Starfall: A Starstruck Novel

by Hiatt, Brenda

  “When you did achieve that two-way kind of communication, what kinds of things did you, um, talk about?”

  “Their primary interest was the status of this colony: population, air quality, food and power reserves. At irregular intervals, they have specifically requested updates on these things. I initially shared that data directly, after absorbing it myself but later a data port was installed per the Grentl’s request and instructions to allow for more efficient transmission of numerical data. Consult one of the Grentl-cleared Engineers for further instruction on use of the data port should it be needed.”

  Not that there were any Grentl-cleared Engineers now that Eric was dead. It wasn’t something I needed to know right now, anyway. Unless the Grentl did want a report?

  “When was the last report sent?”

  Aerleas abruptly dissolved, to be replaced by my grandfather, Leontine. “Most recent contact with the Grentl occurred in the seventy-second year of Sovereign Leontine’s reign.” He sounded just as mechanical as Aerleas had, showing no sign he recognized me. Which made sense, since this was a totally separate Archive. Still, it fleetingly made me think of how Rigel would act if I ever saw him again. I quickly forced my mind back to the matter at hand.

  “The seventy-second… Um, how long ago was that? In Earth years?”

  “Forty-six Earth years.”

  “And what was communicated then?”

  “The Grentl requested an update on the colony’s status, which I provided as a data file. Displaying now. For security reasons, no text may be transferred from this Archive to any other storage medium.”

  A large rectangular screen replaced Leontine’s image, black print on a white background, filled with statistics on the colony’s status at the time. At the end a narrative summary briefly outlined changes since the prior report, thirty-four years earlier.

  Power reserves had declined, which had been compensated for by consolidating three villages and putting two others on reduced energy—now voluntarily inhabited by technophobes, I knew. Government structure was mentioned in just a sentence or two, noting a slight shift in fine representation in the opposite direction from how I hoped to move things. No mention whatsoever of Earth or the Echtrans there. Odd, since I knew they’d been involved in the first Moon landings, which would have happened fairly recently when this last report was written.

  Curious, I inquired about that omission.

  Leontine’s image reappeared. “Sovereign Aerleas cautioned me against mentioning any contact with Earth. She believed, based on years of communication with the Grentl, that such information might provoke them to take measures against either Earth or Nuath to prevent further interaction.”

  Yikes. They’d definitely learned about it from me, and from Faxon, too. “Um, why?”

  “She intentionally never told me what specific risks she perceived, as I was never able to learn her method of shielding my own thoughts from the Grentl. It is why I sent my reports via the data port rather than directly, as she had. As contact with Earth continued to increase over the course of my reign, filtered reports seemed safest, given Aerleas’s concerns.”

  Good to know about that option…if it wasn’t already too late.

  “How often do the Grentl ask for reports?”

  “The time between requests varies. On average, every thirty-nine Earth years.”

  Past time for another one, then, which was probably why they activated the device to begin with. If I sent their overdue report, maybe they wouldn’t come here in person after all? It was definitely worth a try!

  “Where can I find all the data I’ll need for a new report?”

  “All data is available at any Sovereign’s request. Method of retrieval is addressed in the main Archive.”

  Wow, this Archive really was limited strictly to the Grentl!

  “Thanks,” I said, even though it wouldn’t matter to this stripped-down version of my grandfather. “Chartlann fionragh.”

  5

  Intrinsic error

  According to the clock on my bedroom vidscreen, it was past one in the morning—and I had to be at another stupid breakfast meeting at eight. Even so, I went ahead and popped the Grentl Archive out of the Scepter, replaced it with the main Archive and activated it, smiling as the more lifelike version of my grandfather appeared in front of me.

  “Emileia.” He smiled, too. “You now have the information you require?”

  “Some of it,” I told him. “I need to know how to call up all the colony data so I can put together a report for the…you know.”

  “Certainly. Have you set up your secure channel yet?”

  There was so much I didn’t know! Stuff that only prior Sovereigns could tell me. From all I’d read, I was the first Sovereign ever who hadn’t been mentored by a Sovereign parent or grandparent for at least a few years before being Acclaimed. “Um, no. How do I do that?”

  At his direction, I activated a sub-menu on my vidscreen, created a password (not “cornfield”) and secured it genetically with a touch on the control pad. Next, he showed me how to access every database on the planet, pointing out which ones I’d need to compile my report—though without ever mentioning the Grentl by name. We kept at it until after two, by which time I was too tired to think straight.

  Finally, regretfully, I said goodnight to my grandfather and deactivated the Archive, vowing to continue as soon as possible.

  * * *

  Unfortunately, the next day was frustratingly like the one before. As I hurried from appointment to appointment, I started to wonder if Mr. O was trying to bore me to death, just so I’d hurry up and appoint him Regent. The fact that Sean and Molly had been excused again today—this time to go sightseeing—lent weight to my cynical theory.

  If that really was his plan, it just might work. Rather than painstakingly evaluate all the eligible candidates, I was increasingly tempted to simply give the job to Mr. O so I could hand off all this dull, day-to-day stuff and devote my time to more important things—like preparing that report for the Grentl.

  “I thought you were going to schedule me enough free time to figure out that Archive?” I finally whispered on the way from one stupid meeting to the next.

  He looked sharply at me. “Have you made any progress?”

  “I, um, haven’t really had a chance,” I fudged, since Leontine had more or less sworn me to secrecy. “That’s kind of my point.”

  Mr. O nodded thoughtfully and pulled out his omni. “While I think it’s likely we needn’t worry any time soon, it would be best to verify that. I’ll free up tomorrow morning for you to work on the problem.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  Molly was bubbling with excitement when she and Sean joined us in my living room late that afternoon. “M, you have got to see the Central Pillar! It’s so cool, how far up it goes—like a whole mile! And there are these murals all over the sides that look really old.”

  “Not that we could get very close, what with that protest going on.” Sean sent a worried look at his father.

  “Protest?” Already Mr. O was reaching for the remote to turn on my main vidscreen.

  Sure enough, the top story was about a Populist rally at the Central Pillar, led by Crevan Erc, head of Nuath’s anti-Royal movement. Nearly three hundred people had attended, though about that many had also gathered to voice their opposition to his platform and their support for me as Sovereign.

  “Hm. No real cause for concern, I’d say, based on their dwindling numbers.” Mr. O sounded relieved. “Still, I suppose they may bear watching.”

  He was about to switch off the vidscreen when I suddenly glimpsed a familiar name among the various headlines in the sidebar. “Morag Teague releases statement.”

  “Why is Rigel’s grandmother in the news?” I exclaimed, pointing.

  Mr. O hesitated for a moment, then clicked on the story. The new screen showed a smiling Morag Teague (which was nearly as weird as seeing my Aunt Theresa smiling) giving what seem
ed to be a prepared speech.

  “Fellow Nuathans, I am pleased to report that my grandson, Rigel Stuart, has unequivocally proven that he values Nuath’s welfare above his own desires. Rather than risk undermining Sovereign Emileia’s transition to her new role, or her relationship with her intended Consort, Rigel has elected to have all memory of his association with her erased. In addition, he has left Nuath permanently, returning to his parents on Earth. Needless to say, I am very proud of my grandson for making such a selfless decision. He has shown himself a credit to both our family name and to his race. I hope all Nuath will forgive and forget Rigel’s prior poor judgments, as I have done. Thank you.”

  My stomach began to churn. How dared she? Wasn’t it bad enough that Rigel had abandoned me when I needed him so badly? Now, with Morag’s smug public statement, all Nuath knew I’d been ditched. When the video started over again, I grabbed the remote myself and switched it off.

  “That awful, awful woman! I wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow brainwashed Rigel into doing what he did.”

  Mr. O frowned. “It’s conceivable Morag helped to persuade him to such a sensible course, Excellency, but ‘brainwash’ is rather a strong term.”

  “Is it? She had those Mind Healers messing with him—”

  I broke off. None of them knew about the one private omni conversation Rigel and I had managed after his grandmother snatched him away.

  She and Mr. O had only convinced Rigel to go with her by insisting it would be the best thing for me. Had his grandmother and her Mind Healer buddies taken that a step further, insisting a memory wipe would also be to my advantage?

  During our very last conversation, though, Rigel had sworn he’d never let them undo our bond, no matter what. Another broken promise…

  Mr. O was talking about my schedule again but I barely heard him. My mind was too busy vacillating between fury at Morag Teague and renewed pain at Rigel’s betrayal.

  “…since no one else is authorized to attend those meetings in your stead. Unless you’ve given more thought to the matter of naming a Regent?”

  With an effort, I shook free of my agonized thoughts to focus on his words. “With the schedule I’ve had the past two days? I’ve barely had time to breathe.”

  Though he hid it well, I sensed his disappointment. He really did want me to appoint him. But then Mrs. O would come to Mars and I’d be even less likely to ever return to Earth and see Rigel again. If there was even the slightest chance he hadn’t made that choice completely of his own free will…

  Still, I couldn’t imagine getting to know any of the other Regent candidates as well as I already knew Mr. O. And anyone else qualified would probably feel as strongly as he did about me staying in Nuath. Why was I even hesitating?

  “I’ll try to make a decision soon,” I promised. “I’ll review those videos and go over all the names right after I work on the, uh, Grentl thing.”

  * * *

  That evening I left the Palace for the very first time since getting Acclaimed, to attend a gala reception being thrown by half a dozen Royals who were celebrating their recent return to Nuath after several years of “exile” on Earth—at least, that’s how they worded it on the invitation Mr. O’Gara forwarded to me.

  “This evening should be a bit livelier than what you’ve had to endure so far,” he assured me, seeming more relaxed than I’d seen him since leaving Indiana. “The O’Derrys used to be famous for their parties and I can guarantee there’ll be music.”

  He was right. The venue turned out to be a glittering ballroom on the second floor of the Culture Ministry building, decorated by displays of Nuathan art representing the past two thousand-plus years. I examined the paintings on the walls and the sculptures on pedestals with interest, since the earliest ones, in particular, were dramatically different from any classical or even ancient art I’d seen in books on Earth.

  And, as Mr. O had promised, there was music. Much of it sounded distinctly Irish—upbeat tunes with fiddles and flutes—but some pieces reminded me more of African or maybe Arabian stuff. I didn’t have enough musical background to guess any better than that but I enjoyed it—or would have, if I hadn’t kept remembering Morag Teague’s nasty public statement and imagining all the other guests pitying me.

  At one point, when Mr. O wasn’t watching, Sean managed to slip me a glass of spakriga, Nuath’s answer to champagne.

  “Just don’t tell my dad,” he cautioned, his bright blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “I figured after the past couple of days you could stand to relax and loosen up a little, eh?”

  No kidding! Undeterred by Cormac’s frown, I downed it quickly, before Mr. O could see me and confiscate it. Bubbly and slightly sweet, it only made me sputter a little.

  “Mm, it’s really good,” I exaggerated, since Sean was clearly waiting for my reaction. Not that I’d ever had anything else alcoholic to compare it to.

  The spakriga did relax me, I realized a short time later. Mr. O’Gara was back at my elbow, guiding me toward or away from certain people, depending on whether he thought they were ones I needed to talk to or avoid. I found myself smiling a bit more easily and answering a bit more freely than usual—probably no bad thing.

  Near the end of the evening, though, the music started to seem too loud and my responses to people grew shorter and more stilted. As my artificially high spirits soured, I became angrier than ever at Rigel for what he’d done to me, and at his grandmother for talking him into it, then telling the world.

  I was especially pissed at Gordon Nolan. He was more at fault than anyone, since without his interference there never would have been a scandal in the first place and Rigel would still be my Bodyguard. Now that I was Sovereign, maybe I could somehow make Gordon pay—and I was in just the mood to do it. Not that I’d seen him since the day I was Installed.

  “Guess Gordon didn’t have the guts to come tonight,” I snarked to Mr. O and Sean, glancing around the big room. My head was starting to ache slightly, probably from that stupid glass of spakriga.

  Nola O’Derry, our hostess, overheard me and laughed. “Ah, Excellency, I did hear you and Gordon Nolan had a bit of a falling out. Not that I blame you. Unpleasant man. Shifty eyes. But you needn’t worry he’ll cross your path again anytime soon. He left this morning for Earth aboard the Luminosity. No doubt he thought his prospects better there than here, now you’ve assumed your rightful role.”

  She wandered away, still chuckling—clearly she’d had a lot more spakriga than I had—but I stared after her, my mouth hanging open.

  “This morning?” I rounded on Mr. O. “The Luminosity left this morning?”

  “I, ah, haven’t been following the launch schedules, but apparently so.” I sensed way more discomfort from him than showed outwardly. “But even had I known—”

  “You wouldn’t have told me? Why?” But even before he answered, I knew.

  “What would have been the point, Excellency?” He kept his voice low. “It would only have upset you again, to no purpose. Rigel made his choice, and it was a wise one. The sooner you can resign yourself to that, the better.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I whispered fiercely, belatedly realizing people were starting to stare. “You’re not the one who has to—”

  He made an urgent motion to quiet me, then signaled to Cormac to summon our limo. “This is not the place for such a discussion, Excellency. We should make our goodbyes.”

  * * *

  By the time we were all in the hover-limo for the short trip back to the Palace, my first shock had faded somewhat, though my anger remained.

  “Okay, maybe now you can tell me why you never mentioned Rigel was still here in Nuath as recently as this morning when his last message to me said he was already gone. And don’t tell me you didn’t know.” It had been totally obvious he was lying about that, even if I didn’t quite have Mrs. O’s lie-detector ability.

  Mr. O inclined his head. “Very well. Yes, I knew. But surely, had Rigel wanted y
ou to know, he would have told you himself? No doubt he said what he did so that you wouldn’t try to stop him when he knew he was making the right choice.”

  “But—” I stopped, my gut twisting painfully as the truth of his words sank in. When Rigel recorded that awful goodbye message, he must have known he wouldn’t be leaving until days after I received it. He also must have realized that if I knew, I’d go straight to the hospital in Pryderi to demand he stay in Nuath and have his memory restored. And he didn’t want that. Didn’t want me.

  I sank back in my seat, tears of hurt and fury prickling my eyes, but I refused to let them escape. I was Sovereign now and I was not going to cry in front of anyone, not even the O’Garas. Molly and Sean both looked sympathetic, but were they, really? Not until we were pulling into the garage beneath the Palace did I have enough control of my own feelings to probe anyone else’s.

  Mr. O’s were what I expected—still that grim sense of purpose. Molly was as sorry for me as she looked. But Sean…Sean was broadcasting even more inexplicable guilt than he had a couple of nights ago, when he’d defended Rigel against my first surge of anger. He’d told me he felt bad he’d been so hard on Rigel, but now I thought I knew the real reason.

  “You knew too, didn’t you?” I asked him as we made our way through mostly-deserted passageways to the Royal wing of the Palace. “That Rigel hadn’t really left yet?”

  “What? No! I swear I didn’t. I would have told you if I’d known.” Sean frowned at his father.

  “I’m sure Sean had no idea,” Mr O affirmed smoothly. “In any event, the point is now moot.”

  Because Rigel was finally gone beyond recall. No wonder his grandmother’s statement hadn’t been broadcast until today. It also explained why Mr. O had seemed so much more relaxed tonight.

  Before turning down the hallway leading to his and Sean’s quarters, Mr. O paused. “Excellency, as I may be spending less time at your side over the next day or two, it occurs to me that I should have your omni security code, in order to forward any urgent messages.”