Terran Oblivion

Chapter 23

Robert Kushner

June 4, 2203

Panama City - Panama

5:10 AM

I've been told that I have a way of charming people.

I don't think I do.

I'm no more charismatic or different than the next person.  But I do understand one thing--the way to get people to follow you is to have their interests align in a way that they serve your own.  Once you understand that, then you can start to get working on people.

-Diary of  a Martian

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When Courtney called out that there was only one left around there, Robert knew he had to move.

Guns would slow him down. He had to run. So he put his rifle on the ground and took out a knife instead.  And he ran at full speed down the hall and practically flung himself around the corner, tackling the one remaining fool who decided to try and fight.

Robert hoped that it would be Simon here so that this could be ended sooner rather than later. Honestly, Robert didn't want to kill Simon. Yes, he knew the directives and the orders that had been assigned to him, but the thought of having to kill one of his friends terrified him more than anything. Yes, Simon fucked up big time, more than big time, but he could be redeemed. He could be sent to some prison and give away all the information on what exactly he got into and then he might be able to live out the rest of his life on some safe island monitored but safe.

But it took Robert less than a few moments to feel that this idiot wasn't Simon. Simon fought in a certain way, a vicious way, and he liked to scream and grunt a lot when engaged in physical combat. This rogue agent hardly made a noise and didn't go for dirty moves like trying to knee Robert in the genitals or going for the neck to try and slash it. No, he fought too cleanly, and unfortunately for him, he didn't have a weapon out already. His pistol was in the sheath, his knife in a scabbard, and immobilized with Robert's legs. Most people in combat situations like this might feel hatred, anger, rage, perhaps a bit of annoyance, but Robert felt just one thing–duty, a duty to survive. Nothing else. He owed everyone that he loved his survival and he'd do anything to make sure that he didn't end up as a corpse somewhere.

Before Robert could hack a knife into the sod though, someone rounded the corner and blasted a round into his head, killing the rogue fuck. Robert didn't stop struggling, however, until the body went limp and stopped moving.

Only then did Robert get back onto his feet.

"Your weapon," Courtney's voice rippled through. "Don't drop it, old man."

"I was busy saving you."

"Sure," she said with a bit of sass but still professional, hiding their affection. It was hard to square the fact that she had just gunned someone down ruthlessly because that person tried to kill him. Robert had him but Courtney just made it simple. Utterly ruthless.

She tossed the weapon into his hands, a rifle that he dropped onto the ground in the chaos.

"Are you hurt at all?" he asked her, trying to hide affection.

"Not a scratch."

Now he had to pivot from fight mode into command mode. That was easier said than done. Going from the adrenaline-fueled rush of a battle to having to calm oneself and make objective choices based on the conditions on the ground took practice. Having a measure of panic was actually a good thing because evolution gave humans the ability to push beyond normal constraints, hence why mothers were known to pick up cars to rescue their children at the cost of broken bones and how people managed to jump and climb to escape death. Panic, when directed correctly, allowed people to do things they weren't normally able to do, but it also turned the human mind into something akin to a bullet that couldn't turn, focused on one thing often to the detriment of other things such as helping others and letting people that you didn't know survive. One could help people they loved, Courtney in this case, but all the others were of little importance. Secretly, deep down, Robert would sacrifice everyone else if it meant that Courtney got out safely.