It's always strange for me when I feel the fresh breeze on my face.
To breathe fresh air, not tainted by the stench of smog or carrying that bitter metallic taste that poisoned the air of home. My stomach churns as I walk along the streets of this floating city, just as it always did when I had to land on Kurile, that fear of the platform beneath me suddenly giving way. The terror of the thought of sinking into that deep dark blue as my body desperately tries to grasp for air, yet only for it to let in saltwater that fills my lungs and causes me to choke.
I felt that same fear when I first arrived here many years ago. The evacuation ship had just landed; the war that had embroiled my life in constant sorrow, terror and yet also gave a rush no drug could ever match had just ended. Even more suddenly than it had begun.
I froze the moment I set foot on the ramp to disembark. Seeing that platform suspended above the crashing waves of the ocean had done something I thought Gallic airstrikes, artillery and cannon fire had rendered me immune to. Instilling a fear that hit me so deeply it made me freeze up.
Vicky had to help me off that ramp, hold my hand and squeeze it tight while I felt like a baby animal caught in blinding headlights, unable to move or think as the fear swallowed me whole. I wish I could say it was easy for me now, that I could laugh about it as a silly experience of a foolish girl who'd never set foot off the industrial hellscape that was Leeds.
But I can't; I still feel that fear even now, but its effects are not as pronounced. It is not robbing me of my ability to act, but it's still a fear I wish I could let go of. For I can never feel at ease here, that sweet sense of calm peace and general acceptance of life. That acceptance of myself and the things I've done that I couldn't find no matter where I went in this sector.
Things that I could feel with him at my side, even in the cold darkness of an unending void, in space that isn't mapped on any charts.
I find myself in dire need of that feeling as I continue through the city's busy streets. I can feel the scowl come across my face as I catch sight of the golden phoenix emblazed across a military recruitment advertisement I spy on a screen. I can already hear Gav's ranting from beyond the grave if he were to ever see it.
It makes me wonder, would it all be easier were he still here? Or would I simply just find myself let down by yet another friend?
The bitterness behind the thought stung, as did the shame that followed it. The hypocrisy was painfully evident even to me, after all the anger and vitriol I directed towards Alex for what he did to me, and now here I was doing the same to the same woman who helped me off that ramp years ago. A good woman, a woman whose skills were the opposite of mine. A healer, a doctor, not a killer nor a soldier. Vicky was a woman who still had the bravery to keep working on helping the sick and wounded under fire, my better in every way possible.
She had never wanted nor asked for anything from me, yet I still failed her. Despite all she'd done for me, I was still just as bad a friend to her as Alex, in spite of the fact that on more than one occasion, she saved me from crossing over to the other side of that line that divides the land of the living and the other realm.
Vicky managed to find happiness, a life, peace, and even love after the war. Was it unconscious jealousy that caused me to cut ties with her? The thoughts that they'd all be better off without me while I drowned in my own sorrow being a sweet and convenient lie to make it palatable for me?
To allow me to feel sorry for myself while they had found something they cherished?
And now I risk unravelling it all by asking for a favour related to a situation I know has already claimed the lives of innocent bystanders. Here I am, maybe about to drag Vicky and her love into this mess, potentially costing them their lives.
Yet despite knowing that fact, I feel as though I can't turn back and find someone else to ask this favour; it's as though there is no one else I can genuinely trust with this. Not when the potential answer to the fate of someone I not only care deeply for but also owe a debt I can never repay is on the line.
Not when there may still be a chance to save them, if not at least find the closure I could never get with Kels or Gav.
I feel a sense of dread building up in the pits of my stomach as I rise in the elevator to the floor of Vicky's apartment. I hadn't even thought about what I'd say or do if she even answered the door. Nor how do I answer the burning questions that seem to have consumed what remains of the Regiment while I was so distant, the questions about Kristoff. The complicated mess that I dread the potential judgment about if I let them all get too close to him.
Reaching the door, I can't stop the instinct to look at the best way to approach without risking taking fire through it, the best way to take out the lock and force entry into the apartment as if it were a target objective. I have to stop in my tracks and take a deep breath before simply hitting the doorbell like a civilian would. And I secretly pray that Vicky doesn't answer, that a stranger instead answers.
But that requires luck. Luck I simply don't have as the door slides open, and I see her. It's even worse than I could have imagined. She's smiling at me, delighted to see me, and I feel like a monster for what I'm about to ask.
The raindrops pelt against the windows of my room as the weather takes a turn for the worse. My anxiety steadily increases as the drops continue to pelt against the window with an increasing frequency as I wait for the tell-tale sounds of a ship setting down that will signify that Alex and the rest have arrived.
It was easy to get fired up in the moment and arrange for everyone to drag themselves down to Cambridge, but now that I'm here at Ant's, I find myself second-guessing every choice I've made in the last seventy-two hours.
I've never been a leader. I dread the moment I have to head down those stairs and give a briefing, bark orders and assignments like I'm in command. I didn't rush the gunfire head-on because I wanted to lead the way; I ran towards it because I was so blinded by anger, I stopped caring whether I lived or died anymore. It's easy to do things like that when you start to think it'd be easier dead and gone rather than trudging on through a hollow and hopeless life.
But dying isn't an option anymore; no, I have a mission that needs to be completed. Completed and seen through for the sake of the only people who ever gave me a fuckin' shot in this damn sector despite knowing the things I've done.
People who could call a monster like me their friend, if not something potentially more in one particular case that threatens to shatter my heart if I sit in this comfortable silk sheet bed dawdling on it any longer. So I pull myself out of the bed and strip down for a cold shower to make myself not look like the constant mess I've felt like since...
As I stand under the icy cold jets of water raining down from the showerhead like the rain itself outside, I realise I can't remember the last time I haven't been a chaotic, bloody emotional mess. It's almost funny how I was always so angry about what my life would be like before the war. Feeling as though my and everyone else's destinies were set in stone under the oppressive boot of BMM and the Crown, and yet now I almost long for the simplicity of these days.
I chalk it up to the tricks our minds can play on us as I step out of the shower and dry myself down, and as I do, I catch a glimpse of my own body in the mirror. I can see the wince on my face as I see the scars, and it makes me think of that pained look of sadness on Kristoff's face when he saw the burns from that dreadful day of sheer chaos on Erie. And as I can smell the stench of my own burnt flesh in my nostrils again, I remember how the guilt was visible, not just in his organic eye but also in his cybernetic one. As if he felt responsible for those injuries by having three years of his life ripped away from him, and my heart breaks.
The wave of guilt I feel hit me from our conversation the other day almost makes me want to bury myself back in the bedsheets as I wonder if I was too harsh with some of the things I said.
But before I can do so, the roar of a ship's engines blocks out the noise of the impact of the rain against the windows, signalling Alex's arrival. And I realise I have to steel myself for what will come next as I get dressed and prepare myself to face down a room of former special forces operators and make demands and orders of the people that walked through hell with me back on Leeds.
I march down the stairs and straight into the living room, immediately confronted by the faces of the entire regiment. Their conversations all stop and their gazes turn my way - no doubt expecting some sort of answer as to why they were told to be here. I clear my throat and try to muster as much authority I can as I move into the center of the room. The cozy and warm fireplace makes the living room of the manor one of the stranger places I'll ever have done a military briefing.
"Right, cheers for coming."
"Sum of it is, I've got an op' I might need a team for."
"Some of you owe me one, so I'm fucking calling it in."
I made sure to stare at Alex and Oz' as I said it. I can see the briefest spark of discomfort in Alex as his gaze shifts towards the floor from his seat on his couch. Oz on the other hand just stares back - the tough old bastard remained as hard to read as ever. But neither of them were inclined to speak up just yet.
"What about the rest of us, Becks?"
"Bit presumptuous to assume that we all owe you."
Veronica protested while keeping her eyes in lockstep with mine, as if trying to make my head explode. Her boldness inspired Charlie and Kevin to follow suit. I did have to set least appreciate the fact that it was the same glare I used to give potential clients back when we were all mercenaries. The good thing about a gun for hire was the fact you can let the credits do the talking. And the same thing tends to go for conveniently independent operators in the "import/export" business.
"Which is why I said some."
"I'm willing to compensate the rest of you for the assist."
"And the retiree's are only here cause one of them owns the gaff."
"Jace wouldn't shut the fuck up after Alex told him about this-"
"-and the other one insisted I bring her along."
I stare at Vicky as I say the last bit and she just flashes a cheeky grin at me. For the rest though my words seem to have found their mark, Veronica giving up on her glare in favour of a smirk before she and Charlie share a nod - the mercenaries are willing to hear me out and that was good news. Even Kevin is unable to keep himself from cracking a grin before nodding his head, which means I have the interest of the man with the "connections" that will no doubt prove crucial.
"If, and it's a big if."
"If I get a location, this op will be a hostage rescue op'."
"But for Kev, I do have some immediate work you can do."
"I'm all ears when you're willin' ta' fork creds over for it."
"Alright, I'll fill you in on every detail you need to know regarding the side job after."
"But for now, before I leave for Skagen I-."
I didn't get to finish before Jason had cut me off, I keep forgetting he isn't my quiet little brother anymore, but instead a brash, stubborn, and even somewhat proud bastard. Seems to run in the family, or so Kristoff believed.
"Skagen? Core had that locked down good for years."
"You're going to go and poke around in the ruins there?"
He's also become quite the clever little bastard since he left Leeds. I'd almost be proud if that didn't mean he was probably now the one person in this room who might be able to put together the dots I left out. And if so, there were now two things I was lying to him about. But even though the guilt of that realisation squeezes my soul, I keep my nerve and play it cool.
"It's a formality trip, small relation to our HVI."
"I don't expect much to come from it and it should be low risk."
Jason's eyes narrow to betray the fact he's scrutinizing my answer. The hallmarks of a sniper trying to get a bead on movement just outside his field of view. But he doesn't get much time before the voice of the Regiment's own angel speaks up.
"Right, so, who is it that warrants all this?"
"Is your HVI, Kris?"
There was a touch of tender softness in Vicky's voice as she said it and I can see the concern on her face as she says it. Jason looks surprised, perhaps he hadn't considered there was something personal to all this. Alex finally breaks his gaze from the floor and stares at me, and I can almost swear there's a flash of anger there for a moment as he opens his mouth to say something but stops himself.
"No, it's no one anyone here has met. Though Jace and Ant have heard of her."
I can see Jace's look of confusion as he desperately tries to put the pieces together, and Ant simply raises an eyebrow. I reckon he knows who it is already, but he's giving me the courtesy of explaining myself. Or possibly just challenging me to do it.
"Our HVI is one Aspen Harlow."
"Her status remains unconfirmed but regardless of that."
"No one gets left behind, not again."
I lay it out. All of it. It takes everything to do it, but I manage. I explain what she did for me on Erie, and that I owed it to her, and that anyone who wants out has their chance now. I'd like to say it was kindness towards some of them, but truthfully I just didn't want to deal with last minute cold feet. A thought that maybe should concern me more than it does. My mind wanders a little as I wait to see if any of them take the chance.
No one takes it. They all stay, it's a nice feeling. Especially since I had my doubts about some of them. Even the ones I offered to pay. I know they could find an easier gig anywhere else with little trouble. One that doesn't come with the trappings of my own emotional baggage affecting the mission. Despite it all, I guess everything we went through does still mean something. It gives me some small hope as I can't help but smile a little before I go through my plan for them and listen for their feedback.
It's almost enough to remind me of old times as even Vicky and Ant seem to want to get involved despite their current civilian lifestyle. Jason stays quiet but even I can see the flash of a smirk on his face as he watches. It's easy to see that he misses and longs for the action. His silence likely coming from a lack of a map or location to give the input of a marksman if I had to wager a guess.
Alex cracks jokes about one last gig, like it's the long awaited reunion of a famous band. And the Oz' I see now is more like the Oz' of Leeds then the one Alex, Jace and me found on the Hood all those years after the war had ended. It's almost enough to give me hope. Almost. But that assumes I can deliver on a location, and this may just prove to be the most difficult mission of my life. A raid for a hostage rescue likely to be a cakewalk in comparison.
But still, I can't get too caught up on Aspen that I drag any of them into an early grave, especially not Vicks who I know has fired a weapon and killed before, but she was always rear echelon. I need to remember that this will be her first raid ever and that she has a husband waiting for her at home. I also can't forget I'm the only one here with recent experience aside from Veronica and Charlie.
Makes me wonder if this is what leading is? Just remembering what your people are good at, what they are shite at and just their own general state be it mental or physical.
No, any idiot could be a good leader if that was the case. A true leader can also inspire, and while I'm many things, inspiring most certainly isn't one of them. So I suppose that disqualifies me for life.
And that suits me just fine as I look over the room. Being responsible for all these people? Having them live and die on my orders? I can't imagine the burden that must have been for Ant and Oz'. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me they had as much trouble adjusting after the war, and I guess they deserved to adjust more than I did.
I suppose it certainly isn't worth holding against Oz for. If he actually is sorry that is. But now was neither the time nor the place to have that talk, it would have to be later and when all the dust had settled. I only realise just how much I zoned out when Oz' looks me dead in the eye before speaking. As his mouth opens I expect him to call me out on it. But he doesn't, well not on that specific thing anyway.
"You need backup for Skagen."
"Going it alone even if it is low risk."
"Not the best idea, lass."
I know he's right the moment he says it. And I certainly don't need Ant to chime in about but he does anyway.
"Plus it would be sloppy."
"And we trained you too well for you to be sloppy."
Obviously they're right, but the risk of bringing someone into the fold for whatever I might find on Skagen is risky. But I can already see Jason opening his mouth to volunteer, obviously his time in the Omicrons being a factor for doing so.
"Sounds like that's me then.
It's a shame that the little prick is as smart as he is, because he would've been my first pick as well. And just when I feel like I've run out of potential excuses to use, it dawns on me - Alex bloody Lynch who has just gone and opened his mouth.
"Sorry mate, but you're an old retiree now."
"'Why don't ya' leave it to those of us who ain't on the bench these days, eh?"
Alex is competent enough and trained to not need babysitting. And Alex Lynch being a man not gifted with the ability to see the big picture means he's the perfect choice for it. And before Jason can even swing back with a reply I seize the chance to dissuade Jason and anyone else hoping to take the opportunity to go sight seeing with alien ruins that the scientific community was dying to know more about.
"He's right, Jace."
"It's a two person trip max anyway."
"Infil is the Skyline thanks to it's cloak."
"And there isn't room for anyone else."
I can see the scowl on Jason's face as he stares at me before finally sighing and shrugging his shoulders giving in. Alex on the other hand was smiling like he'd just won the bloody lottery.
"So, we're taking your ship."
"Only thing that leaves is the question of when we leavin', Becks?"
I can't help but smirk as I stare at him, even were it the case that I wasn't worried about anyone figuring out too much. The thought of Alex facing down alien ruins from a long dead species should be interesting enough that it'd make the trip worthwhile even if it weren't for the potential stakes on hand.
"First light tomorrow."
"The rest of you enjoy your evening."
"Me and Alex need to get some appropriate gear."
The trip to Skagen has proven itself so far to have been nothing but dust and abandoned constructs so far, I can feel the dust against my skin where I had thought my armour well fitted, it finds gaps in my defence, and spreads like wildfire. Yet I still pushed on, refusing to let the discomfort spawned by the dust deter me from my mission.
The data pulled from Aspen's flight recorder led us here. Underneath a massive series of large geometric shapes that rise off into the skyline. Our entry into the underground provided by an old platform the Core left abandoned, which seems to match what I heard from her logs.
As we descend deeper into the underground, I am confronted with more and more alien sights that I struggle to make sense of, not like I had much of a chance if it all stumped even Aspen. But we're not here to answer that question I remind myself as we follow the trail of expired chem-lights, tracing what I have to guess were her steps. I keep my eyes peeled for anything that sounds like what she described in her journal whilst me and Alex keep our weapons raised, sweeping to ensure that this place is as dead as it seems and that we are the only one's here.
The ceiling above us stretches further than our helmets lights can reach, and I realise at this depth it must have been a challenge for the Core to maintain their communications with any of the underground expeditions.
As we push downwards and through the corridors, I see diamond-shaped containers that have been cracked open—ones that look like what I saw when Kristoff took me to the "Gardens". This unnerving realization reminds me just how deep this mess is and how far I am from the simplicity of a war against a conventional enemy.
We make it to the door Aspen described in her audio logs. And I thank my lucky stars it's still open, and that Alex hasn't heard the logs. I don't know how I would even begin to explain her gift to him.
We keep pushing until we reach what I swear looks like a shrine. Alex covers my back as I inspect the area before finding a slot. The measurements I take seem to line up with the the one's from the scan Hemlocke's man managed to dig up and I take care to ensure my helmet camera gets a good view of it all. So far it all proved to be a simple affair that reaffirms my initial thought that I could have done this alone.
Of course, as I'm about to turn around to leave, Alex decides to let his rifle hang on his waist before cracking open a chem light and taking off his helmet to look me dead in the eye. Clicking off the white light on my helmet, I stare at him as I wait for the inevitable conversation he wants to get into. I can already feel the frustration building up, and I prepare myself for a shouting match amid a dead alien city.
"I'm sorry, Becks."
Or not. The look on Alex's face takes me back to our childhoods, that twinge of shame as he struggles to hold eye contact with me for more than a few seconds before his gaze shifts down towards the floor. It was precisely the same thing I saw when he stayed with me and Jason during the aftermath of another of his mother's episodes. Guilt, guilt for failing to live up to impossible expectations from a totalitarian bitch. I remember how much it pissed me off back then to see him feel guilty for things he couldn't control. For not being able to live up to that crazy cunt he called a mother's expectations.
I'm speechless, wondering if I am any better than her now. Are my expectations of people utterly unrealistic, and am I now the crazy one? It's a painful thought that gets cut off.
"I wasn't the friend I should've been after the war."
"I shouldn't have assumed things would be how we left them despite the time since Yuma."
"Not when asking you for help with the Oz thing."
I've never been more appreciative of my helmet's tinted visor in my life because I'm not sure I could look Alex in the eye after that, not with how many details I've left out about this entire situation. I can't deny that despite it all, I did kind of enjoy his company on the trip up. Even if this entire "mission" turns up bust, if this hatchet between me and Alex gets buried here, maybe that'd be my silver lining.
"Just... forget about it, Alex."
"I didn't try to stay in touch either."
"It was..."
"Things were fucked up then; we all had to adjust."
"Alright."
"But uh, why me and not Jason?"
"He's family after all."
"That's..."
"That's not me holding a grudge there, Alex."
"It's something more complex."
"And it's something I wouldn't-"
"I... I don't want you to have to hold that weight as well."
Alex's silence was telling. He stared at me, his face crunching with concern. Much like how this "shrine" is buried, I realise now that my own buried secret may very well become an issue, and I myself fall silent. I desperately grasp for the words needed to try and explain it to Alex without shouldering him with a horrible burden, the same one I forced onto Jason's friend Rodrigo. I struggle to actually speak the words once I think of them, but despite it I do eventually manage to get them out.
"Something he doesn't know."
"And I can't explain it without you having the burden of my dilemma."
"So look, if that means you've gotta' back, Jace."
"I get it, no hard feelings."
Alex looks uncomfortable. I half expect him to curse me out, but he finally nods before raising his right hand in a fist and holding it outstretched. I'd be concerned, but I can't help but notice the classic Lynchie grin as he says just one word.
"Mates?"
I can't help but smile as I raise my hand and gently tap it against his fist.
"Always."
"But I'd rather be mates somewhere else; this place is losing its charm."
Alex laughs before putting his helmet back on, and we begin on the return path. Our weapons hung low, and it was clear that this place was dead. As we trekked back up and out onto the surface, and back to where we hid the Skyline, we traded thoughts about the ruins or random crude jokes. It felt good having Alex back, and as much as I hate to say it, I'd missed these moments.
And even if I could have done it alone, truth be told the company was vastly appreciated. Almost as appreciated as the shower I plan on taking once we get off this dead rock and back to more civilized space will be.
Realisation leaves me feeling numb as the ship's auto-pilot returns to Gran Canaria. It nimbly avoids the incoming rocks as it allows me to sit motionless in the pilot's seat.
While I now finally have the time and quiet to process.
Process why it hurt so much. That Kris ended what he had. Or rather, why it continued to sting so much despite the time that had passed, despite the time spent crying in Alex's arms, with his miner's coat bundled around me to provide warmth.
Because in all that time spent aboard the Spirit, the time I spent lying about in the quarters I was provided, being numb to everything, to even Jason's attempts at being supportive. All as I focused on the mission. Desperate to find some closure about Aspen and being hyper-focused on the threats along the way, I dragged the Reg, the closest thing I have left to a family, into the firing line for.
I was ignoring the fact I still cared. That was something even talking to a freshly rescued Aspen or a somewhat happy Caliban who seems to have managed to accept who he used to be and no longer shying away from the name Vincent would ever help me realise.
What it took to realise that was actually lashing out. At him, at Kris. The vile things I lashed out with, even if they did feel truthful in my heart, basic logic tells me too much may have been expected for him to see things clearly, to see how we all might actually feel.
It was his lack of denial, and his swearing of trying to change that finally helped me realise that fact. But even then, the realisation that despite it all, that I still care about him. It doesn't bring peace, just more questions as to how on earth I can still even feel the things I do in spite of everything he did.
Or maybe it's just my own guilt, as it all reminds me so much of myself and Kels. My own failures that I never had to face any consequences for.
My wonderings are interrupted by the sudden disengagement of the cruise engines as the ship's computer gives out the message that the Skyline has reached its destination. Gran Canaria.
Home. So I suppose anyway if I'm really going along with Aspen's plan, if there really is room for me in it. I set down the Skyline at the nearest landing pad to Noora's apartment before I haul myself out of the cockpit and set off along the city's footpaths. My mind wanders back to the conversation with Vincent before Kristoff showed up at Barrier Gate.
I admitted to him I was afraid, afraid that I'd prove far too difficult for Aspen and cause her too many problems. And I abhor the thought that she might try to endure it just because she feels she owes me some debt. As if she doesn't realise that the truth is I will forever be in her debt because of the fact she managed to pull me through the darkest time of my life just by simply being there when I had given up.
I don't quite know how I will deal with this fear just yet, but knowing my problems is only half the battle. Now, I need to figure out a good way to deal with these issues.
But not now; that will be an objective for the future. Right now, my current objective should be to rest, find a way to turn off for a little and just relax after the stress of these last few months. And so I double-check that there is no pungent odour from the bag of weed I picked up from the Wayfarer and stuff it into one of the pouches on my armour rig before I enter Noora's apartment. The apartment that Aspen and I are couch surfing at until she gets the Dandelion back. It would be rude to leave the place smelling like a weed farm, especially when I'm probably just going to throw it at Alex as a thank-you gift.
Noora seems surprised to see me return, going so far as to ask if I'd need help finding a hotel, a kind offer, but I can't help but notice that I leave her feeling somewhat uncomfortable. It's not unreasonable, considering she saw me and my lot slot two 'Sairs the other day. Or maybe it's the fact I walked back in with helmet and armour rig still being worn over my spacesuit, with a holstered pistol, sheathed blades, and a rifle that was slung over my shoulder.
Either way, it's still reasonable, but she doesn't object to my presence and tells me that Aspen was gone a town over, visiting someone in the hospital. She also tells me Aspen finally sorted a replacement PDA, which means she'll be able to send and receive messages again; good news to hear, so I nod and thank her as she offers a cup of tea.
Considering that it's proper tea and not herbal or decaffeinated shite, I eagerly accept. As I prop my weapon up against the couch and free myself of the weight of my armour rig, I can relax on Noora's couch with a bloody good cuppa' that didn't last that long. Soon after the tea was finished and gone, I'd feel the weight on my eyes, and I'd finally relent and let the couch swallow me as I feel sleep overtake me.
At a certain speed, there's a moment when the world around you blurs into insignificance. All that matters is what's directly ahead; the machine you command seems to defy gravity as it's pushed to its limits and the engine roars in a symphony of power that you could never match. And with it comes the feeling of true liberation.
That feeling is the most intoxicating vice there is.
It's a sensation you cannot replicate in space; it's reliant on gravity. Because it's gravity that gives the sensation such a liberating thrill. You and your machine fighting to cut through the aid ahead of you is what grounds the entire experience. The only problem is the very nature of gravity itself; what goes up must come down. The same thing applies to speed when gravity is in effect. At some point, one way or another, you stop.
The key is to take control and command yourself and your machine to a halt 'lest you both find yourself stopped via severely rapid deacceleration. It's a struggle to regain control when you're haunted by your own past. This is a truth I myself can attest to.
Today, I stopped. As I gaze out at the flickering lights of the floating city of Visalia, the body of the rented bike I sit atop is now pleasantly warm in contrast to the cool night air. The heat from the engine that had just been pushed to its limits radiating into the frame between my legs a welcome development as I remove my helmet and enjoy a smoke, free of the frustration haunting me for recent months.
And I bask in the tranquillity while it lasts; the remnants of the adrenaline flowing through my body has my mind far away from my own demons, instead running an instant replay of the intense ride I had just been on.
My only regret is the risk that was required to achieve this moment. And I now understand that I cannot do this again. This must be a one-time selfish indulgence; the thrill is not worth the risk of pain it might cause those who care for me, nor the insult to the fallen who were taken before their time.
But for now, it grants me invaluable moments. Moments I plan to cherish because I'm aware of the fact that I can't run from my demons forever.
As the tranquil calm fades away, and the rest of the world begins to come flooding back in, a realization comes to light. Time blurred as I remained idle these past months; things changed for everyone. Everyone but me, that is. Purpose continued to evade me and I did nothing to try and search for it.
Pure coincidence was the only reason I went to the Gate to check on Jason. Nobody else was free at the time he went silent.
But when I arrived, I get the message it was just a false alarm. He somehow managed to get so distracted to ignore calls or messages for multiple days, don't know how, but to be honest it suited me fine as I still can't really talk to Jason after all this time. I should have been back on Canaria by now, where I have called home in the months since the rescue operation.
Yet, I linger in Coronado, unable to leave and return to the Omegas. It would be easy to blame hanging around on the fact that Kris apparently calls the Gate home now or on the whole new mess we seem to be in now, one consisting of mixed messages and even more mixed feelings. The uncertainty of it all makes me feel as though it’s a perfectly valid explanation. Alas however, I know he is not the reason for it.
The truth is this issue spawned even before I learned as much; Cal's minor jobs thrown my way were eagerly accepted. And I cannot attribute it to seeking the thrill of combat, not with how simple and low-level everything was. Or the fact that one of them was just collecting meds.
Hell, it wasn't even as though I was avoiding Canaria, by and large, just Aspen's apartment itself. Even if I may not share her gift, it was plain to see she felt at a loss with how I was. My time was spent doing little of note, just training and staying fit before sleeping and repeating the cycle.
At the very least, I'm now spared the guilt of feeling like a burden, one only tolerated due to perceived debts. Yet, despite that fact, all the years of fighting and intelligence work leave me feeling like a weapon that has been long discarded.
A weapon with nothing to be aimed at, a soldier with no cause to believe in, and without even the excuses that justify returning to the mercenary lifestyle that being broke afforded. There is no chance to drown my thoughts in the adrenaline that comes with the chaos of combat.
And I am left with 'nought but my own thoughts. And the only thing on my mind is that my refuge at the Gate has not solved anything. I still lack purpose, which means the unexpected arrival of Alex and the Spirit brings along a bitter feeling.
One I'll inevitably have to confront; I cannot pretend to not know he is here. Too many people know, and I refuse to risk hurting him by avoiding him.
Still, for the moment, it gives me something to do, even if it's as simple as showing my face and congratulating him and his crew on their victory. I owe Alex that little, at least.
The Spirit of Revolt has been at Barrier Gate for a few days since its arrival from Omega-Three. Alex and his crew's celebrations in the wake of the battles they'd fought and won in the Omegas had come to a close, much to the relief of the staff working at the bars. So when I arrived at the airlock where the Hel class cruiser was moored, the Syndics were now fully underway with loading supplies and probably taking the downtime to carry out routine maintenance that didn't require a dry dock.
Alex and his lot quickly recovered from the aftermath of their multiple day-long celebrations. As I approach the airlock, I get some odd looks from the ship crew, who are bringing crates onboard via magnetic trolleys, likely wondering why someone dressed in civvies that they didn't recognise was coming to their airlock.
However, before they had a chance to confront me, one of the security team members assigned to inspect the cargo coming aboard and ensure nothing that might jeopardise the ship was brought aboard seemed to recognise me and left his compatriots to check the crates while he came to speak to me.
Clearly, he seemed to recognise me as a cheeky grin broke out on his face, and he held out his arms in surprise.
"Well, fuck me sideways and call me Candy; I never thought I'd live to see the day when Beck's Harper is wearing civvies."
I was confused, staring at the man who had just spoken with the most horrendous Libertonian drawl I'd ever heard, who gave me a perplexed look as if I should remember him from somewhere.
Then I notice the first detail, the high, tight-cut dark ginger hair, And the rest follow rapidly, pale and freckled skin matched with bright green eyes is the final clue that pushes me to the breakthrough that I was staring at Roycewiz.
"Royce? Thought you went for the quiet life?"
I barely manage to get the words out in shock. The last time I'd seen him, he was Corporal Jacob Roycewiz of 3rd Platoon, 10th Marine Division of the Republic of Liberty, one of the handful of survivors from his platoon after they had been left behind after Royal Flush went utterly sideways.
I thought he had settled down for civilian life after the war ended, but I was wrong, it seemed. Surely he wasn't a part of the Spirit's crew the last time I was aboard the ship?
He's smiling again, happy to be recognised and moves in for a handshake. One that I return happily, it's a pleasant surprise to see the cheeky bastard again. He always got along well with Alex.
"Hey, hey, ya' do remember, but nah, after Royal Flush and Pesticide? I'm fucking done with Liberty. Figured the Guild was a hell of a lot more honest than anything I could do at home, and since it led me to Alex and this cheery bunch? I'd say it worked out for me."
I grimace at the mention of Pesticide. The mention of the operation alone was enough to bring back bad memories of my time on the surface of Erie with Aspen before managing to get out a smirk for Royce's sake.
"Hey, fuck it, if you're happy, then good on you. Alex aboard?"
"Let's find out."
He says before tapping a button on his gauntlet and raising it so he could speak into it.
"Yo, Alex, you still on the Bridge?"
The response came quickly. From what I could hear from the speaker on the gauntlet, Alex clearly wasn't busy and seemed to be in good form.
"Yep, why you got a situation down there you need me for?"
"Nah, I'm on my way to the bridge now with a surprise guest for you."
There is a moment's pause before Alex's reply comes this time, but I already know it's the fact that Royce is deviating from protocol causing it. Likely, Alex wasn't expecting anyone, and his mind jumped to the worst possibilities rather than the good ones.
"Uh, rog', don't suppose you'll actually tell me who it is?"
"Wouldn't be a surprise then, would it?
Royce joked back, a mischievous grin on his face before he tilted his head towards the airlock itself. It seems I managed to secure myself an escort to the bridge. Royce calls out to the two other security team members as we pass.
"Hey, I'll be back in five, gonna' show her up to the bridge."
He's met with scoffs and shakes of the head; it's not the first time Royce has taken any excuse to get a break from guard duty, I wager.
As we make our way through the tight and rugged corridors that make up the internals of the Hel, Royce finds himself with little time to talk to me. He gets bombarded with questions about a poker night he's hosting. A tradition he explains in the gaps he is given that he started upon coming aboard. I nod politely as he explains, secretly thanking the stars for the welcome chance to avoid having to explain the messy story that has been my life since the war ended as we make our way up to the bridge.
The Bridge of the Spirit was empty aside from Alex, his second-in-command Jackie, and a set of legs sticking out from one of the centre consoles typically used by the navigator.
Jackie was standing with her arms crossed over the set of legs while Alex was sitting on the edge of the console, looking down at the pair of legs beneath him.
The three were already discussing something, the mood of the conversation jovial, as myself and Royce entered the Bridge.
Alex blinked in surprise as we entered, clearly shocked by my presence, before he got up from the console. Jackie merely raised an eyebrow and nodded in my direction before returning to her conversation with the pair of legs sticking out from the console.
I hug Alex as Royce gives a mock salute before leaving to return to his post at the airlock.
"This is a pleasant surprise."
"Yeah, well, figured I'd say good job not getting killed."
He chuckles at that.
"Cheers, but you're a little late for the party."
"Ah, not much for parties these days anyway. Didn't want to cramp your style."
He pulls away and invites me to sit in the operator's chair as he leans against the edge of the console.
"You have good timing anyway; I was just making sure Jackie and Volky would be alright without me for a day while I popped down to Yuma."
So, "Volky" was the set of legs under the console and Alex Lynch, the anarchist now wanted to pop down to Yuma. That was a surprise, but I reckoned he planned on visiting Vicky, though.
"Popping into Vicks?"
"Nah, she's probably recovering after the party, and I don't wanna' fuck with her rest before she's back in work."
That came as a bit of a shock, and while the temptation to say something was there. I held my tongue; if Alex and Vicky were having an affair, I was staying far away from it. Besides, surely Alex wouldn't break his most significant rule. I hope that the pain that might be caused if he broke his most significant rule with Vicky is something I wouldn't want to wish on anybody. But that would be getting ahead of myself anyway and so I focus on getting the answer as to why Alex is headed for Yuma.
"So, what has you going down to Yuma?"
He gives me a sly smile before he responds, the sly grin of a man who knows something I don't.
"To see our Jason. It turns out he owns a place down there. I figured I'd check it out and pop my head in."
"You in?"
The bastard had me hooked. Jason owning a place down on Yuma? That was news indeed, and even if we didn't talk much anymore... Well, I'd already given him a nod of confirmation.
