Wings of Retribution (9 page)

“Oh, yes,” Athenais said.  “You’re going to use the technology I carry to cure everyone of being a Utopi.  You’re either desperate or delusional.”

“We’re desperate,” Ragnar said.

Athenais stopped rubbing her scar and gave him a cold look.  “Then you’re no different than any other colonist I’ve seen.  Desperation doesn’t win wars.  Desperation gets you killed.  I’m not risking
Beetle
for desperate men.”

“We’ve been planning this for years,” Ragnar told her.  “Before I met you.”

“Funny, it sounds to me like you’re putting most of the burden in my hands.”  She began counting off fingers.  “You want
me
to supply the antidote,
me
to find a way back onto Millennium and then
me
to get us into Marceau’s compound.  What will you contribute to all this?”

“Everything we can,” Morgan replied.

The shifters waited in silence.

A grin cracked Athenais’s face.  “Sounds like fun.”

They relaxed a bit.  “So you’ll help us?”  Ragnar said.

“No,” Athenais said.  “You still owe me an apology.”

“I apologize,” Ragnar said, gritting his teeth.  It sounded like he was pulling steel needles though his nuts.  “I should have told you, Captain.”

“You’re right,” Athenais said.  “You should have known you could trust me, you twit.”

“I was afraid you might pull a stunt like this,” Ragnar growled, motioning to the gun and the handheld.

“The only reason I did
this
was because you
lied
to me,” Athenais shot back.

“The only reason I
lied
to you was because I knew you would
overreact
.”

“
Overreact
?! I’m not overreacting! If I had overreacted, you’d be a nice mushy pool of shifter goop and I’d be collecting twelve million credits.” 

Ragnar’s jaw looked like it was about to crack under the strain.  “If I’d told you, you’d have put me to work robbing banks and fleecing gem-dealers, all the while risking my exposure.”

Athenais’s jaw dropped.  “You
would
make a good thief, wouldn’t you?”

“You
see
?”  Ragnar said, “You’re as single-minded as a child!”

“At least I’m not a shape-shifting blob of mucus!”  Athenais screamed.

“You’re right! You’re a greedy, conniving, spoiled brat!”

Athenais lunged out of her chair, tossing the pistol and the handheld to the side in exchange for Ragnar’s throat.  They went down together in a ball of ramming elbows, jabbing knees, and startled grunts.  The three remaining shifters converged on the fight that followed, though it took time for them to pull the two of them apart. 

 “…of a
bitch
,” Athenais panted when they finally managed to pin her arms behind her, facedown on the floor.  Her nose was bleeding, dripping a fine stream of red onto the carpet beneath her face.  Ragnar was in a similar position several feet away, with his father seated on his back, pressing his face into the floor.

“Enough!”  Morgan shouted, “You’re acting like children!”

“I’m old enough to be your grandmother!”  Athenais shrieked back.  “I’ll decide who’s acting like children!”

“You
see
?!”  Ragnar shouted.  “You see what I have to put up with?!”

“Put up with?!”  Athenais felt a whole new form of rage flood her senses.  She tried to get up, but Stuart held both her hands painfully behind her back and Paul was sitting on her shoulders.

“Shut up, both of you!”  Morgan snapped.  “You will stop fighting immediately.”

“This is my ship!”  Athenais shrieked.  “I’ll fight wherever the hell I want!”

Above her, Stuart twisted her arm in warning.

“Now,” Morgan said, “Ragnar, can I let you up?”

“Let
him
up?”

Stuart twisted her arm until she howled.

Morgan released his son and stood up.  Ragnar got to his knees, glared at her, and began massaging his shoulder. 

“So what do we do with her?”  Stuart asked.

Morgan gave her a hard look.  “Can they let you up?”

As much as it pained her to do so, Athenais said, “Yes.”

“Do it,” Morgan ordered.

Stuart and Paul released her and stood back as Athenais got to her feet.  For the first time, she realized that Morgan was holding the Phoenix.

“Now,” Morgan said, displaying the gun, “Can I trust you with this?”

Athenais realized with a start that he was talking to her and not one of his sons.  The other three realized it as well and immediately raised their voices in protest.

“It’s her gun,” Morgan told them.  “We’re not thieves.”

“We’re not stupid, either,” Ragnar said.  “You give that to her and we’ll be right back where we started.”

“Maybe,” Morgan said.  Then he flipped the gun around and presented it grip-first to Athenais.

Athenais muttered under her breath and stuffed the gun into the holster on her belt.

“There,” Morgan said, glancing at everyone, “We’re adults again.”

“Shouldn’t have given her the gun,” Ragnar muttered.

Morgan ignored him and turned to Athenais, who was feeling around her jaw trying to determine how many teeth had been loosened by Ragnar’s kick.  “What of our proposal?  Will you help us?”

Her teeth were intact, she decided, but her upper lip was split in two different places.  It was already swelling.  She glanced at Ragnar.  He was scowling, but his own swollen lip jutted out from his jaw and made him look even more like a disgruntled frog.

Unable to control herself, Athenais chuckled.  She reached into her pocket, making the shifters stiffen.  Ignoring them, she drew out a handkerchief and tossed it to Ragnar.  “Go get cleaned up.  Don’t want the crew spreading rumors about me beating you or nothing.”

Ragnar stared down at the rag in his hand.  “So this means…”

“I’ll help,” Athenais grunted.  “Now try not to bleed on my Biamachis?”  When Ragnar just stared at her, she gestured brusquely at the intricate patterns woven into the floor.  “The
carpets
.  I stole ‘em legitimately from a very wealthy Tripianti merchant overlord, and it would be a shame to have to pay him another visit.  He was so happy to see me leave last time.”

Glaring at her, Ragnar daubed the rag to his face.  To his friends, who were gingerly lifting their feet and staring at the carpet like it had grown gossamer wings, Ragnar grumbled, “This was
your
idea.”  He shook the bloody rag at them.  “Remember that, when things go to hell.”  Then he flipped the air-lock open and shoved past them, assumedly to go find the privy.

Space Rats

The
Beetle
scuttled out of port after Squirrel bought supplies.  It was Dallas’s turn to drive, but she was feeling too sick to move.  Athenais came into her room, saw the bowl of vomit, cursed, and left her alone.  Soon afterwards, the ship slid out of the dock under the captain’s command.

About an hour into their journey, Dune came in carrying a slice of bread in one grease-stained hand and a cup of water in the other.

“Capt’in says ya need this,” he said.  He gave her a critical look.  “How much’d you drink, girl?”

“Three, four scotches,” Dallas replied with a groan.  “I can’t remember.”

“Smallfoot says he found ya drunker’n shit in the gamehall of The Shop.  What the hell were ya doing there, Fairy?  Tryin’ ta git kilt?”  He looked genuinely concerned for her.  Of all of them, Dune wasn’t a bad guy.  A little brusque and a general recluse, but if Dallas had to pick one of the pirates to not blow her away in her sleep, it would be Dune.

“Can’t remember,” Dallas said.  She waved off the bread with a trembling hand.  “I can’t eat that.”

“Water’ll help, if ya can keep it down,” Dune insisted.

“I can’t.”

“Well, I’ll just leave them here for when you’re ready,” Dune said.  He put the bread and water down on the nightstand beside her bed.  The water-glass was smeared with black engine grease.  When she looked closer, so was the bread.  Dallas’s stomach churned and she quickly looked away.

“I’ll be back ta check on ya in a bit,” Dune said.  “You should really try ta drink the water.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Dune shrugged and left.

Some time later—Dallas wasn’t sure how long because she kept her eyes firmly shut and slid in and out of sleep—Goat came in with a plate of food.  The scent of roast beef mingled with his overpowering body odor and she vomited again.

“We just finished dinner,” he told her, eyes on her bowl.  “Guess you’re not ready, huh?”

“No,” she managed.  “Please…go.”

Goat put the plate down and started to walk out.

“We’re bound for Penoi?”

Goat paused.  “Yeah.  Capt’in took ‘em up on it.  Everybody’s grumblin, though.  The colonists ain’t pledged a dime for our help.  Dune and Squirrel tried to mutiny when Capt’in told ‘em.”

“
Squirrel
tried to mutiny?”  Squirrel was the last one Dallas would have pegged as a mutineer.

“Yeah,” Goat said.  He sat at the end of her bed.  “Squirrel found out Capt’in really means to destroy the Potion.  She’s only got a few years ‘till she’s due for another dose.”

Dallas blinked.  She hadn’t really thought the Captain could be serious about destroying the Millennium Potion.  “You’re sure?” 

Goat gave her a frown.  “‘Course.  Why else would she say it?”

Dallas sat up and made her eyes focus through the dizziness.  “You mean you knew she really wanted to destroy the Potion?”

“‘Course,” Goat said.

Dallas squinted at him.  “You do realize that means you won’t be able to live for more than another hundred years, right?”

Goat shrugged.  “I had my fun.  ‘Sides, I don’t wanna take the Potion no more if they gotta kill colonists for it.”

“What do you mean?”  Dallas asked.  Her stomach was doing flips and she had to lie back down.  She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that she could keep herself from vomiting again.

“Capt’in got us all together’n had the colonists tell us how they make the Potion.  Come find out, they gotta kill the colonists to get it.  Infect ‘em and strain it back out of their bodies like pullin’ ants from an anthill.  Paul said they’d been doin’ it all this time.”  Goat looked down.  “Even if we don’t get the Potion, I ain’t gonna take another dose.  Reckon enough of ‘em died for me already.”