Once A Hero

by Watson Davis

“Yeah? Well, no one’s ever said that before.” He snickered. “When the same BS happens to the same person over and over, then the person is probably the one at fault and not a victim.”

  I looked up into those hard eyes, forcing him to look into mine. “How many of those people have a million credit bounty on their heads?”

  “Well.” He blinked first, several times. “I don’t-”

  A red light flashed over the door with a buzz. My interrogator glared at the door. An offworld woman strode in, skin pale, hair tortured into the latest fashion, her suit too expensive for a policing agency officer, her shoes gleaming, the latest from Amazonis, her lips downturned like she’d tasted something foul, and given the poison in the gaze she leveled at my interrogator, I would have thought he had committed some sin against her. I didn’t recognize her at first, even though she looked familiar. A man followed in her wake, important-looking bars on the shoulders of his uniform: tall, nice-looking, gray at his temples, sheepishly wincing.

  “Are you quite done with her, investigator?” the lady asked, not really asking, lazily gazing down her nose at him.

  I recognized her, Krishna Wiatrek, the woman from FountainCorp, the woman from the fancy car, the woman who sent me all those messages that I deleted, the woman who stalked me in Massif.

  The guy questioning me leaned back, eyes in fight mode, lips twisting. “I don’t think I am, begging your pardon.”

  The man with the bars on his shoulders stood behind Ms. Wiatrek, shaking his head, talking silently to the interrogator, mouthing something, motioning with his hand across his throat.

  “Let me rephrase that,” Wiatrek said, folding her hands together before her solar plexus, a tight little smile devoid of emotion playing on her carefully painted lips. “Cymmerian law forbids the interrogation of anyone without their lawyer.”

  The interrogator sighed, leaning back in his chair. “This is a special circumstance. She’s not a citizen, she’s a known and wanted criminal, she was using faked IDs, and she’s probably a terrorist of some sort.”

  The man with the bars raised his hand and bent his neck, placing his forehead in his hand.

  “I am here to represent Ms. Ohmie.” She glanced toward me, nodding.

  “Yes.” I nodded back. “Ms. Wiatrek is my legal counsel.”

  The interrogator crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a lawyer? A Cymmerian lawyer?”

  “Yes. Your superior has already verified my standing.” She paused, raising an eyebrow, glancing back at the man beside her, who nodded. “And to your point, it doesn’t matter if she’s a citizen or not, she has rights under Cymmerian law. Cymmeria currently has no extradition agreements in place with Hellas and so her legal status in that nation is not relevant. We will gladly pay the fee for the IDs she used to attempt to enter the country, but those will probably be waived as she is requesting asylum.” Again she looked toward me, arching an eyebrow, dipping her chin.

  “Yes.” I nodded, quickly. “Asylum sounds like a great idea.”

  Ms. Wiatrek continued, “Are you willing to present evidence to indict her on charges of terrorist activities?”

  The interrogator gnawed on the inside of his lip, scowling, at her, at me, before shaking his head. “No. No charges.”

  “Then, as I asked you before, are you quite done with her, investigator?”

  He sighed, reached into his shirt pocket, withdrew a small key, and tossed it my way.

  I caught it and unlocked myself. I stood, dropping the key back on the table with the manacles. “Thank you.”

  Wiatrek inclined her head to the interrogator and the man with the bars on his shoulders. She opened the door and led me out, touching a finger to her lips indicating I should remain silent. I got my stuff off a desk by the door. She led me through the halls, past cubicles and offices, and out of the building, down the street to a parking lot and into an expensive car, a different one from the one in Massif.

  The trunk opened as we approached. I tossed my duffel bag in. I eased myself into the expensive seat, rubbing my eyes, just wanting to find a bed and crawl into it.

  “We should be away from their attention now.” Ms. Wiatrek sat in the driver’s seat, smiling at me.

  I shrugged. “I guess I owe you a big one.”

  “Yeah.” She laughed. “You at least owe me a chance to be heard.”

  She touched her temple. My onboard flashed that I’d received a message from Krishna Wiatrek.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “You’ve deleted every message I’ve sent to you, right?”

  I winced. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

  “I thought so. You’d be coming to talk to me if you’d actually read any of them.” She rubbed her forehead, running her fingers back through her hair until she hit the complicated, heavily sculpted part. “There’s an attachment from your grandfather.”

  I almost lost my breath. “The sergeant major? You had a message from the sergeant major for me?”

  “He wanted me to take care of you when you got out of prison.”

  My mouth dropped open, blood rushing in my ears, roaring, almost blocking out her voice. Almost.

  “He wasn’t sure how long they’d keep you, but he knew he was going to be out of commission by the time you got out. He’s not well. And he knew you were going to need a hand adjusting to civilian life.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to breath regularly.

  “So.” She reached over, took my hand, and squeezed it. “I’ll let you watch the message in private. Are you ready to start your life as a vile money-grubber?”

  I nodded, whispering, “Yes.”

  In a few hours, I was off Mars. I was off Mars for a long, long time.

  About The Author

  If you like this book, go to watsondavis.net and sign up for my military sci-fi mailing list.

  Watson Davis discovered fantasy and science fiction, magic and technology, Isaac Asimov and Robert E. Howard, when he was a young impressionable boy in Houston, Texas. He wrote his first robot apocalypse short story at eleven, delved many a dungeon and battled many a vampire while pursuing a degree in mathematics, and penned books of swords and sorcery and military space opera. He now lives in Spain in a villa overlooking the Mediterranean.

  For more information and a free book now and again, come to www.watsondavis.net and sign up on the mailing list.