Tal raised his voice over the murmurs and groans. “Tat was a good source of information a year ago, so we’ll try our luck there again. Our object as usual, gathering recruits, intel on Regulon ships, and intel on how outsiders see the rebellion. Are we making a dent in the Empire, or are we nothing more than a flyspeck on the Empire’s horizon?”
Boos and catcalls. “Hell, no!” roared someone in the back, the chant swiftly taken up by others. “Hell no! Hell no! Hell no! Hell no . . .”
As the chant continued, K’kadi began a repeat of the miniature battle he’d staged while waiting in line on Blue Moon. Kass shot Tal an anxious glance, her hands dropping back to her sides when Tal nodded his approval. Poor kid, she’d been ready to pounce on him.
The battle raged. Amazing. The boy’s illusions were like viewing a three-dimensional vid screen, only more immediate, more real. When the Regulon battlecruiser exploded, the chant turned to wild cheering. Well, pok! If nothing else, the boy was going to be worth his weight in gold as a morale-builder.
“Thank you, K’kadi.” Tal offered his best cocky S’sorrokan grin. “Enough said,” he called to the crowd. Let’s go make a revolution!”
He slid off the table, heading for the nearest lift. By sheer determination he kept a jovial, confident smile on his face as the crowd parted around him. He responded to greetings and nods, keeping up the façade all the way back to his quarters, where, grim-faced, he slumped into the chair behind his desk and dropped his head into his hands.
He’d gone mad the night Dorn told him about the cadets’ plans for Kass. So insane he’d pulled his father into the mess—and been amazed at how easily he’d been able to persuade the admiral to help the little Psyclid. The result? Unquestioned space in the Regulon Interplanetary Archives and a constant stream of credits to pay for it. There was a mystery there somewhere, but Tal had been too busy to take the time to figure it out. Kass was safe, and that had to be enough for the moment.
But one thing was clear—irony abounded, the list of anomalies long and sometimes astounding. Kass didn’t know she owed her long years of protection from possible rape and experimentation more to Vander Rigel, admiral of the Fleet, than to Tal himself. Nor did she realize the threats against her had sparked ideas that led Tal to give up his privileged life and start a revolution. But he’d saved her, hadn’t he? Twice. Given her a berth on his ship. Yet she greeted K’kadi Amund with far more enthusiasm than she’d ever shown her captain.
On Astarte, he was S’sorrokan, rebel leader fast becoming a legend. But to the Reg Fleet, S’sorrokan was little more than an annoying buzz, a rogue rebel whose nips at the Empire were quickly sealed over. So what in the nine hells of Obsidias did he think he was doing, leading a rebellion against an Empire that ruled twelve star systems and just kept growing, with no more than a batani burp over the loss of Captain Tal Rigel and his huntership Orion?
As for Kass, he’d set a dragon in her quarters to watch over her, moved his First Officer next door, and what had happened? K’kadi Amund managed to wangle his way just one thin wall away. And Tal Rigel, idiot that he was, had helped him do it.
K’kadi Amund is a teenager. He can’t talk. To Kass, he’s like . . . like a pet.
Great. Nothing like common sense to intrude on his moments of doubt.
Tal ran fingers through his hair, adding a strong tug to prove this was all real. He’d actually done it. He was S’sorrokan, heading out on another mission, this time with Kass on board. Kass, his secret weapon and secret . . . obsession? Was it lust? Love? Fyd! If his crew knew how mixed up he—
The warning for an imminent jump blared through the comm system. Tal gripped the chair arms, a smile of satisfaction spreading slowly over his rugged features. They were on the first leg of the long journey to Tatarus, which was situated in a lively neutral zone between the Empire and the Nyx. He was S’sorrokan, and with Kass at his side, the whole blasted universe was his.
Chapter 13
Twenty ships’ days, two wormholes, an endless cycle of training sessions that devoured most of Kass’s waking moments, and, finally, Astarte was only hours out from Tatarus. Zee-Zee assured Kass the name given to the M-class planet by the Regulons was more appropriate than Zylon, the name the natives used. Tatarus, a corruption of Tartarus, the deepest, darkest part of the Underworld on Old Earth, seemed to suit this planet where enemies mixed and the general rule seemed to be “Anything goes.” Frankly, Kass could hardly wait. She needed a break in the unrelenting hours of work she’d set for herself since they left Blue Moon.
The only time she saw Tal Rigel was on the bridge. Tal Rigel, captain. Remote, ever professional. Seemingly unaware his Psyclid ensign was working two jobs, juggling her bridge duties with determined attempts to turn K’kadi into a useful asset. Her brother, in turn drifted around the ship, watching, absorbing the goddess only knew what, frequently forcing Kass to chase him down for his training sessions. She should ask the captain for a direct handheld link, but she didn’t want to admit K’kadi’s behavior was so erratic he forgot appointments.
At the moment Kass was lying on her bed, luxuriating in a rare few minutes of peace between four hours at Nav and her next attempt to channel K’kadi’s talents into some sort of disciplined force. But working with her brother was like trying to train a roomful of wild panta kits, and she really wasn’t looking forward to getting off her bed and trying again.
The door slid open and Zee-Zee breezed in. “Captain sent these.” She tossed a large wrapped package onto Kass’s feet. “Your outfit for Tatarus.”
Clothing from Tal? Kass sat up, her puzzled frown fading as she recalled his promise to outfit her as a pirate. She looked up to find Zee-Zee regarding her with no little amusement.
“On Tat, the captain’s known as an independent trader, another way of saying smuggler,” her roommate offered. “Any female he takes with him has to look like a smuggler’s woman.”
“Takes with him?” Kass echoed blankly.
“Didn’t anyone tell you? Astarte stands off in space while the captain goes in as captain of Gemma, a smuggling ship. When we’re down on Tat, we break into couples and small groups, spreading out to all the tavernas, sporting arenas, markets . . . anywhere we might hear something useful. This time out, you’re paired with the captain.”
For twenty days Tal Rigel had left her to the strict tutelage of Dorn Jorkan and Mical Turco. He’d barely acknowledged her existence. And now she was to be paired with him on a jaunt into a city on the dark side of nowhere.
Men were very strange creatures, Kass decided, not for the first time. Regulon, Psyclid, and most likely the males of every other star system as well. She should be angry but, truth was, if Tal Rigel wanted to pair with a Kass dressed as a woman of the streets, it might be . . . interesting. In fact . . .
Taking one last look at the clothes Tal had chosen for her, Kass scrambled off the bed and moved briskly toward the door. K’kadi no longer seemed an insurmountable challenge.
When Tal had ordered several outfits created for Kass back on Blue Moon, he’d gotten the impression the seamstresses were reluctant, only following his instructions because he assured them the clothes were designed to make Kass blend in, keep her safe. Now, after seeing what her well-shaped body did to the smuggler’s moll costume, he wasn’t so confident he’d made the right choice. Kass Kiolani wasn’t going to blend in anywhere. Face it, he could have chosen a rough-woven sack and she’d still stand out. As it was, black leather shorts worn over black knit leggings revealed every nicely rounded curve, down to where her calves disappeared into tall black leather boots. Fortunately, her leather jacket concealed a portion of the more than ample curves set off by a white, scoop-necked knit top. It also concealed the Steg-9 he’d insisted on adding to her ensemble. Gold earrings dangled from her earlobes, multiple gold bracelets surrounded each wrist. A gold chain gleamed tight around her neck. A successful smuggler’s woman brought to life.
His woman.
They
had a mission, and he fydding well needed to remember that.
Gemma’s shuttle opened its door to a scramble of groundcars, their drivers eagerly offering rides into the city. Dusk was settling over the spaceport, but the array of dark waving hands and faces still offered a sharp contrast to the approaching night. Zylons were a tall, graceful people, with skin color that ranged from shades that suggested too much time in the sun to the bronze of the melora vine leaf and the color of the finest kafi. A proud race, and tough enough to keep order at this junction of shipping lanes for four civilizations—Regulon, Nyx, Pybbites, and Herculons. Zylons tended to dress in garments as colorful as their personalities, flowing robes in every known color, including color clashes that hurt the eyes of their more conservative sector neighbors.
Tal enjoyed the Zylons, admired their attitude toward life. There was an ancient saying that summed it up: Walk softly and carry a big stick. Zylons were fair-minded, but they relished a good fight.
A single nod, and he and Kass had a groundcar to themselves. Visions of that nightmare ride to Titan and the Archives came rolling back, unbidden. The night the seed of rebellion had sprung to life. The city ahead might be relatively small, its buildings short and squat, its lights dim compared to Titan, but it brought back raw emotions he’d been trying to shut out ever since. He’d feared for Kass that night, feared for himself, because the truth was settling in. He had crossed a line, and there was no going back. How could Captain Tal Rigel of the Regulon Fleet be at the forefront of an invasion of a peaceful world like Psyclid?
And yet he’d returned to Fleet that night and done exactly that. He and Dorn and Mical. One moment they were saving Kass; the next, they were putting Imperial Marines on the ground to seize the Psyclid royal family.
He supposed Kass had guessed as much. She was, after all, Fleet-trained.
It had taken more than two years for him to accept reality, to plan and execute what he’d only sensed was inevitable the last time he sat beside Kass in the rear seat of a groundcar.
And now he was committed to far more than Kass Kiolani’s safety. He was S’sorrokan. On his way to Jingar’s, the primary gathering place for ship’s officers on layover.
Tal paid the driver, then glanced at Kass. He saw apprehension, determination, and excitement. The sheltered little Psyclid had probably never been this close to sin in her entire life. Tal took her arm and steered her inside.
Kass stopped dead just inside the door, bringing the captain to an abrupt halt beside her. She’d read about places like this, even seen a vid or two, but it wasn’t the same. Never could she have pictured a taverna like Jingar’s. Alien faces, alien bodies, unidentifiable odors, a haze of something drifting around the dimly lit room that would have reminded her of Blue Moon, except it was so totally foreign. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and moved forward.
“Captain Kane,” roared a towering Zylon charging toward them. “Welcome back. It’s been a while.”
Kass blinked. Tonight was the first time she’d seen Tal in the full glory of swashbuckling studded leather, a Steg-9 on his hip and his ancient jeweled dagger openly strapped to his tall black boots. He’d even mussed his blond hair into careless disarray. He truly looked the part of a smuggler captain being greeted by the taverna’s owner.
“Jingar, good to see you.” The two men shook hands. “Meet Kass.” Tal swept an arm around Kass’s waist and beamed at the proprietor as if he’d just invented her. Look, look. New woman.
Well, fyd! Of course. The last time Captain Kane had visited Tatarus, he’d undoubtedly been accompanied by Liona Dann.
Jingar shooed what looked like two locals from a table and presented it to them with a flourish. He leaned toward Tal, his whisper loud enough to carry to Kass’s Psyclid ears. “Like this one, Cap’n. She’s a keeper.”
At least some men had good sense!
Kass let Tal order for her, while she settled down to memorizing every face, every body structure, every nuance of what made Jingar’s the most fascinating place she’d ever been. Dear goddess, but this was wonderful!
“Like it?” Tal inquired. A quick glance showed his lips curling in amusement.
“Love it,” Kass breathed, turning back to soaking up the room’s eclectic atmosphere.
“See the table in the corner on your right?” Tal said. “The one with the men bigger than Regulons? They’re Herculons. Broke away from Regula Prime over some squabble three or four hundred years ago. Settled out toward the rim, near the Nyx. Mostly traders now, but still warriors at heart. So far the Empire’s been sensible enough to leave them alone.”
Wise, Kass thought. The Herculons were close to giants, rugged and roughly dressed. She was willing to bet attempts to hijack Herculon cargos were few and far between.
“Now the table over there in the center,” Tal said, “the one with all the noise—those are Pybbites.”
“The round giggly ones with pink skin and white hair?”
“And red eyes.”
To hide her amusement, Kass looked down at the drink that had just arrived. She had heard of the men and women from Pyb. They were the sector’s shopkeepers, spreading their wares from planet to planet with even more far-reaching success than the Regulons spread their civilization.
“And in that dark corner over there—no, don’t look yet!—if your eyesight is good enough, you can see your first Nyx. Slowly now, look indifferent.”
Kass sipped her drink, then ostensibly returned to her avid perusal of the room, but this time, as her gaze circled the patrons, she paid special attention to the dark corner near the back. Thank the goddess for her excellent eyesight.
Surprise. The dreaded Nyx were scarcely taller than Psyclids, but more sturdily built. Hairless, skin tinged with green, huge black eyes, pointed ears, slit mouths. From her studies in the Archives Kass knew the Nyx also had six clawlike fingers and were as cool as they were cunning. Nyx didn’t lose their tempers. When the urge struck them, they simply forged ahead, annihilating everything in their path. No wonder they were the Empire’s most serious challenge.
“I need to circulate,” Tal told her, “greet some old friends, maybe make a few new ones. Call me if anyone gives you sass, all right?”
Kass nodded, stifling a groan. Ten minutes in Jingar’s and she was abandoned again. She supposed he thought her capable of defending herself. After all, she was quite capable of beaning any importunate customer with a flying bottle.
Men! Kass took a long pull on her drink and settled in for a wait. Tal, obviously anticipating a long night, had ordered the local version of ripka, an ale not as tasty as the darker and more robust xaax, which she would have preferred. But of course he hadn’t bothered to ask. Evidently, smugglers’ women drank ripka.
Alien noises, alien odors enveloped her. The unidentifiable haze thickened, making it harder to follow Tal’s progress through the crowded room. Even the bottles behind the bar looked alien, the shapes just . . . wrong, created of unknown materials for hands neither Regulon or Psyclid. For a moment her courage wavered. Bittersweet nostalgia for the endless peace of the Archives exploded inside her. Her hands, gripping the mug of ripka, shook.
Idiot! This is what you wanted. Space, the great unknown. You gave up everything for this. Yet one taste, and you’re cringing like a squix. Fine smuggler’s woman you are!
“Kiolani?”
Someone was saying her name, sliding into Tal’s chair. Not Tal. Kass blinked, and stared. A female wearing the garb of a Zylon—a flowing gown patterned in brilliant red, orange, and yellow, one rather muscular bare shoulder revealed by the diagonal cut of the bodice. Gold filigree earrings dangled all the way to her shoulders. But the handsome oval face, the pale skin, golden-brown hair, and blue eyes told a different story. This woman was Regulon. And . . . familiar.
“It is Kass Kiolani, right? Dace Pliska. We sat next to each other in Astro and Tac, do you remember? My quarters were one floor down from yours.” Anxious eyes regarded Kass with the intensi
ty of a drowning man spotting a lifevest.
“Yes, of course,” Kass returned, her brain jumping back into focus. “What are you doing on Tatarus?”
A sudden grin broke through the Regulon’s grim intent. “I could ask you the same. When they took you away that night, I thought we’d never see you again. And now”—she swept a graceful hand to indicate the entire crowd at Jingar’s—“here you are. Hale and hearty and accompanied by a dead man.”
Kass went cold. Dace Pliska had undoubtedly recognized Tal Rigel the moment he walked through the door. Which made the Reg officer an active threat. Kass’s chin came up, her eyes closer to flint than amber. “Yes, I remember you. I even remember you standing there, open-mouthed, watching me being led to what could have been my death. So tell me quickly what you want. I don’t have fond memories of my fellow cadets.”
Kass also remembered Dace Pliska as a bright student, even-tempered, and willing to tolerate a Psyclid, but that was before the Reg hate campaign. Before the rebellion. Now, wherever the Reg officer had been the last four years, whatever she’d done, Pliska seemed older, harder . . . and frightened? Maybe even desperate.
“There are three of us,” she said. “You don’t know the other two. We jumped ship when the Helios was here. We’d heard Captain Kane recruited for the rebels, and we’ve been waiting for him to come back.” She paused, shaking her head in complete disbelief. “But there’s no way we expected . . . well, what we saw tonight.”
How very easy for the Helios to drop three “deserters” on Tat with orders to join the rebellion, and become conduits back to the Empire.
“I know jumping ship isn’t a great recommendation,” Pliska admitted, “but that’s what the captain did, right?”
“Except he took his ship and crew with him,” Kass shot back.
“Kiolani . . . Kass.” The Reg’s eyes misted with tears. “We jumped ship because we wanted to join the rebellion. And, yes, we want to get off Tat, back to our own kind. But not to Fleet. Is that such a crime?”
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