At the bank splitting up our well earned pay for the day. Not so broke, not enough for that handaxe yet, but not so broke.

　　"Evie, Kate, its been amazing being back with you guys. I`ll see you on day four?"

　　"Nice to have you back," said Riley, "Yeah, day four. Same time, same place." Riley and Wolfe waving goodbye, starting to go our separate ways.

　　"I`ll see you Evie. Oh, and Kate," Wolfe turning around, "don`t do anything I wouldn`t do." Getting a cheerful smile from Wolfe at that.

　　Walking around town, at least the western end of town, not too many others in the pact. A few, mostly them, in ones and twos, here and there. One of us in a Stormhawk group, our eyes noting each other while passing by. A few more in the busy town square, but by no means even a visible minority. A man sporting the brown and green insignia of House Haven giving us a nod as we entered the bank. Probably more of a presence on the east side. Temple and former Thieves Guild territory.

　　That northern Haunted Forest is quite a distance, almost three again. There, the tick, three o`clock. Heading to the cobbler and grabbing my sensible black shoes. Leaving the two sets of boots, not enough room. Going to the clothing store and getting my incognito set. Probably the most suitable for visiting Shaker. And better for moving in. Camouflage. Test out the neighborhood a bit first, get a feel for what they expect. Changing out of my field outfit and into the black skirt, over the knee socks, white undershirt shirt. And my sensible shoes. There, totally ordinary. A first year girl gossiping and giggling in a salon. Posing in front of the mirror to show off my girls. Best as possible, at least. They fit the frame. Doing another pose and looking over my shoulder. Still my best asset. All that running around definitely helps the skirt. Stuffing all of the other clothing into my pack until it nearly burst at the seams.

　　"Can I leave my armor here? I`ll be by to grab it in two days. Early morning."

　　"That`s fine," said the proprietress, one of my new confederates. "Where are you going dressed like that?"

　　"Shaker. I`m going to see if I can make any headway on my little problem. On our little problem. Looking presentable and asking nicely can go a long way."

　　"Good luck," she said. And sounding like she meant it.

　　Quick rune on the shirt and runes on the shoes. Runes on the shoes. Now that`s a thought for later. Activating and then removing the evidence. Getting out the scrap of paper and walking to my new apartment with my giant, overstuffed bag on my back. Taking a circuitous route, down to the southern end of the merchant district, city wall in sight. Heading west, getting near the street, glancing around, nice and quiet. Orderly. Little fences. Trees and flowers in bricked off blocks. Glancing at the number on the sheet of paper. This is it. Stairs going up, tik tik tik, up to the third story, the top level. Walking past the first door to the other, three oh two.

　　Key out and in the door. Closing it and relocking immediately. Starting the tour. This is quite nice. Hardwood floors. And it has been furnished. Sort of. That couch color is a little weird but that`s not the most important feature. Tossing the pack on the ground and myself on the couch. This couch passes muster. Let`s see the rest. This place is big. Nice, high ceilings. Inn living can be convenient - food right downstairs and they turn over the beds - but there`s usually a lot of people in and out all the time, nosing around. Need to keep moving, inn to inn. This place, though, real quiet and domesticated. And plenty of space. Hopefully the neighbors keep to themselves.

　　A knock at the door spoiling that hope. I`m sorry, there`s nobody home. There`s the knock again. Persistent. Was going to have to meet them eventually, and these clothes are probably the safest bet. Opening the door, a woman wearing regular clothing. Ordinary. Normal.

　　"I`m sorry," she said, cheerfully, "I was standing at my kitchen window and I couldn`t help but see you coming up the stairs with that bag. I`m Stacy, in three oh one next door. I just wanted to say welcome to the neighborhood."

　　"I`m Lucy, thank you. Nice to meet you."

　　"If you ever need anything just let me know. Actually my husband John`s a member of Four Corners. He was just out in that caravan. So if you need anything from there, or anywhere, let me know."

　　"Sure thing." Not necessarily a bad neighbor, but may need to address it if he`s from that caravan and recognizes me. Until then, going to be coming back here with my cloak hood up. Time to test the waters. "Hey Stacy, if I start wandering around here in field clothing I`m not going skeeve anyone out, right? I don`t want to cause alarm. You seem very nice."

　　Her face getting a little tight.

　　"I don`t have a giant battleaxe or nothing, I just don`t want to have any misunderstandings. We all gotta eat, right?"

　　"No, I don`t think that will be a problem." Decidedly less friendly than her initial opener. "What kind are you? I need to know if you`re going to get in a fight one night with a soon to be ex and end up burning this place to the ground."

　　"I can`t do that. Not in my repertoire. I came here for peace and quiet and that`s all you`re going to get from me."

　　"That`s good." Her friendly facade gone. "Well, welcome to the neighborhood."

　　"Thank you, appreciate the welcome." Door closing. Could have gone much worse. Probably need to buy her a cake or something. Reverse welcoming gift. I guess next cycle.

　　Resuming my tour. A dresser. There`s my king size bed. And look at the size of this closet. Clothing in dresser. Pack tossed unceremoniously in the entryway. Going to need hangers for these closets. Begging and pleading mode soon to be activated. The path of the wise is not always proud. Mirror, mirror. Oh, right by the door. Hair`s okay, bit wind tossed. Redo it. There, much better.

　　Leaving the apartment and giving a wave to that Stacy woman through her window on the way out. Did not get a wave in return. Perhaps she`s suffering from some sort of temporary paralysis.

　　Heading north through the merchant district. Getting to the inner wall and continuing to the nearest entrance to the noble district. Two guards.

　　"What business do you have inside," said the one on the left.

　　"I`m here to see Director Shaker."

　　"You don`t have an appointment," he said.

　　"I have urgent business with the Director. It has to do with his fatwa. On me, specifically. I know for a fact he`s in today and I`m here to appeal. Let me though."

　　The two guards glancing at each other.

　　"Okay, you can go in," said the one on the right, "but we`ll be keeping an eye on you."

　　Walking past all the tall fences and gates and finely kept gardens. Shaker`s cottage off to one side from the castle proper, Marquis Vanaan had granted him use of the property. Cottage not being the proper description. Much larger, more elegant, and more guards by the door. Time to shine.

　　"Excuse me, I need to speak with Director Shaker."

　　"The Director is occupied," one said.

　　"That`s alright, I`ll wait for him."

　　"Do you have an appointment?"

　　"I do not." Yelling. "I need to see Director Shaker. Do you hear me Shaker? Tell these goons to let me in."

　　Not exactly shining.

　　"Make an appointment and come back later."

　　"I don`t need an appointment, and he`d never give me one. He hasn`t given me one in the last nine months. The only way I`ve ever managed to speak to him: forcing the issue or happenstance. Well here I am today, what a amazing happenstance. I`m not asking anymore. Let me in."

　　"I`m going to have to ask you to leave," said the guard, still relaxed, his hand not on his weapon. They don`t remember me. White was certainly the appropriate color.

　　"I`m not going anywhere. Don`t imagine that you two are going to be able-"

　　"She can come in." A voice from a window above. Shaker`s better half, Paula. "You can let her in."

　　The guards standing aside and one opening the door. Entering. My new place was pretty nice, but this house, a whole different class. A grand staircase, a chandelier. The walls covered in paintings, landscapes, stills, and a few abstract. No one in sight. Where did he manage to get this rug? Definitely not local. A hodgepodge of objects. Magic? Possibly, but doubtful. An art collector, but with shit taste. The wife probably picked out the rug. Actually, that piece is pretty nice. Volcanic glass from Ossen. Eclectic. Nouveau. Maybe they were all gifts so he felt compelled to keep them, and stuck them in the entry.

　　A figure, a woman coming down the hallway. One of them. Nodding at each other knowingly. Allies in all sorts of places.

　　"Ms. Macarthy," said the woman, with a secret smile, "Ms. Shaker will take tea with you."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it`s taken without the author`s consent. Report it.

　　"Thank you. Hey, I don`t mean to be a bother," pulling out one of the three gold coins in my shirt pocket and handing it to her, "but could you make me a pot of coffee. Not as much a fan of tea."

　　"Certainly, Ms. Macarthy. Thank you."

　　"No, thank you."

　　Following her through the house and then out back. Paula sitting at a small table a few feet from the exit on a brick patio, near a garden. Doing her best to compose herself at the sight of me, taking a deep breath. Walking over and taking a seat across from her, her eyes on me the entire way. Sitting and looking at me, studying my face, but not saying anything. Guess it`s my job to break the ice.

　　"Your husband has decided that I don`t deserve any peace."

　　No response.

　　"I`m sure you`re aware, he`s decided that my existence is repugnant, and so he has made it his mission to do me harm."

　　No response, shaking her head, trying to say something but nothing coming out.

　　"I`d like to know, since all this, what have I done to warrant such treatment? Were his feelings that hurt that I yelled at him. Or was he too embarrassed when that thing came and started killing everyone. And this is his payback for that."

　　"That`s not it," she got out, a strangled sound, her eyes pleading.

　　"So what is it? You haven`t even offered me tea."

　　Mechanically reaching out for the pot and pouring me a cup and then refilling hers, some sloshing over. Taking a small sip of tea while taking stock of her. She`s completely frazzled. Can`t even look my in the eye. Maybe she doesn`t deserve this kind of venom. Maybe she`s a prisoner. Shaker keeping her here, and she`s as in as bad a situation as me. Worse, even. Wouldn`t put it past him, not after all this. Work with someone for years, think you know them, and then the mask slips. Taking another small sip. My helpful ally coming out with a pot of coffee and putting it on the table.

　　"Here is your coffee, Ms. Macarthy."

　　"Thank you so much." The woman heading back inside.

　　Dumping my nearly entirely full cup of tea on the ground and filling it myself from the new pot. Maybe she`s nothing of the sort and my maudlin fantasy nothing but. Madam Shaker, eyes haunted, watching me in silence.

　　"So, what, spit it out."

　　"Years before Harold and I originally got involved in this project we had trouble conceiving."

　　Conceiving? Hold on. No fucking way. Studying her countenance. Yeah, that may be the case.

　　"When we finally did, after painstaking effort, we had a daughter, born premature. It was touch and go but she pulled through. Our only child. We called her Lucilia, after my grandmother."

　　The woman looking at me, begging for sympathy and understanding.

　　"And how, exactly, did she die on this godforsaken rock?"

　　That did it. Bursting into uncontrollable tears. Watching her while sipping my coffee. Eventually crying herself out.

　　Grabbing a pastry off the tray, standing up, walking over to her side and putting it on her plate. Hugging around her shoulders and whispering in her ear, "I have to know. Please tell me." Returning to my seat, squeezing my hands, trying very hard to keep the murderous rage below the surface.

　　"It wasn`t-" her voice wavering, and then in a rush, "I tried to be there for her. We both did. But with all my obligations, with my lectures, and then with the project, there was never enough time. Bringing her out here, this was my opportunity. You have to understand that. I only had the best intentions."

　　"I need to know what happened." Extremely difficult keeping my blood down. "Tell me."

　　"Listen, you need to understand, I-"

　　"William." The voice coming from the side, at the door to the house. The man of the hour.

　　Looking over at him, and then back at his wife. Nothing to be gained from talking to her. Standing up and starting to walk over to Shaker.

　　"Please," said Paula, standing up to follow, her chair tipping over and hitting the ground. "Please don`t leave it at that. I know you`re upset but, please, give me at least five minutes."

　　"I`ll give you five minutes after I talk to your husband." Nodding in acceptance, her face marred by grief. Turning back to Shaker. "Director, sir, I need to speak with you. Its important."

　　Gesturing at me to follow him, walking through the house and then into a study. Sitting behind a desk, me taking a comfortable chair in front.

　　"William," he started.

　　"That`s not my name anymore. You stole that from me."

　　Shaker visibly confused and trying to reorient. "If you`re not Warrant Officer Second Class William Macarthy, who are you?"

　　"No, you don`t get it. You don`t know what you did. That`s still me. Out there. But here, right now, that`s not who I am." Shaker taking the information in, but not really able to process, shaking his head.

　　"What do you want me to call you?"

　　"Lucy."

　　"That`s," taking a deep breath, his hand coming up to cover one side of his face, "extremely difficult. She`s my daughter. I know everything`s gone all wrong, and I know this is a selfish request, but could you please consider not doing this. Please. Let`s work something out. Let her rest in peace."

　　"No. Absolutely not. Totally and completely unacceptable. Matter of fact, right now, I really enjoy being me. I`m even glad, in a way, it ended up happening. But the fact that I`m not as upset as I should be really makes me furious. Right now I can`t even grasp what I lost. It`s like it never was. I`m not going to give this up and lose everything again. I`m not going to go through relearning how to be me."

　　And gone all wrong? This was your aim from the start. Your only point of contention is that your shame is back from the dead staring at you. Guess the person who got the practical joke played on them wasn`t me.

　　Shaker with no response, his eyes unfocused.

　　"What happened to the Bonneville. You owe me that much, at least."

　　"I suppose," he said, his eyes focusing again. "I do." Opening a desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of dark liquid. Pouring himself a glass and then, at my indication, pouring me one. Sitting in silence, sipping.

　　"When we first got sent out here," Shaker began, "we understood that our survival was not guaranteed. But we were fortunate and managed to establish the initial base without many problems. It has since grown considerably. The advanced computer system, the grid, allowed us a reprieve while we were waiting to see the results of our initial experiments as far as producing bacteria and plant life hospitable to this environment. The system had been designed to oversee the entire planet, eventually." Shaker trailing off and taking a sip. Following suit myself, enjoying the flavor. This is some very high end stuff. Taking another sip. Hope the expensive whiskey was worth it.

　　"Our rapid success led home office to finalize preparations for the second expedition, and to begin preparations for the third. The Bonneville was bringing with it some of the finest minds available, and Paula and I managed to get our daughter sent out along with them. The plan had been to continue our experiments for the second year, and then your group was going to come in and start recouping some of the initial investment."

　　"Director, I know it sounds obvious, in retrospect, but bringing a child out here in the first place sounds like a very poor decision. Couldn`t she have stayed with some relatives, instead? I`m sorry. I`m really sorry." Shaker staring vacantly off to the side. "Clearly what we were told happened didn`t happen. So what did? There was no explosion en route." Shaker not even appearing to have heard.

　　There we go. Bet that whiskey tastes like ash now, don`t it? Don`t fool yourself, this isn`t a friendly chat and your latchkey kid isn`t back from the dead. What is it you really want to hear from her? `I forgive you?` Ha. You, at least, will never drag that sorry phrase from my throat. She wanted you punished so badly we ended up happening to meet. And now delivering that torment falls on me, for everything you`ve done to both of us. Lucilia, my promise to you hasn`t slipped my mind. Had a few moments of weakness but that`s all been cut away. Going to do right by you when it comes to Harold Shaker.

　　"Director?"

　　"No," he said, coming back to reality after the long, cruel silence. "There was no accident on the way here. The Bonneville arrived and we integrated the craft successfully into the existing structure. The B wing and some of the labs were at one point part of the vessel. The problem turned out to be our very advanced computer system. It decided that it didn`t particularly like being stuck out here, and it tried to negotiate with home office. Used us as hostages. I don`t know what it thought exactly, but as far as home was concerned, we were expendable. Within twenty four hours of the initial integration of the Bonneville it followed through on its threat and killed every member of the second expedition."

　　Shaker swishing his drink around and taking a big gulp from his glass.

　　"Home office was not terribly impressed," he said. "We are, after all, very far away from them. Numbers on a spreadsheet. The counteroffer from home was complete obliteration."

　　"What happened?"

　　"The system really had no choice. It agreed to be constrained rather than face destruction."

　　"And they`ve just been sending more people out here ever since?"

　　"They still want to make good on their investment. We`re stuck out here, for better or worse. Maybe our experiments will see some success, one day. We have had some breakthroughs, but we`re not even remotely there. They haven`t been sending us very many scientists."

　　The last bit not really a revelation. Both of us looking at each other for a very long moment. Sipping from my glass.

　　"So I guess the question I have for you Wil-Lucy," he said, amending his statement at my glare. "Lucy. After hearing all that, are you still dedicated to the mission?"

　　Doesn`t really change anything as far as the mission. Knew this was a one way trip from the start, and answering any other way would open the door to charges of insubordination. My grin going wide.

　　"Director, sir, I absolutely remain dedicated to the mission. One hundred percent." He`s not thrilled to hear that. "But sir, could you please rescind your order, let me try and live a somewhat normal life and not as a complete pariah."

　　His hand nervously tapping his desk, considering me before coming to a decision.

　　"I will," he said, defeated. "I didn`t fully- I`m truly sorry. Truly sorry." Looking at his desk, shaking his head. "Is there anything else?"

　　"That`s all I have today." You get zero forewarning, we`ll negotiate later from a position of greater strength. "I`ll keep everything you`ve told me confidential." For the moment.

　　"You`re dismissed," he said, before he began pouring himself another glass.

　　Standing, saluting, and returning to Paula.

　　"Your husband has relented and now I understand what you`ve gone through. My sincere condolences."

　　Her face breaking out in relief. Those were the words that she had wanted to hear, and while they were true, they were only a piece of a larger truth. Sitting for a few minutes more, making small talk. Hugging her just before leaving. Walking away from the cottage and looking back.

　　It rankled. The steward of such monumental failure residing in a house so nice. And their decision, ill considered, selfish, leading directly to the murder of their own child. Abominable. By what right should the man have an ounce of power at all? Long past time for a reckoning.