First Salik War 2: The V'Dan

by Jean Johnson

  “And you, Imperial Regent,” he emphasized, pointing at her, “have forgotten that it is my job as a member of the Imperial Tier to warn you when you are on a path that will destroy the Empire. Which is more important to you, Regent? Your personal pride? Or the survival of the Empire?”

  “You dare ask me that?” Vi’alla demanded through clenched teeth, her hands tightening into fists at her sides.

  “I am obliged to point out that your pride is busy making enemies of the allies we need,” he reminded her fiercely. “You were free to be angry at them as a mere princess, yes, but you are now the Regent, and the needs of your people must come before everything else! Including your own feelings and opinions.”

  “If they weren’t so stubborn—”

  “That’s the jumax’a flower calling the sky blue!” he retorted. “You have exactly two ways to get your hands on Terran technology, Vi’alla: You can attempt to steal it from them, turning them into our enemies . . . and they have tens of thousands of highly trained holy ones they can unleash upon us, never mind their ship hulls that cannot be deeply damaged by our energy weapons, and that can travel from system to system in mere moments.

  “Or, you can swallow your pride, seek them out instead of demand they come to you, apologize sincerely, and try to make amends, to make friends of them.” He stared at her, hoping she would understand. “Because the third option is to continue to abandon your duty to your people, and prove yourself unfit for the throne. Which is it, Vi’alla? Think carefully.”

  She glared back at him in anger, not saying a word. Li’eth knew he had backed his sister into a corner, though. Backing up a step, he bowed, then moved around her.

  “I’m going to go check on Mother and Father. With luck, she will pull through and you won’t have to choose between debasing yourself to do the right thing, or condemning the Empire to die out of pride. At the hands of one enemy or another.”

  It took her a few moments to find her voice. Just before he reached the side exit on the uppermost dais, she asked, “You honestly think the Terrans can take on the might of the Empire? They don’t even have any colonies outside their own star system!”

  Swinging around to face her, Li’eth pointed at his sister. “Your arrogance and your pride are blinding you to reality, sister. If you do not reconsider your actions, your words, your beliefs, and your responses to all these events, then I am going to have to make a formal recommendation to the Imperial Cabinet that you be reconsidered as Regent. The War Crown is best worn by the most competent member of the Imperial Blood. Not necessarily the eldest-born . . . and your actions so far today are not that competent.”

  It was political suicide to say such things, but Li’eth was too angry. Turning back around, he headed for the hospital wing. He wanted to reach out to Jackie, to find out how she was doing, to learn who, if any, of her staff had been harmed in the attack . . . but her mental shields were tightly sealed at the moment. He couldn’t bring himself to knock on that metaphysical wall, not when he didn’t know what he could do to help the situation.

  Footsteps approached. A familiar dark blond, almost brunette braided head streaked with hot pink came into view. V’kol looked up from the tablet in his hand, relief in his eyes. “Finally! Did you know my clearance to know your whereabouts as your military attaché doesn’t cover when we’re under attack? Who invents these rules?”

  Li’eth rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see what I can do. What news do you have?”

  “The palace is still on lockdown, but the admirals have confirmed that the Salik Fleet appears to have retreated from the system. They’re at a bit of a loss to report more than that, though, because of the broadcasts the Terrans shared, before . . . ending transmission.” V’kol gave him a grim, worried look. He glanced around, then moved in close and whispered, “. . . Is your sister insane? Doing what she did?”

  “I don’t know,” Li’eth confessed out loud. “I honestly do not know. I am going to log a recommendation to the Imperial Cabinet that she be reconsidered as Regent. Her decisions so far have not been good ones for the Empire.”

  “Are you crazy?” V’kol hissed under his breath, turning to follow the prince as he kept walking. “I am certain that everything that takes place in these halls is being recorded, and that is political suicide.”

  His people had a saying: stealing a spoonful, stealing a barrel. If one was going to be caught for theft—under the old harsh penalties of his foremost ancestor—then one might as well go for a big score, rather than just a tiny fraction of it. “I am aware everything is being recorded. Including my sister’s insistence upon alienating and chasing away the allies we need out of simple pride and arrogance. Her choices, made rashly out of anger and some aggrandized sense of self-importance, have cost us an important alliance.

  “The rank of Imperial Regent is temporary. And it rests upon the requirement that the Regent consider and undertake whatever is best for the Empire during the period of the regency. Insulting our allies and disrespecting them to the point that they would rather leave than stay and help us survive is not good for the Empire at this point in time, let alone what is best,” Li’eth told his fellow officer, cutting his hand through the air.

  V’kol eyed his friend, but said nothing for several seconds. Li’eth started to turn to the left at the next junction, but the leftenant superior caught his elbow. “Not that way. The hall’s a wreck, that way. That’s where they pulled Her Eternity out of the rubble. We’ll have to take one of the other lift clusters. I’d say take a stairwell, but it’s seventeen floors down to the tram, and then another six back up to get to the palace infirmary.”

  Nodding, Li’eth turned to the right, and both men walked in silence. The next bank of lifts waited for them down a shallow flight of stairs and at the far end of a long hallway. Two Imperial Elite Guards approached from a side hall just when they neared those lifts. Both gold-and-scarlet-clad men bore grim expressions, their attention focused on the prince.

  Wary, Li’eth slowed. “. . . Is everything alright?”

  “Imperial Prince Kah’raman. By order of the Imperial Regent, you are to report immediately to the Dusk Army for reassignment back in space,” the right-hand Elite told him.

  Li’eth narrowed his eyes. “My assignment is liaison to the Terrans. While the Terrans are still here, I am still their liaison.”

  “Their embassy is closed,” the Elite on the left stated. “That means your position as liaison has ended. We are to escort you straight to East Hangar Bay 2 where you will be flown to your next duty post.”

  This was not right. Something was very much not right. “I choose to exercise my right as Imper—”

  “—Sorry,” the Elite on the left apologized blandly, drawing a small hand-held device from his thigh pocket.

  Li’eth recognized it instantly, a V’Dan version of a Salik stunner pistol. He had an instant in which to react, and flung out a telekinetic wall, shoving everyone back. Unfortunately, the Elite’s aim was true . . . and a holy force that could move physical objects did absolutely nothing to stop an energy-based weapon . . . just as Master Sonam had once warned him, during his lessons on what telekinesis could, and could not do. Static snapped over his senses, dropping him out of consciousness.

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