Destiny's Blood (4 page)

He responded with a gapped smile and an appreciative look down her shirt. Layela’s cheeks felt hot as she straightened her shoulders and forced her shirt to hug her body again. The man’s smile widened, and she swore she could smell his breath escaping through the holes in his teeth.

The door swung open and shed light into the dark room, both Layela and the barkeeper looking back at the intruders, a melee of young scraggly youths laughing heartily and calling for ale. The barkeep ignored them and focused on Layela again, the teasing gone from his eyes.

“Got passport?”

She nodded to him. She did have a passport. It did seem valid, but with the limited time and money Josmere had taken to acquire it, she doubted it had been entered in the databases. That was riskier business, with longer delivery time and more expensive work. A legally-run operation would do a background check
 
—
 
something she wanted to avoid.

“Ship leaves in half an hour, through the back,” the barkeeper said, offering her another gapped smile as she tipped him. She walked through the back door, her hand on her gun. Inanimate goods were not the only profitable trade in this area.

The ship was in the next room, on a small landing pad. A boy stood at the door, all grins as he glanced at her passport and accepted her money. It amounted to most of the proceeds from the first day’s sales, and she cringed. She hoped Josmere could use her talents of persuasion to make up for the loss.

The shuttle seemed to be rusting before her eyes. She held back the urge to touch one of the large corroded spots, for fear the whole thing would crumble. She glanced around the rest of the bay, and sighed when she saw no other shuttle.
Runaways can’t be walkers.
She walked to the open mid-ship door on the side of the ill-looking vehicle, grabbed both edges of the shuttle’s mouth and hoisted herself up into its stifling warmth.

A tall man was already sitting on a cramped seat, wearing an
expensive-looking suit that covered most of his darkly tanned skin
 
—
 
an unmistakable mark of a passer-by through the dark landscapes of Collar. There was nowhere else to go, so she took a seat beside him. His insulted eyes peered at her for a second before lowering again and reading the paper document he adamantly clutched. The ship had no windows and its interior smelled of wet dog. It would be a long trip.

Sweat trickled down her back and she began to wish she had more than one spare shirt. The engines powered up, their thunder roaring in her ears. The shuttle jostled once and Layela gripped the side of her chair to keep from landing on the man beside her.

Bang!
Layela’s legs went flying up and she almost followed them, somehow managing to stay on her seat. She gritted her teeth, wishing she had a seat belt to count on.

The man beside her was not so fortunate. His document flew up, but not quite as high as he did. Within a heartbeat, he landed back on the small section of floor, his legs tangled above him.

She would have laughed if she hadn’t been so busy clutching to the seat for her life.

She braced for the second take-off attempt, the noise ringing in her ears. The shuttle shot forward, throwing Layela against the back of the seat and trapping her there as it picked up speed, her sweat-riddled shirt plastered to her back. She managed to move her head just enough to see the man still scrunched on the floor, his tanned features more green than brown.

She forced her eyes to stare forward at the dim metal wall, wondering how soon before they cleared the atmosphere and, hopefully, received a moment’s reprieve from the various laws of physics tugging at their bodies. The shuttle jostled and the lights flickered, and Layela closed her eyes. The ship was small and with few supplies, so they would likely not be going far.
Anator, Grimsvll, Rockt
...Layela listed the nearby planets she was aware of, forcing her mind to go over the few details she knew of them. Her first priority would be to get aboard another ship and go...go where?

Her arms ached from clutching her seat and her legs were shaking from the exertion. She forced her laboured breath and tense muscles to relax a bit. Her instincts would guide her. Surely they would. Just because they hadn’t worked of late, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t now. Maybe she had simply been too occupied with all the details of opening the shop and had not paid enough attention to her connection with her sister. Guilt tugged at her for a moment. Maybe if she hadn’t been so absorbed, she would have spotted Yoma’s discontent and been able to prevent all of this.

The shuttle slanted forward and Layela wrestled with her muscles, raising her tired legs just enough to catch the wall and keep herself from flying forward. The man rolled on the floor. Although she couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the engines, she could see that he was moaning. She was starting to fear she would never hear anything again.

The shuttle dropped again and the lights flickered, and Layela swore she heard, even over the engines, a blast from outside. The shuttle rocked and tilted, descending in a rapid nose dive that forced Layela to completely rely on her outstretched legs to keep from faceplanting on the dirty metal wall. This time she distinctly heard two blasts.

Was someone shooting at them? Layela forced herself to inhale the heavy, stale air. Another blast. She was certain they were under attack. The blood drained from her face and she grasped the seat harder, wishing she could do something
 
—
 
anything but sit and hang on for dear life. Had she picked a shuttle from a warring faction? Was the man beside her hunted? She wanted to scream at her own carelessness. Her worry for her flower shop and her sister had made her act too rashly.

The shuttle buckled again and landed with a crunch, bouncing Layela on the seat and knocking her teeth together. The engines powered down and their deafening sound ended. Her ears still tingled from the noise and she barely heard the man’s swear as he climbed back into his seat, a look of deep insult on his green face.

She allowed herself a moment to breathe, trying to steady her heart. Her fingers felt numb and cold with the fear of imminent death. She would throttle Yoma as soon as she saw her. It would be a fitting greeting.

A few minutes passed. Layela strained her ringing ears, but the walls were too thick for her to hear any sound aside from her own ragged breathing. She sat back against her seat, hoping her tension would drain. The businessman beside her held his document with shaking hands, a strange but comforting company.

She looked back, but there was nothing there to see except more metal. She just wanted to be off Collar, towards some mystery planet, so that she could beat her sister up. Was that not a simple enough wish?

The door opened beside her, and she barely had the time to gasp before two Solarian soldiers boarded and grabbed both her and the businessman.

Fingers dug into her arms as she was dragged out and thrown against the hull of the ship, the side of her face hitting the cool surface with a force great enough to split the skin at her hairline. Warm blood trickled down her temple.

Her gun was quickly removed, as well as the knife in her boot. The businessman beside her whimpered as they searched him for weapons.

“Layela Delamores,” the soldier said, his voice young underneath a gasmask as grey as the rest of his uniform. “You are under arrest for attempting to leave Collar illegally.”

Metal cuffs bit deep into the skin of her wrists. Before she could regain her bearings, she was in a shuttle, buttressed by two soldiers, flying towards what she guessed was one of Collar’s many detention centres.

How had they found her? Did they have every smuggler on alert for a reward? Did they question Josmere? Were they watching the flower shop?

Questions assaulted her like a thousand needle pricks. Each small, but together more than she could handle.

The only thing of which she was now certain was that she had gravely underestimated her current importance to the Solarian Government.

i

“Very quaint,” Avienne grinned. The old, dull concrete building was a silent warrior against weather and the passing of time.

“I can’t believe it’s a flower girl,” Ardin replied, shaking his head. “I just can’t believe that a little flower girl would be worth so much!”

Avienne laughed and slapped her brother on the back. She was enjoying this mission. If the flower girl came willingly, she could maybe stock up on supplies afterwards. They could use a few choice items for the long journey ahead, and with the down payment, they could afford them.

She repressed a grin and looked sternly at her brother. “Ardin, it’s not just any flower girl. She’s a business owner!”

Ardin opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again and examined her closely.

Sweetly, she looked at him and smiled. “What?”

“What are you so happy about? You didn’t even want to come.”

She bent in and he jerked back as she kissed his cheek, sending her into ripples of laughter again. “You’re too suspicious, Ardin! It’s a nice day, and we’ve actually got some money, and if we finish this simple job, we can get more. It’s great!”

“It would be greater if Cailan allowed us to use more of the money to finish the mission, and if I believed this actually made you happy.”

Avienne looked at the front of the shop, crisscrossing metal bars protecting the beautiful blooms inside. She sighed and shook her head.

“It does make me happy, because maybe we’ll have heat and fresh food again, and maybe we’ll actually open some of the extra rooms again. And maybe this little flower girl will be grateful to us and help us revive our gardens. That would be nice, too.”

Ardin merely grunted in reply, making Avienne grin. She wished she could explain more to him, but feared that he wouldn’t understand. Maybe she could use her share of the profits to travel a bit, without the
Destiny
. Maybe she didn’t need to stay on the ancient ship with its ancient crew. And maybe, just maybe, her brother would choose to follow her, where they could have a home built of materials other than metal, metal as empty within as the space it protected the crew from.

Maybe.

“I hope this is worth it,” Ardin mumbled as he opened the door, and Avienne followed, smiling as dozens of scents soothed her senses. She wished she could comfort her brother, whose main concern was that this would lead to kidnapping. And Ardin, a man whose practicality was only challenged by romantic dreams of heroism, would not easily accept such behaviour from himself.

That’s why I’m here
, she thought, resisting the urge to flip one of her knives. It wouldn’t do to let anyone know that she was armed with more than the one protective bullet allowed on Collar.

The shop was fairly busy, which surprised Avienne. Two customers milled by some large orange flowers, three more where some pink blooms seemed to glow.

Ardin looked around, and Avienne linked arms with him, satisfied at his slight groan. She dragged him towards some multi-coloured flowers, wondering if the strong honey smell emanated from them.

“May I help you?” a voice chimed behind them, and Avienne hoped victory stayed from her eyes. This was going to be too easy. All they had to do now was convince the little flower girl to come with them, or use a bit of force if necessary. That would have to be her contribution, of course! She fought her growing smile as she and Ardin turned around, holding back a curse as they came face to face with a Berganda.

“Are you the owner?” Ardin spat out in surprise. Avienne winced.

The Berganda’s smile did not falter, but Avienne saw something dangerous cross her green eyes. She looked down, seeing the regulation gloves safely secured. She had heard what those of the Berganda race could do with their touch, and did not intend to die at the hands of one.

“I’m sorry for my brother’s rudeness,” Avienne said, all smiles. “We’d just heard of a particular young woman gifted with plants.” Avienne glanced at the Berganda and gave a short, sweet laugh. “Although, I guess you would be great with them, too.”

The Berganda seemed to relax a little, but her smile was too unmoving, too frozen, for Avienne to let her defences down. She let her right hand fall casually at her side, where she hid a throwing knife at the belt of her pants, without a pause in her speech. The Berganda was either fooled or enjoying Avienne’s performance, and so she continued.

“What was her name? Lale Dem…no, more like Layla Moras?”

“Layela Delamores,” Ardin said bluntly. Avienne wanted to hit him.

“I guess that’s it,” Avienne said, hearing the strain in her own voice.

The Berganda’s eyes lit up at the name.

“She used to work here,” the Berganda said, her voice adopting the same sing-song quality as Avienne’s. “But she left to find rare Collarian flowers with her sisters Lale and Layla.”

Avienne groaned. The little Berganda was having fun with them.

“Excuse me,” the Berganda said, leaving them and turning her attention her customers. When the last three filed out with their colourful purchases, their glances sternly avoiding the siblings, the Berganda followed them, her gloved hands locking the door and lowering the blinds.

“Now then,” the Berganda said, turning around, freeing her slender left hand from the worn leather glove. And then the right.

The Berganda observed them closely, her calculating eyes taking in every detail, leaving nothing for granted. Avienne flipped out one of her knives and spun it in the air, catching it without breaking eye contact with the Berganda.

“Who are you, and what do you want with Layela?” the Berganda said, no hint of fear in her voice.
Not a good sign.

Ardin shook his head and sighed, looking down at his comm link, where Avienne could see a silent text flashing. “We just want to get her to safety, that’s all.”

The Berganda smirked. “I’m sure you do. You certainly look like the hero types.”