Born Under a Wandering Star

By Jon Peter Quill

The universe is a hostile place for Angel Stardancer and her brother Sage. Her people were massacred; she and Sage enslaved. Fleeing, they find work as freelance security agents. A team of scientists need them to protect their plans and equipment. She soon discovers the real reason they were hired. Part of that technology—plans to what may be the most dangerous weapon ever created—has fallen into the wrong hands. She finds herself in over her head when the government goons show up with the weapon primed to kill. Unable to sabotage the weapon itself, she seeks the aid of supposed allies. To get the job done, she’ll have to trust dubious men. Even with their help, her people are outnumbered and outgunned. Her wits, her steady hand with a gun, her specially modified ship, and this band of outlaws may not be enough. Coming out of this alive doesn’t seem possible. There’s no choice. If she’s ever going to have a peaceful place to call home she first has to keep the universe from blowing up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329622067

Book preview

Born Under a Wandering Star

Born Under

A Wandering Star

Jon Peter Quill

Editor: Claire Smith

Cover: Jon Peter Quill

First edition published August 2015

Copyright ©2015 Jon Peter Quill

Digital Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-1-329-62206-7

The Wandering Stardancer

The universe is a hostile place for Angel Stardancer and her brother Sage. Her people were massacred; she and Sage enslaved. Fleeing, they take jobs as freelance security agents. A team of scientists needs them to protect their plans and equipment. She soon discovers the real reason they were hired. Part of that technology—plans for what may be the most dangerous weapon ever created—has fallen into the wrong hands. She finds herself in over her head when the government goons show up with the weapon primed to kill. Unable to sabotage the weapon itself, she seeks the aid of supposed allies. To get the job done, she’ll have to trust dubious men. Even with their help, her people are outnumbered and outgunned. Her wits, her steady hand with a gun, her specially modified ship, and this band of outlaws may not be enough. Coming out of this alive doesn’t seem possible. There’s no choice. If she’s ever going to have a peaceful place to call home, she first has to keep the universe from blowing up.

Chapter One

Angel Stardancer mindlessly fondled the feathers clipped in her hair as she looked up through Dancer’s canopy. Clicking, Dakota’s berthing latches release their small ship. A mechanical arm lowered their ship, Dancer, down and out of the mother ship, a civilian science vessel working independently in enemy territory. The arm stopped with a jerk, releasing them to open space, then retracted back into Dakota’s hold.

Taking control, Angel engaged the maneuvering jets to move Dancer further away from the larger ship and clear of the berth’s low-hanging doors.

"That is so strange," Sage said from the co-pilot’s seat beside her.

What’s that?

Her half Indian, half Irish, seventeen-year-old brother shook himself. "I get an eerie sense that Dancer will never again rest in that berth." His saying that unnerved her a little.

What?

Never mind. I’m just being silly. This recon trip should be short and sweet, right?

Angel didn’t answer. Their father, the last pure-blood Choctaw had once said that some of his people could sense future events with uncanny accuracy. Whites, like her Irish mother, called it ‘premonition.’ Some tribal elders taught prophecy as fact, saying it was the Great Spirit preparing a man’s soul for event yet to come. Up until this very moment, Angel had believed all that old tribal lore was just a bunch of superstitious hooey. Presently she felt something deep in her gut tell her she may have been wrong.

Right, Angel? her brother’s voice shook her from her musings. She glanced at him. If not for his brown hair and blue eyes, one would never tell he was a half-breed, so chiseled were his Indian features. His skin was fairer than hers, but not alabaster like Mom’s. In line with his Choctaw upbringing, he wore his hair long like the other braves of their tribe, tying it in place by a leather headband. Reminded of the massacre, her heart suddenly felt heavy in her chest.

We’ll be back lickety-split, huh? he reiterated.

Angel did her best to shake off the melancholy. Yeah, sure. Lickety-split. She refocused and ran deft fingers across her console controls, touching one icon after the other. The thrusters fired as she throttled forward to leave the larger ship. The responsive new engines seemed eager to please. But that odd feeling of loss wouldn’t leave her. Then she realized that there was actually one person she’d miss above all others. She didn’t want to think about it.

Sage studied his scanner. To test his aim with the guns, he found a distant target, zeroed in, and pressed the trigger. One gun flashed. The far off rock vaporized. He looked for another target, but found none. So how’d it go with Captain and Mrs. Whitefall?

Confusing, Angel said, turning toward the nearest habitable planet. Although Dakota had passed Hawthorn hours earlier, it didn’t take Dancer but a few moments to close on the tiny world.

I’m about to make my circuits, Sage. Three times around, so get ready to record.

Roger, Captain Sis. He ran his fingers over certain icons, then asked her, Not good, huh?

Are you ready to start the camera?

Not going to say? I’ll take that as a sign things went bad for us.

Sage, please.

Fine. Here we go then. Lights, camera . . .

Action! Angel said as she pulled Dancer into a tight turn around the planet, tight being relative. Sixty miles above the planet’s surface at her current speed it would take everything she had to keep it tight and right, just forty-five seconds to complete three full orbits. Being the only pilot capable of such a feat without the aid of a computer was what defined her as the very best. Other pilots might be able to stay with her in a straight run, but the moment Angel made Dancer dance she danced alone.

Sage turned to her. I think I detect a bit of metal down there, sis. Better go in for a closer look-see. I’ll transfer the location to your screen.

Roger, Sage. Her console projected three semi-transparent monitors. Focusing through them, she had an unobstructed view of the real world. Focusing on the right or left screen showed her what was behind them to that side. The larger center screen showed what lay further ahead or tactical depending on her need and preference.

Going atmo. Sage, retract your guns, please. And energize your suit.

Check. With a touch on the control screen holograph, both gun turrets slid down into the winglets. Then the winglets themselves pulled tighter into Dancer’s body.

Energizing her suit, Angel dropped her speed rapidly, rolled over, and headed into the atmosphere. The nose and leading edge of the winglets grew hot from air friction. The closer she got to the ground, the greater the air friction, the higher the temp, and the lower her speed.

As she flew over, Sage snapped a few infra-raddion stills of the area in question. Then just as fast as they had come in Angel headed for the dark blue-black once again. Watching the blue sky quickly give way to the starry void took her breath away each and every time she saw it. All of space was their playground, and the thrills came easy. Best of all, a spectacular riot of colorful gasses, Grenadier Nebula, now lay before them.

Angel cleared the atmosphere, brought Dancer about, and headed for Grenadier. "Our fuel supply is good, Sage. I just want to top off. We’ll fill the spare tank as well to take back to Dakota."

Roger, Angel. To be safe, I’ll extend the wings to war-readiness.

Roger, Sage. She glanced at his grinning face. Gotta have those guns, huh?

He sobered his expression. Um, yes. Always at the ready, Captain. The winglets extended back out and from them the gun turrets rose from their compartments.

To recharge the fuel cells, Angel headed for the Nebula. The leading edge of the winglets opened to scoop in Radical Ion plasma, a fuel unique to Dancer and Dakota. Race, a lady scientist aboard Dakota, had managed to stabilize and contain the volatile plasma, and then she figured out a way to use it as a fuel with better than great success.

So, sis, how’d it go?

Did they speak to you beforehand, Sage?

They did.

You outed me, didn’t you? she said carefully.

Sage sighed.

Thanks, she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm You’re a real pal.

I told them you were bored, sis. I reminded them that our two-year contract with them would be up soon and that you were getting antsy.

That wasn’t your place to say, Sage. If I wanted them to know—

Stop! For Comanche, those are good folks. I didn’t want you to walk out on them without giving them notice or reason, so I outed you. Live with it.

Angel said no more, and Sage focused on his instruments. He knew she didn’t want to make running away a habit. On numerous occasions, she had told him that. But since Coredei, since Saundler Fairchild’s so-called ‘little chat’ with her, she felt loyalty to no one; no one, that is, but to Sage. He was loyal to her, but she refused to extend her loyalty beyond him.

Yanking his mind back to the job before him Sage focused on his instruments. Though the nebula was bright and beautiful, for him, trying to decipher his scanner it was a pain. Its myriad fluctuating energies clouded his readings with static making them difficult to translate. To filter this, he dropped his visor over his eyes. Although Jordon Whitefall, Race’s brother, designed the visor to cut through this sort of thing, the static interference stubbornly skewed Sage’s screen anyway.

Can you give me some sense of what’s in the nebula, Sage?

I’ll try, Cap. Sage dialed in as tight as he could. Negative, sis. The Radical Ions are making a mess of my scanner. I’ll work to clear the noise, but by the high count of it, a quick in and out should be enough to recharge the core nodes several times over.

Roger. Angel went oddly still.

Sage gritted his teeth.

In that one, lousy, little word, ‘Roger,’ Angel had managed somehow to wedge two tons of her irritation with Sage.

He sighed. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you. That wasn’t my plan.

She shrugged. No. You were right. It’s out in the open now, and it’s probably best they knew.

There was a short moment of silence, then Sage heard her mutter to herself, Roger Dodger, okey dokey.

He looked at her. You okay, sis?

She looked at him. Sage?

Yeah?

You think we could come up with something better to say than ‘Roger’? She paused. After all, it’s just you and me out here by our little lonesomes. What do you say, little brother, any ideas?

He shrugged. Are you joking? Funny, you look rather somber. She used to laugh all the time. Now, not so much. Maybe, with a little effort, he could lighten her mood. He’d try. "I’ve always been partial to sounds of static, clicks, and such, you know, radio sounds like scuu –Roger– scuu,

"or click scuu –Roger, Captain– scuu click.

You know what I’m talking about. Like in those old movies Dad used to watch.

Angel winced.

Sage paused. Mentioning Dad triggered those bad memories again, huh?

Yes, well, it’s not like I can help it.

Here’s the thing, sis, you should be able to. For the most part our childhood was—

Fun, exciting, and adventurous, she said, cutting him off irritably.

Those are my memories anyway, he said. Maybe on your off hours you should think on those things. Train your mind to default to the good times we had when someone mentions Mom or Dad. Harvest festival had always been fun. Unification day was good. Hunting deer with Dad. Mom’s Christmases. We had good childhoods, sis. You can’t deny that.

I wish it was that simple.

Sage sighed. Then a thought struck him. Did I ever thank you?

Excuse me? For what?

For hiding me. For preventing me from looking, from seeing. I still can’t believe your strength, though. You nearly broke my nose pressing my face into your shoulder.

She shrugged. He was referring of course to their ship’s capture, of her escape from the Confeds into the brush with him. My adrenaline was pumping like crazy. Fight or flight thing.

And yet you did neither—fight or flee.

What choice did I have? Dad barely got us off the ship in time.

Sage remembered. Man, how those Confederate dillweeds wanted Nashoba, the last Choctaw-owned privateer warship. But they couldn’t have our ship, not in one piece if Dad had any say. A few months after their clash with the fed fleet at Mantema, and the subsequent slaughter of the tribe there, the enemy ambushed them near Haggis. They fought their way out of that mess and ran, for all the good it did them. A month later they were set upon near Ceti. And so it went. The bad guys would set a trap, and Nashoba would fight free and run like crazy. Of course, the feds would give chase. Trap, fight, run . . . trap, fight, run . . . day after day, week after week, month after insufferable month for two solid, exhausting years.

But there were a lot of them and only one Nashoba. The Confeds eventually caught up to the Stardancer’s little cruiser over Coredei, a pirate stronghold that skirted Providence territory. They were so close to the Prov Union and safety, yet not quite close enough. With overwhelming odds, the Confeds cut off their every escape and, after exchanging cannon for cannon, missile for missile, the Confed warships shot Nashoba out of Coredei’s skies. Dad managed to crash land the ship and get Angel and Sage off before the enemy ground forces arrived. A short distance from the crash site Angel hid Sage in the brush and kept him quiet. But she couldn’t keep him from hearing the soldiers drag his parents off the ship. Then came the screams and the sickening smell of burning flesh and eleven-year-old Sage holding tight to his fourteen-year-old sister who rocked back and forth as she pressed Sage’s face to her shoulder stroking his hair to calm him. Hour after tortuous hour she watched and waited for it to end, all the while shushing him, telling him it be over soon, that it’d be okay.

Thinking about it now, Sage couldn’t begin to imagine the effect that the experience had had on her. Why did Angel have to watch the whole thing?

They were so close he remembered the fire’s heat on his back. Afterward, when the screams finally stopped, there were no tears in Angel’s eyes, no emotion at all. Just a look that scared Sage more than anything he’d ever experienced before or since. It was then that Angel became hard and stoic, no longer laughing as she once had.

He shook off the thought.

Sorry, sis. Leave it to me to once again put my foot in my mouth, Sage said, unable to hide the shame in his voice.

She shook her head. Sorry, I . . . she swallowed. I just . . .

He gave her time to collect her thoughts.

"Remember our being on Neshoba, Sage? I mean before Mantema?"

Some, he said effortlessly recalling those years. He knew it was all such a blur for her, now. I remember the planet stronghold. I remember Chief Wheelock. A few things like that. And a few things from before that time.

There was a moment of silence before Angel spoke. I remember Dad and Mom, and you and me on our old ship – of doing the ‘Rogers’ and ‘Yes, sirs,’ while under heavy fire. Doing so made me feel like one of the grownups.

"I remember us on Neshoba."

Dad said discipline helps us keep our wits about us when we’re under the stresses of combat.

Angel, Daddy trusted you in command of our ship because you always kept and keep a cool head under pressure.

Both of us did and do, she said. Nah. We can’t afford to get sloppy out here. I say we keep the discipline.

Roger, Captain. I knew you’d see it my way.

Your way? Why you little rat!

"That’s Mr. Little Rat to you, Captain. A little respect, please."

She chuckled. How little do you want?

That’s what he wanted to hear. Her spirits had risen. Now if he could just keep from bringing her back down.

Sage suddenly noticed his scanner. The chance to slam into something unseen was greater the faster they went. Drop your speed, Cap. We’re closing in on the Nebula way too fast.

Roger, Sage. Angel dropped her speed and, as she entered the nebula, the scoops automatically drew in Radical Ions filling their batteries.

Sis, I’ve looked over the preliminary readings we took from Hawthorn. I don’t see enough metal there to account for one Talon, let alone two. I was thinking one or both may have crashed, but the readings say that didn’t happen.

Thanks, Sage. Angel hesitated. Where could they have gone?

Maybe Race miscalculated their fuel supply. If they ran dry before they reached Hawthorn they may have overshot it and drifted in here.

Race miscalculated, Sage? Race Whitefall? She’s too much a stickler for numbers, so I’ll just give that notion a pass.

I don’t think they had the fuel to go much further.

Maybe. Can you give me a narrow scan two points off our port bow? I thought I saw a shadow. Maybe it’s one of our lost Talons.

Roger, Cap. I’ll try to increase range, but these Radicals are wreaking havoc on my scanners.

I’ll slow us to a crawl. Blast! This stuff is thick. I certainly don’t want to collide with one of those birds.

We’re full up. Closing the intake manifolds.

Roger. I was thinking about— Something caught her eye.

What?

Look. She pointed off to her left.

As she approached the shadow began to take shape. She pulled up alongside it. Well, here’s one. This close they could just make out the enemy Talon. Inside the ship, the pilot’s head leaned back at an unusual angle.

She powered up her suit. Stay here, Sage.

Angel turned and stepped into the airlock, closing the door behind her. The outer hatch opened and she jetted to the Talon for a closer look. She peered inside and froze. The long moment of silence dragged on far longer than it should have.

Sis?

No answer.

Sis, are you okay?

Still nothing.

Blasted PTSD, Sage grumbled. He went to the airlock, closed the outer hatch, opened the inner, and stepped into the chamber. Hitching a tether to his belt, he grabbed a second line, opened the outer, and jetted out to Angel’s side to attach it to her belt as well.

Inside the Talon canopy, a dark liquid, most likely blood, pooled around a hole in the pilot’s forehead. His sister, like an unmoving statue, stared unblinkingly at the corpse.

Sage gripped her shoulder and turned her away to face him. Yep. He’s dead, he finally said. Sis, let it go.

Then she met Sage’s eyes. Why? Why did they have to kill him?

No tellin’, sis. Who can say why villains do what they do?

After a moment, she reared away and shuddered.

Something tugged at her belt. She looked down to find Sage had attached an umbilical line to her.

I told you to wait in the ship, she said through her helmet communicator.

Did you? A raised brow said he didn’t give a hoot.

I don’t need a lifeline, Sage. My maneuvering jets are working just fine, thank you.

"It isn’t for you, sis. It’s to keep Dancer from drifting off." He gripped the Talon and swung himself around to the other side to peer into its cockpit.

As if returning from a dream, Angel glanced back at Dancer which was sitting right where she had left it.

He didn’t kill himself, Angel.

No?

There’s no blood splatter inside the cockpit.

And a man wouldn’t put a bullet in his own brow, she added.

Someone else killed him outside his ship, dropped him back him in his seat, and then set his ship adrift.

You sure, little brother?

So says the evidence, sis. So says me.

Where’s that other Talon?

Sage shot a thumb over his shoulder. Behind him was another shadow. He pushed off and jetted to it. Same sitch over here, sis. Pilot’s dead, and the cockpit is clear of blood splatter. He jetted back to her, shook his head, and jetted back to their little ship; the tether automatically reeled in on its own accord.

Once he and Angel were back inside Dancer Angel slid into her seat, and reinitialized the shields, but didn’t move.

Are you going to be alright? Sage didn’t take his eyes off her.

Something I said to Capt. Whitefall. I told him his little game of swapping old Talons for new was going to get someone killed, that it was a stupid idea. I told him he should have taken these men prisoners and sold them into slavery. I was pretty hard on him. Was I right to be?

Sage sighed. So says the evidence, sis, he said without raising his voice above a whisper.

He paid us what he owes us, Sage. We no longer have any money ties to him. I’m tempted to just keep going. We have enough to start over if you want.

Sage turned to his console and ran a hand down his face but said nothing.

Uh oh.

What, sis?

"We have a problem. All my instruments are screwy. I don’t know if I can find my way back out of here. If I head the wrong way we could go deeper into this nebula and . . . well . . . I’d rather not think about that."

Chapter Two

There was a long moment of silence before her brother spoke. I have an idea. Let me try something.

Sure. Anything.

He retrieved a pair of goggles from a cubby and handed it to her. Put these on, he said, and I’ll charge this Radical plasma with controlled neutron bursts. In this soup, it should act like a kind of sonar. If we can find the edge of this, maybe . . .

Good idea, Sage, she said, slipping the goggles on. Ready when you are.

He pressed his face into the scanner’s rubber rim, keyed in some numbers, then squeezed off a shot. The first neutron burst hurt. Like sitting inside a base drum, it was thunderously painful. But with his face tucked into his scanner, at least Sage could see. Okay. That worked, he said with some satisfaction.

Rapid succession, Sage. Look around this time.

Switching it to rapid fire, he briefly hit the trigger, unable to keep from wincing at every painful thrum. WOW! Look at that! Sis, bring your tracking scope up.

Angel hit a switch, and her scope dropped from the ceiling to cover her eyes like a face shield. She raised her goggles and pressed her face into the rubber-rimmed monitor. The screen came on in front of her eyes. Ready.

He hit the switch and flinched at the first burst. On the upside, he knew, like him, she could see clearly for miles. On the downside, what he showed her was worrisome. You see ‘em, sis?

Man, oh, man! she whispered in disbelief. Looks like the whole fleet is out there.

Sis. I count about forty Confederate ships . . . give or take.

Well, now we know where those two Talons made off to.

And we know who killed those men.

"Record this, Bro. We’ve got to get this to Dakota."

SNAP! Sage shouted. That was his catchword for Big trouble, and he wasn’t kidding. Four full Talon squads poured out of the Carrier and headed straight for them at high speed. The bursts had given them away. I have no idea how they see in this stuff, sis, but they do. HAUL, ANGEL! HAUL! Sage stepped up the neutron bursts. Thunder rumbled through their bones. It was awful, but it was all they had to see by.

Angel throttled up. Dancer shot forward like a bullet. "We can’t lead them back to Dakota, Sage." She turned to head the pursuers away.

"You’ve got them beat, sis. Dancer’s more maneuverable and faster than those trucks, not to mention we have a longer flying range."

Yeah? What’s your plan?

"So let’s take their ball away from them and make ‘em play defense. Remember Catch as Catch Can? You tie them up playing that, and I’ll try to figure out how they’re navigating in this stuff."

Atta boy, Sage. Let’s do it.

Angel hit a hard left turn to come straight at the Talons.

To clear a path, Sage opened up