The Lone Star Collection Page 6

  She had to admit she did like the Starport’s male cook and resident sperm-donor, Jorgen. That man could make an abiding seaweed curry taco out of any sea-critter Venn brought him. It was just so hard to keep males alive to adulthood given their Y-chromosome susceptibility to the Red Tide disease. She stretched for the light, propelling herself out of the Red Tide inundated water and into the air with both hands up, grasping hopefully.

  The Sheriff caught her grasp, yanked her from the water, and tossed her butt first onto the deck of the hovercraft. Venn bounced and raised her arm and voice to warn of the shark, but there was no need. The Sheriff, pretty face contorted in raw determination, activated the shield orbs on both of her wrists. She projected a shield over the hovercraft’s carbon side and Venn’s ankles with one hand, while simultaneously forming the shield on her other hand into a narrow battering ram.

  The shark broke water, all hand-sized teeth and hunger flaring like a seasoned sea fury.

  The Sheriff struck the shark in the snout with such ferocious impact that it fell back into the water like a boneless sack with a limpid smack, missing a chiclet-pack’s worth of teeth to boot.

  Venn let her head sink back against the hovercraft’s deck and took a deep cleansing breath of relief. She blinked and felt the hovercraft rise, realizing the system was instigating the auto-safety command for elevation based on the sonic pressure of the shark hitting the water. Standard safety protocols mandated fifty feet above the surface in such situations, twenty feet above normal operating airspace, and Venn reckoned that should be enough. This time. For now. But they would need to get back to the Starport in a hurry, just so she felt sure.

  The Sheriff stood over her. Both hands on her hips this time. “I take it that’s something like what happened to your hovercraft?” She tilted her head, dark hair swinging, back toward the tidal generator where bits of Venn’s vehicle still floated near the Kraken’s limp limbs.

  “Something like,” Venn admitted and noticed the two wickedly long hawk-billed titanium karambit knives, one strapped to each of the Sheriff’s upper thighs, handles facing up. An unusual location to keep one’s utility weapons. Then again, Venn conceded as her eyes swept up the Sheriff’s agile body, her breasts were definitely too large to allow for comfortable wearing of a traditional shoulder rig. Venn licked her lips; the salt, methane, and mud stung her tongue.

  “Then I suppose we should hurry back afore things get gnarlier.” The Sheriff gave Venn a look that said she knew Venn was checking out her breasts and then gave the hovercraft the voice command, “To Lone Starport, North bay, slip Forty-two.”

  The turbines gathered wind, roared, and then softened into a seamless dim wail, sailing them away as commanded.

  Venn sat up and rubbed her ornery right hip, no doubt bruised but nothing a stiff quaff of Bladderwrack grappa couldn’t fix. She fixed the Sheriff with a warm look and a wry smile, now that there was a moment to do so, and said, “Glad to have you, Sheriff Verne. That said, I expected someone, well, more Texan.”

  “I think I just exhibited that I’m plenty knowledgeable on the Gulf’s varied shore-robbers and saving pretty women from the jaws of death. Texan or no. And please, call me Arnika, Doctor Jules.”

  “My name is Venn. I only insist ass-hats like the governor use my title.” Venn eyed the Sheriff, cocky and confidant in her jet-black neoskenes, grey rip-stop great coat, and titanium plated boots. “And you’re not an ass-hat, are you?”

  Arnika’s laugh was full and a little throaty, ringing in the wind in a way that warmed Venn from the nether regions north. “That always depends on who you ask, I guess, but I don’t intend to be an ass-hat here. My job is to make sure you can always continue operations.”

  “I know your job, but why are you here?” No one else was brave or stupid enough to sign on to provide security for her operations. Despite the exorbitant pay offered, the request had gone unfilled going on eighteen lunar cycles before Arnika’s appointment was forwarded to her. The woman probably had a death wish.

  Arnika’s dark eyes danced. One corner of her mouth took a turn down. “I heard tall tales about a crazy NASA scientist, a real Lone Star, so to speak, running the world’s only tidal-energized near-equator launch facility. Something about helping all people be able to afford leaving for space colonies when they want to.”

  “Sure you did,” Venn scoffed.

  “I sure did, Doctor Venn Jules.” Her pronunciation made the title a real honorific. “And I was impressed. And I was tired of exterminating vermin in the Albuquerque lagoons.” She shrugged. “If I’m gonna do deadly work, I want it to have more of a purpose.”

  “Like what?” Venn persisted. A beautiful woman with a death wish was a dangerous thing for everyone in port.

  A big, goofy, enthusiastic smile spilled over Arnika’s face as she stated, “Like supporting a woman trying to pioneer a society-changing innovation.” Despite her dark hair and adamant black-brown eyes, the Sheriff was pale, and the blush that charged briefly but surely down her cheeks and neck showed vividly. “Do you find it so hard to believe that you have a reputation and because of that reputation, a fan?”

  A dry chuckle escaped before Venn could curtail it. “Hell, yes.”

  Arnika’s blush fleeted, and her face hardened. She issued an exasperated sigh, “Well then, you’ll have to give me a chance and see that I mean it.”

  “What do you call that?” Venn challenged, gesturing backwards, indicating their introductory struggle with the Kraken. It was already evident Arnika wanted to be helpful; Venn just wasn’t confident of her motivations yet.

  As the hovercraft docked itself in the slip with nary a stir, Arnika smiled and asked, “Exciting foreplay?”

  Venn’s imagination rattled vociferously in its cage at those words. She saw Arnika’s trim naked legs wrapped around her, hips arching toward her touch, and her imagination nearly short-circuited her tongue before she issued a verbal reply. “I think that usually comes after the drinks.”

  “I’ll be sure to offer again later then, Doctor Jules.” Arnika offered her a hand up.

  Venn accepted the firm, warm hand, her own feeling so very cold in the Sheriff’s grip. The contrasting warmth sent a shiver over Venn.

  Obvious compassion etched Arnika’s face, “I know it’s the Gulf, but being dunked in any such methylated water and then air dried is still bound to make you feel frozen.” She placed an arm around Venn’s shoulder, thus shielding Venn from the worst of the wind with the winged flap of her great coat. “You know the way, so you lead us in. I’ll make sure you get fixed for dry clothes before you take me out for those drinks you so kindly offered.”

  †

  Major Saras greeted them inside the first airlock, causing Venn to look instinctively to the second set of security doors. A strobing orange light showed clearly against the wall of the titanium portal, but at least the door stood open, and no sirens were sounding. She could feel the muscles tighten in the Sheriff’s arms around her shoulder.

  “What is the problem, Major Saras?”

  “Pad Kilo Two is showing an unspecified error code, and the temperature sensors are showing extreme heat fluctuations emanating from the Lunar shuttle parked there. Zvezk requests that you diagnose as soon as possible.”

  “Are any passengers loaded on the shuttle?” Venn had appointed Zvezk head of the port’s space-launch control room. As an ethnic Russiochinan, she was always hyper-efficient, but sometimes neglected softer considerations in her operational zeal.

  “Negative. Zvezk ordered all passengers and personnel clear until your approval.”

  “Great. Thank you, Saras. Please escort the Sheriff wherever she wishes to go and inform Zvezk I am headed to Pad Kilo Two now. I will patch in with a diagnosis as soon as possible.”

  “I’m going with you.” Arnika’s voice was soft, calm, and underlaced in stone.

  Saras looked to Venn still though.

  Venn nodded and then strode through the airlocks and
entry chambers, orange lights splashing around her.

  A gleaming new Lunar shuttle sat on the pad, telltale shimmers of heat pulsating beneath its shapely belly, and Venn knew the worst. Unfortunately, the pulses were happening in very quick succession now. Less than twenty seconds apart.

  Venn turned on her heels to advise the Sheriff to get low before the Slunderbus Wraith inhabiting the shuttle’s cargo began emitting the random spikes of superheated vapors typically presaging the very messy birth of a baby wraith. Her words of warning were too tardy.

  The Sheriff tackled Venn full frontal to the deck and took a super-heated vapor shot in the shoulder. Venn sucked in air and watched a severed strand of Arnika’s hair flutter toward the ground only to be incinerated by another vapor stream before it could settle.

  Venn scuttled sideways toward the edge of the deck, heading for the blast gap beneath the launch pad, even with the Sheriff still half on top of her. Arnika took the cue though and rose enough to let Venn squirm free ahead of her. A stream of vapor hit the excess fabric just below the side of Venn’s left breast, leaving a gaping hole in her shirt and a red steam welt, but all of her skin seemed intact. More streams sounded in hisses around them, and Venn cringed as she heard the Sheriff yelp.

  She glanced back to find Arnika hovering half crouched, one hand on the deck next to Venn’s ankle. Venn turned and gripped the Sheriff’s forearm, briefly registering another raw-skin vapor singe near Arnika’s elbow before pulling the Sheriff along with her. She jumped off the deck into the gaping blast gap.

  She let go of Arnika and turned her face toward the distant ground, trusting the helionets to materialize beneath them. Something jerked her backwards, and she found herself dangling just below the deck with Arnika’s legs wrapped around her hips.

  “What the hell?” Venn puffed as gravity swung her face into the Sheriff’s breasts. Only heavy breathing and a grunt greeted her question. She tilted her head back to look up and saw Arnika gripping the edge of the deck, hands wrapped around the rim’s drain ridge so tightly that even her wrists were arctic white with effort.

  “Let go,” Venn commanded.

  Arnika’s eyes met hers, pitch black with adrenaline, and then glanced to the open space below them with doubt.

  “There is a helionet.”

  “A what?” Arnika’s voice was strained and husky, causing Venn to picture better reasons to have the Sheriff’s hot taut legs locked against her hips, muscles straining ever closer to her own over-heated skin.

  “A helionet,” Venn repeated louder.

  Arnika shook her head, and Venn slipped until the Sheriff’s legs were wrapped around her chest, leaving her cheek pressed closer to the Sheriff’s belly. Arnika groaned but didn’t let go, legs clenching tighter. “What’s a helionet?”

  Shit, thought Venn, of course Arnika didn’t see any helionets on lagoon patrol. “It works like all nanobot safety nets, but it doesn’t construct itself until the heliosensors see us fall past them. It’s only a few meters down.”

  Arnika’s legs let go and she shouted, “Roll south.”

  Venn hit the net on her feet but fell to her side and rolled south as directed, resting on her back as she watched the Sheriff let go, hit the net and roll north. Rolling opposite directions was a good idea to keep them from braining one another on impact, but their combined weight stretched the net in the middle and they both slid inwards on the rebound. They found themselves face to face. Arnika smirked, “I’d give you more personal space, but I’m too damn tired to move at the moment.”

  Venn laughed. “No worries. I think we’ve already achieved more compromising poses.”

  Arnika’s dark eyes fluttered up to the pad. “What the hell was that?”

  “Slunderbus Wraith giving birth.”

  “In the shuttle?”

  “Yeah.” Venn glanced up just as a loud shriek sounded, and an iridescent explosion lit up the pad. Streaks of superheated metal flew above them, signaling a shiny new shuttle gone. More helionets and a blast shield sprung up in neon blue above them, but Arnika pulled Venn under the shelter of her body again anyway.

  Venn spoke through the haze of the Sheriff’s soft dark hair falling over her face. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  Arnika laughed and her belly vibrated pleasantly against Venn’s. “You say the sweetest things.”

  †

  The healer, Kymera, took one look at both of them and gave an aggravated sigh.

  Venn held up both hands, “I’m fine this time. I swear. I’m just a little bruised and wet.”

  “I’ll believe it after a thorough check up, Venn,” Kymera pointed at the Sheriff, “and you are obviously not fine.”

  “I’m okay. Just a few shallow vapor burns. I’m Arnika Verne by the way.”

  “The new Sheriff, I presume.”

  “Yes.” Arnika set down her laser-arc spear and unbuckled her utility weapons before heaping them on top of the spear.

  “Arnika, huh, like the witch-hazel?” Kymera asked as they sat down on adjoining examination tables.

  Venn watched Arnika give a shrug and a nod.

  “Hmm. Well, what are you good for if not staying whole yourself?” Kymera pointed at the largest vapor burn trailing over Arnika’s right shoulder.

  Arnika grinned, playing on the properties of witch-hazel, and replied, “Prior studies suggest that I’m good for a significant reduction of bruising in others, if nothing else.”

  “I suspect there is a recommended limit to your dosage though,” the healer laughed, “too much of you, too much of any good medicine, is bound to have side-effects.”

  “Like keeping Venn completely out of your treatment bay?” The question held a vague note of jealousy.

  “That side-effect I would welcome.” Kymera cut away the neoskene around Arnika’s vapor burns and slathered them with chilled aloeskin.

  “Which would you not?” Arnika grimaced and then took a deep breath, her gaze becoming slightly unfocused as Kymera worked.

  “You two keep talking as if I’m not right here,” Venn protested.

  Kymera snorted. “Venn’s already too confident in her ability to manage herself in risky situations.”

  “Oh?”

  Venn protested. “It’s not like I have had a choice. I can’t send someone else to repair my tidal generators. And I won’t risk our staff out there. They aren’t trained in combat.”

  Kymera leveled an angry glare at her. “Yada, yada, Venn. You don’t have time to write repair procedures or standardize those damn things, because you’re playing mechanic, and somehow it’s okay for you, when you have no combat training yourself, to go out there.”

  Venn scowled and retorted, “It’s a moot point now. I won’t go out without the Sheriff.”

  “Correct,” Arnika asserted.

  Kymera poked a finger in Arnika’s shoulder. “Agreed. You just make damn sure Venn doesn’t decide to take on even riskier challenges now because she’s got some back-up. Now go change.” She pointed to the wardrobe closet, and Arnika silently followed her directions.

  As soon as the Sheriff shut the door, Kymera hissed, “And don’t think I don’t know about that Kraken bullshit.”

  Venn felt her mouth gape as the healer poked her just below her collarbone with an adamant jab. “Zvezk already told me all about sending the Sheriff out to meet you in a hurry because your craft’s emergency destruction beacon was blaring in the control room.”

  The wardrobe closet whooshed open, saving Venn from having to come up with a response. She turned to the closet intent on taking her own turn getting outfitted clean, but she found herself momentarily lost at the sight of Arnika redressed. Likely lacking the ability to repair the Sheriff’s neoskenes, the closet had chosen to attire her in the comfortable, but typically unflattering uniform of a launch officer. Somehow the black cowl-necked blouson with grey bamboo breeches and field boots flattered Arnika’s compactly muscled frame.

  Kymera cleared her throa
t and that snapped Venn’s attention back to her own battered clothing. Arnika smiled. Venn nodded as she stepped into the closet.

  She hesitated before asking the closet to cleanse and synthesize her into her typical field uniform. Maybe something more flattering would serve better. Undecided, she commanded the closet to simply, “Cleanse and hold for subsequent dress command.”

  “Complying. Please remain still for thirty seconds,” the closet replied.

  Her muscles relaxed into the gentle warmth as the ionized beams clustered and glowed over her body, disassembling her clothes with meticulous precision before broadening into the soft steam and dry glow that pampered her skin too quickly. She’d thought of reprogramming the closet to extend the steam and dry time upon request, but that probably violated an ecological standard somehow.

  “Please request dress specifications immediately,” the closet barked.

  Venn hesitated again.

  “If specifications are not received in thirty seconds, launch officer uniform standards will be applied,” the closet warned.

  “Oh, hell no. Um. Apply chief informal mess dress.” Venn wasn’t even sure what the closet would come up with for that one.

  Many synthesizing seconds passed before the closet warbled, “Applied.”

  Venn braved a look down. It was something between her field dress and the monkey suit she wore for formal mess dress events, like dining with the governor. The outfit consisted of the same tan suede-finished jodhpurs and boots as her formal mess uniform, but with a soft sage grey split neck tunic top. The tunic had one green silky frog-fastener crossing under her collar bones instead of the dozens of shimmering wire frog-fasteners she hated on her formal. She smiled.