Mission To Mahjundar (A Sectors SF Romance)

by Veronica Scott

  Seeing her at closer range, he revised his estimate of her age upward by about ten years–not a girl in the late bloom of youth after all, but a stunning woman. “Hang on, lady, I’ll help you dismount. Once you’re safe, I can try to get him calmed down for you,” Mike said, pitching his voice at a level he hoped would cut through the incredible din in the square. “You’re doing fine, just don’t let go of the reins, ok?”

  She opened her eyes, turning in his direction. “Oh, please—”

  The stallion bucked harder, breaking the rider’s hold on the saddle. She slid off like a rag doll. Cursing, Mike let go of the horse, which promptly bolted. He managed to break the girl's fall, going to one knee as he caught her. To prevent her from being trampled by the crowd, which surged into the space the distressed horse had kept clear with its lashing hooves, Mike carried her in the direction the panick-stricken people were flowing. "Come on, we've got to get away from this mob!"

  It was like swimming in a riptide. Going with the flow initially, Mike angled toward the far curb and got himself and his trembling companion across the roadway.

  “I can walk,” she said, voice faint. Making no effort to leave the security of his arms, however, she had her eyes closed again.

  Rather than waste time arguing, he carried her as he clambered over fallen people and maneuvered around debris until they fetched up in the doorway of a bakery. The sweet smell of fresh breads mingled incongruously with the stench of smoke from the bomb blast. With a muttered apology, Mike set the woman on her feet behind him, so he could defend them both if necessary.

  Drawing his belt knife, which was the only weapon he’d been allowed to carry through the city gates, he felt better. Now prepared to deal with whatever might happen next, he crouched in the doorway, trying to keep the woman out of sight behind him as much as possible. Mike surveyed the plaza, identifying no immediate threats. No one paying us any attention right now, too much confusion and panic. He had no way of knowing if the empress had just been the target of an assassination attempt or whether the bombers had hoped some members of the royal household would be unlucky enough to be caught in the blast so close to the parade. If it was the latter case, his job was to keep the terrorists from stumbling over his companion. Time to reassure the woman I rescued.

  Half-turning to check how she was doing, he said, “Sorry for the rough handling, miss. Someone apparently has it in for the royal family today.”

  One hand was clenched around a small red purse tied to her belt. She was staring slightly over his shoulder with beautiful caramel-brown eyes, golden highlights sparkling in their depths. Reaching to touch his shoulder with her free hand, she let her manicured nails drift ever so slowly to his face.

  She’s blind? He allowed her to run her hand over his features for a moment.

  Finishing her rudimentary scan, the woman patted her hair and cleared her throat. “Your voice is unknown to me, sir, but thank you for your help. What of my guardsman? I’m anxious about his safety.”

  You should be worrying about your own skin, lady. “I didn't see him after the explosion. He probably got dragged away by the crowd. There were a lot of people in the market, and they became a mob with one thing on their minds—escape. I had a hard time working my way to you and the horse.” Mike took a deep breath of her perfume, floral with a woodsy undertone, while he reconnoitered the square again with practiced efficiency. “The excitement will subside in a few minutes, after which I’d be honored to escort you to the palace.”

  “Most kind.” She stood patiently, one hand at her throat, toying with the turquoise and green necklace she wore. ”I wish we knew what had become of my guard.”

  He checked conditions in the plaza. The crowd had thinned out now, leaving behind a colossal mess of broken pottery, crushed food, torn awnings, and everywhere, the injured. Mike guessed most of the casualties had been knocked down and trampled in the panic, since the lethal effect of the bomb itself had been localized. Is this the explanation behind Rojar not wanting to walk any farther? He was on edge, anticipating something from the moment we met him.

  The woman leaned back until she was propped up by the bakery wall. “Could—could you tell me what’s wrong with my arm? I think it’s bleeding.”

  Returning his knife to the sheath first, he took her slender, tanned arm and pushed several jeweled bracelets and the blood-stained fabric of her sleeve out of the way. A jagged metal shard was embedded in her upper arm, blood dripping onto the sheer silk dress. Examining the wound carefully, Mike was relieved to find it messy but superficial. The blood was already clotting. “Not too serious, just a big metal splinter. Hold still and I'll pull it out. Have you got something we can use for a bandage, until you can see a doctor?”

  With her free hand, she tugged a wispy lavender scarf from her ebony black hair. “Will this do?” she asked, holding it slightly off to his right.

  Mike reached over to take the scrap of fabric. “Fine. Now try not to move.” Getting a firm grip on the twisted fragment, he drew it out, doing his best not to enlarge the wound. Then he wrapped the puncture firmly with the scarf. “You probably won’t even need stitches,” he said cheerfully. The woman stood quietly during the whole procedure, closing her eyes and breathing too fast, her chest rising and falling. She nodded at his remark but didn’t answer.

  Mike surveyed his handiwork, then peered at her face. “Only a small piece of shrapnel, but pretty jagged. You're pale. Are you sure you're up to walking?”

  Stepping away from the wall, she straightened her shoulders resolutely. “I'll be fine. We must get to the palace. They’ll be searching for me, and if there’s trouble on the streets, I shouldn’t be out.”

  “Let me help you, then.” He laid his hand on her uninjured arm, to guide her down the bakery's three shallow steps.

  She pulled away from him abruptly, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “I can manage.”

  Mike didn’t relinquish his grip on her wrist. “I don't care if you know every inch of this plaza on an ordinary day—there's too much debris at the moment. You won't get ten steps without tripping over something. Now, do I guide you or do I carry you?"

  Wordlessly, but with the hint of a curve to her lips, she extended her other hand. Closing her fingers over his with a strong grasp, she allowed him to lead her from their sheltering doorway. Mike decided against walking in the roadway. Too conspicuous. He set a path along the fringes of the plaza, sticking close to the shops. It wouldn’t be as direct a route to the palace, but they’d attract less attention, a goal high on his priority list at the moment.

  “Are there many injured?” she asked, brow wrinkled, voice soft with concern.

  “Afraid so. Must have been quite a bomb. There are people attending to the wounded now, though.” Steering her around a spilled cart of melons, past a decapitated sheep, he was glad she couldn't see the carnage. Collateral damage and human casualties were increasing as they got closer to the smoking bomb crater.

  Empress Maralika's empty litter was tipped sideways, the solid wooden undercarriage facing the side of the street where the bomb had gone off. Gave the empress some protection. The litter appeared undamaged in the middle of the roadway, about fifty feet short of the worst of the blast zone. Lying in the street, one of the four guards who’d been carrying the litter was moaning and clutching at his chest.

  Mortally wounded, nothing I can do to help. “Detonated too soon, apparently,” he said to himself, mentally measuring the distance from the crater to the litter as he guided the girl past the dying soldier.

  A voice hailed him in Basic from the side of the road behind them. “Mike!”

  He spun around, breaking into a relieved grin. “Am I glad to see you. Where's Rojar?”

  The sergeant gestured as he took in the woman standing hand in hand with Mike. “Right behind me. Been rescuing damsels in distress, have you?”

  “She's blind,” Mike said in Basic.

  Rojar sprinted to join them but stopped abr
uptly when he focused on Mike's companion, making a sharp salute in her direction, which of course the woman couldn’t see. “Your Highness, Captain Rojar of the emperor's guard, at your service.” Waving his drawn gun, he glared at Mike. “And this person with his hands on you is Major Varone of the Sectors, newly arrived on Mahjundar. Outworlder, she can order your death for touching her—she’s a princess of the blood direct.”

  “Nonsense,” said the woman in a sharp tone. “Such drastic measures would hardly be an appropriate way to reward his kindness after I requested his guidance across the plaza.” Then, and only then, did she disengage her hand from Mike's. “I’m somewhat disoriented. Are we close to the family gate?”

  Taking a second to double-check, Rojar answered in the affirmative. “Indeed, Your Highness. We have only to cross the last hundred yards of the plaza. Allow me to procure a litter for you. All this blood on your dress—are you—”

  “A scratch only, but I’m lightheaded. These gentlemen will stand watch over me while you go for the litter.” The princess nodded her agreement with the captain's suggestion. She swayed a little as Rojar rushed off in search of suitable transportation.

  Putting an arm around her waist, Mike kept her on her feet. Quickly, he steered her to a nearby cart and had her sit on the open tailgate, kneeling solicitously beside her. “Are you sure you don't have any other injuries?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. I think it’s the shock of the whole event. Only military men such as yourself remain calm in the face of bombs and assassins, right, Major?”

  “Oh, the explosion left me searching for cover, I promise.” Mike laughed with her. “We weren't expecting such a rousing welcome to your planet.”

  “I thought your accent rather unusual.” She nodded.

  “And we studied so hard to get it right,” Mike said, in mock despair. She’s getting paler by the second. Better keep her talking and alert. “Where’s our gear?” he asked Johnny.

  “I’ve wrangled it into a heap, over there, out of the way, and set two of Rojar’s men to guarding it while I located you.”

  A moment later Rojar returned, accompanied by a small troop of guardsmen and a litter. After making sure the princess had no objection, Mike placed her gently on the pillows lining the conveyance. The guards whisked her through the ornate gilded gates of the palace. Mike watched her go, before turning his attention to his companions.

  “Quite a welcome you prepared for us, Captain Rojar.” He stared more closely at his sergeant, doing a double take as he realized Johnny’s shirt was blood soaked under the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

  “Nothing but a scratch. Don't blame you a bit for not noticing sooner, not with the princess to distract you.” Johnny punched him in the arm and laughed good-naturedly. “Better get the stars out of your eyes now though and get on with our own program. Don't recall any orders in the briefing about rescuing royalty.”

  “I agree with the sergeant wholeheartedly, Major.” Rojar chivvied them to another, unadorned iron gate a short distance away. “Let’s get to your assigned quarters so we can have the wound attended to.”

  Once inside the compound’s walls, Rojar led them through a large courtyard, shaded by trees with fern-like foliage. The place was bustling with servants and courtiers. Mike was relieved to get out of the crowd and into the dim, cool hallways of the palace itself, even if there were confusing corridors to be navigated. A servant waiting outside one door, apparently for their arrival, sat cross-legged on the black marble floor, idly fanning himself with a riotously colored feather fan. Scrambling to his feet as they came down the corridor, the man opened the panel and was bowing by the time Mike reached him. Following them into the room, the servant crowded Rojar, nearly tripping.

  “This is your suite while we’re in the city, Major.” Rojar indicated the servant with a careless wave. “We should dispatch him to fetch a healer for your sergeant’s injury before the wound festers.”

  “Won’t be necessary, thank you,” Mike said. “We brought our own medkit with us. I can take care of Johnny’s arm myself.”

  The servant bowed nearly to the green tiled floor. “Captain Rojar, the chamberlain sent twice to remind you the feast begins at the sixth hour. You and the outworld officer are expected before the wines are brought in.”

  “We won’t be late.” Rojar frowned. “Go tell the kitchen to serve dinner for the sergeant, here in the suite.”

  Closing the door behind the retainer as he left, Rojar let his control slip for a minute, revealing a tired and worried face. Mike wasn’t sure he’d actually seen the fleeting play of expressions, because when the captain turned fully back to him, his countenance was as composed as ever.

  “Pretty fancy quarters for a couple of Special Forces operators. Why do they think we need all this space?” Mike asked.

  “And perfumed pillows to sleep on?” Johnny grimaced and tossed a few to the floor before he sat on the couch to examine the wound on his arm. He dug two more pillows out from under him, adding them to the pile on the floor. “I hope it won't hurt anyone's feelings if we rearrange a bit.”

  Rojar didn't appear to care what they did, now that he’d delivered them safely to the palace as ordered. “You’re the honored guests, after all. Do as you please, enjoy yourselves. The mountains will be quite another story, I promise you. The clans there will serve your heads on a spit at their welcoming banquet.”

  “How events play out in the mountains remains to be seen,” Mike answered, choosing to maintain a good natured tone. “Are you going to be okay, cousin?”

  “I've taken worse knocks than this.” Opening the medkit, the sergeant sorted through his supplies one-handed. “Besides, at least all those medinjects we took will get some local bugs to battle. Hell, the injects sting more than this scrape. You go and enjoy the food.”

  “Your dinner will be brought to you, Sergeant,” Rojar assured him. “Major, I must go change into a dress uniform for the banquet. I'll be back for you in half an hour.” He saluted and let himself out the door.

  Bemused by the idea of an even more elaborate costume being required merely to dine, Mike raised an eyebrow at Johnny. “I can't wait to see the dress uniform, can you?”

  Gritting his teeth as he sprayed medication on the wound, Johnny shook his head. “Gaudier than a Terran peacock, no doubt. No one'll see you for the glare of his buttons.”

  “Just the way I prefer it on this planet.” Mike picked up the medkit and moved closer to help. “Now, let’s get this wound sealed. I’m not doing this mission by myself while you loll around on sick call.”

  With the practice born of long years, Shalira came awake instantly when a slight shift in the air alerted her to the presence of someone in her bedroom. Sliding her hand under the pillow to clench the hilt of the dagger she kept there, she sat up, back firmly to the headboard. “Who goes there?”

  “It’s only me, Your Highness.” Saium’s familiar, raspy voice was welcome.

  Releasing the knife, she frowned. “What brings you to my room in the middle of the night?”

  She heard a match flare and smelled the acrid smoke as he lit candles. “The emperor summons you.”

  “Now?” Fear sent spikes of adrenaline through her nerves, bringing a surge of nausea in its wake. “Is Maralika going to be there?”

  “No, the summons is for you alone. Kajastahn sent his body servant to waken me. I’m to bring you to his chamber through the old secret passages.” Saium was at the closet now, searching through her garments, judging by the sounds of rustling silk and clattering wooden hangers.

  Shalira swung her legs off the bed, sliding her feet into the slippers she insisted the maids must line up properly, ready for her. Holding out her hand, she accepted the dress Saium handed her, recognizing her favorite by the embroidery on the sleeves. Lavender and cream, she’d been told. Her favorite colors, when she’d been able to see.

  Saium’s footsteps thudded on the carpet as he moved
to the door. “I’ll wait outside so you can change. Don’t be long.”

  When the door had closed, she took off her nightgown, retrieved her underthings from the proper bureau drawer, and shrugged into the dress. Her hair was impossibly tousled, so she brushed it once or twice before catching the curls back in a hasty braid. Counting the steps, she reached the door.

  Saium had her elbow before she could even step from her room. “We must hurry. Never a good idea to keep the emperor waiting, even in the dead of night.”

  She’d no idea where they were in the palace after the first few twists and turns. Trying to count her steps or identify any of her customary landmarks made her dizzy. She surrendered to Saium’s lead, knowing he’d never allow her to come to harm. They walked for a long time through a dank hall or tunnel, apparently unlit, since Saium had stopped for a moment to grab a torch and light the flame. Brushing one hand against the wall as they proceeded, she found rough, unfinished stone under her fingertips.

  “Stay away from the wall, you’ll get your dress dirty,” Saium warned in a whisper.

  She yanked her hand back, feeling like a child who’d been scolded. “Where are we?”

  “In the hidden passageway leading to Kajastahn’s private chambers. When he was younger, he liked to spy on his courtiers.”

  Not surprised, because she knew her father to be a devious, untrusting man, she said, “Did my mother use this corridor to visit him?”

  “She refused to venture in here alone, so I was brought into the secret arrangements, trusted to escort her to his rooms.”