After a few hours of node hopping, hiding from mercenary trade route protectors, and breaking into a guarded space station to deliver his goods, he landed safely back on Rhime, completing his mission. He pulled off the sweat-soaked equipment linking him to the game and tossed it to the side. “Damn.” He’d taken a few hits to one of his thrusters, and the repair costs would wipe out his profit. “That was so unfair.”
Jason left the simulator, grabbed a drink, and stuffed the note into his pocket. Already late for dinner, homework would have to wait. Heading to the dining room, he jogged through the palace. First leaving his wing, which was professionally decorated with a mixture of shiny modern art from around Rhime along with a few suitable teenage pop culture selections, then to the family area with a more somber appearance. Museum-quality antiques from planets all over the Nexus. Servants lowered themselves as he passed — a few let out murmured greetings as his tall runner’s body flew down the hall.
Turning the last corner, he ran straight into a mass of metal, plastic, and rubber. He bounced off and flopped to the ground. A body that was more immovable object than person hovered over him.
“Sorry.” Hopefully, his mistake wouldn’t be enough to send his father into one of his tirades.
Dressed in a trim gray suit, Jason Sr. stared at him for a moment with steel-blue eyes. The Emperor’s body was human in shape, if oversized, but nobody would mistake it for flesh. The intimidating-size was completely intentional. Pupils that were obviously camera lenses shifted into focus.
“You’re late.” He offered a hand to help Jason stand.
Jason didn’t trust the overture. Ignoring the aid, he hopped to his feet. “I know. I lost track of time.”
His father’s head bounced up and down in an imitation of a nod. “Have you seen your uncle?”
“Not since this afternoon. Isn’t he joining us for dinner?” Jason tried to peer around his father’s bulk but was unable to see inside the dining hall.
“It appears not.” His father gestured to the room. “Go ahead and eat. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.” Jason started to move, but his father placed a firm hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t painful, just inhumanly heavy — another dip into the uncanny valley of his father’s bizarre form. “He tells me you’re getting a break. Perhaps you need to go back to full-time tutors.”
Shocked, Jason flinched back. “Why? What’s wrong with Uncle Martin?” The man had taught him everything in life. They were rarely separated. At times, his humor was the only thing that kept Jason sane.
“Nothing’s wrong with Martin.” Rubberized lips turned into a smile. “You deserve the best, and if he doesn’t have enough time for your education, other options are available.” The smile disappeared. “Besides, your uncle has other duties he should focus on right now, including a business trip.”
Jason’s heart sunk. He hated the times Martin had to leave. “Will he be gone long this time?”
A gesture that could loosely be described as a shrug flexed his father’s form. “Probably. I’m sending him to Renick.”
“Great,” he said with a sarcasm only a teenager could infuse into a single word. The last time his uncle went to the asteroid mining platform, it was a six-month trip. Was this normal business or punishment? It was an uncomfortable thought with several notable company employees missing along with the mysterious issues. “What’s so important on Renick?”
“It’s not what’s happening on the platform. I’ve received some reports concerning Serigala activity in the area. They’re getting a little too close to our interests.”
“Hmm.” Jason snorted out with a grunt. “I thought you were comfortable getting into bed with them.” Jason shoved around his father and went to the table — a grand piece meant to seat a couple dozen guests.
The comm his father had been holding cracked under a closing fist. “Don’t be snotty with me, boy.” The tank of a body clomped down the corridor and something, probably a very old and fragile something, shattered.
Jason mouthed “Don’t be snotty” as he picked up his knife and fork. He was halfway through the meal before remembering the note. Pulling it out, he read. It was a list of Imperial Security-approved resorts. At the bottom, written in Martin’s tiny and haphazard scrawl, it said, “Changed my mind. Go today.”
Today had already turned to evening, and there would be no making plans at this late hour. Frowning at the mysterious words, the note crumpled in his hand. Another secret in a life full of secrets. What was his uncle up to? Jason leaned back in his chair and gathered his focus. He reached his mind out for his uncle to bring him into the Mirre. Martin. Show me asking Martin to explain his note. A tingling numbness swept over his body, taking him to his uncle’s location and the newly-formed duplicate.
Standing in the corner of Martin’s dimly-lit room, a shadowed form hovered over the bed. It was an odd thing to see in the Mirre. Only people he wasn’t focused on showed up in this manner.
“Uncle, what is this about leaving today? Are you arguing with my father?”
As soon as he said the word “father,” the form snapped into clarity. Jason Sr. loomed over the bed looking at him with a grim stare, his massive arm covered in blood. On the bed, Martin lay curled into a gory broken mass.
“Why aren’t you at dinner?” His father’s voice spewed out in a snarl.
Horrified, Jason choked out, “What have you done?” He looked on in terror as his father moved faster than he ever imagined possible.
The senior Jason crossed the room in a flash. “You shouldn’t have come in here.” The punch landed to — no, the punch landed into his gut and then out his spine.
Jason jerked back to reality, clutching his stomach. Even though he was uninjured, he could still feel the punch. How could his father do such a thing? He’d gone too far this time. Dead. Martin was dead. Tears spilled from his eyes in rivulets of pain as he rocked back and forth in the chair for what seemed like hours.
His father would have no memory of Jason being in the room. That part hadn’t been real. But still, his father was probably cleaning up his foul mess right now. Jason began to shake while thinking about the punch. Never before had Jason feared for his life around his father. But now… Now, Jason Sr. seemed to have gone completely over the edge. He was absolutely mad. Insane.
Who would stop him if he rampaged through the palace, slaughtering everyone? Jason had to leave the palace — maybe the planet. Anyplace but here. He swung to his feet and ran back to his suite.
He switched out of his daily wear, which while it couldn’t be considered formal, its impeccably tailored appearance and imperial logo on the collars would make him stand out in a crowd. Throwing together an outfit more suited for wandering the city, a plain loose-fitting pullover with equally plain pants, he tossed a few extra sets of clothes into a bag and left his rooms.
Although he didn’t live like a prisoner, well-guarded was the best description. In the rear of the compound stood the family’s private housing. Four-stories of brick, balconies, and impressive windows looking out to the interior grounds on one side and a lake on the other. A right turn would lead to the water. He considered taking one of the small boats but dismissed it as hard to explain if a patrol wandered nearby. He turned left instead.
The palace grounds were designed in a fortress-like format: four long and somewhat thin buildings arranged in a box surrounding several acres of manicured land filled with fountains, trees, gardens, and gazebos. As an added old-world touch, the three outer sides of the property included a moat. Perhaps moat was an overstatement, but that’s how Jason always thought of the retention pond/drainage ditch that aided Rhime’s frequent deluges of rain to flow toward the lake.
A guard wandered the small stage set up for a weekend performance. Jason gave the woman a casual wave and strode past her with a feigned nonchalance. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be nosey enough to question why he carried a bag. Along the sides of the grounds were taller austere structures — the ma
in offices of Shabin the company.
After crossing the grounds unchallenged, he entered the government building. It faced the city and was a five-story grand columned affair with massive stairs leading from the gate on the street to the entrance. It took its distinctive architecture from the ancient Greek variety; although the material appeared like gleaming white marble, it was made from a local synthetic.
Inside the building stood the main seat of the Imperial government. He crossed a narrow hallway to exit on the opposite side. The doors required him to place his hand on a scanner to allow passage, and he felt a twinge of anxiety each time he was required to do so. Since the doors continued to unlock, he could only assume his father was still ignorant Jason knew something was amiss.
Unfortunately, his last step of getting away from the palace took the form of at least one human guard. He knew them all; some were militant in their duties, others more practical, along with a couple who were long past caring. Rhime had always been a peaceful world, and whether it was through strict control or peasants kept happy, there’d never been any sort of uprising. Corporate secrets were their main concern.
Three gates broke up the four-meter tall wall on the city side of the palace, but at this time of night, only one would be available to use. Keeping himself partially hidden by a column, Jason looked down the steps that gleamed white even in the nighttime illumination of street lights. He let out a long, relieved breath at the sight of Corporal Stringer at the guard station. Charlie was only a few years older than himself and while not a friend, the two had always been friendly to each other. The man sat on a stool hunched over a comm, distractedly tapping away.
Jason pulled back and found a shadowed alcove. He silently placed his bag on the ground and sat next to it with his legs crossed. Charlie shouldn’t be a problem, but it was always best to check first.
Charlie Stringer. Guard gate. Start here. Reality broke away as the Mirre took hold of him. He could’ve popped himself in front of the simulated Corporal, but while fun, it would lose the realistic feeling for the guard, leaving him confused and possibly suspicious.
Inside the illusion, he returned to his feet. Jason slung his bag over his shoulder, kept his chin held high, and nonchalantly descended the stairs. His footsteps were enough to alert Corporal Stringer and tear him away from whatever game or reading material consumed his attention. Jumping off the stool, Charlie made a brief inspection of his Imperial Guard’s uniform, smoothed his jacket, and saluted Jason. Only palace servants or those meeting the Emperor during certain official gatherings were required to prostrate. For most occasions, a formal bow was sufficient to stroke his father’s ego, and as a nod to security issues, on-duty guards only saluted so they didn’t have to divert their eyes away from their activities.
Charlie’s dark hair was a little past regulation and his boyish expression belied the depths of his imperial training. These men were supposed to be among the best in the service. Trained to defend and kill without compunction. Jason had seen them go from friendly banter to weapon incarnate in a flash when something threatened their liege. Or at least, their liege’s profit margin.
Jason returned the salute with something close to a wave near his forehead. “Hi, Charlie. You draw night shift again?”
Fake Charlie’s lips tightened for a moment, probably deciding if it was worth complaining to his prince. The Corporal took the middle of the road. “Evening, Prince Jason. I don’t mind getting the occasional night shift, but as one of the lowest in the guard, I seem to get all the weekends.”
Jason returned a sympathetic smile. “I suppose I could intervene for you, but I doubt it would help you get along with your fellows.”
“Nah. Think nothing of it.” He waved the offer away. “If I ever come to you for a favor it won’t be for something so petty. My time will come.” The Corporal’s eyes ran a quick glance over Jason’s bag.
“Well, let me know if you ever need anything. Open her up, Charlie.” He wasn’t planning on offering any explanations unless asked.
Illusionary Charlie scratched his nose. “No problem, sir. Let me just call you down a driver and escort.” His hand moved to his comm.
Jason’s arm shot out and gripped Charlie’s wrist. “Wait.” He gave a few exaggerated glances around. “I’m just walking down to my Aunt’s place. My cousin Alex and I are going out tonight.” He looked at his shoes and tried to sound embarrassed. Hesitating for a moment and kicking his toe into the ground, he said conspiratorially, “We’re planning on meeting up with a few girls, and I’d rather not have uniformed guards causing distractions.”
Like most of Jason’s bizarre family tree, his Aunt Rose was no more aunt than her son was his cousin. However, within the strange mixture of purchased eggs and various sperm samples, among other things, most of his family members were called aunts, uncles, or cousins depending on the generation they stemmed along the family tree, along with several grands and even great-grands hanging around. Of course, there were also multiple people who ended up with families and children in the normal way.
“Got some ladies to meet, eh?” Pseudo Charlie smirked and wiggled his eyebrows up and down a few times.
“Hopefully.” Jason kicked the ground again and added sheepishly, “If Alex isn’t lying again.”
“You gonna be back before my shift ends?”
A wave of guilt hit Jason. Charlie would end up with far worse than weekend night shifts when Emperor Android found out. He’d need to think this through before doing it for real. Affixing a cheery smile, he said, “Be back before sunrise.”
The Corporal stared at Jason for a moment then shrugged. “Well, I can’t very well stop you.” He opened his hand and gestured to the access panel. “You mind using your own palm to unlock the gate? I’d rather my hand wasn’t on the record.”
Jason let the Mirre fall away and returned to his darkened alcove. He sat shivering in the cold for a few minutes, building his nerve to go through the same motions in the real world. Getting Charlie in trouble wasn't in his plans, but eventually, he convinced himself he was out of options, and time rapidly ticked away. Jason could be headed for death if he stayed. At least Charlie was armed and could defend himself if necessary. It was a lame excuse, and Jason knew it. Screwing up his courage, he stood and strode down the steps.
Chapter Three
Shabin City was on the crisp edge between winter and spring, which made using a jacket hood to hide his identity less conspicuous. Jason scampered through the crowded shuttle port, fighting his training to hold his head high. Incoming travelers looked rumpled and exhausted while outgoing ones seemed only excited to get to wherever they were going. Families hugged, parting lovers kissed, business people ignored them all.
Ever since his father had switched his brain into the new construct, Jason Jr. had become the face of the company — if not the power. It wasn’t good public relations to have a biomechanical android in the photos. As long as he stayed on Rhime, he’d be recognized by almost everyone. You couldn’t spend money on the planet without seeing his image on the currency.
In his game, he’d played at being a pilot, a thief, and a smuggler. It was time to try it for real. Crossing through the public passenger section, he passed a food court and went down a corridor toward one of his father’s cargo bays. Guards stood with stoic expressions at the gate. Jason kept his head lowered as he stepped up and placed his all-access pass imperial palm on the scanner. With a beep, a click, and a green light, he was through the door. Worried about anyone pursuing him, the timer in his head switched on. He might have the ability to get through any computerized lock on the planet, but his name would show up in the records. Once his father knew he was gone, he’d send people to track him down.
He forced himself to walk calmly through the cargo bay while rubbery legs quivered with each step. Robotic drones weaved around the bay in their endless work, towing ships in and out of the bays, loading cargo, refueling, and a variety of maintenance duties. He passe
d a few men packing a Fanier with crates. He doubted he’d be able to pilot one of those. He needed to find something made by Greyson Industries if he wanted to have a chance at understanding the controls.
Two planetary shuttles and one massive long-range Pemberton later, he found what he was looking for — a medium sized Greyson cargo vessel. It was an older CRC model, but the controls should be familiar to him. It was sealed up tight, and there was nobody in sight when he ran to the passenger entrance. With one last furtive glance around, he placed his hand on the panel and let out a relieved sigh when the door sprung open.
On his first inhalation inside the ship, he could feel the age. Air recycled millions of times held onto the scent of old metal, electronics, and human effluence. He wound his way through a couple of decks, including three wrong turns, before he found the bridge. The room was smaller than the mockup in the palace and at the same time held far more equipment, including an extra chair meant for a co-pilot. Monitors, gauges, and flickering lights covered every part of the walls.
With an excited “woot,” he dove for the pilot’s chair and fumbled over the controls. Some he recognized right away: boosters. directional thrusters, communications, external beacon lights. There were more controls that were unfamiliar together with old-style manual overrides in the event of an emergency. It didn’t matter. There had to be a computer-aided guidance system. He flipped a switch marked AI. The computer chimed, and a welcome screen turned on, flashing through its preflight checklist.
A throat cleared behind him, and Jason’s hand froze, hovering over his next guess.
“What are you doing on my ship?” The voice was a light alto, but it still spoke with a firm menace.
Jason swiveled in the chair. Standing at the entrance was an unusually short woman. Skin a dark chocolate. Hair braided to the waist. Her hand gripped tight to a nervion gun, a vile weapon that directed kelleron particles and too often left a person alive, but with a brain about as functional as a cabbage.
Shabin- The Reluctant Prince of Rhime Page 2