A single spark can start a prairie fire.
Chinese maxim, quoted by Mao Zedong in 1930
Mess Hall, UCFS Rumsfeld, low-earth orbit, UCF 05/01/454, 1200 hours
One week later
The bright ceiling of Earth turns overhead, threatening to fall off of its pillars, overwhelming Atlas and bringing it crashing down upon Flechette and her home. She doesn’t notice it. Flechette has, in all honesty, noticed barely anything for the last week. She is too busy seeing.
The vision of that child burning up replays in her mind over and over, in agonizing slowness, thousands of frames logged meticulously by her own immaculate timesense. It threatens to flare up around her, igniting Flechette herself with it, the pressures building until the moment that she should spontaneously vaporize in the mess hall, the sim lab, the debrief room.
It’s not just the child. The books in Tang’s library — she’s devoured them, one after another — or have they devoured her? Each one feels like the world comes into sharper and sharper clarity. She’s beginning to see the world around her in detail she’s never been able to understand. Never thought it was her place to understand.
Flechette barely eats, prodding at a block of protein gel. She has no more appetite for any of this, for anything. It cloys at her, filling her sick. It’s caught her, now, firmly in its snare, its tangle-wire. The need to know. The need to understand the truth. The shadows on the wall revealed for what they have been this whole time — dancing images designed to keep the world she knows so, so very small. Flechette is beginning to understand how big the world is, and as much as that terrifies her, she must know more.
So Flechette sits in the mess hall, watching video diary after video diary by Tang. Heartbreaking stories. Moments of genuine joy. Recorded artifacts of some of his worst moments in life. All packaged for her, in little 3-4 minute videos. She transmits the audio to her own headset, so as to not draw prying eyes — but most of her squadron-mates steer clear, giving her a wide berth. They understand the experience of obsessively watching the videos of the deceased brother-in-arms. It’s an experience legible to everyone. Let her grieve in her way. Alone.
And she does. Her way of grieving, is, slowly but surely, coming to understand who Tang really was. What he felt. What he understood. She grieves by paying him the only gift she can offer him now — by waking up. By coming to find him.
“Hey, braddah. Howzit.”
“We’ve been through a lot together, you and me. It’s my greatest dream that you’d come with me. But I know. I know you not ready yet. And that’s ok, man. But when you are, I’ll be there, waiting for you.”
“I have a contact. Someone — someone behind the lines. Someone I respect, someone I trust with my life. We’ve met a few times, actually. Those times I was ‘stateside’ on R&R, well. I got no home to go back to. Aunty long dead. Nah, I was going over there. I… I want you to meet ‘em. They’re a really great person. I… If I can’t be there to bring you with us, I hope you’ll come find us.”
“You can reach ‘em with this information. They won’t trust you, at first. Obviously. What good spy would? But you lettem… Lettem know I wen send you. Tellem… Tellem I said I was still looking for some righteous left in Sodom.”
“And that you ready. To not turn back.”
“Their name is Ka Zhengming. Good luck.”
Tang’s final transmission to her. Across time and space, across that impenetrable barrier of death, he gave her one last thing, before finally giving out, leaving her alone forever. He gave her a mission. One more mission for the two of them to do.
Flechette weeps. The Mess Hall does not acknowledge it.
Trinity lies next to Flechette, naked except for her pride, humming Dvorak’s Serenade for Strings. Playing on her datapad, reading some UCF handbook on advanced air-maneuvers for THRONE combat, basking in the post-coital warmth.
“Trin.”
“Hmm?”
“I… I think I gotta leave.”
“What? What do you mean?” Trinity looks at her, horrified, almost enraged. Flechette is caught off guard by the sudden switch.
“What did I do? Why do you want to leave me now?” Trinity interrogates.
“Trin I— I don’t mean leave you. I mean. Leave, here. I… I got some… Intel. About an enemy spy cell. I think I have a way of slipping into it. I have some information about a contact. I think I can reach them.”
Trinity visibly relaxes, relieved, eases her muscles, leans back into Flechette. Reassured by the fact that her lover isn’t abandoning her, only playing her part as the best of the best. Something to be proud of.
“Edge, where’d you even find that stuff?”
“It’s… It’s classified,” Flechette says, blatantly lying.
Trinity just shrugs. She’s heard that often enough that it barely even parses. She just moves on.
“Well, I think it’s great. I think you should go there, if you can.”
“Yeah?” Flechette is genuinely surprised.
“Yeah! Think of all the good you could do embedded deep in there. How much intel you could leak us! You’d save lives, babe.” No ‘Sir’ now.
“Are… Are you sure?”
“Of course! You always were the best. Oh, it’ll be just like the movies. One soldier, behind enemy lines. Fighting his — or her — way through The Enemy, leaving a trail of intrigue and corpses behind in his wake. Coming home, taking his sweetie-boo in his arms, princess-carrying her into the sunset. ‘Mission accomplished, baby’.” Trinity is beaming, giggling at the image in her mind. Flechette feels like she’s in an unbreakable loop.
“Okay, it’s decided then. Tomorrow morning, you’re going to go off on your Mission: Unbreakable adventure. And I’ll hold down the fort here. No, don’t worry. I’ll think of something to tell Seraph and High Command. I know what I’m doing.” Trinity shocks Flechette with her enthusiasm.
“Will you be okay? Here, I mean?”
“Of course! We’re sisters-in-arms now.” She punctuates this with a terrifyingly strong hug. “I would never leave you.”
“Just promise you’ll always come back for me,” Trinity whispers.
“…I promise.”