by P. R. Adams
“You saw them?”
“Talked to a couple, yes.”
“Did they say any—”
Stiles brought up an unfamiliar interface on the monitoring system. “She’s sedated and doesn’t need to be. ‘For her safety.’”
Benson brushed strands of wispy, white hair from the old woman’s wrinkled face. “Is it safe to move her?”
“She won’t feel it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She’s stable. Pain can be managed.”
“So we move her while she’s unconscious?”
“It’s easier. We can give her something to bring her around when we’re ready.”
Halliwell snorted. “Now you know medicine?”
A small grin ticked up the corner of the GSA officer’s lips. “I was a nurse, remember?”
“Yeah.”
“I have a lot of training.”
“Uh-huh. Can you hook Toni up to a machine?”
There was an empty room across the hall and another room with gear stored inside. Stiles wandered off and returned with drugs and plasma and IV drips.
Qualified nurse and who knows what else.
At least Stiles’s treatment for Grier calmed Halliwell. He paced the entire time until the monitoring equipment showed stable signals.
When he put a wrist to Grier’s forehead, Stiles patted his other hand. “No fever. She just needs fluids and blood. And time to heal. They’ll take care of her.” She held up a neck ring resuscitation device. “And if she doesn’t make it…” The device slipped around Grier’s neck and a green light flashed.
The big Marine swallowed. “Thank you.”
Benson didn’t know how to react to the big Marine’s feelings for Grier. They obviously went deeper than friendship, even if Halliwell didn’t realize it, and that bothered the commander. “Should we go?”
They secured Sargota in the back seat, the same way they had Grier, then lifted off.
When they were above the building, Stiles put the shuttle into hover. “If we go to the parliament building now, there won’t be anyone there. We’d be up against the forces keeping it secure.”
The message was clear to Benson. “We’d be shot on sight.”
“Without witnesses, it’s possible.”
“And where do we find witnesses? Is that part of your training, too?”
“Some of it. I suggest we lay low for the rest of the night and reach out to people. We can find uniforms, too.”
“Where?”
“I know a place.”
“Of course you do.”
“A place” turned out to be another cabin in the woods, this one with more modern comforts. It had a fresh-scrubbed scent to it.
And lots of gear.
Benson’s tour found a weapons locker, armor in closets, and a printing system complete with laser measuring closet.
There was also a workroom that seemed to be missing a tool pouch.
Stiles leaned against the doorframe of the workroom. “SAID.”
“I wasn’t sure.” Benson looked some of the tools over. Most seemed intended for weapon and electronics repair.
“I wasn’t either. The people who were going to interrogate me operated from here. At least that’s what they had entered in the shuttle navigation system log.”
“They?”
“Quality Control. GSA’s enforcers. The people who brought me out here.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”
“You wouldn’t. Not and still be alive.”
“You killed them? The food in the woods?”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Stiles jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Want to see the advanced interrogation room?”
“No.”
“I had to. It helps to keep your motivation when you see what the enemy had in mind for you.”
“Would you have been able to…shut down?”
“Like on the Pandora? Somewhat. At some point, the trauma becomes too much. A good interrogator knows that.”
“I’m glad you got away.”
“Me too, ma’am. Hey, I can show you how to use the laser and printer if you’d like something more comfortable for tomorrow.”
“Is that what the noise is?”
“I’m printing out a battle dress uniform.”
“That sounds divine, actually.”
The laser measuring system was more advanced than most Benson had used. It took about fifteen minutes of sweeps over her body in several different poses before shutting down. When she’d first stepped into it, all she could think of was a bunch of jerks in some SAID bunker getting their rocks off. It would be years recovering any real sense of privacy after what Commander Lo had uncovered. After trying on the outfit, Benson actually didn’t care.
It fit perfectly.
Stiles smiled. “Sharp, ma’am.”
“It does look good, thank you. I’m going to keep that file for future uniform requisitions.” Benson’s heart raced for a moment. “Will there be any?”
“If you walk away right now. That’s the only way to be sure. Let things resolve themselves and swear allegiance to the winners. Lots of people are doing that right now.”
“Would you?”
The GSA officer’s face went from cool and impassive to stone-cold determination in a nanosecond. “No.”
“Neither would we.”
“You’re a lot like your mother.”
Lying in a dark room, knocked out and high on painkillers. “I hope not too much.”
“We don’t have to agree with each other to have respect for one another.”
“I’m not sure she would agree with you.”
“I’m talking about an ideal situation. Rational adults with deeply considered views. Some things are very nuanced and don’t lend themselves to purely right or wrong.”
“Like her infatuation with the military-industrial complex?”
“It’s a real concern. The Patel family made a lot of money from weapons development and sales. There are other merchant families and businesses with even stronger ties.”
“They’re notoriously corrupt, especially the Patels. It’s something several Defense Ministers have chosen not to investigate.”
“Potentially because of this military-industrial complex?”
“There should be watchdogs. Period. The problem is corruption.”
Stiles shrugged. “My point is that your mother isn’t necessarily wrong.”
“She’s just crazy.”
“Like the people behind the coup?”
It felt like a heavy weight settled on Benson at that moment. “What do we do? You have an idea, right?”
“Not a good one. That’s why I needed you.”
“You’d have left me to SAID assassins if you didn’t need my planning ability?”
“Not necessarily. It’s just easier operating alone.”
“I noticed you haven’t really needed us much.”
“I’ve been trained since childhood to be self-reliant.”
“So was I, but you—you’re next-level self-reliant.”
Stiles bowed her head, as if ashamed. “My parents were very demanding.”
“I would say I understand completely, but you seem to have an entirely different upbringing.”
“Actually, I think we’re a lot closer than you might realize.”
“Gunning down assassins? Operating undercover? Forgive me if I don’t see the similarities.”
An embarrassed grin spread across the young woman’s face. “It’s nuanced.”
“I see. Well, I’m going to nuance off to bed. Good night.”
Sargota was still out cold but breathing evenly when Benson checked. It seemed oddly appropriate that she was comfortable and safe in a bed normally used by SAID torturers. The next room over, Halliwell was also asleep. Benson wanted to squeeze in beside him, to curl up and just feel his heat, but the idea seemed too selfish.
She took the final room on the botto
m floor. Someone had set fresh sheets out on it. There was a small window that looked out into the nearby trees. The sun would be pouring through the branches soon. She made the bed and tried to drift off to sleep while her mind worked on their next move.
How crazy was it that the do-it-all GSA agent considered the hapless Navy officer to be their savior?
Very crazy, Benson decided.
Before the sun was above the horizon, Benson woke. She had an idea, and in her half-dream state, it seemed fairly reasonable. Certainly, it was less suicidal than showing up at the gates to the parliament compound in the middle of the night.
She showered and made breakfast, filling the kitchen with the smell of smoke-cured meat and eggs. When the food was ready, she woke Halliwell so he could eat and be measured for his own special uniform. While the lasers did their thing, she sought out Stiles, but the GSA agent was already gone. The shuttle was still at the side of the cabin, almost sparkly in the sun, so they hadn’t been abandoned.
Birds chirped, and a thin layer of fog hung over the ground. It was the sort of serenity Benson dreamed of, another reminder of how far she was from where she wanted to be.
The GSA officer returned while Halliwell was showering. Her workout garb was wet, and her face was flush. She chomped down the prepared food, then took her turn in the bathroom.
When everyone was finally ready, Benson detailed the plan.
“The Civil Emergency Network.” She smiled.
Halliwell rolled his shoulders, apparently unhappy with the cut of his uniform despite the extensive measuring. “What about it?”
“We hack it. Everyone’s watching it. You can’t access any other media. It’s all controlled by the defense minister and his people. So we push the message out through that: Everyone meets at the gates to the parliament compound at eleven sharp. Media. Whatever members of the parliament remain. Concerned citizens.”
Stiles stared off into space for a moment. “And if they don’t fire on the crowd?”
“Parliament orders the military to stand aside. And once anyone gets on the floor of the chamber and declares a confidence vote, that’s the end of Defense Minister Zenawi and the coup.”
Halliwell scratched the back of his neck. “Or we’re all killed at the gate.”
Benson knuckled her brow. “You don’t have to go.”
“I go where you go, Faith. It’s just…this sounds risky. Really risky.”
“What about it, Brianna? Can you hack the network?”
Stiles still seemed distracted. “I know some people.”
“Then that’s it.”
The big Marine sighed. “Who’s going to listen to you, though?”
“No one. But they’ll listen to Sargota. They have to. If a member of the parliament declares an emergency session—”
That seemed to snap the GSA officer from her reverie. “—every able member must attend.”
“So we wake her now, record her message, then fly for Varudin.”
The younger woman pushed up from the kitchen table. “I’ll get her.”
Atmospheric gunships patrolled the gray skies over the capital, but the shuttle wasn’t challenged even once; Stiles had managed to put together effective credentials. Benson found herself holding her breath as they approached the parliament building. When she breathed in, it was a strong whiff of the medicinal smell coming off her mother in the middle seat, behind Stiles and to the left of Halliwell.
Through beaded rain that flowed along the sleek windshields, the crowds milling across the street from the compound seemed hazy. The closest of them were well shy of the barricades arrayed before the gates. Rain darkened the tanks, armored personnel carriers, and sandbags surrounding machine gun emplacements behind the barriers.
Halliwell rapped a knuckle against the middle seat passenger’s side window. “At least the streets are clear.”
Sargota sniffled. “Busy streets represent a healthy citizenry, and a healthy citizenry represents a healthy and robust government.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a bitch landing something like this in the middle of a ‘healthy citizenry,’ ma’am.”
Stiles smiled anxiously. “Any preference where to set down, Representative Benson?”
The old woman gently pressed her head against the glass of the door opposite Halliwell. “There’s a substantial gap between those protesters on the west side and the northernmost barricade.”
“I see it.”
Benson twisted around. “They’re not protesters, Mother.”
“They should be.” The politician winced when she shifted her left arm to point. “No citizen should be willing to accept a government that fails to do its duty to serve the body—”
“Maybe you could save the speech for them?” Benson smiled at Halliwell hopefully. “They’re probably looking forward to it.”
The old woman’s red nose crinkled. “No one looks forward to revolution, dear.”
Halliwell pointed to the tanks. “Those are Maulers. Probably the deadliest armor in the galaxy. One shot from that gun could turn this shuttle into a molten heap.”
“Toys for underdeveloped children, Sergeant.”
“Staff Sergeant, ma’am. And the thing is they could do worse to protesters.”
“Well, Staff Sergeant, then it falls to us to ensure those Maulers don’t fire.”
Benson cringed at the glare from Halliwell. He’d never been around her mother, and now he seemed to regret saving the elderly stateswoman. And the commander knew that if she was honest with herself, she felt the same way.
Stiles set the shuttle down quickly, the engine whine rapidly rising and then falling. A handful of men and women in the now-familiar unmarked uniform of SAID agents ran among the soldiers, pointing to the shuttle energetically.
No one fired.
But the crowds drew nearer, and a few people started shouting.
Halliwell got out at the same time as Benson, both of them with raised hands and slow movement. While they had everyone’s attention with their fresh uniforms, Stiles slipped to the representative’s door and helped her out.
And the murmurs began. Then came more shouting.
One of the Maulers lowered its gun toward the shuttle, and a group of older men broke from the rest of the crowd, arms raised. The men created a small wall in front of the politician.
“Don’t you shoot!” “Don’t you shoot!” That became a chant.
Small drones dropped from building tops to hover over the scene.
Benson exhaled. They were being recorded.
More people drifted toward the general crowd around them, apparently coming from alleys and streets outside the grand compound. There had been people on Freedom Road, but they had been in small clumps as dictated by the imposed martial law. Some of those newcomers joined the human shield.
Sargota shuffled forward with the GSA officer’s help. “Thank you!” The little woman cackled. “Yes, thank you so much!”
More people ran forward to expand the shield.
Benson fell in beside her mother, who was now shouting encouragement.
“You have the power! Never let anyone take it away from you! This government works for you, or it doesn’t work at all!”
Some of those in the shield turned around with crooked smiles.
They aren’t even sure who she is, and she doesn’t realize it.
They reached the perimeter, and Benson could hear the shouts of the SAID agents—they were demanding that the officers order their soldiers to fire.
The weapons were pointed toward the center of the human shield, where more people from the growing crowd gathered.
But the officers only licked their lips or looked away.
The shield was four rows deep now, and Stiles had to ask for a hole to get Sargota through. Someone had finally recognized her and begun to shout her name. A reluctant chorus echoed that, and the old woman cackled even louder.
At the barrier, she leaned in as one of the SAID agents approac
hed. “Young woman! Do you know who I am?”
The woman was actually middle-aged, settling into a squat, portly body. Her face had a rubbery appearance to it, with shapeless lips and beady eyes. Her stubby fingers drifted just above a black, holstered pistol. “Representative Sargota Benson.”
“That’s right!” Sargota made a face that Benson recognized—the old woman badly wanted to wag a finger at the woman. “An elected representative of these people! You understand? These people! Your employers! My employers! And our bosses want accountability! They want to know what in the world is going on!”
Beady Eyes started to say something, then glanced past the old woman.
Benson felt it, too. Something was happening back in the main body of the crowd. She expected a riot patrol team but instead spotted a line of other people approaching the barrier, backs stiff, chins raised.
More ministers. They’d been waiting, just like Stiles had said—waiting for a leader.
It was both incomprehensible and unsurprising. Despite all her flaws, Sargota had an undeniable strength, and that was that she sincerely believed in her position.
Beady Eyes stepped back from the barricade and turned to a tall Army officer behind her. He had bow legs, kinky gray hair, and blue eyes that stood out against his sienna skin. A colonel, Benson realized. Just powerful enough to be in an untenable position.
The SAID agent put her hands on her hips. “This is your last chance, Colonel. Order your soldiers to open fire—now!”
The bow-legged officer twisted his lips. “I can’t do that. Like the representative said, we work for them.”
Beady Eyes turned to the soldiers in the machine gun nests. “All right. On my order—”
One of the soldiers stood up. She was a little younger than the colonel and a bit chunky but with the sort of strong chin that seemed meant for challenging authority. Stripes almost filled the rank tab centered over her camouflage jacket zipper. She held a fist up. “Listen up! I need four volunteers!”
The beady-eyed SAID agent turned to her comrades, but they hung back, apparently waiting.
When four soldiers hopped out of the machine gun positions, the female non-commissioned officer brushed past Beady Eyes. “These ministers and civilians are to be escorted into the parliamentary building. They are to be protected at all costs. Is that understood?”
