A Planet Too Far: Beyond the Stars, #1

by Nick Webb

  The skimmer drifted across the plain towards the glinting wreck and Jackie wondered if running wouldn’t have gotten them there faster than this old machine. Darya seemed to read her thoughts and pointed out that there were pockets of sharp volcanic glass beneath the soil, making foot travel dangerous.

  Jackie stepped off the skimmer and walked into the dim interior of the shuttle. She paused, staring at the shape under the indigo sheet on the cargo platform. The cloth had slipped, revealing a shock of deep red hair. Miles. Miles grinning, his teeth coffee-stained and slightly crooked, holding the vial of dye. “Just enhancing what the good lord gave me.” She gritted her teeth and looked away.

  The front of the shuttle was a mess. Jackie forced herself not to think about the dark stains and mangled webbing as she picked her way to the console. It was blown apart, looking very much like something just beneath the screens and control array had torn through. Burning plastic had pocked the entire area and melted wires hung loose like orphaned vines.

  “Plastique.” Darya’s voice startled Jackie. The robed woman slipped past Jackie and bent in front of the torqued plastic and metal where the blast must have originated. “This bit of shielding here; it made it act like a shape charge, pushing it out through the screens. And this fracture here… “ She motioned to a deep, long scar in the side of the console.

  “No, that was there. Not that big, but there. Laine said it wasn’t critical, so I had her leave it.” Jackie shivered, ignoring the lance of pain up her neck and then down her right arm. She wanted to reject what Darya was saying, reject the melted, blown apart mess in front of her. She brought her hand up and rubbed it across the bridge of her nose. “It made it worse, didn’t it?” Ignoring reality in space got you nowhere but dead.

  “Yes.”

  “So it could have been an accident. This much damage, I mean, not the explosion.” Jackie thought about Aitor’s face shifting away, Carsten standing big and cool behind her. “Designed to keep me here for a while, keep me busy.” She said the last more to herself, slipping back into Esper from Farrakhani. If Darya understood she gave no sign.

  “It is possible. But why disable the shuttle? To steal your ship?” The robed woman rose to her feet.

  “No. I have a guess.” Jackie hesitated. This woman was alone out here, just an employee of a conglomerate. It was unlikely she was a spy for one of the factions, or even involved at all in the various disputes and wars that flared up as regular as a sunrise in the galactic race for wealth and power. But Darya’s strong hands deftly attaching the ankle holster to Jackie’s leg was an image she couldn’t afford to ignore.

  The veils and robe. Farrakhani women sometimes wore a type like this, to signal the loss of family. There was a sect of the Farrakhan faction, the Akkisti, orphaned warriors trained in secret. Supposedly they were responsible for the genocide at Cerebin. 300,000 people had lived there. Then, none. None alive. No one knew what had really happened. The Akkisti had become more legend than anything, these days. Her brain felt slow and jumpy from the meds.

  “Are you Akkisti?” Jackie said.

  Darya flinched as though struck, eyes narrowing. “Why would you ask this?”

  “My gun,” she said, motioning to her ankle, “and this, this mess. You can read the explosion; you knew it wasn’t from some tech failure. Your accent, your dress. All of it. You’re not what you seem.”

  “Are you, Jackie Banner?”

  Those documents, the lists, will save lives. “I am captain of the IOU, yes. I work for no one but myself.” That job isn’t work, it’s personal, I promised Inri. And the Mudhemedi didn’t, don’t, deserve what has happened to them. She lifted her chin. Just as she’d thought, they were of a height, hazel eyes staring into her own black irises.

  Darya held very still for a long time. Jackie’s hand twitched and she pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth. Then Darya’s head dipped, twice, in what might have been a nod. Jackie waited, willing the woman to answer her question.

  “I am not just a bee-keeper, no. Before this I lived another life. Here, now, I am what I am. I am terraforming Pele. And keeping an eye on the ansible array in the system.”

  “What?” Jackie said. There was no listed ansible in this system. She bit back pointing that out. It wouldn’t be the first unregistered array.

  There was a distant crack, like thunder. Jackie looked questioningly at Darya. “Storm coming in?”

  “No, not here. You came in over the ocean, yes? And then made a descent toward here?”

  “Damnit. That was our other shuttle then,” Jackie said, putting it together. “Out of time.”

  She walked out of the ruined craft and shielded her eyes from the rising sun. The gunmetal glint of the second shuttle appeared, making a far more controlled glide and landing than she and Miles had managed. Jackie knew who would be on board. She wondered what Carsten’s explanation would be and thought about drawing her gun. She glanced behind her as Darya emerged, recalling the sidearm still in its locker in the shuttle. The other shuttle settled, kicking up a haze of black and red dust.

  “Maybe I can still get out of this without shooting,” she muttered. Darya said nothing as the hatch opened and two figures walked across the field toward the women.

  Carsten was six and half feet tall, a head taller than Jackie herself and hulking with biogenetically enhanced muscles. His cousin was shorter, maybe five eight, but just as musclebound. Both men were armed, Aitor carrying a rifle. Jackie had no idea where he’d gotten that.

  Maybe Miles and I let ourselves get too distracted, with the easy jobs lately. Or maybe Miles was right to dislike Carsten. Maybe? She shook her head and winced. Too late to go for the ankle gun now.

  “Captain!” Carsten’s voice boomed across the closing distance. “Are you all right?”

  Jackie hesitated. He looked genuinely concerned, dark brows knitting over light brown eyes. He stopped ten meters or so from her and looked at Darya. Behind him, Aitor stopped farther away, rifle held easy and ready in his hands, but not quite pointing at anyone, yet.

  “Who’s that? Where’s Miles?” Carsten said.

  Decision time. Miles would have played it cool, talked them into thinking she was totally in the dark about what might have gone on here. Miles would have made it work without violence or accusations. She glanced behind her and saw the indigo body lying amongst the shadows inside the ruined shuttle.

  “Miles is dead,” Jackie said evenly. “The bomb killed him. Why’d you do it, Carsten?”

  His face shifted like a mask slipping on. Or coming off.

  “No one was supposed to get hurt. I mean that, Jackie. I don’t know what went wrong.” He glanced behind him at Aitor, who now held the rifle pointed at Jackie.

  “I got hurt. Miles got dead.” Anger rose in her, mingling with grief. These idiots had served with her for a year, and then had killed her best friend by accident, and for what? “What did you want with my ship?” She ground out the words as though chewing gravel.

  “You picked up something, a package, last jump stop. We’d heard you were helping those vermin, but couldn’t believe it. Not neutral, don’t give a damn Jackie. What the hell are you doing with lists of Farrakhani supply caches, Jackie? Going to hand them over to the Mudhemedi rats?” Aitor called out.

  Jackie heard Darya gasp and turned her head sharply to look at the woman. It was a mistake. Her broken collarbone shifted and nauseating pain danced through her. She dropped to her knees with a whimper, trying to breathe through it and focus.

  Carsten aimed his gun at her. “I’m sorry it had to be this way. But you’re aiding the enemy.”

  “What damn enemy? Don’t tell me you’re allying with a faction now.” Jackie looked up, fighting another wave of pain. She turned her body slightly, giving him her injured right side and hiding her left as much as she could. She inched her left hand down her leg.

  “His accent, the short one.” Darya said in Farrakhani. “It is ironic, yes? He is Akkist
i.”

  Aitor tipped his head to one side as Carsten took a couple steps closer. He called out in Farrakhani, “I am. This does not concern you, Mamme. We will not trouble your moon here long.”

  Carsten glanced back at Aitor again and Jackie slipped her hand under her pant leg. Aitor nodded and Carsten looked almost apologetic.

  “Sorry, Jackie. I didn’t want it to come to this.”

  “You can’t fly the IOU without me,” Jackie said, speaking softly, willing him to come a little closer.

  He did, taking a few more steps toward her as he raised his gun. “Yeah, I know. But Aitor says local has to have a way to communicate with somewhere outside this place or we’d have no delivery order for here.” Carsten jerked his head toward Darya. “Jewel Box is remote, but we’ll figure it out. Too bad our captain got burned up in a shuttle accident.”

  Jackie took a steadying breath and risked a glance at the other woman. Darya stood a little ways off, green-gold eyes narrowed against the sunlight, her hands tucked into her sleeves. No help there, not for Jackie. She cursed herself for liking the quiet, competent woman.

  Saving my life, then standing by while I get murdered. Great, thanks.

  “Carsten,” she said. “I have a final request.”

  “Stay out of my line of fire, Carsten,” Aitor growled as the big man moved closer to Jackie.

  No luck there, but Jackie figured going down with one was better than nothing.

  “What is it?” Carsten held his gun steady and towered over her.

  “Be like Miles,” she said, jaw tight.

  “What?” He blinked at her.

  “Die screaming, you asshole.”

  Jackie brought up the .32, squeezing off a close-range shot into Carsten. He collapsed forward as the frangible round tore into his belly.

  She threw herself to the left, praying Aitor wasn’t a legendary shot. The shock of agony through her body from her broken bones nearly blacked her out again, but she heard the shots clearly.

  One, two, then three. Quick, the first almost on top of the next with a slight pause before the third. She waited for impact, something. All she heard were Carsten’s horrible gurgling moans.

  “Jackie?” Darya’s voice was as soft and calm as ever.

  Jackie opened her eyes and saw the woman moving toward her, Jackie’s own sidearm held loosely in one hand. She forced herself upright and climbed to her feet.

  Darya kicked Carsten over and the huge man stared up at her with glassy eyes, his moans turning to garbled begging in both Esper and Farrakhani. Slowly Darya unhooked her veil and then pulled back her hood.

  Her face was scarred, a thick rope of whitish tissue disfiguring a full and otherwise lovely mouth. Her head was nearly hairless and the skin had a too smooth, plastic look. Jackie realized they were grafts. On the left side was a deep furrow just above a misshapen ear. Elemental weapons had done this, weapons outlawed by treaty among the major factions since the devastation of the main Mudhemedi colonies on Segina, fifteen years before. Jackie had seen footage. Everything on fire, a fire that spread and spread, burning all it touched. Animals, people, metal buildings. Things that shouldn’t burn.

  “Misc Mudhemedi,” Darya said, “Sor gale, a’mud ismam.”

  I am Mudhemedi. This death, that life may continue. Inri had taught Jackie a little of his people. Enough.

  Carsten’s eyes widened and then Darya pulled the trigger and his face spread out over the black and red plain. Jackie looked away and shivered. She walked to Aitor’s body.

  Two in the chest, one in the head. Perfect shots.

  “I am sorry I called you one of them,” Jackie said, walking back to Darya.

  The woman pulled her hood and veil into place. She shrugged. “I am what I am.” She motioned to the bodies. “I will take care of this.”

  Jackie nodded, suddenly very tired. “I’ll take the working shuttle. And Miles. You can do whatever you want with the ruined one. I’m sure I have an extremely confused engineer up on my ship right now. If they left her alive.”

  She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think at all, just collapse and sleep and wake up to a grinning, freckled man and a warm cup of not too stale coffee.

  Darya talked her into going back to her compound. Jackie was too drained and in too much pain to argue much. The morphine put her out again and she awoke numb and determined.

  Darya handed her a warm cup of fresh coffee and Jackie almost broke down crying right there.

  “I wrapped your pilot and put him in your shuttle. We should go now, before you get tired again. You need meds and sleep. Much sleep.”

  Jackie didn’t argue. The skimmer took them out to the plain one last time. There was no sign of the two men other than drag marks that disappeared into the red and black earth.

  “Good luck, Darya bee-keeper.” Jackie managed a half smile as she nodded. “And thank you.”

  “Thank you, Jackie Banner. Why would you help the Mudhemedi? We are a lost people.”

  “I made a promise to a man, once.”

  “Was he a lover, too?” Darya’s eyes crinkled in amusement.

  “Sometimes,” Jackie replied and smiled back. She turned and stepped into the shuttle, letting the airlock door close behind her.

  She settled carefully into the pilot seat and gingerly strapped in, glad for the painkillers. Jackie took a deep breath and hit the controls to start the shuttle. She glanced left to the co-pilot seat, a pang of loss digging deep. Then she did a painful double-take.

  Tied into the seat was a large jar of coffee beans with a note scrawled in crisp Esper. “Thank you-–the bees.”

  Q&A with Annie Bellet

  I love the layers in this story... the way the characters are slowly revealed. Is this something you plan out in advance, or does it simply happen in the telling?

  I plan it out. I outline everything, including short stories. Once an idea starts to form, I let it percolate and refine in my head. Then I write down what needs to happen, who everyone is, etc.

  Your Urban Fantasy series, The Twenty-Sided Sorceress, is very hot right now. How does writing that differ from writing SF for you?

  It doesn’t. I mean, writing a novel is different from writing a short story, the pacing, etc., is different. But at its core, writing any story is about the characters and the problems they face. Science Fiction just means different settings, different sorts of situations you can put characters in, etc., but they are still people dealing with life. Character is always at the core of what I write.

  What are you working on now?

  I’m finishing up edits on Book 7 of The Twenty-Sided Sorceress.

  Tell us how to find you online.

  Readers can find me at www.anniebellet.com

  Services Rendered

  by Theresa Kay

  LI’HANNA SAT AGAINST the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest, cursing the stars under which humans were born. And her own stupidity.

  Her light covering of iridescent fur marked her as a member of the elite colorless clan, but the most important ability that came with that heritage was useless to her now. The two who brought her here had placed rings of tomana, an ore from her home planet with electromagnetic properties, around her neck, wrists, and ankles, effectively depriving her of the ability to shift outside the visible light spectrum. Though her enhanced senses were still functioning, the information they presented her was of little use.

  The room itself was featureless, nothing more than smooth metal walls, and there was no datapad to release the door from the inside. Her nose could pick out the various scents around her and it was clear she was no longer on the small passenger ship they had originally used to transport her. Many humans had traveled through the area outside the door since she’d been here and the sound of multiple ships arriving and departing was unmistakable. A space station. Based on the location, this room was a small cargo bay.

  And I am the cargo.

  A shudder rippled thro
ugh Li’hanna’s body. Nothing good could come of this situation, especially considering who her captors were.

  The large one with the offensive odor did not worry her as much as the other‌—‌the scentless one. That one was a perversion of human and Kotkaa genetics. Something… other, and certainly not something the elders had anticipated when they allowed some of the clans to be studied by the imperial fleet. Though, to use the word allowed was somewhat of a stretch. They had not been given much choice in the matter.

  And the elders certainly had no choice in what the humans did with the information they garnered from their experiments. The humans created hybrids with Kotkaa abilities and mostly human features.

  Her clan‌—‌the colorless ones‌—‌was the one with the fewest members and Li’hanna was perhaps one of the last. The elders had kept her clan a secret from the humans so how the humans had become aware of her clan and their abilities was a mystery, but what they wanted from her now was not. Her genes. And, after they had everything they needed from her, her pelt would become a one-of-a-kind throw rug for the emperor’s quarters. The scentless one had told her as much.

  Both of her captors had been gone for some time, but they could be back at any moment and she had made no progress in releasing the metal entrapping her. She banged the back of her head against the wall. How could she be so stupid as to allow herself to be trapped like an animal and held here against her will? She had to find a way out. One way or another. She would die before bringing dishonor upon her clan and allowing herself to be subjected to what the humans had planned for her.

  The door slid open with a hiss and Li’hanna jerked, unnerved that she had not sensed his approach. The scentless one had returned. She hissed and bared her teeth.

  “Now, now, that is unnecessary. You and I are practically family.” He chuckled as he walked to stand in front of her.