Inalienable: Book 7 of the Starstruck saga

by S E Anderson

  “She has nothing.” They fell back down onto the small table, lying flat as their hair practically deflated.

  “Hello, up there!”

  A voice came from down in the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of an assault rifle firing, quite literally cutting me off mid-sentence. Well, that was exciting. I slipped my fingers through the crack of the door and edged it open.

  “I’ve got a deal that will be of great benefit for the both of us, so come out, come out, wherever you are!”

  Out on the raised path, people started to rush by, confused, panicked. Predictably, one of the rebels came in, leading us hostages out in single file to the side of their leader, right above the stage where we had stood mere minutes before to pronounce the evening’s threats.

  Ah. There he was.

  Zander stood in the middle of the hall, rifle pointed straight at the ceiling, the other hand balanced lightly on his hip, a smirk plastered on his face as he looked up at the rebel’s leader with what seemed to be a child’s glee.

  “Hi,” he said politely, his voice carrying in the emptiness of the hall. “Guess who?”

  “Frash,” said the other woman hostage. “You weren’t kidding. The Sand is frashing here.”

  Whatever the amoeba had been worried about must have happened because they lost all cohesion and became a puddle on the floor. Well, can’t say she didn’t warn us.

  Man, it was good to see him in one piece.

  “I’m guessing you probably know who I am. I mean, my mugshot’s been plastered across every billboard and television screen off and on for the past, oh, hundred years? Or are we going on two centuries now? Honestly, not the best photo of me there is, but back to business!”

  The leader leaned against the rail, eyes wide. Of course, he knew who the man below him was. Every single person in the Alliance knew by now. He probably wasn’t expecting him to be one of the party’s attendants. Oops.

  Unless he was one of the men who the storybook-man had helped plan this evening?

  “You want us dead. Now, I can live with that. I’ve been dead before, but there are some people here who have done nothing wrong, and you have no right to detain them. So, all I’m asking is that you let them all go. That’s it. Nobody gets hurt.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” the leader replied, taking the megaphone that was handed to him, moderately nervous as he spoke up to the most feared criminal this end of the cosmos. Infamy had its perks.

  “Would it help if I said please?” Zander grinned cheerfully, his confidence radiating from his entire being. He looked, for all intents and purposes, as if he was going to take off dancing, if it wasn’t for the dead bodies strewn about the floor.

  “Not in the slightest,” the rebel replied, gaining confidence as he spoke. “Sorry,” he added, more like an afterthought.

  “But what is it all for?” Zander asked, his face suddenly turning serious. “I mean, blowing up the party of the century is not something someone does for any old reason.”

  “That was just a pleasant coincidence,” the leader cried, his followers raising their weapons high, cheering and chanting. “They killed the president—or should I say, the emperor—but we’re the ones who’ll ensure the Alliance will fall!”

  The rebels shrieked in celebration, firing their weapons at the ceiling, huge chunks of the painted ceiling fresco falling to the ground around Zander.

  “It won’t!” Zander exclaimed, as a stern woman came to join him in the middle of the hall. “Because of her! Guess who?”

  He waited, but no one replied. He shrugged, taking the woman’s hand.

  “Or are you tired of guessing games? The president’s wife is here! Or should I say, the president’s widow? That’s right, you just murdered the love of this woman’s life!”

  His words didn’t seem to have the effect on them that he had anticipated. The rebels stared at him blankly, not registering what he was saying. He continued.

  “Yes, the president’s wife was in attendance today! I can bet my life’s savings that you didn’t expect that, huh?”

  “What, you think we care?” the rebel commander asked.

  “And, as you know, proclamation 67943 of the Alliance treaties states that when the president is assassinated, his wife automatically takes on the role of leading the people unless their child is of age. That’s right, Madame President is standing right here!”

  “You’re making that up,” the leader hissed.

  “Look it up! Law 67943 states that when the president dies, his wife and his heir take on the role of leading the Allied planets.”

  “I’ve worked in the Alliance Archives on Pyrina on the suspended islands. I’ve read the articles of the Alliance, and they do say that the president is replaced with his heir, but the wife is never mentioned.” He grinned, as if to say “checkmate.”

  Zander shrugged, obviously not fazed by this argument.

  “Well, yes, it was a clever lie. But guess what? She’s not the only innocent one here today! No, and are you ready for the bombshell? The president’s consort is pregnant! That’s right. She’s preggers, everyone!”

  This time, he got no immediate response. All assembled stared at him with their jaws hanging on the floor.

  “Isn’t anyone going to congratulate her? The president has an heir! The heir is—” he struggled for words at this point, randomly pointing at the woman’s belly—“can I say floating in amniotic fluid?”

  The consort slapped him clear across the face, not that it ever bothered him.

  “Well, technically, he’s right” —he waved his hands around—“right here. The president’s heir is alive, and he has done you no wrong. Are you going to tell me that you’re going to kill him as well? How would the people you are rebelling for react?”

  The rebels looked at each other in disbelief. None seemed to know how to react to the sequence of events that had just presented themselves before them. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the leader spoke up, his voice low and shaken.

  “And how do we know this is not another one of your lies?”

  “Just look at her!” he proclaimed. “Isn’t that a beautiful baby belly?”

  The woman by his side snarled at him quickly but returned to smiling at the rebels, grinning broadly as she blushed, rubbing both hands over her belly in a peculiar, loving way.

  “Now, you don’t want to go assassinating a woman and her unborn child. No, that would tarnish your good name as liberators of the citizens. Imagine the scandal. The horror. How much credibility would you have? You’d be written down as rebels on the spot. So, what to do? What to do?” He paused, waving his arms to show the enormity of the situation. He grinned, and I could almost imagine the raised eyebrows his sister had put on him still there, a villainous look on his otherwise charming face.

  “I’ll tell you what to do. I’ve been speaking to the recent widow, and she has decided to give herself up in the name of justice, if you let us all go free. And when I say all of us, I mean all of us: me, my sister in the back, the survivors, your hostages. You can hold her hostage, whatever you want, if you let everyone else go free right now. Use her to control the government. Marry her and rule the Alliance before her child comes of age. You can make a lot of changes when you’re in charge. Good deal, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You have thirty minutes. Take it or I take you down. Oh, and Lady Glosilda, how goes the day?”

  “All is well, sir!” I replied, curtseying.

  “Oh, she knows him!” The amoeba—having somehow regained cohesion—behind me slapped me on the back, their voice high-pitched and scared.

  “You think it’s that easy, do you?” the leader asked, aiming his gun at my head. “Because I don’t give a reptilian’s tail for her. We’re here for a complete takeover. You take it or leave it. You go back and tell any of those little survivors you rounded up that the only option here is to hand themselves over or what happens to Lady Glosilda—”

  I d
idn’t hear the rest; the bullet slicing through my brain made it a bit difficult to follow. I felt my brain splatter out from behind me as I fell to the floor, losing consciousness on the way down.

  Ah, dead again. It felt like I had gone on a vacation, and now was back to work: get taken hostage, die a few times in the process; it’s all part of saving a few people. Or maybe an entire planetary Alliance. Oh well.

  I regained consciousness quickly, keeping myself in the corpse position—only yoga pose I was any good at—as the men prodded me with their boots, walking over me as they left the catwalk, laughing at a joke I never heard. I stayed on the floor, counting the seconds and calculated the amount of rose-flavored pasta cups I had eaten in the past week. I was not proud of the end result. Finally, I was certain they were gone. I got to my feet, struggling a little on the horrible shoes. Just to make things easier on myself, I should take them off. Easier said than done. The insane knots in the ribbons had only gotten tighter with time, making it harder for me to free my feet.

  How impolite, leaving a lady’s corpse in the middle of the walkway.

  I finally got to my feet, wiping the blood from my head with the back of my hand. The hall was empty, and all the hostages had gone back to the guard room, the watch keeping their eyes and guns on the main dance floor and Zander having left with Blayde by his side. The catwalk itself was empty at the moment, which was very lucky for me.

  Beep.

  A quiet, almost unmistakable bleep echoed through the hall. I turned my head around in a flash, trying to find where it came from.

  Beep.

  There it was again.

  Beep.

  BOOM.

  Rubble, debris, and what I was certain were bodily organs came flying out from one of the archways on the other side of the hall.

  Someone had tried to escape through one of the doors, and, as promised, it had blown.

  What an idiot, I thought to myself. That person could have survived. And yet there was another name to add to the victim list, probably a John Doe with his body in itty-bitty, blown-up pieces.

  Maybe–maybe it was a nameless hero. Sacrificing himself, so as to blow a wall open for others to escape through.

  Maybe something I could do if I weren’t stuck up here. Not that I was exactly stuck up here. There was only so much I could do.

  Rifle shots resonated through the hall, and I realized, my gut dropping, that the rebels had expected this. A sentry was watching now, guarding the new exit if there even was one.

  No one could escape.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The buffet, and other things I should have been paying attention to

  Zander

  “Does anyone have a shirt that is not covered in blood or belonging to the recently departed?”

  Blayde groaned as I stepped back into the coat check. In her eyes, this was just another excuse for me to rip off my shirt. But I hadn’t ripped it off. It’d blown to smithereens while I was testing the bombs. Spoiler alert: The rebels weren’t kidding.

  “Does anyone mind me stealing a coat? I promise I’ll give it back to the original owner when I’m done, if they’re still alive.” With too many wide eyes and dropped jaws, there wasn’t much help to be had, so I reached up for a coat instead.

  A small hand rose among the crowd. “I do!”

  “Shut up, Gen!” the red-dressed girl hushed.

  “Oh, Bells, come on.”

  “You four, if you don’t have anything useful to add to the situation, then keep those yappers zipped, okay?” Blayde’s commanding voice was not one to argue with, so they obeyed. Even I hesitated before pulling out the green coat I had found that appeared to be my size. It was as if someone had shot and skinned an exotic plant and wore it as a trophy. Except that the plant was somehow still breathing. I put it back on the rack.

  “Do not disturb the sleeping coats,” said Gen. “I’m not kidding. Most Uppers are tired of the populace even touching their coats, so they’ve bred them to be fiercely loyal. You would know that if you were actually from high society.”

  “I do know that,” I replied. “Which is why I haven’t been bitten yet. Now, will you excuse me? I do have an image to uphold.”

  I pulled a purple coat off the rack, and despite it being inert and my size, it was terribly outdated. I cringed and put it back on the shelf. It wasn’t doing its real owner any favors.

  “We’re trying to stay alive, not win a fashion award,” Blayde hissed.

  “It’s still a gala.”

  She got up, ripped a red and gold doohickey off the shelf, and tossed it at me. The coat hissed, but it must have been old and moderately senile because it let me put it on. I did up the shiny buttons and smoothed the collar around my neck. That would do.

  “Now. Are you going to put on pants?” asked Blayde.

  “They’re fine, aren’t they? I’m covered in all the areas that bother people.”

  “Knees are totally out this season,” said Gen.

  “Could someone tell me what’s going on?” said the human woman. “Why is the Sand not wearing a shirt, and why are his pants ripped or singed or whatever?”

  “Can you please stop with that name?” I said. “I went to check up on the doors. The rebels weren’t bluffing. It totally blew. “

  “You …” She blinked repeatedly.

  “Touched the doorknob, and the door blew up. Clothes don’t repair themselves, but I do.”

  “So, you blew up along with it?”

  “Um, yeah.” I paused, running my tongue over my fresh set of teeth. Worst part about exploding was that everything in the newly regrown mouth both felt and tasted like gasoline that was told it would be a cocktail when it grows up. “I just hate new teeth. If I sound funny, it’s just because I’m wearing them in. You got that?”

  Our small group of survivors nodded in unison.

  “So, you literally blew up?” asked the woman.

  “Yup.”

  “And then grew back from scratch?”

  “Don’t worry too much about it. It happens,” said Blayde, running her hands through her hair. She was still dressed in her terrible facsimile of the royal consort, baby bump and all. Could not have been comfortable. “So, does this give us an exit or not?”

  I shook my head. “Unfortunately not. The bombs are rigged to blow up anyone attempting to leave, not the actual door holding us in. We’re trapped.”

  She glanced down the hallway. “The rebels have a clear vantage point on the outside. They must be keeping the security away. I heard some shots earlier. I can assume it came from over there.”

  “This is impossible,” the older man said, obviously shaken. “Alliance security is comprised of the highest trained men in the known universe. How can they be overpowered so easily?”

  “Because they’ve never actually had to deal with a real uprising,” I said. “Not so close to home. They assume that rebels don’t want to harm innocents. But these rebels don’t care, and they are not taking any chances when it comes to getting their way, whatever that is. Motivations are unclear at this point. All this to say, even the Alliance’s best can’t go up against them because they haven’t been trained to deal with real threats. These rebels literally care for a cause more than their own lives; your men have never made that commitment. To them, guarding the Alliance is all standing around looking smart.” I hate having all these empty looks. These speeches were wasted on shell-shocked survivors in a cupboard. “Sorry. We’ll get you out of here; we promise. Every single one of you. We still have about 30 minutes before they blow the place. That’s twenty minutes of sensible action, and ten minutes for a last-minute panic, if it comes to that. All you have to do is stay here and do what we tell you to. We’re going to need you to trust us. Can you do that?”

  “Do it for the baby?” asked Blayde, warbling her voice.

  I would have punched her if it weren’t for the baby. “But seriously, can you?”

  The old man nodded. “It’s t
he best chance we have.”

  “I’m all for it,” the human woman agreed.

  “We’re already dead,” said the waiter.

  “I’ll do anything you like.” Gen smirked, with a wink.

  The others just nodded. I liked them the best.

  “Now, what are you good at? What are your jobs on the outside?” Zander asked.

  “Journalist,” said the woman.

  “Minister of transport,” the senior muttered.

  “Really?” Zander’s eyes widened. “Ouch. I’m so sorry about the Pyrinian AI kerfuffle. I swear I’m not behind it.”

  “We’ll have time for that later,” the minister said, rising to his feet. “I can shoot, but my eyesight isn’t what it once was. My operation is scheduled for next week. Ironic, isn’t it? If I stay alive, I get better eyesight. If I die because of my horrible eyes, I’ll never be able to get them fixed.”

  “Maybe more apropos than ironic.” Blayde turned to the four teens, a stern look on her face. “And you? Too young to be working age. What do your parents do?”

  “Daddy’s in charge of the marines.” Gen waved her face with her hand, still looking at me. This eye contact was drying out my pores.

  “Navy.”

  “Army.”

  “Fleet.”

  “Do any of you know how to use a gun?”

  They shook their heads.

  Blayde sighed. “Don’t think we have much chance.”

  “Of course, we do. We still have Sally, don’t we?”

  “Your friend, Lady Glosilda?” the minister asked. “But isn’t she … dead?”

  “Not for long.” I smiled. “She doesn’t die that easily.”

  “She’s like you?” he asked. “There are more of you?”

  “It’s complicated. Plus, it’s not like I can just tell everything to a minister of the Alliance. You guys really have it out for me.”

  “That we do.” The minister shrugged. “But it’s not like you make it easy for us to like you, either.”

  “We do our best to save the people. We don’t have to go apologizing for that. We don’t have to run around explaining everything we do and why we do it. We have had to come up against rather nasty things in our lives, things that would rip into your skull and haunt you forever in your nightmares, things that would chill your bones and never let them thaw. We’ve had to save entire planets from destruction, save civilizations from pulling themselves apart. The things we’ve seen would make you want to tear your eyes out. And yet we can’t. So, don’t tell me to apologize for what I’ve done.”