Shadow Run

by Michael Miller

  I took a deep breath. Only the truth from now on, I reminded myself. “To be honest, we are in serious need of something to counter the moves our enemies have been making.”

  “You’re talking about the Treznor-Nirmana investment in Dracorte Industries,” Basra murmured. “Their money gives the Dracortes the capital to pursue new opportunities, but if you can’t repay them in time, they’ll gain even more control of your enterprises, won’t they?”

  I looked at him in surprise. Most people had viewed the loan by Treznor-Nirmana as positive news and had no idea about any of the additional stipulations. Basra had a grasp on current events that belied his position. Something about him didn’t add up, which, in a way, also made complete sense. Even his face defied expectations, seeming like a man’s one minute, a woman’s the next, and often somewhere in between. I wondered if he made his living by confusing people senseless.

  “Um…yes, and any missteps on our part will result in losing significant political power. Our family having nothing new to offer at the next Dracorte Conference and Report is something Treznor would dearly love to see. The conference is less than a week away. We’re in a precarious position.”

  “Precarious?” Telu snorted. “Aren’t you, like, the kings of the universe?”

  I suppressed most of a grim smile. “Not quite. My father, Thelarus Dracorte, is the king and steward of our family and this system, which includes both my home planet and yours, and dozens of smaller subsystems and habitable planets in between. But in the scope of the galaxy, he is only one member of the Kings’ Council. The Belarius family leads the council—so if you’re looking for kings of the universe, they’d be the closest.”

  Telu, Arjan, and Qole all looked at me blankly, while both Eton’s and Basra’s flat looks told me not to treat them like idiots. Clearly, the offworlders were more up-to-date on galactic politics, but there wasn’t much I could do to spare them the boredom. The others needed to understand.

  “My family has had a long-standing alliance with Belarius ever since they invented the faster-than-light drive a couple hundred years ago, which was in turn a couple hundred years after the portals imploded in the Great Collapse. With such a technological advance, Belarius launched an empire that no family could rival, only try to join or ally with. My family had remained in possession of the drone network after everything fell apart—albeit with significantly less control over the drones than we’d had previously—and so with our raw materials and Belarius’s new transport capabilities, we were a logical partnership. And it stayed logical…until recently.”

  “Oh, are you slightly less filthy rich than before or something?” Telu sneered.

  “In a word, yes. But more importantly, we’re less useful to Belarius. Our drones, as you know, keep mining no matter what we try to tell them and are still digging up raw material that was long ago rendered obsolete. They’re bringing in fewer and fewer resources of value to us, and we can’t reprogram them. Meanwhile, over the last hundred years or so, the Treznors have developed a manufacturing empire. They now make the best military-grade ships in the systems—like that destroyer we all just became intimately familiar with. They also joined forces a few years ago with the Nirmana family through a marriage alliance, practically doubling their wealth and political clout. They stand to replace the Dracortes as the right hand of the Belarius family empire…unless we do something to maintain Belarius’s interest in us, and thus our preeminence.”

  “And Shadow is your best bet,” Qole murmured. It wasn’t a question.

  I nodded, almost wishing it weren’t true, that I didn’t have to put her through this. But then, if we didn’t find a way to make it safer for everyone, not only would my family suffer…but Qole would, too.

  “You still haven’t given us much of a reason to believe you,” Arjan said, “other than you helping Qole on the destroyer—but, like I said, we were doing just fine until you came along. Why in the systems should we trust you, or even give a single ice-shaving about what happens to you or your rotten family?”

  I put both of my hands on the table, willing the truth, the strength of my conviction, into my words. “Because my family isn’t rotten. I know that no one on Alaxak has any love for the royal families. But this isn’t about the wealthy, or the powerful; it’s about all of us. The systems are in political upheaval, the kind that hasn’t been seen since the Great Collapse. There is one, only one”—I held up a finger—“family with a charter that mandates the greater good, not family prosperity. There is only one family that maintains the precepts of the Unifier and believes that our existence is only here to improve the existence of others.”

  There was silence in the messroom for a moment, and only the languid flame of the Shadow moved. Then Telu started laughing.

  “Oh man, that is such a load of scat. Do you even hear yourself ? Unifier, that’s great. I just…I don’t even know where to start, hey?” She wiped a mock tear from her eye.

  Frustration flashed through me that my speech had gone over so poorly. “I didn’t take you for a Scientist,” I snapped. In some systems, people worshipped science, especially the science that had been lost in the Great Collapse, nearly as devoutly as others worshipped the Great Unifier.

  Telu barked a laugh. “I’m not. No one on Alaxak cares about any of it—Unifier, Science, you name it. We’ve been here since before the Great Collapse. Nothing changes, you all just think it does. We have our family”—she looked around the crew—“and that’s all that matters.”

  I glanced at Qole, who wasn’t giving much away. What in the systems was she thinking? “Well then, you should at least be interested in the very tangible results I can offer. Because things will change, after this. With Shadow as a widely usable resource, Alaxak will experience wealth like it never has—my father would make sure of it. Treznor wouldn’t grant you the same favor, and they will pursue my family’s research if we don’t, in whichever way they see fit. With us in charge, your people will be looked out for, and they’ll prosper. And in the meantime, I’ll repair your ship, keep Qole safe, and help you learn how to survive your Shadow affinity. I promise.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” Eton stood up and moved to the galley. Out of a drawer, he pulled a device with a dozen different kinds of wire attached to four different rotating arms. I watched in bemusement as he quickly assembled them around a bowl and began to feed dried, dark fruit from a bag into a receptacle at the top. He flipped a switch on the device, and it began to whip the fruit into a fine paste over a sheet of parchment paper he placed under the wires. “You make beautiful promises, speeches about the future ahead of you. But the minute something goes wrong, you’ll scramble and crush anyone in your way to protect your own hides.”

  “Is he…cooking?” I looked at the others, who hadn’t even been paying attention.

  “Eton?” Qole glanced at where he was now waving a plasmic heater of some unknown variety over the paste. “Yeah, he’s the ship cook. Why?”

  “I…ah.” I opened my mouth and shut it. Eton, the chef? Words would probably not suffice.

  “I still don’t see why you didn’t just tell me all this in the first place instead of trying to abduct me.” Qole’s gaze was back on her folded hands, and her saying it as calmly as she did twisted my gut.

  “I wanted to, I did.” I tried, I wanted to say, but I didn’t think that would help. I leaned forward over the table, as if that would help my sincerity reach her. “That’s why I got on board this ship, so I could have a chance to earn your trust, convince you, but I ran out of time. My transport was departing and…” I hesitated. “As a prince and heir, I was only granted a limited amount of time for this venture, and even that was difficult to arrange.” That was putting it lightly. “And I have to be back to Dracorva in time for the Dracorte Conference and Report, whether or not I bring back any good news. This is one of my family’s last chances to prove to the galaxy that we’re not a dying star…one of our last opportunities to devote our resource
s to research that could save you and your people, along with us.”

  Qole’s face was as expressionless as Basra’s.

  Frustration flashed through me again. “Look, I have a strict deadline. If I’d told you all this in the bar in Gamut, would you have remotely entertained my request? Without knowing me in the slightest, or trusting me at all?”

  She finally looked at me, her dark brown gaze locking onto mine with the force of a mag-coupling.

  “We still don’t trust you,” Arjan muttered.

  Qole ignored him, and she didn’t break her stare. Then she shifted, blinked, and let out the breath she’d been holding. “No, I wouldn’t have,” she admitted.

  I’d been holding my own breath, and felt nearly dizzied by her sudden concession. Maybe I was getting through to her.

  But she only fell silent afterward, and Arjan shook his head. “Even if you weren’t a maniac, it’s the peak of the fishing season.”

  “I’ll cover your losses on fishing and compensate you well beyond. I know this goes against a lot of what you believe, but things are changing.” I turned back to Qole, appealing to her directly again. “The systems are changing, and your way of life will change too. You can change it for the better.”

  She remained silent but drummed her fingers on her armrest. I hoped that was a sign that she was at least thinking about it.

  Something crashed in the galley, and I twitched in my seat. It wasn’t my fault that any sudden moves from Eton made me jumpy. A platter had slipped from his fingers as he deposited the layer of frothed fruit on top of something cakelike, and now he was picking up the pieces angrily. “Qole, you can’t seriously be considering this royal. Can you not see how dangerous he is? Can’t all of you?”

  “I am dangerous,” I responded evenly. “But the alternative for you, this ship, my family, and Alaxak is much more dangerous.”

  “She’s not thinking about it,” Arjan said. “She’s just thinking about the best way to get rid of him.”

  Telu leveled a stare at me, one that made me nervous with its intensity. But then she said, “Nev does make a certain amount of sense. And we’re going to need money for repairs after the hits we took from that blasted destroyer.”

  Still, Qole was silent.

  “A vote,” Arjan said suddenly. “We can put it to a vote.”

  “All in favor of watching me beat him senseless?” suggested Eton.

  “All in favor of dropping our friend here off somewhere and going back to a normal life?” Arjan amended generously.

  Arjan and Eton raised their hands. Shockingly enough, they were the only two.

  “All in favor of going with him and believing his lies and becoming a lab rat?” Eton snarled.

  Telu snorted. “Well, when you put it like that. How about all in favor of listening to the nice prince with guns and money who probably doesn’t want to kill us but has enemies who probably could?” She raised her hand.

  I felt a disproportionate sense of satisfaction; I had won over a member of Qole’s crew who had been adamantly against me only moments before.

  Arjan looked at Basra. “Bas?”

  Basra shook his head. “Neutral.”

  “Surprising,” Telu said. Arjan looked visibly disappointed.

  “It’s not a vote.” Qole spoke, finally, and stood up. She looked around the room at each of them. “You don’t get to decide what I do, and you don’t get to decide what I do with my ship.”

  “Fine.” Eton let out an exasperated breath. “Captain, what are we going to do?”

  “What I’m going to do is go with Nev.”

  Such relief washed over me that I almost sagged in my chair. I had to remind myself to focus on what she said next.

  “I’ll give each of you the option to stay if you want, but decide now. If you come with me, you remain on the Kaitan, and you listen to me. And that includes you,” she said, meeting my eyes again. “Promise me that you’ll follow my orders, that you will protect this crew and my ship, and that you’ll compensate us for any losses we incur.”

  I nodded, taking my time—no, relishing her clear and steady gaze. “I promise, Captain Qole Uvgamut. You have my word.”

  “Good. We’ll find out what it’s worth. Does anyone want to leave?”

  Everyone else was silent.

  “Good,” she repeated. “Telu, set a course for Luvos and get to sleep. Eton, make some dinner, and wake me up when it’s ready. Everyone else, to your quarters. You need to get some rest as well.”

  Eton nodded. “Do you want something heavier with sauces, or something refreshing?”

  “I want dinner, Eton. Pick something.”

  “Aargh.” He threw his hands in the air, and then set to sharpening a knife by hand, running a flint along the considerable edge. He was as precise in that as he was in a fight, and as my gaze lingered on him, his eyes rose and latched on to mine. I opted to leave. Sleep sounded incredibly nice…but first I wanted to talk to Qole privately. To thank her.

  As I exited the mess room and headed down the hall, I heard Telu’s voice behind me. “Hey, Nev, hold up.”

  I turned around, unable to help my smile. At least I had one other ally on the ship. “What can I do for you?”

  Telu walked up and lowered her voice. “You know I’m a hacker, right?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I’ve noticed. Impressive work, I might add.”

  “You bet I’m good. I had that destroyer compromised and their weapons offline and they never even knew it happened.”

  I blinked. So it hadn’t only been Qole who’d disarmed the destroyer, even though she’d disemboweled it. “That is good. I…That’s impressive. And that was the fastest drone rerouting I’ve ever seen someone pull off.”

  Telu drew nearer. I could see the intensity of both eyes, even through the sweep of her dark hair. “Yeah. So when I say I’m going to hack something, you know that it’s going to happen, hey?”

  I nodded. “That seems like a reasonable statement to make.”

  “It is. So is this.” She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in my ear. “If you ever hurt Qole, I will hack you to pieces. Real small ones.”

  Then she was gone.

  My encounter with Telu hadn’t exactly instilled me with the confidence I would’ve preferred to have to approach Qole alone in her quarters, but there wasn’t anything else for it.

  The messroom was on the second-to-highest level of the ship, with only the bridge above it. This same floor housed Telu’s and Basra’s stations, which Qole overlooked through the grating at her feet. But she wasn’t up on the bridge now, with the ship on autopilot. Below this level were the living quarters and a few maintenance rooms, above only the cargo and containment holds and the engine rooms. I took a metal staircase down.

  Her quarters were the biggest, farthest back down the hall. The riveted door was cracked open, so I hoped that meant visitors were still welcome. I knocked.

  “Hey?” Qole responded, her voice tired.

  Her room was as functional as the ship, equipped with a bed, a plate-metal desk, a trunk, and a few shelves. The only decorations were some faded, ancient-looking photographs—I didn’t even know those existed outside of museums anymore—and a few other obviously old trinkets: bits of braided leather, a string of blue stone beads, and a dented tin mug, together with the photographs. It looked almost like a crude, cobbled-together shrine, flanked as it was by two dim Shadow lanterns. A curious mix of dusty past and dangerous present. A single painted picture also hung on the wall. It was an abstract of a Shadow run, all blacks, purples, and whites.

  I pushed the heavy door farther open to see her sliding down the fur-lined robe she’d borrowed from Telu, baring her tawny, toned arms and the ruined black tank top she’d been wearing since we’d left the destroyer. Her black hair was freed from the constraints of her braid, hanging long and wavy and wild down her back.

  Great Collapse. “Oh—uh, I can go,” I said hurriedly. I took a step back into the door frame
, ready to close the door and run.

  “What do you want?” she snapped.

  What was wrong with me? I was no stranger to a little skin. I’d spoken not only to captains, but generals, kings, and even a few women without much clothing—some of them captains and generals themselves—alone in their quarters at night. There shouldn’t be anything to this. And yet I found myself dallying in her doorway like a nervous cadet, stubbing my toe while I was at it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said right after. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, holding her robe closed with the other. “I’m just tired.”

  “No apologies necessary.” I paused. “May I please have your permission to come in?”

  She smirked at what had to be my formal tone and gave a hilariously incorrect, exaggerated curtsy before plopping herself down on her bed. The bed was a good size, mounded in soft-looking furs. “I can’t believe anyone actually takes the time to talk like that. Don’t you have better things to do?”

  “Oh, it can get far more elaborate.” I bowed my most formal court bow, which was so ridiculously out of place she burst out laughing. The sound was just as incongruous in this room, high and lovely as it echoed off the cold alloy walls. “My lady, if it pleases you, might I request the honor of your presence for a few brief moments of pleasant conversation?”

  “Lady?” She snorted, a sound that nearly, but not quite, ruined all memory of her laughter. “Only if you promise it’ll be pleasant.” Her eyes still glinted with unguarded mirth as she said, “Otherwise I might have to throw you out on your royal posterior.” She laughed again and suddenly looked as young as she was. Systems, she was only seventeen. I kept forgetting, and remembering made me flush. “Posterior—that’s the right word, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I said, blinking in surprise. “You know, your vocabulary is actually quite excellent for…erm…”

  Her smile dropped from her face as if I’d shot it down with plasma missiles.