A Prison Unsought by Sherwood Smith & Dave Trowbridge

Author:Sherwood Smith & Dave Trowbridge [Smith, Sherwood & Trowbridge, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: space opera, SF, space adventure, science fiction, fantasy
ISBN: 9781611385090
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2015-05-05T07:00:00+00:00

FOUR

Ng stood in the background, watching with appreciation the pas de deux of politesse as Nyberg welcomed the Aerenarch to his office.

“Thank you for taking the time to visit, Your Highness,” the admiral said. “We recently decoded this communication from the Mandala, sent over the hyperwave, and I wondered if you might be able to clarify it.”

They turned to the screen, where an unidentified Bori in Dol’jharian service gray appeared. He bowed profoundly to the imager, then said in an obsequious voice, in accented Uni, “Senz lo’Barrodagh, I regret having to report increasing difficulties here with the Tarkan units. The, ah, the incidents—” He pronounced the word carefully. “—are increasing. And Dektasz Jesserian insists I contact you on behalf of the Avatar’s forces. They claim that the Palace is haunted. What are your orders?”

The Aerenarch surprised them all by his laughter.

o0o

“You are almost as selfish as your father, Osri,” Risiena Ghettierus snarled, glaring at her sullen, obdurate son.

Osri stood silently under the harangue, his attention veering toward the commotion outside on the green.

“Your Shiidra-sucking father won’t answer privacies or mail, he won’t come visit. Now that he’s lodged with the mumbling Desrien fakers.”

Osri suppressed an urge to laugh at the description of Eloatri as a mumbling faker. Instead, he shifted his stance enough to permit a single glance past his mother’s shoulder, out the window. The disturbance resolved into the shouts of some older teens, playing some sort of rapid game.

“Who is that out there?” Basilea Risiena interrupted herself, glaring out the window. “Disgusting louts! As I was saying, Osri, I’ve tried again and again to get the barest modicum of cooperation from him, and I must add that you could so easily . . .”

Osri reviewed his list of things to be done as soon as he could escape. Belatedly he heard the rise in pitch that indicated question. “ . . .but of course you see him every day, don’t you?”

Him? My father. “Well, yes,” Osri said, looking past his mother at his oldest half-sister, who lounged on a couch, glowering the exact same way she had when they were small.

Pomalythe sighed. “Who else have we been talking about?”

By my count you’ve been complaining about half a dozen people since my arrival. He turned back to his mother. “He never has time for anything not directly bearing on the assignment he received from Commander Nyberg.”

Basilea Risiena glared at her son. Another secret? Fury burned through her, as Osri added the old escape, “It’s classified.”

“Both your lives seem to be classified,” she retorted, angered even more by the way he edged toward the door.

“I have my own duties to keep me busy,” he began.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I found out when your watch is.” Basilea Risiena slapped her hand against the door, the rings hooked through her long nails clattering against the wood.

Osri backed away, repelled as always by her penchant for fashions that ripped and tore.

It brought him near the window, which he glanced out of, wishing for escape.

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