by Tess Mallory
It was Kell who turned away this time. "Never forget that the helmet, and the band, came with a price," he said, his voice muted. "And never paint our departed leader as a hero. Redar never gave anyone anything without expecting something in return."
"How can you say that?" Sky asked, hands on her hips, aware her tone was arrogant but unwilling to let the slight to the dead man pass. "He was fighting for Andromeda just like the rest of us. If he had to be ruthless, even to some of his own people in order to hurt Zarn, it was worth it. Besides, it's take or be taken, isn't it? Kill or be killed. And the fact that I used my… abilities to help Redar in his raids was simply my way of paying him back for giving me peace the rest of the time. I thought it an extremely fair trade."
Kell didn't answer, and Sky began pacing again, her booted feet hitting the deck in a hard staccato.
"Are you sure our intelligence reports are accurate?" she asked, fighting down the panic threatening to overwhelm her from moment to moment. Mayla was in Zarn's hands. The thought of little Mayla at the mercy of the man who had massacred the rest of their family made Sky almost choke with fury and fear.
Even at a young age, the children of the Cezans had had a part in governmental affairs. Sky had been only fourteen years old when she arrived on the peaceful world of Bezanti as an ambassador of goodwill. The invasion of Andromeda had come soon after and she had never returned to her homeworld. Two years later, her father appeared to give her the terrible news that her mother and brothers and sisters were all dead, all except for Mayla. He entrusted her with her little sister, then three years old, before disappearing back into the Bezantian night. She never saw him again. Sky bit back the sob throbbing in her throat and forced the memory away, spinning around to meet Kell's solemn gaze.
"Well?" she demanded. "Are they? Are we sure Mayla is being held on Station One—on that monster's private hellhole for children?"
"Yes," Kell reassured her. "Our agents have determined she was seen being loaded onto one of the Dominion's freighters and its destination was listed as Station One."
"If I took off this band I'd know for certain she was there," Sky fumed. "Perhaps for just a moment—"
Kell's hand stilled her own and she looked up at him in frustration.
"If you take that off, you won't be in any condition to help her when we find her, Sky."
She spun away from his hands, clenching her own in impotent rage. "I know." Tension snaked up her back, tightening her spine until she thought it would snap. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. "How long until we get there, Kell? How long?" Desperation curled inside her like a serpent, biting at her insides, bringing tears to her eyes. She blinked them back as she slapped both hands down against the table, fighting for control.
"I'll find out," he said softly. As the doors slid open, then closed again behind him, Sky sank down into one of the conference chairs and leaned her elbow on the edge of the smooth tabletop, her forehead resting against her palm. Her eyes closed as she considered the monumental task she and her crew were about to undertake.
Two months she and her crew had been in space searching for Mayla. Two months since Sky had hurried home after a mission and found she had been betrayed by a man she had trusted with her life—and her sister's life. A member of the rebellion, a man Mayla had healed, practically brought back from the dead, he had been staying with them, going on a few raids, but mostly still recuperating. Sky had stupidly left Mayla behind with him while she set out on a new mission to Aldeburon. She had returned to find he had disappeared, and her sister had been taken by Dominion soldiers.
She stopped pacing and lifted one hand to her temple, tilting her head to one side as she tried to ease the tension there. Her fingertips came in contact with the cold, smooth band of silver encircling her forehead. Kell was right, of course. Removing the band would only bring more pain, pain even she couldn't heal. While she had the telepathic power of the Cezans, she had somehow been born without the innate ability to shield her sensitive mind from the thoughts of others. After she had reached the fullness of her powers when she was thirteen, her life had become a living hell. A nervous tension seized her again. Mayla would soon be thirteen.
Redar had developed the new, thin band only a few months before his death. She could never forget that he had saved her life, for surely if the cacophony of a thousand thoughts had continued to permeate her mind every waking moment, she would have been driven mad and taken her own life. A sadness touched her soul. How she wished she could have saved Redar. But her healing powers were limited, and he had been struck down during a mission, with Mayla far away on Bezanti. His death had been unexpected and there was still a hollow place inside her where his friendship had warmed her for so many years.
Her fingers smoothed the silver band around her forehead. If only Redar were alive, he would know what to do. She dismissed the sentimental thought. She knew what her old teacher would do, and that's what she was doing. He had trained her well, teaching her how to harden the natural woman's softness in her heart, teaching her how to kill before she was killed.
She tangled her fingers into her long hair before jerking her hand impatiently away. Soft silver-blond strands clung to her fingers, bringing a lump to her throat and a sense of panic back to her innermost being. Mayla's hair was the same unusual color. The mark of the Cezans. That, combined with Mayla's pale lavender eyes and her telepathic and healing powers, told the world and the universe of her aristocracy, her right to rule. Sky sank down in a chair in front of the large oval table in the center of the room, pressing her fingers against her closed eyelids. As a child she had been jealous that she had not been chosen by the Creator to be heir. That had been long before Mayla was even born. But now she found herself wishing it again—this time for unselfish reasons. If she had been the heir, Mayla would not be in this danger.
Quelling the turmoil inside her, Sky forced her thoughts to the job at hand. She stood and checked the instrumentation on the silver droid suit she wore, making sure the power bands were ready to be connected whenever she needed the strength of the illegal garment. She smiled as she finished the check. Thank the Seekers Redar had taught her well how to plunder Zarn's weapons dumps scattered across the galaxy. The remote facilities were filled with items seized during his many conquests, most of them now declared illegal by his government.
The complement of her ship, the Defiant, was composed of twenty men and women, some of the toughest fighters in the galaxy, handpicked by Redar to form the fledgling underground resistance group. Redar had organized them, planning one day to raise up an entire army and openly strike back at Zarn, freeing Andromeda. But their leader's life had ended prematurely, cut down in one of their raids by Dominion soldiers. Another reason to hate Zarn. It was that hatred, coupled with her own fear of failure, that had led Sky to decide to use the plasma-blasters on Station One.
She shuddered at the thought, then scolded herself silently for her timidity. This was war, after all, and all was fair, even using illegal weapons that left their victims writhing in unfathomable pain. Besides, she had no doubt the Guardian of the station would order his men to lay down their weapons and surrender. Well, perhaps she had a little doubt. If they didn't surrender, of course, she was prepared to fight. But her crew was nervous about the new weapons. She'd heard their whispered concerns.
What if they couldn't control the plasma? It was said that if you didn't handle the guns properly, you could end up with plasma burns yourself. What if Zarn's forces out-numbered them and they were caught with the contraband? A slow, torturous death was the penalty for possessing plasma-blasters. Just for a moment, Sky faltered as she thought of the possible casualties this action could produce. Then the memory of her sister's face when last she'd seen her, happy, whole, safe, pushed her fears for her crew and herself completely under.
The door to the briefing room slid open, and Sky jerked her head up to meet Kell's placid gaze.
"We have arrived, Captain," he s
aid formally. "Station One. Any new orders?"
Sky stood, snapping together the outer flaps of the silver suit. She felt the tynarium energy surge against her skin and picked up the helmet at her feet.
"Give the word," she said, wondering at the cold lack of emotion she felt. "We'll give the bastards down there a chance, but if they don't throw down immediately and surrender—" she paused and met Kell's blue eyes with a dead calm that rivaled his own—"kill them."
Eagle looked up through the curved plasticene window jutting out from his office wall. The stars twinkled above Station One like the eyes of some ethereal goddess, calling him with a siren's allure, and for the hundredth time that day he wished he could be up amidst the sparkling orbs instead of staying planet bound. He walked unhurried, up and down in front of the view, hands clasped behind his back. His outward expression of nonchalance was deceptive, much like the calm appearance of the world he now surveyed, a world with its own hidden secrets. Underneath his complacent mask an anger was growing, increasing each and every day he had to stay on this chunk of rock some people deigned to call a planet.
The sun in the remote system was too far away to lend any warmth or light to the moonlike world the Kalimar had chosen for Station One, for his prison of children, and so all light and heat was manufactured, as well as the oxygen. Artificial life support for an artificial life. Eagle shook the thought away, striving to focus on the beauty of the stars. But his thoughts, along with his glance, could not avoid what lay below the stars, not for long anyway. His office occupied the highest point on Station One and gave him visual access to most of his domain.
Scattered across the planet surface, dozens of giant domes curved like translucent bubbles, covering this portion of the otherwise empty world, leaving little exposed of the dead, dry planet between their pristine surfaces. Connected by smaller corridor domes, the oxygen-laced semicircles housed the educational buildings and the dorms for the ten thousand or more students occupying the facilities in any given year. There was also an infirmary, the "canteen" for Forces officers working on the station, and the cafeteria.
Eagle's gaze traveled beyond the domes below him, toward the distant dark side of the planet where two single domes lay. The indoctrination cells were situated well away from the rest of the station's dwellings, in darkness as befit their dark purpose, and could only be reached by air-skimmer. Personnel used one of the small crafts to pilot students to their daily or weekly sessions in the Kalimar's mind-probing, personality-altering machines housed there. The Stations were how Zarn, the Kalimar of Rigel, and now ruler of half the quadrant, kept the people of Andromeda, and other worlds, under his control. Children were required by law to live on one of the four Stations, from the age of two to the age of seventeen. Then, the young men and women began a mandatory five-year service in the Forces division of the Dominion—Zarn's name for his vast kingdom that spanned half the quadrant. Any parents who resisted sending their children were summarily killed, or their children were killed in front of them.
Eagle turned his mind away from the sickening thought and for the countless time since he'd arrived at Station One, tried to figure out what he was doing there. He'd made the mistake of commenting to his father that he was sick of fighting, sick of war, sick of watching different cultures—even Andromedan cultures—be systematically destroyed. He was sick of watching comrades die, of watching friends die. He grimaced, pushing the thoughts threatening to flood into his mind away from him. He could avoid thinking about it when he was awake, but when he slept, it was another story.
Ever since Alpha Centauri, since Telles' death, he'd been dreaming—strange dreams, terrible dreams. Amazingly enough, it had been the mention of the dreams that had gotten him sentenced to Station One. His father, usually a very logical man, had grown very upset when Eagle told him about the dreams. Not long after that, he'd sent him to his new assignment. Of course there'd also been a few other little things like failure to obey orders.
So this was his punishment: to be the Guardian of Station One. If Zarn left him here much longer, he might find this particular attempt at chastisement backfiring—for if he was stuck on Station One, he was going to start making major changes, beginning with the elimination of the mind-probes.
He had witnessed a mind-probing the first day he arrived on the station and had begun to shake so badly he'd bolted from the room like a child. It had terrified him, and the fact that he had been unable to force himself to return had frightened him even more. Frightened him, Eagle, son of Garnos Zarn the Kalimar, conqueror of Andromeda, ruler of Rigel and a dozen other systems. He couldn't ever remember being afraid before in his life. His courage was as well known in the Forces as his nickname—Eagle.
His father had given him the name when he was but a child. The family story went that his father had shown him a picture of one of the strange legendary creatures of Terra and his son's first word had been "fly," his second, "eagle." Forgotten was his given name of Benjakar, and forever after he was Eagle. The name seemed almost a prediction of his future, for from the time he could walk, talk, and think cognitively, Eagle had yearned to fly. When he reached the age of seventeen, he had eagerly joined the Forces against his father's protest, and he became the youngest pilot ever to graduate from the Forces Academy. It was at the Academy that he had met Telles.
For a moment Eagle allowed himself to dwell on those days, when he and Telles had been like brothers, when they had fought side by side. The pain threatened to slip free and he beat it back, locked it down, until it disappeared. He took a deep breath. Like his namesake, he was the predator, not the prey. Nothing frightened him. He'd seen it all, done it all. War was his life—or had been for the last ten years.
Then why had the sight of a child strapped into one of his father's mind-probing machines sent the insides of his stomach rushing to his throat and drenched him in sweat?
Eagle cursed under his breath as he stared at the stars, unseeing. Sometimes he thought of just leaving, of taking on a new identity and finding a remote world far from the fighting where he could live in peace. He would not—could not—continue to be the one responsible for the mind-probing of children. A new child had arrived only an hour ago, twelve years old. He hated greeting the new ones, especially those that had been hidden away and only recently discovered. Invariably they cried or screamed, and many had to be sedated.
His gaze shifted, and suddenly his own reflection in the window came into focus. He wore his dark hair a little longer than most Dominion soldiers, and he noted he was due for a trim. His hair had a tendency to curl when it grew past his jawline as it had now. He tucked one long lock back behind his ear, resolving to trim it the first chance he got, then brushed a speck of dust from the black uniform he wore. The insignia of a Rigelian citizen, red circle edged in black, was the only spot of color except for one tiny decoration he wore on his right pocket—the small silver star he'd received after attaining his pilot's standing in the Forces. Only officers of the inner circle of Zarn were allowed to wear the black uniform. Others wore a standard brown garb.
The inner circle. If he kept opposing his father, he might soon find himself summarily booted out of that sacred inner circle. Two steady green eyes, trained to reveal nothing, devoid of any emotion save complacency, continued to stare back at him. He closed them, briefly, and resisted the urge to lean his forehead against the glass.
A soft trill sounded behind him, and Eagle spun away from the window, striding over to the large black desk occupying center stage in the starkly furnished room. Two curved, matching black chairs sat in front of the oval-shaped monstrosity, which housed the planet's records and daily reports. Another slightly larger chair sat behind it. Eagle flung himself down in that one, hooking one foot over his knee as he pressed two fingers into the top of the desk. A thin views ere en rose from a recessed notch and flickered to life.
Eagle stiffened as the face of a man appeared. Two green eyes, so much like his own, stared back at him. The
Kalimar of Rigel was a handsome man, square-jawed, dark-browed below a mass of salt-and-pepper hair of which he was vastly proud. He looked younger than his sixty-one years and was still in great physical shape. In fact, sometimes Eagle found himself hard put to keep up with his father. His nose was large but not bulbous, his mouth—well, Eagle had often heard female members of the Forces sighing over the Kalimar's "sensuous lips." He was a charmer, there was no doubt of that. Right now, however, Eagle could see his father was in no mood to charm anyone, least of all his rebellious son. That sensual mouth looked grim and angry despite the fact that his lips were curved into the semblance of a smile.
Eagle decided to go on the offensive right from the start. He leaned back in his chair and propped his boots on the desk, crossing them practically under the Kalimar's nose.
"Well, well, so the great Zarn finally decided to return his son's messages."
Anger flared in the older man's eyes, and just as quickly was brought back under control.
"Hello, son," Zarn said, his deep voice pleasant and calm. Eagle knew better than to trust how his father sounded. "I do regret I've been unable to speak with you before now, but I am a busy man, as you know."
"Sure." Eagle brought his feet down to the floor with a thud. "Just tell me one thing, Garnos." His father's brows lifted. He hated it when Eagle called him by his first name. "Why have I been sent to this little piece of hell? I said I was tired. I didn't say I was dead."
Zarn chuckled, but there was no humor in his gaze. "Why, Eagle, my boy, I thought Station One was exactly what you needed right now. You seem a little distracted lately. You really haven't been yourself since your friend died. I'm not sure I understand why this was so devastating since his loyalty was under question at the time. He's actually lucky he died in battle, and so are you. If he'd been brought before a military court, you'd have been called upon to testify."