It’s time to go. Fiddlestix had to make a clean break, running away from Deacon. Only her sense of duty to her people has made her go back. She couldn’t let them face McLain alone.
McLain was waiting at the tarmac to meet them. He didn’t look happy. When he saw how few of the cyber warriors she’d brought home, he was even angrier. “Those men are worth a million apiece and you killed them?”
“They were a threat, sir.”
“You know what I think, Master Sergeant? I think you’re the threat.”
“With all due respect, sir, you’re full of shit. You sent us in there knowing what we were up against. You know what I think? I think you sent them there on purpose.” She clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly fashion.
“You can’t prove that,” McLain growled, jerking away.
Fiddlestix smiled as if to say she could do exactly that. Without another word, she marched back to her quarters. McLain ran to his quarters and began going through files on his computer. He put in a call to Frieze, bellowing at the younger man to come help him destroy the evidence. A few moments later, there was a knock at his office door.
Without bothering to check who it was, McLain yelled, “Come in!”
Fiddlestix entered, surrounded by military police. “Take the general into custody.”
“Yes, Master Sergeant.”
They surrounded McLain who yelled and protested. “You can’t prove this. You can’t prove a damn thing!”
“But I can, sir. You haven’t hidden your tracks very well. That little device you’ll notice on your arm was very helpful.”
He looked at his arm and saw she had placed a nearly invisible surveillance device on him. Everything he had said and done since getting in his office had been recorded and sent to a judge, including copies of all his files.
“General McLain,” the MP said quietly. “I’m afraid I have to arrest you now, sir.”
McLain left without an argument. As he passed Fiddlestix, he spit in her face. She smiled sweetly, wiping the spittle on his jacket.
“You haven’t heard the last of me!”
“That’s true. I’ll see you in court, sir.” She gestured to the MP. “Take this sack of shit out of my sight.”
“Yes, Master Sergeant.”
Fiddlestix watched them lead McLain away. He turned once to glare at her, but she hardly noticed. Instead, a sweet melody filled her head as she watched the sunset. She felt Deacon’s arms around her and she smiled knowing that some day she would go back to Shine Peak. One day, she would go home.
Daytona Beach, Florida 2052
Fiddlestix sat with her back to the wall, in the corner of the dingy, ill lit room, watching the crowd surreptitiously. No one came to Low Blow Gonzalez’ Bar because it was a popular night spot. They came to find work, but more often found trouble. Dressed in dusty biker leathers, she fit right into the sleazy, dirty atmosphere with ease, just as she intended. Keeping a low profile, she continued to scan the crowd. Dim figures moved around the room. Some drifted in the vicinity of her seat, but a glare from her and they quickly walked away, slouching into their collars, hands shoved deep in pockets. Her battered weapon and formidable cyber arm convinced them to move on.
Paper fluttered on the bulletin board near the abruptly opened front door. A dozen hands dropped to an odd assortment of lethal weapons. None drew, waiting. A trio of men walked in. The first was tall, muscular and singularly ugly. The second was short, squat and wore a black duster that dragged the ground. The third looked like a lower level corporate; medium height, weight and build. His hair was a nondescript shade of brown. His eyes were covered with dark glasses. His suit was dark brown with a beige shirt and rust colored tie. In other words, innocuous.
Once it was established that the newcomers weren’t there to start something, the customers returned to their conversations. The corporate stood behind the other two men, while the big one moved forward, scanning the room slowly. His gaze traveled the perimeter of the room, coming slowly to Fiddlestix’ location. Another step toward her, and she had her weapon in her hand. She aimed at him under the table, casually tipping back in her chair to get a better shot.
© 2018 Dellani Oakes
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