Bright light filled the room almost to the point of being painful. The soundproofed walls muffled even what little noise came from the two men shifting in their seats. Of the two, the man chained to his chair was shifting more than the other. Chains were definitely less comfortable than the cushy chair the other man had, and they had that dirty metallic smell almost like subtly burnt earth.

 

“State your name.”

“Gedrin Thorist.”

 

The man sitting across the table from Gedrin, the man in the cushy chair, was a promethean. Gedrin wasn’t sure if that had been intentional or not. There were enough prometheans in Aquilon that it was not exactly unlikely his interrogator would be one. Of course, they may have specifically chosen a promethean to try and upset his Xanadian sensibilities. Idiots. Takes more than a little extra hardware to trip me up.

 

Besides, this man didn’t have the overly done look that many of the horror stories from Xanadu touted as normal. His augmentations were noticeable, but no more so than a vanir would be. Overall, it wasn’t enough to put a crack in his walls.

 

“And what is your faction mister Thorist?”

 

“Xanadu.”

 

The man’s tone was bored. It might have been because he knew all this information already. Gedrin could seem him simply going down a checklist and putting a mark next to answers as they went. The steady scrape of pen against paper reminded Gedrin of an overly stern teacher he had back in school. He had hated that sound ever since.

 

“You are a member of the Xanadian military, correct?”

 

“Correct.” No, I just decided to take a vacation in an Aquilonian cell for the fun of it.

 

“And what is you rank?”

 

“I have none.”

 

This was the first answer that got more than a bored acknowledgement. The man stopped for a moment, double checked his paperwork, and looked back up at Gedrin.

 

“What do you mean you have none?”

 

“They don’t exactly go through the trouble of giving people ranks on the type of mission they sent us on. Pilot was more than enough of a rank for them.”

 

The man nodded and scribbled down several notes before looking up again. After sitting on the opposite end of a table long enough, Gedrin had gotten decent at reading upside down. He was pretty sure he picked out the word expendable when the man moved his hand away from the papers for a second.

 

“And what was this mission you were sent on?”

 

“To capture the new prototype bomber under development by Aquilon.”

 

“And what,”

 

And shove it so far up your backside that your parents will start questioning your hobbies. “Are we going to keep doing this over and over again? Are you people dull enough that you need to ask me the same list of questions every day?” He shouldn’t have said it. He knew he shouldn’t have said it, but this was the third day that this exact same scenario had played out.

 

Guess I’m committed now. Might as well keep going. “If you people want my help, you’re going to have to do more than sit there and look down on me while you check the same boxes you checked yesterday and the day before.”

 

The promethean scribbled a few more notes and stood up without saying a word. As the door closed behind the man, Gedrin couldn’t decide if he was happy for the change or not. He was still mulling it over when two guards arrived a few minutes later to escort him back to his cell. Neither spoke. After three weeks with the escorts, he had stopped trying to get any kind of conversation out of them. He wasn’t sure where they were keeping him, but he had only seen a handful of people since being brought here. Either the place wasn’t busy, or they had him buried pretty deep. He walked the same hallway he had walked every day since arriving here. The only exercise he got outside of his cell was these walks. At least they were nice enough to take him out on a regular basis.

 

Returning to the room he now called home, he sat down on the cot and waited until the cell door closed before moving again. The guards had drilled that one into him handily, even used the chair as a drill the first time. As long as the cell door was open, he was to remain on his cot unless instructed otherwise. I might understand their reasons, but that doesn’t mean I like them. He had his daily argument with himself.

 

Once the door was closed, he leaned back and tapped the panel on the wall that turned on the screen in the corner. He had been surprised at first to discover that his cell had an Yggdrasil connection. The surprise lessened somewhat when he realized it was only good for catching the occasional news broadcasts and a few random other stations. He didn’t have any method of direct connection to the locality, and therefore he could not send any messages out. Oh well, at least it gave him something to keep his mind occupied.

 

When the screen wasn’t on. He spent his time going through the events of the last few weeks.

 

“As you probably have guessed by now, I'm a Xanadian soldier.” Gedrin found himself surrounded by an Aquilonian squad that had been sent to retrieve their downed bomber. He was probably being friendlier than he should have been, given the situation, but they had just saved him from the pack of ravagers that was digging through downed craft for a fresh helping of pilot mignon.

 

“I was selected as part of a squad for a secret mission. All of us were fresh out of boot, and given very little information about where we were going.” That last part was an understatement. he didn’t know how the selection process had been handled, but he and a handful of men climbed onto their transport the last day of training and didn’t notice anything was amiss until the vehicle turned a different direction from the rest of the convoy. They weren’t told about their destination, just that they were up for a special assignment.

 

“I was taken to a top secret base on the northern coast of Neo Titania. There I was introduced to a group known as the Daevas.” He practically spit the word.

 

“Far as I can tell, they're some kind of covert operations division that operates with very little government oversight. I didn't meet a man among the bunch, and all the women struck me as fanatics. I'm all for Xanadian glory and whatnot, but these ladies scared even me. The worst one was their leader, a woman they all call mother. I never saw her face. I only heard her voice over recorded messages during briefings, and I was honestly terrified whenever those messages started playing. She's insane I say; gone off the deep end so far she hit space on the other side.” Even now, remembering events while in his cell, he still shuddered at the sound of her voice in his head. It was the voice of someone utterly dedicated to a cause to such an extreme that they didn’t seem to realize there were any other views. As he had shared his story, he watched the sky and horizon half expecting to be struck dead on the spot for what he was saying.

 

“Only reason I'm even telling you this is because I'm already dead. I know that if those women find me I'm dead for failing to complete the mission. We all knew when we left that this was a success or suicide deal. Problem was it was too late to back out by the time we knew.” One man had tried, and the rest of the squad had never seen him again.

 

“They were pretty keen on this op, wanted whatever kind of fighter it is that you all built. I got the feeling that this wasn't an ordinary weapon. I don't know what kind of fighter craft would make that big of a ripple, but they seemed to think this thing would alter the course of the world.” Just like any other superweapon. Everyone was always looking for a bigger, badder gun.

 

“They took precautions to avoid blame, decommissioned craft, no identifying marks, but we all know who the sides are in this war. I'm starting to wonder if I was born on the wrong one.” He was still asking himself that question. Luckily the retrieval squad had agreed to take him in, give him asylum. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Aquilon, but he needed whatever protection he could get from the zealot faction that had crept into the core of his country.

 

Not that the protection offered had been great at first. He could still see the gyrocopter coming over the cliff, feel the bullet rip through his chest before he heard the sound. He was lucky he had managed to survive that, lucky the Aquilonians bothered to patch him up. His chest was still healing, still hurt, and itched something fierce. He scratched it idly as he lay back in his cot. The worst of the wound had passed, but it would still be weeks before he was in anything considered close to fighting shape.

 

Of course the news had picked up on the events from a few weeks ago. Aquilonian stations were screaming Xanadian attack. Xanadian news was adamantly denying any involvement, and the rest of the world was trying to decide whether they wanted to believe the truth they all knew, or the comforting lie of a glowing screen. Of course there was no real proof, at least as far as Xanadu was concerned. All of the equipment used in the operation could have been purchased easily on the black market, and they denied having any record of a soldier named Gedrin Thorist.

 

Honestly, Gedrin wasn’t sure if Aquilon believed him because they saw the real truth, or because they hated Xanadu so much that they would take any truth that gave them more reason to pursue that hatred. Both sides wanted to eliminate one another, but they were constrained by the Avalon accords. Neither wanted to be the obvious first aggressor, so they played games and tossed expendable pawns across a board wrapped in shadows. I’m tired of being one of those pawns. Xanadu was and always would be his home, and he definitely had no love for Aquilon, but the kingdom of ice was his best chance to strike at whatever corruption was steering his faction. If he could eliminate that, then maybe the rest of them would see reason.

 

Yeah right. Not like I can make a world changing gambit from here. I’d have better luck wrestling a grim stalker. He sighed, his internal fire having its usual fight with his more reasonable self. The news finally cut out, and was replaced by an advertisement for Shenandoah Farms. Even Aquilon’s hatred of Xanadu couldn’t stop them from buying native Earth crops. There was just something about the taste of a home none of them would ever see. At least these commercials were happier than the news. Gedrin closed his eyes, letting the familiar slogans for native Earth produce drag him back to happier days.

 

The air smelled like pine, birds chirped away quietly in the trees, and a cow grazed just a few yards away in the pasture. The place was idyllic, quiet, home. Gedrin propped his head up on his hands as he laid back on the soft cushion of pine needles beneath the small copse of trees on the family farm. His discarded boots sat nearby, leaning haphazardly against one another where they had landed when he discarded them to let his feet soak up the afternoon sun. Even with all the wonders on this moon, there was no place more wonderful to him than Shenandoah valley. Of course he was biased. He had grown up in the cradle of mankind’s attempt to hang onto the beauty of Earth. No other place on the moon was so protected.

 

Shenandoah valley was heralded as the new Eden. Despite all that they found on New Horizon, there was still something missing, some longing that seemed to be so deep within humanity that it was encoded directly into their DNA. This valley was an answer to that longing. It was a place where more native Earth life roamed free than anywhere else on the moon. Every effort had been made to turn this valley into a monument to what had been left behind. There were trees, fruit, cattle, wild game, and even insects. All of them were cultivated to survive in their new home. Family farms dotted the valley, accompanied by small ranches and vineyards. All of these surrounded and were supported by the massive entity known as Shenandoah farms, the world’s foremost provider of old Earth cuisine.

 

Early after its creation, the valley became a popular tourist destination. While farming may not have been deemed as glamorous work near the end of the great wars that led to the exodus from Earth, here it was as much essential for roots to their old home as for food. It was not uncommon for grown men to burst into tears upon first seeing the valley. Such emotions were attributed to that deep racial longing for a homeland. Tourists would come to the valley just to see farming as it was meant to be. The novelty of this place became so prevalent across the world that tourists would take souvenirs that would once have been considered strange. The current favorite souvenir being bronzed cowpies.

 

None of that really mattered for Gedrin. His family farm was small, and out of the way enough that most of the tourists passed by on their way to the larger attractions. After all, why see one milk cow when you can see an entire herd of angus? Bernice was a good milk cow though. She was apparently named after his father’s old girlfriend. There was a joke in there somewhere about the size of her udder. Gedrin smiled and yawned before rolling over to his stomach and pushing back up to his feet. He picked the burs out of his socks as he stretched, and then stuffed his wool covered feet back into boots. Stepping out into the pasture, he headed for his charge.

 

“Come on Bernice, time to go home.” The walking memorial nibbled a few more bites of grass before Gedrin finally tugged on her rope enough to get her moving.

 

The walk was short. The family home was visible from nearly everywhere on the farm. The two story building was short and broad, with the barn and animal pens attached directly to the main structure. Some nights Gedrin would sleep in the loft of the barn instead of his own room. The smell of hay and the sounds of sleeping animals lulling him into a more relaxed sleep than he got on the stiff mattress he had inherited from his older brother.

 

He passed several chickens on the way to the barn, making sure to watch his back for the rooster. The young cockerel had a bad habit of attacking once your back was turned. Gedrin had more than one scar from failing to notice the bird in time. The overly aggressive bird was nowhere in sight as Gedrin led Bernice into a pen and filled her grain trough. He took a few minutes to tidy up the rest of the pens before heading toward the door to the house. He stopped on the landing and steeled himself before entering. The day had been perfect so far, but that had only served to remind Gedrin what day it was. Time to get this over with.

 

He slowly nudged the door open, and then stepped inside. The smell of food cooking was a welcome relief from the thoughts making their way back into his mind. He plopped his boots by the door and walked into the main room of the home. His brother Darren was there, watching Nonesuch. Today it was some parody of the Avalon Council. Though the house had an Yggdrasil connection, his brother was using the ether-grid at the moment. No one knew why, but Nonesuch only played on the grid, never on the locality. Gedrin patted his brother on the shoulder.

 

“You’re going to rot your brain bro.” It was a brotherly bonding joke. They both knew that wasn’t Darren’s problem. You would have to be blind to miss the life support machine built into Darren’s wheelchair. Darren was ten years older than Gedrin. When Gedrin was five, Darren had been caught up in the Aquilonian cyber-fad. The cheap aftermarket pieces his brother had used ended up being deadly. The only way to save Darren’s life was to have them removed. He barely survived. Gedrin’s other brother hadn’t been that lucky. Twenty years later, the family still had a large meal on the anniversary of Kyle’s death. The remembrance was nice, but Gedrin’s father spent the day getting drunk, and raving about the evils of Aquilon.

 

Gedrin didn’t exactly disagree with his father, but he had his own way of dealing with things. He had finally gotten enough money together to take a trip into the city on his own. His family thought he had gone to buy food and flowers for today, which he had, but he had also taken the time to stop at a recruiter. The bus would be here to pick him up in the morning. When Xanadu finally took the fight to Aquilon, Gedrin was going to be there on the front line to get justice for his family. For all the man’s talk about Aquilonian evils, and the need to see them wiped from the world, Gedrin knew that his father was not going to be happy with what he would see as losing another son.