Steph Bennion - Hollow Moon

“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.”

“What have Que Qiao ever done for Yuanshi?” asked Kartikeya. “Tell me that!”

Yaksha shrugged. “Given us a breathable atmosphere?” she suggested.

“Not to mention the cities and infrastructure,” said Namtar.

“And food,” added Inari, burping loudly into the butler’s face. “Lots of it.”

“Que Qiao is taking Yuanshi’s wealth for themselves!” retorted Kartikeya. “Just like it has long done on Daode. The justice we will bring to this moon is only the start, for our ultimate goal must be to rid Yuanshi, Daode and Lingbao of Que Qiao so that all of India’s children can share in the bounty of Shennong.”

“Just like you are sharing the wealth of Kubera?” retorted Yaksha. Surya, sitting sleepily at her side, wondered if he had been forgotten. “Is it not hypocritical of you to preach of equality from the comfort of a palace when so much of Lanka lives in poverty? Or to sit drinking the best wines when alcohol is forbidden by the Church you profess to serve?”

“Yaksha,” murmured Kartikeya, warningly.

“What with your pretentious royal court, your foolish feud with Que Qiao and the ban Taranis has imposed on music and anything else that brings a bit of joy to the poor, you and that mad priest seem determined to drag Yuanshi back into the dark ages!”

Silence fell across the table. Kartikeya stared frostily at Yaksha, then jumped as Inari clumsily dropped a serving spoon into his dish, where it landed with a loud clatter. As one, Kartikeya, Namtar and Inari turned to see how Surya had reacted to Yaksha’s impromptu outburst. They were greeted by the sight of the Raja slumped forward upon the table, almost but not quite fast asleep. The long day really had been too much for him.

“It is fortunate he is not awake to hear your words,” murmured Kartikeya.

Surya, his eyes closed, heard a scrape of a chair and felt a hand upon his shoulder.

“It is not my words he should be worried about,” Yaksha replied softly. “If you will excuse us, I will take him to his chamber. He has another long day ahead of him tomorrow.”

Kartikeya sat at the holovid console, waiting for the connection to be made. He felt ill at ease; partly because the tiny alcove in which the console stood in the palace basement made all users feel claustrophobic, but more because the man to whom he was about to speak increasingly left him with little room for manoeuvre.

Behind him in darkness was what he liked to call his top-secret operations room, a large barrel-roofed basement in which pride of place was given to his prized holographic projection table loaded with geographic studies of all Yuanshi. In the palace kitchens above he heard sounds of movement as Hanuman and Ganesa, having come from the Sun Wukong to get some rest before their next assignment, helped themselves to whatever food Inari had left unmolested. Inari himself had departed earlier with Namtar to embark upon a night-time raid in Ayodhya.

The message on the screen had been ‘waiting’ for what seemed an age. Kartikeya cursed and waited a little longer, then when the message still failed to change reluctantly brought up the contact details for Kubera’s resident technician on his wristpad. Moments later, a tired-looking redheaded woman appeared on the wristpad’s tiny screen.

“Kubera service desk,” she said sleepily. “How may I help you?”

“The holovid isn’t working,” Kartikeya told her, not bothering to hide his irritation. “I’m expecting a very important call but nothing’s come through.”

“Are you using the one in the basement?”

“If you mean the operations room communications centre, then yes.”

“And where’s the call coming from?”

Kartikeya blinked. He had regular holovid conversations with this particular caller but now he thought about it, he had no idea where the holovid transmissions actually originated.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted sheepishly. He called up the holovid’s call log and scrutinised the display. “The last one came from Station BS3, if that helps.”

“That’s the Ascension servermoon, Barnard’s Star,” the technician told him. There was a pause while she tapped at a console on the desk before her. “There is a transmission trying to come through, so it may be a fault with your holovid unit. Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“No,” mumbled Kartikeya. He reached behind the console and pressed the power button, waited a few seconds, then pressed it again. The holovid screen flickered, quickly ran through its start-up checks, then much to Kartikeya’s relief the status message on the screen changed from ‘waiting’ to ‘connecting’.

“Thank you,” he said. “It seems to be working now.”