Between Venus & Mars (The Soul Mate Tree Book 3)

by S. C. Mitchell

  Her discovery of this ship had given her tribe the slimmest hope of recovery. She had to make this work somehow. If she died in the attempt or got marooned on Old Earth, her family and friends faced a very grim, hungry future. A trickle of unease slid through her at the thought. She quickly shook off the feeling. Failure wasn’t an option.

  She set her jaw and braced for landing.

  Touchdown was a tiny bit more than a touch.

  More like crash-down.

  Walls wrinkled and more shit fell off the ceiling to bounce and tinkle on the deck as she struggled to remain in her seat and keep the ship level. Cracks erupted on the display monitors and portholes. Dust filled the air, clouding her sight. A heavy, oily stink floated on black smoke leaking from the equipment on the port side of the control room.

  “Fuck!”

  She coughed and wiped the sweat and grime from her face, checking for injury. No blood, no holes, no broken bones. Other than the ringing in her ears and a cramp in her lower back, she appeared to be okay.

  Too bad she couldn’t say the same for the ship. It’d definitely need some work before it could lift off.

  If it can ever lift off again.

  “Bixby!” Her shout reverberated through the cabin.

  A blip, two beeps, and a bloop answered as the decades-old repair droid rolled out of its closet. Bixby, at one point the only working part on the ship, was the prime reason the craft had flown at all.

  Zana shook her head. “See what you can do to make her fly-worthy again.”

  Landing complete, it was time to take a look outside.

  The atmosphere on the planet proved amazingly oxygen dense. Breathable, possibly even refreshingly so.

  Yanking the blaster from its charger, she tucked it into the holster at her side, then opened the hatch and extended the ramp.

  A field of long grasses waved in the cool breeze. Overhead, birds winged silently across clear blue skies. Light, floral hints wafted around her with earthy undertones. The scenes in old tri-vision movies didn’t come close to bringing to life the sheer majesty of this view.

  She took a moment to drink it all in.

  Okay, not as bad as she’d been led to believe. Actually, quite beautiful.

  The scanner reported life-forms to the northeast, so she set out in that direction.

  Cows, pigs, chickens, and sheep. They were the priority, though some of the other species would do as well. Hell, they could use just about anything mammalian or avian. The merciless Halocyne Clan had stolen all their livestock and field crops in one devastating overnight raid.

  Her people replanted crops as soon as possible, but their seed supply had been low. Harvest was still months away and most of what they took in would be needed for seed for the next crop. The tribe’s preserved meat supply dwindled more each day with no way to resupply.

  “And if I gotta eat kelp for one more meal, I’m gonna puke,” she grumbled, trudging up a long, steep hill for a better view of her surroundings.

  Reaching the top, she swiped the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead, spotting something moving in the high, reedy growth just out of identifiable range.

  “Cows. Please, please let it be cows. Beef, and milk, and butter, oh my!” Her mouth watered at the thought.

  Zana pulled out her blaster and set it for stun. Weapon in one hand and scanner in the other, she crept forward, parting the shoulder-height grassy fronds as she moved through them.

  As she approached the animals, the scanner refined its data.

  CLASS: Mammalia

  ORDER: Artiodactyla

  Yes. We’re on the right track.

  FAMILY: Suidae

  A squeal and a grunt resounded ahead as her target detected her presence.

  “Okay, pork roast, ham, and bacon. I’ll take that.” She brought up her weapon, sighted in the movement, and fired.

  The discharge blew through the tall blades of grass, revealing the hog hidden beneath. The animal squealed one last time, then folded to the ground. Other animals in the vicinity grunted as they scurried away.

  She only needed one right now. If she got the ship fixed, she’d be back to round up a few more. Bringing a few live ones with her would help establish the herds much faster. Rebuilding from live cell samples alone would take months.

  If she was going to bring live animals, she’d also need to get the cargo hold’s cryo unit on line. The thought of dealing with animal poop in zero-G made her shudder.

  Zana slid the live cell sampler from her waistband and knelt beside the stunned beast.

  “It’s okay, this won’t hurt a bit.”

  A small needle extended from the tool, and she thrust it into the pig’s shank. Maybe it did hurt a little, she really didn’t know. The pig was out anyway, so it shouldn’t, should it?

  “Why the hell am I talking to a sleeping pig anyway?”

  “Because there’s no one else here to talk to, idiot.”

  The fact that she was now answering herself spoke volumes.

  One down. What else could she find?

  On a distant hill she spotted a lone tree. Its gnarled trunk shone golden in the bright sunlight.

  Tall trees anywhere on Old Earth would be a rarity after the timber culling ten years earlier. This tree was a survivor for sure. A survivor and maybe something more.

  Her Uncle Onwin claimed to have accompanied a team of conservationists trying to stop the rape of resources. Later he’d confessed to hitching a ride with them in an attempt to find this one special tree. The magical Soul Mate Tree.

  And the tree, as he’d described it, looked a lot like the one on the hill in front of her.

  “Could that really be it?”

  On a whole planet, could she have stumbled across the tree within hours of landing?

  The tree will find you.

  Mmm. Maybe she really did believe.

  Kyle Kepler collapsed into the shuttle bus seat, closed his eyes, and laid his head back. Just one more hour. I can make it.

  A two-day covert op had turned into a three-week ordeal that almost did him in, twice. His shoulder throbbed from the blaster burn of a shot that came too close to ending him.

  He flexed his shoulder. Worth the pain.

  The undercover operation netted the whole Claxon 5 gang, who now sat in prison cells awaiting trial on Megdalon 7.

  A month of full-on, well-earned vacation and recreation time stretched out before him. Kyle would decide what to do with it after he’d gotten two days of solid sleep.

  A shower first. Gods, he needed one. Then, bed, bed, and more bed.

  Maybe I should call Lena . . . Lydia . . .

  What was her name? He’d only met her that one time.

  His work as a Galactic Marshal left him little time for a normal life. And dating? Heck, busting up an opiate rave was easier than finding a steady girlfriend who’d put up with his schedule.

  An announcement came over the shuttle bus’s speaker and reverberated through the almost empty cabin. “Tube Central and the Quatrain Mall.”

  His stop at last.

  He’d program a tube to take him right to his front door, if he could keep his eyes open and his thoughts clear for the next few minutes.

  He couldn’t wait to get home.

  Zana extracted the needle from the feathered clucker. Eggs went so well with bacon.

  She’d stumbled across a herd of cows, and also had live cells from wild turkey and elk. Yeah! Now, if she could just find sheep. She could give or take mutton, but Hardiga Vostok whined daily about the loss of wool for her weavings, and the woman did some damn fine work.

  “Hello, humie.” The thickly accented words held a snide, threatening tone.

  Zana spun, pulling the
blaster. Her jaw clenched.

  How the hell had a roo gang snuck up on her? Roos weren’t supposed to be in this part of the planet, were they?

  Fucking Uncle Onwin. Though his knowledge was ten years out of date. I suppose they could’ve migrated faster than he projected.

  In any case, roos could be nasty buggers and should be avoided like an outbreak of Spotted Mongolite Fever. At least that’s what her uncle told her.

  Her mouth tightened. Day late and a credit short. Not that she had any fuckin’ galactic credits anyway. Didn’t matter. Either way she was screwed.

  With her sidearm leveled on the eight surly creatures, she took a step back. “Leave me alone and nobody gets hurt.”

  “An’ if we doesn’t leave you alone, maybe we gets dinner.” The speaker was the biggest roo in the pack. “I ain’t had humie before, but I hears it tastes good.”

  Its grin bared fanged teeth at the end of its long snout. Floppy ears perked up on top of its head as a narrow sneer tilted the side of its mouth. “Humies ain’t s’posed ta’ be here, so’s if we eats you, nobody knows or cares.”

  “Back off. I’m warning you.” She didn’t want to shoot them. They were just dumb animals. Well, maybe one evolutionary step above dumb animals. Still, if they surrounded her, she could kiss her ass, and her planet’s survival, goodbye.

  Zana squared her shoulders. She could handle eight roos, no problem. The blaster was set for stun, so no permanent damage. I’ll just shoot ’em and get the hell out of here.

  To her left, four more floppy–eared heads popped up.

  Oh, not good.

  A third group of five rose up on her right.

  “Crap,” she muttered, as the mousy-eared marsupials maneuvered to surround her. They were slow-witted, primitive creatures, but strong as shit.

  She could only hope they’d played their hand before their trap closed behind her. If so, she still had a chance.

  Now or never . . . She whirled around and raced away.

  Thump, thump. The group hopped in pursuit, but as long as she kept her head, she should be able to outrun any roo.

  When she noted more rising out of the grasses ahead on either side of her, her stomach dropped. This was a big gang. If they managed to loop around her, she’d be hip deep in shit.

  At least she’d gotten a few live cell samples.

  Kicking up her pace, she ran faster.

  Up ahead the hill loomed. And the tree.

  Guess I’m about to meet the man of my fucking dreams.

  Provided, of course, her Uncle Onwin wasn’t full of crap.

  Her brows lowered as she concentrated, throwing a mental shout at the tree. I believe. I do believe.

  Warm water cascaded down Kyle’s body, easing the tension in his knotted muscles. The pure orgasmic pleasure of an old world shower, now the latest rage blasting its way through the Core Worlds.

  For decades, auto-bathing chambers did all the body cleansing for you, and were the staple in every sanitary facility. Showers and bathtubs had gone the way of the tri-vision. It wasn’t until they were long gone, people discovered the chambers lacked that sensual, wonderful feel of streaming, steamy water, and only provided a clinical, antiseptic experience.

  Destroy paradise to put up a spaceport. Or so the popular synth-rock anthem proclaimed.

  Now, showers were back in style, the latest trend in home renovation.

  This . . . this was a little slice of the Vestal Heavens.

  Kyle jumped on the new fad a month ago, only to be sent undercover a week later. Thus, he’d only experienced this bliss twice before. Now he planned to make full use of the new unit.

  Soaping and sudsing his way into oblivion, his spirit soared enough to inspire him to lift his tired voice in song.

  “Play Hipsten Meteor Smash.”

  The voice-activated home entertainment system instantly began playing the widely popular pop tune and Kyle joined his deep bass to the lyrics.

  At the same time, he loaded his palm with Stenslonic Volumizing Shampoo. The stuff was stupidly expensive and hard to get, but tonight he planned to splurge and lather up good. He’d earned the indulgence with sweat and blood.

  Having grown his hair out for the undercover work, he’d spent the last three weeks with oily, stringy locks.

  Oh, to have clean hair again. Maybe he wouldn’t close crop it anymore. Massaging his scalp this way was a positively energizing experience. Hang the cost.

  He worked the rich, lotiony shampoo into his scalp, relishing the sudsy wonderfulness. A long sigh of contentment slid through him as he lifted his face to the warm spray.

  Clean hair, a warm bed, and a month of vacation ahead, nothing was going to dampen his spirits tonight.

  Chapter 2

  Zana blasted two of the roos as they rose up suddenly from the grasses right in front of her. There were now easily three dozen or more in pursuit.

  Her uncle had told her all about roos. When the nuclear explosions devastated Australia during World War IV, the residual radiation affected one group of kangaroos, speeding up their evolution.

  Uncle Onwin had been infatuated with the mutant marsupials.

  Zana wasn’t quite so enamored with them and was becoming less so by the second. Thank goodness the same evolutionary blast propelling their animal brains into the next phase of evolution also changed their musculature, slowing their movements and speed.

  The marsupials they’d mutated from supposedly could hop faster than a human could run. Though these new creatures could speak a bastardized combination of Old Earth English and the galactic common language, they couldn’t run or hop worth shit.

  Gasping, she reached the top of the hill, her eyes glued to the tree. This had to be her uncle’s Soul Mate Tree.

  She scanned her surroundings. Not another tree in sight anywhere.

  The twisted, gnarled trunk was just as he’d described it. Golden bark with dark brown patches. Small, oval leaves, pale green on top with silvery undersides.

  “Not really the way I planned on meeting Mr. Right.” She’d decided to avoid that little occurrence indefinitely. In her experience, men were nothing but trouble. They wanted sex, which meant babies, which meant settling down. And they wanted to control everything.

  Nope, not ready for that.

  According to her uncle, she just needed to touch the tree for it to work its magic.

  She reached out, palming the bark as she scurried around to put the trunk between her and her pursuers. “Come on, tree. Get me out of here. Any time.”

  She hoped her Soul Mate didn’t turn out to be Andel Narkol. The boy was big and strong, but dumb as a stump. Kennen Plankold had a little more sense, but his nasally voice . . .

  Maybe it will be someone I don’t even know yet. Though she was pretty sure she’d met all the eligible men on Konga 10.

  “What the hell!” Deep, golden, bassy tones exploded behind her.

  “Stupid tree. You were supposed to send me to him, not bring him here.”

  Her hand shook as she fired at the first roo to crest the hill. She missed by a mile.

  What the hell was she supposed to do now?

  “Give me that.” A large, well-muscled, bare arm reached over her shoulder to snatch the blaster from her hand. “Teleporting sentient beings is against galactic law,” he snarled.

  Great, the love of her life sounded like a cop. Still, he had a big, bumpy, delicious looking arm.

  “I didn’t teleport you, the fucking tree did.”

  “They’s two o’ them,” a roo shouted from out of sight. “Twice as much for dinner.”

  “Are those roos? Where the hell are we?” A mountain of tanned flesh elbowed past her. “Get behind me.”

  “Old Earth, and it
’s not my fault.” Well, it was. She’d come here on purpose. But she’d needed to.

  Whoa, her first view of her soul mate had her blinking and shaking her head. Mister Big Bumpy Arm Man was Mister Big Bumpy All-Over Man. And it all looked pretty freaking hot, except for that foaming goop in his hair. If that was a fashion statement, she wasn’t buying. It looked more like some kind of infection.

  And why the hell was he naked? Was he some kind of naturalist or something?

  Still, she wasn’t complaining. He did have a really great ass.

  Kyle had never faced down a roo gang before. He never dreamed he’d have to, especially naked and with shampoo dripping down his face. Not that the roos would know or care if he was naked, and the shampoo might work in his favor. It made him look different, and in this case, different was good.

  Confidence, even if he didn’t feel it at that moment, would be the key to getting out of this intact. Then, and only then, he’d have a talk with the little minx behind him. Teleporting sentient beings without consent held a mandatory three-year sentence.

  Teleporting him . . . naked . . . made Kyle want to put her away for life.

  “Halt!” He raised his hands wide, firing two shots from the blaster to get the roos’ attention. “Peoples of Earth. The gods are among you. You are the blessed, chosen ones.”

  His voice boomed and echoed in the canyon below. This might work yet. “I am Kyle Kepler, God of . . .” Frack, what?

  Dark clouds on the horizon issued a distant rumble.

  “. . . Thunder, sent from beyond the stars to bless your tribe with magic beyond your imagination.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven of the Old Earth Survival Guide for Galactic Marshals read: When confronted by a roo gang, you must become their god or you will become their dinner.

  It was ten years out of date, but Kyle doubted the creatures had evolved that much in the past decade. This all hinged on whether they were greedier than they were hungry at the moment.