Excerpt

Darla — Present day

A pillar of greasy black smoke rose in the windless sky, carrying the acrid stench of roasted electronics and charred plastic. The wisps that reached me made my throat burn—I should have worn a respirator. I let out a ragged sigh. It was too late now, just like it was too late now for so many things.

The crash site of my once jaunty yellow shuttle painted the only colour on the bleak landscape of this world, a planet whose name I'd already forgotten. The familiar hum of that shuttle used to bring me solace, a reminder that I could always escape. Those days were gone. Things had changed. A lump formed in my throat, threatening to bring on tears.

I hated change.

"It's time to move on," I muttered to myself as I tried to compartmentalize my foolish sentimentality. Everything would be different from this moment on.

I sighed, attempting to be inconspicuous, and leaned against the rock next to me. They would be along shortly—whoever 'they' were. I glanced around for a better hiding spot.

Dusty and cracked, my surroundings offered little. Jagged gravel and grey sky stretched out to the horizon in all directions. This was the dullest planet I'd ever set foot on. No wonder the name of this place never stuck in my brain. My current hiding spot was the best option, so I settled in to wait. It didn't take long.

Within a few minutes, a layer of sand—or worse, ash—had made its way inside my mouth. It coated my tongue, teeth, and throat, and it tasted awful. I hated this world almost as much as I hated sacrificing my shuttle.

"If I looked up 'hellhole,' I'd find a picture of this place," I said to no one. Yeah, I tended to talk to myself, because I made better company than most of the morons I came across.

But I had to admit the fire was on me—I'd set it as part of my ruse. I'd even landed hard enough to crumple the port side of the fuselage. My back was going to hurt for days from that piece of deception, but the idiots trying to kill me needed to be convinced they'd succeeded.

As if on cue, a second shuttle dropped out of the sky and headed toward my wreckage.

"And here they are." I hunkered closer to my rock.

I recognized the shuttle's make. It was a midsize, midbudget model designed to be unremarkable. This one didn't even have its call sign painted on it—against Protectorate regulations, but this far off the beaten path, Protectorate regulations meant little.

Upon landing, two heavily armed people emerged from the shuttle. They searched through the smouldering remains of my own, no doubt hunting for any sign that I'd been on board. Should I have left a biological trace for them to find? Something to convince them I'd died in the crash?

Cloak-and-dagger crap wasn't my thing. I swallowed, knowing it was too late for that anyway. It made no sense to doubt myself now. Despite my frequent wishes, I couldn't turn back time and change things—and there were so many things I'd change if I had that power.

I bit my lip as I watched the pair of goons from my rocky hiding place. Would they suspect I'd just walked away? They had enough firepower between them to kill me in an instant if they realized what had happened.

One goon started surveying the surrounding landscape.

"Shit," I mouthed, making no sound as I flattened myself as far as I could—which wasn't much in my bulky clothes. I put my hand in my pocket and wrapped my fingers around my Emerg-Blast. The little box was highly illegal, but I didn't like carrying more overt weapons. If I hit the Emerg-Blast's button, it would emit an electromagnetic pulse with enough power to fry electronics in about a ten-metre radius—so if the bad folks had blasters, they would suddenly find their weapons useless. As they were left troubleshooting their weapons, I'd run away and hide. (I've never pretended to be brave.)

As for my electronics, I'd lined all my pockets with what were essentially Faraday cages, meaning my shit was well protected.

Then the cavalry arrived—or at least what passed for it in this corner of the universe. A shuttle flew into view, its rusted hull adorned with a single, garish red light twirling around like a baton. The local search-and-rescue squad was here to save the day—or so they thought. But I had to admit their presence should make my survival simpler and more likely.

The goon farthest away shouted for his companion, and they promptly rushed back to their unmarked shuttle. I snorted as they took off. They weren't the brightest bulbs in the box, but they had enough street smarts to realize when they should get out of the way of the authorities. Hopefully they'd report to their criminal overlords that I was good and dead, ending the attempts on my life.

The search-and-rescue ship landed on the vacated spot next to my destroyed shuttle. (Have I mentioned how much I loved that shuttle?) My shuttle's call sign and registration numbers were still visible through the fire, and I'd submitted a proper flight plan stating that I would be flying solo to this world. The rescue squad would report me as really and truly dead, putting my plan in motion and changing my life forever.

Making sure I remained out of view from my rescuers, I stood and began walking away from them. Uncertainty gripped me as I gazed at the horizon, but there was no turning back.

Just yesterday, Doug at the Shuttle Repair Shop (yeah, a lame name, but Doug wasn't known for his creativity) had given my ancient shuttle a clean bill of health. After only a quick checkup, he'd said it was ready. Which, of course, had left me suspicious. In the past he'd always presented me with a long list of 'needed' work, and we'd haggle. This time was different. I knew for a fact there were issues—the right engine ran a little too hot, and a colossal clunk sounded every time I extended the landing gear.

Always check the mechanic's work. Even though it had been nineteen years since Vi gave me that advice, this time it really paid off.

"Why would I waste my time?" I'd rolled over and locked eyes with her—those captivating, dark eyes that had entranced me from our first meeting.

"Why wouldn't you? You're the pilot, and it's your life on the line." She'd smiled, then tapped me on the nose with her finger. "And I'd be terribly upset to hear you died because you'd been stupid."

I'd snorted then, just as I was snorting now.

"Take the basic mechanics course."

"My evenings are better spent here with you," I'd said in a lame attempt at romance. (I'd probably even tried to put on a cheesy, seductive expression.)

"Take the course."

So I had. And today wasn't the first time that knowledge had saved my life. Vi had been right. I'd taken the shuttle into the nearest berth as soon as I'd left Doug's shop, and I'd found the explosives packed into my starboard engine. Doug wasn't creative enough to want to kill me, but someone was—no doubt one of the many criminal factions around.

I swallowed. I didn't know who wanted me dead, but hopefully now they thought they'd succeeded.

As I walked away from the burning wreck of my favourite shuttle, I adjusted the strap on my goggles and pressed the AR icon on the interface. The sunlight dimmed as a holographic image appeared, giving me navigational information. Three kilometres away was an old industrial complex with grime caked to its walls from decades of neglect—kinda like me. The buildings were my first landmark, so I headed straight for them.

With a flick of my gaze, I started Hank's code. In the overlaid world created by my goggles, a massive hippo appeared at my side.

"It went as planned," I said.

Hank didn't reply, but then he never did. He was a hippo, after all, and not even a real one.

"There's a settlement on the other side." I pointed to the abandoned factory. "We'll take the train from there."

I had to admit having an imaginary hippo as a companion was kinda weird. At one time there were real human beings in my life I could count on for company, but that had gone sideways. Like all relationships, the one with had Vi failed eventually, and I never met anyone quite like her again. Long after she vanished from my life, I got my own ship (just like she and I used to chat about late into the night, but I did it without her). Crew members came and went. The only ones who lasted had secrets as big as mine.

I let out a sigh, which Hank kindly ignored.

The dull orb that passed as a sun on this crap world began its dip toward the horizon, casting a harsh red light. The entire planet seemed smothered, covered in a crimson blanket, but at least the terrain wasn't dull grey anymore. As it sank, the sun's final rays highlighted the billows of my breath in the cold air.

The old factory's imposing edifice filled my view now. It was silent, eerily so. With each step, the metallic taste in the air intensified. At this range the decaying structure appeared ready to topple at any moment. Nothing about it hinted at what they had once made behind its walls. It could have been millions of Hank the Hippo toys for all I knew. I looked down at Hank, and he looked up at me.

The cold air bit at my skin as I checked the temperature. The number had dropped significantly, and I risked hypothermia if I stayed out much longer. My aching knees begged me to stop, but I kept moving and continued my ruminating—which, I admit, was my superpower.

Who wanted me dead? I'd spent the past seventeen years running an ancient water tanker with a skeleton crew. To clarify, they weren't actual skeletons, just the minimum number of crew members the Protectorate said I needed to keep a licence. Delivering water wasn't the kind of activity that created enemies. Yeah, I dabbled in some collecting—just Old Earth artifacts. And yeah, my contacts were often shady. But I always paid well for my objects. Who tried to murder someone over an ancient trinket?

It was the stuff from Generation Ship 12, the last ship to leave Earth, that I coveted the most. I had packed nothing practical beyond a change of clothes in my backpack, but my most prized possession—a Hank the Hippo notebook sketched in by a little boy born on Earth—was protected in a waterproof sheath. It was so precious, I barely looked inside, just the first few pages. Each one depicted a happy family heading out into the stars. Just thinking about it made me smile.

A crack drew my attention, and I spun around. The rocks to the right collapsed in a puff of dust.

From where I stood, I could see a field of two-meter-long piles of rocks that extended to the old factory. The dying sunlight highlighted dozens, maybe over a hundred of them. Then it dawned on me what they were. Graves. I swallowed and got moving, not wanting to be anywhere close to here. Clearly this world had killed these people. There was no reason for me to stick around.

My contact would be waiting for me at the base of the space elevator. I needed to catch the last train tonight to make it on time. This time I had a plan—the first step to my new life.

Fast moving, I was not. After I circled the factory, it took me another hour to reach the town. Full darkness had settled by then, bringing with it a bitter cold that cut to my core despite the fact that I'd programmed my nanite clothing to its warmest setting.

When I arrived, the townsfolk were smartly all indoors. Only a few old TUD units moved about, doing odd jobs—taking out trash, washing windows. (Who the hell set a robot to wash windows in below-freezing weather?) I'd always been told the TUD line of military robots was short for 'totally useless device.' Since they were surplus now, anyone could get a TUD unit for cheap. I scoffed. I sure as hell didn't need a useless device mucking up my life.

I pulled up my hood and zipped my jacket as high as it could go. It and my goggles obscured my face. To the occasional person I passed, I looked like a random woman. Even if my murderers came to town and asked questions, no one would be able to describe me. It was foolish sentimentality, I knew, but I kept Hank at my side, his silent presence the only company I needed. Plus, he was invisible to everyone but me—no need for the locals to brand me as crazy.

The town—or more accurately village—consisted of a few resident blocks, some dilapidated stores, and a train station. I went directly to the station, ignoring my grumbling stomach as I passed the only restaurant in town. The night train waited, its sleek shape out of place compared to the surroundings.

I purchased a ticket from the automatic kiosk. When I'd gotten wind someone was trying to kill me, I'd taken precautions with my credits—they were now tucked away in a chain of accounts no one knew I had (not even the banks). No one could track me through my money, which gave me a fair amount of freedom.

Keeping my face averted from the security cameras, I boarded the train. The lights blinded me as I stepped inside. I paused and let my eyes adjust, then sighed at the scene. The illumination in the car wasn't nearly as bright as I'd thought. Dim shadows filled the corners.

A pace farther in, the rank stench of body odour with a side of stale sandwiches greeted me. The smells suggested it had been some time since the car's last maintenance—something that would have driven Vi nuts. Worn seats lined a narrow aisle. Ads for fast food, cosmetic surgery, and luxury vacations flashed on the panels above the windows, creating the kind of cluttered sight that typically graced low-end commuter trains. To make matters worse, a few cracked windows allowed dust and grime to enter. Random trash accumulated in the corners, and graffiti covered the seats.

On the plus side, hardly anyone was on board. I took a window seat on the side facing away from the town—one where the window was clear of any spray paint. I slumped down, my backpack on my lap, and dozed off.

A ping followed by the announcement of our departure woke me. I yawned and looked around just as a shudder passed through the train and all the doors slid closed. The car remained mostly empty. No need to be concerned about a chatty moron sitting next to me. With a groan, the train levitated and pulled out of the station.

Congratulating myself on my success, I closed my eyes and let my head tip back against the headrest. Finally I could relax, but of course my mind started racing instead.

While I couldn't claim to have lived a perfectly law-abiding life, I could remember only one event that might have warranted killing me—and that had happened seventeen years ago. Was my past finally catching up to me? I wasn't proud of what I'd done, but—

I swallowed and opened my eyes. "No need to dwell on that shit," I said to myself.

There was nothing to see out the window, so I opened my backpack and pulled out the Hank the Hippo notebook. A smiling version of Hank graced the cover, and across the bottom in block letters was the name Minjun Lee. I knew it should be kept in a museum and fussed over by professional curators, but I wasn't ready to let go of it. Besides, I'd been dealing with old shit for decades. I knew what I was doing.

I kept the notebook in a sealed bag, protected from my fingers, and a piece of cardboard on the back meant it couldn't be bent. I could keep it safe forever.

I slipped the notebook back in my bag and put my foot through the strap so no one could pull it away from me. Then I let my gaze fall on the dark landscape outside. There was nothing to see. I dozed off again.