Compete

by Vera Nazarian

  “Hey, of course,” I say, somewhat flustered, and then I glance back at the others in my party, expecting all kinds of things.

  But no one is looking at me. Anu and Gennio have set the trunk down temporarily, and now they stand at the staircase leading to the open hatch of the shuttle, ceremoniously allowing Consul Denu to climb up the stairs ahead of them, followed by Kem.

  Without looking around, the Consul disappears into the shuttle, followed by his attendant.

  That’s when I open my mouth and say, “Guys, this is Logan, he is coming with us.”

  The two Aides turn around. Anu blinks, glances from me to Logan and frowns. “What?” he says. “He’s what?”

  Gennio just looks on with a slightly nervous expression.

  I take a step forward assertively, and pull Logan by the hand after me.

  “Hey,” Logan says to them with an easy smile. “I am Cadet Logan Sangre. I will be coming with you to ICS-2.”

  “You what?” Anu frowns and turns his head sideways, examining Logan.

  “Who exactly is this, Gwen?” Gennio says.

  And then Anu looks down and notices my hand holding Logan’s. “Oh,” he says while his brows rise. “Oh, hell no! This is your boyfriend, Earth girl! So that’s why you wanted to come along with us to the flagship? So you could see him? No way are we taking your boyfriend for a ride! And you, get lost, Cadet! Don’t you have some classes you should be in right now? I am reporting you to your commanding officer—”

  “Whoa! Hold it,” Logan says, putting up his hand with a very businesslike change of expression, going from easygoing to stone-hard in the span of a second. “I am going on an errand, and this has nothing to do with Gwen. You need to let me come with you, this is Fleet business.”

  “Oh yeah?” Anu continues looking sideways. “What kind of Fleet business? I was not informed of any kind of—”

  “Anu Vei.” To disguise my uncertainty and my nerves, I make my voice as firm as possible. “Enough. He is coming with us.” And then I turn to Gennio. “Look, I will vouch for Logan, he is an excellent and exemplary Candidate and now a Cadet, and he needs to see our CP. . . . Okay? This is important, no joke.”

  Gennio purses his lips. “Okay, Gwen, we were not told about this. I am sorry, but this is really not appropriate, I’m afraid. Unless we are ordered by the CP directly, we cannot just pick random people up on the shuttle.”

  I take a deep breath. “Understood,” I say. “But this is an exception. Please, just this once. At worst, you can blame it all on me. But you’ll see, the CP will approve this, I know. Trust me, okay?”

  “This is crazy,” Anu says. “I say, no.”

  “Hello?” In that moment Kem is back, peering at us from the doorway of the shuttle. “The Consul says to hurry up!”

  The Aides glance at him. “Tell the Consul we are coming!” Anu exclaims.

  “I don’t know.” Gennio looks at me then at Logan. “If maybe you can tell me what this is regarding? You say Fleet business, but what is it?”

  Logan trains his compelling hazel-eyed gaze upon the Atlantean boy. “It is, but I am not at liberty to speak to you about it. It is high-level and concerns your Command Pilot only.”

  Gennio bites his lip. “Can anyone verify this? Your commanding officer?”

  “Come on, let’s just go,” I say. “Consul Denu is waiting. And Logan’s just another passenger. I take full responsibility!”

  “All right,” Gennio says thoughtfully. “But I really don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to like it.” Holding on to the Consul’s box with one hand, I push Logan forward with the other, and we climb the staircase leading into the shuttle.

  Once on board, Logan eases up on the intensity and becomes his usual charming self. He also takes a seat strategically as far away from me as possible, on the other side of Gennio, while I end up seated in an end seat next to Kem.

  Consul Denu sits pompously in the seat right next to Anu’s main Pilot chair. The shuttle seats are all taken, except for one, and that last one becomes the repository for the Consul’s grand trunk.

  “Strap it in.” The Consul points one elegant claw-like finger with its long painted nail to the trunk in the end chair, and Gennio rises sadly from his co-pilot seat and pulls the trunk’s seat belt together and engages the harness around it. As he does this, Anu sits, rolling his eyes.

  “And who is this?” Now Consul Denu has noticed Logan, and is examining him with some suspicion.

  Logan gives him a confident smile, followed by a perfectly executed Atlantean salute, ending with his head in a slightly inclined position. “I am Cadet Logan Sangre. It is a privilege to share this shuttle with you.”

  “Very pretty posture, hmmm.” The Consul raises his chin at him, then brings it down in a faintest nod. “It is refreshing to see at least some Imperial Fleet Cadets who follow proper protocol on their second day.”

  And then Logan is ignored.

  Anu and Gennio start up the shuttle, and this time there is no pretense to engage me in the piloting process—they are too tired and stressed to bother.

  The hull sings the now familiar melody, we coast off the platform and enter the shuttle bay tunnel. This time, as we blast off, I don’t bother watching the view outside the window. Instead all my focused attention is on the two pilot consoles, the constant rapid flipping around of the four holo-grids, key functions, and the process of flying.

  We arrive back on ICS-2, and once more everyone gets to carry Consul Denu’s belongings. Even Logan volunteers, and gets handed a medium-sized ornate box.

  “Let the pretty Cadet take the Face Colors box. It is the least fragile,” the Consul says graciously.

  We walk from the shuttle, and past the usual guard station where we are stopped only briefly for scanning. Seeing the splendid figure of Consul Suval Denu, the Atlantean guards come to order, and rain salutes upon him as he sails by.

  A minor mishap happens, just as we are about to enter the closest shuttle bay exit corridor leading inside the ship. Kem and Logan walk behind us, bringing up the rear. It is unclear who runs into whom, and who drops what first, but I hear a minor crash behind us. I turn around, and there’s Logan’s box on the floor, lid off, and what seems to be a hundred small chalks or cosmetics sticks of various delicate colors rolling about all over the floor and under the feet of the guards.

  Logan cusses softly and squats down, starting to pick them up one at a time, while Kem is barely holding on to his two boxes of Scents, which are teetering in his grasp.

  “Oh, no!” I exclaim, and turn to help Kem get a better grip on his burden.

  Meanwhile we hear a horrified tenor exclamation behind us.

  Consul Suval Denu stops and raises both trembling hands before him. “Oh Gods! My Personal Art! What clumsy idiocy!”

  “Apologies, my lord!” Kem mutters, speaking for the first time in a faint high voice, “Oh, my greatest apologies!” As I help him hold on to his things, I doubt he is in any way at fault, but he seems to be used to taking the blame regardless.

  “It is all entirely my fault, Consul!” Logan says, looking up from the floor, his hands full of the crazy color-stick things. And they just keep falling through his fingers and rolling off, going under the feet of the nearby guards, rolling away in all directions.

  “No! Stop!” Consul Denu’s voice has risen in pitch so that he is screeching at the guards. “You, do not move your feet, you clumsy oafs! And you! Either stand still or carefully pick up! Move it! You three, pick up, now! Carefully! Gently!”

  And now four Atlantean guards join Logan on the floor chasing the paint sticks, bending over, colliding with each other, in absolute subservient chaos.

  The rest of us, Anu, Gennio, Kem and myself watch in horror. Logan looks up at us periodically, giving us pointed glances, and at some point stumbles backwards and crashes lightly into a guard, nearly bumping heads.

  It is so ridiculous, that any other time I would laugh—and I
’m sure so would Logan. But we have to keep our faces straight for the benefit of Consul Denu.

  When it is all done, and all the lost pieces are accounted for and back in their precious box, Logan picks it up and makes a show of hanging his head with guilt, then shakes his head sadly. “Once again, I am extremely sorry, but I believe everything is back safely. My sincere apologies.”

  The Consul gives him an incinerating glare. “I retract my good opinion of you, Cadet. You are far too clumsy and not worthy of Imperial service. Kem, take his box away immediately. Good thing it was not the Scents he dropped.”

  And with these words Consul Suval Denu turns his back and exits the shuttle bay.

  By the time we get back to Command Deck Two, the inner hub of the Blue Quadrant, Consul Denu announces that he is in no condition to be seen by the Imperial Lord—apparently that’s the proper Court designation for the Crown Prince, in other words, Aeson Kassiopei—instead, the Consul must rest and freshen up.

  And so we take the Consul to his temporary guest quarters here on our ship, which are in the VIP officers section, near the CP’s own quarters, in the corridor right around the corner from the main hallway and the CCO.

  While Anu and Gennio carry the Consul’s trunk and settle him in, I tell them that Logan and I must go directly to see the CP.

  And with that, we turn the corner and take a deep breath. Logan looks at me and I look at Logan, and we hold our lips in a tight line. Then both of us burst out laughing. But it’s only for a moment.

  “Wow!” I say. “That was stunning!”

  “Intense!” Logan says, wiggling one brow and grinning at me. He reaches out with his hand to sweep a stray lock of hair that’s gotten loose from my ponytail and got stuck to my slightly sticky forehead. His touch sends a pleasant tingle along my skin. As he does that, his fingers linger, and his expression grows serious.

  He starts to lean in closer to my lips, but I put my hand up against his hard chest and hiss at him with a half-smile, “Logan! Not here! Come on, let’s do this thing. Take care of your business.”

  He purses his lips regretfully, then nods, smiling at me again. “Okay, I’ll take a rain-check on that very yummy mouth of yours. Fine, are you ready? Let’s go see your CP.”

  “Right around the corner.” And as I say it, my pulse starts racing double time, in a combination of inexplicable uncertainty and stress.

  Did I do the right thing, bringing Logan here? I suddenly wonder.

  “You sure this is going to be okay?” I ask him, as these new doubts assail me, and we start walking.

  “Oh, yes,” he replies, and his face is composed.

  “You never told me how serious it is, what it’s really about?”

  “In a minute, you’ll see.”

  And we are at the doors of the CCO.

  The two guards are the same from last morning, so they know me. They give Logan only a brief look, while one guard calls the CP on his wrist comm. Apparently Command Pilot Kassiopei is in his office, otherwise they’d have just let us in without checking first.

  The doors open and I go inside, followed by Logan.

  Aeson Kassiopei is at his desk, and he barely glances up. However, as soon as he notices Logan enter right after me, his gaze focuses and suddenly he looks at us with his full attention.

  “Command Pilot Kassiopei,” I say, feeling my head pound. “I’m sorry for this somewhat unexpected thing, but—this is my friend Logan Sangre—Cadet Logan Sangre. And he has something very important to discuss with you. He came all the way from the flagship, and—”

  “What’s going on?” Aeson Kassiopei interrupts me, resting his hands on the surface of his desk. His voice is cool as he observes Logan and me.

  In that moment Logan steps forward past me, moving me off to the side with one gentle but firm hand. He then performs the formal salute in a crisp, businesslike manner, for the CP’s benefit.

  “With your permission, Command Pilot Kassiopei,” Logan says. “I have something very important for you.”

  And in the next moment Logan flicks his wrist and points a small but lethal Atlantean gun at Aeson Kassiopei.

  I cry out, while an instant wave of cold, horrible panic hits me in the gut. “Logan!”

  Meanwhile, Aeson has gone very still, and merely watches Logan with an unblinking serpent stare. His hands remain motionless, resting calmly on the surface of his desk.

  “Logan!” I scream again. “What are you doing?”

  But the two young men ignore me. Their deadly gazes remain locked on each other.

  “I can take you out with a single shot, right now,” Logan says quietly, calmly, like a demon.

  Aeson does not blink.

  There is a moment of impossible frozen time.

  And then Logan lowers the gun and flicks his wrist to put the weapon away, back into his sleeve, in a remarkable sleight-of-hand move. “Fortunately,” he says, “it is not why I am here at all.”

  “Fortunately for you,” Aeson Kassiopei tells him. And then he slowly lifts the palm of his own elegant hand from the surface of his desk, and I see a similarly discreet but lethal gun pointing at Logan. The micro-weapon is nearly flat, easy to conceal, and can be operated with one finger. I recall it’s called a needle-gun because it fires a series of tiny needle-like lasers close together in a line, forming a slicing “blade” of light.

  “I am pleased to not have to kill you today, Cadet Sangre,” he says casually, and then makes a similar subtle wrist-flip to put away his gun. He then sits back in his seat, a picture of infuriating and impossible composure. “Now. Tell me why you’re really here.”

  Logan seems to be impressed. He raises one brow and nods to acknowledge the unexpected stalemate. “Command Pilot, this was a necessary demonstration—”

  That’s when I exhale loudly in impossible relief. And now a wave of anger at Logan has flooded me. “Are you insane?” I exclaim. “What the hell did you just do? How dare you raise a weapon at him like that? And how do you even have a gun? My God! I brought you here on my good honest word—”

  But in that moment Aeson raises the palm of his hand to me, to signal silence.

  I shut up.

  “A demonstration,” Logan continues. “I needed to show you how relatively easy it is to pass through all your layers of security, procure a weapon and be in a position to threaten or assassinate even the highest officer on your ships.”

  Aeson Kassiopei watches him impassively. “And your point?”

  “My point,” Logan says seriously, “is that I have been given real information that there is going to be a high-level hostage situation involving all the Imperial Command Ships. And it’s going to happen within the next few days and possibly as early as in the next few hours.”

  “Go on.” Aeson’s expression is unreadable.

  Logan takes a step forward and points to a chair before the desk. “May I?”

  “Sit.”

  He sits down slowly across from the Command Pilot, acting as a well-trained soldier who knows when not to make any drastic movements. “I am going to tell you something that puts me at cross-purposes with my own original orders. First, you need to know that I am a member of an Earth organization called Earth Union. We are not terrorists. Earth Union is sanctioned by the United States Government and the United Nations as a special operations task force to protect the interests of the planet Earth, in light of the present crisis.” He pauses to observe Kassiopei’s reaction. There is none.

  “We are mostly observers,” Logan continues. “However, we have also been trained to mobilize and act upon specific orders if we receive them. Let me be honest—our interests lie first and foremost with Earth. And the joint governments have tasked us with ensuring that certain arrangements between Earth and Atlantis authorities are carried out as agreed.”

  “Arrangements?” Aeson speaks for the first time. “Elaborate.”

  Logan puts his fingers on the surface of the desk and taps them lightly against the smoo
th polish. “I am aware that the Imperator has made specific promises to Earth governments—promises in regards to rescue, use of Earth resources, and the asteroid itself.”

  “And what are these promises?”

  Logan makes a small sound. “I would think you are familiar with it. Because, with my low clearance level, I’m not. I have not been briefed on the fine details, only that the clandestine arrangement exists. In short, I know that there is a standing promise to rescue a much greater portion of the population than just the Qualified teenagers. Also, that in exchange for a percentage of Earth’s natural resources and mining rights, the asteroid impact will be lessened significantly, so that there will not be an Extinction Level Event, but a survivable situation.”

  Aeson Kassiopei sits up in his chair and moves forward, closer to Logan, as they face each other across the desk.

  “This so-called intelligence,” he says. “How do you have it? Who on the Atlantean side has supplied you with it?”

  “I may not reveal this information—yet.”

  Aeson’s lips move into the faintest shadow of a smile. “How convenient. You have told me nothing specific, but enough to have you incarcerated for plotting and treason against Atlantis.”

  “I am not done,” Logan replies. “Please allow me to continue.”

  Aeson’s expression, as he remains leaning forward, is terrifying. “I am waiting.”

  Logan nods and his fingers continue to lightly sweep the desk. “I realize, Command Pilot, that you may not want to reveal to me your own level of involvement, and I do not expect any less from you. However, this is what must be shared. My fellow Earth Union operatives and I have been planted in the Fleet, and all subtle measures have been taken to place us in the most key positions possible. We are on each of the four Imperial Command Ships. And we have been ordered to prepare to make our move before the Fleet leaves the solar system.”