REGIME CHANGE Page 3

  As the elevator slowed, the woman canted to look him in the face. “I do have one bit of advice for you, Mr. Quinn.”

  “What is that?”

  “Don’t try to be funny. It falls on deaf ears.”

  The elevator stopped with a soft chime and the woman stepped out first, gesturing for Brendle to follow the marbled path leading to an enormous window overlooking the city of Dorit. The cityscape was magnificent from his viewpoint as he looked down on it, and he imagined what it must feel like to oversee such a place from this vantage point. It’s enough to make you think you’re more than you really are.

  “I trust Pedero was a courteous escort?” Princess Herma said as she walked out of the shadows. Her emerald robes matched her eyes as she walked gracefully towards Brendle. Seeing her made him tremble, but for what reason he did not know.

  Beauty?

  Fear?

  “She was. Good evening, your highness,” Brendle replied, bowing slightly, but feeling self-conscious as to whether it was appropriate given his exile.

  Herma bowed proportionate to the effort he displayed with a smirk on her face. “You are nervous being here with me. Does the emperor’s daughter seem threatening to you?”

  Brendle’s mind was a blur of thoughts. The easy answer was yes, but it was dishonest. “To tell you the truth, I’m concerned for my girlfriend, Anki. My thoughts are clouded with worry for her wellbeing.”

  “The Luthian?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. I suppose when you see someone who’s lost everything, it only makes sense to pity them. I can’t say I see the attraction to such a mundane race of people, though.”

  Brendle bit his tongue to keep from speaking his mind. “I assure you, mundane is not a word to describe Anki Paro.”

  Princess Herma flittered her fingers dismissively as she looked out the large window. Below them, the daily protests formed with several hundred Pilatians gathered in an effort to make the Imperial Princess leave their world behind. “They are pathetic, you know?”

  “Them?” Brendle asked, pointed towards the window, “or are you talking about some other non-Greshians?” The bite of his words stung as they left his lips.

  She smiled, her crimson lips parting enough to show her teeth; the one surprising imperfection to her lineage. “They protest my existence which is the only thing allowing them to continue as a people. Tell me, am I not benevolent in my actions of occupying their little world that my father is hellbent on destroying?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it depends on your reason for doing it. Are you here to protect them, or are you just here for adulation from people who did not grow up in fear of your family?” Brendle realized right away his question sounded accusatory, but he wasn’t about to apologize. Especially considering he still had no idea why he was there.

  “I want to do the right thing, Mr. Quinn. You could never know what it was like growing up the way I did, the loneliness of having a father wrapped up in conquering foreign powers and not having the time to give his child any love.”

  Brendle turned to her, instantly feeling sorry for her as he heard the pain beneath her words. “I’m sorry for what you experienced, but your childhood mirrors that of many on our world. Our parents are expected to excel at levels beyond their natural potential and in so doing, they leave their children as fodder for victimhood. I lived on the streets to help provide for my mother because my father’s aspirations outgrew his family, and I was as far from imperial blood as I could be.”

  Princess Herma spun on her heels to face him. “You think you’re like me?”

  Brendle shook his head. “I think everyone in this galaxy is more alike than any of us will ever admit,” he replied.

  She stared at him, cold emerald eyes welling with tears. “I need your help and in return I will remove the exile placed on you by the Greshian Navy. You will once again be a Greshian. Will you help me?”

  The request came like a kick in the gut. He knew it was coming, yet still it momentarily crippled him. This was a moment he never thought would be possible, yet here he was, moments from setting things right that he had no idea he craved to fix. I would be able to speak to my mother without endangering her, he thought. “What would you have me do?”

  Princess Herma smiled.

  Seven

  Crase

  Crase woke with stiff joints, but otherwise a new man. Coming from the brink of death, returning to Farax did more to restore his spirits than he thought, but still lingering doubts flooded through his mind. his heart was torn. Part of him wanted to stay, to put his old life behind him, to curb his rage and move on. The other part wanted to take back what was his and he was willing to do anything to feel the satisfaction of reclaiming the Replicade.

  Despite the conflict within him, he knew what he would do.

  With a hushed groan, he rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Tesera. It felt strange sharing a bed with her again, though the previous night was far from romantic. Still, smelling her presence reminded him of a happier time. He leaned closer, his desire to kiss her lingering to the point of a challenge, but he knew taking it would cast him farther away from her.

  Tesera gave her ultimatum; stay or go, there was no in between. Crase knew no woman stronger than her, and that contributed to his love for her. but love was never a quantitative measure in his life. He rolled in the opposite direction, his bare feet touching the cold floor and settling him in his resolve.

  Once up and out of the bedroom, he grabbed his bag and shoved fresh, folded laundry into it. He had no idea how long the trip would be, or if Tesera would allow his return, but like any compulsion, he felt powerless to stop it.

  “The last time you left here, you almost died,” Tesera said softly from across the room.

  Crase turned to see her wrapped in linen robes, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’ve come close numerous times, Tesera. As much as I appreciate your concern, I have made my decision.”

  “To test fate or to test my resolve?” She asked.

  He bit his lip, careful not to speak out of place. “This is business, nothing more.”

  “You told me last night of the Greshian naval officer asking for your help. Do you think he will honor it, giving you back the ship in return for information? The Greshians are liars. They seek to better themselves, not anyone else.”

  “You know nothing of life outside of Farax,” Crase hissed. “You’ve bound yourself to your work here. The galaxy is different now than it was twenty years ago.”

  She scoffed. “How different, Crase? The war has only escalated. How many worlds have been destroyed by the Empire? How many more will die before it ends, if it ever ends? These people are in a constant state of waging war, there is no peace in their hearts.”

  Crase kept shoving clothes into his bag, pressing them inside with the force equivalent to a punch. “This is precisely why I must do this.”

  “No, this is why you will die. You’re stubborn and you’re stupid.” Crase looked up at her as she continued. “There’s a good life for you here, with me, but you’re too intent on revenge to let it go. When will you learn that you need to give this life up?”

  “There’s only one way I give this life up,” he said, his lips on the verge of quivering. He regretted what he said, but he was powerless to stop himself. Compulsion made more decision in his life than his thoughts did, and he just now saw how negatively they impacted him. But like an idiot, he knew he would follow through with the course he set.

  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, Crase.”

  He heard the sadness in his voice and he knew the right thing to do, but he grabbed his bag and flung it over his shoulder. “Will you be here when I return?” Tesera stared at him with cold, dead eyes, but did not answer. “Very well, I’m off and I hope to see you again. I love you.” The words fell from his lips automatically, and he noticed from the corner of his eye how she winced when he professed his love.

  “When are yo
u going to learn to let this stuff go?”

  He turned his back to her, but canted his head so he could make out her form through his peripheral. “When are you going to learn that I can’t?”

  She said nothing and made no move as Crase stalked towards the door. He knew he deserved her resentment, but it was a bitter pill to swallow. In time she will accept this, he thought. One day we will look back on this and laugh. But like most lies, even the ones he told himself, not all were believable.

  The heat of a Faraxian breeze distracted him as he lowered his goggles to keep the grit from his eyes. Starting over his business from scratch had taken longer than he thought and coming back to Farax this time of year would prove to have its own challenges, but he was content in knowing his plan to seize his ship was under way.

  Finally.

  The important task that would get him off this rock was to take place today. Trading the transport for a larger ship, one with guns and a crew. He was naïve enough to think he could take the Replicade in a tiny transport once and almost paid for it with his life. This time, there would be no failure.

  The port bustled with activity as people walked around, heads down and covered as the torrent of sand pelted them from above. Crase kept his mouth closed to keep from ingesting it, but he hated the confining feeling of wearing a mask.

  Up ahead, he saw Poko’s tall, slender frame. The man looked like a stick standing defiant against the wind. Crase could count on one hand how many people on this world he trusted, and Poko was second on that list.

  “Crase?” Poko greeted with a slithery voice. The man’s face was more than half obscured as the breeze bore down on them from the east. “I was happy to get your message. I thought you finally succumbed to the great sleep.” The man extended his hand to Crase and they gripped one another’s wrists in a sturdy shake.

  “I’m beginning to believe my own hype, Poko. Maybe death does not want me, eh?”

  Poko grinned, his yellowish teeth baring fiendishly. “The gods do not want what they cannot contain.”

  “What gods?” Crase replied, with a chortle. “I’ve seen none on any world in this galaxy.”

  “Perhaps our Greshian friends destroyed their planet,” Poko said coldly.

  “Maybe,” Crase said.

  “So, let’s get to business. I have a Cotian ship with stealth capability and two forward mounted torpedo tubes. It can hold twenty personnel, but only needs four to operate. I have six men willing to deploy today if necessary.”

  Crase sighed. “I need more fire power, Poko; the Replicade has countermeasures and turrets. What else do you have?”

  Poko waved dismissively. “You expect too much for a busted transport, Crase. We have been friends for many years, but that friendship has cost me dearly. How many ships have I given you on good faith?”

  Crase’s pleasant face faded as Poko insinuated displeasure in their past. “This business comes with risk, Poko. How many ships have I brought back for you to make money from?”

  Poko nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do have you to thank for many money pits and sunken business ventures,” he laughed. “Look, the best I can do is give you the crew and a Pilatian ship. It has countermeasures, four torpedo tubes, and six turrets. It’s a gunship designed for dignitary escort. It has no stealth and limited shielding capabilities. You won’t be sneaking up on your target.”

  “How many people to operate it?”

  “You can get by with three.”

  “Then I’ll take three,” Crase said.

  “I’m giving you six.” Poko replied.

  “And I want three.” Crase’s tone shifted towards irritability.

  Poko exhaled exhaustively. “Why do I bother with you?” The man shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall, keeping his head turned away from the blowing debris.

  Crase placed a warm hand on his old friend’s shoulder, staring him down through the tinted goggles. “Because I saved your life and you owe me.”

  “What? You were the one who put me in harms way. I was perfectly fine selling stolen ships risk free before you came along.” A grin stretched across his face.

  “At least I keep things interesting for you. When will the ship be ready?”

  “When do you want it?” Poko answered.

  The response mustered a fresh smile on Crase’s face. “I depart in four hours. Have the crew and ship ready. I want to get off Farax before the storm worsens.”

  “They’ll be there. The ship is on pier G7 and she’s ready to go. I have the last coordinates of the Replicade’s drive signature stored in her computer already.”

  “So, you knew I would want that ship?”

  “You should know me well enough to always be ready for the upsell.”

  “Yeah, and you should know me well enough to save time by giving me what I want the first time.” Crase pulled the bag off his shoulder and dropped it at Poko’s feet. “See to it that makes it onboard my new ship. I have some last minute errands to see to before I head out.”

  “Anything of interest?” Poko asked, not looking at the duffel on the ground.

  “The bag or the errands?” Crase shot back.

  He shrugged. “Either.”

  “No, I just don’t want to sit idle for too long. I figure I may as well go out with a bang in case I don’t come back.” Crase didn’t mean to sound so cryptic, but even he could not deny the loss of confidence after what transpired on the Replicade. The fact a Greshian ship found him and saved him seemed miraculous. Typically, the fleet would kill anyone in the piracy trade. Of course, he had the deal of a lifetime waiting for him if he tracked down his ship.

  “You think it’s going to come to that?” Poko asked, the smirk lightening on his face.

  Crase shrugged before turning away. “You never know these days.”

  Eight

  Brendle

  Arriving at the medical center gave Brendle a renewed sense of purpose; a reminder of why they were on Pila in the first place. Despite his agreement with Princess Herma, he held Anki’s wellbeing higher on his list of priorities. Of course, Herma, or more likely Pedero, would expect to see him the next day for the briefing. As he climbed out of the transport, he tried to shake the uneasiness he felt for seeing Princess Herma and instead focus on Anki.

  The elevator leading to her room was unoccupied and he wondered if it was the time of day or the fact off-worlders were using it, more specifically a Greshian. He ignored the worry of being an outcast and feared and turned his thoughts to his crew. It seemed no matter what he focused on, he felt shame and fear that he was betraying someone. Maybe the one I’m betraying most is myself, he thought as the elevator rose.

  Brendle wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and stepped out of the elevator after it slowed to a stop. Anki’s new room was to the right according to the transport driver and he soon discovered it was only three doors down from the elevator. He knocked lightly before shoving the door open and discovered Deis and Malikea speaking near the bed. It wasn’t until he was fully in the room that he discovered Anki was awake. When she turned to see him, he almost fell over.

  “Brendle!” She said, her voice hoarse, but full of excitement.

  “Anki,” he said, trying not to raise his voice and disturb any of the other patients on the floor. He moved over to her and kissed her, holding onto her hand with his own. “I was so worried about you. How do you feel?”

  “I’ve felt better, but worse as well. I just have a headache and I’m burning up,” she answered. “Where have you been?”

  Her question made his heart sink. He knew the time would come when he’d have to explain himself, but he didn’t expect it to happen the first two minutes of his arrival. “I was requested by the Pilatian Princess,” he said.

  Anki’s brow furrowed. “I know I just woke up and I have drugs flowing through my veins, but I get the sense you’re not telling me the truth.” Her voice lowered in pitch and her jaw tightened, making Brendle grow more ner
vous that what he was about to say would crush her.

  “The Pilatian Princess is a Greshian. She is the Emperor’s daughter.”

  “Then she’s not Pilatian at all. She’s a Greshian Princess. What did she want?”

  Brendle knew by her tone he was about to get dragged over coals, but he hoped she would see where is efforts would benefit all of them. “She wants our help against a growing rebellion on this world. She needs us to discourage any act which may bring the Emperor’s wrath on Pila.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Anki said. “By supporting her, you’re supporting the Empire. I thought you wanted to put those days behind you?” She pulled her hand from his and it felt like a kick in the teeth.

  “She’s not like her father,” Brendle said, “she occupied Pila to save it. The planet was destroyed, but she opened this station for refugees, taking her place here saved these people. The Pilatians don’t understand Greshian politics, but her being in power here is saving them. If they overthrow her, they will be destroyed. By us helping her, we are saving lives.”

  Anki turned away from him, a single tear shedding down her cheek. “So, you already made the decision to help?”

  Brendle sighed. “I had no other choice. But by helping, we will no longer live a life on the run from the Greshian fleet. We will have a home here as citizens.”

  Anki turned to him. “We will have a future under Greshian rule. I will not bow to a Greshian and I don’t think Deis and Malikea have any bows to do so either.”

  Brendle looked up at them and saw the solemn expression on their faces. Looks of betrayal were evident in their eyes. “This is the best thing for us, can’t you see that?”

  “I do appreciate the idea of saving lives, but I’m afraid Anki is right,” Malikea said, “aiding the Greshian Princess in any way puts us under her thumb. Who is to say she will not turn on us later?”

  Brendle scoffed. “Are you listening to yourselves? You’re making this out to be a big conspiracy, when it’s cut and dry. We help her shake down this rebellion, restore peace to this sector, and in exchange we have a fully supplied ship and a roof over our heads on a world which can provide us stability. Where is the fault in that?”