Bringing Stella Home

by Joe Vasicek

  This is when we find out if we’re safe or if we’re dead.

  “Transmitting,” said Anya. “Receiving confirmation—we’re cleared to dock.”

  “Good work,” said Danica. “How far to the station?”

  “Far side of the planet, twelve standard orbits down. Plotting closest orbital trajectory—we can be there in less than half an hour.”

  “Excellent.”

  The mission had begun without any mishap. The logical side of her brain hoped that their luck continued, while the more realistic side wished that they’d get their inevitable mistake over with so she could stop worrying about it.

  Danica turned to Ilya. “Ayvazyan,” she said, “before we dock, I need you to confirm the location of our target. Also, I need you to get maps, floorplans, guard schedules—anything you can find. I want to have a perfect picture of what’s going on in there, with five possible routes to our target, a list of hiding places, and a map of the interior guard routes along the way. Understand?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Sikorsky, recharge the jump drive and keep it primed and hot. The moment we undock with the station—and I mean the moment we undock—I want to be out of here.”

  “Got it, Captain.”

  The blood red crescent of the gas giant waxed wider in the window as the ship maneuvered into its appointed orbit.

  * * * * *

  “What’s the news from home?” asked Sholpan—no, Stella, now that she was with Lars. She sat eagerly on the edge of her seat.

  “Your parents are doing well,” he said. “I saw them a week ago, just before I left.”

  Relief flooded through Stella’s exhausted body. She felt as if a terrible weight had been lifted from her.

  “And what about my brothers?” she asked. “James was with Dad on the Llewellyn, but has anyone heard from Ben?”

  Lars stopped and glanced over his shoulder as a servant walked past them. The room, which had once been part of the convention suite, was lightly trafficked but still open to the public. A small fountain bubbled in the center, while magnificent glass windows gave them a stunning view of Kardunash III below. The servant checked the potted plants in the corner before turning and leaving the way he’d come.

  “Don’t mind them,” said Stella. “They won’t understand us.”

  “Right,” said Lars, leaning forward and speaking softer anyway. “Well, Ben disappeared on the day of the invasion, captured when you were. No one knows what happened to him.”

  Stella bit her lip and nodded. The news about Ben saddened her, but somehow it wasn’t as devastating as she’d feared it would be. In fact, she now realized she’d been expecting it.

  “And James,” she asked. “How is he?”

  Lars shook his head. “James is gone, too. He—”

  “What?” said Stella, bolting upright. “Didn’t he make it out with my father?”

  “He did,” said Lars, “but a few days after they returned, he stole one of your family’s ships and ran away.”

  “But why?”

  Lars shrugged. “Nobody knows for sure. Maybe he fled the system like so many other refugees. Nearly half of our citizens are already gone, and more are leaving every day.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “James wouldn’t run away from home like that.”

  “Yes, but sometimes people in a crisis do things that you wouldn’t expect. At least we know the Hameji didn’t get him—not like they got you, at least.”

  Stella fell back in her chair, dumbstruck by what she’d heard. Why would James run away? It didn’t make any sense.

  “You seem to be doing quite well at least,” said Lars, patting her on the knee. “When we heard you’d been lost, we feared the worst.”

  Stella bit her lip and tried very hard not to break down. Now that Lars was here, everything seemed ten times harder. Navigating through Hameji politics, trying desperately to make a life for herself as one of them—all she wanted was for Lars to hold her and tell her that everything would be all right, that he had come to take her home.

  But that, of course, was impossible.

  “Enough about me,” she said, struggling to regain her composure. “How have you been?”

  Lars sighed. “I wish I could say that all is well. Unfortunately, we’ve fallen on some very hard times.”

  “Hard times?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Ever since the invasion, it’s been one crisis after another.”

  “What about the Hameji?” Stella asked, her voice low. “What have they done?”

  “Thankfully, very little. There was a bit of looting in the beginning, but almost no one was actually hurt. A few citizens were taken hostage, to ensure our cooperation, but last I’ve heard they’re being treated well.”

  “That’s good,” said Stella.

  Lars nodded. “Since we’re only a minor colony, the Hameji haven’t set up a garrison. They keep a cruiser parked outside the station, but for the most part they keep their hands out of our internal affairs. We hardly ever see any actual troops.”

  “So they haven’t interfered with the General Assembly?”

  “No. As far as domestic affairs go, we’re free to govern ourselves.”

  Stella let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “That’s very good.”

  “Yes. Not everything is as bleak as it seems.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  For several moments, they sat in silence. Through the window, the swirling mass of the planet shone down on them, bringing out the redness in Lars’s cheeks.

  “The Patrician sent me here to petition for relief,” he said. “Ever since the beginning of the occupation, we’ve been in a dismal humanitarian crisis. Nearly all food imports have come to a halt, and the Hameji are doing nothing to restore them. Worse, they demand a quarterly tribute and expect us to resupply their ships at their whim. It’s killing us, Stella—we can’t keep it up for much longer.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “I know. Actually, I was thinking you could help with that,” he said, his eyes pleading with her.

  “Really? How?”

  “Qasar rules as an absolute dictator. He doesn’t care about us, because we’re a small community that doesn’t produce much wealth. But you’re his wife; you have influence. If you plead our case, he just might send us the aid we need.”

  Stella’s stomach dropped, and her cheeks began to pale. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t have as much pull as you think. Qasar has many wives—”

  “Anything you can do for us is something,” said Lars. He clasped his hand in hers. “Please, Stella—you can do this. I know you can.”

  Stella said nothing for several moments. In the awful silence, Narju’s words came to her, cutting through her heart like a laser. We do not choose the life that fate gives us. We only choose how we live it—and how to give of ourselves before our time is over.

  “I want to go home,” she whispered.

  “We all do,” Lars said, his voice low. “We all wish we could go back to the way things were.”

  “But we can’t,” said Sholpan, finishing the thought. She took in a deep breath. “All right,” she said, “I’ll try my best.”

  Lars smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “You have no idea how much of a blessing this is to us. I know there’s a reason you’ve been put here, in this place at this time.”

  Just like Narju, she thought sadly to herself.

  “I need to be going,” said Lars, checking his wrist console as he rose to his feet. “I’m wanted with the delegation.”

  “Yes,” said Sholpan, rising with him. “Please—let’s meet again, before you go.”

  “Of course.”

  He gave her a friendly hug before leaving. Tears welled up in Sholpan’s eyes, and she bit her lip to keep them from spilling out. As much as she wanted to go home with him, she knew it was impossible. She was Qasar’s wife, not Lars’s lover. She was Hameji now.

  *
* * * *

  James stared at the airlock door, trying very hard to ignore the sweat that was starting to pool in his armpits underneath the heavy Hameji armor. I can do this, he told himself, envisioning the face of his brother’s killer. I’m not a sheep—I’m a wolf.

  The airlock pressurized, the door slid open, and Danica led him out into the low-gravity maintenance corridor of the docking arm. James floated into the empty space and stared down the long hexagonal shaft. Vertigo nearly overwhelmed him; the station node was almost a kilometer away. Following Danica’s lead, he pulled himself down the corridor, using the handholds to keep pace. As they approached the node, the station’s artificial gravity field grew stronger, and they half walked, half pulled themselves the rest of the way, moving in complete and utter silence.

  They passed through the station’s maintenance airlock without incident. As they entered the main terminal, a pair of guards at the gate nodded at them. Underneath his visor, James grew tense, but their disguises worked; the guards took them for Hameji soldiers, and let them pass into the station unhindered.

  The hallways of the onetime pleasure resort were wide and well-lit, with pearly tile floors, crystal chandeliers, and high, vaulted ceilings. They were also almost totally deserted. Scorch marks and bullet holes marked where the fighting had been the worst, while dying potted plants met them at every turn, their dry brown leaves scattered across the otherwise spotless floors. Some of the chandeliers still worked, while others lay at the sides of the area, partially smashed.

  How many people died in these corridors? James thought to himself. They moved too fast for him to wonder for long.

  Danica led him down a long, complicated path with almost a dozen turns. The corridors became narrower and more windy, and the signs of battle became sparser. The potted plants in this part of the station were still green and cared for.

  Almost there, James told himself. His heart pounded in his chest, and he gripped the pistol in his holster with a tense, sweaty hand.

  Footsteps sounded from around the corner, coming in their direction. Danica hastily stood by the nearest door, making as if she were guarding it. At a gesture from her eyes, James did the same. A band of women in long white dresses walked by, barely noticing them.

  As soon as the corridor was empty again, Danica turned and keyed the door. It hissed open, and they stepped into a dark, empty maintenance corridor.

  “How close are we?” asked James once the door was shut.

  “Shh!” hissed Danica. She checked her wrist console; the dim glow of the screen lit up her face in the dimness. “One level up and two halls over.”

  James’s heart thumped wildly in excitement. Stella’s quarters were less than a hundred yards away.

  Danica led them up a ladder into an adjoining shaft. They made their way some distance in the darkness, until they met another door. Danica motioned for James to go to the panel and wait. She squatted and placed her wrist console up against the metal, reading the glowing screen. After a few seconds, she rose to her feet and nodded. James keyed it open.

  They stepped out into a white-tiled corridor identical to the one they’d left. Danica stepped swiftly now, moving with a sense of urgency. James followed, adrenaline rushing through his already tense body.

  As they reached an intersection, James heard footsteps coming from the left. Before either of them could react, a man stepped into view. He was a Hameji officer, dressed in a gray uniform with red epaulets. He had a swarthy face and jet black hair. His razor thin beard traced the line of his jaw down to the bottom of the chin, where it expanded into a pointed goatee.

  James recognized him instantly as Ben’s killer.

  Faster than thought, faster than consciousness, an image flashed into his mind. Darkness, smoke and blood. Walls pocked with bullets and smoldering plasma. Ben, staring at him with a hot plasma burst burning a hole through his chest.

  The sharp noise of a gunshot snapped James to the present. As if in a trance, he watched the officer’s eyes roll back in their sockets as the man stumbled and fell backwards. His body struck the wall and collapsed on the floor, smearing bright red blood against the pearly white tiles.

  James glanced down at the gun in his hand. His grip was so tight that he could feel his own heartbeat through it. Smoke issued from the end of the weapon.

  “Shit,” said Danica. She grabbed him by the arm and practically yanked him off his feet, running down the narrow corridor. He followed, legs and feet numb.

  Behind them, a door hissed open and people began to shout. Danica and James turned the corner and ran. The shouting grew louder, followed by the unmistakable pounding of Hameji boots.

  Chapter 25

  “What a tiresome morning,” said Qasar as he collapsed onto the couch in his quarters. “Nothing but endless petitions. Are these planetborn hordes so mindless that they can’t rule themselves?”

  They were doing fine before you came, Sholpan thought bitterly to herself. She sat across from him on an ornate wooden chair, a magnificent glass table set on a beautifully woven rug between them. Qasar had chosen one of the richest suites on the station for his quarters; Sholpan had never been surrounded by more wealth. Knowing how her friends and family were suffering, however, she took no joy in it.

  “Take that moon, for example,” Qasar continued, “What was it’s name? Skye? The settlement suffers from such a lack of discipline that the riots have almost destroyed the outpost’s life support systems. Can you believe that? It’s absurd!”

  “So what are you doing about it?” Sholpan asked.

  “I promised to send a detachment of troops to restore order,” said Qasar. “Someone has to enforce discipline.”

  Did you even think to find out what they’re rioting about before you sent in the troops to murder them?

  “It does sound tiring,” she conceded.

  “By the gods, yes. I feel like a sublighter lost between stars. The planetborn are leaving in droves—half of the smaller colonies are almost abandoned, and the ones that are still inhabited are half deserted. To abandon their own people so dishonorably—can you believe it?”

  Yes I can.

  Qasar sighed. “There’s too much damn work to do, and no way to get these lazy planetborn to do it.”

  “I spoke with some of my friends today,” said Sholpan. “They gave me some information that we might find helpful.”

  “Oh?” Qasar said, raising an eyebrow. “What did you learn?”

  That my people are starving. That you’re killing them.

  “I learned—I learned that they’ve been having some problems. They—”

  “Oh, not more problems,” Qasar groaned. “A general doesn’t fly every damned ship in his fleet—why must I babysit these useless—”

  “You don’t have to,” she blurted, her cheeks red with anger. “These people are perfectly capable of running things themselves. They want to! It’s just—”

  “Just what, exactly?”

  Sholpan took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “Milord, the people would rule themselves if they could only take care of their basic needs. Take my people, for example—their food supplies are dwindling, and they have no way to replenish them. When the people starve, it’s no wonder that discipline breaks down.”

  “Why are they starving?” Qasar asked. “Can’t they produce more food?”

  “No,” said Sholpan, “all of the food imports come through Kardunash IV, and for some reason, the suppliers have stopped—”

  “‘Import’? What does that word mean?” He stared at her, genuinely puzzled.

  “Import?” she asked. “You’ve never heard of imports?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “It—it’s a planetborn thing. It’s when you trade for goods and services instead of producing them yourself.”

  “And they do this for their basic needs? Why?”

  Sholpan blinked in disbelief at Qasar’s ignorance. “Because some communities are better at pro
ducing certain things than others. Take my home, for example. It’s a mining outpost in the middle of an asteroid field. If we had to produce all our own food, almost a third of our living space would be dedicated to hydroponics. But Kardunash IV is a terrestrial planet with a thriving biosphere—it has more than enough resources to feed the entire system. That’s why we import our food—because it’s cheaper to let them produce it for us.”

  “Kardunash IV? You mean the fourth planet?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “We slagged that world at the start of the invasion. The surface has been utterly wasted.”

  Sholpan’s eyes widened, and her stomach felt sick. “You mean, the entire world has been—”

  “Annihilated? Yes. We made short work of the place.”

  A wave of nausea swept through her body. Her legs went weak, and her arms began to shake.

  “You mean, they’re all dead? Everyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” she cried, half screaming.

  “Kardunash IV was the strongest world in the system, was it not? We could not expect to win the war without defeating our enemy at their strongest point.”

  “But—but there were billions of people living there. Billions! How—how could you?”

  Qasar frowned. “Would you have us fight all those billions of people man to man? With our limited forces?”

  “You wouldn’t have had to—they were all innocent civilians!”

  “And what is a ‘civilian’?” asked Qasar, clearly annoyed by the turn the discussion had taken. “I hear this word over and over—is it some term the planetborn use for their women?”

  Sholpan opened her mouth, but found herself at a complete loss. Stars, she thought to herself, he really doesn’t know.

  “What’s done is done,” said Qasar. “Weeping and moaning about it will change nothing. If Kardunash IV is gone, how else can we feed the people?”

  Think, Sholpan told herself, trying in vain to force her mind to clear. Tears burned in her eyes, but she clenched her fists and bit her tongue until the worst of it was passed.