Exile Read online

  Table of Contents

  LICENSE NOTES

  OTHER CROSSROAD PRESS PRODUCTS BY AL SARRANTONIO

  Buy Direct From Crossroad Press & Save

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chatper 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Here's a Preview of JourneyBook Two of The Five Worlds

  Exile

  Five Worlds [1]

  Al Sarrantonio Donato Giancola

  Roc (1996)

  * * *

  Rating: ★★★★☆

  Tags: Science Fiction; American, Twenty-Fifth Century, Space Opera, General, Science Fiction, Imaginary Wars and Battles, Fiction

  Science Fiction; Americanttt Twenty-Fifth Centuryttt Space Operattt Generalttt Science Fictionttt Imaginary Wars and Battlesttt Fictionttt

  As the twenty-fifth century draws to a close, Prime Cornelian, a ruthless usurper of Martian rule, will do anything to control all of human civilization, and the fate of all humankind is in the hands of the exiled King of Earth, Dalin Shar.

  About the Author

  Al Sarrantonio, the author of twenty-eight books, is a winner of the Bram Stoker Award and has been a finalist for the World Fantasy Award and the British Fantasy Award. He is the editor of numerous books, including the highly acclaimed anthology 999: New Stories of Horror and Suspense. His short stories have appeared in magazines such as Heavy Metal, Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, Realms of Fantasy, Analog, Fantastic and Amazing, as well as in anthologies such as The Year’s Best Horror Stories, Visions of Fantasy: Tales from the Masters, Great Ghost Stories, and The Best of Shadows. His best stories have been collected in Toybox.

  EXILE: FIVE WORLDS TRILOGY, BOOK 1

  Al Sarrantonio

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  © 2011 / Al Sarrantonio

  Copy-edited by: Patricia Lee Macomber

  Cover Design By: David Dodd

  Background Images provided by:

  http://frostbo.deviantart.com/

  http://bmjewell-stock.deviantart.com/

  http://deviantvicky.deviantart.com/

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  OTHER CROSSROAD PRESS PRODUCTS BY AL SARRANTONIO

  Novels:

  Campbell Wood

  Haydn of Mars – Book I of the Masters of Mars Trilogy

  House Haunted

  Kitt Peak

  Moonbane

  October

  Queen of Mars – Book III of the Masters of Mars Trilogy

  Sebastian of Mars – Book II of the Masters of Mars Trilogy

  Skeletons

  Summer Cool

  Tales From the Crossroad, Vol 1

  The Boy With Penny Eyes

  The Masters of Mars – The Complete Trilogy

  The Worms

  Totentanz

  West Texas

  Collections:

  Toybox

  Halloween & Other Seasons

  Hornets & Others

  Unabridged Audiobooks:

  Moonbane – Narrated by Kevin Readdean / Toybox - Narrated by Al Dano

  Buy Direct From Crossroad Press & Save

  Try any title from CROSSROAD PRESS – use the Coupon Code FIRSTBOOK for a one-time 20% savings! We have a wide variety of eBook and Audiobook titles available.

  Find us at: http://store.crossroadpress.com

  Chapter 1

  An electric shock went through Dalin Shar, ruler of a world, at the moment of his first true-love kiss.

  He opened his eyes and found himself looking straight into Tabrel Kris's eyes, which were open also. He knew at that moment that she had felt the shock, too. Her eyes were copper-brown, wide, oval as almonds.

  Then Tabrel closed her eyes and Dalin did also, and their lips pressed deeper into the kiss, somehow sealing what they had felt.

  "Well," she said, pulling back away from him, suddenly aware of herself.

  "Well indeed," Dalin said. He had recovered himself, he thought—though his voice was somehow hushed.

  Color touched Tabrel's cheeks, the hollow of her neck. She said, "This is no way for a diplomat to act—"

  "Not unless she means it-" Dalin began, then stopped because he knew he was being foolish, playing a game that was expected.

  Taking a deep breath, he looked straight into Tabrel's eyes and said, "I meant it."

  Her cheeks colored even deeper, and she was suddenly flustered.

  He rescued her from her embarrassment with a laugh, realizing that she was, after all, a diplomat, and the game was expected. Taking her arm, he continued their tour of the gardens, helping her step gingerly from the ancient wooden gazebo where they had paused, at first just to admire the flaming colors of the bloomed roses which were trellised around the structure like a blanket of perfumed scent.

  They took one of the many paths leading deeper into the gardens. Above, the afternoon sky had begun to fill with fat white clouds, like cotton. Cotton was, after all, what they had come to talk about.

  "So I imagine that your quotas will be filled without difficulty?" Dalin said, sensing that Tabrel would feel more comfortable returning to the initial subject of her visit.

  "Oh, yes," Tabrel said, seemingly distracted. But the color of her cheeks had returned to its healthy normal hue, and her attention seemed to follow. "Prime Minister Faulkner has already made arrangements with your cabinet. I would say the talks have gone . . . better than expected."

  He sensed her hesitation as something more than the lingering effects of his kiss.

  "You're troubled by this?" Dalin asked.

  Suddenly she stopped and faced him on the path, amid the buzzing of insects. Accountably, with the partial blotting of the sun by clouds, the spring afternoon had grown almost chilly.

  She took his hands, and Dalin thought she meant to kiss him again until he saw the worry in her beautiful eyes.

  "The negotiations went too easily," she said simply.

  Dalin smiled. "And this is a bad thing?"

  "Yes."

  She had lowered her voice, which somehow troubled Dalin.

  "Can we be heard here?" Tabrel asked abruptly.

  Dalin shrugged. "I suppose so. If my guards are doing their duty. They are sworn to secrecy, of course."

  "I wonder .. ."

  Her frown was contagious, and Dalin could not help being annoyed at this sudden change in the afternoon's events. He thought fleetingly of the feel of her soft lips on his. An uncontrollable chill of pleasure rose up his back.

  "Anything I can do to assure you . . ." he said. "It's not that," Tabrel said. "It's not you. But Minister Faulkner . . ."

  Dalin laughed. "Minister Faulkner has been with me since
I was a child. He was my father's closest adviser, and I consider him indispensable."

  "There are things you aren't aware of . . ."

  For a moment Dalin grew serious. "If you'll confide your fears in me . . ."

  "Not here," she said; and suddenly, as if she had dropped that bit of business into a file and closed it, her face became relaxed again. Dalin noticed that she still held his hands in hers and that the deep color had returned to blush her cheeks.

  "Perhaps later?" Dalin said, and only the hint of a frown touched her features before she nodded.

  The rest of the afternoon, in Dalin's memory, was golden. Their walk through the gardens was verbally uneventful, which meant pleasant and playful, but the air had been charged with a growing electricity between them. Tabrel delighted him with her knowledge of fauna and flora, comparing the species of bees to those on Mars, as well as Martian flowers, which, she claimed, were larger and even more colorful than those in Dalin's garden.

  "That I won't believe! I have the finest gardeners in Afrasia to tend these flowers—look at that specimen!" He took two quick steps forward to cup the huge yellow-gold face of a sunflower in his hands, turning it away from the sun to face her. "Do you mean to tell me you have anything to match this on Mars?"

  "Certainly," she said. "They grow twice as tall, and the colors are deeper because the carbon dioxide content in our atmosphere is higher."

  "You must send me one, then, to prove it to me." She smiled. "It would be my pleasure, Sire."

  He felt his own face heat with blush. "You must

  bring it to me yourself."

  "I—"

  And then they each took a step, Dalin's cupping hands slipping from the wide sunflower to cup Tabrel's face, as once again their lips met, in a longer and deeper kiss.

  "I don't know how this could have happened—" Tabrel whispered, and Dalin had the feeling she was talking more to herself than to him.

  "Shhh," he soothed, and held her close.

  "But—"

  "It happened because it happened," Dalin said, hoping greatly that he didn't sound foolish. In his heart he knew that if he only spoke the truth he could not go wrong.

  "I don't know how, with one kiss, but I believe I'm in love with you," Dalin said.

  "Yes," she said.

  "And in my heart," Dalin went on, still holding her close, "I've always believed that once I fell in love, it would be forever."

  He felt her nod against his shoulder.

  "That means, Tabrel, we are united for all time," Dalin whispered. "No matter what happens."

  "Yes . . ." she whispered, in return.

  As if a switch had been thrown within her, he felt her giving body go hard. She pushed suddenly away from him, hiding her tear-stained face from his sight.

  "Tabrel!" Dalin shouted. "What's wrong?"

  "I cannot!" she cried.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Please let me go!"

  "Tabrel, there are things we must speak of!"

  But she had already turned away from him and was running off through the gardens the way they had come, back toward the Imperial Palace.

  She paused once to look back at him before running on, and Dalin Shar had the chilling impression that she was trying to memorize his features.

  "Tabrel!"

  "I cannot love you!"

  And later, when the Martian delegation, including both Tabrel and her father, Senator Kris, did not show up for a banquet in the Imperial ballroom—a banquet both in their honor and to celebrate the signing of the much-anticipated trade pact—Dalin Shar learned not only that would the Martians be absent from the banquet, but that their shuttle had departed abruptly, hours before, for Mars.

  Chapter 2

  Staring at the fading glow of a pink Martian sunset, Prime Cornelian was disturbed.

  It wasn't that his plans were not going well. They were, by any measure. The first and second phases of his campaign had just been completed, and in a few moments he would address the Senate and complete the third.

  That was not the problem now.

  There was the problem of Senator and Tabrel Kris, which was still unsolved—but it was not that, either.

  It was something else, something at the very fringes of his brain, that bothered Prime Cornelian.

  He ran the unnaturally long fingers of one hand along the sandstone ledge of the balcony he stood on. Below, the pink-red stone spread to either side in a graceful sweep; above, successive floors of the residence of the High Prefect of Mars, deceased not five minutes before of unnatural causes, narrowed to a single garret, topped with the Martian symbol of solidarity, the sickle within a circle of black iron.

  It stood as a symbol for something whose memory Prime Cornelian was now ready to rejuvenate: the ancient, vicious battle for the planet Mars, fought in the middle of the twenty-first century between what had been then the Two Worlds, Earth and Mars. It was during those times that Martians had evidenced a bloodlust like none ever seen on any of the worlds, a bloodlust which had, in the end, gained them their independence.

  Prime Cornelian's own great-grandfather had died in that conflict; and now Prime Cornelian was ready to elevate that symbol to an even higher place, by once again filling all of Mars with a hunger for war and savagery that would even outstrip the ancient one.

  Soon, perhaps, the pink sickle within the iron circle would fly on all of the Four Worlds.

  And also the Fifth.

  "Ah," Prime Cornelian said to himself, knowing at last that he had come to the edge of the problem that bothered him.

  The Fifth World.

  Venus.

  As one of his long-fingered hands continued to lightly stroke the sandstone of the railing, two others managed with the Screen he held. Almost reluctantly, he activated the viewer and watched as a series of pictures flashed inside the three-dimensional area. They were the latest from Venus orbit; and as Prime Cornelian viewed them, once quickly and then again slowly, one at a time, with great care, the tiny area of uneasiness he had felt began to blossom within him. This was not something anyone else would ever see—but Prime Cornelian knew that what he was looking at was the one vulnerable area of his plan.

  "Sir?" the timid of voice of Pynthas squeaked behind him.

  He turned his insect's head without moving the rest of his body and regarded the intruder with all the interest of a biologist studying a bacterium in a culture dish.

  Pynthas, his human body quaking, bowed at the waist, not looking up.

  "I'm sorry, sir."

  "Sorry for what?" Prime Cornelian snapped. He despised the man's inability to say what was on his mind, even more than he despised the man himself.

  "I only wanted to tell you, sir, that there's been an update on the transmissions you requested. If you'll press—"

  "I know how to use the machine!" Prime Comehan roared. In a smooth motion accompanied by the soft tickings and whirrings of his inner mechanisms, he swiveled the rest of his body around to face Pynthas. His fourth hand slid from the balcony, the long metal fingers wrapping with the other three around the body of the Screen.

  His vertical blue-black eyes regarded Pynthas silently for a moment, and then he turned his attention back to the Screen as the new pictures came into view.

  "Damnation," Prime Cornelian swore beneath his breath.

  "I'm told it's not as bad as the photographs seem to show," Pynthas said in a hopeful whisper.

  "Don't patronize me!" Prime Cornelian said angrily. "It's that bad and worse! They're arming the terraforming equipment as quickly as they can—as quicklyas they can! Do you know what that means? It means they don't care if they die! They'll martyr themselves along with the equipment!"

  Breathing heavily, Prime Cornelian turned his attention back to the new information. On the screen the hazy green-orange orb of Venus swam in a haze of thin yellow cloud. Near the poles, the budding whites of ice caps stretched tentative fingers past their boundaries. Pockets of lush darker green dot
ted the landscape here and there; and in two spots on the planet's visible surface—the huge canyon Aphrodite Terra and Alpha Regio—shallow pools of standing water glistened like silver, surrounded by fringes of vegetation.

  And here and there on the planet were the sites of future formations: where terraforming stations now stood, and where, after the detonation of the plasma blast equipment now being erected, would instead exist the blasted craters of man-made explosions hundreds of miles wide.

  Making a disgusted sound, Prime Cornelian switched to the final transmission, a close-up of a station in the process of being armed, the long sleek blue tanks of the detonators clinging like leeches to the massive blocklike terraform stations.

  "But sir—" Pynthas began.

  Filled with rage, Prime Cornelian reared back one long-fingered hand and hurled the Screen at the toady, driving him back and knocking him to the sandstone floor, where he lay trembling, eyes closed, not daring to look up.

  For a moment Prime Cornelian studied the sharp tip of one finger, which seemed to be covered in thickly drying blood, but was merely smeared with viscous oil.

  Ignoring Pynthas, Prime Cornelian swiveled his body back to stand at the balcony ledge and stare out over the now darkened horizon. The lights of the city were winking on below, even as the stars spread out in the sky above. At the horizon, the pink glow turned with a departing flash of orange to blackness.

  "Something will be done," Prime Cornelian said to himself.

  Even deeper inside his brain was another problem, even more troubling, that he would not as yet even admit existed.

  But one problem at a time.

  Gliding close by past the still cowering Pynthas, his six long-jointed limbs, the front four bearing his hands, making ticking sounds like dog claws on the smooth sandstone floor, Prime Cornelian said almost as an afterthought, "Alert the Senate that I am coming."

  Pynthas, groveling, not daring to even open his eyes, nevertheless nodded vigorously, rising from the floor only when he was absolutely sure he was alone.