AWOL

by Traci Harding

  ‘Mother and I have made our peace,’ she assured him. ‘She is eager to make amends for all the years we have spent at odds. We will be perfectly safe.’

  President Anselm and the Qusay’s viceroy, Jalila Lamus, exited the private audience chamber behind the Qusay’s room of court, where Qusay-Sabah Clarona was recovering from her decades-long ordeal.

  Zeven had never seen any man appear quite as humbled and elated as Anselm did upon rejoining his task force.

  ‘The Qusay-Sabah Clarona and myself would like to extend to you all the gratitude of both our nations and our personal thanks for your part in this reconciliation — it would not have been possible without every single one of you!’ The president looked to his daughter, tears of joy and pride in his eyes, when he noted Zeven beside her. ‘Except for maybe you, Bob. Odd for you to miss all the action?’

  Zeven grinned at the man he’d once worked for. ‘You know me, Sir; I always have my own action going on.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ Anselm grinned, seeming almost proud that was the case.

  ‘Time for us to see you back to your hotel, Mr President,’ Lucian spoke up to rally the troops, and Taren left Zeven’s side to go say her farewells to her father.

  Amie sent the last Valourean from the room and then joined the rest of the crew.

  ‘Zeven.’ Yasper approached him while he had the chance. ‘You know my little brother?’

  ‘I do. And better still, I know where he is,’ Zeven was glad to inform. ‘You gotta let me see him, man!’ Yasper appealed.

  ‘I can’t do that right now,’ Zeven insisted. ‘But I can assure you that he’s absolutely safe and well.’

  Yasper, who was primarily a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, smiled broadly at the news, his excitement beaming. ‘So, what’s he like?’

  Zeven had to laugh at the question. ‘You’re asking the wrong person for a character assessment of Telmo.’

  ‘Is he an arsehole?’ Yasper was suddenly concerned.

  ‘No.’ Zeven didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. ‘If I had to sum him up in a word, I’d say he was brilliant!’

  ‘Well, that’s cool!’ Yasper decided. ‘He’s the brains and I’m the brawn then.’

  Zeven only chuckled at this as he realised that as brothers Yasper and Telmo couldn’t have been more opposite. Although the happy-go-lucky side of their nature was consistent with both of Zelimir Ronan’s sons, that must have been something they inherited from their mother, as the ex chief of the Maladaan Secret Service was not so inclined.

  ‘Thanks, Starman!’ Yasper gave Zeven the thumbs up for the insight as Taren called him to teleport out of here with the president and the rest of the AMIE crew who were departing.

  Once the timekeepers left the throne room with the president, Taren and Zeven were left with the one person, beside the convalescing queen, who could help Zeven with his little research project — the Viceroy of Phemoria, Jalila Lamus.

  She looked to Taren in the wake of the day’s events and smiled — as Phemorians rarely did — with sincerity. ‘It seems you have freed my Qusay and people from centuries of the Phemoray’s manipulation in just one morning. There can be no doubt that you are the next rightful heir of the Phemorian throne, Highness,’ the dark-haired beauty conceded, her tone a little bittersweet. But as Jalila moved to bow before the heir apparent, Taren placed a hand on her shoulder to prevent it.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Taren opposed the viceroy’s submission, secretly knowing she had once been prepared to launch a rebellion to end the hereditary rule of the Phemoray on Phemoria. Zeven knew this from prior experience also and he, like Taren, suspected that Jalila’s aspirations for governmental rule on Phemoria would not end with this happy turn of events. ‘As I have already advised the Qusay, I will be abdicating in favour of the formation of a governing body for Phemoria, which we would both like you to aid us to instigate, as acting prime minister.’

  Jalila was telepathic, but as Taren was wearing her Juju stone her thoughts could not be read by any — hence it was that the viceroy was left completely aghast in the wake of learning that her life’s aspiration had just come into being.

  ‘I … I am so astonished, and honoured, that I think I shall regret that you shall not be our sovereign. This is a monumental stance you are taking.’ Jalila moved to drop to her knees in thanks, but again Taren prevented her.

  ‘I know it is an aspiration that has been close to your heart for your entire political career,’ Taren conceded. ‘It must have been horrifying trying to negotiate with the Phemoray on a daily basis. You are the true heroine of Phemoria, Viceroy Lamus, not I.’

  ‘How could you know so much about me?’ Jalila had never met Taren before today.

  ‘I am precognitive,’ Taren gave the simplest explanation.

  ‘Only one of her many talents,’ Zeven added to embellish the fib and make it not so much so.

  ‘And who are you, Sir?’ Jalila queried politely, having not met him in the course of this day’s events.

  Zeven looked to Taren, unsure of how much she wanted the viceroy to know, but Jalila’s eyes opened wide in wonder and she gasped; unfortunately Zeven was not wearing his Juju — which he’d removed to avoid making Khalid unduly ill. Taren knew this and thus they both figured, ‘She knows.’

  ‘My apologies, but the thought was so clear,’ Jalila defended, sounding humbled to be privy. ‘You are the son of the Princess Satomi, the halfling of transcendent means, the one the Grand Duchess Vidor prophesied would end the curse of our late Qusay’s bastard child — the halfling of shadow.’

  Taren frowned, having never heard the prophecy in these terms before, and was a little surprised when Zeven acknowledged the viceroy’s claim.

  ‘Correct.’ Zeven winced inside — he’d been rather proud of this fact once, but now he just wanted to correct the widely spread misconception. ‘I am attempting to do just that, as we speak.’

  ‘Is that what you are up to?’ Taren was suddenly enlightened.

  ‘Well,’ Zeven conceded with a tick of his head and a crooked smile, ‘I’m the man.’

  ‘Do I detect a hint of irony?’ She no doubt wondered why he was not so thrilled by his destiny.

  ‘Not at all,’ Zeven had trouble dropping the satire, ‘I just didn’t realise there had been an interstellar memo about Maiara’s prophecy.’

  ‘I only know of it because I am head of the secret service and our agents are very good at their job.’ Jalila wanted to assure him. ‘We were informed you had been killed at the same time as the Princess Satomi.’

  ‘No offence to your agents, but it would seem your intel in this instance was incorrect,’ Zeven warranted. ‘But as my own father believed me dead, all credit to the late grand duchess, as it was through her efforts I slipped under everyone’s radar.’

  ‘You are cousins,’ Jalila realised, looking from Taren to Zeven, her eyes coming to rest on the latter. ‘And you are the first true prince of Phemoria since the revolution!’

  ‘That hardly matters if hereditary rule is to be replaced by Phemorian government.’ Zeven took the defensive; he didn’t want to cause another revolution and technically he wasn’t the first true prince of Phemoria — Khalid was.

  ‘No,’ Jalila agreed, but was amused by his misunderstanding. ‘I was not intending to have you assassinated. To the contrary, we Phemorians have a long-held prophecy that foretold when the first prince of Phemoria returned the rule of the Phemoray would end. Of course I never informed the Qusay of this.’ Jalila was almost bursting with happiness. ‘But, I have been searching for you my entire career, and I see now that the prophecy has been fulfilled and that my belief in it was not unfounded.’

  Zeven wiped a hand across his brow. ‘Phew, that’s a relief.’

  ‘For me also,’ Jalila granted.

  ‘We need your help with some research.’ Taren found the perfect opportunity to get to the point.

  ‘Of course.’ Jalila smiled at the tiny request. ‘Wha
t information are you looking for?’

  Taren referred the question to Zeven, obviously curious to know herself.

  ‘I’m looking for information about the Old Ones?’

  With his request the joy drained from the viceroy’s face.

  ‘Do you know where I might find out about them?’

  Jalila gave a hesitant nod.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Taren wondered at the lack of forthcoming answers.

  ‘This information is stored in a secret place,’ Jalila was vague. ‘No man has ever gone there.’

  Taren’s face lit up in epiphany, but Zeven had no idea what Jalila was talking about, and he’d prided himself on knowing everything Taren knew. ‘I do believe I know the place of which you speak … I visited there myself once,’ Taren told them both.

  ‘That’s quite impossible,’ Jalila politely stated her doubt.

  ‘The etheric city,’ Taren informed and Jalila was dumbfounded.

  ‘You’ll fast learn that impossible is not in my cousin’s vocabulary,’ Zeven advised their company and then turned his attention back to Taren. ‘Have you been withholding intelligence from the team?’

  She merely grinned, smug in her knowledge. ‘No one knows all my secrets, Zeven, not even you.’

  ‘Well then, hot shot,’ Zeven jibed her. ‘Can you get me into this place, or not?’

  Taren looked to Jalila, who shook her head. ‘You could go in, but you can never come out. The only two-way portal to this place was controlled by the Phemoray, and can only be opened by the Qusay wearing their crown.’

  ‘Not a good idea after all we went through to get it off the Qusay’s head and trapped in a box.’ Taren struck that off as an immediate option. ‘What happens if we destroy the Phemoray?’

  ‘The city will collapse,’ Jalila informed. ‘And all our sisters living there will return here.’

  ‘That is certainly on my agenda,’ Taren told Jalila, who nodded to agree it was on her agenda also.

  ‘But the information stored there would be lost?’ Zeven assessed.

  ‘Correct,’ Jalila concurred. ‘All that would survive would be the knowledge our sisters have stored in their heads.’

  ‘I need this information yesterday,’ Zeven appealed for a better idea.

  ‘I can communicate with our sisters in this place.’ Jalila proffered a solution. ‘Perhaps one of them can do your research for you?’

  Zeven felt that would probably save even more time, provided the Phemorians were prepared to be completely transparent in handing over information. ‘It is vital that I know all you can find on the subject, no matter how minor the detail.’

  ‘All our resources are at your disposal, my prince.’

  Jalila obviously knew his concerns — he had to stop thinking so loudly, and must not under any circumstance consider any other part of his mission while in her company. ‘Please don’t call me that.’ Zeven winced. ‘Just Zeven is fine.’

  ‘Highness —’ Jalila attempted to object.

  ‘Nope, not Highness either,’ he cut in. ‘I’ve remained secret this long, let’s keep it that way. And please stop reading my thoughts.’

  Jalila nodded in accord with his wish. ‘I’ll have one of my agents bring you a thought scrambler, which just attaches to your clothing. Then you may rest assured I cannot read your thoughts … not even by accident. Strangely, I cannot read your thoughts, Highness.’ She looked back to Taren.

  ‘I have the protection of the Zagriata.’ Taren gave the simplest explanation.

  ‘So it is as President Anselm told my Qusay earlier today,’ Jalila surmised. ‘The Zagriata is a force, not an individual.’

  Taren nodded to confirm. ‘Which is why, when you attempt to read my thoughts, all you hear is music —’

  ‘Yes.’ Jalila’s eyes lit up as the statement obviously rang true for her.

  ‘It is the music of the spheres you hear,’ Taren began, but Jalila dropped to her knees, to humble herself before the new princess of Phemoria, and it made Taren immediately uncomfortable. ‘Please, prostrating yourself is not necessary.’

  ‘Forgive me, Highness, but you are not only anointed by blood but by creation itself!’ The normally hardened diplomat was overawed and teary.

  ‘And there are many others like me.’ Taren had just tried to explain that. ‘Men and women from every planet in the USS. We are legion and the only veneration we require is understanding and cooperation.’

  ‘You are probably one of us,’ Zeven added.

  ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ Taren agreed, crouching before Jalila.

  ‘They all answer to you.’ Jalila had probably noted this in the confrontation between the president and her Qusay this morning.

  ‘Great leaders don’t inspire followers, they inspire more great leaders.’ Taren gave her view. ‘And you are certainly one.’

  Jalila had gone so far as to seduce and conspire with Khalid Mansur in another timeline, in the hope of lifting the curse from her Qusay, but of course Khalid betrayed her. He kept secret the little fact he was her Qusay’s bastard brother whose conception had driven the previous Qusay to madness.

  ‘Forgive me.’ Jalila rose with Taren at her prompting. ‘It is overwhelming.’ She gasped on the statement, struggling to regain her composure. ‘And it is not my nature to be so affected.’

  ‘I know,’ Taren assured her with a smile, ‘but I think you will find it is in fact joy you are feeling, and you should revel in it. The nightmare of the Phemoray is over, and a grand celebration is in order, but first things first.’ She brought them back around to Zeven’s mission.

  Jalila gave a resigned nod. ‘Follow me.’

  Itching!

  Khalid swatted his nose and twitched it, in an attempt to allay the annoyance. He didn’t want to stir from his dreams, it was so comfortable here, peaceful, pure bliss! Except for the itching!

  He gave the side of his nose a proper scratch this time, but the effort woke him.

  The sight of a colourfully faced creature filling the entire expanse of his vision as he opened his eyes, startled Khalid. He yelled in fright, whereupon it backed up and he realised it was only a small critter in close proximity to his own face. Khalid knew nothing about the natural world and had no desire to be educated.

  The creature squawked in response to the adverse reaction and hit him in the face with the large feather it was holding.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Khalid sat up and watched the rainbow monkey drop the feather and scamper quickly up the tall bedpost to settle on a high crossbeam, continually screeching and waving its tiny hand at him in a threatening fashion. Crossbeams ran between the top and bottom of the bedposts to form a large cubed frame, and the hammock he was lying on was strung to all four posts. Clearly he wasn’t in hospital any more.

  Overhead the grass roof of the huge hut-like structure sloped down in front and behind him, almost to the floor, but was completely open on both sides, bar the waist-high wooden railings. This dwelling appeared to stretch the expanse of a small ravine — all he could see for miles was jungle ascending up a valley in one direction, and descending down a valley in the other. He could hear the sound of water babbling — and his curiosity urged Khalid to rise and investigate.

  He took pause before placing his two feet on the floor. His damaged ankle had been strapped, and the other ankle was still bound by a psychic restraining device. This fact got him to wondering where the invisible man was. Perhaps he was here watching?

  ‘Oh do shut up!’ Khalid finally got jack of the monkey’s squawking. ‘I can’t abide animals!’

  ‘That is only because you fear them.’

  Khalid looked to the creature who had seemingly responded to his complaint, to find it looking towards the true source of the remark.

  A young, fair lad had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the sparsely furnished treehouse, and he was holding a leg brace in his hand. ‘I thought you might be needing this.’

  ‘You are
Zaman Vidor?’ Khalid was confused; this was not the man known as Starman he’d been expecting. This guy appeared about a decade too young to be his prophesied destructor.

  ‘No.’ The stranger smiled at the misconception. ‘He is currently doing some research on your behalf, but has asked that I take care of you in his absence.’

  The monkey squawked.

  ‘Sorry, and Karisha has volunteered to aid me in that,’ the lad added to acknowledge the monkey’s involvement.

  ‘How is a bloody monkey going to help?’ Khalid objected to the arrangement.

  ‘Maimed as you are, in this place?’ He motioned to the jungle around them, and then looked to the monkey to suggest, ‘Perhaps a demonstration?’

  Karisha leapt up to latch onto the ceiling crossbeam and scampered off across it, disappearing onto the roof.

  ‘That’s helpful,’ Khalid commented dryly.

  ‘She’ll be back.’ Telmo launched the leg brace in Khalid’s direction, and in the split second Khalid flinched, he felt the brace clamp around his damaged leg and lock closed.

  ‘You’ve got PK too?’ Khalid was shocked as it used to be a rare talent and linked to the Phemorian royal bloodline.

  ‘I don’t got PK,’ Telmo replied with humour. ‘I developed PK. And the fact that you developed it also tells us that you are far more than you have, up until this time, appeared.’

  Khalid forced a laugh at this; was he trying to compliment him? ‘Hah … I’m special all right!’ He gently put pressure on his sore ankle and awkwardly got himself to standing position.

  ‘See that!’ The kid startled him, having made an observation that Khalid was unaware of. ‘Remorse.’

  Khalid resented that implication. Yet he was surprised to note how numb he felt; there seemed to be no spite left in him — only gratitude to have his own mind back. ‘What else is going to save my arse in this situation?’ He covered his uncertainty with sarcasm.

  ‘Self realisation,’ his host replied, throwing his arms wide.

  At this point Khalid suspected that his captor might have left him with a complete loon, and one that was wet behind the ears to boot. ‘Where the fuck am I?’