by Jim Mohr
“Colonel Renfroe, I’m on my way to Command Central. You have the entire time it takes us to walk there to explain this. Regulations state that enlistees must be sixteen. Besides that, regulation being violated, how is she an NCO already?” The Admiral turns and proceeds toward the hallway intersection. To the right of it is Command Central.
Colonel Renfroe begins his already prepared speech. “Sir, Sergeant Smith has consistently, upon enrolling in our civilian early enlistment program, been absorbing knowledge at a pace never seen before. As part of her physical, we learned that Sergeant Smith is a Psychokinetic. She has extraordinary abilities, beyond her incredible telepathic powers. She is a natural fit for the O2 department.”
We turn the corner into the short hallway leading to the impervious black door of Command Central. Four guards stand constant watch at the door. I hear beeps coming from the walls and ceiling as voice and face recognition software analyzes us and determines who is present——the Admiral, Colonel Renfroe, and myself.
Something isn’t right. I can sense it, I can smell it. My hand goes to my Kastane sword as my telepathy scans the four armed guards to our front. The humans continue their banter, meaningless to all but themselves. I hear the click of an assault rifle safety. This isn’t right, what should I do? My telepathy focuses on the man with the assault rifle. He is here to kill the Admiral, they all are.
I pull my sword free from the sheath; I do not care about the consequences if I am wrong. The cheetah head presses against my hand as I bolt past the two humans still talking. They don’t even see me. My sword and I are one. Time stops as I move fluidly through space. My sword is clean and sharp. I can hear it slice through the air. My sword neatly slides between the assault rifle and man’s left side ribs, I skewer his heart as if it were a shish kebab. The tip of my sword sticks out of his back. I pull my sword smoothly out of the man as my telepathy finally catches up with my body. These men are from Berlin and Prague base. His eyes look at me. He does not know that he is already dead.
The man next to my first kill draws his pistol. I now can tell the first man was the leader, he was the signal for the others to move. I pivot to the second man as I rotate my sword so the blunt part of the blade presses against my forearm. The metal is still cool though small droplets of blood are on the blade. The end of my lovely sword extends a few inches past my elbow.
I throw a roundhouse punch with my right arm. My fist will miss the second man by inches. It isn’t my fist with which I am wanting to strike the man, it is my blade. My target though is his throat, my sword provides the extra reach that my strike requires.
The strike is clean. I think I miss because the slice is so smooth. It isn’t until I see the slow-motion geyser of foamy blood spray that I realize how accurate my strike was.
The first man gasps as his heart beats. It is off its rhythm. I can tell, I can hear it. My feet are light in this heavy world that humanity journeys through, they are all my prey. I am lightning, I am a ray of light, I am Cheetah.
I sense Colonel Renfroe and the Admiral seeing and understanding what is happening. Colonel Renfroe pulls his weapon from its holster. He is in slow-motion.
The third and fourth assassins have their weapons up, they are bringing them to bear on the Admiral. I pounce on the third man as I rotate my sword again. While I strike the third man in the chin with an upward strike, as if playing the Mexican game—ball in a cup, I telekinetically strike the fourth man.
The first man I skewered looks down at his pierced chest, he now knows that he is dead. He cannot lift the rifle. The second man’s eyes roll as lightheadedness envelops him. His brain has no blood.
The dead eyes of the third man look at me. His brain is torn in two by my sword, the tip of my sword protrudes from the top of his skull. His dead eyes stare at me, I see his life extinguish. I see them go lifeless. My God, what have I done?
“BAM… BAM… BAM BAM.” Four shots ring out as I pull my sword, trying to free it from the third man’s skull. It won’t budge. I turn to the fourth man. His face is destroyed, his chest is damaged. Colonel Renfroe’s 9 mm has claimed him.
I turn back to my sword. The third man is falling. I see my sword blade in his open mouth. He’s like a child who bit an apple that some sick bastard had placed a razor blade in. I need my sword. The lifeless eyes, the unmoving eyes that death causes. I see the eyes but I am helpless without my sword. My sword!
“What the fuck was that?!?” Yells Admiral Abraham. “Renfroe!”
“Yes, sir!”
“What the fuck!”
“Sir, Sergeant Smith, she did this sir!”
The human minds catch up to me. I pull my sword, it moves a little. I step on the dead man’s head and pull. My boot slips on his bloody dead flesh. “Cocksucker! Give me my sword!”
“Sergeant! What was that?!” The Admiral yells.
“My Goddamn sword is stuck.” I pull again as it frees itself from its cranial prison. “Bastard.” My blade is not damaged, it is good. I flick the dead brain and blood fragments from it, one small sliver of skull lands next to me. “Thank God,” I exclaim as I turn to the Admiral. “What now?”
The Admiral looks at me in shock and confusion. “Sir! How about addressing me as sir, Sergeant?”
A wave of warmth washes over me, I feel embarrassment, shock, and regret. “Sir, I am sorry. I have never killed before. His eyes…” I can feel that I am beginning to cry, I am losing control of my emotions.
Colonel Renfroe clears and holsters his 9 mm. “Sergeant, calm down, it’s okay. What happened?”
I look at him as I wipe my face. The third assassin’s face is burnt into my memory. “Sir, we rounded the corner and I sensed those four were assassins. They were here to kill the Admiral. I heard the first one flip the safety of his weapon. Sir, I had to act. I hesitated and was not able to get the fourth one.” I sheath my sword; I feel a moment of peace as it is returned to its home.
The Admiral pauses. His thoughts are calculating the events as I enter his mind again. He is weighing his life versus my age, regulations, and the breakdown in my military etiquette. He brushes that aside with memories of his first kill. It was at Chongqing base, in China. The Admiral nods as I leave his mind and he comes to a decision.
“Colonel Renfroe, submit battlefield promotion paperwork and enrollment documents for our new second Lieutenant Smith. I want her to attend the etiquette and command portion of Basic Officer Training,” he smiles as he looks at me. “Smith, I’m promoting you to Second Lieutenant. Welcome to the O2 department.”
The Command Central door slides open as a chubby Captain emerges. He salutes the Admiral. “Sir! An assassination was just attempted on Admiral Cummings in Wisconsin, sir. It was thwarted and one of the assassins is in custody.”
Admiral Abraham returns the Captains salute and takes a deep, anxious breath. “Colonel Renfroe, inform Major General Vaughn that our new second Lieutenant here will be going to Wisconsin Illinois base. She’s a telepath you say?”
“Yes, sir,” replies Colonel Renfroe.
“Perfect, I want her to interrogate the prisoner,” he smiles at me. “Read his mind, Lieutenant.”
I snap to attention. “Yes, sir!” Oh hell, now what do I do? I can’t get the dead man’s eyes out of my head.
Chapter 20
Cheetah—Arriving at
Wisconsin Illinois Base
My sigh is only heard by me. My tears are only seen by me. My heartbreak is only felt by me. I am alone and have now seen what death looks like. The cheetah dreams I had when I was six years old weren’t like this. They were bad, especially the healing dream, but they were nothing like this. To see a man, die by my own hand, I am ashamed of myself.
The jet begins its descent toward my childhood home and I touch my sword lightly. It comforts me some. I look at my golden second Lieutenant bars, a smile crosses my lips as I wipe y
et another rogue tear away. I’m okay, I’m all right, I will live, and I will heal.
“Lieutenant, we are touching down in a few minutes. Air Command at Wisconsin Illinois base is telling me there is a security escort for you. They are on yellow alert,” the pilot says through the intercom.
“Thank you, sir,” I answer. A security escort for me? I think to myself, “like I need security from the humans.” They are rattled because of the assassination attempt, nervous if Admiral Abrahams’ chosen interrogator should meet some ill fate. I chuckle as I look out at the late spring horizon of northern Illinois. Green is showing through the patches of brown. The countryside is coming alive.
Our descent is smooth as the spring storms have relented this day. Thank God too, my guts couldn’t handle a turbulent descent. Not with what I am already dealing with, death and all the sickness it has brought me.
The landing is hurried, the pilot informs me we have to clear the airstrip quickly because another Death’s Head patrol is taking off. We taxi into the security zone and I see my escort. She seems to be an attractive blonde woman. I cannot sense if she’s human or Psychokinetic though, she is too far away. The woman seems a little older than I am, but I’m fifteen and against regulations. I smile again as I calm myself a little more.
The jet stops, and the door releases and opens. The stairs extend down from the underside of the doorway and the Devante III engines power down.
The blonde security agent is human. She approaches the base of the stairs and waits for me. I enter her mind as I descend the stairs. She is questioning how a young girl can be a Lieutenant. Her, calling me a young girl, has more than just female envy and jealousy in it. I’d like to tell the blonde dingbat that I’m a Lieutenant because I saved Admiral Abraham’s life. Humans—always placing measuring sticks on everyone. First, they judged you by your race, then your sex, then your age. I would only judge someone based on their honor, their valor, their truthfulness.
I walk past her as she says: “Welcome to Wisconsin Illinois base, ma’am.” I keep walking, I’m not interested in hearing what she has to say. I sense she isn’t following me. I turn to look at her, I see her saluting toward the stairs. Oh, fuck! She saluted me and I walked past her. I sprint back to her and return her salute.
“Sergeant, I am so sorry. I was just promoted and I’m still recovering from the attack.”
“It’s quite alright, ma’am.” She says lowering her salute and turning toward the security checkpoint. “Ma’am, I am Sergeant Carrie Montclair. We are on yellow alert and security has asked that I escort you to our interrogation cells.”
It feels so odd hearing her call me “ma’am.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” I reply as we arrive at the armored security door. “Is anything known about the prisoner?” I enter her mind again. She is lusting after the young man, apparently, he’s quite the physical specimen. She also has thought that I am too young to be an officer. We hand our badges to the exterior guards.
“Ma’am, he’s got Alliance clearance and he is a Corporal. We suspect it’s fake though. He’s been unconscious since we took him. The Admirals personal assistant is the one who knocked him out.” She pauses as she places her chin on the chinrest of the retinal scanner to clear the door. The green light above the security door lights after my retina scan and the system beeps. Our ID badges are returned. She continues, “He killed the other three assassins. We suspect he’s from one of the European bases.”
We walk past the door and into the base. I am home. I smile as I remember the day I left for Atlanta. My mom and my sister, April, both cried as I left. I had to leave; the only person I had ever cared about was killed when I was six. God, I miss him.
***
Cougar—Wisconsin Illinois Base
Pain, blurry vision, my powers are scrambled; they are trying to grab something. My mind is a mess. Where am I? What happened? More pain, this time from the back of my head.
I move my hands to my head. I am wounded. I feel dry, crusty blood in my hair and on my neck. I release healing power, the sharp pain returns. There is a bandage on my head, the healing pulls at it, it pinches. I move my legs, I am not restrained but I am surrounded by bright light. My eyes well with tears as they adjust to the brightness.
I swing my legs around and sit up. I am in a white room. It contains the cot I am sitting on, a chair, a toilet, and a sink. The ceiling is white with light. I can sense one wall is fake, it is a hologram. Behind it, I sense three humans, two males and a female. There is also a female Psychokinetic.
“I surrendered, you dumb fucks, you didn’t have to hit me!” I yell, the volume stings as a budding headache enters my wonderful day. The words echo back and I realize that I spoke in Russian. I repeat my statement, except in English this time.
I sense a fifth person enter the surveillance room, that person is also a human. “If this base is still standing, it won’t be for long! Berlin and Prague jets are on their way to destroy it.” My head throbs. I will kick the ass of the human who cracked me. Fuck, I’m tired of getting captured and put in white rooms. Don’t these assholes hire engineers from different schools?
I smile at my sense of humor. The fifth person, a human male, leaves the surveillance room. He is coming to talk to me.
Chapter 21
Cheetah—Wisconsin Illinois Base
Sergeant Montclair and I enter the surveillance room. On a cot, with his back to us, lies the fourth assassin. Even from here I can tell that he’s fit and young. With us watching the assassin are the Admiral, Val Cummings, and his assistant, Sergeant Kal Slowiski.
I salute the Admiral. “Sir, Lieutenant Dena Smith, Atlanta O2, sir.”
He returns my salute. “Lieutenant Smith, I do appreciate Admiral Abraham sending you. We don’t have a Psychokinetic in O2 here, so thank you. I want to forewarn you though, our O2 isn’t happy with you being here.”
I nod my head. “Yes sir, I will try to stay out of his way.”
The Admiral looks at Sergeant Montclair. “Sergeant, I spoke with General Jones. We agree that you will be assigned to this guy. Pardon the reasoning, but we want a more civil representative for him than someone like Sergeant Slowiski here.”
Sergeant Slowiski laughs. “The fucker broke my rifle. That kid’s sure got a hard head.”
I look at Sergeant Slowiski and wonder, ‘Did he just drop the F-word in front of the Admiral? What kind of base is this?’ I enter the Admiral’s mind. He wants Sergeant Montclair with the prisoner because she’s attractive. Nice, assign her because of her looks. The Admiral is a pig, a typical human pig.
The prisoner moves his hands to his head and I can see he is regaining consciousness. His legs move slowly as his upper body contorts. My skin tingles as I pick up the slightest pulse of his power. He is healing himself.
“The kid’s got balls,” Sergeant Slowiski says.
“Kal, when you hit him, did you notice anything?” The Admiral asks, as the prisoner swings his legs around and sits—head in hands, facing us.
“I’m not sure, sir. Why do you ask?”
Suddenly the prisoner shouts out something in Russian. Admiral Cummings asks, “What did he just say?”
“Sir, he spoke Russian,” answers Sergeant Montclair.
The prisoner drops his hands and looks at us as if his vision pierces the hologram surveillance wall. He has a dark, brooding look, and something about him is familiar. “I surrendered, you dumb fucks, you didn’t have to hit me!” He grabs his head as his face contorts in pain. “If this base is still standing, it won’t be for long! Berlin and Prague jets are on their way to destroy it.”
The surveillance door opens and the O2 (Intelligence) officer, Major General Steve Andrews, a short, pudgy man, enters the room.
I feel the humans bristle, as a cat startled will poof their fur up. Admiral Cummings looks at Major General Andrews. “Steve, get in
there and talk to him.”
General Andrews replies quickly as he turns to leave. “Yes, sir!”
The Admiral exhales as he calculates his next move. “Com!”
“Yes, sir.” An automated voice responds from the communications panel in front of us. The computer system knows the Admiral’s voice and responds immediately.
“Get me the Air office.”
“Yes, sir.” The computer replies.
***
Cougar—Wisconsin Illinois Base
The short, pudgy man sits in the chair, looking at me as if I’m an experiment. “How are you feeling, son?”
“I am not your, son. They are coming to destroy this base,” I respond. This man doesn’t seem to care, he’s here to analyze me.
“Who is?” He replies as he leans back slowly.
I glare at him. I remember why I hate humans like this. Men who achieve power without kicking any ass. “Listen, human, play your mind games with someone else. I’m not in the mood for your shit. Your man hit me. I surrendered, and he struck an unarmed prisoner.”
The pudgy man nods slowly. “Human? So, you are a Timere?” he replies.
I turn to the hologram wall. “Can you send someone other than tukove’ here?”
The human looks at me with a frown. “Tukove’? What does that mean?”
“It means fatty. Judging by your physique I can tell why the Alliance is losing this war. I told you, Berlin and Prague are emptied. They’ll be here soon. Get off your fat ass and protect your base.”
He glares at me as he speaks, “I am Major General Andrews. I am Wisconsin Illinois O2. I’m the intelligence officer. The Air Force is handled by others. We are looking into your claims. Right now though, you are my concern. How’d you get into this base and why did you save the Admiral’s life? Is it a Timere thing? Is that it?”