“Well said,” the female Durian leader stated softly. She gave Emmarie a gentle smile. “And how would you find your way into the hearts of Durians who so wish to ignore the talks of recognizing human citizenship?”
“Besides reminding them that tyrants rarely stop with just one conquered race? After humans, where will they strike next?”
She saw several Durians turn to one another with surprised looks.
“After that, I would do what I do best.”
“And that is?”
“I’d sing them a song.”
* * * *
General Nairan stepped off the elevator and held out his hand for her, helping her off the platform lift. They were enclosed in green glass, high above most of the city, and the view was particularly spectacular. Arriving crafts dotted the skies, following grid patterns laid out by lights that looked like fishing buoys.
“I’m not sure we’re in the right place,” she said, looking around dubiously.
The General had volunteered to escort her to the temporary housing shelter given to the Spartan refugees. Only, this place looked more like it belonged in a fashionable home magazine rather than allowed for hundreds of humans.
“This is my home,” General Nairan said with his usual stiff demeanor.
She looked at him in shock. “Your home? I think there’s been a mistake—”
“You’ll be more comfortable here,” he interrupted. “The shelter has too many beds placed in very small rooms and as you know, overcrowding can lead to unsanitary results. In fact, the director of the shelter called and said they didn’t have room for one more person.”
“You could take me to another shelter.”
He shook his head. “Too far to travel at this time of night.”
She knew it was an excuse. “I don’t feel…comfortable about this.”
He frowned, the skin around his scar pulling and contorting his eyebrow into a twisted line. “This offer comes without strings, Miss Tice. I am Honor Guardian of the Durian High Council as well as the General in charge of the entire Durian Armada. I would never force a woman into any sort of compromising positions that she did not want.”
She flushed. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I never meant to impugn your honor. I am grateful for your generosity.”
He relaxed. “Right this way, Miss Tice,” he said before walking briskly from the lift.
For such a big, brutish man, his home was surprisingly…fragile. A bull in a china shop came to mind as she stared at the delicate furniture within the glass walls. It looked a cross between French Provincial and English Regency, a blending of two eras that couldn’t hold the weight of a Pomeranian, let alone an alien warrior whose fists should be classified as lethal weapons.
“This is your home?” she asked hesitantly. Perhaps she’d misunderstood.
“Yes. Why? What’s wrong with it?” he demanded.
“Nothing. I’m shocked that you’d bring me to your personal space.”
“It is just a house. The building is made with a material called hide glass. You can see out but no one can see in. Provides a lot of natural light and is a very durable building material.”
Silence fell between them, odd and uncomfortable. “May I ask why are you being so nice to me, to a lowly human?”
The brackets around his mouth tightened. “I admire courage.”
“Do Durians prize courage above everything?”
He hesitated. “No, not…everything.”
She cocked her head questioningly.
“It…pleases me to see you in my home.”
Her mouth fell open and she had to scramble quickly to cover her surprise. “I’m sorry?”
“It has been a long time since I’ve had company.”
“Company?”
“My…mate died two years ago,” he said softly.
Emmarie held up a hand. “I’m not looking for a mate!”
“I’m not as well,” he assured. “But I’ve missed companionship. I’ve spent most of the past two years on active duty because this place is so quiet.”
The tone of his voice hinted at a very deep and lasting pain. Suddenly, she understood the décor of his home. This had been her home and he hadn’t the heart to change one thing. She felt the last of her reserve melt away.
“I, too, have lost my mate,” she told him. “Although, I have no grave to mourn over. I carry hope he’ll come back to me.”
“It is Captain Raiden? Is he the babe’s father?”
Her breath caught at the mention of his name. She nodded. “Have you…have heard anything about—”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, halting her tentative question. “But if I do, rest assured I’ll come straight to you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Please feel free to stay here until he returns for you. And if he should never, well, you and your child would always be welcome here.”
She nodded, tears burning her eyes. She blinked rapidly, silently cursing her evolving hormones. It had to be them, right? Why should she cry when she knew she’d see Pell again.
She had to see him again.
* * * *
If she thought she’d rusticate at the general’s home, she’d been vastly mistaken. The next day a plethora of clothes were delivered and though she protested, the general made sound arguments that the money had been spent and she needed to wear something other than the white gown from the Merloni medical ship. So she conceded.
He escorted her into society and she learned the intricacies of the Durian social order. Like any other civilized world there were the very rich, followed by the medium rich, the middle class, and finally the poor, although the poor were a step above some of the poverty on Earth. Durian law had the wealthy invest into a part of the city and it was his or her responsibility to make sure the people within that section had work, shelter, and food. General Nairan took her to his section of the city and she met many Durians who looked as if they were seeing an alien for the first time.
The next day he took her to the Council hearings about the current war being waged through space against the Unarians. He had requested she wear a shirt that revealed her branding. At first, she was hesitant, loathed to let people view the hideous scarring. But as they walked through the numerous Durian delegates, she saw them stare first at her and then slip to the mark that she bore and realized the general had made her a deliberate ploy to work on sympathy. After that, she had all the clothing altered that showed off the mark.
The following night she was his escort to a grand and opulent ball, one being held to honor the Durian soldiers about to be sent off to the war effort. Even though the ball was for the elite of society, the general had told her it was also to raise money for the soldiers’ families, in case the soldier never returned. A charity ball, he explained. That night, as Emmarie followed his lead and stood by his side, she saw how the Durian world was controlled by the rich and knew that to have humans recognized by this world she would have to win over the ones in power.
The next day, she began working on the idea of a benefit show, making sure to call it a charity event for the refugees of Sparta. If there was one thing the upper echelons of the Durian high society loved more than flaunting their wealth, it was flaunting it in the name of beneficence.
She took her idea to General Nairan, who approved. He told her it would be good publicity to raise awareness of the human plight, since many of the rich held majority votes. To gain their favor would gain sympathy for obtaining citizenship. And, of course, citizenship would safeguard humans from being held as slaves. And so she began to construct the abstract idea into something more solid.
She’d known he was a wealthy man but over the next two days, she came to realize just how important General Nairan was in Durian society. He introduced her to several prominent families who threw their enthusiasm into overdrive at the idea of hosting a benefit show, especially once Emmarie made it known she would sing. Although many didn’t know h
er singing capabilities, the general’s assurance was all they needed.
She began to look at him in a completely different light. He maintained his stiff, formal bearing, even when they were alone together in his home eating dinner or relaxing in front of the fire. His fatigues might be gone but his soldier’s stance never relaxed for one moment.
“Are you returning to the battle lines any time soon?” she finally asked that night as his cook served them dinner.
“Why? Are you anxious to be rid of me?” His red eyes stared at her unblinking.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I was simply wondering if your expertise wouldn’t be better suited to the Durian fleet rather than attending balls.”
“There is much a war needs to be won with,” he said, his tone cool. “Military tactics, most definitely, as well as soldiers to fight with. But unpopular wars die out quickly when financial aid is withheld, and right now my strategy is make those who have a loud opinion shout very highly in favor of continuing the fight.”
“That makes sense,” she murmured. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t holding you back.”
“Certainly not,” he replied. He hesitated for a moment and then squared his shoulders. “I have men searching for two things. As soon as they find one or both, I will leave to resume my command, but until that time, the Durian Armada has many competent generals at the helm.”
She cocked her head. “What two things?”
He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “I want the head of Lord Palazio of the First House of Galjani. When my men have captured him I plan on killing him. Do you have a problem with that?”
Emmarie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Could what I say sway your decision?”
“No. If the man were to live he’d continue to hunt you. And I want you and your babe to be safe.”
She felt as if she’d just been set adrift on a vast sea. Her hand went protectively to her belly. She looked at the General. “I have no qualm with your plan.”
“Good. The second thing I’m searching for is Captain Raiden. It’s been twenty days since he left to blow the hub. I’m guessing that he got trapped on the other side of the Rings before all hell broke out and is now in hiding. I’m sure I will find him for you soon.”
With effort she pulled back her emotions. She knew the general would not appreciate having her cry all over dinner. Instead she nodded. “Thank you.”
He turned back to his plate of food, effectively cutting off any other conversation. For a long moment she watched him and she felt very glad to have found such a loyal friend.
* * * *
Putting together a benefit show took more effort than she had thought it would be. She’d had visions of what it had been like singing at Leona’s saloon, but the Durian contributors had other ideas. They wanted it telecast, with a stage and complex lighting, costumes and back-up dancers. They may not know her vocal ability but they did know some Durian singers and once it had been known about the benefit, artists came out of the woodwork. By then, Emmarie was only too happy to let them handle the details while she practiced.
It had been the day after her talk with the general when Emmarie finally made it to the refugee housing complex where she should have gone. She was slightly conscious of her fine clothing as she walked through the halls, seeing who had been rescued, who had been found and who had been saved from the Merloni medical ships.
She cried with joy as when she found Harpo and hugged him tightly. Immediately she invited him to accompany her on piano as she began to prepare the piece she was going to sing. He agreed but sadly had to tell her that Bishop had been captured and Pansy had died in the fire that had consumed Leona’s Saloon. Emmarie felt a pang in her heart and silently prayed that one day they would bring Bishop home.
Every day she waited for news from Pell. She expected him to come striding in, scoop her up in his arms, and carry her off so they could have a very private reunion. Sometimes she thought about him so much she ached.
The benefit concert had turned into an entity all on its own. Suddenly people wanted to interview her, wanted her at social functions and at official ceremonies. Emmarie may not have cared much for becoming the face of the revolution, but it was a position she could hardly say no to. So she granted interviews, she attended social functions, and she sat next to the general at the official ceremonies.
Two weeks after she had arrived on Dura, the concert was held. The proceeds would go to rebuilding Sparta as well as raising awareness of the savagery that the Unarians had inflicted that day. Lives lost, people separated from loved ones, and the feeling of safety shattered. The whole event reminded her of the telethons that would run on television trying to raise money for research for certain diseases or feeding the poor and hungry of the world. She watched from backstage, hoping that this would be enough, because she planned on leaving for Sparta the next day. She would have her baby in a human world, and he or she would be born free.
Her dress was made of spun silver, a silken cloud wrapped around her body that whispered as she walked. The front plunged almost to her navel. Her breasts were prominently on display and it made her feel uncomfortable. She’d never worn anything so revealing. But General Nairan had insisted it showed off the ugly twist of the burn tattoo in the best possible light…her beauty and its ugliness. It was still red, still inflamed and healing. She hated it every time she looked at it but did agree that it made a very effective tool. Even the people in the refugee centers had looked at her with dawning horror. Many of them carried a mark just like hers, of course, those that had been rescued or escaped a first time, but to see a fresh wound opened up their eyes that the horror was still happening.
After the Durian celebrities and dignitaries participated on the broadcast, Emmarie was to be the last singer. She had prepared a special song to sing, one she had written herself. Though the melody was simple, the important message came from the words. She sang of being strong, of being resilient in the face of pain, that no matter what fires may burn her or what chains held her, she would always be rise up, higher than the petty injustice placed upon her.
Mentally she sang it for Pell, and she wondered if he was watching somewhere. Was he imprisoned? Hurt? Trapped? She refused to think that he could be dead. She’d feel it in her heart if he was truly lost to her.
It must have been the right song because when it was done, when Harpo hit the last chord, a thunderous applause greeted her. She bowed, waved, and hurried off stage. Her singing career on Dura was officially over. She’d never wanted limelight, fame, or fortune. The beauty of music had always been about celebration and joy. The next time she walked on a stage, it would be to the patrons of newly refurbished Leona’s Saloon.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Raiden had known something bad had happened when the Kexian Sentinels were pulled from guard duty on the hub. He had wrestled with the decision to continue on the mission or discover what emergency drove them away.
Being captain, he had pressed on. The hub was a large satellite, its curving dish so large that the ends almost curled around to touch each other. The way it worked was through mathematical calculations that took in the position of the stars and then gave a formula for the Merloni ship to follow as it entered and exited normal space. The technical aspects went over his head, but Emmarie’s observation on the computer’s computation had made one thing crystal clear. The hub calculations weren’t working at one hundred percent.
He docked against the side of the hub while Elliot lined up his arsenal of homemade weapons. Parker, who worked with computers, managed to override the security, and that’s when they found themselves inside the satellite. The enclosed area was little more than a series of small hallways, and the men had to haunch over while walking. Clearly, the station had been built for the smaller-framed Merloni technicians.
“This is just fucked,” Elliot whispered.
“Focus,” Raiden ordered.
“The mainframe should be
just up ahead,” Parker said.
“Upload that virus quickly and then let’s get out of here,” Raiden replied. Seconds later, they turned a corner and the heart of the hub lay before them. Dozens of computer screens, all displaying various graphs and informational readouts. Lights blinked, the sounds of fans whirled, and cold air was falling directly over the hard drives. Parker hurried forward and kneeled down in front of one frame. He attached a small device and then stood up to push a few buttons.
“Okay, let’s go,” Parker said.
“That’s it?” Raiden asked, clearly surprised.
“Yeah. The new coordinates have already been sent into the mainframe on Merloni Prime. Now, whenever the Merloni access the Slip Gate, it’ll open in the Outlaw Rings.”
“So we can blow it now?”
“Yep. Even if they build a new one, all their calculations are going to be off.”
Raiden grinned. “Excellent. Time to set the charges.”
As they made their way back to their ship docked against the side of the hub, they planted all the bombs they had managed to either get their hands on or build themselves. Then they slid back through the opened hatch into their ship. Suddenly, as they prepped to disengage, their sensors lit up.
“Fuck!” Raiden yelled. “We’ve…they’ve…what the hell?”
He stared at the images scrolling over his screen.
“What?” Elliot asked anxiously.
“They’ve pulled into formation in front of the Rings. We won’t be able to slip back across.”
“What should we do?” Parker asked.
“I guess we need to hide until it all dies down.”
“What do you think happened?”
Raiden shrugged. “Maybe the Durians finally declared human citizenship.”
Elliot snorted, clearly not believing that statement.
“Well, in any case, it doesn’t matter,” Raiden said. “Let’s get out of here.”
The Sunray took off and when they were far enough away, Raiden pushed the detonator and took great delight in watching the thing explode into hundreds of pieces. The oxygen that had been in the hub ignited, producing a quick fireball that lit up area. Raiden hadn’t needed a fiery inferno to appreciate knowing his parents had been avenged, but seeing it made him smile in satisfaction.
Star Mates (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 13