Catch a Falling Star

by Fay McDermott

  Gagging on the thick smoke, Miguel squinted and turned his face away from the heat. “Fat man!” he shouted, coughing. He had no trouble finding the prone farmer; not with the sheer size of him and the capacity of his lungs. “Get up!” The pilot grabbed the closest bit, squeezing painfully the substantial calf. “The ship is going to blow, amigo! Move or you will die with it!”

  And move the fat man did. He managed to get to his knees then to his feet, moving away from the threat to his life and limbs at a speed he shouldn't have been capable of. Fear could only carry him so far, however, and he went down in a heap mere feet away from his heavy duty hovertruck. Blubbering loudly, he rolled his bulk up into the closest resemblance to a fetal curl that he could manage; knees sort of tucked in and his arms over his head. Was he far enough away? He could only pray and wait and whimper because he was incapable of going further.

  Lyrianne had followed Miguel back to the wreck at a much slower pace thanks to her ankle. She'd heard what the spaceman had shouted. The ship was going to blow? What had he done? Had he accidentally triggered some fail safe or had it been something he'd done deliberately? Is that why he'd insisted they come back? Not so he could signal his people to retrieve him but to rob her of the bounty his wrecked ship could have provided her? Well, maybe Fat Farley, too.

  Farley! She watched the big man struggle to get to his feet then make astounding progress in a weird rolling run. Once he'd collapsed again, she decided she had to make a decision.

  If none of them managed to get far enough away when the ship blew up, who would she prefer to be with in her final moments? Should she go to the neighbor she'd known all her life? When he was sober, he was tolerable, at least, and mostly harmless. Should she go to the stranger? He was arrogant, pushy, maddening, self-serving. He was her nominal enemy and in less than an hour's time had managed to turn her life upside down and inside out and then betrayed her trust.

  She ran as fast as she could on the bad ankle toward Miguel, grabbing his hand and pulling on him to move faster. There were questions and accusations behind the terrified gaze she fastened on him, but they would wait until she was sure they were safe. That's what her goal was, she told herself. To make sure he was safe so she could then strangle him with her bare hands.

  Miguel looked flummoxed but willing to be urged back to the trees. He knew they'd never make it but as long as they were far enough...

  The explosion came with surprisingly minimal noise. Heat, however, was not in small quantity. A wave of super-heated air flattened the three people within its range, slamming and holding them to the ground with concussive force.

  Before any of them could think “I'm going to die”, the violence lifted, the blast-wave dispersed, and no one had been turned to jelly.

  Miguel lifted an elbow to peek under it. Where his much-loved starfighter had been was now only a black sun of scorched earth, its radial arms stretching in every direction. The tree that had caught it was torn from the ground, roots cooked and curling like a dying spider's legs. The top half of the tree was simply gone.

  Laying on its side, the tree should have reached across the exposed soil but wherever it made contact with the smoking ground, it had been incinerated away. Miguel didn't have to see the cauterized trunk to know what the damage would be. He could see where the tree was not and should be, and the blackness of the site was darker than the night around them.

  A hand came up to touch his face, wiping at a smudge of dark on his cheek. She was lying under him, pinned by his leg and hip. She wasn't sure she wanted to move if she could but she hadn't really tried. She didn't feel any injuries or pain except for a spot on her back, just over the shoulder blade. It ached from a rock that was pressed against it. Her ears and head felt congested by the concussive force of the explosion and her throat still hurt, but she didn't care. Her fingers found his lips and she traced them, feeling his warm breath with relief. “Are we alive?”

  He turned his head to look down at her, his hands planted firmly on the ground to keep from burying her beneath his weight. His lips curved in a rakish grin. “I think so. Or I have died and gone to heaven.”

  Maaaan, really? He could just hear Rabbit's voice in his head. His friend would be groaning and rightly embarrassed, which made Miguel grin even wider. Rabbit was going to love hearing all about this little excursion over the lines.

  Her throaty chuckle at the age-worn line was interrupted by a wince as she felt the rock dig into her shoulder blade again. She arched her back to try to get away from the pain then stopped, her mouth parted in surprise. His shirt – her brother's shirt – had left a great deal of his chest exposed and the feel of his bare skin against what was revealed of her breasts sent a shock wave as forceful as the blast rushing through her body. This was pure pleasure, though. Her leg came up on its own in response to the feeling, rubbing against his thigh. Eyes opening even wider, she couldn't force herself to move from the inadvertent increased contact she'd just created.

  Eventually she did try but the feel of that stone against the bruise on her back was too much (or so she rationalized), she moaned and brought herself back up and into contact again. This time, though, she tried to explain. “I think something's there.”

  Miguel's gaze had darkened considerably and was now fixed quite firmly on her generous lips. “Something is definitely there,” he agreed, using one arm to tuck beneath her waist. Applying just a little bit of muscle flex and she was quite nicely pressed to him, leaving absolutely no question as to the 'something' he was referring to.

  Everything else but the woman in his arms became inconsequential to the pilot. It didn't matter that he'd incinerated his ship, or that the explosion would have been enough to trigger an inquiry on both sides. He didn't even care if Fat Farley's bacon had been cooked. Right at that moment, only this strange and exotic creature had the pilot's very focused attention.

  Lowering his chin helped him see down the length of her throat and the tops of her breasts straining against his bare skin. A groan of his own tightened his body and he had to look up again. When that did little to soothe the heat stoking in his blood, he had to look away entirely.

  “Shit,” he cursed with feeling, having now seen the woman's hefty neighbor rocking back and forth on his back like a flipped turtle. “Looks like he made it...”

  She turned her head to follow where his gaze had gone and she gasped then pushed upward even more with both her chest and hips to get him to move. “Poor Farley! Help me up. I have to see if he's alright.”

  It was disturbing to her that she felt profound disappointment and regret at having to move away from Miguel. She cared about Farley's survival as she would anyone, but she felt an unreasonable resentment toward him as well. She mustn't think of that, though. Instead she should focus on being grateful that something had brought her back to her senses.

  Miguel sighed, clearly not welcoming her compassion for the inbred neighbor, but he did as she asked, pushing himself up and back, lowering her to the ground as he did so he could take her by the hand and help her to her feet.

  “He looks fine to me...” he said with a shrug, not really caring either way. “Are you alright?”

  Lyrianne turned her light blue eyes up to his dark brown ones. No. I'm not alright, she thought as she looked at him. The tip of her tongue wet her bottom lip as her gaze went to his mouth, wanting him to kiss her again. She tried to find the anger she'd used as a defense earlier but couldn't find it. How could she be so attracted to him when he was most definitely not what she'd ever imagined her hero in shining battle armor would be? But he is, a tiny voice inside protested. No. He wasn't. He couldn't be or he wouldn't have turned out to be an enemy who'd lied to her and... God help her, she mustn't be thinking of any of this. He was just a stranded Federation pilot, on a planet that was part of the Alliance, and he was as much nothing to her as she was to him. Just leave it at that.

  She rotated her shoulder, feeling the pull of the bruised area but at least her ank
le was numb now rather than hurting. “I'm okay.” She looked away then walked over to where Fat Farley was still rocking and moaning, his eyes shut tight. In the course of the walk, she became aware of a number of hurts beyond the bruise: strains, scrapes on both knees, and the beginning of a killer headache. She pushed them all away as she touched the big man with the tip of her boot to get his attention.

  “You look like you're in one piece, Farley. Open your eyes and get up.” Her voice was firm and no nonsense. She knew coddling would not work when he was this frightened.

  The piggy eyes popped open and he looked up at her then strained and rolled and grunted until he was on his feet again. The skin on his ample forehead, the back of his neck and the backs of both of his hands was bright red, big blisters already beginning to appear. With one hand held against his side, which was bruised painfully, he first looked at Lyrianne then pointed a finger at Miguel and bared his teeth in a snarl. “You! What did you do?” His bass voice boomed loudly, making Lyrianne wince at the effect on her headache.

  Miguel smiled at the very wide man, who was also a mite taller than he, and said, “What makes you think I had anything to do with that?”

  Her eyebrows rose as Lyrianne watched Miguel, impressed that he hadn't pulled another act of stupidity by saying something that would give away who he was. Fortunately, she managed to present a straight face to Farley by the time he turned to look at her, seeking support in his assumption.

  She lifted her shoulders and shook her head. “Could have been a fail-safe, set to blow if the ship was breached. Or something like that.” She offered the opinion, not believing a word of it. Though it sounded like a fairly logical possibility, she was convinced the destruction had been deliberate.

  “Come on, Farley. You've heard all the stories about how those Fed pigs don't give a rat's ass about anybody but themselves. Do you really think they'd worry about any poor non-combatants that might stumble across one of their crash sites?” Her gaze slid toward the starfighter's pilot. “Right, Miguel?”

  He was staring at her as if she’d grown five more heads. Miguel lifted his hand, now conspicuously devoid of gloves, and dug it through his dark brown hair, the waves plastered straight down with sweat and soot. “Yeah,” he drawled, barely hiding the sarcastic taste of it. “That’s right.”

  Dropping his hand to readjust the shirt that had gone askew, the pilot’s hair stuck up in grimy spikes. “Let’s say we get out of here, eh?” The skin from neck to knee along his back was tender, the soreness finally realized now that he didn’t have a luscious woman beneath him. He was betting it would be as red, hot and angry as it felt.

  Turning his back on Farley as if he were no more important than a gnat, the pilot started for the bike they’d arrived on. Maybe he’d get to drive this time.

  Farley was slowly trying to process whether to accept Lyrianne's explanation or not. It was difficult and not something he was very practiced at, but he finally came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. It was done. Still, he needed someone to be angry at for the loss of all he'd envisioned would be his and the outsider who was going to steal Lyrianne from him fit the bill perfectly. Whether her fancy boy deliberately or accidentally set off the self-destruct, he'd been the one to go inside and therefore it was his fault.

  The fat man's face turned an even deeper shade of red, sweat began pouring down his face and his breathing became louder and more rapid. He narrowed his eyes and focused in on the retreating back of pretty boy Miguel.

  Lyrianne watched, alarmed. She was sure her neighbor was having some sort of fit and she started toward him to see if he needed help. Before she could reach him however, he bellowed and his huge legs began pistoning, carrying him like a crazed beast straight for the unsuspecting Miguel. His enormous arms were stretched out before him, fingers flexing, as he envisioned grabbing the other man by those wide shoulders and breaking him in half.

  Recovering from her shock, Lyrianne realized there was no way she was going to stop Farley, either with words or, hah!, physically, so she did what she could. “Miguel! Behind you!”

  Fortunately, even without the shouted warning, Miguel was aware of the imminent attack. It was hard not to be. The man shook the ground like some prize bull and he fair sounded like one to boot. He was so tempted to shout ándale, ándale but refrained, stopping and turning to face the charging fool. Maybe if he’d had a cloak worthy of a matador to wave about…

  It really wasn’t a smooth move to write home to mom about, but it was practical and took little finesse. The pilot simply stepped to the side and around the hulking beast, letting the man’s considerable momentum carry him past.

  With a roar of rage at the sneaky little bastard's escape, Fat Farley managed to get himself turned around, requiring a large arc to make the change in direction. He narrowed in on his target again and came at Miguel with murderous intent in his eyes. He didn't even notice as Lyrianne ran up to put herself between him and the pilot, holding her hands palms out in front of her.

  “Stop! Honestly, Farley Scruff, get some sense into that thick head of yours...“ She didn't get to finish as the big man came straight at her, still not even registering her presence. Lyrianne was forced to try to get out of the way once she'd realized he wasn't going to stop but she'd waited too long. One of his arms slammed into her, sending her flying backwards to land in a heap where she lay stunned. He didn't even pause as he barreled onward, a big grin spreading across his wide face. Pretty boy was only minutes away from his doom and this time, Farley thought he was ready for any evasive moves.

  What Farley hadn’t counted on was a very pissed off, combat-ready IFPG pilot. Miguel hadn’t had time to get the foolish woman out of the way but he’d be damned if he was going to play games with the red-faced elephant now.

  Miguel walked straight at the charging behemoth, three long strides putting him quickly in front of Farley. Extending his arm, he chopped it forward, just as the fat man’s excessive neck careened into it with such force that his feet completely left the ground as his head snapped back and he was once again laid flat.

  The pilot didn’t wait to see if the fat farmer would get back up; he could hear the tortured breathing. Hurrying instead to the felled woman, he dropped to a knee and gripped her about the shoulders, his anger gone and only concern on his face.

  “Lee-ree-anne? Are you well, querida?” He did not try to move her, afraid she might have been seriously injured by that rampaging moose. “Come on, beautiful woman. You are well, eh?” His accent had thickened once again, made hoarse by the dense smoke he’d inhaled, and sounded wholly worried for Lyrianne’s well-being. “Lee-ree?”

  “Lyrie?” Her eyes were still closed when she echoed back her name. “That's me.” She sighed as her eyes opened. Though they were unfocused, she seemed to look right at him as she smiled. “Mmmmmmm. It's my hero. Have you come to rescue me?” The question was carried to him on an exhaled breath before her eyes rolled up and the dark lashed lids once more closed.

  Her breathing was even, her heart strong and steady, and though it was hard to see in the low light, there was a rising bump on the right side of her temple where the beefy arm had connected. When she opened her eyes again after a few moments, there was awareness in them as she looked at Miguel. With a groan she managed to sit up and put a hand to her head. “Cripes! Did a tree fall on me?”

  He'd been contemplating moving her, weighing the risks if she were badly hurt, relieved when she sat up of her own accord, and wished greatly for that flashlight, wherever it had gotten off to.

  “Might as well have been a tree,” he remarked, smiling for her sake though he didn't feel up to it. “Come on, I need to get you back to your farm.”

  Lyrianne ignored his concern, not as worried about herself as he apparently was. Instead she concentrated on the returning memory of exactly how she had wound up with the bump on her head. “I think it was probably more like having a brick wall run into me.” She smiled at Miguel then notic
ed the big lump of Farley behind him.

  “Oh, no. Is he... he's not... you didn't...?“ She couldn't say it. She gave Miguel another glance, not sure what to think, then got to her feet and walked over to see for herself. She could hear Farley's harsh, catching breaths before she got to him but kept going so she could look down at him, just to be sure. Once she confirmed that he appeared to be out cold but otherwise in one piece, she felt much better. However, her relief was almost immediately dampened by a troubling thought. “We have a big problem, Miguel.”

  He was watching her but when she spoke his eyes slanted down over the fat man. “I do not see him as much of a threat,” Miguel assured her. “Unless you have something in these woods that will eat him before he wakes up, I suggest we leave. With luck, fat man will think his blood sugar was low and he fainted, yeah?”

  “No,” she shook her head as she continued to watch the big man. “Farley may be dumb as a post, but when it comes to what he considers his, especially when there are credits involved, he doesn't forget or forgive. He blames you,” she glanced at Miguel, her look making it obvious she did, too, though she was trying to forgive him, “and, right or wrong, he'll likely make trouble. He might even make a complaint to the authorities.” She pushed her hair out of her face as she walked back to the pilot, her expression grim. “We can't let him do that, Miguel.”

  A muscle tensed in the man's neck, his gaze moving from her to the bloated carcass wheezing in the grass. “What do you suggest, eh? You want to tie him to your bike and drag him back to your house? Maybe we can put him in the barn, yeah? Ball-gag him and feed him his brain with a nice Chianti?”

  Not expecting her to get the obscure reference, the pilot strongly disapproved of kidnapping, especially such a burden as large as her neighbor. “What will we do then? You tell me, querida. When he is missed, and folk come looking, what will we do? Because then we will really have a problem.”