Beauty and the Fleet (Intergalactic Fairy Tales Book 2) (2 page)

"No, it's good that you're here trying to get revenge on the Colarian that killed your father and not part of some anti-military group trying to spy on us from the inside, or worse."

His answer caught Beatrix by surprise and her anger evaporated as quickly as it had boiled to the surface. She suddenly realized how bad it looked, her being there with fake documents. It was definitely treason, and there would be no escaping the death penalty without a kind word from the man she had just about punched in the face. She slumped back into her chair, defeated. The steps outside the door behind her meant he had signaled for backup already. There would be no escaping.

"Now, for my final question. How old are you, really?"

Beatrix was so focused on what life would be like in prison, she'd forgotten the reason she'd forged the documents in the first place. What difference did it matter how old she was at this point? "I turned seventeen yesterday."

The sergeant nodded and stood. He went back and sat at his desk, once again looking her over. Now that he'd said he grew up on a farm, she recognized the look. It was the same way her father had looked at livestock before he bought it. "You'll make a fine soldier in a year," said the sergeant.

Beatrix slumped in her seat. He was going to make her wait. She should be happy not to be hauled off in cuffs, but she wasn't. "Fine, I guess I'll see you in a year," she said, rising slowly.

"Come in," said the sergeant, gesturing to a hulking man outside the door. "You just wait right there," he said to Beatrix.

A jolt of fear shot up her spine. Maybe she'd misread him and he was going to have her arrested after all. The man in the doorway looked like the type you'd use to haul someone away to jail, all rigid posture and taut muscles.

"I have the file you asked for," said the soldier, raising a manila folder.

"Thank you," said the sergeant. He took the folder and began flipping through it without looking up. "You're dismissed."

The soldier saluted and tromped back out the door. Beatrix watched the sergeant uncertainly, her muscles tense. She wished she was standing so at least there was a small chance she could run. She could go to the next recruitment center and take her chances that the recruiter there wouldn't be as sharp. She wasn't about to wait a year to get started on her revenge. The year and a half in the hospital and orphanage, fighting through her physical therapy, had been almost more than she could bear.

The sergeant continued to flip through the file he'd been given, his features completely unreadable. He didn't acknowledge Beatrix's presence until he dropped it on his desk several minutes later. "Well, it appears you answered my questions honestly, and as I suspected you are actually a ward of the Crown because you had no other family."

Beatrix's face scrunched up, trying to understand what he'd said. Obviously the sergeant had looked into her before their meeting and the file on his desk held some information about her. What didn't make sense was his use of the word had. "What do you mean by 'had no family'?" she asked.

"Now you have the entire Crown Fleet as your brothers and sisters-in-arms. Welcome home, Airman Dumont." The sergeant smiled, obviously pleased with Beatrix's confusion.

"But, I'm only seventeen..." she started.

"And a ward of the Crown, which means that you are able to serve in the Fleet at the age of seventeen, at the discretion of a recruitment officer," said Sergeant Laughlin, sporting that smug smile again.

"But you said that in a year—"

"That you would make a fine soldier. That sort of thing doesn't happen overnight. Right now you'll make a piss-poor soldier, just like every other recruit."

Beatrix sat there quietly, sorting through everything he'd said. Part of her still expected the musclebound soldier to stomp back in and escort her to a cell. "So, I'm really in?" she asked timidly.

"After you sign a veritable mountain of paperwork, yes. You will officially be a member of the Crown Fleet with all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities that accompany the title of Airman Basic," said the sergeant.

"So, what do I do now?" asked Beatrix. She was completely unprepared for success. All of her research and planning had been focused on getting into the Fleet while underage. She had no idea what came next.

"Now you go home, gather up a bag of your possessions, and report to the duty officer at this address." He pointed to an address handwritten on a manila folder. It was almost an inch thick with loose papers. He shoved it across the desk to her. "Make sure all those forms are filled out with accurate information and signed everywhere they're marked with an X."

"Shit," said Beatrix, hefting the folder. "You weren't kidding about the paperwork."

"The Crown Fleet never kids about its paperwork," he said, letting out a sigh.

CHAPTER THREE

"I heard she shot a captain down in a simulator in under five minutes," someone whispered.

"Luck," another retorted.

"Three times in a row," chimed another, not bothering to lower their voice.

"Bullshit."

"No, it's true, I was there," said another, awe, and a touch of jealousy in their voice.

Beatrix walked by their table and they all clammed up, casting furtive glances at the stripes on her arm indicating the rank of lieutenant. She knew she should put them in their place for gossiping, at least that's what her officer training class had said last week. It still felt awkward when they were older and outranked her three weeks ago.

"I bet she put the captain down alright. Right down her throat," barked the youngest one at the table. He was an airman first class and probably about twenty years old, still two full years older than she was. None of that mattered anymore though. All that mattered was his rank—lower than hers—and she was pissed the hell off.

"Airman," she shouted, slapping her tray down on the mess hall table with a bang. "On your feet!"

About half the people in the mess were airmen and a good portion of them shot to their feet immediately on reflex. All four of the guys at the gossiping table snapped to attention. Every eye in the room was on her and she immediately regretted losing control of her temper, but she would never live it down if she backed off now. She stomped over to their table and did her best to stare them down, despite her nerves. "Would any of you assholes care to repeat what you just said about an officer of the Crown Fleet who, may I remind you, has the power to have you tossed in the brig for conduct unbecoming?" She'd just learned about it that very morning. She still wasn't sure what constituted the offense, but it sounded right.

"No, Lieutenant," they replied in unison, their voices loud and barking as they'd been taught in basic training. The other people in the room had taken their seats again, and a few had returned to their meals, though most eyes were still glued to their drama.

"Oh, come on now," Beatrix growled. "None of you want to talk about my sexual prowess to my face?"

"No, Lieutenant," they replied, not quite so in sync that time. Their discomfort was obvious. Good.

"Well, let me set the record straight. I've been told on more than a few occasions that I'm damn good, but it was never by any soldier in this Fleet." Her voice was loud and resonant, carrying all the way across the mess. She'd never been with anyone, but broadcasting that fact would just get her a different terrible reputation. "Anyone care to argue that fact?"

"No, Lieutenant!"

"Now that we have my private sexual matters dealt with, let's move on to something that is actually anyone's business besides mine, my flying ability. I was accepted into the flight program after shooting down a MAJOR in the sim, FIVE times in a row, and he said I was 'fucking amazing' and 'the most natural talent' he'd ever seen in his twenty year career in the Crown Fleet. When he asked how I got so good I told him the truth. 'I eat, sleep, and breathe the flight sim because I want to make sure that I take out at least a hundred of those Colarian sons-of-bitches for every year I won't spend with the father they murdered in his own home.'" Her face was beat red by the time she finished her tirade, both with anger and embarrassment. "Is all that clear, airmen?"

"Yes, Lieutenant!"

"Now clear the hell out of here so that I can enjoy the rest of my lunch and not have to fill out the paperwork required to lock your asses up in the brig!"

To their credit, the airmen grabbed their lunches off the table and dumped their mostly-f trays without hesitation on the way out of the mess.

Beatrix stalked back to her seat and sat down before her body began to tremble. The adrenaline of her righteous anger had burned off and left her as weak as a kitten. People were still watching, so she kept her eyes up and ate her mashed potatoes methodically, barely tasting them.

"Damn, rookie, putting the grunts in their place already?" asked a blond man taking the seat across from her, most of his food already gone. "I like it. Gotta keep them in line or they'll think they own the place."

Beatrix surreptitiously eyed the stripes on his jacket and found them to be the same as hers. A lieutenant. Someone she didn't feel the need to pretend around. "It was stupid. I have no idea if I even had the authority to do what I just threatened them with. If they go to their commanding officers—"

"They'll be scrubbing out toilets with their own toothbrushes. They got off light and they know it. I doubt you could have gotten them tossed in the brig, but they don't know that. The name's Luther, by the way," he said, holding his hand out for her to shake.

"His name's Torch," said one of the others. "I didn't even know his real name until now."

Beatrix took his hand and shook it firmly, smiling automatically at the energy he exuded. His accent made his consonants soft and his vowels elongated. She liked him immediately. "Beatrix."

"Bea. That's quite fitting, considering the sting you just gave those airmen. I think we just found your call sign."

"Bee doesn't seem like much of a call sign," said Beatrix doubtfully. "Doesn't exactly strike fear in the hearts of men."

"Not Bee, silly, Sting!" Luther gestured to a few guys a couple of tables over and they all joined them at Beatrix's table. "Everybody, I think I just figured out the rook's call sign. Her name is Beatrix, and after the sore asses she just gave those grunts, I have dubbed her Sting. What say you?"

A chorus of agreement went up all around and brought the group to their feet. The silliness of the pun on her name reminded Beatrix of her father and grief washed over her briefly. The clapping and hooting of Luther and his friends helped her to push it aside quickly enough. She even managed to smile when they finally sat down to catch their breath. "Alright, I guess it's decided. I shall be called Sting," she said, taking on a tone of mock authority.

CHAPTER FOUR

Two Years Later

Beatrix was jarred from a sound sleep by the siren blaring just outside her bunk. She sat up so quickly that she tore the page of the book she fell asleep on. She winced. It was an expensive text on the biology of the Colarians. The diagram showing the layout of their internal organs—very similar to that of a human with the addition of a second heart—was washed in the ruddy light. She glanced sleepily over at her bed and the small shelf above it. On it sat a battered horror novel with a bookmark three-quarters of the way through it. Next to it was a metal urn that still confused Beatrix. How could a whole person be put inside something so small? She knew the science of it, of course, yet her mind still rebelled at the idea that all that was left of such a vital person as her father fit into something the size of a loaf of bread.

The siren continued to blare, but her sleep-deprived mind wrote it off as unimportant. Her gaze turned back to the book. It sat there as if mocking her. It was the book she had been reading when the Colarian murdered her father. One day, when she finished her vengeance, she would finish that book. Until then, she had promised she would do nothing, read nothing, that didn't further her goal of avenging her father. Tears welled up in her eyes and that was enough to finally bring her out of her sleep-dazed state.

The red light and siren. They were under attack.

Sleepiness was washed away on a tide of adrenaline. She threw on her boots and clomped down to the flight deck, only pausing to tie them when she nearly fell down a flight of metal stairs. The Harbinger was a heavily equipped warship, capable of handling itself in most cases, even without the aid of the six Flights of Talons on board. A red alert was standard procedure for any battle situation, and therefore nothing to be overly concerned about. If it was just a small raiding party they might not even bother deploying the Flights. Beatrix felt bad for hoping it was a larger scale attack so that she could get out there and do some shooting.

Searching through her pockets, she found a black elastic band and tied her dark brown hair back at the nape of her neck. It was already longer than she usually allowed it to get. Having to tie it back irritated her. Having it rub her neck when she put on her flight suit was worse though.

The last locker room in the hall before she entered the flight deck was buzzing with activity. Most of her Flight was there, in various states of undress. It was the middle of the night, so a good many of them were stripping out of bed clothes to put on the typical tank top and light cloth pants that were worn under flight suits. She smiled at all the nudity, now only slightly embarrassed. Her first trip into the unisex locker room had been quite a trial. It was a learning experience. Every bit of space on a warship was utilized, as Torch told her quite a bit later. There just wasn't room for modesty. She didn't know until that day that it was possible to blush with your whole upper body. The Flight that day was torn between teasing her and expressing concern that she had some sort of rash.

Beatrix was already wearing her flight clothes, not having changed out of them before she fell asleep. She no longer blushed and would have stripped without hesitation had there been a need. Times like this reminded her of how far she had come from being her father's little bookworm, hardly leaving her room. Her adventure stories had given her hope that one day she would leave her country home and explore Nedra and the rest of the galaxy. How many times had she argued with her father that she couldn't get out into the world fast enough?