Chapter 2

Assembling the Cast

 

     "That which does not kill me makes me stronger." - Friedrich Neitzsche

 

 

Verdes Family Home

Near Detroit Lakes, Minnesota, United Nations Occupation Area

18 November 2015 S.E.C.

7 September 3058 I.S.C.

 

     Technically the area of western Minnesota was on the outer edge of a war zone.  The UN and American lines had stabilized in the previous month and a half at the Dakotas-Minnesota state line.  This had worked to the advantage of the people in the area.  The UN's soldiers and officers were too busy trying to resume the offensive to bother dealing with the local civilian population.  Even the secret police were more concerned with helping the forward advance or dealing with the larger metropolitan areas than the smaller towns.  So life continued as normal, and aside from the occasional UN soldier or officer struggling to speak English when buying food or material from a store or the armored columns that sometimes used the major roads, there was no change to the daily routine for the nearby people.  The local kids were ecstatic that school had been canceled and tended to spend the day playing while their parents alternated between watching them and scrounging up supplies, or in some cases, preparing to attempt a dash west to American-held territory.

     In particular, Antonio and Bethany Verdes were running the small grocer's stop they had set up along one of the major highways that ran through the area, US Highway 59.  This by extension meant their house was empty during the day save for the comings and goings of their teenage daughter.

     For Misty Bethania Verdes, life was fun.  High school had finished for her earlier in the year, with passing grades for the diploma now framed on her bedroom wall.  Outside of school she had dabbled in writing and taken more to sports, earning top marks as a kickboxer and a karate student that included winning first place in one state martial arts championship when she was a sophomore, and a second place the next year as a junior.  As a basketball player she had been a decent but unnoteworthy member of the girls' team.  During the short-lived experiment in girls' football Misty had been the quarterback, and her performance had created the rumor that the boys' football coach had considered asking for the sport to be open to both genders so he could get a better quarterback.  And all of this despite being the only non-Caucasian girl in the school, by benefit of her father Antonio's Filipino heritage.

     In retrospect her ethnic background had been a blessing, not a curse.  The region did not have a tremendous population of white supremacists, and for the white males at school her light golden-brown complexion enhanced her attractiveness.  She was unique and different and, most importantly, undeniably sexy in the eyes of her male classmates.  The competition to bed her first had been fierce to the point that her parents feared she would be pressured into it before she was ready and with a boy she might not particularly care about; moreso they had grown increasingly annoyed with the phone calls she received from would-be dates.  She had been forced to get her own phone line by her junior year, something that she had to pay out of her pocket from the occasional oddjobs she did for the neighbors.

     An irony of the universe was that, in the end, none of the boys who had oogled Misty since her freshman year ended up having her.  Some got their own girlfriends after time passed on.  Others moved away.  Those that kept interest would be beaten out by the one person considered least likely to ever be friendly with her, much less a bedmate.

     James Halbern was a blond-haired blue-eyed athlete with the sense for fun that she enjoyed, but a competitive streak that had made them intense rivals.  He had prevented her from winning her second state championship in the kickboxing field, which he took for himself.  In sparring practice they came the closest to an actual combatative fight, routinely bruising each other from the intense competition.

     And yet, it was James Halbern that was laying beside Misty in her bedroom.  Personal competition had only made the feeling of love between them more intense.  As young lovers their intimacy was not only passionate but fun.  Laughing and giggling were just as common in their love-making as the customary soft moans from sexual exertion.  It effected their personal lives immensely, every moment they spent together was one spent in joy.  Neither could imagine a bright life without the other in it.  Neither were hampered in their relationship by their parents.  Halbern's parents were uncaring and preoccupied with keeping his rambunctious younger sister under control.  Misty's were considerate and even accepting of the boy she intended to make their son-in-law, although their Catholic upbringing also made them a bit wary that she was sexually active before marriage.  It was a selective recall of religious heritage that Misty found annoying, since neither was particularly religious in the first place.

     Physically neither had any universally distinguishing marks.  Misty Verdes possessed the skin color expected for someone of mixed ethnic heritage, a tanned brown with a hint of a gold-yellow color to it.  Others considered her Hispanic although Misty broke all the rules and stereotypes.  The only consistant Spanish she knew was the meaning of her last name, "Green", a result of her father's comments about her eye color matching the name.  She did not care about other Latin American countries beyond the news and did not fly the flags of Cuba, Mexico, the Phillippines, or Puerto Rico like she was "expected to" by her classmates and peers.  She could not even name the capital of Puerto Rico half the time, as her geography class found out to their amusement when she referred to it as "San John" (admittedly close to the Spanish meaning but not correct) in an oral quiz.  Her body's muscles were well-defined, not in the sense of a professional body-builder but in the athletic sense.  Brilliant jade eyes from her father's side of the family were the dominating feature on her face.  A small pug nose and unremarkable lips filled out her features.  Her hair was raven-black and flowed down past her shoulders, with a lock of it being twirled between the fingers of Halbern's left hand.  His right hand was settled on her left shoulder with his palm on her shoulder blade, the bones of her shoulder being visible because of the tightness of her flesh over her body.  Her arms were curved in the places where her muscles formed valleys in her flesh, ending in flat hands and long and graceful fingers.  One of those arms was caught under Halbern's head, the other was settled on his right hip.

     Halbern's hand left her shoulder and moved down.  His index finger and thumb traced the sides of the nipple on her left breast.  Misty was by no means a voluptuous female, her healthy and athletic lifestyle had done much to keep her body fat low, and by extension it kept her breasts from becoming the awkward balloon-shaped things some males found attractive.  Her breasts were not small either, forming rounded humps on her chest that were easy to distinguish and, for Halbern, to grip.  Which is what his hand was doing at that moment.  His fingers gently pressed against the breast and rubbed the nipple.  One of his fingers advanced a bit farther up and touched a discolored area on Misty's chest, just to the side of her heart.  She hissed and used her free arm to grab his hand.  "Trying to make the bruise hurt more?", she asked.

     "Not at all, just admiring my handiwork."  Halbern grinned mischievously and pushed his lips against her's.  They kissed for a few moments.  "I didn't think I hit you that hard."

     Misty met his grin with one of her own, and moved her hand up to his right shoulder, where she had landed her own kick in a recent sparring match.  Halbern grimaced when her palm pressed against the small discolored portion over his shoulder blade.  "I didn't think I had either," she said in response.

     Halbern shifted his weight and allowed Misty to free her right arm.  She brought the arm up to his left shoulder as he rolled above her, keeping his right hand in a tight grip on her breast.  "You realize how damaging it was to my ego for you to beat the fuck out of me?"

     "It would be damaging, but I have never beaten the fuck out of you," she giggled in reply.

     "It felt like it."

     "If I did beat it out of you, then you got it back very swiftly."  Misty pulled his head closer and they began to kiss passionately.  "But it's not something I'll make a habit of, I like it too much."  They both chuckled a bit.  Halbern ended the kiss and began to kiss her neck.  He moved down to her breasts, where he licked the right nipple before nuzzling on it a bit.  Misty's palm hit him on the back of the head.  "Would you quit it?  I... that tickles!"  She began giggling in a very girlish manner while Halbern did his snake-lick impersonation in her navel.

     Before he could work his way even further down, her giggling was broken off by the ring of her phone.  Misty's arm reached over and pulled the cordless receiver off of the base.  The caller ID screen had Halbern's number flashing on it as another ring came from both the base and the receiver.  Halbern looked up from an embarrasingly sensual position between her legs as she stroked the talk button with the thumb on her left hand and put the receiver's speaker to her left ear.  "Hello?", she asked.  The grin on her face evaporated as a shrill voice came from the other end, demanding to talk to Halbern.  "James, it's Chloe," she told Halbern, handing him the receiver.  "She says it's an emergency."

     Halbern took the receiver and put it up against his ear while Misty pulled her legs over and got off the bed.  "Sis?"  Halbern kneeled over the bed nude while Misty pulled on her previously-discarded panties.  "Chloe, you've got to calm... what do you mean... Chloe?!"

     Even Misty could hear the gunshot that sounded over the receiver.

     Halbern screamed into the phone, "CHLOE?!  Chloe, talk to me!  CHLOE!"  Inaudible screams from Chloe Halbern replied to him.  A loud smack sound came over the phone before the dial tone began it's dull and now-ominous buzz.  Halbern jumped off the bed and scrambled for his underwear.  As he pulled it haphazardly with one hand he used the other to grab his T-shirt, jacket, and jeans.  "I've got to go home!"

     "I'm coming!"  Misty reached down and grabbed a bra, shirt, and running shorts.  After tucking them under her left arm she used her right hand to reach into a shoebox in her closet.  When she pulled her hand out she was holding the shoebox, which she ran downstairs with.

     Halbern had closed the front door behind him, but not fully.  Misty lowered her left shoulder and used an outward motion with her upper left arm and shoulder to push the door open.  A blast of cold November air, reaching freezing, pulled the heat right off her nearly nude body.  Halbern was in his small 1993 Ford Taurus when she reached the outside, still barechested and, she assumed, only in his underwear.  He saw her emerge and come to his passenger side door.  Halbern groaned and waved her back to the house, not wanting to get her mixed up in whatever was going on.  Misty defiantly pounded her left arm on the passenger door window.  Halbern's sense of urgency and Misty's state of extreme undress in the frigid winter air forced him to open the door for her.  She jumped in as he put the gear in reverse and pulled the car out of the driveway.  "You just had to come, didn't you?", he asked irritably.

     "Like hell I'm going to let you run off like that," Misty retorted as she put the shorts, shirt, and shoebox in the back seat.  She pulled the bra straps over her shoulders and brought the clasp area between the cups over to the middle of her cleavage.  "I've got God damned goosebumps all over my skin.  My nipples feel worse than they did that time you ran an ice cube over them to wake me up!"

     "You know, that was revenge for you dumping a bucket of ice between my legs at the hotel during our trip to Minneapolis," Halbern responded with a "harumph" sound.  He pulled the wheel in one direction and move the car out onto the street.  His foot hit the gas and caused the car to lurch forward, reaching a speed that was unsafe for that road.  "Put on your seatbelt."

     "You first."  Misty pulled on her red running shorts and reached for the long-sleeved blue blouse she had grabbed.

     "Did you hear the gunshot on the phone?"

     "Yes.  Which is why I came with this."  Misty put the blouse in her lap and retrieved the shoebox from the back seat and opened it.  She pulled out a 9mm pistol.  "The Desert Eagle my grandfather bought for me, semi-automatic."  She took out the empty clip and opened an ammo box that had been within the shoebox.  Her fingers slipped around the bullets and pushed them into place in the clip.

     "Why didn't you tell me you had a gun?"

     "Because I didn't want you to tell your parents, God knows how they feel about it."  Misty pulled the blouse over her head, still holding a bullet in her right hand and the clip in her left.  After pushing her head out through the neck collar she finished putting the bullet into the clip.  "My parents hate it too, but my grandpa insisted.  Crazy old coot."

     "How good a shot are you?"

     "Ten, twenty yards."

     "Is that good?"

     "Probably not," she admitted.  "I've only shot it about seven times."

     "That is very reassuring."

     "If this is just a bad joke by Chloe, I'll have an eighth shot under my belt," Misty grumbled.

     Halbern looked over at her and grinned.  "You wouldn't shoot her.  I think you'd prefer knocking the crap out of her."

     "I'd knock the fuck out of her," Misty corrected him.  "And unlike you, I think she needs it done."

     "You wouldn't be accusing my sister of anything, would you?"

     "Not actually, although I've heard a number of stories about your sister..."  The car turned down onto a secondary road, at the end of which was Halbern's home.  "We're not too far from the retirement complex where we stuck my grandfather.  If I shoot your sister we can hide there."

     "No more joking about shooting Chloe," Halbern said half-jokingly.  "You two will make wonderful sibling-in-laws."

     "Maybe when she stops being an obnoxious brat."  Misty pushed the Desert Eagle into the waist of her shorts.  "James?"  They made a slight turn toward the final stretch in front of his home.  Even from the distance she could see the low and black figure of a UN personal military vehicle similar to the ones she sometimes had seen at her parents' store.  "James, what the hell are they doing here?!"

     Halbern shrugged stiffly.  "Maybe they were in the area and heard calls for help?"  Despite his weak smile, Halbern's answer did nothing to placate her worry.

     The car eased into the drive and came to a stop about six and a half feet to the right of the Hummer-esque military vehicle.  Halbern shut down the engine and both stepped out of the car in unison, shutting the car doors with seemingly perfect sychronization.  Halbern stepped up the the front door and twisted the door knob.  He slid open the door with Misty behind him and stepped onto the wood-paneled floor.  When his head turned toward the kitchen his eyes caught sight of the pool of blood coming from the kitchen.  He stared in utter horror as he stepped up to the kitchen and looked in to see the bodies of his parents laid out, his mother's body slightly on top of his father's.  Both had been shot multiple times in the torso and had left a large combined pool of blood on the floor.  When Misty saw the sight she gasped loudly and put her left hand on her agape mouth.

     "Stay where you are!", a voice commanded.

     From the direction of the front door and the family den a pair of men walked out, each holding AKM assault rifles.  "Hands in the air!  Now!", the first voice barked out with a Germanic tone to it, despite the Oriental features of the man's face.  When Halbern and Misty responded as they had been ordered the other man, a light-skinned one, stepped forward and brought out a pair of tie straps.  He pulled Halbern's arms behind his back and used the strap to bind his wrists.  He repeated the steps with Misty and pat the areas of their bodies where clothing covered them, leaving no stone unturned.  When Misty felt the cold steel of her gift sidearm pressed against her hip by his hand she knew she had been found out.  He drew the gun from her shorts and held it for his partner to see.  As he did so, they heard Chloe howl, "James it's a trap!".  Halbern moved forward and prompted the second man to pistol-whip him on the shoulder with Misty's gun.  He dropped to his knees with a loud groan.  "Take the girl and question her.  I will bring him to his sister and we will have our answers."

     "Move it girl!"  The Caucasian man grabbed Misty by the nec, holding her own gun to her skull and forcing her to the staircase.  The climbed the stairs up to the second floor and into one of the room, it's size and the content indicating it to be Chloe's.  Once inside he closed the door, then slapped her and threw her against the wall.  "Where did you get this gun?!"  He pointed it at her throat.  "Who do you work with?!"

     "My grandfather gave me the gun," she replied.  "I don't work with anyone."

     "This is a large sidearm for a young woman to use for self-defense.  Too large.  Tell me about the other Resistance members you are working with or you will suffer."

     "I don't work with anyone!", she shouted in response.  This earned her another slap across the left cheek.  He drew back his fist to punch her when a knock sounded at the door.  He pushed her to the floor and went to the door, where an Arab woman was waiting.  She barked at him in German, a language Misty did not understand, and they stepped outside for a moment.  Misty watched the door close and began looking around for a weapon.  A weapon?  With my hands tied behind my back?  Another scream came from beneath the floors and chilled Misty's spine.  Oh my God, what are they going to do to us?  I don't think Chloe's just screaming because she's scared.  Misty's eyes went over to beneath Chloe's bed.  She saw a pair of scissors beside an unfinished art project from school which prompted her to grin a little.  After forcing herself to blank her grin Misty went over to the bed and put her back to it.  As she reached her fingers to take the scissors the door opened again and the Caucasian man returned to the room.  She looked up at him intently while reaching for the scissors.  He threw a pack to the floor beside the bed before moving toward her.  It was just after she got a grip on the scissors that he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet.  Misty cried out from the painful sensation of her hair being yanked so ferociously.  He smacked her across the face and caused her to fall on the bed.  She forced herself to land as naturally as she could without revealing the scissors behind her back, which he had not yet noticed.  The man climbed on top of her and took out a knife.  "If you will not cooperate willingly, you will be made to cooperate," he growled.

     Misty concentrated on using the scissors to slowly cut away at the tie strap that bound her wrists together, barely able to move it under the weight of her body and her captor's.  She could not ignore the ill omen of his placing the knife just above her collar, as if to slit her throat open.  It was a relief when he pulled the knife down and cut open her blouse, a relief that quickly changed when she noticed the hateful intent in his eyes as he cut open her bra.  He pushed the cups out of the way and looked down at her naked chest.  From the satchel he drew out a small flat device with a rubber handle that appeared almost like a medical defibillator.  Misty watched him flip a small switch on it and push it against her chest above her cleavage.  An electrical shock gripped her body and she responded with a bloodcurdling scream.  He pulled the device off and barked, "Tell me now, or I will do it some more."

     "Listen, for the last time, that gun I got from my grandfather, and... ahh!"  He pushed the device on top of her heart.  Misty's back twisted and she had to fight to prevent her reflexes from revealing her almost free wrists.  He stopped for a moment to raise the power and pressed it down on her left breast, again near her heart but now closer to her lungs as well.  Misty's agonized cry was cut short by the contraction of her draphragm, which cut off her air supply.  Tears came to her eyes from the intense pain in her chest brought on by the electrical shock.  "You're going to run that thing's battery out," she panted when he stopped.  Her lungs demanded oxygen from the shock of her diaphragm's contraction, and when her breathing failed to give them the amount they desired her lungs began to ache.

     That brought a sneer to his face.  "When it runs out, that's when the fun begins.  Because then..."  He put a hand on her cheek.  "That's when I will get physical."

     Misty nodded in reply just as she felt the tie strap snap, freeing her wrists.  She grinned widely.  "Well, let's not bother with the battery."  She brought her right knee up and caught him in the belly.  He doubled over and was open to the right hook she delivered after pulling her arms out from under her.  She switched arms and pushed him to the right with her left, knocking him off the bed and rolling up to her feet.  With years of practice she brought her right leg up and caught him in the jaw with a strong kick.  He stumbled backward and into the wall.  She brought caught him with a left kick to the stomach next and made him stumble down.  She went to finish him off with a karate chop to the back of the neck when he recovered and pulled her feet out from under her.  He leaned over her and grabbed her by the neck.  With an angry growl he lifted Misty to her feet and pushed her back against the wall hard.  He put both hands over her neck and pushed his thumbs against her airpipe.  Misty's face contorted with pain at the feeling of his thumbs pushing into her skin and closing off her lungs from air.  She grabbed his wrists with her hands and tried to push his hands back.  His arms were too strong, and because they were straight she could not easily get any leeway out of them.  His brown eyes gleamed murderously as he began to strangle the life out of her.

     Not out of tricks, Misty brought her right foot up again.  This time it hit right into his unprotected crotch.  Her kick, made more powerful than she intended by the survival instincts that had prompted it, had the uncomforting effect of traumatizing his sensitive genitals.  He howled loudly and dropped to the floor.  His hands flew instinctively to his injured manhood as if to protect him from another blow, thus sparing Misty's windpipe the stranglehold he had put her in.  A small pile of vomit poured from his mouth and onto the carpet of the room.  Misty rubbed her throat for a moment and looked down at him, her tortured lungs gulped more air while her flesh still ached from the sensation of his powerful hands.  Without further hesitation Misty retrieved his knife from the bed and, with a surprisingly fluid motion, rammed it into the back of his neck.  The knife's stainless steel blade cut through his vertabrae with little resistance.  His body crumpled lifelessly to the floor in front of her.  Misty finally took the time to rub her aching throat, where a pair of bruises in the shape of the dead man's thumbs were beginning to form.  Another cry of anguish from downstairs reminded her she wasn't safe just yet.  She reached into Chloe's closet and groaned loudly when she realized that the smaller girl's clothes would never fit her.  Ignoring the impulses against partial nudity, Misty picked her gun up from where it had been set down on the desk and gently tip-toed down the stairs.  She realized that they might or might not have heard the sounds of the scuffle upstairs and kept the gun leveled forward until she approached the den door from the side of the utility room, when she bent her elbows and kept the gun perpendicular to her face and just a bit to the right of it, something she had mostly seen in movies and was unsure about.  She pushed the door open and put her arms straight forward, facing the couch on which Chloe was being held and opposite the chair where they had put Halbern in.  She lined up the barrel with the Oriental man she had seen before and pulled the trigger.  A bullet crashed through his throat and severed his windpipe.  He fell to the ground immediately.  Despite her beating heart Misty forced herself to keep her hands steady enough to aim, this time to an Middle Eastern man who was crouched over Chloe's nude form.  He reached for a sidearm just before Misty put a bullet between his eyes.  The man's dead body fell on Chloe, who began screaming in terror.  Two for two, she said to herself.  But where is the woman I saw?

     From the corner of her eye Misty saw movement and pulled the gun over to the other doorway, the doorway to the front door and the kitchen.  The Arab woman that had apparently been in charge of the group of UN officers appeared in the doorway.  She saw Misty and quickly brought up her own sidearm.  They fired simultaneously.  Misty's bullet was the fatal hit; the round broke through the woman's teeth and through the back of her mouth to the lower parts of her brain.

     The Arab woman had not missed either.  Her bullet found Misty's torso on the lower right corner of her left breast.  Pain shot through her chest at the impact of the bullet on one of her ribs, which stopped it's advance toward her lung and left the bullet deep in her flesh.  She grunted and fell to the ground, bleeding onto the white carpet.  "Misty!"  Halbern jumped from the chair and leaned beside her.  "Misty, how bad is it?"

     "I... I don't know," she gasped.  "I don't think she got anything... important."  She looked down at her bare chest and the bullet wound, which had some blood flow but nothing enormous.  "It looks like it was a small caliber gun.  No killing power."

     Halbern pulled Misty to her feet and helped her get into the chair by the desk.  Misty reached over and took the scissors.  "Turn around, let me cut those straps off."  She narrowed her eyes and kept enough concentration to snip in half the tie strap around his wrists.  Halbern turned back around and knelt over her, checking the wound.  "God I didn't know getting shot would hurt like this!"  She laid her head back on the chair and put a hand over the wound.

     Halbern yanked off his shirt and pushed it against the wound, causing Misty to cry out.  He looked over at his sister, who had drawn her legs up and was hiding her face in her knees, weeping.  "Chloe, go get dressed!  We have to leave."  When she continued to weep he raised his voice.  "Chloe!  We'll have time to cry later!"

     "Chloe," Misty grunted painfully, "I know it hurts.  But if we are here when their buddies show up they're going to do it again."

     Chloe responded immediately, standing up.  Misty could see blood trickling down the insides of her thighs, testament to the ferocity of the violations she had suffered.  "I'll get some clothes," she said meekly.

     "Chloe, get me a shirt and one of my shirts for Misty while you're up there," Halbern added.  He got up and went into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, the contents of which he was swabbing on a paper towel.  Misty eyed the towel warily as he brought it closer to her skin.  "This might sting a bit," he warned her.

     "Only a bit?"  When the towel and the alcohol touched her wound Misty yelped from the stinging agony of the liquid's chemicals on her open flesh.  "God dammit that hurts!"

     "Misty, you wouldn't happen to know where we can go to get that bullet pulled out of you, do you?"  Halbern wiped away at the wound.  "I mean, if we go to the hospital people are going to ask questions."

     "The retirement complex," she replied in a hiss through her clenched teeth.  "They've got a doctor there, I think, and plenty of first aid kits."

     "Anything for gunshot wounds though?"

     "My grandfather lives there, if they don't have anything for this kind of thing I'll be surprised," she added wryly.

     "Funny, I don't think you've ever told me much about your grandpa," Halbern said.  "What's he like?"

     "When I was young, his idea of babysitting me for the day was to watch 'Patton'."  Misty sat up a bit and got closer to Halbern's face.  With her right hand she took the shirt he had been using to stop the blood flow from her wound and put it against the wound.  "I've been able to recite every line from that movie since I was eight and it scared my parents to death.  They finally found a babysitter who wouldn't try to recruit me for the US Army."

     Halbern made a loud laugh.  "I understand why, I can't see a pretty thing like you in a uniform."  He stared in her jade eyes for a moment.  "You can't help it, can you?"

     "Help what?"

     "The fact that you are irresistable," Halbern said with a wide grin.

     Misty smiled in response and bowed her eyes a little.  "I'm just happy you're okay, James.  I'd die without you."

     "So would I."  Halbern pulled closer to Misty and pushed his lips against her's.  They kissed passionately for a few moments.  Halbern's hands took her by the neck to stead her head as he contiued to kiss her.  It took him over fifteen seconds to finish kissing her.  "God that gives me such a rush."

     "Me too," she gasped, getting some air.  Misty switched the shirt to her left hand and used the right one to touch his left cheek.  "So, what are we going to do next?  I have to tell my mom and dad."

     "Well, we'll go see your grandpa, see if he can get any help.  The retirement complex is on the other side of the lake, right?"

     "Yeah, I think so."

     "Then I know a back road that'll get us over there."  Halbern frowned.  "I don't want to be seen.  These people were secret police, they seemed to think we were in on a Resistance operation somewhere near here and that's why they left Chloe alive.  Finding your gun didn't help at all."

     "So I noticed."  Misty showed her own frown as well.  "The guy upstairs had some kind of weird device, it was like those electric paddles they use on people whose hearts are going into cardiac arrest.  He was using it to shock me, he wanted to know what Resistance cell I was working with, he refused to believe the gun I had was my grandfather's."

     "They wanted me to tell them where my parents hid their equipment," Halbern traced his fingers over the edges of her bullet wound.  "When I asked them what the hell they were talking about they took it out on Chloe."

     "I saw."  Misty shivered.

     "They didn't do it themselves, not how you're thinking.  The sick fucks used their guns.  Said they were going to shoot her there if I didn't start talking.  Then that one," he motioned to the dead Arab man, "looked like he was going to do the real thing."

     "I really think it's better for my sanity if I don't get the play-by-play commentary."

     "But how can people just be so cruel?  I mean, I didn't see any emotion at all that said they were not liking it.  They either didn't care or they liked it."  Halbern's frown grew.  His expression was a mix of horror and disbelief.  "It was like they were robots programmed to hurt her.  And their eyes, they looked so lifeless."

     Chloe came down the stairs in a parka jacket and jeans.  She had in her hands one of Halbern's long-sleeved sweatshirts and a long-sleeved flannel shirt that she gave to Misty.  "Misty," she said meekly, "that dead man in my room.  Did he...?"

     "He might have tried later," Misty replied.  "But I took care of that problem.  Thanks for leaving your scissors on the floor under your bed, Chloe.  First time I've ever been happy someone was lazy."

     "And to think my parents were going to make Chloe clean her room today," Halbern chuckled.

     Chloe stared at Misty's gunshot wound.  "Does... does it hurt much?"

     "I'd say so."  Misty took the shirt and pulled the arms on.  Halbern helped her button it up to below the neck.  "Chloe, get my gun for me?  And try not to faint when you touch it."

     "Don't try and shoot it yourself either," Halbern added.

     When Chloe nodded meekly and went to get the gun where Misty had dropped it, Misty looked back to Halbern.  "Remind me not to be sarcastic with her.  After what she went through just now, I don't think we need to be rough with her.  Not anymore."  Misty sat up and was helped to her feet by Halbern.  "I think I can walk to the car."  She began to walk to the front door with Chloe while trying to ignore the pain of the bullet still lodged in her body.  Halbern did not join them immediately.  She watched him walk over to the kitchen opening where his parents' bodies were laying.  "James?"

     Halbern knelt down on his haunches, balancing himself with his ankles.  He gazed into the lifeless eyes of his parents and tears began to come down his cheeks.  Misty walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder to be supportive.  Chloe was the last to the kitchen and said nothing when she got to Misty's right side, she merely stared at her dead parents.  When he finally spoke, Halbern used words he had not heard himself say in nearly ten years.  "Mommy, Daddy," he said sadly, with more than a hint of imminent choking in his voice, "I love you, and I'm going to miss you."  He kissed the index and middle fingers of his right hand and then pressed the same spot on those fingers to the cold lips of his parents.  He grabbed the kitchen table's covering sheet and laid it over their bodies.  He began to sniffle while pushing their limbs under the sheet.  A singular tear dropped from the edge of his chin, where it had rolled down from his left eye, and landed in the palm of his mother's right hand.  He took the hand for a moment and brought it up to his left cheek.  Her flesh was cold and pale and the touch felt nothing like the warm love of a mother that he had known before.  Halbern began crying openly and, despite her sense of urgency, Misty could not bring himself to ask him to leave.  Chloe knelt beside her brother and began to weep too.  He put his right arm over her neck and held his younger sister closer so they could cry together.

     It was a minute later, perhaps two, that Halbern stood to his full height.  He took a final look before turning back toward Misty, who was adjusting the shirt he had given her for making sure her wound was not bleeding.  "I... I'm sorry, I forgot all about your..."

     "I'd want a final moment with my parents too," she assured him.  "But can we go now?  I really don't want to know what kind of hospitality we'd get if they caught us again."

     Halbern looked back at his parents for one last moment.  "Yes, let's go."  He went toward the door.  "There's been enough death in this house for one day."

 

 

     Thousands of years before the state's political founding in the US, Minnesota's western half had been a massive lake and glacier.  Those glaciers retreated north following the Ice Age and left an open and flat plain with decent soil.  Moreso, the glaciers had carved a multitude of lakes into the terrain, connected by various streams and creeks to the main rivers or, for some of the other lakes, completely isolated.

     It was on one such lake that the Halbern house was located.  A dirt road that had been laid out by the locals for easier transport around the lake led to another small road where a two story retirement living complex had been built.  It was on a thirty acre piece of property, although the living structure itself only took up about seven of the acres.  The rest was reserved for indoor swimming pools, tennis and basketball courts, and exercise facilities for the elderly residents to use, as well as a small library of books and a computer room for the less energetic.  A cafeteria served lunches for those who did not want to go and get their own or cook their own.  And, as Misty Verdes had already known, a small medical staff was on hand should one of the elderly get injured or have a medical problem.

     Since the only way in was through the front door, that was where Halbern and Chloe had brought Misty in.  The gunshot wound was itself not lethal, but the pain of the bullet still in her body had sapped away Misty's physical strength, aided by her physical activities after the wound had been delivered and the electric shocks that had been delivered to her body at the beginning of the entire ordeal.  "I need a doctor!", Halbern shouted upon entering, Misty's left arm slumped over his shoulder.  "I've got a gunshot victim here!"

     The secretary looked up and gasped, "Good Lord Almighty!"  She yanked up the phone and keyed something in.  "Doctor Williams, I've got an emergency at the front!"

     An elderly man of considerable size noticed Chloe was faltering and came to Misty's right side, taking over for the smaller girl.  He looked at Misty's face and some realization came to him.  "Wait, you're Don Malley's granddaughter, aren't you?", he asked her.

     "That's me," she replied meekly.

     "My God, what happened to you?  Some stupid hunter shoot you?"

     "Can't tell," Misty replied hoarsely.  "I might get you all into trouble."

     The man nodded crisply.  "This way."  He pulled her to the right and into a primary hall, indicating for Halbern to follow.  Once in the primary hall they advanced for about twenty feet before making a left into a medical examination room.  "Put her on the bed," he told Halbern.  While they set Misty on the exam bed a small crowd gathered outside the door.  The doctor, in a traditional white medical overcoat and with a stethoscope, waded through them and into the exam room.  The elderly man tore open her flannel shirt and pointed to the gunshot wound.  "Looks like a small caliber round went in and hit her rib," he barked to the doctor.  He looked down at her and winked.  "Spent thirty years as a paramedic in Minneapolis."

     The doctor reached into a box of packaged sterilized wipes and pulled one out.  He ripped it out and unfolded the small towel.  "This is going..."

     "It's going to sting," Misty groaned.  "Yes, I know.  I've seen enough movies."

     A smile curled up on the doctor's face as he wiped it over the wound, drawing a hiss from her.  The sting she felt began to deaden as he continued.  "Nerve-deadening agent," he told her.  "So we can work around the surface of the wound without making you howl like a banshee."  When he was finished he picked up a first aid kit and removed a small pair of tweezers.  "This is probably going to hurt anyway.  Young man, I'd like you to hold her wrists."

     Halbern nodded and took her hands with his, both holding the other's wrists.  He leaned over her head and grinned a little.  "Don't worry, it probably won't..."

     The doctor put the tweezers into her flesh, bumping the edges of the wound and the opening in her flesh.  Misty screamed loudly when the tweezers got past the deadened nerves and into the active ones.  "Almost there," Doctor Williams said calmly.  Tears rolled down Misty's cheeks from the pain.  After about five seconds of fighting with the narrow space of the wound, the doctor got a grip on the bullet, and began pulling it out, forcing himself to ignore Misty's cries.  "And there we have it, a twenty-two round," the doctor said triumphantly as he examined the removed bullet.  "Your rib smashed it up."  He set it down in a small dish.  "Felt a bit soft.  I doubt it would get past the bone plate of an average human skull.  I don't think these rounds are for killing, so it wasn't a hunter..."

     Misty pulled the shirt up over her chest when she saw the people standing outside.  "If you want to see a pair of young tits, go read a porn mag," she grumbled irritably.

     Some of the observers began walking away.  More did so when a deep male voice growled, "Out of my way dammit!"  An elderly man of decent but failing built entered the room.  He had a full beard on his chin and jaw.  "What in the hell happened to you, Mebvy?"

     Halbern gave Misty a quizzical look while an annoying expression came on her face.  "Grandpa, it's Misty, not Mebvy."

     "Dammit, I told your mother that 'Misty' is not a good name for a girl."  Donald Malley frowned at her bare chest and stepped into the room.  "Showing off your female assets to those poor old saps for free?"

     "More like getting a twenty-two pulled out of her rib, Mister Malley," Doctor Williams answered, motioning to the bullet on the table.

     A sly grin crossed the old man's face.  "And how in the world did you get yourself shot, girl?  Were you teaching this kid here to shoot?"  Malley's hand went over toward Halbern.

     "Grandpa, that's not important right now."

     "So, it was one of those UN bastards who did it, wasn't it?  Wanted to have a taste and gave you a bullet for not lettin' him have it?  I hope you had that Eagle I gave you, would've given the fucker a nice surprise."

     "It wasn't that either," Misty groaned.  "If I tell you, who knows, you might get in trouble.  I just need to call Mom and Dad and warn them to lay low for a while."

     "Girl," Malley began with an exasperated tone, "I'm an old man.  They're not going to give a damn about me.  Same with Doc here.  So, you can tell me what happened.  We won't let these old crows know either, we'll say it was a hunter."

     Misty drew in a breath and went to answer negatively again, but Halbern cut in.  "UN Military officers came to my home while I was with Misty.  They killed my parents and began... questioning my sister Chloe.  They thought we were hiding Resistance agents are something.  Misty and I came over because Chloe had called when they came, and they took us prisoner as well.  Didn't like your granddaughter's Desert Eagle one bit."

     "They thought I was a Resistance fighter because I had it," Misty added wryly.

     "Yes, well, for the gun-hating Euro bastards running the UN, any warm-blooded American with a gun is a Resistance fighter," Malley grumbled.  "Which they ought to be anyway, but we have our fair share of chicken-shits."  He pointed to a red area on her upper chest.  "What happened here?"

     "Oh, nothing," Misty replied, "just one of those officers giving me a little electrical persuasion to tell me about a Resistance I know nothing about."  She looked over at Chloe, who had taken a seat and was staring into space.  "Better than the persuasion they used on Chloe, though."

     "And just how did you get away, girl?  I mean, you are here."  His face darkened.  "You didn't happen to leave any of them... alive did you?"

     "Well, let's see Grandpa," Misty brought her hand up and raised a finger as if to count off something, "I snuck some scissors behind my back to cut myself free, used the 'karate mumbo jumbo' you hate and a well-timed kick to the genitals to take down the guy who thought it was funny to light me up like a Christmas tree.  When he was down I stabbed him in the neck with his own knife, I'm pretty sure that killed him.  Then I used your gun to kill the other three, but the last one got me with her gun too."

     A smile crossed Malley's face.  "Mebvy, how many shots did it take you to get the three bastards down."

     "Three bullets, three shots."

     The old man pumped his fist with a sense of vindication.  "God damn I knew it was a good idea to get you that gun," he crowed.  "Three bullets for three dead Euros!  I'd have loved to have seen that!  It's no God damn wonder they hate people who are allowed to own guns, can't throw around people like they do back home!"

     "Grandpa, can we skip the NRA speech?"  Misty grimaced a little as her surface nerves began to tingle.  Doctor Williams finished fashioning a gauze cover for the bullet wound and brought it over to her.  As he put it on, she added, "But I'm afraid they'll find out I was there and take it out on Mom and Dad.  I need to warn them."

     "I'll call 'em up, don't worry," her grandfather assured her.  "I take it you're going to make a run for the river?"

     "I don't think we have a choice," Halbern answered.  "They knew our names.  And all they have to do is describe Misty to one of the locals for people to know who she is."

     "Well, head up to Perley," Malley answered.  "I heard the bridge there for going over the Red River into North Dakota is still up.  The Army never blew it because the Euro bastards haven't gotten to the town yet.  Just hit the gas when you get into town and shoot over the bridge."  He turned to Halbern.  "And the first thing you should do when you get there is enlist, young man.  At least Mebvy and your sister are girls, they have an excuse not to fight.  You're a healthy young man, you should be out there fighting for your nation, not porking my granddaughter.  There's plenty of time for porking her when you're on leave and when the war's over.  After all, getting laid is the God-given right of every victorious soldier."

     Halbern did not reply but Misty gave her grandfather a glare of infuriation.  "Grandpa, not everyone has to fight, you know."

     "If every American had said that seventy years ago we'd all be shouting 'Heil Hitler!' and you, my dear, would not be standing there," he retorted.  "My God, boy, you weren't even there to protect your parents."  He shook his head.  "By the way, where were your parents' guns?  I mean, why didn't they have them ready to shoot the bastards the instant they stepped in the door?"

     Halbern shifted uncomfortably.  "Well, sir, my parents didn't believe in owning guns or in violence."

     The old man sighed.  "No wonder they're dead.  Your family should've gotten guns the instant the news said those bastards stepped across the state line!  By God if those bastards are going to kill me I'll at least have my Remington twelve gauge in my hands when I go!"  He pointed a finger at Halbern's chest.  "And you, boy, should've signed up for the state Volunteers.  Don't you young people feel any patriotism at all?  This nation is fighting for it's life, dear boy, you should be willing to help save it!"

     "Grandfather, lay off of him!"  Misty stand up and pulled the flannel shirt's open front over her chest.  "You're right, James didn't sign up.  Because not everyone believes in fighting.  If they can't get enough people to sign up to save the country, then maybe the country shouldn't be saved?"

     "Your Filipino father made that same remark to me when this all began, and I don't care for the attitude," he retorted.  "Look at your chest, Mebvy.  If more young men had answered their call to duty you'd never have been shot and this poor girl would..."  He pointed over to Chloe and a frown crossed his face.  "What did they do to her anyway?"

     "Grandpa, remember what you said about a boy's gun and a girl's holster when you found out I was going to take sex ed?"

     Recalling the dirty joke made the old man snicker and grin a little.  "Yeah?"

     "They put real guns in her holster instead of their personal guns."

     The grin was wiped straight off Malley's face, which promptly turned a shade or two whiter.  "Sick bastards," he muttered.  He slumped into a chair beside Chloe and took her right hand as gently as he could.  "Young lady, listen, I'm... I'm sorry if you think I'm making fun of your parents.  I'm just trying to talk some sense into your brother.  I'm sure your folks were wonderful people and that you loved them a lot."  When Chloe only nodded a bit to acknowledge his words he turned back to Halbern.  "At the very least, you should sign up to avenge what they did to your family, boy.  Look what they did to your younger sister, if the Nazis had done that to my aunt I know my father would've killed a division of Krauts with his bare hands.  By God, I want to come out of retirement now myself, if the Army'd have an old man like me."

     "Grandpa, listen," she knelt beside him.  "I need you to warn Mom and Dad.  Tell them I'll be waiting for them in Dakota.  And, try to take care of yourself.  As for James..."  Misty kissed her grandfather on the forehead.  "I'm sure he'll think about what you've said."

     "Are you going to leave her here?"  Malley nodded his head toward Chloe.  "She's not in her right mind, taking her along might not be so smart.  And she might get hurt."

     "I wish we could," Halbern answered, "but I don't want to leave her out of my sight.  And I don't want them to catch her again.  God knows what they'd do to her."

     "I understand boy, I do."  Malley stood and helped Chloe to her feet.  "Maybe she can get some shrink help on the other side."

     "That's what I'm hoping for."  Halbern looked at Misty, who was finishing the buttoning up of the flannel shirt's front.  He kissed her on the cheek.  "I'll be out getting the car started.  Don't be too long."

     After he stepped out of the door Malley shook his head.  "Kids these days, they love their freedom but they have no appreciation of what has to be done to keep it sometimes."

     "Maybe you don't like the fact that he's not a soldier, Grandpa," she replied testily, "but I don't care.  I love him and he loves me.  That's all that matters to me."

     Malley sighed and nodded his head.  "Oh, I know.  And, well, I just think it speaks ill of his character that he's willing to stay in the safety of your parents' home and take his pleasure in bed with you, but not go out into a foxhole and defend his country when it needs him."

     "Grandpa, I want James to be alive when the war ends, not some corpse in a military cemetary," she replied.  "And the only thing I've seen consistant about war is that it kills people.  I don't want anything to do with it."

     Malley opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it.  "I can't say I like your opinions," he finally said, "but I don't want you to leave like that.  So why don't you give me a hug and then go and get to safety with your boy."

     Misty nodded and put her arms around him as he did her.  The strength of his hug surprised her at first.  But she realized that, for all he knew, he would never see her alive again, and that thought made her match his strength.  "Your mother was always my favorite," Malley said with a slight grin.  "She was a lot like her mother in turn.  And I think you got all of the things I liked about both.  A little harder in the head than them," he cackled, "but that must be something from your father's side.  Nothing wrong with a headstrong girl anyway.  Just makes you harder to deal with for old and slow men like me."  He bit into his lower lip.  "I'll call your folks as soon as you leave, don't you worry about it.  Just make sure you don't make me a liar when I tell them you're waiting for them in Dakota."

     "I won't, Grandpa," she promised.  Misty kissed him on the left cheek and backed out of the room.

     "And make sure you keep up your target practice," he shouted after her.  "So that the next bastard who tries to mess with you will get a nine millimeter to the balls!"

     His parting words made Misty laugh all the way to the car.

 

 

     The flatlands of the Red River Valley area raced along the sides of the lone car on the west-heading highway toward Perley, a early 90s-model Ford sedan in which Halbern was at the wheel.  To his right Misty looked back at Chloe in the back seat, who was applying disinfectant between her legs.  "We've got what, four miles to go?"

     "I think."  Halbern kept his eyes on the road wearily.  "See anything?"

     "Grass.  Grass.  And the occasional bush or tree."

     "Good."  His hands remained tense over the wheel.  After a few moments, he said, "Misty, about your grandfather, I have one question."

     "What?"

     "'Mebvy'?"

     Misty rolled her eyes and settled her head on her right hand, her right arm supported by the door's armrest.  "Misty Bethania Verdes," she replied.  "M-B-V."

     "Ah, I get it now," he answered.  "I prefer Misty."

     "So does everyone else except for my grandfather," she replied.  "He doesn't think it's a proper name."

     "Well, there are a lot of things I don't think we agree on.  Besides," he grinned mischievously, "I think the name Misty helps with your mystique.  It helps make you irresistably sexy."

     A similar grin crossed her face.  "You are a character, James," she giggled.  "Now keep your eyes on the road."

     They came up on the border town of Perley.  No cars were present, but as they passed by a small intersection Misty looked to her right and saw a BTR-70 APC with a UN globe-and-crossed-swords insignia emblazoned on the front.  Moreso, she was certain they had seen the car go by.  "James, try and pick it up..."

     "Why?"  Halbern looked into the back window just as the BTR-70 turned onto the road in their direction.  "Oh, that's why!"  He slammed his foot on the gas and the car lurched foreward as it accelerated.  They raced on toward the river, which was now less than a mile away.  As they pulled up to the bridge Misty could feel her heart pound.  She clenched her fist and tried to will the car over to the other side, the American line...

     But as they pulled up on the bridge Misty realized that not all was as it was thought to be.  On the other side of the bridge another BTR-70 was rolling along.  A machine gunner on the top was firing on what were apparently American defensive positions.  Armed soldiers jumped out of the back of the APC and hit the deck.  "Oh shit!  Oh shit!"  Halbern pushed the gas pedal all the way down and tried to control the lurching car, which barely shot past the APC.  As it did a nearby UN soldier fired at the car.  One bullet punctured the rear left tire of the car and blew it out.  Halbern struggled to keep control of the car, accidentally taking it off the road and about two hundred meters from the American line.  Misty looked out her side and opened the door even as the APC advanced on them, while Halbern jumped out his side.  "Chloe!  Get out of the car!"  He hit the unlock switch and opened the rear door.  Chloe was unresponsive at first as he pulled her out.  When a bullet crashed through the opposite windshield and hit Halbern's left shoulder, her survival instincts made her begin removing herself while Halbern yelped at the pain in his shoulder.  Misty crawled along the side of the car, having barely avoided fire directed at her, and hunched on the other side.  Halbern hunched down beside the trunk with Chloe, who was staring at his injured arm.  "It's nothing," he assured her.

     "James, you've been shot," she murmured.  "We're going to die, aren't we?"

     "You're not if I've got anything to say about it."

     "Over here!"

     They all straightened their heads and noticed a squad of soldiers in one of the trenches.  "Get over here, we'll cover you!", one of them shouted as the others fired their M-16 assault rifles toward the enemy soldiers.

     Misty looked over at Halbern.  "Ready?"

     Halbern lifted his hand and counted down from five with his fingers.  After he balled his fist he shouted, "Now!"  They all took off toward the American line at full speed, Halbern dragging Chloe along with him since she was nowhere as fast as they were.  Misty's survival instincts demanded she push herself beyond her limit, but her concern for Halbern made her go slower than she could have.  She kept looking back at him even as the BTR-70 they had barely evaded rumbled over the car and crushed it.  A moment later a handheld Javelin launcher from a nearby American trench fired.  The armor-piercing missile crashed through the BTR-70 and caused it to explode, killing the occupants and showering debris on nearby UN soldiers.  Under fire some of the UN soldiers retreated behind the flaming carcass of the BTR-70.

     With the trench about ten meters away Misty stopped and turned, urging Halbern onward.  He had picked up Chloe in his arms and run with her extra weight, which was slowing him even more.  Misty could see why when she noticed blood flowing down Chloe's left leg from where a round had pierced her calf.  A large soldier clambered out of the trench and over the pile of protective sandbags.  "Give her to me!", he shouted to Halbern.  When Halbern got to him he handed Chloe to the soldier, who heaved her up like he would a sandbag and brought her into the trench.  Halbern and Misty followed him to the trench.  As they got up to it Halbern looked back and saw a UN soldier aiming at them.  Without thinking he grabbed Misty from behind as they clambered to the sandbag barrier.  As her feet hit the barrier and made her trip a trio of assault rifle rounds pierced Halbern's back, spewing blood backward through his shirt.  He cried out as the two landed in the trench between some of the soldiers.  "Medic!", one of the soldiers shouted in a shrill voice.  "Wounded civilian!", she added quickly.

     "James!  James!"  Misty got to her knees and stood over him.  "James, are you okay?!"

     "You're right Misty," he gasped.  "Being shot God damned hurts."

     "Easy boy," the large soldier murmured.  Chloe knelt beside him on the other side of Halbern.  "We've got a medic coming for you, she'll get you to the battle docs ASAP."

     "James, you're going to be all right," Misty assured him, running a hand through Halbern's dirty blond hair, which was now dirty in more ways than one.  She tried to grin even as she saw his eyes close.  "James?"

     The medic came up with a pair of privates and a stretcher.  "Back hit?", she asked.

     "Yes," Misty answered.

     The medic lifted his shirt and examined the bullet wounds.  Halbern coughed up some blood as she did so.  "He's lungshot," she murmured.  "Get him on the stretcher!"  As her assistants put Halbern on the stretched she saw Chloe's leg wound.  "You," she pointed to Misty, "bring her with us.  We can't have civilians on the frontlines."

     Misty nodded and heaved Chloe into her arms.  Fortunately for Misty, who was athletic but not a weightlifter, Chloe was a light teenage girl with a thin frame, and while she was a burden Misty's desire to be with Halbern overrode anything else.  As they scrambled down the trench toward a back exit out of the range of enemy forward weapons, Misty heard a massive explosion and turned to see blood and body parts explode from one of the trench sections, the result of a direct artillery shell hit on the trench.  And Grandpa says war is glory.  This isn't glory; this is butchery!

     As the sounds of shell explosions, gunfire, flame throwers, and screaming dead continued to reach them, the rear of the trench came and led them onto the normal flat ground.  The battlefield hospital was nearby, marked by olive green tends and large red cross signs which served to mark the tent's purpose and, at least for international law, demand that it remain unmolested.  Once inside the tent the stench of infected wounds with human sweat and blood was so powerful that Misty began breathing through her mouth.  The medic laid Halbern down at the triage unit, where the triage doctor was working on a light-skinned girl who seemed to be about Misty's age, or perhaps slightly older.  The girl's condition was horrible, her bare chest a burnt mess, but she was alive, as her face was a frozen contortion of unbearable agony.  The triage doctor looped a green armband around her upper right arm and moved on to Halbern.  Without a word he went to work examining Halbern, first by checking his eyes for response with a light, who coughed up more blood, while an older-looking sergeant and some others walked up and moved the girl he had just examined.  The sergeant looked over at the boy.  "Poor kid," he muttered upon noticing Halbern's civilian clothing.  "Must've taken a wrong turn."

     The doctor ignored the sergeant, never meeting Halbern's eyes as he pushed him onto his side and examined the bullet wounds from the back.  He brought Halbern back onto his back and lifted his shirt to check the front, where a couple of the bullets had passed through and left front entry wounds.  Once he compared them to the ones on the back he used the stethoscope to examine his lungs and his breathing.  "He's got a bullet in his lung," the doctor finally said coldly.  "And he's too far gone for surgery."  He took a red armband and began looping it on Halbern's left arm.

     "Wait!"  Misty stepped forward and remained on Halbern's right side.  Her eyes had widened and the jade color in them had begun to dullen from the day's ordeals, which had sapped her strength.  "Aren't you going to help him?!"

     "Young lady, the wound is fatal," the doctor snapped.  The medic brought in another patient, a young man in a combat uniform who was howling in agony over the burns on his left arm and shoulder.  "I can't save him here.  Even in a real hospital saving him would be difficult, and here I've got too many patients, like that young man behind you."

     No!  James can't die!  This isn't right!  Misty shook her head as tears began to form on her eyes.  "No!  You can't let him die!"

     "Girl, I'm doing my job."

     "I thought a doctor was supposed to save people, not let them die!"  Misty looked from the doctor to Halbern, who choked up another spurt of blood and was beginning to rasp in his breathing as blood in his lungs drowned him.

     "I'm also in charge of triage," the doctor responded irritably, "and I have to choose between patients the other doctors can save and patients the other doctors cannot save.  And this boy cannot be saved!  And if you'll excuse me, there is a young man behind you who might be able to be saved if I can get to him in time."

     In her desperation Misty remembered that she had slipped her pistol into her shorts during the car trip.  She yanked the gun out and held it toward the doctor.  The sergeant beside the doctor stared in disbelief while she tried to keep the barrel aimed at the doctor.  Her hands and aim trembled from the chaotic feelings of despair and rage in her heart.  She refused to accept that the boy she felt such deep and personal love for was about to die, and all of their future dreams going with him into the abyss.  Misty loved James Halbern with every ounce of her soul; contemplating his death was worse for Misty than contemplating her own.  "I.  won't.  let.  you.  kill.  him," she stuttered.  "You've got to save him!"

     "Young lady, please, don't make this harder than it has to be," the sergeant asked her.  He reached his open hand forward.  "Please, give me the gun.  You're not helping anything."

     Misty kept the gun on the triage doctor, or more importantly, she tried to.  But her hands were trembling so violently that her aim rattled, and if she pulled the trigger it was most likely that she would miss completely.  "You've got to save him!" she screamed again.  Her tears formed a constand streams down her cheeks as Misty lost all composure she had before.  "I can't lose him, not now!  Not after all this!"

     "Mi... Misty?"

     Halbern's right arm reached for her.  Misty kept the gun in her right hand, making it tremble even more, as she reached for his hand with her left hand.  "James, I'm going to save you!", she promised him.  "It'll be okay!"

     "No...  Misty, I love you, please remember that."  He choked up one final blob of blood.  "Please..."

     "James, I love you too.  James!"  Misty watched his hand fall lifeless to his side before she could reach it.  "James!"  She dropped the gun and fell on her knees beside him.  "No!  You can't die!"

     The doctor had by now moved on to the other patient when Misty's attention had been diverted, and as before he paid no attention.  The sergeant moved up and picked the gun off the ground.  He stuffed it in his waist and looked at Misty's weeping form with eyes of sorrow and sympathy.  Misty buried her face in his side with her left arm crooked at the elbow and under her head.  Her right arm dangled from her shoulder for a moment before she straightened it and began nudging Halbern's body.  "James, wake up," she cried.  "You have to wake up!"  Misty's entire world crashed around her.  Her soul began to split under a horrible agony that threatened to completely engulf her.  It placed her mind under such intense duress that it threatened to snap under the pressure.  Everything she had hoped for in life was gone.  A future of love and security had been replaced with loneliness and insecurity.  There would be no more fun and joy.  Halbern would no longer be there for the playful sparring and love-making, he would no longer whisper his love for her in her ear, or to rub her body with his own.  Misty had lost the one male who understood her, who loved her for who she was instead of her body.  Halbern loved her with such intensity that it seemed to dwarf her parents' love for her.

     And it was gone.  All of it.  Swept away by the vicious tide of death.  None of it could ever return from the dark abyss; all that remained were tender memories of laughs and love.  Misty's heart ached so terribly at her loss that she thought it was going to quit on her, and she did not care if it did.  To live a life without Halbern would be a horrible Hell on Earth, a damnation placed on her by an uncaring war.  A life in which her loss would subject Misty's soul to an unending and excruciating torture more horrifying than anything the UN military officer may have done to her earlier.

     Despite the multitude of tears she was shedding, Misty did not open her eyes and look at Halbern.  If she did so Misty would go mad with grief.  All that was there was a reminder of what she had lost.  James Halbern's lifeless eyes stared into space, devoid of the light that had drawn in Misty's heart so easily and made her love for him fierce and passionate.  The heart that had at one time beat intensely from his love for Misty now remained silent.  The arms that had held Misty close in bed, the hands that had caressed her skin, now lay still and unmoving.  The flesh that had warmed her would soon grow cold.  His lips had already begun to turn a shade of blue, devoid of the warmth Misty had felt when Halbern would kiss her body.

     For the entire time, Chloe had merely stared into space from a position near the entrance.  But now she walked over to Halbern's side and knelt by Misty.  The realization of just how much she had lost overpowered her feelings of victimization and brought awareness back to her.  The pain in her leg and pelvis were dwarfed by the pain Chloe now felt in her heart.  Chloe draped her arms around Misty and began to cry too.  "He's gone," she sobbed pitifully.  "Mom and Dad, James, they're all gone."

     "James can't die," Misty wept.  "We were going to do so much.  We were..."

     The sergeant took a sheet and lowered it over Halbern's body.  Before he did so he closed Halbern's lifeless eyes, not wanting their mute gaze to further injure the souls of the young women crying at his side.  Misty and Chloe ignored his act; instead they held onto each other closely and continued to weep for their loss.

 

 

     Darkness had fallen on the solemn battlefield and an uneasy calm now reigned; through hard defense and the arrival of armored reserves the line had held, the UN forces had opted to withdraw back across the bridge and into Minnesota.  With the battle ended the battlefield medics and doctors had been able to concentrate themselves on tending to the wounded and getting the critically wounded to dedicated hospitals and medical centers in the rear areas.

     In the surgeons' tent Doctor Bhatti Dasgupta was washing his hands from a field basin, having already taken a swift shower and gotten a change of clothes.  Doctor Dasgupta was a small man in his late thirties.  As his name indicated he was of Indian birth with Hindu heritage, with the customary brown eyes and dark hair of the people in his region.  Stubble had appeared on his normally clean-shaven chin and neck from over a day of work in the battlefield hospital unit.  Regulations would make him shave it off but Dasgupta lacked the time, he was due to examine more of the wounded within a few minutes and barely had the time to freshen up after a tense and horrible day.  It was a testament to the futility of his work that he was repairing the bodies of young men and women just for them to go and get themselves wounded again, or killed, in another fight.  And then there were those who died before he could save them, or those whom the triage doctor had been forced to leave for dead because of the multitude or severity of their wounds.  Today was different in that a civilian boy had gotten caught in the fire, fleeing from enemy-held territory, and had died from a gunshot to the lungs.  One of the girls with him, apparently a girlfriend, had been so hysterical as to try and force the triage doctor to save him at gunpoint.  She had been crushed by his death, and only after hours of crying by his body had she managed to fall asleep.  Dasgupta looked over to his bed and saw where the girl was laid out, on his order, so that she could at least get a semi-comfortable sleep following what was probably the worst day of her life.  Her face's tanned skin, telling of her own non-Caucasian genetic heritage, was cold on the surface from exposure to the cold Dakota air, but the blanket over her body kept her warm.  Her face showed no traces of the tears she had shed earlier.

     Then his mind went to the other girl, who had identified herself as the dead boy's sister, and he shuddered at the recollections of her wounds.  Patching up the bullet wound through her calf had been easy and the effects of the wound would be gone within a few weeks; the damage to her soul by the violent rape she had suffered would last a lifetime.  Dasgupta shook his head and sighed; the dead were beyond his power to help, and guilt could not be allowed to prevent him from aiding the living, who could still be helped.  Dasgupta did not feel guilt per se for the deaths he had seen, but he felt what he believed to be the collective guilt of mankind.  The race that had used it's capacity for reason to build great wonders the world over, establish vast and powerful civilizations, and harness the powers of steam, combustion, and the atom.  A race that had left it's cradle and reached into the heavens themselves.  And yet, also the race that had committed monstrous cruelties to itself and had turned it's own great achievements into weapons of destruction so great and powerful as to begin to rival nature itself, and even now was engaging in self-immolation on a scale unprecedented in human history.  Dasgupta was reminded of the Zoroastrian religion, and the belief that all souls were caught in a battle between good and evil.  And he could not help but wonder if, once again, the forces of evil had asserted themselves in the world.  After all, what else but evil could create such destruction and death?

     "Doctor?"

     The voice from the tent opening interrupted Dasgupta's philosophical thinking.  He looked over and saw a trio of men, all Caucasian and with clean uniforms, standing at the opening of the tent.  He did not salute; as a civilian doctor volunteering his time he was still given some freedoms that military personnel would not be permitted; but he did straighten himself to be respectful.  He recognized the rank insignia of a Captain on the lead man, while the other two had the stripes of enlisted personnel.  The Captain's name tag read "Banner".  "Yes Captain Banner?"

     "I have heard you had a problem here earlier," Captain Banner stated.

     Dasgupta blinked.  "You could say that.  There were many casualties."

     Banner smiled back at him, the smile a twisted and condescending expression that raised Dasgupta's ire.  "No, I don't mean that, Doctor," the man said in an equally condescending tone, as if addressing a small child.  "I heard you had someone hold up the triage ward at gunpoint and threaten to kill one of your doctors."

     Something set off alarms in Dasgupta's mind.  The glint in Banner's eyes, his speech pattern, he acted as if he was addressing someone of inferior status to him.  It would not have surprised Dasgupta.  In the previous decade the American white supremacist movement had regained some political ground.  They had switched their tactics from claims of genetic superiority to that of patriotism, by convincing others that only "native-born Americans" could appreciate the nation's freedoms and properly defend them.  The definition did not automatically exclude non-whites, but the right-wing nature of the movement also happened to brand those who were leftists as traitors to the nation of one form or another, and American politics still had the majority of non-whites centered in the left-wing faction of politics with some exceptions.  As an Indian immigrant Dasgupta was obviously not to their level, and had been treated with severe suspicion due to India's enthusiastic support of the UN.  Most of their accusations, both spoken and unspoken, were baseless; Dasgupta held dual citizenship before the war and renounced his Indian citizenship following the outbreak of hostilities.  America was his new nation, a country he had come to admire and love, and he held no loyalties to the pro-Dharuna regime in New Delhi.  With a slow nod Dasgupta replied, "Yes, the civilian boy who died there had his girlfriend with him, and she was not in her right mind when the triage doctor decided he could not be saved.  From the report by Doctor Peller and Sergeant Wilcox, the incident barely lasted ten seconds before she lowered the gun."

     "I see."  Banner lowered his head.  "Well, I'd like to know where that girl is right now."

     "She is resting right here," Dasgupta replied, motioning to the cot where Misty was asleep.  "I gave her some medication for her wounds.  She had a gunshot wound in her chest.  And some burns and bruising."

     Banner nodded slowly and turned to the men that accompanied him.  "Corporal, please wake the young lady up."

     When the young man to Banner's right took a step forward, Dasgupta put his hand up.  "She needs her rest.  She's had a terrible ordeal."

     "She'll get plenty of rest when we get her to the stockade."

     An even larger set of alarms went off in Dasgupta's head.  "Stockade?"

     "Yes.  We will be placing her under arrest for assualt," the man replied candidly.

     "Wait!"  Dasgupta backed up to avoid being pushed out of the way by the advancing soldier.  "The girl was in a moment of extreme duress.  There was no harm done, and I don't think Doctor Peller will want to press charges."

     "We are in a war, Doctor Dasgupta, and while I do not know how the Indian Army would handle something like this, here in America we arrest people who point guns at military doctors for doing their duty," Banner replied snidely, emphasizing Dasgupta's background as if it were important to the discussion.

     "These are extenuating circumstances."

     Without seeming to acknowledge what Dasgupta said, he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper.  "The judge will determine that," he finally answered.  Banner nodded and the man he sent forward began to shake Misty forcefully.  He walked over as she sat up and asked bluntly, "What is your name?  Your full name?"

     Misty pulled a few strands of her hair out of her eyes and stifled a yawn.  "Misty Bethania Verdes," she replied with a small yawn.

     "Ah.  And you live somewhere near here?"

     "Detroit Lakes area of Minnesota," she answered.  She looked up at Dasgupta and asked, "How is Chloe?"

     "Come with me young lady," Banner stated coldly.  He and the corporal pulled her to her feet and the corporal brought out a pair of handcuffs.  "Don't make a scene, either."

     "What's going on?"  Misty saw the glint of the handcuffs just as the corporal behind her pulled her left arm behind her back and put one of the cuffs around her left wrist.

     Banner clearned his throat and stood tall, to emphasize the five inch height difference between them and intimidate her.  "Miss Verdes, you are under arrest for assault."

     "What?!"  Misty did not resist her right wrist being shackled to the left wrist.  "No!  I... I have to stay here with Chloe!  James would have..."

     "You shouldn't have pointed a gun at an American officer then, girl," Banner snapped.  He nodded again and the man behind her put a hand on her left shoulder and began to push slightly, enough to prompt her to walk out of the tent.

     As they walked out, Misty asked, "What about my rights?"

     "State of emergency along all the states in the war zone, girl," Banner replied.  "We don't have to read you any of your rights, because you don't have any."

     For some reason, while walking to Banner's Humvee, Misty wondered if perhaps it would have been better after all to stay in UN territory.

 

 

Sigfried Glacier Reserve

Environs, Tharkad City

Tharkad, District of Donegal, Lyran Alliance

17 December 2015 S.E.C.

6 October 3058 I.S.C.

 

     Night had long set upon the region around Tharkad City and Victor Steiner-Davion was still hard at work in the lounge room of the chalet he had taken residence in.  The chalet that his sister Katherine had arranged for Victor was steeped in recent family history, but not good history.  It had been the favorite home of the late Alessandro Steiner, who had in his days as Archon been a cold-hearted tyrant who abused his power for his own gain and had been displaced by his cousin and Victor's maternal grandmother, the original Katrina Steiner.  What Katherine did not know was that Victor was no stranger to the chalet and had used it extensively during his study at the Nagelring ten years before; thus his thoughts of the place rested upon his youth, a time long past him.

     Ten years is a long time, he mused to himself in the otherwise-empty lounge room.  For him ten years had seen him go from a cadet to the ruler of a major interstellar realm of over a hundred worlds.  He had seen the Clans come, the internal revolution and schism of ComStar, renewed hostilities with the Capellans, and the dissolution of his parents' grand union.  The destruction of the union brought him the most anguish, particularly the reminder that his mother's murder had been the cause for it's dissolution.  Many Lyrans, though not all, had chosen him as the "obvious" suspect.  It was a terrible feeling to be seen as having committed matricide, especially when one felt such love for his mother as Victor still did for the dearly departed Melissa.

     Victor looked down at a report he had just received from ComStar.  His people on New Avalon had responded quickly with a preliminary report of how much equipment could be shipped to Arc-Royal and the rift within the next month.  His returning JumpShip fleet, most of which had been seized by his diabolical sister when she seceded from the Federated Commonwealth, would make the going easier, but while he held great concern for the situation there he also could not just send mass numbers of JumpShips to ferry the supplies to the rift and back.  Recent discussions had called for an organized chain of supply, using the JumpShip fleets of the existing nations plus ComStar to create pseudo-circuits between industrial plants and supply depots and Arc-Royal.  Since the Smoke Jaguars were the target Victor was looking at hitting, moving the Inner Sphere's troops to the Combine would further complicate the situation.  He found himself doubting that any of the Inner Sphere's powers outside of his sister could get significant amounts of material to the planet in due time.  He considered having the 4th Davion Guards depart Fort Loudon and redeploy to the world, but moving an entire RCTof ten regiments took up it's own fair share of JumpShip resources.  In addition, his sister Katherine controlled the world and would probably endeavor to tie up the redeployment just to slight him.

     In a nutshell, powering the counterinvasion against the Clans and supplying this new Terra, this "Scorched Earth", was going to be a royal pain in the ass.

     "Enjoying yourself, Victor?"

     The unexpected voice of Phelan prompted Victor to turn his head toward the door.  It now stood open slightly and permitted Phelan to stand in the doorway.  He was clad in a matching gray parka and trousers.  "Mind if I come in?"

     "Not at all."  Victor picked up a small glass which had ordinary tap water in it.  He used it to wet his lips and take a small drink for the benefit of his throat.  "Ranna enjoyed the skiing, hopefully?"

     "She did.  It's one of those lost arts amongst the Clans."  Phelan ignored his use of a contraction and pulled the parka jacket off, revealing a brown shirt beneath.  He put the parka over the back of one of the drink bar chairs and took a seat in a love seat opposite Victor.  "Very comfortable," he noted.  "Going over shipping schedules?"

     Victor nodded and rubbed his forehead.  "Giving priority to the shipments to this 'Scorched Earth' is going to be a pain.  Especially when we begin moving troops and supplies into position to make our own attack."

     "Then we should deliver what we can now."  Phelan pulled his right leg up and set it over his left leg.  "They have their own special forces, we will also use those forces to raid against forward Clan bases and seize their 'Mechs."

     "So we will have them steal 'Mechs from the Clans," Victor chuckled.  "You mentioned as much in the first day's conference."

     "I would prefer the term 'pre-emptive salvage', but that also works," Phelan responded.  "It will involve training their people in 'Mech piloting and bypassing a 'Mech's security checks, but considering that they're going to need every 'Mech they can get..."

     "How many 'Mechs do they have now?", Victor asked.

     "By now?  If Marco and the Wolf Spiders have finished their raid, they should have a company or so worth of 'Mechs.  Add that to whatever my father can scrape up."

     "The Clans definitely have the leg up on this."  Victor took another sip before setting the glass down.  He picked up the noteputer and began going over it again.  "A part of me questions putting too much effort into this.  They're one world, highly populated yes, but only a percentage of the people in the Federated Commonwealth who are under threat.  How can I justify inflicting hardship on my people by diverting JumpShips needed for commerce and the civilian economy for the job of carrying weapons of war to a people we know little of.  The strategic location of their planet isn't the answer to my questions.  But when I think of it, I begin thinking of Rebecca Harverson and those who suffered like her.  And I realize that my humanity is what requires me to do this."

     "I've had similar thoughts."  Phelan stood up and went to the bar.  "Glasses?"

     "Upper cabinent," Victor replied while reading over the noteputer.  "You know, when you told us that girl's age, I couldn't help but think about Yvonne."

     "I knew that would get to you."  Phelan pulled the glass out of the cabinent and opened up the icebox.  "I take it you don't have any Timbiqui Dark available?"

     "No.  But I do have some of the finest wine from the vineyards on New Avalon."

     "No wine, not in the mood."  Phelan found a particularly interesting looking bottle with Japanese kanji characters written on it.  "And what is this?  A gift from Omi?"

     "Hohiro, actually.  It's a bottle of sake."  Victor jotted down an item on the noteputer.  "So far I've only been able to find a partial circuit from some of the worlds in the Addicks and Archenar PDZs to Arc-Royal.  It doesn't help that some of the ships the circuit would rely on belong to my loving sister."

     "Maybe you can link up your supplies with Theodore's instead?", Phelan said as he fished out another bottle.  "Ah, the good and heavy stuff.  A Rasalhague PPC."

     "Heavy drinking, Phelan?"

     "No, just a little night cap before I go wind down."  Phelan opened the bottle and emptied a few centiliters of the drink into the cup.  He pulled the glass up to his lips and took a quick swig.  His face twisted and his neck twitched.  After setting the glass back down Phelan said, "Victor, don't we have another meeting session tomorrow at about eight?"

     "Yes."

     "It's going on midnight, don't you think you should go get some sleep?"

     "Not tired."

     Phelan rolled his eyes and picked up the glass.  He walked back to the love seat he had occupied before.  "Victor, there are two things I've noticed about you that have never changed."

     "Those would be?"

     "For one thing, you are the shortest head of state since Napoleon in Ancient Terra," Phelan said with a mischievous grin.  "And I never knew that either the Steiner or Davion bloodlines had dwarfism in their genes."

     "Ha.  Ha.  Ha."  Victor's false laugh was purposely dull, both to convey sarcasm and because he was still reading over the list.  He tapped another note in before adding, "And the other?"

     "The second is that you are the worst workaholic I have ever seen.  Even by Clan standards."

     "And you think you're delivering fresh news?"  Victor laughed harshly.  "Everyone says that about me."

     "That's because it's true," Phelan retorted.  "Sometimes I wish you would just say 'To hell with it' and spend a decent evening with Omi.  It might help you get just a tad looser."

     Victor's head shot up.  His eyes flashed angrily.  "Do not joke about that, Phelan.  Don't you think I'm under enough temptation as it is?!  Every time I see her I feel that urge and I can't do a damned thing about it."

     "Dammit, Victor, one of these days you're going to snap!  It's not healthy keeping that feeling bottled in!"  Phelan took a sip from the glass.  "At least in the Clans people don't worry about this kind of..."

     "Phelan, if you like the Clans so much, why don't you go back to them?", Victor said wearily.  "I think if I hear one more glowing comment about the Clans I will puke."

     Phelan rolled his eyes.  "Victor, be a little open-minded.  Not everything about the Clans is bad."

     "A little more open-minded?  For the last eight years I'd done nothing but fight the Clans.  I had to watch my first command on Trellwan get annihilated by them, I fought the Clans on Twycross and on Alyina, where my Revenants got decimated, and finally, I had to rescue Hohiro from the Nova Cats on Teniente.  Then I spent the next six years of my life trying to maintain the peace with the Clans while building up to fight them.  This forced me to go through with my father's God-forsaken plan to replace Joshua Marik with a double, and as a result, I had my nation cut in two and my people lost lives in the Marik-Liao assault on the Sarna March.  And I couldn't even move back into the Chaos March and stop the fighting because I had to remain focused on the Clan threat!  So don't give me the God damned 'open-minded' speech!"

     Phelan's nostrils flared during Victor's tirade.  With measured breaths he controlled his response.  "Are you finished yet?"

     "Yes, I am."

     A short pause followed with neither willing to continue an argument.  "Why does it seem," Phelan continued, "that each time you and I try to get into a meaningful conversation, we end up barking at each other."

     "Maybe it's just because, deep down, I really don't like you," Victor responded with a sarcastic grin.  "As a person, of course.  We are just too different."

     Phelan considered his answer for a moment, restraining the chuckling he felt the urge to do in response.  "Point taken," he finally answered.  "So, we were talking about what again?"

     "Scorched Earth."  Victor tapped the noteputer again.  "And how sick we feel that for all intents they are being used as cannon fodder to buy us time in our own war with the Clans."

     Phelan nodded slowly.  "Yes.  But, I have to say, I think we will be pleasantly surprised by their performance."

     "In what way?"

     "To put it simply, Victor," Phelan put his left hand on the knee of the same side, "I think the people of this planet are made of a sterner stuff than we give them credit for.  And, when you think of all the old military doctrines and disciplines they have that have fallen out of favor in the Inner Sphere or with the Clans over the previous few centuries, I think the Clans are going to be in for a very nasty shock once their armies are even remotely brought up to speed."

     "There's more to it than that."  Victor sighed and set the noteputer down.  "These past couple of months, ever since I got your first message about these rifts, I've been wondering on what effect they'll have on history.  On the way we perceive things."

     "Just what are you talking about?"

     "What I mean is," Victor took a sip of water to wet his throat again before continuing, "Twenty-First Century Earth has a different mindset than we do.  The Inner Sphere has spent centuries with nobles in key positions in governments, limited voting powers for the people, it's something that's developed ever since Michael Cameron published his Peer List in the twenty-fourth century.  Even the most democratic planets are extensively controlled by the nobles.  But these people are mostly without them, very few nations on Earth in that time frame had nobility and royal families.  They were republics, not even in the Roman sense like the Lyran Alliance and Free Worlds League sometimes appear, but true republics with no bloodlines to determine political status.  Even the son or daughter of the lowest worker could become a head of state."

     "History was never my strong suit," Phelan admitted.  "And I'm wondering if perhaps you're just saying this because, deep down, you'd love to ride off into the sunset after the war, abdicate the throne, and live a quiet and prosperous life with Omi."

     "You'd be surprised how tempting the story of Cincinnatus is for me right now," Victor sighed.  "The chance to do my duty for the Federated Commonwealth and my people, then leave the throne to Morgan, or maybe Peter if he ever resurfaces, so I can go off and live free."

     "What about Arthur?"

     Victor laughed.  "Arthur?  No, Arthur I think lacks the patience for leadership in that way.  Although if Peter doesn't show back up he would get it."

     "You forget to mention that he lacks the brains," Phelan chuckled.  "He is the dunce of your brood."

     "Loyalty to my siblings demands that I disagree with you."  Victor leaned back in the chair.  "What I am saying is that maybe being exposed to this kind of thing will get people here in the Inner Sphere thinking about it."

     "Victor, it's going to take a lot more than contact with a lower-tech version of Earth to rid the Inner Sphere of it's nobility class," Phelan snorted.  "Much as I'd like it to happen."

     "You're probably right, but I can't help but think about it.  What was that phrase in the speech by the American President you showed me?  A government 'of the people, by the people, and for the people'?  Sometimes I wonder what that would be like here in the Inner Sphere."

     "A democratic republic hasn't been successfully attempted on an interstellar scale since the Terran Alliance," Phelan reminded Victor.  "The Rasalhaguans came close but we all know what happened to them."  He took a last swig and stood from his chair.  "By now Ranna has had her shower and is getting in bed, so I think I will join her."

     "You sound like she won't be here tomorrow," Victor replied while reading over his noteputer again.

     "She will not be," came Phelan's answer.  "Ranna has been selected to contest for the Bloodname of Natasha Kerensky, and she must return to Arc-Royal immediately to participate in the Trial of Bloodright.  She is leaving tomorrow."

     Victor didn't bother to look up.  "Well, go enjoy yourself then."

     "I intend to.  Just, try not to stay up all night doing that."  Phelan stepped through the door.  "You can do more tomorrow you know."

     Victor nodded but did not heed his words.  Rebecca Harverson's agonized howls returned to torment his soul whenever he thought of quitting, as if she were speaking from whatever beyond she was in to not rest until her torment could be avenged.  About two hours after Phelan left the room, Victor fell asleep on the couch, the noteputer still in his hands, and the horrible images haunting his dreams.