Suffrage (World Key Chronicles Book 1)

by Julian St Aubyn Green

  His attacking guards disintegrated into fine ash where they stood. She could feel herself losing her grip, pulled in too many directions and feeling everything. Raw. Exposed. She wasn’t going to be able to control the wild flame for much longer. She pulled deep at his Gift, enough to hurt, and felt a final powerful pulse travel along his arms, still raised towards the heavens. Fire erupted from his palms towards the silvery hull above him.

  As the cannons built up charge for another salvo, Mr. Delta burst onto the bridge. “Sire! Shields! The Rebels have a Gift—”

  Delta flung himself forward, throwing his hands up as the focused lance of liquid plasma blew through the forecastle, tearing into the forward cannon, which promptly exploded.

  White hot shrapnel and crystalline shards scythed through the air, striking any crew in the open and ending them. Those on the bridge behind Delta’s telekinetic shield were spared the worst of the blast, although the concussion knocked all but King Heinrich off their feet.

  Thalia flickered into being aboard the bridge. “Shields offline. Forward cannon offline. Damage to forward stabilizers. Damage to docking area. Fire on decks three and five. Limited maneuverability. Reserve battery stack has sustained damage. Transfer capability offline.”

  As he struggled to regain breath, Delta felt a faint memory like a familiar face seen across a crowded room. The shape of her thoughts. The very texture of her soul. It was bright and shining and free.

  Then it was gone. It had been a decade, but he recognized the mind of his sister and froze, his thoughts and emotions a reflection of the chaos in the mindscape that swirled around his shield.

  As the litany of loss and damage continued, Delta coughed weakly and watched as Heinrich gripped the bridge railing, a muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching.

  “Are the Rebels still alive?” The king asked.

  “I cannot locate them, Sire. My ability to detect a quantum tag transit signature is currently offline,” the AI responded.

  “Is that moron Prince Ahmed still alive?”

  “Yes. He’s moving, Sire.”

  Heinrich turned to Delta and whispered, “Mycroft, Luna, Genetics. Countess Anna is in charge until I say otherwise. Understand?”

  Delta shivered slightly as the code words activated his neural tech. He nodded and listened carefully as Heinrich continued speaking.

  “You’ll accept her every order as if it came from me. Thalia, give Mr. Delta access rights. Instruct the transport still out there to pick up the prince and come find us.”

  Heinrich turned away, his face a mask of concentration. The Songstress groaned as a tiny vibration spread outward from the king himself, causing a ship-wide ripple as the Walker King unleashed his full power.

  Stanford waited, fidgeting next to the ambassador in the secure communications room. It had taken hours to get here. The road blocks and impromptu street parties had diverted him time and again in his attempt to reach the embassy. Eventually, he’d spotted a taxi and given the driver his watch and wedding band as payment for the fare. He just hoped his wife would forgive him.

  At first, the embassy staff scoffed when he requested to speak to the ambassador as soon as possible. When he raised his voice and refused to leave, an armed guard took him to a holding room that smelled of coffee and dry paper, where some moron questioned him and owlishly examined his driver’s license and asked where his passport was. Asked him if he’d been mugged during his holiday, and was that why he had no cash or papers?

  An impassioned plea had no effect, and he’d been made to wait. Bureaucratic bullshit of the worst kind at the worst possible moment.

  When the owl-like man returned and started with the same questions, as if forgetting he’d already asked them, Stanford lost his temper in spectacular fashion. He’d screamed the name of Colonel Hardaker, and ranted that he’d been at Patrick Air Force Base when it was attacked.

  They’d written him off as a crackpot and placed him in a different holding room to cool down with an armed guard who could have given the colonel a run for the Stony-Faced Man of the Year Award.

  It wasn’t until someone higher up finally deigned to check on the crazy man that he’d been able to convince someone to contact the White House.

  Now he sat next to the ambassador as they patched through to COCOM.

  The screen activated, showing a room surprisingly familiar to Stanford. It was the same one he’d seen on the footage Colonel Hardaker had shown him. The situation room where the president had interrogated her staff about the sudden appearance of aliens in Florida.

  “This is,” the ambassador began, before being interrupted by the President’s forceful tones.

  “Dr. Stanford Ellis. We know. Sorry Lilly. We’ve got no time for pleasantries. Dr. Ellis, we presumed you were dead. What happened? How are you in Brazil?”

  Stanford swallowed over the thick lump in his throat. “They aren’t aliens, Madam President. They’re from an alternate reality. One very different from our own.” He swallowed again, smoothing back his hair. “This is going to be hard to believe, but I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes. I need to tell you about something called the world keys.”

  Sarge’s words in the hotel room came back him. He’d had a lot of time to think while waiting to get to this point. The Rebel soldier was right. This world couldn’t afford the kind of devastation the Royals would bring. They needed to help these Rebels and get these objects of destructive power away from this world. Now I just need to convince the president.

  Anna picked herself up from the floor of the communication room, her head throbbing with pain. Where’s the damned medic? Rapid disconnection of the neural signal always caused feedback. She struggled not to dry heave.

  With her hands planted on the floor, she could feel the shuddering of The Songstress. Forward stabilizer has been damaged. What in the realms? There wasn’t any sign of combat forces in the area when she sat down to use the ship systems to search for the Rebels among the crowd. She got shakily to her knees as alarms started to blare and used the comms chair to lever herself the rest of the way.

  “Thalia, what’s happening?” she questioned the AI, rubbing an elbow where she’d obviously banged it on the way down.

  The distorted voice of the ship responded, “Prince Ahmed blew a hole in the forecastle and destroyed the main fore cannon with his Gift. I’m giving the king a rundown of the damage now.”

  That little shit. By the Monarchs, what did he do? “What’s the most critical system damage? I’m on my way,” Anna replied. Headache and nausea be damned. If the ship was in trouble, she’d damned well live with it until she was sure they weren’t going to fall out of the sky.

  “The most urgent area is—wait. I think the king is going to—”

  Anna had traveled with the king once before in her two years on the ship. She’d felt that alien sensation a half-second before the transfer. It made her stomach sink like she was midway through a fast turn in an attack lightship.

  Matter moved through space as King Heinrich synced the entire ship and its contents to his own quantum tag and shuffled all the particles sideways. This time she did retch, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the nearby comms chair helplessly as the ship vibrated and shifted. Finally, the ship settled. Once her stomach finished emptying itself, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, clutched her cramping abdominal muscles, and exited the comms room.

  Much of the ship was on emergency lighting as she strode down the barely-lit hallway, spitting to remove the taste of bile from her mouth. She could smell smoke on the air, tinged with the ozone of cooked electronics. She heard the sounds of automated systems switching online to extinguish the fires.

  “Thank you, Thalia.”

  Thalia’s own response was less heartening. “The king has transferred command to you, Countess. After using his Gift and transferring the ship, he fell unconscious on the bridge.”

  “What?!” Anna yelled. She quickened her pace as best she could, her
thoughts turning to Heinrich.

  She knew he avoided using his Gift in such a way. When he overextended himself, it weakened him. Moving the entire ship without the benefit of his world key to fuel the transfer, such an action would cost him dearly. He wouldn’t have done it if the ship wasn’t in a dire situation.

  She turned her mind to the task at hand: The Songstress needed her. “Thalia, damage reports,” she commanded, ascending the stairs.

  As the ship’s AI listed damage to her, she swore inwardly. Dead crew, a list of systems offline, and numerous resources expended without any gain, taunted her with their immediate need for attention. They were lucky the prince’s fire hadn’t hit something truly irreplaceable, like Thalia’s crystal core or the main battery array. “Where are we?” she interrupted Thalia’s recitation.

  “The king transported us inland, approximately 3,000 kilometers north-west. I’m scanning now, but there do not appear to be any settlements nearby; all lenses show rainforest beneath us,” Thalia answered, her holographic avatar flickering alongside as Anna piled on the speed to crest the stairs.

  “Can you get us to some form of cover?” Anna demanded as she turned into the last passageway that led to the bridge.

  A crewman in blue and gold exited the medical bay with the sigil slash on the right shoulder indicating his status as a medic. A medical bag slung over his shoulder bounced as he rapidly moved along the wide passageway to the bridge, matching her own pace.

  “Not without risk, Countess. With the forward stabilizers damaged, I lack sufficient maneuverability. There is a small river valley that will shield us from casual observance 1,217 meters to the north-north-west, but it will be a close fit.”

  “Give it your best shot. If the king transferred us, then it’s more important that we hide.”

  Anna and the medic entered the bridge together and stopped, surveying the devastation. Shattered glass adorned every horizontal surface and one of the bridge consoles was a smoking ruin. People were down, three of them bleeding and letting the world know it.

  The medic turned immediately to the closest of them before Anna’s hand, strong from years of fixing machinery, gripped his upper arm and shoved him towards the unconscious form of the king. That odd man, Mister Delta, in Mycroft’s livery of white and gold, hovered over him, his strange gold-flecked, violet eyes blinking behind his mask as if to clear smoke from them. Thalia’s avatar stood nearby, undulating like she was underwater as smoke passed through her insubstantial form.

  While the medic examined the king, Anna turned to Mr. Delta. She hadn’t spoken two words to him since his arrival on the ship, although she had listened at the king’s bedroom door when he’d made his revelation to Heinrich. The mere possibility that another movement key existed in this version of reality had energized Heinrich.

  It gave her a glimpse of the man he might once have been. She wanted to see that again. She knew Heinrich as an implacable man, a man haunted by the loss of his first family at the hands of the Rebels. She secretly hoped that she might be able to help him find his way out of the quagmire of loss and revenge. She knew he could be more. If he’d only forgive himself. If his obsession with hunting Rebels ever ceased.

  Anna knew Mister Delta’s secret. Heinrich had shared his knowledge about the man. Anna pursed her lips before glancing speculatively at the slight figure as he coughed, his wheezy breaths sounding like a heavy smoker. “What’s wrong Mr. Delta?”

  That hideous voice that sent shivers up her spine took a moment to respond. “The smoke, Countess. It irritates my lungs,” he shuddered, edging further away from the smoldering console before bowing deeply to her, face to the floor.

  She wasn’t due such obeisance and raised an eyebrow at him. “What orders did the king give you before he transferred the ship?” she enquired.

  “That you were in charge until he said otherwise. That I was to treat any orders from you as if they came from him,” he asserted towards the deck, remaining in that position of submission.

  Anna wasn’t used to genuflection. Heinrich actively discouraged it and likewise, she found the gesture off-putting. His scratchy voice made him sound like something dark that lived in a pond. Yet he was a tool she could use; but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy his presence.

  “Once the medic has finished his examination, take the king back to his chambers, see to his needs, and guard him,” she commanded, and he straightened. She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I don’t trust Prince Ahmed. With the king unconscious, he’s the highest ranking noble and may try to take control. Listen to the prince and his men. If you think the prince poses a danger to the king, you will kill him. If anyone on this ship bears the king ill will, you will inform me.”

  She returned to surveying the damage on the bridge and the consoles that beeped and flashed, requiring her attention. There was work to be done.

  The sudden drop in temperature as the transfer bubble dissipated struck Jay like a cold fist, causing her to shiver instantly. It stole her breath away in white puffs of vapor as she exhaled, and imbued her inhalations with an icy bite. Not that she had much wind either way. She felt wrung out. Blinking, she hoped to clear the spots in front of her eyes, but they didn’t disappear. Ripples of color flashed and swirled around her teammates: reds, yellows, blues, black. Every single emotion and thought from her family and friends bled into her sight as shimmering auras of color that she couldn’t block out. She knew this as a precursor to a shocking migraine of devastating proportions.

  That’s what you get girl, for trying to channel a hundred thousand thoughts into one mind, she thought bitterly to herself. Worth it.

  With a cry of joy, China lunged towards Jay and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close and planting a kiss on the top of her head. “I thought we were going to lose you Jay-Jay,” China whispered to her. Jay simply nodded and smiled through the encroaching pain.

  Then Sarge’s arms curled around them. “I thought I would lose you both,” she mumbled into China’s shoulder. She heard the sounds of kissing above her head and couldn’t shut out the images she saw in their heads. Eww. Jay enjoyed the hug, as their attention returned to her, but as their warm comforting arms encircled her, she couldn’t help overhearing Snake and Mack.

  “Fuck it’s cold—and what’s with the darkness, Snake? What icy hell did you transport us to?” Mack snapped, taking off her pack hurriedly and rummaging through it.

  “N-North Pole,” Snake answered through chattering teeth. From between Sarge’s arms, Jay could see him hugging the instrument to himself.

  “It must be minus-twenty out here.”

  “H-hey, I grew up in North Queensland remember? I’m not exactly enjoying the brisk breeze,” Snake shot back.

  “Then why’d you bring us here? We’re not equipped to deal with these temperatures.” She angrily ripped out some silvery cloth and wrapped it around herself. “This is dangerous, especially moving from tropical warmth. Our bodies could go into hypothermic shock in minutes. To say nothing of the frostbite.”

  “Because I’m tired of causing death everywhere we go!” Snake roared in response, displaying the only heat in the frigid landscape. “We arrive in Florida and the Royals come and start killing people. We transit to Rio and guess what? The bloody Royals come and kill more innocent people. To save our lives from the frigates’ cannons I—I had to.”

  Jay watched Snake choke back a sob, unable to finish the sentence.

  “Dammit! Some of that blood, that’s on our hands for leading them here. Dickheads. If they trace us here, at least there’s no one around to kill except us.” Snake turned away from Mack, looking out at the frozen landscape. “Fucking wankers.”

  Jay heard the silvery microbag crackle against fabric. She guessed Mack must have hugged him. She couldn’t see as her familial embrace tightened, protecting her against the cold.

  “I’m sorry Snake. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry. You saved our lives from th
e lightship frigate. As someone you saved … thank you.” Mack continued, “But just remember who is at fault here. It’s not you; the Royals are the ones firing the shinkari cannons, not us.”

  Despite the warm embrace of her foster parents, Jay could not seem to catch her breath in the arctic air. Her vision was little more than a blur of colors and fending off the nascent migraine took the rest of her energy.

  Jay felt China shiver and spoke up. “Okay. Having an oxygen problem here, you’re squeezing me too tight.” She gave one last squeeze before pushing the two of them away and hurrying towards Mack for warmer clothes as the wind bit into her.

  During the flurry of opening packs, Sarge weighed in, her voice carrying over the noise of the wind easily. “While I appreciate the quick transfer Snake, Jay’s given us plenty of time. The Royals won’t fix their frigate any time soon, not with what that Gifted did.”

  “That ‘Gifted’ was Prince Ahmed,” China spat out, voice like sour limes, “thirty-third son of the Dragon. While he’s a law-abiding citizen in his father’s kingdom, he has some unusual tastes. He’s fond of Honeytown, for one thing.” He glanced uneasily at Jay and the teenager rolled her eyes at her foster father before donning a thick, woolen beanie. She knew China was talking about sex.

  Jay had read about Honeytown on the Rebels’ infonet as a good place to blend in and make money, if you had the right skills. As with many communities and settlements, Honeytown was a community of like-minded individuals that shared common interests both personal, cultural, and economic. Principle number eight: Citizens are free to form their own communities with their own government and laws. So long as those laws don’t countermand the Principles.

  Artists tended to congregate together, scientists worked together, farming communities developed. It all seemed to work in apparent harmony. Honeytown, like so many other communities, focused on one cultural extreme. The whole city was an adults-only theme park where participating tourists would try and score points through sexual encounters. Each citizen resident, wearing the special bracelet for identification, was an encounter and carried a score.