Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Highland at least had a good speech writer, and was a decent presenter. If Bart could appreciate it through the language barrier, it must be effective in English.

“… we should not see this as a wall dividing people, but as a joint effort in architecture, an agreement on boundaries, from which we can move forward…”

Something fell, and his mind said it was tossed from over the wall. His glasses flashed a trajectory, but it was hand tossed, not projected. The laser hadn’t stopped it because it was not a balloon, too massive. It was a real threat.

Bart stared down. It was a grenade, equidistant between Highland and himself. He was going to die, unless…

The Marine on his left outside was a head shorter, and in reach. Bart grabbed the pull handle on the front of the man’s armor, swung and threw while jumping. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jason and Alex hurl Highland right and rear.

The Marine landed on his back on the grenade, there was a crash..

… and Bart woke up in hospital.

It seems I survived, he thought to himself.

He did a quick check. He could feel all his limbs, and feel the pressure of the bed and sheets against them, so nothing was missing. His entire body burned and stung, but it all seemed to be functional. He was thirsty and hungry. A glance at the monitor proved his neck still worked, and that his vital signs were normal.

Alex said, “Well done.” He sat across the room on a chair. He rose and approached. Mbuto was with him.

“Is everyone okay?” Bart asked. Then he said in English, “Is everyone okay?”

Alex smiled and nodded. “Everyone is fine. That was inspired. You got the kid over the grenade and his back plate damped the blast into the ground. He took a little grazing frag to feet and scalp, as it rattled through his helmet, and severe bruising as he landed. You both went about four meters straight up.”

Mbuto said, “You’re stung and flash burned but intact and in observation. They let the sedative wear off because there’s nothing wrong with you beyond the stun. Not even a severe concussion.”

It confused him for a moment when the talking continued, and he realized it was Alex again. He looked that way.

Alex said, “I’m reporting it up the chain because it was brilliant. We couldn’t have run far enough, had no cover to dive behind, and you got that Marine over it in under a second. Everyone survived with no more than minor scrapes, Highland has a heroic story for her followers, and we’re all alive. Thanks for saving my life, and everyone else’s.” He extended a hand.

Bart took it carefully, shook, and glanced around as well as his position allowed. He made sure they were alone, and whispered, “Alex, I didn’t know he had a back plate.”

Marlow’s eyebrows flared slightly. Mbuto choked back a laugh.

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t mention that,” he said.

Alex left the clinic in a bit of shock. Certainly, they knew there was a risk of casualties. Aramis had taken fire before, and Elke had an arm beat up pretty bad in a fight. They’d risked toxic atmosphere, been too close to explosions, and of course, shot at any number of times, as well as being gassed with everything from irritants to incapacitants. But this was the first time he’d had two men down in a mission. Aramis was lucky to be alive, and so was Bart, really.

But that paled next to what Bart had just admitted. Yes, it was their job to save the principal. Yes, they’d do whatever it took to accomplish that. But had Bart actually admitted to using an allied troop as a meat shield? Had the man died, there’d be hell to pay. Though perhaps he thought it would get spun as heroism on the Marine’s part. Or perhaps Highland would spin it as an attack on her greatness and it would all get lost in the howling.

Otherwise, Bart was a callous, calculating killer. Jokes aside, he wasn’t sure if he wanted that trait among his people.

Still, they were all unhurt, the principal was unharmed, and the worst case would have been one dead Marine.

The math still bothered him.

Maybe it should.

For now, he’d assume tactical brilliance on Bart’s part, and quick thinking over callousness.

As they went out into ruddy overcast, Shaman seemed to pick up on the thought.

“There isn’t time to be more than practical, sometimes.”

“It’s better than the alternative,” he said.

As he entered their quarters, everyone came through and looked up, including Cady.

Shaman said, “He’s fine. They’ll release him tomorrow.”

Aramis asked, “And the Marine?”

“Yes, he’s a little worse for wear, but all superficial.”

Jason said, “Report on Highland: hearing loss, almost certainly temporary, minor disorientation, no gratitude.”

“Of course. And JessieM? The frag?”

Shaman said, “It was a thrown pebble. Easily extracted with ultrasound and vacuum. The bone was treated with Ossifix. Next time she should wear boots.”

“Good all around, then.”

Aramis said, “And we were correct on the lethal escalation.”

“Yes. But, we still don’t know either the local actor or the power behind it. I’d like at least one.”

Cady said, “They’re conducting an investigation to try to find the local. It was a hand grenade, but thrown from a rifle with a blank cartridge, so they have that to work with.”

“Archaic,” he frowned. “And someone who was good at ballistics. That does narrow it down, if they have any leads on who fits those criteria.”

Elke said, “Highland asked me personal questions about fitting armor to her figure. So she’ll be better protected after this.”

Jason said, “And she’ll blab that to the press to show how brave she is, so the next real threat knows they need a bigger bomb or a sniper.”

Elke said, “That’s my assessment also.”

Cady asked, “Did you get the news load?”

“No.”

“Stand by.” She cycled her phone and slid up the volume.

“… Ms. Highland’s popularity is reaching giddy proportions as she fearlessly tackles Mtali. What started as a summit meeting has become a classic battle of courage that hints of a great strength of character. Could this be a hint of executive power?”

She turned off the feed.

Jason shrugged. “Like it or not, we’re helping her career.”

Aramis said, “She’s helping her career. She could bow out any time. We’re just the muscle.”

“It seems like we do more than that.”

Alex shouldn’t be frustrated by now, but it happened with boring regularity. “Yes, we get blown up and abused, and blamed for it because we were asking for it, by protecting the target. But if we let her down, we’ll get blamed for that, too.”

Aramis said, “I do love the size of those checks, though.”

Jason said, “So do I, but there are easier taskings, and I can roll this experience into those, and my land is paid for. Nor am I young anymore.”

Aramis said, “Hell, I’m not young after that.”

Jason looked serious again as he said, “I’m glad we got you, brother.”

Alex said, “Are we concluding three threats?”

“I think so,” Jason said. “One seeking harassment. The MO was different on the ones she staged. One is seeking to kill her as efficiently as possible, and one is very sophisticated, still largely not identified.”

Alex sighed. “Well, we’re going to earn our pay from here out.”

A limo was not Jason’s preferred vehicle, even for a trip to the Colonial Liaison Office. Anymore, he wanted the ARPAC every time, even if it was less comfortable.

Highland’s visit covered personal business relative to the election, making official interviews with several press outfits. They weren’t allowed in any military or BuState location, and Alex had refused to certify any private location. The CLO was acceptable to everyone, so all that remained was to track the mileage and time for charging back to her campaign. How many accountants did it take to do all this?