Renegade

by Justine Davis

  But it was more than just coin at stake here.

  It was all of Ziem.

  “DO YOU ALWAYS do things with such high drama?”

  He half expected her to jab him somehow, perhaps unmute the pain he could sense still hovering. But she merely looked at him serenely.

  “Not intentionally. For the most part, it is my history that makes it drama.”

  “And that bit of . . . whatever it was, at the end, with the light?”

  “You remember that?”

  “It was . . . unforgettable.”

  “You were in the worst pain at that moment, and unconscious in the next second. I thought perhaps you did not recall.”

  “It’s what you did on that mountain, isn’t it.”

  She gave him that smile he’d come to know, that almost irked him with its amused understanding. “That,” she said, “did not sound like an actual question.” She rose to her feet, saying, “You must rest.”

  “I believe I was?”

  “You need more. And you must remain still. It will be some time before we can even test to see how we did.”

  He studied her before asking, carefully, “But you have . . . a feeling?”

  “I do.”

  With anyone else he would have snapped at the evasiveness. But it did not seem the thing to do with the woman who had, quite possibly, saved him. That he thought it possible was a measure of how far he had come down this road of insanity since the moment he’d awakened in this place.

  Then, belatedly, he realized he was judging her as he would someone of the Coalition. Someone practiced in feeling nothing, or presenting whatever image they thought their inquisitor desired. She was not that—far from it. And on the heels of that realization came another: the smile was genuine. She was pleased.

  And she was not the type to be pleased unless it had gone well.

  A strange, powerful feeling welled up in him. He’d felt it before, in the midst of the pain, although he had been unable to spare the energy to analyze it at the time. But he did so now, and after some puzzlement realized, with a jolt of shock, that it was . . . hope.

  Hope.

  It had been trampled out of him ages ago, and he had long assumed the capacity for it had gone, too. And yet, strange and unaccustomed as it was, he could not deny that was what he was feeling.

  Strange and unaccustomed described this entire interlude. In fact, it described every moment spent in her presence.

  Along with other descriptors he didn’t wish to think about just now.

  Then, before he could form another word to speak, a great sleepiness overtook him. She wasn’t touching him, so he suspected it was natural. Then again, if she could render him senseless by her mere thoughts, he would not be surprised.

  His concept of impossible was in tatters.

  IOLANA KNEW WHEN she came in that she’d interrupted something. Drake and Brander had both gone quiet, and both of them looked extremely grim.

  “What is it? Eirlys? Kye?”

  “No,” Drake said quickly. “We were just . . . discussing something.”

  “Something very dark, by the look of you both.”

  The two men exchanged a look. “Brander?” Drake asked.

  Brander let out a long breath. “She is the Spirit of Ziem in more ways than one.”

  Drake looked thoughtful, and nodded slowly. Then he looked at her. “Perhaps your vision would help.”

  “You know I cannot See in that way on command,” Iolana cautioned.

  “Not the vision I meant,” Drake said evenly.

  She felt a warming inside her at the words. It was one thing to be called upon for that unusual talent, something else to be asked simply for her opinion, because it was valued.

  “Thank you,” she said. Then, with a look at them both, asked, “What is it?”

  “Brander has . . . discovered something. The reason behind one of our most basic pieces of knowledge.”

  “That he has done so is no surprise,” she said, looking at her daughter’s mate, “so it must be the knowledge itself that is grim?”

  Brander smiled fleetingly, as if pleased by her implied compliment. As she had intended. But immediately his expression became dark again.

  “More what’s to be done with it,” Drake said.

  “Or not,” Brander muttered, staring at something Iolana suspected was not even in this room. This time she simply waited silently. After a moment Brander looked up at her. “I discovered why quisalt must be kept away from the planium.”

  Startled, she glanced from him to Drake and back. And tried to remem­ber if she had ever known the reason for this unbreakable rule of the foundation of Ziem’s former prosperity. She did not think so, and those who might have known were long dead now, and any written knowledge lost with the Coalition’s destruction of the annals.

  “So you did not know, either?” Drake asked.

  “No,” she said, looking back at Brander. “It’s always just been something I’ve taken for granted, like ‘Don’t put your hand in fire.’ What have you learned?”

  The man who was the clever brains behind so many of their successes let out a long breath, then said, “Some time ago I obtained a sample of each, and began to run some tests.”

  “Of course you did,” Iolana said, trying to tease him into a smile. When the effort failed, she began to realize just how serious this must be. “What happened?”

  “The first sample of planium I had combined with a small amount of quisalt seemed unchanged, so I set it aside. But when I went to dispose of it some time later . . . it crumbled.”

  Iolana stared at him. Planium was the strongest metal known in the en­tire sector, perhaps the galaxy, given the Coalition’s demand for it. It with­stood heat, cold, and direct hits from other weapons.

  “You tested this again, of course?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Same result. At somewhere between two and six weeks, a small amount of quisalt makes planium unstable.”

  Possibilities swirled through her mind. And one look at Drake’s face told her he’d thought of them all as well. She looked back at Brander. “Have you determined a ratio of quisalt to planium?”

  “More than a quarter and it will happen within days, but the difference in the metal is obvious. At a quarter quisalt, the process gets slower, a month perhaps, and the planium looks almost normal but it is weakened.”

  “How weakened?”

  It was Drake who answered her, in a tone that told her he understood all the ramifications of what he was saying. “Enough that were a weapon made of it, it would self-destruct on its first firing. And a ship with any significant amount would collapse at its first speed jump.”

  Iolana sank down into a chair beside the table. “Dear Eos,” she whispered.

  She didn’t look up again until she heard a sound from the back of the room, and Kye came in from their private quarters. She took one look at Iolana’s face and said softly, “They told you?” She nodded. Kye grimaced. “And I assume you got to the big picture faster than I did. I wanted to start immediately, since this is the key to the Coalition’s destruction.”

  “And to ours,” Iolana said softly.

  “Yes,” Kye said, sounding as grim as the two men had sounded. “Drake had to slow me down, until I saw what they would inevitably do once they realized we’d sabotaged their weapons and ships.”

  “We would be condemning Ziem and all her people,” Brander said, his tone matching the grim look she’d seen when she’d come in.

  “Probably immediately, once they figure it out,” Kye said, equally grimly.

  “Even as fast as they produce, it would take time for the altered planium to work its way into their equipment. And then time for them to figure out what happened. And where it originat
ed,” Drake said.

  “But not enough time for us to figure out how to stop the certainty of Coalition destruction,” Brander said. “If it could even be done.”

  Slowly, Iolana got to her feet. “So the decision is . . . to continue to supply the Coalition with the means to conquer and destroy other worlds, or to sacrifice ourselves to stop them.”

  “And even then it might not stop them permanently,” Brander said wearily. “We could do great damage, eventually, but take them out completely? I don’t know. Most of their ships and equipment would still be intact.”

  “It would depend upon how carefully we could balance it.” Drake was pacing now. “If we could find a way to slow the weakening to where the sabotaged planium would be well into their supply chain before it fails . . .”

  Brander’s brow furrowed. “Delay the reaction? And keep the planium looking and reacting as it should, to fool them?”

  “I don’t ask for much, do I, my brother?” Drake said, with a wry grin at his second. Brander’s chuckle and Kye’s laugh lightened the mood, while Iolana’s mind was racing through possibilities.

  “It is not a decision that must be made today, thank Eos,” Kye said.

  “No,” Drake agreed. “And when it comes to it, it is not one I can make alone. This is for all of Ziem to decide.”

  “Which in itself will be a challenge, getting that decision without giving away the game to the Coalition,” Brander said. “If that is the course, it is going to take some time.”

  “Whereas the decision of what to do with our Coalition guest is one that must be made sooner,” Kye said.

  Iolana’s thoughts were disrupted by the sudden attention shift to her. “But again, not today,” she said. “He will still be recovering for some time yet.”

  “He will have to check in with his aide by morning,” Drake said.

  “I can ensure he will be awake and coherent long enough for that,” she said.

  “In a way,” Kye said thoughtfully, “it’s the same sort of decision, isn’t it? Accepting, helping the demon we know or risking annihilation by one we don’t?”

  It startled her to hear him spoken of that way, although she knew many, if not most, of the Sentinels thought of him as such. But she understood Kye’s comparison.

  And it wasn’t until she was alone again that she made herself face the fact that Caze Paledan was not a demon to her. Far from it.

  Perhaps too far.

  Chapter 27

  THIS TIME WHEN he awoke, Paledan was certain of it. He’d thought he had, several times before, but he could not be sure they were not merely dreams, for they seemed so blurred to him. Once the young woman, Eirlys, was there. She spoke only of his condition, and how he felt, which was still peculiarly exhausted, given he had yet to actually move. Assuming, of course, he could.

  But this time he was certain it was real. He felt fully awake for the first time since those agonizing hours.

  Or perhaps the first time since he’d collapsed on that hillside.

  Yet this place still appeared as his office. So the impossible remained.

  “Back with us?”

  The man who spoke was sitting in the chair opposite, his feet up on a small stool, ankles crossed negligently, as if there were no threat at all in this room. But then, despite that he was not in fighting garb now, this was the Raider, and a man as weak as he felt was no more threat to that warrior than a newborn barkhound.

  “Somehow,” he said dryly, “I am never sure.”

  The man smiled. “She has that effect.”

  Indeed.

  He studied Davorin for a moment. “You stand watch yourself?”

  “I ask nothing of others I am not willing to do myself.”

  Words, spoken in that warm, proud voice, echoed in his mind. My son . . . would go himself, and let them decide whether to follow.

  A direct opposite of Coalition teaching and training. Underlings were there for a reason, and to be used to do those tasks that were beneath their superiors. But if it came to such, he had serious doubts about how many of those underlings would follow orders unto death.

  With the Raider, he had no such doubts; they all would.

  Davorin told him, since he could not see the outside and had no idea how much time had passed, that it was time to check in with Brakely. When the man used his aide’s name, he was once more reminded of the breadth of this man’s reach.

  “You bother yourself with the name of my aide?”

  “It is a well-known name to those who have had the misfortune to deal with the Coalition.”

  “You speak of his uncle.”

  Davorin gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Brayton Brakely’s rise—and de­mise—are often used as an example of Coalition whim and injustice.”

  Paledan’s mouth twisted wryly. “Since I have often thought the same, I can hardly deny that.”

  Davorin said nothing to that, but Paledan had the strangest feeling that he had somehow answered a question the man had not spoken.

  He made the necessary contact without demurral. He was not quite able to handle the comm link himself yet, but he dared to think that soon he might, as feeling returned to his extremities.

  He heard the undertone of concern in his aide’s voice as he relayed the unease and confusion of the troops at the lack of action.

  “I’ve told them you’re out hunting the rebels personally, and that has allayed it somewhat, but—”

  “Understood. Any inquiries from High Command?”

  “No, sir. General Fidez appears to be keeping his promise.”

  “Amazing,” he muttered, with a sideways glance at Davorin.

  “Yes, sir,” Brakely said, and there was complete understanding in his voice. “Next check, sir?”

  “Double, again. I have further possibilities to investigate.”

  “Yes, sir.” His aide sounded cheered at that.

  Paledan almost signed off, but in the last instant he said, “Sorry to leave you to deal with everything for so long.”

  “My job, sir.” His aide sounded pleased, but puzzled. Apologies of any kind were non-existent in Coalition policy. “And if you find those brigands, it will be well worth it.”

  He did sign off then. Davorin took the comm link back, and for a mo­ment Paledan thought he was going to speak. But he did not, merely put the device back on the shelf. Or whatever it really was, underneath the mirage.

  “Tell me,” he said neutrally, “does this place appear to you as my office, or is it only me who sees this illusion?”

  “Afraid she has entranced you?”

  In more ways than I dare admit.

  “Merely curious.”

  “Ah. That very un-Coalition trait again. No, Major, it appears this way to all who enter.” With a slight smile he added, “Except the living things of supposed lesser intelligence, but perhaps stronger instincts.”

  “Like the various creatures that come and go seemingly at will?”

  “Or at my sister’s will, yes.”

  “Are these . . . abilities inherent in Ziemites?”

  “Are they not on Lustros?” Davorin countered.

  “If I am supposed to be surprised that you know my origins, I am not.” He held the man’s gaze. “But in answer, no. I have never seen anything like your sister’s talent with animals.”

  “Or my mother’s with people?”

  “Or,” he agreed. “Tell me, do you share them?”

  Davorin laughed, and it was not scornful but genuinely amused. “I would be foolish to tell you one way or the other, would I not?”

  To his own shock, Paledan found himself smiling. Again. “Indeed you would. And you are not.” For a moment, he studied the man who should be his enemy. “I would ask you something else it wou
ld likely be foolish for you to tell me.”

  “Ask,” Davorin said lightly. “Then it will be up to you to decide if my answer is true.”

  His own smiled widened as the man turned it neatly back on him. “The . . . accident at the mine. The survivor among my men seems to believe it was intentional. That one of the miners actually set off the explosion.”

  “And you find that hard to believe?”

  “I find it impossible to believe. For he died himself in the process.”

  “And how is that different from being ordered to your death by the Coalition?”

  “Are you saying you ordered him to do it?”

  “I did not. And I would not. It is not the way of Ziem to demand self-sacrifice.”

  “Is that not what you did, when Jakel took your sister?”

  “That is different. That was . . . family.”

  Paledan’s brow furrowed. These concepts were difficult to understand, so foreign were they to him. “So the miner . . . are you saying he did it on his own?”

  “I am not saying he did it at all,” Davorin said easily. But Paledan thought he saw a touch of sadness in the man’s eyes when he added, “But if he did, it would be a noble deed, and worthy of the highest honors of Ziem.”

  He had his answer, Paledan thought. It made no more sense to him, but he was certain now that that was exactly what had happened in that mine. Davorin’s words about the Coalition rang in his head, and he contrasted this to the truth that death in the Coalition cause was touted as noble as well, but all knew that if you did not comply you would likely be terminated anyway. But to voluntarily sacrifice yourself for the tiniest of gains . . .

  “He did not stop the mining, only slowed it for a brief time. He had to know that.”

  “So you can think of no other reason for such an act?”

  Paledan considered that for a moment. He thought of all he had learned of these people since his posting here, in that time that seemed both short and yet the longest of his life.

  The life that should have ended here.

  And then the idea came to him. “It made the Coalition believe they had not yet the skills to mine the planium. Kept them from wiping out the miners and taking over.”