My Prince.
Wynn didn’t know who he was. But Derward did. He had no doubt anymore: this strange boy was Prince Halstead, rightful heir to the House of Kenric.
MEMORIES
It was always strange to come home. Bara Delaterre had not been in this house for over a year, but after just one night she was already feeling the confines of its small walls. This was the room she had grown up in, sharing it with her sister until . . .
She still missed her, even after all these years. Bara had been so young when Guin had died, it was hard to recall a genuine memory that she hadn’t stolen from photos and home movies. The pictures still hung on the wall, her face haunting her even now.
She loved coming home. She hated coming home.
Bara walked through the house to the little patio with its view over the park. She rested in her mother’s old wicker chair, smiling at its familiar shabbiness. They’d been threatening to throw it out for years.
‘Don’t let her catch you sitting there.’
Bara looked up, glad to see her father walking through the house. His overalls were covered in dirt from his shift in the processing plant.
‘Don’t let her catch you walking through the house in those clothes,’ Bara teased. She kissed his cheek, tasting oil and chemicals.
‘Good day?’ he asked.
Bara shrugged. ‘I put Lexica on a diagnostic sequence. I’ve switched off his core intelligence to do a full sweep of his main drive.’
‘I bet he wasn’t happy,’ Leo said.
‘Furious! He’ll be down for a few more hours. There’s nothing much I can do until he’s back online again, then I can see what’s left to fix.’
Leo perched on the low wall that marked the edge of the patio. ‘Hatch all done?’
‘Like new.’
‘And the micro stabilizer?’
Bara nodded.
Satisfied, Leo smiled. ‘He’ll be as good as new.’
‘Better.’
‘Better? I doubt that.’
‘Dad,’ Bara laughed, ‘you might have built him, but I’ve ripped out almost every system in there and upgraded it. He’s twice the ship you gave me.’
Leo sighed wearily. ‘I suppose he is. How long you hangin’ around for?’
Bara hesitated. ‘Not long.’
He tried to hide it, but she saw the disappointment on her father’s face.
‘Not straight away,’ she added quickly, ‘but we’re short of medicines. I can get some work on a Ciation ship; they’re always hiring, and they pay well.’
‘Ciation.’ Leo said it as if it was a curse.
‘They’re not so bad . . .’
‘They’re rich! Know how they got so rich? Slavery, that’s how.’
‘Dad, that was ages ago.’
Leo squeezed his fingers together. ‘Not so long ago, I can still remember. They do a good job of making themselves sound proper and decent now, but it ain’t that long since they had plenty of blood on their hands. Them and C-Waac, and don’t try convincing me otherwise.’
Bara knew better than to argue with him when he was like this. The Cluster might have changed but her father never would.
‘You eaten yet?’ he asked, straightening his back.
‘Not yet. I think Wynn is coming over.’
‘Wynn?’
Bara shook her head. ‘Dad, I told you. He’s the one from the Obsidian.’
Leo’s eyes widened. ‘Ah, the stupid one.’
‘He’s not stupid, he just can’t remember.’
‘There’s a difference?’ Leo teased.
‘Look, if you’re gonna be like this then I won’t introduce you to him,’ Bara laughed.
‘Best behavior, I promise.’ Leo stood, checking his clothes. ‘I should change.’
‘Before Mum gets home, yeah, good idea!’
The food was delicious. Bara had become so used to processed nutrients that she’d almost forgotten how different freshly grown vegetables tasted, especially when her mother was cooking them. Tonight, it was steamed broccoli with callaloo, seasoned potatoes, grated carrots and daikon. The aroma of spices and seasoning wafted through the house, setting her taste buds on fire long before the meal arrived at the table.
Bara sat back, contented and sleepy. Her parents hadn’t embarrassed her, in fact her father had been quite the host. He’d asked questions, but not too many, and when Wynn had taken an interest in her father’s engineering background he had known to curtail his stories before he’d lost his audience.
‘Did you enjoy it?’ Bara asked Wynn as the house bot cleared the table.
‘Of course!’ he grinned. ‘This was the best meal I can remember eating.’
Bara’s mother beamed with satisfaction, the irony of Wynn’s statement missing the mark. ‘There’s plenty left. I’ll vac some for you to take with you.’
‘Thank you,’ Wynn replied.
‘How did it go with Derward?’ Bara asked as her parents left the table.
Wynn frowned. She had gotten used to the scars, and bruises were going down. It was easier to see the face beneath it all now. He had kind eyes, she thought, the sort that could look sad sometimes. He had a strong chin, and a mouth that looked like it might break into a smile at any moment. He had probably been handsome, before his injuries. The broken nose, the scars, the burns: most of it looked treatable. In time, he would be handsome again.
Bara realized she was staring and blushed as she looked away. Wynn was talking and she hadn’t been listening.
‘. . . managed to remember a bit more about the attack, of sitting in my lifeboat before I got out, but that’s all. There was a man helping me, but I didn’t know him.’ Wynn sighed. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just so frustrating, not knowing who I am.’
‘I know,’ she said, putting her hand on his. She had done it without thinking, but now she felt uncomfortable, and pulled it away.
‘What sort of person am I?’ Wynn continued. ‘Am I good? Am I likeable? What do I do? What’s my last name?’
He stood and went to the open door that led to the patio, taking in the air and the view.
Bara joined him there. ‘Well, you’re good, I know that. You saved me, didn’t you? And, yes, you’re likeable,’ she laughed. Wynn managed a tiny smile in return. ‘And last names are overrated, aren’t they?’
‘But it’s not just that. A name means family, doesn’t it? I don’t know anything about where I come from. Being here, with you and your parents, it’s obvious how much they mean to you, how important Melchior is to you. It defines you, it makes you who you are.’
‘True, but I think you already know who you are, Wynn.’
He turned to look at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re a proud Kenric man, aren’t you? I can see the anger driving you. You want to find out who destroyed the Obsidian. You want them to pay for what they did. You might not know your last name but you know where you came from. You came from a Kenric arkship. You’re one of them, so you know who your family is. That’s what defines you, that’s what drives you.’ Bara moved closer, her voice softer. ‘You’re a good man, Wynn, that’s all you really need to know.’
‘Thanks,’ Wynn replied. ‘I wish I was as sure as you are.’
The house bot came to the door and made a small apologetic cough.
‘Yes, Mr Boo,’ Bara said.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
Bara shook her head. The bot turned to Wynn. ‘Something for you, sir?’
‘No, thank you,’ Wynn replied.
The machine bowed slightly and returned to the house.
Wynn, stifling a smile turned to look at Bara. ‘Mr Boo?’
She laughed, blushing. ‘My sister named him, when she was little. She couldn’t say bot properly. It came out as boo, so he got called Mr Boo. Doesn’t seem right to change it now.’
Wynn laughed. It was a warm, deep laugh that seemed to dispel his worries.
‘Is your sister still on Melchior?’ h
e asked.
Bara felt the familiar knot in her stomach. She hadn’t had to explain this to anyone for years. News spread quickly on Melchior.
‘She . . .’ Bara faltered, took a breath. ‘Guin died, when I was very young.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Wynn said. It was his turn to touch her hand, but he didn’t remove it. His skin was warm, comforting.
‘A stupid accident, that’s all,’ Bara continued, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. ‘She loved to explore, going on adventures to see the world. She’d drag me along with her. We’d find hatches, airlocks, service ducts, all the places little kids weren’t supposed to go. Really dangerous, but she just loved to discover new places. One day, she fell . . . she fell down a ventilation shaft. I tried, but I couldn’t reach her, I was so small. I raised the alarm but it was too late. They found her in the vent system close to the dockside. Her legs were broken but she’d dragged herself there, trying to get out. The ships pump their waste gasses into that system . . . she didn’t stand a chance.’
The emotion of the memory overwhelmed her, and Wynn took her in his arms. She didn’t resist, letting her head rest on his shoulder as she cried.
Eventually, she pulled away, wiping her face. ‘Sorry, I don’t talk about it too much.’
‘Don’t be sorry.’
She shook her head, feeling exposed. ‘Coming home, it brings it all back.’
‘It’s okay,’ he soothed.
Bara wiped her face, trying to shake off the feelings of regret. ‘I could use some help tomorrow. Lexica needs some love and attention. I could use another pair of hands.’
‘Sure,’ Wynn replied. ‘You’ll have to teach me what to do.’
‘I get the feeling you’re a quick learner. A few more days, maybe a week, and I think I’ll be ready to go. I’m going to try a Ciation ship, there’s one not too far away. You could come with me, maybe see what we can find out about the attack from them.’
Wynn grimaced, glancing away. ‘I’m leaving . . .’
‘What?’
‘With Derward. Day after tomorrow, I think. I’m not sure where he’s going – I don’t think he’s too sure yet either – but he can help me with my memory, I think. And I can’t just stay here, Bara, I need to get back out there. I need to find some answers.’
She hesitated, uncertain of her emotions.
‘But I can help you with the ship,’ Wynn added, ‘until I go.’
‘Sure, fine,’ Bara replied, trying to sound casual. ‘Whatever you think.’
Wynn smiled, those sad eyes of his pitying her. It was as if he could see though her, know what she was feeling even before she did. ‘Shall we have coffee?’ she asked, turning into the room, desperate to break his gaze.
Wynn shook his head. ‘It’s late, and I’m feeling tired. I think I should go.’
Bara nodded solemnly.
‘But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, watching as he found her parents, exchanging pleasantries, thanking them for the meal. He was at the door, saying goodbye, smiling, and then he was gone, and Bara felt more alone than she had in years.
BETTER TIMES
Reader Pace Durante sat on his bed and stared at the oil painting hanging on the far wall. He had acquired it many years ago when he was stationed on the edge of the Neptune Wastes. Perhaps it was the bleak hostility of that place, or maybe he was getting sentimental, but the painting had struck a chord deep within him and he had to own it. Since then it had moved with him to every new posting, finding a home at the foot of his bed where he could stare at it and let his mind wander. It was one of the few material possessions he had, and no-doubt it was frowned upon by his superiors, but he was compelled to keep it with him anyway. A tiny act of rebellion.
The image depicted a long-forgotten fairy-tale popular before the Fracture, of a prince finding a sleeping maiden in the heart of a castle frozen in time. A shaft of light intersected the painting, bringing with it a host of angelic spirits who banished the dark forces that had made the citadel their home. The colors were golden, the figure-work exquisite, and the picture had occupied his eye for many hours, its romance and innocence warming his pessimistic soul.
But not tonight. He could find no peace in those pre-historic brushstrokes. He looked away from the painting, back to the report in his hand and read it once more, letting the details sink in, trying to control his anger. The arkship Obsidian had been destroyed, hundreds – maybe thousands – of people dead, and it was his fault. He had foreseen this outcome, he had noted it in several reports, all of which were now safely stored and indexed forever in the Church’s archive. And yet he had done nothing to avoid this eventuality.
Pace Durante had observed Orcades Draig for many years, recording his personality index in great detail, forecasting his development, and adjusting it when necessary. He was ignorant and arrogant; that made him pliable, and Durante was sure he had contained his more excessive potential. He had kept him to the plan, that was all that mattered.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday, Orcades Draig had deviated from the plan, and the Scribe wanted to know why. Durante had no answers. He had underestimated Orcades Draig, or perhaps he had overestimated his influence on him and his mother. He stared at the painting, trying to decide where he had gone wrong.
The pad on his bedside table pinged urgently; the Scribe again, he guessed, or perhaps Librarian Okuda with another report. He picked it up; the call bore an authorized Church ident mark and was coming through on their secure network, but the caller’s name was missing. He thought about ignoring it, but he decided there was little point hiding from his folly. He let the call connect and waited until a face appeared on the screen.
‘Reader Durante? Are you there?’ a voice asked.
Durante kept himself away from the screen until he could place the caller. The face was familiar, like a distant memory from a long-forgotten place. The hair was flecked with grey, and the short beard was new to him, but he recognized the pronounced cheekbones and those piercing eyes.
‘Reader Tarkkail?’ Durante spoke in a whisper as he picked up the pad. ‘Is that you?’
The caller looked down regretfully. ‘Not Reader, not anymore, but yes it’s me. Is this a secured com?’
Durante checked his device and nodded. ‘It’s good to see you. How long has it been? Since the Conquistador?’
‘It has been a while. I am sorry I’m not calling you in better times. I presume you know about the Obsidian?’
Durante’s stomach fluttered. How quickly had word spread? ‘Yes, I have heard.’
‘Do you know who is behind the attack?’
Durante hesitated. Derward Tarkkail may no longer be a Reader but he was obviously still part of the Church. A Watcher, perhaps? Even so, he should be cautious. ‘The investigation is ongoing,’ he replied.
Derward Tarkkail shook his head, obviously frustrated. ‘I don’t have long, Durante. I think this is a Draig plot against the House of Kenric. You’re stationed on a Draig arkship, correct?’
Durante didn’t reply.
‘Look, Pace, I’m not asking you to compromise your position,’ Derward continued, ‘but I need to tell you what I know, and I need your advice.’
‘My advice?’ The last time Durante had met him Derward Tarkkail had been the more senior Reader; he had not asked for advice then. He wondered what had happened to his old friend in the intervening years.
‘Yes,’ Derward replied, moving closer to the screen. ‘I can’t contact Icarus directly, and you’re the only one I can trust with this information.’
The image fractured into a matrix of color, then reformed again.
‘. . . must be quick, before they spot my com.’
‘What is it you need to tell me?’ Derward asked.
‘The House of Kenric, I believe the heir survived the attack on the Obsidian.’
‘Prince Halstead is alive?’ Derward gasped.
‘I believe s
o, yes.’
‘And you know where he is?’
‘He’s on Melchior.’
Durante’s mind raced with new possibilities.
‘I am watching over him,’ Derward continued. ‘He does not know who he is, there’s a memory wall keeping his identity from him. Pace, I need your help. What should I do with him?’
‘You were right to bring this to me, Derward, thank you. I will consult the plan and–’
‘Forget the plan!’ Derward interrupted. ‘I need your advice, now! Should I keep him hidden here or take him to Icarus?’
‘Neither,’ Durante replied. ‘I will come for him. He shall have the Church’s protection.’
Derward’s face broke with relief. ‘How long till you get here?’
A series of co-ordinates scrolled across the bottom of the pad. Durante checked it against his current position and said, ‘There are some things I need to do first.’
‘Any delay could be–’
‘I will be swift, you have my word. Can you keep him safe till I can get there?’
‘Yes . . . yes, I can,’ Derward replied. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll contact you when I’m close. I presume Melchior is as secretive and as hostile as ever?’
Derward nodded. ‘Contact me when you are close. I’ll come in my ship to meet you.’
The picture fizzed with interference.
‘It was good to see you once more,’ Durante said, smiling. The com ended and the room fell into silence.
Durante stood in front of the painting, letting his eyes absorb the smallest details. Sometimes, he thought, by studying a fraction of the picture he could better appreciate the image as a whole. ‘Details,’ he muttered, turning to find his pad. He waited as it confirmed his identity and then he accessed the Church’s core database. There was the plan in all its fine detail. Orcades’ move against the House of Kenric had caused some deviation, a section of equations flagged in red. Durante wondered what the return of a Kenric heir might do to the predictions. He inputted the new information and waited as the plan realigned itself. More red. More deviation. More war. More death. Orcades had set in motion a chain of events that could not be easily corrected by the return of a Kenric to his throne. What then? What was the best option? Killing the heir would not improve things. The columns of red remained.
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