Wings of Retribution

by Sara King

  ‘Skinny,’ in this case, was relative. As the three of them took seats at her table, Athenais gave them a quick perusal. Whereas the yellow-eye looked like something belonging in an Erriatian Death Squad, the smallest of the three resembled some sort of fishing bird. He had a hooked nose attached to a perfectly spherical head. Combined with his long neck and lean frame, he looked a lot like a stork on steroids. Though he was easily bigger than any other man in the room other than his two companions, he didn’t look like he belonged with the three colonists. He seemed somewhat out of place. Like an observer in someone else’s show.

  Athenais shoved their beers at them. “Even if you were dumb enough to steal a Utopian vessel and joyride off-planet, you’re not that stupid. Colonists can’t join the Utopia. You three can get executed just for being here.”

  “Oh yes.” The big, bearded man beside her gave a rumbling chuckle.

  Of the three of them, Athenais was most intrigued by the man with the stark yellow eyes. She couldn’t shake the feeling she knew him from somewhere, but she’d never forget eyes like that. And, though was easy for Utopis to change their eye color, colonists usually did not have that luxury.

  “Stealing a ship was necessary,” Paul said. “It was the only way to get free.”

  “So you are colonists. Walking around the Utopia. In broad daylight.” Athenais was impressed. “You three have some brass balls, I’ll give you that. What colony you from?”

  “Penoi,” the bearded man told her.

  Athenais glanced from one to the other, trying to decide if he was serious. She had been born on Millennium, Penoi’s tropical moon. Though she’d never visited Penoi, she had seen its deep blue and green landscape every time she went out of doors in her childhood. What surprised her was that her father was the Overseer of Penoi and he had not let a colonist escape in over seven thousand years at his post.

  She glanced at the yellow-eye. “And you?”

  “Paul’s different,” the storkish one muttered into his beer. Beside her, Morgan stiffened, then covered it up by running a hand through his beard.

  Athenais lifted a brow at the leader. “Different how?”

  “What he means is—” Morgan began.

  “What he means is this,” Paul said, holding up the hand that was missing his pinkie finger. He set it down on the table between them, shielding it from the rest of the tavern with his beer. Both Morgan and Stuart fell into a subdued silence, their eyes locked on the missing finger.

  It took Athenais a moment to realize that the scarred stub was growing, stretching. In less than a minute, the finger was whole again.

  Athenais swore and jumped backwards, her seat crashing to the floor in her haste. All eyes in the bar locked on her. From behind his glass, Giggles touched the pistol strapped to his hip and gave her a questioning look. Athenais ignored him and glanced back at Paul’s hand. The finger was gone again.

  Tearing her eyes up from the stub, Athenais whispered, “You’re a shifter.”

  Paul took a long swig of beer.

  A wash of excitement flooded Athenais’s good sense. Almost all shifters had died in the last war. Three million credits were up for grabs for anyone who could provide information that led to a shifter’s extermination, but the prize had not been claimed for more than four hundred years. By showing her who he was, Paul had put his life into her hands…and potentially a lot of money.

  Athenais picked up her chair and sat back down. “Thought you were all dead.”

  “There’s still a few of us around.” Paul spoke Utopian without a hint of an accent, so perfectly that Athenais still couldn’t believe that the man sitting across from her was an alien.

  “On the colonies?” Why did she get the idea she knew him from somewhere?

  “Yes.”

  Athenais leaned back. “I take it back, shifter. Coming here, telling me that… You got balls of goddamn titanium. But then again, you probably don’t have balls, do you? Come to think of it, how do you guys…you know…?” She gestured at his crotch.

  “We’re off subject.”

  Athenais frowned at him. “Why? You a male or female? Or are you guys like seahorses and grow your own? Come to think of it, how do seahorses do it?”

  Paul narrowed his eyes at her. “If you’re stalling because you sent a neurogram back to your ship, this conversation is over.”

  Athenais bristled. “It’s just small talk. I want to know.”

  The shifter looked stressed and irritated and ready to leave. The bearded man put a steadying hand on his shoulder, visibly holding him in place. Paul scoffed and looked disgustedly aside, then forcibly relaxed. When he failed to enlighten her on either the breeding habits of shifters or seahorses, however, Athenais sighed and said, “So how’d you meet your friends, here?”

  “Common interest.”

  “Which is?” She had trouble believing that a shifter wanted to get his hands on the Millennium Potion. They already had a natural lifespan longer than anything Marceau could concoct with his pharmaceuticals.

  “Downfall of the Utopia.”

  She felt herself grin. “What a surprise.”

  “Indeed,” Paul said, looking at his mug. He took a deep swig and set it down again, none too gently. “But we have better things to do than discuss the past.” He sounded strained, his words forced.

  Athenais checked her watch. “I’ve got another ten hours until I need to go find out which half of my crew is sober for cast-off. As soon as we get underway, I’m looking at several weeks of playing cards and reading old newsbits. I’d gladly buy you another drink to hear your tale.”

  “That would take all ten hours, plus some,” Paul said. “Besides, you probably know the story already.”

  It struck Athenais that he sounded as if he were acting in a play. His tight, jerky conversation suddenly made the tiny hairs on her neck stand on end and she glanced over her shoulder at Giggles, who was still watching her.

  Steadying herself, Athenais took a long moment to study her drinking companions. She couldn’t find a hint of Utopian on them anywhere. They were too rough, too…poor. Not for the first time, instead of following her gut and ending the conversation, curiosity got the better of her. “I know the gist,” Athenais admitted, “But how’d you survive all this time? They had extermination squads out for years.”

  Paul smiled bitterly, but said nothing. She got the sudden, strong feeling that this man—alien, rather—hated her. Not just hated Utopis, but her. The sheer animosity coming from behind his piercing yellow eyes—alien eyes, now that she thought of it—made her skin prickle uncomfortably. She wondered again if she was walking into a trap.

  She smiled at them, masking her unease. “Two colonists and a shifter and you’re gonna bring down the Utopia. Do you have any idea how many lunatics I’ve heard say the same thing? What kind of stupid stunt are you planning to pull? A planet-killer stored in the hull of some transport? An engineered plague? Exploding Millennium’s star?” She’d heard them all before.

  Paul’s alien eyes glittered with challenge. “A few beers doesn’t buy a tale like that, Attie.”

  Athenais flinched at the mention of her nickname, then realized that Giggles had used it when they had first arrived. She relaxed, wondering what was setting her nerves on edge. After all, most of her crew was within earshot in the back rooms and Giggles would gladly shoot all three of her drinking companions if she so much as gave him the nod.

  “Fair enough,” Athenais said. “What does it buy?”

  A malicious smile stretched Paul’s lips. “Spoken like a true pirate.”

  Athenais grinned. “That’s what’s wrong with the Utopia these days,” she said. “A woman can’t keep an eye to her finances without being accused of piracy.”

  “You know what you are just as well as we do.”

  The outright anger, the deep-rooted malevolence in his gaze left Athenais feeling more and more unnerved. She tried to laugh, but failed under the alien’s unwavering yellow
gaze. She found herself gripping the beer stein reflexively as she said, “Giggles must have pissed in your drink. I’m no pirate.” Immediately, she regretted the words. They had come out defensive, not at all like the confident space captain that seven thousand years of Hell had shaped her into. Since when had these fools gotten the upper hand in this conversation?

  Paul’s yellow eyes bored right into her with alien intensity, nervously making Athenais wonder if shifters somehow read minds, too. “Yes you are. You’re human scum. Wanted in all four quadrants and have death warrants on sixteen planets. The price on your head is double that of the next three bounties combined.”

  Athenais beamed, showing teeth. “Still half what you’re worth, I’m sure.”

  The shifter gave her a sly grin and raised his tankard.

  Athenais felt herself liking the alien despite his hostility towards her. “Tell me,” she said. “Who are you, really? Why tell me about…that?” She indicated his missing pinkie finger.

  He shrugged. “You bought us a drink.”

  “Your life for a drink? I don’t buy that.”

  Paul bristled. “I didn’t come here to exchange pleasantries with Utopian filth.” He started to stand.

  “Damn it, Paul,” Morgan said, scowling. “Just sit down.” He forced his face into a smile for Athenais. “Ignore him. He’s had a bad time of the trip. We’re grateful for the beer. It was good.”

  “It’s piss. Barely worth drinking.” Athenais had thought Paul was the one in charge, but the sulky manner in which he withstood Morgan’s rebuke led her to believe the bearded man was somehow the leader of the trio.

  Morgan gave her a charming smile. “In such good company, even piss seems glamorous.” He eyed her a moment, making Athenais feel acutely like a monkey in the lush jungles of Millennium, being analyzed by an arbiter of science. “It’s certainly not every day that you get to meet a Utopi with scars,” Morgan said after awhile. “How…refreshing.”

  Unconsciously, Athenais traced the scar over her eye. They were fake, kept there artificially due to her condition, but they had been given to her in good faith. “Got them from my First Mate,” she said automatically. “He almost killed me.”

  “No he didn’t,” Paul growled, almost an accusation.

  Athenais glanced over at Morgan, who was smiling at her, to Stuart, who suddenly seemed intrigued with the foam at the top of his beer. Neither of them had taken much more than a sip. She gave Paul a long look, trying to determine just what the alien was after. “He gouged out my eye and widened my mouth by about six inches when he tried to stab me in the neck. He almost killed me.”

  “We both know he didn’t.”

  Athenais narrowed her eyes, the room suddenly seeming to sharpen around her. Her voice lowered, she said, “What else do you know?”

  Seemingly unaware of the sudden boil to the water he was stepping into, Paul blithely went on, “I know you’re the second oldest human after your insane father on Millennium, having beat out Rabbit, the third oldest, by just six days.”

  At those words, Athenais felt every hair on her body shift in its pore. Suddenly, the stained walls of the bar seemed to be a cage, with the shifter between her and the exit. The old desperation came back, the kind that had been drilled into her from a thousand different escapes from a thousand different hellholes. It was all she could do not to start blowing people away.

  “You do realize I’m not going to let you leave here alive, right?” Athenais managed.

  Paul gave her a spiteful look. “Your original name was Marcella Tempest, after your father Marceau. You changed it to Athenais Owlborne, an obvious reference to the ancient human goddess Pallas-Athene and her rivalry with Mars, whose name your father bears.”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me?” She got to her feet, her fingers shaking with the urge to use her gun. Normally, she would have already taken care of the problem and would be helping Giggles clean up the mess, but the information they were hurling at her was pitching her off-kilter, leaving her scrabbling for control of the situation. “You’re goddamn fools. All of you.”

  “Not fools,” Paul said. “Revolutionaries. Like you.”

  Revolutionaries. The word left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her face darkening in a scowl, Athenais said, “I haven’t flown for rebels since those bastards in the Water Rebellion gave me over to the Utopia to hoe cabbage for thirty years on Tercia.”

  “And you’d do it again in a heartbeat, given the opportunity,” Paul challenged.

  They had her there. Athenais opened her mouth to tell him where he could shove it, then groaned. The itch to wreak havoc on her father’s perfect little plan was already at war with the itch to shove the coppery point of her pistol into Paul’s face and pull the trigger.

  She reluctantly lowered herself back into her chair, eying them with irritation. “All right. You’ve got my attention. But you know if this conversation goes south, you’re dead men, right?” Then she cocked her head at the shifter and said, “Well, at least dead.”

  “Knew that before we came in here,” the bearded brute said.

  Athenais ran a finger along the rim of her stein. “So what do you want? Despite the cuteness with Giggles, you can’t make me believe you didn’t do your homework. You intended to have this talk. That means you also knew that Rabbit and I both like our privacy, regardless of who we have to kill to keep it. You’re not suicidal, so there’s something you haven’t told me yet.”

  The three exchanged a glance. Athenais took another drink, pretending not to see.

  “What do you know of the Millennium Potion?” Paul finally asked.

  Athenais suddenly burst out laughing, spraying beer over half the table. Morgan had to pound her on the back before she could stop choking. She wiped her face and said, “You want to steal it? Oh my God, that’s classic.” She slapped the malt-stained tabletop and chortled.

  “What do you know of it?” Paul repeated, his voice dangerously low. He looked like he wanted to crush her face with a single huge fist.

  Athenais gave him a sweet smile, realizing that she might have her fight, after all. “It’s not a potion, for one.”

  “It’s an injection,” Morgan agreed. “The secret remedy that keeps all Utopis young.”

  “It’s a curse,” Athenais snapped, swiveling to face him. “The only person I’d ever wish it on is my father, and he made the damn thing.”

  “You and Rabbit were two of his first test subjects,” Morgan said.

  “Guinea pigs,” Athenais muttered. “And no, I’m not helping you get it. You ask me, we should destroy the Potion.”

  A slow smile spread across Morgan’s lips and he leaned back, giving the other two a satisfied glance. Stuart was watching her with a calculating look, and even Paul had reluctant approval etched into his face.

  It took her a moment to make the connection. When she did, Athenais gaped at them. “You’re kidding.”

  “What better way to stop Marceau in his tracks?” Morgan asked.

  Athenais could only stare at him. Stealing the Millennium Potion was impossible. Destroying it would take an act of God. As much as she’d like to see it—and her father—disappear into a well-placed pulsar, Beetle and her crew of six were impotent against Millennium’s fleet. The little ball of tropical islands had a battalion of ships that could defend it against anything the rest of the universe could throw at it, and then some. Athenais was a damned good pilot, but trying to slip past its defenses would a grueling, thankless project that would doubtless end up with Beetle getting confiscated and her finances seized. Again.

  “Look, I appreciate all the preparation that went into this meeting,” Athenais said, “But you’re just three colonists, even if one of you’s a shifter. You’re out of your league. There’s nothing I’d like more than to blow up that whole damn planet, but Marceau has a hundred people a month try that, and they all end up living out the rest of their Potion on pikes in his front lawn. Go home and have babies, or whateve
r it is you colonists do. I’ll try to forget I saw you three.” She got up to leave.

  “Please,” Paul said suddenly. His cockiness had vanished and there was real anguish in his face. “Please. We need your help.”

  Athenais snorted and turned toward the door.

  Paul grabbed her wrist. Behind his glass, Giggles stiffened.

  “Please,” Paul repeated, getting up with her, “We spent years tracking you across the Quadrant. We lost two friends trying to find you. You have to help us.”

  “I don’t have to help you do anything,” Athenais said, yanking her arm free. “And if you’d really done your research, you’d know that I’ve already tried what you’re suggesting. Several times. As you can see, I failed.” She brushed past him toward the door.

  “We’ve got a cure for the Potion,” Paul called at her back.

  Athenais froze. A cure… Hand on the latch, she stared at the door in silence, ice trailing cold fingers down her spine. When the shifter didn’t retract his statement, she took an uneven breath.

  “Come to Beetle tomorrow and we’ll talk,” she said, without turning. “Have some sort of payment in mind.”

  Shifters

  That night, on Beetle, the metal walls rang with a clamor of voices.

  “So lemme get this straight, Capt’in.”

  The man’s name was Dunebuggy, or Dune for short. His face was always smeared with grease and he perpetually stank of engine solvents. He was a legend among the racing community, his creations having won several desert planet megaraces. Lucky for Athenais, he took the same care with Beetle. Unfortunately for Athenais, now he was peering at her like a slack-jawed Utopi trying to figure out combustion engines. “There ain’t no money involved?” Several disgruntled voices joined him in protest.

  “I can’t promise any more than what I’ll give you,” Athenais replied. “Flat rate of sixty credits a day, half that for days in stasis.”