by Mima
“Drop it!” she commanded him.
“Die!” he screamed at her.
She kneed him in the balls. His hands convulsed inward. When he went weak with surprised pain, her straining weight thrust the blade forward. They both looked at each other in surprise over their black half-face masks. His eyes rolled in his head. She stumbled away as he reached for Sam, his wet hands gleaming a dark red. Sam hurried out around the end of the bar away from him. Li collapsed at the end, curling into a ball.
Becca shook the blood off her hand, desperately wiping it on her pants. Turning, she saw that the triton gas was finally working. Men were lying about on the floor, and while there was some blood and one gleaming pile of vomit, there seemed to be more of them twitching and spitting than cut.
Her gaze scanned the bodies. No Mindy. Two, three . . . only three guards. Racing toward the hall, her throat seized at the thought they’d gotten away into the far alley. But no, there he was. He stood in front of the storeroom door, yelling directions over his shoulder. She caught the words “paper bag.” Chak and a fighter named Zeke were both exchanging lunges against the guard’s longer blade. Zeke went down on one knee and got the guard in the thigh. He fell, and as his arms flew up with the instinctual need to recover his balance, Chak got him in the ribs. The man crumpled.
Chak whooped a ululating cry. He hauled Zeke up, dragging him back toward the tavern with his arm around his shoulders. “Sam,” he called, his voice muffled in the mask, “can you help me get him outside?”
Becca stepped cautiously away, very aware the man had not called to her, the supposed boss, for help.
“I’ve got a better idea.” Sam hurried to them and strapped Li’s mask on Zeke.
The guy folded into a chair and breathed hard, holding the plastic. All three of her remaining team stared at her with accusing eyes.
It just wasn’t in her to give up on the captain’s gift without trying to earn it. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. “The most critical need is the aft power drain. You might think it’s the icing rods that feed the life support, but they’re not as essential.” She lifted her chin, proud she knew this much entirely on her own.
She understood the issues and could make recommendations. And very soon, she’d be able to develop and apply their solutions. “There are other coolants we can route to if the icing rods continue to fail, but the aft power issue endangers the whole propulsion.” Her voice was low and steady despite her clammy palms.
Etienne’s brows rose. “Forgive me. I see you do know your systems after all. That is the diagnosis my last senior chief gave me before he had to leave due to illness.” He sat up and gestured to the chiller built into the table. “Would you care for a drink?”
She inclined her head. “I’ll take plain water, thank you.”
“But of course I’m offering more celebratory drinks than that, Ms. Sharpin.”
“Thank you, sir. No, I’m not drinking tonight. The Fire Lily has important needs that I take very seriously. This is just a break from the long night ahead of me.” She took the glass from him, pleased she didn’t drop it. Her daring made her throat close. “And please, call me Becca.”
Etienne took up his large goblet of red wine and swirled it with finesse. He again considered her for a long while, but she marshaled her pride and this time looked around the tastefully decorated room instead of gawking back at him. He was right. The hue of her green dress fit in perfectly with the paler greens here. What a trail of luck she danced upon. She gave a silent toast to it continuing, and took a sip of water.
“So what are your first steps and what is your prognosis for when we will be cruise-ready?”
“My first step is to research ambassador-class couriers, as I’ve never worked on your power links before.” She took a sip and met his eyes, daring him to criticize her. “You’ve taken on a young engineer, Etienne, but a dedicated and professional one.” Forcing her shoulders to stay back with false confidence threatened to crack her chest in half. She had no idea how long it would take a true senior chief to fix these issues, and didn’t want to toss out a date without knowing more.
She deflected the conversation. “The artifacts are from across the many worlds. It’s been my dream to travel the stars, and I’m thrilled to join your crew. I’m so very honored by your trust and I promise to live up to it. Can you tell me your timetable and where our next port of need is?”
A smile spread across his beautiful face. “I like you, Becca. I’m so glad Jake called in his favor. I think you’ll do fine by the Fire Lily. I’d like to leave for Xclesio-o within the week.”
“Then I will do everything in my power to make that happen.” Her gaze remained steady when he named the planet commonly known as “Ex-lesbio,” for its intensely sexual matriarchal society. It was on Becca’s short list of places to see before she died.
His wings flared, fluttered, and settled. “Excellent. Will you have a salad first?”
“Thank you, I’d love some.” Becca called on her mother’s best social reminders, holding her spine straight, knees together, ankles crossed.
Nine days later, Becca met with Captain Fossi and Etienne in the helm.
She couldn’t meet the lovely tweety’s eyes. “The propulsion is a go. I’ve confirmed all stress tests. We’re free to submit our course.”
“The life-support rods remain—”
“I know,” Becca cut the captain off tersely. She barely stood upright in her filthy flight suit. The total hours of sleep she’d had in the last nine days were fewer than a person should rightly have in one night. And the time she wasn’t sleeping hadn’t been wasted on hygiene.
In fact, the last sit-down meal her stomach had experienced was the one with Etienne. “But I can work on that while we’re cruising.” If she was given the chance. She glanced under her lashes at Etienne. His slightly extended wings waved softly before the warm helm, and his pale hair picked up the colorful glow from the electronic panels in the dim room.
She’d done it, as she’d known she could. But she hadn’t done it in the week he’d asked for. She stared at the floor. “My report of the extent of the repairs will be filed in the ship’s history within the hour.” Then she needed six hours of sleep, minimum. Her back was killing her, and not from the tumble she’d taken down one of the undershafts that morning. Every muscle was locked as she wondered what Etienne would decide.
“Senior Chief.”
It was a command, and she dragged her bleary gaze up to the sparkling sloe eyes of the tall leader.
“Well done. I’ve been informed that the repairs should have taken five days.”
She winced. One of her contacts had sneered he could have done them in three.
“However, as you unapologetically admitted when we met, you are young. This is a fact, not a crime. You are also dedicated and brilliant. Thank you for your valiant efforts—I order you to ten hours in your suite.” Etienne glanced at the captain. “Can you get us on our course within six hours, Umberto?”
“That should be about right.” The captain turned and bent over the nearest panel without giving Becca a single look.
Etienne smiled at her and she blinked back tears. “Becca, my crew is not solely chosen for competence, but for their ability to handle stress and to think creatively. There are times I need to depend on my crew, and I cannot have a collection of sheep or soldiers. I think you will fit in here well.” Stepping closer, he offered his hand.
She took it. Hers was greasy and small in his. His wings spread and lifted. She couldn’t disguise the tremble in her grip when she looked at him in his lovely glory.
“Welcome to my crew, Senior Engineering Chief Becca of the Fire Lily.”
PFSHEW! You have found the ending called Muscle Through. Click on this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!
She stood up and wandered
idly around the fountain, glancing into the candy store window. Using it as a mirror to make sure no one seemed to be watching her, she ducked into the courier office.
“Can I help you?” A man sat straighter at the counter, putting his plax-page down.
“H-hello. I’d like to inquire about your message services.”
“All right. Our fees are twenty credits per message.”
That was outrageous. The com centers in the bars charged five credits. “So you own your com here and you can guarantee these messages are safe. No one can trace or intercept them?”
He nodded, looking bored. “Yeah. Otherwise why would you pay us that kind of money?”
She took a breath and bit her lip. “I’ll need two messages. Here’s my account information.”
She sent the first message to her brother and received a response that promised pickup would be there in a few hours. He also promised a trusted guard would get to her within the hour. The second message was sent via Silas’s direction. No response was given. She stayed in the courier office, despite the clerk’s irritation, until the guard her brother told her to expect arrived.
His name was Ben and he took her by the arm when they stepped out into the corridor. People continued to drift through the intersection—nothing out of the ordinary. Ben led her into an area with smaller shops less geared to visitors, full of household supplies and groceries. Eventually they entered a tube walkway that led them to an outer ring of private, temporary rooms.
It was the moon station’s version of a hotel, and she spent the first hour enjoying the controls, the intricate space-saving designs, and the simulated view on the plax-frame mounted to the wall. Ben stayed alert in a chair facing the door. Eventually, Becca sat, too. Ben said no to entertainment on the plax-frame, and the tension in the room seemed to mount as the hours dragged by.
When Laurent arrived, she almost cried. Her brother’s best friend and aide was a welcome sight. She hugged him and he bustled her off the moon onto a military transport piloted by a stony-faced blonde.
When they were underway, he turned to her. “Becca, your brother was so worried.”
She nodded. “I was, too! I’m so glad to get off that ship.”
Laurent frowned. “It’s best you tell me the truth. Did you have any involvement in the assassination?”
Every hair on Becca’s body stood up. Her scalp rippled in dread. “Assassination?”
“A Dhramian prince who’s been missing for six months was just blown to bits, with half the Cider Pot as well.” Laurent took her reaching hands and folded his around them. “Rex was really scared because he knew your message to us had been hacked, so he was desperate to get me here, but we were mid-mission and he couldn’t come himself.”
Laurent’s last words faded, as if down a long metal tube. Words jumped out and echoed inside her brain. Prince. Blown to bits. Hacked. Silas had trusted her with his life. He’d told her what to do, and she’d been too afraid. By sending her own selfish message for help, she’d led his enemies right to his hiding place.
Becca had killed a man who relied on her. Burying her face in Laurent’s strong neck, she screamed. Her wail deafened her, tore her throat, drowned in tears. But it didn’t change what she’d done.
{WINCE.} You have found the ending called All Fall Down. Click on this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!
“I’m not ready.” Her voice came out low and rough, but instead of seeming craven, she sounded a bit sexy. She smiled, sort of, in a sad, lopsided way. “I’m close, but I need more training, especially regarding propulsion and life support, which are your two biggest issues.”
Etienne’s brows rose. “Ah.” He sat back in the chair, rubbing one finger along his lower lip thoughtfully. “And yet you came here, to my ship.”
She pressed her lips together tightly. “The transfer was all rather surprising. I think Jake thought he was doing me a very large favor. I apologize.” She had learned under Leo, but what she’d really excelled at was getting screwed.
Etienne leaned forward and pulled up a large goblet of red wine from the chiller at the table’s center. “Am I correct in my understanding of how women earn large favors from Jake?” Etienne’s wings flared wide, then forward.
Becca gasped as she watched strange muscles dance and bunch on his chest. The feathers brushed over her back and enclosed them in a private space.
“And Leo? After a mere two weeks on the Cider Pot, Leo was willing to sign your certification. That’s an extraordinary measure of . . . respect, Becca.”
She couldn’t deny the relationships he so clearly knew about. “If I could just have a career in sex, life would be easier.” Her uncomfortable laugh fell awkwardly in the elegant room, like a jammed planetswing bouncing a ship across the atmosphere.
His finger traced around and around the lip of the wineglass. Easing the tip down into the wine, he lifted it, lapped a red drop off his finger, and then went back to circling the rim. “I think you are extremely unusual. And I am beginning to think you have incredible potential.”
His voice, with its soft, exotic inflections, traveled right to her core. Her heart danced with the combination of it, his gaze, his wings, and his hypnotic toying with the wine.
“Let me ask you something, Becca. Answer immediately and with honesty.” His finger dipped into the wine again. “What do you crave at this moment?”
“To touch your wings,” she breathed instantly.
“That’s what I thought.” His finger left the wine and darted forward, resting with a hot pulse in the center of her lower lip. “Open.”
She did, and he slid his whole finger deep along her tongue.
“Suck.”
She did, lightly, lashes fluttering at the taste, the shock. He tugged, and with one last ripple of her tongue, she set him free. He went back to circling his wineglass. “Yes.” He stared at her, again with fascination. “You’re a good fuck, aren’t you, Becca? You like sex. You like power, and sometimes you like sharing. Sensation makes you feel alive, and the adrenaline of taking a lover, maybe even taking a lover you barely know, really lights you up. You’re quick on your feet, curious and confident.”
He swirled the wine and took a large mouthful. Lips parted, he savored it, rolling the liquid in his open mouth, tongue flicking sensuously. Watching her, he swallowed. “Am I right?”
She had no idea what was going on here, but it was making her wet. She reached out and took the goblet from his languid grip. “Yes.” She took a big swallow of his wine. It wasn’t any type she’d tried before, being spicy and smooth, warming her up faster and harder than Leo’s whiskey ever did. She gasped, breathed through the burn and grinned. “Wow. Everything about you is good.”
Surprising her, he grinned back. “I think you’re in the wrong line of work.”
“Oh?” She leaned forward until her breasts rested on the table. Both sets of fingertips stroked the base of her stolen glass. “I enjoy the intricacies of systems work. I want to be in charge, but I don’t want the bureaucracy of captainship or security, and I definitely want to travel. I think I’ll do okay.”
He nodded, leaning forward as well, his wings nearly surrounding the table. If she tipped her head, her cheek would brush up against the silky feathers so close. “Have you ever considered being a concubine?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she held her tongue, breathing hard. “Have you?” she quipped in return.
“I am one.” His eyes had deepened to amethyst in the privacy he cast around them. And his gaze was entirely serious.
“You’re an ambassador.” Becca studied his face. Ambassadors were respected, honored mediators. They often put their lives on the line to settle disputes of all types, including political, financial, familial, and racial.
“I trained for three years as a concubine first. All ambassadors have. Well, all
the successful ones at least.” He winked. “Why would you want to get greasy and struggle with constantly changing technology, when you could live in luxury and have sexual pleasure along with the mental challenge that negotiations provide?”
Becca sat back, deliberately trying to distance herself from the cozy island he’d created. “A concubine.” She had only a dim recollection of one of her boyfriends sending her a plax-page article on them. It had been a vid of their “sexual secrets and fashion raptures.” They’d all looked very inter-worldly and blasé. Her main impression was that they were high-end whores. York had not legalized them.
He sat back, too, unsettling her by withdrawing his wings. With a flick, they came to rest behind him. “I shall continue to interview for a senior chief, but I’m quite taken with you. I see great promise, and I need an apprentice.”
She took up his fancy wine and took three unsophisticated but much-needed swigs. Gasping, she slammed the glass down. “And would being your apprentice require us to have sex?”
He inclined his head. “But of course. However, I should caution you that unlike with Jake, sex with me comes with no promise of future favors. You either earn your approval into the guild or you are freed to attempt another line of work.”
Copying him, she circled her fingertip around the rim of the glass. The slick coolness settled her. “You’re saying that being a concubine could open success for me faster than finishing my systems certification.”
He called up another glass of wine. “I am. Being a concubine is a fascinating occupation in and of itself, but if you truly are as intelligent and dynamic as I think you are, you’ll use it as a springboard to one of several other careers.”
She reached into the wineglass and dipped her middle finger into the liquid. The wine was thicker than expected. She reached out, not for his face, but for his magnificent chest. Rubbing his nipple, she stared as his unusual pecs twitched. “How many apprentices have you had?”