Star Rebels: Stories of Space Exploration, Alien Races, and Adventure

by Audrey Faye

  Still, she couldn’t help but experience a sinking sensation as she built their unknown client’s system piece by piece and wondered how they could possibly get it all done on time. She’d stay up tonight, and tomorrow as well, but any more sleep deprivation than that, and she had a feeling that she’d end up with her face planted right into her keyboard.

  It was very quiet. Their neighborhood was shabby, but still one of the more peaceful sections of the city. Its inhabitants worked at the town’s bars and restaurants, or in the warehouses and factories that stored and processed the precious moon-moth silk that brought Iradia most of its income. At this time of night, if people weren’t at work, then they were sleeping, trying to store up their energy for another day laboring away in the desert world’s blistering heat.

  For some reason, though, Miala could feel the skin on the back of her neck crawl. A shiver went over her. Stupid, because her room was uncomfortably warm, even at just past midnight. Their landlord kept promising to service the cooling system, but he never did, so mostly what blew through the vents was barely processed hot air.

  The numbers on the screen in front of her blurred, and she blinked. Maybe it was time to take a break. A cold glass of water from the refrigeration unit might help to combat the heat, which was something she couldn’t seem to get used to, even though she’d never experienced anything else, had no idea what a world whose average daytime temperatures were below forty degrees Celsius would even feel like.

  Miala pushed her chair away from the worktable where she sat, then got up and headed to the kitchen. It wasn’t much, just the refrigeration unit, the dish sanitizer, and a tired old convective oven, all bordered by plastic countertops that had begun to delaminate years ago. Despite the dilapidated surroundings, the hum of the fridge calmed her a little. Silly, she knew. She wasn’t the type to jump at shadows. There were far too many of those on Iradia.

  She glanced over at the door to her father’s room. Shut, of course. He claimed that any noise distracted him, so Miala was used to tiptoeing around when he worked, and forget about knocking if she needed something. Long ago she’d learned to fend for herself unless it was a dire emergency.

  The water soothed her dry throat. She’d read about worlds that were mostly water, had seen holos of them, but even so, she couldn’t quite imagine what that would be like to see water stretching out free and blue on every side, for the air to be thick with its moisture, instead of so dry that it made your skin feel as if it had been stretched across your bones like the hide on a drum.

  Maybe one day, she thought. With the balance of what’s due us, and if Lestan can get another commission that pays as well —

  She cut herself off there. Now she was starting to sound just like her father. It was always the next score, the next job. One day the payoff would come that would get them away from Iradia and the long, hot, desperate days.

  Problem was, that day never did seem to come.

  From behind her, Miala heard the faint whoosh of the front door opening. She startled slightly, then realized it had to be her father coming back into the flat. Sometimes Lestan Fels would walk the neighborhood at night to clear his head, to enjoy a brief few moments when the temperatures dipped to something more tolerable. No one ever bothered him because he had nothing worth stealing.

  She turned, about to ask if he wanted a glass of water after his walk. Only that wasn’t her father advancing toward her, but the short, swarthy man who’d come to visit earlier that morning. The overhead light in the kitchen was just bright enough to reveal the glitter in his close-set dark eyes.

  Her first impulse was to scream, but what would that do? They didn’t own any weapons, unless you counted the dull knives in the kitchen drawer. And while her father could hold his own against any programmer she’d ever heard of, she knew his skills didn’t extend to hand-to-hand combat, so she doubted he would be of much help. Right then she could only thank God or whatever power guided the universe that she’d been working and was still dressed, rather than wearing the light knit shorts and sleeveless top that was her usual sleeping attire.

  Willing herself to remain calm, she crossed her arms and stared at the intruder. “It’s a little late for a business call, don’t you think?”

  The question seemed to puzzle him. He looked at her, taken aback for a second or two, before he recovered himself and said, “I just wanted to talk.”

  “‘Talk’?” she repeated. “Kind of a strange hour of the night to talk.”

  The man grinned at her. He did have good teeth, straight and white, but even that asset wasn’t enough to make him remotely attractive. “It’s nice and cool outside. Why don’t we take a walk?”

  Her pulse began to accelerate, but Miala forced in a breath and told herself not to panic. At least he was talking, instead of coming for her and dragging her outside by brute force. She couldn’t allow herself to glance at the door to her father’s room, because she worried if he tried to interfere, he’d end up hurt or worse. All the same, she was surprised he hadn’t come out to investigate, considering the smallest noise was usually enough to make him tell her she needed to be quiet while he worked.

  “I’d better stay,” she said carefully. While her father had lied and said she wouldn’t be doing any of the programming on this particular job, Miala didn’t see a problem with trying to make it sound as if she was indispensable in her own way. “My father usually asks me to bring him something to drink or make him a snack when he’s working. What if he comes looking for me and I’m not here? It’ll break his concentration — and that’ll put him behind. I’m sure your boss wouldn’t like that.”

  The stranger regarded her for a moment with narrowed eyes, clearly weighing what she’d just told him. Then his shoulders lifted. “We won’t be gone long. He’ll never notice.”

  “But — ”

  Her protest was cut off as he crossed the meter or so that separated them and took her by the arm. His whisper came harsh in her ear. “You wouldn’t want to do something that would disturb him, would you?”

  That was just the problem. Even the conversation they’d just shared, spoken as it was in more or less hushed tones, should have been enough to bring him out to the living room, complaining that they were making an unholy racket. Getting interrupted while he worked was about the only thing that could make him angry — well, that and asking about her mother. That he hadn’t emerged already worried Miala more than she wanted to admit.

  Worse, fear of the stranger thrummed along her veins. She wasn’t naïve enough to pretend she didn’t know what he wanted. Aldis Nova had plenty of dark alleys, quiet corners where anything could happen. About the most she could hope for was that he wouldn’t kill her afterward.

  Something hard and cold pressed into her side. She swallowed.

  “You just come with me, and he won’t have to know anything. No one will have to know anything. You play nice, I’ll play nice. Okay?”

  Since she didn’t trust herself to speak, she could only nod. The stranger dragged her toward the door, pistol grinding into her waist the entire way. Maybe she should have screamed. It was remotely possible that her father could have done something to defend her. What, exactly, she didn’t know, but wasn’t that what fathers were supposed to do?

  Go along for now, she told herself. This guy obviously isn’t all that smart — maybe you can get away while he’s distracted or something.

  Right.

  But since having a pulse pistol blast a hole in her stomach sounded even worse than letting this man do as he willed, she kept quiet as he pulled her outside. The night breeze now felt pleasantly warm, rather than oppressively hot, but Miala was in no position to enjoy it. If only this part of town had a pub or restaurant — anything that might still be open at this hour. That way, it was possible someone might see her. But the streets were deserted, illuminated faintly by the light of a single moon, with not even a glimpse of the scavenger reptiles that usually flicked their way from sheltered spot
to sheltered spot as they looked for food.

  The stranger was quiet as well, guiding her along with an inexorable pressure on her arm. Miala had no idea what his destination might be. Some seedy hostel where no one would bother to see why she was screaming? Or would he not even make the effort to go that far, but instead find an isolated corner that suited him, and take her there?

  I will scream, she thought then. I’ll scream and scream, even if no one is around to hear me, and I’ll knee him so hard he won’t be able to piss for a week. And then I’ll run.

  Brave words. Whether she’d have the courage to do such a thing when the time came, she had no idea.

  Miala had her answer soon enough, because after being hauled along for several blocks or so, the pistol in her side the entire time, the stranger pulled her into an alley where even the dim moonlight couldn’t reach. In a way, maybe that was good. Maybe this would be easier if she couldn’t see his face.

  She could feel him, though, his hot breath against her neck, moving to her mouth. Her throat spasmed, and she wondered if she was going to be sick then and there, and what he would do if she did vomit.

  “That’s it,” he whispered, lifting his lips from hers for a second. “Nice and quiet.”

  Oh, no. Not even if he did blast a hole in her side. She’d rather be dead than — than —

  Despite her earlier vow, she didn’t scream. Almost without thinking, she brought her knee up into his groin with as much strength as she possessed. He let out a piercing howl, jerking the gun, which fired harmlessly into the wall instead of straight into her gut. She kicked him, too, for good measure, this time driving her booted foot into his side. He doubled over, breaths coming in tearing gasps, and she realized now was her best chance to escape.

  If she’d had more experience with that sort of thing, she might have tried to get the gun away from him, but Miala decided it was better for her to use her knowledge of the streets to flee, running at top speed down the opposite way from where they’d originally come. She didn’t dare go home — he was sure to follow her there — but she could head straight to the local garrison offices. Captain Malick wouldn’t be on duty, not at this hour, but most of the soldiers posted to this district of Aldis Nova knew her by sight if nothing else.

  She hadn’t gotten more than a block, however, when she saw a tall figure standing in the street, and skidded to a halt as she realized who this new stranger was.

  The tall, lavender-skinned man who had accompanied her would-be rapist to that meeting with her father.

  Shit. Miala looked frantically to her right and left, hoping that an alley would offer itself as a viable means of escape. But this street was lined with warehouses, blank-faced and unfriendly.

  Then his cool gaze seemed to move past her, to a spot somewhere behind her, and she risked a quick glance over her shoulder to see what he was looking at. Despite the warm night, ice flooded her veins. Because there was the lavender-skinned man’s partner, limping toward her with fury in his eyes.

  Before she could do anything, could decide which one was the lesser of two evils when it came to trying to get past them, the lavender-skinned man lifted the pulse pistol he held and fired. Miala’s entire body clenched.

  The pale blue pulse bolt lit up the dingy street as it flew past her and struck her erstwhile attacker in the chest. He fell onto the sandy ground, blank eyes staring lifelessly at her.

  “Well, then,” said the lavender-skinned man. “Let’s get you back to your father, Miala.”

  She walked next to him in silence. What the hell was she supposed to say? “Thank you” seemed woefully inadequate. He didn’t seem inclined to talk, either, only accompanied her back to the flat she shared with her father, then waited politely while she opened the door and went inside. The biometric lock had been shorted out, obviously by the man who’d assaulted her, but the door mechanism seemed to be working more or less normally. She supposed they’d have to find the money to fix the lock as well.

  The lavender-skinned man followed her. Strangely, she didn’t detect any menace from him. At least, none that was directed at her.

  “Lestan!” she called out. He’d never wanted her to call him “Dad” or “Father” or anything except his given name, and she’d never asked why. And after everything she’d just been through, she wasn’t about to scruple at interrupting him, no matter how involved he might be in his work.

  No reply. Despite herself, Miala couldn’t help darting a quick, worried look at the part-Eridani stranger. He waited in the living room, impassive, his elegant dark suit and fine-boned face strangely at odds with the shabby surroundings.

  The hell with it. She hurried to her father’s combination bedroom/office, and pushed the button to open the door. Once upon a time, it had a working lock, but that had failed years ago, just like so many other items in their flat.

  At least the door itself still functioned. It slid into the wall, wobbling slightly, and she ran into the room, then stopped dead.

  Her father was slumped over his keyboard, face pressed against the flat plastic in much the same way she’d envisaged herself an hour or so earlier, when she knew she had to get up or fall asleep. But his face was gray, almost as lacking in color as his hair.

  Oh, my God.

  She hurried to his side, then reached for his wrist. She wouldn’t let herself think about what she’d do if she couldn’t find a pulse.

  It was there, though. Weak, and erratic, but some faint life still moved through his veins.

  A slight rustle made Miala turn her head. The lavender-skinned man stood in the doorway, that same unreadable expression on his face.

  He’d helped her before, but would he help her now?

  “I think he’s had a heart attack,” she said, marveling a little at how calmly the words came out. “Can you call a med transport?”

  “I think you had better do that,” the man replied. “You are his daughter.”

  “But — ”

  “You know I cannot be connected to him.” This statement was made simply, as if Miala should have thought of such a thing.

  She didn’t have time for arguments. Lord knows how long her father had been passed out like that, and time only kept slipping by. Without speaking, she pushed past the stranger and went to the comm unit in the kitchen. At least there was a one-button push for emergency services — although those services came at a price. Nothing on Iradia was free.

  The voice answering her call was so flat and monotone, it could have belonged to a mech. Not that she much cared. At least someone was there to get the details of her situation, to tell her that a medi-transport would be there soon, and to have her credit voucher ready.

  Damn. That request sent a stab of panic through her, until she remembered that her father had put some of the deposit money for their current job in their credit account, and so there should be enough to pay for the transport. As for the rest of his hospital stay….

  The lavender-skinned man was watching her carefully. “It’s a good thing this is a lucrative contract, isn’t it?”

  She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  A faint smile touched his thin lips. “Your father told me that you would not be working on the project, but we all know the truth there, don’t we?”

  “I — ”

  He came closer, and Miala flinched. Not again. She didn’t have the energy to fight or run. She couldn’t run, not with her father lying near death in the next room and the medi-trans on the way.

  But the part-Eridani man only lifted his elegant shoulders and said, “Why do you think I killed Nilson? Your person means little to me, but your mind — that is important. The contract is important. So don’t linger too long at the hospital, Miala Fels. You have work to do.”

  With that parting shot, he turned and headed out the front door, even as the night began to be lit up with flashing orange lights, and the harsh sound of a siren rapidly approached the flat. And Miala could only stand there and watch him go, and wonde
r what the hell she was supposed to do now.

  First to the hospital, where the medi-mechs worked on Lestan and got him stabilized. He even recovered enough to blink up at her and ask weakly, “What happened?”

  And then stared at her in puzzlement as she began to laugh and laugh.

  She couldn’t stay long — just enough to see her father slip into sleep, real sleep, not anything brought on by drugs, and then she knew she had to go home and get to work. The lavender-skinned man hadn’t precisely threatened her, but she knew what the price of failure would probably be.

  Her father’s computer had automatically locked itself down, of course. Luckily, she knew the codes and got in without too much trouble. She couldn’t allow herself to feel relieved, though, not when she looked at the volume of work still left to be done. It had been daunting enough when she’d thought she and Lestan would be sharing the burden of the project. Now, though….

  His face came to her, pale and strained, wires and leads attached to his arm, his heart, his temples, mussing his already tousled gray hair. When had he gotten so gray, anyway? It seemed as if it had only been a few days ago when his hair was dark as the nighttime sky.

  Tears pricked at her eyes, but she wouldn’t allow them to fall. If she started to cry now, she feared she would never stop. She had to focus. Her father couldn’t do the work, but he’d been training her for this moment ever since she was old enough to set up her own passphrases. There was no reason in the world why she couldn’t handle this particular task. It wasn’t intrinsically difficult, only complicated. True, there was that little matter of getting some rest. She’d have to go back to the hospital to check on Lestan at some point, which meant choosing between catching a few precious hours of sleep or seeing her father.