Brackenshaw was tired and angry, and that was not a good combination.

She sipped at a glass of throat-burning shiner, hoping that the alcohol might torch away some of the frustration that boiled away inside her, but so far she hadn't had much luck.

The bar was quiet right now – the closest little dive to Stamm Basin's armoured walls – filled with a smattering of other off duty personnel. There were a few scouts, a squad of militiamen and even a group of Hunter-Killer pilots in one corner playing cards with lukewarm enthusiasm. Warm orange yellow lights burbled in the corners, and a skinny young man behind the bar polished metal tankards, whistling quietly to himself and keeping his eyes down.

Since the incident, everyone was on edge. For all she knew this might be the last quiet drink she would have for a very long time.

So she sipped, and she seethed.

Upon returning with the body of the saboteur, she'd been informed that the man she'd shot was one Private Nallas Parsher – a trooper of the line in the Scout Cadre with a spotless record and three years of violent service. She'd never met him personally, but his record was like a polished gemstone, just the kind of person she would have wanted to serve with.

That made her gut churn with rage. How could someone go from that, to a murdering extremist who might just have re-started the war?

Her fingers tapped irritably against the tabletop as she tried to make sense of it. The Blackwaters were already looking into Parsher's background, his known associates, his squad mates – Everflowing, they would probably be checking out anyone who'd breathed the same air as the guy.

But for some reason that didn't make her feel better.

The bomb that had blown up half the Liaison plateau was beyond the skill of someone like Parsher to make. That meant there were well-connected people somewhere in Brekka spoiling for a fight, and with enough money, charisma or plain old power to influence a soldier with a fire to burn. She wondered how many Parshers there might be hiding under her nose.

What would it take for her to get tipped back into that mindset? Not so long ago she'd have relished the prospect of blowing up a bunch of Scraegans. Let 'em come. Let war take its course and let the winners write the history books.

But she'd seen a lot in the short years since then. She'd seen a terrible new foe rise up out of the sands of Rychter, one bad enough to get human and Scraegan to put their differences aside. Then she'd fought alongside the creatures that for her whole life had been Brekka's bitterest enemies. It had taken some getting used to, but she got there in the end.

"Drown me," she muttered and swallowed the last of her shiner, leaning back and trying to lose herself in the pleasant fuzz of the potent spirit.

She didn't get much time to enjoy it.

"Lieutenant Brackenshaw?"

Letting out a weary sigh, she opened her eyes and looked up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, her jaw clenching tight. She wasn't in the mood for small talk or any further grilling from her higher-ups about what happened. Truth be told she didn't really know what she was in the mood for. She felt like punching something.

Walking crisply across the bar towards her was another woman in an unmarked beige fatigues. Brackenshaw's brow furrowed in a suspicious frown. She didn't recognise the woman from the branches of Brekka's military, and she didn't have any identifying bars of rank. She did, however, have a sidearm holstered at her hip, and two fresh glasses of shiner in her hands.

Brackenshaw straightened in her seat to examine the newcomer. She looked a little older, with heavily tanned skin and short dark hair clipped just below her ears. Bright blue eyes shone as she gestured to the seat opposite.

"Is this seat taken?" the woman asked.

"Depends on who's asking."

"A fellow soldier with a free drink?" She smirked. "Could that buy me a few minutes of your time?"

Brackenshaw smiled thinly and inclined her head to the empty chair. The woman placed the fresh shiner down and lowered herself into place, crossing her legs in a languid motion and taking a sip of her own.

"You know, there are things I don't like about Brekka," she said, smacking her lips appreciatively. "But your shiner isn't one of them."

Scooping up her drink, Brackenshaw raised it in toast. "The northern pallet needs a little cleansing sometimes."

Their glasses clinked. They drank.

For a full minute they sat in silence.

"So who are you?" Brackenshaw asked eventually. "Not that I don't appreciate the quiet company."

"My name is Aurelia," she replied.

"And what do you want with me?" Brackenshaw nodded to the woman's attire. "You're military, but you're not from here."

"No." Aurelia sipped; smiled. "I'm from Rubicon, for my sins."

"You're a long way from home."

"Not by choice." She gave a resigned shrug, relaxing back into the seat. "I'm the special intelligence attaché to Commissariat Minister Lanto Numitor."

Brackenshaw grinned, glancing around. "I think you might be in the wrong bar."

"It's not as glamorous as it sounds," Aurelia chuckled. "And I like a drink as much as the next person."

"And what is it you want from me?"

"What's been happening down here hasn't gone unnoticed." The other woman's levity faded a little. "I was sent here to observe, and to report."

"Spying on us savage southers?"

"I don't advertise myself to most people, but neither am I hiding." Aurelia sighed heavily. "There are plenty of people who I will keep in the dark, but you're not one of them, Lieutenant. You, I need to speak with."

A weary lump settled into Brackenshaw's gut. "So this is about Parsher?"

"Not just him," she said. "You know he wasn't working alone."

"I don't think so, but I'm just a soldier."

"Give yourself a little more credit."

"I should have brought that River-drowned bastard in alive, but instead I shot him in the heart." She shook her head bleakly. "Now we've got no-one to interrogate."

"At least you caught him," Aurelia countered. "It's more than anyone else managed to do. And the dead can still have a lot to say."

"Oh, good." Brackenshaw ran a finger around the rim of her glass. "So what does that have to do with me?"

"I've been doing a little research into your extremist problem," Aurelia told her. "And I believe it's a lot worse than your Commissariat realises."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"Are you familiar with the people I'm talking about?"

Brackenshaw shrugged. "There have always been demonstrations, people who didn't want us to work with the Scraegans; people who wanted the war to keep going." She smiled ruefully. "You can hardly blame them. A lot of those people have lost loved ones, whole families, friends, squad mates. You'd have a hard time finding someone in Brekka who hasn't lost something to the Scraegans."

"And you?"

"Oh, we are not there yet, friend." Brackenshaw shook her head with grim amusement. "Just ask me whatever it is you want to ask me, alright?" She gulped down the second glass of shiner and placed it gently in front of her. "And get me another drink while you're at it."

Aurelia dipped her head in apology. "Fair enough." Then she signalled the bartender.

They waited until the man came loping across the bar with two fresh glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Aurelia edged her seat a little closer, speaking in a low voice.

"The ones behind the bombing, they're organised and they are well equipped. That means this all goes a lot further than the people you are talking about. Anyone can make a sign and march in a protest. It's their right. But nobody has the right to declare war for a whole world by themselves."

"I'm not arguing with that." Brackenshaw spread her hands wide. "But what does that have to do with me? And what in the Everflowing River has it got to do with you, skulking around here in some Brekkan dive bar? The Commissariats deal with the politics. I say we let them."

"Watching Lords, I wish things were that simple." Aurelia leaned closer. "You should know that Rubicon and the other northern cities are preparing to send another force south. They think war's coming now, no matter what. And there are some there..." She paused; took a long drink of shiner and hissed out a breath between here teeth. "Some who are warmongering for reasons a lot less noble than your saboteur."

"Pissing Rivers." Brackenshaw took another drink, swilling the shiner around her mouth as the implications sank in like mooring clamps. "I take it you're not one of them?"

"Some believe the Crawlers are the real threat. They think that the work going on in the Scraegar labyrinth is more important than our old grudges. Some, like my boss." She smiled. "Lanto is a minister who takes a longer view. He'll do what he can, but he's just one person."

"Sounds like a budding saboteur himself," Brackenshaw laughed. "Alright, Aurelia. You've got my attention. What exactly do you want?"

"I want you to help me figure out who's behind the sabotage and put an end to them. Nothing more complicated than that."

"That's a lot for a stranger to ask," Brackenshaw said levelly.

Aurelia's mouth twitched with a smile. "And that is why you can trust me." The woman made a sweeping gesture to their surroundings. "I've only been here for a few days. I think that excludes me from any list of suspects who might be involved."

Brackenshaw scowled at the Rubicon soldier's smarmy tone, but she couldn't deny the logic of that statement.

At that moment the door to the bar swung open and five men and women filed into the bar. It didn't take long for her to decide, however, that these newcomers weren't here for anything as simple as a drink. They were scout soldiers – she could tell by their weathered skin and lithe, sinewy physiques, but they didn't so much as glance at the bar. They were looking for something else.

When their eyes landed on Brackenshaw, they apparently found it.

"Friends of yours," Aurelia whispered as the group started towards them.

"Somehow I doubt it." She swallowed down another mouthful of shiner and shifted in her seat to look at the soldiers. The leader was a heavily built young woman, her hair wrestled into thick blonde braids, her tattooed face twisted with anger. The double bars on her Scout Cadre jacket marked her out as a corporal, but not someone Brackenshaw recognised.

She did, however, recognise the regimental markings below it, and her heart sank.

"Had to see it with my own to drownin' eyes to believe it," the corporal spat as the others fanned out to her left and right. "Kicking up here with a drink after wasting one of her own. This how you celebrate a little friendly fire, lieutenant?"

"It wasn't friendly fire." Brackenshaw rubbed her eyes with one hand. "I take it you're Parsher's friends?"

"Squad mates," one of the men growled. "A lot more than friends."

"Terrific."

"Parsh didn't deserve what happened."

"He got a lot of people killed."

"The Scraegans killed those people," the corporal shouted, and at her raised voice the low chatter in the bar evaporated completely. "They've killed thousands – hundreds of thousands – and you're going to take their side?"

"I'm not taking their side," Brackenshaw said, her voice tight with suppressed anger. "I just think it wouldn't be so bad if we all stopped killing each other."

"Yeah, we've all heard the sales pitch. Already heard you draggin' Parsh's name through the mud like he's some kind of piss-drowned traitor." She took a step forward, fists clenched tight. "Maybe he just had the balls to do what other people wouldn't? You think people in Brekka want peace? They want those animals dead. And for that, you killed him, one of your own people."

"I'm sorry about your friend." Ice filled her voice as her eyes flashed up to look at the younger soldier. "But he wasn't one of my people. Not after what he did."

"If you had any spine at all-" the woman's face was trembling with fury, "-you'd get up out of that chair and get what's coming to you."

Brackenshaw pressed her lips together hard. After a few drinks, anger was starting to get the better of her. Her gaze flickered to Aurelia who had so far kept her silence, intently studying her drink. Her body was angled and ready to spring though, feet braced against the floor.

"I've already had a bad day, corporal," Brackenshaw said with what little control she had left. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Not with an officer, ma'am," the woman sneered, extracting a chuckle from the others. "But maybe you want to lose your bars. Maybe we take a walk and settle this like real soldiers."

"Not with an officer," Brackenshaw repeated, examining the last remnants of shiner at the bottom of her glass. "What, afraid I'll go running to the colonel?" She swallowed down the rest of the drink, letting the rage rise up inside her like a volcanic eruption. One leg shifted just enough to nudge Aurelia under the table. The other woman put her glass down, looking intently at the table.

"I reckon that's up to you." The corporal cocked her head to one side, rolling one shoulder meaningfully. "You found it easy enough to put a bullet in Parsher's chest when you had him cornered. Let's see if you've got the guts with someone-,"

She was cut off when Brackenshaw's empty glass shattered against her face.

Leaping out of her seat, she swung it with full force, straight into the sneering soldier's mouth. Blood exploded from the impact and the woman went down screaming and clutching her ruined teeth and lips.

Aurelia rose like a cobra, one hand snaking out to punch the man nearest her in the windpipe. He staggered back choking as cries of alarm rose from the other people in the bar, and another woman launched herself towards them, grappling with Aurelia and sending them both spinning.

Brackenshaw surged forward and slammed a shoulder into the gut of the next trooper in line. She winded him and lifted him bodily off the ground, carrying him several feet before she smashed him down onto an empty table.

The wood failed under the strain and the table snapped in two, sending them both crashing to the ground. She got halfway to her feet before something heavy smashed across her back and she collapsed coughing. Spitting a breathless curse, she rolled over and kicked out blindly, catching a third assailant in the groin.

He stumbled back, swearing, at which point the squad of militia came piling into the fray at the urging of their sergeant. Brackenshaw made it to one knee before a burly man the size of a fridge grabbed her arms and wrestled her away from her assailants. The others in the group interposed themselves, trying to restrain the enraged group of scouts.

"That's enough!" the sergeant hollered, stepping in front of the blood-soaked Scout corporal with one hand raised.

She punched him square in the face, whereupon another militia soldier to spear tackled her to the ground. In seconds a full blown brawl took hold, overturning tables and smashing glasses. Brackenshaw tried to wrestle free from the man holding her, but he held fast.

Then a pistol shot rang out across the bar.

The melee instantly came to a halt, and all heads turned to see Aurelia standing with her pistol aimed skywards, an expression of disgust on her face.

"My name is 1st Lieutenant Aurelia Belisarius," she snarled with a voice that could have boiled armour. "And I outrank everyone in this room." She looked at the militia sergeant. "Take these imbiciles out of here and make sure they walk it off. Then have them escorted back to Stamm Basin." Then her pistol dropped, levelling at the man holding Brackenshaw.

"I would suggest that you let her go," she hissed.

He didn't need a second warning. Instantly the grip on her arms released and he lumbered over to join his squad and the group of scouts now loitering at the door. Aurelia turned the pistol on them.

"Get out. Now."