“He is going to be waiting a very long time,” I tell her softly. “And those explosives are coming off. Today.”
Chapter Five
Astaria
I am in the very middle of a large, shielded chamber. I am not alone. Blackmane, the mad alien lord, insists on being here with me. Several of his underlings have told him in tones of various and increasing panic that it is not wise for him to be anywhere near me, that the explosives attached to my body are of various types and installations, and that the odds of removing any, let alone all of them without detonation is slim.
He’s still here. Beside me. For reasons I cannot explain. It would be so much smarter and safer for him to stay at a distance and let the little robot hands they’re controlling from the shielded room do their fated work.
“You shouldn’t remove these. They won’t make me any less dangerous.”
“Removing them will make you a lot less dangerous to yourself, and that is achievement enough.”
He talks as though he cares about me, though I know such a thing is close to impossible. Kings, warlords, rulers of all kinds share one trait: they care about themselves.
Of course he was never going to let me roam about his ship ending guards and generally being potentially explosive. He had to do something. A sensible warlord would have simply let me go, but he’s not sensible. He’s something much more than that. He has intensity of purpose. When he wants something, he gets it. For the moment, what he wants is me.
There are many xenovorks watching us from what can only be described as a gallery. I have never been shy. You cannot be born royal and have a craving for privacy. I was born to be admired and observed by many.
“There are a great many wires,” the voice on the radio says. “We will be clipping them in sequence. If nothing happens, we can consider it a success. If something happens, you’ll likely never know.”
“Here we go,” Blackmane says. He seems almost excited, as if this is one of the best things to happen to him in a long time. I wonder if he is hiding nervousness or if he is subject to that deep kind of boredom that makes absolutely any danger seem attractive. It could be the latter, I realize, thinking back on all his many daring exploits. Maybe he feels the call of the proverbial void more deeply than most.
“You’re a fool,” I tell him. “You shouldn’t be in here with me. What if your people get this wrong?”
“Then it won’t inconvenience me one bit.”
“You’ve got nothing to live for?”
“This is what I live for,” he says, his eyes bright with the prospect of potentially lethal adventure. I suddenly understand a little more of his reason for liking me. I am dangerous. I am unpredictable. I am odd. Those qualities draw him like a moth to a flame. Now he is standing with me on the precipice of oblivion, barely knowing me and yet risking his entire existence to keep me company.
“How romantic,” I murmur, not quite knowing where the word comes from.
The robots begin their work. It is like being undressed by a disembodied person. I find myself gazing into Blackmane’s eyes as they take my last defenses apart. I have not been given a choice in the matter, and I thought I might become quite hysterical, but I don’t feel that way at all.
Little by little I am unwound and undone. I feel the weight slipping from me, heavy thuds of unconcerning explosives being dropped on the floor. They’re almost all gone, and then I’ll have nothing left to defend me.
Squeeee!
The final wire is a decoy. I knew that once. I had forgotten it. I have three seconds to express that fact, and for reasons best known to my body, I can express precisely none of those sentiments.
Fortunately, there is that squeal as the explosives mix, a high-pitched warning that Blackmane acts on without a word.
He grabs the rest of the explosive mass from my body, taking the full risk that it will detonate instantly, runs it to a chamber several dozen feet away and hurls it inside. He slams the door shut and spins the locking wheel swiftly.
The entire ship rocks with the force of the explosion. I cover my mouth with my hands as I realize just how close we just were to dying.
“Sorry,” I say, another word I very rarely use passing my lips. “I forgot.”
“You forgot the last wire was a trap?”
“Yes.”
“You forgot it just now, or you forgot it from the beginning?”
“Does it matter?”
My snarky response earns me immediate reprisal. Apparently Blackmane doesn’t like flippant comments about his life and or death. He grabs me quite firmly, props his knee up on one of the technical bits and pieces and throws me over it. I feel like a rag doll laying limp over his thigh, my crotch the fulcrum from which the rest of my body swings.