Stellar Objects

Chapter 8: Foiled

Shelly ran the length of the ship.

It felt good to run – to actually go somewhere. On Earth, she'd been a tri-athlete – running, swimming, cycling. Like everyone who competed, she wore a brask, but up here in space, where the air was filtered to minimum safety levels, there just simply wasn't enough room to work up a sweat. She'd found some stationary equipment, and assembled herself a gym in a storage unit that the crew had ignored. But it wasn't the same.

As she ran towards the shuttle boarding area, she imagined she was back on Earth, her legs pushing her ever forwards to the finish line. She'd run marathons, swam the Channel, and biked the alps, but none of that intense training had prepared her for the coldness and isolation of space. Sure, the Ghandi was populated with a functional crew, but she didn't trust any of them – starting with Captain Nayar. She had no friends, no support, and felt completely isolated among the stars. The only solace she found was in that storage unit, running on the squeaky treadmill or pushing herself on the stationary bike with the wonky left pedal. There, with her heart rate elevated and forehead dripping with sweat, did she actually feel alive.

Shelly came to the T-junction at the fore of the ship, and bolted to the port side. She ascended the ladder, two rungs at a time and rounded another corner to enter the shuttle docking area. She felt alive, and it felt great.

The shuttle was sealed shut, it's secondary engines primed for breakaway. She moved to the control unit. The screen scanned her retina, giving her access to the ships controls and Shelly quickly reasserted the magnetic field. The shuttle could fire up, but it'd burn through all of its fuel sitting still. It wasn't going anywhere.

                                                                                                      *

Andra gripped the steering column and made her final pre-flight checks. She'd played enough viseo games to know that the first thing that kills you in spaceflight is impatience. The fuel stocks needed to be checked – just over half full. The oxygen supply needed to be confirmed – forty-two hours worth. The cabin pressure needed adjusting – barometric pressure at 1043.25 millibars and rising. And the—

Suddenly, the rear hatch hissed.

That's not good, Andra thought.

"Did you do that?" Grunge asked. She swiveled round in chair, which made him look even smaller than he actually was.

"Checking the computer for any—" Andra started to say, as she scanned the screen in front of her for signs of malfunction.

"Don't bother," called a voice. It was a woman's voice; firm, but not angry. It reminded Andra of the soshelle worker that once visited her tent and threatened to take her and George 'away.'

"Away, where?" Andra had protested. "There's nowhere to go."

"Off world," the soshelle worker had said. "There are families on off-world out posts who can't have children of their own. You'd be a rajsend to them."

Andra had heard the stories that the colonists left for land and riches, only to discover that the thinner atmospheres of the planets and moons they'd settled did something to their bodies so they couldn't have children. Occasionally, child-hunters combed the Heap, looking for kids to steal. While Andra didn't think this sochelle worker was a child-hunter, there was no way she was going anywhere.

Andra turned fully around to see who'd come aboard their escape shuttle. It was the police officer, the cop on board that the crew called Shrilly behind her back. Her real name was Shelly Carpet or something like that.

"Engine room and galley, right?" she asked. Her voice was softer now. Kinder, but still firm.

Grunge pointed at himself, and then to Andra. "Grunge and Andra, actually," he said.

"What do you think you're doing, Grunge and Andra?" asked Shelly.

Andra glanced at the rear hatch. She calculated her options. She and Grunge might be able to slip past the cop, disappear into the service tunnels in the ship and wait for another chance to flee. But if Shelly grabbed Grunge, Andra would be just as stuck. She wasn't going anywhere without her brother. Not ever.

Without turning her head, Andra looked over at the status screen to her left. It would take one quick swipe of her finger to close the rear hatch, trapping the cop inside and then Andra could blast away. She'd drop Shelly off on the way to Earth. The plan wasn't without risk – after all, Shelly was bigger than Andra, and probably well trained, but Andra could fight if she had to – but Shelly did something Andra didn't expect. She smiled.

"I've re-engaged the magnetic lock. And while I admire your initiative, the shuttle is staying put and so are the two of you."

Andra looked over to Grunge, and then to the open hatch. She was willing him to understand the new plan; to make a break for it.

"And there's no use hiding on the ship," Shelly added.

Andra sighed with a huff. She was good, and it annoyed her.

"We're just trying to get home," Andra said. "Please, the shuttle isn't even yours, so its not like we're stealing anything from you. And you'll never miss us; you didn't even know our names."

Shelly knelt down, closer to Andra's eye line. "I was your age once," she said. "And I ran away from home; a few times actually. My grandparents were stern and didn't understand me, I just wanted to—"

"At least you had grandparents," Andra spat. She wasn't going to listen to this patronizing trip down memory lane for a person who had a real home and real adults.

Shelly stood up.

Grunge widened his eyes to Andra, tilted his head just a little. "It's okay."

Shelly folded her arms and spoke with a coldness that Andra knew adults reserved for when they'd run out of patience with kids. "You two are property of the Raj. The Ghandi is your home now."

Shelly turned her head slightly and tapped the microphone on her collar. "Captain, shuttle secure. It was two of our own making a break for it."

"Put 'em in the Brig," the Captain's voice replied.

Shelly swallowed what she was about to say. Andra noticed her shift her weight onto her right foot. She was stalling, unsure what to say. The cop looked at Andra and then at Grunge. Andra could see the conflict in her eyes.

"They're just children, sir," Shelly finally replied.

"They're slaves that tried to slip," he replied. "We have a rendez-vous request from Quadrant Command. We'll hand them over with the traitor and they'll be someone else's problem. That's an order. Nayar out."

"You heard him," Shelly ordered. "If you come without trouble, I'll make sure your meals come on time. Otherwise..."

"Mrs. Carpace," George said, raising his hand like he was sitting in a schoolroom from one of the story-books he'd found on the Heap.

"It's Ms.," she said, curtly.

"Mizz," he tried again. "You can come with us if you want."

"George!" called Andra, noticing that Shelly almost laughed.

"Grunge, George," she said. "And Andra. In another life, I'd fly you home myself. But out here, we don't get to choose."

"You always get to choose, Mizz," said George.

"No we don't," said Andra, shaking her head as she rose from the pilot's chair. She took her brother's hand, resigned to the fact that they'd tried and failed. She took one last look at the shuttle, and marched herself and George in front of the cop to the brig.

She'd let her brother down.

Again.    

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