Hollow Moon (13 page)

“Eight o’clock, Raja,” replied Namtar. “It is half-past
six now.”

“You will find a change of clothes in your room,” said
Yaksha, addressing Surya. “Namtar or I will come and collect you before eight
o’clock. In the meantime, I will arrange for some light refreshments to be
brought to your study.”

“Thank you,” replied Surya, slightly bemused. Declining
the invitation to dinner did not appear to be an option, but his rumbling
stomach had already spoken for him.

Namtar replied with a curt nod and departed, followed
shortly afterwards by Yaksha who closed the door quietly behind her. A hush
descended upon the room, one broken only by the murmur of voices from the lower
floors. Feeling a little at a loss, Surya sat down upon the edge of the bed,
his mind whirling. His headache was subsiding and on reflection he should have
guessed it was from his cranium implant, which his mother had explained was in
his head for reasons he still did not fully understand.

For the first time since his arrival he wished there was
a way he could hear a familiar voice. Surya owned a wristpad, for the
Maharani’s disapproval of technology had not been total, but it had been
confiscated during the short flight on the
Nellie Chapman
. The only other net device he had seen was the
holovid receiver in the next room, though Yaksha had told him that access was
restricted to a select hundred or so local entertainment channels broadcast
from Ayodhya.

Surya walked into the holovid room and paused before the
large screen. This was a true three-dimensional display; a glass box two metres
wide, a metre high and another metre deep, which he knew once switched on would
produce laser-projected images that looked real enough to be touched. After
pacing the room several times looking for and failing to find anything vaguely
resembling a remote control, he threw himself into a chair and glared at the
screen in disgust, willing it to explode on the spot.

Without warning, a loud rumble filled the room and Surya
stared in stunned amazement as the glass box suddenly filled with an image of a
mountain belching glowing lava and sickly yellow smoke. In the top corner of
the holovid screen hovered the words ‘Celestial Geographic’. Above the noise, a
voice was talking about the sulphur volcanoes on Jupiter’s moon Io.

“Amazing!” he exclaimed.

As he watched, the image shifted to show a close-up of
two spacesuit-clad figures standing at what was hopefully a safe distance from
the volcano. Ignoring the commentary, Surya left his chair and cautiously
sidled around the glass box. The three-dimensional effect was so good that from
behind the screen all he could see was the back of the spacemen’s helmets,
though it seemed their view of the camera crew had been edited out.

He thought more about what Yaksha had said about an
implant and it occurred to him that the holovid unit had somehow reacted to an
image in his mind, a thought reinforced when he became aware of a strange
square symbol in the corner of his mind’s eye. Implant technology was not
something he had come across at the hollow moon. Standing in front of the
screen once more, he tried to visualise a sliding motion, hoping this was the
way to change channels. A sudden swishing noise behind him made him jump and
turning around he saw the curtains at the window had opened to reveal the
darkness outside.

“Whoops,” he murmured.

He returned his attention to the holovid and tried to
imagine what he may be getting for dinner. Much to his delight, the holovid
switched to a cookery channel, which made him feel even more hungry.
Remembering Yaksha’s advice, he found and ran the implant calibration
programme, then experimented a while with different mental images until he
could call up at will any number of channels showing everything from soap
operas to foreign films, though the holovid was strangely silent when he tried
to access a search engine or visualise anything to do with music.

A news channel held his attention for a while as he tried
to understand what the reporters were saying about the civil war. The media in
Ayodhya made it look as if Que Qiao security forces were merely acting to
protect the people of Yuanshi and that the true villains were the terrorists of
Lanka.

After a while his headache returned and he sat down upon
a nearby chair, feeling weary. The calibration of his implant had also
activated some sort of inbuilt communication device, which impressed him no end
until he discovered that visualising a contact list resulted in just one entry,
that for Yaksha. He had never been alone like this before. He had lived his
childhood in the constant shadow of his mother and the only world he had really
known to date was the tiny corner of the
Dandridge Cole
that had become their home. Yet here he now was,
sixteen light years away on Yuanshi, a moon that had taken on an almost
mythical status through his mother’s stories of their lost kingdom and his
father’s defiant death at the hands of the evil Que Qiao Corporation. Isolated
in what was effectively a comfortable prison, it no longer seemed the stuff of
legend.

Surya was momentarily disturbed by the soft chink of
silver from the study next door. Walking through the connecting door, he looked
around the room and saw that someone had entered and left again in his absence.
Upon the table in the centre of the room was a small silver tray covered in
white linen.

“Food,” he murmured. His stomach growled in a most
undignified way.

Intrigued by what strange alien cuisine lay awaiting him,
he quickly crossed the room and lifted the cloth from the silver tray.
Underneath was a plate heaped with little white squares of bread and a jug of
what proved to be milk.

“Cheese and pickle sandwiches,” Surya murmured
approvingly, after scrutinising one of the offerings. “My favourite.”

At eight o’clock Yaksha dutifully arrived to bring the
Raja down to the great hall. Keen to be fed, Surya was washed and dressed ready
for dinner. He had gone through the endless row of clothes neatly hanging in the
wardrobe and selected a military-style suit, deep blue with gold piping. By now
he was not in the least bit surprised to find that it fitted him perfectly.

“I trust you have found everything to your satisfaction?”
Yaksha asked him, as she led him down the main stairway. “Kartikeya is most
anxious to make your stay here as comfortable as possible.”

“I have everything I could possibly want,” confirmed
Surya. “Except…”

Yaksha regarded him kindly. “Your mother?”

Surya was quite taken aback. “I was going to say my
wristpad,” he said haughtily. “Something to play music on. My violin even! Why
would I want my mother here?”

Now it was Yaksha’s turn to look shocked. “That is no way
to talk about your mother!” she scolded. “She brought you into this world,
cared for you, educated you and gave you the best start in life she could. You
have already lost one parent through the stupidity of others. You do not want
to lose the other through being foolish yourself.”

Surya considered this. “I have spoken out of turn,” he apologised.

“Indeed,” said Yaksha. “Secondly, as for your wristpad or
violin, I’m afraid music is not allowed in Kubera, unless you count those
dreadful hymns Dhusarians are so fond of. Song and dance is forbidden in Lanka.
I had hoped you knew that already.”

“No music!” exclaimed Surya, shocked. “At all? Is that
why I cannot find any music channels on the holovid?”

“Broadcasts of that type from Ayodhya are blocked,” she
told him, with a hint of regret. She saw the Raja’s puzzled expression and
tried to explain. “In Lanka, the Dhusarian Church believes that dancing and
singing encourages people to abandon self-control, tempting them towards
immoral acts. You are too young to understand,” she admitted, as he stared at
her, more confused than ever. “And maybe I am too old.”

Surya thought he detected a note of longing in her voice.
Yaksha refused to be drawn further and upon reaching the bottom of the stairs,
directed him wordlessly through a door into the room beyond.

The banqueting hall was pleasantly warm and decorated in
the same opulent style seen throughout the palace. Two huge hologram
chandeliers floated near the ceiling, the projected light reflecting off the
opaque glass bricks to make the wall shimmer with rainbow hues. The room was
dominated by a huge table, at the head of which sat a bearded young Indian man
wearing a simple tunic of green. To the man’s left sat Namtar and then Inari,
behind whom stood a domestic butler-class android in black and white livery.

The table itself was weighed down with silver dishes
containing all manner of foods, many of which unfamiliar to Surya, as well as
several bottles of wine and other drink. As they entered, the young Indian man
rose from his seat and smiled in greeting.

“Welcome, my prince!” he cried, holding out his hand. “I
am Commander Kartikeya. As you may have already been told, I have the dubious
pleasure of being in charge of the rabble here on Yuanshi who continue to swear
allegiance to your family.”

Surya approached and hesitantly shook the man’s hand. “Pleased
to meet you, sir.”

“There’s no need for formalities here!” exclaimed
Kartikeya. “If there were, it would be I who would call you sir. However, war
is a great leveller and we are all comrades now. Please, take a seat,” he
continued, indicating the empty chair on his right. “Yaksha, won’t you join
us?”

Yaksha nodded assent and beckoned to Surya to take the
offered seat, before sitting down next to him. Across the table from Surya,
Namtar ruthlessly devoured what looked like a lobster, except it was a mottled
purple colour and had twice the expected number of claws. Opposite Yaksha,
Inari was piling curried meat and basmati rice onto a wad of bread and stuffing
it into his mouth as fast as the android butler could refill his plate, not
seeming to mind the mess he was making with the sauce that dripped from his
chin. Yaksha glanced at him with a shudder and helped herself to a small
selection of cooked vegetables.

“The butler won’t mind if you help yourself,” said
Kartikeya, giving Surya a wink.

The commander waited for the Raja to take something to
eat before he himself joined in the feasting. Surya felt Kartikeya’s eyes upon
him as he hesitantly selected from the more conservative vegetable and meat
dishes, which reassuringly looked most like the food he was used to back on the
Dandridge Cole
.

“Yuanshi is famous for its seafood,” Kartikeya remarked,
taking one of the purple lobster-like creatures for himself. “Now the oceans
have all but thawed our fishermen are landing the most wonderful native
delicacies.”

Surya glanced to the remaining Yuanshi lobsters, then
thought better of it. He was weary from his journey and not in the mood for
trying new experiences, even though the food he had already tried tasted better
than anything he had eaten in a long time.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

As one, Namtar and Inari stopped gorging and looked up.

“Don’t think of it as a kidnapping,” Namtar said
cautiously.

“Though it probably seemed like one,” added Inari. “Ow!
Who kicked me?”

Kartikeya regarded Surya kindly. “We do not mean you any
harm,” he said, pouring himself a large glass of red wine. “I am sorry your
departure from your mother’s side was a little abrupt, but I can assure you it
was in your best interests.”

Surya frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“We have brought you home!” declared Kartikeya.
“Liberated you from exile! The Crystal Palace of Kubera has awaited the return
of a royal presence ever since your dearly-departed father was cruelly taken
away from us by a cowardly Que Qiao assassin. As his only son and heir, it is
your destiny to reclaim your father’s throne!”

“I am to be Maharaja?” exclaimed Surya. His day was
getting better by the minute.

Kartikeya hesitated, his face looking pained. “You will
be Maharaja,” he said guardedly. “All in good time. You are not yet of age and
when the time comes a regent will be appointed to help you rule until you are
old enough to do so alone.”

Surya thought about this. “You mean my mother?”

“We wish to protect the Maharani and keep her from harm,
especially after we so badly failed your father,” Kartikeya replied carefully.
“It is better she remains safe in the Barnard’s Star system and that someone
else helps you rule here on Yuanshi.”

“And who would that be?” asked Yaksha, sarcastically.
“Anyone we know?”

Kartikeya looked offended. “I believe I am best placed to
do so.”

“Would I be king of the whole world?” asked Surya, his
mind already contemplating a myriad of possibilities. “As Maharaja, would I be
able to do anything I liked?”

“We must first put an end to this tedious war,” Kartikeya
replied. “In time we will liberate your home city of Ayodhya and the moon will
then be yours to rule.”

“What of the war?” asked Surya. The warmth of the hall
was making him sleepy and he put a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. “Why are
we fighting?”

“For freedom!” declared Inari, spitting out a mouthful of
chewed rice.

“For the people,” interjected Namtar. “The Que Qiao
Corporation has claimed Yuanshi for itself and cares little for those who call
it home.”

“And for justice,” concluded Kartikeya. “Our vision is
for a world where everyone is equal and free from interference from outsiders.
Que Qiao is only interested in what it can take from Yuanshi, not what it can
give back.”

“The corporation believed the government of Yuanshi had
become corrupt and so replaced the Maharaja’s advisors with their own
officials,” Yaksha told Surya. “Those who had become rich under your father’s
rule did not like that at all. The rebellion became messy and your family were
forced to flee.” She caught Kartikeya’s glare and stared back in defiance. “The
boy needs to know the facts, not the political rhetoric.”