Rystani Warrior 02 - The Dare

by Susan Kearney

  “Over here,” Lew shouted to be heard over the din of shooting weapons, gongs, whistles, and applause, all coming from the players, their audiences, and the machines. Lew stopped in front of a gaming device, reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit chip. He read the balance, then slowly replaced the chip in his pocket with a soulful shake of his head. “I’ll watch.”

  Kirek placed his chip in the slot, then gestured to Lew. “Show me how it’s done.”

  Lew whooped with joy and pumped his fist, then settled behind the controls. Kirek quickly saw that while the game sported sophisticated sound and sensors, the goal was quite simple. Kill as many of the bad guys as possible in the shortest amount of time. To avoid too many winners, the levels became increasingly more difficult, upping the stakes and the risk of losing one’s credits.

  Lew concentrated, moving through the first few levels with ease. He’d almost won back his wager when enemy fire nailed him. He kicked the mechanism, and the machine warned him that violence was prohibited. Reluctantly, he turned over the machine to Kirek.

  His hands barely fit on the controls. He had to stretch his fingers to reach all the buttons. When the machine recycled and started the game, Kirek had several close calls on the first level, but that was due to his testing his psi against the machine’s trigger points.

  Once he understood the high risk points, the places where the game kicked in to take advantage of the player, he exerted a little psi pressure. And whap. He was moving through levels like an expert, putting aside his conscience, telling himself that Etru would understand his need to “cheat” with his enhanced psi to earn credits.

  “Hey, guys,” Lew excitedly called the others over to watch Kirek’s game. “He’s an expert.”

  “Who would have thought the skinny little kid’s fingers could go so fast,” said one of the boys behind Kirek, his voice filled with awe.

  Kirek hadn’t realized how fast he would draw a crowd. He should stop, but he hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Other kids usually thought him odd. He wasn’t so much as accepted, never mind admired. It was only a game with a bunch of kids. He didn’t see the harm of playing, of using his psi to help him get past the codes that prevented big winners. The game was rigged to cheat these boys of their credits. It wouldn’t hurt the owners to suffer a little payback.

  When bells started ringing above his head and hologram fireworks burst around him, he realized he’d beat the game. Lew grabbed his hands and danced, jumping up and down, his voice jubilant, his eyes merry. “You won. You won. You won. That was great. You are evil, man. Evil.”

  “Thanks.” Apparently evil was a compliment, and Kirek spoke quietly as the other boys wandered back to their own games. Lew plucked his credit chip out of the machine and handed it to Kirek. He was about to put it into his pocket, when the numbers on the chip caught his eyes. He’d started with ten credits. He now had four more zeros beyond the ten.

  He hadn’t expected the payoff to be so large. He hadn’t thought through his actions to realize that such a rare win would draw attention—the wrong kind. He should have won in smaller amounts, slowly building his stake. Instead, he’d made himself a target for theft, a target for the authorities.

  Kirek’s former excitement turned to ashes and left a bitter taste of fear in his mouth. He really should have been more careful, and he vowed to exercise better judgment in the future. Although no harm seemed to have been done, he had an uneasy feeling, a prickle on the back of his neck that suggested someone might be watching.

  Grabbing Lew’s hand, he tugged him from the games. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  Lew didn’t protest, and together they strode toward a huge room filled with vendors hawking a variety of foods. The delicious aromas of cooked meats and spicy sauces filled the air. They stopped and bought pastries filled with sweet meats and sharp cheese and guzzled a fizzy orange drink that quenched Kirek’s thirst but left him wondering if it had any nutritional value. But the feeling in his gut that he was still being watched was his largest concern until he spied a poster on a wall.

  The poster was an advertisement that included a likeness of two people he recognized. Dora and Zical.

  Stars.

  Kirek left Lew and zigzagged through the crowds to the poster. Without wondering if he was committing an illegal act, he ripped it from the wall. A security guard shouted at him and Kirek wadded up the paper and rammed it into his pocket.

  “Run.” Lew saw the problem. He could have left Kirek, but he didn’t. Kirek would have liked to think Lew was helping him out of loyalty and friendship but suspected the credit chip in his pocket had Lew risking his neck for his new acquaintance.

  However, Kirek willingly accepted help where it was offered. This was Lew’s home ground and he led Kirek on a run through a warren of hallways until they lost the guard and stopped to catch their breaths. Kirek pulled the paper from his pocket and smoothed out the wrinkles. He couldn’t read Kwadii.

  “What’s it say?”

  Lew summarized. “It’s an advertisement to watch the trial and execution of traitors.”

  Execution? The sweet meats and orange fizz in Kirek’s stomach churned. The Kwadii meant to execute his friends. As his throat tightened with fear and grief, he fought to keep down lunch. “How long until—”

  “It’s tomorrow. Want to go watch?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  SILENCE FILLED THE hover as Zical, Dora, his entire crew, and the scientists boarded. Since their capture, and on their way to their trial and execution, Zical had continued his search for a means of escape. But the Kwadii soldiers escorting them held so many weapons aimed at them that any attempt to flee would be met with instant death.

  Locked inside the windowless hover, Zical sat beside Dora, his mood somber, despite his pleasurable night. Dora might not have been experienced when he’d begun making love to her, but she’d caught on quickly. She’d been exceptionally creative and enthusiastic, and their lovemaking had taken his mind off his failed mission for the duration of the night. But the experience had been bittersweet. The relaxation hadn’t created any brilliant new ideas, as he’d hoped, and now the woman he’d grown to care for wouldn’t live through the day.

  Neither would his crew. Vax would never return home to help his aging parents. Shannon’s brood of children and grandchildren would never know how she’d tried to keep up all their spirits. Cyn, a credit to her heritage, would never be heralded as a heroine, her name in the hall of Scartar’s bravest. All of their hopes and dreams, plus those of the Federation, were about to die with them.

  The failure weighed heavily in Zical’s breast.

  He’d failed to right the sequence of events he’d put in motion. He’d failed to keep his crew alive. Worse, if the Kwadii were correct, their effort may have caused more harm, their journey through hyperspace may have made a trail for the Zin to follow straight back to the Federation.

  Yet, Zical was not about to give up. As long as his heart beat, he would seek a way to escape, to save his people and the mission.

  Dora broke the silence with a quiet murmur in his ear. “Ranth’s alive.”

  “How do you know? Can he help us?” Tamping down his hope, Zical turned to her and others started talking quietly among themselves, leaving them a cocoon of privacy.

  She shrugged, and her face clouded with wonder and confusion. “I’ve been reaching into the vault with my psi.”

  “Vault?”

  “When we were still in hyperspace and at the first sign of danger from the Kwadii, Ranth locked himself away in a safe house that I call ‘the vault.’ When I tapped in, I sensed he might be there, but I didn’t have the strength to contact him.”

  “So how is it possible that you can reach Ranth now? You don’t have a suit and you aren’t plugged in.” Zical’s hopes flared. If she could contact Ranth, the powerful computer might help them escape.

  Dora shrugged. “A suit isn’t always necessary to create psi power. We’ve
always known that psi power is connected to sexual activity.”

  Although Zical had most certainly delayed his and Dora’s orgasms, his intent had been simply to escalate the pleasure. Dora already possessed psi power, yet perhaps their activity had triggered or strengthened another part of her psi.

  “You think last night—”

  “Increased my psi strength. My contact with Ranth is not strong, but we linked. He’s very much alive.”

  Zical supposed he didn’t have to understand how Dora had attained a link, he merely needed make use of her unique abilities. “Can you and Ranth infiltrate the Kwadii systems?”

  She shook her head. “Not while Ranth’s in the vault. We are still too weak.”

  “And if he comes out?”

  “The Kwadii dampeners will kill him.”

  He wouldn’t give up until he’d explored every option. “How can we strengthen your connection?”

  “Well, a few more nights like the last one might accomplish the goal.”

  Dora chuckled, and he marveled that she could do so on the brink of their deaths, but then the woman constantly surprised him. He’d feared Dora’s innuendos and teasing about sex had been to cover up insecurities. Stars, had he been wrong. Dora reveled in her sensuality, and she’d thoroughly enjoyed herself—as much as he had. Before the night had been over, she’d proved to him that what she said was what she meant.

  He sighed. “We don’t have a few nights. We have only hours.”

  Dora entwined her fingers with his. “I know. But you’ll think of something. You always do.”

  Her confidence in him wasn’t warranted. He’d tried perusing Kwadii laws again during the early morning when Dora had fallen asleep. He’d come up with zilch. And Vax and Cyn hadn’t found a way to overcome the technology or their guards. Zical had seen no weakness in the Kwadii defenses or their security teams, who seemed prepared to counter every scenario. Nevertheless, when the hovercraft stopped, Zical kept his eyes open, his mind alert.

  Escorted by armed guards, they exited directly into an oval stadium filled with Kwadii spectators. When the audience spied them, their dull murmur rose to cheers and shouts. Loud music played over an audio system as if they were the day’s entertainment, and Zical bristled. How dare these people act as if taking the lives of his crew and his scientists meant no more than watching a holovid?

  Fighting their way free was not an option. The only thing he could do for his people was to concentrate on acting courageously—and in the end, bravery meant little when his failure condemned them to death. Teeth clenched, jaw set, he kept his head high, seeking even the slimmest opportunity to escape.

  Avanti met them wearing her sarong and sandals, but in addition she wore a ceremonial silver sash draped over her shoulder. Her gaze was carefully emotionless, but Zical still sensed the tension in her shoulders, and he suspected she cared more about their fate than she tried to let on, especially after she took one of his hands and one of Dora’s, then squeezed lightly. She gestured to a central podium, surrounded by chairs filled with dignitaries on two sides. The Risorians, garbed in silver and purple splendor, took positions along one semi-circular table; the Selgrens, in bronzed and unadorned attire, took position on the other, the two sides appearing to square off as opposing factions—but in truth both sides wanted the Federation people’s execution.

  Avanti spoke quietly, her tone threaded with sorrow. “The trial will take place on center stage.”

  Zical had decided they should wear their golden togas because he didn’t want to die in a borrowed Kwadii garment. Determined not to show his concerns, he stepped forward and nodded to Avanti, ignoring the towering execution machine with the cruelly sharp blade.

  Horns blared and the cheerful audience hushed. Soldiers’ hands tightened on their weapons. Avanti touched a button. Nothing happened that he could see.

  Dora leaned forward and spoke in his ear. “Their force fields are like nothing of my experience.”

  With Dora more in tune to the alien machinery than he, Zical had to take her word, because the force field was invisible. Avanti touched a second button. The force field changed from transparent to foggy with sparks of white and green. “Any living creature who comes into contact with this force field dies.” When she touched a third button, she lowered the shield, allowing them to pass by.

  After they passed, a soldier raised the shield behind them, trapping them inside the field. When Avanti reached her people at the stage’s center, she was admitted past yet another field, this one, sparking gold and silver, kept the Kwadii separate from those who stood accused. Within moments Zical’s people were caged within the bubble that turned transparent again.

  If this were to be his last day, he intended to speak eloquently in the defense of his crew and his people. How ironic that all his life he’d trained as a warrior, but he was left with no weapons—except words. Dregan hell. His best would have to be good enough or they would all die.

  “Let the great Tirips protect us, guide our decisions, and see true into our hearts.” Rogar spoke at the podium, using an incantation that must be a prayer. He and the Risorians stood and raised their eyes to the ceiling, and crossed their wrists over their hearts in prayer. Oddly, the Selgrens remained seated, remaining silent if not quite respectful as they stirred and muttered among themselves.

  Two factions, obviously two different religious beliefs. But Zical expected help from neither side.

  When Rogar finished the opening prayer, Avanti took a turn at the podium, speaking with a brilliance that clearly came straight from her heart. “This trial is for the people. Let us make wise decisions based upon facts, not superstition.”

  The Risorians took her words as an insult. As one they stood and gave her their backs. At least that’s how Zical interpreted their actions. The Risorians’ demonstration revealed distaste, like what one would exhibit to an unruly child who didn’t know better.

  So the rift between these Kwadii went deep into many facets of their society, religious as well as economic. During his readings into the law, Zical had seen many references to Tirips. The Risorians believed they were the direct descendants of Tirips, the Goddess of the Galaxy, and they spent their lives improving themselves spiritually and physically. To mimic the perfection of Tirips was to win a place by her side in the afterlife.

  The Selgrens, who didn’t believe in Tirips, seemed to do most of the hard work on Kwadii. Yet for a reason Zical didn’t understand, the Risorians seemed to have the upper hand, the wealth, and more clout.

  While Zical didn’t mind the Selgrens and Risorians baiting each other and mocking one another’s beliefs, he didn’t want them so angry they couldn’t focus on the trial. However, he could do no more than watch the proceedings in disgust when a man beside Rogar approached the podium.

  “Who’s that?”

  Avanti couldn’t take her scowl from the man taking center stage. “He’s Rogar’s son, Deckar Rogar Delari Hikai, heir to the Fifth House of Seemar.”

  Deckar wore simple clothes for a Risorian, but then he didn’t need to draw attention to himself with elaborate clothing. The man was taller than the other Risorians. Powerful as a warrior, he strode forward with a light step that belied his size. With his black curly hair and muscular body, he could have been mistaken for a Rystani warrior, if not for his fair skin.

  Next to Zical, Avanti tensed like a tigress. Her fingers clenched the table’s edge hard enough to cause her nails to turn white. Her expression savage, her mouth in a terse line, she glared at Deckar with an animosity that suggested these two had a history of clashing.

  “What’s wrong?” Zical asked Avanti.

  “That slimy son of a sand worm has a voice that can make a curse sound like a prayer.”

  “And?”

  “He’s the Risorians’ best hope of winning the next popular vote.”

  “What does he have to do with our trial?”

  “Once he states his opinion, every Risorian will follow his
recommendations.”

  Zical fought to understand the ramifications of her explanation. “So won’t the Selgrens vote with us?”

  “Maybe the men. Too many of our women fear war and the Zinatti, and that bastard will play on those fears.” Avanti sighed. “I told you from the beginning that we would lose.”

  Zical had thought they’d lose on a point of law—not because a handsome Risorian used his presence to play upon the audiences’ fears. But as the words rolled out of Deckar’s mouth as dynamic as any holovid celebrity’s, Zical watched faces turn starstruck. The man’s charisma held the crowd. As Avanti had predicted, many of the ladies appeared enthralled, and his charm was almost hypnotic as he described the violation of hyperspace and the Zinatti symbols that suggested the intruders were in league with the enemy. He made a clear, concise case that almost made Zical believe they were a threat to Kwadii and deserved the death punishment for treason.

  “Death.” Deckar exhorted the audience.

  “Death,” they shouted back, the roar so loud it would be difficult to find anyone who disagreed.

  One scientist gasped. Another one fainted, and Shannon caught her, supporting the woman protectively against her chest until Vax came to her aid. A few prayed, their lips silently moving. But most waited with their spines ramrod straight, and he’d never been prouder.

  Zical had to give Avanti credit, too. She tried. When it was her turn to speak, she told them that the Zin were their mutual enemy. She spoke of the Federation peoples’ ignorance of how the Zin could track through hyperspace, but the crowd who would vote on their fate had clearly already made up their minds and did not believe in their innocence. Head high, eyes sorrowful, Avanti sat, frowning to more catcalls of “death.”

  Finally it was Zical’s turn. Before he left for the podium, Dora gave his hand a quick squeeze. While the rest of the crew sat quietly, their faces white and grim, Dora’s eyes sparkled with encouragement. She still held out hope.