Crownchasers

by Rebecca Coffindaffer

  “Coy knows the dance steps at this point. Rose, hail Worldcruiser S576-034 on a public channel.”

  She beeps in acknowledgment and half a second later comes back with, “There is no response, Captain Farshot.”

  “Send them a communication: Edgar Voles, this is Alyssa Farshot. Nice to see your face finally. I wasn’t sure you were going to come out and play with us.”

  I wait. I can hear the conn beeping as Hell Monkey’s quick-moving fingers work on the planetary scans, and there’s also the tick-tick and whirring sounds I’m getting used to associating with the mediabot. It’s likely hovering around behind our seats, and I’m not really sure when it showed up on the bridge, but it doesn’t matter at this point. I keep my eyes fixed on Voles’s worldcruiser orbiting ahead of us, like if I stare hard enough, I can bore a hole in its alloy shell and see inside.

  I’ve got that bad flutter in my stomach.

  “Your communication to Worldcruiser S576-034 was received, Captain Farshot. There is no response. They have blocked additional incoming transmissions.”

  Ooookay. Not feeling friendly at all apparently. Fine.

  The dash in front of me beeps as results scroll onto the screen, and I bite my tongue to keep from cursing out loud. That little asshole dumped some kind of mobile spy device onto our ship. A really clever one too, if it’s managed to avoid detection this long. I should’ve suspected shit like this from a godsdamned Voles.

  I kick Hell Monkey under the conn and tap at my screen to draw his attention to it. I watch as his eyes widen with realization. He looks at me, a question on his face, and at my nod, he slides out of his chair. I take over the planetary scan, one ear on Hell Monkey as he moves to the back of the bridge and climbs oh-so-quietly on top of the strategic-ops table. There’s the pop of a ceiling panel coming free, a racket of scrambling and cursing, and then the thud of boots crashing down onto the floor.

  “Hell Monkey?” I call over my shoulder. “Did you win?”

  He reappears next to me, face a little flushed, holding a little mechanical device in his big hands. Several of its filament legs are gone, and its body is half-crushed. “Victory is mine.”

  “My hero,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes at him. “Voles can suck it if he thinks he’s gonna get to spy on us anymore.”

  He drops back into his seat. “How about Deoni? How’s that looking?”

  “Substantially less good. I can’t pick up anything down there.” I sit back a little, my gaze switching to the planet filling almost the entire background of the screen. “Rose, what’s the current date down on Deoni?”

  “It is currently the sixth day of the month of Cadon.”

  “Dammit!” I slam a hand down on the armrest of my jump seat, and Hell Monkey shoots me a side-eye.

  “Something you want to share with the class, Captain?”

  I gesture grumpily at the sandy swirls all over the planet atmosphere. “It’s the middle of their high season. They’ve got sandstorms all over the place. No way we’re getting a read on anything from up here. There’s going to be atmospheric interference over eighty percent of the planet.”

  Hell Monkey sighs. “That explains why Voles is sitting up here. He’s probably having trouble pinpointing where the beacon is too.”

  “Maybe.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, staring at the worldcruiser and then at Deoni and then back again. “H.M., is one of the corresponding coordinates near Voles’s orbital location?”

  He checks the readout again. “Near-ish. Latitude 29.552570, longitude -95.087050. A ton of interference in that location. Can’t tell if that’s because of a sandstorm or something else. I can put together a work-around, but it’s going to take time. A few hours probably.”

  “We don’t have a few hours.” I type in a quick message to Coy to let her know what I’m thinking, and her response is immediate: Are you bloody well kidding me, Farshot?

  “Get yourself strapped in, Hell Monkey,” I say, buckling my harness on and cracking my knuckles. “Edgar Voles is absurdly smart, but we’ve got one distinct advantage over him.”

  Hell Monkey sighs, but he’s got a grin starting to stretch across his face. “And what’s that, Captain?”

  I wrap my hands around the Vagabond’s manual controls. “No godsdamned sense of self-preservation.”

  And then I rev the engines and punch it for the storm-covered surface.

  CROWNCHASERS CONVERGE ON DEONI

  Latest development marks the return of Farshot and a growing lead in the polls for Coyenne

  VOLES VISIBLE FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE CHASE BEGAN

  Ardent crownchase watchers spotted signs of his worldcruiser in Deoni orbit hours before other chasers arrived

  JENNA MEGA: “WHERE IS OUR JUSTICE?”

  The Mega family matriarch releases an impassioned statement as the investigation into her son’s death seemingly goes dark

  ROY FAMILY REACTS TO HEIR’S STEADY SUCCESS

  Insiders say the family sees Setter’s position at the top of the polls as a good sign that public opinion on the Roys has shifted since the end of the Twenty-Five-Year War

  DEONI, STANDARD ORBIT

  IF ONLY EVERY CLUE TO THE CROWNCHASE HAD BEEN like the latest one.

  As soon as Edgar Voles saw the string of numbers via the spider implanted on Nathalia Coyenne’s ship, he and NL7 had processed possibilities, narrowed them down, and figured it all out. Well before any of the others. Which only served to reinforce what he already knew: he was better equipped than they were for the throne. He deserved to hold the seal. He ought to be at the top of any leaderboard.

  But that’s okay. All the clues and challenges are unnecessary noise. What matters is who is standing at the end, holding the seal. That is the fixed point that Edgar keeps his eyes on.

  He’d been in orbit around Deoni for several hours before Faroshti had arrived. Never able to make a quiet entrance, that one. She had blared across his comms, completely distracting, especially when he was concentrating so hard on completing the last stage of his plans. Then the other one—Coyenne—had shown up, and logic dictated that the remaining two were sure to follow in short order. It was all very abrasive to have his space invaded by these new parties when he’d had all this quiet time to work.

  They’ve arrived too late to be a true disruption, though. He’s put what he wants into place already, an added challenge for the remaining contestants who are so eager to run every tightrope set in front of them. There is, after all, no rule against laying additional impediments in the paths of your fellow competitors. Something to trip them up. Maybe make them stumble.

  He needs to wait on only one more result from the planet surface before he can leave orbit and put everyone behind him.

  NL7 monitors the display. “The final probe is approaching the perimeter. Estimated time to interaction: four minutes, fifty-four seconds.”

  “Thank you, NL7. Prepare to jump to hyperlight on my mark.” Edgar sends a secure transmission to his new ally and then leans back in his chair.

  Such a small amount of time to wait in the grand scheme of things. . . .

  ONE YEAR AGO . . .

  VOLES ENTERPRISES HEADQUARTERS, HELIX

  IT TAKES THIRTY STEPS FOR ME TO WALK ACROSS this lobby. About a hundred steps to walk all the way around the edges. And only about five minutes of pacing before I start to irritate the receptionist.

  That’s fine. We can both be irritated together.

  Hell Monkey and I are supposed to be well on our way to Rhydin IV, but I got an urgent request from Dr. Wesley to make a quick stop here and pick up an item that William Voles had contacted her about. Some sort of family artifact he’s requesting be analyzed in exchange for a big research donation. H.M. refused to set foot anywhere near Helix, so I’m here on my own, waiting and waiting for the senior Voles to acknowledge my presence.

  I’m on my twenty-sixth circuit of the lobby space when the main doors whoosh open and in walks Edgar Voles, with his favorite a
ndroid companion right beside him. He stops short when he sees me, visibly surprised.

  I wave at him. It’s very suave. “Hey, Edgar. How’s it hanging?”

  He flicks a glance at the android and then straightens his shoulders. “Alyssa. It’s been a while.”

  Three years at least. I can’t quite remember when it was that his father stopped bringing him to the kingship for quarter-council weeks. The fact is, even when William Voles had brought Edgar along, he hadn’t let his son run around with the rest of us prime family kids. He’d always kept Edgar confined to their quarters or had him escorted around by strictly programmed nanny droids. And you don’t start anything with a nanny droid.

  “What are you doing here, Alyssa?” Edgar asks. The question is about as friendly as it sounds.

  “Explorers’ Society business. Your dad apparently wants our science folks to look at some heirloom? I’m just the messenger.”

  “Oh.” Edgar’s demeanor gets a bit less bristly. “Of course. Father is conducting business off-site, but I can get the item for you. Follow me.”

  I fall into step behind him and the android, and they lead me onto the high-speed lifts. Voles Enterprises is one of the tallest buildings on Helix, which is already known for its skyscrapers. William Voles’s office is on the very top floor, surrounded by soaring windows, and I swear I can see the curve of the planet from this high up.

  While Edgar goes to a safe concealed behind a bookshelf in the far corner, I wander over to a wall of display screens, trying to occupy myself so it doesn’t look like I’m snooping for the combination or anything. The screens all have various shots of design schematics and diagrams for an android model I haven’t seen before.

  “New project you’re working on?” I call over my shoulder.

  There’s a pause, and then Edgar says, “Oh, yes. That. Public suppression droids. They’re extremely promising.”

  I’m not sure promising is the word I’d use for it. Judging by the specs, these things would be built like tanks and tricked out with all kinds of gas canisters and electroshock attachments and other “nonlethal” weapons that can still do a hell of a lot of damage. “They look kinda brutal.”

  The safe door shuts, and I turn to see Edgar carrying a long, flat metal box over to his father’s desk. “They are designed to be quick and effective, yes,” he says dismissively. “For the containment and dispersal of unruly mobs. My father’s idea primarily, although he’s letting me assist in the refinement of the prototype.”

  The note of pride in his voice at that last part is hard to miss. “Working your way up, huh?”

  “Yes,” he says, and the cold intensity in his voice sends a little shiver down my spine. “That is the plan.”

  He punches a complex code into a panel on the metal box, and it pops open. He raises the lid just enough to stick his hand in and extract a smaller box, square this time, with the same kind of number pad on the top of it. “Here you are. My father already packaged it to prevent any unauthorized tampering.”

  He’s giving me a Very Significant Look, so I put on my biggest, most disarming smile. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t mess with the dusty relics—I just move them from point A to point B.”

  He doesn’t smile back. He just stares at me and then the door and then me again, and says, “I trust you can see yourself out.”

  “Yup, sure can.” I back away, shooting him a thumbs-up. “Great catching up, Edgar. Been a blast.”

  I can’t get out of the building fast enough.

  Thirty-Seven

  Stardate: 0.05.31 in the Year 4031

  Location: Getting my ass handed to me by a bunch of spinning sand clouds

  ABOUT TWO SECONDS AFTER THE INITIAL DESCENT, we hit the roiling wall of a sandstorm.

  About two seconds after that, I’m regretting my whole decision. I mean, seriously, what was I thinking? I’d rather ride another flame tsunami any day. At least that gives you some good visuals—liquid flames curling around and in front of you, all orange and red and white and blue. Riding a Deoni sandstorm is just as precarious, but instead you’re staring out at swirling, endless dark beige. My jaw throbs from clenching it so hard, and my arms and hands ache with the effort of trying to hold the Vagabond Quick on course.

  The wind roars over us. So many grains of sand pound into the ship’s outer hull that it sounds like we’re trapped in a tunnel of white noise.

  “Definitely got a signal now,” Hell Monkey calls over the barrage. “Beacon is dead ahead of us. Just hold it steady.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I growl. “No problem. This is easy stuff.”

  A gust of wind hits us hard on the port side, and we whirl, spinning aft to stern. I scramble to right us again, cursing loudly. Hell Monkey works frantically at the comms, trying to reset our course. Our sensors are freaking out all over the place, and I almost miss the big dark shape heading straight toward us in the murk. I jam the controls forward, swooping us down and out of the way at the last possible second as a massive creature drifts over us, keening as it rides the currents with apparently little concern for the violent winds.

  “Holy shit, Hell Monkey, it’s a storm whale! I’ve never seen—”

  “Any other time, Alyssa! Literally, any. Other. Time.”

  I wrench the Vagabond around, getting her nose pointed in the right direction again, angling northeast, trying to zigzag her bulk through this mess so we’re not bucking the winds the whole time.

  The ship shudders in a very disconcerting way.

  “Captain Farshot,” Rose says, her calm voice really at odds with the shit we’re dealing with here. “The thrusters are reaching critical energy expenditure. They can maintain the current output for only two more minutes.”

  Because that’s what I want. To be stuck in the middle of a Deoni sandstorm with no engine power left. That’s a quick way to get yourself spun like a top and then slammed into something big and immovable.

  “Hell Monkey, gun the sublight engines.”

  He shoots me a look. “It’s considered bad manners to flash your sublights in atmo.”

  “We’re kilometers above the surface, and everyone on the surface is bunkered down anyway. The Vagabond can take it. Give me one quick pulse, see if we can get clear of this mess.”

  “You’re the boss.” He hits the gas (so to speak), and we’re both rocked backward as the ship takes a sudden leap forward, a blaze of radiant energy coming off her engines.

  “Three-second hold!” I yell . . . and then I pray.

  One . . . It’s all whirling storm in front of us.

  Two . . . Still violent. Still sandy.

  Thre—

  We spin out into clear air, and Hell Monkey drops us back to thrusters immediately. There’s open sky above us, a slight haze over the sun but nothing else. Below is the brown, dynamic landscape of Deoni, being carved into new shapes by the storm activity, and behind us, a dark, swirling wall of sand.

  But it’s what’s ahead of us that’ll really knock your pants off.

  Hovering in the air are thousands of large oval-shaped devices, constructed of some kind of matte black alloy, each almost five meters in diameter. There are no lights on them, no sign of a power source save for thin interlocking beams of red light that connect them all together into an enormous, spherical laser web. The spaces between them look big enough to drive a worldcruiser through. Maybe even two side by side. It’s hard to tell.

  “What. The. Hell.”

  Hell Monkey works the touch screens on the conn, running sensor sweeps and frowning and shaking his head at the readout. “This is definitely where the beacon is. I’m getting a reading on it, but it’s somewhere inside all that.”

  I rub at the furrow that feels like it’s permanently imbedding into my forehead. “Why didn’t we pick up any of this—whatever this is? There’s so many of them and the storm is clear here. We should’ve picked up something.”

  “It’s not the storm blocking signals in there. It’s . . . what
ever the hell is inside it,” Hell Monkey grumbles. “I don’t know. These readings don’t make any sense.”

  Rose beeps a proximity alert, and Coy is on the comms a moment later. “Are you seeing this, Farshot?”

  “I’m seeing it,” I tell her. “And that’s about all I got. If you’re feeling inspired, I’m open to it.”

  I can hear Drinn’s rolling-boulders voice overhead. “Captain, there’s something moving inside the field.”

  “Can you identify it?” Coy asks.

  “Oblong, about two meters in length—about the same size and shape of a standard-sized probe. It’s approaching the massive energy signature in the center of the sphere.”

  “I see it too,” Hell Monkey confirms. “It’s weird. Got some kind of modified exterior. Like a crystalline structure. I’m not getting much more than that. It—” He sits back. “It’s gone. Hit that big energy field in the middle and just disappeared.”

  Drinn speaks up again. “Captain, I just got a notification from our orbital sensor. Edgar Voles is leaving orbit and preparing for hyperlight. And two new worldcruiser signatures are being detected approaching the system.”

  “Orso and Roy.” Coy sighs. “Our head start is quickly disappearing.”

  I scowl at the sphere filling our windows. “We never had a head start on this one. Edgar Voles was way ahead of us.”

  Hell Monkey raises his eyebrows. “You think he did this?”

  Yes, I do. But that’s entirely a gut instinct and not something I have solid evidence for. It seems impossible that someone would be able to construct something like this and not have it take days, but I wouldn’t put it past a Voles. Not for a second.

  “I think he’s been off the radar for a while, and he’s smart as hell.” I pull up our specs, inputting coordinates as I type. “Rose, prep two of our standard probes and launch them toward the center of that sphere.”

  “Understood, Captain Farshot. Launching in three . . . two . . . one . . .”

  They shoot forward, twin trails of green light streaking through the gloomy sky. For just a moment, as they close in on the perimeter of the sphere, I think maybe I’m wrong, that it isn’t what it looks like.