Inalienable: Book 7 of the Starstruck saga

by S E Anderson

  With my head still reeling and my confusion seeping out of my face thick enough to leave pimples, she reached into the pocket of her jeans, retrieving what looked like a ring box. Before I opened my mouth to say anything about how absurd it was that she could propose to me, especially considering we hardly knew each other and had only just met, she popped it open to reveal a tiny washer-shaped piece of metal.

  “A translator?” I gasped.

  “Top of the line,” she explained. “This bad boy even freaking translates facial expressions. No more nodding and hoping it’ll get by!”

  I reached for it, and she snapped the box shut on my fingers. “Oy! Not cool!”

  “I need the book first.”

  “What book?”

  “Don’t play dumb. The one sticking out of your bustier,” she said, reaching out her free hand. “The one Minister Jubin handed you behind the bar as he died.”

  I pulled out the storybook. I had already forgotten that I’d picked it up. Now all I wanted to do was read it cover to cover. “Why? What is this about? Who was he?”

  “He was Jorgi Jubin, Minister of the Defense and the reason there was a gap in security tonight. You see, he’s recently become obsessed with the fictional representations of the siblings in Alliance history and wanted to capture them himself in order to find out the truth. He allied himself with the Anti-Alliance Alliance, expecting the siblings to show up and reveal their true colors, either as saviors or enemies. They had an agreement where Bar Stool—that’s his name, right? Again, it’s been ages—would go easy on him. But the First Pact showed up first, and Bob’s your uncle. Now, give it up. It’s not like you’re going to use it.”

  “It doesn’t explain why he was carrying a children’s book around,” I grumbled, handing it over. “Or what you need it in the first place.”

  “You’ll get it back when you’re me,” she said. “Look, Sally, life is going to really change for you when you get back, and you don’t need this book for when you do. But you see me right here, right now? You’ve always got your own back. Whatever happens, know that it’s going to be okay. You’re one of the few people in the entire universe who can make it through this day with absolute certainty.”

  I frowned. “This isn’t helping me trust you, you know.”

  “So, don’t come back!” she said, laughing. “When you’re me, don’t come back to the past and help yourself out. Make that pledge right this very minute. People always act like they need to go backward in time to change the future, but you are altering it with every decision you make today. So, go on. Change it. If I’m still here, it’s because Future You knows what I’m doing is right.”

  So, I stood there and promised myself I wouldn’t come back. Three guesses who never left the room.

  “Take the deal. It’ll make sense soon. Trust me. I’ll even swap out your translator myself.”

  Her fingers were delicate when she peeled out the cereal gimmick. The new translator slipped gently behind my ear, a bright sunbeam in this terrifying day. She gently took the storybook from my hands and clutched it against her chest.

  “Security will be coming through as soon as you give the all-clear,” she said. “Stay true to yourself, okay?”

  And with that, she jumped away, leaving me holding the defused detonator in silence.

  I staggered out onto the catwalk, brandishing the detonator high above my head. I didn’t need a megaphone to scream this time.

  “It’s over!” My throat struggled under the strain of my cry. “The doors are disarmed!”

  I expected security to flood the place immediately, but I was met only with silence. Whatever fights were still ongoing on the catwalk, they were the dregs of the attack, factions exhausted and ripping themselves to shreds. A battle arena devoid of players.

  Except, of course, for Barshook.

  What does one do when all hope is lost? What on earth is so sexy about becoming a martyr? The rebel drifted in the empty air at the very center of the hall, holding enough explosives to detonate a small moon.

  “Barshook,” said Zander, suddenly incredibly still on the catwalk, “put that down right now.”

  I jumped to his side, the detonator still in my hands. The man must have ripped the last of the explosives from the doors around the hall, but if he had, where was security? Why hadn’t anyone barged into the hall to take the place by force?

  There was something fishy here. And it wasn’t the tank of belly-up amphibian ball guests.

  “Is that really what you want?” said Barshook. “Because if I put this down now, then goodbye to Agreement Hall.”

  “I hate it when they do that,” said Blayde, before turning to the hovering man. “It’s over, Barshook. No one else has to die tonight.”

  “If I’m going down, I’m taking everyone here down with me,” he spat. “I’m not going to die in an Alliance prison.”

  “Screw it,” said Blayde. “I can probably tackle him from here.”

  “And do what?” Zander hissed. “Without him as the face of this failed rebellion, guess who’s going to become scapegoats again? This is not how I wanted this night to go.”

  “It’s not like we have much of a choice,” said Blayde. “We either all blow up and then reconstitute in an Alliance prison, or we take Barshook away with us and try again for a pardon when this all blows over.”

  “Another century should do,” said Zander. He reached for my hand. “Let’s go, then.”

  “A century?” I stammered. “No!”

  Future Me was right. It was up to me to define how I wanted to spend my eternity, and not being able to see my family and friends again for fear of Alliance and Agency retaliation was not going to stand.

  I was going to define my future, and I was going to do it now.

  The body at my feet was one of the black-clad rebels, Barshook’s men, which meant anti-gravity boots like the ones Barshook was wearing. I slipped them from his feet, trying to ignore the fact that the body was dead, killed by Zander’s hand.

  What was Barstook waiting for? Some excuse to drop the explosives and go? The courage to end it all? So long as he wasn’t moving, we were fine; we had some time.

  I didn’t know how to defuse a mechanical detonator back there. But a human one? Maybe.

  “Sally,” Blayde hissed, “we can buy shoes another time.”

  “Give me five minutes,” I said. “And then, if I screw up, you can take us all away from here. We’ll try again in a century. But I’m going to fight for my family.”

  Zander’s hand was soft on my shoulder as I laced up the boots. “I know of a million reasons you shouldn’t go up there.”

  “I know of at least one why I absolutely should,” I said. “And that’s that no one else is going to die tonight.”

  The boots shuddered to life around my toes, and I drifted steadily into the air, rising up, up, and straight to the ceiling. Damn. But Barshook still wasn’t moving, so I had time.

  I used my free hand to push myself along the jewel-encrusted ceiling, a good twenty or so meters above Barshook’s location. The boots kept wanting to push me up. Soon, I was practically swimming. My back pressed against the mosaic and my fingers the only things keeping me moving forward.

  I crinkled my toes, and the boots descended lightly, just a few meters, but enough that using them was starting to make sense. I crinkled more, lowered further. Soon, I was level enough with Barshook, a good distance away but close enough to speak.

  “He’s right, you know,” I said, as gently as possible. “It is over.”

  “I know,” he replied. “I know.”

  “I know how you feel about the Alliance,” I continued, forcing my eyes to meet his. Too much death at my feet. “They have my home planet under their proverbial thumb. They don’t give a crap about it.”

  “They don’t give a crap about a lot of things,” he said, and, in that instant, I saw that he was as young as I was. Maybe younger, even. A frustrated kid who wanted to make a dif
ference in the world. Who was tricked by a minister to enact this foolish plan?

  A man with a handful of explosives who’d already killed the president of the galaxy.

  “Do you really want to end the night with more death?” I asked, reaching my hand forward. I drifted maybe an inch in his direction, and he flinched. Not enough to drop the explosives, thankfully, but enough that I knew I couldn’t go anywhere.

  “I would much rather die for my cause, thank you.”

  “Then go ahead and die for it,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to go to an Alliance prison any more than you do. But you don’t get to take anyone else out with you. There’s no more point to be made here tonight.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be arguing that I should live?” he said.

  “Is that what you want me to say? Because I’m not a therapist. Hell, I had to deal with my own suicidal ideation for quite a long time, but I never tried to blow up the government or hurt anyone else. I’m out of my depth here.”

  “Then why are you even here?”

  “I don’t know, man. I just thought I could help, so I tried to help. It’s literally the only thing I can do.”

  “Then I’m sorry,” he said and opened his arms.

  I didn’t think. I threw myself forward, not sure if I was moving with the boots or jumping through space, but I grabbed that bundle of explosives as it fell toward the ground and breathed them somewhere new.

  Somewhere empty.

  Somewhere without people or places or things.

  I felt the cold before I opened my eyes. Were they pried shut? I hadn’t noticed. I was hanging in the void of space, somewhere in the in-between, interstellar distances insignificant in the midst of the movement.

  The explosives drifted before me, rendered useless now. Safe, diffused by indescribable distance.

  I pulled myself back and collapsed on the floor of Agreement Hall, breathing the sweet taste of oxygen before realizing why my face was sticky. I scrambled up to a seat as all hell broke loose around me. Doors burst open all around, and the hall flooded with delayed safety.

  It was over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Can we just agree that everyone sucks so I can go home?

  “We need to go. Now,” said Blayde, appearing by my side so suddenly and silently that I almost leaped out of my skin. Why was I trembling? I had gotten rid of the explosives. There was nothing left to fear, but my face … it was cold. Why was it so cold? What was dribbling down my chin?

  “We can’t,” I stammered, staring forward at the throng of soldiers streaming into the hall. “Where’s Barshook?”

  “Bouncing around on the ceiling,” said Blayde. “They’ll fish him down eventually.”

  Zander walked toward us with his hands up. For once, there were no handcuffs. None of the soldiers wanted to risk it. “I’d rather not linger here either, else we get yet another massacre in our names.”

  “Come, Sally,” said Blayde. “You did good today. There’s no shame in leaving now.”

  “No,” I stammered. “We stopped this. We saved people. Doesn’t that count for anything? We were just going to save one life to gain our pardon. Instead, we saved maybe a hundred times that. Shouldn’t we gain more than a pardon? The Alliance needs to start telling the truth.”

  “A pardon?” said a man, joining our circle, unafraid. Old and wrinkled beyond what age should bring to the table, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, observing us.

  Sekai and Kork had emerged from the shadows, both looking, thankfully, intact, with the woman from the coat check by their side, approaching but stopping just short of us.

  “That’s why you were here? To beg for a pardon?” the man asked.

  “You can stop pretending now,” said Zander, shooting me his best ‘can you believe this shit’ stare before turning to face him. “Good to see you again, Mister President. I’m sorry about your coat.”

  “Oh, please. My coat has probably returned to my estate by now, and that is not what you want to talk to me about, is it? How long have you known?”

  “Not from the start, but I recognized you eventually.” Zander shrugged. “I remembered you from an eternity ago. You were much younger then, though.”

  “And you haven’t changed at all,” he said, letting out a heavy breath.

  “They killed a decoy?” said the woman who had waved to me from the coat check, scrambling, dumbfounded, away from the soldiers. “They assassinated a decoy?!”

  “They did.” The president brushed off his sleeves. It was hard to imagine this frail man as anything presidential, much less the head of an empire that spanned hundreds of worlds, but here he was, raising his hand, bringing his soldiers to attention. “My own ministers were plotting against me, and they thought I wouldn’t know? Anyway, enough of the chitchat. Arrest them all! Arrest the Iron and the Sand! And the … Sand’s consort, I suppose?”

  “Oh lordy, we didn’t see this coming, did we?” said Blayde, shooing me a glare.

  “The Sand’s consort?” I stammered. “Come on! That’s what you’re calling me now? There are millions of different nicknames you could have picked, and instead, you define me by a relationship you’re only guessing at? So much for being an evolved civilization. I should have let the rebels carry out their evil plan.”

  “You have thousands of charges against you. Seize them!” he snapped, pointing at Zander and Blayde as they inched their hands closer. “And the girl for being an accomplice!”

  “Sir, if I may—” coat check girl said loudly, clearing her throat.

  “Not now!”

  “Sir, I think you should be aware that I am a journalist.”

  The emperor-president turned to Kork, reaching for his lapel and dragging him forward. And Kork just let him. “We have a hero here tonight. The great James T. Kork, Captain of the intrepid Traveler, our greatest hero, saved the day again.”

  “That is not the truth,” said Kork, casting me a quick look of sheer terror.

  “It is if you ever want to see your ship again,” said the president. “And Ambassador No-Oji. How nice to see you again. For your aid in defending our great Alliance against our oldest foes, we shall accept your planet’s candidacy and process it much faster than the usual two decades.”

  “I will take no part in a cover-up of any kind,” said Sekai. “And if this is the kind of treatment I can expect from your leadership, then perhaps we shall retract our application forthwith.”

  “I wonder how sad your planet will be to hear of your passing at the hands of these criminals,” the president spat. “By will or by force, this story will not leave this hall.”

  “It’s not going to be as easy as that. You see, I have a lens-cam running right now. Every moment of your cowardice and duplicity is being recorded and made public in real-time.”

  “What?” The president froze.

  “They saved your life. Twice, in public,” she said with a smirk. “It’ll be fun to see how the public will react to your … response.”

  The man sighed heavily, glaring at the reporter. He turned to face the three of us, the smirk gone from his face, replaced with an expression of a sore loser.

  “You want your pardon?” he spat. “Fine. Beg for it.”

  Zander blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t play smart with me, boy,” said the president. “If you want your pardon, get on your knees and beg.”

  “I just saved your life,” Zander spat. “And who are you calling boy, boy?”

  “It was a team effort,” said Blayde.

  “All three of you. Come now. This opportunity will not stay on the table forever.”

  “Me?” I said. “What did I do? I have no charges against me!”

  “You are an accomplice to them, are you not?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “If you want your pardon, beg for it. Or so help me gods, I will bury you all so deep you’ll forget the meaning of the word retribution.”

  Zander folded to his
knees. “Pardon me, please, forever standing up to your great empire. The Alliance is forever strong. Forever sturdy. Solid as diamond. Please forgive me of my trespasses.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said the president. “Try harder.”

  “You know what? No,” said Blayde, dragging her brother up by his shirt collar. “This Alliance would not still be here if it weren’t for us. And not just tonight, but all the other moments we’ve had to step in and stop you from crawling face-first into your own shit. It should be you begging at our feet.”

  “The gall,” he said. “The gall of—”

  “Remember Tijuana?”

  Earth Tijuana or was there a planet by the same name? Either way, to say the man was red in the face was an understatement. He was a tomato practically ripe for the picking. The slight green hue was alarming.

  “Fine.” He sighed heavily. “You are hereby pardoned for your crimes, as you have, in the face of danger, taken it upon yourselves to save the rest of the victims who had no affiliation with you. Normally, that would merit a medal of honor, but I will have to waive that because of the crimes of your past.”

  He pulled a tablet out of his jacket, quickly entering his proclamation and sealing it with a thumbprint. The tablet played an annoying, jingle-ified version of a victory march, which he handed to the journalist.