Kass leaned over, gave him a hug. “Take a rest, baby brother. Give Jagan’s beast a chance.”
B’aela, like Kass, could feel K’kadi’s pain. Idiot boy! He was the greatest sorcerer in the known galaxy, yet he railed against being human. Furious because he did not—despite what some said—have the powers of a god. He might seem capable of working miracles, but he was as fragile as the rest of them—
B’aela! To emphasize his annoyance, Jagan squeezed her hand. Hard. B’aela, chagrined, snapped her thoughts back to the task at hand. It was not easy to be one of Ryal’s children.
The Sorcerer Prime and his team were seated in a circle especially designed for them, Jagan and B’aela holding hands with D’nim and T’mar, doing what they had been doing for years, conjuring the giant beast that vaguely resembled a dragon, a great menacing hulk big enough to fill the sky. And intimidate even those who had encountered it before. Enough to allow Astarte to slip away, leaving the still-battling red and black icons on their screens behind.
“Captain,” Nael Khagun said, “I see no opposition over Titan. Do you concur?”
“I do. It looks like they sent everything they had against us, leaving the city exposed.”
“Not a single ship left on the ground at Fleet,” Tactical reported.
Tal drew a deep breath. If their luck in the skies continued to hold . . . And the Reg underground played its part . . .
Tal ordered the next step in the invasion of Regula Prime.
While Jagan’s team expanded the great beast until it formed an opaque curtain between the battling spaceships and the planet below, Astarte, Andromeda, and the Herc ships carrying General Drakos’s ground troops set a course for Regula Prime’s capital city, Titan.
Kass looked at Tal. I still don’t see how you can trust the Hercs.
No problem until we’ve won. They want Darroch out as much as we do.
And then we’re on the ground, surrounded by three sets of enemies.
Enough! Tal growled. We’ve had this argument before.
Three! Regs, Hercs, and the Kamals.
We have K’kadi, M’lani, Jagan’s group, the Psy freeze team—and don’t forget what T’kal’s up to. And besides . . . I don’t agree with you about Rand.
The quarrel between the rebel leader and the ruler of Blue Moon came to an abrupt halt as Astarte came within range of ground-based missile fire.
“Shields at one hundred percent,” Tac reported.
“Engage cloak,” Tal ordered.
“Captain Rigel,” Comm said, “the Reg underground reports all roads around Kraslenka are secured, two long-haul trucks blocking every artery. General Drakos reports Herc troop shuttles ready to launch on your signal. Captain . . .” Dace Pliska at Comm paused, her voice taking on a more urgent note. “A new message from the underground . . .”
Pliska’s shoulders stiffened. “Repeat message,” she ground out. Slowly, she stood, walked across the bridge. Standing stiffly in front of Tal, she saluted before saying with quiet determination, “Sir, I regret to inform you the Reg underground reports that at noon today Admiral Vander Rigel and Lord Rogan Kamal were hanged side by side from the Emperor’s statue.” Dace drew a harsh breath and added, “The Emperor promises that you will join them.”
Through the numbness, Tal felt love and comfort flowing into him from Kass and K’kadi, but nothing could alleviate his pain, or his guilt. He had done this. His determination to bring down the Empire had killed his father. And Rand’s. The specter of their deaths would hang over them both for the rest of their lives.
Every conqueror climbs to the top over an infinite number of bodies.
A tragic fact. Not a comfort.
He was alone. Standing on Astarte’s bridge, surrounded by some of the finest minds in the Nebulon Sector—Fyddit! In the Quadrant. In the whole fydding galaxy. Yet he was alone.
With a job to do. A goal yet to be won.
Tal looked around. Only Kass, K’kadi, and Nael Khagun were looking at him. Everyone else was carefully focused elsewhere, giving him his privacy. He squeezed Kass’s hand, nodded to K’kadi, exchanged a look with Astarte’s captain. Tal Rigel might be shaken, but S’sorrokan was back in fighting shape, ready for the final run. He pressed his comm button. “Drakos, this is Rigel. Launch shuttles when ready. Archer will follow on your signal.”
Tal, speaking only to bridge command, said, “Comm, please locate my brother and sister. Have them meet me in my cabin. Ensign Kiolani, with me.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
The routine words that followed echoed the desolation they all felt. “The captain has left the bridge.”
Kraslenka
A broad expanse of green parkland extended from the front of the palace all the way to the gentle white-capped waves of Regula Prime’s Eastern Ocean. Punctuated by fountains, flower beds, and walkways, it was a sight almost worthy of a Psyclid’s eye for beauty. Except today, when its pleasing landscape was marred by T-bots, vehicles armed with cannon and missile launchers, soldiers in full combat gear, and two men of high rank hanging from the upraised arm of the towering statue of Emperor Darroch.
Tal sent an order to his warships. “All ships, all ships, disrupt Reg communications now.”
With comms down and Jagan’s beast obscuring the sky above Titan, the Hercs launched ten cloaked shuttles carrying heavily armed ground troops and General Nikomedes Drakos. Directly behind them was a cloaked Archer, carrying Tal, King Ryal’s four children, Jagan Mondragon, Alala, assorted aides and bodyguards. Rand Kamal and his entourage in Andromeda’s scout ship, also cloaked in invisibility, followed them down.
In spite of the Reg military forces deployed in front of the palace gates, the small invasion fleet had no difficulty finding space to land. K’kadi, with seeming ease, shielded the entire park from Reg eyes while the Hercs disembarked not only troops but some highly efficient mechanized weapons. T’kal and his team—all weres from his pack—were first off Archer, hidden behind K’kadi’s cloak until they could disappear into the back alleys between the buildings facing the park. Alala, ignoring Tal’s orders, slipped out with them—what lowly guard dared stop her? In moments, armed with short sword, a bow, and a P-11 slung next to the quiver of arrows on her back, she joined the first rank of Herc soldiers.
The Psy freeze team came next—twenty of the best from the days of the Psyclid Occupation. Men and women who, with the aid of enlasé, could immobilize both soldiers and weapons with nothing more than the power of the mind. While they were disembarking, K’kadi and M’lani climbed up to the hatch in Archer’s roof. From there, M’lani would have a clear line of sight over the heads of the Herc troops to the Reg ground forces drawn up in front of Kraslenka. When the cloak was dropped, she would be highly vulnerable on her perch, but not as much as those on the ground.
Can you do it? K’kadi asked.
If one more person asks me that, that is who’s likely to disappear!
“K’kadi, is M’lani in place?” Tal’s words abruptly halted their quarrel.
“Ready,” M’lani returned briskly, but not without shooting a final indignant look at her brother before he ducked past her array of bodyguards and joined Tal and Kass outside.
“M’lani?” Tal’s voice, a shadow of its usual self. “Avoid the Emperor’s statue.”
“Yes . . . sir.” She barely got the words out. Fizzet! How was she going to see her targets if she was crying?
She blinked, wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Eyes narrowed, lips thinned, M’lani began picking out her primary targets. There had been no Psyclid with the Gift of Destruction for centuries. The Goddess must have anticipated this moment when M’lani was born. This was why she was here. Time to do what had to be done, no matter how much she disliked it.
They were all in place now, the combined force of conventional Herc troops and the highly unconventional forces from Psyclid.
Tal exchanged a few cryptic sentences with Drakos, and then: “K’kadi, prepare to drop clo
ak on my mark. In five, four, three, two, one, mark! M’lani, fire at will.”
Chapter 30
M’lani crouched on the top step of the ladder that led up to the hatch. Reconnaissance complete, targets spotted, this, at long last, was her moment. The one she dreaded. The one she exulted in. It was up to her to make the way easier for the enlasé teams, and for the Herc ground troops.
With no more protection than a neck-high crystos shield designed and set in place by Psyclid engineers, M’lani stood up, her bright hair shining in the spring sun. The Reg soldiers, recovering from the shock of the enemy suddenly appearing less than a hundred meters in front of them, were scrambling to realign weapons that had been pointed to the sky. Poor souls. They had no idea . . .
Gritting her teeth, shutting out years of pacifist conditioning, M’lani began with the towering T-bot on the left. Moving swiftly down the line, she took out all four giant war machines placed at precise intervals between the armored vehicles and stalwart Reg troops. One minute the towering bots were there; the next they were gone. Nothing but dust.
The men inside the armored vehicles, seemingly unaware of the loss, concentrated their fire on the advancing Herc troops. Once again targeting from left to right, M’lani disintegrated the war machines similar to what residents of Old Earth called “tanks”—though not before the final two managed to locate M’lani’s perch, firing their cannons only seconds before they too turned to dust. One shell was too high; the other plowed into the space where M’lani’s head had been but a second earlier. Before she threw herself down the hatch, where her bodyguards caught her with ease. Being strafed by Tau-15s on Psyclid had been enough to hone her reflexes for life. Never again would she be foolish enough to believe her special gift could keep her safe.
Which did not mean her job was done. M’lani shook off her guards and started back up the ladder.
“Highness, the shield is gone!” Kaya Samadi, her long-time bodyguard, warned.
“The Regs are not!” M’lani continued to climb.
Next came the smaller and more difficult to target shoulder-mounted missile launchers. M’lani’s past struggles to learn to pinpoint her targets flashed through her mind. Her many failures. The near misses. Followed by the triumph of success that turned into a dangerous euphoria. The humiliation of Jagan having to drag her away that first night at the Regulon Armaments Depot. The fear—the horror—as she finally realized what she could do. Realized the reality of the fine line she walked between using her Gift of Destruction for a good cause and using it . . . just because.
For the sheer power. The exultation. Knowing one was omnipotent . . .
Not omnipotent! That was the pit that threatened to draw her in . . .
Focus! One last feat and she could rest, shut it all out, pretend it never happened. As she’d tried, and failed, to do the first time she’d killed, rescuing hostages on her wedding night.
M’lani peeked above the shattered remains of what had been her shield. The Hercs were steadily advancing. She’d have to move fast, before they came between her and the Reg palace guards. Slowly, carefully, she targeted the shoulder-mounted rocket launchers—only the launchers. There might have been Regs inside the T-bots and the tanks, but she had not been able to see them. The Reg soldiers standing firm, defending the palace, however, were clearly flesh and blood. Descended from the humans of Old Earth, just as she was.
Her father’s teachings screamed through her head.
Fizzet! M’lani began her final sweep. She was at ten down when the Emperor’s statue suddenly came between her and her goal. No, no, no! To do her job, she needed it gone. M’lani shuddered. She gripped the sides of the shattered shield with both hands, hung on tight. Frozen, she stared at the two-story-high statue that was keeping her from ridding the Reg line of every last rocket launcher. Tal’s words—faint and distorted—whispered through her head. The Emperor’s statue—Darroch the Magnificent, sculpted in snow white marble with his supposedly benign upraised arm blessing his devoted followers—was sacrosanct. Because two bodies depended from that upraised arm, slowly swinging in the wind off the ocean. They had been there all along, of course, but M’lani had been concentrating so hard on the Reg’s weapons that she’d managed to ignore them. But now, when her targets were smaller, lower to the ground, and the statue was in her way . . .
Goddess, give me strength!
Skipping the launchers obscured by the statue, M’lani continued down the Reg line of defense, reducing the troops’ arms to nothing more than rifles and pistols. Once, twice, her aim wavered as she dodged return fire. Two soldiers disappeared along with their weapons.
So easy . . . so very easy to finish the job. Why let the Herc troops have all the credit? Once more, M’lani turned her gaze left. Who could stop her? Jagan was occupied maintaining his beast—
M’lani gasped as her bodyguards dared touch her royal person, dragging her down. “Enough, Highness!” Kaya Samadi declared, encircling M’lani in her arms. “You’ve done what you were ordered to do.” When M’lani continued to struggle, Sergeant Samadi of the Crystal City police added, her voice stern, “The king would not like it.”
Oh, dear Goddess, what had she done? Almost done. Never, ever again. This had to be the end.
Well done. As K’kadi’s praise echoed through her head, M’lani managed a wan smile. Battle euphoria drained away; she was more than ready for the Hercs and the Psyclid freeze team to mop up the resistance.
But before they entered the palace—finding and confronting Darroch himself—there was one more thing that had to be done. Time for a pause. Time to cut down the bodies of Vander Rigel and Rogan Kamal.
T’kal cut the power on his hovercycle and rolled to a halt in a deserted parking area just over a kilometer from the palace. While the armed guard riding with him kept a lookout, T’kal removed an odd-looking device that had been secured to the cycle with special mounts made just for that purpose. Swiftly, he unfolded the tripod, tightened bolts, examined the positioning of the all-important crystal “eye” at the apex of the ’pod. Ready.
Opening his comm unit, T’kal checked with his team. Ten long minutes passed before the last man was in place. No one had been challenged. Clearly, the military was concentrated at the palace, civilians wise enough not to venture outside.
T’kal swallowed a huff of relief. No need for his men to know he was worried. Theoretically, the crystals would work if only seven of the ten were in place, but T’kal hadn’t lost a member of his pack yet, and he didn’t plan on starting today. They had been with him a long time, had followed him through the dark days of the Occupation, been by his side when he nearly died. They had run with him on moon-filled nights through the thick forests around Crystal City. Stalked shoulder to shoulder with him the night they’d rescued B’aela and Tor in Oban. So no, he could not lose even one, though this time there was no “pack.” They were scattered in ten different directions, with but one guard each to stand watch.
Would what they’d tested on Psyclid work on Reg Prime? Once again, T’kal ordered his team to check in. Once again, the voices came back, confirming their readiness.
“On my mark, activate. Three, two, one, now.”
Ten beams shot skyward, met in a burst of light high above the tallest buildings. Spread out, down. T’kal could almost swear he heard a thunk as the force field settled behind him. Fizzeting fizzet. The blasted thing was working. The heart of the city of Titan, including the palace of Kraslenka, was now cut off from the rest of the planet. And from any reinforcements from above.
Which didn’t mean someone wasn’t going to get the bright idea of attacking T’kal, his pack, and their odd devices. But they had anticipated that, miniaturizing cloaking technology enough to protect each installation once it was operational. Leaving the now invisible armed guard at each site, the weres of Psyclid mounted their hovercycles and headed back to the palace.
Tal and Rand stood at the base of Darroch’s gigantic statue. Faces grim,
they stared up at the dangling bodies and distorted faces of their fathers. “Cut them down!” Tal snapped. At a nod from General Drakos, a Herc soldier climbed out of the hatch of a Herc armored vehicle and, stretching to his full height, cut the men down, dropping them into the waiting arms of Tal, Rand, Jagan, K’kadi, and a crush of volunteers. “Take them to Archer,” Tal ordered. “Lay them out with the respect they deserve.”
“Thank you,” Rand murmured, his customarily rich voice clogged with emotion.
Jor Sagan, always at Tal’s right hand, had a cortège organized in minutes. Six men lifted Vander Rigel’s body high; six more did the same for Rogan Kamal. The silence of sorrow and respect enveloped the vast space in front of the palace as every eye followed the procession back to Archer.
Tal and Rand exchanged a look. “And now,” Tal said, returning to his role as Commander-in-Chief, “let’s do what we came for.” Together, they turned their cold, stark faces toward Kraslenka.
The Herc troops found little resistance within the palace. Except for the Emperor’s personal bodyguard, every soldier had joined the defense at the front gate and were now prisoners, wounded, or dead. As the forces from Blue Moon waited for the signal that the palace was subdued, Kass expressed what they all were thinking: “Will the Hercs take Darroch and proclaim themselves rulers in his place?”
“They can try.” Tal’s tone was so dark even Kass shivered.
“I know you anticipated a problem, but—”
“We have an agreement. The Hercs are our ground troops. They do what foot soldiers do. Then we do what we do best. If that includes freezing the Hercs where they stand . . .” Tal shrugged.
“Foolish me,” Kass murmured. “A mere princess questioning all those mighty military minds.”
Tal managed a semblance of his once-jaunty grin and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “So far all is going as planned. With luck and the blessing of our gods, the final hours will go as smoothly.” Tal glanced around the vast park, now teeming with rebels, prisoners, shuttles, and the remaining war machines, all manned by rebels. He spoke into his comm unit. “M’lani, M’lani?”
Royal Rebellion Page 22
