Queenie's Brigade

An eRedSage Publishing Publication This book is a work of complete fiction. Any names, places, incidents, characters are products of the author‟s imagination and creativity or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is fully coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever is forbidden. Information: Red Sage Publishing, Inc. P.O. Box 4844 Seminole, FL 33775 727-391-3847 eRedSage.com

Queenie’s Brigade An eRed Sage Publication All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2011 eRedSage is a registered trademark of Red Sage Publishing, Inc. Visit us on the World Wide Web: http://www.eRedSage.com ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN:

9781603107136; 9781603107167; 9781603107150; 9781603107143;

1603107134 1603107169 1603107150 1603107142

Queenie‟s Brigade Queenie‟s Brigade Queenie‟s Brigade Queenie‟s Brigade

Adobe PDF MobiPocket HTML ePub

Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders of the individual works as follows: Queenie‟s Brigade © 2011 by Heather Massey Cover © 2011 by Lynn Taylor Printed in the U.S.A. ebook layout and conversion by jimandzetta.com

Queenie’s Brigade ***

Sometimes, heroes and heroines come from unexpected places—and they aren‟t always what they seem. Within Queenie’s Brigade, you‟ll discover high-octane action-adventure, a ragtag band of underdogs, and a take-no-prisoners romance between a noble starship captain and the wildcat woman he falls for.

Captain Michael Drake burns with desire upon seeing Queenie‟s endless parade of tight-fitting outfits, even while he knows that claiming her will have to wait until he can convince her to join him in the fight against alien invaders.

Prologue The hot afternoon sun beat down relentlessly against Mickey‟s head as he added the finishing touches to his mud fortress masterpiece. With seven towers, ten miniature die-cast cannons, and a muddy moat filled with dozens of plastic alligators—scratch that: dozens of flesh-eating Furious Fangers—the marauding troll mutants from the Black Swamp didn‟t stand a chance against the Mage Kings of Otherworld. Mickey shaped a handful of wild onions and mud with his grime-coated hands into a misshapen troll. Three of the bulbs formed eyes that bulged with just the right amount of menace. That was when he heard the scream. It came from the direction of the woods to his left. Shouts followed, punctuated by a bark of laughter. He cut a glance toward the tree line, but saw no one. Neighborhood kids, including Mickey himself, were always cutting through the heavily forested area next to his house for one reason or another. Years ago, it used to be a park—so Mickey had heard, but that was before his time. But now, it was a forgotten realm buried under overgrown weeds and unidentifiable hunks of rusty metal. He turned back to his troll. Another shriek echoed among the nearby trees. In the sudden silence that followed, Mickey remembered that his sister, newly sixteen last week and as bossy as ever, had entered the woods about twenty minutes earlier. With a bounce in her step, Celia had waved at Mickey with a quick “Going to Zaps.” Zaps was the new virtucade gaming emporium in the strip plaza that bordered the other side of the woods. The ads for it boasted top-of-the-line software, the same used on the ships of the new space navy. This was first class stuff. No ten-year-olds allowed much to his disappointment. 6

Queenie’s Brigade Curiosity drove him to investigate. Mickey dropped his troll-inprogress and headed for the woods. A time or two he‟d snuck up on groups of wild teens throwing even wilder parties in the thickest, most hidden parts. He wondered if one was starting now, and what pranks they would pull. A smirk twisted his lips at the thought of catching Celia doing something that would drive their mom berserk if she found out. I’m going to tell and you’re going to be in so much trouble! Slowly, carefully, Mickey navigated the thorny underbrush. Best to stay off the main path if he could. At first, he heard nothing to indicate whoever was around. But it didn‟t take long for a series of grunts to lead him to his destination. Breathing hard with anticipation, he inched toward the source of the sounds. He heard male voices now, harsh and conspiratorial. He headed for a clearing he knew lay about a hundred feet ahead. Staying low to the ground, Mickey crept around the trunk of a large tree whose gnarled roots provided more than adequate camouflage for a small boy like him. He looked into the clearing. His heart stopped. His blood turned to ice. Celia lay on the grass, surrounded by three very large and much older boys. Men, maybe. He‟d never seen them before. They were smoking. Drinking. Joking. A fourth man lay on top of her, moving like he was doing push ups. His pants were down around his ankles. Celia wasn‟t moving at all. Was it her scream he‟d heard earlier? It had been a girl‟s scream, he realized now. Mickey‟s mouth went instantly dry. If he was right about what he thought he was seeing, the situation was bad—horribly horribly bad. What should he do? What could he do? Run and get Mom? No, by then it‟d be too late for Celia. He had to get those men away from her. Fast. But how? Mickey frantically scanned the nearby ground. There had to be—yes, that! That‟s what he needed. His right hand closed around a large rock. He took aim and prayed he could hit his mark. He hurled the rock at the man on top of his sister. It smashed 7

into the side of his face with a sickening thump. Blood coursed down his cheek. Mickey didn‟t wait to see his reaction, but heard his violent cursing. Quickly, Mickey curled his hand around another rock. His heart pumped wildly and he slung the projectile at the next man. Missed. They saw him now. Swearing, the man on Celia rolled off of her. A look of pure rage covered his face as he yanked up his pants. The other three launched themselves toward Mickey. “You little shit,” the lead man said. Fury blazed in his eyes. “Get the fuck over here.” Mickey scooped up another rock and threw it backward as he ran. The stranger snarled and leapt forward. The chase was on. Stumbling through the thick underbrush, Mickey plunged back into the woods. He could only hope that all four men would follow him. They‟d attacked his sister, and they knew it was wrong. If they didn‟t catch Mickey they‟d be in a world of trouble. He leaped over a fallen, rotting tree splayed out over the ground. He had to get help as quickly as possible. As he tore through the woods, outstretched branches whipped against his face. Guilt sliced through him. Was Celia okay? Was he doing the right thing by leaving her behind? Even though she was bossy and a know-it-all at times, she was still his sister. The sight of her had shocked him. She‟d looked bruised and unconscious. What else could he have done? He had to try something. Tears burned his eyes. She had to be okay. She just had to be. The men charged after him, yelling nonstop threats as they advanced. Mickey was thin. He was younger and smaller than they, but he could run. And run he did, as if all the devils of Hell were on his heels. His lungs expanded painfully. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. A root caught his right foot, sending him face first into the ground. He scrambled up, wiping dirt and blood away from his eyes. A quick glance back revealed the men were gaining fast. He could hear them panting close behind him now. If they caught him, they‟d kill him. He was sure of it. 8

Queenie’s Brigade Mickey sprinted forward having no idea where he was going. The woods, once tame and familiar, loomed ahead of him like a vicious maw with ever-widening teeth. Until a clear chance of escape presented itself, he did the only thing he had any control over. He kept running and running and running. . . .

9

Chapter One The starship screamed ahead, fleeing from its pursuing wolves. Over two dozen enemy ships were hunting the destroyer UFE Relentless as it navigated a randomly chosen course far, far from home. Standing at his station on the bridge, Captain Michael Drake inhaled a deep, regretful sigh. With it came the odor of stale sweat, acrid smoke, and singed clothing. He rubbed a red-raw hand against his gravelly chin, wishing the action could wipe away the last ten years as well. It had been a very poor time to be alive. As he weighed one attack strategy against another, his bridge crew spewed damage reports left and right, a cacophony of strained voices. Drake cut a glance toward his overworked screen. Their destroyer had sustained heavy losses to the torpedo bays, the plasma cannons, the hull, the list stretched to infinity. Yet the anxiety evident in each of their voices wasn‟t so much about the damages, but the sad realization that Earth had been lost to them. They had nowhere left to run. That, and the fact that one more direct hit was all it would take for the entire 57-member crew to kiss oblivion. Looking back, this final battle for Earth‟s freedom was an exercise in futility. An act of final desperation. Sure, the fleet admiral and other captains might have labeled his retreat as a coward‟s errand. But they were all dead now, so Drake shunted the offensive thought aside. The crew of the Relentless and he were the last, and survival currently took precedence over pride. Survival had to come first now, because Earth‟s citizens were about to be subjected to the brutal lash of the Calithian Empire. What benefit would it serve if his ship was destroyed? The answer: Absolutely nothing. Life meant a chance for vengeance, something he intended to wring from every Calithian neck here today. If it meant burning the very heavens down around him to have that 10

Queenie’s Brigade satisfaction, so be it. So, the ship plunged ahead on his order, running and leaving their dead comrades behind. But living with that decision? That wouldn‟t be easy. Drake felt his fingernails bite and draw blood as he clenched his fists. Echoes of painful memories jolted him with their intensity. Memories of not being strong enough. Or fast enough. When his sister Celia had desperately needed him over two decades ago, he‟d failed her. Running was all he seemed to do well. Drake‟s eyes narrowed at the thought. He would make time for personal rebukes later. He forced his thoughts to the present. Failing Earth wasn‟t an option. Instead, he planned to return with a greater force and win back the planet before the inevitable massacre of the human race. Drake had to focus on that and that alone. Just what were his enemy counterparts on the pursuing ships thinking now? he wondered. Was this some sort of sport to them? He could only imagine those bastards‟ delight. The sore irony was that the Calithians shared the same DNA as humans. They looked human, and even shit and pissed like humans. It was only their eyes that betrayed their true nature, those blacker than black orbs that soullessly burned into you. Initial contact with them had gone well. Promises were made. Treaties were signed. But then on the eve of a particularly successful accord regarding formal integration, the Calithians had unleashed their collective might against Earth and her burgeoning colonies throughout the solar system and beyond. Death rained down on the planet, viciously and without respite. Peaceful relations wasn‟t their goal. It was Earth itself. Intelligence had delivered reports that the invaders sought another home world since theirs was perishing in the throes of an unstable core. They had targeted Earth for its proximity and relative compatibility. Apparently, the fact that it was already occupied meant nothing to them. Hastily assembled fleets were clearly outmatched by the Calithian armadas, which seemed to anticipate every move by the 11

United Forces of Earth. As the war raged across Earth‟s solar system, HQ couldn‟t train recruits quickly enough. Despite the patriotic enthusiasm of enlistees, the number of competent military personnel dwindled, which in turn resulted in undermanned vessels and higher casualty rates. Drake had witnessed far too many bloodbaths since that infamous day of betrayal. One way or another, it had to stop. Another salvo bombarded the Relentless, fired by one of the swift cruisers leading the enemy pack. Would this be the strike to do it? Would this end the planet‟s final hope right here? Drake grimaced as deep tremors reverberated throughout the hull, far too close to the auxiliary engines for his comfort. Damage reports flooded his command station. Entire sections, choking in toxic fumes, were now sealed shut. But, the more the enemy fired upon them, the more his resolve for revenge grew into a field of flames. That would have to wait, however. Now it was time to focus on survival. For his crew. For opportunities that would come later. Drake reviewed the new information routed by the sensors. He kept an eye on one display in particular: SARA. The Relentless possessed a notable difference from the other ships he‟d commanded. A hybrid prototype, its systems were boosted by an unusual energy source that the U.F.E. scientists had adapted from the single Calithian ship they‟d managed to capture intact. The obsidian device was small, about the size and shape of an ostrich egg. Its smooth surface was devoid of reflection and unbroken save for one connector module. Inside lay a power source, possibly fusion in nature, that could generate short bursts of seemingly omnipotent energy. As a result, the Relentless became the fastest ship in the U.F.E. Because of his impeccable record and veteran status—not to mention the fact that his previous command ship had nearly disintegrated after a particularly harrowing battle—Drake had been assigned to this new ship. Many hoped the device‟s discovery would provide an essential 12

Queenie’s Brigade shift of power in the war. This hope was reflected in its name. Officially, the device was named the 'Higgs-Boson Conversion Unit,' but every grunt referred to it as 'SARA, short for 'Saratoga,' the turning point in the American War of Independence. Despite the advantages, Drake occasionally wondered if it were a voracious parasite cannibalizing the ship from the inside out. SARA was unreliable at times, and would fry the Relentless‟ systems if not carefully monitored. Still, using it was a risk that had paid off more times than not. A series of green oscillating lines indicated that for now, at least, SARA appeared to be in order. Unfortunately, even an enhanced destroyer such as the Relentless couldn‟t continue outrunning twenty ships, or no. . . thirty, now. And the situation grew only worse. The main view screen revealed a barricade of enemy war ships beginning to unfold only three thousand kilometers ahead of them, along with another one above and below. Their cannon arrays would be useless against such dreadnaughts. This cold, hard revelation left no doubt. The time had come. “Cease firing immediately,” he ordered. McKinley, his artillery officer, stiffened. Numerous red warnings haloed her dark blue uniform as they blinked for attention behind her. From Drake‟s vantage point, her athletic figure gave the illusion of a cat poised to strike. She turned to face him. “Sir, you can‟t be serious. Before the battle started, you said we‟d fight to the end. Those were your exact words.” “You heard me. Rainier,” he said, addressing the helm, “Hit up SARA. Prepare to jump.” “What?” McKinley jumped to her feet, fists clenched. “We can‟t just abandon Earth like this!” Drake compressed his lips into a hard, grim line. It’s our only choice if we are to survive in one piece and return to fight another day. “I believe I gave an order, which means we‟re finished here. Return to your station, Lieutenant.” McKinley complied, though every inch of her body seemed to be screaming in protest. He understood her frustration. Drake didn‟t like feeling useless 13

any more than his crew did. “Destination, sir?” Rainier prompted, his voice weary, but hopeful. “As far away from Earth as possible,” Drake said. “A moon. Satan‟s ass. I don‟t care.” Rainier rubbed his bald head while consulting his screen. It was the man‟s telltale signature: He knew their lives depended upon his answer. It came quickly: “Copenhagen Station is as far as I recommend, given our status.” Drake searched his memory. “Trading hub, isn‟t it?” “Yes, sir. There‟s also an asteroid belt in the vicinity. There might be a pirate holdout or two, if we‟re lucky.” “Luck is for first-timers and fools. Just get us there in one piece.” Drake turned to Hayes, who signaled him from Communications. “What is it?” The officer‟s thick fingers flew across his multi-sectioned console. “I can run a false signature to minimize their ability to trace us. It will buy us some time, Captain. Can‟t say how much, but something is better than nothing.” Drake nodded. “Do it.” Immediately, the ship‟s energy flew to the task at hand. The bridge darkened. All of the screaming alarms grew silent. Only one section came to life, showing the first bar in a series of ten. This signaled the countdown to performing a jump. The second, then third bar, followed. A ghostly blue hue fell over everything. Long strings of data streamed around them, flickering past at impossible speeds as the computer made the necessary calculations. Drake frowned. This had better work. “T-minus twenty seconds to jump,” Rainier announced. Screens returned to life. The radar monitors lit up with what seemed like a million vicious pinpricks of light. McKinley swore. “Incoming!” Her frantic voice spilled into every corner of the bridge. “Too goddamn many to count!” Some among the crew hurled epithets at the enemy, while 14

Queenie’s Brigade others offered desperate prayers to any god in the vicinity. A steady hruuumm began, signaling energy buildup from the jump drive. Drake threw himself into his chair and clicked its harness into place. “Settle down, people. By the way, drinks are on me after the jump. Ah, what the hell. I‟ll throw in a five course meal, too.” Hayes snorted. “You gonna cook it for us personally, Cap?” “Damn right I will.” Drake grinned. “You‟d be amazed at what I can accomplish with boiled water.” A few strained chuckles reached his ears as the verbal chaos and tension eased a bit. Rainier continued the countdown. “Five. . . four. . . three. . . ” Drake eyed his screen. Two more bars to go before the jump. Several eternities seemed more like it. Tension knotted his muscles as he observed the fact that the next volley of enemy fire was due to hit the Relentless at the precise moment of the jump. Would they make it in time? A tingling pressure formed behind his eyes, a sensation he couldn‟t attribute to the pull of hyperspace. He reached toward his console, wanting to steal one last glance at Earth. But it was too late. “Two. . . one. . . ” I’ll see you again, old girl, even if I have to personally paint the entire galaxy red with the blood of every Calithian who’s violated you. Blinding light scoured the bridge, scorching his retinas. He braced himself for the jump, troubled by the thought that SARA might play havoc with the process at this crucial juncture. Periods of disorientation were normal for hyperspace jaunts, but the appropriated Calithian technology had introduced new, unsettling anomalies when interacting with the jump node. At first, Drake had attributed them to battle fatigue. He sighed. If only it were that simple. Moments after starting the jump, he glanced up from his console to order a status report, only to encounter his likeness in a mirror image, complete with chair and surrounding console. The 15

ghostly vision overlaid the bridge, partially obscuring it. With a start, Drake realized he was looking at an old, decrepit version of himself—like a mummified corpse. Dressed in a tattered uniform, his doppelganger stared back with a penetrating gaze, the haunting, empty depths cold and unsettling. Drake shuddered involuntarily. Was it a harbinger of things to come? Before he could look away, dozens of plasma fire bolts shot through the air between them, manifesting as prismatic light. Several beams sliced into Drake‟s hyperspace twin, shredding its body apart. More laser fire pierced its head, abruptly splitting the face into morbid, bloody thirds that drifted apart in excruciatingly slow motion. Or maybe it was himself under siege, and Death had proved the final victor. But he would probably never know the truth, because at that moment, blackness numbed all of his senses, leaving nothing but the cold dead silence of space in their wake.

16

Chapter Two Beep beep. Beep beep. Drake‟s first breath came sharp and fast, as if he had just narrowly escaped drowning. The second breath brought the realization that he was alive. His eyes snapped open. The bridge was intact, although now bathed in emergency lighting in order to conserve energy after the jump. He shook off the macabre hallucination he‟d recently witnessed and straightened his back. The beep beep persisted, a bleating alarm demanding attention like a neglected infant. “Report!” came his strangled croak. He cleared his dry throat and repeated the order more loudly. “A report. Now!” Chief Engineer Stewart recovered first. “Enviro is functional, Captain, but as for the rest. . . well, I recommend starting repairs as soon as possible.” Beep beep. “Fine. Can someone shut off that damned—thank you, Hayes.” The alarm went mercifully silent. “What about that false signature? Were you able to send it in time?” “Affirmative. But like I said, how much leeway that gives us—” “Understood,” Drake said, abruptly cutting him off. It was best for the crew that they weren‟t reminded of the enemy‟s coldblooded tenacity. Let them take their small victories as they received them. Still, the truth remained. They were living on borrowed time. It would only be so long before the Calithians could triangulate their actual location. An icy chill ran down his spine. Could the enemy track SARA‟s energy signature at this distance? He rubbed his chin. Best to keep that suspicion to himself for now. Drake wiped sweat from his eyes and tapped at his console to interface with the helm. Then reality hit him. Hard. Something was wrong with the configuration of the orbiting station outside the ship. It wasn‟t Copenhagen. “Rainier, that isn‟t—” 17

“I know, sir,” Rainier replied. “Working on a location ID. Something happened during the point of jump. A glitch of some kind.” Drake bit back a retort. A glitch, he calls it? Even glitches can lead to early deaths, and Earth still needs us. That damn SARA was probably to blame. Alien junk like that could be a Trojan horse of some sort. It couldn‟t be completely trusted. Ever. During the interim, he ordered reports from Medical. Five crew had been injured, thankfully none seriously. With only a third of the ship‟s normal complement, he could ill-afford to be down even one soldier. But what concerned him more was that a check of their malfunctioning shield generators revealed they‟d be vulnerable to attack if not attended to quickly. “Bloody hell!” Rainier muttered. “Is that your official report, Lieutenant?” Rainier turned around to face him. The navigator‟s dark skin almost blended into the shadows. “No, sir. But now I know where we are.” “Then spit it out.” “Hades Station, sir.” Drake frowned. “That‟s a prison outpost, isn‟t it?” “It‟s the gateway to a maximum security civilian penitentiary. The most remote one from Earth.” He consulted his chart. “Pelius system. One sun, four orbiting planets including Vardos 594-XL5. It‟s minimally habitable, but largely barren in the wake of a cataclysmic meteor strike several hundred years ago.” Rainier gestured toward the main screen. The image there captured a cylindrical orbiting station with a series of nested rings on top. “The prisoner processing station which you see here orbits the planet. Hades, the main correctional facility, is located on the largest continent in Vardos‟s northern hemisphere. There‟s an iron ore deposit west of the facility, so the surface mines were worked using convict labor.” Drake nodded at the report, which had jarred his memory regarding the prison‟s history of thriving gang warfare. He‟d been briefed on it at some point. 18

Queenie’s Brigade Hades confined the most ruthless of them all. But despite its heavily fortified structures, gang leaders regularly orchestrated criminal enterprises as well as brutal assaults upon their rivals. The prison break of ‟39 had resulted in so much carnage that it had required military intervention. “Anything else?” “Yes, Captain. Since the war began, HQ periodically pressed a few thousand of the most stable inmates from Hades into service for the U.F.E. starship penal companies.” Rainier cleared his throat. “Then they shut the penitentiary down. Our records don‟t include the last known contact, so it‟s unclear if anyone remained behind. However, if the same pattern held here as the other penitentiaries. . . well, I imagine the prisoner transport ships were commissioned for the war effort and so all traffic ended.” Drake swore under his breath. Had they stumbled upon a tomb? “Hayes, contact them immediately.” “Yes, sir.” Several minutes later, he reported no response. Stewart turned toward his captain. “The sensors are picking up that the station‟s systems are operational, including grav and enviro. There‟s no sign of any outward attack or damage.” “McKinley, any defenses?” She ran a hand through her spiky blond hair and snorted in disgust. “No sir. This place was built to cage the worst of the worst. That kind of muckshit isn‟t worth defending.” “Muckshit or not, they are still citizens of Earth,” he said. “You will refrain from such smears in the future.” “Yes, sir,” she said in a more subdued tone while turning back to her console. “After all, we‟ll need them against the Calithians when we return to kick their arrogant arses into early graves.” He smiled wickedly. “Right?” McKinley gave a quarter turn, smiling gleefully as realization dawned about his new plan. “Yes sir! Duly noted, sir!” “All right, everyone, listen up! We will board the station and clear it first. I want Medical on standby in the event of survivors. If we‟re alone, I want an inventory of every available resource. Once we have control of the station we can concentrate on repairs to the 19

ship. Rainier, locate a suitable place for us to dock, preferably near the top.” “Yes, sir!” Because the station‟s communication array was apparently down or disabled—or simply unattended because no one was there—a manual docking was required. Drake pulled up a schematic of the station. Utilitarian in design, it possessed two exterior docking berths for the prison transport ships and five interior landing bays for shuttle craft. Since the planet‟s surface lacked a spaceport, he surmised that shuttles had been used to transport prisoners from the processing station to the correctional facility. Rainier turned to face him. “Sir, I recommend we dock at berth A-100. From there, we can extend an airlock passage over to the hatch. We‟ll then enter the station through one of the prisoner processing areas on the second deck.” Drake nodded his approval. “Agreed. Take us in.” The Relentless sped toward Hades Station. In the meantime, Drake assigned a detail to attach the ship to the berthing clamps. Like all orbiting stations, Hades drew on a power core that would last over a hundred years. It was the best sanctuary they could hope for under the circumstances. But food might be another story. If the transport ships had indeed stopped coming, where did that leave the food supply? If there were any inmates or guards, had they succumbed to starvation? Drake clenched a fist while envisioning the casket of horrors they might soon uncover. ***** One hour later, Drake stood with his ten-member reconnaissance team inside the pressurized airlock passageway, which stretched across to the station‟s pitted hull. He watched intently as one of his engineering technicians attached a 'Little Jojo'—a small, electronic device used for one purpose only, cracking security. An array of lights blinked on the circular device as encryption codes fell one by one. This would unlock the exterior 20

Queenie’s Brigade hatch. Of course, the device was illegal to own, even for above-board military. But every smart-thinking captain kept one handy, if he wanted to live. Luckily, the resistance from this vantage would be minimal, as the structure‟s architecture was meant to keep its occupants from breaking out, not outsiders from breaking in. Initial scans, conducted within the safety of the ship, confirmed the breathable atmosphere. Therefore, Drake had ordered his team to don full battle gear instead of ‟viro suits. According to Stewart, the grav pods were operating at approximately 97% efficiency. Not bad for an abandoned station. But even under those conditions, could anyone still be here? That unsettling thought lingered longer than he preferred. “Helmets on and visors down everyone.” As clear, protective visors that covered three-quarters of their faces clicked into place, he added, “Let‟s hope for the best and prepare for the worst.” “Sir, we have access,” the tech reported as she packed away her equipment. “Draw weapons,” Drake ordered. Then he nodded at her. “Open it.” As instructed, the tech pushed against the hatch. It swung inside with an audible hiss. Darkness met them. McKinley entered first, hefting her Lotus 2000 plasma rifle. The bright white light from her scope darted about, piercing the gloom. The remainder of the team followed suit, their boots generating soft thumps on the deck‟s metal plating. Seconds after Drake entered the station, the odor of stagnant air invaded his nostrils. Its sour flavor echoed the growth of fungus and mold taking root in dark places. He suspected not only a lack of a maintenance department, but also a deficiency of filters and chemicals used to treat recycled water and air. But the olfactory nuisance was hardly their main obstacle. They had to determine if the station was uninhabited, and do so quickly. He wasn‟t about to let Earth down merely because some jumpy lone survivor didn‟t appreciate uninvited guests. With twenty decks and hundreds of cells, offices, and living 21

quarters, there was much ground to cover. And at this point, Drake didn‟t have the energy to even think about the nightmare of canvassing the correctional facility on the planet‟s surface. “Split off now,” he ordered. According to a pre-conceived plan, they divided into pairs to scout ahead. Drake surveyed the area quickly. The infrastructure‟s design suggested that personnel had been able to process dozens of incoming prisoners in rapid succession. Multiple checkpoints partitioned each section. Remote controlled doorways prompted a tedious pattern of waiting as his team employed electronic overrides or simply forced their way through. One long, narrow room yielded the discovery of various storage units, probably for restraints, riot control gear, and other supplies. But they had been breached some time ago. Their scarred green doors yawned wide open to reveal empty interiors. As the team advanced, they navigated various tools and broken parts of unknown objects that lay strewn about the deck. Drake made a circuit of one of the larger rooms, which turned out to be a collection of smashed monitoring equipment. What a waste. Minutes later, they regrouped in the last section. McKinley gave the thumbs up. She then took position by the entryway connecting the processing suite to the first inner ring. Mirroring McKinley was Rubin, a stocky stone of a man. The rest took cover around corners or behind partitions. The double doors of the entryway were wide open. Twisted metal with jagged edges indicated someone with very powerful equipment had previously wrenched them apart. However, a few sensors obviously still functioned as deckhead lights had activated upon their approach, spilling illumination across the threshold from beyond. Drake eyed the opening suspiciously. An ambush wasn‟t out of the question, so caution was essential at this point. While McKinley assumed a defensive stance, Rubin stepped toward the door, weapon raised to shoulder height. He eased the barrel of his gun through the opening. A few seconds later, he motioned for the rest to follow. 22

Queenie’s Brigade Like an eel rippling through still, deep waters, Drake‟s team slipped into the corridor beyond. Standard station lighting bathed their actions in a pasty shade of white. Weapons raised, they canvassed the area, eyes trained ahead and behind to where the corridor curved out of sight. Moments later, McKinley gave another thumbs up. The team swept forward, darting into one chamber after another. Gray dust coated every surface and lingered heavily in the air where their booted feet disturbed it. Perhaps they were alone after all. If that were so, what had the station personnel done with the remaining prisoners, assuming they hadn‟t drafted them? Drake made a fist. For all he knew, he and his crew could be Earth‟s only survivors. Pushing the harrowing thought aside, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. This endeavor, at least, offered some measure of control. After clearing about a third of the inner ring, Drake decided to split the team again in order to speed up the operation. But first, a short break. Most of them had been without sleep for over thirtysix hours and that kind of exhaustion bred too many mistakes. They needed rest immediately. He ordered a ten minute respite. Their heavy helmets came off one by one. Keeping weapons within easy reach, the team spread out along one wall to squat or sit. They broke out rations and chugged water from canteens. Few spoke. From their grim expressions, Drake guessed the recent defeat weighed heavily on all of their shoulders. He cleared his throat while pointedly studying their surroundings. “You know, with a little tender loving care, this place could actually be rather nice.” McKinley cut him a wary look while raising a brow. “Sir?” He gestured toward the opposite bulkhead, an arch expression on his face. “Use your imagination, Lieutenant. A few coats of paint, some lacy curtains—” “Hadji Jalili rugs everywhere,” Rubin interjected. Drake nodded his approval. “Now that‟s the spirit.” McKinley snorted. “When did you become such a rug expert?” Rubin smirked. “Wouldn‟t you like to know.” 23

“Tropical birds, definitely,” Gauthier added, a little too loudly and with so much enthusiasm that more than a few of his companions laughed outright. Ennis leaned toward him with a leer. “They‟re pretty to look at, sure, but then they‟d shit all over the curtains and rugs and then where would you be?” As his crew exchanged further good-natured retorts, Drake sat and closed his eyes for a moment. Only then did he realize just how tired he was. He rolled his shoulders to unknot the tension. If only he could sleep for several hours. But he knew it wasn‟t possible. They had to fully search the station. As the team lapsed into companionable silence, Drake thought he heard something. It sounded like. . . whistling. The hairs on the back of his neck spiked sharply even as disbelief flooded his mind. He cocked his head. The low, casual sound of whistling now registered fully in his ears, and it was an irritatingly jaunty tune at that. What the hell? Had one of his officers bugged out? “Stop that nonsense immediately!” he snapped. His gaze met ten bewildered faces. “Sir?” inquired McKinley. Drake realized none among his team was the culprit. But the sound came again, issuing from perhaps fifty meters ahead. It was growing increasingly louder. Drake scowled. One thing was clear. He was wrong in his assumption. They weren‟t alone. He had expected filth, maybe even piles of corpses. But whistling? Ten-hut! he hand-signaled, using the U.F.E.‟s special code. We have company. The team barely needed his prompting. Silently, they all assumed defensive positions within nearby rooms or pressed up against the bulkhead alongside the inner curve. Weapons were primed and cocked. Footsteps now accompanied the whistling, echoing along the corridor‟s gray walls. Drake gripped his Q57 automatic tightly and peered ahead. The mystery whistler came strolling into view. It was a brownhaired man dressed in a rumpled guard uniform, gray with 24

Queenie’s Brigade midnight blue stripes along the sleeves and trousers. A frayed Hades insignia dangled precariously from his left shoulder. Those were all the details Drake noticed before McKinley shot out from a dark room just as the man passed it. Her movements were a blur as she launched toward him. “Halt!” She shoved the barrel of her Lotus against the man‟s jugular. Rubin patted him down for weapons. Drake faced the whistler as the remaining seven provided additional cover. The man threw up both hands. “Oh, hey, I didn‟t do it!” His nervous chuckle followed the announcement. Despite his gaunt, unshaven appearance, he had a detached, almost curious gaze. “Who are you people?” “Identify yourself!” McKinley barked. “The name‟s Royster. Kevin Royster. I, uh, I work here.” Drake stepped forward and flipped up his visor. “I‟m Captain Michael Drake of the UFE Relentless. Why didn‟t you respond to our hail?” Royster wetted his cracked lips. “Good question, Captain. Didn‟t know you were on our doorstep. We‟ve been having trouble off and on with the communications equipment. Mostly off. Meaning it hasn‟t been working right in, oh, I‟d say about a year now. Same with the sensors.” Royster eyed McKinley, then her weapon. “Ah, there‟s only a handful of us guards left since the last transport ship departed, Captain Drake sir.” “Where are the others?” “The usual places. Sixty-eight are at the surface facility monitoring the inmates. The remaining fifteen are here aboard the station.” Drake considered the numbers. Once trained, the eighty-three personnel would boost his crew by a considerable amount. “What about the inmates?” “They‟re still incarcerated in the main facility on Vardos. So, ah, is that what you needed to know?” Drake raised a brow, hesitant to trust the man just yet. “Meaning?” Royster chuckled again. “Meaning all this attention is making 25

me nervous. You‟re the first crew we‟ve seen in over a year. I‟d be happy to give you the grand tour if you care to, ah, have your beautiful tigress release me.” He winked at McKinley and grinned, flashing a landscape of chipped teeth. “Sir.” The grin lapsed into a grimace when McKinley shoved her Lotus harder against his neck. Something niggled at the back of Drake‟s mind, but the specific thought eluded him. He stared at the man long and hard. “This station is in appalling disrepair, Mr. Royster, as is your uniform. What happened here?” Royster shrugged. “Time, man. That and the war. They just forgot about us all the way out here.” An edge crept into his tone. “Anything else you want to know?” Drake hesitated and then motioned for McKinley and the others to stand down. “No, I suppose not.” The man could hardly be a font of information, stuck in no-man‟s land as he was. It was time to move on. “Much obliged,” said Royster, rubbing his arms vigorously. “Guns in my face tend to give me the jitters.” His face brightened. “So, did we win? Is that why you‟re here?” Drake debated how much to tell him. Perhaps a delay tactic was in order. “We‟ll discuss the war later. How about that tour?” “Sure, man. . . I mean, Captain. I‟ll take you to the first-deck mess. It‟s all dry rations now, but we‟ve found some ways to get creative.” Drake nodded, and then tapped his helmet comm. “Bridge, this is Drake. Did you get all of that? We‟ve made contact with a surviving guard who reports there are others, including inmates. Have a med detail report to our position once we reach the mess. The rest of you are to await further orders, and remain vigilant. Drake out.” Gesturing to the guard, he said, “Mess or no, let‟s start at the top.” “This way, Captain.” Royster turned and led them onward. They took an industrial-sized lift up to the first deck. After several minutes of winding through the station‟s maze of corridors, Royster pushed at a set of double doors that squeaked obstinately as they opened. 26

Queenie’s Brigade “Where exactly are the other guards, Mr. Royster?” Drake asked as they entered the mess. McKinley strode in on his right while the rest of the team trailed them. “Right here, sir,” Royster said. The guard walked ahead to the immense food service area. This room showed obvious signs of habitation. Drake frowned. The staggeringly deep piles of refuse scattered about resembled a vagrant‟s paradise. The accompanying smell as he drew closer confirmed this. “By „right here‟ you mean on this deck?” Drake inquired. “No, I mean right here.” Royster turned back to face them and spread both arms. “Welcome to Hades Penitentiary, Captain Drake!” Chack. Chack. Chack. The unmistakable sound of weapons being armed reverberated everywhere. McKinley swore. Drake stopped cold, hearing movement all around him. Bodies emerged from countless hiding places—counters, storage units, even piles of garbage. Several dropped down from openings in the deckhead. More rushed through other entrances. Of all the fucking bad luck. Drake snarled upon realizing he had just made the most goddamn stupid mistake in his entire career. McKinley‟s angry shout of protest echoed throughout the room, but then something cut it off. A raging mob of dirty faces and drawn weapons surged forward. Drake reached for his Q57 automatic. As he toppled beneath the weight of countless attackers, he fired off two, maybe three shots before one of them wrestled the weapon away. Pummeling fists followed, crashing into his gut, chest, and legs. His neck wrenched with a sharp pain as a set of thick hands forced his helmet off. Blow after blow rained down upon his face. Blood ran thickly, flooding his nostrils and mouth. Drake felt himself slipping away. Even so, the last piece of the puzzle clicked in his mind seconds before unconsciousness transported him to dimensions unknown. The guards were here, all right, only they weren‟t guards at all. They were the inmates, and they held full control of the station. 27

Chapter Three Minutes—or was it hours?—later, Drake awoke to an onslaught of pain radiating throughout his entire body. He felt as though he had been turned inside out and rubbed across steel spikes. The hard cot upon which he lay only compounded his discomfort. But even those sensations paled beside the return of his memories from the recent attack. First in brief flashes, then in steady pulses, and then finally in a crashing, furious wave. Relief flooded him that he wasn‟t dead, but. . . .What the hell? They must have the ship by now. What’s happened to my crew? And why did they bother keeping me alive? The questions faded, though, when Drake noticed something else—a presence nearby. A warmth. As he inhaled, a rich, almost too-sweet scent permeated his senses despite the odors of dirt and dried blood. He cracked open one eyelid, followed by the other, and found himself facing a set of thighs beyond a barrier of pale green metal bars. Female thighs. Braced apart, their sensuous lines were bound in a pair of tight black pants. Drake had to know more. He groped and clawed his way into a sitting position. The sight tore away his breath. Standing outside his cell was some kind of feral goddess, an Amazonian warrior from the land of myths. She was tall, dark haired, and curved like a nymph. Black hair flowed wildly, a tumultuous river of glossy tresses extending down to her hips. These hips were crisscrossed with two gunbelts, fiercely accessorized. Her dark clothes stretched tightly everywhere except her torso, where they exposed a dangerous amount of ample cleavage. Deep brown eyes regarded him brazenly, expression guarded. Yet her silent study of him betrayed her curiosity. How long had she been standing there, watching him? More importantly, who was she? 28

Queenie’s Brigade Behind her, five swarthy men stood in a row. Though their clothing appeared mismatched and threadbare, each bore weapons ranging from daggers to handguns to rifles strapped to their limbs and backs. Their eyes promised death. Despite the dour welcoming committee, perhaps now Drake would discover the answer to his questions. Perhaps he could leverage his life into some kind of hope for his crew, if they were still alive. Perhaps. But the sight of the stunning woman suddenly left him bereft of thought. He tried to shake this unfamiliar feeling off, no doubt a result of his lingering exhaustion. Irate at such a piss-poor performance, he rose to full height. Ignoring the pain and his swollen left eye, he bore himself as he would aboard the bridge of his ship. He crossed his arms, displaying muscles sculpted from years of combat training. “I‟m Captain Michael Drake of the UFE Relentless,” he said in his customary rumble. “Who are you?” “I‟m the woman who wants your ship‟s codes,” the stranger said, her husky voice laced with threat. “And I‟m the woman who‟s going to get them. You don‟t need to know more than that.” Ah! So that‟s why he was still among the living. They had failed to discover the necessary operational codes. No easy task given the sophisticated measures that had been developed over the course of the war. Even a Little Jojo couldn‟t crack that kind of security. Drake relished the extra time this revelation bought him. He cocked a brow. “You didn‟t answer my question.” “You noticed that, huh?” She smiled coldly, inadvertently riveting his attention to her sensuous lips. “Codes first.” Lips abruptly forgotten, Drake snorted. “Why? So you can curry favor with your leader? Tell the coward to show himself.” Snickers reverberated around them, trying Drake‟s threadbare patience. “What‟s so damn funny?” Guffaws, now. Drake tuned them out and concentrated on the woman. Bemusement saturated her features, softening them in a way Drake would have found attractive had they simply met at a bar. But they hadn‟t. And her reaction elicited a geyser of anger 29

within him. What was she hiding? The woman spoke again. “They‟re laughing, my dear capitán, because I’m their leader.” The laughter behind her increased, a jarring counterpoint to her cold-blooded stare. Then, a swiftly raised hand ended the snickering of her entourage like the flip of a switch. Eyes narrowed, she set her sights on Drake once again. “So, the codes. Now. Entienda?” “Even if I had the slightest inclination to hand them over— which I don‟t, by the way—why do you need them?” The woman tsked. “Why do you think you‟re entitled to any of my answers?” “For the same reason you think you‟re entitled to my codes.” A devious glint lit her eyes as she approached the bars. “I see you enjoy playing games.” Hooking a finger in the air, she motioned him closer. “I like playing games, too.” Was she about to take him into her confidence? Drake positioned himself as near to her as the bars would allow. There were flecks of gold in her eyes he hadn‟t noticed before and probably shouldn‟t be noticing now. Face to face, their breaths mingled as he awaited her next words. “I like chess. Poker. Mahjong.” She delivered a slow, saucy wink. “No matter what the game, I always win.” Upon realizing he‟d been had, Drake scowled. “We don‟t have time for your games,” he shot back. “Do you even realize what‟s at stake here?” Her voice lowered ominously. “More than you could possibly understand.” She shook her head slowly. “Oh military man, how you‟ve been brainwashed.” Drake strained to think even as her nearness played havoc with his thoughts. How had this scenario played out? These people had been imprisoned for years. Many of them had been forced to serve in the war. After the ships stop coming, they scheme, riot, and overpower the station personnel. But they can‟t leave. They‟re stuck, left to die. Then a fancy destroyer suddenly shows up. The Relentless is their passage to freedom—or so they think. We didn’t make it this far only to hand over humanity’s last chance to a 30

Queenie’s Brigade bunch of shiftless cons. He sighed irritably. “Stop fucking around. I‟m not going to hand them out like candy. State your conditions.” Her eyes grew a little wider just then, filled with an emotion Drake couldn‟t quite read. Embarrassment? But it disappeared so quickly he now doubted he‟d even seen it.“If you insist.” Slowly, her full lips spread in a malevolent smile as she turned to speak over her shoulder. “Ramirez, bring the prisoner.” “Sure thing, Queenie.” The man sped off down the hall. ‘Queenie’, is it? “Well, „Queenie,‟ I need confirmation on my crew‟s safety first. Then we‟ll talk.” Humming, Queenie merely flipped her hair back. Her calculated stare continued. Drake cursed silently. It was devastating enough that humans had to battle invaders. Now they were back to fighting each other. Who was this Queenie? While waiting for her man to bring the prisoner, presumably one of his crew, Drake alternated his gaze between his opponent and her entourage. It was a study in contrasts. Where they appeared unkempt, scarred, and haggard, she appeared healthy, glowing, and well fed. The discrepancy intrigued him. What qualities did a person require in order to command an entire prison population? Leadership, of course. Discipline. Intelligence and a strong grasp of politics, relevant to the context of gangs and gang warfare. Given the combined criminal histories of such inmates, her accomplishment was staggering. What drove her? Drake burned to know all of those facts and other things he couldn‟t quite determine at the moment. But all of this speculation fled as Ramirez returned, escorting a black haired woman in tow. She‟d been beaten. Badly. Gods, no! Drake felt an all-too familiar shock upon seeing the Relentless‟s Chief Medical Officer Sasha Chiyoko. He surged forward, hands fisted. “Let her go, Queenie. Sasha‟s a doctor for God‟s sake. She‟s done nothing to you.” As if she hadn‟t heard, Queenie nodded to her men. One of 31

them withdrew a clamp-like tool with several rows of vicious metal teeth. It was probably used for mining. Drake blanched at the thought of what it could do to the human body. To Sasha. “That may be. But whether she walks, crawls, or is carried away, it happens because of you. So the codes, por favor. Now.” “Captain,” Chiyoko rasped, “don‟t give it to them. The things they‟ve done. . . the crew. . . . ” Queenie slapped her, and then set her sharp gaze upon Drake as he watched one of her thugs attach the tool to Sasha‟s right hand. A sickening crack split the air as one of her finger bones broke under the pressure. Blood splattered onto the deck while Sasha paled and choked back a scream. “We are over one thousand strong,” Queenie murmured, as if speaking for his ears alone. “We have many creative ways of extracting information. Please, capitán, encourage us to continue. We detest boredom above all else.” “Stop this butchery! There‟s something you should know. We‟ve lost the war, Queenie. My ship. . . my crew. . . we barely escaped from the last battle. And while we sit here wasting time, without a doubt an entire fleet is plotting our destination and our destruction.” He paused a moment to see if his words registered at all. But if they did, Drake couldn‟t tell. Clearly, she needed more convincing to pierce that thick head of hers. “Let me ask you this—to all of you here—are you prepared to fight off dozens of Calithian warships? Because that‟s the number we were facing before the jump, and despite our precautions, that‟s exactly the number that‟ll likely be showing up right here on your doorstep ready to follow you into Hell.” She spat. “Ha! That‟s an obvious lie. Why are you really here? You‟ve gone AWOL is more like it. You don‟t care about us. The U.F.E. never has.” Queenie nodded for the torture to continue. “You‟ll have to come up with a much better story than that if you‟re going to convince me. Starting with the codes—now!” Drake‟s skin crawled as another of Sasha‟s finger bones cracked. The doctor‟s face twisted in pain. To end the torture and convince 32

Queenie’s Brigade Queenie of the truth, he had to think and act fast. Her words seemed to indicate that she wanted to change her mind despite what her bravado said. He decided to go with that assumption. “It‟s true. We‟re here because we‟re the last. The Calithians decimated every fleet. Take me to the ship and I will personally show you the data.” “The codes.” Drake‟s brow furrowed as Sasha‟s resistance began crumbling with fearful sobs. Only years of military discipline kept his voice calm. “Where are you going to jump to? They‟ve destroyed every colony known to them, and it‟s unlikely even the outlaw bases survived. If I let you fly that ship back to Earth, you‟ll only be killed. Torturing my crew isn‟t going to solve anything. Don‟t be an idiot.” She turned a withering gaze on him, hands perched on her hips. “Only an idiot would allow military assholes like you to order them around. Didn‟t you sacrifice enough of us already? I‟m not going to let it happen again. You can have the station if you want. As for us, we‟re leaving.” She pointed to Sasha‟s face. Three of her men restrained the doctor while another pressed the device against her cheek. Queenie cocked her head. “Your move.” Drake had to end this charade. If he didn‟t, the Calithians would once they discovered Hades. Ship or no ship, he reasoned they‟d need every able body in order to defend the station and colony against the invaders. He knew the stakes, and respected them, even if this woman didn‟t. Drake sucked in a breath as Queenie‟s earlier statement returned with a vengeance. We are over one thousand strong. Earth could use someone like her and the potential army she commanded. If only he could convince her that she was fighting the wrong battle! Hope surged through him, bolstering him with its strength. With his military experience and her might, they would make a potent team to win back Earth. He rubbed his chin for a moment. And Celia could rest in peace. 33

But Queenie obviously felt angry about past military exploitation. So he‟d have to give her something of value if he were to start earning her trust. The risk was huge, but he couldn‟t afford to gamble humanity‟s future away. So just like he had before, Drake made his decision—right choice or not. In a low, steady cadence, he began to relay the codes. One string of letters and numbers for each station on the bridge, one to access the ship‟s security system, another for Environmental, three separate ones for Engineering. Queenie snapped an order to halt the torture. She gestured for one of her men to capture the information on a thin datapad. He missed the first few codes, but Drake repeated them with a stony expression. After he finished, two of the men dragged Sasha away. Drake grabbed the bars. “Queenie, we need to talk.” She turned to him with an incredulous expression even as her eyes betrayed her interest. “About what?” “The future. Earth‟s future. We‟re the only ones left who can save her.” He extended a hand through the bars, inviting her to shake on his proposition. “But we‟ll only succeed if we join forces.” “Your military propaganda isn‟t going to work this time.” Lips pursing, Queenie blew him a mock kiss. “Enjoy your new home, my dear capitán. You‟re going to be here for a very long time.” Then she strode away, swept along by her gang of subordinates. Silence fell, as crushing as the most recent defeat. Drake stared ahead, his clenched jaw the only outward sign of his rage. But though he was furious with Queenie over what she had done, he was more furious with himself. She‟d been right to mock him. What kind of captain was he? Two surrenders in one day. And now cosmic justice had been served in the form of solitary confinement, perhaps for the remainder of his life. Drake had only one response for that. “Then I‟ll see you in hell, bitch.”

34

Chapter Four Hours passed, one indistinguishable from the next. Initially, Drake spent most of them sleeping. His injuries demanded it. There was no way to keep track of time since he‟d been stripped of everything except his uniform. Every communication and emergency device with which he had entered the station were gone, probably dispersed among the inmates or hoarded by Queenie in her dragon‟s lair. Even his rank insignia was missing, ripped crudely away. Eventually, hunger and thirst made sleep impossible. It was just as well the latrine didn‟t function properly because he had nothing to contribute to the stained metal basin. Dried blood made him itch like hell and he had acquired a second skin of pure grime. But, all of those superficial inconveniences were nothing compared to the fate of Earth‟s citizens. Drake was getting out of here, period. His goal was the same as it had always been for the last ten years: defeat the Calithians. He began plotting scores of possible attack and infiltration scenarios, at least, when he wasn‟t listening for signs of Queenie‟s return. If she ever did. Soon after an hour of fitful sleep during one of the interminably long stretches, a dark-haired inmate with a missing ear showed up, bearing a dry nutrient bar and several ounces of water. He slid the bar and cup through a slot designed for that purpose. The man‟s appearance surprised him. Had Queenie taken the ship with only a select few, abandoning the rest? The prospect disgusted him. Yet at the sight of the bar, he couldn‟t ignore his sharp hunger pains. Drake pounced upon the fare more quickly than he intended. However, after going so long without eating, he felt full after just a few bites. He set it down on the cot, intending to save it for later. “Hell, no!” exclaimed his “guard.” “Eat the whole thing now or 35

I‟ll bust out your teeth when I ram it down your throat.” Wary of inviting another display of torture, Drake dutifully consumed the remainder. Catching a stray crumb upon his finger, he ate that, too. “Concerned about my state of nourishment, are you? Touching.” The solid stock of his visitor‟s gun crashed against the bars, sending tremors across the entire cell block. “Queenie ordered you people to be kept alive. She don‟t like waste, that‟s all.” Whether he meant wasting people or food, Drake wasn‟t sure. The guard left before he could ask for clarification. But the unexpected revelation gave him food for thought even as the nutrient bar took the edge off his undernourished state. Interesting. The she-devil understands we might still be useful, even if she doesn’t exactly know for what purpose. At least I know the crew’s still alive. That’s something. Drake chewed on this confirmation, scant as it was, until the guard came again, by his best judgment, about ten hours later with another bar and more water. Calmly, he asked about Queenie‟s whereabouts, thinking a respectful tone might yield more information. It didn‟t. Shortly thereafter, the lights dimmed. Unable to sleep, Drake paced the cell, ruminating on every detail about Queenie he had learned so far. Despite her ruthless nature, she was hiding something about herself she didn‟t want him to discover. Then he stopped ruminating, because by now it was very possible that she had jumped the Relentless to heaven knew where. The thought burned away at him. He couldn‟t allow yet another criminal to get away with her crime. There had to be a way to break out of this cell. But how? Celia. Eventually, he retreated to his cot and slept because it was the only way to escape the painful memories of failure and defeat. Something in the nutrient bar must have affected his mind, because Drake dreamed about Queenie. She was very naked, and very wet. He was discovering all kinds of interesting things about her body, like how it would feel to slide his hands over her waist 36

Queenie’s Brigade and hips. But he didn‟t get as far as he would have liked because in actuality she was shaking him awake. Drake‟s eyes flew open. Both of Queenie‟s hands fisted his shirt. She looked furious. Beneath it, however, he detected a layer of fear. Fully roused now, he pushed her away and stood. “What‟s wrong?” “Bastardo!” Queenie shouted, and punched the wall of taut muscles stretched over his stomach. Nothing yielded. Then, as if he had missed the point, she hit him again, only this time she targeted his mouth. Drake took the blow. Queenie stepped back, flexing her hand. The pain, too fresh atop his previous injuries, hurt like the bastard she had just accused him of being. He considered defending himself until he noticed three of her goons right behind her. Blood pooled in his mouth. Drake spit it out and then leveled his gaze toward her. “Care to discuss it like civilized people? I mean, if that‟s possible with you.” She jabbed a finger toward him. “Your fucking destroyer is too damaged. We never made it off the station.” Heh. Good. Drake tested his sore cheek with a fingertip. “Too damaged, or you didn‟t know how to repair it? Perhaps now you‟ll believe my story. If not, the battle scoring on the ship‟s exterior could tell it better, if only you‟d listen.” “Fuck you. Why didn‟t you tell me it wasn‟t capable of flight?” Sarcasm bubbled from his throat. “You could have asked, you know.” A rock-solid roundhouse punch from Queenie connected with his lower jaw. The force of the hit knocked him back onto the cot. It took Drake several minutes to regain composure, and he remained seated lest she interpret any movement as retaliation. But he refused to be silenced. “Damn it! We‟re just wasting time here. How is beating the living shit out of me going to help?” Queenie was panting, and Drake found himself distracted by the unexpected repercussion. One of her breasts had spilled free, the large brown nipple scandalously taut. The repercussion 37

extended to places of his anatomy that had no right to respond, especially under these dire circumstances. But the war and the need to survive had unleashed a primal instinct he wasn‟t sure he could control for much longer—certainly not with Queenie around. Adrenaline raced through him. Only one step forward would bring his mouth in solid contact with that breast. One step to reclaim what the war had cost him. He had joined the U.F.E. so that the people of Earth could continue to live in peace, fall in love, and expand their reach into the galaxy. Until now, that had been enough. He‟d never given any thought to a relationship for himself. There simply hadn‟t been time. But he hadn‟t counted on meeting someone like Queenie. The irony of her being a con didn‟t escape him. Still, the fact that she was here fueled his initial hypothesis that perhaps Fate had forced them together for a reason. Once he could rally her to his cause, they might have time for other things. The corner of his mouth curved upward before he could stop it. Catching the line of his gaze, Queenie adjusted her shirt, but she couldn‟t conceal the flush sweeping up her neck. Marching toward him, she grabbed his jaw with her right hand and squeezed. Hard. Drake felt her sharp nails biting into his cheeks. She leaned into him, but whether she meant to intimidate or seduce, he wasn‟t sure. Queenie was a study in contrasts, all right. Her punches were hard, but her body felt soft. “I‟ll tell you,” she began, staring hard into his eyes. “You and your crew will repair the ship. I know a few things about operating a starship and so do my people, so if there is any attempt to sabotage the repairs, and I do mean any—” here she paused to draw a dagger and laid the sharp edge against his throat, “—there will be consequences.” Her eyes glinted. “Starting with your dear Sasha.” She pressed down upon the knife while running her tongue across her lower lip. Even in the low light of the cell, it glistened. “Or maybe you,” she added, her voice husky beyond measure. Queenie bore down upon him, a knee at his crotch. The contact 38

Queenie’s Brigade made his insides tighten with anticipation. Her unpredictability was like a drug he couldn‟t quit. It would be a very ill-advised strategy to act on his next thought. But by then, reason had become an alien concept. Keeping his gaze on hers, he reached out a hand, but slowly in order to avoid the attention of her men. Then he palmed her inner right thigh, caressing the firm flesh for a few stolen moments. Queenie‟s theatrics vanished, leaving a startled expression on her face. He heard her breath catch. At first she remained still, but then she leaned into his touch, eyes half-lidded. The action caused her knee to knife painfully against his crotch, and the hand at his jaw never wavered, but he didn‟t care. He slipped his hand higher, his fingers pressing against the warmth of undoubtedly forbidden territory. Pain slipped into pleasure as he bulged and hardened. Excitement chased away fatigue. If Queenie responded to a simple touch this strongly, then perhaps she still had a heart. Was this her way of inviting him to find out? Drake began stroking her with his thumb. If so, I’ll give it my all. Abruptly, she withdrew, and the cold air haunted his limbs once more. “Til next time,” he murmured, for her ears alone. “The repairs will start immediately,” Queenie responded, sheathing her dagger. Placing her hands on her hips, she quickly regained her arrogant demeanor. Drake sensed fresh opportunity in this turnabout. “I agree,” he began, acting as if they were partners rather than captor and prisoner. “We‟ll help with repairs. The Relentless will need to be fully functional if we‟re to have a fighting chance against the Calithians.” Queenie reacted with a dramatic eye roll. “Stop deluding yourself.” Drake ignored her dig. “But my crew and I need proper medical attention if we‟re to execute them with sound judgment. Our medical bay is fully stocked for just that purpose.” Queenie nodded. “Done.” 39

He crossed his arms. “Additionally, I and my crew will resume our residence on board the ship.” “Not happening.” “Throw in two showers a week, then.” Queenie narrowed her eyes. “One.” Then she turned to the guards. “Chain him up,” she ordered. “Let‟s go to the ship.” After the guards shackled his hands and feet, they left the cell and followed Queenie down the corridor at a brisk pace. Drake realized he had a new problem in addition to the Calithian Empire. The mysterious vixen who now ruled Hades Station with her iron claws. Make that two problems, he silently amended, as he recalled the feel of Queenie‟s lovely, very lovely thighs.

40

Chapter Five Alone in her quarters aboard the station, Queenie pushed her body to its limit, engaging in a series of rapid push-ups. Sad, decrepit gray walls appeared to mock her determination to better herself, as if saying, “What‟s the use? It‟s only a matter of time before you crack like everything else here.” This was an unacceptable answer. She pushed even harder. Perspiration drenched her nude skin as her arm muscles screamed in revolt. But only by throwing herself into strenuous exercise could she calm her jittery state. Whether she felt this way from anger or something else, she wasn‟t sure. Regardless, she had to regain her mojo. Loss of even the slimmest thread of control constituted death. She switched to abdominal crunches. Control hadn‟t come easy over the years. She remembered the fury that had erupted among the gang leaders when the military had begun drafting inmates without their consent for the war efforts. Then, word had reached Hades that the penal companies were being used as little more than cannon fodder, human shields cast out to slow the progress of an unbeatable enemy. So the gang leaders at the time, with the help of Queenie‟s mother, had hatched a formal escape plan. But to do that, they first had to unite a critically fractured prison population. As the war raged on, they had groomed her to become the most powerful gang leader among the prisoners. After her very bloody initiation beating at the age of sixteen, they‟d taught her the art of politics. Later, her teachers had taught her how to kill—and how to seduce. All of her unconventional education had served one purpose: to control those criminals society had deemed uncontrollable. Now that she had, the burden was hers alone to lead these men and women to freedom and a new home. And if she didn‟t free her compañeros from Hades soon, they‟d 41

kill her and replace her with someone who could. She had to launch the final phase of the plan as soon as repairs for the Relentless were completed. While the former inmates now had freedom from their sentences, they all dealt with confinement of another kind. Vardos had ore to last centuries, but at last count, less than a year‟s worth of food rations remained. Since her takeover, conservation of their resources had become increasingly essential. Queenie couldn‟t ask her people to sacrifice more than they already had. But if Drake is telling the truth and Earth and the other colonies are lost, where will we go? I could wind up saving them from a slow death, only to sentence them to a fast one. The dark thoughts gnawed at her mind. Desperate to escape further rumination, she stepped into the shower to soothe her sore muscles. Afterward, while pacing to air dry her skin, Queenie felt a surge of resentment. The takeover of the military destroyer should have progressed more easily. Why in the hell did it have to be so damaged? They should have been far away from here by now. But even when the Relentless became operational and they found an appropriate destination, how would she deal with the ship‟s limited space? It could only transport about two hundred people at a time, which would require multiple trips. What if an enemy fleet was heading toward Hades at this very moment? She shuddered. The danger seemed to increase exponentially by the second. Speaking of danger, the appearance of the military destroyer was more than she had dreamed, but simultaneously represented a threat of its own. Not the least of which was one Captain Michael Drake. Currently, he and his crew were receiving medical treatment under guard. Observing him earlier as he lay unconscious in the cell, Queenie had noticed his handsome face despite the ugly bruises. His dark brown hair glowed with health, tempting her with just the right amount of thickness. Queenie had never seen a military officer in person before. Despite her anger toward the U.F.E., Drake‟s strapping physique and flattering black captain‟s 42

Queenie’s Brigade uniform had taken her breath away. So had that brazen act of his, caressing her thigh so intimately. Drake had been at her mercy—completely powerless. Hadn‟t he? Why wasn‟t he afraid? Queenie frowned. The man radiated confidence, that much was clear. More importantly, he‟d asked her to be his partner. She recalled that there hadn‟t been an ounce of condescension in his gaze. With a heady rush, she realized that Drake defied everything she thought she knew about men, military or otherwise. He was a far different breed from any others she had known. One she might actually admire. She couldn‟t deny her attraction to him, and that troubled her deeply. But even if he desired her, she couldn‟t afford the distraction. Her thoughts raced further as she began to dress. Drake‟s presence introduced a whole new set of complications. She couldn‟t just abandon him and his crew, if for no other reason than their valuable skills. Undoubtedly, many of her followers would require training to operate the destroyer. Hundreds of them. The logistics alone were a nightmare. Then there were the children. The prison officials hadn‟t always enforced the mandatory birth control policy, a negligence which resulted in the occasional pregnancy. During her takeover, some of the medical supplies had been either raided or destroyed, including the birth control medicine. Queenie had her own cache, enough to last for years, but she‟d had to strictly manage fraternization between the former inmates lest she wind up with a population explosion on her hands. The current group of children needed only her protection now, but in time they, too, would need training. Could the military personnel and her people accomplish this vital task without killing one another? Setting her lips in a grim line, Queenie knew she had to find a solution. If she were to believe Drake, the future of humanity depended on it. She‟d be damned if she‟d allow a few chorra Calithians to obstruct her carefully laid plans. Goddamn them. Grabbing her datapad, she sat cross-legged on her bed and 43

worked out a schedule for repairs and security. Drake was cooperating now, but he or his crew could attempt to turn on them at any moment. Constant surveillance would be essential. But first, rounds. Since the arrival of the military destroyer, she was behind in conducting her weekly check of the main penitentiary. Just because the former prisoners now used it as a makeshift home didn‟t mean she was going to forfeit proper supervision. Queenie patrolled it often and thoroughly. She headed for the Level 2 shuttle bay. As she entered the port hatch, she spotted her most experienced shuttle pilot in the rear. Jaime was a young, lean man with short dark hair. One lock curled perpetually over his left temple, a style quirk that Queenie knew made him popular with the women. Regardless, he consistently made work his priority, and she appreciated that about him. Currently, he was rubbing down the seats with a rag. Few of her people had his kind of attention to detail. If only she could clone him. Queenie headed for the cockpit. “Let‟s go, Jaime.” “Yes, Queenie.” He stowed the rag and hustled after her. As he ran through the pre-flight check, Queenie took the copilot‟s seat and strapped on the harness. “Jaime, I‟m assigning you to the bridge of that destroyer. It‟ll be an extra shift but I know you can handle it. Start learning how to navigate her immediately.” Jaime acknowledged her order with a casual salute. “I‟ll start today. I finished training Anna. She can handle some of the shuttle runs.” He cleared his throat while glancing at her sideways. “Think we‟ll be able to leave soon?” “We‟ll launch right after the repairs are finished.” He turned to her with a wide grin. “You‟re the best, Queenie.” “I‟ll be even better than that if you get your eyes back on that console where they belong.” Laughing, Jaime launched the shuttle. Queenie fastened her harness and leaned back. She closed her eyes, reveling in the few minutes of peace the shuttle ride afforded her. In fact, Queenie took full advantage of the opportunity to rest and clear her mind because she knew the moment wouldn‟t last for long. 44

Queenie’s Brigade ***** Hades Penitentiary dominated the middle of a rocky plain that extended for hundreds of miles in three directions. A heavily fortified gate ringed the steel-gray behemoth, but its deadly properties had long since been deactivated. Parts of it lay in tattered ruins, the victim of countless angry convicts who had attacked it with little more than their bare hands. To the north lay the mines, situated among a grouping of low, rocky hills. The carcasses of abandoned equipment lay slumped upon the ground, trapped by a layer of gritty black sand. Jaime landed the shuttle on the landing pad just inside the gate. After instructing him to remain aboard, Queenie exited and headed toward the main doors. The cold wind bit hard at her exposed skin. No matter where she went, there was no escaping the planet‟s desolate state. Contaminated skies enveloped it like a filthy cloak, suffocating the life from every tenuous sprout. Even if no one came looking for them, settling here was out of the question. She quickened her pace. Hades loomed high and heavy above her. Six levels of seemingly endless cell blocks rose above the surface, topped by a crown of guard stations. Only ghosts populated them now. Two subterranean levels contained more cells, supply rooms, power generators, offices, kitchens, and also a few secret stony passages carved into the raw ground. These Queenie had used to great advantage during her takeover. As she passed through the wide double doors, she nodded curtly to her men stationed there. Once inside, her boots thumped loudly against the concrete floor. The air grew warmer, laced with body odor, stale food smells, and the lingering trace of whatever homegrown recreational drug was currently in fashion. As long as her people‟s behaviors didn‟t interfere with her mission, Queenie didn‟t care what they did. She turned right into a wide corridor and headed for her first stop, the only place she could half-way let down her guard. 45

The sight of the children‟s hall always kept hope alive within her. With bright bits of appropriated cloth and paper scraps decorating the walls, extra pillows, and painted chairs, the large combination play area and school room contrasted sharply with the rest of the building. The youngest children were napping on thin pallets in the far corner. In the middle of the room, a group of five older children surrounded Nalda, a seventy-two year old woman who was currently the oldest resident. She was teaching them a math lesson. One of the girls noticed Queenie and broke away from the group. Long brown hair flying, ten-year old Lucia ran toward Queenie. Her fierce hug nearly knocked the woman over. At least, Queenie pretended that it did. “You shouldn‟t interrupt class like that, mija,” Queenie said while ruffling her hair. “I know. I just wanted to say hi.” “Okay, you said it. Now go back to your lesson.” Ignoring the order, the girl clung to Queenie‟s hand. “Did my dad fly you here? Can I see him?” “He‟s waiting in the shuttle. You can see him after class.” Queenie fired up her comms link and told Jaime to come visit his daughter for a few minutes. Lucia flashed a toothy smile in appreciation and raced back to her seat. The sight tore at Queenie‟s heart. The children, at least, trusted her completely to provide a new home for them. She could not fail to live up to that precious gift. Queenie was about to leave when she noticed Nalda gesturing her closer with a gnarled finger. She strode forward. “When are you going to teach us again, Queenie?” asked one of the boys. “Soon, and I‟ll work you so hard you‟ll be sorry you asked.” She softened her statement with an exaggerated widening of her eyes. The children giggled. With that, she leaned her ear close against Nalda‟s mouth. The older woman spoke urgently, with no wasted words. Queenie‟s 46

Queenie’s Brigade right hand spiraled into a fist as she absorbed the information. When Nalda finished, she kissed the woman‟s age-spotted cheek. “Gracias.” Queenie waved good-bye to the children, her expression light even as her heart turned to stone. Duty called, and if Nalda‟s instincts were right—which they always were—she now had a problem to address. A drastic one. ***** A smoky haze filled the D1 mess. Groups of ex-inmates usually congregated here when off-duty to talk and play card games. Queenie searched the room with a cold expression. A few men approached her with offers of food and water, but she waved them off. Her quarry lay elsewhere. There—at the four-seat steel pedestal table nearest the left hand wall. Three of the seats were occupied. Queenie ambled over and claimed the fourth. “Hello, boys,” she murmured, casually lacing her fingers together in front of her. All three murmured a greeting in response. She quickly scanned the remains of a meal and the worn hand of cards each of them held, but none seemed to be really playing. She knew this because she had watched them from afar for several minutes before making her move. They‟d appeared deep in conversation. The cards were props, ones meant to deceive. She was very familiar with these men: Eberto, Brayden, and a towering, heavyset man who had only ever been known as Jackass. Of all the former gang leaders she‟d had to subdue, these three were the most cunning, and had held out the longest. Were they up to their old habits again? “Want me to deal you in?” Eberto asked, scratching at his tattooed cheek. Queenie stretched languorously for a moment before shaking her head. “No. I just came by to issue a friendly warning.” Eberto kept his even gaze on Queenie, but in her peripheral 47

vision she noticed the other two exchange quick, concerned glances. Eberto cocked a brow. “So why not announce it at a general meeting?” Ah, so it was your idea, she thought. “Because my warning is reserved for back stabbing sons of bitches.” She narrowed her eyes. “The military ship is mine to command as I see fit. No one else is qualified for the position. Especially no one at this table.” Beside her, the dark-skinned Brayden scowled. “Queenie, I don‟t know what you‟re talking about. We didn‟t do shit.” Her voice dropped to a growl as she jumped to her feet. “You‟re going to lie about it, too?” Brayden threw aside his cards and glared at her. “I‟m not fucking lying!” For emphasis, he slammed both palms flat on the table, loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone else in the room. Before he could react further, Queenie whipped out two daggers and drove both of them deeply into his hands. Blood oozed out thickly, but she held fast. “Yes, you are. I can always tell. Your eyes dart left and down—just like they did a second ago,” she hissed, her voice carrying far and wide in the now-silent room. She gave both daggers a sharp twist. More blood spilled out onto the table‟s surface. She pinned each man briefly with a penetrating stare. “Now, are you ready to behave?” Gritting his teeth in pain, Brayden nodded. Jackass followed suit, his face peppered with sweat. Eberto shrugged in resignation. Even if Queenie had been wrong about their plan to steal the ship from her, they had been planning something. These people were convicts, not saints, and patience was an infrequent visitor to their neighborhood. They demanded action, and if she were going to survive the exodus, she had to give it to them. She stared hard at the daggers embedded in Brayden‟s hands. Even if the action wasn‟t exactly what they were expecting. Queenie extracted the daggers with a flourish, and then wiped them off using Eberto‟s sleeve. “Send the cleaning bill to my 48

Queenie’s Brigade accountant,” she said while sheathing them. She concluded her performance by blowing them all a mock kiss. Queenie left without looking back. If someone jumped her—and it wouldn‟t be the first time—she was prepared to fight. But no one did. Gradually, the activity resumed. Conversation flowed again. The sounds faded as she exited, heading into the rest of the compound to finish her patrol. By the time she reached the shuttle several hours later, her body felt so tight with tension she feared it might shatter. As she settled into her seat, Lucia‟s happy, thin face appeared in her mind. The children deserved a real home, and the thought of disappointing them made her eyes burn. Jaime bounded into the cockpit seconds later. After strapping in, he began firing up the engine. Queenie yawned before she could stop herself. Jaime offered a sympathetic look. “Long day, huh?” Obviously, word of her latest exploit had made the rounds. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Did you have a good visit?” “We sure did, Queenie. Had a long talk. Lucia got an A on her last math test.” Pride suffused his voice. Queenie leaned back and closed her eyes. She thought of Stewart, that officer from the Relentless. She couldn‟t afford to let his knowledge go to waste, and wondered how soon Lucia could begin an apprenticeship with him. “Bueno. Maybe there‟s an engineering career in her future.” “Let‟s hope so. Lift-off in five, four, three, two, one.” The shuttle hurtled back to the station. Although Queenie felt grateful for the honor of leading her compañeros, the stress of her unrelenting schedule was beginning to extract its toll. If Eberto and his boys had had time to cook up a scheme against her and even brag about it, then she was getting sloppy. And she still had more work to do, this time to oversee repairs aboard the U.F.E. vessel. For a brief moment, she wondered what Drake would think of the threats she faced on a regular basis. Would he be able to relate to her life at all? With a start, she realized that part of her hoped that he could. 49

She remembered him proposing an alliance, but the idea sounded incredibly unrealistic. How could they ever come to terms? Their goals simply weren‟t in sync. Still, now that she‟d had a taste of leadership—of power—she wanted to have a purpose beyond relocating the convicts that Earth had forgotten. Something that history would remember her by—and with respect, too. Such an opportunity might even be a cause worth fighting for. On the other hand, she didn‟t care to admit to herself that the person in the best position to help her with that kind of achievement could turn out to be right under her nose. No, it was best if she didn‟t pursue the idea. Far too many uncertainties lay in that direction. Currently, Queenie had a more important task to worry about: repairing the Relentless and finding her people a new home. Preferably before anyone else showed up on her doorstep.

50

Chapter Six Several days after his confrontation with Queenie, Drake and fifty-three of his crewmembers sat in a personnel conference room, one that had been crudely converted from the station‟s largest mess hall. They were arranged in rows upon hard, buttockflattening metal benches. Ringing them all in a human noose were their guards, every last one of them heavily armed. Judging from their ill-tempered expressions, they were itching for any excuse to open fire. Doctor Chiyoko, working with the aid of an assistant, had declared most of the Relentless‟ crew fit for duty mere hours before they‟d been ordered to assemble. The remaining three had incurred more extensive injuries and were still recuperating in sickbay. Drake occupied an end seat in front, near the low platform dominating one side of the room. The warm air was riddled with the odors of sour breath and unwashed bodies. To add to the discomfort, Drake and each of his crew were shackled, hands and feet alike. For the third time, he surveyed the state of his people. By their haggard appearances, Drake sensed that sleep had eluded most of them since the hijacking. McKinley had entered the room with a scowl, and it showed no signs of abating anytime soon. Further down the row, Rubin was signing covertly in U.F.E. code to the men who sat on either side of him. Whatever they were discussing wasn‟t worth the negative attention it was bound to attract if the guards discovered it. Drake didn‟t dare speak for fear of retaliation, but one of his stony-eyed looks shut down the conversation as soon as Rubin saw that he‟d been caught. Beside him, McKinley shifted restlessly. Brows furrowed, her hazel eyes constantly tracked the surrounding guards. Drake leaned close to her. “Something on your mind, Lieutenant?” he 51

murmured. She rattled her shackles in frustration. “If I‟m going to die,” she whispered back, “I want my death to mean something for Earth. We should be out there fighting the Calithians, not these assholes.” He nodded slowly. “All in good time, McKinley.” One of the guards advanced. “Shut up!” he ordered, brandishing his gun. Drake nodded in acknowledgment and then shifted his gaze toward the open hatchway. He was anticipating another appearance from Her Royal Highness. Even after they had negotiated the terms of their working arrangement, Queenie had kept him separate from his crew, so they had yet to learn of her plan. He guessed she was on her way now to give the official order for repairs. Despite his anger and resentment stemming from his imprisonment, he felt intensely curious about watching her in action before a room filled with an unlikely combination of seasoned military soldiers and brutal ex-convicts. From what he‟d seen so far, her ruthless nature coexisted with an equally ruthless charm. That train of thought led to other, more forbidden speculation. Just as he began fantasizing about her engaged in a different kind of action, he saw movement in the corridor. Queenie approached the hatchway, stopping to converse with a man sporting two jagged facial scars. Drake caught a few Spanish phrases, but none that revealed information he could use. As she swept back a thick lock of her long wavy hair, she smiled at her companion. It was a close-lipped smile, but it appeared relaxed and genuine all the same. Drake found himself wanting to be on the receiving end of that smile. What would it take to coax one from her, just for him? The smile vanished. Then the vixen entered the conference room, all menace and sexy swagger. She assumed a place on the platform, feet planted apart and hands parked on her hips. “Listen up, you military dogs! I‟m only going to say this once. I‟m in charge here, and I need my destroyer fully functional. Your new 52

Queenie’s Brigade orders are to repair it. Nothing more, and definitely nothing less.” Her fierce expression dared them to oppose her. Based on the sound of scuffling feet and clinking shackles, Drake imagined the anger and confusion sweeping across the faces of his crew. Rage-filled mutterings broke out within seconds. “We don‟t take orders from you.” “Hell, no.” “Who does this bitch think she is?” Drake felt the tension rise like a spiking fever. Regardless, their survival was in his hands. Now was the time for strategic decisions that might prolong their lives enough to return to Earth at the first opportunity. Without turning his head, he thundered, “For the love of Earth, you will all cease that noise immediately!” The muttering drained away. Drake continued. “The Relentless is in bad shape, and we will repair her to the best of our ability.” Before him, Queenie nodded sharply. “That‟s right, you idiots. Your captain here agreed to the plan. I have his full cooperation.” She cut him a smirk. “I win” was written all over it. “Don‟t I, my dear capitán?” “You do,” he responded, fighting to keep his voice neutral. “Question, sir,” McKinley said, pointedly addressing Drake. She ignored both Queenie‟s spine-chilling insult and the approaching guard. Drake responded without hesitation. “Yes, Lieutenant?” “Once the repairs are complete, what is our mission?” Drake met Queenie‟s acid gaze. “We will find a way to win back Earth, no matter the obstacles, no matter the dangers,” he said quietly, allowing his conviction to carry his words clear across the room. His crew broke into spontaneous cheers. The act earned the men and women nearest the guards hits and punches until Queenie‟s shout brought the commotion to a halt. “Knock it off, all of you!” She continued glaring until the guards resumed their positions and she had everyone‟s full attention. In the ensuing silence, Drake stood. The shackles threatened to 53

steal away his dignity, but he rose to his full height all the same. “Queenie, I have a question as well,” he interjected. She took two steps closer, one hand poised near her holster. “This is the last question, and it better be a good one.” “Oh, it most definitely is,” he rumbled. “You more than anyone will appreciate my next move,” he said, silently thrilled at the answering glint in her eyes. The room became noticeably quiet. “Do your people have friends or families—loved ones—on Earth? I‟m sure they‟d be interested in reunification. That can happen—if we join forces and drive the Calithians out as soon as possible.” Drake calmly waited for her response, although her answer almost didn‟t matter. His goal had been to seed a new perspective among her followers, knowing that even criminals weren‟t immune to feeling loyalty to siblings or parents. Would it work? The guards showed no visible reaction. Only time would tell. In response, Queenie whipped out a gun and pressed the barrel to his temple. “I see we‟re back to playing games. But according to you, we don‟t have time for games. I‟m guessing Earth doesn‟t, either. Well, too bad. We stick to my plan.” For good measure, she boxed him on the right temple using the butt of the gun. Drake bit back a curse as he marshaled all of his strength to remain standing. The only thing tempering the throbbing pain was the knowledge that his strategy had hit home, if her angry reaction was any indication. Queenie backed away without a second glance, but Drake thought she looked almost harried as she gestured for a man with extensive homemade facial piercings to step forward. “Shen here is going to divvy up the repair assignments. Now get to it.” She swiveled on a heel and left the room without further comment. One corner of his mouth drew upward at her retreating backside, eyes lingering on her swaying derriere. Now who’s the undisputed winner? However, Drake‟s small victory quickly grew stale. His grin lapsed into a frown as he and his crew dispersed according to Shen‟s direction. To transition from a brutal war to the petty 54

Queenie’s Brigade demands of cutthroat inmates meant adjustment issues among his crew with which he would inevitably have to deal. He felt reasonably confident his crew would act with decorum, but could he trust Queenie to keep her people in line? The question spun new implications—all of them dire. With a prize as valuable as the Relentless, he could only hope that she hadn‟t underestimated her people‟s loyalty. Desperation could drive the former inmates to violent acts, and even mutiny. Drake realized he had to secure Queenie‟s loyalty without fail, before anyone else ended the game for good. ***** Several weeks later, Drake was in one of the station‟s storage rooms along with Rubin and several other members of the Relentless‟ crew. The room had been mostly empty and therefore made an ideal sorting area. Gathered in the center, they were searching through large bins filled with various ship parts, or what passed for them in this backwater colony. Queenie‟s people were bringing as many as they could find, scavenged from both the station and the surface facilities on Vardos. Some of them dated back decades. Many others, like the bouquet of frayed wires Drake held, were useless. But enough compatible parts had been found to make the endeavor worthwhile. Not unlike the effort it’s going to require to convince Queenie to join me, he thought. He tossed the wires into the discard pile and reached his shackled hands into the bin for more parts. In fact, his opponent had raised the game to a new level. Instead of the entire crew working onboard at once, she forced them to perform repairs in shifts. Each crew member was guarded by a pair of inmates—even for exterior repair jobs. Shackles were released only when absolutely necessary, such as for intricate engine work or when someone needed to squeeze through an access tunnel. Another factor squelching any idea of rebellion was that the inmates had also helped themselves to a prodigious 55

amount of weapons from the Relentless‟s stores. When it came to organizing the repairs, Queenie ran a tight ship. Drake had to give her that. Through various underground reports, Drake had learned that the damage extended to SARA. According to Chief Engineer Stewart, the engine diagnostic reports were revealing unexpected anomalies. Since docking at Hades Station, new, incomprehensible codes were appearing daily. Stewart had speculated that the problem lay in the integration of human software and the Calithian hardware. Drake made a note to mention the problem to Queenie at the earliest opportunity. . . assuming she gave him one. Despite her earlier claims, there wasn‟t a chance in a hellhole that she or any of her people would know how to work the alien technology. At least his crew had half a leg up. For their future survival, he was already devising ways to make the Relentless crew as indispensable as possible. Drake surprised himself with the thought that he also wanted Queenie to consider him indispensable on a decidedly more personal level. “What‟s that?” Drake asked. Seated on his left, he thought he‟d heard Rubin say something. Or maybe the man had just cleared his throat. He was rooting through the same bin Drake was working on, apparently intending to ignore the question. But when Rubin reached down for another part, Drake saw his hand signal. Surrounded by guards, it took Rubin several minutes to complete his message without being detected. I have a plan to overthrow them and take back the ship, he signed. We have a supply of happy punch they haven’t discovered yet. “Happy punch” was a chemical warfare agent—official name RJ-8239—designed for use in the event Calithians boarded one‟s ship. The intention was to kill them with an excruciating biological attack that tore into skin and bones like acid. Alarmed, Drake signed back as quickly as he could. No. Too dangerous. Rubin‟s expression turned dark. We can’t just let them take the 56

Queenie’s Brigade ship. Agreed. But we’re vastly outnumbered. Force will only get us killed. We must work with them, not against. Rubin‟s next response took just as long as his others. With all due respect, sir, you’re being naïve. We don’t need them. They don’t care about Earth anyway. Why reward them? Drake bristled at his callous attitude. We ‘don’t need them’ because they’re criminals, or because they don’t seem to care? Both. Imprison them. We should focus on repairing the ship and searching for other survivors. Drake frowned. Rubin had a right to be concerned about the exinmates‟ potential volatility, but clearly the stress had limited his ability to think long-term. Queenie and her people represented Earth‟s last, best hope. Should they be denied the chance to fight as free men and women simply because of their past? Drake didn‟t think so. Given the Calithian takeover, many of them might well be having a change of heart. Drake figured he had an opportunity to show the former inmates that he, especially as a military officer, respected and accepted them. For the sake of Earth, he was going to take it. What if there are no other survivors? he signed in response. Rubin took much longer to answer this time. The crew is getting restless. They want action. Drake frowned, wondering for whom Rubin was actually speaking. War did crazy things to a person. We will repair the ship. Nothing happens until then. Now get back to work. Rubin acknowledged the order with the barest of nods, although his bulging jaw spoke volumes about his true feelings. Drake realized he‟d have to keep a close watch on the man, at least as close as he was able given that Queenie had seriously compromised his ability to command. More weeks passed, and the grueling schedule continued. Drake spoke reassuring words to his crew whenever he could. At the risk of being tortured, he openly encouraged them to share their knowledge with their guards, though few probably did. He embraced every task no matter how menial or tedious. Once in a 57

while, Queenie would inspect the progress of the repairs, entourage in tow. But she ignored his request to meet each and every time. What would it take to change her mind? Never mind the fact that her presence was driving him mad with needs—emotional, physical—he‟d thought the war had long since buried. Like him, she was born to lead. As impossible as it sounded, he wanted to win back Earth with her by his side. Their victory fuck alone would undoubtedly make history. And sharing a life with her would be a wild and unpredictable ride. In other words, exciting beyond measure. What would it take to win her heart? But those dreams would have to wait. After another twelve-hour shift, Drake actually felt grateful for his cell‟s unyielding cot. He fell onto it late one evening, station time, free of his shackles for the next few precious hours. As exhaustion overtook him, he consoled himself with the fact that at least the repairs were progressing. And they were still alive. Drake sighed. Those facts were substantial, yet it still didn‟t feel like he was doing enough. One last word drifted through his consciousness as sleep overtook him. Celia.

58

Chapter Seven At cell # 436, Queenie stood silently at the opening. She stared at Drake‟s sleeping form, wishing she could halt the march of time and drink in the beauty of his handsome, virile body forever. A part of her yearned for a chance to learn more about Drake the man even as she berated herself for allowing him to dominate her thoughts so much. But her life was no longer her own. She had a crisis on her hands, one that demanded she put aside all of her physical and emotional needs. She banged her gun on the bars with ear-splitting furor. “Drake! Get up!” He shot up, instantly alert. “What‟s going on?” “Let‟s go!” Queenie backed away so her entourage could shackle Drake and escort him from the cell. “Where are we going?” He fell into a hyper shuffle as he struggled to keep up with her long strides. She shot him a hard glare over her shoulder. “You have a problem, and you‟re going to fix it.” “Fine, but you ought to brief me better than that.” “No time.” She led him down the cell block and back into the station‟s main hub. Then she headed to the Relentless. Occasionally, Drake prompted her with questions, all of which she ignored. She had to. Every time she looked at the man, her heart did strange things, like craving his respect. For the ten millionth time, she reminded herself that such a stunning starship captain probably already had a lover, or a spouse and family. Even so, she could probably have him, if only on a temporary basis. But she feared the outrage from her people if they discovered the affair. Many of them had killed past gang leaders over lesser infractions. Queenie passed through the airlock to the third deck. By now, over five weeks into the repairs, she knew every inch of the ship. 59

Marching on, she weaved her way throughout the well-ordered destroyer. Her group neared the engine room—not really a room, as Queenie had learned, it was just what these military types called it, but a chamber consisting of immense pods, pipes, and other such devices. Supposedly, some kind of Calithian technology boosted the ship‟s systems. But, whenever she interrogated the chief engineer about it, his explanations were about as clear as mud. Queenie was accustomed to appropriating all kinds of possessions without a second thought, but the Relentless wasn‟t just any type of possession. Something didn‟t fit, and she wasn‟t entirely sure she‟d ever acclimate to such an advanced vessel. The ship seemed to repel her ownership the way a body might reject a transfusion of blood. Perhaps her mixed feelings were simply a reflection of her anxiety about leaving Vardos, and not in any way related to the Relentless‟ former captain. Or her guilty feelings about the fate of Earth. Queenie drove that last thought into a deep, dark corner of her mind. Earth was Drake‟s problem. Among others. She heard a riot of voices ahead. Angry shouts promising copious amounts of violence. She glanced at Drake as he drew up beside her, and his expression indicated he had heard it, too. As one, they entered the heart of the ship. “This,” Queenie said, “is the problem.” A brawl of naked brutality unfolded before them. One so majestically panoramic in its breadth, it was almost a wonder to behold. The key word being almost. Even mired in the culture of gangs, Queenie had never witnessed an altercation so savage. A handful of the Relentless‟ crew members—unshackled, she noticed with a jab of anger—were embroiled in a fight with nearly twenty of her people. Blood splattered the deck and bulkheads. Smells of sweat and grease clogged the air. Smashed equipment was everywhere. “Release me. Now!” Drake‟s stern command came with such force that it stirred Queenie‟s very soul. She nodded to one of her men who swiftly unshackled the captain. 60

Queenie’s Brigade Queenie had barely drawn her weapons when Drake strode forward. Heedless of the danger, or perhaps the bravest man she‟d ever seen, the captain plunged straight into the melee. Mesmerized, she watched as he tore the combatants apart. One by one, he singled out his crew members, his face a terror of righteous anger as he ordered them to stand down. More than once, he delivered a solid blow or two yielding bent, broken noses if required. As a young girl, Queenie had once marveled at a picture of a knight slaying a dragon. It was from a vintage book of fairy tales someone had smuggled into the prison. Having little else, she read it over and over again, cherishing every yellowing, crinkled page. Now, she was seeing that drawing brought to life. Inwardly, she cursed, convinced that fickle Fate would never allow her to claim such a hero, no matter what her true feelings. They could destroy the very foundation of everything she‟d painstakingly built if she allowed them free reign. But she hadn‟t counted on a man like Drake entering her world. Fuck you, Fate! Not to be outdone, she charged forward. Men twice her size— mostly her own, but a few of Drake‟s for good measure—crumpled like rag dolls before her. Others immediately pulled back upon encountering her wildcat wrath. They appeared keenly aware of her legendary consequences. Regardless, Queenie persisted until every last one of her people had finally stopped fighting. Meanwhile, Drake had ordered the involved crew to line up against the starboard bulkhead. As Queenie had previously called for reinforcements, the audience had swelled to well over fifty onlookers. Frowning, she noticed a number of figures clad in the U.F.E. dark blue among them. Obviously, many of the Relentless‟s former crew had infiltrated the scene. Wonderful. I should sell tickets. Drake stood ramrod straight before the perpetrators. Arms crossed, he glared down at them. Queenie cast an eye toward her own unruly group, scattered behind her on the floor. She raised her gun as well as her voice. “Why are you lying around like 61

pedezos de mierda? Stand up! Against the wall, right now!” She pointed to an empty area a few meters away from Drake and his crew. With murmured apologies and strained faces, her followers positioned themselves as directed. To her shame, they demonstrated none of the physical discipline of the Relentless‟s crew, who stood strictly at attention despite significant injuries. “Babosos! Idiots!” Queenie hissed at her men. Most of them flinched. She ranted onward, her voice becoming shrill like a banshee‟s. After firing ten minutes of poisonous invectives at them, she paused to catch her breath. It was only then that palehaired Jeremy interjected to report that one of Drake‟s officers had lashed out at his guard. Queenie hit him backhand across the face. “It doesn‟t matter! How dare you risk everything for a stupid fight!” Queenie glanced left. Drake seemed not to have heard, or was ignoring her spectacle. One of her generals sidled up and asked if she wanted them shackled. Queenie shook her head. Not yet. She wanted to see what Drake was going to do. Quietly, Drake began speaking to each of his crew in turn. Soon, a hush fell upon the room as everyone strained to listen. Queenie caught a word here and there, but given the reaction of the men and women he addressed, she didn‟t need specifics in order to understand the captain‟s message. Admiration welled up within her. Disciplining his crew for standing up to their oppressors told her that he still clung to the hope that she‟d change her mind and use the Relentless for the good of Earth. The man was nothing if not determined. Before she could prevent the thought, Queenie wondered what it‟d be like to accomplish a deed because one cherished something, as opposed to hating something. Was running away from Vardos—from Earth—going to be her grand accomplishment in life? At first, that had seemed like it would be enough. Queenie sighed inwardly. Now, she wasn‟t so sure. In a matter of minutes, the show was over. Queenie refocused her thoughts as Drake approached her. His gait was virile and steady, a lion in his prime. She couldn‟t tear her gaze away from 62

Queenie’s Brigade the fire in his eyes. “Secure them,” he said, thumbing the line behind him. “Oh, I‟ll have them secured, all right.” Queenie gestured for three of her men to come forward. She cocked her head, boldly studying Drake‟s striking features even as he frowned at her in annoyance. Then she pointed to her men against the bulkhead. “That is, after I have these fools secured first.” Her guards hurried to carry out her request. As Drake arched a brow, Queenie discovered that she enjoyed surprising him. Was that a hint of approval in his eyes? She edged closer to him, close enough to catch his distinct masculine odor from his recent exertions. It was a good thing they weren‟t alone because otherwise Drake wouldn‟t be safe from her many appetites. She raised her chin a bit. “Not a bad intervention, for a military dog.” “Woof!” His joke caught her completely off guard. A grin escaped before she could douse it. He‟d caught it, damn him! His wink told her as much. Then he turned serious, crossing his arms. “Queenie, we can‟t allow an incident like this to happen again. I need to have a private word with you.” “Just one?” His lips quirked. “Two, then. And that‟s my final offer.” Queenie had to bite her lip in order to suppress a smile. What the hell was this comedian doing to her? Then she noticed Drake staring at her intently, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Remember, he just wants you for your army. But, he had a point about keeping the peace. As the leaders of their respective groups, they both had a responsibility to enforce it. “Fine. We‟ll meet in my ready room.” She glanced around, lips pursed. “But this place is a disaster zone.” “I‟ll organize a cleaning detail and meet you there in ten minutes.” If Queenie were the type to swoon, then this moment would surely be the time to do so. The man was a true professional. 63

“Agreed,” she told him, and then pointedly looked him up and down. “After my men secure you.” The fire in his eyes went volcanic. “Damn it, Queenie! That is completely unnecessary and you know it!” Queenie said nothing as she motioned for a guard to approach. Teeth clenched, Drake held out his arms as the man secured the shackles around his wrists. Once again, she marveled at his discipline. Surprising herself this time, Queenie halted the guard. “Just his hands.” After the briefest hesitation, the guard nodded and withdrew. Queenie felt her stomach flutter. Trust was the hardest thing anyone could earn from her. And yet Drake had earned it far more easily than anyone else in her lifetime. How soon would he betray her, she wondered? She risked a glance at him. He appeared visibly calmer. His rich blue eyes captured hers with a vengeance. “See you in the ready room, then,” he rumbled, his voice a little lower, a little rougher, than before. “Yeah. Ten minutes. Don‟t be late.” Feeling raw and vulnerable with unfamiliar emotions, Queenie turned and left without a backward glance.

64

Chapter Eight Escorted by guards, Drake entered the ready room, emotions roiling. Primarily on his mind were Queenie‟s actions during the brawl. Magnificent hardly did the provocative woman justice. Drake struggled to control his lustful thoughts. Queenie was a vicious warrior born of desperate times and he had no business harboring a raging attraction to her. Bloody hell. Had it progressed that far? When he saw Queenie lounging at the head of the black oval table, every fiber of his being answered the question in the affirmative. Even while conducting business with one of her followers, her body language evoked sensuality. Drake followed the lines of her hair as it spilled luxuriously over bare shoulders. Obviously, she‟d changed clothes since the engine room incident. She still wore her tight black pants, but was now dressed in a white halter top that nearly surrendered its mission to cover her breasts. The things a man could do with a woman like her. . . . Bloody, bloody hell. Outwardly, he betrayed no such interest. Instead, he headed for the table. The familiar territory of the ready room, with its utilitarian features and neutral tones, infused him with a fresh burst of energy. Each step across the tightly woven carpet increased his resolve to build Earth a new fighting force from the ashes of the old. Even the sight of Queenie in his customary chair didn‟t deter him. This was the chance he‟d been waiting for. Drake chose the seat to her right. Noticing his arrival, Queenie ended her meeting and ordered the guards to exit. Now the two of them would be alone. Drake‟s heart rate sped up at the thought that he‟d finally earned a modicum of her trust. Queenie passed him a cup of water, wariness in her gaze. “What did you want to discuss?” Drake nodded his thanks and took a long, deep swallow. He‟d 65

have to choose his words carefully. Setting the cup down, he interlaced his fingers before him on the table. “First, you have my assurance that my crew will not instigate any further altercations. However, you‟ve got to understand the pressure they‟re under. They don‟t want our chance for retribution squandered.” “Who said anything about squandering? I‟ve got hundreds of people to relocate!” “Don‟t take me for a fool. You know what I mean.” Queenie narrowed her eyes. “No. I don‟t.” “Then let me be perfectly clear. Queenie, join me in the fight to save Earth.” She threw up her hands. “Ay, Dios mio! How many times do I have to listen to this?” Undaunted, Drake continued, “As many times as it takes. Think of the satisfaction that would come from winning the biggest game either one of us has ever played.” Despite the severity of the situation, excitement leapt into his voice. “Not only that, but think of the honor you‟ll gain if you help win back Earth.” She crossed her arms. “You assume I care.” “About honor, or Earth?” “Both.” “I prefer to believe the best about people.” “Well knock it off, because some of us don‟t have anything „best‟ about them.” Drake leaned forward. “Why are you so determined to convince me of how wretched you are? If you were truly evil, you‟d have killed us all from the start. It‟s obvious you care about your people.” Queenie issued him a stony glare, but at least she was listening. Drake tried a new approach. “You‟ll end up fighting the Calithians eventually, so we might as well fight them together at a time of our choosing. You have the might and I have the military expertise. We could start modestly, perhaps attacking one of their outposts.” Queenie yawned in an exaggerated fashion. “You‟re starting to bore me.” 66

Queenie’s Brigade She didn‟t want to take the discussion seriously. Why? Her disdainful attitude alarmed him. He felt determined to drive whatever she feared out into the open to be dealt with. “Queenie, for God‟s sake, have the courage to answer me honestly. Your anger toward the U.F.E. is blinding you. Don‟t you care about Earth—about humanity—at all? Or are you too afraid to care?” Queenie slammed a palm against the table. “You want honesty? Fine! I‟ll give you honesty!” She used the same hand to stab a finger toward him. “If I start to hope for something like that, I might as well kill myself.” He stared at her, appalled. “Why would you say such a thing?” For a moment, Queenie appeared as surprised as he at her admission. “Because it‟s never going to happen. Even if we start fighting the Calithians today, do you really think we‟ll see Earth again in our lifetimes?” Drake paused. Queenie had brought up a point he hadn‟t considered. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if we don‟t try, we‟ll never know.” “Ever the optimist, aren‟t you, Drake?” He gave her a measured stare. “Optimism has nothing to do with it. Survival, however, means everything.” Queenie snorted. “Like you would know anything about true survival.” “Here, let me show you something. If you don‟t believe me, believe the records. I will show you exactly what‟s at stake here.” Drake stood. “To access them, I need my—I need your chair.” Queenie was still for a long time, her face hidden by a curtain of hair. The silence in the room deepened, heavy with tension. Staring at the top of her head, Drake could only imagine her dilemma. Remain loyal to her cause, or adapt to the new circumstances? Both were fraught with peril. He was a relative stranger to her. A military soldier, no less. He might as well announce that he was a shark that wouldn‟t bite. But then she was moving, standing, shifting away. Drake thought he heard her mutter “Games, games, games,” under her breath. But at least she had vacated the chair. 67

Drake sat quickly before she could change her mind. Silently cursing the restricting shackles, he clumsily tapped the embedded console on the table to access his log and organize the files he intended to present. When Queenie had taken another seat, he activated the holoplayer. It flashed white and expanded above the table‟s center. Soon, the silver-rimmed blue sphere of the United Forces of Earth appeared, rotating slowly. Queenie rolled her eyes. “I am so fucking unimpressed.” “A few more seconds, if you please.” Tapping a final key, Drake initiated the first of many vids he planned to show her. The might of the Calithian Empire unfolded before them. Starships. Fleet sizes. Weapon capabilities. There was ten years‟ worth of battle recordings here. Others included footage recovered by military intelligence. These showed gruesome massacres and hand-to-hand combat whenever the Calithians had invaded mining colonies or orbital stations. The enemy‟s methods made Queenie‟s look like she had failed Torture 101 and failed miserably. Next, Drake showed her visuals from the Relentless‟s final battle. For all of her bluster, Queenie remained very quiet while watching, her expression unreadable. Several hours later, the final recording ended. Drake shut down the player. Turning to Queenie, he regarded her grimly. “So now you know I spoke the truth.” Queenie glared. “Where is your honor?” She banged a fist upon the table. “Earth needed you. Why run away?” Drake bit his tongue to squelch a retort as old, harrowing memories assaulted him. She‟d hit a sore spot but he‟d be damned if he‟d take the bait. Yet, he noticed something about her statement. Intentionally or not, it had revealed a patriotic streak. Was she even aware? Maybe part of her wanted to believe in humanity‟s value as well as its future. Using her admission to his advantage, he retaliated with another question. “If you care so much, why are you refusing to help her now?” Queenie expelled a noisy breath, averting her gaze. “I ask the questions here!” 68

Queenie’s Brigade “And I answered.” “Well, that‟s all in the past. Once my ship is repaired, I‟m going to find a new home for my compañeros.” “All in the—” Drake wanted to shake some sense into her, but it would prove nothing. “Well. All right. Let‟s put the past aside for a moment. I‟ll admit you‟ve accomplished a lot here, Queenie. You became the leader of these inmates, small potatoes, I imagine, compared to the Calithians.” It was blatant, paradoxical flattery, but he hoped her ego would play right along. “But what will your compañeros think when the Calithians find Hades—and they will—and bring the war here? Do you have the means to defend them?” Queenie shrugged. “They have Earth now. What do they care about an abandoned prison colony? Besides, by the time they might decide to visit, we‟ll be long gone.” She frowned. “And I take offense at your implication that I couldn‟t handle a few chorra Calithians.” “Offense intended, Queenie, because I think your desperation for freedom has you in denial. You just saw their numbers. If the U.F.E. couldn‟t defeat them, what makes you think you‟re so special?” She planted an elbow on the table and made a fist. “Talk about delusional. You think you‟re a fucking psychiatrist.” “Your defensive posture just proved my point. It doesn‟t take a psychiatrist to see that.” Drake moved his hands over the console. “Do you need to review the facts again?” Her eyes narrowed. “Fuck you and your facts, too.” “Right, Queenie. Exactly.” Drake leaned back, feeling completely in his element now. “Was that your brilliant strategy with the inmates? „Fuck you,‟ „fuck this and that‟?” He shook his head in disgust. “You must have had unbelievable luck along the way, because I can‟t imagine how you convinced them to put you in charge otherwise.” He smirked. “Either that, or you‟re a fantastic fuck.” In a flash, Queenie drew one of her guns and ground the barrel into his left temple. 69

Drake became very still, thinking he might have pushed her too far. Understatement of the century. Thick, dark lashes framed a gaze heated with anger. “I should kill you for that,” she said, her voice dangerously low. Drake spoke quietly. “But you won‟t.” “Give me one good reason why I shouldn‟t.” “I‟ll give you two. One, you don‟t like being wasteful. Two, you‟re a brilliant strategist among ignorant, violent criminals, and you‟ve been without support for far too long.” The gun wavered almost imperceptibly. “You have no idea,” she said. “Tell me.” “Tell you what?” “What you went through. Why you were sent here in the first place.” When she turned her head aside, Drake thought he‟d blown it for sure. Now she’ll never agree to my plan. But when she looked at him once again, the anguish in her eyes slammed into him. “What I went through could fill a history book,” she whispered. “The beatings, the mind games, those alone would fill the first chapter.” She shook her head as if to sweep away the memories. Her customary guarded look returned. “Never mind. But I wasn‟t sent here.” “Wait, what do you mean?” Now it was Queenie‟s turn to smirk. “Poor baby, your English is rusty.” “It‟s nothing of the sort. You were sent here because you were convicted of a crime. What was it?” “Nothing.” Drake looked askance before meeting her gaze. “So you were just innocent of the charges, right?” He arched a brow in disbelief. “Isn‟t that what they all say?” She holstered her weapon and then ran a hand through her luxurious mane with casual flair, making Drake wonder what it would feel like to grab fistfuls of it while she mercilessly rode him. Damn it. Focus. 70

Queenie’s Brigade “Of course I‟m innocent.” “Innocent of what?” “Everything.” “You‟re speaking in riddles.” “Si.” “Queenie.” Drake stopped, sighed. “I‟m honestly trying to understand your position. It can‟t have been easy for you—” “I wasn‟t brought here. I was born here.” Shocked, he stared at her openly. “Born here?” Queenie shrugged. “That‟s right. I‟ve never even been to Earth. For the first few years, a three by four meter cell was my home. My mother bribed the guards so she could raise me for a few years.” “What happened then? Did they take you from her?” She shook her head. “Oh, no. There wasn‟t a point in sending me anywhere. The children of prisoners had schooling and medical care. The personnel wanted me for the mines when I became old enough to work, but my mother had other plans.” “Which were…?” Queenie‟s mouth lapsed into an unhinged smile. “She handed me over to the most powerful gang leaders at the time. Then they groomed me to unite the prisoners and take over the colony.” She spread her arms wide, eyes sparkling. “La mas chingona, that‟s me!” Crossing her arms, she added dryly, “I‟ve made my mama proud, wouldn‟t you say?” With that kind of accelerated education, Drake guessed Queenie was in her mid to late twenties. “How did you do it?” Her eyes narrowed. Drake thought he saw traces of pain in them, maybe even regret. She spoke in a warning tone. “If I told you, you‟d be sick to your stomach.” “Queenie, you can tell me.” She leaned forward, both hands fisted on the table. “No, Drake. I can‟t.” “Can‟t or won‟t?” Queenie banged the table again, eyes flaring wide. “Shut up! I‟m sick of your mind games.” She stood and turned to leave. 71

“Wait, Queenie! Listen. Hold on a minute, will you?” Drake stood. “I‟m sorry. What you‟re telling me, well, I didn‟t know.” He paused, proceeding with caution. “Listen, we can keep on fighting each other, or we can join forces and confront the real enemy. Your choice. But if you‟re wrong, I certainly wouldn‟t want to be in your shoes when the Calithians arrive.” His words must have sunk in, because she stopped at the hatch. Drake spoke quietly, forcing her to angle back so she could hear. “Ask yourself this: how loyal are your people anyway? So loyal that if faced with total annihilation by the Calithians they wouldn‟t steal the Relentless right out from under your nose?” “I—” Queenie began, and then faltered. For the first time since meeting her, Drake saw doubt in her eyes. Finally. Now we’re getting somewhere. “I know Earth isn‟t perfect, and certainly not for all of the convicts who‟ve been shipped off world, but she‟s all we have. Humanity‟s very survival rests on the decisions we make right here, right now.” He took a few steps toward her. “Help me cut out the heart of every Calithian who ever dared look toward Earth. There are billions of people on Earth who would join the cause if only we could figure out a way to reach them.” Queenie faced him now, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “You‟re talking about smuggling them out.” Drake hadn‟t actually thought it through that far, but he immediately warmed to the idea. “Something like that.” He grinned. “I like the way you think.” He liked the way she looked just then too, her sultry gaze intense with intrigue. At that moment, Drake felt a direct connection to her, one that reached far beyond their roles of two equal warriors. The corner of her mouth twitched, and he hoped she would treat him to one of her rare smiles. Raising her hand in a dismissive gesture, Queenie broke the spell. “You‟re asking too much. My people may be criminals, but they‟ve also undergone years of torture and abuse.” Her voice tightened, but whether from anger or sadness Drake couldn‟t determine. “I didn‟t free them from the wolves only to throw them 72

Queenie’s Brigade to the sharks. And the second we win back Earth, our reward would be another trip straight back here.” “They wouldn‟t dare. You‟d all be heroes.” “Bullshit, Drake! That‟s exactly what would happen and you know it. Now who‟s the one in denial?” Drake shook his head. “Section 892.1 of the U.F.E. recruitment regulations state that a military officer, at her discretion, can induct willing civilians to serve under her command as long as the circumstances dictate that the battle would be lost otherwise. Said civilians would be automatically extended the same rights as other military personnel, regardless of their background. Essentially, it erases the past.” Drake watched the mixed emotions play over her face. “Think about it, Queenie. I could conscript you and your army—all one thousand of them. Naturally, you‟d still be in charge.” Queenie chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, how generous of you! You‟re going to give me something I already have, plus some bogus military title.” Her voice grew colder. “I understand more clearly now. All I mean to you is my „thousand-person army.‟ I‟ll admit, your game had me going for a while.” “Queenie, I. . . . ” Drake stopped, processing what she had just revealed. He softened his voice. “It‟s not just about your people, Queenie.” She started backing away toward the hatch. “Isn‟t it?” she replied, her expression filled with unmistakable hurt. Then it vanished along with her as she slipped through the hatch, calling for her men. Drake stared after her, oblivious to the guards as they began escorting him roughly from the room. An ache filled his heart. No, Queenie. It isn’t. The thought came, but the words didn‟t.

73

Chapter Nine Drake strode through a port side corridor on the second deck, flanked by two guards. He barely noticed them. The recent exchange with Queenie had left him angry, confused, and vastly unsatisfied. He‟d thought the need to free Earth from the Calithians was blazingly obvious. That is, to everyone except Queenie. Though he now understood more clearly why she clung to her shortsighted agenda, her stubbornness only made him more determined. No matter what she said or did, he wasn‟t ready to give up on Earth. Not by a long shot. He was going to take Queenie kicking and screaming into battle if that‟s what it took. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe that particular approach was why she‟d been resisting him so strenuously. What he‟d thought was persuasiveness and logical argument had in fact been overbearing behavior. But who could fault him? All he wanted was to save Celia. I mean, Earth. The mental slip alarmed him. Was that what he‟d been doing? Trying to use Queenie and her people to compensate for his own previous failings? The last thing he intended was to exploit her. Unfortunately, that must have been how she interpreted his intentions. And to a certain extent, she was right. How was he any different from her mother or the gang leaders who groomed her? Damn it. Drake realized that in order for Queenie to fully cooperate, she had to see the value of his plan for herself, not because he asked her to or showed her vids of endless carnage wrought by the enemy. But what exactly would it take for her to realize that together they‟d be more powerful than the sum of their parts? The answer to that question was the biggest mystery of all. Lost in thought, it took Drake a moment to notice the sound of accelerated footsteps. Then air whistled past his right ear. Seconds 74

Queenie’s Brigade later, something solid pushed him forward. He slammed into the bulkhead. Pushing off with his shoulder, he twisted around to assess the commotion. Three strange men were attacking his guards. “What the hell?” Drake shouted as the attackers quickly disarmed his escorts and pummeled them into unconsciousness. He reassessed their broken and bloody faces as they collapsed to the deck. Or possibly death. The largest of the three, a blunt-featured giant, held a large plasma rifle to Drake while the other two quickly disposed of the bodies in nearby rooms. When they returned, Drake scanned their unfamiliar faces. One of them had colored beads woven into his neck-length hair, contrasting sharply with his dark skin. Both of his hands were bandaged. The other man had a variety of weapons strapped to his lean, sinewy body. A tattoo of intricate markings and letters adorned one half of his face. He seemed to be the ringleader, judging from the way he ordered the other two around. Now he appraised Drake with narrowed eyes, their sociopathic nature all too apparent. “What‟s going on here?” Drake demanded. A chill raced down his spine as a thought occurred to him. Did they have a mutiny on their hands? His voice dropped to a growl. “Where‟s Queenie?” The sound of her name seemed to make them angry, given the way the other two clenched their teeth. However, no answer came. Dread coursed through his body. “What have you done to her?” With a grunt, the giant swung the metallic butt of his rifle toward Drake‟s head. Drake dodged the attack, silently cursing the way the shackles around his wrists limited his balance. Even with his legs free, he still crashed into the deck. Before he could stand, the sound of voices drifted down the corridor. In response, the attackers dragged him into a nearby room. The gymnasium. Bandage Guy closed the hatch while the other two forced Drake farther into the room. After righting himself, he looked around in disgust. The former inmates had pillaged it with abandon. Barbells and stretch bands littered the deck. Someone had dismantled an entire multi-station 75

training unit, resulting in a nightmare mess of bars and pulleys. Housekeeping was hardly a priority, however. He had to get out of this room and find Queenie. Fast. But first, no more running. He turned to face his attackers. “What do you want with me?” Tattoo Man stepped forward. “Guess you haven‟t heard we‟re in charge now. As soon as we reach the bridge, you will order your crew to launch the ship. No more fucking around.” So that’s what they’re after. That means they need me alive. Time to play that to my advantage and end this nonsense once and for all. Drake snorted. “I imagine we don‟t have much time before Queenie discovers your betrayal. So if you want a good asskicking, I‟d better do it now.” He ran toward Bandage Guy and Tattoo Man and leapt into the air. His scissor kick caught them by surprise, one foot connecting with a chest and the other with a hip. Unfortunately, the shackles on his wrists sabotaged the delivery, lessening the impact. His momentum continued, however, and Drake again slammed into the hard deck. Immediately, the Giant and Tattoo Man pulled him roughly to his feet. Bandage Guy darted behind him. The man slipped his arms underneath Drake‟s and then locked his fingers behind his captive‟s head, pinning him. Drake struggled to free himself, prompting the grinning Giant to deliver a roundhouse blow to his abdomen. Drake grimaced. The blow hurt like hell but he wasn‟t about to give them the satisfaction of knowing that. “That the best you got?” “I was saving the best for last, pendejo,” Tattoo Man said, dancing lightly before him. He delivered a second blow chased with a high-pierced battle cry. While Drake fought to recover his breath, Tattoo Man produced a small weapon from his pants pocket. Drake recognized it immediately. The short, wide muzzle, black grip with dark-blue metallic body: It was a stub gun. The illegal device was valued for its ability to inflict pain using a variety of methods—and cause 76

Queenie’s Brigade death. That wasn‟t about to happen today, however. Drake launched himself backward in one swift movement, driving his head into Bandage Guy‟s nose while he simultaneously kicked the weapon from Tattoo Man‟s hand. Bandage Guy cursed as he released his prisoner. “Son of a bitch!” said Tattoo Man. “What do you think you‟re doing?” “Kicking your ass, like I said.” Drake‟s military training kicked into overdrive. He swung his shackled fists straight into the man‟s nose. Blood splattered down onto Tattoo Man‟s mouth and chin as his hands immediately flew up to shield himself. Drake took advantage of the predictable reflex action to kick the man hard in the gut. He doubled over. Now a whirling dervish, Drake grabbed Tattoo man‟s head and brought it down. He rammed his knee up into the man‟s face. Twice. A satisfying crunch yielded more blood, along with two cracked teeth. They tumbled into the widening crimson pool on the deck. Tattoo Man followed, collapsing into a groaning heap. “S. . . stop!” Drake turned to see the stub gun pointed at him by the visibly shaken Giant. “Don‟t move or you‟re going to die!” “We need him alive, Jackass,” said Bandage Guy. “Remember that.” The man called Jackass looked uncertainly from Drake to Bandage Guy and back again. He was right in his assumption. They needed him. Still, a man with a gun was a dangerous thing. But a stupid, nervous man with a gun? Only more so. Drake stood motionless. “I know what you want. You expect me to fly you right out of here—leaving Queenie and everybody else here to rot.” Would talking the man down buy him enough time? He began deliberating his next attack when. . . Wham! The hatch flew open. A small army of long-nosed weapons jutted into the room, each pointed at Drake‟s attackers. Tattoo Man was only now managing to crawl up from the deck, but 77

stopped when he saw who led the cavalry. Queenie charged forward, her eyes wide, her face ablaze. “Huevón! Three of you against one? And he‟s handcuffed?” As her entourage fanned out, she stormed up to Jackass and raised her handgun. “Drop it!” The stub in Jackass‟ hand shook. His eyes turned to the sea of angry faces that surrounded him, but he didn‟t immediately comply. Queenie‟s face twisted into a snarl. “Is this how you choose to fight, you disgusting coward? Do you have any idea of the shame this brings to all of us here?” Jackass took a step forward. Her voice rose to a shout. “I said drop your weapon!” Just as Queenie cocked her gun, Drake dove between them. “Queenie, let me finish what they started.” “Get out of the fucking way.” As their gazes clashed, Drake remembered the attack on Celia. He remembered the men who were bigger and stronger than he. He also remembered he was now a man, one who was determined to prove his worth to the woman before him. “I always finish what I start,” he said calmly. “This is important to me. Very important.” Queenie stared at him, her figure seemingly frozen in time. Then she pushed Drake aside and slashed at Jackass‟ hand. The stub gun flew to the deck. She kicked it behind her. “At least it should be a fair fight,” she said, backing slowly away and motioning for her men to stand down. Unfortunately for Drake, she made no move to remove his shackles. “Kill „im,” came the gurgled order from the deck. Tattoo man spoke through swollen lips, his face a jagged mess. But Drake didn‟t have time for sightseeing. Jackass and Bandage Guy started advancing toward him. Drake launched himself to the side. Dropping into a squat, he picked up a barbell and threw it straight toward Jackass‟ knees. The man instantly crumpled with a cry of pain. Drake then dove for a free-weight bar, swinging it into the head of Bandage Guy. He 78

Queenie’s Brigade pulled the pole back and punched the end of it into the man‟s bead-accented head. Then his stomach. And then back to his head. Wham. Wham. Wham. All of this happened in lightening succession. Bandage Guy collapsed. Suddenly, from the deck, Jackass wrapped his arms around Drake‟s legs. Seizing his chance, Tattoo Man roared with fury, smashing a concrete fist into the side of Drake‟s head. A brief period of blackness followed, along with overwhelming ringing in his left ear. Drake shook off the pain and forced himself to concentrate. He was not about to lose consciousness. He was not about to lose his honor or his self-respect. Not ever again. Tattoo Man charged again. A stupid move made by a stupid bull of a man. Drake lowered his head at the last second, ramming it into the charging man‟s already-broken nose. A scream followed. Drake cast Tattoo Man aside. Drake then shoved two fingers into Jackass‟ nostrils and yanked upward, whereupon the giant loosened his grip. Before he could rise up to attack, Drake brought a quick boot heel down onto his face. Now completely free, he chased this blow with a kick to Jackass‟ abdomen, payback for the earlier sucker punch. Jackass clutched at his stomach and curled up in a fetal position. Sensing this confrontation needed to end, Drake leapt onto the back of the downed Tattoo Man, locking his manacled hands around the man‟s corded throat. He pulled the bull‟s head back into an unnatural position, and then he pulled some more. A thoroughly dazed and beaten Bandage Guy and Jackass did their best to advance, but Drake ignored them for the moment. “You seem to be the leader of this monkey outfit,” Drake said, catching his breath. “Well, I‟ve got some interesting facts you might want to share with your resident idiots here.” Tattoo Man growled, clawing at his neck and struggling to escape. “Fact number one: The average human bone here,” he said while pulling the struggling man‟s head back, “can only withstand about seven pounds of pressure.” Drake centered his right knee on the man‟s back, digging it into his spine, as he yanked his head 79

back even farther. “Fact number two: In this position, given the amount of leverage I have I can apply over one hundred pounds of pressure.” Stomach-twisting snapping sounds came from Tattoo Man‟s body. “Got that? Therefore I suggest you call this ridiculous child‟s play off. Now.” Ever so slightly, Tattoo Man nodded. Or, it felt like that to Drake. At once, he released the man‟s head, causing it to smack face down onto the deck. With that, the other two men stopped advancing. Drake stood. Tired, bruised, and bloody—but standing. Queenie walked over and stood beside him. He noticed that the muscles of her arms and back were hard and knotted with tension. He also noticed that she held his Q57 automatic in her right hand. Somehow, he didn‟t mind. She gazed at the three attackers with unabashed hatred. “I‟m sorry I didn‟t get here sooner,” she said in low voice meant only for him, “but I see you were able to handle it.” Was that admiration in her voice? He‟d earned a little bit of her trust. Now it seemed he‟d earned her respect as well. The thought warmed him. “Who are these men?” “Nobody important.” Stepping forward, she called out, “Eberto. Brayden. Look at me.” As soon as the bleary gazes of the men in question locked onto hers, she shot them both through the head in rapid succession. The bodies fell instantly. Sprawled on the deck, their life drained away in rivers of blood. Drake stared at her in shock. “Queenie. . . ” he began. Ignoring him, Queenie squatted beside Jackass. She gestured sharply to the bodies of his dead companions. “Let that be a lesson for you, and for anyone else who dares to cross me.” As he closed his eyes, she grabbed his bloody chin in her free hand and forced him to meet her gaze. “That includes any goddamn Calithians you might meet, entienda?” Queenie released him. As she stood, Drake noticed that her gun began to shake. She threw it away as if it burned. Before he could process the moment, she called to her entourage and ordered 80

Queenie’s Brigade them to dispose of the bodies. “Throw Jackass into solitary,” she ordered. “And clean up this mess.” She activated her comm. “This is Queenie. The captain is injured. Get that doctor to the gymnasium immediately. Bring some rations and water, too,” she added before ending the transmission. The next half hour passed by in a blur. Doctor Chiyoko arrived, armed with bandages and ointment. She administered Drake a cocktail of heavenly painkillers. After his treatment, Queenie pressed ration bars into his hand, but he felt too keyed up to eat. Instead, he drank some water and used the rest of it to splash the grime and blood from his head, face, and neck. Queenie handed him a towel. Only then did Drake register that the two of them were now alone. She must have ordered everyone out. The silence felt eerie after the chaos that had recently transpired. While wiping his face dry, he asked the question foremost on his mind. “Why did you shoot them?” “We can‟t have them backstabbing us. Those three in particular have stirred up trouble for too long now.” Her gaze swept across his face briefly before returning to the deck, streaked with blood after a hasty cleaning. “And I wasn‟t about to let them take what‟s mine.” A quiet thrill raced down his spine, one he had to ignore for the moment. “But we need every able body, Queenie. The Calithians vastly outnumber us.” A weary look overcame her. “Drake, you know more than me about war and the military. I hope you can concede that I know more than you about gangs and how they operate. If I had let them live, they‟d be sowing rebellion and anarchy each step of the way.” He gave a slow nod, silently contemplating the blood-stained deck alongside her. Saddened, he imagined it represented only a fraction of the blood that would be spilled in the coming months as the Calithians continued their conquest of Earth. Reluctant to leave Queenie‟s side just yet, he folded the towel and placed it on a nearby bench. He turned to her, searching her eyes. “You said „we‟ earlier. Have you decided to join the cause?” 81

Surprise overcame her features, but then she assumed a nonchalant expression and shrugged. “Slip of the tongue.” She bent to retrieve her weapon. After holstering it, she grabbed his left arm, her grip firm and unyielding. “Never assume for one second that I enjoy killing. I do what I have to do. That‟s all.” “The thought never entered my mind,” he told her solemnly. He believed her, too. Queenie may have been ruthless, but her actions proved she wasn‟t consumed by bloodlust. The look she gave him seemed relieved, even grateful. Drake wanted to place his hand over hers, but since the shackles prevented any such maneuver, he raised his arms over her head, and then folded her into his embrace. He went so far as to rest his hands against her lower back. Amazingly, she didn‟t move away. Even with her ubiquitous holsters and gun belts, she felt curvy and soft against his chest. Drake liked the mix very much, and sighed with appreciation against her ear. “Can‟t you find any other game to play?” Queenie murmured. “Can‟t you find any other place to stand?” Chuckling, she began exploring his hips with light, confident strokes. “Not currently.” One corner of her mouth curled upward. “If you want to file a complaint, take it up with the manager.” Drake grinned. He used his fingertips to massage the small of her back. “Oh, I have a complaint, all right. The manager is standing much too far away.” Queenie arched a brow. Before he could react, she pulled him flush against her body. Pressed her breasts against his chest. Squeezed his buttocks while grinding her hips against his. The sultry look she gave him was hot enough to melt ice. “Is that better?” Drake inhaled sharply, her act having ignited a hard, potent erection. “That compensates nicely. You should get a raise or something.” Studying his face intently, she ran the tip of her tongue across her upper teeth. “Or something.” “Queenie,” he murmured, “I know we could accomplish great things together.” 82

Queenie’s Brigade She dropped her gaze. “Drake, don‟t.” “No, please listen. Not just professionally, but personally.” He pressed his palms against her warm back. “Stay with me, Queenie. I need you in my life. Whatever else happens, I wanted you to know that.” Her head snapped up, eyes roiling with suspicion. “If this is another one of your mind games…” He tightened his embrace. “You don‟t have to believe me now.” He dipped his head, angling toward hers so that their lips were only centimeters apart. “Only when you‟re ready.” Their breath met in a tangle of erotic greed. Queenie squirmed against him, her arms snaking around his waist. Then she parted her lips, her gaze softening as she did so. Her reaction made him wonder if she was more ready than she cared to admit. Well, he could work with that. Drake felt his eyelids grow heavy as they relaxed against each other. Instead of pain, he felt pulsing need charging through his body. He captured a thick handful of her glossy hair. Their lips brushed— Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! The heart-pounding alarm ripped through the ship. Instinctively, Queenie pulled back. After releasing her from his embrace, Drake gave her a heartbroken look. Surprisingly, her expression mirrored his. “Of all the fucking times,” he muttered. “What is that?” Queenie demanded. Drake shot toward the nearest bulkhead comms link as quickly as he could. “Let‟s hope to God it‟s not what I think it is.”

83

Chapter Ten Drake knew that sound, all right. It was the proximity alarm. His insides churned as he activated the comms link. “Bridge, this is Drake. Report!” No one answered. Shit. He turned to Queenie. “Let‟s go!” Thankfully, she didn‟t question him. He quickly led her from the gymnasium. Chaos reigned on the bridge. As soon as Drake and Queenie appeared, shouts assaulted their ears. His crew, desperate for his attention, delivered their reports red-faced and breathless. Queenie‟s men were attempting to silence the crew and update her simultaneously. Curses flew back and forth. Pushing and shoving ensued. Drake stared at the scene, thoroughly irate. We’re dealing with an emergency situation. Who the hell is in charge here? The answer was Captain Michael Drake, Queenie or no Queenie. He strode to his station and sounded the general quarters alarm. He stopped and started the ear piercing sound a total of three times. Finally, the shoving stopped and the angry voices faded. “I WANT A GODDAMN STATUS REPORT!” Drake bellowed into the silence. He turned to Radar. “Salinas!” Salinas snapped to attention. “Sir, two minutes ago a Calithian ship jumped into this sector! Looks like they finally saw through our diversion.” Drake sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?” “Yessir. Take a look.” Fore of the bridge, the main screen came alive with the specs of the ovoid Calithian battle cruiser circling the station like a predatory bird. Still standing, Drake routed more information to his screen as quickly as his shackles would allow. Apparently, Hades wasn‟t as impervious to discovery as they‟d assumed. So much for Queenie‟s theory, he thought dryly. If the Calithian vessel changed course, the Relentless would be within its 84

Queenie’s Brigade firing range in less than thirty minutes. He announced the ETA. “Oh, shit,” someone muttered. Drake cast a withering gaze across the bridge. “The next person who speaks out of line is in the brig. We expected this. Rainier, prepare to blow the clamps.” “Yessir!” “Excuse me, sir,” said a meek voice by Drake‟s elbow. He turned toward the voice, annoyed at the interruption. “What is it now?” Queenie‟s shove sent him crashing to the deck. As he thrashed about to regain his bearings, she gathered above him like a dark storm cloud. “Who the fu—who the hell do you think you are? This is my ship now, understand? No one gives the orders around here but me.” Damn. Drake had overlooked the fact that despite their recent, highly-charged encounter, to everyone else he and Queenie remained mortal enemies. Regardless of her true feelings—if she had even changed her mind—she still had her reputation to maintain. Drake supposed that in her position, he would have wanted to save face as well. But her need didn‟t excuse ignoring the new threat. “Queenie,” he began, struggling to speak past the plasma rifle one of her men had shoved against his cheek, “Release us now so we can destroy them. If they escape, they‟ll return with more ships and you can kiss your fairytale kingdom goodbye.” Glaring, Queenie motioned to several of her men. “Get him out of my way!” Two sets of arms hoisted Drake aside while Queenie planted herself in the captain‟s chair. “Destroy the enemy vessel,” she ordered. The Relentless‟ original crew regarded her with stony expressions. Shackled hands and feet limited their ability to operate the ship anyway, Drake noted with frustration from his new lowly station on the deck. What did Queenie think she was doing? He thought back to the first time she‟d commandeered the 85

Relentless. She‟d told him they couldn‟t even navigate the ship out of dock, and he had believed it was because of the damage. Perhaps that was the true cause, but in retrospect, it had masked another one: she‟d never set foot aboard a military destroyer in her life. I was born here she had said. The woman was completely out of her element. The Calithian threat had finally hit home. Queenie, for all her usual bravado, was now acting out of fear. He was about to goad his crew into action regardless. But Queenie‟s men had also hesitated, tellingly so. A few assumed positions about the bridge, but others held back, clearly uncertain. Tension grew like weeds, but then Queenie shattered it with words so vile and shaming that Drake winced in disgust. However, it successfully roused her men from their state of confusion. A number of them forcibly removed his remaining crew from their seats and took their places. Queenie nodded her approval. “Hit them with everything we have.” Drake growled in frustration. Didn‟t she know the basics, at least? “You have to clear the station first, Queenie.” “Nobody asked you, bastardo.” One gesture from Queenie earned him a kick in the ribs. For the next few moments, Drake could barely breathe, let alone speak. Outrage over Queenie‟s senseless provocation ripped through him. But an even greater menace loomed over them all. Stay calm. He had to keep apprised of her actions, so despite the flaring pain in his torso, he forced himself into a sitting position. She addressed her man at the helm. “Jaime, clear the station. Do it now.” “I‟m trying, Queenie.” Sweat plastered Jaime‟s face as he shot her a look of distress. “It‟s been a long time.” Drake glanced at Queenie. She was focused on Jaime, not her console. Both of her hands gripped the armrests, her knuckles white. Bloody hell! He flicked his gaze to the main screen. For now, at least, the Calithian vessel was maintaining her current position. Drake had to convince Queenie to free him and his crew 86

Queenie’s Brigade so they could defeat this threat. In this context, she and her men were about as useful as a kick in the ass. “Queenie,” he began, ignoring the hands that tightened their holds on his arms, “Release us so we can destroy that vessel. You have my word that we will not retaliate against you or your people in any way. If we don‟t act now, they‟ll send for reinforcements.” Drake raised his voice. “You didn‟t come all this way just to die. Where is the glory in that, Queenie?” A number of heads turned to stare at her. She sat rigidly in the captain‟s chair, her dark eyes burning a hole in the screen before her. Either she was contemplating her next brilliant strategy, or fear had paralyzed her to the point of catatonia. Drake had never seen a woman with such bottled fury—or vulnerability. He hoped they all survived the current plight because this siren possessed a seductive power that made him feel as though he could take on the Calithian Empire single-handedly. But her stubbornness proved the greater foe. He checked the main screen, which updated automatically. Then he cursed. The Calithian cruiser had changed course and was now charging toward their position, her weapon signatures displaying a feverish red. “Queenie! That ship is preparing to fire. Free us now or everyone here and on Hades is going to die! Do you understand me?” She closed her eyes. “Jaime, launch the ship.” Gibbering, Jaime hit key after key, but the Relentless wasn‟t responding in the least. Finally, he threw up his hands. “I can‟t. Lo siento. It‟s so advanced. I thought I would have more time to study it.” Both of Queenie‟s hands balled into fists while her eyes flew open. “Release the prisoners. All of them. Escort any on the station to the ship immediately. Keep them under guard but do not interfere with their duties.” An expression of shame mixed with anger locked onto Drake. “You‟re in command. Get us out of this.” With that, she left the seat and took up a standing position behind Helm. Drake felt sorry for Jaime, whose face had gone 87

bone-white beneath the onslaught of Queenie‟s livid stare. “Idiota!” he heard her mutter as Jaime scurried away. The inmates unlocked the shackles of Drake and his crew. The officers flew to their stations immediately and assumed control of the bridge. Drake had never been more proud of them than at that moment. He resumed the captain‟s chair, sharp anticipation making his blood sing. Finally, he was in a position to make a difference. After reviewing the incoming data for a few moments, he addressed Communications. “Hayes, is everyone aboard?” “Affirmative.” Drake activated the general quarters alarm once again. Following that, he switched on the comms to address the entire crew. “Attention all hands. This is the captain. Report to battle stations. We‟re about to engage a Calithian vessel. We remain under guard but there‟ll be no interference as long as we defeat the enemy vessel. Captain out.” He turned to the next few tasks. “Rainier, blow the clamps.” “Aye, sir. Blowing clamps.” Thirty slow seconds passed. The reinstated officers silently monitored the enemy ship. “Clamps blown, sir.” “Engage main engines.” “Yes, sir,” Stewart responded. “Engaging main engines.” “Set a course for the enemy vessel.” “Laying in course now, sir,” replied Rainier. “McKinley, stand by with a pair of Starcrushers. How many plasma cannons are functional?” “Only one, sir.” Blast. Queenie had kept him out of the loop more than he‟d realized. “We‟re that low?” McKinley nodded. “They were damaged right as we jumped. We were in the process of rigging new ones when the enemy vessel appeared.” “Do we have enough firepower to penetrate their shields?” “Unlikely, sir, even if they don‟t retaliate.” Drake clenched his jaw. Their tactical advantage amounted to 88

Queenie’s Brigade less than a hill of beans. Barely even a bean, realistically speaking. “I want better options than that, McKinley.” She regarded him solemnly while holding up two crossed fingers. “Luck, sir?” Salinas glanced away from his radar screen to face him. “Sir, enemy vessel is eight thousand-three hundred kilometers away and closing. If we maintain our current course, we‟ll be within their firing range in fifteen minutes.” Outgunned. Outmanned. Outclassed. Drake drew in a deep breath. Luck it is, then. They would have to take their chances. “Rainier, full speed ahead. We‟ll go in with all guns blazing, even if it is just one. McKinley, prepare to engage the enemy vessel on my mark.” The words “Play dead," came abruptly, and so quietly that Drake couldn‟t determine which officer had spoken. “Play what? Speak up.” “Play dead,” Queenie said more loudly, turning around to face him, arms crossed. “Can‟t you drift or something? Make it look as if the ship‟s in trouble, then attack when the enemy is too close to escape.” Drake looked at Queenie in surprise. He‟d thought she was planning to ignore him during the battle. Apparently, she did value her life. Yet her idea sounded like a coward‟s plan, and he was tired of running. They risked capture that way. But compared to the cruiser, the Relentless was a pea-shooter. The size discrepancy alone made attacking the vessel head on a foolhardy choice. Perhaps I’m the fool, choosing bluster over stealth. He continued to lock gazes with Queenie even as he addressed Engineering. “Can we do it, Stewart?” “Wouldn‟t be much of a stretch, that‟s for sure.” He sounded intrigued. “I could power down the non-essential systems. If I switch to auxiliary engines only, I can make it seem like we‟re on the verge of a complete shutdown.” “We could send out a distress beacon,” Hayes added, “or make them think we‟re about to surrender.” Queenie continued to stare at him. Drake knew he‟d be lost to 89

her smoky gaze forever if he didn‟t make a decision soon. All right, which is it, then? Bold attack or lure them to destruction with a smoke-and-mirror routine? The burden of responsibility felt as heavy as a torpedo hanging from his neck. Drake felt far, far older than his thirty-five years. But while he had the military experience Queenie lacked, he figured she might know a thing or two about playing the underdog. If they faced the Calithian vessel directly, they risked a swift counterattack. But if they played dead, there was a chance the enemy might become curious. That thought gave rise to another idea. “All right, let‟s do it,” Drake announced. He acknowledged Queenie‟s contribution with a wave. She angled her head in a nearly imperceptible nod of acknowledgement and resumed facing the main screen. “Rainier, belay my previous order. Instead, set us adrift, but edge toward our unwelcome guest without being too obvious. Stewart, implement your plan. Hayes, I want you to contact them. Audio only. Give them a serious but vague report of our systemic trouble followed by our intent to surrender. Also state that in exchange for our lives, we will deliver the coordinates to a classified base in this sector should they wish to obtain such intelligence.” “Aye, sir.” Queenie shot him an incredulous look. Drake smiled at her wearily. “There‟s no secret base. It‟ll be a great joke we can laugh about later should they fall for it.” She compressed her lips into a hard line, but Drake swore he witnessed a flicker of amusement in her eyes. Breaking eye contact, he instructed McKinley to assign Queenie and her men seats. When Queenie started to protest, Drake cut her off sharply. “It‟s common sense. Strap yourselves in or risk being tossed about the bridge like a rag doll if we‟re hit. I for one don‟t have the time for clean up duty.” Nodding in acquiescence, Queenie sat in the designated seat and ordered her men to follow suit. Drake checked his screen, routing the necessary data to his 90

Queenie’s Brigade console as the Relentless began a steady drift away from the station. The ritual tasks of duty came easily. He felt relieved, too, since his actions counted for something important again. Drake was determined to leave behind a legacy that mattered. “Captain,” Hayes began, “our message has been received and acknowledged.” He held up a hand. “Incoming.” A hush fell as everyone awaited the communication officer‟s next words. “The Calithian commander is demanding that you pilot a shuttle and personally deliver the classified information, sir. He‟s not guaranteeing anyone‟s survival and is ordering us to maintain our current position.” Damn. But his ploy had bought them some time. We’d better use it well. McKinley was already out of her seat and approaching his station. “Sir, I volunteer to go in your place.” Her eyes glinted with fire. “I could hit them with the minis upon arrival,” she said, referring to the shuttle‟s modest armament. “I appreciate the offer, McKinley, but the Relentless needs you more.” She inhaled sharply. “But sir!” “Return to your station, Lieutenant!” Drake spoke more sharply than he intended, but he had no other choice. McKinley did as ordered, though her body language screamed frustration. Drake wished things were different, but Earth needed the Relentless in one piece. He had to ensure that outcome no matter what the personal cost. He pointedly avoided looking at Queenie. “Hayes, inform them I‟m on my way.” Drake stood and began tugging his bedraggled uniform into an approximate state of respectability. “Listen closely, all of you. This is the chink in their armor we desperately need. They‟ll have to suspend a shield for the shuttle to enter the landing bay. That is the place you will target and the moment when you will strike.” He swept his gaze across the shocked faces of his crew, and the curious ones of the former inmates. “If you‟re lucky, the concentrated firepower will disable them and lead to other attack 91

opportunities. If not, well, I don‟t see as we have any other choice.” At once, a chorus of voices erupted, imploring him to reconsider. “My decision is final,” Drake said. He turned to leave, only to discover Queenie blocking his path, hands on hips and a ruthless glare in her eyes. A sharp pang of regret lanced his heart. Cupid had pierced him with an arrow during Earth‟s darkest time, knowing full well he couldn‟t act on those feelings. Duty first, came the stern thought, but for the first time in his entire career, his heart wasn‟t entirely in it. For her ears only, he murmured, “I‟m sorry, Queenie.” “I have a better idea,” she purred. “Make it quick.” Queenie spoke loudly in order to be heard over the rumblings of the Relentless‟ crew. “One of us desperately needs to prove himself and right a personal wrong.” She pointed to Jaime, hovering by a nearby bulkhead. “He will pilot the shuttle. If he refuses, his fate will be worse than anything he‟ll endure at the hands of the enemy.” She flicked her gaze right as her lips curved into a dangerously coy smile. “Isn‟t that right, Jaime?” “Yes, Queenie.” Jaime still appeared pale, but for some reason, palpable relief saturated his features. Addressing Drake, he said, “I know how to pilot a shuttle, Captain. After Queenie liberated us, I‟ve been in charge of transportation between the station and the colony. I also have experience piloting civilian freighters, so I thought I could handle this destroyer, but I guess not. Queenie‟s right. The job should be mine.” Drake bristled. “That‟s barbaric,” he told her. “And I refuse to comply.” Her eyes flashed. “Now who‟s being barbaric? Jaime is expendable. You are not.” Murmurs of assent reached his ears, and Drake had no doubt most of them originated from his crew. “Quiet!” he snapped. He leaned forward to speak quietly against Queenie‟s ear. “We can‟t allow personal feelings to cloud our judgment.” 92

Queenie’s Brigade “Speak for yourself,” she said, just as quietly. “Liar.” At Drake‟s calling of her bluff, her eyes went wide in protest, but tellingly, she didn‟t voice any of it. Nevertheless, Drake stepped back before she could respond—or punch him again. Jaime pushed forward, oblivious to the exchange. “I can do it, Captain. Sir. You‟ve got to let me. Maybe I‟ll even get a chance to fly clear before your—I mean before Queenie‟s ship attacks. If I die, then I die with honor.” He turned to Queenie, and Drake was astonished to see the unabashed worship in the man‟s eyes. “I‟ll be a hero, right?” She laid a hand against Jaime‟s cheek and held his gaze. “Sí. For eternity.” “I appreciate the gesture, Jaime, but too many lives are at stake. This discussion is over.” Drake stormed toward the lift, ignoring Queenie‟s irate expression and speaking over his shoulder as he went. “McKinley, hit them with everything as soon as the bay shield goes down. You now have command of the Relentless. Godspeed to you all!” But he never reached the lift. Several of Queenie‟s men accosted him and captured his arms in an unbreakable hold. He struggled until the veins in his neck threatened to burst. Queenie sauntered closer, making a tsk tsk sound. “You‟re forgetting a very important detail, my dear capitán. You‟re still my prisoner, and the Relentless is on loan until the enemy ship is destroyed.” Her voice turned low and ominous. “Jaime will pilot the shuttle, or I‟ll take over the ship again, regardless of the consequences. Your choice. But make it quick.” She checked her wrist for a watch she wasn‟t wearing, brows mockingly arched. “Oh my, time‟s up.” Drake bucked against the restraining holds. “Queenie, this is no time for theatrics!” She crossed her arms. “I understand your frustration, but more importantly, this is no time for heroics. Well, except for Jaime‟s. Which is it going to be?” Aghast, Drake stared at Queenie. “You‟re insane.” 93

“Hmm. Insane, or willing to do whatever it takes? You wouldn‟t let her go,” Queenie said pointing to McKinley, “because you said the ship needed her. The same applies to you, even more so.” She ventured closer, so close he could inhale her very essence. Surprisingly, her presence had a calming effect, and he ceased resisting. “These are insane times, Drake. They call for insane actions.” He couldn‟t resist her insane logic, either. Drake hoped he didn‟t regret his decision. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Send Jaime. But I want to give him every advantage possible.” Queenie nodded and gestured for her men to release him. “McKinley! Escort Jaime to Shuttle 2 and give him a crash course on its operation, including the weaponry.” McKinley snapped to attention. “Yes sir!” She began steering Jaime toward the exit. “You‟re going to love this baby. I upgraded her weapons myself.” Jaime bobbed his head, appearing simultaneously intrigued and scared out of his mind. Drake shot Queenie a barely suppressed look of annoyance. “Am I free to move about the bridge now?” She smirked. “Knock yourself out.” Free of his captors, Drake intercepted Jaime at the lift and extended his right hand. After a brief hesitation, Jaime shook it. “Good luck,” Drake said. “I expect a detailed report upon your return.” Jaime‟s eyes widened in surprise, but then he grinned as the subtext of Drake‟s words became clear. Next, he saluted, although the angle was wrong. “Sir, yes sir!” Drake smartly returned the salute, watching as Jaime, McKinley, and her escorts left the bridge. He wondered if he hadn‟t just sent the young man to his death. But he had seen too much death and destruction over the course of the war to invest in any such thing as hope. Instead, he returned to his command chair, determined to make the most of Jaime‟s sacrifice. As Queenie resumed her seat, he caught the haunted expression on her face. Was she contemplating his offer to join him? Or was 94

Queenie’s Brigade she still intent on taking the ship, and leaving him behind forever? About twenty minutes later, McKinley returned to the bridge and announced Jaime was as ready to launch as he would ever be. Hayes arranged a secure frequency on which they‟d relay any needed instructions to Jaime. Ten seconds after that, Drake watched the main screen as the shuttle sped away. His chest felt tight and sweat beaded his brow. Their future now rested in the hands of a young shuttle pilot with no military experience whatsoever. Hayes contacted the Calithian ship to announce the shuttle‟s imminent arrival. Following that, Drake issued his next order. “Rainier, give the aux engines a brief spurt and adjust our trajectory. I want us within firing range of that ship—as close as you can get us without raising suspicion. Stewart, I want our available weapons online. Can you mask the signatures?” “No sir, but I could create a diversion by blowing one of the ancillary power generators. Might confuse them for a few minutes.” Drake clenched inwardly at the idea of more damage to the ship, but they had to try something. “Do it on my mark. McKinley, fire us up when Stewart begins the diversion. Hayes, at that time, you will inform the enemy vessel that we are experiencing further difficulties and leave it at that.” “Aye, Captain.” “Roger.” “Yessir.” Stewart departed for the engine room. In another five minutes, Shuttle Two would arrive at the enemy vessel. Though intent on his console, Drake couldn‟t resist a glance at Queenie‟s chair. She had turned to face him with an expression wavering between hope and dread. Drake nodded at her, as if to say, We will prevail. It was all he could offer. “Shuttle Two ETA forty seconds,” announced Salinas. Drake tapped the comms. “Blow the generator, Stewart.” Stewart responded immediately. “Yes, sir. Blowing generator.” A slight boom echoed through the link before Drake broke contact. 95

“Enemy vessel advised of current difficulties, sir,” reported Hayes. “Enemy vessel landing bay shield has been deactivated,” Salinas announced. Now it was time for Drake to issue the most gut-wrenching order of his entire military career. He knew Jaime had willingly volunteered, but suspected the young man‟s bloody sacrifice would only be the first in a long line of such deeds. The weight of it threatened to crush his soul. But it had to be done. “McKinley, fire cannon and torpedoes upon designated coordinates.” “Acknowledged.” She quickly entered the commands. “Three. Two. One. Firing now. Estimated time of impact sixty seconds.” A shroud of silence enveloped the bridge. All went to work fulfilling their individual goals for the better of the group. Not a single eye strayed upward. “Direct hit!” McKinley reported. Indeed, the scanners sent back data revealing the mix of cannon fire and torpedoes had inflicted damage to the cruiser. But would it be enough? Could they deliver enough firepower to disable the Calithian ship before the shields resumed? “We‟ve lost contact with Shuttle Two,” Hayes announced somberly. “Enemy vessel is returning fire,” Salinas reported. “I see it,” Drake responded. “Hard to port, Rainier. McKinley, fire at will.” Rainier adjusted the ship‟s course in order to present as narrow a target as possible. McKinley let out an ear-shattering war whoop. “This one‟s for you, Jaime!” As enemy fire raced toward the Relentless, Drake stared at the main screen, feeling deep admiration for not only McKinley‟s astute way with the artillery, but also the young man who had sacrificed his life without question, all for a chance at redemption. Drake released his harness and rose to full height. Then he raised his hand in a final salute to Jaime‟s courageous action. While lowering his hand, he met Queenie‟s bloodshot eyes, now 96

Queenie’s Brigade streaming with tears. Shock slammed into him, followed by a wave of sympathy. Drake had harbored suspicions that this whole situation had only been a game to her. But it seemed that she felt otherwise. Jaime‟s death had obviously affected her. Made the stakes more real. She really does care. Drake felt relieved that he hadn‟t misplaced his trust in her. Perhaps there was hope for Earth yet, and him. Holding her gaze, he resumed his seat. Queenie turned away, only to quickly release her harness. With a determined gait, she approached his station. Once there, she used an arm to wipe away her tears and then braced both hands on the edge of his console. “I have another idea.” Her lips trembled, but her voice sounded calm. “Tell me.” “First, I want you to conscript me and my compañeros into the U.F.E.” Elation swept through him. “Done. What next?” “If you can force the enemy ship to crash land on Vardos, my army will board her and make the Calithian crew wish they had never been born.” She made a fist. “I will personally ensure that we will crush them to dust. Every last one. No mercy.” She banged her fist against the console. “For Lucia,” she whispered in an aside, the meaning of which escaped him. Drake stroked his chin in thought. “Excellent plan, but a Calithian cruiser has a typical complement of four hundred crew members. Many of those are specialized combat units. Assuming they survive the crash, those are tight odds. Never mind the weapons they‟ll wield. You haven‟t faced them like I have.” Queenie looked at him solemnly. “And you‟ve never been in a gang war, have you?” She shrugged. “If you ask me, the Calithians are nothing more than a glorified gang.” Drake shot her a savage grin. “You have a point there.” Queenie delivered a curt nod before sauntering back to her seat. Drake‟s gaze lingered on the alluring swing of her hips even as he addressed Helm. “Rainier, set a direct course for the enemy vessel. Listen up, everyone! Here are your new orders. We‟re going in fast 97

and strong. We‟ll force that ship to crash land on Vardos. Then we‟ll commence a ground assault, to be led by Queenie‟s brigade.” Cheers met his announcement, and he couldn‟t tell where his crew‟s began and Queenie‟s people‟s ended. It was a tremendous feeling. Drake clapped his hands once and turned to those gathered on the bridge. “One more thing. On behalf of the people of Earth and those who are no longer with us, I am officially declaring war upon the Calithian Empire!” A loud, long round of applause met his words. Drake studied their gleaming eyes. It was obviously the first time in several long months that many of them really felt good about being alive. Drake continued against the backdrop of explosions and tremors as enemy fire pelted the Relentless. “We greeted them in peace,they greeted us with treachery. As we extended the handshake of friendship, they chose to cut it off in the most spiteful manner possible. I ask you, is this right?” A chorus of “no‟s” followed. “They believe themselves to be superior to us, and thus it is their right to exterminate us like cockroaches. I ask you again, is this right?” Another chorus followed. “Then I say now is the time to show them what we are made of. Now we will show them they are infinitely wrong in their beliefs about us. And most of all, now we will show them that the day they chose to launch an attack against us will go down as the worst decision in their damnable race‟s history!” A resounding wave of cheers went up. In that sea of elation, Drake briefly locked gazes with Queenie. A renewed sense of purpose energized his entire being upon seeing the clear approval in her eyes. His voice boomed. “Show them no quarter, for they have shown us none. Instead, show them this,” Drake said while raising a clenched fist, “for that is all they understand! Let future generations look back onto this coming battle and think, 'that was the beginning of the end of the Calithian Empire. That was the day everything changed—for the better!‟” 98

Queenie’s Brigade The applause was thunderous. Their eyes were focused. They were ready.

99

Chapter Eleven The cat and mouse game began. The engines of the Relentless shook the hull with the force of their exertion as Rainier navigated her straight toward Vardos. Soon they skimmed the planet‟s exosphere. The Calithian battle cruiser fell for the ruse, closing fast. Once again, they were a running target. Drake wondered how much of a price his crew would eventually pay. But this time, he had a bold, even reckless plan. The voices of his deceased comrades rumbled their protest. Drake silenced them with a single thought: Reckless times call for reckless actions. Salvo after salvo of plasma fire shot past the Relentless. Since the chase began, three had hit their mark. Klaxons wailed while the crew worked rapidly to contain the damages. Though Queenie‟s proposal to force the enemy vessel into a crash landing had merit, executing said proposal would be no small feat. Alternating his gaze between the main screen and his console, Drake saw that the window they were waiting for had now arrived. “Lock in the coordinates, Rainier.” “Aye, sir.” The navigator tapped his screen. “Coordinates locked.” “Cease firing. Begin the countdown to jump.” “Jump in five. Four. Three. Two.” As if in protest, the bridge‟s overhead lights flared to twice their normal capacity. One of them blew, sending shards of glass and sparks down upon their heads. Drake‟s gut clenched. What the devil? “Status report!” Screens blinked and alarms hiccupped. Then, the entire ship bucked, followed by a teeth-rattling shudder. “Report!” Drake repeated. “We‟re experiencing an incredible power surge,” Stewart 100

Queenie’s Brigade responded. “Investigating cause now.” He jabbed quickly at his screen, but as he did so, the rapidly-disintegrating images made the interface useless. “Damn!” “Abort the jump!” Drake commanded. “I can‟t,” said Rainier. “Override‟s not responding. It‟s too—” At that moment, the Relentless plunged into madness. Drake felt the g-force push his body hard against the seat. They were entering hyperspace faster than he‟d ever experienced. He checked his console, cursing at the way data appeared and reappeared. He grimaced. If any of the life support systems malfunctioned now. . . . The lighting abruptly changed, casting the bridge in a ghostly magenta hue. As the shuddering lessened, screams of anguish ripped through the air. By their unnatural sounds, they belonged to someone, or something, other than the crew. As though a marathon had begun, shadows passed through the bridge, leaving bizarre afterimages. Drake caught glimpses of emaciated beings with featureless faces. Another unfortunate glance informed him the screams issued from puckered clefts in the backs of their hairless 'heads.' Queenie twisted around to look at Drake, her face pale in the otherworldly light. Her fear was palpable. This must have been her first jump. He could only imagine her terror, especially since this particular episode was strange even for him. “Hang in there, everyone,” he said loudly, projecting as much confidence as he could muster. “We‟ll reach our destination soon. Rainier, find a way to bypass that override.” The navigator rubbed at his bald head. “Working on it, sir.” Stewart groaned while studying his screen. “SARA. Maybe she‟s unstable.” Unlocking his harness, he headed toward the lift. “With your permission, sir, I‟ll go to the engine room and see what I can do.” Drake nodded. Moment‟s later, Stewart‟s colorful curse echoed throughout the bridge. “Damn lift doesn‟t work!” Drake growled in frustration. “Return to your station and 101

contact—who‟s on duty?” “Waller. I‟ll use my comms.” Once at his station, Stewart flipped open his portable comms unit and began a dialogue with his engine crew. A stream of highly complicated tech-speak followed. The ship began a rocky deceleration. Drake braced himself. Were they exiting hyperspace? Yet, his screen said otherwise. How can that be? Without warning, the Relentless seemed to start spinning end over end. Drake clamped his lips shut as a violent attack of nausea tore through his innards. He heard a few people retching. All of this had to stop. They had a mission to accomplish. Finally, the ship slowed. The lighting returned to normal. To Drake‟s dismay, they had yet to exit hyperspace. McKinley pointed toward the view port. “What the hell is that?” The curvature of an Earth-like planet had appeared. But this globe didn‟t share its pristine state. Reddish-orange splotches covered it like sores, and the atmosphere seemed dangerously sparse. Drake frowned at his screen. There wasn‟t a single familiar constellation in the vicinity. Oddly, the view faded in and out. “Sir,” began Salinas, “I can‟t get a fixed reading, but apparently we‟re not alone.” Drake felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. “Punch whatever you have up to the main screen.” “Yessir.” Drake gasped. The view before him challenged his very sanity. The Relentless hovered in the middle of a vast armada of warships. A Calithian armada, to be exact. Based on available intelligence at the time, Drake had thought he‟d known the extent of their might. He was wrong. Dead wrong. Questions abounded in his mind. Had they jumped to the Calithian home world? Was the image real or an illusion induced by hyperspace? The instruments acted as confused as Drake felt. A chill went through him. If the armada before them was real, would it be launching toward Earth soon? 102

Queenie’s Brigade Then the image abruptly disappeared. “Looks like we‟ve got our work cut out for us, people.” Drake turned to his Chief Engineer. “Stewart, any ideas?” “It‟s possible that SARA can be used as a beacon, possibly for search-and-rescue missions. Or maybe she stores coordinates from every jump, and got her wires crossed. Those are pure guesses, Captain. I can‟t even begin to account for this event without proper research.” If Stewart was right, the Relentless might never be entirely safe from detection. Then the main screen flared to life again. Drake stared at it in shock. You’ve got to be shitting me. Alarmingly, the Calithian ships had regrouped. The spherical formation around the Relentless, with hundreds of bows turned inward, seemed to indicate they knew the U.F.E. ship was there, or at least occupied the same set of coordinates in a different dimension. Perhaps they were phasing in and out, like a ghost. Was the Relentless now being controlled from afar? Drake banged a fist on his console. They had to escape immediately or lose everything for which they‟d fought. “Rainier, get us out of here. Now.” Before the navigator could answer, the Relentless surged ahead—straight on a collision course with a Calithian destroyer. “Evasive action!” Drake ordered. If there was the slightest chance they exited hyperspace at the wrong time, they had to be ready. “Navigation isn‟t responding, Captain,” Rainier informed him. “According to the readings, we‟re still in hyperspace.” “Stewart, can we physically disable SARA?” “I don‟t recommend it, sir.” “We‟re running out of time and options here.” “I still don‟t recommend—.” “Do it anyway.” Stewart exhaled noisily. “Yes, sir.” As the Chief Engineer relayed the order to the engine room, the Relentless careened toward the enemy destroyer. 103

“Brace for impact!” Drake ordered, staring dully ahead. A fiery oblivion seemed imminent. Though it was hardly the campaign he‟d envisioned, at least Earth would have one less enemy ship to deal with. The Relentless closed the distance between the two ships. As the vessels met, bow to bow, everything went dark, dead, and silent. Immediately following that plunge, some kind of celestial jackhammer pounded at Drake‟s body. Cries of pain and surprise pierced the silence, gradually at first, as though someone was slowly adjusting the volume higher. Drake groaned as the assault intensified. It felt as if liquid fire was spreading throughout his veins. Everything seemed to speed up, and yet slow down, simultaneously. How was this possible? And in the midst of this chaos, he couldn‟t help but feel the overriding presence of another. What was it? A flash of light. A sensory assault. All of the points of the universe converged at once. Were they exiting hyperspace finally? Or were they at the mercy of something else, condemned to wander the bowels of this strange dimension forever? If they‟d miscalculated, or even if SARA was responsible, he could only blame himself. Memories of his near-kiss with Queenie would haunt him forever. She‟d been through so much, given him her trust, and he had rewarded her with death. Damn this war. Queenie, I’m sorry. Abruptly, the bridge slipped into sharp focus. The pain dissipated, leaving only phantom sensations in its wake. Holding his breath, Drake glanced at his screen. His jaw dropped. They‟d done it. By some miracle, they had actually done it! They had jumped the Relentless right alongside the enemy vessel, side by side. Self-congratulations would have to wait, though. They had only seconds to implement the rest of the plan. Rainier crashed into the Calithian ship with a full broadside maneuver. Drake gasped in relief even as alarms blared about the new fractures in the Relentless‟ hull. But the task was far from over. They still had to force their adversary to land on Vardos. 104

Queenie’s Brigade “Fire the port jets, Rainier!” “Port jets firing, sir!” The navigator‟s voice sounded downright jubilant. Shuddering violently, the Relentless shifted away from the enemy vessel, vomiting a sea of metallic particles in its wake. From the moment the Calithians‟ seemingly impenetrable dreadnaughts had appeared, not one U.F.E. ship had made it this close and been afforded this chance. For all of his comrades who had died, for all of those on Earth who cried for freedom, what came next was for them. The impact had sent the enemy vessel off course, right into the embrace of Vardos. Short range scanners revealed a severe reduction in its shield power as well. Drake issued his next round of orders. “Rainier, get us into firing position. McKinley?” “Yes, sir?” “Are the weapons online?” “Aye, Captain!” “Then send them straight to Hell.” “In a hand basket, yes sir!” The Relentless opened fire. A rapid series of Starcrushers and fiery plasma streaks collided with the Calithian ship, producing first one, then three, then incalculable explosions—brief blossoming plumes of orange and red retribution. With its spine broken, the ship began its rapid descent toward the planet below. On board the Relentless, wild cheers broke out. Drake passed a hand across his face and then exchanged a knowing look with Queenie. Now came the hard part.

105

Chapter Twelve The Calithian battle cruiser had ripped through the foothills of a barren mountain range. Overcast skies draped this northern region, and a cool wind charged across the rocky landscape. Stunted weeds and shrubs fought for survival in the lean, tough territory. The smoking hulk had left a large scorched trough in its wake. Its dark olive hull was marked with past battle scorings amid its fresh, open wounds. The gaping hole created by the Relentless‟s final attack was flush against the ground, obscured from view. Hidden behind a rocky outcropping nearby, Queenie stood poised for victory and nothing less. Fourteen hours had passed since the Relentless‟s crew had forced the enemy vessel down. It had been a glorious moment, but the real work had only just begun. The ship had crashed approximately forty-eight thousand kilometers from the penitentiary, which meant there hadn‟t been time to pick up reinforcements. In addition to Drake‟s fifty-seven men and women, one-hundred and eight of her people had been aboard the Relentless. They would have to make do. Despite the chilly air and even chillier odds, she felt electrified. Now she would avenge Jaime‟s death, and show those invaders exactly who ruled this cutthroat corner of the galaxy. She could only hope that winning Lucia‟s forgiveness would be as easy. Queenie adjusted her military-issue helmet for the third time, her hair braided and coiled tightly within it. Drake had lent her a combat uniform, and insisted she wear a nano-polymer protective vest like his own. Firepower included a plasma rifle slung across her back and guns at both hips. Upon seeing her ensemble, Drake had smiled at her rakishly and called her the incarnation of Athena, whoever that was. Similarly, her compañeros wielded a variety of weapons, some 106

Queenie’s Brigade of them being modified mining tools. They lacked the traditional, sleek appearance of manufactured firearms, but promised pain and death more ferocious than anything a military munitions expert could dream up. Through a pair of binoculars, Queenie studied the ship‟s exterior for signs of movement. Nothing so far. In the distance, massive thunderstorms poured lightening down onto a desolate world. A storm of another sort was soon to begin here. Earlier, Drake had ordered radio silence until the campaign began. All about her, the men and women under her command crouched in hiding, ready to attack. Wound up by Drake‟s stirring speech, they seemed impatient for action, for revenge, and more importantly, for freedom. About twenty meters away, Drake hid with more of her people, heading a combat detail of his own. They‟d also brought military grenade launchers of a scale Queenie hadn‟t known existed. Drake had explained to her that the enemy might still be capable of cannon fire, so the launchers would provide additional cover if necessary. Once Queenie and her group breached the nearest airlock hatch, his contingent would follow hers into the vessel‟s interior. His trust in her to lead this campaign had left her feeling surprised and more than a little flattered. She was proud to lead this 'brigade' as Drake had called her newly conscripted force. The term brimmed with respect, respect she‟d wanted from an authority like the U.F.E. more than she‟d been willing to admit. She‟d also realized that Drake hadn‟t been asking her to change who she was, only to channel her efforts into a different goal. With a pang of remorse, she recalled her decision to end the lives of Brayden and Eberto. It had been a brutal, but necessary choice since as leader it was her burden to assume the most difficult tasks. Queenie was no stranger to the dirty work her role occasionally required. She certainly wouldn‟t win any popularity contests, but if her actions meant saving billions of lives, then she was more than willing to make that sacrifice. Therefore, she aimed to prove just how reliable she and her 107

brigade could be. If they failed here today, nothing else would matter. Queenie killed the thought as she lowered the binoculars. Clearly, the surviving Calithians were too cowardly to disembark. Fine. If they wouldn‟t meet them on the battlefield, she would bring the battlefield to them in spades. She raised her hand and gave the signal. First, the hatch. Five men armed with laser cutters approached one about fifty meters from her position. Immediately, a cannon blast from a port side array vaporized two of the men. Scorching heat rose in suffocating waves. The remaining soldiers dashed forward as live grenades sped toward the cruiser in retaliation. Minutes later, the outer hatch fell away. Muted cheers drifted across the hillside. Don’t count your victories yet, Queenie thought. She waved the second group of her compañeros—her soldiers— forward. Rotating turrets from above emptied their contents in waves, raining potential death. The men and women sprinted ahead, dodging massive craters and showering debris as they advanced. Queenie observed with deep satisfaction that none among them turned back. What they lacked in training, they would more than compensate for with guts. At last, they took up positions on either side of the opening Seconds later, armed with rifles and other projectile weapons, they launched a pre-emptive attack. Their plasma fire streaked into the opening. Deafening explosions followed. When the smoke cleared, the group charged inside. Now it was time. Stepping onto the outcropping, Queenie drew both of her automatics and raised one of them high. “¡Ataque!” she screamed as loudly as her lungs would allow, firing a shot into the air. Then she leapt to the ground below and began charging toward the vessel. Thundering footsteps echoed behind her as a mass of soldiers swarmed the ship in her wake. The ground shook with the force of booted feet. The air rumbled with weapon discharge. Then, more heavy suppression fire rained down upon them from above. Laser 108

Queenie’s Brigade cutters screamed as they breached additional hatches. Shouts of triumph filled the air, but also ones of undeniable pain. Queenie tried her best to block the latter from her mind, feeling she had no choice but to ignore them. Her helmet comm crackled as Drake ordered his unit to advance. Shouts of unbridled fierceness from both of their groups blended into one voice. She saw one group divide into halves, while another approached from the side—apparently unseen by the enemy. Good. At least they‟d been paying attention in the past strategy classes she had given. Now it was up to her to prove her mettle as their leader. The ground exploded next to her, the area transforming into a geyser of rocks and dirt. She dodged this way then that. On and on and on. Death rained down around her. Her ears rang mercilessly, but she finally reached her goal. She had done it. She was inside the alien vessel. Heart pounding, she pushed forward. There was no time to catch her breath. Only a smattering of emergency panels lit the shadowy corridor she had entered. Red hues filtered through the harsh smoke drifting across her vision, only adding to the chaos and fog of war. The close confines of her helmet heated her skin. Sweat trickled down her neck. As she advanced, grunts and curses indicated where bodies thrashed in hand-to-hand combat. To her left, one of her men was demonstrating his proficiency with his teeth, buried as they were in a Calithian neck. Queenie barely heeded the gleaming metals and pristine lines of the vessel‟s interior. Instead, she hunted. Despite the horrible imagery Drake had shown her as proof of the Calithian‟s lust for violence, she felt energized. They were the ones who needed to fear her. Ahead, she spied a group of three. They, in turn, saw her. Queenie charged, becoming a whirling maelstrom of vengeance as she fired, adding her own notches to the growing enemy body count. They had to canvass the entire ship to ferret out the enemy soldiers: every deck, every station, every cabin. 109

The Calithians‟ advanced technology had no doubt traveled far and encountered much, but never had it known the sheer brutality of gang warfare face to face. Updates came regularly via her helmet comm. Her brigade was tearing through the ship and whatever alien limbs that fell across its path. Any counterattacks were cut down immediately, holding no threat for men and women who had nothing to lose. Queenie noted with pride that in this battle, the lines between the various gang factions had blurred or become nonexistent. She hoped they were gone for good. And then Drake was there, matching her blow for blow, shot for shot as they advanced farther into the belly of the cruiser. Even though a helmet obscured his face, it couldn‟t mask the hard, lean muscles of his body as he moved with the powerful gait of a warrior through a bloodthirsty battle. Queenie‟s heart beat faster than she thought possible, and not just from the fighting. Together, they plowed through the enemy ranks with unstoppable force. They took the Calithian sickbay. The officers‟ quarters followed. Then, they reached the bridge…the last stronghold. The hatch, however, refused to open. Drake slapped a circular device against a nearby control panel. He motioned for her to take up a position on one side of the door while he took the other. “When the hatch opens, I‟ll take point,” he said. “Cover me.” Queenie nodded, willing to learn as much as he could teach her about these types of operations. Moments later, a light on the device turned green. The doors slid open. Plasma rifle raised, Drake rushed through with a steady pace. Queenie followed. The view port was a sea of gray from the overcast skies. Shadows stretched across the unlit bridge like jagged teeth. Before she could absorb the rest of the scene, two Calithian soldiers rushed them. Drake picked them off quickly and they dropped to the deck. As Drake and Queenie approached the central command station, a third figure appeared. A towering inferno of muscle and wrath, the Calithian soldier faced them from across the bridge. A helmet obscured his face. His 110

Queenie’s Brigade ebony battle regalia appeared so thick and angled that Queenie wondered if it was some kind of mecha. In one fluid motion, he aimed a multi-barreled weapon of immense proportions in their direction. “That‟s the commander,” Drake said. “Let‟s end this!” They opened fire. The roar of repeated discharges became deafening. Queenie clenched her jaw as she realized something was wrong. The enemy wasn‟t going down. Instead, each time one of them hit him, electric blue sparks scattered across his armor‟s surface and faded away. Impenetrable armor? The Calithian sent a thick bolt of plasma through the air. Queenie watched in horror as it hit Drake square in the chest. He flew back against the bulkhead, limbs splayed. Then he dropped with a hard thump onto the deck. His body lay there. Still. No movement. No no no! It took every ounce of her control to stay calm. She would be next if she didn‟t act fast. With Drake incapacitated—he’s not dead, he can’t be, don’t think about it—Queenie now carried the sole responsibility to win this final battle. She would make him proud. She would make them all proud. Even as the Calithian pointed his weapon in her direction, Queenie laughed wickedly. She tossed her guns and rifle aside. Her helmet followed, clattering upon the deck as it rolled away. Though Drake would undoubtedly have a shit fit, she removed her protective vest as well. Flung it behind her with a flourish. Raising both hands, she challenged the Calithian commander to a physical engagement. Your head belongs to me. “C‟mon,” she said, raising both fists. “I‟m taking you down here and now!” Would her gamble work? Was his ego as big as his ship? The Calithian studied her for a long time. Then, slowly, he lowered his weapon. Placed it on a nearby console. As he stalked toward her, he removed his helmet. His obsidian eyes burned with cold fury beneath a head of short-cropped platinum hair. Next, he shed his armor. Flexing arms and hands, he stalked ever closer. Queenie danced on the balls of her feet, ready to pounce. 111

The enemy‟s eyes flashed with scorn. He uttered something unintelligible, but the derogatory intent was clear. She responded in kind. “Bring it on, you fuck! I haven‟t got all day.” Queenie launched herself forward. Mustering all of her energy, she delivered a roundhouse kick to his face. Her booted foot connected hard, as though the words 'no mercy' were stamped on it. The commander staggered back. Caught his balance. Blood appeared on his lip. He stopped for a second, his gaze seeming to reappraise her. He tongued the blood at the corner of his mouth. Smiled tightly. Ignoring his theatrics, Queenie swung out her leg for a second attack. But her foot fell short. The Calithian grabbed her ankle and using her momentum, swung her into a violent mid-air twist. Queenie‟s world spun. She landed like a bag of rocks. Air whooshed from her lungs. Her right cheek flared with pain as it connected with the deck. Fuck. That had been a stupid, stupid move. Concern for Drake was making her hasty. The Calithian barked out words in his alien language. The fact that he was talking rather than assaulting her made her think he wanted to keep fighting. Clearly, he was toying with her. Based on the information Drake had shown her in the ready room the day before, that was their style. I am nobody’s toy. Snarling, Queenie scrambled to her feet and faced her opponent. She bounced around, seeking an opening. But space was limited. Bodies and weapons littered the deck, making for precarious footing. The Calithian moved closer, leaving Queenie with little room to maneuver. In the second it took her to check her footing, his fist smashed into her head. Dios mio, that hurt. Queenie slammed against a nearby chair. While grasping for purchase, she could hear him behind her, advancing for another attack. Queenie dove to the left, back toward the center of the bridge. She rolled and then sprang to her feet. As she turned around, he lashed out with a punch. Queenie ducked. With a loud grunt, she immediately poured all of her 112

Queenie’s Brigade strength into an uppercut. Before he could recover, she jumped and tackled him to ground. As she attempted to pin his arms with her knees, one of his hands found its way to her neck. Too quickly, the other followed. Excruciating pain flooded her. Queenie knew he expected her to try to claw at his hands like a helpless insect. He was wrong, and that would be the last mistake he ever made. She plunged a thumb into his right eye and drove it deep. Within seconds, she dislodged his eyeball. The squishy flesh felt surprisingly. . . human. With an unholy scream, he threw her off. Blood streamed from the Calithian‟s eye as he thrashed around. Queenie growled as he dove for his weapon. She looked around for something, anything she could use. Nothing was in reach. In unison, they stood. The Calithian aimed his gun and fired. The crackle of energy burned past her left ear. Missed me, you son of a bitch! Deftly somersaulting forward, Queenie produced a hidden blade from her uniform. As she sprang back to her feet, she rammed it home into the Calithian‟s unprotected chest. His weapon fell to the deck. Ignoring the fists that repeatedly boxed her ears, she plunged the blade deeper and deeper. True, she wasn‟t an expert on alien biology, but something important had to reside in there. A large gush of dark crimson liquid proved her right. The heat of it soaked through her glove. After a final, harsh twist, Queenie withdrew her blade. Slowly, the massive beast fell to his knees, and then backward, shaking the deck around them. Then, in what seemed to take hours, the Calithian‟s obsidian eyes faded at long last. Seconds later, panting heavily, and with every inch of her body throbbing, Queenie stood over the being she had just slain with the secret blade she always kept on her 'for luck.' She glared down at the unmoving Calithian, the life drained from his every atom. The victory, however, tasted like ashes in her mouth. Eyes burning with fresh tears, Queenie lapsed into uncontrollable shakes. A groan came from another part of the bridge. 113

Queenie whipped around and brandished her dagger. A figure near the bulkhead eased into a sitting position. “Queenie?” came the rumbling voice. “Are you all right?” She rushed over to Drake and knelt beside him. Wasting no time, she delivered her report. “The Calithian commander is dead.” “Well done.” He flipped up his visor, wincing as he did so. Taking in her battered appearance, his wince became a scowl. “Are you crazy? Where the hell is your gear?” Queenie grinned despite the seriousness of it all. It felt good to have someone care about her. “It‟s a long story, and you need medical attention. I‟ll explain on the way to sickbay.” “It‟s just a scratch. My vest absorbed most of the impact. Gave me a first-class headache, though.” Drake‟s confident demeanor soothed her jangled nerves into something resembling calm. He rose to his feet, a little wobbly, but tremendously, wonderfully alive. Queenie stood close by him, reveling in his strong presence. Resting a hand upon her shoulder, he spoke into his comms link. “Drake here. Report.” The exchange ended a few minutes later. Drake pulled her closer, as close as his bulky armor would allow. “I just received confirmation that the ship is ours. For now, at least, we‟ve won.” Not trusting herself to speak just then, she nodded wearily. He regarded her tenderly as he continued. “I‟d be lying if I said it was over, Queenie. They‟ll send reinforcements when this vessel doesn‟t report in. They didn‟t give up when we jumped to Hades, and they‟re not going to start now, either. They‟re going to keep hitting us again and again and again.” When he brushed a stray hair from her forehead, she nearly melted. “But we‟ll be ready every time. The Calithians may have been the ones who started this war, but we‟re going to be the ones to end it, even if it takes years.” She regarded him solemnly. “Or decades. Whatever it takes.” Drake grasped her right hand. From that single contact, Queenie felt his heat and strength pulse throughout her body. “Are 114

Queenie’s Brigade you sure? Once we start down that road, there‟s no turning back.” Queenie leaned into him. It felt nice. It felt right. She gazed up at him, tears flowing freely. “Turning away from you would be harder. As long as you‟re by my side, I‟m up for taking on anything.” Drake smiled at her words. As softly as a petal‟s kiss, he thumbed away the tears spilling down her grimy cheeks. “I‟m happy to hear that, more than you can know. We hit them where it hurts, not using much more than sticks and stones. But with this ship, we can bring more to the next battle, much more!” Then his comms beeped again. “Drake here. Really? There‟s no doubt?” Her anxiety spiking, Queenie braced herself. What was happening? Had another enemy ship appeared? Drake continued his exchange. “Noted. We‟ll be right there.” He glanced at her as the transmission ended. “What is it?” Drake cupped her elbow as he escorted her from the bridge. “Something you need to see.”

115

Chapter Thirteen On the rocky plain between the Relentless and the Calithian vessel, Drake watched as a medical detail carried a seriously injured, but very much alive former inmate by the name of Jaime out of the wreckage. According to the report, Jaime had escaped from the shuttle moments before the Relentless had fired upon the cruiser. He‟d since been captured, but when members of Queenie‟s brigade arrived at the brig, they‟d overthrown his guards and freed him. Drake experienced a heady sense of satisfaction. Jaime‟s survival represented hope, hope they would need without end during the arduous months ahead. He looked to his left, studying Queenie‟s reaction. As relief flooded her expression, Drake felt a rush of affection. She ran forward to meet Jaime. Cheers filled the air as the first official hero of the war against the Calithian Empire reunited with his fellow soldiers. Jaime‟s skin had a sickly cast and bloody wounds covered his body, but he was conscious. Queenie laid a hand upon his cheek briefly before pulling back to allow the medics to transport him to Relentless‟s sickbay. Drake saluted him as the entourage passed. In response, Jaime flashed a grimace toward him before falling unconscious. As Drake stared at the retreating group, an unexpected gust of emotion tore through him. Seeing Jaime alive was almost as good as having his sister back. His lips curved into a bittersweet smile as a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. I guess I’ve done all right, eh, Celia? Though he was reluctant to end the back-slapping and battle recounting among his military crew and newly conscripted warriors, Drake had to maintain momentum. The day was beginning to wane, and they lacked sufficient equipment to operate at night. 116

Queenie’s Brigade A combination of rations, water, painkillers, and a stim shot gave Drake the energy he required to set up a base of operations in Relentless’s shuttle bay. Shuttles One and Three had been dispatched to the penitentiary for supplies and additional helpers. In under an hour, he had assigned numerous details for medical treatment, meal dissemination, and grittier tasks such as corpse disposal. As fatigue crept into his muscles, Drake realized he probably needed a solid six or seven hours of sleep as well. But as much as he wanted to recuperate, he needed to meet with Queenie regarding their next course of action. Speaking of which, where was she? He couldn‟t remember when she had left his side. Drake scanned the surrounding landscape. Blast it all! The woman was nowhere in sight. He radioed for information about her location. No one could tell him anything. He prowled through the base. When that search produced no results, he visited the Relentless‟s sickbay, hoping she had gone there to recuperate. The med tech on duty informed him she had been there for treatment, but had left an hour before. As Drake exited the hatch, pondering his next course of action, one of Queenie‟s burly 'generals' trotted up to him. He acknowledged the man with a nod. “Yaronova, isn‟t it?” “Yeah.” His hearty grin indicated approval that Drake remembered his name. Or maybe it was something else, because the grin kept growing wider. “Captain, Queenie wants to see you.” “Good. I‟ve been looking for her. Where is she?” “Follow me. I mean, follow me, sir.” Yaronova turned away and began walking toward the nearest lift. He led Drake to the Calithian cruiser. Drake frowned. “Queenie‟s in there?” Yaronova nodded. “That‟s right.” “Where?” “On the bridge.” “What‟s she doing there?” He chuckled. “When you find out, you could let me know.” 117

“Uh, within reason, I suppose.” Yaronova laughed as he led Drake onward, or more precisely, as they dodged and climbed over all manner of debris from the recent battle. The lifts were still operational, albeit the ride to the upper decks occurred at a slight angle. At the hatch to the main bridge, Yaronova gestured for Drake to precede him. One of the first things he noticed upon entering was that a few field lamps lit the fore portion of the bridge. Despite the shadows and alien technology, the area glowed with warmth. The second thing he noticed was that all of the Calithian bodies had been removed. Streaks of red indicated where someone had washed away the worst of the blood. The lift whooshed shut behind him. Drake turned just in time to see Yaronova give him the thumbs up before he disappeared behind the thick metal doors. What the hell? Was it a trap? Out of habit, Drake drew his gun. “What‟s going on here?” “It‟s only me.” The familiar husky voice drifted to him from the command station. “We‟re alone, so you can put away your gun. Well, the one in your hand, at least.” Drake wiped the sweat from his brow as he strode forward. “Why the ploy, Queenie? I‟ve been looking for you everywhere.” Then he saw the edge of her elbow. She was sitting in the captain‟s chair. Drake adjusted his course so that he could walk around it to face her. “Are you hungry? I have some—oh, Christ!” Queenie regarded him from a womb of shadows, her eyes dark and sultry. But that wasn‟t the only reason for his outburst. Drake rubbed his eyes, certain he was imagining things. A few more seconds of intense staring convinced him otherwise. The truth was before him: His tawny beauty was utterly, gloriously nude. Juxtaposed against the immense seat, she resembled a barbarian queen of tales past draped upon her throne. Her black hair tumbled around her like rich velvet. Knees bent, she had crossed her legs at the ankles, and her hands rested upon the armrests. Despite the battle inflicted cuts and bruises, her golden 118

Queenie’s Brigade brown skin tempted him like the fruit of paradise. Breasts, hips, thighs. . . all burned themselves into his memory in a single instant. Yet despite this sensual display, he had to be sure about her commitment. “Queenie is there, uh. . . you wanted to see me?” “I like this ship.” She stroked the right armrest suggestively. “I‟m going to keep it.” “That‟s. . . fine by me. It‟s a big ship.” “Muy bien. I‟m glad that‟s settled.” “Yes, ah. . . . ” Drake ran a hand through his hair. Nothing in the rules and regs had prepared him for this kind of encounter. “I‟ve organized a number of details to take care of the wounded and such. We need to discuss our next course of action.” “Always the professional, aren‟t you?” she said, her voice teasing. Queenie stretched like a cat after a particularly restful nap. The effect of this action on her breasts enchanted him. Then she gazed at Drake with an expression that promised eternal bliss. “We can be alone,” she said, her voice low and beguiling, “for as long as you like.” By now, Drake was hopelessly engorged. There were a million other duties demanding his attention. They had an army to train and future battles for which to prepare. Yet, staring into her eyes, Drake knew that the greatest battle he would ever fight would be for her love. And that battle would begin now. Piece by piece, Drake stripped off his armor. ***** He strode over to her. Queenie watched in hunger as Drake bared himself for her. Arm and chest muscles rippled as he peeled off his uniform. The man was tall and powerfully built, a fact that was even more apparent when he was naked. He was far more than a sexy starship captain. Michael Drake was rapture incarnate. She had not only her life for which to be thankful, but also a man who didn‟t hold her past against her. A man who understood 119

her potential even more than she did. Given her former responsibility, she had assumed a love of her own would never happen. But the events of the past six weeks had changed all of that. Not only would she make a name for herself in the history books, but she would also share the accomplishment with someone who truly cared for her. Supported her. Believed in her. Tears once again burned her eyes. Queenie realized that this time, they were tears of happiness. But she forgot her tears as Drake kneeled before her. He parted her knees, his expression dangerous with desire. He quickly inserted himself between her thighs. Queenie‟s breathing quickened. Languidly, Drake caressed her thighs and hips. His hands felt strong and hot. She leaned forward, drawn by the heat of his body. She slipped her arms around his neck, and wiggled closer until her nipples brushed his chest. His dark, virile thatch of hair tickled her. He smelled of battle and maleness. As his arms folded her into a tender embrace, he kissed her. But there wasn‟t anything tame about that kiss, or the ones that followed. Drake relentlessly explored her lips, her teeth, her tongue. Queenie surrendered to his advances, surprised that kissing a man could taste and feel so clean and pure. His stubble rasped her face as he rubbed his cheek against hers. He began expressing very specific ideas about what he wanted to do to her body. As she listened, moisture ran from her mouth, echoed by a sharp spasm deep inside her core. Pushing both hands into her thick mane of hair, he grabbed two fistfuls and gently eased back her head. Once her neck lay fully exposed, he painted it with kisses and long, hard strokes of his tongue. All the while, Queenie pushed against him, luxuriating in the sensation of his slick skin and taut muscles. Too soon, he released her hair, but he made up for it by trailing a path of wild kisses down to her breasts. After he captured one hard nipple with his burning mouth, Queenie moaned. “Do my other one,” she begged him in a fierce whisper. Drake obliged her until every nerve ending lit the heavens with their fire. 120

Queenie’s Brigade When it felt as though her breasts had swollen near to bursting, Drake raised his head and kissed her full on the mouth. Then he spoke at her ear. “I want to taste you,” he murmured. So elegant! Bereft of words, Queenie simply pushed her hips off the edge of the chair into Drake‟s waiting arms and leaned back. “Oh…!” escaped her as he anchored her tightly. She felt weightless in his arms. He began a warm, wet massage with his tongue upon her sex. Queenie threw back her head, basking in the waves of relaxation that followed. Ahead lay a future rife with war and bloodshed. Before that occurred, she was determined to know the peace that joining with this man would bring her. When Drake pushed his tongue firmly inside her, Queenie angled her hips forward with a gasp, eagerly accepting his gift of pleasure. She lost track of time as Drake pleasured her with his mouth. No matter how much she writhed, he held her fast. She had never been so drenched in her life, and her sex ached with delicious agony. “Drake,” she whispered, “I can‟t take it any more. Let me do you.” Drake slowed, although he took his sweet time withdrawing his tongue. “I don‟t know if that‟s a good idea.” His voice sounded raspy. Queenie felt a stab of anguish. Had he changed his mind all of a sudden? “Why not?” He eased her back into the chair. Taking one of her hands, he pushed it against his cock. “Feel that? I‟m about to explode.” While kissing him urgently, Queenie rubbed her palm over the head of his shaft. Just as he had described, it felt wide and tight and thick. “Just a few licks, then?” she pleaded. Drake groaned into her mouth. “A few, then.” He stood to allow her access. But Queenie reneged on her offer. Using every talent possible in her mouth and hands, she licked and rubbed and squeezed and sucked without mercy. For someone who thought he could only handle a few licks, Drake seized her head and pushed himself deep into her mouth too many times to count. His lusty grunts echoed 121

throughout the bridge. When Queenie was satisfied she had given him her all, she granted him respite. But not for long. She arched her back and spread her thighs for him. “Now, Drake. Hurry!” He needed no further prompting. Queenie surrendered herself as he angled into position to take her right there in the captain‟s chair. The tip of his cock nudged her entrance. Panting hard with anticipation, their gazes locked as Drake impaled her. Claimed her. Queenie wrapped her legs around his waist, completing the circle of possession. She uttered a low moan as he filled and stretched her beyond imagination, beyond reason. He began fucking her with long, slow, measured strokes. She reached around to caress his buttocks, enjoying the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he moved inside her. The more she rubbed her sex against his cock, the deeper he shoved into her. Queenie shamelessly ground herself against him. Pleasure coiled within her so tightly that she feared she might break. She became helpless before the storm of his need, and urged him to fuck her hard. “Anything you want,” she whispered. “Anything you need.” Her words drove him to the brink and then over it. He had his way with her, pumping with mad frenzy. The smooth seat of the chair grew slick with their fluids. The lack of friction caused their hips to meet in a fit of unrestrained thrusting. When her orgasm hit, Queenie thrashed as the sensation of pure bliss tore through her entire body. Spasms of raw pleasure made her buck and twist and cry out Drake‟s name. His first name, this time. “Queenie,” Drake said tightly, “I‟m going to—!” The only way she could answer was by clinging to him in astonishment as she climaxed again. In this ethereal instant, she knew neither pain nor fear, only fulfillment. Seconds later, he emptied himself thoroughly, grunting like a primitive animal. After they exchanged a few gentle kisses, Drake withdrew. 122

Queenie’s Brigade Moments later, Queenie sat snugly in his lap, trembling but content. She leaned into his touch as he stroked her hair. “Mmm, that‟s nice.” “Queenie.” “Yes?” His eyes looked dark and serious in the dim light. “You do realize we‟re in this for the long haul.” “You mean the war?” “Yes.” She gazed toward the view port, though it revealed nothing but darkness this late in the evening. “I waited years to free my people. I felt I had to deliver on my promise to them. But you were right. Things had changed.” She turned back to face him. “I learned that Earth is worth a few years more. So in answer, yes, I realize what we‟re up against.” “We‟ll have to make many sacrifices.” “I‟ll do what needs to be done.” She kissed him sweetly. He broke the kiss. “We‟ll have to start with small raids. We need food, supplies.” “I know.” She kissed him deeply. He paused, though breathless now, to speak again. “I‟ll need to train your army. My discipline will be ruthless. They‟ll have to learn to take my orders.” “We‟ve given them enough evidence to believe. They‟ll do whatever I—whatever we instruct them to do.” Kissing him hard, she pushed her breasts against him. “Now hush,” she said, breathing hotly against his ear. “Do me again. Until I‟m unconscious.” Drake pressed a finger briefly against her mouth to halt her next kiss, even as his erection ground hard against her hip. “I need to be clear about something. What do I mean to you, Queenie?” Love pierced her heart with an unbearable ache. “Can‟t you tell?” She laid a hand against his cheek as adoration filled her eyes. “You‟ll be my hero, Michael—for all eternity.” ##### 123

About The Author Heather Massey is a lifelong fan of science fiction romance. She searches for sci-fi romance adventures aboard her blog, The Galaxy Express. And for European readers, she covers the subgenre for Germany‟s premier romance magazine, LoveLetter. When she‟s not reading, she‟s watching cult films and enjoying time with her husband and daughter.

Red Sage Publishing

The Leader in Women’s Erotic Romance Sensual fiction written for the adventurous woman. Featuring the best in women‟s ultra sensual and spicy fiction, satisfying your desire for more. Visit our website and discover delicious temptations and spicy fantasies!

www.eRedSage.com