Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) (2 page)

"Let this wretched life have some worth,"
she pleaded to her brother. "By the Spirit, Jarek, let me
contribute like everyone else."

Jarek stared at her a long moment, finally
dropping his head in resignation. He turned to Ranul with a sigh.
"She does know how to fly a starship, sir. I taught her. I took her
with me on solo reconnaissance missions. She's an adequate
pilot."

Shock etched across Ranul's face, followed
by a flush of anger. "You had no right. But we'll deal with that
matter later. Right now, we have more pressing concerns." His gaze
settled on Nessa, assessing her.

"So, you can pilot a ship, and you volunteer
to carry a sample of the virus to Santerra?"

Her heart careened on a runaway course, both
from trepidation and excitement. "Yes, I volunteer."

"And you are aware the virus will be
implanted within your body and that you will develop an active case
of Orana within one moon cycle?"

Her throat constricted, but she pressed on.
"Yes."

"I assume you are also aware that those with
Orana lose the function of their mind shields, leaving them
defenseless against the Controllers. Within days after shield loss,
they die a hideous death."

"I understand fully."

Ranul stared at her a moment longer, then
turned to the Council members. "We could preprogram the ship's
destination and lock out override. Then she wouldn't be able to
alter the course. She'd just have to monitor the basic ship
functions. I vote aye."

Three of the four Council members on his
right raised their hands in agreement. Two of the four on his left
also raised their hands. Ranul nodded. "It is decided, then.
Leonessa dan Ranul will carry the virus to Santerra."

Cries of outrage and protest swept the hall.
Ranul silenced them once again with a motion of his arm. "It has
been decided. Unless one of you wants the honor of being implanted
with Orana. Who will come forward?"

His challenge deflated the crowd's
displeasure. They dispersed, considerably subdued. As awareness of
her victory set in, the strength deserted Nessa's good leg. She
stumbled and almost fell, but Jarek caught her.

"I wish you wouldn't do this," he told
her.

She raised her eyes to his concerned
expression. "I have to," she whispered. "I can no longer endure
this existence."

Even if she had just signed her own death
warrant.

* * * *

Clutching her bundle, Nessa approached her
mother. Her belly throbbed where the Orana virus had been injected,
and the crude fabric of the pilgrim's tunic, even rougher than her
usual clothing, scraped against her skin. Ranul and Jarek had
concocted her disguise of a pilgrim traveling to Zirak to pay
homage at the goddess Shara's shrine.

A clever idea, since Zirak was only two
days' light travel from Santerra. Many pilgrims went there this
time of year. Her disguise would easily deceive the Anteks who
patrolled all airspace for the Controllers.

But Nessa wasn't thinking of her masquerade
as she approached Meris. Although she had hardly spoken with her
mother these ten seasons past, a compelling need drew her now. With
her world about to change forever, the possible end of her life
looming, Nessa yearned for the comfort only a mother could provide.
It was childish, she knew, but then she'd been just a child the day
her parents turned their backs on her.

Harsh, but it was the reality of Shielder
existence everywhere in the galaxy. The Controllers had driven the
Shielders into the most destitute expanses of space. With so few
resources available, necessity dictated survival of the fittest.
Parents shared their meager supplies and limited energies only with
their healthy offspring. No time to mourn those euthanized or left
behind to die.

A difficult reality for a girl of twelve
seasons to understand. Even after ten seasons, the pain of
desertion lingered like a festering wound.

Meris maintained the weapons for the
colony's combat units. Intent on the rocket launcher she was
cleaning and inspecting, she appeared oblivious to her daughter's
presence. Nessa watched her work. With efficient competence, her
mother quickly dismantled then reassembled the launcher.

Gray had not yet streaked her limp and faded
brown hair. Yet despite the fact she was not an old woman, deep
lines scored her face, the result of Liron's unrelenting weather
and the severe living conditions all Shielders endured.

"Meris." Nessa stepped forward, unable to
bring herself to use the familial title. She no longer had that
right.

Her mother's head snapped up, her eyes
narrowing. She set the launcher down with a clank. "What do you
want?"

"I'm getting ready to depart for
Santerra."

Meris drew herself up to the regal height
Nessa would never reach. "So I heard. Why are you here?"

Why indeed? Had she expected her mother to
greet her with open arms? To wish her well?

Nessa struggled to find words, which did not
come readily to her. Normal conversation had ceased for her ten
seasons ago. Outside the sounds of nature, her world was one of
enforced silence, broken only by brief, clandestine visits with her
brother Jarek; or Council meetings she overheard through furtive
monitoring of the computer system. Or when the younger children,
forgetting the dire warnings that she was possessed, ventured near
her solitary quarters, sometimes even speaking to her.

"I wanted to tell you good-bye."

Meris stared at her, seemingly uncaring.
With a glimmer of insight, Nessa thought perhaps the only way a
parent could turn their back on their child was by forcing
themselves to no longer care. Her parents had certainly
succeeded.

"Well, you've said it," Meris stated
gruffly. "Be off with you, then." She whirled and strode into the
hut behind her.

That was that. Fighting waves of despair,
Nessa slid her burlap pack on her back and trudged away. Her mother
would feel differently when she returned with an antidote for the
virus. They all would.

Once out of sight of Meris, she stopped and
pulled the pack off her back. It wiggled as she unhooked the
closures. When she opened the flap, a fuzzy head popped out. Four
beady black eyes stared at her. Chatters of greeting filled the
air, and a long furry body squirmed out. "Turi! Get back in there."
She scooped the lanrax into her arms. "I just wanted to check on
you."

Turi immediately nestled against her chest,
nuzzling her neck. His frantic chattering calmed to a series of
contented clicks. With a cooing sound, he rested his head on her
shoulder.

Jarek had given Turi to Nessa two seasons
ago. Small, endearing mammals, lanraxes bonded for life with only
one owner, usually the first person to place their scent on them.
Turi had bonded with Nessa instantly. Other than her brother, he
provided her sole companionship.

"Nessa! Wait up!"

She turned to see Jarek hurrying down the
hill. He grinned when he saw the lanrax. "I'm glad you're taking
Turi. He'll be good company on the trip."

Nessa stroked Turi's soft fur. He was one of
the few joys in her life. She couldn't leave him, although she
refused to think what might happen to him if she didn't make it to
Santerra in time.

"I wanted to see you off," Jarek said.

"Oh." She was so accustomed to her lonely
existence, it hadn't occurred to her anyone would concern
themselves with her departure.

"Let me escort you to your ship." He fell
into place beside her. They headed toward the cliffs, where deep
caves carved into the sheer rock expanses hid the Shielder
spaceships. They walked in silence, each lost in their own
thoughts.

After a short climb up a steep embankment,
they entered the cave where Nessa's ship stood ready. The transport
shuttle had seen better days. It didn't appear very space worthy.
Given the importance of her mission, she had expected a military
class ship. At least the shuttle was a model capable of light
speed.

"I'm sorry this one is so old," Jarek
apologized. "But we feared a defense interceptor or scout ship
would raise suspicions. Pilgrims traveling to a shrine wouldn't be
likely to travel in such ships."

Nessa nodded, pushing back her
disappointment.

"Your computer has been pre-programmed with
flight instructions," he continued. "The ship will operate on auto
pilot and fly directly to Santerra. You won't have to do anything
except monitor the equipment." He grasped her shoulders and turned
her to face him. Turi hissed warningly at this close intrusion by
another person.

"Nessa, listen to me. Maybe I was wrong to
allow you free reign of Liron's computer system. You're probably
more knowledgeable about computer programming than anyone in the
colony. We both know you're capable of overriding this ship's
computer and disabling the flight instructions. I'm asking you not
to do that. Let the auto pilot do its job and fly the ship. I don't
want you taking any unnecessary chances. You should reach Santerra
in one week, three weeks ahead of full incubation."

Barring any number of unforeseen problems,
Nessa thought. Four weeks. She only had four weeks before Orana
ravaged her body. She didn't plan on taking any chances. "I'll
leave the computer alone, Jarek. When I reach Santerra safely, I'll
send word."

He didn't look reassured. "I wish you hadn't
volunteered for this mission. Elder Gabe had already offered. He's
old, and has lived a full life. You should have kept quiet and
remained here where you're safe."

"I don't want to be safe. What good is safe
when I have no life? I want to help our people."

"And you think
they
will honor you
for your efforts?" Jarek gestured toward the direction of the
colony.

He knew her well. She had long fantasized
about again becoming an accepted member of the Shielder colony. Of
regaining love and respect from her parents. Dreams best left
unspoken.

She turned toward the shuttle. "I'd better
be off."

"Wait." Jarek withdrew a small pouch from
his tunic. "Even though your ship will travel directly to Santerra,
I want you to take these, in case you need them for any
reason."

Nessa heard the clink of precious coins as
he pressed the pouch into her hand. Her heart swelled at his
generosity and sudden tears glazed her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered shakily.
"Good-bye, brother."

Jarek dabbed at the moisture in his own
eyes. "The Spirit be with you, sister. Take great care."

Then he did something no one had done since
Nessa's first seizure.

He hugged her.

She was stranded in space.

Only two days out, the main stardrive quit
functioning. Nessa had no expertise in repairing stardrives, but it
wouldn't have mattered if she had. A search of the ship's
engineering bay revealed no spare parts. Spaceships of any kind
were in short supply among Shielders, much less parts.

Ships seldom traveled this area of the
sector. She would have to send out a distress signal, even though
transmitting any signal presented risks. She could attract space
pirates, Anteks—or worse—Controllers.

But she had no choice. Her only other option
was waiting for the Orana to incubate fully. That would solve the
problem of her miserable existence, but wouldn't help her people.
Genuine fear gnawed at her. Realizing how badly she wanted to live
surprised her.

She activated the signal.

A ship responded within two hours. Nessa was
crouched in front of the open stardrive casing, studying a
technical schematic, when the incoming message alert activated. She
scrambled up and went to the cockpit. Before answering the hailing
ship, she studied the sensor readings.

The approaching ship appeared much larger
than her craft, possibly three or four times in size. Although the
sensors classified the ship as a private long-range cruiser, they
also indicated it was loaded to the hilt with advanced scanning
equipment and considerable armaments.

Only Controllers or their agents were
allowed to operate spaceships so equipped in this sector. Dread
settled over Nessa, but she knew she had to answer the hail or
raise suspicions. She opened voice communication.

"Who are you and what are you doing in this
sector?" a male voice roared over the communicator. It was a deep,
resonant, arrogant voice. Not the wavering, whispery utterance of a
Controller. But the voice could belong to an Antek.

"I'm Nessa Ranul," she answered, dropping
the dan from her name. Only Shielders used the system of naming
sons and daughters after their fathers. "I'm on a pilgrimage to
Zirak to honor our mother goddess Shara."

"Turn on your holo transmitter."

She raised the hood of her pilgrim robe over
her head, grateful the computer had provided thorough files on the
cult worship of Shara. She pressed the pad, watching the screen. No
visual appeared. The man had not turned on
his
transmitter.
He could see her, but she couldn't see him. She stood stiffly while
he completed his one-way perusal.

She jumped when he suddenly barked, "Why is
your distress signal on? Are you ill or injured?"

His curtness offended her. Although she
couldn't see the man, Nessa decided she didn't like him. She stared
levelly at the holocorder. "My stardrive is inoperable. I need
assistance repairing my ship."

He snorted contemptuously. "Pilgrim, your
ship looks older than your sun. I don't have the parts you'd need
for repairs, and I doubt they would be for sale anywhere. When I
get to the next star base, I'll send a tow ship for you."

Alarm edged aside her intensifying dislike
for the man. With the Orana growing inside her, she couldn't wait
for a tow. If her ship couldn't be repaired, she needed a ride to
the nearest transport. Jarek's coins would ensure her passage to
Santerra. "It could take days for a ship to get here from a base,"
she argued, struggling to keep her voice calm. "I can't wait that
long."