Chapter Text
Pursuing and Being Pursued
Henry Henderson stood with Mr. Green, pacing across the floor of the cabin that marked the entrance to the trail system where the children were currently doing their scavenger hunt. Screens provided a near-real-time feed of the jungle paths. This was, indeed, a state-of-the-art system.
And while Green had been a champion for letting the children stretch their wings—and Henderson himself usually was also such a champion—there was something, this time, that felt off. Inelegant.
He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.
Is it just that the camp themselves discouraged guardian involvement? Well, knowing the guardians of these children, they were unlikely to be dissuaded: There are likely bodyguards hiding in every tree.
It was a relief, but a small one. Besides, most of these children were without their guardians most of the time; it was odd, this year, that the guardians were here, now that he thought about it.
Is it this patch of the campground?
Maybe—this was the first year doing this scavenger hunt here. Previously it had been in a portion of jungle cocooned off from the rest of the world. A safe, sanitized version of the jungle, that he had never hesitated to let children roam in. There was nowhere for them to go outside the approved area. Not that he didn't trust his students, but they were children.
On the screens, Anya was pointing, and Damian was blushing, offering his hand. Henry grimaced in concern.
"Not fond of young love, Henry?" Mr. Green smiled and leaned back against the wall, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "I think he's got it bad, myself. Poor thing, she's oblivious, and it makes sense. I don't think either of 'em really understand. They're too young."
Henry felt a sense of wistfulness. I know what it is to be oblivious to one's feelings. But no sense in thinking of bygone days.
He shook his head. "It's not young love that has me worried; hopeful, if anything, though I agree, they're oblivious. But see—there."
He gestured to the screen they were on. His two—adorable—troublemakers, pointing to a trail outside the protective areas of the cameras. Lucky for them school was out, so there was no real risk of a Tonitrus, but they were putting themselves in danger. If there was one child who he trusted to have a guardian around, though, it was Anya. He had seen, over the last few days, the elegant dedication of the Forgers towards their child's upbringing, as they indulged her joy and challenged her capriciousness.
He only hoped the Forger parents did not get in danger themselves, though something about them told him they would be quite capable of handling it. Call it a hunch. They had knocked the initial interview so far out of the park with their preparedness that jungle exploration felt like child's play in comparison.
Regardless, Henry still shook his head as the children walked off the farthest screen—hand in adorable hand—away from the perhaps illusory safety of the cameras.
"On it. You jus' stay here," Mr. Green was already buckling his pack, machete strapped to his hip. "Continue to monitor the children."
So Henry did, eyeing the screens worriedly.
Fortunately for Twilight, they were outside of the range of the cameras when everything happened. This meant he could act.
Anya had just fallen unconscious on the ground, right as they approached the large orchid that dominated the clearing. The howling and crashing in the underbrush loudened around the group.
Damian's voice trembled, and he fell to his knees. "….hey. Hey you. Are you okay?"
Yor scooped Anya into her arms, and brought her face close. "She's still breathing, dear, and her pulse is strong. We just need to bring her back to the camp…"
The sloth—the one that almost fell on Damian earlier—growled in the tree it had been set in and advanced, wide-eyed, on the group.
Twilight, in the meantime, was thinking carefully.
From the last several times she's passed out, and knowing what I do now, my best guess is she's susceptible to large and loud thoughts; the animals are all rattled. She must have heard something, and considering the event at the festival, it may be related to the large orchid in front of us. But I would be remiss not to take measurements as this occurs…
"Yor, guard the children. I am going to investigate," he said, pulling on his balaclava and nearing the flower, tuning his earpiece as soon as he believed he was out of view of the Desmond child. Static, crackles, at all standard frequencies. He shook his head—that would be too simple—and began photographing the flower.
It was a strange plant when fully grown, with firm petals—no, those were its sepals, there was a small bulging arrangement above that was likely the petals—the sepals were arranged in a wide circle, almost like a plate. He photographed that. A single, tall, spindly pistil extended much higher than the bulbous proportions of the rest of the flower would suggest it should, and drooped strangely. He photographed that, too.
And this bizarre texture of the petals almost reads as flesh, or possibly—he felt sick, thinking it—cranial matter. Not that I think this is—
No, he should not jump to conclusions. However, he had learned some things in his study before adopting his current.. "profession."
Perhaps—I have seen—
He began tuning his earpiece to the lowest frequencies it could pick up, then did the math—shit, an antenna would have to be— no, it would probably have to stretch across a substantial portion of the earth to pick up the frequencies he was looking for. He'd need to jury-rig electrodes to verify his theory.
A crashing noise fast approached Yor and the children through the underbrush. He hid, hand on his pistol, attaching the silencer, in case—
The sloth, growling in its tree, had advanced closer still to Yor and the children, but a bigger noise was coming from deeper in the jungle. Damian squeaked and fell to his knees.
"Get down!" Loid's voice rang out from across the clearing. But Yor was ahead of him, having already swept the two children beneath her, low to the ground, watching out.
It's not coming for us, though…
Yor listened carefully as the beating stride grew nearer. An elk broke out of the bushes, leaping over their heads. She watched after it, running at full tilt straight through the jungle. For some reason—she couldn't quite put her finger on it—there was something—
Wait, I thought that the creatures were on a mindless rampage, but that creature felt like it had intent. It did not go for us, but it was also not running in fear…
If she was right, then there were more children that needed protecting than only Anya and Damian. But she couldn't leave them alone… she glanced back to where Twilight had been a moment before.
"The rest of the kids, dear—!" she shouted, as Damian continued to whimper.
"Go without me, love—I'll catch up!"
She didn't like this, but there wasn't much time.
"Hold on, uh—uh—young man!—" She scooped both children, one under each arm, and in a flash, took pursuit, grateful again that Loid had packed tactical gear, or her feet might be hurting in heels.
The sloth, which had been advancing for a minute, swiped its claw towards their backs as Yor dashed off, but it missed.
A few minutes after Mr. Green's departure, Master Henderson heard it. Animal noises—roars, grunts and screeches—reached even this edge of the jungle, and he cursed that his hearing had not yet gone with age.
He watched as the scene changed in almost an instant: Children across the grounds were, according to the grainy screens, holding their heads or cowering in fear.
At the center of the array of screens… A small girl with dark pigtails, a large boy with glasses, hugging each other in terror as a leopard and a band of macaques closed in from all sides, natural enemies mysteriously working together. The multi-angled view of their approach, intentional and from a distance—and the worry, knowing he could do nothing but watch—I was not built for this—made his stomach churn.
Before his worst fears came to pass, though, a figure leapt from the trees with a sudden grand jeté, dancing between screens, graceful motions dropping the creatures before they reached pouncing range with flawless spins and a high-swept leg. The nausea in his stomach turned to awe, a sensation he knew well, that reminded him of days long gone.
Quelle attitude élégante…
He did not wish to look away. He should look away. There was no time for—Anya and Damian were still nowhere to be found.
"Damn it, Green," Henry muttered. "Find those kids."
He continued to watch.
Yor pursued the elk through the brush, back towards the center of the scavenger hunt area, when she felt Anya begin to stir in her arms. Damian had covered his eyes as soon as she began moving at speed, and seemed to be slightly pale.
"Mama—"
Oh good, she's okay…
"I've got you, Anya!" Yor pulled the children closer to her.
"Mama—! They're—"
"Shut up—hurk—stubby, she's clearly—"
The elk, ahead, bugled and slowed, lowering its head as if to charge, not at them, but at figures standing in the distance.
I have to stop it, or—! But I can't leave Anya and Damian behind!
Yor paused momentarily, trying to decide what to do—swap the children to under the same arm?—when another camouflaged figure leapt from the trees ahead of the elk. Immediately on alert, Yor dropped the children and set her hand against one of her stilettos, concealed under her gear.
I'd rather not fight another person in front of the children…! But I don't sense malice, at least not towards me—
"You will not touch milady," the stoic voice of Martha Marriott barely filtered through the leaves, resolute and gentle. The elk charged, undeterred. Yor was too far away to do anything but throw a stiletto, and…
I can't kill an endangered Miteran elk! And I'm probably on video…
She could only hope that Martha was equipped to handle the creature herself.
A whipping of cables, a zap, and the elk jolted, halting and falling to the forest floor. Martha stood above it with her taser. "To paraphrase someone I know, an elegant beast as yourself should not stoop to harming children." She pursed her lips, scanning the horizon cautiously.
"Martha!!" Becky's wail was unmistakable, and the girl soon clung to Martha's leg, sniffling. The other child—what was his name?—was bent on the forest floor, searching for his glasses.
Martha's voice grew quieter, barely audible from this distance. "I've got you, dear."
Sensing the lull, Yor approached, allowing Martha to notice her clearly alongside her wards, calling out to identify herself as she approached. "Hello Ms. Marriott! And Becky! It's Yor! Is everything okay?"
She moved to meet them, setting the children down once they drew near.
"Master!!! You're here too—and Anya!"
Becky quickly left Martha's leg to cling to Anya instead, looking pointedly at Damian on the way. The large boy finally put on his glasses and blinked.
"S'okay Becky, Bill, we're—here to—'tect you…" Anya mumbled, sleepily, still waking up.
With the others gone, Twilight could work faster without arousing suspicion. While still concealed in the brush, he pulled two pent coins from his pocket and a copper wire from his shoe, and removed his earpiece. He'd have to requisition a new one. Popping the electronics open, he connected the wires from the coins to aligned positions on the antenna.
A drop or two of WISE-issued glue with graphite mixed for conductivity, and these should allow for a clear enough signal, provided—
Shuffling through his pockets, he grabbed a pencil, breaking it to extract the core and crushing it to a powder between the coins. Hopefully, this would do.
Was it safe to advance on the plant? He peeked from under a leaf. No indication of people, but he couldn't trust his senses in the thick brush. The noise of the jungle seemed to be traveling in a consistent direction—not towards here. Still, there was no such thing as too cautious.
Zzzzp—he could barely hear it over the cacophony, but glimpsed the incoming projectile with just enough time to dodge. A dart lodged into a tree behind him, and he instinctively shot back—pop—in the direction it came from, grateful he'd silenced his pistol already. Zzzp—another, from under the brush. Pop, pop, then no further motion. Was that it? Unclear; he wouldn't hear a body hitting the ground in this din, especially if they were already crouching low.
I'll have to work quickly; this will leave me exposed. I could keep searching for the aggressor, but then I'd get no information. I'll just have to stay alert, and take the risk.
Two breaths was all Twilight allowed himself before he crawled across the clearing, staying low in the grass, hoping his camouflage would do its job. He'd have to abandon the protection of low brush at the flower, though, as he'd need to—hup—clamber up its shelflike sepals—eugh—his knees sinking into the fleshlike texture as he knelt on the surface, crouched to buy himself cover from anyone below. This would give him just enough time. Shuffilng to the opposite side of the bulbous growth, he pulled out his pair of makeshift electrodes and set them what felt like an appropriate distance apart on the … cerebroid… mass at the base of the flower's tall stem, and began tuning frequencies again.
I see. As I suspected.
He felt a shift beneath his feet. The central spindle of the flower began to raise straight up, from relaxed to vertical. The fleshy sepals of the flower, previously unbothered, began to turn upward, like he was being cupped in …
This is an antenna dish, and it looks like it's about to send a signal—It would be a travesty to—shit!
He took the machete that was clipped to his side, and in one slice, carved the "antenna" from the body of the flower. The waves he was measuring grew louder, but didn't stop—good, he hadn't killed it—and the peak frequency was now—eugh!
He leapt from the center of the flower, tugging his earpiece with him, just before the calyx snapped moistly shut around where he had been a moment ago.
I hate that thing, he thought, and the shiver down his spine suggested that it hated him, too.
Did he disrupt the signal in time? What was it going to send? Would it be able to communicate what had transpired here? Should he kill an endangered flower?
Zzzp—another dart; it barely missed.
Shit.
No time to contemplate now; he'd have to fight, or his work would be for nothing. He ducked back into the brush, weaving in the direction of his assailant.
I hope you'll be back quickly, Yor!
Anya was dizzy from the rush through the jungle, and still sleepy from the overload of the noise. It was less loud here, though not not loud.
Capture… alive….
The same droning from before, louder than when the volume was full on the TV and she switched it on all of a sudden, and just as staticky. The noise had only softened, not ended. Images, images of locations, of pathways she felt like she'd followed, the location she currently was, but more importantly, most importantly—
Every jungle creature in Anya's range was tuned to the same goal: …Becky?
"Mama, Becky needs 'tection most—"
She tugged Mama's pant leg, hoping she understood.
But Mama was looking back and forth between Martha and the others on the ground, and listening to the howling of monkeys in the woods, and thinking about the best way to help.
There's so many other children out there, who need protecting… And Martha doesn't know who I am… and I can't forget the cameras…
"Shall I gather the children?" Mama asked, but not to her, to Martha.
"They're safest with me," Martha nodded, clipping in a new set of pointy things to her stun gun.
Anya felt indignant. We're safest with Mama!
But she understood. If I say so, though, mama's cover gets ka-blown! And Martha is strong, so it will be okay!
Another person crashed towards them in the verdant undergrowth. Martha and Mama were immediately on high alert! But it wasn't dangerous… she recognized those thoughts.. She had to inter-veen before Mama threw her hidden knives!
"Sokay!" She held her hands up to tell them everything was fine, but they didn't change their positions. But the grownups stood down when they saw Jeeves leapt into the clearing, panting louder than Bond, who bounced after him. "Master Desmond! You gave me a fright!"
"Well it's not my fault this commoner woman—"
"Master Desmond, that is no way to talk…"
Mama was relieved about this noise, but still looking through the jungle, worried.
The best I can do without revealing my identity is probably carrying the other children to safety—and if I have to fight, use just my hands. It's only animals, so it should be okay…
Anya sidled up to her side. "Don' worry Mama, I'll be okay with Martha. Plus now Second Son's super guardian is here too, and Bond! Did you run too fast for him again?"
Yor looked down at her affectionately.
Loid will never forgive me if you're hurt without me…
Anya couldn't deny that this was true.
"Bond, will it be okay?" Anya asked. Bond did his best impression of a shrug, but also—nothing seemed too off in what he was seeing…
"Mama! Protect the rest of them." She leaned up to whisper. "Bond says I'll be ok here."
Yor nodded. "Okay. Just you wait, Ms. Marriott! I will retrieve the other children post haste! Can you guard them here with Mr… ah?"
"Jeeves. Mrs. Forger, I presume." The man nodded deeply. "And I am trained in merely basic defense, but I will do what I can."
Martha smiled in determination and raised her stun gun. "I've never guarded so many valuables at once, but I don't doubt my ability. Stay low, children. Bring the rest here."
"I'll do my best!"
Yor was off.
Gathering intelligence and gathering wits
Twilight was closing in—the man who shot at him was running, but not fast enough. He'd have to thank Yor for constantly keeping him on his toes.
I could try to kill this one, but I'd rather question him. And I'd rather not be found alongside a dead body…
He readied his watch, which carried a limited amount of a potent tranquilizer—with only two doses, he'd need a clear shot. He hadn't had a chance to try it yet, and he remembered Franky warning it could be unreliable at a distance. But if there was ever a time, it was now.
Thhp.
The payload missed, presumably; there was no change in his target's pace. He would have to get within inches for his best shot, which would put him in danger himself.
A minute further, and the man's pace was flagging. Good thing Twilight could go all day. He was close enough, now, reaching his arm to the man's retreating form—
Gotcha.
The assailant fell stumbling as the tranquilizer took hold quickly in his calf, and Twilight felt one of the twists of anxiety in his stomach release.
He descended on the man in an instant, pulling on his gloves. People were often more… forthcoming… when loopy from narcotics. Even still, this might get messy.
Twilight quickly tied the man's hands behind his back, wrapping a cloth over his eyes and shoving him roughly to his back, so he could watch any tells on his face. Though Twilight's face was mostly concealed by his balaclava, he couldn't risk any level of recognition.
The man's face seemed familiar; he had studied it before. Who does this look like—
No time; he'd have to investigate more closely later. He asked the most important questions first.
"Who do you work for, and what do they want?"
But the man only smiled. Zzzzp. A small dart flew from a narrow tube held neatly between his teeth. Twilight instinctively blocked the projectile from hitting his face. Pain bloomed through his forearm as the needle pierced his shirt and embedded itself in his muscle.
Poison.
This must have been the man's last-ditch effort. The poison wouldn't incapacitate him, not immediately, not in the way a tranquilizer might; it would probably make it harder, however, to get out. Either way, he didn't have much time. He wrenched the dart out, wincing as its barbs pulled at his skin and shoved it into his pocket for analysis, then held his gun at the man's face, cocking it with a clear click so even blindfolded his target would perceive the threat.
"I'll give you one more chance, if you want to leave here alive."
The man on the ground laughed hoarsely, slurring his words as the narcotic took effect. "Just kill me… they'll be worse… I don' need t'do …the… objective is already…"
Fuck. Franky's tranquilizer was stronger than Twilight had anticipated, traveling to the target's brain in mere seconds; there would be no more from him. But at least he was no longer a threat.
Twilight tore off the blindfold, and stifled a gasp as several threads of information wove themselves together at once.
O'Conner. SSS second lieutenant, acquainted with Yuri Briar. Thought missing as of about six weeks ago, shortly after the party we attended, when he was a crewmember on a helicopter that was reported to have tragically crash-landed… not publicly reported on, however. He has clearly not had the opportunity to shave often… I did not recognize him by his chin with facial hair, which was sloppy of me. Possibly, now that I think of it, his disappearance may be the origin of the officers' concerns… Yet, without other information, I would have sooner affiliated this orchid with Project Apple…
Twilight photographed the man as he was, slumped on the ground, then over the course of moments—while he still had his faculties—stripped his gear, photographing and disabling anything that might be construed as a tracking or communications device.
This man, for better or for worse, would be coming with him. Somehow.
Twilight winced as throbbing pain spread through left hand. Shit. He'd need a tourniquet to keep this poison from spreading elsewhere, and carrying a man with one arm with the other disabled was a hazard. But it was a risk he needed to take, for two reasons: first, he couldn't risk being identified later; and second, he wanted O'Conner alive.
Yor wasted no time sweeping through the scavenger hunt area, swiping Eden students from the threat of approaching creatures, and depositing them alongside Martha. As she did so, other guardians followed, and the central clearing—where Becky, Bill, Anya and Damian huddled together—became the most defended part of the jungle.
(When nobody was around, of course, she would also take am moment to incapacitate the encroaching animals with a few well-placed jabs at their pressure points—nobody would have to know!)
Soon, the immediate onslaught handled, she returned to the central clearing with the last pair of children: little Connie and George, who had both hidden under a rock so well she had almost walked past them three times!
The guardians were standing by their children—some hugs, some hands on shoulders, some whispered assurances—as the kids, wide-eyed, chatted among themselves excitedly.
"Wow, it was like a real movie!"
"I was scared for a minute, but did you see that old lady! We really do have the best bodyguards in Ostania!"
"Yeah, too bad for those animals, they never stood a chance!"
"Sniff... I am still a little scared... But... I know we'll be okay..."
"Why were they attacking us, anyway? Seems like they all got mad all of a sudden…"
Yor had a feeling, but she wasn't willing to say it out loud, not while it would scare the children.
*The animals were more than angry; they were focused. Someone here was their target…"
Satisfied that all of the children were safe, Yor turned to find Anya and found her barreling towards her, burying her face in her pant leg.
"Mama, Papa still isn't back! Can you go get him?"
Yor scanned the trees and pursed her lips, concerned. In her search of the camp's scavenger hunt acreage, she hadn't seen a single sign of Loid, and she was particularly adept at noticing him...
Anya was tearing up. "Mama..."
"...I'll do a sweep of the perimeter."
With Twilight's useless arm hanging, the tourniquet leaving it heavy, and his useful arm lugging O'Conner, moving through the jungle was at less than half of his typical speed. Twilight's vision was blurring, his heart racing. His makeshift tourniquet had stopped most, but not all, of the poison from reaching his core, and he felt his physical acuity waning. He could see—thirty feet away, the large flower he'd left in the clearing. There were no more pursuers; O'Conner seemed to have been working alone.
He had dismantled his headpiece for data collection. Any civilian radios might be compromised. It would not be safe to signal for help.
Yor would find him here, if he stopped… she would come back to check on him, provided… she was… of course she was…
He lugged the man's body next to him, and sat himself against a tree, breathing heavily. He probably had minutes before his limbs would stop working entirely, and a few minutes past that where he'd probably need resuscitation. Time to ensure his intelligence was secure… all recording devices carefully placed… where… where they… belonged…
His thumbs fumbled.
The motion also kept his brain active, even if he was becoming physically more useless.
I can't close my eyes. Stay awake…
A slow, lumbering creature approached him snarling from above, in the trees. His hands were too heavy to raise his gun.
Murdered by a sloth… what a way to go… at least a bear would be quick…
He forced his eyes to stay open. He always intended to look death in the face when it came for him.
"Aah!"
"Papa! It's just us, don't be scared!"
"Loid, you're awake. Thank goodness—"
"Glad to see ya doin' all right."
"How… how long has it been?"
"Just a few hours, love—"
"When did you—?"
"I—um, I found you, Loid! And then Mr. Green here got there right after me. He had a first aid kit.."
"Nngh—"
"Loid! Don't try to sit up just yet, whatever that was is a potent poison!"
"I mighta recognized it from my Navy days—nasty stuff, but not lethal, just knock ya out for a couple hours. You were right out cold, but it wasn't gonna kill ya."
"The other—?"
"Oh, Loid, he's still out, in the other room…"
"My, uh—"
"Oh, I have everything you dropped, darling!"
"Papa, Missus Martha was super cool!"
"W-was she?" Cough.
"Kiddo, your pap's gotta rest.'"
"Elegantly done, Forgers."
Cough Cough. "Wh—how so? I barely—"
"Loid, I think whatever poison they hit you with affected your memory…"
"You and your wife together helped ensure that both the children were safe, and those who sought to harm them were foiled. We did not even have to cancel the camp, so thoroughly was the exterior searched. I'm quite impressed that you did so without any bloodshed…"
"Everyone's… safe?"
"Yes, Dr. Forger, and I must say, it would behoove us to discuss what you observed… though I hardly think you are in an appropriate state…"
"I… see. When would you suggest…"
"You will certainly be back to your usual self by this Saturday night? The children will all be gathered for a ball. I can't imagine it would not be safe to step out for a chat, considering the caliber of the defenses of the central hall."
"And Yor as well?"
"Indeed."
"Loid, are you feeling well enough to come back with me?"
"I'd rather keep an eye on 'im here, tonight."
"Can't argue—cough—with that…"
"Oh, well. Don't worry, Loid! I have your things!"
"Thanks, love. I know I can rely on you."
"Mrs. Forger, may I bend your ear a minute?" Martha Marriott caught up to Yor as she observed the woman leaving the camp infirmary with her daughter.
I think it's about time to involve someone else with my concerns, and this may be my only chance…
"Oh, of course!" Yor nodded, holding Anya's hand as she walked the child back to her cabin.
"I would be interested in your observations from this morning. I could tell that you are quite perceptive—I believe you may have something to add."
Martha had an ulterior motive with this question.
Will her account corroborate my suspicions?
"Oh! I'm mostly just an average housewife…" Yor chuckled, though Martha could at least see that she continued to move herself with grace. "I've just, you know, taken lots of yoga… and self-defense… you know! Like what I've been teaching Becky!"
"Of course, dear." Far be it from her to pry.
Little Anya tugged at Martha's shirtsleeve.
"Anya! Anya has something to share! I've been trying to share it all day but the grownups have had too much busy to do!"
"What's that, dear?"
"Oh! Anya, I'm so sorry I missed what you were saying earlier! Of course! What is it?"
Anya beckoned the two of them down to her level. The crunching of the gravel under their boots was much louder at this height. The girl attempted a whisper.
"I think that the animals were all com-plotting to capture Becky alive! But don't tell her, she'd be scared!"
"Oh, is that so, dear?" Martha hummed.
Children have such vivid imaginations… though… it wouldn't be too far from my own concerns… Martha sighed and looked to Mrs. Forger, expecting her, too, to make light of what was clearly a contrived fantasy.
But Anya's mother looked much more concerned. "Really, Anya?"
Anya nodded.
"In that case, Ms. Marriott. I have a feeling my husband may have something to add to this conversation, once he's better… and…"
She shyly twirled her hair around her finger.
"…well, a certain Professor also asked to speak with us this Saturday night, at the dance! So… I was wondering… ifyou'dliketomakeitadoubledate!"
If it were not for the fact that Martha felt like laughing at how charmingly naive the young woman was, she might have felt like crying instead, or at least like staring wistfully into the distance for what might have been, once, but was probably not in her cards any more. No, she could laugh now, so she would.
"Hoh hoh, dear. I wouldn't ask that of him. But, it may be good to talk to him, so I will accept your invitation, regardless of whether we call it a date."
"Oh, perfect!" Mrs. Forger clapped her hands together. "You did bring a dress, didn't you?"
Martha shook her head. "I hardly need such things. I'm of the opinion that a man who can't appreciate a woman in a suit doesn't deserve her, after all."
"Oh! I, uh, I suppose you're quite right! Hee, I only brought my dress, but maybe next time I'll try a suit, and see what Loid thinks!"
"You'll certainly look dashing, my dear."
"Ooh! He loves how fast I am! I bet he'll love it!"
Martha laughed, more fully this time.
"I'm sure he will."
A war-torn heart-to-heart
The rest of the week came and went, with no more extreme excitement. The man who was found in the jungle remained unconscious, but seemed stable; people from Loid's hospital flew a helicopter over to pick him up and keep an eye on his condition.
It was finally Saturday evening. Henry Henderson looked over the large hall. The children, all ages, were completely accounted for, every one of them safely corralled into this space. There would not be a safer time for him to step away; every guardian, too, was here. His eyes caught on Martha, ushering Becky through the reception, in her classic suit as always. He looked away before she might acknowledge his gaze, settling instead on the man who had been poisoned and dragged through the brush for the children's safety. He seemed, remarkably, none the worse for wear, now.
Dr. Forger was, as he had often been this week, openly admiring Mrs. Forger: eyes tracing after her as she stepped to the dance floor with their daughter to begin the festivities. Both of the ladies were wearing black ensembles, as if the girl wished to imitate her mother's gown. It was clear exactly how much love the man held for his second wife, and how much admiration the girl held for her stepmother.
Somehow, the doctor's intense focus did not stop him from making eye contact as Henry slipped out of the room to the balcony, as agreed.
A picture of elegance, as always.
He situated himself at the railing, looking out over the jungle canopy; it was dark, and the moon had not yet risen.
"I see someone else had the idea to enjoy the cool air." The clear voice of the psychiatrist sounded behind him as he stepped through the door, slowly approaching the railing, as if cautious. He probably should be; even here, there was no reason not to take precautions for possible malfeasants, after the events of the week. After a moment, the two men stood side by side. It would take a few minutes before the other two could join them; it would be strange for four people, not seen as friends, to leave at once.
It was an opportune time to make small talk. In fact, it would be quite odd if they were to wait out here alone without doing so. That the opportunity arose was most fortunate.
Henry cleared his throat.
"Doctor."
The man nodded affably. "Professor."
It didn't quite feel right.
Considering this man's sacrifice for our children, and the conversation we are about to have…
"Please, Henry for today. I have something to inquire of you before the others arrive."
The doctor's eyes changed, briefly—sharply—as if he was concerned that the question might pry too far.
I should disabuse him of the notion that I am demanding he respond… yet, I do not know anyone else, personally, who I might ask without stigma…
Henry sighed. Conversation was a strength of his, and Dr. Forger was an amiable man, so this should be smooth. But there was something weighing on him, outside of the conversation the four were about to hold. Entirely orthogonal, and somewhat embarrassing. And so Henry, who could pull an inspirational speech from his pocket with a wave of his handkerchief, who spoke in front of crowds of dozens each day, found himself at a loss for words.
Dr. Forger finally responded, after a pause. "Then call me Loid."
It had been just enough time for Henry to collect his thoughts.
The man must be a truly skilled psychiatrist.
"Well, Loid. Please, I do not mean to pry. But I find myself thinking a good deal these days, and I suppose you are used to hearing people's thoughts. Would you mind entertaining an old man, for a minute?"
Loid smiled. "Not at all. Of course, I am not your psychiatrist, though, so please don't construe any of what I say as medical advice!"
"Of course. This is a matter of a more personal nature, as I could not help but notice. Rather… I must say, to pretend to remain ignorant of your affection for your wife would be a prevarication. It has been nearly two years, three years since your previous wife passed, has it not?"
Loid nodded. "I must be honest, I'm not entirely sure what your question is, unless you're questioning the longevity of my marriage!" He laughed weakly. "Are you trying to get at something else? I doubt that was your…"
"Oh! Not at all, young man, only that…" This had gone much worse than he intended, and he had not yet even asked anything! "…well. I understand the challenge you must have gone through, before her."
"…what do you mean?"
I continue to be too vague. I would give meager marks on an essay which took so long to reach the point! Yet, I acknowledge that this is because this is a form of conversation to which I am unused. Perhaps I might approach this as a history lesson….
He cleared his throat again, and began.
Twilight listened for the hidden subtext in what was becoming a very roundabout question.
"…I know a man, a friend, who was wed near the end the first war, in an arranged marriage. Though his heart originally belonged to another, it was not a loveless marriage, and they were happy while it lasted, until she passed. For the following decade and change, he pressed forward, pouring his heart into his work, and finding fulfilment in it, even being known as one of the best. These days, however, his work occasionally brings him into contact again with someone for whom he holds a certain affection. She has never married. Even still, he worries it is…"
Henry's voice cracked.
Ah, I see.
Henry would never know the extent to which they were similar, nor the extent to which they, in fact, differed. He would need to play his part to perfection, even now.
"So, you are asking, for this friend, about my experience remarrying?" Loid offered, turning back for a moment to glance at those dancing inside, using the opportunity to compose his thoughts with his face less visible. He found Yor—she was beautiful, in her black A-line dress with a flowing shawl, twirling Anya and Becky around one of each of her hands. Master Henderson's—Henry's—eyes followed, to the older woman standing to the side.
There is no previous woman for me, or perhaps there are too many, depending on the way one looks at it, but I do need to play a man convincingly remarried. What kernel of truth can I borrow?
In the meantime, he could deflect with a clarifying question or two, touching on the most common points.
"Is he worried it might disrespect the memory of the past? Or is it more of an issue of being unsure whether she feels the same?"
Loid turned back to watch Henry, who was now deep in thought. The man, usually standing stark upright, set his gloved hands on the railing, leaning forward, as if whatever was out there, next, was out of reach.
Twilight knew exactly how this felt. He leaned on his elbows, in solidarity.
Henry's voice rumbled in a low near-whisper. "Perhaps both, perhaps neither. There is something about human nature that, when studying history, makes us also wonder what could have been, especially… especially as it comes to war, and all the human consequences thereof, which I am all too familiar with. Both of our generations, ravaged by that inelegant hogwash, malarkey, codswallop! Ahem. Forgive my language."
Loid swallowed a chuckle at the archaic language, and how Henry's voice had raised to a near-shout in his annoyance. It wasn't often he felt so personally aligned with a someone; he could let an iota of his personal views slip. Loid Forger would be no worse the wear, if he understood Henry's position correctly. The man would be prudent.
"If there's anything to forgive. Perhaps only for being too mild!"
"Flattery, young man, will get you nowhere…" But Henry resumed. "It is well-established that when you are in the present, and bound to live it, thinking about what could have been is unhealthy. Historians, too, avoid ruminating on counterfactuals, but at some point man wants to know. If I cannot change the past, when is it too late to change the future? I worry, sometimes, I am a hypocrite, since it is my goal to inspire children to think that the answer is never. And yet…"
"And yet, for your friend, who wants to start over after a loss, it may seem insurmountable."
"Hm. One could say that."
With the door closed, the muted tunes of the dance hall harmonized with chirruping wildlife as Loid contemplated his response. For some reason, the machine which usually processed his answers to personal questions, producing the ideal answer within seconds, was caught in a loop: Loss of love, and love after loss. I haven't lost a wife, but there is something lost, and one could say I had love and lost it, but that's an entirely different form. Yet, is it all that different, when all is said and done? The conflict took it from both of us, mercilessly…
Yet, when trying to think of what he had lost, the memory was still an open void, as black as the sky above before the moonrise.
A nearby frog stopped croaking, leaving a wake of silence to disrupt Loid's swimming thoughts. He sighed and turned to Henry.
"I suppose, regarding my current marriage, I didn't expect to fall in love so quickly, or at all."
There was no better lie than honesty.
"I presume it was despite yourself?"
"Heh. You could say that." Loid smiled wryly. "And… I did feel guilty about it…"
Not for the disrespect of any memory, really. But then again, I.. I became the perfect spy because of my memories, so that no child should have to suffer. And… my feelings… posed a threat to that perfection. Yet now, somehow, I cannot help but feel stronger for it…
"And how did you reconcile that?"
"Yor can be very persuasive…" Loid chuckled. "But… the more I think about it…"
I cannot talk about about the past wife he believes me to have. Yet, I do believe… that she would…
He trained his vision on the the brightest star in the sky. He didn't believe there was anyone there. But…
"When I think of her, watching me with Yor, I can only imagine her smiling. The world with her in it doesn't exist, as tempting as it is to imagine. But I think… I'm living the life she would have wanted for me. She wanted…"
A tear threatened to fall. For once, there was nothing false about his emotions.
Would my mother have wanted this for me? I… I think so.
"…she wanted me to be happy. I don't think I knew what happiness was for a long time. Yor reminded me."
Henry shifted back, returning his weight to his feet. "I see."
pas de quatre
Martha watched the two men through the window, leaning on the railing and talking as if they had been friends for a decade.
"Do you think they'll mind us interrupting?" Yor asked, having deposited Anya with the first graders' group after the introductions.
"Well, if they do, they are the ones at fault."
"Hm!"
Martha let Yor take the lead, and trailed behind, watching as the young woman sidestepped to her husband—he jumped, seemingly not noticing her open the door or approach, but turned to her—their eyes met, and both of their faces brightened—she leaned up on her toes to plant a soft peck on his lips—or more, but Martha turned away, to deposit herself on the other side of her long-time friend.
There was no point in dreaming of that any more. She had made her advances, long ago. He always knew—didn't he?—that there was nobody else for her, that it was his turn. It was time for business, anyway.
Henry, ever practical, broke the silence formally, though he continued to look out over the jungle, the shared appreciation for the night air the only real excuse the four of them had to be conversing at this hour.
"I am glad you all agreed to discuss the events of this week. I hoped to gather with you three since I believe, as witnesses, you were most involved in the protection of our children. For that, I thank you, and commend your elegant sacrifices. I am worried, as I am sure you understand, and yet will not catastrophize about, as you seem of level heads—I worry about the safety of our children, and that targeted attacks towards Eden children will continue to escalate."
Martha shook her head.
Of course there is nothing personal in this meeting… Mrs. Forger should be careful what she calls a date!
But her concern was important enough to prioritize, now, while they had the moment.
"Master Henderson, I was also planning to discuss my own concerns—initially, only with the Forgers, as like-minded acquaintances. Perhaps our concerns are related, but since mine are connected to only a single Eden student, they may be dealt with quicker. To all three of you: do you believe the young Miss Blackbell is in particular danger?"
Loid squinted and Yor gasped. "Oh! Loid—" before whispering in his ear. The man was already pale under the starlight; it was difficult to tell if he paled further, but he did look apprehensive. He nodded in response to her whispers, then opened his mouth for a moment, before beginning his explanation.
"You may know that I am a psychiatrist. I have certain skills… some of which involve ascertaining how creatures think, though it takes substantial study and corroboration, as my primary area of study is not animal behavior. However, after retrieving my daughter—please forgive her extreme curiosity—I attempted to analyze the animal's trajectories, since I found their behavior so unusual, and it does indeed appear that they were, on average, converging on your and Becky's location. I found this concerning."
Whatever could that mean about the young Miss?
"I'm afraid that young Becky is not unique in this regard," Henry crossed his arms.
The other three immediately looked up. "Wh-what do you mean?" Yor asked, dubious.
"Are you sure?" Loid asked.
Martha had to chime in. "I must disagree; Miss Blackbell has clearly been the the target of—"
Henry shook his head. "No, in this case Miss Blackbell was, indeed, the most likely aim. But what I mean is that other students, and other students' families, have been targeted as well, equally directly, though rarely while at a school-sponsored event."
"Oh? I haven't heard of any attacks like this one! Um, definitely not! Not… at any festivals or anything like that…" Yor commented, and Loid set his hand over hers, gripping it in what must be concern. "Oh, unless.. you mean… our Anya was at the middle of a different event like this, though I am unsure whether it's related… or whether she was the target. It was over much faster, anyway…"
Henry shook his head. "If you're referring to the strawberry festival, that attack was near where one of our sixth-years was showing her family's prize horse. The ensuing injury to the creature, while neither lethal nor even disabling, led to its withdrawal from the upcoming Prix race, and the loss of her family's chance at qualifying for the East-West games. They had to decide whether to relegate the beast to breeding stock or sell it," he sighed, "and since their child had been so traumatized by the experience, they found it more prudent to sell not only that creature but their entire stable complex, abandoning their family's stake in the horse breeding trade entirely. She cried in my office that week."
Loid had not made a sound while listening, but he spoke up now. "The Howards, am I right?"
Henry pursed his lips. "I should neither confirm nor deny, as I am sworn to protecting identifying details, so I fear I may have said too much. Do not pass this along the grapevine of public gossip, as the family is quite embarrassed. But—this one is public knowledge—you also may be aware of the previous financial collapse and subsequent acquisition of Glooman pharmaceuticals. I worry, this too, may be related."
"Hm."
There was something here that felt familiar, and Martha felt impatient to get to it.
What is the point?
"Please, Master Henderson," Martha interjected. "I would like to understand what, exactly, it is that you are getting at."
"I hate to tell you this, Ms. Marriott, but it is simply a hunch. Many Eden families are experiencing unforeseen financial troubles. Even mentioning it is certainly a faux pas, and it is yet farther from my purview to suggest why. I would not bring it up at all if I did not believe that the three of you might have some means to grant insight, which is yet again merely a hunch, and a basis for trust built on your actions this week."
"I can see at least one commonality," Loid commented. "If I remember correctly, the acquisitions were both by the same... group, adding to its hundreds of subsidiaries. However, considering the large reach of that conglomerate, you should not consider it entirely surprising."
Oh.
It made sense that he would refrain from commenting the name of the group explicitly, for that would implicitly bring up politics.
Martha gasped.
"Perhaps this is related, after all. With the attacks on their child, Master Blackbell has confided that perhaps their company's focus on military applications may be a factor. I do not know where he got this idea. But in response, he has considered abandoning primary stakeholder status to his business partner, for her added protection. And..."
She was not at liberty to say the name of the family who offered, but it could be inferred.
"I see," Loid added. "I am not in a position to advise them, and I fear I'd do it poorly. But this makes me worry."
"Indeed, though do not take this as me speaking ill of any family that attends our esteemed school." Master Henderson commented.
"Don't worry, Martha! We can help Miss Becky stay safe!" Yor exclaimed. "I'm not good at many things, but I am good at defense—uh, thanks to my classes, of course! They have you, and us! I love to protect people, um!"
"Hoh, young lady. You don't need to help, I've been doing the job myself for quite some time." But Martha smiled. Mrs. Forger's generous spirit warmed her heart.
The group stood outside enjoying the night sky for some time—an hour? More? Less?—in relative silence, with the music of the jungle barely dominating the warbling from indoors. It was muggy, but cooling—a temperature Twilight could almost enjoy—and all in all, a strange lull after the adrenaline of the week. None of the four seemed to want to break the spell and walk inside, even as the dance reached the later half and the music slowed.
Henry and Martha were conversing idly, the kinds of small question-and-answer=and-comment-and-repeat that he knew held a lot more than what was on the surface.
To Loid's side, Yor was looking up at the stars and breathing in deeply. It was a welcome relief to be able to gaze at her openly, to sidle closer to her.
He had a question—he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it. It was selfish. It was the kind of thing he avoided asking his targets, because he needed to be the one who had it together.
"Am I part of what you protect, Yor?"
She turned to him, and her eyes shimmered, reflecting the north star.
"Oh! Yes, yes of course!"
He drew closer, his hands sneaking to her waist. She was much too far away.
"Even on days when I need protecting from myself?"
"Loid—" she smiled. He could hardly see it in the darkness, but he could hear it in her voice. She giggled. "That's my hardest task! You are your own worst enemy."
He groaned, then pulled her inward, taking advantage of the darkness to embrace her more intimately than he had the opportunity to over the week, pressing his lips to her forehead surreptitiously as her face nestled into his neck.
Somehow, knowing that if he did not have it all together, she had his back—meant that keeping it together was much easier. She was solid, firm under his hands, her black satin dress smooth, her stance sturdy, and he wanted to stay like this, wrapped around her, relying on someone else for once.
Inside, the music changed to a slow ballad.
He could stay like this. He lowered his lips to her ear.
"May I have this dance? Nothing choreographed. Just slow."
"Oh! Um—yes!"
She pulled back for a moment to head inside, and his heart leapt to his throat in anticipation of holding her, close to him, in front of everyone. There was a a reason, he supposed, that this felt new.
Come to think of it, we haven't had the occasion to dance together, just us—not since we've… I hadn't thought of…
She took his hand, and drew him behind her indoors towards the music. "Oh, good, Loid—I love this song!"
Our first dance, I suppose. We never did do things in order...
Henry and Martha would likely appreciate the time to themselves, anyway.
Alone, Martha and Henry continued their conversation, all but oblivious to the absence of the Forgers.
"I repeat, I owe you a great debt, for defending the children." Henry's voice was low.
"…I did what anyone would think to do."
"And you had the expertise, and the will. If there is anything I can do to show my thanks, name it."
Martha watched his face.
"Anything?"
He nodded, meeting her gaze.
"Then… I would like you to decide how you most wish to show your gratitude. Whatever you choose, I should hope—"
She paused. It felt too far.
"I hope that you do hope, these days…" he began. "I should hope, that my work helps on that front…"
She nodded, slowly, not quite ready to respond.
"…but that aside, what do you hope?"
She sighed, and steeled her resolve.
"It's … my only request is that your acknowledgement be from the heart, and that it be what you wish to do."
"Ah, in that case…" He breathed stiffly, and turned himself to stand by her side, looking out over the jungle below, under the stars, pausing a breath longer, and she thought he wasn't going to say anything again, their hands next to each other on the railing, side by side but not touching, the way they had been for over a decade.
"…in that case, let this be a token of my thanks."
Briefly, he turned to her, and bent, sliding his hand beneath hers, palm up, just enough to lift it from the railing to his lips.
She breathed in, sharply, almost a gasp, and his hand was gone from hers in an instant, and he stood once again, looking out over the treetops with his hands clasped behind him.
"Master Henderson—"
"Please, just Henry. May I…" he turned again to her. Someone who knew him less would read his upright posture, reminiscent of royalty, as pride, but she saw his bashfulness.
"…request another dance?"
She was seventeen again, waiting at the table, wishing but not daring to hope.
"If you'd hold out your hand."
"Would you take it?"
"I thought you would never ask."
On the last day of summer camp, before everyone left, Anya asked her Papa to take the big waterslide with her.
Papa took her, then Mama took her, and then she really wanted to go on her own, but it was scary.
"Baby," Damian called her.
I could take you… but… I wouldn't… say that.
"I didn't cry when you got hurt, Second Son."
"Well—but—I didn't!—uh…"
That's not fair! I didn't get hurt!
Anya stuck out her tongue, and grinned. "You wanna prove you're not a baby? Then go on the slide. With me. Like the grownups."
He crossed his arms. "That's right, I'll show you how it's done."
Anya thought his heart felt funny on the whole slide, like he was scared-i-er than she was.
As they splashed down, she heard her Papa thinking.
Maybe plan B worked a little too well. Well, it's almost time to head home. I've heard quite a bit about what's happened at the hospital—and I hope the Authens are okay…