Reaction and Recovery

Libby tried not to look surprised when Mane came into her office. His early awakening was no surprise given their constant banter about how many hours they would be up before the other members of the team. Regardless, the feline had a tough time sleeping that night. Combined with an anxious desire to be available as a team counselor, she rose early to make preparations. Her readiness did not result in any extra activity this morning; nonetheless, Mane was the last furson she expected to see first thing. She smiled at his entrance, ready to be of assistance if necessary.

"Good morning, Mane," Libby said.

"Good morning, Libby." The lion's clothes revealed nothing unusual—a standard white class-B tanktop all the way down to the boots on his feetpaws. He carried his rectangular datapad under his arm as always. "I have some things I'd like to discuss with you."

"Discuss? That's good." Libby rose from her desk and motioned to the couch in the corner of her office. "Shall we sit and talk then?"

"Very well," Mane said, slipping his tail through the couch's slot as he sat.

Libby looked at him carefully as she walked toward the adjacent chair. Mane seemed as normal as his clothing. In fact, Libby could hardly discern any difference in his demeanor, aside from a mild something that she could not put her pawfinger on. "So," she said, sitting in her chair, "did you rest well?"

"I rested as well as can be expected," Mane said.

"Ah, do you want to talk about it?"

"Yes," Mane said, placing the datapad on the desk. "This will be the new practice schedule to reflect the current changes in team membership. I've tried to re-allot time such that it does not draw attention to the missing members. I'm thinking that further training in this block here—" Mane hesitated and then turned his gaze on Libby. The tabby seemed to be trying valiantly to keep the consternation from her stare. "Is something the matter?"

Libby blinked. "The matter?"

"You seem disapproving," the lion answered.

The cat felt her ears tilt toward the side of her head. "I'm sorry, I just didn't really expect you to come down here to talk about this."

Mane tilted his head to the side. "Ah, that explains it." He looked back at the datapad. "If it doesn't bother you that much, then may I continue."

"Go ahead," Libby said, trying to shake off his business-like manner.

"Good!" Mane nodded, and used a clawtip to bring up the schedule blocking. "Now, I've already made adjustments to Scott, Taylor, and Ty's schedules to account for Jessi's absence. Hunter should be able to handle training them in the proper techniques for their size. I think that it might be good to start integrating team exercises since we've only got one combat specialist now. Andrea and Sarah will have to fill Gerald's gap with Aeronautics, but I think he was essentially done with—" Mane stopped again. "Libby, what is the matter?"

This time, Libby didn't try to hide her disdain. "Mane, let me be honest with you. I find your approach to this disrespectful."

"Disrespectful?"

"Yes, disrespectful," Libby frowned. "Or has it just slipped your notice that members of this team died?"

"I am aware of this, Libby." Mane's ears disappeared into the forest of his mane, his expression tightening slightly. "But I am also aware that moving on is a key priority—"

"Mourning is a key priority," Libby interrupted.

"I am through mourning," Mane said. "I am ready to get back to business."

"Mane," Libby deliberated his name and scooted closer to the lion, "I am having trouble believing that you are totally unaffected by this. Moving on without regard to what has happened seems a little—'

"Ah, I see," Mane said, nodding. "You think that I'm ignoring this whole death thing?"

"As callous as you make it sound," Libby said, "yes."

Mane shook his head, handpaw still hovering over the datapad. "Hardly. It is my responsibility to see that this team continues to function, and that is my primary priority. Given the seriousness of the events that have just taken place, we should be feeling vindicated. And the work ahead of us becomes all the more obvious."

"Would you just forget about 'the team' for a moment?" Libby scowled. "I'm worried about you."

"Me? But why?"

"Mane," Libby gently pushed the datapad from under his handpaw and over to the side of the coffee table. "I want to know how you feel."

"How I feel? Libby, I feel fine."

"You know what I'm talking about, lion." Libby's ears pinned back, a slight hiss accenting her words.

Mane leaned back in his chair and let his arms rest easily on the couch. "Alright, alright. You want to know what I feel about this whole Jessi and Gerald thing. I expected as much. But I honestly did not come here to talk about it."

"I got up early this morning just so I could be here to talk about it with team members that wanted to." Libby stole a glance at the wall chronograph. "It's not even 0700 yet and you're here. I expected that you wanted to talk about it."

"Don't need to," Mane said. "There's nothing to talk about really."

"Try anyway."

"If you want my opinion," Mane started, "and you seem to want it badly, I am of course saddened by the loss of two parts of this team. Two very integral parts, at that. Jessi's talents were phenomenal, and she added a great deal of skill to our outfit. And Gerald came here just about right after you did. You know he was a major player. To lose them both to such a cowardly act is truly—" he paused as if thinking, "—disappointing."

Libby peered at him in a critical fashion. "We lose two friends, two comrades, and all you can do is call it disappointing? That's just cold!"

"What do you want me to do, Libby?" Mane asked, just as calm and collected as before. "Do you want me to cry? To break down in tears in grief over their loss? To lose my mind in sorrow and internal turmoil at the sudden reminder that life's not fair?"

"If it would help you feel better, then of course I'd recommend it." Libby said.

"Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to wait. I feel fine, and am still dedicated to the purpose of seeing this team survive the blow."

Libby pursed her handpaws together and peered at Mane, shaking her head quietly. "Grieving is a process, Mane."

"Yes, and I've refined it to the point that—"

"I wasn't finished," the feline interrupted. "I'm saying that this is not the first time that you've treated something major like it was something minor. You do recall the words you used when describing my job to me, right?"

"The main gist of it was that you were to see to the health needs of the team, and that you would have all the resources and cooperation necessary to do so." Mane's ears canted forward, giving his whiskers a slight twitch.

"Well, don't you think that this falls under the cooperation section?" She tried to be gentle. "I know you're tough, but I would get worried about anyone who would treat this as if nothing happened."

"Well, what I was going to say," Mane said, slowing down his words, "was that I've refined the grieving process to the point where I don't need to spend time out of action just to determine that I'm 'over it'."

Libby leaned back in her seat, quietly resting the side of her index pawfinger against her chin. "Maybe you don't, Mane. Maybe you don't." She shrugged. "If I am pushing you too hard to do something, then I apologize. But I'll tell you like I learned it. Everyone grieves a different way; some take a short period of time, some take a long time. But no matter what, there is grieving." She raised her voice when it looked like Mane was about to object. "You can either do it now, or you can do it later; but, by the claw, you will do it."

Mane hesitated after her sharp ending. "I understand, Libby. And I'll remember that."

Libby exhaled a purr. "I don't suppose you've taken that into account when you were making up this new regimen?"

Mane gave her a slight nod. "In fact, I did," he said. "It starts tomorrow."

The feline tilted her head. "You're giving everyone a day off then?"

"That's right. Rest and reflection."

Libby nodded in approval. "I think that is appropriate, considering the seriousness of this event."

Mane smiled, just enough that the pearly glimmer of teeth could be seen toward the corners of his mouth. "I may be emotionally impenetrable, but I am not oblivious to the needs of certain members of the team."

Libby decided to ignore the 'emotionally impenetrable' part in favor of his action. "I think it will be well received, if not a surprise to some."

"Is it a surprise to you?"

"Yes, and no," Libby said, delaying her response. "Yes, because you are as hardcore as they come around here. No, because, as hard as you are, you do demonstrate that you care about the team."

Mane chuckled. "Well, I suppose I'll take the compliment where I can get it."

Libby smiled in a benign fashion and nodded her head.

The door chime went off.

"Come in," Libby said.

The door opened to reveal a rather tired looking fox, who dragged himself a few steps in the room before stopping and rubbing his eyes. He was dressed in standard class-B uniform, though his clothing was obviously rumpled. "Uhh, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Not at all, Scott," Mane said, rising and taking the datapad. "I was just getting ready to go up to the command center."

"Oh," Scott said, a slight shake to his voice. He tried to clear it with a tough grunt. "Just stoppin' by to see if anyone was around, you know?"

"Just a second, Scott." Libby looked up at Mane, "are you sure you're finished?"

"I think you have more important things to worry about right now than me," the lion said, making his way toward the door. "We're taking a break today, Scott. Take as much time as you need."

"Oh, right – we are?" The fox blinked.

Mane grunted deep in his throat. "Don't get used to it." He slipped by Scott and through the open door.

Libby watched Scott's bewildered expression as the door closed behind him. A small smile creased her features. Mane could be exceptionally frustrating, but he did have his moments. She looked at the nervous looking fox and reached forward to pat the couch. "Com'on over here, Scott. Tell me what's on your mind."

* * *

When he discovered that Mane called a day of rest and reflection, Hunter could not restrain slight surprise. The tiglon expected to wake up the next morning and jump right back into the business of training. Bitter as it seemed, that was what his background in the Stratosfleet had taught him: Rock hard, to the very end. Based on his knowledge of Mane, Hunter had the impression that the lion felt at least as adamant. His thoughts about the lion's stony resolve seemed to fall by the wayside by this simple act, leading him to silent internal questions. Was Mane more affected by the Polisonex incident than he let on? Hunter didn't know. And the more he thought about it, the less it seemed to matter.

He thought about basic training from the Stratosfleet. Even years past, Hunter shuddered at the grueling test of endurance. Weeks of living in the mire created by terra-sim induced rains left him exhausted. The uncomfortable grit of hardened mud in his yellowish manefur added rancor to his actions as he dragged himself through numbing physical exertion. And the final tests stretched him to the ends of his sanity – ends that he could now jump over without another thought. The years since left him with accumulated medals and ranks, honors and accolades. All this before he dropped his previous life for a secret existence that had not yet proven its efficacy. Yet of all the nights he'd spent in harsh environments, the previous one would remain indelibly marked in his psyche.

Hunter walked along the hall with heavy, deliberate steps. The ends of his headfur formed small spikes and dripped, adding to the slightly unkempt look he had that morning. The tiglon ignored it. Fur drying could wait, his need to move couldn't. Though the comfort of a body-contouring bed made his physical sleep pleasant, it could not soothe his unsettled mind.

Voices echoed down the hallway. The tiglon's ears canted forward, discerning that they were coming from the cafeteria. As he approached, he could make out the familiar sounds of Andrea, Sarah, and Taylor, gathered in the room.

"I keep thinking," he heard Taylor say in a soft but heavy voice, "that he'll come back through those doors at any second. That somehow, some way, the curtains of reality will split in two and reveal a bright, sunny day where nothing in the world can touch me – where nothing ever goes wrong."

Hunter lingered in the doorway. The voice rose and fell with an emotional monologue. Though the words were delivered with such poise and careful inflection that the tiglon did not want to interrupt.

"And now," Taylor said, a strained sob coming to her voice, "everything is different. I opened my eyes to a world I wished didn't exist, but one I knew was always there. Such ugliness, such an absolutely horrid thing – I would die to never see again in my life." Taylor's voice broke with dramatic timing, and Hunter felt his heart crawling into his throat. He could hear a compassionate whimper he vaguely recognized as Andrea and a purr belonging Sarah.

"Things will just – never be the same," Taylor whispered, "ever."

Her last whispered word seemed to pull Hunter into the room against his will.

"That was beautiful, Taylor," Sarah said with a sniffle, "better than the original."

"I wish I could take credit, but—" she cut herself off as she noticed Hunter, "Hello, Hunter."

The three females turned to face him as Hunter fumbled to find words. "I—um, overheard what you were saying."

Taylor managed a brief smile, though her eyes sparkled with the beginnings of tears. "I'll bet you don't recognize it."

"Hm?" Hunter questioned.

"The most appropriate movie quote I could think of," Taylor said, "Rebirth."

"With the most appropriate title I can think of." He swung his tail from side to side. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

The three females spoke over each other in invitation.

Hunter slid into a seat next to Sarah, who gently touched her muzzle to his cheek in greeting. The tiglon uttered a muted purr and gave her such a warm hug that she was momentarily surprised. Hunter released her with a small smile and scooted to the end of his chair, resting his elbows against his knees. "So…" he started slowly.

His words lingered into nothing as everyone quietly looked between each other. The tiglon shifted in the uncomfortable silence before Andrea broke it. "Hunter, what are we going to do?"

The simplicity of the question caught him off guard. Brows rising and falling, he looked at his handpaws. "I'm not sure how to answer that question, honestly. This is something that I think is planned for, but is never easy. One day at a time, and we'll get back into our rhythm again somehow."

"They were just as much a part of this rhythm as anyone," Sarah said.

"True, true," Hunter said, nodding his acknowledgement, "and I think it's best that we try to fill the gaps, but not fill the roles, if you understand what I mean?"

Taylor sighed. "That's a bit too cryptic for my mind right now."

"I mean that we have to respect their memory and not destroy it in the name of hiding our pain, but we have to move on as a team. You know, keep growing?" Hunter's ears tilted downward. "I feel like I'm not doing a really good job at this."

"It's okay, Hunter," Andrea said, "you're probably just as shook as the rest of us."

"I am," the tiglon said, "and I admit that." He sat up and frowned. "But I'm trying to move beyond that."

"That's going to be hard for me," Sarah said. She held the end of her tail in her handpaws, brushing the base of the tuft as she often did when nervous. "This whole thing is just really disturbing, you know? I mean, it could have been any one of us out on a resupply. Any one of us who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time."

Hunter nodded, giving the lioness a gentle pat on the back. "It's something that we're going to have to consider—something that I'll have to consider, when it comes to resupply."

Taylor peered at the tiglon. "You aren't taking responsibility for this are you?"

Hunter shook his head, gaze dropping. "That was my first instinct. But I know I can't, as much as I wish I could." He looked at Taylor. "At least if the blame were on me, I could punish myself."

"That's unfair, Hunter," the wolf femme grunted. "There was no way that any one furson could have pulled off this kind of thing."

"Yeah, I know, Tay. I know."

"If one furson couldn't pull it off, then placing the entire blame on one furson is unfair." Taylor said.

"Placing blame was one of those things that the Stratosfleet used to do on a regular basis," Hunter said, sitting back. "The theory was that if there was one place to focus all the grief and frustration, then it would aid the recovery process because everything would be focused at that one furson."

"Pseudo-justice," Andrea scowled.

"Yeah, it wasn't right," Hunter said, "and a lot of good individuals got lampooned for it. But it was one of the ways that they coped; a mandated method of coping, but a method nonetheless. And you know what? That's just not what MainFrame is about."

"That's right," Sarah said, "but along that same line of thinking, it would probably be very helpful if we did have a method. Perhaps some kind of team activity."

"A chance to mourn together would certainly aid the process, I think," Andrea said.

"I think you're right," Hunter said. His brows turned upward and he shook his head. "I'm not too good with those things, really. But I'll talk to Mane and see if he has any ideas."

"Great," Taylor said, tail swinging once in an outward sign of eagerness, "if we can stand together, then all the agony of Pellicia could not pull us apart!"

Hunter canted his ears toward the wolf with a smile. "Another movie quote?"

"Nope, made that one up myself," Taylor beamed.

* * *

"Nnnn, no, NOOOO!"

"Edmond!" Vanessa cried, "wake up, Edmond!"

The Clydesdale sat up as if every muscle in his body suddenly received an electric shock. His gaze darted around the room with a frantic pace, panning over the details of the room without seeing a thing. When he regained his bearing, Edmond slumped back on the bed with an exasperated sigh.

"Are you alright?" Vanessa's tone had an edge of worry.

"Bad dream," Edmond muttered, rubbing his side under their bedcovers. "Ow."

Vanessa scooted closer and placed a handhoof against his muscular chest. "What happened?"

"Sat up too quick. Felt like I pulled a stomach muscle."

"No, I meant in the dream," Vanessa said.

"Oh, that." Edmond sighed, ears tilting from side to side before coming to rest in a neutral position. "I was just thinking about what happened yesterday."

He could feel Vanessa's handhoof gently slide off his chest. Edmond looked at the sadness growing in her facial features. "I could hardly sleep because of it, to be honest," she said in a soft voice.

Edmond gave a soft grunt and turned on his side to face her. "I'm really sorry that you had to be the one to find him."

"It was just so hard to see him like that," Vanessa whispered, "all those machines, the full brunt of Pellicia's medicine applied to keeping him alive and they couldn't." She shook her head. "Speed protect me, that was hard."

Edmond gently traced the outline of her cheek with the thumb digit of his handhoof. "I'm sorry, Van. I am."

"Just hold me," Vanessa said, her tone low and mournful. She leaned into Edmond, and the horse embraced her with his strong arms as they lay there. Vanessa murmured a soft sound of comfort before speaking again. "What happened in your dream?"

Edmond shifted. "Are you sure you want me to talk about it?"

"Yes," she said softly. "If it woke you up, it must have been upsetting."

"Well, it was," Edmond hesitated.

"Then let me know what it was," Vanessa said, "if you think it will help."

The larger male exhaled to gather himself. "In my dream, it wasn't Jessi or Gerald there. It was me, and you." He could feel Vanessa's body shudder in his arms, but continued to hug her tightly. "We were just looking through some stores, and you were trying on some of those dresses that always make you look so pretty. You know, ones with the satin sheen to them?"

"I know what you're talking about," Vanessa's reply was soft, its tone lifted at the compliment but still down in anticipation.

Edmond closed his eyes, breathing a long breath. "We were just walking through the mall when it happened. Just, a huge, bright flash and the ground shook and shattered beneath us. I could feel the pressure of the blast against me, but I couldn't move." He hesitated as his voice skipped slightly. "Everything was just a hoof blur for a second, and I felt myself in two places at once. Somehow, I was left standing amid the whole rubble. Then I realized that you weren't standing next to me—"

"Oh, Edmond," Vanessa cooed, "that must have been terrible."

Edmond snuffed and continued in a slightly shaky voice. "I started to dig, and dig, and then—" he broke off, and started again, "I found you under a piece of something too heavy to lift and too big to push off. And all I could do was sit there, stunned. I just felt so helpless—and there was nothing I could do—." He trailed off, finding it hard to continue.

Vanessa hugged him tighter. "I'm so sorry, love."

"No, no," Edmond sighed, "don't be. I'll be alright."

Vanessa released him, gently falling onto her back as she looked toward the ceiling. "I think that might have been the hardest thing I've had to do yet."

"You think?" Edmond said, letting her go, but remaining to watch.

She looked at him with a distressed expression. "I would take dangerous espionage any day compared to wandering the halls of hospitals dressed as a doctor. Everyone kept stopping me, asking me if I'd seen their son or daughter, or if their mom or dad would be alright. I was watching bloody fursons grope for help, totally helpless to do anything about it. There were just so many hurt and dying, and here I was looking for one or two individuals."

"That was what we were there for," Edmond said in a quiet voice, "I passed up my share of fursons in need as I searched. But that was a necessary danger. We had to find them."

"Yes," Vanessa said, "yes, we did." She shut her eyes tightly, droplets of moisture squeezing from the corner onto her fur.

"What about you?" Edmond asked, "Are you going to be alright?"

"Sometimes," Vanessa sighed, her voice a little ragged, "sometimes I wish that I didn't have an eidetic memory."

Edmond scooted closer to hold her. "There are some things that I think we all wish we could forget. Eidetic memory or not, I don't think anyone will be forgetting what happened yesterday."

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Ty said, “you think the elimination of all civil liberties is the only way to prevent the Naikos from acting?”

“That,” Norman started, “is the most logical conclusion.”

“It’d never fly.” Ty said, sitting back and drinking an enormous mug of coffee. “The public likes their liberties too much.”

“And that,” Norman said, “is precisely the point. The general populace may be afraid, but that doesn’t matter in the long run. Once the vast majority realize what they would have to do in order to keep themselves safe, they will come to the conclusion that they’d rather take their chances than do what it takes to ensure security."

“A rather devilish dichotomy, don’t you think,” Bradford said, "almost sad, really."

“Oh, absolutely,” Norman frowned. “It’s characteristic of what happens when you get a bunch of fursons together and tell them to solve a problem.”

“So what’s the issue?" Ty asked. "They'll fear for a little while, maybe for a long while, then get over it and pretend like nothing is wrong just like they did for all the other incidents. We fight the Naikos; they hold the home front.”

“And when they hit someplace important to you?” Bradford said, “Or if we lose more team members over this—?”

“Hey,” Ty interrupted, his voice sharp, "I'm not planning on sitting back and calling for the elimination of all civil liberties. I’ll jump in a FrameFighter and go blow the barbaric fursons back into the Pax Sacrificialis.”

“So quick to jump to battle. I don't suppose diplomacy ever crossed your mind?” Norman asked, his expression strained to neutrality.

Ty looked at the bear in a sour fashion. “Look, Norm, we’ve been training here all this time to get ready to fight, and by the claw that's what I to do! I'm going to fly in, drop behind enemy lines, kill them, and fly out. And if I’m not feeling a little militant by all of this, then I think our training would have been all for naught.”

“Just because we train to kill doesn’t mean we have to kill our ability to logic,” Bradford said. The sagely tone of his voice made Ty laugh.

“Gimme a break,” the raccoon said, attempting to hide his amusement by sucking another gulp from his mug, “if logic were the key to everything, then we wouldn’t need to train for this thing in the first place.”

Norman spoke up, his heavy ursine voice cutting between Ty and Bradford. "Training is largely about honing the reflexes. But even in honing the reflexes, there is a certain logic in how they are built.”

“Maybe before, but not when it’s in action,” Ty argued. "When the shit starts blowing up around you, you react. If you're lucky then you get one thought, maybe. That’s just the way that things work.”

“Then the question is,” Bradford said, “what is training the public sense?”

“Ah, now you’re talking,” Ty said. “When it comes to the general populace, their reflexes are trained by the same things that reflexes have been trained for the ages: pure animal instinct. Society is nothing but a formalized extension of non-sentient animals.”

“Are you daft?” Bradford exclaimed, “to claim that our society is nothing but base animal instinct is ludicrous, if not mildly insulting.”

Norman was a little more objective “Consider it, Brad. The fabric of our society, is not based entirely on those things that we can build from logic. How else can we explain things like a socially established mating season, or seasons based on food cycles?”

“Wait a second, wait a second,” Bradford frowned, “we’ve managed to invent methods to ease our lives in many facets. We’ve advanced medically to the point where we can understand just about any emergency that comes up.”

“As many of those as there are—” Norman cut in.

“But still,” Bradford continued, “the fact of the matter is, we actually do and create things on a level that is much higher than base animal instincts.”

Ty put his cup down on the coffee table with an audible clink. “That’s not what happened yesterday. What happened was that everyone was sitting on their fuzzy butts, swinging their tails and enjoying the wonders of our fantastic society,” he didn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice, “when suddenly everything got turned upside down. Literally. I mean, the freaking ground flipped upward and the ceiling fell down and there was a whole lot of rubble and fursons under it!

"When that happens, no amount of logic or no amount of society can save you. All you’ve got to depend on is that raw animalistic instinct. And if that instinct isn't strong enough, then you’re going to be dead.”

Bradford sat back and crossed his arms, shaking his head with a sigh. “It’s hard for me to accept that as advanced as we have become, it is so simple to tear it all down.”

Norman looked at his panther friend, then back to the raccoon. “How are you two holding up?”

Ty snorted and looked away from them both. “Holding up like the second floor of the depot." He frowns. "What the hell kind of closure is a furson supposed to get when something like this happened? I swear, if I could, I’d march my tail right into the central headquarters of the Naiko Powers and just start shooting.”

“I don’t quite know if that would be effective,” Norman said. "No need to punish the majority for something a minority has caused."

"Besides," Bradford added, "we'll reach readiness eventually. Right now, we just have to take things a day at a time. Mourn now, and continue work the next day."

“How can you be so damn impassive!” Ty scowled, “Both of you! I can’t believe that we had two members of our team DIE and you both are treating it as if it were the most interesting debate in the world!”

“Sometimes,” Norman said, his voice still quiet and restrained, “impassivity, is a method of mourning too.”

“I don't know what you want,” Bradford said, a little defensive, “I’m still a little stunned. Getting worked up just won't solve anything for me.”

Ty frowned. “They terrorize the populace, and everyone wants to think them into submission. They openly use our system against us, and everyone would rather let them take steps to our demise rather than fix what is not working. They destroy facilities and uninvolved lives and a vocal minority wants to somehow convince us that we deserved it. Well, I hope the Naikos are ready for the hit that we put on them when we get the chance. No mercy, I tell you. None whatsoever!” He growled deep under his throat.

“Are you really to that stage yet, Ty?” Norman asked, “Or are you just skipping over the obvious first step.”

"Stage? Step?" Ty turned his head aside. “What are you babbling about?”

“Grief. Grieving. Mourning,” Norman said, “whatever you want to call it.”

“What about it?”

“Well, all things considered, Ty,” Bradford said, giving his spectacles a nudge further onto the end of his muzzle, “you kinda jumped straight to the anger phase, or so it seemed.”

“Feh,” Ty said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let’s see,” Norman said, tilting his muzzle upward as if he were remembering. “If we were ready, I’d march my tail right into the central headquarters of the Naiko Powers and just start shooting. Were those your words?”

Ty didn't make eye contact. “Maybe it's all the logic babble you two are going on about that is getting on my nerves. And just because I want to kill someone doesn’t mean that I’m angry.”

Bradford tried to stifle a sad laugh. “Ty, I don’t know if I ever got the opportunity to say this, but I think that I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Ty hid his face behind another large sip of the mug, still frowning. “I just would rather do something than sit and think about—it.”

“A whole lot of people got a rude wakeup call yesterday,” Norman said, voice soft. “In their world, they were all relatively safe. The terrorists attacked military and government targets and left civilians alone. Now, things are different.”

Bradford nodded. “A whole lot of people woke up to the realization that there are organizations with the sole purpose of disrupting their way of life. It’s got to be a particularly disappointing feeling.”

Ty nodded. “Yes, yes, that would disappoint me, if I wasn't already intimately aware that we were under attack.”

“Thank goodness,” Norman said softly, though not without a sense of irony, “that we’re so enlightened.”

* * *

Mane stepped from the lift, pulling his manefur free where the collar of the suit held it to his neck. The rich, organic scent of the biosphere's plant life gave his nose a light touch, and he reveled in the scent. His eyes panned over the expanse of green grass before spying several dots in a circle atop a grassy knoll. The lion already knew he was a bit late, so he stepped quickly to catch up with the rest of the group. It wasn't long before he stepped into his place in the circle. "Hello, everyone," he said in a soft voice.

The rest of the team murmured their varied responses. Everyone wore their envirosuits out of respect as they surrounded the plaque standing on a small pedestal atop the hill. Mane took a momentary glance back in the direction of the lifts. He had agreed on this as a site for the memorial on the condition that it was placed in a position not prominent enough to be negative encouragement. The current location satisfied that requirement well. With the entire team gathered around the area, Mane started with the carefully constructed words he'd managed to come up with throughout the day.

"This has been a difficult thing for everyone," Mane said, gaze tilting to the ground. "To go on, we must heal. And to heal, we must tend the wound that has been inflicted upon our hearts. We all feel the pain, and in sharing it, we will conquer it together." Mane looked up in time to catch Libby's eyes. The feline passed him a brief smile, one that the lion returned ever so lightly. He could see the slight glint in her glassy eyes from his distance. "I'd like to give everyone a chance to say something of how they feel," Mane said in a soft voice, "don't feel like you have to hold back."

Scott was the first to speak up. "I remember my first time here, how Jessi took me in and made me feel at home from the moment I met her. She used to beat the snot out of me in combat training sometimes, but I always felt like I was learning something from her. Gerald was as cool as avians come. What else is there I can say about him? For them to go down in a manner like this," he hesitated, shaking his head with a pained expression. "It's just not fair. The whole thing reeks of being unfair. I hate that they're gone, and I miss them terribly already. Even knowing them that short period of time made me feel like I had known them for years. They…" he swallowed, cutting himself, "they will be missed."

"They both were great fighters, and friends," Edmond said, his equine voice echoing out from another side of the circle. "It's unfortunate that this happened. A whole lot of fursons lost their lives in a horrible act, and we didn't miss the bullet. As we mourn for Jessi and Gerald, I think it's important that we don't forget that a whole lot of lives were changed yesterday."

Vanessa's handhoof found its way into Edmond's. "For all those—" she had to cut herself off to clear her throat. "For all those who died in the attack. We were bound by life to a goal. Now we are bound in death to carry that on for them. I want to do everything I can to bring this threat to the end, so no one else has to mourn for ones they care about like this. As if we could…let's try not to forget."

Taylor picked up the thread. "We should remember what they stood for, and what they brought to us, both personally and in the big sense. I loved them both for different reasons, but I loved them no matter what. They—" She tried to continue, but couldn't manage more than a squeak through the tears blocking the air in her lungs.

"It's okay," several members of the circle encouraged her.

"I'm just going to miss them," Taylor finished with a helpless looking shrug of the shoulders.

"I hate feeling helpless," Ty said afterwards. His voice was still sharp, but his normally gruff tone seemed muted by a palpable emotion behind the words. "And what I hate more is when others take it upon themselves to use innocents to force an agenda on others. Those people didn't deserve to die. It wasn't right for them to be walking with their family or friends and suddenly have a bomb ruin a perfectly good day." He stopped as if emotion might overtake his words, but the raccoon quickly swallowed it. "The locals will do their best to find out what they can about it. In the meantime, I'm ready to do what I have to to make it such that it never happens again."

"As am I," Norman rumbled from across the circle. The bear shifted his stance and lifted his head. "Gerald and Jessi brought pride and energy to this outfit. Though I mourn now, I will celebrate their accomplishments and additions because they certainly added to this team. I am ready to take that pride and energy to accomplish those things we will need to accomplish if we are to bring such acts to an end."

"I second that," Bradford rejoined in a strong tone. The panther glanced sideways to Norman, and then to the rest of the circle as if he were mildly embarrassed. "You all know that it's not normally my place to make speeches based on emotion. It doesn't make sense for me to be sad for them when they knew the risks and the chances at hand. But that doesn't preclude me from missing them, because I know I will. My debt of gratitude extends beyond this plane of existence into the next."

Andrea flicked her tail and dug a small divot of dirt with the toe of her envirosuit. "I don't really know how to follow that up," she admitted, giving Bradford an appreciating glance. "And I don't really know what to say that hasn't been said already." She hesitated, just long enough to brush the end of her muzzle with the back of a handpaw. "I'm going to miss them both, as we all will. I'm going to miss the laughter and the fun we had together, not just the hard times when we were training or working our tails off. I just hope that when we do get a chance to make a difference—that we can somehow prevent or stop such things from happening again."

Sarah purred to Andrea with a sad purr. "You are so right." The lioness had wet streaks trailing down either side of her muzzle. "It's so hard to say goodbye, especially when it comes at so inopportune a time. I want to be rid of this lingering pain, but I fear that it will take some time to go away. As high as we built our friendships with Jessi and Gerald, it is even harder to feel them come tumbling down—" her voice broke on the word down, and she huffed several times to the comforting murmurs of others in the circle. "I will remember them for their dedication, and try to be as dedicated myself."

Hunter held Sarah's handpaw, giving it a gentle squeeze for comfort. "It is especially hard for me to accept this as a loss," the tiglon said quietly. "It is the first that the team has had, and it wasn't even performing our most dangerous activities. That makes me upset, and it makes me sad. Jessi and I go way back," the tiglon mused, "and as much stuff as our training led us to, it never led us to this. I couldn't predict it. I couldn't stop it. And even now, I feel helpless and hate it. But from adversity comes an inner strength—and when we draw on it together, then we can manage." He lifted his head to the group, a small but determined smile on the end of his muzzle.

Libby cleared her throat and spoke up. "Today we begin the long process of healing as a team. It is something that may take time, or it may happen quickly. Either way, it's something we have to face. Losing Jessi and Gerald—" she trailed to regain herself, "is a travesty. But, as others have said, losing our focus in the way of the tragedy would be even worse. I mourn their loss, and my sadness knows few limits," she mewed, "but I want to be there for anyone else who wishes to mourn, or finds it hard to."

A simulated breeze blew over the gathering, rustling headfur with its strength. Mane let the silence linger a bit before looking up. The collective eyes of the team seemed to rest on him. Mane directed his attention to the plaque in the middle and spoke in a clear voice. "Let the dead rest. Let the living live. Let the team thrive. Let the bereaved find peace. And let skill and speed prevail. Though wounded, we will heal. MainFrame will go on. This has not broken us, but made us stronger: a strength that our foes will feel all too soon." Mane looked from side to side and around the circle. "Jessi and Gerald lived good lives here. And it is only right that we send them off well!"

Hunter was the first to answer the call. He craned his neck back and offered up a rich lowing roar that seemed to resonate from the center of his being. Sarah joined in with a roar of her own. Andrea and Taylor added howls to the haphazard chorus. Soon, the biosphere rang with each furson's unique call. Out of the many cries, one magnificent voice rose from their collective spirits.