Seen (Heartstone Book 2)

by Frances Pauli

  Even as she clamped her eyes tight against him, as she threw up her defenses and tried to evict the very thought of the Tolfarian, he swept inside her like a wave. His blood. No! They were inserting him into her veins. She felt it, the cold seep of Tchao Rimawdi into her soul. He felt like ice, tasted like iron, and growled in her thoughts like…exactly like an Uraru.

  Uraru! The Tolfarian hid a cat within his enhanced exterior. Now, his beast slunk into the space hers had abandoned. A strange cat settled into Rowri and it felt like slime and stinking death.

  “Can she see now?” Its master’s voice called her, and Rowri’s eyes opened. She blinked at her own face, at her soft ash-colored skin and the perfection of her lovely blue wires. “Make her see for me!”

  “They’ve reached Choman space,” Rowri said. “The…bomb is…on board.”

  Tchao’s jaw fell open. His sensors flickered and his eyes narrowed. Inside her body, the Uraru he had never aknowledged roared in triumph. Take that, it rumbled. Now, you’ll see what I can do.

  “Dovali?” Tchao’s noble forehead scrunched in confusion. “Is it working?”

  “It is working,” Rowri cringed from her own words. She curled up into a corner of her rebellious mind and let Tchao’s Uraru take the reins. Did he understand it? Did the bastard even get that he was talking to himself? The cat enjoyed the irony of it. She felt her lips curling into a smile she’d never have formulated on her own. “Better than you ever imagined. I can see for you, Tchao. She is strong and empty. I can see anything you wish.”

  “Yes!” Tchao’s glee reflected in his facial implants. He glowed, and his eyes sharpened, glinted in his own synthetic light. His voice hissed. He leaned forward and commanded, “See for me.”

  The images came easily, controlled, as Rowri’s seeing had never been before. She saw the Council ship streaking toward Choma. She saw Omira in her room, kneeling before her chimes as if they could save her simply by ringing. Tchao’s Uraru wandered through the halls, seeking, hunting for the vision its master craved.

  The cat stalked the thing Tchao wanted. It slunk through the ship’s halls and down, into the belly of the cargo bay. There, strapped to the floor, was the enormous, blinking Tolfarian generator. The device that would heal the Choman bio-net, that had been bartered for with a Priestess’ life, the saving of her people in one giant, cylindrical package.

  The cat circled it, and the seeing pushed inside. Like a ghost, Rowri’s vision slipped into the heart of the generator. It found the hidden compartment, Commander Tchao’s secret. It saw the Shevrans’ device, and it belonged to a single word. Bomb.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “We’ve had orders to arrest you.”

  Jadyek settled the bike into the prison’s clamps and eyed the sky. The Shroud it seemed had sided with the Palace. He’d been met by a duo of armed guards, and so far the rifles hadn’t lowered. One guard he recognized from his last visit, but the other was new. Fate would deal him half a hand, today. All he could hope was that he’d be able to make something of it.

  “I understand.” He released his vehicle and held his palms out, open. “I agree, in fact. I was hoping you’d arrest me.”

  They tried to digest that, and their confusion bought him a moment. He reached for the pack he’d strapped to the back of the bike and found a rifle at his temple. “Don’t.”

  “It’s wine,” Jadyek said. His heart pounded in his ears. “From the moon base.”

  “Step away from the vehicle.” The new guard meant business. He had a scowl to match his rifle, but his buddy eyed the parcel, nudged the man, and whispered something to him. “Check it then, but he doesn’t move a muscle.”

  “That’s fine by me,” Jadyek said. “I have every intention of allowing you to arrest me.”

  “It’s good wine,” the guard who wasn’t aiming for his face said. He lifted one of the bottles from Jayek’s pack and tilted it for his partner to examine. The rifle didn’t budge, however. “Expensive down here.”

  “What’s the catch?” The tip of the barrel nudged Jadyek’s cheek. This guy was dangerous. He took his job far too seriously. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to arrest me,” Jadyek said. “But I want to pick my cell, and I want to take the other bag with me. After that, if I step one foot outside those prison gates, you are welcome to shoot me.”

  “Why?” The suspicious guard wasn’t buying it, but Jadyek’s friendlier one already worked at one of the corks. “What’s in the other bag?”

  “A romantic dinner.” Now he bluffed, and if they checked his lie it would sink him. He spoke quickly, played on the one thing no Shrouded could help but be moved by. “My bonded is in there. All I want is time alone with him.”

  It wasn’t the answer they expected. He could read that much in their expressions, but not a lot more. The gun didn’t move, but neither did the man holding it. His buddy had managed to open the bottle, though. He waved it under the hostile man’s nose, and the rifle’s muzzle dipped to one side.

  Jadyek didn’t flinch. He waited, and prayed fate liked him better than the Shroud did. The guard dropped his weapon, but not his snarl. He allowed his partner to whisper in his ear, but his forehead crinkled, turned a darker shade of purple. Jadyek couldn’t read him, and hadn’t a clue what they’d decide until the stern one nodded.

  “You have an hour,” he said. “Then we remove you and you lose the bag.”

  “Agreed.” If it took more than an hour, they’d have failed anyway. “You keep the wine, either way.”

  The friendlier of the two hefted the parcel of wine and showed Jadyek a grateful smile. They let him carry the other bag, but the cranky man kept his rifle in hand. They marched him to the prison doors and stashed their reward before summoning the inner guard.

  Jadyek clutched his bag and waited with his armed escort while the man’s more charismatic partner relayed instructions to the man who answered the door. They handed him over, along with one bottle of the imported beverage, and the new guard led him into the prison. The doors closed, blocking a view of the Shroud that might be his last.

  He turned his back on it, watched the hall lights flicker to life and lead the way to the lift that would take him to treason.

  The guard said nothing on the way down. He led Jadyek to Dielel’s cell without comment, not even when the passage flared in the glow of the awoken heartstone. He opened the narrow cell door and then glared into it, at Dielel, sitting on the edge of his cot, and then back to Jadyek.

  “You know what he did.”

  “Yes.”

  “One hour.” He allowed Jadyek to slide through the opening before sealing the cell again. “Nothing funny.”

  Technically there was nothing funny about treason. Jadyek nodded and waited for the man to vanish back down the hallway. He waited, though he heard Dielel stand and cross, though they’d never met without a barrier between them before. The walls glowed with the Heart’s approval. The guard reached the lift, began his return journey, and Jadyek’s bonded placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

  The Core was on their side. He heard it in the stone’s answer. Dielel brushed his hair aside, placed a kiss against the skin of his neck, and the whole of Shroud trembled.

  *-*-*

  “There’s been a corequake.” Mofitan leaned back in the chair and tapped the console. “Message came through this morning.”

  “On Shroud?” Haftan sat in the chair against the wall. “What are the damages?”

  They hadn’t had a significant corequake in over a decade. Shayd watched the other Shrouded for any sign they meant to change plans, to rush home instead of executing this rescue. He’d spent the first day of the trip planning how he’d get to her if they did.

  “Estimated less than a hundred casualties. The epicenter was in the Trilan crater.”

  “The prison?”

  “It doesn’t say.” Mof ran one hand down the surface in front of him. His fingers flirted with the controls.

 
; Shayd tensed and watched them. The home world had taken a hit, and even his Shrouded blood called him to defend it. But a corequake was a natural thing, and they would not be able to stop that disaster. If they continued at the transport’s top speed, even with Dolfan’s fuel on board, they might not be able to stop the one on Choma either. At least they could try to prevent it.

  “Send the news along to Eclipsis too. They don’t have much to spare, but Dolfan will offer what he can.” Haftan looked at Shayd finally. He tried to smile, but neither of them had the Heart driving them. They would help him, he knew, would die trying if necessary, but their blood didn’t screech at them to be moving. “And add a trailer to the message we’re broadcasting to the Summit.”

  “I already did.” Mof still moved at his switches, and every flick sent a shiver through Shayd’s control. They would get him to her, but at this rate, how could they do it in time?

  “Has the Summit responded?” he asked.

  “Not yet, Shayd.” Haftan looked at his feet.

  “It’s been long enough.”

  “We have suspicions only. Conjecture.”

  Shayd stood, sat down again and then stood and leaned against the door to the causeway. “Can we go any faster?”

  “No.” Mofitan flicked another switch. “We’re at top speed, even with the Eclipsan booster.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “We’ll reach the coordinates Dolfan suggested within twenty hours.”

  “And Choma?”

  “Another day at least.”

  Too long. He balled his hands into fists and let Rowri’s Uraru answer for him.

  Haftan’s head swiveled in his direction. “Did you just growl?”

  “We need to be faster!”

  “Why does he sound like you, Mofitan?”

  “There’s a ship out there.” Mof’s fingers danced over the toggles and flicked switches. “It’s set to intercept us.”

  “Did Dolfan happen to loan us any weapons?” Haftan forgot Shayd and focused his attention on Mofitan. “Anything?”

  “We are not authorized for armaments. Your Summit was very specific.”

  “It’s not my Summit.” Haftan argued.

  The Uraru in his mind snarled and paced. Shayd stalked forward and pushed in beside Mof. “Who is it? What kind of ship?”

  Mofitan read his sensors. He adjusted frequencies and let out a low growl.

  “What?” Haftan stood too, and all three Shrouded attempted to squeeze closer to the readouts.

  “It’s Tolfarian,” Mof said. “The ID code says it’s a colony ship. Crew of 342 civilians.”

  “Lies,” Shayd snarled.

  “Maybe not.” Haftan said. “Are they coming in armed?”

  “Yes.” Mof nodded and his braid danced. “But they’re broadcasting too. All frequencies.”

  “Play it!”

  He hit the switch at the same time that Shayd and Haftan spoke. They echoed one another, but a new voice drowned them out.

  This is Mr. Prill, former third commander of the Tolfarian ship, Lightstrike, with a distress signal of vital importance. Galactic Summit assistance requested to prevent large-scale conflict. Please respond. This is Mr. Prill, former first commander of the…

  “Is it a trap?” Haftan leaned forward and his shoulder knocked Shayd into the bulkhead. “Is he serious?”

  “I’m responding,” Mof said. “But maybe you should do the talking.”

  Haftan swept in and Mofitan slid from the chair and leaned against the opposite bulkhead. They exchanged a kindred look while Haftan recorded his reply. For the first time since they’d both taken up Council rings, Shayd felt more like Mof than anyone. He felt like snarling, like clawing his way out and running to Choma.

  “Tolfarian vessel,” Haftan spoke like an official. His voice was calmer than Shayd could have managed. “This is a Shrouded transport. We are aware of the situation you describe and are attempting to reach the Summit as well.”

  “Ask him where she is!” Shayd howled and earned a curse from Haftan.

  “Send it,” Mof said. “There’s no time.”

  The response came almost immediately. “They’re slowing down, Mof.”

  Haftan scrambled from the chair and let Mofitan at the controls again. His hands moved, and the star field shifted, replaced by a pale gray, blue lined face. Tolfarian.

  “Where is she?!” Shayd shouted at him, but the man’s frown had more regret than anger in it.

  “Tchao took the girl with him.”

  “You’re Mr. Prill?” Haftan tried to shoulder past Shayd, but they ended up squeezed again, facing the former Tolfarian officer like two schoolchildren fighting over a vid console. “You mentioned a large-scale conflict.”

  “Tchao has taken an army of mercs with him. He has the Shrevrans’ ships, our entire fleet, and…”

  “Rowri.” Shayd moaned.

  “And the beast-woman.”

  “Will you tell the Summit that?” Haftan asked.

  “Yes. I’ve already tried to alert them.” Mr. Prill rubbed his high, implanted forehead and sighed. The Galactic Summit, it seemed, was listening to no one today.

  “So have we. Mof, can we link the two messages and broadcast them together?”

  “On it.”

  “We can do the same,” Prill said. “But I doubt we’ll have time to be effective. Tchao has inserted something inside the generator. I did my best to sabotage it, but I had little time. It will reach Choma even before he does.”

  “Inserted what?” Mofitan growled.

  “Something his Shevran allies brought him. I tried to uncover it, and he had me removed from the Lightstrike. I’ve stolen this ship. When he finds out, I’m a dead man.”

  “You’ve stolen the ship?” Shayd knocked Haftan back a step and pushed in beside Mof. “That ship?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned forward, brought his face as close to the view screen as the cameras were allowed and stared the Tolfarian dead in the augmented eyes. Rowri’s Uraru growled in his mind. Run, run, run. The Tolfarian ships were ahead of them, but Mr. Prill had a Tolfarian ship.

  Shayd smiled and let the beast purr through his words. “How fast can it go?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Tchao Rimawdi led his people home backed by an army of mercenaries and reptilian allies. He'd meant to hold them in reserve, to wait until the bomb had exploded before taking the battle to the Choman surface. When he reached Choma, however, he came face to face with a ragtag gathering of the Galactic Summit’s local forces. Pathetic and no better match for his forces than the pitiful Choman defenses. His mercenaries relayed the Summit’s order to desist and their willingness to continue in the same transmission.

  The Galactic presence here in the outlands thinned, but Choma’s neighbors had patched together more ships than Tchao would have expected. His were quicker, however, and he’d wager his mercenaries were better trained, with better weapons than the diplomatic Summit’s forces.

  “Full attack.” He commanded from the bridge of the Lightstrike, but his thoughts were on Dovali’s work, on the suddenly cooperative girl strapped to the doctor’s table. That breakthrough couldn't have come a moment too soon. “Maximize damage, and let the mercenaries do their job as they see fit.”

  The Summit ships had positioned themselves in a defensive barricade, evenly spaced between the Tolfarian forces and the Choman surface. Tchao’s mercenaries scattered, flew at the line from all angles with guns blazing. He fired first, but the Summit didn’t hesitate to return the favor, and Tchao’s view screen filled with the bright flares of both weaponfire and explosions.

  His personal comm beeped. Dovali’s private channel blinked on the readout. Tchao opened the line and hissed into the microphone while his mercenaries tore flaming holes in the Chomans' last-ditch defense effort. How they’d known he was coming, Tchao could only assume.

  The Dartfire hadn’t arrived at Choma with them. Somehow, Mr. Prill had slipped free to ale
rt the Galactic Summit of his scheme. He hoped the man lived long enough to be caught and tortured. “Dovali, report.”

  “The bomb is in place, sir. She’s seen them take it into the Temple.”

  He leaped to his feet and pounded gray fists against the railing. They had them. Let the Summit detain the mercenaries all they liked. The Temple would fall, and then they could take their time decimating the slower Galactic vessels.

  “Initiate the Rimawdi Protocol file: Beast. Controls to my console, Mr. Raig.”

  “Yes, sir!” Prill’s replacement had all the obedience and respect that his predecessor lacked. “Patching control sequence.”

  “Tell me the second I can fire, Mr. Raig.” Tchao sat again. He grinned at the chaos on screen. Even if the mercenaries failed him, Choma would suffer. Without the Grand Temple, without their priesthood, the pastoral Choma-uraru would need to negotiate with him. They’d be begging for the Tolfarians to lead them out of their primitive existence. “Dovali?”

  “She says they’re beginning the ceremony. You have time.”

  Mr. Raig stood and snapped off an unnecessary salute. “You have control, commander.”

  “Excellent work, Raig.” Tchao fingered his console and looked beyond the Summit barricade. He focused on the gleaming, emerald green sphere that had spawned his people. “Detonation in five, four, three, two…” He tapped the initiation sequence and heard his panel groan in answer.

  “No fire, sir.” Raig dropped back to his own controls and his hands flew across the toggles. “It didn’t go off.”

  Tchao tried again, and his console groaned, reported in a pre-recorded mechanical voice. Malfunction. Connection Severed.

  “We have no contact with the device, sir.” Raig’s voice wavered. “The command is broadcasting to an empty channel.”

  “How?” Tchao knew how—he knew it, like a black hole in his gut.

  “Someone has re-coded the link. It’s been diverted. The bomb’s receptor is scrambled.”

  “Someone.” Tchao snarled and smashed his fists against the metal arms of his chair. His lips curled, but oddly his rage felt weak. He’d lost the force of his beastly blood to power it. He screamed the traitor’s name, just the same. “Mr. Prill!”