Free Was Once a Hero by Edward McKeown Page A

crew tried frantically to discover the real destination while they
could still jump ship.   Money drew back
all the people Fenaday needed, but they remained skittish about the secrecy and
his vague warnings of extreme hazards ahead.   Of Sidhe’s regular crew, only
Fenaday and Shasti knew their destination.   Mandela’s people stayed out of reach in the hotel and none of Sidhe’s crew ventured to question
Mmok.   New crewmembers grilled the
old.   The veterans knew nothing—but for
the sake of their pride—pretended to be in the know.
    *****

 
    Shasti
finished her stowage check in the LEAF bunkroom and walked toward the
exit.   A few troopers worked on their
personal equipment or lounged about.   She
spotted Gunnar talking with the Morok brothers, Lokashti and Hanshi.   She’d finally forgiven Gunnar for abandoning
a decent chance at a normal life and coming.   She nodded when he waved.
    “Commander
Rainhell,” said a voice, “got a minute?”
    Shasti
turned to look at a new member of her expeditionary force.   His name popped into her memory, Heaton,
former Confed marine commando.   One of
the last people she’d hired as she ran short of time.   The barrel-chested man leaned closer than he
needed to.
    “What?”
she asked.   Something about the scent of
the man bothered her.
    “How
about a break?   We’ve been cooped up
shipboard for days.   Why?   What do you say to some liberty?’
    “No,”
she replied, annoyed at being asked.
    Heaton’s
face darkened.   “Then how about some
break in this bullshit security.   Where
are we going?   Huh?”
    “You’ll
be told what you need to know when you need to know.”
    “This
ain’t the real fleet, you know,” he said.   “It’s a fucking pirate ship—that’s all.   I don’t need to put up with this crap from you people.”
    Shasti
studied him and it clicked, the jittery posture, overly bright eyes and the
scent, adrenaldust.   A common vice among
combat troops, the chemical antidote to fear made dusters fierce but unstable.
    She
looked at him without expression.   “Twenty-days double duty,” she said.   “More if you don’t shut up.   And
you’ve had your last dust on this ship, hophead.”   She turned to leave.
    “Damn
you, don’t turn your back on me,” Heaton yelled.   He grabbed at her.   Maybe he was reaching for her arm but his
hand closed on her breast instead—hard.
    Shasti
spun back and punched.   Heaton flew
backward but not faster than Shasti.   She
followed the fist with a kick, hitting him while he was still in the air.   The man landed flat on his back.   She stood in the center of the bunkroom,
waiting.   Around her, people scrambled to
their feet.   Before anyone could
intervene, Heaton roared and threw himself at her.   She blocked his powerful arms easily,
contemptuously parried a kick then stepped into the big man.   He grappled, relying on his size and
bulk.   She pulled him off the floor and
threw him into a bulkhead.   He clambered
back up, shock on his face, finally realizing that he was up against something
more than human.   She lunged at him,
hands moving almost too fast to see.
    In
seconds the fight turned into a beating.   Shasti’s beautiful face stretched taut in a silent snarl.   Heaton collapsed, and she started kicking him
to death.
    “Boss,
boss,” Gunnar shouted.   He, Hanshi and
Lokashti rushed up to stop her.
    Shasti
flung off all three, but they managed to break her murderous
concentration.   She paused.   Gunnar climbed to his feet, moving between
Shasti and the wreck of Heaton.
    “Boss,”
he said.   “It’s me, Johan.   Come on.   Look at me.   It’s Johan.”
    Shasti
stared unblinking at him.
    “Boss,”
Hanshi called in Morok, “this dung is nothing.   Do not dirty your hands.   My
brother and I will do this for you.”
    “I
need no help,” she growled, but the madness receded from her eyes.
    “Of
course not,” Gunnar said.   “Of