A Planet Too Far: Beyond the Stars, #1

by Nick Webb

  Paladin, where are you?

  I’m not afraid of the dark‌—‌on the Stanhope‌—‌but the dark on a settled world is different, deeper, thicker. This is a lesson my father taught me not long after he gave me Paladin. “The planets we settle might appear to be uninhabited by sentient life,” he’d said. “But we must never assume, especially when a planet is old.”

  He’d never explained further what he meant. Aren’t all planets old? I’d always taken him to mean we must always be on the lookout for things that hide in the dark.

  Focus.

  A memory swarms before I can stop it…

  My father’s face looming over me as the technician places the mask over my lips. I suck a mouthful of the bitter gas.

  Panic.

  I beat at the technician’s hands, trying to push the mask away. My father’s warm hands covering mine, holding my arms down.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. “You’re going to go to sleep, that’s all. Just like you go to sleep every night. The only difference is that when you wake up, you’ll have a new body. Your special body, remember?”

  Nausea makes the ceiling spin. I blink rapidly to stay awake. My father’s face ripples. “Remember how you got to pick out your special body? You wanted blond hair and blue eyes so you’d look just like your doll.”

  He strokes my forehead, kisses my cheek and whispers, “Sleep tight, Pumpkin, and when you wake up, we’ll go on a great adventure.”

  I close my eyes and sink into darkness.

  Eventually, I had awakened, as my father promised, in a new body with spiffy, perfect skin and shiny hair just like I’d chosen from the catalog. A body designed by scientists and grown in a tank on Triton Station for space travel because humans had learned the hard way that our original bodies could not pass the outer limits of the Terran system.

  I remember that first day in my new body. I felt like a mouse lost in a giant amusement park. My new form felt huge. It was somewhat bigger than my previous six-year-old body, although generally appropriate. The new body would grow slowly over the subsequent five to seven standard years in a process that loosely mimicked the human maturation process.

  While I travel the galaxy with my parents on the Stanhope, my old body sleeps in a tank on Triton Station. Theoretically, I could take up my old body at any time. As far as I know, no one has ever done so. The very idea seems distasteful, like taking a bite of warm meat that’s been left on the counter overnight.

  “Paladin?”

  A shadowy form slips from between two market stalls.

  I gasp, my heart beating faster.

  The stranger doesn’t say a word. Tension prickles the back of my neck. Sensors in my peripheral vision kick up a notch, signs my body senses immanent threat. I think about all the stories I’ve read where the heroine encounters a stranger in a dark place, and then terrible things ensue.

  All of the inhabitants of Lakhish Alpha had been born here of human stock from Seed Launches blasted from Earth thousands of generations ago. They are conventional and totally organic beings, born of and for this world, this system, in the same way original Terrans populated Earth‌—‌the Heritage World.

  I take a deep breath and then another and push back the fear, reminding myself I’m an ambassador: the consciousness of girl housed in the strongest, most advanced body human science has ever imagined. I’ve been trained in self-defense even though I’d never had occasion to use those skills. It’s rare that my internal warning system ever alerts me to anything more serious than a too-hot spoonful of soup.

  I take a step back from the stranger and assume the Still Water stance.

  A breeze ruffles her long hair. Something long and metal glints under the lights. She glides forward.

  She.

  Lakhish Alpha is a matriarchal society. I relax. “Do you operate one of the shops?”

  If the Lakhishan people are the same as those on other worlds, items from the cultural receptions find their way into shops quickly, which is why I’d headed straight for the marketplace. “I’m looking for something. A figure about this tall?” I open my hands parallel to the ground, palms facing to show Paladin’s size.

  More silence.

  “It was sent down from the embassy earlier by mistake. I will gladly reimburse you for your trouble,” I offer.

  She moves forward again, more slowly this time. She’s one of the oldest humans I’ve ever seen. Gray hair floats in a cloud around a face etched with lines of age. She wears a wrap of some kind over her tunic. Her shoulders are hunched. Her gnarled hands clutch a basket woven of the same reeds as those strewn over the walkways.

  She lifts the basket. A pearly light glows beneath the rough, woven cloth.

  My hand drifts toward my mouth. “Paladin?”

  The glow intensifies.

  I reach for the basket. The old woman hisses and tosses the basket at me, her hands flying in the air as she backs away. I fumble for the basket and miss. It thuds on the ground. The cloth falls away and a translucent, shining Paladin sinks into the mud.

  Using the cloth, I wipe the dirt and moisture away and tuck him inside my jacket.

  When I’m finished, I look around.

  The old woman is gone.

  Red blotches stain the cloth as if someone had bled onto it recently. I turn my hands over but find no marks or scratches that could have produced the stains.

  From my pocket, I pull three of the small white metal discs that pass for currency here, tie them in the stained cloth, and toss the bundle inside the stall closest to where I’d first seen the woman. I have no way of knowing if the exchange of coins is the proper way to complete a transaction, but I figure that if she’d wanted payment, she would have stuck around.

  Paladin’s glow warms me as I head back to the ship.

  * * *

  All mothers have this look, I’m told. The one that says you really screwed up this time and only the fact that I love you prevents me from killing you.

  My mother has long since perfected this look, which is why I recognize it when the airlock swishes shut behind me. Her perfectly almond brown eyes sweep from my tousled hair to my muddy (ruined) sandals. A tiny muscle ticks under the creamy caramel of her jaw.

  “So, how’d the reception go?” No point in acting penitent when I’m feeling anything but sorry for what I’ve done.

  My mother looks too angry to speak. Fortunately, footsteps echo in the corridor, giving each of us a reprieve before one of us launches the first verbal missile in the inevitable argument. She glances over her shoulder. Even though she’s in profile, I watch a change come over her expression. It’s a look I’ve noticed often but never understood before.

  The ship’s steward comes to a halt at my mother’s side, and I’m studying them like they’re people I’ve never seen before: my mother, slim and elegant in her red gown, Kendall, equally slim and neat in his black and white dress uniform. They look like a pair who belong on top of a cake.

  Kendall and my mother? Why had I never seen this before?

  Like all the first level staff members on the Stanhope, Kendall had been issued an ambassadorial body. I’d always assumed that he, like everyone else, had selected the physical characteristics of his new body from the catalog. If that were true, why would anyone‌—‌given a virtually unlimited array of possible traits‌—‌have selected a relatively short and unassuming appearance? He’s barely taller than my mother. I’ve never been able to decide if his lackluster brown hair is thinning due to a minor manufacturing defect or if he’d actually chosen “thinning hair” from the body menu.

  Weird.

  If I had to do it all over again, I’d ask for bigger boobs. Boobs are not important to your average almost-six-year-old. At the time, I’d focused on looking like my doll, which meant I wanted long arms and legs and to be able to run really, really fast. Boobs only got in the way of that goal.

  Not that I had a lot of opportunity to show off boobs of any size. With no one my ag
e aboard the Stanhope, an actual date with an actual guy remains something I can only dream about. Procreation had been deemed in conflict with the mission, so that meant no more children for my parents and none for me. Ever. If I ever decided I wanted children in the future, I’d have to go back to Triton Station and get my old body back. They were supposed to be maintained in a pristine state. Like anyone believed the claims.

  Before we’d left Triton Station, I remembered my parents arguing about whether or not to take me with them. My father took the pro side while my mother pounded him with all the cons, chief among them being that I would never have a so-called normal life; normal being code for having children. Father had insisted we would make it back some day and our Terran bodies would be waiting for us‌—‌good as new. Mother never bought that argument, which is why she hadn’t wanted me to accompany them.

  I didn’t understand a fraction of the science involved in the creation of ambassador bodies, but I believed one thing: centuries or even millennia in a tank couldn’t be good for a body. Any body.

  Not that I wanted children.

  Not that my parents ever stopped arguing about Paladin.

  My mother considers my attachment to Paladin to be odd and unnatural and reflects some trauma (imagined or inflicted) related to a child’s consciousness being ripped from the body of origin too soon.

  Since when had such a thing as switching bodies ever been normal? I wanted to ask, but never had the nerve.

  My mother’s theory is like a lot of theories. It sounds good and maybe even looks good on the surface, but fails upon closer examination. I love my new body, I don’t care about children, and she is dead wrong about Paladin. Period.

  I am not a grape plucked from the vine before its time. I am a girl, ordinary homo sapiens, and if there is one thing at which our species excels, it is the ability to adapt.

  And then I understand. My mother has adapted as well, and in her own way.

  I’m old enough now to see that ten standard years of arguing over everything from policy decisions to which toys I’m allowed must have taken a toll on my parent’s marriage. They never agreed on anything, from how to approach newly settled planets to something as trivial as Paladin. Even though my mother is also an ambassador, she’s been shut out of critical negotiations and relegated to a merely social role.

  Something passes between my mother and Kendall. She gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head and rests her hand on his arm.

  Turning back to me, my mother says, “I was worried. Kendall didn’t even know where you were.” Her delicate nostrils flare.

  I wait for Kendall to speak, which is pointless since my mother’s hand is still resting on his arm.

  I let go of any hope of salvaging the situation. If she didn’t want a fight, she shouldn’t have stolen Paladin. “Do I get a chance to explain myself or shall we go straight to passing judgment and announcing how long I’ll be confined to my quarters for my crimes?”

  “You were irresponsible. The planet isn’t safe. You should have informed Kendall of your whereabouts.”

  I wait for Kendall to speak and explain, but he doesn’t. Betrayal noted and logged. “Can I ask you a question?”

  My mother sighs. “Of course, you can. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Do you care about me at all? Even a little?”

  She sucks in a breath and tiny lines crinkle around her eyes. “Fallan Elizabeth Jin-Dahl, that is enough. The ambassador has restricted you to your quarters until further notice.”

  The ambassador? “Getting a little grand, aren’t you, Mom? Referring to yourself in the third person?”

  A muscle jumps in her jaw. “The orders come straight from your father.”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “So do I.” Then she sighs and mutters, “For all the good it will do me.”

  I can see fine lines of worry around her eyes and tightness in the skin around her lips. In a conventional, organic Terran body, such evidence of stress would be normal; that they’re showing up a scant ten standard years into the life of an ambassadorial body designed for a thousand years of use must be pissing her off royally.

  “I want to talk to my father.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  It’s Kendall who answers. “Because he’s sequestered with the Tengay faction.”

  I frown. The embassy ship has been orbiting Lakhish Alpha much longer than was usual. The Stanhope’s mission, to make contact with all of the worlds settled from the Seed Launches, would require every bit of the vastly long life of our bodies. And that was if we didn’t spend too long at each planet in the settled systems.

  We should have moved on to the next system already. I’d been told the delay was due to the threat of civil war. My tutor and I researched the situation, but that had been nearly a standard year ago, and the details are foggy in my mind. The main point I’d come away with from that unit of study was that the Seeded planets were designed and engineered to be free of the wars and aggression that had plagued Earth for millennia. As a consequence, any sign of war (civil or otherwise) must be ruthlessly removed, no matter the cost. That being said, I knew my father would do almost anything to settle burgeoning conflicts, including making a deal with the Tengay faction. Yet another subject over which he and my mother had frequently battled, with my mother saying there was no point in negotiating with terrorists like the Tengay.

  “When do you think he’ll be free?” I ask, softening my tone.

  She shrugs as if she doesn’t care, but her tone is bitter. “There’s no way of telling. You know your father. He won’t quit until he’s certain he has an agreement that will stand.”

  “So that means we’re not leaving tomorrow, then?”

  “I don’t know when we’re leaving. Your father hasn’t bothered to let me know.” Silence spools out between us. She strokes my cheek. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted this for you‌—‌”

  I cut her off and recite the words I’ve heard her say a million times. “‌—‌because we probably won’t ever make it home again and I’m afraid you’ll forget what it’s like to be human. Well, guess what, Mom? I like this body, and I don’t ever want my old one back.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, sweetheart.”

  “I know I’ll never be good enough to please you.”

  She pulls her hand away and then reaches under my jacket, extracting Paladin from where I’d hidden him. “Is this why you’re so angry?”

  “You had no right to take him.”

  She stares at the toy for what feels like a long time. Finally, she shakes her head, and it feels like she’s admitting defeat. “I’ve tried. I’ve done all I can. It’s up to you now.” She thrusts Paladin into my hands, turns on her heel and stalks down the corridor.

  While vague guilt wars with leftover resentment, I stand there feeling confused and oddly bereft.

  “If I may‌—‌” Kendall begins.

  “Way to have my back. Not.”

  “Matters are more complicated than they appear. Surely you’re old enough to understand that now.”

  I can guess what he’s hinting at, but I don’t want to go there, and hold up a hand. “Stop. You don’t have to explain anything.”

  He blinks. “I was going to‌—‌”

  “What part of stop did you not understand? If you’re worried I’ll tell my father, don’t.” I have to look away. “I don’t even want to think about it, let alone talk to anyone about it.”

  “If you’ll permit me to finish,” Kendall says slowly, “I suggested earlier that you go planetside because I thought it would be safer for you. I couldn’t very well admit that to your mother, now could I?”

  “Safer? What sort of punishment did you think she was going to dish out? Or have you and my mother been spending your alone time thinking up kinky new ones?”

  I can tell I’ve gone too far when the mask of the perfect steward slides over his expression
. He bows slightly from the waist and smiles. “I’m pleased you returned safely, Miss Fallan.” He gestures toward Paladin, still cradled in my arms. “I’ll be happy to tidy him up for you.”

  Since Paladin is still coated in muck, I pass him to Kendall and allow the steward to escort me to my quarters. I do not protest when I hear him key the locking sequence into the security panel.

  * * *

  I drift in and out of sleep, dreams crawling up out of the dark like worms from the soil wriggling between my toes. Every so often, I jerk to a semi-awake state, convinced a bright light has been sweeping across the room. I sit upright, my heart pounding in total darkness, before sinking back into sleep.

  The third time it happens, I stay awake and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

  Darkness looms like an unwelcome guest. Something is very wrong.

  Lights embedded in wall panels should have brightened as soon as my feet touched the floor. The room remains shrouded in darkness.

  I pat the flat surface next to the bed, searching for Paladin, remembering only moments later that I’d given him to Kendall for cleaning.

  Cold wraps itself around me like a wet blanket. I exhale, feeling my breath’s chill against my skin. I’m fully capable of adjusting my body’s temperature, but that should not be necessary aboard the Stanhope with its state-of-the art environmental controls.

  Blinking hard to bring up night vision, I scan the room.

  I’m not alone.

  A male form huddles in the tiny study alcove between the door and my closet. I inhale sharply, but he doesn’t move. Does he think I can’t see him? Any of the upper-level staff would know they can’t hide. Temporary personnel hired from Lakhish Alpha, however, wouldn’t know that nor would they have access to the ambassador level of the ship.

  He clutches a small rectangular device in his left hand. Scanner? That explained the flashes of light that had awakened me. He’d been searching for something.

  A wave of weariness sweeps over me, making me want desperately to curl back into the comfort of my bed and close my eyes. I curl my fingers into fists, fighting the sensation.