Smuggler Queen

by Tim C. Taylor

  The cutter ducked down and disappeared behind Annihilation.

  Now what?

  “Power down or be fired upon and destroyed.”

  “I told you. I don’t know how.” He tapped his visor comm back on. “Maycey. Maycey. Do you copy?”

  There was no response. Probably well out of range.

  Four parallel lines of tracer bolts shot through the black just in front of Annihalation.

  The panic that had been building inside him now died away. There was literally nothing he could do. This shit show was far out of his control.

  Actually, there was one thing he could do…

  “I surrender. Take me aboard. Board my ship. I don’t care. But don’t fire! I’m unarmed.”

  Was that true?

  “Like hell you are! You’ve got five seconds.”

  Hell!

  It was his time to go, and there was no point fighting the end. His main regret was that he’d wanted to die with Lucerne in his hands. There were people he wanted to reckon with in the afterlife. His war hammer would have helped those people understand the full force of his point of view.

  Another question appeared on the flight console screen.

  This time in Human Standard.

  “Activate combat mode. Yes/No?”

  “Yes!” Vetch threw his thumb forward to tap the screen. The damned thing must have been voice activated because he’d barely lifted his hand before he was thrown hard against his seat.

  Over the next stretch of time, he was shaken about so violently, he closed his eyes and prayed he wouldn’t vomit.

  It lasted seconds…minutes…longer? He didn’t know. Though he was damned sure he was right not to request that transfer to the dropship troopers he’d once considered. How could anyone endure this without going crazier than a shaved Ellondyte?

  On the cusp of blowing, his luck turned good, and Annihilation came to a gentle rest.

  Not entirely trusting that the abusive maneuvers were over, he opened one eye and looked at the screen.

  “Threat evaded,” it told him. “Status condition gold.”

  “Gold? That’s gotta be good, right? Err…what happens now?”

  He tapped the screen, hoping to find something that made sense. Maybe even a manual. But everything he brought up was written in Kayrissan.

  “Ship, can you give me options? In Human Standard?”

  Numbered options scrolled up the screen. Orion’s beard! Voice activation worked. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  I think you might be trying to do one of these things:

  1. – Power down all systems, including life support.

  2. – Locate and attack the police cutter.

  3. – Play soothing music and await pickup or death.

  4. – Stream human-themed holo-porn.

  5. – Return to previous mission waypoint.

  Vetch generally left the computer tech malarkey to others. But he’d encountered so many droids with attitude that he suspected people liked them that way. Lynx was a perfect example. Perhaps the assassin sisters also liked their computer systems quirky.

  As he scanned the options again, he knew which one he wanted to activate, but he kept his mouth shut because he felt…what, guilty?

  He’d left Maycey behind. And he felt guilty that he felt guilty about abandoning her. Which was a confusing concept.

  She’s not your friend.

  “Oh, I’m such a dongwitted scump.”

  He waited, giving the ship a chance to make a wisecrack back, but it was silent.

  “Ship, activate option five. Return to last waypoint.”

  The words “GOOD CHOICE!” flashed briefly. Then Annihilation returned him to the Boitan with a brisk thrust plan that kept him on the safe side of barfing. In its new attitude of bountiful helpfulness, it even reconnected the flexible airlock to the same point as before without being asked.

  Maycey’s helmet cam view reappeared over the flight console. She was firing her lance across the hold, ducking as the return fire lashed overhead.

  “Did you enjoy your jaunt?”

  Dammit. She didn’t even sound upset with him.

  Blaster bolts smacked into a pile of holdalls lashed to the storage rack in front of her, throwing up a cloud of smoldering crap. Maycey used this temporary concealment to roll across the deck to a new position next to the airlock breach point.

  With the sound of many boots advancing into the hold, Maycey’s view focused on the false, painted bulkhead. There was movement in front of her cam. Vetch squinted. And then he saw that her hand—indistinct with its stealth covering—was touching the hatch at the same point he had.

  “Release the damned lock,” she growled when nothing happened.

  Her cam feed became a confusing blur of her rolling through blaster bolts and destruction.

  “Ship,” Vetch ordered, “unlock the airlock exterior.”

  He was rewarded with the sound of hissing pressure equalization. “Try again,” he told the assassin.

  She did. This time, Maycey made it through and launched herself into the flexible connecting tube which bucked when she side-slammed its transparent wall.

  “I’ll give you this,” she said as she floated into the bubble craft, “you have an instinct for dramatic timing, Arunsen.”

  “Wait till you see this,” he replied and reached into the top of his stealth suit. He drew out the needler pistol and leveled it at her.

  She laughed as she crawled into the Annihilation. She collapsed her power lance and threw it into the stowage box behind the seats. She undid the top of the suit all the way down her torso. Something fell out that she’d placed between her breasts. It was the jewel she’d stolen.

  Maycey held up the prize and grinned at him. “Mission accomplished.”

  She sent it sailing into the box alongside her lance.

  Vetch wasn’t impressed. He pushed the needler barrel against her bare midriff. “I want some truths,” he told her.

  Which was legit, though he was so out of his depth, he wasn’t sure what truths he wanted to get out of her. He wanted them to not be docked to a ship they’d just stolen from. That much he was sure about.

  “Typical human.” She raised an eye ridge, but not her voice. The weapon pointed at her, the blaster fire she’d barely wriggled away from, his running out on her—Maycey appeared completely aloof to such concerns.

  Grace under pressure. Vetch had to admire that in her.

  “Your species can never let things just be as they are,” she said. “Okay, so you want some answers. Shoot. Er…so to speak. But we’d better get out of here first.”

  Maycey retracted the airlock and sat in the copilot seat.

  Or what Vetch had taken to be the copilot position. Without any obvious command, the yoke shifted across the deck from Vetch to Maycey’s seat. She piloted Annihilation away from the scene of the crime.

  All the while, he kept the needler pressed against her.

  Her movements and flight control were assured. Which was what he expected. Suddenly, through the needler barrel, he sensed a change as her abdominal muscles tensed. Her whole body went rigid, and her fur stood on end.

  He got the feeling that something on her screen had startled her, but when he risked glancing at the flight console, the moment had passed. She had relaxed. And there was nothing on the screen he understood.

  He’d never seen anything faze her before. Something had now.

  When they’d put distance between them and the Boitan, she turned slowly to Vetch and raised her hands.

  It had the effect of opening the front of her suit.

  “Will this take long?” she teased. “We both know I’m too hot to kill in cold blood.”

  But she wasn’t. She wasn’t hot. Wasn’t even human. And she sure as hell wasn’t his friend.

  Keeping his pistol pressed against her flesh, Vetch parted her fine body fur with the barrel until it rested over where her heart would be if she were the same sp
ecies as him.

  “What’s the deal with the Ellondytes?” he asked her. “They’re seething about the murders of two of their number. Tchon and Kzeddiy. But they won’t call it murder. It’s almost as if they pass off their deaths as unfortunate accidents.”

  “The Ellondytes.” The way Maycey purred, she made the word sound like something she would catch, season, and devour. “You want to know how to help them in their plight.”

  “Something like that.”

  “How human. How noble. How stupid. The best you can do for them is leave them be.”

  “You’re right. I am human. And proud of it. It means I stick my beak in where it’s not wanted. Deal with it. Why are the Ellondytes so accepting of their situation?”

  “It’s their nature to be content. It’s not yours. Nor mine, Arunsen. I find them dull. Sometimes, though, I envy them. Okay, here’s the deal, although…would you mind?” She looked down at the barrel poking into her chest. “You play a little rough.”

  When he eased off fractionally, she explained. “Nyluga-Ree cut a deal with the Ellondytes two centuries ago. They come from a string of villages that thread through the passes of the Shmarash Mountains on the planet Rhieff. The place specializes in deep valleys, gentle-natured cattle, and dressing up to amuse the tourists. That kind of shit. It’s no paradise, though, because Rhieff is a contested planet. There’s a planetary government, which is the legitimate authority in the eyes of the Federation. In reality, the world government is the pawn of several rival republics and empires. And guess whose mountain passes permeate the border between two of the most belligerent states?”

  “Nyluga-Ree gives the villagers protection?”

  “Damn right. Their enclave is an official affiliate of the Outer Torellian Commerce Guild. If anyone messes with the Shmarash villages, my sister or I visit Rhieff to kill a few people to make a point.”

  “Do the Ellondytes at Ree’s Sanctuary ever get released?”

  “The deal is that every year the Shmarash Ellondytes send five percent of their youth, or one-hundred-and-fifty-individuals, whichever is smaller, to act as servants for a term of fifteen years. They’re paid handsomely while they’re here. Then they return home.”

  “You make it sound as if they’re lucky to serve your boss.”

  “Bullshit. That’s your ears hearing something I haven’t said. Whether or not it’s a good deal is for the Ellondytes to decide. Deal with it!”

  “Don’t try to portray Ree as the good party here. She ordered the murder of Tchon and Kzeddiy. I know you told me she didn’t want to do it. But they’re still dead, and she’s still a murderer.”

  Maycey’s jade and bronze fur waved suddenly, like a ripe corn field in the wind. “I agree. The Nyluga would be reluctant to order the execution of my last sister, for example. But she would still do so if pressed. I’ve always known that, but Tchon and Kzeddiy were an unpleasant reminder of that fact. The Sanctuary is a dangerous place to live.”

  “Then why work for her?”

  “Money. A lot of it.”

  “Yeah. Money will make you overlook a lot of dirt.”

  “The Federation is a fetid garbage heap,” said Maycey. No longer grace under pressure, she was snapping out her words. “You’ve seen the ugly underbelly, same as me. All that most people can do is suck it up and make the most of their blighted lives. I’m sorry about Tchon and Kzeddiy. I know it’s no comfort for them, being dead and all, but their people could be a whole lot worse off than they are under the Nyluga’s arrangement. If you go stomping around with your beard and your big hammer, smiting everyone in that place to free the poor Ellondytes, you will hurt them too in the long run. Badly. I’ve seen your file, Sergeant Arunsen of the disgraced Raven Company. You’re the Militia grunt who tried to keep his head down and failed. When did you become the avenging hero?”

  Vetch tugged his beard, which made him feel stupid, so he stopped and tried to figure out why she had such a good point. It was all those freaks in Chimera Company making him act unnaturally. It was a silly name and a silly idea, and it was making him forget his aim in life. To embrace the suck and survive the next day. It was the secret to existence in the Federation.

  “And the Militia sergeant is back.” Maycey grinned, showing brilliant white teeth. “I have tired of this interrogation. I would rather you shoot me than bore me to death.”

  Vetch thumbed the safety on and tossed the needler in the stowage box alongside the power lance. He shut the lid, securing the contents. “Take us home, Maycey.”

  Ignoring him, the cat woman bent over and started licking her body fur where he’d pressed the handgun into her.

  Man, she was flexible!

  He felt stupid. Despite having threatened to kill her and having abandoned her on a hostile ship, he felt awkward staring at her intimate licking.

  He averted his gaze and rested his eyes on the main flight console screen.

  A message popped up for him to read.

  “Good choice, Arunsen. Return to Sanctuary without annoying her further.”

  What the everlasting hell?

  Maycey looked up from her ministrations. She read Vetch’s shocked face and looked at the screen.

  But the text had gone.

  “What did you see, Arunsen?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We both know that’s not true.” She paused, blinking at him with huge green eyes. “You can tell me,” she purred in an oily smooth voice. “Tell me what you saw.”

  He angled toward her and told her in a whisper, “I see an alien murderer flashing her cat-titties like a dockyard whore and expecting the same results as a Zhoogene in heat. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an animal. You look like one. And act like one.”

  “Now I’m certain you’re lying.”

  “Orion’s arse! Could anyone be any more infuriating than you?”

  “I know someone has been sending you communications,” she said. “Whatever they’ve been telling you, I hope you know not to trust them.” She narrowed her eyes to green slits. “Tell you what, Arunsen, we’re in no hurry.” She made a rumbling sound at the back of her throat. Purr or growl? He wasn’t sure. “I’ll show you some of the orbital sights first.”

  * * *

  Secret Monitoring Station, Nyluga-Ree’s Sanctuary

  “This is the most fun I’ve had in years,” said Oouzu.

  “Maycey worries me,” Roogyin replied, a worry-ass misery bus as always. “What if she discovers us? And all for what? A human hostage? For your fun?”

  Oouzo waved away the Ellondyte’s concerns with a pseudopod. “Stop pulling your hair out. We’ve more than enough dirt on Maycey and her only surviving sister. Don’t worry.”

  “Speaking of smarts,” said Roogyin, “it’s time to settle up. I called it right that the human wouldn’t check out the holo-porn.”

  “Don’t I know it. I spent hours pulling together that footage. It’s hilarious. Anyway, we’re still quits. You said Maycey would seduce him. She tried the breasts and blinking routine. Purring too, but none of that had any impact on Arunsen.”

  “Don’t be so sure. That wager is still wide open, Oouzo. Humans are more like us than you slugs. Let’s face it, the longest romantic experience a Slern will ever experience will be over in less than five minutes.”

  “Which is all it takes for an efficient exchange of genetic material. You’re jealous that our biology is far more practical than yours. I mean, all that messy being-in-love nonsense you make a big deal over. Ridiculous. Are you trying to tell me that Maycey is working a longer-term plan with the bearded human?”

  “Are you kidding? When the Nyluga picked a keeper for Arunsen, why did she choose Maycey over her sister?”

  “Okay, I see your point. Kaycey cuts straight to maximum pain. But Maycey loves to play with her prey before killing it.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 23: Vetch Arunsen

  Abandoned Space Station, Pleigei Orbit

  Maycey
flew them to a twisted metal pretzel that she claimed was an abandoned space station.

  “Meteoroid strike,” she explained. “Probably hit by orbiting space junk from a collision centuries ago. A lot of people must have died when she blew.”

  Vetch surveyed the blackened metal as they flew around twisted spars on approach to the holed central hub. “Space is a dangerous place,” he commented, shuddering as he imagined the bodies being sucked out.

  “Damn right. Still, this wreck isn’t without its uses. Place belongs to the Guild now. We use it as staging for ops, storage, and interrogation. You know the kind of thing.”

  They hooked up to a functioning docking collar and floated through into an open space that had been retrofitted with lights and storage zones. The bulkheads were still badly scorched from the day of the catastrophe. They wore helmets over their pressure-sealed stealth suits and carried air tanks. Vetch felt relieved that Maycey had left her power lance in the Annihilation.

  She consulted a control bank in the bulkhead and then released her helmet, securing it to her suit so it wouldn’t float away. “Atmosphere checks out okay,” she said, her voice still being transmitted by her collar mike. “Though it’s a little ripe. I think something crawled in the air recycler and died. Standby for gees.”

  She flicked a switch and the gravity plating activated. Vetch was pulled from the air but landed comfortably on the lattice deck plates on all fours.

  Maycey was saying something to him, but her voice was muffled.

  He looked up in alarm, fearing she was asphyxiating. Springing to his feet, he raced toward her. Then he saw why her voice had muffled and died. Her suit, with the mike in its collar, was undone down to her ankles. She was in the process of removing her boots.

  No way was he doing the same, though he did remove his helmet.

  She stood, naked, stretching her lithe body, with her hands clasped high above her head. A strange transformation possessed the cat. It was as if a storm front were passing over her, starting with her eyes and sweeping back over her head and down her length. Behind this line of transition, her fur fluttered as if windswept by a storm raging over her body. Her blue-green fur darkened to a deep jade.