by Sara King
“We are going to have a chat,” Orion snarled, twisting to hold Jersey away from the console. “Later.” With his free hand, he unlocked the console controls and patched in a localized wave to the GPS coordinates where the ship was headed.
He’s after Tatiana, Jersey thought, struggling to breathe.
“Sweetling, this is Miles,” Orion said, the voice coming from his lips holding the exact same gruff, moody inflection of the real Miles. “I’ll be there in like ten minutes, okay?”
Jersey prayed she refused to answer, that she noticed the odd smugness to his voice.
Instead, Tatiana’s unmistakably energetic response was, “Make it faster—I won’t be here in twenty. I’m moving out, man. Sayonara, sucky mountainside. Hellooooo, freedom. You will not believe the deal I made today. Remember that sword? Yeah. Honor is mine now. The skeenk can suck it.”
“You’re moving?” Orion asked, a little frown on his face.
“Yeah, I hate this place. I’m done with the lack of shower and the hole to shit in. You don’t get here in time, meet me inside the Defense Grid, eh?”
“The Defense Grid?” Orion asked, glancing at Jersey.
“Don’t be dumb. I’ll see you here or there.”
“Sounds good, dear,” Orion said, still using Milar’s voice. “I’ll be there soon.” Then he cut the feed and turned to grin at Jersey. “I believe we were discussing my brother.”
Still locked into the emergency wave, in the background, Jersey heard, “He’s here David. Holed up in the cockpit. Pretty sure Glitter’s toast. No idea where we’re headed. Stuck in the fucking cargo bay. No parachute.”
Orion immediately frowned and bodily turned to glance at the back of the ship.
Jersey punched him in the side of the head with all the strength he had. The motion wrenched Jersey’s neck in Orion’s fist, a pop and a jolt of fire going all the way down to his toes.
Though he hadn’t had enough leverage to punch through him again, Orion dropped him, his jaw and cheek caved in.
Jersey ran.
Only when he had stumbled to the door did he realize his body was working entirely on hydraulic power, that his muscles had gone completely lax. All the finer control was totally gone, leaving brute strength alone.
Oh fuck, Jersey thought. But, before he could begin to panic over that, his logical side snapped into gear. He’s after Tatiana. Get to Milar, get out. Force him to land and come after us. Stalemate.
Because he couldn’t manage the fine dexterity to open the hatch, Jersey crushed it and kept going. He shoved his way through the second barrier, ripping it to pieces, lurching into the cargo bay. Immediately, the roar of the open bay door and the resulting wind assaulted him from all sides. Behind him, he heard Orion snarl and start charging after him.
Jersey located Miles hunched over his comm pack near the exit, hair and clothes whipping about him, broken arm loosely cradling the gun as he used the handset with his other. Jersey pitched towards him, reeling from his lack of balance.
Milar started to straighten, glancing at Jersey and what came behind him. “Oh shi—”
Jersey threw an arm around the colonist and kept going, hurling them both out the open hatch.
“What the fuuuuuu—” Milar screamed, until it was lost to the wind as they began to plummet.
Jersey locked his body in place around the colonist’s head and chest, squeezing himself into a cage with as much power as he could manage, positioning them so his back was orientated towards the ground. A logical part of his mind counted the seconds as they fell.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six…
The branches of the jungle canopy hit them and Milar screamed. Jersey held on tight, keeping the colonist as protected as possible.
When they hit the mat of forest detritus covering the jungle floor, Jersey unfurled and sat up to see if Milar was okay.
His leg was broken back on itself, trapped underneath him.
“Fuck,” Milar whimpered. “Fuck, fuck.”
Above them, the ship was starting to slow and circle back. Jersey listened carefully, watching the sky for their adversary.
The moment the ship started to descend, Jersey calculated the distance and how long it would take Orion to reach them. “We’ve gotta move,” Jersey said, as he bent to grab Milar by the good arm. “Sorry, dude.” He threw Milar over his shoulder and started to run. He ignored Milar’s cursing. He knew they were out of time. He forced his heavy, leaden feet to carry them, stumbling, into the jungle, ducking the sticky sap-sprigs and lunging around the resin-pools, counting on his knowledge of Fortune to slow down his opponent, stall him.
Then he heard footsteps, closing in. Jersey put on as much speed as he could, sacrificing what little control he had to make them move faster.
A sudden broadcast said, “Miles, you twit, it says you stopped in the Tear. What are you doing? I need you. You need to see this. I’m gonna paint it purple. I hate the black. Makes it look like a crow. I hate crows.”
The footsteps kept coming.
“Ugh, fine. I’ll see you inside the Defense Grid. Only need a few more minutes to grab my stuff. Meet you there.”
Jersey tripped and they went sprawling, making Milar scream. “Shit!” Jersey cried, clumsily trying to pick them both up again. “Come on!” He started dragging Milar through the slickweed, desperate for any motion, now.
“My leg, you idiot fuck!” Milar shouted, hitting the arm holding him with the butt of his energy pistol.
“Quiet!” Realizing they weren’t making enough speed, Jersey hunkered down, crouching over the colonist’s body, boosting his audio, prepared for one final fight.
Nothing. Not even a sound. Jersey listened to the silent jungle in growing unease. Could Orion block sound the same way he could block infrared? Jersey realized that was definitely a probability.
On the ground, Milar watched the jungle with him, carefully energizing the gun in his fist. For long minutes, Jersey heard nothing but the sound of their breathing.
Then, in the distance, the ship powered up and took off. Very slowly, Jersey stood out of his crouch, watching it go.
Stalemate.
“He just left?” Milar asked, scowling, sounding completely incredulous. “He could’ve ripped us apart like twigs.”
“We’re not the ones he’s after,” Jersey said softly.
Milar frowned for only a split second, then his face went slack in horror. “Tatiana.”
CHAPTER 46: Alone with the Enemy
12th of June, 3006
Uncharted Mountainside
Fortune, Daytona 6 Cluster, Outer Bounds
It was late into the evening when Babe started to hiss. Tatiana, who had been transitioning the last of her belongings from the Tent of Despair into the luxurious sleeping-quarters of The Flying Palace, stopped folding her clothes and gave Babe a careful scratch in the prickly fur behind his ears. The striped little jaggle, already taller than her knee now, ignored her completely and continued to hiss, translucent fangs bared at something in the door of the tent. Grunting, she turned to look.
Milar was there in the darkness, holding a package.
“Evening,” Milar said. He grinned, showing whiter teeth than Tatiana remembered.
Huh. Must have taken her oral hygiene comments seriously. She actually felt a little bad.
“You gonna call off Kitty?”
Tatiana squinted at the big lummox. “I told you. It’s Babe. Short for Sir Babeck W. Beast. Bad Ass Bio Engineered Cyborg-Killing War-Beast.”
“Babe, then,” Milar chuckled, though he didn’t sound amused. “Call him off.” It almost sounded like a command.
Tatiana stopped packing, frowning. “He’s a baby. You afraid of a baby?” Babe was growing fast, but he was, at most, twenty-five pounds—he looked bigger, but he was mostly that really awful, pinpricky fur.
I don’t like him, Babe said. There’s something wrong with him. He doesn’t smell right.
He probably upgra
ded his deodorant, Tatiana said, feeling guilty.
But Babe was totally focused, his little silver claws sinking into the sheets of the bed.
Milar was scowling at the beast. “The Tritons used those damn things as war-hounds.”
“Nooooo,” Tatiana said, petting Babe carefully. It was almost like petting a rosebush—she had to be careful or the tovlar fur went straight through her skin like needles. “They used them as war-cats. They hunted and stalked and clawed people to death and ate them because they were genetically engineered super-super smart kitty cats who didn’t demean themselves by sniffing out their foes like common dogs, did you, foofy-poo?” She switched tactics and scratched under her striped baby’s chin, between his elongated fangs. Babe completely ignored her.
Her colonist stood there for another moment, hands fisted on the package, then seemingly forced himself to step into the room. Kill him, Babe said, fur standing on end. Kill him now.
Tatiana frowned. “Must be something on your coat,” Tatiana said, looking up at Miles. “You been hanging around with that skeenk again or something?”
“Must be it. Here, coat’s coming off, see?” Milar removed his coat and tossed it down by the door, but it didn’t convince Babe to settle. In fact, the closer Milar got to Tatiana, the louder Babe hissed, and the more violent his mental images of death and dismemberment got.
Tatiana sighed and went to get her little bag of dried meat, which she made visitors give to Babe every time they tried to come in the tent. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.
Milar frowned down at the bag. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“What are you…” Tatiana snorted. “Come on, Milar. Are you drunk? Feed him.” She gestured impatiently at the jaggle.
Milar cast the bag aside with a growl. “I’m not about to caper to the moods of a goddamn Triton’s war-pet.” He went over, grabbed the jaggle by the back of the neck, hauled him out of Tatiana’s bed, and threw him out the front door, with Babe hissing and clawing at his arm the whole time.
As soon as Babe was free, he bolted into the night.
“But he’s scared of the dark!” Tatiana cried, running forward to retrieve her jaggle.
Milar yanked the tent door curtain shut with a shink, stopping her cold. “That Baby we’ve been working with came up with a new concoction for you.”
“Who?” Tatiana asked, stumbling to a halt and frowning. “You mean Steffen?”
“Of course I mean Steffen.” He opened the bag and pulled out a vial. “This should fix everything.”
Tatiana froze, because Milar didn’t just say things. If he said he’d do something, he made it happen—some kind of male honor thing or something. “Fix…everything? No more hallucinations? No more dizziness? No more hurting people?”
“All fixed,” Milar said, smiling. “Here.” He handed it to her.
As Tatiana reached out to take the vial, something struck her as odd about his tattooed arm. She could have sworn that the red dragon had three toes per foot…
Milar’s grin caught. “Something wrong?”
“No,” Tatiana said, though something felt wrong. Milar might have grumbled about the jaggle, but he’d never been a bastard to him.
Then again, if he’d brought her something that would fix the hallucinations, electrical shorts, and embarrassing mental broadcasts so she could start flying without a babysitter again, she was more than willing to overlook a couple grumpy moments. She popped the cap and, tilting her head back, swallowed it all.
Milar gave her an odd look as it settled in her stomach. Almost…pleased? “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Gooooo—” mid-word, Tatiana had to catch herself on the tiny table. “Whoa. Milar, I might’ve gotten a bad batch…”
“You’re fine,” Milar said, moving forward, grabbing her in his big arms. “Just quick to take effect.” Immediately, Tatiana forgot about the drug, the jaggle, the tent, and everything else except for the hunk that was holding her.
“Mmm,” Tatiana said, nuzzling closer. “You know, you still owe me a good ravishing.” She leaned back to peer up into his eyes, grinning. “And with Babe out of the bed, maybe he won’t go after your ass with his claws this time.”
Milar’s eyes were the same color, but they felt different, wrong. “Maybe tomorrow. Still tired from getting Patrick settled.”
Tatiana pouted. “You’re tired? Isn’t that my line?” She nuzzled him. “C’mon.”
“You know, I was wondering,” Milar said. “When you went and got Babe, there. Where’d you find him?”
Tatiana squinted up at him, feeling like it was a weird question, but not really knowing why. Her vision was splitting in half, dividing his dragons in two… “What,” she asked, “the jaggle?”
“Yeah,” Milar said, petting her. “The ganshi. It’s got a…distinctive…pattern. Where was it?”
Tatiana frowned at the way her head was spinning beyond control. Milar’s two dragons had become three. “I dunno, Miles, I don’t feel too good—” She turned to go sit down, but Milar held her tight.
“Just tell me where you found that cat,” Milar growled. “That’s the same pattern as Sirius’s damned menace Sekhmet—” He stopped, then smiled again. “It’s a pretty color, Tatiana. I’d like to get one for Magali.”
The thought of Magali having a jaggle was bad ass. “The alien ship,” Tatiana giggled. “It was trapped in one of the hallways and tried to eat me but I saved it anyway.”
Milar went totally still for a moment, then petted her hair some more, kissing the top of her head. “And where was that?”
“You should know,” Tatiana giggled. “You were there.”
“I forget,” Milar said. “I need your help remembering.”
“Oh, well okay, then.” Damn she didn’t feel good. Like she was drunk, but worse. Even with Milar’s help, she was having trouble staying upright. “You need to talk to Steffen,” she said. “I think there was something wrong with that last batch.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Milar assured her. “Where’s the ship?”
“The Tear,” Tatiana said. “It’s up in the Tear. Miles, I can’t feel my fingers.”
“It’ll pass,” Milar said. “Just a nasty little side-effect. Where in the Tear?”
“North Tear,” Tatiana said. “Inside the shredder ring, where all those colonists kept disappearing. Aashaanti robots were killing them. Now we’re using it as our base.”
“Ah,” Milar said softly. “So the ship is somewhere near base camp.”
“Yeah,” Tatiana said, closing her eyes. “Milar, I’m tired.”
“Just stay awake a few more minutes,” Milar said. “So did you find anything weird in that ship? Anything David might have left there?”
Thinking of Magali’s sword, she said, “Yeah, but I can’t tell anyone about that.”
“You can tell me,” Milar said. “We’re going to marry, starbug.”
That was the first time Milar had ever called her ‘starbug,’ and Tatiana grimaced, not having been called something like that since she was three, and only then by wrinkled old people and her eccentric, history-obsessed aunt. “I dunno, Magali doesn’t want anyone else to know. She gave me Honor in exchange.”
Milar seemed to consider that a moment, then said, “So your honor’s at stake. I get it. Maybe I could just offer up some guesses and you answer me yes or no, okay?”
“Okay,” Tatiana said, yawning. She knew he wasn’t gonna get anywhere close, and she was so tired.
“Was it…a beacon?” he offered.
Tatiana frowned. “I didn’t see a beacon.”
The petting stopped. “You didn’t? You should’ve heard it…”
“Oh!” Tatiana laughed. “You mean that thing that keeps going off saying everybody’s dead and we’re all doomed and the Phage is gonna kill everyone, etcetera etcetera? The reason I can’t sleep for a damn in the Tear? Yeah, I—”
“Not that one,” Milar interrupted, soundi
ng irritated. “It should have been on a dais in the center of the ship. It would have been very pretty, and it would have been broadcasting very pretty music, very calming…” He petted her some more. “Did you take it?” He asked softly, gently, but there was something close to warning in his voice.
Tatiana frowned, remembering a dais that had looked important. “You’re talking about that one that looked like it was a gigantic throne? Engraved with those weird pictograms that were pictures inside pictures?”
Milar froze. “That would be the one. Where is it?”
Tatiana frowned. “There was a sword on it.”
Milar stiffened as if she had hit him. “Whose sword?”
“The one Magali’s carrying around now,” Tatiana said. “It was stuck into the hole in the throne. Momma Sekhmet gave it to me, but then I traded it for Honor.”
But Milar’s face had become a thunderhead. “Sirius. That worm.” He smashed his hand into the desk, breaking it. “The worm!” he roared. He grabbed the remains of the desk and threw them through the tent with one hand, ripping a hole out into the blackness.
Tatiana blinked at the fresh hole in her tent, pretty sure she had to be imagining things again. Milar wasn’t dumb enough to do something like that. Not even close. She sat up, blinking.
Milar pushed her back to the bed, and wasn’t gentle about it. His eyes were on fire, now, and his skin seemed darker, almost black. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Tatiana demanded, struggling to sit up again.
Milar held her there like his arm belonged to a concrete statue. “The beacon,” he hissed. “The alien beacon. Where did Sirius put it?”
“Siri-who?” Tatiana slurred. “Seriously, Milar, I think I’m having a bad reaction to the drugs.” Indeed, the world around her was shifting, almost like she was seeing several pictures at once. She squinted and counted. Yep, five different images. She groaned as her world started to spin. “Oh gawd.” She grabbed her head and squeezed her eyes shut. A moment later, she was retching.
