The Royal Yot

By Renee Duke

Aware that a hostile empire has designs on several of its members, the Sovereign Planet Alliance (SPA) is keen to add the newly discovered planet of Xinthuva to its ranks and gain access to top-notch Xinthuvan defence technology. Trouble is, the Xinthuvans are staunch royalists. So staunch, that membership negotiations cannot even begin until they've held a magnificent royal get-together for their royal head of state and the royal heads of state of each and every Alliance planet.

Unfortunately, a royal head of state is something most SPA worlds no longer have.

Even after they all manage to come up with suitably regal, albeit, in some cases, reluctant, representatives for this vital gathering, worrisome incidents on the specially commissioned starliner making its way to Xinthuva lead its captain to suspect that someone aboard his ship does not want this gathering to be a success.

But who among the royal envoys is targeting the others? And why, when bringing Xinthuva into the Alliance stands to benefit them all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: May 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228622253

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

Prologue

Personal Journal of Her Royal Highness, V’Tarala XXI, Azana of Azan, twenty-fifth signatory member of the Sovereign Planet Alliance.

Planet of Birth: Earth, fifty-sixth signatory member of the Sovereign Planet Alliance.

Social Status: Ordinary Citizen (Earth), Reactivated Ruler (Azan).

(Details of other royals provided in the Dramatis Personae at the end of this narrative.)

The Sovereign Planet Alliance (SPA) will soon be putting out an official report on the perilous journey its multitude of regal emissaries recently made to that grandiose conclave known as the Royal Yot.

This isn’t it.

The official report is sure to contain all the pertinent dates, schedules, expenditures, and other boring facts and figures bureaucrats take pleasure in providing. It will doubtless also drone on about the social, political, and historic significance of the trip and the Royal Yot itself, and do so in far greater detail than this informal account written for my own benefit and that of any denizens of Earth, Azan, or wherever who might be interested in the thoughts, feelings, and observations of someone of both Terran and Azan ancestry. The latter being what got me involved in the Royal Yot in the first place.

The views expressed are strictly my own, and if my take on things seems to come from more of a Terran viewpoint than an Azan one, I can’t help that. I was born and raised on Earth and have only visited my mother’s home world three times in my entire nineteen years of existence. Dual citizenship notwithstanding, I’ve always considered myself more Terran than Azan, and have therefore chosen to use Earth’s Latin alphabet for all the alien names, titles, and so on within these pages, several of them mere approximations. (Some alien alphabets don’t have vowels; others far too many.) I’ve also employed Earth terms for age and time references, mostly because math is not my strong point and any attempts at more precise calculations would probably not be—make that, almost certainly not be—precise.

Something else that might not be precise is future generations’ understanding of the political climate in which the following events took place, so, before I begin, I will touch on what led to so many people from so many worlds being brought together for the Royal Yot, the largest meeting of its type ever known. SPA started organizing it just under a year ago, after a SPA explorer ship called the Starchaser ventured into a heretofore uncharted region of space and came across the planet of Xinthuva. Sensors indicated it had an atmosphere similar to Earth’s and further probing revealed it to be inhabited by a race of cultured, politically stable, technologically advanced, people who possessed an abundant enough supply of natural resources to be interested in trading off the surplus.

In other words, a perfect prospective SPA member.

Among the most desirable of Xinthuva’s resources was braquim, the clean, safe, highly efficient, power source used on almost every SPA planet but found on only a few. Even on those, braquim is difficult to extract and expensive to convert from its raw form. On Xinthuva, both processes are quick, cheap, and easy, and the Xinthuvans even have a way to use some of it to generate more of it, turning what was once thought to be a non-renewable resource into a renewable one.

But braquim was not the only, or even the main, reason the Captain of the Starchaser was told to do whatever it took to get Xinthuva into the Alliance. The Starchaser wouldn’t have got anywhere near the place if a cloaked Xinthuvan space station hadn’t scanned the ship, determined it posed no threat, and told security personnel on Xinthuva to raise the high-tech barrier protecting the planet from hostile visitors. A barrier no existing weapon can penetrate and therefore of great potential use to some of SPA’s more far-flung members that are known to be objects of interest to the nasties who control the Planets of the Mezoran Empire (POME) and like to keep adding to their collection.

Unlike SPA planets, those within POME do not have individual world governments that play nicely with others and think of themselves as one big happy family. I’m not saying SPA worlds don’t sometimes get embroiled in disputes arising from cultural differences, age-old prejudices, and individual priorities, but SPA’s high-ups, the Administrator General (a rotating position) and Joint Senate (elected equal-number, equal-status, representatives from each world) usually manage to sort things out. POME worlds are all under the control of military overseers from the home planet, Mezor, which is itself run on totalitarian lines; a system that seems to suit most Mezorans. As long as they keep to the rules set down by those in authority, they live relatively safe and comfortable lives.

The native inhabitants of the worlds they’ve conquered don’t fare as well. Kept down by brute force, they provide the Mezorans—and only the Mezorans—with the best each world has to offer. The Mezoran mindset being: to the victor go the spoils. For the past couple of years, however, they’ve been having to contend with some uprisings. Uprisings of a serious enough nature to have taken the High Command’s attention away from the annexation of vulnerable SPA worlds. But reliable intel has it that, once the Mezorans bring their rebel factions to heel, they’ll again be looking to expand. That makes Xinthuva’s planetary defence technology of even greater value to SPA than a new, more affordable, source of braquim, and adds to the necessity of having talks regarding Xinthuva’s Alliance membership—and attendant sharing of goods and technology—go the way SPA wants.

But as those on the Starchaser were to learn, talking wasn’t something the Xinthuvans were willing to do with just anyone.

An orange-skinned, by Earth standards’, pygmy-sized, humanoid race, Xinthuvans have one to five knobbly antennas on their heads. The height and number of these antennas determine social rank, with five denoting the highest. And social rank is very important. Xinthuva’s King, or Groton, is an absolute monarch, and life there is conducted along rigid hierarchical lines. Protocol does not permit him to speak directly to anyone who is not of royal blood, and others in authority are pretty selective too. The first Xinthuvans the Starchaser’s contact team made actual contact with were lesser beings charged with discovering whether or not the newcomers were worthy of being ushered into the presence of those of superior standing.

The multi-ethnic team’s lead negotiator, an Earth-born diplomat named Willard Nugent, was an autodidactic polyglot whose first language was English. Once the lesser Xinthuvans had, through pantomime and encouraging smiles, been made to understand the purpose of a Kirean language assimilator, Nugent got the assimilator’s operator to provide them with the rudiments of English and enter the rudiments of the Xinthuvan language into the assimilator so the contact team could learn that. With the means of communication thus established, they all got to talking and both sides liked what they were hearing from the other as regards the many commodities and benefits on offer.

What the Xinthuvans liked most, however, was a key word in the Alliance’s full name: The Sovereign Planet Alliance. That word being, ‘sovereign’, which, in English, has a number of meanings. One: someone who, by right of birth or conquest, rules over other people; another: an autonomous government like the individual planetary governments in the Alliance. It can also mean something known to be effective, such as a sovereign remedy for an ailment, as well as being the name of a gold coin once used as currency on parts of Earth, and, well, there are other meanings too, but they’re not really relevant since the Xinthuvans pretty much latched onto the first one.  To them, a Sovereign Planet Alliance could only mean an alliance of planets ruled by sovereigns, an élite group in which they and their beloved Groton obviously belonged. But how, they asked, could that even be discussed when their Revered One could only speak to his equals? As in, fellow royalty.

Fortunately, the Starchaser had a young startographer who was a member of a minor branch of the Royal House of Relos. After a quick briefing, he was transported down to Xinthuva and managed to get the contact team as far as the planet’s high chancellor. But, sadly, no farther. The high chancellor made it clear the startographer was not royal enough to meet with the Groton himself and said, even if he were, the Groton could not possibly make such an important decision as joining an alien alliance without speaking to all the parties involved. To that end, the high chancellor suggested something called a yot be convened in the Xinthuvan capital.

Yot means ‘gathering of equals’ which, for the Groton, was strictly limited to other royal rulers. Not a problem for some Alliance planets. The three dozen or so with active monarchies just put the Royal Yot on someone’s agenda. But for the bulk of the Alliance’s one hundred and eleven members, it wasn’t quite that simple. They’d been run by centralized planetary councils for so long, many royal bloodlines had faded into obscurity and, in some cases, disappeared. The Relosian startographer-cum-diplomat knew that, but by then also knew enough about the Xinthuvans’ obsession with royalty to realize it would not be in SPA’s interests to say most of its planets were no longer under royal rule. With such a major prize as the barrier technology at stake he was sure people who knew more about such things than he did would manage to meet any conditions the Xinthuvans set down and rashly promised them a full measure of Alliance royals for the proposed yot.

He did, however, have the presence of mind to point out that preparations might take a while and the Xinthuvans generously allowed the Joint Senate one Earth year to co-ordinate the schedules of ‘so many esteemed royal personages’. Genealogists on every Alliance world were called in to find the heirs to long defunct thrones and, difficult though it was for some, all the planets in the Sovereign Planet Alliance did eventually come up with bona fide (and sort of bona fide) sovereigns on whom to confer the honour of representing their home worlds at the Royal Yot on Xinthuva.

Not all of the royal recruits were pleased about it.

I certainly wasn’t.

Chapter One

My father, Duncan Smith , is an historian specializing in Terran history, my mother, V’Yocta Vra Smith, an Azan architect specializing in the restoration of historic buildings. They met on Azan when he was attending a SPA historians’ conference in an old Azan palace she’d helped restore. When the conference ended, he returned to Earth and was delighted to find her aboard the same ship. She’d just accepted a job fixing up some ancient Earth edifice and by the time she finished, Dad had proposed, and she’d received enough job offers on Earth to justify moving there. She did, of course, retain a fondness for her planet of origin and gave all three of her children Azan names: V’Bryss, V’Tarala, and V’Patsinee. For the sake of a quiet life at school, we dispensed with the family branch designation, V’, and transformed the rest into Bryce, Tara, and Patsy. Patsy’s the only one possessed of our mother’s telepathic abilities, but in addition to the sort of pinky-beige skin common to both our parents, we did all inherit her honey blonde Azan hair and, with it, the ability to have it change from that to ginger, to orangey red, to dark auburn, depending on our mood.

If Azan’s long discarded, but temporarily reinstated, monarchy had operated along the same lines as most of Earth’s once did, my maternal grandfather would have become its reactivated ruler and my mother his heir apparent. But, no, they had to have a mandatory retirement age that eliminated my grandfather and a ‘skip a generation’ proviso that did the same for my mother, the idea being to have each new reign begin with someone young and energetic. Under these rules, the throne went to the eldest eligible heir, and my older brother had the good sense to abdicate as soon as Azan officials turned up on our doorstep. I would have too, but another dictate concerning royal succession only permits one abdication per generation.

Bryce’s excuse for shirking his duty was that he’d only just started medical school and couldn’t afford to take time away from his career path.

His career path? What about mine? Our paternal Aunt Abigail and her husband Owen Beale worked on a starliner catering to the cruise market, she as its entertainment director, he as Chief of Security. And that’s what I was planning on becoming too. An entertainment director, that is. Not a security chief. Except, I really like animals and so was also thinking maybe a veterinarian or a zoologist. Or perhaps a historian, like Dad. Or...well, okay, so I haven’t entirely made up my mind. But I’d often worked with Aunt Abby during school holidays and was giving serious consideration to her offer to get me taken on as an official trainee while I sorted out my true calling. But before I could as much as accept or reject the idea of becoming Tara Smith, entertainment trainee, I had to turn my attention to becoming V’Tarala XXI, Azana of Azan. Or, to give myself my full title: V’Tarala Abigail Brelle Yocta Parshela Mizarine Vra-Smith, twenty-first Azana of Azan, Queen of its Eight Continents, Empress of its Thousand Islands, Overseer of its Six Oceans, Keeper of its Mystic Mountains, Guardian of its Sacred Scrolls, Upholder of Justice, Defender of Faiths, Seeker of Wisdom, Extoller of Virtue, and Servant and Protector of all who dwell within its domains.

Quite the list, isn’t it? But a list I managed to commit to memory before boarding the Aristocrat, the Terran luxury starliner chosen—doubtless by virtue of its name—to transport all of SPA’s oxygen-breathing royals to Xinthuva. (Those who breathed other things drew the Yuhmos, a multi-atmosphere equipped Dreshovan ship.)

For me, the choice couldn’t have been better. The Aristocrat was the ship Aunt Abby and Uncle Owen served aboard, and having it as my official royal transport though space meant I’d have more family support than expected; the other suppliers of this being my father, my sister, and my cats, a brown tabby named Boris and a ginger and white named Rufus. Out of all my pets, they were the ones best suited to space travel, and guilt over his—to me, reprehensible—decision to reject the crown and place all of Azan’s Royal Yot obligations on my shoulders made Bryce amenable to taking care of the remainder of what my family calls my mini-zoo. My mother would have seen to them for me if she’d been home, but by the time the Aristocrat picked me up, she was on her way to Treol to work on the new government building tentatively destined to become the official residence of whoever—if all goes well—becomes the Xinthuvan member of SPA’s Joint Senate. (SPA planets take turns hosting the Joint Senate and Treol had just started its five-year term.) Patsy could have gone with her, but chose to accompany me and Dad.

Dad was making the trip as the historical advisor to Earth’s royal representatives, the King and Queen of Tonga. About a dozen places on Earth still have active monarchies, and choosing which of them should represent Earth at the Royal Yot came down to (a) who was willing to, and (b) who could offer up a reason the Xinthuvans would find plausible as to why they should. Only three even tried for it, with Japan’s royals pushing their position as the oldest monarchy, and Britain’s pointing to the fact that their ancestors had, at one time, reigned over the most countries, but the Tongans beat out both by claiming Tonga as the first place where, timewise, each of Earth’s days began. When challenged on this, they amended it to the first place with a monarchy, making them the first royals to greet each new day and thus entitled to take precedence over those in other localities, logic the Joint Senate thought the Xinthuvans would probably accept.

Accept it they did, adding this new little piece of information to everything else they’d come to know about Earth. Which was a lot. They knew a lot about all of SPA’s other worlds, too, and even more about each world’s royalty. The Xinthuvan High Council was so anxious for everyone on Xinthuva to know exactly how to treat their highborn guests that the Aristocrat was asked to carry with it a team of Xinthuvan observers eager to learn the proper way to behave towards them. (As was another, oxygen-tank equipped, team on the Yuhmos). Our team consisted of a provisional ambassador, Thoak Bu Xin, and six Hereditary Royal Servers, all of whom observed us very closely in order to make sure they missed nothing regarding royal protocols. Which, thanks to all the royal info-packs they’d requested, received, and studied most assiduously, they knew inside out.

Every protocol.

For every royal.

Of every SPA world.

And not just protocols. The info-packs also contained copies of each planet’s governing charter and other important documents, and handbooks with in-depth accounts of its history and societal values. That made them happy, but was hard on SPA’s royals, who were then compelled to become as well versed in their individual rights and responsibilities as the Xinthuvans were so the Xinthuvans wouldn’t twig to the fact that the vast majority of us were new to the job. Something not likely to go over well if reported to Xinthuva.

In addition to pets and relatives, and some crew people I’d travelled with before, I found another familiar face aboard ship—a handsome twenty-one-year-old named Riley Maguire who’d been working as a lounge attendant on another vessel but had recently transferred to the Aristocrat to take on the more prestigious role of assistant manager in its passenger services department. Our families are close friends so, having known him my whole life, I was little miffed that he didn’t seek me out to as much as say hello until my fourth day aboard.

I was in my quarters at the time, reciting my royal credentials to Azan’s Royal Duty and Protocol Advisor. There was more to being the Azana than knowing all my titles, and M’Rath Hra had taken on the challenge of ensuring I knew everything I was supposed to know by the time we got to Xinthuva.

With me thus occupied, it was Patsy who answered Riley’s buzz and let him into the fancy mid-size suite the Azan royal party had been assigned.

The door slid open just as M’Rath was saying, Stop, Your Highness. As I have said before, you are no longer Guardian of the Sacred Scrolls. That title was bestowed on an obscure nobleman who rendered a service to one of your ancestors half a century before the monarchy was officially dissolved.

"Well, as I’ve said before, I memorized that list a couple of weeks ago and the sacred scroll bit is now mentally embedded, so it’ll just have to stay in."

But—

No ‘buts’. I hereby reclaim it from the obscure nobleman’s descendant.

I do not think you can do that.

I’m the Azana. I can do anything I want. Besides, it took you months to find me, the highest of the high. Finding the heir of some obscure nobleman will probably take years. By then this Royal Yot thing will be over. I turned and, adopting one of the haughty tones I’d been practicing, said, So, we meet again, do we, Mister Maguire? I assume you prefer to be addressed in a formal manner, since your lack of eagerness to renew our acquaintance would indicate you believe me to have risen above your social level and can no longer be counted among your friends.

Hardly. But with royals and their entourages being taken aboard on an almost daily basis, I’ve been really busy. I figured you’d be busy too, boning up on how to be the... Riley took a hand computer from a compartment on his belt and accessed a list, ...the Azana V’Tarala Abigail Brel—

V’Tarala Abigail Brelle Yocta Parshela Mizarine Vra-Smith, was just what the priest bestowed on me at my infant naming ceremony. I still just go by Tara.

Even now you’re the Azana?

Especially now I’m the Azana.

That’s a lot of names.

Not as many as there could have been. Dad wouldn’t let Mum go above six. Most Azans have twice as many. Want to hear all of hers? Or M’Rath’s?

No.

Are you sure, Mister Maguire? M’Rath asked. Males have even more.

You’re kidding.

No, they really do, I confirmed. My grandparents offered to give Dad some to supplement his paltry three, but he’s content with just Duncan Bradley Smith. I turned back to my advisor. Please go away for a while, M’Rath. Riley and I have some catching up to do.

M’Rath smiled, bowed, and withdrew.

I looked at my sister. You can vacate the premises too.

Oh, but I’m your lady-in-waiting. I have to be on hand in case you want anything.

She smirked as she said this, causing me to wonder if I’d been that annoying when I was fourteen. Deciding I probably had, I gave her the look Bryce used

Reviews for The Royal Yot

[Eileen Charbonneau · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Had enough of Royal celebrations yet? But wait, take another dive--into the future. You'll love Queen V’Tarala XXI, Azana of Azan (mere earthling teen Tara Smith on her dad's side)'s adventures aboard a starliner with a mission: to protect her confederation of planets through a feat of diplomacy at a royals convention to end them all! There's treachery afoot, but it's the journey that will keep you enchanted. It's a grand convergence of galactic royals of all stripes and temperaments--s a wild, creative tour-de-force ride that would both try and delight all the crews of the Starships Enterprise. Engage!