by Candace Sams
“It wasn’t the king or the enforcers who killed your man, or your parents and friends, Nova. It was Prometheus and Adaman Forrell’s greed that did it.”
“I hear your words, Marcos. But the pain is all the same to me. The king and his people are among those who lust after gems of rare quality. If they loved their families more and their luxuries less, we’d all be better off.” She stood and walked to her pallet of blankets. “I think I’ll get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the marketplace and find you some clothing.”
Marcos watched her stretch out on the neatly arranged blankets and felt pettier than at any other time in his life. When she finally slept, he stared into the fire and began to think about his predicament and his next move.
To keep Nova safe, he’d have to stay dead. If Forrell or the slugs ever found out she was the one who helped him out of the pit and nursed him, they’d slaughter her. And he wondered how many of the women he’d slept with would have done as much.
The answer to that silent query left him feeling barren. As if she sensed his tension, Una got up from a small bed Nova kept for her and waddled to where he sat. She hopped into his lap as though she belonged there, and began making those strange whirring sounds. He picked up the peculiar animal, held her to his chest, and eventually made his way to his own bed.
• • •
Nova looked over her meager supplies and made a mental list of what she’d need. As she did once each month, she opened the jar of white pills her mother had insisted she have on hand and swallowed one of them.
“Those are birth control units, aren’t they?”
Nova quickly turned at the sound of his voice and blushed. “Yes. How did you know?”
“I have a lot of sisters.” Marcos wrapped a blanket around his body and moved closer to the fire. “When you get up each morning, I know. It’s cold as deep space when you aren’t lying near.”
She laughed. “I’ll add more blankets to the list of supplies.”
Marcos stared at the bottle she carefully placed back on a small rock jutting out of the wall. “Isn’t that a rather large supply of those?”
She stared at the bottle a moment before turning to him and answering. “When the slugs first arrived, my father found this cave and made it habitable. He knew my mother and I would be reasonably safe here. And the birth control monthlies were one of the first medicinals he bought at the market.” She paused. “Maybe you’ve heard stories about what Limaxians sometimes do to women. Getting pregnant with one of their spawn will cause a humanoid woman to die. There were plenty of women who were raped at first. My mother even tried to save a few of them when they conceived. But the species are incompatible, and death was inevitable. My father wanted me protected as well as my mother. I still have this large supply of monthlies, from their efforts. And I never miss taking one. Not ever. Even though I know my scars would scare even the drunkest slug away, I take them just in case.”
“Nova, buy my clothing and come straight back here.”
His commanding tone made her stare at him for a moment. “Don’t order me around. I’ll do as I see fit.”
He walked determinedly toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I-I want to come with you. Please, Nova. I’ll keep my head lowered and stoop over like I’ve seen others do. I’ll pretend to be a relative. If no one knows or recognizes you, it could work.”
“No.”
“Once I have the clothing, there’s nothing you can do to keep me from following you the next time.”
She arched one brow. “Then you’ll stay nude.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “I’ll sneak out some night and steal clothing for myself.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You will not.”
“I will.”
“You’ll be caught and tortured worse than anything you’ve already experienced,” she countered.
“It’s up to you. You’ve used up the supplies you had by helping me. It’s only right that I be there to help you.”
Nova chewed on her lower lip. “So, you only want to protect me out of gratitude?”
“I feel the two of us would be able to protect each other much better. Please try to understand.”
She considered his demand. “Are you well enough to walk far? Can you even make it to the marketplace?”
He hesitated.
“You’d be hampering me if you can’t run. It could cost us both.”
He took a deep breath and stared down at her. “Can we compromise?”
“How?”
“Buy what you need to see us through a week or two. I’ll work on my strength and stamina. The next time you go out, I go with you. All right?”
She thought it over. “You can regain enough of your strength in such a short time?”
“Watch me.”
The stoic expression on his face told her what she wanted to know. He’d do it or die trying. “All right. But we’ll have to work on how you act, the way you talk and walk. You stand out like a diamond in a barrel of coal.” She continued gathering her things for the long walk to the market.
When she threw on her cloak and pulled the hood up, he put one hand on her shoulder.
“Please, be very careful,” he told her.
The way he said it and looked at her made Nova want to melt. He really was concerned. She quickly covered his hand with hers. “I’ll be back before nightfall. I promise.”
“If you aren’t, clothes or not … cold or not … I’m coming after you.”
She believed he would. And that thought kept her movements efficient and swift.
• • •
“I’m sorry, Governor.” The guard took his helmet off and placed it on Forrell’s desk. “There have been no unusual sales of medical supplies, and we simply can’t find any man with eyes the color you’ve described. And if a healer helped the merchant, that person isn’t making an appearance.”
Forrell leaned forward, placed his hands on his desk, and thought for a moment. “It’s quite possible we’re looking for a man who has been dead for weeks. Even if someone helped him out of the damned pits, he might have died in some hovel or other. The key is whether there’s even one person on this miserable planet who could or would have helped him. Someone with enough knowledge to hide from both us and the Limaxians. That party is still a threat if they’re a dissenter. We still have missing guards. Who know what happened to them?” he boldly lied.
“Is there anything else we can do, Governor? Anything we haven’t tried?”
Forrell stood and slowly walked the length of his office while pondering the situation. “There was a woman … a Wiccan healer who I know for a fact is dead. I saw her corpse myself,” he muttered more to himself more than the guard.
He quickly sat back down and pushed a button on his desk computer that caused his vid-screen to rise from a secret compartment. He punched a few buttons and did a search of the general population before the slugs came.
“Of course! How stupid of me. I knew there was something I should have remembered.”
“Governor?”
“There are community records filed within what served as the old census bureau. If I can access those records, I might be able to find out if a healer exists; one who might have been able to help this merchant.”
The guard nodded. “But you’d have to go through the entire population.”
“Not necessarily. I’ll start with those I know had medical knowledge, then expand my search to their neighbors, friends, and anyone with whom they consorted. Make yourself comfortable. This could take a while.”
He motioned toward his private stock of spirits and fixed his attention on the task at hand.
The fearful query he lived with presently had to do with the missing merchant’s survival. What if someone had helped him—still assuming that merchant turned out to be a Starlaw. If that helper likely knew they had a prince of Luster in their abode—and the prince’s savior spilled his or her guts about hi
s governance of the colony—then what?
That he couldn’t have. Whether the Starlaw son lived or not, whoever had moved his remains or helped him had to be found, and before Prometheus did. There was still a chance he could save his hide and his official status if he could get to those missing/hiding parties first.
While the guard busied himself drinking, Forrell searched records for the next two hours until he found the part of the census that listed familial relations. He typed in Bellos Drayton’s name, and pulled up the particulars of the miner’s family history. As he read, a sense of discovery infused him.
“Well, well … my old nemesis seems to have been keeping secrets from me. But he knew I’d have killed his daughter, too, if I’d found her.
“Sir?” The guard finished off his drink and approached the governor’s desk once more.
Adaman swung his vid-screen toward the guard. “This is the image of an old enemy. He’s dead now, and I thought all those in his household died with him. But he was careful never to mention the fact that he had offspring. Of course, the fool didn’t know I could access these records. And I never would have wanted to had this entire incident with the merchant not occurred.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Governor.”
Forrell stood, walked to his stock of ale, and poured himself a goblet. “Do you remember some co-op miners being rounded up and put to death while some were enslaved in the mines?”
“Of course. But that was well over two years ago. I don’t think any of the enslaved ones are left alive. And even if there are, they’re in the bottom of a mile-long shaft digging gems. Any human down there that long loses their eyesight. They can’t even find their way back to the surface without help.”
“Quite true.” Forrell lifted his glass and sipped before speaking. “But back in those days, I was very new to this planet and had only been governor for a little over a year. Even though my term was short, I immediately met opposition. One of my chief rivals, a miner called Bellos Drayton, tried to stand against me in open elections.”
“Indeed, sir. I recall the incident. It is Drayton’s image on your screen.”
“Yes, it is. His wife was a Wiccan healer, and the only one among the population with such skills. According to the census last taken in those days, Drayton’s daughter was old enough to have learned some of the healing arts from her mother.” Forrell rubbed one hand across his forehead. “I remember telling Prometheus about Bellos Drayton and that miner’s incessant ridicule of my Limaxian associations. Because he needed me in power, the slug leader simply ordered his brawlers to kill Drayton and anyone who stood in the way.”
“That tactic is still being employed by the slugs,” the guard acknowledged.
“Yes. In Drayton’s case, I thought that was the end of that particular problem. And now I’m faced with putting myself in his shoes.”
The guard shook his head in bemusement. “And that means?”
“What I’m trying to say is that if I had a child living under the threat of death and wanted her to survive, I’d hide her. In the confusion back then, there were a lot of men being dragged into the night. And while Drayton and his wife certainly did end up in the pit and were incinerated, their daughter seems to have just vanished. There’s no census entry about her that dates later than a few months before her parents’ deaths.”
“And you think the girl is still out there somewhere, and that she could have something to do with the merchant’s body disappearing?”
Forrell shrugged. “I don’t know. But let’s find out, shall we? Perhaps that swaggering merchant—a man we know had enough gall to confront Prometheus—had friends on this world who’re looking to overthrow me,” he said, while pushing his lies yet again. “If that happens, funds I’ve generously filtered into the constabulary will cease. We could all end up facing accusations of theft, collusion and various other serious charges from the Constellation League and its interminable bevy of solicitors. Things won’t go well with any of us if you get my meaning, and I think you do.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard said. “Just give me information that I can use to search out some miner’s girl who could have hidden from us for over two years. Let me know where she might hide, and how she survived, and it’ll be my pleasure to find her.”
“Look for a Wyrdan girl in her mid to late twenties. Though they’re now considered human, most Wyrdans descended from a compatible alien race. They’ve bred with us for centuries. But most still possess some strange physical peculiarities. This girl’s mother certainly did.”
“Sir?”
Forrell sighed heavily and tried to explain better. “While her father was human, it’s quite possible that a few ancient Wyrdan differences were passed on to the daughter. Things like unusual purple eye color, elongated and pointed ears, diminutive size, and a certain graceful air. Her hair would likely bear the sparkling quality you might have seen the town whores attempting to emulate by applying glittering hair gloss.” He walked toward the vid-screen, punched some buttons, and brought up a new image. He then swung the monitor back toward the guard so the man could view an image of Bellos Drayton and his Wiccan wife. “Records say Bellos brought his bride here from Wyrdan. Take a look at this old image, originating from the time when they first arrived here. All immigrants back then were required to register. All you have to do is look for a girl who might have characteristics like her Wyrdan mother. Even if she’s been badly burned, if she still has eyes to see with they may be oddly colored.”
The guard walked forward, looked down at the screen, and smiled broadly. If she survives, we’ll find her. And we’ll do it before the Limaxians can figure us out.”
“Good. I’ll add a substantial bonus if you can bring her to me without anyone knowing. I need to question her about her healing abilities, and any knowledge she may have of the merchant’s missing body. She’s not to be harmed in any way. Not until I’m done with her.”
“Count on me, Governor. If she lives and looks anything like this she’ll stand out,” he said as he pointed toward the image of a beautiful woman with breast-length hair of frosted blonde and all the other characteristics that’d just been described.
Chapter 7
To keep himself busy and his mind off his missing hostess, Marcos began a regimen of a few, less-taxing calisthenics. His skin ached with the effort, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. As the day wore on, he grew tired of being cooped up in the cave with nothing more useful to occupy his time. Finally, he set about cleaning.
By the time he finished, everything was spotless. He even arranged a few metal crates, used for stools and tables, to best advantage. Then, he washed all the clothing and blankets he could find, hung up the laundry on a makeshift line stretched from one side of the small cave to the other, and reviewed his efforts. No matter what he did, he couldn’t help feeling frightened for the girl who’d saved his life. Common sense told him she’d survived for a long time without his help. But things were different now.
Feeling the biting cold, he managed to hang one of the heaviest of the drying blankets across the opening. The heat in the cave rose, so he considered his efforts a success.
After that, he pulled the blanket used to clothe him more tightly around his healing body and made his way just outside the cave’s entrance to collect more firewood. He noted how the trees of Delta Seven amounted to little more than saplings, and most in this barren part of the planet were dead or dying. It was easy to find branches and sticks to haul back inside the cave without revealing he’d done so.
When the wood was neatly stacked against one wall, he found the blankets were finally dry and warm. He neatly folded them and awaited Nova’s return. But as the day waned, he feared something had happened. Surely she never stayed gone so long? Even little Una seemed anxious and turned to him for comfort. He sat on one of the metal crates, holding the animal and making sure the fire stayed lit.
Oddly, watching the fire burn and stoking it wasn’t frigh
tening as some might think, given his recent encounter with that element. But while one fire was used for cooking and warmth, the other had been quite different. He had no trouble watching and sitting next to that which mankind had used for centuries to survive. The very mention of anything remotely having to do with plasma, however, made his gut ache horrifically.
As time went on, he paced. Surely something was wrong, or she’d be back by now. With the small amount of coins he’d given her, she couldn’t have made purchases to account for the time she’d been absent.
“Where the blazes is she?” he asked the little ball of fur at his feet.
Una turned toward the entrance to the cave, bounced up and down excitedly, and produced what passed for a bark.
“What is it, girl?”
“It’s just me,” came a soft voice from the entrance. “Oh, you’ve put a blanket up. Very good thinking. I think it will probably snow tonight, and the temperature is going to get much lower.”
Marcos breathed a sigh of relief when the small, heavily clothed figure appeared from the other side of the blanket. She was carrying several cloth bags full of goods, which he quickly took from her and set to one side.
“Where have you been?” he angrily blurted.
She blinked and stared at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You’ve been gone for hours. I was … Una and I were worried. Anything could have happened. It’s almost dark and you could have been caught out after curfew. It shouldn’t have taken you so long.”
