Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Novels from Top Fantasy and Science Fiction Authors

by Gwynn White

  Where could they be?

  Any number of places, you fool, he told himself. Likely they were out shopping, just as he was.

  Speaking of which, he ought to get his fish home before it started to turn in the warm summer day. Derek shot a last glance at the top story of the Queensway Tower, then, shaking the foreboding from his shoulders, started for home.

  “Message for you,” Cribbs said as Derek came into the station early Monday morning.

  Derek tried not to snatch the piece of paper from the man’s hand. Damnú, the last twenty-four hours had felt like a year. A dozen times he’d thought of going to visit Diana, but hadn’t wanted to leave his flat, just in case a message came.

  Of course, nothing had.

  Still, he wanted to be done with the INR before he saw her again. One thing at a time, no matter how impatience gnawed at his bones.

  Forcing his expression to remain calm, Derek unfolded the note. Of course, Cribbs had certainly read it, and whoever had brought the missive, and who knows who else.

  Fountain even, was the only thing it said.

  Derek knew exactly what that meant. Meet at the Bargate drinking fountain at the top of any even hour. He gave his pocket watch a quick glance. The hour was just rising eight. If he hurried, he could be there in time to meet his contact.

  “Well?” Cribbs gave him a tired look.

  “I’m off to meet an informant,” Derek said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The older policeman just pursed his lips and gave a nod. Ever since Derek had instigated the raid on Breggy’s hideout, the other officers had treated him with more respect. It was a welcome change.

  Back out into the slanted sunbeams of morning, Derek hastened to the oldest part of the city. The cobblestones seemed cleaner in the freshness of a new day, but not as light as his heart felt. Just as the cathedral bells tolled out the hour, he arrived at the carved stone urn where water splashed down into a shallow pool.

  And there, to his relief, was Molly, carrying a basket of onions, her red hair ablaze in the sunshine. She caught his eye and jerked her head toward one of the alleyways leading to the fountain square. Without waiting for his acknowledgement, she strode away in the opposite direction.

  Derek went clockwise around the square, trying to look as if he were simply on his rounds. When he reached the shadowed alley, he stepped inside.

  “There you are,” Molly said, setting down her basket. She sounded as though she’d been waiting for hours for him to appear, instead of the other way around.

  “I have information for you,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “Praise all the stars. And high time, too. We were beginning to lose faith in you, Derek Byrne. Tell me what you know.”

  Tersely, described what he’d seen of the shipping schedules, then told her about the new construction in the middle of the spaceport.

  “Perfect.” Her eyes were glowing with approval. “Just in time for the Queen’s Ruby Jubilee next weekend. We’ll give those bloody English a show to remember, aye.”

  “Wait.” He held up his hand, his throat suddenly tight with apprehension. “What do you mean, a show? I thought you were going to smuggle out fugitives.”

  “Oh, Derek. That was our plan months ago, but things have changed. The INR must make a statement, a show of rebellion—and what could be better than the fortieth anniversary of the false queen’s reign?”

  Understanding filtered through him, followed by despair. Dear heaven, what had he just done?

  “You mean to bomb the spaceport,” he said. The words tasted like metal in his mouth. Like death.

  “Of course.”

  The bitter truth lay between them, and he wanted to grab handfuls of his hair and rip it from his own scalp for not guessing at it sooner. No matter what they said, the INR had been planning violence all along. His lungs felt full of salt, the air barely able to rasp through the sharp edges of that betrayal. And his own gullability.

  Molly gave him a scornful look. “You’re as soft as they say, Derek. But don’t think to go running to the real constables about this. After all, you’re the one who infiltrated the spaceport and brought us the information. If you try to bring the INR down, you’ll come along with us. Understand?”

  He clenched his jaw, nauseated by what had happened. And what was to come. The memory of the explosion at the Irish Parliament filled his senses: the acrid smoke burning his lungs, the screams of panic mixing with the cries of the injured into an unbearable cacophony.

  And moments before the bomb went off, Seamus kneeling on the pavement, his gaze meeting Derek’s as he lit the fuse and let it go.

  “Very well.” Derek choked out the words. “For the sake of my brother, I’ll do what has to be done.”

  “Good.” Her smile was hard. “I knew we could count on you. Even if that information was a long time coming.”

  May his soul burn in the fiery depths of the sun for it, too.

  “I’d best return to West Quay,” he said, his voice stilted. “Don’t want anyone getting suspicious.”

  “Aye, for now it’s business as usual.” She bent and scooped up her basket of onions. “Meet me here again on Thursday, same time, and you’ll be given further instructions.”

  He managed a tight nod, while inside his soul was screaming.

  “And Derek,” she said, her voice low and full of threat, “make no mistake. We’ll be watching you.”

  22

  Diana woke, head aching, in a hard, narrow bed. The air held the tang of rusty metal. A hollow clanking noise sounded at regular intervals, making her wince.

  Where in all the bright stars was she?

  Carefully, she sat up, then sucked in a dismayed breath to discover she was in a cell. Thick iron bars made up three walls, with solid metal at her back. The cot she sat on was bolted to the stained concrete floor.

  That villain Lord Atkinson had done this to her, curse his black soul. At least she was alive, though her prospects didn’t seem very promising at the moment.

  The woman in the next cell over leaned against the bars and gave her a gap-toothed grin. “Welcome to paradise, luv.”

  Diana folded her arms, wishing she was wearing her torn trousers, with her hair bundled under her cap. A corset and skirts were a liability in a fight—and fight she would.

  The other woman reached a dirty hand out of the bars and beckoned to a bored-looking guard standing watch at the end of the corridor.

  “Oi,” she called. “Her ladyship’s awake. Tell Breggy.”

  Breggy? Diana’s blood chilled. Oh, she was in deeper trouble than she’d guessed.

  The only good thing about that bit of information was she now knew where she was—imprisoned in the bowels of the transport ship Valiant. She could think of no worse place she could possibly be.

  Unless it was lying with her throat slit in the folly tower of East Park.

  She supposed she should be glad of that much—that Lord Atkinson, despite his utter lack of empathy, had only kidnapped her. Likely he wanted to keep his hands clean. Murder was such a messy business.

  The thud of boot heels against metal made her rise. She didn’t want to face Breggy sitting down. Bracing herself against a wave of dizziness, she went to stand near the bars. She chose a place where she could see down the corridor but was still out of reach of anyone trying to take a swipe at her.

  Breggy came into view. Despite the fact he wore a stun cuff and was accompanied by two guards, he swaggered down the corridor as if he owned it. And perhaps he did, if he had free run of the ship.

  “Well, well.” He stopped in front of her cell and smiled, his gold tooth glinting. “If it isn’t our old friend Diver. Come up a bit in the world, haven’t you, miss? And then down again, clearly.”

  He swept his hand out, indicating the rows of cells.

  “Hello, Breggy,” she said warily. There was no use denying who she was.

  “Turns out, we have a few acquaintances in common.”
He sauntered up to the bars. Despite his smile, his eyes were as cold as sleet. “Officer Byrne paid me a visit, along with most of the constabulary of Southampton. He was looking for you.”

  She made no response, and his expression hardened.

  “The thing I’d like to know, is how did he find me?” Breggy leaned forward, menace in his stance. “I heard that a certain streetrat blabbed something they shouldn’t have. And believe me, she’ll pay.”

  He lifted his fist in a sudden, violent motion. Diana flinched, but stood her ground. The gangrunner wanted to see her cringe away, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Didn’t mean she wasn’t in for a beating later, of course. Girl or no, Breggy doled his punishments out evenly.

  She couldn’t check to see if the banknotes were still hidden in her corset, but if they were, at least she had something she could use to her advantage.

  Not with Breggy, though—that was clear by the unforgiving light in his eyes. But maybe one of the guards could be bribed. She’d have to try. Later.

  “Let me go,” she said, knowing it was hopeless.

  “I don’t think so.” He leaned up against the bars of her cell. “I had to call in more than a few favors to get you here.”

  “Lord Atkinson?” It was a guess, but not a wild one. After all, it was fairly clear that the nobleman had been the one to drug and deliver her to the Valiant.

  The gangrunner flashed his gold smile at her. “Always were a clever one, Di. Yes, a few years back the poor lordling was having some difficulty with his inheritance. Said difficulty being his older brother. Nothing a bit of a runaway carriage couldn’t solve, however.”

  Dear stars, Lord Atkinson had arranged to have his older brother murdered so that he could inherit?

  The answer was plain enough. She supposed the rest of it would be, too, given a little thought. Breggy clearly had more connections, both high and low, than she’d ever suspected, and somehow her links to the spaceport, and Lord Atkinson, had been ferreted out. And turned to the gangrunner’s advantage.

  Biting down on the questions crowding her throat, she settled for staring wordlessly at his shoulder. Best not to meet his eyes.

  He let out a tsk. “Nothing else to say? Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to renew our old acquaintance.”

  The promise of violence beneath his words made her shiver.

  23

  Derek spent the next few hours trying not to choke on the knowledge of what he’d done.

  At least he still had time to warn the spaceport, and Diana, of the planned attack. He must tread carefully, though. If Molly suspected his intent, he’d no doubt she’d cosh him over the head and drag him off somewhere to keep him from interfering with the INR’s plans.

  And so he went through the motions of his deskwork, his heart a pile of ashes in his chest.

  All the bright hope he’d nurtured, burned away to nothing. Diana had been wrong. There was no changing the future. But this time, he vowed, he’d give his life to keep the past from repeating itself. To save her, and the spaceport, no matter the cost.

  A small figure barged through the station doors, interrupting his grim thoughts. Derek was on his feet in an instant, one hand going to his stunclub.

  “Tipper?” He blinked. The West Quay station was the last place he’d ever expect to see the boy again.

  “Where’s Di?” Tipper demanded. His shirt was untucked, his hair disheveled.

  “I’ve no idea.” The despair that had been eddying around Derek rose in a wave.

  “You don’t?” The boy’s eyes widened with fear. “She didn’t come home at all last night. And then Nails came by this morning to see if she was unwell, since she hadn’t gone to work, and sent no word.”

  No. Derek couldn’t lose everything in the space of a single day. Not again.

  “When was the last time you saw Diana?”

  “Yesterday, ‘fore I went down to the pub. When I came home, she’d left a note saying she’d gone out, and not to expect her for dinner. I figured she’d went to see you and, well, spent the night.”

  If only that had been true.

  “We’re going to the spaceport,” Derek said, grabbing his overcoat. “Maybe she’s there, after all, just delayed.”

  And if she wasn’t? His breath seized in his chest. Then he’d find her. He had to.

  “I’m sorry,” Director Quinn said. “I’ve no idea where Miss Smythe might be. Nails has already reported that she wasn’t at home.”

  Derek stood before the director’s desk, Tipper at his side, and felt his blood turn to iron in his veins.

  “What’s that, you say?” Lord Atkinson rose from his desk, where a device in a large metal box was clicking away. “Miss Smythe has disappeared?”

  “So it seems,” the director said.

  Derek rounded on the nobleman. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

  “Me? Why should I keep track of a former streetrat?” Lord Atkinson blinked at him. “Are you certain she didn’t decide she liked her old life better?”

  “She’d never.” Tipper balled his hands into fists and lunged at the man, but Derek caught him by the collar.

  “Steady on,” he told the boy, though he was in complete agreement with Tipper’s reaction.

  Derek looked back at Lord Atkinson, noting the faint evidence of scratches on the man’s jaw, the insincere smile on his lips. Suspicion blew over him like a cold breeze, the intuition he’d always been able to rely on.

  “What are you working on, there?” He nodded to desk.

  “It’s my Calculations Device. Good thing it’s operational, since Miss Smythe seems to have deserted her duty.”

  “It’s taking over for her? How convenient.” Derek ambled toward the desk, keeping his hands relaxed at his sides.

  “Not that Miss Smythe is replaceable,” the director said, “but the device does an adequate job.”

  Derek reached the machine and glanced at the strip of paper feeding out.

  :PRIORITY: Approve VALIANT for liftoff earliest possible slot:

  The name sounded familiar, and he searched his memory. Right—the convict transport Diana had mentioned. Suspicion squeezing his gut, he glanced at Lord Atkinson.

  “What’s the Valiant?” Derek asked, his tone casual despite the edge of panic pulsing through him.

  “Supply ship, I believe.” Lord Atkinson’s gaze slipped away from his. “Grain to Blue Crumpet.”

  He was lying. Diana was gone, and the nobleman seemed to have prepared for her disappearance. It added up to an ugly picture.

  Without waiting another second, Derek strode to the communications device on the corner of Diana’s desk. He toggled it on, then lifted the microphone.

  “Hello, control?” he asked.

  “Yes.” The voice on the other end of the line confirmed the connection.

  “This is Director Quinn’s office. Immediate abort of the Valiant’s liftoff. I repeat, immediate—”

  The communicator went flying as Lord Atkinson tackled Derek.

  “Let it go,” the nobleman said, fingers scrabbling for Derek’s throat. “Damned interfering–”

  His breath escaped with a whoosh as Derek jammed his knee into his stomach. As Lord Atkinson lay there gasping, Derek got to his feet. Then, for good measure, he slapped a cuff on the man.

  A tinny voice emerged from the speaker. “Sir? Hello, sir? I’m sorry, but the Valiant has already taken off.”

  No.

  Derek rushed to the window, splaying his hands over the glass. A large ship was lumbering into the air, engines firing. It rose, secondary boosters sending it rapidly into the stratosphere as he watched helplessly.

  Breggy was on that transport.

  And, unless Derek was very much mistaken, so was Diana.

  A warning claxon sounded through the Valiant, and the guard next to Breggy jerked his head. “Time to go. We’re preparing for liftoff.”

  “Right.” Breggy said. He gave Di
ana one last look, the way a cat regards a trapped mouse. “We’re not done, Diver—not by any stretch. So you just bide on that in your cell. By the time we reach Halgrek, I’m sure we’ll manage any number of suitable punishments.”

  She didn’t look away, didn’t let the fear pounding through her show on her face. It wasn’t until Breggy sauntered back down the corridor, escorted by the two guards, that she let out the breath she’d been holding and sagged weakly against the bars.

  Despair pressed at her until she could scarcely take the weight. Could scarcely breathe past the fact that everything had, once again, changed irrevocably.

  And for the very, very worse.

  This was her new life now; transportation to the prison world of Halgrek, on a ship full of hardened criminals and a gangrunner determined to inflict as much pain on her as possible. If Breggy didn’t kill her, the other prisoners or the harsh conditions in the ice mines would.

  The floor beneath her feet thrummed as the engines ignited, and her breath caught in her throat. No escape, now.

  “All hands, strap down for liftoff,” a sharp-edged voice announced through the comm system. “Prisoners, secure yourselves to your bunks.”

  Diana stumbled back to her cot. Lying down, she pulled the shock webbing over herself and hooked it onto the other side. It would be adequate, she supposed. And if any of the prisoners didn’t strap in properly and were injured during takeoff, they were no doubt considered expendable.

  The ship shuddered, then lurched up, the sturdy Frauke straining against gravity. Diana closed her eyes, imagining Director Quinn standing at the viewing window.

  I’m here! she wanted to shout. But no one would hear. No one would know where she’d gone, or what fate she was bound for.

  As the ship rose, the vibrations juddering through her bones, she imagined Southampton falling away beneath. Nails, striding the gleaming corridors of the spaceport. Tipper, stirring a pot of stew in the kitchen of the White Owl. And Derek, walking the streets of West Quay.

  All of them would look up as the ship she was on blasted away, out of Earth’s orbit. None of them would ever guess that she was on board, being taken away from them. Forever.