Chapter 10
Vance pushed off the door, walking slowly toward the workbench where Elena stood. The dim yellow light of the overhead bulb cast long, sharp shadows across his weathered features. He reached out and picked up an empty brass shell casing from the cluttered table, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger as he thought through the monumental risk of what he was about to propose. In the rigid hierarchy of the military regime, harboring a classified political prisoner who possessed advanced combat skills was a capital offense. If upper command discovered what had happened on the firing range, both of them would vanish into the subterranean interrogation blocks before nightfall.
“If I report this incident by the book,” Vance said carefully, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “internal security will review the trajectory analysis, pull your civilian file from the southern archive, and transfer you to a permanent labor colony sixty miles north. You’ll never touch a weapon again, and your file will be locked behind triple-encrypted firewall clearance.”
Elena didn’t flinch. She set the brass brush down on the metal table with a soft clink. “I know.”
“And if I don’t report it,” Vance continued, his eyes locking onto hers with intense scrutiny, “we both have to pretend that an untrained inmate in a grey jumpsuit didn’t just save the base’s primary fuel supply from an enemy reconnaissance team.” He paused, letting the heavy silence of the small room settle around them. “Which means you stay here, you keep cleaning the concrete, and you keep your head down when the patrol rotations come through.”
Elena tilted her head slightly, her pale face betraying a flicker of calculated curiosity. “Why take the risk, Commander? You could have me transferred by morning and wash your hands of the entire complication.”
“Because,” Vance said, tossing the empty shell casing back onto the table where it rattled against the metal surface, “the perimeter sensors on the eastern ridge have been failing for three weeks, and my command staff is too incompetent to notice. The enemy isn't retreating, Parker. That reconnaissance shot wasn't a random hit; it was a probe to test our response time before a larger push.” He stepped closer, towering over her by half a foot. “A base doesn’t survive an active incursion by scrubbing floors. It survives because someone knows how to read the wind when the sky starts falling.”
Elena looked up at him, recognizing the pragmatic calculus behind his words. It wasn’t mercy or sudden humanitarian awakening; it was pure, cold survival instinct. Vance needed her skills just as much as she needed a way to avoid the lethal North Camp.
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“If I stay on this detail,” Elena said, her voice steady and uncompromising, “I want access to the armory logs, full diagnostic tools for the optic repairs, and your personal authorization to maintain the firing range equipment without interference from your junior officers.”
Vance stared at her for a long, tense moment, a slow, grim smile finally touching the corners of his mouth. “Deal,” he muttered.
