by Ashley West
It was a familiar scene in the house with four kids and not enough time to make sure all of them were always watched. They were doing the best they could, but sometimes that didn’t seem to be enough.
With the firmness in her voice that she’d mastered after the third child had been born, Amelia went through the house soothing her children and getting them all to sit down at the kitchen table together. Kirsten and Emily barely looked at each other, and Keith seemed to be fed up with both of them, but at least it was quiet.
“Lynn!” Amelia shouted up the stairs to her eldest daughter. “Come down here, please!”
“I’m busy!” came the reply, and she closed her eyes and tried not to get angry. She had been a teenager once, and she was sure she had been much the same towards her parents and siblings back then, but as a parent herself now, it was annoying to have your daughter suddenly think you were the enemy.
“Lynnette, I’m not going to ask you again!” Amelia said. There was a muffled thump and then the sound of a door opening and sullen footsteps stomping down the stairs. Good enough.
Her oldest daughter came into view, phone in hand and irritated scowl on her face. She dropped into a chair and folded her arms, giving her mother a look that clearly said ‘well?’.
Amelia smiled at her thinly. “Your father and I are going out tonight, as you know. We shouldn’t be out long, just dinner and possibly a movie. We both have our phones on us, and if there’s an emergency, I want you to call us. Now, let’s talk about what does and doesn’t constitute an emergency.”
A round of groans went up from the table, and Lynn scoffed. “We know what an emergency is, Mom.”
“Do you? Because the last time we went out, we got no less than seven calls from the kids about them picking on each other.”
“Wasn’t me,” Lynn pointed out.
“You didn’t stop them,” her mother countered. “From calling or from picking on each other.” When Lynn just shrugged and looked away, Amelia sighed. “Listen to me, all of you. You’re family, alright? That’s supposed to mean something. You’re supposed to look out for each other and not spend all your time arguing and trying to avoid each other. There may come a time when all you have is each other.”
Her words were met by blank looks, and Lynn arched an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with tonight?”
“Nothing,” Amelia replied, sighing again. “Phone is for emergencies. Yes, you can order something for dinner, but from one place. Either pick pizza or Chinese, and get something for everyone. I don’t want to come home to find out you didn’t feed Kirstie. Again.”
“She didn’t want to eat anything!” Emily insisted.
“You didn’t ask me!” Kirstie cried.
Amelia massaged her temples and considered just staying in for the night. It would probably be easier.
Life, when you were the youngest of four, was never very fun. This was something Kirsten Biddle was learning the hard way. She had vague memories of being little and being bullied by her older sisters and basically ignored or babied in turns by her brother, but things hadn’t changed all that much as they got older.
If anything, it had gotten worse. When they were all children (with the exception of Lynn because she'd always seemed like she was an adult when they were kids), it had been just teasing and roughhousing, sometimes the occasional physical violence in the form of shoving or throwing stuffed animals at each other. But now it was actually mean spirited. Or it seemed to be, anyway.
"Shut up, Kirsten," her sister Emily snapped, standing in the kitchen doorway with her hands on her hips. She was all of fourteen now, and thought that made her better than Kirstie's twelve. With Lynn off at college, Emily seemed to think she was the queen of the house, and for the most part no one corrected her.
"I have to practice," Kirstie said, looking sullen. "The spelling bee is in two days."
"No one cares about your stupid nerd bee," Emily said. "I'm trying to watch TV."
"You're not supposed to be watching TV anyway," Kirstie pointed out. "Mom said-"
"Oh my god, you little snitch. Mom's not even here, and you'd better not tell her when she gets home, either. I'll make you regret it if you do. Now shut up, I'm watching this." She stomped off, leaving Kirstie sitting at the table with her hands clenched into fists.
It wasn't fair. She didn't bother anyone. All she did was sit there in her room or at the table and try to do her work or read or mind her own business and Emily always bullied her. When she told Keith or their parents about it, all she got back was 'you need to stop letting her get to you'. And that was easier said than done. Emily had one of those personalities that made her almost impossible to ignore. And she was loud.
Kirstie sniffed, trying not to cry as she looked back down at her sheet of words. She wanted to win the spelling bee. There was a fantasy in her head of her whole family coming to see her compete, even Lynn, though she was two hours away at college. They'd sit in the audience all together and watch as she spelled word after word correctly until she was the last one remaining. They'd put a medal around her neck and announce her the winner, and her family would stand up and cheer for her, so proud.
Afterwards they'd go out to dinner, and they'd ask her where she wanted to go for a change, and no one would call her stupid or annoying the whole night.
Determination filled her every time she thought about it, and it firmed her resolve. Kirstie took a deep breath and picked the next word.
"Diagnosis. D-I-A-G-N-O-S-I-S. Diagnosis."
And the next one.
"Disposition. D-I-S-S-P-O-S-I-T-I-O-N. Disposition."
She peeked at the list and made a face when she saw she'd spelled that one wrong. Only one S before the P. She had to remember that.
Kirstie kept going, keeping her voice down so Emily wouldn't come back in and yell at her some more, until she heard the sound of their dad's car in the garage. The TV was snapped off quickly, and Kirstie could hear Emily scrambling to make it seem like she'd been doing her homework the whole time.
"Hey, kiddo," their dad said as he came into the kitchen from the garage, stretching and hanging his keys up on the hook by the door.
"Hi, Dad," Kirstie replied.
"What're you up to? Homework?"
"Practicing for the spelling bee," she said. "It's in two days."
"Right, right. I remember when I was in the spelling bee at school. I'm terrible at spelling, so it didn't go well. I'm sure you'll do a lot better than I did."
Kirstie smiled at him. "You're still coming, right?"
He nodded. "Of course. What time does it start again? Eight? Seven? No, it's at eight, right?"
"Six-thirty, Dad!"
"Six-thirty." He nodded again. "Okay. We'll be there, kiddo, don't worry."
She couldn't help but worry. Her family never made it anywhere on time, even now that they didn't have to worry about Lynn hogging the bathroom and spending hours on her hair and makeup at the last minute. They were always the ones who showed up late for the school plays and the awards assemblies, causing a scene as they tried to find seats somewhere in the back and had to scoot past the people who had been there on time.
It was embarrassing enough when she had to be with them for that, but if they did it on the night of the spelling bee, Kirstie was pretty sure she was going to die.
"Here," her dad was saying, coming around the table to pick up her list of words. "Let me give you one. Spell...inaugural."
That was one of the hard ones. Kirstie took a breath and then let it out. It helped that she could somewhat picture the word on the page, the black inked letters against the white background, and she closed her eyes and held the image there as she gave it a try. "Inaugural," she said. "I-N-A-U-G-U-R-A-L. Inaugural."
When she looked up, her dad was grinning at her. "That's right," he said. "You're going to be amazing. My little girl, a spelling bee champ."
He ruffled her hair and handed the paper back before he moved to leave the kitchen,
and Kirstie couldn't help the feeling of warmth that spread through her body. She loved it when she got praised for something.
She worked hard at school, trying to make her parents proud, to make them notice her and her grades and her achievements. She wasn't Keith, who was a whiz with machines, and she wasn't Lynn who was naturally good with people when she wanted to be. No one knew what Emily's thing was going to be, yet, but she had the ability to make people shut up and pay attention to her whenever she wanted.
Kirstie figured she could be the smart one. The one who won the awards and medals for her academic accomplishments. The spelling bee would just be another step on that path.
The medal was cold through her shirt as it was put around her neck. Mrs. Flatterly, the teacher who was hosting the spelling bee lifted her arm and announced her name. She'd done it. She'd won. Preston Green stood off to the side, looking dejected, knocked out of the top two by Kirstie on the word 'tariff'. Nerves had gotten the better of him, and he'd forgotten the other F.
Kirstie looked out into the crowd now that she was closer to the edge of the stage. It had been impossible to pick out her family from where she'd been standing before, the lights blinding her every time she'd glanced towards the chairs that had been set up in the gym for the audience to sit in.
But now she could see all the way to the back of the gym, and her eyes darted around as Mrs. Flatterly talked, looking for her family. Keith shouldn't have been hard to spot. He was over six feet tall now and stuck out like a sore thumb everywhere.
There. She spotted his curly mop of hair in the back, arms folded as he leaned against the wall. Next to him was their dad. Neither of her sisters or her mother were anywhere to be found.
Her heart sank, even as everyone in the gym clapped for her.
At the end, she climbed down the stairs, trying not to look miserable. She pushed her way through the throngs of families, smiling when people congratulated her, until she made her way to her own family.
"You did so well!" her dad said immediately, scooping her up in a hug. "I'm so proud of you."
"Yeah," echoed Keith. "Great job, squirt. You showed those seventh graders how to spell."
"Thanks," Kirstie said softly. "Where's everybody else?"
Keith and their dad exchanged looks. "Well, Lynn couldn't come down. She has an exam in the morning," her dad said. "And Emily wasn't feeling well, so your mom stayed home with her."
"Oh."
Not feeling well. Kirstie knew that trick. Emily often faked terrible stomachaches to get out of doing school work or going to things she didn't want to go to.
"We've got to stop at the pharmacy to pick up some Pepto for her, but then dinner? We can swing by McDonald's if you want, Kirstie."
She swallowed hard and shook her head. "That's okay. We don't have to."
She trailed after them as they left the gym and was quiet the whole way home.
Not that anyone seemed to notice.
Chapter One: Perks
There were good and bad things about being a merc in this day and age. It was the way of the future, everyone seemed to think so, cheaper than hiring a whole army, cheaper even than raising a whole army sometimes, and safer than going for the Peacemen if you knew what you were doing.
You had to have an ear to the ground for this kinda stuff. Some mercs would slit your throat and take your money without lifting a finger to help. Some would do the bare minimum job required to collect payment and leave an employer to deal with the fallout from their negligence. Some would say they were all that and nebula dust, and then turn around and get you killed by being dumber than a box of mine rocks. It was just the nature of the business. There was always someone trying to get more money for less work, or worse, more money for no work, and it made the rest of them look bad.
But The Kilan were sort of above that. Their reputation spoke for itself and anyone who had anything bad to say about mercenaries in general would often pause and shake their heads "except for The Kilan, of course" on their lips in various languages and accents.
They were known throughout the galaxy for getting things done and getting them done well, and they had the favor of people from street thugs to stars blessed nobility.
That made it so that when Kratos walked into a cantina, any cantina, he was immediately met with a chorus of greetings and then pushed along to the bar where he always drank for free. His credits hadn't gone on a drink since he was new at this, and he always grinned at whoever bought him a round. It was good to be somebody important.
Mostly because he really liked cantinas.
And this one was no different. Skippy's sat in a dark corner of a secluded street in the largest city on the planet Gravia. Even still, it was always packed, and Kratos received claps on the back and offers of company as he weaved his way through and went to the bar.
"Kratos!" someone called in a grating voice, and he turned to see Skippy himself wheeling his way out to greet him.
"Skippy," he said back, grinning and showing teeth. "You look well."
It was an old joke and only people who knew Skippy personally could make it. The man was a grizzled thing, skin mottled and green. He was hunched and gnarled, body curled in on itself from his hands to his feet, rendering his legs and arms useless. He rode around on a power chair that was said to be hooked into his brain. It sensed the motions he wanted to make and moved him around his cantina and wherever else he went, letting him stay mobile. No one knew if Skippy had been in some kind of accident or if he was just older than the dirt itself, because no one could remember a time when Skippy hadn't looked like he did now.
Still, he was an agreeable sort, always grinning with a mouth full of yellowed teeth, and getting a personal greeting from Skippy was something only a few could brag about.
"Feeling good," Skippy said, craning his neck to look up at Kratos. Even in his chair, he was only about four feet tall, and Kratos stood at just over seven. "It's about time you crawled yourself back in here."
Kratos laughed and took a seat, legs splayed wide as he leaned his elbows on his knees. "Things to do, Skip, you know how it is. This business waits for no one."
"Busy season?"
"May as well be. People in this quadrant have gone mad. Stealing from each other, shooting each other. Just wrapped up a thing for a lady who claims her husband was shot in the head with a light bolt by his mistress. Didn't find the mistress, but found the husband with a steaming hole in his head. All she wanted was the body removed, either way."
Skippy made the sign of safety as best he could with his mangled hand. "People have always been terrible," he said. "I'm not even surprised. Anyway, it's good to see you, Kratos. Have a drink on me."
"Skippy, it would be my absolute pleasure to have a drink on you," Kratos said and winked.
The old man snorted and wheeled himself away.
When Kratos looked to the backboard to see what was on tap for the evening, his eyes caught a woman seated in the corner looking at him.
Now, women looking at him was nothing new. Women from all species and races had eyes for him, and he couldn't blame them. Tall, muscular, accomplished, and people spoke his name with a kind of hushed reverence that was maybe four parts fear and six parts interest. For most women, the fear dropped down to two parts and the rest got kicked up a notch or two.
This wasn't the look of someone who wanted to approach him about a job either. No, the look in her eyes was pure desire, and Kratos had seen it plenty of times on other women. Sometimes he indulged, sometimes he ignored them. Tonight...he was looking for a little indulgence.
So he looked right back at her, deliberately smoothing back the strands of his dark brown hair that had fallen into his eyes. He watched her watch him and then turned back to the bartender who was looking between him and the woman with interest.
"Sea wine," he said to the bartender, a young woman who he vaguely recognized. His grin said that she, too, could be a part of this eye flirting fest, but she just flushed
and ducked away to fill his drink.
Ah, well. You couldn't win them all. He knew because he'd tried.
His drink arrived a moment later, and the woman slipped away from her table to come join him.
Out of the shadows, he could see her better, and yes. He was definitely in the mood to indulge tonight. She was lovely, all curves and dark skin. Her eyes were violently green, and she had the slitted pupils and high cheekbones of one of the Litherem races. Her hair was unbound, and it fell around her shoulders in rich, dark curls that made Kratos' fingers itch to touch it.
He'd always liked women with a lot of hair. Made for good pulling.
She was dressed in a slinky blue number that clung to her in all the right places, and it seemed almost like it was made of water with how it moved with her as she made her way over.
The woman made the whole walk a treat for the eyes, as she sashayed her way over to him.
"You're Kratos," she said, cutting right to the chase.
"That's me," he replied, smiling. "Would you like to sit down?"
Her smile was radiant, and it showed off sharp teeth. Oh. This was going to be fun. "Thank you," she said in a softly accented voice. "What brings you here?"
"Ah, this is one of my favorite places in the whole galaxy," Kratos said. "Good drinks, familiar faces. And some not so familiar ones to keep life interesting." He winked at her and then sipped from his drink. Sea wine was briny and bitter and felt like a salty kick in the throat as it went down, but it was his favorite. Kratos swirled the thick green liquid around in his glass. "Can I get you one?"
She laughed softly. "Something milder, maybe? I don't have the constitution for the stuff you're drinking."
"You got it," Kratos said, motioning the bartender back over. "A glass of the Ladybones for lovely lady here, if you please?"
The woman smiled slowly. "You do know how to charm a woman, don't you?" she asked. "I wondered. I've heard all about what you can do with your...weapon. Sometimes the warrior types don't do so well off the field."