Royal Rebellion

by Blair Bancroft

  “Place him on the dais,” Tal said. Sobs from the Emperor’s women accompanied Darroch Rysor Karlmaan von Baalen on the short distance to his temporary resting place. From everyone else, a stunned silence.

  The men lowered the former emperor to the floor in front of the scarlet velvet curtains at the rear of the dais. While they arranged the former emperor’s limbs in a respectful pose, Tal asked K’kadi, You’re sure it’s a bomb?

  E-6. Many packs. Blow up room, maybe half palace.

  But you didn’t sense it earlier? Like when you were swooping Darroch and throne all over the room?

  Busy . . . Arrogant. Stupid. K’kadi favored Tal with his best hang-dog look, though tinged with a slightly defensive edge. After all, he really had been busy.

  Can you move it as far as the beach?

  For once, K’kadi refrained from being overly optimistic. He examined the imposing size of the throne, including the enclosed support beneath the seat, where the explosives were located. He glanced at the size of the inner doors, pictured the corridor, the outer doors . . . the fact that the throne had not exploded during its earlier airborne maneuvers . . .

  Yes.

  Tal raised his voice. “Clear a path to the door. Mr. Amund is going to remove the throne. No!” Tal snapped, grabbing Kass’s arm. “He can do this alone. You too, M’lani. Stay!”

  “But I can help,” Kass protested, her words obscured by a swift shuffle of bodies moving out of the path of the lethal piece of furniture.

  “I am needed to destroy the bomb,” M’lani declared.

  “Risking one member of the House of Orlondami is enough,” Tal snapped. “If I thought K’kadi couldn’t do it alone,” he added more gently, “I would ask for your help. But I think we need some old-fashioned cannon fire here. A fiery explosion to make a point.”

  “Cannon fire!” the sisters exclaimed in unison.

  “Symbolic destruction we’d all like to see,” Tal said for their ears alone, “but none of us dare leave this room. The Regs nearly took us all out with this nasty bit of revenge, and the Hercs are just waiting for the right moment to do the same. So here we stay.”

  While Tal spoke, they all kept their eyes on K’kadi, who had lifted the throne with a great deal more care than he had when Darroch was in it. He was walking beside the enclosed base, which contained the packs of E-6, but keeping an eye on the throne’s towering back as he approached the first of the doors. Not too great a challenge, K’kadi told himself. The double doors were a good half-meter taller than the throne. Plenty of room. As long as he held his burden steady . . .

  Probably better if he hadn’t taken down that last battlecruiser.

  For a dizzying moment, K’kadi was tempted to close his eyes and feel his way through. But that was arrogance—this, not the time nor place. He felt Kass’s sigh of relief as, floating the huge chair in front of him, he passed through the doors and into the broad corridor that led straight to the outer doors. He kept up an encouraging litany to himself: Don’t get careless. Take your time. Once on the other side, it’s easy. And sure enough . . .

  Out! K’kadi informed Tal a few minutes later, before gracefully rising a good fifty meters off the ground, taking the throne of Regula Prime with him. Looking down at the astonished, upturned faces below—which included the rebel, Herc, and Reg military, the Reg underground, plus a surprisingly large number of civilians who, with the firing ceased, had ventured out to see what was going on. K’kadi supposed they all thought getting rid of the throne was some kind of symbolic gesture.

  And it would be. Just a bit more spectacular than anyone anticipated.

  Gently, oh-so-gently, K’kadi lowered the throne onto dry sand just above the high-water mark. It would have been sufficient to drop the throne into the harbor, but Tal had been giving him instructions during the brief journey. K’kadi soared gracefully back over the park, over the scout ships, the shuttles, the goggle-eyed observers.

  On palace steps, K’kadi told Tal.

  The gunners behind the cannons of two Herc armored vehicles had been standing ready since K’kadi cleared the inner palace door. At the Commander-in-Chief’s signal, they fired. Shouts and screams echoed all the way into the throne room as the explosion, so much greater than expected, shook the ground. Debris rained down, one blackened shard of gilded wood drifting down onto the marble step at K’kadi’s feet.

  The shouts and screams turned to cheers. With the symbol of Empire gone, there could be no doubt. Incredible as it seemed, the rebels had won.

  Tal and Rand climbed back up to the dais, faced their shaken audience, friends and foes alike. This time it was Tal’s turn. Speaking in what he called his S’sorrokan voice, he proclaimed, “It is done. No one expects the next months to be easy. But you all know me, you know my family. You know Admiral Kamal. We will do what we say we are going to do. With your cooperation, we will make our part of the Sector a better place.”

  “Captain!” The urgent words sounded from Tal’s comm unit. “K’kadi’s down. Sniper.”

  “Reserves, freeze team now,” Tal barked into the comm. “Jagan, K’kadi’s down. You know what to do. Rand, one last time, are you with me or against me? Is this attack Drakos or you?”

  Rand stared, his Reg blue eyes narrowed to slits. “You dare ask me if I would kill my wife’s son?”

  “Sorry.” Tal rubbed his forehead. “It’s been a long day. What the . . . ?”

  The rebels on the dais looked down at an astonishing scene below. Among the Herculons frozen in place were General Nikomedes Drakos and Alala Amund. K’kadi’s wife was holding the tip of her short sword to the general’s throat.

  “Release Dama Amund,” Tal ordered. A member of the Psyclid freeze team stepped forward, touched her, separating her from the power of enlasé.

  Alala staggered back two steps, recovered quickly, and lunged once again for Drakos, still frozen in place, a completely helpless target. Anton Stagg grabbed Alala, Josh the sword. “Sorry,” Anton muttered in her ear, “but you can’t hog all the glory.”

  Alala, always the soldier, ceased to struggle, accepting her failure to kill the man who, she was certain, had ordered K’kadi’s death. Fear rushed back. K’kadi—she had to get to K’kadi. “I must go!” she cried, straining toward the door.

  Am all right. Everyone heard K’kadi’s words. Alala sagged against Major Stagg’s chest. Kass and M’lani hugged each other. Tal and Rand exchanged a look considerably less inimical than their last.

  Work on personal ridó, K’kadi said. Today good time to try. It worked. Down but not hurt. Not dead.

  Tal stared at Alala. Blinked. Definitely not what he’d expected. “You may go to him,” he said. Alala ran out, her rifle, bow and arrows bouncing on her back. Alala Kynthia Thanos, the surprise of the day.

  “Release Drakos,” Tal ordered.

  “General,” he said when the Herculon commander had recovered enough to stand, furious and defiant, glaring up at the rebels on the dais. “Look around you. Your men are frozen in place, as you were but a minute ago. Your forces outside have also been immobilized. Reserve rebel troops are now in charge. And yes, we do have an army. Elite forces we’ve been training for this contingency for years. Did you think we wouldn’t suspect treachery?

  “But, believe me, General, we don’t want to start another round of conquest. We want to keep our treaty with Hercula. With you,” Tal emphasized, speaking each word slowly and with care. “With your help, we hope to reach out to new star systems, new peoples, not as conquerors or enemies, but as friends. We hope we can count on Hercula to support our efforts to make the former empire and the entire Nebulon Sector a better place.”

  Inwardly, Rand Kamal smiled. Tal Rigel might call him the one with the silver tongue, but the new, if temporary, emperor of thirteen star systems was already highly adept with the use of the royal “we.”

  Tal’s Rigel’s Reg blue eyes stabbed at General Nikomedes Drakos. “Well?”

  “Like Darroch,”
Drakos returned, standing at rigid attention, “I understand when a battle is over. Unlike Darroch, I have no intention of dying today, of losing my men or the great fleet we have built. With your aid,” he added grudgingly, his gaze flicking toward the floor, before he squared his shoulders and looked Tal in the eye. “I accept that the powers of your new government are great, and I will advise my king to remain your ally.” Drakos slapped an arm across his chest. “I have spoken. So be it.”

  Without taking his eyes off Drakos, Tal asked, “Are the Hercs disarmed?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Jor Sagan replied.

  “General Drakos, is it possible you would consider carrying out the remainder of our plan—your battle fleet hovering over Regula Prime, being ‘on call’ in case we discover pockets of resistance?”

  A wave of shocked whispers swept the room. Outraged reactions from all four royals and Jagan, punctuated by the ferocious howl of a wolf. Rand Kamal leaned in, speaking so only Tal could hear. “Are you sure about this?”

  “No, but we have enough Psys to shut down his troops if we have to. And K’kadi to immobilize his ships. Drakos is no fool. Nor is Admiral Golias. This isn’t the Hercs’ moment, and now they know it. Besides,” he added softly, “I am inclined to think the attack on K’kadi personal, not the first shot in a Herc take-over.”

  Reluctantly, Rand nodded his acceptance.

  K’kadi? Tal reached out to his brother-in-law. “Are you mobile?”

  Yes.

  I need you and Alala here now.

  Since Blue Moon’s odd couple were already entering the room, the wait was short.

  “Colonel Amund,” Tal said to Alala, “General Drakos and his troops will be returning to their ships. I need to know if you wish to go with them.”

  Alala, chin high, her eyes as dark and unfathomable as the black of space, said, “Captain, I wish to stay.”

  Tal turned back to Drakos. They exchanged a male-to-male look. Losing a power grab and a woman on the same day was more than enough punishment for being overly ambitious.

  “Release the Hercs,” Tal ordered. “General Drakos will lead his men back to their shuttles. T’kal, if you and your pack would be kind enough to join their escort, then return here as your human selves . . .

  “Sergeant Quint, escort Lord von Baalen’s women back to their quarters. Set guards but allow them to return to their normal activities until they can join their families. Major Stagg, do the same for the courtiers, with the exception of Prime Minister Korval, the ranking military officers, and the palace’s majordomo.”

  Tal clasped Kass’s hand. Standing side by side, they waited while the room cleared, and for T’kal and his pack to return. When, at long last, they were all together on the dais—Tal and Kass, Jagan and M’lani, K’kadi and Alala, T’kal and B’aela—the new emperor looked down at the ranking government and military of the former Empire. “I want your formal acknowledgment of the new government.”

  The two generals and the Admiral of the Fleet snapped to attention, saluting their new emperor. Solemnly, the Prime Minister bowed. “Excellency, we accept the new government.”

  Tal had to swallow a rueful laugh. He’d planned all the military maneuvers—everything that was being done in the skies above, on the palace grounds, and inside Kraslenka itself. But he hadn’t allowed himself to picture the moment he would be hailed as “Excellency.”

  But he had planned for it.

  And what came next was a live vid to the citizens of Regular Prime. Tal Rigel and Rand Kamal standing shoulder to shoulder, assuring everyone that all would be well.

  And it would be. Somehow it would be.

  Chapter 33

  Later, much later, they would realize the state funerals for Admiral Vander Rigel and Lord Rogan Kamal were instrumental in restoring dignity and pride to the citizens of Regula Prime. At the time, however, there was only solemnity and grief, as two Heroes of the Empire with diametrically opposed beliefs, were laid to rest. Lady Reyla Rigel, supported by her three children and a host of rebels, was everything a grand lady was supposed to be: proud, stoic, enduring. And gracious. The day following Admiral Kamal’s obsequies, she attended the final ceremony for Lord Rogan Kamal, where—along with Tal, Kelan, and Dayna—she extended her condolences to Rand, Yuliya, and Erik Kamal.

  Both funerals and the receptions that followed were broadcast live around the planet, presenting Regulons with close-up views of Tal Rigel and Rand Kamal, clearly in charge. Clearly friends. The live vids also featured Regulon generals and admirals calmly accepting the new regime, as well as members of the Regulon court unharmed and seemingly undisturbed by the change of government.

  Jagan Mondragon, standing slightly apart from the rebel high command at the reception following Rogan Kamal’s funeral, appreciated the irony. This was far from the first time in the long history of man that “The king is dead, long live the king!” did not refer to the simple passing of power from father to son. It was the way of the world. An emperor dead, a new one takes his place. Life goes on.

  Jagan had wondered if he’d be jealous of Tal’s rise to ultimate power and discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that he was not. His wife, his children, the role he would one day assume as co-ruler of Psyclid were all he wanted . . .

  If, that is, Ryal didn’t disinherit M’lani in favor of Royan J’frey . . .

  Jagan shook his head. A problem for another day. He went in search of his wife.

  When the reception line following Rogan Kamal’s funeral finally dissolved, Kelan Rigel was standing ready, deftly separating Yuliya from the crowd and drawing her to a relatively quiet corner of the room. Over the last few days, both had grieved, both expressed condolences to each other. Now, although Kelan knew he was pushing it, it was time to think of the future.

  He spoke gently but urgently. “Yuliya, I know it’s not the right time, but we haven’t had a moment of privacy since the invasion began. Will you stay in Titan or go with your father on his travels?”

  “I . . .” Wide-eyed, she stared up at him. “Truthfully, so much has been going on, I haven’t thought about it, one way or the other.”

  “I want you to stay here.” Kelan ran a hand through his hair, made a face. “Selfish, I know, but it’s not going to be easy to restore the business . . .” Dimmit, he muttered to himself. He was off to a bad start. “What I’m trying to say, so atrociously, is that I need help, encouragement.” His lips quirked into a soft smile. “The love of a good woman through what is going to be a difficult time.”

  Uh-oh. He’d missed something. Arms folded, Yuliya was eyeing him askance.

  “Erik would live with us, of course. I think your father would approve of that. I mean, we’re younger, livelier than Anneli, and having Erik with us would give them the privacy they’ve never had while they roam the sector, making peace.”

  Now she was glaring at him.

  “You don’t want Erik to live with us? We have a really big house, you know, and it would help Mama to have someone to look after . . .”

  Oh. Fydding fyd! He didn’t deserve the name Rigel.

  Or maybe he did. Rigel males were better known for getting things done than for their skill in crafting elegant speeches.

  Kelan bowed his head a moment, lifted his gaze to meet Yuliya’s glare head-on. “Lady Yuliya, I apologize,” he intoned with the formality of an ambassador apologizing to a king. “I took our love for granted, and that was stupid. I plead guilty and beg your forgiveness.” He took a deep breath, allowed his shoulders to relax just a fraction and said: “Yuliya Kamal, I have loved you since before love between us was considered unthinkable. I have loved you in secret. I have loved you in full view of everyone on Blue Moon. I loved you then, I love you now. Please, will you marry me? Now, right away, and to the Nine Hells of Obsidias with the so-called Rules of Mourning?”

  It was about time! Yuliya ducked her head to hide her smile of satisfaction. And a rush of tears. “You know they’ll never let us,” she whispered, bru
shing at the moisture trickling down her cheeks. “A wedding between the House of Kamal and the House of Rigel? The symbolism alone is enough to send the whole sector into raptures.”

  Kelan groaned, and swore silently in Regulon and Psy. She was right. Horribly right. Regula Prime, Blue Moon, Psyclid, the whole fydding sector was going to seize on the joy of a wedding—the rebels rejoicing at this symbol of strengthening their hold on the Empire, the Regulons ecstatic over the opportunity to assuage their pride. The daughter of the man once expected to inherit the empire was marrying the brother of the man who had made himself emperor.

  Joy! Nothing but joy.

  “Six months,” Kelan growled.

  “I suspect it will be when Papa and your brother say it will be,” Yuliya said with aplomb, “but you still have your apartment in the city, have you not?”

  “I do.” Kelan smiled.

  Crystalia - Psyclid

  M’lani and Jagan sat side by side on the elegant sofa in the Orlondami family’s personal quarters. In the room where Tal and Kass had been married (in rebel jumpsuits) at the order of Ryal, King of Psyclid. Seated on a matching sofa of pale green brocade were M’lani’s parents, Ryal and his queen, Jalaine—Psyclid’s ParaPrime and High Priestess. Unlike the unmitigated joy with which they had welcomed the wanderers home twenty hours earlier, both king and queen appeared solemn beneath the royal façades they seldom wore in their private rooms.

  Ryal examined his daughter’s face. “You participated in the invasion of Regula Prime?”

  “I did.” Head high, M’lani returned his scrutiny.

  “You used your Gift of Destruction against the Emperor’s men?”

  “Against their weapons . . . and the soldiers using those weapons.” M’lani’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I am sorry, Papa, truly I am. But the Empire had to be brought down.”

  Jalaine spoke before Ryal could form his response. “You did what you had to do, M’lani. Here on Psyclid, when you helped end the Occupation. And now—at long last—to end Darroch’s rule. And make your sister an Empress. For all your father’s good intentions, he cannot deny the good that has come from your going against his beliefs.”