Star Crossed

by C. Gockel

  “Got a contact number?” she asked nonchalantly.

  The man poked something in his holodisplay, and the image of Beck disappeared. A laser beam shot out of the disc and burned into the wall next to the hatch controls. Alisa jumped and opened her mouth to protest, but the device finished quickly, leaving a name and comm code etched into her hull.

  “Contact number,” the man said dryly. “We’ll be checking the cameras. If we see that he did, indeed, board your ship, we’ll be back.”

  The silent man smirked and tapped one of his grenades.

  “Great,” Alisa said, “maybe next time, you can etch a Banakka board on my wall, and we can play a few rounds.”

  Neither of them smiled. Nobody on this planet appreciated her humor.

  “If you’re lying, you’ll regret it,” the speaker said. “Lying isn’t healthy, you know.”

  “Yeah, I hear it hardens your arteries and gives you cavities.”

  He scowled at her. “You looking for trouble, girl?”

  “No. Look, I told you, I’ll let you know if I see the man. I’m helpful.”

  After a long glower, the thugs stalked back down the ramp and strode to the next ship docked along the promenade. People skittered out of their way as they passed. If they didn’t, the men shoved them out of the way with enough force to knock them over.

  “Why does our trip to Perun keep getting more complicated?” Mica asked.

  “I don’t know, but I really don’t want to play Banakka with those two.” Alisa thumped a fist on her thigh. She’d wanted more passengers, but lingering here wouldn’t be a good idea, not now. Besides, the passengers and crew she had already taken on were looking to be trouble enough already. “I’m going to run my preflight checklist. As soon as Yumi gets back with her feathered cargo, let me know. We’re shoving off.” She would have to electronically transfer the funds she owed the storeowner once she had an account set up again.

  “No arguments here.”

  As Alisa headed for the steps, she spotted the cyborg up on the walkway again, looking down on the cargo hold. Yet another exchange that he had probably witnessed. She supposed it would be pointless to fantasize about him smashing the hells out of those two thugs in their sardine cans. No, he had disliked Beck instantly, so he wouldn’t defend him. The cyborg was probably thinking about tossing him out the airlock at the first opportunity.

  Alisa grumbled to herself, taking the steps three at a time. The sooner they got off this dustball, the better.

  5

  The Star Nomad’s compact NavCom cabin would have been deemed small in comparison to the bridge of a dreadnought or other warship, but it felt large after the cockpits of the one-man Strikers that Alisa had flown in the Alliance army. There were seats for the pilot and the co-pilot, and a fold-down seat behind them at the sensor station. The monitoring station for the cargo hold, life support, and fuel management was also back there. Displays and controls were hardwired into the consoles—no fancy holo-nav systems on this old ship.

  Memories of her childhood and learning to fly washed over Alisa as she sat in the pilot’s seat, guiding the Nomad toward the clouds. It was comforting that the navigation and thruster controls were so familiar.

  As they gained altitude, her thoughts shifted from her memories and into the present. She worried that she had dug her own grave by not tossing Tommy Beck into his armor case and dumping him out on the promenade before taking off. On the way up to NavCom, she had stopped outside of his cabin for a long moment and considered telling him to get out. But who else would stand up to the cyborg if she needed it? A fifty-year-old doctor turned monk? A chicken wrangler? The engineer who’d told her she was spaced if she took the cyborg on to start with?

  Besides, Alisa couldn’t get past the fact that Beck had defended her against Draper and his intrusive paws. Handing him over to the mafia would be a poor way to thank him for that. She would take him to Perun and drop him off there. There were billions of people on that planet. He could get lost, disappear. And if the White Dragon mafia caught up with her later and had revenge in mind, she would tell them that he had stowed away. Any camera footage those thugs got ahold of would only show the promenade and possibly her ramp. Even if they’d had spy boxes or other aerial cameras, she doubted they would have been able to record much of what went on inside her ship.

  As the Nomad gained altitude, Alisa waited for a communication from the dock master that would clear her to leave the planet. Maybe she wouldn’t get one. Dustor wasn’t that populous, with few ships coming and going, so the likelihood of a crash was small. Still, she spun in her seat enough to check the sensor display, to make sure there wasn’t anyone else intruding upon her flight path. Igniting the thrusters to break out of the atmosphere used a lot of fuel, and she didn’t want to have to abort in the middle of the burn.

  Her heart lurched when her eyes locked onto the sensor display. There weren’t any ships ahead of her, but there was one behind her. Directly behind her.

  She bit her lip, thinking of the White Dragon thugs. They couldn’t have already checked those cameras, could they have? It had been less than a half hour since they had walked away from her ramp.

  Alisa flicked on the ship’s intercom. “Beck, come join me in NavCom, please. Mica, you’ll want to camp out in engineering if you aren’t already there.”

  “Where else would I be?” came her immediate response. “Petting the chickens?”

  “They are kind of cute,” Alisa said, glad Mica was already at her station.

  The ship following them might be nothing, just someone else using her same flight path, intending to head out. But she remembered what the mafia thugs had said, that only three ships were taking off in the next twenty-four hours, and that she was one of them. What were the odds that one of the other two had left minutes after she had? Would the dock master have approved that? Usually they kept a window, to avoid accidents.

  “If I find feathers or fertilizer in my engine room,” Mica said, “they’re going in a stew pot.”

  Alisa did not respond. The intercom system broadcast ship-wide, and their chicken-loving passenger might not care for the conversation. She glanced at the sensor display again. The other ship had picked up speed and was closing the gap. If it had weapons, it would be within range to use them soon.

  She drummed her fingers on the console. If she kept going up, there was nothing but a whole lot of empty space out there. Nowhere to hide.

  She shut off all of the autopilot assists and took the flight stick.

  “We’re going to take the scenic route,” she mumbled to herself, or maybe to the plush stuffed spider that dangled from a wire above the co-pilot’s seat. It had been her mother’s good luck charm. Alisa had almost torn it down when she had been recovering the body and deciding what to do with the Nomad. Ultimately, she had left it there, taking it to the junkyard along with the ship. It was a testament to the thing’s hideousness that Finnegan had not removed it when he had been selling the spacesuits and other valuables.

  “You called for me, Captain?” Beck asked from the hatch.

  “Come in. Have a seat.” Alisa did not look at him. She had steered the ship almost straight down, heading for a network of canyons that scoured the beige, sandy landscape south of the city, and she would need her concentration. “Know anything about the White Dragon mafia?”

  “Shit.”

  “I’ll take that for a yes.”

  Alisa checked the sensor display again. The white dot that represented the other ship had changed course. It was following them. No mistake.

  She raised the shields and banked, diving for one of the larger canyons. The freighter handled sluggishly compared to her military Striker-18. She reminded herself she was flying a big box, not a small, sleek combat vessel. She also did not have weapons, so there would be no dogfights between the walls of the canyon. The best she could hope for was to find a hiding spot—if they found a ledge they could slip under and turned off all of th
eir power, they might disappear from the enemy’s sensors. Maybe. It depended on how good those sensors were. Some of the high-tech imperial stuff could find a tindark coin dropped on the opposite side of a moon.

  “Care to explain?” Alisa asked as they dipped below the rim of the canyon, the pale sandstone walls to either side jagged and dangerous. Whatever river had carved out the terrain feature was dried up now. Unlike on the featureless sandy surface of the planet, an area scoured by wind too often to support plant life, all manner of cactuses rose from the bottom of the canyon. Too bad a fifty-meter long freighter couldn’t hide behind a cactus.

  “You want to hear about it now?” Beck asked as he strapped himself into the co-pilot’s seat. He gripped the armrests as he frowned at the striated walls streaking past on the view screen. Here and there, arches and pillars created obstacles for Alisa to weave through.

  “Better now than after we crash and die,” she said.

  Beck shot her an alarmed look.

  She thought about pointing out that she wasn’t doing much yet, just following the contours of the canyon and checking the sensors. Not surprisingly, their pursuer was tracking them from above, flying over the arches instead of dipping under them. Alisa tapped a button and tied into the planet’s satellites to get an idea of the terrain ahead, hoping to find a cave or ledge large enough to hide her ship. She also hoped that the White Dragon pilot wasn’t a native of the planet who knew every nook and cranny by heart.

  An alarm flashed on the co-pilot’s station. Weapons locking onto them.

  Alisa dipped the craft lower as a sizzling bolt of energy streaked over them. It slammed into a canyon wall, and rock exploded, pelting their shields. Pulverized dust clouded the air until they passed the area.

  “I’m sorry,” Beck said. “I didn’t think they’d catch up with me so quickly. I didn’t mean to endanger you.”

  “Story,” Alisa said, zigzagging them over the dried riverbed below, trying to make a difficult target.

  “The war ended and didn’t leave me bursting with cash,” Beck said. “You know how it was. Fighting for freedom, not coin.”

  Alisa knew all too well. She nodded for him to continue. Up ahead, a small canyon converged with their bigger one.

  “Well, I’ve been a fighter for a long time,” Beck went on, “but it’s not my passion, not like food.”

  “Food?”

  “Cooking—grilling especially. I told you I make some fine flavors. It had long been a dream of mine to go commercial with some of my sauces, get them in the groceries on all the main planets, sell enough to retire from fighting.”

  Another bolt of energy sizzled after them. Alisa turned abruptly, banking hard to take them around the sharp angle and up into the smaller canyon. She clipped the top of a tall pole cactus, leaving it on its side. Three suns, she’d forgotten what a behemoth the Nomad was. Out in space, where everything was on a galactic scale, it did not matter as much, but she would feel like an idiot if she wrecked her own ship without having suffered a single blow from the enemy.

  Beck’s fingers tightened on the armrests, and he paused in his story.

  Alisa spotted what might be a ledge on the satellite map. She increased her speed.

  “When I got out, nobody was hiring fighters,” Beck said. “I figured that was a sign from the stars, time to take a shot at making my dream happen. I wanted to open a restaurant, to prove that my sauces were brilliant. I’d get people talking about them, figure out which they liked most, which ones would be the most likely candidates to sell on the interplanetary market.”

  Alisa tipped the freighter on the side, flying along the wall to avoid fire from above. Another crackling bolt slammed into the middle of the dried river.

  The canyon was growing narrower. Piloting would get tougher, but their enemy should have a tougher time shooting down between the walls too. She hoped.

  “I didn’t have the funds to open the restaurant on my own,” Beck continued. “I thought about selling my combat armor, but it’s more than ten years old and has some dents and scrapes that won’t buff out. The secondhand place didn’t want to give me anything close to a fair price. A man was there when I was trying to make the sale and asked what I needed the money for, then said he knew someone who might give me a loan if I didn’t mind a hefty interest rate.” Beck flexed his fingers on the armrests as the Nomad dipped below an arch, the shields bumping the bottom edge on the way through. “I was enamored with my idea and figured I could handle the interest. In truth, I could. I took on a partner with experience in restaurants, and we weren’t open a month before we had more business than we could handle. Considering how screwed the economy is on Dustor, I figured that was damned impressive, and it would only be a matter of time before I could start my sauce line.”

  If Alisa had not been busy avoiding fire, she would have given him some incredulous looks. It wasn’t that she blamed a man for having dreams, but what kind of combat specialist fancied himself a chef?

  “One night, we had a special guest come by, the man who had indirectly financed my business. Weeks had passed, and I never had any idea the mafia was behind it. I thought I’d been taken on by some benevolent angel investor, albeit a greedy one.” Beck snorted noisily. “Turns out, this was one of the six brothers that founded the White Dragon Clan. He loved good food, and I figured things might turn out all right. I’d feed him an excellent dinner, and he would know that he had made a wise decision by investing in my enterprise. That was before some enemy of his decided to poison him that night, using my food to hide the drugs. He—”

  “Hold on.” Alisa raised her hand to pause his story and hit the intercom. “Mica? I know we packed light, but is there anything down there you can use to make some explosives? I have an idea that may or may not work.”

  She eyed the satellite imagery again, considering a ledge ahead of them. There was no way to tell how thick it was or how much space was underneath it. She might very well reach it and find out it was only a plateau, but the way it thrust out into the canyon and halfway over the riverbed gave her hope.

  The “Uh” that Mica responded with did not sound promising.

  “I have DZ-4 bombs,” an unexpected voice said over the intercom. The cyborg.

  “Get them. I need you to meet Beck at the hatch.” Alisa doubted the cyborg would appreciate taking orders from her, but their pursuer chose that moment to fire again. The energy bolt blasted past without going anywhere near them, but it slammed into the top of a cliff up ahead, and rubble rained down as the Nomad passed. The thumps of the pieces bouncing off the shields resounded throughout the ship.

  “I’ll be there in less than a minute,” the cyborg said. He sounded unperturbed, as if he had been fired on a thousand times in his life. He probably had.

  “You have any explosives, Beck?” Alisa asked.

  “No, but I can blow the hells out of a man with the blazers built into my armor. Might be able to put a dent in some ship’s shields if I have long enough.” He unfastened his harness and stood.

  “Go with the cyborg. Help him plant explosives. If my plan works, we won’t need you to go toe to toe with a ship.”

  “The mech?” Beck scowled.

  “We’re all on the same side. Your side.” Alisa turned a frosty look on him, hoping to remind him that he had brought this upon them. She didn’t want anything except cooperation from him.

  “Right. We’ll get it done.” He ran out the hatchway.

  Alisa tapped the intercom. The ledge was coming up. She would have to work quickly and hope the shields could take a couple of hits from the mafia ship. The canyon narrowed further up ahead. Good. That should make her actions more believable.

  “Brace yourselves, everyone,” Alisa said. “We’re about to get hit.”

  “Pardon?” Mica asked.

  “Trust me.” Alisa nudged the flight stick and took them upward, hoping it would look like they were giving up on the canyon and fleeing back to the city.

&
nbsp; The White Dragon ship reacted even more quickly than she expected, the pilot firing at her with glee. Her fingers twitched, wanting so badly to take evasive maneuvers, but she forced herself to stay on a straight and predictable course.

  An energy bolt slammed into their starboard side. An alarm flashed on the console, warning her that the shields had dipped below fifty percent power.

  Alisa was too busy with other controls to do more than glance at it. She hit a button to vent exhaust at the same time as she spun artfully, corkscrewing back down into the canyon. She leveled them out just enough to pilot them toward the ledge at the same time as they lost elevation.

  Footsteps clanged on the deck behind her, and she glimpsed Alejandro racing to NavCom, gripping the hatchway with both hands as he stared at her. The artificial gravity compensated for the spinning, but the ship still jostled back and forth.

  Busy concentrating, Alisa did not acknowledge him. She leveled further just before they slid under the ledge, the thrusters skipping off the ground. Alejandro cursed, nearly tumbling to the deck.

  The ledge was barely high enough for the Nomad to slide under. Alisa reversed the thrusters, halting them far more abruptly than the ship was designed to do. This time, Alejandro almost ended up in her lap. Alisa vented more exhaust, hoping it looked like smoke from above.

  “Cyborg, Beck, you’re on,” she said, hitting the control to open the hatch even as she settled them onto the ground under the far end of the ledge. Their nose peeked out, but not so much that the White Dragon ship should be able to tell that the Nomad had landed with control instead of in the crash she’d done her best to simulate. “Plant some explosives on the ceiling of the ledge, right behind us, right where you would land if you were an enemy ship coming down to check us out. Set a delay if your bombs don’t have a remote detonation capability.”