by Robert McKay
The rest of the suckers included Pickle, Gadget, and Torch. There were two other Talons that had belonged to Red and Butch, but the sliding glass hatch that covered their cockpits had been blown away, indicating they had ejected. They were nowhere to be seen. Beatrix wondered if they had somehow managed to see what was coming for them and chosen to take their chances floating in space, hoping someone would pick them up before their air ran out. There were no obvious killing shots on their Talons. Good for them if they did.
"So, who wants to be the first to take off their helmet and see if their brains boil out of their ears?" asked Torch, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the end it was Beatrix that took her helmet off first, but not before the guys made it clear they weren't afraid to do it. They just figured that one of the women made more sense because of body mass or some such nonsense. It didn't fool anyone, but it made them feel better about themselves, so nobody called them out on it. Pickle, the only other female present, let it be known that even if they were all fine, she was going to leave her helmet on until the air in her suit ran out.
The air had a funny tang to it that reminded Beatrix of the ocean. Otherwise, it was perfectly normal air. Pickle, good to her word, left her helmet on while the rest took theirs off.
Normally they all would have ribbed Pickle for keeping her helmet on, but none of them were in a joking mood. If the rest of their thoughts were as grim as hers, Beatrix couldn't blame them. It was hard to joke when you were imagining bloody torture at the hands of your sworn enemies.
"Just keep an eye on your oxygen gauge, Pickle. I don't want you asphyxiating yourself in that suit," said Torch, setting his helmet on the metal floor with a clunk. "Sting, you come with me. You other three, stay together. We'll circle around the bay counterclockwise. You go clockwise and we'll meet up back here at the helmets in fifteen minutes. Don't explore too much on your own. Just make note of anything interesting and we'll all go check it out together."
They all nodded grimly and set off. Once they were out of earshot, Torch cleared his throat a couple of times and then finally spoke, barely above a whisper. "I don't expect we're going to make it out of this alive," he said.
"Now don't start in with th—"
"No. Hear me out. This isn't just fatalism. I have a point." His blue eyes were intense and serious in the gloom. Command had given Torch an air of responsibility, but he had always felt a bit like a boy playing cops and robbers, even when they were being swarmed by Raptors. This was more serious than Beatrix had ever seen him, and it actually scared her. He wasn't the best pilot in the Flight by far, but he had saved her that day in the mess hall when she'd been so green she didn't even realize that she would need friends if she wanted to live long enough to get her revenge. In one fell swoop, he'd given her a name that made light of her sometimes prickly attitude and shown his friends that she had his stamp of approval. He did everything with such ease that she almost thought of him as invincible. That's why she hadn't even been bothered when he'd been promoted above her. It was wrong to hear him talking about his own death.
"Alright," she said, taking a moment to calm her emotions so she could listen to what he said openly.
"I don't expect that we're going to make it out of here, but if any of us can do it, it's you." Beatrix started to object and then thought better of it when he narrowed his eyes at her. "You're too damned stubborn to die. Even when you let your bloodlust get the better of you, you always manage to dial it back just enough to keep yourself alive. So, if you make it out of this and I don't, I want you to do something for me."
While she still wanted to protest everything he said, Beatrix wouldn't ever deny Torch something he asked of her. He'd never done it before. "Whatever you want, Luther. I'm sure it won't come to that, but I'll do anything you ask."
"Tell Madeleine that I meant to ask her to be my wife after this tour, and give her this ring to remember me by. Then make sure that she moves on and finds another man." He smiled sadly. "After a sufficient mourning period, that is. Can't have people thinking she's glad to be rid of me."
Beatrix took the beautiful ring he offered and chuckled in spite of the heavy emotion weighing on her heart. "I may have to make a play for her myself after that mourning period is over. She's quite the looker." She gave him a wink and tucked the ring in her pocket.
"Hey, that's fine with me; I always suspected you of having a thing for the ladies when you showed no interest in me," said Torch, managing a genuine smile.
"Oh, come off it. The way you go on about Madeleine, you make it plenty clear that any other woman isn't worth your time." They continued in silence for a time, scouting the boring perimeter of the bay. "Besides, I don't have time for dating right now. I've got more important things to do than get all gooey."
Beatrix fingered the ring in her pocket while they made their way back to the meeting spot by their pile of helmets. As much as she was an adventurer at heart, that little piece of shiny metal struck a chord with her. Her favorite books all had a bit of a romantic component to them. At the least there was a tragic loss of love that spurned the lead character into action. Maybe one day she would complete her revenge and take the time to find someone of her own. If she didn't die, that is.
"So, we found jack and squat," called Torch, a bit more loudly than was strictly necessary. It hid the quaver in his voice well. Torch was a sly one. "How about you guys?"
Pickle tried to reply, but her helmet muted her to near inaudibility. Hands scoffed at her and shook his head. "Only two doors. One is a sealed blast door that's probably covering the hallway that leads to the rest of the ship. The other one is a regular door that isn't even locked, so I would imagine it's not very important. We might as well go check it out though."
Pickle tapped loudly on her helmet and then gestured toward the others on the floor.
Torch nodded sagely. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea, Pickle. Since you have a helmet on, I think you would be a perfect candidate for an exploratory mission into this mysterious room. You never know what could be lurking inside."
She gestured again toward the helmets and mimed putting one on. Gadget punched her lightly on the arm and then laughed. The rest of them joined in. Except for Pickle, whose shoulders slumped. Torch gestured for her to lead the way and she shuffled along reluctantly.
Despite Pickle's fear, the room turned out to be a very ordinary head, equipped with two toilets in stalls, a shower, and a pair of sinks. It was all in the same drab grey metal as the rest of the ship. At least the toilet paper and soap provided some relief for their eyes, being pleasing shades of white and pink respectively. It's a dark day when toilet paper makes nice decoration.
Gadget immediately ducked into one of the stalls with a sigh of relief. The rest of them excused themselves to give him some privacy. Pickle tried to say something again, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
When they all shrugged and held a hand up to their ears, she finally ripped off her helmet in exasperation. "I said that man has the smallest bladder in all of Nedra. I'm not sure how he ever decided that being a Talon pilot was a good idea. He had to have pissed himself every day of flight school."
CHAPTER NINE
Days passed with little to differentiate them. Talk of being rescued died after the first day. None of them wanted to speculate about what had happened to the rest of the crew of the Harbinger if they hadn't come after them.
The days were broken up only by the regular drops of supplies from a hole in the ceiling ten meters above them. Thanks to Hands' pocket watch, they noticed the boxes dropped every four hours, regardless of whether they needed more food or water. After a couple of days they had enough food and supplies left over to feed them all for a week, but still the rubbery grey boxes dropped like clockwork.
The only real excitement came one day after yet another unnecessary supply drop. The five of them sat in a rough circle around their discarded flight su
its, staring at them like they were a camp fire. Only Beatrix bothered to look up when the ceiling groaned, signaling the opening of the round supply hatch. It had been taunting her for days. It was the only possible exit they had found from their prison. Sadly, it was far too high for them to reach. She watched the grey cube tumble through the air and hit the floor with a dull thud. She climbed to her feet and walked over to it. It was the same size and shape as all the others, a rubbery cube of about sixty centimeters on a side. Beatrix resolutely pried it open.
"I don't know why you bother," called Gadget, not even bothering to turn his head and look. "It's just more crappy rations and water, like it has been every day after the first."
"Leave her alone," said Pickle, her voice more forceful than Beatrix would have expected. "She's just trying to find something to do. Trying to stay sane."
"You're one to talk about staying sane," he retorted. "You don't think I see the way you stare at these flight suits like you still want to put one on?"
"Gadget," warned Torch.
Beatrix frowned at the way Pickle's eyes glazed over. This line of discussion wasn't doing her any favors.
"I had a really bad game of croquet one time. I don't like being in strange places without a helmet on," said Pickle, her voice distant.
"Gadget, why don't you come over here and make yourself useful," called Beatrix. She had a really stupid idea that she was sure he would love to naysay. To her surprise, he pulled himself to his feet without argument. Boredom was a powerful motivator. While he'd been really negative, Gadget had been right. The box only held food, water, a bar of soap, and a roll of toilet paper.
She didn't say anything when Gadget approached. She simply closed the box, looked up at that circular hatch above and placed it very meticulously before going over to the massive pile of empties and grabbing another. By the time she placed the third box, the whole group was standing around staring at her. When she place the fourth box next to the others, she stopped and gave them all an impatient look. "Are you all just going to stand there and watch, or are you going to help?"
"Help with what?" asked Hands.
Gadget looked up at the ceiling and let out a groan. "She's trying to stack these up to the hatch in the ceiling."
"Ding!" said Beatrix, pointing at Gadget. "Give the man a prize."
"Sounds like a plan to me," said Torch, falling in behind Beatrix when she went to retrieve the next box. Pickle and Hands were close on his heels.
Gadget crossed his arms and stood there grumbling. "It's never going to work. I was an engineer before I decided to join the flight program."
"Which is why I asked you to make yourself useful," said Beatrix, dropping her box at his feet. "If any of us can build this thing strong enough, it's you."
Gadget's chest puffed up and Beatrix saw a small grin before she turned away to schlep more boxes. He didn't grumble so much once he was in charge of placing the boxes. He had them build a slightly modified triangle shape. Two weeks in captivity hadn't given them enough boxes to make it as structurally sound as Gadget wanted, but it still looked impressive by the time they had it built up high enough that she and Hands were the only ones able to place boxes on top. Any further building would have to be accomplished by someone standing on top of the makeshift structure.
"Any volunteers?" asked Gadget when they'd placed the last box.
The words were barely out of his mouth when Pickle began to climb. It wasn't difficult. The way they'd stacked the boxes made a stair pattern along the edge. They were tall steps for someone of Pickle's height, but she scrambled to the top in no time. "I think this might work," Pickle called from the top, her voice ringing with laughter.
"Pickle, get down from there," shouted Torch.
While they'd all been looking up at her, he'd had his eyes on the base of the structure. It was starting to buckle under her weight. They all lunged forward to place themselves between Pickle and the hard deck, but Gadget got there first, and just in time. Pickle lost her balance and pitched forward right on top of him. They both went down in a heap. Beatrix and the other two men stared down at them, their mouths agape.
Pickle looked up and started laughing again. "That was quite a ride. Thanks for catching me, Gadget." Before he had a chance to respond, Pickle leaned down and planted a long kiss on his lips.
"Uhhh, you're welcome," said Gadget, his brow furrowed in pain. "Also, I think my hip might be broken."
The rest of them helped Pickle up and she immediately started pacing, her eyes never leaving Gadget. Beatrix wasn't sure how she'd missed it, but they'd obviously developed something deeper than friendship in the last couple of weeks.
Torch and Hands examined Gadget for a couple of minutes and then helped him to his feet. "Not broken," said Hands.
"Just very badly bruised," added Torch. "He's going to be fine."
"And now we'll never hear the end of how he was right about the boxes," said Beatrix with a groan.
"You're damn right," retorted Gadget without much venom. If he hadn't been in so much pain, Beatrix was sure he would have been smiling.
They spent the rest of the day sitting around the pile of their flight suits like they had before the escape attempt, but no longer in silence. They talked and joked about the times they'd had back on Nedra and Beatrix remembered what it was like to laugh again. Gadget didn't even complain about his hip. One by one they drifted off to sleep, smiles still on their faces.
Beatrix, however, was awake on her grey sleeping pallet, staring up into the dim lighting that always hovered at about the level of dusk. It was the middle of the "night", but she couldn't sleep. When she heard the dull thump of another supply drop hit the ground on the other side of the bay, she decided she might as well go open the world's most boring present. It was better than being left alone with her thoughts. Or worse, her nightmares. Most nights she only managed a couple hours of sleep. She couldn't push her fears aside. She knew there would be a day when she would come face to face with their captors and find out exactly why they were being held. In her nightmares she was subjected to endless types of torture. They always ended the same way though. She was stabbed through the back with a long knife and could feel it push out through her chest. Most of the time she woke up with a shriek and the others would startle awake. They'd mostly grown used to it by now. Pickle would take her hand, squeeze it, and go back to sleep.
So she was glad for the distraction of the small grey box. It was smaller than usual. Not much larger than a loaf of bread. Beatrix bent down and scooped up the small package, curiosity winning out over wariness. She popped open the metal clasp that held it shut. Inside, wrapped in a plain grey cloth, was something completely unexpected and somehow foreign in this environment. It was a book. Not just any book. It was a Nedran book by her favorite author, Jacque Carroway. It wasn't her favorite of his novels, but she'd still read it enough times that the binding had begun to crack. Instinctively, she caressed the spine and found it heavily worn. When her fingers brushed the cover and found a sticky spot from where the price tag had been peeled away, she jerked back her hand as if she'd been bitten. Her copy had come from a second-hand store and she never could get off the sticky goo from the sticker on the cover. Tentatively, she flipped the book open to the cover page and gasped. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but there was a handwritten note. It was so familiar to her that she didn't even need to read it, though she did, over and over again. It read: To Beatrix, a true fan and friend, Jacque Carroway.
This wasn't just any copy of A Dark Beauty. It was her copy of A Dark Beauty. From her house. She looked up toward the ceiling, her eyes wide, and dropped the book on the floor. If she just turned around and walked back to bed, she was certain she would wake up and it wouldn't be there any more. Just another twisted nightmare to avoid thinking about while she was awake.
That didn't happen. Slowly her gaze returned to the floor, and the book was still there, resolutely denying its imaginary status. It didn'
t make any sense at all. The book being there felt like a violation. She could imagine eyes peering down at her from the dark reaches of the ceiling and it made her skin crawl. How could they have a book that had belonged to her back on Nedra? This ship had been coming from Colarian air space.
Realization slowly crept up her spine and made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She hadn't seen that book in years, not since her father died. Its loss had gone unmarked in her grief at the time. Later, she thought she'd lost it or left it behind when she'd taken her things to live at the orphanage. Now it was there on the floor and there was only one way it could have gotten there.
The face of the monster that killed her father reared up in her mind's eye. She clutched at her chest, expecting to feel the point of a knife, her breathing coming out in ragged gasps. Beatrix closed her eyes and slumped down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs. The beast may be on the ship, but he wasn't in the room. If he were, he wouldn't have dropped the book from the ceiling. She forced herself to calm her breathing and think rationally. There was no reason for him to have dropped that book other than to mess with her head, and she wasn't about to let that happen.
Beatrix glanced around her warily to make sure none of her friends were around and then walked over and scooped up the book and the box it had come in. She took them both and climbed into the cockpit of her Talon to hide them. While the Talons were completely useless, they each still spent a little time in them every couple of days, and nobody would ever climb into another's Talon. Nobody ever climbed into the ones abandoned by Red and Butch either, but they might some day. At least that's the excuse she gave herself for hiding it in her own. She never once questioned her decision to hide the book. It was a weakness. Being held prisoner was already more weakness than she could stand.
