Chapter 30

Mennarouple’s Verona amphitheater was a closed structure located off the eastern shore of Lake Dashoe. What has once been a dilapidated storage site had since undergone significant renovations as part of a larger effort to rebrand the lake shore as a full-fledged entertainment district. This first step of what many considered a quintessential example of sunk cost fallacy could accommodate some seven thousand guests. An already bold choice given the regions’ lack of live performance history made even worse by the populace’s clear preference to have the Crusader Station serve as the city’s nightlife and entertainment center.

Safe to say the irony of the LCF utilizing the venue for the off-loading, storage and processing of the vaccine specimens was not lost on those privy. And all this in the immediate aftermath of their flight from the Crusader Station over safety concerns. But the evacuated staff didn’t have the luxury of reflecting on the details of what had brought them to Verona, as no sooner had they been whisked to the scene by land and lake they were being tasked with preparing for the Galen Run’s arrival. No small feat as the timetable for the evacuation had severely limited the amount of equipment and supplies they were able to bring over from Riga.

And yet when one considered the seemingly endless list of logistical pitfalls that would need to be navigated on such short notice, this was barely scratching the surface. An understandable source of unease for officials and staff alike as they anxiously awaited the arrival of not only the station manager, but the remainder of the logistical support pledged by the city governor. Fortunately the former and his accompaniment were only a handful of minutes away from arriving, though the staff tasked with receiving them had yet to take notice. Further proof that the small groups' strategy for flying under the radar had been sound in its execution. A strategy that involved matching attire. More specifically, wide brimmed straw hats fashioned from the lake’s native species of reed.

It was from beneath the rims of these multi-colored hats that the occupants of the modest rowboat welcomed the sight of the amphitheater situated along the shore.

“A superb strategy Osburn. Few would think twice about farmers tending to their floating gardens at this hour.”

Eagen praised the secretary from his position at the head of the boat. The farmer who’d allowed them access to his dinghy and the young office aide who’d chosen to accompany them sitting opposite of the stoic man who’d also been tasked with rowing.

“What do you folks think of the hats? Nifty ain’t they! My daughter has a real knack for making things with her hands!”

“They’re lovely sir. I especially love the teal accents on this one.”

[Ressla Tobert, 21, Office Intern]

“Ress has the right of it. We can’t thank you enough for all your help today.”

The weathered man waved their flattery off and resumed fiddling with some fishing line, largely unaware of the exact circumstances leading to the small group’s sudden appearance at the docks and subsequent request for a ride. Likely the result of a pre-existing dichotomy between the city state’s farmers and urbanites, something Leander had every intention of take advantage of. And that divide had only grown larger in response to a circulating rumor that the farmers were the one’s responsible for introducing the IAV into the rest of the populace. A blanket statement spun from hints of truth.

Along a similar vein the lake’s farmers would be less likely to make a fuss over unfamiliar passersby appearing in the midst of the quarantine. Content to go about their days working the fields or fishing. All outdoor activities principally unaffected by the restrictions imposed by said quarantine. Had something about their presence on the eastern shore been let slip both men doubted the farmers would even seek to take advantage of their accessibility to the vaccine relative to the rest of the populace.

“Rather than head straight for the theater, let’s aim for that dock just beyond it Osburn. Don’t want to risk fumbling at the finish line.”

The man adjusted the boats course wordlessly as Ressla produced a small pair of binoculars from under her poncho and scanned the shore.

“Things appear to be in order. Frantic maybe, but preparations seem well underway.”

The station manager plopped back down onto the wood bench and crossed his arms.

“It’s not us I’m worried about...”

Per his job description Eagen was in charge of managing the day-to-day operations of Station Riga, which naturally included ensuring the safety of all its workers. A responsibility that extended to those enroute to the station. And while his confidence in the skeleton crew back at the station remained unwavering, he couldn’t help but lament the fact they would be operating in a state of duress going forward.

Something that heavily influenced his decision on whether to leak the LCF’s intention to move arrival sites. A transmission that would have required a very loose but deliberate hand to ensure its contents held up to scrutiny without divulging any information of actual consequence. A gamble to be sure, but one Eagen would humor if it meant taking some heat off the station. Anything that enabled the Comms department a better opportunity to see their field servicemen and women to Mennarouple safely.

In the end such methods were decided against as it could needlessly feed the rumors surrounding alleged partisanship on the LCF’s part. A misguided grievance given the Federation had virtually no control over how goods were distributed after their arrival. Although it was entirely possible the citizens DID have a vague comprehension of this fact, making the large scale breach of quarantine and subsequent march on Riga part of a larger collaborative effort to bypass the middlemen they’d lost faith in.

The very same middlemen he suspected were busy finding themselves premier seats in the amphitheater right about now. For a show Eagen wanted little to no part in. But he was here now, and there were far more pressing matters to attend. Getting onto the dock without capsizing the boat for example. He’d just hate to get his new hat wet.

*

“Wash, I’m stepping out! I need to check the internal conditions of the transport crates!”

Cade plucked the logbook and correlating chart from atop the rack reserved for storing equipment and tucked both items under his arm, offering once final glance at the readings on the instrumentation before turning to leave. Something he could only achieve by disengaging the door’s specialized locking mechanism. A move most engineers would delay until after they’d gotten confirmation of the corridor’s safety. But bad habits die hard, and this one had formed as a result of working so closely with Lux over the past year. Skilled security officer that she was. And yet the hails from his fellow engineer over the speaking tube didn’t express concern so much as provide a gentle reminder they were on a very touch and go schedule.

“Is now the best time? I mean, at our current pace we’ll be reaching the exit gate soon. Should we need to adjust our speed—”

“Lux and Faust will handle it.”

With those parting words Cade exited the engine room, taking care to reseal the door before beginning his short trip down the corridor to the cargo bay. And no sooner had he entered the holding space, was once again greeted by the familiar sound of their pilot’s yapping.

Right, he removed ALL the lids...

“—we’re pulling up the rear! What if C274 launches an attack and we can’t react?!”

Cade set his things down and dropped to a knee in front of the first of several medical crates he’d need to assess. At the same time he used his teeth to remove a glove.

“Unlikely, they’d let us know over comms if they intended to attack. And the other engineers should be in the middle of looking over their own cargo as well. Admittedly a bit of an oversight on our part. Let’s just hope Cloud Nine doesn’t take advantage.”

“Doubt you’d be so cavalier about it if you were at the controls witnessing this chaos firsthand. I barely have enough time to mentally prepare for our upcoming game of chicken with the castle’s exit gate!”

Cade wouldn’t deny it. In fact, whenever circumstances allowed it, he much preferred the approach of evaluating a Crusader’s status in a vacuum separate the rest of the convoy. As on some level he believed the welfare of the convoy as a whole should fall on the shoulders of the Convoy Commander and Head Communications Officer respectively. Meanwhile it should fall on each of the individual crews to maintain the flexibility required to respond to orders handed down by the leadership in a concise manner.

A philosophy that understandably struggled in the context of a Galen Run where repeated visits called for a more unified response to stave off fatigue and resource depletion. Their own Crusader proving a prime example as the vacation of Lux and Faust put them at a distinct personnel disadvantage. Leaving them with only one proven deck officer to lean on. And while their smitten station officer had performed admirably thus far, Cade suspected the man’s “Welcome to the Service” moment was incoming.

It was then, just as he finished up with the first crate and moved on to the next that a small explosion rocked the Crusader from somewhere above him. Almost as if he’d jinxed the crew with his musings.

“Sonuva...looks like we’ve got company! Jericka!”

“Already on it!”

Cade could feel the sweat traveling down his face as he listened in on the bridge through the speaking tube. Not a fan of what he was hearing, the engineer hastened his work and even toyed with the idea of abandoning the task altogether in favor of a swift return to the engine room. On the way out he could even lower the cage shutter for some peace of mind.

In the end it was the first two crates he’d inspected and the minute temperature adjustments they’d necessitated that drove him to stay and finish. Fully aware the controlled environment of the cargo bay would have affected all of its cargo to a comparable extent. And while it would be admirable to attribute the decision to a sense of duty, in reality it was Cade’s idiosyncrasy stressing attention to detail that prevented him from calling it on the mid-transit inspection. What did give him pause however was the sound of the cargo bay door being pummeled from the corridor side. A sign that someone was trying to gain forced entry.

Cade tentatively stood from where he’d been crouched in front of the crates and watched as the door flexed under the influence of whoever was on the other side. Recognizing that this was a losing battle for the hollow metal barrier, he rushed over to apply some counter force. Pressing his right shoulder into the door with all his might.

“Wash! Get Sigurd or Penton down here now—!”

It was in the immediate wake of his request that the presence on the other side of the door suddenly abated in its onslaught and seemed to move away. A welcome development as Cade’s shoulder had taken quite a beating, but at the same time he doubted the help he’d requested could have arrived THAT quickly.

The engineer leaned his head closer to investigate but took care not to completely relax just yet. A choice that paid immediate dividends as the door was struck with enough force to create an indent. Cade grimaced at the blow to his shoulder and braced for the next.

“Shit...!”

As a quick aside it should be noted that the door to the cargo bay did in fact open inwards from the corridor. One may have surmised the opposite to prevent situations such as these but those who’d worked on both current and previous iterations of the Crusaders were of the belief that the placement of the ladder prevented an individual from getting the start necessary to break the door down. That in combination with the existence of the cage shutter should theoretically make this method of forced entry a fool’s errand. And yet an outcome contrary to that belief had just transpired in front of Cade’s very own eyes. Something that would find its way into a very scathing report upon arrival at Riga.

*

The door to the cargo bay swung open with a violent crash as two figures filed into the interior with a clear sense of urgency. The first of the two, a stocky man dressed in a bronze double-breasted tunic and matching pants, tossed the other onto the floor unceremoniously from where they’d been slung over the former’s shoulder, then immediately set to barricading the door. Meanwhile the female officer who’d just been manhandled took a moment to process what had happened, wordlessly recovering the rifle they’d dropped upon being tossed aside.

Dusting herself off, she straightened out the curtain of chestnut hair obscuring her vision and turned back towards the person she would have normally admonished for the rough treatment. In this case, however, a proper thank you was in order. And it was as she crafted one involving a short introduction that Esma got a better look at her savior. He was shorter but stout, and no doubt strong based on how easily he’d been able to move with her in tow. He had soft features and light hair dampened by either sweat or humidity from the engine room.

But rather than his physical appearance, it was his choice of uniform that drew her attention. Being that it came across as far more formal and unforgiving than what she’d seen engineers, or any crewman for that matter, don prior. Though she had to imagine this type of attire boasted its own advantages. Ones she wasn’t well-versed in, yet. But before Esma could inquire about the tunic the man turned to her looking somewhat exasperated.

“Care to explain what you were trying to accomplish out there?”

“...”

[Moments Earlier]

In the short period of time since Rohner had scaled the ladder and left her alone in the corridors of the lower level, the interim security officer had fallen into something of a stupor. A stupor that left her standing stock-still at the center of the junction.

Her mind on the other hand remained quite alert. Not to the outside threats, but the internal ones. Remnants of curt exchanges she’d tried to ignore or outright forget. And yet during inopportune occasions such as this one, they always seemed to crawl back out from whatever recesses they’d previously retreated into.

Esma tried to rectify the issue by screwing both eyes shut. A sort of reset she’d taken to employing on the advice of an old friend.

Were they friends though?

The girl’s emerald eyes flew back open, and she was greeted by a sight very different from the empty corridor she’d been facing before. Her surroundings having transformed into the hallway of a lavish home. Soft orange light streaming in from the large multi-pane windows set off to one side.

The finals stages of sunset.

Stood opposite of her, occupying the space between those vestiges of light, was a domineering individual dressed in a bespoke beige suit. Esma dared not meet that person’s gaze, averting her eyes out the window instead. Perhaps in hope a certain someone would be making their final round of the grounds at this hour. But much to the young girl’s disappointment, the only sight waiting for her in that window was the reflection of her pitiful self, juxtaposed by the paragon portrayed in the portrait peering over her shoulder.

Esma could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat as she wished ardently to be anywhere else but there. She shut her eyes again and made the plea. And just like that she was back in C274’s corridor. Except her orientation had changed in accordance with her unwelcome recollection, putting her in-line with one of the platforms. Though she couldn’t say which one or if it even mattered. Perhaps she could ask the approaching figure in the aureate armor.

Wait, what?

Fortunately Esma didn’t need all her faculties to recognize that the individual with the lantern shields breaking into a sprint towards her meant the crew harm. But knowing that and actually doing something about it were two very different stories. And the advantage her rifle offered her as a range weapon was quickly becoming negligible as the presumed raider grew closed with each stride. She fumbled with it nonetheless, trying her damnedest to recall where the safety was. Something that could’ve easily been solved by looking down. But even a fledgling like Esma knew better than to take her eyes off the pronounced blades of the lantern shields baring down on her.

I’m too late...!

“Coming through!”

Those words were punctuated by a pair of arms slipping under her slender frame, then throwing her over an unfamiliar shoulder. Her knee jerk response was to yelp which nearly cost Esma her tongue. Concern then shifted to how close her head must be to the ceiling in that moment. The corridors of a Crusader, especially older models, cramped by current body standards.

But setting aside that surprisingly tame train of thought, the brunette did manage to brave an upward glance and saw that the armor cladded raider had been carried past the junction by their momentum. They rebounded quickly however and resumed their chase. A blessing in disguise perhaps as she could see that the engine room door had been left ajar at the end of the corridor. Meaning her savior was in fact this Crusader’s engineer. Though why they’d forgo their standing orders along with the sanctity of engine room for the likes of her was a complete mystery.

“Hold on!”

Esma complied and tried to make herself as small as possible against the crewman’s frame, narrowly avoiding a knock from the ladder they passed enroute to the cargo bay. The very same room they burst into seconds later.

[Back in the Present]

“The quality of the armor caught me off guard, and I forgot where the safety was. Don’t tell Lux.”

She decided to leave out the part about her near panic attack. No need to make this stranger feel even more sorry for her.

“What about you? Not to downplay your chivalry but was it wise to leave the engine room for my sake? We’re basically inviting Cloud Nine to sabotage the Crusader at this rate.”

Or so Esma would have thought, but the sounds of a blade striking the cargo bay door repeatedly suggested a more tepid interest. The engineer took a step away from the door, worried a blade could punch its way through any second.

“A coincidence. I needed to step out to check the cargo and you were in the way. Factor in that slasher and it’s not like I would’ve had time to retreat back inside anyway. But it’s as you say, I need to get back to the engine room quickly.”

He looked over at her expectantly.

“I scratched your back, now you scratch mine.”

Esma waived him off empathetically as the sounds of the raider’s efforts resounded around the space. Because someone outfitted that lethally wouldn’t be the type to take any pushback from someone who couldn’t even operate their rifle properly.

“Yeah, not happening. Literally no chance. We’re better off hunkering down or setting an ambush or...something. I know! You said you needed to check the cargo, right? Might as well get started! I’ll uh, figure something out in the meantime.”

And just like that it became painfully obvious to everyone involved that no heroics would be on display here. But rather than continuing to hound the clearly panicked girl, the engineer muttered some words under his breath then made a gesture that resembled someone throwing back a drink.

Unfamiliar with the sequence she’d witnessed, Esma held her tongue and released the breath she’d been holding. Because whatever it was had convinced the justifiably irritated crewmember to play along and begin inspection of the medical crates. Even as the structural integrity of the door protecting them began coming into question. Something the culprit on the other side had taken notice of as well.

This prompted a full-bore sprint capable of putting the entire weight of the armor at their disposal. A plan that fell short of coming to fruition when an arm snaked around the base of the raider’s helm at the last possible second. Next thing they knew they were being heaved in the opposite direction via a headlock from behind.

“Don’t think you can shake me that easily!”

Batten Rohner had re-entered the fray.