They picked her up less than ten minutes from shore. The lights of Roanapurr had not yet shrunk to a line, their faint glow outlining her dripping blonde hair as they pulled her aboard. Tall and full-figured, Dutch struggled to hold her up as Revy untangled the lifebuoy. The foreign woman fell to the deck coughing up seawater. Revy stared.

"Holy shit," she said. "What happened to you?"

"Shot," the woman replied, her voice raspy. Revy opened her mouth to ask what kind of bullet could cause the raking scars on her face when she groaned, blood soaking through the hand pressed to her waist. Dutch's first aid training kicked in, taking her to a makeshift surgery in Revy's cabin.

He motioned her to the table. "Take off the dress."

She obeyed, pulling off the long gown. Revy blinked. Old gouges twisted down her neck and torso in broad swathes, leaving uneven ridges all over her light skin. Revy tried not to look too closely as she helped her out of lacy stockings, dropping them onto the wet pile.

The woman was silent as Dutch worked the bullet out. Her legs were too long and hung awkwardly over the edge of the table, even as she slouched on her elbows to keep her head from doing the same. Revy held a torch over the bullet hole, trying not to notice the way fresh blood oozed out with every breath. Dutch frowned, concentrating. Her wound wasn't too bad, small and clean. The bleeding was already turning sluggish.

Everyone sighed in relief when Dutch finally dropped the bullet into a tray, a twisted piece of metal, dark red and shiny. Dutch gave the wound a once-over then tossed a water bottle to Revy.

"Wash it up and bandage it," he instructed. "It's good and clean; I'm going back to the bridge else we won't make good time tonight." He nodded to their new passenger. "Talk to Revy if you need anything."

Revy grimaced at his departing back but took up nursing duty without complaint. At least their patient wasn't the wailing or squirming sort. In fact, Revy thought as she wadded gauze in place, she was weirdly calm about the whole thing. Taking deep breaths, she didn't talk until Revy clipped the bandages firmly in place.

"…Revy?"

"Yeah?" she said, towelling the woman dry. Her fine hair kept tangling around Revy's hands, coming away like spider silk if she pulled the wrong way.

"Where are we going?" She hadn't missed the sound of the boat starting up.

Revy put the towel aside. "To work," she said. It felt weird talking shop with a stranger. She changed the subject. "How'd you end up in the water?"

Wrapped in the towel, the woman related the typical story of a business deal gone wrong. Her company was supposed to build a factory in Roanapurr, but they hadn't realised how badly certain locals would take it. One of them, she said icily, even had the gall to try kill her. Luckily, he was shit at it.

"Heh, don't give him another chance," Revy said, nodding at the bullet.

"Of course." She smiled as though Revy had pointed out a cute souvenir.

A wave of uneasiness washed through Revy. "So, what's your name?"

"Balalaika," she said.

Revy snorted. "Wow, weird name. Where'd you come from?"

"Slovenia."

Revy's mental map didn't have that word. Given that she knew local waters pretty well, this lady was a long way from home.

Balalaika laughed when she told her that. "You're not wrong," she said, amused. "But I was lucky enough to bring my home with me."

Before Revy could ask what she meant, two squawks burst from the short-range radio at her hip. Dutch was calling her to the bridge. Revy excused herself and made her way to the little control room at the ship's fore, where he'd laid out a few charts of the area.

"I'd check our position myself but I gotta drive this thing," Dutch said tersely. The engines whined loudly when he coaxed the throttle higher, the boat complaining as it churned over rough seas. Revy wasn't worried. Dutch always knew how to get the best from the Black Lagoon.

She checked the charts as Dutch read off the screen. "We're good," she said, making a note on the corner of the map. "Just keep going south-southwest and we should have no problem getting to Thasala by 0300 hours for the pickup."

"Thanks, Revy," Dutch said. He eased back on the throttle a bit, leaning back. "Find out anything about our guest?"

She recounted their conversation, but as she mentally reviewed Balalaika's story, she couldn't hold it in a moment longer.

"I have a bad feeling about her," Revy blurted out.

"Because you don't like her face?" Dutch asked dryly.

"Hell no; I would have asked for scar stories if you hadn't called my ass out here," Revy said, frowning. "There's just two problems: she's hiding something, and she's fucked up.

"Don't ask me how I know," she said quickly, cutting across Dutch's questions. "I just feel cold when I talk to her, okay?"

Dutch drummed his fingers on the throttle, then sighed. "We can't do much out here. Just make sure nothing happens till we reach the town. You can handle her, right?"

Balalaika was a head taller and probably thirty pounds heavier than Revy. Suddenly the hilts of her pistols felt very reassuring. "Yeah," she said.

"Alright, get back in there and keep this Balalaika from becoming a ship risk," Dutch said, turning back to the control panel. Revy mock-saluted the back of his head and left the bridge.

Back in the cabin, she sighed with relief at the sight of Balalaika seated on a camp chair, drying off with an old sheet. Her bra and underwear hung over the back of the chair, and Revy realised too late what that meant when the corner of her makeshift robe slipped.

"You want a shirt or something?" she asked, keeping her eyes on her face.

"Please," Balalaika agreed. She rearranged the cloth more modestly, but not even a high-collared jumper could hide the curves of her prominent chest. Revy prayed she was tan enough to hide the burning in her face. She took a spare outfit from the locker. Balalaika promptly dropped the sheet on the floor to put it on. Christ! This woman was probably one of those brazen ones who walked around naked in change rooms because "we're all women here".

She barely heard when Balalaika asked to go out for a smoke. "You can smoke in here if you want," Revy said. It'd be easier to keep an eye on her in a small cabin, rather than run rings on deck.

"Ah… Some fresh air would be helpful. I'm not used to being on boats," Balalaika grimaced, and Revy was faced with the very real problem of cleaning vomit off the walls. Again.

"Fine, let's go." She herded Balalaika up the ladder, which popped them out next to torpedo three. The lights of Roanapurr had vanished far behind them, leaving only the stars and surf. From the roar of the engines, Dutch was making up for lost time. They lit up in a small alcove under the satellite dish, where the sharp wind wouldn't snatch their cigarettes away.

Balalaika relaxed as she smoked, her iron-backed posture curving slightly into the wall. The moonlight smoothed out her rippled, burnt skin, and Balalaika looked like a normal woman, blonde hair and short hem flapping in the wind. But the loose shirt did nothing to hide the straight stance of a soldier, lean and ready. Here to open a factory, my ass. Revy thought. Hard to make up a past when your entire body tells the real story.

Revy went to throw the last of her cigarette into the water, when an unfamiliar shape rose out of the black. A steady whine grew louder, half hidden under the drone of the Lagoon's propellers. Her blood ran cold.

She pulled out a flare gun from the emergency locker, aiming high. A blinding light split the sky, illuminating a rapidly approaching patrol boat directly on their tail.

Dutch was on the radio at the sight of her flare. "Revy, what the hell?"

"We have company!" she shouted. "PT on our six!"

Even with the flare, Revy could barely make out the details of the boat, its hull bleeding into the night, breaking the silhouette. Unfortunately, from its size and speed, it screamed of a pirate craft, probably full of greedy, armed thugs. Revy made a split-second decision.

"Balalaika, can you shoot?"

She snapped to attention "I can."

The boat was gaining on them. Revy grabbed one of the loaded G3 rifles and held it out, stock first. "I'll take them out while you distract them."

"Right," Balalaika answered, readying the gun. The cool precision of her preparation made Revy swallow, but she figured Balalaika was smart enough to realise that a pirate raid called for some cooperation, whatever her own agenda.

She kept close to the railing, reloading the flare gun. The pirates hadn't scarpered when she blew the cover of darkness, which means they meant business. Revy smiled, a feral grin that pulled her face wide. Whoever sold them intel on the Lagoon's route was shit, because they hadn't picked up their cargo yet. Her finger coiled on the trigger. These idiots' next meal was going to be cold, hard bullets.

The Black Lagoon lurched forward as Dutch tried to outrun the PT, but it kept pace easily. It didn't matter. Revy reacted the moment it drew level, firing the second flare straight up.

"Balalaika!" she yelled. Bracing her rifle against the torpedo, Balalaika fired the first volley of bullets, scattering across the patrol boat's empty deck. There was frantic movement in the cabin, but no one came out for a clear shot.

The boats were less than ten metres apart, sheering through the water together. Revy was hoping Dutch would ram them, bring the bastards into point blank range, when shots whizzed over her head and clanged off the ship's walls. Fuckers were blind-firing, but you never knew their luck.

Their pursuers changed tack, zipping their boat side to side as they tried to present a harder target. It worked, pissing her off no end. Neither her shots nor Balalaika's were slowing the boat down, striking too low in the hull or going straight into the water. With their accuracy sinking, one of the bastards felt brave enough to stand up and spray, forcing them to duck.

Sick of wasting flares, Revy crawled over to Balalaika. "New plan," she said, holding out two bottles. "We sink 'em with this."

They got the Molotov cocktails lit, shielding them from the wind. Once the oily fire took, only a full sandbag would put it out. They took aim from behind the torpedo. "Ready…"

Revy set off another flare, catching the patrol boat in a ring of light. It jerked away, like a startled animal, but Revy wasn't going to let it run.

"Now!" she yelled. Their makeshift firebombs sailed like tiny candles over onto the boat, erupting in a splash of flame over half the oil spilled over the edge of the deck, dripping fire into the ocean. The ship swerved madly, as though it could throw the fire off. Commotion grew as the pirates realised they'd be a wreck if they didn't put it out. A man ran out onto deck, close enough to make out a long scar across his face. Just what she was waiting for. Revy had her Beretta out, sighting down the barrel when Balalaika lunged at her.

"Stoyte! Ne strelya-"

Revy felt rather than saw it coming, twisting instinctively sideways from the blow. Balalaika's eyes widened, slipping heavily forward on the wet deck. Momentum made her crash into Revy, sending them sprawling. Knocked out of her hand, Revy's pistol spun away. She scrambled to her knees, grabbing her second gun. She'd expected this, but not so soon.

"Dutch!" She screamed. Her hand flew uselessly to her empty ear, and she spotted her headset lying out of reach, the wire fluttering over the edge of the boat. She made a grab for it, but Balalaika's sideswipe caught her in the back, throwing her forward. Her hand scraped wildly, knocking the radio into the churning water.

The patrol boat had gotten the fire under control, drawing close enough to board, but Revy had a bigger problem. She wheeled around, bringing up her gun just as Balalaika tackled her. Balalaika twisted her wrist roughly, and it was either lose her grip or break something. The gun clanged to the deck.

Revy's eyes widened. "You're with that boat…"

"In a way, yes," Balalaika said. Revy snarled and fought like a demon, but no matter how hard she gouged or kicked, that painful grip held her firm. Balalaika's pale eyes glinted in the last of the flare and her light hair whipped around her like a storm cloud. Revy's mind raced. Balalaika didn't have a cell, or a satellite phone. "How did you call them?"

"Tracking device in the underwire," she admitted, then coughed painfully. Revy noted it with furious satisfaction; she had managed to land a kick through the bandages, and not even this cast-iron bitch was going to shake it off easily. "I was going to give them coordinates from the stars, but they got the message quickly enough."

So she bullshit her way past Revy to get on deck. Revy didn't know who she wanted to hit more, Balalaika or herself. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Revy snarled. "We don't have any cargo, so you can fuck right off -"

"Cargo?" Balalaika said.

Revy spat in her face. "You're with these pirates, you bitch!" she yelled, hoping Dutch would hear through two steel doors. "I should have shot you when you were splashing around and let you drown -"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Balalaika said, picking up Revy's gun. She made no move to wipe the saliva off. "And I don't have time to explain."

She swung the gun, hilt-first; Revy shut her eyes before the blow landed, but it still hurt like a bitch.

He had radio silence from Revy since the gunfire started, and still nothing when it stopped. Dutch didn't need a sixth sense to know something was wrong, and he definitely knew when a gun was pointed at him.

"Are you always this bad at thanks, or is it just me?" he asked.

He felt Balalaika shrug. "Just you," she said. "Stop the boat."

Dutch did so, slamming the boat into reverse. Seated in the driver's chair, he only had the wind knocked out of him, but Balalaika went flying, smashing into the control panel headfirst. Dutch raised his head cautiously. It was too much to hope that she'd been knocked out. Even concussed, she fired a bullet that spun wide to the left, forcing him to duck behind his chair.

He'd barely drawn his own pistol from his vest when a thickly accented voice came from behind. "Put the gun down."

The man entered, outnumbering him two-to-one. Where the hell was Revy? Dutch slowly put his weapon down and kicked it spare pistol taped under the controls was just out of reach, about as useful as if it had been on Mars.

Dutch was herded to the corner of the room as the man helped Balalaika up. Distinctly European, with a long scar across his face, he bore the same military bearing as her. In trousers and a dark jacket, he was a weird-looking sailor in this tropical climate. They exchanged words in another language, low and insistent. Dutch stayed silent. Whatever these people were after, Dutch knew the Black Lagoon wasn't changing hands without a fight.

"Good news, Captain," Balalaika said, addressing him directly. "We'll say goodbye here. Sorry for the trouble." Her voice was honeyed and almost sincere.

"Call me Dutch," he said coldly. He didn't want flattery from this woman. "And I got one question: Where's Revy?"

"Sleeping behind the engine room," she said, sounding fond.

Dutch badly wanted to verify that, but Balalaika kept talking. "I appreciate you saving my life," she said. Probably for his benefit, since her stone-faced lackey looked like he wanted an excuse to shoot. "I hear you have a job to do, so carry on."

Just as Dutch thought about getting his life back on track, there were a few shouts from the port side. Heavy footsteps thumped frantically towards them, followed by a huge blast that rocked the boat sideways. The floor swung like a seesaw, sending everyone stumbling. Caught unawares, Dutch watched helplessly as two more men ran into the bridge, smelling of smoke and burnt hair.

"It got to the fuel tank," one panted. An oily column of black smoke and debris was all that was left of the patrol boat, smearing across the seawater.

Her ride gone, Balalaika sighed. "Sorry I got your hopes up," she told Dutch, taking his seat at the controls.

They made good time back to Roanapurr, which was exactly what Dutch didn't want. The 4 a.m. pickup came and went, and Dutch found himself greeting the new day as a hostage on his own ship with a broken contract to smooth over. It was going to be hard to find work after this.

They pulled up in an abandoned waterway, choked with rubbish and dead fish. An eclectic convoy of cars had turned up to meet Balalaika, who disembarked cheerfully to join them. Scarface, or Boris, as Dutch had learned, stayed back to return the guns, including Revy's. He hadn't said a word on the return trip, but when he nodded goodbye, Dutch figured he'd received the cultural equivalent of a handshake and a hug.

"Dutch!" Balalaika said, waving to catch his attention.

"We'll pay you later!" she called. A breeze sent a ripple through her hair, lighting a bright patch amongst the dark cars and thick jungle. Dutch half-heartedly waved back as they drove off. May she never darken my door again, amen.

When he went back to get Revy, she was angrier than a wolverine in a trap. She pestered Dutch for the full story then proceeded to get pissed about every detail. If she was mad about their botched job, she completely exploded when she learned Balalaika made it back alive.

"You fucking let her go?!"

"They hijacked my ship!" he snapped. Even though he came out of that incident unharmed, his professional pride was sorely wounded. He really didn't need to be reminded.

"Who the fuck were all those people anyway?" Revy demanded. Balalaika's welcome party couldn't have looked more out of place in a back canal that smelled of rotting garbage.

Dutch didn't want to think about it. He managed that for two weeks until a young man who spoke little English showed up on his office doorstep, proffering a business card for 'V. Vladilena', the reverse covered with a bright lip print. He was chauffeured directly to a modest office building with stone pillars and lions at the front, where a familiar woman greeted him.

Dressed in a sharp, old-fashioned suit, there was no mistaking the striking height and extensive scars of Balalaika as she shook his hand. "Excuse the mess, we're still moving in," Balalaika said airily, leading him through a construction site of a lobby. Two workers were busy slapping fresh concrete over a wall, honeycombed by bullets, while another whitewashed a large suspicious stain. Dutch remembered a rumour that a new gang was shaking up the established triads, the only difference this time was that they were winning. He followed Balalaika to a top-floor office, the walls panelled in mahogany and marble.

"Tea or coffee?" she asked.

They sat down and talked over a local tea as red as her nails. She had taken notes at the beginning, but soon stopped.

"…Compensation for the lost job on the 23rd," Dutch said, counting off his fingers. "Payment for the fine for trespassing in that canal. Booking fee for the dock we couldn't get refunded. Lost a contract last Tuesday because of our bad reputation. Loss of dignity when bidding for new jobs. Couldn't sleep last night thinking about our finances…"

She looked like she was about to laugh, until he added up a few rough figures on a calculator and passed it to her.

Balalaika placed her pen down, breathing deeply. "Let's just say I owe you a favour," she said through gritted teeth.

She still wrote him a ten grand check though.