Shabin- The Reluctant Prince of Rhime

by Andrew Heister

  “No, you can’t. And you shouldn’t have to.” Her hand cupped his face. “You’re not normal, and eventually you’d resent living like the rest of us.”

  He kissed her belly. “I wouldn’t resent it. I think I—”

  She covered his mouth. “Don’t say it.” She pulled his head up to hers and kissed him. “We’ve known each other for less than two weeks. You’re fascinated with being out on your own and being around a woman who can think for herself.”

  He kept his nose close to hers. “Now who’s being unfair? You think everyone that’s crossed my path has been a vacuum-head? Just because the girls I’ve known have been rich or worked in the palace doesn’t mean they’re stupid.”

  Some of them had been quite adroit in their manipulations of him. There’d been a girl from one of the prominent families in the city who spent several weeks with him wrapped around her finger. Although, Ms. Preston, the head of the palace staff, had run her off fast when she caught them necking in the east parlor. Well, Jason had been twelve at the time, so Ms. Preston was probably right to stop them.

  “Let it go.” Running her fingers through his hair, Sparrow kissed him again. “When you’re ready to go home, you’ll forget all about me.”

  He couldn’t imagine that ever happening. “I.” He kissed her lips. “Could.” A kiss went to the tip of her nose. “Never.” Kiss between the eyes. “Forget.” Her neck. “You.” Back to her lips.

  Her eyes sparkled with a grin. “Okay, Prince Enthralling, knock it off.” But she didn’t pull away, and they clung together.

  “It’s Charming, not Enthralling.”

  Her head slowly nodded as they gazed into each other’s eyes. “Nope.” The P came out with a pop. “You have me enthralled in your vampire’s mind control.”

  “What’s a vampire?” he whispered.

  She broke into a smile that boiled his skin. “So, you don’t know everything.”

  Of course he didn’t know everything. He’d been floundering out of his element ever since he left Rhime. He was about to ask about the vampire thing again, but her eyes narrowed. “You know,” she said. “You seem a little too comfortable hanging on me with wandering hands and lips.”

  The accusation was clear, and he pulled away. “No. You aren’t the only one who can keep a promise.”

  Her lips twisted, and the familiar lip bite came again. “You make it tough. Maybe, I’m not really here. For all I know, I’m not even me. I could be one of your dream copies of Sparrow.”

  He held a hand over his heart. “I swear, no more Mirre with you. This is real.”

  She examined his face carefully. “Okay. I believe you.” She shrugged. “I have trust issues, I guess. I was thinking the other night about what you told me. If your power isn’t mind-control, how does having conversations with copies of people help your family with business?”

  “You’ve never had to negotiate prices with a company.” Jason leaned in and took a sip of her drink. “Imagine this — A salesman from, let’s say, Grayson Industries comes to you to sell you a fleet of ships.”

  “Okay.”

  “My father puts him in a room with a bunch of people, killing time with small talk. Meanwhile, he’s in the next room and links with a copy of the salesman. He negotiates a price of fifty-thousand IGC per ship.” Jason continued to wander a hand over her leg and was rewarded with a giggle when he found a ticklish spot.

  “That seems awfully cheap. The drinks are here.” She brushed his hand away and downed the last of her cocktail.

  Jason glanced over his shoulder. The robot was maneuvering back to them. “I’m just picking a random number. Anyway, then he leaves the Mirre, waits a second or two, and goes in again. He repeats the negotiation, only this time, he knows he can get the man down to fifty thousand, so he starts lower.”

  “Doesn’t the copy remember the first negotiation?”

  The little boat returned. Jason exchanged out her empty glass for a fresh one along with a drink for himself. “No, of course not. Every time we leave and re-enter it’s a new copy.”

  “So what happened to the old one?”

  Jason sipped. “What do you mean? It dissolves. Disappears. It wasn’t real, to begin with.”

  “But it could think, right? It was under the impression it was real. Does it feel itself dying?”

  She seemed horrified by the concept while he never gave it the slightest thought. “I have no idea. Look, the point is, he could repeat the negotiations over and over until he gets the salesman to agree to the lowest price possible along with throwing in a free hat. Then my father can go into the real meeting already knowing how far he can push things.” A spike of dread hit Jason in the chest. Why was he having this conversation with her? He told her they would only talk about this subject the one time.

  “Why would he want a hat?” Sparrow grinned at him for a moment, but it slipped away as she examined his face. “What’s wrong?”

  Was all of this real? Was he a fake Jason inside somebody else’s Mirre? He couldn’t function with this level of paranoia. If he kept this up, he’d be as crazy as his father.

  Deciding he was being silly, he kissed her again. “Nothing. I had a terrifying thought. Change the subject. Where do you want to go tonight?”

  Chapter Twelve

  After a night of excellent food and hideous dancing, they returned to the resort. Frustratingly, the worlds which separated them were far thicker than the hotel walls. They had adjoining rooms, but she’d yet to allow the door — both physical and otherwise — between them to open for more than a crack.

  Jason held her hand as they left the elevator and went to Sparrow’s room. “Last night here,” he hinted.

  “Yes, it is.” She pulled him into an embrace at the door. Their tongues mingled. With his arms wrapped around her, he gripped one of his wrists tight to keep himself from doing anything more. Her backless dress beckoned his hands to wander.

  “You sure you want this to end?” An overwhelming need consumed him. He ran a line of kisses and nibbles along her neck.

  She inhaled deeply and let it out in an extended sigh. “No, I don’t. I’d love to pull you into that room and rip off that suit, but I can’t.”

  Talk about mixed messages. Ripping off clothing sounded like a fantastic idea. The only time someone ever asked him to take off his clothes, the request came from stern-faced doctors back on Rhime, not beautiful women. She’d be a lot more fun — naked, legs wrapped around each other, mouths running over body parts, sweat, ecstasy. He cleared his throat. “Right. I’ll wear you down eventually.”

  Her palm went to the door, and the click of the lock signaling the end of the night sent a pang through his heart. “Maybe.” She left him standing in the hallway awkwardly uncomfortable.

  “Maybe,” he mouthed and went next door.

  Jason opened his room and stepped inside the darkened suite, removing his jacket as he walked. Flipping on the lights, and really, what kind of backwards society still used a manual light switch, a hand grabbed his tie and pulled hard, causing him to choke.

  A familiar voice spoke. “Hello, Jason.” He hadn’t been gone long enough to feel any homesickness for the Shabin City accent.

  His eyes widened at the man from Porter Station. The weapon he pointed at Jason was also disturbingly familiar. The second man kept Jason’s right arm twisted painfully back and up as he continued to cut off his breathing. He couldn’t believe these guys would follow him this far for money.

  “Bring him over here.” Mr. Gun gestured to a chair. The hireling holding Jason was much larger than the last thug. He forced him into a chair while keeping tension on the tie.

  Jason decided if he had a future, it would be one without ties. The other looming gentleman crouched to his level. “Now. If I instruct my friend here to let you breathe, will you stay quiet?” Jason made affirmative motions with his head. “Hmm. I’m not sure I should believe you, but keep in mind if your pilot friend comes running in here, it
will be the last room she enters.”

  The threat was enough to quell any thoughts of screaming. Jason gulped and continued to thrash his head up and down while the edges of his vision began to narrow. The pressure released, and his hand went to his throat, loosening the tie.

  “Good.” The man stood.

  “What are you doing here? I don’t have a lot of money on me.” It wasn’t even a lie. The bulk of his credit chips were back on the ship.

  While they talked, the man behind Jason strapped his limbs to the chair with painful restraints.

  “Jason, Jason, Jason.” The boss shook his head. “While I did appreciate your last donation since it kept me from having to charge this inconvenient side trip to my employer, I’m not here for money.” The man made it sound as if touching money was beneath him. He unzipped a black leather bag on the dresser and opened it, revealing an array of medical supplies.

  With dawning horror, he knew what they wanted. It was like a cartoon hammer hitting his head. His father had even warned him to be careful. Thinking back to the incident in the cargo bay, he couldn’t recall either of them asking for the chip or mentioning money. God, he was stupid. He should’ve realized they were after his blood.

  A syringe came out along with a collection tube and a host of other sterile wrapped niceties. “Unfortunately,” the man said. “My employers weren’t specific last time. The blood Charles collected was contaminated with something called P nutbutter.” The brute behind Jason held his arm tight against the chair arm while the needle went into his elbow. Big Ugly painfully wiggled the needle around in his quest for red-gold. “Now, I’ve never tasted such a thing, but I hear it’s yummy.” He pursed his lips into an exaggerated frown. “Sadly, Charles won’t be eating much of anything anymore.” He formed a grim smile as he found a vein and withdrew a sample of Jason’s special DNA.

  The needle slipped out, and they didn’t bother covering the puncture. No ouchy bandage for Jason. A liquid worth billions dripped down his arm and onto the floor.

  “Who’s paying you?” Jason growled.

  “Now, now. That would be cheating.” The man stood and flicked the syringe a few times. Picking up the vial, he removed the protective cap.

  “We can outbid whatever they’re paying you.” His father had versed him well for this situation. Stay calm. Stay alive. Note details. Bribe outrageously. Black hair in a military burr cut. Accent from home. A few centimeters shorter than himself. The description of a hawk nose came to mind although Jason had never seen a hawk and always hated when stories described people with them.

  The new henchman hadn’t spoken, and Jason hadn’t been able to turn enough to see much of him. Wrapping a gag over Jason’s mouth, the man tied it tight.

  The boss grinned again. “Sorry, Jason, this is one time your money will do you no good. I have certain obligations I can’t avoid.” The needle went through the sterilized stopper on the vial, and a secret more than four hundred years old streamed inside.

  A gut-punching hollowness filled Jason’s body. Even if his father was innocent of everything else that happened so far, if they left with that sample, his father really would kill him.

  “Check the hall,” the boss said.

  His underling crossed the room and cracked the door. “It’s clear.” It wasn’t much to go on, but he didn’t seem to have the same accent. The man had wavy blond hair with a full beard and mustache to match. Jason needed to remember the details. Memorize the faces.

  They left him tied to the chair, and he let out a relieved breath, as difficult as that was with his mouth blocked. With his heart hammering in his chest, he wasn’t doing this hero prince thing well. At least Sparrow was still safe on the other side of the wall probably asleep already. The gag muted efforts to scream for attention.

  He wiggled his arms as much as they would go. It only caused the plastic strips to dig into his skin. Nothing useful on the dresser. Nothing useful near the bed. He couldn’t get to the phone. He was in for a long night strapped to a chair. It was a comfortable chair — squishy padding, soft fabric. Things were looking better already. They could’ve killed him. Why hadn’t they?

  After a minute or so, the panic and anxiety of the moment began to ebb. He focused on the pompous jackass. He hadn’t paid enough attention to details the first time they met. Jason had been more concerned with getting past the node. This time, he was sure he could picture the man and form the link. They wouldn’t get away so easily.

  The nose. The hair. The face. Bring me to Mystery Man. It took a few minutes to connect to the man and make a copy.

  Jason popped into the scene inside an elevator with the two men just exiting. They didn’t see him as they left. He kept quiet and watched as they moved silently through the parking garage next to the resort. They stepped with purpose, but without showing the overly dramatic nervousness the bad guys in the movies always seemed to display.

  Humans hadn’t inhabited Nephele long enough for there to be an extensive road system, so the population used a mixture of wheeled ground vehicles along with the more power intensive antigravity conveyances.

  Trailing carefully a dozen or more meters behind, he waited for them to get to their vehicle. It was a basic black sedan. Without roads, they couldn’t leave the city with it. He hid behind a pillar and attempted to memorize the registry number as they drove away.

  He released the Mirre.

  Back in the chair, he became aware of his need to pee. It would be a distressing wait until morning. Jason struggled again, letting the straps scrape against his wrists. There was little give. After about fifteen minutes, he went back to Mr. Evil. The coupling easier to assemble with each instance.

  Asshole thief. Take me to asshole thief.

  “What the fuck?” Mr. Henchman shouted and thrashed when Jason popped in the second time. Still in the car, Jason now sat on the man’s lap while in the passenger's seat.

  Fists flailed at him as the car slammed to a halt.

  “Sorry,” Jason quipped and left the Mirre.

  He giggled to himself back in the hotel room. He was going to enjoy this. More fun than the simulator.

  Dipshit with the ugly nose. Backseat. The shift into the Mirre came again.

  He crouched down as much as his large frame allowed, then kept still. The two men didn’t notice him. They weren’t talking, and frustratingly, the stupid bag with his blood was in the seat next to Jason. Goony McGoonface eventually turned off the main road and onto a side street. After a few twists and turns, he stopped in front of a multi-story building.

  Mr. Passenger said, “You need me for another job, give me a call anytime. That kid was easy.”

  Jason caught sight of a street sign — Elders Ave. He shouted, “Boo,” then left.

  Back in the hotel room, his right wrist was raw from his flinching. His body didn’t get up and move with him in the Mirre, but it wasn’t frozen in stone either, occasional small twitches and jerks were common. Taking a step in the Mirre would produce twinges of activity in his real legs.

  He waited a few minutes and tried again. The next link and the one after that along with a few more, all went about the same. Jason stilled himself in the backseat and waited for Big Nasty to get to wherever he was going.

  Eventually, Jason followed him to the local transport facility where the man boarded a shuttle, heading to Nephele I Station. Jason kept linking and unlinking as the scene unfolded. He didn’t like the idea of showing up on a crowded shuttle and each shift to the Mirre took a little out of him. He knew where the shuttle was headed, and he could catch up with the man later.

  Exhausted from his jumps, he repositioned in the chair, seeking a meditative oneness with the universe instead of panic. Solutions. He needed solutions, not more problems. Sparrow would knock on the door when breakfast time rolled around. She might even notice something wrong since, so far this trip, eager for more time with her, he woke early and hustled her downstairs.

  His left butt cheek started to i
tch, and he couldn’t do anything about it. At least he didn’t need to sneeze — that was a stupid thing to think about. His nose began to tingle. He twitched it up and down, which didn’t help anything.

  After another hour of staring at the walls, he’d had enough. He needed out. He wanted to move. He thrashed from side to side, hoping to break the chair, only succeeding in tipping it on its side. It was a much less comfortable position.

  Mind still racing from terrified thoughts of facing the Grand Muckety-muck himself and explaining the loss, he was unable to sleep. His bladder wasn’t helping the situation either. He hadn’t wet his pants since he was five and wasn’t going to start now. They could’ve at least let him take the damned tie off.

  Maybe another hour crawled along, and he could only estimate from the movement of Nephele’s smaller moon through his view of the window, he was out of ideas, scared, lonely, and a little bored.

  Perhaps Sparrow would have some fresh ideas. Rubbing his face and lips against the carpet had only produced rug burns instead of loosening the gag.

  She was going to be upset with him breaking his promise, but if he told her it wasn’t real from the start, how mad could she get at him?

  Sparrow. That cute nose. Braid he longed to unfurl. Olive green eyes which held secrets any man would… stop that. Sparrow. Wake Sparrow.

  The accustomed change enveloped him, and he stood in her room. Curled up like an embryo, she took up less than a quarter of the king-sized bed. Motionless, he watched her. What was the key to unlocking that guarded heart? Time. Only time would answer that question. Moving closer, he nudged her shoulder. No reaction. He’d prefer to climb in and hold her until morning. Yes, a nice chaste cuddle was all he desired.

  Fat chance. He tried again using a little more force. It only succeeded in having her roll onto her back. As much as he could happily observe her for hours, he needed to get it over with.

  One more time with feeling, he gently shook her. “Sparrow. Wake up.”

  An arm glided out from under the covers, and she wiped her face adding an extremely sexy groan to go with it. “What? Jason? What are doing in here?” Perhaps more bleary than sexy.