Valine activated the tiny spy drone she had brought with her. It was not much larger than her gloved hand, an orb of sensors and cameras. She targeted it towards the two distant ships, commanding it to record and transmit. Its little thrusters sparked, and it shot away from her. As it disappeared into the darkness, the device’s wake pushed her gently back towards the Haukr. She let herself drift for a while, trying to keep the drone in her vision, but it was impossible. Instead she activated its camera feed. Even at this great distance, the image of the two arkships was clear and distinct. Isolated from the Haukr’s onboard network, she was free to transmit the feed to the Kenric fleet’s internal network, an untraceable message with all the right access codes to penetrate their system. Soon, the footage would be the topic of conversation on every social feed. The conspiracy nuts would do the heavy lifting for her, spreading the images to more and more eyes. All she had to do was herd the narrative so that Halstead was seen as a heretic, conspiring with his former lover in defiance of the Church. After a few moments, she checked the data feeds, satisfied that the images were beginning to spread, and posted some anonymous comments suggesting the prince’s collusion. Time and fear would do the rest.
Valine smiled, allowing herself the luxury of a moment to wallow in her envisioned success. She pictured the rise of anger towards the prince. All it would need is a few more nudges in the right direction and he would be toppled, and she would take his place.
She turned towards the arkship, programming her return trajectory. Finally, before she was back on the arkship’s com network, she sent an encrypted message to the Scribe and included a picture of the two arkships. He would be very pleased to know where Bara was hiding.
THE VISITOR
‘I don’t want to see him!’ Bara protested, feeling as if no one was listening to her. She glared at the others, waiting for their controlled, reasoned arguments. Captain Beric said nothing, leaving the battle to the circle of advisors
‘Prince Halstead is already on his way,’ Minister Newman pronounced, as if that was the end to the discussion.
‘Send him back!’ Bara retorted. ‘I didn’t ask him to come! And you had no right to authorize his trip.’
Minister Newman smiled, lowering his voice as if he was explaining this to a confused child. ‘It is important that we maintain good diplomatic ties with other Houses, especially those who also do not have the support of the Church. It was prudent to–’
‘Sol!’ Bara shouted, slamming her hands onto the table, startling the Minister. She glared at him, letting the seconds of silence expand. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and malevolent. ‘You do not make decisions for me, Minister. You do not speak for me, you do not arrange meetings for me. Is that clear?’
‘You were not here,’ Minister Newman said, standing his ground.
‘Get out of my sight,’ she hissed.
Chastised, the Minister turned his wide eyes to the floor and took a step away from the table.
Captain Beric cleared his throat. ‘What would you like us to do about the prince? His shuttle has already docked.’ He activated the holograph and an image of the shuttle floated above the table. ‘We’re holding him in the hanger deck for the time being.’
‘Send him back. He’s not welcome here,’ she said, failing to hide her feelings.
‘As you wish,’ the captain replied, standing to leave the meeting room.
Bara looked up at the shuttle, her neck bristling. The entrance ramp was already open, decontamination complete. He could walk out at any moment. The image rotated gently, and Bara saw a figure approaching the shuttle, that of a teenage boy marching towards the ramp.
‘Sol!’ Bara exclaimed, rising from her chair. ‘Galen!’
THE SHADOW
‘Hello?’ Galen called into the dark interior of the Kenric shuttle. As he stood at the foot of the entrance ramp, he began to doubt his impulsive actions. Perhaps coming here hadn’t been such a good idea after all. His confidence faltering, he turned back towards the doors and saw the guards waiting there, watching him with increased suspicion. They had been quick enough to grant him access – one of the perks of being the son of their leader – but he sensed they too were starting to have second thoughts.
Galen stopped, torn between the shuttle and the safety of retreat. But he had come this far, and he would not get this chance again. His pent-up anger propelled him back towards the shuttle. Fists clenched, head down, he marched up the ramp, straight into someone. He looked into the face of his absent father, Prince Halstead Aldwyn Kenric.
‘Galen, is that you?’ the stranger said, grasping his arms. He was different to how he looked in the holograph in the classroom, an old man, Galen realized, his face tired and hesitant. His eyes were empty, a dead soul with a hollow smile.
Galen shrugged the man off him, opening his mouth to release his righteous anger. But nothing came. In the shadow of the man, Galen’s well-rehearsed words had left him.
‘Sol!’ Halstead exclaimed, looking him up and down. ‘You’ve grown! You’re almost a man now. It’s so good to see you.’
The stranger was mocking him, laughing at Galen’s youth. ‘You’re old,’ he managed to mutter in retaliation, but his voice seemed insignificant, absent of the rage he was feeling. Instead, he sounded afraid. He was trembling too, his emotions finding ways to betray him.
‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ the man laughed. ‘How have you been? I have missed you.’
The words seemed to ignite his fury, and a torrent of hatred erupted from deep within him. His shaking hand found the dagger in his pocket, gripping the handle with spiteful intent. He pulled the stranger to him and pushed the blade into his stomach. ‘That is for my true father, Faron Dulac,’ Galen cursed.
The man stared at him, wide eyes with tiny confused pupils, his open mouth panting short breaths onto Galen’s face. He pulled the knife away and the man gasped, staggering back, stumbling onto the ramp. Galen felt the wet knife, saw the dark red blood painted on his hands, his arms, his chest, and he dropped the weapon. He looked down at the man, his face pleading with Galen, and a wave of guilt and nausea took hold. He felt his legs buckle and he staggered back, straight into the arms of his mother. He turned to see her shocked face, screaming for help. She pulled him aside and crouched beside the prone figure, putting her hand to his wound, trying to stem the bleeding.
Galen turned away, unable to watch any more, his world spinning. A guard took hold of him, and Galen allowed himself to be restrained, feeling an unexpected relief to be caught. All of his anger had fallen away, left behind on the tip of the knife he had plunged into the man laid dying on the floor.
FLIGHT
‘Why aren’t they responding?’ Otto asked, becoming increasingly concerned.
‘I do not know yet,’ Gofal lied, hoping it might soften the blow. His knowledge of the future meant he already knew the reason for the loss of contact, but Gofal could put that to one side and continue with his deduction. Even so, it was apparent what must have happened. For the sake of the boy, Gofal took it slowly. ‘The message was received, but the mainframe computer has isolated itself and locked me out of its systems.’
‘Why would it do that?’ Otto asked as he paced the flight deck.
‘It is an auto defense protocol.’
‘Defense protocol? In defense of what? An attack?’
‘Possibly. The protocol is designed as a safety measure if the mainframe is compromised by an external source.’
Otto stopped pacing and looked at Gofal. ‘So, someone tried to hack into the system?’
‘Possibly . . .’
‘What other possibilities are there?’
Gofal hesitated. Otto’s heartrate was already over one hundred and twenty beats a minute. He looked unwell.
‘Please, Gofal,’ he said, sounding frightened. ‘I need to know.’
‘I believe the Traum may have been compromised by an external force.’
‘Compromised? You mean att
acked? They’ve been . . . they’ve been destroyed?’
‘No, the mainframe is still online. The system is intact, but the lack of contact and the system going into an auto defense protocol state suggests that the Traum may have been boarded.’
‘Boarded?’ Otto put his hands to his head, his eyes wide. ‘We’ve hidden for years. How did they find us?’
‘It’s too early to know.’ Another lie. Gofal had already managed to determine that the Traum’s existence had been discovered three days ago, when someone tapped into the Church’s archive to research the Infinite: Otto. He had inadvertently revealed the location of the Traum to one of the Church’s hunter bots.
‘We should go back there!’ Otto muttered quickly. ‘We should go back. We should help them.’
‘Otto, please sit down,’ Gofal said softly.
Otto stared at the bot.
‘Sit down,’ Gofal insisted.
Otto obeyed, nervously chewing on a fingernail.
‘The Traum has been compromised. Whatever happened there is over. If we returned now, we could not help them. Moreover, we have to consider our own safety.’
‘I don’t care about me!’ Otto said between tears.
‘Our messages to the Traum can be tracked from there. Our location is encoded, but they will find us, in time. Whoever found the Traum will be coming for us.’
‘We have to go back,’ Otto muttered, oblivious to Gofal’s measured explanation. ‘We have to go back!’
‘We cannot.’
Otto sobbed into his hands.
Gofal reached out and rested a hand on Otto’s shoulder. ‘I know this is hard for you, but we must now consider our next move. Whoever boarded the Traum is coming to these coordinates. We must leave immediately.’
Otto nodded wordlessly, his shoulders moving in time with his crying.
Gofal turned to the console and considered where to go next. It didn’t really matter, just as long as he was careful to disguise their route, so he decided to continue following the flightpath of the Haven. He entered the course into the ship’s navigation computer and the engines responded, moving them away at a cautious rate. ‘Our progress will be slow, for now,’ he explained. ‘If we move to quickly, we risk leaving a wake that can be followed.’
Otto nodded, still preoccupied with his emotions.
Gofal watched him for a while, then focused on the view outside. Whoever was hunting them might still be able to track their little ship, even with Gofal’s careful acceleration. He only hoped he had enough time to fully process his vision before they were compromised.
FAMILY
Halstead tried to fill his lungs with air, but the pain was too great. He returned to taking small, short breaths, an inadequate compromise that left him feeling light-headed and unfocused.
He was in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines and bots. The only human he could see was a woman. He recognized her, but her name evaded his exhausted mind.
‘You’ll live,’ she said, her face a mix of concern and trepidation. ‘They’ve stitched the wound, but it’s going to take a while to heal properly.’
He felt her hand touching his and a memory erupted in his mind. He closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed. He was younger, somewhere else. A small ship . . . what was it called? Lexica? Yes, Lexica. He was there with this woman. It was her ship and they were lovers, laughing, sharing the intimacy of the tiny vessel. He was singing to her, and she was laughing at him, coming closer to kiss him. ‘Anything to make you stop singing,’ she said.
‘I love you, Bara,’ Halstead said, her name coming to him.
‘What?’
He opened his eyes and looked into Bara’s face. Had he spoken out loud?
‘It’s you, Bara,’ he said. There was a breathing mask over his mouth, obscuring his voice, and his words were slurred and weak.
She smiled at him, and suddenly he remembered what had happened. His son had stabbed him.
‘Galen?’ he asked feebly.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
‘Where is he?’
‘Custody, for now. I’ll deal with him.’
Halstead closed his eyes, guilt haunting him. ‘I have to speak to him.’
‘In time,’ Bara replied. ‘Why the hell are you here?’
Halstead fought against his fatigue. There was no time to sleep. He pulled himself up in the bed, pushing aside the concerned bots who cautioned his movements. The pain made him feel nauseous, but he fought through it until he was sat up. He rested there, taking tiny breaths until he could speak again. ‘Bara, I came to see you . . .’
Her face contorted with confusion. ‘Why now? You’ve not seen us for years.’
‘To warn you.’ Speaking was so hard, his voice just a whisper. ‘The Church is looking for you.’
‘I know that!’ she replied impatiently. ‘We’ve been running from them for weeks.’
‘You don’t have to fight them, Bara. I’ve spoken to the Scribe, he’s offered you protection.’
Bara scoffed doubtfully. ‘And you believed him?’
‘He’s sent me to find you, to warn you,’ Halstead said slowly, every word full of pain. ‘If you don’t surrender, he’ll destroy you. I can’t let that happen, Bara.’
Bara leaned closer, her eyes glassy. ‘Halstead, I’ve managed on my own since Faron died. I don’t need saving by you.’
She stood and walked away, finding one of the medical bots. ‘Get him mobile, I don’t care how. I want him on his shuttle and off this arkship within the hour.’
One of the medical bots came to Halstead’s side, preparing him for his journey. ‘I have transmitted your medical needs to the Caerleon,’ the bot explained. ‘I have also made your doctor aware of the substance we found on your hands.’
‘Substance?’ Halstead asked weakly.
‘A mix of Oxapol and Zalepcin, used to calm patients with certain mental conditions, it makes them susceptible to suggestion. Why would you have that on your hands?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’ Halstead said, raising his palm to his face, as if he might see something there.
‘Well, that’s something you can discuss with your own doctor, isn’t it? It’s easily missed in standard scans, but I like to be thorough.’
PRISONERS
Bara marched out of the medical suite and made her way to the counselling rooms three levels below. There, in Room Thirteen, was her son, Galen, sitting on a sofa with one of the counselors. He was hunched over, his shirt stained with dried blood, head in his hands. As she entered, he looked up. A brief smile of relief flashed over his face, then it disappeared behind fear and regret. Bara dismissed the counsellor with a curt nod, leaving her alone with Galen.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, crying. ‘I’m sorry.’
She went to him, holding Galen as he sobbed, his head resting on her chest. Bara hadn’t realized how much Faron’s death had affected him. He was just a little boy, and she had been consumed by her own feelings, lost in her own prison of loss. She hadn’t realized that he had been lost too.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ she soothed, stroking his hair. ‘He’s leaving soon. You won’t have to see him again. We can talk about this, we can . . .’
Galen pulled away from her. ‘No, mother.’ His voice was calmer now, his tears still catching his breath from time to time, but he was in control. ‘I want to see him.’
‘See Halstead?’ she checked.
Her son nodded firmly. ‘I need to . . . I have to.’
‘Why?’
Galen hesitated, thinking. ‘I don’t know, but I think it’s what Dad would want me to do, isn’t it?’
Bara pictured Faron’s smiling face. He had always been slow to anger, looking for ways to build bridges between people. He had been sixteen – not much older than Galen – when he’d ended the Dulac-Pérez war. He’d seen his parents killed and had somehow found the maturity to forgive his enemy and broker a lasting peace.
‘Yes,’ Bara said, her ey
es filling with tears. ‘I think it is.’
Bara and Galen hugged, sharing in their grief, finding strength in each other’s arms, and she realized they hadn’t spoken of Faron in a long time. Too long, perhaps. He had become a moment of loss – one terrifying day – rather than a real person, and she vowed to change that.
She activated her wrist com and spoke to the guard assigned to Halstead. ‘What’s his condition?’
A voice responded, distorted by the little speaker. ‘Stable. He’s being prepared for transfer to his shuttle. He’ll be gone in twenty minutes.’
‘Hold him,’ Bara replied. ‘Transfer him to a private suite and let him rest. I’ll speak to him there . . . as will my son.’
CONSPIRATORS
Valine’s eyes were heavy, the rocking shuttle lulling her towards sleep. She shook it off, finding a glass of water to revive her. It would have been easier to do this over the holograph, but she needed to see into their eyes, she needed to know their thoughts. It was possible to hide your true intentions on a holograph image, but it was much harder in reality, face-to-face where she could see into their eyes. Valine had visited eight arkship commanders already today, keen to discover their loyalties. This would be the ninth, her last meeting of the day and then she could rest.
As the shuttle settled in the hanger deck of the arkship Leof, Valine reclined on the sofa, scrolling through the file on Commodore Strom, double-checking when she had seen him last, what they had discussed, the tiny details that might prove to be his weak point. The old clichés were true: knowledge was power, the devil was in the detail, and Valine was the biggest devil of them all. She chucked to herself, amused by the image.
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