Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel by George Ellis (ebook reader ink .TXT) 📕

what a tango was. Instead, he lunged forward and tried to grab one of Batista’s arms. She spun away from the attempt and came back with an elbow against his forearm. It looked like it hurt her more than him. They both had smiles on their faces – apparently this was what passed for fun in their minds. I wasn’t quite so amused. I stood up and stepped toward them.

“I’m not taking responsibility for your health,” Edgar warned.

“Ditto,” said Batista, just as she twirled to the ground and swept the big man’s legs out from under him. He went down, hard. The guy actually dented the corrugated steel floor where his shoulder landed. But pain was even more foreign to Edgar than it was to me, and he kicked back – right into Batista’s gut. She flew backward four full feet, slamming into the cabinets with a thud. As tough as she was, that one hurt. She labored to get back up as Edgar calmly rose to his feet and looked down at her.

“I’ll admit, I’m impressed,” he said. “But don’t mistake that for pity. I will break you in half if I feel like it.”

“Nobody is breaking anybody in half!” I shouted. That got their attention. “Either this stops now or everybody is going to sleep.”

Batista knew what I was talking about, but Edgar screwed his face into a genuinely confused grimace. “What, like a curfew?”

“Tell him, Gary,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Halothane vapor mixed with penthrane,” he said cheerily. “You may know it as sleeping gas. Holy fog, Batman!”

I looked up and saw the chemical fog pouring out of the kitchen vents. Before I could stop him, Gary had flooded the room with the stuff. Batista fell to the floor within two seconds, but Edgar’s body fought the gas for a full five seconds, during which he stumbled toward me with fists clenched. Luckily, he came up a couple feet short. He landed with another clang that left an even more pronounced dent in the floor.

I sighed.

“I said to tell them, not show them.”

“You have a weird way of saying thank you, Denver.”

“Now it’s your turn –”

“But I was trying to help you!”

“Sleep. Now.”

I sat back down and took a sip of my coffee. Pirate slunk into the room, sidestepping Edgar and giving Batista a concerned sniff. Once he decided she was okay, he hopped up onto the table and began eating the crumbs from Edgar’s candy bar. I’d also had Pirate’s immunity altered so he wasn’t affected by the knockout gas. I checked my handheld and saw the ship only had 12% of the stuff left. That was good enough for one contained blast of it in an emergency.

What was Gary thinking? He didn’t usually freelance like that, at least not on important decisions like using the gas on two crew members. It’s possible he was just growing more bold (and cranky) these days, but something poked at the back of my mind. A vague, growing concern that hadn’t fully taken shape yet. I didn’t think Gary had a virus…but something was different. I had to keep an eye on it.

As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.

I looked at two of those things that were passed out on the kitchen floor.

* * *

Batista woke up first, which was good. I wanted to talk to her before Edgar anyway. She groggily opened her eyes and rubbed her temples, trying to get her bearings. I watched her through the window and touched the intercom button.

“Have a nice nap?” I asked.

She realized where she was and turned toward me, pissed. “Get me out of here.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” I warned.

She was in the airlock. I’d loaded her onto a utility cart and rolled her in there, then did the same with Edgar. He was still passed out about 10 feet away from her. The guy was too damn heavy to move again, so I let him sleep it off on the metal cart. My shoulders still ached from dragging him onto the cart in the first place.

“You’re not gonna space us, so you may as well let us out of here,” said Batista.

I knew she’d say that. And she was right…but she didn’t have to know that. It was time for some tough love.

“Let me guess, you think I’d space him but not you?” I asked.

“No, I think you’re not a killer, so you wouldn’t hit that red button with either of us in here.”

I glanced at the large red button. It was covered with a protective plastic shield so it didn’t accidentally get bumped. You had to lift the plastic, then press the button.

“You’re right. I’m not. Even though you lied to me about my brother and got me mixed up in something that will probably get me killed, I’m not the kind of captain that spaces his crew. But any minute now, that big guy over there is gonna wake up. Maybe he doesn’t try to kill you, or maybe he does. Cause he knows the only way I’d be able to stop him is by spacing you both. And he’s smarter than he looks, so he probably knows I’m not a killer too.”

Now she looked over at Edgar, who was beginning to twitch. As tough as she was, she knew it was a losing fight for her in an enclosed area with the guy.

“So, the way I see it, you either convince him I am capable of spacing you both, or you take your chances in close quarters.”

Edgar opened his eyes slowly, then lifted his face off the metal cart. He was bleeding from his cheek – I must have cut his face when I heaped him onto the cart. Oops. The big man wiped the blood as he sat up and appraised the situation. He quickly came to the same conclusion Batista did. He grunted out a laugh.

“You’re bluffing,” he said, eyeing me through the glass.

“You’re bluffing, Captain,” I corrected, doing my