Eagle X, Mission 21: CTRL

Part 5: Chillard

"Pull over." Chillard rubbed his temples, easing the pounding in his head.

His hostage watched from the corner of her eye.

"Have you seen the kind of damage an energy round will do at this range?" he asked.

The felarnian woman nodded slowly.

"Good. Pull over."

She drove to the end of the bridge and parked beside a fabrication factory.

"Get out."

She took her hands off the wheel and carefully climbed out of the corvette. Chillard opened the passenger side door and relished the cooler air outside. He stepped out of the vehicle and a wave of nausea made the world spin. He rushed to the railing and puked over the side into the river of waste and chemical treatment flowing beneath the bridge. The smell would have made Chillard lose his lunch had he not already done so.

"Are you okay?" the woman asked, coming around the corvette.

He wiped his beak and raised his pistol. She put up her hands to show she meant no harm.

"I'm fine," he lied. "The moment you stopped, the station's Core AI triangulated our location. We have three minutes before a security response team arrives," quoting the data he'd taken from station security files. He scanned the area, comparing it to the station maps he'd memorized.

"Are you going to kill me?" the woman asked.

"Only if I am forced to." He studied the factory. "Come. This way."

Thankfully she complied. Despite all of his military and clandestine training, Chillard had never killed another sentient being. The thought of it made his headache worse.

They went to the factory building and tried the side door. The entrance was locked. Chillard removed a data sliver from his pocket and inserted it into the security keypad. The device ran through a dozen of Station Z's most commonly used passwords and after a moment the keypad beeped. The door slid open and he motioned for the woman to enter. They went inside and the door slid closed behind them.

The interior was dark, the only light coming from small windows high on the wall. They were in a foyer of sorts full of lockers and chairs. A door led to the factory floor and a stairwell led up to the offices. Security would arrive at any moment.

"Up."

The hostage nodded and started up the stairs.

Chillard followed, his weapon trained on her back. He used his mind-work to brush her mind. He expected fear and panic, but she was pointedly calm. Felarnians and their canamarian cousins were highly emotional species. Her composure was a pleasant surprise. He tried to read her surface thoughts, but a second wave of nausea distracted him. The pain of being bludgeoned to death. The final thoughts of a lover and the regrets of an unborn child. Chillard stopped and steadied himself at the top of the stairs.

"Are you well?" the woman asked again.

He looked up at her.

"It isn't your concern."

"It is while you have a weapon pointed at me."

She had a point. Chillard took a deep breath and stood up. He motioned her to continue down the hall. At the end was a large room filled with cubicles. The thin layer of dust coating everything suggested the factory had been out of use for some time. Chillard had his hostage sit in a corner cubicle and sat close enough to keep an eye on her, but far enough away to give him some privacy.

The pills weren't working. Something was wrong. His mind had been tempered by hundreds of standard training hours, learning, growing. This shouldn't have been happening. Chillard pocketed his pistol and pulled out the pain relievers. He took a third pill and swallowed it dry. Taking any more risked drowsiness.