Megan Excerpt 1

Excerpt 1 from Megan's Choice
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Note: Megan's Choice is written as an interactive novella, where the reader chooses
the main character's path at the end of each scene. This excerpt is from the opening scene of the novella,
where our intrepid heroine is being briefed after a recent piloting assignment by her boss at Stellar Transport.

Megan’s stomach grumbled, reminding her how long she’d been cooling her buns in Gerald’s office. It had been a while since breakfast, and she’d been looking forward to an extravagant lunch followed by a trip to Sensaround, Inc. at the vidmall. One of the remaining perks of the single life, now that loneliness had become an issue, was the freedom to spend her credits however she wished.

Right before she ditched the meeting, Gerald returned, clapping his hands when he saw her.

“Malone. Glad you’re still here.”

“We weren’t finished,” Megan pointed out, ignoring the fact she’d been seconds from leaving. “I want my vacation approved.”

He ignored her petition. “I have bad news. Scratch that. I have interesting news. The emissary was just informed there’s a civil war brewing in the Elteri system.”

“Elteri?” Megan straightened in her chair, hunger forgotten. The chair shifted with her, supporting her back in its new position. “How can they have a civil war? There’s no indigenous intelligent life. I thought it was rated as a raw materials system.”

“Sheeshan wants to brief you. Needless to say, this is classified.” Gerald returned to his seat and squinted. Megan felt an answering tingle in her brain that indicated his use of psi. A library terminal rose from Gerald’s desk in response and began flickering images and text.

In another moment, Sheeshan’s holo coalesced above the embedded projector. The emissary’s auburn hair was confined to a green snood, and her rosy skin was taut around the mouth and nose. The high neck of her black uniform gave the impression her head was immobile.

“Malone,” the emissary said, without preamble, “I’m glad you could join us.”

Sheeshan’s businesslike demeanor alerted Megan to the fact this was a grim situation. “I’m listening.”

“We have just learned an insurgent group has overrun the Elteri colony and taken everyone prisoner, including the fifth steward. We’ve been given a deadline to—”

Megan interrupted. “What the hell was a steward doing there?” Each populated planet that met certain criteria was allowed an emissary to the Guidance, and the thousands of emissaries elected the twelve stewards who headed the Quad government and its four branches: Guidance, Truce, Justice and Library. It didn’t make any sense that one of the stewards had been touring an outbound system with few exports and a barely-there outpost.

“That information isn’t available at this time,” Sheeshan replied coolly. “The insurgents dispatched an apprentice pilot on a zip ship to relay their demands.”

“But—”

“Malone, give the emissary a chance to describe the situation before you start asking questions.” On the other side of Sheeshan’s image, Gerald frowned at Megan before concentrating on his library terminal.

“Sorry.” Sheeshan may or may not have known the steward’s purpose on Elteri, but she had to know that Megan was a contract pilot with limited clearance. So Sheeshan would keep her mouth shut, at least now when there was a witness.

Still, Megan wished she knew more. Like all citizens, she was concerned with conflict. Outbound disputes had a way of spilling into inbound economics and increasing government recruitment efforts. That was why she was the owner of a black market peeper card, so she could sneak into Quad databases.

“Several days have passed since the incident, and as I tried to mention before,” Sheeshan continued, a touch of her customary good humor creeping into her serious tone, “we have a deadline. The insurgents destroyed the ship’s comm systems, which forced the pilot to deliver their demands in person. Before you ask, we don’t know why.”

Gerald slowed the progression of data on his terminal, and his use of psi prickled in Megan’s head. So much tech required psi to access it that wet wiring—kitium implants that increased residual psi—was becoming commonplace, but no less costly. Naturally-occurring psi was more reliable, and ST prided itself on employing only congenital pilots without implants, like Megan.

“It might help us understand if we consider the species of these so-called native Elterians,” Megan suggested. Pilots, like librarians, the staff of the government’s information-gathering branch, were trained in cross-species communication. Since repeat customers

kept shipping companies in business, cultural sensitivity was a must. Megan got around that part by avoiding passengers as much as possible, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t mastered the basics.

“The library had no information on the Elterians. They’re carbon-based humanoids, unremarkable in appearance, but here’s the catch. They exhibited unusual psi powers to subdue resistance.” Sheeshan’s lips quirked. “Off the record, my friends, but the Quad is running around like a bunch of ticits on kaf, and the Truce is arguing for an immediate cleansing. You know how the military feels about unmapped psi.”

“Not to mention insurgents.” The Truce was not the benevolent branch of the government, to be sure. “What powers did they flash?”

When Sheeshan shook her head, Megan guessed, “Classified?”

“Not classified, just unknown. If we knew what their powers are, the situation wouldn’t be as troublesome.” Sheeshan glanced out of the holo for a moment and then back at Megan. Tiny lines marred her brow, a stress indicator Megan had never noticed on the Torian’s countenance before today. “You’re a very untrusting woman, Malone.”

Megan wanted to argue she had good reason to distrust governmental agendas, but she was professional enough to realize this was neither the time nor the place. Sheeshan would reveal as much information as she was authorized to, and she wouldn’t knowingly place anyone in danger. Torians, Sheeshan included, were a peace-seeking species. Megan could trust that, even if she didn’t trust the Quad as a whole.

Gerald’s terminal beeped, and he hummed with satisfaction. “Done. I’ve run the reports and data dump through the verification program.” He pivoted the screen towards Megan, where a steady stream of information scrolled past. Megan speed-read some and gave up. She was too tired for that kind of brain effort.

Sheeshan pressed her fingers briefly against pressure points along her eyebrows before instructing Gerald. “Make sure Malone receives the data packet with full clearance. Now about the deadline. The insurgents have demanded an immediate withdrawal of all Quad citizens from Elteri within two decs. The messenger has used several of those days in transit.”

A thousand turns ago, the librarians had cleared the Elteri system for colonization, and now these insurgents appeared only while the fifth steward was there. As they said on Megan’s native Terra, something didn’t smell right. Sheeshan’s great care with her words and obvious tension were another tip-off that there was more to the story.

Megan felt the data pad in her hip pack vibrate with the incoming packet. Though she had a good idea why Sheeshan had contacted ST about this, pushing for confirmation would speed the process and get her out of here quicker.

“What does all this have to do with Stellar Transport and me?” she asked.

Sheeshan inclined her head at Gerald, ceding the floor. He gestured, and the terminal sank into his desk. “The government is sending negotiators on a non-military ship. It’s important the ship be innocuous to scans, yet piloted by an individual who can flit the team to safety at a moment’s notice. I know you don’t usually take government missions, but how about a reassignment?”

She was right. They wanted her to pilot. Megan asked the important questions first. “Would I get a hazard bonus?”

“Yes,” Gerald said.

“How long would the assignment last?”

“The Truce isn’t likely to wait more than a dec before they move in, at which point you will move out.”

“Is it likely to turn into a war zone?” The ship Frank was essentially weaponless, and Megan was no fighter pilot.

“We think that isn’t likely pre-Truce,” Sheeshan interjected.

“Who’s on the team?” Megan demanded. Sheeshan was the only government employee Megan could stand, the only one she partly trusted. In her experience, which wasn’t as limited as she might wish, the personalities who sought high office, no matter their species, were power-hungry, ambitious, and manipulative.

Gerald dropped his gaze and Sheeshan said smoothly, “Most of the negotiators aren’t known to you. However, I’d like you to holo me privately on a secure line to discuss the mission in more detail if you have questions.”

“Who’s on the team?” Megan repeated, suspicion blossoming. Her familiarity with government officials beyond Sheeshan was due to a youthful—on her part—liaison with a member of the Justice branch that had gone awry.

Terribly, painfully awry. Nightmares in the dark awry. Obsessive avoidance of attachments awry. And she had the solitary life of a zip pilot to show for it.

“Negotiators are typically emissaries and judges,” Sheeshan hedged. “We have the training and temperament for it.”

The pit of Megan’s stomach hollowed. If Sheeshan were leading the team, she’d have said so. “Who’s heading the team?” she asked a third time.

Terran legends claimed if you spoke the names of demons and evil spirits three times, they’d appear. Megan was no believer in fate, no follower of a higher power, but sometimes it seemed the universe had other ideas.

Sheeshan finally admitted, “Yusef Gunnen from the Justice.”

Looks like the legends were true. She’d asked three times, and the devil himself had been conjured. Megan glared at the hologram.

“Were you going to mention that before or after I agreed?”

“Malone—Megan—I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t critical. As the emissary for Stellar Transport’s home planet, I volunteered to be the transportation liaison. I thought you’d prefer the request come from someone you know. Someone you know has your best interests at heart.”

Sheeshan’s pale grey eyes, replicated with striking accuracy in the holo, stared at Megan as if there weren’t a city between them. As if she wanted to comfort Megan—or jolt her out of the fight or flight reaction Yusef Gunnen now roused in her.

But any secret messages the emissary wanted to send were lost on Megan as she felt her throat constrict, her heart rate increase, and her nails bite into her palms.

No, dammit, no! She wasn’t going to be driven by fear. The man had influenced her decisions and disrupted her dreams long enough, and she was through letting her past sour the future.

“Malone,” Gerald said in a much less accommodating tone than the emissary’s, “we haven’t got all day for you to make up your mind. Before we discuss any vacations, I need a decision.”

What should Megan do?