Fizzet! They just might be able to do this thing.
Chapter 26
Not surprisingly, there were a few tense moments as Astarte approached Hercula. In spite of a constant broadcast of peaceful intentions, no amount of tweaking could totally disguise the outline of a Reg huntership. It was, however, just one ship, not an invasion fleet, and when they were close enough for voice communication, Alala informed the Herculon High Command in no uncertain terms that Astarte’s mission was friendly.
A long moment of stunned silence ensued—those on Astarte’s bridge could almost feel the Herc comm officer’s shock. “Colonel Thanos!” A gulp. “The gods be praised. You are alive.”
“If you would be good enough to inform Honored Advisor Thanos . . .”
“At once, Colonel. At once!”
Kass, who was sitting next to Alala, squeezed her arm, offering understanding even as the personal significance of the moment rang through her head. Another lost soul come home, owing her life to the protection of the Rigels. And like herself, one more link in the phalanx of allies being built against the Empire.
How much of Vander Rigel’s protection of two women far from their home worlds had been calculation? Kass mused, How much serendipity? Had Vander Rigel’s rebellious thoughts predated his son’s? Had the admiral manipulated the orders that placed Cadet Kiolani on board Orion for summer training? Or had he simply recognized her and thrown her in his son’s path to see what would happen?
Fantasy. Surely the events of the last few years were nothing more than Fate playing with their lives, heedlessly scattering good and bad in their paths to see what would happen.
As Astarte was given permission to dock at the spaceport above Hercula’s capital city, Kass brushed away her straying thoughts and added her thanks to Tal’s. Alala had done it. Their mission to Hercula had officially begun. They were on a direct heading for a place named after an ancient city whose name still rang through the ages. Sparta.
Astarte’s magnified comp screens were much in demand over the next few hours as everyone attempted to get a look at a planet none of them had seen before. Alala and the women from Blue Moon were, of course, granted privileged positions on the bridge. The first reaction from nearly everyone—how did the Hercs eat when their land seemed to be nothing more than mountains sticking up out of the ocean? No wonder their culture emulated the way of life of the rugged islands of ancient Greece.
“Fish,” someone offered. “Lots and lots of fish.” “Terrace farming,” someone else pointed out, gesturing toward broad stairsteps of green banding a steep hillside.
“Is it all like this?” Anneli asked Alala. “Do you have no fields at all?”
“Almost none,” Alala admitted, “but we are a hardy race.” Behind her words they all heard the implied criticism that residents of Psyclid and Blue Moon were far too soft. Kass opened her mouth to remind Alala that Psyclid was the only planet to gain its freedom from the Empire, when she realized diplomacy was the word of the day. Too bad B’aela wasn’t here at the moment. Her older sister would have been glad to set the Herc warrior down a step or two. And not cause a diplomatic incident while doing it, since B’aela held no official position in the rebellion. Besides the fact they’d all learned her sharp tongue was aimed at everyone and not to be taken seriously. B’aela had, after all, experienced enough troubles to turn anyone sour. Accommodation must be made.
“Oh, very well,” Alala grumbled. “We do hydroponic farming on barges, and we are great traders, importing delicacies from all over the sector. We are tenacious, stubborn, and know how to survive. And we hold what’s ours.”
To that Kass could only murmur a fervent, “Amen.”
Tal made the decision to greet the Herculon welcoming committee at the space lock, rather than have the delegation brought to his ready room. If he could have helped the crucial situation by standing on his head, he would have done that too. Nothing was more important than enlisting the aid of the Hercs. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Tal, Kass, K’kadi, B’aela, Anneli, and Alala waited. S’sorrokan, three royal children, a First Concubine, and a Herculon warrior. All honor to Hercula!
Alerted by a message through his comm unit, Tal snapped to attention, signaling the others to do the same. As the door slid back to reveal the Herculon delegation, Kass’s murmur of appreciation was drowned by a sharp rasp of breath from Alala. The obvious leader of the group could have been a model for ancient Greek coins. Or perhaps an older version of that statue of David some Earther sculpted so long ago. Even wearing a . . . a skirt, he was breath-taking. Kass was familiar with Alala’s fighting kilt, but this garment had far more flair, almost as broad as a ballerina’s tutu. A dress uniform, no doubt—surely not for battle.
While Tal stepped forward, offering his hand, Kass continued her survey of the young man’s startling outfit. A long-sleeved, form-fitting black top, a black vest elaborately embroidered in gold thread, and yes, a billowing knee-length white whatever worn above high black socks. Topping his head of black curls, he sported a purple beret, marked by three gold stars. A general. A general who was speaking the inter-system dialect of the Nebulon Sector with an accent no female could fail to find charming.
Or perhaps not. Surely Alala should be happy to see other Herculons at long last, yet she remained rigidly at attention, her face as blankly formal as Kass had ever seen it. Not that the living, breathing personification of an ancient Greek God standing in front of them wasn’t enough to scramble the wits of any female. Kass made an effort to dredge up the name her wandering wits had missed. Dr. . . Drak . . . Drakos. Uh-oh. Nik-something Drakos. Wasn’t that Alala’s betrothed? Or almost betrothed?
Yet there they were, the two Herculons exchanging formal bows as if they’d never met before. He had said his name was Drakos . . . ?
“We are rebels, General,” Tal said, smiling as he tossed a significant glance at Alala. No need to cling to protocol.”
Quick to accept Tal’s offer, General Nikomedes Drakos grabbed Alala in a bear hug and swung her in a circle that sent her skirt flying, her sword thudding against her side. Before setting her on her feet, he whispered something in her ear that made her blush. He stepped back, eyeing Tal man to man, his white teeth flashing in a grin as broad as Tal’s own. “Thank you, Captain. We long feared her dead. Her parents are overcome with joy.”
A quick glance showed General Drakos’s honor guard smiling as well. Well good, Kass thought. The Hercs weren’t quite as stiff as their experiences with Alala had led them to believe. Perhaps there was still hope for an alliance, in spite of the Emperor’s invasion plans.
A day later
When Kass saw the Herculon court, an ancient word came to mind. Spartan. No matter that Hercula had become a nation of merchants, they were still no-nonsense warriors at heart. The lines of the royal palace were clean, uncompromising, decorated only by the beauty of tall columns and a panel of intricate friezes circling the building beneath the roofline. The interior rooms were nearly as plain, only the naturally varying colors in the marble floors and columns added color. Even the national flag had but a dash of royal purple on a field of gray and white. The most startling look, however, was the garb of the male courtiers. Kass knew she should have been prepared after seeing General Drakos, but an entire roomful of dark-haired, dark-eyed men wearing similar outfits almost sent her royal training into collapse. Kass gritted her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping and turned her attention to the women of Hercula.
At least half were dressed in a military style that matched the men. Others, bless the goddess, had done their best to brighten up the place. Most particularly, the strikingly regal woman seated at King Nekator’s side. Multiple chains of gold cascaded over the front of her flowing purple chiton, which was banded in gold lamé. Fine gold chains dangled from her ears; gem-studded gold banded her forehead. Rings of every color winked from the long slim fingers of each hand.
Alala led Tal and Kass toward the king’s dais, with K’kadi
following close behind, flanked by Anneli and B’aela. Kass sent up a quick prayer that King Nekator would listen to them. Would he understand the threat? Believe the Regs were on their way? Or had the Hercs fallen so far since their days of glory that nothing could bring them back?
Surreptitiously, Kass scanned the courtiers hovering beside the king, looking for familiar faces. Honored Advisor Alexias Thanos, Alala’s father, stood to the king’s left, just below the dais. The visitors from Blue Moon had enjoyed the privilege of meeting him and his wife at dinner the previous evening. A dinner whose guests had included Nikomedes Drakos and the extremely elderly man in a wheeled chair, now occupying the space directly to the right of the throne. The fabled Admiral Timaios Andreadis, Drakos’s mentor, was wearing five stars on a bright blue beret, identifying him as the senior military expert on Hercula—the man Alala was counting on not only to recognize the danger but act on it. Remarkable that the admiral Alala had described as being sharp of mind and having so much resolution was but a frail wraith too weak to walk. Not an encouraging portent.
“Kephas Petrou,” Alala hissed as a fussy little man stalked toward them. Clad all in white, from odd-looking hat to calf-high boots, his full skirt swishing with the weight of his authority, the king’s chief aide appeared to be exactly as Alala had described him. Overly full of himself, more determined to be a barrier between the king and his petitioners than an aid in solving problems. Kass took a deep breath and fixed her court smile in place. Beside her, she could feel Tal moving into battle mode. Woe to the likes of Kephas Petrou.
Alala stepped forward. Her hauteur easily matching Petrou’s, she requested permission to present the visitors to the king herself. After receiving a resounding, if whispered, no, she calmly accepted Petrou’s expected intransigence, handing him a paper on which the names of the petitioners had been written. And petitioners they were, Kass had to admit. Even with the Reg fleet breathing down their necks, they were still here to request Hercula’s help against the Empire.
As their names were called, four of the five representatives of the rebellion demonstrated court manners ingrained since infancy. B’aela, however, felt the irony. She had learned solely by imitation, by watching Jagan and his young royal companions, while silently mocking the formalities of King Ryal’s court from behind a pillar or peeking out from among myriad sycophants. Yet here she was, an acknowledged member of the royal family, representing Psyclid and the rebellion on a far-distant world. She blinked as K’kadi’s fingers brushed her arm. He knew. Weird baby brother always knew. Did thoughts of his children ever keep Ryal up at night? B’aela wondered. His odd array of four children by three different mothers? All but M’lani on Hercula, ready to go down on bended knee, if necessary, to this strange foreign tribe where men wore skirts!
Ah, at last. Introductions and polite mouthings over, Tal was stepping forward, walking to the foot of the dais, bowing once again. B’aela felt a strange satisfaction that the court was about to endure a major shock. The main players already knew the facts, of course. The current dire situation had been the primary topic of conversation at dinner the night before—the rebel cause, the Reg invasion fleet. Alexias Thanos and Admiral Andreadis had met privately with King Nekator but two hours earlier, so Tal’s words might surprise the court but not those whose opinions counted most. The question was, however, whether Nekator would bow to Reg might to save his people, as had so many planets before him, or would he stand and fight? Even more important for the rebels, would he join them in the fight against the Regulon Empire?
“Honored Majesty,” Tal began, “thank you for granting us this audience. As you already know, we are supplicants, requesting Hercula’s help in our battle against the Empire.” A loud murmur, sounding very much like a multitude of I told you so’s, echoed around the room, punctuated by occasional knowing stage whispers of S’sorrokan, rebellion, and Psyclid.
Tal went on to describe the rebellion’s growing accumulation of warships, armed merchant ships, and the recruits to man them. Briefly, he described how Psyclid had sent the Regs home with their tail between their legs. Awed whispers, and not a little skepticism, rose from his audience.
“We know that you have put aside your past military might—and peaceful trading is a quality much to be admired—but as you have been told, Majesty, the Regulons now turn their eyes in your direction. They want to seize the prosperous economy you have built. Yes, the rebellion seeks your aid, but first we would aid you in defending yourself against the Reg battlefleet headed your way.”
Tal paused to allow the gasps of horror to die to a low murmur before continuing. “We have brought skilled men and women to help you restore your fleet to its former glory. And we will fight beside you against the Empire. All we ask is that you, in turn, help us push the Empire back to its home planet.”
“Will you abandon us then,” a panicked voice cried, “if we do not help?”
Tal huffed a breath. Standing even taller, he slowly moved his gaze around the full circle of courtiers then back to King Nekator. “The rebellion opposes the Empire, wherever we find it. We will fight with you, whether you honor us with your aid in the future, or not.”
Kass gulped back a horrified gasp, though it would not have been heard in the loud murmurs of approval sweeping the room. Tal had given the only possible response, but she refused to believe it could come to that. They could probably drive the Regs from Herculon space with nothing more than Astarte, the armed Herc merchant ships currently in port, and warships salvaged from a fleet that hadn’t been active for sixty years. But defeat the Empire without the aid of the Hercs . . .
As much fantasy as Kass’s view of Tal Rigel during those long lonely days in the Regulon Interplanetary Archives.
“Majesty,” Tal said, raising his voice to be heard above the general hubbub, “Colonel Thanos has made it clear that you and your people do not care for sorcery. Nor do mine. But it is only with the aid of skills of the mind that Psyclid gained its freedom. Will you allow the brother of my wife to demonstrate that we have ways to defeat the Empire besides warships and their weapons? That using these special skills will not hurt your people but be of great help in driving the Regs away.”
All eyes turned toward King Nekator. Some gleamed, eager for a new adventure. Others appeared fearful, some to the point of being poised to run. “We do not hold with sorcery,” Nekator decreed in stentorian tones. Hypatia Kalliste Eliades, the First Concubine, leaned close to his ear, speaking words too soft for anyone but Nekator to hear. He frowned.
“I once felt the same way, Honored Majesty,” Tal said. “But necessity makes strange bedfellows, does it not? If a bit of sorcery can save your planet . . . ?”
Once again, Hypatia Kalliste whispered to the king. Scowling, he waved her off. “Very well,” he growled, “we will see this thing. Herculons are not frightened by magicians’ tricks.”
“K’kadi?” Tal and his brother-in-law exchanged a look of supposed understanding. Unfortunately, confident in the new and improved K’kadi, Tal had not demanded any details of his plans. K’kadi would disappear something, king and court would be impressed. All would be well.
Which was exactly what happened. Except it was Hypatia Kalliste, First Concubine, who disappeared, throne and all.
A moment of stunned silence before a furious roar drowned the sound of swords being drawn, arrows being nocked. “K’kadi,” Tal barked, “restore the Honored Lady!”
Sorry. The king’s companion popped back into view, looking mildly amused.
Standing firm, seeming totally unaware of the wave of hostility poised to mow down the rebels, Tal ordered, “K’kadi, disappear me.”
The First Concubine, who had never left her seat, was among those who stared with a nice mix of awe and horror as Captain Talryn Rigel vanished. “K’kadi,” came Tal’s voice, seemingly out of nowhere, “disappear the gardens outside.” The view through the southern floor-to-ceiling windows turned opaque. There was simply nothing there.
“K’kadi!” snapped a disembodied voice, and in an instant, both Tal and the gardens reappeared.
After several moments of utter silence, King Nekator growled, “A fine parlor trick, but of what use is it?”
“K’kadi, how many ships can you cloak at one time?”
All.
For a moment even Tal looked startled. He offered the king a slight bow and said, “His powers are whatever he says they are. And even if one allows a boy the right to a bit of exaggeration, invisibility is a powerful weapon.”
The king’s ministers, still echoing Nekator’s skepticism, conferred amid scowls, frowns, and waving arms. Hypatia Kalliste, however, nodded her approval, leaning close to speak to the king, clearly unphased by having found herself hidden behind a cloak of magic.
K’kadi, impatient with Herc doubts about what his abilities could do, seized the moment. Startled cries spilled from the crowd as a replica of Hercula suddenly floated in the air above them, the planet’s harsh terrain making it clearly identifiable to all. The cries were quickly hushed by scoffing voices. Hologram projections were nothing new. This was not sorcery but technical flimflam.
K’kadi stood motionless as more cries arose, courtiers pointing to something developing at the far end of the vast room, moving closer. The Reg invasion fleet approached, dark and menacing, skimming but a meter above the tallest heads. As it moved closer, each ship grew larger, as did the now frightened murmurs of the courtiers—murmurs punctuated by shocked shouts and wails of terror as an amorphous cloud rose up in front of Hercula, obscuring the entire planet. In moments the shimmering cloud coalesced into a creature out of legend, its tail lashing out, sending Reg ships at the edge of the invading phalanx careening off into space. The monster’s giant jaws opened, revealing jagged teeth. Fire roared out, incinerating ship after ship, even as the beast surged forward swallowing ships whole. Shortly, there was only a great cloud of smoke, gradually dissolving to reveal . . . nothing. Except Hercula. Untouched. Peaceful. Glowing under a high noonday sun.
The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Page 21