For someone like the prince, this world presented an answer to a problem he’d faced his entire life.
Ahmed discarded his lowest cards to the dealer, receiving two in return and making three kings. He always found it disconcerting, holding the card with a little stylized version of his father on it.
Mahmoot Al Aziri, the Dragon. My father. Destined to rule forever. He raised the pot.
I will always be a prince, never a king … but in this world, or one like it, maybe I can be. A king, free from the shadow cast by my father. Of course I’d still have to travel home and kowtow, if I want to live forever.
The man in white paused, looking at his cards for far longer than someone questioning their hand or counting odds. His movements remained as measured as usual, slow and even. After fanning and rearranging his cards, he resumed play without so much as an apology, although by that point, all the Elites were staring at him.
Within three more hands, the envoy lost all his chips, his earlier winning streak not holding after all.
To Prince Ahmed’s courtly social perceptions, something about the envoy’s losing seemed purposeful. It was long enough to be a string of bad hands. Yet, it was fast enough, given how the game was played, to be an abrupt turn of fortune. It was entirely possible the man was as bad at cards as he was at conversation. However, Prince Ahmed suspected there was a reason for it.
With barely a nod as the winner of the round scooped up the last of his chips and no verbal indication or any other propriety at all, the man stood and walked out. His steps whispered across the floor and if Prince Ahmed didn’t know better, he would have sworn the mysterious garbed ‘Mister’ practically floated out the door.
Prince Ahmed’s eyebrow raised as chalk and gold turned a corner and vanished. One of the Elites’ deeply purple eyes shifted towards him in confusion. “Was it something we said, my prince?”
At the insistent chiming of the door, Heinrich pulled on a robe and closed the door to his sleeping chamber where Countess Anna lay within. After the battle at Patrick Air Force Base, Thalia located a cliff where the crashing waves provided an opportunity to replenish the batteries. They would take days to completely restore and the trace on the Rebels’ energy signature would take several more hours. Heinrich had ordered the ship cloaked, set a watch, and commanded the remaining crew to rest and overcome the lingering transfer sickness.
“Enter,” he commanded, his voice pattern unlocking the dilating door. Heinrich blinked in surprise at the sight of the white-and-gold-robed Mister Delta with his hands shrouded by the long sleeves.
Heinrich crossed to the exquisite bar and poured himself a drink. The decanter clinked against the crystal-cut tumbler as amber-colored scotch flowed forth. ‘Mister Delta’ was the only name he’d given, in a voice that sounded as if he’d swallowed razorblades.
“What is it, Mr. Delta?” he asked as the robed man sank to one knee in a gesture of obeisance that soured his expression.
“Sire. I know why the Rebels are here,” the voice croaked like a bullfrog towards the polished floorboards. “The prince was … speculating. He is ambitious. He thinks if his father allows it, here in this world, he could become a king.”
“So the cub thinks to challenge the Dragon for his world key?” Heinrich smirked, taking another sip. “Hah! The Dragon would destroy him. He’s never seen the power of his father in full flare. His Gift is a candle compared to the sun. No, Mahmoot would end him. The harem produces sons like mushrooms sprouting after rain. Thirty-third or three-hundredth, there would be another to replace him after such a fool’s errand.”
“No, sire. The prince does not mean to challenge his father, merely to become king in another realm. He thinks he will still need the Gift of the Undying Queen to live forever.”
“I see. And he just told you this?” Heinrich accused in a tone of disbelief, adding a couple of ice cubes to his drink. “Stand up, Mister Delta. Now, explain to me why the prince would risk word of this plan getting back to his father?”
“He didn’t, Sire,” Delta croaked in reply. He stood, stretched out a hand, and a third block of ice gently floated to land in Heinrich’s glass. “I listened. I don’t like speaking out loud. I prefer to contact the mind directly, telepathically, but you Sire, are curiously … resistant.”
Heinrich had seen far more impressive displays of telekinesis in his time, but the simplicity and smoothness of Mr. Delta’s actions spoke of superior control and training. Only Mycroft and his children possessed the Gift of telekinesis, but this was no Royal prince before him, and the action confirmed his previous suspicions of Delta’s origins.
“I’ve synced to a world key. It has many Gifts,” he explained slowly with a considering glance. “So. You are that boy I saved all those years ago. Mycroft did an admirable job avoiding my questions about you, as did you when you first arrived. Where has he hidden you all this time?”
“Here, Sire,” Delta rasped, taking an envelope from within his robe and floating it over to Heinrich. It was a white-and-gold envelope, sealed with Mycroft’s rising sun crest. “The king commanded that I give this to you at an appropriate time.”
Heinrich broke the seal and read the words within.
Heinrich,
This is my son, Delta: the boy you saved all those years ago. After your key was stolen and the Day of White Flame, I mind-touched the world. One solution I could foresee to prevent the theft of another world key and to hasten the demise of the Rebels was to supply the other Monarchs with psychics of their own. But to necessitate the foreseeing, those psychics had to be controlled.
So I began a breeding program in secret and had the children implanted with neural control conditioners. Ultimately, the experiment was unsuccessful and only Delta survived the Rebels’ bombs.
Delta is a loyal servant for your use. If required, he will follow any order given to him, precisely and without question if you preface the order with the words ‘Mycroft, Luna, Genetics’.
He is a valuable asset. I would therefore appreciate if he were returned in good health.
Mycroft
The note was handwritten and signed in Mycroft’s distinctive flowing script. Heinrich studied Delta with fresh eyes. He wasn’t merely a mind-altered servant, which had been his first guess; he was something much more powerful. Nor was he only the king’s bastard. Now, the reason for the fanatical obsequiousness at their first meeting became clear.
“So, the prince is ambitious. What does this have to do with the Rebels’ purpose?” Heinrich asked, taking a sip of the smooth scotch and scratching at his bare chest before sliding the letter back into its envelope.
“Sire. As an imperfect reflection of our glorious home, it is a reasonable assumption that this reality also possesses world keys, but it would appear they have not been discovered here.”
The tumbler slipped from Heinrich’s hand at the sudden realization, only to be caught and returned to the bar without spilling a drop. That means this world has an untouched movement key! I can have my Gift restored to what it once was. I can barter the other world keys here and finally have the power to exact my revenge.
The implications struck Heinrich dumb and he failed to hide the savage smile on his face. So the Rebels seek the powers of the Monarchs. It’s a shame Mycroft never revealed the location of the keys. The Rebels must have somehow acquired information that relates to their location.
“You’ve done well Delta. Very well. Return to the ambitious Prince Ahmed. Skim his thoughts carefully, delve if you can, and let me know if he reaches the same conclusion as you.”
At sunset, Jay watched the residents of Rio de Janeiro enter the streets like a troupe of chattering monkeys high on laughing gas. To her, it looked as though the residents weren’t going to stop the biggest party on earth for anything. She tasted excitement in the air just like the scent of fresh churros dipped in chocolate that wafted around as the Sambadrome filled with revelers. From the end of the Sambadrome, where revelers were to
o poor to afford a seat, people crammed either side of the road to watch the Samba schools exit.
Aside from the auditory spectacle that was the Samba parade, it was a visual feast that Jay thoroughly enjoyed. The parade started with several skydivers wearing suits covered in LED lights and trailing flares that sent showers of sparks behind them as they drifted down like glowing snowflakes. They followed this with fireworks in the sky above the Sambadrome as the dancers and floats swept forth in circling patterns, to the sound of a thousand drums beating out pulsating Latin rhythms.
Sarge managed to clear a space for all of them among the locals, bribing people who had camped out since the early morning with the last of their American dollars. It was worth it in Jay’s opinion. They were close enough that Jay felt the sounds in the hollow of her chest.
She couldn’t help dancing. The music and festivities were infectious. The brightly colored costumes, the floats filled with the fantastic and bizarre, and above all, the sheer energy buoyed her spirits. It felt like she was in a glass of whatever it was she’d drunk that afternoon. Bubbly fizz surrounded the mindscape in a reflection of what was happening on the street. 100,000 people in a good mood all in one place. I LOVE it. No wonder I’m buzzed.
The rest of the team did their best to blend in. China danced gracefully to the music with Jay and shared in the joy. Mack danced as if she had a duck’s feet, both of them left. Sarge frowned at Mack each time the medic bumped into her and looked for all the world like a bouncer with widespread feet, a stern gaze, and crossed arms. Still, it made Jay laugh that despite her severe expression, Sarge’s foot tapped along to the music as if in defiance to the rest of her body.
‡Stanford certainly wasn’t wrong about the noise,‡ Jay projected, staring in amazement before the churro in her hand grabbed her attention again and she took another huge bite of the crispy, fried treat. Even after eating all day, she was still hungry.
As the sonic barrage around them continued, Sarge leaned into Snake. “How much longer?” she bellowed. Jay could barely hear their conversation over the cacophony of the festival.
Snake paused his own accompaniment of the rapid Latin music and glanced at one of the dials. “Sheila’s just under sixty percent. Another hour of this and she’ll be fully charged. You want to risk waiting or transfer now?”
Sarge surveyed the block. With the parade underway, the crowds pressed forward against the blue barricades arranged to keep the street clear.
Just as Sarge indicated with a wave of her hand that the group should start to move, Jay felt a tremor of uncertainty and wonder in the collective mind of the crowd. Her precognition, always so unreliable, gave an urgent sense of impending doom, but no images as to what might happen; just that strange sense that something had changed.
From high in the sky, lights appeared.
At first, the crowd thought the powerful searchlights from an unseen source were part of the show as the beams split the sky and slowly swept the crowds.
The crowds surged forward to see this new spectacle, jostling the team as the cloaking disappeared like mist to reveal the massive form of a frigate-class lightship.
A responding tide of awe and fascination washed over Jay from the surrounding masses, much in contrast to her own moment of dreadful recognition.
“Bugger me,” Snake cursed as Sarge elbowed and shoved a path through the crowd to a litany of protests.
“Transfer, NOW!” Sarge bellowed.
Snake followed Sarge and initiated a transfer sequence at the same time as Jay fell into step behind him. The moment that Sheila hummed in response the searchlights converged, throwing the crowd around them into paroxysms of glee at the attention.
The undercarriage of the massive ship split, revealing a ramp, and a sleek, silver flying craft dropped out, whining with a high pitch as the drummers faltered. Large shinkari cannons mounted fore and aft whirred into life. A screaming orb of black and silver lightning shot towards the team.
Prince Ahmed Al Aziri whooped in excitement as the sleek transport shot from the undercarriage of The Songstress. The energy cannon above them disgorged a spinning star of energetic death, aimed at the section of the crowd outlined in the search-lights.
The screams of the crowd rose in panic, but something diverted the path of the projectile. Instead of landing in the thick of the crowd, it veered away. Slamming into the asphalt of the road, the concussion tossed brightly dressed dancers through the air like broken dolls thrown by a testy giant.
They’ve got a force projector. “Get me down there. Now!” Ahmed yelled to the pilot.
The fastest way to land as the ship buzzed the panicked dancers, was through the large float that showcased a massive eagle. With wings outstretched, the enormous float took up most of the road’s width. The pilot fired and a powerful pulse from the shinkari cannons blasted the fragile vehicle apart, showering the crowds crammed into the stadium seats with burning debris.
The transport dusted down, landing on the broken and bleeding, as the prince and several of his guards ran out. Those dancers not already lying in their own blood fled in all directions to a cacophony of screams.
A second barrage from the ship screamed forth, blowing a crater behind the Rebels and cutting off their escape. The prince grinned, his face in stark relief from the burning fragments of debris. He’d listened to his father’s tales about the war, but never imagined it would feel this good. This exciting. If his father let him be a king here, it would mean long years of this feeling. He couldn’t wait.
He raised his arms and the burning debris around him flashed into brilliance as he drew forth his Gift of pyrokinesis and his guards took aim. The Rebels cowered, centered in the lights with nowhere to flee, run to ground. At the mercy of the guns and the prince’s flame.
He was going to enjoy this.
Snake wept. Angry tears streamed down his cheeks as Jay watched. His quick thinking, stopping the transfer process and engaging Sheila’s combat controls to produce the harmonic force shields, saved all their lives. In doing so, the diverted deadly energy had killed innocent bystanders.
Jay stood frozen, like a rabbit in the headlights of an onrushing car, as time slowed to a glacial crawl for her. Too much black panic across the mental landscape, too much yellow fear gripped her in tightly clawed hands. The anguish of a hundred-thousand minds smashed at her control and she stiffened as she tried to shut out every cry for help or pain, but she couldn’t shut out her family. Those ties were too deep and she felt their sudden fear, echoing her own. Fear for themselves, and fear for each other.
She fled into their emotions and feelings as if entering a stand of solid trees to avoid a hurricane. Despite the fear, their very familiarity felt safer than the twisted and violent emotional storm that surrounded her.
The crowd around them physically buffeted the group as they attempted to escape the deadly shinkari of the frigate. Only Sarge’s steadying hand and iron grip kept Jay’s small frame from being towed along helplessly, like so much flotsam in a raging human flood as she took out the rifle from her pack and the team clustered around her.
They couldn’t run.
Jay retained just enough precognition to know it would mean their deaths. The frigate would simply use its cannons. She’d exhaust herself, or Sheila would run out of charge protecting them, and they would be stuck and defenseless.
Easy prey.
Jay could read the intention in Sarge’s tense jawline and lowered brow, she didn’t even need to skim to know she was about to order them to run, find cover, transfer out. She could feel her mother’s determination to buy them time as she thumbed the rifle to full power. She was prepared to sacrifice herself to save the ones she loved and give them the chance to complete the mission.
She felt China, so attuned to Sarge that he didn’t need telepathy to know and reject her plan. Jay felt the mental switch that activated his feet and he hovered an inch above the asphalt. Jay saw his muscles tense as he prepared to leap the
distance towards the hunters in red and gold and give his wife the seconds she needed to lay down cover fire.
No, no, I can’t lose them. I won’t!
In desperation, Jay opened herself completely to the mental hurricane of suffering and rage. Her eyes wide with fear, she found that shining statue in white robes that looked down on the city, arms outstretched in comfort and a smile that promised forgiveness.
As Jay connected with the pyrokinetically Gifted, she felt his fierce glee. This wasn’t like skimming or delving. If she did it right those she connected with never even knew she was there, and she was able to pick up thoughts that skimmed across their natural mental barrier.
She forced her way into his mind. In the millisecond before he became aware of her she could feel his thoughts and emotions as clearly as if he were an open book.
‡This is my moment. My father will laud my accomplishment and hold me up as an example to my brothers.‡ She felt the prince’s ability sharpen wisps of white flame, so hot they were liquid, that swirled around his up-thrust hands.
Like a black tidal wave of destruction, Jay released a crushing mental scream, fueled by a hundred-thousand panicked minds, overwhelming his senses. She was just a conduit for all the pain and suffering around them, trying not to be swept away in the tidal rip of emotion as she funneled it into him.
She’d never connected with so many minds before and the maelstrom of thought and emotions manifested as stygian blackness, full of teeth. It rushed past her, through her, tearing at her target with icy claws of desperation. She could feel him trying to hold on, maintain control, but as his consciousness faltered, his own Gift responded at the attack and she was able to take control, syncing her consciousness with his.
She felt the flame rush out of him in a wild torrent of destruction, stronger than ever before. She felt his mind retreat from her onslaught as he fought for his sanity against the emotional tsunami. A tiger trapped on rocks snarling at the pounding surf. At the edge of consciousness, and with her barely in control of his Gift, she directed a corona of flame to whip around him like a sun flare.
Suffrage (World Key Chronicles Book 1) Page 9
