But Spitfire was not swayed. She poked her finger in Emily's chest. Right on the collarbone.
"Don't you play innocent li'l princess with me. You're just like him." She turned toward Darjeeling and raised her voice. "Sergeant, I want her off my deck!"
Darjeeling turned red. Clearly he was fuming. But Spitfire was a senior officer, outranking everyone on the deck. There was little Darjeeling could do.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and bowed his head. "Colonel, certainly. Forgive us."
Emily and Darjeeling walked toward the exit. Niles flew at their side, rattling with rage, muttering something about how he'd never been so insulted in his life.
As they walked past an antique pinball machine, the princess leaned toward the aging sergeant.
"Mr. Darjeeling, during the war, did my grandfather do something … upsetting?"
"Well …" Darjeeling cleared his throat. "Those who know him well don't believe it. And I myself do not. But it was Spitfire's father who died in the fiasco. And … ah, well, perhaps it's not my job to tell you."
"Tell me what?" Emily said. She walked around a foosball table, heading toward the door. "What fiasco? Please tell me."
"Well, all right," said Darjeeling. "It was the winter of 2158, and—"
The aerie door banged open.
James "Bulldog" King, commander of the starship Freedom, stood before them.
* * * * *
"Commander on deck!" Darjeeling boomed—the loudest Emily had ever heard him.
Darjeeling stood at attention, raised his chin, and gave Commander King a brisk salute. Across the aerie, the flock abandoned the pool table, the dart board, and their beers. The pilots formed two neat lines along the walls, snapped their heels together, and saluted too. An empty bottle of beer rolled across the deck. The jukebox was now playing Iron Maiden's "The Trooper." Pickles kicked it, killing the music, then stood at attention again.
Emily wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't a soldier, and she didn't think it proper to salute. So she simply stood there, trying to appear respectful, and examined the fabled old commander of the starship Freedom.
He was a tall man, his shoulders broad, his jaw wide. His steel-gray hair was cropped short. His skin looked like old leather, beaten and dried in the sun. An angry white scar stretched across his neck.
Katyusha gave him that scar, Emily thought.
She knew the story. Everyone on Earth did.
It had happened on the last day of the war.
Katyusha—the dreaded premier of Red Dawn. She had led her troops across the red plains of Mars, meeting the Alliance on the field. As millions perished all around, Katyusha battled Ulysses King, the great general of the Alliance. Out of bullets, she grabbed the general's knife from him, then stabbed him in the chest, slaying him on the red dust.
A great cry rose then. A cry of anguish from the black smoke and red sandstorms.
A young captain charged forward, howling in grief. James King, a son grieving.
Katyusha bested him in battle that day. She sliced open his throat and left him to die.
Through sheer force of will, and the pluck of a nearby medic, the young officer survived. He returned to Earth, a war hero. The bulldog, they called him. The soldier who never gave up.
And there he stood before her now. Commander James King, son of Ulysses. The old bulldog himself.
He was older than the holograms and hallucinations Emily had seen. Those were all from World War III. Commander King was an old man now. But when he turned toward her, when he stared into her eyes, Emily saw that same hero. That same son grieving. That same determination that shielded old pain.
There was intensity in those eyes. There was great strength like unyielding stone, but like all strength earned in war, sadness flowed through it. There was raging fire and cold steel and everything in between. There before her, Emily thought, stood a leader.
All those thoughts and memories flashed before her in an instant.
King bowed his head to her. "Your Highness, welcome aboard the starship Freedom. It's my honor to host you aboard our ship."
His voice! His voice was barely more than a rasp. It sounded like sandpaper scraped over asphalt. The wound, Emily realized. It had never fully healed. She wondered if it still hurt.
She held out her hand. The commander kissed it.
"The honor is mine, sir." She smiled. "My grandfather thinks the world of you."
King smiled thinly. "He's a good friend."
The commander looked at the flock in the lounge, who were still standing at attention.
"At ease," he said.
The soldiers relaxed, but everyone still stood in place.
At ease means to remain in place, just more relaxed than at attention, Emily remembered. Her grandfather had taught her some military terms.
The pilots glanced around nervously. Emily guessed that it was rare for Commander King to visit the aerie. Maybe he was a little like King Robert, mostly keeping to his chambers, never hobnobbing with the hoi polloi. Her grandfather had been gregarious once, they said. Long before Emily had been born. In the old videos, Robert was always smiling and laughing and chatting.
Not since the war. Not since whatever … happened.
Whatever Spitfire is so angry about, Emily thought. What did my grandfather do? What secrets will I uncover on this ship?
King cleared his throat and spoke to everyone in the lounge.
"This morning, we detected concerning signals from the Rubicon, a space station on the edge of the solar system. It's the farthest point of human presence in space. The signals were unclear, but they suggest the destruction of the station. We also received a snippet of a voice message. It came from the Rubicon before the station's destruction."
The commander raised a minicom, a computer the size of a playing card. He tapped a button.
A frightened voice emerged, speaking with an American accent.
"Beverly, I love you. It's me, Mike. Aliens are real, Beverly. Monsters are real. A fleet. An enemy fleet, heading to Earth. Tell the army! Tell them to get ready. I love you. I love—"
A scream.
A sound like shattering glass.
A screech.
The recording ended.
Emily shivered. She glanced toward Darjeeling. A true Englishman, he stepped forward to shield her, though if there was any threat, it must be deep in space.
Aliens are real.
Could it be?
Niles hovered closer to her.
"I'll protect you, Princess," the robot whispered. "With my life if I must."
"As would I," said Darjeeling, chin held high, and clasped the ceremonial saber that hung from his waist. "You have my saber, my strength, and my soul, Your Highness."
King cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "This is probably nothing," the grizzled commander said. "Probably just an astronaut suffering from space sickness. Seeing things. God knows we've dealt with their type before. For centuries, humanity has been flooded with false reports of aliens. Hoaxes, every last one. This probably is too."
Spitfire laughed. "Of course it's a hoax, sir. I mean, c'mon. What's next, a Bigfoot sighting on Pluto? Ignore it."
"Ignore it?" King rasped. "No, we can't do that. Odds are this is another hoax. But our duty calls for caution. This warning came from the Rubicon, an outpost with a clear mission: to report threats from outside the solar system. We take warnings from the Rubicon seriously on this ship. I'm ordering a full yellow alert to all military personnel. The flock will remain in their hangar, ready to deploy if ordered."
Spitfire saluted, a crooked smile on her face. "Sure thing, sir. If any aliens invade the solar system, we can dazzle them with a stunt show. Want me to grab a cane and top hat and dance the ragtime too?"
A few smirks rose among the pilots. The commander wiped them off with a glare. He kept speaking. "Meanwhile, all civilians—both tourists and staff—will be restricted to their cabins. Sergeant Major Darjeeli
ng." He turned toward the Englishman. "You'll be responsible for evacuating the entertainment decks. Casinos, spas, dance clubs, the whole damn circus—I want them all shut down. Summon what resources you must from the crew, but get it done within an hour."
Darjeeling hesitated. He glanced at Emily, then at King again. "Sir, with all due respect, as a proud Englishman and servant of the crown, I believe I should remain at Princess Emily's side. I must protect her at any cost."
Emily smiled soothingly. "It's all right, Mr. Darjeeling. I can take care of myself."
Darjeeling looked back at her. "Ma'am, how can I abandon you? I have a duty to this ship, true, but also to the crown."
"Sergeant Major!" King said, voice rising louder. "You are an NCO of the Free Alliance Fleet. While you wear the uniform, your duty is to this ship and to your commanding officer. Is that clear?"
Darjeeling spun toward the commander. "Sir, I—"
"Oh, cease your fretting, Mr. Darjeeling!" Niles interjected, floating forward. "Tend to your duties about this ship. I am perfectly capable of defending our princess myself."
A click sounded inside the hovering drone. Dozens of knives, pistols, and even a blowtorch sprang out from his body. Hovering in the air, Niles looked like a cross between a blowfish and a Swiss army knife.
"Dear God, man!" Darjeeling said, eyes wide. "You carry enough firepower to take down a Red Dawn phalanx."
"I was programmed to educate, chaperone, and protect the princess of Great Britain with my life," Niles said. "That I shall do. Tend to your duties, fellow soldier of England. Your princess is in good hands." The drone paused. "Metaphorically, of course. Thank goodness I don't have actual hands. Dreadfully inelegant things. I don't know how you humans get anything done with them."
Darjeeling nodded, turned toward Commander King, and saluted. "Sir, forgive my lapse of duty. My full loyalty is to this ship and her fine commander."
King smiled thinly and squeezed Darjeeling's shoulder. "I know, Oliver. We've been friends for forty years. I know. See to your duties. We'll get through this."
Oliver Darjeeling saluted again, bowed to Emily, then rushed out the aerie.
There goes a fine Englishman, Emily thought. Among the finest I've seen.
"Princess Emily," King said. "During our lockdown, you may remain in the royal suite aboard deck 28. It's a cabin for dignitaries. I would say that you qualify. I'll assign a guard to your door, of course. I'll have my ship's computers upload a map to your drone."
"Don't you dare let any computer touch my circuits," Niles said. "I'm likely to get a virus. I can find my way around a starship on my own, thank you very much."
King nodded. "Very well. I would accompany you there, ma'am, were this a different time."
"You have duties to attend to, sir, I know." Emily bowed. "Thank you, dear commander. May God bless you."
As she hurried down the corridor, following Niles, Emily shook her head in wonder. Back on Earth, the tabloids said that Commander King was a setting star, a lion who was once mighty, who had been declawed, defanged, and locked in a floating cage. That was not the man Emily had met.
I met a leader, she thought. I met a soldier. I met the hero who saved the world long ago. If Earth is truly in danger again, James King is a man we can trust.
As Emily entered the royal suite, she wondered if she should actually worry. If she believed in aliens. Believed they were invading the solar system.
She scoffed. Of course not. What, because of some snippet from space, the ravings of a spacer gone mad? Ridiculous. Just a hoax! Soon enough, the lockdown would end, and Emily would fly back to England, and everything would be fine.
Of course everything would be fine.
Yet as Emily sat on the embroidered armchair, a princess in a starship far from Earth, she trembled.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nebraska
15:18 Christmas 2199
"Finally you're here! Jesus Christ, Bastian, I almost missed the last aero-cab. Goddamn you."
Stacy was waiting on the patio, holding a suitcase. The sound of cartoons came from inside the house. Rowan must be inside, watching the holofeed.
Bastian halted the robotic horse and dismounted. During the ride there, he had practiced several different apologies. But seeing Stacy, they all faded from his mind. Her crossed arms, her angry eyes, her sharp mouth—they reminded him of too many arguments. Too much pain. The old rage rose in him. They had always been so angry together.
"If you hadn't sold my shuttle, you could have flown yourself to Bemidji."
Stacy rolled her eyes. "You know I don't fly. And it was my shuttle. The judge gave it to me. Piece of junk anyway."
"It was a classic Falcon-class cherry-red speedster, not a piece of junk!"
"I wasn't using it, and Hunter needed money to open his second health food store."
Bastian's eyes widened. "That's why you sold my shuttle? To give the money to goddamn Hunter?"
She shoved him aside. "I don't have time for this. I ordered a shuttle service. It'll be here soon. It's already late. Dammit, why is everyone late today?"
"Maybe the cab driver's wife sold his shuttle," Bastian said.
"Hilarious." Stacy tapped her fingernails against her thigh, glanced back toward the house. The cartoon's lights flashed through the window. Stacy looked back at Bastian. "Let her come with me to Bemidji."
"What?" Bastian exclaimed, almost shouting. "Are you crazy, Stacy? She's my daughter. She's gonna spend the second half of Christmas with me."
"An army base is no place for a little girl," Stacy said.
He gritted his teeth. He was close to losing it. "If you hadn't taken my house, maybe I wouldn't have to bring her to an army base."
"If you had been a better husband—"
"Enough!" Bastian snapped. "Rowan is coming with me and that's that."
"Daddy?" The voice came from the doorway. "Are you and Mommy arguing again?"
Bastian turned around and his heart melted. Whenever he saw Rowan, all the anger flowed away. She was the only good thing in the mess of his life. The only reason he kept going. The little girl even looked like him—the same brown hair, same gray eyes. Nothing like Stacy, who had blond hair and blue eyes. Bastian took a little satisfaction in that. Stacy took everything from him, but at least the kid would never look like her.
He knelt by his daughter.
"Hey, Row. You ready to spend Christmas with Daddy?"
Rowan pouted. "Mommy said I can go to Bemidji."
Goddamn Stacy.
"Aww, come on, Row," Bastian said. "We're gonna have way more fun at Fort Liberty. They have a tank. A real tank! Do you want to ride it?"
It was actually just an armored Jeep, but a machine gun rose above the hood. Close enough.
Rowan sniffed. "I want to go to Bemidji with Mommy. She's going to go to the lake and skate on the ice, and I want to go too. She said if you're late I can go, and you were late, so can I go to Bemidji, Daddy? Please."
He took a deep breath. Inside his chest, his heart shattered.
"Sweetie, I promise you. We're going to have so much fun. Maybe there's no beach, but there's ice cream in the commissary! What say first thing when we get there, we eat ice cream?"
"She already had a treat today," Stacy said, still tapping her thigh.
Bastian clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep his smile. "Come on, Row. Let's get on my horse. We get to ride a horse all the way there!"
"It's a robot," Rowan said. "I don't like robots. I want to go with my mom." She ran to Stacy, clutched her leg. "Mommy, I want to go with you."
Bastian stood there, helpless. He was almost ready to give up. To let Stacy take the girl to Hunter. To walk away, defeated.
But no.
He could not back down. He wanted to have a relationship with Rowan.
I have no relationship with my father, Bastian thought. I want better for Rowan.
"Stacy?" he said softly. "A little help?"
S
tacy looked at him, anger still in her eyes. But then she sighed. She knelt by Rowan.
"Rowie, go with your dad. You'll have tons of fun! And you can eat ice cream again." Stacy winked. "I'm jealous. I wish I could go to Fort Liberty. It's so much fun there."
Bastian nodded at her.
Thank you, he thought.
That was the Stacy he had married. That was the woman he had fallen in love with. Before the anger tore them apart.
Rowan sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I want to go with you, Mommy. I don't care what's more fun, I don't care about ice cream—I want to be with you."
Stacy lifted the girl, carried her toward the horse. "We'll be together again soon, Rowie. In just two days."
"I can't wait that long!" Rowan said, tears flowing.
Bastian climbed onto the horse. He had to hug Rowan tightly, practically restraining her. As he galloped away, the girl wept, reaching back toward her mother. And with every step the robot took, Bastian's heart broke into smaller pieces.
As he rode to Fort Liberty, his daughter crying in the saddle, Bastian forgot all about giant spiders and old tales of demons.
* * * * *
It was afternoon, and most of Christmas was gone already, when Bastian and Rowan reached Fort Liberty.
"We have a few hours until bedtime, Row," Bastian said, riding into the base. "You can stay up late. We're going to have lots of fun."
Rowan sat on the saddle before him, pouting. Her tears had dried during the ride there, but her arms were still crossed. Bastian understood. Divorce was hard for everyone. Especially for a five-year-old girl.
"Why can't we all be together for Christmas?" Rowan said. "You, me, and Mommy?"
Bastian sighed. "Sometimes kids have parents who live separately, and they get to celebrate Christmas in two different places."
"I know, Daddy, it's called divorce. I'm five. Don't talk to me like I'm four."
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