“I still can’t pilot a Mecat worth anything.”
“Australia understands the customs and practices of over two hundred different species, but do you feel she’s able to blend in with those people if she had to?”
Reynard considers for a moment. “She lacks tact.”
“Surgical.”
“She performs their rituals to textbook specification. The small nuances are absent.”
Reynard notes the renewed light in Amye’s eyes. He wonders if he should ask about her sister. “Interesting how Aus knows so much about everyone else and so little about her people.”
“The Tibbar invaded when she was two.”
“Nysaean recall every memory from birth.”
Amye seems to shift the subject, “You ever try and research the Nysaean? There’s not one iota of information. Nothing. As if once the Tibbar invaded and assumed Nysaean as their home world, they never existed. Even Doug, with all his years of cleaning redundant information from the ISN, never encountered Nysaean references.”
“Australia says they were pacifists who kept to themselves. Her mother was teaching her to love all life.”
“If they kept to themselves, then maybe most of their history was lost when the Tibbar invaded.”
“You seem to be holding back a ‘but.’ Like you know something.”
“I wasn’t even born yet. Neither was Kymberlynn. Until I met Australia I don’t think I even knew about Nysaean. But JC acts like she does.”
“JC’s unable to read Australia’s thoughts or Ki-Ton’s. I would say her training would brush on species they can’t scan,” Reynard speculates.
“But she has no idea what species Ki-Ton is.”
Better not ask about Kymberlynn. I’ve finally got camaraderie going. Questions about her sister would kill it. I’ll ask her next time. “I’ve got a job for you.”
Amye gives him an unsure glance. “You can’t leave the princess locked in her room forever.”
“She’d be the safest there.”
“Maybe so, but I thought you could take her to the training room for some exercise or at least to let her stretch her legs.”
••••••
AMYE BLOCKS ANY chance the princess has of being able to flee her room as the door slides open. Every suitcase or cargo trunk in the room has been turned over, leaving a disheveled mess of clothes, baubles, and personal effects dispersed around the room as if they exploded.
“Bit of a tantrum, Princess?” Amye attempts to hook her thumb in her gun belt but it’s gone. She couldn’t risk the delicate flower reaching for it.
Michelle sucks in a lung full of air and pushes out her chest in an attempt to create a big and powerful stance. “You should address me as ‘your royal highness’ when you speak. If I wish the conversation to continue then properly you should say ‘ma’am’. I am of royal birth and should be treated as such.”
“You’re not my future queen, nor are you an inmate. Right now you’re nothing more than a spoiled toddler who had a tantrum. I’ll tell you this, Princess...” Amye tires of calling her “princess.” “Do you have a first name?”
“It would be improper of you to refer to me as such.”
“Then ‘Princess’ it is. You want some recreation time, Your Majesty?”
She mumbles in a low whisper.
“Yes, Princess?”
“Michelle. My name’s Michelle. If you’re able to speak it without the disrespect you put in ‘Princess.’”
Amye shifts her tone. “All right, Michelle. You want to get out of this room?”
“Will you send someone in while we’re gone to clean this mess?”
“You smerth’n serious?” Amye snickers to herself. “You’ll have to clean this mess yourself.”
“I’ve never had to clean anything up in my life.”
“No one on this ship will clean your ass for you. Time to grow up, Michelle.”
“I have never been treated like this.”
“Maybe some time on this ship is just what you need.”
“Being roughhoused by thieving hooligans, what’s the lesson?”
Amye hangs in the doorway, considering her answer. “You know, you’re correct, Michelle.”
“So you’ll return me to my mother?” Michelle seems hopeful she has a friend.
Amye squashes that. “No, but you should know how to prevent someone from manhandling you.” She tosses the princess a bundle of clothes.
“Change.”
••••••
“IF I’M A guest, then how long am I stuck here?” Michelle tugs at her training uniform.
Joe contorts his body to complete his kata form.
He knows pupils have arrived but won’t acknowledge them until he’s ready. Somehow Amye knows Joe assesses them both without even turning his head.
Amye glances down at the young girl and wonders how at seventeen she could still be so clueless. Was I this clueless?
No. No, she wasn’t.
She was clueless when she was fourteen, leaving Tartarus for the prestigious Advanced Education Program, where she learned how the universe worked.
Amye evades the question. “Until the Mokarran are no longer a threat to Aurora would be my guess. The queen wants you under our protection.”
“You’re outlaws. Why would she want you to protect me?” Michelle admires Joe as he moves with each perfect pass of his body from one attack stance to another.
“At least you know we’re not afraid to break the law to safeguard you.”
“Train me.”
“What the smerth?” Amye questions her own actions. Wait. Why did you bring her here? You gave her the training uniform and drug her over here to train her so no one manhandles her.
“Teach me to fight,” Michelle states again.
“I hope you don’t think by learning a few attack moves it will give you an opportunity to escape.”
“If I’m not a hostage, then I want to learn how to protect myself and my people. I’ve been groomed to be the flower on the king’s arm. If I am to live among warriors, I want to become one. You just said you didn’t want anyone to be able to maltreat me.”
“I’ll teach you how to defend yourself, so if an opponent three times your size attempts to pin you to the floor you’ll escape.”
“I want to learn from him.” Michelle points at Joe.
“For a Calthos warrior to train anyone not from Calthos, Joe must find you worthy.”
“I’m of royal birth.”
“That
