Officer Shevchenko approached, he looked at Rend and gestured him to follow. The two went through the corridors, followed closesly by the guards. Nobody uttered a signle word along, on a second turn they reached Shevchenko's post, the door slided away and they entered leaving the guards outside. Still silent he gestured Rand to take a seat in front of his desk. The room was small, no decorations anywhere and purely functional.
"Rand..." - calling him slowly in a rasp voice, the officer let out a quick sigh. He was visibly tired, and didn't seem looking forward to this conversation. "I remember you, but you've picked a bad time to be a guest around. Honorable or not."
Shevchenko was dwelling on his own heavy thoughts, Rand's presence didn't concern him much though. He was focusing on the still images, footages and battle logs, scrolling over the multiple screens on the wall to the left. A battle-hardened veteran about fifty and something.
Rand didn't say anything but watched the casualty list and battle reports as they slided away before his eyes on Shevchenko's screens. Bolevara was observing Rand's reactions but he didn't care.
Most of the names were unknown to him, recruits coming in the past two years, but he still remembered many of them. Too many.
"Velasko... Martinez, Anderson, Flame... I trained these kids. Anderson never managed to complete a 0-g turn, always ending up buying drinks to the flight team." he was mumbling by himself.
Rand was lost in his memory and guilt. It was illogical to assume that he was the reason of all this madness. Still, not being here in a time of need hurt him.
Shevchenko's voice suddenly brought him back from memories.
"Why am I here?" He looked around, looked at the faces of agents passing by, wounded being carried into sick bays, damaged craft tended by utility tugs over the screens.
"This was my home. This IS my home. That is why I am here." He decided not to voice his plea before his trial. He expected a trial the moment he decided to come back. What he didn't expect to see is to find more than 80% of his "family" dead and his home being in ruins.
"You may not believe it Shevchenko, but it was me, Night and some others who first started the Thebes program. We never wanted things to come to that, but they did." He had tears in his eyes, but his voice was iron.
He took his glance from Shevchenko and stared Bolevara right in the eyes;
"...but they did. They did indeed, Rand." - Shevchenko replied quietly. He leaned closer to Rend. "Everyone here is on the edge right now. Some say the worst is yet to come. And yet I get the feeling you knew it already."
More footages followed on screens. Battles in Omicron Delta, Omicron Minor. Order clashing in fierce fight against Core in space and down the surface. Bombers high above in skies bombing ground facilities, assault transports landing. Reinforcements from Omicron-100 arriving. Nomad fleet sighted at Omicron Delta on approach. Various guncams. Back at Toledo starports the panic takes over, a crowd breaks the queue line and rushes to storm evacuation transports. Nomads, more and more of them. Rand seen a lot, but never so many. Footages continued with a quick glimpse of a Core cruiser fleeing away, followed by several smaller ships. Isis collapsing and falling apart. One after another ships were going down. A flash across the horizon, a single shot taken by one of the last ships to make out of that place.
"We don't have a full picture of what happened yet. All communications in Omicron Minor went down in a moment, the place is dead silent. A few scouts we could spare are looking for survivors and finding out... anything. Of all the populartion of Toledo only close to two hundred thousands made it out, and the number is dwindling - many are injured, critically, and we can't handle this, med bays are full. Here we try to hold up, somehow. It's worse at Akabat, that's where most were evacuated to. Transports are scheduled to take some to Zoners while there is still yet time for some, and we're having all that is left and able out here on full alert, mechanics at Evora are repairing ships that made out from the massacre, but we're running out of materials. Most of our fleet is gone. So this is where we stand, Rand. It's been a week yet, we're hearing more and more are found dead, and I can't begin to estimate our losses."
"This is just came through from one of the scouts returned from Omicron Minor."
"I will not lie, Rand. If they'll come - we're done for, but this is where we stand and we have nowhere to go anymore, this is it. I heard things are going bad all over the Sirius, and I don't know if this is coincedence or there is a method to this madness."
It wasn't hard to see the downfall for Rand. Shevchenko had a bottle of brandy at his side. Wasn't surprising. A man of his age wouldn't be finding comfort in revenge or hopes, but would simply wish the pain to go away. No one seemed to care about the disorientation anyway, they were all too busy to stay alive.
"Order will hold. No matter what, we will hold, just like the ones before us and just like those who gave their lives in Minor to hold." He didn't care if Bolevara would deny his right of family or wish to fight. He didn't care if they executed him today. If they gave him the chance to go out there and stand his ground, he would. Like he did in the past.
"Can I..?" He reached for the brandy and Bolevara's guards didn't try to hold him for this once. Bolevara was trying to coordinate the mess in the hall, distracted with all the wounded being carried.
It gave Rand the time to digest the size of this catastrophy.
"Shevchenko... I remember you now. You were one of Toledo's personnel. You were the one I reported first when they assigned me to Toledo wing, back in the days when I was still a lieutenant."
Bolevara was outside the office, attempting to coordinate the mess.
"Get some more damn stretchers here! We can't have injured people lying on the floor! Move it!"
He waved his hands impatiently, motioning the aides on. He was about to follow them to make sure it was done, when his comm unit buzzed. Bolevara put a hand to his ear to activate it.
"Huh? Si. Heard about Seith? Fine, I'll send him over right away."
He speed-walked into Shevchenko's cubicle. Bolevara pointed impatiently at Rand.
"Taweret wants to talk to you. Get moving. Shevchenko, go with him, make sure he doesn't do anything untoward. It's a bloody mess out there....I wish no one had to see this."
Bolevara went as soon as he had came. This was his third day without any sleep other a brief power nap sometime in the distant past, and he felt sluggish, slow. He leaned on a wall, counting slowly to twenty, closing his eyes. That would have to do. He went to the infirmary.
"That seems like lifelong memory now." - Shevchenko finished off the glass of brandy. "And things looked brighter back then too, weren't they? A decisive victory. So we have thought..."
He slowly walked to display screens mounted on the wall. Thinking about what he saw on those displays all seemed impossible to Rand at first. Shevchenko continued, quieter than before and slower too: "There were many who joined after, the numbers grew... Weren't just us anymore. Alliances and pacts were made... But with each year so fewer of us left who felt there was something wrong, those of us who remembered the price we paid, and knew it was only a small step. You know the people I'm talking about. And the First War, I remember it well. A race against the time, we had to hide, we had to be more careful, and we knew what had to be done. But those who came after..."
Shevchenko paused for a few seconds, there were thoughts he keep to himself. A honorable veteran of the First Nomad War he may have been, and as such he could speak his mind sometimes without facing troubles later. But not everyone liked his honest and straightforward approach, command brass kept him out of high profile meetings for convenience sake. Rand knew that much - he wouldn't hide facts, wouldn't sugar bad news. Such reputation and drinking habit made an old man aloof in these late years, leaving to command just a few recon squadrons and staying outside political decisions the Order takes. "They've seen Nomads, but knew not what our enemy is capable of. Years followed, each new one reassuring ourselves that we had it all under control. But I remember you too, Rand. Where others slept in delusion you felt the Nomads were out there, beyond the rim, gathering, preparing. And I can't stop to think what we've seen is just a beginning."
Time for talking was over, in a next few minutes the high command will decide Rand's fate, and Shevchenko couldn’t shake the feeling this isn't going to be good one. Punishment will be hash, no doubt, these are dire times, but Rand... he's going to make through this, he's made of sterner stuff and seen enough. It wouldn't be ranks, ships and politics. They only distract from the true duty. Would Rand be the person to pass his burden onto, something the old man knew but others would ignore?
"I have one more thing, but it'll wait for now. There are many who lost much in these days and some would blame just about anything, unable contain their anger. Rand, you weren't there to see it, the fact they'll use against you. My rank does not permit me to voice my opinion aloud, Rand. Be what may, and the timing is worst possible. A reminder to us all that we leave a normal life behind when we take upon this duty. If you'll get through this, come back later, I'll keep the some brandy here for a while..."
Rand gave a long look at Shevchenko, searching for the answer, the meaning of his riddles in his eyes. He didn't say anything but "Let us go and meet the new king of the hill."
They moved towards the main turbolift, guards following them right behind. Just when they reached to the elevator, a pilot passed near them, coming out of the lift. When he was near Rand, he raised his eyes and gave an expression as if he remembered who Rand was. His reaction was neither friendly, nor hostile, simply shocked. Rand gave a court gesture as a salutation and entered the lift.
"Seems like the witch hunt that the command wants is not as effective as it seems."
No one said any word as the turbolift ascended to the bridge.
When the doors opened, Rand knew that there was no turning back. Death, exile, demotion, prison... Whatever it is, it would change the shape of things for him, forever and inreperably.
Rand entered an empty room. It looked strictly utilitarian, with a desk, two chairs and a terminal to work on. As he looked around sharply, a man came running in after them.
Breathlessly, he spoke. "She's in space, there's a situation apparently."
He turned towards Rand.
"There's a message for you from Moiraine Damodred. She wants you to shuttle to the Carrier Immortal and take up an assigned Bastet. Here's the number and location. Taweret will talk with you in space, when the situation is clear."
As soon as he'd came, he rushed off. Rand pondered this for a moment, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Shevchenko. A glance passed between the two men, saying more than words. Finally Shevchenko spoke.