“I . . . I saw a couple of thugs beating him up. I tried to chase them away.”
The woman and her companion, Flux, rolled over the beaten man and Ramya recoiled at the sight of the gash over his right eye. Blood poured from it, over his face and over the front of his shirt.
“Holy mother of stars!” Flux said under his breath.
“Is he dead?” the woman asked again. “Flux?”
“He’s barely alive,” Flux replied. “Got to take him to the medic right away though.”
“All right, I’ll call Wiz,” the woman said. Pulling out a comm unit, she tapped a few buttons and yelled into it. “We located him, Wiz. He got beat up pretty bad. Can you get a transporter here fast?”
“Will do,” a male voice crackled on the comm.
“And fast.”
“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time, Fenny.”
Ramya waited until the woman, Fenny, had turned her communicator off. “I should go,” she said. She didn’t have time. Her lease of freedom was running out, and fast. She had to find a freighter to get on quickly enough before every CAWStrat sentry was crawling over the spaceport. Besides, the Confederacy had strict laws about reporting crimes, and the current situation demanded a visit to the nearest constabulary. Ramya was not about to wait around long enough for that to happen.
“You live around here, kid?” Fenny asked simply.
“Um . . . not exactly around but—”
“What you doing out here so late at night? This isn’t a good place to be.”
Didn’t she know that? The spaceport and its vicinity was a haven for muggers and robbers, just like the men who had cornered the poor man she had helped.
“I know,” she said, reminding herself to keep her tone humble, to not come off so smug that Fenny would remember her. “I’m just trying to find a ride off planet.”
“Ride? But this road leads to the freight ships. You need to take the next road. That’d take you to the passenger lines.”
Ramya fidgeted. This conversation was eating up her time. “Don’t have enough money to buy a passenger berth,” she said hastily. “I was hoping to get on a freighter and work for board.”
“Oh? Where you off to, kid?”
Impatience had let an unguarded moment creep in, and Ramya blurted, “Just away from this planet.”
Fenny chuckled. “In a hurry to leave this iffin planet, huh?” she said. “Well, we are too. If the captain agrees, you might as well hop on board our freighter.”
Ramya’s ears perked up. They had a freighter? Obviously. The woman surely behaved like someone who had spent all her life on a freight ship. She should’ve guessed right away.
“What do you think?” Fenny asked.
Ramya didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know who these people were, and she didn’t know what they were mixed up in. How could she decide? But then, her plan was to simply find any freighter to get off Nikoor. Was there a way she could tell if this crew was going to be worse than any other?
Fenny was staring curiously.
“Where are you going?” Ramya asked.
Fenny shrugged. “No idea. But off this iffin planet.”
Ramya threw a quick look around. It was getting quieter and darker by the minute. She had to find a flight out quickly. She had to decide.
“Do you think your captain will let me in?”
Fenny chuckled. “I think he would. You saved one of his men after all.”
6
The captain of the rust-bucket they called the Endeavor was seated at one end of the mess deck. His eyes were closed, just like they had been for as long as Ramya had been escorted inside the battlecruiser-turned-freighter. Whether he was sleeping or meditating, Ramya couldn’t figure, but except for vigorously scratching the stubble at his chin every now and then, he barely moved.
Why in the name of the stars did she board this ship? Ramya cursed her stupidity over and again. She had fallen for Fenny’s offer for a ride aboard the Endeavor like a silly moth offered a fire to jump into. She had followed Fenny, Flux, and Wiz when they carried the injured man back to their freighter. On reaching the Endeavor—which all three showed off as proudly just the way her father routinely showed off the newest additions to his personal space fleet to impress visitors—they escorted her to the mess deck and left her there.
Ramya looked around as she waited for the captain to finish whatever he was doing. The deck, lined with rows of tables and benches, was antiquated but clean. In a way, everything was . . . spick and span. Perhaps she was wrong to call the ship a rust bucket; perhaps they maintained it well enough. Although the Endeavor was ancient compared to her father’s personal fleet . . .
“Yes?” a gruff, somewhat annoyed voice interrupted Ramya’s thoughts. The captain had opened a pair of bleary green eyes and fixed them on her. “What brings you to my ship, little girl?”
Ramya flinched at his words. Little girl? Really? A retort came bubbling up her throat but she pushed it down. Now was no time to be sassy. She needed to get out of Nikoor quickly and this man could help.
“I helped one of your crew. Saved his life.”
“So?”
“So . . . Fenny invited me up here. Said you’re about to push off into space soon. Since I’m looking for a flight out, she said I could try asking you for a ride.”
“What’s your name again?”
“Rami.”
The captain’s left brow went up some. “Got a last name or that’s it?”
There were a zillion last names Ramya could have told him—she had made a list of them since yesterday—but at that moment she felt annoyed like never before. The edges of her head burned with some invisible fire.
The hell with last names, the hell with fathers.
“That’s all I have. Not good enough for you?”
The captain’s brow came down, and an amused expression—if he was watching a pair of squirrels dance a Decosset—swamped his face. “It’s good. Where are you off to?”
“The Fringe.” Ramya watched his brows twitch again. Regardless, he seemed like the kind of man you were better off telling the truth to. She decided to be as candid as she could afford to be. “But right now, anywhere out of here would work.”
“The Fringe?” the captain said, the corners of his mouth curling a little. “How old are you, girl?”
What did age have to do anything with going to the Fringe? Uncle Brynden always said, “All it takes is guts.” She had plenty of guts. Besides, Ramya had often seen girls and boys as young as fourteen working on starships, and in comparison, at seventeen, she was ancient.
“Old enough,” she replied.
The captain chuckled. “Your parents must have their hands full.”
Frustration and impatience mixed together and formed an explosive mix in Ramya’s head. Why did he have to bring up her parents? Cool down, cool down, she kept saying to herself. She couldn’t afford to blow this chance; there was no time to go looking for another freighter now.
“My parents are dead,” she said, looking away from the captain. She could feel his gaze on her face while she stared fixedly at a distant corner of the room. What he gathered from studying her, Ramya didn’t know. She only hoped he’d pity her situation.
“All right,” the captain said after a while. “But I can’t give you a ride for free. Everyone on my ship works for food and board. You have to as well. Got any special skills?”
Ramya shook her head. At the CAWStrat they taught her plenty, but none of it was of any use on a space freighter.
“You can train me,” she said hastily. “I’m a quick learner. I can do anything. I’m good with machines.”
The captain busily scratched his chin and nodded. “Commander Pornell,” he yelled at the empty corridor beyond the door of the mess deck. A man, possibly in his twenties, with scraggly shoulder-length hair and round eyeglasses, walked in right away.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Meet Rami, our newest crewmembe
r. The medic will need all the help we can spare to get our champion back on his feet, so I’ve decided to hire Rami to be the medic’s assistant. What do you think?”
“Good plan, Captain,” he said with scarcely a look at Ramya.
The captain grunted and waved impatiently. “Take Rami to the medic, please?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Ramya and the commander had nearly walked out of the mess deck when the captain called again.
“And Ross, ask Fenny to chart a course to Alameda. We are leaving in five.”
Fenny was lounging on a bench right outside the mess deck, as was Wiz. It seemed to Ramya that they had all been lying in wait for the captain.
“Did you get in, kid?” Fenny said, sitting up hastily. She grinned happily when Ramya nodded. “What’s the job?”
“Um . . . medic’s assistant?” Ramya replied, trying to gauge from their expressions whether her new position was any good.
“Ah,” Wiz said. “Medic sure needs all the help she can get.”
That was no more than what the captain had said.
“Now that Flux and Fenny have gotten the man even more beat up,” Wiz continued.
“That credit goes to Flux,” Fenny said. She got off the bench and looked quizzically at Ross. “What’s eating you?”
“We’re going to Alameda. Leaving in five.”
Fenny winced. “Not another iffin prime planet.”
“Captain’s orders, Fenny,” Ross replied coldly.
As she walked to the nearest ladder, Fenny shot a look at Ross that was far from friendly. “Well, if we had remembered the captain’s orders and kept our course, we’d not be in this trouble at all. But hey, no, we got to pick up survivors. We got to get tangled with the nasty Kiroffs.”
The world around Ramya seemed to fade a little. Kiroffs? Did she hear it right? Fenny couldn’t have meant House Kiroff.
“Don’t forget I outrank you, Fenny,” Ross yelled. “Besides, you’re the one who picked up the distress beacon.”
His words were lost on an empty ladder, as Fenny had disappeared long before he finished.
“This way, Rami,” Ross said. “Let’s go meet the medic before we take off.”
“Good luck, kid,” Wiz yelled. He too had hoisted himself up the same ladder Fenny used. “You must be excited.”
Ramya forced a smile. Excited? No. Truth was, she was terrified. Not only had she run away from all she had known, but also she was headed to the Fringe—the northern outskirts of the Confederacy’s domain—where very few people ventured. As if she weren’t taking on enough hazard already, she had to have picked the Endeavor for her journey, a ship that was somehow entangled with the Kiroffs.
Ross waved. “Planning to come now or should I check on you tomorrow?”
Ramya’s fists clenched at his terseness. For a second, she wondered if she should run away from the Endeavor and back to the CAWStrat. It still wasn’t too late. But her feet followed Ross even though her brain wanted her to flee. With every step she took, the dread in her heart grew.
I can still go back and make up an excuse for Leona. Father will never know of this. And then . . .
“A strategic marriage is the best way you can serve House Kiroff,” her father had written. “There is no reason to continue your education at CAWStrat. You will return to Somenvaar. While I arrange your match with a worthy line, you will prepare for your nuptials. Learning the etiquettes expected of a lady of a great house is no easy feat, certainly not for you.”
Ramya’s eyes stung thinking of her father’s letter and a lump of pain grew bigger in her throat.
Be strong, Rami! Don’t give up.
Ramya blinked, fast and furious. Gulping away the ache in her throat, she steadied herself. To her father and his house, she was only an object to barter and trade. His love she could never get, but even if she only wanted his respect, the only option was to fight for it. The only way to earn Trysten Kiroff’s respect was to do what every Kiroff in the last hundred years had wanted to do but none succeeded—getting the Kiroff hearth back from the Moanus. That would silence her father forever. She knew it would be a long battle. This was just the first step, and she was thinking of giving up already?
Ramya strode faster to catch up with Ross. They walked along corridors that looked just like the mess hall—outdated, stripped of paint and polish, but clean. The ship had three levels at least, Ramya guessed from the sets of ladders going up and down at regular intervals. In-between there were a few elevators also. There were some layout diagrams posted at points where the corridors crossed, but the prints were faded enough to be illegible. The crew knew every nook and cranny by heart, Ramya deduced. She wondered how long it would take for her to remember her way around, and how many times she’d end up lost in the gray, maze-like corridors.
“Here,” Ross announced. They had walked up to a large door that had been hastily and carelessly painted green. On it was a hand-drawn picture of an enchanted forest full of fairies, unicorns, blooming trees and shrubs, and everything else fantastic. Zigzagging across its top were letters in every color of the rainbow. Together they spelled “Medic’s Magical Medical Bay.”
“Wow,” Ramya blurted.
Nothing was going be easy or as planned. But for now, the outdated Endeavor and its wacky crew would have to do.
7
Ramya sat on the old, lumpy cot in her newly assigned quarters and stared out the only window in the room, a tiny round opening with a rim spotted with tarnish. The chilly hardness of the bed made her painfully aware of the choice she had made—a life of a fugitive who had little else to bank on other than luck—and left her feeling as frigid and empty as the dark space outside the window. She had never been in a room so small, or so cold, or so threadbare. She had never traveled into space alone. She had never been so much in charge of herself and yet so helpless.
Ramya’s fingers clutched at the worn edges of the mattress as she stared listlessly at the window in front of her. The panes were dusty, but that didn’t stop Ramya from gazing at the planet they had just left behind. Nikoor shone like a green marble in space. Nikoor, the planet she had called home all her life, was receding fast. Very soon it would be out of sight and she’d be truly, hopelessly on her own.
But didn’t she always crave for freedom? And for a chance to prove herself? You did, Ramya reminded herself sternly. This was her chance. There could be no room for fears. This had to be done. She had to chart her own destiny away from the Kiroff name, from Somenvaar, and from Nikoor. Perhaps her destiny was restoring the Kiroff legacy that had been stolen years ago. Only doing that could prove she was better than her father. There was no other choice but to show him she was worth something.
Ramya welcomed the swirling fumes of rage that came to life deep inside her. They grounded her, letting hope surge and drive the fears away. But helpful as anger was, she couldn’t give in to it either. She had to keep her emotions guarded. There could be no room for error. Ramya closed her eyes and breathed in deep—the air smelled like metal and dust and was far from calming. Still she kept on breathing—in and out, in and out—until her thoughts had made peace. Then she walked over to the window and gazed upon Nikoor.
The biggest and the only significant landmass on it glowed like a jewel-encrusted tiara. Ramya’s eyes picked up the position of Somenvaar in the southern reaches. Does Father know I’m gone? she wondered. She could see his clenched fists and tightened jaw on hearing from Leona how his daughter and heiress of House Kiroff had snuck out of the CAWStrat like a common thief. He would still keep his composure in front of Leona, but inside he would be fuming. What would he do after that?
“Rami,” someone yelled from the corridor outside. Ramya recognized the voice of the petite, foul-mouthed woman, Fenny. She pushed her travel pack under the cot and yanked the door open. It parted with a loud groan followed by a long, annoying creak. Fenny didn’t wait to be asked; she sauntered in and placed herself on the stool next to the wind
ow. “Thought I’d check on our special guest.”
Her words were simple enough, but they made Ramya flinch. Special? Why did Fenny think she was special? Did she guess who Ramya was?
She brushed the thought away quickly. The Kiroffs were private to a fault, particularly when it came to the children. Ramya had been to public galas, but photos of her had yet to circulate the galaxy like her parents’ had. Not too many would know what the Kiroff heiress actually looked like.
“I’m fine,” she replied, trying to relax a bit. “So we’re off to Alameda now?”
Fenny nodded, her light brown eyes scanning Ramya’s face over and over.
“How long will the trip take?” Ramya asked.
“Five hours to the AP, and four more to the System V. Another hour or so depending on how quickly we get clearance.”
Alameda was a prime planet, just like Nikoor. That meant it had strategic bases of the Confederacy on it. Nikoor was officially a prime planet being home to the CAWStrat, but cynics often said it was the Kiroffs’ home that really mattered. Alameda, on the other hand, was home to the Kiroffs’ staunchest rivals, the Arlingtons. However, the planet’s prime classification was due to its being the seat of the GSO. Docking into Alameda, past all the security scans, wouldn’t be quick.
“Anyway, we don’t even know for sure if we’ll go there in the end. If that iffin pilot could remember what had happened to him . . .”
She was surely talking about the man Ramya had saved, the one they had picked up from somewhere. Where exactly did they find him?
“Where are you from?” Fenny asked. “From this sector or out?”
“I’m from Nikoor. Not been outside the planet much.” Ramya told her the truth. There was no point in lying about everything; she’d have plenty more to lie about anyway.
Fenny leaned forward with sudden interest. “You’ve lived all your life in Nikoor and suddenly you want to get to the Fringe? What happened? Someone died?”
“My mother,” Ramya said quickly. She scrunched her face and looked away. She could feel Fenny’s discomfort. “My uncle Bryn is the only family I have left. And he . . .”
The Last Stryker (Dark Universe Series Book 1) Page 6