But it wasn't really. Gabe knew it wasn't. He'd decided that the possibility of never seeing Sol again made that detour worthwhile, but only after he noticed that he'd been heading that way already. That was the reasoning Gabe had used to justify the detour, to call it logical, but he'd made it up afterward. Consciously or unconsciously, he'd been heading for Houston since the moment he left Vermont.

No, the possibility of being drummed out of the program had nothing to do with this. Gabe was here because he'd wanted to see Sol, plain and simple. Gabe was here because a mere five days had been lonely enough, and then next nine would be also, but fourteen straight, that was unbearable.

But how could he explain this to Sol's father? This man would not understand. He didn't know Gabe, and for that matter, he didn't particularly know Sol. How could he possibly understand that for Gabe, Sol was an anchor. She was a tie to the humanity he'd lost so long ago. She kept him human. Gabe didn't want to find out what fourteen days away from her, alone on the streets of America and Canada, would do to him. He didn't want to find out what it would do to his humanity. He liked the fact that he had evolved, that with Sol's help he'd come toward the light, toward humanity. He didn't want to go back to how he'd once been. Not ever.

So Gabe answered as honestly and simply as he could, and made clear, with his tone of voice and facial expression, that this was as much of an answer this man would get from him.

The plain simplicity with which the boy spoke those words made him blink a little in surprise. He'd wanted to see her badly enough to run away from his parents the first time he'd seen them in eight years and risk being caught by the IF and punished for desertion and shot by him for the difference of a 14 day separation? The IF chose only genius children to attend the BattleSchool, so this boy wasn't stupid, and for the second time since he laid eyes on him, he wondered about this boy's mental stability.

But for the moment his daughter was safe, and his anger notwithstanding, Jubal preferred to reason. His first impulse was to take him up on his offer and tell him to get out, but there was a good chance, if this boy turned himself in willingly, that the IF would allow him to continue his education, and that meant he'd be back at Command School, completely out of his reach and with easy access to his daughter. He wouldn't kill him, but he wouldn't let him go, either, not until he knew that she wouldn't be endangered by his release.

Somewhat less tense, but still coldly stern, he flicked his eyes to the closest chair, near the chess table. "I think you'd better sit down. We have important matters to discuss." He no longer intended the boy any direct immediate physical harm, but the anger was still there, a bitter undercurrent, and he waited until he was seated before he sat down himself, crossing his arms over his chest and watching him closely.

The board was glass, transparent, with alternating dark and clear sections for the squares. The pieces were crystal, one side smoked, the other clear. It had been his birthday present to his little five-year-old daughter, back before she'd left for BattleSchool, when he'd still known her. They'd just put the monitor in, and she wasn't feeling well, either, so in a way, it had helped that too.

There was precious little about it to help now.

"Yes," he replied, simply. He declined to mention who had taught him, or who he'd been playing against for the past eight years. He suspected that the information would only make the man feel more and more replaced by Gabe. "But it's been a long time since I've won at it."

That last sentence was a calculated move. He felt that it would be a good idea for this man to underestimate him. Of the thousands of games Gabe and Sol had played, not one had ever truly mattered. Not one had even had any stakes higher than winner's pride. Now, Gabe decided that this game mattered. Not that Gabe won, necessarily -- this man would not be concerned with that. What mattered was how Gabe played the game. So Gabe settled into the chess mindframe he'd developed over the years, settled into the calm watchfullness, seeing everything, noticing everything, but most importantly, seeing it all in his mind, watching the different possibilities play themselves out, seeing which moves were direct and which were subtle, which were reserved and which were aggressive.

It was by reflex at this point. It was what he was called, except by Sol, and she only used a shortened version. Never Hunter. Never ever Hunter, for the very reason that his legal name was Hunter Gabriel, instead of Hunter Reiner. His last name had been legally changed back when he was young, by his mother, and he was glad of it. His first name remained, and Gabe would not be able to legally change it for another three years. When he was able to, he would. Gabe would carry nothing with him that was from his father but his DNA, and that he could not cast off. That he would wear like a stigma until the end of his days.

She smiled so much less now.

Why would this one boy have had so much of an effect? Surely she'd had other friends...? But Gabriel's words from before came back in sharp relief. Killing her only friend. Her only...

He hadn't known, but it was no excuse. He SHOULD have known, by God, before he sent his daughter someplace for EIGHT YEARS. "You were there with her, then?" he asked, his voice once again calm and reserved as despair overtook him from within. He would know the details of his folly.

"What happened?"

"I see."

But he didn't, he couldn't possibly. He would never know everything that had happened in BattleSchool. The files were sealed. All he knew was what this cold-eyed boy wished to tell him, and that made him very angry. She was his daughter...how could the IF have the right to keep this information from him? Of course, she could have told him...but she hadn't mentioned anything. For her, it had been eight years ago, perhaps no longer of any real immediate importance...but Gabriel's recounting was clear and precise enough to have been concerning events that happened yesterday.

Except that Gabe didn't necessarily know that it was true. Sure, Sol seemed happy enough most of the time, but was that necessarily the same thing? Was being happy at a given moment the same thing as being happy in general?

Gabe didn't know how to answer the question honestly, and didn't feel that an answer that was anything less than honest was appropriate. "I'd say that's a question you'll have to ask your daughter herself," Gabe said.

There was something about the way this man had phrased that question that was bothering Gabe. He'd started out asking about Sol specifically, but had then asked about the two of them, together. Gabe couldn't quite place what seemed odd about it. He just had a feeling that tomorrow he'd be on a bus headed west and he'd realize what it was this man was really asking.

"We look out for each other. We talk to each other. I've seen her smile more than I've seen her frown, if that's what you're asking. But if you want to know how she truly feels, then that a question that I wouldn't answer myself even if I could, because it's not my place to decide if that information is for you to know."

Gabriel had left his queen undefended, and he moved in to take it. From that point, he estimated three moves until a checkmate. The boy had been a good player, but he made many of his daughter's mistakes, moving pieces without thinking with no real end in mind.

The boy had beaten him. The queen sacrifice was only a distraction as he moved his knight/rook battery into play and caught his king in a discovered checkmate. Things began to come clear to him, things he'd never understood about the way his daughter thought. She'd been trying to tell him something, even before she'd left, and he'd never seen it.

Jubal was a traditional player. He honored the past chess masters and followed in their footsteps, but he did not take it upon himself to attempt to exceed them. Chess was an exercise in control, not unrestrained recreation. He had watched his daughter's developing style with despair. She'd never seemed to really focus...he'd draw her attention to his position, point out the weak spots, and she'd nod, intent, but when it came her turn to move, she never moved the "correct" piece. She was always trying to be stealthy, to lay traps for individual pieces instead of attempting to corner the king. He'd restricted her to black, hoping that the defensive position would force her to a more traditional, honorable sort of play...but it had never appeared to sink in.

When she'd returned and they had played their game, he had been pleased. She had played white, and she had played aggressively and well. The traces of her childish attempts at stealth were gone, and she'd fought with only the tested attacks that he'd approved of. She'd lost, but it had been a hard battle, and he was satisfied.

Then when the IF had shipped them away, he'd taken her immediate shift of attitude as a regression, a retreat to her childhood deviance that she was latching on to in her fear and uncertainty. That had been bitter for him to witness. That was the mark of a coward, and he didn't want to believe that his daughter was a coward.

But this boy, this Gabriel, had used much of her method against him as well, and he had beaten him. So had Rebecca, but it had never felt like an earned victory to him, then. He had always looked down on her for using dishonorable means to win her ends, and she had felt that disapproval. He felt ashamed sadness when he remembered how her small face had fallen, when he chided her for playing what he felt was the wrong way.

And now he finally understood. Gabriel's short recitation of the events at BattleSchool had finally allowed him to understand something that he hadn't in all his years as a history professor, not beyond an intellectual level. Honor, fairness, justice...they were pretty words. But in real battle, one thing mattered, and one alone.

Survival.

His daughter was not like him, not the way he'd thought, but that versatility of character had allowed her - and this Gabriel - to survive the viper's nest he'd thrown her into when she was six. She'd known, long before he had, that it didn't matter how the game was played, not if it was necessary to win. She had taken that philosophy and made it effective, had become adept enough to find someone to survive with that was loyal and attached enough to travel half the continent in five days to see her before he "moved on".

And she had not attacked him without provocation. His daughter was effective...but not heartless. Her love for him had been evident even when he'd had his gun on her friend. He just hadn't wanted to see it. His manner at every step had indicated that he disapproved of her protection of this boy. She had drawn a logical conclusion and declined to confide in him, but she had done her best to spare his feelings. She no doubt felt that she would be better able to protect him and herself on her own.

Perhaps she was right.

Jubal reached over and knocked over his king as he met Gabriel's eyes. The game was over, that much was certain, but this boy wasn't going anywhere until he'd had a chance to talk to his daughter. She belonged more to Gabriel now than she'd ever belonged to him. The boy understood her better...and now as he was coming to understand her himself, he doubted she really belonged to anyone.

"If you don't mind, Gabriel," he said quietly as he rose, a sad respect in his voice, "I would like to speak to her myself first." He called for Alec, and the boy came out warily. Rebecca stood behind him, fearfully looking out, and it pained him to see how relieved she was that her friend was intact. "Alec, please keep our guest company for a moment," he said softly. "I would like to speak to your sister."

A little surprised and disgruntled, but nevertheless relieved by his obvious change in mood, Alec moved out into the main room, eyeing Gabriel warily as his father moved past him, into his room, and shut the door.

"What would you like?" the boy asked, as he pulled open the refridgerator door. He inspected the contents, and glanced at Gabe.

"Meat," Gabe said. "Any kind."

All he'd had to eat, since leaving five days ago, was what he'd tucked into the bag hidden in the woods and what he'd stolen along the way. The food in the bag was all non-perishable, shrink-wrapped, and stamped with expiration dates that were still a few years off. And all he'd been able to lift easily was food sold out of carts and bins; namely, produce. He needed protein.

The boy got out a package of roast beef and a small tub of mayonnaise, and set them on the tiled counter, beside a bagged loaf of bread. He nodded to Gabe, and then sat down at the kitchen table, never taking his eyes off Gabe for a moment.

Gabe ignored the bread and mayonnaise entirely. He opened the package of beef and started stuffing slices into his mouth. There was no grace or properness to him at all as he did this; just a hungry boy packing food into his belly with no regard for taste or manners.

As he ate, Gabe watched Sol's brother also. Gabe found the resemblance the boy bore toward his father quite interesting. Between slices, Gabe said, "I'm sorry, . . . for tackling you back there."

The boy led him to the bathroom, and Gabe didn't so much as wait for the boy to leave before he bagan to strip off his clothes. The boy looked a little uncomfortable, especially when Gabe handed him the pile. "Thank you," he said. The boy left, and closed the door behind him.

The gun was gone. That was good. Gabe appeared unwounded, and that was also good. But what was he going to do now?

She remained nervous until she met his tired blue eyes as he closed the door. Her nervousness melted away to sad foreboding. He looked...beaten. What could Gabe possibly have said or done to reduce him to this? She could see no bruises, no other visible signs of injury. Whatever it was had left no marks on him aside from the weary defeated look on his face.

He approached her slowly, and she stood her ground. She knew how to read body language and mood, and he wasn't going to hit her. He reached out and took her hand, and she let him, tentatively squeezing his fingers.

She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing, not even when he pulled her close and hugged her. She hugged him back, though, her muscles relaxing in relief, and cried into his shoulder as he held her. "I'm sorry," he said at last, his voice sounding almost like it was in her head as it resonated through his chest. "I didn't understand."

What could have done this?

He hugged her tighter, and she decided it didn't matter. She wasn't sure how long they stood there, minutes, hours, but it was long enough, and not a moment longer. When he finally let her go she was dry-eyed, and when he offered her a somewhat sad smile, she returned it in kind. Whatever had brought about this painful understanding, it was done, at least, and if she couldn't be the little girl her father had expected and spent eight years waiting for, she hoped she could still make him a little proud.

So that meant it was time to get moving.

The three of them were in the living room. Sol was not smiling, exactly, but she certainly wasn't looking sad either. Something good had happened. Perhaps Gabe had caused it. Perhaps it would have happened anyway. Either way, Sol looked happy, and so that made Gabe feel good. Coming here had not been a mistake. At least some of the damage he'd caused was now mended. That made it worth it.

The atmosphere in the room felt like relieved wariness to Gabe, which he decided was still much better than having a gun pointed at him. The house was warm, and Gabe would have liked to stay a bit, but he knew that it wasn't a good idea. He was still a point of discord in this crowd, still an unhappy reminder of what Sol was now, of what this man had lost. Staying any longer would be destructive. By some happy accident, Gabe had managed to do some good here. He had to leave now, and let them heal together by themselves, or he risked making things worse again.

So without a word, Gabe went to the kitchen, and grabbed a few more slices of bread. He then raised them in salute to Sol's father and brother, and nodded, and proceeded straight through the living room to the door.

He did not close it behind him as he left the cabin. Sol would follow, he knew. He wanted to speak to her alone before he left, and decided that if he did so out in front of the house, where her father could even watch through the window if he wished, then it would be easier for everyone.

He descended the steps, taking a large bite out of the slices of bread he carried, and allowed himself a small grin, knowing that no one could see. He felt good. He didn't quite know why, but he did. Perhaps it was the chance that, against all odds, his coming here had helped matters. Perhaps it was the food in his stomach and the clean clothes on his back. Or perhaps it was simply seeing Sol again. It didn't really matter; Gabe felt good tonight, good enough to walk to the nearest train station if he had to.

He didn't go too far. Pretending he didn't know that Sol would be coming after him was stupid, and Gabe didn't play games like that. He waited, and lifted his head up to see the moon above. His grin widened just a bit. Somewhere out there, a starbase was waiting to make a true soldier of him. Command School. I'll be along shortly, he said, inside his head. Just a few loose ends to tie up here, and then I'm yours. I will learn everything you have to teach, Command School. I won't be done until I know everything there is to know about everything.

Stepping down off the porch, she approached Gabe as he turned to her, the barest hint of a grin tugging at his features. She returned it with a wide smile and hugged him briefly. "Thank you," she said simply as she pulled away. There was no way for her to guess what she was thanking him for, but that was alright. What mattered was that whatever he'd done, it had worked.

Her father loved her. Her father had been happy to see her. But her father was just now beginning to realize who she really was, and right now, she was making him a little uncomfortable. He needed time to come to grips with this change, and it would be easier with her gone. Her brother would adjust more quickly...but she didn't need to be here for that.

Gabe, on the other hand...Gabe was intending to flee the IF long enough to go to Juneau for something he thought was important enough to take the risk for, and he intended to go alone. Her intentions differed slightly. She wasn't going to let him. It was too dangerous for him, by himself. She could ask his permission...but he might say no, and where would that leave her?

She didn't really care where he was going, or why. Juneau was good enough for a general idea. She sighed and admitted to herself that it probably wasn't a good idea, but it was even less of a good idea for him to go by himself. But the most important reason of all took her the longest to admit.

She had missed him terribly. She didn't want him to leave again, not when she could go with him.

Gabe looked directly into Sol's eyes, to make sure she wasn't just kidding. "No," he said, though he knew that there would be no convincing her otherwise. Gabe took Sol's arm and revolved the two of them, so that their sides faced the cabin, and raised an arm to point at the door. "Damn it Sol, I just had a gun pointed at me in there, I beat your father at chess, I told him things I've told no one but you, I explained to him what we are, what Battle School has made us, all so that you would be able to spend your leave the way it was supposed to be, with you and your father happy together like fathers and daughters are supposed to be and you're telling me that after all that you want to leave?"

He let his arm fall, and released his grip on hers, and raised his face to the sky and spread his arms out wide, as if looking to the stars for answers. His arms then dropped back to his sides, and he leveled his head again.

"That's right, Gabe, I have nine days to remind my father time and again that I am NOT the girl he thought I was. He loves me, and I love him, and that's ENOUGH. I don't have to be here reminding him how much I've changed to make it better. If we can't make it back in time for me to say goodbye, that's alright. I can say those now, and not look back. I won't be risking anything, because my father will let me go with his permission. We have reached an understanding."

He sighed, and shook his head. It was a backhanded compliment, he knew; even as she insulted his intelligence, she was saying that she would not stand by while he was in danger. Not that he truly was; Gabe knew the street, and he knew how to survive. At five it had been hard. At fifteen it was laughably easy. But Sol wouldn't care about any of that. She'd made up her mind. He could tell her no all he wanted, but she was still going to follow him, and short of putting a dent in her forehead with the hammer, there was no way Gabe was going to stop her.

She entered, ignoring the curious glances from her family as she went into her room and quietly packed her small duffel with two days' worth of clothes. The chess pieces were extra baggage, but she wasn't too worried. They were small and didn't take up much space.

When she stepped back out into the main room with her bag, her father's gaze nearly made her wince, but he said nothing. Alec, however, was still making connections. "You...you're leaving, Becca? But...but you just got here..." he blinked, and looked at her dad, apparently expecting a little backup, but her father was silent, just watching her.

Alec began to catch on.

Standing up, her little brother came over to her and hugged her tightly. She hugged him back, but after only a few moments he wrenched himself away and went into his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Her father stood as well, then, and came over to stand in front of her. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," she said, her voice soft, but not hesitant.

Her father nodded, and then he did embrace her. She hugged him back, more tightly than she had intended to, and he kissed her forehead. "Do you need anything?" he asked, a gentle ironic note in his voice. "No," she said with a half-hearted smirk. "I think we'll be alright. But would you mind if I packed sandwiches?" Her father shook his head in negation, and she busied herself in the kitchen while he watched her.

This small chore done, she packed the food in on top of her clothing and hefted her bag. A little heavier than normal, but well within easy carrying tolerance.

He hugged her once more and then stood away, as if he wanted to keep himself from trying to make her stay. "Be careful," he managed, his voice a little uneven on the last word. Sol winced a little at that, but nodded. "If you need anything - "

"I'll call you. I promise."

From Oregon they traveled north, crossing over the Canadian border at night to avoid registration and walking to the nearest town on foot. They had to do some pickpocketing not long after they arrived, as the weather had become far too cold for the clothing they had brought. It turned out that Sol knew a thing or two about the craft as well, though she tended to feel a bit guilty about enjoying her talent at it. Gabe didn't understand what there was to feel guilty about; she was good at it, naturally, and that made collecting the necessary funds a much easier and faster process. They bought warmer clothes, and continued north.

Gabe never considered himself a thief, for the same reason he did not consider himself a murderer. In nature, there were no murderers or thieves; animals killed when they had to kill, and took what they needed to survive. Gabe never used violence when he didn't have to, and never took what he didn't need, and so therefore his conscience never bothered him. Sol still had societal inhibitions built into her, deeply enough that eight years in Battle School with a moral wasteland like Gabe still hadn't erased them. But nevertheless, she took just as Gabe did, and she was good at it. Even if she could not reconcile it, morally, she still took some satisfaction from a job well done.

They crossed back onto American soil -- figuratively speaking, as there was next to no soil to be seen at this time of year -- on the eleventh day of their Earthside leave. By sundown, they were in Juneau. It was the final destination for this journey. The end of the trail. The IF would be waiting, and watching. And if they were caught now, all would be for nought.

Most of her childhood had been spent in Texas. The winters were sometimes frosty, but never snowy, and relatively short. The kind of cold she'd come to know as they travelled farther north made her lungs hurt to breath the air, cold and icy. The warm clothes they'd purchased with the money they'd stolen kept her from freezing, but it was the frigid air she kept breathing in that gave her these unshakable chills.

They had arrived in Juneau on the evening of their eleventh day of leave after six long days and nights on the road. Sneaking past the border guard and avoiding the police had now become almost easy. Learning to pick pockets all over again had been practically recreational, but doing it out of necessity appealed less than doing it for fun had when she was little. She came up with less than Gabe did at first, but she took the time to choose her targets, picking only the people that looked like they could spare something, and it began to yield equilizing results.

The money they'd secured in this fashion had facilitated their travel, and now they were finally where Gabe had wanted to be, standing outside a small motel and waiting for the vagrant they'd hired to return with their room key. They hadn't bothered with renting rooms before, and it had presented something of a puzzle. Until they'd gotten this far north, shelter hadn't been much of a problem. Any reasonably well-protected space would do, but she was sick and tired of drainpipes and parking garages. Now it was too cold for them to contemplate another night in the open, and Sol was looking forward to the bed and the shower.

But the IF had the police looking for Gabe, and there was no guarantee that they weren't looking for her as well. On the last leg of their bus journey, they had come up with this idea, and as the older man they'd trusted with thirty of their precious dollars reappeared and began walking towards them, Sol breathed a sigh of relief.

They were in Juneau, and relatively safe, with two full days left to them before they had to turn themselves in to make their launch on time. Sol was with Gabe, and they were alright, but she wanted the answer to a very simple question that she'd been avoiding asking him the entire trip.

Theirs was room 3F. Gabe had been very specific with his instructions to the vagrant. The room could not be on the ground floor, and could not be facing the street. They ascended the open-air stairs, and located 3F. It met the requirements. The vagrant had earned his money.

The doorknob was frosted, and getting the key into the lock was not easy, but soon the mechanism turned and the door opened on creaking hinges. Gabe entered, and stamped the snow off his boots as Sol closed the door behind them.

Sol was shivering, and so Gabe crossed toward the heating unit that sat against the far wall. It was an ancient thing, but for a place like this, that was to be expected. Gabe got it running, and shed his jacket. It was still cold in the room, but not as bad as outside, and Gabe found the jacket restricting. After so many years of Battle School uniforms, civilian clothes were strange and uncomfortable, and Gabe found jackets to be especially bad. When he retired, he was going to have to remember that, and choose somewhere with a warm climate.

They'd decided upon a single-occupancy room, because any more than that and they'd have no money for the small bribes they would certainly need in order to learn what Gabe needed to know. That didn't matter, though; at any given time, no more than one of them would be asleep. Gabe was not going to be taken offguard by the IF. Gabe picked up a chair, and set it against the wall beside the door, on the hinge side. He then pulled the hammer out of his bag, and set it standing on its head beside the chair. Gabe then took the Do Not Disturb sign, and hung it on the outer doorknob. He closed the door again, and set all the locks.

Gabe went through the entire motel room. Everything not bolted down, he upturned, moved around, checked over inch by inch. Everything that could be disassembled was, everything with drawers or compartments was emptied and pulled apart. It was almost a full hour before Gabe was satisfied that the room was clean. He then took the duct tape they'd purchased from his bag, and taped the drapes shut on all windows. In the bathroom there was a steamed glass window set above head height, to let in natural light. Gabe taped over it entirely.

While Sol showered, Gabe used the computer terminal in the room and searched for general information. Nothing so specific as to trip any alarms, of course; the IF would be monitoring this city very closely. Just general tourist information. But Gabe made sure to get plently of maps. And he memorized them all.

Gabe would have liked to go out now, and get started. But it was getting late now, and teenagers out alone or in pairs were only going to be more suspicious. What Gabe and Sol were going to do, they would have to do in broad daylight. So they would wait until tomorrow, and go out among the crowds. The IF was going to be watching the shadows. Gabe and Sol would have to hide in plain sight.

For what it was worth, Gabe had not shaved since leaving Battle School, and so had enough growth on his face to add a year or two to his description. Not exactly a great disguise, but then, he wasn't planning on getting close enough to any cops or IF to be identified. The stubble might just put off some suspicion at a distance, but Gabe wasn't going to count on it.

Sol wasn't a problem. She could move more or less freely. They weren't searching for her, and unless her picture had been in the dossier, thre was no possible way she was going to be made. That was a definite plus, Gabe knew; anything that needed to be done where being spotted was a risk, Sol could do.

When she came back into the main room, she stopped short as saw Gabe, really saw him for the first time in six days. They'd been so busy ducking and dodging and crawling and stealing that she hadn't really noticed the change he'd gone through. Gabe himself hadn't changed at all. If he noticed that his cheeks were rough and scruffy or that his clothes were wrinkled and dirty then he gave no sign. He could have been back in BattleSchool, ready to play her a game of chess.

Sol smiled, a little hesitantly.

"Do you remember playing the fantasy game back when we were still in 4500, Sol? There was one game we played where there was a house that was trying to split us apart, break us down. Do you remember? Do you remember what you saw when you entered my room, and found that chopper?" Gabe leaned forward, and leaned his elbows on his knees, interweaving his fingers. All traces of laughter were gone now. "There's a lot about that crash I don't remember, Sol. It's the only part of my life I can't remember clearly. The only part. I have gaps in my memories of it. Parts that are just black. Except that when I played that mind game, it reminded me of a lot of things I'd never thought about. Sol, you saw the chopper. Did you notice the windscreen? There were holes in it. Holes about the right size to have been made by anti-tank rounds being fired from a gauss turret on the ground. That chopper didn't go down by itself. Somebody shot it down. My mother and my sister were killed, and I was supposed to have died too. Now I've come back here to figure out what happened that day, and why."

Sol looked a little bit stunned. Apparently she had not seen the bullet holes in the windscreen, or else had not understood what they were until now.

One thing was plain. Gabe had a reason to be driven. As well as she felt she'd known him before, Sol still had difficulty imagining what it must have been like, to carry that by himself for ten years. he'd never once mentioned it, not in all that time. She'd made tender inquiries about his mother and sister, but quickly abandoned it as a topic of conversation, hoping he would speak to her himself if he wished to. He never had, and she'd nearly forgotten.

She had guessed it had something to do with the crash...maybe visiting his mother's grave. In the distant past she would have dismissed that as far too sentimental an action for Gabe...but after he spend five days of his leave hiding out and running just to visit her and apologize for waking her, she wouldn't put anything past him.

He entered the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. There was a cleaner unit built right into the wall, and Gabe stripped out of his clothes and tossed them in. It was cold tonight, and Gabe decided to allow himself the luxury of a hot shower. He set the water to warming and went to the sink.

His reflection was wearing a scraggly beard. It was too far developed to be called stubble anymore. There was a disposable hand razor in the cupboard. Gabe held it up before him, and studied it. He'd never used one before; in Battle School, the boys that shaved used little electronic units that burned the hair off with a laser. Why metal blades next to his face, when he'd become so accustomed to shaving with light radiation, should bother him, Gabe could not guess. But nevertheless, it made him uneasy.

Gabe set the razor down atop the sink and decided to get to shave afterward.

The water was indeed hot, and Gabe raised his face to the stream, feeling the water's push. He did not idle, however -- allowing himself hot water was one thing, but he would not wallow in it. Gabe scrubbed quickly, and efficiently, as he'd learned to do after countless showers under the often-cold water of Battle School.

The razor still waited for him on the sink, and Gabe picked it up a second time. With the very first stoke, he cut himself.

He learned very quickly, however; he always did, when there was pain involved. He shaved the beard down to a thin line running along his jaw, connecting with his sideburns before his ears and his trimmed mustache on either side of his mouth. In the mirror, he studied his new visage. Not a complete transformation, nor was it anything like a disguise, but at least it would not clash with clean clothing. Gabe also took the time to at least part his hair, which was beginning to get long for his tastes. Oh well; he could get a haircut when they arrived at Command School.

The clothes were ready, and Gabe dressed. He put away the razor, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Sol was sitting in the chair, holding the hammer in her lap, sleeping. Gabe smiled, and crossed to her. He took the hammer, and then lifted her as best he could from the chair, and carried her to the bed. She shifted in his arms, and Gabe could not tell if she was awake or still sleeping. He set her in the bed, and drew the comforter over her.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but she was warm and comfortable, and that kept her eyes closed and her body still for a little longer than usual. It seemed a novel sensation, after being on the road for nearly a week.

Still, eventually her eyes did open, and she stared at the ceiling of the motel room, old patterns of water damage leaving trailmarks in the white plaster. She followed it down to the old wallpaper and finally to Gabe, still seated in the chair, his brown eyes drawn to her by her movement. She smiled sleepily at him and stretch quietly under the covers before swinging her legs over and standing. She winced as her toes touched the floor. Even the carpet was cold in this icy place.

Sitting back in the chair, Sol looked at the hammer in her lap with a little frustration. She was grateful that he was paranoid. He'd kept himself alive and uncaptured long enough to get to her, and he thought to look for things that she wouldn't have considered in a million years. Twice he'd kept them from walking into police traps that she hadn't noticed.

No, what frustrated her was the need for the hammer. But there wasn't anything she could do about that right now.

She set it down carefully and padded silently over to the bed to look at Gabe closely. He'd shaved, somewhat. He looked so much older with the facial hair...but he was still Gabe, underneath. She smoothed his hair and went back to take her seat. She was tired of this hammer, and tired of having to think of what she would do if called upon to use it, but she was well-rested and warm and that would have to do until the morning. He'd said there might be hacking involved. Sol hadn't touched a desk in 11 days.

He sat up in bed, and swung his legs down to the floor. Before his feet touched the floor he was fully awake. Gabe always slept lightly. He glanced at the clock sitting on the floor -- he'd moved and taken apart the night stand -- and noted the time. It was almost dawn. Gabe was pleased with himself. He'd suspected that if he'd asked her for six hours, she'd have given him eight or posssibly even nine, if he did not wake up on his own -- which, in a bed as warm and soft as this, was a definite possibility. So he'd asked for four hours. How wonderfully reliable Sol was.