Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Eight
Touch Not the Cat

General Malcolm Reed

Right. Time to get to work.

Much as I regret the beating Fortress took on our last tour, I'm glad to have this down time to do some tinkering. As good as it was for me to recover my dexterity with small things for Trip while I was recuperating, I actually found it mentally and emotionally more therapeutic, to the point that I'm sure it helped me ward off more than one panic attack. Except for the incident with Mr. MacEvoy, focusing all my attention on a series of simple mechanical tasks freed my mind and cleared my head, always leaving me calm and thoroughly relaxed. So much so, that I found I missed it when Trip finally released me to run amok across the galaxy again. So, I've started making a point of asking him to save small projects for me for when I come – and the word fills me with wonder and delight every time – home.

After I'd let myself be publicly seen behaving with salacious intent toward Commodore Tucker at the Empress's party and we'd subsequently played accordingly at breakfast the following morning, we'd decided it would actually be easier to project a slightly less contentious relationship henceforward than to maintain the level of animosity and disdain we'd been pretending up to that point. After a few shared meals in the Jupiter Station mess hall and Trip letting himself be caught 'sneaking' out of my quarters on the Fortress a time or two (all sanctioned by Liz, of course, and T'Pol, I presume, though we never did more than drink whiskey and talk), it was easy for station personnel and my crew to conclude that we had finally found a way to carry on a respectful, professional relationship – if not as a result of increased maturity from our days on Enterprise, possibly from a discovery when I was shagging his brains out that there were unsuspected benefits to be had from co-operation. In addition to which, our forced proximity on the station made it easier to work effectively if we were at least mutually civil rather than setting an extremely poor example to our juniors by constantly trying to slice chunks out of one another.

Whether the gossips have it that I had seduced or subjugated Trip, he surprisingly doesn't much care so long as I don't publicly (and I won't, ever, even privately) demean or undermine him. As he sees it, and so far I have seen no evidence to the contrary, making him another of my sexual conquests can serve to elevate me without diminishing him as long as I don't disrespect him in front of other officers. Thinking back to my days on Enterprise, I recall how Captain Forrest had always given Hoshi the respect due her rank and position, and while it's a little different for a man, Trip has the confidence and charisma to carry it off. No doubt anyone who might think to comment would quickly realise that, whatever his relationship to me, they are still just as subordinate to him as they ever were, and the only reason they weren't performing sexual favours for him was that he hadn't found them desirable enough to order it.

For a couple of days now, I've been really looking forward to getting stuck into reconstructing part of the wiring on this missile. It failed during launch and luckily it didn't detonate in the tube, as it very well might have done. Instead, the ship concerned made an extremely swift and tactful return to Jupiter Station, where Trip's engineers risked their lives to get it out of the thing without blowing themselves or the immediate section of the ship to smithereens and packed it very carefully away in one of the weapons labs for me to play with.

It seems a pity for their hard work and bravery to go unrewarded. It's been a long time since I worked on a missile and I'm relishing the challenge; and let's face it, if I make a mistake, I don't suppose many people will be heartbroken. It's nice to feel that there are one or two more than there would have been a couple of years ago, but the vast majority of the world still regards me as a menace; and for the good of the changes I hope to make happen, that's undoubtedly an excellent thing.

So I'm in a good mood as I get into the turbo-lift, after coming off the comm with Liz and assuring her that I'll do my ultra-level best not to blow myself to Kingdom Come. I'm sure I don't know why she should think I wouldn't (after all, I don't actually want to be deconstructed into my component parts), but she has her job and I have mine, and ordnance was rather one of my specialities in the days before I got necessarily more involved in power-games and tactical planning.

It's been stored away in a part of the station that's benefited from extra blast reinforcement. Not that that will benefit me all that much if I do make a mistake, but at least the remaining pieces of me and the missile will be safely contained. As for secondary damage, possibly anyone sleeping next door might be woken by a dull 'thud' as Trip's wonderful new shattering bolts did their thing, but that would be about it.

It's not that far to the designated area. I'm wearing standard coveralls (no point getting my nice civilian clothes dirty) and it's faintly amusing how hardly anyone takes any notice of me as I pass. Now and again I sense someone turning to stare, and I definitely hear a whisper of 'Is that…?' at one point, but I suspect that few people imagine it can really be the terrible General Reed walking placidly through the corridor. I might be more recognisable if I was wearing my black camos, Sam Browne belt and the leer of a hungry velociraptor, with a phase rifle in one hand and a severed head in the other; but severed heads are harder to come by than you'd imagine on Jupiter Station and a phase rifle is much less use than a toolbox when you're going to be tinkering with wiring. As for the camos and belt, well, show me an actual point in wearing either when you're going to be wriggling around inside a metal cylinder with its nose packed with high explosives, and I might reconsider my apparel. And even in my heyday I don't recall prowling around the place leering at people for nothing; for one thing, I wouldn't have had the time.

But be that as it may, I get into the turbo-lift that will take me down the necessary couple of floors. The strip of mirroring in it shows me looking more peaceful and contented than I can remember feeling for a long time; perhaps not the emotions you'd expect in a man about to risk his life repairing a faulty piece of ordnance, but I have scanners, patience and expertise, and the tinkering and physical therapy to eliminate the tremors I had just after I was rescued have paid off. My hands are steady now, and I really don't think I'm in that much danger.

So I'm in a good mood when the doors open, and though I'm startled when I emerge onto the appropriate level and I'm greeted by howls of laughter just down the corridor, I'm not – at first – all that bothered. Trip has made a habit of encouraging a friendly atmosphere around the place, and if someone has told a joke and made his colleagues laugh, well, happy people work better. It took me long enough to get my head around that fact, but I managed it, and as long as nobody has taken it into their heads that that includes laughing at me, I'm perfectly happy to let them get on with it. And since nobody is looking in my direction (actually I don't think anyone has even noticed I'm there), I am presumably not the subject of the merriment. In which case I'll simply walk past, confining myself to a glance to suggest they carry on laughing while they're working rather than standing around in the corridor guffawing.

But as I draw level with them I suddenly realise what the five crewmen are laughing at. It's not a joke; it's Beans, who – with her usual incurable inquisitiveness – has poked her head into a tissue box. It's one of the small square ones favoured by ladies, with a narrow opening; presumably there was something in it of more interest than tissues, because she must have put her head right into it. Then, of course, she found she couldn't get it out – the soft plastic surround that ensures only one tissue comes out at a time was stuck behind her ears.

Presumably she got out of the room somehow, quite likely falling off the desk or table where she must have found the tissues and failing to land on her feet due to the encumbrance of the box and the inability to see the floor, and is now blundering around the corridor, blind and afraid and potentially injured. Her mews for help are hoarse and muffled, and every now and again she lies down and tries to fight the box off her head, but her claws can't get a grip on the smooth sides of it. Then she darts off in a panic and collides with the wall, which elicits another bellow of laughter from the men watching her.

Not bothering to say 'Excuse me', I push through them, kneel down and gather up my terrified cat. Four fingers and an opposable thumb make short work of removing the offending box, which I shove forcefully into a waste chute not a meter away, and Beans gives this pitiful little chirrup of relief and gratitude at seeing the world again. For once it's my turn to comfort her, and I tuck her into my chest till her trembling and panting eases.

But for the five crewmen who thought her plight was the funniest thing they'd seen in a fortnight, and initially resent my interruption of the entertainment, life is about to become considerably less pleasant. I don't know their names, but they know I don't need to. They've spent their entire careers under video surveillance, they just forgot it was there until they were caught doing something they shouldn't have. As I turn around and they realise who I am, perhaps one or two of them might have had a brief, wild thought about running, but they won't do it because they know it would be futile, and potentially fatal. I swivel to snare their eyes, and watch the colour drain out of their faces.

Presumably they watched that demonstration of Lingchi. And for all they know, Peter Sallis might have been guilty of tormenting my cat too. Lucifer knows I made absolutely sure nobody ever knew the real reason why he had to lie there naked and screaming while I cut him to pieces; it took him a long time to die of blood loss, because I knew exactly how to avoid severing anything that would give him a major bleed. I went for nerves, not arteries, and I knew where all of them were.

I still do.

Well, I don't suppose Trip would approve of a repeat of that particular episode and even to me it would seem a bit of an over-reaction, but Something has to be Done. So I comm Janice Crawley and order the five of them to be taken into custody pending action – obviously whoever was expecting them to turn up for work has to be notified too, because they now have urgent business elsewhere, but someone else can sort that. Heaving an inward sigh for the good old days when a scalpel was a swift, simple solution to so many of my problems, I take Beans back to my quarters where I treat her to a few flakes of dried tuna and give her a once-over with a hand-scanner that's been lying forgotten on a shelf for a day or two. (Liz spends as much time here as she does in her own quarters nowadays, and small things are often left behind.) I really have no idea what a cat's vitals should be, but blood is blood and bone is bone and this device is sensitive enough to tell me if Beans has sustained an injury that requires immediate treatment. Once I'm satisfied that the only significant injury is to her dignity, I sit with her for a few more minutes till she's calm again. Then I leave her to have a sleep on my bed where she'll feel safe, and find out from Eloise Chastain where Trip is at this current moment. In view of the fact that he's the head of the station and knows who these prats report to (Crawley will forward the details to my PADD shortly), he's owed the civility of being consulted about my intentions to teach them a lesson on why pissing off a psychopath in a general's uniform by tormenting his cat is not a particularly effective survival technique.

I eventually track him down in the new Sickbay, which I guess is what we've settled on calling the Urgent Care Center which also serves as the main entrance to Jupiter Station Memorial Research and Teaching Hospital (and the American – which is inexplicably the basis for Imperial Standard – spelling of Centre still irks me just a bit as we wouldn't have any of the shiny new facilities if not for me; though I'm sure, if I started ranting about what I had to go through to get them, no-one would appreciate my sense of humour and it would become very awkward very quickly with people not knowing whether to thank me or apologise or point out that it was Richard Kelby, Jeremy Lucas and Julie Massaro who presented the plans to Commodore Tucker, who got the approval and funding from the Empress). Richard Kelby is with him, presenting some ideas that came to him which will require modifying some work that's already been completed. Of course this will set progress back a bit and cost more money, so both of those have to be justified, but Kelby has the figures and the arguments, and from Trip's expression he seems to be inclined to give the go-ahead.

I wait politely till they've finished talking and Kelby's promised to send Trip the full details so he can discuss them with the other people who'll be involved. Then, as our good Commodore has somewhere else to be (the day rarely dawns when he hasn't), I accompany him. We can just as easily talk while we're walking; it's not as if the subject is secret, and I've no objection at all to anyone hearing it. Actually I would very much appreciate it becoming common knowledge around the station that tormenting General Reed's cat is not appropriate behaviour if you want to live to old age with the original set of limbs intact.

Not that I have any serious intention of removing useful members from useful members of the Imperial Fleet (and honestly, after my experiences over the past couple of years, I'd even balk at detaching recreational appendages without significant cause). But they certainly don't know that, and while the axiom is that 'what you don't know won't hurt you', in this case it's more relevant that 'what you don't know won't reassure you'.

It takes few words to explain the situation. Having been raised on a farm, Trip has perhaps a more matter-of-fact attitude to animals than your average 'city boy' does; if Beans had got her tail caught in a door because she'd tried to go somewhere she shouldn't, he'd most likely say the experience would teach her not to do it again. But to give him his due, he doesn't approve of what his staff were doing and nods – cautiously – when I say that I'd like to teach them a lesson.

Clearly he suspects that the sort of lesson I have in mind would significantly reduce their usefulness to the station. Most engineers work best without being maimed, and take a tediously long time to recover from being reduced to gibbering wrecks.

My, he's so suspicious…

By this time, Major Crawley has supplied me with the details of the offenders. I pass my PADD over to Trip for him to see them, and he grunts. "I'll notify Terry, if you'll send me these files."

"I've already requested Major Crawley to pass on the information that the crewmen in question will be late reporting for duty this morning," I reply blandly. "But by all means notify Commander Virts if you see fit."

He cocks an eye at me. "It would most likely help if I could pass on some information as to how long they're likely to be 'unavailable'."

I 'tsk' at his lack of trust in me. "I'm sure I can … enlighten them within the space of a few hours."

"I hope you'll keep in mind that only one of them's part of my permanent staff. The other four are complete newbies, less than a month out of trainin', here for their final polish before they're assigned to their ships,'' he adds, frowning. "Now, the older guy, he deserves to have his ass kicked up between his ears for the example he's settin', an' if I'd have caught them, I'd have done it myself. But those four kids, Mal, they're gonna follow the lead of a superior officer."

"Actually, I hadn't yet realized that most of them were new recruits, though I'm sure I would have once I took time to read their files," I comment. I can certainly understand why it matters to him how many are permanently posted to Jupiter Station. The behaviour of his staff is a reflection of his leadership, and I've no doubt the senior member of the group is going to get an extra earful from Commander Virts once Trip tells him about the incident, as I'm sure he feels the same responsibility for the actions of his staff that Trip does. "But they're not children, Trip. They still should have known better than to torment a helpless animal, and they will when I'm through with them; but I can't imagine any circumstance in which the senior man would order them to participate, so their involvement was their choice. I'll borrow Colonel Burnell, if I may."

"He's your XO, you don't need my permission for that." He's still giving me the sideways eye. I suspect he's not altogether comfortable with Austin, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but the sort of 'enlightenment' I have in mind needs someone with the right sort of mindset, and Pack is the ideal one. Not only will Burnell know exactly how to play my game, he'll enjoy doing it – and a player having fun is the one most likely to excel.

"You can assure Commander Virts that his staff will be left fully functional afterwards," I add, more blandly than ever. "But I think I can guarantee that they will be slightly more … selective in what they consider entertainment."

I'm still not sure he's convinced, but he's got a soft spot for Beans himself, and if I can teach the guilty parties a lesson without permanently incapacitating them it seems he's prepared to wave me through. So I leave him to his next appointment, and go to find Austin. Who, although undoubtedly also busy, is just going to have to find someone to delegate to.

We have Pack games to play.

=/\=

It takes about an hour for us to set up the room I intend to use. It takes a little expertise and a bit of ingenuity, but though some of the traps are rather unpleasant in their effects none of them can cause serious injury. Days were when at least one of them would have been lethal, but well, I've mellowed.

And besides, Trip would complain.

Austin, bless him, joins in the fun with alacrity. He even has a few bright ideas of his own. When our handiwork is complete he stands and grins at me like a naughty schoolboy, and if both of us bear a certain resemblance to happily-panting wolves, well, there's no-one else around to see. I'm not sure how much of a cat-lover he is but I've seen Beans rub against his leg on occasional visits, and once when he was sitting down she jumped onto his lap and he stroked her as if he was quite used to cats, so I think he appreciates the opportunity to administer a small lesson on her behalf – as well, of course, as having a little fun of our own.

When everything is ready I order Major Crawley to bring down the prisoners one at a time. We take delivery of each one in the adjoining room, where I fit him with earbuds, followed by a thick, heavy bag over his head, securing this with a stiff rawhide collar, to which is attached a small mechanical device that rests at the base of the throat, humming ominously. I had thought to make them all strip, but I suspect Trip would tell me that was a step too far, and frankly, even now the thought of all that naked flesh makes me a bit uncomfortable. But I do make them take off their shoes and socks. It's astonishing how vulnerable having bare feet can make one feel, and being forced to render oneself to that state blindfolded makes one feel clumsy and incompetent as well.

Then we take each of them into the room itself, which is an empty storeroom that's been transformed into an obstacle course of empty boxes and drums and random objects to get underfoot or bar one's way. Some of these have been modified to deliver an electric charge when touched – not severe, but enough to hurt. We walk each victim into the midst of this, find a clear space (there are a few), turn him around on the spot several times and tell him to squat and wait for further orders. Each of them has his hands cuffed behind his back so it's not easy, but undoing them would spoil half the fun.

When everyone is in place, Austin and I don goggles that will allow us to see in almost pitch dark. There's a little glow from the base of the door (safety precautions make this mandatory all over the station) but I've put a couple of cases in front of that so it can't be seen, and the tiny amount of light it introduces will be enough for our goggles to work. Combined with the hoods, however, the near-darkness will render the prisoners completely blind.

Shutting the door behind us, we move into position – Austin on one side of the room and me on the other. Then I switch the lights off and activate a button on my PADD, playing a pre-recorded message through the earbuds.

'This is a survival test. These are your instructions. No questions are allowed.

'You will keep moving. You must not stand still at any time. You must not attempt to communicate. If you make any sort of vocalizations, the device at your throat will deliver an electric charge you may not survive.

'I am in the room with you. I am carrying a phase pistol set to kill. If you touch me I will use it on you. You will get one warning when you are close to me. You had better heed it.

'If you stand still you will receive an electric shock. If you fall down and stay down you will receive an electric shock. If you attempt to crawl on all fours you will receive an electric shock. There are items in this room that will deliver an electric shock when touched.

'The aim of this exercise is still to be alive when it ends.

'When this transmission finishes, stand up and start moving.'

Click.

Of course, they can't see a thing. Their ears will tell them little, for the transmission is followed by a looped recording of the chittering and squealing of attacking hyenas. It's an inhuman, immensely unnerving sound. The only other thing they will hear – when either Austin or I unleash one in their ears – is a growl.

The electronic handcuffs click open and drop off. I want them to be able to feel their way around and be able to save themselves to at least some degree when they fall.

They all get to their feet, scared and disoriented. They don't know where they are, they just know they have to keep moving.

And, of course, there are trip hazards.

Lots of trip hazards.

Feeling for what's in your path involves standing still. That's not allowed. Within a very few seconds a startled yelp reveals someone has tried to test the ground in front of him with one foot while he stands on the other. And, of course, his involuntary exclamation of pain earns him another shock – a stronger one. Vocalization is not allowed.

So, having no options, the five of them start to shuffle blindly around the room. And – of course – they blunder into things and fall over them. I don't care if they fall, that's what the obstacles are there for; they're just not allowed to stay down.

The drums, of course, are metal and all of them are electrified. Anyone unlucky enough to encounter one with outstretched hands lives to regret it.

To begin with, none of them knows if they're alone in the room with me. It's quite amusing to watch the first time they encounter a body; they leap like a startled deer in case it's me, usually resulting in another painful fall. In the meantime, Austin and I prowl around among them, occasionally sliding up behind a victim who seems to be doing too well and easing off the transmission to his ear-buds to deliver a blood-curdling growl in his ear; needless to say, this is taken as a signal that someone very unfriendly is close by with a phase pistol, and they make haste to decamp. A precipitate departure that almost invariably results in an encounter with at least another two solid objects, preferably one of which is carrying an electric current.

One of them steps on the collection end of a specially-modified long-handled dustpan that Austin supplied; of course, the handle flies up, smacking him in the privates just as one would expect in a slapstick comedy. Even through his engineer's coverall, it gives him an electric shock on his todger, which makes him scream (earning another zap) and fall down, whimpering in agony. When it comes to discipline I still have a heart of stone, and I defy anyone to prove otherwise; but even I will admit that it has softened slightly, from the hardness of quartz to something more akin to sandstone or travertine. I'm not so sure I could hold my silence after such abuse to my goolies, so as long as the sounds of distress don't rise above a library voice, he won't get shocked for that again – at least until I determine that he should have got over the assault to his future progeny. But he still has to get up, and when he doesn't he gets another jolt. He may not actually be able to straighten up for a while, but he can stand and move – and he does.

Now and again they fall over or on top of each other, which is so hilarious that Austin and I exchange glances, struggling not to laugh. I think they soon work out that there are more people in the room than just me – they might not be able to hear the crashes, but it's astonishing how quickly one learns to sense and interpret vibrations through the floor once the sense of sight is removed – but they can't speak and don't dare pause to try to test their theories. They touch someone and it might be me, and if it is they're clean out of luck…

We don't make them endure it for long. For one thing, though the falls aren't dangerous in themselves more than a few of them will start to accumulate damage and Liz will tell me off. So as I don't particularly want to have disharmony on the domestic front, I call a halt much sooner than I'd have liked to if I was left to my own devices, remembering poor Beans blundering around in terror with this lot laughing their heads off at her.

I have the controller for the ear-buds and the collar devices in my hand. Signalling to Austin that I'm bringing the game to an end, I step to the light switch and click it on, and with the other I flick the power off on the controller. Last of all I transmit the message they've all been praying to hear.

'The test has been completed. You may now stand still and remove your restrictive equipment.'

As they shakily start unfastening the collars and pulling off the hoods and ear-buds, five pale, sweat-streaked faces emerge. They've been frightened, overheated, blind and forced to batter themselves against things they can't see. Maybe next time they see a cat with its head stuck in a tissue box they'll have a bit more fellow feeling.

With Austin behind me, I make them line up in front of me at parade rest. A borrowed phase pistol is in its holster at my hip; I draw it and ostentatiously click the setting to 'stun' and the safety switch back on before re-holstering it.

"I take it a valuable lesson has been learned?" I ask coldly.

Chastened nods and mutters of 'Yes, sir' indicate that it has.

"Very well. Now gather up these obstacles and stack them neatly. When you've finished, go to your quarters, clean up and report to your duty stations. No one leaves until everything's put away. You have forty minutes."

At a normal pace, the job of clearing the room would easily take at least twenty minutes. Making them rush to have time to get back to their quarters and shower will keep their hearts pumping and their adrenaline levels high, helping to stick the sensation of fear they experienced during the exercise in their memories.

"Dismissed."

We leave them to it, and they're scrambling to accomplish the tasks I've set even before we've turned toward the door.

In different circumstances, allowing them to hear us laugh would probably have been appropriate – ladling salt onto the wounds of their humiliation. But I think it's more effective to preserve the erroneous impression that we're far too terrifying to be amused by anything so juvenile. So I take Austin back to my quarters, where at last we're free to chortle, and I order him to join me in a glass of whisky.

Of course, being on duty, he shouldn't. But there again he can't disobey the orders of a superior officer. So he accepts the glass and clinks it against mine.

"I understand you favour Cardhu," I remark. "It's not my favourite, to be honest, but I think you'll appreciate this one."

So he should, for what it costs a bottle. His raised, appreciative eyebrows signal that he does indeed, and we sit in companionable silence for a while, savouring the fiery amber stuff slipping down our throats and smiling at memories of some of the more comic events of the past half-hour.

"I'm sure you know the surveillance cameras in the room we used have high-definition, low-light capabilities, sir," he observes as I sip my drink. "What would you say to my creating a montage of the event and posting it to one of the station's gossip boards?"

I go hot and cold all over, but I think I maintain my cheerful façade well enough; though I wonder if he can hear the acceleration of my heartbeat. My experiences on Wolfplanet Mindfuck left me with certain enhanced senses, and I've never had any reason to suspect that I was unique among the Pack. I'm certainly not going to tell him I've had first-hand experience of the soul-crushing effects of such public humiliation. Then again, what we did was nothing like what I endured.

I find myself wondering, not for the first time, what would Trip do?

"I think public shaming might be a bit of overkill in this instance," I decide. "Save that for a second or similar offence. Though I may well review the recording myself once or twice, just to savour one or two of the more comic moments – particularly the incident with the dustpan." And I wouldn't be surprised if he does the same. Come to think of it, I may show it to Trip, too – as evidence that I do know how to prove a point without breaking bones these days. I reckon he'd get a good laugh out of it, actually.

"Very well, sir. I'm sure you're right." He takes another sip of his drink, still keeping his eyes on me. "After all, once we destroy them socially, they've no chance to learn or improve themselves. All that's left is to kill them."

I'm not certain if there's a message for me in his comments. Surely he can't know about the day of the windflowers?

Part of my mind is proudly astonished by how far I seem to have come. I've thought of that day twice, and now three times, without going into a blind panic.

Actually, I'm certain there was a message for me in Austin's words; the only thing in question is whether he was knowingly and intentionally delivering it.

And I decide it doesn't matter.

"Exactly that, Colonel," I agree. "And everyone deserves a second chance."

"Of course, General."

He tips his glass in a silent toast to my wisdom and finishes the last swallow before setting it down.

"Thank you, sir," he says, standing. "And thank you for allowing me to participate in that training session."

"It was fun, wasn't it?" I stand up too. It's wholly possible, of course, that he may still attack me before he leaves the room; but the glow of the whisky in my gut, the warmth of the company of one of the Pack and the sense of achievement in my soul make me do something I probably wouldn't have done if I'd been completely sober.

I lean forward, put my hands on his shoulders and kiss him.

For a few moments he responds. Though our arms go around each other it's not particularly passionate, and neither of us wants or intends it to go further; there's just a gentleness – even, I think, an affection – plus an acknowledgement of our shared identity and a looking back to something that happened long ago and was an integral part of our history.

As soon as I sense the faintest movement to break the kiss I let him go and step back. I enjoyed that, and I think he did too.

"Thank you, sir," he says, low-voiced. "May I express, now, how much I will always respect you?"

Even if I kill you, as I must if I intend to seize Power.

I incline my head. "Rest assured, Colonel, it will be mutual."

Even if I kill you, as I must if I want to survive.

And then he turns around and leaves, and I pick up my tool box and walk off to see about that dratted missile.

If you have enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a review.