xp_logs | Memorial Day, at Arlington

Nathan's presence is requested at Arlington National Cemetery by someone unexpected.

~*~

My dead demand remembrance
My dead demand honor
My dead demand that lessons be learned.
I hear them still
through my dreams
through my laughter
through my prayers

My dead are not silent.

~*~

Nathan paused in front of the slightly open door to Charles' study, realizing that he wasn't in there alone. Okay... The telepathic summons had been a gentle one, yet not quite off-hand, not of the 'something has just come up, Nathan, stop in?' variety. He knocked, lightly, then came in, his eyes widening a little at the sight of the woman sitting there with Charles.

"Professor," he said, a bit warily. "Ms. Cooper."

Charles smiled enigmatically. "I see introductions are not in order. Special Agent Cooper has, I believe, a day trip in mind for you, Nathan. After hearing her proposal, I'm inclined to agree that you should go."

"The President," Cooper said a trifle sourly, "would like to see you, Dayspring. Immediately. I have a helicopter waiting."

"The--" It was a good thing that his voice chose that moment to fail him, because incoherent noises or 'the who with the what now?' type questions would probably not have impressed Cooper. Who looked decidedly unimpressed already. Nathan looked at Charles, opening his mouth - and then closing it again. That was the enigmatic smile, and that could mean a whole range of things.

The President. Wanted to see him. Immediately. The President. Okay, still a little alarmed...

Didn't mean he had to show it, though. "Day trip," he finally said, his eyes flickering to Cooper and then back to Charles. "All right."

"Good. I should have him back by this evening, Professor." Cooper flicked a dismissive glance Nathan's way and strode for the door. "Come along, Dayspring. He's making time in his schedule for you, and I shouldn't have to explain what that means."

"No, Agent Cooper. You don't." Nathan glanced back at Charles as he turned to follow, more than a bit bewildered still. No, the smile was still there.

"Special Agent," she replied crisply, leading the way out of the mansion at a ground-eating pace. "I'm quite sure I've earned it."

~*~

No throttling the nice Special Agent, Nathan told himself, staring very fixedly out the window of the car. Well, not that she'd been particularly pleasant to him at any point during this trip, so calling her nice was probably a stretch, but the point still stood. He thought he could hear her grinding her teeth every so often, still.

The car pulled up to the gates of Arlington National Cemetery, and as they eased onto the drive, Cooper tapped the discreet walkie-talkie on her belt. "Stevenson, this is Cooper at the west gate." Her already-sour voice cooled another few degrees. "I have the package. ETA five minutes."

Nathan had gone very still once he'd realized their destination. He'd never been to Arlington, and, as he'd once confessed to the students, had always been a bit skeptical about the concept of a country, this country, honoring its dead like this. Mostly because they seemed rather... selective about it.

The tone of Cooper's voice set his teeth on edge, though. "So are you planning to stop the car when we get where we're going, or just open a door and push me out?"

Cooper turned to glare at him. "I was FBI before I joined the Secret Service, Dayspring. If it were up to me, this trip would have ended at Ryker's. But I serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States, and he has requested your presence, and I do my duty."

Don't bait her, his conscience put in, belatedly, and Nathan shrugged a little, turning his attention back to the window as the car moved through the gates. "I appreciate the professionalism," he said neutrally, trying to ignore the part of him that started to wonder afresh at just what the hell was going on here.

"We're here," she said abruptly, stopping the car. A solitary figure waited, off in the direction of the Tomb of the Unknowns. Cooper gave Nathan one last warning look as she opened her door. "Don't forget about the rest of the detail just because you can't see them."

"I may not be able to see them," Nathan said quietly, opening his door, "but I can feel them." He got out, closing the door again behind him, and hesitated for a moment, staring at the apparently-solitary figure waiting for him.

This was... just a little surreal. Squaring his shoulders, he headed in that direction. Not too fast, and careful to keep his body language under control. Just in case.

The President stood next to an unremarkable tombstone in the middle of a row of identical stones; he turned as they came up, smiling warmly, but with a certain amount of fatigue in the set of his shoulders. "Thank you, Val, that's all," he murmured. "Nathan, thank you for coming on such short notice."

Nathan was silent for a moment, busy taking in his first real face-to-face impression of the man who had, unlike his predecessors, taken personal responsibility for Mistra and everything it had done. "Sir," he said quietly, with a nod of real respect. "I'm not... sure what this is all about, but I couldn't not."

"First of all," McKenna said, "I wanted you to know that the Mistra leadership is in no realistic danger of acquittal." He smiled grimly. "In fact, I'm told that Ruiz never technically resigned her military commission, so she at least is in the unenviable position of having raised an armed force against her lawful government."

"Oh, really." Nathan glanced down at the tombstones, letting his breath out slowly. "That's good to know, sir. Thank you." He looked back up at McKenna, meeting the President's eyes. "It's good to know that it's going to be seen through. All of it."

"Mistra was an abomination," McKenna said firmly. "It's my second term as President of this nation, and now that I don't have to worry about getting re-elected I can take some thought to my legacy." His eyes fell for a long moment to the tombstone. "I'm cleaning house. Mistra, that goddamned Muir Island incident--I tell you, if I ever have to eat that much crow in front of the international community again--well. The United States of America is no longer in the super-soldier business. You have my word on it."

"You didn't just clean house, with Mistra," Nathan said quietly, his eyes drifting back to the tombstone. "You're helping those left behind. To me that's the last piece of evidence I needed to know that I can believe what you say, sir. I hope you realize just how much of... a stretch that is for me." He managed a slightly strained smile. "But I'm not quite sure why you're saying it here."

"Because of what today is," McKenna said quietly. "You--all of Mistra's victims--you are veterans and casualties of a war that never should have been. And furthermore, you are, in a sense, our veterans. Mistra came out of the American military, and shameful though that is, you were American soldiers. On this day, in this place . . . you will be remembered, even if it must be in secret and without fanfare."

McKenna reached down behind the tombstone and picked up an ordinary-looking portable stereo, which he set on top of the stone. As he did so, it came to life, names and dates echoing softly across the quiet graveyard.

Nathan tilted his head, listening. "What..." he started, then fell silent, his eyes widening as he heard first one, then another name he recognized. Then another, and he looked up at McKenna in sudden understanding. "The operatives," he said slowly, "and... the children?"

"Every one we could find in Mistra's files," McKenna confirmed. "I'm not exactly sure how the device works, but I'm told it broadcasts on a very specific, unused frequency, short-range enough that it's not likely to be picked up by anything much further away than this radio is now. And it'll keep broadcasting, they tell me, a whole lot longer than either of us will ever have to worry about." He smiled wryly. "My technical people won't commit themselves on how likely it is somebody will get lucky, pick up the transmission anyway, and turn it into one of those internet conspiracies, but I can live with that. One way or another, they will be remembered."

Every name. Every life. "It was always what we were afraid of," Nathan said softly, so softly that the names were louder than his voice. "Being forgotten. Wiped out of existence as if we'd never lived." And then so many had died on Youra, leaving so few to remember. Nathan raised a hand, rubbing at his eyes for a moment.

"I'll give you the frequency, of course, before you leave," McKenna said, just as softly. "And this place is open to the public. I wish I could do more."

Nathan looked up at him. "You did all that you could," he said, and for a moment he was a man talking to a man, not a somewhat irregular soldier talking to a President. "You acted, when you had the chance, on the basis of what needed to be done."

"Foley, Michael," the voice murmured.

Nathan's eyes stung. "We knew that," he whispered. "All of us, who went in. We knew."

"That doesn't erase the debt," McKenna said. "What was taken from you, from all of you, can never be repaid."

Nathan swallowed. "At the school," he started slowly, haltingly, "we have a lot of children who've done things they aren't proud of, who have things in their past that trouble them." He took a step closer to the tombstone, laying a hand on it for a moment. The names continued to murmur through the air. "It came up, once... the question of atonement. I told them what I believed, that the only thing you could do about your regrets was make sure you did better in the future."

He looked back up at the President. "If there's a debt you owe us, I'll be the pack leader one more time and say that the only way you can repay it is to do your best to make sure it never happens again."

"On that you have my word."