Wings of Retribution (16 page)

Stuart nodded, because nodding was easier than talking.

A wrinkle in his forehead, Sergeant Griffin looked like he wanted to say something more, then shrugged.  “Ye got a couple hours ter rest up before Hearst comes ter look ye over.”  At that, he and the two soldiers departed, leaving Stuart alone.

The first thing Stuart did was get up and hit the LOCK button on the keypad.  The tumblers in the door made a comforting sound as they thudded into place, but Stuart knew that a military ship would have an override option on the outside of any barracks room. 

Panic once again working its way into his awareness, he hurried into the small bathroom and took a towel from the rack.  He held it to his ear and tilted his head to the side, allowing the blood to drain out of the wound.  When it stopped dripping, he wiped his ear down as good as he could and wadded the towel into a ball.  It was not a lot of blood, but if any of the soldiers had seen it, they would have sent him to the infirmary whether he socked them or not, and that would’ve been it.  Sayonara Stuart.  Can’t say anybody’s really gonna miss ya…

Stuart threw the wadded towel into the hamper and went to the mirror to begin motor control exercises.

Dallas sat against the wall as Goat and Dune pored over the mass of wires and metal on the table between them.

“She really gonna get rid of me?”

Neither Goat nor Dune said anything.  Dune tightened down a bolt and traded his wrench for a screwdriver.

“I said I was sorry!” Dallas cried.  She gestured at the ship, knocking over the flashlight in her haste.

“You mind putting that back up?” Goat said without looking at her.

Trembling, Dallas set the flashlight back up on the table.  “I could have gotten out of here, but I chose the
Beetle.
  She shouldn’t just cast me off after that!”

“Calm down, Fairy,” Dune said.  “Shouting wastes oxygen.  ‘Sides, it ain’t doin’ you no good shoutin’ to us ‘bout it.  Once Capt’in makes her mind up, it’s made up.”

“I should have gone with Smallfoot,” Dallas muttered.

“Aye,” Dune said.  “You shoulda.”  And he almost sounded like he meant it, too.  Dallas felt tears starting to sting her eyes.

“Anyway,” Goat said, quickly glancing between her and Dune, “No reason getting upset about it.  I’d count yourself lucky if you lived that long.  Chances are, we’re all gonna die here.  I’m savin’ me tangaweed for the last.”

“Go down smokin, eh, Goat?”  Dune chuckled.  Then he looked up, his eyes caught on Dallas, and he frowned.  Grunting, he plucked his grease-covered handkerchief from his chest pocket and threw it to her.  “Looks like ya got some dust in yer eye, there, stick fairy.”

Blushing, Dallas used it to wipe her eyes.

“I got some tanga weed for everyone,” Goat said, watching the exchange.  “Even the Captain.”

“Good luck with that,” Dune snorted.  “I think she immunized herself against the shit.”

Goat shrugged.  “Her loss.”

The two were silent for long minutes before Dallas cleared her throat and, gingerly handing Dune back his handkerchief, said, “How long do we have?”

Dune returned the square of cloth to his pocket and checked his watch.  “Two days, fifteen hours.  System’s already started slowing down to conserve power.  If you get a little lightheaded, that’s why.”

Two days and fifteen hours to live.  Dallas slumped back against the wall and watched the other two as they continued tinkering with the buggy controls.  Even though the captain was ungrateful for her loyalty and the other crewmembers didn’t seem to care that she had stayed, Dallas couldn’t bring herself to wish that she had gotten on the Utopian ship with Smallfoot.  There was a sort of…camaraderie…between a group of people who had less than three days to live.  For the first time since entering the female-hostile Utopian Spacer’s Academy, she really felt like she belonged. 

Too bad she only had two and a half days to enjoy it.

Stuart felt the ship shudder as it began docking procedures.  The intercom buzzed and Admiral Boyle’s voice filled the sleeping chamber.

We have reached Terra-9.  All hands will remain on board until Colonel Howlen transfers our cargo to the
Renee Beckett.
  Liberty will be granted by your noncommissioned officers.  Departure will be at zero six-thirty Standard next Friday.  Well done, men. 

A resounding cheer reverberated through the walls of the ship.  Stuart thought he was going to be sick.  They were keeping him onboard until they moved the shifters.  That could be hours, days.  He didn’t have that much time to waste.

Stuart slipped into the hall.  He had to get off the ship. 
Now
.

He had studied a map of the ship on the infoscreen set into the wall of his room and was able to navigate the maze of hallways with relative ease.  He passed by the holding cell, pausing long enough to glance through the window and see that all three shifters were still inside.  Then he hurried toward the ship’s airlock. 

“Corporal Koff!”

Stuart flinched at Sergeant Griffin’s bark.

“Why aren’t ye in bed, Koff?  Doctor said give ye a few days ter recover.”

“I feel fine,” Stuart said.  “Just needed to stretch my legs.”

“Ye need ter git back in bed,” Griffin retorted.  “Either that, or I’ll put ye on guard duty.”

Stuart hesitated.  Guard duty might not be so bad, but then he remembered that he would be sharing it with three other soldiers.  He could overpower one, but not three.  “Guess I’ll head back to bed, then.”

“I’ll walk ye there, just ter make sure.”

Stuart’s heart sank.  Nevertheless, he followed the sergeant back to his room.

Sergeant Griffin stopped at the door and began entering numbers into the keypad.

“What’re you doing?” Stuart asked, pausing in the doorjamb.

“Makin’ sure ye stay put,” Sergeant Griffin said.  “Ye’re like a lot of Denians I’ve met—ye got too much Frontier blood in ye fer yer own good.”

Stuart’s heart jumped into his throat.  He grabbed the sergeant’s hand where it was punching codes into the keypad and squeezed.

Sergeant Griffin’s eyes darkened and he scowled at Stuart.  “Ye ain’t in yer right mind, corporal.  Don’ make me kick yer ass.”

When Stuart did not relent, Sergeant Griffin tried wrenching his hand away.  When that did not work, he drew back his fist for a punch.

It had taken Stuart extra time because he was still new to this body, but he managed to extend a node into his palm before Griffin’s punch landed.  Before the blow could connect, he let loose on Griffin the rest of his stored energy, making the big man stiffen, his eyes go wide.

When Stuart released his hand, Griffin collapsed on the floor, quivering.  Stuart grabbed the sergeant by the legs and dragged him inside the room.  The doors swished shut behind him as Stuart went back into the hall and examined the keypad.  Griffin had not completed the codes, so he couldn’t lock him inside.

He had to be fast.

Stuart jogged back to the air-lock and was about to let himself out into the docking facility when someone shouted behind him.

“Dock’s closed until Howlen moves the shifters.”

Stuart turned to face the kid.  It was a young Utopi, probably no more than a hundred years old.  “I’ve got business planetside.”

The young man scoffed.  “We all got business planetside.  Just wait your turn.”

Stuart moved back to the controls.

“Do that, and I’m turning you in.”

Stuart pushed the button to open the airlock and stepped outside.  Behind him, the young Utopi shouted for a superior.

Stuart bolted past the startled guard stationed at the hub and caught the first shuttle he found.  Overwhelming everything else in his mind was the terrifying fact that he was risking exposure for the first time in centuries.  He should have known the shifters would get him caught.   He could have quietly disappeared, living out the rest of his live in peace, but no.  He had to let those stupid shifters convince him to get involved in all of this.

Well, it was too late to change his mind.

Stuart’s host’s heart pounded wildly all the way down to the planet, where the shuttle landed with a shaky crash.  He disembarked with the crowd and hurried to the first tram he saw, knowing that his Utopian uniform would mark him out in the Forgotten District like a bright red bulls-eye.  He paid the driver a couple credits since, unlike the shuttle, the Terra-9 landside services did not work for free at the sight of Utopian blue.  In fact, they’d probably charge
more
if they could get away with it.

Stuart got off the tram a couple blocks from The Shop and pulled off his jacket, yanked the colorful awards off his chest, untucked his blouse, and removed the shiny pieces of brass dotting his uniform.  Though he still looked Utopi if examined, a passing glance would overlook him as a businessman out for some good times.  It was his red hair that was the problem—it identified him as easily as if he were wearing a name-tag.  If he had a choice, Stuart always tried to acquire hosts with brown or black hair, brown eyes, and a slightly pudgy, five-foot-ten frame.  Corporal Koff was
well
out of the range of averages for his liking, and it left his nerves humming.

Stuart quickened his pace, flinching every time a shuttle roared overhead.  In any one of them, a hundred Utopis could be searching for a lone man with a shock of red hair.

Only when Stuart passed down the side alley and into The Shop did he relax.

“Stop right there.”

A man with an automatic laser rifle stood at the side of the door, the muzzle aimed at Stuart’s face.

“I’m looking for Rabbit,” Stuart said, swallowing hard.  “Athenais is in trouble.”

“No doubt she is,” the wiry little man said.  “But right now, you’re in even more trouble.  You’ve got an APB out on you, and they even bothered to send it to my establishment, so they must really want you bad.  Not just a runaway shipman, are you, boy?”

Stuart swallowed again.  “Please.  I must speak with Rabbit.”