Over the top of a tall glass of ripka, T’kal offered his wolf grin. “There’s just something about a good brawl . . .”
“How your lot ever ended up on Psyclid . . .”
“How Psyclids ever became such pacifist weaklings . . .”
“Children, children, no fighting,” Yuliya chided, leaning so far back in her chair only a supple young body could have withstood the strain. “And besides, K’kadi warned us while we were still outside.”
B’aela closed her eyes. Of course he did.
“What he said, Yuliya added, was: ‘Men mock me. Tal defend. Big fight.’ Kinda scary, but isn’t that what we’re here for?”
B’aela peered at her husband over the tips of her steepled fingers. “Suddenly, I feel old.”
T’kal’s dark eyes gleamed. “Nothing like a good bar fight to make us feel young again.” He looked down the table to where two golden-topped heads—containing two of the sharpest brains in the Nebulon Sector—were bent close together. Talking nothing more than events in other taverns in other places? Or details of the final definitive battle against the Empire? What did it matter? They were two Regs, each with von Baalen blood in his veins, who would decide the fate of nearly half the Sector.
And what would happen to poor little Psyclid in the process?
T’kal stared at the food that had just been placed in front of him. Clearly, he needed to eat. He’d had too much to drink on top of an empty stomach. The four royal children—B’aela, Kass, M’lani, and K’kadi—with the aid of Jagan Mondragon and T’kal Killiri, would make certain that Psyclid survived, no matter who ended up ruling the new Empire. They just needed to concentrate on tonight. On taking the first step on the long journey that would end in a final battle for Regula Prime.
But first, they had to fight their way out of Jingar’s.
Chapter 15
“Time to make the rounds,” Tal announced, and pushed back his chair. Anton Stagg and Josh Quint stood with him. Tal waved them back to their seats. “I do this alone. It’s expected. Believe me, more information and recruits have come out of Jingar’s than any other place in the sector.” As Major Stagg slumped back into his seat, Tal laid his hand on the ex Reg marine’s shoulder. “I didn’t say you couldn’t keep an eye on me while I pour Kane charisma over a bunch of tough guys. And a few outright enemies. After all, it’s been a few years since I did this.”
The marines, clearly not happy, nodded. The others at the table struggled to bite back their protests. Just when they thought Tal Rigel had accepted that there was no rebellion without him, he pulled an insane stunt like wandering through a gauntlet of possible assassins. Of hardened adventurers who could turn on him in the blink of an eye. Too fast for even K’kadi’s magic to save him.
“I suppose we should appear unconcerned,” Rand Kamal remarked to T’kal and B’aela. “Not a thought beyond drinking, swaggering, and sex.”
B’aela forced a saucy smile, in sharp contrast to her words. “Show fear and we’re done.”
Rand returned a smile that was just short of lecherous. “Have I told you how delightful you look in that outfit? You should do pirate’s moll more often.” He tossed an open smirk at T’kal. “I heard that growl.”
“My sense of humor is poor when the hair on the back of my neck stands tall.”
Rand turned his head so only T’kal could see his look of sympathy as he offered an alternative topic. “So, presuming we get out of Jingar’s alive, shall we discuss the next stop on our route?”
Though still doing her best to look both happy and seductive, inwardly B’aela winced. Being caught between two men one had known intimately was not a challenge a wise woman would invite.
Captain Kane’s unique gift for bonhomie strongly tinged with bravado came back to Tal with surprising ease, as if he’d made the rounds of the tables at Jingar’s only three moon cycles ago, instead of a matter of years. He chatted with Pybbite merchants, whose white hair and pink skin made them stand out even more than K’kadi, although their well-known competence and resilience spared them from mockery. The Sector needed the Pybbites. As for the Hercs—some were merchants, some were . . . something else—Herc versions of himself, or of the outlaw Arkadi Kane was supposed to be.
Tal also stopped at the tables where his own crewmembers were sitting. Keep in character, play the game . . . But should he greet the Nyx?
Yes, because he always had. Ruefully, Tal acknowledged the truth. Captain Kane’s arrogant swagger was not just a cloak donned for Jingar’s but a display of a part of Tal Rigel he usually kept well in check. But a Reg speaking to a Nyx—any Nyx, let alone a table full of Nyx—was a challenge he should probably pass up at this stage of the rebellion . . .
But, fyddit, that was no fun.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Tal said, his expression a nice mix of temporary truce and I’m-as-tough-as-you-are. “I’m Kane, of Astarte. I don’t believe we’ve met. It’s been a while since I passed this way.”
Four inimical green faces stared back at him. One mouth-slit opened, the words rumbling out just loud enough for Tal to hear. “We have not met, Captain, but I know who you are. Years ago, my ship fought yours out on the rim. Others may be fooled by the makeover, but not me. I’d know Orion anywhere. And who better than the Nyx to know you did not die that day.”
Caught. In a tavern in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by men with no loyalty to anyone but themselves, his soul was laid bare—for the next, and inevitable, step in Nyx reasoning took his enemies to “rebellion” and “S’sorrokan.”
“Well done.” Former Reg Fleet Captain Talryn Rigel held the Nyx’s gaze, man to man. “I won’t even attempt to deny it.”
“We have no love of the Regs,” the Nyx spokesman returned. “We wish you well in your efforts.” His slit of a mouth curled into what might have been a smile. “Which does not make us friends.”
“Understood.” Tal flashed a salute to all four Nyx and moved on, even as a chill curled up his spine. He should have known. Secrets could be kept only for so long. And the walls protecting the identity of S’sorrokan had been crumbling for some time now. But all the way to the Nyx homeworld?
“Kane!”
Surprised by the hail, Tal turned and walked back to the Nyx.
“Warrior to warrior,” the Nyx spokesman said, “watch your back. The Hercs are not to be trusted.”
“Agreed.” The two captains exchanged a look of complete understanding, an unheard-of-moment in Reg/Nyx relations. Perhaps, just perhaps, Tal thought, changes might be possible in the future.
Then again, maybe not. Pok, dimi, and fyd! Sometimes the world demanded too much of him. Instinctively, Tal turned back toward his own people. Family, friends . . .
But he hadn’t finished his rounds. There were two tables left. And he was Tal Rigel, brought up to duty, responsibility, to finishing what he started.
Being recognized by Nyx as leader of the rebellion isn’t enough excitement for one night?
Tal ignored his inner voice and changed course for the last two tables of roisterous patrons. The first overflowed with Zylons who had obviously been celebrating some event for the better part of the night. Sloppy grins, hand bumps, back-slapping, and Tal was down to the last table tucked into a shadowed corner, where three men were sitting back in their chairs, completely focused on his approach. Tal recognized the look: speculative, with a hint of hope. They too knew something more than face value about Captain Kane, the adventurer with the largest, best-armed ship on the wrong side of the law.
“Would you join us, Captain?” the eldest of the three asked, nodding to the empty chair next to him. Tal couldn’t quite place the men’s homeworld, but the leader was about his own age, with a shag of straight brown hair, eyes to match—the far-seeing eyes of a spacer—and a face mapped with lines of more than responsibility. Deprivation perhaps, or suffering. Their clothing spoke for them as well. Spacer casual but more worn than most. These were the vagrants of the skies. Tough as
crystos but looking for a home.
Tal sat. He had played this game a hundred times before, almost always to the benefit of the rebellion. This was why he came to Jingar’s. And a hundred other taverns almost as fertile with lost souls.
The leader signaled for a round of ripka and waited until Tal had taken his first swallow before saying, “My name’s Dalran, Captain.” He nodded to his companions. “My friends, Raylor and Katan. I won’t waste your time, Kane. I’ll put it to you plain and hope you’ll hear me out. It’s said you have connections to the rebellion, and we want in. All three of us are captains. Once part of a merchant fleet on Deimos. We stuck it out awhile after the Regs came, but . . . well, one day we just couldn’t take it anymore.”
Captain Dalran’s face went bleak, as he recalled the stealth of their departure. And its aftermath. “It took a bit of doing, but one night we packed up our families and slipped away. If we’d known what the retaliation would be . . .” Slowly, he shook his head. “What’s done is done, but living in caves in a meteor belt is cold, dark, and miserable. Worse for our families than it is for us.”
Dalran held up a hand to show he wasn’t done with his pitch. “We’ve been coming to Jingar’s off and on for a long time now, looking for you. Gone home disappointed every time. Didn’t dare talk to anyone else. Yes, we want out of the life we’ve living, but we’re willing to pay for it. We’re good fighters all—we’ve had to be to stay alive out in the lanes. Admittedly, we could use better armament, but if we can connect with the rebels, we’re willing to do anything asked of us in return for a better home for our families.” Captain Dalran caught and held Tal’s steady gaze. “That’s it, Kane. Three ships and crews for the rebellion. Can you help us?”
Tal had heard a lot of stories—some he’d considered outright lies, some he’d doubted, and some had a ring of truth so strong he didn’t even hesitate. “Do you have the resources to get yourselves to Psyclid?”
“So they are Psyclids,” Raylor exclaimed, glancing toward the two tables against the wall. “Told you so.”
“Yes,” Dalran returned. “We may not have been comfortable, but we have been successful following in the great Captain Kane’s footsteps.”
“At the Crystal City spacedock,” Tal said, “ask for “L’tan Meyoon.” He repeated the name. “Do whatever he tells you. He’s had a lot of experience with rogue merchants looking for a home.” Though he’d seen the surge of burgeoning hope on the three men’s faces countless times before, it never failed to sear him to his soul.
“That’s it?” Katan breathed. “After all these years of waiting, in two sentences Captain Kane waves a magic wand and we’re rebels?”
Tal offered a wry grin. “I leave magic to the Psys, but yes, that’s it. And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time I returned—”
The clatter of chairs hitting the tile floor obliterated the rest of Tal’s sentence. The sudden silence that followed was even louder.
As Tal made the rounds of the tightly packed tables, K’kadi had discovered that even his very special skills could not pick out his brother-in-law’s words in the cacophony that was Jingar’s. Disgusted, he kept an eye on Anton and Joss who made no secret of their role as Captain Kane’s bodyguards. That Arkadi Kane had watchdogs would be a surprise to no one. Nervous watchdogs, even though the only sign of it on their stone faces was an occasional narrowing of their eyes when Tal did something they considered outrageous, like speaking to the Nyx.
Truth was, they all sneaked peeks from time to time. This was Tal Rigel unleashed to do what he did best, but perhaps not the smartest move this close to the final battle. His staff had protested this venture into space right up to the moment Astarte pulled out of spacedock. And again when Tal announced he was going to Tatarus, and to Jingar’s with no more than Anton and Josh and a few other marine guards off Astarte scattered throughout the room.
K’kadi, long accustomed to Tal’s daring, wondered at the emotions radiating from Rand Kamal: stunned by Tal’s daring, but reluctantly admiring. Evidently Kamal, having only seen Tal as the Great Leader handing down orders from an ornate room in a palace, had not been prepared for Captain Kane, rogue adventurer and outlaw.
How, K’kadi wondered, did Kamal think the rebellion grew from one Reg huntership to a fleet large enough to invade Regula Prime?
Nyx! K’kadi shifted to full alert. Tal was actually talking to the Nyx? Fascinated by his brother-in-law’s daring, K’kadi never took his eyes off Tal as he lingered with the Nyx before finally moving on to the table of drunken Zylons and then veering off to speak with some down-on-their-luck spacers in the corner.
“You!” a deep voice barked. “We hear Psys can fly. So fly for us, pretty boy. We want to see.” The voice belonged to a burly male of unknown origin. Skin too pale for a Zylon or a Nyx. Nor did he have the look of a Herc. But no one had difficulty recognizing the belligerence of an oversize drunk. He had the instant attention of everyone off Astarte. Except Anton Stagg who kept his focus on Captain Kane. The bald drunk, oblivious to the dangerous friends of the almost fairy-like creature staring up at him, repeated his demand. “Fly for us, boy. We wanna see you do your tricks.”
When K’kadi didn’t move, he added, “Bet I could make you fly. All the way across the room and out the door. One toss.” Scornfully, he glanced at what appeared to be the other young people at the table, seemingly frozen in terror. “Wanna bet?”
“I suggest,” Kelan said in the even tone that gave goosebumps to those who knew any of the male Rigels, “that you return to your table.”
“And who’s going to make me?” the big man taunted.
K’kadi looked for Tal, found him seated in a far corner, his back turned to his friends. Would Tal want him to show his power or not?
The belligerent behemoth reached for him. Chairs crashed as the occupants of two tables of rebels rose in unison, even Anton momentarily distracted from his concentration on Tal.
And then, to everyone’s astonishment, the bully shot toward the ceiling, spun around, arms and leg splayed out, seemingly frozen in place. In a room full of raucous people who had been drinking for hours, abrupt silence. Except for one nervous giggle, quickly stifled, and the roars of the huge spacer, now kicking madly, his face turning scarlet, as he began a slow journey through the air above the patrons’ heads. A sudden mad swoop toward the glass bottles behind the bar. An abrupt halt, a three-sixty spin before a ramming run toward the exit, ending in a teeth-rattling stop just before the human projectile’s head hit the heavy metal door. To a whoosh of shocked gasps, the bully floated back to his table, where he was dropped, not gently, into his chair. He promptly passed out, head slumping onto the table.
K’kadi added a short display of fireworks, bowed, and sat back down, joining his friends who had long since sunk back into their righted chairs, enjoying the show.
“Omnovah!” Rand breathed. “I live with him, and I didn’t realize . . .”
“Believe me, that’s nothing,” B’aela assured her one-time lover. “Wait ’til you see what he does to Darroch.”
Before returning to his friends, Tal confided, deadpan, to the new recruits, “You’ll like the Psys. They’re a remarkable people.” With a casual wave of farewell, he strode back to his own table.
“Time to go,” he announced briskly. “I think we’ll pass on the bar fight.”
The rebels from the Psyclid system sauntered out to absolute silence. Until at the exit, K’kadi turned, waved, and added one final explosion of dancing silver sparks.
“That,” Jingar pronounced with considerable satisfaction as the door closed behind his guests off Astarte, “was Captain Kane and friends.” To himself, he added: And that’s why the rebels are going to win.
Chapter 16
The shore party disembarked Astarte’s shuttle and trudged toward their cabins, the adrenaline rush of Jingar’s fading fast at the Tat time of past two in the morning. With one exception. Tal waved his marines toward their bunks and h
eaded for the bridge.
“Mr. Khagun!”
“Sir.” Astarte’s First Officer, who had been occupying the captain’s chair in Tal’s absence, jumped to his feet. Nael Khagun, now Commander Khagun, had taken over Dorn Jorkan’s position when Tal’s long-time First Officer and friend was made captain of Centauri, the battlecruiser K’kadi and B’aela hijacked at the second Battle of Psyclid. The replacement for Second Officer Mical Turco, who now captained the huntership Lynx (captured in the same battle), was Rey Dolmen who, along with his friends Dace Pliska and Beric Androm, had been among Captain Kane’s first recruits at Jingar’s.
“I want everything we have on Deimos sent to my ready room by ten in the morn—” Tal broke off. A quick survey of the carefully blank looks on the faces of the night-time bridge crew brought a rueful smile to his lips. “Sorry, I know we put together a file before we left Blue Moon, but I need more. Get our researchers out of bed. Dig! Deimos is a short haul from here, and there may be more resistance there than we thought.”
“Snap to it!” Commander Khagun barked. A flurry of motion as every head bent to their comps. Dace Pliska, who had replaced Zee-zee Foxx at Comm when Kass’s former roommate followed Dorn Jorkan to Centauri, sent out a call for every researcher and archivist on the ship. What Tal Rigel wanted, Tal Rigel got.
“Thank the Goddess!” With a heartfelt whoosh of breath, B’aela dropped onto the oversize bed in their surprisingly large and luxurious cabin. Turning on her side, she eyed her husband who was removing the leather band that held his black curls in check at the nape of his neck. A sight she never failed to enjoy. T’kal Killiri, unbound. And somehow softer, even as he looked more wild. “Kass tells me, that time she and Tal went to Reg Prime, they had bunk beds on Pegasus. Can you picture it, particularly when they were used to something like this?”
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