The man threw up his hands. “What does that matter?”
One scowling look from the woman silenced him.
“Phoebe, Phoebe Callista.”
The woman offered her hand and Phoebe took it, but remained suspicious. She refused to be taken in by the woman’s seeming kindness until she knew it was sincere. She’d seen plenty of crime drama vids where the police played good marshal/bad marshal. Phoebe looked from Mirin’s eyes to Oolo’s.
The Blarmling nodded, a small smile crossing her face, and Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. She could trust this woman.
“You must forgive Prince Loxly,” Mirin said. “He has certain trust issues.”
Phoebe noted Ryan’s cringe as Mirin stressed the last statement. His visage darkened and he widened his stance, crossing his arms and scowling.
“Prince Loxly?” Phoebe asked.
Mirin shrugged and leaned in conspiratorially, her voice a mere whisper though Phoebe doubted Ryan Loxly missed a single word. “He refuses to accept the mantle of King even though the title is now his to take. His parents and older brother were murdered by the pirates that now inhabit Shirewood Castle.”
Ryan Grunted. “A new King will be chosen by the people once we take back Shirewood Castle, and order is restored.”
The prince’s discomfort with the topic made Phoebe all the more curious. “Tell me of your situation. Perhaps I can help.”
Mirin shifted uncomfortably. “Fifty-four years ago our forefathers settled Vega-7 and decided to backtech, giving up modern technology for a more pastoral lifestyle.”
Phoebe was familiar with the practice of backteching. The Central Galactic Government condoned and even encouraged it, after the many interplanetary wars they’d had to deal with, offering the protection of the galactic marshals to any planet that would reduce its technology below that needed to leave the world. No spaceflight. No tactical, interplanetary missiles. All conflicts stayed local to the planet, and were much easier to deal with.
It made sense in certain instances. There were many groups that just wanted to be left alone because of religious beliefs or social customs that didn’t blend well with contemporary society, customs and technologies.
While Phoebe couldn’t imagine living without modern conveniences, she did note the incredible freshness of the air on this planet. Most of the inner worlds had a certain industrial tang to their atmospheres, and even the processed air felt more sterile than fresh. There was something to be said for breathing in verdant, naturally filtered oxygen. Even the hints of wood smoke and decaying vegetation, only added to the freshness she felt every time she took a breath.
“In short,” Ryan’s voice dripped with distain, “our forefathers trapped us here without the ability to protect ourselves.”
Mirin turned toward Ryan. “We were protected by the galactic marshals.”
Anger flared in Ryan’s eyes as he took a step toward Mirin. “And where are your precious galactic marshals now? How many more of our people have to die before they come to our rescue?”
The argument between them appeared to be an old one, and Phoebe found herself out of the conversation. Sitting back she hoped she’d hear something useful.
“The marshal came often before the pirates invaded. Something must have happened to him, poor man. Surely word of our plight will reach the other galactic marshals.” There was no force behind Mirin’s words, as if she barely believed them herself.
“That fat pig? I wouldn’t put it past him to have sold us out to the pirates himself.”
A prickling of suspicion tingled in the back of Phoebe’s mind. She looked at Oolo and the Blarmling nodded at her. It was certainly convenient to have the Blarmling’s ability to read minds available to her, even if she couldn’t always understand their language.
“You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Galactic Marshal, Clarence O’Callaghan?” The surprise in Ryan’s eyes told her she’d hit the target.
“You know him?” Something flashed quickly across the man’s face. Disgust? Yes, they were most certainly talking about the same Clarence O’Callaghan.
Phoebe’s emotions overrode her cautions. “He’s not a marshal. He’s a menace.”
Based on Oolo’s encouraging smiles and head nods, Phoebe felt free to open up to Ryan and Mirin. Pulled in by her animation, they moved closer as she told them all that had happened during her encounters with O’Callaghan.
When she’d finished, Mirin patted Ryan on the shoulder. “It appears you were right all along. It’s just so hard to accept . . . a galactic marshal.”
“He’s only interested in lining his own pockets,” Phoebe added.
Ryan closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Then we are truly abandoned. We must fix this situation on our own.”
A short, portly man in faded brown robes appeared in the doorway. “My liege.”
Ryan scowled. “Tucker, how many times must I tell you, I am not your liege?”
A mischievous grin spread across the portly man’s face. “At least a million more, my liege.”
Ryan sighed, shaking his head. “What do you want, Tucker?”
“I think I have found something that can help us.” Tucker held up a small round metal object.
“What is that?” Ryan reached for the object, but Tucker snatched it back.
“Oh no. It’s too dangerous to give you until I show you what it . . .”
Tucker paused, appearing to notice Phoebe and the Blarmlings. “Oh, we have guests.”
Mirin took up the introductions. “Phoebe, this is Tucker Frye. Tucker, Phoebe Callista and . . . friends.”
Phoebe smiled. “The smaller one is Oolo, and the other is Lart.”
“Lart appears to have the same eating disorder I have,” Tucker said patting his rounded stomach.
“He’s pregnant,” Phoebe explained.
“He’s pregnant?” Ryan asked. His look was skeptical.
Phoebe simply nodded.
Mirin smiled broadly as the two men stood shifting uncomfortably. “Oh, you have to tell me more about this.”
Phoebe followed Tucker, Ryan, and Mirin outside to an archery range. Oolo and Lart trailed behind. Targets of various types stood in the clearing against a line of trees. The straw stuffed replicas of animals and humans had painted markings, indicating where the archers should aim.
Four men stood back in the field, practicing. At Ryan’s approach they stopped and bowed toward him.
“Stop that!” Ryan warned, but the men backed away grinning. It was becoming obvious to Phoebe that the only one in camp, who didn’t recognize Ryan’s leadership, was Ryan himself.
Mirin walked beside Phoebe, and leaned in to whisper. “He is the best choice for our new king. His older brother, Rob, was to have ascended the throne. But, Ryan chafes at our lack of technology.”
Ryan did appear to have everyone’s respect in the camp. “Why does he resist leadership?”
Mirin pulled Phoebe further aside, and continued in hushed tones. “Only a few of us know he planned to move off-world the next time the galactic marshal made his regular visit. He hadn’t even told his parents, the King and Queen. Clarence O’Callaghan never showed, but the pirates did, taking our settlement as their own. We lost many in the fight, including Ryan’s family. If not for Ryan’s leadership, we would have all perished”
Swords and bows against blasters? It must have been a slaughter.
These poor people.
Phoebe’s attention was pulled to Ryan and Tucker.
“Observe,” Tucker said, placing the metal sphere over the head of an arrow. He handed the arrow to Ryan. “Aim at that far target.” He pointed toward a straw-stuffed animal shape that resembled a Flanconian Hindfaddle.
Ryan nocked the arrow and drew back th
e bowstring. As the arrow flew Phoebe noted it was wobbling.
“It’s a bit overbalanced by—”
A loud explosion drowned out Ryan’s words. A blinding flash illuminated the night. When her vision cleared, Phoebe saw that where the hindfaddle target had been, was now a scorched patch of ground.
Phoebe’s ears rang, but over the rush she could hear Tucker hollering. “By all the gods it worked better than I’d ever dreamed!” The man was dancing.
Ryan stood staring, his eyes wide in wonder. “Tucker, what kind of magic have you harnessed?”
“Not magic, Your Highness, science.” Tucker pulled a silver chunk of rock from his pants pocket. Embedded in the rock were tiny red and blue crystals.
Ryan cocked, a quizzical look spreading across his face, but Phoebe rushed up for a closer look.
“Synganite.” She barely breathed the word. The rock was in huge demand across the galaxy. The crystals stored potential energy in high capacity. When extracted from the rock and crushed together, the red and blue crystals would release their energy in a dangerous chemical reaction, but while held in the rock they were completely stable and safe to transport. Synganite was highly sought after for electronics, micromechanical engineering, and weaponry.
“Synganite? Is that what it’s called?” Tucker seemed pleased with the name.
Ryan raised his eyebrow. “Where did you get this?”
Tucker shrugged. “Oh, the forbidden caves are full of this stuff.”
Phoebe could feel Ryan’s excitement.
His eyes went glassy and he began to pace back and forth. “This could be the equalizer we need.”
After a few quiet minutes Ryan turned to face Tucker. “How long does it take you to produce the exploding arrowhead?”
“Three to four hours.” Tucker closed his eyes and lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “It’s delicate work and somewhat dangerous.”
Ryan sighed, “I’d want to have at least fifty before we make our move to retake Shirewood Castle.”
Tucker nodded. “A few weeks then.”
Phoebe hesitated. She was getting swept up in these people’s plight. Still, she had her own problems to deal with. The Blarmlings didn’t have a few weeks to waste. If she could move things along faster, maybe She, Rigel, and the Blarmlings could make their escape. She was more determined than ever to save Oolo and Lart’s babies.
A furry paw tapped her on the arm. She looked down into Oolo’s big purple eyes. The Blarmling again nodded her agreement.
It was all the reassurance Phoebe needed. “I could help speed up production of the arrowheads using the machines in my starship.”
The die was cast. Ryan, Mirin, and Tucker turned to her and she could see the indecision in their eyes. Could they trust her? Would they trust her?
Then Mirin smiled. “Maybe you were sent to us by the galactic Gods for just this reason.”
Tucker looked at Ryan. “If she can speed up the process . . .”
They looked to Ryan for the final decision. Like it or not, he was their leader.
A half smile spread across Ryan’s face. Phoebe could see in his eyes he still didn’t fully trust her, but his resistance was definitely crumbling. “John!”
Ryan’s call brought forth a large, burly man from the crowd that had gathered because of the explosion. Unkempt sandy hair topped the big man’s head and trailed down to his broad shoulders.
“John, rally the troops, call in the spies, and send the too young and too old to the secret caves.” Ryan’s energy was contagious. Everyone around was pulled toward him.
“I’ll need more of the synganite,” Phoebe said.
Ryan turned to Tucker. “Go get more of this and meet me at the woman’s ship.”
Then he handed the rock to Phoebe. In Ryan’s eyes she finally saw trust. “Phoebe Callista, make me some exploding arrows.”
Chapter 25
Rigel watched the room, biding his time and waiting for the right moment. The Z.M.M. was doing its best to clear alcohol from his system, but the pirate’s bartender was mixing the drinks strong. The medical microbot seemed to be having trouble keeping up. Rigel’s head swam, which he was sure was just what Captain le Piere wanted.
The chamber was crowded and rowdy. There had to be over a hundred men and women partying in a grand hall that looked somewhat like a medieval throne room. Once rich tapestries were now wine splattered, hanging in taters on the cold stone walls. High arched windows sported stout iron bars and broken glass panes. The room held the tang of spilled liquor and vomit, hastily clouded over with fragrance.
Many of the pirates were dancing drunkenly in the center of the chamber, while others talked, laughed, and flirted at the tables along the walls. A fully stocked bar offered every drink combination in the galaxy.
“Drink up Rigel, the night is young.” Captain le Piere raised a mug encouragingly. He sat in a great throne-like chair on a raised platform along one wall.
The band on stage played a Cornellian Beat Tap version of a popular Borian hit, the bass driven to a level that pulsed rings on the surface of his drink. Rigel barely recognized the song. The tempo and brassy overtones had his ears ringing.
He swallowed a minuscule portion of the strong drink, then raised his glass back toward the pirate captain and smiled. “You throw a great party, Captain le Piere.” He slurred the words drunkenly and forced a laugh.
Stumbling his way through the throng, he made his way toward the side doorway. There were too many people and too much commotion for a man more used to spending time alone in space. Still, he’d gotten that this party was all a show for him. Captain le Piere was recruiting him, showing him the good life he would live on the other side of the law. He’d needed to attend and socialize, but now it was time to escape.
With many of the pirates drunk, and their guard down, there might be a chance to make his way back to The Blarmlings’ Hope and get the hell away.
A long, shapely, tanned leg, sporting fishnet stockings like it was the catch of the day, propped itself across the doorframe and blocked his escape from the room. A week ago it would have been. Rigel’s eyes trailed up the leg, across the too-short leather skirt, and up to a plunging neckline that displayed more than it covered. Light brown bedroom eyes twinkled as the raven-haired beauty raised an eyebrow at him.
“Leaving so soon, Antares?”
Kristin Devenport, a well-known fence and trader in illicit drugs, brought her hand up to caress Rigel’s chest. The bounty on her head topped one hundred thousand credits, making her one of the top targets of every bounty hunter in the sector.
Rigel held up his drinking glass and tilted it from side-to-side, spilling just a bit for effect. “Bit too mush ta drin.” He hoped his slur was convincing enough, though it was only half faked. The alcohol seemed to be winning in its battle with the microbot in his system.
Kristin cocked her head toward a low table in the corner where lines of reddish powder rested in neat rows. “A line or two of alphadine will snap you right out of that stupor, sailor.” She wrapped her arm around his and pulled him toward the table.
“Doun do that shtuff,” he protested. “Bad for ya.” There was no way he was snorting that up his nose. The medical microbot was having a hard enough time neutralizing the alcohol.
“Rigel.” There was suddenly a sultry tone in her voice. She turned to face him and trailed a finger down the front of his shirt. “Don’t you want to stay . . . up?”
He almost chuckled. A week ago he’d have been putty in her hands. But that was before he’d met Phoebe. Kristin Devenport might have been a sultry seductress, but in Rigel’s eyes, the woman didn’t hold a candle to the sweet ecstasy that was Phoebe Callista. As drunk as he was, he wasn’t even tempted.
“Nope.” Rigel spun on his heel a bit too
far, then corrected and stumbled back toward the doorway, still only half-faking his drunkenness. The alcohol had his head swirling and his body tingling, but he managed to make it through the doorway.
Kristin wasn’t to be dissuaded. “So you want to head right to bed instead?” She caught up with him and once again took his arm. “A bold move for someone who just met me.”
“Is it?” He turned to confront her in the hallway. It was a bit quieter out here, but he could still feel the muffled beat of the band in the next room rattling through his suddenly hyper-sensitive body. His arms and legs tingled as if the blood had drained from them. His mind lurched with each pounding beat of the music, miring each thought as he attempted to process it. Kristin’s stunning features blurred as his eyes crossed. It was only then he realized they’d put something extra in that last drink.
He lost his balance, and he reached forward to grab something to steady himself. The soft flesh of Kristin’s breast molded to his grasp, but she only chuckled. “Coming on a bit strong there, aren’t you lover? Lucky for you I’ve got a soft spot for guys that can’t hold their liquor.”
Grabbing his hand and throwing his arm over her shoulder, she supported Rigel as they made their way down the hallway toward the guest room Captain la Piere had assigned him. She was certainly stronger than she looked.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head, trying to clear the cobwebs that were gathering.
She kicked open the door and managed to drop him face first on the bed. He reached up and pulled a pillow down over his head. His ears still rang, but the darkness helped him concentrate. He lay still and tried his best to keep his breathing even.
The Blarmling Dilemma (Hearts in Orbit Book 1) Page 17