Her Last Run

by Michael Penmore

  Nadie bit her tongue before she said something stupid like: They called that guy a traitor, and they call you a traitor. You’re definitely his son. That bond’s gonna put you two in touch. Or something to that extent. She knew how much Rhys despised the slightest mention of the allegations people made against him and his father. But keeping quiet didn’t stop her having those thoughts. He was, rightly or not, shunned by his home on Earth. Now he had to learn to live in space, always looking over his shoulder, expecting knives at every turn.

  She could easily relate to that. There was no chance she’d get amnesty, not that she wanted a pardon from the people responsible for the devastation of the moon she had called her home. Being alone sucked. Sharing time with someone in a similar position was a nice change. She had started to like Rhys and really hoped he would not be disappointed when he found his dad and got the answers he was looking for.

  Rhys picked himself up from temporary doldrums and activated the reach out mode. “Are you gonna help me with the search?”

  Nadie quietly hoped he’d ask, but she was not ready to go and admit that. Part of her was surprised. She sat up and stared at him as though he’d grown another head. “Me? In the fringe space with you? You think that’s a good idea?”

  “Best I had in months. War’s over and done with. We’re both unemployed.”

  He smiled, and it was a good look for him. The teeth were white and even. The grin wasn’t crooked or lewd but a friendly, good-natured one. He wanted her at his side because she was capable of looking after herself. That kind of recognition made her feel good about herself. She had met very few men so readily accepting that she was both independent and apt. That’s why she’d spent the war fighting as part of an all-female spec ops unit. That’s why she had not dismissed Isabel Rocarion’s offer out of hand. She could work with the gunrunner - girls with similar no-nonsense attitude should stick together - she just wasn’t sure she’d enjoy the murky business of arms dealing.

  On the subject of men, those who showed interest in her had been... incompatible, to say the least. Rhys was something else. He was more than just accepting of who she was. He had witnessed firsthand her methods, ruthless as they could be in times of need, and he was still by her side. Having a guy there to fall back on when needed, that was a new experience for her.

  “I can think of a few freedom fighters operating in that area. What’s left of the Widows too. They would head to a quiet spot to regroup,” she mused openly.

  “Then let’s go and find them,” Rhys stretched out his hand to shake hers. Nadie didn’t accept yet. Her face was a frown.

  “First I need to see these people are safe,” she caught the Colonials in a swooping gesture. “And I’m curious about Libertalia as well: what’s it like, how many people are there, what plans they have. It might just be that kind of free world I’ve been fighting for, you know? Somewhere I could finally sit down and let some dust gather on my boots.”

  Rhys chuckled. “Nadine Chu sitting in one place for longer than a lunch? That would be the day the Earth stood still.”

  She nudged him for the third time, harder. He oomphed and toppled to his side with a laugh. When the mirth subsided, he stood up, hunched in the low room, and offered to help her. “Libertalia then. Come on. I’m tired of sitting and waiting for things to happen like some tourist on a coach. Let’s go see how your gunrunner friend is doing.”

  Nadie finally accepted his hand and smiled thinly as he pulled her to her feet. “You didn’t call Isabel a smuggler. You must like her.”

  “I doubt she likes me. But she’s got a wicked fashion sense, I have to give her that. It’s those shades and the hairstyle. Blue fringes suit her.” He pulled up an overly serious face and waved his finger at Nadine. “Don’t tell her I told you or I’ll have to kill you both.”

  “You could try,” Nadie smirked. That told him better than words what she thought about his chances.

  Rhys didn’t disagree with her. There was one good thing about getting the boot from the Space Marine Corps: nothing was standing in his way now, he could firmly be on the same side with this hardened resistance lass. He enjoyed the company. “Ready to run the status check?”

  “Conditionally. Ground-rule number one: there won’t be any running. We have to do this slow and sneaky.”

  “Right. We don’t want to bump into EEF.”

  Nadie dismissed Rhys’ remark with a wave. “Earthers are the easy bit. Isa will chew out new holes in our ears if she finds out we started taking tours of her ship.”

  “My lips are sealed. She will never find out,” Rhys made an appropriate gesture. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Ground-rule number two: I’m better at sneaking.”

  He snorted. “I get you. The Corporal leads the Captain on this occasion.”

  “Remember that when you feel like complaining. The Anvil’s a quirky old ship. Luckily for us, I know my way around. How do you feel about crawling?”

  Rhys grinned. “I’m a great crawler. On short distances.”

  **

  10 minutes later

  Isabel jumped back just in time to avoid the weight of a human body falling down from a maintenance shaft running above the room. Rhys Dreyfus was the load on top of the aluminium sheet which rammed straight into Captain Santiago, squashing the EEFer to the floor. Dreyfus was covered from top to bottom with a coat of soot, like a duster that crawled past the length of a chimney.

  Note to budding space explorers: crawling through starship ducts involves plenty of dust. And a throng of insects. And at least one large and creepy insect eater.

  After the initial crunch, Captain Santiago made no further protest. He just kept lying down under the weight that squished him, his head twisted at an angle which didn’t look comfortable at all. Not a single peep escaped from the open mouth under his bulging eyes. Their pupils seemed to be trying to look under his skull.

  “What in the nova?!” Isabel recovered in quick time and pushed the recovering jarhead out of the way. When she knelt down to check on Captain Santiago’s wellbeing, her face was steeped in the shadow of grim doubt. It then descended into the night of certainty. Santiago wasn’t feeling very well at present. He had a case of something bad neighbourhood boys used to call a broken neck. “Congratulations, fatso. You just killed our gatekeeper.”

  Dreyfus didn’t respond. He watched the body of Santiago and a vein pulsated on his neck. Isabel could say that he was bothered. Why? He was a Space Marine. Those guys made a deal with death to dole it out without remorse. One more dead body on his counter wasn’t a big deal, was it?

  “I told you to stay away from that vent, Rhys. You’re just too heavy.” Nadie climbed down through the ceiling hole Dreyfus had made without the need to look down. She landed on the floor, gave the body of Santiago one glance and never said another word about it.

  “I’m not heavy,” Dreyfus dribbled out. “That plate was way too thin.”

  Isabel shook her head and stepped between the two of them. “Hey there, happy couple! What are you two rotten pies doing here? I told you loud and clear to stay upstairs until I’m done with my part of the job.”

  “It was his idea,” Nadie sold Rhys down the river. She was smiling coyly as she did it.

  “Sure it was.” Isabel gave Rhys the stink eye. It worked even with the glasses. The ex-Marine looked back, and he still seemed troubled. Was he the rarest of space oddities, a soulful marine?

  Isabel didn’t have the time nor a wish to search the man’s feelings. She paced up and down the width of her quarters, thinking out loud. “No use reminiscing who did what now. You two better come up with some light bulbs over your heads and be quick about it. This guy is as stiff as the Norwegian Blue, and that’s an ocean of bad news for us. We’ll all be sinking deep in a compost heap. Can’t leave the Higher Power when this guy is singing hallelujahs for redemption. Can’t stay here either. The EEF ain’t no good host.” She stopped in front of Nadie. “Balls and bells, girl. Wh
atever made you think that snaking around my ducts was a good idea to begin with?”

  Nadie opened her mouth to speak but was rudely interrupted by a voice coming from outside Isabel’s door:

  “What’s going on in there? Who’s talking? Captain? Are you OK, sir?” It was one of Santiago’s three guards. They must have heard the ruckus Dreyfus had made. It took their flat brains a good while to recognise that maybe they should check in. Or they’d just been sleeping on duty. Or watching cutesy cat pictures.

  “What do we do?” Nadie whispered. Dreyfus shook off his long look and bent down to pick up the stiff’s blaster from its resting spot on the floor. Isabel didn’t like him having it, but in the circumstances she allowed it.

  She looked down. Leon was easy to miss in the excitement, but she always remembered her most stalwart friend. The chamonkey proved the most rational creature of all - he made himself half-invisible and hunkered down under the table. One smart beastie.

  She came to a snap decision. “Come on in! Your captain needs you!”

  The door opened, and two EEFers rolled in side by side. They didn’t stand a chance when Isabel raised Greta in a fiery welcome. The gun delivered two quick but precise shots. Nadie added prompt support from the sidelines; her twin blasters spoke and each guard went to the ground faster than Christmas mistletoe makes lovers kiss.

  “Where’s the third guy?” Isabel asked no one in particular. Rushed footsteps answered her, bounding in the hallway outside. “Quick! We gotta stop him before he warns the-“

  Sharp kicks and punches stopped her mid-sentence and mid-flight. The noise of a body falling on the deck outside brought the sounds to an abrupt end. Isabel used the pause to look Nadie in the eye. Nadie cocked her head and shrugged her shoulders. Taking everything with a pinch of salt was her way. Her new friend Rhys Dreyfus was still living in the past, though. Watching dead EEFers on the ground reset the quiet tension in his face.

  “They deserved it,” Nadie told him. The look he gave her suggested this was a return to a conversation they had in the past.

  “You’ll debate this at the next election. Nadie, give me cover.” Isabel snuck up to the door.

  The noises resumed in the form of slow steps and dragging of something heavy across the nearby floor. At last, Jacob Pace appeared through the opening. He dropped the third EEFer on the ground - Isabel had a nagging suspicion that this one, like his friends, wasn’t going to stand up ever again on his own - and stepped over the bodies of the deadman’s drinking buddies. The flippancy he displayed in the face of death sent cold shivers crawling down Isabel’s spine. Yeah, she’d just killed someone as well, but she wasn’t feeling proud about it. Pace used bare hands, yet he was unmoved. Like a stone cold killer.

  “Pace. What are you doing here?” she asked. Greta lingered in her hand.

  “Saving us from your blunders, apparently. It’s a good thing I decided to see how the three of you were doing. I had a suspicion I would be needed.” His voice was beyond icy. He hadn’t a single drop of warm blood in his veins.

  Isabel forced herself to disregard the cold shivers his demeanour gave her. “Look at this mess.” She went back to check on the broken bottle. Bourbon had spilled to the edge of her Persian carpet and was soaking single threads. “I knew the vintage was too good for this lout. How am I supposed to sleep in here with my rug all stinking with booze? It will be days before it airs off.”

  Dreyfus eyed her like she was a scorpion crawled out of a bunch of bananas he had been planning to eat. “People just died around you. Their bodies are littering the floor. There’s a gaping hole in the ceiling. And all you can care about is a dirty rug?”

  “People come cheap. Ceilings can be fixed - I’ll put you on the work detail since you made it. But this?” she prodded the remnants of the bottle with her boot. “This was one hundred percent real Earth booze. It could have bought me six months’ worth of fuel for the Anvil.”

  Dreyfus walked up to her and snarled in her face, “You’ve got no soul, Rocarion. I’m disgusted that I joined your crew.” He shoved Santiago’s blaster at her chest, and she was compelled to put her hands up and grab it. It was cold to the touch. As cold as the twisted chunk of metal that killed Army Captain Santiago dead. It was the ruined hatch that did it. Dreyfus had no malicious intent. Not enough of it to fire a single shot when it was needed.

  “Your disregard for human life is a travesty. You deserve to meet their fate,” the jarhead pointed at the stiffs.

  Enough was enough. Isabel’s features twitched. She peered at the blaster he just gave her, contemplating its use.

  “Rhys,” Nadie moseyed in with a tone vying for conciliation.

  Dreyfus stepped back from them both, hands flat out. “I went too far. I get it. We’re just gonna disagree on this. I’ll remember some guys got dead who probably didn’t deserve it, and you’ll get back to business as usual.”

  Isabel’s moment of weakness passed. She deposited both Greta and the new gun inside her roomy coat pockets and clapped her hands. “What a nice performance, dredge fuzz. I suppose you’re squeaky clean, then? The charges on you are a load of stinking dead carp. And the fact you killed poor Santiago here, that’s just a minor misstep, totally out of character, yeah?”

  She gave the jarhead no room to respond. Her mind was already circling on solutions to the problem at hand. The late Captain Santiago had been their ticket out of the Higher Power. Now, dead, he was dragging them down. But Dreyfus’ strange behaviour gave her one solid idea.

  “What’s the depth of your feeling about EEF custody? You’re already a wanted man. I can sell this clobbering flustercluck as your own wet work. Not much of a misrepresentation. You killed our poor Captain Santiago. Everything that happened next was us self-defending from people who wouldn’t listen for explanations. Courts would buy it. Right, Nadster?” She looked for confirmation from her friend that she was OK with that plan.

  Nadie let her down. “No. I can’t OK it. Rhys is a good guy. I won’t let him take the fall.”

  The only change in Isabel was her eyebrows playing ‘who jumps higher’ on her forehead. “What? Are you in love with him, girl? This is our only play. We dump this dredge fuzz, and maybe they’ll let us go on our merry way. It’s that or a scenic route to the dumpster.”

  “The name’s Dreyfus.” The ex-Space Marine insisted with his hands turning into fists, lips pressing together, eyes piercing the gunrunner before him.

  “Oh, come on. Give up that principled crab. You kill people to break your fall and don’t have the stomach to shoot them when they run at you with guns set to kill? Paceman was wrong about you. Dead wrong,” she sniggered in her cuff, thinking her wordplay had come out funny. No one else thought so, and she quickly regained the serious look. “You are no murderer. You’re a walking disaster, and you need a woman by your side to clean up after your messes.”

  She waved to Nadie, who smirked. The Asian was in agreement about that.

  “So, jarhead, I’m gonna keep calling you dredge fuzz until you grow a pair.”

  “Isabel, it was just a freak accident,” Nadie still had that amused smirk on her lips when she defended her Marine friend. The depth of her commitment boggled Rocarion’s mind.

  “Stop protecting him, girl. His timing couldn’t have been worse. We’re stuck inside this Earth whaleship with a consignment hotter than one hundred suns strapped to a thermonuclear payload. We can’t fly out of here unless we can credibly explain why these deaths happened. I don’t think they’ll overlook their Captain is missing, do you?”

  She glowered at Nadie. That gaze worked on malleable people even with glasses in the way, she had found out a long time ago. But Nadie just glowered back. She wasn’t a weak colt to be broken under a trainer’s whip. The women in the room were evenly matched.

  Isabel stepped down in the face of the resistance. “Right. I see. We don’t turn in dredge fuzz. Sensible solutions ain’t much fun anyway. So, any bright ideas about how we da
nce this cha cha? Maybe we can resurrect dear Juan here? I believe that’s called zombification.”

  One man kept his silence so far. He chose this moment to finally speak out:

  “It may be possible,” Jacob Pace said.

  The women and the Space Marine all turned to look at the member of the Colonial Congress. Nadie and Rhys didn’t know what to say or had no desire to comment. Isabel Rocarion burst into laughter.

  “Are you a voodoo priest?” she shook with glee. “Where are your dolls and pins?”

  Pace showed no sign that he was offended or otherwise moved by her mocking words. “I’m not talking sorcery and superstition. I mean technology.”

  “Captain Santiago,” a vexed voice startled them all. It wafted from the dead EEF Captain’s pocket. “What’s taking you so long? Have you secured the creature yet?”

  Isabel betrayed her shock with a pout. Leon came out of hiding. He stopped halfway between the table and the gunrunner, looking at the body of Santiago and listening to hear the next piece of the message. The chamonkey and his human friend came to understand something crucial: Santiago’s offer of taking custody over Leon wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. It was pre-planned. Earth Expeditionary Forces had their sights on the camouflaging creature. They knew what Leon could do and they wanted to harness that power.

  She knelt down beside Leon and patted his back. “I won’t let anyone take you away, boy.” She looked him in the eyes and he looked back. The concern melted away somewhat, but not all the way.

  “Santiago. Report, you lazy Bolivian. Do you have the creature or not?” the communicator demanded.

  They all looked at each other, at a loss what to do next. Only Pace had an idea. The Arbiter knelt beside the dead Captain and quickly found which element was making the noise - he held up a standard issue military communicator between two fingers.

  “We should say something,” Nadie suggested in whispers.