Blood Crown (16 page)

Minn gestures to her side and a woman joins her. I recognize her as one who’d been sitting at Mal’s side.

“Come on,” I say. “I’ll show you to the living quarters.”

“There’s more,” Minn says, looking to her left. A handful of people step into the kitchen. For a moment I stare at them, dumbfounded. And then I smile—a long, slow, luxurious smile that feels perfect on my face.

“Do you know how to work the transport?” I ask Minn around the grin that splits my face in two.

“Good, then I will show you to the apartments and you can help everyone get settled. Help yourselves to whatever you find—the owners won’t be returning for their things.”

Minn looks troubled by this and she clasps onto her own wrist so tightly her skin turns white. “Are you sure? These people were rich—surely they would want their belongings.”

“They left this ship years ago, Minn. If they were going to return, they would have already done so. Don’t worry.” I almost say something about being their leader, their queen, but I’m not ready. Not yet.

I want them to appoint me their queen, to recognize me and respect me, before I take the title myself

Several people join me on the transport and I take them to the sixteenth floor. A couple women gasp when the doors open. Where the support level was sterile, with cold steel on all sides, the sixteenth floor is the exact opposite. Here, the walls are covered with textured shades of pink, pale amber lights shining on the walls. Our feet fall silently on the thickly carpeted floor.

I work to keep my own awe in check as we step into the hallway. “This is the first apartment.” I gesture to my right as I turn around to face the group. “Who would like it?” At first no one answers, they just stare at either me or the door, wringing their hands. “Here,” I say, stepping to the door and waving my hand over the access panel.

“Access denied,” the ship says.

A man behind me murmurs, “Knew this wasn’t gonna work.”

I send a command to the ship, alerting it to the change in residents—for this suite and all the others. All except those that had once belonged to my mother and father. And me.

I wave my hand over the panel again and it slides open. I don’t bother to point it out.

I step inside the apartment, breathing in deeply of the stale, perfumed air. Directly in front of me, white couches lounge close to the floor while a floor-to-ceiling screen reveals the image of a rich garden at twilight. As I walk further into the apartment, the others trail behind me, getting more and more adventurous the further in we go. Soon they are sitting on the couches, exploring the small kitchen, and exclaiming in wonder as they discover the bed.

This time when I ask who would like the apartment, almost every hand goes up. This elicits a chuckle from me—much to the surprise of everyone there. “There are enough apartments for each of you to have your own; but if you want to share that’s okay, too.”

One of the women steps forward. She’s holding hands with her daughter—Lyn, I think, though she is a couple years older than me and has never before spoken to me. They regard me, chins raised. “My daughter and I would like to claim this-a-a” she stutters, losing her nerve.

“Apartment,” I supply. I bow my head. “Of course.” I turn, but when I get to the door I realize there is one thing to be done. “Come here.”

There must have been something in my voice, something that raised a warning bell in the woman’s mind because she tightens her grip on her daughter.

“I need to encode the door with your palm print,” I say. I think I deserve congratulations for the way I speak so sweetly even though I am frustrated by the constant distrust.

The woman sighs and she and her daughter step forward. I program first one, then the other, then demonstrate how my palm no longer opens the door. I don’t bother to tell them that because of my relationship with the ship I can still gain access should I wish it.

“You mean, we can lock the door? We can—” the woman swallows with an audible click in her throat, “have privacy?”

The girl brings her hand to her throat where it trembles a little. My heart softens as I look at her. The kitchen, with its heartless guards, really had been a terrible place. I vow to myself that I will never allow such atrocities, that every person’s body is sacrosanct.

On an impulse, I reach out for the girl’s hand. “You can live in safety now. You can sleep in peace.”

I hold her gaze and see the moment her fear turns to hope and then relief. She is free. Well and truly free. She throws her arms around my neck and whispers, “Thank you” against my skin.

The rest of us file out of the apartment, leaving the two women standing in the middle of the room, the blush of happiness coloring their cheeks.

I endure blast after blast while my pod-mates and I are clamped into our stations. We are foot soldiers, only of use when the navy battle has come to an end—when insurgents break through our shields and overrun our ship, or we are called upon to lay claim to those residing on another vessel.

I am able to eavesdrop some on the chatter running through the ship’s data stream. We are at war with the rebellion and the
Capital
has fled.

I am allowed only a moment of relief.

The Mind are tracking Serantha’s flight.

I pull up the known outposts and ship-states and calculate those we are most likely to reach in a timely manner. There are precious few and only one that truly offers any kind of lasting hope for the people aboard this vessel.

While I work, I think about the woman Serantha has become and how her very existence changes things. Changes plans. My plan.

Galen still lives.

Serantha doesn’t remember me—and obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me.

I am left with only one reasonable conclusion.

Until the Mind are defeated, there is no hope for humankind. That knowledge is so crushing, so painful, that I can’t bear to pass it on to Serantha. It is enough that I know who she is, who we could be together. It is enough that I should bear its loss should I fail—I do not want Serantha to perish under the weight of it.

If I am successful—if I can bring an end to the Mind scourge, then I will return for her.

When we are free, well and truly free, then, if she will have me, I will make her mine.

The last of them tucked into a suite of their own, Minn and Dillon stand by my side, refusing to take rooms for themselves.

“It isn’t proper for you to tend to yourself,” Minn insists.

“I’ve been doing it the whole of my life,” I reply. Never mind that everyone—including Minn—had steadfastly refused to acknowledge me if they could manage it and if they couldn’t, they didn’t give me sweet meats and kisses.

“Nor is it right for you to be left defenseless. I don’t trust the others to not try some sort of retaliation,” Dillon insists.

None of us point out that I’ve been defending myself against the guards—with reasonable success—as well. There isn’t anyone who could truly threaten me—except perhaps an Elite.

“Well, I should return to the control level, at any rate.”

They nod but don’t move, so I turn and walk down the corridor to the nearest transport and, of course, they join me. I wonder if I’ll ever be alone again.

On the control level—the con—the door dissolves to reveal Nic leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the command console.

“What are you doing?”

He leans forward so quickly his feet get stuck on the levers and he nearly tips over, only righting himself with lightning-quick reflexes. Reflexes that rival my own. “I am finished. The course is set. You can see for yourself.” He stands and gestures to the console with a small bow. His arrogance fills the room like the smell of rotten potatoes.

I step up to the counter and pretend to inspect the information streaming by on the screen, when in reality I already know: The course has been set for a small ship-state called
New Oregon
and we will reach it in seven hours and eighteen minutes. “It looks fine,” I answer.

He bobs his head and purses his lips—probably to keep from replying with his usual “Of course,” which is a good thing because if I hear him say it one more time I might have to crush his throat.

“Who are you then?” Dillon saunters up to Nic and looks for all the world as tough and confident as any of the guards who hassled us. I’m glad for the show of strength because I want to know who—or more specifically
what
—Nic is, too.

Nic hooks his thumbs into the loops at his belt and rocks back onto his heels. “I’m just a humble soldier in the Empire’s service.” He says the words, he sounds meek enough, but all the space around him fills with his superiority and I know—I
know
—he is lying.

“The Empire, eh? I didn’t think there was an empire, anymore.” The way Dillon levels the baton at Nic I know he means business. Maybe he is hoping for a chance to take out some of his aggression toward the guards on this stranger.

“This might take a while, think I could sit down?” Nic spreads his arms wide. “In fact, how about we retire to the dining room? I’m hungry—anyone else hungry?” He looks at each of us, the smile on his face only slipping a little when he meets our stony gazes. “Fine. Sitting here will be just fine. It’s not like I’m starving or anything.” I don’t bother to remind him of the whole reason we are returning to harm’s way is because there
is no food
.

He takes the seat he had before, then leans forward to peer at the console. “How much longer until
New Oregon
?” He sighs as he slumps back again. I get the impression he thinks it will be altogether too long to remain in our company.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” he asks with a pointed look in my direction.

Instead of answering I ask, “You speak differently than us. Where did you say you are from?”

His face blanches and for a moment I think I catch a whiff of fear radiating from him
. He doesn’t want his true identity revealed
. “I, um. I’m from the East. But I belong to the rebellion now.”

“You just said you served in the Empire’s army. So which is it?”

“I used to serve in the Emperor’s
navy
, it’s true. But I, uh, joined the rebellion some while ago—which is still in service of the Empire, I might add.”

“What is the rebellion?” Dillon seems to like to do his talking with his weapon—he waves it in Nic’s face every time he asks a question.

Nic sighs and pushes his hands through his hair. I can’t decide if I prefer his hair messy like it is now, or flopped forward over his eyes. I shake my head and curse myself for getting distracted by such frivolity.
Why do I care how he wears his hair?

“The Mind are enslaving the humans. My—my emperor thought they’d be content with the West and so all these years after the coup, he still hasn’t done anything to stop them. But they’ve only been strengthening their numbers, securing their position. As you know, they’ve done a fine job.