Into his waiting groundcar, receiving an odd look as he ordered his driver to drop him off half-way through the Park of Titans, an attractive green space filled with trees, formal flower beds, and fountains that stretched a full kilometer from the royal palace to the ocean. Dismissing his transportation, the admiral sat on a bench overlooking a small pond filled with brightly colored fish and scrolled down the numbers in his handheld. For a moment before making the call, he sat, eyes shut, and asked himself how in the nine hells of Obsidias he had come to this point. To a here and now so diametrically opposed to the life he had envisioned. The life he’d lived for forty-five years.
He clicked on a number he should not have. A number he’d hoped to get from B’aela. A number that had, instead, cost him a fortune in bribes. The very private, close-held secret number of Admiral of the Fleet, Vander Rigel.
Blue Moon
They were all there—the masterminds of Psyclid’s freedom—seated around the conference table in the elegantly appointed room that was once part of King Ryal’s suite at Veranelle. Tal Rigel and Kass, Jagan Mondragon and his wife M’lani, Psyclid’s Princess Royal. The hard-headed Psyclid resistance leader, T’kal Killiri, and B’aela Flammia, the older of the two royal bastards and once mistress to two men of significant power—Jagan, Psyclid’s Sorcerer Prime and the Regulon admiral, Rand Kamal, former Governor General of Psyclid. Also present, though his role in Psyclid’s freedom had been negligible, was K’kadi Amund, bastard brother to Kass, M’lani, and B’aela, as well as budding sorcerer. The two Regulon spaceship captains, Alek Rybolt and Jordana Tegge, sat at the far end of the long table, observers of what was primarily a debate for Psyclids, even though they might be called upon to defend the threatened planet. To round out the list of familiar and trusted faces, Anton Stagg and Joss Quint, former Reg marines and Jagan’s long-time security detail, stood at parade rest on either side of the conference room door.
“You said they wouldn’t do it!” T’kal Killiri burst out, glowering at Tal.
“I didn’t think they would,” Tal returned, looking as thoroughly humbled as anyone had ever seen him. “It’s madness. Militarily, it makes no sense. Psyclid is useless to the Empire.”
“It was useless when they took it the first time,” Jagan shot back. “Just a blip in the sky that wasn’t flying the Reg flag.”
“I suppose it’s a point of pride,” Kass offered. “The emperor didn’t like getting kicked in the teeth.”
“May I point out that we’re fortunate Kamal warned us,” B’aela interjected.
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Tal’s lips curled into a grin and he bowed in her direction. “For which we are supremely grateful—to both of you.”
“Is he going to defect?”
Tal’s grin faded. “Like my father, he’s riding it out, hoping heritage and high rank will protect him. I suspect his loyalties are still on the fence. He’s honorable enough to warn us but not yet ready to become one of us.”
“Enough on B’aela’s love life,” T’kal growled. “What in the nine hells do we do to protect Psyclid? A battlecruiser, two hunterships, and a few armed merchants are flyspecks against an entire Reg battlegroup.” An uncomfortable silence followed as no one had a ready answer.
And then, six feet over their heads, an image formed, a clear representation of Psyclid, complete with continents and oceans. As they watched, alert to whatever K’kadi was suggesting, a shimmer of light formed, encirling the planet. A miniature Reg battlegroup approached, the lead ships suddenly hitting an invisible curtain, spiraling off into space.
“But how?” Kass breathed. “Blue Moon’s ridó was formed long ago, a privacy measure for one of my more paranoid ancestors. I’m not sure anyone knows how it was done. And it’s nothing compared to what we’d have to create for Psyclid.”
“We have an enlasé network in place,” Jagan said. “That’s how we took Psyclid back, if you’ll recall.”
“You think a giant enlasé . . . ?” Kass, eyes wide, shook her head, her voice trailing to silence.
“The grimoires in the Archives may hold a clue,” Jagan suggested. “I’m constantly amazed by some of those ancient spells. The secret of the ridó is likely in there somewhere. And meanwhile, if we can freeze Reg troops and weapons, we ought to be able to make an umbrella over our heads.”
“T’kal?” Tal turned to the man who had formed a Psyclid resistance when Fleet Captain Tal Rigel still commanded Orion in the name of the emperor.
The were, who was the product of powers more ancient than Psyclid magic, narrowed his eyes at Tal. “Why me?”
“You’re an engineer, a construction specialist, and I trust your judgment. Can Psyclid build a ridó?”
“In time for the emperor’s attack? No.”
“Can it be built?”
T’kal frowned. “I’m no expert on force fields, but I assume we have people who are. They can study Blue Moon’s ridó, reverse engineer it, but best guess . . . a year, eight months if we’re lucky.”
“Do it.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You’re in charge, Killiri. Get the job done.”
K’kadi promptly sent the remainder of the Reg battlegroup spinning off into space.
Tal studied the faces of those who lived on Psyclid—Jagan, M’lani, T’kal, and B’aela. “If enlasé fails and you can’t build a ridó in time, we won’t desert you. We will fight.”
“And die,” T’kal snarled. “Better to let us go, Rigel. I want the fydding emperor gone, and it’s never going to happen if you sacrifice yourself for a planet at the back end of nowhere.”
Tal, looking every inch the arrogant son of a long line of arrogant Regulon sons, leaned back in his chair and after a significant look at T’kal Killiri, informed him, “But Psyclids are my secret weapon. There’s no way I’m letting you go.”
“May the goddess help us all,” B’aela murmured.
Chapter 5
Blue Moon, three weeks later
They waited, the crews of Astarte, Scorpio, and Tycho on edge, expecting the call to battle at any moment. On Psyclid B’aela had taken on the task of studying the ancient books of spells in the Crystal City Archives, while Jagan and M’lani explored the possibility of creating a force field using enlasé, and T’kal headed a group of experts studying the all-too-mysterious mechanics of Blue Moon’s ridó. The results so far were disappointing. Invisibility, telekinesis, immobility—no problem. A barrier that could deflect Reg missiles—not so much.
Torn between guilt and frustration, Tal could do little more than pace his office, wondering how he’d been stupid enough not to anticipate the ultimate reprisal, the destruction of Psyclid. When he’d realized what Psyclids could do, when he’d seen their determination to free themselves from the occupation, it had been so easy to ignore the consequences. After all, he’d been one of Darroch’s fair-haired warriors for a decade, had received medals from the emperor’s own hand. There was even von Baalen blood somewhere on his family tree. He hadn’t really believed Darroch would go this far.
It was his fault. The rebellion was going to go down in flames here and now because he could not, would not, stand by and let a Reg battlegroup turn Psyclid to cinders.
“Captain. Captain Rigel . . .?”
Tal, snapping back to the present, gave his aide, Jor Sagan, a curt nod.
“A communique through the Reg relay, sir. I’ve uploaded it to your handheld.” Before taking his leave, Sagan couldn’t resist adding, “Good news, Captain.” A swift salute and he scurried out, softly closing the door behind him.
A half-hour later, the members of Blue Moon’s inner circle listened with varying degrees of astonishment as Tal passed along the message from his father. “Admiral Rigel reports that although he suspects only the prestige and patriotism associated with the House of Rigel since ancient times is keeping him on the High Council, and although Rand Kamal is in serious disfavor for surrendering Psyclid, moderate tempers ha
ve prevailed. Even the most militant council members have advised the emperor that destroying Psyclid is a waste of time and effort. And most of all, a waste of money best spent subduing the Nyx and turning their eyes toward Hercula.” Tal looked from Kass to K’kadi to Alek and Jordana. “It would appear fortune smiles, Psyclid is safe.”
“For now.” Of all those absorbing the good news, Captain Alek Rybolt appeared the most grim.
Tal nodded. “Unfortunately, we were part of Fleet long enough to know how swiftly things can change. I’ll inform Jagan and T’kal of the good news, but I’ll tell them to keep working on some kind of full-planet shield.”
“Don’t you need Mondragon for the wormhole recce?”
“I do. That’s back to the top of the list now Psyclid’s been given a pass.”
“Taking Jagan away from building a ridó for Psyclid is too risky,” Kass declared. “Killiri can handle the tech part, but global enlasé . . .”
Into the gloomy silence, a voice in their heads said, Me.
Tal didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “That’s asking a lot, K’kadi. You’ve come a long way from our first trip to Crystalia, but this might be asking too m—”
A black cloud formed above their heads, lightning flashed . . . a rumble of thunder was silenced mid-clap as K’kadi’s hand sliced through the air in angry dismissal. He stood tall and proud, every inch the son of a king. Long ago. Not now.
“K’kadi,” Kass said, her voice pitched at its most soothing, “are you quite sure—”
“I’ll consider it,” Tal snapped, cutting off the discussion. “We’ll finalize our plans, see if the situation with Psyclid remains stable and then I’ll decide.” A wave of his hand and his two captains hastened out. One last prideful glare and K’kadi followed them, leaving Tal and Kass to silent doubts neither wanted to put into words. Finally Kass heaved a soulful sigh and said, “I’ve known him all my life, worked with him for hours on end, scolded him, been awed by him, loved him . . . and I still haven’t the slightest idea if he can handle the job.”
“We need this scouting expedition—if there’s no back door to Regula Prime, our children may still be fighting the rebellion fifty years from now. I can’t make plans until I know. And yet I can’t take Jagan away from Psyclid while there’s any possibility of a threat.”
“B’aela was right,” Kass murmured. “May the goddess help us all.”
Rather than admit to the doubts that sometimes haunted her, Kass slipped out of Veranelle and headed for her favorite brooding spot, the g’zebo in the forest. She strode down the path, looking neither left nor right, ignoring the serene beauty around her, the cacophony of bird calls, even the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead. Yes, the rebellion had to continue. Yes, she must play her part. But sometimes, yes sometimes, envy swept over her, battering her devotion to the cause. Her parents, her sisters, Jagan, T’kal, and all the others who had fought so hard for Psyclid freedom were free to lead lives of peace, raise families, while she . . .
Well, maybe not Jagan. His powers were too great for Tal not to use him as a weapon in the continuing struggle against Regula Prime. But M’lani . . . Fizzet! Kass winced. She couldn’t be jealous of her little sister. She simply couldn’t.
Yet there it was in all its ugliness. M’lani was settling into a normal life—if the life of a Princess Royal could ever be called normal—while Kass was about to embark on the next step of what seemed like an endless staircase stretching into the heavens, a quest with a happy ending highly unlikely.
There, she’d admitted it! If ever she’d needed the comforting solitude of the g’zebo . . . Kass stumbled to a halt, a blaze of fury cutting through both guilt and despair. Someone dared to sit in her g’zebo? Just when she needed it so badly her teeth ached? Kass charged forward, so determined to oust the intruder she failed to take a good look at her.
“Highness!” Alala’s sword clanked on the g’zebo floor as she went to one knee before the ruler of Blue Moon.
Silently, Kass muttered a few words stronger than fizzet. Alala the troublemaker, that’s all the morning needed to be a total disaster. She drew a deep breath, before stalking across the wooden floor with exaggerated dignity until she reached her favorite spot, the exact center of the built-in bench at the rear. She sat, looking with disgust at Alala, who remained with one knee on the floor, head bent, unmoving.
She should shoo the girl away, exactly as she’d intended, but pok, dimi, and fyd! she’d been raised with duty front and center from the moment she was born. Alala was not only a foreign visitor but the sole representative of a people Tal planned to solicit for aid in fighting the Empire. And no one knew better than Kass the loneliness of being a stranger in a strange land. But the blasted girl had caused so much trouble . . .
Kass’s voice was sharper than intended as she said, “Alala, come here and sit. Tell me what has you hiding in the woods.” The girl bounced to her feet with an alacrity Kass could only envy, though bits of the Herculon warrior’s customary truculence shown through as she sat, leaving a good six feet of bench between them. “Well?” Kass demanded.
“Perhaps I should ask you the same question, Highness. Why else does a woman hide herself away but to commune with her soul?”
Kass, unaccustomed to being spoken to in this manner by anyone—including Tal who was a no-nonsense soldier to the core—came close to sending Alala flying to the top of the highest tree. How dare Alala speak to her with such familiarity?
Because this girl comes from a warrior star system almost as aggressive as Regula Prime. Because she was raised to fear magic. Because she cannot understand or respect a people raised to be pacifists. And in spite of what the Psyclids did to free themselves, Kass had to admit the only bloodshed on Psyclid Freedom Day was on the winning side. If, that is, one didn’t count the three rogue Reg pilots, all taken out by Reg rebels, not by Psyclids. Alala seemed to respect Tal and Alek, but she had never seen Kass, M’lani, Jagan, or the Sorcerer Prime in a real battle. Perhaps, as ruler of Blue Moon, she should try for a bit more tolerance. Hard as it was.
“I am aware that our philosophies of life are quite different,” Kass offered, struggling to see herself through Alala’s eyes. “I was raised to peace, you to war. But I knew the day would come when Psyclid would need to defend itself, which was one of the reasons I was determined to attend the Regulon Space Academy. And, yes, I was bored with my life on Psyclid. I longed for something different, more exciting than the life of a pampered princess. I fear I am a classic case of ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ The excitement I got was far greater than anything I ever dreamed of. And now, part of me longs to stay on Blue Moon—live, love, raise children in peace and serenity and forget the rest of the galaxy exists. Can you understand that, I wonder? Or do you long to get back into battle?”
Alala’s stiff posture suddenly deflated; she let out a soft sigh, a feminine sigh quite unlike anything Kass had heard from her before. “You are mistaken, Highness. As I suspect I have been mistaken about Psyclids. Yes, I will be happy to fight the Regulons, if that is the decision of my king and his First Advisor, my father. But that is not why I am here today, communing with my soul.”
“Do you wish to speak of it? I have, after all, let you see my—ah—unease. Perhaps speaking our thoughts out loud will help both of us to better clarity.”
Alala kept her head bent, eyes on the floor. “My thoughts are exceedingly ironic, Highness. You will laugh at me.”
“Not today. I have no laughter left in me.”
“Then your day is ready to do an about-face.”
What? Though frustrated by a view of nothing more than a long fall of Alala’s straight black hair, Kass began to catch a glimmer of the problem. Surely not!
“Your brother no longer follows me around,” Alala said. “No hearts made of roses, no rainbows, no fireworks, no music. All day he trains, he becomes a man, strong of body, like a Herculon. And I realize, sorcerer though he may be, I mi
ss the Psyclid boy and his pretty pictures. I even miss being angry with him.”
Dear goddess, what a coil! And it was true, Kass realized. Since Psyclid Freedom Day there had been no incidents between K’kadi and Alala. Nor had there been any illusions from K’kadi. Not even fireworks. Sometime in the long months while Kass worried about the many wounded—including M’lani, T’kal, Jagan, and his two marines . . . While she helped Tal plan the long-awaited exploration of the lost jumpgates into Reg space she had found during her confinement in the Regulon Interplanetary Archives . . . And while distracted by the Emperor’s threat of imminent attack on the Psyclid system . . . K’kadi had grown up.
Which brought her back to why she was here. Instead of accepting the reality of the rebellion, taking it one step at a time, and disciplining herself to wait for the day of triumph, as K’kadi’s vision had promised, she’d let the fizzeting enormity of it swamp her.
But just how reliable were K’kadi’s visions? Since putting boyhood behind him, he had painted no pictures at all. Because his visions were as fanciful as his illusions? Kass felt the last of her anger drain away. She knew her little brother better than anyone, and still he was what a great man of twentieth century earth had once called “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” The goddess only knew what K’kadi was capable of, or what he might become.
“Alala, you are not listed for the recce to Regula Prime, as we do not plan to land and don’t expect to need a warrior. But I can’t help wonder . . . now that you and K’kadi are not actively engaged in warfare, perhaps it would be a good idea for you to see how the rebellion functions beyond the safety of Psyclid space? Would you like to go with us?”
The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Page 4
