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The Space Between The Stars (A Corsair/Mim Adventure)

Philip covered a yawn as he stepped into the courtyard, then blinked rapidly as the morning light struck his eyes. This world orbited a comparatively young blue-white star, hotter and brighter than the cool red giant of his homeworld. Finally, with a grimace, he put on a pair of smoked glasses.

Was it later than he’d normally get up? It was hard to tell. The throne-world of the Pleiades had a 22.7 standard hour day, as opposed to the 26.1 standard day of the homeworld. But it felt early. Especially since an attractive young woman he’d met at the feast had enthusiastically kept him awake for hours after they returned to his apartment. But, early or late, he was awake.

Rolling his shoulders, he put himself through twenty minutes of stretching and warmups, then drew his rapier. He sketched a bow to his imaginary opponent, then took a stance. Visualizing his opponent doing the same, he tapped his blade against the imaginary one. “En garde.”

Parry. Thrust. Side-step. Lunge. Parry. Retreat. His imagined opponent was highly skilled, even more than he was - his imagination made no mistake and felt no fatigue. It wasn’t quite as effective a workout as a training work, but it sufficed. And it was far more portable.

Finally, dropping with swear and breathing hard, he called a halt. His blade rise in salute and he bowed. Only then did he sip water from the jug he had brought with him.

Only then did he notice that he had an audience.

“Princess,” he called, bowing low to the balcony and sheathing his rapier. “You honor me with an audience.” He rose from the bow and averted his eyes as he realized ah was half-naked. Yes, public nudity of this sort was acceptable among the Pleiades. But he was not Pleiadean. “Did I wake you? If so, I beg pardon.”
 
Yusra inclined her head when Philip bowed, but smiled and shook her head when he apologized for waking her. "Of course not; it's nearly midday, I ought to have been out of bed hours ago. I think my people will forgive me for having a bit of a lie-in though."

She crossed the balcony, her callused feet unbothered by the heat radiating from the white stone. Yusra kept an eye on her prey as she descended the stairs and met him in the courtyard below. The warm smile was one she had not deemed John yet worthy of, nor was the slight bow she gave his brother.

"Which, by the way, good morning my prince." Yusra poured him another cup of water and allowed her fingers to brush lightly over his when she passed it to him, then plucked at the shoulder of his jacket. "We must find you clothes fitting the climate, to ease the change of weather for you if not to best please your ancestors."

Leaning her hip against the small table, she gestured to the rapier. "Do you do such exercises every morning? And in such heavy clothes?" She smiled and adjusted subtly each time he tried to look away. Finally she tilted her head to meet his eyes behind the tinted glasses. "Why do you not meet my eyes, my prince? Have I given offense?"

Yusra knew perfectly well why Philip averted his gaze. Public nudity was unacceptable in the Hyades, and while waist-up clothing was generally optional in the Pleides Yusra herself broke with generally accepted custom. Common people walked around bare-chested; nobility did not. Not only were they lighter-skinned and more susceptible to cancer from too much exposure to the white hot sun (though still less so than Hayadeans), but they also spent much of the daytime inside, away from the heat. The princess was one of the very few non-servant residents of the palace known to walk about outside in the heat of the day.

Gatimu told her that her people loved her for being one of them. It was one of the very few things he and Bomani could agree on. She was dark like them, she bared her breasts like them, and she didn't run from heat or hard work. She wasn't one of them, of course; royal blood lit her veins with the grace and will to guide her people, and she was in no way common. But they deserved to be ruled by one of their own people; not these usurpers who had interbred with mzungu colonizers and tried to emulate them without bothering to understand where they had come from in order to determine where they ought to go. If she could teach Philip the ways of his ancestors' people, how to rule by her side, they would love her all the more.

"Well, it is no matter." She smiled fondly. "Once we have found you some proper clothes, would you like to see the real Kambugudha?" Her eyes sparkled as she studied him. "Not this royal facsimile?"
 
“Is it nearly midday?” Philip looked at the sky, shading his eyes against the fierce glare of the primary. “I see that it is. I fear that my biorhythms are still set for Hyadean standards.” He grinned slightly. “We use light treatments to reset them for lengthy travels, but this visit was not expected to last more than a few weeks.”

He kept his eyes carefully averted as the Princess descended the steps, an act made more difficult by who she was. There was a natural masculine instinct to look upon an attractive woman, after all. And she was an attractive woman with skin like his own. He’d met but few like that. “[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]We must find you clothes fitting the climate,” she said, touching his arm, “to ease the change of weather for you if not to best please your ancestors."[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“The climate is less difficult to adapt to than the light, I fear.” He gestured at the sky. “I am far more accustomed to older, gentler stars.” Idly, he scratched at a bead of sweat in his neck. “But I do believe I could dispose of this jacket, once I finish my training.”[/BGCOLOR]

She moved to examine his rapier and he shifted his gaze. “[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Do you do such exercises every morning? And in such heavy clothes?" She moved again as she asked, deliberately bringing herself into his line of sight.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Every morning I am able,” he answered. “And again with my brother. His life has depended on my speed with blade and pistol more than once I fear, and mine on his.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Finally she tilted her head to meet his eyes behind the tinted glasses. "Why do you not meet my eyes, my prince? Have I given offense?"[/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)] [/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Not at all, Princess - although I am no prince myself.” Drawing a deep breath, he met her eyes. “I seek to avoid giving offense, in the manner of my people. I know that the customs of the Pleiades are different, but I have sought to be a perfect gentleman each day of my life, and I am a gentleman of the Hyades.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“[/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Well, it is no matter." She smiled fondly. "Once we have found you some proper clothes, would you like to see the [/BGCOLOR]real [BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Kambugudha?" Her eyes sparkled as she studied him. "Not this royal facsimile?"[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Philip hesitated, aware of the potential for scandal. But curiosity won out. “I should be delighted, highness. Thank you.”[/BGCOLOR]
 
Yusra's smile widened into a grin when Philip agreed to go on a tour with her. "Well then my prince, you may find your ability to be a perfect Hyadean gentleman somewhat stretched," she teased, bumping him gently with her hip. "Our customs are different here." She touched a bright orange bead on her bracelet and it glowed briefly. "A servant should be by soon with breakfast and a change of clothes. Unless you have any previous engagements, of course." She poured a glass of water for herself and sat at the small table, sipping the water slowly and eyeing him.

"You insist you are not a prince," she said at length, "as does your brother. But this confuses me. Are you not the son of the king?" She gave him time enough only for a yes or no answer. "And are you not brother to the crown prince?" Once again there was only time for a yes or a no. "Then why are you not a prince? You have royal blood, therefore you are royalty. I, for example, do not have the same mother as either of my brothers and yet here I am, forced into a union with a crown prince to secure a political alliance against invaders." Yusra gestured up to the balcony where she had left John sleeping in the room within. "I am seventh in line for the Pleiadan throne should my brother passes. Descendants who are of his blood may inherit the throne--so not, for instance, my mother or my brothers' mother or their wives--because the grace and will to rule comes not from legal technicalities but from breeding." She reached over and touched his hand. "And so just as you are a gentleman of the Hyades, I am a princess of the Pleiades, and cannot bear to show such disrespect for one of royal birth as not to acknowledge that royalty within him. You and I may be the secondary children, Prince Philip, but we are still royalty." She leaned back and smiled again, this time conspiratorially, as a servant entered.

"Ah! Thank you." She took the clothes balanced on the girl's head as she set the breakfast tray down. There were no utensils. "And here is where your brother's people might think 'ah! What savages! They eat with their hands!' But that is the way here." Her tone was light, teasing, but carried a slight air of resentment. "Should your brother ever care to join us, there is enough for him too if he hasn't called a servant already."
 
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Philip listened politely to Yusra’s chain of reasoning, responding when a response was called for and otherwise nodding at the points she made. “Admirably reasoned, Princess,” he conceded. “And my parentage carries a certain cachet, it is true. And yet, I am not royalty under the laws of succession of the Hyades. My coat of arms includes un bar sinister, or, and I am quite content with my place in the world.”

He allowed himself to fall silent as a servant entered the courtyard, bearing a tray and a bundle. The princess herself took the tray and set it before him. “[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]And here is where your brother's people might think 'ah! What savages! They eat with their hands!' But that is the way here." [/BGCOLOR]

“Oh, hardly,” Philip laughed. “Finger foods are known and accepted within the Hyades. I fear that your people are considered savages out of simple prejudice and propaganda, not out of an abhorrence for your table manners.” Making a decision, he selected a hard boiled egg and a flatbread. “Nevertheless, when in Rome...”

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]"Should your brother ever care to join us,” she remarked as he ate, “there is enough for him too if he hasn't called a servant already."[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“My brother,” Philip replied, “is usually an early riser - when matters of state require it, at least. He must have been worn out - hark, I speak too soon. Even now, he arrives.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]John waved at his brother’s greeting, then clicked his heels and bowed to Yusra. “I crave your forgiveness,” he said. “It was not my intent to be late for breakfast, but I slept deeply and well and then there were messages from my King to attend to.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“And what does your father the King write?” Philip asked.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]John took a seat. “Our father,” he replied, “has heard disturbing rumors that I took part in what was described to him as a ‘pagan blood ritual’, and seeks assurances both for himself and the House Of Lords.” He shot Yusra a glance. “His words, I assure you, and not mine.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“In other words,” Philip sighed, “the War Party has moles in the delegation.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Indeed.” John compared the food before him with the descriptions he’d memorized, then selected two hard boiled eggs. “We shall need to craft a reply for our father - would you be willing to assist with this, Princess? And once it is sent, we must give some thought to the moles.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“What do you have in mind for them, once we find them?” Philip asked.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Nothing drastic,” John replied, peeling his egg. “Mushroom them.”[/BGCOLOR]
 
Philip assured her that Hyadean prejudice was bred simply out of ignorance and propaganda and she nodded. "Ah but you see, there is a distinct difference between what you call 'finger foods,' which have an implied casualness about them," she said, selecting flat bread and fish for herself, "and having no tradition of utensils. I was never even in the same room as a fork until I was nine or ten years old."

"Nevertheless, when in Rome...”

"Particularly when Roman citizenship is your birthright." Yusra smiled and shrugged as though teasing, but really it was such a shame that so noble a man had been brainwashed to think so low of himself. To be content with his place in the world, usurped by his own brother when the throne was rightfully his!

The thought raised her hackles, and it was a slight effort to smooth them down again when John appeared. Her nostrils flared when he recounted his father's characterization (supposedly) of a sacred Pleiadan ritual.

"Spilling one's own blood, ostensibly for the sake of love, is far preferable to ritual symbolic cannibalism, I think," she shrugged before taking a bite. While she chewed she raised her eyebrows mildly when John asked for her help. "I'm afraid of the two of us, you will have to be the diplomatic half," Yusra replied once she'd swallowed. "My advice is to tell your father that it is not only a Pleidan marrying into your royal family, but you are also marrying into the Pleidan royal family. We must embrace one another's cultures or the entire alliance will fall apart."

"Once the message is sent, we must give some thought to the moles," John added.

"Clearly it was the other man in your party," Yusra insisted. "The one who handed you the torch at the ceremony. He and Prince Philip were the only ones there."

“What do you have in mind for them, once we find them?” Philip asked.

“Nothing drastic,” John replied, peeling his egg. “Mushroom them.”

"I'm sorry," she rejoined with a slight frown. "But what is mushrooming?"
 
“[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Clearly it was the other man in your party," Yusra insisted. "The one who handed you the torch at the ceremony. He and Prince Philip were the only ones there."[/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)] [/BGCOLOR]

“It’s a good thought, and certainly one to follow up on,” John agreed, “but it isn’t the only possibility. We arrived with a small entourage, after all. A security detail, communications officers, valets, things like that. We’ll want to look into each of them.”

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“What do you have in mind for them, once we find them?” Philip asked.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Nothing drastic,” John replied, peeling his egg. “Mushroom them.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]"I'm sorry," she rejoined with a slight frown. "But what is mushrooming?"[/BGCOLOR]

Both men smiled at the question. “A Hyaden colloquium, Princess,” Phillip replied. “It refers to the practice of identifying a hostile agent and then passing them incorrect information.”

“It comes from the practice of mushroom cultivation,” John added. “They are farmed best when kept in the dark and fed a steady diet of, uhm..,”. He wracked his brain, considering a polite word to use.

“Manure,” Phillip filled in.

“Indeed.” With that, John produced a small notebook. “Now then, Yusra. May we call upon your superior knowledge of your customs to help us frame our official response?”
 
"It comes from the practice of mushroom cultivation,” John added to their explanation of "mushrooming." “They are farmed best when kept in the dark and fed a steady diet of, uhm..,”. He wracked his brain, considering a polite word to use.

"Bullshit," Yusra suggested with a shrug while Philip supplied "manure" at the same time. "It makes sense. We farm mushrooms also, in the parts of the Empire that reach cool enough temperatures. But it's a clever idiom, I give you that."

“Indeed.” With that, John produced a small notebook. “Now then, Yusra. May we call upon your superior knowledge of your customs to help us frame our official response?”

The princess shrugged. "I don't understand why you need my help," she said. "The ritual is just as you observed it to be, meant to symbolize the bonds and commitment of the betrothed. If your father has a problem with one of our oldest and most sacred ceremonies, he's betrothed his chosen heir to the wrong princess." She grimaced and sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest and crossing one knee over the other. "I will not sublimate my people's culture for your father's comfort, nor will I apologise for them. Neither will I help you apologize." She set her jaw, challenging him to fight her on this.
 
“Oh for the love of...” John sighed, rolling his eyes. “That is not what I meant! You in...”

“What my brother means,” Phillip intervened, suppressing a smile as he did, “is that we do not seek to apologize for the ritual he participated in.”

“Right,” John managed, regaining his composure. “It was characterized as a ‘paga blood ritual’ in a deliberate effort to derail the fragile peace between our nations. We need a clear and factual statement of what took place in order to counter the propaganda.”

“And as mzungu, we are outsiders,” Philip continued. “Although there would be no ill intent, we will misinterpret it. Our explanation will be, at best, flawed.”

“At a minimum, Princess,” John added, “we would ask you to review our communication. To ensure it is a correct explanation.”

“No, wait,” Phillip interrupted. “I have a better idea.”

“What?” John asked.

“Let us record the two of you discussing the scurrilous lies in this report,” Philip declared, growing animated as he shook the paper. “Let our father the King see and hear what the Princess has to say. Let all the Hyades see and hear! We have a state religion, it is true.” He grinned. “But we allow every person the right of personal faith. Let our people - your people now, my lady - hear their Crown Princess describing her faith in her own words!”
 
“Oh for the love of...” John sighed, rolling his eyes. “That is not what I meant!"

"Indeed?" Yusra cocked an eyebrow. "But you seek to reassure your father about this report from his mole. Hardly words used in a situation where one is not covering one's tracks."

"You in..."

But what she did or was, she wouldn't learn. Phillip looked amused as he came to his brother's rescue, assuring her that they didn't seek to apologize. Yusra listened patiently as they explained their situation, though her eyebrows shot up at Philip's inclusion of himself in the mzungu moniker. It seemed a little education was in order. She opened her mouth to respond to John and to address their concerns, but then his brother had the idea of recording a conversation between herself and her betrothed. She pursed her lips briefly to think it over, then shrugged.

"As you wish," she conceded, "but I'm afraid it will do no good. It was, after all, a Pagan blood ritual." Yusra held her hand up to stop John's protests. For once, she was not being spiteful about wording. "It is a ritual which necessarily involves blood. And we are not of your religion and so we are, to you, pagans. I will describe the ritual, and the centuries of culture and faith behind it, but that may only make things worse. And before we go much further, and especially before I take you to meet your ancestors' people I'm afraid there must be some cultural and linguistic clarifications my prince." She unfolded her arms to expose her chest again, uncrossed her legs, and leaned her elbows on her knees before addressing Philip with a very serious look. "You are not a mzungu, my prince," she insisted solemnly. "It is a word that is not often heard in polite conversation. A slur. In other African star systems it can sometimes mean 'foreigner' or 'outsider,' but here it does not. In the Pleiades, mzungu is a slur. Much like your brother calling me a kaffir." She smiled pleasantly, though briefly, at John to make it clear in case he had somehow missed it that she had, indeed, been calling him a racial slur to his face. "You may have been raised by Hyadeans, but here at least you will never be a mzungu." A pause, then a smile. "And also the plural is wazungu."
 
Phillip and John looked at each other, and then Phillip started laughing. “One mzungu, two wazungu, three wazungu, four.”

“I actually suspected the connotation, if not the specific meaning,” John chuckled. “Still, it’s always good to have it confirmed. Shall we strike it from the official communications, then?”

“No, no,” Philip answered, still laughing. “Let’s tell the King that the Pleiadean translation of Council Of Ministers is Baraza la Wazungu!”

“Tempting,” John replies, “but no. And I think we’re clearly referring to the ceremony as a hallowed and ancient tradition of great cultural and religious significance.” He glanced at Yusra. “Is that acceptable, your highness?”
 
The princes were laughing at her. At her language. At her people! Yusra would have walked out without another word if Prince Philip hadn't become a key part of her plan. Her people had the right to two Pleiadan rulers, descendants of the people, and his people required a king of Hyadean blood. She wanted to like him, truly she did...but it was very difficult when he behaved like a common mzungu, and even moreso when he didn't take her seriously. That would need to be corrected.

While the princes laughed and grinned, the princess sat stony-faced, waiting for them to gather themselves. "When you are quite finished," she said tersely.

"And I think we're clearly referring to the ceremony as a hallowed and ancient tradition of great cultural and religious significance." John glanced at her. "Is that acceptable, your highness?"

"The truth is always acceptable," she replied loftily. "Are not your...auditing processes hallowed traditions of great religious significance?" Yusra had read up on his religion. It sounded like a dangerous cult that needed to be stamped out before it took root in her people. Once he was king--prince regent perhaps, at this rate--Philip couldn't be allowed to spread that sort of thinking among her people. Perhaps teaching him the ways of his mother's people before it got that far would go a decent way towards that. "When are we to record this pseudo-apology?" She still couldn't see a way around it; that was what this was.
 
“The auditing process,” Philip replied, “is deeply spiritual. It allows us to clear our souls of the stains of past misdeeds and find a way forward to the future. It is not a...”

John rested his hand on his half-brother’s arm. “I don’t believe Princess Yusra intended any more disrespect than we have shown to her own beliefs.” With that, he rose and bowed. “And I beg your forgiveness - again, it seems. I was so caught up in the strategy of our reply that I neglected the duty of respect to your beliefs. I intended no offense, and I am mortified that my thoughtlessness gave cause to you to be offended.”

With that, he sat down once more and examined his notes. “[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]When are we to record this pseudo-apology?“ Yusra demanded, and the irritation in her voice was palpable.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“We can begin right away,” Philip began. “We...”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“No,” John said.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“No?”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“No,” John repeated. “We are not recording an apology. We are recording a statement describing the spiritual significance of this ritual to the Princess Yusra, someday to be Queen Yusra of the Hyades.” He looked from his brother to Yusra. “The war-hawks in the House Of Lords will learn to respect their future Queen.”[/BGCOLOR]
 
"It is not what, Philip?" Yusra shot back. "Uncivilized? African? A pagan blood riritual?" Her nostrils flared and a muscle worked in her jaw as she regarded the brothers. She hated her own brothers intensely in that moment for saddling her with them. It would be their own faults when she ascended the throne; they should not have underestimated her distaste for the Hyadeans.

John intervened, putting a hand on his brother's arm. He was certainly a statesman, she gave him that much. It would be useful to keep him in a diplomatic position until she could suss out Philip's abilities to smooth down everyone's ruffled feathers. She wasn't entirely certain it was his forte. With John's apology she nodded and gestured vaguely as a sort of unvocalized acceptance of his apology.

"We come from different religious backgrounds," she said, "and it is important not to deligitimize one or the other. So..." She brought her hands together agan and couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice. "When are we to record this pseudo-apology?" Her eyebrows raised slightly as John explained that this was not an apology, and sat a little straighter (quite an accomplishment indeed) when he insisted that their parliament respect her as their queen. While Yusra tended to agree with the war-hawks on her own high council, she appreciated the insistence on civility and respect.

"I hear the Hyades is home to the descendants of the peoples of the First Western Nations," she said after a moment, a slight smile playing at the corner of her lip. "Perhaps a little...religious diversity will inspire them to examine their own ancestral practices." She shrugged noncommittally, as though freeing other people of color from imperialism were merely a suggestion that they could take or leave as they pleased. Nothing would bring her more joy than to see her peoples' freedom to follow their roots bring revolution to the Hyades. "I can describe the significance of the ritual, the symbolism, the tradition," the princess continued after the briefest of pauses, "and we can intersperse it with clips of the ceremony. It was broadcast live throughout the Pleiades, you know."
 
“Was it?” John wondered aloud.

“Yes,” Philip confirmed. “And the message doesn’t come out and say it, but I’m sure that selected clips from it were used by the war party.”

“All right.” John nodded in thought. “Why don’t we take the day to really craft the presentation? Polish it up to maximize the impact for the Hyades, and then record your part this evening.” He glanced at Yusra. “Then, once it’s assembled, we all review it to ensure it has the desired message in the best possible way.”

“That sounds good to me,” Philip said.

“Then if it’s acceptable to you, Princess, I’ll make arrangements for the recording equipment.” He looked at his brother. “Do you mind if I leave the speech writing to you? You’re better at it.”
 
Speech writing was left to Philip, with Yusra advising on the cultural topics and John giving his input on his own part. Shortly after lunch, the princess suggested a break. Standing, she gestured to the clothes servants had brought for Philip that morning at breakfast.

"I had already invited Prince Philip for a tour of Kambugudha," she said, "but you are welcome to join us."

There was no offer of a change of clothes for John. They were not his clothes, nor the clothes of his ancestors; it violated rules of hospitality to deny him should he ask, but she would not invite him to make a mockery of her culture. Once decisions had been made and clothes had been changed, Yusra led the way through one of the bustling main streets of Kambugudha. Much of the market seemed a throwback to their African roots, with stall owners calling to each other and to customers from the shade of the canopies over their wares. Still there were signs that the common people of the city had adopted the modern technology so popular in the palace, but in ways that more closely aligned with their traditions and values. Carts that would have been once pulled by beasts of burden, for example, now hovered along nigh-imperceptible tracks, produce was kept in stasis at perfect ripeness, and the vast majority of stalls were fitted with nano cooling systems to stave off the midday heat.

Yusra, for her part, greeted many of the people by name and embraced familiarly with them. Vendors attempted to gift her wares, which she refused without proper payment; children ran to play with her and goggle at her strange, foreign friends; and old men invited her to join their Mancala games. She was unmistakably a woman of the people, and loved them as much as they loved her. It was the only genuine affection that had visibly reached her eyes since the Hyadean brothers had met her, save that for her nephews.

"This is the real Kambugudha," Yusra informed Philip with a smile. "These are my people. They deserve a good ruler who cares for them."
 
“I look like a peacock,” Philip lamented.

“It suits you, then,” John replied, lady going at the expression his half-brother gave him.

In principle, the clothes Philip wore were well-suited to the tropical climate of Kambugudha. A loose short-sleeved shirt and loose knee-length breeches, and sandals. Certainly better suited than the cream-colored suit John wore. But the shirt was a brilliant blue, trimmed with elaborate golden brocade around the neck and sleeves. And the shorts were a rusty red that John couldn’t decide if it complimented or clashed with the shirt.

Certainly it clashed with the sword belt Philip wore. He’d insisted, stating that a gentleman was always armed.

“And, in truth, I enjoy the colors. A delightful change from the monochrome selections of court wear back home.” John grinned. “The Hyades could do fat worse than to follow the Pleiades in this regard.”

“You’d look washed out in these colors,” Philip pointed out.

“True.” John turned his attention back to the milling throngs of the market street, watching the enthusiastic greeting of the people as their princess walked among them. It was a security nightmare, of course. But that didn’t seem to worry Yusra as shoppers cheered and bowed and even embraced her. And she called them all by name, a masterstroke of statecraft.

The reception he and his brother received was different. Philip garnered a mixture of curious glances inspired by the Hyadean rapier at his side, and boldly appraising looks. But John was met with frank curiosity and a barrage of rapid fire questions. Yes, he informed a melon seller, he was the Hyadean prince that Yusra had chosen. No, he replied to a curious child, he hadn’t hidden from the sun his whole life. No, he told a man with a glittering prosthetic eye that lay obscenely exposed for all to see, to the best of his knowledge Hyadean were not savage cannibals that ate Pleiadean prisoners. Yes, he answered a man hawking pastries, he would like to try one.

"This is the real Kambugudha," Yusra informed Philip with a smile. "These are my people. They deserve a good ruler who cares for them."

“All people deserve such a ruler,” Philip answered. “Sadly, history teaches us that such a ruler is rare and precious.”

“My brother,” John said, “is something of a cynic.” He took a long pull from his beer, trying to ease the burning in his throat. The pastry had proven to be a painfully spiced meat pie of some sort.

“A student of history,” Philip corrected. “But it is easy to mistake the two.”
 
Yusra shrugged. "Some say cynic, others say realist," she said. "He is not wrong. But," she addressed Phillip once more, "I endeavor to be such a rare ruler. Whether I am precious is not up to me." One eyebrow quirked momentarily above a smile turned somewhat warmer than before.

It was probably a dangerous thing to be flirting with her betrothed's brother in front of him, in public, but she didn't quite care. She had observed the way her people had appraised the two brothers. John was an oddity, certainly, but beyond the initial reaction the public seemed to be polite but suspicious. Philip, on the other hand, was regarded with frank admiration from the women and rather more respect from the men than John had garnered. It didn't surprise her: one was a stranger, after all, and the other was one of their own. The only problem that stood in the way of Philip being a better match in every way was undoing all of that Hyadean brainwashing.

"I can only hope my brother intends the same," the princess added as they began walking again. John, she remembered, was privy to her plans and would in fact help her unite the Pleiades and the Hyades. Philip, on the other hand, may not yet be trustworthy. He might yet have some noble ideals about a peaceful union of the two warring factions for humanity's sake. "It is a pity, my prince, that you will not have the same opportunities. We must find you a princess somewhere willing to make you the king you ought to be."
 
“I’ve no interest in being a king,” Philip laughed. “It looks like far too much work.”

“Unlike being my bodyguard, chief advisor, and Master of Horse?” John teased.

“Entirely unlike,” Philip agreed cheerfully, smiling at two young women who freely watched him as they walked past. “I don’t have to worry about wrangling the House of Lords, after all.”

“Except for all the times that I will, no doubt, be sending you to wrangle them in my behalf,” John pointed out.

“Well, sure. There’s that.” Philip shrugged. “But the simple fact is that I can’t marry a princess.” He shrugged. “Lady Danica is rather fond of the idea of marrying into the royal family, even on the sinister side.”

“I don’t know,” John replied thoughtfully, a sly smile revealing just how much he was enjoying needling his brother now. “Something might be arranged. Did you have a particular princess in mind, Yusra?”
 
"So you will be expected to take on the responsibilities of a king," Yusra mused aloud, "and yet you would reject the title. You really are a man of many contradictions, my prince."

"Well, sure. There's that." Phillip shrugged. "But the simple fact is that I can't marry a princess." He shrugged. "Lady Danica is rather fond of the idea of marrying into the royal family, even on the sinister side." Damn! She had forgotten about his engagement.

"I don't know," John replied thoughtfully, a sly smile revealing just how much he was enjoying needling his brother now. "Something might be arranged."

"He's right you know," Yusra chimed in. "As a member of the royal family, but without the responsibilities of assuring succession, you have the freedom to choose your own bride, unlike the rest of us."

"Did you have a particular princess in mind, Yusra?" John prompted.

The princess smiled. At least if they had absolutely nothing else in common, she and John both enjoyed teasing his brother. "Well..." she said slowly as though thinking about it. "There are a number of well-bred princesses in this star system who might enjoy such a handsome consort as your brother. But if we really wanted to scandalize your House of Lords, he could always marry me." She chuckled as though it weren't a serious consideration. "It is perfectly natural for the aristocracy of my people to take multiple spouses, as I explained to you yesterday. And if marrying one Prince of the Hyades establishes a peace, why with two we three could usher in a golden age of prosperity heretofore unknown! And of course, watching a building full of foolish old men clutch their pearls, as they say, is an obvious side-benefit."
 
“I must have missed that in the cultural briefing,” Philip mused, deflecting the teasing remark. “Much was made of the polygynous practices of the Pleiades, but there was nothing said about polyandry.”

“Although you must admit,” John laughed, “the idea of the War Party collectively clutching pearls is funny.”

“Indeed,” Philip replied, before glancing up. Then he drove himself forward, catching John and Yusra around the waist and slamming them both into the wall of a nearby building. As he did, a streak of actinic light sent molten roadway surface fountaining into the air. “Shooter.”

“Top of this building,” John agreed, glancing at the angle of the crater. He glanced up as they moved, then caught Yusra up and sprinted towards the doorway Philip had already reached. More roadway fountained into the air, splattering his jacket, as the shooter tried firing straight down.

All three tumbled inside, John and Philip drawing their swords as they did. “Which Of is was the target?” John wondered.

“Why don’t we go get the assassin,” Philip grunted, “and ask him?”
 
"Well, polyandry isn't as common," Yusra admitted, "but certainly not unheard of, particularly of brothers. I don't think we would raise an eyebrow here." Suddenly she was pinned against a wall and laughed. "Well I didn't thi--" She was interrupted by a streak of light and a blast of molten paving stones. Her eyes widened and she followed John and Philip's gaze upward. She ran with John toward the building, shielding herself from a fresh splatter of roadway as they went, and tumbled inside with the brothers.

"Which of us was the target?" John wondered.

"Why don't we go get the assassin," Philip grunted as he drew his sword, "and ask him?"

"Does not matter." Yusra drew her own sword, an ornate khopesh, and started for the stairs. "He is a dead man either way." From some unknown pocket she also drew a heat ray gun of Martian design. Bare feet and a bare chest did not seem to concern the princess in regards to her own safety as she began leading the charge up the stairwell.
 
“It matters,” Philip said, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with and then pass the princess, “because the assassin is the only link to their paymaster. And it would be nice to know who we are hanging.”

It was a bit of a struggle to pass Yusra, because she clearly was not having it. But Philip pressed on, managing to slip past her on a turn. She might consider it a musguuded attempt at Hyadean ‘chivalry ‘, but he knew better. In the grand scheme of things, a Crown Prince and a foreign Princess weighed far more than the life of a bastard.

Even the bastard of a king.

Philip threw open the door tothe roof, then wheeled and threw himself onto Yusra as the assassin raised their rifle and fired. There was an actinic flash and a wash of heat, and the wall exploded at the level his head had been at. Had he not moved, both would be dead now.

So, naturally, his brother vaulted them both.

“Get down!” Philip shouted, rising to his knees. His heart turned to ice as he watched John sprinting across the rooftop, weaving wildly as the assassin tried to predict his movements.

“Would you mind doing something about this?” John called back cheerfully, kicking off a chimney and vaulting over a power bolt.

“He’s trying to put me in an early grave,” Philip lamented.
 
"Who said anything about allowing him to live long enough to see a hanging?" Yusra attempted to muscle Philip out of the way, but he managed to slip under her arm and past her on a turn.

She scowled.

The princess had to date survived four attempts on her life that she was aware of, present situation excluded. When she was seven a Hyadean national--denounced by the House of Lords as a lone extremist--had attempted to lure her into the gardens before she had called the guards. Two more were standard gunmen, from one of whom Bomani had taken a bullet to protect her. Once she had beaten her would-be assassin into a coma, and had since played her hand very close to the vest in choosing sexual partners. That had been two years ago, and she looked forward to the opportunity to kill an assassin properly this time. Of course she couldn't do that if Philip got to him first.

Yusra burst out onto the roof shortly behind Philip. The prince immediately spun and bowled her over, landing on top of her just moments before a flash of light exploded above their heads, raining down plaster and brick dust. She scrubbed at her eyes and grunted at the throbbing headache she'd acquired upon landing, then opened her eyes again just in time to see John vaulting over both of them. Philip lamented that his brother was trying to kill him and she smiled gently.

"Then I'm afraid I too must speed your passage back to your ancestors, my prince," she said, patting him on the head and kissing him before extracting herself with another grunt and pushing herself to her feet. "Give yourself up now," she called to the assassin, "and I will allow the rest of your quickly waning life to be relatively painless."
 
“Damnit!” Philip yelled, scrambling to his feet and throwing himself after Yusra. “I’m the bodyguard! Why does nobody let me do my job!”

Because John’s headstrong, and Yusra’s just as stubborn.

He pushed the thought away and surveyed the scene, his training allowing him to slow the perceived passage of time to take in details. The assassin wore chameos, allowing them to blend in with the background. From the street it had made them nearly invisible. This close, it just made it difficult to see their contours and judge gender. The rifle was similarly skinned.

John was six meters away, moving in a jerky circular fashion similar to the approach he favored against his training works. It took time to close with the enemy, but the erratic motion made it hard to connect. Although the assassin was slowly - in his accelerated perceptions - beginning to bring the rifle to bear on Yusra.

A blink, and he caught up a throwing knife as the world accelerated to normal speed. He threw underhand, sending the spike of synthetic diamond into the assassin’s right shoulder. A grunt of pain and a hush of blood followed, along with an actinic burst of light flashing skyward as the rifle clattered to the ground.

John lept in, kicking the assassin’s feet out from under them as Yusra rested the point of her khopesh against their throat. “Now,” he asked with a smile that didn’t match the fury in his eyes, “who sent you?”
 
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