Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

“Want me to request they reallocate?” he asked.

“No. Better not to let them know…”

He nodded, understanding. It was bad enough landing the ship: to have people watching in fear, gathered below as she approached, would be worse. Karia stabbed the control panel, activating the landing pattern, and he gulped. The ship felt safe with their dad at the controls; even when they’d left planets in a hurry, sure someone was on to them, or in a chase, it had been exciting rather than scary. This was terrifying.

They dropped through the atmosphere. The lush jungle of Holbec stretched over the planet below. For all his nerves, he’d be glad to get back to base, to decent food, to the outdoors. It had been a couple of months since their last maintenance visit. He’d even enjoy whatever school class they stuck him in this time. Karia, beside him, was quiet, her focus on the ship, not him. When she Controlled she left him behind, going to a place he couldn’t follow. It made the long drop to the planet seem endless.

“Base is coming up,” he said. Not that she wouldn’t know, but it was what a co-pilot was supposed to do: relay data, check trajectories. At least it made him feel included; if she crashed he was going to be just as dead. Already he could make out clearings in the jungle and the long, low main building of the base. He wasn’t sure his dad approached so quickly. “Karia…”

“Shh.” A smile danced on her lips, her eyes intent on something he couldn’t see. He sat back in his seat, so tense his chest and back ached, and tried to be as quiet as possible. Surely, surely she was going too fast.

The ship slowed, almost stalled, and then dropped. He stifled a yell and clutched the seat. He hated this when his dad did it: the drop into the port, the long moments of not knowing when the jolt of landing would come, the hideous turn-over of the grav-reg, the nausea clutching at him. This was worse again, too fast, not safe. He found himself with his eyes closed, and forced himself to open them and focus on the HUD display like a good co-pilot.

“Brace,” said Karia. She jumped back in the pilot’s seat, and it encircled her, pulling her tight. “We’re coming in hard.”

He’d known she was going too fast. He ducked his head into his chest, heart racing. They hadn’t even warned their dad to brace. Not that it would have made any difference. An alarm sounded, muted, and that wasn’t good. Another joined it. His stomach climbed into his mouth and lodged somewhere near the back of it.

The jolt of the ship landing sent his head shooting forwards, then back, even with the braced seat position. Karia let out a yell. The ship rattled, settling into the docking-lock, and then went quiet.

“You okay?” Karia sounded shocked. “I came in too fast.”

“Yeah.” He wriggled out of the seat. He thought he was, but was too shaky to be sure. He waited a moment, braced for pain to hit, but he was fine. The seat had done its job.

He leaned over the control panel and scanned the docking bay, not quite believing they’d made it down. He wanted to say something, to congratulate her, but the enormity of being back hit him. Once he left this ship, everything would change. It wouldn’t just be the three of them, taking decisions for themselves. Suddenly, he wished they hadn’t come back, that they’d shut the door over and ignored everything until things were okay again. But that was a useless thought.

“You did good,” he said, his voice only barely shaking. “We should get Darwin.”

“You do it.” She was closing the control panel functions down, calm and in control, and he envied her; she was always better in a crisis, always the more practical. “I need to make sure the ship’s ported right. And…” The haunted look of the last days came back into her eyes, all semblance of control gone. “Dad shouldn’t be on his own. You know, in case someone comes.”

He did know. Their father was scared enough, trapped in a future that terrified him; to be taken out of the ship by people he didn’t know, to be brought back to a cold, changed reality alone didn’t bear thinking about.

“I’ll go.” He put his hand on the door, but had to force himself to slide it open. Whether it was because he was worried he’d hear his dad or accusing silence, or the thought of leaving her, he couldn’t tell. He walked up the access corridor, taking it in a way he rarely did, as if searing it into his memory, this ship of theirs. The wiring hung loose along the ceiling, the lack of covering making the steady noise of the ship’s coolant systems louder than it should be. His dad had talked about boxing it in since they’d first left the base, but never had. His shoes echoed in the metal corridor, the steady beat of his childhood, and the air was dry. When he went into the base his throat would feel clagged the way it always did. He got to the hatch and stared at it before reaching for the controls and putting in the code. It opened slowly, dropping down, the short walkway extending after the hatch had folded against the ship.

The dock was in darkness, silent. In a few moments the dock-hands would arrive, but for now it was just him in the giant bay. It made him feel small, like the child he was supposed to be, the child he’d left behind a week ago. He walked down, feeling the walkway bounce beneath him, and stopped at the bottom.

The spell of unreality broke, and he ran. Through the dock, crashing against the heavy, sealed doorway, spilling into the sparse corridor beyond, which linked the port to the main base. He knew the way– they’d been coming and going from the base for years– and he sprinted. A dock-hand passed him, and then another, but none of them stopped him. They were used to him and Karia coming off the ship; no one knew their world had been turned around and changed.

He pushed through another door, into the accommodation section. Doors stretched along either side of the corridor, all the same grey metal. Once, one of the doors had been theirs, before his dad had decided to take them into space, returning to base only for rare maintenance runs. He couldn’t even remember which door it had been.

But he knew Darwin’s, at the head of the corridor. He could see it. He was close to getting help, to handing this mess over to someone else. He sprinted, bashing off a woman who said ‘hey’ but didn’t stop him, and reached the door. He fell against it, banging with the flat of his hand. It wasn’t until the door opened and Darwin was there, tall as ever, broad, a quizzical smile in place, that something broke and he found himself telling Darwin what had happened, the words spilling out, coming round to the same place, time and again– that his dad was sick, and they didn’t know what to do.

Darwin took him into the apartment and sat him down. His three children were there: Eevan, dark and brooding, Sonly asking for Karia, Lichio, the little one, watching with his big eyes. And then Darwin said the only thing that was needed.

“It’s okay. You’re back. And we’ll take care of everything now.”

Kare followed his father and Darwin down the corridor to their ship, waiting where they’d docked it two weeks previously. The last conversations were over, his father’s pleas to Darwin and the military leaders of the Banned ended: they had to leave the base. This time, there had been no school, nothing except Darwin’s apartment and the hospital block until Dad was released. That and whispered voices making decisions deep into the nights, talking of base security, of options, and what the Empress would unleash against the rebels if she knew he and Karia were back.

He snuck a glance at his twin, walking on the other side of Major Rjala, head of base security. She was looking straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the sealed entrance to the dock. Karia had been forced to say goodbye to a crying Sonly not ten minutes before, a Sonly who’d begged her father to do something, not send them back out into space. And all Darwin had said was that he couldn’t, that it wasn’t just his decision, that he’d done what he could.

Kare narrowed his eyes, focusing on the Banned leader. He’d lied. He’d taken care of nothing, made nothing all right.

His father walked steadily, but he looked small, lacking the authority he normally carried. His pilot’s suit hung on him; his shoulders were tense, his hands shaking a little. Silently, he waited until the sealed door opened, and then stepped through, Darwin following.

Major Berne waited for him and Karia to pass through. Her face showed no emotion, nothing to say she was sorry about the decision she’d taken. He stopped at the bottom of the walkway onto the ship, the same walkway he’d run from two weeks ago, sure he’d reached safety. He didn’t want to go onto the ship; there’d be no going back.

“Dad…” he said, and didn’t know what he was trying to ask. Stop it happening, he supposed: change their minds.

His dad gave something of a nod, and turned to Darwin. “Please.” His voice was strained and husky. “They’re only children. Let them stay.”

Darwin’s face softened, giving hope, but Rjala cleared her throat and he shook his head.

“If it were up to me…” His voice tailed off, and he straightened. “This is the right thing to do. They won’t have any life here.”

“You know that’s a lie.” Dad faced Darwin, seeming a little stronger. He pointed at the ship. “They didn’t have much of a life there, either. They don’t need much.”

“We can’t.” The soft words were more final than the look on Darwin’s face.

“Do what you want with me, cast me out, whatever you need," said his dad. "But keep them here. It’s the only home they’ve ever known, apart from the ship.” He grabbed Darwin’s arm. “Didn’t I earn that right for them? When we built the Banned up from the rabble it was? When I trained the flight teams that still defend the base, built your fleet from scratch? Does that mean nothing?”

“Oh, Ealyn.” Darwin’s eyes flicked from Dad, to Karia, to Kare. “It means everything. It’s why we’ve given you shelter. It’s why we’re making sure the children have somewhere safe to go.” His gaze stopped at Kare. “We can provide two safe houses, you know.”

“No.” Dad dropped his hand. “We do it as agreed– we choose one each. It’s safer.”

Karia started and Kare felt her realisation, in tandem with his own. They were going to be separated. That couldn’t be. He could face anything, if he had to, as long as she was there.

“You can’t.” Karia faced Darwin, arms crossed, eyes flashing fire. “You can’t do this to us. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

Kare joined her, standing side by side. Solidarity had been the only thing they’d had in life. “I won’t leave. Not unless we’re staying together.”

“Enough.” Rjala stepped forwards, away from the door. “We can’t keep you safe here. Not with our current defences.” She didn’t say she was sorry, didn’t show any emotion. It was as if she was talking about checks on a tick-flick board, not people. Kare glared at her but she didn’t look at him, didn’t look at anyone except Dad. “You know that, Ealyn. You led the flight teams during the Empress’ last raids. You knew when you left that we had to build up the inner system defences. I’m five years away from them being operational. Until then, I can’t guarantee the twins’ safety. And they’re too important to risk.”

He gave a curt nod. He held his hands out, but they were shaking. “Come on, kids. Let’s go.”

Dad took their hands, closing them in his own. They started up the walkway, side by side. Behind, there was silence. They reached the top, and his dad stopped and turned back.

“Whatever happens– ” he said. Kare saw his throat bob as he swallowed. “You did this. You sent us away. Remember that, Rjala. If anything happens, you did it.” He looked at Darwin. “And you? You didn’t fight for us.”

“I tried.” Darwin’s voice raised, but he didn’t sound angry, more resigned. He stepped closer, almost onto the walkway. He spread his hands. “It’s the best I can do.”

It wasn’t good enough. Kare dropped his father’s hand and took a last, long look at Darwin. He was a nothing to these people who’d said they would help. Sonly had cried when she said goodbye; no one else had.

He took his time, embedding the scene in his memory, the docking bay, dark and empty. Sending them away was being done secretly. They knew it was wrong.

He’d remember Darwin’s last sorry; never forget Rjala’s cool military stance, hands behind her, back straight. This was how it felt to be cast out– like he was on a tightrope, barely balanced, and might fall at any moment.

He followed his father and Karia onto the ship, but stopped at the top of the hatch, waiting until it thudded shut. There was no way back, no direction to go but towards the future his father had seen. The darkness closed around him, and he’d never felt more alone.

The ship descended through the atmosphere. Ealyn’s hands shook as he laid them on the control panel and commenced the landing cycle. Beside him, entwined in the co-pilot’s seat, the twins were quiet, still stunned by events. They weren’t the only ones. He shook his head, focusing on the ship; without a port a landing was never straightforward. His hand slipped, sweat smearing the panel, and he’d have pulled out if there was any other way of bypassing planetary security.

Concentrate
. He squinted out of the viewing window. The abandoned space yard should be big enough, but any mistake and he'd overshoot. He lowered the ship, and the nose threatened to dip.
Hell.
Alarms blared but he ignored them and reached forward to reverse the thrust, his touch precise. The warnings stopped, the silence in their wake just as unnerving.

“Come on, land, you bitch.” He dropped a little more, holding his breath, forcing himself to take his time. The engines sent dust up, obscuring his view, and he swore but kept lowering the ship, relying on instinct.

Now.
He touched down with a soft thud and killed the engines, waiting for the dust to clear. When it did, he saw the ship was settled with perfect precision in the middle of the yard. He hadn’t lost that little knack, then. On another day the thought would have cheered him; today it only brought relief. He took a deep breath and pushed his chair back, turning to the usual tangle of arms and legs. “Let’s go.”

“I feel sick.” Kare’s small voice came from the depths of the seat.