by S. J. Higbee
I stared at his face, locked with shock. No more… Please – I just want this all to stop.
“Norman was so very sure his expert primed the yacht to be disabled. And Norman’s techs don’t make that kind of mistake. And that was the source of my quarrel with the double-crossing piece of trash. While Norman was a monster, so is George. Be warned.” Rick suddenly stopped. “Oh, my dear… I’m so very sorry. I wish I could have been more…circumspect in my warnings. But I am running out of time. Literally. There is a file hidden on my workdesk.” He ran off the ite-code for it. “In it, you’ll find an invoice for said incriminating phial made out to our esteemed Acting Leader. When he starts trying to control you, as he doubtless will, you can return the favour. And prog it to be immediately released to a host of your followers, should something untoward happen to you. In the meantime, keep a low profile and get away from there as fast as you decently can.”
“What can I do for you?” I croaked. No more… I don’t want to hear any of this.
“I needed some major treatment, which wasn’t cheap. Neither was covering my tracks once I paid off the fine crew of cred-hungry gentlemen prepared to risk William’s wrath and get me off Restormel.” Rick’s voice hardened, “And I’m in the process of tracking down that psychotic fiend you have the misfortune to call a brother. He took the money and then double-crossed me by killing poor Bernal. I cannot have that state of affairs prevailing, I really can’t. So, if you could see your way to—ˮ
“If I send you one of Norman’s sealed accounts, can you open it without causing me a problem?”
“Well yes, I—ˮ
“Send me a lockcask location. I’ll forward sufficient to see you through.”
“Thank you, my dear. And Elizabeth? If you need help getting away, drop me a line – I’ll do what I can to assist you.”
“Thank you, Rick.”
Says the man without the resources to revenge his dead lover. Words are cheap when you come begging for a bunch of creds after jumping ship. I was too vac’d to try and shut Jessica down.
“Good-bye, my dear. And do, please take great care.” His smile punched holes in the shield I’d thrown up to deal with the everyday bilgescum clogging my life, just now.
“And you… I’m really glad you made it. I’m sorry about Bernal.” I should’ve killed Eddy when I had the chance. And with that I shut off the transmission and sat in the darkened office. “I’ll stay for a few more months to haul Procurement back into the airlock, then I’m shaking the dirt off Restormel off my feet,” I said to the walls. Hearing it aloud made me feel strong enough to march back to my rooms as though nothing had happened.
*
Two days later, the election campaign for a new leader of the Pees was launched. The Red-Sashes insisted that George appoint a Council to help run the Pees. As Director of Procurement, I was one of the six Council members that helped draw up a new Constitution. It was now mandatory that the Leader – the new General, whoever he was – held at least two Council meetings a month. And if the Council passed a motion of No Confidence in the General, he had to respond or dissolve his Leadership and hold new elections.
The evening before all the candidates for the election had to declare themselves, I looked up from my workdesk to see George strolling through the door. I resisted my immediate impulse to call the guards for help. After all, he won’t do anything to attack me here. Will he?
By an unspoken pact, we hadn’t discussed any of the events surrounding Father’s death since that terrible night. In fact, we hadn’t said much of anything to each other that didn’t relate to work issues – which suited me just fine. I’d be happy if I never wore out my eyes on the slimer ever again…
“Good evening, Elizabeth. Still working, I see.” He smiled, as he sat in the chair opposite, but I knew him well enough to realise he was tight-wound.
“As you can see…” I gestured to the stack of recs waiting for my attention. “What can I do for you?”
“Are you intending to stand in the election?”
“No! Absolutely not.” I was tired of this subject – it had come up far too frequently in the past few days. Axil had been most persistent only that morning and even David had given it a mention. “I hate the very idea!”
“I realise that. More importantly – so do most folks who know you. I’ll be honest…”
That makes a stimming change… sniped Jessica.
“This election runs the risk of causing more division within the P’s.”
“Exactly! It’s why I’m keeping out’ve it.” And the fact I can’t think of anything I’d hate more than to be stuck here a moment longer than I have to.
“There’s a still a great deal of unhappiness about the way events went down.” George shook his head. “If the wrong person becomes the next leader, I reckon we’ll lose a lot of personnel and if that happens right now, there’s a likelihood the P’s will fold. Leaving Sector Two completely unprotected.”
“You’d like me to make some speeches supporting your candidacy.” I shrugged, my gaze straying back to the pile of tasks still beckoning. “I can do that.”
He leaned on the workdesk, fixing me with that whipped-dog look of his. “I’d rather you put your name forward. Took part in the leadership contest.”
I drew breath to tell him just what I thought of that notion, but he rushed on, “I know full well you hate the idea. But it would show everyone that the elections are not rigged and give those who are unhappy a protest vote.”
You should go for it, Lizzy. I was winded that even Jessica was ganging up against me.
“In the event of your winning, you could hold the post for a year – tops. By then, between us, we’ll have the outfit stabilised and you can step down, again.” George’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “If you want. Who knows? You might get a taste for leadership.”
The sun will freeze solid first… “And if I wanted to leave the P’s, afterwards…ˮ
“No problem at all,” he said, the first real grin crawling across his face at the notion of seeing the back of me.
I sucked in a breath. I really didn’t want to do this – but the thought of the P’s folding was unbearable. “Agreed.”
*
George was busy campaigning, which meant I didn’t see all that much of him – a relief once I realised just exactly what this business entailed. I was also whisked up into all that went with electioneering – after David volunteered himself for the post of my campaign manager, suddenly my soul wasn’t my own. I found myself trudging around Restormel making speeches – the bit I particularly loathed, though everyone listened without too much heckling. More enjoyably, I got to see the whole complex – this odd pentagonal building, with the farms, shuttle port and cargo bays, shops and supporting staff that made up our community. And while chatting to various groups, I also got a clearer idea of what their concerns were.
A worrying contender was one of Norman’s favourites – a Captain Beck. He had a couple of strikes against him. The first being he was far too friendly with the sorry article who’d tried to mash me into the carpet during my confrontation with Father. And the second was that he liked throwing his weight around. While campaigning, he hauled along several Shadows to help out, thus demonstrating his complete unsuitability. Only a wet-head would figure that clumping around with a bunch of black-uniformed bullies would improve his election chances.
With so many of our people out on patrol throughout the Sector, it took a fortnight for all the votes to be collected and counted. Another nice touch was that David suggested the Committee Chairman of Ceres send a representative to oversee the election process and take charge of the votes. This went down well with the planets in Sector Two still struggling to hang onto their democracies.
*
As a Council Member and leadership candidate, I was seated on the stage behind the Ceren Committeeman Tysen as he waved a piece of parch around, clearly enjoying the drama before he announced the results. I didn�
�t. Sitting up there made me realise just how much I loathed all the fuss and felt quite relieved that once this was over, I’d be able to return to my duties down in Procurement.
The main hall was packed, with holoscreens relaying the events all over Restormel so that everyone could follow the election results. Not such a good idea in my view, was George’s notion to have a posse of journos also present. Many of these slimers had made outrageous allegations after Father’s death without a shred of evidence to back them up.
This meant we were sitting on the stage amid swarms of auto-cams zipping around, inches from our faces. When Captain Beck swatted one to the floor and stamped on it, I liked him a whole lot more.
“In ascending order… Captain Logan Beck with 684 votes…”
So, the Shadows came through for him – along with a cadre of former training mates and ex-patrol buddies. But he was never going to become Mr Popularity. He doesn’t have the knack…
This was pure air to Jessica, who had become very involved in all the politicking and after what we’d been through recently, it was a pleasure to hear her holding forth about something that wasn’t potentially life-shortening.
Committeeman Tysen paused dramatically. “Florian Starsearcher… 1,897 votes…”
I thought he’d do better than that.
Hm, so did I – given he’s the P’s’ cred-counter, and mercs are mostly attracted to the smell of money.
“…and George Albert Newmarket… 10,421 votes…”
Hang on a minute, where…?
“and, finally… Elizabeth Sarah Jane Violet Norman…”
What! That can’t be right! I was suddenly gasping for air. Black spots danced in front of my vision. I can’t be the new leader – I can’t!
Your name was on the ballot paper, Lizzy – and if you buckle in front of all these people, so help me, I’ll keep you awake for a week!
“…11,949 votes…”
Hm. Could’ve had a bigger margin.
I should never have let George talk me into this. I’ll… step down. Plead illness. What’ll happen to Procurement? I can’t… I really can’t do this!
“Therefore, in conclusion, I have to announce that the new leader for the Peace and Prosperity Corps is… Elizabeth Sarah Jane Violet Norman!” Who knew the stodgy Ceren Committeeman had such a sense of drama?
There was a roar from the hall – along with some boos and catcalls, it’s true. But leastways the mercs felt safe enough to demonstrate their disgust. In Father’s time they wouldn’t have dared.
“I can’t… This isn’t right! I didn’t—”
George was on his feet, pulling me to the front of the stage. “Don’t argue, Elizabeth,” he breathed through grinning lips. “Just smile and wave. Please. We got to get through the next year in one piece.”
It’s a fix! This – it’s been rigged! And this Committeeman – does he know?
Judging by the way he’s building you up, I’d say so.
This is just as bad as when Father was running things! It’s s’posed to be democratic!
Get real, Lizzy! These are weapon-wielding mercs. If they truly lusted after democracy, they’d have planted themselves on some dirtball, somewhere. What they need and want is someone who can get them profitable contracts and run things smoothly. You tick both boxes. Partly cos you’re good at admin and work hard – partly cos you’re the Old Man’s daughter and can use his name and his contacts to swing things your way.
This always being right business of Jessica’s was very, very annoying.
I shook my head in defeat and walked to the front of the stage. The whooping, catcalls and yelling died down, somewhat.
“What can I say? I am honoured by your trust. And I will work hard and do my very best to be worthy of it.”
“Yeah. We figured that. S’why you got the job,” a lone voice yelled back.
I joined in the gust of laughter. While wondering why – exactly – it was remotely amusing. I hadn’t got the job because I was the best candidate, merely because I was the most convenient fool in the neighbourhood.
I smiled, waved and bowed to the audience amid another roar. Which was when it came to me that instead of immediately escaping the P’s as I’d planned, this was a way to start atoning for my wickedness in killing Father. So, I accepted the position of running the most powerful merc force in Sector Two.
Did I succeed in doing a solid job? Hm. If I had my time again, there’s things I’d have done differently, that’s for sure. It was certainly eventful. But that’s another story. For another day.
The End
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review for future readers.
ACKNOWLEGEMENTS
Once again, I’d like to thank the folks who have helped to get this book to a point where it is fit to be read by the buying public. Given that I fling around ellipses, peculiar words and dashes with wanton abandon while writing my first drafts – it takes sustained effort by a team of willing victims friends to try and nail as many of my errors as possible before publishing.
Particular thanks go to Sarah Palmer and Debbie Watkins who have trawled through this manuscript and the rest of my marvellous writing group, Geoff Alnutt – aka The Speechpainter – and Kate Glover for their feedback and encouragement, all washed down with strong tea and Sarah’s homemade cakes.
This would have been so much harder without superfriend and word-wrangler, Mhairi Simpson, who also combed through the script and helped with some of the technical challenges I faced in coping with the likes of setting up a Goodreads account. She is also in the process of demystifying some of the black arts surrounding marketing and social media as I begin to comprehend there is a bit more to this malarkey than just writing the books. Thank you, it would be so much lonelier and less fun without you, which is why I’ve dedicated this book to you.
As for John – throughout it all, you have never wavered in your faith and support. The solid kind that matters… endless cups of tea and countless hot dinners which I often scarcely acknowledge while I’m wrestling with an awkward character. Thank you for putting up with days where you only see the back of my head while I’m locked onto the computer, providing as much conversation and less comfort than the settee in the corner of the room. I hope there is a special VIP room in Heaven for partners of writers – and if there isn’t, there should be.
And lastly, a big thank you to those of you who have supported me by reading and spreading the word about the first book in this series, Running Out of Space. I have been thrilled that folks have taken the trouble to get in touch and tell me how much they have enjoyed reading it. I hope you also enjoy this one…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born the same year as the Russians launched Sputnik, I confidently expected that by the time I reached adulthood, the human race would have a pioneer colony on the Moon and be heading off towards Mars. So I was at a loss to know what to do once I realised the Final Frontier wasn’t an option and rather lost my head - I tried a lot of jobs I didn’t like and married a totally unsuitable man.
Now I've finally come to terms with the fact that I’ll never leave Earth, I have a lovely time writing science fiction and fantasy novels as well as teaching Creative Writing at Northbrook College in Worthing. I live in Littlehampton on the English south coast with a wonderful husband and a ridiculous number of books.
Also Available From Griffinwing Publishing
RUNNING OUT OF SPACE
SUNBLINDED: BOOK 1
CHAPTER ONE
Yeah, I know – Basement Level on Space Station Hawking – what were we thinking? But penned up on punishment duty with only the prospect of one chaperoned shopping trip had driven us to it. Though the charms of Basement Level wore thin as soon as we set off from the lift. One light in four was working – and then only in Dim mode. The corridors were half the width of the upper levels; a big problem as I’ve seen sewage tanks more wholesome than those walls. You wouldn’t
want to brush against them wearing anything other than shipwear throwaways, while keeping off the walls was harder than you’d think, because we were wading ankle-deep in… stuff.
Jessica punched my arm. “Must be homely for you, Lizzy. Floor looks like your cribicle after you done tidying.”
Alisha and Sonja started sniggering.
“’Cept the smell isn’t as vile as your boots,” I replied.
Our laughter bounced around the filthy corridor, easing the mood for a couple of minutes but did nothing about the putrid smell. We struggled on a bit longer, until a grimy woman scuttled past, forcing us far too close to the walls. She didn’t even look our way, let alone thank us for making sufficient room.
Sonja and Alisha stopped.
“Let’s turn round. Unblocking the heads is more fun than this.” Sonja wrinkled her nose at the empty tunnel ahead. “Even the natives got sense enough to be someplace else.”
“We’ve gone promming around for less than a nanosec. And you wanna run back cos the scenery isn’t the same as on board?” Jessica clicked her tongue in scorn. “Starting to sound like those old nannies.”
Sonja flinched at the derision in her voice, but – being Sonja – wouldn’t lock horns with Jessica.
Breathing through my mouth, I straightened up. Jessica is right. So what if this is a dank disappointment? We didn’t come down here for the view – we came to prove we could handle ourselves when off-limits.
But Alisha grabbed Jessica’s arm. “Sonja and me reckon this is a vile place. We vote to head back. Tramping through filth is a tragic waste of shore leave.”
All argument ceased when the floor crud rustled and heaved behind us. A cat-sized rat scuttered through the litter into the gloom beyond.
I shivered. “It’s gotta get better soon. We’re snagging the next lift we see back to Trader Level.”
We continued trudging onwards for another ten minutes. Just as I was beginning to think the scuzzy corridor was leading into infinity, we turned a corner into a small square. With a blast of relief, I spotted the lift in the far corner and relaxed. Now we were nearly out of here, we could do the tourist bit. Truth be told, the word ‘square’ probably gives the space more credit than it deserves. While the lighting was brighter and the floor litter had been trodden relatively flat, the buzz that normally goes with buying and selling wasn’t here. Under the stink of rotting rubbish was the sharper stench of desperation.