Starlaw (10 page)

An old training officer had once told her that as long as you're alive, there's a chance to change any bad situation. One just had to look for it.

With every bit of internal strength she possessed, Laurel stuffed down outer signs of fear and turned her mind toward getting home. Something she might see, get her hands on, or hear about might move her closer to that goal. She was sure, beyond any doubt, the big tanned alien running the show had no intention of ever taking her back to Earth. Those around him didn't want to talk about it. That's why Gemma acted so excited about something that, for her, should have been a tedious chore. Refueling a space ship couldn't be that exhilarating for anyone who did it on a regular basis. It'd be like gassing up the family SUV. Blue girl's merry response was forced. Gemma was trying too hard to take her mind off reality.

Laurel took refuge in sarcasm. It'd always saved her composure in the past. Other cops around her had always resorted to it. When life wasn't what you might wish, you had to bide your time until you could turn things around. And existence was as bizarre and serious as she'd ever known it. She now understood that trainer's point. She had herself. No one else. Even as Gemma chattered merrily on,
she
made plans of her own and those had to do with seeking revenge against the Goll creature. Either she'd die carrying them out or these aliens would finally understand the depth of her determination.

“I suppose Major Ass Hard will be coming along?” she asked, affecting a nonchalant air.

“Laurel! If the commander ever heard you call him that, he'd go nova.” Gemma laughed, picked up her uniform jacket and changed subjects. “I can't wait to show you some of the shops and there's this tavern I've heard of … ”

Laurel forced herself to listen to Gemma's prattle. How nonsensical was it to stand there talking about such trivialities when someone should have been explaining exactly what had happened to Cory and the rest of her shift. How could something like this have to happen to her?

Utter lack of control almost overcame her. As Gemma kept speaking, she forced herself to breathe deeply and hang on, to act is if she could handle the situation. If there was any time in her life she needed to keep it together, that time was now.

The thing that scared her most—it kept entering her brain over and over again—was the thought that these beings thought her inferior. Even Gemma's attempts to help were colored with the assumption of total ignorance. What if her actions, as the first Earthling among these creatures, were judged and found so inferior as to generate harsh action against her world?

In a strange way, perhaps her plans might change such a judgment, even if they got her killed. If she were able to engage a plot against Goll and accomplish it, despite these creatures' obvious belief in their superiority, maybe they'd have to reconsider their underestimation of Earthlings.

No matter what happened from this moment on, Laurel intended to infuse every word, every gesture, and every action with an air of confidence, competence, and even blasé acceptance. If they thought it strange, let them guess as to her motives.

Strength
. She had to be tough. She didn't want to go down in history as the person who caused Earth to be invaded.

Despite her resolve to stand with pride, she tried not to visibly shake when she walked down the ship's gangway an hour later. Gemma had found her a black tunic and leggings to wear, complete with high boots. Her blue companion said it was the best she could do. Unlike Gemma's uniform, there were no insignias on her outfit. As far as she knew, that put her on the bottom of the ship's hierarchy. But then she wasn't relying on any rank to pull her out of trouble. She'd have to do that by wits alone.

“Sure you don't mind my presence?” Barst asked as he approached them from behind.

“Of course we don't.” Gemma smiled up at him with affection. “The more there are the more fun we'll have. Right, Laurel?”

Laurel swallowed hard, pasted on her prettiest smile, and held out her hand to the man with features resembling a bear.
Somewhere
, somebody was going to owe her an acting award. It was difficult looking into Barst's face and considering him sentient. This was a flaw she had to get over. Her ability to fool these beings depended on her ability to adapt.

“Sorry for the way I behaved in the med bay,” Laurel said to Barst. “I just didn't understand the situation.” That was a lame excuse for her behavior but it would have to do.
Show no fear; not ever. The less said the better. Don't let it get back to that commander how afraid you really are, of him and this entire situation.

“No apology is necessary, Laurel. If I had been you, I would have done much worse than throw a few things around. My species doesn't like captivity. And it wasn't as if you asked to be here.” Barst smiled and shook her hand in what was apparently a universally accepted greeting.

Laurel detected sincerity and warmth. But could she ever really trust anyone in this crazy reality?

Take no chances.
Show strength.

Gemma grinned as she maneuvered her body between Laurel and Barst and looped her arms through theirs. “Come on, you two. Let's show this place some class.”

As they exited the ship, Laurel was stunned by what she saw and almost forgot her self-admonishment to show no fear, have no reaction whatsoever, and give nothing away that could be cause for judgment.

The sky above them was Halloween orange and several planets hovered over purple mountains in the distance. She was unable to tell whether it was day or night on this world Gemma referred to as Chamron. She could see everything around her but that ability didn't imply the real sense of sunlight.

Sentient creatures of every imaginable size, shape, and color milled about what seemed to be an open-air bazaar. It reminded Laurel of a flea market she often went to in San Diego. Objects of all kinds were being offered for trade or sale. And like the people on Earth, everyone seemed to be looking for a bargain. The plant life she viewed was just as strange. There were large pink flowers growing on blue stalks; these were planted in hollowed-out rocky containers. There were other plants of various shapes and sizes, but none of them remotely looked like anything on Earth. Some of them even moved and seemed to follow her progress as she walked.

It occurred to her that some might be sentient and even be carnivorous. For that reason, she kept her hands to herself and didn't dare stop to smell anything.

As Barst and Gemma led her from one stall to the next, explaining what was being sold, she tried to steer away from anyone or any
thing
that looked like it might have a chip on its shoulder. And that was when she was able to discern
if
the creature in question had shoulders.

“Ohhhh, this is gorgeous. It would exactly match your eyes, Laurel.” Gemma held up a length of sapphire blue fabric with golden fibers that sparkled in the light of nearby bonfires. These had been lit, as she'd been told, to celebrate the rising of the planet's moons.

In an attempt to feign interest and not appear as mentally unhinged as she felt, Laurel fingered the cloth. Its texture was like silk and cool to the touch. “It's lovely,” she complimented.

In truth, she'd never seen anything so perfectly beautiful in her life. The fabric looked as if it'd been spun on the looms of gods. If she recalled history lessons correctly, many on Earth thought much the same thing when silk had first been presented. Still, even when referencing something as innocuous as a bolt of cloth, every word was guarded. Even sarcasm was stowed for the moment. As she'd recalled being told, her communo-chip made her language perfectly understandable. She mustn't do or say anything to give her fear away. It was so very hard when her insides felt like melted butter.

“Where is this from?” Gemma asked the merchant selling the fabric.

“This was spun by spiders in the Corius sector,” the vendor explained. “It is the finest quality I have ever sold.”

Laurel covertly looked over the gray merchant with four horns on its head. She had to act like she saw this kind of thing all the time.

Before this was over, she'd surely go insane. All she really wanted to do was run to tan man, grab him by the front of his immaculate black tunic, and make him take her back to Earth. Even if she had to hold a knife to his throat to do it. But where on his ship did one go to find a sharp knife?

“We'll take it,” Gemma said, handing him coins from a small pouch at her side. “Could you wrap it and have it sent to our ship?”

“Of course, mistress. I know where it is docked. It is the only League ship here,” the merchant said as he nodded and turned to wrap the cloth.

“Laurel, that cloth will make the most exquisite gown for you!”

“Gemma, you didn't buy that for
me
, did you? I-I'm very thankful, but I can't take it with me when I get back to Earth. How would I explain it?”

“Don't worry about that. Everything will work out, you'll see.”

When Gemma averted her gaze and pointedly looked for Barst who was several stalls away, Laurel knew she was being lied to. And whatever kindness blue girl had shown seemed hypocritical. It was at once saddening and corroborative.

“Look at him, will you?” Gemma asked as she nodded toward Barst. “Here we are, among all these wonderful goods, and all he can think about are those wicked displays of knives and swords! Honestly, men are such single-minded asses.”

“It seems there are some things that are universal,” Laurel sadly remarked though she hid her despondency with a fake smile.

“I'm telling you, girl, if there were fewer of them and more of us, there'd be far less trouble in the universe.” Gemma snickered. “But then, maybe there'd be far less entertainment, too.” She grabbed Laurel's hand. “Come on. Let's go get him before he decides to take up residence with that weapons dealer.”

Before blue girl could turn and walk away, Laurel placed her hand on Gemma's shoulder. “Thank you for the cloth, Gemma. I don't know if I'll ever have a chance to wear it, but it is beautiful. Maybe we could have it made into something you could wear, too,” she absently offered.

“No. I couldn't get away with it. It would clash with my skin,” Gemma joked as she presented a broad smile. “Look … I want us to be friends, Laurel. I truly do.”

Angered that Gemma might be picking up on her angst, Laurel affected a laugh. “Of course. A person can never have too many friends. That's what I always say.”

Gemma turned to catch up with Barst; Laurel followed quickly. She wished these people were genuine, but her cop's instincts warned about their motives.
Stay strong. Show no weakness. Now's not the time to go all soft because somebody gave you a gift.

Later, hunger forced the three of them to find a tavern Gemma had heard about. They entered the dimly lit, square metal structure and found a quiet spot in a corner. As taverns went, this one reminded her of all those old science fiction movies where alien creatures meandered and partied next to each other. Loud laughter and eerie, wire-sounding music broke out. At least everything looked clean. All the furnishings were made of some bright steel-looking substance, the floor was gray stone. Lighting consisted of some kind of whitish orbs floating above the tables.

Like most cops, Laurel guessed her companions were trying not to expose their backs to an open doorway. Gemma found them a spot near a wall, where they could see everyone or every
thing
that walked or ambled in.

Purple creatures that looked like oversized house cats ordered drinks. Green women who would have otherwise looked like Earthlings served orders. The barkeep was a huge, gray worm-thing with a broad smile pasted on his face. He seemed jovial enough but she had a hard time keeping her eyes off the menagerie, acting like she belonged.

Her companions stared at her then glanced at each other. They knew she wasn't mentally with them. To cast aside doubts concerning her nervousness, anger, and secret desire to get back to Earth, she threw out what she hoped was a benign, conversational question.

“So … your commander didn't feel like a shopping expedition?”

“Normally, he lets the crew have shore leaves alone. It's his way of giving us time to vent without his being present.
This
time, he actually said he'd join us.” Gemma shrugged. “I think he may have been held up by the refueling crew.”

Barst leaned forward to be heard over the rising din of nearby revelers. “Refueling wasn't the issue. On landing, our consoles showed a glitch in the ship's port security monitors. I would have taken care of it myself, but he insisted on handling it. I'm sure he'll be here soon.”

More songs broke out and Laurel glanced at the singers. “What's with all the partying?”

“Aside from this being one of a very few bars on this world, the nearby market is a sales venue for three sectors of space,” Barst told her. “Friends are always meeting up in such places, reliving old memories, talking over old times.”

Gemma leaned toward him and shot him an impish grin. “And what would you like to talk about, Barst? Something exciting like tactical star navigation, or Simbrium as a new fuel source?”

“Why not?” He laughed heartily. “I'm sorry if I don't find delicate shades of fabric and new makeup techniques of riveting value.”

Gemma playfully swatted his arm before turning to Laurel. “Honestly! Here the man is, alone in a bar with two scintillating women and all he wants to talk about is enforcer crap!”

“Don't get saucy, wench,” Barst joked. “Maybe I'll have you clapped in irons for insubordination when we get back.”

“We haven't had those things aboard for years, unless you've managed to hide a pair for …
special
…
occasions,” Gemma fired back.