Crazy. Beast stay!
“We owe Kamal! Orlondamis pay their debts.”
No beast, Hercs die. Tal angry. Clearly incensed, K’kadi folded his arms over his chest.
“Tal angry” was putting it mildly. Kass might have been guilty of exaggeration when she said he’d kill her, but not by much. Nonetheless, quietly, calmly, Kass repeated her message. “We have to do this, K’kadi, we have no choice.”
Suddenly she stood, flashing an insouciant smile that dismissed the seriousness of the moment. “Nonsense, all nonsense, of course. Nothing can touch Andromeda. Good-night.” And with that she swept out, leaving K’kadi to puzzle out just how far his sister would go to save Rand Kamal.
All the way, whispered his inner voice. Kass hadn’t wanted to upset him, but the answer was, All the way.
The ultimate absurdity—two weird Psys planning to save the Emperor’s nephew.
Chapter 28
When the full extent of Emperor Darroch’s invasion fleet was revealed, even Tal felt a whisper of doubt chase up his spine. Three battlegroups stretched across the vastness of space, each spearheaded by a battlecruiser, supported by three hunterships and four frigates. In addition to laser cannon and torpedoes, the belly of every one of them held a contingent of Tau-20 fighters, the pilots undoubtedly poised and ready to take on all comers.
How many times had he been where the Reg invasion fleet was now, excitement building, waiting for the attack signal to be given? They hadn’t needed so many ships to take Psyclid, of course, but Tal had been there. Experiencing the crucial moment when discomfort with what they were doing had burgeoned into a whimper of protest. A whimper that had grown over the next two years into an explosion into rebellion.
And now, in spite of all their efforts to ready a Herc battlefleet, he was counting on three pacifists from Psyclid to save the day. The Herc fleet was half the size of the Reg’s, their fighter pilots nothing more than scantily trained recruits. He was counting on K’kadi, B’aela, and Kass to—
“Which is Andromeda?”
For a moment Tal could only stare at his wife, who was standing next to him on Astarte’s bridge. They were facing imminent battle and she wanted to know where Rand Kamal was? “Tactical, identify Andromeda,” Tal snapped.
“Spearheading their right wing, Captain.”
Tal huffed a breath. “Satisfied?”
“Satisfied Astarte will not meet him face to face, yes!” Kass hissed, keeping her words for Tal’s ear only. “Satisfied the Hercs may kill him instead of us? I am Psyclid! I do not like war, remember?”
“If it’s any consolation, Kamal’s far more likely to kill us.”
Wisely, Kass swallowed her anger. She was the supplicant here. “Tal . . .” She turned the full power of her limpid amber eyes on her husband. “Please ask Tactical to color Andromeda’s icon red. I wish to track it.” Kass held her ground, not wavering under Tal’s stern gaze. “What else do I have to do, except wait to see if we need a sudden emergency exit?”
“Malfunctioning trajectories?” Tal inquired, eyes suddenly alight with old memories.
“Too many to mess with. I can only pray our shields will hold.”
“Accepted. But you have my permission to get us the hell out of here if it looks like we’re about to be blown into the next galaxy. The Hercs may be the stuff of martyrs—I prefer to live to fight another day.”
“Agreed.”
They were exchanging a long look when interrupted by B’aela’s tart tongue. “Do we just wait for them to fire first?”
“You and K’kadi can sustain your beast for hours on end?” Tal returned , matching B’aela’s sarcasm note for note.
“So we don our steel nerves and wait for them to get close enough to fire down our throats?”
“Something like that.”
B’aela huffed, but subsided into silence.
“Visual, Captain,” the helmsman called out.
Dear goddess. Kass shivered as she turned toward the broad front viewport. Reality was so much worse than tiny icons on a hologlobe. The Reg fleets’ staggered bulk would soon blot out the black of space. And still no one fired. Were they hoping the Hercs would take a good look and give up? Fortunately, the Herc fleet was nothing if not disciplined. As anxious as they were to prove they were still warriors—and as much as they disliked being led by a Reg—they would not fire until Tal gave the order. But after that . . . of one thing Kass was certain. The newly resurrected Herculon warships would hold out to the last man, like the Spartans at Thermopylae. But was the right move? The Psyclids had surrendered and lived to drive the Regs out five years later with almost no loss of life. Surely a better solution than martyrdom.
“All Reg groups launching fighters,” Tactical intoned.
“Launch Allied fighters,” Tal returned, still standing in front of the viewport with Kass, K’kadi, and B’aela.
“Aye, Captain.”
“But, Tal . . .” Kass sputtered, keeping her voice low. They were, after all, on Astarte’s bridge where she was no more than a lowly ensign. But, fizzet, what was the point of having magic if they didn’t use it?
“Give them a moment. Herc pride demands it. And they could use the practice.”
“That’s—that’s . . . You’d let men die so the Hercs can practice!”
“Our crew needs it too. “Outside of occasional one-on-one skirmishes, we’ve seen major action just three times since we left the Reg Fleet—twice on the way back from Hell Nine and on Psyclid Freedom Day.”
“But K’kadi can—”
“This is war, Kass, not a magic show. The Hercs need to be battle-tested. Need to prove themselves. Otherwise, they’re useless. Psy gifts are my reserve, not my front line.”
“But using our gifts could save so many lives!”
“You think the Reg battlefleet, the conqueror of twelve star systems, is going to take one look at K’kadi’s beast and run? You think they’re not going to do actual damage? Men and women will die here today, Kass. On both sides. You can’t stop it.”
She knew that, of course she knew it. But for all her years in the Regulon Space Academy, she was too much the Psyclid to fail to see the tragedy of it.
And what about K’kadi? She’d just felt him wince. In the frantic pace of preparation, the waves of patriotic fervor rolling off rebs and Hercs alike, had K’kadi not stopped to think that he was being asked to kill en masse?
“It begins,” Tal barked, turning toward his command chair even as he added, “Strap in.” Kass, B’aela, and K’kadi took their assigned seats, where each had their own hologlobe, so they could follow the battle. On the Regulon right wing the foremost ship, a battlecruiser, glowed red. Andromeda.
The three children of King Ryal had been shot at before. They’d all been present during the Reg attacks on the way back from Hell Nine. They’d been outnumbered before. They’d suffered the chaos of battle. The terse commands, the slight shimmy as all batteries fired, the thuds and shudders as Astarte’s shields absorbed heavy fire in return. But this was different. A vast battlefront strewn across a third of Hercula’s skies. Men and ships balanced on the edge of violence. The long-range results of the battle more terrifying than the violence of the moment.
Astarte—and the fate of the rebellion—were front and center, primary target for the Reg’s center battlegroup.
A low rumble as Astarte’s cannons fired. A shudder to the right as the huntership took a hit.
“Shields, ninety-three percent.”
A rolling wave to starboard.
“Shields, eight-five percent.”
Kass bit her lip. She would not show fear. Would not.
Blessed goddess, she’d forgotten Andromeda! The hologlobe showed Rand Kamal’s ship under attack from two Herc ships and a swarm of fighters, but the red icon held steady, showing no more than an occasional blink as hits glanced off her shields.
A Tau-20 exploded directly in front of Astarte’s viewport. Reg not reb, thank the
goddess. Yet, too much the Psyclid, she felt no joy.
She should. She should exult in every Reg fighter down, every reb laser and torpedo that hit its mark, for the results would be catastrophic if they lost. The Hercs and rebels who fought here might become legend like the three hundred Spartans left to hold a pass in ancient Greece, but Hercula would become part of Darroch’s empire, Psyclid shortly after. And on and on until even the Nyx were driven out of the Nebulon Sector.
Which could not be allowed. The rebellion lived or died this day. In the skies above a planet neither Reg nor Psyclid had set foot on before the last few weeks.
Absurd.
Tal’s voice broke through her wandering thoughts “K’kadi, B’aela, now.”
Kass’s warring emotions came roaring back. “Don’t destroy Kamal!” she hissed as King Ryal’s eldest and youngest joined their minds in enlasé.
Surprise. Even though Kass knew what to expect, she was still startled when the Herculon battlefleet disappeared—from actual sight and from every hologlobe. Two more thuds against Astarte’s shield, then silence as a blinded Reg Command ordered a ceasefire. It wouldn’t take long for the Reg admirals to figure out that their arms could easily pierce the invisibility cloak. They had, after all, learned a good deal while dealing with the very strange residents of Psyclid.
But even Rand Kamal anticipated Tal’s move too late, broadcasting a warning to all ships to watch for an attack from above only moments before the rebels struck. The entire Herc fleet, held invisible by K’kadi, went into a steep climb. From high above, they rained down cannon fire on the Reg ships. Fighters strafed Reg Tau-20s with impunity. And then the great beast not seen by the Reg fleet since Choya Gate reared its ugly head in front of them, its body growing, expanding until it blotted out the entire planet. And just like K’kadi’s demonstration in the dining hall, the tail twitched, sending two frigates flying off into space. The giant maw opened, revealing teeth big enough, and sharp enough, to take a huntership in one bite. The beast snarled. Even in the vacuum of space, there were those who ever afterward swore they actually heard it. Flames exploded from the beast’s mouth, licking at the Reg command ship.
Turn around, turn around, Kass prayed. Don’t make us do this. Don’t make K’kadi a killer.
No, wait, that couldn’t be! The beast was an illusion. A terrifying one, designed to give the mighty Reg fleet pause, but it wasn’t real. It could not kill.
So what sent the frigates spinning away? What happened to the banner at Nekator’s court?
K’kadi had destroyed it by other means. With his talents increasing moment to moment, he’d likely experimented with M’lani’s Gift for Destruction. Yes, that had to be it. Except . . .
Oh blessed goddess! A shadow was growing, engulfing the hologlobe, leaving just enough transparency for the ships’ icons to be visible —Astarte and the Hercs in white, Regs in black, and Andromeda glowing a misty red. Forcing her eyes away from the ever-expanding shadow, Kass looked at K’kadi. He was sitting a scant meter away, utterly still, his azure eyes fixed on the hologlobe. But his mind was “out there,” like some avenging god in the ancient tales, viewing the battle scene from on high, deciding who lived and who died.
No, not K’kadi. Never K’kadi! Only son of that ultimate pacifist, King Ryal, he was not born to kill.
You made him a warrior.
At her inner voice’s taunt, Kass felt her insides shrivel. It was true. L’ira Faelle Maedan Orlondami, aka Kass Kiolani, was the one who had insisted on attending the Regulon Space Academy. And when her shiny new world fell apart, it was she, however inadvertently, who had inspired Tal Rigel to rebellion. She, who had worked so hard to teach her little brother discipline. Turn him into a weapon.
Murmurs—grumbles—echoing around the bridge snapped Kass back to the moment. “Look,” B’aela whispered in her ear. “The beast blew fire, but the frigate’s still there. Not moving, not firing. Dead in space.”
What? Kass stared out the front viewport as the towering monster’s head turned toward a second huntership that was fast approaching Astarte, firing every cannon and torpedo it had. Flames roared from the beast’s mouth, engulfing the ship. Fire in the vacuum of space? Impossible, but what a magnificent illusion. And yet . . . the huntership’s guns ceased firing, it lost momentum, becoming nothing more than a large hunk of space debris.
“K’kadi?” Kass murmured. Then more sharply, “K’kadi, what about the ship’s crew?”
Work now. Talk later.
“Talk now!”
“Now would be good,” Tal rumbled, suddenly looming over both of them. “K’kadi, that’s not what I thought the beast was going to do.”
Ship, crew recover. Guns no.
Tal covered a rolling wave of emotions—astonishment, annoyance, amusement—at K’kadi’s selective attack by knuckling his hand to his nose. “You fried their cannon?”
All e-lec-trics.
“You fried their entire electrical system.” Tal exchanged a what-else-could-we-expect look with his wife. “Your father will be proud of you,” he pronounced, not bothering to hide a note of long-suffering resignation as he slapped K’kadi on the back. “Have at it. Fry the whole fydding fleet.”
“Except Andromeda,” Kass amended hastily.
Tal barely managed to keep from groaning out loud as he stalked back to his captain’s chair. Pysclids were just as weird as he’d been brought up to believe. But these were his Psys, and he loved them dearly. Even B’aela, who made it difficult for anyone to care about her.
Twenty-five minutes, that’s all it took for Regulon Command to give the order to pull back. And that was when Tal discovered they had a new problem. The first frigate the beast had turned into a floating hulk suddenly exploded, scattering debris far enough to ping against Astarte’s hull. Followed almost immediately by the spectacular disintegration of a Reg huntership, fortunately at a greater distant.
“Comm,” Tal snapped. “To all ships. Cease fire. Cease fire now.”
“Admiral Andreadis’s apologies, Captain. It won’t happen again.”
K’kadi’s anguish rolled over Kass in a tidal wave of horror and disbelief. The Hercs might have fired the fatal shots, but the Reg ships were defenseless, motionless targets because of K’kadi. The two crews died because of him.
Kass reached for K’kadi and discovered she was not alone. B’aela and Anneli were on their knees beside him, offering their support. But what they felt from him was no longer anger but horror.
Outside, the great beast, which had been momentarily frozen, turned toward the Herc huntership that had fired the fatal shots.
“No!” all three women cried, tightening their grip on K’kadi’s arm.
“Bad idea,” Kass added, frantically searching for a distraction. And found it. When she’d reacted to K’kadi’s distress, her attention had wavered from the hologlobe. But now—oh, dear goddess!—Andromeda , heavily damaged by Herc fire, was not pulling back with the other Reg ships. Instead, the red icon was descending rapidly toward the surface of the planet, its arc erratic as efforts were made to regain control. “K’kadi, B’aela, Andromeda now!” When K’kadi remained lost in the churning world of vengeance, Kass shouted, “K’kadi, we have to save Kamal!”
Muscles still taut with fury, K’kadi slowly turned his head, deigning to take a momentary glance away from the Herc ship he had been about to destroy.
Ocean, he offered.
“What?”
Down. Water.
Kass groaned. K’kadi was telling her a safe landing was hopeless. Andromeda was going down over water. “We have to try.”
Herc first.
No time. Andromeda, K’kadi. Now!
Brother and sister, equally stubborn, glared at each other. “You promised, “K’kadi. You promised.”
One last stab from angry azure eyes, and the great beast simply disappeared. K’kadi reached for his sister’s hand. For several long moments he studied the red icon that was plunging ever
closer to the planet’s surface. He turned to B’aela. Join.
Brown eyes wide, she protested, “I can’t, I don’t have the gift.”
Tired. Need strength.
B’aela closed her eyes, accepting the necessary, as she always had. Enlasé. That’s what K’kadi meant. She did not need the gift of telekinesis, only to add her strength to the effort to save Andromeda. Giving a decisive nod, she clasped hands with her brother and sister.
While Tal continued to repeat his cease fire command and asked the Hercs to send rescue boats to the site of Andromeda’s expected crash, guilt clutched at Kass. She shouldn’t have asked for K’kadi’s help. It was too much—piling responsibility for Andromeda on top of the anguish of the destroyed Reg ships. He had always been so fragile . . . she could ruin him.
Fool, mocked her inner voice, those days are long gone.
A surge of power engulfed her as Ryal’s children joined. Astarte’s bridge faded away. They were riding the vacuum of space, slowing the giant battlecruiser, straightening out an incipient spiral . . . down, down, slower . . . slower . . . Nose up!
Down. The frigid cold of a churning Herculon sea replaced the cold of space, threatening to turn her to ice.
As Astarte’s bridge snapped back into focus, Kass became aware of just how close they’d come to the Hercs ignoring Tal’s repeated orders to cease fire. Only the combined exhortations of elderly Fleet Admiral Andreadis and, surprisingly, Honored Lady Hypatia Kalliste, kept the king from supporting his admirals’ demands to annihilate the disabled Reg ships where they lay, inert and “just asking for it,” as the Herc commander put it. Did S’sorrokan actually want the Regs to live to fight another day?
“They are dead in space!” Tal roared back. “Their weapons useless. If you have a way to capture them, dock their ships, and imprison a few thousand Regs, fine, take them prisoner. If not, leave them alone. When they recover, I guarantee there’s only one direction they’ll go. Home!”
Switching off his comm unit, Tal spoke to K’kadi. “How long ’til your blast wears off? We need to stay here to keep the fydding Hercs from using the Regs for target practice.”
The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Page 23