The Blockade

by Jean Johnson

  “Bath, no. Shower, yes. Change of clothes . . . maybe. Your quarters didn’t take much damage, but the easiest path to them did,” the doctor told her. “Admiral Nayak’s quarters were completely obliterated, and he’s still wearing yesterday’s uniform. He’s also been busy overseeing the logistics of pulling everyone out of here. A pity it was his quarters that took the greatest hit, and partly yours, but not that traitor’s rooms.”

  “Colvers has had his punishment, and he’s been shipped home to serve his time being more useful to society,” Jackie reminded Maria. “Leave him be and let go of your anger. Though I’d love to know what happened to Shi’ol.”

  The older woman muttered a few uncomplimentary phrases in Brazilian about the countess—ex-countess—before switching back to V’Dan to add, “. . . but she’s survived and is in some holding cell somewhere, awaiting a final decision on her verdict. I can only imagine the Imperial Regent has thankfully forgotten about her, or she’d probably have been executed by now, completely ignoring our Terran wishes on the matter.”

  “I hope the Empress pulls through . . . That reminds me,” Jackie said, distracted. “I thought Spanish was your native tongue, not Brazilian?”

  “Eh, my aunt and uncle had custody of me every summer,” Maria explained, flicking her hand dismissively. “They’re retired now, but they used to run a combination of archaeological dig sites and botanical survey camps on the eastern slopes of the Andes. Primarily in Bolivia, Brazil, and a few other places. Old Incan civilization stuff, and the preservation of rare pockets of plant life, everything from exotic tilandsia air plants to wild potato species. I learned Brazilian at my uncle’s side right alongside how to wield all sorts of portable scanning and sampling equipment, along with how to spell words like polylepsis and stomata at my aunt’s.

  “Let me see if I can get you a change of clothes, then we can see how steady you are on your feet and see about getting you that shower,” Maria added, rising from the chair she had pulled near the bed. “I’ll get someone to pick up the tray, too—oh, Admiral Nayak’s orders, you are not to allow the Elite into your quarters without Terran military supervision. After V’kol told us what the Regent did to her own brother, we’re not taking chances that she’ll refrain from any hostage-taking. We have no choice but to take the Elite hospitality because of the wreck of the embassy zone, but . . . well, even your clothes will be Terran, if not necessarily yours, to make sure they’re not slipping anything into your presence that could give you an unhappy day.”

  Jackie twisted her lips in an approximation of a smile. “I could always steal another curtain for an approximation of another sari. I’m certain they wouldn’t have put any contact poison on those.”

  “Even I know it was that K’Katta Commander-of-Hundreds who stole that curtain, not you,” Maria quipped. “But let’s not get them into deeper trouble by asking for their help again, just yet.”

  “Aren’t I the one who is supposed to set that sort of policy?” Jackie mock-demanded. “The embassy may be closed, but I am still the Ambassador.”

  Maria smirked. “You are currently my patient. That means the doctor’s orders get to rule, today.”

  That made Jackie laugh. More of a chuckle, really, but the absurdity of it did lighten what was otherwise a very serious situation. “Enjoy it while it lasts, because it won’t.”

  “I know. I’ll be back in a little bit. Relax and rest, that’s an order.” Maria palmed open the door and stepped out of sight. The panel slid shut behind her, leaving Jackie alone in the windowless, modestly lit room.

  Sighing, she leaned back against the inflatable wedge tucked behind her pillow, brought in to help her sit up for supper. Everything still tried to slant to her side, balance-wise, and her head still spun a little, but she felt better. Physically. Not emotionally or mentally. Imperial Princess Regent Vi’alla stunned her own brother and shanghaied him out of the system. Why? Why would she do that?

  . . . I need answers. I think I need to speak with V’kol.

  She didn’t know if he would have all the answers she needed, but Jackie did know he was Li’eth’s friend and confidant. The problem was, given how unstable Vi’alla’s choices were, and the closure of the embassy, she couldn’t summon V’kol to her. But she could reach out to him . . . if he was still within the Winter Palace grounds. Maybe. Closing her eyes, she tested her mind. It felt a little sluggish still, but at least most of the ache was gone, and a trickle of energy had returned.

  Breathing deep, centering herself, she gave her mental presence a few moments to stabilize, then carefully formed an image of V’kol and his mind. Then, delicately, she sent out tendrils in a rough sphere, seeking for anything similar to his particular methods and patterns of thinking. It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice in learning the feel of his mind; Jackie had spent weeks in close proximity with Li’eth, V’kol, Dai’a, and the rest. Like living in an apartment with thin walls that let through medium or louder voices, she had been able to hear the strongest thoughts of the others beyond the boundaries of her shields.

  Most of the time, she had ignored it, but she had cataloged the way each person thought. Each mind she brushed against now was quickly discarded based on its surface thoughts. This was purely passive surface scanning, the sort of thoughts that came even as a person spoke aloud. Most of it concerned the attack, the Empress’ health—stable, but unconscious, which was worrisome—and the gossip surrounding the news that the Terrans were no longer willing to be their helpful allies.

  Since she didn’t know how the room she was in was positioned in the maze of the Guard Halls wending their way through the Winter Palace grounds, she kept stretching outward, first this way, then that way, trying to orient herself. She felt the trembling, cold-slime feeling of a recent death in the aether and shied sideways. It always took around three days for the energies to vanish, and according to Maria, it had only been a day.

  It was hard to describe the phenomenon since its perception varied from person to person. For Jackie, it felt slick and hard to grasp. At the same time, it shone like a bright, sourceless thing struggling and shimmering, quivering, then fading into dullness. Not darkness, but dullness, before it dissipated.

  There were several such spots, actually. Jackie felt fairly certain the direction of those feelings—to her right and toward her feet as she lay on the bed—meant the Terran embassy. She pulled that tendril sideways even more, wanting to avoid the embassy zone because Leftenant Kos’q wouldn’t be there . . . only to catch a glimpse of him uppermost in someone’s mind.

  Admiral Nayak’s mind, to be precise. In fact, the thoughts of Leftenant Superior V’kol Kos’q were so strong, Jackie searched around the man for V’kol’s mind. There were a couple others thinking of him, but not himself within Nayak’s environs . . . and that meant either a discussion, or a comm call. She could not go out of body like Clees could, but she could visualize a location with a bit of holokinesis. And because she did not want to frighten her fellow Terrans, Jackie carefully shaped a three-dimensional version of the Psi League’s Radiant Eye, a line drawing of an ellipsoid eye shape, with a circle forming the iris inside, all of it divided by eight lines radiating from the pupil at the very center.

  Gasps echoed in the thoughts of those around her projection. She left the thick, metallic black symbol hovering for a few moments, then swirled it into an image of herself in one of her favorite dresses, black with brightly hued flowers along the hemlines of the skirt and the fluted sleeves. Her illusion-self spoke. “I need to get in touch with V’kol Kos’q.”

  Admiral Nayak blinked, then pointed in front of him, making her aware of the commscreen. On the screen, she could see V’kol though she could not sense his mental presence. Jackie had zero electrokinetic ability. She knew a few telepaths who did have that gift, and who could “reach through” a commlink to connect with the mind of the person on the other end. She, however, could not. Than
kfully, she did have holokinesis and its attached sonokinesis.

  “Can I help you, Grand High Ambassador?” V’kol asked politely through the screen.

  She thought about asking him where he was in Terranglo . . . but too many people here on V’Dan knew it by now. “Do you remember where we played quon-set?”

  “Ahhh . . . yes?” V’kol offered, raising his eyebrows in polite inquiry. Or rather, the dark blurs of his brows since her clairvoyant abilities weren’t her best by a stretch.

  “You were quite good. I would like to play the Terran version with you someday soon. Before we leave. Will you play with me?” she asked, and hoped he got the message.

  Details were difficult to image with her clairvoyancy. Had she chosen holokinesis as a career path—stage magic or acting were the usual choices—she could have developed her skills to a much finer level of awareness and accuracy. But while this wasn’t her best skill, she was fairly sure she saw his eyes narrow slightly, then widen, before he bowed his head in acquiescence. “I would be honored to play one final game of quon-set with you, Grand High Ambassador. I am sorry His Imperial Highness is not available to join us. Have you heard . . . ?”

  “Yes. It does not change what we must do. We must move swiftly to finish what we started.”

  “Of course. I wish all of you the best of luck—if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to a few of my lingering duties,” V’kol added, bowing on the other end of the link. “The Grand Generals have not yet reassigned me, but then we are still sorting out Terran versus V’Dan military needs in the aftermath of the attack. I am still useful as a liaison for that. I trust you will let me know, Grand High Ambassador, when you are free to play the game?”

  “Of course. I would prefer today, if you are free in a little bit.” She let her image fade before Admiral Nayak could question her. He knew where to find her, or at least how. Nayak could do so without raising any suspicions. Jackie needed to know where to find V’kol and contact him without anyone eavesdropping on them. Since she could guess which room Admiral Nayak was in, all she needed to do was reorient herself on that section of the Palace, figure out where the North Hangar Bay was located, and head down to level 5 and 6.

  If V’kol had figured out what she was trying to say, he’d make his way to the hangar bay to await contact from her. She’d set her telepathic awareness to lurk around the Terran hangar bays to await the moment when V’kol visited . . . and then she’d send someone to let him know she wasn’t going to show. In person, at least.

  Cloak-and-dagger tactics were frowned upon when used by a Councilor. Spying was the purview of government agents, military agents, or even, in a pinch, an Advisor. But Jackie needed information. Even though the embassy was closed, she was still responsible for the safety of her people. That included finding out through the grapevine—one way or another—what Princess Regent Vi’alla V’Daania might do.

  V’DAN WARSHIP J’UNG SHAN G’AT

  TON-BEI SYSTEM

  Soft hums and beeps of machines lured Li’eth back to consciousness. He placed them vaguely all around him, swimming up out of the blackness cloaking his mind. Next came the sting of disinfectant in the air. Infirmary, he realized after a moment. Lying on his back on an exam bed. Specifically, an infirmary on a starship because he could feel the low, deep thrum of the engines transporting the ship. Not at faster-than-light speeds, that was a different set of harmonics, but at insystem ones.

  Knocked unconscious and sent into space. Somehow, he didn’t think he was still within their home system. Something was seriously wrong with their gravimetrics system, too. His whole existence felt as if he were being pulled down a strong-suctioning drain hole to his right. Dizzy, determined to get to a comm unit to call back to the planet and lodge a formal protest against his sister, he forced his eyes to open.

  The room spun for a moment, then settled. This . . . wasn’t the infirmary he was expecting. Not that he’d been in the Dusk Army’s infirmary outside of its quarantine sector, but the Dusk Army was a space station. It had a fully functional hospital in the normal sector. This . . . this was an open-bay infirmary, of the sort found on a smallish warship. Two classes down in size from the T’un Tunn G’Deth, his former warship. Six beds in alcoves with privacy screens that could be moved into place or stored flat against the wall to keep them out of the way.

  His walls were partially unfolded around his bed. He was in a hospital gown—V’Dan style, not Terran, tabard and loose shorts with proper overlapping panels—and someone had fitted his arm with an intravenous drip. There wasn’t anyone in immediate view. When he tried to roll onto his side to push upright, he felt a wave of disorientation. Suspecting he’d been drugged, Li’eth sagged back onto the bedding, closed his eyes, and focused his mind inward.

  Master Sonam Sherap had not been able to teach him everything the Terrans knew about biokinesis; that would have taken a couple years and several medical courses of dedicated instruction. But he had taught the prince how to assess himself biokinetically and how to use biofeedback techniques—meditating, breathing carefully, mental visualizations—to assess damage, to search for unwanted ailments . . . and to metabolize drugs swiftly.

  Looking inward, Li’eth groped for an awareness of some sort of sedative in his system. Finding it wasn’t too hard; the entry point for its delivery was obvious. Burning it out of his blood caused his heart rate to rise, however. After about a minute, the monitor started beeping a two-tone signal that meant, “Hey, come look at my patient.” Not knowing if that meant more sedative was about to be released, Li’eth stopped focusing psychically, grabbed the tape holding the needle in place, and peeled it off.

  Footsteps approached. A short, dark-skinned woman with burgundy star-blotches for her jungen marks came into view. “I’ll check on His Highness,” she called over her shoulder to someone out of view. “The mediscanner may have glitched. I . . . oh. You’re awake.”

  Gritting his teeth, he pulled out the shunt. It stung, but the trickle of blood sealed itself within seconds under his focus.

  “No! You could have damaged your vein!” the medic protested, hurrying forward.

  “It did not glitch, and I am not damaged,” he retorted gruffly. “I refuse to be sedated any longer, and I am using my biokinesis—my holy healing power—to remove any drugs from my bloodstream, which will also seal the hole in my arm,” Li’eth told her. He still felt like the world was tilted to his right even though she appeared to be walking upright. Sitting up, he listed to starboard like a sea ship with bad ballast for a moment, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and glared at her. “Whatever orders Her Highness gave in regard to me, I revoke them under Imperial Tier Jurisprudence Ruling 74, which immediately places me under the jurisdiction of the Tier Advocates. Now, get me proper clothing and the commander of this ship.”

  That had been what he had tried to tell those damned Imperial Elites, back in the Winter Palace. The Tier Advocates would not sit still nor stand idly aside while his sister shakked away the Terran-V’Dan Alliance out of pride. Particularly those who represented the Third, Fourth, and Fifth Tiers, who could overrule the advocates for Second and First Tiers by majority vote on certain matters. Collectively, they also had the right to strip him of his bloodline if he was found at fault for anything, but Li’eth had zero doubts that he was in the right.

  Righteous anger was good for burning away some of the dizziness and lethargy, at least. It made him alert and wary of how the nurse might react. The woman, who wore the steel outline of a small triangle, a mere leftenant, pulled something out of her pocket and reached for him. Li’eth flung up his hand even as she started speaking.

  “You are clearly hysterical, and—” She broke off with a gasp, shoved across the room by an invisible force. Eyes so wide, he could see the whites all the way around them, she choked out, “Saints!”

  “Living Saint,” Li’eth corrected her, glaring. His
body still felt unevenly energized, and he felt a few lingering edges of dizziness, but his mind was clear enough to focus now that the drug had metabolized. Strengthened by anger, even. “You will get me my clothing. You will get me the officer in command of this ship. You will tell me which ship this is, and where we are. You will not anger me. I am now under the legal jurisdiction of the Tier Advocates, not the Imperial Regent. She no longer has any authority over me or my situation, and all of her orders regarding me are to be disregarded.”

  “But I—”

  Fire whoofed along his arms, licking upward without burning either him or his hospital robe. “Is. That. Clear?”

  Staring at him in fright, the medic nodded shakily and retreated in a scramble. Li’eth let the flames vanish the moment the infirmary fire alarm wailed to life. A moment later, the siren ended. Bracing his palms on the edge of the bed, he tried not to fall off the edge of the infirmary cot while he waited. Still listing to my right, alone on a ship full of men and women loyal to my sister. I’m going to have to make sure these idiots cannot stun me before I can stop them . . .

  Bored, he looked around the medical cabin while he waited for his demands to be met, squinting at the various cabinet signs and screens. One of the monitors showed the date, one day after the Salik attack on the capital. I’ve lost a day. A day’s worth of travel, which means we could be transiting at sublight speeds any of a dozen star systems within twelve to thirty light-years from V’Dan.