Rebel Alliances (Targon Tales Book 3)

by Chris Reher

  “I asked nicely. Carras seems to feel that you need to see me in a bad way.”

  Tychon shrugged. “Not you. I’m looking for a friend of yours. A Bellac woman. Didn’t he tell you that?”

  “He did. In a way that was missing a lot of details. Let’s go to my place.” Seth tipped his head toward the far side of the airfield. The men walked silently, uncomfortably, until they had reached the Centauri’s cruiser.

  Tychon’s practiced eye moved along its contours, easily making out its armaments and modifications. “Nice,” he said, recognizing capabilities likely rivaling those of an Eagle. He ducked into the small cargo hold that also served as air lock and followed Seth into the main cabin. That was less nice, featuring well-worn, bare essentials and the careless clutter of someone not terribly concerned with housekeeping.

  Seth perched on a stool by the small galley near the cockpit and gestured toward a low, comfortable chair. Tychon picked up a jacket and tossed it onto a lounger before seating himself.

  “Now we’re all cozy,” Seth said. “Carras told me your lady is missing in action and that somehow Acie has something to do with it. Let’s have it, Major.”

  Tychon continued his appraisal of the pilot, making a mental note to find out who had cleared the man for landing on UCB Delphi and then allowed him to walk about the base unaccompanied and fully armed. The nondescript black shirt and well-worn combat pants gave no hint about where he might have been recently although a wide bracelet on his wrist looked like it was made on Bellac. “Carras mentioned that you had some dealings with Captain Whiteside in the past,” he said.

  Seth nodded.

  “What sort of dealings?”

  “Went to school together.”

  Tychon sighed, already tired of the rogue’s impertinence. “Surely more than that?”

  Seth grinned. “Like what?”

  “You had some contact with rebels. Like that Bellac woman. Acie Daruen. Nova knows her and Carras told me that you do, too.”

  “I do.”

  “I need to speak with her.”

  “Why?”

  “That isn’t really your concern.”

  “Acie is my friend. I’m not too clear on what your concern is.”

  Tychon ran his hands through his hair, wondering how much to tell this man. Anything at all? Everything? Did it even matter? Every moment that passed was another moment that Nova was in danger. “How does your friend know Nova?”

  Seth leaned back and propped his elbow on the galley counter. “Why don’t you start by telling me what happened? In case you’re wondering, I am not a rebel, in the way you label these things. I was Prime Staff, working for Factor Baroch before he dropped dead. On your watch.”

  “That incident is classified.”

  “Apparently.”

  Tychon considered. To be Prime Staff meant working exclusively, and outside military authority, for the Ten Elected Factors, the highest level of government that ruled Trans-Targon and the Terra-Centauri systems. Those agents lived in anonymity and with complete immunity as the Factors’ proxies. Spies and assassins, in other words. How would Nova have been mixed up with this group?

  He stood up and paced across the small space, stopping to look down into the cockpit. It completely invalidated the casual messiness of the living area with a spotless array of features that would put most battle cruisers to shame. Clearly, the Centauri was either very adept at collecting some very high-quality gear or he had easy access to government-issued technologies. “Feeder interface,” he murmured. “Foursquare crossdrives. Shields to handle that, I’m guessing.”

  “Aye. I call her the Dutchman, although there might be a gender problem with that.”

  Tychon leaned against the bulkhead beside the cockpit entrance. “All right, Kada. This is what I can tell you. Nova was testing some classified equipment. There was some sort of attack. It’s not clear what happened but the recordings that went out with the distress signals showed her shooting Union officers, destroying equipment and talking to rebels, including your friend Acie Daruen.”

  Seth’s eyebrows had slowly risen toward his shaggy hairline as Tychon recited Nova’s deeds. He stared speechlessly at the Delphian when he had finished but managed a whistle.

  Tychon raised his hands, waiting for a reply.

  “Are we talking about the same Nova?” Seth said finally. “Whiteside? Redhead? Vanguard pilot? Expert marksman, career soldier and really bad cook?”

  Tychon nodded, almost amused. “That one.”

  “And you believe any of that?” Seth asked, incredulous.

  “Command does. She’s wanted and I’m off duty because of all that.”

  “And Acie was there?”

  “Not just there, but a few weeks ago Nova was caught sending a message about Acie to someone named Vincent on Magra. The Torley side of Magra. That’s when your name came up. And then Acie was accidentally misplaced on Zera. Strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” Seth grinned. “Funny how these things happen, isn’t it.”

  “Not really funny.”

  “You Delphians have no sense of humor.”

  Tychon crossed his arms and slouched comfortably against the wall, prepared to bide his time until the Centauri was ready to deal.

  Seth said nothing for a while and drummed his fingers against the counter, a little unnerved by Tychon’s unwavering gaze. His patience broke long before the Delphian’s, which didn’t surprise either of them. “Acie is just a dissident,” he said finally. “Not really a rebel.”

  “That’s not much of a distinction.”

  “It is when you consider that people like her and Vincent are no more enamored by your Union than they are with the Shri-Lan and their kind. They do what they feel they must. Peacefully, if possible. She’s been living among the rebels, mostly on Magra Torley, for years. Sometimes she acts as an informer. For your side. As far as the Shri-Lan are concerned, she doesn’t get involved in anything heavy. Mixing explosives, analyzing whatever bio materials they can steal from Union labs, doctoring, breeding a better Rhuwac. Who knows. When she can she engages in a little sabotage. Sabotaging rebel initiatives, I mean. Faulty ammo, drugs that don’t work, stuff like that.” He thoughtfully chewed on his lip. “Not sure how much longer she’s going to get away with that. She’s running on pure luck by now.”

  “Your side,” Tychon said.

  “Eh?”

  “You said ‘your side’. Not ‘our side’.”

  “Did I?” Seth shrugged. “Interesting. I guess I haven’t really thought of myself as being on anyone’s side since I left Prime Staff.”

  “How about now?”

  Seth contemplated the question for a moment. “I’m on Nova’s side.”

  Tychon nodded. “That’s good enough for me. Who is that Vincent that Nova mentioned?”

  Seth smiled. “Acie’s nanny. Acie may be brilliant but I doubt she knows friend from foe half the time. He makes sure the doors get locked at night. I’m surprised she was even out there. She doesn’t go on raids. She’s a big brain in a tiny body. You don’t jeopardize that in a firefight.”

  “I’m hoping she’ll tell me more about what happened. What factions were involved. Where they came from. Any of that might help me find Nova.”

  “I received a message from Vincent yesterday. Acie’s ship is on the way back. From Dannakor, your classified place.”

  Tychon’s upper lip twitched in what was neither a snarl nor a smile. “Where can I find her?”

  Seth shook his head. “Round about Aikhor. But if you want to see Acie, it’ll be on my terms. We can get there in about twenty hours if we jump past Magra.”

  “I wasn’t planning to arrest her.”

  The Centauri shrugged.

  Tychon sighed and came to his feet. “How are you set up for coolant?”

  “Processors are fine although I won’t feel imposed upon if you can cadge another tube or two from the ground crew. Why?”

 
Tychon tapped the data array embedded in the thin sleeve on his forearm. “Because I know of a keyhole in this system that’ll get us to Aikhor in nine hours. Long burn though.”

  Seth grinned. “Damn, I love having a spanner on board!”

  “I won’t be long,” Tychon went back into the ship’s air lock. “Get us cleared for takeoff.”

  * * *

  Tychon’s estimate had been accurate; after making the jump through the promised keyhole, they approached the waterlogged planet in just under nine hours. He had opened the breach with enviable efficiency, using the Dutchman’s generators without waste. Seth had covertly watched the Delphian’s calm face as he lay in the pilot’s couch, his mind tethered to the ship via his interface to probe deeply into the unknown void to find a suitable exit. He had felt his way carefully, guiding the ship’s calculations as one possibility after another was suggested and then discarded. It was some time before he perceived and understood the location he meant to find and punched the ship into the breach.

  Seth had taken over to slow the Dutchman when it emerged into real space, knowing that the tremendous strain of the jump would nearly incapacitate the Delphian for a while. He steadied the ship to find that their coordinates were true and they had come through the vast distance as unscathed as if they had never left Delphi. Tychon had risen from the pilot bench and moved to the cabin lounger like a man twice his age. He had dropped into a silent, motionless khamal, as close as Delphians came to sleeping, and had not opened his eyes again until Seth put the Dutchman into a high orbit over Aikhor.

  “New again?” Seth asked when Tychon rejoined him in the cockpit.

  Tychon had changed into a loose Feydan pullover and a worn cloth jacket over combat pants that were not out of place on civilians on Aikhor. He tucked a gun into a pocket on his thigh and reached up to braid his hair. “Fairly.”

  “I don’t understand why you people volunteer for this job. I once saw a guy get a nosebleed from trying to make a jump. Torture.”

  “Beats hanging around in normal space for days on end,” Tychon replied. He looked up at the display screens. A considerable amount of traffic buzzed the area, coming from and going to this neutral planet that welcomed rebels and renegades more often than Union members. “Where are we landing?”

  “Ath Kier. She’s holed up at a temple on the north end of the island. Oh, look! It’s raining.”

  “Those people wouldn’t know what to do on a day that it doesn’t rain.”

  Seth stood up and went back into the main cabin. “I think I need to dress up a little,” he said. “Might be folks there that don’t need to see me.” He opened a bin near the cargo area and sorted through it. “You inspire me, Delphian. Let’s be kinsmen.”

  Tychon watched him pull a few items from the bin and then reach up and carefully retrieve a long blue wig from an overhead compartment. “You’re joking.” He stood up and came into the cabin to perch on one of the galley stools.

  “Nope,” Seth said. “Physically, Delphians are the closest to us. Well, I suppose Humans are, too, but they’re short and this is much more fun.” He held the blue head of hair toward Tychon. “Braid that for me? You guys have the knack for that.”

  Tychon grimaced. “I think not! That’s someone’s hair. You’re not going to tell me that someone actually gave that up? Voluntarily?”

  “I didn’t ask. Maybe not all Delphians are as fussy about their hair as you are.” He put the wig aside and pulled a small case from the bin. Tychon watched in fascination while Seth fished through the case and retrieved a set of lenses that he fixed carefully over his eyes. He blinked a few times and when he looked at Tychon his eyes were of a deep blue.

  “Still glowing, though,” Tychon said.

  “Hmm, yeah. Let’s hope I don’t have to hang out in any dark places. Usually this works fine.”

  “You do this often?”

  Seth shrugged and lifted the wig over his head, carefully tucking the glossy black waves of his own hair beneath it.

  “Don’t cover your ears,” Tychon could not help but comment when Seth tried to gather up the long strands. “Pull it back over the top of your head or you’ll look like my grandsire.” He stood up and, with a dramatic sigh, took over from Seth to tie the hair into a loose braid. “This is without doubt the strangest thing I’ve done in a long while. Let’s hope you don’t have to fool a real Delphian with this getup. You’re not pale enough, either.”

  “Do you really think the average Aikhor rebel is going to notice that?” Seth took a paint stick from the bin. “If they had more brains they wouldn’t be hanging around that dump.” Carefully, he added a shade of blue to the corners of his lips and then slipped on a pair of gloves to hide his fingernails. “There. Am I pretty?”

  Tychon returned to the cockpit. “Let’s get on with this. Please.”

  They brought the Dutchman down on a crowded airfield located precariously close to the edge of a deep fissure running nearly all the way across Ath Kier Island. Tychon had looked into it as they approached, seeing no bottom except for a thick layer of yellow mist below them. The walls of the fissure were made of some dark stone that glistened in the constant drizzle. The planet’s high gravity assaulted them as soon as the ship came to rest north of Kiertown, a city as dense and gray as the rest of the island. An inhospitable, greenish sky loomed low over their heads when they walked to a boxy pre-fab building at the edge of the airfield. There they paid for the use of a domed skimmer that took them down a winding path away from the city and into canyons of jagged cliffs running along the island’s chasm.

  They found a scattering of cone-shaped buildings housing whatever supports were required by a massive structure perched on the edge of the trench. The temple was so roughly-hewn that it appeared to be part of the cliff face, its sharp angles and panes simply an extension of these walls. Some of the yellowish fog emitting from whatever vented in the depths of the gorge added a pungent smell to the misery here. It was only partially held back by a protective stone wall separating the temple grounds from the canyon.

  “Pleasant,” Tychon said when they climbed out of their air car. He observed some of the natives moving on all four of their gangly limbs among the round buildings. None of them even looked their way, apparently not startled by the sight of blue-haired bipeds. Or perhaps they just didn’t care. “This is a church?”

  “Of sorts,” Seth said, his voice low. “A retreat. Belongs to the Shri-Lan. Didn’t I mention that?”

  Tychon frowned. “No, you did not. Can you be a little more forthcoming? You just dumped a Vanguard officer in the middle of a very nasty rebel faction.”

  “Would that have stopped you?”

  Tychon turned to cross the cobbled courtyard in front of the temple. “A little notice would be polite.”

  “It’s not much of a rebel hangout, anyway.” Seth hurried after him. “This is mainly just a religious enclave, like yours on Delphi. Except this has more gods and less neuroscience.”

  “You know a little too much about Delphi,” Tychon muttered. He walked up the broad ramp leading to massive doors, his eyes on the sharp peaks above them. The panel he tried rolled on small wheels as it moved aside.

  It was cold inside and he hadn’t expected it to be different. A vast hall appeared to make up most of the building’s interior. There were no prayer benches for the faithful making the journey to this place but the floor was a magnificently tiled masterpiece of intricate patterns. He suspected that people were invited to sit or kneel to receive whatever instruction was dispensed from the stage at the far end of the hall. The ceiling disappeared into vague shadows into which the light of the hall’s few lamps did not reach.

  Seth pulled a torch from his pocket and lit it. It was common knowledge that Delphians did not see well in the dark and the extra light hid the telltale glow of his Centauri eyes. They walked cautiously across the patterned floor toward some doors to the right of the stage.

  A figure wearing a long kilt em
erged from there and moved toward them. The shambling, splayed gait told them that this was a Caspian, as did the click of his claws on the tiles, before they saw his face. He did not extend welcoming arms but held a short walking staff defensively across his chest. Seth and Tychon halted at a respectful distance, their hands not far from the guns at their sides.

  “We not often see Delphians among us,” they were greeted in the language of the Caspians. The man displayed narrowed yellow eyes and bared teeth, making it clear that the greeting was not meant to be welcoming. The dense hair on his chest and shoulders was patterned in light patches found among the people of equatorial Caspia.

  “Indeed not,” Tychon said, using a trade language. “We are here to find someone.”

  “You come well-armed.”

  “It seems prudent. Is there a Bellac woman here? Name of Acie Daruen?”

  “Yes, she has taken refuge with us.”

  “Refuge from what?” Seth said, sharpening his Centauri drawl as he spoke.

  “From the dangers of these worlds, pilgrim. From herself, perhaps.”

  Tychon scanned the dim recesses of the temple and wished, not for the first time, for the keener night vision that blessed other races. “What do you mean?”

  “I fear she’s been... compromised by the evil influence of the Commonwealth Union, your overlords. Be gone, Delphi. There is nothing here for you.”

  “We have come for Acie,” Tychon said firmly. “What has happened with her?”

  “The woman has been seduced by your masters’ promises and their lies. There are those among us who wish her harm, to punish her for the secrets she whispers into enemy ears. And others seek to extract what information she holds by means that will surely destroy her frail body and spirit. She is a traitor and she will not live much longer unless she comes to see the way of the Truth.”

  “Where is she? What have you done with her?” Seth said.

  Tychon grasped Seth’s arm. “Is she safe here with you?” he asked the priest.

  “She is hidden. Her safety is a question of circumstance. Even here not all are in agreement over her fate. She has value but she is no longer trusted. For now she is under my protection.”