Starlaw (24 page)

From this point forward, nobody had mentioned what she was supposed to do with her life. How was she supposed to make a living? How would she even eat?

But as time passed, one thing became very clear. As much as she hated to admit it, there was one simple truth concerning her future.

She couldn't go home again, either by law or choice.

Others she'd spoken to were right. There was no way to explain her lengthy absence after surely being declared dead along with her comrades. A group of think tanks back home were probably still considering circumstances surrounding the heat that'd destroyed her friends' remains. But the charred grass and shrubbery were the
only
bizarre signs associated with the events of that night. If she showed up back on Earth—never mind the physical changes Gemma had made—she'd be right in the middle of a controversy that would last the rest of her life. How would she ever explain the fact that she was still young while at least a decade had gone by on Earth? And when she was obliged to tell her fellow Earth citizens about advanced life forms from other worlds, they'd want technological information she didn't know how to provide. She'd never be free from serious scrutiny again.

So what of the future?

She didn't want to end up begging for whatever might be given to her. The very clothing she wore was borrowed or loaned from the ship's stores. Every morsel that went into her mouth was being paid for by someone. Even advanced societies had monetary exchanges, and she couldn't live on the ship, off someone's grace forever. Worse, she felt the commander was probably the one footing her bill or explaining the added responsibility on her behalf. Since that was likely the case, she hated owing the man. He saw her as an encumbrance even though
he
owed
her
.

As to his close call on Arjus, she was pretty damn sure the man was fed up with living. That was why he'd actually ordered the crew to leave him behind at the first sign of trouble.

How hard it must have been for him after losing his wife and little girl. Long hours in her quarters put everything into perspective.

She'd lost friends who were cops. They'd all accepted the fact that they might not go home one night. Their families would grieve, but would have each other for solace. It'd taken time for her to get that through her thick skull, hating the idea of kids growing up without parents whose deaths could never be explained. But that scenario back on Earth just wasn't the same as what the commander had experienced. His wife and child weren't professionally putting themselves in harm's way. They'd been innocents who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She couldn't imagine how she'd have felt if that little girl had been hers. Perhaps she'd throw herself into her work, to the exclusion of all else, the way Darius Starlaw seemed to have done.

After considering all the facts, she was on the verge of giving the man a break. His rigidity and taciturn expression were outward signs of his loss. He wasn't getting close to any damned body if he could help it. While she was no psychologist, she knew the signs of severe grief when she saw them. She'd at least had that much exposure to how others dealt with loss back home.

The crew respected the hell out of the man. They'd regaled her with his heroic exploits. But all those stories of his bravery pointed to a person who was pushing himself into situations where, sooner or later, he wouldn't come back.

He'd lost his future. However strange and hard it might be for her to adapt, she at least had one. She hadn't lived through her family dying.

When everything was considered, her anger with Darius's treatment was constantly at war with pity on his behalf. She'd stayed away from him just so there'd be no more angry outbursts on either side. There was no point in stirring a pot when he'd made his choices and she had several thousands of them to still consider. Besides finding a way to fit in on a new world—with about three centuries of learning to make up—one more thing was perfectly clear.

She had to go her own way.

He and his crew would continue their duties and leave her to her own devices. The sooner she broke any kind of dependence on Gemma, Barst, or anyone else she'd befriended, the better she'd be.

No … there certainly was no going back now. And the safe harbor that'd been her quarters would be gone. She'd simply have to go somewhere else.

“Look … not much longer now!” Gemma cried out as she pointed to the view screen.

Laurel couldn't see anything other than a brighter star enhanced so that astronomical events were more easily viewable. But as the
Titan
flew through space, the star became the super-sized sun that warmed a very massive planet just to the left of it. Other planets came into view behind this larger one. Like Earth, Luster was green and blue—though it had landmasses that dwarfed anything considered a continent on her former home world.

Laurel swallowed hard. She noted the smiles on the crew's faces. They greeted their commanding officer as he walked onto the bridge, wearing a black dress uniform that probably signaled a meeting with dignitaries on landing. The big commanding officer barked out commands in his typical, reserved style.

“Barst … signal headquarters we're approaching. Have a detail of eight ground enforcers meet us at the landing field. I want Goll off this ship and into their custody as soon as possible.”

Darius paused and gazed at the crew around him. Their silent return regard was nothing less than epic. Laurel didn't regard him with so much heroic grandeur. She simply looked away when he might have caught her staring.

Darius took the commander's chair from Barst. He sat but everyone still gawked expectantly in his direction. Every crewmember within sight was frozen in place, waiting to hear whatever he'd say.

“Log a long shore leave for the entire crew,” Darius announced. “We've earned it!”

That announcement was met with cries of joy, backslapping happiness, and a sense of impending celebration.

Laurel took that opportunity to back away and off the bridge before Darius even noted her presence. In a matter of seconds, she was in the passageway, on her way to her quarters without as much as a question.

Her throat closed, and tears stung her eyes.

Now's not the time to cry like a baby. I got that outta my system when I was alone in my quarters, struggling to learn how to use an alien version of a commode without embarrassing myself. So I can either give up or stand strong. I'm representing an entire planet. And by God, I mean to show anyone having doubts that an Earth citizen can shine.

With that, she lifted her chin, blinked harder, and quickly made her way to a space where she could think alone.

• • •

Darius noted her presence. He knew the exact moment she left the bridge and felt pity on her behalf. The Earther among them was so clearly out of her league. But he'd tried to approach, offer support in his own way, only to be silently rebuffed when he came physically near.

One didn't have to have a sign posted to know the woman simply didn't want to have anything to do with him. She hated her circumstances and still blamed him for them even though she'd tried to make the best of her lot. At least her attempts were lauded by Gemma and Barst and many of the crew.

It was through his ship's med-tech and his second-in-command that he meant to offer support, if she'd accept. His family had numerous empty cottages on their large, country estate. These were set aside for special occasions, when large familial gatherings overflowed the castle compound.

Gossip might make of the situation something different than a simple friendly gesture. As a younger man he might have taken more care with the reputation he'd worked hard to cultivate. But Laurel was a special case, and he was long over the blathering others chose to engage. If his deeds didn't command respect at this time in life, then no amount of respectable behavior concerning what would likely be deemed a kept woman would make any difference. He'd always found it strange that what others could do so easily and without comment was considered off limits for
him
. As his father so often repeated “more is expected of us.” That unfortunate code was what prompted him to marry Astral when it'd become clear, shortly after the ceremony, that the two of them were ill-suited.

As he stared at the view screen—wishing himself back on solid ground so vehemently that he almost smelled the clean Lusterian air and felt the cool breeze against his skin—he wondered what Laurel would make of her new home. For all intents and purposes, Luster would be her planet of origin. And to help her establish a new life, he'd made special requests to have proper ID and citizenship documentation recorded. He'd relayed her need of a home to his family and there were no objections to his plans.

He tried, for the thousandth time, to put himself in her place. How would he fare on her world, living an existence so antiquated as to almost become an exercise in survival? Still, he firmly believed it would be easier to go backward in time and live life according to antiquated norms, than to have so many centuries of advancement to absorb. Becoming comfortable might well take the woman the rest of her life. But she was no fool. She knew she'd never be allowed to see Earth again. No amount of begging on her behalf would lift the ban concerning official contact with her planet.

He leaned forward and put his attention on their landing. When it was the proper time, later in the evening, Gemma would approach Laurel with the news that her residence, and therefore her safety, was secured.

She'd resent his help, even when cajoled by her friends to take it. But that's where things stood. She really had no other choice. He kept telling himself these well laid plans were for her good. In reality, the thought of losing complete contact was intolerable.

• • •

Laurel felt the crew's excitement as they prepared to land. They ran everywhere and energetic happiness was etched in their features. Even those whose faces were alien and whose mouth location was questionable seemed ecstatic. Their eyes revealed the emotion if nothing else did. Though some of the crew was not originally from Luster, as she'd been informed, smatterings of conversation mentioned celebrating at local taverns all over the capital city of Crystol. She remembered late night drinks with her comrades and mourned the loss of even the simplest things. But no one must know. Her regrets and fears had to remain her own. Even Gemma and Barst surely had limits as to how much self-pity they'd endure. She vowed to show none. The life she'd lived was over. This was a new one. On the bright side, she could make herself over, into anything she pleased. Be anyone or anything if Lusterian edicts she'd studied on the ship's computers were to be believed.

As the ship landed later that evening, the crew gathered near the
Titan
's large landing bay hatch. Outside it, families and friends were said to be waiting.

Over what served as the ship's intercom, she heard Darius's deep voice resonate throughout the ship. He officially ordered the bay exit open and gave permission for his crew to disembark. She assumed this was her chance to leave. Gemma and Barst were nowhere to be seen, and she tried not to panic. No one was going to hurt her. Nothing lurked on the other side of that hatch that was so terrible. She'd seen and experienced far worse than traveling to a new place. But her heart still wouldn't stop pounding as she moved forward among the throngs of departing crew.

The outer gangway gracefully fell into place and the crew pushed their way outside. She was among them.

For Laurel, it was like watching shoppers at a Christmas sale. Every conceivable body shape, appendage size, and skin color milled around in happy, embracing clusters. At a loss of which way to go, but certain she'd be found if needed, she stood near the bottom of the gangway.

Minutes later, Gemma, Barst, and Darius exited. The commander of the vessel was regaled with rounds of applause and well wishes. He simply lifted one large hand in acknowledgement. Only the corner of his lip shifted upward by way of a smile.

She licked dry lips and tried to quell childish fears threatening to overwhelm. This was no nightmare. She was on another planet witnessing a scene that could only have been produced at great expense had it been depicted by some Hollywood mogul.

A stray strand of hair blew across her face. The air smelled fresh. It wasn't the recirculated, if clean, artificial breeze experienced on the ship. Somewhere nearby, flowers were growing. Their scent was impossible to disguise. But she couldn't see the landscape beyond the many crew and family members present on the landing field. The gray, solid surface beneath her booted feet was reminiscent of cement, absent any stains of oil, fuel of other signs of ship repairs.

Gemma suddenly bounced toward her, looking so much like a young teenager—blue color notwithstanding—that is was impossible not to smile.

“Come on, Laurel. This is going to be terrific fun. Let me show you the sights,” Gemma offered as she gaily laughed and beckoned her Earth friend to follow.

Suddenly, Gemma went quite still. Her attention was captured by approaching beings that looked like her.

Almost in tandem, Gemma and Barst ran forward and cried out heartfelt greetings to what Laurel assumed were either siblings, parents, or other very close friends. These arriving individuals opened their arms wide to accept the med-tech and the
Titan
's second-in-command.

The breeze blew cooler. Laurel held back. She wasn't used to happy homecomings on Earth, never mind some strange world where her presence might be perceived as an intrusion.

Among the crew she'd befriended, many were locating and loudly welcoming their families and friends. She didn't back up but was actually pressed backward by the advancing crowds. With not so much as a piece of luggage, she stood there feeling like a piece of the
Titan
's hull. No one would ever welcome her again. Not that her family
had
, but the emotional outbursts around her reminded her of the isolation of the situation.