Almost Free
Morwen

Siobhan Beckett pushed open the door to her apartment, juggling keycard, groceries, and global. Sighing deeply, she set the canvas sack of food on the counter and paused, for the first time that day. It was cool in her apartment; she liked it that way. She turned the lights on low, and began to put her groceries away.

Once that task was done, she sat down on the couch, curling her feet beneath her, and let the tension seep out of her. Her home was her haven. No matter what happened during the day, no matter what she had had to do, she could always come back here and soak in some peace and tranquility.

Glancing languidly around her apartment, Siobhan's gaze finally stopped at a piece paper on the carpet near the door. Her curiosity warred with her exhaustion for a moment, but finally the curiosity won out. With a groan, she pulled herself to her feet and padded over to the door. She bent down and picked up the strange object. It was a letter.

“Here's something ye do nae see everyday,” she commented to herself. While she did have a mail slot, almost no one got paper mail anymore, and she hadn't received a honest-to-goodness, paper letter since her cousin had decided to be extravagant with his wedding invitations.

She began to open the envelope, but at that moment her stomach rumbled and she was reminded that she hadn't eaten since supper the night before. At that exact time, Skylark set to complaining that she was hungry. Siobhan smiled slightly.

Sorry, wee one, she thought. I'm still nae used to eating for the both of us. She stroked the skrill's bumpy, alien skin and shivered, ever so slightly. She headed for the kitchen, stowing the strange letter safely on the top of her antique armoire. She'd open it after dinner. Besides, it would be nice to save it for a bit, to savor the excitement of a real letter.

She prepared her meal carefully and efficiently, as she did everything in her life, and ate it slowly, chewing and swallowing each bite before taking another. Good table manners, even when alone, was one of the many habits her mother had deeply ingrained her as a child. She'd never forgotten even one word her mother had said, one thing her mother had taught her. Siobhan considered it a memorial to her mother to still stick to her teachings whenever possible.

Never take a life. Her mother's voice rose abruptly to the surface of her thoughts.

What happened to that one? a cruel little voice asked from deep inside. Thankfully, Siobhan's CVI crushed that thought before she had to justify it with anything. She swallowed hard and began to clear up.

Once the dishes had been washed with the usual meticulous care, Siobhan changed out of her uncomfortable militia uniform into a black leotard, something she often wore while relaxing or exercising. Those two were much the same thing to her.

She fixed herself a cup of herbal tea, lit a multitude of scented candles in her room, and settled herself cross-legged on the bed, mysterious letter in hand. Taking a deep breath, she carefully slipped her fingernail underneath the flap of the envelope and opened it neatly, managing not to tear it in the process.

A familiar scent wafted out of the envelope, but she couldn't place it. Delicately unfolding the lovely sheet of stationary, she began to read.

Dearest Siobhan,

I know we haven't spoken since I moved away, but I had this sudden feeling that I needed to write you and make things right. It's been a long time…I wish we hadn't gone away angry at each other. I'm sorry the last words we exchanged were harsh ones.

Mother said that we should never go to bed angry, remember? I think we both broke that rule that day. I'm sorry I tried to stop you from joining the militia. It was wrong of me. I still think it was the wrong choice, but it was yours to make.

Still, when I think of all those things you did… I'm sorry, I'm doing it again, aren't I? You know how much of a pacifist I am, so please forgive me for railing against your career decision. It's not you I hate; it's the uniform. I'm afraid I didn't make that clear when we last spoke.

We have two different approaches to life, you and I. You were so much like Father, always wanting to fight for everything, while I took after Mother, preferring to wait and pray and see. Even when we were children. Remember that time with Tiarnan? Of course you do. Anyway, it's no surprise that you took matters into your own hands, while I tried to work within the system.

I have to admit, your way did work. While I was trying vainly to get laws passed, you were out taking the world. Or at least, the island. Yes, we have a united Ireland thanks to you. But the blood…I never could have stood that much blood.

I know I wrote to try to make things right, and I am. But I have to be honest with you right now. Somehow, that's very important. So here's the truth. It scares me that you were able to kill. I know it was hard on you, I know someone had to do it, and I realize that you did it for the children. But the people you had to kill to save our Ireland, to make it safe for the babies, every single one of them was some mother's child. Do you ever think about that?

I'm sure you do. You always thought about things like that, even when most people couldn't see it that way. It was one of the things I envied about you. I bet you didn't know that. Yes, your older sister envied you, more than a little. I would never have told you that when we were young, of course.

I hear you're a Protector for the Taelons now. Out of gratitude, knowing you. I'm not sure that was such a good idea, Siobhan. Not that I don't like them or anything, but you have to be careful where you place your loyalties. You take honor so seriously…just make sure that your honor's not blinding you to truth.

And those implants I've heard about…Well, I'm sure you know what you're doing. It's just, you've been in the news a couple of times lately, and I didn't like some of the things I was hearing. To be honest, it sounds like you're still killing, but this time it's not necessarily for something noble. I'm sorry if that was too far, but I'm worried about you.

What about your family, Sis? You were born to be a mother, you always said so. Your Ireland is safe, but instead of marrying you stay in the military, in a job where there's little time for any kind of relationship. I love you, and it just seems…off, somehow, that you seem to have reached your goal, but still haven't started your family.

The last I heard, you wanted children, lots of children, and nothing more. Joining the militia was a means to an end, to make sure no more kids ended up like Pat, God rest his blessed little soul. Now…I don't know anymore. Something's wrong, I feel it.

I'm not doing a very good job of making up, am I? Well, I was never good at admitting I'm wrong. I should probably tear this thing up and start over, but my first instinct is to send it the way it is.

I am so incredibly sorry for allowing a philosophy conflict to keep us apart all these years. I was wrong that day, when I said all those things. I was only trying to protect you, trying to keep you from joining the militia. I was afraid you'd be hurt. That came out as anger, and when you got angry back, I let hate for the organization overtake me.

I hope you will forgive me…and write me. I need to hear from you that you're all right. As I said, I'm worried. From what I've seen of you on TV, you're different. I know fifteen years changes people a lot, but…it's like you're not even the same woman I knew at all anymore.

All my love,

~ Muirinn

Siobhan's emotions were whirling by the end of the letter from her long-estranged sister. Something stirred inside her, something that the MI couldn't suppress. She knew Muirinn was right, about almost all of it. She was allowing herself to blinded to the truth of some of the things she was doing, out of gratitude. Her oldest sister had always been able to tell what she was thinking, and fifteen years later, she still could.

But it was hard to think such thoughts against the Taelons. She was surprised that she could at all. With a start, she realized that Skylark was blocking the MI. Not completely, but just enough so that with the combination of Siobhan's willpower and the tiny creature's abilities, the Companion agent was able to start to see a little sliver of truth.

Quickly, Siobhan jumped up from the bed and rifled through her bureau drawers until she found some paper and a pen. She wrote a lengthy letter to her sister, and asked her to come visit her. She hoped that maybe with Muirinn's presence, she could figure out right from wrong, and what she should be doing. Something wasn't right about her job, she knew that now.

Muirinn would be able to tell her what was wrong with her. It was so comforting to know that she had a loving older sister who could come make everything better. She hadn't let her sister help since she was nine, but she knew that without Muirinn, she'd never be able to break through the MI and discover whether the work she was doing for the Taelons really was always for the betterment of mankind. Doubts she'd never felt before had crept in through the past few minutes, and it frightened her.

What frightened her more was that she truly hadn't thought about having a family in several months. Not since her implantation. For someone who had wanted babies so desperately as she, that was absolutely terrifying.

She fell asleep quickly, simply because of her exhaustion, but her night was not peaceful. Horrible dreams haunted her. Not the usual, confusing, alien dreams that had come with Skylark, but nightmares about war and blood and crimes committed on rationalizations.

She mailed her letter first thing in the morning. There was nothing for several agonizing days of waiting. Her Companion noticed that she was acting very distractedly, very strangely. Thankfully, he thought she was ill, and gave her some time off. She had two different lines of thought running through her head, and she had no idea which was the right one.

Finally, three days later, she discovered a piece of mail under her mail slot. It was stamped: "Returned to sender. Addressee not found."

With a sinking feeling, Siobhan used her security clearance to search for her sister. It took a while, but finally she found a news story referring to her. Muirinn had been killed, it said, on the way home from mailing the letter. A terrorist bombing. She was walking by the Taelon embassy in Australia, where she lived, when a radical arm of the Resistance had tried to kill the Australian Companion. She had died in the initial blast.

Torn by grief, Siobhan Beckett's doubts about the Taelons turned to rage against the Resistance. Anyone who would kill innocent people in order to destroy those who had worked to make the world a safe place did not deserve pity or mercy. Her MI seized these feelings of hate immediately. All doubts about her job and worries about ethics were swept away and locked up in the back of her mind.

The MI reasserted itself with frightening speed and iron strength. Skylark could no longer help against it, and Siobhan wasn't sure she wanted her to. Clearly, her actions in the service of the Taelons were justified. Her sister's death proved that.

Skylark tried to tell her that she was making the wrong decision, the little creature's hate for the Taelons was overwhelming. But the skrill couldn't make her Implant understand that she was being held captive, and therefore Siobhan couldn't even try to break out. A vague impression drifted into Siobhan's consciousness, however. You were almost free. It was accompanied by such a sad feeling, that it made her want to cry. But she still didn't understand. The motivational imperative wouldn't let her.

Still, something wasn't quite locked away for good. In moments of quiet, at night, Siobhan once again longed for a child. And the two words, "almost free," haunted her when she slept.

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