Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

“Harbouring a fugitive.” The soldier holding Marine tightened his grip on her arm. He pulled her head back. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, trying to get air, but still she didn’t let out a sound. She wouldn’t give the soldier the satisfaction, Kare knew. “That’s against the law.”

“Leave her alone!” Silom launched himself at his mother.

"Don't!" Kare tried to reach him. The soldiers were armed, they were twitchy, they were on a do-not-fail mission. A first shot sounded. Silom yelled, a red line appearing on his throat, and dropped to his knees.

“No!” Kare ran forwards, but another shot fired and Marine fell to the ground. Her red hair spilled across a ground that turned redder. Her eyes were open, stilled. Kare stared at her, stunned. Grief rose in him, a familiar mix of shock and dread, making his legs shake, his stomach clench. It had happened so fast, and he'd let it, damn him. He should have taken charge, dealt with the soldiers. He was supposed to be something special.

Silom crawled to his mother. One of the soldiers was on a comms unit, no doubt asking for backup. He had no more time to delay, no more opportunity to doubt. If he wasn’t strong enough, he’d lose everyone.

He focused on the soldiers and pushed them back to the transport. They tried to fight, but he held firm, tumbling them in one after the other, sending his power out in short, sharp pulses. Sweat broke across his brow; to manipulate so many at once, to draw on enough resolve to do that, was harder than he’d known. But no one blocked him; there were no psychers amongst them. At least he had that advantage– they didn’t know what he could do. Hell,
he
didn’t know what he could do, held in this anger, this moment.

The last soldier slammed into the transport. He closed the door. Sealed it. Thought about what was needed. Oh, hell, he couldn’t do this.

He had to. He turned his attention to the fuel cells, imagining heat building around them. Silom was crouched beside Marine, close to the transport: too close. He wanted to find a way to take her away from here– it was obscene to leave her lying here.

“Silom! Get over here!” He had an authority in his voice he’d never heard before, born of desperation, of the sick knowledge he’d fucked up and it wasn’t him who’d paid the price. Silom pushed his mother’s hair back from her face, murmured something that may have been sorry, and then he ran, joining Kare.

“What do we do?” He looked around the yard. “There’ll be more. You can’t hold them in there forever.”

“I know.” Gods, this was hard. He could feel the panic of the men inside, how it was growing– the transport must be getting hot. With each pulse he sent, their thoughts grew stronger. Their fear was through him. It hurt, in hideous waves, part pain, part self-loathing. He found himself grabbing Silom’s shoulder to stay upright. He didn’t want to do this; he didn’t know how he could.

The transport exploded in a single sheet of flame, ending the thoughts of the men. Their pain carried to him, the residue of their fear, and he screamed in the pure knowledge of what he’d done. The transport burned. The air was thick with smoke. Someone pulled him to his feet, someone solid.

“Come on,” said Silom, and he had his arm under Kare’s shoulder, taking his weight, a weight that was too heavy. “We need to go. Now.”

They ran. A transport took off, hounding them through the Needles. Silom was on his comms unit, telling Liane’s family to get out now, now, now, and none of his calls were answered. They reached Shug’s yard, ducking under the sign. In front of the office, Shug and his son lay, their eyes staring. Already the carrion birds had gathered along the top of the office.

“Keep going!” yelled Silom. The transport wasn’t far behind them; it would find them easily, here in the open. Mouthing a sorry, Kare ran past Shug. Another person dead because they knew him. He caught up with Silom and they crossed the bare strip of ground before the yard.

The low whine of a shot reached him, followed by a bolt. He flung a shield up, a searing pain in his head making him yell, but he stretched it so it covered Silom. He was close to the end of his endurance, ready to give up, but no more people were going to die because of him this day. He raced to the two ships. Perhaps the bigger one wasn’t stripped yet. But, reaching it, he saw its innards spread out on the ground. Damn it.

“Where do we go?” yelled Silom.

“The planet-hopper!” He was drained, sick, his head thudding. At any moment, the shield would give.

“We can’t use a planet-hopper! It might not even have a star drive.”

They’d have to. They were out of options. He followed Silom up the gangway. Shouts came from behind. The transport had landed, spilling soldiers after them.

He slammed the hatch behind them, and ran to the control-room. Control-cone, really. The pilot was gone, presumably fled when Shug and Shaun had been taken. Kare dove for the pilot’s seat, thanking his father for at least teaching him which end of a ship went up. Silom crashed beside him, starting the control panel, his work at the yard paying off as he checked off the engines, confirmed capacity. Dull thuds sounded– the troops were shooting at the ship.

He took it up, a vertical lift-off at a speed no planet-hopper should be forced to. The sky darkened as they cleared the outer atmosphere, into space beyond. It would take precious moments before the transport followed them, more to alert space-control. He punched in a course, taking them to the dark side of Dignad, away from the hub into deeper space. Let the authorities assume he’d go for the hub; it would be crazy to do anything else in this bucket, after all.

The noise of the engines settled. The adrenaline that had carried him onto the ship left with a crash, leaving him shaking, almost burning with tiredness. He had nowhere to go, he realised. Nothing was safe, and it never would be again.

Grief hit, familiar, borne once, and no easier for it. His shoulders shook as waves came at him, making him double in a silent, bitten off yell. Silom, opposite, looked ahead, his eyes empty. The cost of their freedom had been too high, and who knew how many people had been pulled in, and what would happen to them. All because he'd lived amongst them. It wasn't right. None of it was. With a shaking hand he set the vector-alarm and tried to think what to do next.

Steady
. That’
s what Dad used to say: when you were getting close to a planet, you had to keep the ship steady. Kare squinted as Holbec filled the viewing window, a green disc against the darkness of space. He concentrated on the control panel and tried to remember anything else his dad had said about landing a ship.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Silom drummed his fingers on the edge of the co-pilot’s seat. His right eye was half closed, and an angry scar stood out where the laser shot had grazed his neck. The mark was almost as red as his hair; another inch, and he’
d have been dead.

Kare swallowed at the memory of his aunt, her red hair spread under her, as red as her blood. The image had been coming and going, invading his dreams: her staring eyes, blue as the sea, her stillness. He forced himself to focus on the ship. He had to land this thing. He'd tried not to think about that the whole way through the flight. In fact, he'd been sure there would be no landing, that the basic star drive would burn out, faced with a flight from one side of the stellar cluster to the other. He was lucky the ship even had a drive– not every planet-hopper did. But Dignad was far enough from the twin central stars to merit it in the bigger hoppers, and Shug hadn’t cut corners. He’d probably anticipated trouble– it seemed to follow Kare around, after all. He frowned at the memory of Dignad and forced it away. After he landed, there’d be time to think about what had happened, to go over the endless might-have-beens.

“Of course I can land.” The ship dropped, quicker than it should, and he adjusted their flight path. “I grew up on a ship.”

“It
’s been ten years. You might be a bit rusty.”

“I got us here, didn’t I?” Kare glanced at the beacon:
it
had got them here. All he’d done was set it up. Still, if Karia could land a freighter at the base when she was seven, he could manage a planet-hopper at seventeen. Oh, gods, let him manage a planet-hopper.

“Is that the base?” asked Silom, leaning forward. “It’s bigger than I expected.”

“That’s the port.” Kare cast his eyes over it until he spotted the docking bays. He selected the landing-programme and sat back, letting the ship take over for now. It was a better pilot than he’d ever hope to be, after all. “The building behind it is the base.”

He could see it clearly now, the long, low building, set into a jungle clearing, and a flutter of excitement settled in his stomach. Would they remember him? He guessed some might. Darwin le Payne definitely would.

If they did, would they let him stay? His breath caught, remembering the night they’d left. It was entirely possible he’d land the ship only to find himself banished to the outer rim colonies where he’d have to hope his mother didn’t find him. Ice fingers ran down his spine at the thought of his father’s body, wracked by pain; his screams. There was no hope of his mother not finding him.

“You’re sure we’re doing the right thing?” There was a slight tremor in his voice and he knew Silom must have noticed, too.

“I’m sure. At least they might give us some credits.” Silom looked composed, but he didn’t meet Kare’s eyes. “Hell, a change of clothes and some unreconstituted food would be good. Besides, this ship won't hold out much longer."

True
. “You know, even if they do kick me out, you could probably stay.”

“Like that’s going to happen.” Silom rubbed his neck. “I hope they treat this.” He nodded at the planet. “You’re wrong. They’re going to take one look at you and decide you’re their free pass to legitimacy. The heir to the empire, siding with them.”

Kare tensed. It was his only card, and one he didn’t want to have to play. Still, needs must; he had to get out of his current mess first before he thought about any future trouble. “Maybe….”

“You can’t walk in like it doesn’t matter. It’s
your
name, and your future.” Silom glanced forward. “And you need to decide what to do with it in the next few minutes.”

“Enough, I know.” Kare frowned. Silom made it sound so easy: go with the rebels, or embrace his mother’s empire. He hadn’t been on the ship when Dad had succumbed, hadn’t seen the horror ahead if he made the wrong choice. Kare adjusted the readout settings. “At least they haven’t shot at us. That’s something.”

One of the port’s docking bays opened and three fighters came up, taking flanking positions around their ship.

“You were saying?”

“Standard procedure, that,” said Kare, not at all sure it was. The port filled the viewing window. It really was huge: five separate docking bay doors, only one of which was open. The ship’s control panel flashed, indicating a switch to manual was
imminent. He licked his lips and sat with his hands hovering over the panel.

“Lock,” he said, his voice amazingly steady. The HUD-display zoomed into the port, letting him focus. He kept his hand on the control panel as the ship cruised in, its speed dropping. He wished Karia was here and he was relegated to the co-pilot’s seat again. Silom’s breathing became ragged.

“Pilot, identify yourself.” The voice was harsh, not friendly.

He glanced at Silom, who shrugged. “They’ll have a record of the beacon.”

“Right.” Kare leaned forward to the voice recorder. “Kare Varnon.”

“Your purpose?”

Kare hesitated, sure that saving his skin wasn’t the answer they wanted. “I want to join the group.”

He looked across at Silom, who nodded.

“Keep flying.”

He did, holding a landing trajectory, waiting for the order to pull up and go. The control panel pulsed.

“Permission to land granted. Fighters will remain with your ship; any deviation from your flight path and they will open fire. Come out with any weapons in plain sight.”

Relief mingled with dread; he really was going to have to land the ship. He flicked from the HUD to the panel and back again. Planet-hopper or not, this wasn’t going to be fun.

“Not especially friendly, are they?” Silom said.

Kare tried to keep his voice bland. “It’s a rebel base, what did you expect?”

He flew towards the docking bay. He’d have been more familiar with landing a freighter, the sudden drop into the port; the planet-hopper would land horizontally, and he’d have to time its shutdown just right.

Line the ship up, wait until the nose is in, then reverse thrust– hard, once only– and kill the engines. Don’t go at it too slowly. Not too fast, either; just keep it steady.
The constant teaching his dad had given Karia on how to fly different types of craft. It had sounded easy then.

“Are you sure you can do this?”

Kare’s eyes flicked between the speed data and the bay ahead.
Steady.
“Silom.” He squinted in concentration, checking she was lined up, ready to pull out if not.

“What?”

“If you ask me again if I can land, I’m going to throw you out of the airlock.”

“Okay,” said Silom. He was quiet for a moment, before he said, “You’re very close; shouldn’t you be slowing down?”

Probably. The base loomed, dwarfing the ship. The nose of the hopper was swallowed by the docking bay. Kare’s hands moved to the thrust command. How far in should he go? He had no idea. He waited another moment, reversed the drive and hit it once, hard. “We’re in– ”

Alarms shrieked through the ship. Walls flashed past. The hangar engulfed them as the ship streaked forwards.

“We’re gonna fucking crash!” shouted Silom. He threw himself forwards in his seat, head down and braced.

Kill the engines!
His father’s voice echoed as if he was there.
Kill them!

“Close down!” Kare yelled. He braced and waited for the impact. He was dead, everything was solved. There was a whine as the engines closed down, but the ship was still moving. Something smashed behind them. Silom yelled, wordless and loud. Kare squeezed his eyes closed.
Gods, let it be quick.
There was a crash and he was flung forward, the restraints jolting against his chest. The alarms stopped and he tensed, waiting for pain to hit.