Whiskey and Warfare: The Team Huntress Flights, #1

CHAPTER

ONE

Dr. Maryn Alessi, former mercenary for hire and co-discoverer of Calibotari andelessi, found herself unexpectedly widowed. She was pissed as hell about it.

Most of the lingering attendees inside the tiny pan-denominational chapel wanted to express their sympathy in person, but Maryn would rather have had her teeth pulled without anesthetic than deal with more people by the time the formal observance was over. She fled as soon as she could, her closest friends following to cover her retreat down the aisle.

It was the cruel obverse of a wedding recessional. Like somber attendants, Colterrikor, Scylla, and Jac carried a few of the many flower arrangements that had crowded the floor in front of the plinth. Instead of her vibrant mate, a phantom ache like a missing limb occupied the emptiness at her side. What was left of Andelek lay cradled in her arms, condensed into a deceptively small but heavy rectangular box of ashes emblazoned with the seal of the Xyrian royal family.

Ze wasn’t supposed to die before she did, goddamn it.

A celebrated adventurer and exobiologist, Andelek had only settled with her on this quiet planet because of what happened on her last mission. Now, a little more than two decades later, a virus native to Echo Four had decimated her mate’s immune system in less than a week. It was unbelievable that so tiny a thing could end a life as exciting and meaningful as Andelek’s. Unthinkable that it could rip away someone as important to her as ze was.

Echo Four’s microfauna killed zem when no megafauna in the galaxy had ever come close. It was fucking unfair.

She winced, blinking at the brilliant sky as they emerged from the chapel. The Prime Galactic University president’s hovering limousine waited outside to take her home, back to the institution-owned house she and Andelek shared.

Had shared. Maryn corrected the tense the way she’d begun adjusting everything in her inner dialogue over the last, horrible week. The same way she’d done when a member of her squad in the Artemis Corps wasn’t there anymore. When they were dead, like Andelek. She had to pay attention to staying alive and pushing on.

Being practical didn’t make it any less gutting.

Dr. Globney still talked with a group of academics who’d attended the observance. Professor Zill’s weasel-like face kept turning in her direction as if he expected her to say something. Before the memorial service even started, the senior exobiologist had tried to talk to her about who would teach their classes next semester. She’d stared him down in disbelief until he backed away, stuttering his condolences. Maryn wasn’t sure if her murderous expression caused his hasty retreat or the quiet, fanged snarl of her Boshi friend, Col, who stood behind her: six-and-a-half-feet of corded muscle beneath a sleek white pelt. Zill had probably remembered they used to kill people for a living. She doubted it was a sudden attack of remorse for his ill-mannered questions.

Her friends placed the flowers in a storage hatch behind the passenger compartment of Maryn’s small electric vehicle and she set the urn beside them for now. Jac and Scylla enveloped her in a tight hug. Col wrapped her long, ivory-furred arms around all three of them.

This was the way they always embraced each other: as a unit, a knot of warmth and love, sharing memories mixed with laughter, or standing against past horrors. Frequent group subspace calls and text communications between meetups were a poor substitute for a satisfying tangle of arms and affection. It had been several years since all of them had been together on Echo Four. No matter how seldom the physical meetings occurred, whenever they reunited it was as if their lives had never taken separate paths.

You are not alone, Col’s soft voice reminded her.

Maryn swallowed to clear the lump in her throat, grateful for the love of her friends and their loyalty. Thank you for being here, she said, stubbornly blinking away the burn in her eyes. We’re still meeting at my house, right?

Damn straight, Scylla proclaimed, her gruff voice hitched. She and Andelek had not been close, but the stoic pilot was uncharacteristically emotional during the service, as if she’d demonstrated the grief Maryn’s current, spicy permutation of emotions would not allow her to feel. Rampaging calibotari couldn’t keep us away.

We’re bringing enough rain globe wine to kill one, in case any show up. Jac kissed Maryn’s cheek, the familiar drift of vetiver clinging to her brown skin. The scent always brought out bright, noisy memories of the crowded market square where she had purchased the vial of perfume on one of their jobs.

When they pulled back from the hug, Col cupped Maryn’s face in her soft, furry palm. If you aren’t up to it, we understand.

Oh, no. There’s no way in hell we are all on the same planet and we’re not together. She glanced at each beloved face in turn. How long can you stay?

I have taken a remote assignment for the bank for the next six weeks, Col said. I am here as long as you want me, if I can be of help.

We’ve got obligations to keep. We’re trying to get jump clearance early tomorrow, but we’re yours all night if you want us, Jac reassured Maryn, and turned to her wife. Right, love?

You fucking bet. Scylla Merrow didn’t look her usual self either, not in the severe black suit she’d worn for the funeral, her tattoos hidden behind full-length sleeves and pants. The buzzed haircut tipped with purple belonged to the person she knew and loved, but the stark white roots were new.

Something about losing Andelek made Maryn aware that none of them were young anymore. Scylla was older than her by almost a decade, but her body was still hard and trim. So was Jac Merrow in her sleeveless dress, bare brown arms strong and defined and her wild mahogany spirals tamed into a poufy knot at the back of her neck. She was put together from head to toe as she’d always been, even in battle. Maryn noted the deepening lines around her friend’s hazel eyes, but to her, Jac was always stunning. Maryn figured she looked like twelve tons of shit herself, with grief and the mileage of fifty-four years she felt she didn’t wear as well as Jac. Her body had gotten softer despite her daily workouts with Andelek, and in the last week … it wasn’t important. She couldn't remember to eat half the time.

Dr. Globney waited for her near the door of the hovering limousine. Droopy Tridarian features and dark, fleshy ears made him resemble a sad-eyed canine, but his body language suggested he was resisting the urge to check his wrist chronometer. The university president had told Maryn that it was a tradition for tenured professors be driven one last time past the building where they taught before they were consigned to their final resting place. Since she planned to take Andelek’s remains back to zer natal planet, she’d wearily agreed to the request.

I will drive your vehicle home, Col purred, stroking Maryn’s head. The Boshi remained as imposing as ever, fearsome to anyone who didn’t know her until the incongruous, little-girl voice came out of a mouthful of fanged, catlike teeth. She showed no signs of age that Maryn could note, despite having been born sometime between her and Scylla. We’ll see you there.

The thought of her tall friend folding those long limbs into the tiny electric car brought a grin to her lips. Thanks. This shouldn’t take too much time.

Bidding a temporary farewell to the Merrows, she picked up the urn. Globney’s chauffeur opened the door for her when she approached, and Maryn gave him a tired smile as she slid into the plush, cushioned seat.

Thank you for indulging this ritual, Globney said as he climbed in beside her and signaled the driver. The door sealed behind him. She steadied the heavy casket against her when the vehicle rose on its air cushion and moved in a breathy exhale of forward motion.

When they reached the normally quiet campus, the outdoor common area teemed with students. A mob of young beings blocked the main thoroughfare, shouting something Maryn couldn’t hear inside the soundproofed limo. Some held flashing holographic placards above their heads, polarized window glass turning the three-dimensional projections into flickering blobs instead of sharp images.

What’s happening? she asked. Is this a protest?

A demonstration demanding support for Qet’s Khepran settlers, Globney told her as the limo driver angled a slow-speed crawl through the gathered students toward the eastern side of the university and its lecture halls. There have been grim reports coming from media sources in the last few weeks about the Qetish unrest. The Tridarian’s fleshy jowls wobbled as he shook his head. Rumors of genocide. Someone who calls himself General Viltrux has overthrown the government and ordered the eradication of Qet-Khepran hybrids in the southern hemisphere.

Oh, no. Horror blossomed despite the heavy blanket of control she’d relied upon to smother her reactions. So much for the pretense of civil war, then. Has there been any talk of support for the settlers?

None I’ve heard. Galactic law prevents intervening in a civil conflict, of course, and so far, genocide is only a rumor. Ever since the privatization of mercenary corps, small colonies can no longer afford to pay for protection, Globney said, and glanced at Maryn. I do not have to tell you so.

No. Once upon a time, it had been Maryn’s job to take fights like that. She, Col, Jac, and Scylla had been part of an exclusively female-identifying combat unit known as the Artemis Corps, which responded to far-flung colonies that were in danger or under attack—for a price, of course, but the Corps had never turned down a plea for help. Not until they became a profitable enterprise, at any rate, and their handlers began to respond to money rather than desperate colonists.

Are there still flights traveling to Xyri? Globney asked. The Pashni wormhole is dangerous right now. Viltrux’s fleet is preventing Khepra from responding to the colonists. It’s been classified as an active battle front. None of the commercial liners want to risk entering the Prime-side aperture until the fighting moves away from the star lane.

I haven’t heard anything as of this morning. That was one more source of stress she didn’t have time for. As far as I know, my flight still leaves tomorrow.

You’re certain you must travel now? It doesn’t sound safe, and I know you are ... Globney paused and amended what he’d been about to say. You have an aversion to space flight.

That was an understatement. Maryn held a visceral terror of it. A bone-deep dread of the black after⁠—

She clenched her fists against the memory, nails biting into her palms. I have no choice. Her voice emerged with more edge than she intended. The royal family was respectful of Maryn’s grief, and she loved her mate’s parents, but their mourning rites lay rooted in tradition. Andelek’s remains must be returned to the soil of Xyri within two weeks of zer death in accordance with their spiritual beliefs. I only have six days left to get zem there.

I see. She was thankful Globney didn’t ask how she thought she’d do on the trip. Maryn had no idea. Hibernation wasn’t an option for flights less than a month in duration. The medication that had been prescribed her when Andelek died allowed her anxiety to ebb long enough for a few hours of restless sleep each night, but she was sure it would be useless against the cold-sweat panic space flight instilled in her. Her palms grew clammy just thinking about it.

The curving road passed into a quieter, almost deserted area of campus. In front of the lecture hall where she and Andelek taught exobiology, a smaller, more sober crowd had gathered on the lawn. She recognized a fragile, mothlike Dubasca, some young humans, and handsome, blue-skinned Xyrians as soon-to-be graduates who had attended the memorial at the chapel. There were just as many underclass students with them now, a mix of humanoid, oxygen-breathing species. As the limousine slowed to a crawl, then a stop, Globney lowered the tinted window on Maryn’s side of the vehicle.

The Xyrians gave obeisance in deference to Andelek’s royal status and knelt, bowing their heads. The Dubasca’s feathery antennae rolled out and spread in a gesture of prayer. One of the humans crossed himself, the others standing in sober, respectful silence. Maryn nodded at the students and raised a trembling hand in thanks, touched by their regard for Andelek.

Ze will be missed, Globney murmured. Maryn’s heart swelled as the limousine moved forward again. This had been what she needed to know: that their students would remember Andelek and continue zer legacy, the study and preservation of the fascinating creatures which populated the galaxy.

Her newborn gratitude for Globney, a being Maryn had always considered a bureaucratic idiot, lived for exactly thirty seconds before he cleared his throat and killed it.

My dear Maryn, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. He raised the window and shut out the roar of air. We need to discuss your role at the University when Professor Zill takes over.

For a moment she could only blink, stunned. When he … what? I thought since Andelek and I were co-professors, I would continue teaching these classes. I handled them alone whenever Andelek did field research off world.

This is embarrassing. Globney had the grace to appear chagrined, his jowl pockets flushing a deep purple. The board agreed to Andelek’s contract stipulation we hire you both, but you have no official tenure here at the University, as ze did.

She’d known that, but she’d assumed … wrongly, it appeared. A helix of fire twisted inside, filling her with heat. You’re letting me go after twenty years?

Oh, no, certainly not. You are welcome to stay on as Malachi Zill’s adjunct professor if you wish. He is agreeable to that arrangement.

I’m sure he is. She counted to ten before she spoke again, the storm of her anger building from dust devil to hurricane. "Dr. Globney, the class is based on the curriculum Andelek and I developed together, which is derived from the research paper we wrote together, about the discoveries we made on Chrekem Seven TOGETHER." Her voice rose and she hated how easily Globney got under her skin. This was why she’d preferred never to deal with him, hating his casual dismissal of human contributions to the research of older, wiser beings. Young Maryn, the fearless mercenary Andelek fell in love with, would have punched him in the face. This unattractive old woman encroaching on her territory was far less violent and too emotional for her taste.

My dear Maryn⁠—

It’s DOCTOR Alessi, she grated.

Yes. I know. He fidgeted beneath her basilisk stare. Maybe some of young Maryn was still there after all. I’m sorry to have upset you. However, Professor Zill reminded me of his contract regarding tenure when it became clear Andelek’s illness was … well. His family is one of our largest benefactors. The generosity of Zillzanam Corporation funded many of Andelek’s high-profile University research missions, as you know.

I see. Her voice still quavered and she fought to gain a more controlled tone. I presume he plans to teach the class using our curriculum? Of course he would, the little rodent. Zill had always been resentful of her status.

Andelek’s research is the most up to date information we have on exobiology in the Shune Sector, Globney allowed. Though, frankly, zer rather colorful person was the draw for many of our students. To hear about the discovery from Andelek zemself was inspiring, to say the least.

Oh, yes, I know. I was there. For all of it. Heat built in Maryn’s skull. If he wanted colorful, there were plenty of things she could say right now. It had taken her years to carve the decorative profanity and pithy sarcasm out of her soldier’s vocabulary. She’d had to work hard to present her doctoral thesis without insulting the committee.

Her voice cut like shards of obsidian when she spoke again. Thank you, Dr. Globney, for letting me know where I stand.

The weight of her angry silence filled the passenger compartment. Globney kept drawing careful breaths as if about to speak, then discarding whatever he was going to say with nervous, sidelong glances from bulbous brown eyes. Trapped with a human who might still be able to kill him six different ways, Maryn thought, as long as her trick knee held out.

She clutched the heavy urn against her for the remainder of the ride instead of succumbing to the urge to use it as a blunt instrument. The limousine slowed at a line of residential buildings. Her own vehicle was already in its charging station when the chauffeur drew up in front of her home. She didn’t wait for anyone to open the door for her and fumbled at the latch to slide out of the cabin, an uncomfortable pressure building in her chest.

Maryn … Dr. Alessi. Globney wavered between the door and the curb. She wheeled on him, and he stepped back as if he wanted to retreat to the safety of the vehicle rather than continue this conversation. Professor Zill has a graduate student assistant who should be able to handle his requirements for the rest of the semester. Let me know what you decide when you return from Xyri. We will also have to discuss the matter of vacating university housing. There are lovely apartments on the other side of campus for non-tenured staff, and the rent is quite reasonable. But please, take all the time you need to fulfill your obligations to the royal family. Be very careful as you travel.

She turned her back on Globney instead of responding, unable to guarantee an answer without several of her favorite four-letter words. Striding down the path to her door, she slammed her palm against the scanner and the door moved aside with a meek hiss. She had just enough time to gently place Andelek’s urn on the table in the entryway before the communications center on the wall gave three shrill beeps. Maryn peered at the displayed priority message out of habit.

DOCTOR MARYN ALESSI

PRIME QUARTER STARLINE REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT FLIGHT 2112 FROM ECHO 4 TO XYRI HAS BEEN DELAYED FOR ONE WEEK DUE TO DANGEROUS CONDITIONS IN THE STAR LANES. ALL FLIGHTS THROUGH KONECTHEDOT SECTOR ARE BEING RESCHEDULED. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE AND WILL KEEP YOU INFORMED OF THE NEW DEPARTURE DATE AND TIME.

Great. Just fucking fantastic.

She had no warning before her chest painfully convulsed. Deep, braying sobs of fury and humiliation hit her amid a grief so profound her knees buckled and took her to the floor.

Her friends were there, appearing out of nowhere as they’d always done in her darkest hours. She didn't remember being scooped up in furry arms and carried to the couch, only that Col cradled her like a child and hummed into her hair. Jac’s cheek was warm on her back, a damp spot under Maryn’s shoulder from tears, and Scylla sat at their feet with her head resting on Maryn’s knee, swiping at her own sloppy nose and eyes with a handkerchief.

She slumped against her friends, exhausted, and wondered how she, ex-soldier of fortune and interspecies consort of a noble-born adventurer, had turned into a pathetic, aging widow in danger of losing her home.

Zill? You mean the rat-faced son of a bitch who bothered you at the funeral? Jac was furious by the time Maryn was able to finish the story between hitched breaths and cold, fortifying gulps of rain globe wine. The dark curls making an escape from Jac’s neat bun trembled with indignation. I’ll kill him for you.

The tangy bite of alcohol soothed some of the scratchy feeling the outburst left in Maryn’s throat. Her tears had almost stopped, but the wound in her soul, no longer buried under shock and the mechanics of planning a memorial, sang with the hot-wire pain of an exposed nerve.

It’s my own damned fault I never negotiated a tenured contract after all this time. She rubbed her forehead against an ache that threatened to become a migraine, another reason she hated crying. I assumed Andelek would live more than another century and I’d be long gone before it ever became an issue. I guess Globney did, too.

Kissing the ass of people like Malachi Zill and his family. Corporate bastards. Scylla made a throaty noise of disgust, her muscular arms folded over her chest as she stood in the doorway. She’d changed from the suit into her customary shorts and a tank top, the colorful tattoo art collected on many worlds over her sixty-odd years bright against her arms and calves in the warm afternoon sunlight. A light breeze from the open portal ruffled her violet-tipped hair. At least he gave you an extended leave, the condescending prick.

Maryn snuffled into a tissue. Sorry. The crying is getting old. I can’t seem to control it.

I hear you, Scylla commiserated, her eyes on the blue slope of the mountains outside, her spacers’ accent growing thicker. Fucking waterworks all da time. It sucks.

Goddamned hormones, Jac proclaimed with heartfelt condemnation. I cried for three hours last week over a dead bird I found in the cargo hold. She regarded Col with an arched eyebrow. What happens to your species as you age? I don’t see you looking any different than the last time we got together.

You can't tell? Col stroked her furry cheeks. I have more hair on my face.

Don’t we all? Maryn gave a shaky laugh. "I look like I just hit puberty. I