GI JOE Porn Story: Aint War Hell – Chapter 4

PART
FOUR

—–

Chapter
Thirteen – Green Thumb

—–

The
man was called Destro. So Odem had learned a few days ago, when hed
been privy to an odd conversation between the silver-masked man and
another man, ugly and wearing an eyepatch. The two had spoken hotly
about something called a Cobra Commander, who
apparently was the head of this whole vile organization. Neither
Destro nor Bludd (whose name alternated on Destros hidden and
metal-sounding tongue with the title Major) had any love for
the Cobra Commander, each of them seeming to believe that they could
do much better at playing leader. Certainly Destro appeared to have
the talent for it. Bludd didnt seem to want control of the
organization. He struck Odem as a man who didnt trust anyone as
far as he could throw him. Yet, his visible eye glowed
with nothing else if not desire for dominance of something.

It
had been six days since Odem submitted to Destro. He shared his
theory, reluctantly at first. But the more he talked, the easier it
had become, and after a while, it was almost thrilling to share what
had before been the darkest of secrets. He felt like
a lecturer addressing a fully-captivated audience, which Destro was,
though his sober attitude always was firmly fixed (the mask, of
course, had not the power to convey emotion). Now, six days later,
he awaited Destro. Today, the antidote would be introduced
to the test plants, which had received the poison five days before.
Odem waited with a mix of horror (this would surely send his
somewhat-checkered soul into Hells sphere of influence) and
excitement (years of work would finally see fruition!).

Odem
sat now in his cell, on the edge of a bed which had once been alien
but now was the very definition of comfort. When not working, he was
kept away from the tiny laboratory where what Destro termed as our
experiment was located. When in the lab, Odem
was always watched by both Destro and one of many nameless and
faceless (hed seen only one of these peoples faces fully, and
it was burned in his mind. She had been a pretty girl in her
mid-twenties. And shed killed mercilessly) guards. Presumably,
he was not trusted not to kill himself. So much glass and so many
poisons. Indeed, early on, the thought had crossed his mind, so
Destro was not paranoid, simply practical.

A
sound: A key in the lock of his cell door. The door swung open and
Odem watched as Destro entered, his midnight-black suit a polar
contrast to that brilliant, sparkling mask.

Our
experiment waits, doctor. Thus was Destros greeting.

Odem
stood up quickly, internally cursing his boyish passion to prove that
controlled famine was not the idle daydream of a demented quack.
Idle,
no, he
thought. Daydream,
no. Quack… probably not. But perhaps demented.

As
he followed Destro from the cell, they were joined by the ubiquitous
guard (complete with ubiquitous face concealment and intimidating
rifle; Odem wondered that if the guard was there to prevent his
death, and there being no one around but himself wishing
to cause his own death, what would be the use of such a weapon?).
They walked silently and at a quick pace to the lab. Once inside,
the guard closed the lab door, and the four of them were alone:
Creator (Odem), Usurper (Destro), Guard (Guard), and Phoenix
(Plant, which would soon rise from the ashes!).

We
wait, Dr. Odem, came that powerful voice, seeping out from deep
within the mystery that was his face. False or not, it was his face,
Odem decided. Odem locked his eyes on the eyeholes in that face.
Darkness glared back. Was each mans excitement at
this moment equal? Was each mans empowerment at this moment
equal?

As
it turned out, equality was eradicated by a new presence which sucked
Destro and Odem into its vacuum of strange superiority. The lab door
was thrown open and a man in a powder blue dress uniform (marked at
the breast with the red Cobra insignia) glided
into the center of attention. He was smaller than Destro, thinner,
weaker (but, then, Destro was a fully-developed man, in body and
mind, and who wasnt smaller, thinner, and weaker than he?). The
new mans face was hidden (of course!) by a hood, not unlike
that worn by an executioner, excepting its light blue color (to match
the ornate uniform) instead of death-black.

Destro
whirled to face the man, at first annoyed and then shocked. The
hooded man froze (imperiously? Fearfully? Odem couldnt tell).
Cobra Commander, said Destro calmly, as if at once stamping out
his own surprise and explaining to Odem the level of
danger suddenly presented.

The
Cobra Commander (whose own personal guard was not five feet away from
his master, also clad in the powder blue that was so much lighter and
more distinguishable from the normal Cobra navy blue) brought a
gloved hand to his sternum, echoing the famous Napoleonic
gesture. You have been busy, Dessstro. His voice was a
jarring blend of paranoid timidity and fanatic bravado, all brought
into perfect-yet-distressing balance by a serpentine lisp. While
Destro was power-in-waiting, the Cobra Commander was
power-in-practice.
Unlike Destro, who was made all the more vibrant and monstrous by
his unfulfilled desire for power, the Cobra Commander was made only
monstrous, for his desires were all fulfilled. There was nowhere for
him to go but down, and everyone,
even Odem – who was only now, for the first time, meeting the man –
knew it. But even Destro was subservient to the mans power.
Power-in-practice is, after all, more dynamic than power-in-waiting.

We
are confederates, Commander, Destro said. When I am busy, it
is for the good of Cobra.

The
hooded head leaned slightly to one side. I ssee. Thiss iss Dr.
Odem?

Yes,
Destro confirmed, a note of anger darkening the already-dark-enough
melody of his voice. You are just in time to witness the good
doctors theory of controlled famine become reality.

The
Commander crossed his arms and turned the hooded gaze to Odem. I
have sseen the greenhousse. Phase Two of the test. Once this one
lab plant was revived, the revival of the various plant species
contained in a greenhouse elsewhere in the complex – which
had been poisoned at the same time as this one – would be the true
triumph for Odem. I am curiouss to ssee how you will bring to
life thingss that are as dead as you will be if youve wassted my
time. His time? It was Destro who had put in the time.
And Odem.

Odem
felt a grim smile spread over his mouth. I wish I had a stirring
speech to mark this moment, but I dont. He picked up a small
dropper filled with the antidote and held it over what had been, and
soon would again be, a plant. It was dried and sickly
brown. Brittle. Dead. But not for long. Odem emptied the
droppers contents into the center of the plant.

Itll
take a minute, he whispered.

He
leaned over the plant and waited. His blood raced as the brown color
slowly began to recede, replaced with a pale green. Look, he
said calmly, stepping aside to give Destro and the Commander room.

They
saw the unmistakable color change. The green of life had now taken a
fragile hold of the plant. The withered leaves began to unfurl even
as their color deepened with health.

Fantastic,
whispered Destro. You see now the awesome power at… our
disposal, Commander?

It
iss very interessting, came the slithering reply. Very
interessting.

The
plants arms lifted from the soil and reached upward. To Heaven. To
God. To Odem. In the space of two minutes, the decaying husk had
regained complete vigor.

The
Commander straightened. Very impresssive, doctor. You have hiss
formulass, Desstro?

Destro
nodded reluctantly.

I
will ssee thiss done in the greenhousse before we carry out the
plan, the Commander hissed. We have no more use for the
doctor. Kill him.

Odem
didnt flinch. This had been quite expected. Almost hoped-for,
even. But he wouldve liked to see his greenhouse come to glorious
life before he himself died. His throat grudgingly allowed a dry
swallow.

Destro
came to his aid. With all due respect, Commander, I dont think
it wise to eliminate the doctor yet. If something should go wrong,
we may need him.

You
have hiss formulass, the Commander repeated.

Yes,
Destro spat, but only Odem has produced them. In a few days, we
shall be ready to produce it ourselves, but for now, he is the only
one I would trust to get it right.

The
Commander straightened. He spun and waved for the door to be opened.
Very well, Desstro. He shall live for the moment. We go now to
the greenhousse. And then Ill want immediate action. Ive
waited long enough as it iss.

The
Commander disappeared, turning a corner outside the lab, followed by
his guard. Destros hands clenched into tense fists. Odem could
imagine Destros thought: Hes
waited? How long have I waited?
Odem shared the idea, if indeed that was what Destro was thinking.
He spoke. Collect your things, doctor. Our glorious madman
awaits.

Odem
would yet see his greenhouse become green again. He would watch his
plants rise up in worship. He would hear their fanatical hail,
Odem! Odem! Odem! As he snatched up the supplies hed
need, the chant in his mind melted, most disconcertingly, into
a different one: Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!

And
he wondered if his fate (if he lived longer than the few days
Destro had managed to get him) might somehow lie in a combination of
the two: Odem and Cobra.

—–

Chapter
Fourteen – Loyalty

—–

Dr.
Odems thumb had lightened miraculously from the black of
pestilence and disease to the green of vibrant life. Wildcat stood
in the greenhouse, surrounded by his handiwork: Row after row of
living, growing foliage which had, a day before, been nothing
more than decaying reminders that all things, naturally or not, must
die. Or must they? These plants seemed to prove otherwise.

She
had arrived a few minutes early, and waited now for Major Bludd, who
didnt give a reason for his wanting to speak to her. His choice
of location was equally mysterious.

Wildcat
moved slowly along the regimented rows of plants, amazed at the
variety contained within the greenhouse. Certain sections were
artificially climate-controlled, depending on the needs of the
plants, which did not preclude light. As a result, some areas
were brightly lit while others were currently kept in the dark, much
like Wildcat, who now wondered why the section she presently stopped
to ponder still appeared to be dead. Had Odems antidote failed on
this particular plant? This was the only one
shed seen that didnt look completely healthy. She leaned over
to read the plaque indicating the plants name: BRASSAVOLA NODOSA.
At the bottom, scribbled in dark writing, were the hastily-written
words slow response — why? — more research.

A
steadily-paced series of footsteps (familiar in gait) derailed
Wildcats train of thought. Bludd. She straightened and turned to
see him walking toward her. Though his eyepatch was in place, he
didnt wear his helmet and his black (dyed? The color certainly
didnt look natural) hair shot in every direction. He stopped near
her and flicked his one-eyed glance at the plant apparently still in
the throes of doom. One of the unlucky ones, he said.

There
are more? she asked.

He
nodded twice, slowly. But a small enough percentage that Cobra
Commander has announced that he will move immediately.

Wildcat
caught the underlying sneer in the tone of his voice. Cobra
Commander?

Walk
with me, he said. She joined him and they embarked on a leisurely
stroll through the gardens. When he spoke again, his voice was
quiet, so much so that she had to concentrate to make out his words.
We are being observed. Keep your voice low and
your movements inconspicuous. There were no guards in the
greenhouse, but there were more efficient means of surveillance than
flesh and blood. She didnt know just where the cameras and
microphones might be, and she wondered if he did. Cobra Commander
took Destro by surprise and now our work has proven to be for naught.
Destro has lost the initiative and is as close to desperation as
Ive seen him. The last thing we wanted was for the Commander to
assume control of this operation. So, now, we work
against it.

How?
she asked. If the project is sabotaged, it will be pretty obvious
who the saboteurs are.

There
is a way, Bludd said. He flicked a piercing glance at her.

Wildcats
blood went cold, seemed to harden into slush, which sent her heart
into a shocked and painful lurch. Needles stung the veins in her
arms. There has to be a patsy, she stated, knowing full well
who it was to be. Me.

Bludd
stopped by a patch of common wildflowers, white and yellow all
intermixed with no identifiable pattern. He leaned over and picked a
white flower from the bunch and held it up, twirling it idly by the
stem in his fingers. A seemingly innocuous flower,
but, actually, it is potentially quite dangerous. He held it out
to Wildcat. I give it to you, for safekeeping.

She
didnt take it. Ive been loyal. A soft feeling of panic
bubbled in her chest. I am always loyal.

Bludd
brushed one side of her hair back, exposing the ear, behind which he
tucked the flowers stem. It suits you, Wildcat. Like you,
its not unpretty. But its true importance is that it contains in
its now-altered genetic structure the antidote to Odems
poison. If it were to fall into the wrong hands, the poison could be
counteracted. Cobra Commanders schemes would fail. Cobra would
suffer a crushing blow, what with the military actions he has planned
to follow and enforce the mass poisoning. A full-scale
coup, you know. Large military actions have a peculiar tendency
toward terrible failure, often with grievous casualties, when
leadership – accidentally, of course – mysteriously breaks down in
the field. Why, it would take a superb tactical mind
like, oh, Destros or mine, for example, to dream up and execute
such grand confusion and make it look authentic. Heavy losses of
manpower and equipment, debilitating humiliation… Cobra Commander
might not recover. I fear we might have to rally behind
Destro should such a catastrophe unfold. And all over this one
little flower.

Which
I hold, she whispered. Her heart beat so forcefully that it
almost drowned out her whisper to her own ears. For safekeeping.

For
safekeeping, he repeated, his eye glittering with a strange pity.
I know youll do the right thing.

I
am already dead, she said. Youve dug my grave and you want
me to lie down in it.

He
sighed. His face softened for a moment. It was an odd display, one
not entirely repulsive. If we had another way out, Wildcat…
He shook his head, and his face hardened again, but the look in his
eye remained sympathetic somehow. In every situation,
there is room for maneuvering. Death, or life, is what you make of
it.

Youve
said that before.

But
its true.

You
cant ask me to do this. It was hardly a whisper, hardly even
an exhalation.

Bludd
straightened and took step back. Ah, but I dont have to.
Youre so loyal.

—–

Chapter
Fifteen – Gratitude

—–

Scarlett
gazed silently at Low-Light, slumped over a table in the empty
rec-room, his head resting on his arms. It was odd to see him
asleep. Shed had the silly notion that he didnt sleep.
Certainly not at night, anyway, which was the only time there was
any hint that he was indeed alive. The nearly empty bottle (once a
fifth, now more like a tenth of a fifth) of bourbon on the table
beside him explained why he was asleep now. An unhealthy method of
wooing the sandman, to be sure.

She
sat down in the chair opposite him and watched him sleep. He hadnt
been asleep long, as indicated by the not quite melted ice left in
the not quite empty glass by the bottle. What time was it? She
checked her watch. 03:28.

Scarlett
had been released from the hospital two days before, but was still
barred from active duty. She spent a good deal of her time
attempting to get back in shape and was annoyed at the realization
that her usual regimen was a bit beyond her recovering
body to handle. She was about four hours past tired at the moment,
but knew that Low-Light might be found at this time of night. And
here he was. Asleep.

She
yawned, making not much noise, and wondered if it was the small sound
that caused Low-Light to stir presently. His shoulder twitched. His
hand unfurled from a closed position and then splayed open quickly
and tensed, then clenched into a tight fist.
His head jerked up and his eyes flickered open. Hes dead,
he murmured. He noticed her and blinked a few times as he worked to
sit up.

Low-Light
pushed out a harsh breath, as if to clear his lungs of bad air.
Scarlett, he acknowledged in a quiet, hoarse voice.

Whos
dead? she asked.

He
ran a hand through his mussed waves of hair. Hmm?

You
said hes dead. Who is?

He
shook his head. Dunno. Musta been dreamin. His nose
whistled, and he sucked in through it to clear it out. Time is
it?

About
three-thirty.

There
was silence a moment. Low-Light (nose still whistling) tapped his
finger on the bottle, perhaps considering finishing it off.

You
drank all that tonight? Scarlett asked.

Low-Light
continued to toy with the bottle, not looking up. Time for a
sermon, is it?

No,
she answered. Its none of my business.

He
cleared his throat, and switched to breathing through his mouth.
Gets to be an expensive pastime, he said. Scarlett wondered if
he was aiming at humor, but his groggy voice didnt offer much
color. She didnt even know if he was capable of humor. How
long you been here? he asked.

Not
long. Some of her hair (currently not tied in its usual ponytail)
crept over her shoulder and she flung it back with a toss of her
head. You didnt come to see me.

He
shrugged, still not looking up. Didnt need to. Everyone else
did.

But
it was you I wanted to see.

He
picked up the glass and sloshed what was left of its contents around,
his gaze pointed in the general direction of… nothing, really.
The soft clinking of ice was the only sound that could be heard. He
set the glass down and pushed it away. The bottle
also.

Finally,
he locked his eyes on hers. She noted the red lightning crackling
from the pink-tinged whites, groping for the pale blue irises. For
once, his eyes looked curiously lifelike. Indeed, though hed had
a lot to drink, he didnt seem to be drunk. His
speech, clipped as it may have been so far, was not slurred, and his
distractedness could be blamed on having just awakened. But now, his
gaze locked on hers, she saw that he was alert.

If
you came to thank me, dont, he said icily.

It
was an off-putting remark, and startling, and she opened her mouth to
snap back, but decided against it. She wasnt looking for an
argument. Well, she said calmly, managing a soft smile, I
did
come to thank you.

He
shook his head, and looked back down at the tabletop. I did my
job. Anyone else would have done the same.

She
leaned forward. Even if they would, which I doubt, it was you
who did it. And I thank you, Low-Light. You saved my life. He
didnt react. She leaned back. There. Its said.

He
pulled a cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket and opened it. Shook
it. Let it drop to the table.

All
out? she asked, keeping her voice calm and friendly. Cant
smoke in here anyway, you know.

Yeah,
he breathed. His nose whistled again. He rubbed it with his
knuckles. There was nothing… – he paused, searching for the
right word – …noble about it.

She
felt her head cock to one side, curiosity bending her body as it
pleased. Whyd you do it, then?

Drink?
he asked, giving the bottle a shove so that it slid to within her
reach. It came to an abrupt stop and teetered, obliging her to
steady it with her hand.

No,
thanks.

He
fell against the back of his chair and let his head fall back, his
face toward the ceiling. Youre an assassin, like me.

She
nodded. Sometimes.

Dont
you ever feel… His voice cracked, possibly due to his heads
new position. He cleared his throat and straightened in his chair.
He pointed his eyes somewhere over her shoulder. Havent you
ever wondered if theres a way to balance out all the
killing?

She
felt for him a pang of pity. Regret like this was a sign that his
days as assassin might be coming to an end. She had felt it herself,
of course, knew exactly what he was talking about. Everyone felt it.
But coping with it, making it impersonal, keeping
it PROFESSION rather than PHILOSOPHY, was what separated the
competent from the unbalanced. He had always seemed to be
untouchable, impervious to this sort of dangerous speculation.

She
knew he expected an answer. Every one of us has thought that.

I
know what youre thinking, he said, a strange thin ghost of a
smile tainting his lips. And dont. Im not losing it.

She
licked her lips, wondering at their dryness. Perhaps a psychological
reaction to the dehydration he must feel when waking after drinking
however much he felt obligated to drink every night. When the
question comes up, you have to consider it. You drink
a lot. You smoke. Not exactly life-loving hobbies. As far as I
know, you dont have a regular pattern of sleep.

Bad
dreams, he mumbled. He offered no more than that.

I
think you should step back and think about whats going on.

Cant.
Wont. He motioned for the bottle. She reluctantly slid it
back to him. He unscrewed the lid and took a swig. How do you
sleep at night? The question might have been less unnerving if
hed been addressing her instead of the bottle in his hand.

I
keep myself busy, she answered, knowing her solution wasnt the
strongest of examples. Im tired at the end of the day. I
sleep.

And
then theres another day after that, he mumbled. And
another. And another. He sucked down the rest of the bottle in
an appalling display of alcoholic mastery.

Why
do you do it? she pressed. You could find another line of
work, you know.

Low-Light
continued to play with the bottle. Saves someone else the
trouble.

And
what special curse forced you into thinking that you must sacrifice
yourself to save someone else the trouble? she
thought, not voicing the question to him. She might not get an
answer anyway. And would she really want to hear it? You should
sleep, she offered. Youre tired.

The
ghostly smile returned and his bloodshot eyes again met hers, if only
briefly. I dont think I should stand up. Now, he was
definitely aiming at humor… she thought.

Scarlett
smiled and stood up. Ill walk you to your room. She moved
to stand beside him. He pushed himself up, relying heavily on the
table for support. Put your arm around me. Her order echoed
his on that fateful night, in the middle of a forest,
death imminent. He had ordered her to do the same. She hadnt
complied. It seemed for a moment that he would be defiant, but then,
amazingly, his arm slid over her shoulders and his weight leaned into
her.

Silently,
they left the rec-room and made their way to his quarters. The trip
took a few minutes. Neither spoke. Scarlett wondered why he
suddenly had become so willing to lean on her for support, when, a
few minutes before, he had issued her an icy challenge
not to thank him. Not to get near him.

They
arrived at his door at last.

Im
okay from here, I think, he said. They separated and he opened
the door. He paused, looked at her, briefly, and then cast his eyes
down again.

She
sighed. Ill see you around, I guess. When he didnt
answer, she started to move away. His hand caught her wrist and
gripped it tightly.

I
wasnt honest. He almost looked at her, but it seemed he
couldnt bring himself to match his eye to hers. It was more
than I admitted. He breathed in and out a couple times. When he
spoke again, it was in a rasping whisper. Some people… deserve
the life they have, were given. Suddenly, he sounded drunk. And
also, strangely, sober. When one of them… He found the will
to look her in the eye. …one of you goes, the world, as
horrible as it already is, becomes an even sadder place. He took
another breath, perhaps to fuel further comment. But it never came.

He
released her wrist. His eyes still looked into hers. She felt such
grief for him in that moment. She realized that she hadnt, that
no one had, ever considered him… human. He was so good at what he
did, always did what had to be done. Why? Stock
answer: Because
he doesnt feel. Hes not human. Hes great to have around,
because he always gets the job done. But hes not friendly. Cant
get along with him. Cant talk to him. Hes not a man. Hes
a machine. He doesnt feel, and so next time we need him,
well hit the power switch, hell activate, do his job, go away,
and everythings fine again.
She felt such wretched guilt, for she too had believed that to be
true. Hes
an assassin. He kills. Ask him to kill, and he kills. Saves me the
trouble.
This was the first time shed ever glimpsed that terrible hole in
him. In his soul. And he did, after all, have one. And it was in
danger, terrible danger. And shed help put it there. But wasnt
that his job? Didnt he choose that for himself?

Her
eyes stung with what she realized were the beginnings of tears (tears
that would not escape, she knew; she was trained too well for that).
She wrapped her arms around him. She was mildly surprised to feel
his arms tighten around her back. You will always
have a friend in me, Low-Light, she whispered.

She
heard his breath in her ear. He gave no answer. No acceptance, no
reprimand.

The
odd embrace unraveled. She opened her eyes to see him retreat into
his room. As the door closed, and he disappeared, she remembered how
tired she was. She headed for her room, anticipating the comfort of
a bed whose softness was worlds better than the
hardness of recovery from the bite of bullet. And there was a
certain relief (and, sure, some sympathy… but more relief; was
that selfish?) that there was at least one person whose dreams were
worse than hers.

—–

Chapter
Sixteen – Maneuver

—–

I
trusst thiss iss important, hissed the Cobra Commander. I
dont have time to wasste.

He
stood leaning over the table in his conference room, two of his
personal guards lurking behind him, watching every move that Wildcat
made (though she was careful not to make any move). She stood at
attention at the opposite side of the round table, keeping
a steady stare and focusing on nothing in particular (as was proper
when standing at attention) except the all-important STRAIGHT AHEAD.

Very
important, sir, she said evenly. It concerns your plans with
Dr. Odem.

You
are on Major Bludds payroll, the Commander said after a moment
of consideration. The moment could have been spent in analyzation of
the small brown and green V-shaped patch she wore on her uniform,
signifying her allegiance to Bludd, but she assumed
that the Commander had done some research about her after she
requested this meeting. Why should you know anything of that?

Wildcat
was committed now. It wasnt every day she betrayed her only
sponsor and willingly danced to the edge of a precarious limb whose
security was beyond unknown. But, then again, it wasnt every day
that her only sponsor trapped her in a bag with several
hungry beasts and tossed her to the fickle currents of the nearest
deep, wide river. Because he does. More than you may think.

Cobra
Commander straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. Oh?
Exssplain.

Wildcat
took in a quick breath and didnt give herself time to question her
gameplan. Major Bludd and Destro have been working together on
the Odem project, never intending for you to be part of it. After
a second (which seemed more like a minute), she
remembered to add, Sir.

I
ssee. The Commander unclasped his hands and brought one of them
to the tabletop, where its fingers proceeded to tap out an unrhythmic
pattern. Then the tapping stopped and he once again straightened,
assuming an imperial stance. I wass not aware, but
itss not ssurprissing. You have ssomething elsse to ssay that
might ssurprisse me?

They
are still working together, she said, suddenly careful not to lisp
her every S. She had never really lisped in her life, but
Cobra Commanders odd snakelike hiss caused her to analyze her own
speech patterns. But now their goal has changed. They
work to undermine the project. They combine their efforts to
sabotage your plans.

He
turned to look at one of his guards, who did not move, did not break
his concentration on STRAIGHT AHEAD. The Commander turned back to
face Wildcat, who felt a bit empowered by her display of attention
that matched the Commanders own personal guards.
How? he asked in a strange bark that was somewhere between
anxiety and rage.

Wildcat
had prepared a speech to answer this inevitable question, but the
words abruptly abandoned her. A spurt of panic raced through her
body, starting in her stomach and shooting out in all directions.
She couldnt remember her practiced explanation, but
she at least had the sense to present the next best thing (though she
had hoped to keep it as her trump card in case things didnt go as
hastily planned). She moved her hand toward her belt.

The
Commander all but jumped backward, and his guards immediately had
their rifles zeroed in on Wildcat. Hold! one of them called
out. She froze and wished her heart would follow suit. Being a
thing that had never been all that quick to agree with her
mind, it lurched and bounced in the small space allotted to it within
her chest.

There
was a moment of indecision all around. Wildcat realized in a frenzy
of fear that they thought that she might be reaching for a weapon.
She had been searched for weapons before being allowed in the same
room with the Commander, but his guards trusted
nobody, which was their job. Her life was now in danger and she
grasped for the first words she could think of to save herself.

Im
not armed, she said, hoping she didnt sound too desperate. I
wont move.

The
Commander had recovered his composure and motioned for his guards to
lower their guns. They complied, but Wildcat noticed that the rifles
were kept in a position ready for action. What are you reaching
for? Cobra Commander asked.

I
have a flower in a pouch on my belt, Wildcat answered honestly.
She had no weapons at her disposal, physical or political. She was
now obligated to follow through with the necessity that had brought
her here.

Hass
the world become sso backward that women now offer flowerss to men?
A joke from the Cobra Commander to alleviate the moments stress?
Or a slip to prove just how out of touch he was with reality? The
scene was now sufficiently surreal enough for Wildcat
to accept either circumstance. You may prossseed.

She
retrieved the plastic bag that contained the flower and placed it on
the tabletop. This is from the greenhouse. Major Bludd has
ordered me to turn it over to the enemy so they can produce the
antidote.

The
Commander moved around the table and picked up the bag, holding it up
to inspect it. Though having been cut from the plant over
twenty-four hours before, the flower looked surprisingly fresh. And
you are to take the blame for thiss deceit?

Yes,
sir, she answered.

You
are to be the traitor, he mused, leaving Desstro and Bludd to
continue their treachery behind my back. He gently closed his
gloved hand around the bag and pointed his hooded gaze back to
Wildcat. The dark eyes were squinted slightly, apparently in
distrust. You, of coursse, will not object if I have thiss flower
tessted sso that I might be ssatissfied of your honessty to me.

No,
sir.

And
what do you now exsspect of me for having done me thiss sservice?

Wildcat
felt the first strain of hope flutter in her body. Had it really
gone this well? Dont
screw it up now!
her mind shouted. I wish only to continue to serve Cobra Command,
under your sponsorship. Surely that wasnt too much to ask.

He
turned and walked back into a position framed by his guards. After a
moment, he spoke. You shall have asssylum for now. If I am
convinced of your honessty, you shall work for me.

Thankyou,
sir. She continued to stand as a statue, refused to allow her
relief to show.

But
know thiss: If you ever crosss me the way you have crosssed Major
Bludd, your lasst agonized hourss will be sspent in the vain wish
that youd died by hiss merciful handss insstead of the horrorss
you would endure by mine.

I
understand, sir, she said, her composure now fully under her
command. The threat was reassuring. Surely he wouldnt threaten
her if she was already doomed. A threat meant he wanted her to stay
in line and do as she was told. She had no problem with
that. She had overturned Fates decision and found new life! She
boldly added, You will be satisfied.

Disssmisssed.

One
of the guards escorted her out of the room and began to lead her to
her new living quarters. If not for the heat it would cause for
Bludd, she imagined he would be quite proud of her gamble. After
all, hadnt it been his advice that there was always room
to maneuver? That life was what she made of it? Well, she had
chosen survival. At any cost.

Reminded
of cost, she almost smiled at the thought of the last bargaining chip
in her possession: A small clipping of the flowers stem. What
she meant to do with it escaped even her. It could prove to be
useful. It could prove to be her undoing. She was
morbidly curious just what horrors the Commander could devise for a
traitor. And then she abandoned the idea in an effort to keep
curiosity from killing the Wildcat.