Siege of Praetar (Tales of a Dying Star Book 1)
Page 6
In one corner people stood around tables, throwing metal dice and yelling at the result. Their demeanor seemed violent; they pushed and shoved one-another after every dice throw, but then laughed and drank yellow liquid from cups.
A raised platform divided the room itself in half. On the lower half a line of people with a scattering of children waited to enter a door to the left. Some of them held sacks of belongings, but most brought nothing for the journey. They wouldn’t need anything on Oasis, the neutral space station that orbited between Praetar and Melis. Food and clothing would be provided there, they all knew. Nobody was turned away on Oasis, no matter the color of their eyes.
The raised platform held a chair with a high back. On it sat Bruno, the self-titled Lord of the Station. While most Praetari were scrawny he was huge, with a bloated stomach that pressed tightly against his yellow shirt. His hair was brown and tattered, his skin red and blotchy. A man spoke to him but he didn’t seem to listen; he looked around the room with tiny, squinting eyes. Guards with guns surrounded him on the platform, watching the line of dirty people with distrust.
“Yes, yes, you’ll be fine,” Bruno said. “The freighters have weapons, should the Empire enforce the siege. Your family will get through.”
That seemed to placate the man, who returned to his family in line.
Mira approached the platform. She set Ami down and pulled her arms into her shirt, lifting it over her head while taking care not to spill the credits from the hidden pocket. The guards leered at her bare chest, but Mira ignored them. She turned her shirt over and poured the credits onto the platform in a cascade of glass. Every head in the room turned toward the sound. When she put her shirt back on there was still a handful of glass discs inside, but the pile on the platform was more than enough.
“One hundred and fifty credits, at least,” she said, a note of pride in her voice. “Three passengers to Oasis.”
It was done. All of her work, the credit saving, the frugal meals. All of it was over. They were alive. They made it.
Bruno squinted down at her and laughed, a deep, sickening sound. “I did not expect you to earn the fare so quickly,” he said, “especially after that one grew sick.”
There was a hint of question in his voice, but Mira didn’t indulge his curiosity. She’d never met him before, but somehow he knew her.
He smiled, a cruel grin that flashed cracked yellow teeth. “Although we accept your payment, the ship is nearly full. Only two of you may come.”
“No…” Mira said. No, it didn’t make sense. “Look at my girls, they’re tiny. Two can share a crate.”
“You misunderstand,” Bruno said. “There is only one crate available, so soon before the launch. You can squeeze into it with the daughter of your choice, but three will not fit.”
She stared, uncomprehending. Her mind felt slow and soft. It occurred to her how tired she was.
“Is there no room anywhere? No corner one of them can squeeze?”
“We could bolt the smaller one to the hull outside,” he said, “but I don’t think she would enjoy the journey.”
The guards roared with laughter, and Mira looked around helplessly. Her daughters stared at her, not understanding, but she couldn’t look at them.
The passengers in line were still watching. She went to them to plead her case. “Can anyone share a crate with my girl? Her name is Ami, she’s so small, you would never even notice her. I just need a small bit of space.”
She spotted a man by himself. She grabbed his sleeve and said, “Can’t you make room for a tiny girl? She’s sick, she needs to leave, please. I’ll pay you, I have extra credits.” The man pulled away from her.
Mira looked around. The passengers ignored her; most wouldn’t even look in her direction. They were there for the same reason she was, and wouldn’t risk their own families. She might do the same in their position. Her hand trembled. She couldn’t turn back to her children.
“The next freighter leaves in three days,” Bruno offered.
Three days would be too late. They didn’t even have three hours before her theft was discovered. She made herself look at her girls. They stared back with hope. Kaela put her arm around her sister, and they both smiled. They’re brave, so brave.
Mira took one last look around the room: at the ceiling that showed freedom beyond, at the line of people that ignored her, at the guards with their weapons. And at the slumlord who watched it all with a smile.
“Both of my daughters will go. I’ll stay behind.”
The line led outside to where rows of empty metal crates sat in the dirt. The passengers were stuffed inside each one, and when it was her daughters’ turn Mira blinked away her tears.
“You’ll meet us on Oasis?” Kaela’s eyes were wide with excitement, ready for the adventure. It was real to her now, not just a story told before bed.
“Of course. I’ll be on the next freighter.”
“How long will it take?” Ami asked, looking inside the crate.
“Only a few days. The trip will be over before you know it. And then I’ll be there, and we’ll find a place to live together, and it will be wonderful.” She couldn’t hold back tears then, and squeezed them both tightly so they wouldn’t see. “I love you so much,” she murmured into Kaela’s hair. “Take care of your sister until I meet you.”
They were warm in her arms, smiling brightly when she finally let go. They were going somewhere better than this. They were going to be safe.
The girls stepped inside the crate and crouched together against the wall. If they were scared they didn’t show it. Their faces disappeared as one of Bruno’s brutes covered the crate with a piece of metal and bolted it down at the corners.
The freighter was an ugly thing, all flat edges and pointed corners. Its only decoration was a coiled green animal on its side, the same one that marked the entrance to the Station. The doors to its storage bay were open like a jaw, and two men lifted the crates and stacked them neatly inside. So orderly was the storage that when they were complete, and the doors closed, Mira wouldn’t have been able to wedge her hand inside, let alone her entire person.
She didn’t want to leave, but eventually tore her eyes away.
Back inside the Station core Bruno held a wide metal bowl in his hand, spooning its contents into his mouth. Her credits were gone from the platform. “Is there a place here I can stay, until the next freighter?” she asked.
“You can watch this one leave, but after that you must pay to stay.” Bruno didn’t bother to stop eating while he spoke, and soup dribbled down his chin.
“There were enough credits leftover, surely,” she said.
His smile was cruel. “Not so. Your credits were counted, and there were just enough for two passengers. Unless you think Rief miscounted.”
The guard to Bruno’s left sneered. “Aye, there were one hundred credits exactly. Not one disc more.”
Bruno waved his spoon. “So you see? The matter is decided. You may work for me if you wish to stay, but I fear it will be many months before you earn enough to leave. Count yourself lucky you have a factory job, and two fewer mouths to feed.”
Mira stared helplessly. For a moment she almost dared to argue, but the watching guards changed her mind. There was a boredom among them, a restlessness that said they would love nothing more than for her to protest.
Instead she fled, with their laughter chasing her from the room.
She passed through the Station gate, gazing down the long road that led back toward the city. She couldn’t go home; the peacekeepers would look for her there, as soon as the theft was discovered. They might even be there now. But she couldn’t stay at the Station, not at Bruno’s price.
She looked to the south. The sand dunes rose high in the distance, their crests indistinguishable from the hazy sky. How far away were they? No more than an hour walk, she thought. She wondered what was on the other side.
The ground vibrated. She turned back to the Station. The exp
losion reached her ears, and then a deafening roar, like a million tiny pops all at once. A flare of light appeared above the Station’s roof, the metallic glint of the freighter visible above it. She watched it soar into the sky, a flickering fire that shone through the yellow haze of the planet. She imagined Kaela and Ami sitting inside their crate. They wouldn’t be afraid, she knew.
She watched until the sound died away, and then until the light disappeared. Only a string of smoke remained. For a long while she watched that too.
Finally she turned back south. She took a deep breath and walked onto the sand.
Part III: The Snake
Chapter 9
“I’m in the business of selling hope.”
Bruno didn’t address anyone in particular, but he felt the need to say something as he watched the freighter through the ceiling window. His thick neck ached as it craned back, but he always enjoyed watching the ships soar away on billowing pillars of smoke. Each launch was like a ritualistic sacrifice; an offering to the Melisao blockade and the Emperor far away. He fingered the short knife on his hip. Bruno was not a religious man, but there was something comforting about the ritual.
“Never forget the valuable service we provide,” he said. “Without us the people would lose hope, and the planet would shrivel and die.”
The guards standing around the table where he ate didn’t respond as they too watched the sky. He owed them no explanations. They were his to command, fiercely loyal; they would rip each other to shreds at his word. If they cared at all for the men and women on the doomed freighters they wisely kept it to themselves.
Besides, the passengers knew the danger. If they wanted to continue toiling for the Empire they wouldn’t have come to him. There was sweat and blood and death aplenty on their miserable yellow planet, but hope was a precious thing indeed, and its only purveyor was Bruno.
Only when the ship was long out of sight did he return his gaze to the meal. A man with his sway didn’t suffer the food of a common Praetari. A dozen plates covered the table with every manner of delicacy: fresh bread baked from imported flour, indoor clams swimming in cream, fatty meat from some fowl he couldn’t even recognize. But what Bruno savored most was the gaba broush, the mushy meal mixed with oil once eaten by the ancient kings of Praetar. The seasonal crop it was made from grew only on the surface of the vast sulfuric ocean covering most of the planet. It was deadly to attempt to swim out and harvest, but the bounty Bruno offered was high. Every year several bushels made their way into his possession.
Only one chair was needed for the feast, and Bruno filled every inch of it.
As was customary he ate the gaba broush with his hands, careless of the mess he made. Grease smeared his face and ran down his chin, his yellow shirt long since soiled.
His men watched him out of the corner of their eyes, not daring to stare openly at the table of food. Power was derived in many ways; the Empire’s rationing of food kept its grip on the planet strong. Bruno understood that well.
“Loddac,” he said around a mouthful of mush, “come join me.”
The guard glanced at the others as if he’d heard wrong. Bruno had to gesture at the food before he stepped forward. He didn’t hesitate at all then, throwing his gun over his shoulder and shoving handfuls of food into his mouth from whichever plates were closest.
“Thank you, Lord Bruno,” he said through half-chewed bread. Such rich food would make him sick later, Bruno knew, but it was only a passing thought. It was the reward that mattered, not whether he could keep it all down.
Kotra and Rief eyed their fellow guard as he feasted with faces dark and scowling. They were competent guards, as cruel and eager to violence as Bruno could hope for, and they’d done nothing to deserve exclusion. But a reward wasn’t a reward if it was given to everyone, and Loddac was the first name that popped into his head.
There were other ways to motivate a man, as well. Some of Bruno’s most loyal guards were those he’d treated unfairly. The child spurned by its mother is the one most eager for her approval.
His stomach was overfull, so he turned his chair away from the table to face the open room. It was mostly empty now that the freighter was gone, but a few men gambled at the table in the corner and others drank yellow liquid at the bar.
He turned his gaze to the woman bent prostrate in front of his platform. She was a boney thing, with hardly enough flesh to be called a woman. The only reason he knew her sex at all was because she’d come to him before. “Get up.”
She stood shakily, whether from stiffness at waiting so long, or from hunger, or for another reason. Her eyes immediately looked to the polished wooden box on a pedestal to Bruno’s left, not to the table of food. Bruno knew the reason for her appearance. He looked down on her with disinterest, letting the silence grow while she fidgeted.
“Lord Bruno,” she finally said, but he pointedly interrupted her.
“What is it that you want, Tavia?”
She flinched at his voice. She refusing to meet his gaze, her eyes still fixed on the box. “I came only to thank you, Lord Bruno. I know you are extremely busy--”
“I cannot abide liars. Do you come into the Station, my home, and lie outright? What would my men think if they heard this in my presence?”
His guards laughed obediently. Even Loddac, who spit bits of food across the table.
“Tell me why you are here, in truth, or you only presume to waste my time.”
With every word she seemed to hunch into herself, until she was nearly crouching. “I came for another bit of plourine. I need it.” She let it all out in a rush, unable hold back her tears any longer.
Bruno watched her sob, soft gasps that were hardly more than a whisper. She didn’t seem to have the energy to cry more emphatically. “You have to work before I can give you more. I have rules, Tavia.”
“I can’t,” she said, shaking now. “I mean, I can’t do it first. I need the plourine first, Lord Bruno. Please. You don’t know how it feels.”
Bruno smiled as she cried. He knew she would be useless until she had more of the drug, but it was better this way, with people watching. “I am feeling merciful,” he said.
He nodded to Rief, who walked to the pedestal and opened the box on its hinge. Green light glowed from within. Every eye in the room watched as he removed a single round tablet with two fingers. Bruno shuddered in spite of himself. Whatever ecstasy it may offer, it wasn’t worth the eventual side effects.
Tavia trembled, looking like she wanted to dash onto the raised platform but somehow held her place. Rief walked to her. She opened her mouth to receive the glowing drug. He delicately placed it inside and wiped his hand on his jacket. As if that would help.
Bruno watched to make sure she swallowed the pill. Plourine was his alone. He took every precaution to ensure it wasn’t smuggled out of the Station.
The next part he watched eagerly. Tavia clenched her eyes shut until tears ran down her face. She trembled again, this time with pleasure, and though no noise came out her mouth opened as if to moan. Her feet moved a tiny step forward and she fell to her knees. Finally she opened her eyes and looked around the room as if seeing it all for the first time.
“Visit Leo before you begin work,” he said in dismissal, his attention already elsewhere. The Station’s scrap engineer, Dok, had entered during Tavia’s ordeal and now waited at the edge of the room. Bruno waved him over while Tavia left in a daze.
Dok didn’t bow or acknowledge the Lord of the Station in any manner, which would have been a severe insult from anyone else. That was just the way it was with the cloud-headed engineer. He was a fidgeting man, compulsively adjusting the many pieces of metal and gearwork strewn about his long coat while he stood there. He’d explained to Bruno each contraption’s purpose, but had bored him near to death with every detail. Dok’s brain was as gifted as any on Praetar, but lacked normal social interaction. His autistic leanings were accepted though; the men of the Station found him endearing.
“Delivery didn’t come.” He looked around the platform, as if one of the guards had the answer. “No delivery, no parts. No parts, no rowbits.”
Bruno kept his face a mask, but underneath he seethed. “Leave us,” he said to the men gambling in the corner. They were surprised at being addressed, but quickly fled the room with their cups of metal dice. Only when they were gone, and the door was closed, did Bruno speak again.
“Has he sent a message, at least?”
“No messages, no words, no letters,” Dok said, twisting a metal gear fastened around his neck. “If delivery is late, Dok is late. And if Dok is late, Bruno is angry.”
“I’m not angry,” he said, waving a hand. At least not with you. Fear was a poor motivator for a man like Dok.
He glanced at the wall to his left. A single bay door filled the wall, huge and imposing. Behind it lay the warehouse where Dok’s products were stored. “How many have you completed?”
“Seventy-two. Seventy-two completed.” The fingers on his left hand began counting, though Dok didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s fine,” Bruno said. “You’ve done fine, Dok. Relax for a bit. There’s food here, if you’re hungry.”
He turned to the table, still counting with his left hand. He picked a small piece of bread without looking and wandered back through the smaller door to the engineering room.
Rief and Kotra looked at the table of food longingly, but Bruno didn’t notice. His head was beginning to throb. “He will not be pleased,” he muttered, massaging his eyes with two thick fingers. Seventy-two was behind schedule, and Bruno had made too many assurances already. Maybe he won’t come tonight.
But he knew that was a feeble wish. As night fell the Station pumped music and swelled with gamblers and addicts and whores. Tavia was among the latter, still aloof in her radioactive high, but Bruno had eyes only for the front door. Customers came and went, danced in the throng on the floor and retired with women to private rooms. Men drank, and collapsed, and then drank some more. All the while Bruno tapped his fingers and waited.