The First to Fall
MY SANDALS CRUNCH through the top layer of crisp reeds into the damp muck of soil and decomposing plant matter below. I try not to think about what crawls and burrows beneath my feet. Just because I’ve studied the techniques used on terraformed planets for creating walkways that also develop biomass doesn’t mean I want it squishing between my toes.
I’d give anything for a pair of regulation-issue settler boots now. Ducking out of an official cultural reception while, at the same time, avoiding my mother’s all-seeing gaze hadn’t given me time to change. With any luck, I’ll be back before she notices my absence.
Hovering security lights cast the rows of boarded shops and small stalls in a haze of blue light that makes everything look unreal. I imagine the marketplace has been abandoned for generations instead of merely shuttered for the night. Of course, this is impossible because the planet, Lakhish Alpha, hasn’t been settled that long. Everything here is raw and primitive and new, and although I am not allowed to have opinions, I like it.
My great flaw (according to my mother) is that I see what I want to see rather than simply note what is. Newsflash: she’s the one who sees what she wants to see. My chances of convincing her of this fact? Absolute zero.
A shutter slams, and I spin around.
“Hello?”
Silence.
I’m not supposed to be planetside alone, not that I ever pay attention to that particular listing in the one hundred and eighty-seven regulations regarding the behavior of the children of Galactic Two Ambassadors. We (meaning my parents—the ambassadors—along with their staff and support troops) are leaving Lakhish Alpha in a little over forty-eight standard hours.
Earlier today and in preparation for tonight’s affair, my mother went through my things while I was in class. She claimed she needed items of cultural significance to gift to the Lakhishan people. Considering that an embassy ship like the Stanhope has no waste and little cargo space, she must have been desperate because she gathered an entire box of things to donate for the reception. The justification for her thievery? You’re a young lady now and no longer a child. Time to put away childish toys.
She had no right.
When I’d returned to my quarters and discovered what she’d done, I’d protested to the ship’s steward, Kendall. He’d taken her side, of course. I’m old enough to have started noticing the way he looks at her when he thinks no one is watching.
The things she’d taken were treasures I’d carefully selected when we’d embarked from Triton Station two days after my sixth birthday. We’d departed the Terran system for the second (ever) survey of settled worlds. For ten long standard years, each toy and book and trinket had been my only connection to the past, the only things I can truly call my own. My most precious possession is a small figure I named Paladin.
When I discovered he was missing, I’d torn apart the bulkheads, sending dresses and shoes flying, to no avail. My red-eyed appearance at dinner before the reception extracted no more than a cool glance and a sniff of disapproval from my mother. I think my father might have noticed or even done something if he’d been there. Not only had he missed dinner, but he’d also failed to show up for the reception. Kendall claimed he was sequestered with Lakhishan officials over yet another security crisis.
Whatever.
It’s always something, and I rarely see my father these days.
Surprisingly, it was Kendall who came through. He came up to me at the reception and whispered that he might have seen Paladin in the box of gifts that had already been sent down to the planet. It’s more likely that he noticed my sullen attitude and taken action before my mother noticed, as well.
I only cared that he’d given me a chance to retrieve Paladin before it was too late.
The small figure looks like a fanciful knight, in my opinion, which is why I’d given him his name. No one knows anything about the culture or species that had created him except that they’d been humanoid and that he was really, really old (no matter how time is measured).
To all appearances, Paladin is a child’s toy, about thirty centimeters tall, and made from a very strong, but incredibly lightweight crystalline substance. Depending on available light, Paladin shifts from an opaque bronze to nearly transparent.
He’d been a gift from the people of the first world we’d visited on our trip. I don’t remember the name of the planet. Our visit had been more for supplies than for diplomatic reasons.
The first night I’d set Paladin next to my bed. When the ambient lighting in the room dimmed for sleep, he’d begun to glow. Something deep within the form had whirled, sending light like shimmering stars bouncing off the walls and ceiling. I’d remained awake for hours, mesmerized by the play of light and shadow.
I made up stories about him: that he was a relic from some ancient culture or a statue of a forgotten god or the plaything of lost and lonely princess.
I was six.
My mother never liked Paladin. I overheard her arguing with my father. “Poorly crafted,” she’d said. “The proportions are not pleasing, and the coloration is rather garish. It looks like one of those cheap lamps from Luna that are supposed to change colors depending upon one’s mood. Is that the sort of aesthetic you want to teach your daughter?”
My father had argued it was a gift. “Like it or not, we have no choice but to keep it.”
I remember my mother’s face turning hard and closed. To my father, she’d said, “In future, please be aware we haven’t the space to collect every trinket these people seem to be determined to bestow upon us. They think every old thing is priceless when they cannot possibly understand true value. They’ve never been off world, for goodness sake, which means they lack true perspective. It’s a pity, really, but there’s nothing we can do.
She’d turned to me next. “I say this, by way of instruction for you, my dear, and not in a spirit of criticism. We must be better than those with whom we deal. They don’t have our advantages.”
It was after that argument that she’d started the cultural exchanges with every planet and system we visited. I hated but tolerated them until she’d crossed a line by taking Paladin.
Silence still reigns while my breath forms filmy puffs in the air before me.
In moments like this, it’s hard to remember I love my mother. Despite her snooty attitude, I never imagined she’d dare to get rid of Paladin after my father expressly forbade her doing so. Didn’t she know what Paladin meant to me? I didn’t care about his appearance or the lack of artistry evidenced by his unknown creator.
Muffled voices echo through the marketplace. I freeze.
A man and a woman wearing the loose trousers, tunics and sturdy boots issued to settlers pass underneath the icy blue glow of the security lamps on the street just outside the gate to the marketplace. Another man runs after them, laughing, throwing up clumps of soil and muck as he stumbles along. They reach one of the saloons and disappear inside, leaving me alone once again.
Paladin, where are you?
I’m not afraid of the dark—on the Stanhope—but the dark on a settled world is different, deeper, thicker. This is a lesson my father taught me not long after he gave me Paladin. “The planets we settle might appear to be uninhabited by sentient life,” he’d said. “But we must never assume, especially when a planet is old.”
He’d never explained further what he meant. Aren’t all planets old? I’d always taken him to mean we must always be on the lookout for things that hide in the dark.
Focus.
A memory swarms before I can stop it…
My father’s face looming over me as the technician places the mask over my lips. I suck a mouthful of the bitter gas.
Panic.
I beat at the technician’s hands, trying to push the mask away. My father’s warm hands covering mine, holding my arms down.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. “You’re going to go to sleep, that’s all. Just like you go to sleep every night. The only difference is that when you wake up, you’ll have a new body. Your special body, remember?”
Nausea makes the ceiling spin. I blink rapidly to stay awake. My father’s face ripples. “Remember how you got to pick out your special body? You wanted blond hair and blue eyes so you’d look just like your doll.”
He strokes my forehead, kisses my cheek and whispers, “Sleep tight, Pumpkin, and when you wake up, we’ll go on a great adventure.”
I close my eyes and sink into darkness.
Eventually, I had awakened, as my father promised, in a new body with spiffy, perfect skin and shiny hair just like I’d chosen from the catalog. A body designed by scientists and grown in a tank on Triton Station for space travel because humans had learned the hard way that our original bodies could not pass the outer limits of the Terran system.
I remember that first day in my new body. I felt like a mouse lost in a giant amusement park. My new form felt huge. It was somewhat bigger than my previous six-year-old body, although generally appropriate. The new body would grow slowly over the subsequent five to seven standard years in a process that loosely mimicked the human maturation process.
While I travel the galaxy with my parents on the Stanhope, my old body sleeps in a tank on Triton Station. Theoretically, I could take up my old body at any time. As far as I know, no one has ever done so. The very idea seems distasteful, like taking a bite of warm meat that’s been left on the counter overnight.
“Paladin?”
A shadowy form slips from between two market stalls.
I gasp, my heart beating faster.
The stranger doesn’t say a word. Tension prickles the back of my neck. Sensors in my peripheral vision kick up a notch, signs my body senses immanent threat. I think about all the stories I’ve read where the heroine encounters a stranger in a dark place, and then terrible things ensue.
All of the inhabitants of Lakhish Alpha had been born here of human stock from Seed Launches blasted from Earth thousands of generations ago. They are conventional and totally organic beings, born of and for this world, this system, in the same way original Terrans populated Earth—the Heritage World.
I take a deep breath and then another and push back the fear, reminding myself I’m an ambassador: the consciousness of girl housed in the strongest, most advanced body human science has ever imagined. I’ve been trained in self-defense even though I’d never had occasion to use those skills. It’s rare that my internal warning system ever alerts me to anything more serious than a too-hot spoonful of soup.
I take a step back from the stranger and assume the Still Water stance.
A breeze ruffles her long hair. Something long and metal glints under the lights. She glides forward.
She.
Lakhish Alpha is a matriarchal society. I relax. “Do you operate one of the shops?”
If the Lakhishan people are the same as those on other worlds, items from the cultural receptions find their way into shops quickly, which is why I’d headed straight for the marketplace. “I’m looking for something. A figure about this tall?” I open my hands parallel to the ground, palms facing to show Paladin’s size.
More silence.
“It was sent down from the embassy earlier by mistake. I will gladly reimburse you for your trouble,” I offer.
She moves forward again, more slowly this time. She’s one of the oldest humans I’ve ever seen. Gray hair floats in a cloud around a face etched with lines of age. She wears a wrap of some kind over her tunic. Her shoulders are hunched. Her gnarled hands clutch a basket woven of the same reeds as those strewn over the walkways.
She lifts the basket. A pearly light glows beneath the rough, woven cloth.
My hand drifts toward my mouth. “Paladin?”
The glow intensifies.
I reach for the basket. The old woman hisses and tosses the basket at me, her hands flying in the air as she backs away. I fumble for the basket and miss. It thuds on the ground. The cloth falls away and a translucent, shining Paladin sinks into the mud.
Using the cloth, I wipe the dirt and moisture away and tuck him inside my jacket.
When I’m finished, I look around.
The old woman is gone.
Red blotches stain the cloth as if someone had bled onto it recently. I turn my hands over but find no marks or scratches that could have produced the stains.
From my pocket, I pull three of the small white metal discs that pass for currency here, tie them in the stained cloth, and toss the bundle inside the stall closest to where I’d first seen the woman. I have no way of knowing if the exchange of coins is the proper way to complete a transaction, but I figure that if she’d wanted payment, she would have stuck around.
Paladin’s glow warms me as I head back to the ship.
* * *
All mothers have this look, I’m told. The one that says you really screwed up this time and only the fact that I love you prevents me from killing you.
My mother has long since perfected this look, which is why I recognize it when the airlock swishes shut behind me. Her perfectly almond brown eyes sweep from my tousled hair to my muddy (ruined) sandals. A tiny muscle ticks under the creamy caramel of her jaw.
“So, how’d the reception go?” No point in acting penitent when I’m feeling anything but sorry for what I’ve done.
My mother looks too angry to speak. Fortunately, footsteps echo in the corridor, giving each of us a reprieve before one of us launches the first verbal missile in the inevitable argument. She glances over her shoulder. Even though she’s in profile, I watch a change come over her expression. It’s a look I’ve noticed often but never understood before.
The ship’s steward comes to a halt at my mother’s side, and I’m studying them like they’re people I’ve never seen before: my mother, slim and elegant in her red gown, Kendall, equally slim and neat in his black and white dress uniform. They look like a pair who belong on top of a cake.
Kendall and my mother? Why had I never seen this before?
Like all the first level staff members on the Stanhope, Kendall had been issued an ambassadorial body. I’d always assumed that he, like everyone else, had selected the physical characteristics of his new body from the catalog. If that were true, why would anyone—given a virtually unlimited array of possible traits—have selected a relatively short and unassuming appearance? He’s barely taller than my mother. I’ve never been able to decide if his lackluster brown hair is thinning due to a minor manufacturing defect or if he’d actually chosen “thinning hair” from the body menu.
Weird.
If I had to do it all over again, I’d ask for bigger boobs. Boobs are not important to your average almost-six-year-old. At the time, I’d focused on looking like my doll, which meant I wanted long arms and legs and to be able to run really, really fast. Boobs only got in the way of that goal.
Not that I had a lot of opportunity to show off boobs of any size. With no one my age aboard the Stanhope, an actual date with an actual guy remains something I can only dream about. Procreation had been deemed in conflict with the mission, so that meant no more children for my parents and none for me. Ever. If I ever decided I wanted children in the future, I’d have to go back to Triton Station and get my old body back. They were supposed to be maintained in a pristine state. Like anyone believed the claims.
Before we’d left Triton Station, I remembered my parents arguing about whether or not to take me with them. My father took the pro side while my mother pounded him with all the cons, chief among them being that I would never have a so-called normal life; normal being code for having children. Father had insisted we would make it back some day and our Terran bodies would be waiting for us—good as new. Mother never bought that argument, which is why she hadn’t wanted me to accompany them.
I didn’t understand a fraction of the science involved in the creation of ambassador bodies, but I believed one thing: centuries or even millennia in a tank couldn’t be good for a body. Any body.
Not that I wanted children.
Not that my parents ever stopped arguing about Paladin.
My mother considers my attachment to Paladin to be odd and unnatural and reflects some trauma (imagined or inflicted) related to a child’s consciousness being ripped from the body of origin too soon.
Since when had such a thing as switching bodies ever been normal? I wanted to ask, but never had the nerve.
My mother’s theory is like a lot of theories. It sounds good and maybe even looks good on the surface, but fails upon closer examination. I love my new body, I don’t care about children, and she is dead wrong about Paladin. Period.
I am not a grape plucked from the vine before its time. I am a girl, ordinary homo sapiens, and if there is one thing at which our species excels, it is the ability to adapt.
And then I understand. My mother has adapted as well, and in her own way.
I’m old enough now to see that ten standard years of arguing over everything from policy decisions to which toys I’m allowed must have taken a toll on my parent’s marriage. They never agreed on anything, from how to approach newly settled planets to something as trivial as Paladin. Even though my mother is also an ambassador, she’s been shut out of critical negotiations and relegated to a merely social role.
Something passes between my mother and Kendall. She gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head and rests her hand on his arm.
Turning back to me, my mother says, “I was worried. Kendall didn’t even know where you were.” Her delicate nostrils flare.
I wait for Kendall to speak, which is pointless since my mother’s hand is still resting on his arm.
I let go of any hope of salvaging the situation. If she didn’t want a fight, she shouldn’t have stolen Paladin. “Do I get a chance to explain myself or shall we go straight to passing judgment and announcing how long I’ll be confined to my quarters for my crimes?”
“You were irresponsible. The planet isn’t safe. You should have informed Kendall of your whereabouts.”
I wait for Kendall to speak and explain, but he doesn’t. Betrayal noted and logged. “Can I ask you a question?”
My mother sighs. “Of course, you can. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Do you care about me at all? Even a little?”
She sucks in a breath and tiny lines crinkle around her eyes. “Fallan Elizabeth Jin-Dahl, that is enough. The ambassador has restricted you to your quarters until further notice.”
The ambassador? “Getting a little grand, aren’t you, Mom? Referring to yourself in the third person?”
A muscle jumps in her jaw. “The orders come straight from your father.”
“I want to talk to him.”
“So do I.” Then she sighs and mutters, “For all the good it will do me.”
I can see fine lines of worry around her eyes and tightness in the skin around her lips. In a conventional, organic Terran body, such evidence of stress would be normal; that they’re showing up a scant ten standard years into the life of an ambassadorial body designed for a thousand years of use must be pissing her off royally.
“I want to talk to my father.”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
It’s Kendall who answers. “Because he’s sequestered with the Tengay faction.”
I frown. The embassy ship has been orbiting Lakhish Alpha much longer than was usual. The Stanhope’s mission, to make contact with all of the worlds settled from the Seed Launches, would require every bit of the vastly long life of our bodies. And that was if we didn’t spend too long at each planet in the settled systems.
We should have moved on to the next system already. I’d been told the delay was due to the threat of civil war. My tutor and I researched the situation, but that had been nearly a standard year ago, and the details are foggy in my mind. The main point I’d come away with from that unit of study was that the Seeded planets were designed and engineered to be free of the wars and aggression that had plagued Earth for millennia. As a consequence, any sign of war (civil or otherwise) must be ruthlessly removed, no matter the cost. That being said, I knew my father would do almost anything to settle burgeoning conflicts, including making a deal with the Tengay faction. Yet another subject over which he and my mother had frequently battled, with my mother saying there was no point in negotiating with terrorists like the Tengay.
“When do you think he’ll be free?” I ask, softening my tone.
She shrugs as if she doesn’t care, but her tone is bitter. “There’s no way of telling. You know your father. He won’t quit until he’s certain he has an agreement that will stand.”
“So that means we’re not leaving tomorrow, then?”
“I don’t know when we’re leaving. Your father hasn’t bothered to let me know.” Silence spools out between us. She strokes my cheek. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted this for you—”
I cut her off and recite the words I’ve heard her say a million times. “—because we probably won’t ever make it home again and I’m afraid you’ll forget what it’s like to be human. Well, guess what, Mom? I like this body, and I don’t ever want my old one back.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, sweetheart.”
“I know I’ll never be good enough to please you.”
She pulls her hand away and then reaches under my jacket, extracting Paladin from where I’d hidden him. “Is this why you’re so angry?”
“You had no right to take him.”
She stares at the toy for what feels like a long time. Finally, she shakes her head, and it feels like she’s admitting defeat. “I’ve tried. I’ve done all I can. It’s up to you now.” She thrusts Paladin into my hands, turns on her heel and stalks down the corridor.
While vague guilt wars with leftover resentment, I stand there feeling confused and oddly bereft.
“If I may—” Kendall begins.
“Way to have my back. Not.”
“Matters are more complicated than they appear. Surely you’re old enough to understand that now.”
I can guess what he’s hinting at, but I don’t want to go there, and hold up a hand. “Stop. You don’t have to explain anything.”
He blinks. “I was going to—”
“What part of stop did you not understand? If you’re worried I’ll tell my father, don’t.” I have to look away. “I don’t even want to think about it, let alone talk to anyone about it.”
“If you’ll permit me to finish,” Kendall says slowly, “I suggested earlier that you go planetside because I thought it would be safer for you. I couldn’t very well admit that to your mother, now could I?”
“Safer? What sort of punishment did you think she was going to dish out? Or have you and my mother been spending your alone time thinking up kinky new ones?”
I can tell I’ve gone too far when the mask of the perfect steward slides over his expression. He bows slightly from the waist and smiles. “I’m pleased you returned safely, Miss Fallan.” He gestures toward Paladin, still cradled in my arms. “I’ll be happy to tidy him up for you.”
Since Paladin is still coated in muck, I pass him to Kendall and allow the steward to escort me to my quarters. I do not protest when I hear him key the locking sequence into the security panel.
* * *
I drift in and out of sleep, dreams crawling up out of the dark like worms from the soil wriggling between my toes. Every so often, I jerk to a semi-awake state, convinced a bright light has been sweeping across the room. I sit upright, my heart pounding in total darkness, before sinking back into sleep.
The third time it happens, I stay awake and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
Darkness looms like an unwelcome guest. Something is very wrong.
Lights embedded in wall panels should have brightened as soon as my feet touched the floor. The room remains shrouded in darkness.
I pat the flat surface next to the bed, searching for Paladin, remembering only moments later that I’d given him to Kendall for cleaning.
Cold wraps itself around me like a wet blanket. I exhale, feeling my breath’s chill against my skin. I’m fully capable of adjusting my body’s temperature, but that should not be necessary aboard the Stanhope with its state-of-the art environmental controls.
Blinking hard to bring up night vision, I scan the room.
I’m not alone.
A male form huddles in the tiny study alcove between the door and my closet. I inhale sharply, but he doesn’t move. Does he think I can’t see him? Any of the upper-level staff would know they can’t hide. Temporary personnel hired from Lakhish Alpha, however, wouldn’t know that nor would they have access to the ambassador level of the ship.
He clutches a small rectangular device in his left hand. Scanner? That explained the flashes of light that had awakened me. He’d been searching for something.
A wave of weariness sweeps over me, making me want desperately to curl back into the comfort of my bed and close my eyes. I curl my fingers into fists, fighting the sensation.
The door to my quarters swooshes open, the sudden flash of light from the passageway temporarily blinding me.
Someone shouts, “Take him!”
The sounds of scuffling, fighting, bodies pounding into the walls of the corridor echo. In the distance, I hear weapons fire.
I bolt to my feet, bringing up my internal defensive systems. The bitter tang of blood registers in my nose.
I face another intruder, this one silhouetted in the doorway. Kendall.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, Fallan.” Kendall’s soft voice barely registers over the advancing sounds of fighting in the hallway. “If only you’d listened and stayed on the planet. Your father’s going to ruin everything. I can’t let that happen.”
I shake my head in confusion. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?
He mutters to himself before looking back at me. “She said we had to stop him. This was the only way. I promised her I’d save you . . .” His voice trails off, and a sob escapes his lips.
“Kendall?” I reach for him. “Please, tell me—”
Fury contorts his face. “I tried, but it’s too late.” Something metal glints in his hand. He lunges.
I step aside, barely escaping the swing of his knife. Before I can pivot, the dark form explodes from the corner. He and Kendall go down brawling. Light flashes and flesh sizzles.
I scramble out of the room and fumble with the security panel embedded in the corridor wall, attempting to close and seal the door.
A hand touches my shoulder. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
I wheel around until our faces are only inches apart—a guy about my age, wearing a stained and rumpled black and white ambassadorial staff uniform.
I back away from him while glancing up and down the corridor that is now eerily silent. “Who are you?”
“My name is Alden Hendrix, and that’s my brother, Finn.” He gestures at the guy now standing over Kendall’s body. He wears the black vest and body armor emblazoned with the Jin-Dahl crest. The blade Kendall thrust at me now dangles in his long-fingered grasp.
They are both tall and broad-shouldered, strong-looking young men, one light, one dark—like mirrors of each other.
My chest tightens and my breath goes shallow.
Alden leans forward. “Do you need to sit down?”
I look at Kendall’s body. “Is he dead?”
Finn nudges him with his foot. “Don’t think so, but it’s always hard to get the stun settings just right, so I can’t make any guarantee.” He shrugs.
I remember the smell of burning flesh.
My stomach lurches, and I bolt down the corridor.
“Wait,” one of them shouts.
I run for the safe room tucked behind the schoolroom at the end of the hall. Footsteps pound behind me.
I shout the emergency word and press my thumb against the security panel and squeeze through the door and seal it without waiting for the protocols to complete.
I lean against the door, breathing heavily.
The cool metal thuds beneath my shoulder blades. “Fallan, it’s Alden,” he shouts from the other side. “We don’t want to hurt you, I promise.”
“Yeah? Tell that to Kendall.”
“The guy who tried to kill you? I think you’ve got things backward.”
I still at his words, remembering the creepy mix of regret and anger in Kendall’s voice when he’d said, I tried, but it’s too late before trying to sink a knife in my chest.
Alden pounds on the door again. “We’re here to help you. Please let me in.”
It’s hard to think straight. Who was Kendall? The kindly steward who’d always covered for me when I snitched an extra piece of cake, the friend who’d clued me in on what had happened to Paladin, the man who’d conspired with my mother against my father, the man who’d tried to kill me.
My mother and I might not have the best of relationships, but never would I believe she’d authorize my death.
Or had Kendall been acting without her knowledge? Had he fooled her, as well?
Strange young men I’ve never seen before managed to evade the ship’s security scans, steal uniforms and save my life while the loyal steward who’d signed on to serve my family for the millennium had betrayed us. . .
Nothing made sense.
But one of those young men had been searching my room.
I key the all-clear sequence and open the door.
“What was your brother looking for?”
Alden utters a word I don’t understand, which is unusual because I know thirty-eight languages.
“It’s a figure of a man about this high.” His hands sketch the distance.
“Paladin.”
“That’s what you call it?”
“It’s his name. It’s just a toy. I can’t imagine what you’d want with it. It has no value. That’s why my mother tried to get rid of it with the cultural exchange.”
“We know.” Alden drags a hand through his white-blond hair. “We also know you brought—” he says the strange name again “—back to the ship. Where is it?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Well, you could ask Kendall, but you killed him.”
Alden swears under his breath. “I don’t think he’s dead.”
I follow him back to my quarters.
When we arrive, I see that Finn has lifted Kendall onto the bed. The steward is trussed at the wrist, knees and ankles with flexible ties and gagged with one of my scarves.
Paladin, clean and shiny as the day my father first put him in my hands, stands next to the bed.
“Where did you find him?” I ask Finn, indicating Paladin.
“When I got done with him,” Finn nods at Kendall, “I looked up and there it was. It wasn’t there earlier when I scanned the room. I don’t know how it got there.” He and Alden exchange a look.
Alden walks over to the door and sticks his head out, looking right and left. “It’s clear for now, but we need to get out of here.”
Both guys stare at me like they’re waiting for something. “So go ahead, leave. I won’t stop you.”
Alden checks a device on his wrist. “You can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
“He’s right,” Finn adds. “We’re running out of time.”
“For what?”
“If you come with us,” Finn says in a gentle voice that shreds my last nerve, “we’ll explain later. But we need to go. Now.”
“No!” I’m fighting tears that make no sense.
“We’re not going to leave you here alone.”
“I’m not alone. My father is the ambassador and—”
Alden shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
I remember the fighting, the tang of blood in the air.
Before either of them can stop me, I sprint for my parent’s quarters.
When I get there, the security panel is jammed and won’t open with the emergency word or my retinal scan. I tear open the panel and disable critical circuits. I’m madly ripping wires when Finn and Alden come up behind me. Without words, they help. Even then, it takes all three of us to manually push the door wide enough to enter.
The sitting area, normally light and bright, is dark, the furniture tumbled and my mother’s treasures in disarray. My hand curls around the armrest of an antique Terran chair. French and very old. My parents had argued over bringing it with us, but my mother had won that battle.
I creep toward the bedroom, my pace slowed by rising nausea. I keep telling myself silently that everything is going to be all right. My parents wouldn’t have been in their quarters, anyway. At the first sign of trouble, they would have escaped to the safe room.
“Mother?”
I pass through the doorway into the bedroom.
The stench of blood and feces hits me, and dread claws at my stomach.
My mother lies curled on her side on the bed, motionless, her head turned at an impossible angle. The black hair she always keeps immaculately styled spills across her face. Red lights flash on and off above the bed.
I want to believe she’s asleep. I want to believe I’m having a terrible dream from which I’ll awaken any minute.
“Mom?” I approach the bed.
Tears stream down my cheeks. I push her hair away from her too pale face.
The pressure of a hand on my shoulder pulls me backward. I jerk away from the touch.
“You don’t want to see this.” I don’t know if the voice is Finn or Alden. I don’t care.
I turn, half-blind with tears. “We can save her. There’s a way if we can get her to the infirmary.”
I roll my mother onto her back. Her torso gapes open like the lapels of a flesh-toned dressing gown from where she was sliced from sternum to crotch with brutal efficiency. Whoever killed her knew what they were doing. They used the one sure and certain way to kill an ambassadorial body.
Ropes of pink guts spill onto the bedding.
Strong hands drag me away from the bed, off the ship and down to the surface of Lakhish Alpha.
* * *
It could have been days or even weeks later in the way we measured time aboard the Stanhope, but Terran standard time didn’t matter because the rebels—the Tengay faction—had blown the ship not long after Finn, Alden and I escaped. All I’d taken with me were the clothes on my back and Paladin.
My mother is dead, my father missing and presumed dead, and I am the guest of the people of Lakhish Alpha.
Sort of.
They tolerate me because of Paladin. Apparently, we were a matched set, like peanut butter and chocolate; can’t have one without the other.
That was one of the things I learned from Alden Hendrix on his frequent visits to the small house I’d been given. At least to my face they call it a house; it feels more like a prison. The guards stationed at every entrance don’t help, but considering what happened to my family, I can’t complain.
Although, if I had any way of knowing the facts of my situation, it would have helped considerably. Had Kendall been working with the Tengay terrorists? Or were his actions part of some plan he and my mother had hatched in opposition to my father? The only way I could find out for sure would be to talk to my father, but first, I’d have to find him.
On one of his visits, I ask Alden, “You knew they were going to destroy the ship, didn’t you?”
We sit on the porch on chairs fashioned from the ever-present reeds they seem to use for everything on the planet. I drag a finger over the sleeve of the shirt I wear. It’s blue and made from (guess what?) the same plant material, except that they’d found a way to process the fibers, making them soft and pliable.
“We suspected, but didn’t know for sure. All we had to go on were rumors that the ambassador,” he hesitates, the pulse at the base of his throat quickening, “that your father had secret orders he would not hesitate to follow if an agreement could not be achieved between the Lakhishan elders and the rebels.”
He’s told me this story about my father many times. As if it would take multiple tellings to convince me that the ambassador ordered to unilaterally enforce peace had been about to engage the Stanhope’s powerful laser cannons and eliminate the problem altogether. Along with what passed for civilization in this sector.
That scenario sounded more like a plan my mother would back.
No matter how many times I heard the story, I didn’t want to believe it. If destroying the planet had been on my father’s agenda, why had he remained in orbit so long? Why had he worked so hard to bring the warring parties to the peace table?
Without my father, I have only questions.
After Alden checks the hour about fifteen times, I stand. “I’m ready.”
Finn waits for us in the street, and with one brother on either side, I walk to the Hall of Justice.
* * *
I don’t know what I expect. Wait, yes I do. I suspected the hearing should look like something out of the old vids: a simple courtroom in a frame building with lots of windows to let in light. The justice should be a tall male dressed in somber robes. Maybe he will address those gathered to listen to his words of wisdom.
Utter nonsense.
Or wishful thinking.
I studied the various iterations of the Rule of Law, as it’s known and practiced in the Terran system. The Seeded worlds were free of such notions, radically free, because they could do as they pleased as long as their actions didn’t harm anyone else. That meant there was no standard Rule of Law across the universe.
The Lakhishan elders took pains to point out that they had not destroyed my family and the Stanhope. The blame fell on the mysterious Tengay faction, the same rebels who threatened Lakhish Alpha.
I would have had some idea of what to do or say if my wishful thinking about trust in the Rule of Law and my father’s power had any basis in reality. I let go of my fantasies when I say goodbye to Finn and Alden and walk up the stone steps of the Hall of Justice.
An attendant ushers me into an antechamber. Thickly woven carpets cover the planked floor and soft, brightly colored textiles flank the windows. Three of the walls are lined with low couches layered with a multitude of embroidered cushions.
A round pouf of a seat commands the center of the room. The attendant indicates I am to sit there.
Curtains flutter though there’s no breeze. A section of the wall panel slides apart and an old, old woman hobbles through the opening. She supports her weight with a cane that looks as if it has been carved from a thicker, heavier variety of reed. A cloud of silver-white hair haloes her face.
It seems to take an eternity, but she finally makes her way to the bank of cushions in the middle of the wall and lowers herself with great pain and ceremony.
Behind me, the main door swings open. Finn and Alden enter, taking posts on either side of the entrance with their legs spread wide, hands clasped before them, like sentries or soldiers.
Do they fear I’m going to harm the old woman?
I try to make eye contact, but the brothers ignore me, keeping their gazes trained on the invisible horizon.
I turn back to the woman I suppose is my judge, jury, and executioner.
“I am the—” she utters a word I can’t make out, “But you may call me Merin.” She reaches into the depths of her red robe, pulling out a knotted bundle of cloth. Slowly, reverently, she unfolds the layers of cloth.
Paladin.
She sets the figure on a low, round table. The moment her fingers release him, Paladin begins to glow, his color gradually shifting from a dark, solid bronze color, moving through the light spectrum until he beams a clear, rosy light.
She leans back and folds her hands in her lap. “As you can see, we have followed your wishes and taken good care of your friend.”
“Thank you.” I’m ridiculously happy to see Paladin again.
Merin is the chief elder of the Lakhishan people and today she will decide my fate. Despite that knowledge, all I can think about when I stare at Paladin is the day my father pressed the toy into my hands. Where is my father now? Is he still alive? Tears well. I have to blink and swallow several times to regain my composure.
“Do you have anything to say in your defense?” Merin asks.
This is what Finn and Alden and I have discussed for weeks. What I knew of the terrorist plot in which Kendall, and possibly my mother, had been deeply embedded, when I knew it, the extent to which I’d been involved, how much my mother had known, including an entire line of questioning where it was clear she was suspected of funding and supporting the terrorists.
I knew almost nothing. My answers satisfied neither Finn nor Alden. There was no reason to think this day and this hearing would be any different.
“I can only tell you that I did not have any knowledge of my mother’s plans. I was not aware and remain unconvinced she was allied with the terrorists. I believe the ship’s steward, Kendall, took advantage of his relationship with her.” I took a breath and gathered my courage. “If you truly believe my mother would have turned the Stanhope’s weapons on the people of Lakhish Alpha, I hope your belief is based in fact, not rumors. I would like to see your evidence—if you have any.”
The old woman laughs. “Child, child, we are not here to discuss your mother or your missing father, for that matter.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ambassador Jin-Dahl did, indeed, bring a weapon to Lakhish Alpha aboard his great ship. We knew this from the start.” Her expression grows serious. “The Tengay knew this secret, as well. They wanted the weapon, as did we. Despite the efforts of the Tengay to alter the balance of power, the weapon was not destroyed with the ship nor did it fall into their hands.”
“Finn and Alden were hunting for the weapon that night.”
Merin nods. “Your father alerted us to the possibility of the attack. It is my regret we failed to intervene in time to save your mother. The Tengay blew the ship because they did not want anyone else to possess the weapon.”
For a long moment, grief rises in my throat until I cannot bear to think of all I’ve lost.
Merin sighs heavily and gestures with her cane at Paladin. “You think this thing is a toy. You even gave it a name.”
I swipe at the corners of my eyes. “What does a toy have to do with anything?”
She waves the cane in the air again impatiently. “Pick it up. Now.”
When I’m seated again with the Paladin in my lap, she says, “Alden tells me you are able to use Paladin to make the stars dance.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. It makes for a pretty show.”
“More than a show. It is a weapon, my girl, one of the most powerful weapons ever created. It links to one user and one user alone. In case you were wondering, that would be you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She pounds her cane on the floor. “It is hot in here. Open the window.”
I start to rise.
She pounds the cane on the floor again, louder this time. “No, with the weapon. Use it. Use the energy of the weapon and open the window.” While she had been speaking, the light coming from Paladin has brightened considerably. He’s translucent now.
I could pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about. That would be a lie.
There is no escape.
The first time my father pressed Paladin into my hands, we stood on the Stanhope’s observation deck in low orbit over the planet whose name I cannot remember. My father asked me to play a game with him.
“Make the stars dance, Fallan.”
And I did.
Explosions rocked the clouds layered over the planet far below. Bright like the holiday fireworks I remembered from my early childhood on Earth.
He’d stoked my hair and called me a good girl.
I spent years telling myself Paladin was a toy and lights were merely a pretty display. In the Hall of Justice on Lakhish Alpha, my defenses and justifications crumble.
I lift my chin and meet Merin’s hard gaze. “I can open the window as you ask or I can bring this building down around us. It matters not. Which would you prefer?”
She chuckles. “I prefer to live, my child.”
“If you’ve known all along what I can do with Paladin, why didn’t you kill me the way you killed my mother?”
“We did not kill your mother,” she said softly.
“Then who did?” If she expects me to use Paladin, I want some answers.
“Your steward, Kendall. He was allied with the Tengay and in opposition to your father’s goals. He tried to kill you as well, if you recall. Happily, he failed.”
Happily?
What is wrong with this woman? Linked to Paladin, I am a human weapon capable of taking out every living thing on this planet without breaking a sweat.
Why isn’t she afraid of me?
My mother was.
She feared what I might become, which is why she risked everything—civil war and death and allied herself with terrorists—to save me.
As if in answer to my unspoken question, Merin reaches into the voluminous folds of her skirt and extracts a knotted cloth. It is stained with dark splotches of dried blood. Three coins fall out and clatter to the floor—the same three coins I’d tossed into the market stall as payment for the return of Paladin.
“In our culture, the gift of three white coins is the request of a student for a teacher.”
“You know that’s not what I meant when I threw the coins into the market stall.”
“Your ignorance of our customs changes nothing.” She passes her hand over Paladin’s head and the glow dims.
I gasp. “How is that possible? I thought you said it only attuned to one person.”
She smiles and it is a slow, crafty thing that takes residence on her face. “Yes, I did.”
“Then why—”
“Why does the device you call Paladin respond to me?”
I nod.
She strokes the small figure with a fondness I recognize. “It took me weeks to puzzle the meaning of your relationship with the weapon. First, you should know that the device you refer to as Paladin is mine. We are bonded in a very real sense.”
My gut twists with a sharp, ugly pang of jealousy.
“And yet you think he is yours, do you not?”
I can’t take my eyes from the softly glowing figure. The connection between us throbs in my gut like hunger.
Merin continues, unconcerned with my growing frustration and sounding utterly sure of herself. “You are not wrong. This Paladin belongs to you as certainly as he belongs to me. Yet how can this be?”
I don’t know what to say, so I remain silent.
“You, my dear, are not entirely a person, are you?”
If it is possible for the universe to flip upside down and back again, that is what happens in the space between one breath and the next.
“Yet you managed to bond with the device. It is quite remarkable.” Merin straightens her back and directs her terrible gaze at me. “There are those among us who think that because of your abilities, you pose a terrible danger. They might be right, however, I think their conclusions are hasty and ill advised. I would prefer that you live and become my student.” She gestures at the three white coins on the floor. “The choice is yours. What say you?”
I know what she is asking. With the aid of Paladin, I can use the coins and transform the metal they contain into small projectiles and kill Merin, Finn and Alden. If I do so, there remains the possibility Merin has enough skill and power left that she could also tap into the power of Paladin and stop me. He belongs to both of us, but only one of us of can command him completely at any time. Only one of us would survive the battle.
I stand and cross the room, gathering the three white coins on my way.
I kneel before Merin, bow my head, and open my palms.