Feeding the Flames

        Nika took a drink from her glass, savoring the beer. Best beer she’d had in months. It came from a real oak cask, too. Leave it to Kramer to find the best bar in the solar system, she thought. She was feeling downright mellow, working on her third beer. The three women had taken up residence at a table in the corner of the bar, doing their best to avoid drawing attention.
        It wasn’t working too well.
        At least four men had already given their table the once-over. Admittedly, Shyla’s statuesque frame and red hair were not the norm in this region. Then add in Nika’s blond good looks and Harry’s tiny stature and exotic beauty, well… they were bound to draw attention anywhere they went together. It was one of the reasons that Nika avoided “girls’ night” kinds of get-togethers, preferring whole-crew gatherings or solo adventures.
        “Are you ever going to actually commit to this crew?”
        Nika turned her attention back to her captain, looking surprised when she realized Shyla was addressing her. “Ma’am?”
        “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, Nika. Out here, we’re just us. You heard the question. You’ve been treading water with us for a full year, girl. Are you ever going to let us in?” Shyla took a ladylike sip of her beer, her eyes steady on her pilot.
        Harry remained silent, her dark eyes scanning the bar for signs of trouble, but she was equally intent on the conversation.
        “I don’t think I’d categorize what I’m doing here as ‘treading water,’ Captain… Shyla,” Nika answered after a long moment. “You unhappy with my work?”
        “Hell no, I’m not unhappy with your work!” Shyla rolled her eyes and sighed. “You’re the best pilot I’ve ever seen, Nika, but … we’re on our own out there in the Black, and I’ve been watching you for months. You don’t let anyone close, none of us know much about you, and although you give it 110 percent, it’s almost like you’re waiting to get kicked out.”
        Nika hesitated, using the moment to sip from her beer. “I guess I am,” she finally admitted. “Either that, or I’m waiting for the whole damn lot of us to just get killed on a run.”
        Harry snorted inelegantly. “Thinkin’ you don’t have enough faith in your own flyin’, girl.”
        “What do you want to know?” Nika asked cautiously.
        Harry grinned slightly. She knew capitulation when it slapped her in the face. She remained quiet, though, watchful of the restless group of men at the bar who were gearing up to approach the women’s table. Some kind of discussion was ensuing.
        Shyla’s expression eased from exasperation to understanding. “How about what you’re running from?”
        Nika glanced toward the bar patrons, noting signs that things could get dicey in the not-too-distant future. “I don’t run, Ca… Shyla.”
        “Bullshit,” came the snort from Harry.
        It brought Nika’s eyes around to the weapons master, narrowed in annoyance. “I haven’t run from a single thing any of you’ve asked of me, up to and including torturing some Alliance jack-off whose sister got killed for wanting to defect to our side of this blasted war.” She didn’t have to raise her voice for it to hold enough venom to slap her crew mates.
        “I see. So you’re pissed at me?” Shyla asked, sitting back in her chair. Her eyes remained steady on her pilot.
        “No!” Nika’s scowled and she put her elbows on the table. “Look…” She paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve been on this ship for thirteen months. That’s the longest I’ve been ANYWHERE. Ever since I joined this resistance, I’ve been staying with a ship one, maybe two runs. That’s it. I haven’t had time to settle in anywhere, and I keep expecting they’re going to call me any day and tell me they want me somewhere else again.”
        Shyla nodded. “That’s running, girl.” Her tone was compassionate, though.
        "No. It’s … hard to explain,” Nika replied roughly.
        “Try us,” Shyla invited.
        Harry gestured toward the bar, motioning for another round of beers. This sounded like it could be interesting. And since the group at the bar was still weighing the merits of their next move, they had time.
        “You’re going to think I’m nuts.” Nika swallowed the last of her beer as the next round was delivered.
        The girl—she couldn’t be more than 14—set down fresh glasses and gathered up the empties, murmuring to the women, “Be careful. Jun and the guys are starting to get rowdy.” And then she was gone again.
        Harry and Shyla shared a glance, and Harry merely shrugged. Shyla turned her attention back to Nika, unconcerned.
        “All right, all right,” Nika said grudgingly. “When you’re out in the Black, things … sort of happen to your perspective.”
        Harry narrowed her eyes slightly on the pilot, picking up her beer.
        “Especially when you’re flying, it’s a lot of hours in a cockpit, usually alone. Not like the Harbinger, you know? Most ship cockpits just aren’t that big. You might get one other person in the seats, and that’s only for when you’re flying combat or something. The rest of the time, you’re just alone up there with your thoughts. Or, in my case … with the music.”
        Shyla looked interested. “Music? I never heard you playing music.”
        Nika gave an embarrassed smile. “That’s cuz I don’t play music up there… I hear it. Like… space itself has a melody line. When we’re flying between planets, it’s a slightly different tune than when we’re between systems. It changes depending on who’s in the cockpit with me. It changes when we’re fighting or running for our lives. It’s … sort of like my whole life has background music.”
        Shyla slanted a worried look at Harry, but the tiny Oriental woman looked thoughtful instead of concerned.
        “Do you hear it when we’re groundside?” Harry asked calmly.
        Nika shrugged a little. “Sometimes. Depends on what we’re doing. Sometimes when things are calm and I’m just sitting somewhere, it’s sort of there. Right now? Not really.” She hastened to add, “It’s not like I’m really hearing things either.” She looked frustrated. “I’m not saying it right.”
        Harry merely shook her head and replied easily, “You’ve found your center, that’s all.” As if it were the simplest thing in the world so far as she was concerned.
        Shyla raised an eyebrow. “Her what?”
        Harry grinned at her captain after a swallow of her fresh beer. “Her center. It’s different for everyone. You find your personal balance in creating order, Shyla. Making lists, doing inventory, drawing up watch schedules, keeping track of things on your ship. These things calm you when you need it, they center you in the ‘now.’ Nika’s method is a little more unusual but no less valid. Many spacers will tell you that the stars themselves sing. For our pilot here, they do.”
        Nika looked intrigued, her full attention on the conversation. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?”
        Shyla snickered. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Now I just think you’re both crazy, that’s all. But hey… as long as it works for you.”
        The blond pilot relaxed.
        Harry tilted her head questioningly. “So… how did that man, Carter, change the melody for you?”
        Nika went still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
        Shyla raised a brow and said, “What??” at the same time.
        Harry smirked. “C’mon, you’re not really tellin’ me you didn’t know she offered *all* the amenities, are you, Captain?”
        Shyla’s eyes flew to Nika’s face, which went a deep shade of pink as the blond rolled her eyes. “Is *nothing* sacred?” Nika lamented.
        “Christ Almighty, girl! You took that one to…”
        Whatever Shyla would have said next was cut off when a massive male body crashed onto their table, sending all three women scrambling backward, their chairs toppling as the table collapsed under his weight.
        “Well, shiiiii,” drawled Harry mildly, standing there still holding her beer. “Thought we had a couple more minutes.”


        They wouldn’t be able to say later what exactly started the fight, but Nika was pretty sure it was the blond at the bar who dropped 50 credits in front of the fat guy who landed on their table. It didn’t really matter. After a very brief skirmish at the bar, here they were. Two blonde men who looked like they made their living on the range instead of the space port, and the fat guy, all grease-stained and lacking several teeth, leering up at the three women from the table. “I win!” he crowed.
        Harry looked at Shyla.
        Shyla looked at Nika.
        Nika shrugged.
        Money exchanged hands at the bar amid hoots and hollers about the fact that Howie here wouldn’t be able to get it up, and the bartender pulled out a bat while he watched the fracas get started.
        Shyla commented mildly, “Don’t think this is going to divert my attention from that conversation, girl.”
        The fat man on the floor slowly climbed to his feet, his face getting redder as his two friends heckled. He grabbed for Nika, “C’mon, baby, have a drink with me!”
        Nika watched him warily, while Harry calmly stepped back and sipped her beer. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re gonna wanna have words,” she replied to her captain in a resigned tone. She stepped quickly inside Fat Guy—no, wait, Howie’s—reach and back-elbowed him in the throat, then grabbed his neck and jacket, putting him on the floor. “But you *did* say ALL the amenities!”
        The pained sound he made was far from pleasant, and even Harry winced as she swallowed another mouthful of her beer. “I think that move needs work, Nika,” she said calmly. “Next time, aim a little left.”
        Howie, once again on the floor and a bit dazed, looked between the women and rolled to his knees, spitting a wad of nasty black saliva on the floor. “Now, that was just plain mean, lady.”
        “That was not what I meant and you know it,” Shyla retorted, flanking Howie. When he spit, she grimaced. “Now that was just plain disgusting.”
        “Awww…. Poor you,” Nika crooned to Howie, and then shrugged easily at her captain. “And how was I supposed to know that?”
        “Just fer that…” Howie tried to grab for Nika’s leg—what is it about a bar fight? There’s always a damn ankle-biter!
        That was when Shyla stepped in and kidney-kicked Howie from the back. “Harry, are you just going to stand there?” Shyla inquired as Howie’s two friends finally pushed off the bar to join the fray. “Now kickin’ a man when he’s down just ain’t playin’ fair, ladies.”
        The tiny Chinese woman groused mildly. “I am inspecting her form. She needs more practice.”
        Nika flipped a universally rude gesture toward Harry and leaned down to look into Fat Howie’s face. “We finished?”
        “Uh-huh!” came the garbled reply.
        “You girls want some fun? Let’s make the odds better. Winner gets his choice,” said a brown-haired male in the lead.
        Shyla appeared to give it some serious consideration for a moment. “Tell you what, boys,” she replied thoughtfully. “If you can take all three of us … you got a deal.”