Destiny's Kingdom: Legend of the Chosen

by Daniel Huber

  "Well, Ryder, I'll send you message when the job's complete. Should be less than a day before it's done, and I'm back here safe and sound."

  "I look forward to that, Clea. And the successful delivery of my bounty."

  He looked down at her as she circled him, and was reminded of how she moved when they'd walked through the marketplace, the seductive way she'd weaved around him and looked up at him with such coy confidence. He stood away from the turret and she laughed, for what seemed like no particular reason.

  "Good day, Ryder. I'll speak with you sometime before next 'morrow." Her hand brushed against his hip as she walked away from him and toward her ship, which was docked just fifty or so paces away, and she looked back over her shoulder and smiled. Even in the charcoal gray coveralls, even with her hair twisted into a simple braid, she still had the same sashaying walk, and still maintained the teasing manner that had first caught his attention when he'd searched her out on Seventh Day. Ryder shook himself away from his visual captor, and walked away from the area of the ship. He would soon see if she was as good in her profession as she was with her words.

  By noon Clea had just finished up the final diagnostic on her ship and was giving the hull a quick visual inspection when she thought she heard someone calling her name. Before she had time to analyze the voice, she had looked up and at that instant she realized it was too late. She had already made eye contact with Quade.

  Clea looked away. He was just at the entrance of the hangar, had been frantically calling out to her and waving his arms when she'd caught sight of him. A throng of people and at least a hundred paces stood between him and where she stood next to her ship. She flipped her diagnostic reader off, turned and scaled the ramp to the ship in two leaps and swung around the inside support on the hatch. She didn't look up this time when she heard the frantic call of Quade's voice coming closer, but instead secured the entry and sealed the hatch behind her. Taking a deep breath, she walked the short corridor that led to the cockpit. Her crew was already in place.

  "Ready?" she asked casually as she slid into the pilot's chair.

  "At your word Clea," Gannet held down a button and slid a bar across the control panel. "Clearance to depart just came through. "

  She stared straight ahead toward the bay doors that led to the sky, to open space, didn't avert her eyes as she spoke. "Well then," she said, "let's go."

  Ryder Deluka was having trouble getting a lock on his own tracking signal. He'd watched from a distance, waited until Duplicity had maneuvered through the bay doors of the hangar and disappeared into the sky. But still, for some reason, the signal was offering a reaction of feedback, a sign that his target was still too close. A long-range sensor trap the likes of the one he was using would read several systems away, should work with no problem at the distance Clea's ship certainly was by this time. But it would not work close-range, which was what the signal was indicating right now. The ship was surely through the atmosphere after this much time, and that was plenty far away for the signal to read. In the past it usually took no longer than his losing visual contact with a craft before the beacon began to transmit precise and clear. Ryder scowled at the tiny display that sat in the palm of his hand, the instrument that should follow the course of the bugged info disk he'd given to Clea. He was a shrewd trafficker, hadn't gotten to the place he was in his profession letting new contracts take his cargo without keeping close tabs on exactly where they went. He was suspicious of everyone, and had no tolerance for a smuggler who may make a side trip to partition some of his merchandise for a sale of their own. Especially since he'd paid up front, he wasn't about to let a cocky young girl like Clea Colletta take off with his goods without careful monitoring, no matter how flawless her reputation was. He hailed the receptor again, and again came the static feedback. Frustrated, Ryder maneuvered the tiny diagnostic wand about the controls on the front of the mechanism, going into the brain of the device. He'd watched Clea tuck her portable reader into her pocket with the signal-bugged disk still inside, had even lingered long enough to see her stow the instrument on her ship. He knew she wouldn't have been careless with a piece of equipment as expensive as that type of portable reader, couldn't possibly have forgotten it or dropped it by accident…

  Once inside the inner workings of the tracking device, Ryder could override the long-range scanners and pinpoint the exact location of the disk whose signal on which he was unable to lock. A tiny display map of the surrounding area came up on the readout, showed the position of the disk to be still within the hangar. Impossible! He'd seen her put it on her ship! Ryder further honed in on the signal, and saw that it was coming from the vicinity in which he stood, just within the hangar's support beams along the public entry hatch. And suddenly, a sense memory jogged inside his mind. He saw Clea as she'd stood next to him not an hour ago, saw her sway away from the turret on which she leaned, turning and laughing as she circled around him. And he reached into his hip pocket, the same side that her hand had brushed against so teasingly as she sashayed by him.

  Ryder looked up to the sky, his eyes filled with rage as he found his pocket not empty, but occupied by a thin glass sphere, the very bugged disk that he'd given to Clea. Ten thousand chid! he thought to himself, and a bounty of rare jewels! Now that bounty was truly entrusted to someone he barely knew, aside from the reputation that preceded her. How many times had he used this technique with flawless success, had he tracked his smuggling contracts in their every move? Countless times without fail. Without fail until now. Reluctantly, he shook his head and reluctantly, he chuckled. Ten thousand chid, he thought to himself, squeezing the remote disk that had ended up back in his own pocket after all by a simple slight of Clea's hand. The flat circle snapped in half inside Ryder's palm, continued to crush from the angry pressure of his fist. His cargo lost or delivered, Clea Colletta had outsmarted him in his own devices proving, if nothing else, that she certainly was no novice.

  Clea stared hard at the ship's sensor display as it continued to show another vessel on their same heading. It was a good half-hour's travel time in open space before they would reach the first nexus point in their journey to Tal-Min Vista, but she didn't like the feeling she was getting from the ship that followed just far enough behind to stay out of visual range. Every time the panel flashed showing the evidence of the phantom ship, her anxiety grew.

  "I don't like it either," Gannet said. Clea didn't take her eyes off the flashing light. She could have guessed that Gannet would have noticed it as well, though he hadn't said anything until just now. "I especially don't like how they're staying just far enough out of range that we can't see who they are. Do you think it's someone from Ryder's camp?"

  "No." There was no hesitation in Clea's voice as she spoke quietly to her most trusted crewmember. "No. Ryder would never be this obvious. Gannet, come about. Turn the ship around and head directly toward him just until we're close enough to get a look."

  Duplicity was moving off course before her last sentence was finished. Clea tore her gaze away from the flashing display to look over her shoulder and reached to slide a lever that would shut the hatch to the cockpit. Her remaining two crewmembers were still in the cargo hold, downloading the landing and contact information that Clea had copied before she discarded the bugged disc that Ryder had tried to plant on her. It was better that they were back there and away from the goings-on of the cockpit, just in case… just in case.”

  "Coming through now, Clea." Gannet's voice was steady. She was too anxious to look at the readout, instead focused on the screen where the visual would come through only a few seconds behind the sensor scan. "Bethan courier cruiser. Sovereign class. That's interesting-"

  "Quade!" She hissed his name under her breath and flung herself angrily back in her chair. "Damnit! Damn him!"

  At that second a hailing tone sounded on the com. Clea dove back to the board and received the hail, talking over whatever he may have said.

  "Turn around, Quade! Turn around a
nd go home!"

  "Not until you talk to me! You have information that I need, Clea. Information on this place…"

  Don't say it, she thought to herself. Don't say it out loud.

  Quade paused, but the channel stayed open.

  "He's requesting visual."

  She merely shook her head.

  "Clea, are you alone?"

  "What if I'm not, Quade? Then what?" Another pause.

  "Then what? Then you've got a ghost, that's what. I need to talk to you, and if you won't talk now, then I'll follow you all the way to where you're going. You may be a better pilot than me but I know these stars. And I'd wager you don't want a shadow following you into Tal-Min Vista."

  Gannet raised his brow but remained silent and Clea fisted her hand against her mouth, shaking her head. "Damn," she muttered again.

  "Come on Clea. You wouldn't want Ryder to think that you faltered on your big deal…"

  "Dock with him." Clea rose out of her seat but paused at the cockpit hatch. "And Gannet…"

  Gannet swiveled around in his chair, looked directly to her and put his finger over his lips. Through the gesture, he gave her a reassuring smile, and Clea knew he understood.

  Space dock was something that Duplicity rarely did; there was almost never a reason, as nearly all cargo was loaded from a planet's surface rather than between two ships in open space. There was too much room for error, too many possibilities of something slipping by undetected, so Clea made it a point to never accept any cargo ship-to-ship. And doing it for a conversation was, well, ridiculous. Why, when there was two-way visuals and voice, why, when there were transferable data relays? Why but for the reason which was becoming all too real, which had already confirmed itself too clearly for her comfort.

  The docking hatch was on the starboard side of Duplicity, and the port side of Quade's smaller ship. She watched the sequence of light above the connecting entries mesh and engage, seal and lock. Clea stood right against the connection portal and as soon as the lights showed a secure connection had been made she tripped the opening, jumped through onto Quade's ship and sealed the door behind her. She didn't want to chance him getting onto her ship for fear that if he were able to get on he may not leave. Since Quade had to control the first part of the docking sequence, he was just walking down the corridor as she shut the hatch behind her.

  "What is this!" she demanded, furious now that she was on his ship and off of hers, furious now that this was real. "The most important contract of my life and you do… this!"

  "Tell me about P'cadia Clea! Everything you know, tell me!" “

  "How do you know about P'cadia, Quade? And how can you be asking me this?"

  "Dreams, Clea. I've had dreams…" Quade paused, as if not sure to continue. "Other things as well. Something's happening…I don't know what exactly but something…something very bad… I need to know anything you can tell me, please! The importance of this…"

  "Importance?" Clea began to walk back toward the hatch, nearing the end of her tolerance. "Important that I explain some childhood story, some fanciful legend? No! Importance is that I have to go, I have a delivery to do and I'm leaving now. So good bye Quade." She stood with her fingers wrapped around the handle that would trip the door, allow her access back to her ship. She squeezed it, and to her surprise, it opened. He hadn't locked her in.

  "Clea… please." Quade's voice was scared and desperate, and through her own desperation it tore at her. How can this be happening? She looked to the ground, her jaw set in a furious lock, shaking her head.

  "I can't believe this is actually happening, that I'm actually going to say these words…"

  "Please Clea, tell me anything that you know."

  "There is a riddle…"

  "A riddle?" She nodded, and finally looked up to him as she spoke.

  "A place forgotten but rediscovered

  With shimmering seas and liquid sun

  P'cadia lost, P'cadia found

  In desperate times seek here, the Avè"

  "That's it, Quade. That's how the riddle goes. And it's all that I know."

  "Seek the Avè?" Quade asked. "Who am I to seek the Avè?"

  "I don't know Quade. Who are you to seek the Avè?" Clea turned from him, hopping through the connection portal and back onto her ship. "But then, who are you to be having dreams of P'cadia?"

  "I don't even know where P'cadia is, Clea. Or what it is for that matter."

  "If you truly are what you appear to be, then the riddle I told you is all you need to find it. Goodbye Quade. And good luck." She said it without warmth, without interest.

  "Clea, wait…how do you know all this? And what else can you tell me?"

  "There's no more to tell! I will not be a part of this, Quade! Fulfill your destiny if this is it, but leave me to choose my own!" And with that, the hatch slid shut behind her and as quickly as they were docked they were released and Duplicity was traveling at top speed toward the Bet/Den nexus before Quade could even get back to his cockpit.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Keystone had only ever known success in his endeavors. He worked hard, probably harder than he actually needed to, for the rightful outcome of every debate, every disagreement, every dispute. And though his power of influence came to him effortlessly, he rarely found need to use it. His care and concern ran so deeply through him that he usually was able to persuade planets and systems to work toward a common good, by logic and empathy alone and invariably they would understand when compromise was necessary. He was the Keystone after all, and was respected and trusted as the end-all outside force of reason.

  A tone chimed in from the cockpit and Aushlin heard his pilot's voice, sounding strangely concerned. "Keystone… there seems to be something unusual happening to the May/Bet nexus point." Aushlin stood and reached to the observation room's relay panel pulling up a grid which showed their position in space and how it related to the nexus point in question. Upon analyzing the readout, he moved to the opposite viewport where he could see the nexus point that his ship was coursed to jump into. His eyes narrowed in puzzled study of what he saw. The nexus point seemed to pulse and glow with an abnormal energy, its usual serene green glow somehow affected, somehow harsh and unnatural. The Keystone couldn’t see the blackness that spilt forth into open space, couldn’t see the entity that made its way languidly toward his ship.

  "What is that, Remy?" He asked, pressing the button to open a channel to the cockpit. "Have you ever seen a nexus point look like that before?"

  "No, never Keystone. What orders? Shall I set another course?"

  Suddenly, the lights on the Keystone's starship went ominously dim. From deep within the ship's hull, Aushlin could hear a drain of energy on the systems, the steady hum of the ship dulling for a moment. As he looked to the ceiling and glanced about his surroundings, he could feel an unusual sensation around him, like a strong magnet had infused the air. A zinging tickle made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his spine rippled through with a sickening undulation, and his eyes went blurry for several seconds. His thoughts were hazy and convoluted, and he could not focus on anything in particular, grabbed the edge of the relay panel to steady himself. Was there a voice from the cockpit again, something about the ship's systems? He wasn't sure. His breath was sucked from his lungs and he gasped to bring air back into his body, and then all at once, his vision unclouded and his mind cleared itself. Without any evidence of what he'd just experienced, the Keystone had forgotten about the strange feeling he'd experienced.

  "Keystone, look!" The pilot's voice chimed in again. "The nexus point…do you see? It looks fine now. And the ship's systems are back to normal, a disruption of only five-point-two seconds. What do you suppose that was?"

  "Probably nothing.” The Keystone’s voice was flat, emotionless. “Sometimes space can be unpredictable. Not worthy of any concern, I'm sure."

  "Shall I continue on course, Keystone?"

  "Yes, pilot. Continue on as scheduled."
/>
  Aushlin stared blankly out the viewport, and felt the weightless drop as the ship entered the May/Bet nexus point bound for home. He began thinking on his speech for the Twilight Bloom, and decided he'd try a new direction this year. He was the Keystone of Bethel after all; the most influential and trusted leader in the galaxy.

  CHAPTER 11

  Quade stood at the southwest corner of the castle, below Trina's bedroom windows, facing the wild flower garden. He leaned back against the cold, solid stone of the wall and closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the night air, the gentle perfume of the pregnant blossoms clear evidence of the season. The shuffling measure of footsteps made him open his eyes just as Trina rounded the corner, her form a billowing shadow from the cape she wore around her shoulders. She was clad in all black for the occasion, and the moonlight reflected brightly off her light hair.

  "Hey," she whispered. "Have you been waiting long?"

  "Ten minutes or so," he replied. "Trouble getting past Aazrio?"

  "A little." Trina looked up at Quade's face and lifted a finger to his temple, tenderly tucking back a stray lock of hair. "Have I ever told you the moonlight suits you Quade?" she asked, winding her arms about his waist.

  He smiled then looked skyward, consideration playing over his features.