Allie's War Episodes 1-4(136)

I recognize the uniforms in a vague kind of way, not well enough to—
SS, Maygar sends my way. Contempt drips from his light. Didn’t your husband teach you? They are Schutzstaffel, Frau Dehgoies.#p#分页标题#e#
I flinch at his words, but I don’t answer.
This is all very interesting, Maygar adds. But what is it?
I feel my light spark as I lose patience with his arrogance. You’re the one who said this isn’t an exact science. So why don’t you tell me where we are, big infiltrator man?
Maygar sends with mock politeness, Perhaps you miss your Nazi husband? You thought of him, and it brought you here?
I am about to answer back when I stop, staring through trees to three men standing on the same muddy hill. One I recognize at once as Terian. The second I know only because he has no face. Like when I saw him before, he is well-dressed in a formal, dark suit, and tall.
...Though not as tall as the third man, who is Revik.
I blink somewhere in my mind.
He is still there when I return.
I can’t take my eyes off him, even knowing Maygar is watching...even feeling his disgust when he notices my stare.
Revik wears what likely passed for casual in the time period—dark brown pants, a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suspenders, boots—but his clothes look well-made, and he is clean-shaven, still on the thin side but significantly healthier-looking than when I saw him last in this timeline, wasting away in a Berlin jail. The bruises have faded from his jaw and face, although I still see scars on his neck, one in the shape of a question mark, another on his hand that I recognize. He wears the silver ring on his smallest finger, just like he did when I met him in San Francisco, and my light hand moves reflexively to my light throat.
I wonder again if the ring is from his wife, Elise.
He combs fingers through his black hair, clearing his throat.
“What are we doing here?” he says in German.
The shock of seeing him alive paralyzes me.
“...I thought we were done with this,” Revik prompts again. “Why are we here?”
Terian laughs. He is pleased with his new friend. The pleasure sparks clearly in his light. “You see, sir?” he says. “He’s barely here a minute, and already we are wasting his time!”
“Manners, Terian.” The faceless man claps Revik on the shoulder. “I would like to challenge you, Rolf, to think about this war differently. Until now, you have approached your role in this conflict as a slave does. I would like to persuade you to change that vantage point.”
Revik folds his arms, shifting his weight in obvious irritation. “I adhere to the Seven’s doctrine of non-interference, if that’s what you mean by ‘slave.’ Humans as a species must be allowed to mature undisturbed. The rules are quite clear about—”
“Spoken like a true believer,” Terian mutters.
Revik turns, raising an eyebrow. “Are these schoolyard tactics meant to persuade me to abandon Code?” He glances at Galaith. “Because I find them a bit tired...sir.”
“We do not mean to insult you, Revik. Far from it.” Galaith gives Terian a thin smile. “But I do wonder when is the last time you really thought about those words you just recited?”
Revik frowns, looking between them.
“I have had plenty of time to think about it,” he says, his real emotion coming out that time. “...Believe me, I have. This is not the first war of theirs I’ve fought. I understand well the argument for interference, but it doesn’t make it any less wrong.”
I see that his pride is pricked, though, especially at the silence after his words.
“I curbed their excesses where I could...” he said.
“You did nothing,” Galaith says calmly.
Revik stiffens. “I disagree.”
“You were a Nazi, Rolf,” Terian laughs. “They were gassing your people and you watched disapprovingly from a distance, at best...cleared the way for them with your panzers at worst!”
“Don’t be offended, Revik,” Galaith says, raising a hand to silence Terian. “It is not you that is the problem. The Seven certainly mean well, but they are judging my race as if it were their own. But humans are not seers, Revik. Humans...the ordinary mob of humanity...do not need more freedom. They do not even want it. What they want, more than anything, is for the world to make sense. They want their lives to have some greater purpose...a meaning.”
The faceless man smiles wanly, looking out over the muddy exercise yard.
“They want someone to provide that for them, Rolf,” he says, quieter. “They want this in part because they do not trust themselves...much less their fellow man. Which means, more than anything, they want to be led by someone greater than themselves. They don’t want a committee of their peers. They don’t want the truth to shift with the sands of opinion, or time, or perspective. They want an absolute reality. One that makes sense to them year after year, no matter what occurs outside of them. Whether they control this or not is irrelevant to them. They wish the illusion of control...without any of the responsibility.”