“Yes,” she nearly shouted. “Yes. I’ve seen it. And I’ve seen that there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“That’s not true,” he shot back. “And you know that too.” He crossed his arms and turned away, pouting.
“So you always say. But you know what else you say?” She glared at him. “Not yet. For all the questing we’ve done, for all the firefights and fistfights, you still say not yet. Why?”
He looked a little embarrassed. “The Source hasn’t appeared, but I’m afraid that when it does, there won’t be much time. Something is interfering.”
“And that sort of vague nonsense—” Malya cut off her own words and simply fumed. “Look. If and when there’s something I can actually do to help, I’ll try. You know that.”
Mr. Tomn nodded diffidently, but Malya held his gaze until he acknowledged her more firmly.
“But for now, I need some rest. We’ve been running nonstop for cycles. Between racing, whatever cockamamie scheme you cook up on any given day, and the gaggle of goons we seem to attract, I haven’t had a moment’s peace in a long time.” She arched her eyebrow and lightened her tone as an olive branch. “You’re a trouble magnet, you know. All cyphers are.”
Mr. Tomn snorted. “You don’t need the help, princess.”
“So,” she said after a beat, her eyes half-lidded, “are you going to give me a hard time for kicking back a bit?”
Mr. Tomn made a show of gravely considering the question but could not hold back his grin. He took a running leap from the bar and landed on the padded bench seat beneath the armor glass viewport. He flopped over onto his back. “Nope. You’re right. We’ve earned it.” He glanced at her. “But only for a little while. Something tells me we need to take this trip anyway.”
Malya decided that was the best she was going to get from him and nodded firmly. “Good.”
She knelt on the deep upholstery beside him and stared out the windows at the dock crews loading the last of the luggage and cargo into the ship. She could not stop smiling. The journey stretched out before her like a clear road on a bright day. She heard people almost arguing in the hall, approaching, and she cocked her head to listen.
She recognized Betty almost at once and then giggled lightly when she identified Rin’s firm, rich voice complaining.
“No, I don’t see why they had to take it.”
“You don’t see why a civilian passenger ship wants you to stow a high-powered sniper rifle in the secure cargo hold?” Betty asked. Malya could almost hear the small mechanic rolling her eyes.
“It’s my carry-on,” Rin said sourly.
“No, it’s not,” Malya called without turning. “We told you that.” She watched the dock crews below them, searching.
“It fits and everything,” Rin replied, exasperated. “I measured it.”
“I don’t even know why you brought that thing.” Betty’s voice had gotten a little shrill, but the tightness around her eyes looked more anxious than angry.
“First,” Rin replied, “that ‘thing’ is called Rudy, and you know it. Second, you brought that huge wrench of yours. When did you think you might need that?”
“The princess is performing, right? I thought I might, you know, need to do my job.”
Malya could feel the satisfaction rolling off of Rin. “Exactly.”
“We’re going to Catermane, the very heart and soul of the Doctrine. We’ll be in the center of Doctrine space, surrounded by wizards and other esper-wielders dedicated to making sure we stay safe and happy. If you ever feel like you have to do your ‘job’, then something’s gone horribly wrong.”
“It’s a dangerous galaxy,” Rin mused.
“Sure, but we won’t have to worry about that when we get there, and until then,” she gestured around her. “Where exactly did you think you were going to use a sniper rifle on this ship? Besides,” she said, turning brittle, “if Lug has to stay down there, then so does your Rudy.”
“It’s not the same,” the tall woman said. “He doesn’t fit in the passenger sections, and he knows it. He volunteered.”
Malya turned slightly to see Rin flop into an overstuffed chair, her strawberry blonde hair completely covering its back. Two ceiling panels slid back in response and large holodisplays swung down from each.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Betty replied, her voice sinking. She settled onto the corner of the bench seat and wrung her hands gently. “He did.”
Both displays automatically brightened and started playing the same news feeds as the others on the ship, all discussing the Darkspace Calamity. Malya frowned at them for a few seconds before Rin found the control panel in the chair’s armrest and shut them off. Betty did not seem to notice.
Malya’s excitement dimmed a bit as she watched Betty’s anxious sadness over Lug. No one expected the chee to ride in the cargo bay; she had seen other members of the sentient machine race all over, just on her short trip to the cabin. Even an industrial model like Lug could find room in the better sections, but he had immediately claimed a space as cargo as soon as she had announced this trip.
“He’s okay,” Rin said. “He said so, remember? He’s in one of his moods where he doesn’t really want to socialize with anyone. You know how he gets. Besides, he’s got a datajack and the specs for the new model year racers. He’s going to be fine.”
“For three weeks?”
“It’s not quite that long to Catermane,” Malya said, trying to lighten the mood with her cheerful tone.
“It would’ve been faster if we went straight from Cerci.”
“Sure,” the princess replied, “but I wanted to keep a low profile and get some quiet time, remember? Give me a chance to forget about things for a while.” She smiled over at Mr. Tomn, who remained stretched out with his eyes shut. “At least as much as I can forget.”
No cypher bonded to a sentient without a greater purpose, someone had told her once. She wished she could remember who. The stories said that Knights, sentients bonded with a cypher, all had a destiny, some part to play in the coming Calamity. Mr. Tomn sat up suddenly and looked in her eyes.
She blinked and turned to Betty. “Did the pit crew get settled?”
“Yeah, they’re all tucked in down on first class,” Betty said, accepting the distraction. “I’m not sure most of ‘em quite know how to behave there, but nobody’s complaining about you springing for the good tickets.”
Malya smiled and turned back to the window. A little chill fell over her shoulders and settled in her stomach. Out the window, she saw a cargo mover with the last of the large items for the hold. The heavy, nondescript crate it carried bore only the diplomatic seal of Ulyxis and could have contained any official cargo—but it did not. Malya could feel her relic Sedaris folded up and packed away in there, and she yearned for it with something that felt like hunger.
She had dug that magnificent machine from the crumbling wreck of a ruin on Vordexis Major two months after her third Prime win. Injured, pursued by assassins, and hopelessly lost, Mr. Tomn had guided her to a sacred place. There he had poured a torrent of esper into her. He had shown her a truth of the universe, a truth of passion and joy and creation through pure speed, and it had coalesced into her relic Sedaris. She would need it, he’d said; need its incredible swiftness, its strong frame, and its long blade. Now, she felt soft and vulnerable without it. She pushed aside the impulse to summon it, to force the esper to materialize the racer in front of her. It took quite an effort.
Malya swallowed and shook her head. “Well, we’re all out of our comfort zone right now.” She settled into the seat. “It’ll do us all good to get away for a bit.”
“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” Rin said. “What is it you’re trying to get away from, exactly—the fame, the celebrity? It’s not the racing; you live for that.”
“It’s the—” Malya paused, trying to find alternates to the words that leapt to mind; saying them out loud would make the whole
impulse seem wrong. “It’s the responsibility,” she said, and realized too late that she meant exactly that. “To—Ah, to everyone. About everything. The fans, the promoters, the organizers, the sponsors. I feel like I owe everybody some of my time and energy, and I don’t have any left for, you know, just enjoying what I’ve got. I guess.”
“Well, I’m all for a little R’n’R,” Betty said, visibly trying to relax, “but we’ve only got so much time, you know? The galaxy doesn’t stop turning just ‘cause you’re dizzy.”
“No, but I’d still like a chance to catch my breath.” She shrugged and forced a chuckle. “I mean, you win the Cerci Prime all three times in the same year, I think you should get to savor that, right?” Her eyes unfocused for a moment, and she thought she could see dead stars. “Need to think about what’s next and not think about other things.”
Betty frowned, and Rin cast a dubious look at the princess. Mr. Tomn watched her expectantly.
She frowned at him and sighed. “Look, we’re committed to celebrating the Festival of Scrolls on Catermane. We’re going to perform, relax, and have a good time. We’re on this ship for three weeks, and then we’ve got a couple of weeks back to Cerci. We’ll be rested, refreshed, and then we’ll figure out what’s going to happen next.” She glared at Mr. Tomn.
“Time for rest and reflection is a luxury not often granted to a Knight,” the cypher said, unmoved.
“Well, then let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” She looked up. “Rin, call room service. I figure we’ve got to kill a few hours before mister mouth here,” she nodded to her cypher, “can break us into the secure cargo hold.”
Both of the women brightened up. “Yes ma’am,” Rin said and reached for the intercom.
Want to read more?
Get the whole book here!
Acknowledgments
Five books, each written by different authors, is quite an undertaking, so my acknowledgments go to each of the authors and Emma, to whom this book is dedicated, for overseeing the whole thing. Getting the fifth book of a five-book series was both a burden and a blessing, but Emma and the other authors helped to make it less of the former and more of the latter. This allowed me to deal with the plot-heavy parts of the overall series with enjoyment while also being able to apply my own style to its ending.
About the Author
Growing up in the small town of Timaru, New Zealand, Christopher Keene broke the family trend of becoming an accountant by becoming a writer instead. While studying for his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature from the University of Canterbury, he took the school’s creative writing course in the hopes of someday seeing his own book on the shelf in his favorite bookstores. He is now the published author of the Dream State Saga, as well as his new epic fantasy trilogy, A Cycle of Blades. In his spare time, he writes a blog to share his love of the fantasy and science fiction genres in novels, films, comics, games, and anime (fantasyandanime.wordpress.com).
The Midnight Queen Page 15