Orbital Decay
Galaxy Mavericks, Book 7 (Florian)
Michael La Ronn
Copyright 2017 © Michael La Ronn. All rights reserved. Published by Ursabrand Media.
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, dialogue, and incidents described in this publication are fictional or entirely coincidental.
No part of this novel may be reproduced or reprinted without permission of the publisher. Please address inquiries to [email protected].
Cover designed by Yocla Designs (www.yocladesigns.com)
Editing by Donna Rich
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SCIENTIFIC DISCLAIMER
I cannot guarantee that any of the following in this series are accurate:
Physics
Astronomy
Chemistry
Algebra
Geology
Quantum Mechanics…
OK, pretty much every area of science probably got bastardized in some way while I wrote this book. Any and all errors were made lovingly for your reading enjoyment.
Part I
Edge of Sadness
1
“Florian, if you don’t get off that pillar and get over here this instant, I will cancel this entire vacation and you will go back to school and do double the homework, do you hear me? You’re going to kill yourself acting like that and I won’t have it!”
Florian Macalestern balanced on a metal post overlooking the blue ocean of Kavios Two.
The water, crystal blue and reflective, was a long way down. Shiny red coral gleamed from the ocean floor.
He dug his hands in his pockets and looked out across the bustling, rocky shoreline full of tourists, past the ferry that was rumbling into the dock, past the sail-shaped aquarium that imposed itself on the horizon like a glinting prism.
A strong gust blew, stinging his cheeks with warm, salty air. He looked over at his mother, who was standing on the sidewalk with a headset on her ear.
“Florian!” she cried.
He looked at the water again. What would it be like to jump, to land in the coral-filled waters? What would it be like to fly, over the tops of the ships and into the clouds?
He’d hated the whole idea of a vacation on the beach. Ever since his mother told him about it, he kept telling her how he’d rather stay home and play video games instead. Nine years of age and a trillion dollars in the trust fund, and he’d already seen all that the galaxy had to offer.
He hopped off the pillar and ran to his mom.
Greta Macalestern tapped him on the cheek gently.
“You need to adjust your attitude,” she said.
He didn’t want to disappoint his mother. In her white dress and brown bonnet, she looked like she always had. His mom. The woman in his life. He felt a slight twinge in his chest at the fact that he’d made her angry.
“Sorry, Mama,” he said. “I just wanted to look at the sea.”
“There’ll be plenty of water when we get on the ferry,” Greta said, softening. “It’s not every day that we travel to your father’s grave, you know.”
Florian lowered his eyes.
“Sorry,” he said.
Then Greta turned her attention to her headset, speaking to someone on her phone.
“Annaliese, this is so disappointing. You can’t even find time to attend your own brother’s resting place? I don’t care how late you are; it’s really important for Florian that you’re here.”
His aunt.
Probably sitting in her office making excuses for why she couldn’t be with them on vacation. His aunt Annaliese was a busy woman; busy running a company, traveling, taking people out to lunch. He’d only seen her only a handful of times, talked to her maybe once or twice—and even then, it was always awkward, strange conversation, with questions she clearly had canned for just the occasion.
He rolled his eyes at the thought of her doing anything on his behalf. He was kind of glad she wasn’t here.
Greta paused as Annaliese said something.
“It’s just disappointing, that’s all,” Greta said. “At some point you’re going to learn that business isn’t everything. Not by a long shot.”
She pressed a button on her headset, ending the call. She was clearly flustered.
Florian took her hand.
“It’s okay, Mama,” he said. “I’m here.”
“Yes, you are,” Greta said. “And I’m glad. Your father would be, too.”
She smoothed out her dress and adjusted her sunglasses, turning back to look at the tree line of the park just behind them.
“Now, where is Tatiana?” Greta asked.
“There was a long line at the food court,” Florian said.
“I knew we should have paid extra for Rozello’s,” Greta said. “You text them what you want, and they’ve got a private chef who’s to die for. I hear their drones will deliver a home-cooked meal in less than an hour.”
“I’m hungry,” Florian said. “Can I have some ice cream?”
“You will not eat ice cream,” Greta said. “How dare you even ask before dinner?”
“But I’m hungry,” Florian said. “I thought we were on vacation and I could eat whatever I wanted!”
“Florian!”
“I have my credit card,” he said. “You can’t stop me!”
“I’ll freeze your account and stop your allowance,” Greta said, flushing. “You will have no video games, no nanny, no nothing for an entire week, young man, do you hear me?”
Florian folded his arms and puffed.
“Where is Tatiana?” Greta asked. Her voice was growing more flustered by the minute. Florian lightened a little.
Then, through the trees, a teenage girl ran toward them, carrying white plastic bags and a cardboard drink tray. She wore thick black glasses, a blue dress, and she looked like the weight of the bags were going to pull her to the ground.
“I’m coming!” Tatiana Russo cried. “I’m coming!”
“What took you so long?” Greta asked.
“I’m so sorry,” Tatiana said, panting. “Florian asked for double French fries, but the chef had to start another batch. And the bakery across the court had just put their bread in the oven…”
“Never mind,” Greta said. She folded her arms and walked to a picnic table overlooking the ocean.
Tatiana followed and struggled under the weight of the bags.
The table was covered in crumbs. Greta sat down at the table and Florian sat opposite her.
Tatiana reached into one of her bags and pulled out a napkin, brushing off the crumbs with her hand in an awkward motion, the bags rustling.
Then she set the bags on the table, panting, and she pulled out small bottles of hand sanitizer, handing them to Greta and Florian, who poured a liberal amount of fluid on their hands before rubbing them. Then Tatiana opened the bags and produced a crinkled white paper sack, opened it and set a turkey sandwich in front of Greta along with a can of sparkling water. Greta began eating immediately. Then she unfolded a salad bowl and set it in front of Florian.
“Salad!” Florian cried. “Mama, no!”
“I don’t want you eating any gluten on this trip, not with your sensitivity,” Greta said. “Besides, every time you eat greasy food, you get tired,” Greta said. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us and we don’t have anyone to carry you.”
Tatiana reached into the final bag and smiled. She pulled out a box
with a chocolate ice cream sandwich.
“I figured you would want something sweet,” she said.
Florian’s eyes widened. He snatched the sandwich from her, ripped the box open and brought the sandwich to his mouth. Then he looked over at his mother, who was giving him a death stare.
“It is gluten-free,” Tatiana said.
“Well, if you’re not going to listen,” Greta said, “go ahead and eat it. But don’t complain to me or Tati later that you’re tired.”
Florian bit into the sandwich. Its chocolate, creamy gooeyness felt like velvet in his mouth, and soon crumbs and cream were all over his face as he devoured it.
Tatiana sat down and tried to catch her breath. She rubbed her knees.
“I think you forgot mustard for your sandwich,” Greta said, halfway done with her meal.
Tatiana grabbed her turkey sandwich, pilfered through the bags and then sighed.
“You really should have just grabbed a little of everything at the condiment table,” Greta said.
“I’m sorry,” Tatiana said, bowing her head.
“It’s all right,” Greta said. “It’s your sandwich, not mine, and we don’t have time for you to go back. Besides, after all you’ve been through today, your deserve a rest. With Florian’s meltdown at the aquarium and what not, your behavior is the only bright spot on this trip so far.”
“Will Miss Annaliese be joining us?” Tatiana asked.
“No,” Greta said. A harshness in her tone prevented Tatiana from saying any more.
Tatiana unwrapped her sandwich and gave Greta a knowing look. Deep down, Florian guessed she was probably sighing with relief. One less person to have to take care of.
Florian looked down at his salad and scoffed.
“Eat,” Tatiana said. “It’s not so bad. I promise it will be filling.”
Florian speared a clump of arugula and groaned.
Tatiana was his nanny, hired from a middle class family back home. She was more like an older sister to Florian, taking him to school and doing his laundry and helping him with his homework. Sometimes they got along; other times, they fought incessantly because she always tried to stop Florian from doing what every normal nine-year-old did: wreck havoc. She was one of the few constants in his life.
A ship horn cut through the air. Down a hill nearby, a ferry landed in the dock, and a group of people crowded toward the ship.
“We better go,” Greta said, standing. “It’s the last ferry of the day and we have an hour drive to Karen Beach.”
Florian chewed a handful of salad. Tasted like crap. He was grateful for the interruption. Maybe he could sneak in a snack on the ferry. Surely it had to have a concession stand.
Tatiana packed up his salad and put it in a bag.
“Come on, let’s go,” Greta said. “They don’t have a first class, so we’ll have to hope it’s not standing room only.”
They started down the sidewalk, passing through a seaside market. Seagulls wheeled overhead and several vendors in wooden stands sold fruit and drinks to passersby.
In the shadows between two stands, he saw a man in a stocking cap leaning against a wall. He had a beard and his arms were folded. His face was unshaven, and his air was severe.
A shiver went through Florian as their eyes met.
Tatiana grabbed his hand.
“We have to hurry!” she said, pulling him along.
When he looked back, the man was gone.
They stood in a long line to the ferry.
“We weren’t fast enough,” Greta said. “I hope we’ll be able to board.”
Tatiana craned her head to get a better look at the crowd.
“I think we’ll be okay,” she said. “I read that the ferry rarely turns anyone away during the off-season.”
Florian secretly hoped the ferry would turn them away.
“I am excited to visit Mr. Macalestern’s birth and resting place,” Tatiana said. “He was always good to me and I would like to pay my tribute.”
“Jan was good to you,” Greta said. “The town where he was born—you’ll absolutely love it, Tati. And the shopping we’ll be able to do!”
Florian didn’t want to think about his dad.
How cancer had taken him.
Suddenly.
One moment his dad was normal, working with Aunt Annaliese in the family company, and then…six months later, he was on a ventilator, unable to speak.
Florian hadn’t been able to give him a proper goodbye.
His mom had never been the same.
And now he was going to visit the place where his dad grew up…
He couldn’t get the image of his dad’s ventilator out of his mind, how he held his dad’s hand and told him not to leave.
But then the ferry horn blared again and Greta took Florian by the shoulder and brought her close to him.
“Jan would be touched that we’re here,” Greta said. “It’s going to be hard for me to see the grave. I…I…”
“It’s okay, Mama,” Florian said. “I’ll hold your hand.”
He took his mother’s hand.
Tatiana took Greta’s other hand and smiled.
Greta laughed. “I have the best family in the world, don’t I? If only Annaliese was here, then it would be perfect.”
The line moved slowly toward the ferry. As they neared, Florian spotted a dark figure sitting on a rail next to the line.
It was the man from earlier.
Florian instinctively moved toward his mother.
Tatiana didn’t notice.
“Looks like we’ll get on easily,” Tatiana said. She pointed to a screen on the top of the ferry which read 50 seats still left.
Greta sighed. “Thank God.”
Did they notice the man?
Probably not.
He wanted to say something.
Point at him.
Call the police.
But his mother wouldn’t believe him. After all, he wasn’t doing anything but sitting on the rail minding his own business.
A lump caught in Florian’s throat.
He stared at the man. The man noticed the stare and furrowed his brow.
Florian didn’t take his eyes off the man.
Clearly it annoyed the stranger. He hopped down off the rail.
They made it to the ticket attendant, and Greta opened her purse.
And then a dark shape passed between her and Florian.
The man.
He grabbed Greta’s purse, which was hooked around her shoulder.
Greta gasped.
Florian yelled.
The man grunted and said “Hand it over, rich bitch.”
Greta fought back, pulling the purse.
But the man’s grip was too strong. Greta collapsed to the ground and soon, the man was dashing down the dock.
“Stop him!” Florian cried.
Tatiana helped Greta up. Greta pulled Florian in close.
“Call the police, Tati,” Greta said.
Florian trembled.
He saw the purse in the man’s hand as he ran.
He took off after the man.
“Florian!” Greta cried. “Florian, stop!”
But he kept running.
2
Florian dashed as far as he could, but he could not keep up with the man.
So he screamed at the top of his lungs.
“Thief!” he cried. “That man is a thief! Stop him! Stop him!”
The man looked back, scowling. His footsteps on the wooden dock were hard compared to Florian’s light steps.
“Stop!” Florian cried.
At the entrance to the dock, someone stuck out their foot.
The man tripped and landed face-first on the wood.
Florian’s heart leapt.
He caught up with the man and jumped on him, grabbing his mother’s purse.
“Let go!” Florian cried, pulling at the purse.
The strap ripped, scattering money, coins, and credit car
ds all over the ground.
“Big mistake, brat,” the man said, grabbing Florian by the throat.
But Florian kicked him in the groin and the man doubled over.
They wrestled, rolling across the dock.
Florian pushed on the man’s face, feeling day-old stubble. The man pushed back and grabbed a clump of Florian’s hair.
Needles of pain spread across Florian’s scalp—the man was pulling his hair.
“Florian!” someone cried.
Greta.
“Florian!” Greta cried again.
And then Florian felt someone on top of his back.
And then he saw a hand.
Slapping the man on the face.
Again.
And again.
“Leave him alone!” Greta cried.
The man let go of Florian’s hair.
Florian pulled away when—
POW!
Stars danced across his field of vision and he fell to the ground, clutching his chest.
A punch.
He had been punched.
He tried to breathe, but his stomach knotted up and his vision narrowed.
He saw his mother wrestling with the man, yelling at him.
Tatiana stood a few feet away, her hands over her mouth.
“Leave…her…alone,” Florian gasped.
And then—
CRACK!
His mother stopped.
The man stopped.
Tatiana gasped.
Smoke. Thick smoke. In the air.
His ears rang.
Florian tried to stand, but he stumbled backward.
The world flipped up from underneath him and he was falling.
Falling.
The dock sailed away from him, up, up, up into the sky.
And then he hit the sea, water flooded his lungs, and he sank down, down, down into the clear blue water.
He woke, and sprung up, gasping.
His lungs burned and he clutched his chest.
A man put his hands on Florian’s shoulder. His clothes were drenched and his hair was wet.
Orbital Decay (Galaxy Mavericks Book 7) Page 1