"Ma'am," Rene responded automatically, his eyes fixing on a point on the wall at the end of the corridor rather. His body began to brace to attention inspite of himself in what, by now, was an instinctive reaction to being dressed down by a superior. The response was a little ridiculous given that he wasn't in the same room, or even within actual earshot of Solae, but it was what his body defaulted to in such a situation. There was a long silence.

"Mia are you still transmitting?" The AI didn't dain to respond. Was it possible that it, she, was advanced enough to take Solae's side and give him the silent treatment? Perplexed he shook his head. Perhaps, if even a computer could make a judgement, he was in the wrong. Solae was a grown woman and it wasn't fair of him to treat her as though he knew her better than she did herself. The disturbing dream played over in his mind as he headed for the dining room, Amelia and Solae's faces flickering like guidance beacons on a jump approach. Maybe he was giving himself too much credit, he had trauma he wasn't dealing with also. The Marines trained their recruits to face situations like this but Rene had been a little too well educated for their training methods to work one hundred percent. He was not able to lose himself in thoughtless violence or mindless patriotism the way a simpler man, like Bowie, might have done. He doubted any other Marine at the rat trap would have hesitated for an instant if made the same offer Solae had been making him. Cursing himself for a fool he decided to make lunch and deliver it as an apology.

"Mia," he called as he entered the dining room and headed for the improvised kitchenette where Solae had baked her cookies. The AI remained stubbornly silent.

"Mia do you have the recipe for Kyndara?" A light pulsed nearby, interrogatively. Kyndara was a traditional dish of the nobility, in the game of court it was symbolic of an apology. The light fluffy cake was often shaped into a small but elaborate sculpture, in theory by the petitioner but more realistically by court chefs. Rene could neither bake nor sculpt the dish but with Mia's help it was just possible he could get the point across and produce a lunch which would not be immediately fatal.

"I have the recipe Sir," Mia said, her tone a little cold. Rene was about to make a retort when a flicker of movement caught his eyes. Out of the main window he saw the trees that lined the pathway flicker gold. He was about to dismiss it as random pheromones but the pattern repeated. A single pulse of gold, rippling along the line of silver foliage, passing the color from tree to tree like a baton. A single pulse could be a chance of the wind but a repeated one... The gold wave swept by again, and then again. Something was disturbing the end of the pathway, brushing by the trees. Something, or someone.

"Shall I begin preparing the dish Sir Rene," Mia asked, unaware of what was transpiring within the Marine's mind. Someone, probably a group of them, were at the end of the driveway. THey might be looters, or they might be Gids, maybe even just civilians, but it didn't bode well for them in any of those cases. He picked up the assault rifle and dashed for the bedroom, pounding his fist on the doorway.

"Solae, Solae I think we have company!"