Page 7 of Star Champion

Anyone else in the government would have stuttered in the crosshairs of Klark’s frigid regard—the infamous Vedla stare—but Toren knew the family far too long to be affected. “I bring good news, Your Highness. The terms of your house arrest have been met. Your incarceration has ended.”

The news sparked both relief and disbelief. Keeping his reaction hidden behind a “bajha-face”, Klark shifted his focus to the time displayed on the viewscreen. “That’s sixteen weeks, three days, eighteen hours and forty-four standard Eireyan minutes early.”

Toren’s eyes crinkled. “I knew you’d be eager to have this over and done with.”

“Don’t read into it,” Klark retorted dryly. “I’m a Vedla. Attention to detail is born and bred in us.”

Toren addressed the other councilmen. “You are dismissed.”

The men pounded their fists to their chests with hearty thuds, bowing to Klark as they stepped backward. Once they were gone, Toren switched to the more personable tone of someone who had known Klark since he was toddling around in nappies. “I thought you would be pleased to learn of the shortened sentence.”

Klark wandered over to a plush pale blue, gray, and cream rug to set his glass on the showpiece of his quarters: a low, large table of transparent, petrified sap encasing myriad creatures trapped inside it. According to family lore, the block of amber was excavated from an uninhabited forested world that vaporized soon after when its parent star went supernova. The table was commissioned many thousands of years ago by a Vedla ancestor with questionable taste. Klark had been terrified of the piece as a child. It caused him untold nightmares. Yet, it was the first item he had chosen when as a boy he was relocated from the nursery to his own apartment. He spent more than a few brooding moments since considering the bizarre creatures frozen within the depths of the amber. The sight of their gaping maws usually convinced him that any upset was trivial in comparison to being trapped in amber for all eternity. Although sometimes circumstances made him feel like he was.

“Of course, I am pleased, Toren. Who wouldn’t be after so many months locked up?” Well, notwithstanding the time he escaped only to end up accused of trying to assassinate his brother’s fiancée. Certainly, he could see how some would think him capable of such a nefarious plot, given his history of taking family politics into his own hands; but in that incident, at least, he was innocent—although he did violate the terms of his original punishment. “I simply did not expect my sentence to be commuted. I don’t exactly qualify for time off for good behavior.”

Toren’s lips compressed as if he wanted to agree aloud, but then thought better of it. “Both the B’kah Crown Prince Ian and your brother, Crown Prince Ché, negotiated the details. The heart of the matter is that the decision was made. You’re free to come and go as you please.”

Free to gowhere? And do what? The rest of his life loomed suddenly in front of him like a stranger’s shadow, long and dark. He turned his back to Toren and looked out the windows. “Why has my brother not given me the good news himself?”

“Prince Ché is still on his honeymoon.”

“Yes, of course.” It had been several standard months since his elder brother, the Vedla crown prince, had gone off to vacation with his new bride, which to Klark seemed an ungodly length of time to spend with any one person, let alone the same female. But since Ché was so visibly in love it seemed reasonable. Still, Ché had a comm at his disposal, did he not? He used it while away to remain in contact with their father about various official matters. He would have known of the reduction in Klark’s sentence before Toren did. He had crusaded for it, after all. Yet, he was too busy to call…

Klark frowned at the gorgeous view outside. “And my father?” Why press for an explanation for the silence? What did he hope to prove? The absence of messages from the two highest-ranking Vedlas was a message in itself: he had been sidelined. He had always known the day would come. In the not too distant future his elder brother and his bride would produce heirs and Klark would be further bounced down the royal rungs. As third or fourth and so on in line for the throne, he would no longer be needed as he was now. Unless the unspeakable were to occur and all perished. He had always found it rather macabre that he was expected to spend the rest of his days being on standby for something he never wanted to happen, but it was indeed his duty. He had just never given any thought about what to do in the meantime.

He fisted his hands behind his back, trying to catch up to what Toren was telling him. “His Majesty is immersed in official duties at the Wheel.”

“Ah. Yes.” One bright spot in all this was that as the number-two son Klark would never have to spend tedious days governing the Trade Federation on an ancient space station shoulder to shoulder with representatives of the other clans. The thought was even less appealing than having to marry to keep the bloodlines going. Such were benefits of being the spare and not the heir. There were beautiful and talented courtesans at Klark’s beck and call anytime he desired some bed sport; fine dining and expensive liquor were only a snap of his fingers away. Life was an unending party for a young bachelor with limitless wealth. At least on paper it was supposed to be. It had long since become rather dull.

“His Majesty did mention that he was very pleased with the decision to end your sentence early,” Toren said. “He expects that…” The man stopped himself. “He hopes you are pleased as well.”

“Rubbish. What were you going to say, Councilman?”

“I imagine His Majesty will prefer to convey his thoughts in person.”

“But since he is otherwise engaged you can pass them along.”

Toren obeyed with a single nod. “His Majesty is confident you’ll exercise better judgment going forward, now that you’ve served your time and have had the time to ponder your actions. Good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from making bad decisions.”

Klark stared at Toren. He could envision those words being uttered by the man he resembled physically and strove to emulate. King Rorrik Vedla had a well-deserved reputation as a taskmaster of the Treatise of Trade, the holy document that was the moral bedrock of their society. His traditionalist values and his desire for Vedla superiority drove his every action. Then Klark brought dishonor down on them all, leaving their family reputation in shambles.

For as long as he could remember, he had been striving for his father’s approval. Now the prospect seemed more elusive than ever.

Klark set his jaw. “His Majesty can be assured that further bad decisions are not on my calendar.”

“Speaking of calendars, what are your plans, Your Highness, now that you’re free?” A master of tact, Toren turned chipper. “A long vacation, perhaps?”

“A vacation?” Klark scoffed.

“Why not? Certainly, you’ve had your fill of being at the palace by now. Where in the galaxy have you wanted to visit? Now’s the time.”

Klark started to answer then let his breath exit. The question quite frankly stumped him. Then Toren’s attention swerved to the viewscreen and a clip of the final moments of an exhibition match on Inaresh Station. “Ah. Yonson Skeet. Our leading scorer,” Klark said.

Both men uttered a shout, seeing a replay of the winning strike. Klark pumped his fists in a quick, controlled jab, as if he held the sens-sword in his own hands. “Beautiful move, beautifully played.” Next, Skeet was shown waving to a packed arena before the vid switched to the athlete being interviewed, his humble charm on full display. Audiences loved the fellow. Out on the goodwill tour, Skeet drew large crowds eager for the chance to meet him. Females all but threw themselves at the single athlete. He was as skilled in the public arena as he was in the bajha one, making Klark damned glad Skeet was his.

“We’re doing superbly, are we not?” Toren said. “I know the hand you’ve had in it all, bringing the team to this level. Well done, Your Highness. Talk at the Wheel is that we have a chance at making it into the finals.”

“Finals, bah. Nothing less than winning the Galactic Cup will do.”

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