Outrageous Fortune-Errant Freight Book One

Chapter 29

Jagati, in the process of returning the bridge weapons to their locker, froze as she was struck by an overwhelming tide of anger.

And while anger itself wasn't unusual—Jagati's average day ran the gamut of annoyance—this particular fury was cold and deep and drew her towards the companionway with the strength of a whirlpool in the Oracle Ocean.

She'd gotten down to the third deck when she overheard the noise—shouting—from voices she didn't recognize. An odd, animal keen rose above all, making the hair on her neck stand on end.

"What in the comb?" She began to sprint, leaping several steps so she came thudding down to the cargo bay half a meter behind Eitan. "Weren't you supposed to be sleeping?" she called, following him out into the cold.

He didn't deign to answer, but as she hit the gangplank, she almost ran straight into him, because he'd come up short.

"What?" she asked, elbowing him aside. Or rather trying to elbow him aside—statues were more flexible—before giving up and easing around.

A little further down the plank she discovered the source of the tumult—John being strangled by some nut job in an infantry coat.

Which meant Nasa, and John's misplaced sense of guilt.

While she took in the scene, Eitan de-statued and raced down to the tarmac, where he put his hand on the nut job's shoulder. Good, she thought, knowing the Fujian would have the maniac down and broken (or better, dead) without breaking a sweat.

Except he wasn't taking the maniac down.

What the hells?

The rage that had drawn her this far flared into a wildfire that muttered and roared across her synapses, making her dead to everything and everyone around her.

Powering up the shooter she hadn't known she'd drawn, Jagati pressed the muzzle to the base of the maniac's skull, hard. "Let him go, or I will be decorating the hull with your brains," she told him. Somewhere to her left, she heard a young girl pleading, but the red haze didn't fade. "I won't bother to count to three."

He froze, and his hands dropped, and Eitan caught John's slumping figure.

Still, the red haze did not dissipate.

So she reversed the shooter and cracked the nut job on the head. The shock of wood meeting skull thrumming up her arms felt good. Yeah, she was still pissed, but the overriding fury receded.

"Jagati, that was hardly necessary."

"Were you without oxygen long enough to suffer brain damage? Because that was absolutely necessary." She pulled the shooter back, meaning to strike the downed dire wolf again when the kid's crying cut through the fog and she lowered the weapon.

John, not entirely steady, crouched beside the unconscious nut job. Eitan, already on his knees, wore an expression she couldn't decipher. Anger? Judgment? Who in comb cared?

"I told you he was trouble," she heard a semi-familiar voice and turned to see Jinna, Rory's old shipmate, looking twice her normal self. Pregnancy could do that.

"Except he's not," the girl was saying, wiping her eyes as if ashamed of the emotional display. "Not really."

"Uh huh," Jagati said, and jerked her head towards the river. "I vote we see if he can float."

"Oh, now," Rory cut in, "that's not funny." He looked at the girl. "She doesn't mean it, Mia."

"I don't?"

"Jagati," John said, or, more like rasped, his expression flat with disapproval.

"What?" She glared at him, then looked up to see the kid tossing her a look of pure defiance.