Snillek dodged another dripping tentacle. Why, seriously, why do scientists do these things?
The multi-gorgon reared back, opening its beak for an ear-splitting raptor shriek, and swung its clubbed tail. She jumped the wildly aimed appendage and dodged when talons reached for her. As patchwork chimeras went, this was a nightmare, an amalgamation of every creature's offensive and defensive weapons in the known universe.
The second head, the vaguely spider-esque one, made a revolting hawking sound. Snillek brought up her shield as it spit mucous-laden acid at her. It hit the repeller field with a wet sizzle and glopped to the ground at her feet.
Gross.
The vibra-halberd wasn't doing much. Sure, she'd managed to lop off a tentacle, but she couldn't get in close enough to damage vital systems. Which had to be in the middle of that twisted mess, surely? While she'd promised the scientists that she would try not to damage the creature too badly—further study needed, blah-blah-blah—she wasn't about to be killed by an animated version of a child's nightmare crayon drawing.
Halberd returned to its place on her back, she drew her plasma rifle from its holster, settled the rifle against her shoulder, aimed center mass, and fired. The chimera stilled, only its three remaining squid tentacles waving, and exploded, sending chunks of foul-smelling glop flying in all directions.
Snillek had never been so thankful for a full-face polyceramic helmet in all her life.
A nearby stream offered some goop relief, but it was going to take some serious cleaning agents to get her armor shining again. She mounted her all-terrain hoversled with a huff and drove back to the labs, where the scientists still huddled in a lab-coated knot in the clean room.
The lab director cleared her throat. "Is it… ah…"
"It's pretty well toast, if by toast we're talking about a puddle of slime." Snillek leaned in the doorway so she wouldn't loom. Humans were so small. "But you're safe now."
"That's a shame. We'd so hoped to be able to study the remains."
Snillek shrugged. "You still could, I guess. Just have to scrape it into a bucket."
A swift, whispered argument followed inside the huddle of scientists, too much like a bunch of firel birds squabbling over a food stash for Snillek's liking. Those things were small but vicious.
Finally, the director edged away from the flock, clearly uncomfortable. The throat clearing was getting annoying. "Paladin Snillek, we thank you for your service and for preventing loss of li—"
One of her juniors whispered in her ear.
"Yes. Er. More loss of life. Ahem. But we will be unable to send a commendation for you to the Galactic Paladin's Order. Nonfulfillment of all the request clauses, you understand."
Snillek managed to contain her irritation to a single thump of her tail. Several scientists jumped and cringed back. "Oh, yes. I understand." Ungrateful, craven… oh, well.
"You'll forgive us if we, ahem, get on with things?"
Not the most subtle Shoo, go away now, scary paladin that she'd ever received, but Snillek got the message. She offered a sharp, precise bow and strode back to her ship, telling herself that she wasn't angry. The commendations didn't matter in the long run. Grand Council members knew how this often went. But they did help with future incident assignments, since clients liked seeing those silver swords lined up when requesting a paladin.
The Order didn't refuse legitimate jobs, and a paladin who specified they were only rescuing economically disadvantaged villages and orphans didn't last long. Still, Snillek preferred the orphans to entitled, overfunded horktep.
"Welcome back, Snillek," the Spark said as Snillek settled into her flight chair. "Are we taking off?"
"We are. Soon as you can get clearance from Planetary." Snillek patted the console of her little runabout. "Head for the Wildfire."
Spark trilled in delight and started nav-calc, obviously pleased to be heading back to the ship she considered her primary home. Snillek removed helmet and gauntlets, securing both in the muck bin, before she strapped in and took the controls. Oh, it felt good to unsheathe her claws and horns after their long confinement. Leaving the gravity well was like shedding another sort of confinement, a return to fitting back into her own skin.
Her father's flagship, Wildfire, was part small city, part interstellar ship. Six kilometers long, with corridors wide enough to accommodate people with wings, it served as residence for the Hak clan as much as their cliff fortress on the homeworld did. Papa had always claimed planetary council meetings were only bearable if he could attend remotely and mute certain members when they had the floor.
On approach, Spark warbled her homecoming song. Wildfire rumbled back her song of welcome and directed them to the third level of small-craft bays. Unique to each intelligent craft, Dzedek ship songs ensured that no interloper, no matter how clever, could pose as one of them.
Not that the Dzedek had living enemies among the spacefaring races, but old habits hung on and died ponderously slow deaths.
As soon as Snillek had secured her ship, her father swooped into the landing bay. His black wings flapped once, stirring the air as he landed, his booming voice rattling the deck plates. "There's my little Flamescale! Did you have a good—Holy First Egg, girl! You reek! What in all stars are you covered in?"
"Hello, Papa. It's monster goop. Believe it or not, I won." She spread her arms. "I'd hug you, but…"
"No, no, that's quite all right." Papa pulled in his wings, the tip of the right one covering his nose. "Go clean up and meet me in my suite. We have things to talk about."
"May have to autoclave myself, but I'll be there soonish."
She left her armor to soak in a heavy-duty cleaning solution, took a shower with extra-abrasive soap, and dressed in a casual kilt and singlet to go see her father. He hadn't seemed irritated or upset, so whatever he had to talk about couldn't be that bad. Probably wanted to confer on a purchase or a trade deal.
But when she reached her father's study, she found him frowning at the cup of tea in front of him. Troubled, distracted—something he hadn't wanted to hint at in public was bothering him.
Papa waited until she had settled and poured herself a cup so she could join him in ignoring the tea. He raised his head. "I've received word that your mother passed away."
"Oh. That's sad. When did this happen?"
"Not quite a week ago. Some odd accident involving stairs, the hem of her gown, and a platter of cake."
While Snillek had met her mother twice—when she was small, during diplomatic functions on the Wildfire—she'd never known the woman well. Seemed a pleasant sort, though, so it was sad. "I'll send condolences to her, ah—" Snillek's claws retracted and extended spasmodically in acute embarrassment. She'd never paid close enough attention to know if her mother had other children. "Family?"
Her father's wing rustling was as close to an uncomfortable display as he got. "There is no family. She never remarried. She never even finalized our divorce. I didn't mind, exactly. Kept me off the marriage brokers' lists. Her, too. But she had no other children. My eggling, my own, do you hear what I'm saying to you?"
"That's even sadder if she had no family. Who's going to inherit her throne n—?" Snillek suddenly understood the term poleaxed on a gut level. "No. Oh no, no, no."
"I see you've caught the thread." He sighed, big shoulders rising and falling. "There's no way around it. You're the heir."
Snillek gaped. "How does this even happen? I can't have been meant to be the only heir."
Papa frowned into his tea. "You weren't. You were meant to be a spare. Just in case. Or a reliable guardian in case one of her other children, who never happened, inherited young. She had her reasons to ally with a male who somewhat resembles legendary Old Earth dragons, reasons she said she would explain when the political climate was right. She never did explain, and now I can't ask."
"I can't rule a planet. A human planet. I don't know the first thing. They need to find someone else."
"The people won't accept anyone else. They want Retilla's daughter." Her father reached over and took her hand. "When you find someone else suitable or have children grown enough of your own, you abdicate. It won't be forever."
"Twenty years I'd be waiting for kids to grow up, Papa. Assuming I could find someone to make kids with. Might not be forever, but it's a farking long time."
"Language." He finally sipped at his tea. "For the sake of diplomacy, please go along with this for now. We'll find a solution somehow."
Snillek flung up both hands and thumped back against her chair. "This is a disaster. How the shells am I supposed to be a princess? I don't know anything about all that."
"We'll be attending the funeral, of course. It's been suggested that you attend in full armor as part of my staff—"
"Wait. I'm going to inherit, and I can't go as me? Papa, what in all levels of Krek?"
He rapped his claws on his chair arm. "Language. It's a state funeral, so we won't stay after the ceremony, but the royal advisor and I agree that you should observe first. The Tarribotians… Ah, little one. They have their own ideas about what you look like."
"What does that even mean? And why wouldn't their new princess come to her own mother's funeral?"
"Your funeral question is the simplest answer in all of this. Tarribotian children do not go to their parents' funerals. It's considered cruel. The princess will be expected to mourn in private. Your other question, though… The last footage their press has of you was when your mother was last here. You were five. Your wings and horns were barely coming in. Your cute little tail was hidden under your formal coat. Do you hear me, daughter?"
Snillek buried her face in her hands. "They think I look more human, don't they?"
"They do. It's my fault, since I kept you out of the newscasts and never gave them your Dzedek name. I just wanted you to have a normal life."
"It was. Papa, I appreciate that. But what do I do now?"
"You'll have to ease yourself into the role. Try to meet their expectations initially so it's not such a shock. We'll pick up the royal advisor from Retilla's court while we're on Tarribotia. He'll help you with everything you'll need to know."
"I better not have to wear a rot-cursed princess gown."
Tarribotia was a pretty planet, all green and blue, with some red-browns and whites in the northern hemisphere. Lots of coastline. Bit of a rough spaceport, though. Not a lot of amenities on the directory besides a few bars, and not enough landing space to accommodate shuttles from all the planetary delegations paying their respects to Princess Retilla. Their shuttle had to circle for an hour before receiving clearance to land.
Once down, though, a sleek, golden government car met them and whisked them off to the capital, Wyckhydeby, so time in the actual spaceport was minimal. As they neared the city, the route they took emptied, no traffic except for government cars.
"Processional route?" Snillek kept her gaze out the window as they approached the city proper.
"Yes." Papa gestured to the electrified markers along the streets. "It's a peaceful planet, but even they understand security for public events."
The city skyline lacked the soaring towers and interesting shapes of many planets' capitals—in fact, it barely had a skyline at all—but it was… cute. The few taller structures had filigreed spires or little cone tops that made it look like the buildings wore hats. Once they turned down the broad thoroughfare that bisected the city, the palace dominated the view, even from blocks away. It also wore cute cone hats on its towers and sported jaunty decorative bits that made it look more like the fancy cakes humans made for celebrations than a serious seat of government.
In contrast, the people lining the streets were serious. Somber colors dominated people's clothing, and somber faces lined the streets—entirely human faces. Yes, it was a human planet, but it was still jarring to encounter a sea of only human faces, since there had been other people at the spaceport.
"I have to ask,"—Snillek spoke softly so the driver wouldn't overhear—"are they xenophobes?"
Papa clicked his claws together in a thinking motion. "Not… as such. This was a closed planet for many generations, though, and some of the laws concerning residency and travel on-planet are outdated still. Your mother was trying—" He cut off with a sigh, shaking his head.
"Sorry, Papa. I'm upsetting you. You were friends even if you didn't see each other often."
"We were. What was initially an economic marriage—Tarribotian fruits are the best in the sector, and our contract marriage made navigating certain interplanetary trade laws much easier—turned into a meeting of minds and genetics. She was an extraordinary human."
Snillek laced their fingers together and let him have his thoughts in peace.
The car let them out in a plaza in front of the palace, the space large enough to land four shuttles side by side, and from there, a gray-uniformed usher led them to seats in the front row of stands obviously erected for the occasion. Here at last were other nonhumans, diplomats from many familiar spacefaring people. Papa shook hands carefully with representatives from Old Earth and Mars, bowed to an Em delegation, and touched claws with the Fekra. One of the Growlans clapped him on both shoulders, a blow that would've taken a human to their knees.
"Elder Tzik." The Growlan touched foreheads with Papa. "We surround your sorrows."
"Thank you, Ambassador Skassi. It's good to see you." Papa turned to indicate Snillek. "This is one of my daughters, Paladin Snillek."
"An honor. Your father's contract mate was a worthy opponent in negotiations."
Snillek could only nod to that, since she wasn't great with formal Growlan phrases. They took their seats as the stands filled with visiting dignitaries and presumably important Tarribotians, and soon after, the hum of a large hovercraft approaching filled the space.
The ponderous beast of a craft crawled down the wide boulevard on which all the dignitaries had arrived. An honor guard in black uniforms lined both sides, standing on the skirt surrounding the bullet-shaped craft. Outriders on hovercycles circled the craft, all in the same unrelieved black. The top of the vehicle was a flat platform on which rode a glass… box—Snillek didn't have any other word for it—and in this box lay the stasis-preserved body of her mother, surrounded by yellow flowers.
The Tarribotians sobbed and waved flags as she drove by, and while Snillek was familiar with the concept of paid mourners, this outpouring of grief came from too many people, too many varieties of people, to be anything but spontaneous and sincere.
Snillek's own throat closed up as her mother's procession passed. Retilla had been too young for this, not even close to the halfway point of a human's hundred-and-fifty-or-so-year lifespan. She still had her glorious mane of red hair, set loose from elaborate styling and fanned out around her. Beyond that, the shell didn't hold her any longer. Anything that could have been discerned from her face—that she was intelligent, strong, and kind—was gone.
The funeral craft stopped at the steps to the palace, and the procession followers shuffled around to take places on the steps or near the podium. The first speaker was a local clerical type with the usual sort of speech. We are gathered here… beloved departed… We ask the gods, so on and so forth. Snillek forced herself to sit straight in her seat and not allow her eyelids to droop. The second speaker was somehow worse, an old man who rambled on about himself and his relationship to Retilla's parents instead of talking about her.
"Who's that?" Snillek whispered to her father, hoping desperately that this wasn't going to be her advisor from court.
"Hmm?" Papa startled and Snillek knew he'd started to nod off. "That's, ah, Lord Snavelpy. I believe he's the Minister of Agriculture."
"He's not…?"
"Great shells, no. I doubt your advisor will speak. More of a behind-the-scenes man."
Better and less long-winded speakers followed, ones who actually spoke about their princess and her dedication to her people and her planet. Papa whispered each name and title as the eulogizers changed, but Snillek quickly lost track. They all had such odd names.
On Dzedek, there would have been a celebration after the funeral. Here, once the speeches were over and Princess Retilla had been escorted into the palace, they were told by a polite usher that their car would be arriving shortly to take them to the spaceport.
Thank you for coming. Now get out. Snillek was staring at the closed palace doors, trying to decide whether to be offended, when a short human with a luggage cart approached her father. Dapper and neat in a formfitting, pastel-blue suit and fancy slippers, he wore his sand-colored hair in perfectly brushed waves and blinked up at them with eyes the color of a frozen lake. His head barely came up to her shoulder, and he huffed a bit handling the cart, so she dismissed him as anything close to a credible threat. But what in the world…
"Kipcup! There you are!" Papa beamed. "I thought you'd be in the thick of things here."
Sniff. "Elder Tzik." The human gave them a complicated bow. "It's a pleasure to see you, sir."
"Kipcup, this is one of my daughters, Paladin Snillek. Snillek, this is Lord Kipcup, who was Princess Retilla's royal advisor and now will be—" Papa cut himself off abruptly, and Snillek knew him well enough to know he'd almost slipped and said yours. "Coming along with us to the Wildfire."
"Paladin Snillek, honored to make your acquaintance." Kipcup swept her an equally elaborate bow, and Snillek hoped that wasn't something she had to learn. They weren't going to get far with lessons if it was.