Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) Read online

  Branwen wasn’t the only one to notice. Merlo’s features contorted into the beginning of a hostile frown. “Wait— you’re saying you reported the shortage? As in, this whole thing is your fault?!” Merlo leaned toward her, giving her a sharp, disapproving look. The girl leaned away, looking nervous and not nearly as confident as she’d sounded earlier when Branwen had listened to her facing down Merlo.

  “Well, I ain’t exactly sayin’ it’s my fault. Not like I put the notion in their heads to run off an’ try to hijack a medical resupply transport,” She put a hand on her hip and gave Merlo an indignant expression, while still seeming to shy physically away from the intensity of her accusation. “But, I guess, you’re right in a way too… If I hadn’t reported it, and if I hadn’t been here and offered to do some doctor work, they prolly wouldn’t a put your friend in this position.” She frowned and looked sadly down at Branwen, green eyes overflowing with sympathy and sorrow. “I’m awful sorry if I helped things end up with you gettin’ shot.”

  “Peace. I hold you blameless.” Branwen replied, her voice slowly warming to the syllables as they came. She glanced with emphasis toward Merlo as she talked, trying to put just enough of a command into the words to give the fiery woman’s temper a reason to subside.

  “Mister Jashan is awful sorry, too,” the young medic commented, nodding her acceptance to Branwen’s assurances.

  “Who?” Branwen asked, reaching out carefully toward the water again.

  The girl almost immediately grabbed it and helped her get another long, soothing drink. “He’s, um, the young man who shot you, and he’s awful sorry; he really wanted to come by and apologize in person as soon as you were awake—” She seemed to brace herself, looking in Merlo’s direction.

  “There is no way I’m allowing the person who shot the Captain to get near her again!”

  Branwen made a slight gesture, about all she could manage easily from where she was propped. She accompanied it with enough of an expression to get Merlo to ease back off, though. “I’m sure it will be fine… Just when I feel better?” She managed to get both of them to nod in agreement, thankfully, though Merlo took a moment to acquiesce. “How long have I been out? Have you managed to contact Mr. Leonard?” She worried about how he was holding up if it had been a while without contact from her; he wouldn’t do too well left on his own, especially suddenly.

  “Huh? You’ve been out of it for, like, three days now? And Mr. Leonard managed to contact me early yesterday… I mean,” Merlo gestured vaguely, seeming to indicate feeling a bit bad about the situation. “I tried to get him earlier than that, of course, as soon as I thought about it, but the communications here are really poor.” The medic girl bobbed her head in agreement to Merlo’s statement. “Something to do with the sun’s interference, and us being on the edge of the area the shield moon covers, near the wastelands.”

  Merlo hooked a nearby chair with her ankle and dragged it under her to sit in, and it groaned ominously as she did so. It looked like she’d been sitting in it a lot; Branwen could tell from observing the way the thin metal of its frame was bent, as if begging for a reprieve, before she even put her weight onto it. That observation brought another, more honest smile to her face, further lessening her pain. Merlo had been sitting by her bedside while she struggled with her injuries.

  “He apparently got worried, and contacted me through my suit’s com reception somehow… said a bunch of stuff about ‘reconfiguring the forward basic auxiliary sensors’ or something. I let him talk about it, cause he seemed kinda like he was freaking out and needed to talk, but I didn’t understand most of it. Guy’s a genius.” Merlo finished, running a thinly armored hand through her hair, then combing the mess back out with her fingers.

  The other girl was still hovering nearby, the hint of a curious look beginning to cross her face. “Mr. Leonard is my other crew member,” Branwen explained. “And yes, he is rather gifted with machines.” She gave the girl a long, considering look. “You know, I think that I might I can solve this problem in its entirety. You said that there were some people here that needed some more immediate medical aid?”

  “Oh, yeah,” the girl replied, nodding with sincerity and concern. “Mister Jashan’ dad’s got a real bad foot infection, and Miss Ibram needs some meds to recovery from havin’ her baby the day ‘fore yesterday…” She went on to name several people, listing their various misfortunes and mentioning seven or eight injured in total.

  Branwen nodded along with it, then proposed her plan. “Well, if you will get whatever medicinal items they need from our supplies, assuming they are still intact, along with some more for emergencies,” the young woman looked a little sheepish, so Branwen assumed that they’d already done some of that, at least. “I do not mind if you have already done so. Just round out what your people here need, and then we will finish up our delivery as planned.”

  “Well, I had to get into some of it… with birth of the baby an’ all. Then, well, I needed stuff to use to patch you up proper,” she gestured at Branwen’s damaged chest and the thorough white of its wrappings. “But for the most part, I told ‘em that they should feel ashamed of what they’d done, an’ in the end everybody pretty much listened and kept their hands off your stuff. I mean, they all felt bad enough after gettin’ you hurt so bad, they didn’t want you to lose your job or anything neither.”

  Merlo leaned in, “Captain, that’s an Altairan contract we have to deliver those supplies… We can’t deliver part of the cargo and expect to just get our money and walk away.”

  Branwen grinned weakly with a vicious sort of amusement she reserved for particular kinds of people, a group that included those that would cheat others out of the things they needed for their families to survive. “And, when we turn it in to the local director, we will tell them that they shall mark the supplies down as delivered, on time and complete, or we will expose what they have been doing to the Altairan trade commissioner down at the port.” She shrugged a shoulder with minor difficulty, already starting to feel a bit better. And hungry.

  Merlo gave a low whistle, a somewhat flat, toneless sound. “Okay, yeah, hopefully that’ll do it.” Their makeshift doctor nodded her approval as well.

  “Well, that’s a damn good idea Cap’n.” The slight girl blushed a bit, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t mean nothin’ by it, it’s just been a few days an’ she keeps callin’ you Cap’n, an I started kinda doing the same thing, I guess… It don’t feel right usin’ your name as much since we ain’t been introduced.”

  Branwen smiled reassuringly and in response, marshaled some energy and stuck out her hand. The medic blinked. “Oh. Well, I…” she seemed a bit surprised at Branwen feeling well enough to manage the gesture, but her face quickly lit with a broad, sunny smile, and she dropped her medical bag to grab Branwen’s hand in both of her smaller ones. “I’m Zimi. Zimi Praff.”

  “Branwen Hawke.” She clasped the pair of hands and shook them with what limited vigor she could muster. “It is quite the pleasure to meet you, especially considering the circumstances. Thank you for saving my life.”

  The girl, Zimi, smiled warmly and blushed a little in response. “My pleasure, Cap’n. I mean, Branwen.” Then she grinned. “I’m sorry; I guess the whole ‘Cap’n’ thing kinda stuck. I’m just glad I could help.” The girl’s kind green eyes twinkled with humor.

  “Well, actually,” Branwen said, managing a sip of water on her own and sliding into a position that was a bit closer to sitting, “You might not have to worry about making that mistake much longer.” She grinned to herself at the pair of puzzled glances and Merlo’s raised, questioning eyebrow. “We could actually use another set of hands on our ship, especially medically inclined ones, as I believe my wounds will require care for some time yet.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Collateral Damage

  Prisoner 286

  Prisoner 286 stood in a crowded Incarnum market, kind of an organic cross between an open air
bazaar and an ultra-modern shopping center, sucking in the aggravatingly fresh air of Altair Prime and wishing she had a cigarette. The polite din of conversation from Altairans and thousands of other peoples hailing from a multitude of other planets washed around 286 as surely as the bodies making up the dense swell of the vibrant, diverse crowd did. Standing there, she could feel the vibrational energy of it trembling in the air, the ground, even in herself. But all she could think about at the moment was how she’d burnt through the last of her pack, the one she’d taken from an unfortunate Legionnaire on their last transport ship, hours ago.

  “So, is this the first time you’ve been to one of these markets?” Sirrah said, drawing her focus back into the moment. Sirrah somehow didn’t seem to have to raise her voice in order to be heard, cutting easily through the surrounding rumble of commotion regardless.

  “What? I don’t care,” Prisoner 286 responded reflexively, not having really heard the Kala’s melodic tone over the crowd and her own inattention. Sirrah was looking good today, 286 thought absently; the elegant woman had forgone the more formal and traditional Kalaset styled robes for a dress modeled off of current Altairan fashion. Sleeveless, shoulderless, shimmering crimson layers with a lacy, gauzy dark mantle dripped off of her near-perfect figure, trimmed in a remarkable if tasteful amount of gold.

  Forgoing the distinctive robes didn’t matter, of course. With a garment that fine and her unmistakable poise, everyone that so much as glanced at her still knew exactly what she was. She looked stunning in it, but then, she looked stunning in everything Prisoner 286 had seen her wear. Probably somehow part of the extensive training.

  Sirrah smiled with an expression brimming with gentle humor. “It’s not important.” She shook her head lightly, as if amused. “Are you out of cigarettes? You seem… as if wanting for something.”

  “You have no idea,” she grumbled to herself, knowing it was said too quietly for Sirrah to possibly hear. 286 was a good judge of that sort of thing.

  “Hmmm, sorry?” Sirrah said, putting a graceful hand on the arm of a well-dressed shopkeeper and giving him a demure nod of approval, setting him into motion wrapping the latest set of Sirrah’s purchases: more super fancy clothes.

  “I SAID I’LL BE FINE,” she responded, way louder than necessary. The shopkeeper leaned nervously away and some people in her vicinity eyeballed her warily, giving her a bit more space and widening the people-free bubble that had already formed by a another step or so. She reflected on how it was kind of like a bunch of little fish swimming around a big, dangerous fish, or something like that.

  286’s arm spasmed as Sirrah poked her gently with something. “Whoa, don’t sneak up on me like that,” she commented, making a show of jerking her arm away from the contact. “The Hel’s that thing for?”

  Sirrah laughed, a sparkling, musical sound that wove through the surrounding noise. She held up a small, thin white cylinder smaller than her finger but slightly longer. It had a few blue stripes toward one end in some sort of vague pattern, and the other end was open.

  “This,” she commented, sliding comfortably into arm’s reach of 286 and speaking easily, “is a vapor stick. It’s better for your health than those…” Sirrah paused and made the barest hint of a distasteful expression. “Things you’ve been smoking. It’s electronic and recyclable, you don’t even have to light it. And most importantly, the smell of it doesn't get stuck unforgivably in anyone’s very fine clothes.” She flashed an amused expression up at 286. “You know, in case you’d care to make things easier on me.”

  Prisoner 286 grunted in reply, scratching her face absently. “Huh. Sounds lame.” After continuing to proffer the slender white item for a moment, Sirrah shrugged with delicacy and tucked it away in her handbag with a vague “suit yourself” expression. “‘Sides, you never wear the same damn outfit twice anyways. What does it matter?”

  Kala Sirrah started moving again, and the crowd parted for her, like waves parting before an elegant flagship. They might have given her companion even more space, if they’d known who she was, but most people wouldn’t recognize 286 just by looking at her face; it was a pretty big cluster, no matter how often you were in the news, 286 supposed. Still, she tried to keep her disappointment to a minimum as Sirrah cleared their path with the enviable ease of no real effort.

  “It’s not... quite so wasteful as you make it seem,” Sirrah defended as they passed over another stall and headed toward one that seemed to have caught her eye, set up on the other side of the street. The shopkeeper, a plump, friendly-looking middle aged woman, lit up with excitement when she saw Sirrah coming her way. “I usually take the different pieces that make up an outfit and use them again, such as using this dress with a shawl, or with something of Elysian lacework to accent it. But yes, the Kalaset demands, and deserves, a certain degree of excellence when representing it.”

  “Like never wearing your perfectly good clothes again? Whatever.” 286 shook her head, stuffing her hands deep into some of the abundant pockets on her loose grey combat fatigues. She had all-new clothes now: a tight, fully undamaged tank top, durable work boots, and black fingerless “ass-kicking” gloves rounded out her current outfit, but she had even more stuff to wear mixed in with Sirrah’s luggage somewhere. Sirrah had insisted on buying her new things, and 286 had seen no value in denying it. Her hair was back to normal now too: the left side shaved close again and the right sweeping up into a spiky deathhawk the length of her fingers, now dyed black tinged with red to make it stand out more than its default “crap brown.”

  Overall, 286 didn’t consider herself fixated on her appearance. She knew she had a plain, often angry looking face, obvious tan lines from the harsh sunlight in the Urebai system, and a slightly too-large nose that was a little bent from being broken many times back when she was too young to prevent it. She was also tall enough and built strongly enough that you could probably call her look “guyish” while still being relatively polite.

  But most people, no matter who they were, preferred looking good to not, and 286 preferred looking awesome. Or badass. Or scary. Any of it was good. The only thing that really bothered her was the silvery etching of the dermal patch grafted into her neck, at least at first, but she was already beginning to look at it more and more as yet another badge of pride. Besides, it wouldn’t be there forever, and anyone who thought anything different on that matter was just lying to themselves. Heh.

  After a moment paused at the small kiosk, the mismatched pair crossed to the edge of the market and wandered down a sidewalk, pacing alongside a row of modern shop fronts. Sirrah seemed to enjoy the leisurely window shopping, humming to herself as she perused displays, often smiling and nodding at star-struck passersby. The extensive marketplace took up the several square kilometers set aside for it, a valley of commerce surrounded by the mountains of sleek, dazzling displays of Altairan architecture, arches and curves of shaped alloy and glasteel towering massively skyward. There were many such areas like this scattered conveniently across the heavily populated sections of Altair’s extensive city structure, usually situated near housing or starport districts.

  Two people followed them as they moved, a young Altairan girl in a nice summer dress and a Kepo in draped, soft, sand colored cloth. 286 figured the Kepo was a younger girl as well from the way her delicate chest fluff was still sparse and the way her ears looked a little too large and drooped just a bit.

  It wasn’t an uncommon thing, she knew, for teenagers of both species to come out to the nicer market districts and offer services as attendants for shopping; most Altairan city districts were very safe. They could get a nice tip, or meet someone famous, maybe even see a Kala or a Holo star. So the two girls trailed along behind them, or specifically behind Sirrah, toting her purchases and giggling and talking quietly among themselves while waiting, seeming to have a grand time of it. Sirrah had even bought them lunch earlier, and they seemed blissfully unaware that they had spent most of the day within ten meters of a
highly dangerous, repeatedly-convicted felon.

  Well, they might enjoy tailing around one of the much touted Kalas with stars in their eyes and a cargo’s load of skirts in their arms, but 286 found it predictably boring. Internally, however, she could concede that being star-struck by a Kala was pretty logical. Pretty much every young girl everywhere, and yeah, some of the guys too, heard dreamy, romantic stories about the Kalaset and what they did, and wanted to be like those beautiful, flawless, impossibly graceful creatures. She supposed being someone with the immense influence of the Kalaset behind them while raking in metric fucktons of cash probably looked pretty good, too.

  Hel, even she had seen those stories. Once, while she was a rithling back on the subterranean streets of Urzra, she’d stolen a random book off of a merchant’s secondhand stand, and it had ended up being some cheap, steamy, crap romance novel involving forbidden love between Kalaset Sisters. Just went to show that people will read anything, she supposed.

  They were commonly seen on Holos, in the news, and plastered all over the walls of the Exonet. Being associated with the Kalaset was possibly the most famous thing a person could do, unless they were a white-hot edgy Holo star or the President of Altair’s Safety Regulations Board or something. The catch was, the Kalaset had to take someone in really young to “train” them, whatever that entailed. Which meant either losing or leaving whatever passed for their family and their old life behind. Then, they typically spent a decade or more cloistered away in an Atelier, one of the Kalaset’s private compounds, doing no one knows what and transforming girls from all over the two clusters from mere mortals into the virtual goddesses that made up the Kalaset.