Sing Down The Stars - Nerine Dorman

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she was taken to another level and what she assumed might be living quarters. A camping cot with blankets that smelt new had been set up for her.

      No windows, of course, and the floor-to-ceiling monitor on the largest wall was blank, so it felt as if everything was closing in on her. The door was locked and then it was just Nuri, on her own, in a tiny room with its own en-suite bathroom. The guards had provided her with a flask of liquid that tasted almost like apple juice, as well as a pre-packed meal of weird, unidentifiable pastes and bars. These she bolted down with shaking hands, not knowing when she’d have anything to eat again.

      She paced the bare room like a wild animal for a bit, but there was no way out except for the door, and the ventilation grate had been sealed down so well, she’d need explosives to get it open. All that she’d learnt spun around in her head – she’d been called by a star-jumper. Nuri, a nobody who didn’t know who her parents were. What did it mean to be an avatar? Would this be freedom, of sorts? Or would she be a slave to this mysterious living vessel? She’d never thought of them as living. Just weird. And more than just a little bit awe-inspiring.

      Vadith would be furious when she didn’t return to the Den. Ancestors, he was most likely already incandescent. No one ran away from Vadith. If she was ever freed, she’d be cleaning bathrooms for a year once he laid his paws on her. Nuri’s skills were far too valuable for him to cast her off. Yet oddly, she almost felt something like relief that she’d been taken from him, that she was no longer his possession. A useful tool, and nothing more. Lately, things with the pack hadn’t been all that great. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

      Tired and frustrated, Nuri did the only thing she could in her predicament. She curled up on the cot with its chemical-scented blankets and went to sleep. No dreams came to her, which was a mercy.

snake

      4

      At first when she woke, Nuri wasn’t sure where she was. She missed the sway of her hammock, and what stood out was the utter silence. So much so that she could hear her pulse beat in her ears. While she’d slept, the lights had dimmed, but as she sat up in the rumpled blankets on a strange cot in an unfamiliar, bare, ceramic-walled room, the room grew lighter. Not that it helped. Her prison was still grim as all hell. She wrinkled her nose at the marshy, muddy stench of her clothing, and the way everything itched. She could use a bath. And she desperately needed to pee.

      Only she couldn’t move. Besides the fact that her body still felt as if she’d been stomped by a stampeding pandor, she simply couldn’t summon the energy to move from the relative comfort of the bed. Day one of captivity, she supposed.

      The interrogation from the day returned to her. So, they’d mind-wipe her? Keep her locked up unless they found a patron for her? As if they were running a business here, finding an avatar for a star-jumper seed. If only she’d paid more attention to the news reports, but what happened to Citizens was so far removed from her life in the barrens that she never wasted her time with idle speculation –she and her fellow runners were too intent on their tasks.

      Thoughts of her pack brought her back to Vadith. What would he do? It was not as if she’d spilled any of his trade secrets; these people apparently knew enough about her thrilling life of crime without any of her help.

      But what now? Fear beat a hollow drum in her chest. She wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t show these people that she was terrified of what would happen next. If only she could go to sleep and wake someplace else, with none of this having happened.

      So she waited.

      * * *

      Nuri had no idea how much time passed nor what time of the day it was. More sleep proved impossible; she simply wasn’t tired anymore. Maybe her captors were so busy debating her fate they hadn’t opted for the mind-wipe yet. This brought cold comfort. She was still sitting here, alone. What if they forgot about her?

      No, no, no. Nuri wouldn’t chase that idea down any deep burrows.

      As if she would ever be allowed to bond with a star-jumper as an avatar … whatever that meant. Maybe it was like being possessed. Ugh. Who knew? There were horror stories about telepaths who could ride other people, usually cooking their brains in the process. Nightmare fuel.

      Besides, star-jumpers had always been a thing you saw in movies – remote and vast and alien. Transport for the super-wealthy; not even mere Citizens. And certainly not for a barrens rat like Nuri.

      What now?

      If they locked her up, would she ever run again? The only freedom Nuri ever tasted was when she was running along walls or rooftops, often with pursuers nipping at her heels. There was the near weightlessness of making that impossible leap no one else was mad enough to try. Or having to make a split-second decision about how much weight she’d put on the balls of her feet before she launched herself at a crazy hand- or foothold. It was a freedom of sorts, even if she was indentured to Vadith. When she was running, he couldn’t catch her.

      Now it looked as if she might never run again.

      Staring at the unpainted walls soon grew old, and Nuri really did need to pee. The bathroom was set in an alcove behind a sliding door that rattled on its track. And there was a shower cubicle. Folded on top of the toilet cistern lay grey coveralls, clean underwear (grey), a pair of socks, a towel and a toiletry bag that had all the essentials. White sneakers had been set on the floor, so painfully new and bright they hurt her eyes. So, the facilitators meant for her to clean up. That was all right. Nuri smelled ranker than a fen mole.

      A wicker basket stood next to the door, and Nuri deposited her clothing there because it felt wrong to dump it on the floor. Maybe they’d have a laundry in this place. The first, dim flashes of hope came to her.

      But, ancestors, it felt good to be clean. Her skin soon gleamed and even if the soap was harsh-smelling and chemical-like, she’d at least gotten rid of the bleeding swamp stench.

      A pair of guards appeared after her shower and brought her a packed meal. One took the laundry basket, though he didn’t promise to bring back her things. The guards were firm but aloof, and their hands twitched often towards the stunners they wore at their belts.

      And then she waited.

      Of the siren song that had landed her in this trouble to start with, there wasn’t so much as a peep. It was as if she’d imagined it all, and that was kinda scary. Or maybe she was so far beneath the ground that the psi-call couldn’t reach her.

      Four meals she counted, always brought by an unsmiling guard who refused to answer any questions. In between those times, Nuri paced. She did exercises to work out excess energy. She tried to sleep. Once she even cried, but stopped when she figured they’d be recording her behaviour. Not that she could see the camera, but you never knew.

      “You can’t stress about things you can’t change,” Nuri said to herself. “Can’t, can’t, can’t. But you can breathe and try to be calm. And figure things out.” That was what Shiv had told her once when they’d been on a hectic job that hadn’t gone according to plan.

      Eventually her captors came for her, when she wasn’t sure if it was day or night. Nuri was marched along the passages, into an elevator, and brought to that same anonymous reception area from the first day. From here she was marched out into the grounds, between the hulking buildings.

      So it was noon. Despite the smog, the sun’s brightness was near blinding.

      Nuri scrunched shut her eyes and had to blink rapidly before she could peer at the world around her. The facility was so sparse, so perfect, without even a scrap of litter. They walked along neat ceramic-paved pathways bordered by grass clipped to such uniformity by the roving maintenance bots that it might have been green velvet. The grey of the prefab walls, in regular rectangular rows, was so different from the chaos of the barrens. Teens of various races moved between the structures, all garbed similarly to her. They didn’t

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