Vicious Circle

by Elle E. Ire

  I supposed I owed her an explanation for my callousness. “A person who does something once can sometimes be rehabilitated through punishment or counseling.” Not always true, but often enough. I followed Guild standards here, not my personal beliefs. I had to, because I personally wanted to rip some strange boy apart, organ by internal organ, leaving the brain for last so he’d be aware of every torturous moment. I couldn’t recall ever feeling that kind of rage, and I fought to dampen it. Maybe the palotrin had side effects unknown to me. Every life deserved a chance at justification, and I’d justify her brother’s, if I could identify any reasonable chance of redemption. “A repeat offender is usually a lost cause—at least with that kind of offense.”

  Kila stared at me. “Rape is rape. It can’t be undone, even once.”

  “Neither can death.” Now I was the one who was angry. “I don’t kill for pleasure—mine or yours.” She opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “I don’t kill for revenge, either.” Not entirely true. Many of my assignments could have been described as vengeful. I, however, preferred to think of them as preventives. I placed my palms flat on the table between us, drawing her eyes to mine, because I wanted, needed, her to understand. “I don’t do it for the money. There’s no price tag on my conscience—because when it’s done, I have to live with myself.” Images of the boy I’d almost murdered flashed in my mind. “I kill for the betterment of the majority, and I have to account for every potential benefit and repercussion.” I paused, hoping she would consider the ramifications and look beyond whatever had been done to her, no matter how awful. “Do your parents know?”

  She shook her head.

  “Have you thought about telling them?”

  Kila turned her body to face the bulkhead. “He’s the eldest son, set to inherit and manage the family fortune and its affairs.” Her voice grew softer, and some of the life left her eyes. “They won’t jeopardize the succession, not for me, not for anyone. And once he inherits, there’ll be no stopping him.”

  And if she contacted the authorities, they either wouldn’t believe her, or their intervention would ensure she lost her inheritance and whatever else she would gain from her family. Maybe a small price to pay for personal security, but she shouldn’t have to buy peace of mind and body….

  I considered the situation, sadness weighing on me like wet leather. Stupid, backward, chauvinistic outer rim worlds, leaving women like Kila with few options beyond hiring someone like me. They weren’t all that way. Sardonen culture was forward-thinking for outer rim. No one treated me differently because of my sex.

  I allowed myself an ironic grin, which I hid from Kila under the guise of rubbing my face. Yes. The Guild was as willing to kill me as any man who violated its rules.

  I had a few more questions. Most could wait. We had three days together on this liner, but the way she leaned forward, the way her expression pleaded, I sensed Kila needed as much assurance as I could give her.

  “How old is he?” If he were too young, I wouldn’t do it. I’d report him myself and try to find Kila a safe house somewhere. She’d forgive me eventually. Maybe.

  “Nineteen. Twenty in three standard weeks. Same as me. We’re twins. Twenty is considered an adult on Lissex, old enough to manage the family affairs.”

  Old enough to kill.

  “Why didn’t you simply petition the Guild? Why go to Deluge in the first place?”

  She looked down at her hands in her lap. “I have access to funds, but my parents know where I spend them. They think I’m off seeing the stars before settling down. If I transferred that many credits, my family would trace it.”

  I snorted. “If they could. The Guild scrambles all account transfers. We’re pretty discreet.” I caught myself. We? Not we anymore. “They take customer privacy seriously.” Leaning back against the cushions, my body registered my exhaustion. All I wanted was sleep. “So, you found yourself a second-rate assassin, me, someone who would work for cheap. Is that it?”

  It was her turn to hold my gaze. “I found someone I thought I could befriend and trust.”

  Well, shit.

  “And how do you intend to get me into your household?” I indicated my game leg and shrugged my bad shoulder, then grimaced at the pain the movement caused. “I’m not the person I was the last time I visited Lissex. Infiltrating those islands will take someone abler than I am or a very good plan.”

  Kila smiled, and in that moment, I would have done anything for her. Had to be the addiction. I gave myself a mental kick.

  “I have a plan,” she said and went to her bedroom. She left the door open. I thought she was fetching something to show me, something that would define this plan of hers. A minute later, her light went out.

  My eyebrows rose. I remained on the couch a little longer before soft snoring carried through the open doorway.

  The plan, apparently, would wait.

  I settled into my own bed, luxuriating in the thick smart-mattress that conformed to my body and eased my aches and pains. The soft blankets warmed themselves, adjusting to my skin temperature. The vibration of the ship and the distant engine hum lulled me. It wasn’t until I was drifting off I realized Kila hadn’t said she had a good plan. Well, if I didn’t like it, I could come up with something of my own.

  KILA PROVIDED me with appropriate clothing to wander the ship, products of her shopping spree during our layover on Deluge’s orbital station. The latest fashion on the outer rim worlds—like I would have any clue—was the “military look.” I turned my limited wardrobe over to the ship’s laundry and slipped into the camouflage pants and black shirt. The false gold epaulets on the shoulders seemed gaudy and ridiculous, but I removed them, taking great pleasure in dropping them in the recycler one by one. Otherwise I appreciated that they fit, didn’t smell, and didn’t involve a skirt or dress.

  Apparently Kila didn’t care about or follow trends, either. She flowed out of her room in a forest green ankle-length dress, cinched at the waist with a brown rope belt. The colors set off her eyes. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, with a dark green headband keeping it out of her face. She wore no jewelry, but she didn’t need adornments. Her natural beauty was stunning enough.

  We had slept almost a full day. Attendants apparently left meals in our sitting area on the low table. One sat there cooling now. We devoured the meal in silence, interrupted only by the clinking of silverware and sounds of appreciation. I noticed Kila left the meat untouched. No surprise there. Many cultures opposed to violence also promoted vegetarianism.

  Full almost to bursting, I craved a good workout but knew my leg wouldn’t hold up. If I kept eating like this and living in such opulence, I’d double my size in a year. I announced my intention to take a walk, and Kila chose to accompany me. I didn’t protest. If she was with me, I could keep an eye on her. Besides, I’d never admit it out loud, but this high-society liner intimidated me just a little.

  I hid a sad smile. Micah would have found anything that could intimidate me incredibly funny.

  Kila and I proceeded to the central lounge, an unusual pair. At least the other passengers and crew no longer stared at our attire. Now they simply stared at us, and I wondered what they thought.

  I ordered an ale from the white-coated bartender. He listed ten possibilities, and I randomly chose one, which he immediately dubbed a “good choice.” Kila selected a dry white wine, another “good choice,” and I muffled my snort with a sip from my frosted glass. A bottle would have served me just as well but would have appeared too common, I supposed.

  Other patrons mingled about the open space furnished with low couches and a few more secluded booths for couples. Some guests sported the trendy military look, elderly women in wrinkles and faux fatigues, men clothed in dress uniforms, their paunches overhanging their cummerbunds. The flashy, flimsy fabrics gave them away as posers when their lack of physical fitness didn’t. I tried to focus on the decor rather than the passengers, afraid I’d spit my ale in a sputter
of laughter.

  The lounge’s blue and gold color scheme pleased the eye. The view of endless white through the solid duraglass making up one entire bulkhead was stunning, even to my jaded self. Weiss-space was beautiful and terrifying. Our ship sped through a dimensional shift that looked white to the human eye. No stars or planets broke up the monotony, and yet it possessed an aesthetic attraction all its own.

  I’m not one for mingling with strangers. Standing alone in a lounge invited others to approach. So I stayed with Kila, content to share the view and the unobtrusive company.

  A few drops of ale sloshed on the toe of my right boot. At first I thought the ship made a sudden course correction, but glancing around, I saw none of the other passengers disturbed. A sinking feeling settled in my chest. I extended my right hand, holding the glass out in front of me. It remained steady for a few seconds. Then a violent and uncontrollable muscle spasm sent more liquid to leave a stain on the navy carpeting. The tremors were internal, not external.

  Palotrin withdrawal.

  I knew the symptoms. When I started on the drug, I researched the effects and aftereffects. I loathed myself enough not to care how terrible they could be. Seizures and searing nerve pain would plague me throughout the next standard day as my body relearned how to function without palotrin. If I ever took it again, the effects would be worse. The plan had been to switch to another drug once these withdrawals got bad. Unaccustomed to narcotics use in general, I’d apparently waited too long.

  I turned to Kila, prepared to take my leave and suffer the consequences alone in my sleeping quarters. She stared out the view window, oblivious to my presence. The solitary tear running down her cheek startled me.

  Reaching out, I brushed her sleeve with my fingertips. Kila turned, her face flushing while she wiped the tear with the back of her hand. Then she blinked at me. I guess I looked as bad as I felt.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I need to leave.” Taking great care, I set my ale on the nearest table. She followed and placed her wineglass beside it.

  “I’ll walk with you.” We’d made it to the center of the room.

  Weakness made me uncomfortable. An audience of even one would intensify that discomfort. “You don’t need—”

  The ship’s proximity alarm cut me off midsentence. The high-pitched rise and fall startled everyone, and several more liquors and wines splattered the carpet. A shudder in the vessel’s frame indicated the Weiss engines shutting down, and the view returned to that of normal space.

  A large vessel shimmered into existence off the passenger liner’s starboard side, dropping out of its own Weiss-field. To identify and accurately arrive at a point so close to our own ship’s current position had to have taken a brilliant astronomical navigator, dumb luck, or great stupidity. The slightest miscalculation and we would have merged in a violent explosion. I suppressed a shudder. We wouldn’t have known what hit us.

  The lounge occupants pressed themselves to the duraglass, gaping at the massive ship. The crew members clustered, whispering and muttering into their handheld comms, likely communicating with the bridge staff.

  While the sheer size of our visitor prevented a complete view, one thing was certain. Engineers designed her for war. Weapons bristled from the side facing us—high-intensity laser turrets and at least one missile launch tube. She’d been in some action of late. Long black score marks streaked her hull, and several antennae had been sheared off, leaving their bases behind. She’d seen better days. A crew doing well wouldn’t leave damage unrepaired. The vessel’s name became visible as her trajectory shifted to pace us—Regiment 1.

  One side of my mouth curled upward. I knew this ship and the pirates who crewed her. And I knew her captain.

  Chapter 6

  GRABBING KILA by the arm, I pulled her down the corridor to our quarters. The tremors were kind enough to hold off, and I burst into her bedroom and dug through her bags until I located her barmaid blouse. “Here,” I ordered, thrusting the stained shirt and a pair of clean dark pants into her arms. “Put these on. Find some flat shoes.”

  She opened her mouth, took one look at my face, and closed it again. Instead, she removed her clothing. She was half naked before I remembered her modesty issues and turned away. Once dressed, she disappeared to find some suitable footwear.

  My current attire was acceptable enough, but I stashed a blade in my boot, snapped my gun belt around my waist, and fastened on my back holster and second pistol. My jacket covered the extra firepower. Crews set the temperatures on starships notoriously cold, anyway. The pirates would know I carried weapons, but I didn’t need them seeing exactly where or how many.

  Kila hadn’t appeared, so I paced our sitting room, flexing both hands, desperate to prevent further muscle spasms. They wouldn’t hold off forever, and I needed to be fully functional if I was going to keep the two of us alive. I always did have rotten timing.

  The passenger liner vibrated as a docking tube connected to the outer hatch. Our captain apparently decided to hold position—smart under the circumstances. Running would have resulted in a lot more damage to our vessel.

  Kila emerged, her cloth bag over her shoulder. Her confused but trusting expression shook me, but it was too late to alter course now. I grabbed my own satchel and left our suite, knowing she’d follow.

  “Where are we—?”

  Without looking back, I held up a hand to stop her questioning. She shut up.

  Chaos filled the corridors. Two young stewards now armed with shock sticks patrolled the passage, urging the guests into their rooms and keeping them there. I doubted the kids with the sticks even knew how to use them. They carried them like babes in arms rather than stunning devices.

  While they paused to calm an elderly woman sobbing in her doorway, I slipped my pistol from my thigh holster. No time for talking. They didn’t spot us until Kila and I stood a meter away. Then they turned in unison and angled their weapons in our direction.

  Kila’s steps froze behind me, but I kept advancing until the end of one shocker touched my chest. Despite its nonlethal nature, I could feel the weapon trembling in its owner’s arms. I stole a quick glance at the other. He hadn’t unlocked the safety on the underside of the metal tube.

  “Get out of the way,” I commanded, putting years of training and experience into the words.

  “You are to return to your staterooms and remain there until the captain gives the all clear.” The teenager’s voice wavered as badly as his weapon. I almost felt sorry for him. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, with just the hint of a mustache appearing on his upper lip.

  One quick move wrenched the stick from his grasp. I flipped it neatly, single-handed, and tucked it under my arm with the end pointing at him. The other steward attempted to ignite his to take me down with a wave of crackling energy, then groaned when he saw the engaged safety. Before he could release it, I had my pistol pointed at his head.

  I smiled without mirth. “Have you ever seen what kind of damage a gun like mine can do to a bulkhead?” Other passengers clustered in their stateroom doorways, watching the interaction with fearful expressions. I raised my voice. “If you miss your intended target, you can blow a hole through to open space… lose all your breathable air.” I made eye contact with an older couple and a gentleman in his forties. “Kill everyone onboard.” They stepped inside their rooms and sealed their doors. Up and down the corridor, I heard other hatches closing. My smile broadened. I returned my attention to the two would-be guards. “I’m pretty sure of my targets, but whether I missed or not, you’d die. Now, move.”

  They stepped aside. I took the second shocker and handed it to Kila. She shook her head at first, but a glare from me got it into her grasp. Even then, she held it away from her body, touching as little of its metal surface as possible. So defensive violence disturbed her as well. Her actions with the slaver on Deluge seemed even more impressive now.

  “Are you working with the boa
rders?”

  A fair question. I’m sure it looked that way. This close, I could read the crewman’s name badge. McGinan. “No, I’m not.” Not yet. “But as incompetent as all of you are, I’d be better off than getting pinned down here.” I slung the carry strap of the shock stick over my shoulder, snapped the comms off both the stewards’ belts, and smashed them under my boot. Then I headed down the corridor at a trot, Kila’s footfalls sounding on the deck plates behind me.

  When we rounded the next corner, she came up alongside. “Won’t they just contact the bridge from one of the rooms?”

  I kept going. “The captain will have disconnected internal comms. Otherwise, passengers would overload all the available channels with panicked questions.” I glanced sideways at her. “That’s assuming the captain is thinking at all. Either way, I’m not heading for the bridge.”

  Though I hadn’t had much time to explore, the liner’s configuration resembled any number of other ships I’d traveled on, and I always tried to pay attention. In my profession, I never knew when I’d need to get from point A to point B, fast. And when we made one wrong turn, the clanks and groans of someone forcing an airlock hatch told me where to go. The smartest action for the captain would have been surrender, but instead he’d chosen to seal up and arm the crew. Stupid.

  One curve from the lock, I put out an arm and halted Kila beside me. Scanning her from head to foot, I took her hands and placed them in the proper positions on the shocker she still carried. I yanked the headband from her hair and tossed it aside, then tousled the auburn-blond locks until all sense of styling vanished. I grabbed a handful of her shirt and untucked it from the waistband of her dark brown trousers, letting the faded bloodstain show. Then I surveyed the results.