by Sara King
After a moment, Goat offered, “Annoying twit kinda became part of the family, din’ she? Shame ta cut ‘er loose.”
Athenais’s brow furrowed and she scowled at her debris grid.
“Gotta admit, Cap,” he continued gingerly. “If she’d had it out for us, she’da just turned us in to the Utopis herself.”
Athenais grunted. “Leave it alone. I’ve decided.”
Goat shrugged and focused on the grid.
Squirrel came in to the command room several minutes later. She looked more than a little stoned, her normally well-styled hair tussled and frizzy. She was, indeed, wearing half a pair of overalls. The top half. Apparently, Dune’s outfit had been too short for Squirrel, so they’d made a few modifications. With a knife, by the looks of it. For bottoms, she was wearing a pair of men’s underwear and grease-stained boots that were much too big for her.
“Hey, there’s a guy on the ship who told me you needed some wiring done.” She peered at Goat and Athenais. “Am I dead already?”
“Nope.”
She glanced down at her garb and her delicate brow crinkled in a frown. “Dreaming?”
“You wish,” Athenais laughed.
Squirrel pinched the overly-huge chest of the filthy overalls between thumb and forefinger and lifted it away from her breasts for inspection. “Oh gods,” she muttered, dropping it. Slapping a hand to the side of her head, she gapsed, “He’s got my watersilk gown!”
Squirrel had already half-turned back to the hallway when Athenais said, “Fix that rat’s-nest first. Someone could electrocute themselves.”
“But Captain—” Squirrel began.
“Perils of tanga-weed,” Athenais said.
“Besides, it’s probably already covered in engine oil,” Goat added. “Dune spent some time tinkering with his buggy after you passed out.”
“That was a ten-thousand-credit dress!” Squirrel groaned, clearly wanting to rush back to the engine room to save it.
“Fix the wiring first,” Athenais said.
Muttering, Squirrel turned to the wiring panel that she had ripped out to set up com. She pulled up a chair and went to work unraveling the mess.
Halfway into it, she said between a mouthful of wires, “You know, Captain, Fairy meant well.”
“Enough about Fairy,” Athenais snarled. “She’ll be getting off my ship just as soon as we get to Terra-9, and I’ll be finding someone to replace her.”
Squirrel finished her work in silence, then stood up and headed back to the common room.
Ten minutes later, Fairy stumbled into the control room, weaving. “We’re dead, aren’t we?” she moaned.
“Take the stick,” Athenais ordered. “Goat will fill you in. I’m gonna go find out what the hell is taking Pete so long.”
“Pete? Is he dead, too?”
Athenais peered at Dallas to make sure the little twit wasn’t still stoned, then stood up, leaving the controls unmanned. Fairy yelped and hurried to the pilot’s seat, buckling herself in and taking up the stick with religious zeal.
No matter what quadrant they were in, Fairy seemed perpetually ready for a twelve-hour dogfight. Athenais watched her, amused, then caught herself and stalked from the room, irritated. Can’t keep her. Too dangerous.
She found Pete down in the engine room, poring over Dune’s racing catalogues. Both he and the mechanic looked up sheepishly when she came in. A greasy blue dress hung neatly over a buggy frame. Dune wore fresh overalls.
“Heya, Cap,” Dune said nervously, catching her glance at the gown. “I, uh, was gonna give that back to Squirrel. She, uh, left it down here…”
Athenais frowned. “Wow, she must be gaining weight, wouldn’t you say?? That whole seam’s blown out, there.” She reached down and touched the ragged threads. Holding it up for Dune to see, Athenais gave him a shocked look and said, “Poor girl. She’s so sensitive about her weight, too. Keeps such a good figure. Guess she’s starting to loosen up a bit in her older years, eh?”
Dune blushed crimson. Rubbing the back of his neck with a grease-blackened hand, he said, “Uh, yeah. Guess so.”
“Oh, and look, she left her boa, too!” Athenais cried, picking up the fluffy pink scarf from where it had been hidden behind a crate of engine parts. “Oh man, she got grease all over it. Almost like she was changing out a hydraulics system.”
“Uh,” Dune said, going purple, “Pretty sure she was stoned.”
“Funny, she must’ve been digging around in your quarters, too,” Athenais said. “She came out front wearing a pair of your overalls. Got those all greasy, too. Busy little girl, our Squirrel, eh?”
“Uh…” Dune looked like his head was going to explode from the pressure.
Athenais dropped the boa. “You do it again, I’ll get Fairy to take pictures.” Turning on Pete, she said, “You get your ribs fixed?”
Beaming, Pete thumped his side. “Yep. Good as new.”
“Good. I’ll need you to pick a schedule and get on it. Half the crew’s on nights, half’s on days. There’s a period on the wide end of things where everybody’s awake. That’s when we sit down and have a meal together, minus whoever’s running the cockpit. There’s a spare room—”
“Capt’in?”
Athenais turned.
Dune ran a grease-stained hand through his hair and sighed. “You ain’t really gonna leave Fairy on T-9, are you? She’s the best pilot I ever saw, ‘side from you. One little mistake shouln’t—”
Oh gods, another one? “That ‘one little mistake’ almost cost you all your lives,” Athenais snapped. “Doesn’t that matter to any of you?”
Dune glanced at Wild Betty. “S’pose it doesn’t. Gotta learn somehow.”
Athenais narrowed her eyes. “I get it. You all had a little powwow over your dope last night and she convinced you fools to take up her side.”
“Naw, I just think you should give her another chance.”
“Well, I’m not giving her another chance. She’s gonna learn on someone else’s neck.” She turned on Pete. “You got clothes? Belongings? Any diseases I should know about?”
Pete was still frowning at the ruined blue gown. He glanced from Dune to the dress and back. “Did he…?” He hesitated, pointing at the waif-thin dress. He frowned at Dune, whose muscle-strapped upper body forced him to go through doorways sideways, then back at the dress. Athenais watched the cogs catch in his brain as he tried to comprehend that.
“Hard to picture, ain’t it?” Athenais said, loving the way her engineer was squirming. “You been down here talking fashion with Dune all this time?”
“He’s a racer,” Dune said quickly. “Told him about Wild Betty and come find out he’s entered a few races himself.” The greasy old mechanic was obviously all-too-happy to change the subject. “Won him some cash money.”
Pete blushed. “Never nothin’ as sweet as the Moondust Marathon. Just a few country races on liberty.”
Athenais rolled her eyes. “You want me to rescue you? Dune’ll talk your ear off for the next three days if you let him.” She gave Dune a sideways look. “…maybe try to get you into some heels.”
“Oh come on, Captain!” Dune cried, throwing a greasy rag into the trash receptacle.
Athenais chuckled.
“I’m fine here,” Pete replied quickly. “I actually saw pictures of Wild Betty on a newsreel once. Never thought I’d actually get to touch her.” He slid his hand along the smooth metal of the dunebuggy with a reverential caress.
Athenais sighed. “I guess I’ll leave you boys to it, then. Dune, I’ll send someone to come get you if we need a third set of eyes.”
“Eyes, Captain?” Dune said, concerned. “What’s going on?”
She paused, giving the hallway a solemn look. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly between her teeth. She glanced back at him reluctantly. “Well, see, Squirrel ‘n I’ve been just dying to go to the opera, but we can’t decide which color shoes would match the seating.”
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nbsp; Dune turned purple and choked on a line of old-time brogue that Athenais hadn’t heard in a few millennia. Grinning, she bowed and started towards the hallway. Behind her, she heard a bone-deep growl and the metallic scrape of a hefty tool.
Just as she was stepping through the door, Athenais paused at the exit, her face lined with grave seriousness. “It’s red, you know,” she said. “Nothing goes well with red.”
“Get out of my shop!” Dune roared, hurling the wrench.
She cackled and jogged up the stairs, just as something heavy clanged against the wall behind her.
Athenais was as good as her word. As soon as they landed on T-9, she made Dallas pack her bags. Dallas thought it was all a scare tactic right up until the point where Athenais gave her what little money she owed her—something the old pirate always balked at—and dumped her in port. Standing in the hub, watching Beetle scuttle off through the viewport, Dallas’s gut finally got that cold lumpy knot of understanding that Athenais was utterly serious.
She was done. Beetle didn’t want her anymore.
And, to slam it all home, not one of her former crewmates had stood up for her. Athenais had marched her right past them on the way to the air-lock, all the while reciting exactly why Dallas wasn’t a suitable candidate for her crew. None of them had said a word. Hell, they’d pretended she wasn’t even there. Only Pete, the new guy that Rabbit had brought with them, had followed her with his eyes as she passed.
That hurt more than anything else. She’d stumbled around port the entire first day, the whole place blurry through tears. Lost a good portion of her luggage to some dude who snatched a suitcase when she put it down to wipe her eyes. After that, Dallas just sat in one place and watched the world go by without her.
It was there that Rabbit somehow found her and offered her a place to stay for a few nights, but Dallas turned him down, too ashamed to think straight. Rabbit had tried to insist, but eventually forced a credit coin into her hand and melded back into the crowds. A scruffy kid stole the coin a few minutes later, when Dallas was bending over a water fountain for a drink.
I must look like an easy mark, Dallas thought, miserable. Runny-nosed, puffy-eyed, splotchy-faced Dallas. Terror of the skies. She curled up with the rest of her belongings in a corner between a liquor store and a pizzeria, and glared at anyone who came within a couple yards of her hidey-hole. Must have been a good glare, too, because even the most shady-looking guys turned on heel and went the other direction.
She spent several hours beside the pizzeria, enduring the tantalizing smells wafting from inside, trying not to puke at the way her guts were all twisted in knots from losing Beetle. When Dallas simply couldn’t stay awake any longer, she got up and found a hotel a few blocks down the hall, saving herself the expense of taking a shuttle planetside. Never having done anything but fly, she decided she would offer her services to inbound ships until one of them took her on.
She soon found out, however, that getting a job in aviation was all but impossible if one of the Good Ol’ Boys—who happened in this case to be a girl—had it in for you. Regardless of how many captains she approached, regardless of how many well-dressed pilot’s uniforms she ran down in the hall, no sooner did they learn her name than they quickly took their leave.
That Athenais had spread word of her misdeeds was bad enough, but that she had so much sway with people Dallas had never even heard of was utterly demoralizing. As each day passed, Dallas felt herself slipping further and further into the role of ‘hub reject.’ Incoming captains, seeing her step forward to offer her services, quickly changed course, treating her with just as much brusque disdain as they did the disheveled hall urchins looking to make a quick pity-cred.
After a couple weeks and a few thousand pitches, Dallas began to feel the heavy weight of reality settling onto her shoulders. Each time a captain brushed her aside, each time she received that condescending stare, her shame increased, magnifying in intensity until it reached the point she couldn’t even look her target in the eyes when she gave her pitch.
When Dallas realized she was staring at the floor as she mumbled flight statistics to those disinterested captains who would stand still long enough to hear them, she knew Athenais had won. A few days later, she got a job bussing tables in one of the hotel’s massive restaurants. The fact that she had graduated from the Spacer’s Academy and had commanded her own ship meant little to Rob, the manager. He put her on the lowest flat-rate salary he could legally give her and took half of her tips for her meals. She paid her room fee with whatever was left over. The day before payday, she was lucky if she had a credit to her name. Usually, she ended up owing the hotel for damages. Rob made sure of that. He fined her for every broken dish, every walk-out, every complaint. Once, he had fined her for adding a few inches to the skimpy waitress’s shorts that passed as uniforms.
Taking the job with the restaurant was yet another mistake. Dallas came to realize that the position of waitress wasn’t exactly what space captains considered to be good experience, especially not for a copilot that had graduated Spacers Academy at the top of her class. Inevitably, they all dismissed her when they discovered her current occupation. Wait, wait. Back up a sec. You’re a waitress now? Why didn’t you get another flying job?
One time, after managing to hide her position from her prospective employer, she was offered a temporary spot in the control room for when the ship departed a week later. Unfortunately, Dallas had the bad luck of working the night before departure, when the captain and all his crew dropped by for a celebratory dinner pre-launch dinner. Her contract was terminated on the spot, and Rob fined her for ‘agitating the customers.’
As the weeks crawled by, Dallas bitterly wondered what had happened to Beetle after dumping her on T-9. Half of her hoped the old broad found a lead-heavy asteroid and make a new crater. The other half hoped she had her feet cemented in a bucket to be dropped in the middle of Penoi’s biggest ocean.
Not that she was bitter.
She was just busily gaining that ‘worldly experience’ that Athenais valued so highly, and the next time she saw the monster, she was pretty sure she’d shove a coffee-pot squarely up her ass.
Worms in the System
“Play it again.”
Colonel Tommy Howlen frowned at the infoscreen. “Stop.” He drew closer and jammed his finger at the little gray blip on the screen. “What is that?”
“Maybe a bug in the vid?” Corporal Bushin offered. She leaned forward and peered intently at the image. “Coulda been dust, maybe.”
“Bullshit. Look at the way Koff collapses. It looks like he wants to scream.”
The N.C.O. gave the fallen corporal a dubious look. “He mighta hit his tailbone…”
Tommy glared at the corporal. “Or he might have a mind-controlling parasite burrowing through his ear canal.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t look so shocked,” Howlen sneered. “The suzait weren’t all exterminated. They couldn’t have been. We’d have to scan every human and animal within the four quadrants, right down to the chickens and weasels.”
“We had a…parasite…aboard our ship?” The poor girl looked ill.
“And now he’s somewhere on Terra-9,” Tommy said, slapping the screen off. “I want the place quarantined immediately.”
The naïve little fool winced. “Even the docks, sir?”
“The governor wouldn’t allow me to halt trade, but he has to comply with a quarantine. That’s S.O. business.” Tommy went to collect his jacket off the captain’s chair. “In the end, he’ll probably be kissing my boots, thanking God that we found the little worm before he sought out a position of power.”
“But Pete had several days to board a ship…”
Rounding on her, Tommy gave her an irritated look. “That…thing…isn’t Pete any more, Corporal.”
She cringed, dropping her head down to peer at her imaging console. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. But why couldn’t he have sailed out already?”
“He’s a stranger in a strange land,” Tommy snorted. “Sure, the first thing he’s gonna do is take another host, but it will take him several days to recharge enough stunning power, unless he gets help somehow. And who’s gonna help him?”
“Terra-9’s got a lot of drunkards, sir.”
Tommy raised a brow. “So?”
“If I were him, I’d just go to a bar and wait for someone to come out too drunk to stand up. Maybe wad a rag into his mouth to keep him from screaming.”
Tommy gave the corporal a hard look. “These things are more intelligent than most humans. You really think they would insert themselves into a disabled host, allowing their cast-off host the leisure to kill them slowly while they flounder from the alcohol in their system?”
“Sorry, sir.” She was blushing furiously, her ears redder than beets. “Just the way I’d do things, sir,” she mumbled.
Leave it to a woman to think up something that stupid. Of course, he couldn’t say as much or the Workman’s Rights people would jump up and down and scream for his commission. Scowling at her, Tommy picked up the com handset. He dialed the four-digit code for planetary government and waded through the bureaucratic hierarchy until he could speak with the governor personally.
A what, you say?
“It’s a cerebral parasite,” Tommy repeated for the third time. “It takes over your brain.” That someone could make planetary governor and not have at least heard of the suzait was beyond his comprehension. Politics was going to hell—nowadays it had become all about pretty looks and bank accounts. Tommy wondered if the governor even had a diploma.
There was a pause, followed by the static of personal conversation on the governor’s side. That made Tommy’s fists clench. If the governor was allowing his underlings to listen in on their conversation, soon the whole planet would know and panic would ensue. Tommy was about to interrupt the governor’s whispers with the threat of martial law when the governor got back to him.