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

by Norma Hinkens

  “What do you have to say in your defense?” my father asks Sarth, gesturing at a guard to remove her gag.

  She scowls and curls her lip. “There’s a fine line between trade and crime when it comes to making a living. We don’t all get to choose which side we walk on.”

  Parthelon throws his arms out, appealing to the elders. “She condemns herself. She doesn’t deny the charges.”

  My insides are knotting up so tight I can barely breathe. How could Sarth even think of participating in something so horrific? I sneak a glance at Velkan. Surely he didn’t know about the illegal transport. “This is Sarth’s crime,” I blurt out. “She’s responsible for the cargo she was paid to haul.”

  Parthelon stares me down with a satisfied air of superiority. “The exterior thermostats on the vats are set to -196C, the temperature liquid nitrogen is kept at to preserve human tissue. The crew knew exactly what they were transporting.”

  “Aren’t you at least going to let them defend themselves?” I cast another desperate glance at Velkan, but he lowers his head.

  “The face of guilt,” Parthelon sneers. He turns and scours the elders before addressing my father. “We must act swiftly. If the Zebulux is being tracked by a Syndicate patrol, we will be called to give an account of our handling of the situation.”

  My father throws his shamskin robe over his shoulder and faces the Council of Elders. “All in favor of convicting the crew of the Zebulux, make your ruling known!”

  One by one the elders cross their forearms in a giant “X” over their chests signaling a binding Cweltan ruling.

  My legs shake as an icy fear creeps through me. The entire Council just ratified a Cweltan-style execution for Velkan and the rest of the crew. My mind churns in a sea of confusion. I can’t process that this is happening. A few short hours ago, we were toasting these people in the Great Hall. I can still feel Velkan’s warm breath as he whispered in my ear.

  “Take them to the retribution hut,” my father orders, his features grim. “They will be buried tomorrow night. The Cweltan elders have spoken.”

  I watch, helplessly, as the guards line up the oremongers and shackle them together. I cannot defy the chieftain’s decree in front of the Council, but they can’t stop me talking to my father alone. I can’t let this happen.

  Velkan stumbles as he passes me, and I reach out a hand to steady him before I realize his misstep was intentional.

  His breath brushes my cheek. “There’s a laser gun in—”

  A guard pulls him away from me before he can finish what he was saying.

  His eyes lock on mine with a plea so strong that my heart is crushed beneath it. I can’t give him a weapon he could use to kill the guards with, but I won’t let him die without trying to help him. I give a subtle nod before the guard yanks him forward and escorts him out of the Great Hall.

  “Father,” I say, grabbing his sleeve. “You must intervene! The crew can’t be held responsible. They were merely following Sarth’s—”

  “Enough, Trattora! You are ignorant of such matters,” he replies as Parthelon comes walking over. “The Syndicate’s edict is clear if we fail to comply. Any planet that knowingly or unwittingly supports the practice of body poaching can be annexed as a conscription colony under Syndicate Domain Law.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “But … they don’t even know the Zebulux is here.”

  “If Syndicate patrols were tracking the Zebulux and its cargo, they could arrive here at any minute,” Parthelon says.

  “We can’t take a chance,” my father says. “We must adhere to Syndicate law.”

  “What about the cargo?” Parthelon asks.

  “Remove the vats and bury them in the sand pits,” my father replies. He rubs a hand wearily over his brow. “About time those souls were laid to rest.” He throws a sorrowful look at me, as if he regrets that I had to witness this, and then strides in the direction of the door.

  “This is wrong,” I say, appealing to the elders as they file silently after him. My insubordination will do little to win me support among them, but I’m past the point of caring. I’ll find that laser gun on the Zebulux and hold the guards up myself if I have to.

  Parthelon turns to me, a slow grin spreading across his angular face. “Your father is correct in his assessment. You are ignorant of affairs of state, which makes you ill-equipped to lead in his place.”

  “And you’re qualified?” I reply with a snort.

  He sidles closer. “I haven’t spent all this time groveling under your father for nothing. He listens to me.”

  I glare up at him. “You won’t have my ear when I’m chieftain.”

  A cord of anger ripples across his face. “If you’re chieftain.” He turns on his heel and stomps from the hall.

  For several minutes, I stand rooted to the spot. Buir was right all along.

  He seeks every chance to disgrace you. Can’t you see how he craves the position of chieftain?

  Parthelon has an agenda, and he’s probably gained some more followers after I advocated risking the wrath of the Syndicate to save a murderous bunch of oremongers.

  I breathe slowly in and out as I mull over Buir’s words. Parthelon made sure to remind all the elders that he was the one who went to the trouble of investigating the oremongers’ story while I blithely showed them around. The elders already view me as gullible. They completely ignored my plea for clemency and voted unanimously to execute the entire crew. Parthelon has more supporters among them than I realized.

  I hurry out of the room intent on finding Buir. If I’m going to save the oremongers, I’ll need her help. When I reach the main boulevard, I cinch up my robe and break into a run. Whatever despicable trade Sarth is tangled up with, her crew members don’t deserve the excruciating death that awaits them. And I don’t have much time to figure out a way to stop it from happening.

  Once I arrive at Buir’s house, I lean my spear up against the outer wall and jog up the familiar steps. The murmur of voices drifts toward me from the kitchen. Buir is seated at the table, her knees drawn up to her chest, in conversation with her mother. She looks up startled, then jumps to her feet. “Did you hear?” she asks, grasping me by the arms. “They arrested the oremongers.”

  I give a grim nod. “I just came from the Great Hall.”

  “The elders should never have let the two of you go off with them alone.” Buir’s mother says, her face rutted with worry. “Why did they arrest them?”

  “They were transporting torpor vats,” I reply.

  She takes a sharp breath and claps both hands over her mouth.

  Buir throws her a frightened look. “Mother! What is it?”

  “Cryogenically frozen heads,” her mother replies in a hushed whisper. “A dark market trade, punishable by execution.”

  I clench my fist into a tight ball. “The elders sentenced the entire crew to execution tomorrow night. They’re being held in the retribution hut.”

  “Does the captain deny the charges?” Buir’s mother asks. “I’ve heard of vats being planted on trade ships, disguised as other cargo.”

  I shake my head. “She knew what it was.”

  “Then nothing can be done to save the crew.” Buir’s mother lets out a heavy sigh. “The Syndicate has a zero-tolerance policy on the cryogenic trade.”

  “They don’t all deserve to die,” I say. “Velkan’s an indentured serf. He had no say in the cargo Sarth contracted to transport.”

  Buir’s mother shakes her head sadly but says nothing.

  “I’m going to the retribution hut to talk to the crew,” I say. “Maybe they can tell me something that will make the elders relent.” I turn to Buir. “Coming?”

  She throws me a dubious look as she gets to her feet. “I don’t think it’ll do any good.”

  Buir’s mother splays her hand good-bye. “Stay close to the guards. Be careful.”

  “Always,” I call over my shoulder as Buir and I race down the front steps into the main
boulevard. She sets out in the direction of the retribution hut but I grab the tail of her shamskin. “Wait! I need to swing by the Zebulux first.”

  Buir spins to face me, an uneasy look in her eyes. “What for?”

  “I might be able to find something to help the oremongers.”

  “Like what?”

  I reach for my spear and run my fingers over the tip. “Something … that might make the elders pay attention.”

  Buir’s lips part. “You mean … weapons? Trattora! No!”

  I drop my jaw and stare at her. “Now, that’s not a bad idea. Good thing it was yours.”

  Up close, the Zebulux looks even uglier than when we first saw it coming in to dock. Its scarred hull is a scabbed assortment of riveted panels and salvaged parts, and its rear stabilizers give it the appearance of a crouching insect of war. It doesn’t bode well for the condition on the inside. A Cweltan guard stands on either side of the rugged metal ramp leading into the cargo bay.

  I give a nod of acknowledgment as I stride up to the guards with all the swagger of a chieftain’s daughter who has every right to board a seized ship. “Did Parthelon remove the torpor vats yet?” I ask curtly.

  The guard closest to me bows. “Not yet, High Daughter, but—”

  “Good. My father wishes me to view the workings of the ship.”

  The guard bows again as I sweep past him, steering a reluctant Buir by the elbow.

  Inside, the cargo hold reeks of oil and fumes. I wrinkle my nose at the foreign scent of toxic chemicals and glance around curiously. Thick netting holds a large quantity of gear in place; tool chests, oil drums, coiled cables, crates piled on top of crates, even a second LunaTrekker. I raise my brows and look pointedly at Buir. “Sarth didn’t mention that they had more than one of these nifty little vehicles.”

  Buir grimaces. “Hardly surprising, after everything else she hid from us.” She points toward the back of the cargo hold. “Those must be the vats.”

  We step around the half torn-down false wall and stare in awe at the giant thermostat-controlled drums, partly concealed by heavy netting.

  Buir shivers. “I can’t believe they’re full of human heads,” she says. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night on this ship.”

  I gesture to an iron stairway. “Let’s see where this leads. We need to find Sarth’s room.”

  Buir looks at me suspiciously. “Why Sarth’s room?”

  “Because … all the important stuff will be in there, like weapons,” I say, grinning at her.

  Buir presses her fingertips to her lips and throws a nervous glance over her shoulder at the guards standing outside the ship. “This is a really bad idea.”

  “Do you have a better one? Besides, the cameras are out on the ship, remember? They won’t have a clue what we’re doing.”

  She gives a resigned sigh and follows me up the stairway to the upper deck. A hexagonal utility hallway leads back into the bowels of the ship.

  “This must be where the crew eats,” I say peering through a porthole at a sparse-looking galley, dining room, and communal area. Most everything inside is fashioned out of metal and bolted to the floor; seating, tables, chests and cabinets.

  “The Zebulux is no luxury liner,” Buir remarks.

  “She may not be pretty, but she’s seen a lot more of our planetary system than we have,” I say wistfully.

  “Or want to!” Buir retorts. She wanders off down the hallway and peers into the next room. “Looks like supplies,” she says, when I join her.

  “Let’s keep going,” I say. “We don’t have much time and we need to find Sarth’s quarters before the guards grow suspicious and come looking for us.” More than anything, I wish we had time to explore the control room, but that will have to wait.

  Halfway down the corridor, we come to a small room with two recessed bunks. “The sleeping quarters aren’t very impressive,” Buir says, wrinkling her nose up and sniffing at the air delicately as we step inside. “This must be crew quarters. I can’t imagine Sarth sharing a room with anyone.”

  The bunks are neatly made up but there’s barely enough room to turn around.

  “Definitely crew quarters,” Buir says, squeezing past me to get back out.

  “We can’t be sure of that,” I say, pulling open a steel drawer in a locker beside the bottom bunk. It’s filled with personal items; a small knife with a carved handle, a collection of rocks of various hues, an assortment of prints from ports around the galaxy. A comb. I frown, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Only one person on the Zebulux could possibly need a comb. I’m looking through Velkan’s things. I take a quick breath to remind myself why I’m doing this and dig a little deeper. Maybe the gun is stashed in here. My eyes widen when I spot something familiar-looking in the bottom corner of the drawer.

  Instinctively my hand flies to my neck. My throat feels like it’s closing over.

  “What’s wrong?” Buir asks.

  With shaking fingers, I pull the chain out from beneath my shamskin and point to the tiny metal bracelet on the end. “Look in the drawer,” I say, in a scratchy voice.

  Buir steps back into the room and peers into the drawer.

  I don’t dare breathe again until she confirms it.

  “They match,” she says in an awed whisper.

  6

  I close my fist protectively over the bracelet in the drawer. All those lonely times when I cried in the crevices high above the sacred triangle flash before my eyes. Somewhere deep inside I never felt like I belonged anywhere, until now. A fluttering feeling creeps up my throat. “You know what this means?” I say to Buir, barely able to quell the tremor in my voice as I take a closer look at the bracelet. “Velkan and I are from the same planet.”

  Buir contemplates this for a moment. “How do you know it’s his?”

  “Because his name’s on it!”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” she says, frowning at the bracelet. “He could have stolen it and had it engraved.”

  I shake my head. “It was lying right there with the rest of his things. He wasn’t trying to hide it.”

  Buir looks unconvinced. “Why would he? Sarth’s a crook. I doubt she cares if her crew help themselves to a few things when they’re docked at trading ports.”

  I stare down at the tiny bracelet in the palm of my hand. Buir does have a point. The bracelet could have come from any port along the trading routes. But I don’t want to entertain that possibility, not now when I might have stumbled on an opportunity to learn something about my origin. “I need to talk to Velkan,” I say, slipping the bracelet into my pocket, “before anything happens. Let’s hurry. Sarth’s quarters must be close by.”

  Buir frowns and peers into the hallway. “I think I hear the guards coming.”

  I step back out into the corridor just as Parthelon strides around the corner. A furrow forms on his elongated forehead. “The guards said we would find you here,” he growls. “A little late to be investigating the oremongers now.”

  I open my mouth to remind him who he’s talking to just as my father comes into view.

  “Trattora!” he exclaims. “What are you doing on board?”

  I walk up to him and link my arm through his. “Buir and I were educating ourselves on the inner workings of an oremongers’ vessel. You know how I love to learn. This is the first functional ship I’ve had a chance to explore.”

  His face softens. “It’s not safe for you to be here. We’re working on a way to remove the torpor vats, and the chemicals inside are hazardous. You and Buir need to leave the ship until we’re finished.”

  “How long will it take?” I ask.

  My father rubs his brow. “I’m not sure. Between the hazardous materials involved and the sand snipers, we can’t bury the vats in the dark. We may wait to move them until morning.”

  I unlink my arm. “As you wish.” I incline my head to Parthelon, reveling in the thunderous look in his eyes, and then follow Buir back down the hallway to the front of t
he ship. Inside, my heart is racing. I run through our options as I go. It’s too risky to try sneaking back on board after my father explicitly commanded us to leave. We’ll have to wait until they’re done with their assessment and then come back later tonight.

  Once we exit the ship and are out of earshot of the guards, I turn to Buir. “My father and Parthelon will be occupied here for the next couple of hours. We might as well make use of the time and find out from Velkan where exactly their weapons are stashed on board, and where he got that bracelet.”

  Buir looks pensive. “Don’t get your hopes up. I know you always believed your bracelet was significant. But if a lowly serf owns one, the truth is it could have come from some cheap market stall that charges a few extra credits for engraving a name.”

  “Not if Velkan was wearing it when Sarth dug up his pod.”

  “Right, that story.” Buir gives a dramatic sigh. “I can see where this is going. Come on, let’s settle this once and for all.”

  I beam her a grateful smile and she rolls her eyes in response. “Your mother’s going to kill me if she finds out I let you go out to the retribution hut.”

  I sidle over to Buir and squeeze her arm. “She has too big a heart to kill anyone, and anyway, there’s no law against visiting the condemned.”

  The retribution hut is located about three miles out on the far side of our settlement. We’re almost at the Great Hall when I have the brilliant idea that we could take the LunaTrekker parked outside and get there much quicker.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Buir chides when I suggest it. “You don’t even know how to drive that thing.”

  I shrug. “I got the gist of it this morning. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  I stash my spear in the bed, slide in behind the controller and beckon to Buir to join me. She lingers for a minute, her forehead puckered, then throws a quick glance across the street at a group of Cweltan women eying us curiously, before climbing into the passenger seat beside me.

  “Don’t worry about what they’re thinking,” I say.

  “They’re probably thinking what I’m thinking,” she retorts. “We’ve no business being in this vehicle. You do realize if you run someone over we’ll probably end up in the retribution hut ourselves.”