Katya was eager to get back into the field. Warrentown was only about a hundred miles north of Pikevale, but the residents, she had been warned, would not be nearly as friendly. Pikevale, closer to the G.C.N. border, had developed an amicable trading relationship since the war ended and was not unused to Confederacy outsiders making visits. Warrentown was different. Isolated and sequestered deep in the Appalachia, the small mountain village did not have many friends, even amongst its neighbors in the Fringelands. Prior to the start of the war -- or the Tumbleweed Conflict -- as the media now playfully preferred -- Warrentown had been amongst the most vocal and outspoken in denouncing the newly-formed Global Confederation of Nations, but once the rebellion had begun, not a single townsman had turned out to volunteer, giving Warrentown's citizenry a reputation throughout the Fringelands as spineless inciters, and not much more. Even now, after the attack, with the entire population dead or missing overnight and the town fading ignominiously into the receding memory of history, the popular opinion was one of righteous punishment -- the fate of Warrentown a story of justice, and not pity.

"People say it served them right, what happened here."

Katya turned to the boy beside her. He was pretty, in a girlish way, and young -- too young for the deputy's badge pinned to his shirt and even younger, still, for the gun he carelessly tapped on, strapped to his waist. What good would it do him, she wondered, his delicate hands barely large enough, it seemed, to wrap around the handle.

"You don't think so?" she asked.

He shrugged, sheepishly, and stopped chewing for a moment.

"I don't know," he confessed. Quietly, almost carefully, he turned his head to spit away from her. "There's a lot of superstitions about these parts, ma'am, and a lot of folk think this here was some sort of divine justice."

Katya looked at him, "Why do they think that?"

He shrugged again, took a deep breath, and shook his head. "It's just -- you know, all the firestarters here, especially that colonel. Getting us all into the war and then disappearing the moment shots actually get fired. But the whole town -- won't send no volunteers, no supplies. Won't even care for our wounded. My Pa was in the war, you know, lost a lot of friends because Warrentown refused to help, so, I s'pose Warrentown's as much to blame as any, but--" he paused.

He was shifting his weight, squinting at the sun as it peeked through the smoky gray skyline, he said, "I guess -- I just don't see how all these dead folk makes up for losing the war."

Katya studiously followed his gaze. There was merit in what he said, even wisdom, perhaps. And yet, looking at this boy, this youth -- though he was probably not too far off from her own age -- she couldn't help but see such a gulf. Not just in intellect or experience, but in worldview, perspective. His assessment was correct, yet he seemed to regret the state of affairs, as if it were something that could be changed, rather than a fact, a simple reality to be understood and then, if so fortunate as to have an opportunity arise, to be exploited.

Because it came so obviously to her, that his guilt over this attitude towards Warrentown could be used to her advantage -- textbook, even. She would feign some connection with the town, something that she was ashamed of, something non-specific that required her to be alone, something that would allow her to break away and pursue her investigation without the prying eyes of the locals who had no idea who she really was or why she was really there.

That was what came to her, and yet this was what came to him. For a moment, she wondered if this was "normal". At this age, should she have been this innocent too?

She pushed the thought out of her head as she turned away, knowing he was now watching her. "There were a lot of reasons we lost the war," she said, slowly tossing her neck back and baring her face to the sky, as if to remember events lost in those wild, gray treetops above.

Her companion solemnly nodded and then, said, "She'll rise again. She'll rise again."

This was her it -- her chance to draw him out.

Katya's mouth moved in a whisper. She formed a word so delicately, with so much reverence and memory -- as if she dared not say it, yet felt compelled to all the same -- that no sound came out. She had turned sideways as she did this, enough so to show him that she did not want him to see, but not enough so that he did not.

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Katya whispered because she knew the 'She' that he referred to. 'She' was a name that had been banished in the Confederacy; a name that had been taken up as a banner to rally those most opposed to the G.C.N.'s quest for international hegemony -- many of whom lived here, where the name once held absolute dominion. While the Confederacy had inevitably won the Conflict, figuring out how to digest and assimilate the former rebels was still, even decades on, an ongoing effort, and one it preferred to do without the signature of an old thorn being used to incite any lurking spirits or passions.

Yes, the G.C.N.'s strategy of censorship was crude and subversive, but ultimately effective, just as it had been in other places and with other peoples. Yet, it was her job to know the names that others did not. And beyond merely knowing this name, she also knew that here, in the Fringelands -- or, as she reminded herself again, the Freelands, as they smugly bastardized it -- it was a calling card; a handshake and a wink that she calculated she could take a risk with. And now, seeing him slightly taken aback, yet also more familiar somehow, she knew her gambit had worked and he would look upon her -- despite her clean accent and her proper diction -- just as he looked upon himself, a true Homesteader, as they proudly dubbed themselves.

"God bless--" he said, nodding reverently.

She didn’t have to complete the phrase. She’d gotten him to say it. She was in.

He leaned back against his truck by the side of the road, more relaxed now. She caught him looking at her, and he smiled, shyly.

Carefully, he ventured a nervous question, "You mind if I ask -- ask why you're here?"

She returned his smile, "Thaniel, right?" She giggled as she thought she might have if she were an ordinary civilian, "I don't know, my editor assigned me? Which, I suppose is the same reason you're here, right?"

A rumble came from around the bend before he could answer. Katya looked up hopefully.

"That's going to be him, that'll be the sergeant," Thaniel said, nodding as the SUV rounded the corner.

As the car pulled up, her companion walked over to meet the driver. A ragged beard rolled the window down. They conferred out of earshot.

After a bit, the beard looked at her. It bellowed, "You Katie?"

She nodded, but kept her distance.

"She's alright, she's one of us," she heard Thaniel say, beaming warmly at her as he did.

Grudgingly, the beard turned his attention back. They spoke for a while longer, and then Thaniel was nodding. He turned and headed toward her.

"This what you need?" he asked, handing her an old cellular phone.

She flipped it open and then turning back to him, nodded. "This will do," she said, putting the phone into her pocket. "Thank you!" she yelled, waving at the SUV as it began its descent back down the mountain. Nimbly and invisibly with her other hand in her pocket, she popped the back of the phone open and inserted a thin film between the battery and the case, before closing it back up again.

Then, softly, turning to Thaniel, she said, "Thanks for calling this up for me. My editor insists on hearing me describe everything as I first encounter it, and then I was in such a rush to get up here...." she trailed off, apologetically.

Thaniel lifted a hand kindly, "Don't worry about it. You all set now?"

As the SUV faded beyond the bend, she reached a hand out for his arm.

"Thaniel, listen, I know this will sound strange, but I didn't want to ask you until I knew I could trust you." She looked at him imploringly, "I need a little time up there -- by myself, first."

She turned away now, cheeks reddening, "I know I told you I was a reporter -- and that's true -- but, my editor didn't really select me. I volunteered."

"Why--" he said, haltingly, "--would you do that?"

"Thaniel, I can tell you're an honest, good person," she said, not insincerely, "I can see that. And I can also tell you're a true Homesteader, so you must understand that there are some things up there that I just need to be alone for -- the first time I see them." She cast her eyes to her feet and added, "Thaniel, I knew some people in Warrentown," and then quickly, as if to preempt him, "but they weren't the type you're thinking of. They just got caught up, that's all."

She stopped; and then finally, she said in her most confiding and trusting voice, "You know how dangerous it is for me to admit that. But, I hadn't spoken with them for a long time. Then this happens. And...." she trailed off again.

Slowly, he nodded, as he began to understand. "Ms. Katie, I'm really not supposed to do this. It's not that it isn't safe, but, I've got my orders. I'm supposed to just show you -- you know, some of the bodies and...."

He was struggling to get to a point as his mind deliberated the issue. He looked at her face, thin and graceful. He did find her attractive, but that wasn't why he was doing this. He grimaced, it had nothing to do with that; it was just the right thing to do, he felt.

"Ok," he said, finally. "How 'bout I just wait here in the truck. It's not that I'm afraid to go up there or anything," he said, "but I can see you'd appreciate some space."

"Thank you," Katya said. "Thank you, Thaniel." She grabbed his hand and shook it emotionally between both of her own. Then, she brought out the phone from her pocket, "If I need you, I can call you with this right?"

He nodded, happily.

"I'll let you know if anything comes up. I won't be long," she smiled, turning towards the upward path that led to the mouth of the town. She took a few steps, then turned back around and waved.

He was still watching her, his chest swollen with pride, feeling as if he had made the most righteous decision in the world.