1. Short chapter.
2. Valygar chapter.
3. Splinter Cell-inspired chapter.
4. That is all.
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“Lieutenant, do you see anything?”
“Sorry, Val, I got bupkis.”
The area the two of them were searching was heavily forested, with tall, coniferous trees stretching across acres and acres of land, all the way to the mountainside. The forest made for good cover, but that was actually working against them at this point – tracking an unknown number of escaped Confederation refugees through the thick woods was no small feat, even for a Ranger.
Nalia broke in over the comm. She sounded apologetic. “Sorry. I’m trying to pin down those transmission coordinates, but the signal’s shaky. Plus, there’s a lot of jamming and other interference that’s making it real hard to get a solid fix. I’m sure he’s in that general region you’re searching, but I can’t really narrow down the sweep area. I’ll keep working on it from this end.”
Valygar cut back into the conversation. “I think I have something. I’ll go take a look.” He flicked his comlink off, and shifted the weight of the heavy Gauss rifle slung across his shoulders. The small pistol he used as a backup weapon was gripped solidly in his right hand. He raised it to a ready position then began to trudge through the undergrowth, eyes peeled for any movement or other signs of life. There was little to go on at first, but as he kept moving, the signs became more readily apparent. Faded footprints in the soil, broken branches indicating the passage of one or more persons. The trail was faint, but at least it was something.
“Keep going, Sergeant.” That was Nalia once again; she and Falynn had been coordinating the search efforts. “I think you’re getting close-”
Spectre quickly muted the transmission. The ensign was right. He was getting close to something, and didn’t want her voice distracting him, or, incidentally, giving away his position. The forest gradually opened to a small clearing – a clearing that was mostly empty except for a hastily-erected duraplas emergency shelter. Other bits and pieces of survival equipment, from water purification canteens and chemical break-lights, to a crate of field rations, were strewn about the makeshift camp. The shelter-building itself was a dull, light-gray, and had the blue-white, eight pointed Star of the Confederation inscribed on its side.
“Are you Ivan?” Valygar asked, as he approached the lone figure in the camp.
The other man startled some. “Y-yes,” he stammered in a thick, northern-Faerunian accent. He ran several fingers through his thinning, gray hair and pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. “You’re human… you are police?”
Omega Six shrugged. “Yes and no. The relief force is on its way. Until they get here, I’m the only friend you’ve got, and I’m not a very good one.”
The half-panicked scientist seemed to ignore that. “We have to l-leave,” he stuttered out. “We have to hurry. They’ll find us soon.”
The Army Ranger shook his head. “I understand, but it’s not why I’m here. I’m here for your encryption key.”
Ivan blinked behind his thick lenses. “Why?”
“Because not giving it to me would ruin my sweet disposition.”
He protested. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“The deal still stands. When the Confederation lands more forces in the area, they -will- get you out of here; but first, you have to give me the key.”
“That wasn’t the deal I made with the woman on the radio.”
Valygar wasn’t particularly interested in discussing the deal Nalia had made with a chemical-weapons scientist. “Listen, do I come to your job and tell you how to murder civilians?”
“What?!”
“No. So don’t come to my job and tell me how to do mine. The Feds are on their way or here already. You’re gonna be fine. You can give me the key, or I can take it.”
“That -wasn't- the deal!”
“You’re working from a very limited phrase book. Listen, just give me the key. I’m tired, and I hate making people scream. It gets me down.”
Ivan finally relented. He reached under his shirt, pulling a chain from around his neck. At the end of that chain hung an electronic access card, almost certainly containing some manner of inane techno-babble that only someone like Nalia, or perhaps Jan, could comprehend. “Here.”
Valygar took the proffered item and tucked it away in one of the many pockets attached to his uniform fatigues. “Thanks. And until the Feds get here, find a better hiding place.”
“Goddamnit!”
