Chapter 10 Original Sin

After three days of driving through the desert, nothing much had happened as far as they could tell. They had watched as the sand rolled by. Then more sand. Dunes, rolling up and down, down and up. Day, then night, then more sand again. Petar had brought a pack of playing cards with him, Schertling a couple of books, one of them a mystery thriller called The Mathematical Bandit and the other a work of nonfiction, Eastern Europan History following the Collapse, Vol 2. They ended up trading the books around to read, and they wore down the cards until they were so dog-eared and soft they almost bent over when you were holding them. They talked, they slept. Djemai had some notion to give them training, but it was basically impossible to workout or drill in a moving truck, and she abandoned the idea as quickly as it came. She refused to play cards, but enjoyed the books. Damien spent a lot of time lying in his hammock. He would slide open the truck’s window and watch the sand roll past. He never thought that a place could be so vast, so empty. He noticed that the sand sparkled at night, as if someone had scattered crystals over its surface. It was strangely beautiful.

But he kept his promise. He had told his friends they would ask to go back after three days if they didn’t find anything, and they certainly hadn’t found anything - except maybe boredom. He spoke to Djemai first. 

“Corporal-” he began.

“It’s sergeant now,” Djemai quickly corrected him. 

He blinked in surprise. “Oh. Well-congratulations.” 

She smiled. “Thank you. Now what did you want to say?”

“Well, sergeant, we-we want to go back.”

Now it was Djemai’s turn to blink. “What?”

“This-this is too much for us. We don’t know how long we’ll be out here and-” 

“Hold it right there, soldier,” Djemai’s lip was curled in disgust. “This is an assignment of national importance. Do you understand that? We’ve been assigned this mission, and we will carry it out.” 

“With all due respect, sergeant-” Schertling interrupted. “If this mission is indeed of national importance, why send just us? It’s not as if we have covered ourselves in glory in previous missions.” 

Djemai sniffed. “It is not a soldier’s place to ask questions.” 

Petar groaned. “You don’t know why we were chosen. That’s the truth of it. But doesn’t this smell funny to you, Djemai? Can’t you at least agree that something weird’s going on?” 

She rounded on the young Soncetan. “No, forgive me if I cannot see that ‘something weird is going on.’ What exactly do you think is happening here?” 

Petar shrugged, but didn’t elaborate further. Djemai sat down on the bench and crossed her arms. “If you’re so concerned, ask Captain Han, or Special Agent Roy.” 

“We will,” said Damien, sitting down opposite the sergeant and crossing his arms defiantly. 

They sat like that the next few hours in silence. Eventually the truck ground to a stop. It was time for a lunch break. Damien and the others, followed sullenly by Djemai, hopped out of the truck and approached Roy and Han, who were sitting on the edge of their seats with the doors open, eating food out of plastic containers. Roy was chewing his lunch vociferously, but he smiled and waved as they came up, and politely put his meal to the side. The blonde man seemed unaffected by the desert weather, which went from a prickly dry heat during the day to a ferocious winter chill at night. From his happy demeanour, you might think he was on a sort of happy family trip. “Gentlemen, gentlemen! What can I do for you?” 

“Sir!” Damien snapped out a sharp salute. The others followed suit. Roy waved it away. “Oh don’t be silly, no need for all that out here. We’re a team! What’s up?” 

“Well sir-”

“Call me Roy, please.” 

“Uh, ok. Roy- when will this mission be over? We uh…we want to go back.” 

Roy’s face was a picture of concern and worry. “What’s wrong? Is everyone ok?” 

“Um, yes, we’re all fine. It’s just, well…” He struggled for words. Petar jumped in. “Two things, Roy: we don’t know how long this is going to go, and we don’t know why it’s only us, if this is a mission of national importance.” 

“Oh I see. Is that all?” Roy laughed. “And I thought someone may have been injured or something. I’m happy to answer your questions.” 

“Really?” Petar looked wary. 

“Yes, really! I want you all to be on board for this.” His face turned serious. “The truth is that the situation outside of Agurts right now in Eastern Europa isn’t looking so good. We’ve got Omangans moving around, Soil Ghosts acting up, the Gafians are ready to fight at the drop of a hat - it’s no good. The ZBP has a very important job: it acts as the first line of defense. It’s a deterrent. If we moved out the ZBP and Zamaii got attacked…then our enemy would have a clear road to Baluard. And they lock us up in the Tritans. So we can’t move out the whole force, even if we wanted to. And to add to this-” he leaned in towards them conspiratorially - “the bigwigs are pretty embarrassed about the riots. Obviously they should never have happened. But that idiot Captain Carline was in charge for too long sitting on his ass. And what if this mission doesn’t pan out? There’s no guarantee we’ll find anything. Well, better to keep it quiet then. If it doesn’t go well, no harm no foul. If it does go well - great! We’re returning heroes.” 

Petar was looking at him suspiciously. “I guess that all makes sense. But why us out of the ZBP squads? And how long are we going to keep searching?” 

“You don’t give yourselves enough credit! You not only survived through the riots, but held the southern edge of the engagement with minimal losses. Your squad cleared out the Labinnah Cultists before that. You defended the MMR with SAs from the 88th. And not only that, you were all close to Bob. Think about the news reports: ‘Loyal squad avenges Agurtan hero.’ The stories write themselves! No, you were the best - the only - candidates for this.” 

“Hmm…,” mused Petar. “When you put it like that. But how long are we going to be out here, Roy? We’ve already been driving for three days.” 

“I’ll be honest, this one I can’t answer so easily,” Roy chuckled. “But I reckon if we’re going to find anything, it’ll be about a week. Our supplies won’t last forever, so we have to go back sooner or later. And if we don’t find anything, well, we just keep it quiet, as I said. Understood?” 

“Ok. Ok, I guess we can buy into that.” Petar smiled. “Thanks Roy. You’ve been super helpful.” 

Damien heard Djemai let out a small sigh next to him. Roy picked up his lunch. “If there’s nothing else, gentlemen, you’ll forgive me if I return to my lunch? Someone has to drive, you know, and not on an empty stomach!” He laughed again. They saluted and returned to the back of the truck. They needed to eat lunch themselves - it could be tricky to eat when they were going up and down the dunes all the time. Petar was talking to Schertling about what he would tell Sarah when they got back. Djemai patted him on the shoulder. “You see, soldier? Nothing to worry about.” Damien pursed his lips. He couldn’t quite shake off a feeling…but he could hardly identify what he was feeling in the first place. On an impulse, he looked back towards the front of the truck. Roy was watching them go as he was eating. There was a cold look to his frigid blue eyes. He wasn’t smiling. Damien shivered. They had asked Roy for answers, and he had answered all of their questions as smoothly as they liked. Damien hadn’t even wanted to ask, let alone go back. But now he knew what he was feeling, though he couldn’t say why: fear. 

The crisp morning air was invigorating. Senator Jovik Obremark was putting on his finest suit for today. He wore his senator’s medal proudly over a new white shirt as he donned his ceremonial robes, black hemmed with the coppery red and snowy white that marked the colors of Baluard, his home city. He looked in the mirror. He had put on a bit of weight from his youth, but his thick beard gave him an air of gravitas, he thought. His wife stirred on their bed. “Jovik?” she asked. “You’re up already?” 

“Yes, dear,” he said, as he smoothed out his curly brown hair and balanced his hat carefully on his head. He had woken up at the crack of dawn and sent Eddinson running to the senate to announce his call for an emergency meeting. He could only imagine the senators’ faces around town as they got the news. It would be a kick in the rear for many of them, especially the Soncetan contingent, who much preferred to spend their time moving around the city’s various corporate galas and artistic soirees, and rarely got up in the morning at all, if they could avoid it. Now they would need to attend to the business of governing the country, and he had a bombshell to drop on them. The incriminating documents were stored securely in his suitcase, which now sat in a corner of his bedroom. He daren’t let it out of his sight. He had briefly considered sleeping with it. “Jovik?” His wife whispered again. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her hair was disheveled, but in a tangled, beautiful way. He smiled. He loved her. He sat down on the side of the bed and gave her a big hug. “Today things will change, Mirana. For the better.” She put her arms gently around his waist. “Are you sure you can’t tell me anything, Jovik?” 

“The walls have ears, Mirana. Best you wait to hear it on the news like everyone else.” 

“And you are sure this is necessary, Jovik? All this fanfare…it’s not like you.” 

“I know, dear. But it is. In this case, it is.” 

“Well then good luck, my darling.” She kissed him on the cheek. “And do shave your beard soon. It’s getting awfully long.” 

“You don’t think it’s charming?” He flashed her a grin. 

She laughed and threw a pillow at him. “Get out of here, you old flirt!” 

He grabbed his suitcase and danced out the door. Downstairs, his daughter was having breakfast at the kitchen table under the watchful eyes of one of the maids. “Hello Daddy!” She shouted when she saw him. She leapt up and piled into his legs, which she clung to. “Is Daddy going to play with me today?” 

Jovik chuckled and knelt down. He patted her on the head. “Tonight, when Daddy is done with work, Daddy will play with you all night.” 

She gasped. “Really?” 

“Really.”

“You promise?” She was suspicious. 

“I promise,” he said solemnly. 

“Yay!” she said. Then she stopped suddenly and gasped, looking up at him. “I’ve got to make plans!” And off she ran, with the maids in hot pursuit. He grinned and collected his breakfast - a crusty slice of toast and butter, and a warm cup of tea - from the cook. He would eat in the car. There was no time to waste. He wanted to get to the senate as soon as possible and prepare himself for the day’s session. If everything went as planned, this would be a day for the history books.

It was the dawn of the seventh day since they had left Zamaii. A few days ago, Han had informed them blandly that they were now in Soil Ghost territory. But Damien hadn’t seen any sign of them so far. No sign of life: only ancient death. The smooth sand of the desert was now punctuated with what looked like ruins poking up through the sand like broken teeth. Sometimes it was barely noticeable, just a variegated change in the undulation of the dunes. Sometimes it was just a building here or there. And other times it was dramatic: whole clusters of buildings towering together, leaning on each other desperately but still on the point of collapse. Yesterday he thought had spotted something moving in the distance of one such cluster. He had told Roy, who had shouted back to him, “Some of the tribes scavenge the ruins for relics of the past to sell. Or use. Don’t worry, we’re not heading that way.” So that was that. He lay there and mused on Bob’s death. Had Soil Ghost renegades really been behind the riots? He supposed it was possible. Hadn’t it been Soil Ghosts who had killed Alex in that first attack when they arrived in Zamaii? That had been so long ago now. It felt like so long ago. Petar was checking the supply closet for breakfast. They were running low on supplies, but they figured that Roy had some stashed somewhere. Petar looked up at Damien blearily. “Damien, are you awake?” 

“Yeah.” 

“There’s no food.”

He sat up. “No food? Already?” 

“Yeah. Nothing in here anyway.” 

“Let’s ask Roy and Han.” 

They knocked, then opened the small window to the driver’s compartment. “Morning lads!” Roy grinned at them. Han raised up a cup of tea to them by way of greeting. “What can we do for you this fine morning?” 

“We’re out of food, Roy,” said Petar. 

Roy looked shocked. “Already? You guys sure eat fast.” 

Now it was Petar’s turn to be surprised. “Wait - you mean we’re out of food? Totally?” 

Han sipped at his drink as he looked out the windshield at the desert. The glass was tinted so it didn’t shine so brightly. It gave the desert a gloomy pall. “We knew we were low. We’re heading to an old supply depot that the 88th set up. There should be some stores in there for us. We won’t get there until mid-afternoon, so you’ll have to go hungry until then. Sorry.” 

Petar sighed. He closed the window and looked at Damien. “Not much we can do, is there?” His voice sounded defeated. It wasn’t as if the meals they were given were very filling in the first place. Now they weren’t going to have breakfast or lunch? He hoped they got there by dinner at least. Damien watched Petar clamber back into his hammock and face the wall. The usually talkative young man had become more and more silent as the mission went on. Being away from Zamaii for so long was wearing him down. To be honest, it was wearing them all down, being in the truck like this day after day. But it had to be over soon. Roy said it would be only a week, and the week was up. A slight detour, pick up supplies, and head back. He hoped. 

The roads up to the Senate were jam-packed with the cars of senators. Senator Jovik Obremark of Baluard poked his head out of the window and let out a sigh of exasperation. Dipping back into the car, he asked Eddinson, who was driving, “How much longer do you think it will be, Eddy?”

The much-suffering steward shrugged. “I honestly don’t know sir. An hour?” 

“I don’t have time to waste an hour,” Obremark muttered as he chewed on his beard. “There’s not a moment to waste!” With that, he hopped out the door. Eddinson let out a gasp and quickly wound down the passenger window. “Sir! This is-it’s unbecoming a senator, sir!” 

Obremark winked at Eddy. “Let them see, Eddy. We senators can walk just like everyone else. I trust you to mind the car and then come find me, alright?”

Eddinson smiled a watery grin. “Yes of course sir. And sir?”

“Yes, Eddy?”

“Good luck!” 

Obremark grinned wolfishly, showing his teeth. “Don’t need it Eddy. But thank you just the same.” 

And with that, he set off up the hill. After a few minutes, he was huffing and puffing and somewhat rethinking his bravado as he looked at the cobbled streets winding their way steeply up the hill. Still, there was no turning back now. He was pleased to notice the other senators from Baluard who he passed got out of their cars and joined him. He saw many from Armaria get out as well. Senator Smyth of Fierla, a white-haired chap who had served for years, sprung out of his car with a loud “here, here!” and to cheers from the others. Most of the Auth senators remained in their cars, though some elected to join the march. The Soncetan senators looked out from their windows scornfully. Obremark made a point of meeting each of their gazes. None dared meet his eyes for long. 

The group arrived at the Senate building and were greeted by a crowd of journalists. A cordon of guards from the 303rd Marines was allowing the senators exiting the cars to make their way up the steps, but there was no such luck for the senators who had come up the hill. They would have to force their way through. And as soon as they were spotted by the journalists, they were swamped. 

It was like a battle. Microphones were being shoved at their faces from all directions, looking for an opening. Reporters were practically climbing on top of one another to try and get an interview - a statement - a word from someone, anyone. But Obremark had been in combat before. Using his suitcase to swat away all comers, he drove a path through the crush of people, the rest of the senators following in his wake. He was sweating by the time he reached the cordon of guards, who helped to pull them through. One of the guards gave him a pat on the back: “You alright, Senator?” 

Obremark smiled at him. “Nothing to be concerned about. But let’s try and get this crowd back, yes? Senator Smyth is in there somewhere.” 

The guard saluted and started to bark orders at his underlings. Obremark marched up to the doors of the Senate. He took a deep breath. This was it. 

At the entrance a security checkpoint had been set up. A guard motioned him over. Obremark frowned. “What’s this all about? I’m Baluard’s Senator, you know me.” 

The guard looked at him and saluted. “Sorry senator! Senator Broz ordered a checkpoint established here for everyone going into the building. And he did mean everyone,” the guard stressed. “We have a lot of people moving in and out today, sir. Safety is a top priority.” 

Obremark sighed. “Well, right then. You know me, what else do you need to check?” 

“Just a quick pat down of your person, sir, and a quick look inside your suitcase.” 

Obremark scowled. “This is absurd!” 

The guard shrugged. “Just following orders, sir. But if you would prefer, we could call over Senator Broz…? It may take him some time to get here, but I’m sure he’d be happy to-” 

“Oh forget it,” said Obremark in frustration. He let the guard pat him down. He handed over his suitcase. He watched as the guard opened it, checked inside, then closed it. It only took a few seconds. “Right sir! All good.” 

“Indeed,” Obremark said as he took back his case. He resisted the urge to peek inside at the papers. Behind him a queue was forming, but there were other senators already in who were approaching him to ask about today’s session. He put the matter of the checkpoint behind him and welcomed the others with firm handshakes and a confident smile. Nothing would throw him off today. 

His stomach growled discontentedly, and not for the first time. He was surprised with how quickly his hunger had grown. It was afternoon. No breakfast and no lunch had left them all feeling grumpy and morose. He tried to ignore it by thinking about other things, but somehow those other things always turned back to food. He thought about Sofi and Harper’s, and Harper’s greasy and salty rustato fries that went perfectly with cooling beer. He thought about his garden and the stew they had never made. He thought about Zamaii, and that chicken restaurant they went to once, and how spicy it was, but also how juicy and succulent…there was no escape. 

At least they had water, but even that was running out. 

“How did we run out this quickly?” Petar asked for the umpteenth time. No one responded. The young man growled and rolled around in his hammock as his stomach mumbling joined the chorus of grumbles. “I checked just the other day and our supplies were fine. I can’t make sense of it.” 

“You just overestimated, that’s all,” said Schertling sadly. The teacher was lying stock-still, as if by remaining as unmoving as possible hunger might possibly leave him alone. By the look on his face, it didn’t appear to be working. 

“I didn’t! I counted the boxes. We had enough for at least three more days. What happened to those other boxes? Has one of you been having extras?” He looked around wildly, the conspiracy taking root in his mind. 

Damien sighed. “We eat together, Petar. None of us has been having extras.” 

“Well, I just don’t understand-” 

“Quiet!” shouted Djemai. The sergeant was as hungry as any of them. Her features were tightly drawn, taught as a bowstring about to snap. “Save your energy. You might need it.” 

They fell into silence. The miles passed by. Then suddenly, they pulled to a stop. A minute later, the truck door opened. Roy and Han were standing there, and behind them they could see…it looked like a dune, at first glance, but if you looked closely you could spot a door built into the side of it. Petar, Damien, Schertling and Djemai - driven by hunger - leaped out of the truck. Damien peered at the door. “An underground bunker?” 

“That’s right!” smiled Roy. “An old one, built out here by the 88th quite a few years back, close after the fall of Estancia. At the time, there were some who thought Agurts would expand out here. But really-” he waved his arms at the surrounding desert - “who would want to live out here anyhow?” Damien followed his lead and looked around. He couldn’t see any- wait. He noticed a brief bit of movement over one of the nearby dunes. A person? Roy put an arm around his shoulder. “Soil Ghosts, Damien. Best be extra careful, eh? Into the bunker.” And with that Roy steered him towards the door.

The others had already gone inside. The interior of the bunker was a bare concrete and steel chamber. To Damien’s eyes, it looked like it had been practically abandoned. There were wooden crates stacked around the room, but some of them were covered in thick layers of dust. In the center of the room, a few empty crates had been turned upside down and placed in a circle under the room’s primary light to provide a rudimentary sitting area. Next to the circle, Han was distributing cans of food and water to the others. The cans themselves didn’t have any logo or anything: just the words AGURTS NATIONAL ARMY and a serial number. As Petar handed him his can, Damien looked at it and remarked, “I didn’t know the army made its own food.” 

“Back in the old days,” Han responded quickly. “Not so much anymore.” 

Damien pulled the tab on the can and opened it. The food inside was a juicy mixture of beans, vegetables, and meat, all smothered in a dark red sauce. While the smell wasn’t exactly appetizing, after a day without food, it would certainly do the trick. He could already feel his mouth beginning to water. He began fishing around in his gear for his pocket tool, which all Agurtan soldiers carried, and which came equipped with a fork. As he did, he noticed Petar, Schertling, and Djemai had already started eating, while Han was walking out the door. “Where are you going?” He asked the captain. The man stopped by the door. Roy was nowhere to be seen. “The Special Agent and I didn’t use our stores up. We’ll eat in the truck and guard it against thieves.” He didn’t wait for Damien to respond: just closed the door. Damien stood there for a moment thinking. Something seemed strange… “Come on, Damien,” said Petar around a mouthful of food. “It tastes pretty good, honestly.” 

Damien heard his stomach rumble again and shook off his nerves. It was time to eat. 

Senator Jovik Obremark sat on the edge of his seat in the Senate’s Grand Hall. After a seemingly interminable period of waiting and a near constant barrage of questions and polite exchange of remarks with fellow senators, it was time for the session to begin. The senators were arraigned, each in their seats. The roll call had gone ahead without issue. A general murmur of chatter filled the lofty halls. The public box on the balcony of the second level was full of reporters. And then it was starting. His heart skipped a beat. At the Speaker’s Podium, Speaker Senator Rakevich of Sonceto called for order, banging his gavel. “Order! Order, please! I WILL HAVE ORDER!” 

The room quietened down. Speaker Rakevich looked out gravely on his fellow senators. “This extraordinary session of the Agurts Senate has been called today by Senator Obremark of Baluard, who has put forth that he has something to discuss that is critical to the very survival of this state.” There was a smattering of chuckles from the younger members of the Soncetan contingent, but they quickly died under the Speaker’s withering gaze. Obremark grinned. Rakevich wasn’t a bad sort…for a Soncetan. “No matter what members may think of this call, it is their duty to respond to it, and to respect it.” 

There was no more laughter. The Speaker turned his eyes to Obremark. “Senator? The floor is yours.” 

Feeling the eyes of the whole country upon him, Obremark rose slowly and calmly made his way towards the podium. He cleared his throat, and then began to speak, mustering what he hoped was the best of his booming voice: “Honored senators! Sorry I am indeed to have had to have pulled you away from your daily labors.” A pointed glance at the young Soncetans. “But I do not do so without cause.” He lingered a moment for dramatic effect. “There is a great danger among us. So close to us that we cannot imagine it. A disease afflicting the very heart of our Federation!” He let his voice rise to a point, lending it hurricane force. And indeed, his proclamation swept through the room like a cool breeze. They were hanging on his every word. Well, all except one. “With all due respect, Senator, if you could dispense with the theatrics and proceed directly to the point…? Some of us do indeed have other duties to attend to,” said Broz, his face a picture of disinterest. Obremark looked at his interlocutor and smiled. “Of course, Senator. And indeed, well it is that you who call upon me. For the point that I wish to get to is this: you - Senator Broz - are Agurts’ disease.” 

A communal gasp shook the chamber. Aside from two men, no one dared to breathe. The air between the two’s locked eyes crackled with tension. Then another Soncetan stood up. “How dare you say that about Senator Broz!” 

But Broz waved him calmly to sit down. He returned his cold gaze to Obremark. “And what precisely makes me ‘a disease,’ Senator Obremark?” 

Obremark pointed a finger at him accusingly. “That you have the gall to feign ignorance should be crime enough. I have evidence that you have been conspiring to sell Agurts to the PTL corporation, betraying the very country that you helped to build, all so that you yourself may assume a high-ranking position within the company!”

The room exploded. Senators on all sides leapt to both attack and defend Broz. Obremark, standing at the speaker’s podium, brought down the gavel again and again to no avail. It was Speaker Rakevich who brought the room back to a semblance of order. “THAT’s ENOUGH!” He shouted, his voice ringing to the rafters. He turned to Obremark. “These are sensational accusations you bring before us, Senator Obremark. I assume you have evidence.” 

Obremark nodded. “Indeed I do.” He opened his suitcase and pulled out the - his heart dropped. The papers. The incriminating papers! They weren’t here! He started to go through his bag desperately, hoping against hope that they had gotten buried…somewhere. But no. They were gone. He looked up at the Speaker. “Speaker, I had the papers, but they…they must have been stolen…” 

The Speaker sighed. “I’m sure you realize as well as I do that that is hardly enough to prove the veracity of your words, Senator Obremark. Is there any other evidence you could present, in lieu of these papers?” 

Obremark thought furiously. Then a sudden lightbulb - a way out of this, maybe. A dim hope, but a hope nonetheless. “There was a maid who works here. Stella. She services my office. She saw the papers.” 

Rakevich stood for a moment, then called out: “Guards! Bring us this servant, Stella, and let us hear what she has to say. If she can indeed attest to Obremark’s claims, then the chamber may consider that the matter warrants investigation. But with respect to Senator Broz,” he turned to the chief Soncetan representative. “Do you have anything to say concerning these claims?” 

Broz shook his head and shrugged as if at a loss for words. “Baffling, truly baffling, Speaker. But in the interest of getting to the bottom of this, I accept to listen to the testimony of this servant.” The way he said the word “servant” suggested what he thought of such testimony. But the Speaker seemed to be pleased by the words, and nodded. Not a moment later and the chamber doors opened, showing Stella nervously clutching her dress as she was marched between two guards. They led her to the floor, opposite the podium. Obremark looked at her and smiled. “Stella! I am sorry to trouble you. Please, do not be afraid. If I could ask you to tell the senators here what you told me last night, I would be most grateful.” 

The Speaker swept up imperiously beside her. “And please note, Ms. Stella, that this is a matter of national importance, and that you may consider yourself under oath. If you are found to be lying in any capacity, there will be severe consequences. Am I understood?”

“Y-y-yes sir,” the girl stammered. She looked out at the chamber. She appeared to be shivering. “I-” she began. “I-” she started again. Then all of a sudden she collapsed on her knees on the floor. She turned and looked at Obremark. Tears were streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, sir! I can’t do it! I can’t lie like this!” 

Obremark didn’t know what to say. He was speechless. Stella turned back to the senators. “Mr. - the Senator - Senator Obremark, he - he-” She buried her face in her hands. The Speaker went over and helped her to her feet. “Please, Ms. Stella. What happened with Senator Obremark?”

“He-” she was gulping for breath. “Last night I- I went to his room to clean at night, like usual, and he was there and he was talking to some strange men-” she was stammering, but trying to wrest control of herself, “They were talking about things I didn’t understand, but it was about Broz and Agurts and…and Omanga taking control of the country! He said not to tell anyone. And then he said-he wanted me to tell this story about these papers if I was called. He said that if I didn’t do what I wanted that he would-he would-” She started wailing again. The Speaker patted her on the back comfortingly. “There, there, Ms. Stella. It’s alright. Please calm down. You’re safe.” 

She shook her head. “I’m sorry sir. Just he told me to say something about them. But I never wanted to sir, honestly I didn’t! I didn’t want to lie! I was just so scared.” 

“LIAR!” Obremark roared. The way she was crying, he wanted to smash her face with his fist. He couldn’t believe it. 

The Speaker looked at him coolly. “Calm yourself, Senator Obremark. It would appear to be your word against hers, for now at least. Unless…,” he scanned the chamber. “Anyone has anything else to add?” 

There was silence. Then suddenly, a feeble voice: “Um, sir, I do.” 

Obremark couldn’t believe it. It was Eddinson! Eddy wouldn’t meet his gaze as he stepped onto the floor of the chamber. “I…I found these papers in the senator’s office. I know I should have said something sooner, but please understand - the senator has been good to me. I thought he was a good man. I couldn’t believe he would do this. I was going to ask him about them. But…he was gone for a long time last night. Much longer than usual. Everything the young lady says seems to be true.” The steward carefully extracted a small packet of papers from his breast pocket and presented them to the Speaker, who quickly cracked the seal and opened them. As he read, his eyes widened.

Then he looked up at Obremark. There was no kindness in his voice as he said: “I’m sorry, Senator, but I think it best if you return to your office for now.” He signalled to the guards. Obremark looked at him in shock. “You can’t be serious! I have committed no crime! What are those papers? Give them to me!”

“Have you never seen them before? I find that unlikely,” the Speaker replied. He held them up. And while the senator couldn’t quite make out the words, he did see - at the bottom of the document - very clearly, his own signature. He felt himself go very cold.

Obremark stood at the podium and crossed his arms. “I will not move. Those documents - they must be fake. I am no criminal!” 

The Speaker looked at him in disgust. “You better hope that they are fake, for what is contained here constitutes nothing less than treason. To think that a Baluardian would conspire with Omanga…” He shook his head and waved his hand towards the guards. “Take him away.” 

Obremark didn’t respond. He kept his chin high as the guards grabbed him by the arms and escorted him from the chamber even as shouting broke out and the Speaker started screaming for order once again. 

Once outside, as they walked through the empty halls to his office, a tear ran down Obremark’s cheek into his thick beard. The guards didn’t notice. No one saw. But he knew. He had failed his country. He had failed Agurts. 

He had only eaten a few mouthfuls before deciding that he had had enough. He was still hungry but the flavor of the food had put him off in a big way. There was something…metallically artificial about it. It left an unpleasant aftertaste that made him feel sick. Maybe the food was bad? The others seemed to enjoy it without any issue. Perhaps he had an allergy to one of the ingredients. He supposed that he could ask Roy and Han to share some of their stores with him. Or maybe they could take some of these cans and trade it with the Soil Ghosts he had seen. He wasn’t certain. He just knew he didn’t want to eat any more of that food for now. 

“Ahhhh,” Petar sighed contentedly, smacking his lips. “Food is great.” 

Schertling took the final bite of his can. “Good not to be hungry.” 

Djemai put down her can. She looked at Damien and his unfinished can. “Damien? Don’t tell me you're not hungry?” 

He shrugged and pushed the can towards her. “You want it? You can have it.” 

She tilted her head quizzically but didn’t refuse his offer. “You’re not going to be able to get it back if you regret it, you know.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“Alright then,” she said as she huffed down Damien’s portion. 

“So I guess this is it,” mused Petar. “The turning point. We’re going back home after this.” 

Schertling moved his crate against the wall so he could lean back against it. “Should be.” 

“I can’t wait to see Sarah again!” Petar stretched his arms in the air. “Although we won’t have much to tell her.” 

“You’ll have a new corporal, when we get back,” Djemai remarked, licking the last bit of food off of her fork. She pointed the cutlery at them. “Don’t let me hear about any bad behavior!” 

Petar mock-saluted. “Of course not, ma’am!” 

They laughed, then lapsed into silence. A few minutes later, Djemai put a hand to her forehead. “Hm,” she said. 

Damien looked at her. “What’s wrong?” 

She shook her head. “I don’t know…just suddenly feel a little…dizzy or something.” 

“Ah!” They heard. Petar put a hand to his temple as well. “Ah…I think I feel something too.” He blinked rapidly. “Feels weird.” 

Schertling already had his head in his hands. “Gosh…”

Damien was beginning to feel alarmed. Then the pain struck him as well. It had been building in the background so he hadn’t noticed. First there was a fuzziness. Then a slight dizziness. And then all of a sudden it was if someone had taken a sledgehammer and whacked him around the forehead. “Ugh,” was all he could manage. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there like that, wrapped in their own individual pain, moaning. He lost his sense of time. It couldn’t have been long. But then the door slammed open. The light of the setting sun cut through the room like a knife. Petar whimpered in pain. And there stood Roy, a dark figure backlit by the orange twilight. His face was painted with shock and anger. “What are you doing in here? Didn’t you hear?” He was practically screaming. His voice echoed around the room and through his skull getting louder and louder until it was all consuming. He wanted to cry. He thought he heard Schertling sobbing. 

But Roy didn’t let up. “Those Soil Ghosts over there! They stole it! They stole our supplies from the truck while you were enjoying your meal,” the Special Agent sneered. 

“No!” shouted Djemai. She pounded the sides of her crate. “NO!” 

“YES!” shrieked Roy back at her. He was looming over them now. Damien could feel himself trembling with rage, shivering with fear. Those fuckers stole their food! Those fuckers! “They took it from you! Just like they killed Alex! Just like they killed Bob!” He spat out those last words. Petar screamed, “RaaaAAAAAARRR!” He leapt up. “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill all of them!” 

Roy rushed to the door. “Come on men! For Agurts! For Bob! GET THEM!” 

They flew outside, carried by fury. Guns were thrust into their hands unwittingly, masks clamped to their faces. They ran down the dunes towards the Soil Ghost encampment screaming. Someone appeared on the dune, then collapsed, shot. The blood leaked out red onto the dunes. It only increased their rage. They crested the dune, and there were the Soil Ghosts below them, peering up at them. Damien looked at them and their horrid faces. Murderers! Killers! Desert scum! He was breathing rapidly. Next to him, Djemai and Schertling and Petar were already firing. Bodies were dropping as they were hit with bullets. They continued their advance down the side of the dune. 

Someone ran up to attack Damien. He shot him in the face and blood sprayed across him. Yes! Come and die! He thought. He wanted to make sure they were all dead. No one would escape. Another one came up to him, and he shot her. She fell right in front of him and in his rush to continue killing he tripped-

His face hit the sand hard. He blinked. What- what was happening? His mind was in a daze. Everything was so hazy. He sat up as he heard an explosion, and then screaming. Was this a battle? Who was attacking them? He looked down through his mask. He was carrying his rifle. Below him was the body of a female Soil Ghost. She had a long knife in her hand. She wasn’t breathing. He looked around him. There were people running and screaming. It- they looked like Soil Ghosts. There was a woman running with her child. He stood up. She recoiled away from him. He looked down at himself, covered in blood. He looked at her. “It’s ok-”

Her eyes widened suddenly, then she watched in shock as a knife protruded from her chest. The knife disappeared, withdrawn, and she fell to the sand. Behind her stood a masked figure: it looked like Djemai. She turned her attention to the child. Damien realized what she was about to do. But he was powerless to stop her. In the space of a few seconds, she reversed the grip on her knife and slammed it into the child, lifting him up into the air, then tossing him lifeless onto the ground. Rage welled in Damien. He shouted at her: “Djemai! DJEMAI STOP!” 

She whirled on him. She was holding a pistol, and she aimed it at him. He closed his eyes. A shot rang out. He opened his eyes. Djemai had been shot. Her body was lying on the ground twitching. From over the side of the dune, more Soil Ghosts. But these ones didn’t seem afraid. They moved swiftly towards the encampment. Damien dropped his gun and raised his arms. He shouted at them: “Please! Something’s wrong!” As the Soil Ghosts approached him, one punched him hard in the head. Everything went dark.

“Mission accomplished,” said Roy. 

They had watched the assault on the Soil Ghost camp from binoculars after putting some distance between them. Han lowered the binoculars and looked at Roy. The Special Agent was emotionless, uncaring. The fact that they had drugged this unit and sent them to their deaths meant nothing to him. 

“Why did we have to do this?” 

Roy lowered his own binoculars and looked at Han. Those cold, pale blue eyes trapped him like pins holding a struggling insect. “You know why. You were told. Don’t act as if you didn’t know what would happen.” Han gulped. He did know. “We’ll get two birds with one stone,” the voice over the phone had murmured. “Test the combat efficacy of this new drug, and rid ourselves of those tied up with that troublesome exile.” He had tried to distance himself from the result. But now that it was staring him in the face…he grit his teeth.

Well.

He would just have to carry on. 

Roy had returned to watching the scene unfold. “It appears that they have been captured. However the Soil Ghosts dispose of them, we’re done here.” He paused for a second. “Well, almost done.” 

Han was lucky the man had paused. He had always been quick on the draw. And he had never liked Roy. Never trusted him. “I don’t like loose ends,” the voice on the phone had said. At the back of his mind, Han had known what that meant. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to it, but it had. 

Two shots rang out. Special Agent Roy fell down dead. 

Han permitted himself to kick the body, watched it roll down the hill. He spat on it as it went. Good riddance. He looked back at the Soil Ghost camp. He was sorry for what he had done. But it was a matter of survival. And he didn’t want to die. As the sun disappeared below the horizon, he climbed into the truck, alone. He couldn’t go back to Agurts now. So he supposed it was time for a fresh start somewhere new. In a way, it was exciting. He started the motor and began to drive over the dunes, northward bound.

Sofi sat in the lot and wondered. She had spent the last few days at Sarah’s place, but knew she couldn’t stay forever. She needed to go. But where? It was very frustrating. She didn’t have any leads. She could try and pump that idiot lieutenant - Bell? - for information, but getting so close to the Agurts military, she risked blowing her cover. While not exactly famous, she had a reputation as the youngest ever SA pilot. When she had up and vanished from her unit to come to Zamaii, she had left more than a few people behind. She sighed. Maybe she should just go back…

Her ears pricked up. She hadn’t really heard anything. But she had a feeling that she wasn’t alone. Her hand went to her sidearm. 

“Hold,” came a voice. A shadow moved forward. She gasped. Then ran into his arms. “Dad.” She hadn’t seen him ever since she began her training. 

Argus moved one hand to hug her. They stood like that for a few moments: just hugging. Then they separated. “What are you doing here?” she asked. 

He stood there. She waited. Her father always liked to choose his words carefully. But she was patient. “It’s time to go.” 

“Where are we going?” 

He grunted. “Estancia.” 

She raised a hand to her chin. “Estancia? The Estancian Gray Zone?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

He stood as still as stone. “It’s time to go home.” 

She considered, biting her lower lip as she thought. “Papa I…my friends are missing. Bob is dead.” 

“Yes.” He shifted a little. Sofi read it as a sign of his discomfort. He had never been one to deal well with grief. “It is our great loss.”

“It is…but my friends: do you know where they went?” 

He nodded. “Estancia.” 

“One of them has Bob’s notebook.” 

“Hm,” Argus responded. Then he nodded. “We will find them, then.” 

He shouldered his enormous sniper rifle on his back. “Are you ready?” 

She grabbed her bag and slung her own rifle over her shoulder. “Of course.” 

He turned to leave, but hesitated a second. Then she saw his hand slip out from underneath his cloak. She took it and squeezed it warmly. “I missed you, Dad.” 

“So did I, Sofi,” he responded quietly. 

Hand in hand, they vanished into the night.