The Fated Stars Read online

  Copyright 2017 by Jean D. Walker

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

  DEDICATION

  To my daughters, Valerie and Elizabeth; my brother, David, and my best friend, Daniel, for all their encouragement and support!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Julie C and The E-book Formatting Fairies!

  The Fated Stars

  By

  Veronica Scott

  CHAPTER ONE

  Too bad there’s no better way to celebrate on this backwater planet. Larissa finished her feelgood and tossed the drink container into the nearest trash receptacle. She and five of her friends, among the top mercenaries in the Sectors, were letting off the tension after the successful conclusion of a job and the extremely generous bonus from a satisfied client. Stumbling from bar to bar in this frontier colony town together, they were looking for a good time, but kept coming up short. The small colony didn’t have much in the way of entertainment.

  Just when she was thinking about turning in for the night, though, they ended up in front of the ramshackle Kinterow Stellar Circus and Sideshow, parked in a vacant lot at the end of the main street. Despite the late hour, locals packed the place, playing games of chance, eating greasy food, and watching the strolling players.

  “We can’t miss this,” said one of her friends, waving a bottle of feelgood in the air. Sarcasm was heavy in his slurred words. “It’s the biggest draw on the entire planet.”

  “The only thing on the planet.” Larissa was drunk but not so inebriated she wanted to waste time on a rundown carnival, having her credits drained from her account by overpriced food and fixed games. “I’ll give this one a pass. Going back to my ship. I’ll catch you on the next big job, my friends.”

  Instantly and loudly her companions protested:

  “Aww, come on, I’ll win you a stuffed animal.”

  “Don’t be a spoilsport, Larissa.”

  “It’ll be fun. And how often do we see each other these days when no one’s shooting at us? You can’t leave early.”

  Laughing, she yielded to the protests and allowed herself to be dragged through the holo gates of the attraction, even though a little voice in the back of her head, the one she always listened to, yelled loud and clear this was a bad idea. She so rarely had downtime in between jobs, especially not with so many of her friends, so prolonging the evening was too tempting to pass up.

  In a happy drunken cluster, she and her friends roamed the grounds. They scoffed at the trained animal acts, featuring beasts supposedly imported direct from Old Terra, and the group of them threw tips in the hat for the strolling dancers and acrobats and lost credits at the rigged games of chance. The attractions were as lackluster as she’d predicted, until they reached the back of the lot.

  “Ooh, a fortune teller.” Pamila wobbled in her space boots, leaning on Devlin. It was obvious to Larissa those two would be sharing a bunk in his ship before the red sun rose. “I want my future read.”

  Half-baked superstitions rising in her somewhat fuddled mind, Larissa shook her head again. “Bad idea for a mercenary. I can tell you right now, our future’s uncertain as the path of a rogue comet. See, I just saved you a credit. Thank me later.” She spun on her heel to walk away as fast as she could.

  Pamila grabbed her elbow. “Come on, it’ll be fun. More fun than losing credits on the bucket toss or the ring loop.”

  “I doubt that.”

  But she was overruled, and they each paid the minimal fee then stumbled into the darkened tent. Larissa paused on the threshold, stunned by the urge to flee. What the seven hells? Larissa Channer doesn’t back down from a real challenge, let alone a mangy fake seer. Gritting her teeth, she followed her friends.

  Lavishly decorated with gaudy odds and ends, the temporary structure was meant to suggest a remnant of an ancient civilization perhaps, or accouterments of magic. Larissa had no idea. Her attention was riveted on the fortune teller himself.

  He was the most compelling man she’d ever seen and undoubtedly the handsomest. Dizzy from more than the feelgoods, Larissa felt warmth spreading from her core, pulsing outward. Annoyed, she rested one hand on the nearest faux column to steady herself.

  She’d seen good looking men before, even shared her bed on occasion in a no-strings attached friends-with-benefits manner, so why was she craving the sensation of his body under her hands? Practically swooning? Which was the only applicable word here, Larissa admitted to herself. Like a fairytale princess in a trideo. If there was one thing Larissa could never be accused of, it was mimicking a fainting fictional heroine. Built on solid lines and taller than many of her fellow mercenaries, male and female, she was a well-trained, kick ass warrior.

  And she did not get her panties in a twist for random, good-looking men. Especially not members of a third rate carnival.

  Drank too much of the cheap feelgoods.

  Taking deep breaths, she studied the man, hoping to calm whatever was upending her most sensitive nerve endings. He sat in a throne-like chair, hands resting on the ornately carved arms, his head back, eyes closed. Dressed in a ridiculous shiny scarlet robe sprinkled with glittery magical symbols of dubious origin, he was still an imposing figure. The robe was belted at the waist with a broad gilt chain, and he was bare chested beneath it and bare footed. He and the chair were surrounded by an iridescent bubble of unknown material, making it difficult to see him clearly. What she could view confirmed her first impression of his male beauty. His skin was pale green, with a face featuring high cheekbones and a strong jaw, framed by dark green, almost black hair, down to his collar. I bet he’s at least a foot taller than I am. The idea was attractive. A plain silvery band about two inches wide rested on his head, appearing tightly fitted. Larissa’s eyes were drawn to his hands, strong and competent, capable of wielding a sword or delivering an intimate caress. She had a particular weakness for strong hands in a man.

  Allowing her attention to drift from his hands to the tightly muscled abdomen and chest, she studied his face again. Subtle lines of stress or tension—or pain? —around his eyes caught her attention and her admiration for the man’s physique and good looks faded as she took a more clinical look. Something isn’t right here.

  She wanted to see his eyes, to make an actual connection between them, but the man remained seemingly unaware of her presence.

  His endless life in this circle of hell continued. More streams of people passed under his gaze, brief flickers of color and emotion he read without any feeling of his own other than despair. He plucked a few nuggets of data from the thoughts of certain individuals, to be fed later to those who held him captive. He recited useless rote words of supposed wisdom to the customers in exchange for their credits.

  Samell’s head ached, and he wondered yet again what sin he’d committed in a past life to be sentenced by the god he served to endure this misery. Hope had fled years ago. Now all he wished for was death, but he feared the high tech devices constraining him would never allow such an escape.

  Deep inside, he knew he harbored violent hope of revenging himself on those who’d killed his people and imprisoned him, but allowing himself to think too much only led down the treacherous path to insanity. He would not go there. Better to stay numb and follow th
e prescribed routine of his captivity.

  He filed away a detail found in the mind of the man now waiting for a fortune, a tiny fact making made no sense to Samell, but the point triggered one of the implanted terms in his mind, so he dutifully captured it. “You will see great wonders and travel far,” he said, wondering why he bothered to read the emotions of those who filed before his chair and utter relevant platitudes when he could. He could say anything and no one would know or care. But his training and pride led him to do the work and promise each person what their heart most desired. He could give hope, even when he himself had none.

  The next group was noisy and arguing about who should go first. Samell sent his power outward, washing over each human briefly, getting ready to proclaim more lies. A flicker of pure blue flame appeared in his inner vision and he gasped, or would have if the device holding him allowed for any physical function. Frantically, he scanned the line again, desperate to know if he’d really seen the blue or if his mind was now playing tricks on him in desperation, edging over the line into madness.

  Yes, there it was, dancing deep in the soul of a human. Why would the god send him a warrior now, in such belated answer to his prayers? He checked again and the cobalt light shone brilliantly in the person’s aura. Sheer excitement flooded his body, making him forget for a moment that he was held fast and helpless.

  A woman? A female warrior? Legend did speak of the god choosing women as warriors on occasion, but how could she extricate him from the coils of trouble and danger he was in? Full of raging impatience, he gritted his teeth—or would have if he controlled any aspect of his physical form – and waited for the warrior to step into the spot where he was allowed by his captor to make tenuous connections with humans.

  A bored human attendant indicated a glowing circle on the floor. “Stand there, one at a time, and the seer will give you your fortune.”

  There was inevitable good natured, drunken pushing and shoving between the high testosterone members of Larissa’s party. Fluffing her purple and teal hair, Pamila stepped around the others, using her sharp elbows freely to make a path. “Rude boys. Ladies first.”

  Colored lights played along the floor, walls, and ceiling. Iridescent bubbles floated from small vents under the platform holding the throne. Larissa held her hand over her mouth to avoid laughing at the cheesiness of the effects. Maybe the local colonists in this frontier Sector found this awe inspiring, but for a well-traveled person like her, who’d actually been to a few of the genuine wonders of the galaxy, this setup was pathetic. Although, of course, in the military she’d rarely had time to enjoy the marvels of any particular hotspot. Fight the battle at hand and move on, summary of service in the Special Forces. Life as a mercenary was even more of a grind.

  An amplified voice emanated from the general direction of the ‘seer.’ “A romantic encounter with someone you admire will lead to unexpected consequences.”

  “Are you blushing?” Larissa asked Pamila as her friend stepped out of the circle. She poked the other woman in the ribs and winked while tilting her head toward the mercenary she knew Pamila fancied. “Better take precautions tonight.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Pamila sniffed and shifted her focus to a shelf full of gilded statues.

  Devlin swaggered into the designated spot and received his prediction of fame and fortune. The other two men took their turns and received similar generalized good news.

  “Are you happy now? Can we go?” Reluctance to approach the dais kept her rooted to the spot.

  “You haven’t had your fortune told,” Pamila protested.

  “I’m good. No need to tell me about my coming good fortune or the tall, dark and handsome guy I’m going to meet.” I think I’m staring at him now, and it’s not doing either of us any good. I wonder if he ever takes a break. She held up both hands with a laugh. “Let’s get out of here and find the nearest feelgood vendor. My throat is dry.”

  “You paid your credit and the all-seeing giver of prophecies is waiting,” said the attendant in a bored voice. “No refunds.”

  Devlin shoved her forward, and Larissa stumbled into the spot. She straightened with a curse to find the seer’s eyes were open and he was staring at her, as he hadn’t done with any of the others. His eyes were emerald green, glowing, with glints of gold. She found she couldn’t avert her eyes.

  A warrior of Thuun? Here? Have you come in answer to my prayer? The voice in her head was deep and resonant and she knew it was him speaking.

  Inside the bubble, the man shifted restlessly, as if attempting to rise, to step down and meet her. Larissa realized he was held in place by force bonds, and she gasped, her adrenaline spiking. Slavery was illegal in the Sectors—what the hell kind of shady operation was this sideshow? She rested her hand on the blaster riding at her hip.

  The attendant made an adjustment to a control panel at the side of the platform and the prisoner subsided, sweat beading his brow with the effort he’d made. His eyes closed and the enhanced voice sounded in the chamber. “You and your friends will journey far and reap great rewards. Widespread fame shall be yours.”

  But in her head she heard his true voice, faint and desperate. I beg you for help, warrior.

  Reacting to the prophecy, Devlin clapped her on the shoulder. “Now that’s more like it—widespread fame is good stuff. Let’s you book more jobs and hire your friends to watch your back, eh? I think you got the best fortune, Larissa, so you can buy the next round of drinks.”

  She allowed her companions to pull her from the tent, only briefly glancing over her shoulder, to see the seer once more completely immobile on his elaborate chair, eyes closed.

  Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Too much cheap local whiskey. Shaking her head, she stepped over the threshold and tried to ignore the quiet please echoing in her head in the alien man’s deep voice.

  In the morning, Larissa rolled over in her bunk on board the Valkyrie Queen, scrabbling desperately for the headclear inject she’d left on the shelf next to the bed. Jabbing the universal antidote into her upper thigh, she dropped the expended inject on the deck and laid back on her pillow, arm over her eyes. “I’m getting too old for this.”

  As the drug kicked in, she fumbled for her personal AI and checked the balance again in her New Switzerland account. Oh yeah, the client had been super happy and generous. Sitting up, she ran a hand through her short black hair and tossed the AI on the bed. There were three or four enhancements she wanted to make to the ship’s armaments and engines, and if she budgeted carefully and got into the right ship artisan’s spaceyard, maybe she could manage two subsystem upgrades.

  Over a breakfast of synth coffee and mock eggs, Larissa allowed her thoughts to drift back to the night before. Parts of it were blurry, even with the headclear’s effects, but she kept thinking about the weird setup at the rundown carnival, and the way the seer’s telepathic voice sounded in her head. She’d asked her friends a few cautious questions, but none of them heard the man’s real voice. Or else they weren’t admitting it.

  In the cold light of morning, the encounter had more than a tinge of the ridiculous. “A scene out of a bad trideo,” she said as she dumped the remnants of breakfast into the recycler. But the iridescent bubble the guy was sitting in bothered her, teased at a buried memory from her service days.

  In the morning, with the whiskey fumes gone from her system, Larissa had to admit the material reminded her of what the Mawreg used for human specimen cages. She shuddered as she stepped into the shower. Liberating those experimentation camps was every soldier’s worst nightmare. What the enemy did to captives was unspeakable. She rubbed her stomach to quell a small wave of nausea. Must have eaten too fast. Or too soon after the shot. Rinsing herself off, she tried to stop her train of thought. Where would the operators of a shoddy third rate carnival have gotten the alien material anyway?

  But the seer had clearly been a prisoner, unable to get out of the ornate chair.

&nb
sp; “Seven hells.” Stepping from the shower and reaching for a clean set of utilities, Larissa swore in sheer frustration at feeling so conflicted. “This is not my problem,” she said, staring at her reflection. But in the cold light of morning, especially after the headclear, she could already feel the captive becoming her concern. She wasn’t the type to walk away from a person in need of her particular skillset.

  For the next couple hours she was able to keep her mind on other things, researching the availability of slots for obtaining the enhancements she wanted for the ship, and trying to decide between various combinations, balanced by where the best custom spacedocks were. Traveling halfway across the Sectors had no appeal, unless there was a paying job involved. But, right now nothing on the Mercenary Guild’s list of opportunities appealed to her. A bank account stuffed with credits certainly made a person choosy.

  Larissa checked her vidscreens as she ate lunch. The day outside was gloomy and overcast. All the more reason to blast off from this rock and be on her way. She lingered over her meal and then slammed her hand on the table, realizing with annoyance she was thinking about the seer again. His eyes had been so distinctive, captivating with the way the golden glints came and went in the emerald depths. She’d wanted a connection with him, maybe for reassurance he wasn’t actually in trouble. Well, with his voice in her head, she’d gotten the one-on-one link all right, but instead of easing her mind, his message had deepened her misgivings and triggered her instinct to help. “It can’t hurt to take one more quick recon of the situation,” she said to herself. “Report anything fishy to the authorities and then be on my way before I owe this crummy little spaceport another day of docking fees.”