Earthfall

26




Laird, Leona, Kelly, and Rachel had been taken down from the ridgeline. All were alive, though Laird and Leona had been injured in Law’s missile attack. The Hellfire had detonated thirty meters from their position, and both had taken shrapnel and shock damage from the blast, but were expected to survive. They were conscious and mostly alert when they were brought aboard SCEV Seven, which had been designated as the medical evacuation vehicle. Andrews, Kelly, Laird, and Leona were stationed in the vehicle’s rear compartment, where two medics and the base surgeon tended to them. Andrews had suffered a broken left wrist and, as he had thought, several cracked ribs, but his injuries were considered light. Laird and Leona both had concussions and lacerations that needed to be cleaned and sterilized due to their exposure to the elements, and Kelly was in severe pain from her fractured femur. The surgeon elected to wait until they returned to Harmony to set the break, but his portable X-ray and follow-on ultrasound diagnostics revealed she hadn’t suffered any major blood vessel damage. She would have a difficult recovery, but she would live.

Once everyone was stabilized, they returned to the base in SCEV Seven. Mulligan remained behind to assist in the recovery of the core supports, and by the time the rig returned to the base, he had already reported that the supports were in good condition. Rachel had been right; while they couldn’t stand up to an immeasurably more powerful earthquake, the objects were tough enough to survive an explosion caused by an anti-tank weapon. Upon their return to base, Andrews and the others were transported by litter down a personnel evacuation stairway, one that had lain dormant for almost ten years. There wasn’t enough power available to operate the vehicular lift, so they had to be transported to the base by manpower. Andrews wanted to walk and save everyone the effort of carrying him, but the base surgeon overruled him. He would be transported like the rest of the wounded, his dignity be damned.

“Look at it this way, you get a hero’s welcome no matter how you get home,” Rachel had said to him on the way down the dark, winding staircase. She had been ordered to return to the base with the others, even though she had offered to assist in the recovery operation. It had been decided that she had been in the field more than long enough, and for that, Andrews was thankful. With the storm bearing down on them, he didn’t want her exposed to the environment any longer than she already had been.

SCEV Three remained on the surface for another day, the core supports secured safely aboard as her crew weathered out the storm. There was no way they could enter the base while the storm raged above in full fury; there were far too many obscurants, and the radioactive fallout stirred up by the storm was lethal even through an environmental suit. Rachel had told them the core supports would be lightning magnets, and that settled the issue. No one was willing to venture out with the supports; not because they might be killed, but because Mother Nature might deliver some award-winning examples of bolt lightning that could compromise the supports, wasting the team’s hard work and sacrifice.

The base was dark and gloomy. Air quality was poor even though some intrepid engineers had pulled the batteries from the remaining SCEVs and used them to power the air scrubbers. They had to be run in staggered shifts to preserve the batteries. Recharging them required starting up an SCEV, and no one wanted to add poisonous exhaust to the mix, so power rationing was the standing order. The air smelled of sweat and oil, just like an SCEV after a long foray into the field. The difference was that there was the added tint of untreated sewage, which Andrews found more than slightly unpleasant.

But hey, at least I’m alive.

Which was better than three other people who had passed away while he was out on the mission. The injuries they had sustained during the earthquake were too grave, even with the sophisticated medical expertise available. Sometimes, Andrews knew, it was just a person’s time to go. He thought about Spencer and Choi and felt guilty about their loss, regardless. At least they had gone down fighting. Fate had just given them the short straw.

Once the core supports had been brought into the base, it took another two days to install them and test the power generation equipment in the Core. After the systems had been validated, power was slowly restored to the base, level by level, with a few exceptions. The medical section was given priority for power allocation, as were the environmental systems. Over the course of another two days, Harmony Base came alive again, with heat, hot water, sterilized air, and light. Repair work continued day and night, and Andrews thought that after a month or so, no one would even be able to tell that the base had been severely damaged.

On the eighth day after recovery was completed and all systems were stabilized, a memorial service was held in the Commons Area. While all the bodies of the dead had been incinerated as soon as possible—the base’s designers had provided a mortuary as well, because even when the world ended, survivors would continue to die—the command group had decided that funeral proceedings were to take place. To provide a degree of closure. A large memorial had been erected on one wall just after the war. Previously, only a small handful of bronze plates had been affixed to it, but dozens more had been added over the past few weeks. Each plate bore the inscribed names of the deceased, their birthdates, and the day they died. All the new additions had passed away in the first two weeks of June. Andrews, his wrist in a cast and his ribs bound, joined the line of survivors who filed past the memorial. He knew every name there, some better than others, but each bronze nameplate equaled a hole that would never be filled. Even though he had intended to be strong, to be the rock, he found that when he finally made it to the end of the line, he couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. Seeing Spencer and Choi’s names, and knowing how young they had been, was just too much. Even though they were a few years younger than him, they had grown up together, and he would always feel their absence.

“We’ve all been through hell and back—twice,” Benchley said in his address. From the front of the Commons Area, he regarded the assemblage with clear eyes, his voice strong. “We’ve all lost people near and dear to us—twice. First in the Sixty Minute War, then on the earthquake of June ninth, and two more in the mission to recover the supports we needed in order to survive. The very fabric of our society here has had a hole blown right through it. But we’re a strong people. We have to be, because our work is just getting started. We know now that there is life out there. It may not welcome us, it may fear us, it may distrust us, but it’s life nonetheless, and we need to do everything in our power to help those who survived the war. It’s what we’re here for. It’s what we’re all about.

“I want all of you to look to the people next to you. I want all of you to reach out to each other, and help those who are in need get through the coming weeks and months. We all grieve together, regardless of rank or position or occupation. We are Harmony Base, and even burdened by the weight of our sorrow, we have a mandate: quando mundum finit, opus nos incipiet. When the world ends, our mission begins. We need to remember our fallen, but we need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.” The general paused, then looked at Mulligan, who stood at attention nearby. “Look around you. Find those who have lost their way and help them get back onto the path because we need to walk it … together.”

A lone bugler clad in a spic-and-span Army Class A uniform played Taps. Mulligan, whose own Class As were accentuated by his green Special Forces beret, held rule over a formation of honorary pall bearers. All wore black arm bands. Andrews watched the assemblage as they picked up the ceremonial interment flag and neatly folded it into a tight triangle. Mulligan took the flag and marched toward Benchley, presenting it to the base commanding officer. Benchley accepted the flag with a grave expression, then returned Mulligan’s sharp salute. Mulligan turned and dismissed the detail tersely, and they filed out of the Commons Area, preceded by the base’s colors. Benchley and the command staff exited as well, marching in step in keeping with the protocols of a military service. Others slowly followed, but many more remained, sniffling, grieving, weeping.

Jeremy approached them, his eyes red, his expression downbeat. He looked up at Andrews and Rachel and forced a specter of a smile to his face as he embraced both of them. “I’m proud of you two,” he said. “So incredibly proud, you have no idea.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Andrews said.

Jeremy released them, then reached out and touched Rachel’s cheek. “Especially you, young lady. You really proved your stuff out there, and in a big way. Think you’ll go military now?”

Rachel blinked. “Why do you ask that?”

“You’re young, and you have an adventurous spirit. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to see you leave the Core,” he said, sparing Andrews a wink, “but who knows? Maybe you’re cut out for field work, yourself.”

Rachel favored both of them with a pale, distracted smile. “I hadn’t really thought of that. Maybe that’s something to consider. Excuse me for just a second.” She turned and walked toward the line forming in front of the memorial wall.

“Well, maybe that was the wrong thing to say,” Jeremy said.

Andrews shook his head. “Nah. She’s not upset with you, Dad. She’s just …” He shrugged. “She’s just not herself, these days.”

“That’ll change. She’s young. She’ll heal.”

Jeremy embraced him again and planted a kiss on his forehead, a display that would have embarrassed both of them weeks before. But after the earthquake and the reminder that life was so incredibly fragile, things like that no longer seemed to matter.

“I’ve got to get back to the Core,” Jeremy said, his voice full of apologies. “There’s still a lot to be done. Tell Rachel she has a couple of days off if she needs them.”

“I’ll pass it on.”

Jeremy clapped his son on the shoulder. “Are you really my son? I can’t believe I got so lucky with a winner like you.”

“Blame Mom,” Andrews said, smiling weakly. He found he suddenly missed his mother, even though he hadn’t thought of her in weeks. He felt a strong pang of guilt when he realized that.

“Nothing to blame her for,” Jeremy said, looking down at his feet for a moment. “She did right by both of us, but you got the best part of her. And thank God for that.” He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “All right. I’ve got to go.”

Andrews nodded. “I’ll see you later. Take care of yourself, Dad.”

Jeremy clapped his shoulder again. “Don’t worry about me, son. I’m fine. Look after Rachel.” He stepped away, walking toward one of the exits.

Andrews turned to the memorial and saw his wife standing at the end of the huge wooden plaque. For Rachel, the loss of the past few weeks were tragic, but none were as painful for her as the fact that the names of her parents were at the front of the list. Not for the first time, Andrews wondered how she’d been able to handle it, growing up in the base and going through the transition from childhood to womanhood under the care of watchful friends and well-wishers, but devoid of a parent’s guiding hand. Andrews’s mother’s name was on the wall, as well; she had succumbed to ovarian cancer three years after the base had been sealed. He’d had his father to see him through the tough spots; Rachel had no blood relatives. Despite the hardship, she had grown up to become a woman to be reckoned with, as she had shown during the mission to San Jose. He could tell by the arch of her back and the set of her shoulders that she was grieving all over again. In that moment, he doubted he had ever loved her more. He walked over and joined her, and she folded her hand inside his.

“Babe? You okay?”

Rachel reached out and touched the plates that bore the names of her parents—Peter and Catherine Jane, who went by CJ. Though he had seen dozens of photos of them, he could only vaguely recall meeting them a few times in real life, during their first base orientation sessions, back when the Andrewses and the Lopezes had been selected to be part of Operation Harmony.

“I’m fine,” she said, and she turned to face him. Her eyes were bright, but she hadn’t shed any tears. The pain lingered just below the surface, like it always did. Andrews leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“Really?”

“Really. How are you doing?”

Andrews shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with telling her the truth. He did it anyway. “A little guilty, I guess.”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Guilty? Why? About Choi and Spencer? What happened to them wasn’t your fault, Mike.”

“I beg to differ. I was their commanding officer. It was up to me to bring them home safe.”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah, you were. And you did everything you could. The odds were just stacked too high. Trust me—I was there.”

Andrews made a noise in his throat. She was right, of course, but that didn’t do anything to stave off his remorse. He wondered how long it would take for him to be quit of it, but as he turned to look over the slowly thinning crowd, he decided he already knew the answer—he would never stop feeling responsible. Choi and Spencer were his crew, and he had been powerless to save them. They died under his watch, and that was a responsibility he would take to his grave.

He put that burden aside and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s.”

They turned to go, but Mulligan appeared in their path. The big man still looked battered, slowly-healing bruises and cuts on his face, but his appearance had improved considerably over the past several days. He regarded Andrews and Rachel with his dark eyes, his expression inscrutable. Andrews glanced at Rachel and saw she was staring at Mulligan with a cold, unreadable expression that was nearly as enigmatic as Mulligan’s. When Andrews turned back to the sergeant major, he was surprised to find his eyes were uncharacteristically downcast.

“Can we help you with something, Sarmajor?” he asked.

“Ma’am, I’d like to talk to you, if I could. I know you’re probably not feeling too hot, so I’ll keep it short.” Mulligan looked up and met Rachel’s emotionless gaze. “I need to tell you about something that happened a long time ago. You might think you know everything about it, but … well, I figure it’s time you hear it from the guy who was there.”

Silence descended, heavy and uncomfortable. Rachel stared at Mulligan for a long moment, ignoring the curious gazes of those who walked past. The history of enmity between them was well known, even though it was considered to be mostly one-sided. Mulligan stood before them, stoically enduring her cold, impenetrable glare, even though Andrews supposed it must have been embarrassing for him. As the seconds ticked by, he did not prompt her for a response; he merely stood there and looked back at her, his face a mask of disciplined composure.

Rachel finally favored him with a curt nod.

Mulligan cut his eyes over the Andrews. “Sir?”

“I think I’d like to hear what you have to say as well, Sarmajor. If you don’t mind.” Andrews looked over at Rachel to see if she had a different opinion, but she kept her gaze rooted on Mulligan.

The tall senior NCO took it in stride. “Very well. Would you like to go—”

“Here is fine,” Rachel said, her voice taut as a banjo string, belying her impassive expression.

Mulligan met her eyes once again and nodded. He removed his green beret and stepped closer to Rachel. Even though their expressions did little to illustrate their internal feelings, Andrews nevertheless felt the uncomfortable tension between the two of them as if it were a physical thing. He glanced down and saw Mulligan was slowly twisting his beret in his hands, and he wondered if whatever the sergeant major was going to say would be a good thing, after all.

When he spoke, his voice was pitched low, but he kept his gaze on Rachel. “After the bombs dropped, I tried to get to my family with SCEV One. By stealing it, actually. Your folks cared enough about me to come along, to try and help. I was, uh—pretty crazy, then. I was within three weeks of retirement. Two days from terminal leave. I was basically just marking time, waiting for my replacement to show up. All of us were marking time back then, you might remember.” He paused, but Rachel gave no indication she was going to speak, so he continued. “Visibility was zero. Radar and communications were useless, because of the electromagnetic pulse effect. Anyway, I was driving balls to the wall—all I could think about was getting to my wife and daughters before the fallout rolled over them.

“We got extremely unlucky when a ground burst went off only about a mile away. I’m not sure what they were aiming at—the best I can come up with is that one of the weapons heading for Wichita malfunctioned and came down way short. Your mother happened to be looking in the general direction of the blast when it went off—she went blind from the flash. Your father was standing between the cockpit and the science station. The EMP fried a good amount of the rig’s systems, despite the shielding, and we stopped dead. Before I could do anything to get the rig moving again, the shockwave hit us. The SCEV rolled three times, tossed around like some kid’s Tonka toy. Your father was killed instantly. One of the gravity belts on your mother’s harness broke, and she was ejected from her seat. When it was over, she managed to hang on for another three hours. I had no voice contact with the outside world, and the rig was demolished. I figured there would be at least an attempt at a rescue, but it didn’t come soon enough. CJ died in my arms.” Mulligan looked down then, and the muscles in his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. Andrews saw the nightmare of pain and guilt in the big man’s eyes, and he realized the Green Beret was something of a kindred spirit. They shared a deep responsibility for those they had lost.

Rachel stared hard at Mulligan, her face carved from porcelain. Mulligan hesitated for a moment, then looked up and tried to force a smile. It died stillborn when he met Rachel’s unflinching glare.

“Do you remember how we were friends?” Mulligan asked, raw pain in his voice. “Your parents and me, we hit it off really well. You used to call me the Jolly Green Giant, because you thought I was so tall and always wore a duty uniform. Whenever I saw you in the corridor, I’d go ‘Ho, ho, ho! Rachel Lopez!’ and you’d laugh. Do you remember that?”

Rachel’s expression didn’t change, but she balled her hands into fists. As she continued to stare up at Mulligan, her knuckles were turning white. A small shudder went through her and tears rose in her eyes, but she didn’t take her eyes off of Mulligan for an instant.

“Do you remember?” Mulligan asked again, bending toward her slightly, his voice hardly more than a whisper. There was a peculiar pleading quality to the question, and Andrews realized that Mulligan—the strongest, biggest badass in Harmony Base, and maybe in the entire Army—had been dying inside for years.

When she didn’t answer, Mulligan straightened, transforming once again into the base’s enigmatic command sergeant major. “So, anyway. Your family died trying to help me rescue mine, who died because I couldn’t get to them. Somehow, the only son of a bitch who managed to walk away from it was me. God must’ve been laughing his ass off.” Mulligan’s voice was back to normal, the no-nonsense deadpan it had been for the past ten years. He displayed all the outward emotion of a robot, as if he were reading a readiness report aloud. It was as if he didn’t care anymore; he had done his job, and that was all there was to it.

Rachel lunged at him, pounding on his big chest with her fists, making small, agonized sounds as she lashed out at him. Mulligan endured it, taking no steps to defend himself. Bystanders surged forward, shocked by the sudden display. Andrews pulled Rachel away from the towering soldier, wrapping his arms around her and ignoring the jolts of pain from his tortured ribcage.

“Why?” Rachel fairly shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me this back then? Why did you let it drag on for so damn long?”

Mulligan looked down at her, ignoring the inquisitive looks from the other people standing nearby. His body language told them all they needed to know, and they stepped back, returning to whatever it was they had been doing before. But they kept looking toward the tall man and the crying woman, and Andrews saw expressions of sympathy among them. For Rachel. And for Mulligan.

Mulligan sighed heavily. “I should have told you. I should have tried to look after you. But I … I couldn’t. I always thought that was kind of funny, because before everything went to hell in a fast sports car, I was always a responsible guy. I always tried to do the right thing, even if it was hard. But this time, I decided to do the easy thing, and ignore what had happened to Peter and CJ. And I ignored you, and pretty much everyone else in this damned place.” He looked at her and shook his head sadly. “Anyway, that’s it. That’s all there is. Your family left you because they wanted to help me, because they thought they’d be safe, that I’d do the right thing. I wound up killing them, and I let you down when you needed me the most. I just thought you should know.” He paused for a moment, looking at Rachel. “I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

“So you think I should forgive you now?” Rachel asked, her voice quavering.

Mulligan shook his head. “I just want you to remember one thing: I miss them, too. Every day.”

Mulligan turned on his heel and walked away, shoulders square, his heavy footsteps echoing in the large room. Almost everyone turned to watch him make his exit, then they turned back to Andrews and Rachel. Andrews ignored them and touched Rachel’s face, wiping away her tears.

“Sweetie …?”

She hugged him tight for a moment, then looked up at him. “I’m fine,” she said, and her voice was stronger. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms and smiled vaguely. “Actually, I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

“Then let’s get out of here. I’m starting to feel like we’ve been on exhibit for the last few minutes.”

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

***

Leona lay in the narrow bed she had been allocated in the medical section’s recovery ward. The injury she had acquired in San Jose from the spear attack had become infected, and the base surgeon had wanted her to remain under his staff’s direct care until her fever subsided and the wound started to show substantial improvement. That had been days ago, and the fever had finally broken the previous night. Her appetite had come back, and she was thrilled to discover that not only could she now eat and not immediately throw up, she had her choice of almost anything on the menu because full power had been restored. Even if it was the same chow as what they served in the Commons Area’s commissary, she found it to be mighty tasty after enduring almost two weeks of SCEV chow, followed by a few days of not being able to eat at all.

In the bed beside her, Kelly Jordello was recovering from her own injuries. Her broken femur had been set, and her leg was in traction for the rest of the week. After that, the base surgeon would decide whether or not to insert pins to assist in her recovery. The two of them joked that since both of them had only one working leg each, the only way they could make a run for it was if they taped themselves together. They had watched the memorial service on the base’s video network, and both were feeling more than a bit melancholy. Leona was staring up at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts when Kelly suddenly said, “Well hello, Sergeant Major.”

Leona looked up, and when she saw Mulligan standing between their beds, she felt as if her heart had jumped into her mouth. He was still in his Class As, and he held his green beret in one hand. Leona stared up at him, marveling at his attire. She couldn’t remember seeing him in anything other than his Army combat uniform.

“Lieutenant Jordello, how are you coming along?” Mulligan asked, giving Leona a quick glance before looking down at Kelly.

Kelly indicated the traction rig that held her leg suspended in the air. “Well, I’d try and get out of here, but I don’t think I’ll get very far on foot.”

Mulligan grunted. “Better stay where you are then, ma’am.”

“Sharp threads, Sarmajor. What brings you here? Bedpan patrol?”

“No, ma’am. I flunked the candy striper test. Just as well, I hated the duty uniform. Excuse us, please.” Mulligan yanked the privacy curtain between the two beds closed, hiding Kelly from view as he turned toward Leona. She looked up at him, confused.

“Sarmajor?”

Mulligan scowled at her. Combined with the mass of bruises on his face, the expression made him look positively ferocious. “Stop gaping, girl. You look like you’ve gone feeble.” Before she could make a response, he stepped closer to the bed and held out the eagle medallion to her. Leona looked at it, watching as it swayed and twinkled in the room’s antiseptic light.

“Uh, what—”

“My wife made that for me, out of a coin,” Mulligan said, cutting her off. “An Eisenhower dollar, actually. It seemed to attract your attention out in the field, and I …” He paused for a moment, then sighed. “Well, I thought you might want to have it, is all.”

“Why would you want to give it to me?”

Mulligan considered that for a long moment, then shrugged. “My day to make amends, I guess. I treated you pretty badly out in the field, and you didn’t really deserve it. Sorry.”

“Oh.” Leona looked from the medallion to Mulligan as he towered over the bed. “Well, look, Sergeant Major. I’m not going to report it or anything, because I pretty much stepped over the line …”

“So you’re not interested, then?” Mulligan asked, his voice flat.

Leona hesitated, uncertain of what to do. She couldn’t think of what to say, so she slowly raised her hand and took the medallion from him. She looked at it, turning it over in her hand. The details of the eagle were finely crafted, and even though she’d never seen such a creature before, she knew it was a symbol of strength and honor. It fit Mulligan perfectly.

“This has got to mean a lot to you, Mulligan. I mean—I’m flattered that you’d think of giving it to me, but that won’t bring absolution, you know? Your family will still be dead.” She wondered if she was saying too much; after all, the privacy curtain wasn’t exactly soundproof, and she had no trouble imagining Kelly hanging on every word.

“That’s not exactly what this is about,” Mulligan said, “but the offer stands, anyway.”

Leona regarded the medallion again, then looked up at Mulligan. He seemed different to her, now. There was something akin to humor in his eyes, and while it seemed foreign to her, it also seemed right, as if she was glimpsing the real Scott Mulligan for the first time. Despite his cuts and bruises, he seemed more alert, as if he’d just awakened from a very long, refreshing sleep. Leona still didn’t know what he was up to with this impromptu visit and unexpected peace offering—she couldn’t quite get her mind around the possibility that he was giving her a gift—but she knew what she hoped for. If this was her shot at getting it, then she had to take it.

“Thank you,” she said, hesitantly. “It’s very lovely.”

“Well, it’s not a wedding proposal or anything, so don’t mess up the sheets, okay?”

“What?” Leona suddenly laughed, in spite of herself. When Mulligan allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips, she knew he was teasing her. Humor from Scott Mulligan was something she’d have to get used to. “I wasn’t about to, Sergeant Major. But … just what does it mean?”

Mulligan crossed his arms and considered her question for a long moment, his gaze locked on hers. “Well, Lieutenant, I guess it means that maybe we’ll sit down and have a talk sometime, once you get out of this overblown band-aid factory. If you can make the time, that is.”

“Yeah, I think I can make the time,” Leona said automatically, and the sudden eagerness of her reply left her feeling foolish and embarrassed. She felt her face grow warm. Either her fever had returned, or she was blushing.

“Cool,” Mulligan said, and he touched her arm briefly. His hand was warm and dry, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Catch you then, and get well soon.”

With that, he swept aside the curtain. Kelly lay in her bed with her eyes closed, mouth open, so obviously pretending to be asleep that it was almost laughable. Mulligan looked down at her, shook his head with a sigh, then headed for the door.

Leona called out to him before he could make a clean getaway. “But what’ll we talk about? Force protection in post-holocaust America? Diplomacy versus firepower? Mercury in retrograde?”

Mulligan stopped at the doorway and turned back to her. He looked at her frankly, and he allowed himself a vague smile. “You’re a funny girl, Eklund. I like that. But I’ll leave the topic of conversation to you—I can’t lead all the time. See you around campus.”

Then he was gone. Leona stared at the doorway for a moment, her mind whirling. Did Mulligan just—

“Did Mulligan just ask you out on a date?” Kelly asked, very much awake.

“I … I guess?”

Kelly smiled and clasped her hands behind her head, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, in that case, I guess you’d better get well soon, Lee. I don’t know much about these things, but I’d say the big man still has a lot of rawr left in him, if you get what I mean.”

Leona wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but then decided she didn’t need to know. She would find out herself. All in good time. Her gaze returned to the medallion. She studied it for a long moment, and she realized a soft smile had spread across her face.