Angel Mine

Angel Mine

Azura Chronicles, Book 1

By Author Vijaya Schartz

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228602309

Kindle 978-0-2286-0231-6

Print ISBNs

Amazon Print ISBN 978-0-2286-0232-3

B&N Print 978-0-2286-0233-0

LSI Print 978-0-2286-0234-7

Copyright 2018 by Vijaya Schartz

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication

To all my loyal readers and cat lovers out there, this story is for you.

Chapter One

By the frozen hells of Laxxar! Strapped in her command chair, Fianna Grosvenor tapped the symbols on the control console.

Emergency sirens blared throughout the hull of her small ship. Red rectangles flashed on the navigation screen.

Warning! Approaching dangerous forbidden planet, Rapscallion, the onboard computer, droned in a disembodied male voice.

Are these the right coordinates? Where is my quarry?

The quarry ship does not show on my scanners, Rapscallion announced in a chirpy voice.

Triblets! Fianna immediately regretted the cuss word. Where is he?

"Sheba not like swearing," the voice of her feline companion intruded in her mind.

Sorry, Sheba.

The large puma ensconced in the clear gel safety globe at Fianna’s side, blew her frustration through dilated nostrils. The feline covered her round ears with wide tan paws. Sheba not like noise.

Answering the puma’s telepathic complaint, Fianna swiped her screen, silencing the alarms.

Sorry, girl. I forget your ears are so sensitive. An asset in the hunt for dangerous felons.

Fianna glanced up, through the clear titanium pane of the forward bridge. Floating in black space, blinking space beacons linked by red laser lines like a grid, delimited the forbidden zone. Too loose a grid to prevent small ships from slipping through. Not an interdiction but a stern warning. Beyond the grid loomed an oddly luminous turquoise planet.

Computer, zoom on the planet.

Aye, aye, Captain. Rapscallion activated the central screen.

Three moons, one larger than the other two, orbited in a cluster, but no visible satellites or space stations.

Preliminary scans suggest a low-tech planet, Captain.

Then why the warning beacons? Fianna stared at the screen, fascinated by the planet’s bright turquoise color. Is the planet toxic? Analyze the color spectrum.

Aye, aye, Captain. Rapscallion buzzed as it searched. Color spectrum reveals an M-class planet, many known minerals, rare crystals, breathable atmosphere, water, vegetation, and animal life.

So, it’s livable. Triblets. The low life she was hunting could have taken a chance despite the warning beacons. Is the planet hostile to human life in any way?

Negative. The computer sounded bored.

Then why is that planet forbidden?

Searching. Electronic chimes punctuated the search. Azura is quarantined by the Galactic Trade Alliance. Level-three warning in effect. Do not approach under any circumstances. Those who ignore the warning are never seen again.

Triple Triblets! Fianna drummed her fingers on the command console, where a small statuette stood. A Guardian Angel of the universe, chest bare, wings spread, said to protect space travelers. Rapscallion, scan the planet for Tarkan’s ship.

Scanning. The computer paused. I detect a recent ion trail dwindling toward the surface, but the planet is shielded. Deep scans cannot penetrate to detect specific objects or people.

Shields? But there is no sign of technology. What kind of planet was that? Show me the history records for Azura.

Minimal records available. They seem to have been expunged. Images of lush jungles scrolled on one of the side screens lining the command center, but no people.

Anyone lives there?

Rapscallion chimed. The inhabitants are labeled hostile, dangerous, unpredictable, with powerful, lethal natural defenses but no known technology. They refused to deal with the GTA in the past and forbade the construction of spaceports.

That explains the isolation sanctions. The Galactic Trade Alliance did not tolerate rejection well. What else?

The native’s ideologies of truth telling and reckless honesty would have catastrophic consequences for the preferred way or life of the Galactic Trade Alliance. Costly wars and attempts to destroy the planet in the past have failed. Now it’s off-limits... in quarantine... indefinitely.

Wow! Are you telling me that natives with no technology kicked the Alliance’s butt? Fianna whistled, eliciting an ear-rise from Sheba.

The large cat shuddered in her clear gel globe. Sheba not like whistling.

The feline’s coat shimmered then turned from tan to silver gray. Unlike the proverbial leopard, this puma could change her spots... thanks to genetic engineering.

Fianna ignored the feline’s complaint. No wonder Azura is the perfect place for that bastard to hide.

Her quarry must have landed there. Fianna wouldn’t abandon the chase because of a silly interdiction based on opposing ideologies. Tarkan had already killed and maimed too many innocents... including her brother. He must pay for his crimes, and this time she’d make sure he remained locked up in a high-security prison.

On the viewer scanning the planet, something caught the sunlight and flashed it back into space. It flashed again.

What was that? A signal, or a reflection? If there are shiny, reflective surfaces, there must be some kind of technology. But if there is no technology, then it can only be Tarkan’s ship. He escaped in a silver luxury yacht.

A logical assumption, Captain, Rapscallion chimed.

Fianna checked the coordinates on the console. Computer, plot a trajectory to land in the same spot as that flash of reflected light.

But, Captain, the beacons warn against approaching the planet! Those who ignored the warning never returned.

Oh, shut up, you arrogant agglomerate of integrated circuits. Fianna would have to fine tune Rapscallion’s obedience routines. It’s not the first time we break the rules. You are not my conscience. Just land your butt where my quarry landed.

Aye, aye, Captain. Flagrant sarcasm dripped from the synthetic voice.

Fianna hated computers with an attitude.

As the ship neared the laser grid blocking passage, the proximity beacon warnings increased in frequency and intensity. More alarms blared.

Fianna muted them. Ignore the beacons and stay true.

Aye, aye, Captain. I know the drill. That judgmental attitude again.

Fianna would also have to reduce Rapscallion’s sarcastic abilities.

The small ship glided through the loose grid into the forbidden zone. The surrounding beacons quieted and returned to sleep mode. Apparently their scanners only looked outward to warn. They did not interfere. And her quarry must have known that.

As the ship approached the planet, Fianna detected a shimmering rainbow shell, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Shields? What’s their power source?

Unknown, Rapscallion droned in its monotone voice. It could be dangerous to get any closer. I... feel... dizzy...

Dizzy? As if a computer could feel anything.

The ship’s emergency lights flashed red and blue on the bulkheads all around the command bridge.

Sheba, in her clear, gel-padded globe, covered her eyes with her paws. Sheba not like blink.

As if the feline had powers, all lights went out and the dull vibration of the engines ceased. Blackness enveloped Fianna. No LEDs, no emergency lights, no forward viewer. She felt strangely light. No gravity either. She blinked to activate her internal night vision. The outlines of bulkheads and consoles emerged in muted colors. The angel statuette floated in front of her, demagnetized from the console. Fianna grabbed it and stuffed it in her cargo pants’ pocket.

Computer, what’s happening? Fianna tapped the dark controls.

Rapscallion remained dreadfully silent.

The ship wobbled, then some gravity resumed, but speed increased. Triblets! We are being sucked by the planet’s gravity. Computer, please tell me you can fix that.

Silence. Was it disabled by an EMP? A solar flare? Her ship was shielded against electromagnetic pulses.

Triblets! Our shields are dead! Heart in her throat, Fianna frantically attempted to restart the manual controls. Emergency batteries, no go. Computer, if you don’t wake up, we are going to explode on that rainbow shell!

The large cat huffed. Sheba not like yelling.

Sheba, brace for impact!

Fianna saw her life flash before her eyes... not really, but she always wanted to know how that would feel. For now, she wanted to catch the lowly bastard she’d come to collect. If this was part of the planetary defenses, how had his shiny yacht reached the surface? She cringed as she braced for impact with the planetary shield. Guardian Angels of the universe, please protect us.

Nothing.

The ship kept falling... and accelerating toward the lush blue-green planet below. We dropped through the shield with no damage!

"Good, yes?" Sheba’s eyes rounded in question.

Yes. Triblets! Unlocking her safety harness, Fianna fumbled with the backup landing controls. No stabilizers, no thrusters.

She struggled to think. We are headed straight for the surface in free fall.

"Not good?" The feline shuddered and her fur turned black. Sheba not like falling.

A collision shock, a loud bang, then the roar of air against the hull indicated they’d entered the atmosphere. They only had a few minutes.

Fianna wiped sweaty palms on her synthetic leather pants. Did the temperature on deck increase? Without shields, they’d burn into the atmosphere, or crash and explode on the surface. Unless...

The emergency landing thrusters could function without sophisticated electronics, but they would need a spark to ignite.

"Sheba die?"

Sheba! No, baby girl, thanks for reminding me.

"Sheba not baby. Sheba big."

Fianna’s implanted vision software and telepathic link still worked. Her body must have shielded its power source from whatever disrupted the ship's electronics. She could use it to spark the thrusters... if she survived the hard linkup.

She slid off her seat, stumbled down through a floor hatch, and down ladders, to the underbelly thrusters. She’d never used them before. The sudden, intense heat made sweat drip from her brow. Would the ship explode? She scratched the small port at the base of her neck and pulled out a thin wire, then she touched the end of the wire to a port in the dark console.

May the Guardian Angels of the universe protect cat and human.

The wire sparked. Fianna shook and jumped off with the shock. The console lit up and the emergency landing thrusters roared to life. The sudden deceleration pinned Fianna to the floor, then she bounced off the engine room bulkheads. The entire ship rocked like a flimsy, disjointed toy. Saved? Or was it too late?

Triblets! The hard impact sent Fianna flying. Metal twisted and groaned. Bulkhead popped open. Vegetation and dirt filled the engine room. Muffled explosions popped in the distance and pain pierced Fianna’s body. Flames erupted around her. She choked on the smoke filling the space.

Fianna didn’t want to die. Too much depended on her mission’s success. Her mind went blank.

* * *

Wet sandpaper scraped Fianna’s cheeks.

"Wake up, big lazy cat."

Sheba? I’m human. You are the big cat. Fianna could barely hear her own voice. She opened her eyes, blinked in the bright orange sunlight and switched her vision software to sun-shield. Are you okay, big girl?

"Sheba ears hurt." The feline sat and fiercely wiped her round ears with large paws. She’d regained her usual tan color with white underbelly, darker ears and light and dark face markings.

I’m sorry, girl. Mine hurt, too. Fianna raised her head and grimaced from the pounding in her skull. She was outside. The ship sat several yards away, like a cracked, blackened egg, flattened on the underside. Wisps of black smoke escaped from gaps in the hull. Did you drag me out of the engine room?

"Sheba not like fire, not like smoke... like sunshine."

Thanks. As she sat up, Fianna moaned. She flinched at the pain in her leg. Something hard stuck out of her left thigh. A triangular piece of sharp metal had stabbed her through the protective synthleather pants. Triblets!

"Sheba not like swearing."

Well, get used to it. The circumstances call for it. Fianna examined her thigh, blinking to switch her eye software to medical scan. It’s embedded in the muscle. No severed arteries. But it could get infected. She turned to Sheba. Get me the medical kit from the command deck. You know, the box with the white and red cross on it.

Sheba remained sitting up straight, licking her paws.

All right. Fianna chuckled. Pleaaase.

"Sheba know box." The large feline strolled with deliberate nonchalance, toward the open emergency hatch of the wrecked ship. How did it come open? Sheba had no hands to turn the wheel of the manual release.

Through her enhanced vision software, Fianna scanned her surroundings. Her ship had cleared a swath in the jungle as it crashed. Birds nested high in the canopy of wide leaf trees. Ferns and palms hid teeming animal life in the shade below. High humidity, balmy temperatures, soft breeze carrying the heady scent of sweet smelling flowers. A paradise by any standard... although oddly silent. The crash must have impaired her hearing, too.

She turned her head toward the wreckage and regretted the sudden movement. Could the large cracks in the hull be repaired? Her vision software detected residual heat from the emergency thrusters and from the fire, but no live electronics, batteries, or power charges of any kind. Triblets!

If the same thing happened to her quarry, did Tarkan survive his crash? Didn’t matter if he died, but she must find his body to claim the reward. She needed his bounty to repair the damage the bastard had inflicted on her innocent brother.

Sheba returned carrying the medical case, the handle delicately tucked in her bone-crushing jaw. She dropped it next to Fianna.

Sheba, how did you open the hatch to drag me outside?

The cat licked her paw. Sheba not open hatch. Sheba smell wind and see light.

And Sheba could not lie. Could it have opened automatically on impact?

"Sheba hungry." The big cat’s nostrils flared as she sniffed the air. Smell rabbit... go hunt.

Fianna followed Sheba’s stare and adjusted her eye scanner. The fluffy creature in the undergrowth was much larger than a rabbit, and green. Not exactly a rabbit, but close enough. Go enjoy your breakfast. I’ll be right here.

Sheba leapt and bounded after the green fuzzy prey who scampered at great speed, flashing its fluffy tail... like a rabbit.

Fianna opened the medical kit. The electronic pad on the case was dead. Triblets! She was in no mood to read the instruction booklet. Good thing she’d done this before.

She rolled up the synthetic fabric of her pant leg. The wound didn’t have time to fester. Good. She chose a scalpel from the case then clenched her jaw as she dug the piece of shrapnel out of her thigh, cussing and swearing under her breath all the way through the pain.

She squeezed antibiotic foam into the wound, watched as it filled the deep cut. The gap shrank and sealed itself. Fianna bandaged her thigh tightly then rolled down the synthleather skin of her pant leg. After consulting the chart on the instruction sheet, she injected herself with the recommended shots, according to the nature of the wound and the type of environment where she had landed.

Fianna stood up and tentatively set her weight on the injured leg. Minimal pain. It would hold. She barely limped toward the open emergency hatch.

Upon entering the ship, she inspected the door. The crash should have locked it shut. How had it opened? That remained a mystery.

The dark command bridge seen through her night vision software was a jumble of tipped consoles, floor plates scrambled like a jigsaw puzzle, and exposed floor cables. Solidified foam from the fire extinguishers coated everything in yellow goo. It was a mess.

Fianna could not imagine the amount of repairs. She could be marooned here for months... but her younger brother in the hospital didn’t have months, only weeks.

She started an inventory of the maintenance supplies she had on the ship. Far from enough to patch up this kind of damage. Not alone. Where would she find spare electronic parts on a planet with no technology?

Tarkan’s ship. That’s where she would find what she needed. With two wrecked ships, she might be able to make one fly. If the reflective surface she saw from space was her quarry’s space yacht, she must find it.

Following the dark corridors of the wreckage, she squeezed past dismantled bulkhead and fallen conduits, and reached the armory locker. As she pulled open the metal door, no LED lights showed on any weapon batteries. Triblets! The EMP had fried all the blasters. Only mechanical weapons, like old percussion guns and her crossbow rifle, would work.

She selected an assortment of blades, long sword, machetes, daggers, knives, hand claws and brass knuckles, and clipped them to her utility belt, next to a pair of old-fashion handcuffs. Then she filled her backpack with food rations, and magazines of bullets for her rudimentary gun, as well as bolts for her crossbow rifle.

She also grabbed a small medical kit, and low-tech field glasses, just in case her internal eye software failed, too. She didn’t quite trust the recycled technology she’d bought on the black market... although it had survived the planetary shield and the crash rather well.

As she stepped through the hatch into the sunshine, her ears popped. A rustling and a feathering breeze made her glance up. A bird shadow? She raised her crossbow rifle with one hand, blinked to shade her retinas from the orange sun, but saw nothing. At least, her hearing had returned.

Sheba walked nonchalantly back from the underbrush. The puma sat a few feet away in the trampled ferns, licking her lips and cleaning her paws. Good rabbit.

Again, not a rabbit. Fianna’s hunter’s instincts detected a presence besides the cat. She adjusted her vision and glanced all around, her crossbow rifle at the ready. Do you see anything, Sheba?

The puma inclined her head. Sheba see... big bird... no, nice man.

A man or a bird? Make up your mind. Where?

A young man materialized between Fianna and the ship’s open hatch. How did he do that? Cloaking technology? Or was she hallucinating? He wore only loose white pants. White? How impractical in the jungle. Yet, they were immaculate.

Fianna raked her short blond hair with nervous fingers. She must look a fright. Where did you come from, pretty boy?

My name is Acielon. Such a gorgeous human specimen, straight out of a holodream ad, muscular, with unruly dark hair, a strong brow, and clear turquoise eyes that pierced right through her... very masculine, too, despite the physical perfection. He must have been grown in a lab. He was too beautiful and perfectly muscled to be natural born.

Acielon. She rolled the name on her tongue with inexplicable delight. I’m Fianna. Just looking at him, a delicious shiver rippled over her skin.

"Sheba like nice man." The feline stared at the stranger, entranced. Her coat turned white.

Nice man indeed! He even smelled like... cinnamon. Fianna shivered and her legs turned to putty. Was he exuding pheromones?

Trusting Sheba’s instincts, and sensing no threat, Fianna lowered her weapon.

A hint of amusement flashed in Acielon’s striking eyes. I just alighted.

You mean, you crashed, too? She peered around through the foliage. Where is your ship? Was it the shiny one that reflected sunlight into space?

Ships do not fly here. His voice sounded like music, hanging in the air. His turquoise stare never left her.

Fianna scoffed. What? Don’t tell me you can fly. You have hidden wings or something?

Or something. He narrowed his eyes at her. You are trespassing. You do not belong here.

And you do? Could he be a local? She remembered the warnings about the natives using lethal natural defenses. The planetary shield, however, did not keep visitors out, only damaged their electronics. Strange.

He flashed a winning smile. You need help.

Oh boy. Gorgeous and friendly. I do need help, unless you are a mechanic...

Acielon shook his head. His dark hair caught the light breeze. There are no mechanics here.

Right. Low-tech planet. Never mind. She should not trust a stranger, no matter how handsome and charming. How did you get here?

Azura is my home.

So, a native then. Were they all like him? If that’s true, how do you happen to speak galactic standard?

Acielon’s eyes caressed her. I speak many languages. You are not the first foreigner to crash on Azura.

And none of those who ignored the warnings ever returned... Did you see another ship land recently?

He nodded but his striking eyes never left her. This morning. Just north of here, near the entrance of the sacred caves.

North. Where she’d detected the reflective surface. So it was Tarkan’s shiny ship. I need to go there.

He stared at her pointedly. Why?

She couldn’t tell him about her hunt for Tarkan. This native might want to claim his share of the bounty. Maybe the other ship still works and I can get off this forsaken planet.

Azura is not forsaken. It is protected. He stared at her, inclined his head, and a lock of dark hair fell across his brow. Why do you not speak the truth?

Triblets! Did he have a lie detector? I need replacement parts and supplies to fix my ship. Or I can use the other ship, if it’s in better shape than mine.

You swear, too. He raised his dark brow. "You want to take the man named Tarkan off