A Soldier For All Seasons Ch. 27

"Fuck's sake."

Nate pulled the man's sleeves up — no armguard.

"Fuck's sake." He repeated.

But in the back pocket, he found a black chunky handheld radio.

*Wow, what's next? Telegrams?* Isabelle sniffed disdainfully.

"Must be using these to communicate to stay off the holo-network." Nate murmured.

The radio hissed to life. "Docking in paradise now, we're almost there boys. Don't leave anything behind." Jarek's smug voice.

Nate felt the ship judder and sway and settle. The legs extended once more, leaving him staring at a polished cream floor. Where the fuck they were?

He waited for what felt like forever until he heard the voices and footsteps finally move away and then he rolled onto the leg and slid down to its feet, keeping low.

A hangar, of pink and cream pastels. A fountain gurgled between two ornate stairwells. Above it was imprinted the words 'Welcome to Paradise'.

"A pleasure ship." Nate said flatly.

*It has to be.*

"Fuck, these things are heavy." Nate peered to see two men carrying a long pointed torpedo, white and emblazoned with the tell-tale small print of military origins.

"Ya," came the reply.

"Are you lifting?"

"Ya."

"Come on, man. My back's breaking here."

"Ya."

"Funny fucker, huh?"

"Ya."

"Asshole. Whose jaunt is this, anyway?"

"Emily Mason. Rented the whole thing with her and her famous buddies."

"The model? Don't! Don't say it!"

"Ok."

"Wish she was here instead of you, she's hot as fuck. I love that prim and proper classical thing she's got going on. How we gonna get through the blockade in Emily Mason's ship without Emily Mason?"

"Who do you think the boss has in those headbags he just took out?"

"Fuck off."

"You fuck off. She and her boytoy just ran back to their transport at the first hint of trouble — the boss told us they would. Magda couldn't believe her luck when they walked up the ramp."

"I swear the boss has mind control or some shit."

"Best not say that around him."

"Or even think it."

"Drop it here with the others."

Nate waited for them to go. He didn't need Isabelle to identify the arms. Shieldbreakers, they called them. Pointed torpedos with missile thrust — crucially they were primed with a full tank of fission-primed plasma inside, turning an old weapon into a very new, very dangerous one. Nate had never seen them break a shield, but he'd heard stories.

Jarek wasn't playing games. A big pleasure ship like this would have a weapons system to load the torpedoes, but nowhere near this level of arms. Even the Federation didn't usually carry these things.

Nate followed them up the stairs, hanging back as best he could. He needed more information if he was going to be the wrench in Jarek's plans. The ship was so big it had signposts — swimming pool, sauna, gym, massage room, dining room. A ship this large needed a sizable staff, and that was the problem.

Hostages.

He trailed them across plush carpets. A shortcut through an arcade, classic rock playing from the plastic facsimiles of hoverbikes and fighter ships. Vending machines and plushy toy claw machines. A photo booth, wallpapered with smiling children at a surf simulator. 'Welcome to Paradise!' it read above their heads, once more.

Nate did not feel welcome.

His hand trailed up gilded handrails as they climbed. The door to the bridge was already open — Nate hung back in the stairwell, his vision limited.

But he could hear fine.

A glimpse of Jarek. Emily on her knees. Mena beside her. Where were the other hostages?

He had a barrel to her head. Nate clenched his fists — he couldn't make a move, not now.

"I'm not going to ask again. Demand that the blockade open up. Say anything else, shout, any thing I interpret as a code word, I kill another hostage. Look at my face."

Emily shook, whimpering. "I-I don't have that sort of power. I'm just a model!"

Jarek squatted beside her, gripping her chin. "You had better hope you do or your boyfriend's brains are going to splatter all over that pretty dress of yours. Best hope you're a good actor."

"O-ok, ok, I'm doing it."

She stepped up in front of the bridge. Jarek opened up a video hail to the Destiny.

The screen switched colors. On the bridge, General Hall appeared, hands behind his back, buttons straining on his jacket.

Oh, fuck.

"Hi, this is Emily Mason of the Paradise."

"Emily! General Hall here, I took your comms immediately when I saw it was you! You remember me of course?"

"Of course," Emily smiled, looking down shyly. "How could I forget? From the charity dinner in ah—"

"Yes, that's right, in Calaman. You're just as beautiful as you were that day, my dear."

"Oh, General, you're too kind. Listen, sir, I do hate to be a bother, but I'm so frightened, there was a shooting at the—"

"You poor thing! Were you there?"

"Y-yes, I was. I...me and my friends, we just really want to get out of here and back home, you understand, is there any way you could let us through?"

The General hummed and hawwed, looking uncomfortable, skin reddening. "Well, I mean, the regulations, you see, and the orders—"

"Oh, General," Emily pushed her chest forward. "I'm sure you're the one giving orders, being a General and all!"

"Well, that's true, just a Brigadier General of course, but a General all—"

"I'd be ever so grateful." She said coyly.

The General coughed, looking to his side. "I suppose that...yes, there's no chance our Emily is a shooter, of course. Rules are meant to be broken, I was known as a rulebreaker in my youth, you know?"

Emily squealed. "You're too kind! We simply must have dinner soon."

His face brightened, moustache wobbling. "We shall, we shall! I'll be in touch."

"As will I!" Emily promised.

The comms turned off. She slumped to her knees. On the screen in front, the ships parted, a hole made.

Nate gaped.

Jarek laughed. "Well done, girl. Looks like your boyfriend gets to live a little longer — unless you've decided you'd prefer the good General, that is?"

Nate retreated back down the stairs, dipping into the photobooth. He sat down with a sigh and stared at himself in the mirror. What was he going to do?

His shirt ripped and bloody. His trousers wet and stained. His face a mess of red blotches. His knee wanted to give out. He glittered from the amount of glass shards in his face. In his shirt pocket, a short-range radio. In his hand, a revolver with no bullets.

It wasn't ideal.

The mirror glimmered, an message appearing in the middle. "Paradise Central — only a credit for a photo that you'll treasure forever!"

Nate leaned against the wall, trying to force himself into regular breaths. Something hard jutted into his thigh. He felt his pockets. A cred coin.

Ana's one credit coin — the money from his sugar mommy Princess.

He laughed until he cried.

A photo to remember him by, just in case he failed.

He inserted the coin. The text disappeared, a rectangle to center himself in.

The room flashed, once, twice, thrice.

And there he was, frozen on the screen, bloodied and beaten.

Not at his best, but maybe as he really was, had been, would be. Not a winner, but a fighter.

In the top left corner, a little white cloud, with text inside — 'I'm loving Paradise!"

The screen glimmered again. "Would you like to share your photo? Just enter their holo-address!"

Nate gaped.

Surely...surely not?

He tapped the address onto the screen with shaking fingers. Would Jarek have disabled the ship's comms tower — he'd need it, wouldn't he? He would have disabled the terminal's external access to ensure a runaway hostage didn't communicate...but a rogue photo booth, hidden away in the arcade?

The progress bar sped to completion. A happy ding! 'Photo shared successfully!'

Nate laughed and laughed.