Fall From the Moon (A Bánalfar Novel Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Fall From the Moon

  By C.S. Hale

  Copyright © C.S. Hale

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-948670-01-2

  First Edition

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, recording, or otherwise without the prior express permission of the author except as provided by USA Copyright Law. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual, living or dead. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

  Edited by C.J. Redwine at manuscriptcritiques.com

  Jody Wallace at www.jodywallace.com

  And Jessica Nelson at Indie Books Gone Wild www.ibgw.net

  Interior design by Gaynor Smith of Indie Books Gone Wild www.ibgw.net

  Cover photography by Vania Stoyanova at vaniastudio.com

  Published in the United States of America

  It takes a village to create a book.

  To my family who for years has had to put up with my disappearing to play with my imaginary friends — Thank you for your patience and understanding.

  To Bethany — I don’t know what I would have done without all your encouragement over the years. I’ve loved watching you grow and am so thankful that I now have you to help guide me. Thank you!

  To Maureen, Megan, and Laurie — Thank you for being my springboard and wading through the infant versions.

  To C.J. — Thank you for all of your support and encouragement over the years. You have made me a better writer and kept me writing.

  To the gals at Eastside RWA — Thank you for providing me with a circle of fellow writers. You provide me with a much needed refuge.

  To my Nashville writing tribe — Writing is usually a solitary endeavor. Even though we are miles away, all of you are just an internet connection away. You support me in more ways than you can know.

  For my Dad and the Ostby Clan

  With storytellers on both sides of my family,

  how could I end up anything else?

  MY HAND WEIGHED heavy on the door frame. Clouds of steam filled the air in front of me as my breath condensed in the chilled air of the compartment. I bit my lip, tasting blood as I willed the tears filling my eyes not to fall. My gaze traced the rise and fall of the sheets that covered what remained of the Cove’s crew. Was it better or worse that I had needed to be the undertaker for only the last five? Well, that Bari and I had.

  “Goodbye, Bari,” I whispered and hit the switch. The storage bay grew dark as the compartment’s lights went out and the door slid shut with a hiss.

  My white protective suit rustled as I made my way back to the rack. I hung it up next to the other four and forced my feet down the passageways, away from all the death. Every step snipped at the ties of community that had bound us together until my feet felt as though they walked on glass.

  I entered the bridge and took a seat at the control panel. Lights still flashed, alerting all observers that the ship had “malfunctioned.” That was an understatement for the massive explosion that had taken out the engines.

  It was supposed to have been a standard run to Miseruha. Pick up the load of Rovar silk and return to Earth. Until the hyperdrive developed some problem that I never understood, but then I’m the protocol specialist, not the engineer. I’m just supposed to make sure negotiations are successful, not actually get us there. Which we didn’t.

  Zhou pulled us out of hyperspeed so the whole engine wouldn’t blow. Dave got to work on fixing the plasma mechanism that fuels the hyperdrive. But that was when things went from bad to worse.

  I was in my quarters studying up on the customs of the Addunka for our next trip. Dave had some problem. Zhou went to help with the repairs. The mechanism sprang a leak. Mass panic ensued that didn’t include me because I am the nemesis of anything mechanical. Other than a tablet, anything that needs to be turned or tightened or adjusted breaks if I’m involved. Dave had even broadcast over the intercom, “Hey, Astrid! Have you been messing with the compressors?” Yeah, I’m not that insane.

  So, there I was, safely tucked up in my cabin, when plasma flooded three-quarters of the ship. You do not want to see what happens to flesh after it’s been exposed to plasma. There wasn’t much left of Dave and Zhou. Doc rushed in to try and patch up the rest of the crew who had been exposed. Too soon, it turned out, for the leftover vapor ate his lungs over the course of three days. One by one they slowly died. Katrina, Addison, Jerra, and the rest of my companions. One by one they were covered with shrouds and placed in the storage bay that Bari had set to “cool.” One by one, until it was just me and Bari in the protective suits, transferring our friends to their temporary grave.

  And then it was just me. For Bari had also tried to help — they all had — and exposed himself to the plasma while I spent the first twenty-four hours in my room eating from the replicator and researching. I now knew more than I wanted to about plasma exposure and the local star system. And enough about the big blue planet we were currently orbiting to add weight to my fervent prayers that rescue would come. Medieval Earth level of development according to the first line of the scant file — if anyone bothered to read beyond the Do Not Contact! that scrolled across the screen in flashing red letters.

  The letters had pulsed with the same ominous rhythm as the engine warning light on the panel now before me. I took off my jacket and tossed it, hiding the sensor from view. Putting my feet on the edge of the control panel, I rested my chin on my knees and willed the comm panel to spring to life. After eight days of distress calls, someone should have come to our rescue. When my feet fell asleep and I could no longer stand the tingly sensation, I transferred the comm link to my room. How many more days would I be forced to remain in this dying ship full of my dead friends?

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I jerked awake. But it wasn’t the comm panel making the noise. Dave had silenced the dulcet voice that b
roadcast warnings throughout the ship shortly after the mechanism had sprung a leak, but an alert tone sounded every time a new light came on. I jogged down to the bridge and shoved my jacket off the panel. It had been two days since I’d covered the flashing light.

  My heart did a free fall before slamming back into my chest. I had just ripped off the ship’s own shroud — System failure detected. 20 hours of power before total failure.

  I stared at the words, and my lips began a new prayer. My hands shook as I checked the comm panel. Then checked it again. Fingers slipping on the keys, I sent out yet another distress call. Not that it would do any good. My time had run out.

  While the Palmas Cove had several escape pods, they wouldn’t get me very far. An escape pod couldn’t fly me out of the system. People who haven’t been to space assume that escape pods are miniature ships, but they’re not. They’re for intra-system travel only. An escape pod will get you to whatever planet you’re circling above because the number one rule in space travel, as the Shororato like to remind us at every opportunity, is that you only travel to approved systems. Oh sure, there’s always some numbskull that likes to buzz developing planets, like the UFO boys back in Earth’s history, but the Shororato always track you down and then it’s a lifetime in a stark white cell where you begin to curse the fact that they’ve outlawed the death penalty. Zhao had pulled us out of hyperspeed into the nearest star system without checking the system’s status. He hadn’t cared at the time.

  I went to the window and stared down at the planet. Not unlike so many others in the galaxy, including my home planet of Earth, Teridun Four was a patchwork of white clouds, blue oceans, and greeny-brown continents, all clues to the life that it teemed with. I chewed on my lip. I also couldn’t leave the Palmas Cove here in orbit. Agçay Enterprises would be responsible if someone from the planet spotted the floating crypt the ship had become. The Shororato might even come after my family, since the ship’s log would show that, as the last remaining crew member, I had become responsible for its fate.

  I tore myself away from the view, my speed increasing with every step, as if I could somehow outrun the truth. The bottle of Nilheim whiskey sat on the galley table where Bari and I had left it. I pulled the stopper and swigged back a large mouthful. The cheeriness of the bright, herbaceous liquid was in stark contrast to the prickly feeling of Death standing behind me complete with black cloak and scythe.

  Which death do you want, Astrid?

  There was only one way to ensure that no one from the surface spotted the Cove. I would need to send it into the sun. I sucked back another mouthful. My throat tightened, rebelling against the burn.

  I slowly made my way back to the bridge, the bottle still clenched in my hand. I stared at the planet, weighing my options.

  Which death, Astrid? the voice in my head asked again.

  Finish the bottle, take a tranquilizer, and burn with the ship? A slow, maddening death in a Shororato prison if I broke the law and landed on a forbidden planet? A more painful death if the inhabitants decided I was a sorceress and disposed of me in a bonfire?

  But the inhabitants could also be welcoming. The Maya on Earth had been.

  Until the Shororato had discovered the visitors.

  I used another swallow to force back the bile that rose as the memory of the “informational” video replayed in my head — the wild eyes that were somehow haunted and vacant at the same time, the ravings of the now lunatic prisoners as they beat their heads against the stark white walls. Required viewing for everyone over the age of fourteen the first time they left their home planet.

  I went to the computer and pulled up the file on Teridun Four again but, of course, there was nothing new — just the warning and the development level. My mental file flicked open and offered me a wealth of information I didn’t really want. I’ve always been a history buff, which made my foray into customs and then interstellar customs a no-brainer, and I know the medieval history of more than one planet. During that time period on Jimal Four, women were viewed almost like gods. On Lykka, we were equal partners. But medieval times were not good for women on Earth. They were property. And even smart, extraordinary women like Eleanor of Aquitaine had it rough. Which, in my opinion, made her even more extraordinary that she was able to become extraordinary. But it was bad because I knew, I KNEW, how careful women had to be during that time, and all the things that could happen to them, and I really didn’t want to go there, in so many ways.

  I’m good, I’m really good, at customs and protocol and knowing the right thing to do or say. My mother used to say that I became a protocol specialist because a career as an actress would have been too confining. But I’m good at my job because when it’s all over, I get to be me — a wise-cracking, somewhat klutzy, smartass — and I knew that if I set foot on that planet, I’d never get to be me again.

  MERCHANT VESSEL PALMAS Cove — Final Transmission. Crew dead. Have contracted plasma poisoning. Distress calls have gone unanswered. Since Teridun 4 is a ‘no contact’ world, am setting autopilot and plotting coordinates for the sun.

  Protocol Specialist Astrid Carr

  I touched “send” and sat back, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. The message was a load of crap. After having spent a full day drinking and wandering the ship, wrestling with the decision, my desire to survive overcame my sense of duty. I had no intention of turning myself into ash. The transmission was a safety measure in case the Shororato finally came looking.

  I scrounged through Zhou’s luxurious — by freighter standards — captain’s cabin until I found the bottle of Aurielian wine I knew was stashed there (forty-thousand Earth credits a bottle). I put on my favorite outfit, tried not to think about it being the last time anyone would wear it, and dragged myself to the bridge.

  I gave myself a funeral. I figured it was fitting since a) everyone was going to think I’d contracted plasma poisoning and had burned up in the sun as a final act of heroism, and b) I wouldn’t be me anymore. Though I’d created more personas than I can count in my nine years as a protocol specialist, at the end of the day, at the end of the trip, I got to take the mask off and just be me. The Astrid Carr who had grown up on Earth and traveled the stars would be dead. I couldn’t even imagine the persona I’d need to create to survive on the planet. I’d have to take my cue from the inhabitants.

  The stars stretched out like a carpet of diamonds before the windows. Teridun Four was a large, blue, and white marble to my right, its strange, red moon a glowing orb off to my left. Somewhere out there in that sprinkling of tiny lights was my sun. On the third planet were my parents, my brother Finn, his wife Amy, my nephew Henry, and my niece Iris. At some point, they’d repeat this with many more tears and much less alcohol. It was not the way I’d want to go out, and I counted myself lucky that I was at least still around to do it right.

  I broke the seal on the bottle of wine, chugged back about a quarter of it, and lifted it in toast.

  “We are gathered here to remember Astrid Gabriella Carr …”

  When I was done, I left the remaining wine tucked up on Zhou’s seat along with the origami cranes that I’d made for each of the crew. It was the most I could do to give them the funeral I’d just given myself. There were too many things that still needed to be finished before my journey to the surface and being blinded by tears wouldn’t help the process. I looked around one last time. I had already prepared them for their journey to the afterlife. They each had a crane to carry their soul to paradise, and they were getting the funeral my Viking ancestors would have had — taking their ship and setting it aflame. A king couldn’t have asked for a better funeral, so I tried to ignore the tiny voice that whispered it was all such a waste.

  A strange thing happened when the people on Earth learned that we were not, in fact, alone in the universe. Besides the conflicting emotions of horror that there were others who were more technologically advanced than us and joy that, once again, whole new worlds were available
for us to explore, another response, a psychological one, occurred that no one saw coming. Being human — Earth human — was no longer enough. Even being Chinese or Russian or American wasn’t enough. As the ability to leave the solar system finally became possible, humanity clung to our planet. Oh, there were some who couldn’t wait to shake the dust of Earth and our system colonies off and leave, but most people dug in to our world, curling their hearts and minds into the soil, and began searching for just how long they’d been there.

  It was a genealogist’s dream. Fortunes were made as eleven billion people began to research where they had come from. Two hundred years later, the practice hadn’t died out though the fervor had, for the most part, abated. It did result in my parents being proud of our heritage and in my brother Finn wanting to recapture the glory of the past, for which I was now grateful. Finn had moved to Edinburgh, found a lovely Scottish lass, and been married in a full Gaelic ceremony. I’d skipped the plaid and had commissioned a green dress that was fitted all the way to my hips where it flared out into full, long skirts. The sleeves, likewise, were long and bell-shaped. It didn’t scream “Highlands” and currently hung in the closet in my quarters. While I would have looked ridiculous in it on Earth, there were places in the galaxy where formal dress was expected. And so, I would not be putting down on the planet clad in a skin-tight pair of pants and a form-hugging shirt.

  There was only one other thing I’d be taking with me, not that anyone would know. The syringe was eight-inches long, the needle an inch and a half, and it hurt like hell when I jabbed it into my thigh. The extra dose of repbots that flowed in from it, finding their way into my bloodstream, would protect me from the alien viruses that I had no immunity to and would be vigilant to any sign that I was developing allergies to substances in the air, water, or food.