The Blarmling Dilemma (Hearts in Orbit Book 1)

by S. C. Mitchell

  She stepped into the cleansing chamber and programmed a long, warm cycle. She’d been working nonstop since Rigel left. She’d wanted to accomplish more, but the lack of parts kept blocking her.

  As the warm sudsy liquid coated her body and started to foam, she felt her tension and fatigue lessen, losing herself in thought as the chamber did its work.

  What had Rigel meant when he’d said he was going to join the circus? He hadn’t explained; he’d just left. He did seem familiar with that traveling show that was presenting here. Did he really plan on joining them?

  A show would be a nice distraction, not that she could even consider going. Rigel’s parting words still echoed through her mind. “Fix what you can, but stay on the ship. I doubt any galactic marshals’ dock here, but there may be other bounty hunters around. I’ll be back in a few days.”

  It had only been a few hours and she was already restless. She’d gone as far as she could go with the parts available on the ship. A few days of sitting around doing nothing would drive her crazy.

  She stepped out of the cleansing chamber with her clothes only half way through their laundering cycle. A thick robe hung on an attachment hook, so she wrapped herself in it. It smelled of him—musky, spicy, all man.

  She thought it funny she should miss him. She’d only known him a few days, yet just the smell of him brought erotic thoughts to the surface. His hands on her skin, blazing a trail of heat. His lips, soft yet firm, fanning the fires within. The way he’d filled her so completely, so passionately. Was there something here beyond physical attraction?

  The eradication of diseases and the advent of dependable birth control had put women in control of their pleasures over the past decade and removed much of the fear associated with casual sex. Men and women were at last on a somewhat equal footing, and could pursue sexual satisfaction without consequence. Still, Phoebe wasn’t one to throw caution to the solar winds when it came to her heart. She wanted to believe she’d been drawn to Rigel by something stronger than primal urges. The way he’d made love to her . . .

  A blast of firing retros shattered her reverie. A ship was coming in to dock somewhere close in the spaceport. Oolo and Lart came scampering into Rigel’s sleep chamber at the same time, clicking and whistling in alarm. Something was wrong, she could tell from their tone. How she wished she could understand the Blarmlings the way Rigel could.

  She peeked out the porthole to see a sleek, JX-95 hyper jet settling into a hanger two docks down. On the tailfin, the bold, six-pointed star symbol of the galactic marshals. Could it be?

  Attached to the lawman’s ship by tether lines, was The Sheltered Princess.

  It was the first she’d seen of her ship since the ion storm. Its battered hull was pitted, the hyper drive engine was a mass of metallic slag, and the portside wing was missing. Still, the cabin seemed intact. A team of tugbots pushed the derelict into the slip on the other side of O’Callaghan’s ship.

  From the JX-95 a short, stumpy man appeared wearing a rumpled blue and gold uniform. Flame red hair hung in greasy strands to his shoulders. This had to be Clarence O’Callaghan. A scowl creased his brow and a tight-lipped frown pulled at his sagging jowls.

  The officer turned toward her on the docks, appearing to look straight at her. Phoebe knew the window was one-way, having a reflective coating on the outside. There was no way O’Callaghan could be looking inside the ship. The recognition in his eyes was for Rigel’s ship. Still, she ducked down, the reaction instinctive against the man’s unsettling gaze.

  When she mustered the courage to look out again, she could only see the marshal’s back as he pounded down a walkway toward the exit of the starport. He was going into the city proper, and that left The Sheltered Princess unguarded, docked less than a hundred meters away. Did she dare?

  Onboard her ship was clothing and the personal items she once thought she couldn’t live without.

  Oolo, obviously reading Phoebe’s mind, was shaking her head and chittering. Phoebe smiled at the Blarmling’s concern.

  “You think it’s too risky?” It probably was, and Rigel told her to stay onboard The Blarmlings’ Hope. There was more potential danger out there, than just the marshal. Just because she couldn’t see anyone around didn’t mean someone couldn’t spot her.

  A buzzer sounded behind her. Her clothes were clean. She returned Rigel’s robe to the attachment hook, latching the fastener firmly to the collar, then slipped back into her underwear and jumpsuit. The thought of her other clothing, nice clothing, sitting so close, rankled her.

  The jumpsuit was utilitarian and plain. Phoebe had outfits over there she knew would take Rigel’s breath away. It wouldn’t be stealing. It was, after all, her stuff. She’d just be retrieving it.

  Oolo was still pacing and chittering.

  “One trip,” Phoebe promised. “I’ll be quick. Just in and out.”

  She knew she had to be fast. There was no way to know what O’Callaghan was doing here, or how long he’d stay in the city. Her mind made up, she exited the airlock onto the docks.

  The hulking bodies of powered down spacecraft’s creaked against their moorings. Gravity in the spaceport was set at a constant point-one G. Phoebe felt light as a feather, and had to keep her footfalls deliberate to avoid bouncing. A grav belt would have helped, but she hadn’t seen one on board The Blarmlings’ Hope, and even if there was one, she doubted it would work properly.

  Phoebe reached The Sheltered Princess without incident, but her heart was beating hard in her chest. She was a wanted fugitive. It would only take one misstep to ruin her. Was this a bad idea?

  She ran her fingers along the seam at the airlock, accessing the control panel with a press of her thumbprint. The door had been forced, probably a high-level electronic lock-picking program. Still, her access code worked to open the airlock and allow her into the ship. Once inside she rushed to grab her largest hovercase, and empty as many of her drawers into the floating box as she could fit. Clothes, shoes, makeup, toiletries. From the bed she grabbed Miss Snotty Pants, a stuffed Gormorian Dracophant her father had given her on her eighth birthday.

  “Well, it’s about time. Where have you been?” The stuffed toy’s screeching voice startled her even while its familiarity warmed her heart.

  “Keep it down, Snotty Pants,” she whispered under her breath as she hit the micro switch on the back of the stuffed Dracophant’s neck. She gently laid the precious toy on the top of her clothing inside the hovercase and snapped the lid closed.

  She’d organize everything later, once she was safely back on The Blarmlings’ Hope. Her heart soared. It felt so good to have her stuff back.

  She was almost to the airlock again when she remembered the coil of extra fuel line she always kept in her storage bay. Damn, she could really use that too. She rushed back in and grabbed the coil, plunked it on top of the hovercase, then hurriedly pushed the whole thing back toward Rigel’s ship.

  Her heart thundered in her ears as she rushed down the titanium walkway between the two ships. The spaceport seemed deathly quiet. Her footsteps echoed in the huge metallic cavern as she jogged, using the hovercase’s gravity modulator like a grav belt to keep herself grounded.

  Then she heard a second, heavy tread behind her.

  Did she dare look back, and risk being seen? It could be anyone behind her. Anyone but O’Callaghan would probably be fine. Still, the tread was heavy, like the jackboots of a certain blue and gold uniformed galactic lawman.

  A tingling ran up her spine as she pushed the hovercase faster. She went farther along the ramp, turning down a walkway on the other side of Rigel’s ship. It wouldn’t do to let anyone see her going into The Blarmlings’ Hope. She had to keep reminding herself she was a wanted criminal.

  She caught sight of the tall man in the green sport suit behind her as she turned the corner
. Breathing a sigh of relief, she kept her head down and busied herself with the hovercase until the man disappeared into a ship three births down, then rushed back around the ship to the hatch.

  Once safely inside, she placed her back against the closed door and waited for her breathing to return to normal. Two pairs of purple eyes stared at her down the hallway from the control room.

  “I know, I know.” She gulped a deep breath. “I took a big chance. But look!” She held up the fuel line. Lart nodded at Phoebe, but Oolo trilled, shook her head and threw up her hands, before trundling away. Lart shrugged and looked longingly after his mate, then hobbled after her, leaving Phoebe alone in the ship’s airlock hatch.

  The hovercase floated in front of her, the coil of fuel line on top. She’d taken a risk, but she’d gotten a reward. Wasn’t that what life is all about? Risk and reward?

  Face it girl, you were lucky.

  She pushed the case into the control room. The Blarmlings had disappeared into the cell. They’d taken that as their space in the cramped ship, which left Phoebe to share Rigel’s sleep chamber with him. Was she assuming too much?

  She pushed the case into Rigel’s bedchamber and looked at the drawers. She’d helped him clean up the room after O’Callaghan had trashed it. She knew there were some empty drawers she could use for her stuff. Did she dare?

  It was not like she was moving in with him . . . exactly. It would just be a convenience for now. Still, this was his ship, his space. In the end, she left everything in the hovercase, stowing it in the cargo bay. Then she grabbed the fuel line and got back to work on the thruster.

  She’d just live out of the hovercase until Rigel returned. At some point she knew they’d have to sort out this thing between them. First she needed to figure out what she was feeling herself.

  Chapter 12

  The last time Rigel had seen a high wire he was staring up at it, on his back in the sawdust, his vision blurring and his leg broken and bloody beneath him. It had either been a final insult, or a tender mercy, that the juggling baton, the one he’d thrown high to try and catch his balance, landed directly on his forehead knocking him unconscious.

  The doctor that set the bone chided him for going up on the high wire with an inner ear infection. He hadn’t even realized he’d been sick, just felt his balance a bit off that morning. In hindsight, he should have used the grav belt, but there had been dignitaries in the audience that night and Rotund offered him extra, above and beyond his usual double pay, to go without the belt. Audiences loved the danger factor.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  The mistake had cost him his position in the circus. An aerialist with a broken leg was worthless to Rotund.

  “Come see me when you can walk again,” Rotund had said, but Rigel had enough credits banked to buy his own star cruiser. It wasn’t much of a ship, but it did allow him to earn money other ways. At first, he’d done deliveries, while learning to fly the P-86, taking goods and people to the rougher worlds the big shippers avoided.

  It had been during this time he’d found himself stranded on Blarm, after delivering supplies in the sector. A malfunctioning thruster marooned him on the planet for over a year, before a research vessel had picked up his distress beacon.

  It had taken every credit he had to pay the repair tech for the interplanetary service call, and with shippers starting to use teleporters, Rigel saw no future in transport. Destitute once again, he started to look for another line of work.

  He’d made friends with a couple of the local system bounty hunters and they’d offered to teach him the trade, provided he moved to a different quadrant.

  Removing the passenger seating in the main cabin, he’d had the cell installed. It made living space on his ship cramped, but it served the purpose, and it only took him a few bounties to pay for the conversion.

  If not for O’Callaghan, he could make a decent living off his skills, tracking down fleeing criminals. Growing up on the Theiler worlds gave him insights into the thinking of the criminal element. He adapted quickly to his new life, even with the irritation O’Callaghan brought, and left all thoughts of going back to the circus behind him.

  And then Phoebe had fallen into his hands and he was right back on the high wire, in more ways than one.

  But he was smarter now.

  Or am I?

  Rigel sighed. Just the thought of the blonde beauty shook him to his core. Her mission so noble . . . she was certainly no criminal. She just had a complete dedication to what was right. No, there was no way he was turning her over to the authorities, even after the Blarmlings were safely home. He had some standards, and he knew places he could hide her where the authorities would never find her.

  But first he needed a working warp drive, and the fastest way to get that was right here, on a cable less than three centimeters wide. Fifty meters and eight pain-filled years separated him from successfully reaching the other side. He could do this. He’d done it a thousand times . . . before the fall. Gritting his teeth he placed his left foot on the line. He found that place, that central balance within him, then brought his right foot around in front.

  Most of it was phantom pain, shooting up his right leg from the fused tibia. It was simply remembered agony in a now healthy limb that he needed to force back into service. Yes, there was some nerve damage he needed to have treated . . . someday . . . when he could afford it. But the leg was sound, the pain manageable.

  In his mind he pictured Phoebe, his reason and motivation. Warmth replaced pain as he put his full weight on the rebellious leg and moved forward on the wire.

  Step by step, old reflexes came back. In the center, where the wire had the most give, he bounced into the air, testing the elasticity of the cable. This was where he’d fallen before—where his balance had failed him.

  He landed and the wire moved beneath him, but his body adjusted and he found his center once again. The demon conquered, Rigel knew he could now move on. The small platform on the other end of the wire awaited him, but he didn’t rush. Once again, he could enjoy the thrill of being high above the ground on a thin cable, and still in complete control.

  “Ladies and gentlemen . . . the Great Rigeletto!”

  Rotund’s voice filled the big top even without the aid of the circus’s public address system. Rigel hadn’t realized the ringmaster was watching him, though he should have suspected. The momentary lapse in concentration caused him to fight the wire once again.

  “Damn him,” Rigel said under his breath. He knew Rotund was testing him.

  There were a thousand distractions during a performance. The two other rings would have constant acts competing for attention, though the high wire commanded the center, most prominent position in the three-ringed big top.

  With deliberate, slow steps, Rigel moved toward the platform.

  “Of course there are hundreds of wire walkers that can make it from one end of a wire to the other. It’s hardly worth the cost of a ticket to see something one can witness on the street corner for free.”

  Rotund’s jibe struck directly at Rigel’s vanity, but he’d been ready for it. Reaching the other side of the wire, he took up the four juggling clubs hanging in their holder on the tent pole. Tossing them, one at a time into the air, he moved once again onto the wire, catching and throwing as he went.

  “Ah, but Louis, how many of them can do this?” Rigel smiled as he continued to toss the clubs and move along the wire.

  “Never,” Rotund spat through clenched teeth, “call me that name in public!”

  Rigel’s grin broadened. He’d hit just the nerve he’d been aiming for.

  Rotund spun and exited the tent. Now Rigel could practice in peace.

  Phoebe tapped the final command into the touch screen, and the intrusion program started its routine. She never dreamed she’d hav
e to hack into her own ship’s computer system one day, but the back door she’d placed in its programming years ago allowed for just that, provided the hacker knew the proper parameters.

  She stood, stretching tired muscles, and made her way to the viewport. Two berths down sat The Sheltered Princess. Her ship, the first big thing she’d ever saved for and purchased for herself.

  Her father had offered to buy it for her and she’d refused. She wasn’t ashamed of her father’s wealth. She’d certainly benefited from it. But it had been time to stand on her own feet, make her own way in the galaxy.

  While the intrusion program worked, Phoebe slipped into the cargo hold and opened up her hover case. Fresh clothing! Nice shoes. Yes, it made more sense to stay in her old shipsuit, to go extract parts on The Sheltered Princess, but she was sick of the old thing. Stripping naked, she changed into one of her favorite outfits. It would be comfortable enough to work in, yet stylish enough for . . . well, she didn’t really expect a night on the town, but if Rigel did return, she wanted to look nice for him. And the underwear she’d picked was positively scandalous.

  Just for you, Rigel Antares. Her core clenched.

  A beep alerted her to her program’s intrusion and pulled her from her reverie. It’d taken only ten minutes for the program to access her ship’s computer. Data started to flow down the screen and she returned to Rigel’s command chair to study it.