Starqueen

Miriam stepped on the gas and screamed as another wave of pain ripped across her abdomen. She was running out of time. “Faster,” she urged her vehicle. "Faster."

Anxiously she scanned the horizon ahead: an unbroken line of red sand that faded into the sky in a rusty haze. She glanced at the compass, then at the rearview mirror. Behind the cloud of dust her own desert rig was kicking up, the much larger dust cloud that followed her had gotten bigger. They were gaining on her.

She grabbed the radio, almost dropping it before securing it in her sweaty grasp. “This is Starqueen calling the Haven Guard Force. I’m heading your way, currently at-” she looked down at the dashboard, then rattled off her coordinates. “Not sure I’m going to make it. I’m low on gas and there’s a pack of snakes on my tail. Also, I’m about to-” She let go of the button as her words dissolved into another yell of pain. Dropping the radio, she bent over and pressed a hand against the faded yellow sun on her tank top, which was soaked with sweat and pulled tight across her bulging belly. “Not yet, baby. Hang on. We’re almost there.” 

The desert rig creaked alarmingly with every bounce and jolt of the uneven terrain. The engine was making a rattling sound she'd never heard it make before. She was pushing the vehicle to its limits, but she had no choice. Moon Buggy, as she affectionately called it, had already been old, practically falling apart, when she’d bought it from a junk dealer on the outskirts of the Empire. She’d spent hours repairing it and modifying it to suit her needs. It certainly wasn’t the best desert rig in the Wastelands, but it had carried her for countless miles and had never let her down. Yet.

“Come on, Moon Buggy,” she coaxed. “Don’t fail me now. Just a bit more speed.” A glance at the dials revealed it was almost out of gas and very close to overheating.

She scanned the horizon and the sky, but there was no sign of rescue. The radio lay silent on the seat beside her. Either she was still too far away, or a dust storm had messed up the signal. No help was coming from Haven.

She looked in the rearview mirror again and swore. Her pursuers were clearly visible now: a sleek, smooth V-formation of seven bright red desert rigs, each twice the size of hers and somehow spotlessly clean, even after their long race across the desert. The machines gleamed in the bright sun, and she saw various guns and fire-launchers attached to them. One shot from those weapons could annihilate her little rig, but they weren’t firing.

“Help,” she gasped into the radio. “If anyone’s listening, help.” She gave her coordinates again and let go of the button, listening and hoping for a response.

Bang. The rig jerked, throwing her forward. She panicked - they’d fired on her. She was hit. Then she realized the sound had come from the engine. Black smoke billowed from the hood. The rig began to slow down.

“No no no no,” she pleaded helplessly. “Come on, Moon Buggy. Don’t do this to me.” She pressed down on the gas, but nothing happened. The rig was losing speed by the second, rocking back and forth as it bumped over rocks and ridges, until it came to a stop. The engine spluttered violently and went silent.

For a moment, Miriam sat in helpless disbelief. It was over. The long, desperate flight across the desert, the sleepless nights and exhausting days - all of it was for nothing. She could probably repair the rig, but that might take hours, and her enemies would be on her in minutes. Instead of receiving a hero's welcome and medical care in Haven, she was going to have to make a last stand here in the desert. Alone.

She unbuckled the safety straps and reached for the rifle that was tucked beside the seat, the only firepower she had on her broken-down rig. Then she threw open the door and jumped down onto the sand, ready to go down fighting.

But even as she crouched behind her rig and took aim at the gleaming convoy that was quickly bearing down on her, she realized she was in no condition for a showdown. The baby was coming - now. She groaned and leaned back against the front tire, in the shade and out of sight. Sweat dripped into her eyes, and she pulled off her bandana to wipe her face. Imagining the clean beds and trained medics in Haven, she groaned again. She’d been so close.

Haven was the largest and most fortified of the rebel outposts. It had the best medical facilities outside the Empire. She’d been planning to deliver her baby there, well taken care of and safe from the Dragon’s greedy clutches. And everyone in the city was going to celebrate her son as the emblem of hope he was. She'd imagined it so many ways.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she murmured, stroking her belly. “Your mama tried her best.”

She didn’t have to wait long. The seven-fold roar of powerful engines grew louder and louder, until the seven red desert rigs burst into sight, swerving sharply to circle her, kicking up clouds of dust. She coughed. The rigs surrounded her like jackals closing in on their prey, then stopped. As the dust cleared, she saw men jumping down from the machines, all of them dressed in black and heavily armed. They swarmed toward her. 

“Drop your weapon!” one of them shouted. With a grunt of effort she raised the rifle and fired at the man closest to her. He toppled backward onto the sand. Before she could fire again, a shot rang out and the rifle flew from her hands, splintered and smoking. She stared at the useless weapon in dismay.

The men approached warily, watching to see if she would pull out another weapon. All of them wore a black cloth mask over their nose and mouth, shielding them from the dust. Each face bore the conspicuous tattoo that marked them as the Empire’s special forces: a black snake winding from the forehead down to the neck. She looked up at all the guns pointed at her, wondering what they were waiting for.

“At last,” said a low, gravelly voice that sent shivers of fear through her, though she couldn’t say why. “Miriam Jacobson. The most wanted renegade in the Wastelands.”

She looked up to see the man the voice belonged to and blinked in surprise. He was tall and lean, his long black hair half-up in a knot. He was dressed like the rest of them, but his face was pale and smooth, unmarked by any tattoo. There was an unnatural red glint in his dark eyes. Miriam had never met him before, but she recognized him at once. This was no hired henchman. This was the Dragon himself, the Boss, the man who’d carved himself an empire of treachery and terror. He’d come out from his Iron Tower to personally see this job done. She'd be flattered if she wasn't so terrified.

“I’ve waited a long time for this day,” he said, his voice rumbling with confidence. “Face to face with Miriam Jacobson, the Starqueen herself. I hear the rebels have other names for you.” He leaned forward, radiating menace. “Miriam Fangcrusher, they call you. Miriam Dragonsbane. Miriam-” He paused, then hissed as if the words caused him pain. “King-Bearer.”

“Go eat dust, you snake,” she growled.

“All empty fabrications, of course. You know, given your reputation, I came prepared for a confrontation. But it seems we’ve caught you at a vulnerable moment.” He pulled down the cloth that covered his mouth so she could experience the full effect of his cruel, predatory smile.

“But I must admit I’m disappointed,” he went on. "Even aside from your...condition, I don’t think you’re half the threat the legends make you out to be. A skinny girl alone in the desert with one measly little gun. No army, no allies, no friends. You call this a desert rig? It’s a pile of scraps. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.” He laughed, and a few of the men chuckled with him.

Miriam arched her back and clenched her teeth. “Go back to hell, old worm,” she hissed. “Your days are numbered. Killing me won’t save your precious empire.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about my empire,” said the Dragon with a casual shrug. “And I’m not here to kill you. You’ll make a useful captive, I think.” He came closer until he stood right in front of her, and leaned down with his hands on his knees to look into her face. His voice dripped malice. “I’m here to kill your son.”

Miriam let out a ferocious scream of equal parts pain and rage. She could feel the baby pushing against her, eager to be out. So ready to leave the safe refuge of her body, completely unaware of the danger that waited outside.

“Why?” she gasped. 

“My empire has no room for another king,” said the Dragon with a cool smile.

“So you admit he’s a king.”

The smile vanished. “Empty fabrications. He’s nothing. Just a pest I’m going to eliminate.”

“Why send seven rigs full of snakes, then?” Miriam leaned forward, pinning him with her eyes, relishing the discomfort that suddenly appeared on his face. “Why come crawling out of your tower and travel all this way, so far from your empire?” He didn’t answer immediately, so she answered for him. “It’s obvious. You’re terrified. As you should be. My son is going to tear your bullshit empire to the ground, and you know it.”

The Dragon cocked his gun and pointed it between her legs, all composure gone. “He’s going to die before he takes his first breath.”

Miriam opened her mouth, but all that came out was an anguished cry. She raked her fingers through the dust, crushing fistfuls of sand. She was being ripped apart. How did women survive this? 

“You look uncomfortable, Starqueen,” said the Dragon. “Get used to it. This is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you back at the Tower.”

She heard his voice as if from the end of a long tunnel. The agony was all-consuming, swallowing despair, destroying fear. Nothing existed anymore but her tortured body and the child it was trying to deliver. 

“How long is this going to take, Boss?” said one of the snakes.

Something above her head caught her eye. A bird wheeled through the sky, dark against the harsh blue. Another vulture waiting for her to die. 

"We can wait," said the Dragon. "There's no rush."

She squinted and looked closer. No- not a vulture.

She turned her gaze to the horizon. Through blurred vision, she thought she saw a cloud of dust in the distance.

“After all," said the Dragon, "it's not as if anyone's coming to help her.”

At that moment, one of the red desert rigs exploded. 

Shouting and swearing, the snakes scattered, dodging shrapnel and burning shards of metal. Miriam closed her eyes. She heard gunfire and shouting. Hot wind and dust blasted into her face. The ground vibrated. A mechanical roar filled the air. The pressure in her belly grew unbearable. She pushed.

“Miriam,” said a nearby voice. “Miriam, can you hear me?”

She opened her eyes. A blurry form in front of her sharpened into a familiar face. “Micah?” she croaked. 

The rebel commander was crouched in front of her, holding a gun and looking at her with concern. It was his flier she'd seen, the winged machine that was now perched on the sand beside her, armed with guns that could demolish a desert rig. “We got your distress call, but I don’t think our reply came through. Miriam, are you…” He glanced down.

“I’m having a baby,” she said faintly. “Behind you.”

Micah whirled and fired at a man in black who was charging him from behind. He waved to one of the four sand-coloured desert rigs that had arrived at the scene and were battling the snakes. “Melissa! Get over here!”

A woman dropped from one of the rigs and ran over to them, ducking to avoid gunfire. “Miriam. Are you hurt?” Her eyes widened as she took in the situation. “Oh. Oh. This is not a good place for this.”

“Can we get her back to Haven?” asked Micah. 

Melissa dropped to her knees beside Miriam. “Nope. This is happening now. You’ll need to hold them off.”

Micah’s face fell. “For how long?”

“Shouldn’t be long now.”

Micah nodded grimly and got to his feet. He raised his gun and began firing at the red desert rigs, where most of the snakes had retreated.

And so it was that, crouched on the desert sand while a fierce and bloody battle raged around her, Miriam at last gave birth to her firstborn son. Melissa cut the umbilical cord and handed the baby to his relieved and fiercely proud mother. "You did it," she whispered.

Miriam stared at her tiny, naked, vulnerable son. How on earth was he going to survive such a chaotic and brutal world?

"Melissa!" called Micah. "Take my flier. Get them back to Haven."

"Are you sure?"

"Everything's lost if the baby doesn't make it. Meet you back in the city."

"Alright, champ. Let's get you on your feet." Melissa lifted Miriam and helped her hobble the few steps to the flier. Once she was strapped in, holding the baby close against her chest, Melissa slid into the driver's seat and shut the door. She started the engine, and the wings whirred into motion.

"Can't believe I'm the one taking the king home," she said cheerfully.

The flier lifted off the ground. Miriam looked out the window and saw the rigs swerving around the sand, firing at each other. The ground was littered with bodies, both snakes and rebels. She held her son tightly. So many lives lost, and the battle wasn't even over. Was it worth it?

"Any parting words?" said Melissa. Miriam looked at her and saw she was holding out the microphone that connected to the flier's megaphone.

Miriam took the microphone. She looked down and saw the Dragon and Micah facing off on the sand, exchanging gunfire over the crippled wreck of her beloved Moon Buggy. "The king is here!" she shouted, and she heard her voice outside the flier, amplified over the clamour of battle. "He's here! The king is here!"

The Dragon looked up, met her gaze, and raised one menacing fist as if to say, This isn't over. A hail of bullets rattled against the flier as they sped away, loud but not loud enough to drown out the cheer that rose up from the rebels below.