GAIA: Rogue State (A Girl Power Novella)

by P. T. Dilloway

  “What if he doesn’t? What if he stays that way? What if he’d rather stay in prison than be with me?”

  “Come on, there’s no way that will happen. I don’t know what’s going on here, but something doesn’t smell right. We’ll figure out what it is, all right?”

  “I…I guess.” Tonya looks up at her, her face even more of a mess now. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

  “I know.”

  Sirens begin to wail. Melanie picks up her phone. “There’s no need for the alarms. She’s standing down.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, but we got a situation inside. He’s broken out.”

  “Who?”

  “Hitter.”

  ***

  There are plenty of weapons available in a prison infirmary. Hitter plays possum until he’s sure the guards have stopped paying attention. He’s been careful to worm his way out of the blankets without anyone noticing.

  No one still notices when he rolls out of the bed. The guards have just begun to turn around when he shoves the bed at them. It’s damned heavy, but he’s got enough strength behind it to stagger both guards. While they’re disoriented, Hitter grabs an IV cord. It’s not as strong as a garrote, but it works well enough to put one guard to sleep. The other is much easier; Hitter reaches into the pocket of the guard he knocked out to take his knife and then hurl it into the other man’s throat.

  He takes their sidearms, giving him a pair of Colts. He’d much rather have a silenced Beretta like he usually uses, but this will have to do. For this operation he couldn’t bring anything in with him; he had to come in practically as naked as the day he was born, at least as far as weapons go. He is mercifully still wearing the clothes they found him in.

  There’s no alarm yet as he makes his way from the infirmary to the holding cells. His employer told him where the target would be. They haven’t moved him to the general population yet; he’s far too valuable.

  There is another pair of guards blocking the way to the holding cells. Hitter has no choice but to use the guns. He hits one in the throat and the other between the eyes; that bloke will be getting a closed-casket funeral. Unfortunately the sound of the shots prompts someone to hit an alarm. If he doesn’t hurry he’ll be staying here for more than a couple of hours.

  He takes keys from one of the dead guards to let him into the holding cells. Hitter dives behind a desk before a guard fires his AR-15 in a wild burst. Hitter waits for the burst to stop before he peeks over the desk and then fires a blind shot. The guard goes down with blood pooling around his head.

  There are three more to take out. None of them are a challenge. He leaves them all in heaps on the floor, stepping over them until he reaches the proper cell. There’s a fingerprint system that requires lifting one of the dead guards enough to activate it. Then the cell door yawns open.

  The man looks familiar for some reason. He should be; Hitter saw him in the dossier before the job. “Who are you?” the man shouts.

  “They said you been doing some talking, Doc. I’m going to put a stop to that.”

  “No, you can’t—” He doesn’t get any farther before Hitter empties one of the Colts into his chest. He puts a bullet from the other into the man’s brain just to make sure.

  “Looks like I just did, mate,” Hitter growls. Then he turns to go.

  The escape is going to be a bit dicey since security is on to him. There’s supposed to be a raft waiting for him down the beach, one of those Cuban jobs that can get him to Florida so he can disappear. To get there will be tricky. He needs to hurry—

  He sees he’s too late when he gets back out to the main corridor. There’s some kind of blue-and-silver robot charging towards him. He raises his gun. The robot reaches up to reveal a girl’s face. “Diane, don’t shoot!”

  “Who the bloody hell’s Diane?”

  The girl keeps running, but Hitter doesn’t fire. She seems familiar for some reason. Then he remembers—Ion Man. Except he’s one of those who’s become a girl now. His employer mentioned he’d missed a lot of excitement in the last two years.

  Ion Girl wraps her metal arms around him. “They really did it,” she says. “But don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up.”

  “The hell are you talking about, woman?”

  “Tonya, get back!” another girl shouts. Hitter sees a woman in a powder blue-and-white catsuit running towards them. He has no idea who this is; she must be one of them Super Squad people. A sidekick by how young she looks.

  “Come on,” Ion Girl says. “Let’s get out of here.”

  It’s risky to take rides from strangers, but at this point Hitter doesn’t see much alternative. “How you planning that?”

  “Like this.” She raises one arm to fire a grenade into the ceiling. Debris showers down into the corridor. While the dust is still flying, Ion Girl hugs him again. His feet turn warm; he realizes she’s activated her jets. “God, you’re a lot heavier now. We need more throttle.”

  The heat is enough to start burning through his boots, but finally they’re airborne. The girl in the catsuit is visible in the hole, looking up at them. He can’t hear what she says. He’s tempted to reach for his gun, but there’s no time.

  Maybe next time.

  Chapter 12

  Melanie always feels her age when she has to talk to General Reggie Luden, the head of the Joint Chiefs. Like many he looks about thirty, though he’s much older. His face, especially his eyes, still have the hardened look of someone who’s been a soldier for forty years. He looks angrier than usual when she tells him about Hitter breaking out of the prison after killing Dr. Klinsmann. “And that other girl of yours helped him to escape?”

  “Tonya isn’t officially part of GAIA,” Melanie says. “She consults with us from time to time.”

  “I don’t give a good damn. The point is she helped a dangerous criminal escape. And you let her.” General Luden shakes his head. “I don’t know what the president was thinking, letting a girl manage this much responsibility.”

  “If you’ll recall, it was Tonya who saved the president and several other key members of the government.”

  “After your team let my predecessor get melted.”

  “I’m sorry, General. There was nothing we could do for her—him.”

  “I’m going to ask the president to put both of them on the hit list.”

  Melanie tries to keep calm. “The hit list” is the government’s list of targets who are to be terminated on sight, usually with a drone strike. “That’s a bad idea, General. Ion Girl can take down any drones you throw at her. And Hitter isn’t stupid enough to let you get in position to use one on him.”

  “Than what do you suggest? Calling in the rest of those super freaks?”

  Again Melanie needs to work hard to keep her temper. “Freaks” like Garlak, Midnight Spectre, and Apex Girl are the only reason Luden and the rest of the world didn’t get absorbed by Omega. “I don’t think we’re to that point yet, General. We still don’t know what happened to Hitter or what he found in Africa.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in intelligence?”

  “We’re still investigating—”

  “As I recall, Giordano was your only field agent. Now that she—he—has been compromised, you don’t have anything except that monster you keep locked up.”

  “I don’t keep Garlak locked up. She’s free to move about whenever she wants. As to your other point, I’ve been doing some investigating on my own. That’s why I was here.”

  “Fat lot of good it did.”

  “I’m sorry, General. I’ve already been in contact with the Super Squad. Once I’ve found out what’s going on I can call them in. Until then, we don’t need to escalate the situation by endangering civilians.”

  “And you don’t think your friends are going to do that while they’re running around loose?”

  “Hitter is an assassin. He doesn’t kill random people. And even when she was a man, Ion Girl never killed wantonly.”

&n
bsp; The general continues to glare at her even as he considers her words. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours, General. Then I’m going to bring the full weight of the US military down on your buddies.”

  “Thank you, General Luden.” The general breaks the connection. Melanie sighs and then leans back in her chair. She turns to the warden. “I need my plane cleared to leave ASAP.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Africa.”

  ***

  Dr. Pierce sobs with joy to see the town ahead of her. She worries for a moment it might be a mirage. Those are more common in deserts, but she hasn’t eaten or drunk anything in twelve hours, so it’s entirely possible her mind could be playing tricks on her.

  The closer she gets, the more she knows it’s real. The sound of car engines and smell of exhaust is much too real for her mind to manufacture; she’s never been known for her imagination in any case. She isn’t sure what town this is, but it doesn’t look very big. It’s probably not much larger than where she lived in England, though the buildings are far more ramshackle after the years of back-and-forth fighting in the region.

  She self-consciously runs her hands over her shirt and hair as she limps past the first buildings. Someone should have a radio here so she can contact this General Melanie Amis Diane told her to call. If they don’t have a radio or satellite phone or some such technology, then she should be able to at least get some transportation to a larger city, Nairobi perhaps, where there will be a British embassy.

  At this point she would like nothing better than to drink some tea and eat some crumpets in a parlor and then take a long nap on a real mattress. It occurs to her now that England has truly become her home, not this jungle that gave birth to her. Why did she ever think it was a good idea to come here? She should have listened to her grandchildren.

  “You there!” a man snaps. His voice has an Australian accent as he says, “What are you doing out here?”

  She turns to see the man is white with a blond crew cut. His arms are decorated with swastikas, iron crosses, and skulls wearing German military helmets. He’s dressed in camouflage pants and an olive drab tank top. A huge sidearm hangs from a holster around his waist. This is not the sort of man she wants to ask for help. “I’m only passing through,” she says. “Perhaps you could direct me to a restaurant or pub?”

  His eyes narrow at her. Her voice has clearly indicated she’s a stranger. “Where did you come from?”

  “Nairobi,” she lies.

  “You walked all the way here?”

  “No, of course not. My vehicle broke down a short distance from here. Is there a mechanic here?”

  “There’s a garage about two blocks down.”

  “Thank you kindly.” She nods to him and then toddles off as fast as she can. She knows there will be trouble when she sees two more men ahead of her dressed the same as the first. Between her and them she sees a market. She bolts inside.

  The air is warmer than outside and more humid. From the flies buzzing around she knows better than to buy anything that’s not bottled or canned. The refrigerated case lights flicker, but still the bottles of water inside beckon to her. She opens the case, but then remembers she doesn’t have any money. She doesn’t even have anything to barter.

  In all her life she’s never stolen anything. She considers doing so now, but the shopkeeper is staring at her; she’s the only customer in here. She shuts the case and then goes up to the counter. “Please, sir, I’ve walked a very long way. I need to contact someone. Is there a telephone or radio I could use?”

  The man speaks in a language she doesn’t understand. The way he gestures at her indicates he’s not very happy with her. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t understand.” She holds up one hand to her face, the thumb and pinkie stretching out to mimic a telephone. “Telephone? Radio? Please—”

  He snaps something at her. She supposes he wants her to buy something or get out, the universal attitude of shopkeepers around the world. Then she hears footsteps behind her. The two men from down the block have come into the store. They aren’t browsing the merchandise, their gaze focused only on her.

  There must be a back door she can use. Over her shoulder she sees what must be the storeroom. She tries to sound pleasant as she says, “I need to make use of your facilities, good sir.” Then she marches towards the storeroom. The shopkeeper shouts after her, but he’s too late to stop her.

  As she expected, the men follow her. She hurries over to a crude wooden door. She throws it open—

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the blond man says with a sneer. She turns but the other two have her boxed in.

  “Nowhere anymore,” she says as the blond man seizes her arm to lead her away. She looks down glumly at her feet, knowing she’s failed Diane and perhaps the world.

  ***

  Tonya sets down in Haiti, not a moment too soon for Darrien it seems. He shoves her back the moment his feet touch the ground. “About bloody time,” he growls. “I had a boat waiting for me.”

  “There are plenty of other boats here,” Tonya says. “We can get one—”

  ‘“We?’ What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m not going to abandon you. Not until I know what’s going on.”

  “Listen, love, thanks for the lift, but I work alone.” He pulls out his pistol to aim at her head. The helmet will stop any bullet from hitting her brain, but the resulting headache could last for days.

  “What happened to you, Diane? Don’t you remember me?”

  “My name is Darrien. You call me ‘Diane’ one more time—”

  “And you’ll do what? I have enough artillery in this suit to turn you into a puddle.”

  “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t kill me.”

  “I don’t want to, but I need you to start making sense. What happened to you? Why did you make yourself a man again? You knew they would come after you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been asleep the last year.”

  “The hell you have! You’ve been a girl named Diane. You’re my girl. Don’t you remember?”

  “I think you have me confused with someone else. Now, I have to be going—”

  Tonya triggers the electromagnetic beam on her right arm. The pistol flies out of Darrien’s hands, over to her feet. The beam starts to reel him in by his belt buckle. He fights against this, his groans sounding a lot more guttural than the ones she remembers from the bedroom.

  He finally does the only thing he can: he undoes his belt to let his pants drop. With some thrashing he kicks them off, at her face. Before she can cut the beam, the pants fly into her face. “This was a bad idea,” she grumbles.

  By the time she knocks the pants to the ground, he’s a good quarter-mile away. She hops into the air while cutting in her jets. It only takes about thirty seconds for her to land in front of him. “You don’t seem to get it yet,” she says. “I’m not leaving—”

  He punches her in the face, then doubles over, cursing while holding his hand. “Did turning you back into a man make you stupid too? I’m wearing a metal suit, jackass.”

  “I’m a bit out of practice, love.” There’s a little of Diane in the way he smiles at her. “Did you happen to bring my pants?”

  “No.” She glances down, noticing for the first time the bulge in the crotch of his striped boxers. A sick feeling runs through her to see that symbol of his male potency, the symbol she no longer possesses. “I need to understand what happened to you. Then we can fetch your pants.”

  “Or I suppose you’ll fly me back to that prison, yeah?”

  “I should. Then at least they’d make you a girl again.”

  “Stop saying that! I was never a damned girl.”

  “Oh yeah?” Tonya opens the compartment where she keeps her phone. It’s hard to use it with her gauntlets on, so she tosses it to Darrien. “Go ahead, turn it on.”

  He touches the screen. His eyes narrow as he no doubt
sees her wallpaper, a picture of her and Diane at a club in Atomic City. As always Diane doesn’t smile, her eyes glaring daggers at the camera while Tonya purses her lip as if to kiss Diane’s cheek. Tonya had taken that picture and hundreds more like it over the last year.

  “That ring any bells?” Tonya asks.

  “You’re a dyke. So what?”

  “Are you that dense? Look at that girl’s face. She’s you. You’re my girlfriend. And, well, I always hoped you’d be something more.”

  “You’re mad. Whoever this girl is, she’s a girl and clearly I’m not.” He hurls the phone in the direction of his pants. “Now you can either take me to prison or get out of my way.”

  “How about a third option?” She lifts her ion rifle at him.

  “You won’t use that. Not if you think I’m your girlfriend. You wouldn’t kill sweet little Diane, would you?”

  “Who said anything about killing you?” She fires a burst into his right leg. The rifle is on its lowest setting, but that’s still enough to leave a second-degree burn on his thigh. He howls with pain as he drops onto one knee.

  “You bloody cunt!”

  “Unless you want the other leg to match, you’re going to tell me who sent you to that prison.”

  “We don’t deal in names. There are intermediaries. Code names. Anonymous wires into Swiss bank accounts. You’ve watched the spy movies, yeah?”

  “Then give me your contact. We can work up the chain of command.”

  “That won’t do any good. There are far too many layers. They’re there to prevent this sort of thing.”

  Tonya fires a shot six inches to Darrien’s left. He yelps with surprise. She hates doing this to him, but she has to find out what’s going on and fix it before the jackbooted thugs Melanie works with can get their hands on Darrien. “Give me a name. Now.”

  “There’s a pub in London. They make a dead drop there when they need me.”

  “Then I guess we’re going to London.”

  She holds out her hand to help him to his feet. As soon as she does, she finds herself being spun to the ground. Darrien grins down at her, the ion rifle in his hands now. “Go on and take off that helmet so I can see your pretty face.”