“Honey,” the ex-President’s wife joined him in his study. Dawn was creeping up over the trees, and soon the new day would begin.
But, would it?
Who do you trust, those who are like you, or those whose actions match yours?
He turned towards her as she walked around his desk to stand next to his chair. “Yes, sweetheart?”
She reached down and pulled him closer. “I’m thankful you came back to us.” A teardrop moistened his forehead, and then her fingers as she wiped it off. “I can’t believe David is dead,” she whispered and he felt her hug tighten.
He rested his head on her chest and looked out the window to the dark trees.
No answers, just like the questions going through his head at the moment.
He hadn’t received one call from the White House directly. He had gotten messages, but not one personal connection. He speculated as his eyes looked out of the glass. Thinking about the options as he watched a helicopter pass by in the distance once more. He was being watched and they could say what they wanted, he knew they weren’t protecting him from Bethany Anne.
No, they wanted to catch her coming back and jail her. Then, they would figure out how to keep her legally.
He didn’t bother telling them not to try. This wasn’t his operation and he had been trying for three years to explain that change didn’t come about by creating a military state where might makes right. Especially not when the one with the most might wasn’t you.
He sighed. They had picked up David’s body two hours before and now his secret service attachment was itching to have a conversation with TQB. If David shot her, then it was warranted.
It was a no-win situation and it happened because he asked Bethany Anne one more time to try communication. A request originating from the White House, and then an ambush. He let that percolate around in his mind. At this point, he wasn’t willing to ignore any possibilities.
“Did he deserve to die?” his wife asked.
He focused and realized she had asked the question more than once. “For his actions, yes.” he answered. “But he didn’t do it of his own free will,” he said, quietly. “He had been brainwashed by someone. Bethany Anne didn’t know that until David had shot her. Then he shot Anna Elizabeth when she tried to stop him from shooting Bethany Anne again while she was down.”
“Oh no, did he kill her?”
“Almost, she would have died if not for Bethany Anne. Hell, we all would have died if not for Bethany Anne.”
“Don’t you mean you all would have died because of her?” she asked.
“What, because they attacked us because she was there?” he replied.
“Yes.”
“Honey, I was the one who talked her into attending. Are you suggesting I killed David?”
“No!” He felt her clench her hand into a fist and tapp it on his shoulder. “Dammit! Stop being so civil.”
“You want this to be her fault, why?” he asked.
“Because I can’t change the government!” she said. “I’ve been in those halls. I’ve been around those people. If this isn’t her fault, then what?”
His eyebrows drew together and he realized he was ignoring the smaller picture. There comes a time in every man’s life when the clarity of the situation becomes stark and unyielding.
This wasn’t about the world, or the United States or the people in the United States. He had given eight years of his life working to make his country the best he could. He had spent another three years trying to mitigate the friction between the present administration and TQB. Now he needed to protect his family and be on the right side of this conflict. A war between the government and TQB.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to be allowed to sit out this fight. He looked up at his wife. “You know I love you, right?”
She smiled down at him and touched his face. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.” She searched, seeking insight into what he was thinking. “I’m not going to be happy with this, am I?”
“I’ll accept the punishment as I have to. “The ex-President stood up. “Wake the girls, I’ve got a call to make.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
ArchAngel, Orbiting outside L2
The room was holding fifty humans and six Yollins.
General Lance Reynolds looked over his people and nodded to Dan. “You guys ready for this?”
Dan smiled. “Lance, can’t wait to get back into the field again.”
“Shit!” Peter called out from the first row. “You know Bethany Anne’s coming, right?” There was laughter.
Kiel leaned forward from his position behind Peter and tapped him on the shoulder. Trying to be quiet, but failing miserably, he asked Peter in his clicks and twirls before the translation kicked in, “Why is the fact that Bethany Anne is participating something to laugh at?” The Yollin looked around and realized everyone was listening to him. He articulated his shoulders in the gesture he had picked up from watching the humans over the last three years. “I’m sorry, but I am curious.”
“I think I understand your confusion, Kiel.” Lance answered. “Captain Kael-ven T’chmon and Dan here are going to be in the back, commanding through your people and directing communications and tactics as we clear out the base. You’re wondering what does it matter that Bethany Anne would be in the back?”
Kiel turned towards him. “Yes, General Reynolds, that is the core of my question.”
“Oh,” Peter replied finally understanding the Yollin’s question. “I’m sorry, Kiel. I forgot that you and your people haven’t been on an operation with Bethany Anne and the Bitches yet.”
“Yeah, sometime I’ll have to give you the play by play of the Downtown operation after the Everglades operation,” Dan interjected. “You’d have a better understanding with that information.”
“Or the Chinese base operation,” another voice called out from behind Kiel and the alien turned to see who spoke up.
Dan’s voice caused Kiel to turn back around. “Or the ambush by David that time in the mountains.”
“What they are all saying, without really telling you, Kiel,” Lance broke into those flinging out battle stories, “is that Bethany Anne will be on the tip of the spear, as we call it. She won’t be in the back.”
“That is the place for those of us who are trained,” Kiel answered.
Lance didn’t take it as condemnation, so much as ignorance. “Kiel, how long have you studied the martial arts, since how old?”
“Since I was young. When I first left my parents home I went straight into the military.”
“Right. You know I’m Bethany Anne’s father, right?” Lance wanted to make sure Kiel understood.
“Yes,” he nodded.
“Bethany Anne has been training to fight since she went into school. She was going to competitive fights and kicking ass when other girls were starting to figure out they liked boys. She has been a warrior in training for almost her whole life. You can’t tell her not to be in the front. There isn’t anyone here faster, stronger or more deadly than Bethany Anne. If she believes she needs to be in a fight? She will be in it.”
Dan spoke up, “Captain Kael-ven T’chmon and myself will fight as called on, but our role is to get down there and run the operation so you and your warriors are most effective. What Peter alluded to is if we don’t get our fight in first, we might be considered the mop-up crew.”
Kiel thought for a moment. “So, going into battle with Bethany Anne is a race?”
“Ahhh,” Dan thought about it for a second. “Not so much a race, as an opportunity to be a part of one of the deadliest tactical teams in existence.”
“But, isn’t that a bit premature?” Kiel asked, “Don’t get me wrong, but you have fought only humans.”
“And the ass kickings your people take when you fight us?” Peter asked.
“We are not in our mech suits during those fights,” Kiel argued.
Lance snorted. “Neither is Bethany Anne.”
/>
ArchAngel, Queen’s Bitches Armory
Jean Dukes and John Grimes each held one side of the black footlocker. It was thirty inches front to back, four feet side to side and three feet deep.
It weighed close to four hundred pounds.
Jean had worked for the last year with her team on the Queen’s latest suit. It was, in Jean’s humble opinion, the best one yet. Almost sixty percent more durable, and fifteen percent lighter, and still held the beautiful deep red.
The color of blood, the color of life.
Together they carried the footlocker into the Bitches ready room and with a loud BANG, they dropped it on the floor.
“Fucking shit!” Scott yelled and turned around, his hand on his heart. “Why the fuck did you two have to go and do that?” he looked down at the footlocker, up to them and down again.
“That,” John pointed out to him, “shows you have poor situational awareness.”
Scott flipped him off.
“No,” Scott retorted. “It shows I place my trust in my teammates not to play asinine pranks that could cause me to go into shock!” He nodded at the box. “This the new set?”
“Yeah,” Jean replied as she placed her hand on the lock. The system lights around the rectangle accepted her handprint for verification, blinked twice red, then twice blue and made a solid ‘chunk’ sound. Jean grabbed the handle and lifted.
Inside were the pieces for Bethany Anne’s arms and part of her back. Lower levels in the footlocker held the rest of her equipment.
Scott walked over and looked over the top of the open footlocker. “Sweet.” Jean picked up one of the lower arm pieces and handed it to him. “Damn, this is light,” he said as he looked at the armor. He paid attention to the little automated mini-connections that would pull each piece together into a seamless suit. After admiring the work, he looked up at Jean. “How much stronger?”
“Sixty percent,” she replied.
“Damn, that’s an improvement over two dot oh,” he agreed. “Guess Tony Stark doesn’t have anything on you, huh, Ms. Dukes?”
“Hell no. That pansy has nothing on me,” she put out a hand and Scott gave her back the arm piece. “Except maybe intellect, money and a seriously fucked up medical problem with his heart.”
Scott looked at John. “We still rocking version two point ohs?”
John shook his head. “No, we also have three point ohs. They’re stronger than our last set and this time, they have three levels of ablative armor.”
“Fuck yeah!” Scott grinned and high-fived John. “We are going to ROCK that joint!” Scott did a little pop dance, spun around to end up looking back at John and Jean.
John looked back. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
Scott laughed then shrugged. “John, I can’t even spell ablative, much less confirm what I think it is.”
Jean sighed. “Scott, why don’t you give me your best shot at what it means?”
Scott folded his arms across his chest, then reached up to scratch his neck. “I’m assuming it is some level of hardened plastic material, that you’ve spray painted or used other application methodology which, in turn, protects against lasers and shit by using vaporization, erosion and maybe chipping at a controlled rate, I suppose.” He finally stopped scratching his neck to look down at Jean.
Jean’s mouth opened and stayed open.
Scott winked at John. “Don’t mess with the NYPD SWAT, we just might know what the hell you’re talking about.”
John snickered until Jean slapped him. “This isn’t bros before hos, Mr. Grimes!” She eyed him for a second.
“Sweetie, you should have seen your face. Flies could have landed inside your mouth,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin.
“Whatever, you two masculine mental midgets.” She huffed. “Yes, Scott you are correct. The ablative has been added in case we get more lasers like the drones are seeing in the cave systems. We borrowed some of the technology from defense companies and coupled it with Yollin co-polymer…’
“Stop!” Scott put up a hand. “I concede, please don’t start tossing around chemical names or my masculine mental midget mind will explode.” he spread his hands apart starting at his ears, mimicking an explosion.
“Hmmmph,” she responded. “I’ll be nice to you, this time. Otherwise, Cheryl Lynn might come find me when you can’t carry on a conversation for more than twenty seconds without needing a reset.”
“Now that you mention it,” Scott started.
“Stop!” This time, it was Jean. “I’ve heard enough from Cheryl Lynn to understand I might not want to know anything past reset. I promise to not explain chemical makeup of ablative technologies and you promise not to mention anything about what reset entails, deal?”
Scott shrugged. “Deal.”
Jean turned around and Scott winked at John.
Outside Chicago, Illinois, USA
Her worried eyes glanced in his direction, so he smiled at her and the girls. It wasn’t like he was in control at the moment, and if there was anyone that might be able to help his family leave his home while under protection, it would be TQB.
He had written four different messages, set to leave in, he looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes. They should give those who knew him his reasons for doing this. Whether they cared to share the information with the world was another matter.
“Dad, where are we going?” He smiled at his oldest daughter.
“Well, where we end up is a little vague at the moment, but right now, we’re going on a trip,” he said.
She looked at the small suitcases of clothing their Mom told them to bring. “Dad, I don’t have near enough clothes if we are going to be gone for longer than,” she eyed her suitcase again, “eight hours.”
Girls, indecipherable as teenagers and completely opaque as grown women. Maybe that had more to do with the simplicity of men’s minds compared to most women. Whoever believed that boys and girls are the same should have their heads examined for an inability to recognize truth when she bitch slaps them upside their heads.
The doorbell rang and he stood up, using a hand gesture to tell his wife and daughters to stay put. His steps echoed as he walked down the ceramic tiled hallway from the back to the front door. He looked through the peephole and then went back and did it again.
There was a man in a monk’s outfit on his stoop.
He opened the door partway and stuck his head out. “Yes?”
The man lifted his hood off of his head. “I apologize for the outfit, I haven’t had to use it in a long time. My name is Barnabas.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, waving at one of the secret service who had nodded his head in their direction. Barnabas turned back to the ex-President. “I have had discussions with all of the security here and the two unmarked sedans a little way down the street. They understand you and the family are sneaking out for a movie, and they are here to make sure no one figures out you’re gone.”
Barnabas raised an eyebrow. “So, may I come in?”
The ex-President nodded and opened the door further, stepping aside to let this TQB holy man inside. He never noticed Barnabas releasing a small handful of drones from his hand.
—
Mark Medlin knocked on the front door of the ex-President’s house. He glanced at his watch and then knocked a little louder.
“I told you, sir. He and his family stepped out for a movie,” Agent Terrence Burrow said from behind Agent Medlin. The agent had arrived two minutes ago, upset that the ex-President wasn’t answering calls from Washington.
And neither had his security team.
Mark turned around. “The ex-President of the United States doesn’t just go out and enjoy a movie with his family! Not without permission.” He knocked louder, still didn’t get a response. “Terrence, open this damned door.” Mark stepped to the side to allow Terrence access.
Terrence shrugged and stepped up. Pulling out his keys he flipped through them until he had
the one for the front door. He reached forward, unlocked the door and stepped back.
Mark watched him step back and pressed his lips together. Stepping forward, he turned the knob, opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Hello? Anyone home?” He didn’t hear any noise coming from inside.
This couldn’t be good.
Terrence waited outside, refusing Mark’s request to join him. “It is,” Terrence told Mark, “a free country still, right?”
Two minutes later, Mark came out of the house, slamming the front door behind him and talking on the phone, “I don’t know where the hell they went! Yes, I got the message they went to the movies, but with who? They didn’t walk. How do I know? Because, dipshit...” Mark kicked a small rock in anger. It skipped down the driveway, “there are no cars missing!”
The Kurtherian Gambit Omnibus 05 - The Fans Version: My Ride is a Bitch - Don't Cross This Line - Never Submit Page 49