by Mara Gan
I bit my lip. “Then why do you seem so… unhappy?”
He was silent a moment, tapping a control here and there. “I apologize,” he said finally. “I didn’t realize you could sense that.”
I didn’t correct him on that assumption, instead saying, “Don’t apologize! Just talk to me.”
He laughed. “You can’t pull your Halian psychologist powers on me, Princess,” he said easily. “You can’t offend me, and you can’t heal me.”
“Is there something to heal?”
“Only my pride.”
“What happened to your pride that it needs healing?”
“Just your insinuations that you’ve somehow offended me.”
I threw up my hands in frustration. “Where did you learn to be so infuriating?”
He chuckled. “Relax, Princess,” he said, studying the panels. “I did what I had to, to survive. You did not offend me. What’s done is done.”
I was silent a moment before saying, “Can I… ask you something?”
He nodded, still watching the stars.
“What made you decide to take this job?”
His brow furrowed and he swiveled his chair to look at me thoughtfully. “Now there’s a non sequitur.”
I said nothing, watching him. I had learned the power of remaining silent when I wanted answers, and I wasn’t going to let him hijack the conversation.
He sighed. “I was… bored, little one,” he said at last. “Despite what Gi or Yalan might tell you, the life of a mercenary is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I didn’t realize it was ‘cracked up’ to be anything.”
“You’d be surprised at the appeal mercenary life holds for orphaned street boys on Mathos, Princess,” he murmured, turning back to flying the ship.
I caught my breath. That was more personal information than he’d offered in sum before; other than vague references that may or may not be lies, I knew almost nothing about his past.
“You were orphaned?” I asked softly.
“I never said that.”
“You implied.”
“I imply a lot of things.”
“But….” I faltered, wanting to ask but not wanting to know. “But you were, weren’t you?”
He would not look at me. “A long time ago.”
“How… how old were you?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
He tapped the controls and shifted the ship away from the gravity of a passing comet. “I was five.”
“What happened to your parents?”
He was silent for a moment. “It’s not important.”
I bit my lip. “And… then you lived on the streets?”
He said nothing, continuing to pilot the ship.
“Is this why you have no last name?”
A flash of anger crossed his face. “Sort of.”
“Is it something you’d rather not talk about?”
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “It is not my favorite subject of conversation, no.”
“I understand,” I murmured. “I was taken from my parents before I ever knew them. In a way, I was an orphan too.”
“You never saw your parents?”
I shook my head. “Asteroid to starboard,” I said absently, thinking maybe he’d talk more if I shared a little of my own history. Perseus made the course correction. “I was identified at birth, which is almost unheard of. The Moirae were afraid family would taint my training, make me susceptible to nepotism. I was removed the following day. I never met my parents or my sister.”
“All you knew growing up was—Moirae?” He stared at me. “That must have been horrible.”
I shrugged. “They weren’t so bad. Not exactly the most imaginative bunch in the galaxy, but kind.”
“Who taught you to pilot a ship?”
“One of the Moirae,” I said. “There’s a ship coming up on the port side. Anin was a younger Moirae who had been trained in self-defense and piloting starships. She taught me both.”
“I remember you mentioning that,” Perseus asked, giving a small smile as he made another course correction. “What did you study?”
“Anin was a Da’jahl master,” I replied. “After multiple failures with every kind of weaponry, she gave up and mostly tried to teach me what to do if anyone ever grabbed me, sort of like we did the other night.” I blushed, thinking of the other thing we had done that night, but Perseus appeared not to notice. “She’s also the one who taught me how to use a blaster.”
“I feel a little better now.”
“Don’t get too complacent,” I warned. “As you no doubt noticed, I’m not very good at defense. That’s why I asked for your help. I can use a blaster, but hand to hand…. Not my thing.”
“Why’s that?”
“Too short,” I explained, shrugging. “I’m small, even for a Halian.”
He shook his head. “Small doesn’t mean a damned thing, Princess,” he said, checking his monitors. “As I tried to tell you, it just changes the way you fight.”
“Maybe so, but as you also told me, I don’t have that ‘instinct,’” I replied. “And Anin must have seen that too. She realized quickly that any sort of aggressive self-defense would be pretty much a waste of time for me. She taught me how to get out of a few holds, but mostly she and I did target practice, which I, surprisingly, really liked.”
“You enjoy target practice?” he asked dryly. “You play Dískos, you fly spaceships, and you pick locks. You are quite possibly the strangest princess I’ve ever met.”
“How many princesses have you met?”
“Just you.”
“See? That’s your problem. Never judge a profession by its worst adherents, Protector.”
He scowled good-naturedly at my use of his own words. “My apologies, Princess,” he said, inclining his head in a regal nod. “I shall never make such a mistake again.” He paused. “May I ask you a question?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Of course.”
“Do you think your pheromones are part of the reason you make such a good diplomat?” he asked. “That people are naturally attracted to you?”
I had considered that several times before and figured it had to be part of the equation, but one thing I had learned over the years is that nothing was ever due to one factor. “I suppose,” I replied. “But more likely it’s a combination of pheromones, my empathic abilities, and of course my natural diplomatic talents.” I grinned at him but he ignored me.
“Nevertheless,” he pressed, “do you find yourself with a lot of admirers?”
I shook my head. “No. Not as many as Rania does, anyway,” I said, trying to grin lightheartedly. At his look, I sighed. “There have been some who were interested, but no one has ever pressed an interest. Most of those who have… amorous feelings at first lose them quickly. People get used to the pheromones; it’s only a temporary effect.” I looked out the window. “It’s not like they would be allowed to be with me anyway.”
“Hm.” He scanned the navigational array. “Were there other Halians with empathic and telepathic powers as strong as yours?”
I shrugged. “Gi’s seem to be a little more honed than I remember, but then he’s the first Halian I’ve met since the Destruction. I didn’t really know very many Halians anyway.”
He looked surprised. “You didn’t? Why not?”
“As I said, I was removed from my family home the day after I was born,” I replied. “I’m told I had a mother, a father, and a sister, but I never met them. Most of the Moirae I lived with were from other races. I wasn’t allowed to interact with very many people, just other kids at the monastery—of which there were few, and they… didn’t like me.”
“What?” He was genuinely shocked now. “How—why?”
I shrugged again, absently fiddling with the controls in front of me. “It’s a long story.”
He eyed me for a few moments, then chose to drop it. “Gi told me that emp
athic powers among Halians are sketchy at best,” he said casually. “Yours, however, seem crazy out of control.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yes, except when I’m around you.”
“Still can’t read me, huh?”
I glanced at him. “Actually, it’s more than that,” I said slowly, not sure I should tell him but knowing I was going to anyway. “Not only are you blank to me, but being close to you seems to dull my senses to everyone else too.”
Perseus looked at me in surprise. “Is that so?”
I nodded. “Only when I’m very close. Usually just when you’re”—I swallowed— “touching me.”
His face was carefully blank. “Is that true with other Mathans?”
“No.” I turned back to the controls. “Mathans have excellent control over their emotions, but I can read them. It’s just a little more muted than some other species, like listening to sound underwater. But I can only read you when your emotions are high—as in, really high, like when you wanted to peel the skin off that Zagasian.” Or when he kissed me. I glanced at him sideways, mildly amused, but he showed no reaction. “You are very good at hiding your thoughts and feelings.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “My line of work made it somewhat necessary.” Looking out the window, he said softly, “You’re not so bad at it yourself.”
I rubbed my arm, knowing he meant the Destruction. “I have to be.”
“It’s okay to be angry, you know.”
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t. I’m a diplomat. I can’t be bogged down with my own emotions if I am to help others. Especially when there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Perseus glanced at me, his expression reflecting sadness. “The galaxy is seeking justice for the Destruction,” he said lamely.
“No, they’re not. They’re offering condolences and keeping silent,” I murmured. “Silence isn’t justice.”
Ten years later, no one knew why Halia had been blown up, or even who had done it, but stirring up angry feelings would get me nowhere.
That was part of why I wore the mourning braid, I supposed. I no longer mourned for Halia, not really. I believed in looking forward. But I wore the braid to remind everyone, including myself, that justice came in many forms, but silence was not one of them.
And to remind myself that everyone loses in war.
Everyone.
“What do you think your chances of success with the NTA are?” Perseus asked.
“There’s a tachyon eddy to starboard,” I advised, monitoring the sensors. Perseus nodded and banked to port. “I think my chances are pretty good. The NTA are generally regarded as fairly reasonable; very business-oriented, but they don’t have a history of harming others for their businesses. I think they just want someone to tell them it’s okay before they destroy a planet.”
“And someone telling them it’s not okay will sway them?”
I looked at him seriously. “That’s my hope.”
He smiled. “I’m glad I don’t have your job.”
“Why?”
“Because I would be too prone toward….” He paused, searching for the right words.
“Beating people up?”
“I prefer to think of it as physical persuasion.”
I smiled. “Then I guess it is good you don’t have my job.” I watched him curiously for a moment. “Have you, ah, physically persuaded lots of people before?”
“It’s certainly an effective method for getting information.”
I frowned. “You didn’t exactly answer my question.”
“I know.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The rest of our thirty-two-hour journey passed relatively uneventfully. I slept a little, finally relieved to be free of all the voices and emotions that crowded my head on Galaxia. Perseus claimed he slept although I had my doubts, and we chatted about easy things.
We were landing on the top of a building in a rural area, where the conference was to take place. The NTA had chosen to put their base on the remote location of Kapak for security reasons, and near as we could tell, there was virtually nothing else on this planet, despite its relative habitability. The lone concrete building was perhaps the size of a large department store and set in the middle of a desert.
Naturally, from the sunny, arid landscape, I expected it to be warm when we stepped off the ship, but I was greeted by a cold blast of dry air. I had the unfortunate habit of assuming that “sun” equaled “warmth,” but in the near decade I had spent away from my idyllic, now-destroyed home planet, I was learning this was not always true. Cold seasons apparently existed in full force on some worlds, and Kapak was no exception.
I shielded my eyes from the painfully bright sun as a contingent of thirty or more soldiers greeted us, headed by another man who was clearly a bureaucrat.
The instant I stepped off the ship, a wave of loathing and deception swept over me. I took an involuntary step back, bumping into Perseus.
“We have to go, now,” I said, urgently turning to push him back into the ship.
He didn’t question me, just grabbed my arm and started back toward the gangplank, but soldiers had already moved into position to block our escape.
Perseus swept me behind him and eyed the men circling us. It didn’t take killer instincts or an empath to tell something was not right. I surveyed the men surrounding us, focusing my abilities to figure out what was going on. Why were they treating us like prisoners?
I stepped out to the side of my Protector to get away from the bubble of anti-sense he provided and frowned at the bureaucrat who was clearly in charge. “I am Andromeda, the Princess Harmonia, Heir to Galaxia. I was invited to a discussion on mining rights. What is going on?”
“I know who you are,” the man scoffed. “My name is Rurik, and I have no intention of allowing you to proceed.”
“Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. As I tuned into his thoughts, I understood and my jaw dropped. “There is no meeting,” I breathed. “This was all a ruse to get me here.”
He scowled. “I hate telepaths.”
“This was a ruse?” Perseus said quietly, glancing sideways at me.
“Yes,” I answered, studying Rurik. “There is no lithium-rich planet. The whole thing was made up.”
Wow. All this, just to capture me? The sheer effort boggled the mind. Was I really so despicable?
“You knew she would come with only one guard, since the NTA is so careful about its negotiations, so you invented the entire thing,” Perseus said slowly. “This was all about her.”
“Very astute, Protector.”
“What are your intentions?” Perseus asked, tensing.
Perseus seemed to be taking this news in stride, but I was reeling from the shock. I couldn’t comprehend that someone would go to such lengths for me. Some people placed far more importance on me than I think I truly deserved.
“We are merely holding you until our… client… gets here,” Rurik said. “Our client has plans for you.”
Tension emanated from my Protector’s body; I had no doubt that, if not for me, Perseus could easily get out of this situation. I knew he was fully capable of destroying up to twenty trained soldiers by himself, and more than that was probably still well within his reach. I did not think, however, that he could do so while trying to protect me, and as I had no blaster—my one decent fighting ability—I was an easy target. Again, I cursed my lack of fighting skills, vowing to seek lessons from the Mousai if we got out of this.
I knew, though, that trying to tell my Protector to get out while he still could, would get me absolutely nowhere. He’d never leave. He took his job very seriously.
So we needed a plan B, something that got both of us out of there, preferably in one piece.
Or really, two pieces, since I supposed we were each one piece in ourselves—
I pinched myself and counted to three to stop my rambling thoughts and refocus on the situation.
“Give her this,” Rurik said, handing his aide a
syringe but never lowering his blaster.
Perseus pushed me farther behind him. “The hell you will.”
Luckily for me, Rurik was an easy read. The syringe contained a sedative, meant to numb my senses and put me to sleep, making me useless.
Silently I thanked my mutant ability to absorb medicine. Only Remy, Synie, and Kos knew that sedatives and medicine rarely worked on me. Not for security reasons or anything, just because it had never really come up. Whenever I needed pain meds, Remy just upped my dosage to several times what he would ordinarily give. From the sound of Rurik’s thoughts, this was a powerful sedative, but I had high hopes it wouldn’t do much to me.
It would behoove me to play along, however, lest Rurik decide to get more creative.
“It’s alright, Perseus,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. “It’s just a sedative. He’s going to put me to sleep so I can’t use my empathic and telepathic abilities on him. Rurik despises mind readers; he doesn’t trust me.”
The aide moved forward and I obediently held out my arm. The little man mumbled an apology, glancing at me remorsefully, and guilt roiled through him. This was his job, but he clearly didn’t sympathize with those who would hand me over to a bounty hunter. I smiled gently at him as he flicked the needle and delicately pushed back my sleeve, letting him know as best as I could that I didn’t blame him. I didn’t flinch when he injected me with the clear liquid. He slowly dislodged the contents of the syringe, then withdrew and quickly shuffled back to his place behind Rurik, head hung, staring at his feet.
Perseus watched me carefully. “Princess?”
A dull rush that was not altogether unpleasant spread through my muscles, but other than that, I felt nothing.
But I needed to make a show of it, so I turned to him, trying to look confused. “I’m alright. Just… disoriented.”
“It’s got a bit of a punch to it, doesn’t it?” Rurik said, smiling coldly. “You shouldn’t be able to stand for much longer.”
Thanks for that little bit of information, I thought, pretending to sway on my feet. Perseus wrapped an arm around my waist as I unfocused my eyes.
“Don’t worry, Protector,” he said. “The first dose probably won’t kill her.”
