Last Star

By Suzanne Dome

In this post-apocalyptic future, the universe is cold and dark. Limited resources force humanity and two other races into cooperation against the Grays, whose spiral warping may have been the downfall of the very universe relied upon for survival. Only a few thousand years after The War of Suns, humans cling to hope in space stations and hop star systems as space grows ever darker, and colder. Siblings Shuzhana and Yarrow salvage for their meek existence, observed by a Pleiadean, hired for transport by a government official, and saviors to a member of the dying reptilian race.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne Dome
• Release date: Dec 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310976629

Suzanne Dome

Suzanne Dome was a special ed para for years, and supports STEM education. Now a resident of rural New Mexico, she wrangles chickens when not writing or crafting. Seamstress, jeweler, artist, diabetic, tree-hugging, star-gazing, crystal-gripping Bohemian, in black.Short Stories: Last Star, Tree Row Howl, BOOMER, SaviorWork available in print(Amazon): Weird Wheat; The Scrounger Trilogy: Empty Space, Second Signal, End Transmission, Lotus of the Stars, The Hoof of Nessus, Derelict Passage, Welcome to the Mutineer's Odyssey

Book preview

Last Star

Suzanne Dome

Copyright©2015

The bulbous salvage ship, Barbados Jane, slipped quietly through the dark vacuum; the distant light of dying stars glinted off heat-resistant exterior panels. Around it, no nebulae glowed in brilliant beauty; few living stars showed their light. It coasted through waves of radiation, propelled by a stream of it's own.

One human sat in the darkened cockpit. Yarrow growled at the keypad at which he pecked, and glanced out the view port at the dizzying blackness beyond the safety of the ship's hull. Death for humans, he thought sourly. But also, salvation. Yarrow ignored the ship's autopilot timer and continued to punch away at his keyboard.

My sister's a slut. Dad's ship was so much better back in the day...before the accident on Carob station. But she inherited the ship. Dad never put anything under my name, not when he realized I was different. Not when mom admitted there were problems in her line, problems bringing children to working age. Dad hated me.

I don't hate the ship though. I'm the pilot, and it's really my ship, even though Shuzhana's name is on the deed.

The sounds in the back are gross. Slurping, groping, banging, moaning. She really is a slut. I know the tips pay for the rest of our income, but still...it's gross. I'm mute, not deaf...

What's that, that you're doing there? Ket stared intently.

Yarrow glared at the pale-faced Pleiadean and tapped the little egg-shaped device behind his ear.

None of your business.

It always came out flat, sarcastic and electronic, but it was the best Shuzhana's friends in Engineering could muster, even for the best scavengers on Carob station. The stations just didn't have access to the tech the bubble cities did.

The Pleiadean shrugged, his face a serene indifferent moon in the back of the cockpit rear section. With the shrug, his cloak rustled, and Yarrow cringed.

Pleiadeans drive me nuts. They follow humans around sometimes, observing, as they tell it. We got one last week, with another visit from Shuzhana's favorite flunky. I'm so tired of the planetary government getting into station business...

The hatch slid aside in the back of the cockpit; Yarrow ceased typing and closed the document window. The engineers didn't give him a thought attachment for recording, only something for speech, despite Shuzhana's attempts to appease them.

Gross.

This was all really