Impact Velocity (The Physics of Falling)

by Leah Petersen

  “No.”

  She made some sound that might have been a choked laugh or genuine choking. I didn’t care.

  “They’re calling me Lore.” I didn’t move or reply. “Hey, I know you can hear me,” she snapped.

  I threw my pillow blindly in her direction. It made no sound against the invisible force field wall. “You’d better learn to shut up,” I said. “If they think we’re banding together they get mean about it.”

  “What?”

  “Us. The targets. There’s an order to it, believe it or not. A rotation. But things don’t go so well if you try to make friends with any of the others. Keep to yourself. You’re safer that way.” I turned my back to her. “And you’d better learn not to cry. That really pisses them off.”

  ***

  I’d been five years at Dead End. When I’d arrived, I stupidly believed my rank would still protect me. Instead it made things worse. Everyone wanted their turn putting the former noble in his place. I thought I was going to die. That I’d be beaten and raped until finally someone went too far. But after a couple of months, inexplicably it stopped.

  Someone explained to me later that the inmates had their own set of unwritten rules. We were stuck out here, discarded and forgotten, consigned to manual labor until the day we were spaced. This same group of people would be together for a long time. They maintained a sort of equilibrium.

  There were three people who were untouchable. The three gang leaders, and their chosen favorites, ruled with a dedication and consistency to rival any palace official. Everyone else beat or got beaten, took or got taken as they could, or couldn’t avoid. But no one bully or gang was allowed to get too strong or too greedy. Those of us firmly at the bottom of the hierarchy were protected to some extent. We could be targeted only so often and for so long before someone would step in and put a stop to it. For a while.

  But even without the violence, the other inmates still made my life a living hell in every way they could, small and large. I was afraid all the time, I hid in my cell every chance I got, and I barely slept.

  At some point it began to taper off, a year, maybe more. I wasn’t a novelty anymore. I fell into my place among the small fish and the victims and went on with what passed for my life, always dreading when it would be my turn again.

  ***

  We were being supervised in the showers. I was taking the opportunity to use the toilet while there were guards on watch, and was just about to leave when Hix came running in.

  “He’s dead!” he shouted. “The emperor. They killed him!”

  I stopped, shocked rigid. The emperor? Impossible. With all of the ambitious, empire-changing schemes The Patriot’s other followers and I had come up with, assassinating the emperor was never even discussed. Who could? Who would?

  One of the guards cut a glance at me, his face set and hard. I threw up my hands in front of me, falling back a step.

  “I had nothing to do with it.” He didn’t look terribly convinced, advancing on me. My voice came out in a squeak. “Do you think I’d still be here, like this, if I could even communicate with the people who could do something like that?”

  “How did it happen?” Enten asked. He was a sickly color, his face bleak, and I wondered why he cared. The emperor wasn’t exactly popular around here.

  “Don’t know,” Hix said. “Just overheard it in the captain’s office.”

  One of the guards shook him. “You’ve got no business spreading tales. You probably didn’t even hear it right. No one could—”

  He was cut off by the shriek of the emergency alarm. The guards snapped back into cold efficiency like trained animals.

  “Back to your cells. Go! Move!”

  I felt heavy and nauseated. Hix had overheard no idle speculation. Spreading unofficial word of the assassination of any of the Imperial Family was treason punishable by death. If the captain had received word of it, then Rikhart IV was truly dead.

  My knees were weak. “What about the rest of the family?”

  A guard slammed the butt of his weapon into my back. I pitched forward with a pained grunt, only just keeping on my feet.

  “Shut up.”

  The growled warning thrummed with barely checked violence. Did they think I asked because of Dawes? In a vague, ever-present way I hoped to hear that he was dead as well, but the question had been driven by concern for someone else entirely.

  My son was counted among the emperor’s family.

  The need to know burned within me, but I wasn’t stupid enough to ask again. I concentrated on remaining upright as I was herded back to the barracks with the rest of the prisoners, lightheaded with a whole new fear.

  ***

  Kafe sidled up beside me. “Interesting news,” she said with a casual, almost bored expression. A guard snapped at her to shut her up. She glared at him—she had enough power to get away with that much—but didn’t say any more.

  I walked faster. No doubt she had little care for who ruled the empire. Perhaps she even enjoyed the thought of this emperor being brought down—a line of rulers stretching back centuries, my own line tangled through it a dozen times. I entered my cell, watching the force field snap back into place. It was a moment of zen I usually clung to. This time I flinched.

  The alert signal sounded and projections appeared on each wall. The Imperial crest filled the screen in front of a rippling black backdrop. The mournful sound of bagpipes filled the room.

  Citizens of the Empire. Today the greatest of tragedies has befallen us. Emperor Rikhart IV is dead.

  The silence was absolute and shocking, as if no one breathed. Across the room, someone barked a laugh.

  “Live forever, my ass!”

  The other inmates joined in, laughing, flipping up middle fingers at the screen where a picture of Rikhart IV was displayed so that the entire empire could observe ten minutes of silence at the passing of our emperor. Apparently Dead End didn’t count. Even though the guards stalked about, threatening and shouting, the prisoners just escalated.

  “Too bad he died before I could get a piece of that!” Bait yelled, grabbing his crotch and laughing.

  I fell back on my cot, staring at the gray ceiling that was so familiar now, fighting back tears I hadn’t given in to in years. The emperor was dead, and this was their tribute to him. For years these thugs had erased from me any trace of nobility or connection with that world. Despite all the horrors I’d survived, all the indignities I’d suffered, the way they desecrated and defiled the most important symbol of the system in which I had been great was somehow the most unbearable.

  I wrapped my arms around my head and tried to hear the silence everywhere else in the empire. The skirl of bagpipes signaled the end of the period of silence. The last note faded and with it the mockery, as if it had been only for show, and there was no heart to sustain it.

  “What does that mean?” someone down the line asked.

  “They didn’t say anything.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  My neighbor pivoted on his cot, speaking to me for what must have been the first time since I arrived. “They didn’t say anything about the next ruler. What does it mean, Eight?”

  I fought to keep my voice steady. “It means nothing.”

  “They always say ‘Long live’ and the name of the next one. Always.”

  “You’re an expert on Imperial transitions?” I snapped, too dizzy with emotion to be prudent.

  “You know what I mean.” Any other day he would have insulted me, threatened me for talking to him that way. Now he didn’t seem to notice. “Last time, when Charles XVII died, they said ‘Long live Emperor Rikhart IV.’ You know they did.”

  I scowled. “Of course. We knew Charles XVII was dying. This must have happened suddenly.”

  “Min says he’d been murdered,” a woman down the row added.
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  “Yeah, and Min’s dumb as shit.”

  “But what if he was?”

  A cold knot of fear lodged in my chest. They were right. There should have been something. Princess Marquilla was the heir, even if she would need a regent. There was no question about the line of succession.

  “Maybe the little princess died, too,” a voice several rows away added.

  “Shut up, Gore!”

  Others joined in. Some stood, as if they would have thrown things at Gore, or worse, if the walls had permitted it. The way that just the suggestion of the Crown Princess’ death sent them into a quivering rage was shocking, since they had just profaned the moment of silence for the emperor. It was raw emotion; a mask for the fear that thrummed with violence in the air.

  If she was dead—bile rose in the back of my throat—then the succession passed to Rikhart’s cousin, Aliana. No. She’d become the Queen of Torrea and was no longer in line. Torrea’s rules of succession were complicated to outsiders, but I knew them very well. My late wife, Hera, would have been in line after her.

  That put Hera’s son in line after the princess. Our son.

  Owen.

  ***

  I put my hands over my face and tried to think about it in a way that didn’t lock my lungs in a vise. If the emperor and the crown princess were both dead, Owen could be dead too. I ground the heels of my hands into my eyes, as if I could force the thought out the back of my head.

  The shriek of a different alarm sliced through the air, startling exclamations and cries out of many of the others. The guards looked as shocked as the rest of us when every force field in the room blinked an angry red, humming audibly. Pained yelps echoed around me as prisoners came into contact with cell walls that were no longer passive.

  “Lockdown in progress.” The announcement rang loud through the room. “Full lockdown in progress. All guards report to Bay 1.”

  Guards snapped to attention, filing out from the barracks to the common area without sparing the prisoners a glance. When the last guard cleared the entryway, a pulsing red force field flashed into place, sealing off the barracks entirely.

  The anxious babble of voices grew louder, swelling into a wave of near-panic. We were well and truly locked in. If no one returned, we would all die here, slowly. We had water but no food. On Dead End, being stranded, helpless, locked into the cage you would die in was a fear we carried with us always.

  We were stuck separately and together in our eight-by-eight cages. The prisoners rapidly and noisily succumbing to fear were pockets of spiraling panic in the midst of a crowd that could do nothing about them. Long minutes melted into an hour, more. Screeches morphed into ragged sobs, tension ratcheting up or ebbing cell by cell.

  I judged that less than two hours had passed before the field isolating the barracks blinked and disappeared and our walls were suddenly colorless and passive again. A company of guards entered the room. They broke into three groups, one lingering at the entrance, two others making separate paths down the rows of cells. One group stopped in front of my cell.

  “E28. Up. Let’s go.”

  The guards weren’t known for their patience. One simply stepped into my cell and grabbed my arm, hauling me upright. Half-panicked myself, I jerked out of his grip as soon as I was standing.

  “What’s going on?”

  His gun slammed hard into my side with a crack. I doubled over my ribs, hoping nothing was broken. Stupid. Careless. I panted against the pain.

  He grabbed my arm and jerked me up again. I bit back a yelp and did my best to appear as if I weren’t half-leaning into him, and that the quick shuffle out of my cell was my own idea.

  After decades of playing the most sophisticated games of politics and intrigue—on a scale no smaller than the empire itself, with stakes that were quite literally life-and-death—sometimes it appalled me to realize what I’d been reduced to.

  I was steered out of the barracks and into the hall. Across the room, the second group of guards approached with Kafe in their middle.

  “If you think I had anything to do with this, you’re crazy,” she protested to no one who was listening. In wordless precision they marched us through the prison common areas and on. We passed into corridors I hadn’t seen since I’d been processed, and passed through into the prison proper. The surreal feeling of reliving that experience crawled up my spine and prickled as goosebumps on my arms.

  We came to a stop in front of the wide metal doors to one of the receiving bays and for a brief, panicky moment, I wondered if Kafe and I were about to be spaced. But the doors opened to bright lights and slightly stale air and a sight that nearly bowled me over with shock.

  “Blaine. So good to see you again.”

  It was the Grand Duke Laudley. My father-in-law.

  I was ordered to write this account of that period in imperial history, and the events I was privy to. I do not think it was intended as a punishment, but writing of those days on Dead End feels like one.

  iv10

  Who’s this?” Kafe said.

  It took no effort to ignore her. My satisfaction grew as Laudley did the same.

  “I assume you intend to have this conversation in private?” I said, astonished at the way his mere presence brought back a certain amount of calm assurance to my voice. He nodded, a smile creasing his face. He turned to Captain Saubers.

  “Your loyalty to the empire is to be trusted, as before?”

  “Of course,” the captain said. “The automated safeguards are already in place. I will be speaking to the guards immediately. None shall hear of your visit, Your Grace.”

  Laudley nodded, perfectly imperious and controlled. The captain bowed.

  “May the empero—” The captain blanched. “May the empire stand forever.”

  Laudley wore an expression of grave sympathy. “May the empire stand forever.”

  The guards followed the captain out. I tried not to watch, but the temptation was oddly compelling, an almost-fear at watching them leave. I didn’t even understand why. Wasn’t this what I’d longed for every day since I’d arrived?

  Or had I? At some point, years ago, I’d lost hope. I hadn’t longed for this because I hadn’t even considered it. Rescue from this hell seemed its own new and frightening thing.

  I turned back to Laudley. A quirk of amusement twisted the corner of his mouth and ice clamped over my heart. I could not afford to show weakness. Not now. Not again.

  The Grand Duke gestured toward his ship. “Shall we?”

  I straightened, ignoring the stab of pain in my ribs, and walked out of that storage bay, that facility, and I meant it to be forever.

  Kafe, still unacknowledged, trailed in our wake. As soon as we passed the doors to Laudley’s ship, two of his guards flanked her.

  “This way.”

  “What’s going on?” she demanded, but the Grand Duke and I were already walking away, and if she was given any answer, I didn’t hear it.

  Laudley led me into a sumptuous lounge, the lavish furnishings and tastefully exquisite decorations set against the backdrop of space beyond the great windows in the outer wall. I looked away with a jerk. I had become quite familiar with that view in the last few years.

  If Laudley noticed my discomfort, he gave no sign of it. I chose the nearest settee and sank into it with a grunt of pain I tried to turn into a sigh. The seat was soft and decadent, and it had been far, far too long.

  “I suppose you will appreciate that more than most, just now?” Laudley said, as if reading my thoughts.

  “What took you so long to get here?” I replied.

  His expressions were always subdued, guarded, and he betrayed no reaction to the question. “I had to kill the emperor first. That is not as easy as it sounds.”

  The casual flippancy took my breath away. That he could admit to having don
e such a thing was unnerving. That he sounded so blasé about it was horrifying.

  “That was a surprising move on your part,” I said, forcing my voice steady, emotionless. “Even when you invented The Patriot I never realized your ambitions were so grand.”

  His eyebrow quirked. “Oh, I think you did.”

  Did I? I scanned my memory for any hint, any clue. I found none. And yet, I had a horrible suspicion that I’d never known of his plans not because he’d never hinted at them, but because I hadn’t wanted to see. In any case, that wasn’t a path of conversation I was willing to go down just yet.

  “How long have you known I was here?”

  He scoffed. “Since the beginning.”

  I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. “You—” Horror was thick and choking. “You knew all this time?”

  “Of course. You think I fell for that farce of an execution? Ridiculous.”

  “I’ve been out here—” I spluttered. “At any time you could have come and—”

  “The time wasn’t right. I had other considerations, Enryn.”

  I surged to my feet, clenching my fists to keep my hands away from his neck. “Do you have any idea the hell I’ve lived?”

  His expression was bland, mildly surprised at my reaction, but his eyes were knowing. Of course he knew. If he could assassinate an emperor and break me out of a secret labor camp, of course he could access security feeds. He would have seen.

  He watched the realization spread through me. “Naturally I had to make sure you weren’t…damaged beyond usefulness.”

  My hand was trembling with fury and I realized I was rubbing the just-healing cut above my eyebrow. It would leave a scar. There’d been a scar there already. I couldn’t even remember which time I’d gotten that first one. I squeezed my eyes closed—it tugged at the cut—and forced myself to calmness. You don’t care. It doesn’t matter.

  A huge shudder gripped me when I realized I’d fallen back on the mantra. No. Never again. I sat down.

  “Where is Owen?” I said, my voice hoarse.

  The briefest flicker of frustration crossed his face. “He is well, and quite safe, I imagine. In some sense of the word.”