Once Upon a Starman

by Allie Marell

Moor Cottage.

  Santar deciphers the name inscribed on a plaque attached to a low enclosing wall. He feels as if he’s traversed the whole planet on the journey through stinging gusts of blinding snow. His jacket clings to his body, heavy with melted crystals and his hair and eyelashes are encrusted with ice. Chilled to the bone, but he’s a machine—was a machine—and he will not stop until he reaches his goal.

  His alpha core, the nano implant he calls upon to access the wider interwebs is working too sporadically now to be of reliable use. Too far from a relay station to pick up signals and likely damaged in the crash.

  His modified eyes still work, the enhancements to his sight allowing him to see through the swirling maelstrom of white. More implants to aid hearing, but the effect of the drugs given to lend endurance in battle and stress are fading, leaving him feeling too much like these humans who regard him with such pity.

  No lights shine in the dwelling windows and he will not scare the female, Andromeda further. Sleep is all he requires for now. Then, come the new light and rising of the sun, he will get his answers.

  Santar limps around the wall, feeling the gritty stone under his hand until he’s out of sight of the dwelling windows and security sensors. He climbs over and makes out a large cavernous building made of the same stone. Using a slim sliver of metal, he makes short work of the inadequate lock and pushes inside, peering into the gloom, lit only by small shafts of lighter shadow coming from cracks in the roofs.

  He has no more steps in him. Only enough energy to pull the door closed and drop where he stands, back against the wall, legs outstretched. His head droops and with one last reassuring touch to the figure that means so much, he lets sleep take him.

  He awakes with a jolt to bright light streaming through cracks in the roof. Small specks dance in the yellow beams and he’s cold, teeth clacking, shoulders racked with chills. Unfolding his creaking body, he lifts his arms in a stretch and takes stock.

  Head throbbing, but that’s to be expected since he barely ate since his unexpected arrival. He recognised the signs of severe dehydration. It’s a rude awakening at the best of times from any cryo-sleep without being jolted to life after impact on an alien planet.

  The injury to his temple is scabbing over and his grazed shoulder smarts. But he’s up and coherent and a long way from home.

  Or is he? Blinking into the light and shadows, he makes out Andra’s car beside a chest with pull out drawers. Two bright eyes peer at him from a shadowed corner. The eyes jump lightly to the floor and a small furred creature moves confidently towards him to investigate the intruder.

  He eyes it warily. Is it dangerous?

  It’s a cat. Another memory breaks free. The striped orange cat winds around his legs, making a rhythmic, rumbling sound. Deeming him acceptable, it springs onto the chest and proceeds to wash.

  Oddments of Andra’s life are scattered around the soaring space.

  A farm building. The information comes from memory, not his alpha core. This place was once a farm, raising animals, tending crops for food like those found all over the sector.

  Tilting his head, his sensitive hearing catches the sound of someone singing. The crunch of feet dipping into fallen snow. He listened to the crunch of his own footsteps long into the night during his walk here. Moving to the door, he closes one eye to peer through the gap between the door and the wall and sees Andra, walking towards the barn, bundled into a heavy coat, a pull on hat and gloves.

  He’s in a barn. A small four-legged beast walks stiffly beside her. Dog. A smile tilts his lips. He does not know why. It’s a black and white dog just like...

  His head hurts too much to think, so he lets the half-memory go and turns his attention to the woman, approaching too fast for him to hide. Bracing, he raises up to his full height, knowing he still holds the advantage, both in strength and the bargaining chip nestled in the parcel on the floor where he slept.

  Swiftly, he hides it in a crevice between a stack of boxes by the chest and waits for Andra to open the door.

  The door remains closed. Instead the footsteps veer away and when he looks out, she’s opening a smaller building storing circular sawn-off blocks. Carefully, she balances four blocks in her outstretched arms then kicks the door closed and turns back for the dwelling.

  The dog lifts its head, staring at the barn and then with its tail wagging, makes its way over to sniff at the door. Santar ducks away, pressing into the wall, knowing it’s taken his scent. He hears a whine and a scraping, then Andra calling the beast by name.

  “Jess, come on. No time for ratting this morning. Leave that to Tam.”

  The dog continues to scrape and whine, then with a long sigh lifts its leg and makes water against the barn wall. The cat’s watching with keen interest from its perch and then it leaps to the ground and runs to squeeze out through a hole in the wooden wall, leaving him alone in the barn.

  It will not give him away.

  He’s strangely reassured hearing Andra’s voice, seeing her so cheery on this bright, chill morning. Still, he does not miss the guarded expression as she glances around over the expanse of land, the scattered buildings as if expecting to see someone.

  Is she looking for him? She must know he’d find her.

  “In you go, Jess. I’ll light the stove for you, then I’m off to the hospital. You’re on guard, got that?” She laughs as if finding that notion amusing. By the state of the old beast, he could not take a bean-fly, let alone an intruder.

  She’s leaving to visit the injured youngling which gives him time to enter and perform a search. No idea what he’s looking for, only that he needs to search and find answers to the veiled questions forming in his head.

  Questions that have been there all his known life, he realises.

  Before she appears to get her car, he exits the barn, shivering in the morning chill. Secures the padlock and takes up a stick to obscure his footprints in the freshly fallen snow.

  Hiding behind the smaller building, he waits for the thrum of her vehicle engine to fade as it makes slow progress down the lane and then he steps cautiously out into hills and mountains of blinding white snow.

  Little visibility last night in the dark storm, but now he sees how remote this place is. How vulnerable Andra is living so far from other humans. A brave woman indeed. Or perhaps she prefers it this way? He’s edging around the barn when he hears another vehicle approach, a more powerful engine roaring to an abrupt, skidding stop by the front gate.

  Two males climb down from the tank-like vehicle and take a moment to look around. Nodding at each other, one swings the gate open, pushing against the drifts of snow. Santar slides along the wall, swiftly crossing to another vantage point, the hair on the back of his neck on edge. Nothing to do with the cold, he’s trained to spot malevolent intent in the blink of an eye. Despite the smile pasted on the two males’ faces, they have not come here to toast Andra’s health.

  Briefly he considers they might be here for him. Unlikely with the vehicle parked in so obvious a place and their complete lack of stealth. No bounty hunter would make themselves so vulnerable to their prey.

  The false smiles tell him they want something and he wonders if Andra has defaulted on some payment and they’re here to collect. One has the size and bulk of a bodyguard, the other is older, wearing eye glasses and carries a small case in one hand. Pulling out a phone, the man taps the screen with his thumb and nods.

  “All right, I can go up to ten grand,” he says and pockets the phone. “Let’s see if Ms Dalesio is home.”

  So this is about a payment due or a payment owed. It could get ugly.

  Santar thanks every god he knows Andra is not in residence. A naturally wary woman able to take care of herself, but the larger man is fondling the inside of his coat with grim regularity obviously checking for weapons and Santar sees no mercy in the hard, cold face.

  There’s a half-hearted bark from behind the front door, then a few moments later the dog appears in
a window behind a tree lit with lights. The two men glance at each other and lift the heavy knocker, rapping hard enough to break down the door.

  After a long interval, they turn to make their way around the back, taking inventory of the deep imprints of footsteps in the snow. The larger man follows the trail to the building stacked with blocks and pushes open the door, disappearing inside for a moment before reappearing with the cat darting around his moving legs.

  The animal bounds through the snow to leap up onto the wall and the man rattles the barn door and raises a hand, signalling to his companion to proceed.

  The other man presses his face to a rear cottage window, shading his eyes to better see inside.

  “Looks like there’s no one home,” he says, gesturing with his hand. “Let’s take a look inside.” He stands aside while his companion reaches into his coat and draws out a ring bearing small strips of metal. More sophisticated versions of the metal sliver Santar used to open the lock and break into the barn.

  “Silence that dog and take the place apart.” The man in charge issues an order. “We’re not leaving without the thing.”

  Santar narrows his eyes, imagining the havoc they’ll wreak on Andra’s sanctuary. How she’ll feel when she returns and witnesses the devastation. Whatever the consequences, he won’t allow it. Will not hide like a coward while they run amok and harm her beast.

  Stepping from the shadow of the barn wall, buoyed by the surge of hormones building for the confrontation, Santar breathes in calm and waits. Adopting a relaxed stance, to put the intruders at ease, he shoots the man now rattling the door handle a cold smile.

  No need of a greeting, his presence is warning enough. Positioned to separate the two males, he has one at his side, the other in front. The advantage of surprise that makes them both falter and grasp for a plausible explanation to be breaking down a lone female’s door in broad daylight.

  Santar continues to stand, head cocked, waiting for a reaction. All the while gathering information about their strength, their strategy. Factoring his fatigue and injured ankle into a physical affray. He assumes that at least one is armed, so must not provoke them to violence.

  He’ll give them a message though. One they won’t fail to understand.

  The male holding the case recovers first, extending a gloved hand in universal greeting. Answers his smile with one of his own.

  “John Madden’s the name. We have an appointment with Ms Dalesio. And you are?”

  “Does it matter who I am?”

  The male frowns at the abrupt tone, his gaze sweeping up and down as he motions his companion to join him. “This is my...partner. Would you mind telling Ms Dalesio We’re here?”

  “State your business.”

  The male looks again, as if only now noticing his uniform, the scabbing blood at his temple. Santar watches the man’s brain make the adjustment.

  “Ahh, I see that you’re home from a deployment? That means you’re not up to speed. Is she home? She agreed to sell something and we’re here to collect and complete the transaction. We really do need to talk to her. Time is of the essence.”

  The male’s collar-length hair ruffles in the wind. He stands his ground, recovering his composure. Visibly dismissing the threat of this unexpected soldier’s sudden appearance.

  “Yes.” Santar points to the path leading around the dwelling. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  With the full might of Centrum Command behind him, he’s used to being obeyed. The male simply regards him openly and then leans in to whisper to his colleague.

  “All right, so we’ll come back. Or catch her somewhere alone. It’s not worth the aggro right now.”

  “I don’t recall issuing a return invitation, gentlemen.” Santar infuses a suitable dose of sarcasm into the word. Notes the confused panic as they both look up, wondering how he could have heard them speaking.

  They’re seeking something. One referred to a thing. An object.

  What could Andra possibly have of value to these two well-garbed males driving a vehicle that telegraphed their elevated status?

  The male he deems to be in charge, straightens, adjusting the lapels of his dark, heavy coat. “Well, be sure to tell her she had a follow up to the phone call last night. It’s a good offer she’d be a fool to refuse given the state of this place.” He glances disdainfully at the rustic dwelling sitting comfortably on the moors like it had always belonged.

  Santar curls his fingers into fists, angered by their flippant disregard of Andra’s humble dwelling. “Oh yes. I will be sure to tell her you called.”

  “Who are you, anyway?” The second would-be thief sidles past him, never taking his eyes from the angry soldier barring his path. “We were told she lived alone.”

  “Well, your intelligence is obviously wrong.” Santar lets him go, twitching only slightly as the male gives him a wide berth. The cat isn’t letting him leave so lightly, swiping out a defensive paw as the man walks swiftly past the wall. He ducks comically and swings inside the heavy vehicle.

  Santar follows the other to the gate. Definitely the leader of the two, the male takes his time, his swagger impeded by the snow. He throws the dwelling a long, appraising glance before moving to the vehicle passenger seat and climbing aboard.

  The dog’s in the window again, having remembered its duties, woofing out a low, rusty sounding bark. Santar watches the males confer as the driver fires the engine. The noise covers their speech, but he’s seen enough.

  Andra is in peril. But he’s here to keep her safe. The revelation is profound, freezing him in place as he contemplates the silent commitment and yes, the danger he’s put himself in by stepping out from behind that barn.

  Not the wisest of moves for a man on the run, but he’s no longer at the behest of an organisation telling him who or what to be. This is his decision, his life to live or expend as he sees fit.

  As he moves to stand sentinel by the front door in case the thieves return, he can’t help a cynical laugh. Would he be here thinking such grand and noble thoughts if he didn’t need this woman called Andra? His confused mind has no answer to that.

  He remembers General Jo hidden in the barn. Studies the unfamiliar sky, so blue the light blinds his eyes and realises he’s no better than the thieves he sent running, tails between their legs.

  And he can add kidnapping and her terror to his sins.

  The tree lights blink on and off, changing to random patterns of flashing colour. The dog strains at the window, whining at the tall male doing what should be his job.

  This is different. He only wants answers. To know why the intent reader picked this world to initiate the landing pod. He wants to know exactly who Centrum Command found wandering all alone that day they picked him up.

  They spun the youngling a story of a transport crash, of lone survivors. He was one, so they said. They tried to wipe his old life clean. But they failed. And now it’s coming back.

  If stealing the thing that answers those questions makes him a thief, then so be it. He’s not returning it until he knows.

  Chapter 6

  On the way home, the car stalled at the bottom of the lane, finally refusing to move. Andra sighed and reached for her handbag sitting on the passenger seat.

  “Wimp of a car,” she said, opening the door to step out into the ankle-deep snow. Deep ruts showed the passage of vehicles up and down the lane. Likely the two consultant surgeons who lived in the old manor house making their way to the hospital in their matching Range Rovers.

  Andra took a moment to deal with the stab of jealousy at their opulent, ostentatious lifestyle. She pushed it away. They were nice people and their vehicles were as good as it got for snow ploughs in this remote hamlet. Reaching into the back seat, she hefted out a shopping bag bulging with groceries and kicked closed the door. She’d make another run for the rest of the supplies filling the boot.

  She laughed to herself. Nothing like a bit of panic buying to make it feel like Christmas
. Locking the vehicle, she gave it a pat for getting her almost home, and then started up the lane.

  No kitten heels today, she went to the hospital in sturdy waterproof boots and found Oliver sitting up for the first time. A great sign, but the poor kid was in for a long recovery from the multiple thigh fracture and numerous other smaller injuries he suffered in the crash.

  He asked about General Jo, a child-like certainty shining in his eyes. No doubt in his mind that Santa would deliver and she didn’t have the heart to disillusion him. Not yet.

  Andra took in a deep breath of cool, cleansing air and thought about his mum, so pale and still on that hospital bed. She’d stayed awhile, chatted about Christmas and a wild holiday they once took together back in their university days. Showed her still form a few photographs and then diverted with leaden footsteps to one of the three supermarkets in the small town nearest to Moor Cottage where she found a toy section and guiltily stocked up on a racing car set as part of her apology for losing the kid’s dream.

  The cottage roof came into view as the lane rose towards the wider sweep of the moors. A swathe of fallen snow had slipped off, revealing the ancient moss-ridden stone tiles. Next spring, she thought. If her new book delivered as well as the last, next spring and the cottage might see a new roof.

  She paused to catch her breath, transferring the heavy shopping bag to her other hand. Strange. Old and rickety though he might be, Jess usually heard her coming from the bottom of the lane. Some uncanny doggy sense, she supposed. Pausing, she listened for an enquiring bark and heard only a couple of crows harassing a hunting buzzard, high in the sparkling blue sky.

  Good old Jess, she thought fondly. Well past his prime and time she brought in that puppy to train up as a proper guard dog. Pushing open the gate, she saw the reason for the dog’s silence and swallowed down the ripple of fear.

  Santar had found her.

  No, not fear. More a terror of the unknown. He didn’t frighten her so much as unnerve her. She wanted to help him, but didn’t know how. Wanted him to start talking sense so she could at least negotiate for the return of General Jo.