Soloist
© 2025 by Walter Reimer


The ‘virtuoso’ chosen by the Maestra sat alone behind a table and gazed at a holo-window displaying a scene of forested mountains from Vallejo. The scenery was little short of spectacular, reproduced faithfully at a resolution so high it was likely stressing the window’s imaging processors.

The femme was a doe kangaroo with fur more brown than red, shading to a lighter sandy brown starting under her chin. She was neither particularly tall nor particularly short, the sort of fur someone wouldn’t look at twice. In her line of business, this was a positive quality.

The doe kangaroo sat and watched, but didn’t see the mountains, the trees, or the occasional bird that flew by or rose on a thermal. What she saw were hiding places and areas to mark in the event a target came into range. It was in her nature to be analytical about every place she saw or moved through. Paranoia was a necessary survival trait in her line of work.

That line of work had seen her working for criminal combines in two different (non-neighboring) systems, as well as for an organization dedicated to the overthrow of the (at the time) Confed government. It was that period of employment that had attracted the attention of Directorate II (kh) and the serval who ran it.

The Maestra had made it abundantly clear that her continued survival depended on working for the Special Section. Faced with a choice between life and death, the doe had shrugged and chosen life.

She was allowed to ply her trade, with targets supplied by the Section, so she remained well-practiced. She had to concede that there were benefits to working for the Section. The pay was good and regular, and she didn’t have to concern herself with any authorities pursuing her.

A door beside the holo-window opened and she turned her attention to the fur who walked in, assessing him instantly as a possible threat. “Agent, I am Control.” The image in the window faded as he sat facing her.

She inclined her head slightly, not taking her eyes off him. So, the otter was her handler for this mission. “What is the assignment?” she asked in a soft voice.

The otter placed a datapak on the table, and an image was projected above the glossy surface. “This is your target,” he said as lines of text appeared beside the image. “He will be making a public appearance in twenty-three days.”

“Where?”

The image of the target shifted aside as an image of a set of buildings surrounding an open-air plaza appeared. Smaller insets supplied its location within the city of Izlabad on the southern side of Terra’s largest continent. The datapak would include more detailed information, including what passed for weather on the planet.

The doe’s eyes narrowed. “No security on him?” she asked suspiciously.

“A private company,” the otter replied.

“Passive defenses?”

A nod. “Deflection shields rated for energy weapons.”

One eyebrow lifted. So, now she knew why she had been selected. The doe kangaroo began to manipulate the display of the plaza, looking for chokepoints and likely areas to position herself. “Exfiltration?”

The otter gave a slight shrug. “Exfil options include arrest.” She looked at him sharply and he added, “Only if necessary, and things are already arranged.”

She nodded. Working for the government had certain advantages. “Special conditions?” she asked.

“One. You don’t kill the target.”

“No?”

“No.” The otter pointed his right index finger at the apex of his left shoulder. “Your aiming point’s there.”

And there was the other reason she’d been chosen as a ‘soloist’ by the Maestra. She didn’t ask what the mel had done or why she had to shoot him or why she only had to wound him. Those matters were of no concern to her.

The otter, a senior operative in the Section, sat back as the doe kangaroo began to delve deeper into the file he’d provided. He was ready to answer any questions she might have, and he watched as the doe brought up a recording of the subject as he gave an address.

She noted that he had a habit of dipping his left shoulder and half-turning at random moments. It would make the shot trickier, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

The doe flicked her gaze to the otter. “Twenty-three days?”

“Yes.”

“I will need to practice.”

The otter smiled. “The range is open, day and night, as you require.”

She acknowledged this with a curt nod.