Even the best of friends would find their patience and good humor strained after being cooped up so long in such close quarters with nothing to do. However, the nine of them were not the best of friends. Many of them were brought together for the first time by their detention and not all of them who did know each other necessarily got along. Tensions had yet to boil over entirely, but the friction was clear. General Pfeiffer and Colonel Vasquez's joint efforts to maintain some degree of military order was as much a source of conflict as it was a solution for it.

Things were quiet for the moment. Lydia was lying on the deck wrapped up in an emergency blanket, staring idly at her fake ID. There were not many other novelties to be found on the shuttle and that had to suffice for entertainment.

This was not the first time she had asked this, but it was the first time Matt decided to volunteer some information to make small talk.

And that was that. Not that there was much Matt could say about his late great-aunt Luella, but if it could help pass the time, it was better than nothing.

Colonel Vasquez was pacing back and forth near the rear of the shuttle. General Pfeiffer made no effort to hide her annoyance.

It was actually only seventeen times. The fact that Matt was even counting was a testament to how bored he was. Matt usually had no problem dealing with long spells with nothing to do, but given their situation, the ever-present fear made it agonizing to sit still. It was not just him either, as evidenced by Colonel Vasquez's agitated pacing.

General Pfeiffer sighed.

General Pfeiffer gave up trying to engage him and Matt turned his attention to the other end of the shuttle. Lieutenant Wallace, Chief Bianchi, Sergeant Grisson, and Specialist O'Connor were seated in a circle playing poker with the single deck of playing cards Zhao had given them to entertain themselves. The four of them 'double dating'—for lack of a better term—had become a common sight. Sergeant Grisson and Chief Bianchi seemed to have compatible personalities and they took their respective partners along for the ride. General Pfeiffer and Colonel Vasquez's objections to their fraternization fell on deaf ears.

From training on, there was usually someone you were partnered with—the 'battle buddies' of the Army and the wingmates of the aviation community, for instance. By necessity, you were effectively joined at the hip and as a result, you would often be hounded by innuendo and not just when the partners were of the opposite sex. Such innuendo was typically baseless, but occasionally there was something to it. It was little surprise that such close bonds could lead relationships outside platonic boundaries.

As with Matt and Lydia, at least Sergeant Grisson and Specialist O'Connor could use their professional partnership to fend off such allegations, but Lieutenant Wallace and Chief Bianchi had no such excuse. Matt wondered how someone as aloof as the Lieutenant managed to get himself involved in a romantic relationship with someone outside the squadron, but he had always been a mysterious sort of person.

Speaking of Lieutenant Wallace, he pushed forward all his Rainbits (which they were using in lieu of chips) and said, "All in."

Chief Bianchi frowned and set down her hand with a sigh. "I don't have enough to meet you, so I guess I'll fold too."

If Matt recalled the rules correctly, Lieutenant Wallace was under no obligation to reveal his hand, but he did so anyway. Matt could not clearly see the cards from where he sat, but judging from Sergeant Grisson's reaction, Lieutenant Wallace's hand was clearly not as strong as he let on.

Curious, Specialist O'Connor asked her, "How did you know?"

Sergeant Grisson shook his head.

Lieutenant Wallace popped one of the Rainbits in his mouth and told Chief Bianchi, "Divvy the pot back up. The next round won't last very long unless we rebalance the game. Give me a twelve-bit handicap. Distribute it amongst yourselves."

Sergeant Grisson did not have Chief Bianchi's pride and picked out the extra Rainbits to split between himself and Specialist O'Connor.

Specialist O'Connor said nothing but accepted the bits. However, before the game could start anew, the door to the cockpit opened and Zhao stepped out.

He was referring to Colonel Vasquez, Lieutenant Wallace and Sergeant Grisson by their false IDs. No one raised any questions or objections. For all his avowed distrust of the Argus agents, Colonel Vasquez said nothing.

Chief Bianchi stood up with Lieutenant Wallace and straightened his jacket, telling him, "Be careful out there, Jeff."

Lieutenant Wallace did not say anything in reply, but it seemed like his response was understood between them.

With that, the four of them exited the shuttle. A little time passed before Lydia spoke up.

Setting aside her obvious innuendo, Matt did not feel especially lucky, though he had to admit that being among the first ones to go out into an unknown area was not something he would have been particularly eager to do. Lieutenant Wallace was likely chosen for his unique abilities and Colonel Vasquez and Sergeant Grisson because they were trained combat arms soldiers. Matt, on the other hand, was not good for much outside of the cockpit, so it was just as well that he was not chosen.

Nothing much happened while the others were away. Chief Bianchi played Old Maid with Specialist O'Connor (a game that was apparently more the young soldier's pace) and Lydia fell back asleep. Nearly three hours passed before Zhao and the others returned.

Sitting up with some difficulty, Lydia asked him, "What the hell'm I s'pposed ta do? I can't walk on this damn leg."

Matt helped Lydia with brace. It had little repulsors at the knee and instep to provide more balance. It was still awkward for Lydia to stand, much less walk, so she had to lean on Matt for support.

Because they did not have much of anything, it did not take long for everyone to be ready to leave.

Zhao and Wang started distributing earpieces, the sort that were practically invisible once you put them in your ear.

At variable intervals between one and two minutes apart, they debarked from the shuttle. Matt did not know exactly where they were, but it seemed fairly typical of an outer rim starport. It was more like Yufang than Villareyes, to borrow from his previous experience with such places. It was not a total wreck, but it was nevertheless rather poor and disreputable in appearance compared to the major starports.

It was not terribly packed, but there were enough people milling about that they did not draw too much attention to themselves. As they were passing through one of the merchant blocks, Zhao's voice came up on the earpiece.

Matt and Lydia looked around themselves a bit. There really was nothing all that interesting to see or do, but they could not just stand around in the open.

Pointing to a nearby sports bar called Sluggers, Lydia asked, "Ya wanna get somethin' besides MREs on your stomach, Herzy?"

'Meyer Herzog' was Matt's new identity, at least for this leg of the trip. The fact that Zhao preserved everyone's initials made these aliases a little easier to remember. It certainly seemed easier than the time they were George Sanders and Fa Ling.

Regarding the task at hand, Matt was not particularly fond of bars, but the goal was to blend in, so going somewhere he would not ordinarily go was a good way to break patterns. Also, it would keep them out of view for a while.

Touching the wallet in his pocket, Matt said, "I guess these cash cards work. Sure... Lu."

Mat briefly considered calling her 'Lulu', but that seemed a little too childish. However, Matt's more reserved choice did not escape objection either.

That seemed like a bit of stretch to him, but Matt knew better than to argue with Lydia's rather idiosyncratic logic, so he had to think up a different nickname.

Bringing up Sean made Matt wonder how he was doing. What was the official story being told about everyone who had been rounded up? We they saying anything at all?

If Lydia was thinking anything along the same lines, she did not show any signs of it. As they were heading into the bar, she asked him,"This place work for ya?"

The bar was tiny, only about three meters wide and about five meters long with six seats and two doors on the back wall, one to the kitchen and another to a unisex lav. What little wall space they had was devoted to a few odd bits of sports memorabilia kitsch. A little TV hung off the ceiling and a game of semipro cyberball was playing.

As Lydia awkwardly tried to sit down at the barstool, Matt moved in to help her.

Lydia waved him off.

The bartender asked them, "What can I get you to drink?"

The bartender was giving Matt a critical look while Lydia said, "Gimme a beer. Ya got Nue?"

Honestly, he did not think she needed to have any alcohol in her system at all, but they did need to blend in and a single was not likely to be too much of a problem.

Matt asked the bartender, "Could we see a menu?"

Annoyed, Lydia grumbled."They ain't servin' strained carrots here. No damn baby food. Supernova."

There was no winning with her, so Matt stopped trying. Dropping the subject, he looked to the bartender and held up two fingers.

The bartender served them their drinks while they waited on their food. Her PersCom buzzed and she pulled it out of her back pocket. Glancing at the screen for a moment, she rummaged around for the TV remote and started flipping through the channels.

Matt was not much of a sports fan anyway and Lydia was too interested in her beer to care. When the bartender got to MCN, the anchor was already introducing the new segment.

The scene switched to a slow establishing shot of a small, dark room. There was a brightly lit reporter offset by another man cloaked in shadows, barely distinguishable even by silhouette.

In a heavily modded voice, the man in the shadows replied, "I joined ISIS back in the 70s as a signals intercept analyst. I climbed the ranks and was at the supervisory level by the late 80s, not long before Admiral Richthofen was assigned to deputy director."

Matt felt a brief chill run down his spine at the mention of the name 'Richthofen'. He still could not believe that he was secretly the late Chairman's son. It seemed so unreal to him. At first, he thought the mention Chairman Richthofen back when he was the deputy director of ISIS was merely incidental, but then came the interviewer's next question.

Matt started to feel uneasy. The interview was about Chairman Richthofen specifically. What exactly were they after?

The interviewer did not skip a beat following up with his next question.

Mr. Y paused for a moment and Matt could feel his stomach sink. He remembered what he had been told about the Chairman. Was that what this was all about?

After the awkward silence, Mr. Y said bluntly, "He had a habit of diddling little girls. He had us cover it up."

Matt briefly glanced over to Lydia. She was not paying any attention to the TV. It was just as well. Matt did not want to see or hear any more, but he could not look away. Countless millions were watching right now. At very least, he needed to see it all unfold, no matter how terrible it became.

The interviewer paused.

That sick feeling Matt had was only getting worse. His stomach knotted up. He tried sipping on his water. His hands were shaking.

The camera pulled back to open a little space to the interviewer's right. A picture was overlaid on the screen, showing Chairman and Mrs. Richthofen on vacation with a young boy Matt realized was himself. By his side was Tabby as he remembered her. She only looked to be about thirteen.

The interviewer was apparently showing the same image to Mr. Y, who then replied, "Yeah, she's the one. Died with the Richthofens on the Stargazer."

The interviewer paused again. He folded his hands and leaned forward a bit.

With so much of the terrible truth being brought out into the open, Matt was hoping that at very least, the story of Dieter Richthofen's death aboard the Stargazer would at least hold, but in this hope he would be disappointed as well.

Matt saw out of the corner of his eye that Lydia took notice at the mention of his name. Footage of the awards ceremony at the Colonial War Memorial Hall appeared with a sickly looking Matt shaking the hand of former Chairman Armitage while the interviewer asked Mr. Y, "Would this be the same Matthias Harold who was inducted as a Hero of the Union during the victory ceremony last November?"

The interviewer nodded to Mr. Y.

Cutting back to the newsroom, the anchor said, "We now take you live to our correspondent Alonso Najal at the Harold residence in Evansville, Wisconsin. Alonso?"

They cut again, this time to a reporter standing outside the home of Matt's aunt and uncle—or were they his grandparents? He still had trouble keeping it all straight.

As Najal the reporter walked to the door, Matt wished he could teleport there that instant to bar the way. If they wanted to run a hit piece on Chairman Richthofen, that was their business. By all accounts, he deserved to have his reputation torn to shreds, but why did they have to drag his family through the mud to do it? There was nothing he could do. He was thousands of gims away, on the run from both the law and some shadowy conspiracy. All he could do was watch the screen.

Najal rang the doorbell and after a little while, Aunt Jemma opened the door. She had no idea what was coming.

Aunt Jemma looked stunned for a moment, then quickly regained her composure, muttering, "I, I don't know what you're talking about."

Najal did not give up so easily, though.

Aunt Jemma's jaw quivered as she told him, "You... you need leave. Right now."

She stepped back so the door would close, but Najal stepped forward, not far enough to enter but close enough for the sensor to prevent the door from closing.

Matt's eldest cousin—or was he Matt's uncle?—Jude stepped between Aunt Jemma and Najal. Jude was tall and lanky, square-jawed, an Amfoot player back in high school. He was wounded during the war and walked stiffly because of his cheap VA prosthetics. A good head taller than Najal, he seemed both intimidating and pitiful at the same time.

The right side of his face was partially paralyzed, so he slurred his words a bit when he said, "You people need to leave. You're trespassin' on private property. If you don't get outta here right now, I'm callin' the cops."

With no sense of self-preservation whatsoever, Najal held up the mic to Jude's face and said, "Jude Harold, am I right? Surely you have something to say about the Chairman of the World Council raping your ten-year-old sis—"

Jude punched Najal, knocking him back into his cameraman. The camera fell to the ground, pointed away from the house, but you could hear Jude whaling away at Najal and Aunt Jemma screaming, "Jude, stop! Stop it!"

Someone grabbed Matt's arm, taking him by surprise. It was Zhao.

Matt looked back at the TV, which had since cut back to the newsroom. Disoriented by anger and confusion, all he could do was mutter, "They... How did they...?"

Matt followed Zhao in a daze. The dark history of his family was exposed for all the Union to see. The only way they could have made it worse was by revealing that his mother became a Sheolite and that he killed her when he destroyed the Hades. He then had the sickening thought that they might yet go that far. After all, Zhao did warn him that this was only the beginning.