Starstruck (44 page)

“Boyne.” Shim’s voice, lower and much more authoritative, was terse. “I trust you have an explanation for your presence here? This seemed a . . . prudent . . . place to hear it.”

“Oh, I think you know quite well why I’m here, judging by everyone’s demeanor,” Boyne Morven replied. “But while this show of solidarity is touching, it will not help the traitor you seek to protect.”

Rigel stiffened, which allowed me to glimpse the newcomer by peering past him to look between Shim and Mr. Stuart. Morven was slightly built and very fair, his blond hair cut short. He looked fortyish, which of course meant nothing. I could also see two other people, one flanking him on either side, though I was sure there were more.

“The princess is no traitor, Boyne, and you know it,” Shim replied, his voice calm but firm. “In fact, by threatening the Sovereign, you open yourself to a charge of treason according to our statutes.”

Morven chuckled unpleasantly. “I suppose it depends on one’s perspective, does it not? Her very existence is a threat to our current, lawfully elected leader, which makes that existence treasonous by definition.”

“Lawfully!” Mr. Stuart’s voice was scornful. “A despot who forced his way into power by means of lies and murder.”

“Careful, Stuart, or you may find your family charged with treason as well,” Morven said. “Not that it’s likely to matter, as I doubt any of you will leave this, ah, charming spot alive.”

I heard a collective gasp from my ring of protectors and Rigel took a step back, closer to me. Irritated by my inability to see, I shifted my position for a better view—just in time to see more, many more, people emerging from the cornfield from all directions. There were at least two dozen of them, many holding the same cell-phone looking weapons our side had.

Morven waited until they’d completely encircled my tiny army of ten before saying, “Have you studied your American history, Shim? This little scenario quite puts me in mind of Custer’s Last Stand. And, I assure you, the outcome will be precisely the same.”

CHAPTER 26

Electromagnetic pulse

“Are you mad?” Shim demanded. I thought the lack of panic in his voice was admirable. I was starting to hyperventilate, myself. “A crowd this size is bound to draw the attention of local authorities, which will jeopardize your agenda more than ours.”

“Doubtful, as you’ve chosen such a private spot for our . . . meeting. But even if it does, it will be a minor setback at most.” I could see Morven’s people moving closer as he spoke. “It may force us to consolidate power more quickly, that’s all. Our plan is the only one that can save our people, and you know it.” His voice was becoming more strident. “The colony on Mars has barely one hundred years before resources become scarce, even with the population controls being put in place.”

Shim took a half step backward and the others did likewise, tightening the circle around me—not that I imagined it could help. “The people of Earth are our brothers, not our enemies,” he said. “Peaceful integration will achieve the same end, without bloodshed or destruction of property. Surely you can see the advantage of having the natives as friends, as they outnumber us by more than fifty thousand to one.”

“Friends? No, thank you. But they may become useful servants, once they learn to respect us properly. And they will, make no doubt of that. Our superiority will guarantee it.”

“Superiority?” Shim’s voice was still calm. “In technology, perhaps. Once I would have claimed moral superiority as well, but you and your followers have voided that claim with tactics such as these.”

Shim raised his voice, speaking to the still-growing crowd around us. “Do you respect what you have become under this man’s guidance? Under Faxon’s? It was not so many years ago that the Martian dream, embraced by all but a discontented few, was to bring peace and prosperity to Earth, our mother planet. To share both our technology and our enlightened way of life, teaching them to feed their hungry and power their planet without ravaging its resources or killing each other. Have you let go of that dream so easily, embracing the violent ways of Earth for the sake of greed or ambition? Were those not the very Earth vices we hoped to eradicate?”

I was impressed by his ability to speak so persuasively under pressure—and apparently so were a lot of the people in the clearing, Morven’s included. A surprised murmur swept through the crowd.

“Don’t listen to him!” Morven called out, his voice sounding weak and shrill compared to Shim’s. “He’s only a shill for the Royals, those elitists who held us down for generations, ruling by an archaic set of traditions.”

“Those traditions were put in place by our forebears for sound scientific reasons.” Shim’s voice still carried to the edges of the clearing and beyond. “Though we owed our original genetic enhancements to our long-ago alien abductors, we improved upon their efforts over the centuries to the benefit of our entire colony. When we formed a system of government, we selected our ruling class from among the brightest, most talented and most fair-minded among us. Those traits have persisted through the generations. Combined with our inherently pacifist, equitable nature—a nature Faxon and his followers have perverted—our people have prospered for centuries under the leadership of our Royal family.”

Morven hooted in derision—an unattractive sound. “Equitable, you say! But until Faxon’s rise to power, your ‘fair-minded’ Royals dominated our leadership, both hereditary and elected.”

“Because of their abilities,” Shim countered. “Can any of you claim that the colony is better off—more prosperous, more peaceful,
happier
—under Faxon’s rule than it was under Sovereign Leontine? Is that the kind of future you want on Earth for yourselves and your children?”

There was more murmuring in response, louder now, and more worried. Maybe it was only wishful thinking on my part, but it seemed like Morven might be losing control of the situation. Apparently he thought so too.

“Enough of this!” he practically screamed. “Those loyal to me—to Faxon—have been promised both power and riches in our new regime here on Earth. They know where their interests lie and won’t be swayed by the slick rhetoric of a cornered man, a man who sounds more like a politician than a scientist. All of you—do what you came to do!”

As he spoke, he raised an arm and pushed a button on a device that looked like a miniature TV remote. At the same time, at least half of those surrounding us, from what I could see, started forward, some with their small weapons raised.

I tried to stand, but Rigel hissed, “No! Stay down.” He moved to my side, blocking as much of my body with his own as he could.

“Stun only,” Shim called out to our little group at the same time. “No killing except as an absolute last resort.”

Even before he finished, a flash like a small lightning bolt grazed Shim’s arm, knocking him sideways. Immediately, three separate flashes came from our side and the man who had fired the shot dropped to the ground. Suddenly, flashes were everywhere, coming from all directions, though I didn’t see anyone else hit. But even as I took hope from that, one of my defenders fell backward and lay still, just a few feet to my right.

Rigel rose to his knees but I pulled him back down, now scared enough that seeing was no longer my top priority. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “Do you want to get shot?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got to keep you safe. I need a weapon.” He sounded furious, but not with me. He crawled toward the little silver weapon that had dropped from the hand of our fallen ally but before he could reach it, another bolt hit the device and sent it flying far out of reach.

Rigel and I both looked up in shock to see Mr. Stuart glaring at us.
He
had fired that shot!

“No heroics, either of you,” he snapped. “You’ll only make this harder.” Then he was firing at our enemies again, taking down another one.

Though there were more of them than us, our side seemed to be better shots—or maybe Shim’s arguments had shaken the resolve of our attackers. Peeking out from under Rigel’s arm, I saw at least ten of them down, while only two of our people had fallen. Several of Morven’s followers also seemed to have retreated back into the corn. We were still outnumbered, but by less than two to one now.

“The Princess! Kill the Princess,” Morven was bellowing. “Never mind the others, we can deal with them later.”

Dr. Stuart let out a cry as a bolt hit the center of her chest and she fell to her knees. As she fell, though, she raised her own weapon—I hadn’t noticed before that she even had one—and fired at Morven, nicking his hip and knocking him sideways.

“Mom!” Rigel shouted. He made a move toward her, but then jumped back to blanket me with his body again as two bolts came my way. I heard him grunt in pain as he took one of the hits that had been intended for me.

“Rigel!” I tried to scream, but my face was in the dirt. Coughing and spitting to clear it out of my mouth, I tried again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice faint. Then, more strongly, urgently, “How about you? Are you hurt?” He tried to struggle up, obviously still groggy.

“I’m fine. You just lie still for a minute.”

I assumed the fact that he wasn’t dead meant the others had to use three shots to kill, too, but I didn’t dare count on it. I cautiously raised my head to look around and saw that one more of our people had fallen, in addition to Dr. Stuart. But less than ten of theirs still seemed to be attacking. Mr. Stuart was firing like he was berserked or something, and he was a deadly shot. Not a skill I’d have expected from a computer whiz, somehow. Shim was still on his feet, too.

Unfortunately, so was Morven. Standing behind one of his men, using him as a shield, he punched more buttons on his remote-thingy. Shim was the one who finally brought down the bodyguard, but as his man fell, Morven let out a cry of what sounded like triumph—which didn’t seem to make sense, since we now had as many people as he did, at least if you counted Rigel and me.

But then I heard a weird whirring hum overhead and looked up to see a silvery orb about twice the size of a basketball skimming the tops of the corn stalks—heading straight for us.

“No!” Mr. Stuart sounded horrified. “That’s not possible. That project was mothballed fifty years ago because it was too dangerous.”

“How could you bring such an abomination to Earth, Morven?” Shim demanded, as the orb reached the clearing.

Morven’s high, derisive laughter made my skin crawl. “Now you know why I fear no opposition. We have half a dozen Ossian Spheres under our control—more than enough to subject this entire planet to Faxon’s rule. All it will take is a demonstration or two.”

I still had no clue what the thing was, but clearly everyone else on our side did. They were staring at the object with naked fear, their weapons now held limply in their hands. Except for Shim, who brought his weapon up in one swift motion and fired at the orb.

The shot had no noticeable effect on the sphere, but it spurred a few others to action. Mr. Stuart fired at Morven, who was now unprotected . . . except that he wasn’t. Mr. Stuart’s beam stopped about a foot short of its target, as though blocked by an invisible shield of some sort.

Morven laughed again. “As you can see, I’ve made a few modifications to the original—though believe me, its primary function is still as devastating as ever.” He toyed with the remote in his hand. “I recommend that any of you who don’t want your nervous systems permanently scrambled move some distance from your
Princess
.” He spat out the word like it was something disgusting. “I have it set to its narrowest, most intense beam but it will still likely affect anyone within a two meter radius. For obvious reasons, I haven’t been able to test this setting under, ah,
field
conditions.”

His own few remaining people scrambled backwards, away from me. One or two of those on our side did, too, but Shim and Mr. Stuart stood firm, no more than a yard or two in front of me. Dr. Stuart was still on the ground, but whether dead or stunned I couldn’t tell.

I pushed myself to my feet and looked straight at Morven, deciding abruptly that if I was going to die or have my brain fried or whatever that thing was going to do to me, I wanted to face it standing—like the Princess I was. It was the least I could do in return for what these people had done for me.

Then, to my surprise, a hand clasped mine and I turned to see that Rigel had managed to stand as well.

“Get away, to where it’s safe,” I told him. “Please.”

He shook his head, no trace of compromise in his expression. “I’m with you, no matter what. I love you, M.”

Despite knowing I probably only had moments to live, happiness blossomed through me, making everything else irrelevant. Even if it ended in the next two minutes, my life had been worth it for this one instant.

“I love you too, Rigel.” I made it a vow, the truest thing I’d ever said. And then we were kissing, in full view of family, friends and enemies. Why not?

Morven’s obnoxious voice broke the spell. “Puppy love. How very touching. I guess it’s both of you, then.”

But even as he spoke, I had a memory so vivid it was like a vision—of Rigel stopping my uncle’s runaway car. I looked into Rigel’s eyes and saw awareness dawn there, then, clear in my mind, I heard his voice saying,
Yes!

Our hands met and clasped, tightly, then we both swept our free arms up to point at the sphere just as Morven pushed something on his remote. A blinding arc of electricity, at least twenty times as strong as the one that had hit Bryce Farmer, jumped from our fingertips and converged on the now-humming orb.