Mission To Mahjundar (A Sectors SF Romance)

by Veronica Scott

  Mission to Mahjundar

  Copyright 2014 by Jean D. Walker

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

  DEDICATION

  To my daughters Valerie and Elizabeth, and in loving memory of Matthew for all his encouragement and support through the years

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  Joyce L, Julie C and The E-book Formatting Fairies!

  Mission to Mahjundar

  CHAPTER ONE

  This place feels primed for disaster. Despite their local escort’s best efforts to hurry him through the crowded market, Mike noticed many of the stalls were closed, the vendors having left early and shuttered their inventory away. Other sellers seemed to be practically forcing their wares on the passersby, as if there was a deadline they were afraid to miss. Crowds of people thronged the place, some buying supplies, others talking furtively in small clumps. The situation report on the planet had said the political climate was stable, even with a dying emperor.

  Sitreps were notoriously incomplete or dead wrong.

  Shifting the heavy bag of equipment he was carrying, Mike exchanged a glance with his sergeant before tapping their guide’s shoulder. “Always this crowded?”

  Without slackening his stride, the gaudily dressed local officer shook his head. “No, tomorrow is the first day of a major festival. People are stocking their larders for feasting. The plaza will be nearly empty by nightfall.”

  “A pity our briefing didn't mention the festival, or we’d have come in tomorrow. Our mission could have waited one day.” Ducking past a man carrying four rolled-up carpets, nearly falling over a pair of small street beggars, Mike shoved a half-drunk youth out of his way. His limited store of patience frayed, Mike felt a dull headache pounding. “After this melee, encountering mountain bandits will be a picnic.”

  He stepped onto a broad, green-tiled walkway that bordered the flagstone street. From there, the going became somewhat easier. The small party made progress for a couple of encouraging minutes before a new impediment arose. Behind Mike came a fanfare of blaring, slightly out-of-sync trumpets. What traffic there was in the street came to an immediate halt as people started shoving, struggling to get to the sides of the thoroughfare, leaving the center of the road clear.

  “It must be the empress and her party, on their way home from their observances at the temple complex.” Their guide, who’d introduced himself at the tiny spaceport simply as Captain Rojar, peered into the distance, one hand shading his eyes. “Let’s wait and see the fine sight. A treat for you.”

  Granted, Mike’s hypnotraining in the primary Mahjundan languages might not have been all-inclusive, but there’d definitely been a faint tinge of sarcasm in the man’s remarks. Mike studied Rojar’s bland expression for a moment, but the officer’s tanned face and half smile betrayed nothing. Over his shoulder, Mike said in Basic to his cousin Johnny, the Special Forces sergeant accompanying him, “Watch our six. I didn't think this crowd could make me any more nervous, but the tension definitely ramped up in the last two minutes.”

  Glancing at the nearest citizens, Johnny Danver nodded. “Kinda quiet and sullen compared to what it was, ain't it?”

  Deciding to push the issue with their guide, Mike said, “Why don't we move on? We could make some real progress while the crowd waits for the parade to go by.”

  Hands on his hips, eyes narrowed, Rojar did a nervous survey of their position, as if marking where they stood in relation to some landmark only he knew, before shaking his head once. He made a slicing motion. “No.” Belatedly, he attempted to soften the refusal with a bit more explanation. “Much better to wait. No doubt you’ll find this glimpse of our royal family highly interesting.”

  “No doubt,” Mike agreed, his own tone sarcastic now. Exchanging a rapid glance with Johnny, he settled in to wait for the promised parade, keeping a close eye on their gear, piled on the walkway at his feet. There was no point in struggling through the crowd independent of their escort. Arriving at the palace without the guy and having to wait for him to catch up would get the job off on the wrong foot for sure. Mike took a swig of water from his canteen, to cool his throat and his temper. One thing the report had been accurate about–Mahjundar was hot, even in midafternoon.

  Although she’d never lived in the temperate mountain forests, Princess Shalira imagined she’d prefer them to the hot lowlands. Whenever she visited the tiny temple of her patron goddess Pavmiraia on the outskirts of the city, as she was doing today, she pretended the heat and intrigues of the capital and the court had been left behind. This chapel and her vivid daydreams provided special refuges for most of her life.

  The floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she strolled twenty paces from the door to the altar, passing the snoring priestess, sprawled on a bench no doubt, mouth probably wide open. Not many come here anymore, not many at all. Will anyone worship the goddess when I’ve gone? Tears pricked Shalira’s eyes as she felt for the padded knee rest, bowed her head, and knelt in front of the altar.

  “Do you know this is to be my last visit?” she whispered to the goddess she could no longer see. “Do you care? Will my pleas still reach your ears when I’ve completed my appointed journey?” Shalira fingered the amulet around her neck, the familiar whorls of the much-worn pattern under her fingers soothing her anxieties. For the thousandth time she reminded herself this impending trip wasn’t her choice so much as the least of evils. She took a deep breath. “Maybe my life will improve, away from the empress and her schemes.”

  Settling more comfortably on the knee rest, she tried to visualize the chapel – graceful murals of forest and mountains on the walls, a small fountain in the courtyard outside, the larger than-life-size statue of the goddess herself, perpetually gazing to the east, a half smile on her face. Though Shalira’d not beheld these sights in well over fifteen years, she felt sure she was remembering them accurately.

  A cool breeze smelling of moss and tiny flowers blew her long hair away from her face, and instinctively she lifted her chin to enjoy the stray breath of air.

  Footsteps came down the aisle behind her, an unfamiliar, light tread. The newcomer halted a few feet behind the princess, who was already pivoting, unwilling to have her back to a stranger. For all the good it’ll do me if the intruder harbors evil intentions. She curled her hands into fists.

  “No need to fear me, Your Highness. I offer a parting prophecy for your journey.” The woman’s voice was sweet and low, disarming. “You’ll travel farther than you dream, experience many things both good and bad, and even unexpected, but the blessings of Pavmiraia will wrap around you. Never doubt, but follow your heart in all your choices.”

  “Thank you, priestess.” Unclenching her fingers, Shalira tried to calm herself with a deep breath. “Are you recently assigned to this chapel? I didn’t know there were any new celebrants.”

  Gentle laughter like the chiming of bells. The woman touched Shalira’s cheek with the tips of her fingers. Annoyed, the princess straightened her spine, disliking anyone touching her, much less someone she didn’t know. “Indeed not,” said the bold newcomer. “I’ve been here since before your time. I came to bid you farewell, for I
also take my leave of this place.”

  “Who are you? I don’t recognize your voice.” She tried to keep impatience out of her tone. People who made her guess their identity were another frustrating aspect of her existence on the fringes of the court.

  “Yet you know me - you call upon me with great frequency.” The cool fingers lifted away from her face. “One of the last of the true believers, you.”

  Confused and angry someone would take advantage of her blindness, would dare to impersonate the goddess, Shalira hesitated to utter scalding words. I want this to be real, whispered a voice deep in her heart. I want some magic; surely I deserve some magic.

  In the next moment, she felt a whisper-soft kiss on her forehead before the intruder said, “Stay true to your heart in all which faces you. Go with my blessing, hold tight to your dreams, even in great adversity. The things you wish are worthy of being granted, but must be earned.”

  Love, children, a home of my own–my vision restored. Maybe this arranged marriage I go to will satisfy a few of these.

  Blinking hard, she realized the footsteps were receding, a faint pattering as if the woman was dancing to a tune only she could hear. Despite stiff knees from kneeling in prayer, the princess took a few faltering steps, bumping into the railing around the altar, clutching the wood to keep from falling. “Wait, please wait–”

  “Who are you speaking to, Your Highness?” It was the gravelly voice of her one loyal guardsman, Saium. His heavy footsteps echoed in the tiny chapel as he crossed the threshold, shoving the door aside with a scrape of warped wood on stone. The smoky scent of the pipe he’d indulged in wafted around her, as he approached with the uneven sound of the limp he tried to conceal when his bones ached.

  The elderly nun coughed, stirring on her bench.

  How did the other woman leave? There wasn’t any sound of the door before Saium entered. Bewildered, Shalira toyed with the end of her long braid, twining the loose tendrils around her fingers. “Did you see her?”

  “See who? No one entered or left since your arrival.” Saium was next to her now, taking her elbow in one huge hand with a light clasp, overly familiar, but allowed from him. “The empress is impatient to leave the temple complex. She’s been waiting–”

  “And she is extremely annoyed to be delayed by an ungrateful girl!” Empress Maralika’s shrill voice echoed in the small chamber like fingernails on a slate, the sound startling the elderly priestess into falling off her bench with a thump and a quickly smothered curse.

  Saium dropped to his knees as Maralika’s quick steps rapped on the stone floor like a drum tattoo, moving in their direction. Shalira stretched her stiffened joints, turning her head toward the sound of the empress’s approach. “My apologies for delaying you, Your Majesty. As I’ll never be here again, I had to complete the proper leave-taking of the goddess.” Did Pavmiraia herself speak to me? Bless me?

  “Considering I was kind enough to bring you along today, the least you could do is observe the demands of my schedule.” Tapping one toe on the stone floor, Maralika laughed. “Although from the dilapidation of this place, I might have done you a disservice. Surely, no goddess, no power, still dwells in this environment. Better you’d worshipped at the temple of the new gods, the ones I give allegiance.”

  “I prefer the old ways.” Shalira kept her voice mild. They’d had this fruitless argument before.

  Maralika snapped her fingers. “And much good your loyalty has ever done you. Come along now.” The empress wheeled, her robes sweeping across the floor with an angry swish, leaving the temple as rapidly as she’d entered a moment ago.

  Not quite sure where she stood, or how many steps it would be to the door, Shalira held out her hand. “Please?”

  Saium clasped her fingers in his. “My pleasure, Your Highness.”

  Together they strolled from the temple, the hot sun striking like a slap on her face as she crossed the threshold under her guardsman’s guidance. The princess blinked back tears, wishing for a fleeting second she could run into the temple and find true sanctuary there. Don’t be childish, people are watching. People were constantly scrutinizing her. She was an object of curiosity, pity, and speculation at her father’s court. Well, I’m leaving all this behind now, aren’t I? Maybe change will be a good thing. Smiling despite the gnawing dread in the pit of her stomach, she walked steadily toward the restless horse the empress insisted she ride. She could hear the stallion’s hooves striking sparks from the paving stones as he challenged the grip of his handler. When Saium boosted her into the saddle, Shalira took comfort in the fact there would be only a few more days to struggle through before she left her present troubles behind forever.

  If he’d been in charge of the imperial procession, the soldiers would’ve marched in better formation, with a crisper gait. Mike couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a supposedly crack regiment display such an uncaring, lax attitude in front of the local populace. Heading the column was a contingent of mounted guards, wearing gaudy uniforms, cut from the same iridescent fabric as Rojar's, and sporting helmets with long, curling feather crests. Involuntarily, Mike glanced at his own black and gold uniform.

  Busy whittling a stick of wood he’d picked up from somewhere, small yellow pocket knife sending the shavings flying, Johnny laughed out loud. "Makes you glad the Sectors don't go in for much color."

  "We'd never be able to do our job." Mike hefted the bag he was carrying, not wanting to set anything else down on the busy street. “The enemy would see us coming a mile away.”

  His cousin held out the crude carving. “My best attempt at local fauna, that winged lion thing.” He tossed the quickly done piece to a nearby boy who’d been watching him open-mouthed, before snapping his knife shut and tucking it in a pocket of his utilities.

  Mike nodded at the standard bearers marching behind the guards, holding aloft the banners of the imperial household. “You mean that? The cherindor? You need a lot more practice.” The mythical, winged feline rampant on the banners resembled pictures he’d seen of Terran lions, but with a barbed tail and three eyes. The image was apparently ubiquitous in the city. He and Johnny had been joking about it in fact, while they’d waited for Rojar.

  “Wings are tricky to carve. Just passin’ the time.”

  Rojar elbowed Mike in the ribs, pointing with his free hand. “Her Imperial Highness Maralika. You’re privileged today, Major Varone, to have a glimpse of her magnificence.”

  Definitely sarcasm. Mike stifled a flash of irritation. Getting embroiled in local politics, even accidentally, wasn’t on his agenda for this search-and-recovery mission. He might have to request another liaison if this guy was going to cause problems with his hostility toward the ruling family.

  The off-key trumpeters strutted by, blaring yet another fanfare. Now the empress appeared, carried in an elaborately painted litter, a muscular soldier at each corner. She was semi-reclining, so Mike couldn't get a good look at her face full on. Elaborately coiffed black hair, sparkling with jewels, framed a rather hard profile, somewhat disguised by cosmetics. But for all I know, she’s the Mahjundan standard of high beauty. He took a second look. Not mine. She waved languidly at the crowd with one pale hand as her litter proceeded along the parade route. Three rings flaunting gems the size of pigeons’ eggs caught the sun, throwing rainbows across the crowd as she flicked her hand.

  Grim-faced guards walked on all sides, tougher than the gaudy troops who’d marched first in the parade. These men had their weapons at the ready, constantly scanning the mostly silent crowd.

  A party of boisterous younger people rode horses behind the empress. Laughing and talking amongst themselves, they made no pretense whatsoever of acknowledging the crowd.

  “Ladies-in-waiting, courtiers, some of the favored royal children,” Rojar told Mike. “We’re close to the end of the procession now. We'll be able to go on our way in a minute or two, after the priests and servants.”

  A girl riding slightly behind the oth
ers caught Mike’s eye. She was wearing a pale blue dress, edged in lavender and gold. The lack of riotous, clashing color alone made her stand out to Mike in this crazy kaleidoscope of a city. But then he took a second glance to admire her beauty, masses of glossy black hair framing her lovely oval face. Brows drawn together in a fierce frown of concentration above almond-shaped eyes, she sat straight-backed in the saddle, one hand clenched in a death grip on the pommel, the other clutching the reins. Holding the horse’s green-tasseled bridle was a guard in the most subdued uniform Mike had seen yet on the color mad planet - brown-and-emerald with no braid or gaudy ribbons. Having a keen eye for horses, Mike could tell her magnificent stallion was ill at ease, sidestepping nervously, tossing its head, wild-eyed and sweating. He was about to ask Rojar a question about these two when suddenly there was a massive explosion farther to the east, toward the palace, followed by another, smaller blast.

  The shock wave knocked Mike to his knees, hands going automatically to his ears, which ached from the concussion.

  The crowd went berserk, screaming, pushing, running in all directions.

  Instinctively, Mike reached for the blaster customarily at his hip. Damn, not this trip.

  The neat column of the procession had fallen to chaos on the roadway. The horses bolted, one plowing through the crowd right behind Mike, knocking people over like straws. Caught in a knot of Mahjundans, forced away from his companions by the unruly mob, Mike’s attention was riveted on the black stallion, rearing and lashing out. The guard in green was nowhere to be seen.

  Mike pushed against the packed, sweating bodies surrounding him, yelling above the din for people to get out of his way. His attention was focused on the beautiful girl who’d seemed such a reluctant horsewoman. The stallion was circling, bucking, gathering itself to bolt while she did her best to control the terrified animal. Lips compressed, eyes unaccountably closed, the woman he’d become fascinated by before the explosion was holding the reins tight. Mike ran across the green tile border and into the street, which offered easier going. Most people were trying to escape from the square altogether, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the potential danger of another explosion. Sprinting to the horse, Mike made a wild grab at the reins.