Welcome to the June 2023 edition of First Monday Free Fiction.

To recap, inspired by Kristine Kathryn Rusch who posts a free short story every week on her blog, I’ll post a free story on the first Monday of every month. At the end of the month, I’ll take the story down and post another.

June is Pride Month, so this month’s free story is a sweet gay romance in my In Love and War space opera series called Mementos and Memories.

So accompany Anjali and Mikhail as they follow the trail of…

Mementos and Memories

The rim world of Sentosa was a planet of oceans and swamps, shrouded in clouds that rarely tore open to let the rays of its sun shine through. Islands were scattered across the world ocean, none of them large enough to qualify as a continent.

The capital Kota Terapung was built on an archipelago, its islands connected by a maze of bridges and causeways. The city was famous for its floating market. Vendors flocked here from all over the planet and beyond to moor their boats along the wooden walkways or dock their spacecraft on the floating platforms. Here — it was said — one could find almost any good, legal or illegal, in the known universe.

A young couple strolled along the wooden walkways of the floating market hand in hand. The man was tall, with pale skin, striking blue eyes and long dark hair that he wore pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was clad from head to toe in black, boots, utility pants, shirt, topped with a long coat of black synth-leather. On his hip, he wore a blaster, Republican standard military issue. This was Captain Mikhail Alexeievich Grikov, formerly of the Republican Special Commando Forces, now a wanted traitor and deserter.

The woman by his side was a good head shorter, with brown skin, dark eyes and glossy black hair that fell down her back in gentle waves. She was clad in a flowing skirt with a matching top and bejewelled sandals, all in shades of green and maroon. On her waist, she wore a dagger with an ornate crested hilt. A necklace with a striking gold and garnet pendant gleamed at her throat and on her wrist she wore a matching bangle. This was Lieutenant Anjali Patel, formerly of the Imperial Shakyri Expeditionary Corps, now a wanted traitor and deserter.

Anjali allowed herself to lean against Mikhail and soak up the atmosphere. In many ways, the floating market of Kota Terapung reminded her of the markets of her homeworld of Rajipuri. Of course, the markets of Rajipuri — at least those in the Gurung Highlands, where Anjali had grown up — were on firm ground and not a tangle of boats and walkways. But the calls of the vendors, the array of wares on offer, the smells and the whole atmosphere were similar enough to give her a pang of homesickness.

Anjali ruthlessly swallowed it down. After all, she could never go back to Rajipuri. Neither of them could ever go back. At least, Rajipuri was still there, still safe, still like it had always been. That was more than Mikhail could say for his homeworld.

So she decided to focus on the good things instead. For while she wasn’t sure whether the floating market really offered every good in the known universe, she had found some spice and tea merchants whose selection that could match what would be found on a Rajipuri market.

The food sold here was great as well. There was a bewildering variety of rice and noodle dishes, fried in big pans and inevitably tasty. Other stalls offered bits of tofu or fish or — if you wanted to go really luxurious — chicken stuck on skewers, grilled and served with a spicy peanut sauce. And finally, there was the full bounty of Sentosa’s world ocean, offered in the form of steamed spicy clams, crispy fried shrimps and fish, steamed or fried and coated in spicy chili sauce.

But the floating market had more to offer than weapons, spices and food. For Anjali had also come across some fabric vendors who offered an assortment of tantalising print fabrics with beautiful patterns in bright and cheerful colours. Apparently, fabric dyeing, printing and production was a traditional industry on Sentosa, though the gods alone knew where they found enough dry land to build the factories.

The fabrics were gorgeous, though. They’d make nice skirts or kurtas or maybe even a saree. Cause Anjali hadn’t worn a saree in way too long. Not that she had much opportunity, given their line of work and the fact that they were both on the run.

“You don’t need a new saree,” Anjali told herself firmly. Because those beautiful fabrics didn’t come cheap and money was tight, as it always was with them. And there were so many things they needed more urgently than pretty print fabric for a new saree.

A gust of wind blew across the market, tugging on Anjali’s long flowing skirt. The leaves of the trees that grew in the brackish water around the market rustled and the wind shook loose a plethora of pink and white blossoms, causing them to rain down onto the walkway. Anjali caught one in mid-air and sniffed its sweet, intoxicating scent.

“We’d best find shelter,” Mikhail said to her, “There’s a rainstorm coming.”

***

This story was available for free on this blog for one month only, but you can still read it in Mementos and Memories. And if you click on the First Monday Free Fiction tag, you can read this month’s free story.