“Treason? What do you mean?”
Steffi reached for her e-alert button, but the Royal bastard snatched her hand away. He ripped the e-band off and hurled it against the wall. Then she noticed he wore an identical one on his arm. It had to be Rex’s. She’d never seen that model anywhere else. So that was how they’d found her. And what about Rex? The others? They hadn’t sent her an emergency signal. Had they been caught equally unawares? Meanwhile, she could see in Arne’s eyes that he was about to try something rash. Terrified and furious impulses vied inside her. He couldn’t be so stupid. They’d blast holes in him for fun.
“Arne, let them take me.” Her voice trembled, her entire body shook while the Royal pulling her hair traced his cool gun barrel onto her shoulder, then across her clavicle, on to her sternum, then down over her breast inside her bra.
“Stand her up,” another man insisted. “We’ve come all this way. We might as well get something out of this.”
“Please!” Her feeble tone fell to a plea. “Please, I won’t give you any trouble. Just let me get dressed.” She watched hatred turn Arne’s sweet face to a red, rippled fury. But he daren’t make a move. The helplessness had to be churning him inside. She felt worse for him. The bastards could do what they wanted to her, as long as they left him alone.
She tried whipping her head away from the second man in disgust, but the first one yanked her arms up her back so hard it made her cry out. The brawny Royal in front of her, with a cruel, handsome middle-aged face, stroked the stubble on his chin. He licked his lips and, after sniffing her scent, ripped her bra off and grabbed her breasts. It didn’t hurt so much as sicken her. She tried to banish sweet Arne from her mind.
When he’d tired of her breasts, the brute crouched and grinned up at her. Steffi spat in his face, but he laughed hard. God, what now? All the while he roved his coarse hands across her back, down over her butt and all the way around her legs, the man panted. His horrid blank eyes and twitching tongue began to zero in on her middle.
Crack! A gunshot hit the ceiling behind him. The third Royal had fired up when Arne’s pillow had struck him. But Arne wasn’t quick enough to follow it up.
She cried, “No! Don’t hurt him!” as the furious Royal and his horny colleague wrestled Arne down against the foot of the cupboard. He cracked his head on the solid pine base. They took turns kicking him in the ribs and the head and any part he couldn’t cover up.
“Fuckers! You’ll kill him!” With all the strength in her being she shook loose from the bastard’s hold. He made a grab for her hair but she ducked. Swivelling to one side, Steffi let loose with a powerful roundhouse kick to his chin. Smack. Right on the money.
He staggered sideways like a drunk falling off a kerb. With his gun lowered, this was her chance. She yanked his head back with a fistful of sticky, gelled hair, exposing his bare throat. One hit would do it—right on the Adam’s apple. She drew her arm back, ready for the kill punch…but someone snatched her wrist instead. Oh shit. It was the horny brute. She resisted, but he applied the exact same restraining hold as his colleague had used, pressing both her arms even farther up her back until she couldn’t feel anything but the iron pain. A sickening click in her shoulder ended her struggle. The man eased his grip. Nothing was dislocated, but it still hurt like hell. She hissed and snarled instead. It was either that or burst into tears at the awful sight of Arne crumpled, lifeless, on the blue carpet.
What had they done?
“All right, no more screwing around,” the horny man insisted, handing Steffi back to his humiliated colleague, who now had a cut on his chin where her toenail had sliced him. “And drag that piece of shit back to the ship.” He pointed down at Arne. “We told him what would happen if he interfered. Anyway, he’s been harbouring fugitives. He’ll dangle alongside the rest of ’em.”
“Think you can handle the spitfire?” the third man joked.
“I’ll break her arm if I can’t,” vowed the man holding her. “Come on, get a move on, you little bitch.”
The strangest looseness overcame her as they walked. With Arne being dragged, unconscious, she could now focus on her own predicament. What to do? Her friends had probably been arrested too, Arne’s kin held at gunpoint. What else? How had the Royals found the Albatross? Once they’d shown up, it would have been easy to take over her ship, but the odds of them happening upon these exact coordinates, four days after being left behind in deep space, were infinitesimal.
The sublime interactive simulation ended outside on the bank of Loch Ness, the sun setting in a pink and purple sky over the western mountains. The Royals must have half figured the program out. They knew where the exit was, but not how to shut the simulation down. Steffi tripped over her helmet and oxygen tank as they left. The brute kneed her in the small of her back. Sharp and excruciating shards exploded up her spine. It grew chilly at the giant tank, but the smell of buttercups stayed with her all the way back to Arne’s lake.
“We’ll be famous after this,” the horny Royal boasted with a flippant salute to the wonders of the colourful lagoon. “Nailing Savannah and finding this juggernaut. Cocktails all round when we get back. I’m buying.”
“That’s enough, Revere,” barked a tall, thin commanding officer holding Flyte and Rex at gunpoint. But…why were they here and not the others? Steffi scanned the entire lagoon area twice but saw only the natives. Where was McKendrick? Had Rex and Flyte disobeyed a direct order—Steffi had told them to return to the Albatross—on their own? Unlikely. This reeked of McKendrick’s selfishness. Or perhaps the Royals had captured them on the Albatross and simply forced Rex and Flyte to show them the way here.
“Sorry, sir,” replied Revere. “It’s not every day you find an alien museum floating dead in space. And definitely not one with naked chicks. Dibs on the redhead by the pear tree.”
“I said that’s enough!” The commanding officer pointed an adamant finger at Revere, who chuckled to himself. “We’ve wasted enough time here. Nader and Umbize, you stay here and watch the locals. No funny business. Any of them tries anything, shoot first. The rest of you…” he nodded at Revere, the man holding Steffi, and another two guards standing at the turquoise tunnel exit, “…suit up and escort these traitors back to our ship. Nader, transfer the other two from Savannah’s bird to our brig, and then plant a charge in the engine room. Set it for one hour. We’ll be well away before the explosion. This will be our prize.” He winked at Revere. “And we’ll tow it back to October orbit. See what they can make of it. Okay, let’s go.”
The other two on the Albatross? That left one member of her crew unaccounted for. But who? Had the fuckers killed someone? Grinding her teeth in agony, Steffi glanced around the lakeside garden with frantic jerks. What did she hope to find? Inspiration? The situation was hopeless. She couldn’t escape the strong arms levering her shoulders out of joint. Not this time.
“Cap, you okay?” Deep tractor tracks furrowed Rex’s smooth black forehead. His bulging pearl eyes blazed at the man holding her. When one of the other guards handed him his helmet, Rex snatched it and glowered down at him.
“I’m okay,” Steffi lied. “We’re about out of moves, though.”
“Shut it.” Another hard knee in the small of her back ripped more diamond shards up her spine. She screamed, cried through the pain. She launched a desperate reverse head-butt at the son of a bitch, but he was ready for it.
“Ha! Not so fast, you little cunt.” He let go of one of her arms, then slapped her mouth so hard it drew blood.
Her cheek and gums stung. It made her eyes water. She felt like sobbing but the bastard would never get that satisfaction from her.
“Real fucking hero,” Rex yelled with a fury that lent steel to her resolve. “A defenceless woman. Why don’t you try that on me? Because I’d fucking rip you in two, that’s why. Pussy.”
Rex put his helmet on then helped Flyte with his. Revere prodded them both with his pistol, hurrying them up. When everyone else was sp
ace-ready, the commanding officer approached Steffi with a startling scowl, as though this arrest would end a personal vendetta. Treason? It must have meant more to these Royal bastards than any other crime. Even murder. And when all was said and done, she’d only tried to smuggle a political prisoner off world.
“And now, Savannah…” his icy voice still chilled her through the muffling glass of his helmet, “…put this on.” He picked up the last spacesuit, helmet and boots from the grass and thumped them into her midriff. “It might be the last thing you’ll ever wear.”
The relief she felt at being freed from the iron grip shot endorphins into her body. A few moments of glee. She exhaled then massaged her sore shoulders and back. The brute smacked her again from behind. Incensed, she glanced round at his perverse grin and for half a glorious second considered kicking him in the balls. Don’t be dumb. You’re still alive. Bide your time and you’ll get your chance.
She knew it was all lies but the optimism righted her dangerous list.
Many a slip ’twixt cup and lip.
The rebellious thought made her smirk as she ached her way into the loose-fitting suit. But everyone watched, including the dozens of poor innocent lake dwellers cowering, holding each other around the water’s edge, their expressions fixed with fear and shock. Steffi ghosted, avoiding eye contact with them. What had she done? A fugitive on the run from notorious fanatics, days after stirring an interstellar hornet’s nest…what did she expect? A Royal pardon for being a good sport? Idiot. Staying in one place like this was unforgivable. Leading a tyrannical regime here, to this peaceful, drifting Shangri-La…unconscionable. If only she’d acted as a captain and not some love-struck tourist, the lagoon folk would never have suffered this. What would happen to them now?
She stepped into the rather large boots, then locked the helmet into place, rattling the metal rim connecting it to the suit collar, to demonstrate to herself that it was all a size too big.
What the…?
The reason flooded her like glittering water from a cold sluice.
McKendrick.
There could be no other explanation. Steffi’s own gear was back at the virtual loch—she’d even tripped over it on her way out—and the bastards had been in such a hurry to bring her here, they’d forgotten all about it. They would have realised their oversight sooner or later had there not been this extra outfit waiting for her. McKendrick’s. What a stroke of luck.
But where was McKendrick? Hiding somewhere, waiting to make her move? She’d shed her space gear all right—probably to sample the local penises, in direct contravention of her captain’s order—and now she was the Albatross’s only chance. Oh God. Steffi’s breath caught in her flaky throat. A sharp prod in the middle of her back told her time was almost up. For a horrid moment she thought McKendrick had set this whole thing up, betrayed her and the rest of her crew to the Royals. The reward would be substantial, especially with this prize alien vessel thrown into the bargain.
No sooner had the word “Bitch” escaped her lips than she spun toward the lake.
Crack! Crack! Splash!
A crossfire of rapid laser bolts ignited the lakeside into frantic action. The first barrage emerged from a clump of tall emerald weeds behind a large, drooping ash tree on the nearest bank. It had to be McKendrick.
Rex wrestled one of his guards into a brutal headlock. He jerked. The man’s helmet cracked apart and his head flopped sideways, neck broken. Rex yanked young Flyte behind him. He grabbed the dead guard’s pistol and stood the lifeless body in front of them for a shield. Laser hits thumped into the silver suit, chucking foam particles and blood into the air. Rex took Revere out with a fabulous shot to the face, killing him on the spot. The two Royals standing at the exit aimed low at the body shield, trying to bull’s-eye Rex through the splayed, lifeless legs. They nicked his shin. He grimaced and ducked to the grass, laying the body down in front of him. Shot after shot splattered into the corpse, but never all the way through.
The commanding officer and another guard were busy exchanging fire with McKendrick, which left Steffi and her nemesis, the backstabber, the only unengaged parties in the gunfight. He daren’t shoot her, not while she was unarmed. His C.O. would court-martial him. Instead, he resumed his usual position, grabbing her from behind, his gun aimed at her head. The yellow son of a bitch. Right now, he was the lowest form of life in the universe. A parasite. Right now, she was his insurance.
Crack! Crack!
Though firing while flat and under cover in the grass, the commanding officer took a shot through the neck. His awful convulsions and silent scream meant the laser had hit his larynx. A kill shot. McKendrick could shoot as well as fly.
As could Rex. He nailed both exit guards in quick succession when they rushed at him in a daredevil flanking manoeuvre. He then sneaked behind the dead officer’s goon. Crack!
“McKendrick,” he urged, eyeing Steffi’s brute—the last Royal alive.
She emerged from the weeds in a wet tank top and boxer shorts. Her straggly blonde hair, still sopping, slapped against her back when she tossed it over her shoulder.
“One to go,” she said.
Arne stirred twenty feet away, but his attempts to roll onto his side appeared sluggish, painful.
“I’ll put one right through her neck,” the Royal insisted. “I swear. Don’t come any closer.”
McKendrick, Rex and Flyte stopped.
“That’s good. Now drop your guns and step away. You first, bush bitch.”
McKendrick cocked her head and cupped a hand to her ear. “You called me what?”
“I said drop it and step away. Unless you want your captain’s entrails as a souvenir. Do it!”
Steffi winced when he mashed the gun against her ribs.
“Um, let me think about that for a minute.” McKendrick slid her gun barrel up and down her cheek, pretending pensiveness. “Um, no. I’m thinking we won’t be doing what you want from now on. Rex?” She started creeping toward Steffi. Rex copied her—perhaps the two of them had discussed this hostage scenario before, and this was their solution.
Whatever it was, Steffi didn’t like it. The bastard grew jittery. He prodded her ribs again and again, kicked her legs apart, even head-butted her. Jesus! The jack-hammering pain in her side, the throbbing ache in her lower back, her entire body felt bruised and cut to ribbons.
Still Rex and McKendrick closed in, their pistols pointed straight at the brute.
Steffi’s heart slammed her chest, harder and harder. How to turn a stalemate into an insane dick-measuring contest. Someone had to fire. Two guns to one, but they were putting the bastard into a desperate corner. Her legs began to buckle. He wrenched her upright and, backing her away with him, clashed his helmet onto hers. Insane.
Steffi took his head-butt for a loss of balance and tried wrapping her leg around his, the first in a three-move shoulder throw Bo had taught her. No dice. He back-stepped and slammed the point of his gun under her arm. “One more like that, I’m begging you,” he dared her, his manic voice trembling.
“Put the gun down and there’s a chance we won’t kill you,” Rex said with utter pragmatism.
“I…I will…kill her.” Feeble words from the brute. But they sounded fucking scary to Steffi.
She mashed her lips together. This was it. He would become irrational at any moment, and the only chance she had was for someone to risk taking a shot. To put one right between his eyes. Any good captain would make that call, and she’d been a piss-poor captain for most of the day. Time to make amends. No guarantees, only a last round of Russian roulette. She nodded at Rex and McKendrick inside her helmet. Rex winked back.
Five feet away now. Four.
“I mean it!”
“So do we. You can still survive this. Let her go.”
Three.
Rex’s trigger finger twitched, as though he was about to take the shot. But the Royal bastard ducked behind her, shielding his face from Rex’s line of fire. He lower
ed his grappling arm then tossed it around her again. Shaking, she found it hard to breathe. Her panicked breaths seemed to suck the oxygen faster than her tank could provide it.
Two.
She shut her eyes tight and turned her head away from his gun. A last refuge inside her helmet.
One.
His gun clattered against the metal rim around her neck. It sounded like a miner’s erratic hammering in the dark. A grim peace bowed her head loose from its taut corner. If this was it, she would not struggle anymore. The eye of this storm would be forever. Not a glad one. But an empty one.
Crack!
She wheeled into the abyss and felt the rope slip through her mind’s fingers. Down, sideways, down. At least the laser blast hadn’t hurt. The sensation of release unspooled her into a delightful sigh of contentment. Thread-less forever. No bad thing for a natural spacewalker. Was this what eternity would—
She thudded against the ground. The shock tasted of salt and spat green into her eyes. She was on the grass? Unharmed? All her aches and pains clambered over her with crampons. She groaned, rolled onto her side. Rex and McKendrick were standing over her, ready to pick her up. Behind them, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen stood almost upright, clutching his ribs. His eyebrows met on a worried brow. He peered at her between Rex’s bulk and McKendrick’s steaming curves.
“You’ve found yourself quite a guy there, Cap.” McKendrick lifted Steffi’s left shoulder, Rex managed her right.
“What? What happened?”
“Your man. He sneaked up behind the fucker and snatched his gun. Then I finished it. Good deal.”
“Arne?” Steffi asked, woozy.
“Here.”
“Hold my hand.”
She couldn’t see him, but his gentle touch tingled through her glove. It hinted at the night before and days to come and strange, Danish fairytales.
The Mythmakers: An Impulse Power Story Page 6