by Susan Grant
Anxiety and the natural stimulant in tock made her pulse race. Her empty stomach worsened the effect. In fact, hunger was likely the reason the liquor had played havoc with her system in the first place. So were shock, lack of sleep, and physical exhaustion from pushing the starspeeder and her body to the limit. While drunkenness couldn't be so readily shrugged off, exhaustion and hunger could be overcome.
She set her mug on the table. "On second thought, I think I will have something to eat. Something light, if you don't mind."
Quin dropped a few slices of lar-bread onto a plate. Tee'ah bypassed the jar of sticky jam he offered and forced herself to eat the flatbread plain. When she was sure the bread would stay down, she drank what was left in her mug. This time Ian refilled it, while his acid-tongued ogre of a mechanic paced behind her, his impatient footsteps thundering in Tee'ah's aching head, his skeptical gaze boring into her back. Slowly the fog dulling her senses began to retreat like dust from Mistraal's skies after a Tjhu'nam’s passage.
Time elapsed. A few hours, she guessed. Ian scrutinized the Earth-made chronograph on his wrist and then her. "So. When do you think you might be able to fly me off this rock?" Brows raised, he gave her a long, questioning, intensely appraising stare.
A sense of purpose swept through her, the desire to surpass Ian's expectations and those of the crew. This was her chance to prove, if only to herself, that she was more than a coddled princess, more than a woman whose identity would be defined by the accomplishments of a future mate.
"I'm ready now," she said, and stood. Light-headedness swept through her. She gulped a few breaths and gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.
Quin balked. "She'll kill us all!"
Only you, bonehead, if I get half a chance. Summoning her remaining dignity, she lurched into the corridor, followed by the two men.
Ian caught her elbow. "Is that true, Tee? Are you going to kill us all?" He regarded her with an irritatingly amused smile. "I'm afraid I'll have to dock your pay for every life lost."
Perhaps she might have chuckled at his teasing had the stakes not been so high. She yanked her damp cap over her hair. "I intend to fly this ship safely and to your satisfaction."
"Good. But the cockpit's this way." And with that, his grin turned devilish, and he steered her in the opposite direction.
The Sun Devil's cockpit was smaller than the cargo freighter she was used to, but she'd managed all right with the starspeeder, a smaller ship. A sweeping forward-viewscreen framed a vista of brown hills below a pallid sky. Below the screen was the pilot's station, a panel with state-of-the-art instrumentation, as on the Prosper. The indicator lights winked invitingly, illuminating the black composite of the control yoke. Her fingers twitched in anticipation of gripping it. Ian sat in his captain's chair. "All hands to launch stations." Gredda, Push, Muffin, and Quin took their seats.
At Ian's firm command, Tee buckled herself into the snugly comfortable pilot's seat. Her empty stomach and bone-deep tiredness made it difficult to resist the craving to lie down and sleep for an entire standard year. But she willed away her sluggishness and shook her head, bunking.
The voices around her hushed. Slowly she became aware of the crew's doubtful gazes, particularly Quin's.
She wrapped her dust-streaked hands around the control yoke. "Strap in." Her lips drew back in an evil smile. "Tight."
There was a chorus of clicking harnesses. Then the scuffling ceased as the crew awaited her next order. To her delight, Quin looked decidedly paler.
She used the ship's computer to guide her through the unfamiliar prelaunch checklist display: prompts scrolling past on the viewscreen.
"Pilot ready, Captain," she said upon completing the last step in the procedure.
Ian folded his hands over his stomach. "Commence launch."
That he was calm with her at the controls of his craft infused her with confidence. She tapped the comm icon and told Blunder's port controller they were ready.
"Cleared to depart, Sun Devil."
She heard the sound of straps being yanked extra tight. Then a deep rumbling gave way to a satisfying surge of power. A force several tunes that of normal gravity pressed her into her seat. Her queasiness surged. She took deep breaths to control her nausea until the ship was out of the atmosphere and in its assigned space-lane routing, where the forces of acceleration eased. She was grateful the Sun Devil had a gravity generator, making the shipboard environment feel normal. If she had to contend with weightlessness, as she had on the starspeeder, she'd have long since lost her last meal.
She used everything she had to concentrate on Ian's instructions to take the ship through a short jump to hyperspace, where greater than light-speeds could be achieved through physics she battled to comprehend. Only after they'd dropped back into normal space did she have a free moment to grin at the silent crew.
Gredda gave her a respectful nod. The others attempted weak smiles. But the Earth dweller's eyes simply gleamed. She'd gotten him off Donavan's Blunder, and that was what he wanted.
Exhaling, she relaxed a fraction and returned her attention to her viewscreens and the planet Grüma ahead. Maybe this wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, but by the looks of it, she'd found herself a job.
Chapter Five
Gann Truelenne dismissed the escort assigned to him; he preferred to navigate the maze of corridors in the palace himself. His travel cloak whipped around his legs as his strides carried him into the heart of the largest personal residence in the galaxy. To his left and right massive columns soared to the ceiling, the space between them open to a vast desert. He breathed deeply. With Sienna's two suns now below the horizon and the palace heat shields lowered for the night, the B'kah homeworld felt almost habitable, a term not generally used to describe any of the eight Vash Nadah home planets. But it had been so long since Gann had trodden upon anything but the deck of his starship, the Quillie, that he swore he felt the polished-stone floor rolling beneath his boots.
"Welcome back," a voice boomed from the distant end of the passageway.
Gann squared his shoulders. Ahead, the king awaited him, his tall, muscled frame illuminated by the laser candlelight flooding the hall. Romlijhian B'kah was the undisputed ruler of all known worlds, a direct descendant of Romjha, a warrior of almost mythical greatness credited with saving civilization from extinction over eleven thousand years before. A hero in his own right, Rom was a statesman, a decorated soldier, and a devoted husband. But to Gann, his most fitting title would always be friend.
Gann halted and snapped his fist over his chest, dipping his head in a bow. "You summoned me, my lord."
Rom's eyes sparked with amusement. "Ah, such formality."
Gann slowly raised his head. "I thought it was better to be safe. It's been two years since I last saw you in the flesh; your rank may have finally gone to your head."
"My one-too-many-times-battered head?" Rom asked dryly. When Gann grinned and pretended to search for a tactful answer, his friend laughed heartily. "Ah, my friend, it's good to see you."
They came together in a spirited embrace. Then, hands clasping each other's shoulders, they moved apart, a thousand shared memories in their eyes.
Finally Gann let his hands fall to his sides. "You didn't bring me here simply because you missed me."
"Not entirely." Rom's tired smile was maddeningly enigmatic. Without further comment he waved toward an open set of double doors and led Gann through a vast chamber, where a floor of Siennan marble reflected lavish tapestries and pieces of furniture—all ancient and priceless—encircling a saltwater fountain stocked with rare sea creatures. Such grandeur was breathtaking to those viewing the palace for the first time, but such trappings of wealth and power did not intimidate Gann. He'd grown up amid this wonderland. His father was a member of the previous king's elite guard, as was his father's father, and the thousands of years of Truelenne men who came before him. The loyalty Gann felt for Rom and his family went beyond friendship, bey
ond the years they'd served on the same starship during Rom's exile. It was bred in his bones.
The men walked silently. Gann studied his uncharacteristically subdued friend, wondering suddenly if this mysterious summons translated to a family emergency. "How is Jas?"
Rom's eyes lit up at the mention of his Earth-born wife. "Very well. She looks forward to seeing you. In fact she's chilling several bottles of Red Rocket Ale as we speak."
Gann had hoped as much; he found the Earth beverage delicious. And he wasn't alone. Beer was swiftly becoming a sought-after libation across the galaxy, making Jas's longtime friend, Dan Brady, creator of this royal favorite brand, one of Earth's wealthiest businessmen.
Gann made another bid to determine the root of Rom's concern. Rom was close to his children-by-marriage, and treated them as if they were of his own blood. "Ian and Ilana—I trust they are well?"
"Yes." Rom leveled him with a perceptive, if somewhat worried gaze. "All are healthy, thank the Great Mother. But you are correct in assuming the reason I brought you here is not a Vash Nadah matter. In fact, it's quite personal. A predicament of lost and found, you might say. Found, I pray, with your help."
A surge of anticipation quickened Gann's pulse. Life had lacked a certain… spark since he and Rom had parted ways upon his friend's ascension to the galaxy's throne. Whatever Rom required of him now, it was bound to be good and, he hoped, exactly what he needed to lift him from his doldrums of late. Though he couldn't help wondering why a king with an immense army and security forces trained in covert operations at his disposal would need an aging warrior's help.
His curiosity soared higher as he trailed Rom to where soft music emanated from a sitting area hidden behind a screen. Here the walls were whitewashed and plain, the tile floor strewn with cushions, all glowing in the light of Sienna's three pockmarked moons framed in an enormous skylight. Mementos from Rom and Jas's travels, along with framed holo-images of their families, graced shelves and ledges clearly installed for that purpose, making obvious the intimacy of the couple who lived there.
A stab of longing blindsided him as an image blossomed in his mind's eye of a private retreat like this, shelves stacked with holo-images of a wife, children. He frowned, then cleared his throat. Family life was for other men; that was the way of it. Serving the B'kah was his calling, a choice he'd made long ago, duty over personal wishes, if not consciously then by birth. Why, then, had regret tainted where only pride dwelled before?
Because the tedium of your life is chipping away at your sanity, that's why.
Stiffly, he clasped his hands behind his back. It was blasted obvious that he needed this mission. This adventure. He hoped it was good.
"Gann!" A woman's accented singsong voice mercifully dragged his thoughts outward.
Clutching three frosty bottles in her hands, Jas breezed into the room. Immediately her presence lifted his spirits; her energy and zest for life were contagious. She stretched up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek in the overt display of affection characteristic of Earth dwellers, as her exotic black hair, common on her homeworld if nowhere else, swung over her shoulders.
He pressed one hand to her back and returned the kiss, on her cheek, Earth-style. Then she stepped back to gaze at him. Smooth and elegant in her simple white gown, she looked every inch Rom's queen, though he knew she still flew as an active starpilot in Sienna's space wing. "I bet you could use a beer," she said.
He grimaced. "I could use ten."
"Yeah, I know the feeling." Delight shone in her eyes. The bottles were passed around and conversation filled the cozy room. "Like old times," Jas said after a bit, grinning up at him before exchanging a deeply affectionate glance with Rom.
When the couple's eyes met, their smiles slowly faded.
Rom set his bottle on a nearby table. "It's time I explained why I summoned you here."
Gann dipped his head. "I await your orders."
As custom dictated, the men waited until Jas sat before they, too, settled onto the carpet, arranging plump cushions for comfort. Gann leaned against his pillow and crossed one long, boot-clad leg over the other.
"Few know the frontier better than you," Rom began. Gann's muscles thrummed as they did during a rousing game of Bajha, the sword game played to hone instinct and the senses and fought in the dark. He'd looked forward to a possible extended stay planetside, but running a personal mission for Rom, particularly in the remote and unpredictable frontier, sounded far more intriguing. "Out with it, B'kah. What particularly corrupt and misguided soul would you like me to apprehend? Or is it a cache of stolen personal objects that requires my expert interception?" Grinning eagerly, he tipped his bottle for a swig.
Jas sighed. "Our niece ran away. We're sending you after her."
Gann almost choked on his swallow of beer. Jas's intense expression indicated she was not joking, and the expectancy bolstering him drained away. Valiantly he attempted to keep his disappointment from his voice. "I'm to fetch a runaway princess?"
"Yes. Tee'ah Dar, Joren and Di's daughter. Joren thought—prayed—she was here." She pressed her lips together. "If only she had come here…"
"Jas," Rom said gently, taking her fingers in his.
Her voice was fervent and low. "God, she must have been so unhappy. I wish she'd told me. I might have been able to help her, to intercede with her parents, to offer alternatives to… this." She sighed. "I met Tee'ah right before the war, seven years ago, when Rom and I were living in the Dar palace. Unlike us, Joren and Di maintain the old traditions. They raised Tee'ah in seclusion." She squeezed her husband's hand. "Rom and I are working to change the customs that have outgrown their usefulness, like the ones keeping women like Tee'ah so isolated."
"But all this must be done slowly," Rom said. "Or we'll aggravate the mistrust and resentment that is not so well hidden by some members of the Great Council."
Jas continued. "I kept in touch with Tee'ah, but only occasionally—via viewscreen, never in person. I gave her advice and encouragement, solicited or not, just as I do with my daughter Ilana. But there's a huge cultural difference between a royal Vash female confined to a palace and a career-minded young woman living in California, and I failed to account for that. I filled her head with ideas… with possibilities. Now she's headed into danger she's little prepared for. I can't help feeling responsible."
Gann set his empty bottle on the floor. With a silent sigh, he resigned himself to the nursemaid duty it seemed he was acquiring. What the B'kah asked of him, the B'kah received. Such was his duty, and honor allowed him no alternative. Moreover, he didn't like the idea of an innocent Vash princess in the clutches of disreputable frontier primitives any more than her family did. "I only glimpsed her briefly—seven years ago. What does she look like now?"
Jas handed him a holo-image. The princess, a grown woman, gazed innocently back at him, her posture erect, her long red-gold hair woven ornately in the traditional way atop her head.
Cradling the picture in his palms, he admitted, "Frankly I cannot fathom her, or any Vash princess, for that matter, running away, much less going to the frontier. You're certain she went there voluntarily?"
"Quite." His skepticism had brought a smile to Rom's lips. "She stole a starspeeder, threatened a lieutenant at gunpoint, and launched in the middle of a Tjhu'nami."
Gann whistled, taking a second glance at the holo-image.
Jas said, "Joren's men found her starspeeder on Donavan's Blunder… with a cloaker already on board. The cloaker said she'd traded her speeder for another and had already left the planet. Who knows if he was telling the truth? Security saw no sign of her, other than the ship."
"Any communication from her?" Gann asked.
Rom took the holo-image he handed back. "Yesterday her parents received a short message via a multiple-channel encrypted relay. This was in addition to the note she left them before she departed. In both, she said she was safe, that she'd gone voluntarily, and that they mustn't worry. They assume
the message was genuine, but they can't, of course, authenticate the note or tell where it originated… or when it was sent. Dar intelligence is working on it." Rom pressed his fingertips together and leaned forward. "There's something else. Ian's in the frontier, too. But he's undercover. I've tried, but I can't reach him. My messages to him… bounce."
Gann stared. "Ian's undercover?" This plot was becoming more incredible and more convoluted with each passing minute.
"Not that Ian would know Tee'ah if he saw her," Jas put in, evidently missing Gann's reaction to her husband's statement. "Because of custom, she stayed behind at the palace when the rest of the family traveled here for the wedding. I think she saw holo-images of the ceremony, but Ian's appearance has changed considerably in seven years. So has hers. I doubt they'd recognize each other."
Gann cleared his throat. "I believe I'm missing something here. Why is Ian undercover?"
"Because I don't want the Great Council to know he's there," Rom explained.
"I see," Gann said, although he didn't.
Rom's sharp glance demanded his discretion. "I'm in somewhat of a quandary regarding the frontier. All I can tell you, so as not to place Ian in danger, is that I require his frontiersman's perspective to guide me in future decisions on the matter." Rom appeared to choose his next words with care. "Our realm is growing, changing. We're settling new worlds farther and farther from the heart of our kingdom. Ian will be the first ruler with direct family ties to both the frontier and the Great Council. People on both sides will look to him for leadership. Yet there are still those who don't see the wisdom of Ian's someday taking the throne. I… want to give him the chance to prove them wrong."