The Forgotten Prince Read online

  “I don’t have time for this,” Wendy growled, then pushed her way past Tim and shoved open the infirmary door. John heard the doctor cry out in surprise just as she slammed the door shut behind her.

  Tim leaned forward and offered John a hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Back on his feet, John touched his nose gently and sucked in a breath as fingers brushed over the sensitive skin. He blinked away a tear and he gritted his teeth and the pain. He couldn’t tell if it was broken or not, but damn it hurt. His sinuses felt like two over-inflated balloons.

  “That’s going to leave a wicked black eye.” Bella said.

  “What the hell did I say?”

  Tim laughed and shook his head. “Of all the things you could have said.”

  “Yeah,” Bella said, finally tossing the destroyed harness aside. It clanged off the corridor wall and landed with a hollow thud on one of the plastic crates. “Everyone knows not to bring him up, ever. How’d you know about him anyway?”

  “Who? Pan? Hell, he’s the main character in the story. The whole book is named after him; Peter Pan.”

  Tim frowned, “Story?”

  “Yeah,” John said. “Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Wendy, Hook, Neverland, it’s all just a fairy tale; a children’s story where I come from. Disney’s made a killing on it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bella asked. “What’s a fairy tale?”

  “It’s a kid’s story, with magic and well, I don’t know, kids stuff.” He mentally cursed himself for sounding like an idiot. “Anyway, that’s not the point, the point is, someone’s gotten back to my world from yours, so…” John glanced from Bella to Tim, neither of whom appeared to understand where he was going. “So, there has to be a way to get back, right. Someone did it.”

  Brother and sister exchanged glances. Bella started to answer but Tim cut her off, “That’s a long story.”

  John straightened. “Wait, you know who it was? Do you know how they did it?” Excitement rose inside him, maybe getting home was closer than he thought.

  “Not here,” Tim said. “Not around her.”

  “Come on,” Bella said, “let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  FIVE

  Regent Commander and Lord of Nevaris, Peter Pantiri, looked up as the Revenge passed overhead; the floating warship cast a long shadow over the platform where he stood. His connection to Pix told him the temperature had dropped marginally in the warship’s shadow, although physically he did not feel the difference. The pebble-sized bot hovered silently just above his right shoulder, continuously scanning the area around them.

  Above him, the Revenge moved on, continuing her slow patrol around the Skyward Garrison thousands of feet above the city below. Four twin-turret cannons, mounted on the wide underside of the vessel, continuously scanned their sectors of fire, ready to lay waste to anyone foolish enough to come within range. Her matte black hull gave the illusion that she was simply a hole in the sky. Massive solar sails stretched out from her hull on either side, soaking up the early morning sun.

  Pan took a long breath of the crisp, cool air then turned his attention back to the storage tanks in front of him. Thin trails of smoke rose from the obliterated containers, the acidic smell of dust filled his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose for the tenth time this morning, but despite the almost unbearable smell, he was glad to finally be back in the city. The last few months monitoring the Outlands had begun to tax his patience; besides, those damned workers were about as likely to revolt as the Graft were to return.

  And to hell with them all if they did, he thought.

  Pix sensed someone approaching, and instantly scanned and assessed. The information was overlaid in the left side of Pan’s field of view, showing him an image of the man and pertinent information beside.

  Major Clayton Brigham stopped several feet behind Pan, snapped to attention and waited. Pan adjusted his black armored jacket—its dull metallic surface scarred and marked from uncountable battles—then turned to face the Major.

  “Major,” he said in a level tone.

  The Regency Officer nodded, his voice confident and professional. “Commander Pantiri, sir, it’s an honor to have you aboard.”

  “Indeed,” Pan said, impressed that the man’s lie had come across thoroughly genuine.

  For the Supreme Regent Commander to arrive on your doorstep during a time such as this wasn’t something any commander would welcome. Still, the man’s bearing was a refreshing change from the uneducated degenerates of the Outlands.

  “May I offer you some refreshment, Commander? I’m sure after your—”

  “No, thank you. I would prefer to get right to the task at hand. What information do we have so far?”

  Brigham cleared his throat. “Of course, sir. Initial diagnostics of the Garrison’s systems revealed no issues with the outer perimeter sensors. Technicians are in the process of inspecting the hardware and software of the system.”

  He motioned the smoldering tanks. Twenty cylindrical containers, fifteen feet tall and ten wide, sat arrayed in four equal rows. The innermost containers had taken the most damage, but even the ones around the edges were severely damaged.

  “The attack inflicted moderate to heavy damage on several other station systems, however, as you can see the storage tanks were hit the hardest. Eighteen are completely inoperable and the other two will require extensive repair work before they can be recertified.

  “Repair teams have been dispatched to several affected areas, however the Garrison, as a whole, remains largely intact.”

  “I wouldn’t call a sixty percent loss of our most valuable asset ‘intact.’”

  “No, sir.”

  Pan glanced over the tanks for several more moments, considering the damage. A loss of this magnitude had never been calculated into any of the captain’s contingencies; it truly was a crippling loss. In fact, he was sure now that he’d confirmed the numbers, the captain’s timetable for the Regenics Project would not hold up.

  At the moment, however, that was a secondary concern and one that he would defer to the captain. Right now, he needed to focus on hunting down those responsible.

  “What of the enemy capabilities?” he asked. “Still no information on how many of the bastards made it on board?”

  The Major shook his head. “From what I’ve been able to determine, most of the reports identify two setting the explosives which caused the damage here. Although, reports from the security personnel from the other side of the station report seeing three running through the superstructure.”

  “So, we could be looking for at least five?”

  The Major nodded. “That is a possibility, Sir.”

  Five. Pan’s gloved fingers flexed around the soft grip of his shiftblade, secured on his belt. An outright attack on the Garrison was a bold move. Hell, most would call it insane, and he knew of only one-person crazy enough to attempt it.

  She’s getting desperate, he thought, wondering who Wendy had sent. Probably Michael and one or both of the twins.

  He doubted that she would have been among them, no one had seen or heard from her in years. It was a pity, if only he could get his hands on her, he could crush the insurgency and end this pointless war.

  “And what of the other attack?”

  “Yes, sir, the attack on the collector.” The Major lifted his jaw slightly. “The ship was attacked as it made its transit through the Terminus. The system logs show that it sustained major damage to its engines as it passed through the portal. Unfortunately, the Garrison went into full lock down shortly thereafter, and the emergency system shut the Terminus down. We have not reinitiated.”

  Through its connection to the Garrison computer network, Pix identified the platform where the collector in question had been assigned and shot away, through the still morning air.

  Pan adjusted the sleeve of the dark green shirt under his armor. The attack on the collector didn’t make any sense; it would be replaced wit
hin the hour, so why expend resources destroying it. The only conclusion he could reach was that it was simple a target of opportunity. Right place, right time.

  “I want a search team sent through as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I doubt there will be any survivors, but I do not want those ignorant fools on the Otherside to get their hands on any of our tech.”

  “Of course, sir, but there’s something else you should know.”

  “What is it, Major?”

  The Major glanced up as one of the patrol skiffs flew past, then said, “Immediately after the incident, I instructed my operators to review the data logs, in order to have as much data as possible about the attack.”

  “Go on.”

  “Two of our Terminus stations reported anomalies they are having trouble explaining. My senior systems analyst has reviewed the data and tells me that the Terminus software most likely suffered some kind of feedback damage caused by explosions from the collector when it was attacked. We have shut down Terminus operations while the technicians work through the system. He assures me that the system will be repaired and back to full working order by the end of the day.”

  Pan frowned. He had never heard of the Terminus system falling victim to any kind of software malfunction. Out of all the things the Graft hadn’t done well on this world, the Terminus had worked perfectly for as long as he could remember.

  “What kind of anomalies?”

  The Major hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat again and said, “Some of the information indicates that a second transference might have taken place during the incident. Again, my people tell me the glitch will be correct by day’s end.”

  As the major finished, Pan’s connection to Pix opened and what he saw made his blood run cold. His grip on the shiftblade tightened as his heart thundered in his chest.

  Impossible.

  Superimposed on his vision, the image of some kind of seat hung by thin cords from the support structure of the platform above. It rocked gently in the breeze as Pix circled around it, showing him every angle. He knew immediately what is was, even though he’d never seen anything like it before, and worse still, it was empty.

  “There was no glitch.” Pan said, hardly believing what he was seeing.

  “Sir?”

  This changed everything, Pan thought. He will burn the entire world down.

  “I want this entire area locked down. The Garrison will be locked down and on Alert Level One. Is that understood, Major?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As of this moment, all leaves are cancelled. I want all personnel recalled.

  No one is to leave the Garrison and under no circumstances is anyone allowed onboard.”

  The Major, obviously confused and surprised, said, “Yes . . . yes, Sir.”

  “Our forces tracked the enemy to the surface?”

  “Yes, sir, to a Duster Enclave in Old Town.”

  “Is the site secure?”

  “Yes, sir, our security forces arrived on-scene shortly after the attack and have locked down a five block area. They are conducting a building by building search and detaining all the locals.”

  “Inform the team commander I am on my way down.”

  Without waiting for a response, Pan moved to the edge of the platform and activated his harness. A surge of energy flowed through him and lifted him into the air. Then he shot up to the Revenge.

  SIX

  Truthfully, the last thing on John’s mind had been food, but as they moved through the corridors and the smell of breakfast reached him, his stomach growled. He glanced at his watch, wanting to know how long it had been, but the small display was blank. He guessed it had been at least six or seven hours since he’d spooned the last of the meatloaf into his mouth, raising an eyebrow across the table at Mark as his friend’s face turned ghostly white.

  If I’d only had the chicken, he thought.

  He might have been puking his guts out, but at least he’d still be home. Then Mark might have been pulled through into this world and John wasn’t sure that he’d wish this one anyone. He decided a hot meal would do him good, but he would much rather find a way home.

  A voice beside him said, “You all right?”

  The question pulled John away from his thoughts. He glanced over at Tim who gave him a questioning look. “Oh, yeah, fine,” he said. “Just hungry, I guess.”

  “How’s the nose?”

  John had taken some gauze from his med-kit and held it gingerly against his nose until the bleeding subsided. Then he’d popped a few low-level pain pills into his mouth and dry-swallowed them. “Sore as shit.”

  They stepped around a row of crates stacked in a row down the center of the corridor. Two of the crates had been pushed together lengthwise, and someone had laid out a pillow and several blankets. An open duffle sat on another with clothes piled up around it.

  “Most people don’t like getting too far away from the hanger,” Tim explained. “Evacuations can happen pretty fast around here.”

  “No fun to get left behind,” Bella added.

  They rounded another corner and another familiar smell reached John’s senses. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Bacon?”

  Bella grinned. “You like breakfast?”

  “Favorite meal of the day.”

  “Ha!” She clapped her hands. “You’re in for a real treat.”

  As it turned out, the mess hall reminded John of almost every other mess hall he’d ever been in. A buffet line stretched along one side and the rest of the space was filled with tables. People sat on crates or footstools and sometimes even chairs, as the sounds of eating and morning conversation filled the air.

  A short, pudgy man stood behind the buffet line with his apron hanging loosely around his plump frame. John was sure that the apron might have been white at some point, but the white had faded to a stained grayish color. He wore a burgundy shirt underneath, sleeves rolled over his wide shoulders. His thick arms looked like they hadn’t seen sunlight in years.

  His gaze shifted to them as they neared the serving line. He pushed his wide-brimmed visor higher on his forehead and grinned.

  “Morning, Bella.” His neck wobbled and rosy jowls wiggled when he spoke.

  Bella waved and hurried to be first in line. “Hiya, Tubbs.”

  She picked up one of the plates and snatched utensils from a plastic tray.

  “Is that bacon I smell this morning? Please tell me its bacon.”

  He lifted a pair of tongs. Long, crisp pieces of bacon held within its clutches, and he smiled.

  His teeth might have been perfect, John thought, if he still had all of them; his left incisor and left K9 were missing. The rest, however, sparkled.

  Bella jammed a fist into the air and cheered, “Yes!”

  Tim put a hand on John’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “It’s not the best food around, but he tries. Stay away from the onion soup; just fair warning.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” John answered under his breath, not sure how onion soup fit on the breakfast menu.

  John and Tim both selected plates from the haphazard stack, as the chef piled food onto Bella’s plate.

  “That’s enough,” Bella said. “What else you got today?”

  “Only eight pieces?” Tubbs asked with a grin. He re-rolled one of his sleeves. “There’s plenty more.”

  “Oh, okay, you talked me into it.” She held her plate forward again, and he piled on four more pieces.

  “Geez, sis,” Tim said. “You do know bacon is a side, not a meal, right?”

  The chef set the tongs down. “Nonsense, in fact, bacon is its own food group. Did you know th—” He stopped short as his eyes landed on John. “Oh, hi, I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Fresh meat, as they say. I’m John,” he said, extending his hand.

  Tubbs wiped his hands on his apron, eyebrows raised.

  “Well, I’m not sure what you mean, but I’m Ernie. Ev
eryone just calls me Tubbs.” He motioned to himself. “It’s ‘cause, well…”

  They shook hands, and John said, “Nice to meet you. What’s for breakfast?”

  “Oh! Well, nothing special, some Swiper eggs, scrambled or fried, either way. I was able to pick up several different fruits from the Midtown market yesterday, and some wheat bread. It’s a little stale, but it’s still better than that brick-of-shit out of the ration packs. Some ridgeback boar chops, and yes, even bacon.” He nodded at Bella, who was already stuffing a piece into her mouth.

  “So good,” Bella mumbled with her mouth full.

  “Not too often we get new people around here,” Tubbs said, “but, glad to have you. Be sure to try the Onion Soup, it’s fresh this morning.”

  Tim gave John a quick shot to ribs with an elbow. John coughed and smiled amicably, “’Never doubt the chef,’ that’s what I always say. I’d love to try it.”

  A surprised look came over the chubby man’s face, and Tim coughed into his hand. John thought he heard a ‘no’, but wasn’t sure. The chef looked like someone had just given him the largest compliment ever. Large, brown-eyes twinkled as he shuffled awkwardly to the end of the table.

  “Was my mother’s recipe,” he said, “‘course, I’ve made my own slight improvements.”

  He spooned the thick soup into a bowl and handed it over. John thanked him and they moved down the rest of the line, making their selections. Tim politely declined the soup and they found a table near the back of the room.

  Tim motioned to the bowl on John’s tray as wisps of steam rolled off the pale green contents. “I’m telling you, don—” His eyes flashed to something over John’s shoulder and he cleared his throat. “It’s good stuff.”

  Tubbs stood behind John, beaming. He held a small pitcher of water and three glasses. The chef smiled, set the pitcher and glasses on the table then stepped back. He gave the soup a nod. “Let me know what you think. I always have plenty left over.”