A Throne for an Alien — The Beta Earth Chronicles: Book Four

By Wesley Britton

Wes Britton’s sci-fi series, The Beta-Earth Chronicles, orbits in a realm light years away from Star Trek or Star Wars.

The Blind Alien (Book 1) followed Malcolm Renbourn, a man from our world, unwittingly transferred to a parallel Earth and forced to adapt to new cultures and a new language while coming to grips with the loss of his sight. In The Blood of Balnakin (Book 2), Tribe Renbourn traveled to a new continent, where even stranger adventures awaited. The story continued in When War Returns (Book 3), where Renbourn and his wives clashed with a throne, a church, assassins, and scientist-spies.

Everything changes in A Throne for an Alien (Book 4). Once again, Tribe Renbourn is on the run, but this time they’re not alone. Fleeing the outbreak of war in the country of Alma, a fleet of ships follows them, as hundreds of exiles seek sanctuary.

Landing at the country of Hitalec, the Renbourns learn prophecy has foretold that this island will be their new home, but once again, a throne complicates everything. A dying Queen insists that Malcolm bond with one of her daughters to connect her people with the new settlers. After her death, a new Queen and her lover seek to make the Renbourns pawns in their militaristic power grabs that boil into an ultimate confrontation.

Can one Renbourn wife team with the head of the Collective to give Beta-Earth the cure to the ancient Plague-With-No-Name before their lives upturn in a final showdown?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BearManor Media
• Release date: Mar 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386198345

Book preview

Part 1

I   Energy on the Philosea

Joline: One day looking over the horizon-deck of our Barbara Blue, I thought of my lost sister, Bar. For one moment, I wondered what she might think if she looked down from the skies over Tribe Renbourn. From the quiet clouds feeding occasional gentle rains onto the foaming, rocking blue waters of the Philosea, she'd see one of the strangest, most magnificent sights in Betan history. As our fleet, our rag-tag fleet as Husband described it, sailed east across the Philosea, 60, 70, 90 ships would sometimes be a swelling entity all together, sometimes be streams of smaller fleets seemingly independent but parallel, and sometimes scattered armadas when boat-Captains decided to linger in ports or at island landings at their will.

That day, I thought, the view from where I stood on our ship was just as dramatic as any overhead eyes. After all, my vision was combined with the smells and feels of ocean winds and waters. Some days, we all saw and smelled smoke rising like gentle ladders to the clouds from ships of burning engines. Sometimes, we heard sky booms and saw vapor trails from fast-moving wingers racing above us, no doubt looking down to see what they could see. Many days, wide-sails with proud Alliance signs were filled with the winds and we looked through our glass scopes to see who was nearby.

Some decorated sails we knew well, many our friends from Biol, Oyne, and Persis. We smiled seeing their new flags bearing the Half-Moon sign Husband had made the emblem of the first peaceful resistance to a government gone mad. We waved at friendly sailors climbing up rigging or waving at us from watch-nests atop sturdy masts, especially the cargo-ship Alnenia’s father, Sikas Ricipa, had loaned our tribe to carry many of our support-hands. Other ships in the distance we saw rare. We knew their leaders only by Two-Way or EV-com contacts. We knew every ship in the fleet was filled with fearful refugees, many wondering if Alman submersibles would rise to the surface to demand some ships be turned around.

Others worried the powerful Alman Navy might make attempts to capture individuals the new Alman government might have reason to want. Men especially feared their homeland might insist on reclaiming them. But, in the main, the Alman Navy was conspicuous by its absence.

Perhaps, Alnenia mused, they prefer to leave us at the mercy of the elements and possible raiders.

Only as time passed did this unease seem to slowly vanish like the flocks of sea-birds winging overhead. Of course, many of these ships were small and designed not for long voyages. Many such had been provisioned in quick time and lacked for food, water, and long-distance navigation equipment. Cargo ships had been hastily converted into passenger vessels. Sometimes we lingered to allow these stragglers to keep close to their protective neighbors. Some days, we all paused as if we were one body to allow ships heading other directions to cross or cut through our path.

I would never have imagined, Husband remarked, inhaling the sea air he loved, that there could be traffic jams in the middle of an ocean.

We had many such. All these disparate exiles cast their fates away from the country that had given us all one choice — bend your mind, your soul, your will to one Lunta, one vision of Olos, one cruel woman with double-powers or leave. So many left. For reasons even the prophets said not, many followed the Duce of Bilan, My Husband, the blind alien of Alpha-Earth to wherever he and his tribe might go. And on this, the third arc of our voyage, we knew not where we went.

To our east, we knew Rhasvin ships were forming a buffer on their coast as if to say, Sail on, sail on, but sail not here. We knew Arasad ships floated like barracuda to our west as if hoping for at least a few morsels of tribute. But mostly the world watched and wondered.

At the moment I stood on our deck and thought of sister Bar, my womb was too full of the present and the family around me to wonder too much about the doings on other ships or in remote lands. Instead, I allowed my imagined cloud-spirit of Bar to narrow her vision, pointing her fleshless eyes downward at her namesake, our pride, the Barbara Blue. She'd have seen a very different husband from the tortured animal she'd first met in the Bergarten see-through cell, the abused teacher in the Balnakin School, the haunted husband and father who'd been blamed for the deaths of thousands. Now, if she looked closely, she'd see a man on the deck of his ship playing games with children of nine mothers, including her own daughter, Becky. If she looked close, she might amaze to see a father and his tribe in happy play, a tribe seemingly unconcerned that, once again, our family was homeless.

Once, our tribe would have looked cautious outward, wondering and speculating about the future in new places under new rules with shifting lines of power and need. Once, our Tribal Council would have mourned the loss of a beloved home and the roots we'd sought to plant on Island Bilan. Now, this tribe in transition was led by a father deliberately losing games for laughing offspring between tickling helpless mothers to the decks. Now, the reluctant father of an international exodus seemed to fear nothing.

Still, wise eyes would see Noriah of the Willing Horse and her ten Trustees spending much time on deck, teaching children and adults alike the ways of alertness and preparation. As she had for years, Sister Doret still taught everyone intricacies of Kin-Po, our exercise that was also our physical defense.

Had the spirit of Bar peered into the window of our ship's parlor, she would have seen the famous corner of Two-Way wavers that once beamed out signals of distress when Tribe Renbourn was at the mercy of Arasad raiders. Now, she'd see maps of all sizes and designs decorating the walls as every Renbourn of every age had been given a vote in the great question. Where was home?

Alnenia: I remember well the day we sailed from Island Bilan and the rip in my quivering soul. I stood by Husband and our Helprim, Jona, and we two women looked at my bond-mate wondering the state of his unhealthy heart. He looked over the waters, inhaling the salt-air he loved. But he smiled. He smiled and inhaled deep.

I confess, he told me, I feel great relief this day. I feel a great weight is behind me. I feel free.

At first, I thought Malcolm Renbourn was in some strange state of mind, although I knew well he never liked a moment of being the Duce of Bilan, but I thought he loved our secluded home, our freer life when not engaged in Alman anger and family wars with Oja and Sasperia.

I began to understand his mind when he called us all together in our ship's parlor and said simple, Renbourns, I have an assignment for each of you, from the youngest to myself. We're sailing east. We're sailing by way of friendly places where we can stop and restore our needs. This means we're essentially flowing south of Balnakin. We must avoid the Tribute Lands which means one continent is out of our path. Where are we going? You tell me. All of you, look at maps, read about countries and governments, share everything you learn. We'll find out where we can't go. We'll find out where we can. He paused and gestured outward. There's a fleet out there making their own decisions. They can stay or go their own way. That will matter not to us. Wives, children, where are we going?

So, that was the game from Sojoa-rise to Moon-rise. In their rooms, on the decks, in the parlor, a tribe of children explored books on the floor and pictures and texts on the wavers.

The older girls, Morei, Bethmal, Becky, Malnenia, and the older boys, Malbet, Jolcolm, Moline, and Qere each ran after their mothers and father with questions and information about foods, architecture, clothes, animals, weather patterns, geography, music, sports.

Even the youngest Renbourns, Denos, Holjo, Sikas, Malet, Colmet, and Lius, children of our Bilan years, pointed to pictures and tried their voices at words. In turn, we sisters listened to our offspring, did our own researches, made many coms, and helped the children create color codes on the puzzle-map on the long-table in our parlor. Blue countries we would avoid. Red countries we might consider. Yellow countries were hopeful. Sometimes, the colors changed. Most votes, it seemed, pointed to Verashesh.

It looked most promising, especially its southern regions known for complex cultural mergings and blendings. Our Helprim, Jona Solem, praised her homeland often and strong. She'd begun making contacts and bringing us offers from Legems in the most scenic and populous cities. Such votes, I knew, assumed we intended not to travel around the southern continent to sail across the Mothersea to the other side of the planet.

It's too bad, Malcolm observed, we have not Sasperia with us. Her eye for details and mind for labor and economic flows would be most helpful in this quest.

Kalma: In all my bonded life, I would have expected not the energy Our Husband shared in our first moon of our escape from Alma. I thought often of Sasperia, our strange enhanced sister now left with the role of helping a shaken Alma come to its senses. Sasperia, a genetic strangling gifted with strength above all others, would have difficulted keeping pace with My Husband at sea. One quest was Malcolm's desire to seed me, and he no longer cautioned me to be gentle in his cabin-bed. He speared me hard on the rising and falling waves. He succeeded. He speared Doret and succeeded. He speared and moaned us all. And then he relaxed, watching the energy he had created spin all across the ship.

Lorei: My womb filled with wonder and joy in short time after we departed Island Bilan. All the past patterns of our lives should have been repeated, meaning that Malcolm Renbourn would have spread a brooding mood over his family asking us all to ponder careful and consider our uncertain future. He expressed none of this on the Barbara Blue. Now, for the first time, I felt my Husband was in full Olos flow. On that sailing, he acted like he lived in total trust and love. Perhaps, I thought, knowledge and experience had progressed to understanding and then to embrace and open his senses.

True said, for many years, I had uncertained what was Malcolm the individual and what was Malcolm the Alpha-man. During those early days, much of what he did and skoled and said was memory drawn from his home planet. He had deferred decisions and values to his wives. Now the idea of Alpha-man seemed almost meaningless, at least in understanding the man sitting beside me on this ship exploring his children's toys.

Listening to his talks with Jolcolm, Becky, and the others, I thought of the way he said the words Olos and Sojoa, not with reverence but with respect, as if the words were insufficient for what they meant. Now, under Sojoa-light, he talked freely of Alpha, Balnakin, and Alma with haunting not.

For Doret and me, our meditations were peaceful and untroubled. I had visions but visions with few fears. I saw skulls of death, but they looked not Renbourn. I knew great changes to our inner circle were inevitables. I knew we had years yet of hard work, new vistas, and important challenges. Mother Olos breathed one theme in my ears, Out of many, One. This puzzled me. Was this not the call of the Lunta and her New Dome? I found no clarity. But I knew other truths for the future. Time would lead us to them.

Malcolm: Perhaps I did surprise my wives our first moon sailing away from Alma. One day, I had stood in the Alman Headring Hall preparing to do battle with the forces of the New Dome. The next, I was drugged and spirited to our island Bilan home.

The next, I walked the deck of our ship and felt elated. Too elated? For an arc, I focused on the strong, athletic legs of my Balnakin bond-mate. Why Kalma? Her intensity. My pulse was too heated for caresses and seductions and soft nights. I cared not if my heart-monitor, my Fire Alarm, flittered and chirped in the midst of love noises. That little patch on my body calmed when I laid, spent, wrapped in what I knew was dark-brown flesh.

Then, my other wives reminded me that irresistible female desirability enflames a man when they bring irresistible desire. Behind me, on Alma, I had left dark skies of failure. I felt no failure here.

One morn, I awoke alone, tired to the bone. I laid in my cabin-bed and wished not to rise from it. I thought of Loes, our firstborn, now in Rhasvi and I wondered about his new life there. I thought of little Pere with Bli and the Rimudas in Samlon Bolvair and felt exhausted. Lorei walked into my cabin, wondering why I was late for morn-plate. She laughed at me.

Finally, she said, your spear be quieted and scabbard. Before we sailed, we feared your heart would sink like lead. For this moon, we feared your feet might leave the ground altogether. Now, perhaps, you'll walk our ship deck and float away not.

I grunted. Where are we?

Lorei sat on my bed, saying, We come close to the coast of Balnakin. Captain Ovideal be certain not as to what we wish. Kalma has talked with her family. They tell her Balnakin authorities unease about our fleet. We're too many ships for us to do a workable landing anywhere for shore-time. The Captain suggests the fleet disperse along the coast and we pull into a southern port for re-stocking. There, Kalma can go ashore and meet with some of her family.

And the rest of us?

Husband, we’ve been listening to Balnakin wavers. Noriah be concerned. Balnakin uneases. Since blues were freed, much has changed. Many browns be happy not. Many were reconciled at the crater ritual. But many dislike the social changes since. We're popular not in many stratas. So, she thinks we should keep going and rest not here.

I see, I said, finally sitting up, feeling hunger. I know the children could use some shore time. But we'd be rather confined in boxes of secops and Pharisees.

The young ones do complain, Lorei agreed, but I think in one day we'll come to the town of Carneken. It thrives on visitors. The Salks have an estate there where they entertain business clients. If we land there, we could pause and take stock of our direction.

Grand, I said, pulling my surprised wife beside me. Lorei, you are part true. I fear my spear rests in its scabbard. But my tongue is tied not.

Elsbeth: I confess, my feet yearned for land when we sailed into the port of Carneken. After two moons at sea, with but short stops at small islands, it was good for the Renbourns to leave our ship in small groups and make our way to the Salk estate. There, Kalma's father, Lius, and two of his wives greeted us as our family filled the many rooms there. Our hands found quarters in travel-rests throughout the city.

It certained Lius had aged much since our first meetings together and since the death of his son, Kin, the murderer of our sister, Bar. Both our families, in truth one family, had long reconciled our feelings on this double-tragedy. Now, Lius smiled as his grand-children ran free on his estate.

In his lap, he held his namesake, two-year-old Lius, the first grand-child from his daughter. Enjoying the young noise, we all sipped concoctions mixed from local tree-fruits.

I have some news for you, Lius said, turning to Malcolm. This morn, an agent representing the Royal-House of Hitalec contacted me, knowing of your pause here this arc. Or moon, however long you choose to stay. I know not their wishes. But I suspect they might have offers for your fleet and your family.

Hitalec, Malcolm mused. The unstable island just below Balnakin. I can see why they'd like to pick up some of our outcasts. We've considered Hitalec as a stop on our way to Verashesh. Maybe some of the Almans with us might well like to find places to settle there. I gather its northern coast is quite open and attractive, when seasonal storms don't blow and rain. Malcolm laughed. Now that I think on it, it is an island of exiles and runaways. We may end up in a place like that.

Lius made discouraging noises. Oh, no, no, Hitalec is nothing more than an in-between docking-land for tradespeople on their way to richer regions. The Hitalecs govern not themselves. They depend on the goodwill of their larger neighbors. If a Royal-House in Menzia or Rymo has a spare daughter or son, they ally with the Hitalec throne to preserve ports in the middle of the Grovsea waters.

Colonies, Joline said, joining the conversation. It's a place of unconnected colonies.

Which means, Malcolm said, we might find something for those following us around and cut down the size of our entourage.

Perhaps, Joline replied with conviction not. Malcolm, you may have renounced your Alman citizenship. You may have formally been stripped of your Ducal title. This means not you are not Duce to many people who see themselves, for better and worse, as your responsibility. Malcolm, all our Almans will likely choose to stay together. Which means, for now, with us.

Malcolm groaned. And I thought I left that behind me.

A beaming Elsbeth touched Malcolm's arm. Then be not so hard on poor Hitalec. Considering all the problems we've had with governments, a country with a very weak one could be very refreshing.

Elena: All my life, I loved my Satraq home in the capital of my country, Hitalec. While hot and humid, there was no place in our palace I loved as much as our private porch behind Mother's alone-room. There, the family took most of its meals so we could look out over Port Satraq and see the great homes overlooking the great bay. Our coon-wood table sat before the two rows of unroofed Fluted columns holding leafy branches arching over the long ramp to the ceremonial sea walk. There, for years upon years, the royal family of Hitalec greeted our visitors.

Most days, however, we dined simple and with pomp not. Depending on who was present, our meals were quiet and comfortable or formal and watchful. When the lean, placid faced Gant Thanq was present, we were cautious. When his daughter Moy came home, we were considerate. But when Father, Mother, Bet, and myself were together as a foursome, we sometimes fell into the playfulness we'd known when Bet's father was alive.

Some eve-meals, natural enough, were dinners of state. Such as the eve my father reported on his inquiries into the course of the Alma exile fleet.

As you asked, My Wife, he said, his food-sticks exploring the healthy mix of fresh pickings he endured with pleasure not, I've talked with my Balnakin contacts. I know the Alpha-tribe now rests with the Salk family on their property in Carnaken. No one knows their plans. All suspect they have no plans. However, logic would dictate that their sailings will take them through the Grovsea which means we might well encourage the Duce of Bilan to stop here. My friends tell me the Renbourns are best encouraged if little pomp or official occasions are involved.

Disappointment crossed my mother's face. Why be Queen with decorative and ritualistic gatherings not?

What suggest you? Mother asked.

I think, Father said, his face a telling statement about simple foods with spicings not, that I seek a meeting with the Alpha-man while he is still in Balnakin. If he agrees, I would take Elena with me for company and her violet-eyed smiles.

I rewarded him with just such, and then saw my sister's disapproving face. I knew her mind. Her soul was a clear and open jar of resentments. She had been so since the death of her father, the shaper of her universe. And My Mother's. When the Consort-Liege of Hitalec died, his widow hid away and grew large. Even when the mourning passed, she made no effort to return to her days of healthy vigor. Unlike her second husband, who yielded his will to his demanding Helprim, my mother yielded to the temptations of triangle dust-cakes. Her First-Descendent was likewise changed.

Instead of bloating, Bet shrank and shriveled and looked older than her twenty-three years. Her upper lip jutted out in petulance and disdain, especially when forced to sip any milaco, a drink she claimed made her nose itch. Some things changed not, like her arms and legs always in separate motion as if her body would never find a unified rhythm. She spent her time with dusty legal skols and her one diversion. Collecting and displaying fossils and archeological remains from our soil. Her one passion was her trio of squawking, colorful, sharp beaked Porc birds, especially her favorite, Swain. Bet had been My Mother's nurse and confident during the sad times of family mourning.

So, the Queen and Her Heir were uniquely bonded. Still, My Mother knew her daughter's limitations. I knew some as well. This eve, I knew Bet felt any immigrants, Alpha-man or no, should come on bended knee up the sea-walk ramp to this palace instead of this royal family seeking tribes as if a business recruiting clients. As the First-Descendent, she should be the one to dress in finery, extend her lashes with thick, black, eye-jell, and meet the most famous tribe on our planet, but Bet preferred to study laws and strictures and make all her decisions based on the skols of Hitalec, Menzia, and Rymo.

Once, I mentioned this to my Father and he replied with simple kindness, Oh Elena, both Bet and you are quite young. No experience in the world. Your Sister simply draws from what she can. And she can study skols and base decisions on the words and wisdom of past Masters and Shapers. She could do worse, much worse. One day, she will need know these strictures well.

Perhaps so. But with her eyes always focused on a desk-top, Bet knew people not well. Most of her conversations were cooing dialogue with Swain in his cage. If Bet went to Balnakin, she would be our best ambassador not. She was intelligent enough to know this.

She relied on me for such. I knew she'd rely on me for the same once she ascended to Mother's place. Still, she had reasons to see me as more vain than she. I was the one who spent hours each morn and eve brushing