Empress Game 2

by Rhonda Mason

  He looked exactly like she remembered, with the exception of his eyes. His aqua gaze was startlingly direct and intense to the point of fierceness. He stared without seeming to blink, those gorgeous lips tight, and the silent agitation about him seemed to translate itself into Corinth, who looked like a mini-replica of Vayne. It was enough to make Cinni glance away, discomfited.

  A female Ilmenan with a lavender bob and the look of command stepped forward. “You came through the Tear from Ordoch?” The woman seemed impressed by the fact, though not completely surprised. She must rank high enough among the Ilmenans aiding the Ordochian rebels to be aware of the Tear’s existence.

  Cinni nodded, gathering the wits scattered by the resurrection of the royal Ordochians. “Cinni Purl, part of the resistance on Ordoch.”

  The Ilmenan woman smiled. “Well met. I’m Tia’tan, and this is Noar, Luliana and Joffar.” The names slid by so fast Cinni knew she wouldn’t remember. “I’d heard about the Tear, but to see it…”

  “You should try traveling it,” Cinni quipped, making her way down the rest of the ramp and into the landing bay, subtly turning away from Vayne and his absently smiling uncle.

  Where had they been? How had they survived? What did they plan now?

  Gintoc’s voice boomed through the ship’s comms, thankfully removing her attention from Vayne. “Cinni,” Gintoc said into the speaker, “welcome you are. New parts now?”

  That was Gintoc, always on task. Cinni walked to the bay’s comm and flipped it on. “Right away, Gintoc. Along with a double helping of shallot, truffle and burgundy soup. You’d better have made some progress since Phan’s last report or I’m here to fire you, old man!”

  She appreciated the chuckle that sounded through the comm, being so rare from him. “I’ll be right down to inspect your hard work,” she said. He answered with something she couldn’t translate, which was probably for the best.

  * * *

  An hour later, Vayne was no closer to understanding what the frutt was going on.

  The crew had trundled all the food to the commissary, and Abenifluis—Benny, he reminded himself—cooked a meal that had the crew sighing in pleasure. Vayne was two seconds from standing on a table and demanding answers when Ida finished eating and fixed her attention on him.

  “Eyes are boiling from questions, Vayne.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder. “Present them.”

  Where to start? The Tear? The ship itself? The drive repair parts? Ordochians somehow traveling through space on foot? Or why the frutt the crew was so bonkers over food?

  Cinni arrived before he could ask a thing. She was armed with a plasma bullpup and towed a man Vayne didn’t recognize by the sleeve. Must be Gintoc, the engine chief. He’d met Larsa earlier, Gintoc’s assistant.

  Ida’s brow rose at Cinni’s entrance, and the girl made a so-so gesture with her hand, which Ida seemed to accept with a sigh. Cinni pulled the PDW—personal defense weapon, as they’d called them back in Ida’s day—off her shoulder by the strap and stowed it in a rack at the commissary’s entrance. The rack held several PDWs, all plasma weapons. Plasma blasts passed through telekinetic psi shields effortlessly.

  Cinni and Gintoc made their way to the remains of the buffet Benny had created. Vayne stood, unable to contain his frustration a second longer.

  “First off.” He turned his attention to Tia’tan. “Why was the Radiant bringing fuel to the Yari, and what is all this talk about ‘fixing?’ Are you thinking of flying a five-hundred-year-old ship out of here?”

  Cinni answered before Tia’tan. “That’s the plan. And not quite ‘flying,’ more like jumping out of here, catching a hyperstream.”

  “Is that even possible inside the Mine Field?” He leaned against the cabinet behind him to keep from pacing.

  Cinni looked at Tanet, who was scraping the remains of dinner from his plate. The physicist finished a final scoop of the saucy bits, then cleared his throat.

  “Seems possible. This space of pocket sufficient.”

  It was hard to remember that the crew spoke with perfect fluency in their own dialect when they sounded like disjointed children to him.

  “To what end, though?” Vayne asked. “What are you going to do with an ancient, half-finished ship?”

  “The most important part of the Yari is finished,” Cinni said. “The weapon systems.”

  “At this point, I’d say the hyperstream drive is the most important part, or those weapons are useless.”

  “Correct.” Gintoc nodded without looking away from his plate of food. “Utmost importance of the ship being the engine. Always.”

  “In either case,” Cinni said, “the artillery on the Yari is still the most devastating combination of weapons to date. Both Ilmena and Ordoch scaled down their weapon programs after the Second Ilmenan War, and the rest fell into disrepair over the centuries as politics in this system stabilized and interplanetary conflict became a thing of the past.”

  Tia’tan spoke. “Based on the specs we have of imperial weaponry, the Yari’s arsenal is still a match for the imperials’ current ships.”

  “Wait—you’re not talking about the cannons and missiles. You mean the PD.” The idea was so amazingly reckless that he couldn’t be right.

  For once, Ida wasn’t smiling. “If the need is ours.”

  Vayne looked from one face to the other. “You cannot be serious.” They looked damn serious. Cinni most of all. Even Tia’tan didn’t seem surprised.

  The PD was a “Planetary Decimator.” A massive burst from the PD could cause extinction-level events on a planet’s surface. The weapon was so powerful—too powerful—that once the fervor of war had passed, each side agreed it was for the best that the Yari had been lost before it reached Ilmena.

  “Did you all forget?” He looked at each of the crew in turn. “It was the initial testing and power-up of the PD that tore space in the first place and ripped the Yari through that freak wormhole. That weapon, not even fired, is responsible for your exile here.”

  They were insane. Every last one of them. Cinni too, if she went along with it. Frutt, even Tia’tan seemed to buy into this horrific idea.

  “It’s the best chance we have,” Cinni said, sounding a little defensive.

  ::What about refitting Ilmena’s battleships?:: Corinth asked the room. He, at least, looked as repulsed as Vayne about the insane idea of firing the PD.

  Noar nodded as if agreeing with Corinth. Okay, so maybe there were three rational people in the room. “We’re working on it,” Noar said. “It is taking longer than hoped for. We didn’t react quickly enough to the coup on Ordoch.” Noar’s face looked solemn. “I regret to say that we did not take the threat seriously. Even once the empire had made its move on Ordoch, we assumed the Ordochians would take care of them in short order. We waited—longer than we should have—to take any action.”

  “Then we wasted time with diplomacy,” Tia’tan said, cutting a look to Noar, who shrugged.

  “It wasn’t—”

  A husky, rarely heard voice cut Noar off. “Once the imperials had killed our parents and harmed our people, the time for diplomacy was passed. You should have acted.” Everyone froze, then slowly, all gazes turned to Natali. She hadn’t sat when they entered the room, and from her superior height she looked down on them all with condemnation. Everyone except Vayne. Her gaze never wandered in his direction.

  “We’re acting now,” Tia’tan said quietly into the hush. Natali’s gaze bore into her, and Tia’tan straightened her spine.

  “Right!” Ida said. She rubbed her hands together as if eager to get started. “Action is now. Gintoc! The time is come to showing off your engine. Progress to observe. Yes?”

  Gintoc rose without answering, shoveling the last bites of his meal into his mouth even as he walked to the door. Cinni gave Ida an exasperated smile, then followed Gintoc, grabbing her PDW off the rack as she went. Larsa, Benny and Ariel all took one of the plasma bullpups from the rack before foll
owing.

  Vayne caught Ida before she hustled after them. “What’s with the weapons?”

  Ariel muttered something about stepa at es, and Ida waved it away with a smile, even as she grabbed a bullpup.

  “Is protocol, though no one stephad in time long. Come. We lead you safe. Ariel!” Ida called ahead. “Finding the parts of Cinni. Larsa, escort.”

  They both nodded in a way that reminded him they’d been military for centuries, and peeled off into another corridor. Ida looped the strap of the bullpup over her head and held the gun loosely, not quite casually enough to set him at ease.

  ::Shield:: he told Corinth. Vayne did the same.

  What the void were they walking into?

  17

  FALANAR

  Kayla, back in her Lady Evelyn disguise, sat in the interviewee chair on a cozy set at Falanar City’s premier news station. Bright lights heated her skin as Madame Lin Fan, seated across from her, scanned her datapad, reviewing the interview questions one last time before the live interview began. A drop of sweat trickled between Kayla’s breasts. The fabric of her dress instantly wicked it away and another took its place. Then another.

  Her time as Isonde had officially come to an end.

  This morning, the morning of the highly anticipated wedding of Isonde and Ardin, Kayla wore a different persona, that of Lady Evelyn. Another false identity it may be, but the face was her own, at least. For the first time in over a month she bared her own face in public. When she spoke, people heard her real voice. It should have been a relief. Instead, she felt exposed, vulnerable, naked.

  Madame Lin Fan had wanted to interview Isonde, of course—everyone did. Isonde refused all requests. Lin Fan happily settled for doing the very first interview with “Lady Evelyn” since her reemergence into society. Evelyn was Isonde’s chief attendant for the wedding. Essentially the most important person beyond the couple themselves, so all eyes would be watching Madame Lin Fan’s broadcast this morning.

  The woman positively cackled with glee.

  Was it too late to back out?

  Then the vidcam activated and Lin Fan’s smile glowed to life. “Welcome! Welcome to the show, my friends. Today I have a very special guest with me, Princess Isonde’s dearest friend, confidante, and of course, her chief attendant at the wedding—Lady Evelyn.”

  The woman’s words slid over Kayla in a happy buzz perfectly suited to today’s events. Kayla forced a smile and nodded graciously as Lin Fan enthused about having her as a guest on the show. She segued from there right into the interview.

  “It’s terrible that you had a bout of the Virian flu. That’s a nasty one, and sometimes fatal! I understand you had quite a long recovery.”

  Kayla nodded. A flu. Sure.

  “Now that you’ve battled through it, do you have any suggestions or tips for anyone else out there afraid of catching it?”

  Kayla said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Take your vaccinations seriously.”

  Lin Fan laughed like it was a great joke. She asked a few more questions about “Evelyn,” then turned toward the true subject of the interview. She started off easy, asking about Isonde’s dress, the arrangements, enthusing about how wonderful it was that the Low Divine agreed to preside over the ceremony when she never performs weddings… then got to the digging:

  Was Ardin and Isonde’s story truly a love story, or a political ploy? How surprised was Evelyn that Isonde managed to win the Empress Game? Did the world know the true Isonde? What was Isonde’s association with the IDC? Why wasn’t Isonde’s father coming to Falanar for the wedding—was there a nasty family split?

  The questions came one on top of each other, always with a smile, always with an empathetic “mmhmm” from Lin Fan, but they had needle-sharp accuracy. Kayla found herself wobbling on more than one of them.

  “Thank you so much for being my guest today, Lady Evelyn,” Lin Fan finally said, with a thankful smile and a congenial pat on her wrist.

  Isonde owed Kayla one for sticking her with this surprisingly grueling interview.

  “Now,” Lin Fan said, “I know you need to hurry off and get ready for the ceremony. One last question, if you don’t mind?”

  Yes, she did mind.

  “Of course not.”

  Lin Fan’s teeth gleamed in the intense lighting as she smiled, like a predator with perfect fang alignment. “I understand that Isonde has a close relationship with those… Wyrds.” Her nose scrunched on the word, and she made a moue with her mouth as if she’d tasted something sour. Kayla’s hackles rose. “Some sort of,” Lin Fan lowered her voice here and leaned in, “alliance. Does such an association with suspected terrorists make Isonde unfit to sit on the Council of Seven?”

  Kayla’s mouth dropped open.

  She was so incensed she wasn’t even certain what she’d say. A million fiery words leapt to her tongue at the audacity of anyone from the empire casting disparagement on her people. When she drew breath to reply, a light, frothy music cut across the audio, blocking any attempt to speak.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s all the time we have for today,” Lin Fan said, with a knowing glint in her eye. “Thank you again for chatting with me this morning, Lady Evelyn, and we’ll see you at the wedding!”

  Holy shit, the bitch had set her up.

  Now the only thing people would remember was that last line hanging in the air, and Kayla’s inability to instantly counter the accusation.

  Isonde was going to be pissed.

  * * *

  Malkor, in full ceremonial IDC dress, stood alone on the second of the massive steps that led to the Basilica of the Dawn. He, along with billions of others across the empire, awaited the start of the royal wedding.

  A breeze had risen with the sun and blown off the clouds. Now the jewel-bright blue sky stretched overhead and the wind settled to a whisper, its breath fluttering the pennants ringing the immense basilica grounds.

  Below him, hundreds upon hundreds of spectators covered every available centimeter of lawn. Unease snaked through him as he scanned the immense crowd for potential trouble.

  At the moment he stood alone on the basilica’s grand steps. The rest of the wedding party would stand with him, above the crowd, when they arrived. At the foot of the steps, gaily decorated barricades blocked access to the wedding party and marked the front of the seated section. Crowded into the gilt chairs were the royally invited guests, people most important to Isonde and Ardin—or their political careers.

  Beyond that, the humongous yard of the basilica grounds had been opened for any and all who wanted to attend. A savvy move on Isonde’s part. She’d established her position among the leaders of the empire already—today was all about convincing the general populace that she was a leader “for the people.”

  Of course, most of “the people” of the empire couldn’t afford to travel to the Sovereign Planets themselves, never mind Falanar. Nonetheless, the gesture endeared her to the masses. Everyone felt included in her day of joy, in her triumph of becoming Ardin’s wife, the empress-apparent and a member of the Council of Seven.

  The day should have been blissful, the atmosphere as joyous as the weather. At any other time he’d expect guests in their very finest—gowns, gloves, hats, jewels; enough to bankrupt a Protectorate Planet. Instead the crowd was an uneasy mix of gaiety and trepidation. Fear of the TNV wove tangled threads through the celebration. At least half of the seated elite wore copper-colored gloves of a tissue-thin metallic fabric and masks of one type or another.

  Masks.

  As if the TNV were only airborne. As if a nanite wasn’t small enough to crawl into a skin pore and break the body down from the dermis inward.

  Those people shifted constantly in their seats, careful not to touch their neighbors, twitching the fabric of their skirts and robes this way and that to avoid any contact. Beside them the less paranoid elite wore their finery with pride and laughed in the face of their cohorts’ fears.

  The ranks of co
mmoners beyond the seated guests were an equally volatile mix. Half looked like they were having a day at a fair, and half looked like they’d come to witness a tragedy. The unspoken question, “What will go wrong this time?” hung in the air.

  A disaster waiting to happen.

  Malkor had said as much to the army colonel in charge of security, who agreed. A large contingent of soldiers patrolled the grounds. More lined the basilica’s outer fence and kept guard at the gates, making sure that the crowd outside didn’t push inside and turn the event into a mob scene. The soldiers were darkly clad, somber, armed and very, very edgy.

  He expected the feeling, considering a fanatical patriot had interrupted the first wedding by trying to unleash the TNV on the empire’s leaders. Malkor could still hear Trebulan’s shouted words, still see Kayla, in Isonde’s wedding gown, leaping from the dais and tackling Trebulan to the ground. Could still feel his heart in his throat as he realized she might have been exposed to the TNV.

  Enough. That won’t happen this time. It couldn’t. Not to Kayla, and not to Ardin and Isonde, two of his closest friends since childhood.

  He reviewed the security protocols again.

  The imperial army occupied each building adjacent to the basilica square. Soldiers secured every window and stood guard on the rooftops, assuring that all would-be sniper perches were eliminated. No assassination attempt could come from that quarter.

  Traffic had been rerouted for kilometers beyond the basilica with the exception of transport for the elite guests, who had biometrically confirmed invitations. Everyone else, rich and poor, walked their way here.

  The screening of guests had started at dawn and Malkor and his octet had been here to observe. Technically the imperial army—not the IDC—controlled security inside Falanar. Ardin had granted Malkor and his octet special dispensation to carry arms in this case.

  The first screening station, at the outer end of the basilica’s long drive, screened for the TNV, biological or chemical weapons. Once a guest passed through successfully, they walked a lengthy “sterile path” cordoned off from the rest of the street. Then they reached the weapons checkpoint. No guests, no matter how highly ranked, were allowed to carry a weapon—bodyguards included. After passing both checkpoints, guests were allowed to enter the basilica grounds.