Plotting and planning? Rand groaned. He still had difficulty processing that a retired Admiral of the Fleet had turned traitor.
Right up there with the emperor’s nephew.
No. Not yet. He just wanted to let the Psys know their planet was no longer at the top of the emperor’s hit list.
Back-door communication, that was the challenge of the moment. And Pegasus seemed the most likely solution. He had, after all, shown an interest in the repairs to the crashed merchant ship. Surely no one would question a casual inquiry about the ship’s status.
Particularly now that he was reinstated . . .
Rand ordered his groundcar to Fleet headquarters. Fleet always knew what was going on.
He had a lot of friends in Fleet.
Tal winced as he reached for his ringing handheld. He didn’t need to check the glowing numbers on his bedside chrono to know it had to be an emergency. There was no other reason anyone would call a man just released from the hospital at an hour when pre-dawn was just lightening the sky. Tal groaned as pain lanced through his head. “Rigel.”
Twenty seconds later he flopped back into his pillow, breath whooshing out in a long-drawn sigh. “Tell me!” Kass demanded. “What’s happened?”
“Pegasus is entering the ridó.”
“The goddess be praised!”
“They’re landing groundside. Dagg wants to see me the moment he’s down.”
Kass rolled over and stared at him. “He has news.”
“Important enough to drag us out of bed before dawn. Can’t be good.”
Kass burrowed into Tal’s chest, hugging him tight. “We just got rid of Vaden and company. It’s not yet twenty-four hours since you came home. I’m not ready for whatever the emperor is throwing at us next.”
“An Orlondami princess is ready for anything. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“All this princess wants to do is pull the covers over her head and shut out the world.”
Tal’s hand descended in a sharp love pat to the bottom that mounded the bedcovers so invitingly. “Now, woman. We have places to go, people to see.”
“Spoilsport,” Kass grumbled. Not fair, not fair. He’d just come back to her.
An hour later they stood side by side as Dagg Lassan disembarked from Pegasus, leaving his family and crew to complete the landing check.
“Captain!” Dagg exclaimed, wringing Tal’s hand as he eyed the bandage still wrapped around his head. “I’ve been told about your close call. Feeling better, I hope?”
“Anything is better than dead. Come.” Tal turned toward the hovercar they’d used for the drive to the airfield, hoping it would give him a smoother ride than the official limm. “So tell me what’s happened,” he said as soon as they were settled.
Dagg, after noting the plasti panel between passengers and driver was fully closed, said, “You’re not going to believe this, but we got a message tucked into a food crate. In the code Kamal slipped us when he paid that visit to Pegasus. Evidently, he’s been forgiven for losing Psyclid. Or maybe Darroch’s planning to lose him somewhere in space. Said he can’t be sure of anything but being assigned to command a wing of a battlegroup preparing to invade Hercula.”
Anticipating surprises was part of Tal’s job, but the bomb on Pegasus, sniper’s bullets coming out of nowhere . . . Complete and ugly shocks. Now this. It was enough to make him doubt himself, the rebellion, his entire vision of the future. “When?” he managed through lips that barely moved.
“Could be months,” Dagg offered. You know how the Regs work. Meticulous planning, massive firepower, precision timing, overwhelming odds. Resistance is futile.”
“I’d hoped to have more time here,” Tal mused. “I’m not fool enough to think we got all Darroch’s spies in one sweep, but . . . dimmit, I’m having trouble believing it’s come to this. We need the Hercs, but just when we’re about to ask for their help, Darroch remembers there’s a system he hasn’t conquered yet.”
“Perhaps he’s just giving Kamal a chance to be a hero,” Kass suggested.
“Or a chance to be killed,” Tal growled.
“The Regs haven’t failed an invasion in two hundred years,” Dagg offered in a bass that came too close to sounding like the Voice of Doom. “I mean, we have nothing that can stop a full battlegroup. And the Hercs . . . You can ask Alala, but I doubt they have much more firepower than we do. Their fleet is mostly merchant ships guarded by nothing more powerful than frigate-class warships, maybe a huntership or two.” Dagg waggled his hand to indicate his lack of specific knowledge. “They were great fighters in the past, but they’ve kept to themselves for the last couple of generations, mostly fighting off pirates, smugglers, a stray Nyx raider, any outsider with an eye to settling on Herc soil.” Dagg ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Sorry, Tal. Guess you’d better ask Alala.”
Tal leaned back against the seat’s soft cushions. Looking as if the weight of the universe had settled on his shoulders, he said, “I’ve already questioned her at length about Herc defenses. Naturally she balked at first—she’s nothing if not loyal. But when she got to know us better, she accepted we were friends not foes and gave me a pretty good run-down. The Hercs have ships of battlecruiser and huntership class in storage from the days when the Hercs were the scourge of the sector. Ships capable of being restored, given enough time.”
“And the crews to operate them?”
“More of a challenge, I would guess.”
“Pok!” Dagg breathed. “Sorry, Highness.”
Kass waved away his apology. “Then we need to take engineers, techs, specialists in every field. But surely the Hercs have at least a few people who’ve kept up with how their warships operate.”
“Which means we should have left yesterday,” Tal muttered. “And now we’re delayed by scaring up a whole bunch of extra techies.”
“I volunteer my crew,” Dagg said. “All of us.”
“We accept.” Tal managed a smile. “You’re a good man, Lassan. Welcome aboard Astarte.” He turned to Kass. “I’ll have Jor check with our ships’ captains for available personnel, but I need you to think about who else might be helpful with the Hercs. We need charm as well as tech support.”
Tal’s orders broke off as the hovercar lowered itself to the pavement in front of the entrance to Veranelle. It was only seven in the morning, and yet B’ram Biryani, who had been majordomo of the castle for as long as Kass could remember, stepped forward and held out his hand to assist his princess’s wounded husband. For Kass the years fell away. If only they could go back to the days when Blue Moon was nothing more than the Orlondami’s summer palace . . .
But no—how foolish could she be? Being Princess Royal of a system where the Tri-Moon Festival was the biggest excitement of the year had sent her flying away, out into the wicked world that lay behind her rainbow-hued life. She had embraced it, loved it. And when she met Tal Rigel, her dreams soared to the heavens. And crashed into loneliness and despair. Until . . . Kiolani, get up here. We need malfunctioning trajectories.
She had taken Tal Rigel to her bed, taken his name, accepted his crusade. She had given up her right to rule Psyclid.
And besides—although it had taken a while for her thoughts to accept the truth—it had finally dawned on her that if Tal Rigel had never met her, there would have been no rebellion. It was because his people turned on her that he’d seen the light, realized he was no longer willing to subjugate people who just wanted to be left alone to enjoy their lives in their own way.
But, oh dear goddess, she had never dreamed it was going to be this hard. Bombs, assassins, and now a race to save a star system they hoped to enlist as an ally . . .
M’lani, I hate you. Little sister, pregnant and enjoying the peace of Psyclid. Not that she meant it, but fizzet! It wasn’t easy to be L’ira Faelle Maedan Orlondami Rigel. Perhaps later today she would go to the g’zebo and scream out her rage at the utter wrongness of the way things were going.
> Chapter 20
It was nearly sunset before Kass could tear herself away from list-making, calls, and interviews played out over an inner cacophony of staggering thoughts. Thoughts that did not quiet as she walked through the cool of the woods to the g’zebo. She could only hope Tal’s recruitment chores were going better than her own. Surely finding engineers, comp techs, and grease monkeys was easier than finding potential diplomats!
She’d paused once during the day to call Tal, asking if anyone had remembered that Astarte would need to be fitted with extra bunks, extra sanifacs, extra provisions. Tal had barked something profane, growled a no, and said he’d take care of it. They should have thought of diplomats earlier too. But she and Tal had been so certain of their ability to handle any situation that might arise. After all, she had been born and raised to rule; Tal had been born to command. And since the rebellion, they’d had to face countless crises, some involving friends as well as foes. In the back of her mind Kass recalled she had once had a vague idea of asking Torvik Vaden for one of his aides as an advisor on diplomatic protocol. Ha! So much for that idea.
They did, however, have Alala. The Hercs weren’t going to turn away a ship bringing an honored warrior home. But believe they were about to be invaded by the Regs? Take their battlefleet out of hibernation? Kass groaned.
And Alala had left them in no doubt Hercs thought people with psychic skills an abomination.
Instead of warm and welcoming, the g’zebo bench seemed hard, unyielding. Clearly, she’d spent too many hours in the comfortably upholstered chair behind her desk. No, what she was feeling was defeat, looming large, a great black shadow waiting to pounce. In spite of Tal’s carefully thought-out plans, there was no way to win against the Empire. They’d thought to hang on until the Psyclids recovered from the mass effort it took to gain their freedom, then add the Hercs to the rebel roster. But truth was, they were a mere drop of water trying to put out a massive conflagration. Disaster was piling on disaster. Things looked bad.
Ridó.
Startled, Kass looked up to see K’kadi standing at the foot of the steps.
Disappear.
Kass frowned. “Sorry, K’kadi. I don’t understand.”
Build ridó. He waggled his fingers in a classic maybe-yes, maybe-no. Or disappear Hercula.
“Lovely thoughts,” Kass snapped, “but how? It’s taking forever to build a ridó big enough for Psyclid. And Hercula is almost twice the size.”
He shrugged. Disappear. Can do. I . . . think. Again, he waggled his fingers.
“K’kadi, that’s impossible. You’d kill yourself trying.”
Not that stupid.
She almost snapped, Yes, you are. But that was the old K’kadi, the heedless boy. And he was right. K’kadi the man might be able to pull it off. But that was no protection against a Reg battlegroup in the skies. All they had to do was aim at Hercula’s coordinates. An invisibility cloak was not a ridó. Rockets and lasers would go straight through. “I think, K’kadi,” Kass said weighing each word, “that your gifts are best employed shielding our ships from the Regs.”
Need M’lani.
Kass patted the bench beside her and K’kadi sat down. “That’s the problem, you see. At the moment there’s no way we can use M’lani. And even if we could, I pray the day will never come when we have to ask her to destroy anything. It’s just . . . wrong.”
Tank, T-bot. Not wrong.
But Kass had tuned him out, her face reflecting the grim irony of a new thought. “It occurs to me, K’kadi, that there is something immensely satisfying in discovering the goddess has given M’lani ultimate power over Jagan. I never thought to see the day anyone could control him.”
Love.
“That too,” Kass admitted, though K’kadi had surprised her. For a moment there, with his talk of ridós and disappearings, he’d seemed more like the naive child of old. Eager but unrealistic. Just when they needed him to be strong—
B’aela.
“What?”
B’aela help.
Incredulous, Kass managed to choke out, “You think we should take our sister, the witch, to Hercula?”
Much power. K’kadi shrugged. Men like.
How could she argue with that? She should have thought of it herself, but B’aela was fully occupied helping Jagan ease Psyclid back onto its feet after nearly six years of occupation.
Yet as much as she hated to admit it, K’kadi was right. The rebellion needed B’aela Flammia more than Psyclid did. And Herc males would fall all over themselves when they saw her—even if she was no longer in the first bloom of youth. Jagan had plucked the bud, after all, a very long time ago. Also . . .
It was possible M’lani would not mind having Jagan’s chief assistant off-planet for the duration of her pregnancy.
“Agreed,” Kass said. “I will ask her to join us.” K’kadi flashed a small, glowing red heart to signify his thanks. Which reminded her . . . “How are things going with Alala?”
Pleasure faded from K’kadi’s perfectly formed features. Angry.
Again?
Asked her. K’kadi frowned as he struggled to form new words. Should. I. Prac-tice. Talora.
What? Kass repeated her brother’s words in her head. Oh no, she had to be wrong! “K’kadi, tell me I’m mistaken. That you did not ask Alala if you should sleep with Talora?”
Did.
Oh, great goddess, just when she thought he’d acquired some common sense! “K’kadi, among the most important basic facts of life—you never discuss one woman with another. You never even hint there might be another woman in your life. Even if you’re terrified of being inept, you do not ask the permission of the woman you love to practice on someone else! If Tal had ever mentioned the word Liona to me, I would have—I don’t know—probably tossed him all the way from Blue Moon to Psyclid!”
Bad?
“Very bad.” That’s all she needed today. The tale of baby brother’s love life.
Or lack thereof.
“Go.” Kass waved him away. “My head is spinning, and I need to be ready for Tal, who’s likely in worse shape than I am. Go on, go. And in the future, I beg you, try to use some of the common sense you were supposedly born with. I mean, you must have inherited something from your mother. Anneli was born with a gift for smoothing things over.” Kass flicked her fingers in an imperious wave. “Really, K’kadi, you’re too old for this sort of thing.”
Head hanging, he backed away, turning only in time to run down the steps and lope off into the woods. Kass was attempting to gather her shattered thoughts when it hit her. Anneli. Anneli Amund, the ultimate diplomat. If she had survived K’kadi, she could likely survive anything. Even the Hercs could not be immune to her graciousness and charm.
Kass dug out her handheld and selected Anneli’s number.
Anxious to tell Tal about Anneli, Kass charged down the path through the woods at a reckless pace. In spite of the thigh-high split in her shimmering peach-colored skirt, she was forced to haul up the hem to keep it out of the dirt and away from snagging branches. Perhaps she should rethink her habit of wearing the long, flowing gowns of a Psyclid female except when on duty aboard Astarte. Kass heaved a sigh as she slowed at the edge of the woods. Princess L’ira Faelle Maedan Orlondami did not wear jumpsuits. She was ruler of Blue Moon and expected to look the part. Frowning, Kass adjusted her skirt, patted her hair into place, and firmed her shoulders for the walk through Veranelle’s formal garden. She might be anxious to tell Tal about Anneli, but maintaining her dignity was also part of her job.
After a gracious nod to the guard who opened the garden door, she climbed the stairs to the royal suite of rooms directly above. Hopefully, Tal was in their sitting room, not still bent over papers on his desk or making calls. Fizzet! It wasn’t right, having another disaster fall on his shoulders just when he most needed rest . . . Positive thoughts, positive actions. But Kass was only human. Anger won. It wasn’t fair, it simply wasn’t fair. All Tal had tried
to do, and now this.
Goddess, Kass snapped, it’s too much, just too much. You’re killing him!
She barely noticed the suite’s guard; only ingrained habit moved her head in a gracious nod. The moment the door closed behind her, Kass leaned back against it, eyes closed in anguish, and begged forgiveness. How could she speak to the goddess like that? If the Empire didn’t destroy them, the goddess would.
Tal? She could not feel his presence.
Kass’s amber eyes popped open. No Tal. Still working? A quick peak through the door to his office. Even in the dim light of dusk, it was apparent the room was empty. Bedroom? Perhaps he was changing his clothes? Not his usual habit at this hour, but . . .
Swiftly, Kass crossed the sitting room, opened Tal’s door—
Oh blessed goddess! He was sprawled face-down across his bed, fully clothed. Unmoving.
Breathing?
Dear goddess, I didn’t mean it! Kass threw herself down beside him, her cheek pressed to his back, her fingers reaching for the pulse point in his neck. And suddenly she was flat on her back, pinned to the bed by her wrists, a scowling face staring down at her. “Where have you been?” her irate husband demanded.
Kass drew a deep breath, returned scowl for scowl. “And why were you laid out on your bed like someone who’d suffered a complete collapse?”
“Long day. I was tired.” Abruptly, he let go of her wrists. “Sorry.”
After the events of the last few weeks, Kass could scarcely fault him for expecting an attack anywhere, anytime, so she accepted his apology with grace, shoved her horror when she’d thought him struck down into a deep dark recess of her mind. Settling into the calm expected of her, she launched into the report she had been composing in her mind all the way back from the g’zebo. “I have invited Anneli,” she declared. “She can outcharm the lot of us.”
“And she said yes?”
“She was stunned. And ecstatic. Since K’kadi left home, she has had little to do except produce grand parties a few times a year. Anneli has had nothing to challenge what I believe is a fiercely intelligent mind. After all, Papa chose her for more than her psychic gifts and her beauty.”
The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Page 16