Beauty and the Fleet (Intergalactic Fairy Tales Book 2)

by Robert McKay

  Josh cocked an eyebrow. "Are dead birds some sort of Nedran joke we don't understand?"

  That time Beatrix couldn't quash her laughter. It overtook her whole body until she was a quivering pile of giggles with tears streaming down her face. Every time she thought she had herself under control she would think of another ridiculous way that dead birds could be a joke. "Knock, knock. Who's there? Dead birds!"

  For his part, Josh sat there quietly, a small grin causing him to show the slightest bit of fang, the proverbial cat that just ate a canary. That thought was finally enough to get her laughter under control. It reminded her again what this monster had done to her father.

  She wasn't ready yet to ask that question again. The last time had resulted in Hands' torture. There was another question that was gnawing at her consciousness though. "Why do you refer to yourself as a 'we'? Are you some sort of royalty?"

  "No, the Anthrak have no hierarchy. We are equal parts of the Quorum."

  "Anthrak, is that what you call yourselves?"

  "Yes, we are Anthrak," said Josh, the slightest hesitation in his rumbling voice.

  "And you're all equal? No leaders?"

  "Correct."

  "Then why do you refer to yourself as we? Nedrans only refer to themselves as we when they are of a high station, speaking for themselves and those in their jurisdiction."

  "We speak for all Anthrak." His tone was completely flat, all emotion drained from his face.

  "How does that work exactly?" she asked, though she had plenty of theories.

  "We speak for all Anthrak," he repeated, this time through gritted teeth.

  "All right then, Josh. What is your name, or do you all just refer to yourselves as We-Who-Speak-For-All-Anthrak?"

  "Names are useless to the Anthrak," he growled. If it weren't covered in the leathery black flesh of his symbiont, Beatrix was certain the fur on his neck would have been standing up.

  "That wasn't really an answer to my question, Josh. What's your name?"

  "Names are useless to the Anthrak!" The words came out more snarl than anything, barely intelligible. He'd begun to rock back and forth in his chair, his hands clenching its edge. His nails made an unholy screeching sound on the metal frame.

  Beatrix wasn't at all sure what was going on, but it wasn't in her nature to let it go. This seemed to be something different than when he had gone blank and then hauled off Hands. Why would it be such a big thing to ask him his name? "What is your name?" she asked again, this time yelling so loudly that her vision darkened at the edges.

  The beast made no response. Instead, his right hand came up in a series of lightning quick strikes, his palm colliding with his forehead. On the fourth hit it was clear that he was hitting right where the symbiont entered his brain. Beatrix couldn't help cringing at the violence he was doing to his head in the process. If he hit her that hard in the head, she had no doubt that she would be unconscious, possibly never to wake again. Still, ten or more hits later he was still sitting upright, but his posture was much more relaxed. Before he had been sitting, now he was lounging, as if recovering from some great exertion. Which made sense given the intensity of the beating he'd just given himself. The look in his eyes didn't convey exhaustion; they only showed relief.

  "My name is Arryn." He sighed softly. "Thank you for that, by the way. It's been so long. I'm sure I'll pay for this later. It was worth it though."

  "Arryn? What happened to names being useless to the Anthrak?"

  "Names are useless to the Anthrak. To the Leothen, however, they are sacred." He paused. "I am Arryn." He said it like a mantra.

  Beatrix scowled at him, not really sure what was going on, but certain that it had to be some sort of game he was playing. "Leothen, Anthrak. We, I. You're starting to sound schizophrenic here, so whatever game you're playing at isn't really helping you. It's just making me want to brain you and head for the door before you decide you want to know what color my insides are."

  "They're red, and not really that interesting, so you have nothing to fear on that account. As for my confusing change of pronouns and such, you'll have to take my word for it that I am not dissembling. I fear to speak too much on that subject though. The more I speak of my past and the like, the more I risk the leech reasserting its will. I fear we have little enough time as it is."

  "Time for what?" Beatrix asked, deciding it was best to pump him for what information he was willing to share. She could sort the truth from the lies later.

  "Time for me to speak to you for the first time in truth. The first thing I need to say is that I'm so very sorry for your father. If I could take it back, I would. Just know that I've been doing everything I can since then to make it right." He sighed heavily and looked at her with pleading eyes.

  "No, that is just too fucked up. You don't get to talk about him and pretend to be sorry for stabbing him in the back. Then say that you are trying to make it better by taking me and my friends hostage and torturing us to the point that we try to commit suicide." If she could have run away from him she would have; she had to settle for turning her head and closing her eyes, hiding her tears.

  "That wasn't me, Beatrix. I'm sorry. It's hard to explain. I can feel the leech worming its way back in."

  "You apologize for murdering my father and then try to say that it wasn't you. Don't think that I don't recognize you. Your ugly face haunts my nightmares," shouted Beatrix, her words filled with rage. Her anger was so potent and hot that it overworked her feeble body, making her words tremble. "I just wish that I had more strength back then so that I could have cut all the way to your brain instead of cutting off part of your little buddy above your eye."

  Josh, or Arryn, or whatever his name was, nodded solemnly. "As do I, Beatrix. It doesn't mean that we don't have to do the best we can with what we've been left. That's what I'm trying to do, but I need your help. I can fight the leech indirectly and propose changes to your treatment in the guise of getting better results. We can talk about idle things for a time without attracting their attention, but everything we talk about must be very circumspect. If you get too direct, the leech may reassert itself with devastating consequences, like it did with your Hands. Just know that I'm trying to help you."

  "I'll believe that when I'm on a ship and flying away from here," said Beatrix, shaking her head. "I imagine there will be a pig flying wingman for me that day."

  Josh, as Beatrix decided to continue calling him for simplicity, was losing it again. His teeth gnashed and he struggled for every word. "Do not talk directly of escape. It will only lead to the leech taking notice and making life harder for you and your friends. Instead, let us refer to your porcine wingman. Since I don't understand the reference, it should be abstract enough to escape notice."

  "I'm pretty sure you don't make any sense at all, Josh," said Beatrix, rolling her eyes. He'd probably hit himself too many times in the head and shaken something loose. "What the hell is all this talk about leeches?"

  Josh let out a bellowing roar and hunched over in his chair. He rocked back and forth again, clutching at his head. His screams were mostly nonsense, or in some other language, until he finally hissed out "Syyyymb!" before abruptly resuming a stiff sitting posture, all traces of distress gone from his face. He crossed his hands in his lap and frowned.

  It was so disconcerting, Beatrix found herself asking if he was all right before she realized that she shouldn't care.

  "We are fine," replied Josh, his words crisp and precise in a way they weren't just a moment before. "Thank you for asking. We really must be going. We're not sure what we're doing here anyway. Do not leave this room. There will be guards posted outside. Should you set foot outside the room, you will be shot on sight."

  "I hear you loud and clear, Josh," replied Beatrix, not able to come up with a snappy retort. Her skin crawled and it wasn't because of the threats. There was nothing in that voice that even slightly resembled the conversation she had just had. It was far colder than even his usual
timbre with her. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she would have sworn they were two entirely separate people. No, not people—monsters. Josh was a monster. Unbidden, a question sprung to the front of her mind: But was Arryn? No, she wouldn't play his games. This had to be some sort of trick to win her sympathy.

  "Good, we wouldn't want our investment in you to be wasted," said Josh, rising to his feet and heading toward the door.

  "Oh, and don't forget to work on that porcine wingman, Josh," said Beatrix, unable to write the whole incident off. "I'll expect a status report the next time I see you."

  "I don't understand what you're talking about," said Josh without a hint of curiosity. He reached up and took hold of the handle to the door and then paused. Instead of stepping to the side, Josh gave the door a rough yank, causing the edge to hit his forehead. When he turned to face her, a light had returned to his eyes. Suddenly his hand shot into the air, his index finger extended. Beatrix envisioned a cartoon light bulb appearing over his head. "When pigs fly!" he declared, and then strode from the room. A second later, he popped his head back inside long enough to give her a wicked grin, and was gone too quickly to see her answering scowl.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  There were no more visits for the next two weeks. She spent the time pacing her room. Beatrix had no desire to test what Josh had said about being shot on sight should she step out the door. Now that she was conscious more often than not, she'd seen the guards delivering her food and water every four hours like before. She wasn't more free; they'd just made her cage slightly more comfortable. The only other being she saw other than her guards was what she presumed was a doctor, who came in and checked the readings on the machines that were connected to her arm and then removed the IV. He never said a word.

  Though she knew it wouldn't do any good, she'd taken to talking to the guards that brought her food. She begged them to take her to see her friends. She had to know they were well. The most she ever got for a response was an occasional wince when her shouting became particularly shrill. The isolation was killing her. She didn't even have anything to read.

  Slowly, her pacing developed into a workout routine. At first it was because she wanted her body in top shape so her escape attempt wouldn't be foiled by physical weakness. Eventually though, her body remembered what it meant to be a soldier and to strive for peak fitness. Every morning she would start with push ups and sit ups. She did them until her muscles burned from the exertion, and then she would do jumping jacks until it felt like she was gargling her heart. She would take a five minute breather and do it all again. Still, even that only occupied a few hours of her day. The rest of the time was spent with nothing to occupy her other than her own increasingly wild thoughts.

  When Josh appeared in the doorway after two weeks, it was almost a relief. On the ship she'd had four people to talk with. And in her cell, at least she had been able to talk to Hands. The solitary nature of her hospital confinement had so unbalanced her that she'd started talking to her pillow the day before. His name was Pillow Dave. He was kind of a snarky asshole.

  Oh, look, it's your kitty cat boyfriend, said Pillow Dave.

  "Shut your pasty face," grumbled Beatrix, squeezing him hard around the middle.

  Ooof, complained Pillow Dave.

  "Sorry," she apologized automatically. That was mostly the nature of their conversations: snarky comments, violence, apology.

  "Who are you talking to?" asked Josh, crossing the room, one eyebrow quirked. He took his seat next to her bed. His voice was back to its usual timbre, neither cold, nor warm, with a hint of wry amusement.

  "None of your business, Josh," she said petulantly, then remembered just the thing to say. "I've been left alone for too long. Like you said, I had to make the best of what I'd been left."

  "Ah, so you are capable of listening," he replied, exposing a little fang in his typical half-smile.

  Is he flirting with you? asked Pillow Dave, earning a punch to his mid-section. He took it without further comment.

  Beatrix frowned. "I wasn't sure you'd remember anything we said after all of those blows to the head."

  "Yes, I did take quite a tumble," he said, a bit of a snarl in his voice.

  Beatrix took the warning and steered the conversation away from his strange behavior during his last visit. If she was going to get anything out of him, she was going to have to play his game. "You know, leaving me alone in here probably isn't the best thing for my mental health."

  Damn, right, chimed in Pillow Dave, you've started talking to yourself. If I hadn't spoken up, you'd probably be a useless drool machine by now.

  "Yes, I was thinking the same thing," said Josh, pulling out a bundle from behind his back.

  "What's in there?"

  "Clothes, silly. You can hardly walk around dressed in that hospital gown. It would be scandalous." His half-smile slipped back into place.

  This time Beatrix returned it. "You mean I get to wear real clothes, and get out of this place? What's the catch?"

  "'The catch' as you say, is that you will be required to make yourself useful around this place. Things have started to get a bit dusty since we've been gone so often lately."

  So, basically he wanted a slave to clean up his house. A few days ago, Beatrix would have told him to shove it up his hairy arse. After all of her time spent with nothing but an annoying pillow for company, she'd take anything she could get. "Fine, give me the clothes already. The sooner we get out of here the better."

  Fine, just abandon me here, I don't mind, whined Pillow Dave. Beatrix ignored him.

  Josh handed her the brown bundle, tied with a white ribbon. It almost resembled a present. She eyed him warily, but decided not to broach the subject.

  See, I told you he was flirting! Now he's giving you gifts of clothes, said Pillow Dave, a smug look on his face.

  Beatrix took the bundle and rushed into the bathroom to get dressed, one hand clutching the back of her gown closed. She'd wear anything that meant she could get rid of her awful hospital gown. It was the worst parody of clothes that had ever been conceived. It played at allowing you some modesty, but left your arse hanging in the wind. Stupid.

  Inside the bathroom and out of Josh's view, Pillow Dave's words came back to her. If the monster holding her captive—who had killed her father—really had ideas of romance in his head, he had another thing coming. If he thought accepting the clothes was her accepting his advances, a punch to the throat would clear that up quickly. Besides, grey slouchy Colarian clothes weren't much of a gift anyway.

  She gave the knot an annoyed yank, and blue fabric spilled out over the bathroom counter, smelling of freshly washed linen. The scent was heaven and pushed away her angry thoughts. The dress was a royal blue with white sleeves and a white collar. Beatrix shook it out and found a white apron underneath and another small package that contained a simple pair of flats. There were even some basic undergarments. The apron made her lip curl, but it would help keep the dust off her new dress.

  Beatrix emerged from the bathroom slowly, her eyes turned down toward her new outfit. The dress seemed somehow familiar, though she hadn't worn a dress in years. Not since her father had died. That's when she realized that this dress was very similar to her favorite dress from when she was a child. How could he have known? He didn't know her or her life.

  "You look," said Josh, and paused, his jaw working up and down a few times before he found the next word. "Presentable," he finished.

  Presentable came out sounding more like he meant to say something more flattering. She decided to take it as a compliment and then second-guessed herself. She didn't want compliments from this beast. All she wanted was to put a knife in his eye, find her friends, and skip out on the first ship they found.

  Hot, called Pillow Dave, finding just the wrong thing to say.

  Beatrix self-consciously adjusted her dress. She wasn't used to worrying about the way clothes looked on her. It had been a while since she'd worn anythin
g other than her unisex Fleet uniform.

  "Thanks," said Beatrix, a hint of sarcasm coloring her voice for both Josh and Pillow Dave.

  "You're welcome," said Josh, stepping closer and holding out his arm, elbow crooked as if he expected her to take it like he was some sort of gentlemen.

  Beatrix ignored it completely and headed for the door. Josh walked beside her, lowering his arm, as though he didn't notice the slight.

  No, thank you, called Pillow Dave. Beatrix glanced over her shoulder and caught him leering at her rear end.

  "Ugh, little pervert," she mumbled under her breath.

  "Beg pardon?" said Josh.

  "Nothing, just my imagination getting the best of me. I need to stop reading so many fantasy books."

  "Oh, that's a shame," said Josh cryptically.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Much to her surprise, when Beatrix stepped out of the hospital room, she didn't find herself in a hospital. Josh started speaking like a tour guide, showing her from room to room. She was still in the mansion. She paid very little attention to what he was saying, all of her thoughts centered on the prison and her friends being held there, somewhere below.

  "If I'm to be your slave, I need to at least be able to see my friends," said Beatrix after touring her third sad, dusty room full of disused furniture. The rooms were the formal entertainment spaces of the gigantic home. Each of them was easily capable of holding over a hundred people comfortably. Beatrix could imagine the place overflowing with rich guests who had no idea there was a hospital wing located just off the enormous kitchen, and a dungeon behind the wine cellar. The prison she understood, but what possible reason could there be for a fully appointed hospital room in a private residence? She decided that it must have been added for prisoners such as herself. After all, it was cleaner than the rest of the place.