Free Wings of the Magpie: Space Operettas by Loch Erinheart Page A

sounded, followed by an explosion that violently shook the building. Framed pictures fell from a wall. “I’m scared,” said the boy, his voice faltering.
    “It’s okay,” said Magpie, giving the boy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here. I’ll protect you.”
    “My dad told me to hide when the explosions started. He said somebody would come to find me, then he left. How did you find me?” asked the boy.
    Magpie bent down to the boy’s eye level. Pointing at the goggles hanging from her neck by a strap, she said “Infrared optics. I could see your heat signature. I’ll show you, once we get picked up.”
    “Do the people who are blowing things up out there have infrared optics too?”
    Magpie nodded. “They’ve got a lot of the same things we do. But it’s okay, we’re going to get you out of here before they come. You just have to trust me.”
    “Are you going to take me to my dad?”
    Magpie hesitated, then forced a smile. “Of course,” she said. “Now come with me.” Magpie ushered the boy down a flight of stairs and towards the front of the house. The sound of gunfire was closer now, the distant pops evolving into a percussive crackle that one could nearly feel. When they reached the front hallway, Magpie directed the boy to stand beside the antique piano that sat four or so meters from the front door, then moved, crouching, to the wide and curtained picture window. She parted the curtains with the barrel of her rifle, risking a glance out into the night. Red and orange flame-flickers danced across her face. She spoke into the com unit attached to her shoulder. “We’re ready,” she said. “What’s ETA to pickup?”
    Magpie sagged into a sitting position in response to the answer, her back pressed against the wall beneath the window. She breathed heavily, perhaps a dozen sighing breaths, then crawled across to where the boy stood, pressed into the corner between the piano and the wall.
    “Do your little soldiers fight the bad guys?” asked Magpie.
    “My dad says there are no bad guys,” said the boy. “That the invisible hand of the marketplace works for the greater good of all.”
    Magpie smiled. “He taught you that?” she asked.
    The boy nodded. An explosion, practically deafening, shook the building, illuminating the room. “I’m scared,” said the boy, his voice a hoarse whisper.
    “It’s okay,” said Magpie, placing her arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulling him close. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”
    “Is it Diggers?” asked the boy, looking up into Magpie’s eyes. “Are they the ones blowing stuff up? My dad says they were here before there were people on Ragged Head, that they’re indigenous.” The boy stumbled over the unfamiliar word, pronouncing it syllable by syllable. “My dad says they can’t understand money or trade, so they fight us sometimes. He says they’re like bugs, all they can think is what their queens tell them.”
    “No,” said Magpie. “Not Diggers.”
    “Then who?”
    Sighing, Magpie said, “Your dad ever tell you about the Nine Dragons Corporation?”
    The boy nodded. “They’re our competition.”
    “Yeah,” said Magpie. “This is what’s called a hostile takeover. Lucky for you, my team was already working in system when negotiations went south. We’re extracting key Five Rams personnel and their families.” She touched the boy’s nose with the tip of a gloved finger. “That means you.”
    “Oh,” said the boy, reaching up to scratch his nose. “Were you born on Ragged Head?” Magpie shook her head. “Then where?” asked the boy.
    “I was born on Terra. Do you know where that is?” The boy shook his head. “It’s far away, another system. It’s so far that you would have to sleep all the way from there to here.”
    “Could I go to Terra?”
    Magpie shrugged. “Sorry, little boys don’t travel from system to system. Maybe some day.”
    “Do you work for Five Rams?”
    “No,” said