Dark Star Rising

by Bennett R. Coles

  Sky’s movements were quick and precise, and before Amelia had even started lacing her boots the assaulter was fully dressed and slipping past her toward the door.

  “See you at the brow, PO,” was all Amelia heard before the door shut.

  On an impulse, Amelia grabbed her own bicep and flexed it under the rough material of the shirt. There was strength there, she reminded herself. And she’d proven herself in combat enough times that she knew Sky respected her. Maybe it was just that look Sky had given her, the night they’d left the Brightlake ball and headed straight back to the ship—the assaulter had seemed less than impressed when Amelia had swirled in with a ball gown big enough to fill the entire cabin. Amelia had been forced to grab her uniform and head down to the stores office to change, so voluminous had the dress been, and in the stores office the gown still hung. She couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Maybe next time Sky could attend the ball—perhaps on Chief Butcher’s arm.

  Amelia’s guffaw filled the cabin as she laced her second boot, strapped on her shoulder holster with pistol contained, and threw on her worker’s jacket. Stepping out into the passageway she began tying her long hair up into a bun as she made her way toward the brow where Sky and Swift were waiting for her.

  The sailing officer was dressed in the same charcoal-gray clothes as she and Sky, and a cap hid his bald head. A rugged leather bag was draped over one shoulder, the pouch hanging in front of him. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and hunched his shoulders. The effect was subtle, but it somehow entirely changed his appearance.

  Sky was learning how to slouch, but it was still hard to believe that she was anything other than a bodyguard when they went ashore. Not that this threatened their cover, as places like Windfall were filled with toughs for hire, but it was always best to keep the assaulter in the back of their little crowd.

  Amelia frankly worried most about her own ability to blend in. Putting her hair in a bun and wearing baggy clothes certainly changed her appearance, and from a distance she knew she might even be mistaken for a young man. But pretty women got noticed in places like this, and she was only too aware of the glances her way whenever she accompanied Liam ashore as cargo master. She fixed a scowl on her face, like she did when she left a tavern back home and wanted no company. Hopefully it would be enough of a disguise from her usual smile.

  Liam arrived moments later, still dressed as Stonebridge. He gave them all a quick once-over, nodding in approval. He held up the folder of cargo manifests, opening it to show the ore shipment from Labyrinthia.

  “Your mission today is to find the warehouse where a few of the shipments are being stored, particularly this one. I’m not so worried about the cargos themselves, but about the people guarding them. We need to get a sense of who we’re dealing with.”

  “Do you suspect Dark Star agents?” Sky asked.

  “Possibly. Are you all familiar with their code words?”

  Amelia had been studying the files seized from Black Hand, including a series of passwords and responses shared throughout the pirate organization. With that capture so recent, it was doubtful anyone knew that Black Hand had been compromised.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered. Sky and Swift both nodded.

  Liam handed the sheaf of cargo orders to Swift, who slipped it into his bag.

  There was a long moment of silence. Amelia was eager to get going and she sensed the same from her teammates. But Liam was clearly hesitating.

  “You can’t come on every mission, sir,” Swift said finally. “And on this one you’d just be in the way.”

  “You’d be a liability, frankly, sir,” added Sky.

  “I know,” he sighed. “Good luck to you all.”

  He wanted to say more, Amelia could tell, but he held his tongue and retreated into the ship.

  “You got an idea of where to start?” Sky asked Amelia.

  “I have a plan on how to get a conversation started,” she said, suppressing her instinctive grin, “and I think it might help our coffee problem in the senior mess.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Swift muttered.

  They departed across the brow one at a time to minimize activity on their berth. Sky went first and Swift followed a minute later. Amelia counted down in her head, then stepped through the airlock tunnel and back onto the station. She nodded to Flatrock, who stood, in shabby merchant sailor attire, as brow’s mate and then strode across the open space of their berth toward the low fence that acted as a useless security feature between the ships and the promenade.

  Down here at the end of the line of berths traffic was light, but within moments she was slipping through the increasing pedestrian crowd as locals went about their daily business in Windfall. Many others wore working clothes similar to hers and no one spared her more than a glance as she weaved past shoulders and arms toward the nearest tavern. Swift and Sky loitered near its front door, looking bored and tired, but they both fell into step behind her as she walked past. She ignored them, making her way along the central street until she reached the Cup of Plenty.

  The patio was half-full and Amelia strolled through the patrons, selecting a table close to the door. She allowed herself a single, wistful glance inside, but knew that common workers like her could never afford to enter. She sat down, Sky and Swift pulling up chairs opposite her. With her back to the wall she could survey the entire patio and the merchant stalls beyond. No one gave them a glance as the bustle of the promenade continued around them.

  Within a few minutes, Bella emerged with an empty tray in hand, clearing up a vacant table. Her body almost seemed to slither between the tables as she moved, her small head snapping left and right as she surveyed her customers. Her raised tail moved with flowing grace behind her, tracing a perfect path between the tables. Amelia caught a few glances from patrons at the tail, in the typical distaste for aliens she saw everywhere.

  Bella weaved around the patio, finally spotting Amelia and her shipmates. The reptilian head jerked back slightly, but she continued her graceful approach.

  “Welcome back, Arr-meh-lay-arr,” she said. “May I bring you and your friends something?”

  “We unfortunately don’t have a lot of time,” Amelia said, motioning Bella closer. “But I was wondering if I might purchase a bag of your coffee to take back to our ship.”

  Bella bobbed her head up and down. “Of course. What size of bag?”

  Amelia shrugged, opening her hands to suggest a standard sack. “Enough to last us for the next voyage.”

  The Theropod flicked her nose toward the alley beside the patio. “Come to our kitchen door and we can help you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bella moved off and Amelia rose. Swift and Sky followed her out of the patio, around the fence and down the alley. The light from the promenade spilled down the narrow path between buildings, and a single lamp illuminated a door set into the brickwork. Amelia weaved past the garbage bins and ignored the rats scurrying in the shadows.

  The door opened and Bella peered out. No, Amelia suddenly realized, noticing the ridged crests on the Theropod’s head running from the nostrils to above the eyes, this was the male.

  “You are here for coffee?” he asked through his translator.

  “Yes, Bella said to come here.”

  The Theropod’s head cocked, then he shifted back, motioning Amelia to follow. She stepped through the door, reveling in the sudden wash of glorious cooking smells. The kitchen was surprisingly large, with expansive floorspace between the low counters. To her left she saw a pair of ovens with trays of raw pastries waiting to be baked, ahead she saw a cleaning station and to her right were stacks of shelves, perhaps half-full of supplies.

  The door on the far wall knocked open as Bella glided through, her head rising up as she spotted Amelia and the other Humans.

  The male switched off his translator for a moment, and the kitchen echoed with a series of growls and hisses, ending in a distinctly forced Beh-lahhh. Bella barked i
n laughter, her head bobbing playfully with his for a moment. She padded over to Amelia.

  “My husband thinks your name for me is very funny. He wants a Human name, too.”

  Amelia looked the male Theropod up and down, noting the utilitarian gray coveralls that draped his powerful, reptilian form. “What is your name, sir?”

  Bella repeated the question in their language.

  Translator still off, he opened his mouth and rumbled a single syllable.

  “Saaarhm,” Amelia repeated. She thought for a second. “How about Sam? That is a popular Human name.”

  Bella translated, and then flicked at him to turn his device back on.

  He tried out the new sound a few times, and both Theropods barked. He reactivated his translator.

  “It is a funny name—I like it.”

  “I am glad to offer amusement,” she said. “And to be able to address you without burning my own throat.”

  Sam bobbed his head, then motioned with clawed hands for Amelia to follow him to the shelves. He pointed up at several sacks of coffee, marked with colored tags of various hues.

  “These two varieties are what we serve on the patio—full-bodied and strong. They are very nice, but from what Beh-lahhh tells me your captain is a man of refined tastes.” He shifted forward and pointed at the next sacks. “These two varieties are our finest imports, very difficult to obtain, but well worth the price.”

  “My captain is indeed a man of taste,” she replied, “but we humble crewmembers can get by with one of your delicious patio blends. Plus, I wouldn’t want to take your last bag of the good stuff.”

  Sam glanced between the sacks. There were four bags each of the lesser blends, but the single bags of the premiums were both clearly half-empty already.

  “We will always get more eventually,” he said.

  A hiss from Bella didn’t translate, but Amelia guessed it was a caution.

  “Perhaps I will buy just a small pouch of your finest blend for my captain,” she offered, before pointing at one of the patio varieties, “and a sack of this for the crew.”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “We do have certain clients who are also regular patrons of our finer blends. It would be a shame to run out before the next shipment.”

  “Especially if they steal another sack.” Bella’s voice was soft, but the translator relayed her words at regular volume.

  “Are you having problems with thieves?” Amelia asked.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Bella said, gathering up her tray and heading for the café door. “Just one time. I need to see to our customers.”

  She swatted aside the door and disappeared.

  Sam had moved to a counter where a ledger rested. He took up a pen and began scratching out an invoice.

  “Do not worry about her,” he said. “We are used to dealing with chaos.”

  He showed Amelia the price for the coffee and she nodded her agreement.

  “She mentioned earlier that there are new people on the station, possibly making trouble.”

  “No more trouble than anywhere else. You should visit a Theropod world some time. A Human gang is no trouble for us.” Sam stood up in his stance to look her in the eye. “But I sense they may be trouble for you. They have asked many questions about your ship.”

  “So I hear. I don’t know why—we’re simple merchants.”

  “It is your captain they ask about. They seem very interested in Human lords.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. We have no such thing within our people.” He cocked his head. “Why do you have lords?”

  Amelia’s lips twisted in a smile. It was a good question.

  “I don’t know,” she answered.

  “Do you want to take your coffee now?”

  “No,” she said, digging into her pocket to pull up enough coins to pay. “Can you please deliver it to our ship by the end of the day? Sophia’s Fancy—berth twelve. We have some other things to do right now.”

  Sam bobbed his head. “I will bring them by this evening after we close.”

  “Thank you.” She made to go, but then pretended to have a sudden thought. She motioned Swift closer and pulled out the cargo manifests. She showed Sam the warehouse listed on the top of the sheet. “Can you tell me where this is?”

  His third eyelids flicked as he leaned in to examine the writing. His nose moved between Amelia and Swift.

  “Yes, it is on this level. But it is controlled by the people who ask about you.”

  “Oh!” Amelia feigned surprise. “Then we will go somewhere else. Can you tell me where this is, though, so that we can stay clear?”

  Sam considered for a second, then gave her the directions.

  “They are dangerous people,” he warned, “and we like you. Stay clear of them.”

  “We like you, too,” she said, stepping back and bowing slightly. Sam lowered his stance in a reciprocal gesture. “And we look forward to enjoying many more cups of your delicious coffee.”

  With a final farewell she led her team back out through the alley.

  “I’m never going ashore without you again,” Swift said. “You could charm a Sectoid.”

  Memories of strapping herself to a Sectoid thorax as it skittered up to the ceiling to check hanging water bulbs flashed through Amelia’s mind. What a ride that had been.

  “Way ahead of you, Mason. Let’s go find these pirates.”

  Windfall was a big enough and busy enough place that three common workers were barely noticed, and Amelia sensed no unusual attention directed their way as they moved along with the crowds. The promenade began to narrow, the ceiling closing in, until the space station’s true form became clear. The starlight faded as the high windows were left behind, replaced by a dull, yellow glow from periodic wall lamps. Amelia brushed past another pedestrian as she stepped over an airlock lip, her eyes straining to read the letters and numbers over the wide cargo doors on either side of the passageway. Dark, narrow alleys periodically stretched away left and right. Foot traffic dwindled, until the three of them were the only visible travelers in the corridor.

  Finally, Amelia spotted their destination. Rolling double doors were open enough for a single person to walk through, with no guards or anything to draw attention. Just under the address she saw a scrap of paper attached to the wall. On it was a simple black cross. She traced her finger along it.

  “A dark star,” Sky muttered.

  Amelia nodded. They were clearly in the right place. She peeked through the opening and stepped into an open, square space wide enough for half a dozen people to form a circle with outstretched hands. On three sides a chain-link fence stretched to the ceiling and beyond were shelves and pallets with sacks and crates scattered under the dim amber lamps.

  A middle-aged woman sat behind a shabby desk, flanked by a large, younger man. Both stared at Amelia with what she could only feel was aggressive indifference. She felt a touch of relief as she heard Swift and Sky step in behind her. Adopting her own scowl, Amelia reached back and into Swift’s bag, pulling out the cargo manifest.

  “Hey,” she said to the woman at the desk, “we’re here to check out some cargos for a ship.”

  The woman cast dubious eyes over them, then held out her hand for the manifest. Amelia handed it over.

  “What ship are you with?” the woman asked.

  “I don’t know,” Amelia replied. “We were hired to come and confirm these cargos. Some out-system ship I haven’t heard of. You guys catch the name?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. Swift shrugged, eyes down at his feet as he breathed through his mouth. Sky shook her head, absently scratching her ear. Amelia turned and leaned on the desk, offering a resigned expression.

  “You got these cargos, or are we in the wrong place?”

  The woman’s hard eyes were clearly assessing, but she handed the sheet to her companion. “Show ’em, Luke.”

  Luke took the paper and unlocked the chain-link door leading into the
warehouse. He motioned for Amelia to follow.

  “You two go,” she said to Swift and Sky. “And actually use your measuring tapes this time.”

  She cast a weary look at the woman and got the glimmer of a smile in return.

  Swift and Sky passed through the door but paused as Luke called back.

  “Hey, Mary—is this the refined ore, or raw?”

  “Raw. It’s over on the left.”

  Mary gave Amelia an eye roll of her own. “Hard to get good help, isn’t it? I lost my best loader last month—took off as crew on a fancy new cutter headed to Passagia.”

  The phrase was delivered so casually Amelia almost missed it. But there it was: mention of a cutter to Passagia. The opening phrase of the pirate identity exchange.

  “Shame,” she replied nonchalantly. “But if it had been going to Cornucopia I’d have been on it myself. You seen the planets in that system?”

  Mary’s expression shifted in acknowledgment, but her eyes narrowed. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded.

  “I don’t know you,” she said simply.

  “I don’t know you, either,” Amelia replied, hardening her expression. Silence hung heavily between them for a long moment.

  Finally, Mary shrugged. Her posture relaxed visibly and she glanced toward the shadowy forms of Luke and the others deep in the warehouse.

  “What ship are you really with?”

  “Black Hand. She’s still in space, though—I just came in on a boat to check in. Gotta report how we took down a Navy ship that was tailing us.”

  A single eyebrow raised on Mary’s otherwise bland expression, but it was enough to indicate her sudden interest.

  “The Navy put up a fight?”

  “Sure, but with ol’ Double Swords on our side we hacked our way through.”

  “Never heard him called that,” she said with a breath of a laugh. “What’s he think of your nickname for him?”

  “You think I say it to his face?”