Rogue Stars

by C Gockel et al.

  Once the initial thrill of a new romance had worn off, she was finding him increasingly high maintenance. He had turned out to be a horrific skier, which could have been cute if he hadn’t been so damn whiny about it. He prattled on about his work incessantly, which could have been interesting if his work didn’t consist mostly of lobbying. And while he was quite handsome, his mouth did this odd downturn thing in response to whatever you said; it made him look churlish.

  With an eye roll she sent back a decline and excuse. The excuse was easy, as she legitimately wasn’t available on account of needing to get ready for the trip home. Whether he interpreted it as a more permanent decline…well, she would worry about that on her return.

  Another one bites the dust. She laughed to herself, fully aware she had done it again, but opened a compose anyway.

  Alex,

  …or not. He’s entirely too needy, and on the verge of petulant. Oh well, tomorrow is another day.

  — Kennedy

  She sent the message as a gleam to her left caught her attention. The last moment of the sunset over the mountains tossed glittering beams into the snow-filled sky. It looked—

  Message unable to be delivered. Recipient is not connected to exanet infrastructure. Message will be queued until it can be delivered.

  What?

  The person behind her collided into her, and she barely caught her balance in time to prevent a tumble to the ground. She mumbled a “sorry” and moved out of the way.

  Distracted by troubling thoughts, she managed to wind through the busy pedestrian foot traffic to the low ledge marking the barrier between the sidewalk and a small sculpture park. She sank against the ledge.

  There were a few instances when one might be cut off from the ubiquitous exanet infrastructure. Spelunking beneath a couple of kilometers of solid heavy metals, for instance, or catching a front-row seat to a supernova explosion. Not much else…other than being dead, of course.

  The Siyane was equipped with the most robust radiation shielding available, but even it had limits.

  Oh Alex, what are you doing?

  30 Siyane

  Metis Nebula, Uncharted Planet

  The Siyane skimmed fifteen meters above the ground, cutting through a harsh wind toward the only reading for kilometers which showed any signs of being artificial.

  Alex pointed at the screen taking up the uppermost-right quadrant of the cockpit display. She had given him view rights to the HUD, because it was simply practical to do so. “Keep an eye on this readout while I try not to crash into any sudden mountainous objects. Let me know when it spikes.”

  Caleb nodded from his position leaning against the half-wall separating the cockpit and the main cabin. “Gotcha.”

  They had spent the previous evening stretching the hull material as far as possible and called it an early, tired night. This morning they had set out in the direction of the region the navigation system identified as the likeliest crash site zone. They’d been flying for more than an hour to reach the edge of the region; for obvious reasons she flew conservatively.

  He had baked muffins after they had lifted off, then showed up in the cockpit and casually handed her two.

  Muffins. He had utterly confounded her with muffins. Banana nut multigrain muffins, to be precise. The man’s arsenal of weaponry was truly impressive.

  She found her mind wandering to what other weapons he might have in his—Jesus, Alex, get your mind out of the gutter. It’s far too early in the morning for those sorts of thoughts.

  “Hey, got a spike.”

  She blinked hard and glanced at the display. “Yep.” She arced toward the flashing signal. When they were in range she slowed to a crawl until they could see the wreckage among the blowing sand.

  He moaned and sagged against the wall in apparent despondence. “My baby….”

  “Look, I said I was sorry. There’s nothing else—”

  “She was a loaner. I’d had her all of a week.”

  “Unh!” She leaned over and punched him in the shoulder. “Very funny.”

  “Ow.” He rubbed his shoulder gingerly. “So what’s the plan?”

  She studied the hazy outline of the wreckage. “It looks promising. The wind is nasty strong though, so we’ll tether ourselves to the hull. I say we take turns slicing off a piece and bringing it to the airlock. I’d like to end up with at least three square meters, as solid and flat as possible.” She leaned in closer to the viewport. “Given the state of the wreck, it may mean a lot of small pieces.”

  “Works for me.”

  The ship’s landing gear settled to the ground, and she cut the engine. “Let’s get to it.”

  She rejoined him after depositing a sheet in the airlock, her fourth such trip. They had accumulated a nice stack of material by this point, but she didn’t want to come up short and have to do this all over again. The wind made every step a challenge, and the swirling dust reduced visibility to a few meters. “Goddamn this planet sucks.”

  He chuckled over the vicinity comm. “You don’t have to tell me—I’m fairly certain I’ve been telling you. But that’s not even what bugs me the most about it.”

  “And what does bug you the most about it?”

  “How is it even here? What is it orbiting? We’re a long way from the pulsar, and there’s no indication of another star in the vicinity.”

  “Perhaps the answer’s in that unusual radiation. I don’t know. Regardless—”

  A powerful gust swept across them from out of nowhere; the crashed ship rocked precipitously, several loose sections tearing off to disappear into the sky.

  The punishing wind ripped the piece of hull he had just severed out of his hand. Its jagged edges sliced right through the line tethering her to her ship on its way to oblivion.

  The velocity of the wind increased yet more and began to push her relentlessly backward. She reached to grab onto the wreckage, and had succeeded in doing so when a fresh gust whipped in and her tenuous grip slipped on the metal surface.

  His voice was low and steady. “Hang on. I’m going to—”

  “I can’t!” The gust shifted direction, and she felt herself being blown sideways away from the wreck—

  —his arms wound around her waist and gripped her against him. She didn’t understand how he managed to reach her. Somehow he had.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  Her pulse raced, pounding in her ears above the howling wind. A wave of dizziness crashed over her with the rapid flood of adrenaline. She gasped in a breath. “Don’t let go.”

  His faceplate dropped forward to rest on hers. “I won’t. I promise.”

  Her eyes rose to meet his. She was shocked at how frightened he looked. Those beautiful irises had darkened to a raging midnight blue surrounding pinpoint pupils. Rigid lines of clenched muscles cut beneath his cheekbones.

  But the tone of his voice remained calm and confident. It made her feel safe…as did the firm grasp of his arms around her. It seemed his deceptively lean build hid a great deal of strength. She sucked in several deep breaths until her pulse began to slow. “Thank you.”

  He grinned, if a little shakily. “Couldn’t lose my pilot, now could I?”

  “We should probably…head to the ship.”

  “You want me to carry you?”

  And the cocky wit returns. She glared at him through the faceplate, though any annoyance was contrived at best. “That’s quite all right. How about we just tie my line onto yours instead.”

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t offer.”

  “Noted.” She hoped the helmet hid the smile which insisted on pulling at her lips as she reached around him to secure the frayed end of her line to his. “Let’s each get a piece and head in. I think we have enough.” She jerked the knot tight and pulled back to face him.

  A second passed, then two. Her pulse decided to reverse direction once more. She swallowed. “You can let go now.”

  He laughed softly. “Right.” But he
waited another full second before loosening his grip and taking a half-step away.

  She spun toward the wreck, only to grumble in frustration. “And my blade’s gone.”

  “S’ok. You can take…this one.” He finished cutting off a small piece and handed it to her, then went for the last one. Once he held the final slice in his hands, he paused to stare at the remnants of his ship.

  “What is it? Is there something else you wanted to try to find?”

  She saw his shoulders drop fractionally, though the sigh wasn’t audible. He looked back at her. “Nope. We’re good.”

  She smiled to herself as the metal cooled to meld together into a nearly seamless sheet. The materials weren’t identical; as such, the hue underwent a noticeable shift at the…well, seam. Still, it would do. More than do, honestly. She had to admit, she was impressed by the Senecan-manufactured metamat. It wasn’t better than hers, merely different. But not bad different.

  She began heating the next section. After laying out the recovered material and matching the pieces to the remaining gaps, they had divided up the repairs to save time. His work the previous afternoon had more than convinced her he knew what he was doing. She trusted him to get it right, which was saying a fair amount.

  “So I was thinking. Once the repairs are finished, we should go check out those anomalous readings.”

  His torch froze above the hull. “You think so?”

  “We should consider it at least. At this point we’re practically there, we might as well drop by. I mean it’s why I’m here, it’s why you’re here. It won’t be much trouble to check it out.”

  Her torch created a bright glare, and beyond its halo she couldn’t see his expression at the opposite end of the hold. She could see him set his tools on the floor. A reply was several seconds in coming, however.

  “You’re right. It is why you’re here, and why I’m here. So what does that mean? If it turns out to be important, do I get a copy of the data?”

  She didn’t even hesitate. After all, ‘I’ve been thinking’ meant she had previously identified the parameters and analyzed all the branching considerations. “Yes.”

  His response was also quick, though she suspected for a different reason. “You mean it? Why?”

  She returned to the still-ragged edge of the salvaged material. “Because I don’t gain anything by keeping it from you. You’ll know what the phenomenon is, at least in general terms, because you’ll be there. I suspect unlike my typical clients, your bosses won’t demand detailed scientific analyses and spectrum charts before acting on the information, so you’ll already have everything you need. I won’t gain any advantage by being a bitch and I’ll lose….” Her hand paused two centimeters from the shard.

  “You’ll lose what?”

  Asshole, as if he didn’t know the answer. “Comity.”

  He choked back a laugh. “Comity?”

  She scowled at the torch. “Yes, comity. Goodwill. Friendly relations. You not trying to kill me. Call it whatever—” She yelped as the flame grazed her fingertip, and quickly extinguished it lest she set the ship on fire.

  “Alex, you have to know by now I’m not going to kill you.”

  She sucked on the scalded finger to buy a second or two. “Of course I do. I was trying to be humorous. Failing miserably apparently. Not a huge surprise, it was never one of my strong suits.” He didn’t comment further, and she flicked the torch back on and turned to the hull—

  —then realized he had come over and crouched on the balls of his feet against the wall beside her. Damn he could move quietly.

  She eyed him without actually looking at him; a corner of his mouth tweaked up in response. He was entirely too cute for his—or her—own good when he did that…. Surprised at her own reaction, she wondered when precisely it was his smirk had stopped being annoying and started being cute. The evening before? This morning with the muffins? Just now?

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She blew out a breath, flicked the torch off again and rolled onto her back. “You understand why, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Because it’s my job to be a chameleon, to become whatever I need to be in a given situation in order to complete the mission—or at least get out alive, as the case may be. And I’m very good at my job, which I imagine you have surmised. Therefore, you have no way to be certain whether or not I’m simply acting the part of the easygoing, agreeable, helpful, funny, charming stowaway and will slit your throat the minute it benefits me to do so.”

  She shrugged, and didn’t bother to deny he was all of those things. “Kind of sums it up, yeah.”

  “And I don’t see how there’s any way for me to convince you otherwise…especially when I’m not even sure myself.”

  “Not helping.”

  He cringed visibly. “That came out wrong—I’m sure I’m not going to slit your throat. I meant…it’s been so long since I’ve truly been myself around someone else, I’m not sure I even remember how to do it anymore.”

  She frowned. “That’s kind of tragic.” The frown deepened. “Unless this is just another layer of the act, designed to win my trust when the easygoing, agreeable, helpful, funny, charming routine wasn’t getting the job done.”

  He groaned and sank the rest of the way down to the floor. “Totally valid point. It’s impossible for me to talk my way out of this.”

  “Yep. Sorry.” She shifted onto her stomach and activated the torch. Again. “Okay. Thought experiment. If you weren’t in dire straits, if this wasn’t a ‘situation,’ if it had nothing to do with a mission and instead you were on vacation, what would you be doing right now?”

  “Kissing you.”

  Fuck.

  His voice had dropped in pitch and volume, and its lilting tenor washed gently over her like a lover’s caress. She bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, but did her damnedest to not display any reaction. Her tone remained casual and nonchalant. “Oh, so the real you is a modern-day Casanova, traversing the galaxy and wooing a damsel in every port?”

  She glanced over to find his eyes twinkling devilishly and his mouth wearing a far too kiss-worthy smirk again. Fuck.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  She nodded and focused on the hull, the metallic tang of blood stinging her tongue. “My mistake. And what would the real you do when I said ‘in your dreams’ and shoved him on his ass?”

  He sighed loudly, doubtless for dramatic effect. “He’d return to his post and help you finish the repairs so we can go check out this anomaly….”

  She looked back at him, an eyebrow arched, and gestured toward the other end of the hold expectantly.

  He rolled his eyes and pushed off the floor. “I’m going, I’m going.”

  Fuck.

  Caleb prepared dinner while she ran through the preflight checks—twice for good measure by the looks of it—then at last they departed what had been, all things considered, a rather unfriendly planet. The atmospheric traversal was rough, but on such a small planet it took only minutes.

  The ship held together, everything stayed in the green, and he saw a wave of tension leave her even in profile. Her posture relaxed and her jawline softened markedly as she spun the chair around to face the cabin.

  “I’ll engage the sLume in a few minutes once the impulse engine builds up some negative mass. We’ll run superluminal overnight, and when we drop out in the morning we should be close enough to the pulsar to get far more definitive readings. What’s for dinner?”

  “Seared salmon with wilted spinach and lemon rice. You genuinely do have a fine selection of food aboard.”

  “As much time as I spend out here, hell yes I do. Is it ready?”

  “Two seconds. Impatient much?”

  She smacked her lips and danced her toes along the floor, impatiently. But she seemed more at ease than he had ever seen her. And why not? She was flying again, which he suspected meant a great deal.

  The blatant flirtation earlier had been a gamb
le, though not necessarily a failed one. Time would tell. He had worried it may backfire and push her away, but it appeared not. Why had he done it? Because it felt…right. The situation was now quite a bit different from his initial assessment on his first day of freedom. Quite a bit.

  He positioned the salmon on the plates and served them up with great formality. “And now it’s ready. Oh Great Starship Captain, your dinner is served.”

  “Smart ass.” But she wore a smile as she came over, gestured to dim the lights and settled into the chair. Now the smile did reach her eyes, and the result took his breath away.

  “Well, yes.” He buried his reaction in a chuckle as he joined her. She had already dug into the spinach. “And how is it?”

  “Ymmmm.” Her eyes closed, a blissful expression spreading across her face, and he found himself wondering if she looked this way when she…. Wow. Best save those thoughts for when you’re alone behind the privacy screen.

  “It’s delicious, which I’m sure you know. I suppose being multi-talented is a job requirement for becoming a spy.”

  “I—” He paused, fork in midair, his brow furrowing up a little. “Not cooking skills necessarily, but yes, I suppose it is.”

  “How did you? Become a spy I mean.”

  Hmm. Test time was it? His instinct told him to spin a web of half-truths around the truths and lies; it was his modus operandi.

  He recalled their earlier conversation. He hadn’t been lying—much—when he said he wasn’t sure how to be himself around someone else, but he was fairly certain it didn’t involve lying when the truth would suffice. She knew what he did for a living. So long as he refrained from revealing state secrets, talking about it held no danger.

  He finished his bite of salmon and smiled the slightest bit. “They found me. I was about to graduate from university with degrees in history and engineering physics. I was going to build orbital communications arrays. See, I had this idea for a new kind of adaptive array which could intelligently shift its orbital distance depending on the signal load and transient needs. It would require coordination of—it’s not important. Anyway, a week before graduation a—” not that, not yet “—man representing the Intelligence Division approached me.”