Tag: lady death

Orb X57

October 11, 2020 / fionagreywrites

Char perched in the window of the stone ruin, ready to leap to the battered floor at the first crumble of unstable mortar. It felt reasonable under her rubber-soled boots, and she settled into her current guard position, hidden behind an ivy curtain that covered half the open window.

Well, behind something that looked like ivy to her eyes, at least. Orb X57 reminded her of Society, her home planet. Training let her automatically categorize the most evident differences – ground covering a silvered grey rather than green, the dominant harvest plant color maroon rather than the vivid orange she remembered.

She shifted in her perch and adjusted her grip on her weapon, scanning the dull grey horizon and treeline. It wouldn’t do to get careless, thinking she was home. Not with most of her squad downstairs sleeping.

And not that home brought fond memories. Char rolled her shoulders to ease the tension creeping into her neck. Society was long behind her, and this wasn’t her planet. Orb X57 was the planet they were checking for colony viability. So far, it seemed promising.

At the sound of a bootfall, she relaxed further. Two solid months of training let her identify the sound as her squadmate John without turning. He was slowly patrolling the tower’s south side, marking a crescent between east and west with his tread. Sam was at the bottom of the surprisingly well-kept ruin’s stairs, guarding the only entrance and their only exit, carefully camouflaged with local foliage. Char was overwatch for Sam until they traded positions. Without the shuttle, they’d be stuck on this planet until Command could afford to send someone to get them. It was worth the tradeoff to protect their only escape route.

“Nothing to report, boss,” John said in a low baritone. It would carry less than a whisper. “No signs of current habitation.”

She nodded. “Mist starting at the edge of the forest, there. Keep sharp.” Orb X57 so far had been damp, chill ground mixing with warm northern breeze. Perfect fog conditions.

Char studied the forest. The dark green trees with pointed tops looked like they’d keep their coloring throughout the coming winter. Her briefing packet identified this as a planet with a long, warm growing season and a light winter. Command thought this could be one of the original lost colonies, sent millenia before to increase humanity’s presence throughout the galaxy.

The histories called Old Earth’s plan to seed likely planets self-sufficiency. Char called limited scientific surveys and no supply chain both stupid and doomed to failure.

“Contact.” Her fingers had moved automatically to depress the comm button before she’d consciously realized what her eyes had seen. “Contact, moving fast. Northern forest.”

“I see it.” Sam’s voice was smooth and calm in her ear. “Estimate about five minutes away at current speed.”

Two clicks on the comm meant the group below was up and readying for action.

She trained her binoculars on the blurred, moving figure, careful not to flash the lenses in the dim morning light. A horse and rider emerged into her view. The pair stumbled out of the northern forest, staggering away from the mist’s grasping fingers.

Char blinked. What flight of fancy was this nonsense? And yet – she could have sworn the horse reacted to the fog, jumping away.

She increased the magnification and focused on the chestnut. It had magnificent lines, but yes, blood streaked both croup and hock where the mist had reached for the creature. The rider was slumped over the saddle, face hidden. “Probable confirmation of lost colony and continued habitation. Horse and rider. Both injured or exhausted, no visible weapons.”

Char kept the binoculars up and trained on the mist. She heard John’s footsteps behind her on the stone floor. “Nothing from the other directions.”

“Take the risk. Prepare for action to the north.” Char felt her jaw harden against her indecision and wondered if being in charge always meant making it up as she went along. “Something weird here.”

His laugh rumbled low behind her. “New planet always has something weird. Gris reports everyone downstairs is up and prepped for action. We’ll be fine.” He took a position next to hers, on the other side of the window, weapon at the ready.

John’s reassurance helped her first command jitters, if not her decisionmaking. Binocs moved smoothly in her hand to the slowing horse and rider.

Just in time to see the mist lunge for the horse, to watch the chestnut mare scream, her head up and eyes wild. The rider came to life, sliding off the horse to collapse into a pile of leather rags on the ground, silver-grey grasses covered in the first dropped vermillion leaves of autumn. The figure crawled for a few frantic moments, dodging frenzied hooves before lurching to two feet and beginning a faltering run.

The mist withdrew a few feet, air pink with aerated blood, momentarily satiated. The horse collapsed to the ground, squeals evident even from a distance, unable to rise.

Char dropped the binoculars around her neck. “Evac! Evac now. Everyone to the shuttle.”

She made frantic hand motions at her second in command. “Now!”

John stared at her unblinking for a brief moment before he bolted down the stairs. His baritone bellowed down the tower staircase. “Evac now, evac now, grab your gear and go!”

She looked one frantic time at the deepening pink mist, now enveloping the horse up to her withers. Char turned and ran down the stairs, grabbing her pack as she slid across the tower’s polished second floor. The others were already ahead of her, running in a diamond formation.

Sam waited for her at the entrance. “Took you long enough,” she grunted. The two women bolted after the others, all traces of stealth abandoned.

The shuttle’s engines started with a roar. Char risked a glance over her shoulder at the figure now chasing after them. The androgynous figure put on another spurt of speed, mist looming large and sanguine behind it.

“Sha’eka,” Char spat, and ran faster. She could barely breathe by the time she reached the shuttle. John reached out a hand and yanked her on board by her pack.

“You’re the last.” The airlock doors were open, its single crew cycle unused until returning to the ship. He bodily shoved her past the second door and leaned back to close the main door.

Char coughed, wheezing. “No, I’m not.”

“Boss, you’ve got to be kidding.” John gave her another split-second stare of disbelief. “Right. Closing inner airlock door only.”

“There’s room enough in there.”

“On your head be it.” He shook his head. “Pilot, takeoff in twenty seconds, regardless of how crazy the boss is.”

Twenty seconds later, the outer door was secured, but she was out of time to strap in. She slid to the floor and braced against the thrust. Her weapon would be secure enough in her lap for now, with her arms looped through the emergency straps on the inner airlock door. She gripped the stock and with her free hand, Char double-tapped the comms button to reach her superior officers.

“Command, Squad Leader Charlotte Merikh, emergency squad evacuation of Orb X57, all crew on board. Shuttle is inbound for Aquilon. We have likely confirmation as a lost colony.”

“Squad Leader, Command, explain.”

“Command, the planet has horses.” No one had found their like originating anywhere across the universe outside of Old Earth, but most early colonies had carried embryos and the short-term means to birth a diverse herd.

“Copy. Continue debrief.”

She closed her eyes in relief and pressed the back of her head against the cool metal of the shuttle. The voice didn’t sound unhappy about the early evac. “Command, planet appears to have hostile carnivorous intent. We are unable to proceed without additional protection. A mist…ate the horse.”

“Copy. Anticipate hard decon upon arrival.”

Char winced. No one sane liked hard decontamination. She ignored the thumps and unintelligible but increasingly high-pitched gibberish coming through the window just above her head. “Command, complicating factor in the airlock…”

***

Catching up after a few extremely hectic weeks! Week 39‘s Odd Prompt came from Cedar Sanderson: “The fog was an unnatural cotton-candy pink as the sun rose. As the light hit it, it glowed, but there was a moving shadow in the heart of it. What emerged…” My prompt went back to Cedar; “Don’t wake up the computer. It’ll bite.”

No One Ever Suspects the Butterfly

September 23, 2020 / fionagreywrites

Char swept into the room, blue silk dress rippling with each step of her long legs. She tossed long red hair behind her shoulder and beelined down the spiral stairs for the man in the tuxedo. The man himself was standing in the shadowed kitchen, shoulders hunched over as he poked at something out of sight.

Max Butler looked up as her high heels clicked onto the main floor. “I figured it out. I think.” He held up the small white box, nondescript and plain. Nothing worth stealing, the box proclaimed, too small and not small enough to contain anything of value.

“It’s gone dark on you outside.” She peeked over the box edge. “A butterfly?”

“Jewelry. Or a fancy hair clip.”

Mild disappointment ran through her. “Made of plastic? Honestly, it looks like it’s for a child, not a diplomatic function. That’s the most obvious recording device I’ve seen in years. They won’t let us within a hundred yards of the entrance.”

Max grinned, his four-day stubbled beard dark against white teeth. “I need your thumb.”

Char raised an eyebrow and proffered her hand with disdain. “I need that thing to record the ambassador’s corruption.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Her partner gripped her hand and pressed her thumb against the butterfly’s head, just below the antennae. “It needs your thumbprint to work.”

Her lips spread in a slow grin as she felt the plastic warm, the wings suddenly powder soft and delicate against her trailing fingers. She held her fingers to her throat as large colored dots spread across the butterfly’s wings, rippling through the rainbow. The wings fluttered and began to move, and she startled backward before she could stop herself.

Max laughed. “It’s meant to match your dress.” She tore her eyes away from the butterfly and met his dark eyes. “Here, let me help you.”

The wings settled into a brilliant cerulean blue, iridescent as it fluttered just above the box. He reached down a hand and lifted it gently, bringing the insect toward her hair.

“It’s meant to flutter, and catch attention as well as sound. It’ll angle its wings for better reception.” His low voice echoed in her ear.

Char bit her lip. His hands tangled gently in her curls, warmth grazing her face. She glanced down quickly, staring at the tips of her silver shoes. The kitchen floor gleamed underneath, unlike their usual clean but worn safehouse floors. She didn’t stop studying the tiles until his hands pulled away.

She gulped to find he had not stepped back to admire his work.

“Lady Death,” her partner said with a wry smile. “You’ll be the death of me yet.”

He retreated into shadows before she could reply, and she could not see his eyes.

“Still not fond of insects, I see.” Voice light once more, Max grabbed the flyer’s key fob from the counter and flipped it in the air. “Let’s go. Do try not to annoy the tech people so that they ‘accidentally’ forget the instructions to our gadgets again, will you?”

***

This week’s More Odds Than Ends challenge was odder than usual. I knew what I wanted to write straight away, but kept putting it off and nearly didn’t get it done. Nother Mike challenged me with “In the box was a plastic butterfly, large colorful dots spreading across its wings as it started to move…” and I can’t wait to see what Cedar Sanderson does with a black and white sunrise.

Mahogony and Loyalty

September 15, 2020 / fionagreywrites

Frank Delacroix leaned back and kicked his legs up on the desk. Mahogany, of course, an exquisite import from Old Earth, or so he was told. The handmade Persiannah rug was soft enough on his feet; he’d made sure of that. Cheryl needed a soft rug for when she gave him his special personal treatments. He wasn’t a monster, even had a fond spot for her. But some days, a man just wanted to kick back, classic-style, and view his empire.

He’d fought long and hard to get here, after all. The rumor campaign that followed his predecessor just kept coming up somehow, every time the man made a move. It had taken longer and been more expensive than he’d anticipated, too. Frank snorted. Who’d have thought personal loyalty would have been a factor?

It was worth it, though, even if that guy had ultimately transferred a better position, in a larger city. One where you could go outside wearing white and not have it turn black-streaked from a dry, filthy snow. He was content here for now, solidifying his position to keep moving up the tower, to bigger and better towers. His turn would come, and then he’d get rid of that guy. Maybe start introducing himself as Francis.

In the meantime, no longer did he have to tolerate hearing his workers complain about their rights and needs. Smug bastards, thinking they knew better than someone put in place to put them in their place. He’d simply raised the quota until the workers were too exhausted to complain. Not that they’d dare after that woman bled all over the floor. And if they disappeared? So much the better. He could pay their replacements less, justifying their lack of experience.

He leaned back again, a satisfied smile on his pudgy face at the memory of today’s broken promise. He loved teasing the ambitious with promotions, only to yank it away at the last moment of hope. Even better, he could act apologetic, simpering about how this time, things hadn’t worked out, but next time, it was sureto be a sure thing. If only the circumstances were slightly different, if cuts hadn’t happened, if the quotas hadn’t gone up from central, if that work had been smidgen higher quality.

Frank licked his lips and contemplated the view, six stories above the level of heavy smog the grounders had to put up with every day as they trudged from their hovels to the factories. From here, he could see lights shining as his city worked to provide him with all the comforts and indulgences this crappy planet could offer. No goggles and stuffy breather for him, no sir.

Perhaps he’d call Cheryl in for some special treatment time soon. He deserved it, after all, now that he’d reached this status. Nothing was too good for a World Obtainer and Requisitions Manager. Each city on Formulant had one, each in a towering pillar to look upon the peons and control their miserable lives until they’d squeezed out everything they had to give.

Frank laughed, alone in his tower room with the unbreakable diamond windows. He’d discovered that most of the peons would do anything just to hope for a better chance at life. Cheryl, for instance. All he had to do was make her cry, toss out some promises, throw her a bone once in a while, and she’d do anything. He just couldn’t let it get too far, had to keep the puppet strings from being too obvious. Get her sister a job, but make it dependent on her keeping him happy. Had to keep her upset enough to keep hoping, but not get so expectant she started thinking she could make demands.

His boss told him he was a master at handling that delicate balance, but it was really a prerequisite for the job. World Obtainer and Requisitions Masters only wanted the powerful, the skilled, the talented. And he’d made it, off the factory floor at last. He was one of the elite.

Yes, life was just a bowl – a fancy, hideously expensive Ming dynasty bowl, whatever the Ming dynasty was – of cherrylinas for a WORM. Frank reached over and plucked one of the shiny fruits out of the blue and white dish, its deep red flesh bursting luscious and sweet in his mouth.

At the nearby spaceport, Charlotte Merikh stepped off The Wyvern and breathed in Formulant’s air for the first time. It smelled just as foul as the background dossier she’d read on the flight to this corrupt, polluted hellhole. It was a far cry from the early settlers’ terraformed greenery and soft sandy beaches, lost after the factories edged the settlers into poverty and bondage. Beggar children were held back from bothering the tourists – those that remained – by a rusted fence and a bored security guard. Their sticklike arms reached through holes in the fence toward her, but no hope shone in the foundlings’ dull eyes.

Char couldn’t wait to take down WORM.

***

I didn’t know what to do with this week’s odd prompt from Cedar Sanderson: Life is a bowl of cherries – if you’re a worm. My husband suggested the acronym idea, and we had a lot of fun tossing around ideas for it. See story two here.

My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel, to describe a scene in the Carta Marina.

Get Off My Lawn

August 14, 2020 / fionagreywrites

Char strolled down the lane past her neighbors’ estates, market basket in hand. Her smile was pleasant without inviting undue attention or encouraging conversation. Full skirts ended precisely six inches above sensible flat boots perfect for the day’s damp, cobbled streets. A starched apron wound around her waist, ready to dry dishes or children’s tears alike. She was the picture of a perfect Octanian housewife.

A cloth draped over her wicker basket protected a long loaf of bread, some fruit, and a soft, mild cheese from flying pests. It also concealed a small blaster and detection equipment. Long red hair tucked under a proper babuskha hid her comms earpiece, while the broach on her left shoulder that marked her as a married woman in this county was, in fact, a disguised microphone.

Of course Char looked the very image of a local housewife. A newcomer who didn’t fit in perfectly would draw far more attention.

“Signal coming from nearby,” she said without moving her lips. “Definitely northwest.”

Her earpiece crackled. Sheer discipline kept her expression pleasant as she nodded to a trio of giggling adolescent girls passing by.

“Sorry.” Max Butler’s voice sounded in her ear. “The calibration was off.”

Char suppressed a snort and did not reply. Her walk was a hair too slow as she used peripheral vision to study the three houses to the left. Each had a long, winding lane, with the stone houses clumped close together and fields of grain adjacent in different directions.

“Narrowed to the Feldmans, the Gallos, or the Oglethorpes,” Max said. “Funny place for a weapons dealer.”

She did snort that time, but only because no one was around.

“Can you think of a reason to get closer and scan the silos?”

Char stopped at the fence and checked in her basket, pretending to look annoyed. “I can make cakes to take around.”

“You’re in visual range,” Max said. “What’s going on? You look like you forgot something.”

“Yeah, greehda,” Char said, calling him the name of the local ratlike pest that feasted on grain if not protected by the ubiquitous silos. “We’re out of eggs. Heading back to the market. I’m not spending winter on this planet.”

She turned around with a dramatic sigh and headed back. It gave her an excuse to study the houses again. Each had been built close to the others for protection and defense during the original planet colonization ninety years ago. The silos were kept close to the houses due to raiders, a long frozen season, and vicious predators that had objected to the newcomers.

No one had seen the arkhnad predators in the local Octanian area for more than three decades, but Char had seen the antlers hanging on the local town hall wall. They must have been thirteen feet across. When she’d expressed amazement, a grizzled toothless man croaked a laugh and told her the rack was from a baby. She’d noticed he was missing most of his left hand as he stumped away.

But there were no predators in this area now. The weapons dealer they sought was stirring up trouble, fomenting rebellion for an economic takeover. Had the last purchase not gone beyond small arms into a level of technology not usually seen on Octania, his work might have gone unnoticed until the rebels had sufficient firepower to blast the entire colony.

Three children raced past her, and she gave them an indulgent smile. Children were protected here, unlike most colonies where they were put to work as soon as possible. It was an artifact of the days when arkhnad and giant buzzards roamed freely. Char didn’t expect the attitude would last much longer, especially not after the grumblings about labor shortages down at the town hall.

These three were somewhere between five and seven, just at the age where they’d been granted freedom to run outside freely without fear of being carried off. Their cries were joyous, and all three slid barefoot on the damp grass without care for their clothing.

Char continued a few steps on, then spun at a shout.

“I told you kids to stay off my lawn!” Stubby Mr Oglethorpe had been one of the loudest complainers about children at the town hall meeting. Then, he’d been grumbling about wasting food on useless hands. He’d only quieted after someone else had pulled him aside. Now, he was red-faced and panting after his run from the house’s main entrance, waving a box in his hand.

Char’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Max, situation.” Then, louder, she called to the children, imploring them to leave Mr Oglethorpe alone. She worked her free hand under the loaf of bread.

The three boys shrieked with laughter and ignored both of the adults.

“I said, get off the lawn!” Mr Oglethorpe pressed a button on the metal box. A silver antennae rose and beeped, followed by an explosion. Char barely kept her footing sixty feet away.

She blinked away dust. Miniature heat-seeking missiles erupted from what used to be his grain silo, heading straight for suddenly silent boys. They clawed at the ground, trying to get up from where blast had knocked them, slipping on the damp grass.

Char dropped her basket, revealing a blaster. She fired three times, her cybernetic implant the only reason the blaster was even remotely fast enough to short-circuit the missiles.

The boys screamed as hot metal dropped from the sky, inert. One of the missiles rolled toward the boys, whose shrieks had turned to high-pitched terror and tears. They ran, still screaming. All three gave her a wide berth as she stood there, feet planted apart and blaster in hand.

Char’s fourth shot stunned Mr Oglethorpe and left him motionless but alive in the yard. “Of all the ways to find out.”

She coughed over the trails of smoke left behind by the zapped missiles. “Max, my cover’s blown. Requesting immediate extract. Heading toward you.” Their own grain silo concealed a shuttle.

Char coughed again, and reached for the basket. “Oglethorpe. Weapons dealer was definitely Oglethorpe.”

“Copy. Heading your way for planetary extract in two minutes. Command is tracking Oglethorpe as weapons dealer. Grid authorities are already dispatched.” The earpiece shrilled again, and Char let herself wince this time as she headed for the safehouse at double speed.

Max’s voice was hesitant in her ear. She could hear the whine of the shuttle in the background. “You grabbed the food, right? That cheese…”

“Greedy greedha,” Char grumbled. “I’m not new to this. Of course I brought the cheese.”

***

On this week’s Odd Prompts, nother Mike challenged me with “As the kids cut across his lawn again, Mr. Oglethorpe unleashed his latest purchase, heat-seeking missiles. He grinned and muttered, “I told you to get off my lawn!””

My prompt went to Jim and Anne: “At a restaurant, you order calamari. The cloche is lifted, and a talking squid named Calamari gives your table a personalized standup comedy routine.”

Sanctuary

August 1, 2020 / fionagreywrites

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

July 26, 2020 / fionagreywrites

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.

Lady Death, Continued (1)

June 28, 2020 / fionagreywrites

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.

***