Rebel Prince (The Coalition Rebellion Novels Book 3)

by Justine Davis

  “The main force. You know the way to and through the tunnel. And it is no small thing to have you with them. They will rally to you.”

  She looked back to Lyon. “He is right,” he said. “I am an unknown to them, except for my name. You are the daughter of Dax, who fought beside them, who helped lead them to victory. They see your face every day, in that statue on the square.”

  Dax rolled his eyes at Rina. She smothered a laugh.

  Shaina looked at her father again, as if expecting him to protest his girl going into danger. Dax smiled at her, but it was a smile full of the ache of a father’s heart when he knows he can no longer protect his child’s every moment.

  “We seldom have the luxury of choosing our path when the world hangs in the balance, Shaina,” he said softly.

  “You are right,” Shaina said. “I will go with them.”

  Dax looked a little surprised at her lack of protest. Rina elbowed him. “I told you they’d grown.”

  “A lot in a hurry,” he said under his breath. “I didn’t know when my girl left Trios I would next see her like this.”

  Rina smiled at him. Dax looked from her to Tark and back.

  “You are bringing him to Trios when this is over, aren’t you?”

  She felt herself flush, but her lips curved into a small smile. “I certainly intend to try.”

  “Then it’s as good as done,” Dax said.

  She hoped he was right. That they would all survive to go home to Trios.

  She hoped when this was over, there would be a Trios left to harbor them.

  RINA WALKED through the outer chamber, assessing the people as she went. Those cowering in the corners, many weeping, she ignored except for a reassuring smile. Those sitting quietly she judged by their expression; the blank stares were of no use, but those appearing angry she made note of. Even those whose faces appeared full of despair, for despair could be turned with the right words, the right motivation.

  Those on their feet, or pacing, she took special note of, for those could be driven to motion by the need to do. Something. Anything. And that was what they needed right now.

  Many of them were young, barely more than children. But they were chafing at being held here. She heard the mutterings about what they would do, how fiercely they would fight, if only they were allowed.

  And it might come to that, if the message the low-flying scout ship had sent was accurate.

  “What is happening?” several asked her as she passed.

  “Reports are coming in now,” she said. “There will be news as soon as we’ve sorted it all out.”

  When she returned to the tactical room, Tark was pacing its length himself. She knew he hated this, being here instead of out there. In fact, judging by his glower, she guessed he’d like nothing better than a good hand to hand just now.

  He stopped when she came in. And the glower faded as that slow smile she had come to love even more than the flashing grin curved his mouth at the sight of her. For a moment she allowed herself the pleasure of knowing it was for her, but only a moment.

  “What did you find?” Kateri asked.

  “About half will be of little use,” she said. “But the rest, there is some potential. Some, I think, are getting there, by the simple fact that the first attack was repelled. That little foray of yours inspired many.”

  Rayden grinned, but Tark shrugged it off. “And the rest?” he asked.

  “If you want those ready to fight right now, I’m afraid you’re looking at the young ones. Many of them are fired and ready.”

  “They feel they are invulnerable, at that age,” Kateri said. “Death is but a concept to them.”

  “And I would be loath to use that and have them face the reality,” Tark said. “But I will, if I must.”

  Rina hated to think of what that would do to him, that it would add another layer to the scars that were not visible. But Tark was a warrior, and needs must.

  “Will you talk to them?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “I’m no speechmaker.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” she said. “But even if so, you are the hero of Galatin still, and again. They will listen as if you are the greatest orator since the Creonic Age.”

  She saw his reluctance, but still he stepped out into the chamber. Quiet rippled out from where he stood, as the people noticed he had joined them. He grimaced again as she gestured toward the council podium on the raised platform at the front of the room. But apparently he realized that for them all to hear him, he must be above them, and went up the double steps. Rina followed, but held back. This was his to do, and she knew it.

  But if any of them so much as questioned him, or his right to lead, she was afraid she might accidentally blast them.

  Tark ignored the grand, elaborate podium. Instead he stood in front of it, putting himself closer to the people crowding in, putting nothing between him and them. Glancing around the room, Rina saw it was a choice not lost on those people.

  He began abruptly. “We’re holding the gates. And the western lines.”

  A rousing chant of his name began. He waved them to silence. “It is those leading those fighters you should cheer. Many of you thought them crazy, or too old, and yet they hold.”

  Somewhat chastened, they quieted to listen as he went on.

  “Prince Lyon and our force have slowed them to a crawl at the pass, and the Silverbrakes are carving at them from behind and in the air.”

  A cheer went up, but he silenced it quickly again.

  “There is a cost for us in this success. The Coalition is diverting troops that were headed for the northern plain. But they are now headed directly here.”

  A buzz went around the room.

  “What will we do?” a voice cried out.

  “We must assume their goal is to destroy Galatin. We have nothing they need that they cannot get outside the city, and it will matter little to them if there is nothing left of us but debris.”

  “And it is their way,” Rina added, speaking to them for the first time. “Resistance is a personal affront. You are not allowed to stand for yourselves. They want you cowering, on your knees, and begging.”

  “We drove them out once, we can do it again.” It was Rayden, who had gathered a group of his own age around him, and had been doing an effective job of stirring them up.

  “We can,” Tark said. “But it will cost us. The eastern fusion cannon has been moved, leaving a break in the defenses. They will notice that gap.”

  “What will you do?” a shaky voice asked, coming from, Rina noticed, one of the men who had been quivering in a corner earlier. She also noticed the difference in the question. He expected Tark to save them. And if he died in the process, would the man even care? She doubted it.

  “We will give them what they want. The eastern quarter.”

  She wasn’t surprised by the clamor that went up at that. But she was pleased by the cry that silenced it, from Rayden once more.

  “Let him speak!” the boy shouted, echoing Tark’s words to him. “This is Tark, have you forgotten?” When he had quieted them, he turned back to Tark. “Finish telling them what will happen when the Coalition has invaded the east,” he asked.

  For an instant, appearing almost bemused, Tark just looked at the boy. Rina smiled; Rayden was indeed much like Tark had been. An unusually aware soul.

  “Then they will be within range of the new position of that cannon in the low hills,” Tark said. The hum that went around the room was incredulous. She couldn’t blame them, moving a fusion cannon was no small task. But Dax and his fighter had gotten it done, before he’d flown off to the mountain.

  “And,” Tark added, “the cannon on the south line.”

  “A trap!” Rayden exclaimed.

  “And a c
rossfire,” Tark said. The boy grinned, let out a whoop. The young people around him joined in, and it set the tone for the rest of the crowd. And so turned tides, Rina thought.

  Tark raised his gaze to the rest of them. “It will cost us much of that sector,” he warned. “I know many of you live there.”

  “We will rebuild,” someone shouted.

  “And it must not appear deserted,” Tark said, and Rina knew this was going to be the hardest part. “There must be signs of life, or they will guess it is a ruse. They are evil, and cruel, but judge them stupid at your peril.”

  The only sound that broke the grim silence then was the group of youngsters, whispering among themselves.

  “Anyone who is willing, I will take,” Tark said. “You will not be asked to stand and fight, just be seen. I cannot say it won’t be dangerous, we will likely draw their fire.”

  “You go yourself?” Rayden asked.

  “Yes.”

  Rina knew his reason, knew that if this failed, there would be little he could do to save what remained of the city. Holding Galatin when he had the Evening Star here to control the air was one thing. Holding it when he had a single fighter to keep back a full invading force, even if manned by Dax, was another.

  “And you?” the boy asked, shifting his gaze to Rina.

  “I go with Tark,” she declared. Anywhere, she added silently. He glanced at her, his expression as warm as if he’d heard the unspoken word.

  “Then take us!” Rayden exclaimed.

  A clamor arose anew at the idea of these children doing what so many adults in this room were afraid to do. Tark hushed them much as Rayden had for him.

  “Let him speak.” He echoed the boy’s words. He might not be a speechmaker, Rina thought, but he had instincts about people. He just didn’t have much faith in them.

  “Why?” he asked the boy simply.

  “We are from that sector. We grew up on those streets, we know the buildings. We know every place to hide, and what can be seen from where.”

  Tark drew back slightly, surprised, Rina guessed, at the boy’s cogent description of exactly what would be needed.

  “You need them lured in, do you not?” Rayden asked. “We can do that.”

  “Arellia,” Tark said after a moment, “may just have a future after all.”

  Chapter 51

  THE STREETS WERE eerily silent as they dodged from shadow to shadow. The quiet before the storm, Rina thought. That it would be a vicious, destructive storm she had no doubts.

  They’d gone over the plan in detail before they’d started out, especially with the children. They did not want to be seen moving to the east, it needed to appear as if they had always been there, as if they lived there and were only now fleeing.

  They left people—including some adults who had been shamed into it by the courage of their own children—at various places—homes, other buildings along the way—to join in the observable “evacuation” once it began. Once they were all in place and the signal given, they wouldn’t hide, but would let themselves be seen, fleeing ahead of the advancing incursion.

  The timing would be critical. They had to go fast enough to make it believable, yet slow enough to assure as many of the Coalition enemy as possible were crowded into the sector.

  And then they had to escape, get clear before the cannon fire began. Keeping these children safe through it all was going to be the biggest challenge.

  “They’re as bold as you were at the first Battle of Galatin,” Tark said as Rayden darted in front of them into the shadow of the next building. “And not much younger.”

  “And here I am still,” she said serenely. “And ever will be.”

  His arm slipped around her for a brief clasp. That he would do so now, in the midst of a critical mission, said much of how far they had come.

  And then they froze as, in the distance, they heard a howl of sound. Ships. Transport size. They were landing.

  The second wave had come to Galatin.

  “YOU ARE QUITE insane, you know,” Crim observed mildly as they carefully set the armed torpedo in the pilot’s seat.

  “Thank you,” Shaina said with a grin.

  In the distance, the fight for Galatin had begun anew, and she had had to put out of her mind her worry about Rina, and Tark, who had quickly become part of the same worry.

  This part of the battle had tilted in their favor, thanks in large part to her father’s skill and Larcos’s brilliant new fighter. On the forward front, Kateri and Lyon and their small force were trying to keep the Coalition from advancing, while her own contingent continued to decimate them from the rear. But the fighters holding the pass were far outnumbered, so she was taking a small group there to assist. She did not know how long they could hold them here. She only knew they had to. They had to hold, until her father’s ship arrived. Once the Evening Star and her weapons were here, everything would change.

  And for the first time she had seen her father in real action, and she was more than a little awestruck. Hearing of his reputation her entire life was nothing compared to actually seeing him fight—fiercely, effectively, and yes, recklessly. He’d flown like that ship was part of him, darting, wheeling, racing forward and dropping back, appearing and then vanishing, until she guessed the Coalition fighters thought they were up against an entire fleet.

  He’d kept those fighters off them, enabling them to continue to carve at the ground force from behind. They were divided now, fighting on two fronts, forward and rear; the damaged Coalition fighters had retreated toward the mother ship, and her father had momentarily departed on a mission for Tark over Galatin.

  They themselves had had losses, but for every rebel fighter that went down, the Coalition lost twenty or more. So many that the Coalition had had to bring their flagship and her weapons out of the shelter of the moon and expose it.

  Which had brought her to where they were now. And caused Crim’s admiring words.

  Shaina worked quickly, Crim helping. They used various pieces of the transport’s own equipment to hold it in place, then Shaina turned to the control panel. It was nearly as familiar to her as a Triotian craft because her father had insisted she learn as much as possible about Coalition weaponry. She also suspected her father had trumped up any excuse to get off the ground. Yet another subtle bit of training, she thought. He had made sure she had the tools, just hadn’t told her why she would need them.

  Quickly she leaned in and programmed the small transport’s self-piloting system, then adjusted the identifier beacon. She rechecked the nitron torpedo they had liberated from the transport’s own weapon, then keyed the communicator Kateri had given her.

  “Rina? We’re set. Coordinates and maneuvers are locked in.”

  “Stand by.”

  “How does she do this?” Crim asked.

  “She’s an exact navigator,” Shaina explained. “She can commit any system to memory, call it up, and read all the distances, angles, trajectories, and orbits as if the holo was right in front of her. She’ll know exactly when we have to launch to reach the mother ship before it has a chance to disgorge the rest of those troops.”

  Crim shook his head, whether in amazement or disbelief she didn’t know. And it didn’t matter.

  “Get out now,” she told him. “When the moment comes, there will only be three seconds to get clear.”

  The old man didn’t dissent, but hurried to the open hatch and clambered down.

  Moments spun out. Shaina was barely breathing. She knew Rina and Tark likely had their hands full, but when they’d come across this intact transport, she’d seen instantly that this was their best shot at spiking the whole operation. It only had to work.

  For an instant she closed her eyes and thought of Lyon. She reached out farther, across the distance between them. She’d never tried t
his from so far before. But at last, she found him.

  Slowing them, Shay.

  She was still not used to it, this silent communication, and it was fainter at this distance, but it was there. Quickly, she sent him the image of what they were doing. And she heard him, sensed him—whatever this was—laugh.

  They don’t like our style of fighting. They’d rather we lined up to be mowed down.

  She sent a rather terse, suggestive opinion on that. And he laughed again.

  “Now, Shaina!”

  Rina’s command crackled from the communicator’s small speaker, cutting through her connection with Lyon. She didn’t waste time answering, but turned on the identifier, then slapped the main control and dashed for the closing hatch. She counted down in her head. One, out of the cockpit. Two, to the hatch. Three, headfirst dive to clear the steps that were already retracting.

  She tucked in, hit the ground, somersaulted back to her feet. All those acrobatic classes with Denpar actually paid off, she thought with a grin as she turned to watch the transport lift off.

  The rest of her small band all stood watching as the ship rose, headed for the mother ship. If they were puzzled by the early return of the craft, she hoped the identifier she’d changed, indicating the ship was damaged and needed repair, would distract them enough to take it on board.

  They waited. The huge, hovering ship had seemed ominously close until now. Now, she wished it were even closer.

  She could hear explosions, and the sound of fierce fighting in the distance. She would have looked toward the city, to see if there was more or less smoke rising than before, but she didn’t want to take her eyes off the big ship. She had utter, total faith in Rina, but she was in the midst of that battle and could have been distracted. She had Tark to worry about now. Shaina couldn’t help smiling at that. Tough, mischievous, wonderful Rina had finally found her match. If she was only a fraction as happy as she herself was now. . . .