Once Upon a Starman

by Allie Marell

  “Give me one reason not to.” She throws the challenge at him, her eyes flashing bright in the glare of an oncoming vehicle.

  “I have the soldier toy and I believe it’s of great importance to you. Would you part with it so lightly?”

  “You know I wouldn’t. Otherwise why follow me and go through all this? Why not just ask me to sell it to you?”

  “I did not follow you. Destiny brought us together.” He has no idea where that came from. It feels like the right thing to say. Andra smoothes back her tangled hair, fighting to suppress the laughter bubbling in her throat. His skin prickles as her hysteria threatens to break its bounds.

  “Drive through the village. You’re looking for an old church called Priory Antiques. They’re open late tonight and they have a tea shop. You can buy me coffee and we can talk.”

  “A place of priests and worship? Are you taking me for absolution?”

  “Do you need it?” She’s silent for a moment. “Well you’re out of luck. It was deconsecrated a long time ago.”

  The things he’s done. The questionable orders he’s obeyed. Yes he needs it.

  He finds the building, interprets the sign. Dips his head to gaze up and out of the windscreen at the towering pointed roof dominating one end. A bell tower. Carved grotesque figures glower down at them. Deconsecrated or not, it still holds the feel of a sacred place.

  Slotting the car neatly between two other vehicles, he kills the engine and sits for a moment, listening to the falling silence. Andra quivers, no doubt assessing her chances of a swift getaway. The toy she so desperately wants back nestles safe under his tunic jacket, its presence oddly reassuring.

  And though she’s shooting him heated daggers with her eyes, the female Andra already feels like his only anchor in this strange new world.

  They met for a reason.

  “Give me your word you will not run from me.” He searches her eyes, meeting the challenge and feeling the subtle shift of power as they meet as equals.

  “Seems we each have something the other desperately wants. Add a slice of chocolate fudge cake to the coffee and I’ll see what I can do.”

  To his surprise, she reaches into a pocket and brings out a soft white fibrous cloth. She raises her hand slowly, as if he might bolt if she moves too fast.

  “You can’t go in there covered in blood.”

  He barely breathes as she wipes the blood from his temple, sweeping gently over his cheek and chin.

  “There, that’s better.” She throws the paper down onto the car floor. “I’m going inside. Please don’t steal my car. You won’t get very far, anyway. I’ll report it missing the moment you leave.”

  “I have no intention of stealing your vehicle. I’m coming with you.” He’s affronted by the accusation, though not surprised. Why should she trust him after the way he’s behaved?

  He watches her exit the car and walk towards an arched door flanked by robed stone figures. A mutual display of trust, he realises. It takes all of his strength of will to wait until she disappears behind the heavy door.

  Has he lost her?

  With measured movements, he exits the vehicle and follows. She’s inside in a small reception area, shaking snow from her mid-hued hair. Her eyes shine a deep verdant, what earth people call green, in the overhead lights and her features are pleasing to the eye.

  Though he has little idea of what earthlings consider beautiful.

  Is she mated or bonded to another? He wonders why that matters and follows her beckoning hand through another arched door into a vaulted room filled with tables, seats and the enticing aroma of food. A storage vessel on wheels boasts a range of appetising confections and half the available tables are taken with humans consuming meals with obvious gusto.

  Andra chooses a table by the window overlooking an expanse of greenery and a vast area of dark water.

  Fields. Reservoir. Lake. The labels download into his head.

  He seats himself, feeling awkward and out of place.

  What did he expect?

  Andra regards him obliquely, hands clasped loosely on the table.

  “You’re paying,” she says with a glint of bravado in her eyes. “They do the most amazing chocolate fudge cake here.”

  “Fudge cake? Explain.” He’s temporarily mesmerised by her eyes. Does she realise that masters kill for slaves with eyes of that hue? How can she when this sector has barely explored its own moons, let alone civilisations outside their own sun?

  “Oh, no, it’s worse than I thought.” She picks up a shiny folded sheet from the table. “You’ve never had chocolate fudge cake?”

  “Of course I have.” He says it without thinking. Blinks and knows that somehow, it’s true. “I have no credits or coin to settle the tab. You will settle and I will refund you.”

  Andra’s eyebrows rise and she shakes her head. “Why didn’t you steal my purse? Why only take General Jo?”

  It hits him like a solar flare. He slams a hand to his forehead, stabbing inadvertently at the wound. Desperate to keep the thought in his head, to process it.

  General Jo. The elusive name hovering on the edge of his consciousness for all this time.

  “Are you all right?” Andra regards him with genuine concern. Relaxed now that she’s in a crowded place and no longer his exclusive captive. “This toy means something to you, doesn’t it? So tell me.”

  Another female arrives, a server garbed in dark clothing, a tablet in her hand. She smiles and waits, expectant.

  “We’ll have two slices of fudge cake and...” Andra regards him for a moment. “Two black Americanos. Make one a double shot.”

  Outside the light dims to night, the landscape melds with the dark moving water of the lake. Around them the murmuring chatter, the clink of eating implements on plates dims until it’s just the two of them facing off across the table, a world of questions between them.

  Reaching into his tunic, he pulls out the package. Places it carefully on the table. Only two exit routes if Andra chooses to take it and run. Giving chase here will alert law enforcement and that’s the last thing he needs.

  “Tell me what this is.”

  Andra stares at the package longingly. She raises her eyes. “It’s a little boy’s dream. That’s what it is.”

  “How do you know that?” His voice is harsh. He feels raw, as if she looked inside his soul.

  “Because I bought it for him as a Christmas present. It’s something Oliver really wants and now...”

  “Now I’ve taken it from you?” She said Oliver. So she wasn’t referring to him? Then why did he react so strongly to her words?

  “Yes, you bloody well have. And I must have it back. I’ll pay whatever you want.”

  He squeezes a paper square in his fist, his mind in turmoil. “I want no payment. Only to know more about this.”

  “Why?” She’s still wearing her jacket, her tote firmly strapped crosswise over her shoulder. He should have relieved her of that as security. Too late now, in this place of keenly watching eyes. A pair of pubescent females are throwing him blatant glances, giggling when he catches their eye.

  “Santar, stop flirting and concentrate. Why don’t you start by telling me who you are?” Andra chastises him, a note of censure in her voice. He turns abruptly away, indignant. Does she imagine he has time for frivolity with his life crumbling around him? She waits with more patience than he deserves. He must choose his words carefully.

  He’s learned in his life that honesty, no matter how bizarre it sounds, often works better than fabrication and lies. But how will Andra handle the truth?

  As if reading his mind, she lifts a finger. “Don’t give me any bullshit. You stole my toy, commandeered my car, kidnapped me and dragged me here. You owe me.”

  “Are all Earth females as forthright as you?” He leans back on the rickety chair, feigning a nonchalance he definitely does not feel. Andra’s unexpected smile lights her face and he no longer senses her fear.

  “We try
to be, yes. You still haven’t told me who you are.” She mirrors his position, and he sees the two of them reflected in the dark window. A small, slight female with soft curves and flowing hair. A male, all hard angles and planes, towering over her at the small table.

  “You will speak first.”

  “Okay, I’ll start by saying I don’t believe in playing the victim so I’m ready to negotiate. The toy is a General Jo action figure. It was on every young boy’s Christmas wish list back in 1959, but now it’s just an old toy with nothing more than sentimental value.”

  He digests the information, feeling only the slightest tingle where before, the mere sight of the toy hit him like an out of control inter-galactic freighter.

  “Continue.” The serving woman reappears bearing two steaming cups of what Andra called coffee. Without asking, she places the darker of the syrupy liquids in front of him. The rich, potent aroma rises in a spiral of steam.

  They wait for the serving woman to return carrying two plates of the fudge cake. Andra regards the food with an undisguised hostility before lifting a spoon to slice off a bite.

  “It’s evil, but irresistible,” she says as if he should understand. “And that’s all there is to tell. I bought the toy for my best friend’s son who’s spending Christmas in the hospital while she lies in a coma in the ICU. He asked Santa for a General Jo toy and I’ve spent the past three months glued to the bloody internet tracking one down for him.”

  By the end of the tirade, she’s stabbing at her cake as if it was to blame for her losing the precious toy. She pushes the plate away. “Okay, it’s your turn. It obviously means something to you. Why don’t you tell me what?”

  “That is the puzzle.” He lifts the cup, judging the temperature before touching it to his lips. Three long sips and he’s already feeling the restoring kick of this magic elixir. “I have no idea what it means to me. Only that it means something.”

  “The little boy’s called Oliver.” Andra points at the parcel. “If you don’t return that, he’ll have the worst Christmas ever.”

  “Why should I care?” The soldier toy’s head is peeking from the parcel. Synthetic hair, a sculpted face, the expression determined and set. The embodiment of a soldier’s duty to do or die.

  Just like another male he once knew.

  “Oliver’s father ran off with his secretary two years ago. It’s all Oliver has left of him. The kid and his mother were in a car accident three weeks ago. General Jo went up in smoke and I promised to replace him.”

  He was only half listening, distracted by memories of a tall man, with the same uncompromising face, the same camouflage uniform.

  A man he called Father. Dad.

  But he had no father. He was found as a youngling wandering and lost on Belaris V1 and taken in by the military to raise and train.

  Andra pushes a spoon of sticky cake into her mouth, taking a moment to savour the taste. Eyes closed, she makes a sound low in her throat.

  And he can’t look away.

  “Okay, now it’s your turn, Santar. Who are you and what’s going on here?”

  They’re interrupted by the server enquiring about the food.

  “It’s good,” he says in a low voice, and flashes her a slow smile. The female softens, caught by his ensnaring gaze. He’s expertly trained.

  “Well enjoy.” Her hips make a little shimmying movement that seems to amuse Andra, judging by the cynical lift of her brows.

  He almost utters his stock line—can I help it if females find me irresistible—but has the sense to know that flippancy might destroy the tentative trust building between them.

  It’s his turn to speak. What can he say that she will believe?

  Stick with a version of the truth. But where to start?

  Start by trusting this female. On this alien world, he needs someone on his side.

  “I’m part of an elite espionage military unit,” he says. “Trained in infiltration and stealth, particularly in seeking out those who’d rather not be found.”

  “Are you sure you should be telling me that?” There’s genuine panic in Andra’s voice, though she covers it with a nervous laugh.

  “I can see it means nothing to you, so yes, it’s safe. Centrum Command found me as a youngling and took me in. Orphans are preferred in my line of work. I went through the usual memory purges, but lately it’s clear they did not wipe everything. I started refusing to terminate females and younglings. Started to remember things I should not and thus became a liability.”

  No reaction to his carefully staged reference to Centrum Command, the Grand Order’s military wing. Andra’s biting her lip, listening with rapt attention while her coffee cools and the remaining cake lies uneaten. Only half believing his story. He’s good at reading expressions.

  He continues, feeling the burden of his past lift a little with the confession.

  “Latent memory emergence is punishable by termination in extreme cases.” His shoulders slump. Why pretty it up? “I was of no further use to them. Execution was next. I knew what was coming, so I left.”

  “You deserted?”

  He stirs his cake around on the plate, pushing the spoon through the sticky mess. “I prefer to call it an act of self-preservation.”

  “We call it PTSD. Post traumatic Stress Syndrome. Did General Jo trigger horrible memories of your military service? Is that what happened? Andra nods, encouraging him to go on.

  “I do not think it was that.” He touches the toy’s hard head, stroking the gritty buzz-cut hair. Rubs the rough material of the tiny uniform between his fingers.

  “What then?”

  She’s looking around, he notices and he refocuses on his mission, pushing out the emotion making him let down his guard. If she can help him, he must keep her close.

  “I believe the sight triggered a memory of before.”

  “Before what?”

  “My life before they found me. I know I had a life before they took me in. One they failed to purge from memory. When I escaped, I purchased a ride on a rogue freighter and my transport pod brought me here, to this alien planet. I now believe it did so for a reason.”

  “Hold on a moment.” Andra raises her palms, making a barrier between them. Her expression gentles. “Santar, you obviously need help. I can patch up your wounds but what’s going on in your head? I don’t have the skills to help you there. Give me the toy and I promise this will go no further.”

  “You don’t understand.” His voice comes out on a roar, startling the other diners. Silence falls and heads turn. The waitress server pauses, her expression a mask of concern. Gradually the talking starts up again and the server shrugs and goes about her business.

  “You don’t understand,” he says more gently. “You’re the only one who can help me.” He plucks up the toy, feeling its confusing power. “You’re connected to this figure and so am I. You must help me discover why.”

  His anger, his desperation frightens her. Somehow, he reins it in.

  Don’t make a scene here. If she runs, he’ll be obliged to let her go.

  “It’s Oliver’s special toy. A childhood toy given to him by his bastard of a father as a parting gift when he left them. I can only think you had one too and it’s significant somehow.”

  The stern action figure seems to be berating him for not knowing. The memory’s stuck stubbornly in a dark corner of his mind.

  “Will you help me find out what it means? Why the intent reader chose to maroon me on this planet and not my programmed destination?”

  “Okay. But first I need the bathroom.”

  “Bathroom? You need to attend to a biological function?”

  “That’s the long way of saying it, yes.”

  “I will come with you.”

  “And I’ll scream and they’ll call the police.”

  Something hardens in Andra’s eyes. The bond of trust stretches to snapping point.

  “Will you return?”

  She nods. The slightest bob of
her chin. Takes one last regretful look at the toy and pushes back her chair.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “If you wish the toy returned, be sure to do that.”

  He watches her slow, steady walk to the sign saying Ladies. Imagines her running the moment she’s out of his sight. Or maybe pulling out a hidden communicator and alerting Centrum Command.

  He’s taken leave of his few remaining senses in telling her all this, in letting her go and doesn’t miss the irony. His growing reluctance to obey without question, his concerns over collateral damage of the innocent and the weak were all a part of what led him here.

  Operative SA NT AR12 would have had no qualms in following the woman named for a galaxy, restraining her and forcing her to cooperate.

  Santar has no wish to profit from her fear.

  Though profit he will if she’s able to uncloak the shadows in his mind.

  The serving female throws him another furtive look and he knows he’s attracted unwanted attention, both in his behaviour and the injuries apparent to his face. He wills himself to be calm. Andra will return for the toy that means so much to this child she wishes to please.

  She’s too invested in this story now to leave him hanging.

  Santar crushes the parcel in his palm and waits while jaunty festive songs compete with the chatter and the wall-hung chronograph marking time. Hunger gets the better of his determination to watch the door to the facilities until Andra reappears, perhaps with law enforcement in tow.

  No. He’s almost certain she’s an innocent. If she runs, he’ll track her down.

  Wolfing down his cake and then reaching for hers offers comfort, filling the hollow in his stomach. The server looks on, confused as he empties both coffee cups. Her look turns to one of pity and he hears her whisper. She stood him up.

  No need of a translator to interpret that phrase. Santar hardens his softening heart and scrapes back his chair.

  “Your bill, sir.” She almost sprints across the room to present him with a tally he can’t pay. Now it will take more than a charming smile to leave without incident.

  “I...” His fogged mind is slow in formulating a suitable excuse. The waitress shakes her head to stop him.