Siege of Praetar (Tales of a Dying Star Book 1) (6 page)

The guards at the fence heckled her as she left the compound, but she had no ears for them. She ran down the street until her breath was ragged and her feet throbbed, past the gang of boys and upstairs to her room.

Kaela whimpered in the corner, her eyes widening when her mother burst through the door. “Where’s… where’s Ami?”

“Everything’s okay,” she said, throwing aside the rock from the corner. She didn’t bother counting out the 55 credits instead clutching the entire box to her chest as she left.

She took the stairs two-at-a-time and rounded the entrance to the street--and tripped over something, sending the box hurtling through the air. Her wrists took most of the impact, but not all, and when her head hit the pavement she saw spots of yellow and white. The box clattered across the street, but thankfully remained intact.

When her vision returned Mira pushed to her knees, but a foot between her shoulder blades pressed her back to the ground.

“You in a hurry,” said one of the boys. She could see several pairs of feet around her. She twisted her head to face the one who spoke. His red hair fell to his shoulder in curls, and his face was blotched with pimples. He was stout, more than any boy on Praetar ought to be.

“She dropped this,” said another, picking up the box. The glass inside clinked as he shook it. He turned the box over and opened the lid. His eyes grew wide.

The others gathered around. Someone whistled. “Where’d she get all the glass?”

“She must be a whore.”

“Doesn’t look like any whore I ever seen. No makeup or nothing.”

The stout boy said, “She must be a thief.” He spat on the ground by Mira’s face, which was still pressed against the dirty pavement. “This is our block. She outta know that. Might be we should show her so.” His feet turned to face her. Mira clenched her eyes shut.

“We could buy a lot of
plourine
at the Station.”

“I wanna buy a girl.”

The stout boy turned back to face the others. “You ain’t doin’ nothin’ with it til we take it to the Station. If she stole it Bruno’d want to know. He’ll
reward
us.”

“I picked it up, I oughta spend some. Bruno won’t know.”

“I said no.”

Mira heard a thud as one of the boys cried out. She twisted and watched the two scuffle, their arms wrapped around one-another as they wrestled to the ground. The boy holding the box stood over them, paralyzed, unsure of whether to join in or keep watching.

He was about the same size as Mira.

Desperation making her brave, Mira jumped to her feet with newfound strength. She slammed her shoulder into the boy and grabbed the box from his arms as he fell backwards. Then she was away, sprinting down the street before he hit the ground. Her feet throbbed again but she didn’t care. Mira ran as if her own life depended on it, not just Ami’s.

She didn’t know if the boys followed because she never slowed enough to check.

She was sweaty and breathing fast when she reached the Station. This time the guards were too confused to leer as she ran past. She must have looked determined because the dancers in the hallway stepped out of her way too. She burst into the doctor’s office.

The room was dark, the examination table empty.

Oh stars, am I too late
? Confusion and panic and anger welled-up, until movement at the edge of the room caught her eye. She whirled; there was the doctor and the woman who was passed out, sitting on the edge of the bed. In the woman’s arms was Ami, giggling while the woman stuck her tongue out and made faces at her.

“I gave her the medicine,” the doctor said. He was suddenly sheepish.

“Star shit, Leo,” the woman said, “you were keen to do nothing until I made you treat her. Stubborn oaf.”

Mira pulled Ami to her chest with one arm, squeezing until the girl squeaked. “Mom, you’re hurting me!” she said with a giggle as if nothing was wrong.

The woman stood. The makeup around her eyes was bright pink, with three green slashes that trailed back toward her ears. “Such a precious girl, too. I told Leo I’d cover the cost and make you come work with me if you couldn’t pay. You’re a pretty one, with that yellow hair.” It seemed like half a joke, but she eyed Mira up and down until fixing her gaze on the box under Mira’s arm.

“Oh I have the credits,” she said, placing the box on the table and opening it for them to see.

The woman frowned, almost disappointed.

The doctor went to the clean side of the room, opened a drawer, and returned with a packet of needles. “She needs a shot every night before she sleeps, to keep her airway open. It will help for a few weeks, maybe.”

Mira frowned. “Only a few weeks? This won’t cure her?”

“What she needs is fresh air.” He laughed, but neither woman joined him. “Look, her lungs are weak from breathing this crud. The shots will help strengthen them, but it won’t last forever.”

Mira paid him and said farewell to the prostitute. When she pulled the box under one arm it was agonizingly light. “Make sure she eats more!” he called as she left the Station.

She would need to take the longer route home to avoid the gang. By then it would almost be morning. Ami was cheerful and talkative in her arms, the fearful night already forgotten. Mira put on a brave face, but as soon as her daughter fell asleep she began to cry.

Chapter 6

The conveyor belt hummed as Mira worked. Her hands seemed to move of their own accord, without their usual trembling, and she found herself in a good rhythm that day. Perhaps the lack of sleep aided her, exhausting her enough that she hadn’t the energy to falter, counterintuitive as that may seem. Or maybe she was resigned to the fact that she would stand at that conveyor belt until she, or the red giant Saria, were dead. Whatever the reason, her hands fastened the electroid parts together deftly.

The star may not even die before we do
, she thought, glancing to the factory doors where a hint of sunlight shone through the cracks. She didn’t understand how it would happen, but the Emperor was leaving the system with urgency, so perhaps he knew something the rest of them didn’t.

There was another way. A way that could give her daughters a life not covered in a thin yellow haze. It had fueled Mira’s hope every day. But that hope was gone now, or so far out of reach that it made no difference. It would be months before she could save up enough credits now. Ami’s medicine wouldn’t last that long. Mira hadn’t fallen so low as to cover her face in makeup and work at the Station, but her desperation grew greater every day.

At least Ami was healthy, however short it might last. She was completely unphased by the events of the night, and even wanted to stay awake to play with her older sister when they returned home early that morning. Kaela was exhausted though; Mira thought she cried the whole time they were gone. However carefree Ami might be, her sister was old enough to understand they were in trouble. If only they were all as unburdened as the two-year-old.

The speakers overhead crackled with static. The voice that spoke seemed hollow, more machine than human. “Mira, report to the foreman’s office.”

She froze at her station, holding two electroid parts above the conveyor belt. She listened, waiting for the message to repeat itself. The voice was hardly clear, so perhaps she had misheard. But no, somebody coughed politely behind her. When Mira turned she saw Angela standing there, the replacement worker that roamed the factory and took women’s place when they needed to use the toilet. Mira handed over the parts and left her station.

If they wanted to remove me it would have been yesterday
, she thought. That was what they usually did, waiting until the last day so they wouldn’t need to pay for the week’s work.
Maybe Jin just wants to give me a warning
. She’d let plenty of electroid parts get through unfinished when her hand was trembling, so it would come as no surprise if she were reprimanded.

Maybe he wanted something else. Elena bragged that she knew how to please Jin, but he might be bored with her. Mira was handsome, at least when she had a chance to clean the grime from her face. Perhaps that was why he wanted to see her. The thought made her nauseous. She considered turning around and fleeing the factory altogether, but somehow she kept walking forward.

Women glanced up from their work as she passed. Mira saw expressions of fear, or sympathy, or relief. She didn’t look back at any of them, except Elena, whose face she searched for clues of what awaited. But her face only held curiosity, not the smug satisfaction of responsibility. Elena had not caused her fate, whatever it may be.

The anteroom to the foreman’s office was where his secretary sat, a prim-looking woman with tight hair and legs as white as the women at the Station. Jin the Foreman was bent over her desk, speaking to her quietly. “Go on in, I’ll be there in a moment,” he said when he finally noticed Mira standing there.

His office had a tall window facing the factory floor. Many of the workers stared openly now, eager to observe her fate. She felt like an animal on display. The only chair was the one behind the desk, so she shuffled to the corner next to the window, where she could not be seen through the glass. She felt foolish, but a little less afraid.

She saw it then, just visible from around the edge of the desk. The top drawer was open slightly, and the light overhead reflected off rows of glass. She didn’t know how many credits were there, but it was more than she’d ever seen.

Why would he leave the drawer unlocked and open? Was it a trap? She knew the Melisao played games with the Praetari, baiting them into breaking the law so they could make an example. There had to be thousands of credits there, more than she would earn in a lifetime.

Jin entered the room then, closing the door behind him with a click. He jerked when he realized she was in the corner. He eyed her suspiciously as he went around his desk, lowering himself slowly into the chair. He clicked a button on his desk and the window darkened slightly. “I don’t blame you for hiding,” Jin said, “you women are vicious to one another. You can relax now; they cannot see you.”

He seemed oblivious to the open drawer next to him, showing no sign that he knew Mira had been looking at it. He took her silence for agreement and nodded to himself.

She took a step toward the desk. “You wanted to see me?”

“Your daughter was sick last night.”

Mira opened her mouth, but then closed it again. How could he possibly know? Was she being spied on, or followed? If he knew Ami was sick he probably knew they’d been to the Station, a place all workers were warned to avoid.

Her fear must have been obvious, for he quickly said, “I have a child back home too. I’ll have another, after this tour.”

Mira didn’t know what that meant, but she nodded.

Jin reached into the open drawer, pulling out a handful of glass. The credits clinked three times as he stacked them on the table.

Jin’s blue eyes watched her without expression. Was he waiting for a reaction? Was this a test, like the open drawer? Did he want her to beg, or worse, did he want something in return?

“She’ll have quite the hunger, if she’s anything like mine after an illness,” he said. He nudged the three credits forward a bit. “This will help set her right, I hope.”

Mira stepped forward, still cautious of a trap, before scooping up the credits. “Thank you,” she managed to squeak, lowering her eyes to the floor.

Jin waved a hand. “Just don’t tell the others. I have a few extra credits I can dispense without getting in trouble, but I don’t want the whole factory crying to me with stories of their sick children. You may go.” He tapped at his computer screen, his attention already elsewhere.

Angela didn’t bother to conceal her surprise that she returned from the foreman’s office, but Mira didn’t begrudge her. She was still surprised, herself. The rest of the day went by quickly, with her mind a mixture of confusion and guilt.

Her daughters were excited to see her that night, crying out with surprise when she revealed the bowl of soup she bought on the way home. It was thin and mostly water, but they sat on the floor around the bowl and ate eagerly, dipping the tough bread and taking turns sipping from the spoon.