Girl of Fire: The Expulsion Project Book One (A Science Fiction Dystopian Thriller)

by Norma Hinkens

  Velkan lets out a snort. “Some of the primitive planets in the Netherscape live in mortal dread of encountering a half-breed species. They probably thought you had some kind of power in your hair.” He leans closer until I can feel his breath on my cheek. “Do you, Girl of Fire ?”

  I laugh. “My hair holds no secret power. What about you?” I ask, reaching out to touch his hair. I twist a piece between my fingers. It’s a strange, wiry texture, nothing like Buir’s silky mane or my own soft waves. “You don’t look anything like the other oremongers. I’ve never seen anyone so dark.”

  He glances furtively across the table at Sarth. “I’m not one of them,” he says, the mirth gone from his voice. “Sarth’s my owner. I’ve been a trade serf since I was a child.” He twists his head and points discreetly to a holographic tattoo projecting two inches out from the side of his neck. “My owner’s brand. She calls me her first helmsman when she’s in a good mood, but I’m still just a serf.”

  I pull my lips down in an apologetic gesture. I’m shocked, but I don’t want to show my naiveté. I guessed he was in Sarth’s employment, but not as a slave. Whatever my origins were, at least I was fortunate enough not to be indentured as a child. “Where did she pick you up?” I ask.

  Velkan leans back in his chair. “Near the outer rim of the Netherscape. She was on a remote mining operation. She wouldn’t tell me the name of the planet.”

  I steal a glance across at Sarth. “She seems a sly trader. What did she trade for you?”

  “Nothing. She got lucky.”

  My eyes widen. “You mean she acquired you … in a bet?”

  Velkan shakes his head. “Even crazier than that. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  He flicks a skein of black hair over his shoulder and leans in to whisper in my ear. “She dug me up in a casket.”

  3

  I pull away and roll my eyes at Velkan. “The oremongers must keep you around for entertainment. For a moment there, I really thought you were going to tell me how Sarth acquired you. But you actually don’t know, do you?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Velkan reaches for a red-skinned astro fruit. I wait for him to burst out laughing, but instead, a wistful expression comes over his face.

  I frown at him. “You don’t really buy that story Sarth told you, do you?”

  Velkan shrugs. “She made it sound pretty convincing. Someone buried me alive, a kidnapping for ransom gone wrong, she reckons. I was in a high-tech oxygen pod. Sarth said she got a small fortune for it. My birth parents might be from Aristozonex.”

  I run a hand distractedly over my half-coiled hair. The Syndicate is headquartered on Aristozonex, one of the largest and wealthiest planets, and home to the Syndicate’s formidable fleet of warships. I don’t want to crush Velkan’s spirits, but I have a strong suspicion Sarth enjoys taunting him with hints of a wealthy background. Just like she taunted me with a stab at my worth in astro fruit.

  I place my hands beneath my chin and eye Velkan playfully. “So, how can I be sure you’re not really a ghost?”

  A flash of irritation goes through his eyes. Almost as if he realizes I don’t believe him, and that I’m trying to soften the blow with humor.

  “I was—” He clamps his lips together when the room suddenly falls silent. At the center of the table, my father rises to his impressive height.

  He raises a wooden mug of fermented astro fruit juice in a salute of respect to our guests. My mother gazes up at him adoringly, her hair shimmering silver down her back. Sensing my eyes on her, she glances over and splays her long fingers at me. I smile back. She’s beautiful, inside and out. Despite all my shortcomings as a daughter, she never shows me anything other than unconditional love and acceptance. Even though I’ve never quite fit in here, I’ve been lucky. I shudder at the thought that it could have been me Sarth acquired all those moons ago. I can only imagine what she would have used me for.

  “My fellow Cweltans,” my father begins, “this is a day of great rejoicing as we enjoy the privilege of hosting the first traders to our humble planet in fourteen moons. Let us drink a hearty toast to their health, prosperity, and safe passage through the trade routes.”

  The room fills with the clink of mugs, laughter, and goodwill cheers. Glancing around at the rapt, glistening faces of my father’s subjects, I catch a fleeting look of contempt on Parthelon's face before his studied mask slips back into place. I frown, troubled by the thought that perhaps it’s not only me whom Parthelon secretly despises.

  “Regrettably,” my father continues, “today is also an occasion of great sorrow. Sarth informed me over dinner that Maulers have seized control of the eastern arterial trade route. They are building up vast interstellar armies through illegal serf trafficking and imposing tariffs on vessels passing through these territories, even seizing the occasional Syndicate ship. This, of course, explains the absence of traders to Cwelt in recent times. But my heart is heavy with a worse woe.” He reaches down for my mother’s hand and squeezes it before continuing. A somber expression settles in the folds of his ninety-year-old face. “Despite their aged warships, the Maulers succeeded in extending their reach to the fringe planets. They have invaded Oxtian and indentured its people.”

  A collective gasp ripples around the Great Hall, blood draining from faces that moments earlier were flushed from merrymaking and drink. Oxtian, our nearest neighbor in the fringe, is a rudimentary planet like ours, also without its own fleet of spaceships. What we know of Oxtian is all hearsay from traders. But we’ve always felt a kinship to its people who are reputed to be skilled hunters and farmers like ourselves.

  “I will assign guards to man the tower day and night to watch for approaching ships,” my father adds.

  As though sensing the futility of such a gesture, the room remains respectfully silent.

  Parthelon gets to his feet and flings his shamskin cloak over one shoulder, commanding the crowd’s attention. “Sarth also informed us that the Syndicate refuses to deploy forces to resolve the situation. They have abandoned the fringe planets to their fate. We have been forewarned. Manning the tower is only a first step. We must move to the underground caves at once and begin preparations to defend ourselves.”

  Sarth cocks her head and looks up at him, the palm of her hand resting on one knee. “What preparations are you proposing, wise one?” She curls her lip into a scathing grin. “There’s nothing you can do to defend yourselves against Maulers. They have ships, weapons, armor. You have—” She stops abruptly and makes an elaborate gesture of scratching her bald head. “Shamskins and spears.”

  One of the oremongers seated at the table next to her snickers. I suppress a grin when Buir shoots me a scolding look that says I shouldn’t be enjoying the spectacle of Parthelon, writhing beneath the scorn of a woman half his height, when the fate of Cwelt is at stake.

  Parthelon glowers down at Sarth, his silver-white goatee twitching side to side as he sizes her up. “How dare you mock the chieftain in his presence.”

  My father lays a hand on Parthelon's arm. “Enough. Sarth has greatly aided us. We will discuss our options further in private. The oremongers are eager to draw their core samples. Let us escort them.”

  Parthelon inclines his head, but I can tell he’s seething inside. My father reproved him in front of a stranger and he won’t readily forget such an insult.

  Sarth beckons Velkan to join her.

  He pushes his chair out and stands. “Thank you for the meal,” he says to me in a tone that lacks some of the warmth it held earlier. “The astro fruit was excellent.”

  A smile plays on my lips. “You’re offended because I didn’t believe your story. I’m not calling you a liar, but I think you’ve been deceived.”

  “That’s because you’re too hot-headed to listen to the whole story!”

  I toss the core of my astro fruit onto my platter. “Then I’ll come with you so you can tell me the rest of your tale
of woe while you draw your samples.”

  Velkan raises amused brows. “Better yet, you can ask Sarth herself about it.”

  I roll my eyes and get to my feet. “Should be fun. She seems like an excellent conversationalist when she’s not putting a price on my head.”

  We make our way to the center of the long banqueting table. Parthelon gives me a dark look when I ask my father’s permission to accompany the oremongers to observe the sampling process. After his earlier confrontation with Sarth, Parthelon won’t be invited to tag along.

  My father beams proudly at me. “Excellent idea, Trattora. You can report the oremongers’ findings back to the elders.”

  My mother splays her hand good-bye. “Your father is pleased to see the future chieftain of Cwelt taking an interest in such affairs,” she says in her voice that washes over me like a gurgling spring. Somehow, she always finds things to praise in me and subtle ways to connect me with my father.

  I give her an awkward smile. I hate deceiving her. Truth is, I’m a lot more curious about the oremongers’ serf than the oremongering process itself. I tell myself it’s just because he’s different too.

  “Take Buir along,” my mother adds. “I will rest easy knowing she is with you.”

  I chuckle as I exit the hall. I wouldn’t dream of leaving Buir behind. We’ve been best friends for as far back as I can remember, and I don’t have any memories of my life before Cwelt. Buir is my guiding star; she spends half her time reining in my crazy ideas and the other half soothing my mother’s fears about my wellbeing, which is why she’s beloved by us both. Mother says she has an elder’s head on her shoulders. Which is why I plan to make her my closest advisor when I become chieftain. Although that didn’t impress her much when I told her. She says I don’t listen to her now.

  I spot her chatting with friends on the main boulevard behind the bustling food stalls laden with fresh produce from the farms. “Buir!” I yell, waving across to her.

  She looks up and splays her fingers in acknowledgment before taking leave of the group.

  “Father gave us permission to accompany the oremongers to observe the sampling process.” I squeeze her elbow in excitement.

  Buir angles an elongated silver eyebrow. “You mean he gave you permission, and your mother wants me to tag along.”

  I give my chin a vigorous rubbing. “Something like that. They went to the Zebulux to pick up their mobile testing equipment. They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Buir sighs. “Does this have anything to do with the sunburned serf?”

  “His name’s Velkan.” I give a cocky grin. “And it isn’t sunburn—”

  “Tratt!”

  “Yes! Okay. Sort of. It might have something to do with him. He intrigues me.”

  “He’s a serf, not a trader,” Buir says. “How intriguing can he be to a chieftain’s daughter?”

  “He’s a good storyteller.” I link my arm with Buir’s. “Did you know Sarth found him buried alive in a casket?”

  Buir’s eyes widen. “She actually told him that? The woman is despicable.”

  “She hinted that it was a kidnapping gone wrong,” I say. “I feel sorry for him. He believes it.” I trace my fingers absentmindedly over the tear in my cloak. “Maybe I can get the truth out of Sarth.”

  Buir’s face softens. “You understand better than most what it’s like to live with questions about your origin. That’s why you’re drawn to him. But you should guard against coming between a serf and his owner.”

  I throw her an irritated look. “Someone needs to get in there and advocate on his behalf. Sarth knows more than she’s letting on. She wouldn’t even tell him the name of the planet she found him on—some place near the rim.”

  Buir gives me a skeptical look. “She’s not going to tell you either.”

  “She’s on my planet, eating my food and drinking my astro juice. That might give me some sway.”

  Buir opens her mouth to respond and then glances up at an unfamiliar throbbing sound.

  My jaw drops when I spot a tan-colored vehicle rolling over the ground toward us.

  “What on Cwelt is that thing?” Buir says.

  “Some kind of surface vehicle,” I say, mesmerized by its speed as it powers over the ground faster than the venomous sand snipers that emerge on Cwelt at night.

  We jump back when the vehicle brakes hard alongside us, sending a volley of sand and rocks skyward. My pulse quickens. I throw an admiring glance over the riveted body panels, making note of every detail: the mesh tires coated with some type of metal strips for traction, and the T-shaped controller for steering. My mind is already racing with possibilities of everything I could do if I owned a machine like this on Cwelt.

  Sarth pulls her goggles up to her forehead and jerks her head toward us. “Hop in. Throw your spears in behind, although why you drag those things around with you is beyond me.”

  Buir takes my spear from me and lays it alongside hers in the cargo bed at the back of the vehicle.

  Velkan holds out a hand to me. I stare at it uncertainly, then tentatively reach out and grip his forearm. I’m sort of leery of touching his fingers again in case he really is sick. Rumors of disease-ridden planets and slave ships run rampant. But something tells me the tingling sensation I felt when his fingers brushed against mine in the Great Hall was not that kind of fever. He pulls me into the open seat behind him and then helps Buir in after me.

  She scoots nervously into the corner, her expression a mixture of dread and guilt. “We don’t have the chieftain’s permission to ride in the oremongers’ vehicle,” she says to me, her voice higher than usual.

  Velkan laughs. “Relax! It’s perfectly safe.”

  “Where are the other oremongers?” I ask. “I didn’t catch their names.”

  “Ghil and Nipper,” Velkan replies. “They’re working on the thruster. Cameras are down too. Always something. The wiring needs to be replaced.”

  “So, who’s who?” I ask.

  “Nipper’s the one with the face that looks like it’s been punched in,” Velkan says. “Ghil’s the tall, skinny one.”

  I’m relieved they didn’t come along. Neither one of them gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling, but there’s something especially unnerving about the younger, heavyset one with the flattened face and roving eyes.

  Sarth revs the engine and takes off without warning. My insides light up like a falling star. I never in a thousand moons thought anything could feel this exhilarating. I throw my head back and close my eyes, savoring the wind hitting my face as we pick up speed. My hair whips around me in a mad frenzy. Maybe Velkan doesn’t have it so bad after all. In many ways, he’s more free than I am. At least he goes on adventures.

  “What do you call this thing?” I yell at the back of Sarth’s shaved head.

  “A LunaTrekker,” she calls over her shoulder. “Nifty little design. I picked it up in Aristozonex. Traded a quarter ton of helickel for it. Like I said, rare minerals are a hot commodity these days.”

  I run my hand over the unfamiliar material of the seat. My brain races to compute the possibilities. If we had a helickel mine, whatever that is, we could purchase a LunaTrekker, and maybe a spaceship or two. I turn to Buir, unable to suppress the smile breaking across my face. Hunting three-horned shams is highly addictive, but I’d trade my shamskin and spear for a fleet of spaceships in a heartbeat.

  Buir eyes me suspiciously. “What are you grinning at?” she squeaks out, clinging to the side of the LunaTrekker with white-knuckled fingers.

  I curtail my fervor and opt for a less dramatic version of what’s unfolding inside my head. “I was just imagining you and I driving around Cwelt in a LunaTrekker.”

  She gives a disgruntled shrug. “That’s not a great visual. I’m barely holding down my food.”

  “This looks like a good place to start,” Sarth calls over her shoulder. She slows to a halt that jolts us sideways and points to some craggy domes on our right. “What’s your take?”
she asks, frowning at Velkan.

  He tents his hand over his eyes and peers in the direction she’s pointing. “Interesting-looking extrusive rock topography. I say we check it out.”

  Sarth rams the controller into gear, backs the LunaTrekker over to the domes, and jumps out. Buir clambers out after her, swaying dangerously back and forth on her feet before she gets her bearings. I lean forward in the seat and study the LunaTrekker’s controls. I paid close attention to what Sarth did, and I know I could drive this thing myself. Persuading Sarth to let me try will be the hard part. Maybe if I find her some helickel, she’ll be more agreeable. Reluctantly, I climb out and join Buir.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  She presses her lips together tightly. “I will be once we get back to the settlement.”

  Velkan strides around to the back of the LunaTrekker and activates a machine of some kind that’s protruding from the rear of the bed. “This is our mobile Pneumacorer,” he explains. “I built it myself. Raw beam technology. The laser can cut through rock and go down a couple hundred feet. If it picks up anything interesting, we’ll bring in the heavy equipment.”

  I give a distracted nod. My heart is drumming in my chest, but it’s not because of Velkan, curious as I am about him. I’m in love with the world of technology he brought with him and terrified of being left in my all-too-familiar environment when the oremongers leave.

  I frown at the craggy mounds I played on throughout my childhood. They don’t look like anything much to me, but then I’ve no idea what helickel looks like. I should know better than to get my hopes up, but I can’t help dreaming.

  In less than a minute, the Pneumacorer brings up the first sample. Sarth and Velkan lean over it and study the readings.

  “Anything?” I ask.

  “Igneous crystals.” Sarth gives a dissatisfied grunt. “Parabasalt scrap for the most part.”

  Buir raises bewildered brows at me, and I give a disappointed shrug.

  “We’ll take another sample before we pull out,” Sarth says. “Just to be sure.” She backs up the LunaTrekker several more feet, and Velkan starts the Pneumacorer up again.