Fire on the Frontline

by Trevor Wyatt

  "But you're bleeding," says the medic, voice steady. "I can help you."

  I'm threatening his life and he still wants to help me. Amazing—that or he's trying to distract me.

  "I'm fine. Now open the door." I say.

  What the doc doesn't know—or anyone else in the room is that I'm in no danger of bleeding out. My nanites are already working overtime to knit up the holes I made in my flesh. I'm not invincible; if I sustain serious damage I can lose blood faster than my nanites can work.

  Right now, the blood on me is camouflaging the fact that underneath it, the wounds are already healing.

  The medic says, "I don't know the code."

  "Give it to him," I bark at the interrogator.

  "I know it, " says Captain Montgomery stepping close to the panel. He pauses his finger poised above the panel.

  "Do it," I growl.

  "No," says Captain Montgomery. "Not unless you let the medic go."

  I laugh.

  "Oh, and I suppose you're going to guarantee I'll make it out safely without him?"

  "In a manner of speaking," he says. "I'll let you out, but you have to trade him for me. I'll be your hostage. Do that and I can guarantee you'll get out of the building safely."

  I think about it for a second. Normally, I'd be reluctant to do a hostage swap—too many things can go wrong for me. But Captain Montgomery has a point.

  He can guarantee my safety. There’s no way in hell anyone in the Terran Armada is going to risk the life of the legendary Captain Jeryl "Avenger of the Mariner" Montgomery just to take out one traitor.

  Plus, as far as I know, he has no nanite enhancements. He really is just a man.

  Earlier, I wished we met under different, better circumstances. Now, I need to add more entries to my list of “Ways I'd prefer not to have met Captain Jeryl Montgomery."

  Taking him hostage. Threatening his life. Using him to break out of prison.

  For a split second, I wonder if this little move on my part is going to tarnish his reputation.

  Then a sudden realization comes to me.

  Tarnish his reputation? Ha!

  More like build it even more. I can see the headline of the news now: "Captain Jeryl Montgomery, War Hero, Bravely Offers Himself Up for Hostage Exchange."

  I bet a load of credits that Mr. Torturer and Mr. Medic can't wait to tell their friends how they were saved from an evil traitor by this legend. Well, I guess now I can add public relations to my resume.

  Time to make use of this asset.

  "Turn around," I order Captain Montgomery. He does what I say.

  "Hands on your head."

  He slowly complies.

  I move up with the medic until I'm flanking him.

  Now this is the hard part. I need to swap out the medic for Captain Montgomery. Before I do that I need to lift the point from the medic's neck. And since his life is my only leverage, those split seconds where he's not in jeopardy are going to make me vulnerable. I need to do this fast.

  Time for some nanite action.

  The world slows as I spin the medic away from me like a discarded dance partner. Faster than humans can move, I turn back and embrace Captain Montgomery.

  My hand presses the cool metal against his flesh.

  "Well, Captain Montgomery," I say. "You got yourself a deal."

  No One

  Hostage-taking is not my forte. In fact, if it’s a toss up between taking a hostage and torturing one, well, the latter tends to go a lot quicker.

  What people don’t realize is how much taking a hostage makes the taker vulnerable. And the part that makes you the most vulnerable is moving the hostage. It makes you real dead—real quick.

  Basically, it’s just a big pain in the ass.

  I’m just grateful that Captain Montgomery is being a fairly tractable hostage. He’s not screaming, crying or fighting me—yet.

  Not that I believe we’re going to be get chummy, though at this point we’re close. So close that it’s plain

  awkward. I’m close enough to Captain Montgomery to smell his aftershave. My breasts are pressed against his back as I hold the metal point to his throat, my other arm keeping his neck in a chokehold.

  I have to walk us backwards and sideways so I can see where to go while keeping him close—c

  lose enough to

  kill. I need to make it look like I'm a shit-crazed traitor who just got her hands on the hottest hostage this side of the Mariner Nebula.

  Actually, that's pretty close to the truth barring the "traitor" bit—shit-crazed seems pretty fair at this point.

  Bottom-line: I need to make anyone who sees us believe that Captain Montgomery's life is in danger. Hell, I need to make him believe it.

  “We’re going to the hangar?” he asks me, calm as a fucking cucumber.

  “You got that right, Avenger,” I breathe into his ear.

  What? You have to know this is a handsome war hero. A girl like me doesn’t get many chances with a guy like this.

  I press the metal point a millimeter deeper into his throat. He doesn't make a sound. I figure after everything he's seen, everything he's been through, this probably doesn't even register a one on his shit-o-meter. I'm just glad he's not calling my bluff or playing hero, so far. I can see the inside of the hangar, just a few more steps...

  "Halt, hands on your head, release the hostage!"

  Yeah, well, now it's time to play my part.

  I swing us around so I can face the security officer. He's alone, but I know that's a very temporary situation. The more people that show up, the harder it gets for me to get out of this unscathed. More hostages would improve my odds, but that's the beauty of my current situation; I've got a hostage that's valuable. And it's time I laid that currency down.

  "You are going to be one famous guy, " I say conversationally to the security guard. I can tell my response confuses him. Good.

  "Lay down your weapon, put your hands on your head and release the hostage," he repeats.

  "Yes, sir, I mean I can see the newsfeeds now. ‘Security Guard, Responsible For Murder of the Father of the Galactic Council.’"

  I grin at him when I finish, "What's your name? Wait, don't tell me, it doesn't matter, pretty soon everyone is going to know it. You'll go down in history as the man who got Captain Jeryl Montgomery, hero of the war, killed."

  "Stop," says Captain Montgomery.

  I don't know if he's talking to me or to the guy until he says, "Lower your weapon and allow her to leave."

  "But sir—"

  "Do it soldier, that's an order." He barks.

  I watch as the guard reluctantly lowers his weapon.

  "Put it on the ground and kick it over to me," I say.

  He looks at Captain Montgomery who nods.

  He lowers his gun slowly in front of him and kicks it toward me. It slides across the floor, coming to stop a foot in front of us. I start to bend down when the guard decides he wants to play hero. I guess that newsfeed bit really got to him.

  Sometimes when the shit hits the fan it goes in slo-mo, like someone took a picture of the moment and started pulling the edges like it was melting plastic. My nanites tend to make the world slow down for everybody, especially for me when shit goes sideways.

  But, the truth is no one slows down time because no one controls it. Time, events—we like to think we control them, but really, it’s out of our hands.

  We don't have control, but we do have choices. And those choices have consequences.

  The guard rushes to me as I lean down to grab the weapon.

  Captain Montgomery yells "No!" though I don't know if he's talking to the guard or me.

  But I do what I am trained to do. I have to.

  Usually, when you see someone roll forward it looks like such a waste of effort, just showy secret agent bullshit, but for me this little bit of show-off does two things for me: it gives me momentum closing the distance between me and the guard. Fast.

  As I tumble, I
pick up his weapon, roll forward and shoot him with it. He falls.

  I don't stop to check his pulse. I don't need to.

  When I spin back, gun in hand, I face Captain Montgomery, but he's not looking at me.

  He's looking at the guard.

  "You didn't have to kill him," he says quietly.

  I don't say anything. I just wait. I figure maybe he has more to say. He doesn't—not to me.

  "I need to make a call," says Captain Montgomery, looking at me before pulling his tablet from his jacket. He taps on the comm.

  "This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery—I want immediate access granted for hangar bay 0170 now on my authority. Also, do not send any security personnel. I repeat do not send any security. Montgomery out."

  I'd thank him, but it's time to move.

  "Come on," he says resignedly, "lets get you to your ship."

  I open the hatch pointing my gun at him to get inside. I sense that a series of things is going through his mind including the idea of taking me down.

  But that thought is transient—he's seen me in action; he knows I've got an edge that he can't beat.

  His mouth forms a grim lie, but he nods and goes inside the ship.

  “You got to know that ever since you’ve landed and begun your…theatrics, the Armada has its sights trained on this hangar. You try to leave and they’ll follow you. Once they got me, they’ll blow you out of the sky,” he tells me.

  But I’m too busy. I’m taking stock.

  All right: time to do a quick run-down of my mission.

  One teleporter. Check. Still in cargo bay.

  One defector. Check. Somewhere, but safe.

  One high-ranking military hostage: check.

  Not the way this mission was supposed to go, but then what mission ever goes according to plan? None. You’re lucky if you get 70% off without a hitch. Or less.

  Shit always happens in some way. Too many unknown variables in a known universe, or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, it’s time for me to get this show on the road.

  I look at the transporter. And then to Jeryl.

  “Who says anything about flying into orbit?” I ask him with a crooked smile.

  It takes a moment and then Jeryl looks over at the cargo hold – and the one half of the matter transporter. Realization dawns and he nods to himself.

  Time to talk to those brutish ass-hats.

  The Tyreesians.

  My bosses.

  Well,

  at least for a little bit longer.

  No One

  I power up my comm to the Tyreesians.

  “Hello gentlemen, no plans to leave me behind here to rot in a Terran prison—right?” I bark.

  “Your cargo ship most likely has every Armada gun trained on it, Ms. Grayson. Your Separatists friends are captured or scattered. We’ve lost contact with one of our scientists who we assume is the defector. We believe she is in the hands of Armada Intelligence. Your compatriot Zhang is dead; he also failed in his mission and the bomb went off with minimal loss of life or property—you no longer have anything else in your possession that is of any value to us.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong: I didn’t just spring myself out of custody, I took a hostage—” The Tyreesian cuts me off.

  “We do not have time for diplomatic games Ms. Grayson, thus we do not have time for military hostages—”

  “Not even for Captain Jeryl Montgomery, creator of the Galactic Council, and the man who ended the war?”

  There is a moment of silence. Smugly, I wait while the Tyreesian to factor this into their plans.

  “Very well, Ms. Grayson, we will allow you and Captain Montgomery aboard. Stand by.”

  I’m feeling pretty smug that the Tyreesians took the bait. I know they can’t resist inflicting pain and anguish on the Terran war hero they hate. I find their hatred ironic; the Sonali fought five years with us, and now we’re on almost friendly terms—and that was with billions lost on both sides during the war.

  The Tyreesians on the other hand weren’t even involved in the war; in addition, any conflict that’s arisen between them and Terran Armada has been of their own doing—like that shit that went down in the Omarian system. Hard not to find fault in a race that looks for trouble.

  I guess I could admire their resourcefulness; they will use almost any means in order to inflict damage on the enemy. And they network with other factions that want extreme separation of species and use that to their advantage.

  Right now, as far as they know, I’m an opportunistic ex-Terran Armada agent with a grudge. I laugh again at the irony; they’re pissed that one of their own betrayed them while they might as well be holding up a sign that says: ‘Do you hate other species? Are you looking for a permanent solution to this problem—well then join us for lots of death and destruction!’

  The fine print would read: ‘Just don’t expect us to save your ass if you get caught.’

  Though admittedly, I understand making the brutal choice to cut a loss. It’s not like there are warm, fuzzy feelings. Every agent knows they are expendable. Thinking expendable makes me think of Zhang. I liked him; he was a good guy, and now he’s gone. He sacrificed himself because he couldn’t stand to let the innocents die, not when he could do something about it.

  I think about how he railed against me for killing—but you can’t afford to care in this business. Not the business we’re in. If you do, you end up dead. Case in fucking point.

  Except that I’ve decided to drag Captain Montgomery along for the ride. It’s not fair, and I’m taking a big risk bringing him along for both of us, but I’m hoping this big risk is going to equal a big reward. I like to play poker and when you bet against the house, the house usually wins.

  The big question I have right now is am I betting on the house or against it? Captain Montgomery seems like he would be the house. Terran Armada certainly has enough clout, and now they have two of the three pieces needed to control matter transport. Now that is clearly stacking the deck. I’m stacking the deck, and in my custody I have the King.

  So, does that make me the Queen, the Ace or the Joker? Of those three, I think I’m the Ace. As for the other suits, I’m pretty sure that the Tyreesians have got to be the Jokers. So is it gonna be ace high or ace low? I suddenly laugh a bit at that thought. I’m an Ace. I’m a one.

  No One.

  The next steps of the mission are going to be crucial for me if I want to get out of this alive and take Captain Montgomery with me. Once I’m on the ship, I’m going to need to do a lot of improvising.

  As I walk with Captain Montgomery toward the teleporter, I see the crate of Predatory Mega Flora that was the original cargo. This stuff is such bad news. It’s a vicious carnivorous plant capable of “walking” to find a host. I shudder at the thought of what it would feel like to have one of those things spear you, suck out your innards all while you’re still alive.

  Gross. I guess I better warn Captain Montgomery.

  Ha. Warning your hostage. That again, sounds ironic.

  “See that,” I say to him, motioning with the nozzle of my gun away from him and the crate of “Seyshallian fruit” which the Tyreesians, in their zeal for having the worst things that can kill in the universe—organic or not, decided to include.

  “The Tyreesians can’t be faulted for blood-lust, but in the brains department, I’m not sure they’ve evolved past Earth cockroaches.” I see him almost smirk.

  “This fruit they have on board next to the mass transporter—well, it’s not fruit you eat. It’s fruit that eats you.”

  I see him stop a moment considering my words.

  “What are the Tyreesians going to do with it?” He asks.

  “Shit if I know and shit if I care, but all that fruit needs to germinate is a host. A nice warm host, someone like you, me or a ship full of Tyreesians. These guys don’t even have this cargo area set at a cooler temperature. Right now, all it would take is a low-heat signature, say by a ship
’s A.I. powering up this teleporter remotely and that’d be enough of a change in the ambient temp to draw this fruit over.

  “And if the fruit comes through the teleporter. Well…that’s a nightmare waiting to happen.”

  As the hum of the teleporter alerts us to its activation, I do a quick run-down in my head of the plan once I’m on the ship. No matter how I look at it, the odds aren’t in my favor. Well, fuck the odds. Zhang was a good guy and that got him killed. I don’t plan on making that mistake. I put on my best poker face as we step upon the teleporter.

  Let's do this.

  No One

  I step off the teleporter, shoving Captain Montgomery in front of me. The Tyreesian commander is waiting with another Tyreesian who’s carrying a flat black case. Why do torturers always carry cases? I guess they like having their toys nearby.

  Their really scary, creepy, cutty toys.

  I’m delivering Captain Jeryl Montgomery, the guy responsible for sabotaging their last attempt to throw a wrench in galactic peace and prosperity, right into their hands.

  “Excellent work, Ms. Grayson,” says the commander.

  I nod.

  “Welcome aboard, Captain Montgomery, if you will come with us.” I see the commander give him a wicked smile.

  I watch Captain Montgomery start to walk with the commander and the torturer.

  I know that if I want to get Captain Montgomery out of here alive, I can’t let him out of my sight.

  “I’m coming, too,” I say, closing the distance.

  “Your services are not required for the interrogation.”

  The commander looks directly at me. I can tell my request has him confused and not in a good way. He’s wondering why the hell I’m interested in Montgomery’s welfare. I need to think fast.

  “Oh, not after all the trouble I went through and all the bullshit the Terran Armada put me through—if you think for one minute I am going to miss the opportunity to see the famous Captain Montgomery suffer, you’re wrong. Besides, do you have any idea how valuable he is? I’m not letting that asset out of my sight.”

  I see the Commander nod accepting my requests and my reasons for it.

  “Very well, Ms. Grayson, you may attend the interrogation; however, leave your weapon here.”