Mortality

Chapter 14: Passage of Time

CLive sits on the side of the bed with his head in his hands as Edith stands with her back leaned against the wall across from him. She says nothing as she waits for him to finish processing, though it's slowly getting to the point where she's wondering if he's had a malfunction. She really hopes not, as that would mean they have to go back to Regan, which they don't have time for.

Finally, he looks up at her. "So... somehow, you learned that for our strike on the Citadel, we can't bring Alexas, Catia, and York, but you don't know why... not only that, but we have less than two days to finish preparing and... what, surrender to Latanya? Because if we don't... a different Cogency Elite will come in her place and force you to go to the Citadel, ruining our plan..." He runs it all over again, checking her eyes to make sure he's right.

She nods. "Yep. That's about it." She clears her throat.

He sighs and drops his hands from his head limply. "And you learned this how?"

Edith slightly tenses. "I... overheard Latanya and her soldiers talking about it in her camp while I was out thinking. She seemed pretty serious about it," she explains and hopes he doesn't catch her lie. She can't tell if he knows that wasn't true or not, but he ignores it anyway.

"So what do we do?"

"Not much we can do. We now have our deadline. We need to be in the Citadel by the third day, leaving us two days to make sure we have everything ready. I already informed Cree of the situation. The bomb should be arriving tomorrow around noon, so I'd say we should finalize the plan before then, so once we have it, we are ready to move out," Edith says.

CLive nods slowly. "Right... assuming it's true. For all we know, we could be killing thousands, if not millions of innocents by not bringing the other three. How do we know Latanya didn't actually know you were listening and wasn't just bluffing when you overheard?"

Edith bites her lip. It takes all the will she has to keep steady eye contact with him. Of all people, CLive is probably the one she hates lying to most. "Because... what good would that do? If she was trying to trick us into not bringing the others, the only thing that would do is ensure the people within the Citadel will die. She works for Alain, so I doubt her goal here is mass genocide of his people," she reasons.

He grumbles and looks down. "Let's hope that's true..." He sighs. "Now... is there anything else I should know?" he asks and looks back up at her.

She looks to the floor and nervously taps her fingers against her leg. "I... yeah..." She clears her throat again. "I think... maybe we should make sure that everyone gets out of the Citadel before we blow it up... even..." She glances at him. "...Even Alain."

He sits up straight and stares at her in question. "What? Why? The bastard deserves to die for everything he's done. We can't just forget about what he did, not only to you and me but to John. Where is this coming from?"

"I just... we're going through all this trouble to show that we aren't violent... wouldn't killing Alain send mixed messages? I mean, yes. He deserves it. But what we're doing isn't for revenge, it's for justice. Freedom for the SRL. We can't forget that," she explains. She hates to admit it given her personal vendetta with Alain, but her reasoning makes sense to her. As much as she wishes to see Alain dead, there would honestly be little to no point in it.

But, as expected, CLive doesn't feel the same way. He frowns. "Are you... defending him? I thought you of all people would be all for avenging John," he says. She can see in his eyes and feel alongside her EPC how he fights to resist the urge to become angry. It's a feeling she hates.

She purses her lips and keeps her eyes away from him. He narrows his eyes on her. "Edith... what is going on? Lately, you've been distant, moody, and reserved. And now you're even starting to make... rather questionable calls. I know this can't all be because of the Pull, so please, just tell me what's going on," he says. His anger quickly dissolved into defeat which is carried in his tone.