Coronation: A Kid Sensation Novel (Kid Sensation #5) (2 page)

My retrospective thoughts were interrupted by Berran, once more begging my pardon for the previous misunderstanding. I frowned slightly in irritation as he spoke, already familiar with – and tired of – this particular song-and-dance. In all honesty, however, I wasn’t really annoyed with the courier, but was actually bothered by another issue.

For about the last half of our journey, I had been feeling an odd mental tension – a growing pressure in my brain that I couldn’t really assign a name to. I didn’t know if it was caused by the crown or something else, but it felt like there was a balloon inside my head that kept getting a little more inflated each day. Thankfully it wasn’t painful, but the end result was that I felt like my thoughts were being nudged aside in some way, which rankled. In fact, over the past day, I had observed myself becoming noticeably more petulant and having to consciously make an effort to be affable.

“Enough,” I said, cutting Berran off in the middle of his umpteenth apology. “All is forgiven, as I’ve said a million times before. However, if you really want to make amends, you can finally tell me why you followed me around for a week before showing yourself.”

As always when I broached this subject, a look of apprehension crossed the courier’s face, and emotionally I felt a certain tension within him. I had been hounding him for an explanation since the moment we’d met, but up until now he had expertly managed to duck the question on each occasion. To be honest, I expected more of the same this time, but to my surprise – rather than excuse himself on some pretext – he gave me a very solemn stare. A moment later, the tenseness he was exuding faded, and in its place was a sense of quiet capitulation.

“As you wish, my Prince,” he said. “By now you know that I have served your house – your family – for much of my life, and they have my first loyalty. Their safety is my foremost concern.”

“So what – you were covertly tailing me to protect me from some threat?”

“That is a close, but inexact, approximation of the facts,” he said. “You occupy a unique position in the House Royal – one that is privileged in most respects, but also fraught with peril. For instance, there are a number of subversive factions that could make use of a royal – alive or dead – for propaganda purposes. Even among your own royal kin, there are many whose fortunes would be advanced should some accident befall you.”

“I get it,” I said, nodding. “‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’ and all that. So were there assassins after me on Earth or something?”

“No, Prince.”

I shook my head in confusion. “Then I don’t get it. If there wasn’t a threat to me, why not simply reveal yourself right away?”

“My orders were to observe you first, to assess you mentally, physically, emotionally…in whatever manner or form that would allow me to make an adjudication of your ability to deal with the rigors of being highborn.”

“So you were trying to figure out if I’d be able to handle the pressure of being a prince, which is likely to include threats of physical harm.”

“Correct.”

“Well, what grade did I get, Professor?”

“I found you capable and competent.”

“And if I had been found wanting?”

“Then I would have reported back that I could not find you.”

My eyebrows went up in surprise; that was an unexpected bit of news. “So you would have just left Earth without me? In contradiction of the royal summons?”

“That was my mandate.”

“And who issued that mandate?” I asked, and almost immediately the answer came to me. “Wait – don’t tell me. I already know: my grandmother.”

Berran gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “The safety of her family on Earth is of paramount importance to Princess N’d’go.” (As always, he used the Caelesian pronunciation of my grandmother’s name.) “And as a servant of your house, it is of singular concern to me – even to the extent of ignoring a royal edict. Fortunately, that was not necessary.”

I looked at Berran with new eyes. I could only imagine the amount of intestinal fortitude it took to defy a royal order, and I was about to comment to that effect when Sloe began speaking.

“Behold – the homeworld!” the robot boomed out in a stentorian tone.

I turned my attention back to the observation window, where a large blue-white globe had now come into view. From space, it appeared very similar to Earth (although a bit bigger) – probably because the two planets had very similar atmospheres.

“It is the heart of an empire that spans a thousand star systems,” Sloe continued. “The cradle of civilization.”

As my robot companion continued expounding on the virtues of my grandmother’s people, a circular area about an inch in diameter spiraled open near the center of his chest, revealing a lightly tinted lens. A moment later, the lens came to life, projecting a holographic image into the area before me.

This was Sloe in teaching mode. During our journey here, he had shown me countless holograms while instructing me at length in the language, history, culture, etcetera, of my grandmother’s people. The image he broadcast now was of an oppidan landscape – one characterized by glimmering skyscrapers and resplendent spires stretching high into the sky.

“What exactly am I looking at?” I asked. “The capital or something?”

“You gaze upon the Acropolis Select,” Sloe replied.

My mouth almost dropped open in surprise. “That’s the palace of the queen?! It’s the size of a city!!”

“The Acropolis is considered a physical manifestation of our people’s greatness,” Berran chimed in. “So naturally its scope must reflect our majesty.”

“So what – as the empire grows, so does the queen’s castle?” I asked.

“Yes, the city-palace is ever-expanding,” Sloe replied. As he spoke, the holographic image shifted, revealing what I would describe as a construction crew busy laying the foundation for some new edifice.

“I don’t know if being monarch can make up for having to live in a permanent construction zone,” I commented.

“Most of the architectural assembly occurs at the fringe of the Acropolis, so few residents are disturbed by the work in question,” Berran said. “As to the queen, she is often away attending to matters of state.”

“Moreover,” Sloe added, “not all of the construction is purely functional.”

The holographic image shifted, now providing a close-up of what I presumed to be specific areas within the city-palace: gardens, parks, a zoo, and much more – places apparently meant to be aesthetically pleasing rather than merely practical.

“Impressive, is it not?” Sloe asked.

I shrugged. “It’s certainly large. If she were a man, I’d say the queen was trying to compensate for something with the ongoing expansion.”

“Her Majesty does no more than follow tradition,” Berran said. “Countless monarchs throughout our history have added to the breadth of the Acropolis, which is centered on the spot where the First King established his dynasty.”

I nodded in understanding. My lessons with Sloe had touched briefly on the subject of the First King, who – as the name implied – was apparently the first ruler of my grandmother’s homeworld.

“In addition,” Berran continued, “the palace is also home to many of the royal family, and relations between some of them are less than congenial. Thus, the scale of the Acropolis allows for adequate space to be maintained between highborns who may be at odds with each other.”

“I get it – there’s a family feud between some members of the royal clan,” I said, and then frowned as another thought occurred to me. “Wait a minute. Am I supposed to be staying in the Acropolis?”

The notion of perpetual construction became nothing more than a nuisance compared to the possibility of being in a war zone between squabbling family members. (Not to mention the fact that Berran had already hinted that my life might be in danger.)

“Your official residence will be your ancestral home – the House Nonpareil,” Sloe answered. As he spoke, the hologram changed once more, this time showing an elegant castle on a picturesque estate. It was immense by ordinary standards, but– after seeing the Acropolis – hardly worth mentioning in terms of size.

“Even now,” Sloe went on, “the domestics prepare a feast in your honor.”

The scene changed again, this time showing a bevy of servants setting up for a banquet of some sort on one of the well-manicured lawns of the manse. Just judging from the amount of natural light present, it appeared to be around midday.

“Hold on,” I said, staring at the display. “Is this live?”

“I am linked into various visual surveillance systems, both satellite and ground-based,” Sloe replied. “You are witnessing actions that are contemporaneous with your observation of them.”

I was on the verge of stating that a simple “Yes” would have sufficed when something flew in front of my face, buzzing slightly. It was some sort of alien insect, an extraterrestrial version of a housefly, I suppose. I instinctively waved my hand in front of me, trying to shoo it away.

I never got the opportunity to see if my attempts to make the insect flee would have been successful. I had swatted at it no more than twice when I heard a distinct crackle, accompanied by a quick flash of light. The alien bug fell to the ground in front of me, burnt to a crisp. At the same time, I detected the distinct smell of burning ozone. I looked towards Sloe – where the flash had originated – and saw him lowering his hand. However, his index finger was still pointed in my direction, the tip of it shining with a voltaic spark.

It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened: Sloe had zapped the insect with some type of electrical charge.

“A
gherifpa
,” Berran said, staring it the dead bug (and apparently identifying it for my benefit).

“Is it dangerous?” I asked. “Poisonous or something?”

“No,” Sloe stated, “but it was annoying you, Prince, and would have profaned you with its touch.”

I shook my head, still a little surprised by what had happened. “Okay. Well, for future reference, let’s avoid zapping things simply because they might annoy me or touch me.”

Sloe stood silently for a moment, as he often did when processing new data. Something about not zapping probably ran counter to part of his programming – most likely the instructions to protect me.

After what seemed an inordinately long time (but was probably no more than thirty seconds), the robot declared, “I will take your suggestion under advisement, my Prince.”

I rolled my eyes in mock frustration and turned to Berran. “It’s so hard to find good help.”

The courier suddenly looked unsure of himself, as if he wasn’t certain how to reply (or whether to reply at all). I shook my head, thinking how typical this was. No matter how often I had tried to inject a little levity into conversations during our journey, my efforts always seemed to fall on deaf ears. While there was no denying that Berran was utterly faithful and devoted in his service to my family, the man was completely humorless. For the millionth time, it occurred to me that this was going to be the worst trip ever if I couldn’t find at least one person to crack a joke with.

Sloe discontinued the holographic display; with nothing else to look at, I turned my attention back to the observation window. From all appearances, we were about to enter the planet’s atmosphere. Within an hour or so, I’d be setting foot on an alien world – one that some of my ancestors had come from, but alien nonetheless – and the thought caused me to have butterflies in my stomach.

I didn’t have them for long, however, as a few moments later the ship suddenly began to shake violently, as if it were having a grand mal seizure. Sloe laid a steadying hand on my shoulder in an effort to help me stay on my feet. After a few seconds, the shuddering subsided.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

“Massive shock wave,” Sloe answered. “Based on my interface with the ship’s systems, it originated from an explosion near the engines.”

“Can you detect the level of damage?” Berran asked anxiously.

“This vessel is fully compromised,” Sloe declared in response. “It can no longer safely land on Caeles or even enter the planet’s atmosphere. Almost all aboard are certain to perish.”

I was given no time to absorb what Sloe had said.

“Come, Prince!” Berran yelled while hustling me over to the exit from the observation deck. By now, emergency lights were flashing and klaxons were sounding throughout the ship.

The exit opened automatically at our approach, revealing a hallway on the other side that was starting to fill with smoke and people dashing madly about.

“We have to hurry!” Berran yelled as Sloe moved into the corridor ahead of us.

“Hurry
where
?” I asked.

“Your quarters!” he answered.

Of course!
The suite of rooms designated for my use comprised about three thousand square feet of living space – more than a lot of homes back on Earth. More to the point, my quarters were designed to break away from the ship in an emergency. They had their own navigation, life support, propulsion, and so on. In short, my suite could serve as a ship of sorts, and this fact was one of the first things I had learned upon the commencement of our journey.

“Make way for the prince!” Sloe bellowed in a voice that reverberated off the walls. Apparently the ship’s crew wasn’t moving fast enough to suit him, because just moments later I saw the robot raise his arm, electricity crackling around his hand.

“No, Sloe!” I screamed. “That isn’t necessary!”

I wrapped my companions in my power, and a second later, all three of us were in my quarters. Berran staggered slightly but stayed on his feet. He had seen me use my teleportation power before but had never been subjected to it. For many, teleportation can result in slight disorientation the first time they travel that way; if it did affect him, Berran hid it well. (For the record, however, teleportation is generally a fairly seamless way to travel. Much in the same way that birds have an inborn ability to navigate using the stars and a planet’s magnetic field, my mentor Mouse believes that teleporters have an innate ability to track and match the physical characteristics – e.g., speed, angular momentum, and so on – of our environment, so that teleportation is usually a smooth transition.)

We had popped up in my suite’s living room. For my benefit, it had come furnished with the expected accoutrements (or alien variations thereof): sofa, coffee table, and so on. The only item that noticeably stood out was a weird device that looked like a cross between an oversized crab and a medieval suit of armor. Dubbed by my friend Smokescreen as a “DNA Luck Sequencer,” it stood tucked into a corner of the room, a replica of a device on my grandmother’s homeworld that was supposed to bring good fortune.

We had barely appeared before Berran went into action.

“I’ll initiate the separation sequence,” he said, heading to a control panel set in the wall.

“What about the crew?” I asked as Berran keyed in the proper code. “Are there enough lifeboats for them?”

“The launch bays were damaged by the explosion and ensuing shock wave,” Sloe said. “The lifeboats are effectively useless.”

“So what’s their backup plan?” I asked.

My question was met with a stony silence from both Sloe and Berran, who cast a sorrowful glance in my direction. At least now I understood the robot’s earlier statement about everyone on board being likely to die.

“No,” I said flatly to their unstated response.

“Your safety is our first priority,” Berran said.

“Also, we must disengage immediately,” Sloe added. “I estimate that the damage from the initial blast will induce a series of subsequent explosions that will completely fragment the ship.”

“I’m sorry, Highness,” Berran said with a voice full of melancholy, “but we can’t save them.”

I shook my head angrily. “No! We’re not leaving anyone behind. I forbid you to separate us from the ship until I give you the green light.”

I didn’t wait to see if my order would be obeyed (or even acknowledged). Instead, I teleported back to the corridor that led to the observation deck.

Smoke was still billowing into the hallway when I popped in. Combined with the emergency lights and wailing alarm, it almost gave the impression that I was at an edgy rock concert instead of a starship that was either going to explode in space or crash into the planet below.

I shifted into super speed, causing the world around me to slip into slow motion. Then, zipping through the ship, I began teleporting everyone I saw to my quarters. With time being of the essence, I didn’t even bother with doors (which would only have slowed me down if I had to wait for them to open); instead, I simply phased, passing through walls like a ghost.

It took me about a minute to traverse the length and breadth of the ship. I cycled my vision over to the infrared in order to better see through the smoke. I also stretched out my empathic senses; that way, even if I missed someone visually, I would at least feel them by dint of their emotions: fear, anxiety, dread, and so on.

Ultimately, I ended up teleporting every living soul I could find – about fifty people – back to my suite. (I’m sure they were somewhat baffled by the sudden change in scenery, but I trusted Sloe and Berran to explain things to them.) I made a second jaunt through the ship, but found no one else who needed rescuing. I did, however, have one experience that was a little jolting: as I was dashing down a hallway, I involuntarily shifted back to normal speed. It only lasted about half a second, but it was enough to put me on edge as I reflected back on Mouse’s warnings about the crown’s side effects (and tried not to think about what would happen if I lost my powers while halfway phased through a wall).

The only other noteworthy event was that I had the sad misfortune of coming across about a half-dozen bodies near an area of twisted, burning metal and debris that I assumed must have been the engine room. (Presumably, they were people who had been standing too close when the initial explosion occurred.) After that, satisfied that I had done all that I could at the moment, I teleported back to my quarters.

“Now, Berran!” I shouted as soon as I appeared, startling several members of the crew who were nearby. They immediately stepped back, opening a path between me and the courier while simultaneously lowering their eyes. I took advantage of the deference they were showing me and dashed over to where Berran was finalizing the separation sequence.

The entire suite shuddered as normally-dormant engines suddenly roared to life, accompanied by the creak of rusty metallic clamps opening and the sibilant sound of gas being ejected through exhaust manifolds. With a bit of a jerk that caused a few crewmembers to squeal in fright, we began to move away from the ship.

A large square of metal paneling slid aside on the wall next to the control panel, revealing an observation pane roughly three-by-five feet in size. Through it I could see the stars – bright pinpoints of light on a field of sable. As our escape vessel (which is what my suite now seemed to be) changed direction, this scene gave way to a view of the planetscape of my grandmother’s homeworld.

There was a sudden outburst from behind me, and I realized with a start that many of the crew were cheering, happy that they were going to survive. Their euphoria, however, was short-lived, as a few seconds later my suite was rocked by what felt like giant blows from a celestial hammer. Almost everyone except Sloe was knocked off their feet as we began spinning wildly like an out-of-control gyroscope. Screaming in distress, people slid crazily across the floor in rag-doll fashion, as did much of the furniture in the room.

I floated up into the air, trying to stay stationary in order to gather my thoughts while everything else whirled about. I then noticed Sloe moving towards me.

“Pardon me, Prince J’h’dgo,” the robot said, extending a hand in my direction.

I suddenly realized that I was blocking the control panel – or rather, blocking it every second or so as the ship continued rotating around me. Regardless, I floated aside, and Sloe began manipulating the controls. Slowly, the room began to stop spinning. Likewise, the crew’s terrified screams started to diminish as people gingerly began coming to their feet.

“What happened?” I asked as Berran, who had been tossed to the other side of the room, hurried back over to us.

“The primary ship exploded,” the courier replied, taking over at the control panel. “Apparently while we were still within the blast radius.”

“True,” Sloe added. “Fortunately, I was able to stabilize us. Otherwise, we might have gone spinning uncontrollably into the planet’s atmosphere.”

An incredible wave of relief washed over me. “So we’re safe?”

“I regret to report that such is not the case,” Sloe said. “The force of the explosion still has us headed towards Caeles.”

I shook my head, not comprehending. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Under normal circumstances, Highness, it would be,” Berran answered. “In the present instance, such is not the case, as it appears that the controls have been damaged.”

“What?” I asked in surprise. “How?”

“Shrapnel from the explosion,” Sloe declared. “From what I can detect, it destroyed one of the engines, perforated the hull in various locations, and destroyed the master relay terminal. Thus, while we still have power, we lack the ability to control anything.”

“Can’t we make repairs?” I asked.

Berran shook his head. “There’s no time. We’ll be entering the planet’s atmosphere in moments.”

I turned to the observation pane, hoping to get a visual to go along with what I was hearing, but it was completely dark.

“It’s not a true window,” Berran said in answer to my unasked question. “An external device is used to broadcast images to the pane for you to observe.”

“Great, so we’re flying blind,” I said.

“Technically, Prince, we are adrift,” Sloe corrected. “Although we are now entering the atmosphere at a less-than-optimal angle.”

I was nonplussed. “What does that mean?”

“It means that this vessel will burn up as we head down to the planet,” said a voice near my shoulder.

I turned to find a short, rotund man there, dressed in the uniform of one of the crewman. After a moment, I recognized him: he was (or rather, had been) captain of the ship that had brought me from Earth (and which had just exploded).
What was his name? Venter? Ventral? No – Ventrua!

“Go on,” I said to Captain Ventrua, who had apparently been listening to the conversation between me and my two companions.

“If the angle of entry is too steep,” the captain said, “the friction created between a spaceship and the planet’s atmosphere will be too great. It will fry the vessel to a cinder.”

“And that’s our issue,” I surmised.

“Correct,” Berran said. “Ordinarily we would have shields to combat the problem, but with the controls damaged we can’t activate them.”

“What about calling for help?” I asked.

“They’d never reach us in time,” Captain Ventrua stated plainly.

“Well, there must be something we can do,” I said.

“There’s something
you
can do, my Prince,” Berran said. “Your quarters come equipped with a space suit, whi–”

“Forget it,” I said flatly. “I’m not taking off to save my own hide while everyone else here gets barbecued.”

“But Highness–” Sloe began.

“No ‘buts,’” I declared. “I’m not leaving. We need to think of something else, and we need to do it now.”

As if to endorse this statement, the angle of the floor changed slightly, with the incline modestly increasing. And, although it might have only been my imagination, I thought I sensed a slight uptick in our speed, indicating that we were now caught in the planet’s gravitational pull.

If the others noticed these subtle changes, they didn’t say anything. My hope was that they were trying to come up with a solution rather than just raggedly accepting their fate (which they seemed to have no problem doing). On my part, I was trying to figure out if any of my powers could be of any use.

It didn’t take long to separate the wheat from the chaff in terms of which of my abilities had the most utility under the current circumstances. Quite a few of them (such as invisibility and shapeshifting) just weren’t able to provide enough benefit to get us out of our current predicament. In fact, only two seemed capable of tipping the scales in our favor: my phasing ability and teleportation.

With respect to the former, I felt confident that I could phase everyone – the entire vessel, in fact – so that the heat of re-entry would not harm us. However, the fact that I had lost my super speed just a short time earlier, even if only for half a second, had left me a little gun-shy. What if my powers failed in the middle of the descent? How long would it take for the heat to roast everyone inside? No – I couldn’t take the chance.

That left teleportation. It was instantaneous, so there was practically no risk of catastrophic failure of my power; it would either work or it wouldn’t. The problem, however, was that I had no place to teleport us
to
.

Teleporters typically only teleport to places where they have been, locations that they have firmly fixed in their minds. That presented a dilemma at the moment, because I had never even set foot on my grandmother’s home planet. Thus, teleporting somewhere down there seemed out of the question. That left Earth, but it was light-years away. Moreover, I had never teleported anyone or anything that far before, and this didn’t seem like the proper time to conduct that particular experiment. (I did teleport an object across dimensions once, but I had been delusional at the time and wasn’t even sure how I’d accomplished it.)

The slope of the floor increased again, this time at a steeper angle. Also, there was no denying the fact that we were now moving a lot faster than we were before. Last but not least, the room was starting to get warm.

I groaned in frustration. Right now I was almost willing to try anything – even teleporting back to Earth. The planet below was a better bet in that it was closer, but I didn’t have any images of it in my head…

That thought trailed off as inspiration suddenly struck.

“Sloe,” I said, noting that my suite was starting to tremble like it was caught in an earthquake. “Can you still access those live images you showed me before?”