Stella is my best bird, and Frowny the most loyal, but Flappy is by far the cutest.

  As you might expect given his name, Flappy loves to flutter his nubby little wings. He does it all the time, and looks real happy and excited when he does it, especially when you set him belly down on the palm of your hand and lift him up and down. It’s like he’s seen them flying birds and thinks he can take wing and soar if he tries hard enough, and it’s absolutely adorable to watch him flap his little heart out and have a grand old time belly surfing atop my hand.

  Course, kiccaws are a collective who sometimes share a single brain cell, so a few other birds have seen what Flappy is up to and want it for themselves. That’s why me and Chrissy got seven kiccaws including Flappy all a fluttering on three real hands, three Mage Hands, and one prosthetic hand, which is a real sight for sore eyes. Especially Terrance who done flapped himself into a tizzy and has fallen asleep in my hand, but is much too precious to put down to let another kiccaw have a ride.

  “Howie, quit foolin’ around and pay attention,” Aunty Ray says, and I can’t help but sit up straighter to hear it. Chrissy knows no fear though, and instead stretches across to pass Pippi over to her mama. Aunty Ray accepts the bird with a smile before fixing me with her glare again, one that’s not as effective when she’s distracted by the adorable flapping kiccaw giving her side eye because she’s not being bounced about. Doesn’t let it stop her form continuing her lecture though, as she plays with Pippi and says, “Mr. Tillman went to all the effort of learnin’ the lay of the land, so the least you can do is listen to what he has to say. Might do you some good, knowin’ who the major players are and who they got bad blood with.”

  “I been listenin’,” I say, wishing I sounded less whiny. Or less like a bapple polishing brown-noser when I prove it by summarizing the last hour of material. According to the Mexican Government (as opposed to the local law enforcement who’d usually be handling this sort of business), the man I shot was a card-carrying member of Los Caballeros del Altar Roto, or the Knights of the Broken Altar. Not a reference to the Catholic altar, which far as I can tell is just a table for holding wine and bread, but rather the Nahuatl altars where they sacrificed their victims in their crazed blood rituals. Which ain’t the worst stance to have, except for the fact that Mexico and many other South American countries got an issue with Nahuatl adherents worming their way into high level government positions. Ain’t like the Cultists brand their own after all, so you’d never know if a politician was secretly feeding Abby on his weekend camping trips or whatever.

  Hence why the Los Caballeros del Altar Roto came about, even though Mexico already got Los Custodios de la Palabra. The latter is military who accept Innates, while the former be extremists and radical insurgents for the most part, ones who believe the Government is corrupt and can’t be trusted. That ain’t the end all be all of it either, as the Knights of the Broken Altar, who I’ve taken to calling Kobalists as a play on cabalist, believe themselves to be the first and only line of defense in the war against the Nahuatl Faith. Like many extremists, there’s no room for shades of grey in their eyes, so if you ain’t with them, then you gotta be against them, and anyone against them deserves death. Usually, they target criminals and cartels, but they’ve been known to target politicians, law enforcement, and anyone they suspect might be working with or for the Cultists. That’s why they came after me, and they got people in high places so tracking down the other three I clocked won’t be so easy.

  Course, the Nahuatl adherents also got people in high places, and the Mexican government is more corrupt than most, so it all makes for a rather tangled tapestry of dubious motivations. Long story short, I shouldn’t expect much if any help from the Mexican government or local law enforcement, and what help I do receive should be treated with caution in case they actually do be Nahuatl adherents.

  Suppose that’s why the Feds sent Rangers to watch over me, just not their best. That’s fine though, as I don’t need no bodyguard, just someone to do the paperwork after I put some bodies in the ground. I seen three faces, and if I see them again, I’ll be sure to put them down hard and fast before they finish the job their buddy started.

  Moving on, Mr. Tillman filled me in on the various nations and organizations involved in these peace talks, of which there were far too many for me to care about. They all got beef with each other too; The Mexican Government ain’t happy with the Feds for not doing more to support their claim to the territory around New Sonora, while the Feds are holding off because they don’t want to dip their toes into muddy waters without any real benefit to be had. The Mexicans also got issues with UNASUR, who’re backed by the Latin American Catholic Church and aren’t happy they don’t got a piece of the lucrative pie that is New Sonora. The Latin American Catholic Church also got beef with the Feds, Knights Templar, and Roman Catholic Church, since they refused to work with them to ‘properly cleanse’ an area of ‘active Nahuatl worship’. Namely the village I’m currently living in, so I’m right proper grateful for that since it’s an open secret that the Latin American Catholic Church be backing the Kobalists, who they see as their own version of the Knights Templar.

  Only far less organized, much more hostile to Innates, and wholly willing to compromise on morals because they’re at war with a monstrous enemy and lack a direct chain of command to adhere to.

  That’s all the stuff that’s relevant to me personally, which is where my interests lie, so I wasn’t all that concerned about the rest. Who cares if UNASUR is arguing amongst themselves over who gets the piece of the pie that they ain’t yet secured, or that the Nipponese got a claim further south and want to expand it with support from the Feds while the Qin and Mexicans both push back? Doesn’t matter if the Chileans hate the Brazilians, but both hate the Prussians even more, except for the Prussians they love and accept on account of both South American countries having a good number of people of Prussian descent due to their open-door policy on accepting fleeing Nazis round about 1945. Which is why the modern-day Prussians hate Chileans and Brazilians in turn, because for the most part, they’ve done a whole 180 on the Nazi ideology ever since. The Irish don’t hate, but they’ll scrap with anyone and everyone, with many having linked up with the Kobalists. Which ain’t exactly a problem, except they’re highly enthusiastic about killing cultists and not all that careful when they do it. With all the collateral damage, they’ve earned the ire of the Macedonians among many other locales, and there’s also a conglomeration of a dozen African countries trying to eke some benefits outta all this.

  As for the raiders? There’s plenty of information about a notorious bunch, a little info about a few dozen others, and absolutely nothing about the Qin raiders who kicked all of this off. Predictably, I might add, as even if anyone knew anything, their respective governments won’t say shit. No one wants to piss off the Republic this close to the Watershed, because every nation on the Frontier is in desperate need of a fresh influx of new citizens expected to come in the Second Wave. Considering the short window of opportunity during which the Gate will be powered, connected to the Frontier, and open for transport, even a short delay by the Qin Republic who maintain control over the Gate could result in less settlers making it in, and no nation on the Frontier wants to be shortchanged on manpower.

  “None of which matters,” I conclude, after briefly listing out everything Mr. Tillman’s covered already, “Because not only are these talks likely a farce, my presence here won’t impact them none either way. I’ve been brought over as a ploy by the Qinese to either have me killed or turn me to the cause. Probably both, as our little encounter out in the Badlands proved that they’re divided on the issue, except they don’t seem to realize I’ve already decided I don’t care to rejoin the Fatherland and be a cog in the Republic machine. So all we gotta do is sit tight, keep someone on the staircase to turn people away, and Blast anyone and everyone who come up here uninvited until it’s time to smile for the cameras and play along with the politicians for as long as they care to drag this out for.”

  Aunty Ray don’t look none too pleased regarding my cavalier attitude, but she can’t find no fault in what I’ve said either. Not really, so she just shakes her head and sighs while collecting a second kiccaw from the flock of birds patiently waiting their turn to ‘fly’ in her hand. Chrissy’s already picked up Walter, which is a hilarious name for a rotund little bird, all while Frowny keeps the rest in line from his perch atop my shoulder. Stella’s on the other one and none too pleased by all my jawing about, as she likes to snuggle right up against my cheek, which ain’t all that comfortable when I talk.

  I’ve said my piece though, so the sweet girl snuggles back in while Mr. Tillman looks a little uncomfortable as he shuffles his papers about, but the sweat on his brow got nothing to do with the comfortably warm hotel conference room in these hot southern climes. “A somewhat simple, albeit accurate summation of the facts,” he says, after taking a long pull of his glass of chilled agua de tamarindo, which is kinda like a sweet lemony tea with an almost milky texture. I much prefer horchata, as it’s a lot like the Avena Colombiana Luisa always made for me, except it’s mostly cinnamon instead of the blend of aromatic spices.

  “However,” Mr. Tillman continues as I empty the last of my drink and consider ringing up room service for another stupidly expensive pitcher, “I believe you are grossly underestimating the influence you might hold in these talks. As an official facilitator brought in by the two largest parties involved, namely the American Federation and the Qin Republic, your words will carry some weight, while your Independent status will afford you the leeway to suggest alternative actions that the nations involved would rather not support, but would find difficult to refuse all the same.”

  Rather than bite and play along, I give my lawyer a look that says I’m wise to his ways. Which he’s known from the very start, but is still playing his part for the sake of… I dunno. Plausible deniability? I can tell Aunty Ray still thinks I’m being rude, as this do be a lot of information that probably took a long while to collect and compile, but she’s wrong when she says it was Mr. Tillman who put the effort in. He’s been my lawyer for the better part of a year now, and I’ve seen him more than almost anyone else in New Hope save for Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray. Mostly so he can tell me how it is, so I know good and well what the man sounds like when he knows what’s what. Here and now though? He don’t sound like that. He sounds like a man who been prepped on what to say and share, because that’s what he is, while the man who fed him his lines is leaning against the wall in a blind corner to the only door into the conference room, looking for all intents and purposes like an old timer hanging out because he got nothing better to do.

  Yeah, Caleb Finch got some sort of training alright, but not Ranger. Maybe not even military, but most certainly combat, as he picked the one spot in the room that’s well away from all the windows and can cover the door all the same. I’d put good money on him being the one who put this big dossier together in hopes of educating a redneck Qink like myself. I don’t much care for politics though, so I’d much rather he straight up told me what he wanted as opposed to leading me around by the nose in hopes that I’ll swallow whatever bait he’s placed to get me caught hook, line, and sinker.

  Course, he’d never be so transparent, as that’d be giving the game away, a game I don’t much care to play. Hence my pointed lack of attention, except I forgot to let Aunty Ray in on all of this. Which is why she follows up on Mr. Tillman’s lead, even though I clearly got reasons not to. “Like what?” She asks, not exactly clueless as to what’s happening, but still of the opinion that we can make a difference in these talks. “Clearly you got some plan in mind, so why don’t you lay it all out for us to hear?”

  Giving Aunty Ray a ghost of a smile while nodding in thanks for the assist, Mr. Tillman explains, “The key issue for these talks is the joint task force suggested by the Federation and the Republic, a proposal that has widespread support among the various nations. With so many overlapping and contested borders as well as competing legal codes and jurisdictional gaps, local law enforcement and military can only act within the boundaries of their own territory. Boundaries which have yet to be firmly defined, so they must err on the side of caution to avoid creating a diplomatic row. As such, the creation of a multi-national task force with limited powers to pursue and take action against suspects through multiple jurisdictions is the obvious solution, similar to Interpol only on a much smaller scale. While the parties involved have already agreed upon the creation of said task force, the devil is in the details. How much power should agents be given, who would make up the members, and who would oversee their actions and be ultimately responsible for keeping them on task and in line with their mandate without overstepping their bounds.”

  “Sounds like a job for lawyers like you then,” I say, still not seeing where I fit in to any of this. “And the poor souls press ganged into taking up this thankless and ultimately futile job. Sure, people want the raiders dealt with, but a task force just means the blame will be heaped onto their shoulders moving forward, instead of the actual nations and law enforcement involved. What’s more, the task force will likely be hampered by the fact that their every move will be under a microscope, so they’ll have to step softly even when dealing with probable suspects. Ain’t about innocence or guilt, but public perception, as don’t none of these governments want to see headlines talking about raiders from their own respective homelands. As such, even if one of their own get caught with their hand in the cookie jar, their government will screech and holler about how the task force made a mistake and got it all wrong, with the most likely outcome being someone on the task force gettin’ thrown under the bus.”

  Mr. Tillman looks mighty surprised and more than a little uncomfortable, as he processes what I just said while looking every which way except towards Caleb who’s cool as a cucumber and acting like don’t none of this got anything to do with him. The rest of his team ain’t around, with Evan watching the stairs with Clayton and the others off doing their own thing. Got no idea why Mr. Tillman’s acting all nervous and wanting to look to Caleb for his cue, right up until the hamster wheel gets to squeaking and the pieces fall into place. “You were gonna suggest I volunteer for the job?” Chuckling out of sheer disbelief, I shake my head and say, “Yeah, not a chance.” Gesturing at Caleb, I get a little dig in and say, “Why don’t you ask if Caleb’s crew wants the job? They seem pretty qualified. Not all that diverse with three Americans, but one’s a woman and they got a Soviet and a Czechoslovakian too. Pick up a Latino, an African, and some flavour of Asian that ain’t Qin or Nipponese and you’ll have the full diversity rainbow without having to concern yourself with too many moles on the inside.”

  Though they should still be awful concerned, all things considered. I’d bet the whole house on the fact that it wasn’t just the Qin who’ve sent state-sponsored raiders to liberate some supplies from the surrounding areas. Which is another reason why the joint task force is doomed from the start, because there are too many players who won’t want the real truth getting out into the light, so the task force will be left chasing their tails and holding the bag when things inevitably lead nowhere fast.

  It’s the same reason why the various nations ain’t settled on the easiest solution, which is to collectively outlaw any and all raiders around these parts and let the problem solve itself. Put enough money up, and they’ll have bounty hunters coming in droves to slaughter opportunistic raiders and scavs who’re too scared to take on a real fight, while the smarter ones will get the hell outta dodge before the heat gets too much. Problem is, mixed in with those raiders and scavs are real government operatives, and don’t no nation care to risk those so close to the Watershed, nor do they want any of their people turning state’s evidence in an international case against them.

  In short? The various governments will play games while people’s lives are lost, and the joint task force, while seeming like a solid idea on paper, is doomed to become a bunch of ineffective patsies who’ll be blamed for losing an unwinnable game. I want nothing to do with anything here, so my plan is to keep my head down, mouth shut, and my eyes open until I’m back home in the quay.

  At least I’m living large on the Government’s dime. Not only are they paying for my accommodations, I also get a per diem to spend on food and the like. Not a significant amount, but I’mma milk every red cent out of this trip that I can seeing how I got no choice but to be here. The only downside was that the hotel wouldn’t let me bring Cowie or Pebbles in, so they’re out in the stables with the horses. Hell, convincing them to let me bring the birds was hard enough, and they might not have allowed it if Aunty Ray didn’t bat her baby blues and use her decidedly white girl Spanish to convince the hotel employees that we’d clean up any and all messes the birds might make on their way to and from our rooms on the fifth and topmost floor.

  “Howie,” Aunty Ray begins, her tone subdued and muted in stark contrast to the stern stance she took earlier. “I don’t think Mr. Tillman was suggesting you volunteer.” Giving me a worried look while still holding two flapping kiccaws in hand, she says, “I think he was workin’ up to saying that you’ll likely be voluntold.”

  Taking a deep breath, I think it over for all of a second and deflate where I sit. “Oh. Yeah. That tracks.” Heaving a sigh and nuzzling Stella with my cheek for a bit of comfort, I go over my options, then ask, “Well… what are my options?”

  “…Not good, I’m afraid,” Mr. Tillman replies, which is not what you want to hear from your legal representation. “Given your… prior accomplishments, outright refusal to take part in the task force will be seen as sympathizing with the Republic, who continue to deny they’re behind the attacks, but public sentiment believes otherwise. As such, if one of the nations involved makes the suggestion and the others are agreeable, then chances are you will have little to no choice in the matter but to accept for fear of public opinion swaying the Federal Government to take action against you and your Independent settlement.” Shrugging, Mr. Tillman adds, “I apologize for not considering this sooner. Your exploits in and around Rimepeak were not well received by the American public, so I was working under the assumption that you would not be called upon for this particular area of expertise. However, it appears that the Qinese delegate holds you in high esteem and has been heard suggesting that your Independent status and prior experience make you an ideal candidate for the task force.”

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “But not to lead it,” I reply, reading in between the lines as Mr. Tillman don’t always like to give me the bad news straight up. He prefers to soften the blow, but he’s struggling to find an upside in all this, hence why it feels like pulling teeth.

  “I’m afraid so,” he replies, shuffling his papers some more before bringing out a selection of dossiers for me to peruse. “The frontrunners for the job as it were, the most likely candidates that all parties involved might agree with, assuming they’re content to let one man or woman lead the entire task force, as opposed to ruling by committee or some other option.”

  “Great. Just great.” As if it wasn’t bad enough having to work for multiple governments, I’d also have multiple bosses too, none of whom I care to learn about before having to meet them. “Don’t suppose I could get a medical exemption for field work. I did just get shot after all.”

  “An army doctor would have to sign off on it,” Mr. Tillman replies, stating the facts as they are and even presenting me the relevant documents to show he looked into it already. “Considering your capabilities as a Spellcaster, I would assume you’ve been using Regeneration daily at the very least, which according to the Federations own records means you’d likely be declared fit for duty within six weeks, and combat ready within eight.” Whereas it’s been about ten weeks since I was shot, and I’ve been using Regeneration more than once a day since Aunty Ray’s been cooking all my meals. Even with the Spell burning all those calories to speed the healing process along, I’ve actually put on some weight in the last few weeks. On top of that, digging foundations and putting up buildings while wearing my duster weighed down by a dozen Darksteel plates has seen me pack on a fair bit of extra muscle. Don’t even have much of a scar anymore, so truth be told, I might well be the healthiest I’ve ever been.

  You know… aside from missing a right hand. Still hurts something fierce at times, especially since the new topical version of the Red Sun Balm don’t work nearly as well, but that’s manageable for the most part.

  “It’s far from a foregone conclusion,” Mr. Tillman continues, trying to salvage what he can from the situation. “Your actions in Hoshino might well be enough to disqualify you as a candidate.” I got no idea what he’s talking about, but my lawyer knows me well enough to explain, “The southernmost Federal build site that’s being supported by the Nipponese. As a gesture of goodwill, they were given the honour of naming the build site, and they’ve picked Hoshino, which I’m told means ‘Field of Stars’.”

  “How fittin’.” Which means he’s talking about my little tantrum with the prisoners where I demonstrated my Fireball for all to see. Like I always say, better lucky than good, and it’s hard not to glance at Aunty Ray with a smile because I know she’s just fuming to hear it. She was not pleased to see me go off the handle like that, but she didn’t come down hard on me either, not when all them guards were just standing idly by while she and her daughters were being disrespected like that. I could’ve been a little gentler about it, but I’m sick of walking on eggshells and counting on folks to underestimate what I can do. Be nice if they started tiptoeing around me for a change, and maybe even avoid getting on my bad side, but one Fireball slinging Magus ain’t enough to dissuade a single government, much less a whole bunch gathered together for talks. “Well, we’ll deal with it as it comes,” I say with a shrug. “No sense gettin’ all bent out of shape before we know what’s what.”

  Course, I glance at Caleb when I say this, because I get the feeling he knows more than he’s letting on, which is absolutely nothing considering he’s using Mr. Tillman as a cutout to provide me all this information. The older man don’t say nothing, don’t even acknowledge my gaze, just keeps leaning with that blank expression like we strangers in a café, which is infuriating to say the least. Especially since Aunty Ray ain’t exactly one to sit back and relax while I got a dagger hanging over my head, but there ain’t nothing else to be done. Uncle Rigsby is here in New Sonora, but not representing the Americans or even the Roman Catholic Church, which is something he slipped in to warn me that I didn’t clock until now. He’s here on behalf of the slain… uh…

  Am I terrible person for forgetting who it was that was slaughtered? Maybe. Just maybe.

  Whatever. That’s why he said as much, to tell me I can’t count on him because he don’t got much power to act. Uncle Teddy ain’t involved in all this either, as this whole task force was the brain child of some fat cat living large on the west coast. Maybe even Milton, though I doubt it. He don’t strike me as the big picture sort of guy, more the willing toady who runs around doing his master’s bidding. Which is a little alarming, what with him being an Alderman and all, but I guess not all Alderman are equal, and the former aide to some Senator would feel right at home brown-nosing someone higher up the food chain.

  So in short, I’ve pissed off the Americans, the Qinese, the Nipponese, the Mexicans, and UNASUR. Not all of them as a whole, but enough so won’t none of them care to shield me in any real way whatsoever from becoming the patsy they ultimately pin all their failures on.

  Which ain’t great, since it means I can’t sit tight and do nothing while waiting for the other boot to drop. My actions in Hoshino might’ve done me some good though, as now I got another avenue to explore. Weaponized incompetence ain’t the worst idea in the world, so maybe I can make a nuisance of myself during the talks and get me kicked out early. Or, if they do put me on the task force, I could always go rogue and gun down raiders as I please until the powers that be see fit to rein me in or send me home. Just gotta make sure I got cause to open fire, whether it be proof of guilt, an actionable threat of aggression, or some other reason, though I’d have to pick Mr. Tillman’s mind about the legalities when Chrissy and Aunty Ray ain’t in the room.

  We talk shop a little more, with Mr. Tillman stressing that I should sit tight and not rock the boat while reaching out to any contacts in the international community I might have to see if they can help. Not that I have any down this way, since my daddy avoided the Qin as best he could and never brought me further south than Irongate after that run in with my mama’s brother. Mr. Tillman also wants me to brainstorm on what requests I might have should I be voluntold for the task force, but aside from cart blank to shoot whoever I please, I don’t got a lot of ideas on what I might need.

  “Training,” Aunty Ray interjects. “Official training on navigating the legal minefield of working in task force like this, and some form of qualified immunity to keep him from being tried by individual nations for any actions he undertakes as part of the task force. He’ll also need gear and supplies, or compensation for bringin’ his own, as it ain’t right for all these governments to expect him to pay his own way while doin’ their dirty work.”

  Aunty Ray got a whole lot more to add, and it’s surprising to hear how much. Even sounds like she knows what she’s talking about, though I’ve no idea how she could’ve gotten so street savvy when it comes to staying on the right side of the law. Guess she’s been reading crime novels or something, because Mr. Tillman is nodding along with everything she says and riffing off it, so I go back to playing with the kiccaws and making sure they all get their turn at flapping like real birds. By the time they’re all tuckered out, Aunty Ray and Mr. Tillman are still trucking along about which nations I could play off of to keep them at loggerheads and delay the task force some more by introducing complications in the whole jurisdictional argument or committee oversight.

  None of which is my wheelhouse, but I figure I ought to be present for these discussions all the same so I don’t shove my foot in my mouth like I so often do in situations like this. Doesn’t make it any more interesting though, and drags on until it’s almost dinnertime, though I’ve long since blown my whole per diem on pitchers of horchata. Bathroom breaks aside, I’ve been cooped up so long I’m eyeing the window and considering using a Fly Spell just to get me a breath of fresh air. Would mean leaving poor Chrissy behind though, and I couldn’t do that to her, not to mention flying overhead of a town where someone already tried to shoot me don’t seem like the smartest decision to make.

  Nor does ordering food and drink. Even though Detect Poison do be a thing, if anyone has access to a poison that can bypass the Spell, it’d be big government. Don’t think the Spell picks up on Alchemical Potions either, not unless they’re meant to kill you, but there are plenty of Potions meant to incapacitate or debilitate, to say nothing of all that talk of mind magic potions poured into public water systems that Clayton is always harping on about.

  Gotta draw the line somewhere though, because it’s not like I can ask Aunty Ray to cook us every meal on the one hot plate I own. No stoves in our hotel rooms either, though for the price they charging, I should get a whole house with a kitchen, dining, and living room rather than just the one bed with a private bathroom and shower stall. Least it ain’t comin’ out of my pocket, as Mr. Tillman already arranged for the hotel to bill the Feds directly, though I do gotta expense my per diem and wait for my pay to come in.

  Which makes paying for room service doubly painful after spending my entire per diem on horchata. I’m still getting paid for my time, so it ain’t like I’m losing money, but I most certainly ain’t earning as much as I thought since there’s no way my piddly per diem will cover three squares a day even if I cut out horchata entirely. I should just bite the bullet and learn how to make it, but there are some things that just taste better when someone else makes it for you, and Aunty Ray already does more than enough. She don’t even stop to enjoy her dinner, as she continues the discussion with Mr. Tillman in the conference room while sending me and Chrissy up to our rooms to eat alongside Tina who’s finally off duty.

  Not because Aunty Ray thought we’d be more comfortable up there. No, she sent us up so Tina couldn’t listen in on the discussion and learn our whole game plan. Not because we don’t trust her, but because we literally can’t. As a Ranger, Tina would have no choice but to share everything she knows if ordered to by a superior officer or face court martial, so Aunty Ray laid it all out beforehand and said that we’re not to talk shop around Tina on this trip. Said it in front of Tina and Sergeant Rowan too, so everyone knows it, and while my sorta-sister wholeheartedly agreed with the decision, she’s a sensitive soul who don’t like being left out, which is why I do what I can to lift her spirits after a long, gruelling day of standing watch while doing all that she can to meet Kairi’s admittedly demanding standards.

  That’s why Tina’s got three birds fluttering in the palm of her combined hands and Mage Hand, while Chrissy feeds her Arroz Rojo made with beans, bristle grains, a whole assortment of unfamiliar veggies, and some sort of meat I’m told is goat adjacent. Tastes delicious though, and I polish off my entire plate in a heartbeat. While I’m debating if I should order a second, Tina asks, “So how’d it go with Errol and Uncle Rigsby?”

  “Not great,” I reply, being honest as I can. “He pretty much ripped me a new one for being too thick-headed about things.” Ain’t no reason to hide this stuff from Tina, so I lay it all out with a focus on how Uncle Rigsby really laid into me for not thinking on my own two feet. “Said my daddy had his reasons for doin’ what he did that he never shared, and I need to find my own reasons, but the thing is, he never shared his reason with me either. I got no idea why he stayed on with the Feds when he could’ve gone back to the Republic at any given time.”

  “That ain’t true,” Tina replies, only to be interrupted as Chrissy puts a spoonful of bristle grains into her mouth. That’s Chrissy for you though; if she gonna feed you, she gonna do it on her schedule, not yours, so best you keep up. Chewing and swallowing with more haste than I’d advise, Tina continues, “He might never have said it, but you know good and well why he never went back.”

  “Because he resented the Republic,” I reply. “For takin’ him away when he was young, convincin’ him his family name didn’t matter, and for lyin’ about how the world was out to get them. If they wasn’t so scared of foreigners, my parents wouldn’t have run so far into the Badlands to get away from people and might well have found a community to welcome them in. Maybe even one with a doctor who could’ve saved my mama, or known enough to stop whatever happened from happening.” Namely me showing up about a month ahead of schedule and killing my mama on my way out, meaning if my daddy never forgave the Republic for their part in her death, I doubt he ever forgave me either.

  Nor should he have, seeing how I got him killed too.

  “That’s not the only reason,” Tina replies, too busy fending off Chrissy’s spoonful of bristle grains to notice my inner turmoil. “It was a big’un to be sure, but he had other reasons. He wanted to be the one who got out, show his people there was a place for them on the Frontier outside of the Republic.”

  “Fat lot of good that did him,” I say, shoving my boot right through my front teeth, but there’s no taking it back once it’s said, so I follow through with the rest. “The Republic sent hitters after him for daring to step out of line, and then the Feds proved the Republic right by disavowin’ him after the fact. Proved to every Qin out there that even if you a hero to the foreigners, they won’t say boo to a mouse when the Republic comes a knockin’, so you toe the party line or you get got.”

  More than four years later, and the anger is still there, burning hotter and higher than ever. I know Tina’s also got some anger in her, and guilt too, as she done signed on to the Rangers all the same whereas I straight up refused to, but don’t no one blame her for it, least of all me. Fact is, I wouldn’t have let her go about this sort of life any other way, especially not after what I went through on my own, because while it takes a special sort to go after a fella like me, most every man out there with a lack of moral fibre would see her as a potential victim first and foremost. At least if she got a Ranger badge on her chest, them fellas might think twice before making a move, since the Rangers look after their own, so long as they actually consider you one of them.

  “Don’t you do that,” Tina says, glaring at me something fierce with tears in her big blue eyes, and even Chrissy is looking forlorn as she stares in muted disbelief. “Don’t you ever disrespect what he tried to do. He wanted to show his people there was another option, and he died for it, so you honour his memory and the message he tried to share. The fact that the Republic went after him shows how much of an effect he had, and it ain’t his fault the Feds let him down.”

  Tina’s glare makes me feel about two inches tall, so I hang my head in shame and nod. “You right,” I say with a sigh. “You absolutely right.” His lamentable death don’t take away from his lifetime of heroics, and I was wrong to make light of them. After a long moment of self-reflection, I shake my head and get back on track, because much as I’d like to wallow in the past, ain’t no time like the present to ensure I’ll have a future to wallow some more later. “Still don’t explain why he stayed away. Not entirely at least, because I’m sure he knew he could’ve done more from within. Didn’t even know my mama had a brother until the man showed up one day when I was eleven, but I gotta imagine my daddy already knew the man existed. With his help, my daddy had the chops to make Elder of the Council, and what better way to make changes than startin’ from the top?”

  “Might be your uncle’s the reason then,” Tina says, only to roll her eyes when I shoot her a dirty glare for using that word. “Sorry. Your mama’s brother. Whatever. You said he’s some bigwig general right? Thing is, even Uncle Teddy couldn’t find nothin’ on him, and you can bet’cher bottom dollar that he hasn’t stopped lookin’. If he’d’ve found somethin’, he would’ve shared it by now, so either your mama’s brother don’t have as much power as you believe, or his existence is kept super secret for some reason or another. Don’t think the first bit can be true seeing how Jinfeng practically worships him. Said that any action against you, the blood of his blood, would make them traitors to the Republic. That’s some serious pull, especially if he’s been flyin’ under the radar all this time.”

  “Probably because he’s more a figurehead than anything else,” I reply with a wave of my hand. “My best guess is that much like my mama, he had a whole bunch of vital information crammed into his head, stuff everyone needed to survive on the Frontier. Not just Spell Formulas, but general knowledge like brick making and Metamagic Etching and all that jazz. He’s probably the Armchair General, someone who got plenty of knowledge and spends his time teaching the next generation. Lot of connections, but not so much political power, not until the next generation rises up to positions of power themselves.”

  “How’d he get that information though?” Tina asks. “From what I’ve heard, the Republic keeps a tight lid on that sort of stuff, strictly need to know basis to keep their people from running off with ‘state secrets’. If your mama and her brother were trusted with that sort of thing, then it means they must’ve been related to someone high up there.”

  I shrug. “So what? Blood don’t make family, so who cares if my mama’s daddy was some hotshot Republic politico? Even if he was the Prime Minister of the Republic, it wouldn’t make no difference to me.”

  “The Republic don’t got a Prime Minister Howie,” Tina retorts. “They got a Chairman, first among equals in their Leading Council.”

  “Whatever,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Either way, the post ain’t hereditary. They don’t got proper elections or nothin’, but if the Chairman kicks the bucket, them councillors won’t just smile and nod while Junior steps in to fill his old man’s shoes. So what’s my mama’s parentage got anything to do with me?”

  “I dunno,” Tina replies with a shrug. “But I do know Jinfeng was awful insistent about you being treated as befittin’ your station.”

  “Didn’t stop Ao Tian from slippin’ me six inches of hard steel.” Wincing at the phrasing, I continue on without addressing the euphemism, because I know neither Chrissy nor Tina would’ve caught it. “Besides, I doubt my mama’s brother was the reason my daddy never went back. He was ready to let me leave with the man if that’s what I wanted, though I can’t imagine a world in which I would’ve wanted that.” Not when the man showed up out of the blue and insulted my daddy right to my face. “If anything, I’m bettin’ it got more to do with me bein’ the Firstborn. The Qin put a lot of stock into age and seniority, so as the Seniormost Brother of whatever, I’d be top dog and leader of the pack. Maybe he didn’t want that sort of pressure on me.”

  Tina’s look of disbelief is understandable, because if anything, my daddy put a lot of stock in the title too, and he pressured me harder than anyone else to live up to it. The Firstborn of the Frontier, not just the Senior Brother of the Qin Republic, but of all Frontier-born everywhere. That and a nickel will get you a cup of bapple chips, but that’s not how my daddy saw it, and not how the Qin see it now. Tina knows it too, as I done long since told her all about Jinfeng’s hard sell on the topic, so that can’t be the reason why my daddy never wanted nothing to do with the Republic.

  I mean, there had to be more to it right? Couldn’t have just been anger, because even though that’s how he felt, I know for a fact that he missed his people something fierce. He was a solitary man, but that don’t mean he was never lonely. I seen how happy he was eating bristle grains and reminiscing of eating meals of rice among friends, or how excited he’d get when tellin’ me all about Qinese history or customs so that I could learn about a heritage he was so very proud of. At the end of the day, he didn’t hate the Qinese like I do; no, he hated the Republic and what they done to him and his people, a people he forgave for killing him with his dying breath.

  “They are misguided.” That’s what he said, as he laid there bleeding from three Bolt holes in his chest. “Have been lied to all their lives, so show them the truth with your actions and accomplishments. They are not your enemy. Remember this, Hao’er. You were not born in the Republic, but you are still a Son of the Republic, the Firstborn of a new generation, one who will lead your peers and your people to claim the Frontier.”

  Those were his dying words, but I ain’t ever been able to live up to them. Just can’t see myself as a Son of the Republic, or the Firstborn of the Frontier, not anymore at least. Because when you get right down to it, I don’t care enough about the Qinese or the Frontier-born to lead them to the polls, much less anything as grand as claiming the Frontier. There ain’t no greatness in me, not like my daddy, as all I got is anger and hate that I would have long since unleashed if he didn’t raise me right.

  Him and Aunty Ray, as well as Uncle Raleigh, Uncle Teddy, Marcus, and so many others, too many to list out. Wasn’t enough to keep me from dropping low as I have, but I’d’ve been so much worse off without any one of them.

  A knock at the door saves me from further introspection, and I spring up to answer it without a thought. Until my hand is almost at the door at least, which is where my good sense kicks in once more as I step aside so I ain’t right behind the door. “Who is it?” I ask, wishing I knew how to use Bardcraft to throw my voice. I always stuck to Minor Illusion, but that don’t work if you can’t see your target, while Thaumaturgy just makes you sound loud and booming.

  “Evan here,” comes the reply. “Got a Nipponese girlie here with a Ranger badge who says she’s here to see you. Should I send her in to join the party?” There’s a teasing lilt to his tone that gets me burning from shame and anger both, as he’s implying I’m up to shenanigans with Chrissy and Tina while looking to add Kacey into the mix too.

  Rather than bite, I just say, “Yeah,” and wait for another knock, at which point I send a Mage Hand over to open the door once Tina and Chrissy are out of the line of fire. Never can be too careful after all, but our caution is for naught as I open up to reveal Kacey looking sharp in her Ranger uniform. A tan button up and jeans ain’t exactly high fashion, but she wears it well with her long, golden-brown hair in a high ponytail that shows off her nape and neck. Still wears the Ranger army cap too, even though I told her long ago that she’d need something with a bigger brim, but I suppose she’s too much of a stickler to break the rules like that. “C’mon in,” I say, with a smile while doing what I can to keep my eyes on her face, as this girlie don’t miss a thing even when I think she ain’t looking. “You eat yet? Could order something and they’ll bring it up in a jiffy.”

  Now, Kacey ain’t much for smiles, so the fact that she’s all stone faced don’t worry me none. However, when she shakes her head in silent refusal while standing in the doorway, I get the feeling that something’s up. “Howie Zhu,” she declares, in an all too formal and clipped tone as she presents my folded shirt with both hands alongside two unsealed envelopes sitting on top. “You have dishonoured my betrothed, Minamoto Akihisa. Your conduct cannot be overlooked. I challenge you to a duel at dawn at the specified location, but if you should wish to choose a different location, then send word and arrangements will be made.” Drawing herself up to full height, Kacey meets my eyes with a cold look of fierce determination and quiet trepidation. “When the sun rises, let us speak with swords, or whatever weapon of your choice.”

  And with that, she takes a deep breath, then turns away and marches off before she lets anything else slip, leaving me with a washed, folded, and freshly ironed shirt, an envelope with a cheque for them Abby I killed, a piece of paper that got a whole bunch of Nipponese squiggles alongside an English translation underneath that sums up what she just said, and a whole heaping host of questions.

  “Well then,” I drawl, closing the door and turning to Tina and Chrissy with a shrug. “You gonna eat the rest of that rice, or should I order up another plate?”