Paul was in the garden when I exited the portal.
“Andrew. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Paul … I messed up. They know our identities now.”
The man I’d come to regard as my father nodded gently. “It was bound to happen.”
“I killed a few people.”
“You survived. That’s what matters.”
“I got Grumman, though.”
Paul’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”
“He had taken on a new identity. Dyzer.”
“You’re sure it was him?”
“Observe confirmed it.”
“Then - well done. Now I suggest you get changed. The press will probably be here shortly.”
“... Already?”
“Not yet, but it won’t take them long to track us down. Go change.” Paul grinned. “I’m going to enjoy my last few minutes of peace.”
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I showered.
Battles involve a lot of dust. And grime. And, since I was fighting without the armour - blood splatters.
There’s a reason post-battle cleanup involves, well, actual cleaning. Body fluids, sweat, grime and dust need to come off. So yes, I showered.
Dettol soap. Washes away hidden grime and dirt. Also visible blood stains.
Doesn’t wash away a different kind of feeling.
Viking, Lumina, Soundwave - once upon a time, they’d been fighting on the side of good. Protecting the city.
Somewhere along the line, they’d gotten sucked into a rabbit hole. One manipulated by an expert.
Grumman had been hiding as Dyzer - in plain sight.
I’d talked to him. I’d shaken his hand. I’d even agreed to have him help me mediate….
All the while, he’d been planning this trap.
Were the Tanisport Four villains, or just more victims?
It didn’t matter.
There was no way in hell I would have simply let myself be carved up on a platter. Not with Grumman in charge.
And yet…
All the perfumes of Arabia will not cleanse these hands.
For once, I couldn’t argue with my Ethics stat. Minus fifteen? Should have been far worse.
When I came back down the stairs, there were several familiar faces waiting for me.
Daisy Cullen sat at our kitchen table, drinking tea with Anne. Both were in nanofibre weave armour.
Donna was standing behind her, rifle in ready position.
Kristina was on the couch, and Lavinia stood by the door with a grim-looking expression.
All of them were armoured (good), rifles easily accessible (good), and helmets off (very very bad).
Tempting as it was to launch into a lecture about helmet discipline, I refrained. After all, I was in a T-shirt and blue jeans.
Felt a bit underdressed, actually.
“Belessar,” Daisy broke the silence. “Is he dead?”
There was no doubt who they meant.
“As a doornail.” I scowled. “He was operating the Dyzer battlesuit.”
“And Dyzer?”
“He was Dyzer. Dyzer and Grumman - the same person, in different-looking suits. Wait - how’d you find out…”
“They were transmitting the video throughout the fight,” Anne explained. “We got to see you identify Grumman - and he more-or-less admitted it.”
“You hit him good,” Kristina piped up from the sofa. “One blow, then splat.”
“He underestimated me,” I grumbled. “And… I got lucky.”
“Luck is what happens when planning meets preparation,” Daisy commented. “At least that’s what Sergeant Banner keeps telling me. But yes, he did go ‘splat’.” She pursed her lips. “I want to see the remains.”
“There’s not much left. Only pieces.”
“Then I - we - want to see the pieces. Whatever’s left over.”
“You have the right. Although… I’m not sure what happens to the remains in an ultra-to-ultra battle.”
“Same as any crime scene, actually,” Anne said. “DURABLE swings by and collects evidence. Which then goes to a federal court for any investigation.”
“I might have to appear in court?”
“Open and shut case of self-defence. Dad and I just spoke to McCarthy, he’s already preparing the paperwork. Which will become irrelevant when the Sled shows up, but it’s your money.”
“Please spend it how you think best.”
“Words to live by,” chuckled Kristina. “Anne, whenever you get a boyfriend, make sure he thinks that way.”
“Enough,” Daisy said. “Belessar. There are a few journalists outside. Paul made a statement asking for your privacy to be respected. I think you have some PR people?”
“I don’t have personal PR people. BAE-Dragonfly hires an outfit called DCW to manage their PR - I mostly piggyback off that.”
“Dad’s talking to Moira Sanghwan right now,” Anne added. “They’re on a conference call in the next room. And it’s …. more than a few journalists, actually.”
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The police were maintaining a cordon. More than twenty cops with riot gear, forming a line.
Beyond them, a sea of humanity crowded out Pendleton. Cameras flashed, second by second. Reporters jostled with each other, trying to make their way to the front.
None tried to break past the cops holding back the crowd. With good reason.
Behind the police stood four women in nanofibre weave, with their laser rifles ready.
“Cassandra’s in front,” Anne whispered to me as I stared out of the window. “We also have snipers on the second floor, just in case someone tries to get in through the backyard.”
“Snipers?”
“Renna and Maxine. We have eleven Phoenix Company personnel in the house right now, watching the exits and … well …”
“Guarding us?”
“It’s temporary. The Sled arrives in Tanisport in a few hours. Afterwards, we leave for London.”
“You should go now.”
“I’m not leaving until I get to wave you goodbye,” Anne said, defiant. “Also, the Traveler only gets here tonight. So - are you ready?”
I took a last look around the room.
Everything was packed away now. Every memento, every sign that I’d lived here for nearly two years.
All of my life, really.
For what is a life but memories, woven together in a tapestry?
“I’m ready,” I said. “Let’s go.”