Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) (10 page)

“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.

It was said that there one would learn all the ways to counsel, comfort, and console others, master a few arts, and learn to present themselves like a queen; in short, everything one would need to be wanted by everyone, company and services in demand by governments and the highest of bidders. That was where the jokes came from, of course; the Kalaset usually considered it vulgar and the height of impropriety to suggest that they engaged in sexual activities, but it was often whispered hopefully around that they did, just not where the Kalaset could hear it.

After all, no one really knew if they did that kind of thing or not, anyway; not unless you’d actually had the rare luxury of hiring one. But whatever a Kala did with her clients outside of the public eye was always in the strictest confidence.
No one
ever talked about it, as it was a stipulation of Kalaset law that the privacy of such meetings be respected, and the only law that was allowed to supercede Altairan Alliance law was Kalaset law when dealing with “Kalaset matters.”

That was how the rumor mill went, anyways. So far, 286 had been unsuccessful in getting Sirrah to sleep with her, for whatever reason; go figure. Even a Kala could have poor taste, she supposed. But a couple of weeks living trapped in a space transport with a Kala was enough for her to sort out some of the truth from the fiction where the rumors were involved.

And so it was when the amorphous flow of the crowd parted and a mind-bogglingly well dressed man stepped out of it, moving lightly and directly into Sirrah’s way with a sense of determination, Prisoner 286 looked up and paid attention. He was holding tightly onto a small, ornate, treasure-chest-looking lockbox in both hands, keeping it protectively close as if he were worried about its safety. Sirrah gave him a querying look initially, her vibrant brown eyes searching his face for answers before she’d even offered her questions.

She took the tiniest, graceful half step back and 286 noticed her tense ever so slightly. 286 just smiled, leaning casually against a nearby stall and watching the encounter closely. The man, fashionably bald with a fancy Altairan coat draped stylishly over his fine clothes, bowed to her ever so slightly, with grave respect obvious in the motion. His ornate earrings swayed and bobbed at the motion, any created sound hidden by the noise of the crowd; when he spoke with his cool, cultured, intent tone, he obviously tried to make his voice likewise disappear.

“Kala Sirrah, I apologize for the intrusion.” He said it like he meant it, and 286 started to lose interest, opening her mouth to emit a loud, obnoxious yawn. The stranger paid her no mind, continuing to focus solely on Sirrah and speak with a quiet insistence. “I come on behalf of Don Mateo, and I’m afraid I have to ask an urgent favor of you.”

Sirrah seemed to relax at the name. “Don Mateo? Of course, what is it that you need?” She smiled agreeably at the man, seeming to attempt to reassure him with the gentle comfort of the expression. Behind her, 286 could hear the two adolescent hangers-on yammering incessantly away about what might be happening, probably assuming that it was yet
another
fancy client of Sirrah’s presenting her with a gift—there’d been four so far today—but 286 sensed something else from him, though he hid it well. Something like urgency or anxiety, perhaps.
No, not that… It’s fear
. Her eyes lit up as her interest ignited; she knew that scent very well.

Sirrah seemed to realize it too, to her credit. 286 guessed that maybe all that training was good for something after all. “Certainly, I’ll help in any way I can,” Sirrah said, stepping forward slightly and laying a soft touch on his forearm. “Shall we go somewhere private and speak?”

The man shook his head with quick conviction. “There’s no time, I’m afraid.” He glanced with a note of caution toward 286, but looked immediately back at Sirrah before 286 could give him a hearty “fuck off” look. “There’s been… Something has happened, and Don Mateo respectfully requests that this box be delivered into the hands of High Lumina Elune of the Kalaset here on Altair Prime as soon as possible.”

“Don Mateo, is he okay? Did something happen to him?” Sirrah seemed either honestly concerned or faking really well, 286 couldn’t tell. Sirrah opened her mouth to say more, with the man starting to shake his head as if to deny her, meanwhile extending the box as if pushing it towards Sirrah were some sort of explanation in and of itself.

Sirrah didn’t get to voice anything else, however, as a hooded person in nondescript, dark clothing shot out of the crowd, slamming into both of them and wrenching the box free. The bald man fell to the ground with a startled sound, catching himself heavily on one arm, the sound of his surprise shifting to pain. Sirrah cried out in surprise as well as they tore the box away from where she had only just laid a hand on it, but she seemed to step with the momentum of the bodily impact and keep her feet with startling fluidity.

Behind them, one of the girls, or maybe both, let out a loud, startled scream that cut into the air above the crowd. Many, many people started looking, some pointing, some calling out. The marketplace crowd rippled in startled waves as the thief pierced it like a dark arrow, navigating it with enough skill to make quick headway and rapidly disappear from the group’s sight.

Prisoner 286 just leaned there, picking her teeth absently with a fingernail, watching him go with a mild, passive admiration; it took practice to run through a crowd as dense as this one. Sirrah, after a single, stunned moment, spun to face her. “286!”

286 looked at her. “What?” She asked, spitting something out onto the solid concrete sidewalk at their feet.

“286… please… get it back!” She didn’t order, she pleaded.

286 grinned, a slow, jagged grin. “Sounds too much like work.”

Sirrah stared back up at her, finally, with a light sigh and expression of exasperation. “Please,” she implored, delicate shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

Prisoner 286 grinned her manic, spreading grin, looking down at petite, imploring Sirrah. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? You sure you want my help?” she asked, but it was a rhetorical question. She was already ripping her hands from her pockets, bending her knees, and starting to move.

The chase was on, and there was
no
stopping her now.

286 launched herself forward before Sirrah could respond, diving headlong into the crowd and through the thickening circle of curious onlookers and helpful Altairan citizens. She shoved, pushed, slammed and dove her way recklessly through the crowd at a breakneck pace, eyes towards the distortion in the tide of people that marked the last vestiges of the thief's passing.

She didn’t use her Kinetics at first; it was fun to just let loose and literally stretch her legs, along with the rest of her body. Her corded muscles were strong from several years under high gravity, where even mundane tasks could be laborious. Her endurance was high, as was her adrenaline, and she felt like she weighed next to nothing in the lighter gravity of Altair Prime. She slammed straight into someone who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, and she barked an abrupt laugh, seeing only a flash of pale blond as they went flying away from her reflexive shove, as suddenly gone as if she’d thrown them.

It cost her, though. She had lost sight of the thief's trail for only an instant, and it was abruptly consumed by the throng; she couldn’t see over the crowd well enough, even with her height advantage, to see for sure where he’d went. With that, 286 realized that no matter how hard she pumped her legs, she wasn’t going to catch him. So she evened the odds.

A split second’s concentration sheathed her in layers of potential energy, so thick it was visible even to the naked eye as a distinct warping in the air, similar to the horizon of a singularity. Further out from 286, the distortion produced a purplish “reverse-negative” halo around the edges of her silhouette as the passage of light was more heavily distorted, warping the colors it carried.

Prisoner 286 fired up that part of her mind responsible for generating her Kinetic powers with the ease of intimate familiarity, feeling the visceral thrumming of power running through her nervous system, and off she went. Her feet cracked the pavement with the first step as she took off, launching her with greatly magnified force. But running faster wouldn’t be enough; she looked up, fixed her eyes on a point in space, and
connected
herself to that distant location.

First, gotta get a better vantage point.

Transports, both airborne and ground based, zipped by just around the corners outside of the commercial district, so she targeted a low-flying one, and in an instant, snapped to it, sending it careening with the amount of force her body transferred into it. It crashed sideways into a low residential building, the pilot unable to compensate for the unexpected momentum and impact. But 286 was already gone, amplifying the force she put into her legs and leaping a good ten meters from the transport to the top of the structure as the vessel smashed to a halt against a building, still in midair. She thumped heavily onto one of the well-maintained rooftop gardens common to Altairan residences, her landing absently crushing a substantial row of ceramic pots full of leafy greenery and cracking the tiled surface of the rooftop.