Haladras (3 page)

“The physician says Skylar should get plenty of rest,”
explained Rasbus, his military tone returning. “I’m putting him under mandatory
sick leave. He’s not to come near the docks for two weeks. After that...we’ll
see.”

With that, Rasbus stepped out into the growing darkness,
climbed into his transport, and was gone.

No sooner had the port master left than Skylar’s mother was
at his side, looking into his face with her penetrating hazel eyes, trying to
read his thoughts. She always did it whenever she sensed anything wrong. And
she could always sense it. She never had to say anything to get him to divulge
whatever was bothering him. It always just came out. Those eyes, that look,
possessed some power of enchantment. Skylar usually didn’t mind confiding in
her. The two had always been close; they only had each other.

Skylar’s father died in a mining accident just before he was
born. His mother didn’t speak much about his father. He assumed the memory was
too painful for her. Skylar was their first and only child.

Despite his love for her, he resisted opening up to share
the misery of his day, his unbelievable disappointment. He couldn’t bring
himself to do it. Of late, he’d been less and less inclined to talk openly with
her. He simply said, “I guess you don’t have to worry about me flying anymore.”

She frowned.

“I’m sorry, Sky. I know how much that jetwing means to you.
Do you know what's wrong with it? Can’t it be repaired?”

Skylar shook his head bitterly, holding the jetwing's two
cylindrical components in his hands. “The right-hand thruster is completely
shot. No propulsion, at all. The coupling-field generator is destroyed, too. It
might be repairable, but not cheaply.”

He took the two thrusters and glumly connected their ends
together, the way he did when we wanted to hang it from his belt as a single
unit. All it was good for now was to use as a club, or as a cane for a midget.

He looked up at his mother.

Her face had fallen somewhat. It was obvious to him why. He
had mentioned money, a scarce resource for them. Skylar knew it only too well.
It had taken his mother nearly a full year to save up the money to buy him that
jetwing, working extra hours at the textile mill, baking and selling bread to
the neighbors, and other odd jobs she could manage. No, that was the end of the
jetwing. Skylar wouldn’t allow her to exert herself like that again. It
shouldn’t have happened in the first place. But she managed, somehow, to hide
her scheming from him.

“Well,” said his mother, forcing herself to sound cheery,
“you never know what could happen.” She tousled his sun-bleached hair just like
she did when he was a young boy. “I’ll get your supper.”

Skylar went to bed early that night. His body was fatigued
and his head still ached. As he lay in his bed, just before he drifted off to
sleep, his thoughts turned to Kindor.

What’s going to happen to him now?

And then his thoughts turned to Captain Arturo.

Why was he in such a hurry? Did something happen during
the trade route?

THREE

S
KYLAR SLEPT LONG
into the
morning. The sun reached its midday altitude before he was awake and sitting up
in bed. His head felt considerably better, but his body still protested with
pain.

His mother peeked into his room to check on him—no doubt,
for the hundredth time. She smiled to see him awake as she unhesitatingly
entered his bedchamber. She was obviously still concerned about him. Her smile
could not hide the anxiety in her eyes.

“How are you feeling today, Sky?”

“Fine, Mother,” he said in a tone which indicated he didn’t
want to be nursed.

Skylar noticed that his mother’s cascade of auburn hair
flowed freely, not tied up and restricted as usual. And her clothes were not
her typical working attire.

“Aren’t you going to the mill today?” said Skylar.

“I got permission to take the day off so that I can look
after you.”

“You didn’t need to do that. I’m fine—really.”

“There’s someone here to see you,” she said, paying no heed
to his disapproval.

“Who?”

The word scarcely reached his lips before a tall figure
stepped into the portal of his bedchamber. Kindor. His friend smiled with that
air of confidence and good humor which always belonged to him, and strode over
to Skylar’s bedside. His jumpsuit, almost the same color as the sandstone walls
and ceiling, was unfastened at his neck, which only added to his casual
personality. On his feet, he wore tall leather boots, and he carried a pilot’s
helmet under his left arm.

“How are you, Skylar?” asked Kindor, his blue eyes shining
at him kindly from his bronzed face. “I see Dr. Beezin has fixed you up nicely.
Strange character, that one. Brilliant surgeon, though.”

“I’m much better, thank you.”

Kindor smiled and then swallowed, furrowing his brows.
“Listen, Skylar, I owe you
and
your mother an apology. I shouldn’t have
placed you in such a position of responsibility. Likewise, you should have had
my help when things went wrong. I hadn’t realized it was you who was in trouble
until just before you decided to take matters into your own hands. By then it
was too late. I tried to reach you with a lift, but, well...” his voice faded
out.

“You don’t owe me an apology. You saved my life.”

Kindor forced a laugh. “Saved your life? I’m the one who put
you in danger to begin with. Things could have gone terribly wrong.”

“I agree with Skylar,” added his mother. “You don’t owe me
an apology, either. Thank you for what you did.”

Kindor didn’t argue the point any further but nodded his
head, letting silence reign for a few moments.

“The other reason I came by,” continued Kindor, his
lighthearted manner returning, “was to invite Skylar to Captain Arturo’s report
hearing. The Council will assemble tonight. Apparently, Arturo has some
important matters to discuss. He left the docks promptly after his ship was
securely docked. Quite unusual for him. He seemed upset that the landing had
taken so long.”

Skylar winced. This was precisely the wrong kind of attention
he wanted from the famed captain. He hoped Arturo had been in too much of a
hurry to inquire into the reason for the delayed docking.

“I’m not a member of the Council, of course, but I did
manage to secure a pair of seats in the gallery. If Skylar is feeling up to
going...”

“Absolutely!” cried Skylar.

“It’s up to your mother, of course.”

Skylar turned to his mother and looked at her imploringly.

She frowned. “Well...”

*  
*   *

“I didn’t want to talk about this too much while your mother
was around,” said Kindor as he and Skylar flew across the Gorge in Kindor’s
speeder, “but what happened at the docks yesterday? Why did you risk your life
like that? You know to use the winch’s emergency release.”

“It wouldn’t release,” said Skylar in exasperation, giving
voice to the conversation he'd had countless times in his head since yesterday.
“I tried over and over to get it to release, but it didn’t work. I even slammed
the button with my fist. My hand still hurts.”

Kindor nodded understandingly. “Did you try backing off the
winch?”

“Full throttle, yes. It refused to budge.”

“Hmm...” Kindor rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Very odd.
I’ve never heard of a winch failing like that.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“Of course I do, Skylar. And I think you ought to get a
medal for saving the dock. But I don’t think Rasbus would agree. He’s never
been so irate.”

The reminder of Rasbus renewed Skylar’s concern. He asked
Kindor what he would do now that Rasbus had discharged him from duty. Kindor,
if he felt any concern for himself, did not give any sign.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I have a feeling Rasbus will come
around. He hasn’t done the paperwork yet. I’m not officially discharged, yet.
Things will work out—just you wait and see.”

The Council House was a prodigious sandstone structure which
stood atop the southern wall at the mouth of the Gorge. The early settlers of
Haladras built it to serve as a meeting place for the Colonial Council and as
administrative headquarters for the viceroy.

Inside, the Council House buzzed with excitement. It seemed
that the entire assemblage of that capacious hall was conjecturing all at once
as to the nature of Captain Arturo’s imminent address. Skylar strained his ears
to filter out a single conversation going on near him, but the drone of the
crowd was too loud.

Skylar and Kindor were seated high up in the gallery, which
wrapped around all four walls and looked down upon the prominent seating of the
Council members and center floor. The benches on which they sat were made of
hewn sandstone. The seating was tiered so that all could view the center floor.

They had arrived early, not wanting to lose their seats. At
first, the Council seats had all stood empty. Within a half hour, however, they
had slowly begun to fill as Council members percolated in from unseen entryways
near the floor level. The seating now brimmed with its white-robed occupants.

Skylar watched all with rapt attention.

Suddenly, without any signal, the noise of the assemblage
died away.

Skylar craned his neck to see what was happening. Out of the
far corner from where they sat another white-robed figure had emerged. This
figure wore an emerald mantle, which draped proudly across his chest and a
silver band around his head. He walked slowly with an air of dignity, tinged
with pride.

The Council body rose to their feet unanimously. And the
rest of the assemblage followed suite.

“That’s Viceroy Aberforce,” whispered Kindor.

Standing in front of his seat, the viceroy motioned for the
Council and audience to be seated.

“Members of the Haladrian Council,” he said, outstretching
both hands in front of him, “fellow Haladrian citizens—welcome. Some of you
have traveled a considerable distance to join us, and on particularly short
notice. For that, I thank you.

“As you are quite aware, Captain Arturo has just yesterday
returned with the trade convoy. Because of certain events which occurred during
his travels, he has entreated me to call the Council together to discuss a
matter of great urgency and concern. Captain Arturo has not as yet informed me
as to the nature of this urgency. So, I will now invite him to come forward and
present them to us.”

The viceroy sat down. Another figure, which Skylar readily
recognized as Captain Arturo, walked out onto the center floor. He stood before
the viceroy and bowed stiffly, bending at the waist.

“My lord,” began the captain, “members of the Council, I
come to you with grave tidings. Fourteen years have passed since King Athylian
was murdered by our enemies, and King Tarus ascended the throne. Since that
time, I have watched the empire with growing concern. It is not the empire we
once knew. Until now, our small planet has been untouched by what I’ve seen on
other planets. Perhaps that is because we are only a colony. Whatever the
reason, we can no longer blind ourselves to the problem.

“I need not remind any of you of the empire’s
ever-increasing dependence on our teryleum mines. The growth of this Council in
the past few years testifies to that fact. I also need not remind this body of our
reliance on the Empire to trade our teryleum for those goods and provisions
which cannot be obtained on our barren planet and are vital to our survival.

“On my honor as a captain in His Majesty’s Space Force, I
tell you that the empire has robbed us!”

A great murmur of voices rose from the assembly. Viceroy
Aberforce was forced to silence the audience by holding up his hands.

“This is indeed a bold accusation, Captain Arturo. I hope
you can explain yourself,” said the viceroy.

“I can, my lord. Haladras, as you are well aware, holds a
trade agreement with every planet in the Empire, excepting only Ahlderon.
Quoryn is the nearest planet on the trade route and also the largest importer
of our teryleum. From them we receive the majority of our import. It is the
first stop on our trade route.

“We had been on Quoryn two days, when my first mate reported
to me that a verbal altercation had erupted between my chief of cargo and
Quoryn’s director of exportation. My chief of cargo possesses a notoriously
inflammable temper, so I thought little of it. I instructed my first mate to
deal with the matter as he deemed fit. He insisted, however, that the matter
required my attention. Somewhat put out by this, but being near the cargo hold
at the time, I decided to investigate.

“I found the two men on the verge of a brawl, my chief of
cargo aflame with anger, yelling unintelligible insults at the Quorynthian
director, who was gesticulating wildly with his hands from the loaded supplies
to the chief of cargo. My presence quickly halted the fight, and I demanded an
explanation for the disgraceful behavior.

“Still fuming from the ears, my chief of cargo explained
that scarcely a third of the provisions agreed upon had been loaded. Yet the
Quoryn’s director of exportation insisted that was all they were required to
trade for the teryleum. Some change had occurred, of which we were not
apprised. Subsequently, the director produced a document, which indicated that
the exchange rate for teryleum had been legally altered for Quoryn.”

The assemblage broke into a low rumble of murmured voices.
But Captain Arturo continued to speak.

“The new rate agreed with the loaded provisions. And the
document appeared legitimate. I, therefore, sought out Lord Braxton
straightaway. However, when I arrived at the capital house, I found not Lord
Braxton sitting at his office desk but some other man who claimed to be the
governor of Quoryn.”

“Governor!” cried one of the Council members in dismay,
followed by an eruption of other shouts around the hall.

Once again, Aberforce was force to quiet the congregation.

“Governor, you say?” questioned the viceroy, when the tumult
had died. “Was he not a lord, then?”

“No,” replied Arturo, “he called himself Governor Dungrad. A
name I’ve never before heard in my life.”

“And what of Lord Braxton?”

“Dead, my lord.”

“Dead! But how? I’ve heard nothing of this.”

“He died in his sleep, was all he told me. After Braxton’s
death, King Tarus promptly appointed Dungrad as governor of Quoryn.”

The viceroy leaned back in his chair and stroked his short
beard with his thumb and forefinger. After a considerable pause, he said.
“Please, Captain, continue your account.”

“Thank you, my lord. As Dungrad was the governor of Quoryn
now, I asked him the meaning of this new exchange rate. He simply handed me a
letter from King Tarus. Would that I could quote that letter to you verbatim. I
can only paraphrase. It stated that the commanding general was relocating
twelve regiments of His Majesty’s imperial soldiers to Quoryn, to be placed under
the command of Governor Dungrad himself. The letter also stated that Dungrad
was granted authority to levy whatever taxes or adjust any trade exchange rates
as he deemed necessary to sustain His Majesty’s soldiers.

“Dungrad proceeded to explain that he needed the extra
provisions which he withheld from us for the support of his new troops, and
that he also couldn’t do with less than the full load of teryleum. I did not
hesitate to bring to the governor’s attentions that Haladras needs those
provisions as well. For we have no means of replenishing them on our desert
planet. The governor was unsympathetic. ‘You must simply trade more teryleum,’
he told me. An absurd suggestion. It would be impossible for us to mine the
teryleum at three times our current rate without more mines. But where would
the provisions come from to support those new mines?

“I threatened to reload all our teryleum and take it to Lord
Rowvan of Allega. He only laughed at this and said that he would directly
report me to the minister of interplanetary trade. Who would send a royal
emissary to Haladras to personally oversee our trade operation. Furthermore, he
promised to have me arrested for stealing the king’s property.

“I scorned his threat of arrest, and stormed out of his
office. However, wishing not to create diplomatic troubles for Haladras, I
deemed it best to take our losses and hope for better returns on the remainder
of our teryleum. This proved—thankfully—to be the case.

“So, my lord...Council members, I return to you with this news.
We have less than half the provisions we need until we trade again, and Quoryn
has established a governor and given him a near army of imperial soldiers.”

There was a low hum of voices from the Council seats. The
viceroy continued stroking his beard, looking grave and pensive. Finally, a
Council member stood and spoke out a question for Arturo.