by J. M. Page
Alex pulled a face, clearly not buying it, but he shook his head rather than voicing his dissent.
“It’s your skin. Just be careful. Your dear mother would probably come back to haunt me if I let something happen to you.”
Ben smirked. “I’d like to see you try to stop me. It’s bad enough the idiotic bureaucrats have us grounded. I’m not going to let them make me a prisoner of my own city.”
Then, before Alex could respond, Ben turned to Ernsen and leveled a challenge with his eyes. “I’ll prove there’s nothing out there.”
“And if there is?”
“There’s not.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Someone from the back said.
Ben rolled his eyes, not taking the question serious for a moment. “Then I guess it’ll be all over TNN,” he said, pointing up to the scrolling news bulletin hovering over his father giving a speech in the background.
“Stay tuned.”
Later that night, once the palace was asleep, Ben left his quarters and headed for the hangars. Back at the pilot’s club, he’d been quick to agree to this crazy trip, but he never gave any consideration for how exactly he was going to get to the Wastelands. He couldn’t very well walk out there and cross the desert by foot.
As ridiculous as that thought was, thinking he’d be able to get a ship was even more ridiculous.
Ben knew it was a ridiculous thought the moment the door to the hangar came into view, still guarded by two members of the Royal Guard. They were slightly older, one with a scruffy beard and the other a little soft around the middle.
Worth a shot.
Ben strolled toward them with purpose, trying his best to seem nonchalant. One of the guards stiffened as he approached, eyes narrowing, shoulders straightening. He peered into the dim twilight and Ben stepped into the light, his hands up, palm forward, telling them without words ‘I’m not threatening.’
“It’s just me,” he said, his voice even and calm.
“Your Highness,” the bearded guard said with a relieved sigh. “The Grounding—”
Ben held up his hand again, this time to stop the guard’s explanation.
“I know, I know.” Time to try his acting skills. He sighed. “I know I can’t go anywhere, I just… It’s a little silly to admit out loud, but I miss my ship.”
The pot-bellied guard smiled and nodded. “My brother-in-law is a pilot. My poor sister swears he’s in love with that ship more than her. Calls it his ‘other woman,’” he chuckled.
Ben nodded, a smirk turning the corners of his mouth. “It’s a bond unlike any other,” he agreed. “You don’t think I could just… slip in and say hello to her, do you?”
The two guards looked at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation with only their eyes. Seeing the conflict between them, Ben frowned. “No, you’re right, I shouldn—”
“You just want to… look at it, right?” Potbelly asked, earning a glare from Scruffy Beard.
“Five minutes,” Scruffy grumbled, still looking unsure.
Ben tried to keep his expression neutral, to mask the giddy excitement of getting into his ship and leaving the walls, maybe leaving the whole planet behind if he really wanted to go crazy.
What were they going to do? Tell him he couldn’t come back?
The guards both turned, each typing in their own code — both needed to open the door — but before they could finish, the sound of footsteps echoed in the night.
“Dunns, Fristo,” the Captain said with a nod to each guard as he approached. “How are things?”
Both guards whirled around, eyes wide like they’d been caught pilfering sweets. They exchanged another look, and Ben cleared his throat trying to remember the Captain’s name. He’d seen him amongst the King’s advisors before, but now Ben had trouble recalling it.
“Your Highness,” the Captain said, his lips pressed into a thin line as he examined the scene, his steely eyes traveling from Ben to the keypads, still glowing with override codes. Ben spotted Reidin stitched into the Captain’s khaki jumpsuit, his shoulders bore the stripes of his rank.
“How’s the baby, Fristo?” Reidin said, turning to Scruffy Beard.
Fristo shuffled in his boots, still acting shifty and guilty. “Good, sir. Babbling all the time.”
Captain Reidin hmmed and nodded. “Enjoy it while you can. Next thing you know she’ll be a galaxy away studying alien languages and never calling…”
Ben got the impression the Captain wasn’t talking about a hypothetical child as he sighed.
“Why don’t you take the night off. Spend time with your family,” Reidin said.
“Sir?” Fristo looked over to his partner again, not sure if they were in trouble or not.
“I’ll cover your post,” the Captain said, his tone a bit firmer.
Fristo nodded and scurried off, a disbelieving look in his eyes as he looked back over his shoulder every few steps, waiting for the Captain to change his mind.
Ben managed to erase any lingering trace of a frown before Captain Reidin turned back to him.
“An honor to see you as always, Your Highness. Have a pleasant evening.” The graying man gave Ben a crisp nod and swiped his badge over the keypad, taking over for Fristo and erasing the override.
Without a choice, Ben nodded, bade them both goodnight and meandered out into the city proper.
Now what was he going to do? Commandeering his own ship was pretty much the only plan Ben had. He thought of the shame he’d feel if he didn’t even attempt to get out of the city and it made his gut churn. Shame was the least of his worries; he’d never forgive himself if he failed Alex. He’d fought in a dozen battles, commanded hundreds of ships in a delicate three-dimensional ballet, and he’d be damned if a little bureaucratic ban would stop him now. He lived for the adventure and excitement and lately it felt like he was withering, slowly becoming one with the dust, dissolving into nothing of substance and waiting for just a strong wind to carry him away.
Now was the best chance he was probably going to get for a long time and he needed to figure it out.
“Well, hello,” he said, a grin splitting his face.
As if delivered by divinity, a glint of metal under the streetlamp caught his eye: a single-seat hoverspeeder, parked on the roadside in front of a local law enforcement bar. Ben had never been to a law enforcement bar — pilots stuck together, just like nearly every other profession in Terranys — but he could hear the rowdiness inside and wondered if the officer was partaking or responding. If the guy was in there drinking, Ben would be doing him a favor by swiping the speeder. He’d lose his job if he got caught zooming around under the influence.
Just like that, the Crown Prince of Terranys decided to become a thief.
He looked around, searching for any witnesses, but found none and soon, he was behind the controls.
Years in the Space Force taught him how to coax nearly any craft to life and this speeder — an older model — was no exception. Ben thanked his lucky stars that hovercrafts were excluded from the Grounding. Though every other craft was banned, the bureaucrats still needed hovercrafts to get around a city the size of Terranys. Their self-importance finally paid off for him.
He got the speeder up and running and made it to the wall without incident — no one paid any attention to a law enforcement speeder.
The wall that surrounded the city was not actually one solid wall. It was more a series of walls. The first and largest being the interior wall, made out of enormous sandstone blocks thousands of years ago. Ben knew of a tunnel through the interior wall that he’d played in as a child, pretending to be the earliest settlers, exploring desert caves.
The tunnel through the interior wall led to a short gap before another sandstone wall, this one shorter, but thicker. There were no guards at the wall. There didn’t need to be, anyone with sense knew better than to go out into the storms. And there certainly wasn’t anyone trying to come in.
In the past, Ben had m
ade it to the second wall on his most daring days, further than most Terrans ever dreamed of going, but never further than that. Never outside. Because beyond the second wall, there was only the force field that kept the dust away. And past that: a wasted planet.
It was at the force field that Ben paused for thought. Despite Ernsen’s claim, there were no recorded cases of anyone surviving the dust. Stories about the million ways it could kill you had circulated for so many centuries that there was no telling how many of them held kernels of truth. He wouldn’t know until it was too late. He had to make a choice, to turn around to safety or venture forth into uncertainty.
It was never really a choice at all.
“No time like the present,” he said to no one at all.
He edged the speeder toward the crackling perimeter and, holding his breath, accelerated.
Energy sparked and fizzled around the speeder, but the force field didn’t stop his progress and he pushed through to the swirling dust clouds.
And then he let loose.
He punched the throttle, pushing the speeder up to max speed. Being behind the controls again felt like coming home. Nothing had ever felt more right.
He made a beeline for the mines, following the ship’s onboard navigation. He couldn’t see much of anything through the dust and the hovercraft wasn’t built for vast distances — or these conditions.
A blinking red dot told him he was in the right location and he maneuvered the ship through the narrow opening, into the safety of the mine.
The teranite mines operated around the clock, drilling and refining the ore into usable medicine. It was a mineral found nowhere else in the galaxy and happened to have incredible healing properties. Without his weekly does of teranite, Ben’s friend Alex would lose the use of his leg in a couple of months and it would need to be amputated.
Ben couldn’t believe how short-sighted the bureaucrats – and his father – were being about the Grounding. People’s lives were at stake and they were in penthouses, with black market sweets, arguing over hundredths of a percent. Of course the Terran people were losing faith in their government.
He stuffed his pockets with as much teranite as they would hold, knowing it wouldn’t be enough for anyone other than Alex. How many others could benefit from this medicine? He filled his arms with the stuff and carried it back to the speeder, hoping it wasn’t too much weight for the craft.
“That was easier than I thought it would be,” he said, strapping himself back in the pilot’s seat to head back to the city.
As he took off into the dust again, he had to laugh at himself for being so anxious about it. “Modders,” he chuckled. “What a ridiculous idea.”
The speeder zigged and zagged, zoomed and zipped. He skirted around the dunes, waging imaginary battles in his mind. He whizzed through dense clouds, falling into oft-practiced formations and drills. Now that his mission was accomplished, the Prince let loose and enjoyed his flying time.
Ben knew there would be hell to pay when he got back to the city. He knew the officer probably reported the stolen speeder and if the King found out where his son had taken the stolen craft, he’d have a lot to answer for.
Not to mention the reaction the public would have to their prince taking a trip to the Wastelands.
But that didn’t matter. He was just happy to be out of the city and happy to be able to help his friend. To come even this close to flying again, even if it wasn’t quite the same as space flight. He didn’t want to think about consequences or obstacles when he had the opportunity to just be and fly.
Besides, there were some perks to being royal. He wouldn’t be going to prison, for starters.
Somewhere in his maneuvering, Ben looked down at the myriad indicators in front of him and realized something was wrong. The navigation system was his first clue, spinning around aimlessly, unable to find his position.
“Come on.”
He tapped the screen, hoping to coax it into behaving. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of the speeder and he was still too far to see the city walls. Without navigation, he didn’t have much hope of finding it again.
But Ben had too much training to give into panic that quickly. He could sort this out, he still had a working craft. He had the medicine, he’d just have to find another way to navigate.
Of course, that was with the assumption he had a working craft. His assumption was wrong.
The navigation system was only his first clue that something was amiss, and there were many more to follow it. The fine particles of magnetic dust clogged the speeder’s intake and settled on sensitive computer equipment making all instruments unreadable.
Still, it was operational and he’d flown in worse conditions. He could make it back, but he shouldn’t press his luck. That was the conclusion he arrived at.
Unfortunately for the Prince, the hoverspeeder was already compromised beyond hope. He watched anxiously as the panels all flickered and fuzzed to snow and the craft listed to the side, sputtering and coughing.
“You’re not gonna quit on me now,” he said, fighting to maintain control while warning bells blared at him.
The speeder skipped across the sand, jostling Ben as he clamored to find something to brace himself against, ready for impact. It splashed into a great sand dune, sending even more dust into the air as the craft shuddered to a stop.
Ben grunted and ran through his self-assessment, making sure he wasn’t injured before he tried to make the speeder come back to life.
The controls remained unresponsive, screens black and dormant, communications and navigation completely down.
“You wanted an adventure,” he scolded himself.
With a forceful kick, he broke through the windscreen and crawled out on his belly and elbows through twisted metal onto the desert surface.
He shielded his eyes, fighting to make out any shapes in the constant reddish haze present even at night, but finding none. Before he went anywhere, he unzipped his jumpsuit and removed his shirt, fashioning a turban of sorts out of the thin material before he zipped his suit back up. Every particle of dust that whipped around him at supersonic speeds was like a needle in his skin and he’d rather not be exposed to the elements if he could help it.
And with the knowledge that he’d made a horrible mistake, Ben set off walking, only the barest hope that he was headed in the right direction.
Chapter Three
Celine
Celine realized she held her breath and she hurried off in the direction of the struggling craft.
“Do you think they’re okay?” She looked over to Rufus who still hid in his shell, shaking and unresponsive.
“You scaredy bot,” she teased, one eye trained on the ship careening into the sand.
She didn’t even know if the craft was manned or not, but it opened up a whole world of possibilities for her. Between Celine’s infallible arm and the technology in that ship… Maybe she could get off the ground!
It was at least worth a shot. But first, she had to make sure it was safe for her to approach.
The ship dove forward with a lurch and skipped across the sand, finally burying itself into a dune as it came to a complete stop. The exterior was badly damaged and even from her distance, Celine could see there wouldn’t be any hope of getting the thing up and running again in any reasonable amount of time.
She edged nearer, her pulse echoing in her skull, drowning out even the monstrous roar of wind.
She paused, crouched behind one of the sand dunes, concealed from view of the ship. Sand erupted away from the ship in one quick burst and Celine watched in fascination as a figure crawled out, digging through the sand as he went.
He stood then, tall and broad shouldered in a dark gray jumpsuit that wasn’t at all suited for the Wastelands — it left far too much of his skin exposed, including his entire head. He wouldn’t last a minute in these conditions.
But before she gathered her courage to make her presence known, t
he man unzipped his jumpsuit, pulling a thin shirt from his body, baring his torso for the briefest moment.
Celine’s mouth went dry. She’d never before seen such a vast expanse of skin unmarred by mechanical parts. She’d never seen golden skin like his, or tight corded muscles like his.
She’d never seen a man so handsome — or so out of his depth.
He wrapped the shirt around his head, covering his exposed skin, his eyes, and mouth before he zipped his jumpsuit back up.
She watched his movements with awe, wondering where he’d come from and where he was headed.
Before she had a chance to dwell on the thoughts, he started walking. Celine found herself frozen in place and at a loss for what she should do.
The man trudged through the sand, directly towards her. If she didn’t move, he’d stumble right over her.
Trying her best to remain hidden, Celine ducked around the other side of the dune, watching the strange man try to get his bearings before he set off again.
Should she follow him? Warn him? Help him?
He didn’t stand much chance of surviving out in the Wastelands. Not without preparation and he certainly didn’t look prepared.
As the man disappeared, swallowed by the clouds of swirling dust, Celine had to make a choice.
Without wasting any time, she scrambled to her feet and followed in his footsteps, careful to keep her distance.
“Celine,” Rufus hissed, one lens poking out of his body to glare at her with angry red pixels.
She ignored him and trudged on.
“Celine,” he hissed again, more insistent this time. “What are you doing?”
That was a very good question. What was she doing? Following this human stranger for what? To help him find his way home? To watch him succumb to the dust?
Her stomach clenched at that thought and she shook her head.
“I don’t know. Trusting my instincts.”
