“This one’s warm,” says McCabe with hushed excitement, and Park nods in approval.

“Go ahead.”

“Attention. Attention! This is Agent McCabe of the IGR--”

McCabe pauses as the message echoes back to them on a slight delay, playing through the audio device Park is carrying. “What’s that echo?”

“I’m picking up the transmission from the nanoswarm,” Park replies tensely.

“Why is the swarm—” But it doesn’t take McCabe more than a second to put two and two together. “It’s picking up my voice because it’s in this ship?”

Park switches on his walkie-talkie. Time to get the next part of the show on the road.

“Park to all agents. Park to all agents. Agent McCabe has located the Rumor. Sending you our location. Major General Frederick, please advise.”

He finishes by hitting the little button on his walkie-talkie that will send out a beacon with their precise location. In reality, he’s pretty sure that IGR-issued walkie-talkies are broadcasting their locations to upper management at all times (why would the Regime pass up a perfectly good opportunity to spy on its employees?), but he has to play the game. That’s what this is all about.

“This is Major General Frederick,” the Major General’s voice filters back through the walkie-talkie. “Stand by for Team Two.”

“Copy that,” Park confirms, and switches the walkie-talkie off.

“Now what?” McCabe asks.

“We stand by,” Park replies, dryly.

“Right,” says McCabe. Then, with the air of someone who has been desperate to bring this up,

“So, did you hear about the latest crackpot conspiracy from the Rumor? They said the Major General is developing the nanoswarm so we can use it when she starts another war with the Dwarnians. Ridiculous, right?”

“…Of course,” says Park, and even to his own ears he sounds unconvincing. He wishes he could tell them something more meaningful, or better yet, level with them about what’s going on. But Team Two will be here any minute, and he has no reason to believe that the IGR isn’t listening in on their conversation – especially as they stand feet away from an alien nanoswarm that was configured for constant surveillance.

“Um. How’s… Shelley?” asks McCabe after a beat of awkward silence.

“She’s fine,” says Park, a little too quickly. “Relieved,” he adds, at McCabe’s quizzical look.

Park hasn’t in fact spoken to Shelley since he was released from Zone Z. He’s not really sure what he would say. If everything goes well with the Plan, Park won’t be coming back to New Jupiter for a good, long while. And if it doesn’t, well… letting Shelley know that he was safe and that his name had been cleared right before he was either recaptured or (more likely) killed would just be cruel.

If he survives, then once they’ve made it a safe distance from New Jupiter, he’ll try and get a message to her.

Maybe.

“What happened to your eye?” McCabe asks. Park knew this was coming.

“Zone Z happened,” he replies, flatly.

“But… you didn’t do anything. Did you?”

Park knows that McCabe is grappling with the idea that he could come back to work, act fine, and still profess loyalty to the Regime - to the “Republic” - after what has been done to him. He also knows that IGR recruits are taught – and that McCabe still believes, however doubtfully – that only traitors and criminals of the very worst kind are sent to Zone Z, so they deserve every bit of the punishment meted out to them there. To have him walking around, demonstrably innocent, doesn’t sit well with that narrative.

There’s a reason that no-one comes back from Zone Z. But Park insisted. And luckily for him, the IGR is stretched and disorganised enough right now that it couldn’t afford to pass up the prospect of a trained, capable agent who knows the enemy returning to work.

Park told them he had a personal score to settle. It was the truth.

“In the end, I caused the Republic a lot of paperwork,” he tells McCabe, knowing exactly how flimsy and bureaucratic it sounds. “Every dead end is wasted time and energy.”

“But you didn’t do anything,” McCabe repeats.

Exactly, Park wants to say. You know that’s wrong. Trust the instincts that are telling you that this is not okay.

“During the war, we used to say sooner or later, we all make sacrifices,” he says instead. “The trick is to keep your focus on the big picture.”

“Oh… of course,” says McCabe uncertainly, as Team Two’s footsteps sound behind them, led by Agent Seiders.

Park watches impassively as Team Two cut their way in through the side of the ship. McCabe watches with narrowed eyes, and Park knows that they’re thinking this is far too easy.

“We’re in,” Seiders reports. “Any clue where they’re hiding?”

“Let’s see…”

Park adjusts the settings on his audio device until he’s picking up the transmission from the cockpit, Brian and Violet’s voices singing softly. “Sounds like the cockpit,” he replies.

In reality, there’s no way he would be able to tell that straight off, but Seiders takes it at face value.

“Copy that. Passing a storage room on my 9 o’clock, cockpit straight ahead. Think it’s safe to say they don’t see us coming.”

As the singing continues, McCabe’s eyes narrow even more and they shake their head, agitated. “Something’s wrong.”

“Too easy?” asks Park.

“Too familiar,” McCabe replies.

“What?” Seiders isn’t following.

“I’ve heard this before,” McCabe insists.

So has Park, but he pretends not to follow their meaning. “We… all have?”

“No, I’ve heard this before. They’re playing a recording!”

Fortunately for the Plan, Seiders’ ego won’t allow him to take a hint from someone else, least of all a lower-ranking Agent. “McCabe, as the senior agent here, I’m gonna make my own calls.”

“Incoming call from – Brian Jeeter,” ELLA’s voice sounds over the audio device.

“Computer, accept?”

Brian Jeeter’s voice comes through the speaker. “Computer, execute Sequence Five. Brian Jeeter out.”

The recorded singing abruptly cuts off.

“Team Leader Two!” Park says urgently. There should be just enough time for Team Two to get clear of the blast, but they need to move right now.

“This is for – Alvy Conners – the entire crew of – the Iris – and – Emily Craddock,” says ELLA pleasantly. “You – can’t – make – a person – disappear.”

Park has to hand it to the Rumor crew: they have style. The words send a shiver down his spine.

“Self destruct in ten…”

“Should we… retreat?” a young junior agent, uncertain but with far more common sense than Seiders, asks.

“Nine…”

“It’s a bluff – they don’t have that capability,” says Seiders, far too self-assured. Park almost swears. His arrogance is going to get his entire team killed.

“Eight…”

“Don’t risk it – get out of there!” he orders.

“Seven…”

“Hang on – they have a still, for moonshine,” says McCabe, because not even the probable threat of an explosion will stop them from reasoning through a situation.

“Six…”

“What if they recalibrated it—”

“Five…”

“Take your team out of there!” Park shouts more insistently, grabbing McCabe by the arm and pulling them backwards, outside the blast radius.

“Four…”

“Fine, let’s move!” Seiders finally says, with just three precious seconds to spare. Footsteps sound, and Park keeps his eyes on the hole in the ship wall, thinking about the time it takes to run from the cockpit to the outer door. Too long. But maybe if they jump clear—

The countdown reaches one, and the footsteps of Team Two stop.

“Told you it was a bluff,” says Seiders, confidently. It is the last thing he ever says.

“Goodbye.”

The Rumor explodes into a fireball of flame, a wave of heat like a wall slamming outwards, causing Park and McCabe to cringe back. Smoke pours from the blackened skeleton of the ship, and Park and McCabe choke and gasp for air.

“Holy—” McCabe manages.

Park switches on his walkie-talkie, though he’d be surprised if that explosion wasn’t heard across half of the complex. “Agent Park to Major General Frederick: the Rumor just… just self-destructed, taking out all of Team Two.” He doesn’t have to fake the defeated bitterness in his voice.

“We’ve been set up,” the Major General states grimly.

“Major General—” McCabe interjects, coughing. “In order for Jeeter to- set off the sequence, he must’ve had an eyeline to the ship. He’s got to be somewhere nearby.”

Park takes a moment to reflect on how much more difficult executing the Plan would be if the IGR had the common sense to put McCabe in a position of actual leadership.

“There’s no time to worry about that. That blast of heat means they’ve just set a swarm of rebooted nanoswarm on the loose. We need to secure the lab – now. Park, McCabe – go.”

As they move off, McCabe takes one last look at the remains of the Rumor, their expression haunted and shellshocked as the reality of what just happened to Team Two starts to sink in.

Goddamn it, Park, you had one fucking job, Park thinks, bitterly. He touches them on the arm, gently, and McCabe jumps as they come out of their trance.

“Come on,” he says in a low voice. “Let’s get out of here.”

Krejjh getting shot was not part of the Plan.

Well, okay, there were something like forty different versions of the Plan, which meant that technically most things were part of the Plan at some point. But Krejjh getting shot was not in the ideal version of the Plan (the one where things went well).

Neither the Rumor crew’s planning nor Park’s recollection of the lab security had accounted for the sheer number of guards stationed throughout the first floor of Advance Labs. Park thinks that the original plan had been for Arkady to take out any guards she encountered en route to Lab 1032 while Krejjh found a hiding place, but instead, the Dwarnian appears to be acting as a distraction: a loud, flashy, defiant, poetry-reciting distraction.

“What am I? I am your enemy incarnate! I am the dizzying swoop as gravity surrenders!”

McCabe motions for Park to be quiet as they steal towards the blind corner that Krejjh is currently careening towards, disabling guards with quick, precise gunshots as they go. Not that it’s really necessary – the Dwarnian is making enough noise to cover any footsteps.

“I am the sick-hot, blinding fire of ignition! Fear blinks before me, and death knows not my name.”

Park sees a look of calm focus come over McCabe’s face that he knows is them going into ‘sniper mode’. There’s nothing he can do to prevent this without blowing his cover, and it’s too early. The only good thing is that he knows McCabe won’t shoot to kill – partly because of the treaty, but also because kill shots are not McCabe’s style.

(He knows better than to hope that McCabe might miss, because McCabe never misses).

“I am more than you can possibly imagine! Heck yeah, hahaha- augh!”

Krejjh’s giddy laughter cuts off abruptly as McCabe hits them squarely on the knee. Ouch. Park is no expert on Dwarnian physiology, but if it’s even passingly similar to a human’s, that had to hurt.

“Good shot, McCabe,” Park says approvingly as the two of them round the corner. He’s being sincere – it was an excellent shot, perfectly aimed at a moving target in a way that would disable them without being fatal. “We’ll take it from here, Officer,” he adds, dismissing the remaining, shaken guard. The fewer witnesses they have for whatever is about to happen, the better.

McCabe stands up a little straighter, and Park thinks that there’s some pride mixed in with the triumph in their smile. “So! Krejjh Sh’Eejjhgreb,” they say, bearing down on Krejjh, who is slumped against the corridor wall.

“That’s- not how Dwarnian names work, champ,” Krejjh replies, strained. Park reminds himself that this is a gravely serious situation, and laughing would be totally inappropriate.

“Agent McCabe to Major General Frederick,” McCabe says, activating their walkie-talkie. “We have incapacitated Source D with a bullet to the knee! What is our next course of action?”

“Good work,” replies the Major General – and then she says the one thing that Park has been dreading. “Kill them.”

McCabe falters, the pleased expression on their face giving way to confusion and shock. “Uhh- Ma’am? If we kill a Dwarnian, especially the relative of a high-ranking diplomat…” McCabe’s tone is light, as if they’re expecting – hoping – to be told that this is all a misunderstanding.

“McCabe, your duty is not to ask questions. It’s to follow orders from the ones who know more than you,” Major General replies flatly. Park clenches his jaw, fighting down a surge of irritation and anger just as he’d done every other time a high-ranking member of the Regime spoke condescendingly to himself or his team. Especially his team.

He sees McCabe stiffen, and knows how much this must rankle. McCabe has always been defensive about their age and sensitive to comments about it – or to any implication that they don’t have the experience or the skills to hold the position that they do.

He knows it only makes them more determined to prove everyone wrong, but just for once, Park wishes that McCabe didn’t have to fight for every scrap of recognition, that they didn’t need to be ten times better than everyone else just to get noticed. He wants a way out of the IGR for both of them – not just for himself.

“Are we clear?” asks the Major General, and Park makes his decision.

“We’re clear, Ma’am,” he says.

To their credit, Krejjh immediately starts to play along, attempting to make a call to Brian Jeeter as if they know that this could be the last thing they will ever do. Park draws his gun and points it at their head, and their voice trails away.

“Agent Park?” McCabe asks, sounding shocked.

“Listen,” says Park, keeping his gun levelled at Krejjh but looking McCabe straight in the eyes. He has one shot at trying to communicate to McCabe what’s happening – to try and get them to understand.

If McCabe objects, or otherwise raises the alarm, the whole Plan will be shot to hell. But Park doesn’t think they will.

“My time at Zone Z reminded me why I signed up in the first place – why we do this work,” Park says with deliberate emphasis. “Keep the stakes in mind, and everything becomes simple. Stand back, McCabe.”

McCabe backs away several steps, still staring at Park numbly, as if they can’t quite comprehend what is about to happen.

Park may have recently lost an eye, but he knows his aim is still true. He used to practice shooting with one eye or the other closed, or with both eyes shut, because you never knew what conditions you might encounter in battle.

He’s not a patch on McCabe, but he doesn’t need to be for this.

Park squeezes the trigger twice, and two bullets embed themselves into the wall next to Krejjh’s head. Krejjh makes a choked-off noise and slumps down, then winks at McCabe, putting a finger to their lips.

McCabe is staring at Park like they’ve never seen him before. “You…”

“Humankind, McCabe,” says Park. It’s his last chance to try and explain. “That’s why we do what we do.”

“Agent Park?” McCabe asks in disbelief. But they haven’t given him away. To Major General Frederick, listening in on the whole exchange, it will just sound like the disbelief of a naive young Agent who has never witnessed bloodshed before.

Park had faith that they wouldn’t – it’s why he was prepared to gamble everything on this moment. But it still causes a warm feeling to spread through his chest as he activates his walkie-talkie again.

“Agent Park to Major General Frederick. It’s done.”

“Perfect.” Major General Frederick’s satisfaction practically oozes through the speaker. He imagines that she’s congratulating herself on the decision to send Park back to work – such a dedicated agent, such a loyal subject of the Regime. Everything that happened to him in Zone Z has only made him more focused and deadly. “Find a handcart, and bring the body down to Lab 1008. And don’t get too close – they’re still infected with the strain H nanoswarm.”

Park takes grim satisfaction in the fact that he’s directly working to undermine her toxic, fascist regime. He intends to be very deadly indeed.

“We’re aware, Major General. Roger that.”

Park retrieves a handcart from a storage cupboard halfway along the corridor and wheels it over to Krejjh, who grins as they hoist themself onto it. McCabe stands and watches them, looking extremely conflicted – presumably between their gut instinct and what they know is protocol.

It would be very easy for them to go for their gun right now and shoot him, or Krejjh, or both and claim that they didn’t act sooner because they were waiting to catch him with his guard down. But they don’t.

Park wheels the handcart around and looks at McCabe. He wants to ask them to come with him, but he has no idea how things are going to turn out after this, and McCabe is capable of making their own decisions about what to do. He hopes they’ll decide to lay low out of sight, then devise a plausible alibi – or better yet, use the confusion to escape.

“You’d better get out of here, McCabe,” he says in an undertone, before wheeling the handcart past, Dwarnian passenger and all.

Park wasn’t lying earlier about their saying from the war – about sacrifices and the big picture. It kept him going through the waking nightmare of Zone Z, and it’s kept him going since. But the big picture is only half of what makes it worth the fight.