Blood Crown (15 page)

Tension rattles over the network like a deepening frost, making me feel stiff and hopeless. Moments after we are alerted to imminent action, and the shield is erected, my awareness of Serantha slips away.

This time when I see her, I know instantly who she is. I don’t know how I missed it before. All I can think is, my lust for Galen’s death overwhelmed me—because now her presence has my whole body humming like a plucked string.

Serantha
.

The last time I saw her she was ten years old—not long before the Mind mutinied and murdered her.

Or rather, since we
thought
her murdered.

We’d pledged ourselves to one another then. And I hadn’t played with her. I remember wanting to. I wanted to run with her to the Servants’ quarters and pretend to be our parents inspecting the guards. I wanted to play hide-and- seek with the ship—one of our favorite games. But I was twelve. It was time to put away childish things and be a man. Our betrothal was made official and my father had presented me with a real, full-size sword.

I remember the way her eyes registered the change in me and the disappointment it left there but I felt powerless to stop it, to tell her that inside, I was still the same Nicolai; just a boy who wanted to play with his best—his only—friend.

Now, my symbiants reach out to her, but I can tell she is not reading me—doesn’t even seem to recognize that our symbiants are compatible, were in fact created to be compatible.

“What’s your name?” she demands.

The idea that she doesn’t know me, doesn’t even recognize me as her betrothed, makes me do a thoughtless thing.

“Uh, Nic,” I answer.

There’s so much more to who I am and I should tell her. Here is Serantha, my betrothed. Together we might fulfill a prophecy that would unlock the evolutionary potential in human DNA. We could be the key to ensuring the human race lives on.

I should be shouting for joy. I should grab her into my arms and make her mine and announce her survival and our marriage for all to hear.

Instead, I say nothing.

“Can you navigate the ship?” she asks.

“Of course.” Everything she says surprises me. Even her appearance surprises me. She has threadbare slippers on her feet and only wears a limp, gray shift that looks ancient. But it reveals her long legs—legs I remember used to pump high as she flew past me in every single race I ever had with her. Her arms are bare. Her hair is caught up in a messy knot at her neck, but I can still remember the way it shone as it lay down her back.

Now she flicks her eyes to me in an arrogant way that makes me feel like support rather than her betrothed. Her equal.

“Then get us where we need to go. I have to see to my people.”

I nod and move toward the console. “Your people,” I say with exasperation. She remembers they are her subjects, but she doesn’t remember me.

“That’s right. They are my people.”

I feel my face morph into an expression of sadness and regret. She would have made a most excellent queen. I can see now that ruling by her side would have been as glorious as I had ever dreamed it would be. But I think now it might be too late. We have both drifted so far from who we were meant to be that I’m not sure there could ever be a way back for us.

I bow my head, unwilling or unable to look at her anymore. “Of course,” I murmur as she steps into the transport and disappears.

I force myself to step back, reaching out for the ship as I do. I spin away from the stranger and face the controls. There’s a different feel to the ship, another whisper running along its programming that I can’t quite identify. It’s similar to when the Mind were here and they were communicating with the ship—except this time I still recognize the language. It’s more like the other presence is listening, not talking.

I suddenly need to know and turn quickly, catching the soldier standing where I left him, his eyes closed and his lips moving as if he’s whispering to himself. “What’s your name?”

I startle him—I spoke too loudly, my voice almost unrecognizable as high and unsure as it is right now. His eyes fly open and for a second, a flash only, I think I see an almost metallic glimmer.

He clears his throat and stutters when he answers. “Uh, Nic. Nic.” There’s a hint of a lie in his words, in his voice, but I don’t have time to wonder at it. His name is Nic. True or not, it doesn’t matter. As long as he gets me and my people where we need to go.

“Can you navigate the ship?”

“Of course.” His cheek twitches along with the corner of his mouth and I’m overwhelmed by his arrogance. I’ve had enough, that’s for sure.

“Then get us where we need to go. I have to see to my people.”

He nods and moves toward the consoles. “Your people.” There’s a ring to his voice I don’t like, a sound that suggests he doesn’t believe me, or that he knows the truth—that I’ve never been one of them so I have no right to call them mine.

“That’s right. They are my people.” My back feels ramrod straight, my shoulders stiff. He’ll not question me again, I’m sure of it. There is no doubt that I am the leader here.

He smiles that same smile again, a ghost of something like admiration that skips across his features, and is gone as though it never existed. “Of course,” he says again. He dips his head as if giving me obeisance.

I command the transport to take me down, wondering how in the blazes I know what obeisance means.

At the kitchen level I command the transport to hold before opening. Reaching out with my mind I determine there are no people in the room, but I still take a second to consider my next move. I want to help them, to save them if I can—but will they even let me? Will Minn and Dillon have been able to convince them to give me a chance?

I press my palm against the wall and take comfort from the ship. The cool metal feels familiar, like an old friend. And I realize, no matter what happens, I have the ship. And if I’m not even able to keep that, I’ll have the mind-numbing cold of space which I always thought seemed like a good way to die.

Drawing myself up, I let the wall fade away and step into the kitchen. As I walk the passageway to the sleeping quarters, I plan what I’ll say. I have to tell them we might be going back into harm’s way. I’ll promise to feed them, to get them new placements on other ships. Of course I have no idea if I can do any of those things, but I know it’s what I have to say if I’m to avoid them killing me. In the meantime I need something else to give them, something that will show my good faith.

It is the ship that tells me. Schematics appear in my mind and along with them, images play out behind my eyes. So many flashes of life, women in beautiful, rich clothing, men twirling them around as they move through the ballroom in a dance. Laughter and life, food and whispers, and kissing and playing.

I see myself, on the lap of my father, a large, round man with a red circlet resting on his head. I see myself, my hand held by a tall, slender man who looks down on me with an expression I cherish more than any other. I see my smiling child-face reflected in his eyes—his silver-flecked eyes.

But there isn’t time to dwell on the images as the ship continues to feed me information and I know—there is something I can give the few remaining people of this ship.

I hear the murmur of voices before I turn the bend in the corridor and come upon the men’s quarters. Men and women are in there, three quarters of the people sitting on one side of the room, their heads in their hands, their eyes closed as if weary from a long shift in the kitchen, while fewer sit on the other side, arms crossed and scowls on their faces.

When I step into the doorway the voices stop and everyone—every single one of them—turn to look at me.

“What are you doing here andie-lover? You’re not wanted.” Mal, the one who wanted to kill me, stands up, producing a small hatchet from the bed beside him. He holds it in one hand, the head resting in the palm of the other. Every now and then he taps it against his palm. I stand taller. I will not let him bully me.

“We’re heading to civilized space where we can get supplies. When we arrive, you can move to another ship if we find one to your liking.”

“You’re kicking us off our own ship, girl?” Mal takes a step closer. Most of the others glance warily at one another, but a few men join Mal. Minn and Dillon stand, too, but they are on the far side of the room from me—they’ll be of no help should it come to that.

“I’m not kicking you off.” Never mind that it is actually is
my
ship. “In fact, I’d like to suggest you move out of the kitchen quarters.”

“What? You’re gonna stick us in the kitchen now? Force us to live in the supply closet?”

I sigh.
Whatever made me think this man would accept any of what I say?
“There are fifteen floors of living quarters on this ship. You don’t have to live down here, is all I’m saying.”

I hear voices, women mainly, whispering about this new possibility while the bull-headed man in front of me finds fault with my every word. “You think you can buy us off with your fancy living quarters? What about the people they belong to—don’t ya think they’ll have a problem with us moving in?” Another step closer.

I fight the urge to send the man flying out the refuse chute. Instead I close my eyes and count.
One. Two. Three
. “Think what you like, Mal. If you’re more comfortable here, you are welcome to it. I’m going to head back up to the command center now. If any of you would like me to show you to the living quarters, you’re welcome to join me.” I don’t wait for them, just turn on my heel and stride away. I keep my back straight, my eyes focused in front of me, and try not to notice that only silence follows behind.

I step inside the transport, my back to the room. I don’t want to see the kitchen ever again.

“Sera—wait.” I turn to see Minn. “Wait.”

With a hand on the wall of the transport, I tell the ship to hold on drawing the tube shut around me.