The Worker Prince

by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  “The longer he remains here, the more information he can gather,” Uzah said.

  “I vouch for him,” Aron said. “That ought to mean something.”

  “It does, Aron,” Uzah said, his voice softening. “No one here doubts your character, but we worry your love for his family may be blinding you where he’s concerned.”

  “You trust him too much,” Matheu added. “He already knows the location of our base, the numbers and make of our starcraft. How much more can we afford to let him see?”

  “He’s done nothing to cause suspicion,” Aron argued. “Being adopted by the princess doesn’t automatically make him a spy. He had no idea about his true heritage until recently.”

  “It does bring his loyalty into question,” Uzah said.

  “The Alliance is the only family he’s ever known,” Matheu said. “Why would he turn against them after twenty years?”

  Tela found it hard to understand the vitriol she was hearing in Matheu and Uzah’s voices. “He may be arrogant, but he made it obvious in his speeches at the rallies that he doesn’t approve of how the Alliance has been treating workers. And he’s been teaching us a lot about Alliance tactics in class.”

  “How do you know it’s accurate?” Matheu asked.

  “Because a lot of it matches the information already programmed into the simulators,” Tela said. “A lot of it confirms what we’d already gathered ourselves, too. He’s also given us information we didn’t know.”

  “Simulators can be reprogrammed,” Matheu said.

  “We won’t be able to confirm the information is accurate until the fighting begins,” Uzah said. “Can we really afford to wait until then to determine if he can be trusted?”

  “Do you really think he reprogrammed every simulator?” Tela asked, feeling her irritation growing.

  “The Boralians’ one goal is to keep us enslaved,” Matheu said. “They’ll do anything to make sure that happens.”

  “Have you spent any time with him, General?” Tela asked testily.

  “I don’t need time with him!” Matheu snapped.

  “Oh? So you’re like one of the Old Testament prophets then,” Tela responded. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I am your superior officer!” Matheu jumped up from the table.

  “We’re all on the same side here,” Aron said gently, raising a hand to calm them.

  “The General’s right,” Uzah said. “None of us know him well enough to risk so much.”

  “I know him, and so does Aron.” The anger in her voice surprised her. She softened her tone. “We have spent time with him, and you know us. At some point, we all have to trust each other as we grow. No one can vet everyone.” Tela lowered her eyes to the table and took a deep breath. Why was she defending him so strongly? Okay, so they’d been getting along, and his attitude did seem to be softening. But why do I care so much?

  “This is an officer in a position of importance,” Matheu snapped.

  Aron raised a hand to stop them. “This fighting solves nothing,” Aron said, looking as frustrated as Tela felt. “I’ve staked my reputation on him, and I’m confident I’m right.”

  “What if you’re not?” Uzah asked.

  “What do you want to do?” Joram asked. “Send him back and risk him going to the Alliance with everything he knows? At least here we can keep an eye on him.”

  “We can test him,” Tela suggested. “Feed him false information and see how the Alliance reacts.”

  “We don’t have time for such games,” Matheu said.

  “Well, he’s here, General,” Tela said, as she stood from the table. “And without him, we’ll never be ready to fly those starfighters into battle. Trust him or not, we need him.”

  “We monitor all communications in and out of the base,” Joram said. “We’ll know if he makes contact with the enemy.”

  When no one responded, Tela nodded and headed for the door, wondering when Davi had managed to win her over.

  O O O

  Just as Miri had planned it, the package left the Palace with the Royal garbage, wrapped in a discarded towel inside a bag tied with a red ribbon. The garbage traveled on the garbage skiff to a central dump, where it was unloaded and sat, waiting to be sorted for either incineration or a launch into space.

  The courier had no trouble getting access to the garbage dock. Month’s end was a busy time, and no one was around to intercept him. He saw the red ribbon right away, untied it and found the package. He removed it before slipping the ribbon back in place, then disappeared.

  An hour later, the courier dropped the package at a newsstand in the starport, leaving it taped to the underside of one of the many news monitors before disappearing into the crowd.

  The second courier came ten minutes later, reaching under the monitor to find the package and quickly removed it before also disappearing. He dropped it at a flower stand outside the offices of Media Corp., an independent national broadcasting company on Legallis.

  Miri’s package sat under a vase at the flower stand marked with a small piece of red tape for five minutes before Orson Sterling arrived to claim it. A burly, slightly overweight man in his early forties with disheveled hair, he bought the vase, careful to place his hand flat on the bottom as he carried it back inside Media Corp.’s offices to his cubicle.

  He eagerly opened the package at his desk and popped the memory card into his vidscreen. Reporters waited a lifetime for a story like this—and it had come to him signed, sealed, and delivered. He alone knew the source. He’d been contacted a few days before by coded e-post from a special communications center, not the Royal Palace. Miri had been very careful. Orson Sterling would be forever grateful to her.

  Chapter Eight

  Xalivar shut off the vidscreen with his fist. After two weeks, it had gotten so he couldn’t even watch the news nets any more. He cursed whoever had betrayed him by leaking these stories.

  At first, he’d pretended it didn’t matter. One story on one network was nothing to worry about. Orson Sterling was an overinflated loudmouthed reporter. Media Corp. reporters always slammed the government. But then it spread to every channel except the Federal one. Citizen groups formed in protest—Worker Rights Party, Worker Freedom Party, Lords for Workers; it sickened him. Didn’t these people know what was best for them? Didn’t they know that the government—that he Xalivar—was making decisions with their needs in mind?

  To make matters worse, there were rumors the Council was discussing a special hearing about atrocities against workers. Xalivar cursed the citizens and the Council. He cursed Orson Sterling, too. Bunch of idiots who didn’t have a clue! His mouth twisted with disgust and his nostrils flared.

  Bordox and Zylo continued to turn up nothing in their search. Xalivar couldn’t remember encountering such incompetence since the Delta V disaster twenty-five years earlier. He’d hand-chosen rising stars to head that one, too. Could he be losing his touch? He used to be able to predict military stars and exploit them through special opportunities which built their loyalty to him. But now, he couldn’t seem to pick winners. He sighed, glancing at the chrono. Time for another daily report from Manaen.

  At least no one would see the worst footage. Xalivar had hidden the tapes in the Royal archive and supervised the destruction of any copies himself. What had been released seemed like light bruises compared to what those tapes revealed. He knew he needed to go to the Royal archives and destroy the tapes. Just in case.

  He stood, straightened his clothes, and hit the button on the door, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. By now, Manaen would be waiting for him.

  O O O

  On his way to a meeting at the command center conference room, Davi ran into Aron heading the same way. “Good morning.”

  Aron smiled. “Good morning indeed. How are our trainees doing?”

  “They’re working hard and they need it.”

  Aron laughed. “If anyone can whip them into shape, you can.”

 
Davi smiled, wishing he had the same confidence. “Some of them may never be flight-worthy. I have to show them the same things over and over. Others resent me for my past. They don’t want to learn from me.” He hesitated, wondering how honest he should be with Aron.

  Aron noted the look on his face and reached up to squeeze Davi’s shoulder as they walked. “Well, don’t give up,” Aron said. “They’re all we’ve got.”

  “Maybe with several months’ training I could bring them along,” Davi said.

  “We don’t have several months. I wish we did.” Aron said as they entered the bustling command center and found the conference room already packed.

  “I’m no miracle worker,” Davi said as they reached the door.

  “Become one. You don’t have a choice,” Aron said sincerely.

  “The untrusting are among the most talented. I could really use their help with the others.”

  “It’s hard for some here to trust you. Even some of the leaders have questioned me about it. But I believe in you. They’ll come around.” He smiled, putting a hand on Davi’s arm.

  Entering the conference room, they both found their way to empty chairs. What is that supposed to mean? If this were the Borali Alliance, the weight of his status as a Royal would have prevented his opinion from being so easily brushed aside, but he hadn’t carried that weight amongst the WFR from day one, and he was convinced he never would. He didn’t miss it most of the time. This was an exception. Before he had time to think about it, the meeting began.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Joram said from the head of the table. “As you may know, Vertullis has an energy shield designed to protect the entire planet. Like similar shields deployed around Legallis and Regallis, this protects the planet from incoming laser weapons and starcraft. To pass through, starcraft must first enter a clearance code to lower a portion of the shield along their flight path. The Alliance put it in place to protect the planet if the need arose, but because there has been no external threat, they’ve never deployed it. For months now, we have observed the control station where Vertullis’ energy shield is operated. The plan we have devised involves a multi-front assault. General Matheu has the overview.”

  Joram stepped aside as General Matheu moved to the head of the table. Around Aron’s age and in a full dress uniform—dark blue, unlike the Borali Alliance army’s gray, his face was hard, expressionless; his eyes intense—like a man who had lived through many difficulties. Davi had heard rumors he’d been a hero of the Delta V revolt years before.

  “Our flight team will be broken into two teams—one to assault the starport at Legallis, the other, the starport on Vertullis. Infantry assaults will occur simultaneously at multiple locations on Vertullis—the government complex, the starport, and the energy shield control center. At the same time, the mechanics core at all Boralian starports will disable any grounded Alliance ships, preventing their launch. Our goal will be to capture Alliance fighters and return them here, while taking control of the energy shield around Vertullis.”

  “If the shield has never been used,” a woman near the far end of the table said, “how do we know it even works?”

  “It has been tested every year since its inception,” Joram said. “We have confirmed that it’s been functional during those tests.”

  Davi hadn’t known Vertullis even had a shield. Having never flown there himself, he’d never had to ask for clearance to land.

  “What happens when the Alliance sends fighters from other bases to attack us?” the woman asked again.

  “As long as the energy shield is activated, fighters will be ineffective,” Joram said. “Any fighters we launch can be cleared through the shield to engage them.”

  “You expect to steal fighters from both Vertullis and Legallis? Do we have enough pilots?” asked a man seated across the table from Davi.

  “We have forty trainees in Captain Rhii’s flight training class at present,” Aron said. “He can better inform you as to their status and capabilities.”

  All eyes turned to Davi, who met their stares with false confidence as his mind raced. What am I supposed to tell them—that their plan is a complete bust? There’s no way my trainees can be ready any time soon! They’ll probably think I’m stalling because of torn loyalties or something.

  He stood, smiling, and doing his best to hide his feelings. “It remains to be seen if all forty trainees can even qualify as flight-worthy,” he said. “Some of them have little if any experience with land craft, let alone starcraft.”

  “But you must have seen some progress over the past two weeks,” Uzah said.

  “Some are progressing quite well, yes,” Davi said. “But I have concerns about certifying all of them without months more of training.” He cleared his throat as he felt an empty feeling in his stomach.

  “We don’t have months,” General Matheu said sternly. “They’ll have to do the best they can.” Curt and direct. Of all the WFR leaders, Matheu was the one who’d distrusted Davi from the start. Every conversation they’d had since his arrival had dripped with tension.

  “With all due respect, it won’t do us any good to take fighters and have them crash on the way back or get lost out in space,” Davi said with as much authority as he could facing such a commanding opponent.

  “You’ll have to double the training time and work harder to prepare them,” General Matheu responded, his look making it clear he wouldn’t accept excuses.

  “Half the candidates had prior flight experience,” Joram said. “Those should be able to defend the others. The rest merely need to be able to follow their leader back to this base.”

  “I’m doing the best I can, but I can’t guarantee they will be ready,” Davi said.

  Aron put a hand on his arm. “Captain Rhii is one of the most qualified pilots to graduate from the Borali Alliance Military Academy in the past five years. I’m sure he’ll find a way to bring them up to speed.” He smiled at Davi, motioning with his head for Davi to sit down.

  Davi sighed and sat back down in the chair, relieved to have a moment to gather himself again.

  “Besides the pilot issue,” the woman said again, “do we even have enough infantry for these coordinated assaults?”

  Uzah stood, smiling. “Our recruiting efforts have been quite successful. We have five hundred men in various stages of training.”

  “Various stages don’t guarantee they’ll be ready.” The woman’s stream of questions reminded Davi of Brie.

  “They’ll be ready. I’m quite confident,” Uzah said, his face determined, but Davi wondered how he felt inside. It seems to me they’re taking a very fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants approach. Do they really expect to succeed?

  “Once we control the shield, the military outposts on Vertullis, and have VS28 fighters, we will be able to protect and defend the planet,” General Matheu said, sounding as if he had no doubts.

  “And what if we fail?” The man across from Davi wondered.

  “We cannot fail. Our people’s lives depend on it,” General Matheu said. They didn’t need the look he proffered to convince them he meant it.

  After the meeting, Davi walked out with Aron, more worried than before. The military leaders were clearly knowledgeable but their overconfidence worried him. Was it all bravado? That would at least be better than ignorance. “Do any of you realize we’re attempting the impossible?”

  Aron smiled. “Our people have a saying: Nothing is impossible with God.”

  “We risk losing so many in the process,” Davi said.

  “How many of our people have already died at the hands of the Borali Alliance?” Aron asked. “It’s a matter of time before we’re discovered here. Word is spreading. They can die trying or wait for the Alliance to come here and destroy them. Either way, the risk is the same.”

  Davi couldn’t argue. He knew the workers’ future depended on their success. He felt that pressure every class with his pilot trainees. And it was a heavy burden.

  Aron
smiled, patting his arm. “Do the best you can. You’ve been well-trained. I have faith in you.”

  The trainees had progressed over the past month, but Davi didn’t want the responsibility for qualifying anyone who wasn’t ready. Flying came easy to him, but when it came to the safety of others, he was more cautious. Davi appreciated Aron’s encouragement. He just wished he had the same faith in himself.

  O O O

  A few minutes after Farien returned on a floater from reviewing the activity in the fields, Bordox and his men entered his makeshift office in one of the barns.

  The floater was a blue floating platform with two seats facing a control panel at the front. The largest floaters had benches which held as many as twenty troops—more if ten more stood in the middle. Smaller models, like this one, held four or five passengers. Floaters moved by manipulating the air underneath as they floated along above the ground.

  Farien sat at his desk, cocky and smirking as Bordox stared down at him with a serious look on his face, saying nothing. Farien fought the urge to laugh at the intensity of their old rival’s stare. They hadn’t seen each other in almost a year, yet Bordox’s scowl evoked so many memories of their youths.

  “Hello Bordox. How have you been?” Farien said after a moment.

  Bordox nodded. “Have you heard anything new from our old friend Xander?”

  Not wasting any time, are you? “Why do you want to know?”

  Bordox frowned. “The High Lord Councilor wants to know.” He said it as if it were a threat but Farien didn’t even blink.

  “I’m sure the High Lord Councilor, being his uncle, knows where he is,” Farien said, his face making it clear he was unimpressed by Bordox’s angry expression and tone.

  “Your friend is a criminal wanted by the Borali Alliance for murder. If the High Lord Councilor knew where to find him, he’d be under arrest,” Bordox said.

  “I know all about the murder charges. It was self-defense,” Farien said. “I’m sure he’s out gathering evidence before he turns himself in.”

  “When was the last contact you had with him?”