Firebrand

"Come back with me," Moralez insisted, taking another step and extending his hand. "One veteran to another, I won't let them treat you unfairly."

"Should I plead insanity?" Sinclair laughed bitterly, coughing again. "I can't let them do it. I can't let them bring the roaches into the Coalition. You're a survivor, like I am, you know what it could mean. You've fought them face to face, they're pitiless, soulless. There's nothing behind their eyes."

"You hate the Bugs for what they did," Moralez said cautiously, not wanting to lose the progress that he had made so far. "I get that, I hated them for a long time too. I let it eat at me, and that's what it did, like rust making its way through an engine. All that anger, all that hate...it's just going to burn through you until you can't function anymore. Your wheels are spinning, but there's nowhere to go."

"I have to do something," Sinclair replied, his voice cracking. "They're going to let those things join the Coalition, it's probably already decided, and not one of those paper pushers has ever seen what they do first-hand. It's all just...numbers on a screen to them. They hear that some outlying colony got hit, and they say oh no, how terrible, but they don't see it. They don't see people's faces melted down to the skull by plasma weapons, they don't see people coughing up chunks of their own lungs because of the gas. We've been containing their spread for decades, treating them like...like a virus, and now we're just going to open the door and invite them? No," he added, shaking his head adamantly. "Not if I can do something to stop it. You know I'm right, don't deny it."

"I'm not asking you to forgive the Bugs," Moralez said, "but you have to let people do their jobs. It's not up to us, but guys like you and me, we're gonna be there to pick up the pieces if things go sideways. They've got a whole fleet in orbit around Jarilo, with enough ordnance to kill a planet aimed at the valley where the hive is. There's a big-ass gun to their heads, and the moment they make a wrong move...blammo. No more critters."

"And you think the roaches don't know that?" Sinclair demanded. "They'll play the long game, put a knife in our backs when we least expect it. They're just insects, a fly can't expect mercy from a spider. Anyone who says otherwise is just anthropomorphizing them. Why do you think the roach that they brought aboard looks so much like a human? Because they know our weaknesses, they've learned how to exploit us. To them, our compassion and our sympathy are just chinks in our armor, ways for them to...to get inside and poison us from within."

"You've seen the Bug?" Moralez asked. "How?"

"A file was sent to me," Sinclair replied, Moralez's blood running cold. "They told me what was happening, when the roach would be arriving."

"Who sent you this file?" the Chief demanded. "What did they say?"

"I don't know," Sinclair replied, interrupted by another wheezing cough. "And I wouldn't tell you if I did. It was a patriot, someone with a conscience, that's all that needs to be said."

"Did they tell you to attack the ambassador, did they give you instructions?" Moralez pressed.

"I acted of my own volition," the engineer replied, "I'm responsible for my actions. I don't know if other people received the same message, maybe they chose not to act, but I couldn't stand by and let it happen. Someone with high enough clearance to know that the council meeting was going to happen, and when, put their life on the line to get that information out. Who knows what the Navy does to whistleblowers...he could already be dead. I couldn't let that be for nothing."

Moralez was distracted by a flash of light from beyond the shimmering force field. Sinclair noticed his expression, turning to look back at the yawning void. As the Chief's eyes adjusted, he noticed a dark shape, only visible because it was obscuring the stars behind it.

There was something racing towards the hangar, catching the light that spilled out of the opening. Was it a projectile? A missile!? No, it was...

A figure barreled through the force field, smoke rising from the glowing thruster nozzles on his bulky backpack, the station's inertia capturing him as he penetrated the shimmering barrier. He dropped in a lazy arc, crouching low as he skidded along the deck, his prosthetic feet leaving trails of bright sparks in his wake as he shed momentum. He had risen to a firing position before he had even come to a full stop, aiming an XMR at Sinclair, the rifle loaded with sensors and attachments. His face was obscured behind his opaque visor, but the stylized skull decal gave him away. It was Murphy.

Three more followed after him, the SWAR operators landing in much the same way, their prosthetics whirring as they formed their own firing line opposite Moralez and his team. Those were EVAPs, extra-vehicular activity packs, man-portable devices that were used for maneuvering in open space. In this case, the SWAR team had used them like boarding pods. The dark shape beyond the hangar must be their stealth Courser.

Sinclair didn't know what to do, or who to point his weapon at, backing up against the hull of the idle shuttle in a panic. Before he could even react, Murphy fired, a bright flash of light blinding the Chief for a moment as the engineer slumped to the ground in a listless heap.

"Murphy!" Moralez bellowed, loud enough that the man's gaudy visor immediately snapped in his direction. "What the fuck are you doing!?"

"Calm down, mate," Murphy replied jovially. "I just gave 'im a bit of a shock is all. Bugger'll be down for a good fifteen minutes, then he'll be right as rain."

"What are you doing here?" Moralez demanded, clutching his XMH in his hand. "You could have screwed this entire operation, Sinclair was ready to turn himself in! He could have shot you when you came barging into the hangar, or one of your guys might have been forced to shoot him!"

"My boys were listening in on your comms and thought you might need a hand," Murphy replied, the speakers in his helmet giving his voice a synthetic timbre. "You've done a bang-up job, have to admit, but we'll take it from here."

Murphy nodded silently to one of his cronies, the operator moving towards Sinclair's unconscious form, but he faltered as Moralez aimed his weapon at his chest. Boyd and Lorza got the picture, following suit, the line of Borealans behind them pointing their rifles at Murphy and his men.

"What are you doin', mate?" Murphy asked warily. "We're all on the same side here."

"SWAR has no jurisdiction on this station," the Chief replied sternly. "This is my investigation, and that is my prisoner. Your help isn't needed or appreciated, and you need to step the fuck back, right now."

"That sounded like a threat, Security Chief," Murphy replied. The tension in the air could have been cut with a bayonet, the four operators turning their weapons on Moralez and his team in turn. "But I'm sure you didn't mean it that way..."

"I'm taking Sinclair back to the security building," Moralez began, "where he will be interrogated further by UNNI agents. He's had some very interesting things to say so far, he was quite forthcoming, at least until you interrupted us."

"You've got what you need, Chief. You solved the case and caught the bad guy, all in time to meet the Admiral's deadline. I'd give you a round of applause, but I can't clap anymore, you know how it is. Now let me do my job. This guy is gonna spend the next few months on a base that doesn't exist, tellin' us all the things that he shouldn't know."

"I won't allow that," Moralez replied, "I promised this man my protection. Someone has exploited him, victimized him, and this investigation isn't over until I find out who."

"Well, isn't that noble of you?" Murphy said in a mocking tone. "I don't know how Ninnies and two-bit security guards do things, but at SWAR, we have very effective means of extracting information."

There was a bang from across the hangar, one of the Borealan packs that had converged on their location finally making their way through another jammed door. A dozen Shock Troopers piled out, forming a staggered firing line, their long railguns trained on the operators. Raz was with them, standing to one side with her hands on her hips, looking nonchalant.

"We got a problem here, Robocop?" she asked.

"Robocop," Murphy muttered, making no attempt to disguise his contempt. "Cute..."

"I don't know, Gunnery Sergeant," Moralez called back to her without taking his eyes off Murphy. "Why don't you ask the Lieutenant Commander?"

The SWAR operators knew that the odds were stacked in the Chief's favor, lowering their rifles, Murphy's head moving as he spoke into what was probably a closed channel.

"Have it your way, mate," Murphy said as he backed up towards the force field. His men followed suit, turning once they reached the bay door. "I'll be seein' you," the Lieutenant Commander warned, stepping clear of the hangar and pushing himself away. He floated backwards, free of the station's inertial pull, Moralez feeling his stare even through his dark visor. His EVAP emitted a few puffs of gas as he spun to face his ship, a quick spurt of blue flame from the rear-facing thrusters sending him coasting away, his three goons following close behind him.

Moralez finally let himself exhale, the sound of shuffling and creaking filling the hangar as everyone lowered their weapons and the tension lifted. There had almost been a gunfight, saying that Murphy and his SWAR friends were out of line was an understatement.

"Lorza, check on Sinclair," Moralez said as Raz made her way across the hangar with her collection of Shock Troopers in tow. The Polar knelt beside the unconscious engineer, ducking beneath the shuttle's wing, holding a padded finger against his jugular for a few moments.

"He is safe," she said, "but we should call for medical support regardless."

"Agreed," Moralez replied, "put the call through."

"Thought we were gonna have to fight our way out of here for a minute there," Boyd muttered as he sidled up beside the Chief. "I've heard of inter-agency rivalries, but that was ridiculous."

"I get the feeling that Murphy might have killed us if he thought that he could get away with it," Moralez added, "those SWAR guys rubbed me the wrong way from the moment I laid eyes on them."

"Sinclair said that someone tipped him off," Boyd continued, glancing over at the engineer's limp figure. "Not many people would have known about the Bug's visit in advance. Whoever put him up to this chose him specifically, he's just the right amount of unhinged to go through with something like this."

"How could they have known exactly what he would do, or that he would do anything at all?" Moralez asked.

"In my line of work, we call it a sting operation," the agent explained. "It borders on entrapment at the best of times. You single out someone vulnerable or suggestible, maybe with criminal or extremist leanings, then you convince them to go through with a plot that you yourself invented. You propose to sell a guy narcotics, then arrest him when he shows up. You goad someone into blowing up a station and give him fake explosives, or you pose as a hitman and convince some chick to whack her husband for the insurance money."

"Doesn't sound too ethical," the Chief muttered.

"It has its place," Boyd replied with a shrug. "But someone used the same technique on Sinclair, and this time, it wasn't a fake bomb or a baggie full of sugar. It was real."

"He's as much a victim in all this as the ambassador," Moralez sighed. "I feel like I'm looking through a window into some...alternate reality where I never got back on my feet. We went through the same experiences, but at some point, our paths diverged. I was once as angry and as bitter as he is, I felt that same helplessness, that same guilt. I found the light at the end of the tunnel, but Sinclair didn't. I just wish I knew why. Maybe he didn't get the support that he needed, maybe the system failed him. I dunno..."

"You can ask him yourself when he comes to," Boyd suggested.

Raz arrived at their side, giving the Chief a playful punch on the upper arm that would probably have bruised someone with flesh and blood limbs.

"You've been busy these last few days, Robocop. You'll have to give me the rundown when you get some time to visit the recreation center, I don't want to hear it all from Kaisha second-hand."

"Thanks for your help, Raz," he replied. "You're as punctual as ever."

"Don't mention it. Your girlfriend would kill me if I let anything happen to you, and I'm pretty sure she could take me in a fight. What was the deal with those guys, anyway? I've seen them around the station, people have been talking."

"Special Weapons and Advanced Recon," Moralez replied.

"They're like Ninnies, but angrier," Boyd explained, which got a laugh from Raz.

"I got a whole gaggle of recruits with itchy trigger fingers stashed in a service tunnel," she continued as she turned and began to walk away. "I'd better get them back to the barracks before they start eating each other. Later, tree-climbers."

"Guess all we can do now is wait for our friend to wake up," Boyd said. "I recommend we confiscate all of the electronics in his apartment, clear out his workstation too. If we can find some trace of the message that he received, the UNNI technicians may be able to trace it back to its source. It's a longshot, but one that we can't ignore."

"I'll have the MPs handle it," Moralez replied, turning back towards the tunnels. "Get Sinclair back to the security building, I have to see the Admiral about a certain Lieutenant Commander..."

CHAPTER 13: THIRD BASEMAN

Harry awoke on the couch, the dying embers of a sordid dream smoldering in his mind as he came to. One of his arms was numb, and he looked down to see that Holly was sleeping on it. She had turned to face him sometime during the night, her head buried in his chest, her fluffy antennae tickling his nose as they brushed against his face. She was surprisingly warm, her slight frame pressed up tightly against his, one of her four hands clutching the fabric of his jumpsuit.

He began to move slowly, trying not to wake her, but he didn't succeed. Holly's face emerged to peer up at him with her expressive, pink eyes, blinking groggily. Her antennae twitched, and then she pulled them back, as though embarrassed by the fact that they were touching him. She couldn't blush, not with a face made of chitin, but her body language gave the same impression.

"Sleep better?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you," she replied hesitantly. She sat up, freeing his arm, and slid off the edge of the couch. Harry wiggled his fingers, tingling sensation slowly returning to them as she straightened her gossamer wings like a normal woman might straighten a skirt.

"You want some breakfast?" Harry asked, standing up and stretching. The couch didn't exactly make for an ideal bed, perhaps they should sleep in the bedroom next time. Somehow, the idea of sharing a real bed with Holly seemed even less appropriate.

"I should eat more nutrient paste, yes," she replied as she made her way over to the kitchen. Harry followed after her, stepping around Blackjack's prone body.

"Wake up, you lazy lizard," he said as he gave the Krell a gentle kick in the tail. The reptile opened one eye, peering back at him disinterestedly. "You can sleep now, it's my watch."

BJ grumbled his displeasure, rolling onto his back, Harry laughing mischievously.

"Then don't sleep on watch, you handbag."

"Why do you call him that?" Holly asked. "Handbag?"

"Because he sometimes eats loose change?" Harry suggested, giving her a shrug. "There's an animal on Earth that resembles a Krell, we used to make clothing out of them."

"A term of endearment, then?"

"Now you're gettin' it."

He made his way over to the cupboard and fished out one of the transparent packets of yellow fluid, Holly beginning to drink through her proboscis as he sat down beside her.

"So what's on the itinerary for today?" Harry asked. Holly didn't reply, focusing on her meal. "Now that you've run out of ambassadors to argue with, I figured we might do somethin' fun, hang out a little."

"I must meditate in preparation for the next council meeting," Holly replied dismissively.

"Oh, for..." Harry lay his head on the table, giving her an exasperated sigh. "What the hell is the matter with you these past couple of days, anyway? I thought we were startin' to become friends? You were loosenin' up, having a good time."

"I did not come here to have a good time," she replied tersely.

"Well, you've got shit all else to do until the next meeting," Harry complained. "Listen, I've been cooped up in this apartment for the same amount of time as you have. It ain't exactly a cakewalk for me either, lady."

"I'm sure you have ways of entertaining yourself, Sergeant."

"And stop calling me that like we don't know each other," he grumbled, "my name is Harry."

Holly finished off her food packet, then left the table, heading for the bathroom.

"Where are you goin'?" Harry asked.

"I wish to bathe," she replied, "it helps me clear my head."

He rose from his seat, marching across the room, Holly backing up against the bathroom door as he loomed over her.

"If I did somethin' to piss you off, then fair enough," he growled. "But this whole cold-shoulder thing has to stop. Either tell me what's eatin' you, or tell me to go back to being a faceless sentry, and I'll do that."

"Sergeant Hayes, r-remember your duty!" she stammered. There was fear in her pink eyes now, but not of him. Whatever had frightened her was something else. "P-please back away," she begged as he took another step closer, her voice strained. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, as though she could no longer stand the sight of him, unable to retreat any further.

"You're trembling," he muttered, reaching out and taking her hand. Her fleshy fingers were shaking, Holly opening her eyes again, peering up at him imploringly. "Are you sick or somethin'?"

"I...I cannot do this anymore," she mumbled, Harry cocking his head at her.

"What?"

"I feel like I am tearing myself in half," she continued. Harry felt her reciprocate, her grip tightening, clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping her from breaking down. Had all the stress finally gotten to her? The constant fear of a second attack that might come at any moment?

"Hey," he whispered, reaching out and cupping her cheek in his palm. Her face was smoother than it looked, he couldn't even feel the seams between her chitin plates as he stroked her carapace with his thumb in an attempt to soothe her. "I'm not just your guard, I'm your friend. I'm here to help, alright?"

"That is part of the problem," she whined, another of her fleshy hands gripping his wrist. She was surprisingly strong. "I no longer know what I am doing."

"What do you mean?" he asked, bewildered.

"I am an Ambassador," she began, her voice wavering. "That is all I was made to be. I am not like you, I was born already knowing my purpose, I exist to perform a single function. Before I came here, everything was so clear, so simple. But now...I am feeling things that I was never supposed to feel, experiencing emotions that only distract me from my work. The more I interact with humans, the more my human attributes seem to express themselves, and I don't know what to do!"

It wasn't the threat of murder after all, she was going through some kind of...Bug identity crisis.