RVA: The Red Vixen at Sea, Body Count

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Rolas asked, scraping dinner from the pan on the stove to a waiting plate. It was some sort of vegetable omelet that would have smelled heavenly any other time. Right now it was just making her stomach churn.

“No, sorry. I’ll just have some more crisps and water,” Melanie told him. She tried not to sound churlish. She hadn’t known that Rolas could cook. It was a rare skill to find in a male. Most of the great chefs were vixens of course, keeping with the foxen tradition of a vixen’s dominion over the family hearth, and the rest of the household by extension.

Rolas eyed her with worry, as he passed over a package of digestive crisps and a plastic water bottle from the pantry. “Are you certain you’re not sick?” he asked. He sat down at the small table across from her, his own meal temporarily forgotten it seemed. “If you are we are, we can head back to dock and go home.”

How utterly tempting. But no. Rolas had dragged her on this trip to try and work things out between them. Cutting it short wouldn’t solve the problems they faced. “No, I’ll survive,” Melanie reassured him. She took a swig of water and gestured to his plate. “Eat please. You’ve been working in the sun all day.”

That had actually been quite enjoyable, sitting on the padded bench and watching Rolas man the wheel or fiddle with the sails. Most of it could computer controlled, he had told her, but he seemed to enjoy adjusting everything manually. Male’s work, also traditional, while a vixen captain kept her wise eye on the overall picture. Except that in this case Rolas was both the captain and the sole crew, while she was just a passenger. Something not quite right there.

“So,” she said, as Rolas began chewing on his first bite of omelet. “You have questions for me. Ask away.”

“Mmm,” Rolas murmured, his mouth still full of food. He swallowed and said, “Something has been bothering me, the more I thought about it.”

A lot of things had been bothering him, she judged. And not all about her, if his reaction to Cannonloader’s appearance had been any indication. “Yes?” Melanie prompted.

Rolas set his fork down on his plate, staring at her. “How many people have you killed?”

The question so confused her for a moment that it took her several seconds to form an answer. “Killed? I’ve never killed anyone,” she said.

“Haven’t you?” he asked. His stare was unblinking, uncompromising. “Have you forgotten Ensign Dewclaw so quickly? I haven’t.”

She suppressed a wince. Dewclaw had been a young engineering mate on the Sallivera, the Darktail’s freighter. When she had been the Red Vixen, she’s been given a tip from the Sallivera’s first officer, Lt. Hotclaw, on the ship’s planned route and cargo manifest. As it turned out later Hotclaw had been in the employ of Countess Highglider, the Darktail’s enemy. But she hadn’t known that when she’d attacked Rolas’ ship, taking him captive and stealing the cargo. Dewclaw had been the only casualty in the operation, falling from a catwalk after being stunned, to land head first on the deck.

“That was an accident,” Melanie said. “I regretted it, but I wasn’t the one that pulled the trigger on the stunner. Nor was I the one that made the decision to resist when we boarded your ship.”

“You were the one that ordered the attack,” he pointed out. “Hardly an accident.”

“I apologized for it. I even wept when we visited his family’s memorial garden, if you will recall,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound testy.

“Fine, you regretted that one. What about the others?”

“What others?” she shot back.

“I distinctly recall you stating that you spaced several of the Scarlet Claw’s crew when you took over as its captain.”

“Just three,” Melanie said, feeling as if the ground was slipping out from under her. Not that there was any solid ground within a hundred kilometers of this suddenly too small boat. “And they were very bad pirates. The sort that enjoyed the power they had over a helpless victim. Anyway, Lt. Zan took care of that part. Frankly I think he’d been looking forward to it when the change of command occurred. The ship’s previous captain was an unscrupulous fellow.”

“You’re honestly not seeing it, are you?” Rolas pressed.

“See what?” she demanded.

Her husband crossed his arms over his chest, his stare unwavering. “You were the commander of that vessel. All actions by her crew were your responsibility. Melanie, you may have regarded it as a romantic hobby, but the command was real. As real as any Noble caste domain. The Scarlet Claw’s crew were effectively your leigesworn. And your actions hurt people. Innocent people. Dewclaw was one. Alinadar another, by your failing to her get proper aid. How many others died because you were bored with you responsibilities as a Foxen Lord, and wanted to play pirate?”

Melanie fought to hold down the contents of her stomach. It felt like it was being wrenched into a tight knot, the urge vomit nearly overwhelming her. “What would you have of me, Rolas?” she finally managed to say. “Should I confess my sins to the world? How many would be hurt then? Your mother and father would feel betrayed, by you marrying the pirate that kidnapped you and derailed their plans to escape the old Countess. The Alliance Patrol would have me in court on charges in a moment, and you and your sister along with me for conspiracy in concealing my crimes. There are too many secrets now, Rolas. Even with the Ten knowing the truth, it’s still too dangerous to speak publicly about this.”

“I know that. Why do you think we’re out here?” he asked. Rolas gestured around them. “No cameras, no microphones or microdrones, no one but us. The only way I could make things more private is if I put you in my lap and we went into orbit aboard in a singleship. I need to know how many people you hurt.”

Melanie was getting the nagging feeling that this was going all backwards. Rolas wanted a confession out of her, yes. So why did it seem he was picking at the scabs of his own wounds, rather trying to hurt her? Confession might be good for the soul, she thought, remembering the old human saying. She just wished she could figure out whether it was for her soul’s sake, or Rolas’.

“Twenty-five,” she finally answered.

“Twenty-five?” Rolas asked, cocking his head. “You’re sure of that?”

“Yes,” Melanie said “There were those three pirate from the original crew of my ship, before I bought out the captain’s share. I lost five crew on various boarding actions, mostly from bad luck when the defending crews had heavier weapons than we were expecting. Then there was the raid Bloody Margo made on my original refuelling outpost…” She swallowed, the memories coming back vividly in her head for a moment. “That was a bad day. I lost seven crewfolk that day. One of them dived in front of me when....”

She could still remember that moment quite clearly. The crazed, feral looking foxen child charging straight at her, a rifle nearly as big as she was in her arms. Then Gaz, who had never been part of the boarding or gunnery teams, just a cook’s assistant, diving in front of her to let Ali’s shot hit him in the chest, giving Lt. Zan enough time ot raise his own weapon and take down Ali.

“When what?” Rolas asked softly.

“When I was attacked.” She waved off any further questions. “We took out eleven of Margo’s attackers, and took one captive. Ali.”

“Twenty-three,” Rolas added up. “That leaves two.”

“Yes. The twenty-fourth was your Dewclaw. The twenty-fifth was Margo’s second-in-command, Brutal Compton. By that time I’d taught Ali the value of using stunners when she defended me, but just that once I didn’t mind.”

“Wait,” Rolas said, looking confused. “I met Compton when he confronted us on Tylesha. You sent me back to my family and then raced ahead to meet me in your true identity. That can only mean you met him again when you were out raiding Countess Highglider’s shipping company.”

Oh, damn. She’d really meant to never bring this up. She could almost guarantee it would set Rolas’ blood pressure shooting up. “Yes, well,” Melanie explained. “I ran into him again when the Scarlet Claw  was docked at a refuelling outpost and I was trying to find more information about the Highglider shipping routes. I’d bumped into a mercenary pilot defending one of the Countess’ ship and had to, er, put him somewhere he couldn’t get into trouble. Anyway, to make a long story short, Compton got the drop on me and I was captured briefly. Fortunately Alinadar moved quickly and rescued me before they could do much more than rough me up a bit.”

Actually from the look on Rolas’ face, he had a good idea what almost had happened past the “roughing up” part. Damn.

“You never told me this,” he accused.

“No, because it would have upset you, and you had your own worries. Besides, it was over and done. Ali quite neatly shot Compton in the back while he was tormenting that poor mercenary pilot, and I got away. And shortly thereafter the Red Vixen went into permanent retirement, and there was no way for Margo to connect her with Lady Melanie Darktail nee Lovejoy.” She sat back in her seat. “So, that’s twenty-five. Dewclaw was the only civilian casualty. His death…” She grimaced. “Between him and the knowledge of what I had done to your own family, that was enough to convince me it was time to retire the Red Vixen. Not bad, I think, for a ten year run.”

“And you remember them all?” he asked.

“The faces of my crew that I lost, yes. And Ensign Dewclaw, yes.” She spread her paw, palm up, on the table. “What more can I do, Rolas?”

He sighed, the anger seeming to deflate from him. “I don’t know.”