by King, Sara
Doberman analyzed Anna’s face. “I can understand why you would do that, Anna,” he said.
“You see, Dobie,” Anna said, yawning and opening another stolen bag of potato chips, “if one is to lead, one must know how to make full use of one’s resources.”
“It seems to me,” Dobie said, “that killing the only operator the Rebellion had in its ranks was not best use of our resources.”
Anna scoffed. “Yeah, well, I didn’t like her.” She crunched a handful of potato chips. “You ever figure out what happened to my sister?”
“The registry says she died in Yolk Factory 14, Anna.”
Anna’s face darkened. “Good. Nobody needs her, anyway.”
Chapter 47
Dance Lessons
“You know, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Joel muttered. He hadn’t eaten much of his filet mignon. Back at the reception area, the maître d' kept glancing over at them nervously. Probably had something to do with the gigantic gun that Jeanne had slung over her exquisite shoulder, then shoved in the man’s face when he tried to tell her she couldn’t carry it into the restaurant.
“Really?” Jeanne said, chewing on a forkful of sautéed shrimp. Her green eyes were twinkling with delight. “Why, I’m pretty sure you got everything you asked for, Joel.” Indeed, the cherry-red dress showed off her ample cleavage with breathtaking results.
Joel cleared his throat and tilted his head at the egger.
Jeanne glanced down at the tiny man spreading out his lasagna on the tablecloth. “Oh, him?” She grinned at him and ate more two-hundred-credit shrimp. “Somebody has to babysit the little cretin, and Pat had a headache.”
Joel narrowed his eyes. In one corner, a trio of musicians played the harp, accompanied by the piano and violin beside the open dance floor. At her smug look, her luscious lips poised around another crustacean as she bit it off her fork, Joel wadded up his napkin and stood.
“What, going so soon?” she laughed. “Be sure you pay the waiter on the way out.”
“Get up,” Joel said.
Immediately, Jeanne’s eyes darkened dangerously. “You got everything you asked for. No complaining.”
“I’m not complaining, and no I didn’t. You still haven’t danced with me.” Joel gestured at the dance floor.
Jeanne glanced over at the dance floor and paled with satisfying quickness. “Um.”
“I said ‘dancing,’ Jeanne,” Joel said, grinning at her. “And, as evidenced, we saved your crazy little egger.” He gestured at the mussy-haired little man who was now poking toothpicks into his large lasagna smear.
She coughed uncomfortably, her face going purple. “I don’t…” She swallowed. “…know how,” she muttered.
Joel felt his grin widen. “So I’ll teach you. All those years in Officer’s Corps, heh, I’ve had enough practice.”
“In front of them?” Jeanne demanded, gesturing at their audience.
“Who, them?” Joel turned and looked at the other wide-eyed patrons, who were watching the two of them over their tuxedos and expensive wines. “Why not? They’re already staring. I think the assault rifle and those massive combat boots had something to do with it.”
Jeanne put down her fork, looking sick all over again. “I don’t know…” Beside her, Wideman was now pouring warm cream onto the toothpicky mess.
“Deal’s a deal,” Joel said. “Besides, you’re gorgeous. Nobody’s gonna be watching your feet, believe me.”
Immediately, the confident, badass pirate was stripped away, leaving a blushing, lip-biting beauty in her place.
“Come on,” Joel urged gently, holding his hand out.
She stared at the empty dance floor for several minutes. “What about Joe?” she finally asked.
Joel glanced at the tiny egger who was now smooshing his upturned plate into his toothpick-creamer-lasagna mixture, trying to hold it up via toothpicks. “He looks rather occupied, wouldn’t you say?” He wiggled his fingers. “Come on.”
With a pained grimace, Jeanne reluctantly took his hand. Joel kissed it. “Milady?”
She rolled her eyes, but got to her feet. To the egger, she said, “Stay here, Joe. The smuggler and I are going to go ‘dance’.” The way she said the word, complete with a disgusted twist to her crimson lips, one might have thought she were about to muck a pigsty.
The greasy little egger nodded vigorously, spinning the plate through his lasagna. Jeanne watched him a moment, then sighed. They walked to the dance floor together, and Joel knew from experience that the stares they were getting were not all due to Jeanne’s assault rifle or massive combat boots. The lady, almost on an eye with him with her four-inch soles, was magnificent. He brought them to a halt at the dance floor.
“Boots off,” he ordered.
Jeanne, already moving toward the open hardwood floor with obvious nerves, immediately froze and gave him a look of suspicion. “Joel, if this is an attempt to catch me off-guard while you make off with my ship—”
“—you’ll kill me, I know.” Joel bent and tugged his own shoes off, still keeping a grip on the pirate’s hand, lest she decide to bolt like the frightened rabbit she appeared. “I’d rather you not crush my feet while we do this,” Joel said. “I think I’ve broken enough bones for a lifetime, wouldn’t you agree?”
Her eyes fell to his hand, still twisted and bent from the Nephyr’s attentions. Muttering, she wrenched her hand out of his grip and, almost timidly, crouched to start unlacing her footwear. When extracted, her stockinged feet looked surprisingly delicate. She shoved the boots—still dirt-covered from slogging through the mud on some pirating adventure, no doubt—against the wall, smearing brown across the cream-colored paint. Then she stood, licking her lips.
“Gun, too,” Joel said.
“Why?” she growled, instantly clutching the rifle like a lifeline.
“Because assault rifles get in the way of a good tango,” Joel said.
She gave him a long, hard look, then glanced at the other patrons, all of whom quickly looked away.
“You’ll have to get used to it sometime,” Joel said. “I have the feeling we’ll be coming here a lot.”
She turned back to scowl at him. “Nobody said anything about doing this again.”
“You do want me to fly for you again, don’t you?” he asked, quirking a brow.
She gave him a long, flat look.
“I mean,” Joel continued rationally, “I think this is a fair trade. You get a few hours in the sky, I get a few hours on the dance floor. And to top things off, I’ll even pay.”
“You bastard,” she muttered. But she lowered the rifle against her boots.
Seeing that, Joel smiled from his heart. “My dear?” he offered, once more giving her his hand. “Care to dance?”
“You’re never getting me in a dress again,” Jeanne growled. “I don’t care what you do.”
“Why not?” Joel asked. “You look stunning.”
Jeanne narrowed her vibrant green eyes at him, but took his hand. Joel led her across the floor to a central area, then stopped and showed her proper hand placement. Folding her fingers to his was like bending the fingers of a steel statue. She kept glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the dining area.
“Now,” Joel said easily. “The thing about dancing is you need to trust your partner implicitly, and follow his lead.”
“His lead.”
“Yes, his lead.”
“What if I want to lead?”
“You don’t get to lead,” Joel said. “Now there are only a few basic steps. Once you learn them, you can do anything you see those guys on the waves doing, in all their fancy jumpsuits.”
She was glaring at him, but she rigidly let him move her feet into place with his toes.
“Now,” Joel said. “I’m going to take a few steps to the right. Move with me on three, okay?”
“This is ridiculous.” But she did it.
He showed her the most basic ballroom dance he co
uld think of, leading her patiently through the steps, keeping time to the music, and eventually, she started to relax into the rhythm. The feel of the woman’s slender hand easing into his, the warmth of her waist against his fingers, was intoxicating. When she looked up at him, her beautiful green eyes laced with timid uncertainty, Joel felt himself melting, felt his heart pounding beyond anything he’d felt in the rush of the dogfight.
“Am I doing okay?” she whispered, nibbling a luscious lip.
“Like a pro,” he managed, trying to hide the way he’d been staring.
At her beaming smile and girly giggle of relief, followed by a deep blush and quick, anxious look at the restaurant-goers, however, Joel could no longer help himself. He bent to meet her, intending to remind her of that one fantastic night in the desert, years ago.
The barrel of a revolver found its way into his left nostril. “Joel?” Jeanne said carefully.
“Yes, Jeanne?” he said, swallowing.
“I think that’s enough dance lessons for the day, don’t you?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Joel said.
“Go check on the egger, Joel.”
“Good idea,” he said quickly. Then, backing away, he looked down at her skin-tight dress and blurted, “Where the hell did you get a revolver?”
“It’s called a leg-holster, Joel,” she said, still aiming the gun at his nose. “Go. Now.”
He did. And, walking back to the egger’s ever-increasing mess, Joel had to smile. Now that was a woman who knew how to give a guy incentive…
Chapter 48
Fortune’s Rising
Magali jumped as the door to the bar slammed open with enough force to embed the latch into the opposite wall. She froze, her heart falling into a shuddering march of terror when four Nephyrs stepped into the room from the brightness of the outdoors.
“Was passing through on a Draft and heard there was a pussy in here bawling his eyes out to a colonist,” the lead Nephyr said, his dark eyes coming to rest on Jersey. “I’ll be goddamned, looks like they were right.” The cruel sneer of the man’s filigreed face was unmistakable.
In an instant, Jersey had launched the table off to the side, leaving his path clear to stand and put his body between Magali and the four Nephyrs.
The lead Nephyr whistled. “Girls, I do believe he wants to tango.” Beside him, the three women grinned.
“Let’s do it,” Jersey growled, cracking his knuckles as he made fists. “I was getting bored sweet-talking the whore, anyway.”
Magali flinched, her breath catching in her lungs. Facing off the four Nephyrs, Jersey didn’t even look at her.
The lead Nephyr’s cold blue eyes flickered to Magali and he chuckled. “That ain’t the way I heard things, pretty-boy.” He looked Jersey up and down, stopping on Jersey’s face. “You need to go back to finishin’ school or somethin’? Havin’ a little breakdown somebody needs to know about?”
Jersey snorted. “Get the hell outta my way.” He started towards the Nephyr, aiming to move past him, when the man stepped in front of him, meeting his eyes.
“Oh my,” he said, his sneer spreading. “He’s been blubbering like a baby.” The Nephyr motioned, and two of his companions slipped around Jersey, one on either side. A third worked her way through the billiards tables to get behind him. Jersey watched them surround him with an icy-steel complexion, then turned back to the leader, his face a mirror. He stepped up, then, into the man’s face, gritted, “Get out of my way.”
“Hmm,” the lead Nephyr said. “No.” He gestured again, and the two women on either side of Jersey lunged inward, grabbing him by the arms, holding him in place. “Get that ridiculous shirt off of him and hold up his arm.”
“No!” Jersey shouted, kicking out, trying to launch the three of them backwards. The fourth Nephyr ducked in from behind and threw him in a headlock, then held him still as the other two ripped the shirt off of him. Jersey screamed in fury, kicking a table in half.
“Such rage,” the lead Nephyr chuckled. “It’s not winter out there, buddy-boy, so why the long sleeves? Almost as if you’re trying to hide—” The man’s glittering face froze as he got a good look at Jersey’s arm. Then his eyes slid back to Jersey’s face and stayed there. “The Forty-Third is guarding the Yolk harvest in Factory 14.” His voice was low and deadly.
“I got some time off,” Jersey snarled. “Let go of me.”
But the man didn’t budge. “Girls,” he said, “remind me again of that last APB that hit the waves?”
“Rogue Nephyr from the Forty-Third stole a ship, went AWOL,” one of the women said, grinning into Jersey’s ear. She licked the side of his face and giggled. “Can we have some fun with him, Captain?”
Magali watched Jersey go stiff, watched him reach that little tipping point, recognizing it, because she, too, had been there, only days before. She raised her gun and put a bullet through the lead Nephyr’s left eye.
Killer, Wideman giggled at her.
One, two, three, she automatically began to count, as her pistol recharged.
As the Nephyr was falling and the other three were turning in confusion, Magali took three steps forward, swiveled, and kicked the Nephyr holding Jersey in a strangle-hold, right in her startled face. At the same time, she put the gun to her comrade’s face and pulled the trigger.
“The fuck?!” one of the women cried, dropping Jersey and backing away, staring at her two convulsing comrades.
One, two, three.
Magali shot her, too. Then, as the last Nephyr turned on her, confusion turning into cold, deadly promise, Magali kicked Jersey away from her and slammed the EMP wand into the woman’s shoulder. Her eyes went wide and she slumped to the ground in a tremor of shakes.
There will be more outside. Magali tucked the EMP wand into her waistband, bent, took a gun from the closest woman’s belt, and stepped past Jersey, who stood in place, staring at the four dead Nephyrs at his feet. She opened the door and stepped into the sunlight.
A group of several hundred Yolk draftees were chained together in lines in the road outside. Six Nephyrs were laughing and surrounding a voluptuous, mousy-looking woman who was keeping her eyes carefully downcast. She had a shackle around her throat, chained to the next draftee ahead of her. She was shaking as they played with her hair and bent to whisper things into her ear.
Three more Nephyrs—all female—were leaning against the wall of the hotel, yawning, watching the action around the mousy woman with disinterest. Two other males were walking up and down the three prisoner lines with riding crops, reciting the Draftee Act. Another one was seated on an upturned flower-pot—the pot’s occupants upended into the road a few feet away—and holding an r-player, a set of headphones over his ears, bobbing his head to music.
Magali didn’t stop to think. She raised her gun and fired at the Nephyr that was holding a lock of the girl’s wavy brown hair. The man’s head snapped back, pushed that way by the explosive, armor-piercing bullet of the Nephyr’s gun. With her other hand, she swung around and shot the closest crop-bearer.
One, two, three, she thought, automatically, as she started walking towards the line of prisoners and fired the Nephyr’s pistol at another of the six surrounding the girl. He jerked and slid to the ground, shuddering. With her other hand, she shot the second startled crop-bearer, who had spun around to stare.
That’s right, Magali thought. Look at me, you assholes. She shot two more of the ones around the girl before they snarled an alarm and started to charge her. She dropped the recharging pistol and yanked the EMP wand from her belt. The Nephyrs were inhumanly fast, but when Magali dropped into her trance, it felt like her hand was guided by Time itself. She pulled the trigger once, then spun and stepped to the side and hit the second with the EMP as they both came crashing towards her. They hurtled past her, burying themselves in the wall of the pub.
The three Nephyrs leaning against the wall were straightening, now, frowns on their faces. Two of them started jogging across t
he road. One of them pulled her gun.
In smooth, rapid precision, Magali killed the woman with the gun, then the furthest of the two approaching. The third she hit with the EMP. Then she was walking, striding up to the last remaining Nephyr, who had his back to her. He was still moving to the music, watching something on his r-player.
Killer, Wideman giggled.
Magali lowered the activated EMP rod into the Nephyr’s field of vision, aiming at his face with the gun. He froze. Very slowly, he looked up.
“How many of you were there?” she asked.
The Nephyr swallowed and his eyes flickered to the glittering corpses littering the road. “Uh. Twenty, counting me.”
“Where are the other four?” she asked.
“Checking in to the hotel,” the Nephyr said.
Magali hit him with the wand. He slid off of the pot, convulsing into the sidewalk. She picked up his gun and crossed the road, ignoring the way the colonists were whispering amongst themselves, and kicked open the door to the hotel. Inside, two Nephyrs were reading magazines in sofas. They looked up, confused. She shot them with each of her pistols, then dropped the right pistol and, snagging her EMP wand, swung to find a fourth Nephyr charging her from the desk. She hit her with the wand and let her crash through the front door of the establishment, into the dust outside.
The last Nephyr came out of the bathroom buckling his pants, chewing on a candy-bar. He froze, eyes wide, staring at his dead comrades. The candy-bar fell from his mouth.
“Get out here,” Magali said, backing through the front door of the hotel and gesturing with the gun. “Outside.”
Licking his lips, the Nephyr’s hand started sliding towards his gun.
“Don’t,” Magali said. “I won’t miss.”