Star Crossed

by C. Gockel

  Ghost squinted at her and frowned. James’s eyes widened. She knew that look. He understood what she was getting at, and moreover …

  Rolling up his sleeves, exposing tattoo-stained skin, he stepped toward her. “No, no, no … ”

  “It’s the best option,” Noa countered.

  James raised an arm in the direction they just came. “When you do something … ” His hand made a fist. “ … ridiculous, and you somehow manage to not die, do you think to yourself, ‘I made a mistake, how can I possibly get myself killed next time?’”

  Noa sniffed. Typical professor, using too many words when one or two would do. Death wish, she wanted to say, the words you’re looking for are death wish.

  James took another step closer. “You can barely—”

  Noa thought of barely making it down the steps, of struggling to keep up with him. She waited for James to say any of that, but his eyes shot to Ghost, and back to Noa, and his jaw snapped shut, his blue eyes boring into hers. She exhaled in relief. He didn’t want to reveal how weak she was.

  “Noa ...” He tilted his head. “You can’t do this.”

  A moment ago, she’d thought he understood her. Something inside her shattered, but she straightened her spine. “I have to do this … I have to try.”

  Clearing his throat, Ghost looked hesitantly between James and Noa. “Have to do what?”

  Noa’s jaw tightened. Telling Ghost her plan would mean that if he was captured by the authorities, there would be no way to pull it off. On the other hand … malignant narcissist though he might be, Ghost was very clever, and he had built the Luddecceans’ new main computer. If anyone could shut off the defense grid and help her pull off what she wanted to do now, it would have to be Ghost. He’d need to start preparing as soon as possible.

  Before she’d made up her mind how much to reveal, James gave it away. “She plans to steal the Ark.”

  Ghost choked on his own spit.

  8

  “The Ark,” Ghost sputtered, “No … no … no … that is just as illogical as … ” He waved at James with a finger. “ … suggests.”

  Ghost didn’t use James’s name, or even say “your friend.” It sent ripples of static beneath James’s skin. Ghost suspected James was … something else. He felt a cold settling in the pit of his stomach. The time table for his escape from Time Gate 8 was wrong. He’d left a full day after the explosion that had briefly incapacitated Gate 8’s defenses, and the shuttle he’d been in was not the type that could hover in orbit for extended periods.

  “His name is James Sinclair,” Noa snapped. “Professor Sinclair if you must.”

  James looked up and found her glaring at Ghost, arms crossed. The sharp angles of the gesture highlighted how emaciated she was. He couldn’t let her die …

  Ghost snorted. “Professor?”

  James blinked at him. “I’m a history professor.” The words felt hollow, wrong, abstract, and a jumble.

  “Really?” said Ghost.

  “Ask him about his time capsules,” Noa said, her voice dry.

  Ghost leaned forward in his seat. “Time capsules?”

  James lifted his chin. He had a speech for that. “Time capsules were popular on old Earth. I discovered a town along the San Andreas rift that had been— ”

  “Stop!” said Noa. She spun to Ghost. “We don’t have time to talk about time capsules.” She waved a hand. “Or hero arcs from the mov-ees within the time capsules.”

  James’s mouth fell open and then snapped shut. It was true, the speech he had in his mind lasted for nearly fifty-five minutes. Every word was memorized, but none felt real. The passion behind them was gone—stolen by the need to stay alive, maybe?

  Massaging her temple, Noa groaned. “Focus, D—Ghost. The Ark is perfect.” She sat up straighter in her chair, and as her body unwound, it made her look frailer instead of stronger. She was still painfully thin.

  “It has light speed capabilities,” Noa continued, her form becoming animated, her face glowing in her excitement and giving her an illusion of health. “Its hull is robust enough to withstand deep space travel and time surfing once we get to the Kanakah Gate. It is kept stocked with decades’ worth of S-rations, it can lift out of orbit without any planet-side assistance; and, even if its offensive weapons are worth their weight in meezle guano, the aft cannon was designed to crack large asteroids and should be enough to temporarily disable any ships from the armada in our path.”

  James took a step back, closer to the soothing warmth of the geothermal generator. He wondered if anyone could be as logically unreasonable as Noa; she almost had him convinced. He had rolled up his sleeves, almost unconsciously, and now he ran his fingers over the dark stains. Was she being unreasonable? If the Fleet couldn’t come by Time Gate 8, it would take them ten years to get to Luddeccea from the nearest other portal, Time Gate 7 … if they didn’t get the military gate open, that was? Ten years was a long time to survive on the run planet side, but was taking the Ark to a hidden gate really a viable option?

  Even as a non-native of Luddeccea, James knew about the Ark. It was the vessel that had brought the first colonists to Luddeccea. It was over 300 years old, but it was kept in working order by Republic law. In the event of an emergency, it could, theoretically, be used to help evacuate civilians. It would be more than adequate for a ride to the edge of the Kanakah Cloud. Even if they couldn’t make the military gate operational, the Ark was stocked with enough provisions to get them to Time Gate 7. But …

  Ghost thumped his chest as though trying to clear something from his lungs. “No, no, no. Stealing the Ark would be ludicrous!” He shook his head. “You’re wasting my time.”

  Standing, Noa stepped toward the small man. “Ghost, it’s our best hope … and think about it. No one would expect anyone to steal the Ark.”

  James had been to the museum that housed the Ark as a child. It was located in a courtyard between the museum and the spaceport spokes of the Tri-Center building. While waiting for their flight, his family had passed the time exploring the Ark’s cramped living quarters and the museum’s exhibits. At one point James had even peered down the long hallway that led past the massive security that kept tourists and travelers out of the Central Authority wing. No one uninvited went there; it was where all local civilian and military operations were coordinated.

  James took a step away from the geothermal unit’s heat. “Because there is no more heavily guarded location on the planet than the Tri-Center.”

  Noa put her hands behind her back and took a deep breath. “Technically, it’s only close to the most secure location on the planet.”

  James crossed his arms.

  Tilting her head, Noa said, “However, the Ark’s not in the secure wing.”

  Clearing his throat, Ghost said, “Commander, the spaceport is swarming with troops right now. They don’t want anyone leaving.”

  “Are there any more troops than usual in the museum wing?” Noa asked. Ghost’s eyes widened. “No.”

  Noa rolled her hands, as though urging Ghost to say more. “And if there is any sort of disturbance in the area, where is the Central Authority most likely to concentrate their forces?”

  Ghost’s eyes went wider still. “The spaceport and Central Authority.”

  “Exactly,” said Noa.

  Ghost rubbed his chin. “Huh.”

  “There are guards at the museum,” James protested.

  Noa’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been to it?”

  “My father took me there when I was a little boy,” James said, the memory hazy and dull in his mind. “I remember one of those guards talking to me—”

  Noa sighed. “If he was any spacer officer worth his salt, he wouldn’t be chatting with little kids while he was on duty.”

  “But—” James started to protest.

  Noa’s voice was soft. “Unless they were hired on more as tour guides.” She looked away. “They are practically civilians.”

  “This mi
ght just work,” Ghost murmured.

  Noa nodded. “The men posted around the Ark are for the most part semi-retired members of the Luddeccea Local Guard. If I’m right, it’s the least guarded deep space vessel on the whole planet.” Her eyes slid to Ghost.

  The little man was nodding, his beady eyes wide. “Yes, yes, you’re right.” His pupils seemed to lose focus for a moment, and then began moving rapidly back and forth. Ghost was mentally accessing some data, obviously. James met Noa’s eyes. Her chin was lowered, as though daring him to say something. He didn’t look away, but he didn’t know what to say, either. Her plan could get them killed—but so would staying on Luddeccea. His mind tumbled over all the odds and obstacles. He searched his data banks for a Prime street map—and miraculously found one. He began plotting distances in his mind, eyes still on Noa’s.

  Ghost giggled, interrupting their stare down and James’s thoughts. “During a local emergency the museum guards’ primary job is to help evacuate civilians.” Ghost smiled. “They most likely won’t even be there if we manage to trip an alarm.”

  James’s head jerked, another obstacle coming to his mind. “The Ark is over 300 years old. It doesn’t operate by even local ethernet … Who will fly it?”

  Putting a hand over her chest, Noa said, “Me, of course. I’ve flown the Andromeda; it’s the same model as the Ark.”

  James searched his data banks. The Andromeda was the same class of ship. He tilted his head. They’d still need to get into the museum complex. Which seemed doubtful …

  Ghost frowned. “How did you get to fly the Andromeda?”

  Waving a hand, Noa smiled. “Admiral Sung took me aboard when it was docked off Venus.”

  “Sung,” Ghost muttered. His eyes narrowed at Noa. James found himself stepping toward Ghost, his hands curling into fists. Ghost’s eyes darted to James, and he flinched and looked away. “She blocked my promotion,” he said in a tremulous voice.

  James realized he was on a trajectory toward the little man without even thinking on it. He stopped mid-stride.

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Noa said. “You know that.”

  Ghost shook his head and sniffed. “The Ark’s a big ship. You would need a crew.”

  James wondered if flying 300-year-old ships was one of his undiscovered abilities. He blinked … and couldn’t even draw up schematics for the bridge.

  Noa cocked her head. “Give me access to the population records. I’ll find members of the Fleet who are desperate to get off this rock.”

  “That will cost you,” Ghost said, straightening in his seat. “I do have other options, other people who need to get off this planet, who can pay me much better.”

  Noa leaned forward. “What good is money going to do you in this system? Libertas is going to be hopping with food riots within months as asteroid miners flood in. That planet is so poor their Local Guard is made up of barely-trained, part-time volunteers. They won’t be able to protect you, Ghost.”

  James’s gaze flicked between the two Fleet officers. He wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted Noa to succeed in this bargain with Ghost.

  “I don’t want to wind up on Earth a beggar!” Ghost snapped. “All of my savings are here.” Looking down his nose at Noa, he said, “Which reminds me, I want to be paid in Galactic Credits, not Luddeccean currency.”

  “How much do you want?” Noa said.

  Ghost swallowed. Instead of answering, he said, “Also, you need to get the funds within three days.”

  James blinked. “Why?”

  Ghost’s eyes slid between Noa and James. “Because the Luddecceans have begun outfitting patrols with instantaneous DNA identification kits. They aren’t tied to the ethernet, so all offenders’ DNA has to be downloaded to the kits on a regular basis.” Looking at the floor, he muttered, “Time consuming and wasteful … clunky bits of machinery … but blasted things would be beyond my control to hack into between uploads.” Shaking his head, he looked up at Noa. “They already have you and me on file, no doubt, and the attention we drew at Hell’s Crater will have them scanning the booth. They’ll know we were there … ” His eyes slid to James and narrowed. “And they may have their eyes out for you, too.”

  James’s brows rose. If the Guard weren’t aware it was Noa and him at the bar, they would be soon, and then they’d be on alert for them here, not in the Northwest Province. Even Ghost’s holographic disguises—

  “Even your holographic disguises aren’t going to work with rapid DNA scans, Ghost,” Noa said. “So let’s not waste time. Give us access to your files so I can retrieve Fleet members’ names and addresses.”

  James’s apps started working again. There was a side entrance to the museum complex labeled as a pedestrian path—

  “I’m not giving you access to my files until you pay me,” Ghost said.

  Jaw hard, Noa asked, “How much do you want?”

  “50,000 credits,” Ghost replied.

  The apps in James’s brain stopped working. His head whipped to Ghost. The man was playing with them.

  “15,000 now,” Noa said. “10,000 when we reach Sol System.”

  “20,000 now,” said Ghost. “20,000 when we reach Sol.”

  “15,000 now,” said Noa. “15,000 when we reach Sol. That’s my final offer.”

  Ghost shifted in his seat.

  Stepping closer to him, Noa said, “It’s the best offer you’re going to get. 50,000 credits isn’t going to go far when Libertas erupts in food riots.”

  Shoulders tight, Ghost drew his arms across his chest. “If we survive stealing the Ark.”

  Noa waved a hand. “We’ll be fine once we reach light speed.”

  It was nearly impossible to track ships at light speed, but he rolled his eyes. Once again, Noa was being truthful, but was omitting important details … like how they were going to get 15,000 credits in under three days.

  9

  In the darkness of Prime’s sewers, Noa stumbled, and instantly felt James’s hand on her arm. Water dripped in the distance. Her locator app said 400 meters to the left, but with the echo in Luddeccea in the cement channels, it was hard to tell. She brushed away James’s hand, more out of habit than conviction. She was shaking, exhausted, and strung out. She wasn’t sure if it was because she’d pushed herself too far physically so soon after leaving the camp—or if she was just overwhelmed by all she had to do.

  “One foot at a time, Noa,” she muttered. “It could be worse.”

  Ghost hadn’t given them new disguises, but he had at least given her and James data chips with maps of the sewer system. The tropical city received heavy amounts of rain during the late winter months. Right now there was only a tiny trickle down the center of the tunnel, but in a few more weeks the place would be flooded. In spring, summer, fall, and early winter, Prime was bone dry. The first and second wave settlers had built an elaborate tunnel and cistern system to handle the alternating flooding and drought. Noa and James had traveled four blocks unhindered by Luddeccea’s Guard, but Ghost had warned that the Guard kept watch over sensitive areas—beneath the spaceport, government buildings, and official residences—and had even begun sporadic patrols beneath Port of Call. For that reason they were using James’s augmented vision, and the occasional street lights filtering through manholes, to find their way.

  She listened for sounds of human footsteps, but she didn’t hear even the skitter of rats. James, a dark shadowy shape beside her, whispered, “I suppose you have a plan for acquiring 15,000 credits,” and the break in the near silence was such a relief she almost laughed. She’d expected he’d ask that a lot sooner. Instead, he’d just followed her. A cough from her own lungs surprised her before she could answer.

  “Does it involve storming the Tri-Center’s secure wing?” he asked. In the dimness it was hard to see, but she imagined that his jaw was shifting in an attempt to smile, and he’d lifted an eyebrow.

  Thumping her chest, she summoned a smirk. “What if it did?” She had to stay cock
y, optimistic, brave …

  James drew to a stop. She still couldn't make out his features in the dark. “Don’t joke.” A hover rumbled softly overhead, and the sound echoed through a drain.

  She wanted to return with a witty rejoinder. A joke was always appropriate when you were going to steal the Ark, which even she could admit was almost a suicide mission. Her stomach was tying in knots, but the thought of thousands—maybe millions of people if James was right—tortured and dying kept her going. If she didn’t laugh at times like these, she would go mad with the weight of it all. Instead of laughing, she coughed, and the force of it was like nails hitting her lungs.

  “Noa,” James said. “I need to know what your plan is. If I don’t know what the plan is, I can’t calculate the odds of its success.”

  Noa suddenly didn’t feel like joking either. Her blood went cold. “Calculate the odds of success?” Her jaw dropped. “Some things are worth more than any odds.”

  “I don’t want to throw our lives away,” James snapped.

  “It’s not throwing your life away if it’s the right thing to do,” Noa said, feeling a burn in her lungs; she didn’t know whether it was from the coughing, or the heat of anger.

  James’s head cocked. “Yes, it is.”

  His voice was too even, and maybe it was the dim light of the sewers but he looked completely emotionless. Alarm bells went off in her mind. She thought of the man he’d killed on the train, of the way he’d dispassionately said he’d kill Ghost, and of the way Ghost kept subtly alluding to James not being human. It would explain his dispassion, his apathy …

  She felt herself tremble with rage, not weariness. No, James wasn’t an alien. He was worse. He was a spoiled Earthling who let himself be protected by a Fleet disproportionately made up of Luddecceans and people from the newer worlds—people whose lives weren’t so sheltered that they forgot that some things were worth dying for.

  “If that’s what you believe, then go!” Noa hissed. “These tunnels can take you right out of Prime!”