The Fault in Our Stars

"The fault, Dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings."

"What?"

"Shakespeare. Julius Caesar. Honestly, don't you read?"

"No, I mean yes, I mean…what does Shakespeare or Caesar have to do with any of this?"

Christy didn't answer. She just returned to her silence, and continued watching the television that was perched on a bench in the office. One of many in VSSE's headquarters in New York. And like many TVs this day, was showing a news report on the destruction of Neodyne's rocket.

"Reports have confirmed that the rocket suffered catastrophic engine failure in the opening stages of launch, resulting in an explosion that destroyed both it, and the launch site. Although the number of casualties is not yet known, Neodyne's founder, Ernesto Diaz, is confirmed among the deceased."

Keith winced. Technically none of the reporter's words were untrue. But they were woefully missing in context. Such as "a nuclear satellite had almost been launched" or "Ernesto Diaz was a bastard who'd got what had been coming to him."

"In light of the disaster, Neodyne stocks took-"

Christy muted the TV, laid back in her chair, and rubbed her eyes. Keith couldn't blame her.

"This is bullshit, you know that right?" he asked.

She didn't answer. And Keith got up to look at the New York sky. Grey, with a chance of rain. As usual.

"I mean, no-one made any excuses for Sherudo," he continued. "Yeah, Richard never got credit, but Sercia at least spilled the beans that they'd solved the problem with the hammer." He got himself a glass of water. "But Robert and me? No. Course not."

"It comes with the job Keith," Christy murmured.

He poured a second glass and handed it to her. Back in a state of silence, she took it.

"So," Keith began.

Christy drank – her eyes were bloodshot, her skin under them sack, her clothes frayed. VSSE had been too busy working with various government agencies to keep the Diaz affair under wraps, not to mention every country that had a presence in space. The whole 'yeah, we told you so, so how do we cover this up?' Frowning, Keith watched two pundits discuss the news – the future of Neodyne, the doubts being raised about Starline, and the "conspiracy theories" that were already rising up.

"Shakespeare," he continued.

Christy looked at him.

"You mind filling me in?"

She finished off the water, and Keith felt uneasy. He wasn't sure if this was even his field. The VSSE employed people like him to "shoot the bad guys," even if they usually phrased that objective more eloquently. They also had people far more qualified than him to gauge the mental wellbeing of field agents. And even if Christy hadn't been a hostage for that long, being in the proximity of Diaz, his goons, heck, even Wild Dog…it was something he didn't want to imagine.

"They named twelve of the satellites after the zodiac you know," Christy murmured. Her eyes were on the screen, and Keith couldn't be sure if she was talking to him, or to herself. "Aries, Taures, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo…" She rubbed her eyes again. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Kind of."

"And these people," she said, gesturing towards the pundits. "Who else even did digging on Diaz? Who questioned Starline, or even the need for a communications network when we have the ability to reach anyone on the planet anyway? Who…" She trailed off and went to pour some more water. "The fault, as Cassius said, is in ourselves. The world's full of idiots. And last night, the world nearly paid for that."

Keith remained silent. He could understand Christy's frustrations. He was feeling them too. But to voice them so blatantly…

"Starline's probably going to be appropriated you know," she continued. He watched as she walked over to the window and took a sip. "US, China, Russia, the ESA…Oh, sure, it won't be one single big network, but no harm in using perfectly functional satellites, right?"

"Won't Neodyne?"

"Fuck Neodyne."

"Christy…"

"Don't," she said, as Keith began to get to his feet. "I don't need it Keith, and I don't want it. I…" She put the glass aside and began rubbing her forehead. "I just need…"

"Sleep?"

She looked at him. And he almost spoke, but pulled himself back. What on earth could he say? That he knew how she felt? Those words would be useless at best, and unwelcome at worst. Because men like him…Sometimes he wondered if he was even worse than Diaz. Or Sherudo. Or even Wild Dog.

How many people have I killed? How many people were killed in that 'satellite accident?' How-

"Keith?"

He drew himself back to reality. Away of a world of "action," and "reload," and the more sedate one of a New York office block with a muted TV and tap water.

"It's raining," he said.

Christy looked out the window. "Yeah."

He walked over, and gingerly put out a hand to put round her shoulder. But he drew it back. It was his right hand. And with that hand, he'd pulled the trigger and ended so many lives that he doubted that people like Christy Ryan wanted anything to do with him. So instead, he turned to leave, and-

"Don't go."

Stopped. And looked at her.

"Please."

"Christy…" He took a breath, and looked at the open door. Half-expecting mask-wearing men to burst in and begin shooting. "You need help, okay?"

"I know." She chuckled darkly. "God help me I know."

"And you should know that I'm the last person who you should talk to about that."

"Why?" She asked.

"You know why."

"What I know, is that it's easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "More JC?"

"I like Shakespeare," she said.

Keith couldn't help but smile. And walk over once more. And stand in silence as the rain came down from a free sky. From the heavens, free from the darker aspects of Earth.

"Yeah," he said. He put am arm around her. "I do too."