As Lux held the stone slab to her person, she made sure to keep tabs on the party leader's good arm. Also remaining mindful of the distance between them now that she had a calculated grasp of the man's reach. With the bridge having much less surface area than the back deck, the prospect of stepping outside that reach to avoid an attack became precarious. Little room for mistakes at this point.
Her mistake the first time had been being too eager in her offensive, she'd also wrongly assumed he wouldn't be able to fend her off from such a docile position. This time they’d both be standing. Lux also had his slab, which she assumed held some manner of material value. As to how she’d use such a heavy object to her advantage...she wasn’t sure.
"Your type don't retain personal possessions do they?"
Her type? Field service personnel perhaps. Lux gave the impression of relaxing her posture and blew a few strands of blonde hair out of her face.
"Sure don't. If it lacks a practical purpose, we might as well use it as door stop or dust collector."
"You've associate when to great lengths to recover that specific rifle no?"
"Rifles have a practical purpose jackass, shooting nuisances like you. But right my priority is handling rockets. So unless you’re a rocket I suggest you fuck off our Crusader."
"Nothing here is yours. You’re not even meant to be here."
Lux's eyebrow twitched in irritation. This guy wasn’t making any sense.
"Pretty sure THIS is mine at the moment."
She smacked the stone surface with her rifle several times to emphasize her point. Which earned an aggressive step forward from the man.
"That has nothing to do with this, I suggest you put it down."
"You see a suggestion box anywhere?"
She gestured around the surface of the bridge before taking a step forward of her own. Unamused, the raider looked down on her from his full height.
"Your violation of the world’s natural order ends here."
It was then that the convoy exited the mountains, the sudden lack of a geographical barrier against the wind causing her hair and jacket to whip back and forth. If Lux had any attention to spare, she could have even seen the silhouette of Belveer’s cityscape in the distance.
"Funny, I just realized how much of a hypocrite I am. Can’t think of anything more impractical than trying to talk to a corpse."
Taking a half-step back, Lux dropped the slab unceremoniously. She couldn’t care less what happened to it, the enemy in front of her becoming her sole focus. The owner of said slab made no attempt to recover the item either. Apparently killing her and restoring order took precedent.
Pulling the bayonet from the holster on her thigh, Lux threw her arms out to the side in favor of equipping it right away. A means of avoiding the upward swing of a short sword that came much too close for comfort. She went from watching the blade pass by the tip of her nose to withdrawing her face as it dropped by her face a second later. And she continued to keep a close eye on the blade as she moved to fasten the bayonet in place.
During that time Lux witnessed the deflection of a bullet originating from the direction of the deck. Doing so however required the man to drop his center of gravity, creating an opening to exploit. In one smooth motion she swung the end of the rifle around and drove the bayonet downwards. Placing greater emphasis on aim rather than power as missing the target could potentially damage the blade or embed it in the bridge.
In the interest of surviving the exchange, Quay moved with the express intent of limiting damage to the parts of his body necessary for combat and escape. Leading him to forfeit what had already been lost. His right arm.
To achieve this he swung his head into the side of her rifle as it traveled downward, suffering a considerable laceration down the side of his temple and cheek in the process as there was no time to avoid the blade outright. The deflection proved just enough to alter the path of the bayonet, resulting in it punching through the bicep attachment of his right arm. The blade had enough force behind it to impale the arm completely, brushing past bone in the process. And shredding the musculature present.
Pulling back just far enough to remove the bayonet, Lux attempted another downwards thrust. Unfortunately, the raider's mind remained calm despite the state of his mangled arm and he swept a leg into the side of her calf, nearly ungrounding her for a second time.
Ignoring the fresh pain emanating from her calf and shin, Lux considered how she'd explain her decision not to shoot the raider as she drove the bayonet towards him. But in that moment, even as he used the side of his head to deflect the bayonet, Quay had kept his gaze locked on her own. And to her uninformed understanding of the man's effect on his opponents, this meant her shot would have somehow gone astray.
And since missing at such this distance shouldn't have been physically possible, Lux needed to consider the possibility that the gun might jam, misfire or suffer some sort of malfunction if the bullet didn't have somewhere to miss. And a malfunction to any part of her rifle, especially something coil related, would leave her with no immediate way to intercept incoming rockets. Then they'd all be dead right outside Belveer's porch.
No doubt this would all come across as an overly elaborate excuse for a lapse in judgement on her part. In truth Lux probably wouldn't even have to divulge any of this, as even Heenan wasn't so cruel that he'd make her report something none of them could understand or explain. Evan certainly wouldn't say anything outside of "Lux fucked that guy up." As they were the only two real witnesses to this fight and its anomalies, she shouldn't have anything to worry about. Speaking of the fight.
Steadying herself atop the bridge Lux assumed a lower variation of her typical combat position. To account for the strong winds that were no longer being walled off by the various rock faces. That wind was currently blowing at her back and she preferred to keep it that way. Having lost her goggles at some point in this mess, the wind and whatever it carried would obstruct her vision. The man across from her was already experiencing it firsthand, but also had to contend with an open wound splashing fresh blood across his face.
Accounting for that and what was left of his right arm, Lux almost felt bad for the poor sap. Almost. But more than anything payback remained at the forefront of her mind. She wasn't ready to forget or forgive being tossed aside like one would a candy wrapper. Or a stone slab for that matter.
*
Guell had never once feared for his life. He'd taken life on that fateful day in the apartment and watched it be taken almost every day since his time hauling the chain across the plateau started. A majority succumbed to a combination of heatstroke and general fatigue, while the rest fell from the edge of the plateau and plummeted to their deaths. Being placed towards the front of the chain often had that effect, especially whenever the chain experienced a kickback. The cause of which remained a popular topic around the camp, with one worker even suggesting that the gods had their own slaves pulling on the chain from the other end. A way of ensuring that no noteworthy progress would ever be made and their position unthreatened. One big never ending game of tug of war.
Needless to say many of the workers didn't take kindly to the idea that all their effort was for naught and the worker who suggested the outlandish theory coincidentally fell from the plateau the next day. It was easy enough carrying out such acts, even with only minimal support. The victim's cries for help easily being muffled by the contraptions fastened to their faces along with the calls of the pace setters. And guards never did care enough to look into the circumstances surrounding any of the deaths. All they kept track of was the overall number of deaths so they knew how many new workers to put in a request for.
But since it took at least two weeks to purchase and transport new workers, this often left the remaining workforce without the necessary manpower to meet the weekly distance quotas. Resulting in collective punishment. Things such as fewer breaks or smaller meal portions at camp. Naturally these punishments weakened the group, making quotas that much harder to meet. A vicious cycle that drove many to end it for themselves whenever it seemed there was no rest in sight.
Guell was not one of those people. He'd even developed a sense of familiarity and pride towards his work after so many months. Like the heat of the chain, enough to sear his palms and finger pads, or the odor of rusted metal intermingling with the worker’s sweat. Even the sun’s rays cooking them from above and below became a familiar comfort that grounded him in his task. He'd also developed a habit of observing his co-workers on any given day.
For whatever reason he found modest appeal in observing each of their various strategies for making it to each break. This included tactics for conserving energy, but doing so in a way that wasn't obvious to those working around you. Those labeled as slackers often on the receiving end of a beatdown upon returning to camp. But that didn’t stop everyone from doing it to varying degrees.
Guell recalled a time he’d been accused of slacking off in an effort by the accuser to draw attention away from his own shortcomings. It had failed miserably. Turns out many workers shared the same hobby as him and therefore knew who was and wasn't actually carrying their weight.
They'd asked Guell personally if he wanted retribution for the false accusation, an offer to position the man at the front of the chain the following day. He'd refused with a silent nod, more than satisfied with the unspoken camaraderie. His accuser consequently died from fatigue three days later regardless, the threat of being thrown from the plateau enough to make him overcompensate and work himself into an early grave.
But the workers weren't the only bunch that passed time observing others. Members of the aristocracy would often pay unannounced visits to the plateau via a type of flying ship. Granted the main reason for their visits was to see the chain in person. They paid little heed to the mass of workers spread across either side of the ancient marvel.
Only on a handful of occasions did any of these aristocrats so much as step foot on the plateau itself, citing the unbearable heat and stench of the workers. But it was during one of these rare occasions that Guell was granted an unexpected reunion.
They'd been far off to the side of everything, exchanging pleasantries with one of the project supervisors. He couldn't say what had possessed him to look over at the visitors that day. Meeting the gaze of the guards, supervisors and especially the aristocrats was seen as a great offense that carried a broad range of punishments. It amazed him how little that all seemed to matter in the moment.
Because before Guell knew it his legs were already following his gaze towards the opposite end of the plateau. The subject of his gaze took notice and after a moment of hesitation, began to tug on the arm of the man beside her frantically. Guell felt his walk transforming into a jog, his jog into a run and heard the sounds of multiple voices calling out for him stop. But none of reached him quite like the panicked voice of the women he hadn't seen for nearly a year.
In contrast to his own actions, Guell's long absent foster mother began retreating towards the flying ship. Urging the man with her to come along quickly.
This was no good. Perhaps she couldn't recognize him with this contraption obstructing his face. And at this rate he'd miss his opportunity to reunite with her. How could he possibly identify himself to her before she was out of his reach?
"And you have such a lovely voice...it'd be a shame if it faded away from neglect."
So Guell called out to her. Again and again and again. It took several attempts for his voice to reach a volume capable of covering the distance between them, but once it did something of a sob seemed to wrack the body of his mother. She looked away as if horrified, burying her face in the chest of the man beside her who began to usher her away. Seeing his mother led closer to the ship when she was so distraught made Guell's calls for her more frantic.
It was around this point he could feel the sensation of a warm and viscous liquid beginning to flow through the gaps of the metal apparatus on his face. Soaking his torso. The smell that accompanied the liquid was familiar, but his attention stayed glued to his mother. Suddenly he was met by a wave of resistance in the form of multiple guards. They lashed out at him and attempted to push him back the way he'd come but failed to so much as to slow him down.
Up ahead, to Guell's relief, his mother pushed off of the man escorting her to the ship in favor of moving to the side of the ramp. Thinking she'd finally realized his identity and sought to reunite he sped up his approach, or tried to at least. But something struck him from behind, bringing his progress to a halt.
It was as if all the air had been forced out of him all at once. Taking advantage several guards tackled him from behind, causing him to fall forward onto his chin. The collision with the ground causing the spikes to embed themselves deeper into his face. More of the liquid he at last recognized as blood spewing forth and pooling beneath him.
No longer able to articulate himself, Guell could only watch as the woman who raised him ignored the pleas of the aristocrat waiting at the ships entryway and stepped closer to the edge of the plateau.
Guell's mind assaulted him with images from the past year, of workers falling to their gruesome deaths and he attempted to call out to his mother to warn her. But with no air in his body and a pool of blood surrounding his mouth, he could do no more than sputter incoherently.
Upon reaching the edge of the plateau, Guell's mother turned around and met his gaze. The words "I'm sorry" played out over her lips before a guard's hand abruptly slammed his forehead down into the dirt, severing that connection.
Through sheer force of will Guell raised his head again, accessing whatever strength remained in a body that grew colder by the second. Anything to reestablish their connection. But it was no use, the space his mother had occupied was no longer filled by her warm presence.
And so his gaze traveled through that emptiness and out over the horizon, wishing a small portion of that warmth would return and settle into his body. Guell's prayers were answered in the form of tears that sprang unencumbered from both eyes. Just before the growing heaviness in his battered body forced them shut.
*
"This isn't good..."
"Care to elaborate kid?"
Esma double-checked the reading on the anemometer before addressing Vedmann.
"We're out of the mountains."
"An astute observation."
Esma assumed this was the pilot's attempt at improving the mood. What with a battle to the death going on above them for the second time today, a new record. And who could forget about the anti-faith faction's rocketeer, whose actions were liable to grow more desperate now that Belveer was in sight.
"The presence of the those mountains was doing us a considerable favor. Now that we're clear of them we no longer have anything keeping the winds in check, and this area is notorious for generating wind gusts."
"Wind gusts huh, I think I've heard COs make mention of them before. Something about the ground heating up?"
"That's one of the root causes, yes. When the ground heats up the warm air rises and the cooler air above it descends. This causes a momentary increase in the speed of the wind. In this region we're looking at periods of ten to twenty seconds or so."
Vedmann soaked in this bit of information but still failed to identify the cause for concern. Sensing this Esma elaborated.
"According to the instrumentation the last wind gust clocked in at 35 mph. That's a near gale force levels, enough to affect the trajectory of both rockets and rifle rounds. It’s also enough to push the unaware off the top of something high."
"Oh fuck."
Esma couldn't have summed things up better herself. The fact she was woefully incapable of predicting when the next wind gust would strike only added to her stress.
"Shouldn't someone warn Lux?!"
"Lux is fully aware of the situation, it's part of her job description as a sharpshooter. What concerns me is whether our rocketeer is privy to this knowledge as well. If they wait out the next wind gust and position themselves so they're directly ahead of their target, they'll be able to maximize the amount of effect it'll have on an intercepting bullets flight path. In theory that is."
"Lux can't just compensate? You said it yourself, part of her job description."
"Not if she fires her shot just as the next wind gust hits."
Vedmann drummed his fingers along the controls.
"What's the plan then?"
"At best we can narrow down which Crusader they're likely to target and have both our sharpshooters stagger their shots by a set amount of time."
"Do we have time to inform both of them of this development?"
"I don't know. What do you think Cade, Officer Sigurd?"
"I think we can manage."
"Not like we have much of a choice."
Fortunately Esma had the forethought to include both men in the call. Technically speaking such tasks fell under their responsibilities as spotters, therefore they needed to be among those informed on the significance of the terrain shift.
"The real concern is whether Lux will even be able to act on the shooting instructions. Injured or not that's still a party leader breathing down her neck. I doubt he'd be the type to miss an opening."
"Trust me, as long as she's informed she'll make it work."
"Time to find out whether that nickname of hers carries any weight."
Nickname? It appeared Esma was out of the loop again. An unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling that needed to be remedied.
"Do tell."
*
As the most recent wind gust died down, Galway turned towards the slender woman at his 7 o'clock. As he observed her hunkered form against the bike frame he thought it a small miracle she hadn't blown away just now. Given her stature and lack of riding experience she'd have to be more careful than the rest of them in these conditions.
"Duare, approximately how long until the next wind gust?"
"Accounting for temperature and empirical data for this sector...I'd say were looking at an average of between 14-20 seconds between intervals. If I'd known we'd be attempting something like this I would have brought some basic equipment to narrow it down further."
"Can't be helped now. Besides, we all know better than to doubt you on anything weather related."
Duare had been interning at New Kantler's meteorology institute prior to this whole mess. While there she'd had access to swathes of past data relating to weather events and patterns in the region. She’d been fascinated by the subject and enjoyed studying it immensely, but the church had long since expressed displeasure with any study whose predictions attempted to explain or question nature's dominion. They argued such undertakings were in bad taste as they challenged God's machinations. Their official stance being that mortal beings had no business attempting to understand or influence the natural world as it was created separate from the world of man.
It wasn't long after consolidating the church and state that a rudimentary list of changes to the city's budget followed. Among the organizations whose funds would be slashed, the meteorology institute. To such an extent they wouldn't even be able to keep on interns like Duare.
And it wasn't just the meteorology institute that would suffer, there existed a long list of coming changes that would negatively impact multiple facets of the current society and its populace. All the more reason this folly needed to be nipped in the bud before any lasting damage could be done. And it just so happened that they'd be the group to do it.
*
"So that's the plan. Any reservations?"
Leora chewed the inside of her cheek as she contemplated the proposal. A bad habit of hers that presented itself whenever she put serious thought into anything.
"Staggering the shots won't mean jack shit if both of us don't have eyes on the rocket."
"Apparently they'd need to fire from directly in front of the target if they want to reap the maximum amount of benefit from the wind."
"I see. They want the direction of the wind gust perpendicular to the path of the bullet, to increase the chances of it being pushed laterally of course."
"I'll have to take your word on that..."
The sharpshooter was silent for a moment before making a popping noise with her mouth.
"Tell them I'll play along, first shot will go to whoever furthest from the target. Gives the latter a chance to observe its trajectory. Should help determine how much compensation will be required."
"You got it."
After relaying Leora's message Youn would need to check whether Preece made any headway in securing ammunition from C326. Could afford Leora the chance to take some shots at the escort before they made their next move. Plus it would trouble him if he didn’t at least touch base with the downstairs. Especially in the wake of the most recent approach.
Belveer here they come.
*
Even with only one hand to contend with Lux was having an exceedingly difficult time making good on her promise to toss this giant bastard off the Crusader. She'd been counting on some level of anemia to kick in to make her job a bit easier, but no such luck to this point. It was almost like the man's absurd size provided him with an equally absurd blood reservoir. Of course Lux knew the only actual absurd thing was the notion human bodies worked like that, but based on everything she'd seen from this guy who could say whether he was human at all.
The introduction of wind gusts wasn't exactly doing them any favors. It added an extra level of hesitation to all their movements as overextending onto unsure footing left them with no way to recover in the event of an inopportune blast of wind. That hesitation would have normally been a welcome development as it bought time for the aforementioned blood loss to take hold, but the almost literal ticking time bomb that was the rocketeer remained at large to the best of her knowledge. And hesitation and sharpshooting did in fact not pair well.
Which is why Lux had immediately taken to counting the seconds between gusts, no easy task when a slew of outside forces were adamant on obstructing her efforts. Namely the party leader sharing the bridge’s surface with her and the growing pool of blood appearing beneath him. She’d have to be mindful of his reach, the wind and the threat of slipping on blood in order to prevail. God forbid all three struck at once. The decision to use a bayonet instead of blunt force trauma had been a messy mistake it would seem.
As if juggling those elements wasn’t enough, the universe saw fit to present Lux with another. The messenger for which being Cade's voice from down below.
"Shooting instructions!"
Front deck would be her guess? Hard to tell with the way wind made voices carry.
"Right of way goes long, stagger by three shakes! They'll ride the gust so be ready!"
Be ready he says. Kindly fuck all the way off. And wasn't three shakes a bit of a gamble.
The rocketeer would be doing them a serious favor by taking a shot from a distance far enough to warrant so much lead up. Though determining who had priority should be easy enough if the rocketeer sought to take full advantage of the wind gust. The real trick would be concealing her readiness to intercept the rocket until the last possible moment. "Late hands" as it was referred to during the sharpshooting course.
Basically just another way of saying, "Don't tip off your target." Ideally the enemy wouldn't even know a sharpshooter was present on the field. Meaning efforts were made to avoid supplying any obvious hints. And you could forget about getting comfy and setting up for the perfect shot. Instead they were trained to confirm the target’s position, adjust for environmental factors, then turn and unload. It should be swift and decisive. What was it Decima said?
“You want your targets to run like rivers, predictably. Show your hand and they’ll divert. And their comrades will recognize the change in flow and follow.”
You want to talk about poetic shit.
All this reminiscing about her teacher got Lux thinking that she might be better off relocating to the front deck. She'd lose her favorable vantage point, but moving lower should reduce the amount of wind she’d have to contend with. The prospect of the front deck also become more tenable now that Crusaders C384 and C248 had moved up in the formation to be more in line with C326. A subtle tweak as far as formations go but one that gave deck officers an uninterrupted view of the front of the convoy.
Lux's attention then shifted to whether the stagger they planned to implement would afford her enough time to get a shot off from the front deck at all. Jumping down would be a dead giveaway to her intentions and carried the likeliness of being pursued. As her spotter it technically fell to Cade to prevent outside interference, assuming he was in fact on the front deck, but it would be a big ask for him to hold off a party leader. The saving grace was that her adversary's party trick wouldn't affect the shot since he wasn’t the one in her rifle's sights.
Having organized her thoughts into a plan of sorts, all that remained was listening for the callout that signified the next rocket was inbound. But with her attention divided as is Lux would need to rely on the crew's help a bit.
The callout in question came as Lux had her back turned to the front deck, in the process of sweeping under a slash from the basilard. As per convention every member of the convoy's crew roster cried out in unison as the rocket emerged from the escort passing in front of C248.
"Mark!!!"
Followed by another string of warnings from beneath her.
"Weak side!!"
The timing was impeccable as a brief glance downward confirmed that her right foot wouldn't have been able to avoid a residual streak of blood, so rather than run the risk of slipping Lux pushed off the ball of her left foot and began the short fall back down to the front deck.
Her mind raced as she waited to contact the deck, running down a list of potential logistical issues. They'd alerted weak side, meaning C248 was the intended target. That put Lux second in the firing order. Upon touching down she'd have to get her head around quickly to observe the effect the wind gust was having on her cohort's shot.
The cohort whose identity would remain a mystery to her until they reached Belveer and had that drink. Lux had a few educated guesses regarding who they might be but stubbornly refused to look across the distance of the inner sanctum to confirm her suspicions. No need to muddy the waters with personal shit or preconceptions. It was more surprising to her that Cade hadn't given it away seeing as he read the manifest and no doubt knew who saved their asses earlier.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Well, if it was who she thought it was there was a solid chance a follow up shot wouldn't be needed. So much for avoiding preconceptions. Lux started her count, doing her best to ignore the presence looming over her from above. But looming wasn't pursuing. Why the sudden inaction?
To add to her confusion a cacophony of what sounded like trumpets suddenly filled the skies above them. Pair that with the ongoing wind gust and it was almost like some great beast was about to descend on all of them. For all Lux knew that was indeed the case. Such was her focus on tracking the rocket as it closed in on the convoy.
"That’s three..."
*
Whether that day had marked his beginning or end, Guell couldn't say. And not just because saying things in general continued to be a trying prospect for him. The truth was he was still searching for an answer.
What he did know was that the day the trumpets sounded and the sky quaked, the mighty chain found itself dislodged from heaven. Falling to the earth alongside any aspirations related to the Great Project, the bridging of worlds. Perhaps they'd pulled too hard, or maybe the gods grew tired of the game and sought to put an end to the nuisance. Either way the incident took half of the plateau with it. Thousands died, ranging from the workforce above to the citizenry below.
Guell just happened to be standing at the right place at the right time. Even the chain had missed him when it was pulled to earth by the weight of its other half. This was of little consequence to him at the time, he'd simply stared up at the sky seeking out the source of the noise. That had been when it struck him.
Had the sky always been this big?
Their first introduction had been the day he was taken from the apartment and brought to the worksite. Since then, Guell found that his gaze frequently needed to be directed downwards in order to do his work, as it did during his limited interactions with others. Seldom did he have a reason to look up. But now that he had, so many things came to mind. The chain for example, considered large by their meager standards, paled in comparison to the domain stretching out above him now.
Then as quickly as they'd started, the blaring of the trumpets came to an abrupt end. Or maybe the beings playing them had just stopped to take a breath, so that they might gaze upon his world like Guell gazed upon there's.
From that day onward he always made sure to make use of the time between those breaths. So when it came time for their next performance, Guell could return to that sky and take a breather of his own. This time was no different.
And so, in spite of the precarious implications it wrought, his gaze once again drifted back towards the sky. A deep steady breath settling into his lungs. For this to happen now...before their battle could reach its conclusion. Surely this must be the world's way of demanding silence. A demand Guell was obligated to obey. And yet the voices inside his head refused to abate.
"You did such a good job staying quiet today..."
“...your ancestors must hail from the Endless Kingdom.”
"It’s funny, I look at you and can’t help but be reminded of an old story...”
"Mother!"
Those voices were interrupted by the sound of an explosion from somewhere out in front of him, momentarily canceling out both the wind and trumpets. In those few fleeting seconds the world was silent, the sky was blue and all was at it should be. No place for the voices of the past, nor the voices of the future. A world whose existence was so brief not even the foreign invaders could tamper with it.
And yet one such voice had contributed to this silence. Helped bring forth a rare demonstration of one of the world's ancient truths. Something he'd been chasing ever since that night around the campfire all those years ago. For the first time, Guell found himself pondering the fate of the woman who shared that campfire. Had she been among the countless casualties that day? Would the person he is today be capable of asking what caused her such great turmoil?
The blonde sharpshooter responsible for his sorry state reminded him of her in some ways. Cut from a similar cloth, distracted by the burdens they placed in front of themselves. It wouldn’t work if others did it. Others had no say in placing a burden or removing it.
Guell had never been the one in front of the woman during any of her stories. Sure, she’d been facing him, but those words were meant for someone else. The sharpshooter wasn't paying him any mind now either. He'd become an afterthought once another rocket entered her field of awareness. Not that it upset him. In many ways Guell had taken on the role of Quiet Murn himself. Aside from his woeful negligence of the slabs.
With that thought the silence reached its conclusion, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of two bullets piercing the flesh between his shoulder blades. He was thankful they hadn't aimed for his head. This way Guell could continue in his admiration of the vast space above him, even into his final moments.
He vaguely felt his back impact the surface of the bridge but the pain signals being sent to his brain had long since ceased. Save for the warmth spreading out from beneath him, Guell felt nothing outside of gratitude. For the Empyrean Orchestrate had seen fit to mark both his beginning and his end. Starting from that day the chain fell.
It'd taken him until these final moments, but he'd figured it out. Because what was life without a view like this. A view impossible to witness from behind the shelf of that small apartment.
Guell’s only regret, that he'd never found things precious enough to occupy space on that shelf. A shelf with nothing on it was rather conspicuous after all. In comparison, that sharpshooter had reached a point where she could pick and choose what occupied her shelf at any given time. It was up to her whether to fill the shelf or leave it empty and she’d chosen the latter. Should that unique breed of selfishness fade, she'd see it then too. The answer to the destination she sought.
A new unfamiliar silence took hold of Guell Quay then. A silence equal to all. A silence as old and encompassing as the world itself.
*
"That's one problem taken care of."
"Feel free to take credit in your report."
"Yeah...no. Let’s agree now that your bullet killed him. I’m not about extra paperwork.”
Evan turned towards Heenan and threw up a mock salute.
“I’d expect nothing else of my superior officer.”
He waved her off.
"Neither of us really deserve the credit. Your sharpshooter was the one who did the heavy lifting."
"Doubt she even knew that guy was the freaking party leader."
"Were you aware the man you killed was the vice party leader?"
Evan looked over in the direction of the deceased Relck, still propped up against the railing.
"Boy they'll make anybody a vice party leader these days."
"I'm headed off to the bridge to speak with Ms. Prentice, I want you to rotate with the officers downstairs. I'm sure they're exhausted. See to applying any necessary first aid while you're at it."
"You got it."
"And we’ll need someone to see about getting that body down from atop the bridge before we reach New Kantler. The gentleman with the crowbar should suffice. It'd be in poor taste to leave it where others can gawk at it."
Evan stopped short of descending the ladder.
"Was it just me or did you get the sense this Quay guy was ready to die?"
"I know where your coming from, but I think this had more to do with an unpreparedness to continue living more than a readiness to die."
“You’re saying he lacked a purpose.”
“Hard to say. Not that it matters now.”
*
"Get that last rocket into the breech now!"
"Do you want the device to overheat?!"
"We don't have a fucking choice! In case you haven't noticed the border of New Kantler is right there!"
Talud pointed emphatically in the direction of the city, his frustration coming to a head as they’re objective slipped further and further away. And he wasn’t the only one.
"He's right you know, if we hang around much longer we're going to be caught between the relief force from Belveer and the border patrols!"
Galway knew their concerns were valid, but found his current mindset no longer aligned with that of the rest of the faction's. Namely the destruction of the Cinnabark at all costs. Frankly he didn't even see a point in firing the last rocket. Assuming they did buy time until the next wind gust, it was likely the sharpshooters onboard would devise countermeasures. And with the threat posed by the raiding party gone they no longer needed to divide their attention.
With all this in mind Galway began searching for potential avenues of surrender, knowing escape wasn't a realistic option. What with the bikes nearing the end of their charge from all the maneuvering. At this point they'd never make it back to the makeshift camp let alone the next closest city state.
Surrender would undoubtably be their best bet, but only if handled correctly. Which meant they could NOT give themselves up to the border patrols no matter what. Do so and all that awaited them was life imprisonment or a swift execution. Some of the more “spirited” faction members would welcome being handed over regardless of the brutal consequences. Naively convinced they'd become martyrs. Martyrs that would inspire a new wave of revolt. But Galway knew their execution would in no way be some inspiring or ceremonious send-off. Rather they'd be shot in the back of the head somewhere far from the city, a demise that would go unreported. Their disappearances swept under the rug.
In order to avoid such an outcome their best and only real option would be handing themselves over to the LCF before the convoy reached Belveer. In doing so they'd officially be in custody of the LCF, making them eligible for sanctuary within the walls of the Crusader Station. Of course some form of bargaining on behalf of the group would be necessary so that they might discourage the very real possibility of having their custody transferred over to New Kantler officials. Something along the lines of joining the LCF for an agreed upon number of years that exceeded the usual service requirement.
On paper it almost made too much sense for both parties to come to such an agreement. It was no secret the LCF was in sore need of manpower in every region of the Expanse and with the number of cities and nations under the Luridian umbrella only growing, that wouldn't change anytime soon. And while the dangers of field service were a given, the irony of that statement did not escape him, the perks of joining were almost more than they deserved. Free room and board at every Crusader Station, job training, and opportunities for relocation to other regions or cities just to name a few. The latter being the most important now that returning home was no longer possible.
If they were lucky the law that started this whole mess might be repealed in the time it took them to complete the agreed upon service requirement. Now the real trick would be convincing the remaining faction members to follow his lead and cooperate. Galway didn't exactly have enough time to explain everything he'd just gone over in his head to each of them. And as spur of the moment as this decision was, his suggestion could easily be mistaken for cowardice. Not that he cared. If being labeled a coward allowed the remaining faction members to retain some level of personal freedom, so be it.
An idea popped into Galway's head then. As cruel as it sounded, the best way to convince the other members would be to eliminate their other options. In this case discarding the RED. No RED no means for carrying out the plan to destroy the Crusader's and their cargo. And without any other options the members would be hard pressed not to follow his lead if it meant escaping the wrath of the church.
So Galway moved the strap of the RED over his head and looked behind him to search for a spot he could discard the launcher without putting any members of the escort at risk. Unfortunately a certain carpenter-apprentice misinterpreted the removal of the strap as intent to transfer operation of the RED and snatched it away before he could carry out his plan.
"Wait, Talud! Don't!"
"I'll handle things from h—"
The RED hadn't been in the hands of Talud for longer than a second when a shot sailed through one side of his neck and out the other. He gurgled in confusion and dropped the weapon in favor of clasping both hands over his neck. A futile attempt at stemming the flow of blood. But just like the launcher, Talud's body fell from the bike and skidded several feet across the terrain before rolling to a stop.
The entire escort watched this unfold with a mix of horrified and darkened expressions, in Galway's case a tremendous wave of guilt also threatened to overwhelm him for his failure to make his intentions known. Although he admittedly struggled to imagine a scenario where Talud would have quietly cooperated with his plan.
"Maybe someone can go back and get it..."
"We're turning ourselves over to the LCF effective immediately! Get word out to discard all weapons, that includes anything that might be mistaken for one! In fact, everyone go ahead and shed their outerwear! No need to leave room for uncertainty in regards to our intentions!"
The members who weren't still processing the loss of Talud and the launcher looked to Galway in shock at the sudden proposal.
"What are you...shouldn't we at least try to escape?!"
"Once you've discarded weapons and outerwear, form up behind me! We'll pull up alongside C248 and announce our formal surrender! From there we follow their instructions to a T! Is that understood?”
"You can't be serious! They'll kill us on the spot!"
"No."
Duare stepped in on Galway's behalf.
"They won't. Galway's right, we do as we're told and we've got a real chance at being recruited into the LCF. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'll take that over being made an example of by the church."
Murmurs of both agreement and disagreement passed between the group as Duare pulled her bike off to the side.
"I'll spread the word. And please be mindful about how you form up, we don't want to be mistaken for an approach."
With that she was gone, leaving layers of clothing in her wake to show the deck officers she was unarmed. Galway could feel the waves of guilt subsiding in response to his comrade's vote of confidence. It allowed him room to breathe and he saw about organizing everyone present. Suddenly things were feeling optimistic, although their fates still hinged on how C248 would receive them. You know, the people they'd literally just fired a rocket at. He did have his reasons for approaching this Crusader in particular, but rather than dive into specifics he needed to focus on rounding everybody up first.
All they could do now was hope the crew of C248 humored their request. Applauding the sharpshooter onboard for their skill might make for a good start.
*
"I'm in position, drop him down whenever you're ready!"
Cade stood at the base of the bridge with a mortuary bag at the ready, bags that were typically reserved for crew members who perished during transit.
"Working on it! This guy’s heavier than he looks if you’d believe it! And the bridge is covered in blood to boot!"
"That's the idea Ev! Lower him by his boots!"
Could always count on Lux for snarky comments at a moments notice.
"Maybe I toss one of those boots down, have you shove it up your ass! See if that helps get him down!"
Lux shrugged her hands from beside Cade, replying in a guileless tone.
"I don't see how it possibly could."
"Knock it off you two."
Cade coupled his chastising with a few loud snaps of his fingers, an established habit of his for demanding people's attention.
"Lux, go keep an eye on the faction members. Without an RED to lean on their actions could get desperate. And Browder, I'll head up now and help with lowering Quay. Sit tight."
"Dude, what are your fingers made of? I felt that in MY bones."
Cade ignored Lux and went about hoisting himself atop the bridge to join Evan. And boy she was not kidding about the amount of blood. Being mindful of his footing he moved over towards the once party leader's left foot and grabbed hold. Similarly Evan got a grip on the right and they rotated the large man so they could lower him head first. A strenuous task that might have been impossible without shifting their weight onto their heels.
"If you feel like you're about to slip just let go. No sense in risking injury over moving some dead guy."
"Don't have to tell me twice."
Cade cast a sidelong glance at the security officer as they inched forward in unison.
"Heard you got the finishing blow."
"Joint effort really. Could have been Heenan for all I know."
"Interesting."
"What is?"
"A lot of security officers would jump at the chance to claim credit for killing a party leader."
Evan paused her movements, forcing Cade to follow suit.
"True, although I personally consider it pointless. I actually knew a gal who'd mark the ammo she was issued before every convoy. I think it helped put her in the correct mindset for field service, also made it clear who her kills were."
"That is pointless, not like the LCF would bother with the collection of and autopsies of raiders.”
"He says as we're about to drop the body of a party leader into a LCF mortuary bag."
On that note both resumed shuffling the body towards the edge again. Though Evan picked up the conversation again.
"She was desperate. To earn accolades that is. And if a small thing like marking up bullets ended up bearing fruit, it could've landed her a comfy station gig somewhere."
"Is that what you're gunning for, a comfy station job?"
The two strained as they lowered the body of Guell Quay in unison. Thankfully his absurd height made it so his head practically touched the deck already. Made dropping his corpse down seem less harsh. To them at least, the view for those in the bridge must have been disturbing to say the least. But now that it was down Cade moved over to the spot he'd climbed up, Evan following as she shook out her arms.
"Only thing I have any intention of gunning for is threats to the convoy. Don't need a station job since I'm returning home when my service requirement is up."
"You started at the same time as Lux, no?"
"Sure did, our graduation certificates are even decorating the wall of the same bar."
Cade dropped to the deck with a light thud before reaching up and grabbing Evan's hips.
"Halfway there."
"Halfway there."
Now back on the front deck both proceeded to look over at Lux who they realized had grown concerningly quiet. She was leaned over the weak side railing with a visible scowl. Stepping around the body they'd just lowered the two came up on either side of her to investigate.
"That is a unique way of approaching..."
"I think they're...surrendering?"
"Could be a trick."
Cade did his best to make sense of what he was seeing. They were all anti-faith faction, that much was for sure. No weapons as far as he could tell. In fact they'd all shed their jackets save for the young man in front who was waving his side to side. He also noted that neither their speed or formation facilitated an approach with intent to board. Not an effective one at least.
"Well I'm supposed to be going down anyway."
"I'll head down too, gonna need to unlock the engine room soon anyway."
Cade grimaced when he saw Evan head straight down the weak side stairway next to them. Bold move considering clearance hadn’t been declared yet. Lux called after her descending form.
"Give me a signal if I should start blasting, otherwise I'll go on instinct."
Evan shot back a thumbs up without turning around.
"Good, cause I'm working with jack shit as far as ammo goes."
"Easy there Rougas. No one is shooting anybody, not while they're unarmed and not until we figure out what they're up to. The final decision is the Commander's anyway."
Cade hustled down the stairs after Evan, keeping a close eye on the man leading the alleged charge towards diplomacy. He watched as they came up alongside the platform and attempted to match the speed of the Crusader. No easy task with the current speed the convoy was moving at. It would have to be a quick negotiation.
He slipped past Evan and rang the bridge via the speaking tube. The response from the bridge was swift.
"What is it?"
"Commander you're needed on the weak side platform, as I’m sure you’ve noticed we have faction members here wanting to negotiate some manner of surrender."
"Surrender huh. I think I see where this is going...I'll be right down."
The sound of the lid falling shut indicated the conversation was over and Cade motioned over to Engler and Gandlin that they could head up. They looked skeptical but eventually turned to head up, Tristler assisting Nocks over to the ladder way. Cade turned back around and walked calmly to the side of the platform opposite Evan. He placed both hands on the railing and dropped his head for a moment, shaking it side to side to stave off the fatigue. It had been a long day after all.
Raising back up he made eye contact with the faction member who was waiting patiently. Or at least was trying to, but the rate at which they were closing in on New Kantler was obviously stressing him out. Evidently Evan also noticed this and kicked off negotiations with an ice breaker.
"I think you might've dropped your rocket launcher back there, better hope whoever finds it has it in their heart to return it."
"Save it Browder, I doubt they had the forethought to even write their names and address on it to begin with."
The young man almost seemed surprised they'd identified him as the rocketeer. But that surprise quickly turned into anger when he realized they were making light of the faction’s circumstances. Angry or not the man refrained from any type of verbal response. Something Evan took issue with.
"What, you'll shoot rockets at us but won't talk? That's some pretty fucked up logic don't ya think?"
"That'll be enough you two."
Commander Heenan stepped out onto the platform, taking a moment to verify everyone’s current positions. That included Lux at the top of the stairway, to whom he offered a side glance and a nod. Satisfied he turned towards the youth who promptly resumed his fidgeting.
"Our time is limited, so let's get straight to business."
*
"It's decided. The surviving faction members will enter the inner sanctum from between Crusaders C248 and C217. I want at least one deck officer from each Crusader supervising their entry, the same deck officers will then keep them under guard until we reach Belveer."
"Do you want our sharpshooters counted among those officers or should we keep them positioned on the weak sides?"
"They'll both be in charge of the inner sanctum. Unarmed or not this is a lot of people we're going to be escorting to the station and it would be naive to assume all of them are onboard with abandoning their initial objective. One of them so much as looks at a platform too long and Scholz or Ayfer will handle it."
"Understood, we'll get things underway. Oh and before I forget, what should I tell the border patrol if they contact us on the other channel?"
"What's to tell? In another fifteen minutes or so they'll have their shipment of Cinnabark delivered right on schedule. Considering the day it's been, they ought to fall to their hands and knees and thank that deity of theirs for this miracle."
"Tell them to fuck off, got it. See you at the station."
Heenan lowered the headset around his neck and sauntered over to the front of the bridge. Through the front window he could just barely make out the mortuary bag containing Guell Quay on the front deck.
A dead party leader, a dead vice party leader, and an unconfirmed number of dead "terrorists." Probably best to leave these unexpected developments off the corrected bill of lading. Officially they'd already have to report a shortage of cargo, although the destroyed contents of C217's cargo bay hadn't actually been Cinnabark.
It had been arranged ahead of time to have a substitute lumber loaded onto C217 when it was decided its position would be at the rear of the convoy. Certain formations making certain positions in said formation the most likely initial target. Heenan had been the only one made aware of this, or at least he should've been. But it seemed at least one other personnel member from the crew roster became aware of the switch through alternative means. He knew who it was and also knew they'd be furious about the decision. The one saving grace was that this person's pedigree meant they knew better than to go discussing it publicly.
"Just think, if every window for arrival encompassed three hours we'd never be late with a shipment again."
Heenan turned towards the source of the comment and folded his arms.
"I don't make the rules Villard, I just follow them. Today those rules happened to be in our favor. You can thank the LCF higher ups and the accommodating nature of the New Kantler administration.”
"Funny, I'd thought my appreciation for the church's ineptitude concerning shipping logistics was obvious."
"Then what is it exactly you take issue with?"
"I don't take issue with anything per se, just impressed by how quickly you struck a deal downstairs. Ever consider that you might have ended up in the wrong line of work. Missed your calling as a negotiator."
"Maybe we'll send you down next time. Mouth like yours, they'd be in the LCF for life."
"Admittedly I do tend to hold a grudge against people who try to blow me up. Something to work on. We can't all be as magnanimous as you commander."
Vedmann supplied his two cents from behind the controls with a chuckle.
"To think Cade gave up piloting duty today, his loss."
Esma rolled her eyes and placed both hands on her hips.
"Glad I have your approval."
Heenan moved over to one of the side windows, wanting to check the status of the LCF's newest recruits.
"So, how long? I'd expect you used our leverage to go above and beyond the usual service requirement."
"Four years. I almost made it five."
"Magnanimous and sentimental. Who would've thought."
"Please, they're a bunch of kids. Not unlike you, although you seem to think you've got things figured out."
"Figuring things out isn't so hard. It's the execution that's the tricky part."
"Execution huh... we did far more executing than I would've liked today."
A heavy silence settled over the bridge as the reality of those words set in.
"You'll feel it at some point in the next few days, like some anxious beast is gnawing at your conscience. Everyone's got different ways of managing it. For me it's piles of paperwork and something warm to drink."
Fresh ginger tea in particular tended to soothe him best.
"Can't say I appreciate the implication my conscience hasn't already been desecrated. Or that I don't have coping mechanisms in place to appease or distract such beasts."
Heenan turned around and locked eyes with the young CO, searching for the meaning in those words. And fleeting as it was, he didn't miss it. The way a flicker of grief scrambled to conceal itself behind those emerald shields. Not one to pry he offered a nod of understanding and returned his attention to the side window. Namely the other grief-stricken souls on the other side of it.
*
Lux's eyes flittered between the various faction members gathered beneath her position on the back deck. Just as she'd heard they all looked very young. Mostly students from what she could recall. But being young didn't buy them the same amount of sympathy it would from others. For she was young too, probably younger than half the faction members present. Definitely the youngest person on the crew roster.
She couldn't help but think how things would've shaken out if the roles had been reversed. Then again the outcome would be dependent on whether she and the others still had their current training. Assuming they did it would’ve honestly been a piece of cake. For this roster that is. The same couldn't be said for the convoy she rode prior. Funny enough these types of hypotheticals were popular among those in field service.
After all, plenty of past crewmen and women had joined the ranks of raiding parties or gone on to start their own. Didn't mean they were inherently successful in their efforts to conduct raids. Making it a tad presumptuous to assume things would work out for them if they followed suit.
Lux would definitely be a Hussard though. Cade? A Demen. Demens were basically the raider equivalent of engineers anyway. Everyone else could just be Volts because she was suddenly too tired to continue the concept.
Or maybe that was just general fatigue setting in now that Belveer was in sight. Shit, at this rate Lux would need a power nap just to stay conscious for the upcoming night of celebratory food and drink.
Let's see...need to invite the other sharpshooter to pay them back, there’s also the new girl. Esma something. She'd been a trooper earlier, volunteering to go up on the bridge and retrieve her rifle like that. Cade seemed to like her too. Crap, need to look vigilant. Didn't need any of the captives thinking they can get one over on her. Unfortunately her attempt to refocus fell short and Lux fell back into a reverie while watching over them.
"Bet they could use a drink right about now..."
*
Two minutes after officially crossing over the border into the city state of New Kantler the four Crusader convoy was welcomed into Station Belveer. Whereupon pulling into each of their designated docks the Crusaders were flocked by the station personnel who’d been on standby in the receiving yard. Each with their own list of tasks to undertake.
Security personnel immediately saw to rounding up the faction members and shepherding them into the station, taking care to both pat them down and separate them beforehand. Meanwhile the station's medical officers focused on transporting any and all casualties to the infirmary or onsite morgue. Dock engineers set about collecting the various keys to the intact cargo bays and began assessing the condition of each shipment. Later, when each Crusader was stripped of its cargo, they'd see about repairs and cleanup to the cruisers themselves.
As this controlled chaos carried on around them the crews of each Crusader disembarked at varying paces. Some acted as if they couldn't get into the station quick enough, not even sparing a moment to greet those receiving them. On the opposite side of the spectrum were those who idled in the yard with no express purpose, eager to speak with just about every station worker they came across or offer words of comfort and celebration to each other.
Among those idling in the yard were C248's Lux, Cade, Evan and Esma. Nocks and Trislter had understandably headed off with the medical officers, the former needing to be stretchered off due to the worsening condition of his leg. Vedmann, who'd switched back with Cade before arrival to keep up appearances, had expressed a dire need to use the bathroom. But the entire crew of C248 had made it to Belveer despite a variety of close calls. Crusader's C217 and C384 not having been so lucky, losing five officers between them.
Lux spoke up first, resting both arms on either side of the rifle she had behind her neck.
"1800 hours work for everyone? I need a power nap if I'm expected to remain among the living."
"Nap? I need a shower. I reek of smoke, blood and sweat."
"Cade you've got reports to coordinate right?"
Lux directed her attention to the engineer resting on one of the many spare Crusader tires strewn about the yard.
"Fuck, should've had Vedmann start his while he was on the can."
"Coordinate reports?"
Esma wasn't sure if this was something commonly done among crews or a different beast altogether. Either way she was better off just asking.
"Sorry, can't tell you. If we did it'd just be one more person to account for."
Evan’s response was to cover her ears and make la la noises with her tongue, leaving Cade to shoulder the explanation.
"She means to say you can fill your report out as you normally would. No need to revise your recollection of the events that took place."
"I take it something happened that may or may not have violated a bylaw of some sort."
Lux, Cade and Evan all exchanged glances for a moment.
"Nothing worth worrying that pretty little head of yours over."
Lux extended a finger and twirled one of the ends of Esma's hair, presumably to distract, but before Esma could protest the lazy attempt at brushing her off a cry of palpable anger and regret sounded nearby. Turning towards the source of the cry, the group saw Officer Youn Sigurd doubled over in the center of the yard with his hands buried in his hair. Reefe and Everage stood next to him sporting sorrowful expressions of their own.
Ignoring the display of emotion the rest of the yard continued going about their business, at times having to circumvent the trio in order to move freight. At the very least they had enough presence of mind to leave a wide birth when doing so. Youn similarly shunned the ongoing bustle around him and stayed down a moment longer, striking the ground several times with his fist. Unsatisfied the target of his anger shifted to the men looking on in front of him. Prompting the security officer to shoot back up and point an accusatory finger at them.
"What the fuck were you all doing!? You expect me to believe that neither of you could fight your way through a bunch of untrained, worthless—"
Everage was the first to break his silence and step forward. But rather than yelling back he took on a sober tone.
"Do you honestly think we just stood by and watched. That we just...let those fuckers punch holes in one of our own."
"Whether it was intentional or not that's what you ended up doing anyway isn't it!"
"They swarmed us. Created an impromptu meat shield in the process. We did our best to keep from being separated, but—"
"He saved my life!"
Youn's chest heaved as his glare alternated between the two men. Everage ran a hand over his dirty blonde hair in frustration, clenching his jaw and looking off to the side at no one thing in particular. Reefe remained in a silent trance, as if speaking on Preece's demise was making him relive the moment.
"He saved my life today...a life I nearly forfeited. He shouldn't have had to. Don’t you get that. We should've been the one's protecting him, not the other way around!"
"We're sorry Preece didn't make it to Belveer, but he and everybody else here understand and accept the risks involved in this line of work. I'm not sure why you’re so fixated on him to begin with, because saving each other's asses is a daily occurrence. It's part of being on the same crew."
Everage moved forward until he was face to face with Youn, who displayed no intention of backing down.
"Real shame you couldn't spare some of that sympathy for Laud, or any of the officers onboard C217 for that matter. In case you haven't noticed, they didn't make it here either."
That did it. A fight kicked off, and this time the station personnel actually stopped what they were doing to watch with mild interest. Watch as the two men, calling on whatever dregs of adrenaline remained, wailed on one another and rolled across the ground. Lux cursed and ran over to break it up with Cade in tow. Unperturbed, Evan collected her gear before turning around and heading inside the entrance of the station. Probably to the girl's locker room to take that shower.
Esma questioned where Commander Heenan had gotten off to as Lux grabbed and threw Youn off of Everage. She'd think he would have been the type to break up these types of squabbles but saw no sign of him. She did however notice Flannery leaned against one of the docks taking in the scene. She did not look surprised or impressed. Esma considered approaching the Head CO but stopped herself after recalling this was her last convoy. The woman might want some time to reflect, say goodbye the lifestyle...or something. So instead, the rookie followed Evan’s lead and headed for the locker room to clean up.
With the fight broken up and things settling back down, people resumed their duties. The remaining field service personnel heading inside, save for Reefe who remained rooted in the same spot even during the course of the fight.
Reaching down, the veteran undid the buckle of his service belt calmly. He held it in his hands for a moment, running a thumb across the assortment of badges and emblems accumulated over the course of his career in the LCF. His career, nobody else's. No one to blame for the sinking feeling in his chest that refused to abate no matter how much time passed.
Reefe proceeded to drop the belt at his feet and vacated the receiving yard without so much as a second glance at the article or the station. This was where he got off for good. And that realization gave him more relief than he ever thought possible.