Truehearts & The Escape From Pirate Moon by Jake Macklem (ebook audio reader TXT) 📕

He had white hair at his temples, the rest was black, slicked back and shiny. He wore a white tank top that clung to his body like a second skin, his muscles flexing under it with every movement. “What’s your name?”

Ace smiled at him and shrugged.

“Wait right there, okay?”

She nodded as Mick winked at her and stood up. He started talking but the words faded into a distant hum in the background. She looked around at the bodies.

Maybe they’re my parents. That would suck.

Stepping into the pool of blood, Ace squatted down and closed the dead woman’s eyes.

The hum of conversation grew louder. Shonda spun Ace around and snarled, “Look you little hussy, you start running or I’ll kill you myself.”

“Shonda!” Mick’s voice rumbled louder than the city. “You got a set coming up. Go get ready.”

Shonda’s face curled in bitter resentment. “Mick,” she stood and faced him, shouting, “this is dangerous!”

“Go get ready, Shonda.”

She licked her teeth and clicked her tongue. “You’re going to get us all killed.” She walked away. “Or worse—arrested.”

Mick watched for a moment then smiled and turned to face the little girl. Kneeling again, he looked her in the eye. “Been a bad day, huh, kid?”

Squeezing her bunny, she nodded.

“The police are coming, be here soon. You shouldn’t be. System ain’t kind to orphans. This moment, right now, is the beginning of your life. It’s a hard one and nothing is gonna change that. But me, I think you’re lucky. You’re just a kid and you’re free. Nothing you ever do will be easy, but everything you do will be your choice. You’ll live and die by your choices, but they’ll all be yours. First one is right now, Ace.” He stood up and stepped back for the little girl, his smile gone.

He pointed down the alley and she followed with her eyes. Neon lit the night, a garish mix of reds, blues, yellows, and greens. People rushed by and every one of them was talking. The din of conversation, laughter, yelling, and excitement blended together in a chorus of humanity. Vehicles roared by, some honked, some blared music, and the wail of sirens was getting louder. “That’s the Verse. It’s hard and dangerous. You’ll have to make the most of your opportunities. The only thing fair about it is that it’s equally unfair to everybody.”

The little girl looked up at the giant of a man and blinked.

Wow, Mick. Did you really think I was going to understand that? I’m like five!

&

Ace did not understand why she could not roll over. Her arms, her legs—nothing seemed to move. Fear spread through her stomach. Memories washed over her as the mission played in her mind’s eye. Her escape, the dog fight to get off the planet, the death of her team. Then Smith’s Warthog, the cruiser crashing—then her crash. The maelstrom of memories cascaded around her, making it hard to breathe.

She swallowed. The moon was harder to remember. The crash… the Tree-knocker… building the hut. That took over a month. I needed to keep active and not think about how shanked I was. She had started collecting water. Things had looked promising. I started thinking I would make it. Having hope I would be able to hold out. Then the acid worms ate most of the Tree-knocker, her food source quickly reduced to a festering mass of oily black mucus stretched over a rubber frame. Fortunately, the lily pads started to bloom and they were filling. The lily leaf was thick and meaty and tasted good. Like a cucumber with a metal aftertaste with a texture like firm avocado. The petals from the flower made a sweet tea and the stem was pliable at first, but once dried stayed in the position and was quite hard. Ace had used them as lashing while creating the upper level of the hut and roof. She needed more than she could eat, but the lily pads grew fast, like all the plants on the moon. She would pick dozens at a time. She finished securing the roof and started on a defensive spear-wall—just in case another Tree-knocker came calling.

That’s it. Everything is fuzzy after that. Except…Mick!

Snapping her eyes open, she instantly realized she was not in a medbay. She saw she was strapped down to a makeshift stretcher suspended in her beaver dam hut. Dozens of small cuts lined the inside of her arms. She was covered with a piece of parachute cloth. That used to be part of my bed. Three meters from the stretcher, a crude table had been assembled. On top was a machine that seemed to be dripping clean water into the Tree-knocker skull. Each droplet hit the waiting liquid with a deep, musical plink. Her dry throat squeezed shut and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. I’m so thirsty.

“Hey.” The dry cracked whisper of her voice was inaudible. Licking the inside of her mouth she tried again. “Water.” Her voice cracked. Still, no one responded.

With renewed vigor, Ace shouted, and though her voice was ragged, it worked. “Water, please!” She sighed, feeling as if she had just run for miles. That shouldn’t be that hard. A moment later a man wearing a cowboy hat walked into the hut. His rifle in the nook of his arm, he approached cautiously but smiled as he neared. Earth military, probably a marine. “Am I a prisoner?”

“Not in the strictest sense of the word.” His voice was soft and deliberate, with a subtle southern twang. He picked up a curved ladle and scooped water from the skull, the sound of splashing sang from the bowl.

Where’d he get a ladle? “The straps?” Ace tugged at the restraints.

“Well…” carrying the ladle, he closed the distance between them with great reservation, “the last time we talked,