Girl of Fire: The Expulsion Project Book One (A Science Fiction Dystopian Thriller)

by Norma Hinkens

  I take a quick breath when they bring the second sample up. Even a trace of a valuable mineral would be enough to persuade the oremongers to bring out the heavy equipment. Sarth leans over the display panel and studies the readings. After a moment, she throws up her arms in disgust and turns to me with a scowl on her face. “Don’t you have anything but sand on this wretched planet?”

  I open my mouth to echo Parthelon's words—that there’s nothing on Cwelt worth mining, and then I hesitate.

  What about the luminescent indigo boulders in the sacred triangle?

  4

  Sarth pins a distrustful gaze on me, her brows fusing in a forbidding “V.” “Speak up, girl. We don’t have all day to waste cruising around sand dunes. We’ve a thruster that needs repair and a ship that needs rewiring at the next port. If there’s nothing here worth mining, we’ll be on our way.”

  “I know where there are some unusual rock formations,” I say, repressing my desire to rebuke her for her insolent tone. “Luminescent rock, crystalline mineral of some kind.”

  Her face lights up in a lustful grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  I give a nonchalant shrug. “I just did.”

  Velkan busies himself with the Pneumacorer, trying to contain a grin. Sarth slides her jaw back and forth as if trying to decide whether I intentionally insulted her, or am merely a plainspoken primitive.

  I smile serenely back at her, adding to her perplexity. I’m obligated to maintain a certain level of civility, but it doesn’t mean I can’t toy with her in return.

  Buir shoots me one of her famous disapproving looks. A warning, no doubt, to show more respect to our visitors. Or maybe she thinks I shouldn’t have mentioned the boulders in the sacred triangle.

  “What are we waiting for?” Sarth barks.

  Velkan starts up the LunaTrekker and waits for everyone to climb back in.

  Buir hesitates, then pulls back her shoulders as if steeling herself for something painful.

  “You don’t have to come,” I say. “You can walk back to the settlement if you want.”

  “Someone has to make sure a bunch of strangers don’t trample all over our ancestors’ gravesites,” she mutters, plonking down beside me on the seat.

  “Where to?” Sarth calls back to us.

  “East.” I point over her shoulder. “I’ll direct you when we get a little closer.”

  I sink back down and turn to Buir. “Relax. My father didn’t say there were any areas that were off limits.”

  “Because you already know there are,” she hisses back. “The elders would never grant the oremongers rights to mine in the sacred triangle, even for their precious helickel. If nothing else, you’re wasting Sarth’s time.”

  I shrug. “No harm in them looking around. Besides, my father wants us to be hospitable, and where else are we going to take them? They’re not interested in the astro fruit farms.” I lean a little closer, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “And personally, I can’t picture Sarth in a shamskin.”

  Buir angles a brow, trying not to laugh as she reaches for the side of the LunaTrekker. She lets out a long sigh. “Parthelon better be right that there’s nothing on Cwelt worth mining, or this is going to turn into a nightmare.”

  We give up on conversation as we rattle our way over the rough terrain and up the mountain pass toward the sacred triangle, shielding our eyes from the dust. Buir’s right that my father wouldn’t approve of me taking the oremongers here. I’m not even supposed to hunt here. But I want to impress them with something, and besides, what harm can it do to look at a few boulders? The likelihood that they’ll turn out to be helickel is slim to none.

  “This is a good spot,” I call up to Velkan.

  He brakes hard and pulls over a few feet from a cluster of luminescent rock. Sarth jumps out, eying the formations curiously. She runs a calloused hand over the smooth surface of the nearest boulder and circles it slowly like a predator admiring its mesmerized prey.

  “Do you know what it is?” I prompt.

  She rubs her fingertips together and sniffs them tentatively. “It’s not igneous, so that’s a good start.”

  “Let’s hope it’s what you’re looking for.” I shiver with excitement. “I wouldn’t mind a LunaTrekker of my own. A ship would be better.”

  Sarth snorts. “If that’s what you’re after, you’re talking a bigger vein of helickel than I’ve ever found.”

  I give her an understanding smile. “Figures, your ship is a bit of a wreck.”

  Her eyes narrow, but she masks her displeasure and turns her attention back to the rocks. She’s not about to get into it with me before she has a chance to check out the boulders. Buir, on the other hand, glowers at me.

  Velkan tosses a skein of dark hair over his shoulder and grins as he fires up the Pneumacorer. I suspect he’s enjoying watching Sarth get back what she doles out for once. He angles the Pneumacorer over a knee-high boulder and flicks a switch to activate the raw beam laser. I hover impatiently until it retracts with a core sample. Sarth and Velkan lean over it and study the readout briefly before exchanging guarded looks.

  “Well?” I demand, looking from one to the other. “What is it?”

  “It’s not helickel,” Sarth says abruptly.

  I can’t help but feel a flicker of disappointment. I didn’t really think it would turn out to be anything valuable, but a part of me secretly hoped Parthelon had got it wrong and that Cwelt had something worth mining after all.

  “Do you know what it is?” Buir asks.

  Velkan’s brow wrinkles, but he clamps his lips tight. I study him, puzzled by his reaction. I have a hunch he knows exactly what it is, but for some reason, he’s waiting to see if Sarth will tell us first.

  Sarth smooths a stubby hand over her glistening head. “Hard to say without bringing in the rest of the equipment for an exploratory dig. I can take a couple of rocks back to the ship and try to verify the readings.”

  I give an exasperated sigh. “Are all oremongers this cryptic? If you want Cwelt’s permission to bring in your heavy equipment, you’ll need to do better than that. Tell me what you think it is?”

  Sarth runs the back of her hand across her mouth and studies me through narrowed slits.

  I cross my arms and stare back at her.

  “Remember those rare minerals I said were a hot commodity?” she says after a few minutes.

  “What about them?”

  She sniffs into her sleeve. “It might be one of them. Dargonite.”

  My heart begins to race again, the LunaTrekker suddenly back within my grasp, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself again. I compose my features to mildly curious. “How hot are we talking exactly?”

  The corners of Sarth’s lips curl upward. “Hot enough to buy you that fancy ship you’re after.”

  I gulp down a gasp of excitement and glance across at Buir. Disbelief is written all over her face. She presses her lips into a disapproving line. I frown and glance back at Sarth. Maybe I should be more skeptical too. “So how come oremongers didn’t discover it moons ago?”

  “Dargonite had no value back then.” Sarth takes a step closer to me, her eyes glittering. “Not until the Syndicate discovered its use in cloaking technology for warships. The minerals in it can be combined with any metal to render it invisible to the naked eye.”

  My mouth drops open. I clench my fists to keep my hands from shaking. So much for keeping my composure.

  “If I’m right about this,” Sarth says, looking around with a smug expression, “Cwelt’s about to become a very wealthy planet, and the Zebulux is about to get a much-needed facelift.”

  Buir turns to me, her silver brows slanted inward. “Tell her, Trattora.”

  Sarth pins a steely gaze on me. “Is there a problem?”

  “More of a technicality,” I dart a warning look at Buir. “I’ll need to clear things with the elders before you begin.”

  Sarth gives a curt nod. “There’s protoco
l to follow. I get it. Let’s load up the bed with what we’ve got for now.”

  On the bumpy ride back to the settlement, I go over in my mind how exactly I’m going to persuade my father to allow the oremongers to mine in the sacred triangle. Even if I can persuade him, he won’t overrule the elders for any reason other than our survival. But if Oxtian has fallen to the Maulers, we’re in danger. Maybe I can convince him that granting the oremongers mining rights would give us the means to purchase the weapons and ships we’ll need to defend ourselves.

  When we arrive back at the settlement, Buir pulls me aside. “You’re not really going to try and sway the elders, are you?”

  “You heard Sarth,” I whisper. “We could procure our own ships and weapons in exchange for a few rocks.”

  “It’s sacred ground. What you’re proposing is treason. You could lose your claim to the High Seat of Chieftain.”

  “Do you really think Father is going to let that happen when I’m his only heir?” I shoot a quick glance across at Velkan, who is watching our conversation with interest.

  Buir grabs my arm to draw my attention back. “Parthelon will enforce a sentence of treason. He seeks to disgrace you at every opportunity. Can’t you see how he craves the position of chieftain?”

  I shake my arm free of her grip. “Are you seriously suggesting my father would disown me and appoint Parthelon to reign after him?”

  “I’m not suggesting it, I’m telling you it’s going to happen. The elders will see you as weak and easily manipulated by foreign traders for even proposing such a thing. And Parthelon will waste no time seizing the opportunity to showcase your growing list of infractions.” Her gaze travels pointedly over the tears in my tunic. “The least of which is destroying three cloaks in one month.”

  I frown. “If you’re alluding to me accidentally setting the Great Hall on fire, that was—”

  “I’m alluding to how people perceive their future chieftain,” she says.

  I toss my head. “The only people who will see me as weak and easily manipulated are those who lack the vision to see the advantages this will bring to Cwelt. I will not be intimidated by Parthelon or his personal agenda. It’s time to show him I’m my father’s daughter.”

  Buir looks at me with a mixture of sadness and resignation in her eyes. “If you divide the elders, your father will divide his household.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I will not let the fate of Oxtian become ours. I won’t give up without trying.”

  I turn to Sarth and Velkan. “Let me talk to my father alone first. Buir will take you into the Great Hall and provide nourishment for you while I am gone.”

  “I’m going to make a quick detour to the Zebulux to check on the rest of my crew,” Sarth says. “Buir can take Velkan inside.”

  I grab my spear from the cargo bed and make my way down the main boulevard to my dwelling. It’s the largest in the settlement, a dome-shaped structure fashioned from the chestnut-colored sand that covers much of our planet. Like all the dwellings on Cwelt, it’s on a raised platform of brick columns to deter the venomous sand snipers that come out at night to feed. They writhe across the ground at high speeds on lizard-like appendages, but thankfully they can’t climb.

  I mount the front steps with a fluttery feeling in my stomach. Maybe the rocks in the sacred triangle have a form of power after all. What I’m about to propose could change the course of Cwelt’s history, for better or for worse.

  To my disappointment, Parthelon is seated at my father’s side in the communal greeting room. I should have expected as much. The oremongers’ visit and dire news about the Maulers necessitates a plan of action.

  I incline my head, avoiding Parthelon's inquisitive gaze.

  “Greetings, Trattora,” my father says. “Have you satisfied our guests’ request?”

  I draw myself up to my full height, which always feels inadequate, even when my father is seated. “I need to speak with you about the oremongers, alone.”

  He raises his bushy silver brows a fraction of an inch. “Parthelon is my most trusted advisor. If there is something that concerns you, he should hear it too.”

  I frown in Parthelon’s direction. He gives me an acid-eyed stare in return.

  I turn away and beam at my father. “Nothing of concern to report. The chieftain’s daughter would simply like a word with her father alone.”

  My father gestures apologetically to Parthelon. “Make sure the tower is manned. I will meet you in the Great Hall with the other elders in a few minutes.”

  Parthelon rises, his lips pinched and bloodless. He flings his shamskin cape over his shoulder and departs the room. In my heart, I know Buir is right about his lust for power. It’s not me or my father he despises as much as our claim to the High Seat of Cwelt. A position he desires for himself.

  I sink down in the chair Parthelon vacated.

  My father leans back against a large cushion. “What is it you wish to discuss with me?”

  Despite my heartbeat clattering in my chest, I hold his gaze. “Parthelon said there was nothing on Cwelt worth mining. He was wrong.”

  My father furrows his well-lined brow and waits for me to continue.

  “The oremongers believe they have discovered a rare mineral.”

  He straightens up, his eyes alert. “This mineral … is it of use?”

  I hesitate. It may not be wise to lead with the information that the mineral will be used by the Syndicate to enhance their military supremacy. My father’s feelings about the Syndicate and how they operate are conflicted.

  “Sarth tells me its value on Aristozonex is astronomical,” I say. “Enough to trade for ships and weapons.”

  He rubs his forehead with his long fingers. “You are suggesting we trade it to arm ourselves.”

  I lean toward him, barely able to contain myself. “Father, we don’t have to fall to the Maulers like Oxtian did.”

  He nods thoughtfully. “This is indeed welcome news. The elders have been discussing our options for surviving an invasion. They see no alternative but to retreat to the underground caves.”

  “Perhaps we won’t have to after all. The oremongers await your permission to begin exploratory mining.”

  My father gets to his feet and reaches for his headpiece. “I will direct the elders to ratify their request. The sooner we confirm the findings, the greater chance we have of being prepared when the Maulers come. Follow me.”

  I swallow back my misgivings as he sweeps from the room. I wanted to break the news to him about the location Sarth seeks to mine before he addresses the elders, but maybe it’s better this way. He won’t want to lose face in front of the elders, so he may defend my request. I hurry out the door and join him, pushing down my apprehension.

  When we enter the meeting room in the Great Hall, my father comes to an abrupt halt in front of me. The Council of Elders and Parthelon are gathered together in the room. Before them stand the three oremongers and Velkan, gagged and bound.

  5

  My heart squeezes in on itself when I see the Cweltan guards standing to attention behind Parthelon, their spears aligned perfectly with their rigid posture. Why did they arrest the oremongers? I stare at the back of Velkan’s head, willing him to turn around and see me, but he keeps his gaze forward. I glance around looking for Buir, but I can’t see her anywhere.

  My father’s eyes rove over the elders’ faces, missing nothing. When he speaks, his voice is low and strained. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Parthelon draws himself up to his full height and gestures at Sarth with a dismissive wave. “We’ve been deceived by this reprobate captain.”

  “Explain yourself!” I burst out, my pulse pounding. “You insult our guests!”

  Parthelon swivels in my direction and fastens metallic eyes on me. “They are our guests no longer. They came here under false pretenses, likely hiding from a Syndicate patrol ship. Sarth and her crew are no ordinary oremongers and their cargo is not compri
sed only of minerals. While you were off conducting your sightseeing tour, I sent a scouting party to the Zebulux.” He pauses and addresses my father. “We discovered several large torpor vats concealed behind a false wall draped with netting at the back of the cargo bay.”

  My father’s face blanches. “Are you sure?”

  Parthelon gives a smug nod.

  “What is he talking about?” I ask.

  My father clenches a gnarled fist to his chest. “Illegal transport of cryogenically frozen heads. The elderly from wealthy planets who choose to undergo the procedure are taken to an undisclosed location in the outer ring and reattached to donor bodies.”

  “The practice is outlawed,” Parthelon adds, his voice booming throughout the Great Hall. “The Syndicate has denounced it for decades. All ships engaging in the cryogenic trade are to be seized, and their crews executed, by order of the Syndicate.”

  Blood drains from my head. Executed. I’ve heard stories of the only execution ever carried out on Cwelt. A trader who attempted to kidnap a Cweltan woman. The elders buried him up to his head in the sand and left him for the snipers. A slow and excruciating death by all accounts. His head had swollen to twice its normal size by the time they found him the next morning. I open my mouth to say something, but my throat closes over.

  Parthelon arches a brow at me. “Be abhorred by the crime, not the punishment. Donors are snatched from impoverished planets by body poachers. As you might imagine, there are no volunteers for such a procedure.”

  “Enough, Parthelon!” my father snaps, assuming his authority. “Is this the entire crew?”

  Parthelon throws a scathing glance Sarth’s way. “According to the captain, although she’s hardly a reliable source.” His gaze bores down on Velkan. “Maybe the serf has been disciplined enough times to keep him honest,” he says, yanking the gag from Velkan’s mouth.

  “We are the entire crew,” Velkan says, his face taut.