“Commander, can you see how many of ours made it?”
“Sorry, my lord. I can’t see all of them due to the distortion. I’ve received encoded messages from forty ships.”
“Less than half.” There was a gasp in the room. Alexander stood there shocked. “Cheops was one of them. Fried in space like a piece of barbeque.” The metallic fumes from overloaded circuits burned his lungs. Alexander leaned forward and coughed, which really hid a sob. Hair covered the misery of a lost friend and the hard reality of ordering men to their death. Quickly, regaining some princely composure, he turned to the young faces on his bridge.
“Alright men, we have our mission. We need to locate the prince royal. That’s all we can do right now.”
Addressing the helmsman he added, “Enter those course adjustments I gave you and distribute the same to what’s left of our fleet. Those came from my father’s bag of clues. I believe it will bring us to a relay station. There, we will retrieve the exact location of the prince.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
And please dear Commander Bunny, let’s keep a sharp look out for any Uriah ships. They will ultimately join this hunt.”
New York Fitness
The doorbell rang just before noon. There was Hadrian – standing, fidgety and nervous. On Teramar, the prince never had to solicit or cultivate his friendships. Young peers were always at hand. An heir to the throne had people round him every hour of every day. But out here in deep space, he was indeed very alone and had become rusty administering the social graces.
Standing opposite, Shayne realized they were being fools gawking at each other like teenagers. The normally confident sports star quickly resuscitated his well-worn swagger. “We’re being idiots. Come onnnn innnn.”
As Hadrian stepped into the foyer, Shayne appraised the other’s wardrobe. He said with a raised brow, “You gonna workout in that?”
“Angela’s choice.”
“Well, that might work at a polo match. Man, your girlfriend must receive an enormous commission!”
Hadrian made a disapproving face. “Shayne, she is not girlfriend.” The prince sounded very young.
“Stupid. I know she’s not your girlfriend. So you got yourself a little high class pussy on the side.”
The prince made another disapproving face that only a prince can make.
“Now Hadrian, don’t get all prissy on me. You get worked up too easy.” With an encouraging smile, he pushed them along. “Let’s head over to the club. I’ll be lazy and drive. Wait while I get my bag.”
Shayne’s car sat in the usual prominent space in the garage. When he started the engine and applied the gas, the machine responded with an obscene sound. “Yeah, loud. Twelve cylinders.”
Hadrian rolled his eyes. “Yes, expense.”
Shayne snapped, “Yes, expense? What about you? You live at a midtown hotel.”
Carefully, the athlete edged the car out of the garage and into traffic. He spoke as he drove, “So, you’ve been in New York how long?”
“Maybe four of your weeks?”
“Your weeks?”
“Sorry. My English. I try to approve.”
Amused, Shayne snorted a brief little laugh, skidding into a sympathetic expression. “You’re English is mostly fine, Hadrian.”
The big man expertly guided the elegant machine up one of the grand avenues. At a stoplight, a group of uniformed schoolboys noticed them through the front windshield and excitedly pointed at the car and its famous occupant. Shayne waved and then sped off when the light turned green.
“I heard you are an orphan. I’m one too is why I ask. My mom passed away years ago and I never met my dad.” He paused when he merged into the right lane. “Sorry about the questions. I like to learn about the people I meet. Everyone seems to want something from me.”
“I can relate,” the prince said. Shayne’s friendly manner was easy to be around. The basketball player had a sincere, undemanding way about him. “How do you know I orphan,” asked the prince?
Shayne causally replied, “I had my agent check you out. He didn’t find much.” He touched the brake due to the taxi in front.
The sun had a good day that day. The warm light spilled around the concrete edifices creating a pattern on the avenue. Shayne opened a window that slid down in a quiet hum. The air was moist offering an early hint of spring in this normally dreary month of January.
Shielding the sun, Hadrian quietly said, “Your agent found right. I orphan. I come New York for fresh start.” The prince kept his hand up to block the light. Shayne pulled the visor down on Hadrian’s side of the car. “Is that better?” The prince nodded.
“Are you old enough to be out here on your own?” Shayne smiled playfully. “You look rather young with that baby’s face of yours.”
Hadrian furrowed his brow. “With all due respect, I adult and live without guardian,” he said with haughty indignation. The prince crossed his arms in a humph.
“There you go again. Don’t get bent out of shape. I ask stupid questions all the time.” The big man gave Hadrian a playful push on the shoulder, which Hadrian batted away with a simple but precise arm movement of a Termarian warrior.
The fancy eastside gym catered to professional athletes and other well-heeled New Yorkers. The facility was a beautiful space with generous workout areas, copious machines, private rooms for stretching or training, and a fantastic swimming pool. Of course, the club also had basketball and tennis courts and a full-service cafe. Shayne lumbered inside with Hadrian in tow. “Haaaaaye Sheila,” he greeted the visor-ed girl at the desk.
The woman eagerly volleyed back, “Haaaaaye Shayne.” Her eyes followed them, trying to catch Shayne’s attention again. Ignoring the gawking fan, the athlete showed the way for his new friend. As young men do, the two boys barged into the elegant space disrupting the library-like serenity. Shayne parked at his locker and threw the gym bag to the floor, pulling off his sweat pants.
“You can put your shit here.” He opened the locker’s door. Following instructions, Hadrian removed his jacket and hung it on the metal hook. “I was thinking we’d jog for a bit to work off last night. Afterwards, you can show me some of that karate stuff. I want to learn how to put a fast move on Ben!”
Hadrian smiled. “So that’s what you want. Free lesson.”
“Yes. Free Kung Fu.” Shayne mimicked a black belt’s stance with a faux karate chop.
In minutes, Hadrian found himself on the treadmill next to the star athlete. They ran a hard five miles. Although Hadrian quietly groaned at the pace, the athlete was impressed how the young man matched his speed. Afterwards, Shayne led the prince to a suede-colored room with gymnast’s pads. Their shirts were damp and their lungs hardily grabbed for oxygen.
“I reserved this space so we might have a little privacy. I want to see if you can really take me like you did Ben.” Shayne’s face was a serious challenge now – but tinged with a now familiar dose of humor. Well aware of his superior abilities, the prince knew he could easily throw the big man to the mat. Body size was irrelevant here. Channeling the weapons master, the prince cleared his throat and stood on the balls of his feet in a warrior’s stance. “Ok Shayne, you fast on court. Now, we look at instincts for the fight.” Shayne wore a cocky expression. The larger man was preoccupied with giving a little payback today. “Big Ben was caught by surprise.”
Hadrian moved his fingers to signal “come.”
“You asked for it,” said the larger one.
The two started to circle each other. Hadrian was in a wrestler’s crouch. In a rush, Shayne tried to grab the blond head. The prince easily anticipated this and evaded him. Shayne then tripped on the prince’s artfully positioned foot. Hadrian had barely moved.
“Ouch, my balls hurt. I twisted the wrong way.”
The prince interrupted - barking, “Again!” They locked eyes and started to circle. Shayne cut to the basket with a fake and turn. He was lightening this time and attempted to smother the prince wit
h the crush of his body. Hadrian answered with a slight variation of the last, a basic drop, fake and pivot. Shayne slid over the prince’s back and rotated to the floor in a loud thud. The floor vibrated from the impact.
“Shit. You’re a fast little fucker.” The big man exhaled in frustration.
“Shayne, I just prove point to you.” Hadrian knowingly gestured at the athlete’s vulnerable position on the mat. “You never beat me with size and speed. Try something different?”
From that point onward, and for another two hours, Hadrian took Shayne through the initial physical induction of the young warrior. The work was hard and laborious for both. They went back to back. Face to face. The two got used to each other’s natural rhythm and movement. Shayne was impressed how easily Hadrian could carry his full weight.
The prince encouraged his friend, “There you go. Look how smoothly you’re doing it now.” The prince was sliding Shayne across his back.
“What do these exercises have to do with self-defense,” Shayne finally asked –impatient for the point of it all?
“The first rule of battle is ‘to predict.’ Learn how body moves. How opponent moves. Accounting for weight and height.” In a flash demonstration, the prince went to strike Shayne and the athlete automatically caught his arm.
“You see that? You stopped me.”
“I guess I did…” Understanding appeared on the broad face. “Did you go to some sort of military academy when you were growing up?” The athlete wasn’t stupid.
“Yes. I learn in a school that taught this,” the prince did not elaborate.
Dripping with perspiration, the athlete asked, “Should we go shower up?”
Back in the locker area, a few guests dotted the premises. Most knew Shayne and murmured like zombies, “Good game the other night,” or some other compliment.
Pushing past, Hadrian threw his shirt to the floor. He sat down and kicked off his shoes like a spoiled boy. Shorts and underwear came next. “Listen Hadrian. What is it with you? You like showing off?”
“What is with you,” the prince replied – sounding mildly irritated himself? “It’s just a body.”
Hadrian stood there nude. His smell was strong from their exertions. Hadrian whispered, “Nervous?” The prince then walked off in his long lanky stride with hair spilling down. Shayne shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What a stuck up little…” Refusing to be intimidated by this “white punk,” Shayne slowly removed his own clothing. He wasn’t used to boys “doing that” no matter how innocent. And if he looked like Hadrian, the whole thing was even more complicated. Through the shower’s mist, the prince saw his new friend creep over. Hadrian thought it was amusing how their rolls reversed. Shayne was behaving like a timorous mouse.
In the sparkling domain of chrome and tile, the club offered both a private and public settings. Proving his point, Hadrian proudly stood in the public shower with two showerheads pummeling him. He shook his hair back like a wet towel. The normally fair color was dark, almost black. They each offered uneasy smiles. Shayne stood across and lathered up. He raised his voice over the water, “Last night at the music club was a pretty good time.”
“I also enjoyed.”
“And tonight is Saturday night. I’m pretty much off this whole weekend. Seems I’m never off on Saturdays.” The prince waited for the question. Shayne avoided looking in Hadrian’s direction. “How about we go out and meet some women? Get into trouble. What do you think?”
“Trouble? I recently in a jail cell?”
“Yeah, and who bailed you out?”
The prince’s return smile was an obvious ‘yes’ to Shayne’s request. A sincere friendship was nudging its head through the wet soil. The boys were equals in many ways. Lacking was the greedy pull from an endless parade of courtesans. Rather, each boy held a strong measure of respect for the other. Casually thrown about the training room today, Shayne easily recognized a strong edge on his new friend. “Alright Viking boy. I’ll call you round dinnertime. I gotta figure out our options first.”
After returning to the hotel, Jessica barged into the prince’s quiet thoughts. “Sire, I’ve received a message from Teramar, from Sineas Alimar. The message was delivered through the secret channels you young men use. It trailed us when we were in route to earth - only nine words with a coded signature.”
The computer bounced-open a small halo-screen, presenting the sparse message: “She will send a war party to fetch you, SA.”
“My god, Jessica. Do you have to immediately assault me with this? Of course, she will send a war party.”
“Apologies my lord, but this should take precedence over your social life today. Can we discuss the implications here?”
“We are discussing the implications. Sineas would never send a message. He knows we are in hiding. That’s mother making the first move.” The prince didn’t want to think of Teramar. He enjoyed not being a prince today.
“My lord, this may be the opportunity for which we’ve been waiting. Your mother will most certainly send ships to fetch you when she ultimately learns earth’s location. I venture they will pull resources from the defense of the capital. While they are out here hunting for you, we can skirt the Uriah fleet and bear down on Teramar to rescue the king.”
“That’s a lot of what ifs.”
“Rest assured, my lord, I have carefully studied this. We need to forward our coordinates as bate to lure them out from behind their fortress.”
“Don’t be so selfish, machine. We should never reveal our location, as that would also put earth’s innocent billions at risk. We can’t just swap one people for another.” He wanted her out of his head.
Despite the young prince and his dreams for the day, Jessica had active orders from the current king. They explicitly stated she was to use any means to restore the legitimate monarchy. She therefore published a reply to Sineas Alimar that fell as breadcrumbs across the light years. Like an intergalactic flashlight, she tapped earth’s coordinates, over and over and over again. Using the relay stations that she strategically deposited on the initial journey, she could push a simple code much faster than the complex halo transmissions of the monarchy. For Jessica, this was a rush delivery.
“The Uriah will come. And they will come soon.” Rarely, did the computer speak to herself.
A Dirge Of Days
Each chain that secured the king’s arms bore a sharp ridge that drove an absurd discomfort. The design was certainly not an accident. He wondered if the contraption had irrevocably impaired his limbs. Bloody sores appeared where the weight of his body lay across each link. Occasionally, the worn skin could spring a leak causing small rivulets of blood to drip onto the royal chest. The bones even appeared ready to pop through stretched skin. The king knew he was not well with a buttery complexion and loose teeth.
Periodically, his hosts would rain cold salt water for a torrid hour to wash away the urine and feces. The salt was a mean first aid. Afterwards, an insufferable sandpaper itch tickled its way across the royal back. Yet through it all, King Hadrian V was hardscrabble. His majesty continued to be a challenge to his tormentors who had to repeatedly report their lack of progress. Although the Uriah high command routinely pushed and threatened the interrogators, useful information remained locked in the obsidian vault of the king’s mind.
In principle, King Hadrian V abhorred the torture they employed in this building and had strove to reform the monarchy’s penal system when he was on the throne. Upon their return to power, however, his wife’s clan eagerly revived the worst of it. He recalled Livia’s sermons, “Endless cruelty keeps them all in line. Or was that the brother…?” The king was unable to recall much these days.
Surrounding his torn body, massive walls rose to a vast open ceiling. A cunning architect purposely constructed a sea of open cubes where the facility’s guests could always perceive the daily regimen. Then after the salt showers and when the itch really took hold, the guards would administer more persuasive techni
ques. The king could hear all of the scenes play out. Regular beatings and rape were usually followed by quiet whimpers and groans of pain. Mutilation brought on the hysterical.
In an effort to remain lucid – or alive rather, the king challenged himself with the cerebral exercises he learned as a child. On the rare day or evening where he had a measure of energy, the king also employed a painful regimen of quiet calisthenics. Sedentary muscles welcomed the fresh blood he pushed to hands and feet, which ultimately slowed the relentless pace of his demise. But mostly, deep meditation helped the king pass endless hours in a quiet solitude. Unfortunately, the relentless itch from the salt baths prevented any real tranquility. At some level, he always remained sentient to this prison. Even now, his majesty had a notion the entrance to this sector had rumbled open. Then louder, he heard a series of salutes and clicks, accompanied by a rhythmic step signaling prostrations to an aristocrat. “Who could this be now?”
They stopped outside his cell. The entrance cracked and then abruptly ceased to move. “Open it fool,” came from the other side. Immediately, the large stone door slid to the right. There was his daughter. As Hadrian resembled his mother, Alian had her father’s look, a hard face with dark eyes and dark hair. Her presence exuded serenity. She was dressed in a form fitting green gown with a light, long cloak thrown back. Flanked by two drones, Alian raised her eyebrow. She turned to the guards who were visibly nervous in the royal presence. The princess raised her gloved hand as if to dismiss them. Then, in a blinding instant of whirling metal and scrapping razors, both guards were lying prostrate, one with life’s essence pumping out of a bloody kludge and the other twitched, decapitated. Her gown swayed from where she pulled artfully concealed weapons. Regaining composure, Alian held the bloody swords in outstretched arms. She smiled mischievously at her father. “I secretly practiced that move for a month. Mother watches me. I had to be careful.”
Unlike the other women on Teramar, Alian had trained much as a boy. Although the queen generally objected to such mannish-pursuits, the king encouraged his daughter in the development of her own combat skills. He knew they lived in a violent society. Even a princess needed skills for defense. The king smiled weakly at Alian’s magnificent performance. Groggily, he said in a parched voice, “My dear, how did you get those weapons in here.”
Teramar: The Gathering Night Page 12
