part0034

The rescue ship heading for Ronu took off, and with it went most of the Foreworld diplomats, Craze, and his sister. Meelo squinted until the spacecraft disappeared into the stratosphere, her eyes watering from not blinking enough.

A hover van honked, inching up on her bumper. Accelerating the crop truck, she drove it the length of the highway, which ended at the modern docking facility, the finest of its class in all the Backworlds. Inside a freight bay, she supervised the unloading of the rootbaggers for longer than necessary, soaking up the trivial chitchat among the workers, the unhurried routine of folks with normal lives and unfulfilled dreams.

Craze’s warnings of alternate plans skittered down her spine, raising a disturbing chill. To safeguard moments like this, she had to heed what he said and prioritize the meager beginning of a plan started when the BAA first set down permanent roots on her moon.

Her moon . Never had she imagined her life becoming what it had. Planetlord. Laughing, she shook her head.

The workers paused, crates suspended between the truck bed and a hover cart that would deliver the boxes of produce to homes and businesses inside the docking facility. The workers studied her, awaiting new instructions.

“Carry on.” Her lips twitched with the wistful homage to Talos. She hadn’t been close to him, hadn’t been close to anyone who had resided on the Pardeep of old besides Rainly, yet she missed Talos and the others. “You guys should be here. You should be the lords of the moon.”

She proceeded to the elevators. On floor forty-four, she exited and followed the curve of the hallway to the door farthest from the elevators, the most prestigious address on Pardeep Station, hers. Inside her rooms, her shoulders tightened with the burdens of leadership, and the pinching at her temples started anew.

“Obeying my words is a joke.” She spoke to her hazy reflection in the gleaming walls. The dark green flickered then erupted into forest scenes reminiscent of her lost home on Teerant. In the early days of her rule of Pardeep, the reminder of what she had lost had depressed her. Now it strengthened her.

She had survived as a promise to her long-dead mate and had failed to nurture her solemn oath until recently. The more people who came to know her, the more likely her race of Backworlder, the LurDEEs, wouldn’t fade into obscurity. Now and then, she imagined she saw a glimpse of her family and friends among the virtual trees gracing her walls. “A slaughter won’t happen here. I’ll make sure of it,” she swore to her ghosts.

Showering, she washed off the vestiges of her farm, sending the pieces of grit down the drain. They swirled in the water, a luxury Pardeep hadn’t been able to afford until recently. Even now, only the wealthy and top government officials could wash with water.

“I don’t deserve what others don’t have.” She snatched the towel off its hook and rubbed it without mercy against her damp skin. The pinches at her temples deepened. Opening a drawer, she shook out two pain relievers and swallowed them dry, not daring to dilute the bitter taste.

“I’m as loony as the old man talking to myself. Get it together, Meelo. This moon won’t survive otherwise.”

She slathered moisturizer on her face, raked her fingers through her dripping hair, and flicked the droplets off her two tails. The latest in biomechanics made it impossible to distinguish the artificial tail from the natural.

She padded into her closet, which was as big as the kitchen in her ranch house, and hurried into a gray and pink pantsuit, the exact same style as the other four in her closet. Beside those hung one dress. Then there were her three pairs of boots and a chest of drawers with undergarments and sleepwear. Her coat hung in a corner where nothing else touched it. She put it on last.

Opening a drawer in the narrow dresser, she rummaged around under it and released a tab hidden there. It didn’t connect to Infocy. It didn’t connect to the BAA . Only six people on Pardeep had its code.

Her thumb pressed to the upper right corner to power on the device. It blinked a soft violet, ready to ping her message. Her thumb rubbed over Pauder’s icon. He’d get word to two others in her secret group. Those two would then inform the other three.

The old man peered at her with eyes shining with more moisture than usual. “He never stopped in. He never said good-bye.” His lips pulled to one side.

“Urgent Backworlds business called him away sooner than he expected.” She knew he meant Craze. “The Quassers attacked Ronu. We need to step up our plans for Subpeedra. Meeting in my quarters as soon as you can get here. My staff doesn’t know I’ve returned from my farm yet. I can keep them at bay for another hour. So hurry.”

He blinked slowly and wet his lips. “How’d these tidings come yar way?”

“An old friend voiced warning.”

“Him?” Pauder frowned, his chin quivering slightly. “He’s an ignorant piece of bwat. We can’t trust the source.”

It took every ounce of willpower Meelo had not to roll her eyes. “Craze wouldn’t lie to us. Not about something so serious. No matter your feelings about him, he regards us as family.”

“Yeah, ‘n look how he treated his relations. Most of them is dead.”

“The traps on Jix wasn’t known to any of us.”

“He arrived here with vengeance in his soul ‘n hasn’t spent his fill yet.”

“Ridiculous. Craze didn’t kill them. The traps was secrets no one knew about. Not even Talos, who was our spy there.”

“Talos will never be a good spy. He’s not dastardly enough.”

Meelo rolled onto her toes and clasped her hands behind her back. “A dastard he’s not. It wasn’t his calling. Emissary to alien cultures suits him better. He’ll serve the Backworlds well.”

“Now, quit dawdling, ‘n get your ass to my rooms.”

“Yes, me Lord.” He saluted before signing off.

Meelo stowed away the tab, adhering it to the underside of a plate of cheese in the refrigerator. She nabbed a piece of cheese and nibbled on it while starting a pot of coffee and defrosting a batch of rootbagger cakes. Once was, they were the only available sweet on Pardeep Station.

In the pantry, she rummaged through a tin of chipped bwat and drew out a data scroll. Like the tab, it wasn’t connected to InfoCy. On it were plans, architectural drawings, lists of tasks, lists of needed supplies, and the names of trusted Pardeep citizens.

Before ten minutes passed, those trusted souls called at her door: Pauder, Doc, Inder, Dauffer, Eina, and Nellese. Nellese had been integral in surviving the occupation by the mercenaries and in helping to settle the refugees from Pote. One of Craze’s earliest hire-ons, her friendship was one on which Meelo had come to rely.

Meelo’s warm smile invited them to sit at her dining table. “Our situation is grave.” She met each gaze without blinking. “Once the Quassers discover the location of military outposts, Pardeep Station will be a target.”

“We accepted the BAA’s bribes ta protect our moon.” Pauder squinted as if he reread the agreement with the BAA for the half millionth time. “Enforce the agreement.”

“I had hoped the combined forces of the Fo’wo’s ‘n BAA would produce an actual defense against the enemy. The ships that came in seeking our help proved no such defense exists. We can’t rely on the military to shelter us from harm.”

Pauder clutched at the war medals hanging around his neck, and his lips puckered into a frown. “I hate that our soldiers isn’t trained well enough ta safeguard the Backworlds.”

Meelo nodded. “The Quassers is a formidable foe. Direct confrontation may never work. If so, we have to fight in a different way ‘n get more serious about Subpeedra.” Subpeedra was what they had dubbed Pardeep underground.

“Live like moles?”

“Or die without hope.”

His fingertips rubbed at an itch on his scalp. His long nails left soft, white lines wherever they came into contact with his dark skin. “Leave the remaining construction ta me.”

“Do we have enough materials?”

“I’m old Pardeep. I know how ta make something from nothing.”

“Message lists of any needed supplies to my Subpeedra tab. I’ll see you get it.” The perks of Planetlord just might save Pardeep Station’s people.

Doc folded her fingers on the table. Her hands were chapped from constant scrubbings, as red as the floppy curls atop her head. “The native microbes, the crusties, prove quite interesting. I think they may offer more defense than first thought. I’ll step up the experiments with them ‘n manufacture them into something useful.”

The biomechanics of Dauffer’s cheeks brightened. “I’ll start the bio systems, the gardens, ‘n herds of Wonder Ricklits.”

“Breed the regular ricklits as well. In times of bothers, we may find their singing cheerful,” Meelo said. “How many folks can live in the underground as it now exists?”

“It can accommodate nine hundred. The ammo depot is fully stocked. There’s weapons for thousands,” Pauder said. “I’ll make sure nothing will get in once we seal Subpeedra’s doors.”

“I trust you will.” Meelo’s official tab pinged. She glanced at the message: a request from Rinner to allow another barracks full of soldiers. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long until the war took up the entire moon. Yet she couldn’t say no to what the Backworlds needed for victory, even at the expense of Pardeep Station. She inhaled deeply through her nose.

“We is running out of time,” she said. “See that Subpeedra is ready for permanent habitation for those nine hundred by end of the week. Then increase the underground’s capacity as quickly as possible without compromising security. Our population stands at eight thousand. We need to save eight thousand or more.” She showed Pauder the BAA’s request. “The Quassers will arrive in our skies sooner rather than later.”