Along the way, they talked, as the always did. Like there was nothing about today different from any other day. But in the back of his mind Gabe felt something gnawing at him. Today, for the first time in eight years, Gabe and Sol were going to part company. Gabe didn't even know what to think of it. It was like death; it was so inconceivable a concept that his mind didn't totally accept it.

They didn't talk about it. Sol expressed no anxiety. She'd learned, over the years, a lot about the self-control Gabe was beginning to lose. The more time passed, the more alike they became. But then, why should Sol have any anxiety at all? She was going home to her family. To her father and little brother. She wouldn't know them, of course; eight years had passed. More than half her life had been spent within the metal walls of Battle School. But that didn't mean that she wouldn't love them, and that they wouldn't love her. She had a home to go to. Why would she spend time worrying about being away from Gabe?

And yet, Gabe found himself hoping, wishing, that she felt at least a little anxious about it.

The shuttle landed in Florida. They were led from the shuttle out onto a bridge in the air between the shuttle and an awaiting slider that would take them to the terminal. As they were lead out onto the force bridge, Gabe could see choppers in the distance, watching from outside the restricted airspace with their long range lenses.

The slider took them back to the terminal, and there was a crowd waiting. Families, friends, press. Several of the teens ran forward into their families' open arms. Like they were back from summer camp. Like they were back for good. Right now, no one was thinking about how long they had. How long until they were torn away from all this again, and taken back out into space. No one but Gabe. Gabe was thinking of just how long he had until he returned to space, and not with sadness. He would have stepped back onboard the shuttle right that moment, if they'd have let him. There was nothing for him here. All these kids had left people behind when they came to Battle School. All these kids were coming home to a happy reunion with all their loved ones. Gabe wasn't coming back to anyone or anything. Battle School was what he knew, and he wanted to go back. Or, failing that, he wanted to go ahead and get to Command School. The sooner he arrived, the sooner it would be over with.

Sol seemed unable to spot her father or brother in the crowd, and so started forward to go look. She stopped when she realized that Gabe was no longer with her. He was hanging back, just inside the terminal gate. She turned to face him.

The scenery as the slider drifted towards the terminal was wide and open and frightening. The mob of people, more people than she'd seen in one place since she went to BattleSchool, all shouting and laughing and crying and hugging one another made her extremely uncomfortable, and she began to scan for her father and brother. Her brother would be almost 11 now. Her father she knew she would recognize, but her brother would be tough.

She took a few steps forward before she noticed that Gabe wasn't with her, and turned to him, feeling a little bereft. "I'll see you in two weeks," was his only response.

Sol paused and nodded. Something was happening with his eyes, something she hadn't seen in years. He looked...nervous, and sad. Maybe even a little more than nervous. It hurt to see him that way. It was as close as he ever came to expressing upset.

She turned away, and then came back and hugged him.

She soon spotted her father and brother, and Gabe watched the hugging and heard the laughter and the voices, the joy so thick that they sounded like music. He should feel happy, he knew. Sol was with her family. She was with the ones that loved her. He should have been happy for her. Happy because she was. Except that he wasn't. Gabe wasn't happy at all.

"Hunter."

The crowd was beginning to thin. Families were leaving, everyone talking at once, flash bulbs exploding as the press took their pictures of the brave children returning home to their families before going back into space to complete their training in the art of war. Gabe heard the voice over the din. He saw the man standing in the center of the crowd, being pushed and shoved by those leaving. The man looked different from the last time Gabe had seen him. He looked tired. Worn. The past thirteen years had not been kind.

Gabe didn't say a word and he didn't move a muscle. He simply stood, staring at the man. The man hadn't moved either, nor said anything but that one single word.

Finally the man took a few steps forward. "You look so grown up," he said, softly now because most of the others were already gone. "I could never have recognized you if they hadn't given me a picture."

Of course you couldn't recognize me, Gabe thought. I was two years old when I last saw you.

The man had stopped about a meter from Gabe, and was holding his arms out as if he expected a hug. Gabe didn't move. Slowly, the man's smile faded, and his arms sagged to his sides. His eyes were sad. After a moment, he half-turned, and waved toward the exit. Gabe reluctantly followed.

There was a cab waiting. There were many cabs waiting. The people here were from all across North America. Very few, surely, lived close enough to have driven themselves. The man made a comment about Gabe traveling light. Gabe didn't answer. He wasn't listening. He was watching Sol, a good fifteen meters off, as she climbed into a cab farther down the line. She saw him, and held his gaze for a moment. Then the door closed, and her cab left.

Her father had hugged her too. He still smelled the same, faint scent of tabacco mixed with aftershave. He looked much as she remembered him, perhaps a little older. A few more lines around his eyes. His mouth still had the same firm set, his jaw still strong, but his eyes softened when she met them. "You've grown so tall," he said quietly. "You look just like your mother." Something in her eyes must have told him that she didn't like his words, though she kept her face grimly blank. Thank you for this, Gabe, she said to herself silently as she gave him Gabe's trademark blank stare, giving nothing away.

Her father gave her a small, tender smile anyway, and as a group they moved towards the cab he had waiting for her.

As they approached, she spotted Gabe. His expression matched hers. Blank. When she approached her cab, he turned to look at her, as if he knew she were there and watching him. She held his gaze like a gift and then got into the cab where her father and brother were already waiting.

The trip home was uneventful. Her brother told her about school, but what he considered "school" sounded strange and unfamiliar to Sol. She'd been home-schooled, but her brother attended a ground-based military academy. Sol studied him more closely, and this time she saw the hardness that had grown in him that her affection had made her miss before. She recognized it. She had it too.

The man sitting beside him looked uncomfortable also, though Gabe knew that it was for completely different reasons. "When I got the call from the Fleet officer," he began, a little hesitantly, "I didn't know how to feel. I was amazed that . . . that you even wanted to see me. I would have thought that you'd still hold a lot of anger toward me, even after all these years, since . . . since the crash. I worked really hard to just forget and move on, Hunter. But when the Fleet officer called, and asked if I wanted you for your Earthside leave, I told him I'd love to see you again. You've grown into a handsome young man, Hunter. I'm sure the IF is very proud of you."

Gabe continued to stare out the window. He had nothing whatsoever to say.

The man seemed like he was considering just shutting up then and there, but kept talking anyway. "I understand if you're angry with me, Hunter. I know I haven't been a part of your life. I know that if I had been, maybe you wouldn't have had to go off into space. Maybe you'd have gotten a normal childhood. I don't know what you've had to go through up there in Battle School, and I've been warned against making any unnecessary inquiries about it. The Fleet likes its secrets. I'll bet that not saying anything right now is just what they taught you to do when you got scared or confused, right? To just shut down and ignore everything? It's okay, Hunter. It's me. Your father. You don't have to be afraid of me. Whatever they did to you up there, it's not going to happen here. Those men up there, it's their job to turn little boys and girls into robots. They know all the tricks and all the tools, and they put you poor kids through so much pain just to . . ." His voice trailed off. "You don't have to be a robot, though, Gabe. Not here, not if you don't want to."

This man didn't know anything, Gabe decided.

He seemed to think that Gabe's stoicism, and his silence, were things that Battle School had taught him. In fact, he seemed to think that they were things that were somehow tortured into the children. It never even entered his mind that perhaps Gabe had been like this before so much as arriving at Battle School. Gabe didn't bother explaining it to him, though. The man could understand or not -- Gabe truly did not care. What he thought of the IF -- and of Gabe, for that matter -- wasn't any of Gabe's concern.

The man shook his had, mournfully. "You've got every right to be angry with me. I'd explain if I could. You're still . . . you're still too young to understand. But believe me, Hunter. I had your best interests in mind. I couldn't have taken care of you. Not then. I . . . it wouldn't have been possible. But I promise you, that's all changed. I mean, I know it's too late now. By the time you're finished with whatever the Fleet has planned for you, you'll be a man already. And you won't need me or anyone else then. But I just wanted you to know that . . ." His voice ran down, but then he proceeded. "I wanted you to know that . . . if you were to do . . . anything . . . that got you expelled, or frozen or whatever they call it up there, . . . you'd have a home here on Earth. If they asked me, today, if I wanted custody of you, then I'd tell them yes, and I would do everything I could to make what's left of your childhood happy for you. Your youth doesn't have to be all war games and loneliness and fear and pain, Hunter. You can still have a normal childhood if you want. And they can't do anything to you if you . . . break any rules . . . except send you home. Do you understand?"

Gabe simply stared out the window. Stared at the passing trees. It had been a long time since he'd seen trees. He'd almost forgotten how beautiful they could be.

The man sighed, annoyed, and turned away from Gabe.

Gabe wanted to talk to Sol. There were things going on here that he didn't understand, that he couldn't begin to understand. Situations scripted by emotions often left Gabe lost and confused. Gabe wanted Sol there, to explain all this to him. To explain to him what the hell was going on.

But Sol was not here. She was with her father, with her brother, heading home. She was where she was safe. She was where she was loved. Just as she should be. As much as Gabe would have liked for her to be with him, to explain things to him, to have his back so that he knew he was safe, he knew that she was better off where she was. She would be happier with her loved ones than she could possibly be with Gabe. However much he wanted her there with him, he didn't want it so much as to truly wish she were. Better that she was just where she was. Gabe simply wished he had a place like that waiting for him at the end of this cab ride.

Her brother had questions for her about BattleSchool, and seemed almost disappointed that her answers were so ordinary and commonplace. The description of the BattleRoom peaked his interest, though, and they chatted for the first hour and a half before he paused and she spotted a new steel come into his eyes. Sol knew how to read eyes now. "What is it?" she asked gently.

"You got picked to go up there," he said slowly, as if it were difficult for him, "and I didn't, and you don't even seem to like it very much." She studied him as she formulated her response. "That's because it's not very likeable," she said at last. "It's...violent, and a little cramped, and - " home, interjected her mind, but she shook it off, "and it's not someplace you'd want to go, believe me." She was inwardly grateful that he'd been spared the horrors of the launch. She couldn't have handled him being beaten the way she had been. Or the way Gabe had been.

Throughout the plane trip the man insisted on repeating the same pattern they'd been following thus far: talking friendly for a few minutes, then growing bitter when Gabe didn't so much as acknowledge that the man was speaking at all, and finally falling into annoyed silence. He talked of many things. Of things he had planned for the two of them over the next two weeks. Sights they would see, places they would visit. Of, inexplicably, world events. Like Gabe gave a damn what petty political scuffles had happened while he was away. But the man nevertheless managed to slip some loathing into his voice every time the IF came up -- which was rather often, given that the IF was the intercessor for most of these arguments. It was painfully clear that this man held no love for the IF. This confused Gabe, because several of his early memories included his father in an IF uniform. Gabe studied these memories carefully, for the first time in more years that he could count. Studied them for details. He feared that, somehow, he was remembering incorrectly -- for why would a former IF officer have such loathing for it? That unnerved Gabe greatly, because Gabe set great store by his memory. If he could not rely upon it's unfailing accuracy . . .

What he noticed about his memories, which he had not ever noted before, was the patch on the uniform's shoulder. The last time he had so much as called up the memory, he could not possibly have known the patch. That had been before Gabe had even arrived in Seattle. But now, after eight years in an IF school, Gabe knew all the patches. And that one on the shoulder of his father's uniform was the symbol of the SOTF.

Which made all this even more bizarre. The SOTF were known for unshakable loyalty -- it was one of the standards the IF looked for when recruiting them. So if his father was SOTF, or even ex-SOTF, why this bitterness toward the IF?

However, being able to remember and identify the patch reassured Gabe. It didn't answer the question of his father's views concerning the IF, but Gabe hardly cared about those. What he was concerned with was the accuracy and the reliability of his memories, and being able to remember the patch in detail satisfied Gabe that his memories were just fine. If there was something wrong, it was with his father, and not Gabe.

Which was perfectly fine with Gabe. Just so long as it wasn't his problem, he didn't give it any more thought.

When they arrived in Vermont, Gabe's father hadn't tried any words for almost an hour. It left Gabe plenty of time to think, which was pleasant. Gabe could pack a lot of thinking into an hour of silence. By the time they landed, he'd already come to a decision. There were things that he wanted to do while he was here on Earth that he wouldn't have another chance to do until his next Earthside leave, which wouldn't be coming for another four years, when Gabe graduated from Command School. Four years was a long time. Gabe had things he wanted to do now.

Gabe had decided that he wasn't going to stay with this man for his two weeks of Earthside leave. He wasn't going to spend a single night under this man's roof. As soon as this man nodded off, Gabe was going to be gone.

The computer terminals had been replaced in every room but hers, and she grinned down at the hopelessly outdated piece of equipment with a reminiscent smile. Her portal to the world, she thought with a silent chuckle as she reached down to touch it almost affectionately. Her fingers came away with a strange gritty feel. Dust...

Dust was almost unheard of in BattleSchool. The air circulated too regularly. Nearly every surface was used every day. When they'd discovered the empty classroom that became the site for the chess-playing, the amount of dust had been the biggest surprise. There were footprints in it that indicated relatively recent traffic...but they'd spent a good deal of time in there over the years and never encountered anyone else. The whole place felt like it had been taken out of time and put on hold.

That was how her room felt now. It had been left as she had left it the day she launched. Her few stuffed animals were still in their old places, her books intact, her music still waiting for her, all under a thin layer of grey dust.

"I've hired a maid to come in and clean it for you before we retire for the evening," her father said from the doorway, and she turned to look at him and managed a smile for the first time since he'd accused her of looking like her mother. She was happy to see him. She hadn't been sure she would be, but she was.

"You've grown up quite a bit, haven't you?" he asked with a rueful grin, so like her own. "You stand like you've been taking self-defense classes. Have you learned much, kept up with your studies? You always were a good student." He came to stand in front of her, looking down at her. Even in his early forties, her father was a powerfully built man, his brown eyes regarding her closely. "You've learned reserve, Rebecca. That might have been worth your whole education there. Anything else you could have learned here, in this room."

She just waited. Nothing to be said, so she said nothing.

"I'm proud of you," he said finally, and smiled - not the small controlled smiles that had filled her childhood, but a true wide smile that took up a third of his face. She answered with one of her own, and they embraced. "I've missed your company. Do you still play chess?" he inquired as he released her and turned towards the door, walking away. Sol permitted herself an invisible smirk - a Gabe smirk - and followed him.

When he was called to dinner, Gabe came. The kitchen was small, and taken up mostly by a small table the man had set out in the center of it. Gabe suspected, from the stains on the couch in the living room, that this man took most of his meals in there. He was attempting a family situation. Eating around the dinner table.

When Gabe came in, and sat down at the table, the man looked expectant. "Well?" he asked. "Did you like it?"

Gabe simply stared.

"You didn't even open it, did you?" the man said, looking angry. "You didn't even open the goddamn thing."

He served Gabe little tubular noodles smothered in a yellow goo. Gabe stared at it.

"What?" the man demanded, his temper beginning to unravel at the seams. "It's macaroni and cheese. You used to eat it all the time. It's sure as hell got to be better than what they feed you in that goddamn tube!"

The man sighed, sat down, and began rubbing his temples.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't yell at you. But I'm trying to be nice here, Hunter, and you're making it really hard. Really really hard. I could use some help."

Gabe remained silent.

The man shook his head, sorrowfully. "They really have brainwashed you, haven't they, Hunter? You won't even talk to your own father. What was it? Is this how they taught you to be around everyone, or just me? Did they tell you things about me, Hunter? That'd be just like them. Lying to my own son to turn him against me. Is that it?"

Gabe had had enough of this. He was leaving anyway. It didn't make any difference what this man thought of Gabe. But Gabe wasn't going to listen to him talk about the IF like this. He spoke. "Perhaps I have my own reasons," he said, his voice holding level just above absolute zero.

It was the first time Gabe's father had heard him speak, and the man reeled back just a little, somewhat surprised. Apparently Gabe's stoicism hadn't quite prepared the man for how cold Gabe's voice could sound when he wanted it to. But he recovered, quickly enough. "If you didn't come here to talk to me," he said, "then what are you doing here at all?"

Gabe didn't shrink away, didn't so much as move a muscle, except to respond. "No one asked me if I wanted to come here," he replied. "They put me on the shuttle and you were waiting at the terminal gate."

The man opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. His eyes became sad. "Where would you have gone?" he asked, softly.

Gabe didn't respond. His eyes remained ice. He knew where he'd have rather gone. But that didn't make it any business of this man's.

The man's temper flared again now. "Would you have rather stayed in that metal tube of theirs? Is that it, Hunter? You'd rather be up there preparing to fight the Bugger Menace?"

Still Gabe said nothing. Gabe didn't feel like telling this man where he'd rather be, nor did he think that the man was worth lying to. Gabe wasn't even going to expend the energy.

The man sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "They've really got you kids programmed. All their propaganda, all their Mazer Rackham hero bullshit, they mass-produce you little machines like prefab furniture. You're assembly line fodder, Hunter. They wrote you line for line, and as long as you stick to their programming you'll never be anything but a tool. They sift through our world grabbing up every child genius they can find, every little kid that they think might actually have the brains to stop and question their authority, to stand up and fight against them and take away all their precious power, and they take you all into space and grind you down and melt you and mold you into what they want you to be, perfect unthinking soldiers, doing just what they tell you and never stopping to think if it's right that you do it, if you should do it. And meanwhile they consume every resource that isn't nailed down in the name of their cause, and use them to build warships to sit in space to fight off the next invasion from the so-called Bugger Menace. They police all interplanetary travel in the system, they control all supply lines, and every government in the world is only too happy to bow and scrape before them. Because every government in the world knows that if they argue, what happened to China happens to them. That's what the warships are for, Hunter. They aren't waiting for some enemy out of our oldest nightmares. They're for keeping the whole world in line. China was just a demonstration. They'll do whatever they have to do to stay in power."

Gabe simply stared. The man must have thought he was reaching Gabe, because he leaned forward in his chair and locked eyes with Gabe. When he spoke again, his voice was lowered, as if someone might hear him.

"There are organizations," he said, slowly and deliberately, "that could benefit greatly from having a Battle School-trained commander to lead them." He let that sink in for a long moment. "Organizations dedicated to freedom, and to justice. Not this dictatorship the IF holds over the planet. There are those willing to put an end to the IF's tyranny. But they could use help, Hunter. They could use a brilliant commander."

It was a long moment before Gabe spoke. "My name," he said, "is Gabriel."

Whatever hold the man thought he'd had on Gabe, it was painfully clear now that he wasn't converting this teenage boy, not tonight. So he sighed, and set down his fork.

The incomplete set. She wondered how Gabe was doing, who the man who'd been standing next to him had been at the airport. He'd said he had no family left...but that man had the same hair, the copper faded and tarnished but still evident. Gabe never spoke about his father, and she knew she wouldn't ask. If he wanted to tell her, he would.

The squeak of one of the chairs moving against the wooden floor as her father sat down brought her attention back to the present, and she took a step forward and then stopped, frowning a little. Something was wrong, she was certain. Even with this illogical assurance, it took her a moment to realize what it was. Her father was on the wrong side of the table.

Her father was offering to let her play white.

Sol's habitual reserve was all that saved her composure as she went to sit down across from him. The sun was setting outside the window. The wooden blinds were drawn, but tiny rays slipped in through the slats and glittered in his eyes as he became what he always was during their games, withdrawn, hidden and silent. Mercy wasn't an issue in this game. Sol had understood that since she was old enough to remember. If she beat him, it was because she had earned it. If she lost, it was because she had failed. The pieces were just the physical representation. The entire game was black and white.

She settled into herself as well. She remembered feeling nervous and excited, sitting where he sat now during all those games before she'd shipped out. The excitement was still there, but instead of nervousness, there was only a cold sense of detached anticipation. This was right. This was practically scripted. She would either win or lose. Neither prospective outcome disturbed her.

Was that approval she read in his dark eyes?

He left no note. The IF would probably know that Gabe could take care of himself just fine, and as for his father, well, Gabe wasn't particularly interested in whether or not he caused any worry. Let the man feel abandonment just once in his life -- perhaps he'd learn something from it.

It did not occur to Gabe to fear. He'd survived by himself before, and that had been as a five year old boy. Not well, perhaps -- much of his time on the move had been uncomfortable. But Gabe knew that he could do much better now. Of the ten years since he'd first set out from that Juneau orphanage, the past eight had been good to him. He was not the half-starved five year old he had once been. Now he was a fifteen year old coming into his man height, with eight years of unarmed combat training under his belt and the shaped physique of one who thought of fitness as a survival necessity. He was setting out with a full stomach, enough food to last him a good eight or nine days if properly rationed, and eighty-six US dollars, cash. The meal in his belly, however, was the only of these items he'd not stolen. This was circumstantial, however; if Gabe had not been fed, he'd have stolen the meal as well.

He left with only the clothes on his back and the food packed into a small grey duffel bag. The money he kept tucked into the waist of his pants, beneath his t-shirt. Close to his skin, where he would feel if it went anywhere. The food he could stand to lose; he could always buy or steal more. Money was harder to come by, and so much more versatile.

There was also one more item he took with him. A small plastic statue, the neck and head of a horse atop a circular base. A chess knight.

She shook the sleep from her eyes and slid her feet out from under the covers and onto the floor. The thick carpet felt impossibly luxurious after the cold metal floors of the barracks, and she wiggled her toes in it for a minute before standing slowly and stretching. The ceiling was closer than it had been before. She tried to remember what she would have done if she'd spent years waking up in this strange place instead of a barracks.

Not bothering with the light, she grabbed a random book off the shelf and climbed into her window seat to watch the sun come up.

She was five chapters into Alice in Wonderland when there was a quiet knock at her door. She blinked and then grinned. Her own room, just like a commander. No wonder she felt out of sorts. Hopping down from the window, she padded silently across the carpet and opened the door.

Alec was there, still in his pajama bottoms, but he wasn't smiling, and her grin dissolved immediately. "What is it?" she asked quietly. What could have happened so early in her visit that required such a grim expression? He didn't seem angry, just ... pensive. He put a finger to his lips and pushed her gently back into her room, shutting the door behind them before he spoke.

"Becca, there's some people from the IF downstairs." Sol frowned as she took this information in. Why would they be here? Her leave wasn't scheduled to be over for two weeks. How typical. She had just begun to enjoy her stay and they were ready to take her away again.

"They were talking to Dad. I don't think they saw me, though. They said they're looking for another BattleSchool student who went AWOL on leave, and that we have to leave this afternoon so they can watch the house. Dad's still arguing with them." His brown eyes on hers were full of anger and concern, and Sol blinked. She wasn't the only one who'd grown up. "Tell me what's going on. Is this guy trying to hurt you?"

Sol sat down on her bed, mostly voluntarily, and assimilated.

Gabe. They had to be looking for Gabe...but...why would he have run away? She'd seen him put up with unbelievable things in BattleSchool without any strain at all on his indifference. It would take a difficult set of circumstances to make him leave. There was still a lot of him she didn't understand, and she didn't have time to think about it right now. Right now, Gabe was in trouble, serious trouble, and she had to try to help him.

"If it's who I think it is, then no, he's not trying to hurt me. He's a friend of mine. Alec, do me a favor, neh? Go downstairs and see what else you can hear, ok? I've got to get dressed. We'll talk more about it later, I promise." The way his features hardened reminded him of her dad, and she hugged him. Eventually he hugged her back and sighed. "Fine. But if anyone tries to hurt you, they're dead meat!" She grinned, her cheek on his bare shoulder, and then pulled back, and he left.

She did dress, but she thought while she did it. Concern made her think faster, and by the time Alec was back, dressed himself, with the news that they would be going to a cabin in Magnolia until the runner had been "recovered", she already had a pretty good idea worked out. "Thanks," she said, taking his hand long enough to squeeze it. "Now take me for a walk, would you?" He trotted off to retrieve his shoes and she sat down at her desk to put hers on as well.

Her eyes fell on the phone, and she paused. If they were watching the house, they probably intended to tap the lines, if they hadn't already. She picked up the phone and dialed in the phone number of the main house, waited long enough for it to click over as it prepared to ring and then hung it up. Her private line was still active. Doubtless they had that tapped too.

She accessed her voicemail and listened to her old message, delivered in a six year old's high soprano. There weren't any messages waiting, of course. Everyone knew she'd gone to BattleSchool.

She selected the "record new greeting" option and waited for the beep.

"Hi, everyone. I'm back for two weeks on leave, and I can't wait to see all my friends again. Leave me a message and I'll call you back." Her voice was a little too subdued, and she tried again, forcing a little more cheer. Satisfied at last, she hung up the phone as her brother re-entered, and together they left the house by the back door.

The air was clean and warm and the sunlight hurt her eyes as they made their way to the small park that attended the neighborhood. It had changed little since she left. The equipment was a little less shiny, but it was all the same, still there. Using her little brother as a shield, Sol left a message the only two places she thought Gabe might look, if he made it this far, and if he thought to look, and if he could read her message.

Lots of ifs in this equation, she thought to herself, and sighed. Alec walked her back like he was guarding her, and she smiled slightly to herself despite her worry. "Thank you," she said quietly as they approached the back yard. He just looked at her, and she felt loved.

Re-entering the house, Sol left her brother and went back to her room, eager to check her phone messages, though she'd only been gone about twenty minutes. She opened her door but didn't enter, blinking in surprise. Her father was waiting for her there, and he didn't look pleased.

"Where have you been?" His face was darker than she remembered seeing it in a long time. She hadn't seen that since her mother left.

"I went to the park with Alec." True. He had been able to tell when she was lying when she was younger. She had changed much, but she saw no reason to lie if she didn't have to, and so she didn't. His face hardened even more, and she flinched a little internally, but remained outwardly calm.

"It appears that one of your classmates may have an interest in visiting you while on leave. He's disappeared, and the IF is downstairs, looking for him. Is there anything you want to tell me?" His voice was quietly sarcastic and very angry. He looked betrayed, and Sol's stomach tightened. She'd been too busy figuring out a way to help Gabe. She hadn't anticipated this. There was no way to repair the damage that had already been done, though, and nothing she said to him would improve the situation. She shook her head in negation.

"I see," he almost growled, and gestured with a short, clipped motion to her dresser. "Pack. The transport will be here at 2:00." He left without another word, and Sol slumped into her chair and sighed. Why was everything always so difficult? She amended that thought. Everything wasn't always difficult. Why was ANYTHING ever this difficult?

She packed and thought it over.

That destination was Juneau. There were some matters he had to attend to there. He knew, however, that by the morning of his first day out the IF would have been informed that he was missing. They would try to recover him, as quickly as possible. Gabe had every intention of returning to the IF's custody, once his business here was concluded. But Gabe wanted his two weeks first, and he wanted to spend them how he pleased, with whom he pleased.

He knew that they would probably be expecting him in Juneau. They would probably have people waiting for him. So if he wanted to stay free of them long enough to conclude his business here on Earth, once and for all, he was going to have to be creative.

And he did mean once and for all. After this, if he succeeded, he would never again have any need to return. This task was his final tie to Earth, and he had every intention of following it to its source and cutting it off. Then he could go anywhere. Then he could do anything.

So he traveled by bus. He didn't take the most direct route toward Juneau; the IF would be watching. Instead, Gabe simply took any bus heading in a generally western direction. When he got to the coast he could worry about heading north and crossing into Canada.

However, he noticed something after the first few days. His selection of destination cities, when choosing a bus for each new leg of his journey, was not entirely random. He began to notice that a great many of them were taking him southwest. Toward Texas.

His first instinct, once he realized this, was to stop immediately, and head directly west from then on. After all, the IF might be expecting Gabe in Houston also. They might have foreseen this. Going was very dangerous; it would jeopardize Gabe's entire objective. And Gabe did not want to fail at this.

However, he also wanted to see Sol. He wanted to see her very much. It was possible, however unlikely, that the IF would count Gabe as a deserter for this. He was not, of course, AWOL -- he was on leave. But the IF might not care about that. They might count Gabe as damaged goods, and ice him. And if that happened, Gabe would never see Sol again. Gabe could not allow that. Not without at least attempting to see her one last time. Not to say goodbye. Not to worry her with the possibility that he might not meet her again in Command School. He just wanted to see her again. Just in case.

So he added a waypoint on his journey, and altered his travel plans. Now he would travel south along the Mississippi until he reached New Orleans, and from there go straight west on to Houston. After that, he would take a roughly north by northwest path until he reached the Pacific Coast, travel north to Washington, cross the border into Canada, and then proceed on to Alaska.

He wanted to be sure that there were no straight lines between any two points he wanted to reach. Straight lines were predictable. If there was one thing he'd learned from playing chess with Sol all these years, it was that nothing is more unpredictable than a logical person making irrational moves. Throw away all old tactics, all old beliefs, and think fresh; they would never be able to follow him. The only way they were going to be able to catch him would be to predict where he was headed, and Gabe couldn't do a thing to make those locations unpredictable. He had a mystery waiting in Juneau and a friend waiting in Houston. Gabe could not change that.

There were unforseen problems along the way. Local law enforcement had been alerted in most major New England cities, and so the first few days were dicey at times. Twice Gabe was spotted by police and pursued. However, Gabe was a lot younger than these police, and a lot more driven too. For Gabe, slowing down, even when his sides ached and his legs felt like metal, was not possible. It simply was not an option. There was only one option. Faster.

Every time he was spotted, however, he had to lay low for at least half a day before the cops out on the street started to thin. Then Gabe would slip aboard the first bus he could find and be gone. When escaping, Gabe didn't worry about the bus's destination. Just so long as he escaped the city, he would be fine, and an erratic path would only make him harder to track and predict.

There were other close calls also. Once Gabe left New England behind, he took a chance and went to a hardware store in Cleveland to buy a hammer. He'd put some thought into that. He wanted a weapon on this trip. Not something that would get him into any trouble if he was seen with it, but something that, when use properly, was quick and lethal. Fit as he was, and well-trained in unarmed combat as he might be, he was still far from invincible, and there were predators in this place, and they would have weapons. The hammer seemed right. Not necessarily highly suspicious, not anything that would make people take a whole lot of notice of him. The clerk at the store, however, had taken an interest in the money Gabe was carrying, and especially how much there was and how he was carrying it. He asked Gabe where he'd gotten it, if he'd stolen it, who his parents were, and so on. Gabe had bolted. He'd boarded a bus for Cincinnati -- hardly where he wanted to go next, but he wanted to be gone before the police learned he'd been there at all. From there, he took a small chance and bought a train ticket for St. Louis, to make up lost time. There were no complications then, at least.

It had been four days since his son, Hunter, had disappeared, and Simon hadn't heard a thing yet from the IF. He doubted that he would, even if they did find his son. Or his son's body. Hunter was a fit young boy, with good build beginning to set in, but Simon knew that there were dangerous people in this world. He'd come up against so many in his life. He had to hope that his son was okay, wherever he was.

Simon could not help but be hurt and bitter, even as he felt the ache of losing his son all over again in the pit of his stomach. What he'd lost, what had run away from him four days ago, was not his son. His son had been a sweet little boy who had laughed and cried and loved and feared like any normal child. Perhaps even more so than any normal child. There had been something special, something remarkable, about how much that child had always understood of the world around him. And now, after thirteen years apart, this was what those butchers had brought him. An empty shell of a boy with nothing but contempt for his own father, the only person in the entire world that cared about him. Whatever the IF had done to that poor boy, they had been thorough. And Simon doubted that it could ever be reversed. Hunter was lost to Simon forever. He was either dead, or he would be reclaimed by the IF and taken back into space, which was worse. Simon hated the very thought of those monsters being the ones to raise his son. He hated the thought of those monsters being the ones that Hunter trusted, the ones that Hunter was training to fight for. They didn't care about him. All they cared about was his brain. They could never love Hunter like Simon did.

And that was why he was here in New York, he suspected. He'd gotten a call from an associate of his, and had been informed that he was expected. Simon had boarded a plane without so much as packing.

And now, as he glanced up, he could see his associate approaching. The man was tall, with angular features that made his face look sharp and squared off, all straight lines. He wore a suit and a dark overcoat. Simon hated how so many of his associates were dressing like that. They looked too official. Too much like the IF.

His associate sat down on the bench beside Simon, and nodded a greeting. Simon nodded back. There was a moment of silence before his associate spoke.

"What were you thinking," the man asked, his voice hard and smooth like marble.

Simon shook his head, sadly. "I know, I know, I should have told someone that he was coming, I just-"

"You're God damn right you should have told someone, Reiner," said the man. "This could have been our chance. And now you've lost the goddamn kid. Christ, Reiner."

Simon lifted his head. "I thought that I could persuade him myself," he said. "I thought I could-"

"That wasn't your decision to make, Reiner."

"He's my son."

"Like hell he is. If he were your son he'd be ours. He's the IF's son now."

Simon said nothing.

"And is that why he ran away? Because you tried out your remarkable powers of persuasion on the kid?"

Simon shook his head. "I don't know why he ran away. I don't think I convinced him of anything."

His associate sighed wearily and leaned back on the bench. "Then we've got no choice," he said.

Simon's head lifted, slowly, to stare at his associate. "No," he said. "No. I won't agree. No, not again."

"You already gave your permission ten years ago," said his associate. "You've got no say in this now. If you hadn't been so stupid it wouldn't have come to this. If you want to feel guilty that's just fine, because what we do now we do because of your incompetence."

"You can't . . ." Simon said, weakly. But he knew it wasn't true. They could. And they would.

"We've got no choice," his associate said. "If we can't have him, no one's going to."

Simon's associate stood, brushed off his coat, and strode away without another word. Simon's head sank into his hands, and he wept.

He would weep a lot in the next ten days. He would feel guilty. He would even seriously consider suicide twice, though neither time would he have the stomach to even try. But never once would he attempt to interfere. As far as he was concerned, it was done.

He was excited about "hiding out in the woods", as he called it, and dragged her with him to explore the surrounding area, despite her declining rather coldly. He couldn't seem to take her seriously, and that was irritating and endearing at the same time. By the third full day at the cabin, she had been outside more than she had the entire month before she went to BattleSchool and wore a tan. There was no desk here, and she felt completely and totally out of touch.

If she hadn't been worried about Gabe, she might have been happy.

That afternoon, Alec slipped and nearly tumbled down a steep incline covered in dead leaves before Sol pulled him back, and he commented innocently on how strong she was, "for a girl". She teased him about being weak, "for a boy", and the next morning found them preparing to spar in the empty yard behind the cabin.

Sol remembered her fights with Gabe and was prepared to pull her punches and not touch him at all when his first kick hit her right shoulder. She'd gotten so used to Gabe not striking her that he almost knocked her down before she recovered enough to step back. His style was much more like hers, aggressive, dynamic, and fast.

When they finally called a long rest some time in the early afternoon and collapsed next to each other on the little porch, they both wore bruises, a few cuts and two very big smiles.

That night, after her brother had gone to bed, her father came to see her. She was sitting on her bed thinking when he knocked and waited for her permission to enter, and she looked up as he came in. The bitter anger was still there, but it was muted by something else that she didn't quite understand.

"Rebecca, I want you to tell me what's going on. Who is this student who's so interested in seeing you that he's run away from his father during his leave to do it?" He didn't bother sitting down, just looked down at her, and for a moment she felt like she was 6 again, and had done something disappointing. She was almost near tears when a cold wave fell over her, and she straightened.

What right did he have to be angry with her? Anything that Gabe had done, he had done on his own. Her father loved her, but he wasn't the one who had been at her side for the past eight years. He'd never been to BattleSchool, and he would never know what it had been like. He still thought she needed the stern guidance he'd held her under before she left. Now she was a soldier, not a child, and it was time he understood exactly what that meant.

"If it is who I think it is, sir, then it's a close friend of mine who may need my help. He would not have left without an excellent reason. As far as I know, he didn't even know his father was going to pick him up at the airport. I have no way to determine what might have happened that caused him to leave, and if I did," she said icily, "it probably wouldn't be anything you needed to know. He doesn't mean me or you or anyone else any harm. He isn't crazy. He isn't violent. And he isn't any of your business."

And as he stepped off the bus, he shook his head at the insanity of it. He was putting his objective in a lot of danger by coming here. Surely the IF would have foreseen this as a possible destination for Gabe's trek. Sol was, after all, the only friend he'd had in all eight years of Battle School. They would be waiting for him here. And if he were caught, Gabe knew that they would either ice him, or send him back into space. There wasn't going to be any "let the kid finish his little journey and then we can have him back" option. They were going to try to stop him from ever reaching Juneau. And that meant that, until Gabe reached his objective, the IF was his enemy.

It took a public access terminal to finish off his journey. Solenis Residence -- 3484 Lion's Gate.

The house, however, was under surveillance. Any fool could have spotted that. Gabe made sure to do his casing from afar. The family might be gone, but there were way too many bystanders that just happened to be placed in the right spots so that there was no way to get to the house without passing through one of their sight lines. The bystanders in view were all occupied, of course. Some mowed their lawns, some watered their gardens, some checked their mail, some jogged. But they were all twenty- and thirty-somethings of clean-cut appearance, physically fit and very alert. And Gabe wasn't stupid. He suspected that there would be more IF in the house. All waiting for Gabe. He wondered if he should feel important.

Gabe used a pay phone to call the house. The answering machine picked up. It was a recording of Sol.

"Hi, everyone. I'm back for two weeks on leave, and I can't wait to see all my friends again. Leave me a message and I'll call you back." Gabe hung up.

He left that area quickly, because the call would be traced and there would be uniforms all over the place soon. He navigated through alleyways wherever possible, or through crowds when that wasn't an option. Anywhere he could hide, even if it was in plain sight. As he walked, he replayed the message in his mind, over and over.

All my friends again. Gabe knew that was for him. Her friends from before Battle School would be totally different people -- seeing them again would be like meeting strangers, except she alread knew their names. No, she meant Gabe. She knew that he'd escaped, she knew that he'd come. And she expected to see him.

How predictable he was. Everyone seemed to know just what Gabe was going to do, even before he did.

Her brother seemed taken aback at her attitude, but shrugged it off quickly enough. "Nothing, just a little tired from yesterday, that's all," he said quickly. Sol cocked her head to the side and looked at him curiously. He was lying to her. Why would he do that? She wasn't angry as much as she was intrigued, and she let his comment pass and began their walk again as she tried to work it out in her head.

His continued silence allowed her time to think, and she threaded it out in her mind. She hadn't been back long enough to do something that might have angered him. He had been talkative enough yesterday, after their sparring match, so it wasn't that. What had changed? She thought of her father's face as he left her room the night before. A little concerned, but mostly extremely angry. And resolved. She glanced over to Alec's face, lacking the anger, but the concern and resolve were there as well, hidden by an imperfect mask of bland.

Her father had sent him to guard her.

Sol's temper tugged on its leash. Who did her father think she was? She was a soldier. She didn't need protection. She was protection. Her brother was younger than her, his education less complete, his fighting form less polished. He was the one who needed protection, not her. It hurt, to think that her father had that little respect for her ability. Was it because she had stood up to him, and he no longer trusted her judgement? Or did he think that being female made her inherently weaker?

Sol stopped walking.

Alec stopped as well, and looked at her in mild confusion. "What is it?" he asked finally.

She would give him a chance to back out gracefully. He didn't have to admit that he had been guarding her at her father's request. She already knew that. All she wanted was to be left alone. She could take care of herself.

"I'd like some time alone, Alec. Can we meet back at the house a little later?" She watched him quietly struggle with this and then looked away to check her watch. "How about lunchtime? Around noon?"

"Aww, c'mon, Becca, you've only got two weeks. You want to spend them by YOURSELF?" Sol almost grinned in spite of herself. Her little brother had a ways to go, but he was a good actor. "No, just until lunchtime," she replied, and grinned. "I'll see you then, ok?" She started to turn away and walk in the other direction when his hand dropped onto her arm.

"Let me go."

"No." His voice was her father's, steel and unyielding.

Sol sighed internally. He wasn't going to let her go, even if it meant she knew he'd been lying to her. Blindly noble and loyal to a fault. Why had her father sent her little brother instead of coming himself? She didn't want him to learn his lesson through Alec, but she had little choice. Both her father and her brother lacked faith in her independent ability to keep herself safe, and if she didn't correct this now, she never would.

She came back to him as he pulled and kneed him in the stomach, not hard enough to really hurt him but enough to knock his wind out, and then shoved him away. He staggered and panted, but didn't fall, his eyes clearing quickly. She was a little surprised by his fast recovery. Maybe BattleSchool wasn't the only place the world sent violent children.

Before he could catch her, she turned and ran.

The chase went on for nearly ten minutes before she finally managed to keep out of sight long enough to hide, the smooth-barked leafy branches of a tree concealing her from the forest below. She watched him look, heard him swear quietly to himself before he turned and trotted back towards the cabin to report.

It took him fifteen minutes to find the slip of paper buried in the sand. It was located near the sand box's geographic center, where the turtle's heart would be. Definitely Sol's sense of humor. When he unfolded it, however, he sighed.

7--
71B629F24B4BA112C24369E41BC1B2F9
29F36E0636F36915CC6F304B748
C668C11B
--C

It was in code. Great.

Gabe left the playground, studying the slip of paper in the shade of a tree a few blocks away. It was hexadecimal, apparently -- numerals zero to nine, and letters A to F. The problem was that Gabe had no idea how to translate it. If he found some secluded spot and just worked at it in his mind for about half a day, he might be able to simply try alphanumeric combinations until it started to make sense. But that didn't seem like Sol's style -- he knew that there had to be a key somewhere.

So Gabe returned to the playground, knowing what he'd be looking for even before he arrived. Along one side of the playground there was a row of small fiberglass animals with saddles and handlebars jutting from the sides of their heads, mounted atop sturdy metal springs. No one was playing on them. There was only so much fun that could be had rocking back and forth atop a fiberglass animal. There was a rabbit. There was a dog. And there was a horse.

The key was buried at the base of the horse, tucked in between two of the base spring's coils.

3119 9B470E 24C015 94B7 D866B 24C015 9B470E 3119
5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB

Her mind touched quietly on her brother first. He hadn't expected her attack, and that was the only reason she'd surprised him into letting her go. The bruise she was sure she'd given him really wasn't any worse than a few from the sparring they'd done, but the intent behind it made it seem far more serious. It wasn't even him she'd been angry at. He was just doing his part to try to keep her safe. It was her father's intent that guided his.

Her father was worried, and he was trying to protect her. She could understand that. Despite their current state of conflict, she loved him with all her heart. What she didn't appreciate was his unwillingness to speak to her directly, as an equal. He'd let her play white, but he still wasn't treating her like she deserved it.

He had asked her what was going on, but in the manner of an overbearing parent questioning an errant child. Whatever he thought her life had been for the past eight years, it was clear from his actions that he had no real understanding of her experience. She had suffered and grown and learned more than he would ever know. He still thought of her as the six-year-old girl he'd seen off at the terminal with the rest of the launchies. He'd scripted Sol's entire life for her, training her to do precisely what he wished her to do, securing her admission into BattleSchool when the IF came searching for new recruits. Her life was still following his script even now. She would go to Command School in a little more than a week, for a long time, and when it was over her legal childhood would be finished. Sol was tired of being pushed. Some things she had to accept, but his vision of her inferiority she did not. And wouldn't.

Pushing her father out of her mind only made room for Gabe. What had happened to make him run away? Gabe could have - and had, in the past - taken almost anything from anyone, short of physical damage, without the flicker of an eyelid. Whatever his father had done to him must have been brutal. Sol clenched her jaw. She thought of the way Gabe had looked when Katera had dropped him back in the launch, when she and Naomi had interrupted her fun. So small and broken. Gabe seemed much stronger now...but he had seemed strong to her then, too.

The sunlight filtering through the leaves made them golden, and then tipped them with red as the sun set. She couldn't stay up here much longer, not if she wanted to find her way back to the cabin before complete darkness set in. This wasn't the battleschool - there would be stars, but she'd rather not have to feel for it.

He sat in an alley in downtown Houston, behind a bar and grill. Before him, the two slips of paper were spread out on the asphalt.

3119 9B470E 24C015 94B7 D866B 24C015 9B470E 3119
5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB 5FAB

Gabe was looking at the bottom row. All the same four alphanumeric characters. 5FAB. There were eight. Eight in the top row also. Two rows of eight, and the bottom row was the same all the way across. Gabe noted that the top row was almost symmetrical. 3119 at both ends, followed by 9B470E, and then 24C015. Only the center two were different.

Slowly, however, Gabe began to see.

Chess. It was chess.

Rook Knight Bishop King Queen Bishop Knight Rook
Pawn Pawn Pawn Pawn Pawn Pawn Pawn Pawn

That was it. Gabe knew it. Just like Sol to use chess as they key. Something only Gabe would know, that only Gabe would get. Clever girl.

Gabe mapped out the characters in his head.

Rook Knight Bishop King Queen Pawn
3119 9B470E 24C015 94B7 D866B 5FAB

0|1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|A|B|C|D|E|F
h|o|b|r|i|p|e|g|u|k|w|n|s|q|t|a

He then plugged them into the message, mentally adding in spaces and punctuation.

G--
Gone 2 kabin in woobs. Birektions on bak.
Bcare, there are cops searhing 4 u.
See u soon.
--S

There were misspellings, of course -- the message had to be written using only the sixteen letters found in the names of the six different chess pieces. And also, at two points there had been numbers that were actually supposed to be numbers, and not the letters to which they corresponded, according to the key. But it was easy enough to figure out.

He had a flashlight slung, but it wasn't lit. The weak starlight that filtered through the leaves of the trees above wasn't enough to illuminate his face, but she could read his body posture easily enough. He was angry. Furious. And worried.

"There you are. We're going back to the cabin. Now." He reached forward to take her arm and she stepped back. He paused, but didn't put his hand down. "I'm not playing games, Rebecca. I mean it." The icy tone of command in his voice had her feet moving towards him of their own volition, but his fingers on her arm broke the spell.

She twisted away from him, but didn't run. She'd run from Alec because she didn't want to hurt him. Her father was entirely too skilled in his own right for her to apply the same kindness here. His legs were longer. His reach was longer. But he didn't really want to hurt her. She didn't really want to hurt him either, perhaps, but she wasn't going back to the cabin anymore. Not like this.

She could feel his surprise, watched as his surprise fueled his rage. "Who do you think I am?" she asked him in a low voice, intense with her own anger. "I'm not a little girl anymore. I take care of myself. I make my own judgements. You've done enough with my life already, haven't you?" He reached for her again and she hit his hand away this time instead of stepping back. The sound was whipcrack loud in the stillness of the clearing, and his silent shock was a tangible aura.

"Rebecca - "

She caught his wrist this time and flung it away. Her temper was strangely absent. In its place was the strange chill that had come over her last when she'd attacked Jax. "Don't do that again," she said icily. "I used to be weak. I used to be frightened of you, and your disapproval. The game they make us play there had you in it, did you know that? And I beat you, dad. All I had to do was walk away."

Her father blinked and lunged for her, and she sidestepped and kicked him in the side. He was bigger and stronger than she was, but she was younger and faster than he, and it took only a handful of blows to make him stop to regroup, stunned by her attack.

But he wasn't regrouping.

The sun was setting on his fifth day of freedom when he reached the cabin. The road leading up to it was really just a pair of dirt ruts worn into the underbrush. Gabe left the road, however, and circled the area three times. Each time, he tightened his circuit a little more. No guards, and no one peeking through the shades. The transport wasn't anywhere nearby, that much was certain. It appeared as if the IF had vacated the area. Perhaps they'd decided that simply relocating the family was enough.

They'd underestimated Gabe. They were stupid. Very stupid.

He kept circling studying the cabin, figuring out which windows led into the living room, the master bedroom, the dining room, and most importantly, which was Sol's. He had to guess, because there were two secondary bedrooms, but he spotted Sol's brother in one, and so could infer that the other was Sol's.

His perimeter was still wide; wide enough that the cabin was only just visible through the brush. Mostly, Gabe was seeing the glow of the windows more than the shape.

He saw Sol's father leave the house with a flashlight, and began searching the woods. This confused Gabe. He kept his distance, but followed, cautiously. Who was he searching for?

For a moment, Gabe worried that he'd left behind some clue in Houston that told the IF that Gabe had been there and left already. Perhaps they'd asked that this man search for him, while they came as quickly as they could. If that were so, then Gabe had to leave, now. He could not wait for a chance to see Sol -- it would be too late then.

And then Sol dropped from the branches of a tree, not even a meter from her father, though Gabe read the tensing in her body that suggested that she'd not expected him. Her face didn't betray any surprise, however; she grown quite skilled at showing no more than she wanted to. If Gabe had not known her so long, had not known how to read the movements of her body as clearly as those of her face, he would not have been able to tell either.

The man spoke, but Gabe could not hear the words clearly. Only the tone of voice. The man was displeased. Angry and sad at the same time. He reached for Sol, but she pulled away. Then he reached for her again, and she hit his hand away.

What was this? Why were Sol and her father arguing? This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't how it was supposed to be at all.

When her father lunged, and Sol dodged and landed a quick succession of blows on the man's body -- which Gabe knew, from experience, could be deceptively harsh, given her size -- he almost dashed forward himself, to help. Whether or not Sol needed any help was not his concern; if she was going to fight, she would not fight alone. Except that her father did not strike back, did not counterattack. He straightened back up, a little painfully, and then stalked off.

Her outward calm held until her father had disappeared into the brush, and then it was like someone had cut her strings, the way she sagged. Her shoulders drooped, her head hung forward, her face fell. Sol, what is this I am seeing? What is going on here?

Gabe wanted to go to her now, to ask her that very question. But he couldn't make himself. Not now. If he came to her now, while she was still angry with her father -- that would be wrong. He would be a familiar face, a trusted friend, and that would pull her even further away. No, Gabe could not go now. He would wait.

She didn't bother with stealth, didn't pause in the main room or at either closed bedroom door. She just went into the little room that had been assigned to her while she was here and sat down on the bed, pushing herself back with her heels and sitting with her legs crossed, leaning back against the wall.

What was she going to do now?

Her father was right. She had earned nothing but the right to make mistakes on her own instead of having someone else to make them for her. She had no one to blame but herself for the chill in her stomach and the pain in her heart. Her father and brother were her entire family, and she'd attacked both of them today, in earnest, and over what? Would it have been so difficult, such a burden to her overbearing pride to allow them the illusion of protecting her?

She dragged a pillow to her lap and hugged it. It was feathery and soft and she wanted the small hardy pillows from the BattleSchool instead. She wanted to be back where she belonged, not sunk in this emotional swamp. She'd been turned down too long, and now even her father seemed overemotional and illogical. She still understood his reasoning, but she didn't feel the same sympathy for it that she once had.

And for some reason, Gabe's mind kept jumping to the same cause for all this anger, all this sadness. He didn't know anything about what was going on, not really, but for some reason he was sure that their anger was stemming from Gabe, from his escape, from their subsequent relocation. And, if Gabe knew Sol as well as he thought he did, from her refusal to tell anyone anything about him. All this misery could be traced back to him.

It had occurred to him, when he first learned that Sol and her family had been relocated, that he was stealing from her by doing what he was doing. By leaving Vermont, he'd caused Sol and her family to be uprooted from their home, to be taken somewhere strange to them. This two weeks was supposed to be a time when Sol got to go back to the place she did know, the place from her childhood memories, the place of innocence and security. But Gabe had stolen that away, intentionally or not. It made him sad, to know what his journey would cost her, but he'd determined that he would continue on anyway. Home was not walls or a roof; home was not a familiar setting. Home was people. Sol's home was her family, not the house in Houston. It was still a bad thing to do, and it made him despise himself for the better part of an hour, but the feeling had eventually subsided. He could not allow feelings of remorse interfere with the completion of his objective. There would be time for remorse and regret later.

Now, though, that resolve was faltering. It was one thing for Gabe to evict Sol's family for two weeks while he made his run for Juneau. It was quite another to drive a wedge between Sol and her father, directly or indirectly. Sol would understand his need to get to Juneau, and would have agreed that it was worth being in a strange place for two weeks. But would she have agreed that solving his mystery was worth her relationship with her father?

Sol was a selfless person. She might just think it was worth it, believing that she could mend that relationship the next time she returned. But Gabe could not believe that it was. If Sol and her father parted company angry, now, then there would be no healing. It would be another four years before they saw each other then. And by then Sol would be an adult, able to go where she pleased on her leave time. Would she have the courage to visit her father, after their conflict had been left unresolved for so long? Would he have the courage to ask her?

There was no way Gabe could know. He didn't have enough knowledge of how the human heart worked to understand all this. All he knew was that it was his fault, that his escape had caused all this.

For a moment, Gabe considered surrender. If he turned himself in to the IF, then Sol and her family would be allowed to return home, right?

But would that solve anything? The damage was done. Would being allowed to return home fix things? Perhaps not. Perhaps the damage could not be healed by something so simple. But on the other hand, every day here was another reminder to Sol's father that there was some teenage boy out to steal his daughter away from him. Perhaps, if Gabe were caught, and if they were allowed to return, Sol's father could forget. Or at very least, accept, and not think about it any more.

Gabe couldn't possibly know which was more likely. All this was alien to him -- the very fact that he could so much as identify the problem was remarkable enough in and of itself for Gabe. He could not decide, except based simply upon logic, and Gabe was fairly certain that logic would offer him no help in this situation.

To continue, or to surrender? To act on his own behalf, or Sol's? How could he decide something like that? How had the situation ever come to a point where he and Sol did not share a single behalf?

He could not. Gabe could not choose.

Whatever he decided to do, he was not going to turn himself in tonight. It was too late to return to Houston tonight. In the meantime, he would see Sol, and decide after, decide later, some distant later that he didn't have to think about right now. Right now, Sol's brother had come to her room, and Sol got up and followed him out. Gabe circled around, until he picked them up again in the dining room. The food was already set out, and Sol's father was seated. Even from fifty meters off, Gabe could feel the uncomfortable tension. I'm sorry, Sol. I never thought that my escape would cause this. I'm sorry.

He walked back around to the south side, and crouched low. Steadily, he took deeper and deeper breaths, preparing. He then dashed forward, past the tree line, out into the open, exposed. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. When he reached the house he dropped to his knees and slid the final meter, coming to a stop just beneath Sol's window.

Her brother had forgiven her everything with a single glance when he'd come to fetch her, and they'd traded silent apologies as they walked back into the main room. He caught her hand and pressed it before they came into view. His look of loving pity made her hold her head a little higher. She knew what to expect. She wasn't going to let him intimidate her.

Her father had been sitting at the table waiting for them. The cabin had obviously not been designed to accommodate a large number of people, and they were in what normally would have been comfortably close quarters as they sat to eat with him. He said nothing.

Alec also said nothing, ate a little of his food, pushed it around his plate and then excused himself, and Sol was alone with her father.

The tension was getting worse, and she had little appetite. Her reasoning behind her refusal to accompany him back to the cabin was clouding. She was here now. What difference did it make how she arrived, with him or after? There was a difference. There had been a difference, an important one, but she couldn't remember what it had been. She set her fork down before it started trembling too badly and looked at her plate.

Her father's hand on hers made her look over at it. It bore a bruise, and she winced visibly. Her head weighed metric tons, but she forced herself to lift it anyway and meet his eyes. They were sad, the anger that had burned there replaced with frustration, but undeniably sad.

She looked away, down at their hands. "I'm sorry," she said in a quiet, clear voice. "I'm sorry that you don't understand, and that I don't have the words to explain it to you, and that I'm not who you expected when you got to the station today. I wish that I could repair this, but I don't know how." She blinked, surprised that her eyes were still dry, and sighed a little shakily, gently removing her hand from his grasp as she stood up and looked at his face again. He looked...bleak. Almost tired.

"Good night," she said in a near whisper and left the table, hurrying back to her room. She entered and shut the door behind her quietly, pressing her forehead to the cool smooth wood as she willed herself back to calm. She suddenly felt very tired. Maybe tomorrow things would improve. Sleep might heal them all yet.

The knight on the window sill winked at her.

Gabe.

She came to the window slowly, all thoughts of sleep banished, and picked up the plastic piece and looked at it wonderingly. He'd found her note. He'd deciphered her note. He was alright. She should have known they wouldn't be able to catch him. He was entirely too paranoid.

The little horse in her hand was still a little warm. Wherever he was, he was close. She considered leaving her room to find him, but finally just opened her window all the way and turned out her light. She didn't want to be disturbed. Whatever was happening with Gabe, her father didn't need to know about it, for so many reasons she didn't bother trying to count them. Her light off would let them know she was theoretically asleep.

There might be cops out there, too. She moved away from the window. He had known it was safe to deposit the knight, but he hadn't stayed. If the house was under surveillance, he would know when it was safe to come. It would only bring suspicion if she stood at the window looking for him.

Gabe didn't move. Not yet. Sol's light was out, but the others were still burning. He would wait.

It was getting cold out -- Gabe would never have associated Texas with being cold, anywhere, any time of the year. Gabe was from Alaska; Texas was supposed to be one of the warm states.

Having grown up in Alaska didn't mean that Gabe had any special tolerance to cold. There had only been one time, in all his years there, when he'd spent any significant amount of time in the cold, and that had been under very unusual circumstances. At the time, he'd been in no state of mind to be worrying about cold.

So Gabe huddled a little tighter, and remained still. He wasn't sure how long he waited. An hour. Perhaps as much as two. One by one, the lights went out. Last of all was the master bedroom. Even then, when the last light was out, Gabe still waited. He'd come this far, and he hadn't yet decided what he was going to do. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that if he was not going to be caught. He would surrender, yes, but he was not going to be caught. They would be deciding his future, once he returned. Gbe knew that it would look much better for him if he returned voluntarily than if he were caught, and then claimed that he'd been planning on coming back anyway. Caution was still needed, no matter what course he chose tonight. So he waited.

The moon was high overhead when Gabe finally decided it was time to move. He rose from the underbrush, and started jogging between the trees. He came to the tree line, the edge of the clearing, and maintained his pace. This late, anyone that was going to spot his was already watching for him, and the only difference between sprinting and jogging was that sprinting made more noise.

He reached the house, and leapt up, bracing his hands atop the sill and bringing his knees up against his chest as he slipped through the window in a single fluid movement. Inside, he extended his legs again, and leaned his head and shoulders back as a counter-balance, so that his shoes met the floor softly.

He wasn't going to try to explain that, not now and not later either. He knew what she'd say. She'd tell him he was crazy and that not everything was about him. She'd tell him that this was between her and her father. True, perhaps, but it would never had happened at all if not for Gabe. But he wasn't going to try and explain any of that.

She moved to the window, glancing out at the tree line. She looked to him, the question clear in her eyes. Gabe nodded. It was safe enough. There was no direct line of sight between any of the other bedroom windows and this path to the forest. Sol sat on the sill, swung her legs out through the window, and slid forward to drop to the grass a meter and a half below. She landed quietly, and rose up again with smooth grace.

Gabe slipped out also, and dropped. His landing was slightly louder, given his larger mass, but it was still soft enough to make worrying about being heard foolish. They jogged across the clearing, to the tree line, past the tree line, deep enough into the forest that the cabin disappeared behind a veil of pine needles and brush.

They slowed to a stop, and Gabe looked at Sol, not knowing what to say. Within the privacy of his own mind, Gabe scowled at himself. He'd just come a thousand miles through hostile territory in five days to see this girl and he couldn't think of a damned thing to say?

"Hi," he said finally, his eyes hardening inexplicably, but somehow she knew it wasn't for her. "Sorry to wake you."

She hugged him again and laughed into his shoulder, laughed until her eyes began to tear. She'd just had one of the worsts days of her life, and he had just fixed it by showing up, and he was sorry to have woken her up.

It wasn't really conscious thought when she pulled back and pressed her lips to his. The contact was extremely brief, and she was still smiling for a good three seconds until she began to register exactly what she'd done. Her arms dropped away from him, to her sides, and she fought the urge to ruin her dignity and back away.

It didn't matter, she was happy to see him and he was happy to see her. For just a moment, he could forget all about Juneau, all about the IF, all about the pain he was causing her, and her father also. It would have lasted only a moment, and Gabe was content with that, for as long as the moment lasted. However, she then lifted her face, and her lips met his. Just for the briefest moment, nothing but a friendly kiss. She was just happy to see him. There was no more to it than that.

Except that Gabe had never been kissed before.

She seemed to realize what she'd done, and her arms fell away, her smile fading into embarrassment, and even fear. She was looking right at him, at his face, searching for some response, some feedback. But Gabe was too unnerved to think about his face, about how it would look to her. All she saw when she looked at him was his usual blank expression, stoic, unreadable.

That nervousness faded into the same resolute stoicism. Into the blank expression she'd learned from him. And in that moment, Gabe was sorry she'd ever learned that. It seemed wrong, for her to feel she needed to hide from him. He did it by reflex -- did she?

Gabe's head was swimming. He didn't know what to say or do or think or even feel. And then she asked, with a voice that sounded forced, "How was your trip?"

Gabe understood. She was giving him an out. She was giving him a way to say nothing about the kiss, to ignore it, pretend it didn't happen. Except that Gabe wasn't sure that he wanted that. It did happen. To pretend it had not happened would be like saying it was wrong, that it should be swept under the rug, forgotten. But it hadn't felt wrong. It hadn't felt wrong at all.

Gabe slowly brought a hand up, and touched two fingers to his lips. He then looked down at them. He wouldn't pretend it hadn't happened. Not when he could still feel it. That would be lying to himself and it woudl be lying to Sol.

His hand fell back to his side. That gesture had sold away the chance to pretend it hadn't happened. Gabe wanted to say something about it, to say something that would wipe that look of embarrassment and fear that he'd seen on Sol's face from his memory. But Gabe had never been particularly good with words. Some days, he was able to put what he was thinking into the perfect words. But this was not one of those days. Gabe couldn't think of any words that were anywhere near perfect. He couldn't think of any that were withing throwing distance of good.

But he didn't, kept looking at his fingertips for a good five seconds before letting his hand fall back to his side. It took all her effort not to do something, to run away or hug him or sit down where she stood and pretend it wasn't happening.

He had trusted her to be logical and rational during their time at battleschool. It had been an unspoken rule. They were anchors for each other, safe territory that allowed them to exclude the rest of BattleSchool social life almost completely. She'd slipped every now and then, of course, but only in little ways. Humor was acceptable. Even anger was acceptable - more acceptable than this. She had taken his trust and betrayed it in a single second of weakness. What did she expect him to do? Smile?

He wasn't smiling. She couldn't decipher what was happening behind that mask. She felt like she had when they were fresh off the shuttle and he had been cold and completely unreadable. Her own emotion kept getting in the way, undercutting her objectivity and making it impossible for her to judge him accurately. She was almost grateful. She didn't want to see the confusion or the betrayal she was sure were there.

He was still looking at her, and she almost started to turn away when he finally spoke to answer her question about his trip. "Long." His voice was soft, and the thinly veiled bewildered amazement made her study his face with a new intensity. He wasn't upset? She had no way of determining that, not in her current state. He had continued the conversation. This mistake couldn't be forgotten, but it could be left behind. He was giving her an escape route now. She took it with both hands.

"Are you alright?" Her voice came out a little more tentatively than she had intended, and her jaw tightened. Poor choice of words. She should have asked something else, something more specific, so he had no doubt she was asking about his trip, and not her transgression.

Gabe didn't know how to feel. It had caught him off guard, and made him uncomfortable and confused, but all that had come after. While it lasted, there had been no discomfort. There had been no confusion. Except that here Sol was trying to pretend it hadn't happened, and for some inexplicable reason, that made Gabe feel sad. Was it so bad, Sol? Did I do something wrong?

Well, she wanted to move on, and so Gabe would. It made him sad, but he would.

But he had no way of knowing that, and after what she'd just done, she wanted him to understand. Logic. How could she explain logically when she wasn't entirely sure if it had been logical at all? She tried to choose her words carefully, but her frustration rushed in and picked them for her anyway.

"Oh, Gabe, this has nothing to do with you." Her voice was nearly as quiet as his as she willed him to understand, but his expression didn't change. There was no way she was going to allow that misconception to set, not on top of everything else. She put a hand on his shoulder. "If it hadn't been over this, it would have been something else. He doesn't even trust me to take care of myself. I don't know why he ever agreed to let me train to protect other people."

He remained unchanged, like he'd already convinced himself and nothing she said was going to make a difference. She moved around to sit on her heels in front of him and only hesitated a little before placing her hands over his. "Damnit, I mean it, Gabe."

A small cracking sound make them both flick their heads to the side.

"I just came to see if you were alright," said her brother defensively, still watching Gabe warily. The older boy had surprised him, that was all...but he ached several places, and would ache tomorrow. Sol could see the thoughts turning over in his head as he ran an appraisal. Gabe was older and stronger and bigger, with better training. He'd have to be more stealthy next time...

Sol sighed and looked at Gabe. She felt a little guilty at being so rough with him...but it was her little brother, and Gabe's cold face as he prepared to strike him was not something she could easily wipe from her mind's eye. This complicated matters immensely.

So Gabe sprinted after the younger boy, as fast as he could. The boy was fast, for his age, but Gabe was bigger, had a longer stride, as well as better-developed muscles. Gabe intercepted him before the boy made it half way to the tree line.

Again he leapt; again he tackled. Again, Gabe's hand was clamped over the boy's mouth as Gabe rolled him over and pinned him. Not painfully this time, not harshly, but quite securely. The boy wasn't going anywhere.

Her little brother was struggling. She could tell. His muscles were tensing in short violent bursts, but Gabe was holding him so tightly it looked like he wasn't trying to move at all. Alec's eyes fastened on hers, wide with fear and rage. She looked from him to Gabe. His gaze held only frustration.

The second time she looked back to Alec a new emotion had crept into his face. Betrayal. He had come out here to protect her, and she had made no move to get her "friend" to let him go. She was protecting a friend over family - not just protecting, but aiding someone who was trying to hurt him, just standing there and watching him fight.

For the first time in her life, Sol wished to be completely cold and insensitive as Gabe had appeared when she first arrived in the launch. She didn't want to see her brother's rage shifting from Gabe to her. She didn't want to see Gabe's quiet frustration. He was right. Alec would run to tell her father, and her father would call the IF.

They couldn't hold him forever. Gabe would eventually have to let him go...and what then? Alec would not be persuaded. Gabe had attacked him once already, and nothing she said would hold any sway over his opinion any longer. She didn't even know why Gabe was here yet. How could she fight for him effectively when she didn't know what had happened, what he'd done?

What he'd done...

The IF hadn't mentioned anything, but she found herself wondering exactly why Gabe had never mentioned his father.

That thought chilled her. She suffered a sudden flashback of Gabe looking down at Mai, years ago, her pendant clutched in his hand as he watched her dying for it. Gabe always did what he felt he had to. She'd been able to talk him out of it then...but this time she didn't see any alternatives for her headstrong little brother. Her eyes widened as she looked at Gabe's face more closely. He'd changed much since then...but how much? Did he really think she'd let him kill her little brother?

Alec read the fear in her eyes and his own expression changed to match it. His muscles stood out a little more, but Gabe didn't even strain. His breathing shallowed, and he closed his eyes slowly and opened them, as if he was hoping it would make everything better. Sol started to shiver, and looked from Alec to Gabe.

Nothing, it seemed, went his way. His father waiting at the terminal, that should have been quite a big damn hint that this leave was going to be anything but a vacation. And when his father had started hinting about how Gabe should get himself expelled from Command School and help bring "freedom" and "justice" to the world, that might have been a bit of a clue also. And then there was the IF searching for him, and the relocation of Sol's family, and then the kiss -- and more specifically, Sol's reactions to it. And now this.

Gabe could not let the boy go. It would compromise Gabe, and he would have to leave again, and Gabe would have just gone to a lot of trouble for nothing. If he'd headed for Juneau, he'd have been there in another day or two. Now he still had a week's journey ahead of him. But on the other hand, Gabe could see that it hurt Sol to see her brother like this. More than that, it hurt her to have to be in the position of choosing which to sympathize with, which to side with. It was wrong of Gabe to put her in that position. It was wrong of Gabe to make her choose.

Gabe didn't once consider killing the boy as a truly viable option. The boy had done nothing except try to protect his sister. He couldn't know that Gabe was no threat to anyone here. Once, Gabe might have killed just because it suited him. But that was a long time ago.

And besides. Sol would never be able to forgive him.

To the rest of the world he looked completely impassive. To her he looked frustrated, and a little scared. Five days? He'd spent five days from...from Vermont to Texas? He'd come here to see her, of course...but why? If he'd left five days ago, that was his entire leave. Whatever had happened - or whatever he'd done - he hadn't wasted any time. Not that he ever did. Whatever it was, he'd come a long long way and through great difficulty to see her, and she needed to find out why.

She laid a hand on his arm. "Gabe, wh-"

The distant sound of something that sounded like a stuttered "s" coupled with the punching crackling sound of broken bark made them all turn around. Shards of wood from the bullet's impact were still falling to the ground from the tree that stood directly to the left of Gabe's shoulder, and she was about to bolt when a deep voice she knew well rolled out to meet them.

"Stand where you are."

Sol froze, and glanced to her little brother. He looked back at her angrily, suitably satisfied and not at all concerned.

"Alec, get back to the house." Alec favored Gabe with one last threatening look and turned to trot back towards the cabin. "Young man, stand away from my daughter." Her father was approaching now, very slowly, and she could see the silencer-equipped pistol reflecting the moonlight dully. "Three feet. Any farther and I will kill you." His voice was cold and angry, but he didn't appear to be in a mindless rage. Reason might still reach him.

The rational part of his mind -- which was an extremely large part -- was telling him to flee. To turn and bolt. The danger to his objective in Juneau was already far exceeding what this visit should have been worth. Sol might spend the next week locked in her room, but she would understand, surely.

Unfortunately, there was a minority portion of his mind that was nevertheless being very vocal right now, and it was not at all rational. But Gabe couldn't bring himself to ignore it. The rational portion of his mind was wrong. Sol would not understand. He'd be abandoning her to face the consequences for his visit. He'd be fleeing for reasons Sol did not know or understand.

He hardly heard the command to stand aside, but even if he had, he would not have moved. Rationally, he knew that this man would not shoot him dead right beside his own daughter. Rationally, he knew that this man probably wouldn't shoot him even if Sol weren't here at all. The man was angry, and hurt, and so that made him unstable. But Gabe highly doubted that the man would, or could, kill.

Alec told him when they left, as he'd instructed. He wasn't sure what he had expected to find. A boy, of course. And for this boy, his daughter had lied to him, attacked him, and broken his trust, leaving in the middle of the night and placing herself in danger. He doubted she would ever understand his frustration until she had children of her own.

He knew his daughter, how similar she was to him...but as much as she disliked it, she had her mother in her as well. Her sense of honor was ever-present, like his, but situational, changing as the situation warranted to allow permission for herself to do what she thought was best...or easiest. Alec would never have that sort of honorable...versatility, and neither would he, but despite all his training and preparation and her own intense aversion, Sol was still her mother's daughter.

So he understood the lack of guilt in the mix of emotions on her features. She was upset, but it was the distress of a thief, not a knight. She was unhappy at being caught. He'd expected as much.

This boy, however, was not what he'd expected at all. He was handsome enough, and he didn't run. His daughter wouldn't have tolerated a coward. But he didn't seem to be frightened either, and he ignored his order to move away. That lack of fright disturbed him. He would have been frightened, if he were fifteen and had been caught alone in the dark by his lover's father with the girl by his side. That this boy exhibited no emotion, fright or otherwise, indicated some sort of mental imbalance, and that was another problem entirely.

He wanted him away from her, now, before he had to do something more drastic without understanding the rest of this situation.

"Sol, move away from him." He forced his voice to be cold and harsh, did his best to ignore the pitiful look of terror for the boy's safety as she glanced back up at him. He couldn't make himself ignore the way her fingers tightened on his arm as her chin firmed. He could have shot the boy right there for giving her a reason to have to defy him, but he did not.

"I see," he said finally. "Then we will relocate. You may walk together if you wish. Back towards the house." He didn't gesture with the gun, but he did move slightly to the side. The boy didn't move, but Sol dragged him forward, placing herself between her companion and Jubal's line of sight. He immediately shifted his position, following them back towards the cabin, his gun aimed unwaveringly at the boy's back as they approached the house as a group.

Once inside, he relaxed a little, but not much. His daughter could no longer disappear into the dark with this boy without going through him first.

Alec appeared in the doorway of his room and nodded to him. All the windows and their storm shutters were now closed and locked from the outside. Their little fortress was tight, for the time being.

He looked at his daughter. She had also relaxed a little, thinking perhaps that her friend was a little safer than he had been. He let her think that, his voice a little softer when he spoke this time. "Go with your brother, Sol," he said as he locked the door behind him, the keys sliding into his pocket.

The sick, pleading look she sent him told him she knew how little quarter she had a right to expect, but she was asking it anyway. He let his eyes soften enough to allow Alec to lead her away, the door shutting with a click behind them as the lock engaged.

The man was glaring at Gabe. "Give me a reason not to kill you," he said. Threats. Gabe was a little disappointed, really. The man had a gun pointed right at Gabe. Did he really feel the need to make threats right now?

But Gabe didn't let anything show in his face, in his stance. Because he wasn't really afraid.

"Just one?" Gabe asked. "Because if you were the kind of man who would kill a boy in cold blood just for wanting to talk to your daughter, then she wouldn't love you like she does, and so you must not be that kind of man. Care for another? Because whatever you may think of me, you're not helping the situation between you and your daughter by pointing a gun at me. If you kill me you'll lose her forever, and you won't do that. Want more? Because if you kill me you're throwing away about seven million dollars' worth of IF training and resources, and the IF won't be pleased about that. Because if you kill me then you've murdered your daughter's only friend, and you'd never be able to live with yourself after that. Because you know that nothing I've done gives you the right to take my life from me. And because you know that I'm not afraid of you or your gun, and you can't shoot me without that contempt, without that disgust."

With every sentence, Gabe took a step forward. Not large steps, not threatening steps; Gabe simply seemed to float forward slowly. Until, as he said the word disgust, he swept an arm out and locked his hand around the man's wrist, digging his fingers into the pressure point just above the palm. The man's fingers spasmed open, just briefly, but Gabe took two steps back, and brought the gun with him. The clip dropped out of the pistol, and clattered on the hardwood floor, as Gabe pulled back the slide. Nothing happened -- there had been no bullet in the chamber anyway. He then tossed the gun back to the man, who caught it, looking a little dazed.

He reappraised the boy carefully. He was right, of course. He wouldn't - couldn't - kill this boy, not unless he didn't something overtly harmful. His anger began to simmer down, but only a little. This boy had cost him and his daughter more than time and trouble. Their trust had been compromised, and this boy was to blame. What he wanted to know most right now was why this boy had chosen to run away from his parents while on leave to see his daughter, when they would undoubtedly have been reunited in Command School. This was looking less and less like the desperate lovers he had envisioned, and more like something sinister.