The Forgotten Prince Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  Author's Note

  THE FORGOTTEN PRINCE

  Book Two of the Second Star Series

  © Copyright 2015 by Josh Hayes

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in reviews, without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Editing by Samantha LaFantasie

  http://samanthalafantasie.com/

  For more information on the author visit: http://www.joshhayeswriter.com/

  First Edition

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When I started this project last year I thought I had a pretty good idea what the final product was going to look like, but I was wrong. Most of the concepts for The Forgotten Prince remained in the story from start to finish, but the story itself is much different from what I originally envisioned. And that’s a good thing. I believe the final product is a fantastic story and I would be remiss if I did not thank the people who helped me get it right along the way.

  First, thanks to my beta readers, Scott and Tricia. You guys gave me some great feedback and not only that, kept me on track when I started to lose my way.

  My editor, Samantha, as always you came through with some solid feedback during the beta-reading phase, and gave excellent editorial direction.

  To the folks at Space Opera: Writers, from help with the blurb to the cover design, your thoughts and comments were greatly appreciated and helpful.

  A big thank you goes out to all of you for supporting my dream and reading my books!

  And finally, I need to thank my wife, Jamie, for supporting me, and only minding a teeny bit when I snuck away to sit in front of the computer instead of relaxing on the couch, sharing a 5lb bag of Twizzlers. Love you, honey!

  For my Dad,

  For telling me I could.

  ONE

  Commander Lewis Cardington raised a hand to knock on the stateroom door then hesitated. Only the First Ones could know how much he didn’t want to do this. Hell, it might well be the last thing he ever did. The captain didn’t like bad news, especially when said “bad news” came in the morning, before he’d had a chance to put himself together.

  Images of his impending announcement and the consequent repercussions flashed through his mind. He wondered how it would go. Hanging? Firing squad? The captain might simply run him through with his shiftblade, he’d seen him do that before. Lewis wondered if losing one’s head was painful, watching it happen certainly had been.

  He sighed, resolved to the fact that he was, in fact, not the master of his own destiny and rapped his gloved knuckles on the metal door.

  An eternity passed, and Lewis contemplated knocking a second time. Maybe the captain hadn’t heard. He raised his hand to knock again, and the nondescript metal door rose into the ceiling. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room beyond. Every few feet, accent lighting shown from recesses in the ceiling, bathing the cabin in a eerie light. No matter how many times he visited the captain’s quarters, the darkness always made him uneasy. The man was unpredictable at the best of times and Lewis much preferred to interact with him in places he could at least keep an eye on him.

  A gruff, raspy voice spoke from the dark, “Who is it?”

  It was an arbitrary question. Nothing happened on board the Pride the captain was not aware.

  Cardington cleared his throat. “Commander Cardington, sir, my apologies for disturbing you so early, but there has been an—” he hesitated. “There’s been an incident, Captain.”

  After a long moment, the captain said, “You may enter, Commander.”

  I’d rather not, Lewis thought, knowing all too well, that in the captain’s stateroom, there were no places to hide. He cursed silently and stepped across the threshold. The door closed silently behind him.

  Movement to his right caught his attention as lighter shadows moved against the darker ones.

  The captain said, “I was just about to feed the fish.”

  A small light clicked on, illuminating the captain’s infamous aquarium, the light filtering through clear blue water inside. Lewis spotted the Razorfin almost immediately, not like anyone could miss it. Large blue and white fins moved gracefully around its long orange body. Its bulbous eyes rested above a gaping mouth where razor-sharp teeth protruded from its lower jaw. The deadly fish swam lazily through hollow corals and brightly colored plants, not a care in the world.

  The tank rested on a pedestal in the center of the room. Another tank floated on a counter-grav platform next to it, filled with smaller, less attractive fish. Lewis had no question as to what those fish were for.

  A net dipped into the water of the smaller tank, Lewis barely made out the captain’s hand as the net scooped up one of the lime-green fish.

  “Do you know why I love fish, Commander?” The captain asked, still unseen in the shadows.

  Lewis clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin. Of course, he knew. The man always spoke about them, but he was not about to say as much to the captain. “I do not, sir.”

  The lid on the Razorfin’s tank folded back as the net and struggling fish neared it. The captain unceremoniously lowered the net into the water and turned it over.

  “Simplicity,” He said. The net disappeared, the fish darted away, and the lid folded back into place.

  “Yes, sir,” Lewis responded, watching as the small, green fish moved frantically through the water, as if it was trying to make sense of its new home. Not for long, little fella.

  The Razorfin seemed to become aware of the new arrival almost as soon as it entered the water. It moved away from the commotion at first, then slowly moved to inspect the new arrival from a different angle. The hunt began with slow, methodical movements, as the Razorfin moved gracefully through the thick foliage, flanking where the greenie held position.

  “Take the Razorfin, for example,” the captain continued, “whether I keep him in this tank or release him into the wild, he would fare no different. His existence is simple: swim…”

  In a flash the Razorfin darted out from an arched rock formation and snapped it’s jaws around the smaller fish, nearly cutting it in two.

  “…and eat.”

  Lewis’s eye twitched. Fish food, didn’t think about that one.

  Shadows moved again, but Lewis’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he caught the outline of the captain’s form moving away from the tank then stop at a high-backed, counter-grav chair. A long dark robe flowed around him as he walked.

  “Well, Commander,” he pulled the robe to one side and sat. The chair dipped slightly under his weight, then adjusted and returned to its original position.

  Lewis straightened his uniform coat. The black fabric was over-starched just the way he liked it and rustled as he adjusted it.

  Stop being nervous. “We are receiving reports, sir, that there has been at attack on the Garrison above Barreen.”

  “Reports?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Compound?”

  “Yes, sir, that appears to have been the primary
target.” Lewis reported. “Whoever they were knew exactly where it was stored and targeted the tanks straight away.”

  “The primary target?”

  Lewis hesitated, then continued, “Yes, Sir, we also lost three skiffs, and a transport was also targeted.”

  The captain seemed to consider this for a moment, then said, “I see. And what of the damage estimates?”

  Lewis struggled to remain passive, but knew if there was any time to expect a bullet, now would be it. “By our earliest estimates, fifty-six percent of the compound reservoirs have been destroyed, along with twelve men killed and seven wounded.”

  The captain didn’t respond right away. Lewis imagined the man contemplating what form of punishment would be the most appropriate. A common theme in the Regency was to never get on your commander’s bad side; it was a sure way to kill any hopes one had for a long and fruitful career. When it came to the captain, however, Lewis knew there was no bad side. It was either good or dead.

  Finally, the captain spoke, “Fifty-six percent…”

  Lewis knew what the captain must have been thinking; because it was the same thing he had thought only minutes before. It would take months to recoup from that kind of loss and practically no hope of continuing at their current operational tempo.

  “And what of the enemy?” Captain asked, his eyes narrowing.

  He held his breath for a beat, then said, “Sir?” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded foolish, like a child trying to put off a parent.

  “Yes, Commander, how many of the bastards did we kill?”

  Lewis’s heart pounded in his chest. Through sheer force of will, he managed not to stutter. “None, sir.”

  “None,” The captain repeated.

  Shadows moved again and Lewis watched the captain’s outline move away from the chair. For the first time in his life he wished he too was afflicted with the Blinding, then maybe he could see what was going on before him. But he also knew what came with that and refused to allow himself to turn into one of those mindless Duster freaks.

  The captain’s voice was terse, “Twelve men dead, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.” Cold sweat beaded on his brow. He resisted the urge to wipe it.

  “And our forces were unable to inflict a single causality to the enemy?”

  Lewis started to answer, but stopped short. Silence was probably more prudent than anything. He stood as the captain’s form moved through the expansive stateroom.

  “Who is responsible for this, Commander?”

  “Captain, we are just getting preliminary—”

  A loud bang echoed through the stateroom, and Lewis took a startled step back. His hands went to his chest, expecting to find a large, bloody hole, but his fingers came away clean. His heart pounded as he fought to swallow the lump in his throat. He said a quick prayer, thanking the First Ones for keeping his body whole.

  “Who?” The captain growled.

  Lewis lifted his chin and forced his hands back to his sides. “We don’t know, sir.”

  The captain let out a long breath. “Tell me, Commander, what do we know?”

  Lewis opened his mouth to answer, but the captain continued before he could get anything out.

  “Do we know how these…terrorists managed to inflict such damage on our facilities? Do we know how they were able to get through our security perimeters and aboard the Garrison without being detected? Certainly, someone can tell me who failed in their duties. One does not just waltz into our bases without challenge. Or, are you telling me we have a traitor amongst us?”

  Confused, Lewis struggled with an answer. In truth, he hadn’t considered the possibility of a traitor. The Regency hadn’t had one since its inception after the Wars. The thought of someone turning against them was almost worse than being attacked.

  No, it couldn’t be. There had to be another explanation.

  “I do not believe there is a traitor, Captain,” Lewis said, “but at the same time I do not believe there was a breech in security. From all reports, there was no indication of a threat until the attack began.”

  “Then, I’m confused, Commander.”

  “Sir?”

  “You say you don’t believe there is a traitor and that there was no warning, however, do you not agree any attack made on the Garrison would have been made by air?”

  Lewis nodded, understanding what the captain was saying, but did not respond.

  “And yet, you say there was no indication of attack.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “If that is the case, then I can see only two possibilities: either someone failed to maintain vigilance at their post, or they deliberately chose not to report the attack. In either case, the punishment is the same.”

  “My apologies, Captain,” Cardington’s voice wavered. He took a moment to compose himself before continuing, “There was no warning, because nothing was picked up on the scanners. No skiffs or cutters or yachts, or any aircraft of any kind were detected within five miles of the Garrison. None broke the outer perimeter.”

  “Commander Cardington, you are beginning to test my considerable patience.”

  “Again, my apologies, Captain, that is not my intention.”

  “All right, Commander, then indulge me. If there were no penetrations of Garrison Security, how did these terrorists get aboard? Unless I’m mistaken, or the Garrison has been moved without my knowledge, it is quite impossible for anyone to just walk up and attack it.”

  Lewis was able to keep his expression passive, despite his embarrassment. He couldn’t fault the captain’s skepticism; he had been equally reluctant to believe the reports. In fact, he’d put off coming here as long as he could, attempting to buy time for his people to finish their assessment. But, in the end, he decided there was simply no way around it. He couldn’t sweep this under the carpet.

  “As of this time, Captain,” Lewis said, “we have not been able to ascertain exactly how they managed to get on board.”

  “Are you telling me these bastards appeared out of no where, attacked our garrison unchallenged, then disappeared into thin air?” The captain asked, all pretense of amusement gone from his voice.

  “No, sir,” Lewis responded, relieved to finally report some good news. “Our response forces have tracked the attackers down to a location in Old Town. I have additional units en route to secure the area and take the criminals into custody. We should have them within the hour, sir.”

  I hope.

  A click came from somewhere in the darkness, then two small lights appeared at the base of the far wall. Two rows of lights turned on in sequence from the floor and formed a framework around a tall cabinet. The captain approached the cabinet as a pair of double doors folded opened with a hiss.

  In the light, Lewis made out the captain’s form. His long red and gold robe loosely draped over his shoulders. Underneath, he wore a pair of black trousers, tailored specifically for his long legs, and a pair of red slippers. His jet-black hair was meticulously combed straight back, and Lewis spotted the very edge of his long, curly mustache.

  The captain tapped a few buttons on the side of the wardrobe.

  “I want you to think very carefully about how you answer my next question, Commander Cardington. If there were no transports detected around the station, then how were you able to track them to Old Town? How did they get off the station?”

  Lewis cleared his throat. “They jumped, Captain.”

  A loud bang echoed through the dark cabin, making Lewis jump. The captain swung his natural fist again and again, repeatedly striking the side of the open cabinet. Lewis was sure he’d heard the wood crack and split. The cabinet wobbled with each hit but didn’t fall. A string of curses filled the cabin. After several seconds, silence returned. The captain stood there, his back to Lewis, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath.

  The captain muttered under his breath, Lewis only just made out what he said. “Goddamn bastards. That wretched girl and her goddamn Lo
st Boys!”

  Lewis realized he’d been holding his own breath and slowly let it out, careful to make no noise as he exhaled.

  A mechanical whirring interrupted the silence, as three arms folded out of the cabinet. One reached forward and removed the captain’s robe as an additional light—just barely a glimmer—illuminated the cabinet, bathing the captain in a pale glow. Even with the dim lighting, Lewis could make out the scars and bioware implanted in the captain’s back. Thin metal bands wrapped around the captain’s back and torso. Small electronic leads extended from stubby connectors and disappeared into flesh.

  It wasn’t the hideousness of the captain’s back that put the lump back into Lewis’s throat, but the scarred and disfigured stump of his right arm. The twisted and discolored skin stretched and grafted haphazardly back together turned his stomach. No one knew how he’d lost the arm, but judging by the grotesque amount of damage the captain, Lewis guessed any other man would not have survived.

  He’d heard countless rumors, of course, ranging from the outlandish to the downright ridiculous. Lewis Cardington never wanted to guess. Some things were best left unknown. Besides, what mattered more than how he’d lost his arm was who’d taken it from him.

  Two barely audible pops followed by a mechanical whining interrupted the tense silence of the room, as two hinged-brackets turned grabbed something Lewis couldn’t see and detached it from the pedestal inside the cabinet. He knew what it was without having to see.

  The sight of the captain’s mechanical arm rotating into place gave Lewis an uneasy feeling. It’s long, metallic fingers were too skeletal for his taste and he could never quite get the image of an undead monster out of his mind.

  Inside the silver framework of crisscrossing metal bands, colorful wires wove through the open mechanical parts. Electro-muscles and pivot joints worked the arm back and forth and around as it swung into. Lewis watched silently as the captain slid the stump of his right arm inside contraption. Several small clamps folded out from recesses on the base of the arm and hooked into anchor points implanted into the captain’s body with tiny clicks.