TailWind (2 page)

As attuned to his ship as any considerate lover, Blaez heard the noise even over her words. He turned his head, his ear toward the engine, listening to a grating sound.

"I ran away from the convent at Galrath,” she was saying. “Couldn't take another day of that hellish place."

"Shut up,” he said, straining to make out the resonance that was making the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"Of course I didn't have any money so I was forced to stow away on quite a few ships. I'm heading for Gaoithe. That's where I'm from although I haven't been there in over twenty years."

There was an odd knocking sound that sent a tremor of concern down the werewolf's back. His fingers flew over the computer's keyboard, his eyes shifted uneasily among the dials, the readouts.

"If I'd known I'd catch a ride with one of you..."

"Shut the fuck up, woman!” he barked. “Don't you hear that?"

Rozenn clamped her lips together. She heard a loud whine, a sort of screeching like someone dragging their fingernails down a chalkboard. “Well, that certainly doesn't sound good,” she said. “Is your ugly little machine going to act up?"

As her insult registered, he actually saw a red haze of fury washing over his vision. His hands itched to snap her neck, to rip off her head, to thrust into her belly and pull out her innards. He was contemplating other brutal ways of ending her useless life when the Fiach dropped twenty feet straight down, bringing his stomach up into his throat.

"What's wrong with the ship?” Rozenn asked, gripping the safety harness. There was no fear in her voice, just mild concern. “Are we going to crash?"

He was struggling too hard to keep the craft flying to answer her inane questions. The engines had stalled and he was quickly losing control over the runabout's stabilizing gear. The ship was dropping slowly.

"We're going down, aren't we?” she asked just as the cabin lights flickered and went off. He heard her say, “Uh oh."

Blaez reached for the emergency lights but they weren't working either. He toggled the switch several times to no avail. With no lights by which he could see a guidance system he was fairly sure had also failed, all he could do was sit there. He had no idea where they were. At least the runabout had leveled off and was just floating now, as quiet as the tomb.

His life—such as it was—passed before him. He slumped in his seat, his mood having gone from brooding black to crimson red and now had returned to a stygian darkness so thick it threatened to suffocate him.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?” she asked quietly.

Blaez Dolan had been alone all his life. He had no memory of the dam who had birthed him, had never known the wolf who had sired him. He'd grown up in a kennel with others like him and from early on there had been nothing but vicious rivalries that had passed for a way of life. Fighting for food, for shelter, for even a drink of fresh, clean water had taken every ounce of his strength. He had been forced to kill just to survive. Brutal battles had left deep scars on his body but they had toughened him, had honed him into a man without conscience, without mercy, without kindness.

His inability to tow the line, to do as he was told without arguing, to keep his smart mouth shut, had gotten him shipped in chains to a facility on one of Lupinia's five moons when he was barely out of his teens. The brutality of his jailors and the cruelty of the instructors assigned to bring him down a notch or two had done nothing to soften Blaez's personality. If anything, his time in the internment center had worsened his attitude and made him meaner still. He had left there unrepentant, unremorseful, and unapologetic.

The next ten years of his life had taken him from Lupinia to every half-ass mercenary haunt from the Rigel System to the Aneas Quadrant. He'd committed every crime that had ever been set down as such and had gone on to commit a few transgressions that should have been declared illegal. Not once had he regretted his actions as he slipped away from traps set by greedy bounty hunters and determined lawmen in four galaxies.

And not once in his thirty-odd years of living had anyone ever asked if they could help him. The question rankled worse than her insult to his ship.

"Wench, if you don't keep your mouth shut, I'm going to take a big bite out of your jugular,” he said in a low, hateful voice.

"Oh, phooey,” she snapped. “Who pissed in your kibble?"

The werewolf put his hands to his head, raking his hands through his hair. He tugged at the strands until it hurt, wishing he could pull the woman out of his brain for she had somehow slithered in there to torment him.

It happened so quickly he barely had time to react. The ship shuddered violently then began to plummet. So fast was the ship falling, the hull was beginning to heat up from the friction. With the cooling coils out of commission, there was no way to ward off the build up of hot air that began bearing down on them.

"What's that?” Rozenn asked him.

He wanted to throw his head back and howl loud enough to shatter the porthole temperplex. Why did the bitch continue to flap her mouth? If she said one more thing ... ?

"Wolfie, look! Look!” she exclaimed. “What is that?"

Pressed back into his seat as the Fiach continued to drop, it was all he could do to turn his head toward her. His intent was to level a savage snarl at her that would keep her from talking but behind her, he could see a strange glow that was increasing in brightness the lower the Fiach fell.

"Is that a tractor beam?” she demanded. Although she was strapped into the jump seat, she had twisted her head so she could look out the porthole. “It is, isn't it? It's a tractor beam!"

The glow was intensifying and the ship was slowing. The cabin was bathed in a strange greenish light that made the woman's face look ghastly as she turned to look at him.

"We're being pulled down to something,” she said as though he didn't have sense enough to realize what was happening.

"You think?” he sneered.

"Aye,” she said, smiling, and looking back around, trying to get a glimpse of the source of the light. “I think I see a planet down there."

When the greenish glow became so bright they both had to shield their eyes from its intense brightness, the ship seemed to sink gently to ground, the slightest bump signifying the landing skids had touched down on something solid. The bright light began to decrease in strength.

Blaez's fingers flew over the safety harness buckles once more and he was out of his seat like a shot. Rushing to the porthole beside her, he looked out, squinting as the brightness died down completely. Beyond the temperplex there was pitch black and he could see nothing.

"Where are we?” she asked.

He ignored her and stomped to the hatch. There was a manual release and he pulled it, shouldering the hatchway door up so he could peer out into the darkness.

"I can't see a gods-be-damned thing out there!” he snarled.

"Here,” she said, startling him for she'd crept up on him so quietly he'd been unaware of her. She pressed a phospho torch into his hand as he reached out to shove her away.

Almost dropping the torch, he nudged her aside with his hip for she was much too close to him for comfort. He didn't like anyone that close without having pulled them there in the first place.

"Get the hell away from me, wench,” he ordered. He heard her sigh loudly as he flipped on the torch.

The darkness beyond the ship was oppressively thick. Even with the superior light quality of the phospho, the beam only went so far out into the gloom then seemed to be swallowed up.

"It almost feels like the air is breathing, you know?” she commented from behind him.

He stiffened for her hand was on his shoulder as she peeked her head out the hatchway opening. Once more she had gotten close enough to touch him without him noticing and he wanted to plant his fist in her pudgy face. Before he could order her away from him again, her hand tightened on his shoulder.

"Do you see that?” she asked, her voice very low. “The air is moving."

Pulling his mind from her distraction, he forced himself to look for what she was seeing and was surprised to find the air was, indeed, moving. Not swirling or blowing, but moving as though it was alive.

"Is that fog, you think?” she questioned.

"How the hell should I know?” he asked.

"Well you do know what fog is, don't you?” she asked as though talking to the village idiot.

"Aye, I know what fog is,” he sneered.

They stared into the darkness for a long time and the feeling that settled between their shoulders made them both uneasy. Together, they stepped back—almost as one—and Blaez shut the hatchway and secured it.

"Gods-be-damned Brewton,” he cursed the bounty hunter as he worked to get the panel off the engine. “I should have known that bastard would have paid someone to sabotage my ship."

"Who's Brewster?” she asked.

"Brewton,” he corrected her with a hiss. He grunted as he plied the wrench to the bolts holding the panel in place.

"Okay, so Brewton, then. Who is he?"

"Was,” he growled, removing the panel. “Hold that damned light steady, woman!"

Rozenn rolled her eyes. She leveled the phospho torch so that its beam played over the panel. “Okay, then, who
was
he?"

He wiggled some wires, a spark flared and he jerked his hand back, shaking it, cursing in a language Rozenn did not recognize. He got to his feet, his hands on his hips.

"Well?"

"It's going to have to be re-wired,” he said with disgust. “I can't do it without a hell of a lot more light that what we have with that dying torch."

"No, I meant Brewster. Who was he?"

He turned to look at her. In the glow of the phospho light her face was mottled with shadow, accentuating the broad planes of her cheeks. Her eye sockets were deep black holes, her mouth a thin dark gray slit.

"Was he an enemy of yours?"

"If you just can't live another minute without knowing, he was a bounty hunter,” he told her. “Satisfied?"

"What happened to him?"

Blaez took a step toward her, annoyed when she didn't move back, didn't gave an inch. She was staring directly into his eyes—something few people dared to do—her head tilted to one side as though his answer was of the greatest interest to her.

"I took off his head,” he replied in a low, deadly voice.

"Huh.” Rozenn dropped the word like a heavy rock. “Do that often, do you?” she inquired.

One more step and he was toe to toe with her, glaring down into her upturned face with enough venom to quell the bravest man. “When I'm not pulling out the tongues of irritating women,” he answered.

She simply looked at him. There was no fright in her green eyes, no wariness, or even the slightest hint of concern. Then she smiled slowly and turned away.

"What was that?” he demanded.

"Big bad wolfie,” she said, sitting down in the jump seat. “Him gotta try to scare the poor old nun."

"Nun?” he repeated, frowning.

Rozenn sighed. “Didn't you hear anything I said to you, wolfie."

"Stop calling me that,” he warned, his hands clenching into fists at his side.

The phospho torch was slowly dying. She shook it and for a moment it got brighter but then began to fade again. “Do you have another one of these?” she asked.

"You said something about Galrath,” he said, ignoring her question. “Is that where you were?"

"That's the hell-hole from which I tucked my tail and ran,” she replied with a yawn.

Blaez had heard bad things about the convent. It was supposed to be a cruel place where women were treated more like prisoners than members of a religious order. Curiosity got the better of him and he hunkered down in front of her.

"How'd you get sent there?"

She shrugged. “Nobody wanted me,” she said. “Never knew who my parents were. I grew up in an orphanage and when I turned eighteen they kicked me out and the next thing I knew a man whose name I was never told picked me up and took me to Galrath. That same day, by the by.” She yawned again. “Sound to you like somebody was trying to get rid of me?"

"I know the feeling,” he mumbled.

"Are you going to tell me your name or am I going to have to keep calling you..."

"Don't say it,” he warned.

"I bet it's something like Lupin or Lobo or Loupi or Lupo or...

"Blaez,” he cut her off, his teeth clenched. “Blaez Dolan."

"Well, see? I knew it,” she said. “Blaez is the Chalean word for wolf and Dolan means challenge.” Her gaze moved over his black long sleeve cotton shirt and black jeans. “It fits."

"Oh, goody,” he growled. “I'm so glad you approve. Actually, Dolan in Chalean High Speech is
O Dobhailen
and that's the name of my ship,
The Black Defiance,
another meaning for the word.” He pushed to his feet and went to the command chair, plopping down and swinging his left leg over the arm.

She arched a brow. “Name fits this ship. Was the bounty hunter after you?” she inquired.

The air inside the ship was getting warm. Sweat was gathering under his armpits and at his temples. He released a loud sigh. “Aye, he was after me."

"What'd you do?"

He laid his head on the tall back of the chair. “There was a slight problem between me and a dead man."

"A different dead man than the one you dispatched in the bar?"

"Aye,” he hissed, a muscle working in his jaw.

"Who was the first dead man?"

"Wench, do you just live to annoy the hell out of people by asking stupid questions?” he snarled.

"How will I learn if I don't ask?” she inquired then switched off the phospho light, casting them into utter darkness.

"What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded.

"We need to conserve as much of what's left as we can in case we really need it, don't you think?” she asked.

He grunted.

"Who was the first dead man?” she repeated.

"A prick by the name of General Alphon Morrison of the Coalition of Federated Worlds. He was the Chief of Command Central."