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

by Norma Hinkens

  My gut tightens. A sliver of hope returns. If we can get the Zebulux airborne today, we might be able to reach Aristozonex tomorrow or the following day at the latest. There may still be a chance of saving Cwelt from the Maulers after all.

  We spend the next hour sifting through the crates of parts and pulling out possible replacement valves and pumps. Boshtee and his men soon grow restless and wander back outside to wait with the rest of the tribe.

  When Velkan is satisfied that he has salvaged everything that might be of use, we load the parts into the LunaTrekker and turn our attention to the question of what to do with Meldus’ body.

  “This is as good a place as any to bury him,” I say. “I’ll talk to Boshtee and make sure he’s okay with it.”

  Velkan wrinkles his brow. “Talk?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I say.

  Velkan shrugs and pulls out a shovel.

  I walk over to Boshtee and point to Meldus’ body in the back of the LunaTrekker, and then to Velkan who’s already hard at work digging a grave beside the wrecked ship.

  A look of alarm comes over Boshtee’s face. He yells something at Velkan and one of the other tribesmen rushes over and snatches the shovel from Velkan’s hand.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, raising my shoulders in a questioning shrug.

  Boshtee gives a series of rapid orders to a couple of the tribespeople and they undo an oversized saddle bag on one of their mounts and pull out some wood and kindling.

  Buir grips my arm. “I think they want to burn his body.”

  I grit my teeth. “If that’s their custom, then that’s what we’ll do. We can’t risk offending them again.”

  We watch in silence as the tribespeople build a pyre a short distance from the wreck and then ceremoniously pick up Meldus’ body and hold it high above their heads as they march over to the stacked wood. They lay Meldus carefully in the center, Zindera’s glittering beads still around his neck. Our mood is somber as Boshtee raises his hands over the body. I bite down on my lip when one of the tribesmen builds a tinder nest, rubs his hands briskly together to light it, and ignites the pyre. I close my eyes, shutting out the macabre sight. I promised Meldus we’d go back to Cwelt as soon as it was safe, but I can’t keep that promise and it’s tearing me up inside. Now, all I can do in his honor is liberate Cwelt from the Maulers.

  20

  Once the pyre is burning steadily, Boshtee and his tribespeople begin quietly loading their packs onto their animals. One by one, they file past the flames and raise their hands to the sky invoking what I can only believe is a prayer before they mount their ponies. Zindera comes up to me, looking almost regal in her new shamskin. She presses a sack into my hands, then jabs her fingers to her mouth, pretending to eat.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, touched by her kindness and too choked up to say much else.

  Not long after, we watch the tribespeople leave in a sedate procession, but the moment they disappear out of sight, the pounding of many hooves reaches our ears. Their strange hairless ponies have resumed their powerful stride across the shadowy desert, but where they are headed to remains a mystery, as does the cryptic symbol painted on their foreheads.

  “I don’t want to go back to the Zebulux yet,” I say to the others. “It doesn’t seem right to leave Meldus here alone.” I slump down on a flat rock a short distance from the pyre, emotionally spent from hours of delicate negotiations with a tribe whose language I don’t understand, and whose ways are not mine. Meldus’ death seemed almost surreal as long as I was focused on dealing with Boshtee and his people, but now the raw pain of loss and guilt feels like a hot poker piercing my gut.

  Buir sits down beside me and puts an arm around my shoulders. Ghil and Velkan busy themselves looking through the parts we collected.

  I wait for several hours until Meldus’ remains have been completely consumed. Then, with a heavy heart, I give the signal to start up the LunaTrekker.

  I can tell Buir is relieved to be heading back to the ship before it gets dark. She smiles tentatively at me, and I squeeze her hand in return. I still don’t have the heart for conversation. I’m struggling to come to terms with Meldus’ heroic sacrifice; a moment of rude awakening for me. I’ve taken my role as the future chieftain of Cwelt far too lightly up until now. One of my own people died in my place today. I’m only just beginning to realize the weight that my position carries, and how important it is that someone as corrupt as Parthelon never gets the chance to lead.

  “Maybe there’s some astro fruit in here.” Buir rummages around in the sack Zindera gave us and lets out a yelp. “Ugh! What is this?” She holds up a dried-out insect with shiny pincers and a dark red underbelly.

  “Food!” Velkan reaches for it. “Let me try it.” He bites the head off and chews tentatively for a moment. “Tangy, but protein packed no doubt.”

  Buir shudders. “Is there anything you won’t eat?”

  “He used to say nothing could taste as bad as my mash,” Ghil says with a wink.

  I smile, despite the ache in my heart. It’s impossible for the others to understand the weight of the responsibility I feel for Meldus’ death. I realize now how lonely my father must be at times with the burden he carries for the welfare of his people. When I return, I plan to do more to lighten his load and less to disappoint him.

  It’s almost nightfall by the time we arrive back at the Zebulux.

  “I never thought I’d be glad to see this ship again,” Buir remarks, as she climbs out of the LunaTrekker inside the cargo bay.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Velkan says. “She’s not flightworthy yet.”

  “We’ll work on the engine in the morning,” I say. “We could all use an early night. It’s been a long and difficult day.”

  Buir accompanies me upstairs to Sarth’s quarters and slips off her shamskin. “That was a generous peace-offering you made, and a wise move by a future leader of Cwelt.” She runs her hand over her immaculate cloak as she drapes it over the bed. “I want to gift you mine in return.”

  “And subject a perfectly good shamskin to ruin.” I smile at her. “Thank you, but no. Anyway, we won’t be needing those on Aristozonex. We’ll need to blend in a little better than that.”

  She sighs. “If we ever get there. Do you really think Velkan can make those parts work?”

  “He seems to think so. Between us, we’ll figure something out.” I give an ungraceful yawn and flop down on the bed. “We’ll work on it tomorrow. Right now, my brain’s powering down.”

  I wake the next morning to the unmistakable sound of the Zebulux roaring to life. Buir and I bolt upright and exchange bug-eyed stares before jumping out of bed and racing down to the rumbling engine room. When we burst through the door, Velkan glances up and gives us a lopsided grin, sweat glistening on his face. His hair is knotted in a messy bundle on top of his head.

  “Did you work on it all night?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. I kept jolting awake with ideas on how to make the repairs.”

  Before I can respond, Ghil barges in, an incredulous look on his face. “Son of a serf,” he blurts out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You got some kind of magic around machines.”

  Velkan runs a hand over the manifold in front of him. “Not magic. Just engineering.”

  Ghil scratches his bald head. “One and the same in my book.”

  “Does this mean we can leave?” Buir asks. “Breakfast at an upscale restaurant on Aristozonex sounds awfully good.”

  Ghil throws her a disapproving look. “Thought you said you weren’t picky.”

  “I’m not!” She beams at him. “I’ll eat at any establishment you take me to!”

  He grunts. “Be dinner time before we get there.”

  “Then dinner it is!” Buir replies.

  “First, we need to figure out what we’re going to do with the dargonite,” I say. “If Syndicate customs officials search our vessel at the docking station, their scanners will pic
k it up no matter where we hide it.”

  Velkan furrows his brow. “Not if we hide it in some kind of a solution. It has unusual properties that render it virtually undetectable once it’s immersed in liquid.”

  Ghil glances across at the pipes. “Are you thinking of putting it in the coolant or something?”

  Velkan shakes his head. “That’s an old trick—stashing dark market items in the equipment in the engine room. First place they’ll search. It needs to be somewhere they would never even bother looking.”

  “I know how we can pull this off.” I grin around at the others. “Ghil, how about you whip us up a little something in the kitchen with the rest of our canned goods?”

  “Like what?” he asks, a confused look on his face.

  Buir scrunches her brow. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “We can hide the dargonite in a cauldron of Ghil’s famous mash.”

  Velkan’s lips tug up into one of his brilliant smiles. “Perfect! I’ll grab the nuggets from my mattress and throw them in there too.”

  “Humph!” Ghil folds his arms across his chest. “Mash is leftovers. If I whip it up it’s mush.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “So, you’ll do it?”

  He squeezes his brows together. “Waste of food if you ask me.”

  “Actually, it’s a good use of our resources.” Velkan winks at me. “That mush is practically inedible anyway. Besides, there are still plenty of those bugs left in the bag.”

  Ghil scowls. “I’ll cook up a pot to hide the dargonite in, but it’s the last one I’m making for an ungrateful lot like you.” He turns and stomps over to the door.

  We wait until he has stormed out before we all burst out laughing. I laugh until my gut hurts and tears trickle down my face, and then all of a sudden, I’m sobbing. Sobbing for Meldus, for my mother and father on Cwelt, for the family I once had, but may never know, for the burden I feel to protect Cwelt from the Maulers and Parthelon, for the sense of belonging I think will elude me all my life.

  Buir wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Hey, it’s all right.”

  “No, it’s all wrong,” I say with a loud sniff. “I promised Meldus we’d go back.”

  “You couldn’t have done anything differently,” Buir says. “He died a hero; his family can be proud of that. We will honor him on our return.”

  “If we make it back to tell them.” I wipe the tears from my eyes with the back of my hands.

  Buir gives me a long hug. “I believe we’re going to make it back.”

  I let out a resigned sigh. “I’ll go to the control room and prepare for departure. Send Ghil up to help me as soon as he’s got his mush going—mash—whatever it is.”

  Six uneventful hours later we’re on approach to Aristozonex. I’m convinced Velkan truly is a wizard with machines—the engine hasn’t sputtered once throughout the flight, and even the A.I. system is operating properly again.

  Ghil’s mystical concoction is cooling in a cauldron in the galley. Buir assures me this latest batch smells worse than ever, so it’s pretty much a given that the Syndicate customs officials won’t go near it. Even so, we’re all on edge as the Zebulux begins her descent into the large, brightly-lit Aristozonex docking station.

  “There’s a lot of security down there,” Buir says, an apprehensive look on her face.

  Ghil grimaces. “Here’s how it works. We sit tight until the officials come on board and go over the manifest. We’re short three crew so we all need to stick to the same story that we dropped them off in Seinought and we’re picking them up on our way back.”

  I nod distractedly, glued to the view screen. The station is abuzz with a steady stream of ships moving in and out. Just when I’m wondering how Ghil will ever manage to avoid clipping the tail of another ship as he attempts to park, two steel cables shoot upward and lock onto our hull, guiding us into the narrow slip assigned to us.

  When we finally touch down, my mind races in several different directions at once. As soon as we’re cleared by customs, I need to find a buyer for the dargonite, and then somehow procure a ship. And I want to check out that address Roma gave me before we leave. Whatever the origin of our bracelets turns out to be, I can’t help toying with the fantasy that Velkan and I will discover that we both belong on Aristozonex and that our parents are alive and well and never stopped searching for us.

  We head downstairs and wait in the cargo bay until two Syndicate customs officials, dressed in dark brown skintight jumpsuits with the flaming planet Syndicate insignia on their collars, board the ship. The younger one gives a curt nod by way of greeting before proceeding to document the members of the crew and take inventory of our weapons.

  “Any cargo to declare?” the other official asks in a bored tone.

  “Nothing.” Ghil hands over the ship’s registration and manifest.

  The younger official takes them and flicks a condescending glance over them. “We’ll still need to search the ship.” He looks around with a glimmer of satisfaction in his eye. I suspect he’s new to the job and not nearly as jaded as his partner—which could work against us.

  “This way,” Ghil says. “We’ll start down below.” He nods to me and I join him. Maybe he needs a second set of eyes to keep an eye on them if they split up.

  The two men follow us around the ship, inspecting every square inch of every room, scanner in hand. Despite what Velkan said about dargonite being undetectable in liquid, my heart pounds a death dirge in my throat as we near the galley. I push open the door and gesture Ghil and the officials inside while I wait in the hallway. I’m not sure I could disguise the guilt written all over my face if I set eyes on the cauldron. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, my thoughts still with Meldus.

  I startle upright when they reappear.

  “Where are your sleeping accommodations?” the younger official says.

  I signal politely down the hallway to the bunk rooms and Sarth’s quarters. The older official falls in beside his partner, the look on his face a sure indication his interest in the Zebulux is waning rapidly. I exchange a fleeting look of relief with Ghil behind their backs.

  When the officials have completed their inspection, they log our entry permit and abruptly take their leave. I let out a sweeping sigh of relief. We have a permit to move freely in Aristozonex for the next month. Except Velkan, of course. He’s listed on the paperwork as cargo and instructed to remain on board at all times. The only exception for bringing serfs into Aristozonex is for auction. And that requires a special sales license.

  “Let’s go get something to eat.” Ghil pulls on his dark beanie. “I know a low-key place off the beaten track that serves great food.”

  Buir’s eyes light up. “Ooh! I’ve been dreaming about this all day.”

  “We’ll bring you back some food,” I promise Velkan. “We won’t be gone long.”

  “Thanks.” He stretches a smile across his face, but I know how he really feels inside—that ache of being a misfit in a world that doesn’t see you as one of them, scarcely sees you as human. If there was anything I could do to change that for him, I would.

  I drop several pieces of dargonite into my pocket and slip on my old CipherSync. Once I use up all the credits on it, I’ll toss it for the newer model Sarth procured for me. I don’t know if we’ll have time tonight, but at some point, we’ll need to buy new clothes. We can’t hope to be considered legitimate traders dressed in Cweltan attire.

  Outside the cargo bay, the bright lights and billboards of Aristozonex make for a blinding show. We look around, awestruck, as we wait in line at the security gate to leave the docking station. When we reach the front of the line, the guard stamps a holographic reentry permit on our hands and we step through to the opulent world of Aristozonex.

  I stand at the curb in a daze, my head rotating side to side as I try to absorb all the sights and sounds assaulting me from every direction.

  “Keep a low profile,” Ghil says. “There are Minder
s everywhere. We don’t want to attract attention to ourselves.”

  “Do you mean those creatures with the tentacles?” Buir points at a row of shiny black mechanized objects lined up on the opposite curb.

  Ghil laughs. “No, Minders are Syndicate security forces, humans—for the most part. Those things are heliodrones. They deliver packages and other items throughout Aristozonex.” He points at the sky above us. “Eases up traffic congestion.”

  I crane my neck to see. Overhead, the sky is thick with heliodrones silently following lighted laser paths. Some clutch packages to their bodies, moving like giant stealth spiders that could descend on us at any minute.

  “LevCab service is over there.” Ghil gestures to our right at a fleet of driverless shuttle vehicles displaying holographic images of hotels and shopping emporiums with constantly changing electronic deals and offers. “But we’ll hoof it to the restaurant tonight. It’s not far, and you’ll see more that way.”

  Buir and I exchange flabbergasted looks as we follow Ghil along the sidewalk into the bustling metropolis up ahead. I can’t help but stare at the people passing by dressed immaculately in iridescent jumpsuits. Their skin is eggshell flawless and the adults all appear to be a similar age. I haven’t seen anyone who looks even close to my father’s age.

  A vast array of vendors line the sidewalks, but the businesses here are nothing like the makeshift stalls at the fueling port. Elegant glass buildings rise to staggering heights in the sky, switching color and advertising flash sales and an ever-changing display of inventory at dizzying speeds. Tantalizing aromas of unidentifiable foods drift our way as we walk. My stomach rumbles in response and I quicken my pace.

  I frown when we pass a sign for a dermal sculptor outside an elegant building, more understated than most. “What’s a dermal sculptor?” I ask Ghil, as I scan the menu of services.

  “Maintenance crew,” he says with a grunt. “They keep you looking twenty-five for the rest of your life.”

  “So that’s why everyone here looks so young.” I read aloud to Buir and Ghil. “Facial reconfiguration, blemish removal: we’ll rid you of your imperfections. Offering home visits for convenience. Discretion guaranteed.” I laugh. “Anything you’d like to get rid of?”