When you joined the RISC, and you got stationed on the Aerie, you had to square yourself with the fact that, as long as you had a job, you might never step foot on Illun again. If you were lucky, you might get assigned to the elevator crew, and every now and then you’d get to ship down and spend an afternoon at the loading bay, and maybe sneak off to grab some local food. Some people wouldn’t see a proper sunrise for three, five years—others ten, maybe longer. When you were dealing with the Modir, there wasn’t much room for [i]vacation[/i]. 

All this to say that, despite having come down to the RISC planet-side HQ to get fired, Besca went straight to a familiar burger-joint just outside of base, and decided to await the Board’s decision there. She’d taken for granted what an ocean shore looked like, and the smell of a cool breeze through a well-kept garden—she wasn’t about to miss out on this. 

She ate slow, watched a Sim-Savior-League match on the desaturated television mounted on the wall, and enjoyed what was otherwise a rather pleasant quiet. She’d taken that for granted too. For a place floating in the silent void of space, the Aerie was loud, often, and as its commander, her [i]job[/i] was to keep it that way.

Through the window she spotted Follen cross the street, and decided her break was over. If he stepped foot in here, it’d be ruined for her. She took her drink with her and met him outside. It was windy out—something else she wasn’t used to; she had to pull back her hair to keep it out of her face, and Follen’s was whipped out of its normal shape. Still, even now he had the same, indecipherable little grin plastered to his face. 

“[color=gray]Well?[/color]” she asked, taking a long sip. “[color=gray]Should I expect a trial before they lock me up, or are they just gonna off me in my sleep?[/color]”

He chuckled, but didn’t answer. Instead he produced a cigarette from his breast pocket, and a lighter, and they stood there quietly as he took a drag. He brushed his hair back, blinked up at the sky, then took another. Through the smoke, he said: “[color=lightblue]You’re getting a commendation.[/color]”

For the sake of her dignity, Besca refused to choke on her drink, and elected to quietly gag. “[color=gray]That’s…an interesting response to treason.[/color]”

“[color=lightblue]It’s not treason. Not officially. The Board has decided our best course of action is to present a united front, in the face of our treaty’s inevitable collapse.[/color]”

“[color=gray]They’re giving up on Casoban?[/color]”

He shrugged. “[color=lightblue]Roaki Tormont was in possession of crucial intelligence relating to Helburke’s Great Houses. You acted under orders to secure her as a RISC asset.[/color]”

That was flimsy. Anyone who spent more than a minute around her would realize that the absolute last words that could be attributed to Roaki Tormont were: [i]‘crucial intelligence’[/i]. Then again, their relationship with Helburke couldn’t get any worse, and there was precedent for this sort of thing even more recently with Ghaust. 

Difference was, Ghaust had been an asset of actual value. What were they going to do with Roaki?

“[color=lightblue]Don’t relax too much,[/color]” Follen said. “[color=lightblue]They’ve begun a new search for your replacement. You’re still listed as [i]interim[/i] commander, after all.[/color]”

“[color=gray]And Quinn?[/color]”

Follen moved to take another drag, but Besca swiped the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it aside. 

“[color=gray]What. About. Quinn?[/color]”

“[color=lightblue]Hm. The girl defies you at every turn, shelters an enemy, and plunges our country towards what will in all likelihood be its doom, or at least subjugation, and you’re worried about her job?[/color]”

“[color=gray]She’s sixteen.[/color]”

“[color=lightblue]Most teenagers just dye their hair.[/color]” Follen said, and retrieved another cigarette, turning theatrically away from Besca to light it. “[color=lightblue]Obviously, they want her gone, but losing her now would break the façade. There’s still two Saviors to fill before they can justifiably retire her, so I imagine she’ll be around longer than you—if not by much. Besides, they’re aware of Dahlia’s…attachment, to her. They’ve asked me to begin conditioning distance between them to help facilitate an eventual split.[/color]”

“[color=gray]That won’t work.[/color]”

He shrugged again. “[color=lightblue]I don’t particularly care; I wasn’t going to do it anyway.[/color]”

From anyone else, she would have assumed that to be a sign of affection. From Follen it was practically a confession that he was planning something worse. 

“[color=gray]So that’s it?[/color]” Besca asked. “[color=gray]We just go back to business as usual?[/color]”

“[color=lightblue]We’re losing Casoban, Besca. Runa is about to be alone for the first time, against powers older and richer than we could ever dream of being. Sure, with Dahlia, and Quinn, and whoever else gets roped in we may be able to hold out awhile, but things like this happen in generational increments. Today marks the death of this nation in one fashion or another, and most of the world will be cheering.[/color]”

“[color=gray]And yet, you don’t seem the least bit worried.[/color]”

“[color=lightblue]Like I said, this is going to make a lot of people happy.[/color]” He flicked his cigarette away and looked down at her, eyes empty behind those pale veneers. “[color=lightblue]When have you ever known the Modir to let that stand?[/color]”

--

News spread quick, and outrage quicker. Casoban, Eusero, and of course Helburke, exploded with indignant anger. How dare Runa deny the Casobani people justice? Who were they to involve themselves? First their own incompetence costs them one of their most beloved pilots, and now they have the audacity to moralize? 

Eusero, for their part, would [i]never[/i] betray their allies so brazenly. 

Even Runans seemed split on the decision. Most seemed to understand this meant the end to their allegiance with Casoban was imminent, and while many found within them a sudden patriotic compassion, many still demanded answers and a change of course. News began to report that investigations into the [i]Board[/i] were to begin—which would, undoubtedly, peter off into nothing. 

Still, the confusion was there, and a national effort to curb the rising hysteria was in full force by the end of the week. Certain foreign news channels were no longer aired, interviews with Euseran politicians and even pilots were slimmed down, with only a few appearances from high-profile Casobani guests who still favored the treaty. 

On the Aerie however, there was no such embargo. 

Morning, noon, and night they were bombarded with the consequences of Quinn’s actions, and the effects were noticeable. No one was outright mean, but the heroic air that had seemed to waft from her everywhere she went was wilted, and plenty of the staff regarded her coldly, or with indifference. Most, after all, didn’t know it had been Quinn’s call. The official story disseminated to the country and to RISC was that it was the Board’s, acted through Besca. But people blamed Roaki, and Quinn was openly nice to her, so she was caught in the crossfire.

Roaki, to the surprise of no one, didn’t care. She was in sims almost as often as Dahlia, sometimes without any opponent at all, even simulated ones. Life had returned to her overnight, and while her privileges were still limited, made full use of them. Most days, Quinn could find her exercising in her room, scarfing down whatever meals she was allotted, then pestering her for a duel or five. Rarely was she ever in that bed, and never did she stare into the faux light in the window. 

Dahlia’s schedule had only slightly changed. At Besca’s behest, and then orders, she was disallowed from spending her every hour in the simulations. Slowly, her circadian rhythm realigned itself to normalcy, but the dark pits were practically stained around her eyes now, and even when she smiled genuinely, and laughed, and hugged Quinn tightly to tell her she loved her, she seemed tired. 

Today was no different. Early to rise, but not earlier than Besca, she woke up to find the woman cooking breakfast. 

“[color=gray]Mornin’ Deelie. Mind gettin’ Quinn? Pancakes’re almost done.[/color]”

Yawning, stretching, Dahlia made her way over to Quinn’s door, cracked open as was the way. She pushed in just enough to not flood the room with sudden light and made her way over to the bed. A gentle hand nudged Quinn’s shoulder, a sweet voice beckoned her awake.

At the lake, [color=black]Quinnlash[/color] watched invisibly from the shore while Quinn enjoyed the company she’d made for her. She heard Dahlia’s calling, and eagerly faded the dream to an end.