Secret admirer

It was getting hot on Talos-1. The operator dispensers were spitting out new operators continually. Every new one was emerging the very second another one had bitten the dust, falling victim to either an EMP charge, a shotgun round, or good old plain and simple wrench. The girl had a way with the wrench. A certain attachment to it even. Or, maybe, she was just holding off wasting too many charges and shells on something she didn’t quite know how to stop. Dahl was proud of his arrangement with military operators. Proud every time his and Morgan’s glances met through yet another operator’s visor just before its fall. Morgan couldn’t know, of course, they were looking at each other, but she definitely made sure to cast a very angry look at each of his machines just before hitting it. Angry and bitter. And so deeply satisfying it made his fingertips tingle. Eventually, following the board’s orders proved to be more entertaining than he had thought. Relieving the Yu siblings of their positions, it was called; also known as eliminating the golden boy and girl of a filthy rich but not caring enough parents. It hadn’t even come as a surprise when he received the order. They all had known for quite a while that in the case of Transtar, there were just too many factors that could go wrong. The brother and his sister were among the factors this time. No more, no less. But obstinate as they were, they wouldn’t simply give up. One would hide, while another would crawl around like a nervous lab rat, trying to find a way and save them, even her fat ass of a brother. How touching! Sweet family vibes. How amusing Walther hadn’t noticed those in Catherine’s voice when she was passing that cold and short message for him. Oh, there the girl was. Another operator spotted Morgan and was closing in on her. She looked like shit — all greasy and visibly sweating, hair a mess, eyes like of a rabid dog, panting, lips red and glistening, suit and body mended all over — a live demonstration of a how-to-use a first aid kit in any possible situation. “She loves me, she loves me not,” he murmured remembering their last meeting at a Transtar gala dinner back earthside. Morgan was wearing a red qipao and elegant high heels and smelled vaguely of citrus mixed with cinnamon, a little bored, with a benevolent smile on lips coloured bold red to match the dress. No, she loved him not. Never had. Of which she would remind him any time, he was close. “How very unfortunate.” Now Morgan was looking directly at the visor, straight through whatever fibres were running from the optics to the mechanical brain. Transmitted by the wireless, her look was leaving no doubt — she was looking straight at Walther Dahl. He could swear it if only he didn’t know she couldn’t actually see him. Dahl opened and closed his mouth, exhaled and bared his teeth in a carnivorous smile. “Beautiful,” he whispered. And then the video feed died yet again, crushed by the weight of Morgan’s wrench. Walther shrugged. Not a big deal — a replacement operator would be ready in a minute. In a couple more, it would arrive straight at the spot where its predecessor had fallen and resume the search. He was all set to make sure this rat wouldn’t escape his claws. Not again.