by Jo Zebedee
“No. If someone decides to end it, they make the decision, not their friends.” Sam sounded sure enough to give some relief. “You don’t think he was taken, then? I thought, with the timing of the release, you might have changed your mind.”
“No, did it sound that way?”
“A bit, maybe, when you said about Abendau.”
Lichio swallowed. “I just didn’t know how to tell Sonly there’s no hope. I’m a coward, aren’t I?”
Sam spluttered in laughter. “That’s not a description I’d use for you, Lich.” He drew in a deep breath. “What should I do about Kerra? She’s bound to ask.”
Lichio thought for a moment, glad of the chance to focus on something else. “Buy some time, if you can. Sonly’s right about one thing, we don’t know anything yet. Contact me if you hear anything.”
Sam nodded, but his eyes didn’t hold much hope. “Of course I will.”
Lichio looked around the compound. “You could also check in with the hospital wing here. No matter what happens, there will be casualties. An extra medic wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Yes, sir.” The words were ironic – Sam’s stay in the army had been one of the shortest ever – but they made Lichio smile.
He climbed onto the planetary transport waiting for him, saw it wasn’t his usual pilot and frowned. “Where’s Jackson?”
“He took the president across, sir.”
Lichio nodded and sat back in his seat. “Abendau,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
He pulled out his data pad and started to work. A shear of wind caught the transport, shifting it to the side, but he didn’t look up, too used to it to be concerned. He finished what he was inputting, and another gust caught them. “The wind’s strong today,” he said.
There was no answer from the pilot, and Lichio glanced at him. He was on a comms unit, a secure ear-to-mouth one. What the hell was that for? There was no one to contact other than the port, and all comms for it went through the mother-unit. Another gust and the ship veered far too much; the pilot wasn’t used to Abendau’s winds. Lichio set his data pad down and got up. He moved through the transport, keeping low and quiet. The pilot’s wrist was reflected in the viewing window, revealing a star tattoo almost covered by his uniform. Lichio blinked and looked again, as if hoping it would vanish. The Star ops tattoo was still there.
Lichio pulled his firearm free and crept forward. He waited until he was directly behind the pilot before he brought his gun up to his neck, snicking it as he set it against the skin.
“Nice tat,” he said, his voice soft. He reached over the man’s shoulder, his left hand snaking down to the blaster on his belt and taking it. “Take us back to the compound, before I lose my patience.”
The pilot glanced up, their eyes meeting in a small viewing mirror, and moved his hand. It hovered for a moment. He smiled, and hit the thrust. Lichio yelled, struggling to keep his footing as the ship surged forwards.
“Lock,” said the pilot. The ship’s control panel zoomed in on the port.
“Slow down!” Lichio shouted, but the pilot ignored him. Lichio cursed and moved backwards, slipping a little, his heart racing. He lowered his weapon. He was over the plains of Abendau in high winds – with his piloting skills, taking control was just another way to die.
He fought to keep his footing – if he fell, he’d have no chance – and reached the hatch, grabbing one of the ’chutes by the door. He pulled it on. They were passing over the outskirts of Abendau city, the port just ahead. The pilot wouldn’t turn away at the last minute, not now he’d been discovered. Lichio fumbled with the buckles on the chute, fastening the bottom one, but the top jammed and refused to connect. To hell with it, he was out of time. He heaved the door of the transport open. The wind ripped through his hair. Below was the green of the palace gardens. He glanced ahead, saw they were about to hit, and jumped. Heat ripped through the air, buffeting him. The ship hit the port below and exploded, the noise surrounding him, confusing him. He fumbled for the ripcord but the harness had slipped. He felt for it again, hands clawing in panic, and touched the toggle.
His hand slipped, but he held onto the cord by his fingertips. He was falling fast, the gardens a tangle of green, interwoven with colours that spun as he did. He pulled the cord as hard as he could, and hoped to hell it would work with the harness at such an awkward angle.
It did, and he was jerked upright. The harness slipped further. The ground rushed at him, too fast; at the very least he was going to break bones. He straightened his legs, keeping them together. Better a broken leg than his neck.
He plunged through some trees, slowing his fall, but not enough. Branches hit his legs, bone-crunchingly hard, and he brought his arms in, protecting his torso. He ducked his head in to his chest. Still he fell.
He jerked to a sudden stop and found himself hanging a good ten feet off the ground. The harness slipped up, half choking him, and threatened to come off. He grabbed a branch above for support, moving both hands onto it. The harness strained, and he shifted, hard, against the tree trunk with an audible crack and sharp pain in his ribs.
Scrabbling with his feet, trying to find anything to use for support, he found only empty air. He tried to swing and get himself over the branch, but his hands were slippery and he was struggling to breathe. A further jolt as his hand slipped made him yell, but he smothered it: this wasn’t where he wanted to be found, hanging from a tree. He glanced down, told himself there was only one way this was going to end, and let go. He fell through the tree, and landed hard. A crack split the still air; a white bolt of pain consumed his left leg.
His ankle gave way and he fell, clutching it. He rolled onto his good side, under the cover of some low shrubbery, and waited, breathing heavily, for the stabbing pain to ease.
The sound of heavy footsteps made him pull back into the shrubbery. A squad of soldiers passed and he squinted to see their insignia. The Empress’ troops. In the midst of them walked Sonly, unshackled but closely guarded. His hand tightened on his blaster as he counted the number of soldiers. He loosened his grip and mouthed a silent apology.
She was marched up to the palace gates, watched by Tom Peiret and Maxin Clorinda, the heads of their families. Two other figures joined them: Slane Hiactol and Jake Peiret. Lichio cursed: he’d suspected Hiactol and Clorinda, but not the Peirets.
“Jake!” Sonly’s voice carried to Lichio, so familiar, so hopeful, and his heart lurched. She had a lot of support, she was the elected president, and, if the rumours in the compound were true, she had an ally in Jake. She’d be okay.
Jake looked at her for a moment, his face shocked, before he turned his back and spoke to his father instead. Another ship passed overhead and Lichio looked up, confirming it wasn’t one of theirs. It landed, telling him the Empress held the port, at least, and the palace. There was no sound of any fighting. A chill settled, low in his stomach; if he was right, he’d lost the Abendauii army.
He got to his feet. He could do nothing in the garden, not for Sonly, or for himself. Finding himself in the cells would help no one. Pain shot up his leg when he put his foot down. The dull thudding in his ribs was sickening. He wasn’t going to get far. He limped through the gardens, using trees and shrubs for support, making his way to the wild garden at the bottom, close to the moat. From there, he could reach the city and one of the safe houses.
His ankle buckled, bringing him onto his knees. He wasn’t going to make it into the city. He sat, head back, thinking. The moat flowed past him, the slow suck of the water louder than it should be. He was close to the water conduit leading to the grand embassies lining the boulevard to the palace.
Josef’s embassy was one of the nearest, practically in crawling distance, but it was bound to be watched. He’d just have to grit his teeth and make it to the city. He got to his feet and gave a soft cry. His ankle had swollen, red pain bolting up his leg at the smallest weight. He had no chance.
&n
bsp; All right, then. He’d go through the conduit and along the back of the embassy gardens. That way was unlikely to be observed, not while the city was in a state of flux – few knew of it. That decided him, and he crept forwards, teeth gritted, his weight on his good leg, and used the noise of the regular space ships to mask his progress.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kare opened his eyes to a blurred kaleidoscope of colours, too many to take in. He tried to sit up but something soft, a blanket or shroud, held him where he was, enveloping his mind with calm. The colours faded as his eyes closed and the low thrum of engines – strangely familiar – lulled him.
When he next woke, his throat was dry and he was hungry. He propped himself up and waited for the room to stop spinning. When it settled he saw he was in a small bedroom, its woodwork brightly painted. The door to a bathroom stood open, and beside the bed a tray held a glass of water and some bread and cheese. He hesitated, thinking about the paralysis of earlier; if his captors wanted to harm him, poison seemed unnecessary.
He reached for the glass, and managed a drink of water, followed by a hunk of the bread, taking a few minutes to eat it. It was good. He sat up, feeling stronger, and reached for the cheese but stopped, hand hovering. He found it difficult to eat when tense, but he wasn’t just eating the bread, he was enjoying it. He pushed the food away and stood, fighting the spinning colours, and made his way to the small bathroom to splash water on his face, wakening himself a little more. A ship, he decided; the thrum was that of a generator. He went back into the cabin and crossed to the closed door, wondering if he could force it. At the first touch of his hand, it swung open. The corridor beyond was narrow and silent.
He felt for his concealed blaster but the holster was empty. Damn. He lifted his jacket from the end of the bed and felt for his second weapon. It, too, was gone. He cursed under his breath and stepped out into the corridor. It was so similar to the ship that he’d lived on as a child, he looked up, expecting to see exposed wires running the length of it, but here they were neatly boxed in. Whoever owned the ship was a better craftsman than his father had ever been. He followed the aisle, stepping through the next open door into a comfortable seating area with a small galley off. It wouldn’t have been out of place in a hotel in the Ferran hub.
He put his hand on the wall. The paintwork was smooth and glossy, its detail picking out a stylised pattern of planets and stars, and it clicked. He was on the Roamer ship.
It made no sense. He must be hallucinating; he’d wake in the desert, parched by the heat. A smothering panic settled on him. He didn’t want to be back on Belaudii. He looked around; he didn’t want to be here, either. He thought back to his meeting with the Roamer and how the man had pleaded with him to come to his planet, and frowned. There was an agenda here. He hated working to others’ agendas.
“Anyone here?” he said, voice raised. He was damned if he’d skulk around, being led by the nose, through the ship.
“In the control room!” someone shouted back.
Kare walked to the front of the ship. There, at what looked like a top-grade control panel, sat the Roamer from the previous day.
“Diplomacy is usually more subtle than this,” said Kare. “Do I get to know why I’m here?”
The Roamer spun in his pilot’s seat, and managed to not quite meet Kare’s eyes, as if embarrassed. It was so at odds to a normal captor’s behaviour, Kare was left wondering how to proceed. Rage belligerently? Threaten the wrath of his empire? Neither seemed likely to make an immediate difference. Instead, he waited, quiet anger building in him.
“My Queen ordered you to be brought to her.”
“I said we would negotiate. Kidnapping wasn’t necessary. Nor will you achieve anything by it.”
“I didn’t kidnap you. I called and you came.” Farran nodded at the co-pilot’s seat. “Sit, if you like.”
Kare stayed standing. “I’ve been lying down for what feels like the best part of a day. I don’t know where we are. I don’t know how you got me out of the compound. Is there anything you can enlighten me about?”
Farran sighed, and nodded at the seat again. “Please, sit where I can see you.”
Kare waited another moment, and then sat. “Now. An answer?”
“You’re on your way to meet our Queen,” said Farran. “You must see her before she dies.”
“If I refuse?” The expanse of space outside the viewing window was gut-wrenchingly familiar from his childhood. The Roamer stayed silent, obviously not prepared to answer. Kare turned his seat, and faced the other man. Sooner or later, he’d have to explain. “How long have I been here?”
“We left Belaudii about twelve hours ago. We’re on my planet’s approach vector now.”
“How did you take me from the compound?”
“Don’t you remember? I didn’t take you; you walked out.”
Distantly, Kare did remember walking barefoot across the compound, following the voice, a sense of being himself and yet apart from all he’d known. “You were controlling me.”
“If you hadn’t wanted to be controlled, you wouldn’t have come. I called you, mind to mind, and you chose to follow me.”
Kare raised his eyebrow, questioning. There was nothing in his knowledge of the Roamers to indicate they had such an ability. “Did you do it on your own?”
“Do you see anyone else?”
No. “What happens after I see your Queen?”
“I’ll return you to Belaudii. Unharmed.” The Roamer gave him a sly look. “Better, actually.”
Kare jumped; his lack of tension wasn’t the result of a good sleep, then. “How did you do it?”
“It’s the way the Roamer power works. Your mind was sick.”
“Perhaps.” It had been, he could see it now.
“The mesh works on such things.”
“Mesh?”
“Where our power is. I can’t tell you any more, but our Queen will.”
She better had. Or someone. But on his own terms. Kare pointed at the other man. “Take me back. Now.”
“No.”
“I’m ordering you.”
Farran looked uncomfortable. “I can’t.”
Ignoring him, Kare made to stand, but his legs wouldn’t move.
“See?” Farran calmly reached out and lifted a cup from a small shelf beside him. He took a sip and put it back.
Kare strained against the hold on him. The blanket in his mind returned, calming him. With an effort, he glared at the Roamer. “Stop that, in my mind.”
It stopped, and Farran said, “If you calm down, I’ll release you.”
“Calm down?” Kare struggled against the hold on him, but it didn’t give. “Why the hell would I calm down?”
Farran shrugged. “You’ll be back on Belaudii by tomorrow. You have my word.”
“Your word? Kidnappers aren’t renowned for keeping their word.”
“You weren’t kidnapped.”
“So you say.” Kare glared at the Roamer, trying to read his face and figure him out. “My family? Can I contact them?”
The Roamer paused. “No. You’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”
“They’ll be worried, especially my daughter,” said Kare. He took a deep breath – his anger wasn’t solving anything – and met the other man’s eyes for a long moment. “Let them know I am alive and I’ll co-operate.” For as long as it took for him to get the word out about where he was.
Farran paused a moment, looking out into space, his eyes glazing over. After a moment they cleared, and he nodded to Kare. “They’ll get word that you’re all right. Is that enough for now?”
“The mesh?”
“Yes. Please, don’t ask any more; I can’t tell you.”
Kare sat, looking out at space, taking deep breaths. Farran hadn’t hurt him; in fact, he did feel better. The Roamer had shown no violence. And it was true; he had left the compound himself. He remembered it now, dreamily le
aving the compound and getting on a scoot with Farran. Farran had told him he was taking him to his Queen, that the Roamers wanted to help, and Kare hadn’t just gone along with it; he’d been glad to. He’d been manipulated, but he’d wanted to leave Belaudii.
He spun his seat, the paralysis lifted, and watched Farran. He seemed oddly familiar, but the memory eluded him. It wasn’t until the Roamer reached forwards to change something on the control panel….
Farran didn’t look like his dad. He was swarthy with brown eyes, where Ealyn – more than Kare, even – had been pale, his dark hair and thin face making him appear fey, like a creature of another world. But as Farran inputted something into the control panel, his hands dancing like a magician’s, Kare found himself unable to look away. There was a lump in his throat, a bittersweet sense of rightness.
Farran looked over. “What is it?”
“You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
“My father.” He still had no idea what they wanted with him, but the more he watched Farran, the more convinced he was that this was to do with Ealyn. And the more unsettling that idea became. “You fly like him.”
“That’s a compliment I’ll take. Are you a nervous passenger?”
Kare raised his eyebrow. “What do you think? I grew up flying with him.”
“Good. Strap in.” The Roamer adjusted his trajectory. “We’re coming out of lightspeed.”
Kare pulled his restraints on. His stomach lurched as the drive switched, and the stars slowed around him. In the distance, a gas giant loomed, a big one. They flew on and he saw a satellite orbiting it. “That’s your planet?”
Farran nodded. “Syllte.”
“It’s not a name I’m familiar with.”
“It’s marked on the charts, but the approach is – difficult.”
Kare took in the storm swirling around the gas giant. “You’re flying into that?”
“Yes.” Farran leaned forwards, squinting, and Kare clenched his fists, determined not to show how terrified he was. A nervous flyer, no; a knowledgeable one, yes. And this was crazy.