by Renee Duke
The turbolift doors opened opposite what turned out to be the interrogation room. Waldo went to join Craig, who was seated at a long table, his head in his hands. Jip sat hunched on a narrow bench at the side, biting her lip. Her pale face got even paler when Kirsty and I dropped down beside her.
“What happened?” I asked her. “How did you get caught?”
“We were in the lounge looking for Kirsty. There were only a few people about. I suppose we looked a little out of place. An officer saw Craig and asked him what he was doing out of his duty area. Then he saw me, and Craig had to tell him everything.”
Jip did not say all of the above in actual words. A few days after we met her, Kirsty and I began to notice she was becoming far more articulate. At least, it seemed that she was, but then we realized Vorlans are not really as lacking in conversational skills as people think. They actually have limited telepathic abilities they use between themselves and any other intelligent beings with whom they can establish a rapport. It took her a day or two to tune into our thought waves and help us pick up on hers, but once she had, we never again experienced the exasperation we had felt during our first attempt to communicate with her.
Others still did not find Jip very talkative. It was Craig who had let slip about Kirsty and me. Once his superiors knew about Jip, he probably figured things would go worse for him and Waldo if two more stowaways were picked up without his having said anything about them. But that was his problem. My concern was how badly things would go for us. True, we were very young, and had influential parents, but I wasn’t sure if the latter would work to our advantage. Not for Kirsty and me, anyway. AUP was involved in some very delicate negotiations. The Directorate could not afford to have its image tarnished in any way—least of all by an accusation that it had been too lenient with the offspring of some of its key personnel. The very fact we were our parents’ children could go against us. Their years of loyal service would mean nothing to the Directorate if AUP’s interests were threatened.
“I think we should try to keep oor parents’ names out of this latest little predicament we’ve got oorselves into,” said Kirsty, who had apparently been thinking along the same lines.
Jip nodded. “I quite agree. I know mine would help me if I asked them to, but they are highly respected on Vorla, and considered leaders in their field on many other worlds as well. I do not want to cause them any embarrassment.”
Kirsty looked at her. “I canna understand why you’re even here. You’ve the ability to hie yourself off into some other dimension—and you should.”
“That’s right,” I said. “They’d never find you, and you could stay in hiding until we got to a place where you could slip off the ship unbeknownst to anyone.”
Jip looked shocked. “That would not be right. I have transgressed, and must not seek to escape the consequences of my actions. The Vorlan Code of Honour does not permit anyone to use dimension travel for such a purpose. Besides,” she added after a moment, “I am not very good at it when I am…perturbed.”
We were all perturbed. And scared. We were guilty of a crime. Assignment to a juvenile detention centre was the very least we could expect. Possibly even banishment to some unknown space sector. Waldo’s prediction of execution was, I thought, a little extreme, but we still awaited the arrival of the Derridus’s captain with considerable trepidation.
All too soon, he arrived. Two other officers came in behind him, one male and one female. So did some more security guards, and a pompous-looking middle-aged Earthman in a black travel suit. The suit bore the insignia of the AUP Directorate, but we would have recognized Ambrose Ramsweir with, or without, his insignia. The Directorate’s chief spokesman was often featured in the news, most recently in regard to his having come all the way from Earth to represent the Directorate at the coronation of Cholar’s new Supreme Ruler. Kirsty and I had even met him once, at an AUP family picnic we had attended just before our parents were transferred to the Zaidus system. There had been a lot of kids there though, and we had changed a bit since then so recognition was, fortunately, not mutual.
The sight of their captain caused Craig and Waldo to spring to their feet and stand at attention. Eager to appease, we did the same. Captain Jarvis seated himself at the far end of the table, with Director Ramsweir on one side of him, and the officers on the other. He did not look very friendly.
“Sit down,” he said.
One of the officers recorded our names (false) and read us a summary of our misdeeds (unfortunately, not false). ‘Entering a restricted area’, and ‘unauthorized occupancy of a courtesy cabin’, were about the only phrases we understood. The essence of our crimes was quite clear, however. Stowing away on a VIP ship was a high-level offence.
“I guess we’re in a lot of trouble,” I said in a small voice.
Captain Jarvis regarded us coldly. “You certainly are. This ship is supposed to be providing safe passage for the planet of Cholar’s Supreme Ruler Presumptive. That planet is not yet affiliated with the Association of United Planets, but it is a planet with which the Association would very much like to become affiliated. Until he is crowned, the High Prince is in danger from Cholarian radicals who do not approve of his recent attempts to establish friendly relations with the Association. A breach in his security—which you penetrated as though it did not exist—could very well undermine those relations.”
“We…we didn’t mean any harm,” said Kirsty.
“That in no way exonerates you,” snapped Director Ramsweir. “You—” He obviously planned to say more, but the sound of a buzzer cut through his words. Someone outside the room appeared to desire entry, and was duly admitted by a guard.
“What is it?” Captain Jarvis demanded irritably, then stood up and bowed. So did everyone else. The imposing figure in the doorway was none other than High Prince Taziol, of Cholar.
“Please be seated,” said the High Prince. “I apologize for interrupting your interview with these young people, Captain. I have only just been made aware of their illegal status aboard this ship. With your permission, I would like to speak on their behalf.”
“That isn’t necessary, Your Highness,” Captain Jarvis said as everyone, including the High Prince, sat down. “Everything is under control.”
“It is indeed,” put in Director Ramsweir. “The ship’s security has been seriously violated, but I assure you the little wretches are now all in custody. You have my solemn word they will be dealt with most severely.”
“But I do not want them to be dealt with severely,” said the High Prince, his voice gentle, but compelling. “I am acquainted with these young ladies. They are friends of mine.”
“Friends?” Director Ramsweir echoed.
“That’s right. The way they obtained passage on my ship was perhaps a trifle unorthodox, but they are only children, and you know how children are. They like life to be an adventure. I am indebted to your two crewmen—Brown and Putnam, is it not? —for enabling them to travel in such comfort and safety. Had they decided to hide out in a place like the ship’s cargo hold, the results might have been most unfortunate. I’m told the air supply there is very poor.”
Captain Jarvis frowned. “Your Highness, your gallantry is well known. As is your…sense of humour. But the tolerance with which your people tend to regard the young has no place here. Young as they are, these girls have broken the law. They must be held accountable. What they did goes far beyond a childish prank.”
“Does it? How? They wanted to go to Gethev. This ship was going there. It’s quite a big ship. It has plenty of room. They didn’t think they’d get in anyone’s way. Nor did they. Not really.
“I know you are concerned for my safety, Captain, but their being aboard has harmed no one, least of all me. You can hardly view these little girls as potential assassins. And they are, as I have said, my friends. ‘Arabella’ and I share an interest in ornamental craftsmanship.” He turned and smiled at Kirsty, his eyes twinkling.
Captain
Jarvis gave the High Prince an incredulous look. “Your Highness, you can’t expect us to believe these little hoydens are actually friends of yours.”
The High Prince’s upswept eyebrows swept up even more. “Do you doubt the word of a Prince of Cholar, Captain?”
Director Ramsweir shot to his feet. “Of course he doesn’t, Your Highness. The honesty and integrity of the Royal House of Cholar is without parallel in the known universe. Captain Jarvis was simply surprised that these little…that these girls are known to one of your exalted rank.”
The High Prince surveyed him coolly for a moment. “People are not always what they seem, Director Ramsweir. Nevertheless, they are known to me. I apologize for the manner in which they came aboard, but must confess that I am very pleased that they did so. In view of that, is there is any chance I might prevail upon the captain to carry them the rest of the way to Gethev as my guests?”
The AUP director’s jaw tightened. Then he glanced at Jarvis and, with a slight bow, surrendered. “It shall be as Your Highness wishes.”
“Thank you.” Prince Taziol got to his feet. “I knew you wouldn’t be angry with the girls once I explained things to you, or, indeed, with these two splendid young crewmen here. They have been of great service to my little friends, and therefore, of course, to me. Such devotion to duty surely warrants commendation.”
“Perhaps,” said Captain Jarvis. He didn’t seem much taken with the idea.
“Excellent.” The High Prince smiled wickedly and brought his hands together for a brisk rubbing. “I believe it is almost time for that quaint Earth custom that some refer to as afternoon tea. Perhaps the young ladies would do me the honour of joining me for some refreshments?” He looked at us inquiringly.
Our transition from contemptible stowaways to privileged passengers had been so swift and unexpected, Jip and I were still in a state of shock, but Kirsty somehow managed to come up with a reply. “Och, we’d be delighted,” she said faintly.
Chapter Eight
Taking tea with the High Prince of Cholar was a memorable experience. Taz—as he practically ordered us to call him—was so handsome and charming, we all fell instantly in love with him. He went out of his way to make us feel as though meeting us had been the highlight of his tour. Maybe it was. I would imagine an endless chain of speeches, interviews, and banquets in one’s honour can get monotonous after awhile. He must also have found it irksome to have AUP security guards dogging the footsteps of his own Royal Guardsmen all the time, because he told us he had slipped away from two of them only moments before he met Kirsty.
He gave a wry smile. “I am probably not the most co-operative passenger Captain Jarvis has ever carried aboard this ship. I’m sure he and Director Ramsweir find me quite exasperating.”
I was sure they did too. So did the rest of AUP’s hierarchy. Heirs to the Cholarian throne were chosen very young and trained for their future positions. All potential successors had to be of royal blood, but did not have to be the Supreme Ruler’s own offspring. Taz’s uncle had reportedly chosen him as his successor because he didn’t think his own son, Mardis, had what it took to be a Supreme Ruler. Whether he did or not, AUP would far rather have been dealing with him. My father had been involved in Cholar’s original membership negotiations, and someone on its Crown Council had told him Prince Mardis greatly admired AUP, and was much in favour of joining the Association. High Prince Taziol had neither favoured, nor opposed, AUP’s offer of membership, but had supplied the Successor’s traditional nod of approval to his uncle’s decision to decline it. It was my father’s opinion that that proved he was as stubborn and arrogant as Obruk himself, and likely, he said, to uphold all the old fool’s ideals once he was on the throne. Nor did he consider the High Prince’s cautious approach to reopening talks with AUP any cause for celebration. He felt that, when it came down to actual membership negotiations, Taz would be even harder to deal with than Obruk had been.
We, however, did not find Taz the least bit formidable. Even Jip was able to establish an almost instant rapport with him as the three of us sat in the Derridus’s comfortable lounge sipping tea (one Earth commodity the Prince definitely was taken with) and consuming large quantities of fancy cakes. Taz seemed so genuinely interested in us, we dropped our false identities and told him all about ourselves. (Well, not quite all. We thought it best to conceal our runaway status and just portray ourselves as independent young travellers.)
We also talked about our families.
“I remember your father,” Taz told me. “His belief in his Association’s aims appeared quite genuine, but I think he might have gained more ground with my uncle if he had spoken of you, and your little sister and brother.”
I looked at him in surprise. “He wouldn’t do that in the midst of official negotiations.”
“Why not? Cholarians take delight in their families. We talk about them all the time, even on the most formal of occasions. Common courtesy demands it. In fact, I don’t know where my own manners are. I should, at this very moment, be boasting of the breathtaking beauty of my consort, the astounding intelligence of our firstborn, and the anticipated adorableness of the second, who is expected to arrive just before my coronation.”
“Oh. So. You’ve a consort and a wee one, and another bairn on the way, have you?” Kirsty sighed dramatically. “Och, well. There go oor dreams aboot your having come to oor rescue because you’d fallen madly in love with one of us and wanted to whisk her off to Cholar to become its queen.”
Taz laughed softly. “I think three young men will one day be very glad I did not. You are all far too young for that anyway. Indeed, I am surprised to find you roaming around this star system without funds or supervision at your age. Should you not be in school?”
“Travel is thought to be an education in itself,” I said carefully.
“And so it is. But things do not always go smoothly when you are in unfamiliar surroundings. You could find yourselves up against problems you are ill-equipped to handle. To begin with, how do you expect to get by on the planet of Gethev when you could not even afford a proper passage there?”
“We’ve got a little money,” I replied. “And we’ll soon find jobs there, just like we did on Heltiga.”
“And then what will you do?”
“We’ll spend our leisure time seeing and doing all there is to see and do, and try to save enough money to go somewhere else once we’re finished. Don’t worry. We’ve thought it all out.”
Taz looked unconvinced. “I wonder.”
Just then, a dignified gentleman came into the lounge and stood respectfully to one side, waiting to be noticed. He was well up in years, with white hair and penetrating brown eyes. The deferential manner with which he approached Taz did not in any way detract from the impression one received that he, too, was someone of considerable importance.
“Ah, Verim, my friend and advisor.” Taz looked up at the head of Cholar’s Supreme Council with an affectionate smile. “He has come to tell me about some tiresome task that requires my immediate attention, haven’t you Verim?”
His Supreme Chancellor bowed. “There has been a message,” he said in a worried tone. “It is most urgent, My Lord.”
Taz sighed, and stood up. “If you say so.” He smiled apologetically as we got to our feet, too. Then he kissed each of our hands in turn and said he had enjoyed talking to us. “I wish you good fortune in our travels,” he added. “Do try to work in a visit to Cholar at some point. I’m sure you would like it.
We did not run into the High Prince again during the rest of our time on the Derridus, but being his guests was almost as good. We moved into a fancy suite on the passenger deck and had attendants at our beck and call. When the ship went into orbit around Gethev, we were even escorted down to the planet’s surface in a VIP connector ship complete with security guards. In addition to that, an elegant ground car came to meet us and took us to a luxury hotel in the Gethevian capital to claim a prepaid night’s lodging.
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“Jings, I could quite get to fancy being a VIP,” Kirsty remarked as the man at the desk pressed a button to transport our luggage up to our room.
“So could I,” I admitted. “Unfortunately, we’ll only be classed as such until tomorrow. Once the Derridus is gone, we’ll go back to being lowly travellers with limited means.”
After checking into the hotel, we went to find the nearest employment agency catering to working tourists. It was closed in honour of Taz’s brief visit, but when we got back to the hotel to watch coverage of it, we learned the visit was not going to take place. The urgent message Supreme Chancellor Verim had spoken of had concerned the theft of some of the Cholarian treasures on Heltiga. Taz was reportedly heading back there as soon as the Derridus refuelled.
This did not alter any of the arrangements that had been made for us. We spent the night at the luxury hotel and, in the morning, made inquiries about less expensive accommodation. There were no youth hostels on Gethev, but the desk clerk recommended a good budget hotel on the other side of town. Before moving to it, I went into a souvenir shop and bought a city info-card and Gethevian phrase card. Gethev is unique among humanoid inhabited planets in that it has but one language, Gethevian, which is spoken and understood by all its citizens. And this is the only language they understand. This handicaps them so severely, communication-wise, it is rare to see the tall, solidly built people with their attractive, tri-coloured skin on any other world. Even Galacto, which is spoken on all AUP-member worlds, and known on most independent ones, is incomprehensible to them.
The people who worked in the luxury hotel were aliens, able to speak both Gethevian and Galacto. I thought the phrase card might be a useful thing to have in the completely Gethevian speaking budget hotel, but it wasn’t. Oh, we could call up phrases like ‘How much are your rooms?’ and ‘Is there a food dispenser?’ but could find nothing to help us protest the Gethevian custom of paying for a hotel room upon check-in. We didn’t know how long we would require the room, and until we found employment, we had no way of paying for more than two days occupancy. Unable to convey this to the budget hotel’s manger, we just had to take a triple room and pay for it as required, a transaction that took almost all our money.