Starbearer

by Rock Forsberg

  Reina grinned. ‘I’ll get you down. Hop on my back.’

  ‘Huh?’ Evie said, as Reina squatted.

  ‘You speak common or not?’ Reina asked, glancing back at her. ‘Hop. On. My. Back!’

  Evie did as she was told and put her arms over Reina’s hard shoulders. Reina stood up, lightly, as if Evie wasn’t there, and stepped over to the hatch. Wind blew Evie’s hair across her face, and the ground seemed even farther away than before. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  Reina slipped to the outside wall, with the help of some sticky gloves and boots. Then she dropped down freefall with Evie on her back.

  Evie screamed.

  But soon enough, their descent slowed, and Reina’s feet lightly touched the moon’s dusty surface. Evie dismounted, her knees weak, and let out a long breath. ‘How’d you do that?’

  ‘Like this,’ Reina said, and hopped back on the wall. She climbed up the smooth surface on all fours like a Katamokaru lizard. In a few moments she slid down with Sofia on her back. Somehow her gloves and boots allowed her to control their grip, and once they had dropped long enough, their descent slowed. She took one more trip up, taking a long time before she finally emerged from the hatch with Naido on her back.

  ‘She’s strong,’ Evie said, seeing the big man on her back, and just as before, they skidded down. This time though, Reina grunted at the landing, as if she had expended more energy.

  Naido jumped down from her back and adjusted the front of his jacket.

  ‘Are you blushing?’ Evie asked.

  ‘No,’ Naido said. ‘Why would I?’

  Reina appeared before them. She glanced at Sofia by the wall, and with a low voice said, ‘This is the plan: I will take Sofia back to the space terminal—if the Ver follow her, I have the best chance at repelling them. You two, get to the Noir; they’ll arrange a presence room for Evie. How much time have you got?’

  Evie glanced at her device, and gasped. ‘Less than two hours.’

  ‘Then we should move,’ Naido said, and stepped away from the building. ‘There’s a way up behind this block, but it’s a fair walk.’

  ‘We’ll head the other way,’ Reina said. ‘Use the light if the Ver catch up to you.’

  Evie nodded, and followed Naido along the dark and dusty surface. Reina and Sofia went the other way, and in moments, disappeared into the dusty haze.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Henning hoped Sofia and Evie were all right as the transport ship Kangaroo came out of the last pinch, just a few hours away from Spit City. He wondered whether he had made the right choices. Taking off against a superior officer’s command was wilful disobedience, a serious crime with severe consequences.

  One reason he could think of for Belinda ordering him to stay at the Central was that there was something in Spit City she didn’t want him to find. Also, she didn’t want him to work with Sofia, which suggested Sofia knew more than she had let him believe.

  He couldn’t take Aino with him, and he felt bad for leaving her again, but compared with Spit City and the increasing attacks by the interdimensional monsters, her school in Dawn Central was like a cocoon.

  The trip had taken quite some time with multiple pinches and stops. Henning logged in to the Dawn Alliance Navy document repository to see if Jill had been able to provide him with access to the restricted documents. He ran the same query for the latest material about Avalon and Project Renascence. The same file appeared on top. This time, it opened.

  Henning devoured the text, and the words made his blood boil.

  The children weren’t missing; the navy had intentionally taken the young Avalonians for their DNA and were holding them in a secret facility, but the document didn’t specify where. Other than that, the document was a boring description of procedures to shed the liabilities—the people of Avalon— and transition Project Renascence back to Dawn Central.

  That nobody cared for Avalon came as no surprise, but the inhumanity… Well, that was also to be expected.

  And the person who had signed the order: Belinda Killock.

  She had kept him out of everything to do with Avalon, because she knew he wouldn’t have let her get away with it otherwise. It was clear he had to go past Killock, but with the navy in chaos, it was going to be difficult. She had played it well. Above her, Admiral Jett was known as a man of integrity; he could talk to him, but to get his way, he would need to show why the navy would be better off giving him control.

  While he considered his options, the Kangaroo completed its docking procedure with the Spit City spaceport. Docking on a temp stop, the ship’s pinch engine would be recharged, and it would continue its route. Henning was the only passenger to alight.

  As he walked down the ramp, the dank smell greeted him: a reminder that he was entering an obsidian urban jungle. People of all races moved about the busy terminal, and it seemed there was more law enforcement presence than before. But there was no panic, no overflow of the black creatures he had expected.

  The platform of the Kangaroo was guarded by two military police. Walking past them, Henning expected a salute, but instead, they blocked his way.

  ‘Mr Henning Dal,’ the tall dark fellow said, ‘we have orders to take you in.’

  Henning’s heart missed a beat. If they were already onto him, they were very fast—too fast. Perhaps it was something else. He didn’t know, and the best way to lie was to tell the truth, so he asked, ‘Why?’

  Two other military police stomped past them and up the ramp.

  The blond square-jawed MP said, ‘Code 3455 violation.’

  Henning waited to hear more, but none came. He had no recollection of the myriad codes of behaviour. ‘Which is…?’

  The tall one looked at him as if he were a spoiled meal. ‘Bribery. You and your pilot have some explaining to do.’

  Getting caught doing something like that was bad and might expose the actual thing he was worried about, the fact that he was ordered to stay at Dawn Central.

  ‘Yeah,’ the tall one said, while the blond one pulled Henning’s hands behind his back and cuffed his wrists.

  The blond one nudged him forward.

  They walked through the crowds of people. They were probably headed to one of the many hold-ups FIST used to run in the terminal complex. If he went in as a military person, whether or not they found him guilty of bribery, they would see he was in the wrong place, and send him back to Dawn Central to face the judge. Perhaps that was what Killock had wanted—an easy way to cut him off from snooping around her operations in Avalon.

  He had to get away.

  The military police escorted him through a nondescript door into the space station police headquarters. It was almost as busy as the terminal floor, except perhaps two-thirds were police and all the rest criminals of one kind or another. There was someone with half their face gone, someone in a disabled power-suit, a dirty kid looking down like he was actually sorry, but when the police came to him, he burst into obscenities. Henning had, of course, been there before and understood the nature of police work in the city. Even so, it seemed busier than ever. Perhaps things had changed under the navy’s direct supervision, but if it was for better or worse, he could not tell.

  They took his bag and his terminal and shoved him into a small holding cell with transparent walls, and a sausage slicer door.

  The police were escorting a handcuffed Andron man with ragged hair and a flat spot where his nose should be. Their eyes met for a moment, and the man’s expression lit up. He pushed against the police and got himself against the transparent wall of Henning’s cell. With wicked eyes he stared and started laughing like a maniac. The police reacted by pulling him back, and he said, ‘I know you, I know you…’ As they dragged him away, he shouted, ‘You used to run this place, and I knew then you were rotten inside, like you all are!’ And he succumbed to a fit of coughing and crazy laughter, as the cops carried him away.

  A few hours passed by. Unsurprisingly, the navy hadn’t made
the processes any more efficient than they had been with FIST.

  A police officer came by the holding cell. He looked at Henning with narrowed eyes. ‘I used to work for you in FIST.’

  ‘How long will I have to stay here?’

  ‘It’s all much better now than it ever was with FIST. The navy gives us more resources, and the city is getting cleaner.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like that to me.’

  ‘You just don’t see it from where you stand.’

  ‘Again, how long will I have to stay here?’

  ‘Don’t know, don’t care. I’ve the city to serve.’ The man turned on his heels and marched away.

  Henning sighed. Stripped of his device, he couldn’t connect with Sofia to tell her he was stuck or to ask where she was. He had to wait.

  The two military police, the same ones that had brought him in, appeared by the holding cell. ‘Mr Dal,’ said the tall, dark one, ‘you will be transported back to Dawn Central.’ The blond one turned the sausage slicer door off, and beckoned Henning to step through.

  He considered making a run for it, but there were too many police, cameras, and automated enforcement units that would shoot him down in a second were he to try anything.

  The blond man clasped one titanium cuff on Henning’s wrist, and the other on his own.

  ‘What about my comms terminal, and my bag?’

  ‘They’re both going back to Dawn Central with you,’ the dark one said. ‘But you won’t have access to either. They’re evidence.’

  They walked back, past the police and the hoodlums they were bringing in. A big bald man was bleeding from his forehead, muttering curses as two snickering cops hauled him in.

  Walking past the crowds on the terminal floor, the military police directed him to the Kangaroo.

  ‘What about the pilot?’ Henning asked.

  ‘Swapped,’ the dark one said, ‘and this ‘roo will jump straight to the Central where you corrupt ones will be sentenced.’

  Frustrated, Henning pulled on his cuffed arm, making the blond one stumble.

  ‘Easy, there,’ the dark one said, and grabbed Henning by his free arm, twisting it back. ’We can also do this the hard way.’

  Henning grunted at the pain and eased off. The military police escorted him through an empty corridor, past empty rooms to the last one which, when needed, served as the brig. The pilot sat on the bench, cuffed with a titanium clasp to a metal rail on the wall.

  The blond military man uncuffed his own wrist and secured Henning onto the same railing as the pilot.

  ‘Have fun,’ said the dark one. The blond snickered as they walked out. The door whooshed shut behind them.

  The pilot seemed stoic, staring at the wall, his eyes barely visible behind his curly black hair.

  ‘I’m sorry I brought this predicament on you,’ Henning said.

  The pilot said nothing and moved uncomfortably to avoid leaning against the emergency torch behind his head. The torch gave Henning an idea. The police were gone, and as the ship hadn’t even engaged its core to warm up, it would take at least ten minutes to launch. The torch could help him out.

  ‘Could you hand me that torch?’

  The pilot turned his head to look at it. ‘Perhaps. Why?’

  ‘It’ll get me out.’

  ’You can’t break the chrystallium clasp with it.’

  ‘I’m not intending to. Could you just hand it over?’

  ‘It won’t break the rail, either,’ he said, running his fingers over it. ‘I reckon this is also made of chrystallium.’

  ‘That’s all right. Just give me the torch, all right?’

  ‘OK, now I’m curious,’ the pilot said, reaching out and grabbing it. He handed it over to Henning.

  It was heavy, just as he had expected. ‘Watch out,’ he said, and swung it against the wall. The torch’s cover broke in shards and left a sharp edge.

  ‘See, it breaks before it breaks anything else.’

  ‘Think so?’ Henning raised the torch and aligned the sharp edge against his wrist, just above the clasp. The weight of it pushed the sharp edge through his skin and drew blood.

  ‘You’re not serious.’

  Henning grinned. ‘You really think I’m going to chop my hand off?’

  The pilot laughed dryly. ‘You got me there.’

  ‘Have I?’ He lifted the torch with his right arm and smashed the sharp edge against his wrist. The blade cut deep, rubbing against the bone, and he cried out in agony.

  ‘You’re crazy!’ the pilot cried, and looked away.

  Pain is only a feeling, he reminded himself as he tried to catch his breath.

  He raised the torch and smacked it down on his wrist again. The pilot cowered as blood spilled. The pain made it difficult to hold on to the torch. He turned his wrist and struck again as hard as he could. The bone was broken but still in one piece, tendons ripped and sprung and hurting to the core. The pilot whimpered, and Henning chopped, chopped, chopped and screamed, until the bone cracked away and his hand was free.

  Unbearable pain struck up his arm like his hand was wired to an alternating current. Standing up made him feel lightheaded. His arm was like a blood-faucet.

  ‘Got anything, any cloth on you?’ he asked.

  ‘My bag’s just there. Hey bag, unlock.’

  The robot suitcase gave a soft beep, and a blue light shone. With his free hand, Henning pulled out a shirt.

  ‘By all means…’

  Henning held his broken arm up, put the shirt over the bloody end, and rolled the sleeves around the forearm. ‘Help me out,’ he said between heavy breaths. ‘I need you to tie the sleeves tight around my arm to stop the bleeding. Can you do it?’

  ‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘You will need a tourniquet. Get the deodoriser stick out of my bag, and I’ll fix it.’

  Henning rummaged through the pilot’s bag, just as the ship began to judder; the core was running. There wasn’t much time.

  Henning handed the deodoriser to the pilot, who put it on the bench and started wrapping the sleeve tight around Henning’s arm, a few inches from the cut. He tied them with an overhand knot and placed the deodoriser on top of it.

  Henning swallowed and coughed.

  ‘You all right?’

  Henning nodded. ‘Hurry,’

  The pilot twisted the tourniquet. Henning cried out as it squeezed tighter, but no sound came as the pain took his breath away.

  The bleeding seemed to end. Just in time. Henning hoped he hadn’t lost too much blood. Healing always took some time and he could bleed out before it happened.

  The ship juddered again. It was about to take off.

  The pilot pulled his belt off, put it around Henning’s arm, and secured the tourniquet in place.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. The arm hurt like hell, and he still felt lightheaded, but at least he didn’t faint.

  ‘What about me?’ the pilot asked.

  Henning shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t open your clasps. If you want me to chop off your arm—’

  ‘Please, no. And no need to be sorry, it’s not my first rodeo. I can live with the disciplinary action—it’s not worth losing an arm.’

  Henning couldn’t, but he hadn’t lost a limb. ‘I owe you big time.’

  He opened the door and ran through the corridor back towards the platform. When he reached it, the warning light was on and the view through the viewport confirmed his fears: the ship was already off the terminal floor.

  The platform wouldn’t open, unless… Unless there was an emergency. He smashed the fire alarm, and it went off. The pilot would see this. But it gave him a chance.

  With the alarm blaring, the controls responded and he opened the platform. He jumped over to the ledge, but it was slow.

  When the opening was perhaps a metre wide, it stopped, and began to close.

  The pilot had seen what was happening.

  Henning dropped down and rolled along the platform, barely missing getting
caught as it closed.

  He fell maybe three metres, and for a few moments, he didn’t know what was happening.

  Everything hurt. The impact of the fall shook him to the core as if his spine were broken. But it wasn’t; he could still move. His hip was pulsating with pain as he tried to get up. With only one hand for support, he failed and cried out. But he couldn’t stay there. Fighting against the pain, he turned and tried again. This time, he got his foot on the floor and pushed himself to stand. Drops of sweat and blood mingled on the floor below him.

  I’m too old for this.

  He scanned his surroundings. The ship was floating above and beside him, not moving away nor landing. There was a maintenance chute about ten metres away. He staggered towards it, moving as fast as he could, then skidded on its ledge and slid down. He hit the floor, catching his breath and grimacing in agony, reminding himself the pain was temporary. Inside the chute, he found a hatch, and disappeared into the maze-like maintenance corridors under the landing pad.

  He only had the clothes on his back. No comms device. No money. The police and the navy were after him, and he had to find Sofia.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jill’s room faded away and she found herself in a dim room, where the floor and the walls were of some soft material that muffled sounds. The tall woman in the purple dress, and the winged creatures remained with her. There was also the Render cage, and Belinda, who leaned against a wall as if trying to retreat. Jill stepped over to her. ‘Are you all right?’

  Belinda nodded.

  ‘I am disappointed,’ Nenetl said in a cold voice. ‘I promised you the world, but you chose her, the one you made to suit your ideals.’

  ‘It’s not about that.’ Belinda said. ‘You tricked me—’

  ‘You knew all along it was me. And you wanted me, oh, how much you wanted me and the things I could offer you. And now, you’re willing to settle.’

  ‘I don’t want your slimy black world. This one, with all its faults and blemishes, is better than you could ever create.’