Princess Snow is missing. Her home planet is filled with violence and corruption at the hands of King Matthias and his wife as they attempt to punish her captors. The king will stop at nothing to get his beloved daughter back - but that's assuming she wants to return at all. Essie has grown used to being cold. Temperatures on the planet Thanda are always sub-zero, and she fills her days with coding and repairs for the seven loyal drones that run the local mines. When a mysterious young man named Dane crash-lands near her home, Essie agrees to help the pilot repair his ship. But soon she realizes that Dane's arrival was far from accidental, and she's pulled into the heart of a war she's risked everything to avoid. In her enthralling debut, R.C. Lewis weaves the tale of a princess on the run from painful secrets… and a poisonous queen. With the galaxy's future - and her own - in jeopardy, Essie must choose who to trust in a fiery fight for survival.
Release date:
October 14, 2014
Publisher:
Recorded Books
Print pages:
336
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IT TOOK ME SEVENTEEN seconds to decide Jarom Thacker’s reputation as the sharpest fighter on Thanda had been exaggerated. At twice my size—and age—he was
quick, forcing me to move or risk getting pinned against the cage, but he made a rookie mistake. Like everyone else who came through Mining Settlement Forty-Two, he aimed for my gut. So
predictable.
Wouldn’t want to botch the pretty girl’s face, right? Idiot.
I blocked him on the left, but sweat stinging my eyes blinded me to his fist slamming into my right side. Pain flared through my ribs. The fire spurred me on, and I slipped Thacker’s grip
when he grabbed at my arm.
Unlike him, I had no qualms about uglifying him further. The heel of my palm slammed into his nose with a satisfying crunch despite the cushioning of my shock-fiber hand-wraps, drawing a chorus
of sympathetic grunts from the crowd. He staggered back as the coppery smell of blood wove into the usual stench of the cage.
Thacker’s broken nose didn’t stop him. He lunged blindly, grabbing for any part of me he could reach. An easy dodge, and I took the opening to knee his groin. When he doubled over, I
kicked his legs from under him. He dropped and I followed, bracing my legs against his while my upper body pinned his shoulders. The shouts surrounding the cage crested as Thacker pushed against
the threadbare mat. Before he could throw me off, I grabbed a fistful of his sweaty hair and slammed his head down.
“Three…two…one…” began Petey. “Fight goes to Forty-Two’s own Essie!”
A mix of cheers and groans met Petey’s announcement. I liked to think the men in Forty-Two knew better than to bet against me, but it sounded like Thacker’s reputation had tempted
more than a few. The free-flowing jack-ale probably hadn’t helped.
Their problem, not mine.
Once Petey released the gate latch, I swung myself out of the cage and walked straight to one of the washrooms at the back of the tavern. Jeers and shouts followed, but I didn’t listen.
Petey would offer another glass of jack-ale on the house to ease the pain, and after sleeping it off, they’d remember why it was better all around if they didn’t throw me down
a mine shaft.
Same story as last week.
I threw the lock on the washroom door and started patching myself up. Even with a relatively quick match, I never got away clean. The hand-wraps kept me from breaking a finger, but they were all
the safety equipment we got in cage fights. A gash on my upper arm bled freely, thanks to a loose bit of cage wire. I rubbed a sani-swipe over the cut and slapped a smart-plaster on it. It’d
probably still leave a scar. Wouldn’t be the first.
Next I checked on my ribs. A nice bruise was gearing up, but nothing felt broken. Not like that time two years ago—one of my more memorable losses. Memorable, except for the part where
I’d been knocked out.
Knocked out, helpless in a room full of drunk men.
I splashed icy water on my face, forcing deep breaths to keep both the memory and the panic attack at bay. Nothing had happened. Not then, and not today.
“You should stop, Essie,” I muttered. “You’re not blazing invincible.”
Rational talk wouldn’t change my mind. It never did. The part of me that liked lashing out in the cage, liked taking down men bigger and stronger than I’d ever be…that part
always won.
Besides, I needed the winnings.
Once I finished patching, I settled myself on a stack of old boxes in the corner and pulled a digital slate from my coat pocket. I loaded the latest drone program and let it scroll across the
screen before noting a few tweaks I wanted to try. My body relaxed as my mind drifted away into schematics and machine code, logic and order, cause and effect.
When I surfaced, the noise outside the washroom was gone. Safe to go.
The Station wasn’t empty yet, but the handful of men left were three sniffs from passing out, too far gone to notice me. By the smell of things, nearly as much jack-ale had been spilled as
drunk. Petey looked up from polishing the bar and gave me a nod.
“There yeh are. Good fight, that one. Didn’t expect Thacker to go down so easy.”
“Doubt he expected a girl to give him so much trouble,” I countered.
“We’ll see how long that lasts. Yer reputation’s spreadin’, Essie.”
A reputation wasn’t what I needed—not beyond the one that kept the men in Forty-Two from getting foolish ideas—but there was nothing for it. People would talk.
I tapped the MineNet computer terminal built into the counter, bringing the lights around the touch-panel to life. “My shares?”
Petey logged in and executed the transfer. “There yeh go. Want to put in an order for anythin’ while yeh’re here? Spare optic lines for the drones, maybe?”
“I’m set with all that. Saving up for some ready-made components so I don’t have to stitch every blazing thing from scratch. Maybe a new processing module for my computer so I
can get some real work done.”
“Well, I’m sure we can’t wait to see what magic yeh weave next, once yeh’ve got everything. Might take the sting out for some of the men who lost tonight.”
The frayed edge of my sleeve caught my eye. Maybe I should spend a few shares. “A lot of them lost?”
“Fair number thought Thacker’d be a sure thing. Hawkins said you could make it up to them by fixin’ the transmission on the old pulverizer.”
I grunted. “Aye, well, I assume you reminded him that it’s not my job, and I would sooner bring the sun a sniff closer than waste my time on the mining equipment. They have the
mech-bots for that.”
“Whatever the mechs are doin’ gives out after a day or two.”
“Fine, I’ll download the specs to one of my drones, see what it comes up with. But you can tell Hawkins to stop thinking he’ll get me to set foot in that mine.”
“That I will. Lemme walk yeh out. Grayson, keep an eye on things.” Once his assistant nodded an acknowledgment, Petey took his coat from the hook and turned back to me. “Bundle
up, now. It’s a cold one.”
He said that every time I left the Station. Every second on Thanda was a “cold one.” The obviousness never kept him from watching to ensure I followed the advice. I pulled up the
hood of my own coat, tucked in my scarf, and accepted his smile as he ushered me out.
An electronic voice greeted me on the other side of the door. “Essie Essie Essie.”
I wasn’t surprised to see the little robot lurking nearby, but I sighed anyway. “Didn’t I tell you to go home?”
“Home Essie home.”
“Right, got it.”
Petey chuckled. “At least ol’ Dimwit’s stopped tryin’ to follow yeh in.”
That was true enough. The men weren’t fond of the drone’s squealing and squawking throughout the fights.
“I can make it home on my own, Petey,” I said.
“I know yeh can. But I have a delivery to make down the way.”
“Suit yourself.”
We walked to the street, and I enjoyed the quiet while Dimwit scurried amongst some empty supply crates. The drone’s four spider-legs made it faster and more agile than I’d ever be,
but it lagged behind like a distracted puppy, its optic lenses swiveling to take in scenery that never changed. Its arms moved endlessly, ready to make mischief, which meant I had to keep half an
eye on it. Nothing new there.
Both moons were out, their light glinting off the stark metal structures lining Forty-Two’s main drag. The shacks closest to the Station were in high demand, with easier access to
supplies, entertainment, and jack-ale; I was more than happy with mine at the edge of the settlement, even if it meant I had a fifteen-minute walk ahead of me.
Fifteen uneventful minutes…usually.
As I turned to tell Dimwit to get moving, a streak of light approached over the eastern edge of the settlement, bringing with it a bone-grinding whine.
“What in blazes…?”
Petey’s question was a good one. As the object passed over, I got enough of a look to answer. It was a shuttle of some kind. Not like the usual carriers that took merinium from the mine to
a spaceport. No, this was more elegant, carefully designed, with massive engines.
Interplanetary. The kind of shuttle that wasn’t supposed to come directly to the settlements.
And judging by the way it careened past, it was completely out of control. Not long after it disappeared beyond the scraggy forest, the ground shuddered.
Petey was on the move before the vibrations stopped, running back to the Station and shouting for Grayson to grab a medical kit and anyone sober enough to see straight. When Petey got back to my
side, I was still frozen, staring.
“What do yeh think, Essie?” he asked. “The flats?”
His tone told me we needed to help, but something in me resisted. Something that lured me to the comfort of my routine here, to things that didn’t change.
Mother would’ve been halfway there already. That thought sparked me into motion.
“Aye, the flats. Let’s go. Dimwit, move!” I broke into a run with Petey on my heels and jabbed the transmitter I wore on my wrist. “Whirligig, you hear me?”
A faint electronic voice replied through the tiny speaker. “Affirmative, Essie.”
“You and the others get out to the flats beyond the forest. A ship has crashed. Find it and report back.”
Two beeps were all the response I got. ’Gig and the other five drones were well ahead of us at my shack and would cover ground more quickly than Petey and I could. So could Dimwit, but it
lingered at my side.
“Don’t suppose you want to pick up the pace and help the others?” I asked.
“Run Essie help Essie.”
“Right, whatever.”
We passed my shack and kept going into the forest that bordered that side of the settlement farthest from the mine. The moonlight didn’t help much among the trees, shadows disguising the
roots and stubborn undergrowth, but I didn’t slow down. Petey fell a step or two back, but I knew he’d keep up well enough. Even with his age, the man was still fighting-fit.
Halfway to the flats, the receiver on my wrist pinged. I punched it as I ran. “Did you find it, ’Gig?”
“Affirmative, Essie.”
“What do you see?”
Ticktock’s voice cut in. “Garamite design, Class Three intra-system shuttle.”
Garamite. Two orbits away from home and coming to the wrong part of Thanda. That made no sense.
“Condition?”
“Significant damage, specifics unknown,” ’Gig said. “Infrared indicates possible fires in command and engine compartments. Instructions?”
“Try to get inside and pull out any people on board. Use medical protocols. And put out the fires!”
My muscles burned, but I ran harder, cursing the weight of my coat. If I dropped it, I’d have bigger problems. At least the snows hadn’t come yet.
With the adrenaline pushing me, the eight links I could walk in an hour took under twenty minutes. But it felt like days. The drones could only do so much for the people on board; for all I
knew, we were eighteen minutes too late.
I stopped at the edge of the woods to assess the scene. The flats spread before me, and the shuttle lay dead center. Not as bad a crash as I’d feared—it was still in one
right-side-up piece. The sparks and smoke, however, didn’t bode well.
Neither did the lack of people outside. A hatch gaped open at the rear of the shuttle, so the drones had made it in.
Petey caught up, along with Grayson and one of the miners. Just one. With Petey’s stipulation of “sober enough to see straight,” I wasn’t surprised.
“Essie, I…I don’t like the look of that smoke,” Petey said.
I caught the look in his eyes. Worry, but also fear. He’d told me stories about a mine fire when he was younger, how he’d lost friends down there. Grayson was the kind of man who
could only unpack jack-ale if Petey gave him bottle-by-bottle instructions, and the miner he’d brought wasn’t one of the sharpest, either.
The people inside the shuttle didn’t have time for this.
“The drones’ll manage it,” I said. “Come on!”
I forced more air into my lungs, ignoring the protest of my bruised ribs, and pushed on across the flats. The three men followed. “Got those fires out, ’Gig?” I said into my
wrist transmitter.
“Affirmative, Essie. Secondary fire ignited in rear compartment…now extinguished.”
True enough, the plume of smoke eased up as we approached. Still no sign of people. “Survivors?”
“One human male, command compartment.”
Blazes, just one?
Petey cut in. “Well, why haven’t you brought him out?”
“Medical protocol. Do not move humans with possible spinal or cranial trauma.”
I clambered through the hatch into the engine compartment, coughing on the acrid smoke lingering in the air. It was the last thing I needed after a hard run, and I gripped my aching ribs with
one arm. The drones didn’t have the same problem. Clank and Clunk worked on locking down the electrical overloads sparking all over the ship, and Zippy put out a minor fire behind a control
panel.
“Make sure the drones didn’t miss other survivors,” I told Petey and the other two men, taking the medical kit from Grayson. “I’ll get the pilot.”
I left them to it, hurrying past two lateral rooms to the command compartment at the front, half expecting to find a dead body or two to climb over.
No bodies. The pilot slumped over the main console, his safety harness unfastened. All I could see injurywise was a nasty burn on the back of his right hand. Whirligig stood nearby as though
unsure what to do, so I sent it to help the others. I pulled a scanner from the medical kit, and it gave me the details ’Gig couldn’t.
Definite concussion, smoke inhalation, plenty of serious contusions, and several burns, but nothing to prevent him from being moved.
Before I could say as much, the console erupted in a new cascade of sparks, along with the panels to either side of me. I grabbed the pilot around the chest and pulled him back, hauling him out
of the chair.
“Petey, a little help!”
The old man ducked in and took the pilot’s legs, helping me carry him to the rear of the ship, electrical discharges showering every step. Grayson and the miner met us at the hatch and
lent a hand getting us out.
“Cut the power—just cut it!” I shouted at the drones. “Anyone else alive?”
Petey had to cough three times before his voice could answer. “No, but no one dead, either. He was the only one on board.”
We laid the pilot on the frozen ground, and I finally got a good look at him.
He was young, around my age.
“What in blazes is a kid from Garam doin’ all the way out here?” Petey said.
I was thinking the same thing. Shuttle pilots were usually cantankerous and old, especially the types who traveled alone. And when they bothered coming to our planet at all, even black-market
pilots went down to the Bands, not the mines.
The boy was also beautiful in a way that didn’t make sense on a rock like Thanda. Golden skin that saw more sun in a day than we saw in a whole cycle, strong cheekbones and jaw like an
artist had drawn him, and brown hair with just the slightest curl. The one less-than-beautiful feature was a bloody gash on his forehead.
I couldn’t breathe. He was terrifying.
One of the drones swore, breaking my spell.
“You said it, Cusser. Come on, boys, let’s rig something to get him back to town.”
WHEN I’D SAID “back to town,” I hadn’t meant my own shack, yet that’s where the men left the strange Garamite boy. Petey gave two reasons: it was
closest to the wreck, and it kept our visitor farthest from the mine. Good reasons.
We’d sedated him to keep him out for the journey, but I’d seen plenty of worse injuries in Forty-Two. A smart-plaster on his forehead, regenerative wraps on his burns…The boy
would be good as new soon enough.
And then what?
I would have been happy if he stayed asleep looking pretty for a few decades, but I doubted that would happen. Eventually, I’d have to deal with him.
A tap on the door signaled Petey’s return from a quick stop at the Station. The no-good-news look on his face didn’t improve my mood.
“Immigration officials on their way?” I asked.
“No, and that’s the thing. There aren’t any alerts about a sanctioned shuttle crashin’, but there aren’t any about a nonsanctioned shuttle crossin’
the perimeter, either.”
Hearing that Immigration wasn’t on the way was a relief, but not enough to balance the new questions. “Scan-scrambler?”
He shrugged his slumped shoulders. “Must be. But it’d be a mighty powerful one to get through up here. What would a boy like this be doing with such a thing, and alone?”
That question piqued the part of my brain that craved new puzzles. “I’ll find out. You’re exhausted, Petey. Head on home.” I cut off his attempt to protest. “You
all have work to do in the morning, and if I can handle Jarom Thacker, I can handle one injured boy from Garam. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”
He gave in and left again, slamming the door a bit hard on his way out—hard enough to rouse my mysterious guest, who began to stir. From the groan, I guessed I hadn’t gone heavy
enough with the painkillers. He wouldn’t be feeling too spry, but I palmed a tack laser behind my back, just in case. As well as I could handle a fight, a makeshift weapon meant a lot less
effort.
A second groan resolved into words. “Ow…What—where am I?”
“On Thanda. Mining Settlement Forty-Two.”
His eyes wandered, unfocused, until they settled on me. Dark eyes with an unnerving depth to them. “Forty-Two…There was a malfunction, smoke everywhere.”
“Aye, then you crashed about eight links from the settlement.”
“Crashed?!”
He pushed himself up, too fast, nearly toppling over before I pushed him back with my free hand.
“Slow down. You’re not going anywhere just yet.”
“My shuttle. Is it—?” The boy gasped for breath, pain contorting his face and raising sweat across his forehead. I thought about giving him a higher dose of painkillers, but
decided I preferred him immobile.
“Still in one piece, but in a bit of a state. It’s not going anywhere just yet, either.”
“How bad is it? Can it be repaired? Is there someone who could do that?”
A snort of laughter slipped out. “The slugs around here are good enough at using machines, but haven’t a baby’s first gasp on how to make them work to begin with.
Garamite brains like yours, you can manage yourself, right?”
“What? I…Not my area. Botany. I don’t know anything about shuttles. But it has to be fixed. I can’t stay here forever.”
“True enough. Forty-Two’s work crew is full up, and you don’t seem the mining type. Mind telling me why you’ve gone to the trouble of scan-scrambling your way here in the
first place?”
He paled enough to tell me it wasn’t just about the pain. “What do you mean?”
“We may not be brilliant Garamites around here, but we know there’s only one way to get to the surface undetected. There are three habitable planets in this solar system
other than your Garam, and no one chooses Thanda for a vacation. So why are you here?”
“You’ll laugh.”
Unlikely. I told him so without a word.
“I’m treasure hunting.”
“If you think you’re going to steal one speck of merinium, those miners will make you wish we hadn’t pulled you from that wreck.”
My decided lack of laughter seemed to startle him. “No, not merinium! Not even close. Chasing stories, that’s all. Doesn’t much matter now, if my shuttle can’t be
repaired.”
A sigh hefted my chest. He didn’t have many options, and neither did we. Only two, really—report him to Immigration or not. No one in the settlement wanted government officials
coming around if it could be avoided. We were happy to be far from the eyes and ears of the crown on Windsong. As long as this boy didn’t interfere with our mine, no one would much care what
kind of lawbreaker he was.
That left another two options to decide between: help him or leave him to fend for himself. His specially equipped shuttle was the only quiet way out. If he couldn’t put it back together,
he’d be stranded.
His problem, not mine. Not even sure I could help if I wanted to—a Garamite shuttle wouldn’t be anything like a Thandan mining drone. I wouldn’t know where to begin
fixing it.
Do what needs doing.
I shivered. Memories of my mother’s voice hadn’t haunted me in years. It was right, though. Everything from my gut to my toes to the tips of my eyelashes told me someone had to help
launch him back into orbit, save him from the trouble he’d fallen into by believing some ridiculous legend about treasure. He needed a favor on a planet where nothing came free.
Nothing except all the favors Petey had done for me when I first arrived in Forty-Two. I wouldn’t have survived my first snows without him. Maybe it was my turn.
Tank it, then. If nothing else, the shuttle could be an interesting puzzle to solve.
“I might be able to help. No promises—depends on exactly what’s damaged, but I can at least help you figure how bad it is. See where that takes us.”
His brows furrowed. I wished he’d stop looking at me, but there wasn’t much else to look at in the tiny bedroom. Something in those deep eyes made me want to move closer and run away
at the same time, melding curiosity and fear into one confusing sensation.
“You? A doctor and a mechanic?”
I harrumphed. “Nothing close. I just know how to read the instructions on medical supplies. And as for machines, let’s just say I’m better with their brains than their bodies
most times, so like I said, no promises. But you don’t have many options here, do you?” When he stared without answering, I rolled my eyes. “Look, do you have a name,
Garamite?”
“What? Oh, Dane.”
“Fine. Dane. It’s the middle of the night, so I suggest you rest up while I do the same. In the morning we can see what there is to work with.”
Dane settled back down, admitting his exhaustion. “Fair enough. What’s your name, Thandan?”
“Essie.”
“You saved my life, didn’t you, Essie?”
“Looks like I did. Hope you don’t give me reason to regret it.”
Dane opened his mouth to say something else, but I didn’t wait. I closed him in the bedroom, crossed the small kitchen and living area, and shut myself in my lab. Several half-finished
programs called to me, but my muscles felt like they’d been injected with merinium. I checked the drones along the side wall—all seven of them in standby mode to recharge—and
settled on the cot I kept at the back of the room.
I set the tack laser on the floor within easy reach…just in case.
A sleepless night never stopped me from getting up early, especially not with a stranger under my roof—not that any other stranger had ever been under my roof.
While four of the drones set off for work in the mine and Dimwit reorganized my interface cables for the eighteenth time, I held Ticktock and Zippy back. I’d need Ticktock’s help out at
the shuttle, and Zippy needed some patching. During the rescue, it had overloaded several circuits by operating too fast…again. Maybe I could finally get its timing locked down.
Fixing Zippy came first—I couldn’t keep both drones out of the mine all day—though my mind kept wandering to the shuttle.
“Ticktock, what files do you have on Class Three Garamite shuttles?”
My mistake for asking a broad question. “Do you have any official schematics?”
“Negative, Essie.”
“Okay, come here and plug in.” I loaded up some crack-codes and scanned the off-planet networks I’d already broken into before, looking for an easy way to get something useful.
Garamites were clever with tech and had some blazing stubborn barriers on their computers, but I found a maintenance network that was less fiercely guarded. It had exactly what I needed.
“Download those files and share them with the others.”
I had hooked up Zippy to my diagnostic system and was tracing out the blown circuits. Then I replaced them, reworked the timing, and went back for more. My mind settled into the routine,
stitching and testing, searching for the solution to yet another problem. A snip here, a patch of code there, a route I hadn’t tried before.
Numbers. Logic. Puzzles. The clarity of the routine relaxed me.
“Essie, right?”
I jumped and nearly fried Zippy. Dane stood in the doorway to the lab, looking worn but a bit more alert, and he’d removed the smart-plaster from his forehead. His eye contact unnerved me
as much as it had the night before, but then his gaze flicked to my hair. I had a small scarf tied over it to keep it out of my way, but hadn’t tucked and wrapped it fully like I had for the
. . .
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