Prairie Fire (33 page)

“And if you feel any twinges, anything you think might be an infection, tell them to bring you here immediately,” he said, and I was escorted back to my quarters.

I was staying in officers' quarters now, presumably so I couldn't compare stories with any of my fellow squad members. I wondered if we were all being held separately. The base didn't have that many unoccupied single rooms, but it did have a lot of storage closets. If General Speed wanted us to be isolated, he could do it quite easily. At least I hadn't been taken to the brig.

I had no access to the news, and I was profoundly glad of it. If I had been able to turn on a television or go online, I knew I wouldn't have been able to resist the temptation to do so. I shuddered to think what they were saying about us now. Last summer, they had called us ecoterrorists, and we'd only ruined an uninhabited and relatively worthless island. This time, we'd done far worse.

Except it hadn't really been “we.” Well, it would be “we” as far as General Speed was concerned, but Courtney had set it up so that it looked like Owen had acted alone and we had immediately gone into damage control. That made me angry. I didn't know how the rest of the squad felt, but if they thought I was going to sit by quietly while we let Owen take the fall, they had another thing coming, and I didn't care what it did to our future prospects.

I took a shower, mindful of the gauze. It was the first true shower I'd had since leaving the base all those weeks ago, even if I couldn't really wash the smoke from my skin. Then I had to put on the uniform I'd arrived in, which almost entirely negated the shower. I decided to take advantage of the bed, because my adrenaline and second wind were both well-spent, and I was exhausted. I lay down and did my best not to think, but a tune pulled at my mind. The more I listened to it, the easier it was to relax, and at last I fell asleep.

Hammering on the door woke me later. For a bleary moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Then it all crashed in on me, and I dragged myself out of the bed. I was horribly rumpled and still in the uniform I'd been wearing under my snowsuit, but there was nothing for it. I hauled the door open.

“McQuaid.” Porter nodded sharply. Then he looked at my uniform. “You look terrible.”

“They didn't give me anything to change into, Lieutenant,” I told him. “They just bandaged my hands and left me.”

“Stay here,” he said, and stalked off muttering to himself. About ten minutes later, he came back with a clean uniform and an MRE. He sat down on the bed—there was no chair—and gestured for me to sit beside him. “Food first,” he said, peeling back the tinfoil and unwrapping the fork for me. It was the first time he'd ever done anything like that. I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat and ate as fast as I could.

“What's happening?” I asked, speaking around a mouthful of something I was pretty sure was chicken. Porter wasn't really the type to complain about me talking with my mouth full.

“The usual bullshit,” Porter said. “They're arguing about who, if anyone, to blame for all of this. The regular army is furious with us for going above their heads, but mostly I think they're embarrassed that three green dragon slayers and their fire crews acted before they had a chance to.”

“How bad do you think it'll be?” I didn't think my parents would care too much if I was dishonorably discharged, but I would go down fighting anything less than full honours for Owen.

“Well, Amery is speaking on your behalf.” Porter sounded surprised, understandably. “And they like her a lot more than they like me. Also, your training sergeant from Basic has agreed with her, and he's well-respected too.”

“Won't it just look bad for them if we get in trouble?” I asked.

“They can't get you in trouble, Siobhan,” he said gently. “They can punish you indirectly, as you've seen done, but they can't come out and do anything officially. He saved too many lives.”

I thought about that for a moment while I finished my dinner, or lunch, or whatever it was.

“So what happens next?” I asked.

“Well, first you get changed,” Porter said, passing me the uniform.

I went into the bathroom. It was an unmodified uniform, which usually meant that Annie helped me with the buttons and bootlaces. Annie wasn't here, though, and I was damned if I was going to ask Porter for help. It took me a while, but I managed, though I couldn't do the tie. I had no idea why bootlaces were something I could do and neckties were not. Maybe it was the angle. At last I gave up and went back out with it undone around my neck.

“You'll have to talk to the general,” Porter said when he saw me. He stood and tied my tie without fanfare. He looked down at my feet and must have decided that those knots would hold, because he didn't move to fix them. “But I'll be with you, and so will Amery.”

“And Courtney?” I asked.

“Yes,” Porter said. “He's refused to let her out of his sight since she got back. I think it scared him more than he's willing to admit, her being that close to a Chinook.”

“She was closer to the one that came here,” I pointed out. “But I guess she was in the shelter for that.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad,” he said. “She seems to calm him down a bit, somehow.”

“That's probably good for me,” I said.

Porter handed me my hat, and we went out into the hallway. It might have been my imagination, but I swear that everyone we passed straightened. They didn't come to attention, not quite, but they stood a little taller. Like they were proud. We passed a cleaner, the same man I'd seen before we'd gone north, and he bowed his head as we walked by.

It was Owen, I realized. He was gone, and this was how they remembered him. By doing their jobs but taking time to honour him in the process. I could do that.

Both of General Speed's aides were at their desks, but they didn't say anything as we passed. In the office, I saw that not only were Courtney and Amery present, but so was our entire squad. Wilkinson and Anderson, who had sustained the worst injuries, were sitting in the chairs while everyone else crowded around them. It was a tight fit, but we managed.

“I realize that this is not a happy time,” the general said after I gave my oral report of what had happened. He looked at his daughter before turning to look at me. “But there are things we must discuss. About your future within the Oil Watch.”

I twisted my hands, but when I looked at Amery, her face was calm. Whatever the general was talking about, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

“Tradition dictates,” he went on, “that when a dragon slayer is killed in the line of duty, his support squad is offered a choice.”

I recalled that, vaguely, from Basic. And Speed had said “in the line of duty.” That boded well.

“You are all entitled to retirement from the Oil Watch with full honors and benefits,” General Speed said.

Parker shifted the leg he'd burned, but no one else moved. I'm not entirely sure anyone else breathed.

“You may also request reassignment as individuals,” Speed said. “And your final alternative is that you are able to select another dragon slayer to follow as a squad. The dragon slayer you pick must not have a crew and must accept you.”

I felt everyone in the room shift to look at Courtney. She was the one with the lists. She knew where everything was, and I knew that everyone would follow her lead, even though I wasn't sure I could. The look she directed at Porter was speculative, and when he nodded, the barest of smiles appeared on her face. The rest of the squad straightened as best they could and shifted, ever so slightly, in Porter's direction.

“We will support Lieutenant Porter, sir,” Courtney said.

There was not an ounce of familiarity in her voice as she spoke to her father, but neither was there any hint of disrespect. I watched as he softened, just a little bit, and Courtney dropped her gaze.

“Very well,” the general said. His voice was absolutely as professional as hers, but there was something new in his eyes. Fear, I thought. With just the right amount of regret. “I will have the appropriate paperwork done up. You are all dismissed.”

We walked back to the barracks quietly, Porter in the lead. It wasn't exactly cause for celebration. Reassignment of the crew by the crew's choice was supposed to suppress any rumours of bad luck, but the truth was that most people took retirement. Losing a dragon slayer was hard, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to go to work for Porter as I had for Owen.

He must have known when he came to get me, for all he pretended not to. He'd been much nicer to me than he had before. Presumably that would wear off eventually, but maybe it was also an audition. He'd tied my tie, knowing that I was about to go to a meeting where I'd end up his bard. I didn't know if I could write for bagpipes. They were much less user-friendly than the horn.

“It'll be different,” Laura said at last when we got to our room. All the guys had followed us in, even though that wasn't really within regulations, and Nick was waiting for us, sitting on the foot of Kaori's bed.

“But we'll all be together,” Annie said. “At least until our four years are up.”

They were all nodding. They would do this as a group. What we had started with a Singe'n'Burn on the banks of the St. John River we would finish together, or at least as together as we could.

“Siobhan,” Courtney said hesitantly, “when you were telling the general what happened, you were using your storytelling voice.”

I hadn't even realized it, but of course I had been. It was easier that way when I was telling a story. I could even pretend I hadn't told one great lie to ensure that the people who most deserved the truth from me would never, ever find out what it was. It hung there, for a moment, and I almost cracked. But then Nick stood up.

“No, she wasn't,” he said, coming to sit beside me. And he had been there with me, so everyone believed him.

“You don't have to, Siobhan,” Porter said. So gently. He was sitting on Courtney's bed near the wall, and yet somehow, he was still the centre. “You can go home, retired, full honours. And if you stay, you never have to write a note about me. You've got your own story to tell, and I'm happy to be a part of it, if you want.”

My own story. That was the one thing I had barely allowed myself to consider. It was always Owen's story that I told. But I thought about the cleaner who waved at me in the corridor; the men of the Patricias, the one million followers who watched my videos, our crews with their shaved heads. Maybe it had been my story for longer than I thought.

“Will you come with us?” Courtney asked, her heart in her eyes.

“Yes,” I said, and I did my best to smile at them. I'm not sure how well it worked. “Yes, I'll come with you. But first—” I paused. “First I need to see him home.”

Porter's smile was soft. I nearly didn't recognize him, but his voice was still the same, even with the gentle overtones. There was familiar music in it, and I would write it, even if he didn't realize the story was about him. Apparently, that's what I was good at. I would write one last song about Owen. I could hear it as clear as ever on the edges of my soul. But I would tell his story for the rest of my life, because it was my story as well as his.

“That's tradition too,” Porter said.

Then Courtney took both of my hands in hers, and for the first time, I cried for Owen Thorskard.