Chapter 9 Estancia Calling

Petar and Schertling were just as excited about the journal as he was. At first. 

“How in the world are we supposed to crack this code?” Petar moaned after days of failed attempts. Within the notebook were a seemingly random jumble of letters, numbers, and words that didn’t make any sense when put together. They had tried replacing the numbers with letters. They had tried replacing the letters with numbers. They had guessed at what certain words might mean, and replaced them accordingly. And for all their efforts, they only had one thing to show for it, and that by luck.

“Here,” Schertling said, about a week after Damien had returned with the journal. On one of the last marked pages of the journal was an oval shape. None of them knew what it could mean. “What?” Damien said, brow furrowed. “It’s just an empty oval.” 

“Ah, but that’s just the thing - it isn’t empty. Feel the paper.” 

Frowning, he reached down and felt the paper inside the oval. And indeed, there was a slightly different sensation to the touch - as of dried ink. “An invisible ink?” 

Schertling punched the air in triumph. “We’ve got something! At last! We just have to figure out how to make it show up.” 

It was easier than they expected. By simply holding it up to the light of the sun they were able to make out a single word: Babel. “What is ‘Babel’?” Schertling asked. 

Damien shook his head. “No idea.” 

“Never heard of it,” said Petar. 

They sighed. Another dead end. “Well,” said Damien. “Let’s ask around. Maybe someone will have heard of ‘Babel’ in town. Or maybe it’s code for something else. But at least it’s a start. Better than random letters and numbers,” he said in frustration.

They spent the next couple of days casually inquiring with their friends and associates. Damien visited Susan and Mac on the Westside to little avail - although he received another big, home-cooked meal from Susan. Petar and Sarah talked around Harper’s - regularly a wellspring of gossip and information - but turned up empty-handed. Schertling discussed the topic with some other teachers. And though none of them could provide any details, one scratched her head, as if trying to remember something from long ago. Back at the barracks, Schertling relayed his intel to Damien and Petar: “You know how there are these towers across the Gray Zones, yes? Also in some of our cities. Well, she said she has heard them called ‘Babel Towers’ before by certain Zoners. But she couldn’t remember where she heard it from. It’s not much to go on.” 

“Babel Towers,” Petar mused. “In the Gray Zones? We aren’t far from the Gray Zones ourselves. Niah and Estancia are practically on our doorstep. We could head out there, see what we find…” 

“How are we going to explain that to Djemai, or to Captain Han?” Damien asked. Since Han took over, Djemai had been especially busy training not only them but other squads as well. They suspected she was fighting with the other corporals for a promotion to sergeant. “Djemai cared about Bob too, Damien,” pointed out Schertling. “She would listen. We might be able to get permission for an exploratory mission.” 

“How much longer are we going to be stationed here, anyhow?” said Petar. “It’s been - what seven or eight months now? We could see out the rest of our year here and then see what happens. Maybe we find more in the journal, like figure out the code in the meantime. We might not necessarily have to go into the Gray Zones. Heck, we don’t even know Bob’s connection to Babel.” 

Damien bit his lip. He didn’t like the idea of waiting so long. The longer they waited, the colder the trail, in his opinion. But he could see the logic in what Petar was saying, and besides that, they still had no evidence that Bob had been murdered. It was his suspicion more than anything else. He was certain it was written in the journal but…the word ‘Babel’ wasn’t incriminatory of anyone or anything. It was simply an enigma. 

“Would you two come with me?” Damien asked. “After our service is over?” 

“Hmmm,” said Petar. “To be honest, I don’t know. I was thinking…well, I was thinking of maybe settling down with Sarah or something. Taking her back to Sonceto, introducing her to the family and all that…” 

“Woah! That serious?” 

Petar grinned lopsidedly. “Yeah. I think I’m in love with her.” 

Schertling smacked him on the back and laughed. “You monkey devil!” 

“What about you, Gustav?” 

Schertling leaned back against one of his bed’s bunk posts. “The school has already made me a full time offer here for once I’ve completed my service, and I mean to take it up. It’s not the most money, but good experience. I can stay here for awhile longer, then maybe think about moving back south. Baluard, perhaps.” 

“Huh,” Damien wondered. “That’s great man. Congratulations.” 

Schertling rubbed his hair sheepishly. “Ah, it’s not all that. Not much will change really, except I won’t have to do so much training. And I do look forward to that.” 

“Damien, is your only plan to follow through with this journal?” Petar was looking at him with concern. “I mean, I respect your decision. It’s just…well, what’s your plan exactly? Did you want to stay in Zamaii, or the army, or what? You’re a great gardener, you know! Maybe you should join one of the farms around here.” 

Damien looked down at his hands. “I don’t know what I want to do. Honestly. I just - I know there’s something here. We’re so close. It’s hard for me to think about anything else at the moment.” 

“Right,” said Schertling. He folded his arms on his chest. “As much as I tend to disagree with the devil monkey over there, he does have a point. You could do a lot of different things with your life, Damien. Are you sure running off into the Gray Zone is what you want to do?

“We’ll see,” he replied noncommittally. Honestly, going into the Zones didn’t sound terrible. He didn’t want to go home, not with nothing to show for it. And he didn’t want to stay in Zamaii. There were too many painful memories in this place. 

A few days after this conversation, they settled back into a fairly regular routine: Schertling at class, Petar with Sarah in and around Harper’s, and Damien still trying to puzzle out the journal in lieu of gardening. Then one chilly morning after they had finished training, Djemai told them to follow her. “Captain Han wants to speak with you. All of you,” she said. They looked at each other in surprise. The captain had never taken any particular interest in them. As far as he was aware, none of them had broken any rules. “Why?” he asked Djemai. “Are we in trouble for something?” The corporal had a stony face on. “It’s not a soldier’s place to ask why. Let’s go!” She started to march off, but just before she did, Damien heard her say quietly: “I don’t know.” They went to the top of the barracks, to the captain’s offices. The first part of the office was a wide and open antechamber. There were many orderlies scurrying about with sheafs of papers, while others were talking on phones, and still others were furiously writing, even as various sergeants and corporals moved about on business or stopped to ask questions. Djemai led them straight down the central corridor to the back of the room and a desk slightly to the right of a pair of large, closed double doors. A thin orderly with a pencil mustache, curly hair (what was left of it - the man was going bald), and a seemingly perpetual sneer sat behind the desk leering at them. “Corporal Djemai. What do you want?” The way he said you - drawing it out as if it was some sort of insult - made the hair on Damien’s neck rise. He wouldn’t have minded punching this man in the face. But Djemai appeared nonplussed. Her face was stoically placid and unreadable: “Lieutenant Bell. Captain Han requested our immediate presence. I suggest you let him know we’ve arrived.” 

“The captain summoned you, did he?” Bell mockingly replied. “We’ll see about that. Wait here.” The man stood up, walked up to the double doors, politely knocked, then walked in after a momentary pause. A minute later he returned. “The captain will see you now,” he said. The mocking had gone out of his voice: he seemed more astonished, than anything else. Damien saw the glimmer of a proud smile on Djemai’s face for just an instant before she marched them through the doors into Han’s office.

Captain Han sat behind a huge desk piled with stacks of papers. Damien thought that the man looked exhausted. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days - his eyes were rimmed with dark shadows, his skin looked sallow, and his usually clean shaven face was covered in stubble. When he saw them he sighed. They saluted and stood to attention, waiting for him to say something. But he didn’t. He sat there just looking at them with lips pursed. Then he shook himself from his stupor. “Sorry. Have a seat.” There were only a couple of seats opposite the desk. Djemai took one, and Schertling the other, after a brief battle of politeness with Damien and Petar. “Well,” began Han. He sighed. “Where to start?” He stood up and went to stand at his window, which overlooked the barracks’ courtyard. Clasping his hands behind his back as he looked out, he spoke: “We’ve received reports on the matter of your squadmate Bob’s death.” 

They all reacted at once. 

“Where? Who? What happened?” 

Han wiped the exhaustion from his eyes with a calloused hand, then sat back down in his chair. “Quiet please. Thank you.” He put his hands together on his desk. “The group behind the Zamaii Riots and Bob’s death has retreated into the Estancian Gray Zone. We suspect they might be Zoners from the region, maybe Soil Ghost tribe renegades. We can’t say for sure at this point. But we mean to get answers.”

“We’ll do whatever it takes, sir,” said Damien fiercely. Han looked at him, and nodded. 

“I believe you. Look, I know you weren’t happy with the way Bob’s death was handled. He was an Agurtan hero and true patriot, despite what came later. But I’ve been told that he’s to receive military honors back in the capital, and a proper state funeral. And they would like to announce the capture of his killers and have them brought to justice during that ceremony. So…” Han took a deep breath. “This is a special mission of national importance. I’ll be leading it myself, and we’ll have a special operative from Sonceto joining us as well. We’ll go into the Gray Zone, find our targets, and take them in. Is that understood?” 

“Yes sir!” They responded as one. 

“Excellent. But given the nature of this operation, you are to speak of it to no one. Go about your business as usual, then meet outside the barracks tomorrow at dawn with your gear. It could be a few days out in the field. We’ve a lot of ground to make up.”

“Understood!” 

“Good. Are there any questions?” 

There were not. Han dismissed them, and they were off. Damien could feel himself buzzing with excitement. Yes, the journal had failed to turn up anything so far, but now - well, they might not even need the journal now. He almost wanted to laugh. All that trouble with deciphering the code, and Han had dropped a path to the villains right into his lap! He could hardly wait for tomorrow. He didn’t even notice the looks of worry on the faces of Petar and Schertling. 

That night after dinner, Damien was preparing his bag in their room, making sure he had all of the necessary equipment for a long deployment. Petar and Schertling walked in. He hardly looked at them. “You two are late. You might want to hop to it. We’ve got a long mission ahead.” 

“Damien, wake up!” 

He looked around at his friends. Both were standing there looking at him as if he were a madman. “What do you mean?” 

Petar stepped forward. “Man, I know this whole Bob thing is driving you crazy, but this…I mean, we’re being sent after a group who killed one of the most dangerous and experienced fighters in the world. To say nothing of the fact that it’s the Estancian Gray Zone! And why just us? Why not the whole damn ZBP? And Han is coming too? The whole thing is weird and dangerous and - to be perfectly fucking honest: fucked up. But look at you: you’re practically giddy, and we could be being sent to fucking DIE!” 

Damien could feel his temper rising the more Petar went on. “Well, unlike you, I actually care about what happens to my squadmates! Stay here and fuck around with Sarah for all I care. Not like you would be much use to us anyway.” 

Petar’s face was white with fury. “Maybe I will. At least I would have someone to fuck, unlike you. Where did Emma run off to again? Maybe she was just sick of you.” 

Damien couldn’t control himself. He charged at Petar, but Schertling intercepted him and threw him back. “Calm down, farmboy! And you, devil monkey!” 

The two might have killed each other were it not for Schertling standing between them. “Relax. Relax.” Slowly they got their tempers under control. “Now, Damien…” Schertling began. Damien watched him warily, like a dog about to get the short end of the stick and prepared to bite back. “We came here to express our concerns. We’re worried about you, the way you want to run into your death like this. We think you might be depressed.” 

His anger was draining away, replaced by shock. “Depressed? Me?” 

“That’s right. And it wouldn’t be surprising. This past half a year, let’s not say it has been easy. It’s been damn hard, and you…well, you’ve had more to deal with than most.” 

“I…,” he stuttered. He had never even considered - him, depressed? No. No. Maybe? “I…don’t know.” He slumped onto his bed. “Look I-I’m sorry for what I said. And-well, how about this. We do the mission. And if we don’t find anything after…let’s say three days, we’ll come back. No matter what Han says. We’ll talk to Djemai and say: we tried. But please. Please. We have to try at least.” 

Petar sighed and sat down on his own bunk. “We will try, Damien. I mean, we have to, it’s a god’s damned national order from up top. We don’t have much of a say in the matter. That’s not why we wanted to talk to you. Just: you gotta let some things go, you know?” 

“Yeah. I…I’ll try.” 

“Good.” 

The rest of the evening was spent in awkward silence. 

The next morning they got up before dawn and made their way quietly to the barracks’ courtyard. Han was waiting for them alongside Djemai. They saluted as they approached, the two officers saluting back. There was no sign of any government vehicle, though. Han motioned them to follow as he started to exit the barracks. Once they were on the streets, he said, “We’re going to wait outside that lot you all frequently use. We don’t want to draw any attention from any glancing soldiers.” 

“What about breakfast, sir?” Petar asked. 

“We’ll eat once we’re moving. There'll be food in the truck.” 

A few minutes later they were at the lot, and there was indeed a truck waiting for them. Smoking against the driver’s door was a man with a thin face and a snub nose. He smiled widely as they arrived, flicking his cigarette butt onto the road, where it lay, the smoke quietly dying out. He had watery pale blue eyes and platinum blonde hair. His face was immaculately clean-shaven. His cheeks and eyes were sunken, as if he had spent too many nights sleepless. Damien didn’t appreciate the man’s grin. It seemed almost…wolfish. Hungry. But he was friendly enough. “Hello and good morning! Good to meet you all.” He moved amongst the group and gave a firm handshake to all of them. “My name is Roy. I will be your driver, leader, your intelligence…I’m wearing so many hats on this mission!” He laughed wheezily. “We’ve got to get a move on. Our connections suggest the renegades are approaching tribal territory, and if possible we’d like to intercept them before that. So in you get, my pretties, and off we go!” 

They piled into the back of the truck - except for Han, who joined Roy in the driver’s compartment. It was somewhat better than the stock and trade ZBP trucks they were used to. For one, this truck had an actual door on the back of it. Besides the benches lining the walls, four hammocks had been strung up for them to sleep in. There were chests under the benches for their gear, and lockers near the back with additional weapons and supplies. As the truck got moving, Petar investigated the supplies. He grimaced. He held up a package of “Hallesbury Finest” to them. Inside was a piece of bread. He threw one at Damien. He caught it, then knocked the loaf against the door of the truck. It didn’t break. 

“Some things never change,” remarked Petar, as he tossed Djemai and Schertling more stale bread rolls and pulled out his own. 

There were two small windows on either side of the truck walls between the hammocks with a metal slide shutter. The slide was closed right now. Damien opened one and looked out. They were zooming through the empty Zamaii streets. The wind was frigid and dry. He thought about all the people in the small city still asleep in their warm beds. He thought about Bob’s empty shack. He closed the window and clambered into one of the hammocks and let his mind wander. A half an hour later they were approaching the edge of Zamaii. An hour later and they were on their way through the borderlands towards the desertified Estancian Gray Zone. But they weren’t going to join up with the 88th this time. This time it was just them. And this time they weren’t coming to defend. This time they were coming for vengeance. The desert slowly surrounded their truck. And then it swallowed them whole. 

Senator Jovik Obremark was working late again. He found it difficult to sleep nowadays, and his constant pacing around the house was upsetting both his wife and daughter. So he chose to stay in the office instead until he was ready to drop from exhaustion. He was going through another round of new bills on the structure of the Agurtan economy. The words were swimming on the page in front of him. He had been asked to sign a whole stack of them and he was almost going through them by rote at this point even as he desperately tried to focus. Then he heard a sudden knock on the door. His housekeeper Eddinson - Eddy, who had served him faithfully for many years - poked his head in. “Sir? Perhaps I should prepare the car for our ride back home? It’s getting rather late. The madame will be worried.” 

“You’re right, Eddy. Get the engine running. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” 

“Very good sir.” He opened and closed his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Obremark looked at him and raised an eyebrow. The medal that he wore on a heavy chain around his neck, the symbol of his position as senator, gleamed in the lamplight. “Anything else, Eddy?” 

“No sir. I’ll get the car ready.” 

He nipped out the door. Obremark shook his head, knelt an elbow on the table, and rubbed his eyes between fingers and thumb. He would have to ask what Eddy was thinking about. The man was afflicted with a certain nervous disposition, but he was still a very effective steward, and he had a good heart. Whatever was on his mind, it was probably worth sitting down with him and discussing. He got up and started shuffling his papers and putting them in draws. He heard the engine of his car rumbling outside. He started to make his way to the door. But when he opened it, he was shocked to see a young woman. She seemed just as surprised - and almost ready to scream, but she quickly pushed him back through the door and closed it behind them. 

“Senator Obremark! Please! Just a moment of your time.” 

He looked at her again in the dim lamplight. He had seen her around before…a member of his staff, perhaps? What was her name again? “Umm…Stella, was it?”

She smiled, showing pretty dimples. She curtsied. “Yes sir, at your service!” Her face became serious again, her dimples disappearing. “Sir, I’m sorry to trouble you so late, but I had to wait for the right moment. It’s about Senator Broz, sir.” 

Obremark’s eyes widened in shock. “What about Senator Broz, Miss Stella?” 

“Well sir, it’s all just gossip you see sir, but I was talking to Nancy - that’s Senator Broz’s maid, sir - and she was telling me that the senator has been acting odd recently and she was worried about his health, and that he keeps having meetings with strange men, and that she wasn’t sure who she could turn to - and, well, Eddy told me it was all something and nothing gossip but I thought, if I could just tell you-”

He raised his hands to calm her down. She seemed almost hysterical. “It’s ok, it’s ok. I-this is most unusual. But I hear your concern.”

She nodded. She seemed somewhat calmer now. “Nancy said the men gave Broz some papers, sir, and I thought - well, I don’t know if we should but Nancy - she gave me the key to the senator’s office. Perhaps if you just had a look at those papers, sir, just to make sure that nothing bad was happening to the senator.” 

Obremark put his hand to his chin and stroked his beard. A chance to get into Broz’s office? Alone? It had to be worth it, no matter if these papers were real or not. “Alright then, Stella. Given the circumstances, I think a quick look can’t hurt.” 

“Oh thank you sir! I knew you’d understand, I told Nancy, I said to her: ‘Senator Obremark is a good man.’” 

She led him through the dark halls of the senate chambers. They passed by columns and pictures of solemn Agurtan heroes who stared down on them accusingly. The tall windows looking out over the seas loomed dark and large, and the crashing sound of waves pounded against Obremark’s conscience. Was this the right thing to do? What if he was caught? He supposed if worse came to worst he could write it off as calming a panicked staffer. Besides, what did Broz have to hide, anyway? Ultimately, he was the chief senator of Baluard, just as Broz was the chief senator of Sonceto. He had nothing to fear from the man, and he had too many secrets to boot. So steeling himself, they arrived at Broz’s impressively large chambers, a testament to the equality they shared. Stella pulled out a wrought iron key and gently fitted it into the lock. Inside it was dark. “Just one minute, sir,” Stella whispered to him. A few minutes later she came back with a small hand-lamp that let out just a thin stream of flickering light. Stacked on the coffee table where they had sat before, Stella pointed Obremark to an innocuous folder of documents. “There, sir.” He picked it up and opened it. He started to read. His eyes popped open. This was…well. It was more than incriminating. It was damning. 

“That…traitor!” Obremark muttered. 

“What was that sir?” Stella was looking at him with worry on her face. “We should leave soon, sir. We don’t want the night guard to find us here, though they’re often asleep, this time of night.” 

“Indeed.” He tucked the folder under his arm. “Let’s go.” 

“Oh sir, are you sure it’s safe to take the folder? What if the senator notices?”

“I am sure, Stella. And thank you for this service. You have been most helpful.” 

She curtsied again. “I’m just a gossip, sir, but if it helps the country, then I’m honored.” 

“Well then. Get back to your duties, Stella. I will see you soon.” 

“Yes sir. Good night sir!” 

And with that, the two went their separate ways - she down the hallway in the direction of the servant’s quarters, and he towards the entrance and his waiting car. He strode now through the halls with bold purpose. The sound of the waves on the rocks was a drumbeat to war. The solemn figures in the portraits seemed to nod sagely in support. This was his moment, and he intended to seize it. He would call for a full assembly of the senate. And in front of all of the esteemed senators, the most important leaders in Agurts, he would cast down the vaunted Senator Broz. Too long had the country lurched in the wake of President Aldaman’s death. He saw that now. They had grown lazy and complacent in the lap of luxury. But now - now was the time for action. The Federation was in danger.

He stepped out onto the stairs of the senate building and into the chill air. It wasn’t as cold as it got up in Baluard, but it was clammier, being near the water, and the wet chill seemed to find a way down to penetrate the bone. He could see his car below, Eddy standing outside waiting for him. When he got to the car, the steward opened the door for him. “Everything alright sir? I was about to come upstairs and look for you.” 

“Everything’s fine, Eddy. Let’s go home.”

The steward looked at him concernedly. “Of course sir.” 

It was night by the time she arrived back on the outskirts of Zamaii. She wiped the sweat off of her face, and massaged her butt: several hours of sitting in a motorcycle, with much of the ride over uneven roads, had given her more than a few bruises. And frustratingly, she didn’t have much to show for her trouble either. Bob had sent her into Niah to investigate the situation up near the Omangan border, but she hadn’t been able to find much of anything at all. More seemed to be happening within Omanga than without; there was some sort of political maneuvering between the noble houses. But that wasn’t why she was there, and so she had left with nothing. That was how things went sometimes: she knew that. Not every investigation would wind up uncovering something. But still, it was vexing to be sent out there and come back empty handed. She wondered what Bob would have to say about it, whether or not he would have more clues for her…

He had told her to head directly for his shack when she came back, and so she did. When she arrived, the lights were off. That was a little strange: it was around 10pm, and she would have expected him to be back home. He liked to get back and have some time to himself before sleeping early, rising early. She went up to the backdoor and rapped a quick three knocks, followed by two slow, and two fast. The Bucks Team had always varied the codes they used to communicate, but this one was an old one, and just for her - the first one she had learned by heart as a child. Bob would know it was her immediately. But no one answered. She walked around to the side and peered in the window, but saw only darkness. She returned to the backdoor and tried the handle. It was locked. She searched around in her tool belt and found what she was looking for - a multipurpose knife and tool made for her especially by Steel. Within a minute, the backdoor swung open. She moved into the room and was struck by the silence. Bob wasn’t here. She went to her belt again and brought out a small flashlight, which she swept quickly over the room. A thin layer of dust was beginning to build up on the floor and bed. He hadn’t been here in a while - maybe a week or two. That was odd, but perhaps he had taken up on some mission and left town. But for more than two weeks? She bit her lip nervously as she considered the possibilities. Where was he? She went over to the desk to check for the journal. If he had left for good, or for a long period of time, he would have taken the journal with him. She opened the draw and closed it quickly, and indeed, she couldn’t hear the journal moving around within. She sighed. Ok then. He was probably fine, if the journal was gone. But there was nothing more to see here. She stowed her flashlight and left the room, quietly closing the door after her. 

It was getting on for midnight and the perfect time to visit Harper’s. She couldn’t quite decide whether to go in disguise or not, but in the end she elected to be Emma rather than Sofi. She had stashed her wig and clothes in a small chest buried lightly under a small mound at the back of Damien’s lot. She thought that she might run into the old gang there. Perhaps they were having some sort of midnight feast and Bob was regaling them with one of the exciting tales of his daredevil life. But they weren’t there. The lot was empty. The garden was covered for the winter. Well…maybe they were at Harper’s. Or just asleep. She got her disguise and quickly changed behind one corner of the lot’s fence. She stashed her military gear and started to make her way towards Harper’s; it didn’t take her very long. The bar was in full swing. A couple of waitresses were outside, but she didn’t recognize them. They saw her outfit and seemed to assume she was one of them, and paid her no mind. She slipped into the main hall, which was as rowdy as ever. Soldiers and townsfolk shouted and carroused. The smell of alcohol and smoke mixed with the noisy atmosphere in an intoxicating blend. Moving deftly between the crowd, she found who she was looking for: Sarah. When Sarah saw her, the two women briefly hugged. Then Sarah whispered to her, “Come out back. If Harper sees you, he’ll try to make you start working again and I doubt you came back here for a job.” She nodded, fought her way back out the front door and went around the back of the noisy building to wait. Sarah came out a few minutes later, wearing a puffy jacket. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them. “It’s getting cold.” 

Sofi smiled. “It is, but at least it’s warm inside. It’s good to see you, Sarah.”

“Good to see you too, Emma.” The two women stood there awkwardly. Sofi had left previously without a word, and Sarah had been her closest friend. “Umm…where are the guys? I didn’t see any of them in the bar. Are they up on the second floor, or at home? I thought Petar would be here at least.” 

“Wait - you don’t know?” Sarah tilted her head quizzically, her blonde hair falling down over one ear.

“Know what?” 

“They’re gone,” Sarah said. 

This was new information. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?” 

“I mean just that, Emma. Gone. Like you were before.” Sarah sat down on the edge of the back porch and dangled her legs over the side. “Petar wasn’t showing up…I went to the barracks to go look for him. No one seemed to know where he went. Well…” Sarah sniffed. “We did some investigating. One night Melissa - you remember her? She was new when you left - well, Melissa got that ass-for-brains Lieutenant Bell drunk and talking. He said that he had seen them - the boys, that is - talking to Han in his office, and then the next day, they were gone. All of them. Including Han.” 

“Han? Sergeant Han?” 

“It’s Captain Han now. After the riots…wait. You don’t know, do you?” Sarah looked at her strangely. 

Sofi sighed in exasperation. “Know what?” 

“Oh Emma,” Sarah hugged her, cradling her in her arms. “Bob died.” 

She would have stumbled if Sarah hadn’t been embracing her. She might have fallen down. She certainly felt dizzy, and her blood was running cold. “He- what?” 

“He died. In the riots. There were riots in the eastern suburbs. The old captain died as well.” 

She couldn’t believe it. Dead? Bob? Hot tears stung her eyes. “Bob’s dead?” She thought about the last time she had seen him. He was as normal as ever - as lovely as ever. Thoughtful and understanding, intelligent and kind. Bold. He had laid out his concerns, his worries about plotting in home and abroad, and sent her away to investigate. That he had trusted her with this mission had been a great honor for her. He had always been her secret confidante growing up - when she couldn’t talk to her father, she had talked to him. When she had decided to leave the Bucks Team and secretly join the army, against the wishes of her father, he had respected her decision and given her a scarf to wear. She still carried that scarf - she was wearing it now. He was like a beloved grandfather and now - gone forever? Sarah’s words came to her as if over a great and empty expanse. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I really am. Do you need a place to stay tonight? Stay with me.” 

“I…yes. Ok.” Sarah left her for a minute to go tell Harper she was leaving for the evening. Sofi stood outside. She was shaking. Fear and despair were beginning to mix with anger. She felt hot and cold all at once. Who could have done this? Who had killed him? And- she gasped. What had happened to the journal?

Sarah came back and took her hand and led her through the streets like a child. Sofi followed along in a daze. How had this all happened when she had been gone? Her friends - disappeared. Bob - dead. And she - what had she been doing. She should have been here. She should have done something. 

It had been a long time since she had felt so lost.