Free Too Close to the Sun (The Sun 1) by Robin T. Popp

ships. At the far end was the port authority, a massive building through which everyone arriving and leaving the planet had to pass. Stretching out on either side of the port authority and separating the landing field from the rest of the planet was an impenetrable perimeter wall, the height of which dwarfed even the stasis towers.
    She should be used to this, Angel thought, heading for the port authority. As a courier of illegal goods, she landed on strange and hostile planets all the time. Why the Harvesters bothered her more than the usual run of scum, she didn’t know. They just did. Maybe because they were like the bogeymen of childhood nightmares, appearing out of nowhere on dark, starless nights to kidnap their victims.
    I should have my head examined for doing this.
    Once she reached the port authority, Angel stopped just inside to look around. The building was a two-story structure with offices running the perimeter of the second floor, but was otherwise open from top to bottom. The place had a funny antiseptic odor that fit perfectly with the sterile, plain white walls and floors. The only touch of color came from the clothes worn by the arriving and departing black market traders and from the artificial plants set haphazardly about the place.
    Occasionally she saw figures walk by cloaked entirely in white robes. She assumed these were Harvesters.
    Near the front exit of the building, a line had formed of those wishing admittance to the planet. One by one, each visitor passed before posted guards and stepped through a scanner. Angel took her place at the back of the line.
    She'd stood there only five or ten tocks when a man’s scream rent the air. It was followed by a hushed, unnatural silence. When the eventual drone of whispers began, it started at the front of the line, gradually working its way toward Angel.
    “-vaporized, damn shame.”
    “-regular.”
    “-even knew the rules.”
    “-tried to sneak a weapon past the guards.”
    “One minute, everything’s fine-“
    “-the next-bam!“
    Angel stopped listening - and started looking for a place to dump her laser. Romanof hadn't mentioned anything to her about weapons being prohibited when he’d briefed her on what he’d learned about the Harvesters. She hated to lose the gun, but not as much as she hated getting vaporized.
    “What’s wrong?” Romanof buzzed in her ear.
    “Later,” she hissed, not wanting anyone to think she was talking to herself. Off to the side, past a grouping of artificial plants, was the vid-screen map of the city. Abandoning her place in line, Angel went to study it. It wasn't a total pretense since she wanted a better understanding of the city's layout. Within moments, she had memorized the basic concentric square layout of buildings with the market at its center.
    Before turning to head back to the line, she activated her laser's release mechanism, allowing the weapon to slip into her hand. Then she headed back to the line, brushing past the nearest plant and releasing her weapon so it dropped down into the artificial leaves and slid to the bottom of the pot, fully concealed from view. With a sigh of relief, she continued as nonchalantly as she could, to rejoin the line.
    When her turn through the security gates arrived, she passed inspection without mishap. Two of the white-robed figures questioned her about her intentions, speaking in standard Terran, the language common among most trade planets, legitimate or black market. Her responses proved satisfactory, thanks to Romanof’s quiet buzzing in her ear. With a final pass through a sani-ray to destroy any foreign contaminants, she followed the rest of the new arrivals through the exit corridor leading away from the building.
    Outside, standing on the street, Angel studied the nearest buildings, all constructed of white stone, and the paved roads and walkways congested with pedestrians, but not a lot of ground or air shuttles.
    Looking behind her, Angel noticed that the