Free Samael's Fire by L. K. Rigel Page B

a lie. Maybe that Samael god was interfering with Asherah by playing with Char’s mind.
    The goddess had commanded Char to share the revelation. Ha. Share the hallucination, more like.
    She couldn’t talk to Mike. He wasn’t one to ponder mysteries. One time they’d all gone out, and after much food and wine the discussion took a philosophical turn. Why are we here, what happens when you die kind of stuff. When Sky asked Mike why he was so quiet, he said it was all boring and pointless.
    Char missed Sky. She wanted Jake. But she had Mike. The only person she might ever talk to again, and he’d surely think she was insane.
    The only one she ever talked to again—or anything else.
    Creepy. Mike had been her sister’s lover, but what would happen if he and Char were stuck here together for the rest of their short lives? She wasn’t going to think about that. If the   Space Junque   was gone, then they had to find another shuttle capable of returning to the planet.
    To Corcovado, according to Asherah. Holy Corcovado will be spared Samael’s fire. Holy Corcovado. The gods must have a sense of humor.
    The shades locked on another sunflower, this one whole. The ship it decorated was intact and moving. Char peeked over the shades and couldn’t see the craft with her bare eyes. The data report in the shades’ lower corner said the ship was forty-two minutes away. No immediate threat.
    She pressed the capture button and tried saving the data in the agronomist’s compad, projecting the information onto its screen. Success. The compad absorbed the text and she touched the save button. It was her compad now. The poor agronomist had gone down to a conference in Redmond. He wouldn’t be returning.
    She resumed the search through the debris. After three dead bodies she wanted to stop, but she and Mike needed to know what was out there.
    The shades found two ships stuck together like animals copulating in a wildlife documentary. Char’s stomach turned as she focused a clearer picture. One had attacked the other, and looters in spacesuits were transferring booty into their open hold.
    That’s why Mike worried about drawing attention to the annex.
    She turned her head. The device attempted to grab a few dissipating clouds, then shot all the way through to movement on the planet surface like brown flowing water topped with white foam. But that wasn’t foam on water. The white was tip feathers of birds’ wings.
    Raptors.
    She tinkered with the slider. A phalanx of gigantic bald eagles raced low along the ground in two-by-two formation approaching a cluster of trees. The pair at the head separated from the column. Each raptor was bigger than the Malibu.
    The lead birds dove into the trees, and animals streamed from cover in all directions. The eagles broke formation to scoop up their prey.
    Not animals. Human beings. Dangling from talons like rag dolls. Char tore the shades off and rubbed her eyes while her vision readjusted.   Shibadeh.  
    Enough for now. She fingered the half heart pendant, glad Sky never had to see this. Char stuck the compad in her pocket and headed out to find Mike. As she expected, he was in the docking bay sitting in the Mikemobile. It struck her that in his note he’d called it the orbit runner. Toning down his ego maybe.
    The bubble canopy was closed and she couldn’t hear, but it looked like he was speaking with someone. He ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration and popped the canopy. With athletic grace, he grabbed a handhold and swung himself down to the floor.
    He saw Char and started to wave, then gave her a quizzical look. When he got closer, she sensed that something had gone terribly wrong—though what was left to go wrong?
    “It’s a crazy time to start taking pharmaceuticals,” he said.
    “Yeah, I’d say so.” Cripes, what did that mean? “Who were you talking to?”
    “No one.”
    He was lying, she was sure of it.
    He must have picked up her skepticism. He