The ships displayed on the overlay, now caught in the web of pure white energy, would be destroyed by the star behind him. It was on the overlay, in the far left corner, and he could see ribbons of energy from it being sucked into the sphere. The temperature inside the pod began to rise as the sphere supercharged its systems.
A series of restraints suddenly snaked around him, binding him at the legs and torso to the chair as if he were welded to it, just as the clock stopped counting and the flashing light turned to a solid green. Galen grabbed the handle and pulled it down with all of his might.
Goodbye, Rhea.
The entire sphere shook as if struck by the very force that had created the universe itself. On the overlay, it seemed as if a giant hose had been hooked to the star and was now sucking every particle of it into the sphere. The sphere bucked even harder, only the restraints keeping Galen in the chair. The command pod filled with a light so blinding he could no longer make out any of the instrument panels, the overlay or the view screen.
From that light, he saw a figure emerge. Rhea. In a gossamer gown, her hair flowing the way it had been when he’d first seen her on Nammu. Smiling, she reached out to him, and he gazed into those green eyes that had become the center of his universe.
She was welcoming him home. She was safe now, and he could let go.
He took her hand and felt himself lifting out of the chair and sailing into the light with her at his side.
* * * * *
“Get us out here, Admiral,” Harmool shrieked. The flagship groaned as she struggled to break free, alarms screamed on every deck.
“What do you think we’re trying to do?” the Admiral snapped as the ship lurched hard to the left and down. “Form a damned quilting circle?!”
On their forward screen, they saw the sphere begin to glow with an unholy white light. Harmool screamed and fled the bridge toward the escape pods. The Admiral knew they’d be of no use, otherwise he’d have already ordered his crews to abandon their ships.
“Bloody coward,” he shouted at Harmool’s retreating back, not even bothering to waste the time and energy of drawing his sidearm and shooting the man. He turned back to the screen to face his fate.
* * * * *
On view screens on Taygeta, Caletos, Axaltier and Y’pslandi, horrified eyes watched as the sphere impossibly harnessed the output of a star going nova. When finally nothing remained of the red dwarf, only the massive white hot orb of the sphere remained visible on the screen. The light was so blinding, they could no longer make out the Salacian ships.
Then the energy that the sphere had absorbed was transmitted across the tendrils of the web it had weaved around the fleet until all was a glowing mass, sphere, tendrils and ships, that grew ever brighter, until the distant Caletos ships’ sensors could no longer record it and the screens blacked out.
When they were finally able to look at that region of space again minutes later, all that remained was a black void filled with slags of molten metal where once there had been over thirty ships. The star was gone, no part of it remained even down to the quantum level. The Talon had burned off of the sphere within seconds.
As for the sphere itself, there was nothing, not even a single scrap of molten slag to serve as a memorial for the sacrifice of Galen Dwyn.
* * * * *
Napat stared at the screen in silent shock. He couldn’t find any words to express what he’d just seen. Eldereef, who’d watched the whole thing beside him, sat down heavily, shaking his head.
“Order our fleet,” Napat finally broke the silence, “to close in on Salacia and demand they stand down and turn over both the King and Queen to be charged for their crimes against the Alliance. And tell the Admiral I want him to run a full DNA scan on the King. I want to know if that really is Iodocus or some imposter.”
“At once,” Eldereef replied.
“Then send over the data Dwyn transmitted along with a recording of… what we just witnessed to the Senate,” he added. “Tell them, I will accept their apology, and I expect this special session to be cancelled.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he headed for the door.
“And, Rowan,” Napat called out as he opened the door to leave.
“Yes?”
“Bring me that order recalling Dwyn to active duty for me to sign,” Napat said looking back at the screen. “Along with a declaration awarding Galen Dwyn the Order of Merit.”
“The highest honor in the Alliance?”
“I think that man just earned it, don’t you?”
* * * * *
“What in the…?” Ellaneiri paused.
He couldn’t think of any of the forty-two hells that were the equal of what he’d just witnessed. He looked over at the professor who sat down shakily. He looked as if he’d aged ten cycles in the last ten seconds. Maybe he had. Maybe they all had. Who could witness such a thing like that and emerge from it unscathed? he thought as he reclaimed his own seat.
He started to ask the professor a question, then caught himself and let it go unasked. Better to leave the distraught man in peace. Only then did he become aware of the wracking sobs coming from the third occupant in his office. The Princess had buried her head in her hands, her whole body shaking with wave after wave of her grief.
Poor child, he thought. He considered all that she had gone through, and in less than a lune at that, and then he thought of what his own daughter had suffered along with two other women. So much pain, so much suffering, and for this sobbing woman she had borne the worst of it with the loss of the man she loved.
This is how you repay him?!
The professor’s earlier words came back unbidden, twice as accusatory now as they’d been when first uttered, twice as damning now in the aftermath of what he’d just seen. His aide suddenly cut in on the view screen, interrupting his thoughts.
“Sir, our ships are requesting permission to enter the system and search for survivors.”
From that? He thought bitterly. What could survive that?
“Leave one ship behind to conduct the search,” he ordered. It was futile gesture, but it was the least they could do. “Inform the fleet commander to take the rest of his ships and head for Salacia. He will be joined by as many of our ships as we can get there.”
“Right away, sir.” The aide started to sign off.
“Wait!” he commanded. She looked back into the pickup. “Get me Chancellor Napat, K’laine, and Lonshanks. I want to speak with all three of them at the same time.”
“Yes, sir,” she signed off before he could add to her list.
I’ll kick all three of them in their chair-polishing backsides, he vowed, until they send as many ships as possible to Salacia. Iodocus, or Arthureal, or whatever in the seventeen hells that bastards name really was, was going to answer for his great many crimes and for every ounce of misery that he’d inflicted.
TWENTY-FIVE
“I repeat,” Admiral Vistok Bhrama ordered, “by the direct order of Chancellor Napat, and on behalf of the combined Alliances forces surrounding Salacia, you are hereby ordered to stand down and turn over the person claiming to be King Iodocus Neasa along with Queen Darieann Bebinn Neasa to face charges in the Senate regarding their crimes against the Alliance and its citizens.”
“And I will repeat,” Iodocus replied haughtily, “that we have no such intention to do so. We will not be cowed into surrender by your bullying tactics. By what right does Napat dare attempt to interfere with a King’s right to his throne?”
An officer stepped up next to Bhrama and showed him a pad. On one side of the split screen were the results of the DNA scan they’d run while the King and the Admiral had verbally jousted over the last several minutes. On the other side of the screen, a DNA scan run on Iodocus five years before, when he’d sought treatment for an illness during a visit to Taygeta.
It was close, as was expected it would be for twin brothers, but clearly the scans had been taken of two different individuals. The man on t
he screen, wearing the crown, was not Iodocus.
“By what right does an imposter dare claim his brother’s throne, Arthureal Neasa?” he asked simply. “Our scan taken of you just now proves that you are not King Iodocus. So I will amend my demand slightly in light of this new evidence.
“Your entire planetary defense system will stand down,” the Admiral continued, “and you will surrender Arthureal Neasa and Queen Darieann Bebinn Neasa to face charges in the Alliance Senate.”
“And if we do not recognize this ‘evidence’,” Arthureal sneered. “Nor any of your ‘demands’, Admiral? What will you do then?”
“What I must,” he replied. “Has there not been enough death already laid at your feet, imposter? Your entire fleet has been destroyed. More than thirty ships. Over six thousand men and woman who died because they thought they were serving their true King. If we must fight our way through your planet’s defenses, we will. And many more thousands will die and for nothing. Your ruse is exposed, Arthureal. You have nothing left to gain by trying to continue this farce any further.”
“We will not be swayed by your lies,” Arthureal replied, but he’d been betrayed by a slight flinch in his jawline when informed of his fleet’s destruction.
The Admiral wondered just how much more the imposter was unaware of. He started to repeat the stand down order one last time before ordering his ship to fire on the planet, when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and turned toward it.
The Princess Rhiannon, followed by Fiachra, walked up beside the Admiral and look harshly at the man she now knew as her uncle. She was dressed in the traditional all-black dress of a grieving widow, a lace veil covering her face but not disguising her identity.
“Hello, Uncle Arthureal,” she said and her voice was solid iron. “Mother.”
“Rhiannon,” Arthureal sputtered. “I don’t know what lies they’ve told you, but I am your fa…”
“They,” she replied with heavy emphasis on that first word, “have not lied to me, Uncle. The same cannot be said of you and my mother.”
“Rhiannon,” the Queen stepped forward. “Surely, you can’t believe…”
“I can, and I do,” Rhiannon replied firmly. The Admiral nodded in approval. There was steel in this one. “I have seen the evidence. I have heard the confession of Adalwin Harmool. I have heard your own words, Uncle, confessing your crimes while you were torturing Galen Dwyn,” only here did her voice falter, when she spoke that name, but she quickly gathered herself and continued. “He was a better man than you’ll ever be, Uncle, and you will pay dearly for his death above all others.”
“You’ve been lied to, girl,” Arthureal claimed.
“By my own eyes?” she cut him off. “Unlike the other three women you arranged to have abducted, I retain all of my memories of being placed inside that sleep pod and hooked up to the Jakamal. Those memories are slowly starting to make sense to me, Uncle.
“Especially the ones that took place on the ship of that pig, Vedastus,” she spoke quietly, but her voice shook with rage as she recounted the memory and everyone who heard it felt the power of that rage as their own. “When you and Harmool delivered me into his hands. How could you allow them to do that to me, mother, your own daughter? I will keep these memories of your betrayal with me for the rest of my days so that I will not ever falter when it comes to seeing you receive the justice you both so deserve.”
The accused said nothing, only looked at her in combined shock.
The Admiral shared that shock. That she would choose not to have the terror of the Jakamal erased. That she would delve into that hell to find the truth…
“Your Highness,” the words poured out from Bhrama. “I serve the Alliance and my Chancellor. But if ever my lady needs it, my sword arm and my ship are hers to command.”
He bowed, and every person on the bridge followed suit, as did Lir.
“Commodore Uthenu,” she addressed a uniformed man to the left of Arthureal, just visible on the screen. “We have sent a data packet containing all of the evidence we have gathered, exposing this plot. Your true King has been kidnapped, and the Queen has conspired with his captors in the plot.
“Given these facts,” she continued. “I assume my place as rightful ruler of Salacia. I order you to stand down our planetary defenses and take no action against any Alliance ship or personnel in orbit or on the planet. You will place Arthureal Neasa and Darieann Neasa into custody until I can question them regarding the whereabouts of my father so that, if he lives, he can be restored to his rightful place on the throne.”
The Commodore stepped into the center of the view screen and looked long and hard at Rhiannon, who stood her ground and stared right back at him. He turned and considered the two people standing behind him.
“Don’t be a fool, Uthenu,” Arthureal snarled. “It’s a trick. They’ve tricked her into believing their lies. Don’t fall for it too. I am your true King.”
The Admiral pushed a button on his command console. Harmool’s voice played, confessing that he and the Queen had conspired, among other activities, to replace Arthureal as soon as was no longer of any use and they had secured their imperialistic desires.
Arthureal’s eyes widened as he spun to face the Queen. He didn’t need to ask the question. Confirmation was written all over her face.
“You tramp,” Arthureal bellowed. “With that weasel Harmool?!”
He started toward her, but Uthenu had seen and heard enough. He snapped his fingers, and his men quickly got between the imposter and the Queen.
“Take them to the cells below,” Uthenu ordered. “Make sure they are separated by at least one cell at that. And send the stand down order, now!”
The guards hustled the two quarreling ex-lovers out of the room in restraints. The flashing alarm lights in the background were shut off.
“Defense grid is down,” an officer on the Alliance flagship reported. “All ships are returning to dock in orbit and to their bases on land.”
“Very good,” Bhrama replied in relief. He’d meant what he’d said earlier. Enough blood had been shed.
“Princess Rhiannon,” Uthenu said after the room had settled down. “We await your return. We will interrogate the prisoners until they tell us what has become of our King. In the meantime, your people wait to welcome you home. Your ship and any other vessels will have no fear of any hostile action from us.”
“Thank you, Commodore,” she replied. “I will be down soon in my flagship, the Tempest.”
She turned and walked off the bridge, back iron-rod straight, as the connection to the planet was cut. The Admiral ordered an escort flight and a security team to accompany her down below until he was certain of her safety. He watched her until she left the bridge.
“By the gods,” Bhrama said. “I didn’t know they still made women like that anymore.”
“They do, Admiral,” Lir agreed before following after her. “Not nearly often enough, but by the gods, they most certainly still do.”
TWENTY-SIX
The flight down in the Tempest was a silent one. Lir sat in the pilot’s seat while Cassandra did the actual piloting. Rhiannon sat in the other seat, staring out the window, lost in her thoughts. By unspoken consent, Lir and Cassandra did not try to engage her in conversation.
The Tempest glided in for a landing at the Palace’s official pad, followed by the support shuttle with her Alliance security team and representatives of the Alliance who would be discussing many things with their Salacian counterparts. The escort fighters flew back to their ship once the two craft were safely on the ground.
Rhiannon got up and walked to the opening hatch. She paused, placing her hand on the fuselage and looked up at the ceiling.
“Cass,” she said with a sad smile. “I intend to keep the Tempest as my own personal ship. I’d like for you to remain as its AI. But if you would prefer to be transferred anywhere else, just say the word, and I will see to it.”
“He was always
threatening to hook me up to a garbage scow,” Cassandra replied. “But I’d rather stay with this ship if I can. And I think he’d like it that you’re keeping the Tempest.”
“I think he would, too,” a ghost of a smile winked across Rhiannon’s mouth.
“Just don’t go making us too respectable,” Cassandra quipped as only she could. “We do have a reputation to maintain out there in the galaxy, you know.”
“I’ll make sure the Tempest is the most disreputable ship in the galaxy, Cass.”
With a final pat on the hatch, Rhiannon disembarked with Lir in tow. She was met at the bottom of the ramp by a man wearing the insignia of Commander in the Salacian Space Navy.
“Princess Rhiannon,” he bowed. “I have been instructed to escort you and your party to the Royal Hall. Commodore Uthenu is awaiting you there.”
A private car, followed by a larger bus, pulled up. Rhiannon and Lir got into the back of the car, with an Alliance Security officer getting up front with the driver. The Commander joined the others aboard the bus for the short drive over and up to the outer entrance to the Royal Hall.
“Her Royal Highness, Princess Rhiannon Muriel Neasa,” the doorman announced in a booming voice as he held the door open for her and her party. She swept into the room and walked straight toward Uthenu.
The Commodore was standing at the base of the steps leading up to the throne. Both the velvet-lined King’s chair and the smaller satin-lined Queen’s chair sat vacant, save for the recently-liberated crowns on the seat of each one.
“Welcome home, my lady,” Uthenu greeted. “All Salacia rejoices at your safe return. We are ready for the coronation so that you may take your rightful place as our Queen.”
“No.” she said simply and turned to face the gathered assembly.
“Until we have determined the fate of our King,” she raised her voice, “I will serve only as Crown Regent. If our King lives, he will return and reclaim his rightful place. Until then, I will not sit in his throne. Set the Queen’s chair one further step below his and place her crown away in safe-keeping. That will be the Crown Regent’s chair from this day forth until the King has returned.
Galen's Way: A Starquest 4th Age Adventure Page 18