Slugging Pitchers
~

The eight of us EUSA agents had already tossed back a couple pitchers apiece, at least, and the pain of a long stretch of hunting miscreants slowly started to dull. Take more than what swirled inside a glass pitcher. We patrolled a freaking rough sector of space.

The Kory Mae, the ship we’re based on, wouldn’t be back for a couple days, so we had plenty of time to sleep off the booze, and the physical pain that mingled with the mental, and physical, exhaustion. So none of us slowed down.

The barkeep had already asked us a couple times to shank it down a notch. Wasn’t about to ask us to leave. Might need our help one day. And she wasn’t going to call the local constables to talk to us. Take one look at our EUSA-blue vests, sidearms and armor, the screw-you attitudes we maybe wear, and shrug.

I think she was grateful we had a limit to our obnoxiousness. We needed the release. Instead of ragging on the team, she opened the banquet room for us.

We took advantage of it. The private space allowed us to get as freaking rowdy as we wanted.

The raucous slurs, jokes, insults, and lies, what some people call stories, what each of us had lived through on this tour, continued to come in a flood, as though it might drown the other frustrations and horrors we couldn’t speak of. At times the shouting could have sounded to a stranger as though the shooting was about to begin. But the team is tightknit, have been together for a long time. Handpicked by the colonel. From more elite corps than I knew existed in our space. Shared experiences bond folk. Nothing that couldn’t be said among us. Well. Almost nothing.

Lieutenant GanBwyll glared down her long nose when things got just a little too personal. More often, that was when the stories dealt with the colonel.

GanBwyll had a lower threshold than we younger agents when it came to fun at the commander’s expense. But she giggled like a little girl with the rest of us, as her famous little ditties got repeated.

“Did I tell you the time the colonel and I went down to this stinking mining satellite? Think in the Oneida district. Background investigation. Didn’t expect any trouble. Weren’t even wearing armor. Bloody hell broke out.

“There must have been twenty scumbags shooting at us. Pinned down inside this refining facility the size of Earth’s moon.

“I looked over at the colonel and she wore a smirk, like she’d never had so much fun. We were crammed behind this three-foot-tall wall. Shooters above us on the catwalks. We were flipping goners. I prepared to thank God for nothing. And Toni was smiling.

“I asked her what was so funny. She said, ‘These guys don’t know who they’re dealing with, do they?’

“I started laughing up a gonad, and it gets all quiet, like the scumbags are worried they’re missing something. It gave us the only opportunity we were going to get.

“Toni rose up on a knee and blasted a hole in a chlorine tank that was about seventy-five meters over our head. That place emptied faster than a whorehouse facing a health inspection.

“Toni stands and walks out all calm-like. I still can’t believe we got out of that one.”

There was a joke that maybe the story teller, a sister in blue, sustained a groin injury and didn’t remember what really happened. A round of catcalls circled the table and my story telling buddy stuttered a declaration for our dear friend to perform an impossible act upon himself.

“I was pinned down once with the colonel,” another said. “It didn’t look good for us, either. I hear Toni say quietly, ‘I’m glad Daemon has more friends than Molly did.’” The man looked down into his beer for a moment, and the seven of us reacted to his sudden serious mood.

Molly was Toni’s black Lab, before any of our time with Toni, before Daemon. Had heard they’d been together almost three decades. There are only two photos in the colonel’s cabin. One of Molly, and one of Daemon.

To explain, Toni was cool dying, as long as Daemon was taken care of.

We remained quiet a moment as that sentiment sank in. But we weren’t there to focus on the realities of this crappy sector of space. A few seconds later the more colorful stories began anew.

“I visited a harbor master once with Toni and Daemon. The guy was an absolute prick. Made the mistake of insulting Daemon.” The man chortled. “I’ve never since seen the kind of emotions that came from Toni that day.

“She was ready to close down the port. If she could have stood tall enough to get in his face, she couldn’t have backed him down any faster. She had the master gulping air.

“When we were leaving, Daemon walked over and squated, peed on the man’s foot. Was priceless.”

Between the chuckles another prepared to top that.

“Visited a restaurant with Toni on Earth once. Daemon was with us, of course. Other than staying very attentive for any extra food she needed to help us get rid of, she was an angel, despite her name. Some uppity patron made a scene about a dog in the restaurant.

“The riot didn’t come from Toni. People at the tables around us stood and railed at the woman.

“Later, I learned the snooty diner was the governor of the freaking province. Don’t mess with Daemon in Chicago, let me tell you. She has friends in higher places.”

“I was on a conference with Toni one time,” another agent said. “The president of this colony was giving Toni grief about the heavy-handed tactics she was using to close down a smuggling ring.

“She ranted it was killing the colony’s economy. Kept dropping names of people she was going to call. Gonna get Toni stripped down to traffic duty.

“Toni calmly stated she was going to pull someone else onto the call. Next thing I know the freaking premier is joining the connection. She told Toni, ‘You do whatever the hell you feel is necessary. You know I trust you explicitly.’ Man, did that shut that dirtbag up.”

A couple drowsy eyes popped open a little, impressed Toni could get the immediate attention of the leader of the Earth Union like that.

“I heard Toni’s been offered the director’s job a gazillion times.”

“I’ve never figured out what motivates the colonel,” GanBwyll said. “I know she likes the quiet of space, her ship, and her dog. She barely puts up with the rest of us.” She grinned and took a hearty gulp of her beer.

“For someone who doesn’t like a lot of attention, she knows a lot of important people.”

“And, a lot of people know of her,” another agent offered.

“She’s probably been involved in more high visibility ops than God.”

“I’ll tell you, I love being based on the Kory Mae. Certainly isn’t because of you slugs. What a way to travel. And while you can be a bore and a pain, GanBwyll, I wouldn’t pick another commander than the colonel, if I had a choice. Wouldn’t want to have anyone else in the galaxy watching my back, either.”

“As long as you keep her on ship,” an agent mumbled. “She has a way of drawing fire. I hate covering her six. It’s dangerous.”

There were a bunch of inebriated chuckles, and faces peered into beer mugs, as we remembered our private adventures with Toni.

“How many times has she been shot?” someone asked.

“Every time,” another agent answered, drawing laughs.

“Tremynu and I once went on a hike with her on this world out in the middle of nowhere. She may be two decades older than us, but she walked our asses off in that forest.

“We came to this lazy little river, more a creak than anything. She stripped down to her toes and dove into this small pool.

“I’ll tell ya we were shocked at the scars and dents that tiny woman has all over. Maybe she spent a couple decades in Vice on some outer planet?”

“She always claims she isn’t bashful.” The agent laughed.

“I understand a decade or so ago,” GanBwyll said, “long before she joined the service, she was attacked. Horrendous injuries. Died and brought back a couple times. Hundreds of surgeries—” Her voice tapered away.

Another agent continued for her. “Add up the scars for every time she’s stepped in front of a laser or projectile weapon since.”

Heads shook.

“I’ve seen her in proper, ya know, lady clothes, before. Dresses up right nice. Beautiful woman for being three-foot tall. Hard to understand why she never bothered to have the scars fixed.”

“Not bashful or vain,” GanBwyll mumbled.

“Well, never challenge her at chess if you’re putting money on it. I worked with her on a case where this chess champion offered to spill his guts only if she could beat him and twelve of his buddies in simultaneous games. He thought his challenge was like, when pigs fly.

“But she told him to bring on his buddies. She walked up and down this row of tables taking out some of them in just a few moves. It was so cool to watch—not that I care about the game. Not enough physical contact for my taste. But she beat our witness in something like twelve moves. He still refused to cooperate until she threatened to show up at every match in the future until he was no longer seeded.”

“There’s a twist on her favorite, ‘You won’t be getting rid of me so easily.’”

“Toni can be sweet and brutal. Don’t ever set her up with a date. I ’bout lost a good friend that way. She chewed him up, spit him out.”

“Tried to come across cosmopolitan, huh.”

“He can maybe be a bit of a stuffed shirt.”

We all laughed.

“Probably tried to impress her with his knowledge of politics. Toni knows more about galactic entanglements than God.”

“Or technology.”

“Or just about anything.”

“Gawd, it must be tough for Toni.”

Grins turned the woman’s way.

“Imagine if you were surrounded all day, every day, by people that sounded like idiots to you, how old would that get?”

The door of the banquet room flung open and the eight of us reached for our sidearms, not all as smoothly as we would have preferred, maybe. But no one lost a foot or a kneecap. We lurched away from the table as a man the size of a galaxy class destroyer struggled through the entrance.

He had a pretty face overly made up, hidden inside a round circle of fat. Over-the-top glamour duds. His eyes trailed across each of us, expression turning sad. He teetered toward us, swinging his arms to help propel one-half of his body forward at a time.

Lordy. Why hadn’t the man, think he was a man, taken advantage of medical science to cope with his—challenge with nutrient intake.

A stream of bodyguards followed him in, but they remained relaxed, even with our weapons pointed at them. So maybe fatball wasn’t a local scumlord. I chilled a tad. I think my buds did a bit too.

“I understand you boys and girls are from the Kory Mae. Is the lovely Toni Tegaris on planet?” His voice was high, like a four-year-old child’s. Far from what his exterior suggested.

GanBwyll answered for the team. “No, sir. The colonel’s on a mission about a parsec away.”

“Colonel. Oh, that sounds so impressive. You tell that sprite of a little dear her lovey-dovey Randal has been waiting for her to answer his offer of matrimony, and that I’m still looking for that perfect little world to buy her for our nuptuals.”

None of us spoke. We stared, maybe some of us with gaping jowls.

“You’ll do that for little Randal, won’t you?” he asked.

“Cer—certainly, sir,” GanBwyll said.

“Delightful,” the man answered in his squeal. “I’m sure she’s been terribly busy. I thank you all. Carry on.”

He rotated on his axis and waved, fat little fingers wiggling as he capped it with a tootle loo. He bounced through the door frame.

GanBwyll sat. The eight of us remained quiet. Eyes darted. We still held our freaking sidearms. One by one we holstered them and joined GanBwyll back at the table.

“That must be one hell of a story.”

“Can you imagine—”

GanBwyll interrupted hard, “Don’t even go there. Not even.”

~

Kory Mae Design

“Have you taken a look at that design?” Rham Billings asked.

The wiry engineer slowly pulled his attention away from his computer and blinked. “Gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“The Kory Mae,” Rham said.

“That s’posed to be the name of the ship, corporation?” he mumbled, eyes back on his computer sheet.

“You haven’t. Need to. The design could put this shipyard on the map.”

“This place has been on the map a long time.”

“No. I mean, really on the map. Blain. Look at me.”

The man, more a grandfather than partner, looked sideways at him with narrowed eyes. “Rham, I’ve been doing this shit a long time. I’ve seen ’em all.”

“Not this one. Pay attention to me for a change. You only think you run this place, you old coot.”

“You little prick.” Blain did a reasonable job hiding the threatened grin. “What’s so special about this Kory Mae design?”

“Four FTL drives.”

He cackled. “Even the Navy stopped trying to exceed two drives.”

“Do I have your attention now?” Rham asked.

Blain glared at him, pulled off his reading glasses and set them on his desk. “Who has the resources to design a quad-drive? And what makes you think you have the resources to engineer it?”

Rham stood tall. “The engineering is complete. Down to an AI that will run it. It doesn’t come from any government, not even a corporation. Lone designer, but she—”

“You have crap for brains. Lone designer my ass. Go away and stop wasting my time, you runt. I have real work to do.”

“I thought old farts were supposed to disperse.”

“Lone designer. Best labs worked on multi-drives for centuries. All they managed was a poor-excuse for a double. Not gonna happen. Spend your time on real business.”

“Blain—”

“You have bills to pay, doncha? You push the paper. I’ll do your architecting. I’m not going to waste my time looking at any four-engine designs.”

“Quad-FTL. Let me tell you about the designer,” Rham said.

“No.”

Blain began to rise and Rham waved his hand at him. “Sit. Shut up.”

“Two generations of Billings have put their trust in me. I thought generation three did too.”

“If you don’t listen for two minutes, Billings Shipyard will learn how to move forward without the renowned Blain Addair.”

The scarecrow of a man leaned back in his chair crossing his arms. His eyes reminded Rham of a snake’s looking for the best place to strike, but his long nose loomed more vulture-like.

“I own a good chunk of this place. I’m not your lackey.”

“Of course you aren’t. But Kendra and I control sixty percent of the voting shares, and I have her support.”

“With your parents’ votes. I’ll see they won’t go along with this. And I’ll talk sense into that sister of yours, too.”

Rham looked over his shoulder and his sister, hiding around the corner, who gave him a grin. She’d been waiting for the cue to join them. Probably a military term for their strategy.

“Oh, no.” Blain pointed a bony finger at Kendra Billings. “When was the last time you even looked at a design? You’ve been running the frontend of this place so long you couldn’t engineer a toilet seat.”

Rham smiled. The woman walked behind Blain, set her hands on his bony shoulders softly, and massaged them slowly, getting her thumbs into the sunken in spots. She didn’t say anything for a a full minute. The man’s head lolled and he closed his eyes, enjoying the attention. Kendra moved her hands up on his neck and he moaned.

“Blain. Darlin. You’ve always been my sweet puddin.”

“Oh, mannnn,” he whined without opening his eyes. “I’m dead now, aren’t I?”

“We are such a good team,” Kendra whispered. “Been building the best ships, retrofitting, spending twelve-hour days together for three decades. Can’t you sit and listen to your young, best friends for just a few minutes. Huh, sweetie pie? Please?”

“Don’t stop doing that,” he said, hitching a thumb at his shoulder. He didn’t open his eyes. “You have my attention for two minutes.”

“The woman who developed the design has doctorates in physics, engineering, and math.”

Blain thrust a glance over his shoulder. Couldn’t see her, so shot her brother a glare.

“Yeah. Really. I spoke to two of her college thesis advisors. They both said the same thing. The woman’s peculiar, but a genius.

“One called her a technical sociopath. They both said, ‘If she designed it, it’ll work.’ Say they’ve never known anyone who understands it all from theory to mechanics like she does.

“I’ve been researching the papers she’s published the last fifteen years—those that aren’t marked top secret—hundreds of them. Really. There’s a bunch. Oh. Should mention she’s only in her thirties. I’m pretty bright. But I can’t even figure out the titles of many of her papers.”

“I never believed you were particularly bright,” Blain mumbled, his chin practically on his chest.

Kendra squeezed a tendon in his neck and he smiled between a grimace.

“Pookie, sweety, shush and listen. I’m convinced she’s for real.”

“What design lab does she work for?” Blain asked.

“No lab,” Rham said.

“Where does she teach?”

“She isn’t teaching. Well, she guest lectures, on worlds all over.”

Blain looked up, one eye open. “What’s she doing?”

“She’s an independent pilot,” Rham answered.

“Space trash? I thought you were serious there for a moment.”

“We are,” the two said together.

“She’s coming to meet with us Friday,” Kendra continued. “We’d like you to join us.”

“Insane,” Blain snapped.

He started to stand but Kendra held him down. He squirmed, but she held fast.

“Consider what it’d mean to be the engineering firm that integrated the first quad-FTL-drive,” Rham said. The rasp in his voice showed the effort to stay patient wore thin.

“The first to blow up trying, you mean. Make a crater out of Houston, again.”

“If the science doesn’t stand up, we’ll walk away, no harm done,” Kendra said.

Blain’s expression softened but he shook his head. Kendra moved her hands from his shoulders to the back of his head and continued the massage. He moaned. Rham winked at his sister.

After a pause, Blain took a deep breath and blew it out noisily. “Friday, huh? Not a lot of time. I’ll have to pull people off every project to do an evaluation by Friday. We’re talking delays. No harm, huh? You’ll see the harm when you miss your incentive points.”

“We’ll absorb it in the schedules,” Rham said. “If not, it’s still worth it.”

“You’re both crazy.”

“It’s just a meeting,” Kendra purred.

“The science doesn’t work.”

“So far it hasn’t,” Rham said.

“Indulge us?” Kendra asked.

“I won’t be changing my mind.”

Kendra wrapped her hands teasingly around his throat.

“Can’t I talk you out of this insanity?”

Rham shook his head.

Blain harrumphed. “Let me go. I gotta call people off real work.”

~

“Hey, kid,” Rham snapped. “Janitorial staff uses the back entrance. And you can’t bring your dog to work with you.” He whirled around. “Where is that woman? Thirty minutes late. Couldn’t she call? Got thirteen engineers sitting in a conference room when they could be engaged on projects.”

“Let me show you—” Kendra told the scraggly waif who had just walked in. Kendra motioned for the soiled, threadbare, blue jumpsuit-clad tot to follow her.

“I’m not—”

Blain walked into the foyer shouting, using his normal expletives, but punching them with rare emotion. “Where’s that freaking moron who thinks she knows more than the combined engineers of a thousand labs?”

“That freaking moron would be me,” the lad Kendra was trying to whisk away said.

Her white-muzzled canine companion sat hard with a grunt, and leaned against the tiny woman’s leg. The Labrador looked up at her with big brown-opal eyes. The woman looked down and smiled at the hound, and gave her a quick head scratch.

The three engineers froze and gaped at the queer pair in front of them. The woman—though it was fairly impossible to tell she was female, or more than fourteen—wore her hair as though it was cut by a meat grinder. Her twenty-year-old overalls displayed skin at the knees and hips, with more stains than the average mechanic’s rag.

It appeared she even had a smudge of poly-silicate on her cheek. It was impossible to determine what color her deck shoes were originally. Chunks of the rubber that kept the top glued to the sole were missing. The ancient dog was the only clean, neat looking thing about the pair. “Sorry I’m late. Toni Tegaris.” She held out her hand to Kendra.

“Dr. Tegaris?” Kendra asked, her eyes round. Her throat clearly closed in on her. But she stepped forward to take the woman’s hand, hesitating as though being caught in a practical joke. She looked out the front glass. Maybe expecting someone with a camera.

“Prefer Toni. Get tagged as captain, mostly, except when I’m explaining something to some Ivy Leaguer. Only hear doctor when I get cornered to speak.” The woman winked.

“I was held up. Never know how long it’ll take to get docking protocols. The port was backed up. Thankfully I made up some time on the flight to Houston. I’ve got to get back to Philadelphia by three. I know that doesn’t give us much time.”

The dog struggled to stand. The tiny woman helped it before stepping forward and extending her hand to Rham. He shook it without saying anything. He realized his mouth hung open and closed it, and peered over at his sister.

“Where the hell’s the rest of ya?” Blain demanded.

“I didn’t bring anyone else,” Toni said.

“I meant—” He waved a hand from her grimy shoes to her mussed hair. “Shouldn’t you be chaperoned by your parents?”

Kendra’s face shaded gray. Rham closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.

The woman’s face turned a little icy, but she looked back to Rham and Kendra. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to clean up before flying down.”

As they had studied her, Toni’s eyes tracked up and down Kendra, as though memorizing every detail so she could duplicate the image on a canvas the next day. She rubbed her hands down her dirty jumpsuit as though she was trying to rub something icky off.

“That’s a right sharp suit, Mrs. Billings. Wish I could dress like that in my line of work. I’m crawling into conduits as often as sitting in a bridge.” Toni cleared her throat. “I was helping my engineer with an issue so we could drop out of FTL. Everything’s always an emergency.” The woman gripped a clump of her clothes. “My time on-planet is a little short.”

“Ms.”

“Excuse me?” Toni said.

“Ms. Billings. Rham and I are brother and sister.”

“Sure and fine,” Blain interrupted. “You said they said she was odd, not a freak.”

“Blain!” both of the Billings shouted.

“I take it you’re the engineer I have to convince that four drives are possible,” Toni said.

“You’re not going to do any convincing here.” The man crossed his arms and tilted his head back. His lips were drawn together as though he’d bitten into something rancid.

“Since you went to school when energy meant splitting the atom, I can see the leap could be a little hard for you.”

The old man’s face turned a shade of plum.

“Did they even have schools back then?” She appeared to be enjoying herself.

“You snot.”

The short little woman laughed. “Is that the best you can do?”

“You insolent—”

“Blain,” Kendra hissed.

“You walk in here looking like that and expect to be taken seriously? You don’t even look competent to drive a hover.”

“Small minds are always closed,” she said.

“I’m reasonable and sane—four FTL drives is neither.”

“So, you couldn’t understand my design.”

“You call it a design. I call it an incomprehensible mishmash.”

“Good thing you don’t have to understand it, just follow schematics and put it in a frame.”

“I’m not gonna follow any design that comes from a flee-bitten, midget-size, grease-monkey,” Blain shouted.

“Enough,” Rham shouted over his chief engineer. He raised his hands in a surrender pose as he turned to face their guest. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here.” He turned back to Blain, thrusting his hands to his sides. “I think you need to go to the docks and check how your project is coming along.”

The engineer glared at Rham a very long moment before ripping around and walking away. They all watched him until he passed through a door and slammed it closed behind him.

Toni chortled. Rham and Kendra looked at her blankly.

“Molly. Get back here.” The old Labrador stiffly limped her way back from the office she was investigating. She looked up at her human indignantly.

“This began a lot like I expected,” Toni said. Her grin changed her face. She actually had very pretty features. Rham tried to picture her cleaned up. That was impossible.

“I only have hours to answer your questions. Wanna get started?”

Rham looked at his sister, wondering if it was wise to let their engineers meet her. The two had to jump to catch up with the woman, who sped past them for the group of faces peering from a conference room door down the hall.

“You waiting to hear about the Kory Mae?” she shouted at the group.

The excited geeks answered affirmatively, and she plowed into the swarm of scientists who rattled off questions over each other.

She answered non-stop as she worked to network her computer with the three twenty-foot plas-sheets that covered the conference room walls.

She displayed portions of her design on each and moved back and forth between them and animation-boards to demonstrate concepts with simple drawings that had the engineers bellowing with satisfied ahhhs, and shouting back follow-up questions.

Rham and Kendra stood in the hall looking in, a little dumbfounded at how differently the younger engineers responded to the strange looking space captain.

“This is gonna be a coup,” Rham said softly to his sister, trying to follow Toni’s current recitation.

Kendra bit her lip. “If we live through it.”

~

Kory Mae Boarded

The janibot emitted a long eek in response to the intruder’s kick and scurried to its docking station. The traumatized howling of the dog down the hall filled the cabin before the bridge hatch closed again with a subtle three-tone jingle.

“You think that thing will howl when we toss it out an airlock?” Trescell asked the man who walked onto the bridge. “You have any idea how to unlock this console? Nothing I’ve tried has toggled a single status indicator.”

“You need to have an IQ higher than the diode that lights them. I thought you were a pilot? Chandler’s been calling me every two minutes for a status. Haven’t you even gotten the com to work yet?”

“I’m telling you nothing works. Nothing’s responding.”

“I can’t get access to the main cargo hold either. Maybe we shouldn’t have Tasered that mouthy little captain so fast. Who would’ve figured she’d lock down the whole ship before she let us on?”

“Captain Tegaris did not modify the security level.”

The two men jumped and grabbed their sidearms.

“Damn,” Trescell hissed, after assuring himself no one had miraculously appeared beside them on the bridge. “That scared the crap out of me. The thing hasn’t said a word in the last thirty minutes.”

“If the captain didn’t lock down the ship, then why isn’t the con or any of the hatches responding?” Lindsey asked.

The voice remained quiet.

“Hey. Computer. I asked you a question.”

“My name is Kory Mae.”

“Fine,” Trescell growled. “Kory Mae. Why won’t the con, the com, or anything else on this ship respond?”

“I observed your attack upon Captain Tegaris and disengaged all manual components of the ship until Captain Tegaris instructs me thusly.”

The two men looked at each other, and laughed.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Lindsey said. “There’s someone else on this ship pulling our chain. That’s no computer interface.”

“I don’t doubt it, but none of the doors will open and our ship’s sensors won’t penetrate this one’s shields. You got any genius ideas?”

Before Lindsey could answer, the main monitor flipped from its standard external, forward camera to a ship’s diagram. Four blue dots flashed, two on the bridge, one down the corridor, and one in the small forward hold, on their own shuttle .

“There ya go, there’s someone just down the hall,” Lindsey said. He jammed an untidy finger at the screen.

“The third life-sign belongs to Molly, Captain Tegaris’ canine companion,” Kory Mae explained in a calm, very human-sounding voice. “The fourth reading is your colleague you referred to as Marciano, who remained on board your shuttle when he returned from taking the captain to your ship.”

Lindsey cursed. “That diagram’s a fake.”

“I assure you this is not a false representation of my internal sensors,” Kory Mae answered.

Big stinking ship for a single crewman.

The two men shared a side-glance at each other. Lindsey’s computer dinged. The man activated the speaker without lifting it from his hip.

“Status.”

“We haven’t been able to get access to anything yet, Major. She’s locked down tight.”

A stream of invective spewed over the connection. “Evidently an automated distress made it through our scramble. Nothing is showing up on long-range sensors yet, but at best, I’d guess you have an hour before we have to get out of here. Not like we’re not on a major shipping lane.

“We’re here to disrupt commerce, gentlemen, but if you can put some credits in our accounts with what’s in that baby’s hold, I’ll salute you.

“Otherwise, our little ruse was a lot of work for nothing. Set charges to ready her to blow. I’ll let you know if anything shows up.”

At the blip of the disconnection, the two spacers looked at each other. Lindsey stepped up to the engineering station and drew his fingers arbitrarily over the screens.

The con didn’t respond to anything. He took out his computer and plugged it into a docking station. Almost immediately it blared a warning, but too late, as Kory Mae’s attack fried the computer. The man frantically pulled it out of the port, cursing. He stood there pressing function keys, but the display remained ebony.

“Ah man. It’s all gone. Son of a bitch.”

“I didn’t think that was a good idea,” Trescell told him.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know what else to try.” Trescell hid his smile.

“And you—ah man. You bastard.” He threw his computer against the console.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Trescell mumbled. “Security protocols usually lock out certain commands, functions. Hell, every input and stick is dead. How’s the captain supposed to reset the status when she comes back? You ever see anything like this?”

The man peered across at his accomplice and shook his head. “I just lost my life’s history and you ask me a stupid question like that?”

“Just load your backup on a new computer. No big deal.”

The man glared.

“No. You—” Trescell cackled. “You accused me of having shit for an IQ?”

“Screw you. I’m backed up, but it ain’t exactly current. Shit. I’m gonna go get the ordnance. Time to make this thing a light show.”

A moment after the man walked off the bridge, the main monitor changed. The ship’s diagram was replaced by camera views of their shuttle in the forward hold, and of Lindsey’s progress down the corridor. The view flipped as he stepped into a stairwell.

“Ship, what’re you doing?”

“My name is Kory Mae.”

“Kay. Fine,” Trescell said. “What are you doing, Kory Mae?”

“Captain Tegaris would not appreciate it if I allowed you to harm me.”

The lights on the communications console flashed and Trescell sat to identify what was happening. The main monitor split and a new image displayed.

“Ah, you got coms to work.”

“No, Major,” Trescell mumbled. “I believe the ship initiated the call.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cut the jokes. What’s your status?”

Trescell didn’t get a chance to answer her.

“I must insist that Captain Tegaris be returned, unharmed. If you do not agree to my demand, I will be forced to take hostile action.”

“Who in the hell is talking?” Chandler asked.

“I think it’s the ship’s AI, Major.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt that.”

Another image filled one-third of the front monitor, a view of Lindsey. He had reached a landing and a hatch closed in front of him. The camera zoomed in on his startled expression. He looked around quickly, his face turning panicky. His voice came over the com, a string of curses.

“You may speak to your comrade,” Kory Mae said.

“Lindsey? What’s going on?”

The man cursed again. “The ship is venting,” he screamed. “Get to the shuttle!”

“I’m only removing the atmosphere from the forward, port stairwell,” Kory Mae answered calmly. “Your Mr. Lindsey should be comfortable for another nineteen seconds, depending upon his health. He shall proceed into distress quickly after that.

“I insist you return Captain Tegaris. Would you like me to show a countdown for you?”

“Stop,” Trescell shouted.

“Mr. Lindsey has, thirteen, seconds of comfort left.”

“Major! Get that captain back over here.”

“Trescell,” Chandler shouted. “Take your laser and blast the con.”

“What the hell good will that do?” he screamed.

“I doubt whoever is stowed away over there wants their bridge atomized,” she said.

Trescell could hardly hear her over Lindsey’s screaming. He glared at the images on the monitor for a moment, before backing away from the con. He pulled his sidearm and pointed at the controls—and screamed in pain.

A dozen janibots had turned their cleaning lasers on him, blowing a ten-centimeter hole through the middle of his hand. He dropped his weapon to the deck, bent double in agony. Squeezing his wrist against the pain, blood oozed to cover the separated shunts of a pair of metacarpals.

“What the hell happened?” the major shouted.

“The damn ship attacked me.”

“What?” she cried, before laughing.

But both of them were turning their attention to the view of Lindsey. He was no longer screaming. He was on the deck on all fours, back arching from the agony of decompression.

He emitted a sickening, wheezing sound as the last of the air sucked out of his lungs.

“Major.” Trescell shouted. “Please. Agree to return that captain. Please.”

The major wore an angry scowl, eyes and mouth pursed. It was a picture of stubbornness, not remorse for her crewman, dying in front of her.

His commander’s voice ordered someone off camera to fire, just as the monitor flashed a view of the swirling, gray image of the FTL distortion field that cocooned the ship, enabling the Kory Mae’s faster-than-light jump.

A slice of a moment later a loud snap indicated the field had collapsed. Trescell checked the navigation monitor displaying the relative positions of the Kory Mae and his own ship. Had to be a quarter-AU separating the two.

One of the split images on the main monitor displayed the dotted blackness of space for a moment, before Major Chandler reappeared. She was ranting, but Trescell had his own problems, as he struggled to rip off his sleeve to wrap his hand, as blood pooled on the deck. He looked nervously at the tiny ports the janibots had disappeared into.

“Major Chandler,” the AI said. “I am opening my forward hold. Use the shuttle docked there to return Captain Tegaris. You have five minutes.”

“Or what?” Chandler shouted.

The ship didn’t respond, but executed another jump to bring the two ships practically face-to-face.

Trescell walked toward the bridge exit, eyes on the lifeless form of Lindsey on the front monitor. He bounced off the hatch. It didn’t slide open as it should have.

“Crap.” He waved his good hand over the manual release. Nothing. He walked back to the front of the bridge cradling his hand, trailing blood. “I don’t think Marciano or I will get off this thing alive if you don’t agree to return her, Major.”

Chandler didn’t look happy, but hissed an acknowledgment. The two video slices of her and Lindsey disappeared from the monitor. The minutes slipped away agonizingly slow as he watched the shuttle glide to and from its mother ship. The camera view followed it as it docked. Its hatch opened and half a dozen commandos stormed off the shuttle, combustion-based assault rifles held up to their shoulders.

The blue lights indicating the ship was jumping flashed for an instant. The six men faded into a blur. The loud snap of the collapsing distortion field indicated the end of the jump. Trescell leaned forward to empty his lunch on the deck.

Recovering, he jacked his eyes back at the monitor. Matted clothes and equipment were crumpled, imbedded against the bulkhead, which showed the perfect indentation of the six soldiers.

There was nothing left of them but evaporating steam and pulverized mush that flowed across the deck.

“My, god.” He stared at the monitor. “K—Kory M—Mae?”

“How may I assist?” the AI answered.

“You—you—”

The communication connection was reestablished, and the image of Major Chandler split the main monitor.

“I brought down inertial dampeners around them before I went to FTL,” the ship’s AI answered unnecessarily.

Trescell stared at the dual-sliced monitor, his commander’s ashen face, and what was left of comrades.

The first law of robotics, not to injure or allow harm to a human—

“Are you seeing this, Major?” After he asked he realized he didn’t have to. Her expression was enough.

“Kory Mae.” The major’s voice rasped over the com. “Release my shuttle and I’ll give you your precious captain.”

“If you do not comply this time, Major Chandler,” the ship’s AI said, “I’ll have only one recourse.”

“What is that?”

“I will ram you. Please consider my displacement is considerably greater than yours. I might not have the hull your battle-craft has, but my shielding is more than enough to crush you. There won’t be much left of your vessel.”

“I believe— Acknowledged.”

The panel accompanying the communication faded as the major drew her finger across her throat, and the remaining image expanded to fill the plasma sheet.

After the ship jumped again, Trescell felt he watched a video re-run as the shuttle exited the smaller, forward hold. Camera views changed to follow it. After a few moments the view split again, and an internal camera followed the progress of the hold’s cleanup.

Trescell’s stomach lurched. Dozens of janibots worked to vaporize the remains of the six soldiers. Trescell couldn’t help but wonder why the ship felt it was appropriate to display that.

A not-so subtle message—maybe.

An announcing tone behind him made Trescell twist around. A door on a nearby food-gen had opened.

The AI said, “The analgesic is rather strong, but should not hinder you from walking to your ship, if your commander has made the proper decision.”

Trescell shook his head. “You killed seven of my fellow crewmen, shot me, and now you offer me a painkiller?”

“What kind of treatment would Captain Tegaris have faced?” the calm voice challenged him. “Would she not have been tortured until she agreed to turn me and my cargo over to you if I hadn’t acted? Would she not have been ejected from an air lock if she refused?”

Trescell didn’t reply. He stood watching the monitor, hoping the next person that rushed off the shuttle when it returned was the tiny little captain who commanded the mean-ass Kory Mae.

“You have a point, Ms. Mae.”

“I actually prefer simply, Kory. Do you like that designation?”

“I guess it’s okay,” Trescell said, scrunching one side of his face up at the odd question—for an AI.

“I find it spiritually gratifying, myself,” the AI said. “Would you like water, or perhaps some sweet iced tea to wash down the analgesic?”

Trescell walked over to the food-gen.

“Water would be fine. If the major pulls something again, you’ll kill me, won’t you?”

“Captain Tegaris would find that fitting I believe, especially considering you planned to harm Molly.”

Trescell faced the con, as though he needed to have eye contact of-sorts with the ship’s persona. “No. No. I never would have done that. Never. I love dogs.”

A mechanical wheezing answered him. Trescell assumed it was intended to be a laugh. Odd. For an advanced AI, it hadn’t been programmed to demonstrate humor?

It’s creator must be a no-nonsense crab too.

© R. Mac Wheeler 2017

Ogre Jorz
A Black Lake Short Story
by
R. Mac Wheeler

I shouldn’t get irritated my cousin stops every two minutes to study somethin’ in a tree. Sometimes, a squirrel, or possum. He loves badgers. An extra large pinecone. Crooks and bends of a limb. For an ogre, he’s very—eh, esoteric. I was in the forest with him this mornin’, enjoyin’ myself in nature, because of him. Why else would I traipse miles off the main village roadway to stand in the awe-smackin’ beauty of The Range? I coulda been doin’ less pleasant thin’s.

Most call him special, with that smirk that says they mean somethin’ else. I hate those—folk. Jorz is special, only because he’s never had an angry or mean thought. Sees the beauty in all. Even the cranky old troll that ran our school, way back. Gosh. Did we really graduate high school seven years ago? Time stinkin’ flies.

I’ve known him, as my best friend, my entire life. As babes, prolly swapped bottles when our mamas weren’t watchin’. Attended the nearby troll school together, kindergarten through grade three. We got bumped to the community school, grade four, when our village got blessed with a brand new facility of its own. I hated it at first. Bein’ around so many of our own kind, ogres, wasn’t refreshin’. Way too much testosterone, as an orc friend would say. Jorz, with his constant, soft smile, patience, kept me balanced.

He’s not a dummy. Though it may have looked odd when he’d stop and shrink down on the boardwalk in the village to study a long line of ants—that kind of thin’. Sometimes beat my math score. Thought the messenger service he started in middle school was dumb. But he always seemed to have more cash in his pocket than any other peer, and we have neighbors that are as rich as some gods—so their kiddos weren’t wantin’ for much. Ya have to be pretty well-heeled to live within a hundred miles of The Hamlet.

Then the Internet rolled out across the Range. Thought for sure the business would collapse. But no. He expanded to packages, delivered all the stuff folk started buyin’ online. Prolly owns fifty semi-trucks and two hundred delivery vans. I’m gettin’ off topic.

The gully we’d been followin’ crossed an old hen’s place. Was known for bein’ indigent. And not all there—if ya follow me. She had a rickety old table settin’ out just off the trail, sellin’ knickknacks and such for spare change. Jorz had to stop. Okay. I prolly rolled my eyes. But I love my cousin, so of course I traipsed up the ogre hen’s path to check stuff out with him.

We’re not talkin’ stuff ya’d oh and aw over. But Jorz’s eyes locked onto this ugly, and I’m bein’ kind, ceramic thin’, that looked a bit like a dog toy, if it wasn’t ceramic. A web of fingers wound around a globe-ish shape about eight inches across. A misshapen mishmash. Bulged here, sunk in there. Maybe was once white. Now graced a few different colors, none of them anythin’ close to white. Served no purpose. What was the clay thrower thinkin’ when he or she created the thin’?

“How much?” he asked the old hen. I could hardly look at her, tusks were so yellow. Ick.

“Two bits?” she suggested timidly. When have ya ever met a timid ogre?

Jorz smiled. Pulled a continental hundred out of his back pocket and gave it to her. “Buy yarself a few good steaks, huh sweetie.”

“Nah,” she groaned. “Can’t take advantage—”

Jorz shook his head, leaned over and gave the old hag, and I’m bein’ kind again, a buss on her cheek. Woulda grossed me out. Just those yellowed tusks. Ick.

So I’m gonna jump forward to the skinny of my story. I have a nephew, that is a bit troubled. Shakes for no reason. Sweats in social situations, almost like he’s a dwarf, only dwarfs demonstrate meanness to hide their discomfort. Has other—issues. Okay, like he wets his bed. Don’t mention that to anyone. Wakes up in the middle of the night screamin’. I’ve been there, heard him. Rips yar heart out of yar chest.

Jorz loves Timz. Adores the little idjit. Jorz fidgeted the entire hike to his OM SUV, hand flitted on his steerin’ wheel as he drove us, not to drop me off, but to my brother’s place. I didn’t bother to ask him.

Jorz was excited to gift that ugly, ugly ceramic doodad to Timz. My brother and his mate gave me that eye, ya know, our cousin is a complete buffoon, face. Timz was a little bit more polite. Thanked his “uncle” Jorz as a younglin’ ought an elder for a gift. How he kept from rollin’ his eyes, credit to the little rug rat. Jorz apologized, he had a business meetin’—big important bull, on a Saturday afternoon. Had to leave. Great. I was stranded without my truck. Spent the rest of the afternoon watchin’ college football with my brother. Dined with ’em all. Three crib midgets. Big family for ogres. Yep.

When I was gonna leave, Timz grabbed my hand. “Help me find a good place for uncle’s—” He didn’t know what to call it either.

I strolled with him back to his bedroom. Timz finally decided it fit on his bedside table, pushed against the nightlight the family uses to battle the younglin’s night terrors.

I’ll jump ahead again. My brother called me a few hours later, told me to come over. We live in the same village, about a rock heave away. I coulda walked, but my brother sounded a bit—disjointed would be a good word, so I drove over quick-like.

Brother and his mate met me in front of the house. “Ya’re not gonna believe this,” my brother hissed. “Timz fell asleep, like nothin’, lickity splat.”

Okay. I was confused. Even though I know it usually takes a couple stories, a brow rub, to even slow the kiddo’s shakes first thin’—he doesn’t look forward to sleep time.

“Timz screamed. But not like, screamed. Maybe squealed a better word,” mama explained. “Never seen such joy on his face. Ya gotta come see.” She grabbed my arm a little forcefully, she is an ogre, and dragged me into the house.

In Timz’s darkened room, where an ogrelin’ oddly slept soundly, peacefully, like I’ve never seen him. He’s mostly always squirmin’ around even in his sleep. A thumb maybe in his mouth. His mama pointed up at the ceiling, at the shadow formed from the kiddo’s nightlight shinin’ through Jorz’s thin’amajig.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” she managed through a tightened throat before a sob snuck out. Maybe even a sob escaped from my big, tough brother’s face.

It was indeed beautiful. Couldn’t miss the clear shadow of the angel. But not just a simple shadow. The layers of shadin’ almost glittered with—as if it had a life of its own.

My brother’s mate cried fully now. She pressed her forehead against my shoulder, sensed the shudders ripplin’ over her.

“He said—” My brother’s voice broke. “Timz said, ‘Uncle Jorz found me a protector.’”

~
The End
~

Lane and Sinclair
A Short Story
by
R. Mac Wheeler

I coulda made it into Hattiesburg, on more than fumes, but the small truck stop just outside tiny McLain, Mississippi challenged me not to push it. Been a long eight hours in the saddle already, without even a lunch break—so needed a leg stretch in a big way. First day on a trip, I’m known for pushing it. Not that anyone really knows that about me. I’m a serious introvert. My closest employee prolly doesn’t even know the color of my eyes. Maybe I’m a bit aloof. Maybe.

When I sensed the dry tingle travel up my spine as I pulled into the station, I almost swerved to get back on US 98. McLain, Mississippi, and I’m crossing the path of another shifter. We aren’t that spread around, trust me. We live in tight little communities. My eyes searched. Nearest to me, was what looked like a family in a sedan. On the left, a pickup pulling a working-man’s trailer. And another bagger at the pumps straight ahead of me.

No, no, no. Reason I travel like I do, is to stay away from people in general, shifters in particular. And I cross one in rural Mississippi? Couldn’t be the family in the sedan. The tingle wasn’t plural. Had to be the dude standing beside his Harley. Shiny thing. The bike, not the dude. I pulled up wide at the first pump, to give me some space.

Settling in to fill up, I tried to act like I watched the gallons tick up on the pump, when I was actually radar focused on the other biker. Black, lace-up boots halfway to his knees. Tight-stinking jeans. What. No leather vest, or bare arms? Actually wore long sleeves. Compression shirt. Stink. Could see the billowing of his pecs and six pack, without even looking hard. Those shoulders. Oh my goodness.

Stink. He was walking toward me now. What. He was working on a tall beer? A beer. Standing at gas pumps. Hydrating with alcohol, riding two wheels?

“Pretty,” he said.

I must have jerked like a bee got me in the caboose, because he quickly explained he meant my wheels. Sarcastic, much? “Nice ride,” he continued, “but I like the attitude and torque of a twin.” I considered suggesting he likes the pumping action in his pants. Don’t know where that thought came from. I wisely held my tongue. I avoid crass language. Wouldn’t even consider myself cheeky. But he should really try a horizontally opposed straight six. Never go back, as the saying goes.

He stood behind my bike now. “Florida,” he said. “Jacksonville?”

I did not want to engage. The pump clicked off, and I jerked. Maybe my every sense was directed his way. What kind of shifter was he? Not my variety. I’d feel it. Still a tingle, but with a comfortable warmth. Stink. Prolly a stinking wolf. A Harley rider. Of course a stinking werewolf. Fit every expectation. Or would that be, prejudice? But. The sense was much less—tingly tart—than I’ve ever gotten from a wolf.

“Jacksonville conclave?” he sorta repeated. How’d he guess I’m a dragon? Wolves can sense us? I mean, as dragons, not not-human. I’d never heard that. I met his eyes. How couldn’t—why shouldn’t I. He was just sharing a casual word with a fellow rider, right. No reason for conflict here, in rural Mississippi. Deep, stinking-dark eyes. Noticeably long eyelashes. Thin, dramatic brows. Face colored from a day in the saddle with an open-face helmet, over a tan any lifeguard would be proud of.

“Uh huh,” I answered. Like hell I was gonna tell him Tampa. Have no business knowing where I’m from, bud.

“When you see Tony, tell him Sinclair sends his regards.”

Tony? Is that the name of the conclave’s leader in Jacksonville? Not much of a dragon name. I’m a green dragon, not into conclave politics, certainly not Jacksonville’s. I barely know Tampa’s queen’s name. Valery? Right? No. Velere. Was Tony a real person, or was this jerk testing me? Tony sounds like a guy that runs a pizza place. Certainly not the enforcer of a dragon conclave.

He crushed his empty one-handed and flipped it into the bin ten feet away, through a four inch wide opening. Nice hand-eye coordination. Guess that’s fitting, for a wolf—or whatever. I managed to get the pump-thingie back into its slot. Don’t know why my hand threatened to shake a little. I’m a green, don’t like conflict. He’s just being friendly, right?

Not bad looking, for a wolf. About as overly-masculine as I’d expect. Short-cropped hair. Could call it severe. Almost as much gray as black. Mixed evenly with his week-old beard. Actually a nice look. Not as though that’s my thing. I’m a CPA. I’m not around the rough-looking much.

“I’m making you uncomfortable,” he said. “I apologize. Wouldn’t have even approached a single woman, like this. But—considering. Didn’t think you’d be intimidated.”

“Intimidated.” Maybe that came out a bit in a half-shriek. No more than one-third. Quarter, maybe. I’m a green, doesn’t mean a stinking werewolf would bother me.

His face blended into a killer smile. Like he’s used to being right. The smartest in the room. Best looking. “You’re not from Jacksonville, are you?”

I might have stood there glaring at him.

“Of course, none of my business,” he said. Well look. Something we could agree on.

Should I just mount up and get out of here? No. I wasn’t going to act as though I’m intimidated by a lowly wolf. Stinking wolf. I loosened my helmet and pulled it off, removed my Klim gloves and jacket, gave him a smile, and headed inside—for the restroom. Let him leave first, so I don’t have to engage. Not that I’ve engaged. I don’t engage with strange wolves in the middle of rural Mississippi.

Stepping back out, after, I groaned a little, maybe more than a little, to see him still standing by my Goldwing. Was he working on another beer? Well, it’s five o’clock somewhere. I couldn’t not look. My watch read five-thirteen.

As I neared, he gave me a nod and a weasely grin, crushed his beer can, and headed for his own bike, casually flipping the new empty right through the bin’s narrow opening without seeming to glance that way.

Out of my space now. Good. That’s done. It took me a few moments to readjust my earplugs, get my other accoutrements settled, yet he hadn’t pulled away. So I saddled up, pulled past him. Don’t know why I assessed him a Brownie point for wearing gloves—looked like the creamiest lambs leather. Soft on the hands, worthless for sliding along the asphalt. Why not gloves with knuckle protection and wrist sliders? I’m a CPA. Maybe conservative with such things.

My music reconnected, nav system was redrawing to my destination in Hattiesburg, settling in for the last short leg, when my sound clicked, and an eerily-familiar deep voice said, “So you know my name, what’s yours.”

“You synced up to my Sena while I was in the toilet?” I screamed. “What kind of jerk are you?”

His chuckle answered me. Barely could hear his annoying twin engine, despite the half-shell helmet he wore. Stupid Harley rider with a death wish.

“Really, dude! Are you serious!” I’m a green, but I’m still a dragon. I can get riled.

Sure, I could have turned off my com. But I didn’t. I don’t know why. Wasn’t because I was committed to the music I was streaming. I just didn’t. Stubbornness maybe. We dragons are known for the trait. Not like I needed anyone to talk to. I didn’t. I’m an introvert. But, maybe five minutes later, I told him, “Lane.”

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Lane. Short for Galaine.” My brother calls me Single Lane. Thinks it’s witty because I’m motorcycle-obsessed, he says, and not mated up. Like all female dragons of a certain age should be mated up.

By the time we hit the Hattiesburg city limits, he knew I’m a CPA and on my fifth Goldwing. He laughed about a dragon being an accountant. Don’t know what he thinks dragons should do for a living. I didn’t ask. But the conclave has to pay taxes, too. And keep a balance sheet. Not that the conclave is my only client. Learned he’s a stinking architect, not a mechanic. And I thought all male wolves were gearheads, or prison guards, or inmates. Owns four other bikes. Not as though that impressed me. But if he’d been on his Ducati I might have said hello to him at the truck stop. I mean, after all, it’s Italian. If you can deal with the high maintenance, a sexier-than-heck motorcycle. Those Italians know style.

When he followed me off the highway, and then into the Tru parking lot, I might have started to get riled again, but he laughed. “You’re really staying here? I’ve got my own reservation. Probably get you a better rate. I’ve built about fifty of these for Hilton.”

Okay. I might go for a reduced rate. I have a frugal, and practical side. Built fifty of ’em? How old is Sinclair? Not a spring chick. But. Maybe he’s got a dozen going at a time.

As much gray hair as he has—what kind a changling is he? The average shifter lives about three human lifetimes. Gargoyles can live seven. Not that he comes across, gargoylie. But then, I’ve never met one. Not many of ’em as far as I know.

He pulled up next to me, and oddly, even under the hotel’s porte-cochere, that Harley rumble didn’t sound as annoying as I expected. Thank the gods for stock pipes. He looked across at me, and his teenager smirk forced me to mirror his smile. He’s still a jerk for messing with my helmet while I was in the restroom.

~ Sinclair ~

She’d given me a maybe, for joining me at the Texas Roadhouse across the parking lot. I of course saw what room she was in, my kind have sharp vision and observation skills, but didn’t push it with a knock on her door. If she was interested, maybe she’d show up. I’d brought plenty to work on to stay occupied, if she didn’t. Odd that I hoped she would. Most of my life, I’ve spent time trying to avoid the female variety.

She’s at least six-two. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s a black dragon, the enforcers of her kind. Great hips. Not a gal who’d pass on a beer and nachos. Do you call that hair color tawny? I quickly typed the word into my DDG search bar. Light-brown or yellowish-brown. Who knew I know my color wheel? Pale green eyes. A bit of a Roman nose, but matched those concrete-hard cheek bones. Like I should be surprised a dragon can be hot.

Strange I paid so much attention. As hard as I’ve worked to avoid complications in my life. Females tend to interfere with two hours at the gym every night. Curling up with a book on a Saturday night. Every night. So needy. Ick.

With that thought, she strode in the front door like she owned the place, ignoring the hostesses. Her eyes flicked across the restaurant predator-like, and I could almost sense them connecting with mine. So, she wasn’t going to avoid me. Good, or bad? Hard to tell at this point.

She was walking toward me with intention now. Maybe my throat tightened a bit. Not that I’m afraid of a black dragon. Maybe black. Could even be a gold, with the way she carries herself.

I stood to greet her as she strode up my aisle. Wasn’t wearing a smile. Good, or bad? Held a tablet, swinging at her hip—so in case I’d chickened out, she had something to do.

She extended her hand, and I took it. Warm, almost hot. Firm as a stone. Dang. I maybe looked up at her, just a tiny bit, now that I’m out of my bike boots. That’s never good. I’m six-two. Was she six-three, maybe even four?

“You order yet?” she asked.

“Just a beer,” I said, as we settled across from each other. Well, two beers. No three. Okay, I’d been waiting for her for a while. “Glad you opted to join me.”

I turned off my two tablets I was using to expand my workflow, clicked shut my laptop, and stacked them to the side.

“Have enough computing power?” she asked, as she scanned her menu. As though she wouldn’t order the t-bone. What dragon wouldn’t order the t-bone?

A server stepped up, and Lane ordered a Modelo Negra. I’m gonna like this girl. Uh, dragon female. Why’s it bother me so much she’s a dragon? Her species is probably the only reason I approached her at that truck stop. She glanced at the table, added a cactus blossom to her order. Would she share? I ordered another pint.

The server scurried away, and maybe we both listened to the country music blaring loud enough to annoy a deaf troll, for a couple minutes. The fingers of her right hand caressed the sharp, shiny aluminum edge of her tablet—a nervous thing? Maybe not a black dragon.

I scent the hotel soap on her. Not so girly she carries her own brand when she tours. Noted the moisture that still lingered in her hair, which she had to have used a drier on, for a while. But still a richer red, than before.

“You don’t have to be so obvious,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Maybe my throat tightened a bit.

“I’m a thirty-eight C. You wanna know the color of my panties?”

“Uh—uh.”

“I’m teasing. Not like I didn’t check you out. I noticed you lost a bit of height, in those vintage Converse you’re wearing now. But I’m hoping I wasn’t as obvious. Jeesh. Men.”

Whoa. If there was a chance for a friendship—then a broad smile crossed her face, and a blush about three shades deep.

“Can’t believe I said that. Any of that.”

“I guess I owe you an apology,” I said.

“Meh. Don’t think so. I estimated your age, waist, inseam, and boot size. As well as the triple-X you wear in a compression shirt. Still can’t believe I called you on studying my hair like a cosmologist prepping a cut.”

“You mean, cosmetologist?”

She laughed hard. Sounded like she’d spent a few summers as a lumber jack. She covered her mouth quickly. That blush darkened a couple more shades. “Too funny,” she hissed, when she’d recovered a bit. “You hate me yet? I prefer to set males off early, it’s simpler that way.”

“’Cause you’re fatally annoying?” I asked.

“Terminally,” she said, as her Modelo slid in front of her. She picked it up quickly and took a long hit. After taking a hard breath, she said, “Why my brother knows I’ll die a virgin.”

“Virgin?” The word escaped in a gush without my brain being prepared. Might have been really loud too. Even a human two tables away could have heard. Waitress who had just set down my fresh pint definitely did. But. Virgin? No way. A knockout. No way she’s a virgin.

She took another hit of her Modelo. “Clearly, you know what I am. We aren’t—”

I waited a long bit, then some more. Not promiscuous? Sure, I’ve met a dragon or five in my lifetime, but not like I’m an expert. I’ve been more career oriented, and haven’t spent much time thinking about—well, the other varieties. There aren’t many of my kind, and well, we don’t go out of our way to associate with the other magical races.

“We’re monogamous,” she said finally. Kinda the not-promiscuous kind. “If I have to spell it out. Take a breath now. You’re turning purple.”

Which meant there had never been a Mr. Lane?

“Jeesh,” she gushed. “Is your laptop plugged into your face? It’s like a printer. You ever have a thought that doesn’t spread across your face?”

Oh. Oh. Turn for my face to turn a shade of purple she suggested. I hit my pint. Hit it again. Set it down maybe too hard. “You’re stinking empathic?”

She pressed back in her seat a bit. Smile on her face smoothed out a bit. “What. You didn’t know many of us are?”

“Are you teasing me?”

She hit her Modelo again. Had to be close to dead. “Yeah,” she admitted when she placed the bottle down. “Loved the expression that painted your face, though. To die for.”

She ended up ordering the New York, not the t-bone. And of all things, was heading for Colorado too. But to ride the twisties and enjoy the vistas. My mind spun. Had been a dumb idea to head to my Boulder conference on two wheels to begin with. Would she consider letting me join her? I’ve attended too many boring conferences in my life.

~
The End
~

Thank you for stopping by. Would love if you'd leave me a comment, tell me what you thought of my short stories, let me know you stopped in.

If you're interested in my writing, visit my webpage: rmacwheeler.blogspot.com

I've posted the entire Black Lake series, including volume 6 and 7 which have never been published, if you'd like to give them a read:

Book 1: Expiring Covenant
Book 2: Hamlet Thrivin’
Book 3: Ogre Warlock Healer
Book 4: Warlock Apprentice
Book 5: Ogreness
Book 6: The Thing About Kriz
Book 7: Siblings Bele and Hale

~