by Nick Webb
“It’s been six months,” Trudi said one night, as they shared a table. “You going to waste the rest of your life here, drinking jimjack and mourning? I don’t think Selina would have wanted that.”
Liza shrugged, and took another sip of the tangy beer.
“I’m leaving next week,” Trudi said.
“What?” Liza set her beer on the dinged-up metal table. “You’re leaving the mines?”
The older woman nodded. The lines on her face were carved deep, but her eyes were serene.
“With the settlement, and what I have saved up, I got a place out on Chugo. Small, but I don’t need much room. Miner’s pension will keep me in tea and crackers. I’m going to write those stories like Rand always told me to, instead of just dreaming about them. His memory deserves better than this.”
She waved her hand at the cantina, but Liza knew she meant all of it—the dusty mining complex, the thankless work, the hard edges everywhere a person turned.
“Good for you.” Liza meant it, and something kindled deep inside her. She wouldn’t call it hope.
What does Selina’s memory deserve?
The keyboard in the corner waited. It was too late for Selina to hear her play, but Liza still heard her words. Would always hear them.
“You’ve got light inside you, novia. Let it shine.”
What better tribute could Liza give, than to play? To let the emotions bottled up inside her fingertips, inside her heart, rush free.
Before she could change her mind, she rose and went to the instrument. The protective bubble was gritty with dust. She folded it back, then wiped her fingers on her coveralls, trying to get some of the grime off.
The bartender came up beside her, towel tucked through his belt.
“You know how to use that thing?” he asked, squinting at her.
“I used to play. You mind?”
“Go ahead.” He glanced at the half-empty cantina, the shadows and weary faces. “Might be all to the good.”
Liza nodded. It might.
She sat on the small, padded bench in front of the keys. They marched off to either side, traditional black and white, orderly and serene. Above them was a row of colorful buttons and a screen display. She could create any sound she wanted, but tonight, just the piano.
Holding her breath, she flicked on the power switch.
A comforting hum came from the speakers mounted on either side of the keys, and the screen and buttons glowed with light.
Liza wasn’t familiar with this model, but it was made by Yamaha, similar to the keyboard she’d learned on. It had taken two years before her strict tutor had allowed her to play the behemoth grand piano kept in the climate-controlled music room of the palace she’d grown up in, and she doubted many of those vintage instruments had been exported off Earth.
The keyboard, though, there were plenty of those scattered across the galaxy. Even out here, on the edge.
Selina.
The name flared across her thoughts, and she realized that along with the pain, there was an echo of joy. Then sorrow blossomed up inside again, a dark, shining flower of loss. Liza caught her breath and set her hands on the keyboard.
It took a moment to adjust to the action of the keys, to press with just enough force. She stopped and tweaked the volume, then adjusted the foot pedal that was still, miraculously, attached.
Then she played, letting the tears fall down her cheeks, letting the grief pour from her body. Moonlight Sonata, then Barber’s Adagio. River Flows in You and The Rose.
Her fingers, stiff from her long shifts in the mines, slowly loosened. Her shoulders ached, but she ignored them. Her heart ached more.
The feel of the cantina changed—softened, warmed.
Liza didn’t know how long she played. As long as she needed to. But when she turned, stretching her sore arms, she found that the room was full again. The quiet light shone on faces that had, for a few moments at least, found some peace.
Selina. The memory was a punch to her gut.
Liza would never forget.
But she couldn’t live with that raw ache right up next to her heart, day after day. And she couldn’t stay there in the belt any longer. There were new planets to explore, even if she didn’t have Selina to explore them with.
She thought of the dark universe stretching out around them, seeded with tiny specks of stars. Each one just a pinprick of light, yet together they held the blackness at bay. She owed it to Selina’s memory to shine, however dimly.
To be one more star against the night.
“Will you play again, tomorrow?” Trudi asked, smiling. A tear track etched through the dust on her cheek.
“Yes,” Liza said. “I will.”
Q&A with Anthea Sharp
What was your inspiration for this story?
After the terrible events of the summer of 2016, and particularly the shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, I was constantly on the edge of grief. Reading the texts sent from Eddie Justice, trapped in the club, to his mother completely shattered me, and I found myself wondering daily; How can a person keep going after such tragedy? How can we possibly pick up the pieces and move forward when the universe is so full of terrible things?
I wrote, a lot, and finally found my answer in this story. It might not be your answer, but I have to believe that every piece of light, every kind and good thing we can do in our lives, must surely push back the darkness.
(Proceeds from the sale of this story have been donated to help victims of the shooting in Orlando, and especially the Justice family, at https://www.gofundme.com/2929hs6c/donate)
Do you write happier tales?
Yes! Most of my work is much lighter than the story in this anthology. My bestselling Feyland series is a blend of high-tech gaming and ancient faerie lore (it’s been described as “Ready Player One with faeries”), and is more on the YA side, with a touch of romance. The first book in the series, Feyland: The Dark Realm, is free at all ebook retailers.
Tell us more about the setting of One More Star, Shining.
This story is one of several shorter pieces I’ve written to explore the edges of a Victorian Spacepunk universe—one where Queen Victoria was replicated by aliens in 1850 and reigns, basically, forever. You can find more Victoria Eternal stories in my Stars & Steam collection, and I’m currently working on a brand-new novel set in this Galactic British Empire.
Where can we find out more about you and your writing?
Head on over to https://antheasharp.com/ where you can join my mailing list (and get a free story!) and learn more about the Feyland series, plus take a peek at all the various shenanigans I’m up to in the writing world.
Tabitha’s Vacation
by Michael Anderle
What you thought you knew about vampires is wrong... so very, very wrong.
Over a thousand years ago, the first human stumbled across a crashed Kurtherian alien ship, and was enhanced to help the alien race fight a war. Unfortunately, he left the ship confused, in pain and incompletely modified. His next twelve centuries and beyond created additional changed humans... what folklore called Vampires.
Bethany Anne, chosen as the final Matriarch to be charged with the responsibility for all Vampires, helped clean up issues between Vampires and Werewolves and prepared for the defense of Earth. Now, she has taken the fight out among the stars. She created a group to enforce the law—enhanced humans to track down and exact justice in her name. And one time, Ranger Tabitha was told to go on a non-vacation, vacation.
Because sometimes the only way to rest is to get rid of restless energy.
CHAPTER ONE
One Problem, One Ranger.
I WALKED INTO Rossini’s Bar on Planet Bectal with what my boss calls a physical ailment—a short temper and a bad case of I-don’t-give-a-shit. I was grumping to him for the third monthly meeting in a row about nothing to do when he came to check on me in my area of the sector. As my doctor, he prescribed
a two-month vacation.
My boss knows me too damned well.
He isn’t going to lose my services for the three months. It’s three because I need two weeks travel both ways, and he knows I know he’s still getting work out of me. So, he can kiss my ass on the actual travel time. I booked that on the nicest, most expensive luxury liner on this side of the Galaxy for my vacation, everything else was going to be work. Perhaps fun work, but work nonetheless.
Here on Bectal’s world, I would just be doing my job. Some vacation. Poking the alien equivalent of anthills, looking under disgusting rocks and kicking over dilapidated buildings to see what maggots from the local equivalent of the criminal world squirmed away. Hoping to be faster than I could figure out what the hell they’ve done wrong and if necessary, shoot them.
My usual area of responsibility was two solar systems back and one up and damned if it wasn’t getting too boring. It had taken me thirty years, but I’d finally gotten most organizations to understand The Queen Bitch’s Rule for her Rangers which is ‘One Problem-One Ranger.’ The corollary to it, from my boss, is Rangers have no limits for our backup, it just can’t be another Ranger.
One time, on the Sver’an planet, I got into a shouting match with the equivalent of the local Warlord. I hadn’t wanted to lay waste to half a city just to pull out his good-for-absolutely-nothing second cousin from his whatever-the-hell the third parent was called in their family group.
So, in front of him and his men, I told him I would call for a battalion of the Queen Bitch’s Guardians if he didn’t produce the miscreant.
That rat-faced POS just stared at me and called my bluff. He didn’t know us Rangers very well. So I did.
Call, that is.
Because as a Ranger, we have a direct link to the Queen Bitch herself, Bethany Anne. The conversation back then went something like this:
“Tet’gurky, you will produce your psychotic murdering little prick from god-knows-what-you-call-the-baby-momma or I’ll call in a battalion of the Queen’s Guardians to pull his useless ass out of this city.”
I was rather angry at the time. It was my third time to this hellhole of a planet, and those living here were having problems with the Queen’s version of justice. Which is to say, ‘be nice to each other, or else.’ Some alien species had a real problem with the nice part. Oh, it isn’t that they don’t understand the concept, it is pretty universal, it’s that they have lived so long on the, ‘those who have strength rule,’ corollary that when someone comes along with more strength, they have to test it.
A lot.
All the damn time—it was starting to piss me off. Sure, the first time a people test Bethany Anne’s rules I get it. By the second time, I’m wondering if this area just didn’t get the memo (and I call to make sure the PR department sent the damn memo.) By the third time, it’s just a case of who is backing down first, them, or me.
It sure the hell isn’t going to be me.
So, it was my third time speaking to Tet’gurky so I figured he had to have read the memo, and they had done the research, and the rumors about Bethany Anne’s Guardians had to have made their way around the planet from the fighting two solar years back.
But the little prick answered me, “Do it, Ranger Tabitha.” He waved his furry little arms around his Warren with the other fifteen leaders of his clan, “I don’t think we are so significant to the Queen Bitch that she would waste such valuable resources as a battalion of her finest soldiers to locate one little problem child.”
“He’s not a child, Tet’gurky, he’s created his own little psychopaths with baby mommas,” I answered.
“You say psychopath, we say the strongest is always right. He was the strongest.” Tet’gurky’s sibilant laughter spread to the fifteen little rat-faced throats around him, and it pissed me off.
It wasn’t my job to kill them all, no matter how upset I was at being laughed at. My job was bringing the little bastard to justice for killing someone on the world under my jurisdiction. So, fuck’em.
Bethany Anne?
Hello, Tabitha!
Do you have a second to chat? I asked. While she is a friend, she’s still the Queen and even after a hundred and fifty years, I treat her as my liege first, my friend second.
Yes, I’m en route to check on a diplomatic impasse. We’re in the middle of a transition, recalculating the heading. I fucking hate this shit. Some of the ships with us are so damned slow.
Well, if you didn’t ride in the fastest chariot, perhaps you wouldn’t be so impatient.
Yeah, well, some things don’t change with age. But, enough about me, what’s up with you? You rarely call just to say ‘hi.’
Sorry about that. Bethany Anne was right. I did rarely call just to chat. I’ve got a problem here on Sver’an where I’m trying to pull out a POS. I either need to get help from the local Warlord, who is related to the little creep, or drop a lot of shock and awe to make them produce the freak. Or actually tear apart this city to get to him. So, I told him to produce, or I’d request help.
He called your bluff, did he? Bethany Anne laughed.
Yes! Little turd-magnet says he doesn’t think his little cousin-or-other is important enough for you to support me.
Tabitha, have you changed your body recently to grow red hair? she asked me.
No, why? I responded, confused.
Because your language when you change your body to grow red hair reverts back to when we first met.
Oh, hadn’t noticed.
Either way, tell him that I will speak to him within two galactic-standard hours, and he will produce his cousin. If I’m waiting more than five minutes, I’ll find his cousin, and he and his men are forfeit. Please keep the area calm until then.
Wait, what? I just need a battalion. I’m not asking you to show up.
I understand, but think about your reputation. When you threaten a Queen’s Battalion on this nowhere little planet, and the Queen Bitch shows up?
Yeah, but which rep? The one with the criminals, or the one in the Rangers? I complained. My group is going to laugh their asses off.
Well, the rep with the Rangers is your own to deal with. Besides, Barnabas is going to think this is funny as hell.
Yeah, well he would. I grumped.
All right, Pilot says the new course is locked in and I’ve told the group I’ll catch back up to them on the third jump. Besides, you can tell the other Rangers I was bored.
You are bored, I told her.
See! When you tell the truth, the truth will set you free.
With that, she closed off our connection.
I looked back over at Tet’gurky, a clearly noticeable annoyance showing on my face.
“What?” he asked, an expression I’d learned was glee for his kind, “Did she tell you to figure it out on your own?” He gave that shitty laugh again, and his group took it up. Sixteen annoying hissing laughs.
“No,” I told him, “She said to tell you she would be here within two galactic-standard hours, and you would either produce him within five minutes, or every one of your lives here are forfeit,” I smiled sardonically back at him.
Tet’gurky’s laughing stopped abruptly and his face turned angry, “She didn’t! You lie to continue this negotiation.” He was leaning towards me. I wanted to punch his nose out the other side of his skull.
“No, you ass,” I reached into my duster and pulled out a clock timer. It’s a rolled up little piece of plastic maybe ten inches long and four tall. I had my cyber-core program it to two galactic standard hours. That was about three and a half hours on this world. I walked over to the wall to the left of his desk. We had been bitching at each other in the back room of a bar. It had seven round tables in it and five of them were filled. I took a knife from under my coat and pinned the clock to the wall, stabbing it hard to hold it in place, turned to the table next to me, grabbed a chair and sat down. “When that reaches zero, if the Queen hasn’t shown up, I’ll leave.”
T
he men all looked back to Tet’gurky, for guidance, I guessed. “So, that is a Ranger’s promise?” he asked. Apparently, rat-face had been studying.
I nodded, “Yes, it is. More, it’s a promise from Ranger Tabitha specifically.” I had cultivated the hell out of never personally swearing on my name unless I knew something would happen. “If she isn’t here within two hours, I walk without your cousin. However, if she is here within two hours, she expects your cousin to be here as well. I’m sure you know the ‘or else’ if that doesn’t happen,” I smiled at him. To a lot of aliens, a human smiling is a scary sight. Sver’an smile showing their teeth during negotiations as well, so no psychological benefit to me.
“What if I have him brought nearby, are you going to grab him and leave?” Tet’gurky asked, “Is this another Ranger trick?” he hissed, a little worry cracking through his mask of boldness.
Well, shit. He had been researching the Rangers, and specifically me. I enjoyed tricking the hell out of my foes. It kept the many years of my life interesting.
“Nope, no trick. I’ve talked with the Queen, and she should be here soon. I guess she was in the neighborhood... and bored.” I faked a yawn and looked back up at the clock. Three minutes had elapsed. Shit, this was going to be one long ass boring two hours.
Then again, I started to see Tet’gurky sweat, so maybe it wasn’t.
I reached under my duster for another knife and began to clean my fingernails with it. It was all show. This knife was dull. The knives I actually use would slice my fool fingers off at the tip, and I’d have to grow them back. Which, frankly, for fingers is an annoying pain in the ass as it makes it difficult to grab shit. The other Rangers think it’s funny as hell to give you a sphere large enough you need the non-existent tips of your fingers to grab.
