He rolled her roughly on her stomach, then used the knife to slice through the ropes binding her hands and feet. Phoebe heard the laserbat approaching down the hallway, and had to fight her instinct to lash out at Ghent.
Laserbats fired first and asked questions . . . never. If the laserbat saw them fighting, it would shoot both her and Ghent, then it would be her word against his in the Theiler 4 monkey courts. No way she’d win that. She’d probably be demoted to a higher numbered planet.
She stayed still. With a clatter she heard Ghent slide the knife and rope pieces under the bed, just as the laserbat opened the bedroom door.
“Possible hostage situation,” the laserbat announced.
“No, no,” Ghent said, backing away. “The lady simply had too much to drink and passed out. I assure you, everything is fine here.”
Ghent was obviously on a level where the laserbats would at least talk to him. That made Phoebe’s situation all the more dangerous.
Then she had an idea.
Groaning, she rolled over. Ghent’s eyes went wide as she staggered to her feet. “Hey, sweety, thansh for the drinsh.”
She hoped her drunken display was convincing enough to fool the laserbat’s programming.
“Gotta go home. See ya’, Ghenty.” She continued slurring her words, and stumbled toward the door. The droid’s ocular receptors followed her, and as she passed it in the doorway she stopped, and waved at it. “Hi, rrrrobot!”
Nobody sober would ever have done that. Was she crazy taking such a risk? But she needed the robot’s logic to see the situation as ‘normal.’
Continuing to stagger, she made her way out of Ghent’s house without issue. She’d either convinced the laserbat she was drunk, or completely confused its programming. Either way, she breathed a sigh of relief as she closed Ghent’s front door behind her.
She continued to stagger along for a few more meters then, picking up her pace, she hurried back toward Constance’s house. This wasn’t over. They’d be after her again. They wanted her dead.
Oolo and Lart were waiting for him when Rigel landed The Blarmlings’ Hope. As he ushered Kirtl off, they started to board.
“Where are you going?” he asked Lart.
The Blarmling cocked his head. “With you.”
Kirtl tottered down the ramp, waving goodbye as he went. Rigel held his arms wide, blocking Oolo and Lart from entering the ship. “I’m going to get Phoebe.”
Oolo nodded. “We know. We’re going with you. Are we going to stand here and argue, or go rescue Phoebe.”
Rigel didn’t even have a plan, he just knew whatever he did it would be illegal and dangerous.
“No it isn’t,” Lart responded before he could even put his thoughts into word. “Get in and drive. I’ll explain on the way.”
Constance was sitting at her data terminal when Phoebe entered the cabin.
“Rigel says there’s a death mark out on you,” the woman said, her eyes filled with concern.
Phoebe closed the door and leaned back against it, trying to catch her breath. She’d run most of the way back. “Ghent and his people managed to grab me. He tried to kill me. I got away,” Phoebe managed to gasp out.
“Drat that man. I knew something must really be wrong when Rigel left off his closing on the message.”
“His closing?”
“Rigel’s ended every post for the last ten years with: Watch the stars. One day I’m coming back to take you away from there.”
Despite her danger, Phoebe found that touching. “I think he truly believes that.”
Constance sighed. “Well, I love him, but the boy’s a fool if he believes that. I’ll die on this rock. Don’t even have the will to try and make it to Theiler 1 anymore, let alone get out completely.”
“I’m so sorry, Constance.”
The woman snorted. “Don’t be. I brought it on myself. Like I said, the only thing I ever did right in my life was Rigel. Now, let’s take care of you. Tell me what happened.”
Phoebe unloaded her story on Constance, including the reason they were after her.
“You blew up a pirate’s data fortress?” Respect shown in her eyes. “Good on you girl.”
Phoebe shrugged. “Except now he wants me dead.”
“It’s going to be four on two when they come for us.” Constance was swinging her head, looking around the room. “Here, help me move the table in front of the door. They don’t allow us any locks. Damn robots.”
They moved the table, then Constance began rummaging through a cupboard. She brought out what looked like two black flat-bottomed bowls. The dishes had shallow rims and a handle on one side. They looked heavy, possibly cast iron. She handed one to Phoebe and kept one for herself.
“What are these?” Phoebe asked.
“Cookin’ pans,” Constance announced. “Until a few years ago, when we got the food replicators, we used to have to do all our cookin’ from scratch. I kept these just in case.”
The pan was cool, and heavy in her hand. It wasn’t a blaster, but at least it was something. Constance held hers in both hands swinging it up and down. “You get up on the table if they come. Anyone manages to force the door open, bop ‘em right on the head.”
The hours dragged by. Constance and Phoebe took turns watching out the small window of her cottage. The home was on the edge of the settlement, so few people ever went by. Occasionally a laserbat rolled through on patrol, but that was it.
There were no houses across the street from Constance’s cabin. Only a dense copse of trees. A grassy field lay to the north of that. Phoebe figured that if they came, if would be from the trees.
She yawned, then shook her head to clear the cobwebs. She almost wished Ghent and his people would attack and get it over with. They couldn’t keep up this level of readiness much longer.
“Need a break?” Constance asked.
“Nope,” she answered throwing the old woman a smile. “I’m good for a while yet.”
The shadows from the trees were stretching across the street. It would soon be dark. Stars started twinkling in the sky above.
I wonder what Rigel is doing right now.
Gods she missed him. His strong arms. His sexy dark eyes. What she’d give to be with him. Would she ever see him again?
A laserbat turned the corner and started rolling up the road toward her. It was the sixth since she’d started this watch. For once it felt good to know they were out there . . . patrolling.
Movement caught her eye in the trees across from her, just as the droid moved past the window. She heard a ping, as if a small stone had struck the laserbat. Suddenly it stopped, its arms drooping. Its ocular sensors went dark just like the ones in town.
“Here they come,” Phoebe said.
Ghent and his henchmen materialized out of the gloom of the forested grove. They walked boldly, appearing to be in no hurry at all. Ghent held his knife, the others had their clubs.
“Send her out, Constance,” Ghent said as he approached, “and you won’t get hurt.”
Constance grunted. “Blow it out your arse, Ghent!”
Someone out there giggled and Ghent cleared his throat. “Phoebe, do you want the old woman to die too. Come on out and I’ll let her be. Make us come in and I’ll make sure she dies slowly, screaming.”
Phoebe looked across the room at Constance. Rigel’s mother. If she were to be the cause of . . .
“Don’t even think it, Phoebe,” Constance hissed. “He’s a liar and a murderer. The only chance either of us has is to stick together.”
Phoebe took a deep breath and nodded, jumping onto the table. Constance braced herself against the back of the table, adding what strength she could against the doorway.
“Okay, have it your way.” Ghent’s t
one showed his confidence.
The knob turned and the door opened a few centimeters before hitting the table. With a bang, someone hit the door on the other side. Phoebe felt the table shake beneath her.
“Ugh!” Constance grunted. She must have felt that, but she continued to brace the table from behind.
Phoebe positioned herself in front of the opening slit as much as she could. Turning the pan sideways.
Another bang and the table pushed back. The door opened a bit further. Just enough.
Phoebe drove the pan down, through the opening, as hard as she could. She connected with something on the other side of the door.
“Ouch . . . bitch! Gods damnit.” It sounded like the Scarred Man.
She pulled the pan back in and slammed the door. Constance pushed the table back into place. “Score one for our side,” Constance said.
“Let me try.” Toad’s gravelly voice made Phoebe cringe.
The knob turned again and something hit the door, probably his shoulder. Again and again he hit the door, and it moved inward each time.
Phoebe swung the pan when the door had enough clearance, but she hit nothing. The shoulder hit again, moving the door a few more centimeters. She swung again . . . and missed. He had to be backing out immediately after hitting the door. She’d need to anticipate, but he was varying the cadence.
Phoebe took a chance and swung. The pan stopped, but not from hitting something.
“Got it,” Princess announced.
Phoebe struggled to bring the pan back into the house, but she could see a woman’s hands on it, pulling. Toad started hitting the door again, and it moved every time.
“Let it go,” Constance hissed. “Take mine.” She shoved her pan at phoebe.
Phoebe released her pan handle, and had the satisfaction of hearing Princess lose her balance. An “ooff” followed by a string of curses issued from the woman’s mouth.
Grabbing the pan from Constance, Phoebe watched through the crack in the doorway, timing her strike just as Toad hit the door. The hunchback cried out and Phoebe slammed the door once again. Loud shouts and cursing issued from the other side of the door. Over the commotion, Phoebe swore she heard the sound of starship thrusters firing. But she knew better. Starships weren’t allowed to land on Theiler 4.
Where the hell are the laserbats?
She knew she and Constance couldn’t hold out much longer, but surely the droid’s should react to the commotion.
“Frack!” she heard Ghent shout as blaster fire erupted in the street outside.
Thank the gods. The laserbats must have finally arrived.
Then everything went deathly silent. Did she dare open the door?
Constance crept to the window, and pealed back the curtain. “Rigel?” A wave of excitement swept over the woman. She wrung her hands, motioning for Phoebe to get off the table and help her move it. “It’s Rigel!”
Phoebe could barely believe her eyes as she opened the door. Rigel stood, holstering his blaster. Oolo and Lart, holding blasters themselves, stood on either side of him. When Rigel saw her, his eyes lit up, he opened his arms and ran to her, scooping her into his embrace. His lips found hers, and Phoebe’s questions and fears melted away as his mouth ravished hers.
“Rigel Antares! What are you doing here?” Constance’s voice rang out, only slightly shattering the moment. He pulled back, releasing her lips, but still held her close.
His grin widened as he looked at his mother. “I told you I’d come back for you.”
Constance thundered up to her son. “Get your arse back in space this minute. I didn’t spend all those years raising you right, to have you end up back here. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Another roar of ship thrusters filled the air. Phoebe looked around Rigel to see The Blarmlings’ Hope sitting in the field to the north. Beside it, a rather official looking scout ship was just landing.
“See there.” Constance pointed at the scout ship. “I told you you’d get in trouble. What were you thinking, coming here?”
Rigel’s smile grew broader and he shook his head. “No one’s in trouble, Mom.”
A tall, thin man in a prison security guard uniform exited the scout ship. In his hand he held a data pad. He bowed slightly as he approached Rigel. “Everything appears to be in order, Ambassador Antares. You may leave whenever you’re ready.”
“What’s he talkin’ about, Rigel?” Constance’s eyes were wide, as the guard bowed again and backed away.
“He’s talking about you,” Rigel answered, “going home with me.”
Constance’s jaw dropped. “What? How?”
“As ambassador for the newly federated planet of Blarm, I’ve been granted, under galactic law, diplomatic immunity. This protection is also extended to my entire immediate family . . . which includes you, Mom. Go pack your stuff.”
He released Phoebe to give his blubbering mother a hug. Phoebe was touched. What a wonderful gift, and the only man in the universe who could pull it off was Rigel Antares. Her heart swelled with pride and love for him.
Of course that meant Phoebe would be alone here. She’d have to watch herself. Maybe move to another part of the planet and start fresh. She had her tools and a bit of money.
The guard was over checking the limp bodies of Ghent and his henchmen lying by the cottage door. “You’d have been well within your rights to use the kill setting on your blaster on this lot, you know,” he added, nodding toward them.
Rigel’s eyes were on her. He’d said something that she’d missed, lost in her thoughts.
“What?” she asked.
“I said . . . the immunity also includes my wife.” Rigel held his hand out to her.
Phoebe shook her head. “Rigel, we’re not . . .”
“Funny thing . . .” And his smile was back, broader than ever. “When you’re a citizen of a world, you’re susceptible to their laws and traditions. Now, when Blarmlings mate, and it’s witnessed by other Blarmlings, they are considered a mated pair. In effect, married. Blarmlings don’t have any official ceremony or legal certification.”
Phoebe was still confused, shaking her head. “But Rigel, we’re not Blarmlings.
“I am a Blarmling,” he stated. “Legally and truthfully. Oolo and Lart have certified to the town elders that we have mated. We are a mated pair, married under Blarmish law. Which, by the way, also makes you a Blarmling . . . legally.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened. The legal loopholes he must have had to jump through.
Oolo came up and took Phoebe’s hand. “Now Phoebe can come home with us. The whole planet will celebrate.”
Rigel swept her back into his arms, kissing her passionately and swinging her around. When he broke the kiss, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “There’s one last thing you need to know about us Blarmlings.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What?’
“We mate for life.”
Epilogue
The trial of Djon le Piere was the first to use Blarmlings in the courtroom. Galactic citizens were glued to their holovids nightly as indictment after indictment was handed down in one of the biggest dragnet sweeps the galaxy had ever seen. Thousands of illegal activities were brought to light, and hundreds of accomplices, bribed bureaucrats, and compromised police officers were identified, including a certain red-headed galactic marshal.
As the kingpin of one of the biggest crime rings ever unearthed, Captain le Piere was sentenced to Theiler 12, the worst punishment possible.
Clarence O’Callaghan blubbered and pleaded for mercy through his entire trial. In the end he was sentenced to Theiler 9, and forever branded a spacer.
Ghent and his henchmen, already in the prison system, were tried in the Theiler 4 courts and demoted for their actions. Ghent to Thei
ler 8, the others to Theiler 6.
Phoebe lounged in the warm sun, under the Verril trees outside the home she shared with Rigel and Constance. She breathed in the clean, fresh air and watched the lingbats gliding from limb to limb.
Rigel was strolling up the walk toward her, Kirtl tottering at his side jabbering.
“It takes how long? And then you only get one baby? That’s crazy, Rigel.”
Phoebe chuckled at Kirtl’s antics. She’d had her Tyvar procedure reversed just a few weeks after being rescued. They were married. She hadn’t had anything to say about it, but it was fact. Blarmling custom was to be upheld. She was a Blarmling now. And she loved it.
She wanted a child. Rigel did too, though she joked often that he had Kirtl. The boy really had become a part of the family. He’d even asked Constance if he could call her grandma. Phoebe assumed Rigel had instigated that just to see his mother’s response.
“You certainly can,” Constance had said, patting the boy on his head. “I’m happy to be anyone’s grandma.” She’d shot Phoebe a knowing wink.
Phoebe was three months pregnant, and just starting to show. She’d had so many of the Blarmlings stopping to check on her, wondering what was taking so long. They wanted to see what a human baby looked like. She was beginning to worry the whole planet would show up for the birth.
The chaise she lounged on was big enough for two, and Rigel slid in next to her, placing one hand gently on her baby bump and kissing her cheek.
Kirtl, of course, didn’t take the hint, and kept right on talking. “You humans do everything wrong. You make Phoebe carry the baby all the time. You need to take your turn. And if you only have one baby, they will call you littlest man, you know.”
The Blarmling Dilemma (Hearts in Orbit Book 1) Page 25