Pirates of Vallahar: Chapter 9

Chapter 9
Into the Wild Blue

         Vixie kicked the hanging bag as hard as she could sending the sand-filled sack swaying around like a drunken pirate. Sweat rolled down her teenaged nose as she doubled over to catch her breath. Jim Piper sneered at her momentarily before unleashing an impressive barrage into another bag across the training room.
         "Keep your head moving," Nadie coached the young girl. "A kick like that will incapacitate your opponent, but it leaves you vulnerable to his friends behind you." It had been two months since her capture by The Death Mark, and Vixie's only friend was another kindred spirit who was also in Carrion Flats mostly against her will. Unfortunately, she just happened to be Juryrig's stepmother.
         Vixie still hadn't forgiven Juryrig for the part he played in her capture and the pillaging of her hometown. He had tried to talk to her occasionally, but she always ignored him. The only thing she had to look forward to in this light-forsaken waste was her physical training with Nadie. The woman had been an accomplished dancer before she fell in with the Death Mark, and the two of them adapted many of her dance moves into a unique hand to hand fighting style all her own, both to pass the time away from the obnoxious men in the mess hall and to protect the recently developed young woman from a base full of lecherous pirates. Because of her relationship with Nadie, and Nadie's relationship to the former leader of the Death Mark, the two women remained untouchable for the moment in the eyes of Grecko the Cruel's former mates. And if that moment ever passed, Vixie would be ready to take down whoever stood in her way. And for the past eight weeks, it had been the kick bag in front of her which she sometimes bitterly pretended was Juryrig.
         Vixie arched her back in pain and readied herself in front of the bag again.
         "Why bother with that maypole, Nadie?" Piper asked as he unwrapped the white strips of fabric from his knuckles, sweat-soaked muscles bulging in the process. Nadie eyed him warily. He often trained when the women were training and Nadie knew all too well that not only could he out-muscle any pirate in the base, he could out-fight all of them as well. Probably at once. Piper's brute strength was matched only by his legendary skill in hand to hand combat.
         "Why don't you beat it, Jim?" she barked. "You don't need to train here every time we do." He bared his teeth.
         "Grecko's been dead for three years, sweetie-pie! I don't care who you are, you don't show me respect and you'll find that you and him have more in common than you thought."
         "I don't think so..." she replied boldly. "You're not in charge yet. Gagach says I'm untouchable, and you're under his authority."
         "Oh, but I beg to differ!" Piper said, slowly approaching. "Gagach has always been Grecko's drunken puppet. He may wear the stripes, but he does what I tell him to do. Don't you for get that..."
         "Is that why he grounded you for two weeks when you tried to have Juryrig shot for disobeying your orders?" Piper was speechless. He shot a glance at Vixie and then wound up and belted her kickbag as hard as he could, ripping it from the ceiling and sending it flying against the wall.
         "We'll just see who's in charge in a year or two, mistress Nadie..." he growled threateningly. "We'll just see... Then maybe you and I will have a little chat and little blue-eyes here won't be so lucky in her friends anymore." He slung his undershirt over his taut trapezius and headed for the door. Vixie brushed her sticky hair out of her face and wiped a generous amount of sweat from her forehead with her shirttail. She was used to Piper's empty threats.
         "I'm exhausted, Nadie. Can we call it a night?"
         "No! Keep training!" Nadie barked. Vixie was taken aback at her harshness. Nadie glanced at Piper's broad back shining with sweat as he walked through the door and down the hall. His head shook in fury, wet hair slinging sweat, as he grumbled violently to himself.
         "Trust me... keep training..." She whispered.

         Juryrig shoved the mop over the grease spill on the hangar deck with more force than usual. Since his little escapade into Tamelia, he was no longer allowed in the hangar without supervision. This meant that at least one pirate was inconvenienced and that meant that his job was now a lot less enjoyable.
         "HURRY UP, mop jockey!" Sawtooth screamed at him from his seat on a nearby gas tank the moment the mop stopped moving. Juryrig glared at him in defiance. "Move your ass you worthless stagmaggot! I'm starving!" Juryrig clenched his teeth. If he stopped cleaning the deck now he'd be punished in the morning, but if he didn't, Sawtooth was liable to tear his head off out of impatience. As he dipped the mop into the nearby tin bucket, he shot a glance up toward the rafters of the bay. He caught sight of Vixie and Nadie walking along the gangway far up near the roof of the cavernous hangar bay. He resisted the urge to call out to them. Vixie hadn't so much as looked in his direction ever since that horrible day in Sayloo Valley. Even Nadie had been cool towards him lately. It was as though she'd adopted Vixie as the daughter she never had and left her disobedient stepson to fend for himself. He angrily slopped the mop back down on the grease stain. Fine with me! I don't need them... I'm a man. I don't need anybody, least of all a pair of useless servant girls. Sawtooth screamed something else, but Juryrig didn't listen. To hell with both of them. They're never going to get out of here anyway. They'll just rot away here in the anus of Vallahar with the rest of the slaves while I'm out plundering and pillaging and... Juryrig's rage lapsed into bitterness as he tried unsuccessfully to force the truth out of his mind. He was never going to be a pirate. He was too useful to Gagach as a mechanic here in Carrion Flats. This was his destiny: mopping up grease, gas, and puke: To repair the instruments of destruction used by other pirates. He was going to rot here exactly like Nadie and Vixie. He'd grow up and turn gray without ever leaving this blasted hangar. He glanced up again at the gangplank far above, but the women had already disappeared into one of the tunnels.
         "Ho-ly shit!" Sawtooth breathed from behind him. Juryrig turned to see what his problem was. That was when the shadow fell over him.
         There outside the bay was the biggest ship Juryrig had ever seen in his life. It was gracefully lumbering towards him, its massive bow eclipsing the setting sun. Its balloon was immense and its hull as broad as two Death Mark gunships. The leviathan dwarfed the other ships in the bay by almost half. Juryrig laid his mop down in awe and approached the great ship as it sailed slowly into the bay and touched down on the concrete floor. He walked over and ran his hand along the colossal outer hull. The construction was unbelievable. It appeared to be a transport of some kind. Though there were a few cannon bays, they looked empty. This thing could carry a whole convoy's worth of cargo! You could get rich on one run... As he looked up, he noticed the upper floors of the hangar bay were already filling with pirates, similarly gazing down, or in this particular case, out, in disbelief at the size of the ship mooring itself in the yawning bay. There must have been over half the Death Mark lining the gangways. Word travels fast! Drake must have radioed it in as soon as he found it. Not that Juryrig or Sawtooth would have heard it cleaning out the hangar bay.
         Sawtooth remarked in awe as a rope ladder rolled all the way down to the floor and Drake Gagach began to descend the ladder smiling broadly.
         "A beaut ain't she?" the older pirate exclaimed.
         "I'll say!" Juryrig called excitedly from around the other side.
         "Where the hell'd you find her?" Sawtooth asked.
         "Limerock," Gagach replied. "Dumbass farmers were using her as a fertilizer transport. She's brand spankin' new. Some wealthy rancher had her custom built. Best wood in Wendigo." He knocked dully on the hull. "He won't miss her."
         "How do you know?" Sawtooth asked.
         "Because he's dead." The two men guffawed at the oldest pirate joke in history, as Juryrig walked under the bow. He couldn't blame their enthusiasm. They were in the presence of the biggest prize any pirate had ever landed. This would go a long way in restoring Gagach's reputation among the other pirates.
         "What's she called?" Juryrig asked as he approached Gagach; his grumpy mood momentarily forgotten in the presence of such a gorgeous ship.
         "Well, she was called the 'Shoshone.' But I'll have to give her a name worthy of the Death Mark-"
         "How about 'The Annihilator?'"Sawtooth proposed, beaming. Juryrig snickered at such a ridiculous suggestion.
         "Well, why don't we discuss it over rib-steaks in the mess, huh?" Gagach said joyously as he threw an arm around Juryrig and Sawtooth respectively. He shouted up at the hooting pirates above on his way towards the door. "Carve up some meat, boys! Everybody to the mess!"

         The slaves had to work double time to prepare the food. The pirates were already lined up and chattering excitedly even before they had brought the food out to the buffet line. Vixie served Juryrig's meal without a word. It was as though he was nothing more to her than any of the other pirates. He supposed that was true. As he moved his tray down the line, he looked back at her sorrowfully, scooping potatoes and slapping dribbling steaks onto the metal trays of leering pirates. Gagach stopped and ogled her for longer than usual with an arrogant smirk. Juryrig darkened. The pirate had already downed a lot of alcohol, and when it came to slaves he wasn't above giving in to his baser instincts even when he was sober.
         Juryrig watched Vixie to see how she'd respond. Her long black hair was tied back and she looked like she hadn't slept in a while. She ignored Drake just like she'd ignored him, and just like she'd ignored Toecutter when he slapped her rear. The celebration was of little interest to her. Why should it be? Why should it be to me either? When am I ever going to fly on that monster out there in the hangar? They won't let me within fifty feet of her without some guardian angel looking over my shoulder. Juryrig felt a great depression descend over him as he watched Vixie serve the drunken sleaze-bag Guttermouth in exactly the same uninterested way she had served him.
         When Lojack pushed him forward Juryrig realized he was holding up the line and he decided to take a seat. Vixie hadn't noticed him staring, nor would she if experience was any indicator. He sat down next to Bonesaw, since his only friend in the Death Mark had died at his hands during the raid of Sayloo Valley. Despite the uproarious celebration around him, Juryrig felt worse than ever. All he could think about was Vixie. He cut himself a piece of steak and stirred it around in the juice. My fault. It's my fault. No wonder Nadie doesn't like me. Juryrig plopped his head into his hand in despair.
         "You gonna eat that?" Bonesaw asked. Juryrig glanced at him and then jumped up and stormed out of the mess towards his quarters. Bonesaw gratefully helped himself to Juryrig's last meal.

*          *          *

         Vixie carried the stack of aluminum trays back towards the kitchen area. Most of the pirates had gone back to their quarters to sleep off the night's partying. The few that remained were at the center table playing a drinking game. As she passed Gagach, he slapped her hard on the butt. Vixie ground her teeth, and hoped that Mouth would keep her distance. Mouth was a slave a couple of years older than Vixie. She was one of Toecutter's victims. Nadie said she got her nickname because she used to talk too much. Toecutter, apparently, disliked it when his slaves spoke without being spoken to, so he cut out her tongue. Now poor Mouth never uttered a sound. The once pretty young girl now had a gaunt, haunted look about her, and Vixie could swear that she was slowly losing her hair. The girl never ate and was only seen outside of Toecutter's quarters when she was working. Vixie had tried to make friends with the silent slave-girl, but Mouth didn't seem to trust anyone but her disgusting master, and often seemed to despise the other women on base. She wouldn't let Nadie anywhere near her. Vixie felt another surge of nausea as she realized that she too was nothing more than a slave and that the only difference between her and Mouth was the amount of time they'd been there. She knew Mouth wouldn't last much longer. She wondered how much longer she had.
         As she rounded the buffet bar, Vixie noticed Gagach still glaring at her from his table. She quickly retreated into the kitchen to help Nadie clean the rest of the trays. Toecutter, meanwhile, managed to snake his arm around Mouth's middle as she passed and pull her into his lap, sending the used trays she was carrying clattering to the floor.
         "You ain't goin' anywhere, trash..."

*          *          *

         Juryrig lay on his bed. His cheeks still wet from the baby crying he'd just spent the night enduring. He hated himself. He was no man and never would be. He was no different than any of the slaves, except that he actually, pathetically, thought of himself as a pirate. The pirates were right to keep him here, cleaning floors and patching hulls. He couldn't possibly make it on the outside. He got his first taste and look what he did with it. He completely ruined the life of the only true friend he'd ever have. Then he ran home back to the pirates because he was afraid, and now he would never see the outside world again. It was just as well, he thought miserably, since he was obviously long since ruined of any chance of existing anywhere but here by his association with the Death Mark.
         He sat up and scratched his smooth cheeks. What a sorry little kid I am. He almost chuckled. It was a freeing thought. The knowledge that you can never be anything or anyone of value can take away pressure to actually do something. He felt relieved in a pitiful way. He turned on his sink and splashed his face with water. As he dried his hands on the yellow-stained cloth hanging nearby, he thought about another cloth he once owned. The clean, white one he used to wrap his old binoculars in. He wondered where they were now. Probably still somewhere in Vixie's old house, if the pirates haven't plundered it. He wished he had them back.
         Sitting back down on the bed, he recalled that night when he gave her those binocs. They way Vixie had looked at him. The way she followed him around, the way she sometimes mimicked his speech patterns and posture. Dammit Vixie! he thought in frustration to himself. I know you don't hate me! Why can't you just say something to me? He stood up and paced around his cramped quarters. I'll make you talk. Make you open up... he declared to himself. I'm tired of sulking around while you act like I don't exist. We're going to talk about this whether you want to or not! Quickly, before his blood settled and he lost his nerve, he threw open his door and stormed into the dark hallway.

         Drake Gagach staggered out of the mess hall well after midnight with a large bottle of whiskey in his hand. He'd waken up alone amidst a sea of trash and food, well beyond drunk. He had only one thought on his mind. Shuffling down the hall and guzzling the last contents of his bottle, he clutched the various wires and lights fixed on the tunnel walls to steady himself. He shook his head in an effort to focus his eyes. Down the hall, he noticed his destination. His wet, whiskered lips curled into a smile.

         Vixie sat at her makeshift desk in her quarters. Leaning up against the wall above her desk was a large piece of mirrored glass. Juryrig had left it outside her door in a sorry attempt at an apology shortly after she got here. Nadie had polished it for days until she could clearly see her reflection in it. Vixie looked at the puffy faced girl in the mirror. She opened the drawer and pulled out a hairbrush the older woman had given to her. She thought about her situation with welling eyes as she tiredly ran the brush down through her once pretty hair. Her life was over. How could she be a slave? How could her parents be dead? How could her best friend have betrayed her so horribly and so completely? No future... she thought. None. Just like Mouth... The corner of the mirror was broken due to a tantrum she'd thrown once when she was locked in her quarters. She reached over and broke a shard away. She walked over to the wall next to her bed and sat down on the hard stone floor. She turned her arm up to expose the soft pink underside and placed the tip of the mirror shard into her skin. She sobbed weakly as the glass pricked into her flesh. Tears began streaming down her face. She knew that tonight would be different. She knew that she would do it this time. She took a breath and gritted her teeth, no longer able to see what she was doing through the streaming tears.
         Suddenly, the wooden door to her room blasted inwards. Vixie jumped in fright, dropping the shard. Drake Gagach stood in the doorway, leaning against the broken frame with a whiskey bottle in his hand. He stared at her, a droplet of whisky mixed with saliva hanging at his shiny whiskered chin. Vixie stood up slowly with her back against the wall, too frightened to move. Gagach hurled the bottle clumsily against the wall of her cell and moved toward her, pulling off his flight jacket. Vixie panicked and tried to run past him, but he caught her by the throat and threw her onto the bed. He flattened her into the mattress as he leaned forward, his hard chest against her soft, and pressed his leathery cheek into hers. Vixie couldn't process what was happening. She pushed against his broad chest in vain.
         Gagach brought his knees up and straddled her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her hands above her head. He relished the look on her pretty little face. She didn't know what was happening. This little girl had no clue. He'd introduce her to womanhood tonight. As he reached for his belt buckle with his left hand, Vixie's freed right hand suddenly shot to his left foot curled beside her thigh. Clasped to the side of his boot was a small rusty dagger in a sheath. She unclipped and drew the dagger with astonishing dexterity, and before the pirate could react, she swiped it through the meat of his throat.
         Gagach jumped backwards off the bed and toppled into the desk clutching his throat, eyes bulging and mouth in a tight "O" shape as though he were a child who'd just done something naughty. Blood flowed from between his fingers as he thrashed against the desk and shattered the mirror, spilling dusty shards of glass all over the blood dappled desk and floor. A horrible wet sound came from somewhere in the vicinity of his face as he whirled, sprinkling blood over the wall. This evoked a bloodcurdling scream which took Vixie a second to realize that it came from her own lungs. She cried hysterically on the bed and cowered against the wall, still holding the bloody dagger between her and the spasm-wracked man. Finally he collapsed to his knees. His face shredded from the broken glass, his hand fell away from a glistening black rip in his neck as he pitched forward, face first into her bed. Vixie trembled and gasped reflexively as her sheets soaked crimson underneath the silent body. She didn't even notice another pirate looking on in her doorway.

         Juryrig couldn't speak. He couldn't even move. The pathetic, insecure, mock-angry speech he'd planned to give Vixie disappeared permanently from his head at the sound of the scream and the sight of her broken door. Every thought vanished when he saw Vixie on the bed with the knife and the body of Drake Gagach slumped forward at her feet. Every fearful adolescent insecurity drained away when he realized that the blood splashed all over Vixie's quarters was not hers. Moving mechanically, he entered the room and shuffled over to her, her eyes still on Gagach. Juryrig climbed onto the bed and took Vixie into his arms. She began sobbing uncontrollably as Juryrig pulled her away from the corpse and stood her up. The knife slipped from her shuddering hand as he turned her around so that she was no longer facing the body and so that he was. Drake is dead. Drake Gagach is dead, was all he could think. Then another thought unexpectedly entered his head. Vixie is dead...
         Suddenly he heard the sounds of footsteps rushing down the hall. Juryrig acted without thinking. He threw Vixie aside and scooped up the rusty dagger. He grabbed the corpse and pulled it to the floor just as Sawtooth, Piper, and Nadie appeared at the doorway.

         Nadie gasped at the scene. Juryrig stood frozen, knife in hand over the body of the leader of The Death Mark. Sawtooth went white.
         "He's dead!" The pirate sputtered. "Gagach is dead! Juryrig killed Gagach!" Piper looked icily at Juryrig, remarkably calm. More men appeared in the doorway, murmuring excitedly. Piper slowly entered the room and lifted Gagach's arm an inch or two with his foot and let it drop. He turned to Juryrig. The young man dropped the knife and silently returned the older man's gaze, heart pounding with adrenaline. After a terribly wordless moment, Piper spoke.
         "Sawtooth!" he called without turning. Sawtooth looked at the back of his head. "Escort our mechanic to the brig. He's under lockdown until further notice for the murder of Drake Gagach." Sawtooth hesitated for a moment before the realization of what took place had dawned on him.
         "Y-Yessir, Mr. Piper!" Sawtooth wisely stated as he grabbed Juryrig by the arm.
         "N-no!" Vixie suddenly exclaimed. "No it was me! It was me, I did it!" Piper turned to Nadie. His look was poisonous.
         "Mistress," he addressed her. "Take miss Bangalore here to your quarters and remain there. Grecko's last toady is finally swimming in his own blood. Once I've decided Juryrig's fate... I'll decide yours..."

*          *          *

         The decision was swift and unanimous, as everyone knew it would be. Juryrig was to be taken south to the Samson Wastes and marooned in two days time. The fate of all traitors was death in the Death Mark. Piper had wisely decided on marooning the young man to give him an honorable death and build his reputation among those who questioned his authority to lead the uncertain pirate clan. Such a death sentence was a welcome change from Piper's usual uncontrolled outbursts for all of his detractors, and ultimately sealed his position as the new leader of The Death Mark. Gagach was the last loyalist to Grecko the Cruel. The Death Mark was now indisputably James Piper's.

*          *          *

         The next morning, Vixie slipped out of Nadie's quarters and through the shadows of the hallway shortly after the woman had left. Nadie had gone to Piper's office to demand Juryrig's life, but Vixie knew it was futile. She knew deep in her heart that Nadie was walking down the hall to her death. And she knew that Nadie knew it too. Vixie decided that she didn't want to get out that way. She wasn't going to wait for them to come and get her. She'd had enough, and it was time to get herself away from there, from everyone who lived at the base, before she found a shiv and finished what she'd started last night before Gagach had interrupted her. While Nadie was keeping Piper busy, Vixie would find a way to escape the pirate base once and for all. But first she had to return the favor to someone who'd just saved her life.
         On her way to the brig, she paused outside Toecutter's quarters. Vixie just wanted to get Juryrig and get the hell out of there, but she couldn't get the image of that gaunt slave-girl cowering silently under Toecutter's shouts out of her head. She didn't know if Mouth would want to come, but Vixie decided that the girl would come whether she liked it or not.
         As she eased the door open, hoping against hope that Toecutter had already left for the day, she flipped on the light switch. Toecutter's quarters smelled worse than he did. His bed sheets were stained and full of holes. There was a dagger literally stuck in the wooden wall that separated the bathroom from the rest of the room, and she saw several outfits scattered across the floor that Vixie assumed must have been Mouth's, since the other possibility she'd just as soon not visualize.
         She heard a dripping sound coming from the direction of the open door to the bathroom. As she approached the doorway, she saw a pale hand and leg under a nightshirt at about eye level. They seemed to be floating in the air. Vixie shoved the door open to find Mouth hanging from a rope around her neck, seemingly looking directly at her. Her bare feet were missing several toes, one of which was dripping fresh blood. A new surge of nausea flooded the young girl, and this time she couldn't hold it back.
         Clutching her abdomen and crying, she staggered back into Toecutter's room, heaving as she went. She wasn't sure why it affected her so badly. She barely knew the girl, and she'd seen dead bodies before. As she ejected another hot burden all over Toecutter's bed, she began to understand why she felt the way she did. She was a slave like me. She did what I tried to do so many times. She found the courage that I couldn't; that only someone who's been here as long as she has could find... She got out... I didn't... Once she'd purged the last of this morning's breakfast, Vixie slumped against the side of the bed, wiping at her tear streaked face and spitting out the sour taste of bile. As too much time passed, she began to formulate a plan. She'd show these pirates what happens when you mess with Vixie Bangalore; when you mess with innocent people. She left the tongueless slave hanging like a ghost and made her way to the hangar.

         "Let him go, Jim!" Nadie snarled at Piper over his newly acquired desk. "I'm warning you. Let him go. You got what you want. The Death Mark is yours. He's just a boy. You don't need to kill him." Piper smiled evilly and adjusted his flight jacket.
         "Yes, I did get what I want." He stood up. "I have Drake's job. But Drake made mistakes." He looked at her through slitted eyes. "Drake made mistakes because Grecko made mistakes. Piper don't make mistakes. Drake let the kid slide by. Drake bent the rules. When you bend the rules, mistress, you take away their power. The kid breaks the rules, the kid pays the price. That's it. One less headache for Piper to deal with."
         "You bastard! You could leave him somewhere further north! Or give him supplies at least! At least give him a fighting chance!" she pleaded. Piper calmly reached into his desk and pulled out a lacy dancer's outfit. He held it out for her to see with a wide smirk.
         "Actually I was thinking something more along the lines of this. Maybe a passing king will pick him up for his harem, huh? Ya never know..." Nadie snapped. She wound up and swung openhanded at his face as hard as she could. Piper caught her thin wrist in his beefy hand without as much as a flinch. "Say your goodbyes to the kiddie, toots, 'cause you're gonna be next," he rasped at her. "Then me an' the boys'll have little Vixie all to ourselves!" Nadie kicked outward into his stomach, breaking his hold. Grabbing a small pistol out of her blouse, she fired haphazardly at the pirate. He ducked reflexively at the shot and the small caliber projectile hit the wall just above his head. He flipped the desk over sideways in a fit and lunged at her as she wildly capped off two more shots. Grabbing her right arm in one hand and her neck in the other, he forced her against the wall. Spittle sprayed her face as he breathed through tightly clenched teeth.
         "I'm gonna do what Grecko should've done a long time ago!" he growled as he squeezed the woman's soft throat as hard as he could. Nadie looked into his soulless brown eyes with hatred as she began to turn red, then blue. The pistol clattered to the floor of his office. No sound escaped her as her cheeks went purple and her eyes rolled up into her head. Maintaining his death grip, he slowly lowered her to the floor. After a moment, he released her and stood up. Walking away from the black and blue carcass, he went over to the intercom lying on the floor beside his toppled desk and keyed it. "Sawtooth! Get up here. I'm going to visit our prisoner and I want my office cleaned up before I get back..."

         The guard straightened nervously as Piper walked into the brig. Word travels fast. That's good, Piper thought. "Where's Juryrig?" he barked.
         "The end of the hall, captain. Last cell on the left," the guard responded as he opened the inner door to the cellblock and held it for his new commander.
         Juryrig was sitting on the floor of his cell as Piper approached the bars. The kid looked as nervous as a stag in a swimming hole. The man rapped on the bars with his knuckles. Juryrig looked up and then looked away.
         "We're gonna maroon you, kid. What do ya think of that?" Juryrig sat motionless. "Samson Wastes... Even if the desert don't kill you, ya got bandits and the occasional stag recon unit that will do the job... But don't worry, the desert never fails to getcha. The good news is: we're taking Gagach's new monster cruiser out there to see how she handles. Looks like you'll get a ride-along after all..." He walked back and forth in front of the bars and thought for a moment before continuing. "I wanna thank you for wasting Gagach for me. Now I can finally build this dying brigade up to its full potential. That's the reason you're being marooned instead of shot... It's my little way of showing my appreciation." Juryrig merely stared at the wall, not giving the man as much as a nod of recognition. "Sure, Nadie wasn't too happy about it," the pirate went on. "But I made sure she saw it my way before I popped her little head like a cherry..." Juryrig glanced up at this remark. The young man searched the pirate's face for the truth. Piper just grinned at this. He waved away his last comment. "Anyway... you were a halfway decent mechanic. I do hate to squander resources, but that's the business, ya know? Lessons learned." He smiled at him. "Take it easy, 'Rig... And don't worry..." he glanced back as he left the brig. "...we'll take good care of your little girlfriend..."
         Juryrig stood up and went over to the bars after Piper had left, heart pounding. He was lying about Nadie. Just trying to get you riled up so he can kill you here rather than make the trip out to Samson Wastes... Juryrig's stomach sank at the thought of a death sentence. But he'd expected as much. Marooning was the pirate way of dealing with traitors, and Piper was smart to hold to tradition in the face of the death of Gagach. He'd be unanimously accepted as leader in no time. Juryrig supposed it was all for the best, as with Piper in charge he'd have ended up on the wrong end of a rifle in no time anyway. The death sentence didn't bother him, as he didn't really have anything to live for anyway, but he couldn't resign to his fate just yet. Not with Vixie and hopefully Nadie still in their clutches. They may have hated his guts, but they were both here because of him and he would be damned if he was going to let them die.
         He reached his hand around the outside of the barred door and examined the lock with his finger tips. Cursing himself for not bringing his pocket knife with him to Vixie's room, he kicked the bars and returned to his bed. Think, Juryrig. You gotta figure a way out of here. It'll be at least a day before they're ready to leave. I'll wait until late at night and then sneak out of here and grab Vixie and Nadie. We'll steal a ship and make for Jester's Folly in Opina Forest. We can trade in the Death Mark ship for a less conspicuous one and then head for Paradise City. I can get a job as a mechanic, and we can build a house and live there under militia protection... Juryrig was satisfied with his idealistic plan. Now all he had to do was find a way to get himself on the other side of the bars.

         The guard nodded to Piper as he left the brig. "I'll be back this evening to get him. He's going to the Samson Wastes," Piper informed him. The guard was slightly disturbed at this news: He'd always liked Juryrig, but he supposed that it was as honorable a death as could be expected.
         "Yessir, Mr. Piper." As Piper walked down the hall, the guard turned and headed back to his book lying on the table. He made himself comfortable and opened the old booklet. It was a popular collection of "art" that consisted entirely of images of women. Before the door had fully swung shut, however, a thin foot slid into the doorway...
         Vixie slid noiselessly into the security office and dropped to the floor, flattening herself against the wall just behind the guard table. The guard was sitting on the other side of the table just out of sight. He snorted and took a drink of his grog, never taking his eyes off his book. Great, Vix! Now what are you gonna do? Vixie tried not to breathe too loudly as she crouched underneath the table. She had slipped in just as the guard had his back turned and just after Piper had left, but now, judging by the position of his feet less than a meter away, he was again facing her direction.
         As slowly as she could, she silently set the small sack she was carrying on the floor and reached into her pocket. She pulled out Juryrig's old pocketknife. The guard's feet shifted and she froze. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. She eased backwards a step to make sure that he couldn't see her hand under the table from his position. Beyond the chair and behind the seated guard she saw the barred door that lead into the cell areas. She bit her lower lip. Here goes... Vixie took aim and gingerly flung the small knife at the cell door. It clanged off one of the bars and clattered to the concrete floor inside the cell area. Vixie's heart raced as the guard stood up and headed for the cell door.
         "I told you to keep it down, kid!" The guard said. Then he noticed the knife in the middle of the floor. "What the hell?" He fumbled for his keys and inserted the correct one into the lock. When she heard the telltale click, Vixie sprang out from under the table. In her mind's eye, she saw the hanging bag in the training hall in front of the opening cell door, only instead of Juryrig's face, it was now Toecutter's. Deftly spinning around as she'd done a thousand times before, she planted her heel hard in the side of the guard's head. The guard slumped against the door swinging it violently open, but the girl's aim was off slightly and he was unhurt. As he clutched the door in shock, he flailed for his pistol with his right hand. Vixie's adrenaline kicked in. She kicked across his belly sending the holstered sidearm in his belt cart-wheeling into an empty adjacent cell. Before he could react, she grabbed his head and swung the man against the granite doorjamb with all her weight, planting her foot roughly against his neck near the latch mechanism and propping his head against the frame. Without pausing, she grabbed hold of the heavy cell door with both hands and slammed it as hard as she could on his head. It bounced back open thanks to the give of the pirate's skull, and the man dropped to the floor unconscious.
         Fishing the keys off the guard's belt and scooping up the pocketknife, Vixie ran into the cell area. She found Juryrig in the last cell. He rose as she began trying the keys on the lock with shaking hands.
         "Vixie?!" the young pirate exclaimed in disbelief as he approached the bars.
         "We have to get out of here Juryrig! Piper killed Nadie and you're next!" she told him. Juryrig stood motionless at the bars. He tried hard to keep his expression solid. So it was true... He fought the well of emotion building up in his gut. Not in front of Vixie... he thought. Just forget about it. You can think about it later, once you get her out of here. Right now it's just me and Vixie... "Damn!" Vixie cursed as key after key wouldn't fit the cell lock. "How many keys does that asshole need?" Juryrig managed to shake his last thoughts of Nadie out of his mind. He took a breath and cleared his head.
         "If I had my knife I could pop it in no time." Juryrig said finally. Vixie looked up at him for a second, then fished into her jacket pocket and handed him his pocketknife. He looked at her in admiration and then set to work on the lock from inside the cell. After a moment, he looked into her eyes. "Thanks, Vixie." Vixie looked up at him. All anger at him seemed to have left her last night as she slashed Drake Gagach a second mouth. Whatever had needed to happen for her to forgive Juryrig, it happened there in her quarters last night.
         "The way I see it, there are two ways out of here. Mouth and Nadie took one way; you and me are taking the other. I've got as much of your stuff packed as I could." She watched his hands work on the lock. "How can you pick a lock without even being able to see what you're doing like that?" Juryrig turned the knife and the lock clicked.
         "What else is there to do around here?" he answered as he pushed the cell door open. Vixie led him back to the guard room, stepping over the cataleptic guard, about which Juryrig remarked "Nice," and handed him the small burlap sack.
         "All my stuff fits in this little bag? How depressing..."
         "Well I didn't exactly have time to pack your impressive wardrobe. C'mon, there's an old emergency stairwell that nobody uses anymore. I think it used to lead to the valley floor." She pulled on his arm, but he resisted.
         "Hold it! You think we can just walk out of here? Like nothin'?"
         "Don't worry, I made sure the pirates will be busy for at least the next several hours or so. We'll have a good head start." Juryrig cocked an eyebrow at her.
         "What'd you do?"
         "Let's just say the meatloaf wasn't up to my usual standards this afternoon." As she started in the direction of the south wing, Juryrig grabbed her arm.
         "Carrion Flats is no place to wander around on foot. Let's get to the hangar. If we're getting out of here, then we're taking a ship." She didn't like the mischievous gleam in his eye, but she followed him anyway.

         The hangar was largely deserted. There were a few technicians going over the immense Shoshone in preparation for its trip to the Samson Wastes, but there were several unattended battleships. Vixie crouched down behind a gas pump and watched the techs. "They weren't here earlier. I guess they haven't eaten lunch yet." Juryrig looked at her in confusion. "Meatloaf," she clarified. "Do you think we can get out of here before those mechanics notice and deflate our choice of ship's balloon?" Vixie asked. "The Death Shrike looks like she's all ready to go."
         "I don't want the Death Shrike," Juryrig said, still with that glint in his eye, "I want the Shoshone..."
         "Are you outa your gourd? It'd take at least seven men to fly that thing out of here!"
         "I can fly it. I can fly anything!" Juryrig said, the dreamy sparkle now almost blinding. Vixie sighed resignedly. There was no talking him out of it. He turned back to her. "I used to see you walk the catwalks all the time. You know where the artillery batteries are on the west face?" Vixie nodded. "Get up into the catwalks and disable as many of them as you can in twenty minutes!"
         "What are you gonna do?" Vixie asked.
         "I'll take care of those mechanics and get the Shoshone ready for takeoff. Meet me on board in a half hour." The two friends locked eyes for a moment. Juryrig's concerned face betrayed his usual stoic character. "Be careful Vixie..."
         "You too..." She ran for the ladder leading far up into the catwalks above the hangar bay. Positioned in the face of the plateau were several immense cannons designed to protect the base from enemy air attack. Vixie determined that she'd only be able to get up there and take out four or five by herself in twenty minutes, but hopefully it was just a precaution anyway. Today's lunch would probably immobilize all the pirates they needed immobilized.

         Juryrig moved stealthily under the gargantuan keel of the Shoshone. Using his pocketknife, he cut the slack mooring ropes tied to her hull one by one until she was floating free four feet off of the deck. He hoped his confidence in his flying ability would be well-founded. He could pilot recon boats through Opina Forest, but this was the biggest ship he'd ever seen. He mentally prepared himself for how she would handle. She's big. She's got a lot of ass. Don't over correct... He thought about Vixie above, disabling the point defense cannons. There was no way she'd get them all in half an hour. He hoped that whatever she put in tonight's meatloaf would keep the pirates busy. He thanked his lucky stars that she hadn't decided to do whatever she did weeks ago, when she was still mad at him.
         The ordinance techs working on the Shoshone's main deck would be no problem. They were all only a couple years older than him and probably wouldn't recognize him. He grabbed a gray tech's cap lying on a nearby crate and put it on. Glancing around, he found a crowbar still lodged in a crate of ammunition. Grabbing a can of gasoline, he soaked a rag and wrapped it tightly around the hook of the iron bar. He discarded the gas can and, retrieving his mop bucket still full of dirty water, he slipped into the ship through the open cargo bay carrying the bucket and the gasoline-soaked iron bar. The ship's bay was massive. He thought excitedly about how much money he could make with a cargo bay this size. He noticed suddenly that the fertilizer Gagach had said the Shoshone had been transporting was missing. Ugh... Vixie... He made a mental note to never eat her meatloaf again.
         Juryrig stealthily made his way up into the interior of the ship. As he approached the steps leading up onto the main deck, he heard the techs talking amongst themselves above. They were recent hires, and there was a good chance that they wouldn't recognize him as the former mechanic scheduled for execution tonight. Quietly, he set the heavy bucket of water down by the steps and pulled his lighter from his pants. He peered up through the hatch and glanced around the deck. The two techs were walking casually towards the bow, talking excitedly about pirate raids and stag invasions. If you guys only knew... He struck up his lighter and lit the cloth wrapped crowbar aflame. Before they could turn, he slung the flaming metal bar through the open rectangular port into the bridge and jumped up onto the deck.
         "You men! Go grab a water hose! This ship is on fire!" The techs turned to see the orange flickering light through the bridge window. They looked at Juryrig in confusion. He pointed down at the hangar floor. "Hurry up! The fire hose! If she burns the place up Piper'll have all our heads!" The techs jumped in alarm and made for the rope ladder dangling over the starboard side to the deck below. Juryrig immediately raced back down the steps and retrieved his mop bucket. Hauling the sloshing container up the stairs with effort, he entered the bridge and dumped the water out on the burning crowbar, stomping at the black sear mark on the floor. Once the fire was out, he raced back out onto the main deck. As he commenced pulling up the rope ladder once the techs had jumped to the floor, he prayed that he knew what he was doing. He'd failed Vixie once and didn't intend to do so again.

         Detaching the firing mechanisms from the point defense cannons was tougher than Vixie had thought. She was only on her third gun when she was spotted. Of all the rotten luck... It was Bernard Toecutter. Apparently he had an inconvenient predilection for walking the battery emplacements. With a shout he charged her. Tearing the third firing pin away from the mechanism, she chucked all three of them out the cannon bay and down the side of the plateau, and then made a break for it with Toecutter on her heels. As she passed the fourth cannon on that level, she tripped the firing mechanism without pausing. The cannon sounded with a deafening thud, taking her wind. As the gun rocked back and hit the impact plate, almost knocking her off the gangway, she gingerly dropped the iron hook jointed to the top of the plate and it caught the iron loop on the back of the cannon locking it in full recoil on the recoil track, effectively placing the butt of the cannon between her and Toecutter on the narrow walkway. The pirate's head appeared over the top of the huge cannon barrel and he sneered at her.
         "Skipping lunch today, Toecutter?" Vixie asked darkly.
         "No, but I got something you can chew on..." He produced a revolver over the top of the cannon. Vixie swallowed her next wisecrack and ducked with her hands flung over her head as the pirate fired. She felt the sting of gunpowder hit her arm as she bolted away, cringing at every sparking ricochet in front of her. Toecutter clamored over the gun with great effort and resumed his pursuit. Down below to her left Vixie could see the massive red balloon of the parked Shoshone. She hoped she could get Juryrig's attention without alerting Toecutter as to which ship he was stealing.
         "Juryrig!" she screamed down into the hangar. "Get moving! Go!"
         "Vixie?" a voice called up from under the balloon. She cursed silently.
         "Don't ask questions! Move out! Move out!" she called frantically. She prayed Juryrig would trust her. Suddenly, the Shoshone began to drift, backing slowly out of the hangar. Her heart filled with hope that he might actually survive this. Vixie resolved to kiss him if she ever managed to see him again. Toecutter glanced downward at the moving balloon, eyes wide with disbelief.
         "Someone's stealing the Shoshone..." he said flabbergastedly to himself. A voice called up worriedly at Vixie from the deck of the ship below. Juryrig! Toecutter thought with malice. He drew his pistol.
         As Vixie caught up with the drifting balloon, she took a deep breath. She didn't intend to leave Juryrig, and she wasn't going to let him get killed waiting around for her, so she decided to take her already slim chances. Toecutter sprinted towards her with pistol drawn. She climbed up on the catwalk's guardrail sixty feet from the floor of the bay, and leaped out into the open air of the docking bay towards the moving red balloon below. Toecutter's jaw dropped as he watched Vixie's body drop out over the hanger.
         Vixie's heart moved up into her throat as she fell down the side of the great balloon, the canvass burning her skin as it slid past her body. She cried out in pain as her arm hooked around one of the sturdy horizontal ropes running along the side of the massive gas bag and broke her fall, slapping the rest of her body against the rock-hard canvass and stopping her descent. Forcing her other arm painfully up over the rope, she turned her face away from the thick fabric of the balloon and called down to Juryrig.
         "I'm here Juryrig! Go! Now!" Feet dangling, she shut her eyes as the dark shadow retreated from the balloon and bathed the girl in sunlight, and the plated floor of the hangar bay gave way to the bright desert surface hundreds of feet below. The Shoshone was free, and it was taking her and Juryrig with it.
         Toecutter aimed his revolver out the side of the plateau at the sunlit ship now slowly coming about just outside the cavernous recess of the hangar bay. He repeatedly pulled the trigger at the balloon, but he'd already emptied the chambers at Vixie. As the vessel came about on its keel and accelerated away from the plateau with the young girl still dangling against the side of the balloon, Toecutter decided that destroying one of Piper's ships to stop its thief wouldn't have been such a good idea anyway. Speaking of Piper, where the hell is he? That's gotta be some good meatloaf if the sound of the point-defense guns doesn't even bring him out of the mess hall...