She saw the plan like a diagram in her mind, timed to the second. It was 2241; she had nineteen minutes. She activated the GPS mapper in her phone, dropped it into the satbox, and snapped the box shut. The generals looked at her in surprise, and Wu started to protest, but Heron stood and silenced them with the full weight of her genetically perfect charisma.
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” she said. “I’m a spy for the Partial army, and my people are going to destroy this entire complex in nineteen minutes.”
General Wu recoiled like he’d seen a snake; Bao froze, too shocked to react. The soldiers froze as well, stunned by the confession, until Wu managed to stammer out “Stop her!” and they surged forward, rifles raised, in perfect formation for a three-man capture like this—two soldiers with guns and one with a pair of handcuffs. Heron saw it all as if in slow motion: the looks on their faces, the slow, predictable movements as the handcuffs were raised. She could avoid them easily, but she put up only a token resistance, fighting just enough to look determined without becoming enough of a threat to warrant them shooting her. The man with the handcuffs pulled her arms roughly behind her back, slapping the first cuff on her wrist, but as he came in for the second one she twisted her arms and grabbed his finger, snapping it like a twig; he screamed, and the second cuff came down imperfectly on her tangle of arms and wrists. She ended up with both cuffs on the same wrist, her other arm twisted through the chain to create the illusion that she was fully restrained. The soldier behind her staggered away, too distracted by the pain in his finger to notice. Heron kept her gaze level and fixed the generals with her iciest expression.
“Why?” demanded General Bao, and Heron could hear the undercurrent of personal betrayal in his voice. “Why did you deceive us?” Why are you not the girl I wanted you to be?
“She deceived us because she is a devil,” said Wu, braver now that she was contained. “The question is, why did you reveal yourself?”
“Because I do not wish to die,” she said simply.
Wu was furious. “You think we will help you to escape?”
“I think you’ll help me call it off,” she said. This part of the story was a lie, carefully crafted to evoke the required response. “I have the access codes, but not the access. They’ve cut off my communications, but with your computer network I could uplink to the jets themselves and abort the mission.”
“She lies,” said Bao, his voice thick and bitter. “She thinks to trick us into calling off the counterattack, but we will not fall for her wiles.”
“We must still be cautious, though,” said Wu. “She might have guessed that we would guess that she . . . bah! Schemes within schemes. We must cut through to the heart of the matter and deal with it the simplest way possible.” He picked up the satbox and clutched it protectively under one arm. “I will carry this to safety—with invasions and air strikes and spies it is too dangerous to leave it here, troop morale be damned.”
“We will never abandon our position!” cried Bao, but turned away and spoke more softly, anger turning to sour acceptance. “But you are right. If we cannot know the truth, we must hedge our bets. You will flee, and I will lead the defense of the complex.”
“To arms, then,” said Wu, and shook Bao’s hand solemnly. “If you die, I will tell them you died a hero.”
“And if I live,” said Bao, “I will have you and your army to thank for it.”
Wu turned without another word, gesturing for one of the soldiers to follow him, and stormed out of the room with the satbox. A moment later Heron heard the low hum of a Rotor preparing for launch.
“I cannot trust you to use our computers,” said Bao. “You realize this.”
Heron answered calmly. “You think I would expose myself so fully if my life were not in just as much danger as yours?”
“I will use the computer,” he said, holding up his phone. He tapped in a password, accessing the satellite network, and looked up at Heron. “What is the password to uplink to the jets?”
“I can’t give you access to our system,” said Heron.
“And I can’t give you access to mine,” said Bao. “I remind you that you are about to die: Either give me the code or lose your life.”
Heron smiled. “Or you could just give me the phone, like I asked.” He started to respond, but Heron was already moving: She had a soldier on each side, and with her hands unexpectedly free she caught them completely unaware, elbowing the first in the solar plexus and wrenching the rifle from the second one’s hands. He fought, pulling on it, but she used his own force against him and pushed back suddenly in the same direction he was pulling in, slamming him in the face with a sickening crunch. He lost his grip and staggered back, and she turned the rifle on the first soldier just as he was recovering from his hit. She shot him squarely in the chest, then turned on the second man and shot him, too. Bao was too shocked to move. She plucked his phone from his hands and typed with her thumb, keeping the rifle aimed squarely at his heart. After a series of beeps, Heron entered a ten-digit security code and lifted the phone to speak.
“New orders,” she said, careful not to use any specific jargon or protocol. “The enemy is entrenched in the complex, and we must act quickly.” She lowered the rifle slowly as she talked, watching Bao from the corner of her eye; this was not what she’d told him she would do, and the look of betrayal grew even harsher on his face. He would attack her, and she used a portion of her awareness to help gauge the precise moment at which he would try it. As she spoke she feigned preoccupation, letting her guard appear to drop further and further. “Bring your army into Building Five, on the south end of the complex, and engage the enemy with extreme force.” She ended the call and looked to the window.
Bao struck then, leaping at her and grabbing the rifle, grappling with her at close range where the long weapon would do no good. Heron dropped it and fought back—carefully, like before, putting up just enough resistance to make it look good. He landed a blow to her head and she dropped instantly, feigning unconsciousness.
This was the moment of truth—would he shoot her first, or would he send new orders to his men? Everything she knew of him said he would send the orders; he was too noble, and still too trapped by his former feelings for her, to shoot an unconscious woman, even if she was a devil. His emotions, his human empathy, were tools to be exploited. She waited, a motionless heap on the floor, to see if she had used them well.
“Commander Fung,” he said, speaking into his phone. His ground commander, thought Heron. I was right. “The devil army is headed toward Building Five. They have at least one traitor in the compound, and may have more. Entrench in Building Three and engage with deadly force.”
Heron smiled, and when she heard the phone beep to signal that the call was closed, she sat up. General Bao stepped back, raising his rifle in fear.
“Thank you,” she said, rising to her feet. “I had General Wu’s security codes, but not yours. It was kind of you to make that call yourself.”
Bao opened his mouth to protest, but the sudden shock of realization in his eyes told Heron he’d figured it out. He checked the call history in the phone and confirmed it: She hadn’t called the Partials at all; she’d called Wu’s ground commander, Shu Yeoh. Bao had just ordered his army to attack Wu’s, and Wu’s had been ordered to fire back; both would remain hidden in their buildings, unseen by the enemy and firing blind, trusting their commanders’ orders. The two armies would kill each other, with the Partials on the eastern flank to mop up the survivors. Bao tried to call back, desperate to warn them of the deception, but Heron stepped in almost casually, dodging Bao’s first, wide rifle shot and then yanking the weapon from his hands, knocking the phone away on the backswing. Bao leapt in to grapple her again, overconfident after his last attempt, but this time Heron had no reason to lose, and dropped him with a solid blow to the skull. He fell like a stone to the floor.