The longest two days of Martin’s life dragged by. Matt was in and out, taking phone calls, busying himself with paperwork, all things that meant not that he was uninterested in the goings on at hand, but rather it was the only thing keeping him from being a nervous wreck like his brother. Martin wished he had something to do, but only so many hands of the Blind Man’s Gambit could be played before it was a wearing, tedious thing. Even with all of Benson’s fussing, Martin couldn’t keep the fury at the lack of information at bay. “How the fuck are you this involved?” Martin snapped at him. “You’re like the mother I never had.”

“I have three sisters and a dad who was drunk a lot.” Benson said, waving the fork under his nose again. “Eat. Eat, eat, eat.”

“Why?”

“Because, you stupid senior officer, you don’t know when that terminal is going to light up, you don’t know what it’s going to say when it does, and because you don’t know when you’ll be able to eat after you’ve read whatever it has to say.”

“He’s right.” Matt put in over the top of his tablet.

“No one asked the politician, shut your fucking mouth, senator.” Martin snapped.

Benson glared. “Respectfully, sir, you’re not the only one who’s worried, you’re not the only one who wants answers, but you’re the only one acting like a fucking child about it.” There was a ping at the door, and Benson slammed the fork down. “I hope you fucking regret this.” He went to the door, opened it, and snapped to attention. Martin’s chair went flying as he did the same, and Matt raised his eyebrows, setting aside his tablet as Neerson stepped into the room.

His eyes took the room in. “Easy, gentlemen, this is not a military setting.”

The other two officers relaxed slightly, Martin taking the fork up and stabbing it into the mashed potatoes that were every inch of military quality he had ever come to expect.

“Senator.” Neerson nodded to Matt, who lifted a hand, but had otherwise been absorbed again into whatever political nonsense he had going on. Neerson turned to Martin. “Commander. The Captain is right on all counts, and though I will not make it an order, I would recommend you eat. Has your uniform been laundered?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” Then he turned to Benson. “Captain. Please, sit.” Benson did, and Neerson nodded like a man who had just placed his pieces on the chess board in a most satisfactory way. “Your flying during the extraction was most impressive. Your reputation will not be tarnished.”

“Thanks, sir.” Benson said darkly. “Whole thing almost got blown to shit at the end there, though.”

“Indeed. But the ability to keep the Scarab Lord flying, even with the blast of a malfunctioning felbound missile is most impressive.”

“Malfunctioning you say?”

“Yes. All analytics are pointing to that, at least, though we won’t know anything conclusive for some time.”

Benson pointed, but Martin cut in. “Don’t, say it. Damnit, don’t say it.”

Neerson looked between the two men, and then continued. “Sergeant Valentine is out of surgery, though with cybernetic repairs as extensive as his, he will be out of the fight for a minute. There will also be mental evaluation that needs to happen before he can reintegrate back into the force, to make sure that he does not reject the prosthetics.”

“Standard stuff.” Benson said. “Can I see him?”

“That will be permitted, I think, but only briefly, and only because I argued at great length on your behalf.”

“I appreciate that, sir, but why?”

“Benson.” Martin snapped, but Neerson held up his hand.

“Not a military setting. And because any officer that lies about his posting, leaves his ship, and accompanies a medical vessel without authorization or orders is either wanton in his disregard for military protocol or had a remarkably compelling reason for doing so.” He waited, as though looking for an answer.

“Well,” Benson said, shifting a bit in his chair. “Yes to the first and I hope so for the second. I think I do at least.”

“There will be time to discuss matters on the way.”

“On the way—“

“Matthias.” Neerson said. “Your attention please.”

Matt set aside the tablet and put his hands in lap. “If this has anything to do with the note—“

“Indirectly.” Neerson cut him off. “Your absence from the Republic Space Station Unity in Understanding has been extended, to be ended upon your discretion and the conclusion of family business. Likewise, the governance of RMS Outside Citadel has transferred, temporarily, to the representatives indicated by you for such a circumstance. Likewise, your stay aboard the EMAR has been authorized, to be terminated at your discretion, within the bounds of reason or the circumstances that Sergeant Ziggenbor achieves stable condition, or his death.”

Matt nodded.

Neerson turned to Martin. “Commander, you and I have been summoned to the MSS Venator to give an official account for the events that transpired on, and over Mars, primarily the events revolving around the destruction and extraction of the 3-95th. If—“ Neerson said, cutting across the words hanging out of Martin’s open mouth. “—this is not satisfactory for you, I can call up the official orders signed by Grand Admiral Naomi Rookwood, and the authorization from the Honorable Lauren Patricia.”

Martin’s eyes almost popped out of his skull and his mouth slammed shut. This seemed to please Neerson, and he nodded. “That concludes official business in a non military setting.” Neerson sat, and his shoulders relaxed. “Captain Benson, the door please.”

“I… sir?”

The door pinged and Benson answered it. It was a white dressed cook with a tray of food that he whisked in, placed in front of the Admiral, and left. “Thank god,” Neerson said, and started eating mashed potatoes that Martin noticed, not at all bitterly, where of a much higher quality than his own.

Everyone was silent while Neerson ate, and when he had finished, he wiped his mouth and leaned back in his chair. “I had the pleasure of meeting your cousin, Senator, Commander.” He said. “Remarkably bright.”

“That’s fortunate of you, sir.” Matt said. “Don’t know how someone so bright came from out stock.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Neerson said. “You three did an excellent job raising her.”

The two brothers looked between each other for a moment, and Neerson panned his own gaze around. “Captain Benson, please give us the room.”

“Sure. Yes sir.” Benson said, and departed.

After the door had closed again, Neerson took a long drink of water, and waited.

“It was mostly Neil.” Martin said, his voice low. “He was always her favorite, even though he was the hardest on her.”

Neerson raised his eyebrows. “Hard on that girl?”

“I laid down the rules, but I gave too many second chances.” Matt said.”She was angry and confused a lot, and I got it. I just couldn’t bring myself to be the bad guy.”

“That was me. I was totally lost.” Martin said. “And I was always buried in my books and tactical simulations. I never understood where she was coming from, especially not the anger. I would just… hand out whatever punishment I thought appropriate.”

“And the baby of the family was harder than that?”

Matt let out a little laugh. “You wouldn’t believe it. He would sit her down and force her to listen to him talk. Ask her questions, wouldn’t let her get up till she would answer him, even when she was screaming about how she didn’t want to talk. I mean,” Matt looked at Martin. “He’d sometimes let her go storming off. Sometimes we would just hear her screaming the most… god, the worst things you could say to a person. He’d just stand there and take it till she got it all out. Then he’d keep talking.”

“It sounds,” Neerson said. “Like he was following the example laid down for you three.” The brothers were quiet. “And it sounds like he was intimately acquainted with what it meant to be angry.”

“Yeah.” Martin said, looking down. “Yeah he was that, alright.”

There was silence in the room, save for small, muted sounds coming from Martin that were left unremarked upon. Neerson stood. “He’s out of surgery.” He said simply. Both brothers stood, and Neerson raised his hands. “He is not stable. Not yet, and he hasn’t been brought out from under sedation. And no, Commander, you will not be able to see him before our departure. And there may still be complications yet, but all signs are pointing to Neil being able to recover. Given time, aid, and…” He looked pointedly at them both. “Understanding. No matter how far we advance into physical repair, there will never be a cure for the scars we carry within. The road will be long. But I take comfort in knowing that he won’t walk it alone.” He walked to the door and opened it, beckoning for Benson. “Gentlemen, we will disembark the station in fifteen hours. Captain Benson, that will give you time to look in on Sergeant Valentine. I have amended your orders, through approval by a most displease Colonel, and you are now attached to me as an aid. Officially.” He said with a look. “After that business is concluded, I suggest you both rest. You will both have duties on board the Ascendancy. Senator Ziggenbor.” Neerson nodded.

“Thank you, Admiral. The note?”

Neerson’s eyes flashed, and his meaning could not have been more transparent.

Then he left.

--

Henderson led Benson down to the recovery bay and showed him to a room, outside of which was a non military nurse with a scowl set hard on her face. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She demanded. “The one who they expect me to allow to barge in on my patient?”

“Yes ma’am.” Benson said. “I apologize, I know it’s soon. But I’m set to leave in a few hours.”

“I know all that.” The nurse said waving her hands. “Two separate officers explained it to me, and if it wasn’t their station I would have told them under no circumstances.” But still, she punched the entry sequence and the door slid open. She glared after Benson. “Ten minutes max, five minutes proffered.”

“Yes ma’am.” The door slid shut behind him.

The room was dimly lit at best, a curtain hiding half of it. There was a tray of food, a set of clothes, and a double of chairs. From beyond the curtain there was a small, labored cough. “That you, Joker?”

Crew Benson, the funny man, hadn’t been ready for it. The voice was right, but the small, weak cadence and tone of it wasn’t. It had always been Benson flying the ship, but it had always been Jackson Valentine at the tip of the spear. And to hear that voice…

“It’s me Val.”

“Well, come here, sir. I gotta make sure you’re okay.”

Through the welling tears, Benson shook his head and carefully stepped around the curtain.

For some reason, the sight wasn’t as bad as the voice had been. It was still bad, Valentine’s lower half was covered in a blanket, his top half bare. His dark skin had been burned, and what looked like metal plating had been set onto the right left side of his chest and arm. His dreadlocks were shorter now, falling just to his shoulders, though at the moment they were tied at the top of his head to keep them off any portion of the skin. Parts of his neck and face had also been badly burned, but nothing visible had been done to right that.

Valentine tried to smile. “At least I look pretty.”

“Well…” Benson said, forcing the words out. “Anything’s an improvement on what’s there.”

The laugh looked like it hurt, but Valentine also looked like he enjoyed it, the brief moment. He grimaced, made to touch a hand to his throat, and looked at it. Silver plating had also taken the place of three of the fingers, and the back of his hand. “Still mine.” He said, looking at it. “Just with a little more tactical armor.” Then he balled the hand into a fist and looked back at Benson. “Macklot.” He whispered. “Bock, Andis, Flowers and Tack. They’re all dead.”

Benson nodded. “I’m sorry, Val.”

“Not your fault.” Valentine shook his head. “We did our job. We got Ziggenbor out.”

“Yeah.” Benson nodded. “We got him out.”

“He going to be okay? They won’t tell me much.”

“They’re saying he’ll pull through.”

Valentine nodded. “Good.” He choked out, before the sobs started wracking through his body. Benson moved, more instinctively than anything, and then their arms were around each other. The emotion was the storm, and tears like rain fell from Valentine’s eyes. He wept for the brothers and sisters they had lost. Benson had locked away the pain since the flight back from the surface of Mars, emotion that he hadn’t wanted anyone to see.

Here was no different.

Valentine held on till his tears subsided. Then he stared at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Benson. “Not your fault.”

“Not yours either, Sergeant.” Benson said. “You accomplished your mission.”

Valentine nodded, and reached out his good hand. Taking it, Benson gave it one short squeeze. “I’m going with Ziggenbor. The brother, Commander type. But you need anything, doesn’t matter where in this damn system I am, and I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah.” Valentine said. “Thanks, sir.”

Then Benson turned. He had heard the nurse come in, felt her standing there. Her face was all a mask of compassion, and she led Benson from the room. Henderson was nowhere to be found. “You wait right here, young man.” She said, and disappeared back into the room. A minute later, she reappeared. Without a word, she drew Benson down into a hug. A tight, reassuring hug, that squeezed all the pieces threatening to fall apart back into place. Then she led him go and put a hand on his cheek. “I’ll take care of him.” She said. “You have my word.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Miss Rayne.” Said the woman with a smile. “But ma’am works too, if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you, miss Rayne ma’am.”

“Shoo.” She made a sweeping motion with her hands. “I chased that other Captain off down the hall somewhere. She’ll be a bit grumpy, but it’s the way of it. Go on, I’ll be in touch.”