by John Ringo
* * *
Antja had discovered that punching was useless against the orca and that the grip of his pectoral fins was impossible to break. So she had spent the entire wild ride alternately fuming and terrified.
Shanol and one of the other orca males had left the fight almost immediately. Antja couldn’t believe that they had attacked the group just to steal two mer-girls, but it was starting to look as if that was exactly what had happened.
“Okay, I give up,” Elayna said. “Why are we here?”
“I don’t answer existential questions,” Shanol said with a ping of mocking laughter.
“Okay, to be more precise, why have you kidnapped us?” Antja snarled.
“I didn’t think we could win,” Shanol answered, truthfully. “So I had to ask myself, what was the worst thing I could do to Herzer and Jason, who are the two people I’ve come to hate the most in this world.”
“And kidnapping us is the answer?” Antja asked.
“Oh, it’s more complex than that,” the orca said. “You’re Jason’s girlfriend and Elayna is Herzer’s.”
“I’m not Herzer’s girlfriend you freak,” Elayna shot back. “I’m his girl in the local port. Bast is his girlfriend. And when she’s done with you, there won’t be big enough pieces to interest the sharks!”
“I thought at first of just eating you,” the orca continued, “and sending back your heads. Or maybe the tail; there’s good eating in brains.”
“You are sick,” Elayna said with a quaver in her voice.
“But then I thought, ‘is there anything better?’ ” Shanol continued, ignoring her. “And I’d heard that there were some interesting crosses happening with Changed on land.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Antja said, deadly serious.
“Why? I have to wonder, what do you get when you cross an orca with a mer?” the orca said, slowing. “And I think we’ve come far enough to find out.”
“An intelligent orca?” Antja said, slapping at him with her tail. “A mer with no morals? I don’t think so. Let me go!”
“You know this is how orcas and dolphins mate,” Shanol said, pinging her with laughter again. “And the difference between consensual mating and rape is hard to tell with us. Me for you and Shedol for Elayna.”
Antja flailed against him with her tail and writhed in his grip, but she could feel his member sliding out of its protective slit even as she did so. Most cetacean males were designed for nonconsensual sex, and she was discovering just how well designed.
Elayna was flailing in the grip of her own captor and Antja had just about given up from exhaustion when the water above the orca exploded.
* * *
“Never ride a dragon bareback,” Herzer groaned as Chauncey finally made it into the air. Staying on one with saddle and grip straps was hard when it took off on level ground. As for staying on bareback, the only reason he’d retained his grip on the strip around Chauncey’s neck was his prosthetic. He was bruised across half his body. And he didn’t even want to think about how his balls were feeling.
“Quit to complain,” Bast said. “Look around.”
“There’s a pod of five headed out to sea,” Joanna said. “Ones from fight; lots of blood trail. Sharks on their tail, too.”
“I don’t think that whoever took them stayed around to fight,” Herzer said, sitting up slightly and regretting it immediately; without the straps his seat on the dragon was not stable and it was a long way to fall. Not to mention the… discomfort. “Bast, I may not be too good for you for a couple of days.”
“Bast has remarkable curative powers,” she laughed. “There, to the south. Two spouts!”
“Orcas,” Joanna said, zooming her eyes. “Which group do we follow?”
“South,” Herzer and Bast said together.
“Shanol?” Herzer asked.
“Elayna and Antja,” Bast replied. “It is good that we did not bring Rachel.”
“Yeah,” Herzer growled, kicking Chauncey in the back. “Go!”
The dragons drove their wings as hard as they could and quickly overtook the orcas, who had slowed. They seemed to be struggling with the two mer-women.
“Is that what it looks like?” Joanna said, circling the pair. “Because if it’s not, it’s something very strange.”
“Yes,” Herzer shouted, pulling at the throat-piece of the wyvern and pushing him over into a stoop.
Chauncey had watched Joanna and he threw his wings back in a v, aiming at the right orca with minor corrections of his wingtips.
The stoop had started from over a hundred meters up and Herzer realized that he had just done a very stupid thing. Water, as he had learned as a lad jumping off a cliff on a dare, gets very hard when you hit it at high speed.
“Oh, shit!” he yelled, jumping off the dragon and pointing his feet at the onrushing ocean. As the water came up he pulled his arms into his head, pointed his feet, pinched his nose and mentally kissed his ass goodbye.
* * *
Antja was slammed downward by the orca and wondered what he had done to manage that. But at the same time, he let go his grip and his member retracted so she was thankful for small favors. She wriggled out from between the pectorals and headed in towards shore. There was always a reef somewhere around here, and once she got into one of the crevices he could be buggered for all she was coming out.
But she stopped and turned back, remembering Elayna. The younger mer-girl, however, was right behind her. And behind Elayna was a battle royale.
Chauncey had gripped Shedol on the back and was now tearing at the orca for all he was worth, with Bast sliding in and out, her sword flickering like lightning.
Shanol, bleeding from a dozen wounds, had somehow managed to escape from Joanna and was heading for the depths, with the dragon in hot pursuit. Herzer was holding onto Joanna’s tail and working his way up her back, hand over hand.
“Herzer, where do you think you’re going?” Antja said, as loudly as the bone in her forehead would let her.
“Down,” the boy replied, getting a grip on one of Joanna’s spineridges. In a moment they were both lost in the gloom.
* * *
Shanol could hear the dragon behind him. He should have been faster in the water than the damned lizard but despite everything it was gaining on him.
“Shanol…” he heard Herzer calling behind him. “She followed the kraken into the depths and killed it. You can’t run. And she can fly above you, so you can’t hide either. Just give up.” The voice was eerie, distorted by the depth. Suddenly a cry rang out behind him and he shuddered. It wasn’t the hunting cry of an orca but something weirder, bass and deadly. He realized it was the dragon. He didn’t know it could do that.
What else didn’t he know about them?
Desperately he dove deeper.
* * *
“Joanna,” Herzer croaked. “I can’t breathe.”
There was a rumble under him and he realized that despite the underwater roar she had let out, the dragon couldn’t exactly talk.
“I think it’s the mask,” Herzer said. His vision was going funny. On the other hand, it was getting darker as they went deeper, so maybe it was just that. But the purple spots weren’t part of the light change from the depth, he was pretty sure.
“You may be able to do this, but I don’t think I can,” he muttered. But for some reason he kept his grip on the dragon’s spine. The ridges flattened out along the back and he could only make it as far as the rear legs. That was going to have to be good enough. But he was getting very tired. And it was getting really cold.
The mask wasn’t giving him air. He didn’t know why and he wasn’t sure that even if he let go he could make it to the surface anymore. He realized that he’d just killed himself, but that seemed a small price to pay if he could watch Shanol’s end. He’d always realized there was a bone-deep vengeful streak in him, but he’d never realized it was going to kill him.
Oxygen, that was it. Too much oxyge
n was deadly. The mask was trying to keep from killing him by giving him too much oxygen. But there weren’t enough other gases in the area for it to mix something else in. At that point, his limited knowledge failed. And he really didn’t care anymore. He could see the orca ahead of him and just as he was sure he was going to pass out, it turned towards the surface. Probably as desperate for air as he was; it hadn’t breached since before the last fight. Then Herzer saw the bottom of the ocean flash by. He had no idea what the depth was around here, but he was pretty sure this mask was not rated for it.
Joanna, on the other hand, seemed to have a limitless lung capacity. She held onto the trail of the orca, her sinuous glide getting her nearer and nearer with each passing second.
Shanol didn’t seem to care anymore. He was just trying to make it to the surface.
As they got into shallower water, the light going from deep, dark blue to a lighter translucence, the mask started to feed Herzer air again and he sucked it in as fast as he could get it. Joanna’s side-to-side motion was particularly bad by her rear legs, so he started working his way up her back, getting minor purchase in her immense scales. His prosthetic was particularly useful and he was afraid he was pinching her, but he wasn’t going to be riding at the back the whole time.
“Give it up, Shanol,” he called, as soon as he had a lungful of air to speak. “She’s not going to.”
“Fisk you, landsman,” the orca pulsed. But it had a tinny quality, as if he was panting or on the ragged edge of exhaustion. “I’m the greatest predator in the ocean. I’m not going to die to any damned flying lizard.”
“This flying lizard eats sharks,” Herzer said. He’d almost made it up to the collar around Joanna’s neck. He finally got a hand on it, then his prosthetic, and gripped like there was no tomorrow. “And she’s going to eat you.”
“Not if I can make it to the surface,” the orca panted.
“Gob ya,” Joanna said as she bit down on his flailing fluke.
The orca screamed, no more than ten meters from the air he so desperately needed, but Joanna wasn’t letting go. She pulled the thrashing body back and got a talon around his tail, then swam to the surface, hauling him up behind her. She stuck her head out of the water and breathed deeply and rapidly, holding the thrashing orca down.
“Let me go!” the orca pulsed, blowing air frantically. “Let me get a breath!”
“Don’t think so,” Joanna said, turning towards the shore, dragging him backwards. “Sometimes you eat. Sometimes you get et.”
The orca continued to thrash and pulse wildly until, finally, he was still.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Now that’s just wrong,” Antja said.
Herzer had dragged himself out of the water and ripped the mask off, swearing that he was never, ever going to wear one of the damned things again. Bast, Elayna and Antja were waiting for him on the shore, sitting on a projection of reef that was just above the tideline.
To one side, Chauncey was ripping huge chunks out of Shedol, holding the body of the orca down with one talon and then lifting the meat skyward to bolt the flesh down his gullet.
“The ixchitl were Changed humans as well,” Bast said.
“I know, but that’s just wrong,” Antja exclaimed again.
“Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t,” Herzer replied. He was lying with his head in Bast’s lap but he lifted up to look at Chauncey, then over to where Joanna was starting to feed on Shanol.
“But if you really think so, you try to get them to stop.”
And he passed out to Bast’s delighted chuckle.
* * *
“Hi, Daneh,” Edmund said, tiredly, as he climbed over the side of the carrier. “You’ve got some work ahead of you.”
The wounded mer were being hoisted over the side and carried down to the sickbay but Daneh walked to her lover first.
“You look… worn,” she said.
“I am that,” Edmund replied. “Any luck?”
“Mbeki,” she said, shaking her head. “Long, sad story. Later.”
“Do we have enough evidence to convict?” he asked.
“He’s dead,” she replied, shaking her head. “Talk to the skipper, I have to get to work.”
* * *
Joel seriously considered breaking cover to “discuss” some ramifications of his family’s “handling” of Commander Mbeki. Not just that a potential double agent was dead. Not just that his family was now in unnecessary danger. But that in the future, doubling agents was going to be that much harder.
Bottom line, Duke Talbot was a fine soldier but he didn’t know shit about intelligence matters. It irked him to realize that this was the case of almost everyone around Sheida. A bigger bunch of Boy Scouts was hard to find.
He was going to have to have a serious talk with Sheida when he got back.
In the meantime, one of the officers who had interrogated survivors from the ships let slip that some of the commanders had tried to make it to the nearest island. Rounding them up was a high priority; he might as well get some information out of this debacle.
Time for another cover to go away. And probably for one Joel Annibale to go, officially, AWOL.
* * *
“You took your time getting back, Lieutenant,” Edmund said as Herzer climbed over the side of the ship. The general had had time to wash up and change into uniform and it was well after dark. “I thought you’d gone AWOL.”
“I came back on the surface,” Herzer admitted. “If I never put one of those masks on again, or see emerald water again, it will be too soon. Dragons belong in the air.”
“Speak for yourself,” Joanna replied, hoisting herself over the side to the now familiar heeling of the ship. “I kind of like it down here. Any chance of a permanent posting?”
“Maybe semipermanent,” Edmund replied. “What with the Fleet base, there’s no reason that there shouldn’t be a dragon weyr as well. But don’t get settled in; the main brawl is going to be up north, not down here.”
“Understood, General,” the dragon replied with a grin.
“Antja and Elayna?” he asked.
“Back with the mer,” Herzer replied. “And happy to be there. Shanol and his second in command are well and truly dead.”
“Vickie saw,” Edmund replied. “And apparently threw up all over her dragon.”
“And the last five surviving orcas were last seen headed out to sea, trailing blood, and hotly pursued by a group of sharks,” Herzer added. “I’d say we won this one, boss.”
“Yes,” Edmund said, somberly. “But at a hell of a price. On the other hand, groups of mer from all over the islands are flocking this way, from reports. We always knew that there were more than just the mer at Bruce’s village. Apparently having seen, and heard through the delphinos, about the attacks, they’ve decided that they have to choose sides. And most of them are choosing ours.”
“Mission accomplished,” Herzer said, looking out at the blue waters of the Stream. “As to the breakage, that’s why they call it war, sir.”
“Herzer, sometimes you are too bloody-minded even for me,” Edmund replied. “I understand that there is some medicinal rum aboard. I’m going to go raid the stores. Why don’t you wash up and join me in my cabin for some medicating.”
“Sounds good,” Herzer replied. “But I’m also going to go find where they hide those captain’s crackers. Anything with some damned carbohydrates. A pure fish and fruit diet gets old.”
“Don’t tell me,” Edmund laughed. “What you’d really kill for is a cheeseburger.”
“Sounds good,” Herzer said with a lifted eyebrow. “Why?”
“Another song I’ll have to teach you,” Edmund replied. “Probably on our fifth or sixth glass. I’ve got some bad news, though.”
“What?” Herzer said. “The ixchitl and orcas are dealt with, the mer are safe and part of the Coalition. Rachel is okay?”
“Rachel’s fine,” the general replied. “But a dispatch sl
oop arrived. The bad news is from back home. Harzburg has flipped to New Destiny. The little army you trained is now on the other side.”
“Son of a bitch,” Herzer muttered. “Son of a fisking bitch. Those bastards.”
“Yep,” Edmund said, shrugging. “I think they’re going to get a sharp lesson in why you don’t piss off the Blood Lords. Especially with fire-dropping dragons backing them up. Especially since they’re pressuring Balmoran, militarily, to switch sides as well. Balmoran has, officially, requested Federal support. So… pack your bags.”
“Well,” Herzer said, tossing the mask to the deck and looking around at the ship and thinking about the last few days. “At least I got my Caribbean vacation. Sun, surf, hot women. And, okay, some emerald seas. It’ll have to do. Now, you said something about rum?”
EPILOGUE
Martin waved the remnants of his pants back and forth on the stick, trying to attract the attention of the passing boat. It was a small craft, no more than three or four meters in length, with a dirty, patched triangular sail. The man at the tiller had been looking shoreward and turned the boat inshore in a controlled jibe, bringing the boom in and then turning to bring the north wind across the rear of the boat.
Martin had been subsisting for the last two weeks on brackish water found in pools and whatever looked mildly edible along the shoreline. He’d managed to make it to land with his knife, his sorely depleted money pouch, a tinderbox and his clothes. Over the time he had gotten first burnt and then blackened by the sun.
The islander was, if anything, darker, almost a true negro black for all his features were the motley polyglot that was common these days. He was tall and had a fair growth of beard, although it looked like a new addition.
“Hello,” Martin called as the skiff ran up on the shore. He seized the bow and pulled it farther in as the islander sat in the stern and looked at him.
