Space Rats and Rebels: Fools Rush In (Episode 1 of a 3 Part Serial)

by Mimi Riser

  Chapter 2

  Princess Starshine, daughter of the First Royal House of Gaeas-7, sat before a light-mirror, working with scissors and grim determination.

  Snip, snip, snip…

  Behind her stood serving-lady Artha, Starshine’s longtime attendant and confidant, fussing and clucking with disapproval. “You’ll look like a boy. High-Lord Freyden will be furious.”

  Starshine doubted it. “My lord father will hardly notice. He has far bigger concerns. We all do.”

  Snip, snip…

  In short order—very short—the luminous silvery tresses that hung in radiant splendor to Starshine’s knees scattered about her feet. She hoped it did make her ugly. Beauty had no place in her life these days. Beauty seemed a vain indulgence in a solar system doomed to destruction, facing a dreaded decision.

  She lopped off her glorious hair to honor fallen heroes. It was an ancient ritual—zimzim—never practiced anymore, but once thought to bring peace to the dead and blessings to the living. Now seemed a good time to revive it.

  “Millions of Gaeans have already sacrificed their lives. The least I can do is sacrifice a few curls in their memory.” She was so proud of her people, she’d have cut off her whole head for them. Gaeas-7, out of all the solar systems in the galaxy, was the only one to still resist the plague of tyranny.

  Kronos Kkrypt.

  Starshine had never seen him, but envisioned a monster in her mind—evil incarnate—cold, cruel, and calculating. The mere thought of him made her skin crawl, and always had. How had he tricked so many into accepting his dark rule?

  The Gaeans had suspected him instantly—if something looked too good to be true, it probably was—but other S-systems had hailed him as a savior when he’d first stepped forward to take control, claiming VOR blood in his veins. A boldfaced lie, but he’d backed it with decisive action. Too decisive. Too few realized how complete his control had become.

  Until it was too late.

  By then he’d built up a powerful fighting force, and anyone who dared stand in his way was walked over and crushed. One by one, the planets of the galaxy had surrendered to his strength—or been reduced to dust. And every foul victory lengthened his reach, increased his power.

  For a long time, however, he’d overlooked the Gaeans. They sat so far out on the galaxy’s edge as to appear insignificant. That oversight gave Gaeas-7 time to prepare. The very fact the system was so distant from others made it fiercely independent and resourceful. Gaeans knew how to take care of themselves, and when Kkrypt’s Federation finally came for them, they were ready. The first Imperial battleship that invaded their space was blasted into smithereens.

  So it had gone ever since—not without great losses for the rebels, but always they’d managed to hold their own. Seven worlds working together had proved a force to be reckoned with. Against open attack and underhanded treachery they’d stood firm. When Kkrypt had tried to “divide and conquer,” promising some of those worlds riches and amnesty if they’d turn on the others, they’d spat on his offer.

  Whatever their birth planet, all races of Gaeas-7 were Gaeans first, all loyal children of Mother Gaea, fourth planet from the system’s sun and the only one to originally produce life. Only with the advent of space travel were the other six planets explored and colonized. Those colonies grew and thrived, adapting to their new environments in surprising ways, expanding and evolving over long time into separate sovereign civilizations each with their own peoples and customs. But none ever forgot their common roots, and when threatened with a common evil, they banded together as one, presenting a solid unified front.

  Snip, snip… Starshine trimmed the remains of her hair into a cap of short feathery locks, then frowned at her reflection. Not quite what she’d hoped for.

  “Roggs,” she cursed, turning to meet Artha’s eyes.

  The old woman smiled; she might fuss, but she always understood. She’d raised Starshine from birth, since the girl’s mother had died delivering her, and loved her like her own.

  “I hate to tell you, Princess, but you’re still stunning. You were born beautiful and have only grown lovelier since. It’d take more than a zimzim sacrifice to change that.” She chuckled at the girl’s frown. “And it’ll take more than a slimy old gronk like Kkrypt to topple this system. We Gaeans are a hearty, determined lot. We’re not beat yet, my dear.”

  “Oh, Artha…” Rising, Starshine grabbed her in a tight hug. “What would I do without you?”

  “Get into a great deal more mischief, no doubt—and you manage quite enough as it is.” She ruffled the short locks. “Come now, cheer up. You must put on a brave face, or you’ll be no good to High-Lord Freyden at the Council Report. You promised to attend it with him, and it’s almost time.”

  Starshine glanced at the chronometer on the wall. Great Goddess, it was later than she’d realized. Brushing stray hairs off her gown, she hurried out of the chamber—then swiveled about to fire a small wry grin through the door.

  “You’re the true backbone of Gaeas-7,” she told Artha. “For it’s you who support me, so I can support Father, and he in turn keeps everyone rallied. Without you, the whole system would collapse.”

  Artha blushed, her voice brusque with embarrassment. “Right. I’ll be sure to remind High-Lord Freyden of that when he bites my head off for letting you cut your hair.” She shooed the girl off, and stood watching while the slender form disappeared from view.

  Though she wore no jewels, crown, or other mark of royalty, and her gown was of simple design—and her hair unfashionably short—no one could look at Starshine and doubt she was a princess. Moon pale and delicate in appearance, she carried herself with a poise that belied her youth and small size. Flower soft on the surface, solid bedrock within. Already she was known for the wisdom and clarity with which she saw matters. And if her courage ever wavered, none but Artha ever knew it.

  Starshine was hurrying up the spiral corridor to the Council Hall when a petulant voice pulled her up short.

  “Wait! I’ve been looking for you. We need to talk.”

  Prince Pizzel.

  Unfortunately.

  With a resigned sigh, she turned to face a young man dressed meticulously in rich robes. He might have been handsome if his lower lip didn’t push out in a perpetual pout.

  He skidded to a surprised stop at the full sight of her. “What the devil have you done to your hair? You cut it!”

  “Obviously.”

  Pizzel glowered.

  Starshine brightened.

  “Do you think it looks awful?” she asked. Hopefully.

  His eyes narrowed in lascivious speculation. “No,” he finally decided. “It makes you look rather exotic, actually. Quite charming.”

  Roggs.

  He licked his lips—a bad sign—and reached for her.

  She sidestepped him. “Not now, Piz, please. I’ll be late for the Council Report—”

  “There’s always something you have to do.” He blocked her path. “I’m tired of waiting. It was bad enough when you postponed our wedding, but now I never even see you anymore. Starshine”—his angry tone degenerated into a whine—“I’m pining away for you.”

  Starshine resisted the urge to smack him. That whine set her teeth on edge. “How can you think of yourself when the rest of us are fighting a war? I’m sorry you’re pining, but perhaps if you’d devote more energy to the defense of our worlds instead of your own selfish desires, you wouldn’t have so much time to mope.”

  Chin held high, she angled past him.

  A hard grip on her arm yanked her back. Before she could pull free, he shoved her against the wall, grinding his mouth down on hers, pawing her like she was a paid pleasure-girl, bruising her lips—

  “Well, well, what have we here?”

  A deep voice jerked the prince back and around. Starshine stared over his shoulder into eyes as green as her own. The eyes slanted from her to Pizzel.

  “Come to escort my daughter to the Council H
all, have you? That’s very kind of you, lad—but aren’t you a little off course? The entrance to the Hall is over there, not behind this wall you were trying to push her through.”

  High-Lord Freyden smiled. Not pleasantly.

  Prince Pizzel visibly paled.

  Freyden was past fifty, but still a formidable figure. Brushing by the younger man, he offered Starshine his arm and led her toward the Council Hall.

  “You cut your hair,” he commented. “A zimzim sacrifice?”

  “Yes, the ritual is supposed to bring blessings.”

  “Good, we need all we can get.”

  “You’ll need a miracle, old man,” Pizzel muttered. “You, too, my stubborn princess.” He glared daggers at their backs, then turned with a flourish of his elaborate robes and skulked off in a seething rage.

  Her fingers secure on his tense biceps, Starshine felt Freyden’s banked anger, and her own with it, but spoke calmly. “It’s all right, Father. Piz just got a little”—she coughed—“carried away, I guess. He’s always been a bit…dramatic.”

  “Bogrop!” Freyden snorted. “Pizzel is a weak, pompous, conceited nimcluck, and I never should have betrothed you to him in the first place.”

  “Well, he is from a very influential family. It seemed the proper thing to do at the time.” She patted her father’s arm. “Anyway, I can’t possibly marry him in the middle of a rebellion, and I’ve told him so.”

  “I knew there had to be something good about this blasted war.”

  “Father!” Starshine gasped in mock horror. But they both laughed as they entered the Council Hall.

  In peacetime, the planets of the Gaeas-7 ruled themselves in their own home capitals, but with all of them under siege, all had sent delegates to the birthplace of their ancestors so defense strategies could be planned with total unity in mind. The Council Hall of Gaea was a mammoth septagon with a large dais against each of its seven sides—one for every world that orbited the system’s sun—a kaleidoscope of different cultures, colors, and designs, illuminated by the glow from the domed ceiling, which was inset with a huge view-screen.

  Starshine took her place beside Freyden on the Gaea dais and surveyed the gathered delegates, all so unique from herself and each other that anyone who didn’t know the solar system’s ancient history might never have guessed they’d all sprung from the same original seeds. Long, long ago Gaea had planted those seeds, but the different soils in which they’d grown, natural evolution (coupled with a bit of bioengineering in some instances) had produced several distinct races and cultures.

  The emissaries from planet Hel were distinguished by black skins and bold stares, their dark complexions—and fiery natures, too, perhaps—the result of occupying the orbit nearest the sun. Helions wore their hearts on their sleeves and bowed to no one, extravagant in love and war. Their hot passions well matched their hot climate, and the vivid reds of their loose robes mirrored it.

  Equally eye-catching, the women warriors from the matriarchal society of Vena, second closest planet to the sun, sat straight and proud, a striking group in the rich greens and golds of their short battle kilts and armored breastplates.

  In contrast, the delegates from Dolfys, male and female alike, sat somewhat ill at ease on their high, dry dais—and not because they were nearly naked. Dolfyns never wore more than scant skintight garments if they could avoid it. On their planet, third from the sun, clothing was a hindrance. Dolfys was the Ocean World, covered with water. The Dolfyns had never evolved gills, but not for lack of trying. They were a sleek, hairless people who spent much of their lives submerged, surfacing only at intervals for air. In lieu of gills, they’d developed an amazing lung capacity and breath control, and could stay under for what seemed forever. Dolfyns moved like a dream in the water, but claimed to feel heavy and awkward on land. They made excellent space travelers, though, adapting easily to weightlessness. “Air-swimming,” they called it.

  Across the Hall from the Dolfyns stood the dais of Kolossus, fifth and largest planet in the system. Its people were, ironically, a dwarf race—short, stocky and strong—almost as broad as they were high, as if they’d been squashed by their giant world’s heavy gravity and had expanded sideways to compensate.

  Also stocky, though for different reasons, were the delegates from the outer edge of the system, Eleskia, farthest planet from the sun. Living in perpetual bitter cold, the Eleskiis had evolved layers of insulating fat under their skin and enough body hair to appear almost furry. Even their women wore beards.

  Most interesting of all, however, were the silent, secretive figures from Magus, wispy thin and wraith-like in their hooded gray robes. Sixth from the sun, mysterious Magus was shrouded in a thick poisonous atmosphere. To survive, its settlers had burrowed deep into underground caverns and been cut off from the rest of the system for generations. During that time, they’d also dug deep into their own psyches. When contact was finally re-established, the other worlds of Gaeas-7 discovered a small, pale people who looked too weak to survive anywhere.

  But looks, of course, can be deceiving. The Mage people could read minds and transmit thoughts, move heavy objects without touching them, and mentally manipulate raw energy into protective shields. Weak? Mages were the strongest race in the solar system. Yet even their powers couldn’t prevent the inevitable.

  Starshine knew it, and so did Freyden. His gaze swept the Hall, taking in the entire assembly at once, all those who had returned to their roots in time of trouble. He felt like he carried every one of them on his back—felt suddenly very tired. So many people looking to him for guidance. So many in desperate need of hope. How could he tell them there was none?

  He sat motionless while the great gathering grew quiet, expectant. Then slowly he rose to his feet.

  “Fellow Gaeans”—his deep voice reverberated off the walls, the voice of doom—“you have fought bravely and well and won battles. But we haven’t the manpower or resources to win the war. It’s that simple, I’m afraid. Each of our victories has been bought with a high toll of blood. Our forces grow ever smaller, while Kkrypt’s only increase. We cannot hold him off for much longer. Therefore I put it to your vote. Shall we surrender now, while some might yet be spared—or fight to the last? Think carefully, my friends. I will abide by your choice.”

  He sank back into his chair.

  Utter stillness reigned the Hall. To Starshine it sounded louder than an avalanche—the sound of seven worlds’ worth of hopes and dreams crashing down on them all. The grim silence roared in her ears. She had no illusions. The choice was life or death. That simple. That hard. Kronos Kkrypt would accept nothing less than complete capitulation. He never did. Ever. Only in unconditional surrender would any lives be spared. But for what? To be Imperial slaves? Was life without hope better than death with honor?

  No matter what planet they called home, all Gaeans held one trait in common. They valued liberty above all else. As if one person, the entire assembly rose to their feet and raised their arms and voices in the ancient Gaean war cry.

  They would fight.

  Starshine heaved a sigh of relief, and with it realized she’d been holding her breath. Tears stung her eyes. She reached for her father’s hand and squeezed it. Neither of them wanted to die. No one did. But far worse would have been seeing Gaeas-7 become another of Kkrypt’s wretched pawns. Better to see it obliterated. Right?

  Yes, of course, she had to believe that. She was Freyden’s daughter. For him there had ever been only one answer—and surrender wasn’t it. But High-Lord Freyden wasn’t the despot Emperor Kkrypt was. Never would he have forced his people to continue a war they opposed.

  With considerably more vigor than he’d entered the Council Hall, Freyden rose to his full height and saluted the standing crowd.

  “My friends, you make me proud to be a Gaean. But we have little time and much to do. You must all return to your own planets now to prepare for our final battle. If we are to die, we shall do it as an independent people
”—he raised his fist in the air—“and our cry of freedom will echo through the galaxy long after we are gone!”