Siege of Praetar (Tales of a Dying Star Book 1)

by David Kristoph

  Her daughters were excited to see her that night, crying out with surprise when she revealed the bowl of soup she bought on the way home. It was thin and mostly water, but they sat on the floor around the bowl and ate eagerly, dipping the tough bread and taking turns sipping from the spoon.

  When their meal was complete and another bedtime story had been told, Mira took the medicine from the shelf. She held Ami close, whispering soothing words into her ear as she pressed the needle into her chest. Her daughter sat perfectly still through it all, brave for a girl her age.

  “Am I fixed?”

  Her voice was hopeful. Mira forced a smile. “You were never broken, sweet girl.”

  Chapter 7

  The foreman sat behind the glass of his office, staring idly at his computer screen as he did every morning. He held a drink in his hand, some red liquid that came from an exotic fruit Mira had never seen. She tried to imagine what it must taste like, and decided it was probably tart. She’d had a tart fruit once, when she was very young. She smacked her lips involuntarily. Her mind remembered the taste, even if her tongue did not.

  He hadn’t moved all morning, but Mira knew that was normal. She’d observed him for two weeks and knew his routine by heart. It was a boring job, foreman of a factory: tap at the computer screen, watch the women through the window, occasionally reprimand one of them. Nothing of note ever happened, except for one thing, every third day, halfway through her shift. And today was the third day.

  Mira had exhausted all other options. Leo didn’t need an assistant in his office, and had laughed when she offered to sell her malnourished blood. She’d gone door-to-door in her building after that, offering to clean or watch children or any other small task that needed doing, but nobody needed help. Most cursed her for even asking. Trust was uncommon on Praetar these days.

  Painting her face and working at the Station was still an option, but she wasn’t that desperate. She would turn to thievery before that.

  Ami’s medicine was nearly used up; she didn’t know how long the girl would stay healthy after it was gone. No, this was her best option. Mira worked steadily at her station, but glanced to the foreman’s office every few heartbeats. Her plans were made, and today may be the only opportunity.

  The electroid parts clicked together. Mira tightened them with a drill, the tips of her fingers throbbing where she’d pricked herself with a sewing needle. When she looked back up the foreman was no longer idle: his lips moved as he gestured and spoke to his computer screen. Mira stiffened. Two parts rolled past her station unassembled, but she didn’t take her eyes from the office. Finally Jin stood, his conversation complete. He ran a hand over his bald head and began pacing behind the desk.

  Soon, Mira thought. She forced herself to return to her work, this time glancing at the front door instead of the foreman’s office. More electroid parts passed her station carelessly assembled, but she paid them no mind. Soon her record as a factory employee wouldn’t matter.

  It was not long before a shadow appeared through the cracks in the door. Blinding daylight filled the factory. The other women looked up from their stations, but Mira turned away from hers. She strode to where Angela sat, picking at her fingernails with a tiny bit of metal. “Take my station for a few minutes. I need to use the toilet.”

  Angela rolled her eyes as she stood, but Mira was already moving away. She took long strides across the factory floor, moving as fast as she could without raising suspicion. She saw them then, the three men who had entered. Their uniforms were not white like most peacekeepers, but the greasy black shade officers wore. They walked along the wall at a brisk pace, unspeaking, as if eager to be done with their task.

  Mira passed the hallway where the cleanliness room were located but continued on. That was not her destination.

  She reached Jin’s office before they did. His secretary began a formal greeting, but gave a start when she saw it was Mira. The foreman came out of his office, and he too frowned when he saw Mira.

  “Foreman,” Mira said, “I need to speak with you.”

  “Now?” he asked. His face and neck were flushed.

  “Yes. Please, it’s important. It’s about my daughter.”

  The three officers appeared in the doorway. The man in the middle was surprised to see Mira, regarding her with annoyance. For a long moment she feared Jin would scold her in front of the other Melisao, but instead he said, “Wait in my office.” He led the three men back out to the factory floor.

  Mira slipped inside the office and swung the door nearly shut behind her, enough to block the view inside. She waited for the foreman and his guests to walk past the window and out of sight, then pressed the button on the desk to tint the glass. It might arouse suspicion, but it was better for the other women to suspect than see her actual crime. Besides, she would be gone before any of them had a chance to complain to the foreman.

  The officers always spent five minutes inspecting the factory. More than enough time.

  She crossed the office and opened the drawer, the rows of discs clinking from the motion. She grabbed a handful and reached over her shoulder, sliding them down her back into the secret pocket sewn into the shirt between her shoulder blades. Mira counted the handfuls as her shirt grew heavy, not bothering to take an exact amount, until she was sure she had enough.

  The drawer shut quietly, but as she turned to leave the secret pocket ripped from the weight. A trickle of credits slid down her back. Some caught in her pants but more fell to the floor with a clatter. She bent down and clutched at her back, stopping more from spilling.

  She crouched there, frozen, waiting for the secretary to burst inside and reveal her crime. But there was only silence, and the door remained closed.

  Careful not to spill more, Mira slipped one arm inside her shirt and lifted it over her head while clutching the pocket closed with the other. Now bare-chested, she examined the seam. The stitching had come loose at the corner of the pocket, revealing a hole just large enough to let the discs slip out. She tightened the thread with her finger to close the gap, but it wouldn’t stay closed by itself.

  She pulled a needle and thread from her pants and began the repair. Her hand still trembled; it took several attempts just to make the first stitch. The second stitch took just as long. Panic made her chest ache, and it seemed like an eternity before the hole was closed. She pulled at the dirty cloth gently to test it. It wasn’t pretty, but she thought it would hold the weight.

  The shirt went back over her head slowly. To her relief the credits stayed in place. How much time had passed? She couldn’t leave the credits on the floor, so she bent to pick them up. It would only take a moment and then she would be away.

  The foreman walked by the window then, alone. He glanced at the tinted glass with surprise, then alarm. Mira had just enough time to grab the last few credits from the floor and jump against the wall before he burst inside.

  His face was blank, and he stood in the doorway for a long moment. His eyes never left Mira’s as he walked around his desk and sat. She stared back, resisting the urge to glance in the direction of the drawer.

  “I understand your reluctance to be seen in my office,” Jin said, his voice cold and formal, “but you will never touch my desk again. Even to darken the window.”

  Mira’s hand trembled at her side. She held it with the other hand and stammered an apology, keeping very still to keep the credits in her hidden pocket from clinking together. I was supposed to be gone by now. What was she supposed to do?

  “Well?” said the foreman, now impatient. “Why did you need to see me?”

  “I…” Mira’s mind raced for an excuse. “I wanted to thank you. For the extra credits you gave me. My daughter is doing much better.”

  “Good, I had wondered. Does she eat enough? I need to keep a balanced payroll, but I may have something extra…” he reached for the drawer.

  “No!” she blurted, raising a hand toward him. The credits on her back shifted. “She�
�s fine now, better than fine. You’ve already done enough, more than I deserve.”

  He removed his hand from the drawer. Mira barely stifled a sigh. Jin tilted his head and said, “What’s her name? Your daughter?”

  Why was he asking her daughter’s name? Was something wrong? He didn’t look like he suspected anything, but Melisao were hard to gauge.

  His stare was piercing, so she looked down--and spotted three more credits, on the ground at the edge of his desk. She must have missed them. Her eyes shot back up, but Jin’s gaze was unmoved. Had he seen the discs when he entered? Was he delaying her so peacekeepers could arrive? She didn’t know if he could alert them without her knowing.

  “Ami. My other girl is Kaela.” Sweat trickled down her back, pooling at the spot where the pocket rested against her skin. The longer she stood there the more her nerve withered. Was he testing her? If she admitted to her crime he might be lenient. Maybe that was what was happening: the foreman was giving her a chance to confess. She felt like a fool, standing there with a pile of stolen credits on her back. Why did she ever think she could get away with it?

  He nodded. “I know how it feels to work a difficult job, to provide for the ones you love.” He looked like he wanted to tell her more, but instead he only said, “Angela looks impatient at your station. You may go, if that is all.”

  She took one cautious step toward the door; the credits on her back made no noise. No peacekeepers jumped out to arrest her. She shuffled out of the office, past the disapproving stare of the secretary, toward her freedom.

  Chapter 8

  Mira jingled like a broken machine as she ran down the street. She’d stepped on a sharp piece of debris in her carelessness, and left a trail of red smears behind her. Buildings framed either side of the street and faces watched down from doorways and broken windows. They didn’t know if she was in need or in trouble, so they remained in their places, unwilling to risk themselves by interfering.

  She didn’t know if she even needed to run, but she didn’t want to take the chance. The workers at the factory had watched her leave the foreman’s office and walk straight out the door. They probably thought she lost her job, despite not being escorted from the building by peacekeepers. The foreman may not even realize that she, and the food credits, were gone until the next day. And she had plenty of time to gather her girls and get to the Station in time.

  But she ran, because it felt safer than walking.

  Her feet slowed when she neared her home, almost an hour later. She left the main street and slipped down an alley, stepping over sleeping people who had no shelter of their own. The alley twisted and turned until it finally opened back out on the main street. Mira stopped. With care she tilted her head around the corner until her building came into view. And so did they: the gang of boys sat on the curb outside, lazily tossing rocks at one-another. They’d loitered around her building for the past few days, forcing Mira to scale the rear wall to reach her room. But the pocket of credits was heavy on her back, and she didn’t think she could navigate the meager footholds to the fourth floor with bloodied feet.

  Instead she turned back into the alley. She found another road surrounded by apartments, running parallel to the main street. It opened onto a side street that bordered her building. She followed the wall until she was at the corner by the entrance. She could hear them now, laughing and taunting the three prostitutes that sat on the steps by the door.

  She couldn’t slip inside while their attention was on the doorway, so she hugged the wall and waited.

  She watched the sand dunes to the south. She imagined she could see one shrink while another grew, the sand shifted by the constant wind. If she squinted she even thought she could see people along the top, tiny black specks from that distance. The longer she watched the more she realized how tired she was. Her eyes were playing tricks on her.

  The dying sun drifted through the hazy sky but the boys stayed outside her building. There was a window next to Mira that she considered entering before dismissing the idea. The only people who dared live on the ground floor were those who could defend themselves, and they would likely kill her before asking her intentions. It would be safer trying to climb the wall with bloody feet.

  Finally it grew quiet. She peered around the corner. The boys were still there in the street, but they had moved away from the door. They were gathered in a circle, poking and prodding something on the ground. A bug, or an animal. Something distracting. She wondered if it was enough, but her time was growing short.

  She mustered what courage she could and rounded the corner. It felt like a death march, walking the twenty feet from the corner to the door. She looked straight ahead, as if that might help. The boys kept their backs turned to her. She watched them at the edge of her vision with a lump in her throat. The prostitutes looked up at her approach, but to Mira’s relief didn’t care enough to acknowledge her.

  She was on the steps, just a few short strides from safety, when one of the boys yelled, “There she is!”

  She bolted through the doorway and up the winding stairs. She moaned as she counted, floor two, floor three, until she reached the fourth. She was hobbling down her hallway then, the gashes on her feet even worse than before. There were sounds behind her, urging her faster. She felt like they were just behind, almost within reach of her.

  She burst into her room. Her daughters yelled but she didn’t care. She slammed the door and fell to the ground, leaning her back against the rotten wood. It had no lock, and her weight would hardly hold the door against their strength, so she put a finger to her lips to silence the girls.

  She twisted her head, listening for anything in the hallway, but the only sound was of her own ragged breathing.

  Only when she was certain they were safe did she stand and go to the window. The boys were still there in the street, ringing the entranceway, metal clubs held with malicious intent. Standing in front of the door were the three prostitutes, knives at-hand.

  “Come now, little boy,” one of them called, “Old Sasha will give you a sweet kiss.”

  The boys threw curses back at the women, but made no move forward. Finally the largest woman said, “Bugger off now, or we’ll tell Bruno you’ve been making trouble down here for days. You think he’d like to hear that?”

  That threat succeeded where the others failed, and the boys lowered their weapons. One by one they slinked away. They didn’t go far though, stopping just a block away in the direction of the Station. They sat down there, in the middle of the street. One of them looked up to where Mira was. She pulled her head back inside.

  “What’s wrong, mama?” Kaela finally asked.

  Mira gathered the few things that belonged to them and wrapped them in one of the blankets. “We’re leaving. We’re going to Oasis, just like I promised.”

  Kaela was unconvinced. “That’s just a story you told us, to make us feel safe.”

  “Everything I’ve told you about Oasis is true,” Mira said. “We’re leaving tonight, on a ship that will leave this planet and sail to the stars.”

  “Don’t forget my medicine!” Ami chirped.

  For once Mira’s smile was not forced. “You won’t need it anymore, sweet girl.”

  She led them out of the room and down the hallway, where a window opened to the alley below. Climbing down was easier than up, but the sight of the ground so far below gave her pause. “We’re going to need to climb now,” she said. “I’m going to go first with Ami on my back. Then you’ll follow after me. Okay Kaela? It will be like a game. You have to copy every step I make.”

  Kaela was too old to be fooled by such tricks, but she nodded anyways.

  Mira stepped over the window and onto the ledge. She waited for Ami to crawl up and put her arms around her neck. Kaela handed her their blanket of belongings, which dangled in front of Mira’s chest. With a deep breath she stepped down from the ledge. The building was haphazardly built with clay bricks, and Mira felt around with her foot before
finding one that stuck out enough. She lowered herself to it, changing hand-holds along the way. She repeated the process again and again, making her way down the wall. The blood on her feet slowed the descent, but her purchase at every step was secure.

  Ami dropped from her neck when they reached the bottom. Kaela was right behind them and landed softly. Ami laughed as if it was a game.

  They followed more side streets and alleys to avoid the gang before returning to the main boulevard. They hurried on to the Station, Mira carrying Ami when she had the strength while Kaela ran alongside. The girls still didn’t fully grasp what was happening, but they saw their mother smiling and mirrored her hope.

  The Station looked lifeless in the daytime, with none of the noise and color it held at night. Two of the guards were sleeping, and the others didn’t bother to watch them enter. Through the front door of the main building they went, stepping over sleeping people in the hallway. Ami pointed as they passed the doctor’s office, but Mira had eyes only for the large door at the end of the hall. It was a massive square of metal, cold to her touch. In the center was a monster painted in red. It was a long, slithering thing that wrapped around itself, ending in a head that bore two sharp fangs. The girls stared at it with a mixture of curiosity and wonder.

  Mira banged on the door. A few bodies in the hallway stirred, but went back to sleep as the echo faded away. A small eye-hole opened from the painted monster’s mouth but closed again before she could look up. The door shook as massive bolts unlocked. Finally it swung inward on thick hinges.

  Though the rest of the Station slumbered, the core chamber was very much alive. The room was cavernous, taking up most of the building’s space. The ceiling let sunlight through so far overhead that Mira couldn’t tell if it was made of glass or simply a gaping hole. A bay door occupied the entire wall to the right. It looked like a door made for receiving shipments, and felt out of place in the room.