Modern Crusaders: A Thousand Miles

By PsiDraconis

For disclaimers see Chapter 1

Chapter 11

Corporal Rupert Gyrus sat and tried to hide his nervousness, but was uncertain how well he was doing so. If it was anything like Corporal Justine Iglesias, who was seated next to him, he probably looked almost as uneasy as he felt. A glance around the long table in the nondescript conference room showed that Private Te'Inti Li-He appeared even more uncertain, her expression bordering on outright fear. On the other hand, Captain Amanda Benson's greater experience was evident as she sat calmly farther up the table, and Private Halan il-Pesek was as completely unemotional as he always was.

The past few months had been stressful enough for the five of them. During the Invasion they had chanced to run upon the Personal Guard units of the King, Queen, Heir, Duke Avalon, and Heir Consort and had aided in the defence of those Noble personages. Although how much help they actually had been was debatable, since they had also been present to witness Lady Alleandre's extraordinary actions that had taken out an entire enemy platoon single-handedly. Gyrus still had dreams about the event – or nightmares, depending on which side Lady Alleandre was in those dreams.

Afterwards, the five of them had been debriefed very thoroughly, and then set almost free. There had been few official restrictions on their actions, but they had also been watched very closely by other Guard teams, who had made no pretence at concealing their activities. The implied warning had been obvious, and the result had been a kind of self-imposed house arrest that had been broken only by the summons to this room today. Gyrus wasn't certain what the results would be. While it was highly unlikely that he and the others would be conveniently "disappeared", there were plenty of other ways of removing inconvenient witnesses to places where they would not be heard. Manning listening posts in the far-northern Canadian Arctic, for example, or assignment as Intelligence Officer on a tiny spy submarine off the coast of California. Gyrus hated the cold, and got very seasick, but the Powers That Be were unlikely to care, and even if they did, the other options for disposal his imagination had come up with were many and varied.

Corporal Gyrus’ thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and he jumped to attention and saluted along with everyone else as the person they were waiting for entered. The officer in question waved them back to their seats with a wave of her hand and an absent, "As you were," but Gyrus still waited until she was seated before returning to his own chair. Major—no, Colonel Theodora Nixon was unassuming, almost frail-looking, but it was well known that she had, in fact, beaten both Sir Arthur Ramirez of the Heir's Guard and Sir Adun al-Raziq of the King's Guard in full-contact hand-to-hand sparring on several occasions, and anyone who could boast that was definitely not to be taken lightly.

The Colonel placed two stacks of folders, and another stack of envelopes on the table and leaned back. "Captain," she greeted, nodding at Benson, then continuing around the table, making eye contact with each of those present and subtly emphasising her authority as she did so. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, you're probably wondering why you're here," she continued when she was finished, smiling slightly. She was answered by a series of largely nervous grins. "First of all, I'd like to commend you on the reports you filed regarding the… incidents that took place during the Invasion." She tapped one pile of folders. "What I have here"—she touched the other pile—"are the new reports that each of you will read, sign, and re-file. These new, more… efficient reports place less… emphasis on the actions of Lady Alleandre during the incidents in question."

Gyrus blinked, but wasn't terribly surprised. This was one of the scenarios he had come up with in the last few months. A glance to his right at Corporal Iglesias' cough showed that she appeared less comfortable, likely because of the implied dishonesty of such an action. Colonel Nixon noticed as well, and smiled flatly. "You may rest assured that your original documents will remain on file as Eyes-Only for the Director of the Guard. Those that you re-file will be for the benefit of those who are focusing on the more… pertinent aspects of the Invasion."

The committees and investigators digging into the background of the Invasion, Gyrus translated. People who don't need to be trusted with… extraneous details.

Now the Colonel held up one of the envelopes. "Once you have signed your reports, you will each receive one of these packets. In them you will find your options for your own future… dispositions." Now Gyrus tensed again, and felt the others do the same. "In section Alpha you will find the required paperwork to return to your regular units and service. If you take this option you will also sign a comprehensive Oath of Confidentiality, with… severe penalties for Oathbreaking. Good luck, enjoy your life, and I sincerely hope we never hear of your name again in relation to this incident." Colonel Nixon's hard glare drilled each of them, though her tone remained matter-of-fact. After a moment she continued. "On the other hand, in section Bravo you will find the documentation needed to transfer to the Heir Consort's Personal Guard… under myself as commander."

Now Gyrus almost gaped in shock. Not about Colonel Nixon's appointment as Master of the Heir Consort's Guard. Captain Emil al-Rahan, the previous Master, had survived the Invasion only to tragically die in a car accident six weeks later. There had been several rumours over who might replace him, and while the newly-promoted Colonel Nixon's name wasn't among those Gyrus had heard, it wasn't surprising. Corporal Iglesias raised her hand tentatively and voiced the shock they were all feeling. "Uh, Ma'am, can we do that? You usually need a lot of seniority to be assigned to a post like that, and we're… well, not. Senior, that is. Except for Captain Benson, Ma'am, and she's not Guard; she's Navy." Iglesias blushed as she pointed out the obvious.

"Usually, yes," Colonel Nixon replied mildly. "However, these are extraordinary circumstances… just as Lady Alleandre is an extraordinary protectee. Frankly, the main reason you're being offered this chance is because you already know of Her Ladyship's… special status. But that doesn't mean there aren't other good reasons. You are all good operatives, even if most of you are, as you said, lacking in experience and seniority. For that matter, given Lady Alleandre's talents, I'm unsure just how much use we would be as guardians in any case. But that is what we are going to find out. With these… unique circumstances, chances are we'll be tossing a large portion of the regular Personal Guard manual out the window. We need to know which part, and it will actually help to have agents who are not totally bound by previous precedent. When it comes to the normal procedures and tactics, I can teach you. And believe me, if you decide to join you will be undergoing so much training there will be times you'll wish you hadn't." The Colonel grinned predatorily. "On the other side, I need you to come up with ideas and opinions that we will then test in simulation." She shrugged. "Some will work. Some won't. If it works you'll be commended. If it doesn't, we'll just go back to the drawing board." She smiled again. "I can guarantee you one thing: it will certainly never be boring."

Ally felt warm and relaxed as she lay curled up on the couch in the circle of Evelynne's arms. She thought they might look vaguely ridiculous, given the difference in their sizes, but the only other person in the room didn't look like she was about to make any comment. In fact, Claire's expression when she glanced at them from her own chair was somewhat preoccupied, like she wanted to ask a question, but couldn't bring herself to do it. The other woman saw that Ally was watching, and quickly directed her attention back to the television, where a rerun of The Simpsons was the evening's entertainment.

Ally sighed mentally. She knew what question Claire wanted to ask, and was torn about how to answer it. Ever since Ally had returned in disarray two days before, Claire had been obviously holding herself back from asking. It had been easy to avoid the next day, as Ally was bedridden with the effects of smoke inhalation – not to mention psychic exhaustion – and had spent nearly the whole day sleeping. The constant coughing as her lungs tried to expel the irritants she had inhaled had not been conducive to conversation. Corey had been much more vocal in his questions, but he was working much longer hours recently to cover for some unexpected absences, so he had also been relatively easy to avoid.

Today, though, Ally was feeling much better, although her throat and lungs were still irritated. Evelynne had spent the whole previous day tending to her, and Claire had also been of invaluable assistance, and Ally was feeling guilty about her silence. That guilt was worrying her, because she felt a strong urge to tell Claire everything, and that was unusual, to say the least. The last person she had felt the urge to "come out" to had been Evelynne. Even Chorus, possibly her closest friend, had only discovered her secret by accident. For that matter, so had Evelynne, although Ally had intended to tell her before she found out. The last person she had intentionally exposed herself to had been Anabel Bourne, her first lover.

Ally saw Claire dart a look in her direction again. She looked up at her lover and asked a silent question.

*You want to tell her?* Evelynne replied. *What, exactly?*

*Not everything. Not about… us. Not even about me, really. Just… a little about the fire.* Ally saw Evelynne think for a moment, then nod almost imperceptibly.

Not quite sure how to begin, Ally said, her voice still rough. "Uh… Claire… I just want to say thanks for helping me the last few days. I really do appreciate it."

Claire smiled. "It was no problem, really. I was happy to help." She frowned suddenly, worried. "Uh, I mean, I'm not happy you were hurt, or sick, but because you were I was glad to—"

Ally grinned at the near babble. "Claire, I get it. And thank you." She hesitated. "Um… about the, uh, fire…"

"You don't have to tell me," Claire said quickly. "I mean, it's… well, it's…"

"No, you deserve to know," Ally interrupted. A little, anyway. Well, actually, you deserve the whole truth, but we'll start with what I can tell you. "I, uh… With the fire, I actually… went into the building." Claire's eyes widened, but she didn't seem completely surprised. Yeah, I knew you were smart enough to figure that out. "I have this… well, a therapist I once had called it a 'Superman Complex'. Or maybe 'Wonder Woman Complex'." Ally felt a burst of amusement over her link with Evelynne. "Sometimes, when there are people in trouble… I just go in and help them. I don't even think about it sometimes. I mean, I don't go around looking for people to save, but if there are… I just… do it." Not just humans, either. There was that time on Mom's boat when I jumped into the Pacific because a porpoise was caught in that fishing net. Almost drowned there.

"Oh. Well, that's good of you, isn't it? I mean, it just shows that you're… really brave."

Ally shook her head uncertainly. "Well… not really. I think to be brave you have to decide to do it. I don't. I just… react. And it really isn't good, because a lot of the time I don't stop to think about how dangerous it might be. Like, going into that fire wasn't really brave… it was stupid, really. I did manage to pull one person out, but…" She coughed, and shifted her. "I almost didn't." She felt Evelynne's arms tighten around her in reaction. "In retrospect, it was one of the dumbest things I've done in a long time." We'll ignore the fact that that girl basically called to me empathically, and if she'd died while she was in my head I would have felt it.

Claire looked like she disagreed. "I don't know. I think it's 'cause you care. I mean, maybe jumping in without knowing how dangerous it is might be kind of… unthinking, but I think the reason you do it is because you feel for people," she concluded with emphasis.

That's what Evelynne said, Ally thought. And Mom and Dad. Although Dad did yell at me first for being stupid that time with the porpoise. I just don't know how to explain that it isn't really because I feel for people, but more just because I feel them. "Yeah, well… I just thought you should know kind of what happened," she said uncomfortably.

Claire smiled at her, then at Evelynne. "Thank you," she said. She looked at them quizzically for a moment, as though she knew there was more to the whole story.

But the whole story is for another time.

Evelynne looked up as Jean walked around behind the bar, dark glasses still on despite the dim light. "Jean, you're here," she said.

The other woman seemed to notice her for the first time and peered at her over the top of her glasses. "Sophia, hey," Jean replied. "Sorry I'm late."

"That's alright," Evelynne said, smiling. "Just give me a moment, alright? I need to give back some change." She hurried off, returning a few minutes later slipping a ten-dollar bill into her pocket. She mentally shook her head bemusedly. She had rarely handled cash before leaving Atlantl, and she certainly didn't need the money now. Still, getting tips as a reward for good service was an interesting experience. Atlantlan culture tended to put emphasis on more abstract rewards, such as honour or ma'at. Ma'at was the name given to the idea that there was a proper place and way for every object and action in the universe that would create balance and harmony. One did the best job one could, because to do otherwise was contrary to the flow of the universe. That was the best she had been able to explain the concept in English, since Lantlan contained words for which there were no English counterparts.

"I didn't think you'd be in today," Jean said when she returned. "I thought you had the day off."

"I had a banking errand," Evelynne replied vaguely. "I just stopped by to see how things were and Narmin roped me in. So, what happened to you?" she asked, taking in Jean's appearance. Her co-worker looked exhausted, despite the makeup that had been applied in an attempt to hide the fact.

Jean winced as she tied on her apron. "I stuck around after work last night, just to hang out, you know? Well, I drank way more than I should have, and picked up this woman and went back to her place. At least, I think that's what happened, because I honestly don't remember much before waking up in her bed this morning. I actually didn't drink that much, but there was this one drink… Whew, I don't know what was in it, but it sure kicked me in the head."

Evelynne smiled in sympathy, although internally she frowned at her friend's promiscuous attitude. She had nothing against anything that went on between informed, consenting parties, but personally couldn't even conceive of having sex with someone she wasn't in love with. There was a certain fantasy appeal to daydreaming about various other people – she had finally managed to coax some of Ally's fantasies into the open – but actually going the next step was… baffling. "Well, I hope you were… safe."

"Oh, if the… remains lying around this morning were any indication, we were certainly safe," Jean assured her. Changing the subject, she asked, "So how's your other half today? She feeling better?"

Evelynne shook her head ruefully. "Oh, she's feeling better. I left her and Claire engaged in deadly combat." Jean looked at her blankly. "Some sort of game where they each have a fighter and proceed to kick and punch each other into oblivion. At this point I don't even think they know I'm gone." Ally had been ahead when she'd left, a result, Evelynne suspected, of her lover's enhanced mental processes, but Claire had been developing an almost prescient ability to counter Ally's attacks, and was quickly closing the gap.

Jean laughed. "Ah, the joys of geekdom. Uh… no offence to Ally," she said quickly. "Really hot geekdom, anyway."

"That's alright. Ally was the one who explained to me what a geek is. And I certainly agree with the 'really hot' part."

"Mmm…" Jean looked glassy-eyed. "You wouldn't consider sharing her, would you?"

Evelynne chuckled. "With you? N'at-kar, as we say in Lantlan. Not a chance. We're waiting for Angelina Jolie, you know."

Jean snapped her fingers and sighed dramatically. "Damn. Just have to stick with 'Little Ally', then."

Evelynne's brows rose. "And just who is 'Little Ally'?"

"She's the companion of 'Little Sophia', of course." Evelynne kept looking at her. "Oops, can't talk now," Jean said, grabbing a stack of menus. "Customers in my zone."

Travis Wray walked into the gymnasium in a daze, barely registering the greeting of the cop lounging by the door. He replied by reflex, coming to a stop as he surveyed the mass of people in the large space. They really were very calm, considering the circumstances, he mused, looking at the refugees from the fire that had destroyed their home. Much of that was still shock, probably, even two days after the event.

With their homes now a pile of smoking rubble, the now homeless people had been moved into the gymnasium of a local high school until preparations could be made to get them back on their feet. That was easier said than done, however. A relief fund had been set up, and Horton City's residents had been very generous with their donations, but seventy-five families meant that those resources were stretched very thinly. Plus, the lower-class workers who made up the bulk of the refugees were not those who could have afforded insurance, leaving them in a near-desperate situation. The building's owner, of course, had been well-insured, and Travis scowled in disgust. He hated that owning a slum simply made one a businessman, while living in one was very nearly a crime in itself. The fire was being blamed on one of the tenants and a faulty hot-plate, but even so, Travis had got a peek at the fire marshal's report and knew that if it hadn't been for the shoddy maintenance and substandard materials in the building the fire would possibly have been contained. The owner was a successful businessman and major player in local politics, however, which meant that the press was conveniently blind to those facts.

For now… Travis grinned to himself and realised that he had been standing at the doors for several minutes. Shaking himself out of his musings, he walked to one end of the gym and climbed up on a table. "Excuse me, folks!" he called. "If I could have your attention for a moment." Slowly the assembled crowd turned to face him and move closer. Near the front he saw a young girl holding a small cage with a guinea pig and smiled at her. Callie, he thought her name was. It had been feared originally that she had died in the fire, but it had turned out that she had been able to break a second-storey window and jump out; an impressive feat for an eight-year-old.

"Folks, I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I just came from the office and I have some… very interesting news." Continuing over the low murmur, he said, "First, the bank called this evening with news that, um, an… anonymous donor made a, uh, donation… in the order of five million dollars." There was a moment of silence, then a rush of noise as everyone began talking at once. Travis let it continue before raising his hands for quiet once more. "What this means is that every family here will be receiving somewhere around sixty thousand dollars. Now, we're going to have to decide how best to divide it, because the donor requested that the funds be given out on a basis of need. Therefore, those of you with larger families will likely receive more." There was more muttering, and Travis felt resignation at this aspect of human behaviour. Given a sudden windfall, there would always be those who assumed they deserved a larger slice. And the poor were just as greedy as the rich. "The donor apparently left detailed guidelines, so we'll be looking into those in the next few days. We'll be keeping you informed every step of the way.

"Now, there is another thing. This anonymous donor has also apparently set up a legal fund for us to retain the services of a lawyer. There were no instructions for this, but I believe the implication is that we can now afford to file a lawsuit against Mr. Duncan, the owner of the apartment building, to extract compensation for what was lost in the fire." Travis held up his hands to forestall the shouted questions. "Now, I don't know all the details, since, as I said, I just got the bare bones before I came here. However, I will tell you what I can."

Just before he was buried under an avalanche of curious people, Travis thought he heard Callie say, "Wow, she's not just like Spiderman… she's like Bruce Wayne, too!"

"What do you have, Jordan?" the well-dressed man asked as his second-in-command walked into the hotel suite. He lounged back in his armchair and returned to his newspaper.

"We have a location, sir," Jordan replied, causing his superior to look up quickly. "Our source inside came through with this." He held out a folder.

The other man snatched the file and leafed through it. "When can you confirm this?" he asked, not looking up from the contents.

"Already done, sir," Jordan opened a large envelope and offered a series of photographs. "These just came from a contact in the area."

The photographs were inspected carefully. "It certainly looks like her. What about the other one? Do you have—Oh, never mind, here she is." A new set of photos were scrutinised. "And everything else checks out?" The well-dressed man pointed to one picture. "And she's actually doing this?" He shook his head. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"It seems so, sir. And we've been able to corroborate as much as we can. You know how they've boosted security." Jordan shrugged.

The semi-apology was waved off. "Oh, I know. That maniac they've got in charge of their investigation now is effective, I'll give him that. Three quarters of my sources in that organisation have either been nabbed or have dropped out of sight. It's… vexing."

"Yes, sir. Shall I prep the lads, sir?"

"Do it." The well-dressed man caressed a photo showing a smiling red-haired woman. "It's time to earn our… princely wages."

To be continued in Chapter 12