by Brenda Hiatt
The second he broke the connection I fell back against the pillows, only realizing then how hard I’d been working to appear alert and healthy so Rigel wouldn’t worry even more. As I drifted off to sleep I wondered if he’d been doing the same, or if that new serum worked as well as he claimed.
And whether I really wanted it to.
After that cathartic but frustrating talk with Rigel, I slept like the dead for nearly ten hours. Even so, it was all I could do to drag myself down to breakfast the next morning. Sean greeted me at the elevator and gripped my hand, like he’d been doing every morning. It helped, but I was still achy and yawning when Mr. O startled me with a big smile.
“We had a courier from Morag Teague half an hour ago with this.” He held up a vial and a device that looked like a syringe without a needle. “She says it has been effective for Rigel and hopes you can benefit from it, too.”
“Oh!” I don’t know why I was surprised, when Rigel had promised. “That’s, um, great. How does it work?”
“The message said to administer it as a standard hypospray. I’m no Healer, but I think I can manage it—unless you’d rather call in someone more trained?” Mr. O’Gara hesitated with the vial halfway to the syringe.
I glanced at the others. Sean, still holding my hand, was frowning slightly, while Molly looked hopeful and Cormac was as impassive as always. “I’m fine with you doing it,” I said.
“Shall we, then?” He clicked the vial to the syringe, then, when I nodded my permission, he pressed it against my upper arm. The little hiss startled me but didn’t hurt at all.
“Did she say how long before we’ll know if it works?”
Mr. O glanced at his omni, where I guess he’d saved her message. “Within a few hours. Let’s hope it makes a difference before that round table debate.”
Even as he spoke, I felt—or imagined I felt—a lessening of my headache beyond what Sean’s touch had accomplished. Since the outcome of today’s debate would decide whether or not we had to break the news of the Grentl colony-wide, I really, really hoped what I felt was real and not just wishful thinking.
“Sean, maybe you should keep your distance for the next hour or two, to avoid clouding the results,” his father suggested.
“Oh. Um, yeah. I guess that makes sense.” He reluctantly loosed my hand, worry and a silent plea creasing his brow. “Unless you’d rather I—?”
“No, your dad is right. It’s the only way to know for sure.”
He gave a curt nod and went to sit across the breakfast table instead of beside me like he usually did. Now that he was no longer touching me, I couldn’t feel his conflict as strongly as before, but it was obviously still there. And understandable, I supposed. He really did want me healthy, but if this worked, he’d lose his ironclad excuse to stay close to me—touch me—constantly.
By the time we finished breakfast, it was obvious to everyone that the serum was helping. I’d eaten twice what I had at any one meal since Rigel left, and both Molly and Mr. O remarked on my improved color. My energy and mental clarity were creeping back, too, an even bigger relief. Rigel hadn’t been faking last night after all.
Mr. O had cleared my schedule so we’d have time for some last-minute grilling before this afternoon’s all-important debate. When we finally left for the studio, on the outskirts of Thiaraway, I felt sharper and better prepared than I had all week. But would it be enough to make the difference we needed?
An hour later, I was seated at a long, curved table with my primary opponents: Devyn Kane, Nels Murdoch and Gordon Nolan. Crevan Erc’s petition to be included had been denied on the basis of his fine, so he was already organizing more protests.
The moderator explained to the cameras that he would take questions from a small, hand-picked audience consisting of acting ministers and various other high-ranking Royals who had arrived on Mars over the past week. The one questioned would have ninety seconds to respond, after which each of the others would have one minute to comment.
At first everything proceeded smoothly, the questions touching on the various policy issues Mr. O had prepared me for. I felt like I was acquitting myself well, even with Sean sitting all the way at the back of the room.
“Tell me, Princess,” the acting Minister of Terran Obfuscation asked early on, “how you can possibly oversee the emigration of our people to Earth over the next century without compromising the secrecy my Ministry has worked so hard to maintain, given your background?”
“If anything, Minister, I believe my background will be an advantage. Having been raised as an Earthling, a Duchas, if you will, I know better than most how they think and how much we can risk them discovering without endangering our people’s future there. Believe me, growing up in Jewel, Indiana, gave me firsthand experience of just how bigoted and fearful people can be when they don’t understand something. Small, rural towns are hardly known for being broad-minded.”
A few questioners chuckled, reminding me that while most Nuathans were familiar with American television programs, for many that was the extent of what they knew about us. Maybe I could use that to my advantage.
“Even in ignorant backwaters like Jewel, or, say, Mayberry, people can be educated, if it is done gradually and without condescension. Such education will be essential if our people do not want to live out their lives in hiding or deception. With strictly controlled, gradual release of information, I am confident that our children, or at least our grandchildren, will one day be able to take the prominent place in Earth society that will benefit both them and the Duchas.”
“She makes it sound easy,” Gordon responded the moment I indicated I was done. “But who decides what information gets released, and when? A teenaged girl who grew up, as she says herself, in an ignorant backwater?”
Devyn’s response was less patronizing but essentially the same. “While I have no doubt the Princess’s intentions are good, a leader with a broader, more adult experience of the various facets of Earth culture might be better able to carry her stated goals to fruition.”
Nels, who had never visited Earth, made a different argument. “There is also much to be said for extensive, firsthand knowledge of our own people and what they’ve endured in recent years. Without that, it would be difficult to orchestrate the sort of orderly emigration and education the Princess hopes to achieve.”
So it went, for the next hour and more. The moderator repeatedly reminded the audience that questions could be directed to any of the four of us, but most seemed to be for me. And, as Mr. O had predicted, once the important policy issues had been addressed, the questions became more and more personal—as did the comments from my fellow panelists.
“Yes, yes, you’ve stated repeatedly, Princess, that nothing beyond a kiss occurred between you and your Bodyguard while on the ship.” Gordon’s expression was frankly disbelieving. “Yet we’ve still heard no specifics whatsoever on what did happen behind that closed door. After suffering Faxon’s abuses and lies, Nuathans will no longer tolerate secret dealings by their leaders.”
I looked him straight in the eye. “I’d say hacking into a ship’s security system to violate the privacy of someone’s personal cabin involves ‘secret dealings’ as well, Gordon. Nuathan law does not require a Sovereign, or anyone else in government, to relinquish all claims to privacy in the name of openness. I have admitted that kissing Rigel was an error of judgement—my judgement. I’ve also stated that nothing else of a physical nature occurred between us, either aboard the Quintessence or elsewhere. I still maintain that position.”
“Well said, Princess,” came Devyn’s response. “I have a daughter only a few years older than yourself, and I would not dream of prying into the details of her romantic activities—though in her case, of course, the Sovereign bloodline is not at stake.”
Gordon immediately leaped on that. “In this case, however, that bloodline is of supreme concern. I have spoken with countless Nuathans in recent days and many are reluctant to vote for Acclama
tion without proof that their would-be Sovereign has not been compromised, perhaps even now carrying a mixed-fine child. Are you willing to have your story independently verified, Princess?”
Mutters swept through the audience, some nodding in agreement while others shook their heads and frowned at Gordon. I glanced at Mr. O’Gara, sitting in the back next to Sean. He lifted a shoulder and gave a small nod, as if to say there was only one way to settle this.
Beyond tired of tiptoeing around the issue myself, I lifted my chin and spoke to the whole room. “Yes. Fine. I’ll submit to whatever tests are necessary to prove that I haven’t been ‘compromised.’ Bring in Healers, Geneticists, whoever you trust, and let’s settle this, once and for all.”
After several seconds of stunned silence, Rory Glenn protested from the audience. “Surely no one is suggesting that the Princess herself be subjected to any sort of distasteful or degrading procedure? I, for one, won’t stand for it.”
Nearly everyone in the room seemed to agree, much to my surprise—and secret relief, since a virginity test did sound pretty degrading. Maybe they had some kind of infallible lie detector they could use on me instead? That wouldn’t be nearly as icky. I was about to suggest that when Gordon spoke again.
“Certainly not.” He managed to sound nearly as shocked as Rory had. “The Princess need not be involved at all. With her permission, our Mind Healers can perform a simple memory extraction on the Stuart boy and discover exactly what occurred that fateful night. Then our people will be able to choose a proper course with all facts in hand. Thank you, Princess, for agreeing to set everyone’s minds at rest.”
CHAPTER 32
Pryderi (PREE-dairy) (pop. 1,127): Nuathan town southwest of Thiaraway, home to most major Healing facilities
“What?” I stared at Gordon, aghast. “That’s not what I—” But Mr. O’Gara shook his head urgently from the back of the room, so I broke off. “I mean, we should make sure that’s okay with Rigel and…and his grandmother first, shouldn’t we?”
Gordon just smirked, clearly believing my backpedaling was an admission of guilt. I thought Devyn and Nels both looked a bit smug, as well. Finally, belatedly, the moderator took control again.
“Any details can be worked out later,” he said. Then, to the audience, “Are there any final questions for any of our participants? We have time for one or two more.”
Now that I’d defused the personal issue—at least temporarily—the questioners seemed willing to return to matters of policy. It was good I’d been drilled so thoroughly or I never would have managed coherent responses, I was working so hard not to panic in front of everybody.
Thankfully, after another ten minutes, the debate was over. We each gave our prepared closing statements—again, I was grateful for all that rehearsal—and then the audience members came forward to shake our hands and chat. I excused myself as quickly as I reasonably could, trying to signal to Mr. O that I needed to talk to him now.
He must have caught my frantic silent plea, because he announced loudly, “Anyone with further questions or communications for the Princess, please message me. I need to get her to her next appointment.”
I made my way to his side and he and Sean shepherded me back to the car, Molly and Cormac just a step behind.
Not until we started back to Tullymayne did Mr. O’Gara turn to me, worry creasing his brow. “What is it? I hope you’re not having second thoughts, now that you’ve so effectively undercut one of the main arguments against your Acclamation. I would have suggested this course sooner if I’d thought you’d agree.”
“But I don’t! I thought I was volunteering to have myself tested. I figured it would be embarrassing, but worth it to shut up all the gossip. I never would have suggested it if I’d known they’d go after Rigel!”
Mr. O shrugged. “The traditionalists hold you—your bloodline, at least—in too much respect to allow any tests on you. This is a far better solution and should be just as effective.”
“No, it’s not,” I assured him. “Believe me, we do not want them extracting that particular memory and making it public.”
He frowned—though not as ferociously as Sean did. “But you’ve claimed all along that nothing of significance happened that night. Are you saying now that’s not true?”
“Nothing to ‘compromise the Royal bloodline.’” I used air quotes. “But we did talk about stuff that shouldn’t be made public—unless it’s time for our last-resort backup plan?”
Mr. O’s eyes widened as my meaning penetrated. “But you promised the Echtran Council—”
“Only because that was the only way they’d agree to let Rigel come along. So I…waited till we were already on the ship.”
Sean and Molly looked back and forth between us in growing confusion until Sean broke in angrily. “So you’re saying that you and Stuart really did—?”
“No.” I glared at him just as angrily. “We didn’t. We haven’t. Why does everyone find that so hard to believe?”
“Then what—?”
“Not now, Sean,” his father snapped, still frowning at me. “You’re telling me Rigel knows?”
I nodded. “He was my Bodyguard. It only made sense.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cormac, who was driving, twitch slightly.
“So if they extract his memory of that evening and make it public…”
“Then everyone will know. Yes.”
“Know what?” Sean and Molly demanded together.
Mr. O’Gara huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Matters of state that neither of you are cleared for at this time.”
“Except Stuart knows?” Sean was glowering at me again. “If he knows, why—?”
“I said, not now, Sean,” his father repeated sharply. “While a panic might achieve our ultimate goal, it would be at far too steep a price. No.” He thought hard for a moment. “We’ll simply have to limit who witnesses the extraction and then trust to the common sense and patriotism of those present to prevent word spreading further.”
“Word about what?”
“Not now, Sean. Ah, good, we’re back. I need to make some calls.”
So did I.
The moment we were inside, I excused myself to my room so I could securely text Rigel—though by now he’d probably seen my goof himself, on the news. I also called Eric Eagan, on the off chance he’d missed it. When he didn’t pick up, I left an encrypted message about what Rigel’s memory would reveal.
Mr. O was just setting down his omni when I got back downstairs, looking somewhat relieved. “The memory extraction is set for tomorrow morning and they’ve accepted our conditions. Other than the necessary Healers and Rigel’s grandmother, only Devyn, Gordon and Nels will be present, as will you and I, Princess. The networks will of course petition to have reporters there, but none will be granted admittance. We’ll have to trust your opponents will see the wisdom of keeping what they learn to themselves. I’ve also sent a message to the Echtran Council, apprising them of the situation.”
“Dad…” Sean began. Molly also looked pleadingly from me to her father. Cormac looked as stoic as ever, but I could sense his curiosity, too.
“We might as well tell them,” I said. “I trust Molly and Sean—and Cormac—way more than I trust Gordon Nolan to keep it quiet.”
After a long, tense pause, Mr. O exhaled noisily. “I suppose you’re right. No sense leaving them to speculate.” He turned to the others. “It happens that there is a lot more riding on Emileia’s Acclamation than almost anyone realizes.”
He went on to briefly explain about the Grentl and the threat they posed, to include the power glitches. I watched—and felt—the others’ growing horror, though all three of them did their best to hide it. Interestingly, even though Cormac looked the calmest on the outside, I felt more fear and confusion from him than I did from Sean or even Molly. Maybe because he’d never lived anywhere but Mars?
“So, if Eric Eagan’s prediction is correct,” Mr. O concluded, “the next power failur
e will happen late tomorrow. Assuming he believes what he learns, Nels Murdoch should have time to put extra safeguards in place to minimize the potential damage.”
There was a long silence. Molly was biting her lips, but wasn’t falling to pieces like I’d worried she might. “What…what if M can’t convince the Grentl?” There was only the slightest hint of panic in her voice. “Once she gets Acclaimed, I mean.”
“I’ll just have to make sure I do.” I pretended a lot more confidence than I really felt and was rewarded when her fear started to ebb.
“Dinnertime,” Sean announced before anyone else could voice their worries.
More questions were asked and answered over dinner—I noticed that not even Sean ate quite as much as usual. By the time we’d watched the day’s news recap (I’d edged ahead of Devyn again in the polls) everyone was ready to call it an early night.
Before turning off my light I checked my omni one last time, but unlike last night, no happy surprise awaited me. Neither Rigel nor Eric had responded to my messages. Devoutly hoping tomorrow’s procedure wouldn’t blow up in all our faces, I eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.
Breakfast the next morning was subdued. Sean and Molly were still clearly a bit freaked by last night’s revelations, Mr. O’Gara was deep in thought and I was worried because I still hadn’t heard back from Rigel or Eric. I mentioned the latter worry to Mr. O, who frowned, then shrugged.
“Time enough for that later. There’s little he can do to help until you’re Acclaimed.”
Since they weren’t among the agreed-upon witnesses, Sean and Molly remained behind when Cormac drove Mr. O and me to the Pryderi facility where the memory extraction would take place.
“How will this work, exactly?” I asked on the way there. “Do they, like, download a particular memory into a hard drive or something? How do they know which memory is which?”
“I don’t know all the technical details, but memory engrams have specific characteristics that vary by age, allowing them to pinpoint a time range for a memory. It’s how they erased Allister’s knowledge of the Grentl after he was ejected from the Council in December. As for what they’ll do with it…you’ll see. It’s really rather impressive technology.”
