Obsidian Alliances

by Peter David

  “Yes, it is possible,” Hiren readily admitted. “By the same token, it is possible that they are. For all I know, others in the ruling council are in league with them and are also plotting against me.” He sighed heavily. “When one is in my position, it is difficult to know whom to trust.”

  “Obviously. And yet you trust me.”

  He leveled his gaze on Si Cwan and said quietly, “So far. Should I have reason not to?”

  “No,” replied Si Cwan. “Then again, if you did have a reason not to trust me … I would hardly be the best person to ask, would I?”

  “That’s very true.”

  Si Cwan forced a smile. “Your trust is well placed. I will be happy to demonstrate that by attending to this matter. None will know that you are, in any way, connected to the strike order. And in return for my ‘provoking’ the Danteri into showing their hand, I am to receive … ?”

  “My sincere thanks.”

  Si Cwan waited.

  “Plus the usual amount of gold-pressed latinum.”

  The Thallonian tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. “A pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

  “There’s more.”

  Si Cwan had started to rise from his seat, but now he sat once more. “Is there?”

  “Yes. You’re going to be taking a passenger along with you on the Stinger.”

  “A passenger.”

  “An observer. We must have some ties in this business to the Romulan Empire, to give it some emotional weight.”

  “I see. And is there any particular criteria as to why this particular passenger is being taken along, may I ask?”

  “That,” said the Praetor, “is a very good question. I believe—”

  “Wait,” and Si Cwan put up a hand. “Let me guess: You believe he or she is plotting against you.”

  “You see, Lord Cwan?” the Praetor said with obvious satisfaction. “This is why we make such excellent allies. We practically read each other’s thoughts.”

  9

  Zak Kebron, the massively built Brikar who not only served as the first officer of the Stinger but was one of Si Cwan’s oldest and most fiercely devoted friends, listened with his customary lack of visible emotion until Si Cwan finished recounting the details of his meeting with the Praetor.

  “Well?” asked Cwan, leaning against one of the several ornate chairs that decorated his private quarters on the Stinger. “What do you think?”

  “He’s paranoid.”

  “That’s what occurred to me as well,” Si Cwan admitted, folding his arms across his chest. “But perhaps he has reason to be.”

  “They’re all against him?” rumbled Kebron. Whenever he spoke, it sounded like rocks sliding down the side of a mountain.

  “Unlikely.”

  “Yes.”

  “But not impossible, considering his society. Romulans eat their own young if their children even look at them wrong. Even you have to admit that, Kebron.”

  “Not impossible, then. But still unlikely. And …” He paused, putting forth an aura of deep thought, and then finally added, “… stupid.”

  “Again, I agree. But I see little problem for us. We are being well compensated for our time, the Danteri mean nothing to us, and it serves to maintain our alliance with Hiren. A valuable alliance, I might add….”

  “Until we kill him ourselves.”

  “Well,” smiled Si Cwan, “since he believes so many people are plotting against him, it would be a shame for his worries to be utterly groundless. It wouldn’t speak well of him, would it?”

  “No. It would not.”

  “I’m glad we’re in accord on this, old friend. Oh,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “we’ll be bringing someone with us as well. A Romulan named Rojan. His job is to report back to the Praetor.”

  “And our job?”

  “To make certain that he does not.”

  10

  No.”

  Rojan, in the midst of having a servant pack clothing for him, sighed in exasperation and ordered the servant to depart the room. He turned to his fiercely determined daughter and said, “You know, it doesn’t help matters when you snap orders at me in front of the help.”

  Soleta ignored the gentle remonstration. “No. I refuse to let you go,” she told him.

  He knew he should be angry with her, but all he could do was be amused and even a little flattered by her intensity. “You refuse? The last I checked, I was an adult, capable of making my own decisions.”

  “Apparently that’s not the case if you’re agreeing to this.”

  “Soleta …”

  “I absolutely refuse to—”

  “Soleta!” His tone was harsher and far sharper than it had been before, so much so that she couldn’t help but be silenced by it. He waited a moment to make certain that she was attending to his words, and then continued in a more normal and calmer tone, “The Praetor has asked me to do this for him. I cannot refuse.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “Nor do I. But I refuse to live my life in fear.”

  “It’s not the way you live your life, Father,” she said. “It’s the prospect that your life may end. There is something about this that simply doesn’t smell right. Give me time.”

  “Time?” He looked quizzical. “Time for what?”

  “Time to determine what it is that he’s up to.”

  “What are you saying? Do you plan to try and seduce Hiren so that you can employ your meld with him? Is that your plan?”

  “I’m not certain what my plan is,” she admitted. “I’ve only just learned of this. I need a little time to put a good plan together.”

  “That, my dear, is not something we have in abundance. I am to depart within the hour.”

  “The hour!” she almost shouted, and when she saw the annoyed look from him, she repeated, albeit more softly, “The hour? Father, it’s incredibly obvious that he’s doing this to give you no time to think, to plan. He is suspicious of you. He thinks you plot against him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s what everyone says. He sits there, isolated, stewing, contemplating every possibility and how all those possibilities lead back to him. Some say he’s partially unhinged. Others say …”

  “Others say what?”

  “That he’s totally unhinged.”

  “That’s as may be … but Soleta, if I refuse this directive of his, then I’ve signed my death warrant.”

  “And if you obey it, it’s a death sentence.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” he reminded her, “and besides, I can take care of myself.”

  “You can, yes. But in this instance, you won’t have to.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” she said, drawing herself up and squaring her shoulders, with an attitude that practically dared Rojan to disagree with her, “that I’m coming with you.”

  “No.”

  “Then you’ve signed my death warrant.”

  Rojan did nothing to hide his total sense of confusion. “How will I have done that?”

  “Because if you leave me behind, I’m going to confront the Praetor with as many people around as possible and tell him exactly what I think of him. And how well do you think that is going to go down with him?”

  He was about to say in horror, “You wouldn’t!” but he contained himself because he knew perfectly well that she was more than capable of it. Instead, switching approaches instantly, he said, “I would … far prefer that you not do that.”

  “And I would far prefer that you not embark on this suicidal mission at the behest of a Praetor who may well have less than your best interests at heart. But since you appear determined to commit to this lunacy, then I’m going to be there watching your back for you.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes,” she said firmly, and, in a gesture of tenderness, touched his face. “We’re a team, you and I.”

  “If that’s the case,” said Ro
jan, taking her hand from his face and enfolding it within his far larger one, “then allow me to ask the following: If you’re going to be busy watching my back for me … who is going to watch your back for you?”

  “Actually,” replied Soleta without hesitation, “I have just the person in mind.”

  11

  Muck had never actually seen the outside of a large space vessel before. He had only voyaged into space a few times: on the sojourn to and from his homeworld, and when he’d been brought to and from the mines of Remus. In the former case he’d been beamed; in the latter two instances, he’d been loaded into a cramped and unimpressive shuttle.

  This time out, he was actually riding in some comfort. The private shuttle that was escorting Rojan, Soleta, and himself from the surface of Romulus to the Thallonian vessel that they were to board was roomy enough. The three of them were seated in the rear section, a good distance from the pilot. Muck watched in fascination as they slowly approached the ship that was in orbit around Romulus.

  Every so often he would glance in Soleta’s direction. His feelings for her were still incredibly complicated, so much so that he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of them. The fact that he had any feelings at all irritated the hell out of him. The deep fury that burned within him had enabled him to survive all these years. When he was with Soleta—when they were sneaking moments together, and he was burying himself in her—the anger still burned within him, yes. But it was after those times, when he would lie next to her and their bodies would slowly cool from their ardor, those were the times that he actually felt a sense of peace for the first time in his life.

  It frightened him.

  All those years in the pit, he had not known fear. When he had instinctively leaped to her rescue, risking a terrible death from a long plummet, he had not known fear. But this slip of a woman and her feelings for him …

  What feelings? Who knew if she had any feelings for him at all?

  It was not as if she had spoken words of love to him. She had given him his freedom, and yet he remained, and not much was changed in their status. Rojan had not been happy that Soleta had freed him in the first place, but had been openly astounded when Muck had returned. He had installed Muck as a freeman, which essentially meant that his duties were unchanged, but he could come and go as he pleased. It had pleased him to remain where he was.

  Muck’s emotions were in turmoil when it came to Soleta. The fact that he was feeling anything besides hatred was—he hated to admit—of interest to him. Something in his long-buried intellect made him want to explore that further. But it had been more than that.

  When it came down to it … where was he going to go?

  He had no family, no place on Xenex. He could have wandered other worlds, friendless and alone. The problem was that friendless and alone was exactly how he had spent his exile in Remus. What point was there in escaping from a prison if you then carried that prison with you wherever you went? The only other individual on Romulus he really knew was the Praetor. Muck was concerned that if he presented himself to Hiren, the Praetor would simply turn around and have him shipped back to Remus once more. He was impossible to predict in that regard.

  So he had returned, and he and Soleta had become …

  Well … he didn’t really know what they were.

  He wondered if her father knew about their assignations. He suspected that, if Rojan did, he wasn’t particularly happy about it. Rojan also knew, however, that his daughter had a mind of her own and so would be more than likely to leave her to conduct herself as she saw fit. Still, from time to time he would encounter Rojan in the corridors of the house, and Rojan would look at him silently in such a way that made Muck think that, oh yes, Rojan knew.

  Now Rojan and Soleta continued in deep conversation while Muck looked in wonderment at the ship they were approaching.

  It was an impressive-looking ship, and that wasn’t merely guesswork on Muck’s part. Other vessels, Romulan vessels, were in evidence around the planet, and the Stinger stood out from those others. Romulan ships were all harsh angles and straight lines. The Stinger flowed, its lines curved and fluid. They were coming up from underneath and he could see what he believed to be powerful armaments in place. According to Soleta, it had stealth capability and enough firepower to lay waste to the surface of an entire world.

  Muck felt a deep-seated tinge of envy, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

  Meanwhile, Soleta and Rojan continued their discussion in low voices.

  “If you are so certain they mean me harm,” Rojan said, “then why don’t they simply blow us out of space during the approach?”

  “Because Hiren is going to assume that people know we’re coming up here,” Soleta said reasonably. “He’s not going to want us destroyed in sight of all these ships. Plus, he has no idea what sort of communications mechanisms we might have for staying in touch with ground allies while we’re still in orbit. There’s absolutely no point in having anything happen to us while we’re still in proximity to Romulus. Time is on their side, not ours.” She paused and then said, “It’s not too late, you know, for us to commandeer this vessel.”

  “And do what? Go where?”

  “Anywhere that’s not here.”

  “That is not going to happen,” Rojan said firmly. “Whatever happens, I will live or die as a Romulan, and face my enemies head-on. And since you’ve insisted on joining in this endeavor, you have no choice but to do the same.”

  “I know,” she said. She glanced out her own viewing port at the approaching vessel.

  “If things don’t go right,” Rojan continued, sounding philosophical, “we’ll make sure to take as many of the bastards with us. Blow up the whole damned ship if we have to.”

  “Blow it up?” She snorted derisively as if the very thought was absurd.

  “Why? What’s your plan?”

  “My plan,” she replied, “is that if things don’t go right … I wind up in command of the whole damned ship.”

  Rojan grinned at his daughter. “I have to say, I like the way you think.”

  “You should. You taught me how.”

  The shuttlecraft drew closer and closer, and eventually maneuvered itself into the docking bay. The craft’s outer hatch cycled through and, moments later, Rojan, Soleta, and Muck were standing in the opening. Soleta braced herself. Despite what she had told her father, she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if they’d been greeted by a firing squad ready to blast them to pieces and toss their remains into space.

  Instead there was only one individual standing there. Soleta wasn’t entirely sure of the person’s gender. He or she was tall, slender, with white-blonde hair that was cut short and framed the face. He or she also wasn’t simply upright; the person was in a semi-crouch, as if waiting and ready to pounce. There was no tension in the posture, though. It seemed to be the preferred method of standing.

  “Greetings,” said the person briskly. “I am Burgoyne 182, head of security. Welcome to the Stinger.” He or she smiled, and there were small fangs on either side of the mouth.

  That was when Soleta figured it out. The feral demeanor, the fangs, the indeterminate gender—it all added up. “You’re a Hermat,” she said aloud before realizing that she was actually speaking, and then she quickly added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  Burgoyne’s expression didn’t change, although something in hir eyes did. Soleta couldn’t tell whether s/he was offended or amused or what. Since Soleta was, by nature, generally rather attuned to people’s emotions even without melding with them, she found that inability to read below the surface somewhat disconcerting. “No need to apologize,” Burogyne said, hir voice soft. “I’m actually impressed you knew; my people aren’t renowned for getting out into the great, wide galaxy all that much.” Then hir attention became riveted to Soleta’s right, and she realized why: Muck was standing there.

  Burgoyne moved across the distance between hirself and Muck,
and Soleta was amazed by the silence with which s/he moved. S/he continued that animalistic crouch, every so often touching the floor with hir knuckles for balance. S/he came to within a foot of Muck and hir nostrils flared as if getting Muck’s scent. Muck simply stared at hir, not making a move.

  “You weren’t on the passenger manifest,” Burgoyne said. It almost sounded like a purr.

  “This is my servant,” Soleta told hir. “Why? His accompanying me doesn’t present a problem, does it? I find it hard to believe that the presence of one servant could be a hardship for you.”

  “No hardship at all,” Burgoyne assured her. S/he didn’t take hir eyes from Muck, however. “You’re obviously not Romulan, sir. Whence do you hail?”

  Muck said nothing at first. The silence was palpable, and Soleta stepped in. “He’s from—”

  “With respect, I did not ask you,” Burgoyne said sharply. “I asked him. And I am accustomed to having people answer questions when I ask them. Unless they are too afraid to.” S/he looked challengingly at Muck. “Do you require the woman to do your talking for you?”

  Soleta, angry, moved to intercede, but Rojan put a hand on her shoulder and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. Against her better judgment, Soleta did nothing.

  Muck allowed the silence to build a moment more, and then said, so softly that Burgoyne had to strain to hear him, “I consider myself a man without a planet.”

  “Indeed. Not quite an answer, though.”

  “Perhaps you would care to try to beat a better one out of me.”

  The words had been spoken in that same soft, noncommittal manner, but the challenge was implicit just the same.

  Burgoyne took it in, and then replied, “Perhaps. Now, though, is certainly not the time. Welcome to you too, then, servant.” S/he turned to Rojan and Soleta. “One of my men is waiting outside to escort you to your quarters. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you,” Rojan said, bowing slightly. The three of them crossed the shuttlebay toward the exit door.

  In a low voice, Soleta said, “What the blazes was that about?”