“No, I don’t. That’s my name, and those are my parents’ names.”
“Can you prove you’re the son of Nolo Bray?” said the leader.
“Yes. His body is in the cargo hold of my ship. He was killed by a Nell lord.”
Most of the soldiers gasped.
“I was looking for a place to bury him and the rest of our crew when you came along,” said Galen.
“Show us,” said the leader. “Show us the body of Nolo Bray.”
Galen led the squad of soldiers back toward the Star, past Hex, who had begun to twitch.
“He’ll be fine. Our bot merely pulsed him,” said the soldier with the shaved head, earning another stern glance from the group’s leader. The soldier shrugged. “He has the right to know.”
“Not yet, he doesn’t,” said the leader.
As they approached the Ghost Star, the leader glanced at the others. “Behold, does the design not look familiar to you?”
“It does,” said an older soldier. “But look at the unnecessary fins and other superfluous add-ons. It is an affront to Ruam design sensibilities.”
“It has been modified to deceive unfriendly eyes,” said the leader. “Quite effectively, in my opinion.”
“You’ve seen this ship before?” said Galen.
“Not this particular ship, but similar ones. It is a Ruam pocket destroyer, Dob class by the looks of it.”
“You mentioned Dob before. Is that the name of this place?” said Galen.
“It is. This is Dob, the last home of the once mighty Ruam,” said the squad leader.
“You’re all Ruam?”
They reached the Ghost Star, stopping near the open door of the command pod. “Yes, we are,” said the young soldier. “And if you are truly Nolo Bray’s son, so are you.”
“Half. My mother was Terran.” Galen took a deep breath. “Nolo is in the cargo bay along with the rest of the crew. I’m going to wait out here if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” The leader gestured, and two of the soldiers entered the ship.
“How do you know my father?” said Galen.
“He is well-known to our people. Well-known and long awaited.”
One of the soldiers poked her head out of the command pod door. “It is Lord Bray himself.”
The squad leader grimaced, then dropped to one knee, the rest of the group following her lead. “Lord Bray, your people welcome you to Dob,” she said. “Long may you rule.”
“Long may you rule,” echoed the others.
Galen stood silent for a moment, then cracked a grin. “You guys are kidding me, right?”
Chapter Seven
The soldiers glanced at each other. “I assure you we’re not joking, my lord,” said the leader. “You are the son of our Lord Nolo, and since he has passed away, you are now our ruler. Welcome to your home, Lord Bray.”
“Nolo—my dad—never mentioned anything about this. It’s insane.”
“I can see how he might have wanted to keep his identity a secret,” said the leader. “Both from you and anyone else on the outside. Dob is sheltered both by our impossible location and the Nell Imperium’s belief that we are a nearly extinct people.”
Galen rubbed his forehead. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“There are those in town who are better versed in our history and can explain all,” said the squad leader. “You are Lord Bray, returning member and sole survivor of our ruling caste—”
“I have a younger sister, too.”
The squad leader raised an eyebrow. “Where is she?”
“She was captured by the Nell lord who killed my father. I’m going to rescue her.”
“Of course. You and your sister are the last surviving members of our ruling caste, and that means you, as the heir, rule all of Dob, all that is Ruam.”
**
A short time later, a cart pulled by massive draft animals, hornless quadrupeds covered with scales and fur, was brought out from the town by two peasants who stared at Galen like he had three heads. Galen thought the cart was an odd bit of ancient technology until the squad leader, who Galen now knew as Messel, explained Dob was populated largely by Ruam of the artisan class.
“There are powered craft available, but it isn’t part of the artisan aesthetic to use them right now,” she said.
“What does that mean?” said Galen.
Messel glanced at the peasants who went inside the Star to retrieve the bodies of Nolo and his crew. “They are pretending to be primitives and drawing artistic inspiration from that affectation. It goes in cycles. The fashion before this was hypermodern, or what they believed hypermodern to be.”
The soldier with the shaved head, who Galen now knew to be named Iden, leaned closer. “They’re too political, these artisans. Sad, if you ask me.”
“You’re all artists?” said Galen.
“Most of us are,” said Messel. “I’m a wind painter.”
“The best wind painter on Dob,” said Iden.
“Oh stop,” said Messel, her serious expression momentarily softening. “My nephew is a world-class flatterer.”
“Nephew, huh?”
“Yes, my sister’s boy.”
Iden puffed out his chest. “I’m a scientist specializing in metalloceramic fabrication.”
Galen raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what that means, but congratulations.”
“There are other scientists here too—” said Messel.
“Thank goodness,” said Iden.
“But, first and foremost, Dob was founded as an art colony.”
“More artistic pretentiousness, if you ask me,” said Iden.
Messel frowned. “Perhaps, but that is why Clemis founded Dob.”
“The irony was that our isolation was what saved us from annihilation. While the rest of our people were being exterminated, we hid in our little hole,” said Iden with some disgust. “We lost everyone on the outside.”
“I’m sorry to hear that—wait, you were alive when the Ruam were wiped out?” said Galen. “That’s impossible! It would make you . . .”
“Fifteen hundred standards old,” said Iden. “We Ruam are long-lived. Did you not know?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Galen.
“A few standards after we reach physical maturity, our aging process slows dramatically. Your father himself was about the same age as Iden, and actually visited Dob several times before Ruam fell,” said Messel. “It’s how we know his face.”
“I’m going to live a really long time?”
Iden scratched his chin. “Hard to know, since your mother is Terran.”
“Was Terran. She’s dead.”
“My apologies,” said Iden.
Galen kicked at the dirt. “No one told me any of this.”
“Again, to protect you, no doubt,” said Messel.
“But how come he never came back here?” said Galen.
“To protect us,” said Iden. “To protect this last remnant of Ruam, such as we are.”
Galen watched as the bodies of the crew were carried out and carefully laid on the cart. He couldn’t help but notice the ice crystals still clinging to their faces. They had all frozen solid when the Star’s support systems were off during the tow. He held himself together until his father’s mutilated corpse was brought out of the cargo bay. At that point, what little hold he had over his emotions evaporated, and he sobbed uncontrollably. “I’m sorry,” he said, covering his face.
Messel put her hand on Galen’s shoulder, gently squeezing it. “Nothing to be sorry about. It would be stranger if you weren’t crying right now.” She touched the comlink on her ear. “Very well.” She looked at Galen and bowed. “Your presence has been requested by our mayor, Lord Bray. A welcome has been prepared.”
“Sure,” gasped Galen, between sobs. “Lead on.”
Moments later they walked slowly behind the cart as it made its way toward the town. “Lord Bray—” began Messel.
“Wait,” sai
d Galen, who’d settled down some. “Can we drop the ‘lord’ thing? It sounds strange to my ears. I’m not even used to Captain Bray.”
“I suppose you could command us to do so, but I would ask you not to,” said Messel.
“Why?”
“That’s difficult to explain.”
“Let me try,” said Iden. “Our noble class is special to the Ruam—held in high esteem for their responsibilities and abilities.”
Galen wiped his eyes. “Abilities?”
Messel and Iden glanced at each other.
“Again, all to be explained to you soon by people who can do it much better than we can,” said Messel.
“We have been without a noble in our midst for well near one thousand standards,” continued Iden.
“There aren’t any others here?”
“No. All of our nobles left to fight the Nell,” said Messel. “As far as we know, you and your sister are the only ones left. Anywhere.”
“Your noble birth makes the both of you even more special to us. Everyone on Dob will want to call you ‘Lord Bray’ because we have not been able to use that title for such a long time. They’ll be disappointed if you do not allow them the honor,” said Iden.
They walked along in silence for a moment. “Makes sense, I guess.”
“Excellent, Lord Bray!” said Iden. “You have no idea how happy that will make everyone. Even now, it makes me giddy to use your title in speech.”
“Calm down, Iden,” said Messel. “You’ll alarm Lord Bray with your gushing.”
“Well, it’s true! Don’t you feel a rush, too?”
Messel smiled. “Yes, it’s nice!”
As the procession approached the town, which Galen learned was named Olor, the ground shook, rapidly building from a slight rumble to a violent snap, which knocked Galen and several members of the party off their feet.
“That was wild!” said Galen, standing and brushing off his pants.
Messel stood and brushed off her knees. “Yes. Unfortunately, it’s been happening with greater frequency as of late.”
“We think the zaf might be failing,” said Iden.
Galen frowned. “What’s a zaf?”
“It’s . . . an energy balancer,” said Iden. “The harder Mael pulls, the harder the zaf pushes back and keeps us from getting sucked in. The zaf is failing, and the quakes happen each time we slip closer.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not.”
They paused outside the main gate of Olor. The gate looked heavy, made of dark wood and thick iron bindings.
“Nothing and no one on Dob would make such a gate necessary,” said Messel as if reading Galen’s mind. “We made it big and heavy for appearances.”
From the fresh scrapes on the ground in front of the gate, Galen guessed it had been closed only recently.
“Are you ready, Lord Bray?” said Messel.
“After what I’ve been through in the past few days, there’s not much I can think of that I wouldn’t be ready for,” said Galen.
Iden slapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit!”
Messel inhaled deeply and knocked five times. “Open the gate and make way for Lord Galen Bray and the late Lord Nolo Bray.”
Galen looked at the cart. He wondered what his father would have thought about being referred to by his title again. Probably not much.
After a lengthy pause, the sounds of chains dragging and bars sliding came through the thick wood of the gate. A small side door opened at about head height, and a plump man looked out.
“Forgive me, my lord. We haven’t done this in a while, and we’re having a little trouble,” said the man. “Normally, the gates are left open at all times, but we thought it would be more dramatic if we closed them—”
Galen held up both hands and smiled reassuringly. “Take your time.”
“Thank you most kindly for your understanding,” said the man before turning to yell at someone. “No! Pull the chain first, then lift the bar!”
The man closed the small door, and Galen heard more clinking and scraping sounds before the gate slowly opened. As it turned out, Galen was not at all ready for the sight that greeted him. Standing inside the town walls and crammed into every nook and cranny were the citizens of Olor, all 1,276 of them, all looking at Galen with the biggest possible grins on their faces.
“Behold, Lord Galen Bray!” yelled Messel.
Galen did his best not to flinch when in the next instant all 1,276 of the good citizens of Olor cheered at the top of their lungs. After a solid minute of whooping and celebratory noisemaking, the plump man who’d poked his head through the gate door motioned for everyone to settle down. He approached Galen, smoothed his clothes, cleared his throat, and consulted what looked to be a hastily scribbled set of notes.
“Lord Bray, as the Mayor of Olor, it is my distinct honor and privilege to welcome you to our humble house, er, I mean town,” said the mayor before leaning forward and whispering, “Apologies, my lord. My trade tongue is rusty.”
“You sound good to me,” said Galen.
The mayor glanced at his notes before continuing his welcome speech. “I am quite sure I speak for all of Dob when I say this day, long awaited, fills each and every one of us with joy beyond measure. Please allow us to offer our complete and heartfelt allegiance to your noble house.” The mayor knelt on one knee, followed by everyone else.
All eyes were on Galen, and though the whole nobility thing was a new role for him and he was no master of public speaking, he figured he better say something lordly and important sounding.
“Citizens of Olor,” said Galen, already pleased he’d started off with three good words. “I am happy to be here in your nice town, and I gladly accept your friendship.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Messel gesturing at him and mouthing a word. He stared intently at her lips for a long moment before she finally gave up and hissed, “Allegiance.”
“Oh, and your allegiance, too!”
The townsfolk cheered again and leaped to their feet. Two large men hoisted Galen on their shoulders and paraded him toward the main square. All the while, the townsfolk pelted Galen with flowers and what appeared to be small seeds. Galen could take the flowers, but the seeds stung, especially when thrown by an overly enthusiastic subject.
The two men set Galen down gently near a beautifully carved stone fountain at the center of the square. The mayor squeezed past him and climbed onto the lip of the fountain. He took a deep breath and was about to speak when a slight tremor shook the ground briefly, then stopped. “Good, a mild one,” said the mayor. “Now there will be a feast tonight.”
The crowd cheered loudly.
“Let us begin the preparations in our homes and meet back here before suptime. With Lord Bray’s permission, we shall show him the Ruam have not forgotten how to put on a grand feast!” The mayor looked at Galen expectantly.
“Uh, absolutely. Let’s have a party.”
A rhythmic clicking sound moving toward them from behind caught Galen’s attention. The mayor frowned, and the crowd looked over their shoulders and parted. An old man with a metallic staff was walking toward him. His hair was silvery gray, and he had a beard, making him the oldest-looking person Galen had seen since arriving on Dob. “You have mages here?” he said, referring to the magical priests from the old stories.
“He wishes he was a mage,” grumbled the mayor. “No, my Lord Bray, he is merely Burr Tal, our chief scientist and overall pain in the rump.”
Burr Tal stopped a few feet before Galen and slowly got down on one knee. “Lord Bray, I offer you my allegiance.”
“And I gladly accept it,” said Galen, pleased he’d remembered how that exchange was supposed to go.
“Thank you, my lord,” said Burr, wincing as he rose. “Also, I would like to show you my workshop.”
The mayor sighed dramatically. “Now?”
“Yes, now. I promise I won’t keep him for long.�
��
“Oh, all right,” said the mayor. “Bring his lordship back by suptime!”
“Fine,” said Burr. “Lord Bray, would you please accompany me?”
“Sure.” Galen turned to the crowd. “I’ve got to go and talk to Burr, but I wanted to say I’m looking forward to the grand feast and whatnot. See ya in a bit!”
The crowd cheered again as Galen leaped off the fountain lip and followed the old man out of the square. After a short distance, Burr stopped and wheeled around, advancing on Galen with a cross expression on his face.
Galen took a step back. “What’s wrong?”
Burr pushed past him. When Galen turned around, he saw what appeared most of Olor’s residents following them.
“Don’t you all have a feast to prepare?” Burr shouted. “I’m not going to make Lord Galen disappear. We’re just going to talk. Now go to your homes. Go on, shoo!”
The villagers stood their ground, refusing to move. Galen, feeling the growing tension, knew he had to say something. “I’ll be fine. Please go and prepare the feast. Um, I’m looking forward to it!”
The crowd cheered again and dispersed, shooting cross looks at the old scientist as they left. Burr gestured for Galen to continue walking. “My lord, if you please.”
“They all seem happy to see me,” said Galen.
“Oh, they are,” said Burr. “They’re happy to have someone of noble birth back in their midst.”
“I don’t know anything about being a lord or whatever. I mean, I just found out about all that.”
Burr glanced at Galen. “Don’t worry. You will learn how to be a Ruam lord in time. The important decisions you must make at this moment have nothing to do with lordship and everything to do with common sense and doing what needs to be done.”
Galen breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, I see. That’s good, I guess. I’m pretty sure I can handle common sense. I think.”
“With that kind of tortured phrasing, my lord, I am directly reminded of your father when he was your age.”
“You knew him?”
“Oh yes. I was his tutor.”
Iden caught up, slightly out of breath. “My lord.”
Ghost Star Page 4
