“Understood, Lieutenant, just hang tight.”
Fritz’s bark alerted Ragnaar before the woman turned the corner into the vestibule, her heels clicking on the marble floor of the concourse.
“Oh!” exclaimed the woman, stopping short, her copper-red hair pulled up in a severe do, an e-Pad tucked under her arm, dressed in a smart, grey business suit. She backed up a step to look up at the boarding gate number. Reassured she was where she left her ship, she stepped closer, motioning at the luggage, “You brought my luggage?” Her eyes narrowed, looking him up and down, “Because you’re not my pilot…”
He flicked the corner of the open holo-screen and it winked out of existence, “Actually,” he began, straightening up, her eyes widening as she realized his true size.
She pointed past him at the CodePik device sticking out of the gate’s security console, and smiled crookedly, “That’s not going to work… the security encryption here is…” A light on the panel flickered green a moment before the door seal broke, the entry splitting in half diagonally, sliding open to allow entry, walkway lights instantly illuminating the boarding ramp connected to the ship. Her mouth opened with surprise, but nothing came out at first. “No,” she pointed aggressively, “how…” she took a step back, “no.” The fear in her eyes turned sharply to anger, “No. That’s my ship.” She drew the e-Pad out from under her arm like she was drawing a weapon, calling up a screen, “I don’t know who you think you are,” she snapped, backing up, “but you have no idea, who you’re dealing wi…” The back of her legs met the body of the German Shepherd who blocked her retreat, keeping her in the vestibule, looking up at her with dark shining eyes and a toothy smile. It was just enough to move her forward again - however reluctantly.
Clacking his teeth with an angry huff, Fritz prompted her to move toward the open door. Her face went from angry to fearful again, so he paused, his demeanor softening, a slow wag of his tail and a playful head tilt, prompting a look of confusion to wash across her face.
Ragnaar snatched the CodePik out of the security console and pocketed it, handing the woman a couple of her bags, “Here, make yourself useful.”
She took the bags, tentatively at first, “Fine, if you want my ship, take it, but I’m not going with you…”
“You don’t have a choice,” he countered, picking up the rest of her bags, looking like an overburdened hotel bellhop. “Now move,” he nodded at the boarding ramp.
“Problem, Lieutenant?”
“Minor problem,” he replied quietly, “I can handle it.”
“Minor problem?” she hissed. “You call this a minor problem?” She stopped just outside the gate’s open doorway, “This is kidnapping!”
“Keep your voice down,” he growled. Ragnaar was becoming painfully aware this was taking far too long, that any second, someone was going to appear, and it would all go sideways. “Yes, it is kidnapping,” he whispered, “and unless you want it to become murder, get your ass on that ship.”
“Kidnapping?!” asked the voice in his earpiece. “That is going to complicate things…”
“Too late,” he grumbled.
“What’s too late?” she asked, her face awash in panic.
Fritz lunged, clacking his teeth with a sharp snarl and the woman quick-stepped to stay ahead of the flashing fangs. Last in, hands full, Ragnaar elbowed the door switch, the diagonal door scissoring shut as he caught a glimpse of security uniform passing by on the concourse.
Taking a quick peek through the triangular porthole window on the door, he dropped the bags and flattened himself against the wall of the gangway, they had deviated toward the gate. “Fuck.” He waved at the dog to keep going, unsure what to do about the lights in gangway. He snatched a small black bag off the floor and held it against the window, listening intently. With the same structural integrity as an airlock door, the ambient sounds of the concourse didn’t exist on the inside of the gangway. He watched the door control on the ramp wall flicker, showing use on the concourse side in the gate vestibule, his heart accelerating. He couldn’t shoot them… or could he? No, he decided he couldn’t.
“Lieutenant, are you aboard yet?”
“No, Commander, I’m in the gangway of the ramp, there are security officers on the other side trying to open the gate door. I’m blocking the door’s view port, but I’m fairly certain they know I’m here…”
“They can’t use their cards or codes, Lieutenant, we had to change them in order to get the door open for you.”
■ ■ ■
The same basic shape but a size smaller than the Eliza Meru, the Sweat Equity cleared the traffic lanes around Resurrection Station and turned toward the gate to Velora Prime, accelerating smoothly.
Zofia Sans sat quietly in the copilot’s seat, eyeing the big man with the tattoo on his face. The animal had curled up nearby on the floor but seemed to never take his eyes off her, which made her uneasy. “So, um, what now? I got you past flight control with my clearance, but my pilot will report the ship missing…”
“You said he wasn’t due back until your departure time tomorrow.”
“That’s right.”
Ragnaar shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, we’ll be out of the system by then.”
“And in the next system? Or the one after that?”
“We’ll be fine,” replied Ragnaar knowingly.
“You’ll be fine… What about me?” she asked suspiciously.
Setting his navigation screens, Ragnaar glanced sideways, “What about you?”
“What happens to me?”
“Can you fly this thing?”
Having let it down, Zofia flipped coppery-red hair over her shoulder, “Sure, I can get around.”
“Then when we get where we need to go, you can have your ship back and go wherever you need to go.”
“You’re not going to kill me…” she stated, her tone flat.
“No.” He glanced at her again, “Unless you really piss me off.”
“And what would that take? I mean, how would I know if I was doing it?”
Ragnaar shook his head in amusement, “I’ll let you know you’re doing it.”
“Oh, OK,” she nodded. “So, what are you? Pirate? Assassin? Fixer? Freelancer? Or just on the run…”
“You’re doing it.”
■ ■ ■
Ragnaar watched Zofia Sans sleep, curled on the reclined copilot’s chair, her copper hair tousled, obscuring part of her face, suit jacked draped over her. She could have just as easily gone to her quarters and slept in a real bed but elected to stay on the bridge instead. His mind rolled through reasons, but a conclusion eluded him. Truthfully, he found her presence pleasing, somehow gratifying. He had been tempted to tell her who he really was, that she was in no danger from a UFW officer, but unsettling thoughts - the results of revealing too much, plagued his imagination.
After some scrutiny and consideration, she was prettier than he had first realized, maybe it was the hair, maybe it was her stern businesslike demeanor that was initially somewhat off putting. But there seemed to be a softness to her now that changed everything about her. He actually felt drawn to her - something he had gone years without. He already knew he was going to miss her when she left, but it was obvious they lived in much different worlds.
The satiny lining of the jump tunnel was soothing, calming, the autopilot expertly following its programming, making him feel rather unnecessary at the moment. He sat back, mesmerized by the soft undulating waves that surrounded the ship, his eyelids heavy…
■ ■ ■
Awaking with a start, not intending to have closed his eyes, much less fall asleep, Ragnaar did a quick assessment on the flight controls, reassuring himself the autopilot was still following its programmed course. The lining of the jump tunnel slid silently past the ship as before, with seven hours remaining to enter Velora Prime. He had been asleep for six hours. While admonishing himself for his inattention to duty, his eyes flicked over to the empty copilot�
�s seat… Shit. Zofia was gone. And the dog was gone too.
“Looking for me?”
It was the eerily seductive way she said it that made the familiar electric sensation of danger race up his back. Snapping around to meet her gaze, she stood several feet behind him, a sizeable piece of chef’s cutlery in one hand. Focused on the blade, he slid out from his command seat, casually touching his forearm to the blaster under his leather jacket to reassure himself it was still there. It was.
“Follow me,” she said, her eyes regarding him cautiously, moving slowly, deliberately, backing away before turning to head towards the rear of the ship.
He followed just as deliberately, moving through the salon, his eyes sweeping the room as he passed through it. His blood ran cold; the shepherd laying on a sofa, upside down, his body twisted, legs in the air, his head hanging off the edge at an odd angle, tongue hanging to one side. Ragnaar’s pulse quickened, adrenalin rising at the thought of falling asleep in the presence of a trained assassin… which was the only explanation of someone who could best the agile, fearless Shepherd - and not make a sound. He ground his teeth together in fury. What kind of evil game was she playing? Killing the dog but letting him live? No matter, she would pay for her deception…
Sweeping the jacket aside, the blaster cleared the holster as they passed the state rooms and entered the galley, where she swirled to face him, knife in hand “What do you want in your omelet…” her voice trailed off, facing the muzzle of the blaster, her eyes widening in terror as she dropped the knife, letting it clatter across the floor.
Ragnaar’s eyebrows raised, “What?”
“What?” she replied, her hands wide, open, her expression helpless.
“What?” asked Fritz, entering the galley to see what the noise was about, blinking away the sleep.
Details came rushing in at Ragnaar from all angles, the smell of eggs, potatoes and breakfast meat, coffee, the cooking towel over her shoulder, the fact that she was barefoot, dressed in something stunning but comfortable, a hint of perfume, the well of moisture around her eyes, tears running down her cheeks… His finger lifted off the trigger and very slowly, deliberately, he dropped the muzzle and slid it back into its holster, letting his jacket settle back into place. “I thought you…” he motioned clumsily toward Fritz.
She reached back with a trembling hand for the table behind her, “And I thought you were going to…”
“I’m sooo sorry,” he interrupted, his empty hands extended toward her. She recoiled in fear as he advanced but he surrounded her with his arms in a soft, comforting, teddy bear hug. He hushed her sobs as he stroked her flaming red hair.
Fritz shook his head with a harrumph and swung back around towards the sofa, “Silly humans…”
■ ■ ■
Sitting across the table from one another, Ragnaar eyed his plate, laden with an overstuffed omelet, potatoes and breakfast sausage, arranged with as much care for the eye as the heavenly aromas. His mouth watering, fork in hand, he paused, his eyes flicking up to Zofia for any sign of deception, but he found nothing there.
Realizing his apprehension, she smiled sweetly, reaching across with her fork, eating a little of each item off of his plate. Then she waited, gazing into his eyes, wondering if she forgot something - or perhaps made something he would not, or could not, eat. “Did I forget something?”
“No,” he replied, starting to eat. “I’m trying to figure out how you understood my concern…”
“My mother used to always say I was an empathetic child.” She shrugged and sipped her coffee, “It’s probably what makes me a good mediator.”
“What do you mediate?”
“Pretty much anything, really. I get hired to help two or more sides come to an agreement. Sometimes it requires someone like me to find a common ground and negotiate or broker a compromise where all sides feel like they’ve benefitted. Sometimes we find common ground over a meal. I promise you I’ve never poisoned anyone.” She smirked, waving her fork, “Except that time when the Caralusian lobsters didn’t come out right…” she paused, pushing a loose curl of hair off her face. “Not sure if the lobsters went bad or if I made the sauce wrong…” her mouth twitched, “anyway, people turned positively green.”
“Did you get sick too?”
“Sometimes I eat with the clients, sometimes I don’t. They were at a point where they needed time alone, without me interfering, so I served and left.”
“You were lucky.”
“In more ways than one, the mediating hadn’t been going well at all, until they got sick - then they found common ground in their unified hate for me,” she chuckled. “They ultimately came to an agreement and signed the papers while they were still in the medical clinic.”
Ragnaar laughed openly, “You can’t argue with success. What about us? How would you mediate for us?”
She daubed nearly perfect lips with her napkin, folding expertly manicured fingers together, “We’d be a difficult case, considering I’m an interested party and I have a bias in the final outcome. And I’m inclined to think, I could give you everything you want and still get everything I want.” She watched him stop chewing, his fork frozen in mid-air, when she ran her bare foot up the inside of his thigh under the table. She smiled sweetly. “Do I have your attention?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Good. Now, I think we have a few common interests… First, I need to know where we’re going.”
“You’ll know when we get there,” he answered flatly.
“Nice. Willpower - I admire that. You do realize, I’m using all of this,” her hand swept through the air, encompassing herself, “to negotiate with.”
Ragnaar smirked, “You do realize, all of that,” he circled her with his finger, “couldn’t handle all of this,” he boasted, indicating himself with a theatrical wave.
“Oh my,” she blushed, “is that a challenge?”
He pursed his lips, “It could be. But be forewarned, injuries could be a result…”
Zofia smiled seductively, “That’s OK, I’ll try not to hurt you…”
■ ■ ■
Simply dressed in boxers, Ragnaar sat half-in, half-out of the pilot’s seat checking on the autopilot system and their progress. Completely naked, wild waves of fiery hair hanging across her back, Zofia padded across the small bridge, stopping next to the former pirate, her hand resting on his shoulder, leaning against his body, his arm finding its way around her waist, drawing her against him.
“Where are we?”
He tapped on the navigation holo-screen, “An hour to the gate into Velora Prime.”
“Then where?”
He pulled her tighter, “How about this, I wouldn’t take you anywhere you’d be at risk.”
“Oh, that’s sweet.” She nuzzled his ear, “See that? We’re making progress.” She drew circles on his thigh with a perfectly manicured fingernail, “You’ve had a hard life, it’s made you very mistrusting.”
“The need for survival will do that.”
“You’ve had a dark past…”
“Key word, had.”
“But you’re not that man anymore…”
“Mostly. I’m a better man. I still have the proclivity for violence that saw me through dark times, I just use it in a different way. A better way - if that’s possible.”
“I think it is.” She traced the inside of his thigh, “And a dangerous man is very sexy…”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
UFW REVENGE, ZUKAGARA SYSTEM : FOLLOW THE LEADER
“Master power on…” Lisa, flipped the Reaper’s master switch, a whir of computer fans spinning up. The canopy latched with a quiet clack, sealed and secure, the air systems instantly jetting a wash of fresh, cool air into the cockpit. The armor plates on the belly of the Revenge closed above them after a final wave from the deck crew, sealing them on the outside of the Revenge, but still attached by the docking clamps. Total darkness gave way to the digital light of waking holo-screens wink
ing to life around the cockpit.
The comm in Lisa’s helmet chirped and she winced, reaching up to adjust the volume, “Bridge to Reaper, are you launch-ready?”
Lisa keyed her mic, “Green light ready in two minutes.”
Sergeant Draza Mac reached back with both hands and grabbed his shoulder harness, tugging the straps to snug them down as his avionics booted up. “I’m live back here; sensors and scanners on-line, cameras up, guns charged…”
Lisa was busy going through her checklist and long sequences of startup tasks while Draza Mac did a sweep of his digital screens, making placement adjustments for quick visual access. “All systems green…” Reaching forward he tapped on the back of her helmet, indicating he was ready.
“Roger that,” acknowledged Lisa. In its berthing slot, there was no visibility outside the Reaper’s cockpit, Lisa had to watch positional readouts as she tested her control surfaces and maneuvering thrusters. “Do we have a connection to her direct data feed?”
Draza Mac referenced a small screen on his right, “Aye, Skipper, solid link. Real-time data share with the Revenge.”
Checking her throttle quadrant was at zero input before flipping up the safety covers, Lisa nodded inside her helmet, “Right, spinning up,” she announced, stabbing the two starter buttons with her fingertips. A low growl slowly progressed to a whine that quieted just before the burners ignited with a twin whoomp. “Ignition.” Watching engine output levels stabilize, plasma and critical fluid pressures, along with a dozen other things, she was finally satisfied - keying her mic, “Reaper is launch ready.”
“Copy Reaper, stand by, dropping you out…”
The mooring claws extended, clacking open before full extension, the maglocks reversing magnetic polarity, pushing her clear of the Revenge.
Looking up through the canopy, Draza Mac watched the Revenge shrink as the Reaper seemingly dropped away, the claws retracting like a bird in flight pulling up its feet. “We’re clear - light this candle.”
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