Hotter on the Edge

by Erin Kellison

  As it was a wedding, no one clapped at the performance. Lavinia Supernova ceded the center of the circle gracefully, but still a little discomfited. The media bobs tracked her to her seat, while others floated in the air to relay every expression and murmur of the wedding to the sector. Mica vowed to have a private wedding

  An aging but highly respected actor of ancient Shakespeare returned to the platform to announce in serious, almost grievous tones, the next listing on the program. "And now the reading of the Sol family line. If you please, Drummond and Pilar Sol."

  Father and Pia rose from the other side of the circle and stepped up to the center. Father was dashing in his ceremonial black tunic and trousers. Pia was a ray of golden light, her gown a slim, sensuous shimmer, just warmer than her skin tone. Her dark hair fell in loose curls, and the diadem at her crown sparkled like dew on flame.

  Father cleared his voice lightly, then began the reciting of their lineage. "The family Sol reached out from mother Terra in the year 2763, lead by the intrepid Alejandro—"

  A high crash of shattering glass brought Mica's attention sharply upward. Shards rained from the dome as dark figures slid hand and boot down dropping ropes. Pia had fallen under the collapse of glass, and Father was lifting her up as Mica started forward, panic shredding her composure.

  She screamed as a scavenger clubbed Father in the head, sending him reeling back, bloody, into the first circle of seats.

  There were five men, no six—seven!—as yet another dropped into the Hall. All were lily-pale and swathed in dark rags. The guests screamed behind her, a clamor of chairs as they fled. Media bobs advanced for the best shots of the drama.

  Pia was pulled up by her hair. Her long, graceful neck was exposed, a slicer gun pushed under her chin.

  Fear gripped Mica as if she were held by one of the scavengers, too.

  "Old man!" the scavenger with the slicer yelled. "Old man, look at your daughter!"

  Mica did as the scavenger told her father to do. She looked at trembling Pilar, at Pia, her baby sister. Hakan lunged forward. Another scavenger struck him in the face. Kicked his gut. And the one with the slicer shot him.

  Mica had to do something. This was her family. Her life.

  "Look, old man!" that scavenger screamed again. "Your Sol line ends here!"

  The scavenger was waiting until their father lifted his head so that he could see the moment Pia died. But their father was still crumpled on all fours.

  The scavenger's attention was briefly brought up, his gaze scanning the Hall as many rapid footsteps echoed through the space. Had to be the Peace entering through the ground floor doors, though there was no way they could get a clear shot at the one holding Pia.

  "Get him up!" The scavenger with the slicer yelled.

  Mica watched as her father was roughly lifted. He brought his chin up, his dark eyes full of horror.

  The scavenger dug the barrel of his slicer gun into the flesh of Pia's chin. She made a soft sound, choking for air. "Watch your heir die!"

  Which snapped Mica out of her horror. "She doesn't inherit Sol," she called out calmly. "I do."

  The scavenger looked over at her, interest alight in his eyes. "Okay then," he said, "you die first."

  The slicer swung her way. The tip of the barrel lit. She felt nothing, but knew she was hit because she fell backward, and as her sight dimmed, she spotted Simon at the lip of the dome above, reaching toward her and bellowing, "No!"

  ***

  All sound and color withdrew from Simon's world as Mica fell back. When a sense goes absent, like hearing or sight, the others grow stronger; likewise Simon's void filled with pain—a sense unto itself—which he harnessed into cutting rage.

  He fell upon the scavenger horde.

  The slicer burned as he gutted two men in one swipe of laser fire. The weapon was knocked from his hand and bounced like a toy under a ribbon-festooned chair, so he grabbed fists of glass from the floor and planted them into the scavengers' faces. Their mouths opened, but he heard none of their screams.

  Something burned at his chest, which dripped wet and warm, but he wanted to laugh in their faces because he couldn't be hurt. He felt no pain. He was beyond all that.

  He jabbed an elbow in a face, felt a nose break. A rainbow of scarlet arced through the air; a roar filled his mind. But he kicked another in the belly, sent him skidding back into the chairs.

  The last scavenger turned to run, and Simon was awed at how time ceased moving, the man suspended in the moment of flight. He'd looked over his shoulder; a madman was reflected in his eyes.

  And the madman reached out with a bloody hand and plucked him out of the air. Slammed him down on the floor. Would have struck to kill, but the step of the circle's platform had done the job for him.

  When the life went out of the scavenger's eyes, sound and color rushed Simon and shook him like lightning. He went down on his knees with a crack. And then fell forward in a pool of red, reaching for Mica.

  Chapter Eight

  Far-off chanting told Mica that she was dying. Her body tingled all over and there was a pressure in her chest, an ache with every inhalation. She was cold too, but didn't have the strength to move or shiver. She knew she lay face up, like those at the edge of death, because she had a knot of pain in the small of her back.

  Nearby, a harsh whisper rose above the rhythm of the chants. "…Can it be theft, Father, when I gave him the override codes?"

  Pia. And she was lying for her. Mica took a deeper breath.

  "You didn't give him any codes," their father answered back, also carefully low so as not to disturb. "He stole them from Mica, just as he stole the solyite from the plaza."

  Mica flashed hot to deny the accusation. She'd given him the codes. And Simon couldn't steal what was already his. Her blood quickened; the tightness seemed to give a little.

  "No. I gave the codes to him," Pia said, "and I'll swear to it on every comm and before the shareholders. You can cancel the transfer of my dowry funds, if necessary. Hakan says he'll have me, no matter what."

  Even whispered, the last bit was uttered proudly. Mica decided to like Hakan. He did have a nice face, and life on the transit hub would suit Pia.

  "Hakan Frust is drugged with painkillers," their father returned. "He will say anything you want him to."

  A short silence from Pia. Mica felt the pain of their father's dig too, and wanted to remind her sister that their father, like anyone, said stupid things sometimes. That he'd been too fixed on Simon to hear how much Hakan's declaration had meant to her.

  Pia seemed to recover on her own, saying firmly, "Take my dower allotment to cover the worth of the solyite."

  Simple. Straightforward. A warm rush of pride went through Mica for her sister. She'd grown up while Mica was away. It made the chanting a little easier to bear; if Mica was going to die, at least Pia was going to be all right, and through her, Simon.

  "Your loyalty to your sister is honorable," their father said. "But Simon Miner is not."

  "I'm paying our family's debts. You took what he and his men earned."

  Mica's heart beat faster. The chill on her skin cracked like the spring thaw.

  "People died for that solyite!" Their father's voice was rising. "Lives were destroyed."

  "Then shouldn't it at least belong to them?"

  Of course, Pia was ruining Mica's plan to entrap Simon—the solyite in the plaza was supposed to have come from her dower portion—but after Pia's stalwart defense, Mica couldn't very well say, "No, it's my dowry." Not that the tactic would work very well, anyway, if she were dead. She'd better let Pia do her thing.

  "You're as impossible as your sister," their father said.

  Pia gave an exasperated hrmph. "That's a compliment. You were there, father, when he came for her. Every comm in the sector has been replaying it for the past twenty-four hours. Maybe you need to watch it again."

  Mica remembered. Simon had come for her. She'd seen him framed in the broken window o
f the dome, night and stars at his back. Heard him shout. What had happened after? What had he done?

  "The Peace had arrived as well," their father pointed out, exasperated. "There was no need for his heroics."

  "Are you sure?" Pia returned. "Do you really think they could have gotten to us in time? They'd already shot Mica and Hakan. How long would it have taken for the scavengers to turn their slicers on you and me?"

  Mica felt so angry, she opened her eyes. Stirred.

  "Mia?" Fast, sharp footsteps. Pia was the only one in the universe who could manage speed on high blades. Pia gripped her hand and Mia squeezed back. "Mia. How do you feel?"

  Father's warm hand brushed Mica's forehead. His face came into view sideways above her. His eyes were tired. "Hello, brave one." There was pride in his voice, so she had to have done something right in spite of the Simon trouble. "Protecting your sister like that."

  Mica drew enough air to speak, but had to settle for a rasp. "She's the only one I've got."

  Pia made the wet sound of a muffled sob, and Mica squeezed her hand again. Pia and Mia, always.

  The chanting went on, unbroken.

  Right. If Mica was going to die, she had better say her piece. "Father, Simon doesn't belong in prison. Let him go. Consider it my last request." It was a little dramatic, but should do the trick.

  "Don't be talking about last requests," her father said gruffly. "The medics say you're going to be just fine." The roughness of his tone suggested that it had been a near thing. "Your shoulder is bad, but the slicer only nicked your heart."

  She was going to live? "But what about the chanting?" The meditation priests only murmured the rhythmic words of tranquility when it was time to ease someone's passing. Who else was going to die?

  Pia's face came into view, too. She was a little pale, but just as beautiful as ever. "Listen, Mica. Listen to the chants."

  Mica concentrated harder and heard only a long rising sound and short dropped one, repeated over and over. And how strange that it wasn't coming from inside the medic wing? It seemed to be coming from outside the palace completely. From the streets below. She looked at Pia for clarification.

  "It's 'Simon,' " Pia said. "The people are chanting his name. The palace is surrounded—"

  "—besieged," their father corrected.

  Pia nodded, finally agreeing with their father. "The Peace has Simon's men in custody. The miners refuse to work. They won't listen to Father. They'll riot if you don't stop them."

  ***

  Mica wished that the very helpful news personality Lana Starcaster hadn't pushed a pillow down the back of her chair. The pillow made Mica flex her sore stomach to sit up, which in turn made keeping a grimace off her face even more difficult. Several media bobs buzzed in the air around them, taking in every angle.

  Mica had only offered the interview in the hopes that a comm from her might mitigate the rising unrest throughout Sol City. The chants of yesterday had transformed into angry bursts of vandalism. The passion of the miners had spread through the populace and the air was static with impending violence. Even her father was convinced that the public needed to be appeased—and who better than the princess who'd been so dramatically defended? Which meant he, Pia, Mother, and representatives from the shareholders had gotten nowhere on their own.

  …the heir to Sol has risen from her deathbed…

  …whereabouts of Simon Miner unknown…

  …dead or alive? Will she tell the truth?

  …or will she toe the family line?

  Lana sat opposite her, angling her gold blades off to the side. Her aura was simple sunshine that lit her blonde hair and amber eyes. She waited while an announcer introduced the exclusive interview to be transmitted in real time from the Sol palace, and then her composed expression suddenly went very concerned. The voices of the other comms were cut off, and the faraway chants of "Si-mon" could be heard. "Princess Mica Sol. Two days ago, you were shot in the heart. It's a miracle that you sit before me today. How do you feel?"

  "The shot hit my shoulder mostly," Mica corrected, working up a smile. "I'm feeling much better, thank you. It's good to be back on my feet."

  Lana leaned in and used a voice dripping with compassion. "You must have been very frightened when the wedding was disrupted."

  "Yes, of course. I was terrified."

  "And the way you protected your sister will go a long way to demonstrating that corp families, for all their wealth and excesses, love each other, too."

  Why did anyone need proof of that? "Of course we do."

  Lana gave her a pat kind of smile that made Mica think the uncomfortable pillow shoved down her back was intentional.

  "Current media comms have focused on the plight of the plains people, commonly referred to on Sol as scavengers. A little over one hundred years ago, this planet was supposed to have been theirs. The Sol family only had a contract on the mining rights. As you're a terraforming specialist, can you explain why they are now the outcasts, scavenging, for lack of a better word, for the materials to survive?"

  This was public knowledge and, yes, had been hashed extensively on the comms for the past two days.

  "It's simple. The terraforming wasn't entirely successful, which is why Sol is classified as a beta world—one which cannot support human life without life aids, like oxy plugs." Then she took it a step further, to save herself Lana's next question. "The scavengers don't accept support from Sol City because that would make them dependent upon us for survival, which they believe—and perhaps rightly so—would eventually subsume them under Sol. They have been offered transport to other worlds as well, but that would constitute releasing their claim, which they will not do. Sol is too valuable. Occupation is part of the sector claim laws."

  "Is there no solution, then?" Lana implored gravely. "Will the violence continue?"

  Mica tried to lean back, but her wound wouldn't allow it. She broke into a cold sweat, too. "I would offer the plains people an alternative solution. If they are fixed upon inheriting Sol, then I would be willing to apply my expertise and put together a team of the best minds to bioform the human genome to be consistent with Sol ecology. It simply didn't work the other way around. But this way, they would become heirs to Sol as much or more than I am."

  Lana all but scoffed. "That seems like a faraway and troubled solution."

  Mica would've huffed back at her if it wouldn't have hurt, but Lana had been selected to conduct the interview because of her reputation for giving everyone, without regard to wealth or rank, a hard time. The Sol family was after credibility.

  "It's the only new solution I have at this time," Mica said. "If anyone else has alternatives that don't include slicing me or my family, I'd be happy to hear them. This one isn't so far-fetched as you might think."

  "Not far-fetched for someone who felt high enough to play god."

  Mica leaned into a protest. Pain had her snarling. "That's not fair. I know Sol inside and out." Slept in wombat dung just the other day. "And there are case studies in which ..."

  But Lana held up a hand. "Obviously there are no viable solutions to be had at this time."

  "If you'll just consider ..." But Mica could see it was no use. She made a mental note that if she ever did inherit Sol not to offer a controversial solution to a controversy, and she wondered if she was doing anything to appease the miners, who didn't care a scrap about the scavengers. She doubted it.

  ***

  Simon opened his eyes when Pilar burst into his serene room, in a flurry of color and light. She tossed a small metal disc onto the wall, and that half of the room altered into an intimate space with two seated women talking to each other. Media bobs darted around their heads like bloated razor bugs. It took a second for him to recognize the woman on the right.

  "Mica!" he called, burning sound through his chest. But of course it was an in-progress comm. She looked like she'd just spent a day on the run in the King's Valley jungle—pale, sweaty, panting. "She needs to get bac
k in bed."

  "Yeah, she's drooping badly. And she's terrible," Pilar said. "She's been talking about frankensteining the scavengers. Looks more and more like a mad scientist too."

  Mica looked beautiful to him. Alive. Well. And talking shop to an unwilling audience. He could listen to her forever. "Not to worry. It's obvious that that media person is about as smart as one of those bobs."

  Pilar gave him an exasperated look. "Mica's supposed to be calming the masses."

  Simon smiled again at his brainy girl. She'd just claimed to know Sol. Simon would've liked to correct her: she was Sol. Contrary and wonderful and dangerous. This world needed her.

  But the Starcaster bitch had to go.

  Pilar's expression altered to mischief. A glint in her eye.

  "I'm listening," Simon said, though he was filling with dread. Still, anything for Mica.

  "She'll kill me."

  Simon was sure Mica would. "Just say it."

  "You fought so hard for her." Pilar's voice clogged. "Do you have the strength to give the comms a better end to the story than Mica's science?"

  "She knows what's best for this world," he said. Eventually others would consider her solution and see how smart it was.

  "Well, duh," Pilar answered. "She's clearly the brains. Your job right now is to look pretty for the bobs. Cut a heroic, man-of-the-people line and save all our collective Sol asses."

  Simon grinned, remembering the set-up to Pilar's and Hakan's engagement. "If you can get Mica naked in this bed, I'm happy to get naked with her." Maybe Pilar's scheme had been more fun than calculation. Yes, get Mica in his bed; there was room for two. If the bobs caught them, could he have her forever?

  "What about an on-comm reunion?" Pilar said. "Push Starcaster out of the limelight. The miners only want you anyway, but Mica gave orders that you weren't to be bothered with the problem."