Free Wings of Retribution by David King, Sara King Page B

she felt.
    Smallfoot shrugged.  “Your choice.”  He started to turn, then paused, handing her the second flashlight.  “You’ll need this,” he said, and stepped into the other ship.  In moments, the two doors had shut and the air-lock sealed itself once more.  The Beetle jolted as the Utopian vessel released it.  There was a momentary rumble as the other ship’s engine powered up, and then nothing.
    Dallas sprinted back to where Dune was collapsed on the floor outside the command room.  He was still in the exact same position she had left him.
    Dallas knelt beside him and touched his shoulder.  Dune was breathing, albeit shallowly.  She shook him, hard.
    The mechanic grunted, sucked in a huge breath, and rolled onto his back, gasping.  The first thing out of his mouth was, “Differentials’ll need work.”
    Dallas frowned at him and shone the flashlight into his eyes.  “What are differentials?”
    Dune threw a grease-marked arm over his face and groaned.  “What the hell’s going on?  Who’s there?  Get that blasted thing out of my face.  Why’s it so dark?”
    “Smallfoot took the energy-core,” Dallas said.  “Turned the colonists in to the Utopis.”
    Dune grunted and sat up.  “Fairy?”
    Dallas nodded.
    “Where’s the Capt’in?”
    Dallas hesitated.  “He said he killed her.”
    Dune scoffed.  “That’d be the day.  Help me up.”
    She pulled him to his feet and held him steady while he got his bearings.  “He had her gun.  I think he shot her.”
    “Prolly did,” Dune said.  He took Dallas’s spare flashlight.  “You go find the others.  I’m gonna check the engine.”  At that, he jogged off toward the stairs, leaving Dallas alone in the hall.
    Dallas turned toward the sleeping chambers with trepidation.  Though she had worked for Athenais for two years and the Utopia for fifteen years before that, she had never actually seen a dead person before.  She was not looking forward to the experience, since she was terrified of ghosts.
    Her first command had been haunted.  It was the only reason that she had been able to get the post at such a young age with so little time in service.  They had actually given her the ship as a punishment because it had driven its previous two commanders batty. 
    Bloody Mary , as they had re-named it, had been absolutely and categorically haunted.  For two horrible years, Dallas had endured apparitions, poltergeists, and strange whispering voices, all so she could continue to fly.  Though she didn’t know exactly what had happened to the people who haunted the place, she was pretty sure that murder had been involved.
    Now her boots felt heavy as she made her way to the Captain’s apartments.  It was the first room on the right.  The door was open.
    Swallowing hard, Dallas peeked inside the entryway.
    Immediately, her headache was back.  Gray and red mush was splattered over half the wall.  Though she couldn’t see a body, she knew what that meant.
    Forcing down the urge to gag, Dallas ducked past Athenais’s room and knocked on Squirrel’s door.  “Squirrel?” she called, not liking the way her timid voice carried down the hall, echoing right into the room where the dead Captain lay in a pool of her own blood. 
    When she got no answer, Dallas fought down a pang of dread.  Though she’d been screamed at to stay out of the woman’s room on numerous occasions, she jiggled the latch anyway.  Squirrel, as usual, had it locked.  After a moment’s deliberation in the cold, dark hallway, Dallas glanced behind her to make sure no one was watching, then got out a paperclip and a sliver of metal sheeting and proceeded to pick the lock.
    With the power off, it wasn’t difficult.  Picking locks came in handy when hardnosed Utopian colonels liked to keep sensitive war-plans secured behind locked doors, and only doled out tiny bits of information on a ‘Need to Know’ basis, when it was obvious that the pilot running the