Page 2 of Stalker

The marines keep firing. Bodies fall. Reaper. Human. All the same to them.

Mother throws herself over me, crushing me against the cold metal floor. Her body jerks. Once. Twice. Three times. Each impact drives the breath from my lungs.

"Mom?"

Warm wetness seeps through my shirt. The firing continues. More screams. More bodies hitting the deck.

"Mom, get up."

She doesn't move. Her weight pins me down, growing heavier by the second. The wetness spreads, turning sticky. Metallic scent fills my nostrils.

"Please."

Boots thunder past. Orders bark through helmet speakers. Someone moans nearby, then falls silent.

Minutes stretch into hours. Mother's body grows cold against mine. I can't move. Can't breathe. The emergency lights paint everything in alternating red and blue, like a twisted heartbeat that won't stop.

A sharp jolt snaps me back. The star liner shudders as docking clamps engage.

"Welcome to Alpha Centauri Station, where local time is 14:30 standard. Please remain seated until..."

My shirt clings to my back, soaked with sweat instead of blood. The passenger next to me pretends not to notice my shaking hands.

The docking tube extends with a pneumatic hiss. Through its transparent walls, the station's true scale becomes apparent. Massive support struts thick as buildings stretch between the domes, their metallic surfaces catching starlight.

"First time on Silver Gateway?" A steward's voice breaks through my reverie.

"That obvious?"

"Everyone gets that look. Wait until you see inside the domes."

He's right. The terminal opens into an atrium that stretches up at least fifty stories, sunlight - actual sunlight - streaming through the curved glassteel overhead. The air carries the scent of fresh-cut grass and flowering trees. A fountain larger than most ships I've worked on creates a crystalline cascade down one wall.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" An elderly woman stops beside me, her face upturned to catch the light.

The words stick in my throat. It is beautiful. More than I imagined possible. Which makes it worse, somehow. All thisgrandeur, this testament to human achievement, and they put a murderer in charge of it all.

My fists clench. Somewhere in this sprawling marvel, Daniels sits in his office, probably looking down on everyone like some benevolent god. The same man who ordered his marines to open fire, who watched through security feeds as innocents died. Who saw my mother's body covering mine and did nothing.

The elderly woman steps away, perhaps sensing the shift in my mood. Good. Let her go enjoy the wonders of Silver Gateway. Let them all bask in its artificial sunlight and manufactured gardens.

Soon enough, their perfect world will shatter. Just like mine did, twenty years ago, when Daniels decided that collateral damage was an acceptable price for his victory.

A security drone whirs past, its sensors scanning the crowd. I force my hands to unclench. Force my face into the bland mask of a tourist. Not yet. But soon.

The main concourse stretches before me like a river of chrome and light. Holographic advertisements float overhead, their neon promises reflecting off polished surfaces. A thousand different languages blend into white noise.

"Fresh fruit from Earth! Real Earth oranges!"

"Designer genetics, custom tailored to your species!"

"Visit the Crystal Gardens, now featuring..."

The wealth on display turns my stomach. A Thoraxian merchant's crystalline carapace sparkles with embedded diamonds. A human couple strolls past in clothes that cost more than most frontier colonists make in a year.

But beneath the glitter and glamour, the cracks show. A legless Kiphian huddles under a pedestrian bridge, their bioluminescent patches dim with malnutrition. Their four eyes track passing shoppers, mandibles clicking in a begging rhythm no one stops to hear.

"Hey, friend." A human youth sidles up beside me, all nervous energy and desperation. "Looking for a good time? Got some prime Death Sticks, straight from-"

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