Dauiland

Once Bersan wiped the blood dribbling out of his hand onto a patch of grass, he reached for his communicator, an effort hampered by his weakening strength and slowly-fading consciousness. He pushed the “X” button — an emergency hotline to PTJ headquarters — and was picked up almost instantly.

“This is Rufiag,” came the voice of the base’s supervisor. “Sieders, what do you need?”

Bersan cleared his throat, working hard to keep the action from turning into a raspy cough. “Medical attention,” he said, his voice strained. “And after that, I need to speak with Gierplun.”

Bersan awoke from his semi-conscious dream to the distinct electric whirring of a Unidalanian medical helicopter. Much smoother than the Harbinger’s vehicle had been, he contemplated as the sound grew closer. The Harbinger…

Moments before he fell back into a stupor, Bersan’s senses were stimulated by the ruffling of tall grass as two rapid-response workers hurried from the helicopter to the fallen agent. “Mr. Sieders,” a voice — the woman on the left? — said coolly, “you’re under our protection now.”

“Plan?” Bersan croaked, his throat feeling… well, at this point, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

“We’re taking you to the nearest Dauilandian hospital,” the woman said. “The Teranar City Hospital, in Crimtonia.”

—

When I meet with Director Gierplun, he’ll want to know what happened — not only with the search for Scinrea, but… everything after that, too.

I can give him a factual report, but that’s insufficient. Gierplun will know it; I will know it. He doesn’t need the report. He needs my report. My experiences.

But I wouldn’t be able to answer all his questions, not least the questions about the Harbinger. Possibly not even those about Scinrea — she answered nearly everything I asked, but by the end, I had as many questions as I began with.

I wouldn’t be able to answer all of Gierplun’s questions not only because so much is unknown, but because I can hardly answer my own questions about what’s happened.

But I’m Gierplun’s friend. More, I am a member of the PTJ. I have a duty to tell him the truth. The entire truth.

—

The even hum of the rotors slowed to silence as the helicopter’s landing skates touched concrete on the roof of Teranar Hospital. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Sieders,” the woman — Pellaton Russell of the Dauiland Alliance Domestic Safety Service, as Bersan had learned — told Bersan. “You need only cooperate with the hospital.”

Bersan affirmed with an “I will,” the temporary energy drug he’d been fed finally taking effect.

Three Crimtonians came out to carry Bersan’s cloth-matted gurney into the building. They wheeled him into an elevator that took the group to the third floor of the hospital, then, upon arriving at an enclosed section of the low-ceilinged area, gently and gracefully moved him from the stretcher to a proper bed. “Dr. Staph will be with you within the minute,” one of the Crimtonians said.

—

Would Scinrea have still died had I not been there to plan a counterattack with her against the Harbinger? Would she have still died had I not let down my guard at the building, and let us both get shot?

Why did I let myself relax there — not only there, but also at Trinity’s headquarters?

Trinity… all the agents died at Trinity. No, not the agents. My agents.

I knew them all personally. They were some of the best agents I knew. Some of the best people I knew. I, and their colleagues, and their friends, and their families.

Their lives were — are — as important, as invaluable, as… alive… as mine. And I ended everything for them. I let them die…

—

“Mr. Sieders,” Dr. Staph said sympathetically and with melancholy, “I must admit that I admire your continued determination in pressing yourself through all this.”

Staph paused; Bersan heard the sound of machinery buzzing. “Unfortunately,” the doctor continued, “you must permit your mind to relax and your body to rest.”

Bersan willed his eyes to open; his right eye refused. Staph was standing at the foot of the bed, operating equipment arranged on the table behind him, clipboard and scanner in hand. “For… what?” Bersan said, his words coming out as a soft gasp.

“I know the effects feel minimal right now,” Staph explained patiently. “However, I am about to have you sleep for several hours so I can perform the… brain operation, shall we call it. After the anesthesia wears off, it is crucial that you relax yourself.”

Staph turned to the equipment. “So as to… minimize the pain.”

—

I was too stubborn, too arrogant. I let my curiosity get in the way of my experience, and my arrogance in the way of my better judgement.

And now they’re all gone. My agents — my people — will never come back, will never be. Scinrea — I hardly knew her, but her tragedy was agonizing. At the absolute least, her desire not to be human has been fulfilled—

What am I thinking!? I let her die. I killed her. I. Killed. Her.

I will never repeat my fatal errors.

What will I do? What should I do?

What should I tell Gierplun? What should I ask him to do? Ask myself to do?

—

“Luck has favored you, Mr. Sieders,” Dr. Staph said. “You are healing well.”

“Longer?” Bersan asked, capable of the full question but unwilling to even approach his body’s rapidly-changing limits.

“The recovery period is nearly over,” Staph specified. “You only need to wait two to three days until you’re sufficiently healed.”

Seeing the tentative expression on the doctor’s face as an indication that he had more to say, Bersan stayed silent. “I would like you to stay four days before leaving,” Staph explained. “Sufficient healing is enough for you to return to a normal life, but your life is hardly normal.”

Bersan shook his head, a slow but functional motion from left to right. “Leave sooner,” he decided. “See… Gierplun.”

Staph consulted his clipboard. “Ah, yes… Gierplun,” he said. “The leader of Unidalania’s intelligence department. I have no doubt he’s willing to meet you later rather than sooner in order to ensure you recover more thoroughly.”

“No,” Bersan insisted. “Sooner.”

—

I know what to tell Gierplun.

—

“The agents who died — I want to talk to their families,” Bersan told Kentar Gierplun. “They need to know that their parents, their children, their siblings — that they died courageously and honorably.”

“I can arrange that,” Gierplun said, continuing to be unusually quiet.

“One more thing before I leave,” Bersan said. He placed a one-page document in front of Gierplun. The director read the document, but said nothing.

“I’m retiring from the PTJ,” Bersan confirmed. Expecting Gierplun to put up at least a ceremonial fight, Bersan continued, “I refuse to inflict any more pain, to kill any more people. And I want to spend my last weeks of life with my family. I haven’t spent more than a few hours with them since Tessin’s hypnosis plot all that time ago.”

Gierplun nodded solemnly. “I understand completely,” he said quietly. “May you find happiness and comfort.”

“Thank you,” Bersan replied, standing up and turning to the door. “I will try… Kentar.”