Shadow Run

by Michael Miller

  He paused, staring off into space as if seeing something else. “There was an audience. I had to stand in front of witnesses, including my parents, while my shoulders were weighted down with heavy sacks. I couldn’t cry or ask for help, and my parents had to watch without pity—proof they had given me up as their child for the greater good of our people.”

  I blinked. “How long did you have to stand there?”

  “All night,” Nev said quietly.

  It was his closed expression that disturbed me more than anything. Like he was living it again, bearing such a load without faltering. “There’s no way a kid could stand like that for hours,” I insisted, as if I could somehow make it so this hadn’t happened to him. “Your muscles would have cramped; you would have fallen.”

  He nodded. “Indeed. I did.”

  “What happened when you did?” I almost didn’t want to know.

  “I would be beaten with batons until I stood up again.”

  My breath caught as if I’d dropped into icy water. These were royals, the people who thought they were better and more sophisticated than everyone else. It was the most barbaric tradition I’d ever heard of. “But you were eight!” I sputtered. “And your parents just watched?”

  “Without lifting a hand to help me or comfort me,” Nev said. “I mean, they couldn’t, that was the point. But while I could tell my mother was trying not to cry, my father stared right at me the entire time without flinching. It was my duty, my rightful burden, in his eyes.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing that’s ever glued on wings and tried to fly.” I couldn’t help the words—and that was the least of what I wanted to say. Picturing the boy version of Nev, trying to make his parents proud like I always tried, but with them right there, standing in front of him, cruel and unyielding in their judgment…it almost seemed better to not have parents.

  Rather than get offended, Nev laughed. But the weight that had settled onto his shoulders with the story didn’t lift. “I know how it must sound to you, but it is my duty. I’ve been training all my life, never mind that I don’t have much of one, or even much opportunity to put my training to use. That’s what bothers me more than anything. I’m supposed to be everything for my people—shield, sword, link to our illustrious past—but so often a ruler just…sits. My parents are crafting me into the perfect instrument, which, upon completion, is put on a shelf.” He acted out the motion with tired arms. “Or, in this case, a throne.”

  I changed the subject, bringing us back into safer territory. “So if you were doing all that, how in the name of the ancestors did you find the time to come dig around in the ice and dirt of Alaxak? We must be the farthest planet in the system from Luvos.”

  “You are, by far.” Nev scrubbed a hand through his hair and then winced when it tugged on his split brow. “And how I managed it is a good question. Probably through some combination of my uncle’s support, family tradition, and pure obstinacy, on my part. I took advantage of something called my Flight—yes, another trial, the second after the Rendering, once the heir comes of age. It’s a solo undertaking for the purpose of advancing the family’s prestige. It could involve anything from discovering an old ruin or a lost bit of history in some dusty archive to besting infamous pirates like my father did.”

  At least this Dracorte family tradition sounded better than beating a child in front of an audience. “And you chose Alaxak.” I snorted, half on purpose to get the look that I got from him—that spark of light, the sharpness, instead of the dull heaviness in his eyes whenever he mentioned his father. “You must not have checked the weather report before scheduling your trip.”

  Nev maintained his wry look. “I wasn’t coming for the weather. I needed to do something, something real, without trainers, instructors, bodyguards, or even my family hovering over me. My uncle’s research has always fascinated me, especially once I realized how much it could benefit us. He supported my bid to come here, since I was one of the few he could trust wouldn’t leak our plan to another family. My father wanted to send someone more experienced, in spite of that risk.” He rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward me. “But I found you. You, your crew, this ship…this has been more real than I ever could have imagined.”

  Now the light in his eyes was so…earnest. It was almost like all this, somehow, was what he would want to be doing more than anything else.

  I was surprised by how good it felt, to have him think of my life as worthwhile, and maybe not just because of any Shadow affinity, but because he saw me.

  He didn’t look away. “We can help each other, Qole, trust me. This isn’t just about my family. I want your planet to thrive as well as ours. I want Arjan to stop being afraid. I want him, Telu, and you to live beyond twenty-five. I want you to have whatever it is you want when you close your eyes and let yourself dream. I want this as much as I’ve ever wanted anything for myself.”

  There was no stopping the sting in my eyes this time. My hope for all that was so tentative and desperate I didn’t want to acknowledge it for fear of losing it.

  Trust him. “I don’t think I could actually put you out an airlock,” I blurted. Ancestors, so much for social graces. I stumbled on, anyway. “I only thought about it for a second before you pulled that plasma X-Force-Thing on me, but I don’t think I could have done it. I’m sorry that Eton and Arjan actually tried.”

  Nev gaped at me. “I don’t think I could actually put you out an airlock?” He burst out laughing. “That might be the sweetest, most genuine thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  My face grew hotter than an engine block. He was definitely making fun of me, but I deserved it for saying yet another idiotic, unsophisticated thing. I scoffed and leaned away from him, about to stand. I had to sleep before I babbled anything else I’d regret.

  But the second I moved, his hand caught mine.

  “Wait, I’m serious,” he said. “Don’t go.”

  His touch, warm and solid, drove through me as it had on the destroyer, a solar flare bursting through his skin and radiating through my whole body. Something inside me rose to meet it, a mix of emotions so strong that I didn’t know how to fight it off. I was drowning in them, tumbling like I was caught in an ocean storm: excitement, confusion, guilt, fear, and finally wanting, a want so potent, I almost reached for his face with my other hand.

  But then the darkness flickered and swirled across my vision, like smoke and sparks. Since Nev was staring intently at my face, he saw it.

  His eyes widened and he suddenly dropped my hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, startled. “I shouldn’t have…I don’t think I should…”

  All other feelings were devoured by a cavernous shame, hollowing my insides. The darkness was already gone, but the damage was done.

  I was too different. I was disturbing.

  “I’m sorry,” Nev started, half-standing. “I didn’t mean to…”

  I was sure he hadn’t meant to, but he couldn’t help it.

  I spun around and left the bridge so fast I was nearly running. I didn’t look back.

  My extensive tutoring included an overview of the notable disasters in the history files. To pick a few:

  Systems Date 0: The Great Collapse—the portals that provided instantaneous travel to different systems and galaxies inexplicably implode. Civilization as it was known ends.

  Systems Date 216: Belarius the First commissions the first test of his star drive design for faster-than-light travel. It, the ship, and the hundreds onboard are never seen again, but some postulate that it will be responsible for the singularity that ends existence.

  Systems Date 345: An attempt to do a solo spacewalk between Thalius IV and Sonmara results in a collision with an unaware spacecraft, which in turn leads to a chain reaction that burns the atmosphere of the Sonmara moon to an uninhabitable crisp.

  Systems Date 416: Prince Nevarian Dracorte attempts to cook.

  That last one wasn’t recorded yet, but looking at whatever I had doled ou
t on various platters in the common room, I felt certain that it would be. I had been trying to re-create the same baked fruit paste that Eton had whipped together in moments the night before, but the congealing slabs in front of me looked more like primitive ancestors of that food. Which had then been fossilized. And then melted under the thrusters of a ship.

  I had gone to bed unsure I’d be able to fall asleep again. Attempts on my life involving the airlock and Qole transforming into a super-being were becoming routine, and yet our conversation had been anything but. I still wasn’t quite sure what had happened during the course of it…and especially not at the end.

  I leaned over the infopad in the galley, trying to concentrate on the recipe and find out where I had gone wrong. “After the consistency probe reads point-four-five, disperse two tumbler-widths of Tantion spice and resume with the plasmic dehydrator….”

  My mind wasn’t on it at all. I had grown up being taught the fine art of conversation and had only a tiny subsection of family and teachers with whom I could rely on for mentally and emotionally stimulating interactions. But last night—well, four hours ago—I had experienced an impromptu conversation that had been simultaneously fascinating, challenging, and…and what? Exciting, I supposed. Maybe it was because we were both so tired and our guards down, but I hadn’t connected with another human being so genuinely in years. Or maybe ever.

  And then I messed it up just like this free fall of a meal. I turned the infopad off in frustration. I wasn’t sure how, but I’d made Qole angry enough to nearly black out again. Had it been taking her hand? I hadn’t meant to grab it; it had just been automatic.

  More and more of my interactions with Qole were just coming naturally. When I gave up trying to preempt her responses, quit planning out my own words and actions as if I were in a diplomatic conference or a war game simulation, then everything with her ceased being an actual battle. Touching her had felt like something completely new. I hadn’t wanted to stop. And yet…

  I wasn’t sure how it had felt to her, but it obviously wasn’t good. So when I woke up, the first thing I had done—outside of getting out of bed very stiffly—was try to find her and see if we could continue the conversation now that we were both in a different frame of mind.

  I’d found her on the bridge with Basra, and it didn’t take any training in social graces to see that she hadn’t wanted to talk to me. She’d informed me that as a next-to-useless member of the crew who was part of the reason the chef was locked up, I could take over cooking duties and provide everyone with a hot meal.

  I surveyed the meal I had created. It was undeniably hot, yes. I tried to remember if she had specified that it had to be edible as well.

  Basra coughed discreetly at my elbow, materializing out of nowhere in the disquieting manner that he had. “Feeling finished?”

  I sighed and ran another eye over my creation. “In the words of my great-great-grandfather, I have yet to begin fighting.”

  Basra also eyed it. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Only a royal would rage against a dying star’?” He changed the topic without preamble. “The Kaitan hasn’t used its Belarius Drive in years, so we’re almost out of antimatter. We need to stop and refuel, and it’s a good chance for me to unload the Shadow catch we have in the hold before it degrades the canisters any further. The captain wants you to come with me.”

  “She does?” I busied myself scanning the infopad to cover my confusion. I wasn’t sure why she’d be sending me off the ship with Basra. Of what use would I be? “Where?”

  “We never unloaded the Shadow at the cannery, so we need to find someone who can buy and process Shadow canisters,” Basra explained. “That limits our options somewhat. Fortunately, we’re within a few parsecs of Nirmana. I can easily find a purchaser there.”

  “Is that wise?” I looked up from the infopad sharply. “That would require ducking out of the Dracorte system, and we just saw that the Treznor-Nirmana family is not what could be described as friendly. We also have the deadline of the conference that we’re already cutting too close for comfort. Besides, I’ll cover the value of the Shadow.”

  “Perhaps the captain feels that hedging her bets financially is a wise idea,” Basra replied, “and the Shadow market is about to spike, so it’s an opportune time to sell. Regardless, you can’t manufacture fuel, we need repairs, and it’s easier to be lost in a crowd than as a single ship at a remote station. This is one of the busiest trading ports in the galaxy. We’ll be in and out.”

  I tapped my fingers on the table. He wasn’t wrong on any of those counts, but I felt safer knowing we were within the boundaries of what was considered my family’s dominion, even if our control over it had grown a little more…lax around the edges.

  Something else nagged at my attention. “Wait, how do you know the Shadow market is about to spike?” That was news to me, and my family essentially dominated the Shadow market.

  “I keep myself well informed,” Basra said shortly.

  He did spend half the day sequestered by himself at his comm station. But still…

  “So do I, and I have access to the most priority-level feeds in the system.” I hesitated, wondering how I should broach the question, especially since his face had gone blanker than usual. I went for the direct approach, hoping to catch him off balance. “What in the Unifier’s good name are you doing on this ship, Basra? Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be running a major corporation somewhere more important?”

  He shrugged his slightly slouched shoulders, unflappable. “I don’t suppose you’ll accept my usual answer?”

  “If it’s acceptable to morons, then no.” I smiled thinly. “I’m not a moron.”

  “I gathered. I also know that if I choose to ignore the question, you’ll pry into my business in an irritating fashion.” He sighed as if already irritated. “Maybe—I’m saying nothing for certain—this isn’t my only means of employment. And perhaps this other position requires me to lay low.”

  He probably traded for very powerful people, in addition to trading for Qole on the side. He just used the Kaitan as his base of operations.

  I dropped my voice. “None of this outside business you might do could jeopardize Qole’s or the crew’s safety, correct? Merely curious.”

  Basra smiled, but it didn’t reach eyes that had become as cold as knives. I’d crossed a line. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Suffice it to say, I cover my trail better than anyone you will ever meet in your life…certainly far better than you, Your Highness.” His face smoothed. “Now, will you be joining me on Nirmana?”

  I wasn’t going to gain another step in this line of inquiry, and I was somewhat satisfied, anyway. For now. “All right,” I said agreeably. “When do we arrive?”

  “Shortly after we eat your meal, I imagine.” Basra glanced again at the dish, upon which a lingering bubble burst. He turned and left.

  “No need to be so excited,” I called after him.

  —

  “What did you do?” Eton stared, aghast, at the food I slipped through to him via a smaller airlock that would have normally been for transferring tools to anyone working in zero-g.

  I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “You know, I’m not entirely sure where it all went wrong. Does the applicator normally make it bubble so much? I think that’s where things started going downhill.”

  Eton grimaced. “You touched the applicator? Please tell me you cleaned it. If the fumes from this harden…” He took a dainty bite with the tips of his teeth, an entirely incongruous sight on the giant man. “Yech. Ick. Ugh, you followed the instructions, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean? You’re not supposed to?”

  “Of course not, you idiot.”

  I blew out an exasperated breath. “You did train at the Academy, didn’t you? It’s nothing but reading old combat manuals and then having Devrak tell you to ignore them.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I was on a roll after Basra, and this was an especia
lly convenient time to prod Eton since there were shatterproof windows and doors separating me from his fists. Something about him jostled my memory, and I wanted to see if I could find out what it was.

  His face turned to stone behind the window, and he glanced down at Arjan, where he lay curled on the floor of the airlock, presumably sleeping. “You don’t know anything about me, you royal waste of space.”

  I lowered my voice. “I do know you’re from Dracorva, or at least spent a fair amount of time in the Academy studying under Devrak. He’s head of my family’s security now, did you know that?”

  “Good for him, whoever he is,” Eton said tightly. He wasn’t as good at lying as he was at navigating incomprehensible recipes, nor as good at schooling his own face as he was at punching people in theirs. There was a curious mix of respect and grimness in his eyes at the mention of Devrak’s name.

  I made my tone thoughtful. “Yes, but security is a tough business. Never know who you can trust.”

  Eton spoke through gritted teeth. “Oh, I know exactly who I can trust. And it’s not royals.” He shot me a molten glare. “You’re far more of a danger to everyone on this ship than I could ever be.”

  At least he didn’t respond to my insinuation with threats of death or dismemberment. And, most importantly, he was telling the truth this time—his past wouldn’t be a problem. As with Basra, it was enough to satisfy my curiosity for the moment.

  “It’s all just a misunderstanding, I guess. So is this recipe, apparently,” I added in a more normal tone. “If you could give me a clue as to where I went wrong…”

  Eton looked torn for a moment, but the temptation was too great. He cleared his throat. “Sure, sure…” He suddenly leaned toward the glass and dropped his voice again. “But if you tell Qole any of this, I’ll repeat a few things about your family that will never let her look at you in the same way again.” He leaned back, smiling in satisfaction, and said, “Tantios cookbook, right?”

  I nodded, feeling vaguely unsettled. My family wasn’t perfect, of course, but they were principled, upheld the law, and always tried to live up to our ideals. What could he mean? Nothing, no doubt. He was just trying to use leverage he didn’t have against what I did have. It was leverage that he’d given me, because he’d practically admitted in his own words that I was right about where he was from, and that he didn’t want anyone else to know.