by Rhonda Mason
Once it had devoured Velezed—the Protectorate Planet on which it originated—and escaped to space inside unwitting travelers, there was no hope of containing it. The only thing that could save the empire now was a cure.
Something her people seemed incapable of discovering.
The Council of Seven’s recent decision to double-down on their military occupation of the Wyrd World Ordoch was completely asinine. If they didn’t reverse that vote and start negotiating with the Ordochians—who had the advanced knowledge needed to create a cure—there would be nothing left of the empire to save.
Suddenly, in the middle of one of Bellst’s long-winded sentences, the emperor himself interrupted with a bang of his gavel. As adjudicator of the Council of Seven, he had that right, but all heads at the table jerked up in surprise. “As it is time to close today’s session, this item will have to be tabled until tomorrow.”
“Request for tomorrow’s opening proposal,” Isonde said immediately. All eyes now turned her way. Perhaps, as newest member of the Council of Seven, she was supposed to be deferential. Never in my life. And she wouldn’t start now. She’d worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to waste a single second.
Emperor-Apparent Prince Ardin offered her a tiny nod of approval. She might have ruined forever her chance at marital bliss, but at least they were united in their determination to do what was best for the people of the empire—all of the people, not just the privileged ones.
“Granted,” the emperor said. “Now, one last bit of administrative business before we close. In light of this council’s decision to increase our military presence on Ordoch”—a decision that still horrified Isonde—“I’ve decided that we’ll benefit from the biweekly presence of an advisor from the Imperial Army.
Outsiders having access to the deliberations of the highest authority in the empire? Especially the Imperial Army, whose leaders seemed diametrically opposed to everything she was trying to accomplish? “Absolutely not,” Isonde said, five angry responses echoing hers. Only the empress seemed unsurprised—likely complicit.
The emperor held up a hand. “It’s already been decided.”
“Without a vote?” the Protectorate member asked in a choked voice. “Outrageous!”
“It is well within my right as adjudicator, I assure you.”
We’ll see about that. Isonde made a mental note to get her aides scouring the council’s articles of incorporation this evening.
The emperor commed the secretary in the outer council chambers with a request before turning his attention back to them. “The representative has already been agreed upon.”
“That should have been the right of the council,” Ardin said, his voice stiff with the same anger she felt.
The doors opened, cutting off debate, and General Elmain Wickham entered. Not surprising. He’d been a main author of Operation Redouble, which the Council of Seven had approved on that fateful day two weeks ago. He moved out of the way and a second figure entered.
Foreboding settled in Isonde’s stomach with the density of a neutron star. In the doorway stood Senior Commander Jersain Vega of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps.
What the—?
Wickham made the appropriate formal greeting to the emperor and the council, as Jersain, expression neutral, edged slightly in front of him. Wickham spoke, seemingly unaware of Jersain’s subtle move: “In light of our changing needs vis-à-vis the empire’s plans for Ordoch, I have decided that a new head of the Ordoch occupation is needed. The army has appointed Senior Commander Vega.”
Only years of diplomatic training kept Isonde from falling out of her chair. The army granting the IDC authority over them? Since their inceptions, the two organizations had never done anything besides butt heads over jurisdiction. What was going on here?
Vega in charge of the occupation meant any negotiation with Ordoch would have to be done through her, and there was no chance her terms would align with the ones Isonde had in mind.
Looks like my plate just got a lot fuller.
And time was still counting down against her.
* * *
Even with a headache brewing, Jersain Vega had a spring in her step as she left the council chamber in search of Agira. The consternation on Princess Isonde’s face after the emperor’s announcement was too delightful. Uppity bitch. Isonde had been climbing her way up the empire’s political ladder since birth, so sure of her ultimate triumph. No doubt she had wet dreams about unofficially ruling the Council of Seven. Sorry, Isonde, there’s only room for one woman at the top.
Jersain intended to be that one. Let the others claim their council seats. She had something better than all of their exalted positions combined: the Influencer. Jersain allowed herself a smile as she strode down the ornate corridors of the imperial palace. With Dolan’s mind control device in her possession, nothing was out of reach.
Now she just had to master her stolen psi powers and learn to operate it herself.
Jersain pushed that concern off for another day and entered the lounge where Agira waited. Agira had been allowed into the palace as Jersain’s assistant, but of course she wasn’t admitted to the council chamber. The Wyrd stood as Jersain arrived, a tentative smile on her face, clearly hoping for approval. An unexpected feeling bloomed in Jersain’s chest: the need to reassure. Looking upon Agira, she realized that even if things had not gone to plan, she would have moderated her disappointment to avoid crushing the thrall.
“Excellent work, Agira. I never would have gotten that appointment to the Council of Seven without you.”
Agira beamed. “The first of many great things to come for you.” There was no pride in her voice, only happiness. She looked eager to cross the room and embrace Jersain in congratulation, but she was too well trained to do that in any public space.
Such a good thrall.
Even riding high on triumph and the momentary defeat of her enemies, Jersain felt the pounding in her head. The headache promised to be brutal, and she’d only used her psi powers to follow Agira’s work with the Influencer. Agira, on the other hand, had had to interface with the incredibly complex machine for hours, constantly adjusting her delicate control over the emperor so that he wouldn’t second-guess his decision to appoint Wickham, and by extension Jersain, to positions of power.
“You must be exhausted,” Jersain said, wending past two gaudily brocaded chairs and a luxeglass table to reach Agira. “Rest a moment before we leave.” She took her arm and led her to a more comfortable moleskin sofa.
“Only a moment or two; I won’t keep us long.” Agira sank down into the sofa, slumping against the back without her usual grace. Jersain had felt her struggle with the Influencer, sensed the strain building in her mind while she worked on the emperor. Agira would need a quiet night of rest at home, which Jersain, sitting here listening to Agira’s breathing and feeling her unwind as they sat close, suddenly desired as well.
Agira possessed only moderate psionic abilities. With the powers that Dolan had ripped from Vayne to grant to Jersain, she was actually the stronger psionic. She still needed to master complete control of her power, but she’d advanced by leaps and bounds in the last few weeks, surpassing Agira in brute strength, if not finesse.
She let her gaze drift over her slave. Dolan had brought her with him when he fled the Wyrd World Ilmena all those years ago. He’d already broken her will during his experiments on his own people, and instilled in her the permanent mind-control order of living to please Dolan. Dolan had transferred Agira’s loyalty from himself to Jersain at her demand. Since he’d arrived on Falanar, Jersain had been his ally, a necessary evil—the Wyrd was a sociopath. She had personally overseen the capture of Wyrds in the Ordochian coup, providing a way for him to regain his psionic abilities.
It was the very least of what he owed her. And Agira is better off with me.
Agira’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion written in every line of her face. Dolan had commented once, “I’d call her plain; then a
gain, I’m the diplomatic type.” More like the asshole type. His cosmetic changes to her hair and eye color didn’t help. A synth color appliqué faded Agira’s hair to ash blonde and her irises had been darkened to blue-gray. Jersain much preferred their natural color, a matching shade of heather. A pity her identity as a Wyrd must be kept secret.
She was something of a wren—small in stature, drab, with an impressively beakish nose—and Jersain would have ruled her out as a lover if not for what she offered beyond looks. Initially, Agira had been no more than a servant, invaluable for reading the thoughts and intentions of others and passing that info on to Jersain in real time. In addition she was Jersain’s full-time tutor in the psionic arts. Thanks to the mind control, Jersain’s goals were her goals, Jersain’s successes her successes. They shared the same frustrations, disappointments, schemes and risks. It was only natural that they’d grown close.
It was time they left the palace, but Jersain hesitated to disturb her. Agira had a generous heart, she had discovered. A strong sense of empathy, a quiet way of understanding others perfectly. She also lacked ambition for herself: she was more interested in the needs of those around her. To Dolan, those qualities made her the perfect thrall. It had been all too easy for him to bend her natural tendencies into a permanent demand focused on one person.
For Jersain, those qualities made Agira the perfect confidante. Somehow they had shifted from a master–servant dynamic into something more like partners without Jersain realizing it. The connection almost felt genuine.
Was it weakness to care? It was certainly unnecessary, yet there it was.
No soft feelings for a thrall would get in the way of the ruthlessness she’d need to accomplish her goals. As much as she enjoyed Agira, they could never be equals, because Jersain’s goal was to have no equal. She closed her eyes and summoned the psi powers Agira was helping her master. Slowly, carefully, she reached out, touched the part of her thrall’s mind that Dolan had taught her to, twisted it as Agira herself had been teaching her. She felt the dim resistance that all minds, even the most pliant, reflexively raised against control by another, and easily clamped it down.
::Agira, kneel before me.::
Agira’s lids rose slowly, and it took her a moment to focus.
Jersain kept the clamp tight in her mind, making resistance impossible. Her thrall blinked as her exhausted thoughts registered the command, and when understanding hit, she shifted off of the sofa and fell to her knees on the floor.
Jersain held her there, supplicant, inferior, head bowed and hands cupped before her in a bowl, symbolically offering herself, and through the psi link Jersain felt the strength of the thrall bond, how willing—no—eager Agira was to please her master, and after today’s meeting of the council, Jersain’s imagination filled with images of that blissful day when she would be able to command any person at all to fall at her feet.
And it made a corner of Jersain’s mouth rise to think of that person being Princess Isonde Veriley.
* * *
THE YARI, MINE FIELD
The hyperspace jump went as planned—miraculously, in Kayla’s opinion—and the Lorius arrived without incident in the center of the Mine Field. There were a few oaths uttered when the hyperstream deposited them dangerously close to the Yari and set every proximity warning klaxon to life at full volume, but still, they were alive.
The ancient battleship filled the entire vidscreen, edge to edge, so massive in scale that they couldn’t see it all. Kayla released the crash harness of the seat she’d been strapped into for the short jump. “I feel like an ant looking up at a skyscraper.” The octet remained speechless. Even their largest deep-space vessels were toys compared to the Yari.
A loud “Whoop!” came from the comms, breaking the silence. “It worked!” Captain Janus called from the other ship. “You gain permission mine to come aboard. Yari out.”
Everyone disentangled themselves from their seats. Kayla looked at Malkor, then at the others. “Are you ready for this?”
“Ready?” Vid asked. “We’re imperial IDC agents about to board a Wyrd battleship crewed by people lost in time for five hundred years.”
“Not to mention the empire and the Wyrds are about to be at war,” Trinan chimed in.
“Don’t remind me,” Malkor said.
Vid shook his head. “How could we possibly be ready?”
Seated at the nav console, Rigger said, “Kayla, you don’t even look ready for this.”
True. She knew the physical measurements of the Yari, remembered that it was built on an unprecedented scale, but to see it live, to float next to it while it loomed…
Captain Janus hailed them again. “Shuttle launching now is Ariel, you to receive. Also, young Corinth says you to be hurrying.” The words pushed all thoughts of historic ships out of Kayla’s head. Her il’haars were close, finally. She’d physically ached to be away from Corinth. And Vayne? She’d had precious few days to spend with him after his rescue, before he and the Ilmenans had fled Falanar. At this point she’d do an untethered spacewalk if that was what it took to get to them.
Everyone gathered their gear, and Trinan powered the ship’s systems down to dormant. Kayla was already waiting impatiently outside the shuttle bay by the time the octet members arrived.
Toble asked, “Who is this ‘Ariel’ again? I am trying to keep all the names and nationalities of those on board straight.”
“Navigations First Officer Navriel Entar,” Trinan and Vid answered simultaneously.
“Unofficially third in charge, after Captain Janus and First Weapons Officer Abenifluis Strokar, according to Vayne’s report on the situation,” Rigger added from where she stood near the bay doors, monitoring Ariel’s arrival.
Toble raised both brows, earning a laugh from Malkor. “Facilitating meetings between multinationals with different agendas, sometimes in hostile territories, who may or may not be at war, is pretty much the IDC’s mission.”
“Don’t worry, doc,” Vid said, “we do this sort of thing all the time.”
Kayla hadn’t needed the reminder, but she welcomed it. “I apologize for the less-than-friendly welcome you’re about to receive.”
“That’s nothing new, either,” Hekkar said, shifting the weight of his pack on his back. “But hey, we won you over, didn’t we?”
“After we kidnapped her,” Vid reminded him.
“And my il’haar,” she said.
“See? We’ll have them eating out of our hands by morning.” Kayla couldn’t help but smile. The unlikeliest of allies, now her closest friends. “Thank you all. I couldn’t—” She cut
herself off before her voice could tremble.
Malkor clapped her on the shoulder. “Don’t go getting emotional on us. We’ll start thinking you’ve been replaced by a doppelgänger.”
“Who says she hasn’t?” Hekkar quipped.
“One that fights that well?” Vid shook his head. “Not likely.”
The team filed into the shuttle bay to greet her. Ariel gave Kayla a socially correct bow and a polite, if tepid, smile. “Ida to be eager to see you, Princess Kayla.” The others she acknowledged with a single nod before turning and walking back into her shuttle.
Beside Kayla, Vid leaned close. “Friendly, eh?”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him their reception was about to get worse.
* * *
The shuttle docked smoothly into its berth on the Yari. As soon as they entered the bare-bones construction of the ship’s interior, Corinth’s voice sounded in her head.
::Kayla! We’re up in the large observatory; Ariel will show you the way!::
She couldn’t reply without her psi powers, but it didn’t matter because she felt Corinth brushing at the edge of her mind, seeking permission to enter her head. As Ariel led them through a series of maglifts and cylindrical corridors, Kayla sorted her thoughts into compartments, locking things away, before she lowered her outer shields and let Corinth in. Even though it
went against the grain to be that vulnerable to anyone and ran counter to all her ro’haar training, she did it for Corinth. With Vayne, such a thing would have been as natural to her as breathing.
Corinth rushed in like an overeager puppy, filling near to bursting and sending an instant ache to her forehead.
Easy. She didn’t have a psi voice to speak with, but in her mind this way Corinth could read her surface thoughts. Hasn’t Vayne taught you better by now? The rebuke lacked bite. Corinth had been her sole family for five years—he could do no wrong in her eyes.
::Sorry. I’ve been working with Noar. Wait until you see all I’ve learned! We did this thing where you levitate a glass full of water and you can’t spill a single drop…:: He regaled her with his psionic exploits all the way to the observation deck.
“Welcome you are to the Yari,” Captain Janus said as soon as they entered. With her thigh-length sea-green braid streaming over one shoulder and her confident smile, she looked exactly as Kayla remembered her from the history vids. “Being, of course, the ship most magnificent.”
“It’s surreal to meet you, Captain,” Kayla said, accepting her enthusiastic handshake.
The captain laughed. “So they are telling me. Please, you will call Ida. And my second—” she gestured to the stocky man beside her. “You will call Benny. Too few we are for formal.”
Benny bowed without smiling, his intense aqua gaze scrutinizing what was left of the octet. Kayla made the introductions and the temperature in the room dipped a degree or two.
Corinth broke through the awkward moment by coming forward to wrap Kayla in a hug. ::You made it. I knew our plan would work.::
Something internal that had been out of joint for weeks realigned itself as she held onto him. Nothing as inconsequential as the physics of space travel was going to stop me.
He swirled inside her head, his version of a mental hug. ::Wait until you see the rest of the ship! And the hyperstream drive we’re working on—it’s amazing!::
Ida and Benny made way and Kayla got a look at the rest of the room’s inhabitants. The sight of Natali, Uncle Ghirhad and Vayne hit her square in the chest. My family. Her emotions rose up in a tumult, and through their mental link, Corinth pulsed with love and support.
