Imminent Danger: And How to Fly Straight Into It (16 page)

“Did they have a few lines in there on basic decency as well?”

“I wouldn’t know. I never got that far. The imperial archivist came across an entry claiming the first Rakorsian emperor was assassinated rather than dying valiantly in battle as
everyone
knows he did, so the book and its author were burned for blasphemy.”

Hopping up onto the copilot’s chair, Miguri directed a stern expression at Varrin. “I understand how she feels. I hate you too, you know.”

“I’ve been doing some research on that,” the pilot returned. “You’re
that
Claktill, aren’t you? The one who fired on a Ssrisk ship. And then your people banished you.”

“Yes. I could not sit by while those I loved were placed in harm’s way.”

“Ha,” Varrin said disdainfully. “The things some people do for love.”

A curious look passed over Miguri’s face. “Have you ever loved someone, Rakorsian?” he asked. “Been in love? Had someone love you back?”

“You know as well as I that my people don’t believe in that sentimental rubbish.”

Miguri sighed. “And yet you wonder why no other species in the galaxy finds Rakorsians even remotely likeable.”

Before Varrin could reply, the Claktill darted off the chair and down the corridor.

Scowling at nothing in particular, Varrin slid down in his chair and replayed the day’s events in his mind. He did not make a habit of examining his feelings, but one thing in particular was troubling him: a certain feisty terrestrial who not only turned down his considerable charms, but also verbally lambasted him with all his supposed faults.

During his years wandering the galaxy, Varrin had romanced more women than he could count. He had the art of seduction down to a science. Even the most reticent females had been putty in his hands, helpless to resist his well-practiced charms. And his betrayal of Eris certainly wasn’t the worst obstacle he’d had to overcome in his pursuit of female companionship.

It occurred to him that the girl might only be attracted to other females. He had encountered such a phenomenon before and been quite enamored of the idea. Yet she had been very willing only weeks earlier. Did humans change their sexual preferences in such a short span of time? More importantly, why did he find that thought so disappointing?

Varrin decided he needed something to take his mind off his distracting terrestrial passenger. He slouched down farther in his chair, switched on a monitor, and opened a comm channel. Seconds later, an official-looking man in dark red body armor appeared onscreen.

“This is the Rakor Planetary Communications Office. Identify yourself.”

Varrin released a cathartic laugh. “Incredible. I leave for a few years and discipline breaks down completely.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Identify yourself, or—”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Varrin said. “If you were to look up a list of Emperor Ka’zarel’s progeny, you’d find me at the top with my name scratched out and insulting words scrawled across my portrait.”

The officer stared at him blankly for several seconds before paling and beginning to tremble. “Prince Varrin! Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not recognize you!”

Varrin gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Tell you what, friend. Give me a direct line to my father, and I won’t tell anyone about your embarrassing inability to recognize a member of the imperial family.”

The screen went black.

Seconds later, a handsome but intimidating older man with piercing gray eyes, slicked-black hair, and a furious expression appeared onscreen. “Varrin!” he bellowed, his voice so loud it shook the instruments inside the cockpit. “How dare you contact me!”

“Father,” Varrin said, completely ignoring the emperor of Rakor’s rage. “To think you took time out of your busy schedule to speak with me. Let’s see, three in the afternoon … by Kari, you interrupted afternoon tea to speak with your eldest son! What an honor.”

“Cut the sarcasm or cut the channel,” Emperor Ka’zarel commanded. “I thought I made it clear from our last conversation that I never wanted to see your disgraceful face again.”

“Really?” Varrin said. “I guess that explains why I wasn’t invited to the annual sacrificial burning of blasphemers.” Varrin could feel all his problems sinking back into the deep recesses of his mind. Nothing cheered him more than aggravating his father.

“Do not mock me!” the emperor thundered. “You are nothing to me and nothing to the empire. You have so little concern for the imperial succession that you left your
brother
as my heir!” His lips twisted in disgust. “Your existence is no more than an affliction to me now! And yet you continue to contact me, begging for forgiveness.”

“I suppose demanding forgiveness would be more Rakorsian,” Varrin mused. “In any case, I’d hardly call my transmissions pleas for forgiveness. As I recall, the last one ended with me telling you to take a stroll in the Valdarik desert without a solar protection suit. I believe colorful language was involved.”

“Why do I even speak to you?” Ka’zarel roared. “You betrayed your people, your family, and your birthright. You debase yourself by running errands for petty corporations. Where is your honor?”

“If you hadn’t tried to force me to marry that Kalarian hussy, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Varrin said, sitting up straight.

The veins on Emperor Ka’zarel’s neck bulged. “Our nations are now at war prematurely thanks to your cowardice! The Psilosians are threatening to intervene!”

“Yes, well, considering how much our people love war, I’d have thought you’d be grateful for the excuse I so kindly provided you.”

His father was now turning an alarming shade of red. “I am beginning to believe the only way to rid this universe of your sorry presence is to send my Skin Slicers to deal with you.”

“I love you too,” Varrin said.

“You filthy ingrate!” Ka’zarel snarled. “Did you contact me just to goad me? Tell me the true reason for your transmission! I cannot stand the sight of your traitorous face any longer.”

“I seem to be getting that a lot,” Varrin muttered.

“Answer me!”

“I just felt like chatting with my dear father,” he replied brightly. “Say hello to Trystan for me, would you? He must be having a grand old time, reaping the benefits of all that paternal affection you used to reserve solely for me.”

Varrin cut off the transmission just as Emperor Ka’zarel surged to his feet and started yelling obscenities.

Running his fingers through his shaggy black hair, Varrin could feel the stress returning. Taunting his egomaniacal father had certainly raised his spirits, but there was an unsettled feeling in his stomach.
I haven’t felt this way since—oh, since the day I stole the
Nonconformity
and blasted away from Rakor and my archaic, arranged marriage.

“It must be all this nonsense with the terrestrial,” he told himself, tapping his index finger distractedly against his mouth. “She’s become completely unmanageable since I sold her.” Varrin rolled his eyes. “Women.”

17

W
hen Eris walked into the rec room the next morning, Miguri looked up from the game he was playing with Varrin at the holograph table. The Claktill’s hair spiked with concern. “What is wrong, my friend?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your eyes are red and puffy.”

Feeling foolish, she muttered, “I was crying, all right?”

“About what?” Varrin asked, his eyes still on the game board.

Eris glared at him. “My hair, if you must know. Among other things. Obviously.”

“Your hair?” He looked up and blinked as if noticing her baldness for the first time. “What about it?”

“Um, maybe the fact that I don’t have any?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that every time I see my bald head in the mirror, it reminds me of all the horrible things they did to us at Chakra Corp. Things that happened because you sent us there, need I remind you!”

Varrin shrugged. “It will grow back, you know.”

“It shouldn’t
have
to grow back!” She threw her hands up in the air, at a loss for words. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

Without warning, the Rakorsian stood up and walked toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Eris demanded.

“I’m going to change course,” he said.

Miguri squeaked in alarm. “Change course to where? You are going to sell us out again! I knew it!”

Varrin paused in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “I already told you, that was a one-time deal. Even if I could sell you again, I wouldn’t.”

“Because you are starting—against all odds, and contrary to your cultural upbringing—to gain a respect for beings other than yourself?” Miguri suggested.

“No. Because I wouldn’t wish you two on anyone. Kari, the pair of you! Always whining and crying and complaining …”

He continued muttering as he vanished down the hallway.

Eris twisted her fingers together uneasily. “Where do you think he’s taking us? You think he’s going to ditch us on some deserted planet?”

Miguri glanced up at the monitor, which was currently set to display a star chart of local space. “Well, we are not going to Psilos. That is for certain.”

“So he’s going to sell us after all,” Eris muttered. “He was lying again.”

“I never lied,” Varrin retorted over the intercom. “When I changed my plans, I informed you immediately.”

“I’ll call you a liar whenever I like,” Eris snapped at the loudspeaker. “And stop eavesdropping!”

“Will you at least tell us where you are taking us?” Miguri asked.

There was a pause.

“It’s a surprise,” Varrin finally declared. They heard their pilot laughing as the intercom clicked off.

Eris gave an exasperated huff. “What are we going to do, Miguri?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I have been wandering the galaxy for over a century now, and despite the knowledge I have acquired, I cannot think of a single way to outwit our contemptible captor.” He sighed, hair drooping again. “If only we had a plan. Or even a weapon.”

“I could settle for a weapon,” Eris agreed.

“Time to strap yourselves in,” Varrin announced a few minutes later. “We’re only making a short Pull, so it shouldn’t be too traumatic for certain of our passengers.”

“I can handle Pulls just fine,” Eris snapped.

“Of course you can. Pull in three, two, one …”

SHWOOP.

The stars reappeared in the black void of space, and Eris pressed a hand to her stomach as nausea threatened to overpower her. Miguri perched cross-legged on the bench beside her, taking deep breaths.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that,” Eris said shakily, clutching the silky fabric of her robe tightly.

“Have some
mlfas
,” Miguri suggested. He scurried over to the rec room’s small cold-storage unit and pulled out a bottle of brownish goop.

“You never told me there was a minibar in here!”

“Minibar?”

“Never mind.”

“This is Harunian mlfas,” Miguri said. “It helps counteract Pull after-effects.”

“You could have mentioned this the last time we Pulled,” she grumbled, taking the bottle and eyeing the contents warily. “Are you sure this isn’t just mud? It looks like mud.”

“Of course it is mud. Imported from the mudflats of Harun. Drink up. It is delicious.”

It was not delicious, and Eris had to cover her mouth with her hand to force herself to swallow. “That was vile,” she said.

“Different species, different tastes.” Miguri shrugged.

“Apparently.”

Varrin appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame, a smug expression on his face. “Eris of Earth, you are an annoying, loud, wholly unappreciative person.”

“Right back at you,” Eris said sweetly.

“Nonetheless,” he continued, raising a finger, “seeing as I still need to get you to Psilos to collect my payment, and you are absolutely miserable, whining about your hair and my so-called betrayal and whatnot, I’ve decided to remedy your problem. Well, the first one, at least. That way you can go back to being angry with me about the second one and I won’t have to listen to you sobbing anymore.”

“How thoughtful,” Miguri snorted. “We are going to Vega, then.”

“Vega?” Eris said, confused. “Isn’t that a star?”

“Correct,” Varrin said. “And orbiting the star is Vega Superior, which has an inhabited moon called Vega Minor. The moon was originally settled by the follically impaired Scalkans, but more to the point, it is now the location of the Vegan Academy of Esteemed Aestheticians. VAEA, if you prefer.”

“I don’t prefer VAEA,” Eris said. “It’s impossible to pronounce.”

“VAEA graduates,” he continued, ignoring her, “are renowned throughout the Tetrarchy for their skill in the fields of beauty and hygiene.”

“So you’re giving me a makeover?” The idea was so ridiculous that Eris couldn’t contain a laugh of disbelief.

“Something like that. We should be there in three hours, give or take. Try not to destroy anything valuable while I’m flying.”

“Three hours? Shouldn’t it take three days if you Pulled to a safe distance from the system?” Eris asked.
And here I was, starting to think I understood this crazy space travel system
.