Siege of Praetar (Tales of a Dying Star Book 1) (7 page)

When their meal was complete and another bedtime story had been told, Mira took the medicine from the shelf. She held Ami close, whispering soothing words into her ear as she pressed the needle into her chest. Her daughter sat perfectly still through it all, brave for a girl her age.

“Am I fixed?”

Her voice was hopeful. Mira forced a smile. “You were never broken, sweet girl.”

Chapter 7

The foreman sat behind the glass of his office, staring idly at his computer screen as he did every morning. He held a drink in his hand, some red liquid that came from an exotic fruit Mira had never seen. She tried to imagine what it must taste like, and decided it was probably tart. She’d had a tart fruit once, when she was very young. She smacked her lips involuntarily. Her mind remembered the taste, even if her tongue did not.

He hadn’t moved all morning, but Mira knew that was normal. She’d observed him for two weeks and knew his routine by heart. It was a boring job, foreman of a factory: tap at the computer screen, watch the women through the window, occasionally reprimand one of them. Nothing of note ever happened, except for one thing, every third day, halfway through her shift. And today was the third day.

Mira had exhausted all other options. Leo didn’t need an assistant in his office, and had laughed when she offered to sell her malnourished blood. She’d gone door-to-door in her building after that, offering to clean or watch children or any other small task that needed doing, but nobody needed help. Most cursed her for even asking. Trust was uncommon on Praetar these days.

Painting her face and working at the Station was still an option, but she wasn’t that desperate. She would turn to thievery before that.

Ami’s medicine was nearly used up; she didn’t know how long the girl would stay healthy after it was gone. No, this was her best option. Mira worked steadily at her station, but glanced to the foreman’s office every few heartbeats. Her plans were made, and today may be the only opportunity.

The electroid parts clicked together. Mira tightened them with a drill, the tips of her fingers throbbing where she’d pricked herself with a sewing needle. When she looked back up the foreman was no longer idle: his lips moved as he gestured and spoke to his computer screen. Mira stiffened. Two parts rolled past her station unassembled, but she didn’t take her eyes from the office. Finally Jin stood, his conversation complete. He ran a hand over his bald head and began pacing behind the desk.

Soon, Mira thought. She forced herself to return to her work, this time glancing at the front door instead of the foreman’s office. More electroid parts passed her station carelessly assembled, but she paid them no mind. Soon her record as a factory employee wouldn’t matter.

It was not long before a shadow appeared through the cracks in the door. Blinding daylight filled the factory. The other women looked up from their stations, but Mira turned away from hers. She strode to where Angela sat, picking at her fingernails with a tiny bit of metal. “Take my station for a few minutes. I need to use the toilet.”

Angela rolled her eyes as she stood, but Mira was already moving away. She took long strides across the factory floor, moving as fast as she could without raising suspicion. She saw them then, the three men who had entered. Their uniforms were not white like most peacekeepers, but the greasy black shade officers wore. They walked along the wall at a brisk pace, unspeaking, as if eager to be done with their task.

Mira passed the hallway where the cleanliness room were located but continued on. That was not her destination.

She reached Jin’s office before they did. His secretary began a formal greeting, but gave a start when she saw it was Mira. The foreman came out of his office, and he too frowned when he saw Mira.

“Foreman,” Mira said, “I need to speak with you.”

“Now?” he asked. His face and neck were flushed.

“Yes. Please, it’s important. It’s about my daughter.”

The three officers appeared in the doorway. The man in the middle was surprised to see Mira, regarding her with annoyance. For a long moment she feared Jin would scold her in front of the other Melisao, but instead he said, “Wait in my office.” He led the three men back out to the factory floor.

Mira slipped inside the office and swung the door nearly shut behind her, enough to block the view inside. She waited for the foreman and his guests to walk past the window and out of sight, then pressed the button on the desk to tint the glass. It might arouse suspicion, but it was better for the other women to
suspect
than see her actual crime. Besides, she would be gone before any of them had a chance to complain to the foreman.

The officers always spent five minutes inspecting the factory. More than enough time.

She crossed the office and opened the drawer, the rows of discs clinking from the motion. She grabbed a handful and reached over her shoulder, sliding them down her back into the secret pocket sewn into the shirt between her shoulder blades. Mira counted the handfuls as her shirt grew heavy, not bothering to take an exact amount, until she was sure she had enough.

The drawer shut quietly, but as she turned to leave the secret pocket ripped from the weight. A trickle of credits slid down her back. Some caught in her pants but more fell to the floor with a clatter. She bent down and clutched at her back, stopping more from spilling.

She crouched there, frozen, waiting for the secretary to burst inside and reveal her crime. But there was only silence, and the door remained closed.

Careful not to spill more, Mira slipped one arm inside her shirt and lifted it over her head while clutching the pocket closed with the other. Now bare-chested, she examined the seam. The stitching had come loose at the corner of the pocket, revealing a hole just large enough to let the discs slip out. She tightened the thread with her finger to close the gap, but it wouldn’t stay closed by itself.

She pulled a needle and thread from her pants and began the repair. Her hand still trembled; it took several attempts just to make the first stitch. The second stitch took just as long. Panic made her chest ache, and it seemed like an eternity before the hole was closed. She pulled at the dirty cloth gently to test it. It wasn’t pretty, but she thought it would hold the weight.

The shirt went back over her head slowly. To her relief the credits stayed in place. How much time had passed? She couldn’t leave the credits on the floor, so she bent to pick them up. It would only take a moment and then she would be away.

The foreman walked by the window then, alone. He glanced at the tinted glass with surprise, then alarm. Mira had just enough time to grab the last few credits from the floor and jump against the wall before he burst inside.

His face was blank, and he stood in the doorway for a long moment. His eyes never left Mira’s as he walked around his desk and sat. She stared back, resisting the urge to glance in the direction of the drawer.

“I understand your reluctance to be seen in my office,” Jin said, his voice cold and formal, “but you will never touch my desk again. Even to darken the window.”

Mira’s hand trembled at her side. She held it with the other hand and stammered an apology, keeping very still to keep the credits in her hidden pocket from clinking together.
I was supposed to be gone by now
. What was she supposed to do?

“Well?” said the foreman, now impatient. “Why did you need to see me?”

“I…” Mira’s mind raced for an excuse. “I wanted to thank you. For the extra credits you gave me. My daughter is doing much better.”

“Good, I had wondered. Does she eat enough? I need to keep a balanced payroll, but I may have something extra…” he reached for the drawer.

“No!” she blurted, raising a hand toward him. The credits on her back shifted. “She’s fine now, better than fine. You’ve already done enough, more than I deserve.”

He removed his hand from the drawer. Mira barely stifled a sigh. Jin tilted his head and said, “What’s her name? Your daughter?”

Why was he asking her daughter’s name? Was something wrong? He didn’t look like he suspected anything, but Melisao were hard to gauge.

His stare was piercing, so she looked down--and spotted three more credits, on the ground at the edge of his desk. She must have missed them. Her eyes shot back up, but Jin’s gaze was unmoved. Had he seen the discs when he entered? Was he delaying her so peacekeepers could arrive? She didn’t know if he could alert them without her knowing.

“Ami. My other girl is Kaela.” Sweat trickled down her back, pooling at the spot where the pocket rested against her skin. The longer she stood there the more her nerve withered. Was he testing her? If she admitted to her crime he might be lenient. Maybe that was what was happening: the foreman was giving her a chance to confess. She felt like a fool, standing there with a pile of stolen credits on her back. Why did she ever think she could get away with it?

He nodded. “I know how it feels to work a difficult job, to provide for the ones you love.” He looked like he wanted to tell her more, but instead he only said, “Angela looks impatient at your station. You may go, if that is all.”

She took one cautious step toward the door; the credits on her back made no noise. No peacekeepers jumped out to arrest her. She shuffled out of the office, past the disapproving stare of the secretary, toward her freedom.

Chapter 8

Mira jingled like a broken machine as she ran down the street. She’d stepped on a sharp piece of debris in her carelessness, and left a trail of red smears behind her. Buildings framed either side of the street and faces watched down from doorways and broken windows. They didn’t know if she was in need or in trouble, so they remained in their places, unwilling to risk themselves by interfering.

She didn’t know if she even
needed
to run, but she didn’t want to take the chance. The workers at the factory had watched her leave the foreman’s office and walk straight out the door. They probably thought she lost her job, despite not being escorted from the building by peacekeepers. The foreman may not even realize that she, and the food credits, were gone until the next day. And she had plenty of time to gather her girls and get to the Station in time.

But she ran, because it felt safer than walking.

Her feet slowed when she neared her home, almost an hour later. She left the main street and slipped down an alley, stepping over sleeping people who had no shelter of their own. The alley twisted and turned until it finally opened back out on the main street. Mira stopped. With care she tilted her head around the corner until her building came into view. And so did they: the gang of boys sat on the curb outside, lazily tossing rocks at one-another. They’d loitered around her building for the past few days, forcing Mira to scale the rear wall to reach her room. But the pocket of credits was heavy on her back, and she didn’t think she could navigate the meager footholds to the fourth floor with bloodied feet.

Instead she turned back into the alley. She found another road surrounded by apartments, running parallel to the main street. It opened onto a side street that bordered her building. She followed the wall until she was at the corner by the entrance. She could hear them now, laughing and taunting the three prostitutes that sat on the steps by the door.