, as Kira said...we're kind of tired of all the suspicion, back biting and double dealing."
Bolevara leans forward, making eye contact with Hartman. He holds it for a long moment before finally looking away.
"You might have been told that we're a terrorist organization. You might even believe it. But...we've lost far more people than we've killed, to the aliens."
He frowns and looks away, remembering.
"There were nearly a million people on Toledo. All dead. Because of the aliens. Anywhere else, they'd have termed it a fucking tragedy...but the label of a terrorist organisation easily allows you to not care about it, si? I was even told that we deserved it. We 'deserved'...the death of a million people."
He slams a palm on the table, making an audible thud.
"They all died horribly as the lava poured into their bunkers, melting them. Nobody deserves to die like that. And now those who're still left alive are trying to work to ensure that this does not happen to other people on other planets, like...Manhattan here. And we cannot do it alone."
Bolevara realised he was being painfully blunt. That had always been his way of dealing with things. Directly.
"So if you can look past the propaganda and all the lies spread on both sides of the damn fence, you'll see that we're fighting for the same people. Try to understand this."
He leans back, and holds Hartman's gaze again for a long while, trying to understand what her response would be.
Hartman was trying very hard to convince herself that her body had not, in fact, defied her orders and fallen asleep in her chair. If she hadn't, and what she was hearing was not a product of her exhausted mind but the true, physical reality than the world really was going mad. She hadn't so much as heard of Toledo before in her life but, if what the Order agent was saying was true, then a million lives had been extinguished on its surface.
One million. Hartman sat there for a moment, holding Ramirez's gaze, waiting for the realisation to hit her, to comprehend the scale of human death and suffering. Hartman had seen death before. Service in the Marine Corps bought with it a constant reminder of her own fragility. She had seen squad-mates die, seen civilian transports cut down with mechanical precision by automated gun turrets, seen a fireball rushing toward her with the cold certainty that it would be the last thing she would see. She had mourned for all those losses, yet, presented with the death of a million, she felt nothing. It wasn't the suited man's descriptions of their death, she had seen or heard of equally appalling fates, it was the sheer numbers involved. Perhaps the human mind had some threshold for atrocity, a point at which the psyche threw its hands in the air and simply said 'no more.' Perhaps she had passed it long ago. Even the thought of Manhattan's oceans boiling didn't produce anything more then a twinge of numbness. All she could manage was a dull sort of acknowledgement, the sort of stiff formality normally associated with a 'get well' card.
"I'm sorry for the loss. I'm sure they were good people." The weak condolence was all she could pluck from her deprivation-scattered brain. Hartman was a poor Christian at the best of times, but she quietly resolved to pray for the fallen when she next had the chance. They might have been Order operatives, but it sounded as though they had stood their ground, which was an act worthy of some measure of respect.
The Senior Officer kept talking. His words were unembroided, to the point. Whether they were truthful or not remained to be seen, but she had to acknowledge the brevity his speech. Inwardly, she welcomed it. It was an opportunity to focus on something other then the concerning apathy that seemed to be lurking somewhere inside her. Any trace of apathy vanished at Kira's comments. The inference that it was all somehow their fault. That the Navy made a habit of lying to the people that served in it. That somehow, classification instantly meant conspiracy. That the Navy was responsible for all the ills in Kira's petty little world. The girl had no idea what it meant to serve for years, to see the nation you loved being torn apart and being powerless to do anything about it, but to keep going anyway. The girl might have saved Hartman, but all the same, it took all of her self-control not to reach across the table and throttle her.
"We're fighting for the same people? Fine. You want our co-operation?" She pivoted her chair to face Kira, spitting the words, despite her best efforts. "Then ask for it. No, I don't know anything about the Order. I'll admit that. It doesn't help that you hold anything about yourselves so close it would take a Marine with a crowbar eight years to get near it. I'm not sitting there claiming to understand everything about you." She took a breath, and when she spoke again her voice had resumed it's normal, professional tone. "And I would appreciate it if you would show me the same respect.
You say you want our help, but you keep your ships hovering in the shadows. I've never heard of a single communication between our organisations. We're not getting anywhere, if you aren't willing to trust us and, seeing as you folks fired the first shot all those years ago, I'd say that burden lies with you."
"Sir, the men are ready. We only need to approach the Order gunboat, preferably unseen. " "To hell with camouflage... deactivate the Chameleon shield and divert power to our thrusters! Sound general quarters!" "Affirmative! Sounding general quarters!"
An electronic voice billowed the bridge, simultaneously a message appeared on the screen: <<STATUS: GENERAL QUARTERS>>
A big yellow light flickered on the top of the electronic interface. The screen blackened for a few seconds before a new interface popped up. It was the new tactical engagement system that Remus installed. This would enable "TIM" to fight and perform combat activities without the need of a human controller.
The Chameleon shield deactivated... revealing the fast-approaching Gunship...
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