by King, Sara
Milar laughed at her, his eyes searing. “If you think we’re flying it for you, darling, you’re about as dumb as a hammer.”
Tatiana narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see. Walk. And you raise up a shout and the little dweeb gets it, understand?”
“Why?” Milar snapped. “We weren’t gonna hurt you.”
Tatiana laughed. “Oh, you forgot the part about dumping me in the Shrieker mounds, didja, sweetie?” Tatiana yanked the old man to her chest and scowled over the little egger’s head. “That must be convenient. Now get moving.”
His face turned red, but Milar said nothing as they awkwardly trudged down the path out of the garden. Tatiana stopped to pick up a knife and a radio from Milar’s belt, then followed.
It was slow going, but at her command, they led her down a long, winding trail and stopped at a landing-pad on the edge of a village, where Tatiana recognized the ship they had flown in on—along with four other ships, all of which looked faster and deadlier than the twins’. “All right, stay right there,” she said, maneuvering the crazed egger around with her. Milar and Patrick scowled at her as she activated the biometrically-protected entry to the ship in the same way she had accessed Patrick’s gun. Their pantlegs had stopped the bands from biting into their skin, but Patrick was already bleeding at the wrists from all the jostling of the three-legged walk.
Well, at least Milar had followed her instructions. Tatiana felt a tiny flash of guilt, then crushed it. She climbed backwards up the ramp, dragging Joe with her. “Come on in,” she said to Milar.
Seeing that, he laughed. “You’re actually going to corner yourself on a ship? You stupid little broad.”
“Oh, what am I doing?” Tatiana gasped, peering at the walls around her in mock fear. Then, glaring back at Milar, she said, “Get up here or get shot.”
As they stumbled up the ramp after her, Tatiana backed Joe inside and then climbed up the staircase to the second level with him. Once Milar and Patrick, panting, had eased themselves up the narrow ramp and were standing on the deck, Tatiana threw Milar a radio and said, “Okay, boys. I want you to radio Veera.”
Milar frowned. “What?”
“Radio her. Tell her you want to see her on your ship. If she doesn’t show up, alone, within five minutes, I’m killing him, then killing both of you. If she does, I’ll let all three of you go.”
Grimacing, Milar brought the radio to his mouth and said, “Veera Leghorn, Pat and I need to talk to you on Liberty.”
Tatiana tensed, waiting for the return.
After a moment, a chipper elderly woman said, “Yeah? Why’s that, Milar?”
“Someone’s cuffed me to my brother and got a gun to my head,” Milar said.
Tatiana gasped. Milar grinned at her.
But Veera said, “Be right there.”
“Alone,” Tatiana snapped. “Unarmed.”
Milar chuckled. “She’ll come alone, but I doubt she’ll be unarmed.”
Tatiana tapped Joe’s head again with the pistol. “Tell her.”
Grimacing, Milar lifted the radio again and said, “Come alone and unarmed.” He clicked the radio off and lowered his arm, glaring. “Happy?”
“You better not screw up the next one,” Tatiana said.
Two minutes later, a tall, thin, white-haired woman appeared in the doorway and, eying the brothers, eased herself inside. It took her a moment to see Tatiana on the balcony, holding the egger. Her eyes went wide.
“Veera?” Tatiana said.
“Yes,” the woman said cautiously.
“Take a seat right there,” Tatiana said, motioning at a crate. Then she nodded at Milar, “Now call Dave.”
Suddenly, Patrick’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”
“Shit what?” Milar demanded, glaring at his brother.
Patrick bit his lip and shook his head, glaring at the floor.
“So which Dave you want, girlie?” Milar asked, crossing his arms. “Since you know this place so well.”
“Bring Dave Arroya,” Patrick said.
“Bring them both,” Tatiana said.
Patrick cursed again.
“All right,” Milar said, looking more confused than angry, now. He radioed the two Daves, this time telling them Patrick had injured himself and he needed help carrying him off the ship.
Two men, one barely eighteen and the other over sixty, stepped onto the ship.
“Dave and Dave?” Tatiana asked.
They blinked up at her in confusion and gave a collective, “Yeah?”
“Go sit down next to Veera,” Tatiana said.
Their eyes locked on her pistol, then they saw the egger, then they quickly did as they were told.
“And last but not least,” Tatiana said, “Milar, call Jeanne for me.”
Milar’s frown deepened, “What the—” Then his face went slack suddenly. “Hell no.”
“Hell yes,” she said, smiling. “Get her.”
Milar’s eyes were spitting fire when he called up the third pilot that Patrick had named.
The voluptuous woman entered whistling, a bag of potatoes slung over one shoulder, a braid of curly black hair hanging down to her waist, a gruesome string of what looked like human molars wrapped around her neck. Upon seeing the twins, she froze. Upon seeing Tatiana, she dropped her potatoes.
“Jeanne?” Tatiana asked.
“No,” the woman said, her green eyes locked with Milar’s, “My name ain’t Jeanne.”
“Too bad,” Tatiana said. “Go sit with the others. Milar, close the hatch.”
Milar frowned at her. “Close the hatch? You mean you’re not gonna kill us?”
“Nope,” Tatiana said cheerfully.
Still frowning, looking a little bit mystified, Milar hit the button to seal the ship.
“Now,” Tatiana said, pulling out the knife she had kept in her free hand. Every soul in the room went still, their eyes fixed on the blade.
Wow, this little dude really must be worth something to them, Tatiana thought, glancing at the drooling egger. She considered turning the seven of them in to the closest government outpost, but then decided she didn’t want to have to try and explain just what the egger did.
“Here, Milar,” Tatiana said, tossing the knife down at his feet.
Milar frowned down at the knife, then gave her a quizzical look. “The hell?”
“Undress,” she said sweetly. “You can start with those ridiculous sunglasses, then go from there. The knife’s for your pants.”
Milar’s face turned purple, and Patrick hid a smirk by looking the other direction. Milar made no motion to comply. His scowl was still hidden by the beetle-green shades covering his eyes.
“Now,” Tatiana said. She glanced over the egger’s shoulder and noticed he was still happily destroying his vegetable.
Seeing her gaze, Milar ripped his shades from his face and dropped them to the floor. His eyes flashing like yellow laser beams, he began to strip. After shucking his big black trenchcoat, he tore off his shirt and threw it aside, then unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down to his ankles.
“Underwear, too,” Tatiana said, but she was busy staring at the two massive dragons that wound up Milar’s arms and across his chest. The black one and the red one were not dueling, as she had first thought, but rather sleeping, their heads resting on each other’s chests. They were beautiful, the art exquisite, the design breathtaking.
Obviously property of an ego the size of Fortune.
Milar reddened, looking oddly vulnerable without his stupid glasses. Stiffly, he bent for the knife and started cutting away the jeans at the pantleg that bound up with his brother’s.
God he’s gorgeous, Tatiana thought, wondering if Patrick had a body as beautiful as his brother’s. Probably, considering the way the cloth stretched against his big shoulders from the way his arms were tucked behind his back. Briefly, she imagined telling Milar to strip his brother, too, but then decided that would be a little much, even for curiosity’s sake.
Milar snarled and yanked his underwear off, sliced it off his ankle, then stood. Lifting his arms defiantly, he said, “Anything else, Coalition squid?”
Tatiana grinned at the way the dragons flexed in his chest. “Nope. That’s about it.” She tapped the egger on the shoulder. “Come on, my crazy friend. You’ll keep me company in the cockpit.” Turning, she started for the control room.
Patrick jerked his head up, looking panicked. “I was serious when I said he’s not safe to fly,” he shouted from behind her.
Tatiana grinned back at him, allowing her eyes to stop on Milar’s naked torso before continuing on to his brother, enjoying the way Milar purpled with her passing. “That’s all right, Patty.” She smiled at Patrick and tapped her skull. “I can.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes. “You said you weren’t a pilot.”
“Never said that,” Tatiana said.
“Yes you did,” he said stubbornly. At Milar’s glare, he muttered, “She did.”
Tatiana laughed. “I went through operator school. How could I not know how to fly a piece of junk like this?” She slapped the metal wall behind her with a resounding clang. Then, turning to the others, she said, “Sorry about inconveniencing y’all, but these two bastards really ruined my day. Kidnapped me and all that. I didn’t know which of you would come after us, so I had to bring all of you.”
Then she opened the hatch to the upper deck and dragged the egger backwards with her.
“Shoelaces!” Joe cackled into the hold before Tatiana locked it behind them.
“Sit there,” Tatiana said, shoving the frail little egger into the copilot seat. Then she switched on the closed-circuit camera and flipped on the intercom. “And everyone stay on the lower deck. Anyone tries to dress Miles, there, or tries to climb the steps, and I’ll go deep-atmo and vent you all into space. That means you, Jeanne.”
The woman who had been climbing the staircase backed down the last three steps and stood there, a dark look coming over her face. Then she went to confer with Milar and Patrick. Tatiana saw their lips move, but couldn’t hear more than whispers. Milar began gesturing at Patrick angrily, and Patrick turned red as a beet.
“All right, Eggy,” Tatiana said, setting the pistol on the console and popping her knuckles. She glanced over at the egger. “You don’t mind if I call you Eggy, do you?”
He continued to drool as he carved on his squash.
“Didn’t think so.” Tatiana fired up the engines, and, with a quick glance to make sure all six of her captives were accounted for in the hold, lifted them off the ground.
“How far out you think I should leave them?” she asked her companion, as the ship started picking up speed.
The egger glanced up and said, “Three days.” His wide eyes had a spooky feel that made her shudder.
“I think three days is a little much,” she said. “How about a half-day’s walk? That good enough for you? Patrick’s bleeding pretty bad.”
The egger had gone back to his squash.
“Yeah, sure it is.” She skimmed over the treeline for another two minutes, guesstimating a half-day’s walking distance from Deaddrunk, before she set them down in a small mountain meadow. Flipping on the intercom once more, she said, “Everybody out, except the kid.”
She waited as Milar opened the ship’s hatch and stumbled outside, his brother in tow. The others followed, until, as requested, only the eighteen-year-old stayed behind.
“Stay at the bottom of the stairs,” Tatiana said. Then she opened the hatch and pushed the egger through. “Okay,” she said, backing up just enough to be safe. “Come get him.”
The kid took the stairs slowly, eying the weapon. Then, gently, he eased the egger down the steps with him, his eyes fixed on her. There was no doubting the malevolence in his stare.
“And take some nanostrips for Patrick,” Tatiana ordered, as the kid passed the cargo nets. Still glaring at her, he withdrew the bundle of neon-green strips, then ushered the egger down the ramp.
“Close it!” she shouted, once he was outside.
Sure enough, the hatch shut.
Tatiana backed quickly into the cockpit and locked herself inside. Then, before the people on the ground could have a chance to conspire, she took to the air, putting a good thousand meters between them. She hit the forward throttle, then paused to find her discharged passengers on the viewfinder. She counted heads.
Seven. Tatiana grinned. Home free.
She returned her hands to the navigation controls—
—and brushed bits of vegetable matter that the crazed egger had left there.
Immediately, the console began to twist and shift, the little buttons and lights wriggling out of focus, becoming another ship, in another place. Suddenly she was in a fighter, spinning toward a ruined city, fire gouting from the walls around her. Tatiana cried out and hit the throttle, trying to pull away, but none of her controls were working. The ship was stuck in a dead spin, centrifuging her body to the back of her chair. It was all she could do to throw out her flaps in an attempt to slow her descent.
Looking up, she saw the blackened roof of a burned-out government soldier hangar looming in her windshield before she hit.
Chapter 7
A Friend for Anna
Magali stopped at the edge of the razor-wire and peered at the lush green landscape beyond. Bright sundrop plants exploded with spring colors, the heavy pink and red bulbs drooping to near ground-level with nectar. A Fortune tortoise contentedly clamped its sharp beak around the base of each bulb and cut it from the hard, sticky stem. Its shell inched this way and that as it sometimes had to tug on the tougher ones to free them.
Magali smiled, remembering catching them as a child, and then again more recently, to show to her especially bright baby sister.
…her especially bright baby sister that had laughed when her grip slipped and the thing bit off her finger. Anna had seemed delighted when Magali screamed and they had to get the surgeon to sew it back on. Back then, she’d thought Anna was just confused, that she just didn’t understand, but now…
“Back away from the fence!” a harsh female voice shouted from above.
Magali had the insane urge to climb over the wire, cutting her hands and wrists and belly to shreds, leaving the camp, the Shriekers, and her sister all behind—one way or another.
“Now!” She heard the distinctive sound of a rifle being tugged off a shoulder. She didn’t have to look to know it was pointed at her.
I want to go home, she thought. Slowly, she forced herself to turn away from the wire. She didn’t look at the woman and her gun. She merely trudged back to the tent, exhausted to the core.
Magali was standing by her cot, peeling off her slime-crusted overhauls, when a pudgy young girl knocked on the aluminum frame of the open door.
“Hello?” the child asked, squinting tentatively into the room. Her black curls jiggled against puffy freckled cheeks as she glanced around the hut. “Anyone here?”
Magali paused in pulling a fresh shirt over her head and moved out of the shadows in the corner. “Yeah?”
The kid gave a nervous blush. “I’m new. They told me I was supposed to live here.”
Magali looked the girl up and down, then sighed. “We only got three beds, and they’re all full.”
“Oh, I think they moved the other lady out,” the kid said. “The Director said there was another girl my age here. Thought we could be friends.”
That’ll be the day. Magali laughed, despite herself. “Just save yourself the trouble and leave now. Anna doesn’t make friends.”
“She doesn’t?” the girl asked, blinking. Her brown eyes were pretty. Hazel. Though they seemed a bit flat, almost like the kid wasn’t too bright. “Why not?”
“She just doesn’t,” Magali said.
“She’s mean as hell. She’ll only hurt your feelings.”
Instead of leaving, the girl stepped inside and looked around. “Is she here?”
“No,” Magali said. “And I’m serious. She’ll just make you cry. Go tell the Director to put you somewhere else. You don’t want to sleep here.”
The girl glanced at her, a quizzical look in her hazel eyes. “So she likes to insult people?”
“Oh yeah,” Magali chuckled. She tugged her shirt over her head. “Oh yeah.”
“But not you?” the girl asked.
Magali sighed and slumped into the hut’s only chair. “What’s your name?”
“Molly.”
“Listen, Molly, just take my word for it. Anna’s not—” She bit off her words as she saw her sister’s shape appear in the doorframe.
“Anna’s not what?” Anna asked, her face darkening further. She threw her stack of clean clothes upon her bed, glowering at Magali, still sulking from the conversation with Joel.
“Anna, meet Molly.” Magali waved a tired hand at the youngster, figuring that if her own warnings wouldn’t scare her off, the Real McCoy would do the trick. “Molly wants to be your friend.”
Anna looked the newcomer up and down and sneered. “What happened to the little piglet? Some governor’s wife fatten her up before she dumped her off for slaughter in the Shrieker mounds?”
Magali sighed. “Thanks, Anna. You just proved my point perfectly.”
“Actually,” the little girl said, “I’ve got a thyroid condition.”
“Yeah, if that’s what they call stuffing yourself until you jiggle.” Anna yawned and glanced at Magali. “We got any crackers or anything? Maybe the little piggy’s hungry.”
“I just ate,” Molly said. She glanced at Magali. “Is she always that rude?”
A little surprised that the girl wasn’t barreling from the hut in tears, Magali nodded. “Yeah. Always.”
Anna’s scowl had deepened and she was peering at Molly like she’d grown mandibles and antennae. “We don’t want you here, butterball. Get out.”
“Is this where I’m supposed to sleep?” Molly moved deeper into the room and sat down on Anna’s cot. She smiled at Anna, who had gone purple upon seeing Molly place her butt upon her stretch of canvas. She began rifling through Anna’s tiny pile of belongings—mag-cards, memchips, a handheld r-player. A frown dimpling her freckled brow, she held one of them up. “Ghani Klyde? The phil-o soffer?”