The Lost Star Chart - Chapter 1
Uncovering ancient secrets, evading certain death—welcome to Darla’s daily grind.
The Lost Star Chart, gritty, sometimes silly, stand alone space adventure novel, is out this month. To celebrate, we’re sharing the first five chapters for free (but, be warned, only the first five chapters). This book will be the March book of the month, which means all paid subscribers will get a free copy.
Chapter 1
Darla — Present day
A pillar of greasy black smoke rose in the windless sky, carrying the acrid stench of roasted electronics and charred plastic. The wisps that reached me made my throat burn—I should have worn a respirator. I let out a ragged sigh. It was too late now, just like it was too late now for so many things.
The crash site of my once jaunty yellow shuttle painted the only colour on the bleak landscape of this world, a planet whose name I’d already forgotten. The familiar hum of that shuttle used to bring me solace, a reminder that I could always escape. Those days were gone. Things had changed. A lump formed in my throat, threatening to bring on tears.
I hated change.
“It’s time to move on,” I muttered to myself as I tried to compartmentalize my foolish sentimentality. Everything would be different from this moment on.
I sighed, attempting to be inconspicuous, and leaned against the rock next to me. They would be along shortly—whoever ‘they’ were. I glanced around for a better hiding spot.
Dusty and cracked, my surroundings offered little. Jagged gravel and grey sky stretched out to the horizon in all directions. This was the dullest planet I’d ever set foot on. No wonder the name of this place never stuck in my brain. My current hiding spot was the best option, so I settled in to wait. It didn’t take long.
Within a few minutes, a layer of sand—or worse, ash—had made its way inside my mouth. It coated my tongue, teeth, and throat, and it tasted awful. I hated this world almost as much as I hated sacrificing my shuttle.
“If I looked up ‘hellhole,’ I’d find a picture of this place,” I said to no one. Yeah, I tended to talk to myself, because I made better company than most of the morons I came across.
But I had to admit the fire was on me—I’d set it as part of my ruse. I’d even landed hard enough to crumple the port side of the fuselage. My back was going to hurt for days from that piece of deception, but the idiots trying to kill me needed to be convinced they’d succeeded.
As if on cue, a second shuttle dropped out of the sky and headed toward my wreckage.
“And here they are.” I hunkered closer to my rock.
I recognized the shuttle’s make. It was a midsize, midbudget model designed to be unremarkable. This one didn’t even have its call sign painted on it—against Protectorate regulations, but this far off the beaten path, Protectorate regulations meant little.
Upon landing, two heavily armed people emerged from the shuttle. They searched through the smouldering remains of my own, no doubt hunting for any sign that I’d been on board. Should I have left a biological trace for them to find? Something to convince them I’d died in the crash?
Cloak-and-dagger crap wasn’t my thing. I swallowed, knowing it was too late for that anyway. It made no sense to doubt myself now. Despite my frequent wishes, I couldn’t turn back time and change things—and there were so many things I’d change if I had that power.
I bit my lip as I watched the pair of goons from my rocky hiding place. Would they suspect I’d just walked away? They had enough firepower between them to kill me in an instant if they realized what had happened.
One goon started surveying the surrounding landscape.
“Shit,” I mouthed, making no sound as I flattened myself as far as I could—which wasn’t much in my bulky clothes. I put my hand in my pocket and wrapped my fingers around my Emerg-Blast. The little box was highly illegal, but I didn’t like carrying more overt weapons. If I hit the Emerg-Blast’s button, it would emit an electromagnetic pulse with enough power to fry electronics in about a ten-metre radius—so if the bad folks had blasters, they would suddenly find their weapons useless. As they were left troubleshooting their weapons, I’d run away and hide. (I’ve never pretended to be brave.)
As for my electronics, I’d lined all my pockets with what were essentially Faraday cages, meaning my shit was well protected.
Then the cavalry arrived—or at least what passed for it in this corner of the universe. A shuttle flew into view, its rusted hull adorned with a single, garish red light twirling around like a baton. The local search-and-rescue squad was here to save the day—or so they thought. But I had to admit their presence should make my survival simpler and more likely.
The goon farthest away shouted for his companion, and they promptly rushed back to their unmarked shuttle. I snorted as they took off. They weren’t the brightest bulbs in the box, but they had enough street smarts to realize when they should get out of the way of the authorities. Hopefully they’d report to their criminal overlords that I was good and dead, ending the attempts on my life.
The search-and-rescue ship landed on the vacated spot next to my destroyed shuttle. (Have I mentioned how much I loved that shuttle?) My shuttle’s call sign and registration numbers were still visible through the fire, and I’d submitted a proper flight plan stating that I would be flying solo to this world. The rescue squad would report me as really and truly dead, putting my plan in motion and changing my life forever.
Making sure I remained out of view from my rescuers, I stood and began walking away from them. Uncertainty gripped me as I gazed at the horizon, but there was no turning back.
Just yesterday, Doug at the Shuttle Repair Shop (yeah, a lame name, but Doug wasn’t known for his creativity) had given my ancient shuttle a clean bill of health. After only a quick checkup, he’d said it was ready. Which, of course, had left me suspicious. In the past he’d always presented me with a long list of ‘needed’ work, and we’d haggle. This time was different. I knew for a fact there were issues—the right engine ran a little too hot, and a colossal clunk sounded every time I extended the landing gear.
Always check the mechanic’s work. Even though it had been nineteen years since Vi gave me that advice, this time it really paid off.
“Why would I waste my time?” I’d rolled over and locked eyes with her—those captivating, dark eyes that had entranced me from our first meeting.
“Why wouldn’t you? You’re the pilot, and it’s your life on the line.” She’d smiled, then tapped me on the nose with her finger. “And I’d be terribly upset to hear you died because you’d been stupid.”
I’d snorted then, just as I was snorting now.
“Take the basic mechanics course.”
“My evenings are better spent here with you,” I’d said in a lame attempt at romance. (I’d probably even tried to put on a cheesy, seductive expression.)
“Take the course.”
So I had. And today wasn’t the first time that knowledge had saved my life. Vi had been right. I’d taken the shuttle into the nearest berth as soon as I’d left Doug’s shop, and I’d found the explosives packed into my starboard engine. Doug wasn’t creative enough to want to kill me, but someone was—no doubt one of the many criminal factions around.
I swallowed. I didn’t know who wanted me dead, but hopefully now they thought they’d succeeded.
Stay tuned Chapter 2 will be out soon. Maybe subscribe so you don’t miss it?