Free The Hangman's Revolution by Eoin Colfer

I must undo it.”
    Vallicose drew her weapon. “You speak in riddles, spy. Blasphemous riddles at that. Stand still, blast you, and allow our young cadet to carry out her orders.”
    The kitchen was now humming like a giant refrigerator, and Witmeyer felt the situation slipping away. “Very well, Citizen. You’ve had your little episode. It’s natural, people react in different ways. Now, you tell us in plain English what you are babbling about, and the girl here will kill you quickly. We can’t be any fairer than that.”
    Smart ignored her. “I can still stop Box. Without those missiles, he’s nothing.”
    Vallicose was offended. “Box? Do you speak of the Blessed Colonel as an equal?” She stood suddenly, shunting her chair backward. “On your knees, Citizen. And pray to God for purgatory instead of hell.”
    Witmeyer rolled her eyes. Here came the fire and brimstone.
    “Cadet Savano, this is ridiculous. Do your duty and put an end to the madness.”
    There is no end to madness, thought Chevie. No end.
    “You heard me, Savano. Prove yourself a patriot.”
    Smart is the key, said Traitor Chevie. He is the way out.
    “Shut up!” said Chevie, and she pulled her weapon. “Shut up.”
    Smart behaved as though he were alone, rattling off long equations, throwing switches, and testing the wind with his finger.
    “It should work. I have been building it for years. The calculations are sound.”
    Chevie pointed the gun at him. What choice did she have?
    “Stand still,” she ordered. “Stop talking.”
    “Good girl,” said Witmeyer. “It will all be over soon.”
    “Shoot!” said Vallicose. “For Box and Empire, shoot!”
    No, said Traitor Chevie. You know this man. Think. Remember.
    A vision popped into Chevie’s head. Smart, but with a monkey arm.
    Not now, she begged the Traitor. Just let me get through this.
    She followed Smart with the barrel. A moving target. “Please, Professor.”
    Please, Professor what? Stand still and be shot like a good fellow?
    “The bridge is constant,” said Charles Smart, dialing the knobs on the oven. “I should be in time to stop Box.”
    “Kill the heathen!” shouted Vallicose. “Kill him!”
    Professor Charles Smart, that’s his name, not heathen . And his son Felix. Agent Orange. Remember, Chevron.
    Chevie pointed the gun at her own head. “Get out of me! Leave me!”
    “Well now,” said Witmeyer, delighted. “This is interesting.”
    The entire room was vibrating now. Whatever Smart was doing, it was a lot more than making an omelette.
    You know this, said Traitor Chevie. You know exactly what is happening here.
    “Kill the heathen!” shrieked Clover Vallicose.
    No. She could not. Chevie could not believe that the Blessed Colonel wanted her to murder old men.
    Her head pounded. Hammer blows behind the eyes. The Traitor was exploding.
    “No!” she shouted. “I won’t kill him! No.”
    She took the cold steel from her own temple and turned it on Witmeyer. “Raise your hands.”
    Vallicose pointed a righteous finger at Chevie. “Do you see now? I was right. Was I not right?”
    “You were right, Sister, but we had our orders. And she is a mere child.”
    Witmeyer raised her hands, but in a mocking fashion, wiggling her fingers as though terrified when her features showed she was anything but.
    “Don’t shoot me, Cadet. I am your friend, truly.”
    The walls began to flex slightly, and Vallicose had seen more than enough to convince her that something traitorous and possibly heretical was going on here.
    “I will kill the professor now,” she declared. “We can investigate later.”
    “As usual,” said Witmeyer.
    Chevie was confused. Did they not see the gun? Did the Thundercats think themselves immortal?
    “Stay where you are!” she ordered, half-wishing the Traitor would take over now and she would become a super soldier. “Leave the professor alone.”
    Vallicose ignored Chevie completely, moving briskly toward Smart, who had opened the