Ring of Beom

By Renee Duke

Earth-born adolescents, Meda and Kirsty, are eager to explore the Zaidus system. They just don’t want to explore it as members of an organized tour group. The chaperone’s a harridan, and most of the places they’re forced to visit are really boring. Striking out on their own holds far more appeal, and despite limited funds and unexpected mishaps, they manage quite well – at first. But thanks to a bratty little brother, a dimension-travelling alien girl, and a handsome alien prince, an independent tour of the Zaidus planets is not without its complications.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781771456203

Renee Duke

Renee Duke grew up in Ontario/B.C., Canada and Berkshire, England. Due to a treacherous re-drawing of county lines while she was out of the country, her little English market town is now in Oxfordshire, but she’s still a Berkshire girl at heart.After qualifying as an Early Childhood Educator, she went on to work with children of all ages in a number of capacities, including a stint in Belize, Central America with World Peace and Development. These days she still does occasional interactive history units with 6- to12-year-olds at an after-school care centre but is otherwise retired and able to concentrate on writing.Renee's BWL Publishing eBook titles are available in all the major markets and her print books can be found in local bookstore. For more information about Renee's books including blurbs, reviews and purchase links, please visit her website:http://www.reneeduke.ca/ReneeDuke.htm

Book preview

Ring of Beom

Side Trip Book 1

By Renee Duke

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-0-2286-0116-6

Kindle 978-1-77299-385-1

Print ISBN 978-1-77299-384-4

Copyright 2016 Renee Duke

Cover art Michelle Lee

Model photography Summer Bates, © 2015

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication

To my nephews, Bryan and Braden Duke, step-nephew, Shad Nelson,

step-niece, Rachele Fretwell, and my godson, Lee Johnson, and his brother, Tim,

whose liking for sci-fi just might have come from Auntie Renee’s influence.

Acknowledgements

Back when my best friend and I were young teenagers, it was our ambition to don backpacks and go youth hostelling around Europe as soon as we graduated from high school. But that was a few years off. In the meantime, we amused ourselves by thinking up adventures for futuristic young travellers who would be hopping around planets instead of countries. We spent quite a lot of time doing this, and some of the scenarios we devised made it into this book.

I therefore extend full acknowledgement and gratitude to Linda Rogers, B.A., M.L.S., research librarian at Kwantlen Polytechnic University for her creative input towards the finished product.

And, should you be wondering if we actually did go backpacking around Europe after high school, the answer is, yes, we did. But while the trip was (mostly) enjoyable, and memorable enough to perhaps warrant a book of its own one day, we did not, alas, run into any handsome alien princes with planets to save.

Cover models: Emma White, Emiliano Feeny, Annabella Feeny, Kaylan Hait.

Chapter One

Don’t Miss The Trip Of A Lifetime!

A unique opportunity to abandon comfort and safety

and experience the thrill of traversing hostile alien

worlds while fighting for your very survival.

Travel ads never say things like that.

If they did, Kirsty wouldn’t have found it so easy to talk me into ditching our chaperone and going round the Zaidus system on our own.

Krista (a.k.a. Kirsty) MacGregor is my best friend. Her nickname, ‘The Curse’, derives from her flair for coming up with idiotic schemes. Schemes that lead her, and those foolish enough to listen to her, into trouble. Skipping out on our edu-tour definitely fell into that category but, to be honest, I was just as eager to get away from it as she was.

Over half the inhabited planets in the Zaidus system belong to the Association of United Planets (AUP). My parents are AUP recruiters, and before they, and others like them, talked these planets into membership, their cultures had been as rich and diverse as those of their still independent neighbours. Within a decade they’d pretty much abandoned their own traditions and embraced the new ways promoted by integration teams. Except for a few physical features and unique social customs, they were so similar to one another, it was hardly worth going to them.

I said as much when my parents first suggested an educational tour of all the local AUP members capable of supporting oxygen-breathing life forms.

You can’t be serious, I groaned.

Frowning, my father assured me they were. We’re thinking of your future, Andromeda. So are Kirsty’s parents. You’ll both be working for AUP one day. It’s important that you study its impact on alien cultures.

But the cultures on AUP-member worlds aren’t alien anymore. If you want us to learn about alien cultures, you should let us explore some real ones, like Neil is doing. He’s been to Klavor’s Illuminated Swamps, and the cave cities of Rithiol, and…

My mother sighed. Kirsty’s brother is twenty-one. You and Kirsty are barely fifteen. Fifteen-year-olds do not belong on primitive worlds that have not, as yet, come under any kind of AUP influence.

And Neil is going to be an integrator, like his parents, my father added, with a touch of impatience. A rudimentary knowledge of independent worlds will be of practical use to him when he returns to take up a position in the expansion department.

That’s right, my mother agreed. You and Kirsty haven’t expressed interest in any particular field as yet. An edu-tour will give you both a better understanding of how AUP works and help you plan your careers.

Kirsty’s parents spun her much the same line. We did our best to talk them out of the idea, but we really had no say in the matter. From their point of view, enrolling us in an edu-tour group solved a lot of problems. Some Zaidus planets had failed to respond to AUP’s overtures, and expansion plans were at a standstill. The AUP Directorate was bringing special negotiators in to handle the holdouts, and our parents had new assignments in a region of space just beyond the Zaidus system. This region was chock full of planets AUP was anxious to encompass, and most recruiters and integrators expected to be away from their base planet of Yerth for at least a year.

Originally called Yaix, Yerth was the first Zaidus planet to be declared an official AUP world. Eager to please, its leaders thought AUP personnel stationed on it would feel more at home if it had a name similar to that of the association’s founder planet, Earth. Our parents liked it well enough, but new assignments always excited them. They were far too busy getting ready to waste time arguing with Kirsty and me. They had to do something with us, and for reasons that have no bearing on this narrative, our regular boarding school was unwilling to take us back. Waving our objections aside, they signed the necessary papers and packed us off on the edu-tour with my thirteen-year-old sister Arlyne, and kid brother Simon. Simon’s only ten, a full two years under the edu-tour company’s minimum age requirement, but his high intelligence (and my parents’ high connections) got him into the group.

Our tutor-cum-chaperone was a hefty middle-aged matron with tightly pinned-up hair and forbidding blue eyes. When we first met Hortense Bromley she was wearing an unattractive two-piece travel suit and a disapproving frown. In the weeks that followed, the suits changed, but the frown didn’t. Except to become more disapproving. There was a male chaperone as well; a quiet, unassuming young man named Giles Hanson, but Mrs. Bromley was definitely the one in charge. We rarely heard Mr. Hanson say anything beyond, Yes, Mrs. Bromley, and No, Mrs. Bromley. Most of the time, everyone forgot he was there.

An AUP escort had dropped us at the starport well within the time specified, but Mrs. Bromley acted as though we’d kept her and our eight travelling companions waiting for ages.

At last, she said upon seeing us. Come along, everyone. We should have been aboard our transit barge ages ago.

Charming, isn’t she? a girl commented as we gathered up our luggage.

Och, aye, Kirsty replied. We’re sure to be great friends, her and I.

The landmasses of Earth have been united under a central leadership for over two hundred years, but some people like to preserve aspects of their individual ethnic heritages. Kirsty is one of them. Like me, she was born in an area old Earth maps refer to as North America, but her ancestors originally dwelt in Scotland, the northern section of what was known as the United Kingdom. Mine lived to the south of them and were apparently referred to as Sassenachs. She taught herself ‘the Gaelic’, and has been adding a Scottish lilt to both Earth English and the universal Galacto language for so long, it’s now her natural way of speaking.

Mrs. Bromley’s decision to sit in the barge’s windowless main section did not go over well with Simon, who likes to watch planets shrinking beneath him when he’s transferring up to a ship. He took a seat, but having what one of his teachers once called a low regard for authority, he didn’t stay in it long. The minute Mrs. Bromley turned her back he headed for the doors leading up to the observation deck.

It was not until she went to take her own seat that Mrs. Bromley noticed Simon’s was empty. Where is your little brother? she demanded, looking down at Arlyne.

The query threw Arlyne into an immediate panic. The Brent siblings all have brown eyes, brown hair, and an average build for our respective ages. Our facial features are quite a bit alike, too, and except for her hair being somewhat shorter than mine, my sister is, physically, a smaller version of me. That’s where the similarities end. Arlyne is compliant, sweet natured, and inclined to look on the bright side of everything. I am…not. I might not clash with the powers that be as often as Simon, but I don’t always find it convenient to fall in with all their edicts either.

Arlyne, well, let’s just say adult approval means a lot to her. The only time she wavers in her ongoing campaign to please them is if it involves telling tales on Simon. Bitter experience has taught her he has too many ways of getting even. Unsure as to how she should respond, she just bit her lip and looked helplessly at me.

Simon’s not here, I said, deciding to bail her out.

I am well aware of that. What I want to know is, where is he?

I considered the matter. Well, he really likes window seats. Since there aren’t any down here, he’s probably gone up to the observation deck.

I told everyone to stay with the group. The astonishment in Mrs. Bromley’s voice indicated that opposition to her dictates was not within her realm of experience.

Och, well, Simon’s a thrawn wee beggar, said Kirsty, tossing her flame-coloured tresses unconcernedly. He never listens to a word anyone says. Dinna fash yourself. He’ll come back when we connect up with the ship.

He’ll come back now, Mrs. Bromley declared.

She wheeled round, but before she could go in pursuit of her errant charge, the barge’s launch siren sounded and she had to strap down. Thwarted, she could do nothing until we docked beside the ship and Simon joined us at the connector doors. Moving with surprising speed, she pushed through the crowd, grabbed him by an arm, and yanked him toward her.

How dare you go off by yourself after I expressly forbade it, she scolded. You’re a naughty, disobedient boy.

Having been called that, and a lot worse, by a number of harassed educators, Simon did not exactly reel from this rebuke. Before she could improve on it, the connector doors opened and we were forced to move onto the starliner’s receiving deck. By the time boarding officials had scanned our travel documents and pointed us in the direction of our on-board accommodation, her annoyance had increased tenfold. She had also got it into her head that everyone connected to Simon was responsible for his act of insubordination.

She ranted all the way to the row of double-occupancy cabins allotted to our group.

Such behaviour is totally unacceptable. I know good conduct is not your strong point—reports supplied by every school you have ever attended revealed that—but you will find me far less tolerant than the people at your former institutes of learning. You four have got off to an extremely bad start with me.

Arlyne started snuffling. Seeing how upset she was about this so-called bad start, Kirsty and I hung our heads and tried to look remorseful.

Simon didn’t bother. Had we known how the rest of the edu-tour was going to go, we wouldn’t have either.

Our first port of call was the planet Jorthoa. The starliner transporting us there had all the usual recreational facilities designed to divert passengers from the tedium of a space voyage, but no one in our group was able to take advantage of them. Our time was taken up with a heavy academic workload, and whatever adult-oriented concerts and lectures Mrs. Bromley wanted to attend. The only time we were not under her direct supervision was when we were in our cabins for the ship’s regular sleep cycle or our own, Bromley-mandated, post-lunch rest. The adults had cabins to themselves, and during rest time, Mrs. Bromley disappeared into hers to engage in what she called inner meditation; which we were pretty sure consisted of lying on her bunk and calling upon unknown forces to channel her enough meanness to see her through the next few hours.

Everyone disliked Mrs. Bromley and hated the strict routine. By the time we got to Jorthoa, we’d all come to regard the edu-tour as boarding school on the move.

Well, almost all.

I’m sure things will be different once we’re down on the planet, said Arlyne, trying to placate us.

And I’m sure they won’t, retorted Kirsty. She’s already told us we’re to walk aboot in twos and stand in a semicircle while she blethers aboot what she’s showing us.

Some of it might be interesting.

It’s not. I’ve seen the list.

One day in every city is set aside for other attractions, Arlyne went on. Attractions the tutor or someone in the group thinks might be worth a visit.

Aye, and the only ones we’ll be going to are the ones she thinks are worth a visit.

And that’s exactly how it was. On our first free day in the Jorthoan capital, some optimistic adolescent suggested going to a huge amusement park that boasted every type of legal amusement known. It would have made a welcome change from museums and art galleries, but Mrs. Bromley refused to even entertain the idea.

An amusement park is of no educational value, she informed the boy who had proposed it.

It’s not supposed to be educational, he protested. It’s supposed to be fun.

Your parents did not place you on this tour to have fun.

If they did, they should be after getting their money back, Kirsty muttered.

Mrs. Bromley shot her a glare, and Arlyne quickly said, I think you’re right, Mrs. Bromley. Going to an amusement park would be a waste of time. Determined to reverse our tutor’s initial opinion of her, she never missed an opportunity to agree with the woman. She positively beamed when this particular show of support won her a gracious nod from the old harridan.

I’ve nothing against the park, I said, bestowing a look of scorn upon my obsequious sibling, but if we have to go somewhere else, what about the Fortress of Jorthoa? The fortress was one of several attractions featured on a city info-card I’d bought for my pocket computer. It was reputed to have withstood many a siege, and a visit to it appealed to my love of history.

It didn’t appeal to Mrs. Bromley’s. She told us she had already decided to take us to the Jorthoan government’s central legislative building, a sombre-looking structure located in the oldest part of the city. According to a map I called up from the info-card, it was frustratingly close to my fortress.

We put in a very tedious morning. Then, at lunchtime, Mrs. Bromley did a head count and came up short. Just like on the transit barge, her little band of travellers was not complete, and the missing component was the same one as before.

Simon.

After tut-tutting about inattentive students who wandered away from the group and got themselves lost, she ordered lunch for the rest of us, told Mr. Hanson to supervise the eating of it, and sailed off to look for the child.

So, do you think Simon’s lost? I asked Kirsty as we sat down with our food.

She gave a derisive snort. Being lost means (a) you don’t know where you are; or (b) no one else knows where you are. And we both know where young Simon is.

Simon had not entered into the amusement park debate earlier. He never argued about anything he’d already made up his mind about. The fact the park was nowhere near the legislative building wouldn’t have kept him from taking off to see it if he