Planet of Ice (The Broken Stars Book 2)

by Tony Healey

  Will she pull the trigger?

  He couldn't conjure an explanation for her behavior. She'd stolen his Skimmer out of frustration, believing that Kort was never going to take them to Quaris, but she'd crossed a line – one Max never imagined she'd be capable of.

  Maybe she's right, he thought. Maybe I never knew her at all.

  "How are you holding up, kid?" Kort said. "I know that must've been difficult for you."

  "I don't know who that was back there, but it wasn't Delta."

  "I'm sorry." Kort put his arm around Max. "Things didn't play out how you wanted them to, but we gave it our best shot. At least you can carry on knowing that much. Maybe this is all for the best."

  The duo reached the top of the incline. Max turned back, taking another look at the caves, and stared at the spot on the ridge where Delta had stood.

  Kort put his hand above his eyes to shield them from the light reflecting off the snow. "We'll never reach the mining facility before sundown. Plus, I'm exhausted. We should try to find a spot to camp for the night. We'll rest up and set back out at first light."

  "No!" Max marched back toward the Hailstone Caves. "I refuse to leave it like this."

  Kort ran to catch up with Max. "What are you doing, kid? Delta made it clear that she doesn't want us around. If you go back down there, one of you may not make it out."

  "So be it."

  Kort tugged on the back of Max's jacket to slow his movement. "You say that now, but what happens if you find yourself in a standoff against her, Max? Are you prepared to shoot her if it comes down to it? Because I guarantee she won't hesitate."

  Max jerked free. "So be it."

  Kort kept pace alongside Max. "Come on, kid. Use your head. You've done everything possible to prove your friendship to her, and she threw it right back in your face. Sometimes you just have to move on."

  "No. Not with her."

  "We've all got things from our past we wish would never come to light." Kort stepped in front of Max, facing him while walking backward. "Hell, I've done a lot of things that I'm not particularly proud of. But Delta is a notorious thief. You know that. Whatever she and Tanzin are doing together, there's a reason she doesn't want us around. She's untrustworthy, Max."

  Max stopped. "I don't believe that."

  "You don't?" Kort spread his arms. "She threatened to put a laser through your skull, for crying out loud! Don't let your faith in people become a weakness. It'll get you killed."

  "You're wrong, Uncle!" Max balled up his fists. "Aquine is gone. My parents are gone. Friendship is the most important thing we have left in this galaxy, and that's why I'm not about to give up on Delta. She won't shoot me."

  "Yeah? And what makes you so sure?"

  "You're right, Uncle Kort. I do have faith in people, but that's not a weakness. It's one of my greatest strengths." Max stormed past his uncle.

  Kort threw his head back and looked up at the sky. "What am I going to do with this kid, Dagg?"

  19

  "You are entering restricted air space. Identify."

  Roma toggled the controls on the Bloodletting's console, performing a final prelanding check before switching to autopilot. With the course set, a timer counted down the estimated minutes to arrival.

  "I repeat, this is Quaris Control Tower, and you are entering restricted air space," a stern male voice said. "Identify yourself immediately."

  Roma zipped up the front of a brick-red thermal coat. She looped leather straps through golden buckles around the wrists to trap her body heat in the jacket.

  "This is your last warning. Identify yourself, or under Terran Defense Code eleven dash eight, article seven, we will open fire."

  Roma strapped a pair of protective goggles around her forehead, and positioned them high on her brow, below the horns. "Ah, that's adorable. He thinks he's in control."

  INCOMING PROJECTILES flashed on the Bloodletting's sensor screen. A diagram popped up on the console's secondary monitor:

  WEAPON TYPE: CLASS-B PATHFINDER MISSILES

  QUANTITY: 10

  SPEED: 14.8K MPH

  FORMATION: WEDGE

  "Impressive." Roma smirked. "All that for little ol' me, or are they expecting company?"

  The wedge formation consisted of four rows: one missile up front, two right behind it, three beyond those, and a final row of four at the rear. The formation dealt maximum damage to a central location, while the increase of width with each row provided a broader range of impact. Archaic but effective, the wedge was designed to limit the target's range of motion. Should the target manage to evade a direct hit, the expanded rows of missiles trailing behind the lead would be impossible to dodge.

  "Textbook Union Defense tactics." Roma yawned. "Pitiful"

  She pressed a yellow button on the console. A small hatch opened in the belly of the Bloodletting, deploying a mechanical sphere. It zipped across the stars, barreling toward the incoming missiles.

  Miniature cannons jutted out from opened compartments on the sphere. It spun in place, gaining speed at a gradual pace. Anti-missile fire launched from the sphere in a purple blaze, striking each Union missile and destroying them before reaching the Bloodletting.

  "Atta girl."

  The sphere slowed its rotation, and returned to the ship.

  Roma lowered her goggles. "Bloody amateurs."

  ___***___

  When the Bloodletting's cockpit door opened, eight armed guards waited on the ground, pointing weapons at the Cilicene. Roma raised her arms above her head. Behind her, the Fair Maiden sat docked, tagged with neon yellow flags.

  They're still here, she thought. Lord Doum will be most pleased.

  She observed the presence of an all-human squad, able to determine with ease which ones trembled with fear. Her appearance elicited that reaction wherever she went, and she enjoyed the sense of power it gave her over her opposition.

  "I come in peace." Roma descended the steps toward the landing pad. "Is that what I'm supposed to say?"

  "What are you?" a guard asked.

  "Cilicene, sir," a young woman behind him replied. "Rare to see one this far outside the Chaparral."

  "Rare to see one at all, my dear," Roma said. "You're well-read, I see."

  Rifles and blasters charged. The hum of plasma ammunition clips filled the air.

  "Relax, humans, I mean you no harm." Roma stretched her arms out at either side. "See? Nothing up my sleeves. I've come only to talk. Who's in charge here?"

  The baffled guards exchanged looks with one another. The woman stepped forward. "Officer Wils, but he's away at the moment. You'll have to schedule an appointment."

  Roma grinned and stepped down onto the dock's smooth concrete surface. She stood more than two feet taller than the woman. "What's your name?"

  "Mine?" The woman gulped. "I'm Ensign Drew Davis."

  "You appear to be the most rational human here, Drew Davis," Roma said. "I don't require an appointment with this Officer Wils fellow. I shall speak with you."

  "Me?" Davis shrugged. "But . . . I'm nobody; certainly not authorized to meet with Cilicene dignitaries."

  "I'm hereby authorizing you."

  Gun barrels followed as Roma strode past the armed guards on her way toward the station. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, noticing Davis wasn't accompanying her. "Shall we?"

  Roma pressed a button on her EPD. The hydraulics whined as the Bloodletting's cargo bay door opened, and a sleek, eggplant purple snowmobile slid down the ramp on tungsten skis. The modified one-seater featured an enclosed cockpit, bright orange fins on both sides, and a rocket booster at the rear.

  "Come, Drew Davis," Roma said.

  Davis made eye contact with her supervisor and mouthed, "What do I do?"

  "Go!" he growled, waving her away.

  ___***___

  Davis tried another password and hit ENTER.

  *** ACCESS DENIED ***

  "Dammit!" Davis slammed her fist down on the keyboard. "It's no use. An
nae must've changed the security codes. I can't access the log."

  Roma pursed her lips as she stared at an oil painting of Mt. Zachal hanging on the wall above the reception desk.

  "I'm sorry," Davis said. "I told you I'm a nobody."

  "No matter," Roma said. "That ship out there, what are all those bright flags stuck to it?"

  "Oh, that means it's been designated for impounding." Davis shoved the keyboard away. "We tag the most valuable components for our crew to strip and put into storage. The rest is shipped to the scrapyard . . . but I'm probably not supposed to tell you any of that." She panicked and puffed from an inhaler to catch her breath. "Great work, Drew. Barely out of cadet school, and already so totally going to get fired. My dad will be so pissed."

  "Easy, child." Roma leaned against the wall and crossed her feet. "What can you tell me about the owners of that vessel?"

  "Not much." Davis removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "They arrived right as my shift began. Some old guy with a droid, I think. Oooh! And a super-hunky young guy! Gorgeous blonde hair, heavenly bronze skin. Mmm . . . what I wouldn't give to be just a couple years younger!"

  Roma cracked her knuckles. "Maybe you'll be able to help me after all. These men, where did they go?"

  "You know them?" Davis blushed and tugged at her chestnut brown pigtails. "Oh, man! Please don't tell him what I said, okay? I'm old enough to be his . . . his . . . well, his older sister, but still – "

  Roma cleared her throat.

  "Right, sorry." Davis slumped in her chair. "I don't know where they went, but this is Quaris, so there's not a ton of options. Just up the road is the Arctic Spire. Maybe they stopped in for a bite to eat? It's where most off-worlders go first after registering."

  "What is this Arctic Spire?"

  "Oh, you know, just your garden variety sleazy den for miscreants," Davis said. "It's a haven for card cheats and cleavage . . . and home of the fifteen credit gut bomb, if you're feeling brave enough to try the Hydra Burger. Not recommended on a date . . . FYI."

  "Thank you, Drew Davis. I shall go there."

  Roma's shadow enveloped Davis. The human winced and cowered into her chair.

  "Are you going to . . . kill me now?" Davis asked.

  "Kill you? For what purpose?"

  "I don't know." Davis opened one eye. "You got the information you wanted, so now I'm no use to you, right? Isn't that how it works with the Cilicene?"

  Roma palmed the top of Davis's head. "Perhaps you've put too much stock in the stories you've heard about my people. We're not all savages. I have no interest in taking a life from someone with which I have no quarrel."

  "So . . . you're not going to kill me?"

  Roma laughed and slapped the human's back – hard. "I like you, Drew Davis."

  ___***___

  The door slammed behind Roma as she entered the Arctic Spire. A wild crowd converged around the Twiz tables silenced. She raised her goggles and scanned the pub, scouring every nook and cranny for a trace of her target. A human server dropped a tray containing a pitcher of ale on a customer's lap. The mercenary yelled and soaked up the spill with napkins from a dispenser on the table.

  "I'm so sorry!" The server tried to assist in the cleaning, but the infuriated patron pushed her away.

  Roma unzipped her jacket to the sternum and proceeded to an open seat at the bar. "Be a dove and pour me a shot of Myra's Fossil, would you?"

  The shaky bartender opened a mahogany cabinet with an old-fashioned brass key. Inside, neatly arranged rows of colorful bottles with labels written in calligraphy stocked the shelves. The human male retrieved a bottle of lime-green glass marked MYRA'S FOSSIL – A JEFFER BRAND LIQUOR. EST. TWENTY-THIRD CENTURY and swirled the half-empty contents.

  "You sure about this?" the bartender asked. "It's 750 credits a shot, and there's no refunds once it's poured. The exposure to oxygen taints the bottle if you pour it back in."

  Roma plopped a credit chit on the bar and waved him on. The bartender scooped up the chit and prepared to swipe it through a data tablet.

  "Hold off on that for a moment, luv," Roma said. "Let's keep the tab open for now."

  The bartender fetched a frosty shot glass from a freezer, and poured the drink. Roma lifted the fizzy, maize yellow drink and licked the glass with her forked tongue. She threw her head back and drained the glass in a single swallow. The sweet heat sent her taste buds into a frenzy. The drink left a volcanic trail from the back of her tongue, down her throat, and pooled in her gut.

  "Phew!" Roma fanned her face. "You stock the good stuff. My compliments to your suppliers."

  "Not much else to do on Quaris but work and drink, so we aim to make it worth your while."

  Roma tipped the glass over and smacked it on the bar. "Another."

  The bartender returned to the freezer for a fresh glass, and poured another round in front of her. As she reached for the glass, two tech-armored mercenaries approached the bar. Due to the blessing of supersonic hearing bestowed upon her race, she felt their presence without looking. By the tensing of their muscles, she determined their size and position.

  "Never seen yer kind ‘round here before," the mercenary on her left said.

  "Yeah, nice set of antlers you got there," the other one said. "Does that mean you're ‘horn-y'?"

  The mercenaries laughed and high-fived.

  Roma rolled her eyes. "Mind if I finish my drink in peace? I am paying an obscene amount of credits for the privilege, after all."

  "Oh, I'm sorry." The mercenary on her left clapped his buddy's shoulder. "Did ya hear that, Rico? We're disturbing the lady."

  "That's darn rude of us, Mash. We'd betta make it up to her."

  Rico took the empty seat on her right. "That's a great idea. Whadd'ya say, toots? Wanna get outta here?"

  Roma grinded her glass in circles on the bar.

  Mash dropped onto the stool on her right. "My pal asked ya a question, doll face. Yer not ignoring him are ya?"

  "Yeah, we're tryina'be nice here," Rico said. "Mash is into exotic chicks, and we ain't never seen nothing quite like ya."

  Roma held her tongue. Maintaining a low-profile on a reconnaissance mission – as low-profile as a Cilicene can – was vital to her success. These mercenaries were a nuisance to her, but ultimately harmless; not worth jeopardizing her mission for.

  She raised her glass to the men, and pressed it against her lips. Mash clutched her wrist and wrestled the glass away from her mouth. Liquid dribbled down the sides and splashed onto the bar.

  "Hey, we ain't done talking to ya," Mash said. "Ya can come quietly if ya prefer, but yer coming with us either way."

  Roma stared at the droplets of Myra's Fossil in front of her. "You just spilled 250 credits worth of my favorite drink. Pity."

  Mash laughed. "Ya hear that, Rico? Maybe we should pay the woman for her trouble?"

  Change of plans, she thought.

  "Oh, it’s no trouble," Roma said. "I'll collect the debt from your bloody hides."

  She unzipped her jacket all the way down. Dual-bladed daggers rested on her hips. She crossed her arms, ripped both daggers free from sheathes, and plunged one into each mercenary's leg. The blades illuminated with deep violet color, and seared their limbs. A smell of burning flesh wafted in the air. She ground her teeth and gave each dagger a quarter-inch turn before removing them. The mercenaries howled and hobbled away.

  Rico squeezed his leg with both hands. "Light this witch up!"

  A pack of three mercenaries broke away from the Twiz tables and reached for the blasters at their sides. Roma sneered and flung both daggers forward. The blades spun at high velocity, heating up with an intense lavender glow. Before a single mercenary could reach their weapon, Roma's daggers sliced clean through the metal, severing each blaster in half.

  The blades circled wide, then returned to Roma's palms. She crouched into a defensive pose: knees bent; left forearm across the bridge of the nose; right arm outstretched, paralle
l to her right leg.

  "Don't just stand there, morons!" Mash called out. "Get her!"

  The three mercenaries at the back of the pub took one look, and bolted through the exit.

  "Cowards!" Mash charged, throwing a wild haymaker.

  Roma headbutted his fist, taking full advantage of the Cilicene’s increased cranial bone density. Mash’s hand crashed with her forehead like a car speeding toward a brick wall. With a loud crunch, his skin split with an explosion of blood. He cried out, gazing at his exposed knuckle bone.

  Rico looked on in horror. Capitalizing on the distraction, Roma delivered a thrust kick to his chest, shattering the collarbone, and sending him reeling backward on a table of food and drink.

  The bartender brandished a sawed-off shotgun from under the bar. Roma heard it coming before his finger even touched the stock. She pirouetted into position behind Mash, pressing a dagger against his throat. The bartender lowered the gun.

  "That's it. Nice and cordial," she said. "Not the way I wanted things to go, but now that I seem to have everyone's attention, I'm looking for a human boy, traveling with an old man and a droid. I have no interest in creating further disturbance here. Just tell me where they are, and I'll go."

  Silence followed for thirty seconds as no one opted to answer her request.

  "They were here," a female voice said. "I waited on their table."

  Roma turned toward the sound, keeping a tight grip on Mash's body. A bald, green-skinned alien stepped out from the kitchen area.

  "What are you doing, Helvanna?" The bartender said. "Get out of here!"

  "You're in no danger, child," Roma said. "You saw them. Do you know where they went?"

  Helvanna lowered her head. "Not exactly, but they stirred up some trouble with the local riff-raff. The boy, he beat our resident champion, Sice, at a game of Twiz."

  "Continue," Roma said.

  "After the three of them left, I overheard Sice and his partner stewing about it. He was pretty embarrassed." Helvanna glanced toward her boss. He shook his head. "Sice said something about catching up to them before they reached the tundra and ‘settling the score'."