by Renee Duke
We then dispersed, and for the rest of the night, Simon and I wandered around the waiting area trying to keep as far away from the others as possible. They avoided us too, but the number of people coming in from outside effectively separated us anyway.
Three hours later, the chamber was packed.
“It’s getting awfully crowded in here,” I said after someone knocked my brother against me for the umpteenth time. “There’s going to be a lot of competition for seats on the transit barges. Maybe we should get closer to the doors leading out to the boarding passages.”
An hour or so later, the doors were opened and the crowd surged forward, taking us with it. Once people got within sight of the actual boarding passages, they rushed to form queues. We joined the queue at the furthest one and held to our places by standing firm and glaring at interlopers.
When we got to the front, the attendant waved us through and slammed the barrier down behind us, declaring the transit barge full. This did not go over well with the people behind us. I gave them an apologetic look, and moved into the passage feeling uneasy. I realized there was possibility that the other three might not have got onto a barge yet, and wondered what we would do if they hadn’t.
The boarding passage made several sharp turns. As Simon and I approached the first corner, the muttering behind us turned into indignant shouts. Swinging around, we saw Kirsty and Jip shoot past the passage attendant and vault over the barrier.
“The Ralgonian,” Kirsty yelled as they pounded along the passage. “He’s right behind us.”
I looked beyond the barrier. The Ralgonian was no longer trying to keep his distance. He was even knocking people over in his efforts to get to us. “Stop those young people,” he shouted. “Stop them.”
But he was the one who got stopped. “Oh, no, you don’t,” said the attendant, leaping forward. “This passage is closed.”
Displaying remarkable strength for someone his size, the Ralgonian hurled the attendant aside and ducked under the barrier. Fleeing down the passage, we found no one in our way. Unaware of the disturbance at the barrier, everyone else had gone aboard the barge—which meant it would soon be launching. Doubly alarmed, we tore along the winding passage with the Ralgonian hard on our heels.
Even with no one in our path, there were a lot of twists and turns to negotiate. We couldn’t run flat out, and the Ralgonian began to gain on us. In desperation, I pulled out my stun gun and turned to fire on him. I had never handled any type of gun before, but the narrowness of the passage limited my target area. The blast hit the Ralgonian full on. He blinked in surprise, and crumpled. I was surprised, too, but had no time to marvel at my aim. We ran the rest of the way to the barge, pushed past the attendant, and squeezed aboard.
No one said anything when Jip and Kirsty strapped themselves into two emergency fold-down seats near the door. Perhaps it was not uncommon for disgruntled immigrants to jump barriers and cram themselves onto any barge they could.
Having gone up to the ship on another barge, Taz was waiting for us by the connector doors. The officials in charge of incoming passengers had not been pleased when he refused to move along. Used to bullying the people they dealt with, they took exception to meeting resistance from one of the downtrodden. Ignoring their resentful looks, Taz led us up a few decks and claimed a corner of one of the long communal dormitories.
Before long, the ship was underway. Temporarily safe from pursuit, we tumbled onto our cots and caught up on some of the sleep we’d missed.
Several hours later, we went down to the supply area to pick up our food rations. Meals were supposed to be included in our passage, but this was a Klavorian ship and passengers were exploited at every opportunity. While the crew did give out water, and a limited number of unpalatable nutrition bars, anything else was only available for a price.
A Vedetian widow in front of us at the food counter was unable to meet that price.
“My children and I are allergic to some of the ingredients in these bars,” she told the distributor. “Could we exchange them for something else?”
“Only if you want to buy it,” the distributor replied.
“I cannot. Our fares took all we had.”
“Then you’ll just have to get by on what’s doled out. Next.”
All Vedetians are thin and fragile looking. This woman and her offspring were even leaner than most. “Please,” she said. “We cannot eat what you serve. My children cannot go without food for three days.”
“Course they can. Kids are resilient. Move along, lady. The rest of this rabble want their rations, even if you don’t.”
“Please,” the woman begged.
“I said, move,” growled the distributor.
He stepped out from behind the counter and tried to give her a slap.
It never connected. Taz seized his upraised hand, whirled him around, and forced him to his knees.
“Only cowards strike those who have no means to strike back,” he said coldly. “Such acts offend me, and I do not think you would find me a good person to offend.” He took some coins from his belt and pried the man’s hand open. Pushing the coins into it, he flung him up against the counter. “I trust that will purchase what the lady requires for her children. Be certain they receive it. Today, and every day.”
The man shot him a glare, but led the Vedetian family over to a counter displaying a choicer selection of foodstuffs.
We settled for the rations. After we had eaten them we set out to explore the ship and get to know some of the people we were travelling with.
Only a few of them were Klavorians seeking to escape the poverty Klavor’s base environment imposed on those unwilling to supplement their incomes with crime. Most of them originally came from Vedet, Alcavia, Miv, and other small planets in the Zaidus system. These supposedly flourishing AUP-member worlds should, by now, have been providing good livings for all their citizens, but apparently they weren’t. The ones we talked to did say that the new technologies and systems introduced by AUP advisory teams had increased their planets’ industrial and agricultural output, but contrary to what Kirsty, Simon, and I had always been taught, this increase in productivity had not resulted in prosperity for all. The only people to achieve a noticeably higher standard of living were the government officials in charge of bringing each planet up to its full commercial potential. AUP-backed food supply conglomerates moved into the areas considered most suitable for large-scale cultivation, and received preferential treatment from AUP-backed food processing plants. Without fair access to the markets, individual food suppliers could not make a living from the land their families had worked for generations and had to sell out to the conglomerates.
Small business owners fared no better. Their wares and services couldn’t compete with those of AUP-backed companies. Within a year or two, they were out of business as well. Seeing emigration as a possible solution to their problems, the people on our ship had sought refuge on Klavor because it had no stringent entry requirements or quotas. Honest and hardworking by nature, they’d found life there even more intolerable than on their home planets, and were now relocating again, this time to Cholar.
“Perhaps there we can make a better life for ourselves,” said an Alcavian named Trithox. He was an old man, with white streaks running through the bright green tufts above his ears, and more creases in his face than all the rest of the wrinkly skinned Alcavians combined.
“Only if Cholar remains independent,” a younger Alcavian retorted. “If it joins the Association of United Planets, we will be back where we started.”
Trithox sighed. “If so, we must accept it as our lot. There was no future for us on our own worlds, and still less of one on Klavor. Should the rulership of Cholar go to one who can be talked into selling his planet’s integrity, we will not be any worse off than we were. At this time, Cholar is still an honourable, self-sufficient world with much to offer us. We must pray it goes on being such a world.”
Taz said nothing, but
I knew from the set of his jaw that AUP’s recruiters would never talk Cholar into membership while Taz ruled it. Even being told of Drazok’s communication with Ramsweir had not affected him as much as hearing what these people had to say about the Association’s ruthlessness. Determined to learn more, he spent hours talking to these displaced people. He listened to their stories of injustice, admired their children, and asked them about their dreams for the future. They spoke to him quite freely, and never once seemed to realize he was their future home’s missing High Prince, or even, since he always kept his bandana on, that he was Cholarian. To them, he was simply a sympathetic, well-educated fellow who had probably been thrown off some world for being involved in subversive activities; a position shared by some of the former inhabitants of Alcavia, and almost all the big, furry ones from Miv.
Taz enjoyed their company as much as they enjoyed his. He was still anxious to get to his home planet however, and expressed relief when the ship finally went into orbit around Cholar.
We transported down to the surface in barges manned by bad-tempered Klavorian crewmen. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d demanded additional payment for this service too, but they contented themselves with barking orders and being thoroughly disagreeable.
It had been Taz’s intention to declare himself as soon as we were under the wing of the starport’s immigration officers, but when we arrived in the processing area, he signalled us to stop.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The man at the barrier wears a badge proclaiming his support for Mardis’s claim to the throne. And the processing people beyond him are scanning everyone’s credentials most carefully, studying all who pass them.”
“The Ralgonian must have told Drazok aboot us being on the immigrant ship,” said Kirsty.
Taz nodded. “Either that, or Drazok simply decided to have his people cover every area of the starport. He might well have replaced all the officials loyal to me with ones loyal to him. If so, they will try to intercept us and recapture me before my subjects learn I have returned to Cholar.”
We moved to the side of the entry passage wondering what to do.
“This is no place to stand about, my young friends,” a voice said suddenly. “Are you not eager to claim the hospitality of Cholar now you are finally here?”
We turned and saw the old Alcavian, Trithox, and his family standing behind us.
“We are most eager,” Taz assured him, “but I am afraid the officials up ahead are not going to give us a very cordial welcome.”
The old man looked puzzled. “Why should they deny you entry?” Suddenly, he gasped, his gaze focussed on the wall behind us. Turning, we saw it was lined with portraits of the Cholarian royal family. A quirk of fate had caused Taz to bring us to a halt directly beneath a portrait of himself.
“By all the stars in the universe, you are Prince Taziol.”
“Prince Taziol,” someone else said excitedly. “It is High Prince Taziol. The High Prince of Cholar is here. With us.”
“Hush,” Taz commanded. “Do not call attention to us. The officials here are in league with my enemies.”
It was too late. The barrier attendant was already yelling for assistance. Before we could turn to flee, security guards were thrusting people aside and closing in on us.
Chapter Eighteen
It took old Trithox about one second to size up the situation. “Stop the guards,” he shouted. “They seek to capture the lawful ruler of our new world.”
His words brought instant results. The Vedetian widow Taz had helped three days earlier tripped the guard nearest her and ordered her children to sit on him. The once subversive Mivvians and Alcavians moved in to help us too, and other immigrants joined them with such enthusiasm there was soon a full-scale riot going on. With a nod of satisfaction, Trithox ushered us back out the way we had come.
A Klavorian crewman from one of the transit barges jumped in front of us, arms outstretched. “You can’t come out this way. You—”
Taz knocked the interfering man backwards. Racing past him, Trithox pointed to some land skimmers an automatic loader was filling with crates and cargo cylinders from a supply barge. Breathing hard from his exertions he said, “They may not be the most elegant of conveyances, but I believe one of them might serve as an escape vehicle.”
“Only if you know how to drive it,” said Kirsty, casting Taz a disparaging look.
Taz made no answering comment. I think he was as pleased as I was when Trithox said he had held an all-vehicle license for over fifty years. Snapping off the loader, the old man climbed into the cab of the first skimmer. We scrambled into the cargo hold behind him and set about throwing out some of the crates and cylinders.
We had just cleared a space for ourselves when half a dozen security men in ground pursuit vehicles converged on the area. Taz managed to get off a couple of shots with his liquidator, and then slammed the cargo doors shut by hand as Trithox moved the skimmer forward. Sirens wailing, the smaller vehicles sped to intercept us. Trithox manoeuvered his way around all of them and took to the air, going higher than I ever thought a land skimmer could.
“A versatile little machine,” said Trithox, patting the control panel. “I will put it down as soon as we are clear of the starport.”
Trithox brought the skimmer down in an open area beyond the starport and propelled it along at its proper level. Cholar’s capital city, Cholaris, was visible in the distance, but as we approached it, air cruisers alerted by Drazok’s ground forces swooped down and began firing on us.
Trithox was an excellent driver, capable of dodging most of our pursuers’ disabling beams, but a few did brush against the skimmer, shaking it from one end to the other.
One such blast brought down an unsecured stack of cargo behind Simon and me. Lunging forward to pull us out of the way, Taz was hit by several heavy crates and slammed up against the side of the skimmer. I tried to crawl to his assistance, but he waved me back. With blood trickling down his forehead and his face contorted with pain, he threw himself clear of the avalanche.
We cowered in the back of the skimmer with crates and cylinders of all sizes crashing down around us. This went on until a final burst of speed swept us into the outskirts of Cholaris, an industrial area with enough tall buildings to put an end to air pursuit. Frustrated, our assailants turned around and screeched off to organize a ground search.
It was only early afternoon on Cholar, but every street we went along was empty. It was the planet’s traditional day of rest, and all the people who worked in the factories and warehouses were home with their families.
After a time, Trithox pulled up in front of a warehouse that looked as though it was not frequented much, even on workdays.
Simon jumped out to deactivate its lock and open the big freight doors so that Trithox could edge the skimmer inside. The minute the doors closed behind us, Trithox shut off the skimmer’s engine. He then made his way back to Taz, who was propped in a corner, his jaw muscles clenched.
“I thought as much,” Trithox muttered as Taz reacted to the probing of the Alcavian’s fingers with several sharp intakes of breath. “You will not be going far with these injuries, my young friend.” He took a blanket off of a shelf and tucked it around the pale High Prince.
Taz, winced. “I do not have to go far. Just…just on into the city a bit. Once there, my supporters will take us to the palace.”
The older man shook his head. “No, Your Highness. This vehicle is much too conspicuous. And it would be most unwise for you to try to move from here without it. I think you might have internal injuries, as well as those that are visible. If your enemies were to spot you before we found someone willing to help us, you could not possibly defend yourself. You would not even be able to flee.” He waited a moment; then went on, “I am the one least likely to be recognized. I will attend to you as best I can and then go into the city to contact your people.”
The skimmer had a news viewer aboard. W
hile Taz was being comfortably settled, we turned it on to see if a local news channel was broadcasting anything of interest to us.
What we saw was far from encouraging. For weeks, Taz’s enemies had been trying to turn his subjects against him by implying he was a traitorous coward who had fled the planet as soon as things became difficult for him. Their attempts to discredit him had not been all that successful, but must have had some effect as people were either for him or against him. There did not appear to be any way to determine who might be loyal to him and who might not, and Drazok was making sure that even those who supported Taz would not give us any assistance. Clips of our flight from the starport carefully blocked out any image of Taz. All the commentator said was that an old Alcavian reprobate and four innocent children he’d brought to Cholar illegally were thought to have had something to do with High Prince Taziol’s disappearance. Law keepers were under orders to apprehend them and hold them for questioning by a member of the Supreme Council.
“And we all know who that’d be,” Kirsty said in disgust.
We told Trithox what we had heard. “This old Alcavian reprobate is obviously not going to have as easy a time of it as he thought,” he said grimly, as he finished converting Taz’s bandana into a head bandage. He then seated himself on a crate. “A thorough fellow, this Drazok.”
“Very thorough.” Taz struggled to get up. “I…I will have to go myself. If I can but get to the palace…or to trusted friends or relatives I know are still loyal to me…” He almost succeeded in standing, but suddenly gave a groan and sank to the floor in a half faint.
Trithox got up and went to kneel beside him. “You will go nowhere, Your Highness. You do not have the strength. And moving about will only add to your injuries. It is still I who must go for help. I am not capable of putting up much resistance if I run into Councilman Drazok’s henchmen, or even if I just get stopped by loyal citizens who, in light of that broadcast, might well regard me as an outlaw, but it is the only thing to do.”
