Ruby
I paced back and forth behind the captain’s chair, my hands clasped tightly behind my back. “Status, Kip. Are they still on our tail?” I barked at my pilot. Five minutes ago, a ship had popped up on our radar, and it had been dogging our Long Hauler ever since. Finix was an old ship, and she was barely limping along after one of our engines had blown a few days ago. We were late for our delivery on Rummicaron Planet Six—also known as Rumcas. All we carried were bales upon bales of boring gray fabric for delivery to a military base; they were going to be turned into uniforms. It was not a haul worth stealing by pirates, but I was pretty sure the ship chasing us fully intended to board us.
“Still closing in, Captain,” Kip responded. He was a young Sune male, and the excitement had caused him to shift into his hybridform. His narrow snout and pointed ears were much like those of a fox, as was the plume of a tail he flicked behind his back. In comparison, our navigator looked practically dead in his seat. The old Rummicaron male was slumped back, beady black eyes bleary and unfocused. He was barely looking at his screens. It would not surprise me if he’d been into the Roka again; the male always managed to stash some away, no matter how thoroughly I searched the ship.
I cursed out loud, resuming my pacing as I considered our options. Normally, I wouldn’t be so scared of pirates; we had nothing of value. When they saw that, they’d leave. But after what I had accidentally found this morning? I was screwed either way. The pirates would find the stuff, take it without harming us, and then the guy who actually owned it would kill us. Or the pirates would find it and kill us. I had no doubt they’d find it because if I had found it, they definitely would know where to look for it.
Kip sharply tilted his head to look my way, and his eyes were huge in his narrow face, the whites showing all around his bright blue irises. He could sense how scared I was, and the youngster was letting that feed his own worries. This was his first long trip on the Finix ; he’d never had to deal with pirates before. The truth was, I had never dealt with pirates either. I always took safe cargos for exactly that reason. Playing it safe—that’s what I was all about. Except for one daring choice, I’d never taken a single risk in my life.
Immediately, my hands dropped to the gentle curve of my belly, and I added silently: And now I could take even fewer risks. I had another life depending on mine. If we couldn’t outrun them, the only way forward was to surrender quietly and hope for the best. I couldn’t worry about the owner of the drugs killing me when the more immediate worry was the pirates doing the same.
My eyes flashed from face to face on the bridge—a quick round to survey what anyone was thinking. One of these males was the traitor who had smuggled the Kanfray aboard the Finix and put all of us at risk. One of these bastards was on the payroll of a powerful druglord. I did not run in those circles—stayed as clear of them as I could—but even I knew which powerful bastard it probably was. We were heading into Rummicaron territory, and only one crimelord held reign there: Jalima.
The Finix was not a small ship, but it was run by a very small crew—me, the pilot, and the navigator required to get this rustbucket where she needed to go. And that was it. It was easy to discount Kip as the traitor, thanks to his youth, but at the same time, he was new for this trip… How well did I truly know him? Then there was Chawz, who, with his Roka habit, certainly had the criminal connections. It would not surprise me if he was in debt and had gotten in over his head. That would make for the right kind of pressure to smuggle drugs aboard my ship. Not just any drugs: Kanfray.
“Open a channel,” I said with a hiss, coming to a decision. The ship chasing us was flying dark, its transponder turned off so we could not read its call sign—unless it was painted on its hull and we got close enough. But I really wanted to avoid getting that close to the black menace. A Battle Class Cruiser, it was almost as big as the Finix but made up entirely of armored panels and bristling weapons. To me, it looked like a shark—dark and sinister—as it cut through space with the blue glow of its powerful engines.
“Yes, Captain,” Kip murmured, his tail swishing even more wildly in agitation, his tufted ears trembling against his head. He was terrified, and now I was starting to read that terror as worry for his smuggled drugs. Pregnancy had made me even more aware than usual just how precarious my safety was. There was nobody I could truly trust, nobody except myself. I cupped my belly again, worry filling me for the unborn life. I should have never taken this risk, but the loneliness had been getting to me. It was selfish.
“Channel is open,” Chawz muttered. I realized that Kip had frozen, his hands trembling around the yoke of the ship. It had roused the navigator from his stupor just enough to take over, the tense atmosphere finally getting to him. That still did not mean he looked scared; but Rummicaron suppressed all their feelings, especially the good ones. He was not supposed to feel anything but cool rationality.
“Attention, approaching ship,” I said after clearing my voice and fisting my hands behind my back to stop their trembling. “This is Captain González of the Finix . Please explain your intentions. We are a peaceful trading vessel; we carry nothing of value—unless your preferred fashion is gray.” I didn’t know why the lackadaisical comment slipped out; a joke was hardly going to fly with a bunch of greedy pirates. Humor was just the way I handled stress.
There was a long silence that followed my statement, and I held my breath the entire time I waited. I wasn’t the only one frozen in place; Kip had his tail straight out, ears pitched forward as he listened intently. Even Chawz looked alert, his maw of razor-sharp teeth open as if he wanted to intimidate whoever was listening. It was an open communications signal, meant to broadcast on all frequencies to ensure whoever was following us could hear. They had to be listening.
When an answer came, my legs trembled, and I was forced to rush to my seat and sit down before I collapsed. The voice was dark and mean and spoke in a language I recognized but that made absolutely no sense to me. It was an Alpha Quadrant tongue—one I hadn’t heard since I was a little girl growing up on one of the outer Earth colonies. He spoke Talac. What was a Talacan pirate doing in the Zeta Quadrant? That made about as little sense as my being here did.
“Hello, Captain González. Gray is my color, so you’re going to have to surrender your cargo—particularly the cargo you’re hauling for a certain crime lord. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t even bother to hide it.” Kip blanched. Chawz sank low in his seat, but that still didn’t prove guilt for either of them. It could simply be their fear of the pirates or the mention of a crimelord. Fuck, this was bad. How did this ship even know about the Kanfray I had found hidden in a section of vents that morning? What were the odds?
“I have no intention of resisting,” I said, my hands clutching my belly tightly as fear and adrenaline flooded my system. So far, the baby hadn’t been big enough yet for me to feel him kick, but I imagined the flutter of my nerves might be him now. Was he responding to my stress? “Will you let us go unharmed if we hand over everything of value?” I did not bother to explain to this sinister Talacan voice that I had no knowledge of, nor any connection to, the crimelord or the drugs. The authorities might care that I was simply an innocent bystander—but pirates? Doubtful.
There was another silence, and I felt my belly flutter, wondered if it was my son responding to my fear. Then the voice drawled, “Absolutely. Lower your shields and halt your ship. A boarding party will arrive shortly. Confine your crew to their quarters, then meet me at the airlock. Understood?” I understood, and so did my crew. Kip was a mess; Chawz was calm as a cucumber as he hauled the young Sune to his feet and dragged him to their bunks. I thought I saw a flicker of warning in the cool, sharkish eyes of the Rummicaron right before I closed and locked their door.
Then, with lead in my shoes, I went to face our doom at the airlock.
***
Brace
Pacing inside my galley, the fur on my back bristled with tension. These moods struck at random moments, capturing me in the past — in the battle rage , the pain , and the fear I’d felt when I was a gladiator. The need to strike something and pummel it into oblivion was all-consuming. This was why I kept myself locked away: for the safety of everyone else. I could not trust myself to control this around others ; I could barely control the rage when I was alone.
I was alone. Very much alone. The mess hall was empty —no visitor s, sinc e we were on the hunt and the Varakartoom was closing in. Varakartoom — the name was appropriate, coming from our c aptain’s native Naga tongue. It meant She Who Hunts , and that was exactly what we’d been doing for the last couple of weeks : s triking one ship after another from Jalima’s fleet, based on intel Elyssa had brought us — me.
Elyssa’s name only made the rage simmer brighter in my veins. Not because I was mad at her, not because I wanted to harm her, but because she reminded me of the past. She was part of my past, and her being here had brought it all back — more vivid, more powerful than ever. It was as if the last few years no longer existed , and I was once again the young male Asmoded had scraped from the bottom of a cell, injured and dying.
It was getting worse, and the loneliness was getting to me too. Now that Elyssa was trying to reach me, and blissfully happy with her youthful, always cheerful, and kind mate, I felt it even more. Envy was not an emotion I enjoyed; I hated it even more than the rage. I wasn’t envious of Tass, either. Thinking of Elyssa in any way other than sister was extremely distasteful. But I was jealous of the males—like Tass, like Aramon, and like the captain—who had found their mates. It wasn’t so easy to be alone when you had to observe blissfully happy couples at dinner, at breakfast, and at lunch. Or when you knew why they were absent, having requested a meal in their blazing quarters.
Turning to the counter, I forced myself to breathe deeply through my nose. There was a hunger in the pit of my stomach that came from what I was . T he Hoxiam hunger was always present, just like my rage. It was too dangerous to step out of the galley and work off my aggression in the gym. The thought of the punching bag in my quarters made my stomach sour , s o I took it out on the batch of dough I’d made earlier that morning.
Five minutes later, I’d punched all the air out of the previously fluffy dough , and with a growl of frustration, I threw it all in the bin. I didn’t think I felt any better, but when I started a fresh batch, mixing Haras f lour with oil, salt, and my preferred rising agent, my hands moved calmly. Yeah, that was a little better, if not by much. Now , if only I could get rid of the pit of rage in my gut as easily as I could the failed dough. I didn’t think I’d be able to — not when the loneliness and the weight of my failures clung to my shoulders. Not when every day that we were hunting these ships was a reminder of the past.
The others were loving it, the stories that filled the mess hall rowdy and cheerful each night. The bragging, the tall tales — normally I’d listen in and enjoy every minute of it, feel like I was part of the crew, even if I couldn’t be. But now, those stories just felt sour , b ecause they were all about Jalima’s ships, Jalima’s dented pride, Jalima’s downfall. You’d think I couldn’t wait for that to happen, but all I wanted was to forget he existed and bury the past.
This dough needed to rise again before I could shape it more carefully into loa ve s to bake. But there was always more to do in a galley that served close to a hundred males and females at any given time. Asmoded had taken extra crew aboard to handle the constant hunting of the ships , r otating them in and out for rest as needed — but always running, always hunting , u ntil he’d gotten every single ship he could from the data Elyssa had provided.
I was cutting vegetables when I heard the voices, my ears swiveling in the direction the sound came from. Female voices — bright, warm, cheerful — very much the opposite of what was roiling inside my hollow gut. Those females were as distinct by their tone as they were by their scent, and I knew their drinks and food orders by heart. I was moving before they could reach the hatch and ask, sliding cups of tea and plates of the cake I’d made earl ier that morning out from under the hatch.
Elyssa tried to pet my hand, her greeting bright and cheerful, but I evaded the touch. I knew she meant well — I knew it hurt her feelings when I withdrew — but I simply couldn’t bear it. She wouldn’t want to touch me if she knew what kind of murderous rages I fought to control every minute of the day. She’d be appalled, and her mate would never let me near her if he knew. He’d be right.
“Thanks, Brace!” one of the others said. When I ducked, I could peer through the crack and see that Mandy had draped her arm around Elyssa’s shoulders and was hustling her to a nearby table. The young Elrohirian , whom I’d known as a little girl , was giving my hatch a forlorn look , but she was easily cheered up by the others. Mandy was already digging into her slice of cake with gusto, patting her pregnant belly as she sat down and joking about her extra appetite. I understood that, Hoxiam females were especially ferocious eaters when gravid.
I shouldn’t have listen ed in to what they had to say, but I couldn’t help it. The rage for Jalima that I wanted to forget also drove me to savor each snatched bit of information about Asmoded’s quest for vengeance. It was why I was still here, aboard the Varakartoom , instead of hiding away on some moon. I didn’t know if I remained to torture myself further or if I couldn’t stand the thought of truly being alone. Whatever it was, I was still here, still running my little, lonely domain aboard the ship —w hich meant I was here to listen to every word the mated women had to say as they bent their heads together to gossip.
“Mitnick says it was a human woman — he was dead certain,” Harper said. She was mated to the ship’s communications specialist, aka hacker. “She spoke English with a modern accent, so she’s from the present time, not a stasis girl like us.” I knew what Harper was referring to and wondered what Elyssa was thinking at that moment. Did it cut to be excluded by the other three ? S he wasn’t a stasis girl — she wasn’t part of the ‘us’ that Harper referred to.
“I heard she surrendered without a fight,” Elyssa said brightly, with not a hint of sadness or of feeling excluded in her tone. “Tass was with the boarding party,” she added. “She’s pregnant. Not as far along as you are, Mandy, but definitely showing.” The four women began speculating about how she got here, what her part in this was, and whether she was working for Jalima or not. I felt static rush through my brain, my thoughts spinning as a single image formed : a lonely, pale-faced pregnant woman, and Jalima’s four hands controlling her every move. The rage that I’d been fighting all morning boiled over, exploding through my veins — lava - hot, then ice - cold.
I could not risk harming the four at the table in the mess hall; I could not let them see me. So I spun and raced for my quarters next door, hands pulling at the fur on my head, the door slamming shut behind me with a bang. Then there was darkness, and silence—except for the pounding of my heart and the rapid bursts of my breath. My eyes zeroed in on the punching bag dangling from the ceiling next to my bed. I knew it wasn’t enough, that I’d lose control once I started, but it was too late now.