Too Close to the Sun (The Sun 1)

by Popp, Robin T.

  She’d been alone too long if she was starting to fantasize about a computer, she thought abruptly, shaking off the last remnants of the daydream. As for Romanof, he was probably an old man like Yanur, who just happened to have a great voice. Hell, it probably wasn't even his voice.

  She turned off the shower’s mist and stood for a few seconds letting the last drops of moisture evaporate, feeling disgusted with herself for letting a computer-generated voice arouse her imagination. Such daydreaming was absurd. Her number one concern at the moment should be getting back to Earth where she could enlist Dugan’s help to get safely to a location of her choosing.

  Slipping out of the shower, she went in search of clothes. Again, a pleasant musky scent filled her senses when she opened the closet door, reviving briefly the image of her dark dream-lover. Then a new thought occurred to her. These were Romanof’s clothes! Unable to stop herself, she leaned further into the closet, inhaling the musky scent and letting her hand trail lightly across the garments while she enjoyed the feel of well-worn cloth against her fingertips.

  Tightening the leash on her imagination, Angel pulled out a uni-fit jumpsuit and put it on. She found the comb and dragged it roughly through her hair, using the pain to help focus her concentration.

  She was back in control by the time all the tangles were out. After putting on her boots, she picked up the supplies she had discarded earlier and walked out of the room.

  She replaced the items in the closet where she’d found them and, as she shut the door, the sound of voices from the bridge caught her attention.

  “I’m sorry, Alex.”

  Angel detected an apologetic tone to Yanur’s voice. “What’s up?” She asked, walking onto the bridge to sit in the pilot’s chair. Her question met with silence, so she looked at Yanur, but found his expression unreadable.

  “Yanur has just informed me that he will be unable to assist me when we reach the Harvesters' planet,” Romanof said.

  “Because of his broken leg?” Angel asked.

  “Correct. Therefore, I require your assistance, Michels.”

  “What?” Angel asked at the same time that Yanur said, “No.”

  “Is there a problem?” Romanof asked.

  Angel looked at Yanur, curiosity momentarily distracting her from her objection. “I know why I’m objecting, but why are you? Don’t you think I can help? Or maybe you don’t trust me.”

  “I think you know why I’m objecting. Now, you can tell him or I will.”

  “Tell me what?” Romanof asked while Angel continued to study Yanur.

  Any delay in retrieving Romanof’s body increased the chances of never recovering it. Why would Yanur condemn his friend to eternity as a computer, unwilling to even make the attempt? Romanof obviously had no problem sending her into highly dangerous situation, unless…

  A new thought hit her. Maybe Yanur hadn’t yet told Romanof she was a woman. She pinned the older man with her gaze. “You said earlier that I was brave. Don’t you think I can do this?”

  “It’s not what I think that’s important here.”

  So the objection would be Romanof’s. Interesting, she thought. “He wants me to go.”

  “He doesn’t know the truth.”

  Did that mean that Romanof would change his mind if he knew she was a woman? He would rather spend eternity as a computer?

  It would serve him right, she thought, for being narrow-minded.

  Well, she had grown up around men like him - men who thought women were inferior, unequal to men in intellect and skill. In fact, she had left home to get away from men like that and the last eight years were proof enough that she was as capable of surviving the dangers of the universe as any man.

  Of course, if she wanted off the ship, then why was she even considering taking on this mission? Was she crazy? All she had to do was tell Romanof the truth and he'd dump her at the nearest safe port.

  "Would someone like to tell me what the problem is?" Romanof asked, his tone causing the image of the man from her daydream to flicker to life before she could squelch it.

  Was she willing to sentence Romanof to eternity as a computer without even trying to help him? Was she that selfish?

  “No problems.” Angel looked pointedly to Yanur. “I’ll do it."

  Yanur looked sorry as he shook his head. "I can't let you. You're a wo--"

  “Boy?” Angel blurted out. “He thinks I can't do it because I'm young, just a boy. But I'm not as young as you think. I’m twenty-three and I think I’ve already proven I can handle myself under fire.” She directed her next words exclusively to Yanur. "I'm his best shot at getting back his body. Just because I'm not Richardson doesn't mean I can't do this."

  The wait, though only seconds, seemed interminably long.

  “Perhaps Michels is right,” Yanur finally said.

  “Then let’s get started,” Romanof said. “Yanur, show Michels how to operate the transfer unit. When you’re done, we’ll go over my plan.”

  “Shall we?” Yanur rose from his chair and gestured to the door. Angel stood and preceded him out. “Perhaps we could stop by the galley,” he added. “I find I could use a drink.”

  Chapter 5

  After an hour of going over the operation of the transfer disc, Yanur pronounced Angel ready. Romanof had outlined his plan, which seemed simple enough, and then Angel retired to her room to rest until Romanof summoned her hours later.

  As soon as they entered the Harvesters' air space they were contacted by Ground Control. Romanof persuaded the authorities they were traders, intent on spending large sums of money. He then followed up the story with a sizable transfer of intergalactic credits into a temporary account to prove they had the funds to transact business.

  In return, they were given the coordinates for the landing field and Angel, now piloting the ship, merged into the busy traffic pattern, descending slowly to the surface, to what appeared to be a large tarmac. As soon as they landed, a stasis field enveloped the ship, pinning it to the surface. Stasis fields were not unusual, but were usually pilot-activated. Angel had issued no such command.

  “Romanof?”

  “Planet-activated insurance policy. Probably to make sure we settle our accounts before we leave,” he deduced. “Black market planets don’t attract the most trustworthy clients.”

  Angel shut off the engines. “What now?”

  “Time to go shopping.”

  “So soon?” She felt an unwelcome tremor of apprehension. She had reconciled herself to going out among the Harvesters, but what was the rush?

  “I’ve been monitoring local transmissions. It’s about mid-morning here and the business district is just opening. The ship we followed arrived just before sun-up, so the bodies on board are likely to be sold this morning - while they're still fresh. I don't want to take the chance of missing my body when it goes up for sale."

  “How am I going to know which one is yours? I don’t know what you look like,” she pointed out.

  “Not a problem,” Romanof informed her. “You'll take me along in the CHB. We’ll establish communication via a concealed comm-link, which you’ll wear. The ship will track my body’s signal and transmit its location relative to the CHB. I’ll tell you when we’ve located it. All you have to do is purchase it."

  Angel gave Yanur a weak smile. "Gee, it sounds so easy."

  Neither man seemed to notice her sarcasm. They were all business.

  “Yanur, you’ll stay on board and monitor transmissions.” He paused. "At the first sign of trouble, take off. Type in the command “Go Home” and the ship will transfer enough credits to the bank to ensure you receive departure clearance and release the stasis field. The ship will then return automatically to Earth. Same thing if we’re not back in sixty hours."

  “I won’t leave without you,” the older man protested.

  “If we’re not back in sixty hours, then we’re not coming back. Ever.”

  The proclamation made Yanur visibly shudder -
and did nothing to reassure Angel.

  Five minutes later, Angel was standing just inside the hatch, the CHB hanging around her neck and the transfer unit, a small, flat disc, in her pocket. Yanur, being about her size, had loaned her a pair of his dark pants and a shirt more in keeping with the image of a black market trader than the uni-fit suit she’d been wearing.

  She’d found a black vest in the closet that helped further mask her figure because female couriers were rare and drew notice and the less attention she drew to herself, the better. She'd ripped the back out of one of Romanof's larger shirts and wrapped the cloth around her head to cover it, tying it in the back as did most deep space traders.

  Her final accessory, her own addition, was a small hand laser strapped around her lower arm, just under the cover of her sleeve. It was her personal version of a security blanket.

  “Are you okay?” Yanur joined her in the hatch, his eyes offering a sympathetic look.

  I’m going out, virtually alone, on a planet inhabited by a blood-thirsty race of aliens in order to retrieve the body of a man whose life essence is hanging around my neck.

  “Sure, I’m good. Never better. Let's do this!” Okay, that last part sounded a bit over the top and had Yanur giving her a quizzical look.

  Just then she felt a vibration in her ear followed by Romanof's voice. “Time to go.”

  It sounded a lot like it had in the ship and she wondered if it might really be his actual voice. A part of her could hardly wait to check out his body to see if it matched the sexy voice, though with her luck, he probably looked more like Yanur.

  Yanur gave her shoulder a final squeeze and then, opening the hatch, he stood aside as she walked through.

  “Be careful,” he said, once she'd stepped outside. He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t dare with Romanof able to hear everything.

  Angel gave what she hoped was a smile, but probably just made her look like she was in pain. “I will,” she said with a reassurance far greater than she felt and waited while Yanur shut the hatch door.

  The landing field was nothing more than an open stretch of barren ground; a flat surface broken intermittently by giant stasis towers standing sentry duty over a field of ships. At the far end was the port authority, a massive building through which everyone arriving and leaving the planet had to pass. Stretching out on either side of the port authority and separating the landing field from the rest of the planet was an impenetrable perimeter wall, the height of which dwarfed even the stasis towers.

  She should be used to this, Angel thought, heading for the port authority. As a courier of illegal goods, she landed on strange and hostile planets all the time. Why the Harvesters bothered her more than the usual run of scum, she didn’t know. They just did. Maybe because they were like the bogeymen of childhood nightmares, appearing out of nowhere on dark, starless nights to kidnap their victims.

  I should have my head examined for doing this.

  Once she reached the port authority, Angel stopped just inside to look around. The building was a two-story structure with offices running the perimeter of the second floor, but was otherwise open from top to bottom. The place had a funny antiseptic odor that fit perfectly with the sterile, plain white walls and floors. The only touch of color came from the clothes worn by the arriving and departing black market traders and from the artificial plants set haphazardly about the place.

  Occasionally she saw figures walk by cloaked entirely in white robes. She assumed these were Harvesters.

  Near the front exit of the building, a line had formed of those wishing admittance to the planet. One by one, each visitor passed before posted guards and stepped through a scanner. Angel took her place at the back of the line.

  She'd stood there only five or ten tocks when a man’s scream rent the air. It was followed by a hushed, unnatural silence. When the eventual drone of whispers began, it started at the front of the line, gradually working its way toward Angel.

  “-vaporized, damn shame.”

  “-regular.”

  “-even knew the rules.”

  “-tried to sneak a weapon past the guards.”

  “One minute, everything’s fine-“

  “-the next-bam!“

  Angel stopped listening - and started looking for a place to dump her laser. Romanof hadn't mentioned anything to her about weapons being prohibited when he’d briefed her on what he’d learned about the Harvesters. She hated to lose the gun, but not as much as she hated getting vaporized.

  “What’s wrong?” Romanof buzzed in her ear.

  “Later,” she hissed, not wanting anyone to think she was talking to herself. Off to the side, past a grouping of artificial plants, was the vid-screen map of the city. Abandoning her place in line, Angel went to study it. It wasn't a total pretense since she wanted a better understanding of the city's layout. Within moments, she had memorized the basic concentric square layout of buildings with the market at its center.

  Before turning to head back to the line, she activated her laser's release mechanism, allowing the weapon to slip into her hand. Then she headed back to the line, brushing past the nearest plant and releasing her weapon so it dropped down into the artificial leaves and slid to the bottom of the pot, fully concealed from view. With a sigh of relief, she continued as nonchalantly as she could, to rejoin the line.

  When her turn through the security gates arrived, she passed inspection without mishap. Two of the white-robed figures questioned her about her intentions, speaking in standard Terran, the language common among most trade planets, legitimate or black market. Her responses proved satisfactory, thanks to Romanof’s quiet buzzing in her ear. With a final pass through a sani-ray to destroy any foreign contaminants, she followed the rest of the new arrivals through the exit corridor leading away from the building.

  Outside, standing on the street, Angel studied the nearest buildings, all constructed of white stone, and the paved roads and walkways congested with pedestrians, but not a lot of ground or air shuttles.

  Looking behind her, Angel noticed that the corridor through which she’d just emerged was one-way, exit only. To her right, about a half-block away, the heavily guarded entrance to the control tower was visible. She studied the area, committing the location to memory. When the time came, she wanted to know how to find the airfield again.

  “Where to?” Angel asked softly.

  “I don’t know. I’m not getting a clear signal. There may be too much interference from the tower. Start walking and I’ll let you know if I pick up the signal.”

  Remembering from the vid-screen map that the main market square was just off to her right, Angel headed that way, along with a large number of the new arrivals. As she walked, she grew uncomfortably warm. Looking around for a more shaded path to the square, she noticed a total absence of trees. In fact, there was no plant life to be found anywhere. No trees, no grass, no flowers. Nothing.

  “How does a planet survive without plant life?” She mumbled.

  “I think the answer is, it doesn’t,” Romanof answered in her ear. “My scan of the planet indicates that it’s dying.”

  Angel wondered if the Harvesters were doing anything to save their world and how stealing beings from other planets could possibly be a part of that plan.

  “I think we’re at the market square,” she whispered to Romanof a few minutes later when she reached a street lined with shops and teaming with traders. “Are you picking up your body’s signal?”

  “No.”

  “Any suggestions?” She started down one side, gazing into the booths and shops she passed.

  “Just walk around and try to look interested. But don’t buy anything.”

  “I’ll try to resist.” Angel pushed aside the beaded entrance to the first shop she came to and froze.

  “What's going on?" Romanof's voice buzzed in her ear. "Your pulse is racing."

  Angel tried to calm herself as she stared at the rows of perfectly preserved bodies standing
on shelves around the room in grotesque mimicry of dolls in a doll shop. "I just walked into a body shop. It's filled with Earthlings, Althusians, Felinians, Solbians - almost every known species is here.” She paused. “I think they're all dead.”

  The bodies, standing side-by-side, lined the walls, their eyes staring vacantly ahead.

  Then one blinked.

  "Oh my God. Romanof, they're still alive." She was horrified.

  "It’s okay, Michels.” Romanof’s warm voice was calm above the furious pounding of her heart. “Don’t let anyone see you’re upset.”

  “There’re just so many of them,” she whispered. “I didn’t realize...” Her words faltered and she couldn’t go on.

  “I know. But the worst is over for them. Remember, these are only the shells Now, tell me what you see.”

  Obediently, she tried to detach her emotions, to focus on the mission. A bit mechanically, she described the barely clothed bodies in front of her.

  “Males, humanoid, approximate ages between mid-forties and fifties, healthy but not what I would consider athletic.”

  “All of them?”

  Angel scanned the walls. “Yes.”

  “Okay. You can leave. My body is not among these.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Wrong profile.”

  She had no clue what he meant by that, but rather than ask, she left the shop and continued down the street. “You want me to try the next shop?”

  “Yes, let me...wait...there! I’ve got a signal. It’s about 750 meters north-northeast.”

  Angel looked around. From her current location, north-northeast would be back behind the next street where she noticed a group of traders now heading.

  She followed them and soon found herself on a path leading between two shops to an area that looked like an outdoor theater. Rows of chairs faced an empty stage, which was attached to a small building. Low fencing surrounded the entire seating area and the only entrance was through a registration area.

  Once again, Angel found herself waiting in line.

  “Standard of credit?” The robed figure asked when she reached the front.