Steel Coyote

by Beth Williamson

  “Well met, Morgan and Mason. You’re coming on board the Steel Coyote. I’m Captain Hawthorne and this here is my pilot, Max.”

  The two kids mumbled a greeting so low he barely heard them.

  Remy gestured to the loading area. “Can you two walk barefoot across there?”

  The boy swallowed hard enough that Max heard it. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me that. Name is Captain Hawthorne.”

  The teens nodded jerkily, their curls bouncing with the movement.

  “You have any belongings?” She kept her gun hand steady.

  The boy held up a small black sack from behind him. “Only this.”

  “Jesus, he left you with nothing, didn’t he?” Remy frowned. “Jean is one son of a bitch.”

  The kids looked at her mutely, their expressions scared and confused.

  Remy tucked the gun back in its holster. She waited until the orb passed before she glanced at the crowd of people trembling with raw savagery. “I’m taking them out of here. Anybody have a problem with that?”

  Silence met her question. After a few fraught moments of excruciating nothingness, she jerked her head toward the hatch. “Let’s go. Keep moving, so we get out of here in one piece.”

  The kids jumped about a foot in the air before scrambling for the exit. Remy followed, her gaze circling the room. Max stepped out more slowly, his guns still fully loaded and cocked. No one raised their eyes until he was nearly out the hatch. Then, a young woman in the corner looked at him. She was too far away to know for certain, but he could swear she smiled.

  Max tucked the guns into their holsters and followed the unlikely trio through the station. Remy’s long legs ate up the distance down the dock to the Steel Coyote. The kids trailed along behind her like two lost puppies scrambling to keep up with their trainer. Max ran until he caught up to the captain.

  “That could have gone better.” Max kept an eye on the twins.

  “Could have been worse, too. Goddamn Jean has me picking them up for something other than to plant potatoes on a moon.” Remy’s lip curled. “Fuckers. I hate slavers worse than anything.”

  Max agreed but didn’t think they should talk about it until after they were on board the Steel Coyote. The skin between his shoulders itched. He didn’t trust there wasn’t someone watching them even as they hauled ass through the port.

  “Katie better be ready to go. I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary.”

  He spied a mercantile tucked into one of the corner shops. “We need to get them shoes and something to wear.”

  Remy looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “We don’t have time.”

  “We have to make time. They can’t wear rags for two weeks, Remy.”

  “Captain Hawthorne.”

  He snorted. “I refuse to call you that since I know what your… Ah, since we’ve become close.”

  She let out a sigh. “Fine. Ten minutes. No more. You get what they need, but don’t spend much. It’s still my money.” Remy reached toward his face as though she would cup his cheek but then stopped with her hand in midair. Heat whipped through him. She shook her head and turned to herd the twins toward the ship. “Don’t make me leave without you, Max.”

  With that, she left him standing on the port, her shapely behind disappearing into the crowd. He wasn’t insulted, but he was annoyed. Remy ran over everyone like a herd of horses. She was stubborn and bossy. Although, if she were a man, people would say she was taking care of business. He didn’t know if he admired her gumption or resented it.

  After the brief glance at the twins, he could guess what size clothes to buy them. In a space station like Azesus, they should have some ready-made clothes. He headed into the mercantile, a bell jingling overhead as the door opened.

  An older man with a hunched back and a pair of spectacles on his nose poked his head around the corner of a shelf in the middle of the store. Max had been in plenty of mercantiles, but this one was packed tight. He could barely walk through the stacks of stuff—everything from barrels of crackers to crates of canned food. A rack held a mixture of clothes crammed together in a mish-mosh of colors.

  “Well met, good sir. Can I help ya?” The old man had a few teeth on the bottom and a few on top, but they didn’t quite meet in the middle. His friendly, if unusual, grin was welcoming.

  “Well met. I need to get a few clothes. Possibly some foodstuffs.” He didn’t know where to start looking.

  “You about a forty-four long? I think I got a coat here somewheres.” The man headed for the rack.

  “Not for me. Couple of teenagers. Come to about here.” He held his hand up to his shoulder, and the other halfway down his arm. “And here. Boy and girl. Skinny as rails.”

  The old man’s bushy white eyebrows went up. “I think I got a few things that might do ya.” He dug through the rack, mumbling to himself, his gnarled hands sifting through the garments.

  Max took the opportunity to look around. He spotted a crate with a variety of dented cans, along with a torn bag of peppermints. “You selling that crate of busted items?”

  “Eh? Oh yeah, five credits and it’s yours.” The old man pulled out an armload of clothing and headed for the nearly full counter tucked in the back of the store. “I gotta few things here.”

  He laid the clothes down and shuffled around to the other side of the counter. It was up to mid-chest on the funny old man. He must’ve stepped on a stool, because suddenly he was the same height as Max.

  “Take a lookee and tell me what ya think.”

  Max sifted through the clothes, a few dresses, shirts, trousers, two coats.

  Saint appeared on his shoulder. “I suggest something sturdy. They will need these to last. The girl is approximately one point three meters tall and the boy one point five meters.”

  “Thanks.” He picked the sturdiest ones that appeared to be the right size, two outfits for each of them. “I’ll take these.” He handed the selected garments to the old man. “You have socks and boots, too?”

  “Ayuh. Right over yonder in the corner. I’ll fold these up for ya while you look.”

  Max had no idea how big the kids’ feet were. Hell, he was no judge on sizes. Damn Remy for yanking them onto the ship so fast. He understood why, but five minutes wouldn’t have made such a difference.

  “What about their feet?” he asked Saint.

  “Twelve centimeters for her. Perhaps eighteen for him. The dirt occluded an accurate measurement.” Saint was pretty damn good at this kind of thing.

  “Close enough.” Max located a pile of shoes, all different shapes and sizes, and picked a pair of boots for each, along with two pairs of socks. If they didn’t fit, they could sell them on Haverty.

  He set them down on the counter on top of the clothes. The old man looked frail, but he wrapped it all up in brown paper and twine in less than a minute.

  “You want the crate, then?”

  “Yeah, include that.” He had no idea what might be in there, but with two extra mouths over two weeks, extra supplies would be needed.

  “That’ll be twenty-two credits.” He held out an ancient tablet, one older than Max.

  It wasn’t a lot, and Remy couldn’t begrudge the kids basics. He was about to hold up his hand to pay when he spotted something red in the corner.

  “Hold up one minute, old timer.” He peeked over and found a diaphanous red nightie, one he could easily imagine Remy wearing. His imagination wanted to take flight, encouraged by his ravenous dick, but he squashed it quickly. “I’ll take this, too.”

  “You sure you want to do this?” The hologram had to play his part. So did Max.

  The old man chuckled. “That’ll give ya a piece of wood in your trousers.”

  Oh, the thoughts racing around Max’s brain would make a grown man blush.

  “How much for all of it?”

  “I’ll throw that in for a measly five credits. Twenty-seven’ll do ya.” He held up the tablet again and M
ax paid. With a ridiculous but unrepentant grin, he stuffed the nightie into his pocket.

  Max set the parcel on top of the crate and hefted the weight. “Can you get the door for me?”

  “Sure thing, stranger.” The old man shuffled toward the door and nimbly moved around the stacks of crap. He was definitely spritelier than expected. “Thank ya for your business.”

  “Much obliged.”

  Max stepped out and looked both ways before he started off for the ship.

  “Get out of sight for now, Saint. I don’t trust anyone here.”

  Saint retreated without a peep. Max didn’t see anyone watching him and the itch was gone from between his shoulder blades. That didn’t mean there wasn’t any danger. It probably meant it had followed Remy and the twins to the ship. He picked up his pace and elbowed his way through the crowds toward the Steel Coyote’s berth, avoiding the Corporation orbs as he moved.

  He told himself he wasn’t worried about Remy—he just didn’t want to get left behind on this godforsaken space station.

  The crowds were worse, if that was possible, and he had to use the crate a few times to help people move out of his way. His dark look usually stopped them from complaining. His boots echoed on the metal floor, louder than he wanted.

  When he arrived at the Steel Coyote’s berth, Katie was talking to the fuel technician, who stood there in his overalls ogling her. She spoke to people as easily as other people breathed. It was a skill she might want to teach her boss.

  He stepped onto the ship and headed straight for the galley with the crate and package. After figuring out where to put the foodstuffs, he’d find the twins. Remy probably had them stashed away so they didn’t get underfoot.

  Foley was seated in the galley, sipping on a cup of mysterious liquid. His furry white brows slammed together when he saw Max. “What you got there, pretty boy?”

  “Well met, old man.” Max dropped the crate like a bomb on the table, making the old man jump. “If you call me pretty boy one more time, I’m going to show you just how big my balls really are.”

  “Humph. I know a pretty boy when I see one.”

  Annoyance flashed through him. “Goddamn it, Foley, I am not—”

  “Peppermints?” Foley grabbed the ripped package from within the crate. “I ain’t had one of these in a dog’s age.”

  “That’s because they make you fart.” Remy walked in with the twins at her heels. “Save us all the torture of your gaseous emissions.”

  “Them farts smell minty. ’Asides, it’s natural to let one rip.” The old man hugged the bag to his chest, his chin up at a stubborn angle.

  “Foley, for pity’s sake, we can’t have another disaster like—”

  “Pony express.” Katie’s voice crackled through the ship’s speakers.

  Remy’s eyes widened. “Fucking hell.”

  He was coming to realize that was her favorite combination of curse words.

  “Foley, take them all to the hold. Now.” She pushed the kids toward him. “Now!”

  With an expression rife with disappointment, he put the candy back in the crate. “Carry that, pretty boy. Let’s go.”

  Max looked at Remy. “What in the hell is going on?”

  “I’ll explain later. Just go with them now. Keep them quiet and hidden.” She turned and ran from the galley, leaping through the hatch with the grace of a beautiful blonde cat.

  “Foley, what—”

  “You heard her. Shut up and let’s go.”

  The twins were on Foley’s heels like a couple of brown, dirty ducklings. He heard the pounding of boots through the ship and recognized whatever pony express meant, it was not good. He snatched up the crate and followed the old man.

  Max hadn’t realized there were hidden stairs behind the hatch that led to the engine room. Foley slipped behind it and disappeared, followed quickly by Morgan and Mason. Max had trouble fitting the crate through and had to turn sideways, taking a bit of skin off his fingers, but he finally fit. The door closed behind him and pitch darkness closed in. He blinked, trying to get his bearings.

  A claw-like hand grabbed his elbows. “Stop pulling your pecker and get a’move on.”

  Foley yanked him forward and he had no choice but to follow. He crammed Max into a corner.

  “Stay here.” Foley’s breath could have used one of the peppermints.

  Max set the crate down at his feet. The walls were so close to his shoulders, he had no choice but to stay in place. “Where are the kids?”

  “Right beside you, ya ijit.”

  A subtle movement to his right told him they were there, probably crammed into another corner.

  “Fine then. We’re here. Now what?” Max was annoyed and confused.

  “Like I already said, stay here until I come back, and shut your yap. This ain’t gonna work if’n you don’t keep quiet.”

  With a blast of Foley-scented air, the old man scooted out of the tiny space and disappeared back through the hidden door. Max was left in the pitch black with the twins.

  Hell and crackers.

  …

  Remy sat in the pilot’s station and waited.

  Katie had used their warning system only once before. She had no idea what the chief engineer had warned of, but the key to beating any situation was to act as if she didn’t give a shit. Something she was very good at.

  When the staccato rhythm of heels echoed through the ship, her shoulders tensed. Someone was on the Steel Coyote who didn’t belong.

  “Well met, Captain Hawthorne.”

  Remy’s stomach flipped and then did it again. She slowly turned to face the intruder. It had been years since she’d seen Gina Parkinson. The woman had her sights set on a general’s position in the Corporation’s military force.

  Once upon a time, they’d been friends.

  When Remy was around nine, Gunnar had to replace some huge piece of the engine in the ship, so they’d lived a planet, Robio, for nearly six months. Gina had lived there, and she’d invited Remy to play with her one day.

  Even at such a young age, Gina had been bossy, and so had Remy. They fought as much as they made up, yet their friendship survived even after the Steel Coyote left Robio. Each time they returned to the planet, Remy spent time with Gina.

  The last time they’d seen each other was at least five or six years after they’d first met. As a fifteen-year-old girl, Gina had enlisted in the junior guard to help pave her way into the military ranks. She’d beaten a young boy with a baton for stealing at the behest of her eighteen-year-old commanding officer in the junior guard. Remy had watched in horror, trying to stop the cruelty, and was rewarded with two days in a Corporation jail. And worse. She’d survived by using her fists and her wits. Another lesson life had taught her. Fight or die.

  It was only then Remy understood the darkness that lived in the other woman’s heart and couldn’t continue to be the woman’s friend or ally.

  “Well met, Colonel Parkinson.”

  “General, actually.” Gina’s lips moved into a semblance of a smile but there was no emotion behind it. The brunette was shorter than Remy and built like at twelve-year-old boy, with nary a curve in sight under her pitch-black uniform accented with bright blue stripes on the shoulders. She had dark eyes that shifted into shadows, as though they had a life of their own.

  “Congratulations, Gina.” Remy figured it might irk her former friend to be called by her first name, especially given her elevated status in the military. Gina must spend her days chasing the Great Family and keeping the quadrant safe from undesirables. For whatever reason, she was on Azesus.

  Lucky Remy.

  “I’m looking for a man.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Gina’s lips tightened. “This man was seen entering your ship not ten minutes earlier.”

  Max.

  “The only man on this ship is Foley. Is that who you’re after?”

  If Gina found who she was looking for on the Steel Coyote, they’d c
onfiscate the ship and none of them would leave the Corporation hole they’d be thrown into. There was no way in hell she would let that happen.

  “I have no need of that antique. No, I’m looking for a younger man, late twenties, black hair, black clothing.”

  Well, shit.

  “Haven’t seen anyone like that. What did he do?” Remy maintained her casual pose in the pilot’s chair, although her stomach performed cartwheels. She wouldn’t let fear for her crew and the ship allow her to make a mistake.

  Gina frowned as though she was considering whether Remy was lying. “Killed old Gus, the mercantile owner. Gutted him like a fish.”

  Remy considered whether her pilot could have committed the crime in the fifteen minutes they’d been apart. For the brief minute she’d seen him back on the ship, he didn’t have a speck of blood on him, but he had been in a mercantile. She didn’t know if she truly trusted him, but her gut told her he wasn’t the killer.

  “That’s too bad.” Her tone was disinterested, bored. Perhaps Gina would believe it to be true.

  Goddammit, Max, what trouble did you find in that short span of time?

  “Someone saw a man entering your ship meeting his description.”

  “Someone, hmm? They’re either lying or mistaken.” Remy gestured with her arm. “You’re welcome to search, if you don’t believe me.”

  Gina glanced around. “I see you haven’t changed a thing since Gunnar died. It’s still a rattletrap.”

  Remy counted to five before she spoke, fury choking her. This woman had nothing but her uniform and the cold arms of the military. Remy had a family and a home. “It’s a solid ship.”

  “It’s a turtle, slow and old.” Gina was trying to push Remy into reacting, but she wouldn’t give the general the satisfaction.

  “It does just fine.” Remy got to her feet, pleased to see the general back up a step. Their height difference wasn’t reduced by the fancy black high-heeled boots Gina wore.

  “My team can search your ship.”

  Remy shrugged and waited. A trickle of sweat meandered down her spine.

  Gina spoke into her wrist, which held a communications device. “Alpha team, board the Steel Coyote and complete the sweep.” That unsmile crossed her face again.