by T. M. Catron
She climbed off the bench ever so slowly, wondering if she would even be able to get up the ladder and into the cockpit without help.
“Want me to go with you, Captain?” James asked.
Rance paused. She really needed the help, but contacting her father was a private matter. A few days ago, she’d told Solaris she didn’t have any secrets from the crew—and she didn’t—but she hadn’t spoken to Davos since she ran away from home, more than five years ago. The message would be personal, and she’d likely have to record it several times before she was satisfied.
“No, James. I can manage.”
“Very good, Captain,” James said, turning back to his own tea and smirking. “You look like you’re managing quite well. I’ll just listen for any sounds of distress, and then pointedly ignore them, since they won’t be from you.”
Rance shot him a dirty look and left the galley.
The walk to the cockpit was the longest trip of Rance’s life. She paused on the second step of the stairway, wincing when she discovered new pain in places she didn’t know she had. She would have glanced back to make sure no one was looking, but moving her head was dicey. So, she gathered what pride she had left and continued, pausing every couple of steps.
The conversation in the galley drifted out to her.
“Why are Nilurian Rebels attacking Prometheus?” James asked.
“Easy,” Abel said. “They’re trying to start a war.”
“Don’t call them rebels,” Solaris said with more vehemence than Rance would have thought possible. “They attacked a Core world, killed innocent people. They’re no better than the pirates they stole the standard from.”
Finally, Rance reached the top deck, and their voices faded. From there, walking was easy compared to climbing stairs. She gave a longing look into her quarters and her too-short but comfortable bed. But she passed them and made her way down the corridor.
At the end of the deck, Rance stared at the cockpit ladder a full ten minutes before summoning the energy to put her foot on the bottom rung. Climbing up into the cockpit took longer than she cared to admit, but when she finally emerged, she breathed a sigh of relief and eased into her chair. The blue wash of hyperspace blocked out the stars, but it bathed the cockpit in a soothing, pleasant glow. Good thing, too, because she might be forced to stay there until her body healed, or someone took pity on her and moved her below deck.
“Deliverance, prepare a video transmission.”
The next moment, the screen in front of her showed Rance’s face. Rance took a deep breath. She could record the message as many times as she needed. No need to be nervous.
Her underarms were sweaty, her palms clammy. She refused to attribute her nervousness to her task. Just because she was going to talk to her father for the first time in five years didn’t mean she was a little girl again.
No. Like Solaris said, Rance was a changed woman. Davos might not even recognize her. Part of her wished he would. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t. Since the success of this message depended on him recognizing her, though, she settled for the former.
Finally, Rance stopped thinking about it and spoke to the screen.
“Record.”
A red light blinked in the top corner. It was ready.
She took a deep breath, sat up tall, and said, “Hello, Father.”
EPILOGUE
LORD DAVOS SAT behind his desk in his dark office, brooding out the expansive window onto the nighttime city below. A dust storm was brewing. In the distance, lightning streaked across the clouds, illuminating swirling eddies of purple sand. The smell of the poisonous chirkwood flower potted in the corner tickled his nose. He was tempted to throw it out the window. Tonight, everything offended him—the city, the planet Xanthes, his failure to control the actions of his family.
He’d just watched Devri’s message. His daughter—his only daughter—had just fled a planet full of pirates. She’d endangered herself again—more proof that she was incapable of commanding her own starship. As if Davos needed more proof. Lately, tales of her exploits had reached him with alarming frequency. He always heard of them too late to catch her. Some idiot bungled the reporting or didn’t recognize her in time. Each report caused Davos’ anger to surge higher.
And now, pirates.
Davos scoffed. No, not pirates, rebels. His distaste for the Nilurian Rebels ran deeper than for the pirates. Pirates only wanted to be left to their own devices. For the most part, they managed themselves and occasionally benefitted the empire with their illegal trade. When they got too big and too cocky, the empire cut them down.
But rebels. Davos despised their misguided ideology, their self-appointed missions for the common man. If the Nilurians had their way, the empire would descend into anarchy. And then who would keep the pirates at bay?
No, Triton would cut down the rebels too. If they had dared to attack a Core world, it was time for the Empire Triton to show them why Unity’s forces were so good at keeping the alien worlds in check.
Davos took a swig from his flask, the one carrying his special concoction that included poison from the plant in the corner. It no longer burned when it went down, but still left a metallic, bitter taste on his tongue.
Or was it the bitterness left by his missing wife, Jane? He hadn’t heard from her in over a year. After she and Devri had left five years ago, he’d only received curt transmissions from her. And even those had stopped. He didn’t think she was in danger. Probably living it up at society balls on Coru or Triton. She always did care more about mingling with the nobility on those worlds than the ones on Xanthes.
Hopefully, she hadn’t been on Prometheus when it was attacked. Davos sat down the flask with a heavy clink, stirring himself to his work. It wasn’t in his nature to ask what if, only to deal with the problems at hand. He sent secure transmissions to Emperor Arthos, detailing what he knew about the attack on Prometheus. Arthos had been too long-suffering with the rebels. And they had repaid him with treason.
Davos sniffed derisively. Let the emperor deal with the problem he’d created.
For Davos, the need to find his daughter had grown more pressing than ever. The last thing he wanted was for her to get killed, caught in some scuffle between the empire and the rebels. If only he knew what her ship looked like, he could retrieve her. So far, he’d had trouble pinning down its registration or getting accurate accounts of its physical appearance. Everyone who’d encountered her recently—and he’d spoken to each one of them—said her ship kept changing mid-flight. Like she was hopping from ship to ship to confuse her pursuers. How she’d managed that trick, he wasn’t sure.
With his blood pressure rising and the rock in his stomach growing heavier, Davos pulled out his handset to comm a servant. Before he could make a request, however, his comm beeped. Lord Aron.
Davos answered with a terse, “What?”
“Lord Davos, I trust I find you well?”
His wheedling voice grated on Davos’ nerves at the best of times. It sounded even worse over the comm. Davos was in no mood for pleasantries, especially from Francivi Aron.
“What is it, Aron?”
“I have some news of your daughter.”
Davos sat up and leaned over the comm. “Yes?”
“A Lieutenant Arnold contacted the Unity base, saying he ran into Devri a week ago.”
“And did he bring her back with him?” Davos snarled.
“No, my lord. I’m afraid not.”
Of course, he hadn’t. If he had, Devri would already be home. “Why am I not surprised? Tell me, Aron, is there any competent officer left in Unity? Or have they all defected to the pirates and rebel sympathizers?”
Maybe the reason the rebels had swept into Prometheus like they had was because all the bright ones had sought out greener pastures. Davos brought a fist down on the desk. “Answer me!”
Aron hesitated, but when he spoke, he seemed nonplussed by Davos’ impatience.
“He was confused. He
didn’t realize who he had until it was too late.”
“Then he is as useless as you. Why did he even bother to report?”
“Because,” Aron said, ignoring the insult, “he knows what Devri’s ship looks like.”
Davos sat back, digesting the information. “Are you sure?”
“Lieutenant Arnold is sure.”
“I want to speak with him personally.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Send him now, before he has an accident and forgets.”
Davos clicked off the comm and stood to pace in front of the window. If he had a description of the ship, he could pull security footage from the waystations. Devri had used one of them to send her message. He knew which one, of course, but it was a busy location, and thousands of ships used it every day. But if they knew what her ship looked like, they could find out what time she arrived, what time she left, and if they were lucky, her destination.
Davos commed Lord Aron again.
“Yes?”
“On your way here, stop and pick up McConnell.”
“I’m assuming you mean the younger McConnell, Harrison, and not his esteemed father.”
“Yes,” Davos grumbled. “It’s time that man earned some of his inheritance, instead of wasting it at the tavern.”
It took more than two hours for Aron to arrive with Arnold and McConnell in tow. While Davos waited, he had sent more messages, demanding security footage, arrivals, and departures from the waystation. In between calls, he fumed. The house servants had avoided his office like he had a case of arlakan plague. And when they escorted Aron and his charges to Davos’ office, they held back at the door.
Davos waved the servants away.
Lord Francivi Aron looked conniving as ever, with his crooked-tooth smile and his thin, pallid face. Lieutenant Arnold was brown-skinned and young. Probably close to Devri’s age. He looked nervous, but he saluted Davos and stood up straight, waiting to be addressed.
Harrison McConnell looked like he’d just been dragged from under a table. His robes were dirty and crumpled, his face red. But he stood as still as he could manage. Aron must have put the fear of Triton into him to get him to sober up on the way over.
Without standing on ceremony, Davos nodded at Arnold, signaling him to begin his tale. The young man cleared his throat and tried not to stare at anything in particular as he recounted his run-in with Devri and her crew. The details about the encounter were fuzzier than Davos would have liked, but Arnold gave vivid descriptions of the crew members and the ship which had been called the Stanley Alto.
McConnell snorted.
“Something funny?” Davos sneered. The man really was an idiot. Davos could see why Devri despised him. It was a shame he belonged to the most influential family on Xanthes.
McConnell glanced at Aron and then shook his head. “No, sir.”
Always one to detect a lie, Davos stalked over to McConnell and stared him down. “You don’t think Devri is on that ship?”
“Oh, umm. Yes, sir, I do think she is.”
The younger man’s eyes shifted slightly. The ZOD in Davos’ eye registered an elevated heart rate. McConnell was hiding something.
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, sir.” He returned Davos’ gaze without wavering.
Davos’ mouth drew into a thin, hard line. He would have taken the opportunity to threaten McConnell, but Lieutenant Arnold was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Davos didn’t care about the fool’s discomfort, but he didn’t want him telling people that Davos threatened his future son-in-law, either.
“Lieutenant,” he said, still staring at McConnell, “tell me what happened after you boarded the ship.”
“Ah. That’s when things get a bit confusing, sir.”
“Did you see my daughter or not?”
“Yes, sir. I’m certain I did.”
Davos walked over to Arnold. “Is there something to make you doubt it?”
“Once I got onboard, I spoke to her. She recognized me—we went to the Xanthes Flight Academy together.”
“Did you?” Davos scowled. Sending her to that Academy and indulging her whims had been one of his biggest mistakes.
“Yes, sir. And I remember putting her in energy cuffs.”
“You what?” Davos fumed. “You imbecile. How dare you put a noblewoman in cuffs without direct written orders!”
Arnold winced and said weakly, “I’m sorry, sir.”
Davos had long ago lost his patience. The lieutenant was lucky that he made it a policy not to strike Unity officers. But he was sorely tempted.
“And then what happened?” he ground out through his teeth.
“And then—” Arnold glanced at Aron, as if for help. But Lord Aron eyes were as cold as ice—he wasn’t going to bail him out. Arnold’s voice grew to a whisper. “I lost her. I led her to the stairs where her crew was. Her CO told me to unlock the cuffs, and I did.”
Davos roared, wishing he had something in his hand to chuck at the lieutenant. He really wanted to throttle him.
Aron, seeing Davos ready to burst a vein, intervened. “And then I suppose you just went back to your own ship and flew away?”
“Yes, sir.”
McConnell snorted again, close to laughter. All three stared at him as if he’d come unhinged.
“Out with it, McConnell,” Aron said.
McConnell snickered again and held up his hand in apology. “My lords, did you expect anything less from Devri?”
“Not less,” Davos said, glaring at Arnold. “But I do expect Unity officers not to lose their heads when she smiles at them.”
“Sir!” Arnold said, stung. “It wasn’t like that. Something happened on that ship. I don’t know. One minute, I was in control of everything, and the next, I couldn’t remember where I was or why I had her in cuffs.”
“Are you sure she didn’t knock you over the head for using cuffs on her?” McConnell asked.
Arnold turned red. “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”
“Oh, I do. I really do. None of you”—he looked pointedly at Davos—“in here know anything about Devri.”
“I went to school with her!”
“And yet you didn’t know her well enough to anticipate a double-cross.”
Davos snarled. “Watch your mouth, McConnell. Are you suggesting Devri is duplicitous?”
“No, sir, only resourceful.”
Davos loomed over McConnell. “And you think you can be just as resourceful?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you are implying it.” Davos glared at him out of habit, but he was thinking. If McConnell claimed to know his daughter better than her own father, maybe he should send the man out to get her. He was a bungling, greedy idiot, but at least it would get McConnell out of the way for a while. And maybe he’d make a fool of himself somewhere other than the taverns on Xanthes. Yes, it was a good idea. Davos jabbed a finger into McConnell’s face. “Pack a bag.”
McConnell paled. “Sir?”
“You have just become the new head of the search for Devri. If you know her as well as you claim, finding her and her ship shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. If you want to marry her, you’ll go out and get her.”
McConnell sputtered. “But sir, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“We have a description of the ship. I’m having security videos sent as we speak.” Davos jerked his head toward Arnold. “And the lieutenant here will escort you wherever you need to go.”
“I will?”
“If you don’t want to be stripped of your rank and thrown in with the enlisted, then yes, you will. You will ferry McConnell and find my daughter.” Davos glared at them. “And make sure my future son-in-law doesn’t get distracted by anything along the way.”
McConnell and Arnold both gaped at Davos. Arnold, who had too much to lose if he didn’t comply, pulled himself together and saluted. McConnell, however, look
ed like he would argue.
Seeing McConnell wavering, Lord Aron cleared his throat. “I’m sure Harrison would love to bring his future bride back to Xanthes.”
McConnell glanced at Aron, looking defeated.
Still feeling like they were keeping something from him, Davos narrowed his eyes. “It should be an honor, McConnell. You still want to marry my daughter, correct?”
His tone dared McConnell to say something in disagreement. Like Devri, McConnell didn’t have a choice in the matter, but Davos would sooner betray the Emperor than let McConnell admit he didn't want to go through with the marriage.
McConnell tore his eyes away from Lord Aron to look at Davos. “Of course I do, sir. The honor will be all mine.”
“Good. We don’t have a minute to lose. You leave tonight.”
THE END
…for now.
(Go to the next page for a BONUS short story!)
A CONVERSATION
BONUS SHORT STORY
A WEEK AFTER LEAVING PROMETHEUS, life aboard the Star Streaker had improved. Rance had sent a message to her father from Waystation 10, a space station between Prometheus and the Nilurian Belt. It handled millions of transmissions a day from thousands of ships, the perfect place to send an anonymous message. As soon as he received it, her father would have tried to trace her. But with all the traffic, spotting Rance on security footage would have been difficult.
Communicating with Davos at all was risky. In the five years Rance had been captain of the Star Streaker, she’d never been tempted to contact him. But she and the crew agreed that the attack on Prometheus was bigger than Rance’s issues with her father or the threat of an arranged marriage.
Her biggest worry was that Davos had a description of her ship, but it had been a risk she was willing to take.
The risk had paid off. A day after she sent the message, Unity ships descended on the Nilurian Rebels besieging the planet. Either Davos had received Rance’s message, or a separate call for help had gotten through the rebels’ blockade. A terrifying battle had ensued. But after two days of intense fighting and bitter losses on both sides, the rebels fled the planet.