Princess: Last Stand, #10

By Blaze Ward

Travelers take passage on Last Stand. One of them might be a daughter of the last emperor of Zaddinul. And her bodyguard might be working with Lorastir Intelligence on at least a triple-cross.

 

Then Fin steps in.

 

Book Ten of the Last Stand, a shiny, new space western science fiction adventure series full of bright characters, messy worlds, and all manner of ethical conundrums.

 

Start first with Lost Dreams and then continue on and pick up the rest of this series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Knotted Road Press
• Release date: Oct 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781644703731

Blaze Ward

Blaze Ward writes science fiction in the Alexandria Station universe (Jessica Keller, The Science Officer,  The Story Road, etc.) as well as several other science fiction universes, such as Star Dragon, the Dominion, and more. He also writes odd bits of high fantasy with swords and orcs. In addition, he is the Editor and Publisher of Boundary Shock Quarterly Magazine. You can find out more at his website www.blazeward.com, as well as Facebook, Goodreads, and other places. Blaze's works are available as ebooks, paper, and audio, and can be found at a variety of online vendors. His newsletter comes out regularly, and you can also follow his blog on his website. He really enjoys interacting with fans, and looks forward to any and all questions—even ones about his books!

Book preview

Princess

Princess

Last Stand

Book Ten

Blaze Ward

Knotted Road Press

Contents

Scene One

Scene Two

Scene Three

Scene Four

Scene Five

Scene Six

Scene Seven

Scene Eight

Scene Nine

Scene Ten

Scene Eleven

Scene Twelve

Scene Thirteen

Scene Fourteen

Scene Fifteen

Scene Sixteen

Scene Seventeen

Scene Eighteen

Scene Nineteen

Scene Twenty

Scene Twenty-One

Scene Twenty-Two

Scene Twenty-Three

Read More

About the Author

Also by Blaze Ward

About Knotted Road Press

Scene One

Fin wouldn’t say that he didn’t get out much, but he didn’t get out much. Mostly tinkered aboard the ship if he did anything other than set out his trains and play, helping Auntie with maintenance or stuff, because he was probably the second most technical of everybody.

Barely.

Today, he’d needed sunshine. Or whatever it was. Not a lot of sun out there. Raining and sleeting like hell, as a matter of fact. And about four centimeters of slush on the ground slowly melting as the temperature was above freezing for the first time in a week, according to the locals.

He’d flown in and landed in it last night, being lucky to get a spot where a larger freighter had been parked earlier, so the ground beneath Last Stand was clear about four meters all the way around.

He had good boots on today. And the heavy wool socks that went with his breeches and jacket, all of them shades of bright green that didn’t mesh well with winter around here. And a long raincoat with a hood that was keeping him generally dry.

Fin didn’t care. He’d really needed to get out of the ship for a while. Go into Astoria and spend some time. He’d never been on Newhall in the local winter, so he still had no idea what to expect.

At least there weren’t many people about. Smart ones stayed out of the rain.

He was getting there as soon as he got somewhere. Promise.

You want to go anyplace in particular? Auntie asked as they got to the main square at the gateway between Astoria and the docks.

Nope, Fin replied. Following you around like a puppy. At least for now.

She rolled her eyes at him. Like usual. Wasn’t like Auntie Maru didn’t know what he was like. Her niece had married him, after all.

He fell in as she turned left and started walking. Roadway mostly pounded flat by traffic and vehicles, but nothing under it. Draining okay at the moment, but there were puddles you needed to avoid, unless you remembered how deep they were when it was dry.

No sidewalks. Not a lot of awnings, though most buildings did something over their front door.

Fin followed Maru into a shop. Somewhere between a tinkery and a pawn shop. Maybe it had been the one and accidentally wandered into the other at some point, like you did in places like Astoria? Bits and pieces, sometimes jumbled. Sometimes organized. Bins. Lots of bins. Brass and stainless steel, twisted into things he didn’t understand.

Didn’t need to. He had Auntie.

Morning, Maru, Ambrose the shopkeeper cheerfully called as they meandered.

Big fellow, though not as big as Wyatt. Still, one hundred and ninety centimeters tall, give or take. And bulky in the way of a guy who ate well and enjoyed himself. Three days of chestnut beard, tending to white on the chin. Bright, friendly eyes.

Morning, Ambrose, Maru called back.

Fin was always captivated by the mustard-colored bowler hat the man wore everywhere. Never went with any of his shirts or suits. Didn’t matter. Ambrose and that hat.

Looking for anything in particular? Ambrose asked as Fin intently tried to figure out what the hell the thing was that he was looking at. Brass. Skinny and square, about as long as his finger, half as wide as the narrowest part of a fork. Bent in the middle like a fork, except that it was more curved than bent.

He picked one up and looked at it, noting the letter carved at one end. Lots of letters.

Oh, typewriter strikers. Huh.

We came into possession of a Musician a while back, Maru was saying, so Fin put the G back and wandered over to listen.

Two experts about to expert all over things. A fellow might learn a thing or two if he was sharp.

And he liked the way she phrased it.

Came into possession.

Never once suggested how you got it. Or where.

Like stealing it out of a police evidence room on Bernadette, for instance.

In this lifestyle, Tessa occasionally merely ended up with things when some passenger got arrested in town for outstanding warrants. Occasionally an Analytical Engine, but those were rare. Usually, book reels someone had forgotten after they left.

Not all of those ended up at pawn shops. At least immediately.

A Musician, huh? Ambrose said, scratching at his beard fuzz.

I know, uncommon in these parts, Maru nodded. Looking for some parts to repair it. Failing that, maybe bar and plate stock of the right quality that I can use to fabricate replacements. A user’s manual would be a prize worth chasing.

Ambrose laughed.

Those never make it this far out, he said. How old is your model?

Maybe a century at the most, Auntie replied. At least half that, from what I’ve been able to determine from taking it apart.

Origin? he pressed, eyes unfocused on anything closer than the horizon.

Inleah, of all places, Maru laughed. Like my sidekick here. Both a ways from home.

Shit, that was a ways. He’d only come this far because he didn’t figure his parents would bother to send bounty hunters to kidnap him and drag him back to the family banking business if he was all the way out in the Hawkswold Sector.

But folks and gadgets can both find their way, given time.

Okay, so Inleah, and prewar, Ambrose mused. I’d say look at the stock on aisle three. They tended to use an alloy that was stronger but more brittle than Ergrove. At least in those days. Dunno if you’ll want to replace it directly or try something with a little more give.

Thank ye kindly, she said.

Fin followed her down and over as she touched things and muttered under her breath.

Ambrose made and repaired watches, rather than bigger gadgets like Analytical Engines, but the theory and metallurgy were both similar. Metal parts carved to exacting standards and assembled via esoteric formulae that ended up making a kind of magic when you did it right.

Telling time on one of Ambrose’s doohickeys. Making music—or at least writing musical scores—when you fixed the gadget they’d stolen from the cops.

Fin didn’t really believe in watches. You ended up having to have a different one for every planet you visited, because they all had a different orbital rotation. Easier to just tune in to a radio station where someone would call out the time every five or ten minutes.

On the Periphery, it was rare that you needed to be exacting about anything but dawn, noon, and sunset. Except timing when robbing