Witches Brew
~

She glared at the ochre-hued page of the family tome, the recipe it was opened to, and shook her head. A long river of hair fell from her shoulder across her breasts and the glowing amulet perched there. She flicked her hair back absently and mumbled an old plea handed down over the centuries.

“Patter of bats, fingernail moon, emerald fern ground fine, light the fire, do not stray, so this witch can see the way.”

Behind her, the heavy-plank door groaned as it swung inward. Her sister walked into the ancient barn following a conjured fire lighting her way. Dewines pinched the center of the flame and the spell faded.

“Gwiddon. Do not tell me you are still fretting. Spells are spells, recipes, recipes. Some things simply can’t be improved upon.”

Gwiddon gazed at her sister and all that came to mind was how jealous she was that Dewines inherited the orange-red hair of the generations of witches who preceded them. If she didn’t love her sister so much it would be easy to hate her. Silken complexion, eyes beryl-green, narrow chin, and cheekbones that could dull an axe, sweet smile and arched back that made her look as though she floated when she walked.

Dewines sighed. “If you worry any more about your trial on the morrow you will not sleep. It will give you little pleasure to compete for the family’s honor with eyes held hostage by bags of exhaustion.”

“Easy for you to say. Your trial is long past.” Gwiddon grinned. “All you had to do to earn your initiation was turn a besotted man into a pilgrim with pride.”

“It wasn’t that easy. I was provided a most horrid man. And he followed me endlessly for months afterward. I obviously blended too strong a spell.

“Besides, the gaggle you compete with haven’t half your skill. You distress over nothing. You have the recipe that put other llwyths to shame for generations. Have you collected all the fresh herbs you need, or not?”

Gwiddon nodded.

“Then why do you overtax your amulet so? Let it rest. The sprite spirits may take offense at the burden.”

A stitch tightened in Gwiddon’s chest.

“Oh my, what have I done? Given you one more thing to worry your mind.”

The girl closed her eyes and the orange glow of the amulet faded to a rich burnt-red before extinguishing. Gwiddon opened her eyes and checked the mystic force of her charm, which had once belonged to her crone-aunt.

“You will do well, child,” Dewines said.

“Child, is it?” Gwiddon laughed. “Were we not walking barefoot through the sandy creek last fall together, the farm boys calling down from the trees to us both, asking for kisses. You did not go through your initiation that long ago, sister.”

Dewines laughed with her. “Fair you are. And you will be considered a full witch in your own right on the morrow. The family will retain its pride. We will stand tall beside you and frighten away the ill spirits as we dance into the night about the covenstead.”

But Gwiddon still fretted. “Ancient does not mean unbeatable. I hear my rivals have been—”

“Simply shows how desperate they are,” Dewines said.

“Desperation can be a dangerous thing.” Gwiddon allowed her sister to wrap her within a comforting embrace.

“My sweet, dear Gwiddon. Those fledgling wiccans will simply be exhausted from their futile plight. New rarely means better.”

Gwiddon stepped back from the proven witch. Dewines pulled Gwiddon’s coal-black hair forward and fretted with a couple tangles until it lay behaved over her shoulders.

“Hard to believe we swore our oaths to the Rede together a mere four seasons ago.”

“May we harm none, blessed be,” the two sisters said together.

“The torch’s blaze reflects the most beautiful reds and golds in your hair,” Dewines continued. “I envy it. Hasn’t the bawdiness of my own, lucky you. Come, get some sleep. It would not be proper for a future full-wiccan to rise with red eyes.”

They walked to the door arms entwined. Dewines raised a hand and waved it casually.

“Fire of Tan, fade and recede, light of Brite precede and fill the night.”

The torch Gwiddon had been reading by slowly expired behind them as a new flame kindled to life, hovering before them, leading them to the house.

Their mother slumbered in the family’s ancient rocking chair, which would be handed down to one of the sisters, one day. It wasn’t assured the eldest would inherit it, for if Gwiddon accomplished her task the next day and found the half-mortal, half-wiccan who dwelled unknown to them all these years in the village, she might have a step up on her sister.

A volume of spells rested upon Cydwedd’s lap, closed. The woman’s hands lay across it, fingers gently woven. She stirred and opened her eyes when Dewines kissed her on the forehead.

“You should go to bed, Mama.”

“Ah, so have you convinced Gwiddon to stop second-guessing herself?”

“I wouldn’t meddle,” Dewines mewed.

“What kind of witch are you?” Cydwedd cackled. “Keeping your nose in your own affairs is a poor example to lead, for a proper witch.”

“I recall,” Dewines said, “what it was like when visiting llwyth tried to sway my actions on my own judgment day. You were wise to discourage their visit this sennight. We should be glad they accepted your pretext.”

“You are too aloof to be a witch,” Cynwedd teased. “Perhaps the crow delivered the wrong babe at your birth.”

“Delivered the right babe it did,” Gwiddon chimed. “I’ve been given a proper sister to compete against for the right to challenge Gastwedd for council succession one day.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Pass your initiation before thinking of the council. Your mind should not be divided the eve before your trial.”

“She is only saying out loud,” Dwines said, “what we are all thinking. The leadership of the council must be brought back into the llwyth. The wrong clan has claimed the reins and we have all paid the price in the growing persecution.”

“You are both too young to be anticipating such responsibility. To bed with you both. Gwiddon has a long journey that will start too early.”

Gwiddon lifted the heavy volume off her mother’s lap and returned it to its nook across from the hearth. The two kissed their mother and went to their pallets with no more discussion as they changed into their night robes.

Gwiddon lay quietly ensnared in her thoughts unable to sleep for hours. The heavy staff that pounded on the door before sunrise wracked her mind like a physical pain, abruptly bringing her to the earth plane.

She and her sister rushed to dress. Dewines was the first to the door, raising the heavy timber and allowing the two warlocks in. Gwiddon stirred the hearth and fed it kindling to heat water for tea, and take the early morning chill out of the great room.

“A fine day it will prove,” the younger sorcerer declared heartily. “We have ensured no rain spoils this day of examination.”

Gwiddon peered at the man. She had seen him following about in her father’s footsteps like a pet in the past, but could not remember ever being introduced to him. He and the sour-looking Mordred would act as her monitors for the day, to ensure she used no improper conjuring to identify the half-wiccan rumored to live among the mortals.

Cydwedd joined her two daughters and the three moved about the table putting together a simple repast for the five of them. The kettle whistling, Gwiddon set tea steeping. The impatient younger warlock grabbed one up quickly. He didn’t drink though, only warmed his hands around the mug.

Gwiddon studied the man. Scarcely looked old enough to have completed his own rite of passage. He spoke of ensuring there was no rain as though it was his grand gesture. Who actually cited the spell if at all? His cape was thin, as were the knees of his breeches, and his boots truly insufficient for the road. He was not one to properly represent their kind.

Gwiddon blushed at her mean thoughts. She was no older than him, powers no more substantial. She was only fortunate to be the daughter of a prosperous witch and warlock, who could provide what the lad lacked.

The three of them struck off for the far village with no hint of sun yet aiding their trek. A thick fog hung about them and weaved between the trees.

Nor had it cleared three hours later as they came to the ridge that overlooked the vale and the bustling mortal community that resided below. A breeze traversed the hills clearing the muggy air that lingered.

“Have you been there before?” her younger escort asked.

“On occasion,” Gwiddon answered, to imply multiple times. But she had only one opportunity to visit before, with her father when he had llwyth duties, but that allowed them to stay over the night. Had been very exciting, though taxing with all the mortal bustle.

“Come,” Mordred grunted, stamping his staff. “We have no time to dawdle. The other initiates may already be there.”

It was always an eerie sensation first walking into the fray of mortals. They were loud and moved with unnecessary haste. Impatient, intimidating beings. Gwiddon would never understand their ways. The cobblestone lane, filled with wains and horses, echoed loudly in ears used to the quiet forest.

Mordred and the younger warlock escorted her to the bakery the council ran, to bring in the mortal coin that aided them to blend in when they traveled. There were a pair of patrons in the shop purchasing goods when they entered. The three waited patiently for their departure.

“Your initiate,” Mordred said simply to the witch behind the counter. He immediately rose his staff, mumbled a charm, and the two warlocks faded until they were invisible. They would sit about unseen, ensuring that Gwiddon did not inappropriately interact with the mortals that day.

The witch behind the counter smiled broadly. “Welcome. Do you need anything? Anything I can help you with?”

Gwiddon met the woman’s warm smile. “A pot and utensils, and I’m set,” she answered nervously.

She prayed for grounding and got to work. Thirty minutes later, sweat threatened to drip from Gwiddon’s nose as she stirred the small cauldron. She recited the incantations, dropping each pinch of herb into the simmer.

By mid-day she fretted over how long the other initiates had in the village, free to spread their sorcery, with hers simmering lazily, yet unwilling to do her bidding until.

The heat of the wood-stoked stove and oven had her bareheaded and down to her shift. Anxiety piqued that there wasn’t enough breeze to carry the fragrance of her charm through the village, but as she poured the viscous brew with its fruit into the lined trencher for the oven, even mortals walking down the cobblestone raised their noses into the air.

She smiled.

Ten minutes and her snare was toasted. Out of the oven and on the front sill to cool, the herbs wafted from the bakery. Gwiddon sensed the two guardian warlocks beside her, themselves mildly besotted by the spell.

“Off my shoulder or I shall bludgeon ya both with a grand spoon,” she hissed.

Gwiddon returned to the rear of the bakery to ensure the door swung wide, to maximize the draft through the shop. She strode back to the front and stood in the doorway, peering up and down the village’s main lane.

Young men going about their chores slowed and smiled at her. How sinful she must appear, tresses lose, no bodice to cloak her breasts, but if ever a day to blend in with the mortals, this was it.

A particularly cheeky lad found an excuse to walk by a second time and ogled her with a crooked grin. “Could such a beautiful thing have baked up whatever smells so enticing?” he asked.

If half-wiccan, he would have demonstrated a semblance of drunkenness not mischief. Gwiddon said nothing to him so as not to encourage him to dally, but she could not restrain the smile that furrowed her lips.

She was not as accustomed with flirtation as her sister perchance. But it was not a completely unfamiliar feeling, to have a man look at her with a lusty eye, but rare enough from living deep in the forest to make it feel—a bit seductive.

She almost giggled at the thought.

Mortals straggled by as the sun crossed its apex and leaned west. Gwiddon’s anxiety rose. Perhaps the object of her spell didn’t reside within the village after all, or worked too far afield. Or one of the other initiates had already snared him.

She was convinced another year would pass before she had another chance to prove her skill and be accepted fully in the fold before she spied the tall, blond-headed woodcutter trudging up the middle of the lane, oblivious of the carts that had to come to a stop to avoid him.

He staggered directly to the casement and inhaled deeply of the sweet aroma of her lure.

“Enter and be seated, and I will cut you a portion,” Gwiddon told him.

The handsome young man, perhaps three years her senior, bulging with muscles and manliness, struck her conscience like a blow to the gut. His life had just irrevocably changed, and he knew it not.

She removed the pie from the sill and ladled a serving onto a platter. He jammed a spoon into it without sitting down. She had to will her two guardians away with an angry wave, but the woodcutter appeared not to notice. His eyes remained focused on the platter. Seated now, he dug into her incantation fully and within three bites was lost to the mortal world.

Mordred and the younger warlock turned visible, the spell worn away as they lost their concentration. They greedily watched the half-wiccan gobbling down what they too craved.

The beautiful, lost-man only glanced at them, too drunken to care from whence they came. Gwiddon ladled a second helping onto his platter, and stood back, studying the poor man.

If only he knew.

The witch who ran the bakery appeared at Gwiddon’s shoulder and draped her with an understanding arm.

“It is necessary,” she said softly. “We can not very well have untrained adepts walking about the mortal world without restraint.”

Before Gwiddon could answer, another towheaded lad stumbled across the threshold, eyes unfocused, mouth agape.

“Oh my,” the four wiccans muttered in concert.

Mordred groaned. “We have a warlock slinking about plagued with an importune itch devoid of all discretion. Portends ill.”

Gwiddon ladled a portion for the newcomer, his portal to a vastly different existence.

© R. Mac Wheeler 2017

First Date
~

The column to the right of the entrees started in the forties. Was going to be an expensive meal. Don’t think about college loans—don’t think about college loans. I chose this place to make an impression—highly recommended, by folks higher class than me. Much higher. I’ve been too afraid to ask Belinda out—for a year, really wanted this to turn out well. The trick’s not to spill my drink, drench myself in sauce, or otherwise be a bore. I’ve been told I can put a rock to sleep. Don’t talk about Dad’s new tractor.

I easily decided on the quiche, the cheapest item on the menu. If Belinda selected the duck, on the opposite end of the scale, the magic would be shattered—along with three months of my budget.

Waiting for her to decide, I took in the dark ambiance of the restaurant, the prints on the wall of colorful Parisian cafes and window boxes filled with flowers. Places I’ll never visit.

My eyes drifted to the couple sitting at the next table. The young man’s harsh clothes and close-clipped hair implied a man of labor and few means, less ready to pay Le Petit’s prices than me.

She was a thin, attractive thing, wearing a simple white cotton blouse with long sleeves, hair curled tightly, reminded me of pictures I’d seen of my great-grandmother from the forties. The two sat stiffly erect, their hands in their laps.

Our waiter arrived and poured us a taste of the wine the house pushed this evening. It was tasty, but I opted for iced tea. The difference put a dent in my school loans—I will not die a deadbeat. Have to admit a smile snuck across my face when Belinda ordered the same. The kicker—she ordered the Penne a la Monegasque. She’s a keeper. Twice over. Three times. Beautiful. Smart. Thoughtful.

After the waiter left we fell into small talk—I followed her lead well, I think. Forced my eyes off Belinda’s for a moment. Didn’t want to look like a crazed stalker, though she’s the best eye candy I’ve ever seen. Glanced at the other couple again.

Weird. My first impression had been faulty. They were about the same age as me and Belinda. Though dressed conservatively, they didn’t sit like two first-time daters. They leaned forward, hands outstretched, his folded over hers. Why had I thought their clothes—a bit rugged, before?

Belinda brought me back to the table with a comment about the office, a safe subject. My best friend had warned me not to go on about myself. His second warning was not to bring up sports—I guess I can go on, and on. Evidently, work is safe territory. The waiter brought a basket of bread, which prompted danger-free conversation for another couple minutes. Don't drop the butter knife.

A clink from the next table made me look back at our neighbors. They held fluted glasses up as though they had just toasted. A sparkle of light drew my eyes to the woman’s hand. A modest solitaire and matching band graced it. Hmm. Originally I’d taken them as being on their first date too.

I worked to shrug off my poor observation skills. Her hair no longer spun in tight curls, the front of her white blouse coursed with a flurry of ruffled trim. He wore a proper suit, hair no longer buzzed above his ears.

Belinda spoke of the project we work on, bringing me back again. I imagined how she would change as the years passed. Would always be beautiful. Elegant but down to earth. Fast to smile. I so love the sound of her voice. Soft, comforting, yet confident.

She looked down at the table in thought, and I hurried another glance at my couple. An embellished band joined the woman’s solitaire. On the next finger rested a dinner ring with a big diamond, and I think a splatter of little rubies. Her silk blouse fell open seductively, a diamond pendent swaying above a generous bosom. Her husband leaned toward her, a gentle smile creasing his face, a contented expression, eyes locked onto hers.

I was back before Belinda looked up again. A shiver of excitement rushed into my chest, as I imagined a solitaire like the woman’s, gracing Belinda’s hand, maybe one day.

Belinda’s smile changed, one brow dipping in query. “What?”

“I’ll bet your mother is drop-dead gorgeous,” I answered. No idea where that came from. A book? Movie? Hopefully not trite, or tacky.

“Why do you say that?” A tiny smirk accented the left side of her smile.

“Because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.” Did that really make it out of my face? Oh, that was too much.

Belinda’s snowy cheeks hued rose. Her lashes trembled and she studied the linen of the table cloth. “You’re supposed to hold things like that until the second date, I think.”

“I’m sorry. Not up on the protocol.” Since this is my first adult date. Pizza shared among five schoolmates wouldn’t count.

She smiled a bit wider.

The waiter brought our meals. I didn’t look back at the other table again until the couple rose to leave.

The woman now wore a flowing, blush-colored gown, elegantly bare shoulders she covered with a chiffon wrap-thing. He donned a tux. Gray monopolized the color of their hair, hers cut short up the sides and back, sexily tousled on top. He held out his arm and she wrapped hers within it. They clung together, making their way slowly from the dining room. Everyone in the room turned to take the couple in. Ghosts from another time.

© R. Mac Wheeler 2017

Interrogation
~

“Discontinue video.”

The plasscreen faded to black, though the sight of the man’s mutilated corpse stayed in Toni’s mind’s eye. As did the sloppy gore from the scene of the murder. She turned her attention to the forward viewer, at the dozens of olive-drab craft which filled the horizon.

“Kory, open a link to the base commander.”

Toni leaned back in her seat. The ship’s calm persona reported a completed connection with a Colonel Ortice.

“Colonel. Toni Tegaris. Earth Union Security. Marshal’s Office.”

“Welcome to Camp Tango 43, Marshal. Glad you were in our beautiful little region of space.”

Beautiful? His welcome continued. All she needed. Twenty crimes to investigate in this system alone and she got a chatty Marine. Socializing with the brass has a way of distorting first impressions. She didn’t need an amateur suggesting what happened. She chose not to engage him. She glared back at the face on the com. His smile faded.

“I would be happy to come—”

“I’ll interview you in due time if necessary,” she interrupted. “What I need, as I communicated earlier, is the victim’s company to fall in on the tarmac immediately.”

His eyes narrowed. Lips pressed together. “Aye, Marshal. Is that all for now?”

“That’s all.” Toni disconnected before he could.

She walked to the bridge armaments cabinet, donned her blue EU vest and a web belt with a projectile sidearm. After checking its load, she headed for the forward hatch.

“Chewie.” She waited while the com addressed her first officer.

“Aye, Toni.”

“Hold the fort. Back in a few.”

“Want company?”

“You’re not getting out of that research. Besides, you’d probably enjoy the heat on this freaking moon too much. Can’t have you loafing.”

He chuckled, what passes as such for his species, which sounds more like a rat scrabbling through garbage. That comparison always makes her smile.

She stepped over a slow janibot that followed her for a moment, as though she was debris it should atomize. Or like a puppy looking for attention.

“Go away,” she snapped. It turned and floated down the corridor in the opposite direction.

Low deck, the hatch separated as she approached. She squinted at the glare streaming in, pulled out the old, scratched up shades Shante gave her years ago.

Need to replace these someday.

She walked down the ramp, realizing the sunglasses weren’t going to be enough for comfort. The heat was a bitch too. She needed to identify the murderer or murderers fast.

The company was being lifted to an adjacent tarmac. Toni stopped in her tracks and activated her com. “Connect Colonel Ortice.”

“Aye, Toni,” Kory acknowledged.

“Don’t screw with me,” she shouted when the commander connected.

“I have no—”

“Have ’em fall in, in front of me, now, or so help me I’ll shut down this whole base for a freaking week. Do you hear me, commander?”

Maybe I’m being a bit more cross than usual. No, just being me. But first impressions are so important.

Toni heard a very-Marine-like response as the connection broke. Within seconds the troop carrier lifted off the far tarmac and approached. Setting down, the back gate dropped and jarheads double-timed it down the stinking-short ramp. As they fell in, Toni studied the strapping Marine in charge. A sergeant major. Called to her to bring them in a tight formation. The Marine saluted and barked a sharp command. The men and women side stepped until they were shoulder to shoulder.

Time to collect physical evidence.

With the sergeant major on her heel, Toni hurried down the ranks, drone just above her shoulder collecting initial DNA trace, wishing she had one of the dark shields they wore against the system’s too-near star. They weren’t going to like it if she ordered those with mingled trace to remove their air-cooled helmets.

Toni’s computer clicked to show its analysis was complete. She walked back through the command pointing at each Marine that could fall out.

Few in the slain Marine’s platoon were eliminated. Most in the other three were. The first pass culled 132. The sergeant major again had what was left of the company move in. Sweat dripped onto Toni’s glasses as she reviewed her data. She was swimming inside her protective vest.

Hell with this.

The Kory Mae’s main hold was practically empty anyway. “Bring them,” she told the sergeant major.

Toni headed for Kory Mae. The main hatch lowered as she approached. Walking through the environmental shield felt delightful, like entering a meat locker. Unfortunately, the hold temperature rose as the remaining thirty-six Marines crossed the EM threshold.

“Listen up! Front and center when you hear your name.”

She called the names of the four who held the most cross contamination. Toni walked in front of them slowly, allowing the drone’s sensors to pick up detail readings. The next hour was going to be a pain. At least it was cooler.

Toni returned her attention to the first Marine. “PFC, was Tarcine a good friend?” Toni looked into the dark green of the visor for an instant, but quickly looked down at her computer to review the analysis of her infomedics. People weren’t her thing—data was.

“We were together since boot,” she answered.

Toni stepped back and shouted. “We’re going to be here a long freaking time if I don’t get direct answers. Am I making myself understood?”

The loud, “hooyeah,” echoed in the cavernous hold.

She stepped back in front of the PFC. “Again.”

“Like a brother,” she said.

“A brother you make love to, or just drink beer with?”

The questions, designed to elicit an emotional response, continued in similar fashion. Toni’s mind wandered as she watched the computer’s analysis.

She reached the jarhead with the most recent trace. He found the body. His answers registered inconclusive. Toni broke her routine and ordered him to take off the dark visor.

“Take a knee.”

He appeared to be taken aback by her order, dashed a glance at his sergeant major. The woman must have given him a nod. A second later he was eye-to-eye with Toni. Being short as a toad is often as convenient as not.

For a PFC, he had been in a lot of shipboard firefights, considering the tell-tale scars from the splatter of laser-melted hull. Spacers have a saying. “Better scarred than scattered.” She didn’t know why that came to mind.

“Why are you still a PFC?” she asked him. The computer registered his response as consistent.

“Who do you think killed him?”

His heart rate increased twelve percent. Temperature rose two degrees. He held an opinion at least, but he wouldn’t tell her if she rammed bamboo slivers under his fingernails.

“Give me an answer in the next ten seconds or you’ll see a courts-martial.”

He didn’t blink. His heart rate actually slowed. That kind of threat was going to get her nowhere with this guy. She didn’t bother to give his record more than a scan. He’d been busted often enough to consider it routine. There was no other reason he was still an E2 after all the action he’d seen.

“Sergeant Major, please explain to the private he must answer.”

The woman grabbed him by the front of his shirt and raised him to his feet, pressed her nose nearly against his. “You want to wash latrines until your service is honored, Private?”

“No, Sergeant Major.”

Yeah. That helped. The next ten minutes were just as productive as the last. Minutes she’d never get back. He might know something valuable, but he was a cagey butthead.

And a moron.

She stepped before her next candidate, on to the next, and the next after her.

An hour later Toni stood in front of a smallish Marine, not to say she was as short as Toni, but she was under 180 centimeters, and had shoulders the sergeant major, clearly from a heavy-gravity planet, could have snapped like a wishbone without effort.

The trace was left on the corporal’s fatigues within twenty minutes of Tarcine’s death. Older DNA, a lot of it, remained on her skin from weeks earlier. Either she shared the same bar of soap, or she rolled in the sack with him. Toni looked up under her visor.

Stick to data, or take a shot at reading her the old fashion way?

“Remove your helmet,” Toni said softly. It was time for a gentler touch. Being a bitch hadn’t gotten her far in two hours.

The corporal’s face didn’t hold a single scar. She looked as though she could still be in secondary school. Toni read the woman’s summarized record. She had been in the service three years. No firefights. Bizarre. She was being taken care of. Tarcine, an E5, was in a position to ensure that happened. The woman’s pulse rose steadily, even though Toni hadn’t asked her a single question.

“You shower with Tarcine recently?” she asked the woman at a near whisper.

The corporal’s eyes got a little larger. Sensor readings rose across the board.

Most assuredly something sexual there.

“Ma’am, not that I recall.”

“How long have you been planet-based?”

“Ma’am, we just arrived for weekend RNR.”

“She was a replacement eight months earlier for a jarhead who got himself liquefied by a particle charge,” the sergeant major explained. Yeah. That had jumped out at Toni—eight months and no firefights—in this area of space.

Her computer registered the corporal’s stomach muscles tightened, but her general stress leveled off. Interesting. Not that it meant diddly.

Toni wanted to sit. She looked down the line. Three more Marines to interrogate. They stood at ease, like pillars of granite, or machines, hidden behind their alloy fatigues, helmets, and darker-green, mirrored visors.

Toni shifted her shoulders to help her refocus, hurried through the last of the Marines, turned and held out her computer to the sergeant major. “Want these three with me, the rest you can release.” Toni suggested she could take a break too.

Toni didn’t offer the three seats when she led them to the galley. She walked across the room and pointed to a spot near the end of her team’s conference table, and eyed the PFC. He marched forward and stood at attention on the spot. She separated the other two across the room in similar fashion and walked out without a word.

Could they be stupid enough to say something incriminating while they stand there?

She entered the forward hold where Tarcine’s body was set out. I hate fricking dead bodies. But it’s gotta be done.

The heat on the moon had accelerated its decomposition. It reeked, even though Kory quickly lowered the temperature in the hold to two degrees when the body was delivered.

He was no delight before he lost part of his face. Half of the man’s chest was also missing. His right leg had been cleanly separated from his trunk. He really pissed someone off.

Given a few hours, Toni could match the weapon to the wounds, but lasers in an armory, which a whole brigade had access to, added little credence in a court proceeding. Even if she found the right rifle, trace would be less than helpful. It’s a hell of a lot easier to pull together psychological evidence when you’re a gazillion miles from a real forensics team.

“Kory, have you finished your analysis?”

“Aye, Captain. Would you—”

“A summary if it isn’t inconvenient.”

Toni watched as the slide on her computer showed the progress of the download. Behind her, the door of the lift opened. She looked over her shoulder expecting either Chewie or the other marshal on board who was recuperating from a nasty ambush.

“I did not release you, Marine.”

How’d he know to find me here? The man lifted a laser at her. It was a civilian version of an M2. Small enough to hide inside a shirt, not the most powerful, took about a second and a half to recharge between shots, but still deadly if the handler’s aim was good.

“How in the hell did you pick the three of us out of the company?” he mumbled. “Your questions were bullshit.”

“Did I say they were relevant?”

He twisted his face as though Toni spoke an alien language.

“Did Tarcine find out you raped her, or were you just getting rid of the competition?”

“Who says—”

“Oh, please. I’m freaking short, not stupid. The PFC, Scarface, cleaned up after you. But you notice he isn’t behind you now? Not going to clean up after you this time.”

Toni prepared to ask him how he thought he was going to get away with shooting her, considering a hundred sensors focused on him, when he fired. Heat radiated across her vest.

I love these vests.

A Marine who can’t shoot worth crap—what luck.

Toni pulled her sidearm and fired. His fatigues would absorb most of her rounds, but they would hurt, and keep him from getting off a better shot. She leveled her weapon as high on his trunk as she dared, hoping to catch a break and get him in his unprotected throat. She wasn’t such a great shot to aim for his head. It was more important to keep the projectiles soaking into his chest, and him busy.

After his first shot, alarms would be going off in the decks above. She just had to stay alive until Chewie reached her.

She stepped forward doing her best to empty her magazine. His body lurched, arms swayed. He fired again. The blast sailed wide. She had another free second and a half. She tried to count her shots. About eight. Another thirteen to go. The burned propellant, scorched vest, smelled harsh against the ship’s purified air.

Within twenty feet of him.

Fatigues would fail in a couple more steps. A round caught his raised wrist and blood and tissue exploded. Somehow he held onto the laser. His face turned purple from the pain, the pounding he was taking. He struggled to aim the laser. Fired. The ion burst crossed within two centimeters of Toni’s cheek.

She felt blood running down her face, a burning furrow. Another free second and a half. Maybe seven rounds left. He jerked hard as her rounds met the fatigue’s tolerance.

She had one last round, maybe. Somehow with his ruined hand and wrist, he leveled the laser again.

Enough!

She aimed carefully for his face, close enough even she couldn’t miss. Pulled the trigger. His head snapped backward, a pink puff exiting the back of his skull, body teetered as his laser clattered onto the deck, he fell stiffly in slow motion, with a two-tone plonk, thud, and a final bouncing clunk.

Toni screamed. It was anger. Frustration. Maybe a little release. She dropped her arms to her side, took a deep breath.

“Damn!”

She sucked in air and looked down at her shoulder.

“Another freaking scar.”

Blood dripped from her jaw, oozed down the right edge of her vest, through the hole melted in it. Glad it wasn’t an M4. Bastard was hard to kill.

The lift door opened. Toni didn’t have the energy to ready her sidearm again. Pretty sure it was empty anyway. Chewie sprinted down the catwalk. He held one of the gargantuan laser rifles she couldn’t lift.

“About time!” she screamed.

“Ever occur to you to check if your guests are armed?”

“Crap. Must’ve cut class the day they discussed that.” Gotta add that to the biometric scan.

~

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 squatted, 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 creek 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
~