“Will you hear me out?” He headed to a padded bench in the hopes she would join him.
“Why?” She looked at him with big eyes full of sorrow. “I really don’t see the point.”
He ignored her statement. Ignored her refusal to join him on the bench. “When my father saw me die in the flash, he couldn’t see the murderer. His only clue to help save me was my age, which he estimated between three and five.”
“Since you’re still alive, I’m assuming your cousin taking your place as prince changed the future.”
“Yes. Erik and I were born within three weeks of each other. My father switched us shortly after birth. Erik was brought up as a prince, and he lived at the palace with my parents.”
“You were sent to live with your aunt and uncle?” she guessed. “So how did Erik survive?”
He shrugged. “We don’t know. Maybe the switch changed our fates. It’s happened before, flashes that allow us to alter the future. But although Erik seemed safe, my father still refused to let me return to my rightful place.”
“Why not?”
“He saw many flashes, all leading to my death.” Rion had long since accepted the necessity of his father’s action. “If I hadn’t had flashes, my parents might not have told me who I really was until I’d reached adulthood. But my gift is well known to pass only through the royal line of Chivalri. So I was trained from the time I could walk to never speak of my flashes, to never reveal my true identity.”
“Your aunt and uncle… were they loving people?” she asked.
Odd how she speared straight to the difficult part of his past.
“I was well fed, clothed, and educated. I wanted for nothing—including love. My aunt and uncle could have resented the bargain they’d made. Giving up their own son couldn’t have been easy.”
His aunt and uncle had done their best by him. And he missed them with all his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to speak about his last day at home, the day someone had betrayed him, and the Unari had come searching for the Chivalri prince. Because of him, his aunt and uncle had died screaming in pain, sacrificing themselves so he could live. “Raising me… was not easy.”
“Why am I not surprised?” She cocked her head and folded her arms over her chest. “Did you lie to them, too?”
“Sometimes,” he acknowledged, recalling how they hadn’t understood his curiosity about the world, how they had sought to keep him safe from all things, how the boy in him found their overprotectiveness stifling. “I often escaped to the palace to play with my cousin. My real parents treated me as a beloved nephew. It was difficult for us. Perhaps most of all for Erik. Raised as Chivalri’s future king, he was brought up with wealth, power, and privilege, yet he knew that when my father died or abdicated, it would be me who took the throne.” Rion paused. “But that time never came. Erik saved me. And the Unari took over and…” So many good people had died that day. It would not be in vain. He’d promised his dying uncle that he would return and set his people free. “You know the rest.”
“Why did you keep up the deception after you left Honor?” She paced in front of him, her steps quick and furious.
“When I landed on Pendragon, survival was my primary goal. I didn’t speak to anyone until I’d healed from the crash and hiked to civilization. As an uninvited alien, I was uncertain of my welcome. To survive, I went even deeper undercover and hid not just my heritage, but my ability to dragonshape, as well as my planet of origin.”
“But you told my brother you came from another world. Why not tell him your position, too?”
He shrugged. “Telling him could have put him in danger. I suspected that the Unari have advance teams already in place on Pendragon and Earth. And if those advance teams had known I lived, that your brother knew, the Unari wouldn’t have hesitated to come after him to get to me.”
Anger and understanding flashed in her eyes. “You kept your secret because it was to your advantage to do so.”
“I did.” He should have known she’d accept nothing less than the entire truth. “I may be the only surviving member of the royal family. It’s up to me to free my people.”
“I get it.” She shook her head. “You must put the safety of your people before everything else.”
He lowered his voice. “There won’t be any more lies. I’m all out of secrets.” He shot her a contrite look. “I really am sorry.”
Her expression didn’t soften. She didn’t say anything.
He sighed. “I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never told anyone.”
Still she said nothing.
“While the needs of my world must come before my own, and the needs of my people must come before my own honor, I don’t have the luxury of taking the high road—not when that decision means billions of my people are at risk.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Choosing between duty and honor is a choice no man should have to make. In truth, Erik might have been more cut out for the role of king than I will ever be.”
“Because he was raised in the palace?”
“Perhaps.”
“If you weren’t born to be king, what would you have chosen?”
“As a kid?” He grinned. “I wanted to be a planetary explorer. As I grew up, any career where I didn’t have to spend hours in school studying diplomacy, protocol, leadership skills, and military tactics held major appeal.”
Her tone was soft but threaded with thoughtfulness. “So you don’t covet power?”
“Power is merely a tool, which can be used for good or evil. But I would prefer to be a leader of peace, not war.”
Marisa sat on the bench, kicked off her shoes, and tucked her legs under her. Her spine was straight, her blue eyes thoughtful yet steely with determination. “If you lie to me again, I won’t help you.”
“I understand.” He had to be grateful for small blessings. Yet he could see that she’d retreated on a personal level, and he was truly sorry for that.
But this withdrawal was for the best. He was becoming too attached.
He stood and located the ship’s head, where he quickly turned his skin back to its normal bronze. When he returned to the bridge, Marisa stood staring out the view screen. “On Honor, we don’t tint our skin. And when we land, I’d rather we didn’t look like Torans.”
With a nod, Marisa disappeared into the head. A few minutes later she came out, wearing her Earth clothing—jeans, layered tank tops, a loose jacket, and shoes. Her skin was once again flesh toned, her hair its natural chestnut. It didn’t matter what color she was, Marisa was beautiful, regal. Even when disappointed, she handled herself with intelligence and grace.
Merlin hooted shrilly, pecked the touchpad, and fluttered his wings, drawing Rion’s attention. A computer voice came through the speaker system. “Captain, I’m picking up a message.”
“Play it,” Rion ordered.
Another low-pitched voice shrilled through the speaker. “Warning. Warning. Any violation of Honor’s planetary space shall be considered a hostile invasion. Turn back or prepare for disintegration.”
With a curse, Rion lunged toward the controls. “Computer, are all systems voice activated?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did that warning originate?” He checked the view screen for signs of an approaching attack.
“A space buoy sent the warning,” the computer replied.
Marisa joined Rion and faced the view screen. “Can we retreat and navigate around the buoys?”
“No,” the computer replied. “There’s a protective ring of buoys around the entire planet.”
“Do we have weapons to shoot down a buoy?” Rion asked.
“Yes.”
“Will destroying a buoy instigate a counterattack?” he asked.
“Uncertain. If we destroy a buoy, it could trigger an attack from other buoys, from the planet below, or from hostile ships.”
“What are our options?” Marisa asked.
“Turning back would be safest,” the
computer said.
Rion had not come all the way across the galaxy to turn back now. “What else? Give us more information.”
The computer said, “Without knowing their weapons capabilities, I can’t suggest countermeasures.”
“What countermeasures?” Marisa asked.
“We could increase power to the shields,” the computer replied.
“Do it,” Rion ordered. Beneath his feet the vibrations hummed, and the lights dimmed, but their speed stayed constant.
“We can also increase speed,” the computer said.
“When this ship left Tor, our initial jump into space seemed almost instantaneous,” Marisa commented. “Can we land on Honor that fast?”
Rion shook his head. “When we left Tor, empty space was a big target. Our destination didn’t have to be precise. But landing takes much more precision and requires deceleration time.” Rion leaned over his monitor. “Perform evasive maneuvers. Release warm chaff to fool the heat seekers into latching on to our tail dust.”
“Commencing evasive maneuvers,” the computer said. “Release chaff as necessary. Do you wish to employ the blinding device in the hull?”
“Elaborate,” Rion demanded.
“I can alter the hull’s cell structure to avoid radar, sonar, and psionic detection.”
“Are you saying that we’ll become invisible?” Marisa asked.
“Only to their computer instruments. Not to the naked eye.”
Rion grasped the concept. Knock out a submarine’s instrumentation and the sub went blind. But that didn’t stop a man with a periscope from spotting an oncoming missile.
“Why didn’t you suggest the blinding tactic first?” Rion asked.
“There’s a huge power drain,” the computer said. “I’ll have to cut life support back to the minimum. And we’ll still be a target to any pilot who sees us.”
Rion glanced out the view screen. Bright flashes on the planet warned they’d soon have company. “Do whatever it takes to get us down there in one piece.”
“That’s the problem,” the computer said.
“What?”
“With power diverted to other systems, we’re going to come down… hard.”
“So find a soft place to land. An inland waterway. A mud slide. Quicksand. Give us a chance to survive the crash.”
“More trouble’s on the way.” Marisa leaned into the view screen, staring at the ships blasting off from the planet, leaving huge streaming tails in their wake. “There are hundreds of them.”
Unari ships were launching from every continent. The Unari invasion had spread across his world. The bastards.
The bridge lights dimmed, an indication they had only auxiliary power. A red emergency light blinked. The air didn’t go stale, but it no longer tasted crisp and clean. The engines strained and roared through the hull.
Marisa spoke quietly. “Computer, I’d like to send a message to Earth.”
“Earth?” the computer asked.
“My world.”
The computer said, “Lock in the coordinates and I’ll transmit a message.”
Rion pulled down webbing from the ceiling. “Web in. The harness will help protect us during a battle or a hard landing.” He buckled himself in, then continued, “I have Earth’s coordinates. But what would you say?”
“I’d warn them about the Unari invasion.”
“That’s not a good idea. The Unari might trace the message.”
She stepped toward the webbing and halted. “Even if they decipher my message, what would be the harm?”
“If they know you’ve warned Earth, they might move up their invasion plans.”
Marisa clenched her hands and sank her fingers into the webbing. The red emergency light flickered over her face. He could see the agony of indecision in her eyes. And yet she stayed calm.
He said softly, “Even if the message gets through, will they believe you without proof?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s your decision.” He spoke quietly, gently. “But whatever you decide, you haven’t much time. Those ships will be in shooting range soon.”
The computer chimed in. “Thirty seconds.”
Marisa stared at the ships, a thousand of them. “God help us.”
The spaceship and the planet are subject to the same laws of gravity.
—HONORIAN SCIENTIST
16
Incoming missiles,” the computer blared. “Web in for evasive maneuvers.”
“Get into your harness,” Rion urged Marisa.
Ignoring his warning, she veered toward the console. “I have to warn Earth.”
She took two shaky steps. A tremor shook the ship. Rion, already webbed in, grabbed her, twisted the webbing around her, and hung on tight. A second later, the ship quaked and streaks of pink light burst across the view screen. The engines whined, revved up, and accelerated.
G-forces slammed them. If not for the webbing, he’d have been flattened against the hull. He strained to hold Marisa, the tangle of partial webbing aiding his efforts. Her cheek ended up plastered against his chest, and her fingers gripped his shoulders. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He gritted his teeth, and his vision blackened to a narrow tunnel.
“Systems report,” he requested.
If the computer answered, he couldn’t hear it past the blood rushing through his ears. His vision went black.
Moments later, when he could see again, the ship had slowed. Marisa was still in his arms, unconscious. Merlin was gone.
With no one flying the ship, Rion struggled to untangle the webbing.
His arms locked around Marisa, he fought to regain his footing. Then she lifted her head, opened her eyes. “What happened?”
“Computer, status report?” Rion asked.
“We sustained a hit to the starboard engine. Hull breach is contained. Life support is on the backup generator. Communications are down.”
Marisa raised her fist to her mouth. “Oh, God. Earth. I didn’t warn them.”
“There’s nothing you could have done.” He gave her a quick hug.
Marisa’s eyes were full of regret. “The moment we were in space, I should have used the communicator.”
“Stay here.” He webbed her in, and she didn’t protest.
Lurching to the control console, he glanced at the instrumentation. Enemy ships lit up the screen. Yet their vessel, apparently undetected, appeared to be flying right through the fleet.
The hull’s invisibility shield was preventing the Unari computers from targeting them. But once they hit the atmosphere, the pilots would use their own eyes instead of instruments for visuals, and the invisibility shielding would be useless.
“Land on Chivalri,” Rion instructed the computer. “It’s on the eastern seaboard of the northern continent.”
With his soul hungry for sight of home, he wished he had better visuals, but the weather was proving uncooperative. A huge storm had moved in from the sea, and the cloud cover over his homeland didn’t allow him to make out the coastline. But it might offer them protection.
“Can we hide our descent in the cloud cover?” he asked the computer.
“Affirmative. According to my sensors, there’s fog even at sea level. Unless you have landing coordinates, the lack of visibility will make us dependent on instrumentation for landing.”
“Pull up a geographical survey,” Rion ordered. He leaned over the console, staring at the map, considering options. If they landed too close to the capital, Unari forces might immediately spot them and take them prisoner.
Rion pointed to a mountainside beside a lake. “This is a private royal hideaway and hidden by mountain peaks. The lake is deep. Can you set us down here?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“The first strike may have damaged the hull’s invisibility screen. It appears the Unari can see this ship from one angle. They’ve shot five missiles at us. I can avoid three.”
“Rion. We
b in,” Marisa called out.
He pulled down another harness. He had just tightened the last buckle when a missile struck a glancing blow against the stern.
The bridge console sparked bright reds and dark purples. Smoke hissed out of a broken pipe. Then automatic systems snuffed out the fire, creating a white mist that smelled like burned oil.
For a moment, the ship seemed to hang in the sky. Then the vessel tilted, slid sideways, and rolled.
“Are we going to die?” Marisa asked.
Rion reached out and seized her hand. “I don’t know. But…”
“But?” she prodded.
“I’ve seen many things that have yet to happen.”
He wanted to give her hope. He didn’t mention that the flashes often allowed him to see into the future far beyond his normal life span. If his tiny omission of truth could give her comfort, he could live—or die—with that.
The ship rolled stern over bow. The gravity system shut down. Bright orange flashes flared off the hull. But unless he looked out the view screen, he had no sense of the out-of-control somersaulting.
“Where’s Merlin?” Marisa peered through the smoke. “Is he steering?”
“We’re on autopilot.”
“Brace for impact,” the computer warned.
“Just once, I’d like to land on a world without crashing,” he muttered.
Marisa didn’t say anything. She closed her eyes. Her lips moved as if in prayer.
“Give me updates,” he ordered the computer.
A missile swished by.
“We just avoided number two. Number three is off the port…”
Metal screeched. Fires flared. A roar of wind snuffed out the flames. Their craft had dropped out of space and into the atmosphere like a rock.
“Apply antigravs,” Rion commanded.
“Compliance not possible. Deploying the emergency chute.”
The canopy snapped open with a jolt, caught air, and jerked them into a spiral as it braked the ship. Slowing down before they crashed was necessary. But it also left them an easier target for missiles four and five.
Rion Page 13
