Space Trek (Three Novels, Three Worlds, Three Journeys Book 1)

by Jo Zebedee

  They could wait. She crossed the gardens, stopping at a red rock path, and frowned at a few weeds poking through. She saw one of the gardeners and brought his attention to her. He paled, but walked over with the sort of decorum half her generals failed to achieve. His face had a sun-kissed swarthiness, his eyes were the brown of the tribes. That explained his decorum– the tribes knew her as Lady Averrine and revered her as their own. It was what she offered others, if they could but see it. If they would find within themselves, as the tribes had, proper reverence for her, there would be no need of armies and generals.

  “Have the path cleared,” she said.

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  He turned, taut muscles rippling across his back. Should she order him to attend her? No. The tribes would not approve of a boy so young. A pity. She continued through the gardens, into the palace, and to the boardroom, where her generals and colonels waited.

  She focused on General Allen, standing to attention, his fear filling the air. She turned the full weight of her power on him– he had to know he had failed her– and he whitened. She touched his mind, his body, let her power spread through him. He was drowning in the feel of her, his head back, mouth open, mixed waves of fear and pleasure, each the stronger for the other.

  He’d pass out in a moment. She pulled her psyche from him, removing it completely. He gasped, and she knew it was starting, the gnawing emptiness. She cast her gaze around the room. They need not think only Allen contributed to this. Their heads went down as she touched them. Except one–

  Phelps kept his head up, breathing deeply under her anger. She stared at his thin, aquiline face and flat grey eyes. He raised his chin, embracing her power as the others failed to, luxuriating in her presence. Already, they'd known each other once– soon, she would own him as she did no other.

  She walked to the front of the room and sat behind the desk. They knew why they were here– they had attended court martials in the past. She would see to it that an example was made, one that would reverberate through her officers. An example that was needed; it was a boy they were seeking– a psycher, yes, but still a boy– failure could not be accepted.

  “Kneel,” she said.

  Allen fell to his knees, his breath rasping. She didn’t even need to compel him– years of serving under her was all the compulsion he needed. His fear turned to terror, emanating in sick waves. Any minute now and he would start begging: to stay, to be allowed his place.

  “The matter of my son,” she said.

  “My Lady, they were Phelps’ men,” Allen said, and licked his lips.

  Indeed they were. She looked at Phelps– perhaps it was time to see how he responded to pressure. She focused on him, increasing her hold on him, but he faced her, not wilting beneath her displeasure, but drinking it in.

  “Your team?” she demanded.

  “My team did their job." His voice was steady, cold almost. "They got in and lifted Varnon. Allen moved earlier than I advised. If we had waited, we could have finished the job. Destroyed the rebels as well as taking Varnon.” He took a deep breath. “My Lady, the base itself is not an obstacle. Reaching it is. Once we remove the first defences and warning systems, the base is ours.”

  She nodded– he had put his objections on record, and that had been a risk. If Allen had completed the task, Phelps would have been discredited. “And your investigations into Ealyn Varnon?”

  At that, he paled a little. “They remain… active.” She waited, until he licked his lips and went on, “Ealyn Varnon did not come from where he purported to. The family have all been checked and there are no psychic powers evidenced, my Lady. I haven’t discovered where he is from, but I can tell you who he is not. If we get the boy and access to the genetic base, I have a range of possibilities to match him against.”

  She pushed into him, telling him he had failed, and at that he did react, closing his eyes, his face twisting into a grimace. Satisfied, she turned back to Allen.

  “Your excuse?”

  “My Lady, I… please, you need to understand…” His words fell over themselves, becoming incomprehensible. He was of no use to her, broken as he was.

  “Exile,” she said. She let the word ring out and carry. “Permanent exile.” They– the generals, the guards– would know that as the lie it was. Once removed from Abendau, Allen would lose the sense of himself, the strength she had given him over the years. He’d be lucky to survive a year: most didn’t, even those she hadn’t held so closely.

  “You can’t. Please, not that,” he begged, his voice shaking with the realisation of what was ahead: the loneliness; the unfillable need within him. “My Empress, mercy.”

  Two of her guard took his arms, drew him to his feet. His gaze circled the room, clouded. She’d seen it before, the loss of focus, the confusion of a mind abandoned. She waited until he had been taken from the room and his pleas had faded from her hearing, before turning to the others.

  “To attention,” she commanded.

  They got to their feet and looked ahead, their backs straight. Her eyes cast around the group, and when she reached Phelps his eyes met hers.

  “Come to me,” she told him. “The rest, you are dismissed.”

  A collective sense of relief filled the room, and she smiled at the speed with which they emptied it. Today’s lesson would not be forgotten. Phelps crossed to her and knelt.

  “Stand,” she told him, after some moments. He did, meeting her eyes, unbowed, and she said, “You know what I want.”

  “I know what you say you want.”

  “Go on.”

  He paused, and she forced into his mind. He gasped as she burrowed, reminding him he was her tool and would answer when commanded.

  “You say you want your son,” he said, each word squeezed from his throat. Still, his eyes met hers. “You don’t,” he continued.

  “Tell me why.”

  “Ten years ago, when he was a child, you wanted your son. Even two years ago, when he left Dignad, you wanted him. But what you wanted was a boy to mould, not a man.”

  At last, someone understood. “He is still a boy,” she said. Would he have enough within him to tell the truth, even if it was not what she wanted to hear? She continued, “He is barely twenty, he can be moulded.”

  “A boy does not do what he did on Dignad. He’s an Empath; he must have felt the soldiers’ pain as they burned in their transport. It must have been overwhelming, yet he still did it. A boy does not destroy a Star ops team. A man does. A man poisoned against you by Ealyn. He is no heir to your empire, and never will be.” He paused. “My Lady, I can’t tell you where Ealyn came from. I can tell you his powers were not like any I have studied. You combined them with yours, my Lady. We don’t know how powerful the boy is, but to take out an entire Star ops team, he must not be underestimated. We must consider how we take him, and how we hold him.”

  Averrine indicated for him to sit opposite. He was the first to understand it wasn’t about the person. She had created the boy, had carried him herself rather than use a surrogate, had felt him move in her belly, him and his sister. He was hers and had refused to come and fulfil what she had created…

  “What do you suggest?” she asked.

  “His notoriety is growing within the Banned; he is devising a system to enhance their capability. I suggest you use him as an example. He has a legitimate claim to your empire, yet he has turned against you. It must be shown such a one cannot hope to stand against you.”

  “And do you propose to take him for me?”

  Phelps lifted his chin, calm and proud. “I do.”

  “How?”

  He leaned forward and she could see his hard eyes, intelligent and demanding. “I will hunt him. I will bring those who know him to me and corrupt them: I would ask you to bind them fully to us and our cause.” He paused. “I will find a way to hold his powers in abeyance. When I take him for you, he will be a lamb at your mercy.” She inclined
her head in acceptance as he continued, “If you permit me, I will learn everything about the man who has rejected you, my Lady, and seek him for you. It may take time– ”

  “I want him now.”

  “Then you will ruin the job. When I bring him in, it will be done in one movement that he cannot escape. It might take years to do what I need to do, to chase him and harry him, but when I am ready, I will take him, my Empress. If that is your command.”

  The Empress looked at him a moment longer, and then nodded. “Bring him to me, Phelps, and I will see you are rewarded.” She sent a blast of power his way, let him feel it and know his reward. Already, he was addicted, his eyes glittering.

  He bowed deeply. “My Empress.”

  A hint of his pride crossed to her, a belief in his destiny. She let him feel her pleasure, saw how his eyes closed, the way they hadn’t under her wrath. He breathed deeply, his chest rising, and she sent more of her power to him, filling him. He opened his eyes, and they met hers, not hard now, but adoring, the way they had been after he'd taken her two nights ago.

  “Phelps,” she said.

  “My Lady.”

  “Fail, and you follow Allen.” She smiled; let him understand this lesson. “And you will feel the loss of me more than any.”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched, but he managed a faint smile. His chin came up as if he relished the challenge. “My Empress, I will not fail.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  PART THREE: KARE– FIVE YEARS LATER

  Kare woke and stretched. Somewhere under the covers lay Sonly, her blonde hair the only part visible. She slept like a hedgehog, like she shut down and hibernated. He’d told her that once, and her response had been almost as prickly, too.

  He pushed back the covers, got up and pulled on his uniform trousers, tightening the belt. It rode over the top of the waistband and he swore softly; the Banned uniforms must have been designed by a sadist. Either that, or Sonly had bought them on the cheap. Since she didn’t wear them, she showed little sympathy. He smoothed them down and wished he could wear his field fatigues, but with his promotion to major, Rjala had made it clear he was expected to wear his full uniform when on duty.

  When am I not? He’d spent half the night in the project room, commanding a battle waged on a different planet, light years away: that was the trouble with a systems-wide war, someone was always awake, somewhere. It was peculiar to take leadership over soldiers he’d never met and didn’t know. Even stranger that they obeyed him, treated him as their commander. He frowned– the time delay, particularly now they were battling in the middle zone systems– was more significant than he liked. He wondered if he could beg a few days off battle command to review the configurations.

  He padded barefoot to the small kitchen area and pressed the selection screen and waited– he’d never seen Sonly do even this much in the kitchen. Her default was to call the mess and see what arrived.

  Two cups emerged, and a plate of toasted bread. He carried them back to the bedroom and set Sonly’s coffee, strategically, on the table beside her and then sat on top of the bedcovers and ate his toast. After a moment, the blonde hair moved.

  “Toast?” There was a groan and he grinned, finishing his. A hand emerged and he put the other slice into it. “Get up,” he said.

  There was a shuffle, and she emerged from the covers, her face flushed and hair sticking up. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss: he loved her best in the early morning, when it was just them, and she could be Sonly, not Miss le Payne, the cool, organised rebel leader.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Seven. I have to go in a minute.”

  Sonly took a bite of her toast, and reached for her coffee. “You think you’ll do it today?”

  “We should; our position’s good.”

  “You said that last time.”

  “I was wrong.”

  She made a disgusted noise. “It’s no good telling me you were wrong. I need you to be right. Without Nevagus…”

  He got up and pulled on his shirt, zoning out her words. He understood: Peiret, the first of the influential lead families, would open negotiations, but only if the Banned proved they could take and hold a planet in the middle zone. Tell it to your bloody brother. He managed, showing great restraint, not to actually say it– he hadn’t found any way of proving it was Eevan who was sabotaging the campaign.

  He lifted his jacket and boots, leaned down and gave her a kiss. “I’ll do my best, okay?”

  Two hours later, as the last ship confirmed its status, Kare nodded to Lichio. “Tell your brother we’re ready to attack.”

  “Colonel,” Lichio said into the comms unit, “aerial defence systems are destroyed. Major Varnon confirms ground assault is viable.”

  Kare watched the screen which dominated the small room. “If he doesn’t do it this time, Lich, I’m taking it to Colonel Rjala.”

  “He won’t like that.”

  “I don’t care what he likes. I’ve been playing this game since I got the system in place. You’re more used to him than me; am I wrong?”

  Lichio shook his head, emphatically. “No, he’s doing it to piss you off. He knows it’s incredibly hard to prove retrospectively.”

  “I could invite Colonel Rjala along next time. She can see for herself.”

  “I think we can do better than that.” Lichio smirked. “I did some overtime last night. You owe me for it.”

  “Have you grasped the concept of who’s in charge here, Lich? It’s up to me if I owe you,” Kare said, but smiled as he did. It hadn’t been an easy transition for either of them, as Kare had passed Lichio in seniority, but now they’d settled on an easy familiarity when working alone. It probably helped that Lichio had always had an older brother and sister on the fast-track to emulate– he’d long since learned his value didn’t lie in promotion after promotion, but in being good at what he did, at being reliable and smart. In fact, staying under the radar might be preferable for him– who knew what he might get landed with if anyone caught on to how capable he was.

  Lichio put on an innocent face. “Have you heard of managing up? I took a crash course when you got promoted. If I told you I’m capturing the real-time, undiluted ops data from this battle– from both yours and Eevan's command consoles– would you change your mind? No technical jargon, no interruptions, just a line by line account of this attack. And not one which can be manipulated later, no matter how senior the manipulation is.” Lichio handed over a sheet of paper. “It only takes a couple of minutes to produce.”

  Kare read it through, smiling as he did. Working with Lichio drove him mad with frustration half the time, and then he came up with something like this. “Thank you; I should have thought of it. A day off: no more.” Kare saw Lichio’s smile. “Who is it this time?”

  Lichio made a hurt face. “That’s not fair– I’ve been with Janis for three weeks now.”

  “A record?”

  “Maybe." Lichio nodded at the screen. “He’s not going to attack.”

  Kare slammed his hand on the desk. “I need to be the one who makes that call.”

  “You can’t. He’s in command.”

  The comms unit flashed. Kare watched it for a moment, and then said, “You better talk to him, Lich. Lord knows what I’ll say to the bastard.”

  Lichio nodded and activated the unit. “Sir,” he said smoothly to Eevan.

  “Inform the major: attack is not viable, I say again, not viable.”

  Lichio waved Kare away. As Kare stepped back, he glanced at the report and picked up his comms unit. He pressed a familiar connection and waited.

  “Colonel Rjala?” he said after she answered. “Ma’am, may I request an urgent review meeting into Nevagus? The final attack just failed.”

  Rjala sighed. “That’s disappointing. I’ll arrange a meeting with yourself and Colonel le Payne.”

  “Thank you, ma’am." He set the unit down.
<
br />   “You’re going to confront him with it directly?” asked Lichio.

  Kare turned to face him. “Yes. I want to see the bastard’s face when he realises I’ve sunk him.”

  “Be careful. You really don’t need any more enemies.”

  “He’s not a new one.”

  “True,” said Lichio. He paused, drumming his fingers on the control panel. “You said I know him better than you.”

  Kare opened the programme Lichio had created and quickly worked through it, seeing how the data had been blended. Satisfied, he requested a copy.

  “He’s a terrible enemy,” Lichio said. “And he’ll hate being shown up to Colonel Rjala. Tread carefully, that’s all.”

  Kare straightened. “You know how important this campaign was. I can’t let him ruin what Sonly’s worked so hard for, just to get one over on me.” He paused. “Plus, he’s not the one living with her– I’d take his anger over hers any day of the week.”

  “I wouldn’t. He’ll hold a grudge– Sonly just blasts it out, there and then.”

  “Let him. The kicking I took in barracks– I’ve always thought he was behind it. Maybe he’s not the only one with a long memory. I need to stop him now, show him I’m not going to hide from him.”

  But it went further, into territory he didn’t want to explore, but had to. If Eevan was prepared to go against his board, to undermine a campaign to score points, what else was he capable of? Without evidence, there would be no way to push the Banned into controlling Eevan a little closer. He was the commander of their ground forces, the lynchpin of the military, with half the senior echelon firmly in his pocket. It was too much of a power base to go unchallenged– that way lay something much more ominous than a single campaign falling through.

  “I understand. Hell, I agree with you,” said Lichio. “But look at it from Eevan’s perspective. He thinks you came back and got your own way with everything. He’s smarting. If you humiliate him to Colonel Rjala, it’ll go deep. If you take any advice from me, keep your temper, present the facts and go.”