Grimspace by Ann Aguirre

smiling. I realize he wasn’t being stupid earlier; he was boasting. He’s wearing a rebreather and a mildly apologetic expression.
    â€œI’m sorry for the inconvenience,” he tells me, as if my luggage has been misplaced on an interstellar voyage. “The Gunnars pay substantially better, and I think, given all the statistical data, you’ll agree with my assessment. It’s the best possible outcome for you to sign on with them.”
    Doing what ?
    It seems as if there isn’t going to be fight. The gas has thoroughly demoralized the Dahlgrens—but I don’t know; I feel like busting some heads on principle. I’m bloody tired of being dragged around, here to there, without a word of explanation. And it’s been like that a long damn time, nothing’s been right since Kai died, and I am sick of it.
    Mair chooses that moment to stagger from the vehicle; she stumbles, falls, eyes livid with grief. But as she pushes herself upright, more will than strength, she growls to Carl, “Better to die on your feet than live on your knees. You spineless sack of shit.”
    I somehow know that Jor’s not coming out of the rover under his own power. Maybe the gas affected him different than the rest of us. But whatever, why ever, he’s gone, and Keri weeps against March’s shoulder. Mair, with her wild eyes, looks like the living embodiment of the old Furies, come to reap a man’s soul. I’m a little afraid of her, and everyone falls back, as she surges toward the Gunnars. For a moment, I think she’ll rend them limb from limb single-handedly.
    Carl glances to me in appeal, as if I have some power in this insane tableau. Then I realize I do.
    â€œFrag you.” I answer his look in Keri’s time-for-tea tone.
    And it takes him a moment to process the disparity of the words from the sweetness in my voice. The Gunnars look like killers, all of them. Big men, hard-eyed, well geared, and ready to throw down. That’s fine.
    So am I.
    I’m Sirantha Jax, and I have had enough .

CHAPTER 8
    â€œJax,” March hisses. “Loras can’t fight, Saul won’t. Are you crazy?”
    That leaves me, Mair, Dina, and March, if he’ll weigh in. Keri is a nonfactor, as she’s still sniveling.
    So yeah, I guess I am. After all this time, you would think I’d have earned a better death, but at least I’m going out swinging. I test the weight of the shockstick in my hand, and the Gunnars share a look among themselves, like some hive-mind critter, before they burst out laughing. I’m pretty sure these assholes are related, too. What is it with this fragging backwater planet?
    â€œOh, Ms. Jax, do be reasonable—” Carl says, as I sprint for him, duck a half-assed grab from one of his goons, open-hand-smash the bridge of No-chin’s nose, then come down hard on the backswing upside meatwad’s head. Yeah, asshole, that’s how it’s done. I smell the faint scent of sizzling skin as he crumples, the shockstick throwing blue sparks. Its live hum in my hands proves to the other five that I’m dead serious, and suddenly they realize they’ve got a fight on their hands.
    It’s a mistake people have made before. Because I’m small, they assume I’m also spineless, that I won’t have the guts to back up the shit I talk. Carl shrieks like a woman, his nose spurting like I’ve cut his jugular or something.
    â€œHe’s bleeding.” Keri moans. “Mother Mary of Anabolic Grace, what have you done ?”
    Everyone sort of freezes and shares a look of unilateral horror. And I don’t understand. It’s just a damned bloody nose. I’ve got one, too. What’s the big deal? But I use the time to make myself scarce, as his men rally, swinging slow because they’re so big. They connect, and I’m going down, not in a good way. I don’t have the strength to go one-on-one with any