Fiona Grey Writes

Writer of Fantasy. Wielder of Red Pens.

Page 25 of 29

Sanctuary

This continues the story of Lady Death. Find Part 1 here, although I have plans for significant rewrites. There’s also a ridiculously long Part 2 here that introduces two new characters, but you can get the gist on who they are below without reading the second part. Which…probably says more than I’d prefer about part two.

“When I called you Lady Death, I did not anticipate I would be your first victim.” The words were a harsh growl from under a coarse, woven hood. The mottled fabric blended well against the local stone. Charlotte started. She hadn’t seen the figure waiting for her in the tunnel.

The spaceport bazaar had an eclectic mix of native and foreign items, including its construction. Charlotte had found it bewildering at first, but had come to enjoy finding pieces of home over the past week as familiar points of reference in a sea of change. Kallina had sent her out to get the marketing each day, shooing her down the ramp and into the unknown with a few coins and a small bag.

“Best form of acculturation is to plunge right in,” the older woman had said with a smile. Charlotte had taken the warren’s maze of impromptu tents and fluctuating performers as a challenge. Now, she wondered whether he had done the same.

This tunnel was seldom traversed, a spot of breathing room for a young woman unused to the press of crowds, and cool in the summer heat. It was the perfect spot for someone to catch her alone, and Butler had already tried once to drag her away from the spaceport’s sanctuary and back to her family.

Her jaw tightened at the lesson to be more aware of her surroundings. Perhaps she would survive to implement it in the future. His presence could not bode well for her future.

Charlotte backed away from Butler until her shoulders met an unyielding barrier. “You left a week ago. The spaceport guards are looking for you.”

“Are they?” Butler smiled, and took a step forward. His teeth shone whitely against olive skin, barred in a predatory smile.

She swallowed and flattened a hand against the bumpy wall, her heart racing. Shaky, newfound confidence steadily flowed away, seeping into the cold stone behind her.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself to these guards, so they might have an idea of where to start looking.” His voice drawled with slow contempt. Butler took another step forward, his black leather boot kicking up a puff of pale dust.

She shrank her shoulders toward her chest but kept her back stiff against the bazaar wall. Rough stone snagged on her unfamiliar garb and scraped her back where the short top ended too soon. Charlotte was acutely aware of how much skin she had on display, and much a slattern she must appear to Butler. She held her chin high. “I won’t go with you.”

His face lost its cocky smile. He ran a hand over his face, and even in the tunnel’s dim light, she could see it was covered in bruises, cuts, and flecks of dried blood. Peering closer under the hood, Charlotte could see inky shadows under his eyes.

She wrinkled her forehead. “What in cowpoxia happened to you?” The question blurted out before she could stop herself.

His arm snapped out, carved leather gauntlets stiff against her bare forearm. His grip was iron on her wrist.

“You owe me, Lady Charlotte.”

Swallowing hard, she jutted her chin up farther and met his malted whiskey eyes. “I go by Charlie now.”

He snorted and released her arm with a push. “Whatever you want to call yourself, redheaded witch. You still owe me.”

She rubbed her wrist, frowning at the red marks he’d left behind. The busker’s steady plinking from the end of the tunnel was no longer enough to make the day feel light and carefree. Charlotte turned to head for the spaceport crowd, seeking safety. She caught her footing as she tried to stop without smashing into the looming Butler now blocking her path.

“I owe you nothing.” Her words were cold and haughty. It was the best imitation of her mother that she could muster, the one she and her sisters used to emulate in hushed whispers, before breaking into giggles with ever more dramatic imitations.

Butler snorted again. “Do you not recall the man I saved you from in the library?”

“You did your job,” Charlotte snapped. She resisted the urge to stomp her foot for emphasis, false calm already gone.

He barred his teeth at her and pulled back the hood with a snarl. Her eyes widened at the sight of a jagged rope burn around his neck, vivid crimson.

Charlotte covered her open mouth with both hands, the market bag Kallina had given her rough against her lips. Her eyes tracked a trail of dried blood from a cut above his ear that had trickled down to run under his linen shirt collar. “They tried to kill you.”

Butler clenched a hand on his sword hilt. “Your powers of observation are exceptional.”

An animated couple passed between them, the woman of the pair covered in a filmy material Charlotte had never seen before. It rustled as she passed, the swish almost hidden by their boisterous conversation. Charlotte used the moment to back away from Butler, her head swimming with confusion.

He slumped against the wall, his free hand rubbing his jaw where a purpled bruise hid under dark stubble. “The Families say I deserve it. They already convened and passed judgment. Everyone was already there for the trial, except me.”

“But you did your job. You protected me.” Charlotte shook her head several times, still unable to comprehend how Butler had earned punishment.

“And you’re the witness I couldn’t retrieve,” Butler said. “The biased witness.”

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin again at his words. She could feel her face flush with embarrassment. “I was not dishonored.”

“It does not matter. I headed back afoot to admit my failure. Your own father pronounced my sentence from horseback and rode off while I yet fought for my life.”

“A road ambush? As if you were some landless bandit?” She winced as her voice ended on a high squeak.

Butler shrugged, the fabric of his cloak rippling as he moved. “I was better off fighting my way out of an ambush than in the great hall with the whole court surrounding me. Besides, I’d won my position easily.”

She started to reach out, and clenched her fist around her empty marketing bag before her hand could do more than twitch. Her fingers spasmed as she crushed the cloth. This man had saved her, yes, but had also tried to kidnap her. He did not deserve her sympathy for how her family had treated him.

“I said you’d be the death of some poor man, and you nearly were.”

Charlotte felt trapped. Butler had been outcast because she’d wandered alone into a place she shouldn’t, and had run away rather than returning. By the rules of the society she knew, his desperate situation was indeed entirely her fault.

She firmed her jaw again, tension shooting down her neck. “I am no longer the Lady Charlotte Merikh. I cannot help your situation even if I come back with you. And I will not return, to be shunned, shackled, or murdered as an example of what not to do.”

“Good girl, Charlie,” a voice said from behind her. “Well said. So, Butler. What, exactly, do you want with my ward?” Kallina held her white and black blaster in a steady hand as she moved, and beckoned Charlotte to move back up the tunnel toward her with the other. Kallina stopped several yards away from Butler.

“Corporal Bleuvins is on her way,” she told Charlotte without looking at her. “The couple that passed you let me know you might be in trouble.”

Relief ran through Charlotte’s chest in a wave. She hurried toward Kallina, careful to keep to the side of the tunnel.

“He’s desperate,” she told her guardian.

The Wyvern’s pilot pressed her lips together in a thin, crimson line. “Desperate men are unpredictable. Remember that, Charlie.”

“It’s my fault,” she said in a whisper as she crept to a stop beside the woman. She got the sense that Kallina would have rolled her eyes at the words, had she been less disciplined.

“That’s this planet talking, Lady Charlotte, not the Charlie I’m starting to see peeking out. Charlie has a personality.”

Charlotte bit her lip and breathed in, unsure how to respond but feeling as if she’d not breathed deeply in days. The scent of orange blossoms from Kallina’s perfume imbued a false sense of calm, she knew.

Butler still stood, quiet and open-palmed, at the end of the tunnel. “I didn’t have to let her go. I could have taken her as I saw you approach.”

The pilot flushed and raised her voice. “I asked you what you want, Butler.”

“I want the sanctuary of legend,” the man said. Leather creaked as he took a step forward.

Kallina stood frozen, her blaster still aimed at him. Long seconds passed, the clangs and shouts of the bazaar a jovial background that contrasted with the tension Charlotte could feel in her stomach.

“Sanctuary is sacred here, Butler,” Kallina said in a shaky voice. Her grip tightened on the blaster until her knuckles were white. “It comes with obligations on both sides. Do you understand?”

“No,” he said. “No one’s told me what it entails. I found nothing in forbidden books, other than it exists. Will swearing no harm to you and your ward until I learn the obligations suffice?”

She lowered the blaster and pressed a button. A faint buzzing Charlotte hadn’t consciously heard ceased, and with the stillness came tension escaping both her gut and the tunnel.

Kallina holstered her weapon in the sheath attached to her thigh. “I accept your claim to sanctuary.”

Butler nodded a single time at her, his dark hair askew, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thank you, Lady Pilot.”

She blew out a breath and gave him a look Charlotte was coming to know well. Every time Kallina warned her from her own personally hard-earned lessons, in fact. “Yeah, well. Come with me, kid. You look like you haven’t fed in days.”

Charlotte followed both of them, uncertain whether she was pleased or disappointed. The already warm late morning sun made her shiver as she passed out of the tunnel. A grizzled, toothless vendor laughed at her reaction, and she scrambled to bump her way through the crowd.

Corporal Bleuvins had joined the group by the time Charlotte caught up. “I hear he’s on our side now,” the petite woman said. She adjusted her hat, held up by blonde braids. “I wonder if he’ll be able to adapt.”

Charlotte coughed and bit her tongue rather than responding. The scent of grilled meat marinated in yogurt and herbs caught her attention, and her mouth watered. The red-faced woman running the grill pit turned skewers with an expert hand, while her daughters took orders from the noontime rush. Their father lurked in the background, slapping dough against a hot oven wall and regularly grunting his displeasure when the girls flirted too long with customers.

They joined the line and sat with their food several minutes later. Butler devoured his before the rest were half finished, and Kallina shoved a large square of flaky, nut-filled pastry at him. Honey oozed out onto the square of paper it rested upon.

Charlotte nearly choked on her meat skewer at his moan of pleasure. He licked his fingers clear of the stickiness and let out a sign. “I’ve not tasted anything like that since I was a child.”

Her cheeks bulged with food, but he caught the wordless noise she made in her throat.

Butler grinned at her disbelief. “It was considered weak for the household guards to indulge.”

“You’re young for your position,” Kallina said. She frowned at him and ripped off a piece of bread. Dipping it in yogurt sauce, she continued to stare at him. “You were a full Butler? Defeated your predecessor in combat?”

“Aye,” Butler said. “And my probable successor is dead upon the road where he attacked me, hidden behind the bush like a bandit himself.”

“Huh,” she said, and shoved the bread into her mouth. A few moments later, Kallina propped her head on one hand, her elbow on the rickety wooden table provided for shop patrons. “What were you called as a child?”

His face went still. “My name is Butler now.”

Corporal Bleuvins leaned forward. “It can still be your name. Most people have two names. Mine’s Elise.”

Butler’s mouth twisted as he studied the women. Charlotte thought he looked uncomfortable under their direct gazes. Glancing down at his hands, he muttered a single word. “Max.”

“Well, then, Max Butler, I welcome you to the spaceport and accept your claim of sanctuary.” Corporal Bleuvins extended a hand over the table. He jolted backward before tentatively reaching out with his own.

Women simply did not touch strange men here. Charlotte made a note to practice later, so she wouldn’t show her own reaction when it came time for her own handshake.

The group threw away their discards in a nearby bin. Corporal Bleuvins kept up a steady inconsequential chatter with Max as Kallina and Charlotte trailed them through the spaceport.

“What is that?” Max Butler asked. He stared at an enormous spacecraft with sleek lines and odd pods. They reminded Charlotte of the blaster, and she felt an odd tingling energy, just as she had in the tunnel.

“That’s The Writing Desk,” Corporal Bleuvins answered. “Raven class Army fighting ship. They’re here to refuel and recruit. You interested? They don’t get many from this planet.”

“I know nothing but fighting,” Max said. “But I’m aware I know very little of this world.”

He gestured to the electric lights and smooth-walled buildings, foreign to eyes born on this planet. Charlotte found herself studying the landscape again and nodding. Even the acrid scent of spaceship fuel remained alien to a nose used to horses and farmland.

“Other than the books in the forbidden section of the library that I wasn’t supposed to read. And those were antiques from the colony founding.”

“Might find a bond with the ship’s captain if you want to have a chat,” the corporal said, and pushed her hat back again. “He named the ship after some ancient author.”

“Bit of an odd duck, that one,” Kallina chimed in with a laugh. “Whipsmart, of course.”

“Army’s always looking for good men,” Bleuvins said. She looked back at Charlotte for a moment, blue eyes locked onto green. “And women, come to that.”

***

Leigh Kimmel challenged me in this week’s Odd Prompts. “In Alice in Wonderland, the Mad Hatter asks “How is a raven like a writing desk?” Meanwhile, Edgar Allan Poe is writing “The Raven,” with its famous line “Quoth the raven, Nevermore.””

My prompt went to Anne and Jim. “The essence of noir: A man with a slouched fedora and hands shoved in overcoat pockets walks down a road, aware he’s being followed. Streetlights flicker into darkness as he walks by.

Kittens in a Case

Char Merikh, once the noble Lady Charlotte of the planet Society, now sometimes known as Lady Death, was covered in mud.

Literally. She’d streaked the mud in irregular patterns across her face, wound fresh greenery through her hair, and kept her movements slow and steady as she stalked her prey. She’d been in the field for fourteen hours, and was down to one remaining target.

One rather resilient target, who wouldn’t cooperate by being as easy as the rest. Char had begun suspecting his identity after the rest had been eliminated after three hours. She grinned as a figure crossed her scope’s view, careful not to show shining white teeth that could give her current position away.

She fired, and the figure below spun and fell, pulling on a rope as he went down. Branches, dirt, and twigs showered Char a moment later as something fell out of the tree above her.

Coughing at the debris, Char rolled over. She took a moment to study the dust motes floating above her, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Getting to her feet, she saw she was caged by a wooden trap wound with vines, and pulled her knife to begin dismantling it.

“Winner, Char, but with qualifications,” Winston Boyd droned. His boots were silent in the forest as he walked toward Char. “That was a masterful trap, and would bring the enemy down on you.”

“I’d killed them all,” Char protested, hacking vines binding two branches at the corner of the trap.

Winston frowned from beneath his drillmaster’s hat. “You think you did. What if he’d had friends? Or allies in the area? What about how the rest of your squad got killed and you had no backup?”

She kicked the branch out of the way with a booted foot and ducked underneath to join her trainer in the grassy clearing. The mud on her face itched.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” a new voice said. A man strode up the rise, a splotch of bright green paint on his side. Dark hair floated in waves above a chiseled face covered in stubble. “I could have sworn you were on the other side of the training field. Thought I was going to win this one.”

She shrugged without explaining and grinned. “Good to see you, Butler.”

It wasn’t often she saw anyone from her home planet, and Max Butler had been instrumental in how she left. She’d learned immense fieldcraft from him, but wasn’t about to give away how he’d fallen for her decoy.

“As usual. You’re the death of me.” Max had been the one to give her the Lady Death moniker. He elbow-bumped her as he drew closer and gave the faint smile that was all he was known for expressing when happy.

Winston drew himself up into a perfect training pose. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, drillmaster!” Max and Char snapped out the words automatically as they both straightened.

The man glared at both of them, his jaw clenched underneath his hat. “Kids these days. Trying to keep you alive. Do I get any thanks for it?”

“Just last week, drillmaster,” Char said, still at attention. “Alis came back from her first assignment and bought you a drink in thanks. Very nice whiskey, if I recall. All the way from Mars.”

Butler nodded. “A few days before that, Georgg. Blubbered about some martial arts move you’d shown him that you knew would be useful on his first assignment. Said it saved his life.”

Winston tilted his hat back. “Shut up, you nitwits. Get to debrief. Then report to my office. You have an assignment. Let’s go!” His voice snapped in the air. Char could feel her spine straighten at his tone.

“I’ve missed this,” Char said several minutes later as she and Max jogged toward the base and debrief.

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

She lifted a shoulder and gave him a lopsided smile as their feet thudded on the dirt path under the shadowed treeline. “Not the Army stupidity. But training for this sort of fieldwork is a nice change of pace. Keeps up the skill set. You know how it goes.”

“Getting tired of fancy dress?” The last time she’d seen Max, she’d been in heels and a red silk dress, while he’d been in a tuxedo. Their skills brought them the special assignments, and they’d both been after the same target.

“Different than the Army I expected,” Char replied. They crested the hill and the base came into view, still half a mile away. They ran in silence, but she hadn’t expected an answer from the taciturn man beside her.

He pulled away to greet the guards as they jogged closer, and she tried not to think about how her view now included the broad shoulders and distinct biceps she sometimes glimpsed in dreams.

***

A week later, Char strolled through a swanky restaurant wearing an emerald green dress that highlighted her cascade of flaming red hair. The dress exposed her toned arms but fell below her knees, allowing her to run if she needed to. Diamonds dangled from her ears in long drops. The left was her tracker for Command, the right her comms unit.

She controlled her expression to match the room’s artificially bored faces. Money meant boredom on Hexagon Station, a socially enforced lack of concern that extended even as heinous business deals were conducted by Hex’s elite in this very room. Hushed voices meant her high heels clicked on the tile floor, drawing more attention than Char preferred.

But then, today’s job would only work if she drew the right attention.

The maître-d’ turned and paused, a good twenty feet ahead of her in his black suit. She could see the concealed impatience in his eyes, but refused to hurry her steps. It would be abnormal for the woman Char was emulating to rush, and so she did not either. Her skills laid predominantly in mimicry and infiltration.

While she walked, Char was conscious of the silver purse in her hand, one that looked remarkably like a miniature metal briefcase. She casually held it so that everyone in the room could see it as she clicked her way toward the man in the black suit. He held a chair for her on a raised platform, next to the window panes that provided a view of the planet below.

The view was even more preposterously expensive than the restaurant. She’d heard few bothered with the scenery, though, just as the food was better at the rapid-cook diner two hubs over. The point was to be on display.

She set the silver briefcase on the table atop the white damask tablecloth. An unfortunate but necessary breach of etiquette, she knew.

As usual, the exhibition made her skin crawl. Might as well paint a target on your back. She ignored the diners’ stares and local protocol, instead gazing at the planet below. The windows would let her know before anyone approached, though she’d surely struggle to remove her gaze from the swirled blues and greens below.

“Madam.” The waiter bowed as he left her drink beside her, meeting her gaze in the reflective glass. She winked at him, relieved to see Max Butler already in position. Turning around would have acknowledged a menial, however, and so she returned to the view, covertly studying the people seated nearby.

Ten minutes later, her shoulders were tightening with tension from inaction. Her contact was late. Unless he was the man in the corner with the charcoal suit. Char withheld a frown. He wouldn’t have been her first guess, but perhaps he was older than he looked in the reflection.

Time for a test. She picked up her wine glass and sipped the nonalcoholic crimson berry juice, setting it down in a different location. If the man in the suit was the one, Max had inadvertently blocked a clear view of the silver case when he’d set her drink down.

Just as she’d decided it wasn’t the man in the suit, he rose and approached. “May I join you?”

The man reached into an inner suit pocket as he took a single step onto the dais. Her eyes fell on a matching miniature silver briefcase he removed and placed on the table in front of hers.

Char’s ruby lips broadened into a practiced, welcoming smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

***

Less than five minutes later, she was glad she’d practiced running in four-inch heels. Klaxons blared amidst the screams while smoke and debris wreaked havoc. Even the previously blasé diners had reacted to the explosion and automated security measures with screams, heading in random and unexpected directions. No one wanted to be in the room if the glass gave way, even with the metal protective coverings that rolled down the walls to cover the swirling view.

Max gripped her elbow with bruising strength. “Left!” he snapped, and they turned, dodging a confused waiter, still holding a tray of scallops in a bubbling butter sauce. He shoved her ahead of him with a hand at the small of her back. “Door at the back, go!”

Clanging metal sounded behind her, followed by a grunt of pain. She kept running without looking back. She’d grabbed both cases in the chaos. The dead drop had gone badly enough without Char accidentally taking the wrong case, and her contact wasn’t in any shape to complain.

She bit her lip and hit the door with her shoulder at a full run. Max would catch up. He always did.

She needed him to, because otherwise, protocol demanded that she leave him behind.

***

Back at the landing dock, Char didn’t bother changing out of the fancy dress. She tossed the cases on a folded-down table and slipped into the cushioned pilot’s seat. Gearing up the craft for departure was a process of long habit, her hands flying over buttons and switches. It was a small but fancy spaceship, one suitable for the socialite she’d pretended to be. Owned by the Army, the switches had been retrofitted to enable consistent muscle memory by all military members.

Max would make it before the ship’s AI was ready.

She bit her lip again and hoped her wish would be true.

Having gotten the process started, she rose and went to the table where both briefcases rested, each slightly larger than her hand. The scratch atop the edge told her which was hers. Cracking the first open, she found only the burner comms unit, her poisonous lipstick, and the untraceable payment chit, all as expected.

Char reached for the second case and hesitated. She’d no idea what to expect from the tech she’d been assigned to pick up. It was supposed to be some sort of AI, and far more likely after the setup at the restaurant that the second case contained a trap. Perhaps she should wait for Butler, who was taking his sweet time.

She jolted back as the silver case opened on its own.

Inside the briefcase nestled a minute, yawning black kitten, the tip of its tail trailing a touch of white. It flexed its paws, and tiny claws emerged to scar the inner case’s velvet lining. She stared, fascinated, as the kitten raised its tail and leaned its head downward in a stretch known to anyone who’d ever encountered a cat.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ll like space, but my contact definitely ripped me off. So much for the vaunted tech I was supposed to get.” She reached out a hand and touched soft fur. “You look like someone picked you up and dipped you in ink.”

The kitten bumped her fingers with a hand. “That’s why I’m Squid,” he said.

Char let out a startled shriek. “You’re the AI?”

“Artificial intelligence unit prototype 4207,” Squid replied. “I like my name better.”

“Huh.” She reached out a finger. “You okay if I pet you?”

Squid nodded and licked her finger. “Bond with you.”

A series of beeps and the sound of hydraulic hissing had Char on her feet. “Stay quiet.”

Boots rang as someone walked up the ramp.

She unclipped her decorative silver necklace. The disguised one-time stunner wasn’t her first choice of weapon, but it would do.

“Still don’t know if those were your contact’s friends or enemies,” Max said as he walked in, sporting a black eye. His waiter’s suit was speckled with blood. He stared down at the kitten and coughed. “Guess we got ripped off, eh? Cute little guy, though. We could use a spacecat.”

“Pretty sure it’s ‘enemies’ since my contact is now rather dead,” Char said dryly. “Time to go, Butler. Before they shut down the port.”

Squid yawned. “I want to learn to fly the ship.”

The look on Max’s face was worth all those restless dreams he’d caused her over the past week, Char decided.

***

For week 30 of Odd Prompts, nother Mike challenged me to explain why a kitten was in a briefcase. I had a lot of fun tossing around ideas with The Guy on this one – a cowboy whose briefcase is the glove compartment of his truck, a football player who brings his kitten to practice – but ultimately tied it to Lady Death.

My prompt went to Anne and Jim Guglik, and I can’t wait to see how they explain the Newgrange Passage Tombs’ lonely wraiths.

Love, with a Side of Sugar

Laura stared out the window from where she sprawled in the rocking chair, not caring that curtains blocked the view. One leg was carelessly thrown over the hard wooden edge, exposing a run in her pantyhose. Her shoeless foot was numb.

Dylan had made the chair for her before he deployed. A promise, he’d said, his grin shining white teeth bright against the dark stubble he always grew while on leave.

The house was cold, belying the bright sunlight that seeped around the edges of the window, bright halo against neutral paint. So cold, too empty, a house where silence now reigned.

There had been voices in the background at first, voices she ignored. Voices that insisted she do things, bringing food she ignored.

Silence broken only when Laura was forced to move, wooden rockers creaking against the floor. A wooden laminate floor Dylan had installed. Another promise, this one tied to kissable lips and laughter as they’d pushed aside the tools and –

A tear escaped down her face, a soundless sob wracking her stiff body, jolting at the pain. Laura hadn’t let go of the soft triangle, heavy folded cloth since they’d handed it to her. She could feel the seams of the flag pressing against her stomach through her thin black dress. She hugged it closer.

A grateful nation, the anonymous face above the gloves had said. She’d heard broken promises, flinched away from offers of assistance.

The door opened behind her. She wrapped her body around the flag and hoped whoever was here to bother her would go away. Like her husband had, gone a month before returning in the most dreaded manner possible, the door to this house opening on practiced, uniformed condolences.

“Enough of this.” Sharp words to meet sharp noises, her mother-in-law’s heels clicking firmly against the wooden floor. A pointed nose and a grey bun greeted Laura’s uncaring gaze.

“Artemesia.” Her voice was hoarse, strained from internal screaming. She watched with dull eyes as the woman sat primly on the couch.

“You aren’t the only one, you know.”

“I know.” Laura turned her head back to the window. She couldn’t find the energy to tell Dylan’s mother to go away.

“I brought you something.”

She didn’t move. “I’ll look at it later.”

“No,” Artemesia said. There was steel behind that single word. “Tomorrow I leave. Today you look at this.”

Her foot dropped down to the floor with a thump. “What is it?”

Thin, speckled hands pushed a worn, stained book into her lap. “I never shared his favorite cookie recipe. The one I always sent when he deployed.”

Shuddering, Laura tried to push the book back into her mother-in-law’s hands, the cover hard against her fingers. “No. You wouldn’t share when it mattered.”

“A mother’s right.” The words dropped harshly in the dim room.

“Why didn’t you just tell me which cookbook?”

A sad smile. “I made edits.”

The book sat there, taunting her with memories of Thanksgiving. She hadn’t known it was possible to resent a cookbook before, but Laura knew now. The rage caught in her swollen throat.

“I’ve marked the page,” Artemesia said.

Laura stared at the cover’s white and red letters without reading them, tracing the edge of the cover with a single cold finger. She gulped a breath as she opened the book. Vanilla sugar wafted up as she flipped through the pages.

Between the pages of the old recipe book rested a patch that made her fingers reluctant to move. The stripes she and Artemesia had been supposed to pin on Dylan’s uniform when he returned. The ingredients list and instructions were heavily marked with half-legible handwriting, notes on adjusting temperature and various additions.

The words blurred as her eyes watered, tears streaking wetly down her face.

“Stains and sugar make the love real,” Artemesia said. “You think I can’t tell you have more than yourself to care for now? I want my grandchild to know their daddy. Even if it’s only through his favorite treat.”

***

I’m exploring social media again. Find me on Facebook here, if you’re so inclined.

This week on Odd Prompts, Cedar Sanderson asked me to identify what was between the pages of the recipe book. I challenged Leigh Kimmel to explain the cancellation of dragon season.

Turtle Talk

“Your hand’s all sweaty,” Brian said. He disentangled his hand and wiped it across his t-shirt.

“It’s ninety degrees and eighty-five percent humidity. You try holding hands and not sweating.” Jenna surreptitiously took the opportunity to wipe her own hand against her shorts.

“I saw that.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m going up the hill.”

“Grass looks pretty slick. I’ll stick with the path.”

She headed up the hill. It wasn’t much of a shortcut, but the path wound around the long way. Enough others had thought the same that the grass was worn to dust. Toward the top, she paused as a dark, shining oval caught her attention.

“What’s up?” Brian was already waiting for her.

“Found a turtle. Hang on, I want to Insta this. Such a cute little guy.”

“Weirdo.”

The turtle on the trail cautiously extended its neck, peering at Jenna, and then opened its mouth. “No!”

Jenna froze, half-bent over the reptile, her phone two feet away. “Brian. The turtle.”

“What about it?” Brian stuffed his hands in his pockets.  

“Talked.”

“You’re darn tootin’, I talked.” The turtle glared at Jenna. “I’m trying to lay some eggs here.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Um, okay. I’ll back off. I’m sorry.” Jenna stuffed her phone back in her pocket. “See, I won’t –“

“And I don’t need help getting back to the water. Don’t you dare pick me up!” The turtle turned her back on Jenna and yanked her head into her shell.

“Wasn’t planning on it!” She backed away, hands in the air.

“Three times already today! Three! And four yesterday! Helpful humans! I wish you all to the mud!”

Jenna turned and slid down the dry grass back onto the path to where Brian waited. “Whew.”

Brian looked at her with indulgence in his eyes. “Talked, huh?”

“Back off, humans!” A tiny, indignant voice carried down after her.

Brian looked at her with his mouth agape.

Jenna shrugged. “Told you. Cranky, pregnant, talking turtle.”

This week, Cedar Sanderson prompted me with “The turtle on the trail cautiously extended its neck, peering at you (character), and then opened its mouth to say_________________.” I knew what I wanted to write, but another wildlife-inspired story came pouring out before I could capture the cranky turtle. I’m also glad I didn’t try to mix those two tales. That was a truly terrible idea.

My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel: “A prairie storm, with rolling thunder, ominous clouds, and flickering lightning. And in that flash of light, you see…”

Join the Odd Prompters! It’s both easy and fun.

Eliminating the Future

I perched along the lower branches of the tree I preferred to sleep in, holding onto the limb above while reaching down with my free hand. My eyes skimmed over the forest greenery, following a robin joining a flock of angry, screeching birds attacking a falcon to drive it off.

I could tell by feel and weight that all my weaponry was in place, of course, but it never hurts to check. And let’s be frank, the ritual is calming. Boot knife, there, my fingers grazing over the hilt before moving up to ensure the leather sheath that dangled from around my neck remained in place.

I gave the trunk of the tree a wistful pat, triple checked the location for enemies, and hopped down. Can’t come back too often, but it’s the most comfortable one I’ve found. Sleeping in trees is ridiculous and uncomfortable. It’s also more secure since they haven’t learned to expect us to be there yet.

Yet. The day they do will be a bad day. I’m not sure what the next step is after that.

I miss my shotgun. I miss Drew’s crossbow, too. It’s not like he needs it anymore, but he’d landed on it and there was no coming back from that crunching, snapping noise. It was more terrible than his screaming. I didn’t bother to take a look after they carried him off. Pretty sure they’d left it as a trap, anyway. Bait.

This is what we are reduced to. Traipsing through the woods, searching for berries and edible greens, hoping the snares will bring protein and not the enemy’s sharp eye and subsequent numbers.

I could have been safe, back in Ohio, after they realized the threat and put up the blockades. But my parents had called the day before, and when the line went dead and they didn’t pick up, well. I got in my car and drove to Pennsylvania to find out what was wrong.

Should’ve known, since 911 and the emergency lines didn’t answer, but I thought the number not in service message meant the lines were overwhelmed. Maybe a natural disaster. Western PA – that’s right, pronounced “pee-ay” – doesn’t get a ton of tornadoes, but they’re bad when they hit.

Besides, Mom and Dad were getting up there, and it had been a while. Why not do a spontaneous weekend visit?

Instead I wound up finding a blood trail, the house destroyed, the few neighbors remaining unwilling to open their doors and completely incoherent. I’d tried the cops again, on my cell while heading toward the woods, following dried maroonish-brown stains splashed over the winter-dead grass.

I try not to think about what happened next.

It helps that I don’t remember it clearly. Just blood, and fire, and fur. Ashes in the air, charcoal streaking my face.

I hate that I was that dumb, that oblivious. I hate that I think of this every day. That I was just too late to save them. That I didn’t get out while I could.

It wasn’t always like this. As a kid, I used to think they were cute. Nicknamed them Sam and Charlie, even. The neighbors would try to trap them. Use a golf ball, the guy two houses down said; they think it’s a mushroom. Works every time. But the cages were never big enough to get the adults, only the babies. And we called it humane, because we let them live.

Maybe we should have thought about what we were doing more. Taking away their babies every year for years on end. Eliminating their future.

Nobody saw it coming.

I look back at years of mealy garden tomatoes, thinking about whether we missed their message when every single red-ripened fruit had a single bite in it. Or the hole they dug in the ground, waiting right at the end of the sled run.

Good thing Mom always made us stop sledding when we got too close. No matter how much we tried to hide it, she could see when the tracks got too close from the back window. Though I sometimes wonder if we’d have gotten off more lightly had we let them screech and claw at us a bit then.

Maybe we’d have learned.

I don’t expect to see home again, nor do I expect to make it much longer. They’re whittling us down one by one, and hunger takes care of the rest.

Don’t try to tell me groundhogs don’t get bigger than a rabbit. I know they’re tiny in Ohio, but these ones, geez. Four feet long if not bigger. It was always hard to tell the exact length, because they ran as soon as they heard you.

We thought they were scared of us, you see. Until the day they stopped running.

Of Hoaxes and Business Plans

Dear Ms. Nessa Lochland,

Congratulations on completing your online M.S. degree in Business Administration from Stellar Online University. Attached you will find a letter certifying your graduation. Please contact the Registrar’s Office via our website to request an official transcript.

Your diploma will be sent by international mail to the address we have on file. Please contact us immediately by replying to this email if an update is required.

Again, congratulations and best wishes in your future endeavors. We are proud to call you a graduate of SOU, and cannot wait to see the impact you make upon the world.

Aut viam inveniam aut faciam!

Regards,
Rike Williams, Dean
Office of Student Services
Fisherman School of Business
College of Business Administration and Strategy
Stellar Online University

“What a relief,” Nessa said after she finished reading the email aloud to her mother. She shifted her headset with a lazy nudge of her chin against the wall. “That thesis was such a pain. I hate dictation software. And I’m not sure my advisor even had time to look at the last revisions.”

Her mother’s voice crackled through the long-distance connection. “So proud of you, dear. Your father would be, too. I wish he were around to see this.”

“Me too, Mom. Me, too.” Nessa settled into her nest of fresh bracken and gazed up at the ceiling of speckled granite. The scent of Scots pine from the Caledonian Forest wafted up to tickle her nose. “I told you about my local tourism revitalization plan?”

“Ye-esss…” Static crackled on the line again, and Nessa almost missed her mother’s next words. “I just wonder if it’s worth the exposure.”

“People are more accepting now.” Nessa hoped her words were true. Her livelihood depended on it. So did her life.

“Well, I still wish you’d come join me in Tahiti instead. Sun, sand, even a few hotties your age splashing around. I need grandbabies.”

Nessa laughed. “Retirement suits you.”

“No one believed anymore.” Ethel’s voice became sad. “And it wasn’t the same without your dad. He was like you. Lived for the fun of it.”

“That’s why this area needs some shaking up, Mom. Let me get my plans up and running first, then I’ll come visit you. Some of the younger cousins can handle the day-to-day business for a while.”

Her mother sighed. Nessa scrunched her eyes shut and suppressed her own frustrated exhale. Any additional discussion would just lead to a fight.

“I’ve got to go, Mom. Big day tomorrow. The bank’s approved the loan. Tons of paperwork to do.” The degree had mattered less than the skills to put together a proper business plan.

“There’s an idea. Sure I can’t convince you to become a banker?” She heard the quaver in her mother’s voice. “Running a small business is so risky.”

Unspoken were the fears of bringing danger back to Lake Inverness. Not just danger, but hunters, like those who had killed her father that horrid day, a decade earlier.

“I’m sure,” Nessa said. “Love you. Bye.” She hung up before Ethel could chime in with anything else.

“Alexa, turn off the lights.” Nessa rolled over and laid her head down in the sudden darkness. Her eyes remained open. “This is for you, Dad.”

Her voice echoed oddly as it bounced off the irregular cavern walls. She could have sworn it sounded just like his belly-aching laugh.

***

“Right,” Nessa said to her younger cousin Cynthia. “You know the drill. I go swimming, then let myself be seen by the tour boat. You use the boat company’s social media to make it go viral.”

“You think this will work?” Cynthia asked. “Does the world believe in us anymore? They won’t think it’s just a special effect?”

“I have to try.” Her dad would have had so much fun with this. His mischievous streak was never malicious, but he’d lived for the moments when he could mess with the tourists. “I miss Dad.”

“I wish Uncle Frank was still around to see this,” Cynthia said, bobbing her large head with a fond grin. “I can just picture him doing something ridiculous. Doggie-paddling along with a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and a straw hat, pretending he doesn’t see a boat full of gawking drunk tourists. Then pretending he’s been caught flatfooted. Or maybe offer them mimosas. He’d have loved the attention.”

Nessa blinked back swelling tears. “For that, you get employee of the month.”

The glare she received contained some epic side-eye. “I’m your only employee.”

“It’s not automatic. Don’t get cocky. I have plenty of humans to choose from, too.”

Cynthia adjusted her headset and turned back toward her computer. “They don’t know who their boss really is yet, so they don’t count. Are you doing this or not?”

“Yeah. Just nervous. I want to boost local business, not bring down the army upon us.”

“There aren’t many of us left,” Cynthia said, twisting her head backward. Her yellow eyes were narrow and annoyed. “And you just bought half the local vacation rentals and the boat tour business with Uncle Frank’s insurance settlement and a bank loan.”

“That I did.”

“I assumed you’d accounted for this. Made contingency plans.”

“Sure, but –“

“Then get over your stage fright and get out there.” Cynthia turned away again. “Smile pretty for the cameras!”

“Fine, fine.” Nessa grumbled to herself on her way down to the cave’s entrance. “This had better work. I don’t want to live in Tahiti with Mom. The water’s too clear. Too warm. And saline makes my skin itch.”

Her feet hit the smooth pebbles that meant the shoreline was close and poked her head out of the cave’s concealed entrance. Seeing no one, Nessa ventured a few feet out, staying hidden in the earthy vegetation. It smelled delicious, but this was no time to snack.

She planted all four feet and took a huge breath, expanding her ribcage until it hurt, repeating it in hopes of calming her overanxious heartbeat.

“Find a way or make one.” She’d chosen her business school based solely on its motto, thinking it a sign. “My people are dying because we cannot afford sanctuary.”

A noise in the distance had her tilting her head. “It’s time.” She whispered the words into the air and headed toward the lake. “Stay with me, Dad.”

The water lapped cool and dark against her legs. It felt right, as did the clouds above. Yes, this was home. There would be no permanent vacation in Tahiti for her, even if her business venture failed.

Nessa saw fingers pointing and gaping human maws as she drew alongside the boat. Most people seemed to be shocked silent, with a few screams. A young boy jumped up and down, trying to climb the railing. The boat’s engine sputtered and died with a puff of diesel smoke.

She raised her long neck out of the water and above the deck, resting her oval head on the railing. The humans backed away, leaving about a six foot gap. Nessa put on her best nervous smile.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to dive away from a terrified crowd. Too much tooth display and there came the army, the hunters that had taken her father’s laugh out of this world, who hungered for the next trophy.

“Hi, guys! Who wants a selfie with the Loch Ness Monster?”

***

“Physical newspapers?” Cynthia asked. “What am I doing all this social media stuff for, then?”

“To make sure they see that grin as harmless and friendly,” Nessa retorted.

Her cousin gave her a dubious look. “It’s been a month. Think we’re good.”

“Keep an eye out anyway. I don’t want to not see something coming because we got lazy.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure thing, boss.”

Nessa blushed, her thick skin turning blue rather than its usual stony grey. “Fine. I’m also vain enough to want hard copies. Maybe frame them for our business offices.”

Cynthia snorted and headed for the back room. “You do you. I’m getting coffee. Then I’ll get back to watching for monster hunters.”

She spread out the papers and read over the headlines.

“IT’S NESSA, NOT NESSIE”: LONELY MONSTER SPEAKS

COMPLEX HOAX IN SCOTLAND’S HIGHLANDS

IS BIGFOOT NEXT? ANCIENT PLESIOSAUR DISCOVERED ALIVE

LOCAL TOURISM BOOMS AS LOCH NESS MONSTER EMERGES FROM HIDING

BUSINESS SCHOOL CLAIMS NESSIE AS ALUMNA

“My plan is working, Dad. Local business is up, so they’ll protect us for the prosperity alone. We can afford our own security, too, and we’re harder to kill with everyone watching.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, hot against her face in the cool cavern.

She could have sworn she felt a warm, familiar snort of approval.

The snort she’d missed every day for ten years.

In this week’s Odd Prompts challenge, Becky Jones challenged me to explain what happens after the Loch Ness Monster reveals herself. My prompt went to Nother Mike: “Oh, no! The coffeepot has been stolen!”

Writing Cat wishes her fellow Americans a happy Independence Day.

Lady Death, Continued (1)

Lady Charlotte’s story begins with The Invitation. Although I will probably do a full rewrite of that story to make it a better introduction, the rest poured out below. Presented without edits and open for feedback.

Charlotte had only been running for ten minutes, but her feet already hurt. Her ribcage ached with unaccustomed exertion, straining against corset restrictions on piddly options such as breathing. She wished Yelena hadn’t laced it so tight.

Were those noises behind her shouts? Had she been noticed as missing already?

She didn’t know exactly what would happen to a girl in her situation, caught by two men alone and out at night unescorted, but she could guess. The best option would probably be loss of social standing as her entire family experienced the collective shaming, followed by a quick marriage to the hatchet-faced man.

There had been a maid exiled from her household’s manor when she was very young. Charlotte remembered only sobs and screams, a pleading but unintelligible voice. The tutor had whisked the girls away, allowing them to indulge in cakes and shushing questions. All she’d learned was not to ask why.

She ignored the burning in her chest and kept going. The stone path was hard on her feet, cold and wet in flimsy slippers, but hours of walking the land was to her benefit now. The light markers illuminated the drive just enough to keep animal predators away, even if it made her easier to find by humans.

A boxed lantern flickered, larger than the rest, and she halted, unable to see beyond the fire’s glow for several moments. The road dipped into rutted dirt below her, and her stomach jolted at the sight. She lifted her skirts and jumped into the road, turning toward the electric glow on her left.

She spared a single moment for a glimpse back toward her old life, a manor hidden behind a winding stone path, lit only by firelight. Charlotte Merikh straightened her shoulders and kept walking. She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over her face as she headed toward the Spaceport.

***

Charlotte stared at her feet under the light of the pink moon, wondering how there could be so much pain but not so swollen they overflowed her shoes. Ridiculous, velvet shoes with soles so thin they were nearly nonexistent, and she couldn’t make herself run in them anymore.

She’d had no idea how far electric light could travel. The spaceport had seemed so close.

She turned, and the horse was nearly upon her. Screaming, she tried to get out of the way and tripped backward. Only now, as the hooves came within an inch of her head, did she hear the cart’s bells.

“Whoa!” The man’s voice came from behind the hanging lantern. Charlotte struggled to get up, ready to run again on aching feet. She stared at the too-close hooves. This was a plow horse, broken to wagon, not a prancing carriage horse useless for anything but fancy dress balls.

“You’re not looking for me,” she blurted out, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

The man laughed. “No, but I wish I’d seen you sooner. Wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing in the middle of the road. Clyde there, he doesn’t like nights much. Doesn’t see so well. Took him a second to react. Did you not hear the bells?”

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean to startle your horse. But could I get a ride, sir?” she asked politely. Charlotte bit her lip, wondering if she’d just made a huge mistake.

She could hear the sudden intake of breath from six feet away, even if she couldn’t see past the lantern properly.

A long pause came before the man cleared his throat. “You know what you are asking, taking a ride with a male stranger at night as an unmarried girl. Are you claiming Spaceport sanctuary?”

The words dropped slowly into the night. Charlotte considered them, tilting her head.

“I don’t know what that means exactly, sir, but I was headed to the Spaceport hoping for sanctuary. I cannot go back. I will accept your offer.”

The man let out a shuddering breath. “Offer made and extended, now accepted. Climb aboard. I hear bells in the distance behind us, so we’d best get a move on.”

She scrambled up to the box seat, leaving a careful distance between them.

“My name is Joel. I’m taking some trade goods to the Spaceport. My sister awaits.”

She turned her head to study his profile, now backlit from this angle by the lantern. “Your sister lives there?”

He laughed softly and clucked to his horse. “She’s a spaceship pilot. I bring her fancywork that she can sell on other worlds that machine produce everything.”

Charlotte didn’t understand what he meant, but found his voice soothing. The weight of the evening settled over her, and she found herself yawning.

“Miss?” Joel reached across the box seat and shook her arm briefly before pulling back. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t give me your name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with a yawn. “I am called Charlotte. I must have nodded off.”

“We’re getting close.” His voice was tense. “Can you reach the cart behind you? Look for a white square.”

She twisted and squinted into the darkness. “I think so. Yes. I can’t see anything, though.”

“Can you feel fabric? If so, grab the top layer.”

Charlotte felt soft fabric, the bumps of embroidery familiar under her fingertips. She pulled it into her lap.

“Miss Charlotte, you’re going to want to hide that hair.” His voice was tense and grim, no longer soothing.

She straightened and frowned, then unfolded the finely woven fabric with a frown and draped it over her hair. She tucked the trailing ends around her neck. “I only ever even heard of red hair being an issue this afternoon.”

Joel called to the horse again, urging him faster. “Sit tight, Miss Charlotte. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Try not to stare.”

She pulled the makeshift hood down to shadow her eyes, unsure she could hide her expression. Surely the place that managed to create electric light would be full of other wonders. How could she not stare?

As Joel’s cart cleared the forest road, she bit her lip and drew her eyebrows together, confused. The Spaceport had electric lights, certainly. A double fence allowed for uniformed men to check the entrants into the port without allowing them fully inside. The inner fence was solid, though the cream paint was dirty at the bottom from scuffed dirt.

On the solid inner wall, colorful shapes overlapped in several organized rectangles. Charlotte supposed these must be tapestries, though she didn’t know why the outdoors would need wall hangings to stay warm. The aroma of fried dough mixed with an oily, burnt smell she didn’t recognize.

The outer fence was made of sturdy wire woven into a diamond pattern, and had a collection of people such as she’d never seen. A small horde of ragged children, eagerly running toward the horse and cart, offering to hold the horse for a coin. Joel shooed them away with a few curt words, not pausing even as they ran so closely Charlotte feared they’d be run over by the cart’s metal wheels.

Emaciated men sat by the port entrance and held out bowls with skeletal hands, their shoulders slumped in defeat and necks bowed. Charlotte didn’t understand why they didn’t ask for succor at any of the nearby manors, when work was plentiful year-round. Anyone was entitled to ask for a few day’s wages under guesting rights without deciding to stay.

The women were what drew her eyes the most, staring with an open mouth and wide eyes, drawing the scarf tighter around her head and neck with suddenly frantic hands. Women with skirts so short they showed the entire bottom portion of their legs, women without bodices. Women who clung to the wire fence, which must be far stronger than it looked to support their weight. They spoke directly to men, beckoning with inviting hands and flipping loose hair over their shoulders.

“These are the ones Society rejects, Lady Charlotte,” Joel said quietly, as the horse drew the cart closer to the entrance. “The ones who tried to leave and couldn’t.”

She looked at him, glad for a distraction. “Did the Spaceport not let them in?” She swung a foot out, tapped a still-damp slipper against the footboard, and glanced over her shoulder. A lantern shone in the darkness, a glowing dot at least half a mile away. Perhaps she should take her chances with the carriage rapidly approaching.

“The Spaceport is the only way out,” Joel said. “It’s hard to leave what you’ve always known. I’m one of the few to live a little in both worlds, and don’t think I could fully choose either. They turned back because they thought this life was better than the unknown.”

She studied the huddled figures surrounding the fence. The children had mobbed around a ball, while the men were oblivious. The women avoided looking at the cart, focusing all their efforts on the uniformed spaceport men. Charlotte wondered whether they were ashamed to look at a local man, or if Joel wasn’t wealthy enough to attract their interest.

“That won’t be my fate,” Charlotte said. Her voice was determined.

“Good,” Joel said. He slowed Clyde and the cart rolled to a stop inside the gate. “Keep that in mind. You’re going to have a long evening.”

***

“Charlotte Penelope Merikh,” she repeated for what must have been the tenth time. “Daughter of Lucinda and Fedor Merikh.”

She stifled a yawn, and realized she was still wearing her gloves. They felt glued to her hands, and she bit down on the fingertips one by one to start pulling them off.

“Of Merikh Manor, Stirling Province, Kairos Domain?” The blonde man had a pencil-thin mustache that drooped over his mouth when he talked.

“Yes,” she mumbled around a mouthful of fabric. “As I told you repeatedly over what must be more than a candlemark. I claim sanctuary.”

Joel had told her to say those words just before they’d pulled up to the gate and stopped inside for Joel’s cart to be inspected. As soon as he’d told the officer the Lady Charlotte was claiming sanctuary, a swarm of uniformed men had surrounded the wagon and pulled her into a room for questioning. She’d heard shouts behind her as she’d been escorted away.

She thought she’d spotted a woman, even, but hadn’t been sure in all the chaos. Sanctuary wasn’t free, after all, and she would need to find employment that didn’t include being one of the gateside women. Perhaps she could learn to inspect carts.

Behind her, the door opened, and she started at the noise. She jumped again as a woman’s voice spoke firmly from behind her chair. “Peter, lay off. You’re scaring the girl. She’s confirmed her identity.”

“We haven’t done DNA yet.” The man looked up and pushed back his chair, but did not rise.

“She’s clearly a native of this planet. Spaceport has always offered sanctuary to those who choose a different way of life.” Charlotte felt the woman place her hands on the back of her chair. “Let me talk to her and make sure she understands before we proceed, will you?”

Peter leaned back in his chair for a moment, his mustache drooping further. He dropped back to all four legs with a bang and a snort.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes but refused to show anything else on her face. Her society training had been good for a bland expression of politeness. He’d been trying to scare her, she realized now, but she didn’t know why. Did he think she would be like one of the gate women, and give him favors?

He loomed, leaning forward, and Charlotte doubled down on not letting this man see how much he frightened her. The woman cleared her throat. He glared above Charlotte’s head, shoved his way around the table, and banged out the door.

“Well,” the woman said. “At least the petty bureaucrat is out of the way. Don’t worry, his shift change is coming and I’ll make sure someone else handles your paperwork.”

She shook her head, looking down at curls come undone. All Yelena’s work, gone. Charlotte realized she’d likely never see her again, and bit her lip. She was tired, and her brain wanted to wander off on tangents. Then sleep, sleep for days.

“Why did he want to scare me?” She blinked. Charlotte hadn’t intended to say those words.

The woman sighed, walked around the table, and flipped the chair around so the back was facing toward Charlotte. She sat, one leg to each side, and nodded at Charlotte’s wide eyes.

“Yes, that was deliberate. You’ve got a long way to go if you want this to work. I don’t have tea for you, but I can answer questions.” She was perhaps ten years older than Charlotte, dressed in dark pants with pockets, with short, dark red curls that ended at her jawline.

Charlotte nodded, and straightened. “Who are you? Why are you here? What exactly does claiming sanctuary mean?”

“Oh, little dove, you claimed sanctuary without even knowing what it meant? No wonder my brother sent me here.”

Charlotte’s head snapped up at the familiar endearment. “You’re from here? Wait – you’re Joel’s sister?”

The woman smiled, her lips quirking up only on one side. “What did he tell you?”

She frowned. “That you were a spaceship pilot. He was bringing you fancywork, scarves and the like. I didn’t understand everything he said.”

The redheaded woman studied her. “I am Kallina. And yes, Joel is my brother. Yes, I am from this planet. A spaceship is the vehicle – carriage – that travels between planets.”

“I know what a spaceship is,” Charlotte hurried to interject. “It’s what brought us here to colonize.”

“It’s very loud, very crowded, and boring and exhilarating at the same time.” Kallina’s eyes looked through Charlotte for a few moments, and a real smile showed in the crinkles around her hazel eyes.

She came back to the room and looked directly into Charlotte’s green eyes. “A pilot is the person who, um, drives the spaceship carriage. I make sure nothing goes wrong. I follow the path. I transport goods, and sometimes people.”

“Are there roads in space?” Charlotte asked, curious.

Kallina laughed. “Not as such.” She leaned her head on a hand, tilting it. “I think I see why you wanted out of this place.”

“I did ask why you were helping me.” Charlotte wasn’t sure what was happening, but she felt her stomach clench in anticipation. It might have been hope fluttering as well.

Kallina closed her eyes. “Because once, I was very like you. Eager to learn, full of questions no one would answer. Never understanding why everything I did or said was inappropriate. Always getting into trouble, always watched because my hair happened to be the wrong shade. Always longing for something more.”

She opened her eyes and looked directly at Charlotte again. “Does that sound familiar?”

Charlotte released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, and tossed her gloves on the table. “You left.”

“Aye,” Kallina said. “I left. It was hard. Sometimes dangerous. Nearly always confusing. It’s like learning another language, but without anyone teaching you the basics. You can’t trust what you see, or what you do, because no matter what it is, it means different things to different people.”

Charlotte looked away. “Why are you telling me this?”

The older woman leaned forward. “Every original colony planet automatically belongs to the Consortium. That’s the group of countries that funded the first colonization. It’s basically an interplanetary citizenship.”

She chewed on her lip. It was starting to hurt, but it kept her awake and thinking. “So I’m a citizen.”

“Only if you want it.” Kallina slumped over her chair back and put her chin on her hands. “You decide you don’t, you lose access to the port without an escort.”

“My family won’t take me back.” The words were soft but firm in the small room.

The older woman shut her eyes again. “No, they won’t. And then life gets much harder. Maybe you probably become one of the gateside women, which you’re smart enough to have already figured out you don’t want. And you’re classy enough and determined enough to know you don’t want that to happen to you.”

“What does citizenship mean?” Charlotte crossed her arms, pulling Joel’s scarf tighter around her shoulders. “I don’t really have any skills to earn a living.”

“It means a passport off this planet, access to education, and the freedom to choose your own path.” Kallina stretched, a languid action juxtaposed against her earlier efficient movements. “Both my crew decided to settle down recently. With each other, blast it, so I lost them both at once.”

“You’re saying you have room for me?” Her breath caught at the idea of leaving Society, but her body deflated as hope faded. “As I said earlier, I don’t have any skills that would be useful on a spaceship.”

“I have room for you, and I’ll train you on what you need to know. Room, board, and wages. I’ll help you sell your outfit so you have some – ah – pin money. If you can do needlework and still want to, I’ll sell your fancywork and you can have most of the profits.” Kallina’s eyes pinned Charlotte’s. “Does that sound fair?”

“More than fair,” she said. “Only, I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

Kallina smiled, her eyes tinged with sadness. “If you keep waiting to be ready, you never will be.”

***

The older woman turned back into her efficient self as soon as she opened the door and began yelling for the bureaucrat to return. The odious idiot had vanished, and Charlotte watched an affable man jogging lightly down the hall, laughing when he saw Kallina.

“Should have known it was you making such a fuss.” Charlotte was relieved to see his light brown mustache was less foppish. Already this man seemed more reasonable.

He settled into the chair with only a raised eyebrow at Kallina’s possessive stance behind Charlotte’s chair.

“She’s exhausted, Allen. And I know you remember how confused and sheltered I was when I got here.”

He gestured at the paperwork the other man had left on the desk. “I’m not questioning your right to be here. I’m wondering why Peter didn’t even mark identity confirmation. He’s got nerve, that one.”

The next two hours were a blur. Charlotte found herself dragging a pen through innumerous forms and answering questions at Allen’s direction. He seemed unreasonably happy about filling out papers, which her family’s steward had always detested. Allen held up a box and a flash blinded her briefly. While still blinking the dots away, she found herself presented with a plastic chit.

“It’s still warm,” she murmured. The chit was octagonal, pale blue with black letters. A gold square had squiggles and a button on it.

Kallina laughed. “Slide that cover back over the gold section and press the button underneath. The flash you saw painted your portrait in an instant.”

A holographic picture of Charlotte blinked into evidence above the plastic. “Oh! Is that me?” Her eyes widened in wonder for a few seconds. Then she looked closer, and scowled at the image. “I look terrible.”

Allen and Kallina both burst out laughing.

“Welcome to the world of bureaucracy,” Allen said. “No one ever likes their image.”

Charlotte only yawned, and Kallina gave a contrite twist of her face.

“Do you need anything else, Allen? I want her in a bunk yesterday.”

“Just the oath to activate her status.” The room grew silent.

Allen cleared his throat. “Are you awake enough to pay attention?”

She nodded, trying to straighten into posture her mother would be proud to see.

“The oath doesn’t automatically make you give up your family, or even your planet. You could live here at the spaceport as a merchant if you wanted. This oath basically says you’ll follow the law and be a good citizen. You’ll be quizzed on how to be a good citizen when you reach the age of majority.”

Green eyes met hazel as Charlotte sought Kallina, immobile in her corner within the sterile room. “But I’m sixteen now.”

“Consortium says it’s eighteen. Fourteen to go off planet with a sponsor vouching for you until you reach your majority. I’m the sponsor.” She brought her leg up and propped a boot against the wall.

“It’s a big deal. Kallina takes all responsibility for your actions as your sponsor.” Allen’s eyes were concerned.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Charlotte said. “I’m sure I’ll make mistakes.”

Allen lifted a uniformed shoulder. “Fewer if you know someone else will pay the price along with you, we’ve found.”

Kallina cleared her throat from the corner. “I wouldn’t offer if I thought you were an intentional troublemaker.”

Charlotte drew her brows together in a frown. “What else am I committing myself to with this oath?”

“You only need to swear the oath to get access to space, because the Consortium provides the access. You might like another planet on Kallina’s route better and decide to settle there. If you stay landside, you probably won’t need to ever swear another oath.”

“That seems acceptable.”

Allen nodded, his chin propped over folded hands. “It’ll be all right. We do this all the time, Charlotte.”

She blinked. It was the first time any outsider had ever referred to her without her title. “I’m no longer Lady Charlotte.”

Allen drummed his fingers on the table. “I hadn’t thought to cover that part. No, there’s no official nobility in the Consortium.”

Kallina crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “There’s rank and status, but it’s mostly earned in space. Every planet is different. Tends to be structured similarly to where the home core population came from.”

“I’m just not used to it,” Charlotte said. “That’s all. I still want to do this.”

“Good,” Kallina said, and dropped her boot down to plant both feet on the scuffed tile floor. “I got the impression you hated being Lady Charlotte anyway.”

Exhaustion swept over her, and sputtered out as laughter that didn’t stop until she hiccupped. “I need a new name.”

“Let’s try out some nicknames before you make it official,” Kallina said dryly. “And get this oath over with, eh?”

Allen held up a restraining hand. “Charlotte, in two years, if you pass your test, you gain full citizenship and rights like voting. But it also binds you to something greater. If the Consortium of Planets ever comes into conflict with Society, you’re saying that you will side with the Consortium. Do you understand?” His voice lacked its previous joviality.

“Is that likely?”

“No,” Kallina said. “Society as a planet wants nothing to do with technology, and it’s unwelcoming to outsiders. It’s not profitable for most trade. They only let the spaceport stay open because it’s required by interplanetary law. And also they don’t have the technology to force them out.”

Allen pointed a finger. “Shush, you. They trade more than the elders here are willing to admit to their populations. But no, Charlotte, Kallina is right. It’s not likely.”

“So one oath now gets me off Society and into space.”

“Under guardianship, yes.” Allen shifted his weight. “If you were of majority age, you’d study here on the planet until you passed a probationary test or decided to stay. They’re supposed to have sponsors too, usually the ship’s captain.”

“I get a trial run. Then in two years, I pass a test and take another oath, or settle onto another planet.” Charlotte pushed long auburn locks behind her shoulders.

“In two years,” Kallina started. She stared at the ground for a long moment, kicking the toe of one boot against the floor.

She looked back up, and the older woman’s twisted half smile did not reach bleak eyes. “In two years, you will not be the same person. This is a whole new life, a new identity. This gives you time to be sure.”

“Some people never make the final leap,” Allen said into the awkward, empty silence that followed.

Charlotte studied Kallina’s tense posture, propped against the wall with her head bowed. Each muscle was frozen so tightly the older woman did not even appear to breathe.

“I think,” Charlotte said slowly, as Kallina’s head rose with each word. “I will welcome a new identity.”

***

Charlotte opened her eyes the next morning, and immediately winced away from the unfamiliar electric light as it sensed her movement and blinked on. It was impossible to tell whether she had slept through the daylight that had just begun when Kallina had introduced her to the Wyvern.  

If last night had been a dream, it would be both nightmare and wondertale. She recognized few scents or noises, and if she’d not been so exhausted, doubted she’d have slept.

Didn’t the elders warn against making decisions directly after emotional shock? Hadn’t she had a series of surprises yesterday? Finding out her hair made others perceive her as wanton, turning sixteen and becoming eligible for marriage, the attack by the deranged man in the library, running away.

Becoming a probationary citizen in the Consortium, a concept she barely understood. Charlotte still wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea, but the idea of a trial period had reassured her that she could change her mind.

She may not have liked life on Society, or the family’s expectations of her, but she was also familiar with it. She knew what those expectations were, knew who was trustworthy. Was Kallina as much a planetary kinswoman as she claimed? But her brother had given her succor, and the officials here treated the woman well.

She shoved back the tangled sheets that had wrapped around her legs. Enough lazing about. It was time to figure out how to cleanse oneself on a spaceship. Would it be different on the ground than in the air?

The metal floor was chill against her bare feet. She moved to the door she thought was the compact relief area she’d been shown how to use last night and found a closet. Opening the door next to it, she discovered what she’d expected. Charlotte also sniffed a tube of what smelled like cleansing paste for teeth, but was unsure on how to use any of the other facilities. She would have to ask the Kallina.

Her borrowed sleeping shift stopped at midthigh, shorter than anything else she had ever worn before. Her dress from last night was missing, along with her much-abused slippers. Bare legs made her movements awkward, peeking around the door to see if Kallina was in sight before scurrying into the common area. If only she could stay behind convenient furniture, but there was little in this area.

She cleared her throat as she approached the hooded head facing away from her at the kitchen’s eating section. The hooded figure froze at the noise, then set down a steaming cup on the table.

“Kallina, I would like to thank you again for taking me in. I’m afraid I don’t know how to use –“

She let out an undignified squeak as the person turned around and stood. “Butler?”

The bearded man raised a hand in salute, taking her disheveled, sleep-tousled state in with a sweeping glance of deep-set eyes. He lifted his gaze to meet hers with a raised eyebrow. “Lady Death.”

Charlotte was suddenly absurdly conscious of her bare knees, but stood firm, her jaw quavering with attempted resolve. She had taken on a new life, and would not bow to expectations from the last. She straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms, sure the heat across her face had manifested crimson.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

The Hannock’s Butler leaned back against the kitchen table and tossed his hood back. “I only remain the family’s butler if I bring you back, I’m afraid. Sneaking in was difficult, but not impossible.”

“What have you done with Kallina?” She could not abide it if her new friend and protector had been hurt.

He looked shocked. “I am here because I am still protecting you, and you think I would harm another woman? From what I observed, she came to your aid. I waited to enter the ship until she left. I’m sure she will think you changed your mind and went home, where you belong.”

“Bringing me back will not protect me, Butler.” She was certain of that, as certain as she was that Butler must have made it over the double fence while she was still in the stuffy office section.

“Honor demands I bring you back, Lady Death.” He swept a hand over dark, wavy hair longer on top than on bottom, and his jaw squared under the short beard.

“That is not my name,” Charlotte bit out, her fists clenched.

“Oh, but it is.” He pushed off the table and took a step toward her. “When I said you’d be the death of some poor man, I did not mean it literally. Nor did I mean myself. Yet here we are.”

She rolled her eyes, pretending to arrogance she did not have, and stood her ground as he moved forward. “I don’t understand.”

“A Butler loses his position either through honorable retirement at a distinguished age, when he is formally challenged by a trainee, or when he fails in his duties. Only the first is generally survivable.” His mouth thinned against a tanned face.

Charlotte lost her internal battle and took a step back at the anger in his dark eyes. “I didn’t know.”

He stopped and threw up his hands. “I don’t know how you didn’t know. Your manor didn’t train you properly. Put on some proper clothes. We’re leaving. I will take you home and away from – from whatever you think you are doing.”

She put her hands on her hips without thinking, then wrapped her arms around herself again. “No. This is about your honor, not mine.”

“It will be much easier to simply walk out if you are properly garbed and cooperative, Lady Death, but do not think I will hesitate to take you with me in a sack if I must.” His voice was a growl, and a vein at his temple twitched.

She took another step back. Butler wasn’t the helpful protector from last night right now. It wasn’t quite as terrifying as one of Father’s towering rages, but this was not a man she particularly wanted to cross.

“I am not going anywhere.” Charlotte mumbled the words, dragging them out of her mouth one at a time. Fear always made it hard for her to speak.

“He is, though,” Kallina said, from off to the side. She held an odd, bulbous object in her hand, made of dark and shining metal. It was pointed at Butler. “Little dove, did this man hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Charlotte said, wondering if the strange object in the other woman’s hands was a weapon. She couldn’t see visible bolts or quarrels.

Butler laughed, incredulous, and slapped his chest. “Lady Death here can handle herself. As can you, it seems.” He nodded at Kallina and her object. “I would not harm her, only restore her to her rightful family.”

“I believe that’s different after Charlotte accepted spaceport sanctuary.” Kallina bit out the words.

Butler raised an eyebrow. “That changes things. If you would be so kind, I shall be leaving now. It appears I need to seek new orders.”

“Don’t come back,” Kallina said. She backed up a pace and circled around him, away from the entrance ramp, so she was between Charlotte and the butler. “As you said. Leave. Now.”

The man held up his hands in surrender, but continued to grin. White teeth shone against his dark skin and beard as he backed down the entrance ramp with both women following several feet behind. Butler pulled his hood up and stepped onto the ground. “I do love a good challenge.”

Kallina took one hand off the weapon and hit a white button. The ramp began to close with a hissing sound. A blue button made a zinging, electric sound. “Locked and secured. The green button is to open the ramp. Don’t press the red button unless it’s an emergency.”

“Do we call the constables?” Charlotte asked. “I thought he was you at first. I don’t know how he got in. I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’re babbling. I called the guards when I saw the ramp open. I would never leave the Wyvern unsecured, especially not with you sleeping. Didn’t seem likely you’d gone for a walk.”

Charlotte gave a tentative smile. “I don’t know where my clothes are.”

Kallina pushed a button on the shiny object and put it in one of her many pockets. She picked up a cloth bag from the ground and headed for the kitchen. “I got some supplies for the week, but we’ll need more.”

Scowling, Kallina dumped the butler’s drink into a basin. “Helped himself, he did. Right. I can put all this away in a few minutes. Let’s go get you some clothes before the guards show. They won’t be fast enough to catch him, but guards always show up at the worst time possible.”

Charlotte followed her out of the room and down the hallway toward the living quarters.

Kallina banged open a cupboard and dug around. “These will do for now. Your dress is in the cleaner. We can talk about what to do with it later.”

“Trousers?” Charlotte asked. “Oh. I suppose…I’ve never…”

The older woman gave her usual half-grin. “You’re about to be awash in ‘I’ve never done that befores,’ little dove. Or should I say, Lady Death? You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

Charlotte wondered if her legs would still feel naked with limbs visible, even though the pants were so large she would need a belt to keep them up.

“Pull the tabs on the sides to tighten them up. There’s a shirt there, too.” Kallina gave her a gentle push. “Get going. We don’t have much time. And maybe don’t mention the blaster when we tell the guards why he left, all right?”

“Blasher,” Charlotte said under her breath after the door was shut. “Blaster? Blazer?” She shrugged off the sleeping shift and folded it, delaying the moment when she would first put on the unfamiliar clothes.

She’d never thought to wear anything but skirts, even when they annoyed her. She gulped. If her mind was so closed to this, she wasn’t going to handle space very well, now was she? This life she had chosen would be filled with far more terrifying decisions than what she wore.

The tabs weren’t enough to make the pants fit well, but at least she didn’t need a belt. She did have to roll up the long legs, though. The shirt was a tight bodice style that provided support, but was far snugger than she had expected. She looked down. Perhaps she could wear the sleep shift over it. A full two inches of her skin showed a pale streak marred by her bellybutton.

A knock on the door came before she did more than reach for the oversized shift. “Charlotte? The guard would like to talk to you about what happened now.”

Her steps out on bare feet were tentative, her arms crossed across her stomach so the guard could not see. Gratitude washed over her that the pants were not as close-fitting as Kallina’s.

“Oh,” Charlotte said. “You’re a woman.” She didn’t drop her arms, wondering if the shaming would be worse from a woman.

“That I am,” the tiny blonde agreed. “Not the best posting in the galaxy for a woman, but then they also don’t bother giving me gate duty because no one from here would listen. So I’ve an easier job than most. If you count talking to prostitutes every day easier.”

“This is Corporal Bleuvins, Charlotte,” Kallina said. “Treat her just as you would a manor’s Butler or province constable. She’s earned her position just as they have.” She walked over to a cupboard.

“And harder for that,” the petite woman said. “None of those ogres knew how to handle an opponent so much smaller in fighting classes, but that just meant they tried to sit on me instead.”

“I didn’t know women could do this,” Charlotte said, her eyes wide at the idea of fighting alongside men  . She jumped as Kallina draped a jacket over her shoulders.

“It’s not an easy life, but if you’re interested, I can talk to you about it,” Corporal Bleuvins said.

“Would you really?” Charlotte said. “I think I’d like to know more. I like the idea of being able to take care of myself.”

“Sure,” the woman said briskly. “But first, let’s get on with what happened here. Attempted kidnapping is no joke.”

***

Joel stood at the bottom of the ramp and grinned at his sister. “Surprise. Got an escort over from your friend.”

The nicer of the bureaucrats from last night, Allen, waved from the firepit area. “Wanted to see how our Charlotte was doing. Heard there was a fuss. Local bloke tried to kidnap her?”

“And we’ve spent the past hour trying to convince her that’s in fact wrong to force people to go somewhere against their will,” Kallina said in an exasperated tone. She crossed the rest of the way down and gave her brother a quick hug. “This is Corporal Bleuvins, who’s probably given up hope.”

The short blonde shrugged and stuck her thumbs in her utility belt. “I might try again tomorrow. We’ll step up patrols in the area, make sure he doesn’t try again.”

Charlotte came down, but stayed on the ramp. “I understand it’s wrong by the laws I now adhere to, but he’s not sworn himself to the same code. It’s a death sentence for him if he doesn’t come back with me.”

“And one for you if he gets you,” Joel said. “I was worried about it getting that far.” He turned to his cart and hefted a pale wooden box to his shoulder.

Kallina came and picked one up as well. “We’ll go to the base bazaar and get lunch after this. Allen, will you join us?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid, duty calls and all that. But perhaps a few moments with Miss Charlotte?”

She blinked at the unfamiliar honorific, but came and sat next to him anyway. Her jacket was far too warm for this sort of sunny day, but she did not remove it. “What is that title you called me?”

“Ah, just means – heh. It means lady, but a young one. Guess you got your title back after all.”

She looked away and propped a slim foot on the metal fire ring. “No, I think not.”

“Are you doing all right?”

“I have much to learn,” Charlotte said. “About everything. How to dress, how to act, how to speak. I wish to do this as quickly as possible.”

“Well, you’re in good hands.” Allen leaned back in his chair. “Have you decided on a nickname to test out yet?”

“I was never permitted one,” she admitted. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Most people start with their base name. Some people call me Al, for instance, but I don’t really like it much. If you don’t like what people call you, don’t respond. They’ll figure it out.”

“Charlotte. So – char? Like charred ashes?” She leaned forward and poked the cold fire with a stick resting there for exactly that purpose.

“Only if you plan to take up arson. There’s also Lotte, or Lottie.”

“If I’d been a boy, I’d have been Charles,” she mused. “Is ‘Charlie’ too unusual?”

“I don’t believe there are rules when it comes to nicknames.” He tipped his uniform hat to her. “Pleased to meet you, Charlie.”

Footsteps and voices became evident in the background as the siblings bickered their way down the ramp.

“Ah, there you are,” Allen said. “I’m afraid I have to get on. Before I go, may I present to you Miss Charlie?”

Joel looked like he’d swallowed a frog. Kallina burst out laughing.

***

Consequences

The thin blond woman in a suit entered the room. Simon knew she had to be more deadly than she looked. Yeah, there it was. He spotted her weapon underneath the suit blazer when she turned to close the door. FBI agents went through a lot of different training. Maybe she’d been brought in to put him at ease, get him talking.

Or break him. This was an interrogation, after all.

The woman crossed to where he sat, chained at the table. He waited for her to say something while she set up her recorder. Not that she needed it. There must be at least three more agents observing behind that two-way glass, not to mention the cameras.

 Sitting, the woman adjusted her skirt before she finally spoke. “Agent Jamie Simmons, interrogating Simon Pursleh Adams. Mr Adams, would you please confirm for the recorder that you have waived your right to counsel?”

“I know my rights,” Simon said. “I don’t need a lawyer.”

“Right then. Mr Adams –“

“Simon.”

“Fine. Simon, tell me where Johnny Salvaro is.” Agent Simmons leaned back in her chair like she had all the time in the world, her limbs loose as she studied him. Just like she’d studied him from behind the mirror, probably. He ran his eyes over her neck, following the trail of a delicate necklace that ended in a long, rectangular bar.

“I don’t know,” he said. Simon mirrored her posture, as best he could with his hands chained to the table.

“Based upon your actions, it looks like you do, Simon.” She let out a smile and crossed her legs. “The base is locked down until we find him. Why don’t you save us the trouble? I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Is anyone ever going to ask me anything else?”

“What would you suggest we ask, Simon?” Her voice was smooth honey, poured hot into perfectly brewed tea. Yeah, she was an interrogator, all right.

“Maybe how all this started.” He realized with a jolt that he wanted to tell his side of the story. Someone ought to know.

Agent Simmons leaned forward, her head tilted to one side, hands clasped in front of her. “Then tell me how this started, Simon.” Her voice purred, and he felt a flush.

“It was all back in 2020,” he began.

Early in 2020, when everybody was in quarantine. It’d been a week or two, and everyone was still scared, but starting to get bored, too. And Johnny had been coding the whole time. He saw opportunities, that kid did. Seventeen years old and a bioengineering prodigy.

A mastermind with one friend in the world, named Simon, who was better at handling money and people. I protected him from the bullies, so Johnny reached out to see if I’d be willing to break quarantine for a good reason. And that reason was genius, too, just like Johnny.

But he was not quite as great at coding. Brilliant, yeah, but you have to understand, the portal discovery, that was all an accident. He didn’t mean to do it. Most people don’t get that. He’s not real coherent in the interviews.

Johnny was trying to merge bioengineering techniques with code, y’see. Make it so that everyone stuck in their homes would be able to experience the places they couldn’t visit in real life.

Johnny laughed at the idea of watching a video. Laughed every time another museum put up a recording of someone walking around. All those VR headsets used to really crack him up. He wanted the experience to be real. Indistinguishable from reality. Not looking like a dork with a headset on. Johnny knew what being a target was like, and that was a prime example.

Just think of the possibilities, he used to say. The blind to see again, the experience of travel without the hassle of TSA and visas. How many people wait until retirement to travel, then realize they can’t for one reason or another? Don’t wait, he’d say. Make it so you don’t have to wait.

After everything those kids did to him, growing up, it’s amazing he didn’t want to burn down the world. But instead he saw potential.

Don’t ask me to explain the portals. The math is way beyond me. Suffice to say, when Johnny tested it and found himself actually at the Louvre, he knew he had an invention on his hands that would change the world. Change everything.

He was so excited, he forgot to tell me. That’s right, Johnny forgot to tell his damn business partner. Because I’d gone home for the night. Ironic, isn’t it?

Nor did he make a business decision. He just uploaded the code. Made it open source. Anyone could edit it, if they understood what it did, and there weren’t many of those. But anyone could also use it, and that didn’t require much of anything at all. Just a little metal wire, injected into your hand, and he released the specs for that, too.

Funny thing was, once the code was released, it was like the whole world paused. You can travel anywhere in the blink of an eye, and it was like everyone was suddenly okay with staying home after all. Maybe it was that people didn’t believe at first, but it was like the opportunity meant people figured they’d get around to it later instead.

The world changed overnight, and everyone got lazy. Who’d have thought?

Oh, but there was interest from the shadows, governments twitching at the implications. Governments wanting Johnny to come work for them, whether he wanted to or not.

The code got pulled down, then reposted. It was back to the early days of the internet, where censorship routed around blockages and information wanted to be free. Hell, they had kiosks at the malls to inject you with the biomech wire, like they used to do pierced ears, only the apparatus went in your finger and hurt more.

Even as it proliferated, it still stayed pretty quiet for a while. Maybe a year or so. Fourteen months. Long enough for Johnny to start hiding from the attention.

And then came the chaos.

Whole economic sectors exploded. Truckers were put out of business, not by the slow-moving automation they feared but was never quite ready, but by code and a shining silver hole in the universe controlled by your phone. Delivery industries were revolutionized. Doctors came to you again, concierge style, while travel agents tried to help you plan your trip rather than book it for you.

Highways grew over with grass and weeds, even as the car companies tried to produce their own personal versions of the portals. Instant transit, from a trusted brand. Some of the hotels just gave up. Why bother, when you can zap yourself home in a few seconds? Others tried to create portal stations, a safe place to step into for a small fee. Most of those went under, too, but at least they tried.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Crime skyrocketed. Murder, theft, everything. The terrorist attacks just kept coming, because we lost all ways to predict targets. But the ability to transit whole armies, each soldier with his own portal? Everything broke down. There’s no way to enforce the law. What was left of the governments had to figure out how to protect nuclear weapons. And don’t get me started on the drug trafficking, sheesh. Or worse. The cartels – I try not to think of all the people who disappeared.

The guilt that comes with having been a part of it doesn’t go away. I’m well aware of the terrible things that happened.

And that generated new economic sectors. Portal safe rooms. Personal bubbles. How to digitize your entire life when anything could be stolen. The size limit made it hard to protect anything bigger than a human.

Johnny said something about the biomechanical limits. He’s always been the only one who really understood the tech.

Personal bubble shields became ubiquitous, and you kept everything you owned in them with you. Rich people hired poor people to form a collective shield with their personal bubbles, trying get around the biomech limits, but it didn’t work. Too many gaps, and a portal could still get through.

As you can see, Johnny wasn’t so great at thinking about consequences.

Everything went digital. Johnny had invented what he had originally tried to achieve, too. Holographic, interactive representations of everything. Nobody knows who has the original Monets after all the crazed art thefts of the first early years, but does it matter anymore when anyone can download a high-fidelity scan and have it for their own?

That one, I at least got him to monetize.

But then we started seeing people mess with the code. Malicious hacking. Malware, ransomware. The portals were too useful to stop using, even after people started showing up bloody, or in bloody pieces.

People paid out the nose to make sure they could keep what they had left. You lose digital, you lose even the illusion that you can own things without them getting stolen by who knows who. It’s such a cat and mouse game of trying to protect your family memories, of being able to travel safely.

The government got involved. Tried to restrict the tech. It was way too late, and they were hanging by a shred of legitimacy anyway. Security was a promise they couldn’t keep.

I lost my taste for it pretty quickly, sold my shares. Tried to think of a place where portals wouldn’t work.

Damn good thing it doesn’t work off planet, right? Or so they hope, since the rich folks are trying to get off planet. Take up farming on Mars, or some such. They made huge investments in the space program. First ship launches tomorrow.

Johnny used to tell me the portal tech was matched to our geomagnetic field, somehow. Our biology, our home planet, combined with code. So none of those folks who disappeared wound up on Venus, at least. Probably at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, I figure.

You ask me, I think he figured out how to get off planet using the portal. Those rich folks, they’re gonna get to Mars, and Johnny will be waiting to greet them with a great big smile, still talking about potential.

So yeah, I was trying to smuggle a gun onto the base. Not because Johnny’s there like you think, but because I’m one of those rich folks now. I’m set for life. I want to get to Mars.

But he’s still my best friend. He trusts me. And if he’s there like I think, well. He won’t be for long.

I don’t think he means any harm, Agent Simmons. Not intentionally. But I really don’t want to see what he comes up with next.

***

This week, Cedar Sanderson challenged me to fill in the blank: “When portals are invented and you can go anywhere you want in the blink of an eye, ____________ will happen.

My prompt submission went to debut author Becky Jones. “A visceral memory (yours or fictional as you prefer), brought to mind by a scent, taste, song, etc.

Join the Odd Prompts crew! Submit a writing prompt to oddprompts@gmail.com. There’s no commitment, no genre restrictions, and no word limit. It doesn’t even have to be the written word, just an expression of creativity.

Sometimes, It’s Just Not Your Day

Celia walked through the woods, grumbling about everything. The humidity made her shorts cling oddly to her legs, and the sun flickering through the leaves only gave her a headache. The path was muddier than the lack of recent rain had indicated, and her new sneakers were ruined. She’d stepped on a rock funny half a mile back, and every step with her left foot twinged up her ankle, which served her right for wearing sneakers rather than boots in the woods. And she wasn’t sure she’d gotten that last turn right, either. Everything in this direction looked generic and familiar, in a vague way that wasn’t specific enough to be sure.

She didn’t care. Her boss had cut her hours again, that pesky cat clawed her leg and ran to hide in the basement when Celia yowled a protest, she’d burned dinner four nights in a row, and her boyfriend had drifted off in the past few weeks without even bothering to properly dump her.

A clearing appeared, and Celia knew she was lost after all. A tree had fallen, huge majesty now dark with internal rot. It blocked the path, but opened up an entrance to a hidden grove, shining with gentle sunlight.

A grove that held a miniature field of tiny wild strawberries, untouched by hungry wildlife and so ripe her mouth watered at the sight. The berries dangled from the vines, lush and ready to burst, while tiny white and yellow flowers promised more prizes if she returned. The sweet scent washed over her in a wave as a breeze cooled her sticky body, and Celia knew there was no more resistance.

Five minutes later, she’d stained her only white t-shirt with berry juice, because her hands just weren’t big enough. Well, this was why she didn’t wear white often.

It was worth it. The taste exploded on her tongue, sweet and tart simultaneously. Celia let out a whoop.

“About time this week started getting better,” she told a distant honeybee. It ignored her, but as her eyes followed, her pleasure received a jolt of adrenaline.

She froze. Was that a wasp nest? It was swollen and grotesque, a giant grey lump caught between the branches of an enormous tree even larger than the one blocking the path. Why, it must be larger than her neighbor’s Saint Bernard.

Celia slowly started to stand up, still clutching a shirt full of miniscule strawberries. The pollinators certainly liked the berry patch, but now she knew why the wildlife had left this grove of temptation alone.

Her eyes didn’t leave the nest as it began to quiver. Celia felt her ankle twinge as she stood up, and wondered how far wasps would chase her.

A tiny, elfin face popped out of an entrance cleverly hidden by the natural bumps of the wasp nest. “There you are! I was wondering when you were coming to tea. I’ll be right – down – “

The miniature woman let out a disproportionately loud gasp and clutched her cheeks with delicate hands. “My winery! What have you done! Thief! Stop, thief!”

For this week’s Odd Prompt challenge, I asked Leigh Kimmel to explore alien condescension. Cedar Sanderson challenged me to explain the tiny, elfin face in the wasp nest.

Darkness Rises

Arne motioned to the herd of waist-high schoolchildren and wondered what Nori had been thinking to set up a tour for eight-year-olds. An archeological dig wasn’t a place for kids, no matter that they were digging in the dirt.

Half the little brats would try to walk off with artifacts. The rest were pushing and shoving sufficient that at least one would end up in one of the trenches before the day was out.

He made sure he kept his groan strictly mental as he counted off the numbers for the fourth time. It had only been five minutes since Nori had dumped the tour on him, claiming she needed to finish a translation.

Twenty-one. That’s all of them. He shut the door behind the last of the giggling fuzzy hats below and plastered a smile on his face. Just the same as if they were adults. Explain the dig. Answer their questions, no matter how stupid.

After all, you never knew who might become fascinated enough to talk up the site to their parents. Or who might have rich parents, inclined to donate funds and keep the team going for another season.

He flipped through the slides on autopilot.

“…first, we do a background study, to see where burials and other artifacts could be likely…new uses of existing technologies for remote sensing have helped see disturbances in the dirt without excavating…”

Arne loved that image. The scan showed the burial mound in a dark circle, a Viking longboat shining white in the middle.

They didn’t know yet how well-preserved it would be, after centuries spent forgotten in a farmer’s field under oats and barley. Viktor had started the excavation recently, but he was focusing on the nearby grave mound first.

The process was always slow going. No one wanted to miss anything, even though this team always made sure to relook at the spoils pile. Some called the team slow. Arne preferred the term thorough.

“Yes, that does mean it tells us where to dig, very good!” He stretched his fake smile farther and wondered if Nori had wished him to the depths of Helheim with this tour.

“…different methods and technologies are used to tell us how old things are, from geological sediment to carbon dating to pollen…we also start with a guess based on what we know of the area, history, and people.

“Yes, we do sometimes find swords, and even axes. It’s very exciting when we do, but mostly we find things like combs and jewelry. What people were buried with tells us a lot about them. Great question…now, initial findings can help us narrow the time period…”

Arne’s face was starting to hurt. “So what we’re really trying to do is understand the people who came before us, because it helps us see where we came from. Would you like to see the site now?”

Nori rushed in, shaking head and hands in his direction as the chittering and giggling rose in the small exhibition area. “I’ll take them. Go see Viktor. Kids, this way please!” Her voice was unnaturally high pitched.

Arne stared after the miniature trampling herd of tiny feet and jackets. He’d never seen her unnerved. Nori was the definition of unflappable. She kept all the organization going, from securing finances for next season to making sure everyone remembered to eat every night.

He grabbed his jacket and headed to see Viktor.

Arne found Viktor in the trench, gloved hands clasped uncaring and heedless behind dark curls, studying the latest find. “Wild, isn’t it? I’ve never seen an upright burial before. Male, I think, probably around twenty-five or so.”

The remains were still half-buried in the grave mound, bone shining almost red in the sun’s bright light. It looked particularly macabre since Viktor had left the eye sockets and mouth filled with dirt to preserve the shape.

Arne grunted, and repressed a shudder. He remained above the excavated area but crouched to study the skull, distorted by the blow that had likely killed the man hundreds of years ago. “Legend tells us being buried upright is a bad sign.”

Viktor twisted backward, his hands still firmly attached to his head as he made eye contact. “You’re not saying you believe in draugr, do you? The vicious undead, the corpse-pale?”

Crap. “I’m saying the people who lived here may have thought a greedy, angry man would come back for some reason. What else was found at the site?”

Arne kept his face passive and hoped science would cover him from Viktor’s future mockery. He could picture his granny in the wooden rocking chair where she’d told him dark legends to excite a young boy, shaking her head at his affected disbelief.

“Janna did a scan. We think there’s a sword, some blobs that might be ornamentation or jewelry. Lots, so he was probably important. I think there’s a dagger, too, but Janna thinks it’s a fancy pair of scissors. And something that looks remarkably like an AK-47.”

“Sorry, a what?” Arne thought Viktor must be having him on. Again.

Viktor shrugged with a laugh, his movements smooth and muscular under a casual, dirt-streaked sweater. “Obviously something’s rusted in a rather unique way. We’ll find out what it really is soon enough.”

Arne stood from his crouch and ran a hand through his hair. “Wasn’t there a stone? A marker? Did we get the runes translated yet?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen it. I need to get moving if we’re going to protect this find. There’s not much daylight left.” Viktor picked up a tool and started brushing dirt away from the skull with callused hands. “Nori finished the translation while you were with those kids, I think.”

Arne bit his lip, unwilling to shame Nori. Perhaps she had simply been excited about the discovery. “I’ll go check with her, then.”

Viktor didn’t bother to answer as Arne jogged back toward the research room. He threw the wooden door open with more force than anticipated and blinked to adjust his eyes to the dark room. Voices had stopped at his entrance.

“Oh, it’s you,” Nori said. “I got the kids out. I was just telling Janna, we have to shut this site down. Maybe get a priest to visit.”

Janna looked up, her thin fingers clasped so hard her knuckles shone white. “We must get off site before darkness,” she whispered.

“The runes on the stone,” Nori started, and stopped. She covered her eyes with a hand. “We should not have removed it. It kept him safely inside. He will come tonight.”

Arne rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “I grew up on these stories too. But draugr? They cannot be real. We are scientists.”

“I met your granny before she passed,” Janna hissed at him, her hands now fisted at her sides. “That time you took us all home for a decent meal. Before we hired Nori to make sure we all ate. She told you to beware. She told you the stories because she saw you could not keep away from disturbing the ancestors.”

Nori and Arne both looked at her in surprise, identical wide eyes and slightly open mouths.

Janna’s energy flitted out of her like a deflating balloon. “Do what you like. I am leaving before the darkness rises.”

“You mean when dark falls?” Nori asked. “It’s almost the solstice. Darkness won’t come for another month.”

“I mean what I said,” Janna replied with dignity. “Look to yourselves, if you do not wish to go mad or be killed.” She turned toward the exit.

A fierce series of taps came from outside as she reached the wooden door. An agonized scream came, followed by more tap-tapping.

She gulped. “What was that? What is that horrid smell?”

Draugr,” Arne said. He reached over Janna’s shoulders and lowered the old-fashioned bar on the door. “I believe the scan showed he was buried with several weapons.”

“Viktor didn’t believe the scan,” Janna said. She wiped away a tear. “He’s dead now, isn’t he?”

Arne didn’t answer. “He protects his weapons from our excavation, because draugr are greedy. Out there is an angry, undead Viking, with a modern weapon and a grudge.”

“They can turn to mist,” Nori said, backing away from the door. She sat on the stone floor, her blue eyes wide and scared. “We cannot stay here.”

“We cannot go outside,” Arne said gently. “He probably sees us as grave robbers.”

“I’ll call for help.” Janna was breathing in odd, ragged gasps as she dug in her satchel for her cell phone.

“Who would you invite to join us?” Arne asked. “Do you have a priest on speed-dial? Internet in the middle of a farmer’s field?”

The tapping noise continued. Arne spread his hands. “I am afraid, my friends, that on this solstice, darkness rose with the draugr.

“For our sins,” Nori whimpered. Janna joined her on the floor, the two women huddled together.

Leaning against the wall of the research building, Arne wished he has listened to his granny and left the dead alone.

Writing Cat thinks we need something lighter now, thanks.

This post is a late add to Week 24’s Odd Prompts challenge. I couldn’t get the spare prompt idea of “While uncovering the grave of a viking king, they found jewelry, a sword, and an AK-47 that can be dated back to era” out of my head.

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