She didn’t want to die, but if she had to, she damned well was going to face it with defiance. She owed herself that much, and she pushed down with all she had against the wild panic rising up from within. She brought her arm around, her eyes focused on the man with the gun. She’d never thrown a knife before, and what little she knew about such things told her the blade she had was ill-suited for such use.

  But it was all she had.

  It didn’t matter anyway. The man was going to get off at least one shot before the knife could reach him, and probably two or three. And he could hardly miss at such short range.

  Her arm was halfway through its motion when she heard the loud crack, followed by another. She winced, and she braced herself for the pain.

  But there was nothing. She stood, frozen, the blade still in her hand.

  And then the man lunged forward, and she could see blood pouring from his mouth. He fell to the ground with a loud thud.

  There was shock, and a strange mix of fear and relief. Then she saw the shadowy figure standing on the other side of the main alley. He was rumpled, clad in old and torn rags. But his eyes were clear and focused, and he held a pistol in his hand.

  Her mind raced, trying to understand what was going on, and even as she stood there, she saw the first man, the one she had stabbed, getting up, his hand reaching toward his own weapon, dropped weapon.

  She tried to remember afterward what had gone through her mind, but the best she could ever discern was that she’d acted on pure instinct. She leapt forward, with such force, a hard pain lanced up both her legs as her feet left the ground. She slammed into the thug, her blade held out in front of her, both of her hands wrapped around the hilt, gripping as tightly as she could, as she jammed it into her enemy’s body. She felt the feeling of the knife driving through flesh, striking bone and then sliding off. Hot blood welled out of the wound, quickly covering her hands, and still, she pushed, with all the strength she could muster, driving it deeper.

  She slid down as she lost her balance, her hands slipping from the knife, and she dropped to her knees, even as her victim fell to the ground with a deep thud. She gasped for air, and fought back a wave of nausea that tried to take her. Even before she forced herself to look down at what she had done, she knew, without the slightest doubt.

  She had killed a man.

  A criminal, a murderer, a man who would have killed her if he’d been able. But, still…she was a killer now.

  “It’s difficult, I know.” The voice was hoarse, scratchy. She jerked her head up, and her hands moved to the side, an abortive move to grab her knife. But it was too far away, still protruding from her victim’s body, and the man speaking to her still had a pistol in his hand.

  Besides, he’d just helped her. Saved her. That didn’t mean she trusted him, of course, or that he wasn’t a threat. But a lightning fast assessment of her options told her to wait.

  “What?” She tried to keep her voice as deep as she could, but the word ended up sounding more like a squawk than the ominous tone of a dangerous Gut-dweller.

  “Killing. It’s difficult, at least the first time.” Something in the man’s tone told her this had not been his first time, nor anything close to it. “It gets easier, though I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

  “He had it coming. He’d have killed me if I hadn’t killed him.” She managed to get a grip on her voice. At least she was doing a decent job of hiding the fact that she was still on the verge of expelling everything inside her stomach.

  “Yes, it certainly looked that way. And that’s a good reason to kill, one of the best. If your guts aren’t doing flops right now, you’re tougher than I was, I can tell you that.” The man moved forward, very slowly, and as he did, he let his arm bring the pistol down to his side. “Anyway, you should be safe now. At least as safe as it gets around here.”

  “Thank you.” The words came out almost on their own. She was still suspicious of the mysterious stranger, but there was no question, he had saved her life. Andi had lived an almost feral existence, but she still understood gratitude.

  The man looked down at the bodies, his eyes focusing on the one he’d shot. “Two on one didn’t seem quite fair, especially when they had guns, and you only a little knife.” He gestured toward the man with the blade still protruding from his chest. “Go, take it back. Always retrieve your weapon as soon as possible. You never know what, or who, else is lurking somewhere.”

  She nodded, and she stepped forward, her eyes darting between the knife and the man. She was still trying to decide how much of a threat he was. He seemed friendly enough, to her at least, but the Gut was full of all sorts of unpleasant types. Maybe he was trying to help her…or maybe he was planning to imprison her or sell her to some underground brothel.

  She pulled the knife out of the body, feeling another wave of queasiness at the sensation. Then, she stood up and stared right back at her—she hoped—benefactor. “So, who are you?” She was scared out of her mind, but she managed to keep most of that out of her words.

  “Besides some unknown derelict, who wanders around looking for other peoples’ fights to jump into, you mean?” He paused. “My name is not important. I’ve fallen from grace, shamed myself, and ended up someplace I could never have imagined. I’ve left my name behind. I don’t deserve it, but I go by a designation that reminds me of the time in my life when I was something, when I mattered. You can call me the Marine.”

  The girl looked at him, a skeptical expression on her face. “You were a Marine? A Confederation Marine?” She didn’t know much about the Confederation’s elite soldiers, but she’d seen a few, mostly when she’d wandered out of the Gut and into the city’s more desirable areas. They’d always been well-dressed and perfectly groomed, nothing like the filthy and ragged creature standing there looking back at her.

  “I was, a lifetime ago, but I veered from my path, and ended up lower than I could have imagined. I will tell you all about it, in time. But for now, why don’t you come with me? My hovel is likely no better than whatever slice of hell you’ve carved out for yourself, but I’ve got food there, and a heater with a full charge. And it is close. I don’t know if these two…” He gestured toward the bodies. “…have any friends out there, but I think you’d be better off laying low for a while.”

  She looked at him, trying to decide what to do. It was exactly what someone would say to try and lure her somewhere, and part of her mind screamed at her to run. But there was something about him, a dignity, well worn and battered, but still somehow there. Perhaps he had been a Marine.

  The cold truth was, she didn’t have many options. He was right. There were probably more thugs out there looking for her, and after the two bodies were discovered, there almost certainly would be. And she didn’t really have her own place, hovel or not. She doubted the tiny corner she’d staked out for herself in an abandoned warehouse a few days before was even still unoccupied. One needed a certain level of respect to enforce claims to such things, and a rail thin girl her age lacked the needed gravitas. Likely, she’d have to fight for the spot when she got back, and just then, she didn’t have much left in her.

  “I could have killed you easily enough by now, or forced you to do whatever I wanted. Not the best basis of trust, perhaps, but worth something, wouldn’t you say? Maybe a start, at least?” He slipped the pistol back into the makeshift holster he wore at his side. “And, I’m betting you’re hungry after all that.”

  She just looked at him, perhaps for twenty or thirty seconds. Then, she just nodded.

  She was hungry. Starving.

  He smiled thinly, more of a friendly look than an outright grin. “So, you’ve got something to call me. I’m thinking I should have something to call you, too. Seems only fair, don’t you think?”

  “My name is Andromeda. Andromeda Lafarge.”

  A quizzical look slipped onto his face, and he paused for a few seconds.

  “Andromeda? That’s a hell of a name, don’t you think? Way too much of a mouthful for a wiry little thing like you.” The man looked back at her, his eyes moving over her body, inspecting her closely, but not in the leering way so many others had. He was sizing her up. Somehow, she knew that, though she wasn’t sure how much he’d managed to discern about her visually.

  “From now on, your name is Andi.”

  Chapter Two

  “The Gut”

  Vulcan City

  Planet Parsephon, Obliesk II

  Year 297 AC – 2 Years Later

  Andi was hanging from the rafter, drenched in sweat, grinding her teeth as she tried one more time to pull her body up. She’d managed thirty-eight times, her best so far, but dammit, she wanted forty!

  She grunted loudly, putting all she had into the effort, but she fell short about a third of the way up. Her arms and back ached, and her eyes burned from the perspiration pouring into them like a torrent. Finally, she let go, dropping the quarter-meter to the ground and letting out a wave of self-directed invective between greedy gulps of air.

  “That was good. A new best for you, no?” The voice was neutral, not cloyingly encouraging, but also unaffected by her blistering bout of foul-mouthed rage.

  Andi hadn’t noticed the Marine walk into the room while she was working out. She was usually very aware of her surroundings, but she’d been completely focused on pushing herself.

  “Yes,” she answered, sounding less than pleased. “But I wanted forty.”

  “You’ll get there, Andi. You’ve come a long way from that skinny little kid I found in that alley. But you’re still impatient. Everything takes its own time. Some things you can rush, others you can’t.

  She nodded, knowing he was right, but somehow still not really believing it. She was much older than her years in ways, matured by her hard life, but her youthful spirit was still there, too, providing her with energy, but also sometimes also battling the results of factual observation. Part of her was completely convinced that effort was all that mattered, that if she pushed herself hard enough, she could do anything.

  And yet you both still live in part of a burnt out old warehouse in the most decrepit slum on a planet famous for them. Effort hasn’t done a thing to change that for either of you.

  “You look tired. I think you should rest. I’ll go out and scavenge up some dinner for us.” She looked at the Marine with genuine sympathy in her eyes. She’d never had a father, at least not one she’d ever known, and she’d come to think of the kindly old warrior in that way. As a mentor, at least, and something more, too. She had no real perspective on what a father was supposed to be, but she’d come to care about her benefactor, deeply, and to appreciate that he’d taken her in and protected her when she had needed it.

  That part of their relationship had begun to change, too, she realized. The Marine had clearly been the dominant one in the beginning, the protector. Since then, she had grown stronger, more able to deal with threats…and her companion had become weaker, his health and strength drained by the addiction wracking his body.

  “That would be nice, Andi. I am tired.”

  She nodded and smiled, but inside she felt a flush of anger. She knew fatigue wasn’t the problem, though she had no doubt he was tired. The Blast was the real issue. She’d known about the Marine’s addiction since shortly after the two had met. She’d badgered him to stop at first, but then she’d realized it just wasn’t possible. Blast was the most addictive drug known, and prolonged usage actually altered the junkie’s DNA, creating an addiction that was not only irresistible but also almost always irreversible. She’d heard about advanced gene therapies that could free addicts from the desperate need for the drug, but they cost a king’s ransom. Such things were no better than fantasy to Gut dwellers.

  “I’ll be back soon.” She grabbed a torn rag she used as a towel and wiped the sweat from her face. Then she bent down and pulled up the thin belt that held her small purse and her trusty blade. She wrapped it around her waist, and then she slipped through the hole in the concrete wall and out of the small residence the two of them shared.

  She had a sense of confidence she’d lacked two years before. She’d always been tentative then, at least a little scared, but now she was confident, and she walked through the main section of the warehouse, and past the small encampments scattered all around, with grim purpose.

  She’d changed in other ways, too. When she’d first encountered the Marine, she’d been fourteen, thin and bony. She’d matured considerably in the two years that had passed, filled out in ways that increased her strength and combat abilities, and in others that attracted attention that was rarely wanted in a place like the Gut.

  She’d progressed in her reactions to such things, as well. The fourteen-year-old girl, street smart and still wary of the dangers all around, had mostly ignored and avoided situations that made her uncomfortable or afraid. And, she’d run when she had to. Now, Andi responded to such things more directly.

  More violently.

  She was a killer now, something that had made her uncomfortable at first, but a fact she’d later come to accept and even embrace. She hadn’t murdered some innocent somewhere. She’d killed a man who was trying to kill her, a gangster with God only knew how much blood on his hands. It was an extermination, the removal of vermin from the universe, and now she looked back on the whole encounter with a grim sense of pride.

  She’d been a killer, of course, for two years, but now she backed it up in ways the young girl she’d been never could have. She was muscular, strong, fast. And she’d been training for two years under the Marine’s direction. The old man was past his prime, his body ravaged by his drug habit, but he remembered how to kill. And he had shared his knowledge with her.

  She was a fighter now, and her confidence had grown with her skills. The Marine had taken care of her when they’d first met, but now, more and more, she took care of him.

  There was one other difference between her and the Marine. He had given up. He was on the downslope of his life, his best days behind him, deeply mired in addiction and hopelessness. She, on the other hand, had no intention of living her entire life and dying in the Gut, or anywhere like it. She was going to get out of Vulcan City one day, and off Parsephon entirely. There was a whole universe out there, and somewhere in that great expanse, Andi Lafarge had promised herself she would make her fortune.

  She didn’t want a normal life, nor even a prosperous one. She wanted the kind of wealth she saw among the industrialists, the people from whom she stole and carved out her meager existence. She wanted vast treasure, and the power that came with it. Most of all, she wanted the seeming invulnerability the industrialists enjoyed. She wanted to feel safe, to come down on anyone who threatened her not only with her fists and blade, but with the awesome might the industrial princes could unleash on those who dared to offend them.

  It was fantasy, part of her insisted, unattainable, but deep down, she believed she could do it. That, one day, she would do it. Somehow.

  She walked down the street, more or less ignoring the familiar misery. There were the usual types, the lost, the addicts, those who had fallen down through society’s drain. The toughs were out, too, intimidating the weaker denizens of the desperate slum, and stripping them of what little they possessed. But none of them even looked in her direction. They knew better, at least the ones who frequented the area around her tiny hovel. Andi had dealt with more than one would be bully—or worse—and the word had spread, some bruises and a few broken bones serving to add to the stories that had long passed back and forth in the streets of the Marine’s exploits, and now, of those his sidekick. Andi had developed a considerable rep, and a rough form of respect from the street predators, and most of them gave her a wide berth.

  Tracking down something for dinner often involved some sort of sleight of hand or petty theft, but she was flush just then, her purse was filled with coin from her latest score.

  Well, perhaps filled was an exaggeration, but dinner for two was something she could readily afford. She’d even decided she would bypass the street vendors in the Gut, and slip out into one of the better sectors in search of food from less questionable sources.

  She headed down the main street, toward the Fairmont. The adjoining neighborhood was nothing special, but it was a solid step up from the nightmare that was the Gut, a fact that was obvious enough in the far fresher air as she crossed through the broken down old gates that separated the two neighborhoods.

  There were two cops standing around as usual, mostly keeping an eye on the gateway to ensure that those who clearly belonged in the Gut stayed there. There were no laws against moving between neighborhoods, of course, but she suspected the business owners in the Fairmont greased the local law enforcement to keep the worst specimens out. A Gut resident like her, with coin to spend and fitting in well enough, was more than welcome, at least as long as her purse held out. But the Gut was full of dangerous sorts with nothing to offer save theft and violence.

  She never had any problems moving back and forth between the neighborhoods. She was cold-blooded and deadly, in many ways just what the Fairmonters wanted confined to the Gut. But it was far from obvious, and to uninformed eyes, she was just a teenaged girl. Anyone looking was more likely to wonder what the hell she’d been doing in the Gut in the first place, rather than trying to keep her there. Still, she’d pulled her tunic low, over the small sheath that held her knife. It wasn’t exactly heavy ordnance, but she wasn’t in the mood to answer any questions either, and the anti-weapons laws in Vulcan City were deliberately vague, constructed so the cops could charge just about anyone with a crime if they desired.

  She headed down to Portlandt Street. There was an open-air market there, again, nothing special, but decently clean and with a good selection. A few of the stalls even had fresh meat sometimes, and not just cheap synth-protein. She would enjoy a good meal, but it was mostly her companion she was thinking about as she browsed the tables of the various vendors. The Marine had very little in his life to look forward to, and while she knew he disapproved of her various thefts and larcenies, he was always pleased to see some decent food or another power cell for the heater.