by Trevor Wyatt
As I slowly move among the midst of the workers, examining their workstations for anything that screams ‘traitor’ (it’s a long shot, I know), I think back to my conversation with the communications officers.
I remember the operator saying that not all workstations in this office have a hard wire connection to their transmitters. I also remember him saying that the workstation that sent the communication had a hardwiring. The hardwiring was old and redundant, but it functioned nonetheless.
I blink twice to activate my nanites.
“Computer,” I mutter, “scan these workstations and tell me the one that has a hardwiring.”
“Complying…”
Seconds later, it says, “I have identified four that have hardwiring.”
“Where are they?”
“The workstations at the four corners of the office space,” replies the computer.
I look at these workstations. Two are vacant. The other two are occupied, one by a man and the other by a pretty blonde woman. I stare at the direction of the man, who I assume to be the traitor, when I stop short.
“Computer, are there any communications being transmitted by either workstation into Tyreesian space?” I ask.
It takes a full minute for the nanites to process and verify before replying.
“Yes,” replies the computer. “The workstation in the right corner is actively communicating and receiving an encrypted communication with a signal originating in Tyreesian space.”
Caught right in the act, I think, marching straight for the pretty blonde woman. She’s wearing a black suit over black pants. She’s a little on the chubby side and she’s positioned her body over her workstation so only she can see its content.
I grab her chair and yank her out into the hallway. She slams onto the ground with a loud yell, her chair slamming against the wall.
The entire office comes to a standstill, many of them standing to see what’s happening. I’m about to explain when the door tears open and a string of five Separatist terrorists barge into the office, their gun aiming at me.
“Stand fast!” they yell, heading straight for me.
They don’t need to speak again. I stand fast.
Zhang
The stabber is dead for good, but I might be just as dead as he is in a few seconds. I’m delirious as I’ve lost a lot of blood. The pain is still almost as sharp as it was when I was first pierced.
In my head swarm images of all my past deeds, both good and bad. I see the time when I was approached by the Armada Intelligence to work as an operative. I see how, at first, I thought they had sorted me out because of my brilliance and attention to detail, only to find out later that they had wanted me for my psych profile.
I think back to just before Armada Intelligence put the nanites into me.
“Do you know how many people in this galaxy have sanctioned and official nanite enhancements?” my handler had said to me before the operation.
“No,” I replied.
“Less than one thousand,” he said. “In fact, we believe the number may be a lot less than that, maybe around five hundred. That’s how rare and precious what you are getting is.”
I was about to say something terrible that would have probably cost me my commission.
“Don’t look so scared, Zhang,” he replied. “We bring in people a lot greener and they grow up to become star agents. Ever heard of No One?”
At that time, No One was a ghost story to us intelligence types. Her cases were so damn redacted and secret that many of us thought she wasn’t real. We thought she was just something the top brasses at the upper echelons of the Terran Armada liked to use to inspire us to be greater.
Now, I believe otherwise, having worked with her and probably would die working with her.
“Is she real?” I asked back then.
“Yes,” he replied, “I’ve even had the opportunity to work on a few cases with her. Damn near impossible to defeat that one. She’s sexy as hell, too. Anyways, do you know how she was brought into the fold?”
I shook my head.
“Commander Shane, well, back when he was just Captain, responded to an Outer attack on a border colony,” he replied. “Terraformer drop. Those Outer fellows were nasty. Anyways, her entire family perished, but she was able to get off. Taking pity on her, Commander Shane practically adopted her. See?”
“No, I don’t see,” I replied, even though I understood. I just didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of knowing that he had won me over.
The man saw right through me and smiled.
“She came in because of pity, not because of some skill set she had or some powers she possessed,” he continued. “But did she allow that to stop her?”
I’m pulled out of my swoon back to my present state by a sharp pain that electrifies my entire being. I stifle a scream. I try to move my hands, but they respond sluggishly. It’s as though they weigh a ton. I crane my neck to look at my abdomen. The shard of metal from a wrangled chair tore through my back and now pokes out of my tummy just beside my navel.
Seeing the copious amount of blood on my skin causes a flood of fear to sweep through my system. I close my eyes for a moment. It’s difficult to think through the pain.
If I were a normal person, I would have died. I’m currently lying on a pool of my own blood. The only reason why I’m not dead is because of my nanites.
My nanite enhancement isn’t as powerful as that of No One’s. She’s one of the very few whose nanite enhancements are top notch. Not disgustingly so, like the stabber who now lies dead beside me (eyes glazed over, tongue loose and all). So, there’s only so much it can do. I certainly don’t think it can keep me alive long enough to make it out of this situation.
As I shut my eyes and I fall into another memory…
I’m running the death track at the private resort and training center for the Armada Intelligence Operations Command operatives on Sarolis IV—the Dome, we called it. It’s sunny and the lush green land spreads before me. It ends before a tumultuous forest besieged by what looks like a storm displacement—having sunny and rainy at the same time in the same place.
I’m about to head into the storm, when an aircar glides in front of me, causing me to dive out of the way because I can’t stop my forward momentum in time. I rise to a sitting position to see a tall, sexy-as-hell lady wearing all black and black shades standing over me. Her seductive form causes my heart to stop for a fraction of a second. Even the way her blaster hangs from her jutting waist complements her entire appeal.
She was the perfect combination of deadly and sexy—dexy?
“Zhang?” she asks as though it was an accusation.
“Yeah?”
I respond like I wasn’t sure.
“My name is Anika Grayson,” she says, “but that’s classified. Call me what others call me.”
“Which is?” I asked, curious.
“No One,” she said.
That was when my heart really stopped.
I jolt back to consciousness by a muffled explosion. My mind shifts back to the present. My breath stiffens as pain wracks my body. Before long, I hear the familiar sound of automatic fire and laser shots.
I put one and two together and figure out what’s going on. The Marines must have gained entrance into the building. The Separatists or what was left of them, anyways, are trying to fight them back. This is when I realize that my time is up. I either have to get out of this place to find the defector or I die here or at the hands of the Marines.
The way I’m dressed, I doubt the Marines would want to ask questions.
I take another look at the wound. In my mind, I can feel the dark coldness of death reaching out its icy hands.
I have to yank my body out of the metal shard. I have to put all my strength to it. I have to do it at all cost.
Even as I psyche myself, I can imagine the massive amount of pain such venture will bring to me. This deters me from taking such actions.
&n
bsp; I inhale and exhale loudly and fast.
The gun battle intensifies outside, and it’s closer to the main entrance. The separatists probably have them pinned at the entrance. I know it’s not going to be for long.
“On three,” I mutter to myself.
One. Two. Three…
I push against the floor. I slide clean through the shard of metal, screaming all the way. Then I land on my face in the aisle, my mind slipping into another memory.
We are deep in the Outer Colonies. Our vessel is the legendary TUS Phantom, which is now being piloted by someone else…someone with a curious name; Captain Amanda “Coma” Grayson. We are planning how No One and I are going to be grafted into the Separatists ranks so we can accomplish our mission of stealing the matter transport from the Tyreesians.
I noticed some sort of chemistry between the two women. They were both powerful and highly trained. Coma isn’t nanites-enhanced, but she commands a detachment of Marines that are loyal to her even to death. Aside from that, she’s highly skilled and deadly, as deadly as No One herself.
I just learned about Division 51 to which No One belongs, as well as Coma. I also learned from Admiral Shane, who recruited Coma right out of the Academy at the start of the Earth-Sonali war more than seven years ago, that Coma’s intelligence works have been classified above top secret, even above No One’s works.
The two women have chemistry…some sort of sisterly chemistry, though it seems restrained like they don’t want to be caught dead together. There’s also tension and a power surge between the two alpha females. And I’m caught in between them.
My position is a dream for most men—to have the attention of two extremely powerful, hot-as-hell, highly successful, and deadly skilled women. However, I’m not feeling particularly lucky because I know any one of them can really fuck me over if I say or do the wrong thing.
Nevertheless, my apprehension doesn’t preclude me from fantasizing about having a threesome with them—shameful, yes, but what choice do I have? Hot-as-hell, remember?
The sound of nearby automatic fire brings me back to consciousness. The pain is still screaming out. I’m still leaking blood, but my nanites have managed to close up most of the entry and exit wound. It’s going to take about a day to get me fully patched up. Even so, I’ll still have to see a doctor in order to fully recover.
I don’t know just how powerful No One’s nanites are. I think she may have mentioned to me that her nanites can completely heal her of almost any injury with time, such that she doesn’t need to get checked by a doctor.
I struggle to my feet, my hand on my stomach. I stagger to the opening and look around the corner.
There are about two separatists left in this area. They have their backs to me and are near the front desk. I wonder how they’ve kept the Marines away for so long.
I limp into the hallway and stagger to the elevator. Thankfully, it’s still working. I enter.
“Destination?”
“The Tyreesian Delegates’ lodge,” I reply.
I know most of the delegates would have been in the conference hall by the time the firefight started, meaning they would be locked down there. I’m hoping that the defector may have stayed back. If most of the delegates are in lockdown elsewhere, this is my best first bet.
I am deposited in the penthouse. There’s a small foyer and an archway to the right. I pass through the archway and into the entrance of a heavily decorated living room large enough to fit ten people.
There’s a nervous-looking Tyreesian woman sitting on the couch. I can tell she’s nervous because she has her knees together and is playing with her fingers. A nervous habit for humans, but I suppose it’s a universal trait. Her slits widen the moment she sees me.
I look back at her, surprised at first. I look around to see if there’s someone else in the room. There are several doors going into other rooms in the penthouse, so I can’t tell if she’s alone.
“Are you alone?” I ask.
The Tyreesian rises to her feet.
“Not really,” she replies. “But it might rain and then I’ll be alone.”
I stare at her, confused for a moment. Then, it kicks in. That’s the pre-established protocol. I had asked her the question genuinely, forgetting that they were the exact words to establish contact.
“You no longer have to be alone,” I say.
I stretch forth my hand slowly.
“I’m Zhang. I’m with the Terran Armada. I’m here to get you to safety.”
She takes my hand in hers. Her palms are sweaty.
“Call me Ann,” she replies. “It’s a lot easier to pronounce than my true name.”
“Alright, Ann. Follow me,” I say.
I’m about to leave when I catch movement ahead. There’s an open door there.
I bound in that direction. It leads into a narrow hallway that culminates in another room. I pull my gun, knock the door down and aim.
“Put it down!” I say.
The Tyreesian doesn’t listen.
I shoot. The Tyreesian crumples to the ground, dead, the wrist communications device falling out of his hand.
Ann comes into the room. Her eyes are filled with horror.
“He’s dead!”
No, he’s only taking a nap.
“I don’t know if he was able to send a message to the Tyreesians or not,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t want to find out.
Out of the frying pan.
Into the fire.
No One
Who still says stand fast, anyway? I wonder.
I chuckle in spite of myself.
“What’s funny, you dirty Unionist whore?” says the lead racist.
My countenance changes from amused to upset.
“Why don’t you come close and I’ll tell you,” I say to the fucker.
There are five of them. Four of them have their guns aimed at me and the traitor at my feet. The other has his gun trained on the office staff, all of whom have their hands in the air, clueless and terrified.
What do they teach these guys at the Academy these days? I think to myself.
The leader is an average height Hispanic-looking man with a tattoo on his knuckles. He has an earring on one ear and a partly-sliced right ear.
“What happened to the right ear?” I ask, my hands in the air. “Did you one day walk out of your house and thought to yourself, ‘Hey, why’s my right ear this long?’”
I laugh out loud. I fall to my knees, holding my stomach, and then I continue to laugh as hard as I can.
Tears begin to fall out of my eyes. Still excitable, I look up at the dismayed racist.
“And then maybe you walked back into your house, took your cutlery and cut your ear off?”
I continue laughing. A few officers to my right are now laughing along with me.
“Shut the fuck up!” the man screams, more to the officers than to me.
I look up at him. His head veins are throbbing with anger. Good. I know these separatist guys. They don’t think before they act, and they act rashly when they do. They always make mistakes when they’re angry…always.
I know I’m walking a tightrope, getting a man who has a gun trained on me angry, but I can count on his stupidity. That’s definitely something I can count on with these guys.
“Why?” I say. “Or did it go someplace else that’s even more stupid?”
Some of his men behind him chuckle at that one.
The man swivels on his heels to glare at them. I watch as the smiles disappear from their faces, being replaced by hard-looking expressions. I can tell that such expressions are extremely difficult for them to keep up.
I start to move for him, but then he looks back at me and raises his gun with a knowing smile.
“Not so fast,” he says. “We’ve got unfinished business.”
I try to rise to my feet.
“Slowly,” he cautions.
I shrug, reducing my speed.
Now on my feet and my hands to my sides, I say. “What do you want?”
He smiles, revealing the most horrible set of teeth.
“Oh, come on!” I say, raising my hands to shield my eyes. “Now, how am I suppose to get that horrible sight out of my memory? Dude, shut your trap!”
The office explodes into laughter. Even the traitor at my feet and the men join in.
They’re all laughing, but I’m stalling for time.
I’m waiting to see if they’ll make their third mistake. Their first mistake was not to have killed me the moment they walked in. Their second mistake was not to have asked me to pull out my gun from my holster and slide it out of reach.
The leader raises his gun up and shoots into the ceiling. The office falls into a deadly silence. The leader’s face is now marred by anger.
He’s seething, I realize. Good. I’m closer to getting him to crack.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he asks. “Because I’ll oblige right here, right now.”
I fold my arms across my bust, noticing him flinch at my carelessness at the sight of four barrels trained on me.
“Sorry, I must have misread the signs,” I say. “Didn’t you come in here to kill me? Or was the whole barging in like you’re worth a damn all a joke?”
The air simmers with anger.
He takes a step towards me, bridging the three-yard distance. I measure the distance mentally to see if I can make the leap before he fires off a round into my heart.
I can’t. I need him a little closer.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he says, his voice so low I can barely hear him.
“You’re stalling for time. You’re hoping the security officers will come in here to save you. Well, I have news for you, you fucking cunt! No one is going to save you…”
“You’re right,” I say.
I glance at the officers to my right and say, “No One is going to save you all.”
Then I wink my right eye and watch as their eyes light up with realization.
