Geronimo of the Stars
By Susan Franceschina
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I live in Western Maryland with my husband and our three children. I enjoy writing, memorizing the lines of X-Files episodes, and the idea of long walks on the beach. My short story, "The Death Tree," was recently published in Wanderings.
By Susan Franceschina
They called me Geronimo of the Stars. My brother had liked the name the moment he’d glimpsed it in a crumpling Earth textbook.
My given name was ridiculously plain. Mary. Just Mary. And the longest surname in Almadea Sector, Reva-tron-alamat-etzer-etzer. But I was fine with Geronimo or even Geri for short. Strange, I suppose, since Mary in fact rhymes with Geri. But it must be noted that if one said, “Geri,” then the reputable phrase, “Geronimo of the Stars comes bearing a thousand gold bars,” would immediately spring to anyone’s mind.
I was a money handler, as famous as I was feared. I loaned and I transported. I exchanged and I was helpful – for a price, of course.
I loved my job, an unofficial company that had been gifted to me at my uncle’s deathbed.
Now I was a fierce woman with long and thick waves of black. Even in the age of interstellar travel and marvelous beaming weapons, I carried a large dirty knife attached to a thick leather belt. I never smiled. I never cried.
But I was in love with the stars; the diamonds streaking across the velvet black of space could provoke tender emotions within my chest – my deepest, darkest secret.
In a place without dates, I awakened to a bustling day aboard Elinosta’s Oasis, far from any habitable planet or would-be-sun. I was waiting on Justin, my dirty and skinny assistant who reminded me of a malnourished rodent, whiskers and all.
“Captain, there’s a riot across the flowering platform. Seems to be headed this way,” said Justin after bursting into the planzone.
“I swear to God, if you call me captain one more freaking time, I’ll cut your throat,” I threatened, falsely albeit. Respect was nice, but high titles were a form of insult – in my opinion. Nobody was really anybody anymore. Businesses and oasis’ changed hands like space expanding.
“Apologies, Geri. Listen, there are well over a thousand of them. Knives and blasters alike. It’s a regular bloodbath. Smells like smoke and death down there,” he said.
“Guess we’ll be pushing out, then.”
“Shall I hum up the engines?”
“Yes, let’s. You take the pilot’s seat this time.” I raised an eyebrow, daring the little dying rat to disobey my orders.
“Of course. I was in the mood to fly. Thank you,” he said, sinking into the chipping hunk of a control center. I slipped into the copilot’s box, ready to take over the moment Justin mucked up. And muck up he would – he always did. But he was trustworthy, a fact I clung to daily.
My ship, Mary, hummed and shook with fury, obviously overdue for an inspection. Damned rioters, I thought, always ruining my business deals and repair plans.
Lifting off from the port surface was smoothly executed by Justin, to my eager surprise. In fact, we departed Elinosta’s Oasis without incident. More or less.
“Set a course for . . . wait. Is that a follower?” I asked, my voice as cold and hard as an asteroid barreling through deep space.
“Yes, all lights off, but she’s there directly above Mary,” he said.
“Okay, let’s gain total speed tutta muntin. Go to light once we’re in the blue,” I instructed. I could’ve easily stolen controls, but I was feeling kind today. Justin could have his chance to shine.
I waited quietly. My impatience grew like a blistering weed and I swallowed. My pilot was fumbling controls, dragging his shaking hands in wrong directions and muttering like a nervous fool. Suddenly, Mary rattled metal and lost speed. We both knew what this meant.
We were clamped to the follower, completely at the mercy of a dark ship that was piercing the locks of the ceiling hatch with a screeching laser tool. Until this moment, I’d never been challenged. I’d never been followed and rattled and clamped.
I was Mary Reva-tron-alamat-etzer-etzer of Almadea Sector.
I was Geronimo of the Stars, clutching my knife and eager for the fight.
When the stunned men from the follower realized a dampener interfered with their beaming weapons, the diamonds seemed to twinkle with an exhilaration equal to mine.
“Geronimo of the Stars will come bearing a thousand gold bars, today and tomorrow and always,” I said aloud, wiping my bloodied knife on the pants leg of their leader, a pirate captain with a name not quite as long as mine.
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I live in Western Maryland with my husband and our three children. I enjoy writing, memorizing the lines of X-Files episodes, and the idea of long walks on the beach. My short story, "The Death Tree," was recently published in Wanderings.
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