The podium and the stage were resplendent in the crisp February sunlight and frost still glistened on the grassy expanses of the university lawns. The speech by President Thompson, given here at his alma mater, was going to be nothing overly momentous. The one unusual factor that had the White House Press Corps paying more attention than normal was the fact that this was the first speech since the lifting of martial law where both the Synod Leader and the North American Companion would both also be speaking.
From his vantage point fifteen hundred yards away, the ANA's top sniper glanced through his viewfinder and checked his range, silently musing on what might have been. He'd once toyed with the idea of joining the Protectors and keeping an eye on the aliens from within the inner circle... he'd given that up as a bad idea ten minutes after having it, though. Of the Liberation personnel that had witnessed his birth, only the hacker Augur had given a damn about him.
It was Augur that had - in a gesture of good faith that he still couldn't believe - allowed him unrestricted and unmonitored access to his network to arrange a new identity for himself. It was Augur who had warned him of the imminent Liberation hit on him, given him fifty thousand dollars and told him to run while he still could.
He'd ended up in London before feeling secure enough to begin to act in something other than a self-preservation role. With his carefully crafted identity he'd made it through the security checks and his fictitious background as an ex-mercenary had got him into accelerated training in the army. He'd made sure to excel just enough to catch the right eyes and he'd been offered the opportunity to enter directly into the training for the world famous Special Air Service, the SAS.
His life, given direction and a purpose, had begun to take shape. He'd taken care to excel in areas that would bring the attention of the right sorts of people, and, he'd found himself seconded - on more than one occasion - to missions against the seemingly overwhelming influence of Zo'or and the rest of his godforsaken species.
It was returning from one of these missions he'd been informed of the debacle of the American Presidential elections, its aftermath, and the confirmed executions of Lili Marquette and Augur; the only two Liberation/Resistance personnel that he had ever given a second thought.
The ANA - which had been operating covertly for the last few months - was soon to become a lot more public, but first, he had one more assignment to carry out in his covert role.
Settling deeper into his position, SAS Lieutenant Liam Alexander - Sandy to his friends - concentrated on his breathing and calming his body and mind. This mission was one he had no qualms about carrying out. His targets were the Taelon that had ordered the executions of the Liberation prisoners unaccounted for in the demanded prisoner release, and, the human lackey that had seen those orders were carried out.
For a few moments, Liam listened to Thompson drone on, and then, he sighted on his first target. Gently, his finger depressed the trigger and what was left of Ronald Sandoval's brains spattered over the stunned Synod leader. A quick flick of a button and the energy signature of his plasma rifle changed to meet that of its new target, and, Liam's finger touched the trigger again... Za'al - hated replacement for the former American Companion that had been killed with Quo'on at Commander Boone's funeral - entered the Void with a strangled scream.
Liam Alexander did not watch the chaos that his actions had caused. He knew he had seconds before the Volunteers stormed his position. He activated his mini Portal and got the hell out of dodge.
After his debriefing - and congratulations for an exemplary mission - Liam escaped his superiors and returned to barracks in Hereford. Making his way to the Officer's Mess, Liam ignored the quiet looks his presence generated. He hardly every socialised in the Mess - he had a reputation as a good guy that preferred to keep to himself sometimes - and he had never been seen to drink at all. Which was why, more than one questioning gaze watched him ask for a double shot of whisky, raise it in what was obviously a silent toast to something and down it in one gulp.
Ignoring the gazes, Liam turned and left the Mess. Tugging absently at his leather jacket, Liam Alexander looked briefly up at the starry night sky above him. He silently repeated his toast to the night sky. Goodbye Father. I hope you rot in hell.
Liam returned to quarters, got rid of his jacket, belt and shoes, and flopped on top of his bed, tears of loss and rage streaming silently down his face. His mother had died of a CVI overload, his father had been a target that had to be eliminated, and he'd only seen his Kimera father once in a vision.
He was trapped and alone on a planet he both hated and loved, a planet he'd probably have to die to save, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about any of it.
God damn you to hell too, Ha'gel. Sandoval may have been unredeemable but at least he got involved. You made me and then you abandoned me to this mess. I will never forgive you for any of this, but I'll do whatever has to be done. My home may be my prison, but I'll save it if I can.