by Jo Zebedee
“And will you stand down?” Kerra didn’t know what answer she wanted.
Slowly, her mum shook her head. “No. I have to face this.” She held her hand out. Kerra didn’t move. “Tomorrow, they will be on the news-feeds. They are very clearly of me. They are very revealing.” Kerra stayed silent. “I thought you should know before they were released.”
Everyone would see them. She didn’t know whether to feel horror for her mum or embarrassment. The only thing she was sure was that it was good not to be on Abendau. At least on the Ferran hub, no one knew her – even Baelan was in lock-down on one of the Roamer ships for some unrevealed reason. “What did Dad say?”
“He said to do what I had to. He then, apparently, visited Jake Peiret. I think Jake is just about back on his feet now.”
Kerra smiled, even past her shock. Good for Dad.
Her mother stood. “Kerra, this changes nothing between us, or with your father. But you must see I can’t give up the republic just because someone has something they can use against me.”
Was she stupid? It changed everything. She’d betrayed Dad. She’d lied to Kerra. She was going to be on display naked. She took in her mum’s cold, tight stance. It was all about her. She didn’t care how Kerra felt about it, or what it would do to anyone else. She never did. “I want you to go, Mum.” She turned away.
Her mother left without another word, closing the door, leaving a silence broken only by the soft hum of the heating system. Kerra stared at the door. She didn’t know how she could stand to face her mum again.
She went to her small window and looked down from the space station, towards the planet beneath. She reached out to let the sense of space take her and hold her, so that she knew where she was in the world. The mesh was all around her. She closed her eyes, drinking it in as night crept on towards morning, when her dad would leave and her mother be revealed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Baelan threw the ball against the wall of the ship, let it rebound into his hand, and bounced it back. Throw, thud, catch; throw, thud, catch. The repetition was soothing in its own way, a means to stop the thoughts circling his mind, careering between the compulsion and the hope his father could do what he promised and get him back to Belaudii and his mother. It was exhausting, one moment sure of his way forward, the next plunged back into confusion. He wished he could open his head and remove the Empress’ voice. Perhaps then he’d know his own thoughts.
He missed a catch and the ball bounced over the floor to the closed door. Baelan stared at it. His father was leaving this morning for the palace. He thought about his scars. He remembered Taluthna’s tales of a Varnon who’d been reduced to another man’s dog. How, then, did his father walk back to Abendau and face that? And why? It went against everything he’d been taught about his father: that he was a coward who hid behind the walls of his compound; a fanatic who hated the tribal people and would do anything to destroy those he came across; a cold and untouchable man, with hatred driving him. Either he was the best actor Baelan had ever come across, or someone else had got things wrong. The tribes had been wrong about the Empress, after all.
The door to his cabin opened, and he got to his feet, lifted the ball out of the way, and faced it. He had no idea what would happen to him – the Roamers hadn’t had any contact with him, except to give him food. He’d tried to go into the mesh, once, to reach his father and find out, but there were other minds in the way of him, blocking him. He didn’t know if it had been ordered or one of the hive decisions the Roamers seemed to take.
It wasn’t Farran at the door, but Lichio le Payne, who closed the door behind him.
“I hear it was an eventful trip over,” he said. He regarded Baelan, making him want to squirm – the security chief had a way of looking that seemed to see more than most people.
Baelan looked at his feet. “Yeah.” How to explain how things had got away on him? Or that he didn’t want to end up in a cell. In the absence of anything clever, he stayed looking at his feet.
“So, what do I do about you?” asked le Payne. “I have a need for this ship, so you can’t stay here.” Of course, his father would have Farran for his pilot; he’d pretty much evolved into that role. “And a cell on Ferran wouldn’t be ideal, would it?”
Baelan’s head came up. He wasn’t going to be locked up? He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or sorry. At least, in a cell, there wasn’t much that could go wrong. On the other hand, quietness gave too much room for his thoughts. Better to stay busy and distracted and hope the compulsion lost its strength in his father’s absence.
“So what will happen to me?” he asked.
Le Payne slid the door to the corridor open. Beyond it, a squad of soldiers waited.
“We’re going to call them your personal security team,” he said. “Kerra has one as well, much to her disgust.” His sharp eyes hardened. “But, in your case, the security is going mostly one way.”
Mostly, Baelan noticed. It gave him some hope. They didn’t want him dead, anyway.
“Some information.” Le Payne held a hand up, two fingers pointing at Baelan. “Your squad are trained to repel psyching. If you try anything – anything at all – you will find yourself locked up, political fallout or not. I’ll take the consequences for it. The Ferrans are keen to welcome yourself and Kerra as honoured guests. There are education days lined up. I can’t stop any of that. I can assure you, no matter where you go, your team will be in attendance. Understood?”
Baelan nodded, relieved. It was more than he’d expected, to be allowed any freedom, or treated as an equal to Kerra, even if the undercurrent to it seemed to be political expediency over concern for himself. He wondered what, if anything, Kerra knew.
Le Payne led the way through the ship. Baelan’s squad formed around him, and the security chief hadn’t been exaggerating – they gave him very little room. They left the ship by the main hatch and entered the port.
Baelan stopped at the bottom of the ramp. A few feet away, his father stood in fatigues, a squad of soldiers surrounding him. He talked in a low voice, too low to carry to Baelan, and held everyone’s attention, not just the squad or the Roamers who followed his every move, but the technicians and the port staff. Everyone was watching him, either openly or surreptitiously, as they went about their work.
He didn’t seem to notice, or care. His movements, as he illustrated what he wanted with his hands, were economical, confident, not flashy. He didn’t look like a man who was scared, but one who was dangerous. Baelan had never seen his father as dangerous before. Powerful, yes, and surrounded by others who meted out danger. But dangerous himself, no.
His father must have sensed him, because he lifted his head and met Baelan’s eyes. Baelan held his breath, and tried to read the unspoken language. His father took in the security squad, and his mouth gave a slight twist, perhaps resigned or apologetic. Determination shone from him but, almost hidden, fear showed in the set of his jaw, in the sharp lines around his mouth. Whatever he was, he wasn’t the cold robot the tribes believed; his eyes were those of a man facing a battle. Baelan had seen it often enough to recognise it.
Baelan took a step forwards but paused, undecided. Should he wish his father luck and all courage, as he would a tribesman undertaking a mission? His father didn’t wear the ankhar, and he didn’t seek Baelan’s good luck. He wished he knew what to do, that he didn’t have to second-guess everything, but all his certainties had shifted under the prism of the Empress’ attention.
After a moment, his father gave a thin smile and an ironic – or perhaps not ironic – half-salute, one that seemed to say he knew and understood. He’d said that on the ship, too: that he’d been an outsider and knew how it felt. He was a mix of enigmas, at once exactly what Baelan had been told – the centre of everything, a man who thought he was above any other – and nothing like it.
Baelan turned away. The compulsion niggled at him, buried at the back of his mind where he was determined to keep it. He
couldn’t understand how it could be there and yet he could feel such a pull to his father. Le Payne waved his squad forwards and they took Baelan from the port, down a long corridor and into the main space station, finally reaching a bedroom. Two of them took position at either side of the door. Baelan went through, and the door closed behind him, locking with a dull thud. Not a cell, then, but not freedom, either.
He sat on the edge of the bed, glad to be alone, and pulled the ball from his pocket. He bounced it across to the wall and back to his hand, the wall, and back to his hand, and still couldn’t understand any of it.
***
Kerra ran into the hangar and stopped a few feet from Farran’s ship. It looked odd, its decals obscured by shielding so it could be any ship, but it still felt familiar, the space-scarred hull almost clunky, built to survive the longest possible space-hauls.
“Hey.” Dad approached, dressed in fatigues, hair cropped, two blasters holstered. He looked like a stranger – colder than she’d ever known him, a soldier before he was a father.
The dam broke at his familiar voice, and she flung herself against him. He put his arms around her, in the tight hold that had comforted her through her childhood and held her safe in a world more dangerous than she’d ever known. Tears streamed down her face. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I know.” He let go and tipped her head up to his. He was smiling; it nearly reached his eyes. “I don’t want to go. But it won’t be long; the mission will be over in a week.”
Her heart thudded. It would be over in a week, not that he’d be back in a week. “Daddy,” she said. “Be careful.”
“As much as I can be.” His voice was soft, but serious. The mesh ebbed between them, tinged with a soft undercurrent of sadness and doubt. He took her elbow. “Did the Roamers talk to you about the mesh? I have to leave it when on Abendau?”
She nodded. She remembered him during the attack on the caves, when he’d been pulled between the mesh and his role. He couldn’t do that if he was leading an assault. She understood that, but not the instructions not to touch or approach the mesh in any way while he was gone. She could barely imagine not being in it. She dreaded the loneliness of it.
“Good,” said Dad. “It’s important.” He pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Without a centre, the mesh will be tricky to predict.” What was he saying, with his eyes that didn’t waver? “One day, you will hold it,” he said. “But, for now, we shouldn’t confuse things, I’m told.”
“I don’t want to be Queen,” she said. “It’s enough to be a princess.” More than enough when all she wanted to be was a Controller, to have her own ship and be known and needed by no one.
He didn’t smile or laugh. “When – if – it’s handed to you, you’ll be ready.”
She pulled her arm away. He was talking like it was going to happen soon, and that wasn’t good, not when he was about to go back to Abendau and face the Empress. He couldn’t have any doubts or the witch would sense them and pounce.
“I’m not ready.” She forced a smile. “So you better come back soon.”
There was a flurry by the door: her mum, the last person Kerra wanted to see this morning.
“I have to go,” she said. “Do what you need to and get back. Right?”
“Right. Don’t be too hard on your mum, Kerra. She has a storm to ride out, and she needs your support. Right?”
His question hung in the air, but she didn’t answer; she couldn’t let her last word be a lie. She gave a faint smile and turned away before he could ask again, and ran from the hangar before her mother saw her.
***
Sonly stared around the hangar, her stomach jumping, partly with dread, partly anticipation. She’d grown up on a rebel base, she’d done her own basic training, and the familiar sounds of soldiers calling to one another, of ships being tested and readied, brought her childhood back to her. The hangar smelt of diesel and gas, adding to the familiarity. She wished she could take one of the ships and get away from the news-holos.
Kare stepped out from behind one of the Roamer ships. He hadn’t seen her yet. She watched him move, slim and composed, saw how his eyes missed nothing about the preparations around him, and the feeling of déjà-vu to the days of the Banned was complete.
The moment passed. When he’d commanded the Banned he’d had dark hair, not white. He hadn’t worn the collar of his fatigues turned up. When he stopped to check one of the ships he gave a slight wince as he ran his hand along its flank, a wince that would never have been there before Omendegon.
She wanted to tell him not to go, to stay, but forced herself to stand her ground. He needed peace and he’d never have it while his mother was alive.
He turned, saw her, and a smile made him look younger, more like the Kare she remembered. He walked towards her and she took in his fatigues, right down to the sand-boots he was wearing. Things were serious.
He stopped in front of her. “How bad are the holos?” His voice was light, but she wasn’t fooled.
“Awful.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to be leaving with this going on.”
He took an audible breath, but managed a tight nod. “It is what it is. You never lied about it.” He stroked her cheek, his touch gentle. “We’ve survived worse.”
They had. And they’d survive this. “How long until you go?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
“We embark in a few minutes. Kerra came to say goodbye. And the boy – he passed, briefly.”
“Lichio?”
“We spoke.” He’d tell her nothing more.
“You’ll be careful?”
“I’ll try.” There was an awkward silence, until he cracked his fingers together and gave a small shrug. “It’s always the worst part. The waiting.”
“Yes.” He had no idea how hard it was to wait. She’d spent months not knowing if he was alive or dead, or worse. Nights, alone, trying to sleep, only to lie awake with despair circling even as she’d gritted her teeth and waited some more. “I hate waiting.”
“Come here.” He put his arms around her, not seeming to care who was watching. He’d never cared how a soldier should behave, he’d only worried about doing what was right. The ever-present smell of the coffee that carried him through each day, practically on a drip, surrounded her. She leaned in to him, felt the strength in his arms, the tightness of his chest – he was doing a good job of hiding his fear, but snuggled against him there was no mistaking it. They stood, his head leaned on hers, hers against his chest. Soldiers shouted, a ship’s siren sounded, but it happened outside their bubble.
Finally, he released her, only to kiss her, a long kiss, one to last an age, maybe forever. Her lips opened under his, so familiar. How could she have compared Jake to him? She put her arms around him, wanting to be closer, but it wasn’t possible.
Someone shouted his name. He pulled away. A mew escaped her.
“Go,” he said. His eyes were shining in the bright lights of the hangar. “Don’t look back, just go. Or I can’t.”
He’d made her leave the night at the Banned, too, the night she’d lost him. She turned, blinded by blurred tears, and stumbled as she walked away. She had to let him go so he’d come back. Please, she thought, putting all her might into it, make sure he does. I need him to. I love him.
***
“Ready?” asked Farran.
Kare turned. The Roamer’s face was twisted in sympathy, but no words were given or needed; the mesh held the shape of Kare’s thoughts, his sadness, his determination to keep going forwards and not look back. He took a last look around the hangar.
At the main entrance a familiar person stood, blond hair floodlit from behind. Lichio held up his hand, and Kare nodded, acknowledging it. He climbed up the ramp and stopped at the top to run his fingers along the lip of the hatch. He selected the space-seal command. The hatch came up from the undercarriage, slowly cutting off his view of the port, first a single door, then a thicker one cas
ting him into darkness.
His stomach lurched. This was it. He was going back to Abendau.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lichio left the port, his mind racing through the tasks ahead. Baelan was taken care of – for now – with the best security team he could spare. Which left ferreting through the Ferrans and figuring out who would be happy to play, for a price.
“Lich.” The voice was familiar, making his heart race. He almost didn’t want to turn around in case he was wrong, but he did. Like a miracle, Josef waited just beyond the entrance to the hangar. He looked drained, his skin pale, almost sallow, his eyes hooded. Lichio wanted to run to him, to take him in his arms, but found his muscles tensing in the old reflex of professionalism.
“Josef,” he said, and his voice didn’t sound like his own, but strangled. “I thought....”
He didn’t say what he’d thought – that Josef was dead or taken. That he was in a cell in Abendau palace, facing that hell. The dam broke and Lichio embraced Josef, a tight clinch around his shoulders. He smelled familiar: spiced tea, with an undertone of light sweat from travelling. Josef gripped him back and they stood like that until Lichio remembered where they were and how many eyes could be on him. He let go and stepped away.
“I have an office. Come with me.” He led the way, his steps brisk. Josef was alive. It was what he’d been praying for.
Why, then, was he so scared?
He opened the door to the office allocated to him, dismissing his security with a flick of his wrist, and let Josef enter before him. He closed the door, and locked it.
“Still so careful?” asked Josef. His voice had an edge Lichio wasn’t familiar with. “I thought Kare had stepped down. Surely that means you’re out of a job, if you want to be.”
