GAVIN

  Gavin sits on a stool-shaped box on the platform at the back of the Cargo Bay, staring down at the dark stain in the wood paneling. It's not red, like he thought it would be. It's inky and black. It seems like no matter how much he scrubs at it, he can't get it to disappear.

  He hears light, determined footsteps traveling up the stairs and onto the platform, and a firm tapping sound on the floorboards, accompanying every step. He sees Evelyn's shoes and the pants of her jean overalls out of the corner of his eye. He sees the lower half of a wooden cane as well. He doesn't remember her having a cane; she must have procured one from storage after getting injured in the fight.

  He doesn't look up, but he can feel her gaze on him. Her presence is effusive. The indomitable aura of an old matriarch.

  There's that twinge of shame, and embarrassment. The way he used to feel when his late grandmother caught him doing something he shouldn't do. That...guilt.

  But why should he be guilty? He'd done what no one else would. He'd been the revolution the Cloister needed--in the name of God, and a world without Rusters, or SERAPHIM. He doesn't deserve to feel like this. He answered the call. He took the risk. He did what no one else would.

  "Penny for your thoughts, Gavin?" Evelyn says.

  "What?"

  Evelyn shrugs. "A saying. from the Old World. Don't suppose you have an extra box lying around, some way I can rest these old knees?"

  With a grunt, Gavin stands, and he kicks the box, sliding it over toward Evelyn.

  She starts to sit, then winces. Gavin goes to her and takes her hand, helping her ease down onto the box.

  As she settles, she sighs contentedly, laying her cane across her lap. She smiles up at Gavin genially. The wrinkles in her cheeks draw attention to a purple mottling of a bruise over the left side of her forehead and part of her eye.

  "Well, Gavin," she says cooly. "Where are we at?"

  Her voice echoes eerily in the vast hall. They are alone, the two of them, in that massive place. All the rest of the Cloister population are cordoned away, distributed across several different locked rooms, under Renzo's careful watch. After the shooting subsided, and Callahan and his cronies were dealt with, most of the people had already barricaded themselves inside a few of the storage rooms, refusing to come out. Until Gavin had taken hostages.

  He hadn't wanted to make threats. But he had no choice. He'd needed to take control of the situation, and quickly. And it worked.

  For now.

  "Not to be rude, Mrs. Keller, but why don't you go ahead and give me your assessment? I have a feeling that's why you're here."

  Evelyn's smile shrinks a little bit. She picks up her cane, using it to rest upon as she leans forward in her seat.

  "There are a number of ways to look at this, Gavin. On the one hand, you might say that all of the wanton destruction you've caused here has left the Cloister weaker than ever before."

  "Anyone loyal to Callahan was of no use to the cloister, not in the long run."

  Evelyn's jaw clenches, then works back and forth a little bit. It's hard to imagine she's calm, but she isn't that worked up either, or she's doing a good job of appearing not to.

  "All of the men you killed," Evelyn says. "They reacted as anyone would. They returned your bullets with their own. They responded to the crisis with the information that they had at the time. They knew you were coming, and that you were killing everyone that got in your way."

  "They made their choice," Gavin says. "What else was I supposed to do?"

  Evelyn's eyes flare, nearly bugging out of their sockets. Her teeth grit and grind together. She lifts her cane, then slams the end of it back down into the wood paneling of the platform.

  "You were supposed to get their attention! You were supposed to take Callahan as a hostage and make them listen to you!"

  Pricklings of heat manifest in Gavin neck and face, rising. "Well, it didn't turn out that way, did it?"

  "No," Evelyn says, "I suppose not, against my better judgment. I give you a chance to redeem yourself, and what do you do but allow yourself to fall prey to the same mistakes that cost you the position of Watch Captain. It's as Nietzsche said--time is a flat circle. Or in your case, a merry-go-round. I just wish I'd known it wouldn't be worth the ride."

  "You're making me angry, Evelyn."

  "Everything makes you angry, Gavin. And there's nothing you can do about it. I see that now. Your neuropathy is the product of your upbringing. You were made this way, and unfortunately, I don't have the time or the resources to undo what your father did to you, if I even wanted to."

  Gavin draws his sidearm. It's not a conscious decision. It's not even an impulse--it's a chemical reaction.

  One step is all it takes, and then the barrel of his handgun is pressed directly against Evelyn's face.

  She doesn't wince or flinch. She doesn't move at all. If anything, she leans into it, letting the ringed metal press into the soft folds of her wrinkled cheek.

  "Good idea, Gavin. You shot the old man we needed as a hostage so we could put this place back together. Now shoot the old lady who sided with you in your cause, that'll work for sure. the people will love you even more, right?"

  All it would take was one quick squeeze. And she's asking for it, practically begging for it. No one talks to Gavin this way--nobody. Gavin is the man, the hero, the alpha of the pack. What happened to Callahan was a natural consequence of getting in the way. Just like Evelyn is now.

  But if he does do it, if he does pull the trigger, what will Renzo say? How will he look at him?

  The aftermath of Callaghan's death was hard enough. Renzo had yet to look Gavin directly in the face since then. It was a relief that he'd continued to follow orders, despite his misgivings. And Gavin can't help but wonder how much longer that will continue. The loyalty of his best follower, and his best friend, has been shaken forever.

  He's lost everything else. He can't lose Renzo too.

  And he can't lose Evelyn either. Not yet. If he does, then who and what will he be? What will he become?

  Gavin lowers the handgun. "Just tell me what you want me to do already, and I'll tell you if I want to do it."

  "Remember Moses?" Evelyn says. She seems entirely unaffected by Gavin's threat. Did she not believe it he would do it? Or did she not care? Or is her poker face just that good? "He was chosen by God to lead his people into the Promised Land."

  "I've read the Old Testament," Gavin says. "I'm betting more times than you."

  "Moses performed good works, but not in the way that God commanded him."

  Gavin nods. "The striking of the rock, at Meribah Kadesh.

  "For his failure to obey, Moses was ultimately not allowed to complete his journey. For that, God chose a better man for the job. Joshua."

  "I thought you didn't believe in that stuff anymore, Evelyn."

  "I don't. But they do. Most of them, anyway. Taking back the Cloister is going to require more than bribing, or convincing, or re-education. You have to change the framework. They need to see what happened here in a completely different light. You have to flip the script."

  "I have to be...Joshua?"

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  "That's correct. The question is, how are you going to do that?"

  Gavin holsters his sidearm and folds his arms. He taps his chin a couple times, then smiles.

  "You know, I think I've already got something in mind."

  The Cloister's conference room is so much bigger than it used to be. Most of the chairs are folded and stacked off to the side, all but three of them. Evelyn Keller sits in one of them, leaning forward a little, using her cane as a support. Gavin sits next to her, also leaning forward, slowly rapping his fingers on the conference room table. His pistol is on the tabletop, mere inches from his hand, laid so the barrel is pointing directly at Reverend Corfield, who sits on the opposite side of the table.

  It's been about five minutes since Renzo escorted Reverend Corfield to the room. Since then, the Reverend has spent most of this time taking long shallow breaths, glancing nervously between Evelyn and Gavin.

  There's a big blob of sweat on his forehead gathering on his forehead, and Gavin finds himself passing the time by betting which side of his brow it's eventually going to roll down. It has to break eventually, right? Beads of sweat can't stay clustered together forever, defying gravity.

  Left. Probably the left side. That's what Gavin thinks.

  He keeps rapping his fingers on the table, studying Corfield. He doesn't want to be the first to speak. He's hoping to mine some measure of authenticity out of the Reverend. Most people will say or do anything they have to if you put a gun to their head, and while the Reverend may be wise, Gavin's never taken him to be a particularly brave man. There's a certain measure of courage required to pasture a flock into doing God's work, but it's not the same as putting your life on the line, not like members of The Watch have to.

  They are of completely different worlds, the two of them. Gavin needs a connection point, a way to bridge the two. He believes he might already have it. A plan.

  It doesn't necessarily need to be Corfield's idea, but he still has to agree with it. Believe in it. He needs to come over to Gavin's side, and he needs to do it of his own volition. That's how they're going to sell this. By being careful. Subtle. They have time. Corfield will crack eventually.

  "I suppose you already know why we brought you here," Evelyn says.

  Okay, so apparently Evelyn is going with a more direct approach.

  The Reverend crosses his arms, scowling. "You want my blessing."

  "That's right," Evelyn says. "Look at you! Whoever said the Reverend doesn't have a good head on his shoulders?"

  "Actually, you have," Corfield says, "Many times."

  "Oh," Evelyn says. "No matter. Well, Corfield? How about it?"

  Garfield's gaze travels downward to the gun on the tabletop, then back up to me.

  "Don't look at him," Evelyn says, "Look at me. I'm the one asking the questions."

  "He's the one with the gun," Corfield says, pointing.

  Evelyn glowers suddenly. "Gavin, put a bullet in the Reverend's foot."

  She sees herself as the mastermind, and Gavin as only the muscle. Which is fine by Gavin.

  Let her think that. For now.

  Gavin stands, grabbing the pistol. He steps around the table, angling the pistol with the barrel pointed at one of Corfield's feet.

  "Wait," Corfield says, holding up his hands.

  Finally, that glob of sweat breaks, running down the left side of his face, like clear rivulets of water on a windowpane.

  Frickin' knew it.

  "So you will answer the question?" Evelyn says.

  "I can't," Corfield says desperately, still holding up his hands. "I can't do it."

  "Why not? Everyone says you did it before,"

  "But," Corfield says. "That was before--"

  "Public opinion had swayed against him?"

  "No, before--" He cuts off, looking from Evelyn to Gavin. Then, seeming to remember what she said, back to her again. "Have I gone completely crazy, or am I the only sane person in this room? You killed a dozen good men in cold blood, both of you!"

  Gavin doesn't like that. It makes his trigger finger itch something awful. But he holds steady. He stays calm. He needs to stay calm.

  That's how he gets what he wants. By staying calm.

  "What God's people did," Evelyn says, "At the battle of Jericho. Was that in cold blood?"

  "Don't quote the Bible to me," Corfield says, veins standing out on his forehead and neck. "I know you don't believe in it."

  "And here I thought that you did," Evelyn says. "God's will is always right? Isn't it? Isn't that what you've always said? We must do the will of God rather than the will of man? And that's exactly what Gavin has striven for. I seem to remember you sharing a similar sentiment."

  "That was then," Corfield says, "And this is now. Things have changed. Everything has changed."

  Evelyn slams the end of her cane on the floor. She stands forcefully, using both the cane and the edge of the table for support as she begins to walk around, toward Corfield.

  "You know what I think?" Evelyn says. "I think you're a coward. I think you're a sad, fearful little man. The time you've always spoken of and warned us about is at hand, and you refuse to heed your own words. You know it's wrong, what Callaghan and the others did, allowing that Ruster to live among us, to ally with us. It's against the teachings of our church. It's against everything you've ever taught. Yet here you sit. You'd rather align yourself with a dead man than with the living God, because you're afraid of how it looks. You're afraid of how you will be perceived. The future is uncertain, and so you put your faith in the past, rather than in God."

  Holy shit. She's getting to him. She's actually getting to him. He's shaking, fingers clasped together in his lap, staring at the floor. Meanwhile, Evelyn towers over him, palms stacked over one another with the handle of her cane underneath, supporting her.

  "It's true," he says. "Oh, it's true. I'm weak, I'm overwhelmed."

  "You can't always trust your feelings," Evelyn says, speaking more softly now. "You have to trust in God. Isn't that what you always told me?"

  Then the dam breaks. Corfield is sobbing. Evelyn moves closer, tightly gripping Corfield's shoulder before moving her hand behind his upper back, patting him gently. She has to drop her cane as Corfield clings to her, suddenly pulling her into a hug, sobbing into her shoulder.

  Gavin finds himself backing away slowly. It's sad, pathetic even, watching this man come apart in front of him. He doesn't want any part of it. He sits back on the table, knees at a 90-degree angle, holding his pistol in his lap.

  "When everything happened," Corfield says sweetly, "I didn't even bother going to check. I didn't understand what was happening. I simply ran away. I ran and hid."

  "It's okay," Evelyn says, rubbing his shoulder and back. "Truly, it is. You know that God forgives you."

  Corfield gasps. The relief is palpable. His entire body sags. He's loosening up, regulating, returning to some mental semblance of what he might consider normal.

  It's strange. Right when he came into this room, he was adamantly against supporting them. Now he's clinging to Evelyn like she's his only hope.

  Is it really so easy to sway a person's conscience? Maybe it just takes an extreme circumstance like this. A little bit of trauma. Some confusion. Bewilderment. Denial. Grief. Is that the recipe?

  Not that it matters. There's no justifying it. Gavin has never respected the Reverend less than at this moment. Corfield could have seen sense, he could have had courage, but this was not that. This was weakness. This was...giving up.

  Still, for Gavin's purposes, it will do.

  Evelyn takes a step back, holding Corfield's hands. "You know what you have to do, don't you?"

  "I do," Corfield says, "But how?"

  "When the time is right, you'll know. I know you will."

  The conference room is quiet and still. Corfield has been escorted back to his quarters, with the others. A pet that's been returned to his cage, until he's needed again.

  Once again, Evelyn is sitting at the table. Only this time, she's not using her cane for support. In fact, she seems to be sitting up just fine on her own.

  She holds up a ceramic mug and blows on the hot coffee inside, dispersing waves of steam emitting from the cup.

  Gavin is standing, leaning against the wall opposite her, next to one of those circular vents. There's a fan just inside the vent, spinning away, generating a steady static of white noise that Gavin normally finds comforting. For some reason, at the moment, it agitates him.

  For some reason, he's drawn to do something he hasn't bothered with for some time. He reaches inside the inner breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out a worn box of smokes. They belonged to his father, Rutiger. He had rolled and packaged them himself, using a little machine he discovered on a salvage mission.

  Tobacco was always hard to come by. In this case, it is quite old and quite dry. The flavor isn't exactly pleasant going down, but it usually provides a marginal buzz.

  The box crinkles as he opens the top. The noise makes him self-conscious, like he's intruding on Evelyn's moment of silent contemplation. Like he's not quite welcome here.

  Evelyn looks at him sidelong, but doesn't say anything.

  Gavin puts the cigarette in his mouth and pulls his lighter out of another pocket. He flicks it open, holding the open flame in front of the end of his cig.

  "Wasn't aware those were allowed in here," Evelyn says. She seems mostly disinterested. Or perhaps she's just feigning indifference.

  "Maybe you should take it up with the board," Gavin says.

  He inhales briefly, getting the cigarette lit before closing the lighter and putting it away. It feels good, despite the questionable flavor of it, a pleasant heat flooding his throat and lungs. He inhales deep, then breathes out through his nose, twin clouds of smoke that get caught up in the air current from the vent, twisting in ghost-like tendrils.

  "That's very funny, Gavin."

  Gavin takes another big puff as he watches Evelyn sip her coffee. "You really worked him, didn't you?"

  A little smirk sneaks in at the corner of her lips. "I did, didn't I? Worked him good."

  Gavin takes another slow drag and brings it out.

  "You know, Gavin," Evelyn says, waving some of the smoke away from her face, "If you keep doing that, I'm going to get a secondhand buzz."

  "You're welcome. Hey, I couldn't help but notice. You seem to be doing a lot better. Your cane... you were using your cane all of yesterday and today. Seemed like you couldn't do much without it. Only now, you seem to be doing just fine."

  That smirk at the corner of her mouth--that bitchy little smirk--gets bigger. "Right, I was afraid to try and go without it. I must be doing better than I thought."

  "Right," Gavin says. "You know, there's something about a cane. Makes a person seem so fragile. So...unassuming. Back in the cargo bay during our little talk, I threatened you, but it didn't feel quite right. It didn't feel reasonable. It wasn't just the fact that you're a matriarchal figure in my mind, it was the fact that you could barely walk on your own. Tt's part of what made me think twice."

  "And to think," Evelyn says, "the ruthless killer does have a heart."

  "Margie. My grandmother on my dad's side. She lived with us for years. She practically helped raise me. But you already knew that."

  The cigarette smoke is starting to become unpleasant. The bitterness is outweighing the buzz. Still, Gavin smokes on.

  "Evelyn, are you working me?"

  "Oh, my sweet Gavin," Evelyn says, standing. "I never stop working people. It's just second nature, I'm afraid. I wouldn't worry your pretty little head about, if I were you."

  Head tall, she steps around the table, heading toward the door, her mug of coffee still in hand. No limp, no visible pain, nothing.

  As she exits the room, her cane is on the table.

  Gavin takes one last drag, then approaches the table. He puts out the cigarette on the surface of the table, next to the cane. Then he walks away, leaving the stub.