Lost heir, p.1
Lost Heir, page 1
LOST HEIR
The Core Empire Book II
Heliosphere Books®
Copyright © 2022 by Richard Coxson
Published by arrangement with the author.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact permissions@endpaperspress.com or write Endpapers Press, 4653 Carmel Mountain Rd, Suite 308 PMB 212, San Diego, CA 92130-6650. Visit our website at www.endpaperspress.com.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Coxson, Richard, 1952- author.
Title: Lost heir / Richard Coxson.
Description: San Diego : Heliosphere Books,
[2022] | Series: The Core empire; book 2
Identifiers: LCCN 2022044453 (print) | LCCN 2022044454 (ebook) | ISBN 9781937868925 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781937868949 (kindle edition) | ISBN 9781937868932 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Science fiction novel. | GSAFD: Science fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3603.O9285 L67 2022 (print) | LCC PS3603.O9285 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022044453
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022044454
Cover design by Alina Rakhmanova
(Alina_rali), via 99designs.com. | Gun illustration by roman3d and warrior woman 3d by hutangach, via Adobe Stock. | Text effect from freepik. | Star cruiser image by Hansuan_Fabregas; steampunk space ship by Stevebidmead; spaceship image by Yuri_B, via Pixabay.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, corporations, or other entities, is entirely coincidental. Heliosphere Books are published by Endpapers Press, a division of Author Coach, LLC.
Heliosphere Books is a registered trademark of Author Coach, LLC.
To those anonymous individuals who fell in the battles of the American Revolution in order to promote a liberty they never knew.
“The prudent heir takes careful inventory of his legacies and gives a faithful accounting to those whom he owes an obligation of trust.”
—John F. Kennedy
Galactifacts for Kids 3500
Butterfly Effect. A famous adage that appears to be over two thousand years old explains in this poem why small things are often significant in making large changes happen.
For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.
And for want of a horse, the rider was lost.
For want of a rider, the message was lost.
For want of a message, the battle was lost.
For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost.
All for want of care about a horseshoe nail.
—Anonymous
1
* * *
Unmoored
Fleet City, Beacon
0900 Beacon Base Meridian Time (BBMT) 30 May 3468
Maeve uch Robert fidgeted with her brush. She wondered, as she stared at the gangly thirteen-year-old girl looking back at her from the hallway mirror, if she would ever be as beautiful as her mother had been.
Over her shoulder, in the reflection through the half-open door of her father’s study, she could see a full-length portrait of her mother. Appraising it in the glass, Maeve remembered her mother as being more than striking, more than merely pretty, but truly galactic-class gorgeous. Her father and mother had circulated at the highest levels of the imperial court, giving Maeve years of personal experience to judge from. She felt confident in that judgment, knowing it to be more than just the aching loss of a girl for her mother taken from her too early. Unfortunately, it made her worry about her own appearance even more.
Captured in the old-fashioned oil painting, Maude Jackson stood laughing, green eyes dancing merrily, wearing a white, silk dress at some court function. Her eyes and hair she had given to her daughter, for which Maeve felt profoundly grateful. Her mother stood in the painting as if in a dream, raven hair set off against the dress and mauve background, a vision that only a true master could have captured.
Even more impressive, the painter had used a photograph after she’d died, gunned down by men sent by Maeve’s oldest sister, Morgain. Maeve hurt every time she saw the painting, which might explain why Lieutenant Commander Robert ap Morgan kept it hidden away in the study.
Giving the hem of her cadet-gray blouse a last tug, she raised her chin and headed out to the car. Lieutenant Priscilla Jenks, tall, lithe, blonde, blue-eyed, and pretty, smiled warmly from the back seat as she approached. Although officially her father’s naval aide, over the last five years she had seemed to Maeve more like an aunt or governess.
“How’s my sweet pea?” she asked with a grin.
“I’m not a little girl, Lieutenant!” Maeve answered with some fire. Priscilla had become Dad’s aide soon after the coup and her mother’s death, and she still seemed to think of Maeve as a little girl. When she had first arrived, Maeve had wanted to hate her, afraid Lieutenant Jenks wanted to take her mother’s place. Instead, she had found in her a friend and confidante she didn’t even realize she’d needed. More, she knew Priscilla loved her very much and felt the same way about her. She would trade any of her actual sisters to have Priscilla be hers. “We’re headed to the Naval Academy for my entry interview. You should be treating me like an adult!”
Priscilla just kept her smile, tinged with a little sadness, firmly in place. “You keep telling yourself that, sweet pea. We should be signing you up for junior high classes with your friends, not the Academy. The Academy shouldn’t take thirteen-year-olds,” she stated with a hint of steel.
Maeve gave her a hard smile. “Dad can still pull a few strings. Besides, I earned it through the competitive exams.”
Priscilla’s face became still, eyes focused on Maeve. “And because there are so few applicants, so don’t get a swelled head, young lady.”
Maeve flounced into the seat, arms tightly folded across her chest, determined to maintain a stony silence in response. A tiny worry mouse nibbled at the edge of her consciousness. Why were there so few applicants? Dad had always drilled into her that duty to the empire came above all else, even family. She knew that he’d given up so much for the empire and partly blamed himself for her sisters’ “failures in character,” as he described it. She knew that many considered joining the military to be a sucker’s bet, but she’d never understood that.
Entering the Academy, she would never see her friends, especially Kai, Mary, Nikki, and Adia. Or do all the things they liked to do together. Would she fit in? Everyone would be so much older! When she reached that point, she slammed the door on her concerns. Being two years ahead in school, her friends had also been older. She’d be fine, she told herself firmly.
The car’s back door remained open next to her, the petty officer driver standing by it as if she hadn’t already gotten in. What’s his problem? she demanded in silent petulance. Let’s get there already! But just to make her day perfect, Commander Robert ap Morgan hustled up, his enlisted aide, Chief Petty Officer Drago, heading for the front passenger seat. In his dress whites, standing just over six feet tall, with the trim build of an officer who hadn’t let time behind a desk put weight on him, short, brown hair turning gray at the temples, and a confidence Maeve could only hope she’d inherited, the commander cut a dashing figure . . . until one spotted the bulging briefcase he carried. Oh no! If the other students see him with his old-fashioned paper fetish, I’ll never live it down. Why can’t he just stay home?
“Pretty exciting, isn’t it, Princess?” Robert, brown eyes twinkling, asked, as if he couldn’t feel the daggers Maeve stared at him.
After a moment of silence, Priscilla answered with humor evident in her voice and eyes, “The fairy queen is not speaking to mere mortals today, sir. We have displeased the royal person, and she is giving us the silent treatment as a result.”
Robert shook his head. “At least I can get some work done on the way. I have a meeting at Fleet Central for a conference call with the other sectors after we drop off Her Highness. I still have tons to do to get ready.”
This is too much! Maeve fumed inwardly, already horribly embarrassed by him dropping her off. And he didn’t even have the decency to be wounded by her refusal to talk to him! They wouldn’t see each other for three months. Although almost inseparable since the day Mom died, he treated her impending entry into the Academy as if he were dropping her at the zoo or a day care! She felt so angry, she didn’t know if she should scream or cry.
Two vehicles led them as they pulled out of the secure housing area and merged with the high-speed traffic headed for the Academy. Another pair fell in behind, before one of them moved up to cover their right side and one from ahead dropped back to cover the left, a perfect bubble. Suddenly, Drago pressed his earbud tightly. Turning, eyes wide with alarm, he hissed, “Incoming fighters, no identification. Sixty seconds out.”
Robert’s head barely lifted from his paperwork as he ordered, “Send our air cover to take them down.” Maeve hadn’t been aware of any attacks on him recently, but apparently they were so common he didn’t show any concern. She felt a flutter of alarm, as well as hurt, as she glanced apprehensively into the innocent blue sky. Someone had attacked him and he hadn’t told her about it? The id ea rattled her. She couldn’t lose him, too.
Drago raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure, sir? SOP is they stay with us no matter what and let the general duty birds take out potential threats.”
Robert broke his concentration from the mass of papers covering his lap. “I am not accustomed to repeating myself, Chief.”
Drago, with a disapproving frown, gave him an “Aye, aye,” and turned back to his com panel. Maeve happened to agree with Drago. After all, what good were standard procedures if they were never followed? She feared for him and couldn’t stand the thought of losing her father. For years, she had suffered from nightmares after Mom died, and now this.
Maeve heard Drago speak into his com, feeling a rising panic begin to paralyze her, “Roger. Rear car and right-side cover, drop back and slow or stop oncoming trucks.”
She didn’t know if she could or should ask, but Dad did it for her.
“Problem, Chief?”
“Two large trucks approaching at high speed from behind, both came onto the expressway at the last entry point. I detailed two cars to slow the pursuit.”
Robert appeared thoughtful for a moment before nodding a silent thank you. He began stuffing his paperwork back into the case. Sighing sadly, he looked at Priscilla. “Looks like Morgain is making a move. Too bad, but she always displays such terrible timing. I wanted to place Maeve safely under the protection of Ward’s group at the Academy before she tried again.”
Priscilla pulled open a panel revealing an assortment of firearms. Selecting a small-caliber, semiautomatic weapon, she handed it to Maeve. “We’ll be there in another minute or so, sir. We may get lucky.”
The reality of the situation hit her suddenly, hard. Although familiar from practicing with Dad, Maeve simply put the gun carefully down beside her, not wanting to touch it for what it represented: danger to her father. Staring at the gun, her stomach gave a nervous flip at a second idea. She’d never shot at a real person and today she might have to. The very thought horrified her. Trying to take her mind off that possibility, she stared out the window, examining the buildings and cars they passed.
“This is my oldest daughter we’re talking about, Lieutenant,” condescension evident in his tone. “She helped start this mess, so I expect we haven’t even begun to see the fun she has in mind for today.” He pulled a huge, old-fashioned, .45-caliber military pistol from his case before snapping it closed.
Priscilla nodded, returning her full attention to the side window, scanning for threats. “True. All we can do is pray and wait to see what nasty surprises she has in store.” In the background, Maeve heard Drago calling for backup.
As for Priscilla’s suggestion, Maeve didn’t want to wait. She hated waiting. As they sped along, tension mounted, but nothing more happened. Maeve relaxed slightly as they passed through the security gate to the Academy.
Drago spoke an acknowledgment into his com, “Trucks were empty and the bogies turned back when challenged. Top cover should be back by the time we clear the gate toward Fleet.”
Maeve expected her father to say thank you and settle back to work. He didn’t. “Make sure the other vehicles are ready for anything; this whole thing smells. I don’t know what’s wrong, but it feels like a trap.”
“On the Academy campus, Dad?” Maeve asked apprehensively, abandoning her decision to punish him by not speaking to him.
“Maeve, it’s the perfect place for an ambush. Safe, surrounded by high security, but with lovely wide-open fields of fire. And security breaches could have happened anytime over the last month. As I said, perfect. The hit team sets up in a place where the target relaxes his guard.”
Maeve hoped her dad’s fears were just paranoia. Swinging smoothly into the drive leading to the admin building, they slowed to the posted speed, a sedate twenty miles per hour. Outside, everything seemed peaceful as far as she could see. Then the trail car exploded, the shockwave rocking them despite their own heavily armored frame.
Priscilla screamed, “Bandits to the left! Missile headed our way.” The driver slammed on the brakes to avoid the lead car suddenly blocking the road in front of them, its security team jumping out to face them, before firing full bore at their car. In a remote corner of her mind Maeve realized that the missile fired at their car had missed.
Her father shouted out, “Looks like a classic L ambush with that car ahead blocking us from accelerating to escape from the kill zone. Out my side, watch for snipers and mines on this side as we do. Bring the heavy stuff, Chief.” He slammed open his door, hit the pavement on his stomach and began slithering for cover. Maeve grabbed her pistol before following in a crouch as a huge weapon fired beside her, almost deafening her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Drago taking up the slack for a second shot on his monster gun. The second shot completely froze her. Suddenly, her nightmares returned and she saw her mother falling over her again, riddled with bullets. From behind, she felt a sudden shove, pushing her to the pavement, gravel biting into her hands and face, breaking through her paralysis.
Dropping beside her, Priscilla jabbed her with the barrel of her gun before pointing in the direction Robert ap Morgan now took toward the trail vehicle. Nodding, Maeve wriggled away, crawling for her life. Five seconds later, a yellow ball of heat erupted from their car, prickling the skin on the back of her hands and neck. She crawled faster, tears streaming unnoticed down her face. Bullets ricocheted around them as they headed toward the burning trail vehicle. Moving even faster, Maeve scuttled to the limited shelter it provided as the four men from the lead car began to head their way. Looking back, she watched as Drago fired from what seemed a suicidal position nearly under the remains of their car. Their driver seemed to be in action too, because three of the four traitors were down, and she only remembered hearing Drago’s elephant gun fire twice. The fourth man continued running straight at them. Maeve felt sure he’d be dead in a second, when, from the side, raking fire cut up Drago. A dozen men broke from the tree line, running toward the drive, all firing on full automatic. Dad and Priscilla returned fire, mowing them down, all of them dropping. At least, any not cut down by their disciplined three-shot bursts gave a good imitation of being dead. Maeve thought with bitter satisfaction, Good! Stay there and die!
Focused on the attacking line, a voice from behind froze her, cold and hateful, “Morgain sends her love,” followed by a shot. Her head jerked left in time to watch in horror as a flow of red spurted from her father and quickly became a trickle as he fell. The man she adored more than anyone alive crumpled into a blood-stained heap. Turning toward the gunman, her vision focused on the face of the man she recognized as the fourth man from the lead car, the man they had lost track of in the firefight.
As his gun swung toward her, visions of the past overwhelmed her: her mother’s lifeless body on the pavement, her wounded father dripping blood as he stood guard over Maeve, and today, the horrifying sight of her father cut down.
The pistol in her hand began bucking repeatedly, as if with a mind of its own. Although never having shot at another person in her life, her first shot stopped the heart of her father’s murderer. Her second shot hit him squarely between the eyes, the other rounds flying off somewhere. Then, her pistol stopped firing, empty of all twelve rounds.
Stunned, she stood frozen. What had she done? That bloody mess lying not ten feet away had been a living, breathing human not seconds ago, and now he lay dead, just like her mother and father. Her mind shied away from rational thought, rejecting any justification about him trying to kill her, that he had killed her father just moments before. She had killed him! Her stomach heaved and, losing all control, she threw up, head reeling with dizziness. Tears flowed freely, feeling revulsion at herself, illogically fighting the guilt that she hadn’t killed the murderer soon enough to save her father, while ashamed of having ended the man’s life. She wanted to curl up and die, anything to get away from this pain!
A warm arm surrounded her, drawing her in, as the sound of sirens and running boots told her help had come. Priscilla’s voice soothed her, “It’ll be all right, sweet pea, I’ll take care of you.”
