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Caroline Lidmann did not fidget.  Fidgeting was something of her younger days – too scattered and dulled to have direction.  For her contemporary self, her duty, her [i]utility[/i], was too great for wasted focus or energy.

Even as she sat and waited, leant forward on the back of the chair ahead of her for Myron to arrive, her mind was at work.  Until now, she and Henri…  They had been, to a certain extent, exceptions and caveats.  NATO could not afford – so the thinking must have gone – to show its hand to its fullest, to risk turning a ‘regional’ conflict into a full-blown global war between massive and interlinked economies with the full might of their military-industrial complexes and Arms Masters unleashed.  Thus: herself, supposedly an unaffiliated foreign volunteer who just happened to be from the US, told to keep her powers in check for now.  Thus: Henri, officially present not as military aid but in an anti-AM peacekeeping role.  It was only people like Nil, from the Asian sphere itself, who were here because of explicit military backing – no matter how mysterious or misplaced.

(Callie made particular note of that thought.  She hadn’t done as good a job at checking on the poor girl as she might have wanted, even if…  If there were good excuses for that, on her end.)

But now?  Across the room from her, just entering through the door: a US soldier, transferred to Task Force Obsidian.  She’d been given Spindle’s mental brief on Warrant Officer Rangel, of course, in her hours of lucidity as she recovered from burning quite so much energy portalling across Phnom Pneh.  Her being sent halfway across the world wasn’t a sign of [i]commitment[/i], not truly – given her disposition, it might even be the opposite – but in light of the statements of the newly emboldened President it was certainly climbing to the next rung on the ladder of escalation.

Callie fixed a smile on her face, offered a friendly wave.  It would be good, Myron had told her when he’d found her drinking in the peace of the grounds in the early hours of the morning, for her to be visible and present early.  She was, unambiguously, one of the most veteran of the Task Force now and, regardless of the circumstances in which it had begun, had survived against the odds and even played a major role in turning what might have been a disaster in the Cambodian capital into at least a strictly tactical non-defeat.  Seeing her there, eager, unbowed, would be a boon for morale.

After all, others were not – so roiled the thoughts, forcibly held at arm’s length in the recesses of her mind.

Noel.  A young man finding his feet.  Thrust into responsibility with little warning by circumstances beyond his control, yet far surer of himself now than he had been even a few months ago.  Captured.  Callie recalled his spark, his confidence, and the growth it had seen.  He could be something special…  Would he be, now?

And…  Qingshe.  Lei Qingshe.  Callie remembered her all too well – the fire opal eyes, the hair of spun jade…  She had seemed undeniable, one who had carved herself from stone that she might hold back the onrushing tide of the world.  And now…

[color=f7941d][i]No.  She’s not.[/i][/color]  The part of her mind forming her crush – and oh, how easy it was to admit to herself [i]now[/i], in hindsight – was insistent.  Not just because of bias, as a brief internal examination clarified – because that seeming wasn’t [i]wrong[/i].  Everything she had been told, had seen, had heard about the woman called Lei Qingshe said that she shouldn’t just [i]die[/i] like that.

Nonetheless…  Gone.

How easy would it be for similar fates to befall those now taking their seats in the auditorium?

Too easy.

[color=f7941d]Can’t [i]let it.  [/i]Must[i] protect them.[/i][/color]

Could she?

Arrowheads falling from a palm.  A lazy grin.  Her rifle’s crack.

She clutched the back of the seat.  Caroline Lidmann [i]did not[/i] fidget.