#rotating the three of them in my mind replaying scenes i

[bitterpngs]

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Carolina in My Mind” (Rated PG)

Summary: Things get a little spicy when Sebastian decides that Kurt and Blaine are going to start doing TikTok challenges... in part to exact revenge on his boyfriend for covering him in glitter and posting photos on Instagram. (1845 words)

Notes: It's not as lurid as the summary makes it sound XD Makes a reference to an earlier quarantine one-shot 'All The Glitters'.

Part 67 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

"We're doing TikTok challenges now!?" Kurt groans, sliding to a halt in front of his boyfriend, arms crossed over his chest before he comes to a stop.

Sebastian beams, flashing Kurt his iPhone screen with the app already open. "Ah. I see you got my message." 

"Aren't we already living through hell? Do we have to add humiliation to the mix?"

"You're one to talk! If you get to cover us in makeup and glitter and post photos on Instagram, I get to do this!"

"But that performance makeup contest was hosted by the ISI," Blaine points out. "What merit does a TikTok challenge have?"

Sebastian watches Blaine glide to a stop beside his boyfriend and pulls a face. "Well, Doubty McDoubterson, tons of people join TikTok every day, including figure skaters. You two were worried about staying in the public eye during the pandemic. This will be great visibility for us within the skating community."

"A-ha." Kurt shares a skeptical side glance with Blaine. "Now, why don't you tell us why we're really doing this."

Sebastian gasps, stumbling back as if punched in the face. "Kurt! I'm wounded! Deeply wounded! I'm being completely honest here! I'm only thinking of you guys, working hard to keep your names in the mouths of... "

"Before you say another word," Kurt interrupts with a finger raised, "may I remind you that you have a five o'clock sesh riding on this answer."

Sebastian's mouth hangs open, caught around the next word. But a beat later, he snaps it shut. "Fine. We're doing this because we've been on lockdown for about ten years and I'm bored to tears!"

"Nice," Kurt says, "seeing as you've spent all of quarantine with us."

"Will you be partaking?" Blaine rushes in before Sebastian can shove his foot any further down his throat. He's not being entirely selfless, but he'd rather not admit out loud that Sebastian's plan is a decent one, ulterior motives aside. Blaine has a TikTok account and has wasted plenty of precious training time scrolling through clips. Sebastian is right - a lot of figure skaters post on there, even some big names in their sport. It's a better platform for it than Instagram. If they pull this off, they could become TikTok famous, and that wouldn't exactly hurt when they make their comebacks.

"I am." Sebastian wiggles his camera in front of their faces. "I'm the cameraman."

"Of course," Kurt mutters under his breath. "So what's the challenge?" he asks, eager to get this over with, hoping he doesn't regret it too much later. "It is a skating challenge, right?"

"Of course it's a skating challenge! In fact, you guys get to perform your routines... " Kurt stares at his grinning boyfriend, waiting for the shoe to drop. And it does when Sebastian picks up a small paper bag off the boards and holds it out to them "... after you've eaten this pepper. There's one in there for each of you."

"I guess it's too much to hope it's a bell pepper," Kurt remarks as Blaine takes the bag and opens the top. He reaches a hand in and pulls out a bright reddish-orange vegetable the size of his thumb. Kurt recognizes it right away, his eyes going wide at the Carolina Reaper pinched between Blaine's fingertips.

"A little bit, yeah," Blaine says.

"What th---? Aren't those things illegal?" Kurt asks, on the brink of turning and running, leaving his friend behind to suffer the consequences.

"Nope. They're perfectly legal," Sebastian says. "And they won't cause any permanent damage. I checked."

"That's so nice of you."

"Come on! This'll be fun!"

"For you! You're running the camera!"

"I've got you guys. Look! I brought you some milk for after," he says, producing the smallest, middle-school carton of two percent in existence. How he expects the both of them to share that, Kurt doesn't know. It's probably part of the schtick, Kurt thinks, to cap off the hilarity - the two of them fighting over seven ounces of milk with their mouths on fire. "Also... " Sebastian deliberates when he feels himself losing ground, running through options in his head he hopes Kurt might jump at so he can get his TikTok "... I'll let you pick the next challenge. Then you can be the cameraman."

A malicious grin spreads across Kurt's face, but Sebastian squashes it with the stipulation: "But remember - whatever you make me do, Blaine has to do, too."

"Don't I get any say in this?" Blaine asks.

"No," Sebastian answers without looking at him.

"Well, do I get a turn at choosing?"

"Maybe... provided Kurt agrees to my conditions."

Kurt glares at his manipulative ass of a boyfriend, putting him on the spot in the name of social media currency. But what the heck? This could be fun. Plus, turnabout is fair play. He'll get Sebastian back. 

Oh yes. He'll get him back.

Besides, Kurt isn't a stranger to spicy foods. His dad has put plenty of red and green gremlins, each residing on different ends of the Scoville scale, in that disastrous chili he makes every fourth of July. How much worse could eating this one raw be?

"Fine." Kurt snatches the pepper out of Blaine's hand but doesn't bring it anywhere near his mouth.

Blaine, on the other hand, goes all in, grabbing his pepper out of the bag, popping it into his mouth, chewing like crazy, and then swallowing, probably in the hopes that it would hurt less if he did it fast, like pulling off a Bandaid. Then he skates off.

His plan doesn't work too well though. Thirty seconds into his backward crossovers, his face scrunches. He puts a hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut, cheeks flushing beet red before Kurt's eyes. "Jesus Christ! I can't see!"

Kurt fixes steely eyes on his boyfriend, filming and giggling like a fiend as Blaine attempts a triple Axel and singles it, arms flailing when he tries to fan his mouth at the same time. 

"I'm picturing a Speedo," Kurt says as he prepares to drop the Reaper into his mouth. "An embarrassingly tight Speedo, seven gallons of honey, an angry beehive... " He carefully places the pepper on his tongue. His salivary glands kick into overdrive when its waxy exterior makes contact, but he can't persuade his teeth to bite.

"Ooo," Sebastian coos, provoking him. "Blaine covered in bees? That's going to be hilarious! And I can't wait to see his face when he finds out it was your idea. But what are you going to make me do?"

That does it. 

Kurt's teeth clench inadvertently, catching the pepper as it rolls off his tongue and pummeling it to bits between his pearly whites. The burn washes through his mouth, spreading in an instant with the obliterated pepper sitting for too long on his tongue.

"Shit!" he yelps, swallowing what remains whole. He coughs violently, almost puking up his lunch. "Shit shit shit!" 

"Don't die," Sebastian teases. "Not for TikTok."

"Nice to see you have priorities," Kurt growls, overcome by a sudden urge to get as far away from his insufferable boyfriend as his skates can take him. 

Now he has to pull this off so he can rub it in Sebastian's face.

Remembering that Blaine has a head start on him, he forces his feet to move. A swiftly blossoming headache completely erases his new routine from his brain so he begins improvising, starting with the opening of his last Regionals piece. He opens with a pancake spin.

Big mistake.

Crouching low over his bent leg as he spins forces his mouth closed, everything from his gums to his cheeks aflame. 

"Nope!" he sputters. "Nope nope nope!" He ends his spin prematurely, hacking as he settles into backward crossovers. 

These are worse. 

Since he's pushing into the air with his back, none of it hits his face, depriving him of relief. He catches sight of Blaine skating as fast as he can with his mouth wide open, preparing to enter another jump. He performs a double toe loop, then another, then another. Kurt doesn't understand. Blaine doesn't perform doubles in his routine. He's beyond that. 

Then it hits him.

Blaine can do a row of doubles faster than he can perform consecutive triples. He's using rotational inertia to cool his face.

It's genius.

Kurt launches into the air, stringing together three of the most lopsided double Salchows he's ever landed. And he barely lands them at that, overestimating his edge and nicking his toepick. He gives up on his choreography altogether, performing whatever move he has to to shove ice-cold air into his mouth. Element by element, Kurt's routine devolves until his goal becomes keeping his mouth from bursting into flames. 

He can't remember the last time he flubbed up this badly. He and Blaine probably look like drooling dogs doing the most, but his throat burns so badly, he couldn't care less. Kurt's nose runs like a faucet, but nowhere near as much as his eyes, which he has the hardest time prying open. 

He decides to skate blind, praying he doesn't collide with Blaine, whose blades he can no longer identify on the ice. By the time Kurt strikes his final pose, he's puffy-eyed, sweating like no one's business, with his lower jaw hanging to his chest, wheezing as he sucks in mouthfuls of cold air. He can't hear much for the ringing in his ears, but he suspects Sebastian may be laughing his ass off. 

Why did he agree to this again? 

"How did I do?" he asks, skating back to his boyfriend, trying not to touch his tongue to his lips, or his lips to each other.

"Meh. You've done better," Sebastian replies, replaying the video over and over, snickering at choice scenes.

"Thanks, coach," Kurt seethes, wondering how well Sebastian would skate if Kurt shoved one of those peppers up his nose.

"At least you fared better than Blaine."

"Why?" Kurt pants, scanning the rink through the narrow slits of his swollen eyelids. "What happened to him?"

Sebastian jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Took himself out of the running before his second Axel attempt, the poor schlub."

Kurt peeks over Sebastian's shoulder and spots Blaine, lying on his stomach, tongue pressed flat to the ice.

Kurt makes a face. He doesn't blame the guy, but still. 

Yuck. 

"Blaine? Honey? That's not a good idea."

"Yeah, weirdo. We have milk."

"I 'as saving da 'ilk for 'urt," Blaine explains, not moving his tongue while he does.

"Oh!" Kurt sighs, pressing a hand over his heart, overdoing the swoon because he knows how much it will irk Sebastian. The jerk deserves it. "That's so sweet!"

Blaine smiles. At least it looks like he does.

Sebastian grimaces. Great. Upstaged by a boy who looks like he just Frenched a patch of poison ivy. "Yeah, yeah. Cavity inducing. Get your ass up, Anderson. You're just making it worse. Besides, you're burning a hole through my ice."

[radiowrites]

Unchained Melody

He’s teaching her to drive, why can’t he teach her to dance, too?

A Tale of the Nine Tailed fanfiction, one-shot, 2300 words, complete. Ki Yu Ri/Lee Rang, Pre-Series, Rated T

Read it on: AO3 or below the cut:

“Pull over here,” Rang said. “I’m driving home.”

“Why?” Yu Ri asked.

“I’m just ready to get home in one piece.”

Yu Ri huffed and did as he told, pulling into the small parking lot too quickly, scattering gravel. She didn’t think she was doing that badly, because hey, she had only been driving for three days. Going through that red light was probably the final straw. She thought she’d make it through the yellow. He said that wasn’t how it worked.

She vacated the driver’s seat and stamped her foot as he took the keys. Unmoved, he slid into the car.

“Are you going to continue making a scene?” Rang asked through the open window. “People are watching.”

Not giving her a chance to answer, he started to roll the window up with a smile playing on his lips.

There were five or so people hanging out on the back steps of the building, a single security light casting a sickly yellow glow over them. It looked like a dive bar or a seedy club. They stared at Yu Ri in her pale blue sundress and platform sandals. She felt overdressed, and she considered this one of her simple outfits. Who knows what they thought of Rang, who always looked like he had stepped off a fashion runway.

One woman’s eyes widened when Yu Ri lifted her upper lip in irritation. Yu Ri assumed the woman would later explain away the fangs she had seen as a side effect of the alcohol.

Yu Ri tossed her long brown hair and rapped on the glass with her knuckles. “Maybe I’ll walk,” she said loudly.

He shrugged and put the car into drive.

Would he really leave her there? With what Yu Ri actually was, Rang would know she was in absolutely no danger. Which meant she wouldn’t put it past him. She scurried around the front of the car and jumped into the passenger seat.

Once safely settled in, she threw him a dirty look. Taking the wheel wasn’t really about them getting hurt in an accident as much as damaging the car, wasn’t in? She put her feet up on the dash, letting her dress shift and bare her thighs. He looked over at her with reproach and she grinned. He was an easily distracted driver. Where did he think she learned it from?

Instead of watching him drive—which would have been good practice, in theory—she picked up her phone. In this day and age, it was pretty easy to learn to be human, Yu Ri had to admit. Humans uploaded videos of everything. All their life stages. All their big events. She could pull up a video of the simplest things. People talking. People laughing. Manners at a restaurant and etiquette when invited to someone’s home. Families. Couples.

Yu Ri acted like watching these things were part of her pass-as-a-human curriculum, but they had become more to her. When she laid down at night the videos replayed in her head, except she found herself in them, truly a part of the mundane moments. These were happy dreams, far better than her usual ones. They weren’t something she could share with Rang. He wanted her to pass as human and yet believe herself above them. It was a hard line to walk for her, and she couldn’t conceive what it was like for an actual half-human like him.

But when she woke after such a dream, she was immediately reminded how far she still had to go before she could truly blend in. Right now she was just playing a foolish game. Oh sure, she had picked up the language well enough. She was able to dress herself now. But, sometimes she forgot to use the utensils at the table. People involuntarily stepped away when she stood too close. Baring her teeth at the woman in the parking lot wasn’t her only indiscretion. The other day she had growled at someone on the subway. She was pretty sure the guy had liked it though, and that was way worse.

All in all, she was doomed to fail at this, she was certain. But she still wanted to try.

Yu Ri shoved her phone at Rang with a video playing. “This is dancing, right?”

He didn’t look away from the road. “Sure.”

She pouted, pulling the phone back. The two figures flowed across the floor, hands on shoulders and waists, eyes trained on each other. She started the clip over and watched it again. Yu Ri swayed slightly in her seat, mimicking the movement the best she could.

“I want to try this,” she said.

“I don’t dance.”

She looked over at him with raised eyebrows. “Six-hundred-years-old and you can’t dance?”

“I said I don’t, not I can’t.”

She rolled the words on her tongue. She didn’t think there was that much of a difference, but she would remember it for the future.

Rang pulled into the parking garage of the apartment. Yu Ri dutifully studied the way he parked the car. Pulled the key. Looked over at her with his dark eyes. Her gaze fell back down to her phone. Okay, maybe she was just watching him instead of his actions.

“If you’re going to pick up a hobby, we can find you an instructor,” he said.

“You’d trust me with a stranger? What if I do something not-human?”

“Then I’ll erase a few memories and get a good laugh out of it.”

He got out of the car and she followed, sullen.

 Yu Ri dropped onto one end of the sectional sofa. She wasn’t done yet.

“You’re teaching me to drive,” she said. “How is that any different?”

“You probably should have an actual instructor for that, too.”

She tapped her bare feet on the floor, thinking for another approach. “I could probably find a dance partner at that bar,” she said.

Sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, absently on his phone, Rang ignored her.

Rude.

She picked up her own phone and tried to continue the last video. The description said it was a type of waltz. She really had no idea. She turned up the sound and peered over the phone to see if it had an effect on him.

Rang’s eyes flickered over to her. Ran his hand through his dark hair as he set the phone down. Leaned back and closed his eyes.

Fine. She would give it up, for now. If Rang didn’t want to do something, he was unmovable. And the bar had really been an empty threat. She had a sneaking suspicion the night would end with her needing to be picked up at the police station and him laughing at her.

Nothing said she couldn’t continue her own research though.

Four or seven videos later—she had lost track as she kept following the next suggestion—the dances had become a lot less structured. She had apparently wandered right out of ballroom dancing. Most of these didn’t look like professionals as much as just normal people caught on camera. Just basic slow dancing at parties. Yu Ri worried at her lip with her teeth. The dances had become less sensual and more sexual. Guilt for trespassing onto their secret worlds and desiring to be in their shoes washed over her. She had never felt that way before.

Eyeing Rang, who seemed to have dozed off, the question about guilt died on her tongue. He wouldn’t be able to answer it anyway. But now, she realized why he refused to dance with her. Dancing wasn’t just a sport or a means of exercise. Humans danced with people they loved, too.

Yu Ri stood up and set her phone down gently, tilting it so she could still see the screen. Her body rocked back and forth, imitating the dancers. Her hands grasped at air, but if she thought really hard, she could imagine someone was there, supporting her as she moved slowly across the floor. Being able to envision something that wasn’t really happening was like being in a dream.

She remembered a few times in her past when she had managed to close her mind and make the pain fade away. Back then, there had been no words in her vocabulary for imagination and dreams.

The lyrics of the song playing held no meaning to her, only the slow but steady tempo. Yu Ri closed her eyes as she gently twirled, her feet gliding across the floor. Her dress billowed out around her as she instinctively avoided the low table.

Her empty hands met silky fabric and her eyes flew open as she was guided through the spin. One of her hands naturally grasped at his shoulder, the other was furled into his chest as his hand slid down her back. She swayed with him, slowly rotating, uncertain if she was still in a reverie.

No, this was real. The rapid beat of her heart grounded her. From the exertion, she told herself.

“Loosen your grip on my shoulder, Yu Ri,” Rang said softly. “Leaving bruises isn’t recommended.”

She nodded, concentrating on lifting her fingers and relaxing the iron hold. He took the hand she had clenched into his chest. Releasing his shoulder, she spun away from him like she had seen in one of the videos, held together by their intertwined fingers. Like a thread of fate, she followed it back to him. Her back was now to his chest, and her arm crossed her breasts, their still locked fingers at her hip. His breath was on her neck, and her face was hot. From the exercise, of course.

“I thought,” she said, tripping over her words, “you don’t dance.” At least her feet didn’t betray her.

“I didn’t say I can’t,” he replied, soft laughter in his voice.

She could not remember any more moves she had wanted to incorporate. Perhaps another time, since she already made a mess of perfectly formed dance routines anyway.

There wouldn’t be another time, but the first thought was nicer.

She twirled in his arms so they were face to face again and their steps became slower, smoother. She could sense the atmosphere changing. Their diameter of movement kept shrinking, and she thought he had stiffened slightly when she reached up and draped her arms around his neck. There was a pause before his hands slid to her hips, framing her, holding her. She hadn’t been so close to him in awhile. His scent made her think of ancient forests and tranquil ponds, though she had never been to either. Maybe he’d take her to the place of his childhood one day.

The day she was able to easily decipher Rang’s expressions would be a huge breakthrough indeed. Despite her constant line of questions when it came to human emotions, the concept of love had come up only once. So she had turned to the internet, and that, in all reality, hadn’t helped her much either. Did she love Rang because he had saved her? Did she love him like the family she had never had? Did she love him like a potential mate?

Yu Ri knew, deep down, the word love fit in there somewhere for her, even if she couldn’t pinpoint it down to which one. But Rang had already made it ultimately clear that he wasn’t interested in the word love, in any form. Their relationship was safe. If she tried to ask for something different, he would pull away.

His hands shifted, supporting her back, and he dipped her. She gasped, certain they’d fall despite his cocky smile. Her dark hair streamed out beneath her as she held tighter around his neck. Their eyes locked for a moment before he righted her.

“Nicely done,” Rang said. “Seems like you’re a natural.”

She couldn’t stop the grin from settling on her face. She’d never been a natural at something, especially when it came to human anything. She doubted any of the professionals she had been watching earlier would agree with him, but she would accept the compliment graciously.

The moment broke when the music on her phone changed to something harsh and jarring. Frustrated, her hands unwound from his neck. She knew she had been pushing the limit of how long she could hold him anyway.

Yu Ri picked up her phone and scoffed softly as she turned off the video. Such a little thing could bring her running just because the sound was annoying. She might have been an untamed creature in the not too distant past, but she was quickly domesticating.

When she turned back, he had already left the room. She bit back the urge to call out to him, instead sinking onto the sofa.

Behind her, the jangle of keys made her jump. Her heart sank.

“I’m going for a drive,” Rang said. “Call me if you need anything.”

She nodded, though she didn’t know if he had waited for her acknowledgment as the door clicked behind him. She keenly felt the fact she hadn’t been invited.

The sudden silence hit her hard. She turned the first video back on for just the music, turning up the volume more than before. Why did he decide to dance with her after the initial rejection? The melody, haunting now, was a good companion for her mood.

There was nothing domesticated about Rang. He was always in fight or flight mode. He would revert back to wild in a heartbeat, wouldn’t he? If he deemed she was becoming too attached to him, would she be sent on her way? Did he expect that to happen eventually?

She wouldn’t let that happen, Yu Ri thought as she stood up to continue dancing alone.

[skzsauce01]

Flowers and Ink

Description: A dainty flower shop opens next to Changbin's tattoo parlor. Its owner, he finds out, is an armful of surprises.

Warning: none

Word Count: 1723

Pairing: fem!reader x Changbin

The flower shop that opened next door was a stark contrast to District 9. It was bright, cheerful, and blocked almost a quarter of the sidewalk with its flower displays and chalkboard sign. Its owner, a pretty girl who introduced herself as Y/N, perfectly matched the exterior with her sweet voice and naturally peaceful expression. Changbin didn't know how to feel about his tattoo parlor's aesthetic being ruined, but even he had to admit that the grand opening last month was pretty amazing: 20% off bouquets and arrangements, hibiscus tea and lavender-vanilla cookies, and free flower crowns.

Free. Flower. Crowns.

He really wanted a flower crown.

(And he most definitely would have lined up for one if Minho had shown up for his appointment on time. Screw you, Minho.)

Even after the commotion of the grand opening, the shop was still bustling with customers. The sidewalk was almost always covered with fallen flower petals, and Changbin only saw you through the giant front window, snipping stems and tying ribbons. He considered stopping by to say hello and to get to know you better, but he could never bring himself to walk inside. He thought he had a decent idea of what you were like anyway.

Keyword being thought.

He certainly hadn't expected you to discuss tattoos with you on an early Friday morning. You had strolled into the parlor with no warning and started up a conversation about getting a hand tattoo. In fact, he was so speechless, he let you walk him through your whole design. He finally snapped out of it when you started pulling up pictures on your phone.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't do hand tattoos on people without any other tattoos." He explained, "It's a job stopper, hard to cover up, most people do a bad job maintaining it, it's pretty painful, et cetera. It's just not a good idea, especially for your first one."

There were a lot of things he predicted you to do after. Unzipping your windbreaker and revealing a full sleeve tattoo of flowers, leaves, and birds was not one of them.

He gaped at the sight. You-- your full sleeve, he corrected himself-- were gorgeous.

You were clearly enjoying his expression. You rotated your arm to let him get a better view. There was a slight smirk on your face when you said, "My boss won't care if I get ink on my hands."

Right. You were the freaking owner of the flower shop.

"So how about it?" you asked. You slipped your windbreaker back on and fluffed your hair out, sending the smell of jasmine his way.

He couldn’t think properly. There was a series of ‘um’ and ‘uh’ from him before he managed to get out, "You need to make an appointment first.”

It was then decided that you would come next Sunday evening, and you cheerfully left the parlor. Changbin, however, slowly sunk into his chair and replayed the scene in his mind. The dramatic reveal was his favorite part, and combined with that smirk? Wow, that was hot.

--

The week was long, and every time he heard the bell on his door chime, he hoped it was you. His obsession became so obvious that Jisung started opening and closing the door just for the fun of it.

"Stop that," Changbin growled over the sound of the needle. He normally would have refrained from sounding so gruff around a customer, but Minho was a regular and a friend.

Minho raised his head and an eyebrow. "Stop what?"

"Not you. Jisung." He spat out his name like a curse.

Across the room, Jisung laughed and replied back, "Our boy has a crush on the florist next door! She's coming in on Sunday."

"Ah, I met her during the grand opening. She's a sweetheart," Minho said. "She tried to give me a flower crown when I was in line for cookies."

"Oh, so that's why you were late?" No, he was still not over being screwed out of a flower crown.

"You would have done the same," Minho shrugged. "What's she coming in for anyway?"

Jisung, now standing next to Changbin, answered, "Hand tattoo of a flower. Right?"

Changbin nodded. Jisung was supposed to be doing some paperwork, but Changbin was too busy with the outline to say anything.

"You are so whipped. What happened to your 'no face, neck, or hands policy?'" Minho asked.

"She's got a full sleeve!" Jisung proudly revealed, as if he were the one with the beautiful artwork.

"Really? But she looks so… innocent."

Changbin wiped off the excess ink. "You should have seen her when she took off her jacket to show me." The image was still burned into his mind, and his heart raced every time he thought of it.

Jisung snickered. "You are so into her, it's kind of funny. You've only talked to her once."

"Twice actually. Once when she first opened, and a few days ago."

"Oh, so you're keeping score now?" Minho teased. He chuckled at Changbin's glare. "I understand. She's a cute girl with a tattoo who also has her own business. What's not to like?"

"Exactly," Changbin mumbled under his breath. Louder, he said to Jisung, "Go finish the paperwork."

Jisung grumbled, but he made his way back to the front desk.

With Jisung gone and doing his job, it was quiet again between Minho and Changbin. Minho returned to his phone, and Changbin continued to ink. They could hear Jisung softly cursing across the room. An hour later Changbin ran the needle across Minho's ribcage one last time before wiping the skin clean.

"See you in a couple weeks," Changbin said as Minho stood in front of the mirror and admired his newest ink.

"Yeah. It looks good." He slipped his shirt back on. "Have fun on Sunday. Try not to drool too much."

Changbin only nodded in return. What was he supposed to reply to that?

"And try not to screw up on her tattoo."

The audacity of him. Changbin sharply gestured to the door. "Bye, Minho."

--

Sunday arrived, and so did you. The last client left two hours ago, and Changbin had spent the remaining time sweeping the floor and  pacing. You came right on time with a small floral arrangement in your hands. He looked at questioningly.

You smiled and said, “It’s a thank you gift. I thought it would only be fitting as I own a flower shop, have flower tattoos, and will be getting a new one.”

“It’s… pretty,” was his lame reply. It was the truth, but he couldn’t help feeling like he should have said more. He cleared his throat awkwardly before suggesting you sit down at one of the stations.

You sat down and tugged up your sleeve. The edges of an inked leaf peeked out from your sweatshirt, and Changbin was instantly reminded of glorious piece of artwork on your arm.

The process was painful. He felt you stiffen a few seconds into the tattooing, and he immediately felt sorry for you. The design you wanted trailed up to your index finger, so he knew you weren't even at the worst part.

"How's business going?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"Pretty well," you replied. You were now tapping your foot. "Goodness, this hurts. And don't you dare say I told you so."

"I won't," he promised.

There was some light conversation between the two of you. Changbin asked about your life to distract you-- no ulterior motives, he swore-- and you gave long, winding answers to distract yourself. That was how he found out that got your first tattoo at nineteen, recently moved to the city, got recommended District 9 by your old tattoo artist, Bang Chan at Miroh Tattoos, who said he knew the owner--

"Chan? I know him!" was probably not the smartest thing to say. He could hear Jisung laughing at him.

You dryly replied, "I would think so.” Then you sharply inhaled as Changbin started to ink your finger. “He said you were good at black and white, so I checked out your Instagram to make sure.”

“Lived up your expectations?”

“Well, I am sitting in your parlor, paying you to stab me with a needle.”

“You’re not as sweet as you look,” he mumbled. Once he realized the implication of his words, he hoped you hadn’t heard them.

You let out a short laugh. “Everyone thinks the flower girl is nice and innocent until they hear her speak. You’re not the first one,” you assured.

He felt his ears burn and pretended to be intensely focused wiping off excess ink from your hand. “What’s the reason for getting a hand tattoo?” he asked to change the subject.

It was a very obvious attempt, but you didn’t say anything about it. “I’ve always wanted one. They look cool, but a lot of artists don’t do hand tattoos without any other tattoos to show for it.”

“So, you got a full sleeve in order to get one?”

“Well, when you say it like that…” you said. At his alarmed face, you laughed. “I’m kidding. I like my sleeve, and I wanted to get it done anyway. It turned out really good.”

“Chan’s great,” he agreed.

“So are you.”

His face heated up, and he saw you smile out of the corner of his eye.

Three hours later, the flower on your hand was complete. You let him take a picture for District 9’s Instagram. He was ready to clean up and lock up, but he noticed you lingering around.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah!” you smiled. You then walked closer and looked straight at him. “Hey, I hope this is okay, but do you want to get lunch sometime?” you asked.

He blinked a few times and replayed the words in his head to make sure he heard them correctly. You mistook his silence as a decline.

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have asked such a question. That would be unprofessional for you to even answer! I’m sorry about that.”

You turned to leave, and he shouted with more volume than necessary, “Wait!”

You faced him, hope in your eyes. “Yes?”

“I’ll... get lunch with you.” He shyly looked away. “If you give me a flower crown.”

A wide grin spread across your face. “Will do.”

~ ad.gray

[trademarknickersoncharm]

Austin’s spoiler free  ND Rankings from best to worst (with reasons why)

PLS NOTE: There is only one game I actually HATE. Every other game there is something I like about it except my last spot. Keep that in mind.

1) Ghost of Thornton Hall. This game is an absolute masterpiece. It is the best game HeR has made since CUR. It is also the best game I think HeR has put out in recent years. These are characters that you actually FEEL for. Not one of them are unlikeable. The closest you get is Clara, who you wind up feeling for in the end. An absolute work of art (it is also the first game I pre-ordered because from the very beginning I was invested.)

2) Labyrinth Of Lies- Hear me out. I absolutely adore this game. It has Greece, Theatre, and Xenia Doukas. Three things I cannot live without. While I absolutely agree that the whole idea of a rotating set system underground is impossible, this game was a dream come true for theatre kids everywhere. I will never not play this game without listening to Mamma Mia. It’s probably my biggest unpopular opinion of this fandom.

3) Last Train To Blue Moon Canyon- This game breaks my literal heart. Camille and Jake Hurly has always been up there in my eyes with Frances and Dirk from SHA. I have always loved the environment of this game. (This is probably due to the fact that Murder On The Orient Express is one of my favorite books) and this is one game that I always go to when I’m feeling nostalgic. It is also the first time you see the Hardy Boys so that’s a sign.

4) Sea Of Darkness- This is the game that I think has the best graphics HeR has offered. We have a lesbian character which was highly requested as well as a cute dog. The aurora borealis is never not STUNNING to look at and it one of the best games that actually feels like Nancy is “there”. The mystery is also one that I think can be misleading. I always assumed it was Ghost Ship TM but boy was I wrong. Elisabet also has my whole heart.

5) The Final Scene- OH MY GOD THIS IS AN ABSOLUTE SASS FILLED GAME AND I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE FOR IT. I constantly say “I propose you back off!” at every opportune moment. It is the best dialogue Nancy has ever had. Again, it is a Stan for theatre kids everywhere. I have also always thought magic was the coolest thing even though I can't perform it. Solid dialogue and very easy puzzles, which is always a relief.

6) Curse Of Blackmoor Manor- This is not in my top 3 as it is going to be for almost everyone else due to the fact that I think it is a very difficult game. I first played it when I was 12, and it was the only game I could not beat up until that shit show SAW which we will discuss later. Now that I've grown older and wiser, I have really grown to appreciate it more and it is a CLASSIC when looking into this game series. I appreciate the nostalgia value it has and the soundtrack and the characters. Ethel Bossiny FTW. This game also has the best soundtrack of the series.

7) Treasure In The Royal Tower- Another one that will be in everyone else’s top 3 but is not for me, but is still solid. I ADORE this game’s setting and character development- but for me, I never really felt pulled in to the mystery. My time was spent fan grilling over Hotchkiss that the person who broke into the library was on my back burner. HOWEVER, it is still very nostalgic and iconic it is in my top 10.

8) The Phantom Of Venice- Simply put, this game is why I want to go to Italy. I was ALMOST THERE but corona. I absolutely adore the way this game transports you. They included everything they could, even real photos of Venice, which I appreciated as someone who wants to go.

9) Alibi in Ashes- You have to understand how important it is that we finally got a game in River Heights. It was always on the TOP of my list in terms of places I wanted Nancy to go. It did not disappoint. The fact that everyone turned on Nancy so quickly always sends chills down my spine.

10) Legend Of The Crystal Skull- ALRIGHT so another unpopular opinion. This was the FIRST game I every played AND BEAT and so it will always be in my top 10. This is the game that truly got me invested in the series. If it wasn't this, it would not be this high, but it is my number 10 for that reason. Other things I like: Henry, Renee, the setting and music.

11) Warnings At Waverly Academy- WAC’s setting is so amazing. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I have always been intrigued about boarding school mysteries (@ house of Anubis )and this is a solid one. It contains probably one of the best plot twists of the series that blew my mind the first time I played it, and Mel Corbalis is god’s gift to humanity.

12) The Silent Spy- A real tearjerker if there ever was one. This games takes a storyline that has been changed many times (Nancy’s mom) and turns it into something so extremely badass you really wish she wasn't actually dead. Zoe Wolfe is the absolute reason I exist. You also play a cookies mini game which is just about as addicting as crack.

13) Secret Of The Old Clock- Okay, so I feel like this game gets a lot of hate because everyone talks about how weird the time travel is, but this has always been a game I liked. I think personally, that it is the easiest game in the series (if you exclude the dress, which I have never had a problem with) and it is based on the absolute most classic ND story of all. I also highly enjoy this period of time, even though the characters in this game aren't great. Emily Crandall is probably the best one, and even she yells at Nancy.

14) Secret Of Shadow Ranch- Okay. So I’m going to get anon h8 for this. But SHA is... not the best in my opinion. I have talked about this before, but SHA is very tedious in terms of chores and I just do not like that. I wouldn't necessarily mind the chores if they weren't repetitive, but it is the same chores over and over again. With that said, I LOVE the music, the Humber storyline, and the setting, so it is #14

15) Message In A Haunted Mansion- This is probably the only game I have ever pissed my pants over. CUR and GTH didn’t even do that. I think it is bc MHM is one of the first games I played. The hauntings in this game are so AMAZING and when you find out their explanation it totally changes things.

16) The Deadly Device- I love when ND does a Murder Mystery right. This is the time it was done right. The culprit came out of absolutely no where and I loved it. It is ranked this low for me b/c I think some of the puzzles are tedious and hard. Ryan Kilpatrick is an amazing human being and so is Ellie thx.

17) Tomb Of The Lost Queen- Another game which I think gets a lot of undeserved hate. Mummies are badass, especially when the mummy sighting is real and unexplained. Dylan Carter is probably the biggest example of stud you will ever see, and Jamila El-Dine is a bad b****. I am ranking it this high for Jamila alone. 

18) Danger On Deception Island- I absolutely adore this game’s music. But I hate Holt Scotto with all the fire within me. He is why this game is not in my top 10. I love everything about this game except Holt F****** Scotto. I want to put it in my top 10. I do. But Holt Scotto sucks.

19) The Haunted Carousel- This was a game which I vividly remember being bullied in daycare over. I took it to daycare one day and we kept getting our eyeballs poked out by the lathe. Daycare memories suck. Also it is the first game by which we get a literal sexual strut by the culprit at the end, which I have never liked. Pluses of the game? An amusement park. Miles.

20) Ransom Of The Seven Ships- SAY IT OUT LOUD. RAN. IS. NOT. THE. WORST. GAME. The puzzles, although always thrown at your face, are actually sort of fun. I would rank it higher but there is way too few characters in a way that makes the culprit very obvious, but it also isn't at the same time. 

21) The Captive Curse- This is a game by which I thought had so much potential but I think the monster looks very dumb? It’s like? The inbred cousin of Frankenstien’s monster? However, I LOVE THE SONG “girls”from this game and have a huge love for Lukas, so it isn't bottom 10

22) Stay Tuned For Danger- This game is one that would be so much higher up for me, If you didn’t have to look at EVERYTHING to complete it. If you miss ONE LETTER in a magazine, you cannot beat this game. I get stuck on it every time  I play it, but the mystery is amazing and who doesn’t love a good old NYC game.

23) The White Wolf Of Icicle Creek- To begin my bottom 10, ICE. I LOVE ICE as a concept. But, Fox and Geese holds me back from a replay. I absolutely love the idea of a lodge that people are in danger at. The snow atmosphere is amazing and so is Isis. But, Fox and Geese is an abomination.

24) Ghost Dogs Of Moon Lake- I really, really want to like this game because I am a dog lover. However, the insect challenge is such a CHORE to do. I cannot stand to do it. It is so difficult to do in my humble opinion, it requires such a retrace of step that makes it insufferable. Pros? cute doges.

25) The Haunting Of Castle Malloy- YOU ARE LITERALLY THIS LOW BC OF THE END PUZZLE AND YOU KNOW IT. However, not the worst for me because I love Ireland and this game has some of the best music in the series. It is on my top 5 for soundtracks. I love everything about this game except THE END. Fiona is so misunderstood.

26) Secret of The Scarlet Hand- I really like this game, I do, but I am very not interested in the constant phone calls you do in this game. You are on the phone for about 75% of this game and I really didn’t like that about it. LOVE the history behind it though.

27) SCK/SCK2- I really do not like SCK as a concept. School murders are a topic which really turns me off. Not to mention, there is barely a difference between these games but a single character and a puzzle. 

28) Danger By Design- Paris? Yes. Fashion? Heck yeah. But I never have really enjoyed DAN because the mystery can literally be solved by pulling a Phantom of The Opera and dropkicking the mask off. I also HATE the cookie puzzle. The edges never curl upwards for me.

29) Creature Of Kapu Cave- Ugh. Shells and fishing make this game untouchable for me. I LOVE HAWAII CONCEPT and supernatural volcanoes and phenomena. But I cannot stand the big island buck system or the man himself. Sorry, big island homies. Also be proud of me because it took me this long to bring up STUPID FRASS

30) Midnight In Salem- I was so excited for this game. We all were. I really enjoy MID’s mystery and as a concept. But, the new format is not good and neither is the constant talking and only being able to complete the game in one order. I was so excited for nothing (which is my own fault)

31) Shadow At The Waters Edge- GOD. The massive nonogram and sudoko have NO place in this game. I refuse to play it because of these 2 puzzles. However, I do love the scares in it. They are top notch scares. I have beat this game in it’s entirety maybe once?

32) Trail Of The Twister- Internship simulator forever. Chores galore, what a bore. Uncompelling mystery and hateful characters. The only thing I liked was the country music, a sentence you don’t hear often.

33) The Shattered Medallion- I literally played the beta of this game and it was ions better than the actual released product. That’s reason enough.

[blackandblueandstars]

An Unlikely Arrangement Pt18

Pt1   Pt2   Pt3   Pt4   Pt5   Pt6   Pt7   Pt8   Pt9   Pt10   Pt11  Pt12  Pt13  Pt14  Pt15  Pt16  Pt17

TRIGGER WARNING: Discusses non-consensual relations, violence and suicide

They insisted on keeping Amy in the psych ward for three days. During this time they wanted to keep her under strict observation, so Kamilah wasn’t allowed to see her.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window. The apartment was quiet without Amy, she didn’t know how she’d lived alone in this silence for so long before her.

She sighed, standing and looking around. She’d put off the inevitable for too long. She grabbed a bucket and filled it with water, moving slowly towards the bathroom. Her lungs failed her when she saw the blood, dried on the floor, the side of the tub. She stared, remembering when she found Amy, the shattered door to her right.

She tried to still her hands as she remembered the scene. She sat the bucket down, hitting her knees harder than she’d intended. The thick smell of the blood made her sick. Adrian told her to hire someone to clean for her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of allowing someone else to clean Amy’s blood. She needed to do it, for some reason she didn’t entirely understand.

She took a deep breath and went to work, scrubbing until her arms were sore. The pain was a welcome change, her mind still stuck in that moment, replaying every second. She thought back to the night she told Amy she loved her, her heart sore.

That night had been everything to her, a turning point in her existence. The way Amy made her feel, the safety...she wish she could give that back to her. She wished that she’d been enough for her. She sighed, shaking her head.

“I can’t think like that,” she muttered. “It’s not fair to her.”

She thought back to Amy, her beautiful green eyes, her soft skin. All she wanted was to hold her in her arms, to help her feel okay again.

Her mind spirals, her thoughts growing darker and darker.

“Why?” she thought. “Why would she not want to live? What if she’d been successful? What if I lost her?”

The tears streamed down her face as she continued to scrub, the anguish overtaking her body.

She’d lost track of time as she looked at the bucket of water, blood red. The bathroom was finally clean again, but she could still see the stains. She’d always see the stains.

She stood, dumping the water and cleaning herself up. She threw away the clothes, Amy’s blood stained across them. She moved towards her bedroom but stopped at Amy’s door, drawn to the smell of her, the familiar room with all of her things.

She pushed the door in gently, looking at the room, largely undisturbed. It screamed Amy, and Kamilah wondered at how she’d managed to make this space hers. It was the only part of the apartment that really felt like her, and that broke Kamilah’s heart. She needed to do better, to make her feel more at home here. This was her home, after all...if she was willing to stay.

She touched the blankets on the bed, her hand running along the soft spot where Amy slept. Her bed was made and everything was neat and clean. She had no intention of surviving her attempt, that much was clear.

Kamilah looked to the desk, a journal atop it. She cocked her head, walking over and picking it up. There was an envelope taped to the front, addressed to Kamilah. She tore into the envelope, recognizing Amy’s handwriting.

I’m sorry.

I need you to know that this isn’t your fault. I know how good your heart is, and I know that you’ll blame yourself. We haven’t spoken, really, since you told me you loved me and I ran away. Please know that it wasn’t you, it’s me. I am broken, a burden, a broken burden. I am to blame for Lily’s life being endangered, for forcing her into being turned. And I put your life in danger, too. All because of this stupid blood running through my veins.

So, please understand why I have to do this. I have to rid the world of this blood, I have to keep you safe, to keep Lily safe, to keep Adrian safe. I cannot continue to risk others’ lives, and the only way to stop that from happening is to end my own.

My entire life, I have been a commodity. I was for him, a means to an end. And now I am, for every vampire in existence. So, I’m taking myself out of rotation.

I know this will be hard for you, and I’m sorry. You’ve been so kind to me, you’ve changed my life, and...I do love you.

But I can’t do this anymore.

Kamilah, please have a good life.

Tell Lily I love her, and that I’m sorry.

I’m so fucking sorry.

Kamilah climbed into Amy’s bed, curling into herself. She couldn’t control it anymore, the pain that cascaded over her like a raging waterfall. It was too much, the what-if, the memory of Amy torn to pieces before her. All because of a couple bruises. God, Amy. Why couldn’t she see that Kamilah would die for her in an instant? It was worth the risk, any god-damn risk, to just be in the same orbit as her. She was everything, why couldn’t she see that? How could she make her see that?

She flipped through the pages of the journal, reading Amy’s earlier entries.

I feel so alone, here. Kamilah is cold, and I am an inconvenience to her, that much is clear. I don’t want to be here, but she doesn’t want me to be here even more.

Kamilah has been kinder lately, it’s been a nice change. I feel like I can trust her, like I can be myself around her.

I think I’m falling for Kamilah, however complicated that may be. She’s everything that I’m not, and everything that I need. She is loyal and committed, and fierce as fuck. God, I’m in trouble.

There were other entries, too. Entries that weren’t about her at all.

I can’t keep him in the past. He is in everything I do. At my lowest, he is there, reminding me that I am not worthy of love, of anything good. At my best, he’s in the background, smiling, waiting. It feels like everything I do is laced with him, because of him. He made me who I am. How can I leave him behind me?

Another entry caught her eye, shocking her.

I’ve seen the woman before, and the man. She’s always looked so vulnerable, she reminded me of myself with...him. The man, his dark hair and blue eyes -- sometimes red eyes -- he is magnetic, dark, terrifying. She seems to love him, but also fear him.

And then:

The woman is Kamilah, I’ve finally seen her face. And that man...oh, Kamilah. My heart breaks to think that she’s experienced such things. That her and I aren’t so different, after all.

Kamilah continued reading, tucking herself into Amy’s blankets, the smell of her surrounding her. And finally she felt settled, for the first time since she found her, she could breathe.

Part 19

Tag list: @h-doodles @scarlet-letter-a0114 @wildsayeed @lightning-fury  @galaxyside-0 @blogsupitssam  @ilovetaylor13m @la-guera-69 @adrianrainesworld @iam-the-fuckin-queen @hela-odinsdottir @jen825 @sheyah @lifesadance96 @theoblivionforest @kamilahsayeed-owns-me @sayeedbound @scaryqueenbee @caliseds @kamilahismyqueen

[kkruml]

STAY Chapter 2

@smoakingwaffles and @missclairebelle you two are just golden and I owe you more than you know.

This story started with a prompt from @balfeheughlywed asking for tropey goodness (fun fact- that was the actual working title of the story.. I hope it lives up to the name at some point lol)

Enjoy all, and Happy Friday!

Chapter 1

AO3 

Previously

She took a deep breath before looking up at him, a slight blush to her chees as she smiled. “Can I see your phone… just for a moment?”

His eyebrows creased in confusion, but he passed it to her without hesitation. She took it and he watched as her thumbs danced across the screen. She passed it back to him, the smile traveling across her mouth and it lit the golden hue of her eyes.

“It was nice meeting you, Jamie.” She turned without another look.

He watched her form as it disappeared around the corner and he let out a long-held breath. He looked at his phone- the screen still on “add contact.” He scrolled to “C”- finding no new entries and his smile faded. He blinked, looking back at the direction she had turned, and then back towards his phone. His thumb traveled through the alphabet to “S” and he smiled.

Sassenach.

He took a deep breath before reaching for the door, shaking his head slightly.

We are both in trouble, lass.

Claire

Well that was… unexpected.

A fun, alcohol-filled night out with Geillis was never boring, but she was not prepared for… that.

Claire closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to the night before.

The sound of his voice lingered in her ears-the soft lilt that grew stronger as he fumbled over his words. The memory made her giggle; he wasn’t the debonair ladies’ man she had imagined him to be. She saw that table of girls, and the way they looked at him. She wasn’t naïve enough to imagine he had not dated one of them… or perhaps more than one. But outside, with her, in the stillness of the spring night- he was different, unprotected, and vulnerable.

The sound of her phone buzzing snapped her from her daze. She shook her head in an effort to clear it; she was embarrassed for just how much time she had spent replaying the night before in her head.

She looked down, expecting to see Geillis’s name- undoubtedly to tell of her conquest. She saw how he had eyed Geillis; she knew her friend. They undoubtedly had left together. She scoffed at herself, thinking back to what she thought was bravery entering her number in his mobile. It wasn’t brave, it was stupid.

She was right, it was Geillis. Her finger swiped the screen as the message popped into view.

Well last night was a bust. Red headed Viking doesn’t know what he missed.

Geillis was rarely denied by anyone- if she set her eyes on someone, they were as good as hers. What had happened last night? She tapped the keys in response.

Must have gone home with the blonde, sorry lady- maybe they do have more fun? ;)

She had just enough time to glance down at the chart and read the last sentence of her notations before her phone pinged again.

No lass- he left ALONE. Dinna give ANYONE a chance at him.

He went home… alone?

He must have had something to do this morning, or there was no one he fancied at the bar, or… someone was already waiting for him at home.

Her brain swirled with a thousand possibilities to explain it. But still, she couldn’t help but hear her breathing hitch and she felt a tinge of hope flutter in the back of her mind. It was impossible, to be sure. They had only shared a few quiet moments together; he could not possibly have been interested in her. She was not his type.

Her phone buzzed again but this time she looked down at it in annoyance. Okay Geillis, I get it. Enough.

Her brows creased as an unknown number flashed across the screen.

Hope ye dinna get lost on the way home last night, Sassenach.

She stared at the text. A deep rush of heat filled her cheeks and her heart pounded in her chest.

He went home alone.

He just texted me.

But... WHY?

Her fingers shook slightly as they hovered over the keyboard- waiting. What should I say?

She thought for a moment, smiled, and let her finger swipe across the screen.

JAMIE

He held his breath, waiting.

Last night he had counted the moments until his set was done, packed his guitar in one swift motion, and exited out the back door. Sleep had come quickly; his last thoughts were of whisky amber eyes and a smile that warmed him to his backbone. He woke up this morning more clear-eyed than he had in a while.

And his bed? It was empty.

No pang of regret, no awkward shuffle out the door after an awkward goodbye. He stretched his limbs to the four corners of the mattress, testing out the expanse of space without some unknown face next to him. It was an odd feeling- and for some reason it was not all that unpleasant.

He rotated his phone in his hand, fingers fidgeting with the case as he waited. She’s just one lass, why do I care so much?

He nearly dropped his phone as it buzzed in his hand.

Was that a dig to my sensibilities or the fact that I’m a… what was that word? ‘Outlander’?

So she was a witty one, too.

He chuckled at her response, shifting his position in bed slightly as he considered his reply.  He smiled as his fingers tapped the screen.

I see ye havena lost yer Gaelic since I last saw ye.

He wondered what other words she would know. He smiled as a list of words he wanted to teach her formed in his mind.

I can feel your concern from here, it’s quite charming.

Another quiet laugh, his eyes focused on each word of her text.

Aye, it was either that or ask if my singin’ scared ye off.

He didn’t know this woman, yet he felt a connection to her- a closeness he hadn’t felt with anyone in… a long time.

She was practically a stranger, and yet at the same time, so familiar. He chewed on his bottom lip, waiting.

He saw the text before his phone even made a sound.

Close, but not quite ;)

A wink. That was a good sign. He felt a bit braver.

Might need ye to give me some singin’ tips then.

Three bubble populated, and he waited.

Bars aren’t usually my scene- they let anyone on stage these days.

That wasn’t a NO. He tapped one finger against his leg as he considered his options. Time to ask. Keep it simple- nothing serious.

Perhaps over coffee, then?

Three bubbles populated on his screen almost instantaneously- and then disappeared, and he felt his stomach drop. This was supposed to be casual, why am I so nervous?

He needed to know more about this Sassenach. He wasn’t satisfied with one night, just a few fleeting moments with her. His phone vibrated again, interrupting his thoughts, and his eyes darted to the screen.

Not much of a coffee fan...

His smile faded as his heart sank. Did she just turn him down? Another ping sent his heart into overdrive.

  …How about tea?

His smile returned in full force, spreading wide across his lips. He rested his head back against the pillow, allowing for a deep intake of air. He wasn’t used to putting in effort to get a date, but it wasn’t just that- it was her. She was different.  He allowed himself one more moment of exhilaration, coupled with relief, before responding- his smile still firmly fixed on his face.

CLAIRE

She checked her phone again- 2:15pm. He was late.

Was I being stood up? Was he playing me for a fool? Damn you Jamie.

She shook her head as a series of four-letter words rattled in her mind. They had agreed on her favorite café around the corner from the hospital. He had asked to meet that day but she had the sterile smell of the hospital in her hair and the fatigue of a long shift aching in her bones, so they agreed on two o’clock the following day.

Her tea had cooled and she stared at the remaining liquid in her mug. She was considering abandoning the remnants just as the door kicked open and she felt a gust of air hit her back, a few stray curls fluttering around her face. Before she could blink, a large figure rushed by her and took up residence in the chair facing her.  

“I’m late, I ken.” He was breathing deeply, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes, you are.” Her tone was flat and she moved to push her seat from the table.

“Please, dinna leave-”His eyes widened as he raised one hand in gesture to stop her. He stuttered, his words coming fast, “I’m sorry, Claire.”

She paused, frozen by his words and the sound of her name off his tongue.  She watched him for a moment, seeing his chest rise and fall; she could hear his breath as it shook, as well as his attempt to steady it. She shifted back into her seat but kept her eyes trained on him, eyebrows raised as she waited for an explanation.

“I’m sae sorry, I… to say that is… I was ju-“his accent was thick again as he tried to speak. His mouth opened and closed more than once before he shook his head as he ran one large hand through his auburn curls. “Christ… I dinna ken what it is, but ye seem to… knock me off kilter.”

She fought to keep a straight face but failed, letting an earnest laugh erupt from her chest.

“Are ye laughin’ at me?” His voice was a mix of exasperation and curiosity as he cocked his head to the side.

Between breaths she nodded with a smile, “Yes I believe… I am.”

He met her gaze, laughing softly with her as well. He faltered slightly as she brushed a stray curl from her face. He cleared his throat, his eyes glancing at her mug. “Can I buy ye another cup of tea?”

She eyed him for a moment, seeing the faint glimmer of sweat on his forehead and twitch of his fingers against the table. A slight smile pulled at her lips as she nodded, “Oolong, please.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he let out a small sigh. He returned the smile as he stood up and headed towards the counter. Her eyes lingered on his form and she watched the barista’s reaction to him. She smiled to herself, letting herself feel a pride in being here with him.

He returned quickly, a fresh mug held out for her and a cup of coffee in his other hand. She reached for her tea and their fingers touched; she felt a warm current course through her, and she wasn’t sure if it was the heat from the mug or the touch of his fingertip. If he had felt it, he didn’t let on as he settled into his seat across from her, taking a long sip before he spoke.

“So, how long have ye been in town?”

“Just a few weeks. I transferred to the surgical program.” She grew quiet, eyes focused on a droplet of tea running down the side of her mug. “Seemed like a good time for a change.”

She felt his eyes on her as she took another sip, feeling the warmth of the tea trickle down her throat.

“How about you?” she asked, shifting the focus and trying for a lighter topic. “You’re from the Highlands, right?”

“Oh aye- a Highlander, born and raised. Havena lived in Edinburgh too long myself.” His finger traced the rim of his mug.

Their conversation flowed easily, but he was particular in steering clear of anything too personal, no mention of a partner or other ties. She didn’t ask, but she wondered just what he was deflecting- and why.

She spoke about the hospital and her work- the excitement of surgery paired with the exhaustion of late nights and long shifts. He listened attentively, waiting for a pause or for her to sip her tea before asking a question.  

“… and finally Geillis told me we were going out to get plastered, and that’s how we ended up at the pub that night.” She shook her head remembering that night, and she paused at the memory of his eyes meeting hers for the first time. She sipped the last of her tea and carefully placed the mug back down on the table.

His voice was quiet but he spoke with conviction as he kept his eyes hooded, “Remind me some day to thank her, aye?”

He eyed her mug, tilting his own to see it empty. He glanced up just long enough to see her eyeing him and he smiled.

“I don’t do this often,” his voice was steady but she thought she caught a hint of wonder.

She winked as she smiled and asked, “What’s that- drink coffee?”

“No.” A faint smile formed but shook his head, “Go on dates.”

“Oh, you think this was a date?” Her voice was teasing but she felt her heart beat against her rib cage as she enjoyed the illusion of thinking it was. She sat back and waited, expecting a flirty response or even a new Gaelic word she would need to learn. He raised one eyebrow as she felt her breath pause.

“I was just hoping.” He said simply, looking at her with an openness that caught her off guard.

She stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Each time she expected a cocky attitude, he disarmed her with vulnerability. “… And if it was?”

He smiled, “Just wait and see what I have in store for date number two.”

He tried, and failed at a wink and she laughed again, feeling her heart flutter as his blue eyes pierced through her.

[sad-ch1ld]

via RSI Comm-Link

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Four was published originally in Jump Point 3.8. Read Part One here, Part Two here, and Part Three here.

A recorded hymn played as they sent Arun “Boomer” Ains­ley into whatever great adventure awaits in the everafter. Gavin set the service in the Rhedd Alert hangar, and the recording sounded terrible. The last somber note rebounded off the room’s hard surfaces and harsh angles.

He wished they could have had a live band. He would have paid for an orchestra, if one were to be had on the orbit­al station. Even a bugle would have been a better tribute for the man who had brought Dell into his life. For the man who taught him and Walt so much about living a free life.

Dell’s arm felt small around his waist and Gavin pulled her in close to him, unsure if that was the right thing to do. He turned to kiss her hair and saw Walt’s lean form looming beside them. Walt’s face was fixed in a grim mask.

Gavin knew his brother well enough to know that Walt was berating himself inside. He didn’t deal well with guilt or re­sponsibility, and Gavin suspected that was a big part of why Walt always ran.

The gathering started to break up. Pilots and the hangar crew busied themselves with tasks around Rhedd Alert’s battered fleet of fighters. Dell didn’t move, so he stayed there with her. Walt rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Gavin. Oh gods, Dell. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Jazza leaned in and spoke in a low tone, almost a whisper. “Landing gear up in ten, boss. Your rig is on the buggy.” She motioned with her chin to where his ship waited.

Dell turned into him and squeezed. “Be careful.”

“I will, babe.”

“You come home to me, Gavin Rhedd. I’ll kill you myself if you make me run this outfit on my own.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. Held them there.

“Wait. What?” Walt’s jaw was slack, his eyes wide. “Tell me you aren’t going back out there.”

Jazza bumped Walt with her shoulder, not so much walking past him as through him. “Damn right we are, Quitter.”

“You know what? Screw you, Jazz. All right? You used to quit this outfit, like . . . twice a month.”

“Not like you. Not like some chicken sh—”

“Jazz,” Gavin said, “go make sure the team is ready to roll, would ya?” With a nod to Gavin and a parting glare at Walt, she moved away into the hangar.

“Let it be, Walt. We really do need to go. After last time, we can’t risk being late for the pickup.”

“Screw late!” Walt’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed around the edges. “Why the happy hells are you going at all?”

“Walt —”

“Don’t ‘Walt’ me, Gavin. There is a pack of psychopaths out there trying to kill you!”

“Walt, would you shut up and listen for two seconds? We don’t have a choice, okay? We’ve got everything riding on this job. We’re months behind on this place and extended up to our necks on credit for fuel, parts, and ammo.”

“They can damn well bill me!”

“No,” Gavin said, “they can’t. Your shares reverted back to the company when you quit. But I’m legit now. You think we lived life on the run before? Just you watch if I try to run from this.”

Walt turned to Dell for assistance, “Dell, come on. You gotta make him listen to reason.”

“Boomer’s shares transferred to me when he died,” Dell said. “We’re in this together.”

“Okay, boss,” Jazza called. The three of them looked to where she stood with a line of determined crew. “It’s time.”

Walt watched the big bay doors close as the last of Gavin’s team left the hangar. His fighter and the few remaining ships looked small and awkwardly out of place in the big room. Standing alone next to Dell gave him a great appreci­ation for that awkwardness.

“I’m so sorry, Dell. If I’d been there —”

“Don’t,” she stopped him with a word, and then contin­ued with a shake of her blue-tipped hair. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’ve been over the tactical logs. He got beat one-on-one, and then they OK’d him. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I still feel rotten,” he said. “Like, maybe if I hadn’t left . . . I don’t know.”

“Gavin blames himself, too. That’s just the way you two are built. But believe me, there was never a soul alive able to keep my dad out of the cockpit. He was flying long before you Rhedd boys tumbled into our lives.”

That gave him a smile. A genuine smile. It seemed to bright­en Dell’s mood, so he did his best to hang onto it.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s been a long couple of weeks. Join me for some coffee?”

He did, and for a time they spoke softly at the tall tables in the hangar’s kitchenette. Dell caught him up on life aboard Vista Landing since he had left. She was clearly exhausted and not simply from a sleepless night and her father’s funeral. Her shoulders sagged, and dark circles under her eyes were the product of weeks of labor and worry. The constant apprehension of the Hornets’ vi­cious attacks had apparently exhausted more than just the pilots. It seemed odd that the attacks felt strangely personal.

“You know what I can’t figure out?” he mused aloud. Dell looked at him, tired eyes politely expectant. “What the hell are these guys after?”

She nodded, “Yeah. There’s been a lot of speculating on that question.”

“And?”

“Hard to say, isn’t it? Could be political wackos opposed to the research in Haven. Or maybe it’s one of the old gangs that don’t like us going legit. Could be it’s a group of Tevarin lashing out against UEE targets. Who knows?”

“Naw. If they were Tevarin, we could tell by how they fly.”

“Then you tell me, if you’re so smart. I mean, you were out there. You fought them.”

Walt shrugged and took a sip of cooling coffee. Something she said nagged at him. “Hey, you said you had navsat tac­tical logs from the fight, right?”

“Yeah.” What remained of her energy seemed to drain away with that one word. Walt cursed himself for the insensitive ass that he was. He’d just asked her about re­corded replays of her father’s murder.

“Dell. Ah, hell . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve been over and over them already. Really, I don’t mind.”

They moved to a console and the lights dimmed automat­ically when she pulled up the hangar projection. She se­lected a ship, and oriented the view so that the hologram of Boomer’s Avenger filled the display. No, Walt reminded himself, it wasn’t Boomer’s ship any more. Dell was his heir and — along with his debt — Boomer’s assets now belonged to her.

Dell bypassed the default display of the structural hard­points and dove into the ship’s systems. Something caught his eye and he stopped her. “Wait, back up.” She did, and Walt stopped the rotating display to look along the under­carriage of the ship. He let out a low whistle.

“That, Walter Rhedd, is a Tarantula GT-870 Mk3.”

“I know what it is. But where did you get it?”

“Remember those pirates that gave us so much trouble in Oberon? I pulled it before we sold the salvage.”

He certainly did remember, and the bastards had kicked the crap out of two of their ships with their Tarantulas. “How’d you get it mounted on an Avenger?”

“Hammer therapy,” she said. He gave her a confused look, and she held up one arm, curling it to make a muscle. “I beat the hell out of it until it did what I wanted.”

“Damn, girl.”

“Did you want to see the flight recorder?”

They watched the navsat replays together in silence. It looked like one hell of a fight. Chaotic. Frantic. The Rhedd Alert fighters were hard pressed.

Jazza had moments of tactical brilliance. As much as she rubbed him the wrong way, Walt had to admit that she made her Cutlass dance steps for which it wasn’t de­signed. Gavin orchestrated a coherent strategy and had committed extra fighters to drive off the attack. Some­thing was wrong, though. Something about the fight didn’t make sense.

Walt had Dell replay the scene so he could focus on the marauders. It didn’t look like much of a fight at all from that perspective. It looked more like a game and only one team understood how all the pieces moved. The Hornets flew to disrupt, to confuse. They knew Gavin would send a force forward to protect the transport. He’d done it every time they had met.

“See that?” he said. “They break apart there and get called immediately back into formation. They never leave a flank exposed. Our guys never get a real opening.” He pointed out one of the attacking Hornets. “That one calls the shots.”

“That’s the one that OK’d Boomer.”

Reds and greens from the navsat display sparkled in Dell’s eyes. Her voice was emotionless and flat. Walt didn’t want to see her like that, so he focused again on the display.

The marauder he’d identified as the leader broke from the melee. Gavin gave chase, but from too far behind. Boomer intercepted, was disabled, and his PRB flashed red on the display. The Hornet took a pass at the transport before turning to rejoin its squad. Then it decelerated, pausing before the overkill on Boomer.

“Why take only one pass at the transport? They’ve hit us, what? Six times? Seven? And once they finally get a shot at the target, they bug out?”

“You said, ‘us’,” Dell teased. “You back to stay?”

Walt huffed a small laugh. “We’ll see.”

“We’ve been lucky,” Dell offered in answer to his question. “So far, we’ve chased them off.”

“You really believe that? They had this fight won if they wanted it. And how do they keep finding us? It’s like they’ve taken up permanent residence in our damned flight path.”

That was it. He had it. The revelation must have shown on his face.

“What?” Dell asked. “What is it?”

“Back it up to the strafe on the Aquila.”

Dell did, and they watched it again. He felt like an ass for making her watch the murder of her father over again, but he had to be sure of what he saw.

And there it was. Strafe. Turn. Pause. A decision to com­mit. An escalating act of brutality. And then they were gone.

“She’s not after the transport at all. We were her target this whole time.”

“Wait,” Dell said, “what she? Her who?”

“Please tell me your ex hasn’t drunk himself out of a job with the Navy.”

“Barry? Of course not, why?”

“Because I just figured out who killed your father.”

Morgan Brock called the meeting to a close and dismissed her admin team. Riebeld caught her eye and lifted one hand off the table — a request for her to stay while the others shuffled out of the conference room.

Riebeld kept her waiting until they were alone, and then stood to close the door.

“I take it,” Brock said, “that our Tyrol problem persists despite the escalation?”

“I got word during the meeting” — he took a seat beside her at the table, voice pitched low — “that they should be making the jump to Nexus soon.”

“Our discreet pilots? Are they deployed or here at the sta­tion?”

His answer was slow in coming, his nod reluctant. “They are here.”

Brock checked the time. Did some mental math. “Disguise the ships. We will leave at 1700 and meet them in Nexus just inside the gate from Min.”

“Morgan,” Riebeld’s eyes roamed the room, “these guys aren’t taking the hint. I don’t know what losses we have to hand them before they back down, but . . . I don’t know. Part of doing business is losing bids, am I right?” She didn’t disagree and he continued. “Maybe . . . Maybe we ought to write this one off?”

“A comfortable position to hold in your seat, Riebeld. Your commission is based on the contract value. I barely turned a profit on that job for years. I did it willingly, with the expected reward of windfall profits when traffic to Haven surges.”

“I get that,” he said. “I really do. But at some point we have to call it a loss and focus on the next thing, right?”

“Then suppose that we let the Tyrol job go, and Greely and Navy SysCom see what they want to see from bou­tique contractors. I can already imagine anti-establishment politicians pushing for more outsourced work. Hell, they will probably promise contracts to buy votes in their home systems.”

She watched him squirm. It wasn’t like him to wrestle with his conscience. Frankly, she was disappointed to learn that he’d found one.

“If Rhedd Alert won’t withdraw willingly,” she said, “then they will have to fail the hard way. Prep the ships, Rie­beld. We have done very well together, you and I. You should know that I won’t back away from what is mine.” He seemed to appreciate her sincerity, but Brock wanted to hear the cocksure salesman say it. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Riebeld swallowed and stood. “Perfectly clear.”

“Any luck?” Walt pulled up Barry’s record in his mobiGlas and hit connect.

Dell sat at the hangar console trying to reach Gavin and the team. Her brow furrowed in a grimace and she shook her head.

“Damn. Okay, keep trying.”

Barry connected. The accountant wore his uniform. He was on duty, wherever he was, and his projected face looked genuinely mournful. “Hey,” he said, “long time no see, man. Listen, I can’t tell you how sad I am about Boomer.”

“Thanks.” Barry had known Dell and Boomer for most his life. He’d probably been torn between attending the service and allowing the family to grieve in privacy. Regardless, commiseration would have to wait. “We need your help, Barry. Please tell me that you have access to the propos­als for the Tyrol contract.”

“Of course I do. And who’s we? Are you back with Dell and Gavin?”

“I am,” he felt Dell’s eyes on him when he said it. “Anyway, we need a favor. I need to know the ship models and con­figurations proposed by the incumbent.”

“Morgan Brock’s outfit, sure. No can do on the ship data, though. That information is all confidential. Only the price proposals are available for public review, and those only during the protest period.”

“Come on, Barry. We’re not talking trade secrets here. I could figure this out with a fly-by of their hangar in Kilian. I just don’t have time for that. I need to know what ships those guys fly.”

Barry breathed out a heavy sigh, “Hold on. But I can’t send you the proposals, okay? You guys are already on thin ice with this contract as is.”

“Tell me about it. And thanks, I owe you huge for this.”

Walt waited, throat dry. He scratched at a chipped edge on his worn mobiGlas with a fingernail.

“All right,” Barry read from something off-screen, “it looks like they’re flying a variety of Hornets. Specifically, F7As. I can send you a list of the proposed hardpoints, and I hap­pen to know that Brock herself flies a Super Hornet.”

The mobiGlas shook on Walt’s wrist. His face felt hot, and he forced his jaw to relax. “Barry, if you have any pull with the Navy, get some ships to Tyrol. It’s been Brock this whole time. She’s been setting us up to fail. And she’s the bitch that OK’d Boomer.”

“I’m going, Walt. That’s final.”

Walt rubbed at his eyes with the flat part of his fingers. How did Gavin ever win an argument her? Forbidding her involvement was a lost cause. Maybe he could reason with her. “Listen. When’s the last time you were even in a cockpit?”

“I know this ship. I was practically born in these things.”

“Dell —”

She threw his helmet at him. He caught it awkwardly, and she had shed her coveralls and was wriggling into her flight suit before he could finish his thought. She stared at him with hard eyes and said, “Suit up if you don’t want to get left behind.”

Dell was as implacable as gravity. Fine. It was her funeral, and he realized there was no way his brother had ever won an argument with her.

They finished prepping in silence. Walt pulled the chocks on her Avenger when she climbed up into the cockpit. He gave the hulking muzzle of the Tarantula an appreciative pat. “You have ammo for this bad boy?”

“I have a little.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Let’s hope Brock isn’t ready to handle reinforcements.”

Walt mulled that thought over. It was true that Gavin had split their team in each fight, but Rhedd Alert had never sent in reserves. Each engagement had been a fair and straightforward fight. Brock wasn’t likely to know anything about their resources, however limited, beyond the escort team. That could work to their advantage.

In fact, “Hey, Dell. Hop out for a tick, will you?”

“Like hell I will.” The look she shot down at him was pure challenge. “I said I’m going and that’s that.”

“Oh, no. I’ve already lost that fight. But you and your cannon here got me thinking about those pirates in Oberon. Tell me, did we ever find a buyer for that old Idris hull?”

“No. It’s buoyed in storage outside the station, why?”

Dell looked at him skeptically and he grinned. “We’re going to introduce these military-types to some ol’ smugglers’ tricks.”

Gavin held the team at the edge of the jump gate between Min and Nexus. “All right gang, listen up. You know the drill and what might be waiting for us on the other side. Jazza, I want you and Rahul up on point for this jump. I’ll bring Cassiopeia over after you and the rest of the team are in. Anyone not ready to jump?”

His team was silent as they arranged themselves into position with professional precision. The pilot aboard Cassiopeia sounded the ready and Gavin sent Jazza through. The others were hard on her heels, and Gavin felt the always-peculiar drop through the mouth of the jump gate.

Light and sound stretched, dragging him across the inter­space. Another drop, a moment’s disorientation, and then Nexus resolved around him.

Without warning, Mei’s fighter flashed past his forward screen. Incandescent laser fire slashed along the ghost grey and fire-alarm red ship, crippling Mei’s shields and shearing away sections of armored hull. Mei fired back at a trio of maddeningly familiar Hornets in a tight triangular formation.

Jazza barked orders. “Mei. Rahul. Flank Gavin and get Cassiopeia out of here. Gavin, you copy that? You have the package.”

He shook his head, willing the post-jump disorientation away. He didn’t remember bringing up his shields, but they flashed on his HUD and his weapon systems were armed.

“Copy that.” Gavin switched to the transport channel, “Cassiopeia. Let’s get you folks out of here.”

The crew onboard the UEE transport didn’t need any more encouragement. Gavin accelerated to keep pace with the larger ship as two Rhedd Alert fighters dropped into posi­tion above and below him. Together, they raced toward the jump gate to Tyrol.

The Hornets wheeled and dropped toward them from one side. Gavin’s HUD lit up with alerts as Jazza sent a pair of rockets dangerously close over his head to blast into one of the attacking ships. Her ship screamed by overhead, but the Hornets stayed in pursuit of the fleeing transport.

Alarms sounded. They needed more firepower on the Hornets to give Cassiopeia time to get clear. He yelled a course heading, and Cassiopeia dove with Mei and Rahul on either flank.

Gavin pulled up, turned and fired to pull the attention of the attackers. He spun, taking the brunt of their return fire on his stronger starboard shields.

The impact shook the Cutlass violently, and his shield integ­rity bar sagged into the red. Gavin turned, took another wild shot with his lasers, and accelerated away from Cassiopeia with the Hornets in close pursuit.

Navsat data for the jump into Nexus crept onto the edge of Walt’s HUD. Several seconds and thousands of kilometers later, the first of the embattled starships winked onto the display. His brother and the Rhedd Alert team were hard-pressed.

Walt watched Brock and her crew circle and strike, corralling the Rhedd Alert ships. Gavin tried to lead the attackers away, but Brock wouldn’t bite. By keeping the fight centered on the UEE transport, she essentially held the transport hostage.

Time to even the odds.

Jazza tore into one of the Hornets. Walt saw the enemy fighter’s superior shields absorb the impact. He marked that Hornet as his target, preparing to strike before its defenses recharged.

He killed his primary drive and spun end to end, slash­ing backward through the melee like a blazing comet. His targeting system locked onto the enemy Hornet, and his heavy Broadsword blasted bullets into it.

Mei’s battered fighter dove through the streaming wreck­age, but the Super Hornet, presumably Brock, waited for her on the other side. A blast from her neutron cannon tore through the Rhedd Alert ship. Mei ejected safely, but their team was down a ship.

“Gods,” Gavin’s voice was frantic. “Get the hell out of here, Walt. Form up with the transport and get them away from the fight.”

Walt ignored him. He came around for another pass and triggered his mic to an open-area channel. “The game’s up, Brock.”

His words cut across the thrust and wheel of close com­bat, and for a moment the fighters on all sides flew in quiet patterns above the fleeing Cassiopeia.

“You know,” Walt said, “if you wanted us to believe you were after the transport, you should have saved your big guns for Cassiopeia instead of overkilling our friend.”

“I suppose I should be disappointed that you have found me out,” Brock’s voice was a pinched sneer, and every bit as cold and hard as Gavin had described. “On the other hand, I’m glad you’ve shared this with me. I might have been content disabling the majority of your so-called fleet. Now, it seems that I will have to be more thorough.”

She fired, he dodged, and the fight was on again in earnest. Walt switched his comms to Rhedd Alert’s squad channel. “Brock was never after Cassiopeia, Gav. She’s been after us.”

“Maybe I’m a little distracted by all the missiles and the neutron cannon, but I’m failing to see how that is at all relevant right now.”

“We’re no match for the tech in her ships. If she goes after the transport, they’re toast.” He rolled into position next to Gavin. Together, they nosed down to strafe at a Hornet from above.

“Great,” Gavin said, “then why did you tip her off?”

Walt suppressed a wicked grin. “Because,” he said, “she can’t afford to let any of us get away, either.”

“If you have any brilliant ideas, spit ’em out. I’m all ears.”

“Run with me.” For all Walt knew, Brock could hear every word they were saying. She would tear them apart if they stayed. He had to get Gavin to follow him. “Run with me, Gavin.”

“Damn it, Walt! If you came to help, then help. I’ve got a pilot down, and I’m not leaving her here to get OK’d like Boom­er.”

“This ain’t about doing the easy thing, Gav. Someone I truly admire once told me that this game is all about trust. So ask yourself . . . do you trust me?”

Gavin growled his name then, dragging out the word in a bitter, internal struggle. The weight of it made Walt’s throat constrict. Despite all of their arguments, Boomer’s death and his own desertion when things got hard — in spite of all of that — his brother still wanted to trust him.

“Trust me, Gavin.”

Brock and her wingman swept low, diving to corral Cassiopeia and its escorts. Jazza redirected them with a blazing torrent of laser fire and got rocked by the neutron cannon in return. The shields around her battered Cutlass flashed, dimmed and then failed.

Walt gritted his teeth. It was now or never.

“Jazz,” Gavin’s voice sounded hard and sharp, “rally with Cassiopeia and make a break for it.”

Walt pumped his fist and accelerated back the way he’d come in.

“Walt,” Gavin sounded angry enough to eat nails, but he followed, “I’m on your six. Let’s go, people! Move like you’ve got a purpose.”

Walt pulled up a set of coordinate presets and streaked away with Gavin close behind him. The two remaining Hor­nets split, with Brock falling in behind Gavin to give pursuit. Even together he and Gavin didn’t have much chance of getting past her superior shields. Instead, he set a straight course for the waypoint marked at the edge of his display. When incoming fire from Brock drove them off course, he corrected to put them directly back in line with the mark.

Brock was gaining. Gavin’s icon flashed on his display. She was close enough to hit reliably with her repeaters. As they approached the preset coordinates, Walt spotted a rippling distortion of winking starlight. Correcting his course slightly, he headed straight for it. Gavin and Brock were hard behind him.

“Come on,” Walt whispered, “stay close.”

On the squad display, he saw Gavin’s shield integrity dropped yet again. Brock was scoring more frequent hits.

“A little farther.”

Walt focused on the rippling of starlight ahead, a dark patch of space that swallowed Nexus’ star. He made a slight course correction and Gavin matched it. Together, they continued their breakneck flight from Brock’s deadly onslaught.

The small patch of dark space grew as the three ships streaked forward. Walt opened the squad channel on his mic and shouted, “Now!”

On his HUD, a new ship flared onto the display. It appeared to materialize nearly on top of them as Dell’s Avenger dropped from her hiding place inside the blackened hull of the derelict Idris.

Walt punched his thrusters. The lift pressed him into his seat as he pushed up and over their trap. He heard Dell shouting over the squad channel, and he turned, straining to see behind him. Bright flashes from Brock’s muzzles accompanied a horrible pounding thunder. Dell had left her mic open and it sounded like the massive gun was threat­ening to tear her ship apart.

“Heads up, Gav!”

Dell’s voice hit Gavin like a physical blow.

He saw his brother climb and suddenly disappear behind an empty, starless expanse. Then Boomer’s Avenger materi­alized from within that blackness, and Gavin knew that his wife was inside the cockpit. She was with him, out in the black where veteran pilots outgunned them.

His body reacted where his mind could not. He shoved down, hard. Thrusters strained as he instinctively tried to avoid colliding with her. A brilliant pulse like flashes of light­ning accompanied a jarring thunder of sound.

Gavin forced his battered ship to turn. The Cutlass shud­dered from the stress, and Gavin was pressed into the side of the cockpit as the nose of his ship came around.

He saw the first heavy round strike Brock. The combined force of the shell and her momentum shredded her for­ward shields. Then round after round tore through the nose of Brock’s ship until the air ignited inside.

“Dell” — the flaming Hornet tumbled toward his wife like an enormous hatchet — “look out!”

Brock ejected.

Dell thrust to one side, but the Hornet chopped into the hull where she had hidden. The explosion sent ships and debris spinning apart in all directions.

“Dell!”

He swept around to intercept her spinning ship. Walt beat him there. Thrusters firing in tightly controlled move­ments, Walt caught her Avenger, slowed it and stopped the spin.

Gavin rolled to put himself cockpit to cockpit with his wife.

“Dell?”

She sat in stillness at the controls, her head down and turned to one side.

“Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

She moved.

With the slow deliberateness of depressurized space, she rolled her head on her shoulders. When she looked up, their eyes met. Dell gave him a slow smile and a thumbs-up. He swallowed hard, and with one hand pressed to his heart, he shut his eyes silently in thanks.

Gavin spun his Cutlass and thrust over to where Brock floated nearby, his weapons systems still hot. He paused then, looming above her as she had hesitated over Boomer.

Her comms were still active. “What now, Rhedd?”

He remembered her from the meeting with Greely. Tall, lean, and crisp. She seemed small now, drifting not more than a meter away from the battle-scarred nose of his Cutlass.

“Gavin?” Dell’s voice sounded small after the ruckus of the fight.

Walt eased into view alongside him. His voice was low and calm, “Easy, buddy. We weren’t raised to OK pilots.”

“She’s not worth it,” Dell said.

Brock snarled, “Do it already.”

He had studied Brock’s reports for months. She had more ships and more pilots than he could ever imagine employing. What drove her to harass them and kill one of his crew for this job?

“I just want to know why,” he asked. “You’ve got other contracts. You’ve probably made more money than any of us will see in our lives. Why come after us?”

He held Brock’s eye, the lights from the Cutlass reflecting from her visor.

“Why?” she repeated. “Look around you, Rhedd. There’s no law in these systems. All that matters here is courage to take what you want, and a willingness to sacrifice to keep it.”

“You want to talk sacrifice?” he said. “That pilot you killed was family.”

“You put him in harm’s way,” she said, “not me. What little order exists in these systems is what I brought with me. I carved my success from nothing. You independents are thieves. You’re like rodents, nibbling at the edges of others’ success.”

“I was a thief,” he said, “and a smuggler. But we’re building our own success, and next time you and I meet with the Navy,” Gavin fired his thrusters just enough to punch Brock with the nose of his ship, “it’ll be in a court­room.”

She spun and tumbled as she flew, growing smaller and smaller until the PRB on his HUD was all he could see.

A pair of Retaliators with naval designations were moored outside the Rhedd Alert hangar when Gavin and the crew finally limped back to Vista Landing.

Crew aboard Cassiopeia had insisted on helping with medical care and recovery after the fight. The team scheduled for pick-up at Haven was similarly adamant that Rhedd Alert take care of their own before continuing. Technically, no one had checked with Navy SysCom.

Did the Navy fire contractors face to face? For all he knew, they did.

Gavin saw to the staging of their damaged ships while the others hurried the wounded deeper into Vista Landing. When he’d finished, he exchanged a quick nod with Barry Lidst who stood at ease behind Major Greely.

“Major,” Gavin held out his hand, “I assume someone would have told me already if I was fired.”

His hand disappeared in the major’s massive paw. “I sup­pose they would have, at that.”

“Then to what do we owe the honor?” Dell and Walt joined them, and Gavin made introductions.

“‘I’ first, then ‘we,’ ” Greely repeated, “I like that, Rhedd. I appreciate a man who accepts consequence personally but insists on sharing accolades with his team. Tell me, son. How’d you get Brock?”

Gavin nudged his wife. With a roguish grin, Dell pulled her arm from around Gavin’s waist and stepped over to pat the Tarantula on her battered Avenger.

“Nice shooting, miss.”

Dell shrugged, “Walt pulled my tags, nav beacon and flight recorder before we left. I was sitting dark inside a decoy when the boys flew her right down the barrel.”

Barry leaned toward Greely and in a completely audible whisper said, “It might be best if we ignore the illegal parts of that.”

Greely waved him off. “This is what the ’verse needs. Men and women with the courage to slap their name up on the side of a hangar. A chance for responsible civilians to create good, honest jobs with real pay for locals. That an ex-military contractor tried to muck that up . . .”

Gavin and the team got a good, close look at what angry looked like on a Navy officer. It was the kind of scowl that left an impression.

“Anyway,” Greely composed himself, “not a soul in the ’verse would blame you for writing us off as a bit of bad business. I’m here to ask that you stick with it.”

Gavin was reluctant to bring their financial situation up in front of their one paying client, but they were tapped out. Rhedd Alert didn’t have the cred to buy ammo, much less repair their downed fighters. “Actually, sir. I think we may need to find something a little more lucrative than getting shot up by disgruntled incumbents.”

“About that,” Greely rested his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. He led him to look out one of the large hangar windows at the Retaliators buoyed outside. “My accountant tells me there may be some room to renegotiate certain parts of the Tyrol contract. But that job won’t be enough to keep your team busy now that Brock’s out of the way.”

Gavin laughed. “On that point, I most certainly hope you are right.”

“Well . . . I’ve got more work for an outfit like yours. I hope you’ll accept, because you folks have surely earned it. Tell me, Rhedd, are you familiar with the Oberon system?”

Behind them, Walt dropped his helmet.

The End

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[inexcon]

RSI Comm-Link: Brothers In Arms: Part Four

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Four was published originally in Jump Point 3.8. Read Part One here, Part Two here, and Part Three here.

A recorded hymn played as they sent Arun “Boomer” Ains­ley into whatever great adventure awaits in the everafter. Gavin set the service in the Rhedd Alert hangar, and the recording sounded terrible. The last somber note rebounded off the room’s hard surfaces and harsh angles.

He wished they could have had a live band. He would have paid for an orchestra, if one were to be had on the orbit­al station. Even a bugle would have been a better tribute for the man who had brought Dell into his life. For the man who taught him and Walt so much about living a free life.

Dell’s arm felt small around his waist and Gavin pulled her in close to him, unsure if that was the right thing to do. He turned to kiss her hair and saw Walt’s lean form looming beside them. Walt’s face was fixed in a grim mask.

Gavin knew his brother well enough to know that Walt was berating himself inside. He didn’t deal well with guilt or re­sponsibility, and Gavin suspected that was a big part of why Walt always ran.

The gathering started to break up. Pilots and the hangar crew busied themselves with tasks around Rhedd Alert’s battered fleet of fighters. Dell didn’t move, so he stayed there with her. Walt rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Gavin. Oh gods, Dell. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Jazza leaned in and spoke in a low tone, almost a whisper. “Landing gear up in ten, boss. Your rig is on the buggy.” She motioned with her chin to where his ship waited.

Dell turned into him and squeezed. “Be careful.”

“I will, babe.”

“You come home to me, Gavin Rhedd. I’ll kill you myself if you make me run this outfit on my own.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. Held them there.

“Wait. What?” Walt’s jaw was slack, his eyes wide. “Tell me you aren’t going back out there.”

Jazza bumped Walt with her shoulder, not so much walking past him as through him. “Damn right we are, Quitter.”

“You know what? Screw you, Jazz. All right? You used to quit this outfit, like . . . twice a month.”

“Not like you. Not like some chicken sh—”

“Jazz,” Gavin said, “go make sure the team is ready to roll, would ya?” With a nod to Gavin and a parting glare at Walt, she moved away into the hangar.

“Let it be, Walt. We really do need to go. After last time, we can’t risk being late for the pickup.”

“Screw late!” Walt’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed around the edges. “Why the happy hells are you going at all?”

“Walt —”

“Don’t ‘Walt’ me, Gavin. There is a pack of psychopaths out there trying to kill you!”

“Walt, would you shut up and listen for two seconds? We don’t have a choice, okay? We’ve got everything riding on this job. We’re months behind on this place and extended up to our necks on credit for fuel, parts, and ammo.”

“They can damn well bill me!”

“No,” Gavin said, “they can’t. Your shares reverted back to the company when you quit. But I’m legit now. You think we lived life on the run before? Just you watch if I try to run from this.”

Walt turned to Dell for assistance, “Dell, come on. You gotta make him listen to reason.”

“Boomer’s shares transferred to me when he died,” Dell said. “We’re in this together.”

“Okay, boss,” Jazza called. The three of them looked to where she stood with a line of determined crew. “It’s time.”

Walt watched the big bay doors close as the last of Gavin’s team left the hangar. His fighter and the few remaining ships looked small and awkwardly out of place in the big room. Standing alone next to Dell gave him a great appreci­ation for that awkwardness.

“I’m so sorry, Dell. If I’d been there —”

“Don’t,” she stopped him with a word, and then contin­ued with a shake of her blue-tipped hair. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’ve been over the tactical logs. He got beat one-on-one, and then they OK’d him. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I still feel rotten,” he said. “Like, maybe if I hadn’t left . . . I don’t know.”

“Gavin blames himself, too. That’s just the way you two are built. But believe me, there was never a soul alive able to keep my dad out of the cockpit. He was flying long before you Rhedd boys tumbled into our lives.”

That gave him a smile. A genuine smile. It seemed to bright­en Dell’s mood, so he did his best to hang onto it.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s been a long couple of weeks. Join me for some coffee?”

He did, and for a time they spoke softly at the tall tables in the hangar’s kitchenette. Dell caught him up on life aboard Vista Landing since he had left. She was clearly exhausted and not simply from a sleepless night and her father’s funeral. Her shoulders sagged, and dark circles under her eyes were the product of weeks of labor and worry. The constant apprehension of the Hornets’ vi­cious attacks had apparently exhausted more than just the pilots. It seemed odd that the attacks felt strangely personal.

“You know what I can’t figure out?” he mused aloud. Dell looked at him, tired eyes politely expectant. “What the hell are these guys after?”

She nodded, “Yeah. There’s been a lot of speculating on that question.”

“And?”

“Hard to say, isn’t it? Could be political wackos opposed to the research in Haven. Or maybe it’s one of the old gangs that don’t like us going legit. Could be it’s a group of Tevarin lashing out against UEE targets. Who knows?”

“Naw. If they were Tevarin, we could tell by how they fly.”

“Then you tell me, if you’re so smart. I mean, you were out there. You fought them.”

Walt shrugged and took a sip of cooling coffee. Something she said nagged at him. “Hey, you said you had navsat tac­tical logs from the fight, right?”

“Yeah.” What remained of her energy seemed to drain away with that one word. Walt cursed himself for the insensitive ass that he was. He’d just asked her about re­corded replays of her father’s murder.

“Dell. Ah, hell . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve been over and over them already. Really, I don’t mind.”

They moved to a console and the lights dimmed automat­ically when she pulled up the hangar projection. She se­lected a ship, and oriented the view so that the hologram of Boomer’s Avenger filled the display. No, Walt reminded himself, it wasn’t Boomer’s ship any more. Dell was his heir and — along with his debt — Boomer’s assets now belonged to her.

Dell bypassed the default display of the structural hard­points and dove into the ship’s systems. Something caught his eye and he stopped her. “Wait, back up.” She did, and Walt stopped the rotating display to look along the under­carriage of the ship. He let out a low whistle.

“That, Walter Rhedd, is a Tarantula GT-870 Mk3.”

“I know what it is. But where did you get it?”

“Remember those pirates that gave us so much trouble in Oberon? I pulled it before we sold the salvage.”

He certainly did remember, and the bastards had kicked the crap out of two of their ships with their Tarantulas. “How’d you get it mounted on an Avenger?”

“Hammer therapy,” she said. He gave her a confused look, and she held up one arm, curling it to make a muscle. “I beat the hell out of it until it did what I wanted.”

“Damn, girl.”

“Did you want to see the flight recorder?”

They watched the navsat replays together in silence. It looked like one hell of a fight. Chaotic. Frantic. The Rhedd Alert fighters were hard pressed.

Jazza had moments of tactical brilliance. As much as she rubbed him the wrong way, Walt had to admit that she made her Cutlass dance steps for which it wasn’t de­signed. Gavin orchestrated a coherent strategy and had committed extra fighters to drive off the attack. Some­thing was wrong, though. Something about the fight didn’t make sense.

Walt had Dell replay the scene so he could focus on the marauders. It didn’t look like much of a fight at all from that perspective. It looked more like a game and only one team understood how all the pieces moved. The Hornets flew to disrupt, to confuse. They knew Gavin would send a force forward to protect the transport. He’d done it every time they had met.

“See that?” he said. “They break apart there and get called immediately back into formation. They never leave a flank exposed. Our guys never get a real opening.” He pointed out one of the attacking Hornets. “That one calls the shots.”

“That’s the one that OK’d Boomer.”

Reds and greens from the navsat display sparkled in Dell’s eyes. Her voice was emotionless and flat. Walt didn’t want to see her like that, so he focused again on the display.

The marauder he’d identified as the leader broke from the melee. Gavin gave chase, but from too far behind. Boomer intercepted, was disabled, and his PRB flashed red on the display. The Hornet took a pass at the transport before turning to rejoin its squad. Then it decelerated, pausing before the overkill on Boomer.

“Why take only one pass at the transport? They’ve hit us, what? Six times? Seven? And once they finally get a shot at the target, they bug out?”

“You said, ‘us’,” Dell teased. “You back to stay?”

Walt huffed a small laugh. “We’ll see.”

“We’ve been lucky,” Dell offered in answer to his question. “So far, we’ve chased them off.”

“You really believe that? They had this fight won if they wanted it. And how do they keep finding us? It’s like they’ve taken up permanent residence in our damned flight path.”

That was it. He had it. The revelation must have shown on his face.

“What?” Dell asked. “What is it?”

“Back it up to the strafe on the Aquila.”

Dell did, and they watched it again. He felt like an ass for making her watch the murder of her father over again, but he had to be sure of what he saw.

And there it was. Strafe. Turn. Pause. A decision to com­mit. An escalating act of brutality. And then they were gone.

“She’s not after the transport at all. We were her target this whole time.”

“Wait,” Dell said, “what she? Her who?”

“Please tell me your ex hasn’t drunk himself out of a job with the Navy.”

“Barry? Of course not, why?”

“Because I just figured out who killed your father.”

Morgan Brock called the meeting to a close and dismissed her admin team. Riebeld caught her eye and lifted one hand off the table — a request for her to stay while the others shuffled out of the conference room.

Riebeld kept her waiting until they were alone, and then stood to close the door.

“I take it,” Brock said, “that our Tyrol problem persists despite the escalation?”

“I got word during the meeting” — he took a seat beside her at the table, voice pitched low — “that they should be making the jump to Nexus soon.”

“Our discreet pilots? Are they deployed or here at the sta­tion?”

His answer was slow in coming, his nod reluctant. “They are here.”

Brock checked the time. Did some mental math. “Disguise the ships. We will leave at 1700 and meet them in Nexus just inside the gate from Min.”

“Morgan,” Riebeld’s eyes roamed the room, “these guys aren’t taking the hint. I don’t know what losses we have to hand them before they back down, but . . . I don’t know. Part of doing business is losing bids, am I right?” She didn’t disagree and he continued. “Maybe . . . Maybe we ought to write this one off?”

“A comfortable position to hold in your seat, Riebeld. Your commission is based on the contract value. I barely turned a profit on that job for years. I did it willingly, with the expected reward of windfall profits when traffic to Haven surges.”

“I get that,” he said. “I really do. But at some point we have to call it a loss and focus on the next thing, right?”

“Then suppose that we let the Tyrol job go, and Greely and Navy SysCom see what they want to see from bou­tique contractors. I can already imagine anti-establishment politicians pushing for more outsourced work. Hell, they will probably promise contracts to buy votes in their home systems.”

She watched him squirm. It wasn’t like him to wrestle with his conscience. Frankly, she was disappointed to learn that he’d found one.

“If Rhedd Alert won’t withdraw willingly,” she said, “then they will have to fail the hard way. Prep the ships, Rie­beld. We have done very well together, you and I. You should know that I won’t back away from what is mine.” He seemed to appreciate her sincerity, but Brock wanted to hear the cocksure salesman say it. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Riebeld swallowed and stood. “Perfectly clear.”

“Any luck?” Walt pulled up Barry’s record in his mobiGlas and hit connect.

Dell sat at the hangar console trying to reach Gavin and the team. Her brow furrowed in a grimace and she shook her head.

“Damn. Okay, keep trying.”

Barry connected. The accountant wore his uniform. He was on duty, wherever he was, and his projected face looked genuinely mournful. “Hey,” he said, “long time no see, man. Listen, I can’t tell you how sad I am about Boomer.”

“Thanks.” Barry had known Dell and Boomer for most his life. He’d probably been torn between attending the service and allowing the family to grieve in privacy. Regardless, commiseration would have to wait. “We need your help, Barry. Please tell me that you have access to the propos­als for the Tyrol contract.”

“Of course I do. And who’s we? Are you back with Dell and Gavin?”

“I am,” he felt Dell’s eyes on him when he said it. “Anyway, we need a favor. I need to know the ship models and con­figurations proposed by the incumbent.”

“Morgan Brock’s outfit, sure. No can do on the ship data, though. That information is all confidential. Only the price proposals are available for public review, and those only during the protest period.”

“Come on, Barry. We’re not talking trade secrets here. I could figure this out with a fly-by of their hangar in Kilian. I just don’t have time for that. I need to know what ships those guys fly.”

Barry breathed out a heavy sigh, “Hold on. But I can’t send you the proposals, okay? You guys are already on thin ice with this contract as is.”

“Tell me about it. And thanks, I owe you huge for this.”

Walt waited, throat dry. He scratched at a chipped edge on his worn mobiGlas with a fingernail.

“All right,” Barry read from something off-screen, “it looks like they’re flying a variety of Hornets. Specifically, F7As. I can send you a list of the proposed hardpoints, and I hap­pen to know that Brock herself flies a Super Hornet.”

The mobiGlas shook on Walt’s wrist. His face felt hot, and he forced his jaw to relax. “Barry, if you have any pull with the Navy, get some ships to Tyrol. It’s been Brock this whole time. She’s been setting us up to fail. And she’s the bitch that OK’d Boomer.”

“I’m going, Walt. That’s final.”

Walt rubbed at his eyes with the flat part of his fingers. How did Gavin ever win an argument her? Forbidding her involvement was a lost cause. Maybe he could reason with her. “Listen. When’s the last time you were even in a cockpit?”

“I know this ship. I was practically born in these things.”

“Dell —”

She threw his helmet at him. He caught it awkwardly, and she had shed her coveralls and was wriggling into her flight suit before he could finish his thought. She stared at him with hard eyes and said, “Suit up if you don’t want to get left behind.”

Dell was as implacable as gravity. Fine. It was her funeral, and he realized there was no way his brother had ever won an argument with her.

They finished prepping in silence. Walt pulled the chocks on her Avenger when she climbed up into the cockpit. He gave the hulking muzzle of the Tarantula an appreciative pat. “You have ammo for this bad boy?”

“I have a little.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Let’s hope Brock isn’t ready to handle reinforcements.”

Walt mulled that thought over. It was true that Gavin had split their team in each fight, but Rhedd Alert had never sent in reserves. Each engagement had been a fair and straightforward fight. Brock wasn’t likely to know anything about their resources, however limited, beyond the escort team. That could work to their advantage.

In fact, “Hey, Dell. Hop out for a tick, will you?”

“Like hell I will.” The look she shot down at him was pure challenge. “I said I’m going and that’s that.”

“Oh, no. I’ve already lost that fight. But you and your cannon here got me thinking about those pirates in Oberon. Tell me, did we ever find a buyer for that old Idris hull?”

“No. It’s buoyed in storage outside the station, why?”

Dell looked at him skeptically and he grinned. “We’re going to introduce these military-types to some ol’ smugglers’ tricks.”

Gavin held the team at the edge of the jump gate between Min and Nexus. “All right gang, listen up. You know the drill and what might be waiting for us on the other side. Jazza, I want you and Rahul up on point for this jump. I’ll bring Cassiopeia over after you and the rest of the team are in. Anyone not ready to jump?”

His team was silent as they arranged themselves into position with professional precision. The pilot aboard Cassiopeia sounded the ready and Gavin sent Jazza through. The others were hard on her heels, and Gavin felt the always-peculiar drop through the mouth of the jump gate.

Light and sound stretched, dragging him across the inter­space. Another drop, a moment’s disorientation, and then Nexus resolved around him.

Without warning, Mei’s fighter flashed past his forward screen. Incandescent laser fire slashed along the ghost grey and fire-alarm red ship, crippling Mei’s shields and shearing away sections of armored hull. Mei fired back at a trio of maddeningly familiar Hornets in a tight triangular formation.

Jazza barked orders. “Mei. Rahul. Flank Gavin and get Cassiopeia out of here. Gavin, you copy that? You have the package.”

He shook his head, willing the post-jump disorientation away. He didn’t remember bringing up his shields, but they flashed on his HUD and his weapon systems were armed.

“Copy that.” Gavin switched to the transport channel, “Cassiopeia. Let’s get you folks out of here.”

The crew onboard the UEE transport didn’t need any more encouragement. Gavin accelerated to keep pace with the larger ship as two Rhedd Alert fighters dropped into posi­tion above and below him. Together, they raced toward the jump gate to Tyrol.

The Hornets wheeled and dropped toward them from one side. Gavin’s HUD lit up with alerts as Jazza sent a pair of rockets dangerously close over his head to blast into one of the attacking ships. Her ship screamed by overhead, but the Hornets stayed in pursuit of the fleeing transport.

Alarms sounded. They needed more firepower on the Hornets to give Cassiopeia time to get clear. He yelled a course heading, and Cassiopeia dove with Mei and Rahul on either flank.

Gavin pulled up, turned and fired to pull the attention of the attackers. He spun, taking the brunt of their return fire on his stronger starboard shields.

The impact shook the Cutlass violently, and his shield integ­rity bar sagged into the red. Gavin turned, took another wild shot with his lasers, and accelerated away from Cassiopeia with the Hornets in close pursuit.

Navsat data for the jump into Nexus crept onto the edge of Walt’s HUD. Several seconds and thousands of kilometers later, the first of the embattled starships winked onto the display. His brother and the Rhedd Alert team were hard-pressed.

Walt watched Brock and her crew circle and strike, corralling the Rhedd Alert ships. Gavin tried to lead the attackers away, but Brock wouldn’t bite. By keeping the fight centered on the UEE transport, she essentially held the transport hostage.

Time to even the odds.

Jazza tore into one of the Hornets. Walt saw the enemy fighter’s superior shields absorb the impact. He marked that Hornet as his target, preparing to strike before its defenses recharged.

He killed his primary drive and spun end to end, slash­ing backward through the melee like a blazing comet. His targeting system locked onto the enemy Hornet, and his heavy Broadsword blasted bullets into it.

Mei’s battered fighter dove through the streaming wreck­age, but the Super Hornet, presumably Brock, waited for her on the other side. A blast from her neutron cannon tore through the Rhedd Alert ship. Mei ejected safely, but their team was down a ship.

“Gods,” Gavin’s voice was frantic. “Get the hell out of here, Walt. Form up with the transport and get them away from the fight.”

Walt ignored him. He came around for another pass and triggered his mic to an open-area channel. “The game’s up, Brock.”

His words cut across the thrust and wheel of close com­bat, and for a moment the fighters on all sides flew in quiet patterns above the fleeing Cassiopeia.

“You know,” Walt said, “if you wanted us to believe you were after the transport, you should have saved your big guns for Cassiopeia instead of overkilling our friend.”

“I suppose I should be disappointed that you have found me out,” Brock’s voice was a pinched sneer, and every bit as cold and hard as Gavin had described. “On the other hand, I’m glad you’ve shared this with me. I might have been content disabling the majority of your so-called fleet. Now, it seems that I will have to be more thorough.”

She fired, he dodged, and the fight was on again in earnest. Walt switched his comms to Rhedd Alert’s squad channel. “Brock was never after Cassiopeia, Gav. She’s been after us.”

“Maybe I’m a little distracted by all the missiles and the neutron cannon, but I’m failing to see how that is at all relevant right now.”

“We’re no match for the tech in her ships. If she goes after the transport, they’re toast.” He rolled into position next to Gavin. Together, they nosed down to strafe at a Hornet from above.

“Great,” Gavin said, “then why did you tip her off?”

Walt suppressed a wicked grin. “Because,” he said, “she can’t afford to let any of us get away, either.”

“If you have any brilliant ideas, spit ’em out. I’m all ears.”

“Run with me.” For all Walt knew, Brock could hear every word they were saying. She would tear them apart if they stayed. He had to get Gavin to follow him. “Run with me, Gavin.”

“Damn it, Walt! If you came to help, then help. I’ve got a pilot down, and I’m not leaving her here to get OK’d like Boom­er.”

“This ain’t about doing the easy thing, Gav. Someone I truly admire once told me that this game is all about trust. So ask yourself . . . do you trust me?”

Gavin growled his name then, dragging out the word in a bitter, internal struggle. The weight of it made Walt’s throat constrict. Despite all of their arguments, Boomer’s death and his own desertion when things got hard — in spite of all of that — his brother still wanted to trust him.

“Trust me, Gavin.”

Brock and her wingman swept low, diving to corral Cassiopeia and its escorts. Jazza redirected them with a blazing torrent of laser fire and got rocked by the neutron cannon in return. The shields around her battered Cutlass flashed, dimmed and then failed.

Walt gritted his teeth. It was now or never.

“Jazz,” Gavin’s voice sounded hard and sharp, “rally with Cassiopeia and make a break for it.”

Walt pumped his fist and accelerated back the way he’d come in.

“Walt,” Gavin sounded angry enough to eat nails, but he followed, “I’m on your six. Let’s go, people! Move like you’ve got a purpose.”

Walt pulled up a set of coordinate presets and streaked away with Gavin close behind him. The two remaining Hor­nets split, with Brock falling in behind Gavin to give pursuit. Even together he and Gavin didn’t have much chance of getting past her superior shields. Instead, he set a straight course for the waypoint marked at the edge of his display. When incoming fire from Brock drove them off course, he corrected to put them directly back in line with the mark.

Brock was gaining. Gavin’s icon flashed on his display. She was close enough to hit reliably with her repeaters. As they approached the preset coordinates, Walt spotted a rippling distortion of winking starlight. Correcting his course slightly, he headed straight for it. Gavin and Brock were hard behind him.

“Come on,” Walt whispered, “stay close.”

On the squad display, he saw Gavin’s shield integrity dropped yet again. Brock was scoring more frequent hits.

“A little farther.”

Walt focused on the rippling of starlight ahead, a dark patch of space that swallowed Nexus’ star. He made a slight course correction and Gavin matched it. Together, they continued their breakneck flight from Brock’s deadly onslaught.

The small patch of dark space grew as the three ships streaked forward. Walt opened the squad channel on his mic and shouted, “Now!”

On his HUD, a new ship flared onto the display. It appeared to materialize nearly on top of them as Dell’s Avenger dropped from her hiding place inside the blackened hull of the derelict Idris.

Walt punched his thrusters. The lift pressed him into his seat as he pushed up and over their trap. He heard Dell shouting over the squad channel, and he turned, straining to see behind him. Bright flashes from Brock’s muzzles accompanied a horrible pounding thunder. Dell had left her mic open and it sounded like the massive gun was threat­ening to tear her ship apart.

“Heads up, Gav!”

Dell’s voice hit Gavin like a physical blow.

He saw his brother climb and suddenly disappear behind an empty, starless expanse. Then Boomer’s Avenger materi­alized from within that blackness, and Gavin knew that his wife was inside the cockpit. She was with him, out in the black where veteran pilots outgunned them.

His body reacted where his mind could not. He shoved down, hard. Thrusters strained as he instinctively tried to avoid colliding with her. A brilliant pulse like flashes of light­ning accompanied a jarring thunder of sound.

Gavin forced his battered ship to turn. The Cutlass shud­dered from the stress, and Gavin was pressed into the side of the cockpit as the nose of his ship came around.

He saw the first heavy round strike Brock. The combined force of the shell and her momentum shredded her for­ward shields. Then round after round tore through the nose of Brock’s ship until the air ignited inside.

“Dell” — the flaming Hornet tumbled toward his wife like an enormous hatchet — “look out!”

Brock ejected.

Dell thrust to one side, but the Hornet chopped into the hull where she had hidden. The explosion sent ships and debris spinning apart in all directions.

“Dell!”

He swept around to intercept her spinning ship. Walt beat him there. Thrusters firing in tightly controlled move­ments, Walt caught her Avenger, slowed it and stopped the spin.

Gavin rolled to put himself cockpit to cockpit with his wife.

“Dell?”

She sat in stillness at the controls, her head down and turned to one side.

“Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

She moved.

With the slow deliberateness of depressurized space, she rolled her head on her shoulders. When she looked up, their eyes met. Dell gave him a slow smile and a thumbs-up. He swallowed hard, and with one hand pressed to his heart, he shut his eyes silently in thanks.

Gavin spun his Cutlass and thrust over to where Brock floated nearby, his weapons systems still hot. He paused then, looming above her as she had hesitated over Boomer.

Her comms were still active. “What now, Rhedd?”

He remembered her from the meeting with Greely. Tall, lean, and crisp. She seemed small now, drifting not more than a meter away from the battle-scarred nose of his Cutlass.

“Gavin?” Dell’s voice sounded small after the ruckus of the fight.

Walt eased into view alongside him. His voice was low and calm, “Easy, buddy. We weren’t raised to OK pilots.”

“She’s not worth it,” Dell said.

Brock snarled, “Do it already.”

He had studied Brock’s reports for months. She had more ships and more pilots than he could ever imagine employing. What drove her to harass them and kill one of his crew for this job?

“I just want to know why,” he asked. “You’ve got other contracts. You’ve probably made more money than any of us will see in our lives. Why come after us?”

He held Brock’s eye, the lights from the Cutlass reflecting from her visor.

“Why?” she repeated. “Look around you, Rhedd. There’s no law in these systems. All that matters here is courage to take what you want, and a willingness to sacrifice to keep it.”

“You want to talk sacrifice?” he said. “That pilot you killed was family.”

“You put him in harm’s way,” she said, “not me. What little order exists in these systems is what I brought with me. I carved my success from nothing. You independents are thieves. You’re like rodents, nibbling at the edges of others’ success.”

“I was a thief,” he said, “and a smuggler. But we’re building our own success, and next time you and I meet with the Navy,” Gavin fired his thrusters just enough to punch Brock with the nose of his ship, “it’ll be in a court­room.”

She spun and tumbled as she flew, growing smaller and smaller until the PRB on his HUD was all he could see.

A pair of Retaliators with naval designations were moored outside the Rhedd Alert hangar when Gavin and the crew finally limped back to Vista Landing.

Crew aboard Cassiopeia had insisted on helping with medical care and recovery after the fight. The team scheduled for pick-up at Haven was similarly adamant that Rhedd Alert take care of their own before continuing. Technically, no one had checked with Navy SysCom.

Did the Navy fire contractors face to face? For all he knew, they did.

Gavin saw to the staging of their damaged ships while the others hurried the wounded deeper into Vista Landing. When he’d finished, he exchanged a quick nod with Barry Lidst who stood at ease behind Major Greely.

“Major,” Gavin held out his hand, “I assume someone would have told me already if I was fired.”

His hand disappeared in the major’s massive paw. “I sup­pose they would have, at that.”

“Then to what do we owe the honor?” Dell and Walt joined them, and Gavin made introductions.

“‘I’ first, then ‘we,’ ” Greely repeated, “I like that, Rhedd. I appreciate a man who accepts consequence personally but insists on sharing accolades with his team. Tell me, son. How’d you get Brock?”

Gavin nudged his wife. With a roguish grin, Dell pulled her arm from around Gavin’s waist and stepped over to pat the Tarantula on her battered Avenger.

“Nice shooting, miss.”

Dell shrugged, “Walt pulled my tags, nav beacon and flight recorder before we left. I was sitting dark inside a decoy when the boys flew her right down the barrel.”

Barry leaned toward Greely and in a completely audible whisper said, “It might be best if we ignore the illegal parts of that.”

Greely waved him off. “This is what the ’verse needs. Men and women with the courage to slap their name up on the side of a hangar. A chance for responsible civilians to create good, honest jobs with real pay for locals. That an ex-military contractor tried to muck that up . . .”

Gavin and the team got a good, close look at what angry looked like on a Navy officer. It was the kind of scowl that left an impression.

“Anyway,” Greely composed himself, “not a soul in the ’verse would blame you for writing us off as a bit of bad business. I’m here to ask that you stick with it.”

Gavin was reluctant to bring their financial situation up in front of their one paying client, but they were tapped out. Rhedd Alert didn’t have the cred to buy ammo, much less repair their downed fighters. “Actually, sir. I think we may need to find something a little more lucrative than getting shot up by disgruntled incumbents.”

“About that,” Greely rested his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. He led him to look out one of the large hangar windows at the Retaliators buoyed outside. “My accountant tells me there may be some room to renegotiate certain parts of the Tyrol contract. But that job won’t be enough to keep your team busy now that Brock’s out of the way.”

Gavin laughed. “On that point, I most certainly hope you are right.”

“Well . . . I’ve got more work for an outfit like yours. I hope you’ll accept, because you folks have surely earned it. Tell me, Rhedd, are you familiar with the Oberon system?”

Behind them, Walt dropped his helmet.

The End

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[starcitizenprivateer]

Brothers In Arms: Part Four

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Four was published originally in Jump Point 3.8. Read Part One here, Part Two here, and Part Three here.

A recorded hymn played as they sent Arun “Boomer” Ains­ley into whatever great adventure awaits in the everafter. Gavin set the service in the Rhedd Alert hangar, and the recording sounded terrible. The last somber note rebounded off the room’s hard surfaces and harsh angles.

He wished they could have had a live band. He would have paid for an orchestra, if one were to be had on the orbit­al station. Even a bugle would have been a better tribute for the man who had brought Dell into his life. For the man who taught him and Walt so much about living a free life.

Dell’s arm felt small around his waist and Gavin pulled her in close to him, unsure if that was the right thing to do. He turned to kiss her hair and saw Walt’s lean form looming beside them. Walt’s face was fixed in a grim mask.

Gavin knew his brother well enough to know that Walt was berating himself inside. He didn’t deal well with guilt or re­sponsibility, and Gavin suspected that was a big part of why Walt always ran.

The gathering started to break up. Pilots and the hangar crew busied themselves with tasks around Rhedd Alert’s battered fleet of fighters. Dell didn’t move, so he stayed there with her. Walt rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Gavin. Oh gods, Dell. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Jazza leaned in and spoke in a low tone, almost a whisper. “Landing gear up in ten, boss. Your rig is on the buggy.” She motioned with her chin to where his ship waited.

Dell turned into him and squeezed. “Be careful.”

“I will, babe.”

“You come home to me, Gavin Rhedd. I’ll kill you myself if you make me run this outfit on my own.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. Held them there.

“Wait. What?” Walt’s jaw was slack, his eyes wide. “Tell me you aren’t going back out there.”

Jazza bumped Walt with her shoulder, not so much walking past him as through him. “Damn right we are, Quitter.”

“You know what? Screw you, Jazz. All right? You used to quit this outfit, like . . . twice a month.”

“Not like you. Not like some chicken sh—”

“Jazz,” Gavin said, “go make sure the team is ready to roll, would ya?” With a nod to Gavin and a parting glare at Walt, she moved away into the hangar.

“Let it be, Walt. We really do need to go. After last time, we can’t risk being late for the pickup.”

“Screw late!” Walt’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed around the edges. “Why the happy hells are you going at all?”

“Walt —”

“Don’t ‘Walt’ me, Gavin. There is a pack of psychopaths out there trying to kill you!”

“Walt, would you shut up and listen for two seconds? We don’t have a choice, okay? We’ve got everything riding on this job. We’re months behind on this place and extended up to our necks on credit for fuel, parts, and ammo.”

“They can damn well bill me!”

“No,” Gavin said, “they can’t. Your shares reverted back to the company when you quit. But I’m legit now. You think we lived life on the run before? Just you watch if I try to run from this.”

Walt turned to Dell for assistance, “Dell, come on. You gotta make him listen to reason.”

“Boomer’s shares transferred to me when he died,” Dell said. “We’re in this together.”

“Okay, boss,” Jazza called. The three of them looked to where she stood with a line of determined crew. “It’s time.”

Walt watched the big bay doors close as the last of Gavin’s team left the hangar. His fighter and the few remaining ships looked small and awkwardly out of place in the big room. Standing alone next to Dell gave him a great appreci­ation for that awkwardness.

“I’m so sorry, Dell. If I’d been there —”

“Don’t,” she stopped him with a word, and then contin­ued with a shake of her blue-tipped hair. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’ve been over the tactical logs. He got beat one-on-one, and then they OK’d him. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I still feel rotten,” he said. “Like, maybe if I hadn’t left . . . I don’t know.”

“Gavin blames himself, too. That’s just the way you two are built. But believe me, there was never a soul alive able to keep my dad out of the cockpit. He was flying long before you Rhedd boys tumbled into our lives.”

That gave him a smile. A genuine smile. It seemed to bright­en Dell’s mood, so he did his best to hang onto it.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s been a long couple of weeks. Join me for some coffee?”

He did, and for a time they spoke softly at the tall tables in the hangar’s kitchenette. Dell caught him up on life aboard Vista Landing since he had left. She was clearly exhausted and not simply from a sleepless night and her father’s funeral. Her shoulders sagged, and dark circles under her eyes were the product of weeks of labor and worry. The constant apprehension of the Hornets’ vi­cious attacks had apparently exhausted more than just the pilots. It seemed odd that the attacks felt strangely personal.

“You know what I can’t figure out?” he mused aloud. Dell looked at him, tired eyes politely expectant. “What the hell are these guys after?”

She nodded, “Yeah. There’s been a lot of speculating on that question.”

“And?”

“Hard to say, isn’t it? Could be political wackos opposed to the research in Haven. Or maybe it’s one of the old gangs that don’t like us going legit. Could be it’s a group of Tevarin lashing out against UEE targets. Who knows?”

“Naw. If they were Tevarin, we could tell by how they fly.”

“Then you tell me, if you’re so smart. I mean, you were out there. You fought them.”

Walt shrugged and took a sip of cooling coffee. Something she said nagged at him. “Hey, you said you had navsat tac­tical logs from the fight, right?”

“Yeah.” What remained of her energy seemed to drain away with that one word. Walt cursed himself for the insensitive ass that he was. He’d just asked her about re­corded replays of her father’s murder.

“Dell. Ah, hell . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve been over and over them already. Really, I don’t mind.”

They moved to a console and the lights dimmed automat­ically when she pulled up the hangar projection. She se­lected a ship, and oriented the view so that the hologram of Boomer’s Avenger filled the display. No, Walt reminded himself, it wasn’t Boomer’s ship any more. Dell was his heir and — along with his debt — Boomer’s assets now belonged to her.

Dell bypassed the default display of the structural hard­points and dove into the ship’s systems. Something caught his eye and he stopped her. “Wait, back up.” She did, and Walt stopped the rotating display to look along the under­carriage of the ship. He let out a low whistle.

“That, Walter Rhedd, is a Tarantula GT-870 Mk3.”

“I know what it is. But where did you get it?”

“Remember those pirates that gave us so much trouble in Oberon? I pulled it before we sold the salvage.”

He certainly did remember, and the bastards had kicked the crap out of two of their ships with their Tarantulas. “How’d you get it mounted on an Avenger?”

“Hammer therapy,” she said. He gave her a confused look, and she held up one arm, curling it to make a muscle. “I beat the hell out of it until it did what I wanted.”

“Damn, girl.”

“Did you want to see the flight recorder?”

They watched the navsat replays together in silence. It looked like one hell of a fight. Chaotic. Frantic. The Rhedd Alert fighters were hard pressed.

Jazza had moments of tactical brilliance. As much as she rubbed him the wrong way, Walt had to admit that she made her Cutlass dance steps for which it wasn’t de­signed. Gavin orchestrated a coherent strategy and had committed extra fighters to drive off the attack. Some­thing was wrong, though. Something about the fight didn’t make sense.

Walt had Dell replay the scene so he could focus on the marauders. It didn’t look like much of a fight at all from that perspective. It looked more like a game and only one team understood how all the pieces moved. The Hornets flew to disrupt, to confuse. They knew Gavin would send a force forward to protect the transport. He’d done it every time they had met.

“See that?” he said. “They break apart there and get called immediately back into formation. They never leave a flank exposed. Our guys never get a real opening.” He pointed out one of the attacking Hornets. “That one calls the shots.”

“That’s the one that OK’d Boomer.”

Reds and greens from the navsat display sparkled in Dell’s eyes. Her voice was emotionless and flat. Walt didn’t want to see her like that, so he focused again on the display.

The marauder he’d identified as the leader broke from the melee. Gavin gave chase, but from too far behind. Boomer intercepted, was disabled, and his PRB flashed red on the display. The Hornet took a pass at the transport before turning to rejoin its squad. Then it decelerated, pausing before the overkill on Boomer.

“Why take only one pass at the transport? They’ve hit us, what? Six times? Seven? And once they finally get a shot at the target, they bug out?”

“You said, ‘us’,” Dell teased. “You back to stay?”

Walt huffed a small laugh. “We’ll see.”

“We’ve been lucky,” Dell offered in answer to his question. “So far, we’ve chased them off.”

“You really believe that? They had this fight won if they wanted it. And how do they keep finding us? It’s like they’ve taken up permanent residence in our damned flight path.”

That was it. He had it. The revelation must have shown on his face.

“What?” Dell asked. “What is it?”

“Back it up to the strafe on the Aquila.”

Dell did, and they watched it again. He felt like an ass for making her watch the murder of her father over again, but he had to be sure of what he saw.

And there it was. Strafe. Turn. Pause. A decision to com­mit. An escalating act of brutality. And then they were gone.

“She’s not after the transport at all. We were her target this whole time.”

“Wait,” Dell said, “what she? Her who?”

“Please tell me your ex hasn’t drunk himself out of a job with the Navy.”

“Barry? Of course not, why?”

“Because I just figured out who killed your father.”

Morgan Brock called the meeting to a close and dismissed her admin team. Riebeld caught her eye and lifted one hand off the table — a request for her to stay while the others shuffled out of the conference room.

Riebeld kept her waiting until they were alone, and then stood to close the door.

“I take it,” Brock said, “that our Tyrol problem persists despite the escalation?”

“I got word during the meeting” — he took a seat beside her at the table, voice pitched low — “that they should be making the jump to Nexus soon.”

“Our discreet pilots? Are they deployed or here at the sta­tion?”

His answer was slow in coming, his nod reluctant. “They are here.”

Brock checked the time. Did some mental math. “Disguise the ships. We will leave at 1700 and meet them in Nexus just inside the gate from Min.”

“Morgan,” Riebeld’s eyes roamed the room, “these guys aren’t taking the hint. I don’t know what losses we have to hand them before they back down, but . . . I don’t know. Part of doing business is losing bids, am I right?” She didn’t disagree and he continued. “Maybe . . . Maybe we ought to write this one off?”

“A comfortable position to hold in your seat, Riebeld. Your commission is based on the contract value. I barely turned a profit on that job for years. I did it willingly, with the expected reward of windfall profits when traffic to Haven surges.”

“I get that,” he said. “I really do. But at some point we have to call it a loss and focus on the next thing, right?”

“Then suppose that we let the Tyrol job go, and Greely and Navy SysCom see what they want to see from bou­tique contractors. I can already imagine anti-establishment politicians pushing for more outsourced work. Hell, they will probably promise contracts to buy votes in their home systems.”

She watched him squirm. It wasn’t like him to wrestle with his conscience. Frankly, she was disappointed to learn that he’d found one.

“If Rhedd Alert won’t withdraw willingly,” she said, “then they will have to fail the hard way. Prep the ships, Rie­beld. We have done very well together, you and I. You should know that I won’t back away from what is mine.” He seemed to appreciate her sincerity, but Brock wanted to hear the cocksure salesman say it. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Riebeld swallowed and stood. “Perfectly clear.”

“Any luck?” Walt pulled up Barry’s record in his mobiGlas and hit connect.

Dell sat at the hangar console trying to reach Gavin and the team. Her brow furrowed in a grimace and she shook her head.

“Damn. Okay, keep trying.”

Barry connected. The accountant wore his uniform. He was on duty, wherever he was, and his projected face looked genuinely mournful. “Hey,” he said, “long time no see, man. Listen, I can’t tell you how sad I am about Boomer.”

“Thanks.” Barry had known Dell and Boomer for most his life. He’d probably been torn between attending the service and allowing the family to grieve in privacy. Regardless, commiseration would have to wait. “We need your help, Barry. Please tell me that you have access to the propos­als for the Tyrol contract.”

“Of course I do. And who’s we? Are you back with Dell and Gavin?”

“I am,” he felt Dell’s eyes on him when he said it. “Anyway, we need a favor. I need to know the ship models and con­figurations proposed by the incumbent.”

“Morgan Brock’s outfit, sure. No can do on the ship data, though. That information is all confidential. Only the price proposals are available for public review, and those only during the protest period.”

“Come on, Barry. We’re not talking trade secrets here. I could figure this out with a fly-by of their hangar in Kilian. I just don’t have time for that. I need to know what ships those guys fly.”

Barry breathed out a heavy sigh, “Hold on. But I can’t send you the proposals, okay? You guys are already on thin ice with this contract as is.”

“Tell me about it. And thanks, I owe you huge for this.”

Walt waited, throat dry. He scratched at a chipped edge on his worn mobiGlas with a fingernail.

“All right,” Barry read from something off-screen, “it looks like they’re flying a variety of Hornets. Specifically, F7As. I can send you a list of the proposed hardpoints, and I hap­pen to know that Brock herself flies a Super Hornet.”

The mobiGlas shook on Walt’s wrist. His face felt hot, and he forced his jaw to relax. “Barry, if you have any pull with the Navy, get some ships to Tyrol. It’s been Brock this whole time. She’s been setting us up to fail. And she’s the bitch that OK’d Boomer.”

“I’m going, Walt. That’s final.”

Walt rubbed at his eyes with the flat part of his fingers. How did Gavin ever win an argument her? Forbidding her involvement was a lost cause. Maybe he could reason with her. “Listen. When’s the last time you were even in a cockpit?”

“I know this ship. I was practically born in these things.”

“Dell —”

She threw his helmet at him. He caught it awkwardly, and she had shed her coveralls and was wriggling into her flight suit before he could finish his thought. She stared at him with hard eyes and said, “Suit up if you don’t want to get left behind.”

Dell was as implacable as gravity. Fine. It was her funeral, and he realized there was no way his brother had ever won an argument with her.

They finished prepping in silence. Walt pulled the chocks on her Avenger when she climbed up into the cockpit. He gave the hulking muzzle of the Tarantula an appreciative pat. “You have ammo for this bad boy?”

“I have a little.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Let’s hope Brock isn’t ready to handle reinforcements.”

Walt mulled that thought over. It was true that Gavin had split their team in each fight, but Rhedd Alert had never sent in reserves. Each engagement had been a fair and straightforward fight. Brock wasn’t likely to know anything about their resources, however limited, beyond the escort team. That could work to their advantage.

In fact, “Hey, Dell. Hop out for a tick, will you?”

“Like hell I will.” The look she shot down at him was pure challenge. “I said I’m going and that’s that.”

“Oh, no. I’ve already lost that fight. But you and your cannon here got me thinking about those pirates in Oberon. Tell me, did we ever find a buyer for that old Idris hull?”

“No. It’s buoyed in storage outside the station, why?”

Dell looked at him skeptically and he grinned. “We’re going to introduce these military-types to some ol’ smugglers’ tricks.”

Gavin held the team at the edge of the jump gate between Min and Nexus. “All right gang, listen up. You know the drill and what might be waiting for us on the other side. Jazza, I want you and Rahul up on point for this jump. I’ll bring Cassiopeia over after you and the rest of the team are in. Anyone not ready to jump?”

His team was silent as they arranged themselves into position with professional precision. The pilot aboard Cassiopeia sounded the ready and Gavin sent Jazza through. The others were hard on her heels, and Gavin felt the always-peculiar drop through the mouth of the jump gate.

Light and sound stretched, dragging him across the inter­space. Another drop, a moment’s disorientation, and then Nexus resolved around him.

Without warning, Mei’s fighter flashed past his forward screen. Incandescent laser fire slashed along the ghost grey and fire-alarm red ship, crippling Mei’s shields and shearing away sections of armored hull. Mei fired back at a trio of maddeningly familiar Hornets in a tight triangular formation.

Jazza barked orders. “Mei. Rahul. Flank Gavin and get Cassiopeia out of here. Gavin, you copy that? You have the package.”

He shook his head, willing the post-jump disorientation away. He didn’t remember bringing up his shields, but they flashed on his HUD and his weapon systems were armed.

“Copy that.” Gavin switched to the transport channel, “Cassiopeia. Let’s get you folks out of here.”

The crew onboard the UEE transport didn’t need any more encouragement. Gavin accelerated to keep pace with the larger ship as two Rhedd Alert fighters dropped into posi­tion above and below him. Together, they raced toward the jump gate to Tyrol.

The Hornets wheeled and dropped toward them from one side. Gavin’s HUD lit up with alerts as Jazza sent a pair of rockets dangerously close over his head to blast into one of the attacking ships. Her ship screamed by overhead, but the Hornets stayed in pursuit of the fleeing transport.

Alarms sounded. They needed more firepower on the Hornets to give Cassiopeia time to get clear. He yelled a course heading, and Cassiopeia dove with Mei and Rahul on either flank.

Gavin pulled up, turned and fired to pull the attention of the attackers. He spun, taking the brunt of their return fire on his stronger starboard shields.

The impact shook the Cutlass violently, and his shield integ­rity bar sagged into the red. Gavin turned, took another wild shot with his lasers, and accelerated away from Cassiopeia with the Hornets in close pursuit.

Navsat data for the jump into Nexus crept onto the edge of Walt’s HUD. Several seconds and thousands of kilometers later, the first of the embattled starships winked onto the display. His brother and the Rhedd Alert team were hard-pressed.

Walt watched Brock and her crew circle and strike, corralling the Rhedd Alert ships. Gavin tried to lead the attackers away, but Brock wouldn’t bite. By keeping the fight centered on the UEE transport, she essentially held the transport hostage.

Time to even the odds.

Jazza tore into one of the Hornets. Walt saw the enemy fighter’s superior shields absorb the impact. He marked that Hornet as his target, preparing to strike before its defenses recharged.

He killed his primary drive and spun end to end, slash­ing backward through the melee like a blazing comet. His targeting system locked onto the enemy Hornet, and his heavy Broadsword blasted bullets into it.

Mei’s battered fighter dove through the streaming wreck­age, but the Super Hornet, presumably Brock, waited for her on the other side. A blast from her neutron cannon tore through the Rhedd Alert ship. Mei ejected safely, but their team was down a ship.

“Gods,” Gavin’s voice was frantic. “Get the hell out of here, Walt. Form up with the transport and get them away from the fight.”

Walt ignored him. He came around for another pass and triggered his mic to an open-area channel. “The game’s up, Brock.”

His words cut across the thrust and wheel of close com­bat, and for a moment the fighters on all sides flew in quiet patterns above the fleeing Cassiopeia.

“You know,” Walt said, “if you wanted us to believe you were after the transport, you should have saved your big guns for Cassiopeia instead of overkilling our friend.”

“I suppose I should be disappointed that you have found me out,” Brock’s voice was a pinched sneer, and every bit as cold and hard as Gavin had described. “On the other hand, I’m glad you’ve shared this with me. I might have been content disabling the majority of your so-called fleet. Now, it seems that I will have to be more thorough.”

She fired, he dodged, and the fight was on again in earnest. Walt switched his comms to Rhedd Alert’s squad channel. “Brock was never after Cassiopeia, Gav. She’s been after us.”

“Maybe I’m a little distracted by all the missiles and the neutron cannon, but I’m failing to see how that is at all relevant right now.”

“We’re no match for the tech in her ships. If she goes after the transport, they’re toast.” He rolled into position next to Gavin. Together, they nosed down to strafe at a Hornet from above.

“Great,” Gavin said, “then why did you tip her off?”

Walt suppressed a wicked grin. “Because,” he said, “she can’t afford to let any of us get away, either.”

“If you have any brilliant ideas, spit ’em out. I’m all ears.”

“Run with me.” For all Walt knew, Brock could hear every word they were saying. She would tear them apart if they stayed. He had to get Gavin to follow him. “Run with me, Gavin.”

“Damn it, Walt! If you came to help, then help. I’ve got a pilot down, and I’m not leaving her here to get OK’d like Boom­er.”

“This ain’t about doing the easy thing, Gav. Someone I truly admire once told me that this game is all about trust. So ask yourself . . . do you trust me?”

Gavin growled his name then, dragging out the word in a bitter, internal struggle. The weight of it made Walt’s throat constrict. Despite all of their arguments, Boomer’s death and his own desertion when things got hard — in spite of all of that — his brother still wanted to trust him.

“Trust me, Gavin.”

Brock and her wingman swept low, diving to corral Cassiopeia and its escorts. Jazza redirected them with a blazing torrent of laser fire and got rocked by the neutron cannon in return. The shields around her battered Cutlass flashed, dimmed and then failed.

Walt gritted his teeth. It was now or never.

“Jazz,” Gavin’s voice sounded hard and sharp, “rally with Cassiopeia and make a break for it.”

Walt pumped his fist and accelerated back the way he’d come in.

“Walt,” Gavin sounded angry enough to eat nails, but he followed, “I’m on your six. Let’s go, people! Move like you’ve got a purpose.”

Walt pulled up a set of coordinate presets and streaked away with Gavin close behind him. The two remaining Hor­nets split, with Brock falling in behind Gavin to give pursuit. Even together he and Gavin didn’t have much chance of getting past her superior shields. Instead, he set a straight course for the waypoint marked at the edge of his display. When incoming fire from Brock drove them off course, he corrected to put them directly back in line with the mark.

Brock was gaining. Gavin’s icon flashed on his display. She was close enough to hit reliably with her repeaters. As they approached the preset coordinates, Walt spotted a rippling distortion of winking starlight. Correcting his course slightly, he headed straight for it. Gavin and Brock were hard behind him.

“Come on,” Walt whispered, “stay close.”

On the squad display, he saw Gavin’s shield integrity dropped yet again. Brock was scoring more frequent hits.

“A little farther.”

Walt focused on the rippling of starlight ahead, a dark patch of space that swallowed Nexus’ star. He made a slight course correction and Gavin matched it. Together, they continued their breakneck flight from Brock’s deadly onslaught.

The small patch of dark space grew as the three ships streaked forward. Walt opened the squad channel on his mic and shouted, “Now!”

On his HUD, a new ship flared onto the display. It appeared to materialize nearly on top of them as Dell’s Avenger dropped from her hiding place inside the blackened hull of the derelict Idris.

Walt punched his thrusters. The lift pressed him into his seat as he pushed up and over their trap. He heard Dell shouting over the squad channel, and he turned, straining to see behind him. Bright flashes from Brock’s muzzles accompanied a horrible pounding thunder. Dell had left her mic open and it sounded like the massive gun was threat­ening to tear her ship apart.

“Heads up, Gav!”

Dell’s voice hit Gavin like a physical blow.

He saw his brother climb and suddenly disappear behind an empty, starless expanse. Then Boomer’s Avenger materi­alized from within that blackness, and Gavin knew that his wife was inside the cockpit. She was with him, out in the black where veteran pilots outgunned them.

His body reacted where his mind could not. He shoved down, hard. Thrusters strained as he instinctively tried to avoid colliding with her. A brilliant pulse like flashes of light­ning accompanied a jarring thunder of sound.

Gavin forced his battered ship to turn. The Cutlass shud­dered from the stress, and Gavin was pressed into the side of the cockpit as the nose of his ship came around.

He saw the first heavy round strike Brock. The combined force of the shell and her momentum shredded her for­ward shields. Then round after round tore through the nose of Brock’s ship until the air ignited inside.

“Dell” — the flaming Hornet tumbled toward his wife like an enormous hatchet — “look out!”

Brock ejected.

Dell thrust to one side, but the Hornet chopped into the hull where she had hidden. The explosion sent ships and debris spinning apart in all directions.

“Dell!”

He swept around to intercept her spinning ship. Walt beat him there. Thrusters firing in tightly controlled move­ments, Walt caught her Avenger, slowed it and stopped the spin.

Gavin rolled to put himself cockpit to cockpit with his wife.

“Dell?”

She sat in stillness at the controls, her head down and turned to one side.

“Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

She moved.

With the slow deliberateness of depressurized space, she rolled her head on her shoulders. When she looked up, their eyes met. Dell gave him a slow smile and a thumbs-up. He swallowed hard, and with one hand pressed to his heart, he shut his eyes silently in thanks.

Gavin spun his Cutlass and thrust over to where Brock floated nearby, his weapons systems still hot. He paused then, looming above her as she had hesitated over Boomer.

Her comms were still active. “What now, Rhedd?”

He remembered her from the meeting with Greely. Tall, lean, and crisp. She seemed small now, drifting not more than a meter away from the battle-scarred nose of his Cutlass.

“Gavin?” Dell’s voice sounded small after the ruckus of the fight.

Walt eased into view alongside him. His voice was low and calm, “Easy, buddy. We weren’t raised to OK pilots.”

“She’s not worth it,” Dell said.

Brock snarled, “Do it already.”

He had studied Brock’s reports for months. She had more ships and more pilots than he could ever imagine employing. What drove her to harass them and kill one of his crew for this job?

“I just want to know why,” he asked. “You’ve got other contracts. You’ve probably made more money than any of us will see in our lives. Why come after us?”

He held Brock’s eye, the lights from the Cutlass reflecting from her visor.

“Why?” she repeated. “Look around you, Rhedd. There’s no law in these systems. All that matters here is courage to take what you want, and a willingness to sacrifice to keep it.”

“You want to talk sacrifice?” he said. “That pilot you killed was family.”

“You put him in harm’s way,” she said, “not me. What little order exists in these systems is what I brought with me. I carved my success from nothing. You independents are thieves. You’re like rodents, nibbling at the edges of others’ success.”

“I was a thief,” he said, “and a smuggler. But we’re building our own success, and next time you and I meet with the Navy,” Gavin fired his thrusters just enough to punch Brock with the nose of his ship, “it’ll be in a court­room.”

She spun and tumbled as she flew, growing smaller and smaller until the PRB on his HUD was all he could see.

A pair of Retaliators with naval designations were moored outside the Rhedd Alert hangar when Gavin and the crew finally limped back to Vista Landing.

Crew aboard Cassiopeia had insisted on helping with medical care and recovery after the fight. The team scheduled for pick-up at Haven was similarly adamant that Rhedd Alert take care of their own before continuing. Technically, no one had checked with Navy SysCom.

Did the Navy fire contractors face to face? For all he knew, they did.

Gavin saw to the staging of their damaged ships while the others hurried the wounded deeper into Vista Landing. When he’d finished, he exchanged a quick nod with Barry Lidst who stood at ease behind Major Greely.

“Major,” Gavin held out his hand, “I assume someone would have told me already if I was fired.”

His hand disappeared in the major’s massive paw. “I sup­pose they would have, at that.”

“Then to what do we owe the honor?” Dell and Walt joined them, and Gavin made introductions.

“‘I’ first, then ‘we,’ ” Greely repeated, “I like that, Rhedd. I appreciate a man who accepts consequence personally but insists on sharing accolades with his team. Tell me, son. How’d you get Brock?”

Gavin nudged his wife. With a roguish grin, Dell pulled her arm from around Gavin’s waist and stepped over to pat the Tarantula on her battered Avenger.

“Nice shooting, miss.”

Dell shrugged, “Walt pulled my tags, nav beacon and flight recorder before we left. I was sitting dark inside a decoy when the boys flew her right down the barrel.”

Barry leaned toward Greely and in a completely audible whisper said, “It might be best if we ignore the illegal parts of that.”

Greely waved him off. “This is what the ’verse needs. Men and women with the courage to slap their name up on the side of a hangar. A chance for responsible civilians to create good, honest jobs with real pay for locals. That an ex-military contractor tried to muck that up . . .”

Gavin and the team got a good, close look at what angry looked like on a Navy officer. It was the kind of scowl that left an impression.

“Anyway,” Greely composed himself, “not a soul in the ’verse would blame you for writing us off as a bit of bad business. I’m here to ask that you stick with it.”

Gavin was reluctant to bring their financial situation up in front of their one paying client, but they were tapped out. Rhedd Alert didn’t have the cred to buy ammo, much less repair their downed fighters. “Actually, sir. I think we may need to find something a little more lucrative than getting shot up by disgruntled incumbents.”

“About that,” Greely rested his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. He led him to look out one of the large hangar windows at the Retaliators buoyed outside. “My accountant tells me there may be some room to renegotiate certain parts of the Tyrol contract. But that job won’t be enough to keep your team busy now that Brock’s out of the way.”

Gavin laughed. “On that point, I most certainly hope you are right.”

“Well . . . I’ve got more work for an outfit like yours. I hope you’ll accept, because you folks have surely earned it. Tell me, Rhedd, are you familiar with the Oberon system?”

Behind them, Walt dropped his helmet.

The End

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[justincianciolo]

The Haunted House; A Dream.

So, it starts with the boys going to the haunted house. They went every year but this year was different. They had finally updated some of the features, and some were "state of the art" and they wanted to see what it was all about. They walked through and saw a lot of the same stuff, but a lot of models were swapped out with holograms. The spooky wall, which used to be a large monitor display was replaced by an actual wall that literally seemed to twist, warp, collapse, and then snap back into place. All while making creepy sounds and all that jazz. They were startled but their shock quickly fizzed into laughter. They walled around the bend and then up the spooky staircase. At the top of the stairs was a disclaimer. Anyone under 18 had to go left, while anyone over had to go right. Luckily, there wasn't an attendant there to stop a curious kid from going the adult route, and our characters were underage and curious.

The displays from that point on were more Gory and even more realistic. It went from the usual boogeyman to scenes of torture, holograms that acted out gruesome decapitations and strange satanic rituals. Most of the exhibits were digital projections, until they turned a corner and saw what looked like a nun, but dressed in a bright red robe. She was standing with her back turned, but the model was on a rotating plate that slowly spun her around. As she began to face the kids, her robe slowly opened, revealing her naked body. It was completely life-like and the kids were fixated on the waxy silicone flesh. She then drew her hands out from her robe, revealing a long, cross-shaped dagger. She wasn't looking at the kids, but past them, through them. Beyond them. She then took the dagger and drove it quickly into her left armpit and let out a blood-chilling shriek. It startled the kids to say the least, and then they heard the wheezing of an old man. Like someone without a tongue trying to exclaim or startle the viewer. To say the least, this exhibit was the most frightening. The holograms were life-like, yes, but this figure seemed too real. As the blood spilled on the floor towards the kids, they could smell the metallic, rusted penny blood scent. It wrapped around the soles of their keds as they watched the figure bring both her arms up in a familiar crucifix pose; blood still pouring from the wound. The kids stood in terror, almost forgetting the haunted house or each-other even. Each youngster was singular suddenly. Isolated from one another in this hyper-realistic scene of self-mutilation. Divided in terror. One of them finally shook off the medusa rigor Mortis and slapped the other on the forearm with the back of his hand, without looking away from the rotating model. They finally found each other, the three of them, standing in a line facing this exhibit, that was seemingly out of place, even while being in the adult section. They finally collected themselves and walked into the next room; their wet keds squeaking on the linoleum.

As they walked through the rest of the haunted house, no other exhibit seemed to phase them. The three were silent, which was unusual. They had been to the haunted house plenty of times; making fun of the models and each other if they got spooked. They were all as silent as alter boys on Sunday. In their minds, they were still looking at the poor woman. Her body seared into their consciousness. Beckoning, almost. Her face still covered by a red hood. They wondered how the exhibit worked and how it was designed to reset for the next batch of people ready to be scared stiff. When they had walked into that room, there was no sign of fake blood residue on the checkered floor. And there was no opening in the models armpit. They thought that maybe that's why it's so state-of-the-art. It was such a grand illusion. And the blood on their shoes...they didn't see any bloody footprints on the floor in front of them. With every doubt that the boys expressed, another was quick to shrug it off in some seemingly simple explanation. After all, they weren’t experts on automatons or mannequins or whatever smoke and mirrors contraption was behind the scenes.

They sat outside the haunted house, on a bench across the way where they were selling hot dogs. It was busy, but the three were still silent for the most part. Their young minds still replaying the scene, trying to make sense of it. Trying to understand it. One of the boys was staring at the exit of the haunted house, trying to spot another scare victim with fake blood on their shoes. They sat for quite a while, but couldn't seem to spot another pair that met the same fate as theirs. They were relatively quiet until they spotted an older boy that was in their chemistry class. He came up to them with a bully-esque grin on his face. “Looks like you queers saw a ghost in there!” A comment that shook them from their contemplation. The tallest of the three composed himself quickly and responded with a not-so-funny or not-so-well-thought-out “Your face.” But that still didn’t return the state of the three to normal. The bully ordered a hot dog and sat down to discuss the haunted house.

“Better this year, yeah?” The bully said. “Yeah, that wall was crazy. I thought it was actually going to come down on us.” one of the three said. “What’d you think of that nun? Far out, huh? Nice cans on that one.” the bully exclaimed casually as all three perked up and their excitement surfaced. still with some terror behind.  The boys, while sitting there, waiting to find a pair of shoes that matched the exhibit’s bloody display, they even began to question if it were even real. But now, the bully spoke about it. reaffirming the idea that it was just an exhibit like any other. Almost taking the mystique and wonder out of it.

“Yeah, it was pretty weird. And all that blood. How’d they even do it? The tall one said.

“What are you talking about? It was the cheapest part of the show. You didn’t see the fans blowing red wax paper? It was a joke. It was nice seeing a naked lady and all but it was just so cheezy.”

The boys were even more confused now, but they chose to not bring up all the important questions that were swirling in their minds. In their fear and wonder, the three were almost sharing thoughts without speaking them to one-another. They were in the same realm subconsciously, or even consciously. They were good friends, but this shared experience seemed to affect them in similar ways. Bringing them closer. They shrugged off the bully and he eventually grabbed his hot dog and walked away, but not without lobbing another insult at the three. They finally turned away from the exit stairs of the haunted house, now looking past the hot dog vendor and into the crowd. Not really looking at anything at all, but staring into the void as their thoughts continued to spin. Of course, that was until they saw the man.

An old man, almost well dressed enough to be out of place. In a wool three-piece and an oxygen tank on wheels. The tell-tale tubes wrapped around his ears and into his nose. If he was wearing a hat, he’d look like one of those mobsters you’d see in old black and white tv shows. Or like the twilight zone or something like that. His eyes, though, fixed and wide, staring at the three. Piercing through the crowd and chilling the youngsters to the bone. He wheeled on closer towards the hot dog stand, and then the three. He held up his finger to the vendor, indicating a “one” and then the three could hear it. That familiar wheezing from inside the haunted house. They thought maybe he was in there, too, but how could he make it up the stairs with that oxygen can? Even with the attractions being state of the art, it still was in the stone age when it came to handicap accessibility. The boys grew uneasy as the old man continued to occupy the same space as them. Almost like one of the exhibits came to life and proceeded to follow them around. The old man grabbed his hot dog and looked at them. Waddling over and standing in front of them. He spoke with a voice that seemed to come from beneath a pile of gravel, or even like smoke seeping through smoldering ashes. “You boys look petrified.” He then coughed, seeming to dislodge decades of sludge from his voice box. “You like being scared, don’t you.” He then laughed a smokers laugh and attempted to gum the bun of the hot dog. The man seemed to pull the air out of the space between them. Their ears almost popped like being in a vacuum. The old man spoke again. “If you think you’re scared now, just wait.” He smirked and half of his face rose and folded into a billion wrinkles. He then looked at the middle boy of the three and held out the wet hot dog towards him. “Want a bite? lost my chompers in the war.” The old man laughed the same smokers laugh, then turning as he began to walk away. Still laughing the ashen, gravel laugh that eventually turned into coughs like dredging a lake. The boys finally peeled themselves from the bench and walked the opposite direction of the old man. Making sure to stay close together. We’ll keep each other safe, they thought.

_____

Milo was upset. This was his last drive to this goddam house. His brother was doing the best he could, but his adopted family was a little more than your typical dysfunctional family. Even though his brother was older and technically not blood-related, he still felt the need to step in when he knew he was being mistreated. His older brother was caring for their grandfather when the caretakers were indisposed. Barely interacting with the old man firsthand, but at least he would come by and take out the garbage and stuff like that. Their grandfather had two caretakers. A nurse and a handyman. Both had private quarters in the house. Their parents were long dead, and the old man was the last thread to the family tree, even if the family name was mud. Milo loved his older brother, and when he found that he had been struck by the handyman so hard that part of his beard refused to grow back, he knew he had to intervene. It was a long drive for Milo, but it gave him lots of time to filter his rage into a more concentrated and maniacal form. His older brother refused to go back to the house after whatever incident occurred, so this trip was to do his brother’s normal routine, but with the added task of confronting the handyman. Now, anyone living in that house with that old man; it’s understandable that they’d get a little loopy. The house was on a large estate that was more than a few stone’s throws from the nearest sign of civilization. Isolation can get the best of you, but Milo’s brother, the gentle soul..why would anyone ever hurt him? In some sad, poetic way, Milo was protective of his older brother. Even though, growing up, He’d beat up Milo for the slightest abrasive moment. Somewhere in the years that passed, the paradigm had shifted. Milo couldn’t stand the old man and even thinking of how that poor nurse, only in her early twenties, had to live there and perform those horrendous tasks for the old bag of bones; It made Milo’s skin itchy and his own bones shiver. As he pictured it, his grip flexed and rolled on the arch of the steering wheel. Just a few more miles til ground zero.

He was certain that the handyman was a drinker, and again, living in that place with that man would lead anyone to the drink. Milo was trying to give the handyman the benefit of the doubt, but it still wouldn’t shake his anger. He finally pulled off the highway and onto the backcountry roads that would lead to a large family estate. Of course, Milo had no interest in inheriting any of the land or the house that was seemingly tainted with the smell of death and misfortune. He wasn’t a blood relative, so he wasn’t in any will anyway. Even when his adopted parents died, he received nothing. His brother inherited a decent sum of money that he put into his college education and a new car. Nothing flashy, just something to get around. Originally he was going to blow it all away like careless people do, but Milo advised him to do otherwise. Again, like an older brother would, even though he was three years younger than his brother. Milo drove through the dead forest that surrounded the large, decaying house; towards the light of the high east tower’s windows.

He finally got into walking distance and gathered his things from his modest car and made his way towards the castle. The archways and columns reminded him of architecture you’d see on church facades. Carved stone faces stared blindly out from the house, into the misty void of the early evening. He pulled the chain which activated the archaic doorbell and hoped that someone would hear it. Most of the house was sealed off this time of year, and the bell chimes were sometimes muffled. He didn’t understand how the doorbell worked, but someone would eventually come to let him in. However, on this specific evening, no such luck. He tried knocking on the splintered, giant door until his knuckles hurt. Still nothing. He pulled out his phone to call his brother, only to remember that he never got service in the area. The house never had a land-line, either. He decided to try one of the many side doors of the estate, walking from the concrete landing out into the wet grass. He was stepping into real darkness now, with only faint moonlight to show the separation between forest and yard.

The house was quite large, and it seemed like a quarter-mile or so of walking towards the next identifiable door shape in the massive stretch of exterior walls. Again, locked. His bruised knuckles were content with skipping this door, so he continued to walk around the building. He finally saw a faint light in the distance, maybe from a window, and began to aim his paces towards it. They were old windows, of course. Mostly stained glass that seemed to be thicker at the bottom than the top. He recalled an old wives tale about how glass is technically a  liquid and that evidence of that was in old windows like these. Regardless, the glass obstructed his view as he tried to peer through it. The windows were permanent and not the kind you’d be able to open to crawl through. He continued until he got to a window with a less obscured view of inside. He peeked in and saw something that chilled him deeper than the night air and darkness. He saw the old man and the young girl. She was upset, almost crying while standing in front of the permanently-seated old man. He was touching her breasts with his withered claw of a hand. Milo gasped and almost fell back as he took his gaze from the lit window. He continued to walk towards the next door, almost in tears. His mouth and throat were dry but nearly salivating from his body’s shock. Like his face was collecting tears, ready to fall into the night. Building a barrier between reality and his brain, which was already full of thoughts that he had yet to clearly process. His palms were hot and sweaty, almost steaming in the cool air. He was shaking as he walked towards the next door until he came upon a familiar figure.

The handyman was digging around the house. Propped against the wall of the house were various tools. A rake, a spade, and sledgehammer. And of course, a wet half-empty  bottle of clear liquid that Milo doubted  was water. Milo spoke and startled the handyman, who was now working his way into a hole. “Who the fuck is that!?” The drunk stumbled as he exclaimed. Milo came closer, into the light, identifying himself. The handyman relaxed and chuckled as he reached for the dirty bottle next to the hammer. “I didn’t know you were coming all the way out here. I was expecting your brother tomorrow.” The drunk coughed; a reminder to himself to spark a new cigarette. “My brother had some business to tend to. I’m here in his place. “ Milo said calmly and automated. Trying to speak above his anger that stewed below the surface of his words. He placed his trembling hands in his pockets, almost like a conscious effort to keep them from doing what his brain wanted. Which of course, was to drive his already bruised knuckles into the gross heap of human that was the handyman. Milo wasn’t by any means quick to anger, but he loved his brother and hated the handyman. He pictured the dirty man laying his hands on his older brother, which made battery acid bile seep into his mouth from his throat. His teeth clenched as he looked at the man. “Well, there isn’t much for you to do, really. I already burned the trash and now I’m working on fixing this damn pipe. It’s busted. See” The handyman pointed down at his feet. He was standing in a small brown puddle. “Damn pipes froze. I guess these pipes have to go somewhere, huh?” The man grinned at Milo. “Only problem is that the pipes are below all these damn boulders in the ground. Gotta break them up to get to it.” The man sucked back his cigarette and took a swig of his poison to wash it down. “Your idiot brother wanted to get contractors out here. Thinks I’m good for nothing. Had to set him right.” That’s all Milo needed to hear.

The man’s words set his rage into auto-pilot. Milo reached for the man’s dirty bottle. “Oh, want some of the good stuff.” The handyman groaned and chuckled. Milo held the bottle in his hand and dumped it into the dirt. The handyman let out a gasp of surprise as Milo raised the bottle and turned the liquid glass into a billion glistening shards with the aid of the man’s face. Milo felt the crunch of the man’s nose against the bottle right before it exploded into cosmic star dust in the night. The remaining shards that were still connected to the neck of the bottle which was firm in Milo’s fist, cut into the handyman’s eye and turned it into a runny ooze as the man fell back. Milo then dropped the glass and reached for the sledgehammer.

Milo was never the kind of guy that would go around the night before halloween smashing pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns, but the handyman’s skull was a well-earned substitute. He was impressed at how the head squished into a flat oval shape. He had done so much augmentation to the handyman’s head, that it separated from his neck without any additional cutting needed. He took the smashed jack-o-lantern and laid it in the handyman’s shallow hole that he had been digging, and covered it with some dirt and leaves. Milo had some goo on his hands now, but he couldn’t discern what it was in the darkness. He had a few ideas, but the rage kept it from getting to him. He wiped his hands in the dirt and continued to find a way into the house.

Milo finally found a door that was unlocked and made his way into the castle. The building was somehow colder than outside, and lit with molten candle puddles that were a little too reminiscent of the current state of the handyman. He made his way down the corridor, trying to find the old man and poor girl. His body was trembling with adrenalin from the outside encounter. He thought to himself that even if he had left every piece of the handyman exposed, nobody would’ve found him anyway. The castle never received any mail and there was no listed address for the estate. That thought, in his mind, amused him for a moment and almost alleviated the disorienting reality of what he had done just minutes ago. He did feel some kind of sick justice, however, on his brother’s behalf. Some could say that he overreacted, but maybe, even if he were caught, they’d understand. As his train of thought raced down the tracks of his psyche, Milo continued down the long main corridor, that seemed to weave into infinity. He passed dimly lit portraits of elders  and relatives of yesteryears; all strangers to the adopted boy that nobody wanted. His fingers stuck together from the residue of the tacky alcohol-laced oil of the handyman. He rubbed his hands together, trying to clean himself. From what he saw through the window, and what happened with the handyman, Milo had no real plan on what to do next. He just knew he  had to get to that poor girl.

 He came into one of the main rooms and found the girl standing in front of the seated old man. He was wearing his classic three-piece. The girl must’ve changed because now she was in a crimson cloak and hood that covered her poor face. This must’ve been part of some sick schedule of entertainment for the old man. Milo didn’t understand when all of this had started, but it shocked him regardless. Of course the drunkard that was currently outside, melting into the garden wouldn’t have done a thing to prevent it. For all Milo knew, he helped enforce it. After all, the handyman came from the same bloodline that shared ranks with the estate’s proclivities. He had heard stories from his older brother about how the old man grew up as an aryan youth and later a member of the SS. Some time after the great war, he was hunted down and castrated by an Israeli extremist movement. The old man must’ve still had a craving even with his body mutilated.

The old man wheezed and gestured towards the girl, which prompted her to expose herself. She hesitated at first, but then opened her cloak revealing her  young, trembling body. Milo stood petrified as the scene unfolded. Almost familiar.  The old man’s expression was near-dead, but still smug somehow. He sipped a liquid from a straw and then something caught him by surprise. His eyes grew large with a sense of dread. She drew a blade into herself and screamed at the old man, who then began to cough uncontrollably. She had pierced an important part of her anatomy, and her blood ran fast and spread out across the checkered floor. As the poor girl dropped the blade from her hands and stared into the old man, Milo could see that the old man was coughing up blood. The young girl and old man were now both bleeding, dying. Milo, finally shook himself from the stiff fear-state and ran towards the girl. His shoes squeaked on the floor. It was too late. The door that Milo had used to enter the house had creaked open and the night wind blew through the hall, knocking the flickering candle flames into smoky darkness. There was only darkness now, as Milo stood in the house of death. His breathing was the only sound in the room, which seemed to grow louder in the absence of any other sound…

Until, of course, he heard a wheezing….and then a voice…

“Are you scared yet?”

____

The three boys finally left the haunted house, for real this time. The attractions were certainly state of the art.