by Susan Grant
Her hands rambled with her harnesses. Finally free of her seat, she stood, facing him. "Greetings, Father."
He spoke in a low, ominous tone, so that no one else would hear. "I would not have thought that you, Tee'ah, would have deceived me in such a"—he waved his hand around the cockpit—"blatant manner."
His golden eyes chilled her with his disappointment and disapproval. Tee'ah fought a watery feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I know it means little now," she replied in an equally hushed tone, "but I intended to tell you everything." She squeezed her clasped hands together until her pulse throbbed in her fingertips. "But I thought you would take the news better once I'd officially earned my wings."
His eyes flicked to the silver intersystem cargo pilot wings she wore over her left breast. Embroidered in metallic thread onto her rich indigo-hued flight suit, the emblem was a replica of the genuine pair she kept in a box in her bedchamber and treasured above all else. "I've had the wings only a month," she whispered, hoping her achievement would prove to her father how much she desired personal freedom.
Or were you merely longing to spark in him a bit of pride in your accomplishments?
His frown deepened. She cursed herself for thinking that such a tradition-defying feat would win her father's praise. She should have told him sooner where she disappeared to three nights a week. She should have informed him before he figured it out on his own or, worse, learned of her exploits from someone else.
Joren Dar turned his attention to Captain Riss, who waited uneasily for further instructions. He'd risked his career by teaching her to pilot his ship, all because he'd understood when she confessed that her yearning to fly, to be free, flared so hot it burned. He mustn't take the blame that was hers alone.
"Why was I was not informed that my daughter was spending her nights flying your ship?"
"I asked him not to," Tee'ah said before Riss had the chance to answer her father.
The captain compressed his lips and made a small sound in the back of his throat.
"He did not understand that what I requested of him was against your wishes," she went on.
"My lord—" Riss attempted. "I—"
"Well, perhaps he did, Father, but know this: I sought out the Prosper because of Captain Riss. He's the best in the fleet. He's professional, knowledgeable. He's ensured my protection from my first day aboard this ship. The only place I'd have been safer was in my bed."
Riss's mouth quirked and he stared hard at the alloy flooring, clearly fighting a smile. Evidently he'd given up the struggle to get a word in edgewise.
His yielding to her persistence was not lost on the king, and that was the point she had hoped to make. At times, though only over small issues, even her father fell victim to her cajoling. "If anyone is to blame for my presence here," she said, her voice pleading and low, "it's me."
Joren scrutinized the beleaguered captain. Riss lifted his eyes. Strangely, an understanding of sorts flickered between the men. "I will see you in my chambers tomorrow, Captain."
Then he gently but firmly took Tee'ah by the elbow. "And you, daughter, I will see in my chambers now"
The shuttle ride back to the surface was excruciatingly long. On her lap, Tee'ah clutched the satchel containing the handmaiden's dress and cloak she'd used to disguise herself when traveling back and forth to the spaceport while her family slept. Her father's hands were spread on his knees, his muscular arms braced, his eyes downcast. His expression was guarded, making it difficult to tell what he was thinking, although she had her suspicions as to what occupied his thoughts.
Within a few weeks, her marriage contract would be signed and she'd be officially promised to Prince Che Vedla, a man she'd met only once, when they were both children. One standard year from the day the promise took effect, they would marry, a union arranged with good intentions, but little regard for her personal wishes. Marriages among Vash Nadah royalty were part of a complicated, ongoing stabilizing of power shared by the eight ruling families. They were political alliances, not love matches, although the Vash culture emphasized the importance of good relations between a husband and wife. Eventually her union with Prince Che could be a pleasant one, if he'd matured from the overconfident royal brat she remembered.
But the extraordinary events of the past few years—her uncle Rom's startlingly unconventional marriage to an equally unconventional Earth woman, and then, more recently, Tee'ah's own daring spaceflights—revealed choices she'd never imagined, much less contemplated. She was less certain than ever that the path so carefully prepared for her was the one she should take.
Upon their arrival at the palace, Tee'ah walked with her father to his private chambers. The ancient polished white stone walls and floor she normally admired now struck her as featureless and cold.
Her mother met them. Her eyes were swollen, as if she'd been crying. Tee'ah embraced her, whispering, "I'm sorry."
But was she? After all, it wasn't as if she'd run off to a lover, knowing she was about to become engaged—that would have been unforgivable and symptomatic of a weak character. She'd only learned to fly. What was so terribly wrong with that?
Joren regarded her for long moments. Tightening his features was a loving father's complicated mix of emotions. "You have responsibilities, Tee'ah. Maintaining a trade, like flying, drains time and energy away from those obligations. And then, of course, there is the issue of propriety to consider."
Stiffly, she stepped out of the circle of her mother's familiar warmth and sweet scent. "But after I marry, if Prince Che agrees—"
"Don't pursue this. The Vedlas will not approve. You cannot fly."
You cannot fly.
There. With three words, he'd ended her dream. Apparently the king's renowned mercy and open-mindedness didn't extend to his daughter.
The sensation of suffocation was so real it felt as if a vise squeezed her lungs. Her hand crept to her throat, her fingers trembling. Breathe.
Oblivious to her grief, her father paced in front of her. " 'The welfare of all comes before the desires of an individual,' " he quoted from the Treatise of Trade, the holiest document of their people. "Recite the rest of that passage, Tee'ah. Feel the words; feel what it means to be Vash Nadah."
He halted, waiting. She took a breath, her hands fisted at her sides. Then, at the king's command, she recited the words she'd memorized too long ago to have a recollection of doing so: " 'Eleven thousand years ago the Dark Years engulfed us. Technological evolution outpaced spiritual evolution; societies that had existed for eons crumbled; disease, endless famine, and fear caused by selfish warring kingdoms spurred a complete collapse of civilization. Warlords renounced spirituality and condemned sexuality. Weapons of unimaginable destruction were created and perfected by those without conscience, and used by those who embraced cruelty and worshiped soulless power.' " She took a shuddering breath." 'Eight great warriors banded together to vanquish the evil. Peace for all time, they vowed when the Great Mother's light dawned once more. Praised be the Eight.'" Flatly she finished, "A reading from the Treatise of Trade."
Her father nodded. "The blood of the Eight flows through your veins, Tee'ah. That brings responsibilities, obligations that others cannot imagine. We, the eight royal families, must lead through sacrifice and example."
She shifted her gaze to the window. Outside was the endless savanna, a vista she'd often gazed at with longing. Whenever she'd needed to breathe, whenever she feared she'd suffocate in her scrupulously sheltered, relentlessly comfortable life.
The long grasses were completely flattened, meaning a Tjhu'nami was fast approaching. The orbital weather stations predicted that one of the dry windstorms that periodically scoured Mistraal would hit by morning, bringing wind velocities exceeding eight hundred standard galactic knots.
Using all her senses, she concentrated. She could feel, but couldn't quite hear, a steady rumbling—the receding tide of air before a distant massive wave.
She turned to her father. "To be
honest, I'm afraid," she said.
He shook his head. "Afraid? Of the Tjhu'nami?"
Not once in her twenty-three standard years had she waited out the terrifying storms anywhere but ensconced with her family in the noisy communal dining hall. But a greater fear gripped her. "No, Father. Of losing myself." She pressed her knotted hands under her chin. "I barely remember meeting the Vedlas. Now I'm to join them on a distant planet I've never visited… where custom will keep me rooted for the rest of my life. It frightens me."
But her confession only bemused her parents. "Ah, child," her mother said, placing a warm hand on her cheek "Your husband's family will love you, as we love you."
Her mother's tender maternal caress showed Tee'ah that she believed what she told her. "Before long you will settle in, and you will feel with them what you feel here, with us."
And that, Tee'ah thought, was exactly what she feared.
With her thumb, her mother wiped a rare tear from Tee'ah's cheek. "Your father and I will see you in the dining hall this evening," she said gently. "Change your clothing and join us there. We will tell stories and wait out the storm. Just like always."
"Yes. Like always, Mother," she whispered.
Tee'ah bowed her head respectfully and returned to her own chamber. A floor-to-ceiling window dominated one wall. She pressed her forehead to the cold surface, her hands spread on the glass-composite pane, and watched the coming storm from the safety of her bedroom, unable to escape the parallels to her own situation.
She could stay as she was and be safe. Che Vedla was considered by many to be one of the most promising young princes of her generation. With him she'd look forward to a luxurious—but anonymous—existence as a powerful man's wife. But if she left the palace, she'd face the unknown head-on.
She thought of her aunt from Earth. "Too many people never go after what they truly want out of life," Jas once told her. When Tee'ah had asked why not, Jas had replied, "Because it's easier not to."
Only now did Tee'ah truly understand what her aunt meant. The paths forged on one's own were the most difficult to travel. If she tried to make her own way, she might fail, spectacularly so, and hurt those she loved in the process. Or she might achieve everything of which she'd dreamed. But if she stayed here, she'd never find out, would she?
She walked away from the window. Wrung her hands. Walked back.
Outside, ocher plains stretched to the distant, gently bowed horizon, now smudged by blowing dust. The Tjhu'nami. When the dangerous winds arrived, no one would attempt flights in or out of Dar City. What if she were to leave tonight? Steal a star-speeder. Palace security wouldn't risk going after her until the gale subsided to a safe level. Leaving just before the storm hit would give her a full standard day's head start, would it not?
She wrung her hands harder. The plan was too rushed. She needed more time to think it over. There would be another storm later in the season. But if she were forbidden to fly, her piloting skills would have deteriorated by then, reducing her chances of success.
She dropped her hands. If she was going to leave, it had to be tonight—if she could find a starspeeder and if the confusion of the Tjhu'nami indeed cloaked her departure.
So many "ifs." Doubt swamped her.
Her family didn't deserve the pain her sudden departure would bring them. But if she stayed on in a culture that treated her as if she had no free will, no control over her destiny, no choices, she'd soon be as dry and empty as a seed husk in the autumn winds. Her body would live to a ripe old age, yes, but her spirit would be dead long before that.
Go. Follow your dreams. Yes, before they were lost to her forever. Her blood surged. This time when she turned away from the window, it was to gather the items she needed to facilitate her escape.
Chapter Two
Tee'ah used the waning hours before the storm to work on the mechanics of her plan. She'd packed a small satchel with money credits and a few shirts and pairs of pants of her brother's, taken from his quarters after she was sure he and his family had left for the dining hall. She'd requisitioned his laser pistol, too. He wouldn't mind, she reasoned, once he realized she'd need the weapon for protection. The letter she'd written her parents—a heartbreaking task—would not appear on their private comm channel until after she'd gone.
The familiar sound of falling shields, thunderous explosions rumbling through the palace, signaled the imminent approach of the Tjhu'nami. Designed as protection against the storm, the dear barriers slammed shut automatically over all windows when the wind reached a predetermined velocity. When the last of the shields' resounding booms faded, Tee'ah opened her bedroom door. She yanked the bill of her cargo pilot cap over her forehead and peered into a suddenly silent, deserted corridor. The ragged tufts tickling her jaw were all that remained after chopping off her thick, thigh-length hair.
The wind bombarded the shields, harder now. Her ears popped with the oscillating atmospheric pressure.
She clutched the doorjamb, unable to force herself forward—or back—caught between her future and her past, between a crazy wish and common sense. Her uneven breathing became a roar in her ears, amplifying her self-doubt, threatening her resolve. But if she wanted to escape to freedom and independence, she'd have to overcome her childish fears, starting with her terror of the storm.
Go. She grabbed her satchel and propelled herself into a full-fledged run through a labyrinth of white polished-stone corridors she knew by heart. Her cargo pilot coverall allowed her a freedom of movement she'd never experienced in the ankle-length gowns she'd worn all her life. Her lungs burned, her legs tightened, but the exertion brought her joy, as if her body were a fresh-from-the-shipyard starship experiencing light speed for the first time.
She skidded to a brisk walk as she entered the mezzanine of Mistraal’s spaceport. Cool, dry air and the resonance of the enormous chamber snapped her into instant alertness. From under her pilot cap, she gazed at the dust-glazed sky reflected in an immense but graceful passenger shuttle, newly arrived from the orbital space-city, and packed with hundreds of passengers eager to arrive before the storm.
Slashes of early-evening sunlight fanned over the marble floor, illuminating the travelers exiting the shuttle. Great Mother. She recognized half the people milling about—palace staff and workers… and several members of her father's Security Council.
Praying she looked nothing like a princess, she rolled her shoulders back, swinging her arms in the cocky, casual stride used by the intersystem cargo pilots she'd always admired. And envied. Perspiration trickled down one cheek. Her flight suit clung to her damp skin as she pushed forward against the tide of travelers.
Faster. You must launch before the storm hits.
Eyes downcast, she left the mezzanine behind, walking as swiftly as she could without actually running. A locked door separated the shuttle bay from the passenger area. She shoved her left palm into a hand reader. The receptacle beeped and displayed
ACCESS DENIED.
She steadied herself with a deep breath and again wedged her hand into the reader. STAND BY. An amber light bunked while the unit attempted to reconcile her sweaty, tense palm with what it "thought" her hand was supposed to look like.
Heartbeats ticked by. Tee'ah swore under her breath.
CHECKING… CHECKING…
You'll never see your family again. Heavens, she loved her parents, her brothers, their wives and children. If she ran away she'd cause them untold pain and worry. The muscles in her arm contracted and her fingers stiffened.
CHECKING… CHECKING…
She forcibly relaxed her hand, tamping down on her upsurge of guilt. She had to keep her mind clear, her thoughts rational. She mustn't allow regret to distract her.
VERIFICATION COMPLETED.
The door slid open. Her breath hissed out. She dashed into the vast hangar, her boots thudding against the silver alloy flooring in lonely echoes. The area where the starspeeders were docked was predictably deserted. When she'd accessed
the computer in her bedchamber, she'd noted that only gates six and seven were scheduled to have a vessel occupying the bay. One… two… three: she counted the gates as she ran. All were vacant. Her stomach quivered with the unwelcome vision of finding six and seven empty, too.
Four… five… There! She gave a silent cheer. The ship she'd had her eye on was safely docked at bay six to wait out the storm. It was the break she'd counted on.
The starspeeder was small, built for a crew of four. But its oversize engines and sleek fuselage made it fast. She would need that speed to put distance between her and the soldiers her father would inevitably set on her trail—by tomorrow, she figured. She did a quick mental calculation: the stored food and water on the ship, a week's worth for each of its four pilots, would keep her alive during the journey to the frontier.
She eased her hand into her right pocket. Her fingertips brushed the cool, impersonal cylinder of her borrowed laser pistol as she stepped inside the ship's darkened interior. By the heavens, someone was sitting in the cockpit—at the controls.
She almost groaned aloud. The last thing she'd anticipated was leaving behind a witness. Raising her pistol, she moved out of the shadows. "Get up," she said, her voice calm, in fact miraculously so.
The pilot spun around in his chair. His throat bobbed when he saw her weapon, but his hand slid toward the flashing red light that was a direct link to Mistraal's planetary security.
"Touch the comm and you're space dust."
A flush rose in his face and his hand retreated. Nonetheless, she aimed at his head, praying he didn't call her bluff and make her use the thing. She'd never shot at anything, certainly not a live person, as if she'd actually ever try. Even if she did, she'd no doubt miss and rip a hole in the hull and heaven knew what else, blowing her chance to take the ship.