Tunnels 04, Closer

suggested. "You'd help me destroy them?"
    The Limiter rose from the bed and made a small movement on the thick carpet with his foot. "No, just because I disagree with the direction they've chosen, it doesn't mean I want my people to come to any harm. I won't countenance lethal action against the Styx. And neither will I allow any Colonists to be harmed in the process -- Molly included."
    "No, of course not," Drake growled under his breath. "What kind of man do you take me for?"
    The Limiter carried on nonetheless. "I don't have to tell you that those at the very top of the Styx hierarchy, including the twins you call Rebecca, have brought the agenda forward, but we believe it's a heavy-handed and unnecessary approach."
    "We?" Drake asked.
    "I am one of a number of Styx who don't agree with the more extreme initiatives against Topsoilers, such as the release of a biological reagent like the Dominion virus. We believe Topsoilers will bring about their own demise, without any intervention from us. Then the way will be clear for us to step in."
    "So you reckon we're all going to kill ourselves without your help?" Drake said. "And if you disagree so deeply with the Styx top brass, why don't you just speak out against them?"
    The Limiter's expression said it all as he regarded Drake.
    "No, bad idea," Drake muttered.
    The Limiter brought his arm up and clenched his fingers into a fist. "Both of us want to see these initiatives stopped, so strangely enough our objectives are aligned. We could work together to derail them."
    As he mulled over the Limiter's proposal, the light gradually returned to Drake's lackluster eyes. He ran his hand over his hair, trying to make it lie flat, then looked across at the Limiter and gave him a slow nod. "Okay," he decided, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested. Tell me more."
    "Get yourself cleaned up first. It will be easier if I just show you," the Limiter said, as he began for the door.
    Now alone in the room, Drake went into the adjoining bathroom, where he washed and shaved. He gulped down several glasses of water, catching himself in the mirror as he replaced the tumbler on he basin. He stared at his reflection for several seconds. "Enough is enough... time to get back into the saddle again," he said, then returned to the bedroom to find his boots. When he was ready, he went through the door and down a short stretch of corridor to a much larger room. From a massive skylight in the center of the ceiling sunlight filtered down onto what, at first glance, appeared to be a billiard table. But in place of the level surface of green baize Drake would have expected to find there, the entire tabletop was occupied by a scale model of a valley, peppered with armies of small soldiers arranged in intricate formation. The Limiter had been adjusting the position of some of the soldiers at one end, but now stood back from it.
    Drakes eyes flicked rapidly around the scene as he surveyed the various armies, their brightly colored uniforms so vivid against the verdant green of the landscape. "Yes... so we've got the British and the Dutch over there on the
    Mont St. Jean
    escarpment," he said, taking sideways steps along the edge of the table, "and here we come to the Prussians." He moved further around the table, then stopped. "And on the slopes here... these foot soldiers in the blue coats must be the French forces. So this is the eve of the Battle of Waterloo, in March 1815, isn't it?"
    If the Limiter was impressed at how quickly Drake had identified which campaign it was, he didn't show it. "That's correct," he replied.
    Drake was still taking in the scene. "You really know your stuff, don't you? But why would a Styx have any interest in something that happened up here on the surface almost two hundred years ago?"
    "Part of our training a the Citadel was to familiarize ourselves with Topsoil military tactics throughout the centuries," the Limiter replied. "And the Battle of Waterloo was always a personal favorite of mine."
    Drake nodded. "Mine too, because the outcome was dependent on so many moving parts -- so many factors had to come together in order that Napoleon, the greatest military mind of his generation, finally met his match. It was as if the hand of fate was finally moving against him."
    "The hand of fate?" the Limiter repeated, the shook his head. "I take issue with that. Wellington's masterstroke was in gaining the support of the Dutch and Prussian forces when he staged his attack