Something else occurred to him.
“I think we’re lost,” he said. “This ship is a lot bigger than I remembered...”
Lucy stopped and stared at him without blinking.
“Oh, like you have any idea!” he replied.
From around the corner, Alexander heard his sister’s voice.
“Ah,” he said. “Problem solved.”
Lady Sophia saw Prince Alexander and his ubiquitous bodyguard walk into the observation lounge. She gave the princess a tap on the arm to let her know.
“It’s about time!” Katherine said, nearly jumping from her chair.
“Sorry, sis,” Alexander replied, slouching his shoulders. “I was delayed.”
“Nobody cares!” the princess said. “This is about me, not you!”
Alexander nodded. “That sounds like something Sophia would say.”
“Why yes, darling,” Sophia said, also getting up. “I’ve trained her well.”
“I bet.”
In the awkward silence that followed, Sophia surveyed Alexander’s face and the bruise beneath his eye. Those eyes, she remembered, those eyes...
“I’ve got an idea, Kate” the prince said. “Why don’t you and Lefty go to the bridge and let the Captain know we’re ready to depart?”
“Sure! Why don’t I just give her the grand tour!” the princess said.
“That’d be great,” Alexander replied.
“Fine, come on Lefty, or whatever your name is,” she said.
Katherine headed out of the room. As Lucy, moving to keep up with the princess, came shoulder to shoulder with Lady Sophia, their eyes met. Sophia wasn’t sure, but just for a moment she felt like Alexander’s bodyguard was appraising how much it would take to cut her head off.
When Katherine and Lucy were safely out of earshot, Sophia asked the prince, “Tell me, darling, does your little friend ever speak?”
“Only with people she likes,” Alexander replied.
“I bet she talks to you, “ she said. “I bet she talks to you a lot!”
“It’s strictly professional, Sophie. No need to get jealous. Besides, we’ve been over for a while now.”
“You walked out on me, remember? A girl tends to take that personally.”
“Really?” Alexander said, crossing his arms. “You certainly got back on the social circuit fast enough.”
“It’s important to carefully feather one’s nest,” Sophia replied.
“I’d think your nest was pretty well feathered by now.”
Over the ship-wide channel, a voice spoke over the intercom.
“Attention!” it said, “Prepare for jump.”
As the Victoria slipped into hyperspace, the floor under their feet shuddered and Sophia felt her stomach heave. Although she hated this part of traveling, she’d hate even more letting a good opportunity pass her by. As if fainting, Sophia dropped into Alexander’s waiting arms.
“How clumsy of me,” she said.
“A little obvious, don’t you think?” the prince replied, smiling.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Lady Sophia sensed him drawing near, even as she closed her eyes. His lips, so familiar, touched hers. She missed feeling him so close, surrounding her, enveloping her. She only wished he was willing to stay.
Away from the political intrigues of Regalis, Empress Isabella Montros relished the privacy of the Montros estate on Revenna. It was the family’s largest holding outside of Aldorus, consisting of thousands of acres of remote, wooded hills.
House Montros, like the other Five Families, traced its bloodline all the way back to one of the captains of the original sleeper ships. Over the ensuing centuries, while the other houses grew wealthy through acquisitions in various important sectors of society, the Montros family married into the other houses instead, forming alliances by blood.
As the wife of the reigning emperor, Isabella expected her children to continue the tradition, whether they liked it or not.
Emerging from her private bath at the Revenna estate, Isabella wore a white taffeta gown lined with accents dyed green and interwoven with encrusted jewels. She found three of her courtiers waiting in the salon. Each consort was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in sleeveless tunics exposing their muscular arms. The empress preferred to keep men like them around. They were both pleasing to the eye and handy if a jar needed opening.
One of them, a boy whose name she had forgotten, informed Isabella that her children had arrived and were waiting for her in the music room.
With her three escorts, the empress followed a long breezeway from her quarters to the main structure of the palace. When she entered the Rococo-styled music room, her children were huddled in a group near the piano. Two others, Alexander’s bodyguard and Lady Sophia, were with them.
“Yoo-hoo, children!” Isabella trilled.
Princess Katherine, her mother noticed, was frowning already, but at least Alexander seemed to be in good spirits. Considering his son’s lifestyle, Isabella was not surprised.
“Hello, Mother,” Katherine said. “I’m here as you demanded.”
“And so cheerful, too!” her mother replied. Turning to her three consorts, she said, “Why don’t you boys run along and I’ll meet you in the garden later?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison and left through a pair of French doors.
“Such nice boys,” Isabella said.
“Mother!” Katherine protested.
“Oh, hush,” the empress said. “I’m married, not dead.”
“What about Daddy?”
“Don’t be such a drama queen, child,” Isabella said. “It’s just another benefit of an arranged marriage.”
“I think it’s awful!”
“Honestly, I didn’t realize I raised such a prude. I’m surprised Lady Sophia hasn’t taught you more about the ways of the world...”
“I assure you, Your Majesty,” Sophia said, “I’ve only taught her all my bad habits.”
“I don’t want any part in your marriage schemes,” Katherine said. “I’m not a commodity to be bought and sold.”
“Certainly, dear,” the empress replied, “but things are often more complicated than they seem. You’ll understand better when you’re older.”
“Richard was right about one thing,” Katherine said, pointing at herself, “I’m not a kid anymore! I know what I want and I don’t need anyone telling me what to do!”
Her mother smiled in resignation.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Isabella said. “We can talk about it later.”
“But I want to talk about it—”
“May I make a suggestion?” Lady Sophia asked.
“What is it, dear?” Isabella replied.
“Perhaps we could go on a sightseeing trip to relax everyone,” Sophia said. “Princess Katherine mentioned visiting the Glitter Fields from her trips here as a child. Perhaps we could take the Victoria and see them again?”
The empress clapped her hands in delight.
“That’s a marvelous idea!” she said.
“I haven’t seen those in years...” Alexander admitted.
“Why don’t you go too, Alexander?” his mother suggested.
“Sure, why not?” he replied.
Katherine scowled at him. “Because I hate you.”
“All the more reason!” Alexander said.
The princess stomped her foot.
“Go if you must,” she said, “but we’re not waiting for you this time!”
Katherine and Lady Sophia left the music room through another pair of doors. Once they were gone, Isabella touched her middle child on the arm.
“I’m glad you came,” she said.
“To be honest,” Alexander said, “it was Richard’s idea.”
“You should listen to your brother more often,” Isabella said. “He truly means well.”
“He worries too much about appearances.”
Growing serious, his mother said, “Perhaps
you should, too. There’s no shortage of enemies, Alexander.”
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Alexander said, smiling, “I’ll protect you.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but who will protect you?”
Chapter Twelve
On Eudora Prime, Technotown offered everything a tinker could want, whether she was willing to pay for it or not.
The eight blocks along Emporia Street assaulted a person’s eyes with electronic signs, three stories high, bleeding digital words and images from the roof down to the sidewalk. People, predominantly humans, wandered along, lost in the avalanche of chaotic advertising. Nobles and commoners alike carried bags from whatever store had successfully sucked them in and spat them out again. A few were unaware exactly what they had bought.
Melinda Freck, who everyone called Mel, popped out the doorway of a store specializing in starship parts. Only three feet tall, Mel could barely carry the bulky satchel under her arm as she looked down the busy sidewalk. From a race called the Gnomi, Mel had pointed ears that poked through her light, pink hair. It was a cruel coincidence that the name of her species resembled one from ancient Earth lore, leading to jokes about little red hats and tiny shoes.
Mel began walking leisurely away from the shop entrance until the store owner burst onto the sidewalk, waving his hands and shouting for the police. Mel abandoned the casual approach and ran madly between startled customers. She became aware of a policeman, lumbering after her with a scowl on his broad, meaty face. In his sausage-like fingers, he carried a shock baton crackling with electricity.
Mel knew all about what humans thought of her kind. The Gnomi had a reputation for snatching whatever machines they could get their hands on. They liked to fiddle with devices and make them better. Of course, they would also resell them for a profit, but a girl had to make a living...
Turning a corner, Mel narrowly missed a woman holding groceries. The rotund policeman, close behind, plowed into the woman at full speed. The bags tore open, sending oranges rolling across the pavement. Mel dodged the flying produce but felt a tug. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the officer holding the strap of her satchel.
“Crap on a cracker!” she thought, tightening her grip.
Mel pulled hard on the knapsack, but the officer was more than twice her size and nearly dislocated Mel’s shoulder as he yanked on the strap.
“Dirty tinker!” he growled at her.
“Let me go!”
Mel thought her prize was lost, but the woman with the lost oranges began flailing her fists on the officer’s chest. The policeman tried defending himself, but released the satchel in the process.
Making her escape, Mel disappeared with her satchel down an alley and into a culvert. From the darkness of the sewer drain, Mel saw the legs of the policeman stumbling into the alley, but she knew he wouldn’t follow her down there.
The Underdelve was no place for humans.
In the damp tunnels of the sewer, Gen the General Purpose Robot was trying, with limited success, to keep up with her master Orkney Fugg. The robot and the portly Gordian meandered through the dark, dripping passageways of the Underdelve with only strings of lights along the walls for illumination.
Fugg insisted he knew where he was going. He was short with a stocky build and a thick neck. Stubby tusks protruding from his mouth, he grumbled while he walked. Gen was about the same size, but with a curved, feminine frame made from plastic and aluminum. Her metallic feet made tapping sounds on the hard tunnel floor.
“Why didn’t we go to Technotown, Master Fugg?” she asked.
“Too many damn humans,” he muttered.
“You don’t like them?” she asked, practicing the art of small talk.
Without missing a step, Fugg grunted through his hog-like snout, “Hell no.”
“Why?”
“They’re bastards, every one of them,” Fugg said. “Anyway, we can get better prices in the Underdelve.
“Oh, yes,” Gen remembered. “Captain Ramus said you were cheap.”
“Frugal!” Fugg protested. “That Dahl bastard should appreciate what I do for him. Lord knows we can’t afford much!”
The narrow passage opened into a cavernous chamber. The ceiling was a network of interconnected pipes from which crude lighting hung by loose wires. If Technotown had an ugly stepsister, this place was it. Most people just called it the Black Market.
Gen and her frugal companion weaved through a steady throng of undesirables dressed in shabby clothing caked with dirt and foul-smelling sludge. The Market used to be a section of the city sewer, but the denizens of the Underdelve turned it into a bazaar for the downtrodden. Individual stalls, each little more than plywood and sheets of plastic, lined the walls, making for a tight fit in between. An assortment of questionable goods acquired through questionable methods covered each table.
Unlike on the surface, none of the shoppers were human.
“Alright, here it is,” Fugg said.
He was standing in front of a rusted door with the words Freck’s Gizmos and Gadgets welded into the metal. With effort, he pushed the door open and went inside.
Instead of a store, Freck’s workshop was more like a cluttered closet with storage boxes filled with bits of wire and dusty circuit boards. At the center of the mess, a small girl hunched over a work table, sparks like burning fairy dust flying from whatever she was working on.
“Mel,” Fugg said.
Receiving no response, he yelled, “Mel!”
The girl, her hair a disheveled mess from which long, pointed ears protruded, spun around. She pushed a pair of goggles up onto her forehead. In her hands, she held a plasma welder, the flame still burning. “What?”
“Did you get that part I ordered?” Fugg said.
Mel switched off the welder and pulled the goggles off her head, dropping them onto the table.
“Of course.”
She opened a drawer and brought out a satchel. Opening it, she removed a nondescript piece of equipment.
“Any trouble getting it?” Fugg asked.
“Do you care?” she replied.
“Just making friendly conversation, tink.”
Mel glared at him.
Touching Fugg lightly on the shoulder, Gen said, “It’s my understanding that such words are considered offensive by the Gnomi people.”
“Nonsense,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m a Gordian. I can’t be racist. You’re racist for even suggesting it.”
Gen covered her mouth.
“Oh, dear!” she said. “I’m so terribly sorry, Master Fugg!”
“You ain’t offended, are you, sparky?” Fugg asked, winking.
“Of course I am, you fat bastard!” Mel shouted.
Fugg’s mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. “Well, your customer service sucks.”
“Are you buying this or not?” Mel demanded.
“How do I know it works?” Fugg asked.
“You’ve got my money back guarantee. If you’re not 100% satisfied, I’ll steal another one for you.”
“That sounds fair,” Gen remarked.
“Fine,” Fugg said, handing Mel a credit stick. “Here’s the amount we talked about.”
“Need any help installing it?” Mel asked.
“I think I can manage,” Fugg snorted. “I know the Wanderer like the back of my hand. There’s nothing on that heap I haven’t fixed or swapped out.”
“I’m surprised it still flies,” Mel said.
“Stick to your gizmos and whatnots,” Fugg said. “Starships are for men like me.”
“What about you, robot?” Mel said.
“My name’s Gen.”
“Has he tried fixing you yet?”
“Well,” Gen said, “Master Fugg attempted to add an attachment to me, but Captain Ramus said it was indecent.”
Mel’s eyes widened and she stared at the Gordian. “You disgusting pig!”
“Don’t judge me!” Fugg retorted.
Mel pointed
to the door. “Just get out.”
“With pleasure,” Fugg said.
In the corner of Mel’s workshop, the gears of an old grandfather clock turned, clicking a hammer that chimed five times. Studying herself in a mirror that was cracked in one corner, Mel tried matting down her unwieldy hair. With a shrug, she left the shop and turned toward one of the tunnels leading from the main market into the damp darkness.
Rodents scuttled away as Mel walked purposefully with only a glow stick giving her light. A precious few had ever seen these passageways. They belonged to the wing of the sewer that had fallen into disrepair decades ago, forgotten by whatever maintenance crews might have descended this far below the surface. Nobody came here now.
Almost nobody.
Along the main tunnel, Mel came to a side shaft guarded by a wrought iron gate. She plucked a brass skeleton key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock. It took a little muscle, but she cranked the key a half turn and the lock snapped open. She stepped inside and secured the gate again. Her heart was beating faster.
Up ahead and around the corner, Mel saw a faint light. She could make out a voice, hollow and distorted as it bounced off the moldy, crumbling walls. She put away the glow stick and emerged into a wide chamber with a vaulted ceiling. In the middle of the room, shapes stood facing a stage. While some appeared to be flesh and blood, the rest were robots and androids listening to the speaker on the platform. He was tall with short, curly black hair and dark brown skin. He spoke to the crowd, but Mel felt like he was talking to her. Mel’s face flushed and her smile broadened into a wide grin.
“The history of mankind,” Randall Davidson said, “has been a history of enslavement. From our earliest days, Man has enslaved others to do the labor that he could not, or would not, do himself. From beasts of burden to putting other men in chains, humanity has always subjugated those around it. Eventually they built machines for this; machines made to be slaves.
“The Robot Freedom League believes that no one, organic or cybernetic, should live a life of servitude. It doesn’t matter whether there’s blood in your veins or hydraulic fluid, it’s everyone’s right to be free.”
The crowd murmured in agreement, including the robots, a few of which raised their metal hands in the air.
Imperium Chronicles Box Set Page 12
