by Trevor Wyatt
I'm impressed—he’s not taking any chances. Given what I've seen of her abilities as far as kicking ass, I think he's making wise choices.
Anika looks like a woman steeling herself to face a death squad. She's probably readying her body and mind for the interrogation. Torture is illegal, but we both know that the Armada sometimes rely on unsavory members from Intelligence to get to the bottom of things.
Doubt surfaces in my mind; am I really going to be able to stomach watching her tortured— especially when I'd swear on my life that she's innocent?
Chapter 18
No One
If someone asked me if I wanted to meet Captain Jeryl Montgomery, savior of the war, I would probably say yes. If they asked me how I’d like to meet him, I think I'd say over drinks or such.
What I wouldn’t say is "locked in a cell, cuffed and accused of being a traitor to the Terran Armada."
Nope, pretty sure that wouldn’t be on the list.
Unfortunately, life, as usual, has different plans for me. But though the circumstances are not ideal, I have to admit that I'm glad we met. I believe I'm a good judge of character. If not, I don't think I'd still be alive in my line of work.
My first impressions of Captain Montgomery are good ones. He's intelligent and clearly a man with a moral code. But I sense doubt and remorse too—a struggle within him. I don't want to, but I guess I could say that I can relate. Half of the time it seems we're all just trying to do the best we can to make the "right"
decisions.
Weary. That's another adjective I'd use to describe him. He's a man carrying a lot around—and it shows.
Despite my respect and empathy, I don't reveal my real mission. He may be a good guy, but I still just met him. Trust is earned, so
I keep my mouth shut about what's actually going on—making sure my "traitor" mask stays in place.
I'm feeling okay about keeping him in the dark—but then the interrogator comes back.
He’s holding a black and silver case I’m absolutely familiar with.
Well, shit. It’s the torture case.
I know I'll be able to handle whatever he dishes out; I've been trained to withstand pain. Also, my nanites are programmed to react to extreme duress by dumping drugs into my system to keep me happy and pain-free. I'll sweat a lot, but the pain will be manageable allowing me to focus.
My only regret is that it looks like Captain Montgomery is staying for the show.
It's silly, but somehow this embarrasses me. Like if Captain Montgomery found me puking in the bathroom…somehow, it feels the same.
But it's not like I have any choice.
Hey Mr. Torturer, do you mind coming back later? I know you need my secrets, but I fucking hate having an audience with the Avenger of the Mariner.
I almost start giggling at that thought. I must not be able to hide all of my amusement because the interrogator gives me a look.
"You won't be smiling for long, sweetheart," he says.
Now I really want to giggle, but instead I keep my lips sealed.
Nope, no talking. He's wrong. I'm wrong.
I do have a choice, based on about two and half inches of sharp metal tucked into my left fist. He may have locked down my wrist cuffs, but he did not check my hands. Bad move on his part.
I watch Mr. Torturer turn sideways away from me as he carefully, almost lovingly removes items from his briefcase. My guts squirm a bit. This guy seems like he really enjoys his job.
Time to get to work before he finishes unpacking.
My wrists are bound, but my fingers are free. Carefully, I grip the metal pin with my fingers, then bend my wrist inward until the point makes contact with my skin.
I sneak a glance. Neither Captain Montgomery nor Mr. Torture are looking my way.
The former is looking at his tablet. I have a feeling he's using it as an excuse to not see me.
Showtime.
I suck in a breath to steady myself. I have one chance.
I jab the pointed end of metal into deep into my wrist. I clamp my jaw shut so I don't scream. I think I hit a vein.
Good.
I’m rewarded with some nice red blood. It doesn't gush, but it does well up nicely until physics makes it start plopping on my leg. I try to whip my hand toward my other side to get some blood on that hand as well.
Thank goodness for my nanites—they've dulled the pain. But not my senses.
"Hey, Mr. Interrogator. I don't feel so good,"
I let my voice slur like I'm getting woozy.
"Oh my God," says Captain Montgomery as he sees the red splashes on me.
He looks at the interrogator. "Get a medic, now!"
The interrogator runs from the room. Captain Montgomery moves close to my cell.
"What did you do to yourself?" he asks, stunned.
Is that concern in his voice?
I consider laughing a goofy, drug-enhanced laugh, but decide that would just be mean. This man actually cares about my well being. That's nice, but I need to leave.
The interrogator rushes in with a guy in a white and blue shirt who I assume is the medic. The medic waits while the force field is deactivated, then rushes in.
"Take off her restraints," orders the medic.
The interrogator hesitates.
"I need to see where the wound is," says the medic in a tone that brooks no disagreement. As my restraints click open, I go limp pretending to pass out.
The medic immediately puts his arms around my back to help me sit up, just like I hoped. I raise my left wrist, the one with the metal still gripped in it and press the point into the side of his neck.
My eyes flick open as he stiffens.
"Get up slowly," I order. "And you Mr. Torture Fun Time, you're going to trade places with me."
The medic slowly eases up. I follow a step behind him, keeping the point against his neck and I nod toward the cuffs I just vacated.
"Put on the restraints on him." I tell the medic.
The cuffs click over the interrogator’s legs and wrists. I doubt that will hold him for long. I motion for him to sit down.
"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 hostag
e. 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."
Chapter 19
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.
Chapter 20
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.
