The Operator

Pressed into Bill’s back, Jen made a soft noise of disappointment. “I would’ve thought he’d have lasted at least a punch or two.”

Bill lowered the goggles. “Michael knows her idiosyncrasy about only killing people who kill her first. It will get interesting now.”

Michael was laughing, thinking her self-imposed rule a weakness. The derision would only make Peri that much more determined. “Peri Reed,” he mocked. “You changed your hair.”

“There she goes!” Jen exclaimed as Peri lurched off Michael to flee, and Bill put a hand on Latisha’s arm to stop her.

“Wait,” he whispered as Michael scrambled after her. Still on the ground, he caught Peri’s ankle and gave a yank. Peri turned even as she fell, her first kick missing. Michael still had her foot, though, and she used it to drag herself closer before he could break it, nailing him right in the chest with a boot heel.

Swearing, Michael let go. His foot flashed out, knocking her Glock into the road, where it skittered into the far gutter. Angry, he was on her in half a second, flinging her knife away and pinning her to the sidewalk. “Little soldier girl, playing army,” the man said.

Bill’s lips turned down in disappointment, but with a curious flip of vertigo, the world flashed blue and he was back a second in time, watching Peri roll away instead of reach for her knife. An instant of red coated his vision, and time meshed.

“Did you see that?” Jen exclaimed, her perfume strong as she leaned between them for a better look. “She hop-skipped to keep her knife!”

“Don’t shoot her!” Bill exclaimed when Latisha readied her rifle. Eyes glued to the pair, he watched Peri score on Michael before the man backed off, reassessing the threat and the bloody line she’d scratched into him in warning. Peri was darting glances into the night, looking for them, knowing Michael wouldn’t be here alone.

“I thought you said whoever resorted to drafting first was the poorer agent,” Jen said, and he waved his hand impatiently for her to shut up so he could hear them.

“That hop-skip was tactical, not escape based.”

Peri and Michael were circling, making Bill breathless. Watching her work had always been a pleasure. “You walk away. I walk away,” Peri said, voice small through Michael’s mic. “No one dies.”

Michael was grinning, an almost childlike anticipation on him as he misjudged his own worth. He wouldn’t understand until he was choking on his own blood, laughing probably, at the rare occurrence of being wrong, his ego greater than his true capabilities. But as Michael was truly gifted, he could be excused. Bill never should have brought him into the program, but drafters were so rare, even a psychotic one was useful.

“Right,” Michael said, giving away his intention a fateful second before attacking.

She was ready, blocking his front kick with her palm, blocking his straight punch with her scarf, then using it to tangle his next spin kick and yank him off balance. Pride warmed Bill. She was keeping her distance as she looked for another way out. She didn’t like to kill, avoided it when she could, called it a failure when she was forced to.

Still tangled, she gave him a shove and he fell on the ice, not rolling fast enough to entirely evade her jab to his thorax. It caught him on his cheek, and she spun to her feet before he could get a grip on her.

Michael had stopped laughing. His expression was ugly as he rose and felt his bruised face. Disappointment filled Bill, and he watched now only to see how she would bring him down. “Offer is still open,” Peri said even as she looked into the sharp black-and-white of a snowy night for the best way out.

“Michael, get back so we can dart her,” Bill said into the radio, not surprised when the man launched himself at her in a silent rage.

Like the artist she was, Peri pivoted, smacking the back of his knee in passing. Michael’s leg crumpled, and she caught his arm, jumping two seconds back when he got a grip on her.

Bill watched in a blue-sheened world as again she kicked his knee, this time shoving him into the lamppost. Time caught up, flashed red, and Michael hit the post with a dull thwap.

Stunned, Michael reeled, trying to stay upright. “You little bitch!” he shouted, and she straight-kicked him back to hit it again.

“Oooh, twice in a row,” Jen said in admiration.

Latisha watched, her finger far from the trigger. “Did she do what I think she did?”

Bill nodded. “The hop-skips?” he asked. “Yes. They both know they’re happening until after they’re done, and then they forget.”

“How can she not know?” Latisha asked in awe. “It’s beautiful!”

“It is, isn’t it.” He was watching through the goggles, slightly queasy at the tiny shifts in time. “It’s hard to notice little jumps in the heat of it all.”

And yet she kept doing it, making Michael more and more incensed as she chipped away at him. Bill knew he should stop it, but he didn’t, wondering whether Peri was enjoying the chance to use her skills as much as he was enjoying watching her work. He jerked, thinking it might be the end when she got a foot between his and she yanked him down. He’d seen that look in her before, and he could hardly breathe as they fell together, Peri following him into the street.

Michael was after her dropped knife, but she reached it first, eyes alight as she threw it at him even as she rose. Michael didn’t even notice it lodging under his knee, and motions graceful, she jumped at him, her foot landing squarely atop the hilt, jamming it deeper.