Siege of Praetar (Tales of a Dying Star Book 1) (4 page)

Hyken reached the cockpit door, Alard still unmoved from his chair. The door made a soft sound as it opened, but Alard still didn’t take his gaze from the planet. The back of his head was visible, but the chair blocked his view of the rest of him. He couldn’t see his hands.

He reached inside his pocket. The gun felt cool to the touch. He could do it right then, without Alard ever turning around. It wouldn’t be a violation of his orders, now that the boy posed a real threat. The ship logs would confirm he took the gun. Alard’s knowledge was valuable, but not worth dying over. Hyken’s grip tightened on his weapon.

Just then Alard stood. With both hands in his pockets he regarded Hyken with red, puffy eyes. He leaned against the wall. His hands were still hidden.

Hyken tensed in the doorway. The opportunity was gone, but he didn’t loosen the grip on his gun. He thought he could shoot first, but it was still risky.
I just need to buy a little time for the peacekeepers to arrive
.

His mind worked quickly as he stepped into the cockpit. “Yesterday you said you only wanted to do one tour. What would you do when you’re done? As a civilian?”

It was such an unexpected question that Alard looked surprised. He considered for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to do construction,” he said, his eyes brightening. “Any sort of building: homes or offices, or places where people can go to eat. They’ll need builders, wherever the Fleet settles. That’s sort of like creating life, I suppose, but with bricks instead of genetics.”

“That’s not the same as having children,” Hyken said, trying to extend the conversation. “Not the same by far. A house can never laugh with you, an office never play in the rain and grow before your eyes.”

“Maybe not, but it’s what I would enjoy doing.”

Silence returned to the cockpit, and the two men regarded one-another warily. Hyken knew he looked awkward standing there, but he didn’t want to sit. He tried to think of something else to say, anything to fill the time, but Alard spoke first.

“Tell me about your children.”

It caught Hyken off guard, but he was glad for it. He could talk about his boys for hours. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. What was your last memory of them?”

Alard didn’t want to shoot him, Hyken realized. He was looking for an excuse not to. Whatever the boy’s treasonous motivations, he wasn’t resolved.

He thought of a story, not of the last time he saw his children, but one that was better suited just then. “I took them to one of the local parks on Melis, after returning from my last tour. It was a fine day, warmer than most, and we didn’t need to bundle up. We were scouting through the woods and heard a noise. Jon races ahead to see what it was. There was a hound, a stray by the look of its fur, hiding against a tree. The coyotes had gotten to it, and its legs were all mangled and torn. It made a terrible noise. My boys cried at the sight. I had to send them away so I could put it down. We went home after that, the boys were so disturbed. It ruined the day.”

Alard listened intently, his hands still in his pockets.

Hyken thought he had him. “There’s too much death in these worlds, Alard. Life is too precious to waste needlessly.”

Alard’s eyes widened, suddenly fervent. “Exactly! Death should be avoided wherever possible. If there’s a way to save lives, it should be done no matter what the cost.”

Shit
, Hyken thought. His words had the opposite effect. The boy was frowning out the window at Praetar, and his hands seemed to move within the pocket. Hyken considered talking to him more, but instead he sighed.

“Why did you take the gun, Alard?”

He looked back, determined now. “Why did
you
?”

Neither man moved for a long moment. Hyken’s hand tightened on the gun in his pocket. Even if the boy drew first he wouldn’t shoot, he thought. There was no other choice then. Hyken started to draw his gun.

The familiar alarm screamed, flashing the cockpit red.

Alard’s head jerked to the screen. There was Hyken’s chance to shoot, to end the threat. But years of muscle memory and habit took over. He jumped to the computer, bending to the controls to pull up the information. It was another Praetari freighter, even more underweight than the others.

“Stop!” Alard said. He pointed the gun with two shaky hands.

Hyken turned to face him, holding out his hands. “Put the gun away. We have a job to do.”

“They’re just civilians.”

“They’re a threat.”

“No they’re not!” Alard’s face was paler than his uniform. “Every ship I’ve scanned has been full of civilians. No weapons at all.”

“You don’t understand,” Hyken yelled above the alarm. “It’s not our job to pick and choose. It’s our job to follow our orders.”

“An electroid could pilot a Sentinel if that’s all they wanted. They send two of us so choices like this can be made.” He was pleading then.

“You may have had a point before you disobeyed orders, hid it from your commanding officer, and then pointed a weapon at him.” Hyken turned back to the computer and typed. The Praetari freighter zoomed larger on the screen. A red snake was painted on its hull. It tilted toward them.

“I’ll shoot you.” The voice was soft, barely audible through the pulsing alarm.

“You’ve never pointed a gun at anyone,” Hyken said, not moving from the computer. He tapped at the screen and the Sentinel’s weapons locked onto the freighter. “Even if you could shoot me, what’s your plan? Kill me and fly off, until the empire hunts you and the other
Children
down?”

Confusion spread on Alard’s face. “What?” The weapon shook in his hands.

He would have shot me already, if he could
. “Just put the gun down and let me do my job. There’s nothing to be gained by doing this.”

“I can save them.” Alard’s voice quavered. His eyes were wide and hopeful.

“You would threaten one of your own to save a ship full of foreigners?”

Alard shook his head. “I’m nothing like you. You’re a murderer.”

Hyken snarled and smashed a key with his palm, and the missiles zoomed away.

Alard turned to the screen, horrified. One hand shot out to the controls. Hyken lunged, knocking him sideways into the wall, but it was too late. Orange and yellow flames illuminated the cockpit as the missiles detonated, well short of their target. Hyken screamed his fury at the boy’s intervention, and again charged into him.

They fell to the floor together, a jumble of thrashing arms. Hyken landed on top and punched at his head, knocking it back into the floor. Through the alarm’s siren he heard the gun clatter across the room. Alard clawed around with his hand, searching for it, but Hyken continued to pummel him, knocking him into the floor again and again. Slowly the boy’s protests grew weaker.

Hyken heaved one final blow and fell backward against the base of his chair. His co-pilot was motionless, his face a mess of bloody bits. He watched him for several moments before deciding he was unconscious. He could still salvage his mission.

His hands throbbed. It felt like his knuckles were broken. He must have taken some blows himself, because the side of his face felt like it was on fire. With a groan he pulled himself to his feet.

The Praetari ship continued on, still far from the Sentinel.
Should have enough time
, he thought, beginning the missile reloading sequence.

There was a noise behind him; he turned to see Alard standing. His eyes were islands of white in a sea of red. He whimpered as he raised his weapon. Hyken fumbled, pulling his own gun from his pocket.

A single blast echoed through the cockpit, and only the sound of the Sentinel’s alarm remained.

Part II: The Mother

Chapter 4

The sharp corner of the electroid part cut Mira’s finger, and blood dripped along the conveyor belt at her station.
Stars no
, she thought, frantically wiping the finger on her soiled shirt. With her other sleeve she rubbed at the bloodied robot part, shiny and with exposed wires at both ends, but her effort only smeared red across the chrome. She tried again on two more stained parts but they fared no better. With horror she watched them roll away from her station.

She returned to her work, fastening protective plating to the electronics and tightening them with bolts. A certain amount of defective parts were expected to get through, and would be summarily discarded, but they would be tallied against Mira’s record. She was already in poor standing with the factory foreman. Their factory produced electroids, the robot workers that could be used to replace any manner of human activity. Electroid laborers made no mistakes, but the robots built in the factory were needed in a different part of the solar system, so the assembly line work fell to humans. Besides, why make electroids build more electroids when there were so many workers on Praetar, desperate to earn their food?

The parts came from three large openings along one wall, snaking through the room along the conveyor belt before exiting at the other end. Mira connected two more metal pieces together while cradling her cut finger, and in the few seconds she had between parts she clutched her hand to her shirt, silently willing the blood to clot. Even then her hand still trembled. Whether it was from fear or exhaustion or malnutrition she didn’t know, but the tremble had lasted three days and showed no sign of stopping. She dared not tell the foreman, not when she was so close to saving enough food credits to leave. She glanced at the foreman’s office, a room at the center of one wall with a huge window to observe the factory floor. The windows were tinted just then, the foreman busy at some task.

Farther down the conveyor belt Elena cursed, tossing down an electroid part in disgust. She looked up the line at Mira and made a rude gesture with her hand. Mira bent back to her work to ignore her. The fear bubbled up then, rising from her aching chest and simmering at the back of her throat. Even if the tally of mistakes did not cost Mira her job, Elena would surely complain. She had the foreman’s ear in a way the others did not; several women had been removed at her behest. Mira pushed the fear away and continued assembling the electroid parts that rolled in front of her, because there was nothing else for her to do.

The entrance to the factory was on the wall opposite the foreman’s office. Mira whipped her head toward it as the doors opened, exposing the dim room to daylight. Two peacekeepers entered side-by-side, each with an electronic gun spiraling down their right arm. A red light blinked on each weapon, signaling their intent.

Mira’s eyes whipped back to her station, as if avoiding eye-contact could somehow save her.
No, please no
, she thought, saying a silent prayer to the stars. She’d worked so hard, was so close.
They can’t take me, not now. I’ve worked so hard. Kaela and Ami need me
.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as they walked along the wall. A whimper escaped her cracked lips. Their footsteps on the factory floor grew louder as they approached. Nausea and dread grew until she thought she might vomit or collapse.

They arrived at her station and continued past, never looking in her direction.

Mira sighed as they reached another station, their boots clicking to a stop in front of a scrawny woman with rough hair. The woman screamed then, and took a step backward as if to run, but the peacekeepers raised their weapons and she collapsed to the floor in terror. She curled up into a ball and began howling, her chest shaking in violent sobs. The men were forced to drag her across the floor, each one holding an arm. She kicked like a child, but had neither the strength or courage to pose any true threat. When the door to the factory closed only darkness remained, and the soft hum of the belt.

Elena watched it all with satisfaction. She shot a smug look at Mira before returning to her work.

Mira felt guilty at being relieved, but it only lasted a moment. She didn’t know the woman that was taken, but wouldn’t trade places with her for anything on Praetar.

It was the last day of the week, according to the Melisao calendar, so when their shift ended the hundred women lined up at the foreman’s office. None of them talked; there were no friends there, and they were too exhausted, besides.