“Damned right she is. And if we can use this human to piss off the Nyluga without us revealing ourselves…”
Etryce laughed. “That’s an opportunity we can’t ignore.”
“Atta boy.”
The screens went blank.
“What’s wrong?” asked Etryce.
“I had to shut us down,” Oouzo replied. He sounded spooked. “Your sisters and the human are about to get a visitor. You know the protocol. We can’t risk our feeds being detected.”
“Who is it?”
The Slern didn’t say anything. Oouzo just retracted his eyes into his oozing body.
“Oh, no!” cried Roogyin, figuring out who it must be. “It’s Maycey.”
* * * * *
Chapter 20: Vetch Arunsen
“Has this pair of fur turds displeased you, Arunsen?” Metal-sheathed claws extended from one of the Kayrissan’s hands. “Let their deaths be a warning to others who would defy Nyluga-Ree.”
Vetch shook his head. “No, we’re good.” He nodded at the two women who were regarding Maycey with eyes wild with fear. “I just wanted someone intelligent to talk with. And these two wanted to interrogate me. Didn’t you, ladies?”
Two pairs of wild eyes traversed in his direction.
“Whoa, there!” He pushed out his palms. “Everything’s fine. No problems here.”
Maycey gestured with her hand, and the two Ellondytes shot to their feet and stood at attention.
“You were talking?” She licked her nose and closely sniffed the necks of the two women. “Is that all human males are good for?”
Sniffing was creepy, but Vetch decided it was better than her cutting their necks with her wicked claws.
While Maycey busied herself with her creepiness, Vetch speculated about the contents of the bag over her shoulder. It looked like the go bags his squad in the Militia always had close at hand in case they received fast deployment orders.
Ree had said something about his helping with a job.
Suddenly, Maycey was a blur of motion. Vetch instinctively tensed, expecting fangs and claws and fists to be flying.
But the cat woman stopped in front of him, and her stance was…
She’d crossed her legs in front of her and arched her back. Everywhere he looked, she was all curves. This was no combat stance.
“I asked you a question,” she purred.
“Did you? I forgot. I was distracted.”
She licked her lips. “I asked you whether human males were good for anything other than talking.”
“We are. But it would take more than you’ve got to learn what that is, cat lady.”
She hissed at him. Then she directed her ire at the two Ellondytes and kicked them out of the cell.
They weren’t hurt, though, and the laughter with which Vetch greeted the sight came from deep in his belly.
“Am I supposed to take you seriously?” he asked the indignant Kayrissan. “I throw you a little shade, and you can’t take it? I thought you were supposed to be the deadliest assassins in the galaxy.”
“The one has nothing to do with the other, human. My sister and I make deadly foes, but that is not the main reason we are feared.” She threw the kitbag at his feet. “Many species have deep psychological barriers against killing other sentients. Most can’t bring themselves to do so, and those who do often suffer psychological scarring. My people evolved another way. We kill for pleasure. It’s better than sex. Usually. Although for the most enjoyable experience, we like to combine the two.”
“You are one sick freak.”
“For now, be grateful the Nyluga’s favor protects you.” She looked at the open doorway the Ellondytes had hurried through. The soiled Xhiunerite jailer lurked on the far side. “The deaths of other servants would hold lesser repercussions for me. If you push me, it won’t be you I kill next, Arunsen.”
Psychotic freak. To distract her, he pointed at the bag. “What’s this?”
“Clothing. Put it on. We’re going on a job. If you displease me, I shall devise a scenario that combines you, the Ellondyte bitches you are too squeamish to touch, and their prolonged deaths.”
“Skragging turd mound,” he hissed through his teeth.
“What was that?”
“I said, can you turn around?” He shrugged. “My species likes its modesty.”
“Stop fucking around, Arunsen. No one expects privacy in this place. Even the Nyluga is under constant watch.”
Vetch pondered the meaning of that statement as Maycey watched him strip and don the stretchy suit from the bag.
It was like a rubber wetsuit, but it was smooth to the touch and extremely figure-hugging around the butt and crotch. Through some perverse magic, it also seemed to double the size of his belly. But once he was fully enclosed and looked down on himself, his frame seemed weirdly without contours. It was as if the light had been sucked away, leaving a void in place of his body. The edges of his suit were hard to pin down.
He thought of Lily and her morphing tattoo. The last time he’d seen her, it had taken the form of razzle camouflage, a far more primitive form of stealth tech than his outfit.
He hoped she was okay.
“Stealth suit,” the cat woman explained, as if she assumed Vetch couldn’t figure that out for himself. “We’re going on an equipment acquisition trip. Asset reallocation, if you prefer. Call it what you like, but you’re going to help me steal a jewel.”
* * * * *
Chapter 21: Vetch Arunsen
Pleigei Orbital Space
The cat woman sprayed the paint can over the opening she’d cut through the ship’s hull. On the other side was the temporary airlock that connected via flex-tube to their little bubble ship.
The assassin sisters had used the same method to kidnap Vetch from Ghost Shark’s hold. There was so much déjà vu weirdness swirling around this place that Vetch would have been tugging his beard if said beard wasn’t stuffed inside his stealth suit.
Since enlisting with the Militia, Vetch had spent many hours zipped inside pressure suits and battle armor. Normally, his sense of smell would be knocked out by his own stink. Not with the stealth suit’s enhancements. If anything, he could smell the area around him with extra clarity.
His nose detected the faint smell of paint, but his eyes told him another story. The aerosol Maycey was spraying adjusted its pigmentation and sheen to match the surrounding area, so it would appear as it had before they’d cut through.
Before she had cut through.
There was no them. It wasn’t as if he was on her team in any way.
Satisfied she’d deposited an even coat, she placed the chameleon paint can on the deck and powered the prongs of her power lance. She’d shortened the telescopic shaft, so it was more accurate to call it a power stick at the moment.
With what looked like a blue welding arc scoring the air between the tips, she waved it over the can. Within moments, it had disintegrated. There was no odor. Not even ash.
“Nice toasting fork,” Vetch admitted, grudgingly.
“I know.” She regarded him through the green sensor visor that was the only accompaniment to her head-to-tail stretchy black suit. The green band gave him unpleasant flashbacks to the Re-Education Division sadists on Eiylah-Bremah, but it wasn’t a weakness he felt any desire to share.
“Are your instructions clear?” she asked him.
“Check your exit route is clear. Be your meat spycam.”
“I would have preferred a real spycam, Arunsen. Neither of us wants you to be here. Try not to screw things up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He watched her silently pad through the hold. At about ten meters, the stealth tech really came into play and watching her became difficult. He had a sense of slinky movement, but it was indistinct. Crazily, the power lance was still clear as day, bobbing its way to the hatch into the ship.
Heart pounding, he pressed his palm against the bulge over his chest that Maycey hadn’t appeared to
have noticed. He was supposed to be unarmed, but while his keeper had been cutting their route in, he’d found and lifted a needler pistol hidden underneath the flight console of their bubble ship.
In Human Standard, the ship was called Annihilation. A big name for such a tiny craft. But it fit the sisters who had hefty opinions of themselves.
“You’re weak, Arunsen,” he chided himself.
This wasn’t the moment to ponder the merits of ship names.
He should be unfastening his suit, bringing out the gun, and shooting the killer in the back while his eyes could still make out her form.
But that didn’t feel right.
He had to feel heat to kill someone. Lily was right. As always. Cold killing didn’t suit him. Logic and calculation weren’t enough to make him squeeze the trigger.
He feared it was a hesitation that would get his friends killed one day.
If Maycey had been a Slern, would he have shot her? If she smelled like boiled cabbage and slid along a slime trail squeezed out of a body that looked like a slug ball rather than a divine goddess, would that have made a difference?
He told himself it would not, and he was almost convinced.
Meanwhile, out in the real world, Maycey had disappeared.
He wasn’t certain whether she’d left the hold or was still in there with him, playing mind games. He didn’t know because he’d been too busy worrying about why he hadn’t killed her to watch what she was doing.
I so need to get some woman action. Human to human.
He decided to assume she’d left to do whatever she was here to do and that he was alone.
Alone.
With a hold full of cargo.
Might be valuable, some of it.
Old habits die hard. Especially the criminal ones. He wasn’t planning on thieving. Not exactly. But the urge to check out the cargo was strong.
The first row of storage racks held standard equipment boxes. Mostly finished in the same olive green, locked down securely, and stenciled with Boitan in Human Standard letters below a word in Zhoogene. He guessed that was the name of the ship he’d boarded, but the equipment could have been stolen, bought, or salvaged.
Likely these were reserve stores of something uninteresting, such as disinfecting cleaner concentrate.
The other three racks were a little more promising—a mismatched variety of flight cases, zipped holdalls, and rucks. Probably personal storage for the Boitan’s crew, assuming that’s what this tub was called. Maybe it carried passengers? Upon approach, he’d judged it to be a freighter, but cargo haulers often had a few staterooms for paying passengers. All she’d told him was that the target had matched orbit with Ardabol Station while it waited to be given a flight path for one of the orbital’s slips. That the ship was where she needed it to be.
“Comm check,” purred a silk and sugar voice into his earpiece.
“I read you, Maycey.”
“I expect you’re wondering whether to run or, perhaps, you’re considering calling the authorities.”
“Aren’t you worried I will?”
“I hope you do. It would give me the slight pleasure of chasing you down. You wouldn’t get far, human.”
“Stop trying to play mind games and concentrate on your task, Kayrissan.”
He killed the connection by pressing the stud on the base of his visor.
Truth was, she was screwing with his mind, and it was working. He couldn’t tell which idea was his and which had been planted by her.
He studied the area of bulkhead that had been cut through and then healed with chameleon paint. He could only tell it was there because he’d memorized its location. In theory, all he had to do was press his hand on the center of the hidden hatch. It would open for him, and then he could crawl through to the empty Annihilation and fly away.
It was all too easy. It had to be a trap. Or a test.
Lily would know what to do. Vetch had confidence in his ability to organize his squad and hit things with his war hammer. Mind games were not his department.
Actually, he realized, Lily could help. She’d told him once that when the situation was total skragg-up confusion, the best strategy to follow was the simplest one.
Usually.
Even if it wasn’t, it made sense to commit to a plan that might work. Better that than sit on your haunches trying to understand the incomprehensible, which surely would not get you out of the shit you found yourself in.
Thanks, Lil’.
Maycey kidnapped him. So, he should run from her.
Simple.
Vetch pressed his hand against the hidden portal. It slid away, revealing the inflatable airlock and the flexible tube that led to the little bubble ship with the big name. Annihilation waited for him against the backdrop of the stars.
He pushed through and into the ship. Once he was strapped into the pilot’s seat, he reversed the sequence of controls he’d memorized as Maycey had run through them when they’d clamped on.
Nothing happened.
Damn!
The flight console holo-disk woke up. It showed an exterior view from Maycey’s perspective. She seemed to be searching for something inside a secure locker.
“You abandoned me,” she said. “It’s a deep emotional wound. Gonna take a long while to heal.”
“Good. I’m not your friend.”
“So you keep telling me. I wonder why you feel the need to do that.” She sighed, extending the exhalation far longer than a human would. “Less fun for me, I know, but the best thing for you to do is stick by my side and make Nyluga-Ree happy. Best for you. Best also for Zan Fey and her ridiculous human pet, Fitzwilliam.”
“Are you kidding? Nyluga-Ree is threatening to mount my stuffed head on her bedroom wall.”
“And your point is?”
While she talked, Maycey had been breaking open boxes. She lifted a gleaming object to her eye and purred. It was a cut sapphire as big as his fist. “Quantum decryption crystal,” she whispered at the object. “If your previous owner had valued you, they would have kept you safer. You’re mine now. I won’t let you go so easily.”
Owner!
Vetch activated the controls. All of them at random. There were scores of buttons, switches, and throttles. He was as likely to launch a missile or eject, but he wasn’t going to sit there and be insulted. And no one was his owner.
“You need to put the ship on manual,” said Maycey. “It’s the green button beneath the right side of the yoke.”
Vetch pressed the button, and the main screen dominating the console came online. A tactical map appeared and was immediately covered by a deluge of scrolling text.
The only problem: it was all written in a script he didn’t recognize.
On the holo-comm, Maycey was trotting back to him. He could see through her eyes the name of the ship stenciled on the bulkhead. As he’d guessed, it was the Boitan.
He could almost imagine Lily telling him, “See, the simplest explanation was the right one. So, get the fuck out of there.”
What was wrong with him? He didn’t want to abandon Maycey. It was stupid, he knew. She wasn’t his comrade. She was the enemy. She just happened to be about the only person who’d talk with him, which made him a sad scump who needed to get back to his real friends and spend more time in bars.
Once again, he tried reversing the actions Maycey had taken coming in. He made several missteps but was soon rewarded with a hiss as the airlock detached, leaving behind a plug to seal the breach in the hull.
He felt a faint kick in his side as a maneuvering thruster eased the boat away from the Boitan.
Flying space vehicles wasn’t something he’d tried before, but he had a throttle and a yoke. He could figure out the rest as he went along. How hard could it be?
“Arunsen,” cried Maycey. “You’re being very bad.”
“Goodbye, Maycey. Stay safe, I think.”
“It shall be my pleasure to chase you.”
Crazy Kayriss
an. She seemed delighted by the prospect. But Vetch was nobody’s prey.
* * * * *
Chapter 22: Vetch Arunsen
Annihilation, Pleigei Orbital Space
Vetch preferred to think it was more intelligence and perseverance than blind luck that had gotten him away from Boitan and out beyond the orbital traffic zone around Ardabol Station.
He’d just begun to ponder the question of what the hell he should do next when the main screen pinged an alarm and started flashing.
The warning text in alien script only heightened the sense that he had once again stuck his big boots into something he didn’t understand.
A control box popped up on the screen. He didn’t recognize the words, but it looked like an option to accept or decline.
He thumbed what he thought was the accept button.
The response was a click from overhead. Then a voice came via speakers. It was speaking rapid-fire Zhoogene Standard. More importantly, it sounded extremely annoyed.
“My language is poor,” he replied in the butchered version of Zhoogene he’d learned in the Militia. “Please speak Human Standard.”
“Unidentified vessel, this is the Pleigei Orbital Transport Police. Power down!”
He needed to stall while he figured this out. Fitzwilliam lied so easily, but Vetch didn’t know where to begin. “I don’t know how to work this ship,” he admitted to the space cops.
“No games. Power down immediately!”
“Whoooah!”
A ship flew past just tens of meters away. It was an FVA-7 “Spikeball” aerospace fighter, wearing police colors. Its many force keels were painted alternating red and white. The quad cannons in its nose were done up to look like bolts of hellfire.
The Legion-surplus police cutter came across his bow—if that was the correct term for a ball-shaped ship smaller than some of the isolation cells he’d enjoyed over the years. It weaved around in front of his path, the faint fizz and crackle in its wake announcing that it was protected by an aft force shield with a patchy maintenance record.
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