Runner Up 2 20501.26

O'Malley Factor - Cdr Avark

© 2005 by Federation Space and the author pen named Avark

Darkness. Complete and utter darkness.

Silence. Total silence.

Pain. Excruciating pain.

He hurt. He hurt so badly he wanted to scream. But he couldn’t scream. All he could do was lie there. Lie there and wait for death.

Maybe this is death, he wondered. Maybe this is what it’s like to be dead—to be in hell.

Even as he began to wonder, the world exploded with light, and sound, and the pain subsided.

Peter O’Malley jerked awake, the sound of a monorail filled with people filling his ears. You fell asleep! He was both happy and angry at the same time. It was sloppy in his line of work to drift off to sleep like that. It was dangerous. He could be killed—or worse—compromised.

“Peter?” said the soft voice next to him. “Peter, are you okay?”

He turned his head. I am now, he though as he looked over at the woman sitting next to him. She had long reddish-brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a very soft face.

“Yes,” he finally answered. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Because the way you woke up, I thought you were having a bad dream.”

Me? No… that wasn’t a bad dream. That was hell.

“Yeah,” he said. “I suppose I was.”

“The same one?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned over to him from the adjoining seat, kissed him softly on the cheek, and all of his pain, his worries drifted off.

“You can keep doing that if you want,” he said as she sat back.

“You’d like it too much, and we’d never get done,” she said. “You know we have more important things to do.”

What could be more important than that? he wondered. But he knew. There were literally millions—if not billions—of lives at stake. And the next few hours, which if all went well no one in the galaxy save a handful of people would ever know about, would decide if two great powers were going to war or staying at peace. Once again the people who REALLY made a difference would be the silent ones.

The car came to a stop. It was their stop. “Ready?” he asked.

“As read as I’ll ever be,” she answered.

The two got up; each carrying what looked like a normal attaché case. And in fact were someone to scan it, they would see exactly what they expected—a portable computer; a few writing implements; and all of the other things that one might expect to see in the capitol city of the planet Yaron III.

The Yarons were located strategically, near the Federation-Romulan border. And at present were neutral. They were advanced to a stage about 100 years behind the Federation, and both ‘empires’ were negotiating for trade rights to their moon. A moon very rich in unrefined dilithium. The side that won the negotiations would gain a significant upper-hand in the quadrant.

But those negotiations were only a backdrop for something larger—at least in the world of Peter O’Malley and Tara MacFarley. Unbeknownst to both sides, there were other people here. People bent on destroying the negotiations, but not because they had any interest in Yaron III or the dilithium. Because they hated both the Federation and Romulan Empire, and knew this would start a war that could very well destroy both empires at once.

Their adversary, whom Peter had never met face-to-face, but had been in competition with on many operations, was an evil man who worked for and with evil organizations; Peter only knew him by his first name, if that in fact was his true name. Peter only knew him as Boris.

And Peter had spent the past four months in this sector tracking the man down to this city on this planet. And now, if his information was correct, he was within a few kilometers of him.

Peter knew the man had a vast organization; and that he probably had people watching Peter. And that was why Peter and Tara had decided to move on this alone—just the two of them—with Frank in orbit as back-up should they run into something beyond their capabilities. Frank had insisted that a ‘hot switch’ be surgically implanted in them both, so that they could bio-electrically ask for assistance—the switch would also be triggered automatically if either party’s body stopped producing bioelectric energy—in other words if either of them died.

They mixed into the crowds, and Peter was pleased that the Yarons were completely human in every measurable way. At least this way he didn’t have to be surgically altered.

“This way,” said Tara. “This is the passage.”

She led him down an alleyway, and then into the side door of a building. Once inside, they found themselves in a small dark room. They both set the cases down and opened them, removing the contents.

A few minutes later when they left their clothes were different, the hair colors and styles were changed, and their eye colors had been changed. They also both now carried a mini-disruptor capable of one killing shot, or two stunning shots, concealed.

“We’re only about three blocks from the rendezvous,” said Tara as they turned the corner.

That was when they were jumped from the sides.

They had no chance. There were six of them. Despite the odds, Peter managed to disable two before he was stunned; and Tara was still fighting when he went down.

When he awoke he was in some sort of small shuttle or transport. It was dimly lit, and he could see four armed men, two of which had weapons trained on him. He was bound and gagged, and felt like he’d gotten a good beating—which he had.

Lying next to him on the floor was an unconscious Tara, a trickle of blood running from her nose. This enraged Peter, but he knew he could do nothing.

It’s my own damned fault, he realized. I should never have become emotionally involved with her.

It had been nearly a year ago now. They had met during an operation where they just happened to be working on the same side, but for different ‘employers’. They had not only worked together on the job, but had also fallen deeply in love, and hadn’t been apart since.

Peter looked at her, his face flushed with anger. He looked at the guards, one of whom smiled a toothless grin. “Maybe when the boss is done he’ll let me have her,” he said, and the others chuckled. “I’ll be sure to share with you guys—after I get mine that is.”

Peter struggled in rage but he was bound to the wall of the vehicle and couldn’t move. The thug laughed again and then stunned Peter.

Peter slowly awoke. He was strapped to a metal examining table of some sort. The table was partially elevated so he could see the room around him. About 2 meters away was another table with Tara strapped to it. She was naked as was he. She appeared to be unconscious.

His muscles and bones ached. In the room were small tables with instruments on them. Instruments which Peter could identify but wished he could not. Attached to his chest, arms, and legs, were some sort of electrodes, and he could feel them on his neck as well. He looked over and could see that Tara was similarly hooked up.

He heard the sound of a door opening and two sets of steps approaching from behind. A few moments later a woman dressed in a white lab coat entered his field of vision. She was facing away from him and moved directly to Tara’s side.

“Vake her,” said the unmistakeable voice behind him.

\i{He’s here?} thought Peter. He almost instinctively tried to break loose.

“Da restraints vill get tighter da more you try to break free. So as your Borg friends say, resistance is futile.” The man laughed and walked into Peter’s field of vision and faced him.

“Now it is up to you. You can haff a quick and mostly painless death, or I can make it last hours, vit da help of my goot friend here.”

The woman turned and Peter recognized the unmistakeable features of a Romulan.

\i{He’s working with them?} thought Peter. \i{No, more likely using them.}

“P-Peter?” came a weak voice from across the room. “Peter I can’t see! Where are we?”

“Tara, don’t speak!” shouted Peter.

“Dat’s right, miss MacFarley,” said Boris. “You don’t vant to vaste your energy on speakink. You vill need it for udder tings. Mister O’Malley here is da vone who needs to start speakink.”

He turned back to Peter and nodded to the woman who took out a small tool which looked like the hook an ancient dentist would use to clean the gums. She moved closer to Peter and slid the thing under the fingernail of his smallest finger on his left hand. Peter gritted his teeth as she pulled the nail clean off and then dropped it into a receptacle. The pain was high, but Peter had withstood much worse.

“Now I vill ask you a qvestion. If I am satisfied vit da answer den ve move on to da next qvestion. If not, den I do to your lady friend here vhat I just did to you. If dat does not vork, ve do sometink else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Peter. He was looking for an opportunity to act, but it seemed that the man had him this time. At least for now.

And so the questioning went on… for how long Peter did not know. He passed out a number of times. Every time they were going to ask him a question they tortured him. Every time his answer didn’t satisfy them they tortured her with whatever they had just done to him.

Finally he was bleeding from his torso where they had just stuck some sort of sharp object up and ‘grazed’ his heart, scratching the outer surface very delicately. Of course to Peter it hurt immensely, but he knew that if he didn’t hold absolutely still it would pierce his heart and he’d die. Not that Peter cared about dying. He was more concerned with surviving long enough to get Tara out.

The strangest part is, he thought as he lay there, he hasn’t asked me any REAL questions yet. What is his game anyway?

Peter watched as they inserted the spike-like object into Tara’s torso. He watched her writhe in pain and listened to her calling out to him for help as they did so. He had already lost most of his teeth, two of his fingers were gone, and various other injuries, some in much more sensitive areas. Some of these same tortures had been done on her.

“Now, Peter,” said Boris. He’d switched to them being on a first-name basis after his ‘doctor’ as he called her had removed one of Peter’s eyes and while the nerves were still connected had literally melted it with a device. Peter had wanted to die at that moment, and in fact had passed out for some significant amount of time, only to wake and watch them do the same thing to Tara.

He was certain she’d never wake from it but with the right drugs they could wake anyone.

“Now, ve vill ask da real qvestion vhich ve called you here for,” he said.

“What is that?” asked Peter, blood and drool running out of his mouth.

“Vhat is da code to enter da—“ but he was interrupted by a rumble filling the room. “Nyet!” he screamed as an explosion rocked the place.

“Qvick!” he shouted to his companion. “Kill her!”

“NOOOOOOooooooO!!!!”” Peter shouted.

The woman just smiled and shoved the spike up further and it pierced Tara’s heart. “Peter—“ she gasped blood as she looked at him. She had regained her vision earlier and now was staring at him through one eye.

“You see,” said Boris. “You cannot vin.”

“Tara!” cried Peter. “No!” He ignored the man.

Boris shot the Romulan and then turned the weapon on Tara. “I can save her. If you tell me vhat I need to—“

At that moment in an explosion of light one of the walls was vaporized. And in burst four men in heavy combat armor, one of them unmistakably Frank, Peter’s associate.

“Frank,” said Peter. “Tara…”

But it was too late… Tara’s body was slumped, very dead, and the blood of death was running from her mouth.

“We can’t save her,” said Frank as he un-strapped Peter, who didn’t have the strength to sit up on his own any more. He hefted the smaller man. “And this place is going to blow in about 5 seconds.”

And Peter blacked out…

Peter awoke some time later, in a medical bay. He was being held by a restraining field. He couldn’t speak or move at all.

“Peter,” said Frank. “I’m sorry about Tara. We tried, but we were too late. You should be better in a few days. It was mostly tissue damage, and the ‘missing parts’ have been replaced with implants.”

Peter looked up questioningly at Frank.

Frank shook his head. “No remains were found. But he couldn’t have survived the blast, and there was a transport-inhibitor put up when we beamed out. Plus he was trapped under a large piece of concrete when I was there. He’s dead Peter. Finally.”

Peter just nodded and returned to unconsciousness where he dreamt of a world without Tara. He had the same nightmares about the incident nearly every night for the next thirteen years, even after he’d moved his life on out of that horrible career. His only hope was that someday he’d join her in whatever afterlife there may be, and that she’d accept him when he did… but his biggest fear—his biggest demon—was that she would hold him responsible… that last look of need in her eyes as she died would haunt his thoughts for the rest of his life…