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physical health. After a few seconds of contemplating bloody murder, she realized that she didn't want to die after only taking out a few more of them. They still owed her more lives than that. She would live, if only to be able to finish her revenge.
    Again, her nagging conscience pointed out how unhealthy that thought was and she pushed it aside. She'd dedicated her life to revenge since her father's murder. She had no idea why now, when she was about to meet the enemy face to face, she would be suddenly having doubts.
    Finally, the nothingness from the beam gave way, leaving her sitting on a dim, grey hangar deck. A few other Talons were in her direct line of sight, but little else could be seen in the gloom. The main guns on her Talon were still set to practice level, so she gave the trigger an experimental pull. Nothing happened. As a matter of fact, none of her instruments were powered on, and a few seconds flipping switches confirmed that everything was dead. There wouldn't be any flying out of this situation. At least she was able to move her own body again.
    If she could move, that meant she could get out of her Talon. She reached down and pulled a latch under her seat that released a small case. Inside were some small tools for quick and dirty repair of basic components on the Talon. One was a multi-tool with about every item you could ask for stuffed into a frame shaped like a pair of pliers. One of the tools was a two inch knife blade. She flicked it out with a satisfying snick and palmed the handle it flipped out of, taking a fighter's grip on the knife. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it would have to do.
    Beatrix made her way slowly toward the Talon closest to her, crouched low. She wasn't surprised to see Hands climb out holding a tool just like her own. "What a pair we make," she whispered, nodding to her knife.
    Hands started and whirled toward her, ready to fight before he squinted and recognition crept across his face. "What the hell, Sting?" he croaked. "Creeping about in the darkness and whispering at people is a good way to get yourself stabbed."
    "Yeah, thankfully a cheese grater would be a more effective weapon for killing than these things." She pointed at their small knives. Since nobody seemed to be jumping out at them, she stood up to her full height, just a shade taller than Hands' one meter eighty-five frame. It made her quite a bit taller than several of the men in her Flight. It irked more than a few of them. Not just because she was taller, but because they knew she could kick their asses.
    "At least they're something. Lets go round up the rest of the suckers who got captured with us. If the Colarians aren't swarming down here to collect us, this bay is probably pretty secure, but we might as well poke around anyway."
    The rest of the suckers included Pickle, Gadget, and Torch. There were two other Talons that had belonged to Red and Butch, but the sliding glass hatch that covered their cockpits had been blown away, indicating they had ejected. They were nowhere to be seen. Beatrix wondered if they had somehow managed to see what was coming for them and chosen to take their chances floating in space, hoping someone would pick them up before their air ran out. There were no obvious killing shots on their Talons. Good for them if they did.
    "So, who wants to be the first to take off their helmet and see if their brains boil out of their ears?" asked Torch, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
    In the end it was Beatrix that took her helmet off first, but not before the guys made it clear they weren't afraid to do it. They just figured that one of the women made more sense because of body mass or some such nonsense. It didn't fool anyone, but it made them feel better about themselves, so nobody called them out on it. Pickle, the only other female present, let it be known that even if they were all fine, she was going to leave her helmet on until the