A Planet Too Far: Beyond the Stars, #1

by Nick Webb

  Bird did nothing, giving no sign that he even realized what she had done. After a few moments he turned around on his perch and faced the wall.

  His actions confused her and then broke her heart when she realized what they meant; he had given up hope of ever being free. He saw the open door as a cruel joke. Or maybe he lacked the strength to start his life again. Perhaps he didn’t want to be alone. Sadly, she realized that this could have happened to her. It was possible if she stayed and gave birth to a child, that she would never want to leave. She would settle into her duty and be glad to remain in her gilded cage. The thought made her desperate to run down to the kitchens now, even though it was too early.

  She shook her head and brushed away a tear, turning so the watchers would not see her emotion. She spoke loud enough this time for the listeners to hear. “I will leave the window open so that you may have some fresh air. When I come back later, I will close it.”

  She wasn’t ready to give up on Bird, even though he had given up on himself. She pretended to latch the cage door, but in fact merely closed it most of the way, hoping it was her presence scaring him from exercising his natural curiosity, and that after she left, he would go through the door and out the window before her disappearance was discovered and they were once again made prisoners.

  * * *

  Checking the timepiece in her pocket against the setting of the sun, Zelle determined it was time to go. She walked over to the communications center near her door and connected to the person she would most likely discuss her coursework with, one of her fathers. She pressed the button and began to speak, not waiting to confirm he was there. There was no need; he was always there.

  “Father, I’m going down to the kitchens. There is a sauce that I learned once but I do not remember how to make it. It’s important that I remember.”

  A deep voice devoid of emotion came over the speaker, ringing around the room. “Do you require assistance, daughter?”

  “No. It may take me some time, and I’m comfortable alone. I would like to see if I can do it without anyone’s help.”

  There was no answer for a few seconds. Her heart was beating wildly. Had she sounded innocent enough? Would he feel the need to join her? It was not his way, but things were rapidly changing in her world. Perhaps they sensed her restlessness and would feel the need to keep her closer.

  “As you wish. Please be back to your room in one hour. You need your sleep. In two days the grand celebration will be upon us.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. The pride. The High Council’s members were all very pleased with themselves over their accomplishment. They had taken this girl child, raised her from an infant to a woman, and now they would be presenting her to the world. Their Mother. Their Savior. Their whore.

  “Yes, Father.” She took one last glance at Bird with his beak to the wall before leaving her room.

  * * *

  There were watchers and listeners in the kitchens, but they were not as concentrated and focused on every corner of the space. Over the years, she had identified the various eyes and ears in the room. There were two areas where one could be working and not be seen: the secondary stovetop and the storage pantry. So long as she was making some noise at this cooking station, she believed she would be safe from prying observers. It was the reason she had selected a sauce as her project. She did not know from Arno how long his friends would have control over the surveillance systems of the tower, and she didn’t want to risk the lives of people who were trying to help her.

  She pulled out various utensils and a saucepan, placing them over near the stove. She began to whistle, a tune that was easily stuck in one’s mind with a repeating chorus that could go on forever. The first several bars of the music she hummed into the recording device at her wrist whenever she was out of sight of the cameras. She managed to go into the back of the kitchen to retrieve ingredients and verify that the clothing promised was in its place.

  The only people she had ever seen in the tower were tutors, medical professionals, guards, and her fathers. The rough clothing hidden in the bin was not familiar to her. It made her mission seem even more exciting. Zelle would be in a disguise that would fool even herself.

  It was difficult to manage such a mundane chore as making sauce while her mind raced from one drastic scenario to another. Her capture. Her success. Her future. Her past. It all swirled together in one giant maelstrom of emotion. There was plenty of fear there, but overwhelming that emotion was excitement. For the first time in her life, she was actually excited about her future and the potential that it might hold. Always before, there was no potential, only finality.

  She began the process of making sauce, measuring the ingredients as if she were really going to accomplish her project, all the while continuing to hum into the recording device. Dressing in the uniform would take her approximately one minute and fifteen seconds. Sweat formed between her shoulder blades and dropped down her back as the night moved on and she got closer to the departure time.

  When she was two minutes from the appointed time, she placed her recording device on the small countertop next to the stovetop and pressed play. Her voice issued forth from the speaker, soft and haunting. She turned the heat off the stove and slid the pan away from the hot surface. Slowly and quietly, she made her way into the back room. She prayed there were no eyes here now. This was not a place she was expected to be.

  Quickly, she removed the shapeless sack that was her night clothing, and once down to her underthings, pulled each item of her new uniform out of the bin with shaking hands. The trousers were a bit short, but the thick, woolen socks that were too long would cover her bare ankles easily. Worn workboots with repaired laces were sturdier than any footwear she had ever been given before. Over her cotton underthings went a scratchy shirt, a heavy vest, and finally an overcoat. She was sweating from her exertions and the adrenaline flowing through her system, so she did not button or zip the jacket. She did, however, tuck her long, thick braid up under the cap provided.

  Her last move was to run over to the door and rub her hands along the floor near the entrance, the dirtiest place in the room. She took the grit that she pulled from the hard surface and applied it liberally to her face, hoping it would obscure her very pale skin. She feared she would glow like a candle in the night, otherwise.

  The timepiece she’d transferred to the large pocket in the overcoat hung down by her right thigh. She pulled it out one last time and verified the time. Five seconds until departure.

  She listened for signs coming from the kitchen that would indicate someone paying her a visit, but there was nothing but the sound of her own voice, humming over and over, the same tune, always the same. Just like her life.

  She grasped the handle of the door and turned it, expecting it to be locked. All of the tower doors were always kept locked. But this time it wasn’t. It opened easily and swung out into an exterior space.

  This space was nothing like her tower’s interior. Whereas everything inside was white or cream, this place was dark gray and brown, its odors foreign to her nostrils. Air that carried the heavy stench of oils and fumes hit her in the face. She had smelled hints of these things from time to time on the clothing of various guards, but never fresh in the air like this. She inhaled deeply, taking a moment to orient herself to the room.

  It was a garage or hangar of sorts, housing several vehicles, some with wheels, others with hover technology. None of them appeared occupied, but down the line, a single red light flashed on the back of one of them.

  She slipped through the door and closed it behind her, experiencing what felt like a small heart attack when she realized there was no going back now; she had officially left the tower for the first time in her life. Zelle had broken the most hard and fast rule she’d ever been issued: Never, ever leave the tower. It is not safe, they’d said.

  The boots she was wearing made more noise than her slippers, but it was too late for that regret, and too late to
go back and retrieve the lighter footwear. This would be her new uniform, come what may.

  She reached the vehicle, dismayed to find that it was one with wheels and not hover technology. Her studies had informed her that these craft were less reliable and took a lot longer to reach their destinations. The only benefit to using such a transport was that it would be able to go to some places where hovercraft could not.

  She stepped up to the passenger door and peered in the window to find an empty seat. A face leaned over from the other side and spoke. “Get in,” the man said in a low voice, easily heard through the thick glass.

  The door popped open and Zelle fit her fingers into the seam, pulling it free from its frame so she could enter. This was the first time she had ever been in a vehicle. It was surreal to finally experience something that she had only read about and discussed with people having more knowledge than her, people who lived outside the tower.

  It struck her like a bolt of lightning: she was now a person who lived outside the tower. That knowledge made her nearly giddy and then very afraid. She had never been so far out of her element.

  The man was old and grizzled. He smelled of someone who did not shower often and did not care to. There had been few occasions in the tower when she had run into people like this. She was always ushered away, and she never knew their purpose for being there, but that didn’t stop her from wondering. Perhaps he was a supplicant to the High Council? Or perhaps this was how all people smelled outside of the tower?

  She resisted the urge to pinch her nose and instead decided to enjoy it. Her life had always consisted of the same things, recurring over and over again. Finally, this was something different. It was what she had asked for, after all. She was going to embrace these variations from her standards, the differences that made people outside the tower so much more interesting to her than the ones inside.

  “Keep your head down. It’s good you dirtied your face, but it’s still not enough.”

  She bent over at the waist, placing her face in her hands and her faith in the stranger. “Thank you,” was all she could manage.

  The reality of what she had done was hitting her hard, the adrenaline making her entire body tremble. The risk she had taken based on the word of a mere tutor was the most foolhardy thing she had ever done in her life. Perhaps it would be the last thing she would do with her life. She had not considered how she could be placing herself in danger by following Arno’s instructions before, but now it seemed a distinct possibility.

  Where was this man taking her? Would she be brought to a city and left to fend for herself? Did they have a specific place already set up for her? Or maybe they had other intentions. It was impossible to know, and she feared asking. Instead, she braced herself against the sides of her seat as the vehicle moved out of the hangar and into the world.

  The vehicle made several stops along the journey, but none of them longer than a few seconds. She wanted to check her timepiece to see if the recording she had left behind was still playing, but she feared moving. Instead, she tried to memorize the directions that the vehicle was taking in case she changed her mind and wanted to go back. That wasn’t going to happen, she knew, but it gave her something to think about rather than all of the worst case scenarios that kept floating through her mind.

  “We are out of the city,” the man said. “You can sit up now.”

  Zelle pulled her hands off of her sweaty face and slowly sat up. The landscape had changed. Even though it was quite dark, she could see that they were out in a wilderness of sorts. The city lights were behind them, and the road had lost its smooth quality. They were bumping along now, and the force of the tires slamming into the holes tossed her around like she was a mere rag doll.

  “Where are we going?” Zelle braced herself against the door, hanging onto it in an effort to keep her body from being bruised.

  “Somewhere safe. With my people.”

  “Are they Arno’s people? Are you part of the same … family?” There were families and tribes and clans populating New Earth. She was almost sure Arno had told her that he was part of a family, but she could be wrong about that. Personal questions had always been discouraged.

  He nodded his head and grunted at her, not exactly answering but calming her fears slightly. If Arno was there, everything would be fine. She trusted him. He had opened up the outside world to her mind for many years, even at risk to himself, and now he had opened it to her body, too. That had to mean something.

  * * *

  She feared taking out her timepiece and aggravating her escort by seeming impatient or distrusting, so it was impossible to know exactly how much time had passed before they arrived at the camp, but it felt to be at least an hour. The vehicle pulled off the road and into a shed made of broken trees. The engine shut down along with all of the interior and exterior lighting. They sat together in the dark for a moment before the man spoke.

  “Stay close to me.” He left the vehicle after issuing his order, and Zelle scrambled to follow. It took her a few moments to find the release button on the door, and she nearly spilled out of the vehicle when it popped open without warning. She scrambled to her feet, not wanting to be left behind in that dark place, the place where she knew nothing and no one.

  The immensity of what she had done was almost overwhelming. The tactical operations officer who had taught her wartime strategies had often made a point of impressing upon her how critically important it was plan movements well in advance. ‘Failing to plan, is planning to fail,’ he’d always said. She hadn’t planned this maneuver for more than six hours, thereby violating the most important rule of engagement. According to her teachers, this meant she would surely lose. There were so many missteps she could take now, it was mind-boggling, but her only option was to move forward into her unplanned and uncertain future.

  She got to her feet and stood as straight as possible. It was time to face her new destiny, and she wouldn’t do it cowering like a helpless child, and she wouldn’t do it by turning her back and facing the wall like Bird had done. She had not yet lost her will to be free.

  At first she saw nothing but the back of the large man in front of her. He was wearing clothing that had been patched in many places and was almost worn through in others. She had difficulty swallowing when she realized this meant she had joined an encampment that could not afford to clothe its members properly. She took another step, reminding herself that she did not need money or material things to be happy. Basic necessities like food, clothing, and shelter would do just fine.

  There was a circle of light ahead, and it appeared to be the place where the man was heading. When he reached the edge of it he turned to her. “Don’t speak unless I tell you to. Stay close to me.”

  His words chafed. She had come from a place where her days were ordered and her activities arranged, but she had never been directly ordered not to speak. During her education, questions were encouraged and opinions were shared. Of course she censored her words, careful not to indicate that she wasn’t happy, but that was her own limitation. What was happening here did not feel right.

  The man moved to the side, exposing a circle of faces before her. They belonged to men, of course, most of them clothed like her driver. There was one, however, who stood out and looked as though he did not belong.

  When he stepped closer into the light, Zelle smiled and lifted her hand in greeting. “Hello, Arno.”

  The large man turned violently to her and leaned in very close, his proximity making it possible to smell his fetid breath and feel his spittle land on her face. “I told you not to speak!”

  He lifted his arm, and her instincts took over. As his hand came down to strike, hers went up, easily blocking the blow and sending it sideways. Her driver stumbled, thrown off balance by his own strength being redirected.

  Men who had begun to move stopped. Everything froze and went silent. The expression on the driver’s face was terrifying; he clearly did not like being subverted. It looked as
though he were winding up to try again when Arno’s voice cut him off.

  “Father. Stop. I told you, she is an innocent. She has no idea what she’s doing.”

  Zelle looked at Arno, not sure she comprehended what was happening. The soft, measured tone that she was used to hearing was missing from Arno’s voice; instead, there was a hardness there, something cold she would never have associated with him before.

  “Arno, I don’t understand.” She took a step toward him, but was suddenly barred from further progress by a large arm across her chest. She looked up at the large man who had brought her to this place.

  His eyes were dark, his brows drawn together. “Not another step.”

  There were murmurs in the crowd, everyone taking turns glancing from the man, to Arno, and then to Zelle. Several took a step forward, getting closer.

  Arno looked to his people and then moved, stopping just in front of Zelle and the man Zelle now knew as Arno’s father.

  “Welcome, Zelle. Welcome to the encampment of the Hinter people.”

  “The Hinter people?” This was not something Arno had ever mentioned in their studies, and he had been the one to tell her of the various tribes around the towers.

  “Yes. The Hinter people. Your new family.” He turned to the side and gestured to the men standing in the light.

  Zelle tried to swallow, but it was as if there was a large lump blocking her throat. None of the men looked as though they had bathed in the last week. They resembled the savages that she and Arno had looked at in pictures in one of his old textbooks. She would not have been surprised to see spears in their hands or knives made of flint hanging from their belts. Because she had been trained to, she did notice the few weapons that were there, most of them on the crude side, but there were also a smattering of other more sophisticated arms that could easily be used against her.

  This change in Arno’s character and the fact that he referred to this large, brutal man as his father told Zelle all she needed to know about the Hinter people and the game that Arno had played so well on both her and the High Council. He had always won at chess and now she knew why; he played the long game, and he had a great strategy.