by Robert McKay
Contents
Copyright
Title Page
Free Book
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
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Copyright © 2016 Robert McKay
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Beauty and the Fleet
(Intergalactic Fairy Tales)
Robert McKay
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CHAPTER ONE
"Beatrix," a male voice called from downstairs, "your supper is getting cold. Get your nose out of that book and come down here and eat."
"I'll be right down, Papa!" Beatrix called, for what was probably the fourth time. How could she help it? She'd just gotten to the part where the monster was going to kill the twits who had summoned it, despite all the dire warnings they were given. Served them right.
"If you don't put that book down right now and eat, I'll be sure to tell George how much you're looking forward to seeing him this weekend."
That was just playing dirty. "Fine!" She read a couple more pages anyway, hoping it was still an idle threat. The possibility that it wasn't convinced her to close the book, even as the monster tore into the popular girl who had decided a creepy cabin in the woods was the best place ever to lose her virginity. Horror stories were her guilty pleasure. They were just such campy fun. All the unnecessary gore and violence put a smile on her face. Unlike that dolt George Womack that everybody was so keen to see her married off to. She was only fifteen, and in no hurry to be an adult.
She ran a comb through her unruly brown curls and sighed. Papa would give her a talking to about her grooming. He'd tell her that the only man she'd ever catch looking the way she did was a pig farmer, and that he wouldn't know whether to marry her or put her in the pen with the pigs. Well, she'd rather be a pig farmer's wife than a trophy for some career soldier like George Womack. All he and the rest of his ilk could talk about were how many Colarians they'd bagged. It was pointless. The war had been raging on for a decade and she wasn't even sure who started it. All of her teachers said it was the Colarians, but she was sure their teachers said it was the Nedrans.
A shout rang out from downstairs and she shook her head. "Papa, are you alright? Did you burn yourself with that holey oven mitt again? I told you to toss it out," she chastised as she made her way down the stairs. "When will you ever learn to listen to me?"
Beatrix stepped out of the stairway and locked eyes with her father, not understanding the look she saw there. "Bumble Bea," he said weakly.
"Papa, I outgrew that silly name years ago. Let me see the burn, so I know whether I need to get the salve, or just some ice for you."
A lone tear trailed down his face and his eyes flickered with panic. "Run!" he wheezed and then fell face first onto the kitchen table, a wicked blade sticking out of his back. She ran to him, ignoring his advice, and caught sight of the open door to the back yard. A hulking figure was pushing its way through the too-small door frame. The pictures in her textbooks didn't do their size justice. She'd never seen a Colarian in the flesh. They were monstrous. But a Colarian couldn't be there. They had never attacked rural areas before. They hit cities, where they could inflict the most damage. Beatrix shook her head. It didn't matter why they were there, only that they were trying to kill them. Her father's voice echoed in her ears, telling her to run fast and far away, but she couldn't leave him there to die.
The creature was most of the way through the doorway, its massive four-fingered hand groping for purchase to pull the rest of its bulk inside. She couldn't let that happen. If Papa was going to live, it was up to her to save him. She grabbed a large knife from the counter that Papa had been using to chop potatoes. The smell of potato and leek soup still filled the kitchen. He'd made it because it was her favorite. It was the only meal she could remember her mother making when she was a child.
Her grip on the knife tightened and she climbed onto the counter next to the door, just out of reach of the Colarian, and waited. Finally, the Colarian beast was able to crouch low enough to push its head inside the door and Beatrix made her move. She stepped forward and slashed wildly at its head. She saw the beast clearly for that few seconds; its sleek, black, fur-covered face contorted in pain as the patch of black flesh above its left eye fell on their kitchen floor. She knew the Colarians weren't really a single organism. Her biology class had taught her about the symbiotic relationship they had with the black sinewy creatures that covered a large part of their bodies. In science class it made perfect sense. And yet, none of that knowledge had prepared her for the frightened confusion in the beast's yellow, vertically-slitted eye. It caught her so off guard that she forgot to strike again and take the advantage she had won herself. The beast recovered before she did and swung its meaty fist at her middle, knocking her halfway across the room. The only world she knew faded to black.
CHAPTER TWO
"When I came to, the Colarian was gone, and so was the blade in my father's back. He was dead. I guess the beast thought I was too. I was close enough to it, anyway. Broke most of my ribs and punctured a lung."
"You seem to have recovered well enough," said the recruiter, looking her over from head to toe.
There was nothing predatory in his gaze. She'd seen plenty enough of that to know. He was sizing her up for the job, which at least meant he was thinking about it. "Yes, Sergeant, it took quite a while, but my aunt and uncle nursed me back to health. A full recovery and then some, as my doctor is fond of saying."
"So, Lynn, your family is fine with you rushing off to join the Crown Fleet the day after your eighteenth birthday?" His eyes were hard and unreadable, and his light, inquisitive tone didn't fit with the question he'd asked.
"They understand," said Beatrix, deciding a short, vague answer was best.
"Bullshit," he said.
It was so calm and neutral that she wasn't sure she heard him correctly. "I'm sorry, Sergeant?"
"Almost everything you've said since you came through that door has been a lie. A pretty convincing lie, but I grew up on a farm and I can smell the smallest hint of bull
shit from a mile away." He crossed his arms, a smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. Beatrix stammered, trying to find the words to deny everything he'd said. "Don't you keep on lying to me. I've tolerated it this far because I like the fire and determination I see in your eyes. Now, you convince me not to have you locked up by answering a few questions honestly. Understood?"
"Yes, Sergeant." She sat up a bit straighter, already mentally calculating her odds of getting out of the room before the Sergeant could grab her. Falsifying documents to enter the Crown Fleet was probably dangerously close to treason. The Crown Fleet was her most direct route for revenge on the Colarians, but not her only one. Of course, leaving as a fugitive would complicate things, but she'd figure it out.
"First, what is your real name?" he asked, coming to sit on the front corner of his desk, well within snatching distance.
"Beatrix." Her heart pounded in her chest. "Beatrix Dumont. Lynn is my middle name."
"I believe that, so we're off to a good start." His eyes didn't reflect any good humor. Beatrix wondered if a punch to his groin would buy her enough time to run. "Now for my next question. Was that story about your father true?"
She'd already told the story, and yet, the question was too personal. She felt vulnerable, having been caught in her lies, and this man was making her dance like a puppet for who knew what purpose. Her mouth spit out her answer without consulting her brain. "Every fucking word."
"Good," he said simply.
"Good?" asked Beatrix, shooting to her feet, her face turning a deep shade of red. "What part of it is good? The part where I watched my father die, or the part where I was nearly killed because I was too damn weak to do anything to stop that monster?" As she spoke, she balled up her fists and leaned into the sergeant's face. He didn't so much as bat an eye. His lack of reaction only angered her further. She bit back the urge to take a swing at his smug face, which was still locked into that half-smile.
"No, it's good that you're here trying to get revenge on the Colarian that killed your father and not part of some anti-military group trying to spy on us from the inside, or worse."
His answer caught Beatrix by surprise and her anger evaporated as quickly as it had boiled to the surface. She suddenly realized how bad it looked, her being there with fake documents. It was definitely treason, and there would be no escaping the death penalty without a kind word from the man she had just about punched in the face. She slumped back into her chair, defeated. The steps outside the door behind her meant he had signaled for backup already. There would be no escaping.
"Now, for my final question. How old are you, really?"
Beatrix was so focused on what life would be like in prison, she'd forgotten the reason she'd forged the documents in the first place. What difference did it matter how old she was at this point? "I turned seventeen yesterday."
The sergeant nodded and stood. He went back and sat at his desk, once again looking her over. Now that he'd said he grew up on a farm, she recognized the look. It was the same way her father had looked at livestock before he bought it. "You'll make a fine soldier in a year," said the sergeant.
Beatrix slumped in her seat. He was going to make her wait. She should be happy not to be hauled off in cuffs, but she wasn't. "Fine, I guess I'll see you in a year," she said, rising slowly.
"Come in," said the sergeant, gesturing to a hulking man outside the door. "You just wait right there," he said to Beatrix.
A jolt of fear shot up her spine. Maybe she'd misread him and he was going to have her arrested after all. The man in the doorway looked like the type you'd use to haul someone away to jail, all rigid posture and taut muscles.
"I have the file you asked for," said the soldier, raising a manila folder.
"Thank you," said the sergeant. He took the folder and began flipping through it without looking up. "You're dismissed."
The soldier saluted and tromped back out the door. Beatrix watched the sergeant uncertainly, her muscles tense. She wished she was standing so at least there was a small chance she could run. She could go to the next recruitment center and take her chances that the recruiter there wouldn't be as sharp. She wasn't about to wait a year to get started on her revenge. The year and a half in the hospital and orphanage, fighting through her physical therapy, had been almost more than she could bear.
The sergeant continued to flip through the file he'd been given, his features completely unreadable. He didn't acknowledge Beatrix's presence until he dropped it on his desk several minutes later. "Well, it appears you answered my questions honestly, and as I suspected you are actually a ward of the Crown because you had no other family."
Beatrix's face scrunched up, trying to understand what he'd said. Obviously the sergeant had looked into her before their meeting and the file on his desk held some information about her. What didn't make sense was his use of the word had. "What do you mean by 'had no family'?" she asked.
"Now you have the entire Crown Fleet as your brothers and sisters-in-arms. Welcome home, Airman Dumont." The sergeant smiled, obviously pleased with Beatrix's confusion.
"But, I'm only seventeen..." she started.
"And a ward of the Crown, which means that you are able to serve in the Fleet at the age of seventeen, at the discretion of a recruitment officer," said Sergeant Laughlin, sporting that smug smile again.
"But you said that in a year—"
"That you would make a fine soldier. That sort of thing doesn't happen overnight. Right now you'll make a piss-poor soldier, just like every other recruit."
Beatrix sat there quietly, sorting through everything he'd said. Part of her still expected the musclebound soldier to stomp back in and escort her to a cell. "So, I'm really in?" she asked timidly.
"After you sign a veritable mountain of paperwork, yes. You will officially be a member of the Crown Fleet with all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities that accompany the title of Airman Basic," said the sergeant.
"So, what do I do now?" asked Beatrix. She was completely unprepared for success. All of her research and planning had been focused on getting into the Fleet while underage. She had no idea what came next.
"Now you go home, gather up a bag of your possessions, and report to the duty officer at this address." He pointed to an address handwritten on a manila folder. It was almost an inch thick with loose papers. He shoved it across the desk to her. "Make sure all those forms are filled out with accurate information and signed everywhere they're marked with an X."
"Shit," said Beatrix, hefting the folder. "You weren't kidding about the paperwork."
"The Crown Fleet never kids about its paperwork," he said, letting out a sigh.
CHAPTER THREE
"I heard she shot a captain down in a simulator in under five minutes," someone whispered.
"Luck," another retorted.
"Three times in a row," chimed another, not bothering to lower their voice.
"Bullshit."
"No, it's true, I was there," said another, awe, and a touch of jealousy in their voice.
Beatrix walked by their table and they all clammed up, casting furtive glances at the stripes on her arm indicating the rank of lieutenant. She knew she should put them in their place for gossiping, at least that's what her officer training class had said last week. It still felt awkward when they were older and outranked her three weeks ago.
"I bet she put the captain down alright. Right down her throat," barked the youngest one at the table. He was an airman first class and probably about twenty years old, still two full years older than she was. None of that mattered anymore though. All that mattered was his rank—lower than hers—and she was pissed the hell off.
"Airman," she shouted, slapping her tray down on the mess hall table with a bang. "On your feet!"
About half the people in the mess were airmen and a good portion of them shot to their feet immediately on reflex. All four of the guys at the gossiping table snapped to attention. Every eye in the room was on her an
d she immediately regretted losing control of her temper, but she would never live it down if she backed off now. She stomped over to their table and did her best to stare them down, despite her nerves. "Would any of you assholes care to repeat what you just said about an officer of the Crown Fleet who, may I remind you, has the power to have you tossed in the brig for conduct unbecoming?" She'd just learned about it that very morning. She still wasn't sure what constituted the offense, but it sounded right.
"No, Lieutenant," they replied in unison, their voices loud and barking as they'd been taught in basic training. The other people in the room had taken their seats again, and a few had returned to their meals, though most eyes were still glued to their drama.
"Oh, come on now," Beatrix growled. "None of you want to talk about my sexual prowess to my face?"
"No, Lieutenant," they replied, not quite so in sync that time. Their discomfort was obvious. Good.
"Well, let me set the record straight. I've been told on more than a few occasions that I'm damn good, but it was never by any soldier in this Fleet." Her voice was loud and resonant, carrying all the way across the mess. She'd never been with anyone, but broadcasting that fact would just get her a different terrible reputation. "Anyone care to argue that fact?"
"No, Lieutenant!"
"Now that we have my private sexual matters dealt with, let's move on to something that is actually anyone's business besides mine, my flying ability. I was accepted into the flight program after shooting down a MAJOR in the sim, FIVE times in a row, and he said I was 'fucking amazing' and 'the most natural talent' he'd ever seen in his twenty year career in the Crown Fleet. When he asked how I got so good I told him the truth. 'I eat, sleep, and breathe the flight sim because I want to make sure that I take out at least a hundred of those Colarian sons-of-bitches for every year I won't spend with the father they murdered in his own home.'" Her face was beat red by the time she finished her tirade, both with anger and embarrassment. "Is all that clear, airmen?"