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    The Edge
    The Edge
    The Edge
    Ebook58 pages49 minutes

    The Edge

    By Elisabeth Flaum

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Heading home from the assignment she thought would never end, explorer Marta Anders shares a ride with a handsome young pilot, and a mystery that will change everything she thought she knew.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherElisabeth Flaum
    Release dateSep 8, 2014
    ISBN9781310736186
    The Edge
    Author

    Elisabeth Flaum

    Elisabeth Flaum began writing fiction because of Doctor Who and hasn’t yet been able to stop. She lives in Portland, Oregon, where she works in accounting, races dragonboats, and writes poetry about weather.

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      Book preview

      The Edge - Elisabeth Flaum

      The Edge

      by Elisabeth Flaum

      Copyright 2014 by Elisabeth Flaum

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Cover Photo Credit: NASA/JPL - Caltech

      It cannot be.

      Pasha’s voice echoed from the dome and bounced around the deserted chamber. The normal complement of aides, attendants, and secretaries was absent, and in the silence her own words fell harshly on her ears.

      The regent looked down from her dais. The science is conclusive, she said gently. The aliens are our only hope.

      But they are -

      Animals? offered the regent. Beasts? Have we not used animals before?

      Pasha felt a hot flush rising in her cheeks. They are sentient, my Lady. Can we condone such use?

      It is, as they say, the regent sighed, us or them. And they are so numerous. We can hardly do them any damage at all.

      Very well, my Lady, said Pasha. It shall be.

      Good. The regent adjusted her robes of state. When can your fleet be ready?

      Pasha considered the orders to be issued, the equipment to be gathered. The troops to be armed, just in case. No less than seven days, my Lady.

      Very well. Do not delay; every moment costs lives.

      Yes, my Lady. Pasha saluted and turned to leave.

      Keep in mind their numbers, the regent called after her. Leave no trace. No witness. To lead them back to us is to sentence our race to death.

      Pasha swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Yes, my Lady.

      She strode from the chamber, her boots ringing on the bare stone like the toll of a funeral bell.

      Marta shivered.

      The climate control in her suit worked perfectly, but the barren landscape left her cold. Flat, featureless gray dirt stretched to the horizon, wind-borne dust swirling in the thin air like volcanic ash. It looked every inch the failure it was.

      Marta’s research and samples were carefully crated for the journey home, her personal kit perched on top of the pile. The prefab shelter would stay behind, sealed tight against the elements, to serve any future mission the planet might see. Not likely, Marta thought sourly. She checked her radio for what seemed the hundredth time, but her transport, due any moment, was not yet in range.

      Civilization, she thought with a sigh. People, hot water, a bed that wasn’t full of caustic gray sand. She peered up into the blank sky, hoping for a glimpse of the arriving craft; but the blue glare of giant Bor overhead triggered her visor’s opacity setting, leaving her blind.

      The suit’s receiver crackled, and Marta nearly jumped out of her skin.

      This is Archaeopteryx. Someone call for a taxi?

      Marta broke out in a broad grin, the friendly voice a balm on her sour mood. You’re late, she said. I’ve been waiting all day.

      The voice on the radio chuckled. Sorry to keep you. Be right down.

      It was a beautiful ship that landed there under the blue sun. Long and slim, its hull shining like silver, it settled onto the landing strip as gracefully as a bird in its nest, throwing up a cloud of fine gray dust that swirled and danced in the heat from the sleek engines. The air slowly cleared, the cargo hatch fell open, and Marta hauled her crates one at a time up the short ramp. No one waited among the stacks of bins and pallets to offer her help, so she wrestled her luggage into place alone, secured it tightly, and pulled the cord to close the hatch behind her. As

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