The Galactic Empress' Bodyguard

by Ben Harrington

  —and Ugero dove between them.

  * * *

  Colton’s head was ringing. Not his ears, his whole head. He shook it out, trying to see straight, and braced a hand against the wall to help himself get back to his feet.

  A little ways away, the Empress was reeling too, bleeding from the cheek and stuck on her knees while the world spun.

  “Y-your Majesty...” he slurred, then squinted at something in the background, behind her...

  Another assassin. The man came rushing in for the kill, knowing the timing was perfect. Colton scrambled for his gun, couldn’t find it — *couldn’t find it! — and snatched a piece of rubble from the ground next to him.

  He wound back and threw it straight into the assassin’s face — and that ended that.

  He snatched up Deo’ta’s gun, and his traitorous Sig Sauer. The Empress was kicking off her tall shoes and her cloak when he reached her, but she paused to steal the assassin’s gun from his body. She powered it on, dialled it up.

  In that dress, with that gun, and that look on her face... a fucking masterpiece.

  “We have to stop Deo’ta,” she said. “He can’t get away.”

  “No,” said Colton, “we need to get you to the bunker. Keep you safe. Let someone else worry about—”

  “You don’t understand, Colton. Torsten’s ship... it has a mass driver! Deo’ta’s going to wipe out half the planet!”

  Colton sighed. “Yeah, of course he is.”

  40

  Colton and the Empress tore down the main boulevard, out into the open, but Deo’ta was already long gone. Off to the side, two of Piro’s men were down, dead. One of their dragonfly’s wings were crushed beyond repair, and the other was missing a head.

  Colton looked across the way as a firefight broke out between royal guards and the other two Kgegans — it was blinding and fast, and none survived.

  “Colton, look!” the Empress shouted, and he turned to see a royal shuttle lift off into the sky, flying for outer space.

  Colton dashed back to the first Kgegan, grabbed the helmet off him, shoved it on and shouted: “Piro! Change of plans! Torsten’s not the enemy! I mean he is kinda the enemy, but he’s the—”

  The Empress snatched the helmet off him, put it on herself. “Piro, Minister Deo’ta is going to fire a mass driver at Kgego to cover his tracks.”

  * * *

  At the entrance to the bunker, in a pile of rubble, Piro cradled his poor, dear friend. Ugero’s left arm was missing, blood dripping from his mouth, his eyes barely able to stay open.

  “Piro?” called the Empress over the radio. “Piro, are you there?”

  Ugero reached up a trembling hand, poked Piro in the face. “Don’t... ignore... the lady...”

  Piro grit his teeth, cleared his throat: “Here, your Majesty.”

  “Is everything alright?” she asked, sensing the tension in his voice.

  Piro looked across the room at Prince Torsten’s body, riddled with blast marks, laying against the rock, face twisted with shock. Piro took a long breath.

  “Well enough,” he said. “What do you need, your Majesty?”

  * * *

  The Empress stared into the darkening sky, at the shimmer of Deo’ta’s engines, and the spot Torsten’s cruiser was hovering in geosynchronous orbit. She couldn’t see the ship, but she could see the glowing ring of the weapons bay opening, readying to fire.

  “Once he clears the atmosphere, it’s over,” she said. “Do you have any long-range weapons here? Anything to slow them down?”

  “I’m sorry, your Majesty,” said Piro. “The only ones we had were destroyed in the bombings. There’s nothing here that can reach them in time.”

  “Yeah there is,” said Colton, clicking the dragonfly harness around his chest. “Me.”

  * * *

  “Sir,” said the officer on the radio, “someone claiming to be the Empress is ordering us to cease fire.”

  Deo’ta slapped the shuttle onto autopilot, leaned into the microphone at the console: “Ignore them. Proceed with ignition sequence.”

  “But sir—”

  “The Empress was tragically killed,” Deo’ta said, peering out the windshield at the cruiser, as it came closer and closer. “Captain Shaw was working for the corrupt Prince Torsten, and—”

  There was a knock. On glass. Deo’ta looked around and yelped at the sight of Colton, hanging onto the roof of the ship, waving cheerfully.

  Deo’ta switched on short-range transmissions and snarled: “Good evening, Captain. I hope you brought a change of clothes, because that jacket of yours won’t help much in the vacuum of space.”

  “Space?” said Colton. “How’re you going to get to space without any engines?”

  Deo’ta frowned in confusion, and pivoted his head toward the tail-thruster... and the broken dragonfly suit attached to it.

  Colton slapped the emergency button at the side of the second suit, and watched the parachute tear the tail clear off the shuttle.

  Deo’ta grabbed onto the console for dear life as the autopilot blared more warnings than it had time for. Colton stayed with the flailing ship just long enough to flip Deo’ta the bird, and then rocketed off into the sky.

  “This is Captain Colton Shaw to whoever the fuck’s in charge of that Imperial cruiser,” he called out over the radio. “Turn off your weapons and prepare to be boarded.”

  A moment of static, then: “You... you can’t reach us in that thing.”

  “You wanna bet, you little shit?” Colton shouted. “‘Cause if you make me do it, I’m gonna be a fucking awful mood, and I’m gonna take it out on you.”

  “B-but Minister Deo’ta—”

  “Minister Deo’ta is dead.”

  “Actually, his shuttle is—”

  The shuttle exploded in a fireball on impact, far below.

  “You were saying?”

  The cruiser officer sighed loudly: “I’m too tired for this shit.”

  The mass driver ring powered down.

  “Thank you. Finally,” said Colton. “Now can anyone tell me how to get back to the ground in this thing? Because I’m a little afraid of what’ll happen if I aim it down.”

  41

  The tea flowed freely in the Botoba residence. Yara poured another dish and gave it to Derra, who hurried it through the room to the Empress, who accepted it with a gracious smile.

  “So that’s a yes?” asked Colton, nudging Piro in the arm. “You’re saying yes?”

  Piro laughed, sipped his tea. “It’s a strong maybe.”

  “Captain, leave him be,” the Empress scolded. “He has a duty to his people.”

  “Yeah, but here, watch this,” Colton said. “Ilina.”

  Piro slapped Colton across the face, hard. Colton laughed, grinned. “See? Loyalty. What more do you need in a security chief?”

  “A good lieutenant!” came a booming voice, and Ugero strode into the fray like Ugero was prone to do. “Can’t be a chief without a good lieutenant.”

  Piro gestured to Ugero’s new arm, made of allium with a glowing plasma core. It flexed faintly, like it was showing off. “You’ll have to learn to control that, first.”

  Ugero scoffed. “Learn? I’m ready now. Test me!”

  “No, please don’t,” said Dr Iko, pushing in front of Ugero with a stern frown on her face. “You’ve only just started your rehabilitation. Don’t push too hard too fast.”

  Ugero grinned at her. “That’s not what you said last night.”

  The Empress choked on her tea. Colton laughed as she tried to wipe the dribble off the front of her dress. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you cleaned up. You backwater hick.”

  They entered the washroom together, standing near the tub with the rose-scented water, memories of each other, of their bodies togeth
er, of those unreal moments bursting in their minds, as she dabbed at her chest with a cloth.

  Colton watched in silence for a moment, until he couldn’t keep silent any more.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, softly. “I...” He winced. “I was thinking... I was thinking it’s time for me to go. To go home. To Earth.”

  She stopped her cleaning, turned to him in shock. “To Earth?”

  “Yeah. The way I figure it, with Piro around, you’re safer than ever. Way safer than with me.”

  “But a chief of security and a bodyguard are two different—”

  “I know, but that’s the problem,” he said. “I don’t want to be your bodyguard. I want to be yours.”

  Her mouth opened, wordless. Torn, conflicted, guilty.

  He smiled weakly. “And that right there is why I can’t stay. I can’t be with you and not be with you. It would drive me crazy.” She reached for him, but he pulled away. He knew what would happen, how it would ruin his resolve.

  “I know you can’t change who you are. What you are. What you need to be, to keep this Empire together.”

  “Colton, I...”

  “I need you to let me go home,” he said. “I need you to let me go.”

  She looked him in the eye, and he averted his gaze, as required by law. She put a hand on his chest, trying to connect, to make a connection again... but his muscles tensed. His jaw tightened. His discomfort was obvious.

  “Thank you, Captain,” she said, faintly. “For your service, these past days.” Tears ran down her cheek. “But I’m afraid I will no longer be needing your services. You are relieved of duty.”

  He sniffled, nodded, bowed to her, properly. “Thank you, your Majesty,” he said, and left the room.

  It took her several minutes to compose herself. Several more to fix her makeup and hide the redness in her eyes.

  And then she rejoined the party, and laughed until dawn.

  42

  Colton Shaw stood at the checkout of the gas station convenience store and tried very hard not to commit murder.

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” he said. “I don’t want to vape. Just give me the fucking cigarettes.”

  The attendant’s fake smile really wasn’t budging. He pointed to the display case and gushed: “It’s space-age technology!”

  Colton leaned forward, eyes narrow, jaw set, and sneered: “I’ve been to space. I don’t want that shit anywhere near my mouth.”

  He got the cigarettes after all.

  * * *

  Chelsea paused when she passed him at the bar, swung the dish rag over her shoulder. “Uh, Colt?” she asked. “Aren’t you... on the run?”

  He looked up from his beer, frowning. “On the run?”

  “Escaped police custody? Warrant out for your arrest? Ringin’ any bells?”

  Colton shrugged, sipped a little more. “I’ve been a little busy, so, uh...”

  She leaned in, that tank top doing its work again, and probed him with her eyes. “What’s up with you, Colton? You seem... different. Calmer or something.”

  He scratched his chin. “I don’t know,” he said, maybe more to himself than to her. “Guess I just needed some perspective.”

  He went back to his beer, and she went back to her life.

  * * *

  He was three steps from his front door when the sirens started up, so he raised his hands over his head to stay ahead of the curve. By the time Marshal Weyland made it up the walkway, Colton was on his knees, waiting to be cuffed.

  “Well look who came home,” said Weyland, latching the cuffs tight. “Didn’t take you for a stupid man, Captain Shaw.”

  “That’s OK, I didn’t take you for a competent one, either.”

  Weyland patted him down, tossing his belongings on the lawn: wallet, keys to his truck, mints, and an unopened pack of cigarettes.

  “You know how much more trouble you’re in, after that trick you pulled? I mean... the judge out in Quincy was hoppin’ mad when he heard. I can’t even imagine what’ll happen when you—”

  “Excuse me,” came a voice from the street, and Colton half-turned to see a middle-aged man in a nice suit making his way up to meet them. “Excuse me, release my client at once.”

  Weyland laughed. “Your client? Really. I’ve heard that one before, sir, and then that ‘lawyer’ helped Captain Shaw here escape.”

  The lawyer flipped out his ID, handed it over. “I assure you, that is not the case with me. I am a representative of the government of Kgego—”

  “Of what now?”

  “—and I am here to assert Captain Shaw’s diplomatic immunity from any...” He handed over another piece of paper. A densely-worded piece of paper, “...and all prosecution in terrestrial-based matters.”

  “Terrestrial?”

  “Figure of speech,” said the lawyer.

  Colton was trying not to look as amused as he was.

  Weyland handed back the paper, shaking his head. “Sorry, not buying it. You want to talk to Shaw, you can come meet us in—”

  “I thought you might say that,” said the lawyer, handing over his phone.

  Weyland looked at it, confused. “What’s this for?”

  “I’ve briefed the Attorney General on Captain Shaw’s case, which he is keen to discuss with you.”

  Weyland stared at the phone like it was on fire. “The Attorney General?” he squeaked. “Of the goddamn United States?”

  “He can hear you right now.”

  Weyland put the phone to his ear, hands shaking, and said: “Mr Attorney General? Yes, sir. Yes, sir, he is. No, sir I wasn’t aware. Yes, sir, I have reviewed the footage, and— no, sir, you’re right, it’s clearly self-defence. P-prosecutorial overreach, yes, sir. Now if I might—”

  The lawyer leaned down, pressed a device to the cuffs, and they snapped off. “Chief Piro sends his regards,” he whispered. “If you have any further problems, just let us know.”

  “Thanks,” said Colton. “I owe you one.”

  “No, Captain,” said the lawyer. “We owe you one. More than we can ever repay.”

  And with that, the lawyer turned on his heel and walked back the way he came.

  Colton grabbed his things off the ground, put the key in the front door, and... the door was already unlocked.

  He opened it slowly, keeping low to the ground until he snatched a baseball bat out of the umbrella stand. The floors creaked as he stepped, working his way forward, eyes peeled for even the slightest of movements, the tiniest of clues as to who—

  “Really, Colton, your place is depressing,” came a voice from behind, and he turned to see...

  ...the Empress, but not the Empress. No cloak, no shoes, no fancy dress or exotic makeup; she was her, but in a tight grey low-cut t-shirt and jean shorts, lips the perfect shade of red. It was like his dream come true, mixed with his dream come true. It was impossible to look away.

  He dropped the bat at his feet.

  She ran a finger down the wall, frowning at the result. “It will take some doing, but I’m sure we can make this a functional vacation home.”

  “Vacation home?” he asked.

  “Well let’s be realistic here. We can’t live in this place full-time. It’s far too little to host diplomatic events.”

  “No, wait, I mean... what about you? What about the Empire? What about what I said? What we decided?”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” she said with a coy smile, strolling on over to him. “I’m the Empress of the Boundless Empire. I do what I want.”

  And then she peeled off her t-shirt, and got real close, and whispered: “And I want to do you.”

  Colton sighed a defeated sigh, and took her in his arms. “Yes, your Majesty.”

  About the Author

  Ben Harrington is an author based in flyove
r country, where the skies are blue, and you can see ‘em, too. He lives with his wife, three dogs, and an ice cold beer in each hand.