Fire on the Frontline

by Trevor Wyatt

  “It’s her. We need to leave.”

  The aircar screams to a stop at our side, sending a blast of air at us. Some of the guys are knocked off their feet, but a few others and I stand our ground.

  The door opens. No One, who is in the pilot seat says, “Get in!”

  We pile into the car and she takes it into the air.

  I wait for the accusations and anger to start, reaching for the bulge of laser weapon by my side. I can feel that No One is tense. There is bound to be some complications. Someone is bound to say something incendiary. Question our motives. Doubt our loyalty.

  Fire off a weapon.

  I wait, prepared.

  Nobody speaks up for a long time. They’re all dazed and exhausted from that episode back at the spaceport. I don’t begin to relax until No One is piloting the aircar into the capital—Perseus City. She’s headed for one of the larger Terran Union buildings off to the edge of the city. I sit back, wondering how she was able to keep her cool and get this information in the chaos of the spaceport.

  “How are we going to get into the Terran Union building?” asks the stabber. I’m calling him that so when time comes, I'll be angry enough to murder him in cold blood. He doesn’t deserve a fight; he deserves to be shot in the head.” I thought the plan was to use the official TAIOC clearance to get inside the building. But we sort of fucked that up.

  “Terran Union protocol requires that if any facility is attacked, all nearby facilities are to activate lockdown protocols,” No One replies.

  She doesn’t say more as she’s trying to keep the air car on the normal route and drive at the normal pace so as not to draw the attention of the numerous security pods patrolling the air lanes. It’s almost as though the President of the Terran Union is in town.

  When I see the confusion on their faces, I explain. “Armada Intelligence back at the space port was attacked. Where we are going to is nearby, so it’ll be under lockdown That’s where our security uniforms hopefully come in handy.”

  “But not all of us have security garb,” replies the stabber. “And these uniforms are for customs up there in space.”

  “No problem,” No One says. I know she’s doing this on the fly. “Since you’re with us, people won’t most probably consider you a threat."

  After a short while, the stabber says, “Why did you kill the team leader?”

  “Fuck you, too,” No One spits.

  The reply dazes both me and the stabber. I stiffen, expecting him to react brashly. I’ve seen it before, what with his stabbing propensity. However, he doesn't. Rather, he frowns and keeps quiet.

  I glance back at No One, amazed. How the fuck does she get away with things like this?

  No One guides the aircar off the air lane and makes a descent for the Terran Union building. It’s a huge building that stands seventy three stories into the air. The building also has a no fly zone, so we park outside the grounds by the main gate, where other aircars are parked.

  We jump out and No One leads a march towards the main gates. There are security personnel there, all of whom have gone into high alert. There are a multitude of people as well who are standing outside and waiting to go in. A lot of aliens, from Kurta to Drupadi to Sonali—the lot of them.

  Stabber, who is behind me, mutters super racist comments. No One apparently hears it because she glares at him.

  “Do you want to get us noticed?” she says with a harsh tone. This shuts up Stabber for a moment.

  No One makes a path for us through the crowd.

  “Let us through!” No One yells until the people path a way for us. “We’re from the spaceport on a priority mission.”

  The security personnel at the gates see us and open it. The crew members who aren’t wearing guard uniforms are sandwiched in the midst of our train so it doesn’t appear that they are strays following us from behind.

  I’m the last to go through into the expansive grounds of the building. One of the security men says to me, “How bad is it at the space port?”

  I put on a horrified look on my face.

  “Very bad,” I reply. “Very bad.”

  Then I leave.

  I’m shaking my head over the fact that we’re able to get in without being stopped. Then I realize that No One has nanites.

  That’s it! She used them to communicate to ensure we got let in. Fuck.

  We make it into the building, which is themed with plasters and banners of the summit. Everything hails the noble notion that the Outers, the Tyreesians, the Sonali, and the Kurta, which represent the several of the races in this area of space can co-exist peacefully. I laugh, knowing that this is all a ruse. The Tyreesians are playing a game. The Outers are playing a game. Even the Union is playing its own games. I wonder if the Kurta have an end game, too? I don’t know much about them, so I can’t tell.

  There’s a wall that splits the entrance floor into two. At the front of the wall is a large front desk that hosts thirteen attendants, out of which only five are Terran.

  On the left side is a bank of elevators and some doors. On the right is a string of security officers and a special elevator. There are also several doors. A sign says: This Way to the Summit. Beyond the security perimeter, there’s a drove of aliens moving towards the elevator.

  As we head into the same direction, Stabber starts again with his racist comments. This time it’s different. I can feel his hatred and anger for all things non-Terran.

  “I think it is okay to start shooting once we are past the security officers,” he says not really to me or No One, but to the rest of the group.

  I wait for No One’s rebuttal, but she doesn’t say anything. Thinking she didn’t hear his statement, I open my mouth to speak up. However, we’re stopped by the security officers.

  “Where to?” asks one from the first knot of officers.

  “Here to provide support,” No One says.

  The officer nods, “Roger that. Please proceed.”

  He gives way for us all to pass. He sees the other men who aren’t dressed like us, but he doesn’t ask questions.

  “Now!” Stabber roars and, just like that, the nine Separatists pull out their blasters and begin to shoot, not into the air, but into the bodies of the aliens.

  So much for fucking incognito.

  No One

  It happens just as I’ve calculated. The assortment and high number of aliens within the building has the Separatists feeling irritated. Knowing how brash they can be in their thinking, I had no doubt that they would do something utterly stupid, like start shooting into the crowd with Armada Security everywhere.

  When one of the guys began to speak in derogatory terms about the aliens at the gate, I spoke harshly to him. It was too early. I didn’t want him to start a fight outside the gates when I needed to get in so I could at least accomplish one of my missions. Then, he began to speak again inside. This time, I don’t stop him.

  Right on time, he shouts like he has some sense in his brains and the result is immediate. The terrorists begin to shoot into the mass of aliens around us.

  I dive into the ground the moment they begin shooting, rolling off and coming to my knee at the side. Screams fill the air. The bullets whiz by, ricocheting across the metal paneling and hitting anything in their path, destroying things and killing aliens.

  Zhang stands aghast for a few moments, looking at the main Separatist instigator with fury. Once I see this, I calm down a little. I know Zhang will make short work of the fucker now. The security operatives have engaged the separatist so I, still crouching, move slowly in the direction of the front desk.

  I have to go past the middle of the fight between the security personnel and the separatists, both of which know me as being on their team. I know I won’t have problems with them shooting at me directly. However, I will have problems with being shot by a deflected bullet.

  My nanites enhancements are top notch, so I won’t be dying from bullets. But being shot is just as painful as it should be, na
nite or no nanite. I get to the bloodbath and quicken my pace. I catch the look of surprise in the eyes of the terrorists, but I get no response. One of the security personnel on the front line looks at me with wariness. Seconds later, he gets a bullet in the eye and collapses to the ground.

  His gun flies out of his grasp and slams into the ground, letting a bullet out. The bullet slams into the panel inches from my face, causing me to freeze in horror. Headshots are instantly fatal.

  I shoot to my feet and make a dash for the front desk. Thankfully, no one shoots me or shouts me down. I look back at the carnage behind me. All the security personnel lie dead before the Separatists.

  Also, the entire corridor is trashed—it’s no longer a corridor, it’s a horridor: a corridor filled with horror. Blood of different colors is splashed across the metal paneling, forming different styles that one would be poised to think of as macabre art.

  I wonder why the Marines haven’t mobilized—and then I get my answer the moment I continue around the front desk. The main entrance way has been locked, since the building is already in lockdown mode.

  Outside, I can see a company of Marines ready to come into the building. Then it hits me that the Marines on this planet are stationed outside the building and not within it.

  The doors are being cut through, since the computers won’t refresh for another thirty minutes. That’s thirty minutes for the Separatists to find the aliens and slaughter them. Thirty minutes to plant the bomb. Thirty minutes too long. Within thirty minutes, this will all be over.

  I pause at the mouth of the corridor on the left side. I wonder if I shouldn’t go back and help Zhang take these terrorists down. If he fails, then this building will go down. If this building goes down and all the delegates die, then we can kiss the summit’s intentions bye-bye. Not that they had such noble intentions in the first place. The whole thing was designed to turn over a defector.

  Besides that, the Galactic Council may come under threat because all this happened under the Terran Union’s watch. Suspicions will begin to go around. One thing will lead to another and, before you know it, the Terran President is issuing a declaration of war. That’s if the Tyreesians don’t invade first or if the Outers don’t do something foolish, too.

  We can’t afford to be drawn into a galactic war on three fronts. We won’t survive it.

  For a moment, I take a break from this train of thought to muse about how the fate of the Galactic Council rests on the actions of Zhang and I at this moment. No, wars are not won with ships and cruisers. They are won with men and women, like Zhang and me, on the ground making decisions that can snowball into either something catastrophic or victorious.

  I decide to allow Zhang to stop the bad guys from planting the bomb. He’s nanites-enhanced to a lesser degree so he can take care of a couple of bozos. I have bigger fish to fry, namely: the fucking traitor that is selling us out to the Tyreesians.

  I start out into the hallway on the right. It’s totally deserted and silent. I find out why the moment I cross the threshold. There’s a containment field at the mouth of the hallway that stifles any noise from going in or out. Even with that, the hallway itself is silent.

  The floor is rugged with a subdued red rug that’s padded and feels soothing to walk on. To my right, just after the threshold, is a bank of five elevators, all of which are paneled with gold—real gold.

  Someone wants to impress the aliens, I think to myself.

  I walk past the elevators to a set of double doors. The doors are sealed with heavy metal that can withstand any attack. There is an access panel to the right of the doors, with a palm reader and a mic to speak into.

  The door is also in lockdown but, unlike the main doors, this door will open once the right access is granted. However, I know that according to protocol, there should be a complement of Armada Intelligence security behind the door, waiting for any intruder.

  They’ll shoot on sight if someone tries to break in. They won’t shoot if the door is opened the normal way. This gives me about five seconds before they realize I don’t work there and arrest me or take me in.

  “Computer, open the door,” I speak out loud for the access panel to hear my voice.

  “Lockdown is activated,” the computer replies, a soft sound yet loud enough in the silent hallway. “Access denied.”

  “Override lockdown and open the door,” I continue, “This is Commander Anika Grayson.”

  “Voice confirmed. Commander Anika Grayson, Special Deep Cover Operator in Division 51 of the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command. Please place your palm on the scanner,” the computer spouts.

  I do as I’m told. The palm reader warms up, flashes a red light, then cools down.

  “Confirmed,” the computer says, “granting access.”

  The moment I hear the door’s mechanism begin to move, I back up to the other end of the hallway and tear off the guard’s uniform, revealing my black outfit and weapons. It’s show time.

  I blink twice to activate my nanites, then run for the doors.

  Halfway there, I fall to my knees, my forward momentum moving me onward and sliding across the ground. I pull out my blaster, which is set to stun, and aim even as the doors slide out of the way and I slide through.

  There is a short arch of five Marines with weapons at a standby in the small semi-circular antechamber. I shoot even as I get to their middle. Three fall to the ground, leaving two standing. These two begin to bring their guns up, but I’m way faster. Before I come to a stop at the feet of the standing Marine, I push against the ground, shifting my weight to the right.

  I’m lifted into the air by this exertion of force, swinging around the Marine so fast that when I get behind him, he doesn’t even realize it yet. I grab him from behind. The other standing Marine hesitates, and I shoot him in the chest.

  The Marine I’m holding struggles with me. The urge comes upon me to snap his neck. I resist and push him forward and shoot him in the back. The door slams back together. It takes the door about ten seconds to open and close; the same time it took me to take down five highly-trained Marines.

  With a sigh, I realize that I’m getting rusty.

  The four doors before me have signs on them. Communications, Room 101, Room 102, and Room 103.

  I enter the communications room. The room is dark, only lit up by the screens of the computer. It is a narrow room, with the workstations on the right hand side, operators sitting on chairs, and a narrow walkway on the left.

  I aim my gun at the three operators, who are all backed up against the other wall.

  “If you do as I say, you’ll live,” I reply. I aim at the one at the back and fire. He crumples to the ground, stunned. His friends think he’s dead.

  They scream. I aim again, and one jumps in front of the other and yells, “Don’t kill any one again. We’ll do what you ask.”

  “Sometime this month or last month, a call was made from this planet to the Tyreesians,” I say, watching as the eyes of the operators widen. “I want to find out where in this station the message came from.”

  “That’s not possible!” the operator in the front replies. “We closely monitor all communications. I think we’d have been able to tell if there was a communication from this office into Tyreesian space.”

  I flash a dry smile. “Except, of course, if you are in league with the traitor.”

  “No!”

  “Then I suggest you get looking,” I bark. I look at the operator behind and say to him, “You, too!”

  They stumble upon each other to get to their computers. I take a position behind them that’s close enough so I can see what they’re doing and far enough so I can respond to threats from outside the room and from them.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” I mutter. “If you do, I’ll just kill you and that’ll be it. And then I’ll kill whoever comes storming into this place, too…”

  “What the hell…?” mutters one of them.

  I pause, trying to
figure out if he’s referring to the computer or to me.

  “Is that what I think it is?” says one to another.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” say the other. Then he looks at me with total disbelief and says, “You’re right. There was an unauthorized communication that came from this office aimed into Tyreesian space. I have its location.”

  My mind begins to race.

  The game.

  It’s fucking afoot.

  Zhang

  The moment I see No One heading away from the chaos zone towards the front desk, I realize it’s my task to take down these Separatists. I know this because aside from the fact that I’m the only one left behind with aliens falling all around me either dead or dying, No One and I are a team.

  I’m not sure where she’s going, but I know that wherever it is, she needs to be there. I know that wherever she’s going, it’s for the sake of this mission. I know this because I believe it, not because I have hard evidence.

  It takes a certain amount of trust to do what I’m about to do, which is taking on a bunch of Separatists without any backup from my superior. Many thoughts begin to lay siege to my mind. What if No One is running away? The summit is not in the direction she’s going in. It’s in the other direction as the carnage and chaos. So why is she headed away?

  My mind begins to present several reasonable and logical reasons why she may be going in that direction, one of which is the fact that it’s safe there. She can easily escape through there. There’s no one dying there.

  I swallow hard. I’m crouched on my feet and bullets and laser fire are streaking around me. The screams are almost deafening. The air smells of charred flesh and ozone. Smoke rises from almost every dead body, filling the corridor and reducing visibility.

  The security personnel are incredibly outgunned, outmanned, and outmaneuvered. They can’t shoot indiscriminately at the Separatists because of the aliens who are still alive.

  The Separatists have no such restriction and they scatter and spray the area ahead with laser fire and bullets, melting walls. I wonder when the cavalry will arrive. Isn’t there supposed to be a Marine detachment to every Terran Union facility? Where are the Marines in this installation?