When Zemire pulls into the outpost, he stops by the mail room and asks the pale, young corporal if there’s anything for him. He’s handed a single envelope, somewhat bulky in the middle, a single name written where the sender’s address should be: Roy.
Curious, the Mirialan rips the envelope open and withdraws a single coin wrapped up in a piece of cloth. This is for your date with Stahnis, the accompanying letter reads.
Zemire inspects the coin in the mail room light. It’s a standard mint from a couple decades back, a bit grubby, and likely not worth anything these days. But Roy has hopes that the coin will bring Zemire luck, and so the soldier pockets it, smiling to himself.
Roy had given him gifts before, or gifts to give to other people, in exchange for things like drinks and the smuggler’s own criminal records. Zemire had been eager with the first and more reluctant with the latter; at that time, they were only acquaintances, and Zemire knows more about Roy than he’d ever let on. He’d seen the files himself.
He’ll have to face the consequences of his own actions, he’d thought then, after reading several pages of noted black market dealings. And then, maybe, he’ll realize what he’s doing and wake up.
Now, of course, Zemire knows better. He knows that Roy is both freer and more trapped than himself. He knows that Roy will do anything he pleases, whether it’s trading illegal weapons for spice (Civilian Record #453961: Edgewood, Roy, page two) or smuggling medical supplies into a war zone to save children (Civilian Record #453961: Edgewood, Roy, page five).
And maybe it’s only a gut feeling, Zemire muses as he pats his pocket, feeling the hard ege of the coin safely tucked away, but he knows that Roy is not really a bad person.
(via hawkeblock)
