Opening scene from Rescuing Romila

Romila glanced up at the chrono again. Two minutes to eight. She could probably safely start closing up shop. This sector of the Shar Burk space station tended to empty out around now. She turned around to lock the crystal cabinet behind the counter.

The door tinkled. Damn. Customers. She was looking forward to going upstairs, but that was retail, wasn’t it? Fixing a smile on her face, she turned. “Good evening. How can I help you?”

Even as she said the words her pulse began to pound. The well-dressed man might have been interested in exotic crystal, and he might have employed the Shuba towering behind him as a bodyguard. But the man exuded an air of menace. The half-smile on his face and the narrowed eyes hinted at a different purpose. Romila put her hand down under the counter, feeling for the grip of her laser pistol.

“Uh uh uh. Hands on the counter, Romila,” the man said, stepping forward. “I wouldn’t want Terkan here to have to make a mess.”

The Shuba raised the Umex P-40 pulse pistol he held in one massive hand, its wide muzzle a gateway to hell. If he pressed the trigger, the shelves behind her would be shattered, and they’d have to pick pieces of her out of the wall to put them in a bag for the funeral.

Romila put her hands back on the counter. “What’s this about?” Although she had a feeling she already knew.

The man made a show of sadly shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have gone to the Sharpos.”

Romila’s stomach lurched. Her tip-off was supposed to be confidential. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Terkan, why don’t you see if those pieces on the wall over there bounce?”

Grinning, the Shuba swept his hand along a shelf, sending a row of carved glass animals crashing to the floor.

Romila winced. They were cheap, popular souvenirs now reduced to shards and splinters, a pretty obvious display of what could happen to some of her more expensive stock. “What do you want?”

The man stood in the middle of the shop and folded his arms. “Nice little place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks.” Romila swallowed while her heart hammered. His lips had set into a predatory, mocking smile.

“We just want the crystals, darling. We know you’ve still got some. Hand them over and we’ll be on our way.”

Romila swallowed again. “The police took what I had.”

The smile vanished. “I’m not sure I believe you.” The man unfolded one arm and beckoned with his index finger. “Come around here.”

To hell with that. She wasn’t going to come quietly. Romila dived for her pistol and rolled with it clutched in one hand. Terkan swore, his feet crunching on the shattered glass. Romila poked her head around the counter and fired a long blast at him. He dodged away, out of her line of sight. But where was the Shuba’s boss? Movement in the glass front of the cabinet caught her eye. She jumped up, fired, and retreated, rewarded with a hiss of pain.

“Drop the pistol, bitch.” The Shuba stood beside the counter, the muzzle of the Umex aimed squarely at her. “Do it now. Dak wants you alive, but I don’t think he’ll mind if I hurt you.”

Dak. That would be the man in the suit. He appeared now, his face twisted, one hand clutching his arm. “Give us a hard time and I might just change my mind,” he snarled.

Romila put the pistol on the floor. She was running out of options, but at least they wanted her alive. For now. She didn’t have any more of the statues where the crystals had been hidden. The detective had taken the other four. She’d have to make something up.

The front door slid aside.

Terkan spun around, his weapon raised. He fell backwards, raking the front of the shop with energy bolts. Romila crawled behind the counter while the air crackled and fragments of her shop clattered and boomed and splintered. A figure appeared, leaping past her and into the backroom, another figure in hot pursuit. If she was quick she might make it, too.

The firing had stopped.

“Romila? Suri?” The voice was female, coming from behind her, and sounded concerned more than anything else.

Romila looked around and saw a pair of legs lying on the ground, the rest of the body hidden by the counter. Another Shuba stood beside Terkan’s body, a short-barreled rifle in her hands, but held at rest, not aimed at her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Are you police?”

The woman snorted a laugh. “No. We heard some crashing in here and thought we’d better see if we could help.”

Romila forced her trembling legs to move and clambered to her feet. “Is he dead?” she asked, gesturing at Terkan’s body.

The woman glanced at the figure lying face down on the ground. “Yes. Trust me, he’s no loss.” She gazed over Romila’s head to the open back door. “Where does that go?”

“A small service area for unpacking and what not, a little kitchen, and steps up to my apartment.” Romila pointed at the ceiling.

“External exit?”

“Yes.” Romila sighed. “It was open, too. I got a delivery a little while ago and didn’t close up.”

Footsteps sounded from outside. The Shuba woman gestured. “Better pick up your pistol and get out of line of sight of that door. I’m hoping it’s Chet coming back, but if it isn’t…”

Romila scooped up her laser pistol and moved to the other side of the counter, stepping over Terkan’s body. He lay as if asleep, although the side of his face she could see was twisted as if he was experiencing a nightmare. Romila swallowed bile. She’d seen death before, but not like this.

The Shuba tensed, her rifle raised, as a figure approached.

“It’s me.” The green-eyed woman who stepped through the door spoke the words before she appeared.

“Did you get him?” the Shuba asked as she lowered her rifle.

“No. You know what those damned alleys are like.”

“Just like Crossmar. We’d better get out of here fast. Dak doesn’t take kindly to losing, and he’ll have backup somewhere.”

“Mmm. That’s what I think.” Green-eyes turned back to Romila. “You’d better come with us and have a chat. We’d be interested to know what this was all about, but neither of us think staying here is smart.”

Probably not. But where else was there to go? “And going somewhere with you two, who I don’t know, that’s smart, is it?”

The Shuba woman grinned. “Good point. But Soldar didn’t send us here to trash your shop.”

Romila’s heart thudded. “Soldar?” He was the governor and the richest man on Shar Burk. She’d heard there wasn’t a pie on the station without one of Soldar’s fingers in it. “What interest would Markus Soldar have in me?”

Green-eyes nodded. “Good question. We’d like to know the answer, too. Let’s go.”

Romila stared at the shards of cheap glass souvenirs littering her shop’s floor, a head there, a pair of legs here. The front window was shattered. So were the glass cabinets. Most of the contents lay on the floor, some recognizable, some not. Fragments of crystal vases still projected rainbow images on the walls and ceiling. Outside, a woman glanced at the shop, then hurried by. She wouldn’t have been the only one. On Shar Burk it didn’t pay to get involved.

“Why should I trust you? And why did you just happen to be here?”

Green-eyes frowned. “We haven’t got time for this. Look, we understand why you’d be suspicious, but we could do whatever we wanted, kill you, and no one would be the wiser.” The sound of distant sirens floated through the air. “We’ve gotta go now. Trust me, the Sharpos won’t be the only ones coming here.”

Romila took a last glance around her devastated shop and nodded. “Okay.”

The big woman opened the front door and gazed out, first one way, then the other. The approaching sirens were closer, setting Romila’s teeth on edge.

“I think the alleys are a better bet.” The Shuba turned away, crunching over glass shards to the back of the shop. Once again, she peered out, checking the service area before stepping through.

Romila and the other woman crowded in behind her while she checked the outside door. It all looked so innocent; the little kitchen sink holding her unwashed cup, the kettle in the corner, a couple of boxes that had held merchandise from Akhlut. Those sirens were even closer, sounding as though they were nearly overhead.

“Looks okay. But let’s make it snappy, ladies.” Her rifle ready in her hand, the Shuba slipped into the alley. The lane was just wide enough for the service bots to deliver goods and take away the garbage. The bins were full, with a couple overflowing. The one outside the next-door shop stank.

“To the left and down the lane past Bhodan’s,” Green-eyes said. “It’ll take us near the escalators.”

The Shuba nodded. “You come behind me,” she said to Romila. “Keep that pistol ready.” She ran for the next laneway, checked and ran on. Romila hurried after her, dodging around the obstacles and wishing her feet didn’t make so much noise. At the next lane Green-eyes paused.

The sound of running feet came from the direction of the shop.

Romila’s heart thudded. “They’re after us.”

The Shuba nodded, her features grim. “You guys take a break in the Traveler’s Arms. I’ll play decoy.”

“Meet you at Sorren Lane.” Green-eyes gripped Romila’s arm and urged her half-way down the alley toward a service entrance, while the big woman jogged on, making much more noise than she had before.

Green-eyes tried the door. Romila fidgeted, glancing up at the way they’d come, sure the Sharpos were just around the corner. Her companion had fished something out of her pockets and fitted it into the lock. One twist and the lock clicked. Pushing the door open, Green-eyes dragged Romila into a storeroom filled with stacks of kegs, rows of bottles, and a mountain of empty cartons, then went back to lock the door.

The place smelled of stale beer and dust. The racket from the busy bar beyond the wall provided a background hum. Romila eased herself between the racks and tried not to touch anything, feeling the weight of her pistol in her hand, and wishing she’d bought the heavier RK-10. Her RK-8 could do some damage at close range, maybe even kill, but she’d never expected to use the weapon for anything but a deterrent. Would a blast get through Sharpo standard issue body armor? She hoped she wasn’t about to find out.

Her new friend was pressed against the wall beside the door, her pistol ready. Raucous laughter erupted in the bar at about the same time the door to the alley rattled. Romila’s heart sped up even more. Green-eyes’s fingers tightened on her gun, and she lifted her index finger to her lips.

Muffled voices exchanged words in the alley, and then the footsteps moved on. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Romila stepped toward the door. Green-eyes shook her head and slipped her weapon into one of her jacket pockets. “Hide the gun. We’re going out the front door.”

Romila pushed the RK-8 into her trouser pocket and tried to hide the trembling.

Green-eyes laid her hands on Romila’s shoulders. “Look confident. We’ve got a right to be here, and we’re not in a hurry. Okay?”

She nodded and managed a grin. “Act the part. Just like the school play.”

Green-eyes smiled. “Yeah. But keep your eyes open for Dak, or anybody taking too much interest in us. He’ll have called in reinforcements, especially because you managed to wound him. He won’t take that lightly.”

Romila’s nerves twanged. Oh, great. Thanks for that.

Green-eyes pushed open the door from the storeroom and walked along a dim corridor into the pub itself. At this time of the evening the place was always busy, with patrons packing the tables and lined up against the bar. Here on Shar Burk’s level four it attracted a better class of client without being the snooty type of swish bar you found in the top hotels. The group around the two tables in the middle were tourists. She recognized the couple who had been in her shop a few hours before. Walking on, she passed a group of off-duty ship crew chatting with two ladies. Another peel of laughter came from the well-dressed bunch crowding around the bar.

No sign of Dak.

Green-eyes sidled closer. “We’re attracting some interest from the big guy on his own, leaning on the bar. Don’t look.”

Romila registered who she meant. She’d sort of noticed him herself, casually leaning facing the room, a drink in his hand. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him move. Her pulse raced. “What do we do?”

A server balancing a tray in her right hand walked toward them, between them and the man. “Be ready to exit. Front door. Don’t run.”

Green-eyes turned casually, as if she’d heard something, and flicked something Romila couldn’t see. The server ‘s eyes widened. She stepped backwards, flapping with the hand not holding the tray. She staggered, the tray tilted, and glasses fell onto the table beside her, spilling beer and wine over the people seated there, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. Three patrons jumped up in alarm, squealing, brushing down wet clothes. The server apologized, tried to help. What in hells had created that reaction? She would have to remember to ask.

The man at the bar tried to push his way through the agitated crowd, now joined by the proprietor. Green-eyes caught Romila’s eye and jerked her head at the door. She took the directive, forcing herself to walk in a relatively normal manner, while her hand twitched at the pocket where the pistol nestled. She pushed open the door and slipped out into the evening bustle.