The afternoon sun stretched across the luminous tile of Delia's chamber, just reaching the edge of her pedestal. From this van- tage she could see across the kingdom. The palace looked over the residences of the lords within the high walls, then the surrounding lake, and farther down she could see the raised homes of counsel- ors and dukes. The whole area was a tiered settlement built into the massive mountain. Then lower still, private landowners. The Dark District was there too, underneath everything else.
But Delia's attention was focused on the cloud cover in the dis- tance. She chided herself for not checking the atmospheric conditions more closely. It would be particularly miserable luck to have planned everything else, but fail because she'd forgotten to check the stupid weather.
"To the left, princess," Marta said, her metallic voice detached yet respectful. She knelt at the hem. "Thank you."
Delia conceded, turning on the spot. She could now see her younger sister, lounging on the chaise by the floor to ceiling windows, her finger scrolling across her infoscreen.
"Yes," Shania said to the screen. "No." Then she paused. "Hmm . . . maybe." Her face was serious, but Delia knew her younger sister's impish tone too well not to see through the sober countenance.
"Your interest in my torture borders on sadistic voyeurism," Delia told her. She felt Marta's hand brush against the end of her braid as she worked, her hair so long it nearly reached the floor.
"I'm researching the eligible bachelors that arrived last night . . . for your benefit, of course." Shania continued scrolling, and then her face lit up. "Oh, here's one! Prince Quinton of Rexula. He's good looking, has a degree in biospheric chemistry and says he's an accom- plished competitor in battle ball." She giggled, then added, "I have it on good authority that all the men from Rexula are trained in the necessary skills of battle and proper conduct of the court."
Delia rolled her eyes. "Rexula has the largest supply of plasma in the Four Quadrants. It's his energy supply I'm more interested in than his battle ball skills."
Advisor Winchell stood over Shania, her braided hair tucked under her decorative headpiece of wallowing goose feathers. "Rexula is our closest planetary neighbor and largest trading partner." She then glided across the room, her richly patterned robe flowing behind her. The only noise was the tapping of her cane on the tiles.
Seeing that Advisor Winchell was about to meet her gaze, Delia dropped her eyes to study Marta, now quietly working on the side seam of her wedding gown. She winced as Marta took a straight pin and secured a bit of fabric in place. The fit became more constricting with each tiny alteration.
Shania smiled at the infoscreen. "Can you imagine?" she said dreamily. "Someone strong enough to fight, yet graceful enough to dance you around the ballroom?" She gave a lazy sigh.
"If you're so thrilled with the prospect of marrying a complete stranger," Delia said from the pedestal, "why don't you get up here and take my place?"
"I'd love to!"
"That's enough, girls." Advisor Winchell put up a hand to silence the pair. "Don't take this parade of suitors lightly. It has no more to do with love than any of the other matches I have overseen all these years."
"Strange," Shania said. "You've always struck me as a romantic, Advisor Winchell."
Delia braced for the reprimand, but their elderly mentor ignored Shania's remark and instead put her attention back on Delia. "As first born to the queen, you benefit from all the advantages that station in life affords. And as firstborn, you know you have . . ."
"All the responsibility that comes with that privilege," Delia fin- ished. She knew the speech by heart. "Still, I can't help but feel as though I'm being bartered off like a secondhand droid . . . sorry, Marta. No offense intended."
The seamstress stayed quiet. The fabric tightened around Delia's chest, making it difficult to take a deep breath. Desperation came to the surface as she began an argument she knew she'd never win. "But why do I have to be married right away?" Delia asked. "Why can't I be one of the Queen's Guard for a few years, or learn to become a diplomat, or go to the university first, or why—"
"Why can't you stand still?" Marta interrupted. Delia felt the sharp poke of a pin, but she stayed silent.
The room went quiet—Marta never interrupted.
Delia's pulse picked up. Something like suspicion flashed across Advisor Winchell's face. Then it returned to its usual regal mask of appropriate apathy.
"Ouch," Delia said, flinching away from another pin stick. "A little less rough please, Marta."
"The intermittent fidgeting has caused the task to take fifteen per- cent more time to complete than I originally calculated."
Shania snorted from the chaise longue. "With so much mathe- matics inside that circuit board of yours, Marta, you'd be better suited teaching at the university than making dresses."
"Sewing is my directive," she replied, her robotic voice never wa- vering.
Advisor Winchell turned to Shania, "You know very well that an- droids are forbidden to hold independent employment. They are here to serve us."
Delia stayed quiet. Marta couldn't feel the sharp, barbed tongue of Advisor Winchell. How ironic to have two of the most unfeeling women in the kingdom here while she prepared to wed a complete stranger.
A sudden wish for her mother overwhelmed Delia. She pictured the queen, her own long braid now highlighted with shades of gray. She was meeting with the council this very moment. But if this arranged marriage was as important as everyone kept telling her, the queen should be here.
"When do we get to meet all the princes?" Shania asked. "I've heard all seven are already here."
"Seven," Delia repeated tiredly.
"Mm-hmm! There's "Hagar from Lazlo, it's a small planet with only a handful of families, but he owns most of the waterway so he's adept at sailing. Then there are the twins, Maxim and Mikel from Tramsted, who obviously have no shame in doubling their chances. However, considering their fabulous fashion sense, they're certainly worth putting in the serious contender category."
Delia huffed, "I'm not going to marry a pair of twins!"
"Stop interrupting." Shania rolled her eyes. "You're taking all the fun out of this. Then there's Oskar from the Kalasta Belt—now he's interesting, because he holds the record for weight lifting in all of the Four Quadrants. The problem is that his neck is quite large and it makes his head look absurdly small in comparison. Then there's Armano from Delta Kur, Felix from Trellium, and lastly, lovely Quin- ton." Shania sighed with a look of dreamy satisfaction. "The palace is turning into a wonderfully well-stocked man depot."
"You speak as if they're something to eat," Advisor Winchell reprimanded.
A panicked pulse quickened under Delia's skin. She was brave about sword skills and giving speeches to the leaders of the Four Quadrants—she was even brave enough to face Advisor Winchell once in a while.
But, taking a husband?
Fear began to poke through her bored mask of countenance. She sniffed, then mentally packaged the fear and pushed it far down, deeply hidden so no one suspected.
Shania continued, "Where are they keeping them, Advisor Winchell?" Her voice went up an octave. "And how will you ever choose, dear sister?"
"I will choose the man who will benefit Astor the—ouch!" Delia jumped to the side as if shocked. A pin was sticking out of her side. "Marta!"
Marta thrust another pin into Delia. "Sewing is my directive . . . my directive." She continued to stab the needle through the fabric, more roughly. There was a tear in the dress, a red spot appeared.
Shania screamed.
Advisor Winchell pressed the security button on the wall. "Droid emergency! Princess Delia's chamber!"
Delia pulled away, tripping off the pedestal.
". . . my directive . . . my directive." Marta's voice became static, her hands clawed for the hem of the gown. Delia stared, amazed— then she remembered to scream.
Pulling her way free of the fabric, Delia dashed across the room, then subtly grabbed the satchel she'd hidden behind a chair. While everyone was watching Marta, she slipped out the side door and into the servants' corridor.
Years of playing hide-and-seek with Shania had afforded her a mental blueprint of every corner of the palace. She made it to the vertical transporter and hit the button for the landing bay.
She felt a temporary twinge of guilt about not telling Shania her plan, but her younger sister would never have been able to keep the secret to herself. The android technician dispatch team would be there soon, she reasoned. Besides, the glitch she'd programmed into Marta's SHEW had only a half life of two minutes—barely enough time for Delia to escape.
Shaking, she opened the bag and put on the stolen uniform. The pilot's jumpsuit was several sizes too large. Her long braid bulged under the fabric at the back, but that couldn't be helped. She put on the helmet and slapped down the visor. She was one of the elite pilots of the Queen's Guard—at least for now.
The doors of the lift slid open. Shania wasn't kidding, there must be half a dozen new ships since last night.
The takeoff alarm pierced the air.
Delia hadn't anticipated another ship departing at exactly the same time she'd planned her escape. Regardless, she had to act now or she'd never have another chance.
She ran to the small Patrol ship she'd readied last night. Then she saw its back engines had already started to fire. Delia input the code for the door and jumped in, silently reprimanding herself for messing up the preflight timing so badly. In one move Delia locked the door and rushed forward to the cockpit.
"Argh!" She tripped, then fell onto something squishy.
There was a muffled cry underneath her. "Galaxy's sake!" a voice said—a male voice.
Delia pushed herself up on her elbow and stared at the stranger through the visor still obscuring her face. His eyes were wide and pan- icked. A bruise on his cheek added color to his pale face.
"Get off my ship!" she yelled.
He sat up so quickly it threw her off balance.
Delia was about to threaten him when the computer's soft voice announced, "Takeoff initiated."
There was a massive shudder. Then Delia and the stranger were thrown back as the ship blasted forward.