by Jo Zebedee
So, if not the Roamers, could she do anything? She pictured the skywalk. It was broad where she’d step out to it, but then it narrowed, funnelling walkers across the middle section. There were bound to be soldiers lining the way across, so that there would be nowhere to go except the palace.
Baelan joined her, his mother beside him, and met Kerra’s eyes briefly, his cheeks flushing a little. That gave her hope – if he was embarrassed that he’d got her into this mess, he mustn’t have realised she’d accessed the Roamer mesh. She was tempted to reach out and see if he had his own powers, and was ignoring the mesh as always, or if he was drugged and didn’t know he had another option. She didn’t, though, too scared that if she touched him, he’d learn about the mesh for sure. If he did, he might try to take some of the power. Greedily, she drew it towards herself, hoarding it.
Baelan hunched against his mother, like a child half his age. His arms were tracked with needle-marks, the same as her own. Her anger vanished, replaced by an odd pity. He had no one other than his mother; it was no wonder he’d gone to her on Ferran-V. The mesh shifted, aware of her change in focus, accepting her feelings as if they were a new command.
The cargo doors raised enough for her to see the white stone of the skywalk stretching beyond. Nerves jumped in her, and the mesh throbbed, picking up her fear. The Roamers were coming, she was sure of it. In fact, they might even be here already, ready to lift her. She pictured stepping onto the walkway and finding a line of Roamer freighters waiting for her. Their plasma-bolts would strafe the palace. Phelps would run for cover as the ships swooped down to rescue her, the way Farran and Lichio had only a few weeks ago. Excitement bubbled, low in her stomach; the images of her rescue were so vivid, they had to mean something. She fought to keep a smile off her face; the Roamers would soon teach Phelps a lesson.
The cargo doors shuddered to a halt, and a wash of cold air came through them. Baelan’s mother stepped forwards, her hand on his shoulder. He was shivering; he knew their grandmother better than Kerra, and seemed even more frightened.
“Go,” said Phelps. He gestured her to the skywalk, almost a gentleman. She stuck her nose in the air, the way her mother did when she wanted to show disdain, and stepped through.
It was dark outside. Somehow that seemed worse than stepping out into the familiar blue of a Belaudii sky and feeling the heat of the sun on her face. She wrapped her bare arms around herself, fighting the chill in the air.
There were no ships waiting above the skywalk, just a line of soldiers on each parapet, grim-faced, holding rifles. She stumbled forwards, listening for the low sound of ships’ engines, and scanned the sky for any lights. Nothing.
“Get moving.” Phelps’ words were terse, and she could feel the caution radiating off him. He wanted them over to the palace as much as she wanted to fight against going. Baelan huddled against his mother, no use to anyone.
She took one last look at the sky and then across the walkway to the palace, and her stomach churned with a low fear. The Roamers hadn’t come. She was on her own.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lights flared, cascading all around her. Sonly ducked her head, shielding her eyes, but a holo-recorder was shoved in front of her, accompanied by a barrage of questions from behind the recorder.
“Keep going.” Lichio grabbed her elbow, holding it tight, and with his free hand gave a quick signal to his team. “Clear that reporter.”
The security squad pushed the recorder away, and Lichio hurried Sonly along the short walk to their transporter. Questions were shouted from each side but, through long-standing custom, she didn’t answer. Her mouth was so dry, she didn’t think she’d be able to get out much more than a croak anyway. She’d expected some media, yes, but not this amount – they stretched beyond the transporter stand, surrounding it on every side.
Lights continued to flash; voices continued to shout. She reached the transporter. Its gangway was already down and ready for her, but she tried not to rush at the first glimpse of the ship’s interior and safety. It was imperative she didn’t seem rattled – when she reached Abendau, she would need every vestige of control left to her.
She reached the top of the gangway, Lichio just behind her. His squad formed up at the bottom, keeping the press back. Slowly, the gangway retracted into the ship’s belly, and the hatch sealed with a short hiss.
She leaned against the heavy hatchway, relishing the silence. The entire day had been hectic, pulling in favours, preparing in advance of the flight, while all the time the gnawing panic about what might be happening in Abendau grew.
“We need to strap in,” said Lichio. He seemed unflustered by their rush through the media, barely a hair out of place.
She pushed off and went down the narrow access corridor towards the passenger space. The ship, a small corvette, was designed primarily for in-system flights, rather than deep-space, and lacked the luxury of a bigger ship. She’d have requested a Roamer ship to bring her into close orbit of Belaudii before switching ships, but the Roamer fleet had left, informing no one and filing no flight plan. That, more than anything, had started her panicking about Abendau – the whole fleet would only commit if there was a danger to their precious mesh. And if that was the case, it meant Kare – and Kerra – were at risk.
She slid the door to the passenger space open. She had no idea who Lichio had requisitioned the ship from – all he’d told her was he’d had an educating week learning who to ask for what on Ferran. Which was good because, given the accusations surrounding her actions, none of the great families would openly support her by providing a ship. Not even Tortdeniel, who’d supported as far back as the Banned, could be called on. She remembered begging for their help when Kare had been taken, how gently it had been broken to her what had been done to him, how they had given money for the children in the Banned when no one else would. They, of all the families, knew what she’d achieved for the poor, those whom Tortdeniel had long ago taken as their own, giving humanitarian aid to planets in need. If even they did not support her now, her career was ruined, unless she found a way to disprove the allegations – and they’d chosen their attack well, linking it to some of her best-known reforms.
The door slid closed behind her, locking in preparation for liftoff.
“Well, this is cosy.” Lichio sat in one of four bucket seats bolted to the floor. He still looked pale, his face drawn, and the wounds on his hands had only healed to long gashes before he’d discharged himself, but he seemed something like his old self in mood.
He was right about the ship. It was basic – a server-unit provided ship’s rations, the seats and a small workstation were all that adorned the room – but it appeared well-maintained. A hatch at the front of the room led to the control room and pilot’s quarters but it was closed and, she assumed, locked. They wouldn’t see the crew during the flight; their employer would not want them to know who had procured their services.
A second hatch led to a tiny passenger cabin. She went over and stuck her head through, ducking to clear the hatch. At least it had two bunks, even if they were so narrow she’d certainly have to raise the side-bars. They wouldn’t have to sleep in shifts. After the roominess of the Roamer ships, it was hard to remember only the rich could afford even a small personal ship such as this; most citizens relied on the passenger cruisers which shuttled between the more populous planets.
She sat in the second bucket seat and gently nudged Lichio’s long, stretched-out legs out of the way.
“We’d have had more room on a military transport,” she said. Not necessarily more comfort, mind.
“We have to get into Abendau port somehow. I doubt they plan on a red carpet.” He grimaced. “Well, they might if I call ahead and offer my head on a platter. Presumably that’d get me down.” He started to unravel the strapping for his seat. “Ominous amount of this.” He finally got the lap belt sorted and started on the shoulder restraints. “If we could use our own ships to get into Abendau, Kare would
have.” He cursed, spun round and sorted the strapping behind him. “And I certainly wouldn’t be spending two days in a tub.”
“It will be worth it. If it works…”
“If it does, I’ll happily take back my room in the palace and make myself comfy.” His mouth twisted a little at the statement, but she fussed with her own straps rather than responding to his lie – he hated the palace almost as much as Kare did, preferring the military accommodation in the compound, or, as she knew now, the comforts of the Mersor embassy. She finished with her straps, tightened them, and wriggled in the hard seat.
She brought her folio onto her knee and started to sort through the contents: contact details for members of the press and what remained of the Senate of Abendau. Despite the Empress’ dominance in the city, the senators were influential people who still carried support through the city.
She paused; influential people who may have aligned themselves with the new regime, either because there was no other way to influence policy or because of old loyalties.
She read through the names, making a mental note of whom she could trust. She reached Harald’s name. Three months ago, he’d have been top of the list of those to be contacted, but… she remembered the day the photos had been released, and his censure of her. It had been impossible to know for sure, watching him on a screen, if he’d been sincere or coerced. Was she such a bad judge of character? She was risking much on those she made contact with – she had to be sure.
“Lich,” she said. “Harald? What do you think?”
He looked up from his own data pad – the austerity of the ship didn’t seem to be bothering him, despite his words. “I don’t think he betrayed you when the city fell. Certainly, there is no evidence to support any of the Senate being involved with the coup.” His words were slow, though, and careful. “But since…” He shrugged. “I do think he put Abendau before you. Once the pictures were released, he knew what it meant, and that he had to place some space between you and the Senate.”
That, at least, rang true of the Harald she knew – and it would be hard to argue that he hadn’t been right to.
“But I didn’t find much warmth in him,” said Lichio. “Not that he ever had a lot of time for us military types.” He grinned. “I think he reckons we’re all stupid.”
“I was his president; he should have supported me.”
“The Empress may have influenced him.” Lichio looked at the ceiling and pursed his lips. He’d be recalling everything he knew about the senator, she knew, sifting through the information before making a judgement. Finally he looked back at her. “I don’t think you can be sure enough to trust him.”
“His support would make a difference.” Lights over the pilot’s hatch started, racing across, indicating the pre-flight checks were underway. It made it easy to pretend the churning in her stomach was to do with the flight ahead and not the thought of the Empress going through the Senate, turning them against her and making her an outcast from what had been, once, the centre of her life.
Lichio shook his head. “It’s too much of a chance. I’ll get him checked out, though, if it helps. If he is on our side, I’ll let you know.”
“Preparing for launch.” The faceless pilot’s voice came over the ship-comms system.
The engines began to thrum. This time, when her stomach did a somersault, there was no doubting why: she hated launches as much now as when she’d been eighteen and taking her first diplomatic visits for the Banned. Lichio turned his focus to his data pad, annoyingly unconcerned. She pressed back in her seat, her hands gripping the armrests tightly, her lips moving in a silent plea to get the next few minutes over with.
Lichio glanced up. “You’ll be all right.” He tapped his pad. “Once we land, I’m going to make contact with Simone. Kare will have no contingency for getting out of the palace if his mother knows he’s there – the current plan is a quick in-out. It won’t work if he walks into a trap.” He frowned. “Even in the best scenario, the chance of getting out was slim.”
She blinked, more at his bluntness than his words. She knew their truth, from the sadness shrouding Kare before he left, but they hadn’t spoken of it. Lichio’s frank admission, his open allowance of what was to happen, hit harder than it should. “Lichio, I need him out.”
“I’m going to see if I can’t find a way to use your diversion to do just that.” His hands moved independently, flicking across the screen. “I’d like to get the palace under our control, which means Kare needs to be there to claim it back.”
She cleared her throat, coughing past the tightness in it. “So, Lichio, who gets you out?”
He drew in a breath. He looked eighteen, his face pale and shadowed. Whatever answer he might have had was lost as the engines’ noise ripped through the cabin, stopping all conversation. The ship launched, the g-forces strong enough to push her into her seat. The ship wasn’t big enough to cushion any of the launch pressures.
It was some minutes before the familiar lurch in her stomach told her the anti-grav had kicked in, and the ship settled into smoother flight, allowing her to sit straighter. The noise of the engines died away and she turned to Lichio, ready to ask the question again.
“I don’t know,” he said, so quietly she had to strain to hear him. “But I’m going in anyway. What Kare’s doing is right.” He took another deep breath. “If it means I go down beside him, so be it.”
Shadows chased the lines of his face. He was right, this was the moment where they – all of them – had to play their part in the dance. She had to return to Abendau, knowing if she didn’t win through, her daughter could die to pave the way for the Empress’ chosen heir. Kare had to face the demons of his past and free himself from his mother. It stood to reason that Lichio, too, had a part; he’d been in it from the beginning, born to it as she’d been. They stared across at each other, the last le Paynes, and gave twin nods. Let what would be, be.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Kerra stumbled forwards. When she’d been little, she’d loved visiting the skywalk with her nurse. She’d watch the sudden surges of the fountains in the formal garden, the water reaching above the height of the skywalk, and listen to the chinkle of the waterfall in the wild garden. She used to lean over the parapet, as far as she was allowed, and drop credits into the moat that wound underneath.
All that was gone, lost under the reality of the soldiers forcing her forwards. She tried to listen for the waterfall, to do anything other than think about her grandmother waiting. She bet she’d be sitting on the throne Dad used to make the most awful comments about, sending her into giggles until Mum made her leave a function one evening. It would be obscene to see her grandmother where he should be, her cold eyes casting judgement.
She strained, listening for the sound of engines, still not quite believing the Roamers weren’t coming – she was sure they had sensed her and knew where she was. She gave a small sound, not quite of panic so much as loss, and something soft touched her hand; Baelan, his eyes lowered, walked beside her. He took her hand in his, but she pulled it away. It was no use trying to make things right now.
Phelps pushed past them, his steps steady and back straight. Baelan’s mother put one hand on her son’s shoulder, her sad eyes telling Kerra something awful was planned, making her shiver in the chill air.
A soldier prodded her forwards and she kept her head up, looking straight ahead. She might be terrified, but she wasn’t going to show it. She reached the narrowed centre of the walkway, almost halfway across – in moments she’d be passing into the entrance hall of the palace. She focused on each step, each single one, keeping her fears hidden. The last time she’d met her grandmother, she’d been so scared she’d cried. Well, not this time.
“Form up!” The sound of soldiers coming to attention cut through her concentration. They crushed against her, all hard bodies and stern faces. The Empress’ soldiers, remorseless, sworn to do her bidding. Kerra’s bravery faltered. Her steps slowed. She found he
rself reaching for Baelan’s hand, seeking the warm comfort he’d offered. She caught it and tightened her grip around it. He squeezed back, twice, making her look at him and something in his face – the set of his jaw, maybe, or the look in his eye – was so like her father it hurt. She wished he was here, beside her, knowing what to do, but the still night stretched on and he wasn’t coming for her. No one was.
The mesh pulsed, reminding her she wasn’t alone, that she never would be again. She scanned the walkway and began to look for possibilities.
***
“Damn,” said Kare. “It is them.” He put the scope down, his hands shaking. Knowing the children had been taken was one thing, seeing it another. He hadn’t been able to make out the detail of their faces, but there’d been no mistaking their size compared to their escort, and he’d recognised the dark-uniformed figure striding down the skywalk ahead of them. If hate alone could kill a man, surely Phelps would be dead right now. His hands tingled, wanting to have the general under them, and it was all he could do not to pick up his comms unit and order Hickson to take the kids and destroy Phelps, no matter what it cost.
Slowly he unclenched his fists. It had been a good decision to base himself away from the palace: it gave a distance he needed. Even so, the part of him that wanted to lash out and hurt wished he’d been bold enough to try the assault.
Simone touched his arm, her touch stronger than it should be. “There’s nothing you can do now.”
He nodded, glad he’d brought her. Her calm presence had been a blessing. “I know.” He lifted the scope again, tormenting himself by watching, and tried to force himself to calm; he’d serve no one if he didn’t think things through. There was information to be had in how this played out. He sharpened the focus of his scope. The children were approaching the palace. Floodlights came on, making it easier for him to make out their details. Kerra had her head up, not cowed, every inch Sonly’s daughter. He bet she was glaring at the soldiers as she walked. Baelan looked tiny and beaten, but he was walking steadily forwards, a tribal woman at his shoulder, presumably his mother.
