It takes great effort for me to control my breathing. Steady in, steady out. “My deployment, ma’am?”
“Yes. Do you know how long you’ve been held for?”
“Three days shy of six months, ma’am,” I reply.
“Correct. In that time, I have given much thought to your future. As President of the United Regions of North America, you can imagine the gravity of those thoughts, as I should be giving my attention to more important tasks.”
We won. I wish I could feel something about it. Nothing comes to me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The Southeast was won shortly after your arrest. I convened the remaining Order leaders and commanders, from which we elected a new set of leaders for each region, aside from the Southwest. These leaders make up my President’s Council. The MidCountry and the Southeast took the most damage, so we have begun rebuilding there. The transition from tyranny to democracy has been mostly peaceful.”
Theia speaks in words between words. It’s been a while since I’ve had to decode her veiled language, but I find the translations come naturally. She picked the leaders with the arbitrary approval of smaller generals. They’re sending supplies to MidCountry and the Southeast, but that’s not where her priorities lie. Mostly peaceful means there are larger problems than she’d like to admit.
The subtle emphasis catches my attention. “Mostly, ma’am?”
Theia is momentarily distracted. Her eyes move not even an inch from my eyes, to the scar which extends from my forehead down my eye and cheek, across my lips, and tails off on the otherside of my jaw. I detect a hint of compassion. Perhaps regret. It was an accident, unlike the other scars. During a session, quite early on when they were more frequent and emotional, the noise of a sniffle caught enough of my attention for me to turn to see her crying, but not before she’d already brought the whip down. It struck me across the face and split open the skin immediately. I was lucky to keep my eyesight, though my depth perception is not what it used to be.
She never again made another noise in a session.
“Yes, mostly. The Southeast is seeing a resurgence of violence in skirmishes on the northern border. The rebels are to blame. They’ve become bold as of late, more organized, and informed.”
Alarm and annoyance color her words. It’s interesting to see these local militia, these separatists, now branded as rebels. The Order represents the law, anything else is dissent. The difference is dizzying. However, I told her back in Detroit it was only a matter of time before these people were to be considered a threat. But we were too close to a legitimate victory for her to consider taking on another foe.
I do not know what this has to do with me. “I see, ma’am.”
“Obviously, bringing you out of confinement is not a decision I take lightly.”
They’ve tried other methods, I deduce. Her voice reeks of last resort, and obviously removing your most grievous criminal from her cell requires quite a bit of desperation. Should I be despondent at how far I’ve fallen? I am not. My despondency has only one cause and all other reasons for depression are minuscule in comparison.
“My other generals have tried and failed to root out the nexus of this group and dissolve their leadership.”
“Even Hunter?”
Theia schools her features before responding. Briefly, I saw something like regret. “Hunter runs our Northeast TrainingCenter in my stead. There is no one else in our armies who can do what you can do. Find the leader of this so-called militia and kill them. That is your mission.”
I nod. “Thank you, ma’am. Am I going alone?”
“No, I do not think that would be wise. Mason has volunteered to accompany you.”
Not a day goes by where I haven’t thought of Mason. His warmth, his care, his loyalty, his humor. I miss him terribly. “I will do my best, ma’am.”
Theia pauses. Back when I was still her best soldier, this would be when she’d pour a glass of scotch and we’d share it before I left for a mission. We would sit in companionable silence and enjoy the luxury of good liquor—usually an Upperclass brand I’d pilfered from an Order pub. Other times, Theia would talk about early days of the rebellion. Rare stories of small triumphs, of mapping out HQ, planning the networks that would become the veins which pumped the heart of our operation. Most of her companions were killed or went missing in action. Only she remained. We drank to our loneliness, and our triumphs.
“You will be temporarily restored to your original rank,” she says.
“Oh. Thank you, ma’am.”
Private Wong audibly scoffs. “All due respect, ma’am, this soldier is a traitor. She doesn’t deserve the honor of serving you in our new country.”
Theia ruminates for a long time, longer than necessary. She is the foremost architect of purposeful silence. Private Wong starts to fidget.Weakness. Both Theia and I stand in complete stillness. “Eos, disarm Private Wong.”
Easy, they’re holding their weapon like an amateur. I wrench their rifle from their hands, and give them a whack in the jaw forthe hell of it. Using their poor defense against them, I manage to get them on their knees, rifle to their neck.
Theia watches on, appearing somewhere between proud and despondent. “Very good. You see, Private Wong, people make mistakes. That does not change who they are, or what they are worth. Eos is still the finest soldier in the country. And the question of loyalty, well, that is answered. There is nothing left to be loyal to but this country and our cause. Isn’t that right, Eos?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
