“Sorry,” I say. I meant to at least stand up, I really did, but the floor of the ship is super unsteady right now. “Did you want some coffee? It’s terrible.”
“The worst,” mumbles H.M. He’s put on his omni-goggles, which make him look half rock star and half android. “Hey, nice to finally meet you in person, Chaz. Your niece here is a hell of a pilot.”
Charlie is a full-on small-talk enthusiast. I once clocked him at some ambassadorial event where he made empty conversation with folks for two straight hours. It was master-level work. So I’m shocked as hell when he drops H.M.’s comment like last week’s takeout and looks back at me, his jaw set.
“Alyssa, we need to speak.”
I don’t like this feeling that’s starting to grow in my stomach. “Okay.”
“Alone.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, Charlie. Anything you say to me, you can say to Hell Monkey.” I swirl the contents of my mug and make a face. “And our semi-gelatinous coffee.”
“It’s sludge,” Hell Monkey adds. “You sure you don’t want some?”
Charlie’s Official Chief Envoy mask slips a little, and it hits me how miserable he looks. Like, I know I don’t call as often as I should, but the lines on his face are definitely deeper than the last time I spoke to him.
“Don’t leave us hanging here,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Atar is sick.”
I frown. Not really what I was expecting to come out of his mouth. “Is that all? Seriously, Charlie, you’ve been married to him longer than I’ve been alive. You know what a terrible patient he is. He’s mopey and whiny and depressed, but he’s not actually dying. Not for real.”
“I’m sorry, Alyssa,” Charlie says, “but this time he is. Dying. For real.”
Everything in my chest cavity plummets. Like someone scooped it all out and dropped it in a gravity well. “You’re not serious, Charlie. You can’t . . . It’s not . . .”
His eyebrows lift sky-high. Almost up to his retreating hairline. “Not what? Possible?”
I throw my arms wide, and H.M. barely misses getting a faceful of coffee sludge. “No! It’s not possible! He’s way too young, by several decades at least! I thought—”
I thought we had so much more time. But I don’t say that part out loud.
Charlie steps farther into the corridor and sinks down onto the floor, right across from us. Imperial sash and fancy medals and all. His shoulders sag. I wonder if he ever gets tired of carrying around that official persona. He wears it so well that it’s easy to forget it’s not all of him. Even for me. And he helped raise me.
“I know,” he says wistfully. “I did too. We all did.”
Hell Monkey presses his arm against mine, and I let him. I stare down at my hands, wrapped around the now-empty coffee cup in my lap.
“He’s the emperor, for god’s sake, Charlie.” My voice sounds smaller than usual. “They invent a new medical procedure every time he stubs a toe. Where the hell are his doctors?”
“Right where they’re supposed to be. All sixteen of them. It’s just”—Charlie’s face twists as the words hit his tongue—“not working.”
I can feel Hell Monkey watching me, and when I don’t say anything, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Charlie. That’s . . . a raw deal, man.”
Charlie actually kind of smiles at that. “Thank you, Hell Monkey. It is, indeed, a raw deal, as you put it. For all of us. Atar has been a good emperor, and now”—his eyes fall on me—“we have to think of succession.”
“Oh,” I say.
So that’s what this is about.
My uncle unified the quadrant after the Twenty-Five-Year War and brought all the prime families to peace under the banner of Emperor Atar Faroshti. (That’s the family name—Faroshti. It got mistyped as Farshot when I registered at the Explorers’ Society, and I never bothered to correct them.) But in all the years since then, he’s never named an heir. Most emperors just pick their oldest kid and call it good, but Atar and Charlie never got around to having any kids, either. I guess he could pick a successor from one of the other prime families, but if he wanted to choose a Faroshti, he would really only have . . .
My head jerks up. “Oh. Oh shit. Hell no, Charlie. No. Whatever you and Atar are thinking, it’s not happening.”
“Alyssa—”
“Look at me. Look around. This strike you as regal? Nuh-uh. Done with all that.”
“Alyssa,” Charlie says evenly. “I’m not here to name you Atar’s successor.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. There’s no way Atar would make me his heir. If he was gonna do that, he would’ve done it years ago instead of buying me a ship and letting me run off into the stars. Atar is a smart guy. Too smart to hand the throne over to someone like me.
I tell myself that. I almost believe it, even.
“So what, then, Charlie? Why all the cloak-and-dagger?”
Everything is quiet for a moment, save the hum of the ship. There’s still something hanging over Charlie, and I’ve got the sinking feeling it’s hanging over me now too.
“He would like to see you. Today.”
“Today?”
“Immediately.”
I glance at Hell Monkey. He’s finally taken off those goggles so I can see his eyes. Big hazel eyes that tell me he’s got my back, no matter what.
Run, a little voice in my head calls. Run far. Run fast. Run until you find new stars.
I could just turn tail and let the government sort itself out—governments are good at that, right? I don’t need to get involved. We were planning a trip to Drago VIII to hunt down some onyxium samples. Nothing has to change.
But this is Uncle Atar we’re talking about. The guy who raised me. The guy who first set my eyes on the stars.
I can’t turn my back on him. Can’t leave without saying goodbye. Maybe his last wish isn’t what I think. Maybe it won’t take me too far off course.
“Sure, Charlie,” I say. “Sure. Just . . . let me take a shower first.”
“That,” Charlie says stiffly, “would be advisable.”
Godsdamned snobby royals.
Three
HELL MONKEY AND I ONCE FACED DOWN A FLAME tsunami, which is exactly what it sounds like. A wall of fire a mile high, rushing at you faster than the orbits of some planets, burning so hot it’ll turn your ship to plasma before you see the flash. We rode the solar winds for a dozen parsecs, knowing the whole time that one false move on the controls, one twitch, and we were doomed. And know what I remember most? How we laughed the whole time. We hollered like it was the greatest transcoaster at the largest amusement complex in the galaxy.
I wasn’t afraid at all.
But now, sitting in Charlie’s cushy liftship as it descends toward Apex, I’m sweating through my suit.
Charlie notices my nails digging into the armrests and raises an eyebrow. I fold my hands in my lap and avoid his look. Get ahold of yourself, Farshot.
Exploring the unknown? That’s easy. Going back to what you know? Harder.
“Your suit is . . . very nice,” Charlie says, just looking for something to say.