Star Crossed

by C. Gockel

  He nodded. This galaxy? “You’re from another galaxy.”

  It wasn’t a question and she didn’t answer it. She didn’t have to. Her eyes gave her away, too. Maybe she realized that, because she looked away, toward the cave’s entrance.

  “So what’s out there at night?”

  “Nothing you want to see.”

  She was from another galaxy. No one he knew had been able to travel between galaxies. That explained why she was so different.

  “What keeps them from coming in here?”

  “This.” He pulled his weapon, spun it, at the same time activating it. He fired it out the opening and one of the little biters squealed. There was a sort of patter of retreat. He noticed she took a step closer to him and wondered if she realized it. “And they don’t like light.”

  “Oh.” She was quiet a moment. “Biters because they…”

  “Bite.”

  “Bummer.”

  He turned his weapon off and started to shove it back in its holster. Her hand on his arm stopped him.

  “Can I look?”

  He held it out. She didn’t take it, just studied it carefully.

  “How does it work?”

  “Overloads the system with an energy surge.”

  “Fatal?”

  “If it’s not set to stun.”

  “Sweet. My first ray gun.”

  She released his arm and he stowed it again. He’d never seen a woman so excited over a weapon. He liked it. He liked her.

  She was quiet for a few moments until she started that tapping fingers thing again. Then she started to hum. The tune seemed odd, but he liked it, too, particularly liked the way she looked doing it. She softly sang something about a bad moon, until she realized he was looking at her and stopped.

  “Sorry, it’s a bad habit.”

  “Not so bad.”

  He got a smile for that.

  If her people did come, if they did leave this place, what would they do with him? He looked at Sara and felt something stir inside him—like feeling returning to a cramped leg. He’d lived with death for the turning of many seasons, almost too many to count. It was the only companion he’d desired since Fiona but now—

  “What do you think?” Sara looked at him a bit anxiously. “I need to get there before my people do.”

  He looked out. “It’s light enough now.”

  “Right.” She grabbed her sack, sliding her arms through straps and then picked up her P-90.

  He looked at her, wanting to say something, but an odd smile curved her mouth, drying his throat. She put a hand on his chest and reached up, pressing a quick, soft kiss to cheek.

  “For luck.”

  “That’s not much luck.” Before she could step back, he slid his arm around her waist, and pulled her close. He covered her mouth with his. He only meant to touch and go, but it had been a long time and she tasted good. He felt her shiver and almost respond, before she pushed against his chest.

  Her lashes hid her expression, but a small smile flickered across her mouth.

  He pulled his weapon, activated it and set it kill.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Right.” She readied her weapon with a snapping sound, pressed the hilt to her shoulder, and put her finger on the trigger. “I’m ready.”

  It was good to have someone at his back for a change.

  Sara wasn’t sure why she’d kissed his cheek. Maybe to see if he’d flinch back. Dang, the caveman had so not flinched. And he could kiss. Not that she had a lot to compare it to, but it had made her foot pop up. Wasn’t that the universal sign of a toe-curling kiss? She knew hers were still trying to uncurl…

  He looked grubby, but he smelled surprisingly good. Kind of fresh and earthy. Heady stuff for a homely girl.

  Fyn slipped out of the cave first. She shook her head, to clear her thoughts and get focused, then followed him out into what passed for sunlight.

  She wasn’t a botanist, so all she saw was lots of green crap. There were vine things hanging down and lots of exotic looking crap—buckets of it. She did recognize trees. Big trees. Small trees. And flowers. The ground was spongy under foot and cushioned their foot steps, which was a plus. Mostly they moved through foliage so dense, she couldn’t see the sky, but she did catch occasional glimpses. It was blue, but seemed a different shade than on earth, more on the green spectrum, maybe. It felt cold in the cave, which one would expect, but she’d thought it would be cooler outside. Instead it grew steadily warmer. It was humid, not surprising so close to water, but it made her glad she wasn’t wearing her zoombag.

  Once Fyn stopped and looked back at her, as if he wasn’t sure she was still there. Maybe he thought she’d be noisy. She grinned. You didn’t grow up in foster care without learning how to be quiet.

  Other than the occasional crackle of twig, all Sara heard was the soft buzz of insects until she realized that she could hear the ocean waves hitting the shoreline. Fyn moved more slowly now, stopping often. Having his six wasn’t a bad place to be, though Sara made an effort not to study his very fine, leather covered, tush, and to stay alert. He moved like a lethal ghost through green shadows and his long legs covered the ground efficiently.

  He stopped suddenly, going into a crouch, his fist raised in the stop and quiet signal. Sara crouched behind him, trying to hear what he’d heard. He raised two fingers and pointed to the left, then pointed to her.

  She did a thumbs up, then remembered she hadn’t told him about that and nodded. He signaled three, and pointed in the other direction, then to himself. She nodded again. She eased up next to him and started to slide past him, when he leaned close, his mouth to her ear.

  “I’ll wait until you’re in position.”

  She nodded once more, peered through the foliage, and spotted her two targets. Beyond them she caught a glimpse of water. She was too high to see the beach or her bird. The Dusan had chosen this bluff carefully, clearly hoping to catch her in the cross-fire when she returned to her bird—or her people came to find her.

  She inched along the ground, careful to not let even a stray sound give her away. Just above the Dusan position, she found a big bush with a depression under it, probably from erosion. She worked her way into it. She should be completely hidden. She couldn’t see Fyn, but she didn’t have to. She just had to see the Dusan well enough to make them go away.

  She made sure her P-90 was set to single shot and sighted on one of the two guys, the cross hairs on the back of his head.

  One shot, one kill.

  Fyn waited to see Sara get under cover, amazed at how her clothing helped her blend with the ground cover. She was so quiet, he’d wondered if she’d slipped away, but she’d stayed on his six. He grinned as he watched her disappear under that bush. They’d never even know what made them go away. He worked his way toward the other group of Dusan.

  He sighted on the first back, did a slow count and fired without hesitating. Killing Dusan was always a good thing. Once, twice, three times. On the heels of his shots, he heard two short, sharp cracking sounds. A half count later, he heard the sound of a Dusan weapon discharging, with Sara’s weapon barking on its heels.

  They’d missed someone. He cursed silently as he headed in her direction, his gaze scanning for any other surprises. He reached the bush, skidding to a halt at the sight of a dead Dusan, just a few feet away. He lay sprawled on his back, a neat hole in his chest.

  “Sara?”

  “I’m all right.” The bushes parted and she peered out, then crawled out and stood. “He almost got lucky, though.”

  She looked pale and her mouth was tense.

  He looked from her to the dead Dusan. “Good shot.”

  “Someone once told me I’d be a good sniper. I thought it was a compliment.”

  Fyn had a feeling this was her first, face-to-face kill. He walked over until he could see the other position. She’d got them both in the head. Not bad. He looked back in time to see her bite her lower lip, then approach the c
losest body. The Dusan was a typical scout ship soldier, large and stocky and wearing a dark brown uniform, devoid of any kind of insignia. His head gear hid his upper face. The only way to tell who was in charge with the Dusan was to watch who stayed to the rear when they moved in on a position.

  She removed the gear hiding his face and stared at him for a moment. “They don’t look that different from us. I kind of thought ET would be more alien.”

  “ET?”

  “Extra-terrestrial? Not of our world?”

  He wasn’t of her world. Did that mean he was ET, too? “What did you think ET would look like?”

  Sara looked at him, started to say something, then just kind of shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve seen way too many sci-fi movies for my own good.”

  What?

  She started going through the Dusan’s pockets.

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked up. “I’m looking for intel—information. It’s SOP—sorry, standard operating procedure.”

  That actually seemed like a good idea, though she didn’t look like she liked doing it.

  “I’ll check these two for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  When they’d collected all they could from all six bodies, she looked at the small pile, frowning.

  “Problem?”

  She picked up a small disc hanging from a chain, turning it over. “This could be ID, I suppose. Kind of looks like our key cards. It’s odd, though.”

  “Why?”

  “No personal items. Not even a snack to munch on. And no radios.”

  It was interesting to watch her work. And think. He’d never thought to search a dead Dusan, except to take his weapon. What had she learned? What did she hope to learn?

  “I wonder how they keep in contact with each other.”

  “I’ve heard they have communication devices implanted in them when they are born.”

  Her brows arched. “How Big Brother.” She picked up a weapon. “Do these things recharge or what?”

  Fyn took it and showed her the power cell. “It lasts a long time.” He studied the power setting. “These were set to low stun. They wanted to take you alive.”

  He pointed it at a tree and fired it. Even at low stun, it left a black mark.

  Her eyes widened. “Dang.”

  They gathered up the “intel” and headed down. When she dropped onto the sandy beach, she stopped and pressed the side of her jacket, where she’d stowed her radio.

  “Home plate, this is outfield5. Do you copy? Come in, home plate.” She sighed. “Still no joy.”

  She ran a hand along the side of her ship. “My bird got pranged.”

  She carefully examined both areas of damage, muttering to herself. It sounded like an inventory of what was wrong. Seemed she didn’t just fly her “bird,” she knew how to fix, too. Finally she stopped, bit her lip for a minute, stepped back with a sigh, then turned and jumped up on the wing and peered into the cockpit.

  “The onboard computer looks like it’s intact.” She climbed in and sat down.

  “It still won’t fly,” Fyn felt bound to point out.

  Sara looked over the edge of the ship at him. “I know. But I need to get the self-destruct online. I can’t let the gomers get my bird. That’s SOP, too.”

  Fyn wanted to protest. If her people didn’t come, then they’d still be stuck. And maybe the ship could be repaired—only it couldn’t, not without replacement parts.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  Her smile was quick, but warming. “Can you get that rear panel off? Where I took the hit? I may need to reroute power to the computer.”

  He removed the panel and studied the mess of wires and components, not easy to sort out with a big, black hole in the middle of it all. Some of the parts weren’t that different from the ones in his ill-fated ship. Some of it he’d like to study some more. He couldn’t see where the propulsion power came from, but he began to see a pattern in the tangle of wires.

  “Hang on, I think see the power conduit…” He pulled his knife, cut off some wire from one place and used it to make a bridge between two severed wires. “Try that.”

  She peered over the side with a wide smile. “Thanks. You know your way around an engine. Briggs is going to love you.” She disappeared from sight again, then reappeared. “He’s the guy who keeps us flying.” She vanished again. “I’ve got some tracking capability—crap, we got a bogey incoming.”

  He climbed up on the wing, and saw a screen with a dot flashing on it as it moved closer to the center of the screen.

  “What’s that?”

  “Could be SAR—search and rescue. Or a bandit—that’s a bad guy. Normally I’d be able to tell if it had an IFF, but my sniffer was in the pointy end of my bird. No surprise it’s down.”

  Fyn blinked, not even sure what to ask.

  “IFF is a signal our ships send out that identify us to each other. Helps cut down on friendly fire accidents. A sniffer is the device that picks up the signal. All our crap has fancy names we can’t remember, so they get nicknames real fast. Or reduced to initials.”

  She pushed something and a small tray popped out. She started pressing on the rows of buttons. “Okay, inputting the self destruct, but I’m going with a remote detonation. If it is Dusan, we can take a few of them out, too.”

  She pulled a small device off the edge of the keyboard and then got up.

  “We should get out of sight.”

  She nodded, but before they could move, he heard a crackle, then a voice.

  “Outfield5, this is outfield1, do you copy?”

  She grinned and depressed the side of her radio. “Outfield1, this is outfield5. Authentication code Tango Foxtrot Bravo. It’s good to hear your voice, sir.”

  “Ditto, Captain. You all right?”

  Sara looked at Fyn. “Sierra hotel, sir, thanks to a new friend.”

  Fyn arched his brows. “Sierra hotel?”

  “Means shit hot…which means good?”

  He blinked. Why didn’t they just say what they meant?

  She grinned. “We’re not allowed to say shit over the radio.”

  Her radio crackled again. “Bravo Zulu, Captain. We’ll be stable one in ten.”

  “Roger that, sir, we’ll be the ones with our thumbs out.”

  Fyn almost rubbed his head. “Thumbs?”

  “Oh, sorry. It’s an—”

  “—earth thing.”

  “If you’re hoofing it, walking, and you want a ride, you stop by the side of the road and put your thumb up, like this—” She bent her arm, her fingers curled in, only her thumb up. “If you’re a girl, you might try a little hip action.” She wiggled her hips and grinned. “And if the driver likes the look of you, he stops and gives you a ride.”

  It sounded dangerous, even though he didn’t quite understand it. Ride what?

  “Have you ever hitched a ride?” he asked.

  “Not until I met you and I didn’t exactly put my thumb out.”

  Relief boosted her smile to new heights. He had to return it, though it wasn’t as whole hearted as hers. The gift he’d been sent was double-edged, but most gifts from the gods were. He looked at Sara. She was sort of frowning, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  “I’m wondering where their ship is?” She picked up one of the disc’s again, studying it for a moment. “Not a car key…”

  What did that mean?

  She looked down, examining the ground around her ship. “Those are our tracks…”

  She crouched down.

  “Those aren’t mine. Or yours.”

  She stood up. “They lead this way.”

  They followed the tracks until they turned into the under growth some distance down the beach.

  “I guess you don’t know if they have a self destruct on their craft?”

  He didn’t. He felt a flicker of excitement. A Dusan ship was a major find. As far as he knew, not even Kalia
n had managed to capture one of their ships intact.

  As Sara stared into the jungle, a craft, similar in markings and construction to Sara’s ship, but much bulkier, came into view and landed between them and Sara’s ship, sending sand blowing in all directions. A large ramp lowered from one side and five men emerged. One man wore a dark suit like Sara had been wearing when he first found her. The men with him wore loose-fitting, mottled clothing, very much like what Sara had on now. They were heavily armed, their weapons larger than the one Sara carried.

  The man, clearly the leader of the group, looked toward Sara’s bird. Sara tapped her radio.

  “We’re down here, sir, to your left.” When he looked her way, she waved.

  Sara started toward him, but when he got close, she stopped and straightened, bringing her hand to her head, then snapping it down.

  “Welcome to—” She hesitated. “Does this planet have a name?”

  “Kikk,” he said.

  “Kikk, sir. I’d like you to meet Kiernan Fyn. Fyn, Lieutenant Colonel Carey.”

  Carey was about the same height as Sara, with an easy going grin, dark hair and friendly blue eyes. He held his hand out without hesitation.

  “Pleasure, Fyn. Thanks for taking care of my bubba.”

  Fyn blinked. Bubba? He looked at Sara. She shrugged, her expression rueful for a moment, before a veil of reserve dropped in place in her eyes.

  “We’ll get you off this rock a-sap, but we’d like to salvage your bird.” He arched a brow in Sara’s direction.

  “She’s no hanger queen, sir. With replacement parts, she’ll fly again.”

  Carey looked low key, but Fyn sensed the toughness of a seasoned soldier beneath the surface. Fyn instinctively liked him. If all Sara’s people were like him, he’d fallen into good company.

  “Good to hear.” He glanced around, then studied Sara. “Why do you look like a jarhead, Donovan?”

  Fyn noticed the guys with Carey kind of rolled their eyes. Maybe they were jarheads.

  “We had some unfriendlies hoping to heat up the LZ, sir, two positions, there and there.”

  “The landing zone?” Carey’s brows arched again.

  Sara flushed a bit. “Not a pretty landing, but no smoking hole.”