Heart of the Nebula

by Joe Vasicek

  She relieved herself as quickly as she could, then pulled out the empty bottle from her pants pocket and filled it up at the sink. With that done, she took a moment to look herself in the mirror. Her grubby black hair stood out against the immaculate porcelain wall behind her, the blue and purple floral designs contrasting sharply with her dirty gray clothing.

  In every possible way, she did not belong here—on this ship, in this society, among these fabulously rich people, whoever they were. When they reached port again and she could slip away, she would feel… safe? No, not exactly. At ease, perhaps, but when you lived below-decks in the slums and access tunnels, you never truly felt like anywhere was safe.

  She pressed her ear against the door and counted to ten, waiting to make sure that no one was there. Satisfied, she keyed the door and slipped out before it was fully open. A quick glance in either direction confirmed she was safe, and she walked quietly down the corridor back toward the cargo hold.

  As she neared an open doorway, however, she couldn’t help but peek inside. What she saw made her gasp.

  It was a luxurious dinner suite, with a comfortable couch ringing the edge and wide, starry windows along the walls and floor. A table stood in the middle, with a beautiful floral arrangement in the center.

  It looked magical.

  She glanced guiltily over her shoulder, as if she’d committed some terrible crime. No one had seen her, though—and if she was careful, no one would have to know she was here. All she wanted was a closer look, just a peek. With another quick glance in both directions, she ducked down and slipped into the open doorway.

  Up close, the room looked even more magical. Unlike the hallway, where the horribly bright lights stabbed at her eyes and made her cringe for fear of getting caught, the lights in here were dim, with the stars’ soft glow shining up from all sides. The floor was completely transparent, and a long, nearly continuous window ran along the wall above the couch, curving upward to the ceiling like the bottom of a bowl. At first, she found the view a little disconcerting, as if she was in danger of falling through, but she soon got used to it. The table was magnificently set, with glimmering silverware and plates made of crystal. But by far, the most exotic thing about the place was the flowers. Kyla closed her eyes and leaned forward to smell them—real, live roses, not the cheap imitations sold in the bazaar. They smelled like rich perfume.

  The roses made her realize just how grubby and disgusting she was. Her clothes reeked of sweat and grease, her bare feet were scarred and calloused, and her dirty hair was ratty and uneven. She would never spend a comfortable evening here, enjoying the company of the rich and beautiful. Her place was in the projects below-decks, with the rest of the scum.

  She clenched her fists in anger at her troubled thoughts. Why did it have to be this way? Just because her mother—

  “Attention, passengers. Please be advised, our next jump will occur in ten seconds. Thank you.”

  The sound of the voice over the loudspeakers sent a cold chill down Kyla’s spine. For a hair-raising second, she feared that someone was behind her, watching. Fortunately, a quick glance at the door confirmed that no one was there. Still, she needed to get back to the cargo hold, before someone found her.

  After peeking outside, she dashed out into the corridor, her feet pattering along the cold tile floor. Within moments, she was back in the shadows where she belonged.

  But not where she wanted to be.

  Chapter 5

  James nervously paced his small private cabin, checking his wrist console about twice every minute. Even to be punctual, 1749 hours was still too early. He turned and walked back to his bed, covering the distance in two short steps before throwing himself backwards onto the narrow mattress.

  Why did he feel so damned nervous? It was infuriating. He’d been on dozens of missions more dangerous than this and had faced death itself without reacting this way. And it wasn’t as if Sara was the first girl in his life, either. He’d met plenty of others over the years. Like that cute adjutant on the Trident Three—what was her name?

  Face it, he told himself. This is the first time you’ve gone on a date in almost a standard year. Certainly the first time with someone as gorgeous as Sara. The fact that she was the patrician’s daughter only explained a fraction of his nervousness.

  He watched the seconds tick down to 1755 hours and rose to his feet. Five minutes was acceptably early.

  Sara’s room was only two doors down from his, about fifteen paces. He straightened up outside the door and hit the chime on the access panel. A couple nerve-racking moments of silence passed before her voice sounded over the exterior speaker.

  “Sorry,” she said, “I’m not quite ready. Be out in a second.”

  “All right,” said James, inwardly cursing himself for being so forward. She obviously wasn’t as worked up about this as he was. To her, dinners like this were probably as common as—

  The door hissed open. Sara stood in the doorway, wearing a sleeveless red dress that shimmered in the light of the glowlamps, accentuating the slender curves of her body. His breath caught in his throat.

  “Good evening, Lieutenant,” she said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  James opened his mouth but suddenly found himself incapable of speech. Sara cocked her head and gave him a funny look.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “No, no, not at all.” He clumsily stepped aside to let her walk through her own door.

  As she stepped into the corridor, she slipped her arm into his. His heartbeat immediately jumped to about twice its previous rate. He stood rooted to the floor, until he realized that she was waiting for him to lead her. Crap. Blood rushed to his cheeks, but somehow, his feet began to move.

  “I like your uniform,” she said, breaking the awkward silence without acknowledging it. “Do you attend many formal events as an officer in the Corps?”

  Not if I can avoid it, James thought to himself. Something told him that that wasn’t the right answer.

  “Sometimes,” he told her instead. “I’m not a high ranking officer, though, so I don’t usually get called out.”

  “Is that so?” she asked, glancing over at him with her gorgeous eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about military ranks.”

  “Well, it’s really quite simple,” he said, letting her go as they reached the narrow stairway. “Strictly speaking, we’re not a military force, but we still try to go by the same system the Kardunasian Defense Forces used—before the Hameji disbanded them, of course.”

  “That’s fascinating,” she said, slipping her arm in his again as they continued down the lower level. “So how did you come to command your own ship?”

  “Well, the Lone Spear isn’t really a ‘ship’ in the proper sense of the word. She’s just a gunboat—she’d be helpless if she were ever separated from her support ships.”

  “Still, it’s quite impressive. How did you become a pilot?”

  “Mostly by accident,” he blurted—then, recovering, “I, ah, impressed a few people with my performance in the simulations.” What he didn’t mention was that that had been almost three years ago—if he hadn’t been docked so many times for insubordination, he could have made wing commander by now.

  They reached the dining suite and stepped inside. The splendor of the place immediately took James’s breath away. All the walls and floors were set to full transparency, so that the couches and dining table seemed to float amid the stars. The lights were all turned off, replaced instead by three short candles at the center of the table. A serving bot hovered off to one side, as if expecting them.

  “Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” said Sara, patting his arm. “I took the liberty of setting up the room for us. If it’s too dark, we can—”

  “No,” he said quickly. “It’s fine the way it is.”

  She smiled at him again and slipped out of his arm to stand expectantly by her chair. James almost sat down before realizing she was waiting for him to
seat her. His cheeks flushed again, but in the milky, diffused starlight, she probably couldn’t tell. Probably.

  She sat down in one smooth, fluid motion. The silky red fabric of the dress parted to reveal one of her smooth, athletic legs. James’s heart leaped into his mouth, and he struggled not to trip as he took his seat across the table.

  “I love the stars,” she said, glancing around the room at the magnificent view all around them. “They’re so much brighter out here between stars than they are back home.”

  “Yeah.”

  The server bot produced a pair of wine glasses and filled them with a creamy pink liquid.

  “Oh,” said Sara, picking her glass shortly after the bot placed them both on the table. “I didn’t know strawberry daiquiri was your favorite drink, too.”

  “Actually, it’s not,” he said without thinking.

  “It isn’t?”

  “Not that I don’t like it, of course. It’s just not my favorite.”

  She frowned. “That’s funny. I programmed the bot to serve us our favorite drinks. Are your preferences not registered?”

  James cursed himself again. She was trying to be nice, and he was making her look like an idiot.

  “I never spend much time on furlough,” he answered. “The Corps is always short on personnel. Not enough new recruits these days.”

  “I see. So you must be one of their best pilots.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” he said, blushing again. “I just haven’t been killed yet. We’ve lost a lot of…” His voice drifted off as he realized he was straying away from comfortable small talk.

  “My father spoke very highly of you,” she said. “He was very impressed with your record.”

  In a good way or a bad way? James nearly asked. Instead, he coughed. “Thanks.”

  “I must admit, I haven’t had much of a chance to look over it. But I’m sure it’s much more interesting to hear your war stories straight from you.”

  An LCD screen embedded in the tabletop lit up, displaying two menus for the both of them. James quickly skimmed it, but the only choice that looked remotely familiar was grilled cheese and tomato soup. He didn’t want Sara to think he was uncultured, but at the same time, he didn’t want to ruin his evening with a meal he didn’t want to eat.

  The third option from the top, Gaian stir fry, caught his attention. Shrimp and assorted vegetables, fried in olive oil and doused with a spicy Gaian vinaigrette. “Isn’t shrimp expensive?”

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” said Sara. “This is my uncle’s ship—he’ll pay for anything the diplomatic committee can’t cover.”

  Why is he stocking this ship with shrimp while the General Assembly can barely afford to keep the public hospital stocked with antibiotics?

  “What about this ‘veal parmesan’? Is it synthetic?”

  Sara looked at him as if he’d grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. “Synthetic? Oh, you mean the meat.”

  “Yes. Is it synthetic or animal-grown?”

  “Animal-grown, of course. Though it probably isn’t very good. All the meat on board comes from cryo-frozen stores.”

  “So your uncle doesn’t grow the animals himself?”

  “Ha!” Sara laughed, putting a hand on his arm. “You’re funny.”

  “It must be expensive.”

  “Yes, well, it’s better than synthetic, that’s for sure.”

  He nodded. It had been over three standard years since he’d last eaten animal-grown red meat. Until just a moment ago, he hadn’t been aware that there was any animal-grown meat left in the Karduna system, cryo-frozen or not.

  “I’ll have the Gaian stir fry,” he said. Better to pick the first one than to run tediously through all the other options. The outrageous expense of it all was just something he’d have to accept.

  She smiled and keyed the items in the menu. The LCD screen dimmed and retracted back into the table.

  “So how long have you known Lars?”

  “As long as I can remember,” James replied. “Our parents were both local merchanters, so we saw each other a lot growing up.”

  “But he isn’t your age,” she observed.

  James shrugged. “He’s a little older than me, but not by much. He dropped out of the academy and began his astrogation apprenticeship around the time I first started assisting my father on the long hauls. But it wasn’t until the Hameji took over that we really became close.”

  “Interesting,” said Sara, leaning forward with her hands beneath her chin. “Why was that?”

  “Well, we both did a lot to help with the rebuilding efforts right after the invasion. He took the diplomatic course while I joined the militia, but back in those days, there tended to be a lot of crossover between the organizations. We saw each other a lot.”

  “You were part of the general militia before it became the Civil Defense Corps?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When did you attend the academy?”

  “I didn’t,” said James, taking a sip of his drink. “I went through a special officer training program my second year.”

  She frowned quizzically. “Second year? How many years have you served?”

  “Four. I enlisted when I was sixteen.”

  Her eyes widened ever so slightly at his answer. He realized that she was staring at him.

  “The Voluntary Recruitment Act,” he explained. “It lowered the minimum age for new enlistees to sixteen. I joined on my birthday.”

  “So you must be one of the youngest officers in the Corps.”

  “I guess so, yeah.”

  Where was she going with all of these questions? She sure seemed to have taken an interest in him. He wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or alarmed.

  “What about yourself?” he asked, more to balance the conversation than anything. “How long have you been in politics?”

  She sighed and looked away. “Too long, it seems sometimes. My father has been grooming me for this kind of work all my life.”

  “You don’t enjoy it, then?”

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly, “I enjoy it fine. It’s just… Sometimes I get a little tired of it. That’s all.”

  She’s not being entirely honest, James realized. He had no reason to believe that what she’d said was untruthful, but she seemed to be holding something back.

  “Some people wouldn’t like the idea of the patrician grooming his daughter for a political career.”

  “Well, ‘groom’ isn’t exactly the right word,” she said with a wave of her hand. “‘Steer’ is probably more accurate. It’s not like he’s setting me up to be his heir.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She eyed him for a second, her gaze surprisingly penetrating. For the briefest moment, she almost seemed to scowl—but then she shook her head and chuckled.

  “What can I say? Politics just runs in the family, my mom’s side as well as my dad’s. But even if he were setting me up for an executive office, I doubt I’d be able to live up to his expectations.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “A lot of things. I’ve always taken more after my mother, and she and my dad broke up shortly after I left home. I think they stayed together only to see that I was raised properly.”

  “Wow,” said James. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She shrugged. “It’s in the past. I have a good relationship with both of them. But enough about me—what about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Sure. What can you tell me about your family?”

  She leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlocked hands. James took a deep breath.

  “Well, like I said, my parents were merchanters back before the occupation. They still do some local runs between mining outposts, but most of the time they hire out the piloting work to my uncles or cousins.”

  “And that’s how you got to know Lars?”

  “Yeah. The Stewarts have always been close family friends.” If
it weren’t for the Hameji, he might have even married my sister.

  “Have you kept in touch since joining the Corps?”

  “Oh, we keep in touch as best as we can. It’s hard, though, with my military duties. I barely had a chance to say goodbye to my parents before we left.”

  She nodded as if thoroughly enraptured with him. His collar suddenly felt too tight.

  “Do you mind if I excuse myself for a moment? I, ah, need to use the bathroom.”

  “By all means.” She smiled to set him at ease, but it had the opposite effect. Gorgeous women had a way of doing that to him.

  Out in the hallway, James let out a deep breath and wiped his hand across his forehead. He didn’t really need to use the restroom—he just needed an excuse to get out for a moment. The way Sara looked at him made his heart race and his hands feel sweaty. He could only take that for so long before making a tactical retreat.

  He palmed the access panel next to the bathroom, and the door hissed open. Before he could step inside, a high pitched scream split his ears. A dirty, ragged girl sat on the toilet, her pants piled around her ankles.

  “Aiee!!”

  “Sorry!” James shouted, quickly palming the door shut. His cheeks burned, and for several seconds, he struggled to process what he’d just seen.

  “James?” Sara called from the lounge. “What was that noise?”

  Someone’s in there, he realized, coming back to his senses. Someone who doesn’t belong on this ship.

  “Hold on,” he said, pulling out his pistol as he turned to the door.

  “I’m going to count to ten. If you don’t come out with your hands up, I’m going to take you out forcibly. I have a weapon, so don’t try anything stupid.”

  “Lieutenant?” Sara asked, walking up behind him. “What are you doing?”

  He motioned for her to stay back, holding his pistol at the ready.

  “One…”

  * * * * *

  Sara frowned as James counted slowly up. If he didn’t have a pistol in his hand, the whole thing would have seemed ridiculous. With the weapon out and ready to be fired, though, the whole affair had an air of seriousness that left her thoroughly annoyed.