Opening scene Kuralon Rescue

From up here the normally placid bay looked like a cauldron, the slate grey, foam-streaked waves battering the harbor wall. Jirra wouldn’t be surprised if the spray had managed to reach the landing pad a little over a klick away from the sea. She lurched in the pilot’s seat. Damn these stabilizers. She’d told Bretna two weeks ago they should be replaced. Her navigation screen showed the SV-90 she was piloting as a red dot dropping toward the target. Too fast, she was sure of it. The stabilizer data had to be wrong. Not for the first time she wondered what Morgan Selwood would have done, then dashed the thought away. Morgan would have worked the ship’s computers with her mind. All Jirra had was her bare hands.

She reached under the console, found the orange lever and pulled. Manual control. A yoke appeared, rising out of the console in front of her seat. She steadied herself, dredging up flying classes from years back. Pulling back on the yoke, she angled the wings a little more to increase the resistance. The old ship bucked in the cross wind, almost jolting the yoke from her hand. She shaped the port wing a little more, raising the ship’s nose. Another gust of wind caught the SV-90 and the ship dropped thirty meters in a nauseating downward plunge. Jirra swallowed. She imagined a few dinners back in people’s mouths in the cabin. Ride it, girl. Only a few hundred meters to go. Turn the ship into the wind. Keep it there. The muscles in her arms ached with the tension of keeping the yoke steady while she adjusted the wing angles using the buttons on each side of the head. The navigation panel still tracked progress. Dropping correctly, rate of descent too slow, which simply confirmed the data was rubbish. At least the height was right. The green numbers rolled down as the red dot closed on the target. A last gust of wind rocked the shuttle just as it shaped to settle, causing it to bounce on its pads. But they were down and safe.

Jirra blew out a huge sigh of relief. Down and safe, and no thanks to Bretna and his blasted stabilizers. Fleet would have put this hunk of junk out for scrap years ago.

Rolling her shoulders to ease the tension, Jirra activated the ramp. Bangs and muffled voices from the cabin told her the passengers were on their way. She checked the ship’s status, making notes in the log, half aware of figures scurrying through the wind and rain to the terminal building. Welcome to Sylvani, mining capital of Rytmara.

Her log finished, Jirra climbed out of the pilot’s seat and through the door behind her into the main cabin. Despite the gusts of wind probing the interior through the access door, the sour stench of vomit greeted her and she wrinkled her nose. The cleaners would be pleased, but fortunately that wasn’t her problem. She ran down the ramp two steps at a time and sprinted for the terminal, where the transparent doors soughed open at her approach. The six-month-old terminal building was little more than an elaborate barn with some office space at the back behind the counters. Even so, it was almost welcoming in this weather, despite the garish blue and brown carpet and the cold, pale blue walls.

She skidded to a halt in front of a frowning passenger from her flight. Billum Wangiri, owner of the mine she’d just come from. His brows were almost locked together, mirroring the beard that fringed his jaw.

“That landing was dreadful. My secretary was sick on me. Sick.” He flicked a beringed hand at his jacket where Jirra noted a damp smear, and the trademark stink.

“Sorry, Sur Wangiri. I had to take manual control when the stabilizers —”

He shook his finger at her. “Don’t bore me with excuses, girl. I shall complain to your superiors.”

Superiors, my ass. Bretna was a cheap, corner-cutting ship jock out to make a killing on the side. And the killing part wasn’t necessarily a joke, not if this afternoon’s little episode was any indication.

“You do that, Sur Wangiri. The report’s in my log notes. Maybe you can get him to pay for your coat.”

She spun around, ignoring the man’s outraged spluttering.

She’d had enough of that nonsense to last a lifetime: pompous, self-opinionated men telling her what she could and couldn’t do.

Bretna appeared from one of the offices beyond the counter.

She hesitated.

Maybe she could get in first, explain what had happened, and make the point it was his ship’s failing stabilizers, not her piloting skills, at fault.

Too late.

Bretna was talking to somebody else.

Jirra’s heart bounced when she felt the sharp buzz from the bracelet on her wrist.

Grief.

With her hand lifted to her mouth, she turned around slowly, letting the powerful scanner track over the people.

The bracelet tightened on her wrist when she was pointed at Bretna and the man he was talking to.

The red glow on the status indicator meant ‘danger’.

Forcing herself to walk normally despite the hammering of her heart, Jirra slipped past a group of people casting worried glances at the sky from the shelter of the terminal.

Once outside she hurried down the town’s main street with her collar raised.

All too aware of the icy raindrops whipping her frozen face, Jirra dashed the last block to the hotel.

A vicious squall swept up the street just as she shoved the door open, almost like a wild animal howling at her heels.

She shuddered, both from the cold and the image that rose, unbidden, of slavering jaws and savage yellow eyes.

Silly.

She hesitated in the foyer for a moment, drawing breath after her run.

The place was overheated, as buildings in cold climates so often were, but the scent of wood polish was almost like a balm.

Warmth prickled on her cheeks as she peeled off her gloves. What a day it had been, culminating in that tricky landing. And then there was the alarm.

She pulled out her sanvad, the one Morgan Selwood had modified for her, then pressed the side button to activate the feed from the bracelet. A figure appeared, rotating on the screen. Not that it mattered. He could change his appearance as often as he liked, but Morgan’s program would run matches that saw through disguises. The match read ninety-one point four. Good enough. Underneath, Jirra read the date last seen, and the location.

Grief.

She’d left Novipar to escape him, yet he’d found her. Here, out in the boonies, in just a few months. She’d liked it here, even made some friends. The sense of loss roiled in her stomach. Oh well. It couldn’t be helped.

Shrugging off her flying jacket, Jirra pulled her pistol from the shoulder holster under her shirt and started up the stairs. A gale of laughter rose from the bar. She glanced over the rail but didn’t stop. Tomas was entertaining the crowd again. Jirra’s friend, Siena, was on duty behind the bar, chuckling with the rest of them. Jirra would miss them.

Outside her door she listened, her pistol at the ready, before she slid the keycard into the lock.

Nothing.

Which didn’t mean much.

The bounty hunter might have accomplices.

Her heart pounding, she slid the door aside and waited with her back pressed to the corridor’s wall until the light came on.

She stepped inside, the pistol in the standard double-handed grip. Nothing seemed to be out of place. With the door closed behind her she stared around the room, at the pale green curtains framing a picture window looking out over the forest, the wallpapered walls, the wooden furniture with the same smell of polish she’d noticed in the hotel foyer. Nothing seemed to be disturbed.

Her heart rate settling, she replaced the pistol in the holster inside her shirt. Damn it. She’d thought she’d have a home here, at least for a while. But she could expect some sort of attempt to grab her. She’d hoped her father would have given up by now. She wasn’t going to bind with Reysan Cirdan, however many arrangements the families had made.

Sucking in a deep breath she pulled her duffel out of the wardrobe. Time to move on, while she still could.

A creak on the landing nearly stopped her heart.

Before she had the pistol out again, someone knocked, gently, diffidently.

“Jirra?”

Jirra sagged. Siena. The publican’s daughter, an attractive woman a few years younger than Jirra. They’d become friends of sorts, two women thrust together in a frontier town where most of the population was men.

“Jirra, please. I know you’re there. I need to talk to you.”

The words were soft and urgent.

Jirra could imagine the girl huddled against the door.

“Come in.”

Siena slipped inside as soon as the door had opened enough for her slight frame. Her eyes widened when she glanced at the trousers Jirra held in her hands, and the duffel on the bed.

“Are you leaving?”

“I have to.” Jirra turned away to shove the rolled trousers into the bag. “What did you want?”

“Where are you going?”

Jirra pulled out another shirt. “Away. I’ve got to go.”

“Why?”

Jirra folded the shirt long ways, then rolled it. “I just have to.”

“Somebody’s recognized you.”

The words cut through Jirra. With the half-rolled shirt in her hands she turned to Siena, who stood facing her, arms loose at her side.

“This is a frontier town. Just about everybody has a story. You’re too good a pilot to be knocking around here. Well?”

Her lips curving into a smile, Jirra nodded. She should have known Siena would see through the veneer. So many of the people here had a story. ‘No questions asked’ hung in the air.

“Yes. I told you my parents want me to bind with somebody I don’t like. I think they’ve sent someone after me. I’ve seen him before, on another world. I caught a glimpse of him at the terminal, talking to Bretna. So I’ll go before he gets closer.”

She finished rolling the shirt and pushed it into the duffel.

Siena leaned against the door, her arms folded.

“You’re going off world?”

“Yes.” Jirra tossed a pair of shoes into her pack and eyed the three dresses. Maybe she’d take one. As a memento, if nothing else.

“Good. You can pilot for me. That’s why I came up to see you.”

Jirra stared at the girl, the hanger holding the dress still in her hand.

“You’re a freelancer, aren’t you? I want to hire your services.”

There was a glint in Siena’s eye Jirra had never seen before. Not that she’d underestimated her friend. Siena had shown a few times she was made of sterner stuff than her slim build and cheerful smile indicated. Only a few days ago she’d broken up a fight between two farm hands and thrown them both out of the bar.

“What’s the story?” Jirra asked.

“I told you about Anton.”

Jirra nodded. She’d heard a lot about Siena’s boyfriend and seen his picture many times. He’d gone missing from his barracks and nobody seemed to know what had happened to him.

“I’ve had word from a friend of his. He’s been sent to a world called Kuralon. I want you to take me there. I have a ship up at the space station.”

Deliver a passenger to a planet? Jirra could easily do that. But then she might be drawing Siena into danger. It was bad enough worrying about herself.

“Isn’t there a commercial flight?”

Siena shook her head. “No commercial flights.”

“Why?”

“It’s a new settlement.”

Jirra eyed Siena, sensing shiftiness. Something else was happening here.

“A new settlement with no commercial flights?”

Siena ran her tongue over her lips. “All right. It’s a labor camp. They’re rebuilding a colony destroyed in the war. They send people there to die, work them to death.”

This was going to be politics. Jirra hated politics.

“Why has he been sent there?”

“His friend had to be careful. Everyone’s monitored. But putting a few things together, he’s been convicted of being in a plot to overthrow the government.”

Oh, no.

Stuck on some political crusade with Siena? Getting involved in somebody else’s love life? That was all she needed.

Rising to her feet, Jirra said, “I don’t think so. I don’t want to be involved in a rebellion.”

“You don’t have to get involved. All I want is anonymous travel to Kuralon,” Siena said, reaching out a hand. “Then you can do what you like.”

Kuralon.

Jirra had never heard of the place. But then, she’d never been in this sector before. Which was why she was here.

“Come on, Jirra. I’ll pay. You know I have the credits. Just give me ten minutes to pack.” Siena’s eyes gleamed with hope. “I’ll be good company. And nobody in their right mind would go to Kuralon.”

A paying contract with a woman she liked. What else was she going to do? Where else was she going to go?

“Ten minutes. I’ll wait here.”

Grinning fit to burst, Siena swung out of the room.

Jirra went through her duffel checking she had everything she needed. Funny. It felt good having somebody coming with her. Just like old times. Just like a load had eased.

Siena was back in under ten minutes, changed from her barroom wear into pants and a warm jacket, a suitcase in hand, her long hair tied back.

She didn’t come into the room.

Jirra hefted her duffel, stepped into the hall and locked the door behind her. She’d left enough in the room to give the impression she was coming back.

“Does your mother know you’re leaving?” Jirra asked.

“Yes. She’ll handle it if anyone comes asking for you.” Siena jerked her head to the left. “Down the backstairs will be best.” She strode away.

I owe you one already.

The ‘Traveler’s Arms’ was one of only two hotels in town. The bounty hunter was sure to turn up here soon.

Siena unlocked the door at the end of the landing, hesitated for long enough to look around, then stepped through.

“Fire escape,” she muttered. “Close the door behind you.”

Dim light struggled through three narrow windows. Dust lay thick on the bare treads and the banisters. Jirra followed Siena, careful to avoid making much noise. She supposed it was just the state of the stairwell, musty, a bit spooky, that made a person lean to caution.

On the ground floor the shadows crept closer, thicker.

Siena turned an old-fashioned key in the lock, which clicked softly. Having peered around the door, she stepped out into a paved yard, beckoning Jirra to follow.

The wind had dropped, but the sleet had changed to snow. Already the flat surfaces were being transformed with a dusting of luminous white. It would have been pretty if Jirra had had time to admire the view.

Siena sidled off to the garage and slipped into the driver’s seat of the hotel’s service vehicle, slinging her case into the back seat.

Jirra joined her as the garage door rose.

One thing about snow, people stayed at home, so there wouldn’t be too many people around.

The transport slid into the street, the snow wafting around the weather shield in sparkling swirls. The streetlamps had come on, although it was still only mid-afternoon. That was one thing about space, you didn’t have to worry about the weather.

“What about the transport?” Jirra asked as they drove.

Siena’s head jerked around. “Huh? Oh, I told Mom I’d leave it at the airport. You don’t think your friend will still be there?”

“It’s always a risk, I suppose. I’ll just have to be careful.”

Jirra glanced at her sanvad.

The next departure up to the space station was in fifteen minutes.

“We won’t have to wait for too long.”

Siena guided the vehicle around to the loading bays where the hotel staff would normally come to pick up spare parts and manufactured goods from Ambrese, the types of things they couldn’t grow or produce themselves.

Jirra picked up her duffel and stepped out onto the ice-slick pavement. White flakes brushed her eyelashes and settled on her shoulders, silent as a shroud.

With Siena beside her she hurried along a snow-covered, tree-lined path beside a perimeter fence around to the passenger terminal.

Under the protection of the building’s wide canopy the bare pavement formed an oasis from the encroaching snow.

A blast of warm air when the doors opened made Jirra’s skin tingle.

Phew.

And winter was only just beginning on this world.

She’d never liked the cold much.

Once again, she wondered why anybody would decorate the terminal in such cold colors.

“What do we need?” Siena asked. “Just tickets up to the station?”

When Jirra nodded, she strode over to the counter while Jirra waited beside a large pot holding a spreading tree.

The feeling of unease hadn’t gone away.

She wouldn’t feel safe until she was out of here.

The arrivals area where she’d come in not half an hour earlier, was empty. Not surprising.

The overhead boards announced all planetary flights were cancelled. The storms must be building out there. If they were very unlucky, they might ground the shuttle, too. In which case she’d be stuck. Her nerves roiled at the thought.

Half the benches near the shuttle boarding area were already filled, with a few stragglers making their way in that direction.

Most dusted snow off their shoulders but a few must have been wearing weather shields.

Jirra lifted her hand to scratch at her cheek, letting the bracelet scanner do its work.

No response.

So far, so good.

Siena came back, two passes in hand.

“The shuttle’s fully booked. People getting out before winter, I suppose. Let’s get some charb at the stall over there. You can sit with your back to the wall.”

She walked away, still talking over her shoulder.

“You’ll be okay. Anyone with any sense has gone to a hotel.”

Maybe.

But then again, Jirra had learned in her journeys with Morgan and Admiral Ravindra that not everyone had sense.

The thought brought Prasad to mind.

Sadness was such a burden, a blackness that weighed down the soul.

She’d almost managed to kid herself that they had a chance of making it together.

But that was plain silly.

She wriggled her shoulders, casting off the mood.

Parting from him was for the best.

Siena thrust a steaming mug into Jirra’s hand, then commandeered a table by the wall.

Jirra sipped the hot liquid, enjoying the smooth texture as it slid down her throat.

It felt good to have a friend, a traveling companion, even if it would only be for a little while.

The boarding announcement for the shuttle boomed out of the speakers.

Jirra slurped down the last of the coffee and rose to her feet, the duffel in her left hand, to join the multi-headed line gathering at the check gate.

She and Siena shuffled forward with the rest.

The line stopped.

People murmured, leaning their bodies to see what was happening.

Jirra’s heartbeat sped up.

What if the bounty hunter had caused a delay?

She sighed with relief when the line started moving again.

Holding the pass, she stepped through between the gate sensors.

She’d barely reached the other side when the bracelet tightened on her wrist.

Want more? You’ll find Kuralon Rescue here.

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