[b]Urumqi, Xianjing[/b]

The questions had gone well. Or so Auyi felt. He had spent his time reaffirming his position on the regional autonomy question. Softly praising the hundreds of groups across China. He felt he had spoken confidently, and that gave him confidence. From there, the question and answers had become a blur of the vanilla types. Sabit asked him what he thought of the condition of Urumqi, and if he felt Beijing could do anything more. Auyi agreed, saying that China deserved equal chances for equal growth. Not only in the east, where the villages and the factory towns fed into the ports and became fat. The rest could develop as well in much the same way. The avenues would just need to be exploited.

He couldn't say the same for Jie, who had taken his mother away to explore while the press's backs were turned. But he had caught it from the corner of his eyes. When he looked back at Sabit too he knew that he was aware. But was relieved when he showed no signs of caring. He understood, he had that light in his eyes. The same sort of look Bathukhan gave him when he had complained of Jie when he was an infant.

When the press was done, the casual pleasantries returned. Sabit's wife came to the house, no doubt knowingly dodging the press gang. The introductions were prompt and polite. Bows and compliments exchanges. Sabit's wife was much like himself, an old portly woman kissed by the sun. Her face shining with a raw energy. Auyi had to wonder if the two fed off each others liveliness. Her wide wrinkled cheeks flushed with the passion of cheery blossoms when she smiled and stole Bao Yu in conversation, pawing casually at her plain white hijab.

When it had all died, the hosts and company's interests turned to feet. Shortly after Sabit's wife, Patime's return a young man had arrived at the door, delivering to the door a rack of meat. Sabit dealt with him personally, paying for the goat he had. Shortly after a team of youths with ice haggled with the old Uyghur, and he won him a block of ice for his wooden ice-box with a several ren.

With the haggling over and the afternoon drawing late, Sabit stole off Auyi. Dragging him off to speak to the council of Uyghur elders. Where again he affirmed his position to them and partook in discussion. The meeting became a vicious blur of old men, and hushed murmurs in their Turkic tongue. As the light outside darkened, the two were shuttled back home for a dinner.

“What a curious meat.” Bao Yu complimented as they sat down to the private dinner. The harsh sun of western China had lowered below the mountains. Its reach painting the sky in brilliant fiery oranges and blossoming rosy pinks. The deserts to the west came alive in airbrushed colors that shone through the windows. And Urumqi itself had fallen dark in its awe.

“It's camel.” Patime said with a smile, “My husband seems to think it's a rather tough meat, but I think he forgot what he's missing. He decided he likes goat now.” she added with a coy smile, looking over to her husband who hung over his food with a guilty smile.

Patime had laid out a modest spread for their guests. A tray of a hard-crust bread sat in the center of the table alongside simple ceramic bowls of dipping sauces. Alongside the bread a large pot of pilaf sat, from whence any of the guests could greedily scoop out with a tin ladle. The pilaf carried a rich smell of the freshly butchered rack of goat, seasoned in spices. Hints of garlic wafted up from the rice bed within.

“It's a taste I brought back from the east.” he replied, mocking regret as he droned. “It was difficult to find camel out there. But I discovered goat from the markets on Beijing's south-west side. It was probably the only meat there that's hallel.”

“You take that seriously then?” Auyi asked innocently, taking a sip of dark minty tea.

“Of course.” Sabit laughed, “It's part of Uyghur identity in many ways. I wouldn't give it up. And in a politics as large as Chinese it helps to stand out. Helps with an identity.” he added, smiling. “Like you and your white suit.”

Auyi chuckled politely, looking down at the white Zhongshan he wore. It was signature in a way. Though in the dust of Urumqi it had stained to an off-white. “We can get it out.” Bao Yu comforted, sweeping at the sleeves with her fingers.

“Not at the table, we don't want to get the food dusty.” Auyi remarked embarrassed. The table laughed at the minister's flustered embarrassment.

“It wouldn't be new to me.” Bathukhan remarked, a wave of nostalgia on his lips, “Eating dusty food.”

“That's right, you're Mongolian. But you urbanized, so it doesn't matter.” Sabit toyed, “But what's your roll in Auyi's mission anyways?” he asked over a bite of food.

“Merely due friendship.” he replied nonchalantly, “And with the elections there hasn't been much in Congress. Xiaogang Wen is going to hardly miss my vote. And neither with my constituents. The last major battle I was needed for ended, all that's left is the oversight committee to pull together and approve incoming applications. Once those groups pull together.

“Have they started here yet?” the Mongolian congressman pried.

“Auyi met the start of it today.” Sabit pointed, “It's here, and it's coming up. We just need to rally the leaders to make the framework, and then we get to sit down with Beijing. Based on my understanding not everyone is set to meet with the Committee either, or petition them.

“You and I both know the affairs of government don't happen instantly. By the end of the summer though is when I imagine it'll officially begin.”

“Gyatso's started though.”

“Well I don't think Beijing will permit a theocracy. So though the promise is filled the Tibetan leaders still need to quarrel over it.

“Which may actually be harder if certain competition gets in.” Sabit segwayed, looking up at Auyi.

“Certainly.” he committed, mid bite.

“Has anyone heard some of what he's said? Or reputed to have said? Xhu terrifies me, more than I'd care for his lack of inspiration for out this far. Reminds me of the Manchurian witch-hunts. Do you remember those?”

“For all my effort: no, I don't really remember much. I wasn't as aware then.” Bathukhan smiled.

“I think that counts for me too.” Auyi shrugged.

“Well, I suppose that goes for the way things are.” Sabit sighed.

“Straying from the topic though, what do you think of Russia, Auyi?” the Uyghur chief asked.

“Russia I think is not our fight.” he responded plainly, “Though to a certain degree it is our commitment, but it isn't really in Chinese interest. It's in Siberian or Russian interest. Our diplomatic commitment to our allies is admiral and it's fine to see a nation who for once cares for the other people of the world, but there needs to be a point we can draw down in Russia and let the Siberians take control.

“I'm not saying cut them off as soon as I take office, but make a serious exit plan with Nikolov. Present them the means to reunite the Russian state themselves and engage in discussion with Radek on merging the two parties to make a single Russian state for good.

“And for the balance in the Comintern I don't think two or multiple Russias is healthy for the balance of representation. Where all parties gets what the Russians effectively get three votes per representative. So there needs to be an effort to make them one state again.”

“On the Comintern, you really going to leave that post? I imagine it'd make you considerably powerful a man.”

“No.” Auyi sighed, “I don't want to waste the time. Besides I want good image. I imagine we all do in the end. So I'm stepping down. The member blocs should already be trying to front a candidate they'll put into a running to replace me. So we get a new guy then, and a new purpose for the International, at least in image.

“I'll probably stick around as a representative from China though if it matters.” he added dismissively.

“Fair enough I imagine.” Sabit replied, “But you do talk about trying to increase China's presence in the world. I wonder because it seems stepping up in Russia would be counter-intuitive.”

“It won't because it provides the wrong sort of image.” Auyi contested, “Bathukhan brought this concern to me before when I was writing my platform.”

“I read papers.” the Mongol said simply, never looking up from his plate as he slowly picked through it.

“So if not, what then?”

“Mang Xhu seems to think that China can increase its presence and reinstate growth through a war and annexation economy.” mused Auyi, “On the pretense of growth and once again promoting wage growth he can eek it out by initiating Conflicts of Revolution on a potentially grander scale than our missions to Mongolia and Indochina. Not just sliding a few arms and adivsors to choice groups, but physical man power and greater material aid. Start actual wars really, and not conduct subversive missions; which have been more-or-less successful.

“I don't like the risk associated with this.” Auyi continued, “It'll put us in a bad light with our only allies when we demand their land for the greater revolution, and further alienate potential partners. I believe in a more [i]comprehensive[/i] revolution.

“As much faith as I have in the worker's paradise I doubt we'll achieve it so long as there are parties who will fight it. So we need to downplay the fears of these parties and win their support. Hou in had that right, although his aim was political unity and not international favor. But China has incredibly potential to project itself upon the world stage and really play large roles in the international community from the level of the people on up.

“In a harsh idea, it's getting nations to become reliant on us. But we make the rules still. To prevent another Qing Disaster we need to organize to open the Chinese market, and invite foreign trade to our ports. That way our people can produce on a wider scale and achieve Mang Xhu's goals without having to fire a shot.”

“I don't imagine that can sit well.” Sabit commented with a low voice, “What happened last time when this same thing happened? How are you going to tackle the memory?”

“But doing so on our own terms, and not sitting here until some foreigners force it.

“We'll still adhere to the Revolution. It's a given. But its useless if there no point. China's reached about as high as it can go on its own and among its partners in the Comintern. But we can build past the ceiling.”

“Sounds like you got a platform!” Sabit commented, clapping and laughing, “Why don't you get him to debate Xhu?” he asked eagerly, leaning in to Shanxi Wu. The small whippish man leaned back in shock, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I'd support the endeavor.” Bathukhan nodded.

“I wouldn't rush it though.” Wu replied cynically, “Do any of us know if Auyi is up to it? No offense to you comrade, but I'm not sure how you'll hold up or if you can articulate your points over someone else.”

“Then why not a lesser opponent?” Patime offered, “Has to be someone. Just for practice really. Like how the men will race their horses against weaker ones just to warm them up.”

Shanxi Wu nodded, his eyes lighting up, “This I can organize.” he said, “I'll need a day to think about names, but we got the time here. I can head back to base tomorrow morning. By the time I get there I'll get the aids on the phones finding dates.

“Three or four maybe might work, we'll see how Auyi does after those. Then maybe we can get with Xhu's campaign to get one in.”

“I'm eager.” Auyi lied, forcing a smile as his heart skipped a beat. Last time the two had talked, it ended with Xhu storming out on a dinner much like this.

“With all of that though,” Sabit leaned back, “in your possible China. What sort of role do you think an old Uyghur might have?”

Auyi looked up at him. Knowing that wanting look in his eyes. It wasn't obvious to the lay people of the table. Bao Yu didn't seem to get the hint at where he was going. And Wu only connected it when he saw the subtle looks he and Bathukhan returned. This was the part where the traded things.

“Depends. There's a lot of potential.”

“Open doors?” Sabit smiled.

“Sure, everything will be changed out. Sooner or later.”

“Most certainly.”

[b]Perm, Russia[/b]

“Dmitri, do you have your papers?” a voice said distantly, muffled and suffocated in a cold haze. Mad thumping drummed in the air like the beat of a maddened heart.

“Did they really shut the water off again?” another shouted. High pitched and feminine. She shouted angered and distressed. Her piercing voice cutting through the fog. He couldn't tell if she was near or far.

The sounds and the rhythm of where he was sharpened. It came back into focus as he became steadily more aware. Could feel the hard press of edges in his back. A misplaced sensation of discomfort in his neck, like someone was holding his head at an angle, but held it there for far too long. It did not hurt, but it did throb. Much like the rest of him.

There was an emptiness in his stomach. He gnawed and rolled uncomfortably below his chest. It did not threaten to burst, but it did threaten to chew itself up from the inside. His fingers twitched and he felt the hard knock against the wooden table on which he lay.

His throat felt dry and rattling as he breathed out. A sharp choking cough passed his lips and suddenly everything went silent. A switch flipped off and everything went dead. In that room the cliché would have ran true: a pin drop could have been heard.

“Komrade, he's awake!” someone shouted in the room, and Jun's eyes rolled open. And for once, something stung. A sharp dryness stung his eyes with needles, and with the light he recoiled and hissed in agony as he blinded himself. Rolling on the table he recoiled back, expecting tears to come but none falling.

Hands dove down on him and forced him down, “Don't let him move! He'll break something!” someone yelled as he groaned in abrupt agony.

“Komrade!” the same voice said, closer. More distinct. A powerful young voice. It rang with the power of iron bells. “He's awake!” he repeated, “Damn, where is he?” he hissed spitefully.

“My eyes.” Jun spat between clenched teeth.

“He's talking. That's a good sign.” another voice said. In Russian.

“Water here.” someone stuttered, “Open his eyes.” he demanded. Jun protested as nearly a dozen hands grabbed hold of him, pulling his arms back and forcing open his eyes. In the haze mist that clouded his vision he could barely make out the bottle over him before a torrent splashed down over his face.

He cried out in shock, throwing his captors off and shooting up, frantically rubbing his face with his palm.

“Where'd you get the water?” the girl asked.

“I kept it hidden just for this.” the other said, and Jun realized it too was a woman.

He sputtered insults under his breath, rubbing the water from his eyes. His head felt full of heavy foam. His sides were twisted and stiff. Sitting up, he felt as if he couldn't move again. He slouched down over his knees moaning bitterly to himself as shadows gathered around him, talking hushed in whispered Russian. Too quite for the agent to hear over the panicked beating of his own heart.

A patient tensity resumed. The Discord he had awoken too replaced by an excited silence. A fear, or an awe. He couldn't tell.

His head was still swimming. But he managed to look up. The room he was in, some sort of library. Gathered around him was a group of men and women. All young. The youngest ones looking nothing later than their late teens, and the oldest ones in their mid-twenties at best. They all looked at him, wearing a sense of caution and wonder. Their pale faces basking in the sickly yellow-green light of the fixture over head.

Behind them in the door stood on of his kind. He leaned on the frame of the wide entrance, arms crossed. His expression was not that of wonder or fear. He measured him up more so than the others took him in. He knew him. But Jun couldn't place it.

“Komrades, I think you all have things to do.” the Asian man in the back beckoned. His tone carried heavy, though his Russian was mired in the ghosts of Chinese tones. Expectantly and obediently they began to file out of the room, quiet in their exit.

With the last one out the doors closed. They thudded heavily against each other.

“I'd like it if you lay back down.” the Chinese man requested in Mandarin, as he walked towards him, “It'll make me more comfortable that you won't rip something open again.”

“What do you mean?” Jun asked, rubbing his temples as he gave the man a confused look. He was thinly built, though his face looked as if he could have been a larger man. His cheeks had shallowed and his skin hang loose on his bones. He did not look old, but he hadn't aged well here.

“When we found you, you had a severe puncture wound, several broken bones, and at least one broken rib. Your head injuries suggest you took a hit to the head, and the amount of blood on you suggests you lost a lot of blood, you might be sick and weak for a few more days yet.

“Adding to that, but you're burned across twenty to thirty percent of your lower body and you were on that table unconscious for several days. As much as we tried, I imagine you're malnourished and dehydrated. So lay down comrade.”

Jun nodded, lowering himself back down across the hard surface. The tension in his sides and back made it difficult, and he groaned as he lowered himself.

“To be terribly honest, this isn't the first time I saw you in a bad way.” the man said, looking at him. He looked conflicted. The way he half smiled as he looked at Jun showing a relief that hadn't graced his worn appearance and graying black hair. At the same time, his eyes did not look to celebrate, but only bore an adept caution.

“I was in Tibet when I saw you first and last.” he continued as he pulled a chair over from alongside a stack of ages-old books, “Like you, I was there to provide intelligence and even to disperse anti-Chinese groups after the initial invasion. I was there for about five years.

“What impressed me about you though was how you came in, limping, held up by a regular soldier. Your pants had been frayed up to your knee. What had been your pants leg shredded and turned into an impromptu bandage. But that didn't stop the bone that ran out through your skin.

“And the stink. Shit, the smell on you. You – that leg of yours – was on its last leg; excuse the pun, comrade.” he sighed, sitting down, “But all the same as you walked by me in the field hospital lobby in that old palace in Lhasa you still tried to walk on that leg, as if you felt no pain. It was merely a minor inconvenience.

“How does a man do that?” he asked.

“He crawls.” Jun answered, staring up at the wooden ceiling and at the cob webs that filled the corners, “And if he can not go where he crawls, he walks.

“That's how I shot my bone out through the side. I was a day by any other means outside Lhasa. But I had to keep going.”

“But how did you break your leg?” the other agent asked, perplexed.

“I fell.” he said simply. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about anything else. It was like talking to another Ulanhu. Some things – many things – just didn't need to go said. Not that they were dangerous, or they were important, but because much of it was bullshit.

“I should have guessed.” the other agent nodded, “Did you have a partner? I see you're still solo. No rifleman to carry you by the shoulder.”

“First got shot.” Jun answered stiffly, “Other's in the mountains.”

“Tragic.” Jun new conversation partner mourned, “I lost mine last year. Some crazy fuck ran him over with a truck. Took his body. I only got the head in a box, popped like a grape.”

Jun took a deep agitated sigh. He wanted to get up and walk out. Get on the road again. But he still didn't know where he was, who this man is, or where his gear went. “How's Beijing?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Beijing, comrade.” he repeated, “I haven't been there in three years. I'm missing home.

“I know you couldn't have come from anywhere else first, the Dragons like to call people into the Nest when they send some small teams out. I haven't been in Beijing for three fucking years.”

“It was fine when I left.” Jun said, “There was snow.”

“Fine, I suppose.” the other agent shrugged, “Do you perchance know how deep we go here?” he said, uncomfortably. He sounded like he was going to betray a secret, but some part demanded he do it. He looked at Jun square in the eyes. Demanding and knowing. He sought something to would say 'no'. That he knew already.

“No, I don't.” he replied.

The other agent groaned in distress, throwing his hands to his face as he rubbed his temples. “Fucking great.” he cursed bitterly, “I hope we were not forgotten out here.” he complained.

“Listen,” he continued, “You and I are not the only Tigers here in Russia. As I hope you know some of the oldest operatives here went silent in Russia on order after the first invasion took a nose dive and shit went to hell. After, Beijing sent more of us into Russia to scout the nation out, and to try and establish some foot hold. Or something, I don't know. I know all of us were told to do different things, that much is certain. My partner and I were told to try and get some pro-Chinese support up and...” he trailed off nervously. Pointing to the door, “That's all either of us managed to assemble. There are people interested, but not enough to form an army like we were asked to form.

“So here I sit, and here my partner in crime would have sat playing glorified babysitter to some kids trying to go through school, and angered they can't get jobs. Some life.” he laughed. But it was conflicted, sorrowful as much as it was humored.

Jun didn't catch the humor in it, and bore him down with a stout unamused look. He could see the pained failure to find it funny, and his expression darkened. “There were about two-hundred of us.” he replied. “But since then, over fifty six of us have died or went missing.” he began again with a solemn mournful tone.

“So there's hundred-fourty-four of us left in the state, or the failed state. The causality rate over the past year got so bad that we actually sought each other out to found a network to support ourselves. Underground, like the Mafiya everyone wants to deal with; but can't help but be absorbed into. We learned all of our operation names, the general area of our operations. On the hope it'd be vague enough to keep each other safe, but exact enough we can seek each other out if we need something.

“It's a slow one, but it's the only one. Sing personally ordered we fall radio silent so we can't be found out. We've been stationed here ever sense.”

“So who are you?” asked Jun.

“Me? Stripped Tiger. I was number two until my partner was killed.”

“I see.” Jun nodded. “When can I go?” he asked.

“You?” Stripped Tiger laughed, “Probably not for a while.” he snickered, “You're in a bad shape. We were only just able to get some basic supplies from the royal college to keep you alive. You're fortunate we have a trained doctor, if incapable of finding work if you can believe it.

“You'll need to ask with him. But he left early today. He's got grand neighborhood rounds to do. He tried to pay the bills.

“But when he's back he'll give you his thoughts.”

[b]Omsk, Russia[/b]

And again he was cut off. Standing along the edge of an abandoned street Tsung was left behind to find his way back to where he was. Or needed to be. The body guard provided to him by the German getting him out as far as he needed. When they had gotten to this street he had turned and left. But in all readiness, Tsung didn't know where else to go. So he had stood there, idly staring off into the darkened windows of a storefront across the street. He couldn't read the Russian, so wouldn't know what it was. Any other features that would have helped had long gone missing.

The street from end to end looked to have suffered through looting. In the after math of evacuations someone had swept through and carried off anything they could carry. Tsung looked down at the marching succession of windows at the rampant and merciless desolation. It wasn't much in the way of war damage. It was far too targeted at the windows. The only suggestions there had been battle were dried pools of blood in the asphalt. But he figured they could have been started by mobs as well as soldiers. He kicked at the loose stones, none the wiser on where had to go. He wasn't even sure if he was escorted out the direction he came, if he had he probably would have ended up in the airport again.

Fifteen minutes. That's as long as the German insisted he stayed. About around that time the Russian patrons turned and left as well, all the less sober than they were when he arrived. Tsung didn't feel comfortable with the idea of seating with them. There was an underlying hostility even he could smell among the booze and liquor. He choose to sit in a corner and to not drink. Watching the riotous laughter of the Republicans as shells exploded above. When they left they all went one way, so he went the other.

The columns of thick black smoke didn't help anything either. Rising from the city and country-side all around him rose thick inky columns. They rose high before diffusing, clouding the air in an even veil as they caught the wind. Even the hints of airplanes were masked in the heavy burning. And the air was thick with the sharp bitter smells of the high explosive shells.

It made his chest sink. A heavy heart beat deep, wondering if the rest of his crew had made it. But the ferocity of the shelling made it unlikely. At least in his mind. Even thinking out it made his ears ring.

He looked back down to the road when he heard a familiar clatter and rumble of engines. Turning to his left he saw wheeling down the road a drab armored car. Its thick wheels grinding over the loose bricks and shards of glass. The ground crackled and popped under the heavy rubber tires as it drew close to Tsung. Instinctively, and almost out of fear the tanker rose his hands over his head, and cowered back as the green turtle pulled up alongside him. In the dim light of the afternoon he could see the faint shadows of the drivers in the narrow tinted windows.

A hatch on the top popped and was thrown open by a burly figure. His green coat weighing heavy on his shoulders as he turned to Tsung. A thick beard hid his mouth, but he scowled down at him. “Who the fuck are you?” he scowled in clear Mandarrin.

“Private Li Tsung. First Liaoniang Cavalry, comrade.” he replied quivering, “I was cut off from my unit.”

The man on the car looked down at him confused, “How th- how the fuck does a tanker get cut off from his tank?” he demanded.

“I- I was caught with my pants down.” Tsung frowned.

“Right...” the officer replied, “Well whatever the case, you're one of ours. We're going to figure this out. Jump in the fucking back and we'll sort this through.

“Alright, open up the back hatch. [i]Derrew bol[/i], comrades!” he shouted as he lowered himself in. As his hatch close, the back of the carrier opened, letting in Tsung.

He scurried around the corner to the door. Hesitating he gave pause when his gaze fell to the body laying on the floor. Laying in a pool of blood a young man his age looked up at him, hand holding a fistful of blood-soaked rags to the side of his face. He looked up at with a grimace of expectant pain. He was already go pale.

“Come one, we don't got any time!” the lieutenant cried back at him. His voice exploded with a fiery impatience. He leaned around from the front passenger seat of the armored personnel carrier, his face a bitter scowl, “Fucking Han kids for fucks sake. Come on!”

Tsung felt numb looking at the injured soldier. But imagined the Uyghur officer's rage was more violent than the injured lump. He stepped in, his breathing freezing. He felt his boots slip across the bloodied metal floor. As soon as he was in the door was shut behind him and the muffled rumble of the engine taxied him down the road.

“Cigarette?” someone asked. Tsung jumped as something drummed against his chest and he looked up from the crumpled figuring rolling on the floor, grunting at each bump. His face was pale and he could feel it.

“N-n-no. I don't s-smoke.” he said weakly. His stomach felt ill. But the man shrugged it off.

“1st Liaoniang?” the lieutenant said from up front. He was turned back in the front seat again, holding onto the spartan metal console between him and the driver.

“Y-yes sir.” Tsung said meekly.

“What's the name of your CO then?” he asked.

“Sun Song, comrade.”

“Song? I heard an officer of that name was to be at the airstrip today. I was supposed to reinforce him.

“Russians really pounded the shit out of it though. But how'd you end up a kilometer and a half away if your pants were 'just down'?” he pried.

“I-I wouldn't know even if I c-could tell you.” stuttered Tsung, glancing back down at the body.

“Hey, up here shit head. Don't worry about that unlucky son of a bitch at your feet. You got his spot anyways. He just took a load of shrapnel to the face; he's still alive so he'll be fine.

“So speak clearly, you don't know how you got to where you are?” he demanded.

“N-no sir.” Tsung responded, prying his startled gaze from the injured soldier.

“Alright then.” the officer sighed, “You're certainly green enough to not know, even if you were one of my fucking men. We'll let comrade Sun deal you out then.

“Fucking pussy.” he swore, grabbing for the car's radio console.

“Just let me call in for you.” he grumbled.

“R-right. Thank you.” Tsung nodded to the sharp-spirited giggling of the other men present.

“Lujuun zhoongwei  Hala Khan of the 3rd platoon, 8th Heilongjiang Mechanized infantry calling in on a request for a status update on one Sun Song, 1st Liaoniang armored cavalry.” the lieutenant said into the radio receiver, “We picked up a boy serving under him. I'd like to return him. Over.”

There was an audible pause from the console. “Got that. Stand by for information.” the speakers chirped.

“I'll be here.”