Briggen

BRIGGEN

By

Ann B. Keller

Briggen

By Ann B. Keller

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9781301574858

Copyright 2013 Ann B. Keller

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CHAPTER 1

FORITA

Briggen silently shifted forward on the mossy earth, crouching low as the beast he was tracking lowered its snout to drink. All around him, the luminescent moon fern grew in profusion, its green and white foliage dripping with tiny pearls of sticky sap. To his right, an enormous kiak tree arched its magnificent limbs over the tiny stream, casting deep shadows over the quiet glen and onto the smaller trees beyond.

Here, the lilies sank their roots deep into the rich, moist earth made nearly black by the thousands of plants and animals that had come before, swaying in lovely rhythm to the music of the oncoming night. Indeed, there was great beauty in the small glade, but Briggen saw little of it as he focused his attention on the large hairy creature before him.

The ankylaterra noisily buried its large snout in the cool water, like a drunkard downing his last dregs of ale. The beast was a little larger than he, walking on four stubby legs that somehow supported its massive body. Each foot ended in four long claws almost the size of a man’s hand, claws that could rapidly dig a burrow or gut an opponent like a series of razor sharp knives.

A huge hump arched over the beast’s back and multiple ridges of greenish brown skin rippled as the creature raised its head to look around. Each square of hide was marked by a single black hair so thick and coarse that the Imeni, natives who dwelled in the trees not far away, used the hairs as needles and decorations for their breastplates. Near the ankylaterra’s tail, the hairs rapidly multiplied, ending in a ruff of sharp black quills with red tips.

The beast’s head was broad, marked by pointed ears and tiny beady eyes well shaded by a large brow ridge. A snout as long as Briggen’s sword covered a jaw lined with a series of sharp teeth ending in a pair of large nostrils and four ivory tusks, two extending upward and two down.

With infinite care, Briggen slowly drew his sword from its leather scabbard, ignoring the stinging sap of the moon plant already raising welts on the tanned skin of his arms. The large muscles in Briggen’s legs and arms tensed briefly as he judged the distance to the ankylaterra, which was once more happily drinking from the stream, blissfully unaware of the warrior hiding in the undergrowth nearby.

Abruptly, Briggen erupted from his hiding place and charged the ankylaterra. The beast saw him a second later, turning in alarm and rearing up to bring its lethal tusks to bear on the adversary rapidly narrowing the distance between them.

His first stroke cut deeply into the softer skin at the side of the ankylaterra’s neck and the beast wailed in pain as dark blood surged through the open wound. Quickly, Briggen drew his dagger as the ankylaterra attempted to gut him, deflecting the beast’s deadly tusks while he plunged his dagger deep into the ankylaterra’s huge shoulder.

The creature’s two tiny eyes seemed to glow a strange orangish red as the ankylaterra stared him down, clawing the earth with its large feet. The dying rays of the sun glinted wickedly on the beast’s large ivory tusks still dripping with water and its sides heaved as the creature struggled to breathe.

Briggen shifted slightly to his right, attempting to gain the advantage, but the ankylaterra was far from finished. It turned to face him once more, its beady eyes never leaving the muscular warrior before it.

Briggen leaped to the side as the ankylaterra barreled past him, plowing head first into the large stand of moon plant in which he’d been hiding only a few moments before. The huge beast shook off most of the foliage, except for one persistent frond that stuck to the beast’s forehead like a feather, giving the creature a rakish air.

A corner of Briggen’s mouth curled up in amusement as the creature glowered at him from his makeshift nest of moon plants, the red blood running down its sides marring the pristine beauty of the foliage with brilliant streaks of crimson.

A huge ghomeron bird turned and dove from a sky painted pinkish orange with the rays of the setting sun, striking repeatedly at Briggen’s head and shoulders as he attempted to keep the bird at bay. Instinct borne from years of battle warned Briggen that the bird was not the only imminent threat and he immediately shifted his position, his silver sword arcing down in a strong stroke.

In agony, the ankylaterra wailed and staggered away, drenching the soft moss on the ground with blood as it fell to its knees and then lay still. Briggen soon severed the haunches from the huge creature and bore them some distance away, where he could safely make camp.

Making a large fire, Briggen spitted one of the haunches, set it over the fire to roast and hung the second piece of meat from a tree. Then he fashioned a bed out of several leafy branches and lay down to await his dinner.

He rested one muscular arm on the rough brown material covering one knee and stared into the dancing flames of the fire. The golden glow gilded his prominent cheekbones and sparkled in the depths of his dark eyes, softening the face of a man who had seen much.

All around him, the creatures of the forest were settling in for the long night. Mice, shrews and ferrets had returned to their grass-lined burrows for protection from the creatures of the night and even the ciamina, a graceful deer-like animal, had retreated to the shelter of its bower.

Here and there, a small black bat skittered across the sky, chasing its insect dinner while the long grayish green egara snakes unwound themselves from the low branches of the trees to feast on the unwary creatures innocently sleeping on the ground below. Several pairs of eyes gleamed brightly from the shadows surrounding the fire, but the heat and light from the flames and the scent of the warrior who rested there held them at bay as Briggen allowed his thoughts to drift.

Images from his past briefly crossed Briggen’s mind. He saw a pair of dark haired boys racing down a long corridor in a palace of gray stone, laughing as their feet slid on the polished tiles. One was older by several years, a rugged youth whose much larger body already hinted at the strong man he would become. The other, younger brother had classic, almost feminine features that made him a favorite among the courtiers and a shorter, slimmer frame. He hid his mischievous pranks behind a brilliant smile, quick wit and an abundance of charm - his brother, Beckett.

Briggen abruptly turned his head and speared one of the dark coals with a stick.

Why he should think of what remained of his family now, he didn’t understand. The wounds were deep and the memories painful. Straightening, Briggen located a suitable rock near the fire that he could use to sharpen his sword and set to the task. With every long stroke of stone against steel, the images began to fade and Briggen applied himself with renewed vigor.

Several miles away - straight up, in fact - the battle cruiser, Montplain, swung into a low orbit around the planet Forita. The Montplain was a sizeable vessel, the largest in her class with room aboard for nearly a thousand souls. Five long arms extended from her circular core, two at the front and three aft for the engines. She was equipped with the new Litmeer engines, too, which generated enough power to achieve a speed several times the speed of light.

From a distance, the planet below was a verdant green interspersed by several large, azure blue lakes and a few deserts that appeared a coarse brown between the grayish white clouds below the ship. Forita’s poles were hidden beneath dense cloud banks that obscured the frozen wastelands from view and generated enough heavy precipitation to renew the snow cover on the tundra and the icebergs surrounding the land masses.

A tall, stately figure in a flowing wine colored robe approached the viewing window and braced one pale, gnarled hand on the metal frame. Quinhelm’s body was only slightly bent with age and a thick curtain of white hair covered his shoulders and most of the wizard’s back. An unusual hat of wine and green velvet curls of fabric covered his skull, ornamented with three tassels that trailed down over the wizard’s left ear.

His face was gaunt and there was a pale tinge of gray beneath his prominent cheekbones. A sharp bend in Quinhelm’s nose led resolutely downward to wide thin lips, now pressed together in deep thought. Wisps of grayish white beard grew with increasing frequency as they approached the wizard’s chin, finally converging to form a beard that was so long it nearly reached his waist. Quinhelm’s bright gray eyes were quick and sharp as he surveyed the seemingly calm exterior of the planet’s surface.

The wizard sensed a presence behind him, but since the intruder was friendly, he did not bother to turn around as the captain of the ship strode forward to stand beside him, his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

The captain of the Montplain was not a small man, but beside Quinhelm’s taller frame, he seemed a little insignificant. Captain Ian Rhyton stood nearly six feet tall and had short, wavy brown hair and a brown moustache. His military bearing and no-nonsense attitude was interspersed with a decidedly dry wit that kept his crew constantly on their toes. Ian was not averse to a good joke and had been known to laugh on occasion himself, much to the amazement of his first officer and any members of the crew who’d witnessed the rare event.

Rocking up onto the balls of his feet, Ian glanced sideways at the old wizard beside him. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but the shadows beneath the wizard’s eyes seemed more pronounced lately, although Ian had no means to ease his friend’s pain.

Well? Is he there? Ian finally asked.

Quinhelm finally smiled with amusement.

You’ve never wasted time with platitudes, have you, Captain? the wizard asked. Yes, Briggen is there. I sense his presence.

Good. But will he come with us? Ian persisted.

It’s hard to say, the wizard sighed. Briggen didn’t leave under the best of circumstances, you know.

Captain Rhyton frowned. Surely, with all that’s happened he’ll reconsider.

I should go now, before he realizes I’m here, Quinhelm announced, suddenly turning for the door.

Do you think you’ll be able to persuade him to join us? Our forces can contain the Xandoth just so long and with their reinforcements joining them from Orion --

Quinhelm held up one pale hand, immediately silencing the Captain.

I believe I know what needs to be done, Captain, the wizard acknowledged. I shall do my best.

Grimly, Ian nodded.

I don’t envy you. Persuading Briggen to do anything could be a challenge for any man, Ian admitted.

Or perhaps, even for a wizard, Quinhelm noted.

Back on Forita, Briggen leaned forward to turn the haunch of meat roasting over the fire to cook a little more on the other side, but he stiffened as he sensed a rapidly approaching presence. Automatically, he rose, dropping his hand onto the hilt of his sword as his dark brown eyes raked the trees surrounding the camp.

The being seemed familiar, although usually unwelcome, since his arrival typically heralded the announcement of bad news. With a heavy sigh, Briggen sat back down.

The air around the campfire seemed suddenly heavy with an electric current that made the hairs on the backs of Briggen’s arms stand out on end. Briggen knew enough to give the transporter beam a wide berth and leaned back on his makeshift bed as a figure began to form before his eyes.

At first, a random number of small particles sparkled in the air above the fire, but one by one, they grew in number, forming the outer edges of a tall robed figure. Soon, the figure’s hands and feet took shape, as well as the head and face with his long, flowing beard of white. Finally, the rest of the wizard’s robe condensed into view - right into the middle of Briggen’s fire.

Quinhelm gasped in alarm as he hopped from foot to foot, almost dislodging the spit into the hot coals, but Briggen was faster. Reaching forward, Briggen grasped the wizard’s narrow arm and quickly pulled Quinhelm to safety. The wizard tumbled unceremoniously onto the ground beside him and Briggen beat out the now flaming hem of the wizard’s robe as Quinhelm coughed and sputtered.

You still like to make a great entrance, don’t you, old man? Briggen noted with amusement.

Only a slight miscalculation, Quinhelm wheezed, rubbing his watering eyes. I assure you.

Briggen observed his guest as the wizard sputtered and patted down his long robe, assessing the damage. The bottom of his beard and robe had been singed and the wizard had lost a good six inches of hair in back. The blackened ends of Quinhelm’s hair twisted themselves into grotesque shapes that smoldered before finally going out, leaving a lingering stench of burned hair to overshadow the enticing aroma of roasting meat.

As Briggen watched, the wizard coughed deeply, this time expelling a cloud of grayish black smoke that formed into the image of a large bird, which lingered over the camp for a few moments before dissipating into thin air.

Aren’t you getting a little old for parlor tricks like that? Briggen queried, raising one dark eyebrow at his guest.

There was a time, lad, when such a demonstration would have captured your undivided attention for hours, Quinhelm recalled.

I’m not a lad any more, Briggen grumbled, making sure that the spit was once more securely anchored over the flames.

No, you’re not, are you?

The wizard’s gray eyes slowly raked Briggen’s frame, assessing the warrior more deeply than Briggen would have liked.

Briggen had grown into a fine man, Quinhelm decided, a strong warrior by the look of it, fully capable of handling himself well in almost any situation. The forests of Forita hid many dangers amid its lush growth, but Briggen had conquered these impressive adversaries and made the planet his home.

Well, are you going to enlighten me with the reason for your visit or am I to remain in suspense? Briggen asked.

The wizard chuckled, his beard bouncing as he laughed.

Ever the impatient one, aren’t we? Quinhelm asked.

Briggen immediately proved the wizard wrong by staring into the fire as he waited for him to continue.

You’ve done well for yourself, Briggen. I’m pleased, Quinhelm declared.

Briggen pretended to ignore Quinhelm, refusing to respond with even an acknowledgment. The silence stretched on between the two men, the stillness marred only by the crackling of the fire and the soft chirp of insects surrounding the campsite.

How long has it been since we’ve seen each other? Four years? Five? Quinhelm asked, stalling for time.

Eight, Briggen corrected.

Quinhelm nodded. A lot of time. Time enough for so many things to change.

Briggen sighed and threw a stick into the fire, causing a small eruption of sparks.

Old man, you’re trying awfully hard not to tell me something, Briggen declared. It’s Beckett, isn’t it? What’s he done this time?

Nothing, actually. I simply decided to --

Briggen’s eyes narrowed as the wizard scrambled to find the right words.

All right, Quinhelm finally agreed with a sigh. I suppose you’re entitled to the truth. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll be brief and to the point.

Quinhelm frowned as he stared at the younger man, trying to warn him somehow, to prepare him for what must be said.

Beckett’s dead, Briggen. Murdered. The nobles are squabbling among themselves while the council searches for his killer. In the meantime, you must claim the throne as the next in line. You, Briggen, are King of Neimus.

CHAPTER 2

THE REVELATION

Briggen stared at the wizard in shock, willing him to take the words back. His brother, Beckett, was dead, murdered by some unknown assailant. Briggen hadn’t been there to protect him, to ensure that Beckett had a long and happy reign.

Shaking his head in denial, Briggen got to his feet and strode around the fire, putting some welcome distance between himself and the bearer of such bad tidings. The hands he placed on his hips felt like twin clubs, as though they were no longer a part of his body. His head throbbed and it was a struggle to breathe. Every beat of his heart echoed in his ears, loudly counting out the seconds as Briggen attempted to deal with his pain.

He felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, as though a part of him had suddenly been severed from his body and thrown to a pack of hungry wolves. Tears of anguish welled in the corners of his eyes and Briggen lifted his head high as he gasped.

Briggen, I -- the wizard began, somehow attempting to ease his friend’s pain.

How -- How did he die? Briggen croaked.

Sadly, Quinhelm shook his head, unable to describe the scene of the murder.

Who killed him, Quinhelm? Briggen demanded, his strength finally returning.

I don’t know, the wizard softly replied.

Then I’ll find out! Briggen angrily declared.

No! You’re the king now. Or at least you will be when you return, Quinhelm reasoned, getting to his knees.

I don’t want to be king. That’s why I left Neimus in the first place, Briggen explained. I relinquished all claim to the throne, remember? You hand delivered the papers to the council yourself.

I could have, yes, Quinhelm softly admitted, his long fingers ineffectually arranging the folds of his robe. But I reconsidered.

Briggen frowned as the wizard met his eyes across the fire.

You are the rightful heir, Briggen. The people need you, Quinhelm repeated.

Briggen turned away again and Quinhelm struggled to his feet.

You are a member of the ruling family of Neimus! Quinhelm firmly declared. You have a responsibility, a duty to uphold.

You know how I feel about politics, old man, Briggen growled.

So you intend to stand by and let someone else claim the throne? Someone like -- like Hanrett for instance?

Briggen gritted his teeth against the image the wizard’s words brought to mind. Hanrett was a little weasel of a man, who never hesitated to twist things to his advantage. He was a liar, a cheat and a swindler -- and he was the brother of the head of the Council of Elders. If Hanrett managed to seize power, there would soon be no one to stop him. He would systematically bleed the country dry, eliminating all who stood in his way in his relentless search for power.

Could Hanrett have killed his brother, Briggen wondered? If so, he would have taken great care to cover his trail, ensuring that he had an alibi and multiple witnesses who could place him elsewhere at the time of the murder. It would take a brave man to uncover the truth, a man willing to risk everything to expose Hanrett before his peers.

Briggen abruptly turned and started kicking dirt over the fire.

What are you doing? Quinhelm gasped, despairing that he wouldn’t have the chance to taste the enticing meat he’d seen nearly roasted to perfection.

I assume that there’s a ship up there? Briggen asked, bending to scatter the branches of his makeshift bed into the undergrowth around the campsite. Or did you simply wish yourself here?

Don’t be insulting, Quinhelm chided.

I’ll go with you, old man, Briggen finally admitted.

Marvelous! the wizard grinned.

But not for the reason you think. If my brother was murdered, I want to find his killer, Briggen told him.

But what about --

So contact the captain and tell him he has another passenger.

Briggen gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as a technician aboard the Montplain initiated the transport sequence. Quinhelm could have cast a spell over Briggen to get him aboard the orbiting vessel, but the wizard wasn’t as young as he used to be and Briggen reasoned he might have further need of the wizard’s expertise before the day was out, so he allowed himself to be transported.

It only took a moment, really. One second, Briggen was staring at the small mound of earth he’d piled over the remains of his campfire and haunch of meat and the next, he was aboard the battle cruiser Montplain, staring into the astonished eyes of a female yeoman. The slender blonde locked the transporter controls in their off position and shifted nervously under Briggen’s piercing gaze.

Briggen’s dark eyes quickly darted about the room as he willed his stomach to settle back into place. There was still something disconcerting about having one’s anatomy scattered into thin air, only to be reassembled again several miles away. It forced him to trust the abilities of the technician on the other side of the transporter and Briggen never would have consented had he seen the youth and gender of the technician beforehand.

The transporter room had the clean, antiseptic lines of most space vessels, with blue and gray plastic and metal components combining to form a seamless square structure that reminded Briggen a little of a cage. Three large white lights were recessed into the ceiling above him and other lighting sprang from the narrow space where the ceiling met the walls, cascading down in a series of soft, pastel hues that were meant to calm and reassure the subjects in the transporter. Two young recruits dressed in stretchy yellow and black uniforms stood behind the sleek console to his left, their eyes so wide with alarm that Briggen almost patted himself down to assure himself that he still had all of his anatomy.

As the hairs on his arms and legs finally stopped tingling with electric current, one of the walls swished open and a tall dark haired man quickly strode through. Briggen guessed that this must be the captain and the insignia on his red and black uniform quickly confirmed his suspicions.

Captain Rhyton acknowledged the salutes of the two female yeomen on the other side of the room and smiled broadly as he extended his hand to Briggen.

Captain Ian Rhyton at your service, Ian declared. You must be Prince Briggen. I’ve heard a great deal about you from Quinhelm. Welcome aboard the Montplain.

Briggen bypassed the captain’s hand to clasp his arm instead, but the captain never batted an eyelash at the older form of greeting, firmly taking his arm as he met Briggen’s eyes. That, in itself, said much about Captain Rhyton and Briggen nodded with approval.

Captain, Briggen acknowledged.

I’m sure you’ll want some time to get settled in, but perhaps you’d like to join me for breakfast, Ian suggested. I could take you on a tour of the ship.

Briggen frowned, sensing danger nearby. Another glance about the room confirmed that they were the only occupants, but Briggen couldn’t seem to shake his feeling of unease.

Quinhelm glanced at Briggen as the uncomfortable silence lengthened.

I’m sure he’d like that, Quinhelm enthusiastically replied. Thank you, Captain.

Yeoman Reynolds can show you to your quarters, Captain Rhyton suggested, anxious to return to the bridge.

Certainly, Susan Reynolds suggested. This way, gentlemen.

Reluctantly, Briggen allowed Quinhelm to usher him from the transporter room and into the brightly lit corridor outside. A second later, Captain Rhyton also left and hurried for the bridge as the ship came under yellow alert.

Briggen’s room was several floors above the transporter room, but of similar size and shape. There was no window through which he could watch the passing stars, no moonlight shining down on him as he readied himself for the night. Briggen felt as though the smooth gray walls were closing in on him from all sides.

Yeoman Reynolds and Quinhelm had briefly shown him some of the highlights, like his retractable bed, the food processor and what sufficed as a bathroom combined with a shower, but they hadn’t stayed long. Briggen would have preferred to question Quinhelm at length, but the old wizard looked a little weary and Briggen took pity on him. If he still felt a little queasy from the transporter, Quinhelm might feel even worse. So, Briggen allowed them to leave, deciding he could investigate the newfangled gadgets himself.

Briggen’s stomach growled in protest, so the food processor was the first to come under his scrutiny. Yeoman Reynolds had made it all seem incredibly easy. One simply had to punch in the code for the desired food and presto, a steak dinner, mirabar eggs and ham, whatever the occupant wanted quickly appeared in the white aperture. It was child’s play.

Briggen punched in the code for what he thought was a venison dinner, then leaned back, his tongue already anticipating the feast he was about to consume. The side of the white aperture opened briefly and a steaming bowl of blue squid tentacles rapidly slid into view. Briggen curled his lips in disgust and lifted the bowl out of the food processor to try again.

Over the next fifteen minutes, Briggen punched dozens of codes into the food processor keypad, but with little success. The results of his efforts lined one wall of his room like colorful sentinels, each a clear declaration of his failure to understand the machine. Besides the squid, there was a heaping mound of gelatinous monton cow eggs, ground ganthdar with a side of roasted fig tree bark, whale milk pudding, Moroccan tree slugs still squirming on a platter, roasted field mice stuffed with herbs and, best of all, a huge bowl of chilled red marrow from several caldar horns with a delicate garnish of rianda fern.

Briggen searched for a place to dispose of the unwanted food. As he punched nearly every button on the walls, he confirmed the location of his bed and bath, but finally plunged the room into utter darkness. Briggen’s eyes widened and he tamped down his momentary panic and felt along the smooth wall. Without a window to let in any light, his room was as dark as a tomb and Briggen could almost feel the walls and ceiling closing in on him before his fumbling fingers relocated the lighting controls.

Argh! Briggen grunted, as a piercing white strobe light split the darkness.

Shielding his eyes from the incredibly bright light, Briggen finally located the dimmer and immediately continued his search.

Suddenly, a long golden rod shot out from the wall just in front of his nose and Briggen arched back as the mobile closet nearly cuffed him on the chin. Dozens of colorful garments hung from the rod, ready for his selection. There were caftans of finest Zeerian silk in aqua, red and yellow, fur lined robes, uniforms in red, yellow and blue, soft white shirts and pants in black, brown and navy. Below them were a bountiful selection of colorful socks and hose, as well as shoes and boots too numerous to count. Selecting one of the garments, Briggen held up the crystal clear hanger and frowned. Clearly, the former occupant wasn’t nearly his size and he sighed as he selected the closet button again, once more concealing the abundant selection of clothing behind the cool gray wall.

Weary and still very hungry, Briggen lowered himself to the bed and lay down to rest. For a moment, the surface was a little hard and unyielding, just the way he liked it. Then the mattress lifted, conforming itself to the contours of his body. He felt as though he was being smothered or devoured whole.

Briggen shot out of bed and drew his sword, ready to do battle with the bed beast that had nearly consumed him. Without its occupant, the mattress rapidly deflated, once more returning to its previously hard, smooth shape.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Briggen gingerly prodded the mattress with the tip of his sword and was soon rewarded by a strong hiss. The pressure quickly dissipated and the sides of the mattress drooped down in defeat.

Nodding with satisfaction, Briggen retrieved the pillow from the bed and decided he’d be safer sleeping on the floor. As he reclined on the cool tiles, he laid his sword above his head and stared up at the ceiling above him.

The approaching danger he’d felt earlier had lessened somewhat, no doubt put to flight by the captain’s rapid departure. Briggen had liked Captain Rhyton on sight. He was a man’s man, someone others would follow unquestionably and Briggen was looking forward to speaking with him further on the morrow.

Several floors above Briggen’s small room, the bridge was finally returning to normal. The Xandoth had not returned and were by now probably several solar systems away. The bridge was wide and well lit by an enormous viewing screen that dominated the room. Consoles for science, communications, and engines were laid out in a semi circle, with the captain’s chair firmly lodged in the center just behind the stations for the scanners, weapons and steering.

Lieutenant Grace McKenna manned the controls that steered the ship, her small experienced hands sure on the wheel. She’d been one of the youngest to graduate from the Space Academy, but her consistently high marks and courage under fire had earned her this coveted position aboard the battle cruiser Montplain.

Beside her, Ensign Peter Drogov, a Russian several years her senior, ran the Montplain’s scanners. Peter was a little short for a man, a fact which annoyed him considerably, but he possessed muscular shoulders and legs. His dark hair was usually swept high from his broad forehead and his bright blue eyes readily danced with amusement.

On the raised platform behind them was the large weapons console manned by Lieutenant Commander Mirabon Rochelle, a stocky Frenchman who was a relatively new recruit and a transfer from the Epherian Delta. Despite his size and large hands, Mirabon’s fingers played over the delicate weapons controls with the ease of a concert pianist. The red haired Rochelle glanced back to give the captain a thumbs up, then immediately returned to his work.

The massive Litmeer engines fell under the watchful eye of Ensign John Highland. Highland was a year younger than the captain and had come up through the ranks after serving many years aboard numerous freighters, passenger vessels and battle cruisers in the busy Konkar system. John had been one of the few hand selected to test the new Litmeer engines and had been instrumental in refining their capabilities for even greater efficiencies in power and speed. The ensign was a bi-racial mix of Alterian and Nubian, which gave his entire body the appearance of a stellar tan and no doubt contributed to the intense curl of his jet black hair.

The science officer’s console was, at the moment, unoccupied since First Officer Devon Schilling was currently bending over Miss McKenna’s shoulder. Schilling was a little taller than the captain and his darker complexion was a vivid contrast to the lieutenant’s pale coloring. The dark brown skin covering Devon’s bald head almost gleamed in the light coming from the viewing screen, but his voice was soft yet firm as he asked the junior officer a question.

Behind the captain, Lieutenant Anna Chelton manned the communications console, her slender fingers matched perfectly to the narrow pads of buttons and instruments on the complex system. Ian had known Anna since his days at the Academy and if her beauty had lessened with the passage of time, he was unaware of it. Anna’s Chinese and Indian heritage showed clearly in her high cheekbones and the unusual shape of her brown eyes. Her lustrous black hair was usually pulled into a tight roll at the back of her head, but the stray tendrils over hear small ears seemed almost blue black. Many an evening, Anna had entertained the crew by playing her Celtic harp and her lovely voice had even some of the men wiping tears of pleasure from their eyes.

In the captain’s chair, Ian swung to face forward, his sharp eyes scanning the viewing screen filled with hundreds of stars.

Any sign of our visitors, Mr. Drogov? he inquired.

No, Captain, Peter Drogov replied. No targets within scanning range.

Very well, Ian acknowledged, rising from his chair. Mr. Highland, you have the com.

Aye, Captain, John immediately responded, clicking his heels together in a crisp salute as he moved forward to replace his commanding officer.

Captain Rhyton retreated to the relative quiet corner near the communications officer and, with a glance, First Officer Devon Schilling joined him. Ian almost smiled with approval as Devon’s dark eyes maintained a quiet vigilance over the crew on the bridge. Deep creases marred the corners of Schilling’s eyes, matched in equal depth by a series of scars that ran along the First Officer’s left jaw and the side of his neck. As Devon met his eyes, Ian knew in a moment that his friend shared his concern.

Well, I think it’s safe to say that the Xandoth now know we’re here, Ian softly noted.

Schilling nodded.

The Xandoth were an aggressive race with short, stocky blue bodies and rounded features that belied a talent for destruction unequaled in this part of the galaxy. For many years, they had limited themselves to the relative confines of one or two solar systems and their outdated freighters and small cargo vessels seemed only a modest threat, as they indulged in unparalleled piracy and theft. However, their alliance with the more advanced Merconians increasingly concerned the peaceful peoples in the surrounding systems. The Merconians had given the Xandoth several new ships with increased fire power and impressive range. The combination of the Xandoths’ volatile tempers and their new technology had made them fierce opponents indeed and many a planet quickly fell under their rule or was blasted from existence altogether.

Do you think they’re aware of our mission? Devon inquired.

It’s possible.

Devon raised one dark eyebrow. And of Prince Briggen?

I don’t know. Maintain scanners at full range until we’re out of the area, Ian advised. Have you ever met a prince, Mr. Schilling?

I can’t say that I have, captain.

Ian smiled.

Then you should join us for breakfast, the captain readily suggested. You may find the meal very -- enlightening.

Indeed, Devon responded, his brows raising with interest.

I’ll be in my quarters if you need me, Ian informed him.

Aye, Captain, Devon said. Goodnight, sir.

Goodnight, Mr. Schilling.

The captain turned and pressed a slightly raised square panel in the wall near the Communications console, revealing his study and bedroom beyond. Ian stepped through the aperture and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension in his muscles as the door swished closed behind him.

Captain Rhyton’s quarters were like no other aboard the Montplain. Except for one wall adjoining the bridge, any visitor might have thought himself aboard a sailing vessel in Earth’s late 1800s. The smooth walls and floor had been replaced with rough wood timber, with large wooden beams marking the ceiling into measured segments.

Ian’s massive oak desk was a throwback to a bygone age, with the accoutrements of the present well hidden behind several pull out drawers and matching side cabinets. A large map of the Pacific Ocean lay on the surface of the desk, safely protected beneath several layers of protective polymer and yellow resin. A dark blue cardigan hung from the back of the desk chair, with the left temple piece of his reading glasses hanging loosely from one pocket.

Along the far wall, a massive mahogany chest with brass fittings sat between a simple wooden chair and a tall wing chair covered in blue velvet. One red and white brocade pillow had been stuffed into a corner of the seat and the chair’s front two legs ended in clawed feet stained a dark cherry. The chairs and chest seemed ridiculously old beside the large window cut into the wall, through which the captain observed the swift passage of countless stars as the Montplain continued on her course through the solar system.

Portraits of numerous sailing vessels lined the walls of the captain‘s study, interspersed with an astrolabe, compass and an old ship’s brass porthole. An old apothecary chest sat open on one of the side tables, vying for room on the narrow surface with a microscope, a box of specimens and a writing tablet.

Ian’s captain’s bed with its simple blue bedspread was pressed against the wall in the far room, standing nearly as high as his chest. Several drawers had been fashioned into the base, holding his clothing and most of his personal effects. The designers had also made a matching small cupboard at the foot of the bed to contain his boots and other footwear. A curtain of blue and white brocade concealed the entrance to his bath and shower and a large oval rug in blue and black covered the floor.

But it was the ceiling which would have captured the attention of anyone in the room. A hologram continuously cast the images of hundreds of stars upon the flat surface. With the touch of a button, Captain Rhyton could see the night sky of dozens of worlds and it was a comfort to him to feel as though the limitless sky was above him as he lay down upon the bed each night.

Casually, Ian picked up one of the papers lying on his desk and tried to read some of them, then set them down again. Clutching the bridge of his nose, he sighed and strolled toward the window.

Their current situation was tense with political intrigue and mounting danger. Ian had faced such challenges before, but this time, he sensed that the bar had been raised a little higher.

The Xandoth had penetrated the galaxy as far as the next solar system away from the one containing Briggen’s home planet, Mantasi. The brilliantly green world was like a gleaming jewel among the solar systems, a storehouse of knowledge and power dating centuries into the past. The smaller island nations had only limited resources, so it was the huge country of Neimus that determined the fate of the planet. Mantasi now dangled before the greedy eyes of the Xandoth like a rich prize and Ian was certain the pirates wouldn’t hesitate to strike, with the nobles still bickering among themselves and vying for power.

Briggen was the last of his line, the sole link to an unbroken procession of kings who had ruled their country with firm hands, striving for excellence in science and education while accumulating almost as much wealth as the miserly Geruka. If Briggen returned to Neimus, the people would gratefully rally around him. He certainly looked capable of crushing any rebellion under his large sandaled feet and he was a born leader, too, able to unite the squabbling peoples of Mantasi against any outside threat.

However, the Xandoth couldn’t allow Briggen to return. With him as their leader, the peoples of Mantasi would not surrender so easily.

Ian entered his bedroom, pushed off his shoes and lay down on the bed to stare up at the ceiling.

Ian had agreed to help Quinhelm locate and retrieve the heir to Neimus’ throne, but Briggen’s presence aboard the Montplain now made the large ship a target. It was imperative that they disguise their true destination by zigzagging their way through the adjoining systems in a course that was as twisted and confusing as possible. Ian had charted a course that would hopefully keep the Xandoth scratching their heads until they were much closer to Neimus.

It was a risky gamble, a little like attempting to hide a large, blue Lillithian prostitute under a veil of cheesecloth. If one got close enough, the truth would be revealed and Ian wanted to delay that moment as long as possible.

Briggen woke the next morning to a room that was as dark and fathomless as it had been the night before. He usually rose shortly before dawn, but aboard the space vessel there was no morning sun to greet him, no piercing cry of a bird to jar him from his slumber.

Rising from the floor, Briggen’s fingers searched along the wall until he located the lighting controls and pressed one of the buttons. Mercifully, a small golden light illuminated the darkness enough for him to locate the bathroom and shower and Briggen