Nadie
Lying on the ground with the world coming to focus through a stab of pain and haze, she realised recognition came back too late. He was pinning her to the ground and, worse still, had disarmed her. How could she have let this happen? She had underestimated him, that’s how. Jarhead Captain was stronger than her and trained well, as were all of the killers in Earthen payroll.
“Never. You can kill me now.” Defiance was the only thing she had left.
“You’re so keen to die?”
“I’ve been willing to die since I joined the Widows.”
“The Widows,” he repeated. “I should be flattered. I guess this explains how you got hold of these pretty blasters then. You’re supposed to be the elite force among your people.”
“We ARE the elite force.” She didn’t measure the venom of her response. Being part of Major Remorra’s squad filled her with pride. This Marine worm was trampling on their reputation like an elephant wearing muddy shoes. But he hadn’t shot her yet and she considered that before she spoke next; maybe she stood a chance of turning the tables if she could buy herself time and look for an opening to spring into action. That’s what the CO would do. “Major Remorra makes sure we get what we need.”
“Major Remorra. Should I recognise the name?”
“She’s only the most accomplished and efficient leader in the Colonial Army. You’re the one who should give up. Maybe she’ll show you some clemency if I tell her you were kind.”
“I don’t think she stands much of a chance against Hellraiser,” he commented.
“Who’s that?”
“Only the most ruthless and bloodthirsty commander in the Space Marine Corps.”
She shrugged her shoulders slightly, uncaringly, but it was also a test of what she could do movement wise, or rather what she couldn’t do. Even this little gesture hardly came by; he was holding her so tight she could scarcely breathe. “Give me some slack.”
“Why would I?”
“Ever heard of personal space?”
It was his turn to shrug. “You’re my prisoner now. I’ll ask you questions and you’ll answer them truthfully.”
“I won’t give you anything, swine.”
“Then I won’t have a choice but to shoot you.”
“Bring it on then. Or are you too cowardly to kill a woman?” she defied him. If she got shot, so what? Major Remorra would complete the mission. Nadie knew it was suicide to come here. She had volunteered.
He shifted a little and she felt the knife she took from Selnov earlier slide on her back. Oh, snap! There was no chance she could reach it the way she was positioned, splayed on the floor, and she couldn’t get up with that bull pushing her down.
“Who told you about this base?” he started the questioning.
She chuckled. That was easy and harmless to answer. “Selnov did. You know him? Tall guy, geeky.” He slapped her through the cheek for that. It stung like a hornet’s tail. “You hit like a ten-year-old.”
“Again. Who told you?”
“Selnov did.” He readied for another strike. “Uh-uh-uh. You didn’t ask who told Selnov about it. Accuracy is key. Find the right question and you’ll get the answer you are looking for.”
He was clearly unhappy with her tone but played along. “OK. Who told Selnov?”
“The Messenger,” she divulged truthfully. It didn’t matter if he knew that name.
“The Messenger. Sounds like a made-up thing.” The Marine hesitated. “Who is he?”
“How would I know? He keeps his identity secret.” He didn’t like that reply, responded by pressing her cheek to the roof surface, causing a spreading of pain and numbness. “Go on, crush my skull. That’s what you do best, right jarhead?” Her voice came out distorted, but words were recognisable. Yet the pressure lightened instead of intensifying. She felt something hard transfer its weight in her chest pocket; it was the light grenade she packed before going on the mission. If only she could shake it out to reach her mouth, then she would pull out the pin with her teeth and reconfigure them both in the last blaze of glory. The plan was desperate, worse than killing him and joining up with her crew, but she would take whatever life gave her. Anything was better than captivity.
“Tell me more about Selnov. How come he knows so much about us?” Marine asked.
“Because he’s one of you.” She smiled with satisfaction. “He was USSMC before he defected to our side.”
That stopped him for a moment. He forgot to press her quite as hard and Nadie managed to move the grenade a good deal to the opening of the pocket.
“You lie,” he said at last.
“Why are you so shocked? We get plenty of them. Marines, Eefers, even former Colonial admins,” she fed him lies. There was hardly any movement to their side. People were flocking away actually. The circumstances for the Colonial resistance were pretty grim. But the Widows kept their fight going till the last woman standing. That’s what Major Remorra instilled in them.
“That’s a lie again,” he said it forcefully, more as if he needed to reassure himself than refute her. “You are outnumbered and desperate. That’s why you’ve come here to steal the weapon.”
“You’ve got it wrong, jarhead. We’re here to destroy it. And after that’s done we’ll kill off every last one of you Earthen scum.”
She angered him on purpose, to gain some slack again. He was going to provide it when he raised his hand to strike her again, but then he stopped, a statue with his palm up. Something changed in the surroundings and they both heard it. A new presence signalled by a crunch of boots on the roof. Nadie couldn’t see who was coming, but she allowed herself a flight to the realm of fancy; perhaps it was the Major coming to rescue her? Unlikely, but for a second she tried to believe it.
Rhys
She was lying to him all the time. The interrogation was useless, but he couldn’t bring himself to end it because at the end he’d have to kill her. It was the only effective choice. With a busted ankle and no one around for assistance, he could not risk hauling her around the base.
That’s why he was a little relieved that someone had come. Not knowing if it was friend or foe, Rhys pressed the blaster to Nadie’s one visible cheek and allowed himself to look behind. What he saw made his face all wrinkly with utter confusion.
“Major Burke,” he stuttered. The frail man was the last person he’d expect to see inside the base’s catacombs, on top of a roof to some engine room, and on a night like this. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on your progress, Rhys. Excellent job. You captured the scourge.” Major Burke pointed to the Colonial with a pistol-wielding hand.
“How did you know I was here? Did someone send a message? Is the base on lockdown?”
“No.” Burke’s laconic words confused Rhys further.
“Then we’ve got to warn them. There’s more Colonials inside.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Burke’s armed hand switched its angle so that the gun now aimed at Rhys. He now noticed the difference in the Major; the worn-out convalescent was replaced by a resolute man on a mission. “Would you be so kind and drop these nasty looking guns, please?”
Rhys did as he was told. The shock of Burke’s inexplicable behaviour made rendered him pliable to demands. Despite a polite tone, Major appeared prepared to use the gun if he was not listened to.
“What are you doing, Tom?”
“I’m taking what’s mine.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t think you will, Rhys. You’re like me before the tests, young, idealistic, naive. You believe in the flowery nonsense the Corps say at boot camps and in public broadcasts. Give yourself then more years working for them and you’ll know exactly what I mean, but it’s impossible you’ll get it now.”
Rhys was put off by the patronising voice and groaned, “Try me.”
“Very well then. Ready for the long version? My contact is getting late and I have a lot of an
ger to simmer down. Just hold your Colon girl steady, will you? We don’t want her to interrupt rudely. Like that, yes. So let’s start with the bright lights, Rhys. Newsflash: the Corps doesn’t care about ordinary guys like you and me. Every single one of the bigwigs up top is only after power and money. They accumulate and hoard so much of it, they’ve no idea what to do with it, but that’s what keeps them going, so they do it all the time. I was one of their means once, some 27 years ago. You know I have gout, right? Wrong. It’s called Degenerative Muscle Disorder, and I wasn’t born with it. They caused it in a lab with their tests. Oh heck, the NDA’s have all flown off the leash. Hallelujah! I feel so much better now. I should have done this years ago.”
“You don’t look weak now,” Rhys observed.
“Thank you. I’m on diamorphine, oxycodone and few other drugs I can’t even pronounce the name of. I’ve been saving this mix for a special occasion. Won’t have access to it when I’m put out to pasture. They’re cutting me off the good stuff, instead I’ll get a meagre pension and a square box in their Marine Vet Home on Mars. On Mars! Can you believe it? There’s nothing there but red dust from the pulverisers. I’ll have no medication anymore, the stuff that gives me stomach cramps but lets me walk and reduces the pain to no more than being fed through a shredder. I got used to it. You can get used to anything, except for being thrown away like a used up rag!” Burke shouted out with rage.
Rhys tried to be as calm as possible. “You need help, Tom.”
Burke broke out into full-blown hysterics. “Do you think I haven’t asked for it?! All I got was a petty promotion to Major, one level up, and those stupid painkillers! They never discussed the prospect of a cure, of therapy! They were afraid of Doctors asking too many questions! They were only interested in keeping their failed experiment hush-hush!” He stopped there for a short breath, continued with a cool menace. “Well, I am tired of being their quiet little puppet. Today I fight back. I’m taking away their shiny new toy, selling it to the highest bidder - everyone wants it, USSMC, EEF, even the Colonials.” He pointed to Nadie. “And then bye-bye obscurity, hello wealth beyond any man’s dreams. I’ll be able to buy for myself the best treatment in the health clinics of Procyon. I’m sure they’ll find a cure. And then I’ll live in comfort till the rest of my days knowing that I landed better than those puffers from HQ.” Burke seemed to have finished. He had tiny beads of sweat forming on the edges of his receding hairline.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I like you, Rhys. I’m sorry you’re a dead man walking, but I know you wouldn’t let me get away. You were not even supposed to be here. I thought Johnson and his goons would take care of you, but no such luck. Ah, here he comes now, fiendishly late and disappointing. You ain’t as thorough as you thought, Johnson!”
As Burke spoke his words, another man dropped onto the platform, having made a precarious jump roof to roof from a neighbouring tower. He pulled his mask from the chin up and revealed a face. It wasn’t Johnson, as Burke had initially thought, but Warrant Officer Ken Foley in the flesh. Rhys instantly felt his spirits in a lift-off; his friend was safe, he had managed to escape from Colonial custody, which meant that Holly was probably warning the rest of the base right now. Whatever Major Burke had planned misfired.
“Ken, he’s got a gun!” he warned his friend.
“He’s not gonna shoot me, Rhys.” Ken had a gun of his own and put Burke in the crosshairs. “Though I must say, I feel sorely tempted to shoot you, Tom. Whatever happened to our sweet little deal?”
Rhys sagged a little. A deal? What was he talking about? Had they been in some sort of cahoots?
“You didn’t hold up on your end, Ken. You were supposed to look after Rhys here.”
“And I was. I told you he found out about the broadcast. You stood me up.”
This isn’t happening, Rhys thought. Ken an impostor? But they had got along so well… Too well actually. Ken was the one who approached him and made himself a fast friend. Rhys thought it had been all about getting in Holly’s good graces when it was about controlling him. He got played and he never suspected a thing.
“Water under the bridge, Ken. You survived. You’re here. Let’s re-evaluate our partnership,” Major Burke suggested.
“There’s no partnership between us, old man. I got rid of Johnson, he got rid of the Colons on the surface as planned. Now it’s time for you to go.”
“What about Holly?” Rhys asked the question, fretted the answer.
“Dead. Johnson got to her before I could stop him.”
“No!” Rhys was in anguish and punched the floor next to Colonial insurgent’s head. He’d lost both his friends today, one to death, one to treachery. Something inside him snapped. He was certain of one thing: those responsible were going to pay the price of it. He just didn’t know how to make it happen.
His grip on the Colonial insurgent slipped enough that she moved her head and their eyes locked. She urged him to look down and he saw a glint of deadly metal sticking out from her pocket. They reached a silent understanding.
Nadie
That windbag of a Major gave her plenty of time. The. It was tough and slow going, but she had almost managed to free the grenade when another guy appeared. Then there was a masculinity fest that almost made her feel sick. She liked working in an all-female outfit; there was rarely any silly posturing about who was best.
Her heartbeat jumped slightly at the news Una and Squirrel were dead. With herself caught in this embarrassing situation, Remorra was left alone. Selnov barely counted. They had no escape route now, but there was still a glimmer of a chance her Major would succeed in the mission. It was all that counted, in the end.
Something changed in the man holding her. She felt his anger and decided he was ready to turn against the other two. In the absence of better options, they struck a flimsy alliance, a shadowy thing without words exchanged. She grasped that he knew what he had to do.
“And what will you do after I’m gone?” the Major asked Ken. “Messenger’s an ideologist. He’s not in it for the money like you and I. You’ll better off with me. We can cut him off after we kill these two.”
“Bold words, but how do you propose to top what he has to offer?”
“I have a way out of here. Permanent. And I have Ender.”
The power of that statement caused ripples like a stone thrown on the surface of the water. Things had changed again. If Major really had the weapon, he had to be prevented at all costs. Rhys went tense above her. Wrong. He should relax his muscles before making a move. She signalled him to go anyway. The opportunity was the best they could get, with Ken no doubt weighing down what the Major was saying. But the jarhead didn’t pick up the cue. “Now!” she coaxed him loudly and this time Dreyfus listened to her by scooping her twin blasters and rolling off her. Finally free, she got back to her feet in one swift leap, pulled out the pin and tossed the frag grenade between where Burke and Foley were standing.
The rest happened fast. Before they knew what happened, she was on the run, collecting the jarhead Captain on her way and putting a jutting fan between them and a firing retribution. The roof’s edge stopped her for a glance. The drop stretched down far into the sub-basement’s bottom. The next tower was too far away to make the jump across. Nadie grabbed Rhys by the hand, sensing his second thoughts, and pulled him into the steep fall. Just as they made this desperate move, the whole roof shattered and rattled with the power of the fusion-infused frag grenade tearing itself into burning shreds.
Major Burke
Poor Warrant Officer Ken Foley, he didn’t expect an old man with gout could spring so fast and grip so hard; he had become an excellent fodder for the destructive power which engulfed the entirety of tower top. Tom Burke threw the hideously decomposed body on the floor and stood up. Everything was torn, bent, mangled, melted or on fire. The floor stood, blackened and full of shrapnel and debris. The insurgent had thrown something vicious, but Burke survived w
ith barely a speck of black dust on the tip of his boot. If he were a superstitious man, he’d take this for a good sign. Speaking of signs, no trace of Rhys and his new friend. It didn’t matter as long as they didn’t interfere with his next steps. With luck, they had been swept off the tower and died a long way below it.
As he moved around, the weakness of limbs manifested itself. Drug’s effect was already starting to wear off. Burke didn’t have much time before his illness came back to haunt him with a vengeance. He got to work.
The roof survived, and so did the access hatch in it. He opened it with a special key and dropped down into the bluish haze of a grid; segregated into sectors, numerous bulky servers continued their critical work. Secrets of Ender research where hidden within them. Not for the first time, Tom had to stop himself from thinking about setting off a bomb and burning the repository to a cinder. They should go, and they would go at the final stage of the Messenger’s plan - no, his plan now. Blowing the servers up was redundant, and risky; he would have to requisition explosives from the armoury and deal with a variety of safeguards and alarms, especially after the explosion was set off. Too much hassle for too little of a gain.
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