by J. M. Page
The same confrontational pilot from before turned and whirled on Ben, his thin lips pulling into a menacing sneer. “You got somethin’ you wanna add, Your Highness? I don’t see you goin’ out into the Wastelands.”
Before Ben could answer, Alex jumped to his defense. “That’s because nobody goes out there unless they got a death wish.”
Ernsen cleared his throat, rattled by having the spotlight pulled away from him. He mumbled something under his breath, then nodded. “He’s right. No one leaves the walls, for good reason.”
“Cyborgs are not that reason,” Ben said, but attention was already back on Ern as he puffed out his chest, ready to regale them with an exciting tale.
“You believe what you will. I know otherwise,” Ern said.
“What did you see?” One of the young guys said.
“Tell us,” said another.
Ben rolled his eyes, just drinking his drink and minding his business.
“This was probably fifty years ago, mind,” Ern said, leaning in with a conspiratorial look.
“Don’t let ‘em get to you,” Alex said, polishing a glass with a stiff rag. It came away looking cloudier than before and he shrugged. “They’re just looking for someone to blame. Everyone that knows anything knows The Grounding is killing you more than anyone else.”
Ben lifted his brows and gave Alex a humorless laugh. “You can say that again.”
Alex took a step, winced and stumbled forward, only barely catching himself on the edge of the bar before he fell. Ben jumped to his feet and leaned over the bar to offer his arm for support.
“You alright?” he asked.
Alex nodded, his face ashen and damp with sweat. “Just old flare ups, you know how it is.”
Ben frowned. “Are you taking your medicine?”
Alex laughed, dry and humorless. “I haven’t had any in a month.”
Ben’s blood boiled. They’d talked about this. He knew Alex still struggled with the reality of his injury and life after the Force, but he needed to take his medication.
“You wanna lose your leg? Can you even move your toes anymore?”
Alex didn’t look him in the eye, still grimacing at his leg. “I’d settle for moving my ankle again. The foot’s already gone.”
Ben’s heart clenched, his voice going low. “What the hell, Alex? You’re supposed to take your medicine every week.”
“Tell that to the Grounding. They’re not even sending drones to the mines to collect it anymore. The hospital’s supply is gone.”
Ben’s fist slammed on the bar. There it was. Of course it was the Grounding coming back to bite the very people who’d fought to keep Terranys safe. It wasn’t right. He should be able to do something to help his best friend. The Prince should be able to do something.
“And there I was, crashed in the Wastelands, comms gone, not a prayer,” Ern said, his voice picking up for effect, drawing Ben’s attention.
“I didn’t think anyone could survive the Wastelands!”
Ern looked smugly satisfied and he gave the young buck a raspy chuckle and a clap on the shoulder. “No one had before or since. It’s only a miracle I did, because when that monster came for me, you can bet your last Terra I was crying for my momma.”
“What did it look like?”
“Was it really a modder? I thought those were just stories…”
“They are just stories,” Ben growled, his grip on the mug tightening ‘til his knuckles turned white. There he was worried about things that actually mattered, while Ernsen told monster stories to the children.
Modders, cyborgs, whatever you wanted to call them — they didn’t exist on Terranys. Never had, despite the legends. There wasn’t some clan of half-human, half-robot people living in the never-ending dust storm. There had been probes sent, searching for life. Weekly drones, picking up valuable teranite from the mines, surely would have spotted signs of life if there were any.
“No one asked for your input,” one of the pilots said, his tongue flying freely with the protection of the group around him. Ben wouldn’t even know which one said it if he did want to do something about it.
“It sure as hell was a modder,” Ern said, flustered again from the distraction. “I couldn’t see much out there in all the dust, but I saw him. More machine than man, eyes glowin’ redder than the devil’s ass.”
Now Ern had them all paying attention. A hush crowded into the bar with them, making the air feel charged and tense.
“We spotted each other at the same time and I thought for sure I was a goner. It looked at me with them evil glowin’ eyes and then it took off! Faster’n anything living coulda moved.”
Ben groaned to himself. “Can you believe this guy?” he said to Alex, but the bartender was just as wrapped up in the story as everyone else.
“How’d you get back to the city?” Alex said.
“Simple, none of that ever happened,” Ben said, his voice sounding bitter to his own ears. Maybe it was just a story, but Ernsen should know better than to go filling people’s heads with such ridiculous trash.
“You’re filling their heads with nonsense kid stories,” he said, ignoring the scathing looks sent his way. Next thing they knew someone would be going out in the Wastelands for evidence.
Or for something else, he thought. Like teranite…
“Nonsense? Kid stories! You believe what you like, but I know what I seen and these men know truth when they hear it. I came face to face with one of them monsters.”
Murmurs of agreement rumbled around Ern, and Ben felt his plan forming. He didn’t even know what came over him. Maybe he was just eager for some action. Regardless, he couldn’t just sit by doing nothing while the old man spread lies and Alex suffered the slow creep of paralysis.
Bolstered on by the encouragement of a younger generation, Ernsen added “If you don’t believe me, you can go to the Wastelands and we’ll see if you come back singin’ the same tune.”
Another murmur rose up, low and quiet at first, but it grew until Ben felt the pressure of voices crowding him into a corner.
He tried to act surprised, and he was a little. He wasn’t used to people being so candid with him, but he was in a pilot’s club. There was no royalty here. Only flight hours. Battles won. Solar storms braved.
But the suggestion was just what he’d been angling for and he had to fight back a smile. He was going to go to the Wastelands, prove the old man wrong, and get Alex’s medicine from the mines.
More than that, he was going to get to fly.
That thought brought forth a pang of longing. He hadn’t been behind the controls in so long and it felt like he was missing a part of himself.
Ben looked around the bar and the skeptical crowd looking at him as an outsider.
“All right. I will.” The murmurs died in an instant and Ben felt an odd sense of pride at the ensuing silence. They’d taunted and prodded him enough. Did none of them think him brave enough to accept?
Alex leaned forward, a mask of concern written into his features. “You know you don’t have to go out there and get yourself killed to prove a point, right? They’re just stupid and drunk. No one actually expects you to…”
Ern laughed. “The Crown Prince of Terranys in the Wastelands. That’ll be the day.”
A ripple of laughter followed his words as the other patrons agreed with the old man. Ben grit his teeth together.
“Ben, you’re too smart to get roped into something so foolhardy,” Alex said.
Ben felt a sly smile tug at the corners of his lips. “Maybe, but I’m also bored out of my mind. I’m sick of being trapped and I could really use a good dose of excitement. Maybe searching for mythical modders is just the kind of reckless thing I need to do.” He didn’t want to get Alex’s hopes up about the medicine, not until he had it with him and he was back on this side of the wall.
Alex pulled a face, clearly not buying it, but he shook his head rather than voicing his dissent.
“It’s your skin. Just be careful. Your dear mother would probably come back to haunt me if I let something happen to you.”
Ben smirked. “I’d like to see you try to stop me. It’s bad enough the idiotic bureaucrats have us grounded. I’m not going to let them make me a prisoner of my own city.”
Then, before Alex could respond, Ben turned to Ernsen and leveled a challenge with his eyes. “I’ll prove there’s nothing out there.”
“And if there is?”
“There’s not.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Someone from the back said.
Ben rolled his eyes, not taking the question serious for a moment. “Then I guess it’ll be all over TNN,” he said, pointing up to the scrolling news bulletin hovering over his father giving a speech in the background.
“Stay tuned.”
Later that night, once the palace was asleep, Ben left his quarters and headed for the hangars. Back at the pilot’s club, he’d been quick to agree to this crazy trip, but he never gave any consideration for how exactly he was going to get to the Wastelands. He couldn’t very well walk out there and cross the desert by foot.
As ridiculous as that thought was, thinking he’d be able to get a ship was even more ridiculous.
Ben knew it was a ridiculous thought the moment the door to the hangar came into view, still guarded by two members of the Royal Guard. They were slightly older, one with a scruffy beard and the other a little soft around the middle.
Worth a shot.
Ben strolled toward them with purpose, trying his best to seem nonchalant. One of the guards stiffened as he approached, eyes narrowing, shoulders straightening. He peered into the dim twilight and Ben stepped into the light, his hands up, palm forward, telling them without words ‘I’m not threatening.’
“It’s just me,” he said, his voice even and calm.
“Your Highness,” the bearded guard said with a relieved sigh. “The Grounding—”
Ben held up his hand again, this time to stop the guard’s explanation.
“I know, I know.” Time to try his acting skills. He sighed. “I know I can’t go anywhere, I just… It’s a little silly to admit out loud, but I miss my ship.”
The pot-bellied guard smiled and nodded. “My brother-in-law is a pilot. My poor sister swears he’s in love with that ship more than her. Calls it his ‘other woman,’” he chuckled.
Ben nodded, a smirk turning the corners of his mouth. “It’s a bond unlike any other,” he agreed. “You don’t think I could just… slip in and say hello to her, do you?”
The two guards looked at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation with only their eyes. Seeing the conflict between them, Ben frowned. “No, you’re right, I shouldn—”
“You just want to… look at it, right?” Potbelly asked, earning a glare from Scruffy Beard.
“Five minutes,” Scruffy grumbled, still looking unsure.
Ben tried to keep his expression neutral, to mask the giddy excitement of getting into his ship and leaving the walls, maybe leaving the whole planet behind if he really wanted to go crazy.
What were they going to do? Tell him he couldn’t come back?
The guards both turned, each typing in their own code — both needed to open the door — but before they could finish, the sound of footsteps echoed in the night.
“Dunns, Fristo,” the Captain said with a nod to each guard as he approached. “How are things?”
Both guards whirled around, eyes wide like they’d been caught pilfering sweets. They exchanged another look, and Ben cleared his throat trying to remember the Captain’s name. He’d seen him amongst the King’s advisors before, but now Ben had trouble recalling it.
“Your Highness,” the Captain said, his lips pressed into a thin line as he examined the scene, his steely eyes traveling from Ben to the keypads, still glowing with override codes. Ben spotted Reidin stitched into the Captain’s khaki jumpsuit, his shoulders bore the stripes of his rank.
“How’s the baby, Fristo?” Reidin said, turning to Scruffy Beard.
Fristo shuffled in his boots, still acting shifty and guilty. “Good, sir. Babbling all the time.”
Captain Reidin hmmed and nodded. “Enjoy it while you can. Next thing you know she’ll be a galaxy away studying alien languages and never calling…”
Ben got the impression the Captain wasn’t talking about a hypothetical child as he sighed.
“Why don’t you take the night off. Spend time with your family,” Reidin said.
“Sir?” Fristo looked over to his partner again, not sure if they were in trouble or not.
“I’ll cover your post,” the Captain said, his tone a bit firmer.
Fristo nodded and scurried off, a disbelieving look in his eyes as he looked back over his shoulder every few steps, waiting for the Captain to change his mind.
Ben managed to erase any lingering trace of a frown before Captain Reidin turned back to him.
“An honor to see you as always, Your Highness. Have a pleasant evening.” The graying man gave Ben a crisp nod and swiped his badge over the keypad, taking over for Fristo and erasing the override.
Without a choice, Ben nodded, bade them both goodnight and meandered out into the city proper.
Now what was he going to do? Commandeering his own ship was pretty much the only plan Ben had. He thought of the shame he’d feel if he didn’t even attempt to get out of the city and it made his gut churn. Shame was the least of his worries; he’d never forgive himself if he failed Alex. He’d fought in a dozen battles, commanded hundreds of ships in a delicate three-dimensional ballet, and he’d be damned if a little bureaucratic ban would stop him now. He lived for the adventure and excitement and lately it felt like he was withering, slowly becoming one with the dust, dissolving into nothing of substance and waiting for just a strong wind to carry him away.
Now was the best chance he was probably going to get for a long time and he needed to figure it out.
“Well, hello,” he said, a grin splitting his face.
As if delivered by divinity, a glint of metal under the streetlamp caught his eye: a single-seat hoverspeeder, parked on the roadside in front of a local law enforcement bar. Ben had never been to a law enforcement bar — pilots stuck together, just like nearly every other profession in Terranys — but he could hear the rowdiness inside and wondered if the officer was partaking or responding. If the guy was in there drinking, Ben would be doing him a favor by swiping the speeder. He’d lose his job if he got caught zooming around under the influence.
Just like that, the Crown Prince of Terranys decided to become a thief.
He looked around, searching for any witnesses, but found none and soon, he was behind the controls.
Years in the Space Force taught him how to coax nearly any craft to life and this speeder — an older model — was no exception. Ben thanked his lucky stars that hovercrafts were excluded from the Grounding. Though every other craft was banned, the bureaucrats still needed hovercrafts to get around a city the size of Terranys. Their self-importance finally paid off for him.
He got the speeder up and running and made it to the wall without incident — no one paid any attention to a law enforcement speeder.
The wall that surrounded the city was not actually one solid wall. It was more a series of walls. The first and largest being the interior wall, made out of enormous sandstone blocks thousands of years ago. Ben knew of a tunnel through the interior wall that he’d played in as a child, pretending to be the earliest settlers, exploring desert caves.
The tunnel through the interior wall led to a short gap before another sandstone wall, this one shorter, but thicker. There were no guards at the wall. There didn’t need to be, anyone with sense knew better than to go out into the storms. And there certainly wasn’t anyone trying to come in.
In the past, Ben had made it to the second wall on his most daring days, further than most Terrans ever dreamed of going, but never further than that. Never ou
tside. Because beyond the second wall, there was only the force field that kept the dust away. And past that: a wasted planet.
It was at the force field that Ben paused for thought. Despite Ernsen’s claim, there were no recorded cases of anyone surviving the dust. Stories about the million ways it could kill you had circulated for so many centuries that there was no telling how many of them held kernels of truth. He wouldn’t know until it was too late. He had to make a choice, to turn around to safety or venture forth into uncertainty.
It was never really a choice at all.
“No time like the present,” he said to no one at all.
He edged the speeder toward the crackling perimeter and, holding his breath, accelerated.
Energy sparked and fizzled around the speeder, but the force field didn’t stop his progress and he pushed through to the swirling dust clouds.
And then he let loose.
He punched the throttle, pushing the speeder up to max speed. Being behind the controls again felt like coming home. Nothing had ever felt more right.
He made a beeline for the mines, following the ship’s onboard navigation. He couldn’t see much of anything through the dust and the hovercraft wasn’t built for vast distances — or these conditions.
A blinking red dot told him he was in the right location and he maneuvered the ship through the narrow opening, into the safety of the mine.
The teranite mines operated around the clock, drilling and refining the ore into usable medicine. It was a mineral found nowhere else in the galaxy and happened to have incredible healing properties. Without his weekly does of teranite, Ben’s friend Alex would lose the use of his leg in a couple of months and it would need to be amputated.
Ben couldn’t believe how short-sighted the bureaucrats – and his father – were being about the Grounding. People’s lives were at stake and they were in penthouses, with black market sweets, arguing over hundredths of a percent. Of course the Terran people were losing faith in their government.
He stuffed his pockets with as much teranite as they would hold, knowing it wouldn’t be enough for anyone other than Alex. How many others could benefit from this medicine? He filled his arms with the stuff and carried it back to the speeder, hoping it wasn’t too much weight for the craft.