Rebel Princess

by Bancroft, Blair

  And now, on a planet far from Psyclid, he was watching her. Even though she’d shut down her telepathic power to avoid any more taunting remarks from Jagan, Kass could still feel Tal’s near-constant gaze. It didn’t take special talents to know he was wondering about Jagan, about Jagan and herself, about Jagan and the rebellion. And, most of all, what she had meant by a “more—ah—unorthodox” dissolution of her betrothal. Had he figured it out?

  Kass opened her mind just enough to take a peek and was instantly burned by one of those waves of passion—or was it anger—rolling off Captain Tal Rigel.

  Pok! He’d figured it out.

  “We’re ready,” Jagan announced. Five amorphous figures stood in front of her, robed and hooded, their luggage remarkably light. “We arrived anonymously, and we will leave the same way. That’s one of the best things about this place. Nobody cares.”

  “We’re fydding glad to get out of here,” declared B’aela’s strong but feminine voice from under one of the hoods. “Take us out of here, Captain.”

  My popularity with women doesn’t seem to be doing too well today. Jagan’s wry thought echoed clearly through Kass’s mind. They exchanged rueful smiles.

  Kass caught Tal’s frown.

  No doubt about it. Astarte was about to suffer the effects of an uneasy truce between the Psyclid Sorcerer Prime, the next Psyclid ParaPrime, and S’sorrokan, leader of the rebellion. As well as a mistress who could not possibly be pleased to find herself confined in close company with her lover’s betrothed.And then there was K’kadi, illusionist, human scanner, and devoted brother, plus two warlocks, a witch, and a bodyguard from Hell Nine.

  It was going to be a long, long journey home. Home to Blue Moon.

  Chapter 23

  S’sorrokan’s ship, S’sorrokan’s rules. No robes, no hoods, no magic unless requested. No sly looks, whispered conspiracies. Mingle. Smile, he’d told the Hell Nine Four. Remember whose side you’re on.

  Not that Tal hadn’t housed them in adjacent rooms—there was no point in a divide and conquer that would only force them to fight back. Although he was giving them as much surveillance as a pack of wild dogs, they were allies.

  At least until they proved they weren’t.

  Astarte was one day short of exiting the first of two wormholes that would take them back to Tatarus, where Jordana Tegge and her crew were supposedly waiting. But were they? Tal wondered. Had Scorpio tired of waiting and gone off to join the smuggling trade, certainly a more lucrative venture than joining the rebellion? He hoped not. In spite of Kass’s reservations, Tal wanted that extra huntership. Fleet training left its mark. As much as he’d come to believe in psychic weapons, he understood lasers, cannons, missiles, and fighter planes much better.

  Tal drummed his fingers on his desk. Life in jumpspace could be unutterably boring. Since leaving Blue Moon, the crew had seen every vid, enjoyed every holo scenario at least five times over. They’d practiced battle drills until they were all sick of the klaxon. Only a few diehard fitness buffs still visited the exercise rooms. And . . .

  Tal heaved a sigh. So far no sign that Kass was doing more than teasing the dragon when she spoke of an unorthodox dissolution to her engagement. Mallick! How many times had his little Psyclid gotten him all hot and bothered and then just slipped away? Was she taunting him, daring him to practice droit de seigneur?

  What would his crew say to that?

  The problem was, they likely thought he was already sleeping with Kass. And if not, that he must be in a downward spiral toward limp-dick wimp. With loss of respect soon to follow. Fyd! Enough of that. Time to be grateful no fights had yet broken out on board Astarte, a small miracle in itself, as Tor and T’mar had been chasing every female Reg they encountered, and Kass’s friend B’aela was cutting almost as wide a swath through the male officers and crew. Not to mention the avid eye D’nim, Mondragon’s assistant, kept casting on the best-looking younger male crewmen. Tal could only assume that for the two fastidious Psyclids, the pickings on Folly had been very slim. As for Tor, the Hell Niner had probably never seen so many clean, well-groomed women in his life. Particularly females nicely displayed in a closed environment. Tal would consider himself lucky if one of them didn’t shoot Mondragon’s rough-edged bodyguard. Better yet, maybe one of them would.

  As for the sorcerer, Tal had to give him credit. Mondragon had annihilated a few rude stares with one icy glance, but for the most part he had kept a low profile. Tal made a point of meeting with Mondragon every other day, for the Sorcerer Prime was a man one ignored only if you wished to invite trouble.

  Yet, in spite of all his precautions, trouble seemed determined to find them. Zee-Zee Foxx had come to Tal only the day before with a tale of crewmen who talked of spacing the sorcerer. And if Mondragon picked that juicy bit out of the air, Tal didn’t want to even contemplate what might happen.

  As for Kass—his thoughts always came back to Kass—he was going to have to do something about that. And soon. Maybe once they were back in normal space and he didn’t have to spend most of his time keeping the lid on a ship simmering with ancient fears, newly minted passions, and a strong urge for a fight, any fight . . .

  Tal, groaning, ran a hand through his hair. If he could just turn everyone’s thoughts toward home, toward Blue Moon’s spectacular scenery, its balmy temperature, the warm welcomes waiting there, things would improve.

  They had to.

  Just before lunchtime the next day, Tal sat in his captain’s seat on the bridge as alarms sounded and the main comm system blared, announcing Astarte’s imminent return to normal space. Omni be praised. Only two wormholes to go, with a few days respite between each. Blue Moon, here we come.

  A slight shudder—Astarte took jumpgates well—and they were out, suddenly encircled by familiar stars brilliant against the jet black of space. Tal reveled in it. Every time. Space was his home.

  Mallik! There were voids in his view. Great hulking voids, not more than ten marks out. “Kass?”

  “A heavy cruiser, two hunterships . . . fighters launching.”

  “Shields up. Battle stations. Amund and Mondragon to the bridge. ” Tal tabbed on his hologlobe, a quick glance confirming the trap.

  But Kass was ahead of him, her words clipped and urgent as she spoke into the comm link she’d conned engineering into creating between herself and K’kadi. “K’kadi? K’kadi, respond. Disappear Astarte. Now! K’kadi, did you hear me? Disappear Astarte now!”

  “Three ships firing,” Dorn Jorkan intoned. “Incoming on a one-forty-degree front, brace for impact.”

  Omni be praised! As Foxx at Comm relayed his order to the entire ship, Astarte’s hologlobe icon winked out. A rasp of sucked-in breaths and soft huffs of relief punctuated the tense silence.

  “Helmsman, thirty degrees right, sixty degrees down. Dive.” Too late to avoid the first volley, but they fydding sure weren’t going to be sitting at the mouth of the wormhole waiting for the next!

  Along its full length, Astarte bucked and heaved as the missiles struck, before shuddering back into position, continuing its dive. Gasps and groans as the bridge crew were thrown hard against their harnesses. Anything not anchored went flying.

  “Shields at sixty percent,” Jorkan reported, his voice husky from loss of breath.

  Tal shook his head to clear it. Definitely the worst blast he’d experienced since Orion’s battles with the Nyx. Omni bless K’kadi Amund that Fleet could no longer see them. A second round like that one could have finished them off.

  Tal checked his bridge crew. All seemed to be functioning . . . except Kass, who was struggling to sit upright at Tac. Pok! He’d always known she was too delicate to be a warrior. “Kiolani?”

  “I’m all right, Captain. J-Just not much experience at taking a full broadside.”

  “How long can K’kadi hold?”

  “I really don’t—”

  “Never mind, Kiolani, he’s here.” And closely followed by Mondragon. Tal would love to k
now how the two of them managed to travel during Astarte’s involuntary dance through space. Perhaps they’d been in a lift, any damage contained to being thrown around in a small space.

  “K’kadi, how long can you keep us disappeared?”

  Anxious blue-green eyes stared back at him from a face framed in long white-blond hair. K’kadi shrugged.

  “Helmsman, continue sixty degrees down, commence evasive maneuvers.” Tal turned to Kass’s sorcerer. “Anything you can do for us, Mondragon, would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Captain,” Dorn Jorkan interjected, “they’re not following. Just sitting there trying to figure it out. Love to hear their comms about now. Fyd! There’s another one. Where did that come from? A huntership, Captain, eight marks out from the wormhole—ID . . . Astarte! Moving away fast . . . in the opposite direction from ours . . .” Dorn’s voice faded away. He turned to stare at Jagan Mondragon.

  “I must confess,” the sorcerer drawled, bracing his feet against the ship’s steep down angle, “that, like K’kadi, I am unsure how long I can draw them off. This is my first experience as a warrior, so I suggest best possible speed to wherever it is you wish to go. And if I may add a note of caution, I doubt that’s the last we’ve seen of them. That wasn’t exactly a chance encounter, now was it?”

  “Find the man a seat,” Tal snapped. A junior engineering officer swiftly gave up his place.

  So Kass was right, Tal thought. Mondragon was an asset beyond price. The Fleet ships were turning to pursue the supposedly escaping Astarte, in reality an illusion created by the Sorcerer Prime. An illusion so realistic its icon swam through the hologlobe as brilliantly clear as the three Fleet ships in hot pursuit.

  Omni be praised!

  “That,” Tal agreed when Jagan was settled, “was a well-laid trap. And it’s likely you were the bait. But our long side-trip to Bender’s Folly wasn’t exactly a secret. Anyone who overheard the Pybbite’s conversation with Kass, Captain Tegge and her officers—probably her whole batani crew—knew. Plus anyone outbound from 33 while we were there. The list of people who might have succumbed to the Empire’s bounty on rebel ships is as long as our last wormhole.”

  Captain Tegge. I told you so!

  Blast his link with Kiolani. At the moment he didn’t need the little Psyclid in his head. Tal turned toward Tac, directing his words to his First Officer, not to Kass who was sitting next to him. “If they know we’re headed for Tat,” Tal said, “they’ll be waiting for us. If not at the next jumpgate, then just shy of Tat’s neutral zone.”

  And just how would they know we’re going back to Tat?

  Shut up, Kiolani, I need to think! Pok! It wouldn’t be so bad having her in his head if he also had her in his bed.

  Fyd, but Mondragon was smiling. He’d caught every word of that. Tal turned back to studying his personal hologlobe, now expanded to a range of fifty marks. The faux Astarte was still clearly visible, with the Fleet ships seemingly unable to close the gap. “Impressive, Mondragon. A perfect false trail. I wouldn’t have believed it possible.”

  The sorcerer offered a wry smile. “I suggest you get this plasticrate up to light speed as fast as possible. For all my ego, I have to admit I’ve surprised myself, but I fear we may be closing in on my outer limits.”

  “Adjust down angle to thirty degrees.” Gradually, Astarte pulled out of its steep dive. “Damage report,” Tal snapped. “Engineering, let me know when we’re safe for light speed. Kiolani, do you need to be replaced?”

  “No, sir.”

  “K’kadi, you all right?”

  The boy nodded, but he was sweating. If the Sorcerer Prime admitted to feeling the strain, what was keeping Astarte cloaked doing to K’kadi? How long could his Psyclids hold out?

  Ten minutes, twenty . . . . Sweat poured off Mondragon’s aquiline features, his normally pale face gone white. “Losing illusion,” he intoned. His head snapped forward, dropping into his hands.

  “We’re good for lightspeed, Captain,” the engineering officer announced.

  “Helm, level off. Abort evasive. K’kadi, Mondragon, you’ve gone above and beyond. I thank you, the entire crew thanks you.”

  “Not over,” Jagan ground out as the faux Astarte—which had led the three Fleet ships far astray while staying out of range of lasers, cannons, and missiles—winked off the hologlobe just past the hundred-mark range.

  “I know,” Tal said, “but you’ve granted us a second chance. Mr. Jorkan, get crew up here to help these men to their quarters. Helmsman, take us out of here.”

  Chapter 24

  “Sleeping like a baby,” Zee-Zee whispered in Kass’s ear as they peeked in on K’kadi. “Love to know how you do that lock thing,” she added as the two roommates entered their own room next door. “More Psyclid magic, huh?”

  “Simple telekinesis,” Kass mumbled as she dropped like a stone onto her bed. Dear goddess, may she never see another bridge shift like that as long as she lived! In the end, at Tal’s orders med techs had carried Jagan off the bridge on a pallet. But he hadn’t been too weak to quip as he passed her station, You didn’t tell me joining the rebellion was a suicide mission.

  Well aware of the debilitating but not lethal effects of using Psyclid talent to the max, Kass stopped worrying about Jagan. But K’kadi . . . what did he know of life and death situations? And she’d gotten him into this. It was all her fault.

  Yet without the two of them, they’d all be dead. Obviously, the goddess had plans she didn’t share with mere mortals.

  “Whew!” Zee-Zee breathed as she too flopped onto her bed after a quick trip to their minuscule bathing room. “Not that I’ve never been in a firefight before,” she qualified, “but never as a bull’s-eye for three Fleet warships. If I failed to say thank you to you and your Psyclid wizards, believe me it’s only because I swallowed my tongue when I saw that first salvo coming straight at us.”

  “I’ve only been in one firefight before,” Kass admitted. One real one, that is, and that was just two Tau-15s. But, believe me, I understand. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “But you held together, got K’kadi to disappear us. Mallick, but that was amazing. Who’d have thought that strange little kid had it in him? I mean, demos are one thing, but to do it under fire? Now your sorcerer guy, he wasn’t such a surprise. Just one look at him, and you know he’s got tricks nobody ever even heard of. But sending Fleet chasing off in the opposite direction? Wow, girl, that was hot!”

  “It’s not that I’m not glad to be alive,” Kass returned slowly, “but I suspect this is only the first skirmish. By now they’ve figured out they were conned, and they’ll hound us all the way home—no, that’s wrong,” Kass corrected. “They’ll go around us and be waiting at the next jumpgate . . . or the one after that.”

  “How will they know our route?”

  “If Tegge betrayed us, they’ll know we’re headed back to Tat, and it’s not like we have a wide choice of wormholes to take us there. And even if it isn’t Tegge, how many people on X-33 might have guessed we plan to rendezvous with Scorpio on Tat? We know we were watched. Those weren’t street thugs who shot at us on X-33. That was an assassination attempt, pure and simple. Neutral territory or not, it’s not difficult to guess a captain commanding the firepower of Astarte might be S’sorrokan. So somewhere along our route they’ll be waiting. Not just three ships, but a whole armada.”

  “Fyd, Kass. You never said you were that kind of psychic.”

  “Not psychic. Just logical.”

  Zee-Zee snorted her disgust. “Well, that’s a relief,” she pronounced. “How cheering to know Fate hasn’t guaranteed an armada looking down our throat. You know,” she added on a less sarcastic note, “what we need is a back door.”

  Back door, back door. “Ss-sh.” Kass flicked an imperative palm in Zee-Zee’s direction. No more talk. She needed to think. So much had happened since the Archives, but . . . Kass squeezed her eyes shut, picturing the old trader routes she had memor
ized from some of the Archive’s extensive quadrant maps. Maybe, just maybe . . .

  Re-energized, Kass scrambled off the bed. “I have to see the captain.” She straightened her clothes, made a quick detour into their closet-size bathing room, where she removed the combs and ties from her hair, allowing it to tumble free over her shoulders. Swiftly, she added eye enhancements, brushed her cheeks with a dash of color, and refurbished her lip gloss.

  “You talking escape plans with the captain,” Zee-Zee drawled as Kass reentered the bedroom, “or planning a seduction?”

  “Maybe both,” Kass tossed over her shoulder as she waved her fingers at the autosensor. The door to her quarters slid open.

  Tal Rigel, here I come.

  “If we can sustain this speed,” Dorn Jorkan said, “we can make Gate 828 in three days. Impossible for them to catch up in time.” Astarte’s three top officers were seated in Tal’s quarters, bottles of ripka scattered across the small table between them.

  “And no relay beacons out here to alert other ships to our escape,” Mical Turco added.

  “Unless Fleet set up multiple ambushes,” Tal pointed out. Silence while the three old friends digested that one.

  “So you think all the gates could be trapped?” Dorn asked.

  Tal ran his hands through his hair. “We have to assume so.”

  “How about we sneak through the blockade, courtesy of K’kadi?” Mical suggested.

  “We may have to chance it,” Tal returned, “but I have a feeling three days isn’t much recovery time for either of our wizards.”

  Dorn pursed his lips. “Would Kiolani know?”

  “I have a feeling combat is new to all of them,” Tal said. “Only trial and error is going to tell us how far they can go and for how long.”

  Dorn huffed a short breath. “And error isn’t possible with Fleet firing everything it’s got.” Grimly, Tal nodded.