Stockham tapped his finger on the typed report lying on his desk. “She sounds nice, Isaac.”

Once again, Isaac found himself in the office of the commanding general of the Cultivator Marines. The suits of armor that lined the long walls gazed down at him through the black sits in their visors; winter sunlight poured through the row of windows along the back wall, hitting the back of the broad-shouldered general. Stockham sat behind his desk, chomping his usual cigar, while Chief of Naval Intelligence Leyton stood next to him, looking through the other pages of the report compiled by the cadets on the Third District headquarters.

Since they were far more in the know than their comrades on that mission, Isaac and Reed had their own debriefing after returning back to the base and typing up the report. After explaining what they found in the supply depot and, perhaps more crucially, the Department of Domestic Security, Stockham and Leyton remained quiet for a moment, pondering their next moves.

Isaac glanced at the intelligence chief. He came from the Research Bureau, so Stockham feels he can trust him. He knows what we know.

But then Leyton let out a wry sigh upon hearing Stockham’s comment. “Maybe we oughta recruit her to our cause,” he joked.

Stockham made his chair swivel. “Indeed. What does Naval Intelligence make of all this?”

The intelligence chief removed his glasses for a moment, deep in thought. “I can’t wrap my head around cultivation being possible before the Unleashing. It goes against all our current knowledge. But many things have done so, recently. I’ll have to do more research. The possibility that the attempt by this Department of Domestic Security to recreate the Garden of Eden caused the Unleashing is…perhaps the theory of the solar flare is wrong after all. Or…”

“Not wrong,” Stockham concluded. “But fabricated.”

A grim silence settled over the office. Leyton put his glasses back on. “As for your twin lightning bolts, based on your description, they sound like they could also double as a pair of letter S’s, right? SS. OdeSSa. I can’t say I’ve come across this Odessa organization in my own research of pre-Unleashing archives, but if they were pulling the strings behind the Department of Domestic Security, then I doubt they would’ve left behind an easy-to-follow paper trail, even if there wasn’t an entire apocalypse to cover their tracks.”

“Have men in the Bureau go through the archives again,” Stockham ordered. He paused and thought for a moment. “I’ll call in a few favors as well. We’re not the only country with pre-Unleashing files.” He saw the raised eyebrows on Isaac’s face. “We’re the Navy, Isaac. We sail out and make global connections. I have some friends around this continent and across the sea. Trusted friends.”

By now, Isaac had only spent just a couple of months outside his hometown where he had lived all his life. It would still take him some time to start thinking of the world beyond his country.

As for Reed - she sat quietly, expectantly, waiting for Leyton to say something that must’ve been very important to her. He noticed this and coughed into a fist to change the subject.

“I talked to my friends in the Academy,” Leyton said with a nod. “For the New Year’s festivities, you’re in.”

Reed’s jaw slackened, but no words came out for a moment. She looked at Isaac and a wide grin formed on her face while her hands balled themselves into excited little fists. “I’m in, Isaac!”

“...in what?”

“The Fine Arts Academy!” She waved her arms ecstatically. “They’re giving me a part in the big New Year’s play! I did it, I did it, I’m gonna be an actress, it’s time for the world to know the name of Hibiscus Reed-”

A heavy knock on the mahogany door of the office interrupted her jubilation. Stockham arched his eyebrows, not expecting visitors (or an interruption to this important meeting).

His big enforcer, Osip, spoke through the doors. “General, we tried to delay them, but they told me it was urgent. Acting Commandant Spinelli, Mr. Cartwright, and Major Sloan are requesting a meeting now.”

Leyton frowned, but Stockham kept a stoic look on his face. He ashed the cigar and motioned for Isaac and Reed to stay. “Send them in.”

Osip did so, and three powerful men walked through the doors, followed by a couple of Naval Police escorts. Out in the hallway, Research Bureau agents with their blue berets and trusted Cultivator Marines gave their counterparts in the Naval Police long stares. After sizing the situation up, locking eyes with the men who dared to interrupt his own meeting, Stockham nodded at Osip, who closed the door. By this point, Isaac could tell the office had silencer charms to prevent the outside world from listening in; it also had hidden protection charms to prevent any further assassination attempts.

“How kind of you all to drop in,” Stockham said, leaning back in his seat, taking on a carefree air. “This surely must be important, Acting Commandant.”

Spinelli adjusted his cap, revealing neat gray beneath it. He ignored the slight. “Been hearing complaints about your recent actions, General. Some of them are my own.” He turned his gaze to Leyton. “Naval Intelligence doesn’t possess the authority to launch criminal investigations. The raid on Tommy’s tavern was outside your purview. The fact that I don’t know where Tommy is, either, is a breach of protocol.”

He narrowed his eyes at Stockham. “You lost the ability to conduct your own investigations after your smuggling investigation this past autumn. Mr. Cartwright’s good son, may he rest in peace, died in battle due to your own incompetence. So, you’re now having Naval Intelligence conduct your own investigations for you. Not only that, but you’re preparing this man to take my job.”

Stolen story; please report.

Leyton scrunched up his nose beneath his glasses. Stockham waved the concerns away. “As I’ve always told you, matters I deem to be of national security are indeed within my scope of authority. Naval Intelligence has the authority to act on matters of national security as well. As for Tommy’s location, I seem to believe a certain Eight-Steps Killer Sam, the man who killed Mr. Cartwright’s good soon, died under Naval Police custody, no?”

“How is a saloon operator important to national security?” Major Sloan thundered. He was middle-aged, gray-haired, short and stout, and likely looked good in his Army helmet and uniform back in his glory days before his retirement and current position as a desk-bound factory overseer added some weight to him. His brown fedora seemed to shake as he spoke. “And more importantly, what gives the Navy jurisdiction over him?”

Stockham smiled. “His tavern was located along a waterway.”

While Major Sloan fumed and Spinelli sighed, Mr. Cartwright took over. He spoke theatrically, in a folksy kind of style that reminded Isaac of wandering preachers. “General Stockham, I’ll leave issues of jurisdiction to the experts. I came here today due to the report you want me to publish in my papers.”

Isaac stared as Mr. Cartwright reached into his jacket and produced loose papers held together by a paperclip. “You've had a journalist prepare a report of this Tommy’s alleged excesses. How he had his fingers in the nefarious business of extortion, racketeering, smuggling, and drug running. And how it all allegedly flows up to the coffers of men like Major Sloan or, dare I say it, even more important figures within the Army.”

Sloan frowned and crossed his arms. Mr. Cartwright tapped on the stack of papers. “This is balderdash. Simply…balderdash.” When Leyton gritted his teeth, Isaac realized that balderdash meant something not good. “I can’t have articles in my papers without reliable sources, can I? How do I know you haven’t fabricated all of this? The reporter who allegedly conducted the interviews and wrote the article is no longer employed with me, so I can’t rely on her testimony.”

Cartwright must’ve fired Piper for presenting a story for Stockham without being authorized, Isaac realized. The journalism industry in a military dictatorship is a cruel one.

“And you,” Cartwright continued, looking down at Reed. “I heard you played a hand in the imprisonment of Tommy. You should know better. Trying to link alleged criminal elements to an honorable Army veteran in the daily newspapers? That’s a line you don’t cross. But your family has always been a gang of opportunists, right?”

Reed’s knuckles turned white as she gripped her jacket. Isaac knew that the Cartwrights, who founded the Arcadian Navy, had decades of feuding with the Reeds who founded the Army, but seeing this aristocratic conflict play out in front of him made him narrow his eyes as well.

“The black sheep of the Reeds, perhaps the biggest opportunist of them all,” Cartwright continued. “When you couldn’t find success in the Army, you fled, stealing the sword of Derek Domino along the way. And now you try to better yourself at the expense of good men like myself, Commandant Spinelli, and Major Sloan here. But it doesn’t surprise me. This is the family that lobotomized one of their own, after all-”

There was a flash of crimson sparks as Reed rose from her chair, but Isaac already had his arms wrapped around her chest, preventing her from rising to the obvious provocations. But something else made Cartwright pause - Sloan placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“She is the eldest daughter of the Reed patriarch,” he said coolly. “We do not disrespect him nor his family.”

That’s all he needed to say. Sloan let go, Cartwright fumed internally, and popped up the collars of his jacket. “Well, in any case,” he said, wanting to find a triumphant conclusion for himself. “I’m not publishing drivel in my papers. And I’m pulling my funding for the Naval expansion programs. The Fore River docks that were damaged in the nationalization? You can fund those repairs yourself.”

Stockham’s neutral expression didn’t change - he likely already expected this.

Cartwright shook his head and stormed off, Spinelli following behind. Sloan remained in place - the two other men gazed at him from the doorway, then continued on, leaving the Army major to his own business. A nostalgic look rose on his face as he studied Stockham.

“Josiah, how long has it been since we were classmates at the Military Academy?”

The unexpected informality threw Isaac for a loop. Stockham relit his cigar and smoke drifted into the air. “Decades by this point, my old friend.”

“Indeed. How time flies.” The Major sighed. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We’re all part of the ruling class. Regarding Tommy, you don’t take out a man connected to me like that. Not without asking, at least. Why are you picking a fight with the Army?”

Stockham tapped ash away. “The Navy wasn’t informed of the nationalization ahead of time. The Army was. The State Police got all the strategic facilities, the Army got all the commercial, and the Navy was left with scraps. The Army is backing the State Police in their attempt to take over the Navy. Perhaps I should be asking - why is the Army picking a fight with me?”

“Do you really care about your position so much?” Sloan asked. He looked at the suits of armor and expensive paintings on the walls. “All of you - Ricci, Broadhurst, Leyton. Just retire, or stop opposing us, and you’ll be rewarded. A nice villa on the coast. A nice estate in the mountains. Money will flow, and trust me - it’ll be quite a nice severance package. You can forget about all your worries and live the life of an idle rich man. Why not take the offer?”

More smoke rose. Stockham said something unexpected. “Cadet Spallacio, would you take such an offer?”

All eyes were now on Isaac. He already knew his answer - after all, this was the same offer Greg made back in Patuxet, on the night he died, before Isaac became a cultivator and found himself embarked on this long quest.

“I wouldn’t,” he said in a crisp voice. “This country is going in a direction I don’t like. And I feel like that direction would catch up to me, even if I lived a wealthy life in the woods. And furthermore-”

He thought of Kassandra with her flaming red hair, a blood-stained Greg dying in the bushes outside Patuxet, Kieran telling him he didn’t want to die, the promise to Babs.

“I have a responsibility to the people close to me,” Isaac continued. “And even people I don’t know. That responsibility is getting this country back on track.”

Stockham leaned back in his seat and tented his fingers across his chest. “There you have it.”

Sloan closed his eyes, looking almost regretful. Then he opened them. “There’ll be consequences for the path you’re choosing.”

“It wouldn’t be a path without them,” Stockham answered.

“At least you understand, then." Sloan slowly tipped his fedora. "Farewell, old friend.”

And with that, Major Sloan departed.