by Elle E. Ire
“We’ll have to get to the landing field, steal a shuttle.” Avoiding the gore, Vargas took the second enforcer’s weapon. “If we can make orbit, my ship will pick us up.”
I stood aside. “I’m thinking this is more your area of expertise, then.” He took point as we stepped into the street.
THE DARK things swarmed me. They crawled over and under my skin, humming and buzzing, making me shiver from the inside out. I’d never heard them make noises before, but the insectoid sounds traveled through the very marrow in my bones. Working their way from my feet to my face, they enveloped my legs, hips, torso, and mouth. I choked as they entered my nostrils and slid down my throat. I coughed and gagged. My chest heaved. I couldn’t draw air. They pressed in harder, filling every centimeter of space, suffocating me.
Horrible way to die, and I wasn’t going down easy. I writhed, trying to dislodge the shadowy creatures. The pressure continued to grow, and with one final tremendous effort, I let loose a horrific scream, expelling the dark things from my lungs.
Panting, I sat up on the doublewide bunk, eyes wide and darting about the small cabin. A force pulled at my shoulders, drawing me down on the mattress, where the shadows could better smother me again.
I threw my left fist up and back, connecting with something soft and pliant that cried out in pain. Twisting, I swung my legs over the side of the cot, turning to face my attackers.
Kila stared up at me from where she knelt on the deck plates. One hand covered her mouth. A trickle of blood ran from beneath it, down her chin.
Ah, hells.
Reality crashed in, and I sagged, closing my eyes for a moment to regain my bearings and gasping with relief. I was on the Regiment 1. Derrick must have moved us to guest quarters after I blacked out. I opened my eyes and scanned the room. A single table and two chairs rested in the center. Our bags lay atop the table.
Judging from the rumble of the ship’s engines, we were already underway to Lissex, and I wondered how long I’d been out. My head pounded, and I tentatively touched the bump at the back of my skull, remembering my impact with the bulkhead. I turned my attention to Kila. She hadn’t moved.
I stood and the room spun, but I wasn’t giving in to the raging headache. Glancing at the two hatches, one on each side of the cabin, I took a guess and walked through the right-hand one into the sanitary facility. There, I splashed icy water in my face, then soaked a towel and returned to Kila. When I crouched beside her, she flinched away from me.
I couldn’t blame her, but it hurt nonetheless.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t know.”
She nodded but didn’t remove her hand from her face. I had to pry it away gently.
Jaw set, I surveyed the damage I’d caused. Not too bad. My fist had driven her lower lip into her teeth, cutting the flesh just inside her mouth. Her lip would swell, was beginning to already, but it would heal without leaving any permanent marks.
I used the towel to clean the blood from her chin, then wrapped her fingers around the wet cloth and pressed her hand to her lip. “Keep it there. It’ll reduce the swelling.” I shifted my weight to seat myself more comfortably on the metal floor with my back against the cot. It felt good to rest my head against the mattress. I couldn’t look at her anymore. “I’m sorry.” I was unaccustomed to asking for forgiveness and had no other words.
Her free hand closed around one of mine, squeezing it twice before letting go. I took that as acceptance of my apology. Something inside me unclenched its grip around my heart. Maybe it was the last of the dark things.
Chapter 8
WHEN I woke again, the darkness of the cabin sent me into near panic before I remembered. Deep breathing helped me relax. That peace evaporated when I sensed movement in the room.
Fingers flexed, reaching to my belt for a knife that wasn’t there. I willed my body to stillness, listening, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimmed lighting. The cabin’s furnishings revealed themselves bit by bit: the double-wide mattress I lay on, my boots and two bags—mine and Kila’s—on the deck, the single table and two chairs in the center of the room, my jacket and weapons on one of them, and Kila seated in the other with that ancient book laid out before her. Her continued presence surprised me but shouldn’t have. A pirate vessel wouldn’t house many guest quarters, and from the impression I’d given Vargas, he would have bunked us together.
With my face turned to the side and half-hidden by a pillow, I watched Kila. She pored over the text, one finger tracing the lines of writing across the page and back again. The other hand held a narrow-beam penlight. She’d changed into a simple gray dress of warm woven material. It hugged her curves, accenting her breasts and trim waist. I could never have worn anything like that. With my muscular upper arms and legs, I’d look like someone carved me from stone and wrapped me in knitting.
She must have felt my stare. Her head came up, and she met my gaze, eyes sparkling with tears. Whatever the book contained, it wasn’t light reading.
“Tell me again why we’re traveling with pirates?”
I blinked twice, surprised by the directness of her question. Her words slurred, and if I squinted, I could make out the cut on her lip. The swelling didn’t seem as bad as before. That didn’t dissolve the rock of guilt in my gut over the injury and the situation. She hadn’t questioned my decisions before now. I supposed I owed her an explanation.
“I haven’t told you a first time,” I quipped, stalling.
The silence of our quarters hung like a thick curtain between us, broken only by our breathing, the rumble of the engines, and the faint whooshing of air through the vents.
“We’re on this ship because otherwise we’d be stranded. I didn’t know they were headed for Lissex.” I paused, considering. “Don’t know why they would be, either.” Vargas conducted his business in space, especially after that incident on the Grission colony. I’d kept loose tabs on him over the years. A contact like Derrick could prove useful. We’d traded information by comm on a few occasions. All of us traveling to Lissex was one hell of a coincidence. I’ve never cared for coincidences—or surprises, for that matter.
Kila closed the book, the pages falling together with a dull thud. She made some sort of intricate hand gesture over the cover before resting her palms on her thighs. I cleared my throat.
“Right. Well, I can tell you Captain Vargas always pillages a ship in the same way. He robs the passengers, disables the engines, and leaves an SOS beacon screaming on its hull. If we’d stayed on the liner, we’d be stuck for days.” A jaw-splitting yawn caught me off guard. Sitting up, I scrubbed my face with both hands, wiping the sleep from the corners of my eyes. At least my body responded to my commands with no trace of spasms or tremors. The headache remained but had dulled to a mere annoyance. No concussion, then. Thank fate for small favors.
“He doesn’t kill the crew and passengers?”
Ah yes, that violence issue. “As pirates go, he’s pretty tame. Don’t get me wrong,” I hastened to add. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, and even with my training, that wouldn’t be far.” I smiled at the image that conjured up. “But I’ve never seen him murder people indiscriminately.”
Kila’s shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t noticed how rigidly she’d been holding herself. It was like I’d pierced an air mattress.
I searched for a change of subject and gestured toward the book with a vague wave. “Is that some sort of religious text?”
It was her turn to blink. She turned to the volume, set the penlight beside it so it lit the entire table, and placed both her palms upon its weathered cover of animal hide. “It’s the Generational,” she intoned, a slight frown crossing her face, “of the Givers of Life.” As if that explained anything.
Religions didn’t interest me. Not that I discounted those of others. If believing in deities and an afterlife gave people comfort, and the idea of eternal punishment prevented others from doing harm, then I was all for them. I wouldn
’t even label myself an unbeliever. The universe functioned in far too orderly a manner to be pure happenstance. But organized religions weren’t for me.
Too many unworthy individuals profited off the charity of the faithful. Too many advocated widespread death and destruction in their names. Besides, if there were a great omniscient force in the universe guiding everything, it would have to focus on the big picture. I doubted it cared about little, insignificant me.
“Interesting belief system you have. It prohibits violence and killing?”
Kila smiled and nodded.
“But you can hire others to do your killing for you.” The sneer slipped into my tone, though I hadn’t intended it. I liked Kila, considered her a friend when I had few others. But I lacked respect for people unwilling to do my job themselves. I understood a lack of training, a physical incapacity, even squeamishness, but a moral objection? What a bunch of hypocrites.
I watched Kila’s smile falter, then fade like a light on a dimmer switch, and I hated myself for blowing the fuse. People rarely favored me with smiles, and I’d come to appreciate them from my traveling companion.
“In extreme cases, we can employ those outside the faith to commit violence on our behalf,” she said, so softly I almost missed her words.
Repeated rape must qualify as an extreme case.
The tears welling in her eyes began to fall in earnest, dripping on the book’s cover and soaking into the material. Kila sucked in a ragged breath and wiped them away with her sleeve. She sat back, continuing to cry in silence, her small frame trembling.
Give me a battle to fight, a target to track, a victim to protect. Don’t drop a sobbing nineteen-year-old girl in my lap and expect me to know what to do.
I stood and crossed to her, noting the stiffness in my limbs. Not enough exercise and too much lying down. If I was going to pull off this job, I needed to get back on some kind of workout routine. The past few months put me out of shape.
Reaching out, I let my hand hover over her, drew it back, then reached again and lay it on the soft fabric covering her shoulder. The sympathy undid her. She doubled over in heart-wrenching sobs that almost dragged tears of pity from my own eyes. What must all this have been like for her, the sexual abuse, leaving her home, searching for someone like me? Not to mention the needs my less-than-optimal physical condition placed on her, and then the pirate raid.
I shifted closer, coming alongside her chair, and drew her against me. Kila buried her face in the curve above my hip, her tears soaking through the material of my black T-shirt and marking it with darker damp splotches. I stroked her long hair in what I hoped was a soothing gesture. I’d seen it in vids, but no one had ever done it for me. Not even Micah.
“I’m sorry.” I’d said that more times in the past week than the past five years. Master assassins did not apologize. They made mistakes, but they self-corrected without admitting to them. Again, Micah’s face flooded my memory.
Given where that particular character trait led him, and now me, it was no longer a characteristic I wanted to emulate.
With Kila, the words of apology needed to be spoken and believed by the speaker, and her need dragged them from me, one awkward syllable at a time, as many times as they needed to be said.
THE NEXT two days of transit proceeded without incident. The Regiment 1 didn’t have the sleek engines of the starliner we’d left, so we’d regained the day we’d shaved off.
Few things bored me more than space travel. After all the recent excitement, I should have welcomed boredom, but within one standard rotation, I felt like climbing the walls of the tiny cabin.
While working with the Guild, I’d book passage on anything headed in the right direction. That usually meant a merchanter with no amenities beyond a lounge, some out-of-date hologames, five-year-old vids, and an inadequate gym. The pirate vessel wasn’t much better, though I could add an impressive supply of intoxicants and pleasure-enhancing drugs to the offerings. Close-knit crews on small ships that spent a lot of time in space did not aspire to monogamy. They adopted an open-hatch policy when off shift. If a hatch stood open, one took it as an invitation to share sleeping arrangements, and in a tight group like this, no one was picky.
For the most part, Kila and I ignored the extracurricular activities. We offered to pitch in wherever Vargas needed an extra pair of hands on the chore roster. I was no spacer, but I knew enough about weapons—both light and heavy—to be of some assistance in their repair efforts.
Kila lent her skills to the ship’s mess. She had a way with spices that earned her the crew’s admiration. With her skills, I’d thought she’d volunteer in the infirmary, but she avoided it, even going so far as to change the subject when I suggested working in there…. I didn’t mention it again.
We let ourselves be “inconveniently” assigned to opposite shifts, and I groused about it enough people heard. If we slept at different hours, sharing a bed became unnecessary.
We didn’t see much of Vargas, other than passing him in a corridor on his way to one section or another. While he remained courteous, I had the feeling other concerns occupied his attention. On our last night prior to arrival, however, we gathered in the mess hall for what Vargas declared to be a farewell feast for his guests.
He’d dug into the ship’s stores to put on a spread that included five different meats, fish, fowl, a number of green and starchy vegetable dishes flavored with Kila’s spice combinations, bowls of fruits from half a dozen worlds, and an endless flow of potent ales.
I hadn’t had a chance to finish a drink since I left Deluge, and since drugs no longer appealed and I continued to hurt, I needed something to take the edge off. Besides, at some point during our flight, the remaining vial of palotrin vanished from my jacket pocket, along with the infuser. I suspected Kila but said nothing. If she’d taken and disposed of them, she’d done me a favor.
Vargas placed Kila and me on either side of him at the end of the table running the length of the mess hall. Each dish was accompanied by another mug, a different brew from a different world to accent each taste. Vargas always did like his ales and prided himself on a fine collection of them. The first mate started a round of pirate ditties, some of which I knew, and I lent my alto to the tenors, basses, baritones, and a couple of sopranos around me. Derrick didn’t recruit many women. In the midst of a dozen pirates, battle talk, bawdy humor, and drinking songs, I lost track of the number of beverages I’d consumed.
I did notice Kila’s disapproving glare and shot her one of my own. She might be my employer, but even that remained unsettled. Kila certainly didn’t control my actions, and giving me public looks of reproach was taking things too far. She didn’t birth me. Likely wouldn’t matter if she had. Dear old Mother dumped me in a group home at the age of six, then died in an aircar accident three weeks later. Of course, she’d been drinking at the time. I shifted in my seat, then looked Kila straight in the eye, took a long swig from my mug, and smiled sweetly. She broke eye contact and sipped her water.
By dessert, I was thoroughly inebriated and furious with myself for it. The mess hall rocked at the edges. I heard my voice louder than it should have been, though no one else noticed. When I stood to return to our cabin, I had to brace my palms on the massive wooden table to steady my balance.
Kila caught my arm. I hadn’t seen her leave her seat. Her very touch annoyed me, and I shoved her away. No one needed to babysit me. My continued existence for so many years testified to my ability to take care of myself, albeit poorly. Her stricken expression and pout pulled at me, but I stomped those emotions down. Irritation and self-loathing tore me in opposite directions.
Vargas’s arm around my shoulders nearly sent me over the edge. He glanced from me to Kila, an amused grin on his wide face. “Looking for a different kind of company tonight, Cor? A change of pace?” His hand slid lower, under my jacket, settling on my waist. His breath in my ear smelled as ale-laden as mine but sent little trickles of pleasure down my neck
and spine.
No doubt about it. The alcohol affected my judgment. Otherwise I’d never consider Derrick as a partner. But I hadn’t had sex in almost a standard year, not since Micah broke off our relationship. Frustration ran high in assassins, higher when we experienced life-threatening situations, and I’d had several of those recently. Self-gratification never satisfied enough. Without some kind of serious relief, I’d take that stress out on the wrong person, in the wrong way.
Like I’d just done with Kila.
I shifted in Derrick’s grasp, letting my body curve against his and my breasts brush his chest. As usual, his tight-fitting wardrobe outlined everything, including his arousal, which seemed as large as the rest of him. I suppressed a shiver. This might be fun after all.
“I’m willing to experiment,” I replied, voice sultry and low. Inside I laughed. Let him think he’s my first male partner. The ego boost will shoot him through the hull.
The pirate’s grin broadened, eyebrows rising in surprise, and he turned to guide me from the hall. “Sleep well, little girl!” he called back to Kila, standing alone where I’d pushed her, staring after us. His hand cupped my ass, and I didn’t protest. My heart rate increased with the anticipation of events to follow.
I tried not to notice the disappointment in Kila’s eyes. I hated myself enough already.
Through Kila’s eyes, the ephems noticed details she missed, interpreted unusual crew orders, analyzed odd glances between this Captain Vargas and his first officer.
Before he and the assassin could abandon the feast, the pair of entities separated. One remained deep within Kila, soothing hurt feelings with strokes on her pleasure center, tiny tweaks to calm and distract. Jealousy and betrayal were powerful forces, useful in many situations but capable of great damage to their current mission.
