Beauty and the Fleet (Intergalactic Fairy Tales Book 2) Read online

  When Hands returned to his cell he walked calmly between his two captors. The beast was nowhere to be seen. Beatrix had been lying on her bed for hours, staring at the wall outside her cell, waiting for Hands to return. She had to know that he was well and that her conversation with the beast hadn't caused him any harm. Her heart fluttered with relief at seeing him walking under his own power. Gadget was still unconscious from his abuse the day before.

  "Hands," Beatrix called. He didn't respond. She called his name several more times, progressively louder until she was shouting at the top of her lungs. He stood between her cell and his while they unlocked the door, as lifeless as his captors. That's when Beatrix noticed the two small bands of black flesh on his forehead, trailing up into his hair.

  Beatrix pressed close to her bars to get a better look, hoping that it was some trick of the shadows. It wasn't. As he moved into his cell, she could plainly see the black flesh covering the back of his neck as well. A symbiont. They had attached a symbiont to Hands. A hot clenching feeling formed in her stomach and the world spun around her. She barely had time to take the two steps to the toilet before she emptied the contents of her stomach.

  Beatrix stumbled over to her sink and rinsed her mouth, barely able to form thoughts. Why would they put a symbiont on Hands? She couldn't think of any possible purpose that could serve. She stared blankly at the wall for several minutes before she was able to muster her thoughts.

  Nedran biology was radically different from Colarian, so it was entirely unlikely that they would have a good symbiotic relationship. What could possibly be the reason for putting them together? While the symbionts enhanced many of the Colarian's physical traits, making them stronger and more resistant to disease, it was never clear what the symbionts got out of the relationship other than the nourishment they drew from the Colarian. The symbionts showed no signs of intelligence. Beatrix decided it had to be a sick experiment. There was only one question that really mattered: what was the symbiont doing to Hands?

  "Hands, are you alright over there?" Beatrix called, once she could do it without her voice quavering. She needed to be strong for him. She calmed her breathing and strained her hearing to its utmost and could barely hear a soft sniffling next door. "Hands, talk to me!"

  There was no answer. The sniffling gave way to a low keening sound, like a small child or a wounded animal. Beatrix had to dig around in her memory for several seconds before she managed to come up with his real name; she'd used it so little. "Colin, please talk to me, tell me that the symbiont isn't hurting you."

  "It's not hurting me," he whispered after several moments. "It's erasing me..."

  "It's doing what?" asked Beatrix, not wanting to believe her ears.

  "Erasing me," repeated Hands, this time in a soft sob.

  He wouldn't say anything more, though Beatrix tried talking to him for hours. The moaning and crying stopped after about twenty minutes, leaving her to wonder if he was still alive. She wanted to scream until he was forced to respond, but she was afraid that would draw the guards. All of this had started because she had called that Colarian monster in to talk.

  Every so often, she heard a scuffling noise that was too close to be from one of the other cells, at least that was what she told herself. That he still had to be alive. If he was alive, there was still hope for him. Maybe for Gadget, too.

  There were far too many ifs and maybes floating around in her head for her liking. She needed answers, but that was how Hands had gotten taken away. It was all her fault. If she hadn't called the beast down there, then Hands wouldn't have one of those things sucking on his brain.

  No, she wouldn't let herself think that way. None of this was her fault. The blame fell to the Colarians and no one else. And her friends being hurt was the work of the beast. He had some sort of sick fascination with her and it was causing her friends pain. The longer she sat there doing nothing, the more pain would come for them. There was no doubt in her mind that the beast would come for her last, after he'd destroyed all of her friends.

  Erased them.

  Hands' words echoed in her mind over and over again. The beast would erase her friends' minds and then he would come for hers. It hadn't been enough that he killed her father. He was going to break her mind and then erase all of her good memories once he'd had his fun.

  She wouldn't allow that to happen. He'd already taken enough from her. But there was nothing she could do about it. He would come and do as he pleased. She couldn't stop him from her cell. She had to get out. That had always been the plan, but it couldn't wait any longer. The longer she took, the more likely it would be that they would come for Torch or Pickle. She couldn't allow that.

  She wasn't some sort of thief or magician who could pick a lock with a shoestring, so the only way she was getting out was if they came to get her. How could she force them to do that? These animals didn't seem to care about anything.

  Her mind kept going back to the words the beast had said before he took Hands away. He said he didn't want her to die. He said he needed her and that he didn't want her to die. They were the words of a murdering monster, but it was all she had to go on. He wasn't on guard duty, so that probably meant he was in charge, or at least higher ranking. He should have the power to get her out of the cell.

  Beatrix sat on her bed, trying to find an alternative to the plan that was quickly taking shape in her head. If any one of a dozen suppositions on her part were wrong, she would die. Those weren't good odds. But if she was right, and they got to her in time, then she would have a decent amount of time outside of her cell. She would probably end up in a hospital somewhere, but at least it was on the right side of the bars.

  Beatrix closed her eyes and sighed. No alternate plan had presented itself. It was time to find a way to attempt suicide that wouldn't kill her before she was discovered.

  One of the guards interrupted her thoughts by sliding another tray of food under the bars of her cell. Unless she wanted to try hanging, nothing in her cell would work. Her eyes turned to the small plastic water cup. It was the only thing they ever gave her that wasn't grey. Maybe she could make it work.

  She stared at the cup for a long time before approaching it. It grew massive in her vision until it was all she could see. It was only about the size of a tea cup, not much as far as weapons were concerned.

  With that thought, she was finally able to walk over and pick it up, her hands shaking slightly. The water was cool and satisfying on her tongue. She drank it down in a single gulp and squeezed the cup to confirm its properties. It wouldn't make much of a weapon, but it should be sturdy enough to part her flesh.

  Beatrix carefully snapped a small piece out of the cup and returned it to the tray. She walked back over to her bed, the sharp shard of plastic held before her. She was so focused on it that she banged her shin on the edge of the bed and fell onto it with a muttered curse. That would leave a nasty bruise. Hopefully she would be alive for that to matter.

  Time stretched into a yawning chasm while she situated herself on the bed, her back to the wall and her legs crossed. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die. Maybe that was only true while you were actively dying. All that flooded across her mind in the eternity it took to drag the pointed plastic across her wrists was the endless string of things she wanted to do once her revenge was complete. Now that she was staring death in the face, those things seemed a lot more important. Ending the lives of nameless, faceless Colarians in a war that didn't seem likely to end before she died of old age, not so much. Sure, fighting to preserve the Nedran way of life was important, but that's not what she was fighting for. Revenge meant fighting for something that was already gone, and felt like such a waste.

  She hadn't realized how much she wanted to live, until she was watching her blood pour out. If her gamble paid off, she would live her life very differently. No more depriving herself of happiness. She would focus on escape, and once she did, she would live life to its fullest.


  When the flow of blood started to slow, and the mattress had become more red than grey, she finally got the replay of her life everyone talked about. It wasn't all-inclusive or linear like she'd always imagined. Instead, she saw glimpses. There was the pride she'd felt at being promoted early to flight school, and the drunken and raucous nights with Torch and the rest of his gang, but mostly there was love. There were all the times when she'd partied a bit too hard and Hands had been so sweet, carrying her back to her bunk, never minding when she slapped him and insisted she could take care of herself. He would let her walk until she fell down and then pick her up again. Mostly though, there was her father. Long evenings spent in companionable silence while they read books by the fire and then longer nights where they discussed their favorite parts of what they'd read. It had been a very simple life, but it was a good one. In the end, she even heard her father whispering her name to rouse her from sleep and send her off to bed.

  Dying wasn't as painful as she'd imagined. Her wrists burned. It was a bit cold and the air smelled a bit tangy, like an astringent. Strange that none of the people she'd talked to about near-death experiences ever mentioned that. It pulled her away from the sweet silence of the abyss and was ruining her last reminiscence. And then her father was calling her again and she smiled to herself, once again drifting into the darkness.

  "Beatrix."

  His voice was more insistent and less familiar, and then suddenly all too familiar. Not her father at all. The beast.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Waking up to that voice was really starting to piss Beatrix off. The strange smell and coldness made sense when she woke up in a hospital room, an IV stuck in her arm. Her thin hospital gown might as well have been paper for all that it did to make her feel warm and protected. White gauze bandages covered her wrists. Strangely there were no straps or cuffs holding her to the bed. If she wanted to, she could get up and run out the door. The beast sat in a chair next to her bed, but he didn't appear to be armed.

  "What's to keep me from running out that door?" Beatrix asked, wary of things that looked too good to be true.

  "Nothing," said the beast, his expression mild.

  Beatrix sat up like a shot and immediately regretted it. Her vision blurred and went dark at the edges. The room spun sickeningly. When her vision cleared again, she was lying back on the bed, which held her up at a forty-five degree angle.

  "Oh, there is the small matter of your recovery from massive blood loss that may hinder your escape attempts. We didn't have any compatible blood to replace it with, so you'll have to do it the old-fashioned way. Slowly, over time."

  "Oh joy, you won't let me die and I'm too weak to escape. So now I get to stay alive to watch you torture my friends," said Beatrix, venom dripping from her words.

  "Quite the contrary. Your antics, and the failed bonding of Partners to subjects two and three, have given us quite a bit more autonomy than we had previously. Our voice of dissent about your handling is finally being taken seriously. We believe you will find your time here much more pleasant now that we are given final say as to your care." The beast looked smug, an expression that seemed quite at home on his vaguely feline features.

  "Wait, failed bonding with subjects two and three?" asked Beatrix

  "Yes, both of them rejected their Partners. They seem to be recovering well now." The beast's yellow, vertically slitted eyes watched Beatrix closely, like she was a form of entertainment.

  "Hands is okay, and Gadget too?" asked Beatrix, too tired to hide the desperation in her voice.

  The beast nodded, a slight smile revealing just the tips of his pointed canines. "Yes, we believe that's what you call subjects two and three, and they both have recovered well enough to be asking for you. Their Partners, sadly, didn't live through the ordeal."

  "Ha-hah! They kicked the slimy little bastards' asses!" crowed Beatrix, ignoring the darkening of her vision.

  The look on the beast's face was a strange mixture. His slight smile was still present, but his brow was creased and he reached up to touch the scar above his left eye. Then, his eyes scrunched up, he shook his head quickly, and made a wuffing sound through his lips. "Allergies," he said, idly pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at his black nose.

  "Was that a sneeze?" Beatrix asked, her left eyebrow and the left corner of her mouth quirking up.

  "Yes. Apologies, we really should go take our meds."

  Beatrix howled with laughter. "It sounded exactly like the cat we used to have when I was a kid. He was black like you too. We called him Josh."

  The beast turned up his lip in a snarl. "We will not be compared to some mangy house cat!"

  Beatrix only laughed that much harder, her vision darkening to the point that she thought she might pass out. "Oh, he wasn't supposed to be a house cat, he was supposed to be a barn cat. He was too ornery. We were afraid he'd attack the horses, so we had to keep him inside. You keep making the comparison easier and easier the longer you stand there."

  The beast huffed, stood up, and carefully folded his handkerchief, tucking it into the pocket of his fancy dark blue suit jacket. Dressed this way he looked much less like a killing machine and more like a businessman. He turned and stomped out of the room.

  "Bye, Josh," Beatrix called after him.

  The wooden door to her small white room clicked closed and she was alone and exhausted. One short conversation and she was wiped. How crappy was that? At least it had been a productive one. Her friends were alive and well and she'd annoyed the hell out of the beast. She decided to call him Josh from then on. It would be her little act of defiance, even while she intended to cooperate with her father's murderer. So long as her friends remained unharmed. Her plan had worked. She was on the other side of the bars. Now all she had to do was regain her strength and get back to the mansion.

  Her thoughts drifted and scattered like leaves on the wind, and the room went dark. Dreams took her to strange places. Josh was there, dressed in fine clothes, a red cape trimmed in fur hanging from his massive shoulders. It was even more amusing to call him Josh when he was dressed like that. He took a seat on a large chair at the end of a great hall. His face turned up to bask in a patch of sunlight, his eyes open to the barest of slits. Something glinted on top of his head. A crown of gold and silver.

  Somehow, that made sense, that he should be royalty. Something about the way he spoke. That thought drifted away as quickly as it came. The view shifted. Beatrix was no longer watching him from somewhere near the high ceiling. She was at eye level, watching herself come in through the grand entrance on the other side, dressed in the most beautiful yellow gown she had ever seen. Her hair and makeup were done to perfection, blue jewels circled her neck and dangled from her ears. Dark curls framed her face. Something about that bothered her. She longed to reach up and brush them away like they were snakes. Josh passed through her and stepped up to the beautifully dressed version of herself, his hand extended. To her horror, she watched herself take it, a slight smile playing at the corner of her lips.

  Music swelled from an alcove off to one side and then they were dancing. Josh moved with surprising grace for a creature of his size. Beatrix matched him stride for stride as if she had been made for dancing with Colarians, rather than murdering them. Her curls bounced merrily as she twirled.

  Beatrix, in her phantom state, watched in impotent fury as her well-dressed self had the time of her life. Finally, the song ended and the beast leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Phantom Beatrix held her breath, hoping that the dance was an act, that she would pull a knife from the folds of her voluminous dress and slash his throat. Instead she tilted her head back and laughed, the curls finally falling away from her forehead to reveal two bands of black flesh that trailed up into her hair. For just an instant her phantom self and her fancy self melted together into a confusing mix of emotions and sensation.

  The ballroom faded away, leaving her sitting upright in a bed of white linen. Her skin wa
s clammy and cold, causing her thin gown to cling to her body. Breaths came in ragged gasps as her hands checked every inch of her head and back for any trace of a symbiont. Her skin crawled as if it had a life of its own and wanted nothing to do with her body. It took all of her willpower not to tear the hair from her head to be certain that something wasn't hiding in it.

  While the sensations were hard to cope with, they were nothing compared to the emotional aftermath. For a moment she was inside that body, the one that danced and laughed with the beast. She was happy. With him. Without warning her stomach heaved. She barely had time to lean over the side of the bed to avoid soiling herself. She retched again and again, her stomach doing its best to turn itself inside out and climb up her throat. Mercifully, the strain was too much for her and she dissolved into unconsciousness, free from both thoughts and dreams.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The next few days were an exercise in futility. Most of them were spent sleeping, or, more accurately, unconscious. Every time she would wake up, Beatrix would push the limits of her strength until she passed out. At least now she was actually able to make it almost all the way across her small room. Somehow when she woke, she was always back in her bed, never having seen anyone put her back. It creeped her out the first time, when she realized a Colarian must have picked her up. After a lengthy discussion with herself, she decided it was better to keep pushing her limits.

  The next time she woke, Josh was back at her bedside. "Beatrix," he said, as usual. This time he had waited for her to wake, rather than calling her name until she did.

  "You're learning to let a lady sleep, Josh. That's more than our cat ever did. It's nice to know you're trainable. I may someday have a use for you."

  "Yes, and one day we may even learn to stop urinating in the potted plants," said Josh, his tone flat.

  Beatrix looked over toward the small potted tree in the corner of her room, her mouth hanging open in disgust, and then turned back to the beast. His grin was so genuine, she couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, but she quickly stifled it and schooled her face back to what she hoped was slightly annoyed. "And he has mastered the art of the juvenile joke. What next, leaving a dead bird at the door?"