Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Through the throngs of people, a young woman weaved her way through the crowd. She dodged past a distracted, harried businessman to make her way up to the newsstand. She dropped a few coins, grabbed the paper, and dipped away. As she shuffled it under her arm, she twisted through to the nearby coffee stand. After making the transaction, she shifted the cup to her left hand and grabbed the paper from under her armpit. She held the paper, still folded up, in her hand, waiting for a better opportunity to start reading it.

As the young woman stood by the side of the road, waiting for a taxi to drive by, the sun started to peek out from the horizon. With the aid of the additional light, she stole a quick glance at the paper she bought. Huge, bold letters read: “TERRORIST LEADER MAFTY APPREHENDED AND EXECUTED.” Curious, she unfurled it and found a blown up picture of Hathaway Noa on the front page staring her in the face. Underneath the headline, the sub-heading read “War hero ordered death of his own son.”

Cheimin Noa dropped her cup, hot coffee splattering across the street.

Before she knew it, the sun rose, drowning the world in light. The shadows hiding on the undersides made a harsh, almost artificial contrast. Sitting on a bench, Cheimin watched scores and scores of these harshly lit people go by. The crowd shifted and blurred as it rushed by her. They were either too fast or too slow, she wasn't sure which. She wondered if she stuck her hand into the crowd would her hand just pass through the sea of people, leaving only ripples behind.

Over and over she glanced at the newspaper, just reading the headline. Looking at the blurry, artifacted picture of her brother. Re-reading those words, "MAFTY EXECUTED" as if further study would change the shape of the letters.

This didn't make sense.

None of this made sense. Cheimin knew who Mafty was, who didn't, but what did that have to do with Hathaway? He was a botanist. A boring botanist! He was in Australia (or was it New Zealand? somewhere in the area), doing his stupid boring botany nonsense she never understood. "Botanical observer" or whatever the hell. That's who he was. He did plant stuff. Okay, admittedly, Cheimin hadn't seen Hathaway in a long time, fine, she would admit something could have happened since the last time she saw him, that was possible, and... well, he wasn’t always forthright, was he? He hid things. Hell, people hid things about him. She still didn't know all of what happened during Char's Uprising. Just that... he did kill someone.

Maybe she just didn't know Hathaway as well as she thought she did.

Cheimin shot up. All right, she didn't know everything about him, true, but... what in the hell could she have possibly missed that would have led her to believe her brother was a goddamn terrorist?! No, no, no, none of this made sense. Hell, maybe the paper made a mistake. This "Morning Post," was it even a reputable paper?! She had to learn more.

Cheimin ran to another vendor, who sat next to a kiosk covered in newspapers and magazines. While there was a kaleidoscope of magazines, the vendor only sold one paper: the Morning Post. Cheimin's head whipped around. Down the street by the corner there was another vendor nestled in a stall covered in newspapers and cigarettes. Plenty of variety in the cigarette brands, but only still the Morning Post. Did they only sell one type of newspaper in this city?!

Dashing down the street, she found a convenience store. As she threw open the door, Cheimin caught a glimpse of a television showing the news. On the screen, there was a picture of her brother next to a picture of her father, with a heading that read “MAFTY EXECUTED.” Underneath, the text read “Heartbroken father forced to order death of his son.”

Cheimin's stomach twisted into knots.

There was a newspaper rack by the wall, thankfully a different paper than the Morning Post this time. Although it still read “MAFTY EXECUTED” in giant bold letters with that same picture of her brother. With the knot in her gut tightening, Cheimin picked up one of these papers. Ignoring the venomous glare of the shopkeeper, she scanned through the front-page article. Yes, indeed, they were talking about her brother, her boring botanist brother, and about how he was Mafty all along. About all the terrorist atrocities he did. And how his stalwart, righteous father ordered his execution for the good of all. The ultimate sacrifice.

She shoved the paper back into the rack, that shopkeeper looked like he wanted to kill her, and glanced back at the paper she bought earlier. Upon actually reading the front page article, she noticed The Post was a bit more neutral. But it said much the same information. Hathway was Mafty. His father Bright Noa ordered his death. The result was the same.

She read the article again. And again. During her third reading, Cheimin noticed something odd; the article seemed to imply her father ordered the death unwittingly. Wait, what?

Once again she picked up the newspaper from the rack. No, no, this article is clear. It stated, with no ambiguity, that her father knowingly ordered the execution. That-

"Hey," the shopkeeper yelled, "are you going to buy that? This isn't a library."

"Um..." Cheimin folded the paper in half, "yeah, sure."

While paying for this paper, Cheimin peered up to the TV screen. The sound was off, but it did have closed captioning. She watched the presenters discuss the details amongst themselves for a little while. There was a vigorous back and forth about if her father knew- actually, it was about if anyone actually knew if he knew. What? What the hell was going on?!

She needed to talk to her mother. Her mother would know what was going on.

The problem was finding a way to contact Londenion. The cheap payphones all about the city certainly weren't going to work. In the past Cheimin had used the phones on her university campus, but obviously that wasn't an option at the moment either. What else- Hotels. Hotels usually had phones that could call colony-side.

After tossing both papers into the trash, Cheimin searched the streets. There had to be a hotel around here somewhere. Walked north a bit, no, nothing, walk down, no, nothing... where was a damn hotel?! Her heart hammered against her ribcage, trying to get free. She stopped, trying to catch her breath. How could she not find a hotel-

The second she stopped moving, Cheimin spotted a sign leading to some big-chain hotel. Oh. Yeah, that'll do it.

Brushing right past the vacantly cheerful man at the desk, Cheimin zeroed in on the wall of payphones, each divided by plastic barriers. She dived into the first unoccupied one, fumbled for her card, and shoved it into the reader. The first time she tried to input the code for Londenion her clumsy fingers pressed none of the correct buttons; Cheimin stopped, took a deep breath, pressed the switchhook down, and tried again. This time, her shaking fingers managed to dial the correct code. With another breath to steady her hands, she dialed her parents' number. Now, to wait.

And wait.

Cheimin frowned. Pick up. Her foot tapped rapidly against the floor.

Pick up.

Pick up.

Pick up, god damn you. Pick up-

"Hello, you've reached the Noa residence. I'm sorry, we are unable to come to the phone right now, please leave-"

"Damn it!" Cheimin slammed the phone onto the receiver. She took in a few wobbly, uneasy breaths, her hands tightening and untightening. Calm down, she told herself. Don't panic. Calm down calm down calm dow-

"DAMN IT."

She slammed her fist against the plastic divider. Her palms pressed against her eyes, Cheimin gasped over and over, trying to keep the tears in. With another angry, frustrated scream she hit the divider again. And again. And again. This just didn't make sense. It just didn't make sense. It didn't-

"Ma'am?" A small, meek voice startled Cheimin. She turned her head to see a tall, gangly dark-haired man in uniform hovering with an uneasy smile on his face. "I- I'm sorry, but you're being disruptive to our guests. If- If this continues, we'll have to ask you to-"

"Oh." Thoroughly red in the face, Cheimin wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. I'll- I'll be leaving." With an awkward bow, she wiggled her way past the hotel employee. "Sorry."

As she ran out of the hotel, she caught another television showing the news with that exact same goddamn picture of her brother plastered all over the screen. And those giant white letters reading "EXECUTED."

He was dead. Her brother was dead. They killed him. Their father killed him.

It didn't make sense.

It just didn't make sense.

It was wrong. It was all wrong. She was going to wake up. She was going to wake up, everything was going to be normal, she was going to get on that flight, she was going to go back home, help her parents with that restaurant they've both been talking about for months-

Oh. Her flight. She missed her flight, didn't she? Well. Shit.

Cheimin pressed her hands over her mouth. Shit. She had just forgotten about that. How did she forget about that?! She and her mother had been planning this flight for months. Damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it-

Stop. Deep breath.

Cheimin ran her hands through her hair. She could just reschedule. Right? They normally let you reschedule, right? Okay, okay, that was another call to make. She could do that. She could do that.

At least she could just use any old payphone for that. On the street right outside the hotel there was a phone booth, only a few steps away. That was easy. Cheimin darted inside.

As she plopped a coin in the phone, Cheimin briefly panicked when she realized that she didn't know the number of the spaceline. Before she started to spiral, she did remember the brochure they gave her that she shoved into her purse and forgot to clean out. Thank goodness for bad habits. She fished out the pamphlet, punched in the number printed on the back, and within seconds she heard a syrupy female voice on the other end.

“Hello, you’ve reached the help desk of Air Una, how may I help you today?”

“Hi. I, uh...” Cheimin rubbed her forehead. “I missed my flight. I’m calling to reschedule.”

“No problem.” There was the “clacking” of computer keys. “I do have to warn you there is a small fee for rescheduling.”

Of course there was. “I understand.”

“Was your flight today?”

“Yes, a few hours ago. It was to Londenion.”

“Ah, I see. Unfortunately there won’t be another craft leaving for Londenion until tomorrow. Will that be acceptable?”

That was much earlier than she was expecting, actually. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“May I have your name?”

“Yes. It’s Cheimin. Cheimin Noa.”

Sudden silence. “N- Noa?”

Cheimin eked out a nervous laugh. “Uh. N- no relation. To, uh-”

“Oh, yes, of course. Of course.” There was a brief interlude of keyboard clattering. “There we go, all set. You’re ready to go. Take-off will be at 8 am tomorrow. Please make sure you’re at least an hour early to the spaceport to ensure you have enough time for customs and security.”

An hour was an optimistic minimum, especially with how security was these days, Cheimin thought. “Yes, thank you.”

“May I help you with anything else today?”

“No, I'm good.”

“All right then. Have a wonderful flight, and thank you for choosing Air Una.” Click.

Okay, that was done. What next, what next. Cheimin leaned her head against the walls of the phonebooth trying to think. Get a hotel for the night and... just wait. That was it.

Her brother was dead, her father killed him, and... that was it. That was it. Cheimin was going to check into a hotel, get on the shuttle, and fly to Londenion. As if nothing happened. What else was she going to do? Beg for her old internship back? She’d rather eat glass. Cheimin had already agreed to help with that future restaurant; she should keep her promise. She had already sent most of her belongings over to Londenion anyway. Besides... her mother was going to need her, right? She should be there for her mother. That's what a good daughter would do, right?

Glancing up the street, Cheimin caught a glimpse of Federation uniforms several feet away. She grimaced. Probably should get a move on then.

Time to find that hotel.

Cheimin eventually settled on some modest place off the main thoroughfare. Not the nicest, not in the slightest, but it was in an... all right side of town and the interior was clean. She’d stayed in worse places.

The lounge was small, spartan. There was a lone businessman tapping away at his portable computer on one of the desks, but otherwise no one seemed to linger. There wasn’t much in the way of amenities, so there was little reason to linger. Although... they did have phones. Phones that could call colony side.

She really should try again, huh?

Cheimin inserted her card, dialed the numbers, waited, and...

Once again, she got the answering machine.

Cheimin yanked out her card. There was no way. What time was it in Londenion? How could she have missed her mother twice?! She shoved the card back in and called again. The answering machine answered. Called again. Answering machine. Again. Answering machine. Again, again, and again. Cheimin knew she got charged a small amount just to attempt the call, but she didn't care. Her mother was home, damn it, she knew it, why won't she answer?! She called again-

“I'm sorry, the number you have dialed is unavailable.”

Cheimin let the receiver fall out of her hands.

She unplugged the phone. Her mother unplugged the goddamned phone.

No, no no no. Her mother didn't do that. Cheimin had never known her mother to ever unplug the phone for any reason, even when being barraged by a prank caller at 2 in the morning. (After all, you never knew when there might be an emergency or urgent message.) Cheimin caught the receiver, shoved her card in, and tried again.

“I'm sorry, the number you have dialed...”

And again.

“I'm sorry-”

And again.

“I'm sorry-”

And again.

And again.

She really did unplug the machine. Her mother won't talk to her. Cheimin pressed the receiver tight to her chest. Why? Why?! She just needed to talk to her. She just needed to hear her mother's voice. Cheimin’s hands shook. That was all she needed. It wasn't much. Why won't she answer why won’t she answer why won’t-

Boom.

It took Cheimin a second to realize that was a gunshot. Everyone in the hotel bunched up by the windows and entrance to see what was going on. Like clockwork, a Fed soldier materialized to push everyone back in. Through the windows Cheimin could see other soldiers on the street barking orders at civilians. She couldn't see much past the sea of bodies, although she did notice there had only been the one gunshot. With that in mind Cheimin could make a pretty good guess at what had happened. She saw little point in investigating.

Stone-faced, Cheimin placed the receiver back. Well, then, what now? Her mind rolled in place, unable to catch onto anything. In a daze, she walked away from the phone. The crowd of people who had gathered by the door quickly dissipated, breaking off into little clusters around the lobby. Angry, frustrated mutterings built into a deafening roar. Cheimin couldn't hear any specific grievance, but it wasn't as though she couldn't make an educated guess.

Well, there was little she could do here. Cheimin figured she could just go lay down for a while.

Cheimin retreated from the lobby into the depths of the hotel. The interior was surprisingly labyrinthine for what seemed like a tiny hotel. She snaked through the halls, climbed a few flights of stairs and walked down some worryingly narrow hallways. Finally, at the end of her journey, she flung her hotel room open.

Well. She had gotten what she paid for. The room was barely large enough to fit a bed that itself was just a hair too small for a full grown adult. There was an equally tiny bathroom attached, only separated by clear glass. Everything was a blinding, sterile white. Even standing outside staring in, Cheimin could feel the walls of the room bearing down on her.

It was clean though, which was nice.

Cheimin didn’t even bother stepping inside; she threw her travel bag inside and closed the door.

As she made her way back, Cheimin noticed a row of vending machines near the stairs. Suddenly, she remembered she hadn't eaten anything all day. Should probably fix that. She dug out a few coins then grabbed a chocolate bar and a soda. For some reason, she lifted the flap on the candy wrapper and peeked at the nutritional facts. She saw nothing encouraging. Hm. Well, what was she expecting? (Her mother would be so disappointed.)

Snacks in hand, Cheimin walked into the lounge. The deafening whispers had quieted into simmering rage, with everyone staring a hole into the skull of that soldier. Cheimin settled into a stiff plastic chair and tore open the candy wrapper. After a few bites, she noticed the chocolate tasted off; checking the wrapper again, she realized the use-by date was a month ago. Oh. Oh well. She shrugged and took another bite.

Once Cheimin finished the chocolate and cracked open her soda, the soldiers left. A torrent of people rushed out the front door. Cheimin remained seated. Well, no hurry. She could leave with the rest once she finished her soda.

She finished that soda, but she remained seated. A group of young tourists walked by, arguing with one another. Cheimin watched them and remained seated. They left, and she remained seated. Another group of people passed by, and another group, and another group and so on. And she remained seated.

The sunlight streaming in through the windows started to dim. She remained seated.

Hey.

She remained seated.

Hey.

She remained seated.

“Hey!”

“Huh?” Cheimin twitched, suddenly aware of her own skin again. She turned to the source of the voice; it was an old man, staring at her with soft, concerned eyes.

“Oh,” Cheimin sighed, “h- hi.”

His weathered lips stretched thin. “You were here when I left the hotel.”

“Oh?”

“Looks like you've been here a while.” The man pointed at her hands. “You need to go get a real meal.”

Cheimin crinkled the can that she still held. “Oh. Right.” She attempted a laugh. “You're right.”

When she finally stood up, a sharp twinge of pain shot up through her legs. The muscles in her thighs were drawn taut. A sudden hollow ache in her stomach nearly made Cheimin double over. He was right. She needed to eat a real meal.

“Are you okay?” He tilted his head.

“Oh, I’m- I’ll be okay. I just need to eat.” She showed him something that resembled a smile.

“There’s a restaurant a few doors down.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

“Take care, okay?” With a small nod, the old man left.

She stumbled onto the half-dark streets, lit by a mixture of waning sunlight and sharp neon. The remaining sun helped soften the overbearing artificial light, but walking down the streets still gave Cheimin a headache. She made a beeline for the restaurant.

The restaurant was... fine. Cheimin got a plate of stir fried noodles. The noodles were fine. Still, after a few bites she grew disinterested in her meal. Disinterest soon turned to nausea. Even feeling those noodles in her mouth made her want to hurl. Regardless, she persevered. Over and over she choked down mouthfuls of mediocre noodles. She was going to eat this damn bowl. She had to. She needed to eat.

Unfortunately, as the sun continued to set, there was nothing to offset the flood of neon. Multi-colored lights streamed in through the front shop windows, beaming right into Cheimin's face. Her eyelids fluttered; God, it was just too much. Not now. Just... not now.

She had gotten through a third of the bowl. That was fine, that was good enough.

She flagged down a waiter. The second her server came back with a miniature clipboard Cheimin slammed a bill down on the table, dashed out of the restaurant, and stumbled back into the street.

Cheimin made it back to the hotel in record time. Unfortunately, that proved little relief, as the harsh fluorescents were little better than the neon of the street. As she fled into the depths of the hotel, the dim lights of the halls were a strange comfort.

Once she found her room again, Cheimin didn’t even bother to turn on the light. She walked in, closed the door behind her, and fell on top of the bed. The buckle of her travel bag dug into her side, but Cheimin didn't feel the need to move. She laid corpse-still.

Even in her dark room, even with the blinds closed, those piercing lights seeped in. Everything was bathed in a sickening magenta glow. Even when she closed her eyes, there was a faint dusting of pink on the inside of her eyelids. She squeezed her eyelids even tighter, as if that’d shut out the light.

In desperation, Cheimin pressed a pillow on top of her head. This, thankfully, did help. Unfortunately, now that the light no longer bothered her, the noise did. Oh God, the noise. The shouting and beeping and screeching and crying and there was so much noise. Every time a thought threatened to form some unholy noise killed it dead. No matter how hard she pressed that pillow against her face, she could still hear it.

Cheimin barely slept.

Unfortunately, the day prior Cheimin had been a responsible adult and had asked for a wake-up call when she booked the room. She cursed her stupid foresight as the shrill tone pierced her skull. To shut the damn thing up she picked up the phone, heard “this is your-” and slammed the phone back down.

On the way Cheimin grabbed a granola bar from the vending machine, but when she noticed the expiration date was a year ago, she just threw it away.

Outside, there was already a line of taxis ready for passengers. She was at the spaceport before the sun rose. When she saw the line for security, Cheimin wondered if she was going to have enough time.

The sun trickled through the skylights as Cheimin shuffled her way closer and closer to the Federation soldier guiding the line. The woman seemed in no particular hurry. Somehow, Cheimin eventually made her way to the woman before the heat death of the universe.

The soldier glared at Cheimin with hollow eyes and held out her hand. “Papers, please.”

Cheimin provided them. The soldier flipped through her documents with little interest until a spark lit in her head.

“Wait, you're...”

Shit. Cheimin tried to disarm her with a laugh. “I've been getting that a lot lately. No relation, I promise.”

“But you even look like-”

“Oh, I know. Crazy, isn't it?”

The woman's eyes narrowed. “I remember they said Commander Noa had a daughter, too...”

“Oh! Really?” Her face warped into a skeletal smile. “That must be why everyone thinks I'm related.”

Just let me go about my day, Cheimin begged inside her head. I didn't have a damn thing to do with whatever he was doing. Just let me go. Please.

The soldier raised an incredulous eyebrow, but grunted and waved her through.

Cheimin glanced back behind her. The soldier went straight back to her work, blearily scanning through documents and waving people through. She stole a few more glances at the woman, but she never caught the soldier's attention away from her current task. Bit by bit, Cheimin's heart stopped pounding in her chest. She must not have cared that much after all. Good.

Cheimin made her way through the spaceport without any further interruptions. She passed dozens of soldiers, but none of them spared her a second glance. Okay, okay, they didn't know who she was. At least, not on sight. From what Cheimin could tell none of the news coverage showed her, although it may have mentioned her. If it did show her, none of these people saw it. That was a relief.

It was funny. Cheimin had always felt kind of ignored, always secretly resented that Hathaway got more attention than her. She had never realized what a blessing that actually was.

She had to rush a bit, but Cheimin found her gate right before they started boarding. At least now, she was in a familiar procedure. Wait to be called, board the vehicle, take your seat, strap in. Wait.

Before she knew it, the engines howled, the pilot muttered something on the intercom that was too faint to be heard over the engines, and everything started to shake. Cheimin's head turned to the side, staring out the window. Waiting for the inevitable.

The engines screamed one final, thundering roar, and they were off. The force of the blast pinned her against the chair. All the pressure on her body made turning her head painful, but Cheimin kept her eyes glued out the window. From the air, the rows and rows of towering skyscrapers looked like the needles of a porcupine. As they flew up, all the individual buildings blurred into a grey blob. Soon that blob faded into shapes and lines, into grids. And before long, there was only the shape of the land, which quickly hid under the clouds. Everything grew darker and darker.

From low orbit, there was only the empty black and a gentle, radiating blue. As they left low orbit, Cheimin now could see the entirety of Earth, of her home. Floating in that spanning void, it never looked more fragile, more insignificant. It was a blue marble, slowly rolling away.

It took every ounce of willpower for Cheimin not to cry.

“Hey.”

Cheimin turned to the side. Beside her sat Hathaway, a head shorter than the last time she had seen him. He smiled, his cheeks still chubby with baby fat.

“You excited?”

Cheimin blinked multiple times. “About what?”

“Going home. Finally get to see mom and dad again.”

Her gaze drifted off into the distance. “No. Not really.”

“Why not?”

“I'm scared.”

“About what?”

“I... I don't know.” Cheimin squeezed her hands together. “You're coming too, right? You're coming with me, right?”

“I...” A strained smile strung across his lips. “Don't worry, you won't have to put up with your gloomy brother the whole time.”

“You're not... it's not a burden. To have you along.”

Slowly, his smile faded. “You don't have to protect my feelings. It's okay.” His eyes fell to the floor. “I know I'm no fun to be around anymore.”

“That doesn't matter!” Her head whipped over to him. “You're my family! And...” Tears blurred her vision. “And...”

“Cheimin.” With a weary smile, Hathaway turned and laid a hand on her arm.

She raised her other arm, as if to cover his hand with hers. But she didn't. She didn't know why. She didn't-

“Ma'am?”

Cheimin awoke to a flight attendant tapping her arm.

“We've landed, ma'am.”

Cheimin peered around the cabin. No one had unbuckled themselves from their seats yet, instead everyone jostled in place, ready to break free. When she moved her arm, Cheimin could feel her body bobbing, rattling against the restraints.

A tinny pre-recorded message informed the cabin that they could leave their seats. Like dandelions scattered in the breeze, a burst of people shot up from their seats. Unwilling to jockey for room, Cheimin elected to lay her head back onto the headrest and wait until it was a bit less crowded.

Without meaning to, she closed her eyes. Cheimin felt her limbs go slack, and her body started to lift into the air. Her limbs undulated in a subtle but hypnotic rhythm as she drifted up. She continued to float up, up to the top of the cabin. Then float up even further, up into the blue sky, up into thick white clouds, then further still. Until it was only ink-black in every direction, from here to perpetuity-

A sudden, shrill cry from a baby shocked Cheimin awake. Oh. Her shoulders slumped. Oops.

With a grim sigh, Cheimin unbuckled herself. Once unrestrained she just hovered in place, barely moving. Summoning up the strength and willpower, she pushed out of the seat and made her way off the ship.

Right as she made her way out of the craft and into the spaceport proper, Cheimin felt the weight of artificial gravity press on her shoulders. It was a gradual process, until it wasn't. All at once her feet screwed to the ground, her limbs suddenly heavy. A second too late, a pre-recorded message warned that passengers were leaving a low-gravity zone.

She glanced around the terminal, hoping to find a familiar face. Nothing. Her heart sank, until she remembered that, right, of course her mother couldn't greet her here. Not any more. Non-passengers weren't allowed in the terminal nowadays. Just another “temporary” security measure.

Of course even if that weren't true, her mother wasn't going to meet her here. After all, Cheimin never told her mother that she had missed her flight, or that she was on this one. She never left a message. Why didn't she leave a message? What was wrong with her? Her poor mother had to be worried sick. Cheimin tried not to imagine her mother sitting at baggage claim or outside the port, frantically scanning the crowds of people, growing increasingly worried as she never saw her daughter. She tried not to imagine her mother sitting for hours and hours, waiting for someone who would never show.

(Then again, it was possible she didn't wait that long after all. Right? Her mother had always been an eerily intuitive woman, so... maybe she just knew. She knew Cheimin wasn't coming that day. It was possible.)

(Right?)

_{(Then again again, maybe she should have answered the damn phone...)}

As she stood in customs, Cheimin continued to ping pong between anger and guilt, unable to land on any particular side. Just endlessly spinning those wheels. It was, if nothing else, a way to keep her mind occupied as she waddled through another endless line.

Thankfully, once she finally made it up to him, the sunken-eyed man at customs noticed nothing interesting about her papers. Cheimin passed through without issue. Next up was baggage claim, which was thankfully only that one bag; she had shipped most of her meager belongings to Londenion weeks earlier. She followed the line to baggage, and-

There was her mother, sitting on a bench, gazing at nothing in particular.

Cheimin froze. The anger and guilt from earlier melted away, replaced with nothing at all. She just stood there.

Even when her mother’s head turned to her and their eyes met, Cheimin remained locked in place. After a second, realization hit her mother. She sprung up, ran over to Cheimin, and embraced her.

They said nothing. Cheimin's arms remained by her side.

Her mother's grip tightened. “Welcome home.”

Cheimin didn't recognize the car her mother led her to; must have been new. It looked nice. An electric model, naturally. Old gasoline models were becoming vanishingly rare these days. Her mother popped open the truck with the click of a button.

As her mother placed her bag into the trunk (she had insisted on carrying it), Cheimin finally found her voice. “How did you know I was on this flight?”

Her mother turned and attempted a smile. “You weren't on the last one, so I assumed you rescheduled. I asked the spaceline when the next flight was.”

Oh. Reasonable enough answer, Cheimin figured. Still...

“How long did you wait the other day?”

“Not too long.” Before Cheimin could object she waved her hands. “Don't worry about it. Things happen. I understand.”

It didn’t escape Cheimin’s notice that her mother didn’t really answer the question. Meaning, the answer was actually “quite a long time.” That familiar queasy guilt came rushing back. What a bad daughter you are, it kept saying. Making your already burdened mother worry like that.

_{(But she did unplug the phone...)}

_{(No. Not the time for this, not the time...)}

“Hey, mom?” Cheimin asked as she climbed into the front seat.

“Hm?”

Cheimin's mind went blank. Right as her mother opened the driver's side door she blurted out the first thing she could think of.

“How have you been?”

Her mother closed the door behind her. With the press of a button she turned the car on; unfortunately, being an electric car, there wasn't the roar of an engine to fill the dead air. Just the soft murmur of the radio, too faint to be properly heard.

“I've been alright,” her mother finally answered. “How about you?”

“...alright.”

She shifted into drive, and the car gently lurched forward. As they picked up speed, Cheimin looked to her mother. Her mother kept her gaze firmly locked ahead; if she even noticed Cheimin looking at her she didn't show it. Yet Cheimin kept her eyes on her, hoping for... something. Anything.

The only sound that remained was the radio. Now attuned to the quiet, Cheimin could start to pick up soft piano cords and a gentle, crooning voice. Oh, it was one of those glurgy ballads that, for some reason, her dad really liked. When they rolled up to a red light, her mother turned off the radio.

Rows of even, clean buildings passed by, all of them painted the same shade of off-white with blue trim. On the corner of every other street there stood a soldier, watching the passing cars with a gun in their hand. While the taxi waited at a light, Cheimin accidentally made eye contact with one of those soldiers. His face twisted into a nasty snarl at this perceived challenge. Cheimin instantly looked away.

Instead, Cheimin looked off into the distance, to the artificial rolling hills and streams of water pretending to be rivers. All of a sudden she remembered a weird friend of her brother, who insisted that the “rivers” in colonies weren't actually rivers because... well Cheimin usually tuned out at that point. She got the gist, that colonies never could quite correctly replicate the shape and form of Earth, no matter how well they do their research.

Where was that guy now, she wondered. Did he follow Hathaway and become a terrorist too? Was he still alive?

Cheimin spent the rest of the short drive reminiscing about this and that. Before she could settle on a train of thought, her mother was already pulling into the garage.

Her mother turned off the car. She stared into the dark for a few seconds before she turned to Cheimin and whispered, “we're home.” She lifted the corners of her mouth.

Cheimin replicated her mother's gesture.

Once again, her mother insisted on carrying Cheimin's travel bag. To her shame, Cheimin didn't even bother to argue with her about it.

Her parent's place was a small, cozy little townhouse. There were a few little tchotchkes here and there, but it was otherwise sparsely decorated. They had been here for a while now, so the spartan interior was a bit odd.

“We've set up a bed for you in the office,” her mother said as she opened the door, “I do apologize. It's a bit messy.”

The door swung open. There was a row of boxes, Cheimin recognized them as her belongings, stacked against the wall, a modest wooden desk with a few papers on top pressed against a different wall, and a small bed near a different wall. Cheimin supposed by her mother's standards this was “messy.”

“No, no, this is good. Thank you, mom.”

“Of course, you're welcome. Oh, let me tidy that up real quick.” Her mother walked over and shoved the papers on the desk into a drawer. “Oh, were you hungry? I can fix you up something to eat.”

“Oh, no, I'm...” Cheimin rubbed her eyes. “I'm tired. Is it okay if I just... lay down for a while?”

“Of course, of course.”

As she was leaving the room, her mother suddenly spun, grabbed Cheimin, and wrapped her arms around her daughter's waist. She leaned in and murmured, “I'm glad you're home.”

Cheimin couldn't find the words. She bit her lip, trying to hold the tears in.

Wordlessly, her mother let her arms fall, and she left, leaving Cheimin alone with her thoughts.

Cheimin stared at the wall of boxes, her adult life gathered in a handful of containers. She had no desire to look at any of it, not at this moment. Instead, she laid on top of the bed. Her eyes examined the ceiling, memorizing its lines and swirls of paint.

Well.

She supposed she was home.

Chapter Text

Hathaway flew through the air in an elegant arc, his body temporarily engulfed in the glare of the sun. He managed to contort his limbs and back to arch around the bar; however his feet didn't quite make it, and it knocked the bar loose. His limp body flopped against the mat at the same time as the bar hit the ground, both bouncing a few times before losing momentum.

"Nice." Cheimin added a short clap.

"Was that sarcastic?" Hathaway pushed himself off the mat. He pulled his shirt down, smoothing it out and unwrinkling the logo of his high school emblazoned on it.

"I mean, I couldn't do that..."

Hathaway scowled and scoffed, but as he walked over to pick up the fallen bar all he added was "did mom send you to fetch me?"

"Yeah, dinner's gonna be ready soon."

"I'll be home in another hour, okay? Can you let her know?"

Cheimin crossed her arms. "You know she's not gonna like that."

"I know, but..."

"I thought running was your thing?" In the corner of her vision, a trio of girls in tiny shorts ran by. Cheimin's eyes wandered over to them for a second before she wrenched her gaze away.

Cheimin swore she saw a knowing smile on his face, but in an instant his gaze snapped back to the bar in his hands. "Coach said I might have some potential." Hathaway set the bar back into position. "I think he might be right. I just need to work on it."

With a frustrated grunt, Cheimin rolled her eyes. "Okay, I get that, but you can practice tomorrow. Come on, dinner's probably already ready now."

"I think," he muttered, "I think I'm close."

"Close to what?! Hathaway, dinner's gonna get cold, let's go home."

"One more hour, okay?"

"No." Cheimin tightened her fists. "You have to come home. Now."

He said nothing.

"Hathaway?"

He said nothing.

"Hathaway."

Only the shrill call of cicadas answered her. Those cries grew louder and louder as the harsh light of the sun dimmed, shifting into a warm orange. Silently, Hathaway walked a short distance away from the bars, lined himself up, and took a deep breath. Then, without warning, he was off.

Over and over Hathaway flew into the air.

The savory, oceanic smell of grilled fish greeted Cheimin as she woke.

Following that smell, Cheimin walked into the kitchen with a tiny spark of excitement. The breakfast her mother usually made was rice, pickled vegetables, and soup (usually miso but that wasn't always available.) Fish was a sporadic, but highly welcome, addition.

Cheimin stumbled into the kitchen to find quite a bit more than just the addition of fish on the table.

There was already an absolute rainbow of various little dishes, and, with her mom still hunched over the stove, there seemed to be more to come. Apart from the usual standbys there was a rolled omelet, several vegetable sides, a cut up cantaloupe, a few sprigs of grapes, a little plate of natto, (Cheimin never knew her mother or anyone in the family to like natto; what was that doing there?!) and, most curiously, a plate of bacon and eggs.

Cheimin’s stomach sank. Her mother had only ever made bacon and eggs for her father, and even then she hadn't done that in over a decade. (It had been part of her mother's ongoing war to get her father to eat what she considered a proper, filling breakfast. One that she eventually forfeited once she realized he wasn't the one eating most of his breakfast.) She told Cheimin earlier that her father wouldn't be home for months in any case, so why...?

"Hm?" Her mother turned from the stove and spotted Cheimin. "Oh! You're up! Good morning!"

"Good morning, mom."

Her mother turned back to the stove. "I'm just finishing up breakfast. Go ahead and take a seat."

Cheimin pulled out a chair and sat. "This is, uh, a lot of food."

"Oh." She laughed. "I suppose I got carried away." Her mother grabbed a plate and poured the contents of the pan onto it.

Cheimin grabbed one of the bowls on the table, only to realize it was empty. She needed to get some rice. The second she rose her mother's head whipped around.

"Oh, did you need something?"

"Yeah, uh-" Cheimin pointed to the rice cooker. "I was just going to get myself some rice-"

"Sit down, sit down, I'll get that for you." In the blink of an eye, her mother placed the plate onto the table (some tofu, it looked like), ripped the bowl out of Cheimin's hands, sprinted over to the rice cooker, and filled a bowl.

"Oh! Wow, mom, you're really fast!" Cheimin laughed, "That's going to be good for your new restaurant, huh?"

Her mother paused. "Oh. Yes." She set the bowl down in front of Cheimin. "Thank you."

"So, uh..." Cheimin grabbed a strip of bacon and crumbled it up over her rice. "Has that been going well?"

Her mother only responded by turning and attempting a smile. She walked to the table holding her own bowl of rice, and sat without a word.

Unable to break the silence, Cheimin grabbed her chopsticks and clacked them together, just to fill the emptiness with something. Her mother only stared to the middle distance, focused on nothing.

"You know..." Cheimin finally managed to murmur, "I dreamt about him."

"Hm?"

"Hathaway."

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped. The only sound was a light clatter as her mother picked up her bowl of soup. "Oh. Is that so?"

"Y- yeah. It was funny actually, I, uh..." Nervous, completely inappropriate laughter burst forth. "I dreamt he was doing high jump. But that wasn't really his thing, and he didn't even do track and field for all that long. About a year, right?"

"About a year, yes."

"Weird, huh?" More of that strange, inhuman laughter trickled out of her. "Still, though," the last bit of laughter tapered off, "he was starting to do a lot better."

Her mother dragged her spoon around, creating a little whirlpool in her soup. "...yeah, he was."

"Or perhaps, I just thought..." Cheimin's brain stalled on that thought, unable to think of a follow-up. Or, maybe just unwilling to.

In the absence of that follow-up, silence fell on them once again. Rather than fill that void, her mother took a sip of her soup. After a few spoonfuls, she reached over and scooped up a pinch of natto.

"Do you like natto?" Cheimin asked.

Her mother spread the slimy pile on her rice. "It's good for you." She shoved the mixture into her mouth, her face flinching only for a split-second.

Cheimin mirrored her mother and pinched off a bit of the natto. She piled it right into her mouth. It coated her mouth with an unpleasant, pungent slime, making her wince. Why did she do that, Cheimin wondered. Did she think she would like natto this time around?

"Dear," her mother chuckled, "You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to."

"Ah, well..." Cheimin trailed off with a strained laugh. She dragged it out longer than she needed to, just to prevent the silence from returning.

Of course, the silence did return. At least the occasional clack of a bowl settling on the table or the click of chopsticks broke up the silence into manageable chunks. Still, in the gaps, the quiet gave space for her thoughts to grow.

They had to talk about it.

They had to talk about Hathaway. About what had happened. What really happened. Her mother had to tell her. (Her mother knew. She had to, right?)

Cheimin glanced to her mother, who glanced back with a confused smile. That smile trembled and faltered as Cheimin refused to break eye contact. Her mother broke first, and turned away to reach for the plate of fish.

Was her mother really never, ever going to bring this up? Cheimin clamped her lips tight. They had to bring this up. Her mother knew that too. So why won't she...?

Just as her mother broke off a lump of fish, Cheimin blurted out, "Have you spoken with dad? About..." Cheimin swallowed the thorns in her throat. "About..."

Her mother's eyes briefly flickered over to Cheimin. "I..." She cleared her throat. "No."

"No?" Cheimin slumped back into her chair. "I see."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Cheimin watched her mother pop that bit of fish into her mouth. Right as she started to chew Cheimin asked, "Was dad busy? Was that why you couldn't get a hold of him? Or-"

There was a pause. Her mother swallowed the fish in her mouth while she laid her chopsticks down. "I haven't tried."

"W- why not?"

"I don't see what good that would do."

Cheimin recoiled. What did she mean by that?! Why would she not...? Why wouldn't she...? Her mother picked up her bowl of soup, continuing with breakfast as normal.

"Mom..." Cheimin whispered, barely audible, "You... you do know what happened, don’t y-"

"Yes, Cheimin!" Her mother slammed her bowl against the table, splashing a puddle of soup onto the surface. "I am fully aware!"

"I-" Cheimin froze, then stared down to the floor. "Sorry."

"No, I-" Her mother rubbed her temples with her thumb. "I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice."

"It's okay..."

Her mother laid her hand on top of Cheimin's wrist and pat it a few times. "Let's not talk about such an... unpleasant topic during breakfast, okay?" Every muscle on her face struggled to push her lips up.

"Oh. Okay."

As a distraction, Cheimin shoveled a few piles of rice into her mouth. The little savory morsels nestled in each little lump was a pleasant surprise; she had forgotten how tasty a little bit of bacon was on rice.

"So, uh..." Cheimin put her rice bowl down. She thought she had something to say, but the second she opened her mouth it evaporated.

Her mother just ate. She picked off a few more bites off the fish, and took a slice of cantaloupe, but otherwise stuck to her rice and soup.

Cheimin took a sip of her soup. It had a rich, full-bodied flavor. It was good. Her soup usually was. Her eyes scanned over the table. The fruit and vegetables looked vibrant and refreshing, steam still wafted up from the tofu, the omelet was immaculately made... everything looked so good.

Cheimin bolted up. "Thank you for breakfast."

"Cheimin?!" Her mother rose as well. "You've barely touched anything."

"I'm sorry, I- I'm not feeling well."

"I see." Her mother's gaze fell to the table, and for a second a pained grimace snuck out, but when her head rose it had that familiar plastic smile. "I understand. Go get some rest, dear."

"Uh, well." Cheimin peered down at the multitudes of plates with untouched food. "I'm sorry-"

"No worries, I can box this up. It'll make good leftovers."

That was a relief. "That's good." Cheimin walked up to the cabinets. "So where is your containers-"

"Oh!" Her mother darted in front of her and pushed her away from the cabinets. "I can handle it. Go get some rest, okay dear?"

"I- this is a lot of food, I'd hate to make-"

"Don't worry about it." Her mother's smile slipped. "You're tired, aren't you? I know space travel is hard. And I know that internship was very stressful. And..." She sighed. "We're all tired, aren't we?"

"Mom." Cheimin laid a hand on her mother's arm. "Let me help-"

"Don't worry about it." Her mother pat Cheimin's hand, then pushed it down. "Please get some rest. For me."

"I-" Cheimin froze, then finally gave in with a tiny voice. "Okay."

Just as Cheimin turned her back, she could hear the cabinet open and plastic containers rattling about. She was just going to let her mother burden herself without a fight, huh? Like she always did.

Maybe her Shitty Ex was right, and she did always rely on Mommy and Daddy for everything she had.

As Cheimin retreated to the office, her eyes went right to the meager stack of boxes against the wall. Prior to the move, she sold or gave away most of what she had owned. Or the Shitty Ex stole it. For what was left, there was a box with some miscellaneous kitchenware, two boxes full of random junk, a box for her clothes (the small amount that she hadn't taken as her luggage. Or hadn't been stolen by the Shitty Ex), a box for her CDs (greatly diminished, thanks again to said Shitty Ex) and a few for her books (mostly intact.)

Cheimin grabbed one of the boxes sitting on top; this one had books, judging by the weight. (Why was this put on top?) Cracking it open, Cheimin found rows and rows of books haphazardly crammed together. They ran the gamut from thick, stuffy tome of classical literature, surprisingly accessible books about history, surprisingly inaccessible books about business, trashy pulp mysteries, true crime schlock, all sorts of stuff. Pinned against the side, there was a book about ecology. It had been a gift from her brother.

The book's spine cracked slightly as she opened it. Cheimin flipped through the pages, attempting to scan the words but mostly looking at the pictures and diagrams. Anything biology related had never been her strong suit, she had to admit.

Then again, she never really tried. She never tried to understand his field, or his interests, or... anything about him, really. If she had, would she understand why Hathaway did what he did? Truly understand, that is. Or, at least, would he have trusted her enough to tell her?

And now she would never know. Because he was gone. He was never coming back.

He was gone. Her brother was dead.

Cheimin threw the book back into the box. Unable to look at it any longer, her gaze shifted to the side, at a featureless patch of the wall.

That was it, huh? That was really it. Her brother was dead. He had been a terrorist and now he was dead. Life just goes on. There wasn't even a body to bury, no funeral to attend, no last will and testament, nothing. Fuck you and goodbye.

And it was because of their father.

Maybe. Possibly?

Cheimin wanted to scream and tear her hair out.

How could her mother not have even tried to get ahold of her father?! Or do... anything?! Had she? Her mother couldn't be happy with this. She couldn't be happy with this hole in their lives and not knowing why it was there. No, she had to know more than she was willing to say. Her mother was hiding something. Again.

That was a safe bet. After all, her parents were always hiding something from her. To "protect" her, obviously. Besides, it's not like Cheimin ever needed to know. She never needed to know what really happened to her brother during Char's Uprising and why he was a shell of himself overnight. She didn't need to know why her father kept drifting away, why that smile on her mother's face grew more strained every day, why her brother was fucking dead... Cheimin didn't need to know any of it.

Her vision became blurry and her eyes started to sting.

Her brother was dead and she didn’t know why. And no one was going to tell her. She pressed her hands against her eyes. Her brother was dead and she didn’t know why. Everything was going to shit and she didn’t know why.

Cheimin just wanted an answer. It wouldn’t change anything, she knew that, but she just wanted to know why it had to be like this.

She collapsed on the bed, unable to move. Something pressed on her chest, holding her down. Even as tears pooled at the edge of her eyes, she couldn't even cry. Cheimin laid completely paralyzed.

She couldn't leave it like this. She knew that. She had to get answers, get the truth. She owed that to Hathaway. But every time Cheimin tried to move her body, it wouldn't obey.

Really, what could she even do?

The only thing she could really think of was to simply call her dad. That should be a possibility; he wasn't in an active combat zone, and her mother should have the number. If she wouldn't call, Cheimin could just do it herself. Made sense.

Although something just then occurred to her; he hadn't called either. He should be able to, right? Her father would want to, wouldn't he? He'd want to clear things up, especially if the papers were lying to him. Were the Federation refusing to let him talk to anyone? It would make sense they wouldn't want him talking to the press, but not even his family?

(Wait, of course the Federation would refuse to let her father talk to them. They did that sort of shit all the time.)

Then again, there was an alternate possibility; he was ashamed. He hadn't called because he couldn't bear the shame. After all, he was pretty willing and adept at going behind his bosses' backs; if he wanted to get ahold of his family, he would have found a way. The more Cheimin spun the facts around in her head, the more this seemed likely.

Okay. Okay, that was a plan. It was an idea. Go call her dad. At least try.

(That's it? That was all she could think of?)

Just as Cheimin threatened to slip away back into her thoughts, a thrill, muffled ring came from the living room. It took Cheimin a second to recognize that was the phone. That- that couldn't be. What would be the odds...?

Cheimin jumped up and sprinted out of the room.

"Yes, of course-" Her mother jumped when Cheimin threw open the office door, slamming it against the wall. "Ch- Cheimin?"

"Oh." Cheimin stole a guilty glance at the door. "Sorry. Uh." With an embarrassed blush, she tugged on her thumb. "Who- who are you-"

"Oh, yes, that's Cheimin." Her mother's attention snapped back to the call. After a pointless little nod to the caller, she turned to Cheimin. "It's Ms. Fraw."

"Oh." Cheimin recoiled at her own disappointed tone. It was very kind of Fraw to call. And it was always a delight to talk to her, for as rare as those occasions were.

Thankfully, her mother didn't notice Cheimin's tone, as she was too distracted by Fraw on the other end. "Yes, she did, late yesterday. Hm? Oh yes, of course." She pointed the receiver towards Cheimin. "Would you like to talk to Ms. Fraw?"

There was no reason to refuse, really. Cheimin took the phone from her mother, who slid off to sit on the couch. "H- hello. Ms. Kobayashi?"

"Cheimin?" A familiar, sweet voice responded. "My goodness, it's... it's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yeah..." Honestly, Cheimin couldn't remember the last time she spoke to this woman. "How are you doing?"

A quick pause. "I'm doing well. I-" There was a clipped sigh over the line. "I'm sorry, Cheimin. I'm so sorry about everything."

For some reason, the first thing out of Cheimin's mouth was a clipped, barked laugh. (It was odd way to start the conversation, admittedly.) She tamped it down quickly. "Uh. Sorry."

"It's okay." There was a faint creaking, sounded like wood settling. "I understand. It's... hard to know how to react at times like this."

It occurred to Cheimin that the first time she actually remembered talking to Fraw was during her husband's funeral. "Y- yeah..."

"How was-?" What sounded like a door clicked in the background. A voice seemed to say something, but it was too quiet to hear. "Oh, I'm on the phone with the Noas."

"Hm?" Cheimin tilted her head. "Is that-"

"Ah yes, that's my youngest daughter."

"Oh, tell her I said hi." Thankfully, Fraw just passed along Cheimin's greeting and didn't insist they speak; Cheimin didn't want to admit that she didn't remember the girl's name.

"Anyway, did your flight go well? I know you missed your first one, so I was worried something happened."

"Oh, no, I just..." Cheimin stole a glance at her mother from the corner of her eye. "It was kinda dumb, actually. I just lost track of time."

"Oh, it happens." Fraw muttered with a sweet lilt. "I am glad, though, that you made it back home. I'm glad that you and your mother are there for each other."

"Y- Yeah..."

There was a brief pause before that soft creaking broke the quiet. "Gosh, it's... you're all grown up, aren't you?" Fraw let out a heavy sigh that turned into a chuckle. "I'm sorry. I'm getting all sentimental on you."

"That's okay."

"Oh, listen to me go on! Well, I wanted to check up on you. I won't hold you up any longer."

"Oh, uh," Cheimin scratched her head. "Thank you, Ms. Kobayashi. I- That's really kind of you."

Just before Cheimin turned to hand the phone back to her mother, Fraw spoke up. "Cheimin, before you go, if you ever need to talk to me, for whatever reason, please don't hesitate to call, okay?"

"...okay. I won't."

"Do you have my number?"

"I'm pretty sure mom has your number written down somewhere." She turned to her mother. "Uh, you do, right?" Her mother nodded in response. "Uh, yes, I'm good. Thank you."

"That's good."

"I'll hand you back to my mother, okay?"

With a few more pleasantries, Cheimin handed the phone back.

"Hello, Fraw?" Phone in hand, her mother sank back into the couch. She mostly listened quietly, nodding on occasion. After half a minute watching her mother on the phone grew awkward, so Cheimin turned to leave. However, just as she twisted the door knob to the office, she heard her mother speak up.

"Well, thank you for calling. I'll talk to you later."

"That was a short call," Cheimin remarked as her mother hung up the receiver.

"Well," her mother sighed and stared at the phone, "we've been talking pretty frequently. She's been checking up, you know."

"That's very kind of her."

"Yeah." Her mother smiled wistfully. "She is..."

She turned to her daughter, looking at her with those empty, black-rimmed eyes. Cheimin looked away; it was too hard to hold that gaze. It was too hard looking into her mother's eyes and seeing nothing stare back.

"I-" Cheimin's stomach grew heavy.

"Is something wrong, Cheimin?"

"Mom, do you have a number to contact dad?"

Her mother's face sank, and the sight tightened Cheimin's stomach so badly she nearly doubled over. She shouldn't have said that. Of all the times to ask, this was one of the worst. (But it was a reasonable thing to ask, though. Wasn't it?)

"I just want to talk to him, that's all." Cheimin stammered out in an attempt to explain.

"Cheimin-" Her mother froze, stopping herself mid-thought. Instead of continuing, she strode over to a small cabinet by the wall, opened a small drawer, and started flipping through a collection of tiny cards. "Just keep in mind that you may not be able to..."

"I know." Cheimin walked up to the cabinet. "I know. I just want to try." She just wanted to try something.

With a thin smile, her mother pulled a card out and handed it to Cheimin. "Here you go."

"Thank you."

She walked up to the phone. With the tiny card in one hand, Cheimin's other hand punched in the endless succession of extensions, then finally the number. As she waited for the call to go through, Cheimin peaked over to her mother. She still sat on the couch, eyes straight ahead, staring at nothing.

"Hello," a tired voice Cheimin didn't recognize answered, "This is Officer Raegen of the South Pacific District. How may I help you?"

"Hello." Wait, shouldn't she have gotten his secretary or deputy? "I'm calling in regards to Commander Bright Noa. This is his daughter, Cheimin. May I speak with him?"

"I'm sorry, Commander Bright Noa is unavailable."

Hm, that was odd. "Oh, is he not there currently? Can I leave a message?"

"I'm sorry, the Commander isn't available. Have a good day."

"S-"

Click.

"H- Hey!?"

Her mother turned her head to Cheimin. "What happened? Did they already hang up on you?"

"They-" Cheimin ran her index finger over the holes in the receiver. "They said he wasn't available, but they wouldn't let me leave a message."

"That's... odd. They don't usually hang up so quickly-"

Cheimin slammed her fingers onto the buttons, dialing the number again.

"Cheimin." Her mother sighed. "Don't-"

"This is Officer Raegen of the South Pacific District. How may I help you?"

"Hello," Cheimin forced her tone to be as even as possible, "I called earlier. This is Bright Noa's daughter, I think we got disconne-"

Click.

"Are you fucking kidding me," Cheimin muttered under her breath. Once again she punched in the number and-

"Cheimin, dear." Her mother's fingers curled over her hand. "It's okay." Her fingers rubbed the side of Cheimin's palm. "It's okay."

"Mom-"

"Hello, this is-"

"Hey!" Cheimin barked into the phone. "Who's your commanding officer?! This is Commander Noa's daughter-"

Click.

"Cheimin." Her mother's hand squeezed Cheimin's fingers. "It's okay. It's okay-"

"What's 'okay?!'" Cheimin ripped her hand away and slammed the receiver onto the hook. "I can't even leave a message! They're hiding something. They're obviously hiding something!"

"...they usually are," her mother murmured.

Cheimin's hands shook, and it took every ounce of willpower not to scream. "And you're just... okay with that?"

"Of course I'm not!" her mother spat back. Once she realized how she actually said those words, she took a deep breath, letting the energy drain. "Listen, Cheimin, it's- it'll be okay." With a weak smile, she laid her fingers on top of Cheimin's knuckles. "Your father will be home soon. He can explain everything then. So we just need to wait-"

Cheimin threw her mother's hand off of her. "What are you hiding from me?" she spat through grit teeth.

"What?! I'm not hiding anything from you!"

"You really haven't tried to call dad? Really? And he hasn't called you?"

"No, I told you, I-"

"Have you tried anything?!"

"What do you want me to do, bring him back from the dead?!"

Cheimin froze.

"I-" Her mother's entire body sighed. "Look, we're not fighting about this. I told you, your father is coming home-"

Without another word, Cheimin turned towards the front door, threw it open, and stomped outside.

Her feet plodded against the steps as Cheimin trundled down the porch. What had she even been expecting, really? No one ever told her anything.

"Cheimin?!" Her mother stepped into the doorway. "Where are you going?!"

Cheimin didn't answer. She just kept matching forward.

She was acting like a child. Cheimin knew that. Really, what had she expected? That she would extract the painful truth from her father like a hard boiled cop from a cheesy TV show? There was a reason her mother didn't bother, after all.

But that couldn't be it. There had to be more she could do than just wait for her father to deign to explain everything. There had to be.

She needed to clear her head. Maybe go for a walk. Cheimin stopped and turned behind to say something to her mother only to find that her mother had already gone back inside and closed the door. Fine, never mind.

Cheimin scanned up and down the street. Their parents lived in a nice section of Londenion. (It wasn't military housing, obviously, something her parents generally avoided.) Her parents' home was sandwiched in a row of other brick-facade townhouses, although every home was painted slightly different colors. It looked almost exactly identical to the old century neighborhoods she'd seen in pictures.

On the end of the block there was a small convenience store. Cheimin let that be her beacon, and started in that direction. Once she passed the store (it was unremarkable, but organized and clean, which was about all you could expect from a convenience store) she came across another block of houses. These were detached single family homes, also in an old century style and immaculately maintained, if small. Past the second block of homes it looked to be mostly office buildings, although some of those buildings had a restaurant on the first floor. However, even the office buildings were built in a loving recreation of old Earth architecture.

After the offices, Cheimin found a row of shops, sitting next to a clearing with seating and a small garden. Naturally, these buildings were also designed in the old style. There weren't many people about, other than employees. Cheimin only spotted a pair of women in the distance and an old woman on a bench, watching a pair of loud children run around a tree.

Cheimin strolled past the shops. She walked by a few store fronts, her eyes mostly glazing over most of them, until a cute dress in a window display caught her eye. Drawn inside by that dress, Cheimin found the interior of the boutique to be unremarkable. It was well maintained but small and cramped, clearly trying to fit in more merchandise than the meager space allowed. Judging by that plainness and the cramped floor plan, Cheimin would have assumed that this was a mid-market boutique until she examined one of the blouses and idly glanced at the price tag. Oh. Wow. Was that... normal in Londenion? (Cheimin supposed she didn't need new clothes that badly.)

Moving on past the clothing store, Cheimin walked a few store fronts down until she spotted a bookstore. Sure, why not, maybe she could find something new to read.

Like the boutique, the inside of the bookstore was cramped full. Other than a small display for the release of some schlocky new thriller by an author Cheimin had never heard of before, the space was mostly dedicated to rows of bookshelves. Cheimin weaved through the narrow aisles, waiting for anything to pop out to her. The selection was disappointingly slim, with only the mystery section having any substantial variety. She checked real quick if they had anything new from her favorite guilty pleasure cozy mystery series, but no, nothing she hadn't already read. Oh well.

As Cheimin turned to leave, the row of magazines by the register popped out to her. There it was, on the cover of a publication called "Londenion Weekly": that same goddamn picture of Hathaway.

Cheimin darted over to the register and picked up the magazine. It was shrink-wrapped. Damn it. She flipped the magazine over. Hm, maybe things were just more expensive here; that was twice what she'd pay for a goddamn weekly magazine anywhere else. Fine, whatever. She dug out some cash and paid for it without complaint.

Cheimin didn't even make it out of the store before she ripped the wrap off and started flipping through the pages. After passing a few ads suddenly Hathaway's pixelated, magnified face stared back at her. Did they only have the one picture, she wondered. She started on the article, but quickly realized there was nothing of interest in it, no information she didn't already know. The author didn't even editorialize much on the story, mostly just repeating the facts. Great. Waste of time and money.

Suddenly exhausted, Cheimin sank onto one of the benches, letting the magazine fall out of her hands. Of course new information about this case was going to take time to trickle out. Of course random weeklies weren't going to have more information yet. Why was she constantly setting herself up for disappointment?

At this rate, the only way Cheimin saw to get more information was to go up to Hathaway's terrorist buddies and ask them. Even if she had any idea how to get in contact with these people, she didn't tend to run in terrorist circles after all, Cheimin doubted she was going to get a flight back to Earth any time soon. Getting all the papers to go to space had been hard enough, and that was before anyone in EFF had any reason to keep an eye on her.

So was that it? She just had to wait for her father after all?

A loud peal of laughter interrupted her train of thought. Cheimin turned to the source to see two women walking out of a cafe carrying two cups of bubble tea. They turned towards the clearing, chattering and laughing about nothing in particular. Cheimin's heart sank. At least the woman and her rambunctious kids were gone, but Cheimin would have liked to have been alone with her thoughts. Still, she couldn't quite find the energy to get off the bench.

"Oh yeah," one of the women, a very tall and large woman with mousey brown hair, exclaimed, "Did you hear about what happened about Mafty?"

A slimy chill ran down Cheimin's spine.

"Yeah, yeah," her friend, a much shorter woman with long black hair, nodded. "Tragic..."

"Yeah, it's pretty messed up." The larger woman wrapped her lips around the yellow straw in her drink and took a sip. "I dunno about you, but if I had a son I wouldn't ever let him get executed, no matter what."

"You think he knew?"

"Oh come on, he had to have. He's a bigwig, there's no way he didn't know."

"I guess." The dark haired woman sighed. "I wonder though."

"Hm?"

"They say that Mafty is only going to get bolder."

"Uh... he's dead."

The black haired woman groaned. "Mafty is also the name of the organization."

"That's confusing!" The larger woman scoffed. "AEUG wasn't a person, and I'm pretty sure no one in Sleeves was called Sleeves."

"'Mafty's' real name wasn't Mafty either- look, I just hear that his allies haven't given up the fight."

"Probably galvanized them, more than anything." The large woman stirred her straw around. "You think the Federation did them a favor?"

"What do you mean?"

"They gave them a martyr. A martyr with a hell of a story." The brunette shrugged. "Let's be honest, a martyr is more valuable than a leader any day."

"...you might be right."

Bile filled Cheimin's stomach.

"Although..." The dark haired woman tilted her head. "He was cute, though, wasn't he?"

"The terrorist?!"

"Yeah?"

"You're insane." The large woman laughed. "Besides, I think I'd prefer his father."

"Really?"

"He's got that... mature gravitas, ya know? Makes you think he'd take care of you in the bedroom."

The two broke out into a fit of laughter. Cheimin sprang up; she couldn't bear a second more of this.

Disgusting. Just disgusting. That was a person, that was her brother. And they were laughing and joking about a dead man. Like- like- Cheimin froze in place to wipe her eyes. They weren't allowed to talk about him like that. He was her brother. Didn't they know that? You can't talk about someone's brother like that.

He was her brother. Her brother.

...was he, though? Was he really?

When she was a little girl, when she would watch her father leave, not to return for months and months, her mother was always quick to tell her and her brother that he was off doing important work. He was working and fighting for everyone. He didn't want to, but he couldn't be selfish. They couldn't be selfish. People needed him. It was a sacrifice they had to make.

He couldn't just belong to his family, he belonged to everyone. Which meant, in reality, he belonged to no one. Not even to his family. Her father wasn't really hers, not really.

So that's how it was going to be for Hathaway, then? He had been slipping away for so long, and now... he was gone. Completely. Not even his memory belonged to her any more.

And for what? What good was any of this? What "fighting for everyone" meant to her father was that he'd complain up a storm about his superiors being "idiots and monsters," then put on that uniform and go to work. It meant that he sacrificed his son to those same idiots and monsters. All to make a martyr for people who wanted to tear down everything he worked for.

A martyr, huh? Even before that atrocity at Adelaide, Cheimin already knew plenty of people who were at least publicly sympathetic to Mafty, and one guy who was an out-and-out supporter. It wasn't as though she disagreed with them, even if their methods gave her pause. Maybe, at the end of the day, the Federation was a rotting tooth; extraction was the only option.

Was it selfish, then, to want to horde his memory for herself? Hathaway had a higher purpose, he was the rallying cry. He couldn't belong to her, to their family, he had to belong to everyone. At least it was for a good purpose now, right? That was just the way it was. Nothing to be done about it.

Cheimin started walking again, back the way she came. She kept repeating that refrain in her head, that she had to accept this. As a girl she had to accept that her father didn't belong to her, and as a woman she had to accept that her brother didn't belong to her. She had to grow up and accept this.

She just had to accept this.

As she walked, Cheimin passed by her parents' house. However, she didn't even really notice as she kept walking, trapped in her own thoughts. And she kept walking.

And walking.

And walking.

By the time Cheimin finally made it back to her parents' home, it was starting to get dark. It was only one she walked up the steps of the landing that Cheimin realized how hungry she was. Other than her minuscule breakfast and a snack she grabbed from a different convenience store, Cheimin hadn't had anything to eat all day.

So driven by hunger she was that Cheimin only realized once she knocked on the door that she may not be welcome back, at least after the way she acted.

Cheimin could hear movement behind the door, then it suddenly flung open. Her mother stood in the doorway, eyes wide and her lips trembling.

"H- hi mom." Cheimin couldn't force herself to look her in the eye. "I- I'm sorry. I- I shouldn't have-"

"Come inside." Her mother grabbed her arm. "Dinner's ready."

"Mom, I-" Without warning her mother yanked her over the threshold, cutting her off.

"Do you like pasta?" Her mother asked. "I made some pasta. And a roast. Does that sound good?"

"Y- yeah." Her mother finally let Cheimin go. "It does, mom."

"Take a seat." Her mother pointed to the table as she walked into the kitchen. "Let me re-heat some things."

Rather than sit, Cheimin followed her mother into the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, watching her pull pans out and turn on the stove. "Mom, I-"

"Cheimin?" Her mother's head whipped back. "It'll be just a minute. Go take a seat."

"Mom, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stormed off like that, and I-"

"Cheimin." Her mother turned to face her. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're home." She could barely pretend to smile. "Please, just sit down."

Unable to say any more, Cheimin sat.

After a minute or two, her mother walked out of the kitchen carrying a plate. On one end, there was a pile of pasta, spun up in a cute little swirl and dusted with cheese. On the other end, there were a few slices of meat, looked like chicken, covered by a line of dark brown sauce, and a few sprigs of asparagus.

As her mother placed the plate in front of her, Cheimin looked up and smiled. "Thank you, mom. It looks amazing."

Her mother tried to smile again, with little success.

After a brief bow and a "thank you for the meal" formality, Cheimin scooped up a few strands of pasta and shoved them into her mouth. It was good, nice and rich and garlicky. Next up was the meat, which was downright amazing. The sauce was complex and velvety, a perfect compliment to a perfectly roasted chicken. The asparagus was comparatively plain, only flavored with butter and salt, but it wonderfully complimented the meal.

Cheimin couldn't find the appetite for any of it.

But she preserved. She ate every noodle, every bit of meat, every piece of asparagus. Even as her stomach ached, she kept going.

With a practiced smile, Cheimin laid her fork onto the empty plate and turned to her mother. "Thank you mom, that was really delicious."

For the first time in a while, a genuine smile spread across her mother's face.

Chapter Text

Cheimin woke up long before the light came in, already strung out and shriveled up, as if she had been crying for hours. All she remembered of her dreams this evening was her old Shithead Boss screaming at her, but she couldn't remember about what. Not that the bastard ever needed a reason in the waking world.

Wait, no, she did remember something else. She remembered going home, to that apartment they shared, and finding nothing but a mute ghost. That mute ghost who wouldn't even look at her anymore. Cheimin squeezed her eyes tight and inhaled as deep as she could. That was a dream, that part of her life was over, that ghost was gone, and she was here, now. For better or for worse.

As Cheimin turned in bed, she found herself facing that wall of boxes. She was going to need to unpack that eventually. This was going to be home, after all.

Cheimin flopped onto her back. Problem was, where was all this going to go? Even as diminished as her belongings were, trying to unpack them was going to fill up this office. If the office even had enough room. True, her mother had said it was going to be her room, but Cheimin still felt bad dominating the space like that.

She already missed having her own place. It might have been kind of shitty, with a roommate who eventually became extremely shitty, but it was hers.

Maybe she could get a place of her own again, though. Yes, everything was expensive and she didn't have a ton of money at the moment, so it would be difficult to make it by, but not impossible. If she found a job, she could save a bit of money before she moved out-

Wait, no, the restaurant. The whole reason she was even here.

Sighing, Cheimin laid her hands on her stomach. Right, she did try to bring that up, and her mother never really gave her an answer, huh? Was her mother having second thoughts? She had to be, Cheimin assumed. There was no way, even as passive as her mother had been, that she was just going to keep going on as if nothing had happened.

(But why hadn't she said anything about it...?)

With an irritated grunt, Cheimin flipped onto her side. Later. She could talk to her mother about all of this in the morning. For right now, she just needed to sleep.

Barely alive, Cheimin stumbled into the dining room. The next day's breakfast table looked much like the previous day's; there was a plate of strawberries instead of grapes, and an additional meat dish, but everything else was familiar. Two bowls sat on her side of the table, already filled with rice and soup.

"Good morning, mom," Cheimin called out to her mother, still in the kitchen.

Her mother walked out with a bowl of rice in her hands. "Good morning, dear."

They ate breakfast in silence.

Shortly after breakfast, Fraw called, much the same time she had yesterday. As her mother greeted Fraw, Cheimin excused herself to give them privacy. However, just as she opened the door to the office, her mother said goodbye and hung up the phone.

"That was fast."

Her mother shrugged. "I... just didn't have much to say."

"...oh. I see." Cheimin fiddled with the door knob. What now? It felt like she should say something, but her mind was blank.

"Oh!" Her mother zipped over the coat hook and grabbed her purse. "I just remembered; I need to grab some things from the store. I'll be back-"

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Her mother gave her a quick glance. "Oh. Sure. If you want to."

"I'd be happy to."

"Thank you." A tiny smile curled on her mother's lips.

Cheimin pointed to the office door. "I do need to get dressed in some real clothes and brush my hair and all that-"

"Of course. I'll wait for you outside."

After throwing on a shirt and shorts (Cheimin didn't really bother to even look at what she was putting on), brushing her hair, washing her face (she forgot to do that before breakfast) pondering for a quick second whether to put on make-up (she threw on some sun screen and lip gloss), Cheimin decided she was good to go. She grabbed her wallet, shoved it in her pockets, and met her mother on the front steps.

"Are you ready?" her mother asked, to which Cheimin nodded in response. "It's not far." She pointed down the block, opposite the direction of that convenience store. "Do you mind if we walk?"

"Not at all."

"All right then." Her mother's eyebrows suddenly knit together as Cheimin walked down the steps. "Oh..." Her head swayed to one side. "I didn't know you liked that kind of music..."

Cheimin glanced down at her black t-shirt and saw a pointy, over-designed logo sitting atop of a flaming skull. Oh, it was that stupid shirt from that stupid metal band that her stupid Shitty Ex dragged her to go see. Of all the things, her Shitty Ex didn't steal this? (Must not have liked the band that much...)

"Oh, uh, a friend gave it to me. I should get rid of it, honestly. I don't actually like this band."

"Ah. I see," her mother muttered, her mind miles away from that shirt. Cheimin peered into her mother's face and noticed her eyes darting about. They seemed to snap to the dark corners and hidden alleys. A weight sat in Cheimin's stomach; her mother was doing that again.

"Hey, mom." Smiling warmly, Cheimin laid a hand on her mother's arm. "Is everything okay?"

Her mother turned to Cheimin with a stiff smile. "Of course, dear. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you're looking around a lot; you seem kind of nervous..."

"Oh, am I?" Shaking her head, her mother shifted her purse on her shoulder. "Ah, sorry. I didn't realize. I didn't mean to worry you."

"It's okay." Cheimin exhaled with a sigh and a private laugh. For some reason she had assumed that this was a nervous habit her mother would have lost by now. A silly assumption, really.

Perhaps, no matter how much time passes, some things will never change...

As they entered the store, Cheimin's heart sank when she saw the price of produce on the large signs. Ah, so everything was that expensive here. Good to know, she supposed.

(Any ability to live on her own was going to be a ways off, wasn't it?)

"Something wrong, dear?"

Cheimin shook her head. "Oh, no, no. Just thinking."

They strode towards the produce, her mother making a beeline right for the onions. She examined the onions for a hot second, bagged up a few that seemed to meet her standards, and they were already dashing out of the produce section. Well, her mother had never been a leisurely shopper.

On their way to the next stop, they passed a rather loud, and rather gorgeous, young woman hawking samples. Without daring to look up at the woman's face, Cheimin snapped up a small paper cup and moved along.

They stopped by the meat section. As she waited for her mother to peruse through the packages of chicken, apparently a bit more involved a process than with the onions, Cheimin's mind started to wander.

And for some reason, the first place it wandered to was that gunshot she had heard at the hotel.

Who was that person? Cheimin never saw the body. She could only guess what they had done. Something heinous or absolutely nothing at all, Cheimin assumed.

When did she just accept this, Cheimin wondered.

Things had always been bad. On some level Cheimin knew this. She had stared down the barrel of a gun before the first grade, for God's sake. Still, when did it get this bad? That everyone just shrugged and moved in with their day when they shot people in the street. That there'd be a fresh riot on the news every day, and Cheimin's only concern was how she would get to work that day.

And it was only to get worse.

It was just the way things were. Hathaway always wanted things to change, and... change required sacrifice. And apparently Hathaway's wasn't enough.

God, how ghoulish.

"Ah, here we go." Her mother's voice broke Cheimin out of her thoughts. She threw a four-pack of chicken thighs into the cart.

Cheimin could only laugh to herself. She shook the paper cup in her hand, watching the fragile crackers within jostle about and tiny bits break off. Ridiculous. Here she was, imagining the gutters choking on human sacrifice, while she stood in the middle of a supermarket staring at overpriced multigrain crackers in a cup. She fished one of those crackers out and took a bite. The texture was stale and there wasn't a molecule of salt or sugar on it.

While Cheimin dipped to the side to throw the cup away, her mother zipped right on over to grab a container of salt. Cheimin barely had enough time to catch up as her mother made her way to the cleaning supplies aisle for some sponges. As she threw a package into the cart, she turned to Cheimin.

"Is there anything else you need, dear?"

Cheimin took a second to think. "No, I can't think of anything."

"In that case, shall we head to the checkout?"

Huh, quick trip, Cheimin thought. Even with the minuscule amount in the cart, she tried not to think how much all of it cost.

As they walked to the front, Cheimin took a quick look around. This was a nice supermarket, she realized. It was clean, well organized, well staffed. Although the store was a bit cramped, and, as they made it to the front, Cheimin noticed the lines were pretty long. Still, those were minor problems, really.

As they stepped into line, Cheimin's eye wandered over to the garish display of magazines to their right. A smorgasbord of pablum and trash, generally unnoteworthy, except in the upper right corner she noticed a very familiar face. On the cover of some tabloid rag she had never heard of there was that same fucking picture of Hathaway, incorrectly scaled and so crudely printed that it barely resembled him, accompanied by a few inserts of incomprehensible blurry photos and the tagline "MAFTY'S SECRET GAY LOVER?"

Ah, she thought, he was following in Char's footsteps after all, or at least the press coverage of him was. Cheimin and her mother turned their gaze to the front of the line and kept it there.

As they checked out, despite her best attempts Cheimin did catch a glimpse of the total. (It wasn't quite as bad as she was expecting, but it was certainly high.) They quickly gathered their bags, walked outside, then suddenly her mother stopped.

"Soap! I forgot to get dish soap!" Her shoulders sunk into a beleaguered sigh. "I'm sorry, dear, wait right here and I'll be back-"

"I'll do it." Cheimin pointed to the interior. "Tell me the brand and I'll go grab it real quick."

"It's quite all right, I'll-"

"Mom." Cheimin's lips pressed into a thin line. "Let me do it. Please."

"...okay." Just as Cheimin turned to re-enter the store, her mother stopped her. "Wait, let me give you some money."

"Mom, it's just soap, I have enough-" Before Cheimin could finish her sentence her mother had dug a bill out of her purse and shoved it into her hands. All Cheimin could do was sigh. "All right, all right. I can't win against you."

Her mother took the bag out of Cheimin's hands with a smile. "It's Lem Brand, okay?"

Cheimin nodded. "Got it."

With that, Cheimin ran through the double doors. She zipped through the store, speeding through the aisles with impressive agility. Unfortunately she didn't quite remember which aisle the soap was in, so she had to dart in and out of a few rows to find the cleaning supplies. Then it took another half-minute to find the brand her mother specified, since Cheimin wasn't familiar with it. Once she had the bottle, she turned and sped right to the checkout, hoping to make up for lost time.

Of course, the second she made it to the checkout, she was greeted with even longer lines than before. Apparently everyone had to check out at this exact moment. There was little she could do, however, but to get in line and wait.

While she waited, that damn picture of her brother still hovered right on the edge of her vision. She shuffled up the line, and he was still there. Waiting and watching. Again, she shuffled up the line, and he was still there.

For reasons she couldn't explain, Cheimin grabbed the stupid magazine and threw it onto the belt.

Right as she walked through the doors, her mother called to her. As she made her way over to her mother, Cheimin lifted the bag to show her the soap. It only occurred to her a second later that her mother could also see the magazine. Sheepishly, she lowered the bag and her eyes. "Oh, uh, sorry, I, uh, saw a magazine I wanted and-"

"That's okay, dear."

"...thank you." Suddenly remembering, Cheimin dug into her pocket. "Oh, here's the rest of the-"

"You can keep it. Don't worry about it."

"No, mom, I insi-"

"Cheimin." Her mother's face settled into a strained smile. "Please. It's quite alright."

Once again, Cheimin decided to drop it. After all, she never could win against her.

As they turned the corner and approached the house, Cheimin's mother suddenly froze in place.

"...mom?"

"Cheimin." Her mother set her jaw tight and her voice low. "Remember what I've told you. Remain calm at all times. Don't lie, but don't tell them more than they ask for. Keep your answers simple and concise."

A sinking dread formed in Cheimin's stomach. "Mom, what are you...?" Upon taking another look, she saw some figures in the distance that looked an awful lot like they were wearing Federation uniforms. That sinking dread turned into tangible fear.

Without hesitation, her mother strode right up to the uniformed group, which consisted of two men and one woman. "Hello, officers, how may I help you today?" Her mother was all poised cheer.

The woman stepped forward and looked her mother dead in the eyes. "Ma'am." Without any other pleasantries, she turned straight to Cheimin. "Are you Cheimin Noa?"

As best she could, Cheimin forced herself calm. "Yes ma'am."

"We would like to ask you a few questions. If you would come with us-"

"Officers," her mother gave the group an almost genuine-looking smile. "If we talk inside, I would be happy to serve you all some snacks and tea."

"Ms. Yashima-Noa." One of the men spoke up. "This is standard protocol. There is nothing to be concerned about, we just need to speak to your daughter-"

"If you need to speak with her in private, I have a room in the house." She lowered her head in a half-curtsy. "Please, officers, it would be my pleasure to offer you something to eat and drink."

The other man, who seemed a fair bit older than the other two, leaned up to the woman and whispered into her ear. She quickly rolled her eyes, likely not expecting anyone to see it, then turned back to Cheimin and her mother.

"Very well."

As little as Cheimin wanted to go wherever they were going to take her, it didn't much calm her nerves to be marched into her own house by three suddenly mute soldiers. It didn't improve when, once inside, the younger man pulled open the door to the office and impatiently waved Cheimin inside.

"Officers?" Her mother ran up to the older man, still holding most of the bags. "Once I put the groceries away I'll be starting the tea. It won't take long-"

"Neither will our questions," the woman responded.

Lacking any other options, Cheimin followed the officers into the room. She turned to look at her mother, but the young man slammed the door shut behind them, right in her mother's face.

"Ms. Cheimin Noa." The woman took the bag with the detergent out of Cheimin's hands and placed it on the desk. She pulled out the desk chair, spun it around, and gestured to it. "Please, take a seat."

Cheimin sat.

"We just need to ask a few questions," The woman said, hovering over Cheimin. "Do you understand?"

Cheimin just stared straight ahead. "Yes, ma'am."

She pulled out a notepad and flipped through a few pages. "Were you aware of Hathaway Noa's, that is, your brother's, affiliation with the terrorist group Mafty before it was announced in the media?"

Cheimin balled her fists on top of her thighs. "No, I was not."

"Were you aware of Hathaway Noa's affiliation with any terrorist group, any revolutionary group, or any group with anti-Earth Federation sentiments?"

"No, I was not."

"Have you had an affiliation with any terrorist group, any revolutionary group, or any group with anti-Earth Federation sentiments?"

It took Cheimin a second to keep herself from laughing. (Why would she admit that?) "No, I have not."

"Ms. Noa," the younger man stepped forward. "You wrote a few articles for your high school newspaper, did you not?"

Cheimin stopped, taken off-guard. "I..." She thought for a second. "Yes, a few."

"Were you aware that this publication published material critical of the Earth Federation?"

"I..." The train of Cheimin's thoughts slammed to a complete halt. What in the hell were they talking about? There might have been a few articles that criticized the Federation, but if there had been it would have been tepid, half-formed criticism at best. No one had cared at the time. "I... was not."

"I see." The woman wrote something down in her notepad.

Cheimin nearly opened her mouth to defend herself, but clamped her lips closed just in time. Remember, she told herself, don't speak more than you need to. She repeated this advice in her head over and over as the three stood silent, expectant.

"When was the last time you spoke with your brother?" the woman finally said.

"I..." That was a good question. "A long time ago."

"Can you give an estimate? Would you say it was over a month ago, over six months, over a year, or two or more years?"

"Over six months, I think." It might have been over a year, but Cheimin wasn't sure.

"Did you speak in person, on the phone, on video call, in letter, electronic or otherwise, or some other method?"

"On the phone."

"What did you discuss?"

Cheimin took a second to think. "Nothing, really. It was just... 'how are you doing?' and that sort of thing."

"How did your brother say he was doing?"

"...fine. He said he was fine."

"What was your brother doing when you spoke?"

"I don't know."

"I see." The woman hummed and wrote something down. "When did you speak with him before that?"

"I don't remember. I couldn't even give you an estimate." She really couldn't. He had called her a few times when she first went to college, but those calls mostly stopped after a year. He had called her a few times after that first year, she was pretty sure, but she had no idea when, exactly.

"How often did you speak with your brother?"

"... rather infrequently."

"Was there a reason for that?"

"Not really." They were adults and they had their own lives. That wasn't so strange, right?

The woman hummed and made a note. "Did he ever discuss politics with you?"

Cheimin took a second to think. "No."

"Never?"

Cheimin swallowed a thick glob of saliva. This was a trick, wasn't it? "If he ever did, I don't remember."

(Of course he occasionally mentioned politics to her. Who didn't? That being said, her brother never said much of substance to her other than general bitching about the state of affairs.)

"Oh," the older gentleman cut in. "Why did you buy this?" He lifted up that damn tabloid and shook it in the air, waving that stupid, ugly picture of her brother around.

"I, uh." A nervous laugh crawled out of Cheimin. "I don't know."

The man turned the magazine over and started flipping through it. "Did you know anything about this supposed secret lover?"

The woman sighed. "Sir..."

"No. Of course I didn't." Cheimin's hands squeezed tight. "He never told me a damn thing."

"...he never discussed his romantic life with you?" the woman asked.

"No. I never knew who he was dating or anything like that." Based on some of the rumors, Cheimin surmised he was a bit of a heartbreaker (well, to be blunt, people usually called him a slut) but that was all she knew. He certainly never brought anyone home.

"I see." She shot the older man a dirty look as he continued to flip through the magazine. With a haggard sigh, she slammed her notepad shut. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Noa."

Cheimin only nodded in response.

Without a word, the younger man turned and threw the door open. There was a yelp, and on the other side there was her wide eyed mother, just a few inches shy of getting hit by the door as it had opened. The young man didn't mutter a single apology, instead he silently marched through the living room over to the front door.

"Oh!" The older man stumbled after his surly coworker. He stopped to bow his head to her mother. "Terribly sorry, ma'am!"

Her mother chuckled, a tiny nervous wobble sneaking out of her controlled laugh. "That's quite all right."

"Oh!" The old man lit up when he saw the tea tray set on the coffee table. "Are tea and snacks ready?"

"Sir." The woman's tone no longer disguised her frustration. "We don't have the time." She pointed at the now open front door. "And Sergeant Joubert already left."

"Oh." He shook his head. "Kids these days..."

Without bothering to respond to the older man, the female officer turned to her mother and nodded. "My apologies ma'am, but we won't be able to stop for tea." She gave Cheimin one last look. "Thank you for your time, ma'am."

The older man just sighed while he followed the woman to the door. "Well, thank you Mrs. Noa. I'll have to stop by some other time for that tea."

The smile on her mother's face tightened. "Have a good day, officers."

"Oh!" He pointed to Cheimin. "Nice t-shirt, by the way. You a metalhead?"

Cheimin rambled out a jittery laugh. "Oh, no, no, got it at a show my ex dragged me to."

With a good natured chuckle, the man waved. "I see. Well, see you later." Finally, finally, he and the woman left.

The second the door closed behind them, her mother rushed into the office. "Did you see them place anything anywhere?"

"I didn't," Cheimin followed her mother in, "but I wasn't looking that carefully."

Her mother scanned along the walls. "What did they ask you?"

"Mostly just when I talked to him last, what I talked to him about." Cheimin scoffed. "There wasn't much to tell them, honestly."

Her mother stopped and looked at her, lowered. "I see." She sighed. "Well, I didn't find anything, but... just be careful who you call and what you say, okay?"

"Of course, mom."

The two walked back into the living room. Her mother paused, her face suddenly wrinkled in thought. "Oh, you said something about an 'ex?'"

Shit. "Oh, uh, yeah."

"I don't remember that boy you dated in high school ever taking you to any shows..." The gears turned and turned in her mother's head. "Were you dating someone in college?"

"Uh..." Cheimin's heart hammered in her chest. "It- it wasn't serious."

"...I see." She grinned, her eyes distant. "Well, I guess my little girl is all grown up, isn't she?"

Her mother's gaze drifted off of her daughter, craning down at the magazine on the table next to the door. That ugly picture and sensational text stared back at her. She only sighed and shook her head.

"You know..." Her mother paused, her hand hovering above the soapy dish water. "I forgot to tell you; they talked to me, too. Federation investigators, that is."

Canting her eyebrows, Cheimin fished some spoons out of the rinse water. "They did? When?"

Her mother's hand dove under the water, suds bobbing around her arm. "It was before, actually. Just shortly before the news came out."

"Really?" Cheimin ran a dish towel over one of the spoons.

"I should have warned you, I'm sorry-"

"That's okay, that's okay." Cheimin placed the dried spoons back into the silverware drawer. "What did they ask you?"

"Just when I'd spoken to him last." She paused. "Hathaway, that is." Her mother pulled the plug, letting the water drain. "And if I knew anything about what he was doing."

Cheimin paused, her hand hovering above the cutlery. "...ah."

"I was very confused; I had no idea why they were asking." Her mother stared at the water spiraling down the drain. "The interview didn't last long. I didn't have much to tell them."

"...oh," was all Cheimin said as she pushed the drawer closed.

"They haven't bothered to talk to me since." Her mother half laughed, half sneered. "I suppose they figured I didn't have any information worth knowing."

Cheimin hung up the dish towel. They probably weren't going to bother her again either, she thought. She let her hands rest on the drawer handle while her thoughts wandered.

"I wonder..."

"Hm?" Her mother glanced at her.

"No, nothing," Cheimin muttered. "It's nothing."

Cheimin's eye followed the light streaming through the window, past the dancing dust mites in the air down to the kitchen table. The beam of light stretched over a hunched, ghastly figure perched atop a dining chair. She had to take a few steps towards the figure to see who it was.

"Hathaway."

In eerie stops and starts, he unfurled, stretching his limbs out from the chair. Hathaway's eyes turned to her, set in dark, concentric lines. The skin wrapped tight around his bones.

It all went still. Neither one of them blinked as they stared at one another. They didn't fidget, they didn't look away, they didn't breathe. Even the omnipresent buzz of electricity stilled.

Cheimin felt her mouth go dry. Words gathered in her throat, desperate to burst out, but they remained stuck in dusty ash.

Mustering every drop of energy she could, Cheimin took a step toward her brother. He didn't move. Someone, she managed to take another step toward him. He still didn't move. Another step, and he still didn't even blink. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he didn't flinch. His gaze remained locked, staring at his sister's afterimage.

Cheimin took a breath, but even then, she couldn't get gather enough breath to speak. Again and again she filled her lungs, but when she tried to make a sound, her lungs were suddenly empty. There was nothing.

In lieu of speech, Cheimin closed her eyes. She tried to bring the words to mind. But she couldn't do it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't even think the words she wanted to say.

It was silent.