Starbound: Eleven Tales of Interstellar Adventure Read online

  Aja released her mother and stepped back. It felt as though she had been struck.

  It was true. She hadn’t been speaking to her mother.

  How was she supposed to? Neither of them had attempted to speak to the other since…

  Well. It had been years.

  It hadn’t even occurred to Aja that she might be capable of sharing her memories of the war with her mother. They simply didn’t have that kind of relationship. They never had.

  And she didn’t trust Haliene enough to tell her about Chromearrow.

  “It burns me, the way you invited Emalkay,” Aja said.

  Haliene flinched. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough, Ma.”

  “At least you can leave now,” Haliene said. “There’s a place for you on Drakor III.”

  Aja smoldered with humiliation. “There’s nothing on Drakor III but a graveyard.” Her throat was tight, burning. “And how could you think I’d want to leave you, Ma?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Haliene said.

  Aja felt as though she’d been slapped. She stormed away, fists clenched at her sides.

  * * *

  Aja spent the night in the barn. It was comfortable curled up among the cattle, head rested on the flanks of the herd. Not as comfortable as snuggling up with a dragonet, but distinctly less dangerous.

  She only knew that they weren’t alone when the cows shifted under her, lowing with agitation. Aja stepped to the door of the barn.

  Chromearrow was outside. She had grown again. Her massive body was rimmed in the predawn light—the only way that Aja realized that she had gotten any sleep at all.

  The dragonet looked sad.

  “What?” Aja asked, frustrated. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Her hand inched toward a shovel—a makeshift weapon, in case Chromearrow attacked, in much the way she’d been trying to attack Emalkay.

  But the dragonet didn’t make a move. She just blinked at Aja slowly with those big eyes, wings drooping.

  Chromearrow shouldn’t have even been close to the farmhouse. It was getting close enough to dawn that Haliene might rouse.

  Where else would she have gone, though? There was literally nowhere left for the dragonet to be. Too dangerous to be on New Dakota, but her home emptied of nonhuman life.

  She was alone. The last dragon.

  “Get out of here,” Aja said, waving her away. Her voice was thick with tears. “Go away!”

  Chromearrow bowed her forelegs to the ground, gazing up at Aja.

  Even though the dragonet was much larger, she still looked no different than the creature that Aja had attempted to bottle feed so recently.

  Still a baby.

  The anger drained from Aja slowly.

  Had Chromearrow really been trying to kill Emalkay? It seemed unlikely. The dragonet was big now, big enough that she could have flattened an unsuspecting North Fargo whether or not Aja fought against her.

  There was no hatred in her eyes. Only contrition.

  And fear.

  “Emalkay came here to deliver news,” Aja said. “He told me…” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “There are no dragons left on Drakor III, Chromearrow. I’m sorry.”

  The dragonet sank to its belly against the grass. There was no sound except the lowing of cows, the wind whispering through the trees. Aja braced herself for the attack that never came. A crystalline tear slid down her scaly cheek.

  Chromearrow hadn’t spoken to Aja—not once—since their brief connection on Drakor III.

  But they communicated.

  They communicated perfectly.

  It didn’t always take words to tell a loved one was in pain, after all.

  Every fiber of Chromearrow’s being was radiating grief. She was a baby as far as dragon development was concerned, though perhaps more toddler-like when compared to a human. There was no guile in her. No evil. Only sadness at having lost her species.

  And no matter the prejudiced eyes that Aja turned to her, Chromearrow loved Aja.

  The dragonet bowed her head to Aja’s shoulder, and Aja wrapped her arms around Chromearrow’s neck.

  For once, Aja didn’t try to use words. Not verbally, not mentally.

  She simply embraced Chromearrow.

  The dragon was grumbling deep within her chest, not unlike the purr of a massive cat. It also wasn’t unlike the sound that Aja had heard many times before an enemy combatant spewed Fog upon the Alliance, burning her allies to the bone.

  The thought didn’t fill her with fear this time. There was no room for anything but love within her.

  “I’m sorry,” Aja whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  She stroked her hand down the bridge of Chromearrow’s nose, stroking between the dragon’s eyes to the ridge of her beak, and then gently scratching her under the chin.

  Chromearrow’s eyes fell closed.

  Someday they might be able to speak. Chromearrow would likely grow into the skill later, if she ever did. She was but a baby, after all, no matter how big a baby she might have been.

  Until then, Aja would wait. She would wait for Chromearrow to learn to talk in her own time.

  And until then, the love would flow between them.

  * * *

  Haliene was doing the dishes when Aja returned home later that day. She stood in the doorway for a long time to watch her mother cleaning, and with a clear mind, she observed many small details that she hadn’t noticed before.

  The way that her mother trembled when she scrubbed the dishes.

  The hunch of her back, as though she carried more weight than a single woman could be expected to bear.

  The pain in her eyes, which she quickly concealed when she realized that Aja was in the room.

  “Hello, sweetling,” Haliene said with none of the heartache that Aja had surely seen moments before.

  She must have thought that Aja hated her.

  And still, she was there.

  Much like Chromearrow, Haliene was communicating with Aja in the only way she knew how. In a way that transcended words, because words were inadequate for expressing the enormity of the emotions she felt.

  There might eventually come a time that Haliene would be able to speak about her thoughts. Her life alone on the farm. How she felt about losing Pa. What it meant having Aja return as an unfamiliar soul, and fearing that she’d lose her daughter again.

  Now was not time for them to speak, not yet. Haliene simply did not have the words for any of it. But she was telling Aja everything that she needed to know through action, motion, gesture.

  Feeding Aja the way that Haliene used to feed Pa.

  Bringing in someone Haliene had believed to be a friend so that Emalkay could support her.

  Waiting out Aja’s moods, and never once turning away.

  These were gestures of love as much as the way that Chromearrow purred. Haliene had been telling her daughter stories of love this entire time, and Aja had simply refused to see them because she’d been so absorbed in her personal issues. The dragonet was far from the only thing on the Skytoucher farm that needed saving.

  Aja approached, wrapping her arms around Haliene’s shoulders from behind. She hugged Haliene tightly, but silently.

  Haliene continued washing dishes for a moment, as though she hadn’t been touched at all.

  Then she let the dish she’d been holding drop into the sink.

  Her soapy hands clutched Aja’s wrist. A tremor rolled through her—a buzz of wordless emotion.

  And Aja held her, showing her mother love in the only way that they could still speak.

  It wasn't ideal. Not really.

  But it was enough.

  It had to be.

  * * *

  Days later.

  “Okay,” Aja said. “Open your eyes.”

  Haliene’s hands slid from her face. She looked up.

  And then she gasped.

  “Blessed be Thal! Is that—?”

  Aja c
ouldn’t help but smile. “A souvenir of my time with the Alliance. Don’t be afraid.”

  Chromearrow circled through the sky overhead, her massive wings catching the wind. She was weightless and graceful. This was the first time that Aja had allowed her to fly over the farmhouse during daylight since she’d chased Emalkay, and Chromearrow was enjoying the opportunity to explore, swooping and diving along the breezes to get the best view of the roof, the trees, the barn.

  It wasn’t fear in Haliene’s eyes. It was wonder.

  “You brought one home,” she said.

  “That’s why I haven’t been speaking to you, why I’ve been acting so weird. And also why I was so angry about Emalkay, Ma,” Aja said. “I understand why you brought him here. And I appreciate it. But…I was trying to protect something bigger than both of us.” She gave a tiny chuckle. “Literally.”

  Tears glistened in Haliene’s eyes. “Is it safe?”

  “Perfectly.” Aja waved to Chromearrow, and the dragon landed nearby with infantile clumsiness, gamboling over with eagerness in her gemlike eyes. She slammed her head against Aja’s ribs, wriggling until her neck was underneath Aja’s arm. Aja laughed and petted Chromearrow.

  “Were they lying about the war, then?” Haliene asked. “About the dragons attempting to destroy us?”

  “No, but…I mean, to be fair, we were trying to destroy the dragons too. And we’ve done a better job of it than they did toward us. Chromearrow isn’t dangerous.”

  “Chromearrow. Beautiful name. Can I…?”

  “Go ahead,” Aja said.

  Haliene’s frail, aged hand stretched out. Chromearrow closed the distance. She nudged her beak into Haliene’s palm.

  “Oh my,” Haliene said, stroking Chromearrow gently. “It’s glorious.”

  “She’s glorious,” Aja corrected.

  Chromearrow radiated with obvious pleasure at the praise.

  “Where did you find her?” Haliene asked.

  “The raid on Drakor III. That nest that Emalkay and I destroyed… Well. I didn’t do any destroying myself. I stood by as he did it, and I intervened to rescue this one. I couldn’t let her die. I’d hoped that I’d learn to talk with her so we could save the survivors of the war too, but…” Aja’s throat grew thick. She swallowed hard.

  “Oh, baby.” Haliene pulled Aja against her. The three of them embraced, inhaling the warm, syrupy scent of the purring dragon.

  “I hope you’re not mad. I should have warned you.”

  “I’m only glad you trusted me enough to tell me at all,” Haliene said. “Of course I’m not mad. How could I be anything but proud of you?”

  “Because I brought the last survivor of an enemy species to your farm without asking?”

  “It’s our farm,” Haliene said. “Baby girl, your Pa would be so, so proud that you chose to save this dragon. I know he would.”

  Aja hadn’t known she needed to hear that until the words came out.

  Warm tears slid down her cheeks.

  “Thanks, Ma,” she whispered.

  Chromearrow’s tongue darted out, lapping up the salt of her tears.

  Thank you both, the dragon said into her mind.

  Haliene jerked back, surprised. She had heard it, too.

  “You talked to us!” Aja said, delighted. She cupped the dragon’s face in both her hands. “I knew you could talk!”

  Chromearrow’s face was distinctly bashful. A little.

  Haliene laughed with delight.

  Ride? Chromearrow asked.

  A smile bloomed across Aja’s lips. “Both of us?”

  Chromearrow responded by dropping onto her haunches, dipping her wings down, and extending a leg.

  Aja climbed up, then offered a hand to her mother. “Do you want to fly, Ma?”

  Haliene’s expression was drenched in eagerness, but she hung back. “Fly? As in…in the sky?”

  “In space,” Aja said.

  Haliene began to quiver. “You know…I always wanted to join the Alliance military. I wanted to so badly. But you were too little for me to leave, at first, and then once we lost Pa…I gave up on a lot of things. Everything outside the farm.” It was the most she’d ever said about losing her husband, and what his loss had meant to her. “I thought my chance to see anything beyond atmo ended years ago.”

  Now Chromearrow was giving Aja the opportunity to share the joy of space with Haliene.

  “Come on,” Aja said.

  Her invitation was echoed by the dragonet. Now, now, now!

  Haliene laughed as she climbed up.

  They settled together in front of Chromearrow’s wings, holding securely to the ridges running down her neck.

  Chromearrow took off with a powerful thrust of muscle. They were in the air, and in seconds, climbed higher than the Tractors could fly. Then higher than the Chariots. And then they were battered by wind as wisps of clouds drifted by, and New Dakota curved underneath them, tiny and indistinct.

  Haliene’s laugh of joy was whipped away, lost in the energy that shrouded them, allowing them to breathe even as they rode on the back of a dragonet.

  And Aja could only think that there were no words good enough for that kind of happiness.

  * * *

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  Exile

  Nathan Lowell

  Exile

  Natalya Regyri watched the teacup topple from her hand and shatter on the floor next to Purvis’s body. Shards of white and red skittered across the smooth wooden planks as the tea splashed and stained them. It felt like slow motion. Something captured by a high-speed camera for her later perusal in forensic dissection. Droplets of tea fell into the spreading pool of blood. The man’s eyes stared, flat and unresponsive as the pool spread across the floor beneath his head.

  She heard a footstep behind her.

  “Natalya, what happ—” Zoya’s voice cut off with a quick, harsh, indrawn breath.

  “He fell,” Natalya said, her voice faint, barely a whisper. “I touched him and he fell.”

  Margaret Newmar appeared at Natalya’s elbow as if risen from between the planks of her studio. “What have you done?” Margaret’s voice echoed in Natalya’s ears.

  “I broke your cup.” She couldn’t think of what else to say.

  Margaret snorted a laugh. She grasped Natalya’s upper arm and pulled her back from the spreading fluids on the floor. “Not the cup, dear girl.” Shouldering her way in front of Natalya, she reached down and placed two of her ancient fingers against the side of Purvis’s neck. She waited only a moment before pulling her hand back. Not really long enough to tell, was it? She glanced up at Zoya. “Get her out of here. Wait outside.” Her voice came sharp. Used to commands. Used to being obeyed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Zoya said and took Natalya’s wrist. “Come on, Nats.” She tugged and Natalya felt herself being led, a balloon on a string bouncing across the floor.

  “I broke her cup.”

  Zoya extended her arm to take her friend’s shoulders and pushed her along.

  Outside the tai chi studio, night cloaked the campus with scattered stars and the briny scent of tidal flats. The revelry of graduation had faded, the graduates themselves off to begin their new adventures. Natalya and Zoya should have been among them, but when Margaret Newmar—founding family Margaret Newmar, Sifu Margaret Newmar—singled you out to have one last cup of tea in celebration, you went. Natalya went. Zoya went.

  They’d found the honor had extended to a wider family of Newmar associates and students. Senior captains, sharp-faced women with hard eyes. Solid men with flat bellies and cold faces. A few students. Students like Andrew Purvis. Purvis the Pervert.

  The man now sprawled on the smooth, wooden planks of the tai chi studio, a pool of blood spreading under his head, his eyes staring. The shattered remains of Margaret Newmar’s antique bone china teacup strewn beside him. The man who’d bee
n alone with Natalya in the tiny galley at the rear of the studio.

  “What happened, Nats?” Zoya’s face floated in the darkness, a pale moon suspended above her dress blacks. Her eyes dark as the night.

  “I touched him. I didn’t even push him. I wanted to get to the sink. He stood in the way.” Natalya’s voice felt like it came from someone else. She couldn’t speak on her own. Someone else must have been talking.

  “You touched him,” Zoya repeated.

  “A hand on his chest to keep him from grabbing me.”

  Zoya shook her head. “How did he fall?”

  “I touched him. He just fell down.”

  The door opened. Margaret Newmar stood silhouetted in the light for a moment before stepping out to join them, latching the door behind her with a click. Her silk dress glowed yellow in the starlight, her back stiff, her face a pale mask. “Is your ship ready to go?”

  Natalya shook her head once to try to sort sense into the words. “My ship?”

  “The Peregrine? Is it ready to go?”

  The non-sequitur made Natalya’s head spin. “Yes, but what about—”

  “His name isn’t Purvis. He’s not a student.”

  “Of course he’s a student. He was in my Orbital Mechanics class.” Natalya glanced at Zoya for confirmation.

  Ms. Newmar shook her head. “That was his cover. His name was Michael Gavin.”

  “His cover?”

  “He was undercover. Trade Investigation Commission.”

  Zoya’s eyes went wide. “He’s TIC?”

  “Was TIC,” Newmar said with emphasis on the first word. She looked at Natalya. “And you killed him.”

  “But I just touched him. He fell down.” Natalya shook her head. “I couldn’t have killed him. I couldn’t.”

  Margaret’s expression shifted to something unreadable. Her lips pressed into a line and the shadows around her eyes deepened. “I don’t think you did, but I have no idea what happened in that room.” She shook her head slowly from side-to-side. “Unfortunately one of those senior captains in there was his boss. As far as he’s concerned, he couldn’t have killed himself and you were the only one with him.” Her sigh was barely audible over the night wind’s whispering in the leaves above them.