"The Seventh Siren - Chapter 1 part 1" by Jessica Warner

There were eighteen possible ways for Laura Pole to die on this trip. Having nothing better to do, and thinking it was quite important, she had counted them. Exploding, suffocating, strangulation, poison, starvation, being shot, being stabbed, being smothered in her sleep, exposure, burning, vaporising, loss of body pressure, asphyxia, electrocution, being crushed, malnutrition, and if she was really lucky, being sucked into a black hole and never seen again.

  Ooh, and heart attack. From the stress of knowing all this.

  Although, it didn’t seem to worry her as much as it should. Perhaps it would suddenly sink in later. To be fair, it was a lot to take in. It was a new experience for her, having eighteen – nineteen even, ways to end her journey indefinitely.

Laura waited in Tlassedos Spaceport to fly on a cheap shuttle to the frontier. This was, as she had discovered, a lot more dangerous than it sounds (the shuttle flying, not the waiting). As she waited, she idly watched the world spin on around her. If you’re the sort of person who can just sit and watch other people for any amount of time, there is no better place to do this than a spaceport.

  Just in front of Laura was a very spindly crane, and some overloaded crates. She wasn’t looking at this too hard, because what happened would likely be very predictable. The crane was making some tantalising creaking noises though.

  Just to her right were a couple of shady looking gents, discussing something they’d get arrested for if caught, and you didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know this. Laura had watched them for quite some time whilst gazing boredly in another direction. She was good at not being seen, although if someone had spotted her they’d probably think she looked quite out of place.

  Not as out-of-place as the woman sitting on her trunk beside a gangplank did though. She was taking in the spaceport with a faint look of horror: grungy walls, unsavoury characters, smoky chugging vehicles, and what was that smell?! The woman’s expression as she took everything in was a good two minutes entertainment for a bored person.

  That could be me, Laura realised, if I hadn’t completely abandoned my sense of surprise. Shock just doesn’t seem to come any more. I think that’s what having an extremely overactive imagination does to you: whatever you see, either it could be worse or you’ve already seen it.

  There was a tramp too, who’d received a special look of distaste from the woman sitting on her trunk. His head was covered by a ragged blanket now, and he certainly didn’t give a damn how grimy the walls were. Laura would have believed him to be asleep, but the fact he was here and still alive proved he wasn’t quite that stupid.

  It was an interesting place to watch, but Laura had been watching all day. And she was in a hurry, which spoilt it a bit. Her shuttle was late. She’d expected this of course, but she’d been thinking in terms of a few hours rather than a few weeks.

  Good thing she was running a bit late too, really.

  She’d been slightly held up when somebody tried to assassinate her at the Launcher’s Lunch Inn.

She had been congratulating herself. She’d now learnt her lesson about this, and would certainly never do it again. But she had been, over a drink. She should probably learn a lesson about that too, come to think of it. Anyway, a nice young man had offered her another one. Being broke, seeing that he was pretty nice, and having had more than three already, she’d accepted.

  Nothing wrong with accepting drinks from nice guys. The wrong part is when you get to the boasting stage, and claim that you’re a desperate fugitive on the run from the biggest organised crime syndicate in the central galaxy. This is particularly dangerous if you are a desperate fugitive on the run from the biggest organised crime syndicate in the central galaxy, and a hard up bounty hunter on the lookout for some business overhears you, and has heard from his sources precisely how much you’re worth.

  The enterprising bounty hunter broke into her room, and waited for her to come up. He waited a good three hours, and then got bored. He went to find the room of the man she’d been talking to, but fortunately for her (and the guy concerned) Laura wasn’t that kind of girl. Slightly disheartened now, the bounty hunter had made his way down into the bar, and found her asleep at the table.

  Or not quite asleep. If she’d actually been asleep, she would’ve deserved to have her throat cut for being so careless, but as it was she was just thinking. It took a bit longer while there was a high quantity of alcohol coursing its way through her veins, and the barman had just left her there. She was thinking about her room key, and where she might have left it, and what she’d do if she couldn’t find it, and what number room she was in anyway. So she heard somebody sneaking up behind her, and that knocked a bit of sobriety into her pretty quick.

  The bounty hunter hadn’t been expecting a beer glass to come flying through the air towards him, by fluke hitting him crack in the face and smashing with a pretty tinkly sound. Put off by this, he hadn’t been expecting it to be followed up by a bar stool swung by someone who had never swung a bar stool before, and hence didn’t know how much force was needed or how heavy they actually are.

  The bar stool had slipped from Laura’s fingers and heaved the bounty hunter halfway across the bar. She had left smartish, although she could have taken her time really. The man probably took a while to wake up after that, and he certainly wasn’t going anywhere fast even then. After that, she’d taken a detour to shake off any others, and arrived at the spaceport three weeks late, hoping to trade something for a new shuttle ticket. But she’d been informed that the Seventh Siren, her ride, hadn’t yet docked. Which was a stroke of luck, because the only things of value she had were her ticket, which was only of value if she didn’t need to trade it, and her clothes, which she’d really rather keep hold of.

The spindly crane let out a miserable groan, and some vital cable snapped. The crates hit the ground, and burst quite nicely in a small explosion of rusty metal and components. The air was filled with the crew’s unimaginative cursing.

  Laura thought it must be difficult for people who swore every other word anyway. How did they ever manage to express themselves when they really really needed to? It must be exactly the same for if they were greeting a friend and if they realised they had less than ten seconds to live. And if ever you need to get a cussing in, it’s then (although there are probably more productive uses of your time). Laura doubted she’d manage it herself.

  Laura thought way too much actually, and she knew it.

  A huge transport drifted over, heading in to the other side of the docks. The sky darkened for a moment as it blotted out the sun. Tlassedos Port was one of the ill-reputed spaceports of the Andromeda colony. It was a neglected military port, now only used for transporting second-rate equipment, or non-essential supplies. The remainder was gnawed over by small smugglers guilds and slavers, and whoever else could find a use for an out of the way departure point for illicit ventures. Partly derelict, definitely dangerous, a grimy corner of the high-class, stylish colony district. But necessary, because it was the only port which still ran shuttles all the way to the Frontier.

  The Frontier of the galaxy, the very edge, the debris that only just clung on rather than drifting into emptiness.

  I wonder what other fools and felons will be joining me on this heap of scrap metal? Laura wondered.

  The transport moved on, and the sun returned. Predictably, the men doing the dodgy dealing had vanished without a trace. A tall woman, standing against the wall looking argumentative, had taken their place. Wow, the company in this place is really amazing. I hope the shuttle hasn’t blown up or something. If I have to spend a night here I just know I’ll wake up to find somebody’s swiped everything but my socks. Come to think of it, that would be the best-case scenario…

  ‘Hey.’ Said a voice. Laura jumped in surprise. The woman had edged up to her, and she hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Hey.’ She replied.

  ‘You know when the shuttle Seventh Siren is meant to dock?’

  ‘Yeah, three weeks ago.’

  ‘Huh.’ The woman didn’t look in the least surprised. ‘You been waiting three weeks?’

  ‘Nope. You?’ I’m not telling you a thing, thought Laura.

  ‘Nope.’ And by the looks of it, you’re telling me as much. This’ll make for an interesting conversation.

  ‘You don’t know what’s holding it up then?’

  ‘Nobody does.’

  ‘Right.’ Laura noticed the woman had a blanket tied tightly around her right arm. It was strapped up so tightly it looked painful, but she didn’t appear to notice. After a short pause in which it appeared neither of them had anything else to say to each other, the woman turned and walked off without another word.

  Could be worse. Could be trying to kill me.

  Actually, I don’t know that she isn’t…ah well. Too late to ask her now. S’cuse me ma’am, but you wouldn’t be planning to assassinate, capture, incapacitate, or otherwise inconvenience me would you?

  Laura drifted off. Some people are often lost in thought. Others lack thoughts large enough to lose themselves in.

It was near dusk before a splutter of engines, growing steadily louder, informed anyone waiting at the docks that a shuttle was approaching. It shook its way into its berth, and let out a creaky shuddering noise that sounded not unlike a metallic sigh of relief. It was dented by who knows what, and there were nice streaky burn marks, inexpertly painted over, which were either from extreme engine backfire, getting too close to a larger ship’s exhaust port, or cannon fire. Take your pick, really. Laura really didn’t want to look at the nameplate. Neither did she need to.

  She did anyway.

THE SEVENTH SIREN

The freedom machine. Could be worse.

  Not sure how, but it probably could. No holes.

  Much.

  Laura hadn’t been expecting much, and hadn’t received much either. So she wasn’t too upset. In fact, it was almost worth it to see the look of abject terror on the face of the out-of-place woman, sitting on her trunk on the gangplank. She leapt off, seizing her belongings, looked at the nameplate as if she couldn’t believe her lack of luck, and mouthed something Laura didn’t understand. The meaning was pretty clear, however.

  From all over the port, people were migrating in the direction of the shuttle. It could carry about ten passengers and a lot of cargo uncomfortably, and it would probably pick up more of both on the way.

  The hatch groaned open. There was a pause. Perhaps the pilot was going to heave his trunk out, but then remembered where he was and thought better of it. Anything thrown out of the shuttle would probably be caught in mid air, and vanish.

  A scruffy looking man emerged, carrying a huge pack over one shoulder. The hatch closed behind him, and he wandered off in the direction of the nearest bar, ignoring everyone and everything except the sound of drunken arguing.

  Laura got up, because her feet had gone numb, and she wandered over to the shuttle curiously. A few people were doing the same.

  A man looked the hatch up and down. He tilted his head to one side, and seemed to think carefully.

  ‘What?’ Asked the woman who had spoken to Laura.

  ‘Hang on…yeah, I can get that open, no problem.’

  ‘Um…’ The shocked woman said, but everybody else appeared to think this was a great idea.

  ‘Excellent, so what are you waiting for?’

  ‘You to get out my way. Now where did I put…here.’ He took an interesting looking tool out of his pack, and pressed it against the shuttle’s emergency opening. It wasn’t long before the hatch gave a long, fierce hiss. Someone tugged at it eagerly, and it slowly pulled its way open.

  Laura ducked under the hatch and inside. Better off there than outside waiting for another assassin.