Crownchasers

by Rebecca Coffindaffer

  Hell Monkey’s boots clomp into the room in long, heavy strides as he comes back from the engine room, and in his wake, I can hear the tick-tick-tick of the mediabot following him. It tries to squawk a question at Hell Monkey, but he cuts it off, muttering to it in a low voice, “What did I tell you would happen if you try to interview me right now?”

  “That I would spend the rest of the voyage dangling in a net above the cargo bay,” it replies in a tinny voice.

  “That’s a standing offer. Now be quiet.” He stomps up behind the captain’s chair and leans down low, muttering into my ear. “I’m gonna shove it out an airlock.”

  I reach back without looking and pat his scruffy cheek. “No, you’re not, because you’re a good guy who respects life-forms. Even annoying robotic ones.”

  He grumbles. “I hate being a good guy. . . .”

  “Captain Farshot,” Rose says, “new information has been input into my computer systems. Would you like me to display it?”

  I clench my hand, the one where that beacon’s imprint had been. My palm is empty now, the skin clean of any markings. This must be the next clue or bread crumb or whatever the hell it is we’re chasing. “Yes, please, Rose. A dynamic projection.”

  I swing out of my seat and watch the strategic-ops table fill with Rose’s three-dimensional display.

  A mess. A totally different, brand-new mess from the last mess we untangled that led us here. This one appears to be a bunch of symbols—probably a runic-based language, but I’m not familiar with it. There’s gotta be over three hundred of these bastards, and they practically fill the space.

  I stick my hands into the middle of it, using gestures to pull one symbol to me, then discard it and bring another. “H.M., what do you make of this?”

  “Huh?” He’s wandered over to the port-side station, where all the media feeds are currently pulled up, streaming an avalanche of nonsense. “Make of what now?”

  “Just the next big puzzle we have to figure out in this ridiculous ride. No big, really.” He doesn’t even glance back at me, so I stomp over to him, putting on a full huff so he’ll get the picture that I’m Not Amused. “What are you even staring at over here?”

  He gestures at the screens, shrinking a couple of the feeds smaller so he can expand another one and put it on blast right in the center. “Cheery’s latest handiwork.”

  I stare at it for a second before I process what’s on-screen. The Daily Worlds, apparently, has put up a crownchaser leaderboard. Except it doesn’t seem to be based on our actual performance so far. Instead it has percentages, calculating who the general public wants to win.

  And my name is at the top.

  Granted, my score is only a percentage point higher than Setter’s, but still . . .

  I blink. And I blink again. I open my mouth. I hesitate. I close it again. Then I lean back and wave the mediabot over. “Get over here.”

  It clicks across the floor. “Captain Farshot, so glad you—”

  “Off the record, buddy. Shut it down.”

  I didn’t know a bot could sag with disappointment like that. “Yes, Captain Farshot,” it says, and all its camera lenses go dim.

  “What is this?” I wave my hand at the screen. “Whose ass are they pulling these numbers from?”

  “No one’s, Ms. Farshot. It’s a quadrant-wide direct poll that adjusts automatically as people vote or change previous votes.”

  “Why . . . What . . . Why?” I flail a little. Like this is supposed to make up for the gap of actual words.

  The droid tilts its camera-shaped head at me. “Historically speaking, a base of public support is very important for a sovereign. Is that not correct?”

  Well, yes. Of course it is. Part of the reason why Uncle Atar was so effective was because he was also well liked on so many planets. And having a bright, shiny leaderboard on display like this certainly serves as a good motivator for all of us to put our best faces forward. Play by the rules, jump through all the hoops, smile big for the cameras. After all, prime families love public adoration almost as much as they love power.

  But still . . . Why am I in the top spot?

  “Makes sense if you think about it,” Hell Monkey says with a shrug. Like he read my mind or something.

  I round on him, crossing my arms over my chest. “And how is that exactly?”

  “Face it, Captain, we make for good TV.” He squares off to me, hands in his jumpsuit pockets, a grin on his face that’s all mischief. “I mean, I’m obviously bringing the good-looks element—”

  I bark out a laugh. “Obviously.”

  “And you’ve been doing some action-star-quality stuff—breaking out of a storage closet, saving Coy from falling off a cliff—”

  “I am excellent at almost getting myself killed.”

  “We’ve got everything you want in a vid: comedy, drama, sexual tension—”

  I can’t even help the grin that’s on my face now. This pattern with us—the back-and-forth—is so easy and familiar. “Oh, sexual tension, huh?”

  He winks. “Hey, we gotta give the people what they want, right?”

  There’s a slight hum of machinery behind me, and I glance back at the mediabot. Its cameras are back on, glowing bright blue, recording this whole exchange.

  My smile disappears, and I grab the little jerk by its metal shoulders, marching it toward the exit. “Okay, show’s over. Go contemplate which net you want to hang from in the cargo bay.”

  As soon as the doors close behind it, I turn back to the big 3D display and swipe it clean. “Rose, transfer the information to my quarters.” She chirps a confirmation as I look over at Hell Monkey. “I’m going to try to sort it out in my room—are you coming?”

  He shakes his head, running his hand over his hair. The smile is still half on his face, but it looks different. Irritated, maybe? “Nah, I’m good,” he finally says.

  “You’re good? We’re in a race for our freedom and our future, but you’re . . . good?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to expand on that. When he doesn’t, I throw my arms in the air. “Whatever, man. You do whatever.”

  Shoving my hands into my pockets, I spin around and storm off the bridge.

  Sixteen

  Stardate: 0.05.18 in the Year 4031

  Location: My quarters. By myself. But hey, y’know, I’m GOOD.

  I STARE AT THE UNHOLY MESS OF SYMBOLS FILLING almost my entire quarters for two hours straight without making any headway. My brain and body are wiped. I’m trying to remember the last time I slept for more than, like, an hour. It’s been a while. That can’t be good, right? No way a body can go that long without crashing eventually.

  I eye my cot, calculating how much ground I’ll lose if I shut my eyes . . . just . . . for . . . a bit . . .

  A loud beeping noise jerks me back to attention.

  I recognize that sound. It’s an incoming message. Direct to my quarters. On a secure communications channel.

  Coy.

  I get up and swipe my security authorization into the display, stepping back a bit as her face fills the screen.

  “Farshot. You look a little rumpled. I’m not interrupting anything fun, am I?”

  “Just me daydreaming of the universe’s greatest nap.” I hesitate, swallowing hard. “Hey, Coy, about those leaderboards that went up . . .”

  It’s the length of the pause that tells me there’s a sore nerve in there for her. Her face stays carefully nonchalant, her posture doesn’t shift, but it takes her just half a second too long to respond.

  “Ah yes, that. Well, you know my mother. If you can’t gamify entertainment, what good is it?”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about, Coy, and you know it. I’m talking about me, on top of the public poll. I’m sorry. I wasn’t aiming for it—”

  She sighs and looks away from me. “It’s just optics, Alyssa. Really, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to you. So it matters to me.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, turnin
g over the thought that’s been sitting on a back burner for the past few hours. “I think we need to go public. With our partnership.”

  Her eyes widen. “Now? We talked about saving that card until further into the race.”

  “I know we did. But I want to put it out there now. A public endorsement of you for the throne so everyone can see where I’m placing my bets.”

  She stares at me for a long minute, her expression growing serious. “You’re the one who’s going to get blowback on this. From the families and from the public too, probably.”

  I huff out a laugh. “I’ve handled a lot worse than a few negative opinions of me. I can take it.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll do it your way, then.” She sighs and flicks a hand at the screen. “It won’t matter who’s partnered with what, though, if we don’t sort out our newest puzzle. How have you been doing with it?”

  Oh yeah. That. “I’ve very definitely been staring at it with a lot of . . . intention.”

  “You too, huh? Seems to be a theme.” Her eyes cut to something just to the left of the display. “If I’m judging this right, Faye only came back online just over an hour ago. Owyn is probably still stuck. So we have that going for us.”

  “That’s something at least. You’re somewhere private, somewhere secure, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Gimme a sec. And put your VR set on. I’ve got an idea.” She sits back, grabbing a band of slender tech that stretches across her eyes and curves over her ears like glasses. I tap a few things on the touch screen and pull the big mess of a puzzle up again so it fills the space of my quarters. Then a three-dimensional holographic depiction of Nathalia flickers into existence beside me. She looks around for a second, adjusting, and then moves around the space.

  “Your room is smaller than mine.”

  I shrug. “I took the navigator quarters. Closer to the bridge. Not so far to walk with a hangover.”

  She shoots me a look over her shoulder—like even holographic Coy can hear the lie behind my reasoning. But all she says is, “Sure . . . sure . . .”

  Whatever. I roll my eyes. It’s not like it’s a major scandal or anything. Just . . . kinda personal.

  I was ecstatic when Uncle Atar and Charlie helped me get my first worldcruiser. Even more thrilled to take off into the stars, ready to do all the things I’d been dreaming about. Discover new planets. Join the Explorers’ Society. Make a name for myself outside of empire politics.

  But even with all of that, my very first night on my own in the Vagabond Quick was . . . lonely. I didn’t have anyone else on board yet—no engineer or nothing—and the ship felt big and echoing. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t nearly as expansive as the kingship. It didn’t matter that the designated captain’s quarters were smaller than my childhood room. I rattled around in it like a pebble.

  So I’d made the ship smaller. Made a nest for myself in the navigator quarters just off the bridge so I had a small little circle to move in most of the time, and I kept it that way even after I acquired a crew member or two. Even after I adapted to life away from the kingship and Uncle Atar and Charlie. Even as the universe got bigger with every planet I visited and every danger I experienced.

  But Coy doesn’t need that whole song and dance. She can think what she likes, but that story is small and quiet and covered in prickles, so it stays right here in my chest.

  “Can you make heads or tails out of this?” I ask, waving at the puzzle.

  Coy nods. “It’s Tearian.”

  “Really?” I change my angle on the green, glowing symbols scattered around the air of my room. “I’ve seen Tearian before. It’s never looked like this.”

  “It’s an older form of the language. Three or four centuries old, I think. And it’s not in a lot of accessible databases anymore. The Tearian government doesn’t like to publicize the native written forms. They’re more interested in promoting the imperialized form of their language these days.”

  That makes sense. Tear has seen a lot of conflict over the past several decades, mainly between the planetary government and the people they’re supposed to be representing. The Tearian president reportedly values a lot of the “modern” influences of the empire over the actual developments and progress made by his own people.

  I have opinions on this. In case you couldn’t tell.

  I level a look at Holographic Coy. “I thought you hadn’t made any progress on this clue.”

  She holds her hands up. “Oh, I haven’t, personally speaking. My engineer, Drinn, was apparently an archaeologist specializing in the Fyre system in his past life.” She means this literally. Vilkjings reincarnate and often retain memories from multiple life cycles. “He recognized it when he came into my quarters to bring me a report on the engine outputs.”

  Engine output reports. I raise my eyebrows. “Look at you. All official and captainy.”

  She flicks her hair over her shoulder, all casual like. “Well, you know. I’m going to be empress soon. I thought I’d try my hand at this responsible leader thing. Turns out, I’m a natural, of course.”

  I laugh, waving my hands. “Okay, okay, tone it down. I haven’t slept enough to handle full-throttle Coyenne. Let’s focus on this puzzle mess. We know it’s old Tearian. Did Drinn have anything more than that?”

  Coy shakes her head. “He was able to translate some of it, but it’s not like it was spelling out the secrets of the universe or anything. Each symbol is not even a specific word, apparently. It’s like a concept, with even more conceptual layers underneath it.” Her half-transparent form leans against the far wall, arms crossed. “That’s why I called you.”

  “Okay . . .” I drop onto my bed and pull my legs into my chest so I can rest my chin on my knees. I stare at the puzzle, but I’m not trying to really see it. I’m trying to think of everything, absolutely everything I know about Tear. There haven’t been a lot of expeditions out that way since I started flying—mainly because of the unstable political situation. The Tearian government has made a lot of unpopular moves, and the people there have started pushing back. Against them, against the empire, against the Explorers’ Society—all of it. So it’s been a no-go zone for explorers and Society scientists for a while now.

  But still there was something. . . .

  I swear to the stars there was something. . . .

  An artifact. I remember it now. I saw it at the headquarters on Apex—it’d been so weird to see something Tearian in the research area. It’d been found off-planet and handed over to us to ensure it was safely and securely transported back to Tear. I’d wanted the assignment—I always wanted the assignment—but I’d been pretty brand-new still and the Vagabond Quick had gotten mucked all to hell on our last ride through a Nynzeri tectonic mudstorm. So all I’d gotten was the briefest glance at the artifact before it’d gone home.

  It’d been this cube shape. No top or bottom—just the four sides. And each side had had dozens of pieces that you could slide around to make a pattern.

  I shoot to my feet. “Rose? What can you find about Tearian puzzle cubes?”

  There’s a little bleep of acknowledgment, and then I wait, pacing, for her AI to respond. Coy opens her mouth to say something snarky—it’s really her only setting—but I shush her.

  “Captain Farshot. I have found limited data entries on Tearian puzzle cubes. It seems to be an ancient form of intellectual challenge known for its unique format. It was historically popular over three centuries ago. The objective is to align complementary concepts along vertical and horizontal lines.”

  “Well, crap,” sighs Coy. “That sounds terrible and time consuming as hell.”

  “Sure does. Go get Drinn. We have work to do.”

  FARSHOT OFFICIALLY ENDORSES NATHALIA COYENNE

  The Faroshti heir puts out a statement announcing that she’s supporting Coyenne’s bid for the throne

  PRIME FAMILIES REACT TO CROWNCHASE SHAKE-UP

  “Anyone who blows a shot like this wa
s never fit for the throne anyway,” says patriarch William Voles

  PUBLIC SPLIT ON THE COYENNE-FARSHOT PARTNERSHIP

  Polls show an almost 50-50 division in those who support Farshot’s announcement and those angry at their preferred contestant taking herself out of the running

  CHANCELLOR ORSED: “IT MIGHT BE TIME FOR A CHANGE”

  The primary voice of the Coltigh system floats a radical idea for the future of the empire

  WORLDCRUISER S576-034, UNDISCLOSED COORDINATES

  EDGAR SITS WHERE HE IS MOST OFTEN FOUND lately: in front of the enormous display of camera feeds hovering above the strategic-operations table on his bridge. He’s found it’s easier to just set it up as a full, interactive projection. This way he can manipulate and prioritize where his spiders ought to be positioned in a given moment, what needs his immediate focus, and what needs to wait.

  Currently his focus is on the personal quarters of the Vagabond Quick.

  Nathalia Coyenne and Alyssa Faroshti. Working in tandem. News of their partnership hit the media feeds less than an hour ago, roiling half the quadrant and dominating the latest cycle of crownchase news. Edgar had already suspected Alyssa Faroshti would be something other than a straight player in this game, so he isn’t shocked, exactly. But it’s still strange to watch them in action, teasing and talking and working in a seamless flow.

  Just like when they were kids. He remembers seeing them in the kingship hangar, as he stood in the shadow of his ship—and the shadow of his father. How the two of them would crash together in a hug every time they were reunited. How they’d run off, hands clasped, giggling. Inseparable. As close as family, Nathalia always said.

  He’d always thought that was an odd way to put it. Family, as far as he could tell, didn’t look like that.

  Another screen catches his eye and he pulls it up, expanding it to get a better look. It’s Owyn Mega’s quarters. He’d been working on the current puzzle with his companion, Gear, but now she isn’t in the room. Instead the comms display is filled with the faces of Lorcan and Jenna Mega. They seem to be talking earnestly, intensely, to their son. Likely about the crownchase. Likely about Owyn’s lack of showing in the race so far. Owyn himself stands stoically, hands behind his back, and nods at certain intervals. Edgar knows exactly what kind of discussion is happening in there right now. He sees it in Owyn’s stance and in his expression. He’s all too familiar with it.