Perhaps her thought waves weren’t as feeble as she feared, for Veranelle’s majordomo didn’t so much as blink. “Midama, welcome to Veranelle. It is my pleasure to show you to your room.” But as Kass followed the faithful servant up the broad steps into the palace, he added softly, “My abject apologies, Your—dama—but I was told to put you in the Round Tower. Not at all suitable, but I had no idea—”
“Anything is acceptable, Biryani, as long as it’s on Blue Moon. And my name is Kass Kiolani.”
“Of course, dama,” he responded smoothly. “And may I say we are all happy to have you back, however . . . awkward the circumstances.”
Awkward. Trust Biryani to have a name for what she was feeling. Awkward to come home and be thrust into an out-of-the-way suite of rooms usually reserved for guests with a penchant for nocturnal wanderings. Kass supposed she should thank the goddess it wasn’t a dungeon. To the Hierarchy she was likely just another weird Psyclid, doubly damned by being guilty of distracting S’sorrokan from his primary purpose.
With Lt. Stagg and Sgt. Quint trailing behind, the majordomo opened the heavy wooden door into the Round Tower and led the way up a rather fine circular staircase, distinguished by a gilded bannister. Not a prison, actually, but a private apartment for guests with eccentricities or odd sexual habits the king and queen did not care to have displayed before the delicate sensibilities of their children. Kass smiled. Maybe not such a bad place after all, though the isolation reminded her all too clearly of her prison at the Archives.
On the second-floor landing, Biryani paused, turned a massive key in another wooden door with ornate bronze hinges, and ushered her in. As the marines stepped through behind them, he made a show of handing Kass the key.
“My orders are that you are to stay in your room until someone comes for you,” Stagg told her. I believe that will be soon.”
“Not the test so soon!” Kass couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice.
“Give them what they want, Kiolani, and you’re free to roam. At least that’s the way I understand it.”
“So the captain said,” Kass murmured, “but . . .”
“Kiolani,” Stagg scolded in a long-suffering tone that reminded her all too much of Tal Rigel, “you’re on your home soil, this close to freedom. Don’t muck it up.”
Kass waved both hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll be good. Just go away and let me think.”
Sergeant Quint set her bag down on the white and silver brocade sofa and started toward the door, following Stagg and Biryani out. “I’m so sorry,” Kass called after them. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just need time to think, but after four years of solitary, I’ve forgotten how to interact with people. Please forgive my rudeness.”
“There is nothing to forgive, dama.” But of course Biryani would say that.
“We’ll see you later, Kiolani,” Lt. Stagg said with a grin. “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”
Kass returned the marines’ smiles, then collapsed onto the sofa as the door closed, shutting her into her newest luxury cell. She stared at the battered canvas bag that had held her worldly possessions for almost four years. What a contrast from the night it had been placed on that horror of a cot, open to the entire storage room and the guard’s full view. Thank the goddess the guard had been Cort Baran. And what had happened to him? she wondered. Was he back full time with his wife and expanding family? Well-pensioned for life, she hoped.
Reality, Kass, the here and now. She had to see her situation as it really was, not rose-tinted by what Blue Moon had once meant to her. Facing reality was her only hope for survival. And reality was—Kass surveyed the room that had been strictly off-limits when she was growing up. There was no question it was a vast improvement over her quarters in the Archives. Everything in this tower aerie that wasn’t white or silver was done up in blue and green. The cool shades of Blue Moon. Soothing shades . . .
Which weren’t working. Reality superimposed itself over the elegance of her current prison. She was about to become a lab rat, something she truly dreaded. Was it only some stubborn form of pride that insisted she didn’t have to demonstrate anything to anybody? Or did she truly fear what the Regulons might do? For undoubtedly the Hierarchy was composed entirely of Regs. Rebels they might be, but in the past few years the belief that Psyclids were freaks had been whipped into hatred even they might not have been able to put aside.
They fear what they don’t understand.
Kass picked up her heavy bag and took it into the bathing room. Ah, goddess, but she’d forgotten how luxurious a true bathing room could be. A sunken white marble tub with gold faucets, a shower constructed of tiles with an intricate design of dark blue on light. A blue-flecked white marble counter, complete with a velvet-cushioned chair, also in blue. A wall of mirrors with lights above, each tinted pale peach. Kass rifled through the drawers beneath the counter, finding unexpected treasures. Enough kosmetiks—all new—to ensure that she wouldn’t look like a lab rat, no matter what they did to her.
She had Tal Rigel to thank for this, of that she was positive. Kass touched a large multi-toothed silver hair clip and smiled. He hadn’t quite abandoned her, after all.
Deciding she might not have time for the long, luxurious bath she longed to indulge in, Kass took a quick shower and wrapped herself in the modest white robe she found hanging on the back of the bathing room door. She sank onto the blue velvet of the vanity chair and simply stared at the dry, pallid nothing her face had become. Cort had smuggled in lip tint from time to time, but as for the rest . . . she’d almost forgotten what proper skin care and quality enhancements could do for a woman.
Fizzet! What had the captain thought when he saw her?
That she was a weapon, a valuable asset. She could make trajectories malfunction.
And where had that silly Psy epithet come from? She had long since adopted the Regs’ more pungent array of profanity. So, pok, dimi, and fyd, she had to face facts. As a woman she was nothing to Tal Rigel. He was Captain Rigel. S’sorrokan. A man who would do anything for victory, including keeping his newest asset happy with an elaborate array of facial enhancements.
Kass massaged three layers of moisturizer onto her face and neck. While waiting with little hope for some instant magic that would return her skin to its once glowing beauty, she explored the closets. If the captain had provided kosmetiks, perhaps there was more to discover.
There was. A sparse few items hanging in a giant walk-in closet, all looking as if they’d been borrowed from an upstairs maid or perhaps the housekeeper. Pok! Biryani had been ordered to find clothes for a female mystery guest, and these were what he deemed suitable. Sly old man. His own private protest of Reg rule, even if the Regulons were rebels.
She should watch her tongue, Kass reminded herself. Her Reg vocabulary would shock poor old Biryani to his velvet slippers. Kass sighed. It wasn’t possible to go back to the sheltered child she was at eighteen. And some of the situations of the last few years, not to mention the present, really needed an extended vocabulary to express her feelings.
So pok! What should she wear for her role as lab rat? In the carry-all she’d had since that fateful night at her quarters at the Academy, she had exactly three personal outfits, two nightshirts, and assorted undies, all so well-worn and threadbare she never wanted to see any of them again. Being paraded before the Hierarchy demanded better.
Once again, she peered at the clothes in the closet. Ingrate! She would wear the staff’s cast-offs and stand proud. The gowns were at least better than her bag of rags from the Archives that Sgt. Quint had deposited on the brocade sofa. She was who she was, no matter what she wore. That’s what she must remem—
A knock on the door. How very odd, but after all these years, she recalled the precise rhythm of it. B’ram Biryani. Would the old man blush when she answered his knock in nothing but her robe? As she strode into the sitting room, Kass lapped the white toweling a bit more, tightened the belt at her wai
st. Biryani was a friend and ally; she didn’t care to precipitate a heart attack.
She should have known Veranelle’s majordomo was made of sterner stuff than that. Carefully looking at some point over her right shoulder, he announced, “Midama, I fear the clothing in your closet is not the proper size. If you will allow, we have brought some garments that may be more suitable.” He waved his hand toward the spiral staircase, where Kass could see a line-up of maids, each balancing stacks of clothing across their outstretched arms. Great goddess, the poor things, how had they managed to climb the stairs?
Kass managed a tremulous smile for the old man who remained loyal to the House of Orlondami even when surrounded by Regulons. She stood back and let the maids parade through to the bedroom. Ten minutes later, she was alone again, her closet filled with magnificent creations, every last one of them her own.
And none suitable for a lab rat. Kass sank onto the edge of her bed and started to laugh. Somewhere, somehow, Biryani had stashed her clothes, keeping them away from covetous female rebels. But she needed . . . well, professional clothes, not casual outfits or bits of fluff intended for summer vacations on Blue Moon.
Fine. Face enhancements first, and then she’d tackle the clothing problem. Returning to the vanity chair in the bathing room, Kass applied the kosmetiks with as much care as she had for that long-ago interview with Captain Rigel on Orion. She paid particular attention to the extensive dark shading that emphasized her eyes. The result? Kass stared at her image in the glass. The fresh, glowing beauty of the young L’ira wasn’t there, might never be again, but it was the best Kass Kiolani had looked in a very long time.
In the end she chose a gown that had once been a favorite, a full-length turquoise creation, as gracefully draped as it was fitted to show off her figure. The gown of a Psyclid princess and about as far from conservative professional clothing as she could get. Take that, Hierarchy. You’re challenging the wrong person.
Lt. Stagg would shake his head.
The captain would be furious.
Kass stalked from the bedroom to the sitting room and back again, reveling in the feel of it, the lovely swish of the fabric. Dear goddess, but she had forgotten how wonderful it was look her best.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the tall pier glass in the sitting room and paused to examine the total look she would present to the Hierarchy. Gown, admittedly too spectacular. Face . . . the best she could manage at the moment. Hair? Kass smiled. She’d used the silver comb she’d found in the drawer, sweeping her freshly washed hair to one side and trapping it in the many-toothed comb. The intricately carved comb had probably been provided by the housekeeper, but Kass liked to think Tal had picked it out himself, perhaps a purchase made long ago and far away.
For some other woman.
A knock. Not Biryani. Kass recognized this one too. Lieutenant Stagg.
They had come for her.
Chapter 8
A smile tugged at Kass’s lips as she followed Anton Stagg down the corridor, Joss. Quint bringing up the rear. Though marines were noted for being stoic, neither had been able to restrain a flash of surprise and sheer male appreciation when they’d caught sight of her in the turquoise gown.
Pok! She’d almost stumbled. It had been years since she’d worn heels. And, frankly, her feet had grown, or spread out, or something, because the toes pinched, and the treacherous shoes she’d once loved so much had nearly toppled her down the spiral staircase to the cold marble floor below.
With grim determination, Kass hurried to keep up as Anton Stagg entered the main portion of the palace and strode down a long corridor, turned left down another long corridor, and finally paused, opening a door and ushering Kass in.
She had told herself she was going to cooperate. She repeated Tal Rigel’s admonitions like a litany. If you are asked to demonstrate your gifts, you will demonstrate. You will cooperate. You will make everyone happy.
Yes, she could do this! Just bend a little, Kiolani, and it’s all over. You’re free.
But she hadn’t expected Liona Dann, the batani psych doc. Kass didn’t even glance at the array of Regulons seated around a large conference table. She saw only her nemesis, the captain’s mistress. Pok, dimi, and fyd!
Commander Dann was Kass’s opposite in every way. A tall, athletic young woman, somewhere between Tal’s age and her own. Short silver blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, the strong, arrogant features of someone who has never known adversity. Well . . . perhaps Kass could remember what that was like. Back in the days when Psyclid and Blue Moon were the only worlds she knew.
Though Kass could never like Orion’s psych doc, she had to admit the woman was not only strikingly attractive but had the intelligence and the presence that made people listen to her.
Not good. Liona Dann, rebel or not, was an enemy. Of that Kass was certain.
“Sit, Kiolani,” Dann ordered, indicating a chair that had been left vacant at the foot of the oval conference table. The Regulon doctor’s eyes flared with more than her usual animosity. Evidently she cared even less for Kass in Psyclid garb than she did for Kass as an Academy cadet.
Kass sat, this time remembering to survey the entire table. Regulons all. What kind of rebel Hierarchy was it if there were no Psyclids among them? Six men and three women, obviously civilians. Two who looked military, though not a familiar face among them. And two men wearing lab coats. Doctors. Enemies. But no Tal.
Abandoned again.
“You can stop looking,” said Commander Dann. “We have asked Captain Rigel not to attend this meeting.”
Kass returned a look of infinite indifference. But if Liona Dann had an ounce of empathy, her brain would be fried.
“As you may know,” Liona Dann pronounced in a tone obviously designed to establish who was in charge of Kass’s examination, “Captain Rigel’s mission to Regula Prime was not authorized by the Hierarchy. He insisted the risk was worth it, that you had gifts which would aid our cause.”
Kass could clearly hear the “but we don’t believe it” behind the doctor’s words.
“So now that you are here, at great risk to those who saved you, we wish to see proof of these gifts.” Dann spat out the word as if it were poison in her mouth.
Kass allowed her gaze to wander over Liona Dann as if she were some low creature just crawled out of primordial slime. “I should think downing two Tau-15s was quite enough proof. What more do you need?”
“Don’t be absurd, Kiolani. That was a midair collision.”
“Ask Captain Ri—”
“My dear girl,” Commander Dann said with an exaggerated sigh, “that is precisely the problem. The captain sees things in you none of the rest of us can see. The Tau-15s were a lucky accident. If they hadn’t collided, we’d have lost S’sorrokan, and it would have been your fault.”
Kass swung her head toward Anton Stagg, who was standing at parade rest along the side wall. “Lieutenant, you were there. Tell them.”
The Imperial Marine turned almost as red as his uniform. “Kiolani, I’m sorry. I was so busy firing the hundred, I only saw the end. One big explosion.”
Pok! Of course no one believed it. Everything had happened to the rear. She and Tal had seen the action only on the viewscreen. And the whole point to today’s interrogation was that, in spite of all the rumors about Psyclid powers, no one here was capable of believing she could splash two Tau-15s with nothing more than her mind.
Slowly, carefully, Kass studied the faces at the table. They ranged from openly skeptical to shuttered to downright hostile. The white lab coats had an eager look, as if they could scarcely wait to get their hands on her.
“Commander Dann.” Kass stared down the length of the conference table into the inimical gaze of Orion’s psych doc. “I had every intention of cooperating with this investigation, but I do not appreciate your tone. I have been a prisoner of war for four years. In solitary confinement. It isn’t easy for me to find the words to communicate properly, I’m too out of
practice. So I am simply going to recite what actually happened.”
Kass tossed her head, knowing it would send her long hank of hair dancing across breasts, at long last revealed in all their fullness. Ha! They all looked, even the women. Perhaps danger enhanced her empathic abilities, or they were getting stronger because she was forced to use them to survive.
“My skills at deflecting lasers were somewhat impaired by lack of practice,” Kass continued in the level tone of an officer reporting to a superior, “so I had to wait until they fired missiles. I deflected one, then turned the other back on its source. The Tau exploded, a wing sheered off. I steadied it, used it as a missile to take down the second fighter. Whatever you may choose to believe, that is how it happened.”
Guffaws. General disbelief. Commander Dann shot to her feet. “You want us to believe you are a witch?” she cried. She glared at Stagg. “Take her to the lab.”
No one moved, including Lieutenant Stagg.
“Not witchcraft, Doctor. Telekinesis,” Kass told her, unable to keep the scorn out of her voice.
“Impossible!” one of the men roared.
“Lieutenant,” Liona Dann snapped. “I said take her to the lab.”
“Yes, ma’am.” But he didn’t move.
Kass, not wanting to get Stagg in trouble for mixed loyalties, stood and walked toward the door to a room that was visible through a panel of glass almost as wide as the wall of the conference room. She walked down steps to a faustone floor half a level lower. Ah. Sparsely furnished, it was not a laboratory with tubes and beakers, sinks and blinking machines. In fact . . . it was so devoid of furnishings, Kass suspected it had been specially prepared for her examination. A metal table, some built-in storage cabinets. On the table a small rock, a feather, a stuffed child’s toy. Kass kept her face turned to the lab’s far wall to hide a smile. They wanted to see if she could move those little nothings?
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