Rebel Princess

by Bancroft, Blair

  And worse yet, from a strictly female point of view, Jordana Tegge did not captain a “well-armed trader.” That had been a smoke screen. She was Fleet, and what they’d found docked in an obscure outer bay of Rim Station X-33 was a second huntership, the Scorpio. Tal had been pleased by fourteen skilled recruits on Tat. Jordana Tegge brought him three hundred, and one of the Empire’s finest fighting ships.

  Jealousy is a heinous sin. The catechism learned in childhood didn’t help a bit. Add in chagrin, and Kass hurt all over. She’d pushed Tal Rigel away, straight into the arms of this—this blatant siren. A glorified version of Liona Dann. Pok, dimi, and fyd!

  Twenty minutes later, Kass, Zee-Zee, and Mical Turco, the Nav officer, were seated in the bleak way station’s officers’ lounge, attempting not to stare too closely at the meeting two tables over between Tal, Dorn Jorkan, Jordana Tegge, and her First Officer, Gregor Merkanov. Merkanov was shorter than his captain, which still put him more than half a head taller than Kass, his coloring—hair, eyes, and skin—darker than most Regulons, his square face best described as pugnacious. Where Captain Tegge was cold and hard as the dark vacuum of space, Merkanov bristled with energy, looking as if he might spring from his chair at any moment. Did he too fear a trap? Did he wonder what Kass had wondered during those first days after her release from the Archives while Astarte traveled from Regula to Blue Moon? Was Tal Rigel for real? Or had the Fleet’s youngest captain merely gone undercover, seeking out Regula’s enemies from the other side of the conflict?

  That was the problem of being a flyspeck rebellion in an Empire that spanned twelve star systems. Everyone feared a trap. Every time. Everywhere. Just as Kass feared Tegge and the Scorpio weren’t what they appeared to be. Tegge might seem cold and hard, a true warrior, but Tal would appreciate that, as well as the striking packaging. Which made Tegge a perfect walking honey trap. And if S’sorrokan was beginning to be a problem for the Empire, Fleet just might be willing to set out a huntership as bait.

  Oh, for greater empathic skills. Kass was getting nothing from Jordana Tegge but steely determination. But for whose benefit?

  “Told you not to toss the captain on the wind,” Zee-Zee whispered in her ear. “You’ve got a problem.”

  “If he chooses quantity over quality,” Kass shot back.

  Zee-Zee laughed out loud, causing Commander Turco to raise one of his nicely formed eyebrows. Kass’s Nav training officer was one of her favorite people. A man who could always find time for a bit of dry humor, a teasing smile, or a hearty “well done.” He was also, she now knew, one of the three who had risked everything to rescue her from the Academy four years ago.

  “Omni,” Turco said, “looks like she’s bringing us Scorpio, and Dorn and I both advised against following up on the rumor, thinking it was a trap.”

  “It still might be,” Kass warned.

  “Watch it, they’re coming over,” Zee-Zee hissed.

  Chairs scraped as Tal’s officers shot to their feet. Since formal introductions had been made earlier that evening, he simply asked, “May we join you?”

  Mical snagged a second table, shoved it into place, while Dorn swiftly ferried chairs. Finally the eight of them were seated, another round of drinks delivered. Tal raised his glass. “To the Scorpio and her crew. The biggest coup yet for the rebellion.” They all drank.

  Tal noticed Kass hesitate before downing the smooth—and expensive—xaax. His little Psyclid didn’t look happy, but she hadn’t yet heard Captain Tegge’s story. “If you will permit,” Tal said, catching Jordana’s eye, “I’d like to pass along a bit of what you told me. There are always questions in people’s minds, and the truth may help.”

  Tal could almost swear he heard Kass’s voice echoing through his head. How do you know it’s truth, not fiction? And as always, he had to trust his gut reaction. Yes, Tegge gave every appearance of being hot bait, but he didn’t know any Fleet captain who could earn their keep as a vid star. And she’d have to be just that if the story she’d told him was fiction, the defection of the Scorpio a well-baited trap.

  Jordana Tegge’s ice blue eyes flashed and then she nodded.

  “Captain Tegge was born on Epsilon 3,” Tal began, “where her family owned a merchant fleet. Ep 3 was neutral territory and the business flourished. The captain, a bit like you, Kiolani”—he nodded to Kass—“wanted to go farther than the trading lanes. I met her when I arrived at the Academy. We shared a few of the same classes.”

  What the . . . ? A groan, not his own, reverberated in his head.

  “But last year Regula set its sights on Ep 3. In the course of the takeover, Captain Tegge lost her family and the family business. The Empire confiscated their ships, turned the company over to a cousin of a member of the Council of Twelve. Apparently, no one made the connection between a Fleet captain and a trading company in supposedly neutral territory or things might have been handled differently. In any event, we are happy to have such a powerful addition to the rebellion.”

  Behind his cordial social face, Tal winced as murmurs of approval swept the table. If he kept having to make speeches, he was going to learn to be a diplomat in spite of himself.

  Kass’s gaze remained on her xaax, her forehead wrinkled by a frown. She still didn’t believe? Or . . . fyd! Was his little Psyclid actually jealous? Was it possible?

  Zee-Zee Foxx interrupted his thoughts with an eager, “Does this mean we’re going to get to fight at last?”

  Thank Omni for Foxx’s high spirits, her strength and integrity. Which was why he’d assigned her the not-so-easy task of being Kass Kiolani’s roommate. “What it means, Foxx, is that we can plan more than an occasional raid on small Empire outposts. In the last hour we’ve nearly doubled our firepower, and yes, there’s some thinking to do, but things are looking up.”

  “We need to go to Hell Nine,” Kass inserted suddenly.

  Seven pairs of eyes stared, jaws dropped. Tal had a good idea where this was headed, but this wasn’t the time to go chasing all the way across the sector to Hell Nine. Unless, of course, Mondragon had no less than a heavy cruiser at his disposal.

  “I’m sorry,” Kass added swiftly. “I just thought as long as you were revising your plans . . .”

  “Okay, Kiolani,” Dorn Jorkan said, “I know you well enough to know you have a reason. Let’s hear it.”

  “I misspoke,” Kass murmured. “My apologies.”

  Tal could see the chagrin in her eyes. Anxiety that he would do nothing about Psyclid’s alleged Sorcerer Prime had made her blurt out the name Hell Nine before he could order them all back to Blue Moon to regroup. But obviously, Kass still didn’t trust Jordana Tegge, and she’d clamped her mouth shut over any mention of the Psyclid sorcerer in front of a possible betrayer.

  When Kass had come to him, asking him to divert to Hell Nine on the grounds that Mondragon would be a remarkable asset to the rebellion, he’d put her off, telling her to wait until they’d seen what was waiting at Rim Station X-33. Now they knew. And Kass still wanted to find her sorcerer. Fiancé.

  Fyd!

  She was looking at him with those huge amber eyes, circled by the dark lines and shadows she used as enhancements on rare social occasions. He could no more ignore her plea than he could cease to be S’sorrokan.

  Later. Nothing more than a thought, but Kass returned an infinitesimal nod, as if she’d heard him clearly.

  The mood shifted to pure celebration, but beneath the joviality Tal heard the derogatory chant of his childhood. Psyclids are weird, Psyclids are weird, Psyclids are . . .

  Chapter 17

  “K’kadi,” Kass said, catching and holding her brother’s mercurial gaze, “we need to have a serious talk. I want you to pay close attention and show me that you understand. All right?”

  She was sitting in the desk chair in K’kadi’s room, with her younger brother regarding her with unaccustomed solemnity from his perch on the edge of his bed. No floating faces, no hovering question marks, not a faux laser
beam in sight. Perhaps some of her efforts at teaching him control were sinking in. Azure eyes wide, a lock of long pale hair falling onto his forehead, K’kadi simply nodded.

  “You’ve worked hard all these weeks,” Kass told him, “and I’m proud of you. But we’ve done all we can in your room. While we’re dockside here on X-33, we need to find a place outside the ship where we have enough room to really find out what you can do.”

  K’kadi’s eyes lit with eager anticipation. Poor baby, Kass thought, he hadn’t been off-ship since they left Blue Moon. Raised in luxury and surrounded all his life by beauty, he’d been confined by utilitarian metal and plasti for weeks now. Not that Rim Station X-33 could offer any green vistas, but at least it was a change.

  Kass continued in what she hoped was the voice of her father when he handed down decrees, “On our way through the ship, you will not create so much as one spark, not a single face. No battles, no fireworks—”

  The door reverberated with an authoritative knock. Startled, Kass frowned at her brother. “Were you expecting someone?”

  K’kadi flashed an impish grin. A face formed in front of the door. Anton Stagg? Her little brother was expecting a marine—

  No, no, no. K’kadi shook his head. That didn’t make sense. What in the name of the goddess . . . ?

  More pounding. Kass shot to her feet, dragged the astonished lieutenant inside, and tabbed the door closed.

  “Dama, the captain wants—”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant, but we have a mystery to solve before I go anywhere.” She turned back to her brother. “K’kadi, were you expecting the lieutenant?” Again, a strong denial. A thundercloud began to take shape over their heads.

  “Then how did you know it was Lieutenant Stagg?”

  K’kadi hunched his shoulders, thrust his hands out to his sides in a classic gesture that Kass read as, How could I not know?

  Kass steadied herself with a hand to the back of the desk chair. “K’kadi, are you telling me you can see, um, feel who is behind a closed door?

  K’kadi flashed a broad smile, this time nodding vigorously. Kass noted Anton Stagg was looking as awed as she was.

  “How far can you feel, K’kadi?” Kass asked. “Just outside a door, around a corner, down the corridor, all the way to the bridge?” She was babbling. Kass knew very well K’kadi had no way to respond to so many different questions at once. “I’m sorry, let’s try that again. Can you tell if Zee-Zee is in our room next door? Pok, that wouldn’t work either. A no could mean she wasn’t in the room or that K’kadi was unable to tell if she was in the room or not.

  A picture began to form in front of them. Astarte’s bridge, Dorn Jorkan in the captain’s chair, Mical Turco at Nav, Zee-Zee at Comm, shadow figures at the other stations.

  “Great Omni,” Stagg breathed.

  “K’kadi,” Kass said, keeping her voice low and steady even though her heart was pounding almost as hard as it had at her fateful meeting with Tal Rigel in Orion’s ready room so long ago. “Can you feel the presence of strangers as well as people you know?” Her brother waggled his fingers. “It’s impossible to picture strangers,” Kass interpreted, “but you feel their presence?”

  K’kadi beamed, confirming her analysis.

  “Pok!” Stagg muttered. “The kid’s a walking scanner. Beg pardon, dama.”

  Dear goddess, all this time working with her brother, and she’d had no idea. Kass took a deep breath, forcing her attention back to Anton Stagg. “You were looking for me, Lieutenant?”

  He snapped to attention. “Yes, dama. The captain wants to speak with you.”

  And very privately, or he wouldn’t have sent Stagg to fetch her. So good-bye for now to taking K’kadi off-ship. But her disappointment was nicely countered by being able to tell Tal that Jordana Tegge wasn’t going to be his only pleasant surprise on X-33.

  Engineering Deck. Kass hadn’t been on this level since the cadets had toured Orion that long-ago summer. During their meandering trip down lifts and along corridors narrower than C Deck, Kass tried to catch up on the activities of her two favorite marines. But though the lieutenant seemed happy to see her, she got the impression the men’s shipboard routine wasn’t worth mentioning and their time on Tat not fit for her ears. Stagg’s conversation was about as forthcoming as a stone wall.

  Kass Kiolani, the captain’s chosen woman. Her ears were sacrosanct.

  Instead of knocking, Stagg spoke quietly into his comm unit. The door slid open. “I will return to escort you back,” he said, and strode off down the corridor as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Dear goddess, the upright lieutenant probably thought he was acting as a pimp! Kass allowed herself a long mortified moment before she assumed her professional façade and walked through the door. Small booted feet spread wide, Kass crossed her arms and glared at the room’s occupant. “You sent for me, Captain?”

  They were in some kind of lounge area, one that didn’t look as if it had much use. Perhaps because Astarte was understaffed, its highly trained crew spread out to anchor other ships in the small rebel fleet. Too bad Anton Stagg hadn’t looked inside the room. If he had, he’d know this meeting wasn’t what he’d thought. Or what Kass had begun to hope.

  “Please sit.” Tal waved a hand toward two comfortable chairs with a small round table set between them. When they were both seated, Tal poured matching thimblefuls of ullali from a bottle sitting on the table. He lifted his glass in toast. “To the rebellion.”

  Kass touched her glass to his, echoing, “To the rebellion.” They drank.

  “Now—” Tal began briskly.

  “One moment! Beg pardon, Captain,” Kass interrupted, “but I have news you should know immediately.” She described the incident in K’kadi’s quarters.

  When she finished, Tal blew out a breath. Silence stretched between them. “Why,” he asked at last, “if you people have so many hidden talents, did you ever let the Empire swallow you up?”

  Kass clutched her fists in front of her mouth while she tried to find the right words. Not easy to explain the inertia of a thousand years of pacifism to a warrior like Tal Rigel. Finally, she lowered her hands to her lap and said, “Even if we could have broken the rule of live and let live that has governed our lives for so long, assets must be coordinated, a strategy formed to dictate when and where. My people have no concept of this. We are who we are—individuals, single beings with gifts. In fact, the Council of Elders has always discouraged coordinating our talents because the consequences could be disastrous. That was one of the reasons the Council was so opposed to my going to the Academy. I would be the first Psyclid warrior in over a thousand years. They feared the consequences.”

  “What you’re saying,” Tal responded slowly, “is that with you and K’kadi I’ve acquired as much power as with the Scorpio and her entire crew.”

  “But you always knew that, didn’t you?” Kass tossed back, amber eyes hard. “Why else rescue a Psyclid?”

  “Mallik! That’s unfair,” Tal roared. “Did I believe you had special gifts? Yes. But I saved you because I cared about you.”

  Oh, pok! How she wanted to believe him. And even if she didn’t, she owed him. “I beg your pardon,” Kass murmured. “I am very much aware of what I owe you. But . . .”

  Tal raised one golden-brown eyebrow. He looked resigned, a beleaguered male, not a captain, recognizing that Kass Kiolani would always have a but. After a slight shake of his head, he ordered, “Continue.”

  Kass jumped right in, pursuing her advantage. “Surely now you understand why we have to go to Hell Nine and add the Sorcerer Prime to the rebellion.”

  Tal uncorked the bottle of ullali and poured another round of the fine amber liquid. He handed one to Kass. “Explain the term ‘Sorcerer Prime.’”

  This time Kass took a small sip before setting the glass down and choosing her words with care. “On Psyclid we have two persons—one male, one female—who are honored with titles that acknowledge their super
ior psychic gifts.”

  “Then why couldn’t they have organized—”

  “I told you. We are not warriors. Psyclids harm no one. That is a directive from so far in the past its origins are only legend.”

  “You broke it.”

  Kass took refuge in another sip of the potent liqueur. “I did,” she agreed softly. “I recognized that we had become vulnerable, that we had a greedy neighbor who was happily swallowing star systems whole. That was how I convinced the Elders, though my parents were even more difficult. I told them someone needed to learn how to defend us. That if I went to the Academy, I could return to Psyclid and teach others. That we could learn how to keep our small world to ourselves.”

  Kass shut her eyes for moment, news vids of the Psyclid invasion running through her mind. “But by the time I got permission, it was too late. A few years earlier, and perhaps things would have gone differently.”

  “Could it still be done?” Tal asked, sitting forward in his chair. “Could this sorcerer of yours organize Psyclid talents into a significant resistance? An army of Kass Kiolanis and K’kadi Amunds?”

  “Not quite. Let me explain.” Kass gathered her thoughts as she looked around the cozy room with its well-worn furniture, a small galley in the corner, a couple of vid screens. Built-in drawers along one wall probably housed tri-D chess, decks of cards, and other games to while away the long hours demanded by travel through space.

  “Everyone on Psyclid has some kind of talent,” Kass said. “Most are single talent and not particularly powerful. Some, but not many, are multi-talented, but with strengths of varying power. Only a very few are both multi-talented and very powerful. And always our talents are benign. We do not hurt people. The most adept female becomes the ParaPrime, a female second only to the queen in political power as well as talent. At the moment that is not quite the case, as the current ParaPrime is Jalaine, Psyclid’s queen.”