Shabin- The Reluctant Prince of Rhime

by Andrew Heister

  The doctor shifted into professor mode. “There are a lot of conflicting opinions on the topic. I think it was Dr. Rikker who wrote a paper, let me see…” Wilkes took on a distracted look. “Well, I can’t recall the name, but she proposed that the children were born with the ability. They had no control over it — much like a newborn human will scream and make other sounds. I’ve always had the opinion that parents would begin interacting with their children inside the Mirre soon after birth but whether the child reciprocated at that age, I have my doubts.”

  “So, it’s not instinctual? They need to learn how to do it?”

  “Hmm. Humans make instinctual sounds but language is learned. I suspect it’s a similar situation with them.”

  And if there were no adults to teach? Jason and his father might be the only ones with the ability to instruct those children. That is, if the link even went both ways with an altered human and a Herodian. “What about language? Do you think if we had some live Herodians we could teach them to communicate with us without the Mirre?”

  “Oh, my. Yes. They understood math and science even if they didn’t get the chance to advance as far as us. They had a variety of written languages. I’m not sure how well we could communicate with them using their sign language.” He grinned and wiggled his fingers. “We don’t have enough fingers and arms. Perhaps a robotic translator could mimic the symbology.” The doctor straightened and scrunched his expression. “Why do ask?”

  Jason wasn’t going to explain to the doctor what was upstairs. “Just curious, I suppose.”

  Whether the doctor was convinced that Jason was only talking hypotheticals or not mattered little to him, but all the same, Wilkes seemed interested in the discussion.

  Jason scratched his chin stubble. “Thank you, doctor. Carry on.” He dropped the Mirre and went back to rubbing his eyes in the dim light of the room.

  He’d left half his chew toy uneaten, and he returned to gnawing on it. The wrapper said - “Satisfying Simpton Snack.” Jason wanted to shove one of the evil things down Simpton’s throat. He was so exhausted from all his mind flipping he could barely chew.

  It was too early to contact Stiles again. He needed to trust the man to get the job done. Closing his eyes, he took a nap.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sometime later, Jason woke to the muffled sound of an explosion. His prison was the first office next to the stairwell door, and the scent of burning plastic and other materials quickly came through the vents along with a puff of dust. His heart raced with possible scenarios. It couldn’t be Serigala soldiers blowing up their own facility, but that didn’t mean he was safe.

  Rolling over and jumping to his feet, he pushed back through the broken wall and crouched behind the partially dismantled robot. It provided scant cover. The clatter of boots rang out in the hallway as people rushed in from the stairwell. Brisk and firm voices spoke to each other, but he couldn’t make out the words.

  A few heart-stopping moments later, a door crashed open. Then another. After that, his closet smashed in.

  So the Rhime Navy commando team, led by Captain Stiles, got to witness the rescue of their Prince in his boxers, still smelling like piss and several days of sweat, while hiding behind a robotic janitor which he also used as a bathroom. Needless to say, it wasn’t Jason’s finest moment.

  “Sir!” Relief washed over the man’s haggard and worn face. Captain Stiles swung his nervion away from Jason and used his arm to block anyone else from entering and perhaps witnessing his shameful appearance. “Check the next room,” he snarled to the rest of the group. “Search them all.” The man had taken time to shave and put on fresh fatigues before rushing to Jason’s rescue, but the grind of the past few days still appeared in the lines of his face.

  Several affirmative sounds chimed out, and the group of nine or more soldiers quickly thundered down the hall in search of their next target.

  “Captain Stiles.” Jason stood with a slight wobble. “From the black and red uniforms, I’m guessing I was right about those ships?”

  The Captain offered a steadying hand. “Yes, sir. They landed about forty-five minutes ago. Are you okay, sir?”

  “Never mind me. Report, please. What’ve I missed?” Jason leaned against a rack of cleaning supplies.

  “We got your message to President Floros. That was a damned hard thing to do, but we grabbed one of the office cooks and sent it in with his lunch.”

  “And?”

  “An hour later they started the ceremony. Cameras and people everywhere on stage. I thought we lost. Wasn’t even certain he’d gotten our message. That really awful Serigala military marching music played while they lined up Floros and his staff with a bunch of those thugs and handed him a pen.”

  Jason was getting impatient. “Come on, get on with it.”

  “Right. Anyway, sir. President Floros looked that barbarian Marshal in the eye, straightened his back, and told him he could go screw himself. Then he turned and threw the pen into the crowd. It was the bravest damned thing I’d ever seen. They shot him a moment later.”

  Jason winced. He wanted a stall, not a suicide mission. “God, what happened after that?”

  “There was a lot of confusion, sir.” Stiles grinned. “They weren’t sure who was next in the line of power. They’d already killed the VP, and nobody wanted to explain how the Alexandria government is set up.”

  Jason shook his head and laughed. “So, who’s next in succession?”

  “The minister for the Board of Tourism. She’s on a node station at the moment. Half a day away. By the time they figured it all out, the crowd was getting restless. Things got ugly. Several of the disarmed dome security officers led a charge, and the whole mess became a rioting mob. People realized those soldiers were just going to go down the line shooting officials until someone signed their damned surrender agreement. Once they killed their primary hostage, it was over. The mob rushed the stage and started attacking with their fists and anything they could grab. Serigala only had a few thousand soldiers on the planet from what we could tell. Lots of wounded civilians out there, sir.”

  Another muffled whomp echoed the hallway as Dr. Wilkes's cage blew open. Shouts of, “Down! Down! Down!” reverberated the walls.

  “Come on, Captain. Let’s make sure they don’t kill our doctor. Consider him a prisoner for now but treat him with dignity.”

  Speaking of dignity, were there any pants hanging around the building? Jason followed Stiles while stepping tentatively on his injured foot.

  “Sir, your foot. Would you like a doctor?”

  “It’s only a broken toe.” Although, he still couldn’t take a deep breath. He’d have to get his ribs checked. “Perhaps later. I can manage.”

  They entered the lab next door. Doctor Wilkes was on the floor, cowering with his hands on his head. Having armed soldiers pointing weapons at the meek centenarian was a little overkill. “Hi, Doc.”

  The man peeked at him. “Jason! You’re alive! My Prince, err, sir. What are you doing here?”

  Well, at least this would be the last time he’d have to go through this discussion. “Tracking you, I’m afraid.” He turned to Stiles. “Can you call off a few of your dogs and get them out of here? Please have someone find me some clothes.”

  “Yes, sir. We still have more of the building to cover.”

  Jason waved him away. “Carry on. Careful down below. There’s a tunnel network stretching throughout the dome. Maybe even further. When you’re ready, please have someone escort the doctor one flight up.” He lowered his voice so only Stiles could hear him. “Don’t tell him why or what’s up there. I want to watch his expression. Also, please send him with a guard we can trust to keep their mouth shut.”

  The Captain eyed the doctor for a moment. “Understood, sir.”

  Jason limped his way up to the fifth floor. When he opened the door, a satisfied breath left him. The Herodians were still in the room with the equipment running. He’d been terrified he’
d find the tanks switched off with only corpses as his prize.

  He ran a hand over a tank. The mouse-sized child inside pulsed through the bubbling blue universe in which it resided, and he was tempted to tap on the glass to see if it would react but decided it was a bad idea. “You’re safe, dear cousin. You’re coming home with me.”

  Perhaps he was getting sentimental about them now. He felt an irrational connection to these beings. It wasn’t the same as getting a pet to care for and love. The feeling was stronger — a communal camaraderie of sorts. A sense of belonging.

  Jason jerked his face away from the tank. The intense emotion faded. This was his first time in the lab outside the Mirre experience. These were real Herodians, and their brains were active.

  Left dizzy and bewildered, he wandered to another tank with a Herodian who was a little larger and further along in its development. Tiny nubs poked out of the body. The upper rear appendages had the beginnings of fingers. Cautiously approaching his face to the tank, the empathy sensation returned when he got within a couple of centimeters of the glass.

  Warmth — joy — excitement — perhaps even a level of love emanated from the creature. Mostly, it was a sense of community. Of belonging. For Jason, this was a unique emotion to have run through his body. It sizzled and burned to his core. It energized him. Gave him life. He was ready to howl at the moon. He was certain if anyone threatened this child he would kill without thought or concern for himself. It was wild and animalistic. Primal. The need to protect and defend his young.

  “Sir?”

  Jason whipped around and clenched. Every muscle in his body was coiled and ready to murder. “What?” The word spat from his mouth in a hoarse snarl. He hadn’t heard the doctor and his guard enter the room.

  Dr. Wilkes gaped in astonishment at the lab and took a hesitant step forward. Something in Jason’s face must’ve been enough to warn the soldier because the young man grabbed the doctor’s arm. “Hold on. Are you okay, Prince Jason?”

  The familiar voice broke Jason out of the instinctive shield. He’d been a mother protecting her young at the most visceral level. He licked his lips and shook with effort, forcing himself to step further from the tank.

  No longer in imperial dress, the young man wore black fatigues with the red DNA coil trim of the service. His black hair was shorter than Jason had last seen. “Corporal Stringer, what are you doing here?”

  “Umm, it’s Private Stringer now, my Prince.” He saluted Jason and turned his shoulder a little to show his new rank.

  “Ahh. My father’s doing, I suppose.” A pang of guilt hit Jason, but this was certainly a better alternative than some of the other things he’d imagined happening to Charlie. “But how did you end up here?”

  Doctor Wilkes ignored the conversation and pulled away from Charlie. He wandered down the row of tanks with his eyes wide and his mouth slung open.

  Charlie said, “They busted me down and transferred me to the fleet. I was on one of the last ships to leave Rhime for this mission. When I found out we were here to rescue you, I volunteered. Insisted, actually.” He gave Jason a small embarrassed shrug along with a grin. “I spent most of my career protecting your family, so it felt like the most natural thing to do.”

  Jason nodded and smiled back. Speaking to the doctor, he said, “Careful, Dr. Wilkes. I don’t know if they can affect your mind, but they certainly sent something out to me.”

  Wilkes turned, and an invisible cord tugged one eyebrow up to the heavens. “Oh? That’s interesting. What did you see?”

  Jason shook his head. “Not see. Felt. It was all emotions coming out of them and drilling into me.”

  “Hmm.” The doctor put his hands in his lab coat pockets. “I think it was Dr. Brint who hypothesized emotional transfer about sixty years ago. I’ll have to read up on his research.”

  The doctor assumed he’d still be in a position to do research a couple of weeks from now when they got home. Perhaps he would. It wouldn’t be Jason’s decision. God, he’d have to write up an official report after he got back to Rhime. Maybe he could take the easy way out and get himself killed avenging Martin.

  That line of thinking reminded him how he ended up on this farcical quest. He stepped past the doctor. “Go ahead. For the time being, you’re in charge of caring for these little guys.” He adjusted his tone into his firm menacing impersonation of the Emperor. “If anything happens to them, we will be displeased. Do not screw up.”

  “Yes, my… err, sir.”

  Jason shook his head. “You can call me ‘my prince’ again if you prefer. It looks like you’ll be one of our subjects again.” It was a bizarre thing to come out of Jason’s mouth. Perhaps he’d be more comfortable with it from now on. His brief foray into giving commands made a difference, allowed the title to sit on his shoulders like an old suit instead of chains that bound him.

  Letting the doctor amble around and look over his charges, Jason took the Private off to the side. “Charlie, what’s the word from back home? I’m afraid I ran away more out of shock rather than a measured and appropriate response to my uncle’s death.”

  “It’s understandable, sir.” He pasted a semblance of a smile on his face. Mostly it conveyed pity. “Everyone knew what he meant to you. When I launched, the public only knew you’d left Rhime. A vacation to celebrate your birthday.”

  “And the not-for-public-consumption view?”

  “Well, sir. By the end of the first day, the Emperor made a clear announcement to the guards that you weren’t a suspect.” He let out a brief chuckle. “As if anyone would even consider that. I got my transfer orders the next day, but I keep in touch with people in the palace. Two days later, your family held a private funeral. They announced the official cause of death as natural and told everyone who knew the details to shut up or the wrath of the Empire would come down on them.”

  That sounded like his father — quick, quiet, swept under the rug. In a decade, nobody but Jason would even remember Martin. “Has there been any more violence?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, sir. There are…” Charlie looked to his feet and paused before going on. “Well, sir, just know there are people watching the situation.”

  Watching. Yes, everyone watched his father. The problem was nobody would do anything about it. “There’s no extra orders to have me quietly disappear on the way home?”

  Charlie jerked back in surprise. “Never, sir!” His lips tightened into a grimace. “At least, not that anyone told me. I’d never carry out that sort of order.”

  Jason believed the man. He gave Charlie a curt nod and made his voice princely. “Very good, Private. You are now officially attached to me as a personal guard. Your first task is to find Captain Stiles and get a replacement guard for the doctor. We’ll wait here.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir.” He gave Jason a sharp salute and swiveled in a formal about-face.

  Before he got out the door, Jason shouted, “And get me some clothes!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The next afternoon, Jason once again stood in his dress uniform behind Ambassador Tully’s desk. Cleaned, healed, pressed, and polished, his heart hammered with excitement. Hands damp with nervous perspiration, he kept them neatly behind his back as he waited for the door to open.

  The previous day had been a bloody massacre. The tiny and haphazard government of Alexandria lost the bulk of its top officials during the brief exchange. Fortunately, damage to the outer walls of the domes was limited and incidental. While the bulk of the planet’s population lived in a small section of a single continent, most people hadn’t been near the fighting.

  He was a little surprised and quite amused when the door to the office flung open. His heart fluttered and a hollow pang jumped in his chest as she stomped into the room. Shorter than any soldier he’d ever seen in the service, the woman came in scowling. Gorgeous in her equally neat dress uniform.

  Dark eyes glared up at him. They gleamed like emeralds under her fury and dazz
led him with their brilliance. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  He couldn’t help himself and a cheesy grin spread across his face. “Sparrow, you look wonderful.”

  “How dare you conscript me.” The words boiled out of her.

  He took up her hands and kissed her cheek. Much to his relief, she didn’t pull away. “It wasn’t my idea, and it’s only temporary. Did you miss me?”

  She spat out a quick, “No.” Then she chewed her lower lip. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a long time. One edge of her mouth curled up. “Yes.” It came out with a resigned sigh. “When I got your orders to come to Alexandria, I thought you’d switched from pilot fantasies to smuggler fantasies. They had us in a communication’s blackout for days circling around this overrated rock of debauchery.”

  “Well, we won’t be smuggling them anymore.”

  “I heard. You sure know how to lay low and not make a scene.” She almost smiled.

  “No more hiding. I’m going back with my head held high and face whatever is next.” He could do it now. Face his father. Find out the truth. Do whatever it took to uncover the secrets behind Martin’s death.

  “You sure about that? You could stay here after all. It seems they like you.”

  “No. I have responsibilities at home. Admiral Hackett brought me a letter from my father.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see you’re willing to go home and find out what’s going on. There are people I care about back on Rhime. So, what did he have to say?”

  “It was ambiguous.” Jason considered for a moment. “Maybe that’s not the right word.” He grabbed his comm off the desk and handed it to her. “He acts concerned about me. Worried even. He knows I left because of Martin, but there’s nothing in the message accusing me or admitting his own guilt.”

  Sparrow read for a minute. “It says he’s still quietly investigating the murder.” She examined Jason’s face as if measuring his despair. “Do you believe him? He says he wants you safe at home.”