Hostage To The Stars: A Sectors SF Romance by Veronica Scott Page A

nothing but a backwater world ruled by thugs.”
    “Scary.”
    “You have no idea.” Johnny’d given her a carefully edited, high level report. No need to burden her with the horrendous details of events the Sectors had recorded where the Mawreg ventured.
    “I wanted to get home before but now I’m terrified.” She rubbed her arms as if chilled, even though the sun was warm today and a total lack of wind.
    “We’ll check out the city and be on our way again to the north, to call for extraction, I promise. I just need to see if there are any concrete indications of continuing Chimmer or Mawreg activity after our forces pulled out.” He didn’t want to linger either but duty pulled at him. The stakes were too high for the Sectors to walk away from the planet after his making a half assed report. He broke stride for a moment, kneeling as if to fix something wrong with his boot. “There’s a person on the hill ahead, watching us.”
    He was proud of Sara for keeping her cool and not turning her head in an attempt to see the observer, merely asking, “What do we do?”
    “Keep walking, fix your face scarf.” He adjusted his own, so only his eyes would show. “Have your blaster loose so you can pull it if needed. Probably a Farducciri but we can’t be sure till we get closer.”
    Johnny hiked toward the watcher as if this was a normal day and he and Sara were out for a stroll. As he drew closer, Sara in his wake, Johnny took note of the man’s small flock of sameel and one or two garbisi busy grazing on the sparse grass hillside while he sat and ate crumbly journey bread. “Fair day to you, old one,” he said in Farduccir.
    “There are no fair days any longer.” The man’s voice was guttural, dispirited. “Where are you bound?”
    “To Mesmiil.”Johnny gestured in the direction they were going. “And you?”
    “Not there. Nothing is there. I take my flock and stay far away. It’s the season to move to the pastures in the high plateaus.” He gestured toward the dark purple mountains on the horizon. “I have nothing better to do until the spirits take me, so I keep to the rituals.”
    From the old man’s facial tattoos, Johnny identified him as a member of the warlord’s clan, which meant he was a potential enemy. “Do you know what happened in Mesmiil?”
    The shepherd frowned. “Where have you been, that you don’t know?”
    “We wander from place to place. I’m taderbiir .” A sort of itinerant cross between a monk and a lay priest, respected in the Farduccir society. One who couldn’t be identified with any clan. Johnny had used the disguise before in his time on Farduccir.
    “You must have seen in your travels how the villages and towns are becoming empty. Local headmen said in the clan circles Umarri had won a great victory even the all mighty Sectors themselves couldn’t achieve, and got the alien overlords to grant him and our people special status.” The old man spat. “Our clan was supreme, had the best of everything. Who cared if those who are not Umarri’s disappeared, when we could feast on the riches left behind? But now, these past two years, our places also begin to sit empty. I fear those with whom Umarri bargained will eat him last.”
    Johnny made the Farducciri sign against evil. “May it not be so,” he said. “Thank you for the warning, honored elder, but my path takes me onward.”
    Wielding his crook, the shepherd nudged his motley flock into motion. “We’ll not meet again then.” He trudged off without a backward glance.
    Johnny strode along the road, trusting Sara to follow. After they’d climbed a rise and began descending on the other side, he said, “Thanks for not asking questions till we were well away from the old man.”
    “His voice sure sounded grim—what did he tell you?”
    Johnny gave her the overview.
    “Well, that’s it then,” she said, coming to a halt in the middle of the road. “You’ve got the old man’s tale about alien