by Susan Grant
The ship tipped forward, and then to the side, keeping in the bank angle as acceleration shoved them to the floor. Muffin’s hands and knees clanged against the flooring. He tried to catch Copper, but she’d managed to keep her footing. No one would be able to tell that he was the one with decades of space-travel experience.
He stumbled after her. She waited for him at the base of a ladder, her hands wrapped around the bottom rung. “Did we launch?”
“Not yet,” he said as he led the way up. “We’re hovering above the airport, getting into position. There’s still time.”
The thruster’s rumble built to a roar. The echo was especially loud in the cargo bay, as it was with any starship. The shaking increased until it was nearly impossible to hang on to the ladder. He and Copper spilled over the top and into a crawlway. Her eyes were huge. “That was the launch. It had to be.”
He could hardly bear to tell her the truth. “We’ll have them return to the airport.”
Copper’s mouth spread into a huge smile. “I’m an astronaut.”
She was also a stowaway, but there wasn’t time to get into that part now. “Come.” Again he reached for her hand.
Atmospheric penetration was always the bumpiest part of any space flight. Not being strapped into a comfortable seat magnified the experience. The bumping seemed to reach a crescendo when they burst, breathless, into the cockpit. Bright sunshine flooded the compartment, a startling contrast to the dimly lit lower part of the ship.
Muffin blinked, impatient for his eyes to adjust. When he could finally see, two very astonished starpilots dressed in tan and gray cargo gear stared back at him. Sure, his size had something to do with their open-mouthed stares—and the pretty woman pressed to his back—but having anyone stumble into a cockpit in mid-launch would unbalance even the most jaded of space crews. “Princess Ilana,” he said. “Where is she?”
The two pilots glanced at each other. Then the one who wasn’t flying found his tongue. “Princess?” he asked in Basic. “What princess?”
Muffin was less confident now. He could feel Copper’s eyes boring into his back. Basic was a language few Earth-dwellers had bothered to learn; she’d want to know why he knew it. The list of explanations he owed her was getting longer by the minute. “The Earth princess Ilana,” he told the pilot. “Are you not escorting her off planet?”
“The woman you were watching is Ilana Hamilton?” Copper asked in surprised awe.
“I’ll explain later,” he assured her, switching to English.
“You gosh darn better, Muffin.”
The vibration began to ease. Outside, the sky had turned from pale blue to dark indigo dotted with stars. The flying starpilot was now able to give Muffin his full attention. “Is your princess a stowaway, too?” the pilot asked mockingly.
Muffin stumbled into speech. “She is not on this ship?”
The pilot turned to his friend and said, “Looks like we got more cargo than we bargained for, Jal.”
At that, Muffin swore. By the heavens, he’d boarded the wrong ship!
Chapter Twenty-three
From the speeder’s forward view window, Ché could see his destination. Lit from within, the tiny disk rotated slowly, like a bejeweled finger ring lost amongst the stars. But as the speeder neared the Wheel, gradually matching its rotation in order to dock, the space station grew into the grand city it was. With a million winking lights and spokes wider and taller than most city buildings, the Wheel was still a marvel of engineering five thousand years after it was built.
This was the seat of the Federation government. Much history had transpired here, Ché thought as they docked. And he couldn’t help but wonder if the conversation he was about to have with his father would someday fall into that category.
Or would his father refuse his request to choose Ilana as his mate? By the heavens, he prayed that would not be the case.
He had never wished that he’d been born a commoner, and he didn’t now, but he couldn’t help thinking how much less complicated his quest to marry the woman of his choice would be if he were not a royal.
Ché waited with weary patience until the speeder docked in one of the Wheel’s thousands of bays. His father would meet him there. From Eireya, Hoe had communicated with both Ché and his father. Now the king awaited his son at the dock.
As the speeder settled into its berth, Ché spied a group of men standing in the arrival bay: the king, Councilman Toren, and several others of high rank within the Vedla council.
Dressed in typical Eireyan travel clothing—dark trousers, overshirt, and boots, and a heavy black cloak draped over his shoulders—Ché disembarked from the speeder. After weeks of living in casual Earthwear, it felt both odd and welcome to be wearing the mode of dress he’d worn all his life.
King Vedla embraced him. With his smooth amber skin and coppery-blond hair that was becoming silver at his temples, he was tall and had the incisive pale gold eyes typical of his class. His face was leaner than Ché’s—and meaner some said, like Klark’s. But despite his aristocratic appearance, his welcome for his son was as warm as the one Ché gave him back.
Ché’s father had a fearsome reputation as a taskmaster of the Treatise of Trade, a man whose traditionalist values drove his actions within the Federation. But Ché had often wondered of late if Klark’s misadventures in the frontier had changed him, as they’d changed Ché, himself; he’d wondered if the king’s core conservatism had softened somewhat in the new era of change that was so obviously upon them. Ché could only hope. He planned to appeal to both his father’s desire for Vedla superiority and the spark of broadmindedness the family’s recent humiliation may have initiated.
The king gripped Ché’s shoulders and moved him back. “It is good to see you. I hear you have had adventures of late.”
Darkly, Ché thought of Hoe. So much for his advisor keeping a secret. When had he told the king? Today? Or weeks ago? Fool was he for thinking he could enjoy a holiday in peace and privacy. “It is good for a man to have them.”
“Indeed.” His father smiled. Perhaps, Ché thought, the king had known all along, and chose to let him continue his holiday without interference. Before Ché’s gratitude could take root, his father’s expression chilled. “Your timing is impeccable, Ché. We have a crisis. Klark escaped. Hoe believes he left the palace as early as the day you departed Earth.”
“Are we certain it’s an escape? Abduction can be made to look like an escape. Klark’s base of support has eroded, perhaps—”
“The palace staff found his locator under his pillow,” his father broke in. “The one he’d worn implanted in his neck.”
“Great Mother,” Ché breathed. Klark had dug out his locator like an Earth wolf gnawed its leg off to escape a steel trap. But had he escaped in order to survive, or was the act merely one of defiance? Why hadn’t Ché sensed that desire in Klark? Usually Bajha was ideal for discerning a man’s dark secrets, and they’d played much of it before he’d left.
“Hoe confirmed all this,” his father stated, looking grim.
Hoe again. The man was probably delighted. There was no love lost between Klark and Hoe. “Sir, Klark appeared quite accepting of his incarceration. He didn’t enjoy it, mind you, but he seemed to understand the reasoning behind it. I truly didn’t expect anything like this of him.”
Toren spoke up. “Nor did we. We must tell no one. It would make the Vedlas the butt of jokes, that we are incapable of holding on to a prisoner, and that he escaped without Security’s knowledge. The B’kah king and crown prince agreed to let us track down and punish Klark on our own.”
Ché’s father nodded. “My second son has brought the family enough scandal; We don’t need more.”
Ché winced at that. Some might interpret his marriage to Ilana as a scandal. Did he dare add another when his family was battling one already? As his father said, his timing was impeccable.
A somber, gravely worried group, for myriad related reasons, they moved f
rom the corridor to the more secure Vedla private chambers. Thick silk carpeting cushioned their steps. Ancient Eireyan art graced the walls, reminding Ché of his heritage, and of the significance of what he’d come here to do.
A small, lifelike image of Hoe waited for them on the communication table. A reassuring presence, that, Ché thought. His dependable advisor.
The king spoke to Ché as Hoe and the councilmen looked on. “Hoe believes that your association with the Earthwoman may have spurred Klark’s disappearance.”
Ché faced the semicircle of men loyal to his family. Not one face revealed what they thought of Hoe’s insinuation. But then, they were Vedlas. You weren’t supposed to be able to read a Vedla, even if you were one.
Before he could consider telling his father of his plans to marry Ilana, he had to make sure she was safe. Ché clenched and unclenched his fists behind his back. “Are you saying that you believe Klark would try to harm the princess?” For all the mistakes Klark had made, Ché couldn’t fathom him doing something so evil while leaving such obvious tracks. But then, emotions drove Klark and made anything possible.
Hoe’s reply sounded bleak. “Prince Klark made many comments along those lines over the past weeks. I dismissed them as his usual ramblings, my lord. And that was my mistake.”
Ché began to pace, something he did only rarely, and only when at a loss, which was equally rare. “We have no proof of my brother’s ill intent.”
“I am afraid we do,” Councilman Toren said, producing a computer.
Ché stopped, took it from him. “Hoe found this,” Toren informed Ché as he read the text. It was a directive from a palace computer that had ordered the cancellation of Ilana’s assistant’s passport.
The order had come from Klark.
Ché felt as if the floor had fallen away from beneath his boots.
“We believe that Klark delayed the travel documents to ensure you traveled separately from the princess, so he could prevent her ship from reaching the Wheel without harming you,” the councilman said. “And if he made it look like an accident, you would not blame him for the act.”
It took all the discipline Ché had not to rush from the chamber, jump in the fastest ship he could find, and go after Ilana. He plunged his fingers through his hair and turned to his father. “She has no protection on Earth. Klark will have unimpeded access to her. We must move quickly to keep her out of danger, and provide her with a starfighter escort for her journey here. I will see to the arrangements myself. I will move heaven and Eireya to ensure Ilana’s safety.”
His father caught Ché’s gaze. “She is traveling here in an official capacity, to make inquiries as to her entertainment business.” Faint distaste marred his father’s restating of the facts Ché had passed along to him a day ago. But there was nothing more than that hint of disapproval. It gave Ché hope that his family would come to accept Ilana and her career.
Time was short. He had to leave the Wheel, go after her, and keep Klark from harming her, if that was indeed his brother’s intent. “There is more to her journey here, sir,” Ché confessed. “We have little time, so I’ll be blunt.” So much for the carefully worded, tactful speech that he’d rehearsed. “Klark has reason to be worried.”
Something passed between them then, father to son. He knew what Ché was about to tell him; he’d sensed Ché’s feelings for Ilana. Councilman Toren stood behind King Vedla, overseeing their nonverbal interaction like a goth-hawk perched on the king’s shoulder.
Ché’s father flicked his hand. “Excuse us for a moment, gentlemen.” The councilmen scattered dutifully for other parts of the chamber.
“Worried?” the king queried. “Why?”
Ché’s stance didn’t waver, reflecting his staunch determination to have Ilana as his wife. He would not accept the first “no,” he decided. Nor all the subsequent refusals. He’d keep fighting, as his ancestors had eons ago in the Dark Years. And if it came to an all-out failure to convince his father of the benefit of a marriage to Ilana, as a last resort he’d rally his mother and sisters. If they agreed with him, that was.
Ché shook his head, banishing his doubts. Defeat, he decided, trying to boost his optimism, was a long way off. “Father, the humiliation our family suffered when the Dar princess ran off with the crown prince lingers. To repair our reputation, we decided that I must marry before Ian Hamilton.”
His father listened intently. “Yes, go on.”
“I agreed with that solution. But I have taken it a step further. I, the spurned prince, will marry first, and I will take the crown prince’s very sister as my bride, thus uniting the Vedlas and the B’kahs, and proving that no one should ever underestimate a Vedla.”
Ché felt oddly lighter for having said it. When he and Klark were boys, they used to believe that when you said a wish aloud, it would come to pass.
The king said nothing for a moment, a moment that stretched into an eternity. Then he laughed. Laughed! “Ah! You make me proud, my boy.”
The king’s statement hit Ché like a fully charged Bajha sens-sword. His mouth longed to form the words Say again? but he was too shocked to speak.
King Vedla lowered his voice. “Here I thought you had gone to Earth for a frivolous holiday. All along, you were busy plotting, like a true Vedla.” He waved Toren over. “None of us had ever considered bringing the only available B’kah female into our family. But you did, Ché. Ah, but I expected nothing less of you. In uniting the Vedlas and the B’kahs, and in such an overt way, we would bring our family back to its rightful position of glory.”
“Can you stop the current plans?” Ché asked hoarsely.
“The Lesok promise? Yes. Yes, indeed. Prince Haj will be glad to hear it. He has been protesting here, at the sacrifice of his family’s good name, but, clearly, he doesn’t care. He’s in love.” His father shook his head with exasperation. “Now we must face the thorny problem of convincing the Princess Ilana to marry you in the limited time we have left. If she were a traditional Vash princess, I would not bring this up. But she is of a different culture, and may choose to refuse you.” His father’s eyes twinkled. “You will need to work that Vedla charm on her. Convince her of the benefits of having you as a mate, Ché. Do it in barbarian—er, the Earth-dweller fashion if you must. And I will discuss the matter with Romlijhian B’kah.”
Ché finally found his voice. “No worries, sir.” His mouth slid into a smile. “She wants to marry me.”
“Ah, the Vedla charm triumphs again! As soon as the lucky girl arrives, we will sign promise papers.”
Klark’s escape came crashing back into Ché’s thoughts, and he swore. Here he was, gloating with his father over snaring the woman of his dreams and his father’s ambitions, while Ilana sat innocently in her little condo, at risk. “I will contact her now, warn her of Klark’s escape. I will arrange for safer transport than the speeder.”
“Embassy personnel will guard her and escort her to her craft when it arrives,” the king assured him, but it didn’t keep the dread from creeping up Ché’s spine.
Then every comm in the Vedla quarters began bleating. All present drew out their ringing units, reading, Ché assumed, the same thing he was: a text message from Vedla security hovering in three-dimensional urgency above the small screen.
A starfighter was missing…It had not returned to its berth…Without a scheduled mission, it should have never left…
Alone, the news wouldn’t have been so startling—Ché expected that Klark would commandeer transportation off-planet if he had the chance. But what followed spurred Ché into action. “The family B’kah received an emergency call from a bodyguard they’d apparently had in place on Earth,” Ché read, looking up. “It contains confirmation that Princess Ilana has launched. One Earth day early.”
Adrenaline rushed through Ché. “If Klark truly intends to harm Ilana, he can find her easily now that she’s left the protection of Earth space.”
The king held up one hand. “If our famil
y issues a galaxywide alert, the embarrassment will be many times worse than what Klark brought us last year. We will find the princess, but we will do so without anyone else finding out—the B’kah king excluded, of course.”
Ché’s jaw tensed. “Understood. But if this endangers her, I will intervene. Her welfare comes first, Father.”
Ché stormed the comm table where the flickering image of Hoe hovered. He’d felt the compulsion to protect Ilana before, but never so acutely. He vowed he would keep the woman he loved out of danger at the cost of family pride, his own life…and that of a beloved brother. “Get me the location of Princess Ilana’s speeder.”
“Er…how, my lord?”
Hoe was usually resourceful. Such helplessness was not what Ché would expect from him. “You arranged for the speeders. Give me the transponder identification code for the princess’s craft, and I’ll do it.”
“Shouldn’t you go after Prince Klark instead?”
Ché balled his hands into fists. “Do as I ask, Hoe.” While Hoe anxiously complied, Ché turned to the grim men surrounding him. “Arrange for a battlecruiser—the fastest we have,” he told the councilmen. Then he told his father, “I’m going after her.”
To his shock, his father, king of the Vedlas, waved to the group. “All in this chamber will come. No one who knows of this will remain behind.”
Except Hoe, Ché thought. Good. Tucked securely away on Eireya, the man would serve as a source of outside information, should any more news come in to help them. “Pass on any new data that you see,” he told his advisor. “Do not screen it first. Send me everything.”
“Yes, my lord. I won’t fail you.”
Ché gave a curt nod, then strode with the determined group of Vedlas to the docks.