“It’s been a while since we’ve talked in person.”
Bartholomew’s breath clouded the air as he watched the haphazard caravan unload goods and passengers both. The amount of action at MITHRA-II was ridiculous lately.
“I’m not surprised it was because something blew up, but I thought I’d be the one exploding.”
Wintermute looked stiff and uncomfortable in her MIT uniform, but the half-hearted joke earned a snort from her. She readjusted her glasses as she recomposed herself.
“It’s fortunate that plants are less explosive than machines. Though after your last report, I have to wonder.”
Bartholomew winced and started scratching. There was nothing left under his skin, but there was always the nagging fear that they’d missed something....
Wintermute grabbed his wrist and stared at him. He snapped back to reality, briefly meeting her gaze before looking down at his scabbed arm.
“...right. So what’s the plan? Are we consolidating operations here?”
“No, I don’t think we will.” Wintermute released his hand.
“They’re planning to make this the new MIT headquarters. This is just the first shipment of many.”
"More white-coated busybodies," Bartholemew grumbled, wiping his hands off on his white coat.
"Great."
"And more oversight." Wintermute’s hand began to move, fingers opening and closing repeatedly.
“MITHRA was destroyed by the breach of a high-threat subject. It won't be long before they start reviewing our own containment procedures.”
“It’s not our fault they fucked up in Finweald.”
“It’s not. But we have to live with their mistakes.”
It was a sentiment they’d both lived with for a long time.
“...so, what's the plan?”
"It’s almost certain the MIT will be establishing a new outpost in Vintergard to study the Dragonship. I intend to volunteer.”
Bartholomew made a face. He understood what Wintermute was suggesting, but he didn’t like it.
“You want to move out there? We won’t have the resources we need.”
“We won’t have them here for much longer, either. This is our best chance to maintain control.” Her expression was distant as she spoke, hand still trying to open and close a menu that no longer existed.
"We'll need to contract some mercenaries to escort the core..."
“You want to move her?” Bartholemew gaped.
"With Starcalled? You're joking."
“We have to. After Szofrit, they'd destroy her in an instant.” Wintermute sighed, her stiff mask briefly cracking.
"I'm not giving her up, Barty."
Bartholomew bit his lip, then put a hand on Wintermute’s shoulder. She inhaled sharply at the contact, but made no move to pull away. It took a while for her to regain her composure.
“...me neither,” Bartholemew mumbled. In the end, he was just as committed as Wintermute was.
"Tell me what I need to do."
