When the Devil Dances

Wendy shook her head angrily at that, striding along the corridor. “I don’t have the ‘proper psychological profile,’” she snarled. “It seems that I’m ‘uncomfortable with my aggressive tendencies’ and ‘present an unstable aggression profile.’ It’s the same excuse that was used for why I couldn’t join ground forces. Catch-22. If you’re a woman and you think you’d make a good soldier, you must be unstable. Same for security.”

“S’crazy,” Elgars said. “No women ’n s’cur’ty?”

“Oh, there are women,” Wendy answered with a snort. “They wouldn’t have a security department if there weren’t; all the males that aren’t Four-F are in the Ground Forces or buried. But the women in security are ‘comfortable with their aggressive tendencies.’ ”

“Huh?” Elgars said as they came to another cross corridor. “Whuh that m’n?”

“Well, what do we have here?” a voice asked from the side as an alarm began to beep. “If it isn’t Wendy Wee. And who’s your friend? And why don’t you keep your hands where I can see them. And put the bag on the ground and step away from it.”

Wendy moved her hands away from her side as the three guards spread out. All three were wearing blue vaguely military looking uniforms, bulky body-armor and ballistic helmets. Two were carrying pulser guns, short barreled weapons vaguely resembling shotguns that threw out small, electrically charge darts. The darts transmitted a high-voltage shock that would shut down the human, or Posleen, nervous system. The leader, a stocky female, had a charge-pistol dangling from her hand. The GalTech weapon projected a line of heavy-gas that acted as a charge carrier for a massive electrical field. The weapon was short ranged, but it was capable of penetrating all but the most advanced armor.

“Hello, Spencer,” Wendy said with a thin smile. “My ‘friend’ is Captain Elgars. And she is authorized, as you know, to carry whatever she wants.”

“I could give a shit what you say, Cummings,” said the leader. “I’ve got you dead to rights smuggling guns.” Spencer turned to Elgars and gestured at the bag with her charge-pistol. “Put down the bag and step away from it or you’re going to get a taste of my little friend.”

Wendy glanced over at Elgars and blanched. The captain was still as a statue, but it was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a stillness of fear. The redhead was staring at the guard like a basilisk and it was clear that she was on the ragged edge of violence.

“Annie, put down the bag and show the nice guard your ID, slowly,” Wendy said.

“Shut up, Cummings,” snarled the guard sergeant stepping up to Elgars and tapping her on the chest with the pistol. “Are you going to put down that bag or are you going to drop it ’cause you’re twitching on the floor?”

Elgars slowly looked down at the pistol then held the bag out to the side and dropped it. As it fell she reached up and twisted the pistol out of the sergeant’s hand. A short flurry of hand motions had the weapon in nine pieces which she scattered across the corridor. The captain reached down as the guard started to draw her truncheon and seized Spencer’s wrist in a bone crushing grip.

The guard sergeant froze, caught by pit-bull-like grip and the lambent green fire of the captain’s eyes; the two other guards didn’t have a clear shot since their team-leader’s body was in the way. Elgars slowly reached into her hip pocket and extracted her ID pack. She flicked it open a handspan away from the struggling guard’s eyes and cocked an eyebrow. “Now, are y’all gonna put them sticks away, or am I gonna stick ’em up yo’ ass?” she said in a soft, honey-smooth southern voice.

“Let go of my wrist,” Spencer ground out, wrenching at the viselike grip.

“Tha’s ‘Let go of mah wrist, ma’am’, ” Elgars whispered, leaning into the guard sergeant so that she could whisper in her ear. “And if you don’t quit struggling Ah’m going to feed you yo’ arm, one inch at a tahm.”

“Let go of my wrist, ma’am,” the guard ground out. As the pressure from Elgars’ grip increased instead, she ground out a: “Please.”

Elgars relented and Spencer finally wrenched her arm away. She shook her wrist, trying to get some circulation back in her hand, and it was clear that she would prefer to just leave the confrontation. But her pistol was scattered all over the ground. She looked up at the captain, who over-topped her by at least an inch.

Wendy smiled brightly and stepped behind Elgars to pick up the bag. “We’ll just be going now,” she said, grabbing Elgars’ arm. “Right, Captain?”

Elgars leaned forward and looked carefully at the guard’s nametag. “Yes,” she said softly. “O’ course. Ah’m sure we’ll be seein’ quaht a bit of each othah, won’t we, Sarn’t… Spencer is it?”

“Of… of course, ma’am,” Spencer answered. “Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

* * *