Star Crossed

by C. Gockel

  If Thorn noticed her hesitation, he gave no sign of it. “The way things are set up, Murgan’s not expecting any trouble from within. He’s got most of his security focused on the perimeter and the gates, not on interior surveillance. This corridor doesn’t have a video feed at all. That’s why we came this way.”

  No wonder Thorn had chosen this particular spot to stop and discuss the situation with her. Miala nodded, then asked, “But what happens if they do see us?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  Meaning hit the deck and ask questions later. Still, one thing hadn’t changed. She couldn’t think of a better person to be with in a tight situation, even if there were times she could have cheerfully throttled him.

  Then he held up a hand in front of his face, as if to forestall any further questions, and gestured for her to follow him.

  The corridor began to slope upward and Miala moved quietly behind him, wishing she’d worn something a little more practical. Her suit had been chosen to create an impression of authority and style, not for ease of movement, and her boots had only been worn once before and had now begun to rub on the back of her heels. After all, she’d thought she’d be sitting behind a computer terminal, not running around in the bowels of Mast’s compound. Still, it couldn’t be helped now, and she knew better than to ask Thorn to slow down. If her feet started to bother her too much, she’d just kick off the damn boots and go barefoot.

  They emerged from the underground passageway into the open space behind the speeder garage under the warm golden light of Ixtal, the largest of Iradia’s three moons. All seemed still; Miala could sense no movement in their immediate surroundings. She and Thorn might have been alone in the compound as they once had been.

  It was on a night like this, she thought. Once they had stood on the terrace that edged Mast’s tower in the warm moonlight, and they had spoken of the future until Thorn drew her inside, to the chamber where he had made love to her for the first time. Back then she had thought she could never be closer to another living being, and now the mercenary might as well be a complete stranger for all the regard he had shown her.

  But she remained silent as she moved quickly in Thorn’s wake. Perhaps there would be time for recriminations and accusations once they were safely away from here—not that she would probably have the courage to confront him directly about his prolonged absence.

  His object appeared to be the wall of the garage. Once there, he flattened himself against the sun-warmed sandstone, and Miala followed suit. His head moved as he appeared to survey their surroundings.

  He must have judged it to be safe enough, for he crept cautiously around the corner of the building, still hugging the wall. Miala did the same, wincing once when the heel of her boot knocked against a stone that lay half-buried in the sand. The sound seemed thunderous in the silence, but Thorn appeared not to notice.

  Beyond the garage was another open space, and beyond that, half-buried in the sand, lay a series of rough landing pads for those privileged enough to be able to fly directly onto the compound’s grounds. Miala could not see the Fury, but directly in front of them was the oval-shaped bulk of an old York-class freighter. Possibly it blocked the Fury, which was a much smaller vessel.

  “Looks clear,” Thorn murmured. If she hadn’t been standing a scant few centimeters away from him, she wouldn’t have heard him at all.

  “So why are we still standing here?”

  “I don’t like it.” Shifting slightly, he looked back the way they had just come, then turned his head once more toward the landing pads. “Too empty. There should be at least a few guards patrolling this area.”

  Miala wanted to quip, Maybe they’re all on a break, but guessed that sort of comment probably would not be very well-received. Besides, Thorn knew his business, and if it felt wrong, then it probably was wrong.

  No sooner had she formulated that thought than she heard a hated voice from somewhere behind them, back toward the entrance to the underground corridor they had just left.

  “Going somewhere?” asked Murgan.

  She whirled, but Thorn was even faster. He spun around and dropped to one knee, pistol out and trained on the Stacian.

  Murgan, surrounded by what looked like the entire complement of his household guard, stood behind them, gazing over at Miala and Thorn. An unpleasant smile twisted his features.

  He looks even uglier by moonlight, Miala thought irrelevantly, but she stood frozen, waiting to see what Thorn would do.

  “Not a very good idea, mercenary,” continued Murgan. “I have no doubt that you could take me down, but you are grossly outnumbered here.”

  The snout of Thorn’s gun didn’t waver. “Too bad you won’t be around to care.”

  The Stacian lifted his hands, his oily smile only spreading a little further. “And neither would you—or your little friend there.” He focused on Miala for a moment, and his eyes thinned a bit as he scowled at her. “Who could have known that you’d be so soft-hearted as to rescue a lady in distress?”

  “Maybe she just made me a better deal,” rasped Thorn. Still he didn’t move, his black eyes, barely visible behind their wrappings, fixing Murgan with an unwavering stare.

  “Possible, but doubtful.” It might have been just the two of them talking. Both men stared at one another as if Miala and the henchmen didn’t exist. “More likely the two of you were previously acquainted. She is from this slag heap, after all, and you yourself are no stranger to Iradia, Master Thorn.”

  The mercenary made no reply. He only stood there, watching Murgan as if he had all the time in the world. Miala could feel the tension radiating off his body, however; he was strung wire-taut, just waiting for the trigger that would send him into action. She began to wonder how quickly she really could drop to the ground and out of the line of fire.

  “Stalemate, then?” Murgan inquired, his tones almost silky. But Miala saw the almost infinitesimal gesture he made with his left hand—and she knew that if she had seen it, then Thorn must have spotted the movement as well.

  Several things happened at once. The guards flanking the crime lord raised their guns even as the muzzle of Thorn’s weapon exploded with greenish fire. Miala heard a horrible high-pitched scream and realized it must have come from Murgan, but she couldn’t spare the time to make sure because she’d just discovered that she could drop to the ground very quickly indeed, so quickly that she almost knocked the breath out of herself as she hugged the cool sand.

  More screams, and Miala lifted her head just far enough to see Murgan writhing on the ground, possibly mortally wounded but not yet dead. The guards to either side of him dropped as well, laid flat by Thorn’s unerring gunfire. But the rest of the henchmen seemed to have recovered from their shock well enough to start returning fire, and she had no idea how Thorn would ever manage to dodge that many pulse blasts.

  Somehow he did—at least at first. Then a stray shot glanced off his shoulder, and he winced slightly even as Miala gave out a little scream. Her cry was not enough to distract him, apparently, for he pivoted slightly and flattened the guard who had just shot him.

  Suddenly the night—already streaked with pulse fire—lit up with a glare almost as bright as day. A roaring sound filled Miala’s ears, and she raised her hands to her head as a huge gout of pulse fire raced down from the sky, cutting down the henchmen who still stood the way a thresher machine mowed leth-grain at harvest time. For a second she could not understand what had happened—it was as if some god from antiquity had rained down fire and wrath from the heavens. Then the humming sound from overhead resolved itself into the familiar noise of a plasma engine, and she realized what must have just occurred. Somehow Thorn had called his ship to him, and the pulse cannon on board the Fury had done the rest.

  Sure enough, the ship came to ground a few seconds later, crushing a few of the hapless guards beneath its weight. Miala sat up carefully, giving her surroundings a wary glance, but she soon saw there was little need for her caution
. The sprawled bodies everywhere showed that the crime lord’s forces had obviously already departed this plane of existence.

  Thorn typed something into the control unit mounted on his forearm, and the hatchway to the Fury opened, revealing a square of pale yellow light.

  “Nice toy you’ve got there,” she said, and then was surprised by how shaky she sounded.

  “It can be useful,” he admitted. He reached a gloved hand down to her, and she pulled herself upright. His head shifted slightly to look downward, and Miala followed his gaze to see that her precipitous fall to the ground had somehow split her narrow skirt to mid-thigh.

  Well, at least he still wants to look, if nothing else, she thought. “I’m fine,” she added. “Thanks for asking.”

  Something that sounded almost like a chuckle came from inside the fabric wrapped around his face. Then she heard a slight groan off to her left, and Thorn turned away from her, alert, even as he moved to the pile of bodies that had once been Murgan and his henchmen.

  She followed Thorn, and then stood next to him as he looked down at the Stacian’s prone form. The alien’s eyes opened briefly, although they were slitted with pain.

  “Felled by the mighty Thorn,” he gasped, and a trickle of dark blood began to show at the corner of his mouth.

  The dark-robed figure looked down at Murgan. Gazing at the two of them, Miala suddenly thought that Eryk Thorn looked hardly less alien than the Stacian.

  “Not the first,” said the mercenary. Then he raised his gun and shot Murgan directly between the eyes. The greenish pulse fire illuminated the night for a split-second once more, and then the unpleasant smell of charred flesh rose to Miala’s nostrils.

  “And not the last,” Thorn added, then deliberately placed his weapon back in its holster. He extended the same hand to Miala, and she took it, not knowing what else to do. “Let’s get out of here.”

  And he drew her away from the carnage, away from the acrid scent of smoke and death, up the walkway into the Fury. Then the hatch closed behind them, and she was alone with him once more.

  16

  “Just you wait until your mother gets home!” snapped Risa, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Jerem’s wary gaze slid from Risa’s frowning face to the equally irritated features of Dr. Chand, the school principal. No help there, either. Not that Jerem had really expected it. He and Dr. Chand were old friends.

  “What were you thinking?” Risa went on. Her toe began an ominous tapping that did not bode well for Jerem. Not that he expected her to actually spank him or anything—but he foresaw a long period of house arrest, probably without access to the entertainment system or anything good. Usually Risa maintained an aspect of placid good nature, but Jerem got the feeling he really had gone too far this time.

  Well, it had seemed like a good idea, anyway...

  The school was a private institution that catered to the more elite citizens of Rilsport, Nova Angeles’ largest city. Most of the time Jerem scraped along tolerably well, although the endless rules did tend to chafe. But he had good friends, and he even did pretty well in most of his studies, more to please his mother than because he really cared one way or another whether he got nines and tens or fives and sixes on his report cards. Still, after a while the inevitable boredom would begin to creep in, and he’d start looking for ways to indulge his passion for thrill-seeking.

  A few months earlier the school had invested in a fairly expensive holographic sign-projector that was intended to display information about events such as plays, sporting events, and important dates on the school calendar. His mother had made a few pointed comments about the tackiness of said sign when it went up, so Jerem had figured—maybe wrongly—that she wouldn’t care too much if someone explored some of its more unorthodox possibilities.

  Jerem didn’t possess the programming skills required to alter the sign—but his friend Alic was a whiz with computers of all kinds. And with Founder’s Day coming up, Jerem figured that offered the perfect opportunity to have some fun.

  Wisely, the school officials kept the controls for the sign well-locked inside the main office. But there was a secondary control unit mounted directly behind the sign—which just happened to be located about twenty meters off the ground on the roof of the main administration building.

  Even Jerem might have balked at climbing so far unaided, but there just happened to be a small access ladder at the rear of the building, probably so maintenance staff could get up to the roof to work on the refrigeration units and that sort of thing. The school had anticipated that adventurous students might want to climb the ladder, and so the first three meters had been securely chained off. But that proved to be no problem for Jerem, who had shinnied himself up past the chained-off portion and then climbed the rest of the way on the ladder.

  Once he was on the roof, it was easy enough for him to locate the sign’s control unit, pop open the box that protected it from the elements, and go to work. Alic had sent a preprogrammed tablet along with Jerem, who hooked it up to the control unit and let the two computers start talking to one another.

  All this activity had taken place in the middle of the night. Alic sent the tablet home with Jerem the day before, and Jerem simply sneaked out of his room after Risa put him to bed. If his mother ever discovered that the tree outside his window had branches that were far too obliging in the matter of midnight excursions, she probably would have cut it down or at least trimmed it back, but Jerem had always been careful about being seen. Something about the dark, quiet hours spoke to him, and he’d been regularly escaping the confines of his bedroom and wandering about the streets of Rilsport at night for almost two years now. It had been simple for him to cut across his backyard and through the neighbors’ properties, evading their security cameras with the ease of long practice. From there he slipped down the quiet streets and onto the school property. Rilsport Academy had fairly sophisticated security protecting the building, but not the grounds, and no one noticed the small dark figure that carefully made its way to the roof.

  Although he knew that once his task was complete he should have immediately collected the tablet and run, Jerem lingered for a moment on the rooftop, watching the lights of Rilsport shimmer out across the waters of the harbor. The city had risen up around a huge crescent-shaped bay, and the glitter of the myriad beams cast by aircars, skyscrapers, and street lamps was dazzling even at this late hour. Of course, with Rilsport being as huge as it was, the metropolis never really slept. Sometimes Jerem would wonder what all those people were doing all night, and he’d get dizzy just thinking about all the different lives, each with their own problems and worries and loves and hates. He’d get a weird ache inside him, similar to the way he felt when he watched a particularly involving vid. Maybe it was just the sensation of wanting something more, of beginning to realize just how big the galaxy was and how much it offered, far beyond his safe life on Nova Angeles.

  He’d tried to say as much to his mother once, and she’d gotten an odd look in her eyes, then smiled and gave him a quick hug. “The galaxy will still be there when you’re older,” she’d promised. “I was kind of hoping you might stick around a little while longer.”

  “Well, I’d want you to come with me,” he’d said promptly, and she’d given him another quick hug and sent him out to play.

  Thinking back on the scene, Jerem wondered if those had been the beginning of tears he’d seen in her eyes. He hadn’t stopped to consider it at the time, because he’d followed his mother’s advice and gone off to Mikhal’s house, but that strange expression she’d quickly covered up had almost looked like fear. What she could have been afraid of, he didn’t know, and he’d forgotten about the incident until now.

  But there wasn’t time to worry about it anymore—it was time he got home. Risa had been staying at the house while his mother was gone, and she did have an annoying habit of getting up in the middle of the night and raiding the refrigeration unit in the kitchen. Getting caught no
w definitely was not part of the plan.

  So he’d slid down the ladder, jumped down once he got to the chained-off portion, and rolled easily into the soft dirt at the bottom. Once he reached the front of the building, he looked up at the results of his handiwork, grinned, then sped off into the night.

  They probably would have gotten away with it—if it weren’t for the fact that by now Dr. Chand and the rest of the administration invariably looked to Jerem whenever a prank like this occurred. Once or twice he’d even been wrongly accused, but luckily those times he’d had alibis, and they couldn’t prove anything.

  This time, however, they’d put pressure on Alic, and he’d confessed everything. Jerem liked Alic, but he did have a tendency to be too much of a goodie-guts. Mikhal was made of sturdier stuff, but since Alic had already squealed, there hadn’t been much point for him to continue protesting his involvement. Anyway, Mikhal had been a co-conspirator, but he hadn’t actually done that much this time around.

  Whereas Jerem—

  “Perhaps your youth can explain some of your ignorance,” Dr. Chand said sternly, his heavy black brows drawing together over his high-bridged nose. Dr. Chand’s frowns could be fearsome—and he used them mercilessly on Jerem. “But did you even stop to think what an effect your little prank might have on some people whose ancestors were survivors of the war?”