by Trevor Wyatt
I immediately fall to my knees, dropping my weapons on the ground, raising my hands into the air and lacing them around my neck.
Five Marines surround me, giving me a wide berth, their rifles aimed at my head.
“Don’t you fucking move or we blast that cute ass to kingdom fucking come!” The lead Marine yells in my face.
Yeah, it’s just another day at work.
Zhang
I lead Ann into the elevator. I push her in and stand in front of her, using my body as a shield, in case we’re stormed on our way to the ground floor.
“Computer, take us to the underground escape tunnel,” I say.
“Access denied,” replies a voice in the elevator.
“Shouldn’t we be going out through the front door?” Ann asks. “Don’t you work for the Terran Armada?”
She’s behind me, mumbling some gibberish and biting her nails. I turn to face her, which stifles her. I can see raw terror in her eyes. I understand that she’s not just afraid of what is happening at the moment, but is also afraid of me.
For all she knows, I may be a Terran spy working for the Tyreesians, who’s leading her to the chop shop to have her head chopped off.
I place my palms on her shoulders in a calming way and put a small smile on my face, just how we were taught back at the Academy.
“I know this is a lot to process,” I say. “Believe me, I understand. Defecting between sides in one’s species is heavy enough. Defecting to another race is something else. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling.”
Ann nods, her eyes mellowing.
“Just relax and take deep breaths,” I say. “I’ll get you to safety. We have an Armada Intelligence facility near here. The moment we’re outside the Terran Union, I’m going to call them and have them send someone to pick us up. Don’t worry. You’re going to be safe. Once you’re in proper Armada Intelligence hands, no one will be able to harm you. Okay?”
She nods.
I look away.
“Computer, take us to the underground escape tunnel,” I say again, this time forceful like it’s going to make a difference.
“Access denied,” it replies.
“Override,” I reply.
“Override code required,” the computer informs me.
“Voice identification, Agent Zhang Wilberforce,” I say out loud.
“Processing…” it says. “Checking…”
I growl. I know elevator computers can be very slow.
“Confirmed,” the computer says, “proceeding to underground tunnel.”
Then, the elevator trembles into life and begins to move downwards.
I turn to look at Ann, who looks back at me, silent.
“A lot of Terran Union facility have these tunnels built beneath in case of an invasion or an attack,” I explain to her. “We want our people to be able to escape the building without leaving through the front doors or the helipad.”
“Like a fire escape?” she asks.
I smile, nodding my head.
“Yes. Like a fire escape. They have one of those on Tyreese?”
She chuckles. “Not Tyreese.”
“Oh, where then?”
“I mean, my home world,” she says. “It’s not called Tyreese.”
“What then?” I ask.
The elevator jerks, cutting down on its speed.
“Warning,” the computer says, “attempted boarding on Level One. Armada Security. Access granted.”
We’re currently at level ten.
“Computer, deny access,” I say. “Override upon my authority.”
“Confirmed. Access denied. Proceeding to underground tunnel.”
We fall past level one and continue descending for a full one minute before coming to a stop.
I draw my gun and lead Ann out. We come into a vast space with a very low headroom. There are pillars everywhere that supports the building. The place is dimly lit by tiny bulbs overhead. The signs says to head on straight until we find an exit ramp back up to the surface.
We follow the directions until I hear a loud scream. I push Ann away quickly, but I don’t get out of the way in time. I plant my feet in the ground and raise my hand to block the flying kick. The man bounces off my hands, while I skid back a few yards. I still haven’t recovered, so my body still feels a little out of it.
Standing before me is the shitty stabber who just won’t die. In his hands is the bomb that according to the Tyreesians can blow up the entire building if put next to a power generator. Well, we’re not close to a power generator here. But I don’t want to see how much less powerful it is. It’s blinking green, which means it’s already armed. The detonator is in the Separatist’s other hand. He has his finger set over the trigger.
“You should be dead,” I say.
“Why, because of a lousy headshot?” he replies. “Your headshot went right through the nonessential parts of my brain. It took the nanites a lot of time, yeah, but they fixed me back up. I had to kill a lot of Marines to retrieve my bomb and make it down here, but I enjoyed doing it.”
The stabber looks behind me to Ann. His face descends into a deep frown.
“I should’ve known you had gotten into bed with her kind,” he shrills.
Then, as stupid as he can be, the stabber drops the bomb and the detonator.
“I’ll kill you first—then her. Then I will bomb this whole building and kill them all.”
I fall back into a defensive position. “You mean you’ll try?”
I blink twice, feeling the power of the nanites reinforce my body.
He leaps in front of me, his right hand stretched forth to punch my face. I lean back, a little out of reach. Then I grab his hand and yank him deeper. He loses balance and falls forward. I raise my knee and it reaches his abdomen. He jerks, then convulses, spilling out goo and blood.
He begins to retch, and I lean into him and whisper, “You should have kept the bomb.”
I grab hold of him and fling him as far away as my nanites will allow. He flies through the air over a distance of fifty yards before smacking into the ground, bouncing three times before coming to a stop. Everywhere he bounced off from has a small crater.
I grab the bomb and the detonator and begin to run in the direction of the sign. I look over my shoulder to see if Ann’s following, but I don’t see her. I skid to a stop and turn. She’s rooted to the ground, right where I left her, looking at the racist, who’s beginning to recover. Seeing the man turn on the floor brings fear to my heart.
I run back to her and grab her hand. She jerks, trying to pull loose, until she sees it’s me and stops.
“We have to get out of here,” I say. “He’s too powerful for me. I can’t fight him and defend you and the bomb.”
We begin in a jog towards the ramp. We’re barely one minute into our jog when Ann begins to question me.
“How were you able to throw him through that distance?” she asks, her eyes peeled on me. I can see her curiosity through my periphery.
“I’m nanite-enhanced,” I reply. It’s technically not classified information since there are nanite-enhanced individuals in the galaxy. However, I’ve been ordered not to reveal this aspect of my physiology to anyone so as to maintain the element of surprise and capitalize on people who underestimate me.
However, in this situation, I know the best way to assure Ann and make her follow me would be to be honest with her.
“AAHHHH!!!!” booms a voice through the subterranean.
My heart quakes beneath my chest.
“Computer, contact the Terran Armada,” I say. “Priority intelligence message.”
“Complying,” says the tiny voice in my ears.
“Zhang, this is Armada Intelligence station chief for Perseus,” says a voice in my ears, “I understand you and No One should be delivering a Tyreesian defector?”
“Wait, No One isn’t with you yet?” I ask.
“No,” he replies. “We lost contact with her since
the attack on the Terran Union administration building.”
Shit!
“I am with the Tyreesian scientist,” I say. “I need you to come pick her up. I am giving you access to my location. This is urgent because I’m carrying a Tyreesian’s cobalt bomb, and pursued by a nanite-enhanced Terran Separatist.”
“Head south,” says the station chief. “Those areas are less populated in case the bomb goes off. I’ll meet you in less than five minutes.”
“Roger that,” I say. “Computer, maintain a connection to the station chief to track my location.”
“Confirmed,” the computer replies.
We arrive at the ramp and run up onto ground level into the edge of Perseus City. I immediately lead Ann down south at a breakneck running pace. I’m holding the bomb and detonator in my hands. I’m impressed that she’s able to keep up with me.
“Computer, Contact No One,” I say.
“Contacting No One…”
Before we set out for this mission, our neural networks were linked via the nanites, making it easy for me to communicate with her over short distances, like within a planet. The reason for this was so that in the case we lose contact via slipstream or conventional hailing, I had an unrestricted access to her.
“Access granted.”
No One, I think in my mind. I listen hard. Then, I hear her voice.
Zhang! Great, you’re alive, No One says. Are you running?
Yes, I reply. I have the bomb and I’m being pursued by the stabber.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” No One screams, my ears almost exploding.
Who is that? I say. Separatists or Armada?
Armada, she replies. Can’t talk now.
I hear the whoosh of a rocket propelled grenade launcher first. I stop and grab Ann’s hand to keep her from running ahead.
There’s an explosion about ten yards ahead. A parked aircar goes up in flames. The concussion hits us square in the chest, sending us to the ground. The bomb and detonator flies out of my hands, and unto the ground. I watch it roll until it stops at the feet of the stabber, who’s now recovered and i
s smiling with a rocket launcher over his shoulder.
Out of nowhere, an aircar descends to the ground. Someone leans out and begins to shoot at us. I roll off the floor onto my feet, even as the stabber dives off the ground.
“Zhang!” screams the shooter. The aircar comes to stop near Ann, who’s still dazed on the ground.
The shooter jumps to the ground and carries the Tyreesian scientist into the car. One down, the bomb is next.
I run for the bomb, but the stabber gets there first. He grabs the bomb and the detonator and begins to run down the deserted street.
“Zhang, you coming?”
“Go on ahead,” I reply. “I have to stop that bomb.”
That’s the last I hear of the station chief as I feel rather than see the aircar ascend with their prize.
Good. At least that mission is accomplished.
Putting all the energy I can into my legs, I jump ahead and crash into the back of the Separatist. The bomb flies out of his hands, landing several feet away. But he still has the detonator in his hands. He pushes the button.
“No!” I cry.
“See you in hell, Unionist scum,” he spits.
There’s a blinding flash of light. An unbearable wave of heat.
And then nothing.
Zhang…
No One
I scream at the massive explosion I hear in my ears, pushing my head between my knees and jamming my ears shut.
Well, the building is still standing. Looks like the Tyreesians were wrong about how strong it was.
Zhang, I think, even as I feel a massive wave of panic, both from myself and from Zhang. Then nothing.
My eyes water with tears.
Sirens start wailing. Alarm klaxons go off.
Zhang.
I gasp and feel the weight inside my chest.
Zhang is gone.
“What just happened?” The interrogator asks me. “That felt like a bomb blast.”
I’m still in a shock.
“Screaming is not going to help your case woman,” says the interrogator to my ears. “So, if I were you, I’d start talking.”
I look up. I’m in a small interrogation room in the TAIOC section of the building. The room has a table in the center, with chairs on both sides. I sit in the prisoner’s side, while my interrogator is standing in the corner, classic interrogator style.
The interrogator works for Armada security—not a contract staffer, but an actual officer. As early as when he started questioning, I knew that he didn’t have the necessary clearance to know about my work. Hence, I had to maintain my cover. It sucks to be held prisoner by the very organization that you’re working for.
As what his name pin says, his name is Chuck. His shoulder patch tells me he’s a lieutenant. Definitely not cleared high enough.
“Look, Chuck, I’ve told you that I’m not saying anything until my lawyer shows up,” I say. “Because all I’ve done is protect your officers from being butchered by Separatists. That bomb would have killed you if I hadn’t been here.”
The man is tall and handsome. He has saltpeter hair that gives him that rebellious look that charms a lot of women. If I weren’t already in love, I may have been charmed.
There’s an overhead light bulb that barely lights up the room. The edges of the room are in partial darkness. The door is black and is on the right corner of the room. There’s a window ahead of me where I can see armed Marines standing guard.
If I didn’t know Terran Armada security protocols in cases such as this, I might have been scared as shit. Everything I can see, feel and touch and hear in this room is designed to get me to break.
I know that the rules prevent anyone from harming me. Torture is an illegal means of interrogation, so I know I’m not going to be broken.
I’m not afraid of being tortured—heck, I’ve been tortured a few times. Once, deep in the Outer Colonies. Another time by the Sonali, during the Earth-Sonali war, though that was in a Sonali occupied Terran base. I had been sent in to spy on troop’s movement on the base. The only way I could get the information we needed to mount a take back mission was if I got inside.
Ergo, I had to get caught.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t get out soon enough to not be interrogated. But fortunately, I was able to get the information the Armada needed to invade. Long story short, we took the base, I was set free, and got yet another award for bravery as well as another sharp rebuke from Shane for recklessly putting my life in danger.
I wonder what he’d think now if he found out that the mission he sent me on had landed me in Armada custody as a criminal. This mission sure is full of ironies.
So, no, I’m not fazed by the black door, or the darkness designed to disorient, or the cool air designed to accentuate feelings of depression, and hopelessness or the claustrophobic space partnered with the marines on sight deigned to convey the sense of imprisonment. It’s meant to tell you, “Hey, you are our prisoner and you can’t escape; get ready for prison time if you don’t talk.”
And the tall, handsome officer offers you a way out if you’d just talk. Well, he’s been at it for quite some time. I’m not going to give him even a sliver of information.
The man sits on the chair. “Look, we have you on assaulting a Terran officer. We have you on murder. We have you on treason. And I’m pretty sure we can tie you to the Separatists. That’s more than a hundred years imprisonment, and trust me with the latest advances in correctional facilities, you will serve your time to the full.”
I keep my face straight.
“So, help me help you,” he says in an entreating tone.
“I am not after you. I am after the murderers that killed the Marines and other security operatives in the hallway and all those aliens. For whoever is responsible for that blast.
I’m looking for someon
e to hang for this.”
He speaks as though he’s talking to a co-conspirator.
“The Terran Union needs someone to hang for this. I wouldn’t want for a pretty girl like you to be it.”
He pauses to see if I’m following. I nod my head innocently as though I’m honestly following his drivel.
“I can get maybe sixty or seventy years shoved off your probable sentence,” he says in a low tone. “And if you’re well behaved, you can get out after maybe fifteen, twenty years. What do you say?”
“What do I say?” I ask.
He nods expectantly.
“What do you say?” he says.
I sigh and shake my head in pity.
“I say you’re a dumb fuck for thinking I’ll eat that shit you’re selling.”
I watch as his face turns a deep shade of red with anger. He gently gets up to his feet and comes over to my side of the table. He sits down on the table, facing me.
“You think this is funny?” he says.
“I think I want to speak to my lawyer,” I hiss.
He leans into my face and says, “You fucking cunt, I’ll—“
I blink twice, then slam my forehead into his face and then onto his chest, sending him flying across the room and smashing into the glass ahead.
I slide the pin I’ve just sneakily snagged off his shirt into my mouth, even as the marines burst into the room and head butt me with their weapon. They don’t stop. The kick me and punch me and smack their weapons onto my body, until I’m sputtering blood.
“Enough!” Chuck says.
I’m convulsing on the ground, doing all I can to keep the pin in my mouth.
“I said enough!” Chuck roars.
They stop.
“Get out of here!” he shouts.
They snap to attention and march out of the room, banging the door behind them.
Chuck helps me back to my seat. I avoid his gaze, feeling my nanites get to work on fixing my body. I begin to feel an analgesic agent pooling in my blood, dulling the throbs of pain.
Chuck says, “Allow me to apologize for my colleagues. They lost a lot of good men today, trying to quell the terrorists’ attack. You will forgive them.”
