Beauty and the Fleet (Intergalactic Fairy Tales Book 2) by Robert McKay Page A
Authors: Robert McKay
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up and took hold of the handle to the door and then paused. Instead of stepping to the side, Josh gave the door a rough yank, causing the edge to hit his forehead. When he turned to face her, a light had returned to his eyes. Suddenly his hand shot into the air, his index finger extended. Beatrix envisioned a cartoon light bulb appearing over his head. "When pigs fly!" he declared, and then strode from the room. A second later, he popped his head back inside long enough to give her a wicked grin, and was gone too quickly to see her answering scowl.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There were no more visits for the next two weeks. She spent the time pacing her room. Beatrix had no desire to test what Josh had said about being shot on sight should she step out the door. Now that she was conscious more often than not, she'd seen the guards delivering her food and water every four hours like before. She wasn't more free; they'd just made her cage slightly more comfortable. The only other being she saw other than her guards was what she presumed was a doctor, who came in and checked the readings on the machines that were connected to her arm and then removed the IV. He never said a word.
Though she knew it wouldn't do any good, she'd taken to talking to the guards that brought her food. She begged them to take her to see her friends. She had to know they were well. The most she ever got for a response was an occasional wince when her shouting became particularly shrill. The isolation was killing her. She didn't even have anything to read.
Slowly, her pacing developed into a workout routine. At first it was because she wanted her body in top shape so her escape attempt wouldn't be foiled by physical weakness. Eventually though, her body remembered what it meant to be a soldier and to strive for peak fitness. Every morning she would start with push ups and sit ups. She did them until her muscles burned from the exertion, and then she would do jumping jacks until it felt like she was gargling her heart. She would take a five minute breather and do it all again. Still, even that only occupied a few hours of her day. The rest of the time was spent with nothing to occupy her other than her own increasingly wild thoughts.
When Josh appeared in the doorway after two weeks, it was almost a relief. On the ship she'd had four people to talk with. And in her cell, at least she had been able to talk to Hands. The solitary nature of her hospital confinement had so unbalanced her that she'd started talking to her pillow the day before. His name was Pillow Dave. He was kind of a snarky asshole.
Oh, look, it's your kitty cat boyfriend, said Pillow Dave.
"Shut your pasty face," grumbled Beatrix, squeezing him hard around the middle.
Ooof, complained Pillow Dave.
"Sorry," she apologized automatically. That was mostly the nature of their conversations: snarky comments, violence, apology.
"Who are you talking to?" asked Josh, crossing the room, one eyebrow quirked. He took his seat next to her bed. His voice was back to its usual timbre, neither cold, nor warm, with a hint of wry amusement.
"None of your business, Josh," she said petulantly, then remembered just the thing to say. "I've been left alone for too long. Like you said, I had to make the best of what I'd been left."
"Ah, so you are capable of listening," he replied, exposing a little fang in his typical half-smile.
Is he flirting with you? asked Pillow Dave, earning a punch to his mid-section. He took it without further comment.
Beatrix frowned. "I wasn't sure you'd remember anything we said after all of those blows to the head."
"Yes, I did take quite a tumble," he said, a bit of a snarl in his voice.
Beatrix took the warning and steered the conversation away from his strange behavior during his last visit. If she was going to get anything out of him, she was going to have to play his game. "You know, leaving me alone in here probably isn't the best thing for my mental
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There were no more visits for the next two weeks. She spent the time pacing her room. Beatrix had no desire to test what Josh had said about being shot on sight should she step out the door. Now that she was conscious more often than not, she'd seen the guards delivering her food and water every four hours like before. She wasn't more free; they'd just made her cage slightly more comfortable. The only other being she saw other than her guards was what she presumed was a doctor, who came in and checked the readings on the machines that were connected to her arm and then removed the IV. He never said a word.
Though she knew it wouldn't do any good, she'd taken to talking to the guards that brought her food. She begged them to take her to see her friends. She had to know they were well. The most she ever got for a response was an occasional wince when her shouting became particularly shrill. The isolation was killing her. She didn't even have anything to read.
Slowly, her pacing developed into a workout routine. At first it was because she wanted her body in top shape so her escape attempt wouldn't be foiled by physical weakness. Eventually though, her body remembered what it meant to be a soldier and to strive for peak fitness. Every morning she would start with push ups and sit ups. She did them until her muscles burned from the exertion, and then she would do jumping jacks until it felt like she was gargling her heart. She would take a five minute breather and do it all again. Still, even that only occupied a few hours of her day. The rest of the time was spent with nothing to occupy her other than her own increasingly wild thoughts.
When Josh appeared in the doorway after two weeks, it was almost a relief. On the ship she'd had four people to talk with. And in her cell, at least she had been able to talk to Hands. The solitary nature of her hospital confinement had so unbalanced her that she'd started talking to her pillow the day before. His name was Pillow Dave. He was kind of a snarky asshole.
Oh, look, it's your kitty cat boyfriend, said Pillow Dave.
"Shut your pasty face," grumbled Beatrix, squeezing him hard around the middle.
Ooof, complained Pillow Dave.
"Sorry," she apologized automatically. That was mostly the nature of their conversations: snarky comments, violence, apology.
"Who are you talking to?" asked Josh, crossing the room, one eyebrow quirked. He took his seat next to her bed. His voice was back to its usual timbre, neither cold, nor warm, with a hint of wry amusement.
"None of your business, Josh," she said petulantly, then remembered just the thing to say. "I've been left alone for too long. Like you said, I had to make the best of what I'd been left."
"Ah, so you are capable of listening," he replied, exposing a little fang in his typical half-smile.
Is he flirting with you? asked Pillow Dave, earning a punch to his mid-section. He took it without further comment.
Beatrix frowned. "I wasn't sure you'd remember anything we said after all of those blows to the head."
"Yes, I did take quite a tumble," he said, a bit of a snarl in his voice.
Beatrix took the warning and steered the conversation away from his strange behavior during his last visit. If she was going to get anything out of him, she was going to have to play his game. "You know, leaving me alone in here probably isn't the best thing for my mental
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