Storm Between the Stars: Book 1 in the Fall of the Censor

by Karl K Gallagher

  Marcus walked to the edge of the platform. A glance around revealed its advantages. He could see through gaps in the array of ardals to a park on the bottom level of the city. Looking up in a different direction showed a gap among the higher ardals clear to the gridded dome covering the city.

  There were only two more levels of ardals above them. The third level didn’t have anything they hadn’t seen below. They found the nearest escalator and went up.

  The ardals were the usual solid truncated-pyramid blocks on this level. Nothing stood out as worth investigating. A line of trees against the transparent outer wall looked no different from the ones on the level below. The pair headed toward the next ardal over to take the escalator up.

  As they approached it Marcus could hear a noise from the far side of the ardal. It was too steady to be a roar, too high-pitched to be a rumble. He steered Alys around the escalator and followed the sound.

  From the walkway along the ardal Marcus couldn’t see what was causing the noise. There was something past the ardal. He could see a shadow where normally sunlight would flow through the gap between structures.

  The noise grew louder as they kept walking. At the corner of the ardal they couldn’t hear each other speak. The source of the shadow was visible as a mass of trees.

  Coming around the corner they could see the trees went to the outside wall. They were dense enough to keep anything from growing underneath them. The edge of the forest was set back from a lake. People clustered on the greensward along the shore.

  Then they could see the source of the noise. The side of this ardal wasn’t a painted nature scene. It was textured with rocks and ridges, diverting the cascade of water from the top until it spread to the whole width of the wall at the base. The wall cut back to make an overhang. The solid curtain of water fell into the lake with a steady thunder, white noise drowning any conversation below a shout.

  Marcus and Alys stood, eyes drawn into the eddies and foam of the waterfall. When they moved again it was to slide along the lakeshore to find a better angle. They joined a crowd likewise mesmerized by the natural force of the water.

  When Marcus turned from the waterfall he wasn’t sure how long he’d been entranced. He studied the crowd around him. It was mixed. Locals, Censorials in uniform, and other spacers with a mix of clothing and faces.

  The locals wandered more. Some were swimming in the lake. Brightly colored fish swam among the people. Other locals followed paths into the forest.

  Alys shook herself. “Wow. That’s something.”

  “Yep. Let’s explore the woods a little then come back to the waterfall.”

  She agreed.

  A hip-high barrel turned out to be an automated drink dispenser. Alys convinced it to charge the ship’s account for a bottle of sea-grape juice. Marcus took another.

  He examined the trees as they entered the forest. They weren’t any species he’d seen on Fiera. Only a few broad leaves were scattered on the ground. Someone—or thing—must sweep it regularly.

  The forest muffled the sound of the waterfall. The path took them past clearings, most filled with people singing or talking or just quietly drinking. The beverage barrels were at the edge of each cluster.

  There’d been plenty of children by the lake, but the forest groups were adults, some mostly retirees. When Marcus saw one with a group of children at the center he drew closer to listen.

  A storyteller was spinning a tale of adventure to a mixed group. The children sat on the ground before him, eyes wide. Their mothers were on folding chairs behind them. The outer ring was other adults who’d been caught by the story while passing by.

  The storyteller had a Jaaphisii look. He wore a vest covered with pockets and his face had the burnt look Marcus had seen on the Jaaphisii at the docks. He was faded, though, as if he hadn’t been to sea for years, and wrinkled with age.

  Marcus thought he’d have a hard time as a sailor without legs. The storyteller’s legs ended at midthigh. He sat on a float disk, hovering a couple of feet above the ground. His shorts were sewn shut, hiding whatever scars were still on the legs.

  “The terrorfish swam so hard the rope almost pulled our boat under the water. The sea was sloshing over the sides. All four of us bailed as fast as we could.” The storyteller mimed scooping and flinging water with a bucket. “Then it turned, pulled us so hard to port we all fell over. Worse, a second boat had a harpoon stuck in, and in the turn our boats smacked together. My boat’s hull cracked. Seawater sprayed through the crack like a fan.”

  The children were rapt. Even the adults were paying close attention. The storyteller lifted a bottle from the edge of his float disk, drained the last of it, and held it up.

  The mothers all traded looks, but none seemed to think it was their turn. The silence lengthened. Then one of the men standing in the outer ring went to the drink dispenser and produced another bottle of beer.

  The storyteller took it and started talking before even opening the bottle. “There we were, terrorfish dragging us through the sea and a crack spraying water faster than we could bail. Looked like we’d be going down to feed the fishes instead of the other way around this time.”

  He took a swig of the beer. “So I pulled off my shirt, ripped it the long way, and stuffed it into the crack.” Fingertips made pushing motions in a curve. “Made my mate give me his shirt to get the rest of it. We were still leaking, but we could keep up. The water was halfway to our knees.”

  The children all looked at where his knees weren’t. The adults carefully didn’t.

  “As I bailed more I caught a glimpse of the other boat—empty. Four men gone. Never did find out what happened to them. My guess is they fell out when the boats knocked together.”

  The tale concluded with the terrorfish weakening as it bled from the harpoon wounds, more Jaaphisii ships catching up, and the beast brought into a city for sale.

  “And then there was a party, but that’s not a story for tender ears,” said the storyteller.

  Marcus said, “How about the story of how you lost your legs?”

  A few of the mothers flinched. A twelve-year-old boy sat up hopefully.

  “That’s not a beer story, my spacer friend. That’s a whiskey story.”

  Marcus turned to the drink dispenser. A few moments with its menu revealed the whiskey options. He flinched at the price but decided this was marketing, not entertainment, and he had the right to invest some money in it.

  When the machine disgorged the whiskey, Marcus carried it over to the old man. His eyes widened. He gave Marcus a respectful nod as he took it.

  Oh. He was expecting a glass, not a bottle.

  “Well, my friend, I’m Kilrad. I’ll tell your story. Might be a bit bloody for the younger ones.”

  Kilrad made a production of opening the bottle, providing time for mothers to drag their children away. The twelve-year-old insisted on staying. His mother settled back into her folding chair with a sigh.

  Marcus sat in the space vacated by the little ones. Alys reluctantly joined him. One sip of the whiskey was enough to start the story.

  “Anyone ever eat some kraken?” asked Kilrad.

  That was what the Goch clan had served at the welcoming dinner. Marcus raised his hand, along with all the natives.

  “You might think a kraken is an animal. It’s not. It’s a crew of animals. Each tentacle you see is a separate beast with its own eye, own brain, own beak.”

  He went on to describe a hunt. The Jaaphisii would show decoys to each side of the kraken to fool them into breaking their cooperation and working against each other.

  “Then it was just a matter of binding it, tying up the tentacles so they couldn’t untangle themselves and break free. I could hold my breath longer than anyone else in the fleet, so I was one of the men who volunteered to dive under dragging a rope. Once the tips were bound it was safe work.”

  Kilrad’s throat caught on the last phrase. He lifted the bottle and drank down two swallows.r />
  His audience was silent.

  “Now, one member of this kraken was a youngster. Only a third the length of the others. It stuck the tip between a couple of others and grabbed my ankle.”

  The twelve-year-old put his hands over his face, peeking between the fingers.

  “It yanked me up to the head. I saw the full circle of beaks opening and closing. I’ve asked other Jaaphisii fleets. No one but me ever saw that and lived.”

  A sip of whiskey.

  “An adult beak would have swallowed me whole. But the youngster wanted to taste me itself. I kicked at the tongue hard enough it couldn’t fit me in past the thighs.”

  Kilrad held his hands flat and swept them toward his stumps like a guillotine blade.

  “It bit through my muscles as the beak closed but couldn’t break the bones. Hurt more than anything. I didn’t scream, though. You don’t scream when you need every bit of air in your lungs.”

  Another sip.

  “I passed out, don’t know if it was from blood loss or running out of air or what. I woke as my mates were hauling me into a boat. They tied off my legs then went back to binding the kraken.

  “When we set course for the nearest city the ship’s barber took a look at me. Said I might live, but the flesh of the lower legs would not. So he took an axe to the bone just above the knee.”

  Kilrad mimed bones extending from his stumps. “I looked a fright when we reached port. The fleet donated a whole tentacle to pay for my care. The charity hospital did the rest for free. Now here I am.”

  Sip.

  Marcus asked, “Did they regrow any of your legs?”

  Kilrad laughed. One of the men listening said, “Spacer, he was in the charity hospital, not Top Level.” That was illustrated with a wave at the ardal above them.

  “Where did you get the floater from?” asked Marcus.

  The audience started to drift away, bored by this topic. Kilrad looked after them but turned back to Marcus. “The hospital gave it to me. They wanted me able to earn my keep, you see.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Night watchman. I’m scarier than alarms and harder to fool than the cameras.” Kilrad’s grin would scare a teenage vandal. “Good for fed and bed, but a man likes more than that.”

  Marcus nodded. “Thank you very much for your stories.”

  The audience was gone now. Kilrad hovered away, whiskey bottle held tenderly in his lap.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” said Alys. “That was disgusting.”

  “But useful,” said Marcus.

  “How?”

  He shook his head and led her away from the clearing with the drink dispenser. When he felt sure there were no people or machines to eavesdrop on them he said, “They can’t regrow limbs here. Or at least it’s really expensive. At home you could regrow ten or twenty limbs for the cost of an anti-grav car. One shrunk down to be a wheelchair? Probably could regrow a hundred legs for that. That’s our market. We need to bring medical gear. We’ll make a fortune.”

  “Oh,” said Alys, overwhelmed by the release of the excitement he’d been hiding.

  “Let’s get back to the ship. I have to tell the captain.”

  ***

  The fee for keeping Azure Tarn in a hangar for a day was reasonable. Demanding a one month stay was extortion. But Captain Landry bit his tongue and paid it. The next hurricane was closing in.

  Some ships avoided storm and fee by going back up to orbit. The fuel cost was smaller than the hangar fee. Landry didn’t want to do that. The Censorial officials in Bundoran hadn’t noticed anything odd about Azure Tarn. The orbital traffic control crew might be more observant.

  One advantage of the hangar was access to a basement level tram circuit connecting all the hangars to the city. That saved the crew from walking across the spaceport in their fancy clothes. They fit in a single open-topped tram car.

  There were a few seats left over, reminders that Gander and Betty were assigned to the ship. Landry wasn’t worried about security. If the Censorial government wanted to go through their ship it wouldn’t sneak aboard. Those two were staying on the ship so they wouldn’t start a fight with the Goch family.

  Wynny Goch waited at the tram station. She was dressed for the party in a gown of shimmering purple. Once she’d been introduced to the rest of the crew she led them to Goch Home.

  Crossing the park to the East Docks ardal they noticed the artificial lights were on despite it being an hour to sunset. The outer edge of the hurricane formed a thick cloud bank over the city. Streams of rainwater ran down the outer windows.

  The main hall wasn’t set up for dining this time. The center was cleared for dancing. Tables and chairs lined the edges. A band was setting up their instruments. Dancing lessons were being given to a couple dozen youngsters accompanied by recorded music.

  Vychan and his wife Emlyn met them at the entrance. They led Lane and Niko Landry off for drinks while Wynny took the rest to the dance students. Niko sipped his wine cup warily, then took another sip with relief. This was a gentle white wine, not the confession-inducing brandy Vychan had served during his last visit.

  When topping off Niko’s glass Vychan whispered, “Do you have it?”

  Niko twitched his hand toward his son. “He does.”

  “Good. Will your boy want a dance with Nia? It’s her party.”

  “I’m sure he’d be honored to,” answered Landry.

  Emlyn laughed. “Being honored is not enough to force his way onto her list tonight. The dances are demanded not just by every scion who might make a match for her but also by those wanting to show their young men off to everyone in attendance.”

  “Has it become that bad?” asked Vychan.

  His wife pointed toward a closed door. “In there Nia is fighting her mother to keep two boys she knows on the list lest her entire night be with strangers.”

  Lane said, “As proud as we are of Marcus, he can meet Nia another night.”

  “Thank you. Please forgive my unwise suggestion,” said Vychan. “Oh, Captain, would you object to those tractor parts being melted down?”

  “Not at all, if we get a decent price for them,” said Landry.

  “Good. I may have a buyer for the vanadium and niobium.” Vychan described his latest calls among Bundoran’s industrial clans.

  On the dance floor the younger members of the crew were trying their best to learn the dances. Tets enjoyed flinging himself about to the music without bothering with the fancy footwork. Soon was at least a half beat behind. Welly tried to coach her.

  The instructor paused in chanting the steps to study his new students. As Marcus skipped by he said, “Good enough.”

  Marcus smiled. He’d settle for that praise. Going through the figures without ruining it for anyone else was all he hoped for.

  Next the instructor studied Alys. She held onto Marcus’ hand and shuffled her feet to keep position. Rather than address her the instructor turned back to Marcus. “Help her as best you can, lad.”

  Alys improved a bit before the next batch of guests arrived. When that group came through the entrance the dance instructor shut down the music and urged all the students to the sides. The musicians stopped fiddling with instruments and gear, taking their seats.

  A grandfatherly man strode to meet the new arrivals. Marcus recognized him as Garth Goch, Vychan’s uncle. There were a few minutes of small talk. Garth walked back into the middle of the hall and waved to a teenage girl to join him.

  She walked slowly across the dance floor, possibly scared of disturbing her coiffure. Black curls were stacked atop each other in a pile larger than her head. The dress was elaborate, shiny black fabric with silver ruffles, but not heavy enough to keep her from doing any of the dances Marcus had learned.

  Garth put a hand on the girl’s back, guiding her to stand before him facing the thickest part of the crowd. “Welcome, guests,” he began, his voice filling the hall. “Thank you, friends, neighbors, and partners, for c
oming to my granddaughter Nia’s outing day!”

  Applause greeted this with a few cheers and whistles mixed in.

  “From today Nia may travel without chaperone, sign contracts, and marry out of clan Goch.” Garth went on to praise Nia’s many fine qualities, including her school grades, bookkeeping she’d done for the family business, and efficient performance of her kitchen duties.

  Alys leaned toward Marcus. “I thought this was a debutante party. He’s giving a resumé for her.”

  He nodded. “Families are businesses here. To get a good marriage she has to convince them she’ll contribute to the work. Or that she’ll be a supervisor or something in Goch.”

  “These people are strange.”

  Marcus shrugged. “They’d probably think Fiera is nuts.”

  She turned towards him. “Is that why you’re wearing your resumé?”

  “It’s the fanciest outfit I have.” He tugged on the collar of his uniform jacket.

  Captain Landry wore a blue dress uniform with enough gold braid to convince any passenger or inspector this was the man in charge. The first mate’s version was slightly more subdued. As the ship’s supercargo Marcus also had a uniform. His only bore a single gold braid on each cuff and epaulette. Gold buttons and piping drew the eye up to the stiff collar. He’d decorated the chest with pins the Professional Spacer Institute handed out for passing certification exams.

  “And it’s getting the locals to smile at you,” she said.

  “That’s just the ones I met the first time I came here.”

  To Marcus’ relief, Alys was distracted by the end of the speech. A visiting grandfather led a boy a year or two older than Nia out. After introductions, Garth waved to the band. The couple began dancing. Their patriarchs moved to the walls. Other couples moved out onto the floor.

  This dance was an easy one. Marcus steered Alys through the turns. This one had no partner switches. The music was pleasant. Two singers sang nonsense words, being instruments instead of vocalists.

  The next dance formed into long lines. The movements pulled Alys away from Marcus, but whichever way she turned there was someone whose movements she could copy.