The morning was quiet again, or at least it was quiet of gunshots. It couldn’t be said to be quiet in a general sense, because Magarce had had an idea, which she was fixated on for good reason. She was determined that they would take the hovers from the dead Hse-Nerre, and get to the spaceport much more quickly. This required that she and Benz would fly hovers flat out, leaning into the wind and goading the things on nearly to the point of falling out of them. It would require good balance, and a great deal of courage, to fly them at maximum speed.

Benz had been very reluctant even to try the hovers at all…

On Runge worlds, they were termed ‘kitty flitties’ and typically short-lived from severe overstress. Runge were just heavier than Nerre, and some couldn’t even be lifted by the flitties. Benz was an old wolf and not heavyset. His objection was more emotional than practical.

“Never!” he’d said. “I’ll catch up with you.”

“Do you know how fast these things can go?”

“You can tell me all about it, later.”

“There won’t be a later for you. They’ll come, in more of these, and they’ll hunt you down.”

“Let ‘em try. I’ve got five guns- at least.”

“No! I’m not having you killed like Benjen. You’re being childish. What’s your problem?”

Benz had paused, looking uncomfortable.

“Benz. What.” said Magarce, in ruthless tones.

“It’s… Don’t make me fly.”

“I’m about to. You don’t know how to use hovers? You shouldn’t be too heavy for it.”

“I won’t fly anything!”

“Don’t be silly.” said Magarce, her ears quirked in perplexity. “You came here on the landing craft. That’s flying. I certainly hope you plan to leave here with me. What are you going to do, SWIM to orbit?”

“Well, yeah, but where was I sitting?”

“In back.”

“Did you ever see me looking out the window, enjoying the view?” said Benz.

Magarce was speechless. For almost a second.

“Come over here. This is how it works.”

“Kitty, n…”

“Come over here!”

“Not a chance.”

“Come over here,” said Magarce, “or shoot me. Right now.”

“W…”

“Without you, I’m going to die on this planet. Let my last sight be your body, dear Benz.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Be a sport, drop your pants and then shoot me. Come on! At least give me that!”

“No!” yelled Benz.

“Well then,” said Magarce, unperturbed, “if you won’t put me out of my misery that way, do it by coming along with me. I’ll show you how these work. It’ll be fine.”

Benz stared, outmaneuvered. It was true that leaving the little cat here was sentencing her to death. And he was as good as dead anyhow… “All right, all right! I’m going to hate you for this. I’m just sayin’.”

“But you will love me for other things, so let’s get the hate out of the way. You shall be rewarded as hard as I can, as soon as we’re safe.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” said Benz sourly. “How does it work, again?”

“Stand on this middle part- that’s right- hold the handles and- hey, watch it!”

Benz had stepped onto the foot plate, and been completely unprepared as the hover turned itself on and tried to match his weight with its small engines. He jumped back, and his hover flung itself into the air with what remained of its thrust, before shutting down in mid-air and crashing to the ground again.

“Fucking thing! Why’d it do that?”

“That’s what it’s supposed to do! I guess you really have never seen them, huh?”

“But shouldn’t it have a twist throttle or something? Why does it just go off without asking?” said Benz, shaking.

“No, it goes ON without asking, that’s what surprised you. You don’t want it ever to go off if your weight is on it, now do you?”

“How the hell can you control it if it just blasts away?”

“It controls itself. It matches your weight.” said Magarce. “If you push on the handles, it tries to stabilize itself, so if you want to go up, you sort of pull up. Try it again.”

Benz glowered dreadfully, but he knew time might be short, so he picked up the hover, and gingerly stepped onto the foot plate, wincing as the little engines spooled up with tiny shrieks of exhaust.

“Step all the way onto it! Quit stalling!” said Magarce, who’d already hopped onto a hover, and was impatiently waiting in mid-air for him. “Step on, and pull the handles up.”

Benz’s tail was between his legs as he let his full weight rest on the plate. He tentatively pulled up on the handles, expecting them to move. They stayed rigid and unmoving, but the hover responded by trying to leap into the air, shoving up under his paws eagerly. He reacted by trying to shove the thing back down with his hands and it responded just as promptly to that, dropping to the ground, where his weight came down on the foot plate and spurred another shriek of tiny engines- but the hover flew up in one direction and Benz in another, for he’d flung the thing aside and landed on his ass.

“Fucking THING!”

“Do it again.” said Magarce. “You almost had it. Smoother…”

Benz had managed to control the hover the second time- aided by the extensive balance-sensing hovers employed. It really did read your touch- that was kind of the problem with a nervous, inexperienced Runge at the controls. The pressures he put into the hover to direct it were excessive beyond any normal Nerre standards, and his tension only made matters worse. He tended to either drop to the ground when near it, or rocket off up into the sky when at altitude, for his fear of heights made him pull up frantically on the handles to avoid falling. Magarce had to chase after him and demand that he hold the handles with just fingers instead of the death-grip he was using, and then talk him back down to a safer height.

“Which is silly,” she’d said, “because all heights are safe with these. Just don’t try to grab me, okay?”

He’d stared at her from his hover, a hundred feet off the ground, as if she’d gone completely insane. “What happens?”

“As your weight comes off the foot thing, it thinks you’re lighter and the engines cut, and more of your weight comes off it, and it pretty much just falls… oh crap!”

Benz had reacted to this news by clinging to the handles again and pulling up to ensure the hover didn’t drop out from under him. As a result, up he went once more, and Magarce gave chase again.

They’d spotted the spaceport by seeing a ship taking off from it, in the distance, and had headed for it at high speed. Benz’s tail stayed welded between his legs, but he kept up through grim determination, constantly cursing under his breath in a pitiably distressed tone that sometimes rose almost to a howl.

“What happens if it runs out of fuel?” he yelled, into the emptiness of open flight, at Magarce thirty feet away.

“It starts refusing to go higher! We’re still good! Eventually it lands itself if it’s really out of fuel!”

It took a mercifully short time for the hovers to get to the spaceport- perhaps too short a time, for Benz realized he had no plan of what to do once they got there. Mags wasn’t slowing for anything, and Benz struggled to keep up with his own overloaded hover.

“Where exactly are you going?” he yelled into the wind.

“Away!” came the reply, unhelpfully.

Benz did his best, staying within fifty feet or so of the speeding kitten, but he seriously thought of veering away when he realized Magarce was shooting straight into the center of the spaceport. Not only that, she was aiming for the biggest ship on the ground, one that was plainly loading passengers, one that plainly had a scattering of Hse-Nerre watching over the embarcation.

He realized she was making a high keening noise of rage, and was glad he couldn’t see her eyes.

The spaceport loomed, and he saw as if in slow motion the Hse-Nerre and passengers look over at the sound, recoil, the Hse-Nerre baring their claws. These ones didn’t have guns- presumably it was impolite to assign absolutely everybody a gun just because there was a Magarce on the planet. It might have been prudent, however. Benz waited for Magarce to come in for a landing, and with a jolt, realized she wasn’t planning on that.

Screaming, laughing, crying ‘Vranorche! Vranorche!’, the little Nerre flew her hover at high speed directly into the largest group of Hse-Nerre, with no concern for her own safety, and Benz watched the results in just as much horror as anybody else. He’d frantically slowed to where he could land without carnage. He saw bodies fly like sacks of broken bones, against the ship, into the panicking line of passengers. Magarce was one of the bodies that flew into the line of passengers.

He saw a Hse-Nerre, crouching with lashing tail, spring up and charge at that group. It would be Magarce he was after. One quick shot laid him sprawling on the ground, with half a head.

“Vranorche! Vranorche!”

Whatever that meant, it had to be pretty bad. The passengers were mad with fear, stampeding away. Some showed signs of injury. Benz spotted another Hse-Nerre trying to attack, and shot him almost absentmindedly, for he was trying to see what was happening in that scrum.

“Vranorche! Ahahaha!”

The Nerre were acting like a bomb was going off, their ears flattened, desperately trying to get away from something as if their worst nightmares had come to life. Very quickly, Benz got a good look at the center of their nightmare. Very quickly, he was alone with it and the dead bodies. Even Nerre too injured to run had dragged themselves away in hysterical terror.

Magarce stood, panting, eyes blazing… laughing.

“Quick!” she ordered, and then cried after the fleeing Nerre, “Vran-fucking-orche!” and almost couldn’t walk for laughing. Benz grabbed her and supported her- she was beat up, but clearly not badly injured- and the two rushed onto the ship and into its cockpit.

“Can you fly it?” said Magarce.

Benz stared at her. “You’re asking me this now?”

“Yeah!”

“What would you do if I said I couldn’t fly it?”

“Die. What else?” said Magarce, as if it was an awfully dumb question.

Benz settled into the pilot’s seat, cursing bitterly.

“But I was pretty sure you didn’t want to…” continued Magarce.

The ship sprang to life as Benz hit switches, pushed the throttle, steered it towards the runway. Most ships used aerodynamic qualities rather than just taking straight off, and this shuttle was no exception.

“And I also thought you probably learned how to fly for just such an occasion as this…” continued Magarce.

“Shut up, okay? Don’t remind me. And… what the hell does ‘vranorche’ mean?”

Magarce’s eyes danced with glee and madness. “It means ‘you’re safe, I stopped fighting’.” she said, and giggled merrily.

The ground fell uneventfully away as the shuttle blasted up at steeper and steeper angles- Benz reflected on the differences between Ause and a typical Runge world, where he’d be getting shot at for this. Ause was a strangely civilized world, or perhaps it simply hadn’t been shocked enough to be prepared for the likes of himself and Magarce. Of course, he was a strangely civilized pirate. Magarce… was not.

He realized he was trying to fly straight up so he wouldn’t have to see the ground. Wouldn’t even make it to orbit at that rate. Benz allowed his trajectory to flatten a bit, while nothing in particular happened behind him. Such a strange world.

“We’ve got a way to go before we reach the ship.” he said. “Didn’t want to get in too close to the p…”

The radio crackled. They were being hailed, but it was no more than a blast of noise.

“What the hell?”

Again, it came to staticy life. This time, there was a voice, just for a moment.

“-o, DON’T even fucking talk to them, they ki-”

Tres.

From far up in the sky, a missile flared to life. It seemed to hang there for a moment, and then it mushroomed in size and was on them. Benz desperately slammed the control stick forward, in hopes he could make the shuttle duck under the missile. He almost made it. The missile turned with him, and barely hit the tail surfaces of the shuttle, so glancingly that it seemed to not know whether it’d made contact- and as a result, exploded an instant too late, a fireball racing away from them down toward the planet.

That kind of luck wouldn’t hold twice. Benz frantically punched in a radio frequency, and cried, “It’s me! Cut that shit out!”

There was a moment of silence. Then, Tres: “Benz?”

“You’re god-damned right it…”

“It’s a miracle!” cried Tres over the radio, interrupting him very firmly. “Come right away!”

“If you think you can…” snarled Benz- but she had already killed the hailing frequency. He was cut off.

“Get them back on the radio!” cried Magarce, shaking with fury. “Tell them!”

“I can’t! I can’t get the ship, she’s changed the frequency. They’re not shooting at us, though. I see them now!”

Their ship got closer and closer. It’d come deeply into the gravity well of the planet, presumably to attack the shuttle it saw taking off. It wouldn’t be too much of a trick to dock the shuttle instead, however- at least, it wouldn’t be difficult under normal circumstances. Benz looked grim. These weren’t normal circumstances.

“You stay close behind me. Don’t get in the way of my gun whatever you do, and follow my lead. We’ve got to get in without her attacking us, and we’ve got to cast this thing off before that bitch-vixen gets on it. I guarantee if she’s still alive up there, she’s going to try to trade places with us and get away.”

“Yeah?” said Magarce.

“Yeah. We’ve totally fucked up her story. I’m going to tell the guys what she did the instant the door opens. The trouble is, she knows that. I wish to hell I could out-think her, and know what she’s gonna do…”

The ship approached, silently, and the shuttle came gently up against it, docking, fastening airlock seals, flooding the airlock space with air. Benz and Magarce were silent, each studying what was in their hands. For Benz, it was his gun, and he checked and rechecked it, running over possible scenarios in his mind and wondering if he was really going to have to shoot one of his own, gone bad. For to him, there was no question that Tres had gone bad, broken faith.

Mags studied her knife, and what scenarios were in her mind, she kept to herself.

The airlock door opened, revealing Tres, beaming a vixen’s smile that was too big and manic, in front of seemingly all the pirates who’d remained on the ship.

“Darlings!” she cried. “I missed you so much…”

“You sold us out.” rasped Benz, and moved forward through the airlock, confronting Tres. Magarce followed close behind. All the pirates watched with predatory eyes.

“Of course I didn’t.” said Tres. “I never did. I don’t know what you’re thinking…”

Benz laughed at that. “Spare me. You probably knew exactly what I was going to say. You sold us out. You’re done.”

“Is Angs okay? Is he back there?” said Tres, and made as if to dart past Benz.

“Grab her! Cut it loose!” yelled Benz. One pirate grabbed Tres, and another reacted to his demand by hitting the emergency airlock override. The door slammed shut, and only a series of entries on a keypad would open it again.

“We could use that ship, Benz!” snapped Tres. “Why are you so paranoid? Is it going to explode?”

Benz didn’t answer for a moment, because he was typing on the keypad, and a whoosh said that the shuttle, now unpiloted, was drifting off into space- or more accurately, the outer reaches of the Ause atmosphere, which they hadn’t quite left.

“I’m not paranoid. Let’s just say I know what I’m dealing with. And as for Angs, fuck you. You killed him yourself.”

Tres’s eyes flared with anger. Benz was accusing her directly, and the other pirates were plainly listening, and the shuttle was behind the sealed airlock and would drift off to burn up in the atmosphere eventually.

“You’re out of your mind. What makes you think you can make this stuff up?”

“The guys believe me.” said Benz simply. “It’s funny that way. They know you’re more tricky.”

Tres’s actions then spoke volumes of just how tricky she was.

First, she twisted her head around to stare at the guy holding her. “I’m unarmed. Let me GO. I gotta gesture, okay? Can I have an argument the way they’re meant to be argued? Benz has me at gunpoint. You KNOW what that means.”

The guy shrugged- and let her go. Tres stalked, apparently in a rage, over to the closed airlock. “How dare you say that to me?” she hissed. “Angs is down on that planet right now, and you know it. We have to go there and break him out of jail.”

“Balls.” said Benz. “You shot him.”

“If I’d murdered him,” snapped Tres, “you’d have shot me by now. Clearly I didn’t act against my beloved Captain.”

This was an uncomfortable observation, because it was true. Benz couldn’t be absolutely sure of his suspicions, and she’d shot Angs because he told her to do it, and these things held him back. Benz steeled himself to execute the cunning Estrai woman, but she wasn’t quite done yet.

She turned her back, and sneered, “He loves me more than anyone, and I am insulted…”

…and Magarce sprang from behind Benz, her knife held high, with a yowl of feline rage as she rushed Tres.

Benz could’ve shot, he could have aimed past Magarce, but some part of him said to let the little Nerre have her vengeance. It was a bad, ill-advised part of him, and it cost him a valuable instant while Tres anticipated the swing of the blade, pivoted, seized the knife right out of Magarce’s hand, sent the smaller female tumbling, turned towards the airlock’s keypad…

Every pirate started forward, but the next instant, all their plans changed.

“BREACH!”

Tres screamed this, while stabbing at the keypad. The word caused every pirate to instinctively go into space-wreck mode, and in their momentary confusion Tres stabbed again, twisted just right…

The airlock sprang open, and it really was a hull breach. Air blasted out. Benz grabbed onto Magarce’s leg, another pirate grabbed him, everyone braced themselves and grabbed what they could.

Tres blew straight out the airlock, bouncing off the edge with a curious leaping motion, and was lost to sight.

“CRAP! GET THE SECONDARIES!”

“I’M ON IT!” yelled another pirate, and grappled his way through the howl of escaping air to another keypad, at which he worked frantically.

The airlock shut again, before too much air was lost, and the metallic pinging of steel told of the readjusting of pressure. Somewhere, loud hissing burst forth as backup air was produced from solid and liquid components, some of them doubling as fuel.

“What the hell was that?” said the pirate who’d shut the airlock.

“That was Tres.” said Benz, resignedly. “She really did kill Angs. He was a goner, though. But I do think she sold us out. She told the Nerre where to find us. They want our Mags’ head on a spike, apparently.”

Another pirate was at a window. “Holy shit! Come look at this!”

There was barely room, and the low air pressure was making everyone lightheaded while it equalized- but there was enough room at the window to see the drifting shuttle- which was no longer drifting, which had fired its engines and headed back down to Ause as quickly as it could. The pirates were speechless for a minute.

“You guys h… was there a stowaway?”

“Now there is.” said Benz.

“She couldn’t have!”

“Shoot her!” wailed Magarce. She was shaking, near hysterical.

Benz looked at the other pirates, most of them subordinates- technically all of them, though Gannt didn’t lower his gaze like the rest. He spoke, measuredly.

“Our Tres shot Angs, because he said to. Escaped the planet and tried to get them to kill me and Magarce here. Got back and meant to take over this ship- I’d love to know what she told you guys. Got caught out by me and Magarce returning. Got trapped, with the other ship drifting off in space. Blew the hatch, jumped off the edge of it at just the right angle to catch the falling ship, which still had its airlock open, stole that ship while falling through space, and is flying it down to the planet now.”

“Shoot her!” sobbed Magarce.

Benz hugged the miserable, bloodthirsty kitten.

“She’s not coming back here, kitty. But… sorry. Nobody on this ship would shoot her now, so long as she goes away. Which she’s gonna do…”

“She should DIE!” said Magarce.

“She did. She got blown out an airlock without a suit, while I held her at gunpoint and you stabbed her. About that, we need to teach you some more…”

“She should DIE!”

“When you die that well, you live forever.” said Benz.