Rebel Princess

by Bancroft, Blair

  “Revolutions are one thing,” Mical added. “Regulons can understand a good fight. But we’ve spent our whole lives shunning Psyclids because they’re strange. And liking, respecting, Kass and K’kadi doesn’t make it any easier to accept a Psyclid sorcerer. Omni, Tal. You’ve got to understand that.”

  “You need to explain,” Dorn added. “Or at least find a way to make them—make us all—understand why this Psyclid freak is worth the risk.”

  “Sorcerer implies black magic.” Mical leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Evil, Tal. It scares the fydding pok out of me.”

  Slowly Tal set his ripka on the small table in front of the sofa. Neither Tal Rigel nor S’sorrokan appreciated being told what to do, but he quickly dampened the burst of anger that almost exploded off his tongue. His crew had not seen Kass divert cannon fire or toss the wing of a shattered Tau-15 at the remaining fighter. They had not seen her beat a krall against a wall or toss twelve conference chairs through plasti-glass. They had not been present when she lifted the two of them to a balcony two stories above their heads. As for K’kadi, they had seen only simple entertainment, never considering the implications of illusion talent as a weapon.

  “Tell us it isn’t just pillow talk that’s sending us to Hell Nine,” Dorn said.

  “Believe me,” Tal shot back, “if there was any emotion involved in this decision, it would be frustration. I don’t do celibacy well.”

  The noise from Dorn’s throat was unintelligible but pungent. Mical spewed a mouthful of ripka onto the table. He jumped up, fetched a towel from the galley, and cleaned up the droplets while silence screamed and Tal suspected both his officers were rapidly rearranging their thoughts. He should be angry, he supposed, but in a sense they were right. If Kass hadn’t urged him on, he would have left Jagan Mondragon on Hell Nine forever and ever. As it was, he was about to deliver her into the arms of her betrothed. He was willingly bringing the batani warlock into the rebellion. Bringing him on board Astarte and all the way back to Blue Moon, where Mondragon would be on his home territory, shoulder to shoulder, if not arm in arm, with Kass.

  His officers were right. He’d gone mad.

  He was putting the rebellion before Kass. When saving his little Psyclid had started it all.

  Yet what kind of life would he have with Kass if they lost?

  A short one. Very short.

  “You both know,” Tal said at last, “that I was fascinated by Kass from the moment I saw her potential during training exercises. And I admit I was also attracted to her as a woman. It was you, Mical, who told me about the gang rape that was planned for her. You both helped me save her, and you both know she was never out of my mind after that. I freely admit it. Four years later you both went with me to get her off Regula Prime before she could be exposed by the guard’s death.”

  His friends nodded, looking grave. “We were captain and student, followed by four years of separation. Not to mention she hasn’t forgiven me for my so-called death. And”—Tal offered a wry smile—“it seems the sorcerer was—is—her fiancé.”

  “Fyd!” Dorn breathed.

  “That’s why we’re headed to Hell Nine?” Mical added, obviously incredulous.

  “We’re headed to Hell Nine looking for a weapon,” Tal snapped. “And, yes, it could be a trap. But I know what Kass’s gifts can do, and I see the potential in K’kadi, even if others do not. And if Kass tells me Jagan Mondragon is worth a whole fleet of warships, then I believe her. He’s too great a prize to turn our backs on.”

  “But the crew’s going from scared to terrified,” Dorn interjected. “Every day it gets worse.”

  Tal held up his hand. “I’ll arrange a demo. It won’t calm their fears, but maybe it will help them understand why we have to add Mondragon to the rebellion.”

  “How do you know he’s willing?” Mical asked.

  “I don’t.” Tal picked up his drink and took a swallow. “And I admit to doubts. Is Mondragon the powerful weapon we want him to be? Or is he going to be nothing but trouble? I honestly don’t know, but I have to find out.”

  “Fyd!” After several moments of silence, Dorn Jorkan raised his ripka. “To the rebellion!” The three friends clinked bottles and drank, their faces as solemn as the first time Tal offered that toast—on the night he first sketched his plans to rebel against the Empire.

  “To Hell Nine,” Mical Turco added, “bonanza or bust.”

  Chapter 21

  “Are you sure?” Kass whispered to K’kadi, who was sitting by her side staring into Tactical’s hologlobe with an expression of utter delight. “We never had a chance to practice.”

  Without taking his eyes off the tri-D display, her brother flashed a grin that was both eager and decidedly cocky.

  Now or never, Kass thought. If the crew was going to appreciate the value of Psyclid talents, this was it. “Permission to commence exercise, Captain?”

  “Permission granted.” As Tal fixed his gaze on his own hologlobe, Kass sucked in a breath, picturing similar hologlobes and viewscreens throughout the ship. Gemma had been launched and was now positioned ten degrees off Astarte’s starboard bow, close enough to be clearly visible to those who chose to watch through viewports instead of hologlobe and live vid displays.

  “K’kadi, disappear Gemma.”

  Audible gasps as the scout ship vanished, Gemma’s icons winking out on all the hologlobes. The bow viewports showed nothing but the black of space.

  Into the silence that followed, Tal said, “Kiolani, I accept K’kadi’s ability to create the illusion that Gemma isn’t there, but how can he fool the hologlobe scanners?”

  Hands fisted in her lap, Kass returned his level gaze. “Captain, I have to admit I’m not sure. I presume it’s his own personal cloaking device, some kind of force field, if you will. It rejects any attempt to scan it.”

  “K’kadi,” Tal said, “can you disappear Astarte?”

  “Captain!”

  “A reasonable question, Kiolani. Let him show us.”

  “That he managed Gemma is more than I expected. Please don’t push him so—”

  K’kadi’s scowl stopped her protest in midsentence. Not bothering to stifle a soft huff, Kass ordered, “K’kadi, restore Gemma.” To the tech officer, she said, “Switch hologlobe and vid screens to Gemma’s bridge.” And suddenly they were seeing Astarte, silhouetted against the black depths of space.

  “K’kadi,” Kass said, adding a silent prayer to the goddess, “disappear Astarte.”

  Both hologlobe and viewscreen went blank, as if the huntership had ceased to exist.

  Kass took a deep breath. “K’kadi,” she said in a voice little above a whisper, “restore Astarte.” A slight shimmer, and the huntership once again loomed large on Gemma’s viewscreen.

  “Fyd!” The profanity exploded from Dorn Jorkan. Kass could feel the waves of amazement rolling through the ship as Astarte’s image reappeared on the hologlobe.

  “A formidable tactical weapon,” Tal said to his astounded bridge officers. “I believe you will agree.” He turned to K’kadi. “Thank you. Most impressive. Kiolani, you may begin your own demonstration.”

  After reconfirming the Tau-20’s faux ammunition status, Kass launched three fighters, each piloted by the best pilots the rebellion had. As they dived toward Gemma, faux lasers blazing, Kass murmured into her comm unit, “Colas, you’re first.” With no more warning than that, she sent the Tau-20 literally spinning off into space. “Laar?” The second fighter went into a strange dance, wings swooping left, then right, the whole plane gliding fifty meters front, fifty meters back. It stood on its nose, sat on its tail, flopped back to horizontal, and then with a cocky pilot-initiated wing waggle, zoomed beyond the five-mark setting of the hologlobe.

  Everyone’s gaze, except the captain’s, moved from the broad viewport to Kass. Ignoring them, she once again spoke into her comm. “You up for this, Raff? The last fighter pilot’s response was enthusiastic, if profane. Kass grinned.
“Fly by bow viewports, one mark out.” Rejecting the hologlobe, she switched her attention to full visual.

  As the Tau-20 zoomed by in front of them, Kass brought it to shuddering halt, began to move it backward, gathering momentum with each meter. A right angle turn, still moving backward, still clearly visible through bow viewports and on all viewscreens. At two marks out, Kass returned her attention to the hologlobe, dragging the fighter backward to midship, one mark out. With a smile that almost matched K’kadi’s, she arced the fighter around the body of Astarte in a full circle, returning it gently to its starting position. “Thank you, Raff. It’s all yours. Colas, Laar, come on back and take your bows.”

  Silence, complete silence, but everyone on the bridge and throughout the ship could now clearly see three Tau-20s, unharmed and back under normal power, on the hologlobes.

  “Thank you, Kiolani,” Tal said. “I believe that made things very clear.” He added, obviously grandstanding, “And you say Jagan Mondragon is even more powerful?”

  “Yes, sir. A formidable force.”

  “Mr. Jorkan, you may inform the ship that the demonstration is concluded, the results clear. Kiolani and young Amund are assets of great value and the addition of Mondragon to the rebellion an essential mission.” No matter what the fyd you might think about the batani Sorcerer Prime. Kass almost lost her professional façade as Tal’s grim thought shot through her head. “Helmsman,” he added, “continue our course for Bender’s Folly.”

  K’kadi put a hand under Kass’s arm and helped her to her feet. Gratitude warred with chagrin. The greater the feat, the more it drained her. And today’s demonstration had been as challenging as splashing the Tau fighters. Though not such a sharp blow to her conscience. But the stakes were high, this a test they could not fail. For the captain’s sake, as well as their own.

  But had it worked? Could the urge to win the rebellion conquer the Pysclidphobia drummed into each Reg since birth? Had the demonstration made things better? Or scared the crew even more?

  Wearily, Kass relinquished Tactical to the regular duty officer and walked, a trifle unsteadily back to her quarters, with K’kadi hovering at her side. She made a face into the empty corridor in front of her. “Disappearing” two ships, one hunter class, didn’t seem to have taxed his abilities in the slightest. Oh, to be nineteen again. Or had all those years in the Archives simply weakened her stamina, and she would grow stronger as she grew more accustomed to challenging tasks?

  Tal was counting on her.

  Ahead . . . Kass shuddered. Ahead lay her confrontation with Jagan Mondragon.

  As Gemma’s shuttle settled onto the bare ground that passed for a landing field, Tal decided that whatever a person called this planet—Bender’s Folly or Hell Nine—it was aptly named. A forbidding hunk of rock eight Reg days from the nearest jumpgate, it had obviously never heard of terraforming. Bender’s Folly was the end of the line for smugglers, murderers, thieves, and outcasts of every variety from con artists to defrocked priests. From what he’d gleaned from Astarte’s databanks, Folly’s population was a conglomerate of the most disreputable from every race and star system in the quadrant. Even in Captain Kane’s scruffiest clothing, with Kass in garments designed to cover every physical asset except her face, Tal suspected they’d stand out from the crowd like a flashing beacon on a dark night. Fresh meat for the denizens of Hell Nine.

  Two days later, he knew he’d been right. Mallick, the place was a sewer! He’d thought the sprawling cluster of nondescript buildings that passed for a city on Hell Nine was small enough they’d have no difficulty tracking Psyclid’s Sorcerer Prime, but it was already obvious they were going to have to pay, and pay well, for every scrap of information. He wanted to send Kass back to the ship for safety, but she was the key, the person with a connection to Mondragon—possibly their only hope of recruiting him to their cause.

  Tal coughed! Pok! Even the air was noxious. But according to Kass, if they kept asking questions, word should get back to Mondragon and—if the sorcerer wished it—he would find them.

  If an assassin didn’t find them first.

  Swiftly, Tal inventoried his weapons—two Steg-9s, hunting knife, plus the P-11 strapped to his back. Kass had a Steg-9, a knife, and her amazing teleportation skills. Well, fyd, she could just throw any attackers into the next block. Or maybe not. He suspected she, like K’kadi, was still learning, testing her skills, not quite sure what she could do. Her ability to teleport them up to the balcony on X-33 had been almost as much of a surprise to her as it was to him. As for their present search, K’kadi had made it clear he could not scan the Sorcerer Prime. Or wouldn’t. So they’d left him behind and were basically working blind.

  They’d been at it for fifty Reg hours—four hand-picked teams from Astarte—moving from one murky bar to the next, trolling market places and hotels, poking their heads into structures that had turned out to be everything from brothels to alleged houses of worship, in every one doling out gold as if it were desert sand. No Jagan Mondragon. Nothing more, in fact, than an occasional knowing look and mouths closed tight as Astarte’s blast doors. Obviously, Mondragon was wary.

  Tonight, enclosed in the dank chill of a Folly winter night, they were sauntering down a dark street lit only by flickering gas lanterns. Stone buildings loomed black against the night sky, punctuated by pockets of light, shouts, laughter, and an occasional high-pitched scream spilling out of open doors along the broad dirt street. A drunk tumbled onto the walkway, propelled through a door by a sturdy booted foot. With a snort of disgust, Tal guided Kass around the prone figure. “We’ve been scammed, Kass. Not even a mediocre warlock would stay in this hellhole. I mean, if your sorcerer’s here, the least he could do is send a message by bat or lead us on with a ball of fire—”

  “Oh, be quiet! Jagan doesn’t do silly tricks. At least not since he was fifteen or so,” she added judiciously.

  Tal heaved an elaborate sigh. “Kass, face it. Either Mondragon isn’t here, or he doesn’t want to be found.”

  “He’s wary. And who could blame him? A bunch of thinly disguised Reg Fleeties looking for him? He’d have to be crazy to show himself.”

  “And I’ve told you a hundred times I’m not letting you loose on Hell Nine alone.”

  “Point made,” Kass grumbled. “But I’ve been using every last ounce of what little telepathic skill I have and nothing’s happening. Oh, every once in a while,” she qualified, “I think I catch a flicker of him—but mostly I’m hitting a blank— Tal?”

  Tal reached for his Steg-9 as a formless shadow emerged from an alley and moved toward them. “Mondragon?” he hissed to Kass.

  “No.”

  The shadow resolved into a classic black monk’s robe, except this one was anchored at the waist with a braided scarlet belt adorned with silver charms and tokens. The robe swayed slightly in the cool evening breeze. The dark figure stopped six feet from them, the face still obscured by the depth of the hood. “We hear you are seekers,” a male voice said.

  Tal nodded to Kass, tossing her the initiative. Mondragon was Psyclid. Yet from the hulking size of the hooded figure, he suspected the go-between was not.

  “I seek an old friend,” Kass returned, “Jagan Mondragon. You may tell him his betrothed has traveled a great distance to speak with him.”

  “Return to your ship. There is nothing for you here.”

  “I will return to my ship when I feel like it,” Kass shot back. “Tell Jagan it’s imperative I meet with him at once.”

  With some effort, Tal kept his face straight as the shadow figure stepped back and was quickly swallowed by the night. “Was that wise?”

  “I am tired of playing games. If that . . . creature really came from Jagan, then the Sorcerer Prime has known I was here since the moment I landed. He is not simply wary. He is punishing me, I think, for being with you.”

  “He knows?”

  “It is difficult to hide anything from Jagan. I fear he is angry with both of us
.”

  “But you said you’d made it clear to him—”

  “Sorcerers do not expect opposition of any kind, no matter how clear I made my feelings. Including changing my name and applying to the Space Academy.”

  “Changing your name?”

  “A topic for another day, Captain. Right now, I do believe we’re being summoned.”

  “That quickly?”

  “If Jagan hadn’t shielded himself, I would have felt him much sooner. He is close. Let’s go.” She moved off at the fastest walking speed her petite build could manage.

  “Kass,” Tal said, quickly catching up with her, “obviously he’s not alone. Maybe we should call in backup.”

  She snorted. “And have him flatten them all just for the fun of it? No, thanks, this is something we’ll have to manage for ourselves.”

  “How many men do you think he has?”

  “Not many. He couldn’t have escaped Psyclid with a large entourage, at least I don’t think so.”

  Kass walked steadily to the end of the block, unhesitatingly turned down a side street and kept on going.

  “Kass?”

  She kept moving. “We’re close . . . almost there . . . a few more steps.” She stopped in front of a two-story building with no windows. A warehouse? Tal wondered.

  “This is the place. We’re going in.”

  “Are you certain?” He’d never seen a less inviting venue for a meeting. Walk into my trap, said the spider to the fly.

  “He’s talking to me,” Kass returned. Jagan is powerful enough to communicate with a telepath of mediocre skills, like me.”

  Tal drew the Steg-9 from his right holster. “Kass, I consider myself a brave man, but tackling a roomful of sorcerers—”

  “Warlocks,” Kass corrected. “Probably a witch or two. Only Jagan is a sorcerer.”