Rebel Princess(10)

"Someone might have told me."

"Sorry, but I think the captain wanted to surprise you."

Surprise? If she had a weak heart, she'd be dead.

"Uh, Kiolani, don't get too excited. I guess the captain told you the  Hierarchy wants to run a few tests . . . You need to get by them before  we can turn you loose."

She could do it, Kass vowed. She could grit her teeth and stand up to  whatever they tossed at her, as long as it meant she'd be free to roam  Blue Moon.

And if none of this was real? Logic dictated that a rebel base could not  possibly be on occupied Psyclid's third moon. And yet . . .

Sgt. Quint handed her a tissue. In spite of the tears running down her  cheeks, Kass smiled. Guess Imperial Marines truly were prepared for  anything. She scrubbed her face, tossed the crumpled tissue into the  nearest disintegration receptacle, and flashed a smile at her two  escorts. "Let's go. I want to breathe Psyclid air again."

A short trip on Blue Moon's shuttle-far more luxurious than Gemma's-and  Kass's feet were on Psyclid soil. She hadn't planned it, but as they  exited the land terminal, her knees bent of their own accord and she  pressed her forehead to the glowing warmth of the faustone walkway.  Meshug! Not even soil, and you're embarrassing yourself!

After a moment of respect for her emotional reaction, Lieutenant Stagg  hauled Kass to her feet and guided her toward a waiting groundcar. The  driver was Psyclid. As they approached, Kass saw his green eyes widen,  his jaw drop. She shot him a warning look, and he turned his shock into a  hacking cough, bending his graying head over the steering wheel. S'fed  Rao. He had taught her to drive.

Kass stumbled as she climbed into the rear seat of the groundcar, her  eyes once again misting over at the sight of a familiar face. So long,  so very long away from her own kind. Too long. Pain and guilt warred  with joy. Impossible to be away for eight years and not question  decisions made in another lifetime. What would have happened if she had  stayed home, lived the life ordained for her . . . ?

What could it possibly matter? Speculation was absurd, a waste of time.  Nor could she afford to indulge in nostalgia, no matter how many  memories beckoned. It was time to remember who and what she was, as well  as who and what she was supposed to be.

Kass turned to Stagg, who was seated beside her. "Over the past few  days, Lieutenant, it has been difficult to know who my friends are. I  have had a lot to think about, and I realize I should have said thank  you. The risk you and Sergeant Quint took, removing me from the  Archives, humbles me. No, no, don't protest. At the time, of course, I  thought you were really Imperial Marines and I was the only one at risk.  Now . . . it appears I was wrong. At least I hope so. I would hate to  think my return to Blue Moon was a well-laid trap."

"Never, dama." Stagg appeared truly shocked. "It was a privilege to be chosen to free you."

Interesting. On Psyclid soil the lieutenant was adopting Psyclid manners. Captain's orders?

But the beauty of Blue Moon was calling. Kass stared out the groundcar's  window, sucking it in, like a person who had just crossed the Sebi  Desert gulping water from the supreme glory of a bubbling spring.  Nothing had changed. They were traveling through a long tunnel of  towering trees and dense underbrush. The sun filtered through the  canopy, sparking off leaves more blue than green, creating the ethereal  aqua haze that enveloped the groundcar and everyone in it. So much so,  Kass noted, the lieutenant's coat was closer to purple than red.         

     



 

Blue Moon. Here she had been happier than any other place she'd ever been. Although the bridge of Orion had been a close second.

"Lieutenant, can I assume Orion is as alive and well as her crew?"

He flashed a big grin. "Sure can. She's the Astarte now, flagship of the  rebel fleet. Only huntership we've got. We reconfigured her ID and  hopefully the Regs didn't recognize her."

Astarte. Flagship. Tal Rigel.

Tal Rigel, who had defied the Hierarchy to rescue her from the Archives. Which almost certainly indicated . . .

Tal . . . S'sorrokan? Kass's heart clenched. Of course he was  S'sorrokan. How could she have been so dense? The legendary leader of  the rebellion was her own Tal Rigel.

No. S'sorrokan was ex-Fleet Captain Talryn Rigel, a cold, goal-oriented monster who only looked like her Tal Rigel.

Kass's grim thoughts evaporated as Veranelle came in sight. Except for a  wide variety of groundcars scattered along the semicircular drive in  haphazard fashion, it looked the same as ever. A graceful structure of  pinkish stone turned lavender in Blue Moon's haze, its graceful towers  and turrets were modest, as befitted a palace once used only during the  hot Psyclid summers. The roof tiles were white, and sunlit glass  sparkled from three stories of arched windows. A fairytale castle,  though no royal flag flew from the highest peak.

Kass sighed. For a moment, she had allowed herself to hope . . .

No parking along the outer drive for their groundcar. The guard waved  them under a soaring stone archway and into the inner courtyard, where  Kass was delighted to see a fountain still played, surrounded by flowers  in nearly every color of the rainbow. Pok! If her eyes kept misting  over, she was going to miss something vital.

Like the eyes peering from every window and door-a vast array of  Psyclids and Regulons staring at the woman S'sorrokan had risked his  life, and those of his most trusted officers and crew, to retrieve.  Though her empathic gifts were not great, Kass could feel the shock  waves, at least from all the Psyclids hiding in the shadows of window  drapes, silk curtains, and arched doorways.

Ah! If she had had any idea of what this day would bring, she would have  stuffed her well-worn jumpsuit full of tissues, for standing at the  foot of the broad front steps was B'ram Biryani. He was as tall and thin  as an Arcturian polecat, in the way of Psyclid men who concentrated on  exercising their minds instead of their bodies. The elderly majordomo  stood straight and proud, his short blue-white hair topping a face as  thin and pallid as his body. B'ram Biryani, still on duty, and looking  as superior as ever.

How many times had she seen him stand just so, waiting to greet  Veranelle's guests? Except . . . when greeting the Orlondamis, he had  always allowed a welcoming smile to break through his professional  façade. Today, Biryani looked merely resigned, with perhaps a hint that  he was attempting to reject a bad smell in the air. Kass almost laughed  out loud. She could not imagine the old man adjusting his high standards  to a houseful of rebels. If it hadn't been so painful, it would almost  be funny.

Not funny. She was about to encounter someone who knew her-face-on, in  front of Lt. Stagg, Sgt. Quint, two household guards, and a surprising  number of onlookers who had suddenly materialized in the courtyard.





Chapter 7


Although Kass's telepathic gifts had never been strong, she did her  best, sending a chaotic thought-mix of warning and reassurance to the  old man standing there, waiting to greet this latest addition to the  Regulon infestation. Pok! It had been so long, she wasn't sure she was  getting through at all. But surely successful majordomos needed empathic  powers to rise to the top of their profession.

Kass stepped out of the car, still sending. As she walked toward the  older man, head high, she noticed his uniform, pale blue with royal blue  piping and silver buttons, hung on him. Biryani had lost weight. Old  age or stress? Probably both.

Perhaps her thought waves weren't as feeble as she feared, for  Veranelle's majordomo didn't so much as blink. "Midama, welcome to  Veranelle. It is my pleasure to show you to your room." But as Kass  followed the faithful servant up the broad steps into the palace, he  added softly, "My abject apologies, Your-dama-but I was told to put you  in the Round Tower. Not at all suitable, but I had no idea-"

"Anything is acceptable, Biryani, as long as it's on Blue Moon. And my name is Kass Kiolani."

"Of course, dama," he responded smoothly. "And may I say we are all  happy to have you back, however . . . awkward the circumstances."

Awkward. Trust Biryani to have a name for what she was feeling. Awkward  to come home and be thrust into an out-of-the-way suite of rooms usually  reserved for guests with a penchant for nocturnal wanderings. Kass  supposed she should thank the goddess it wasn't a dungeon. To the  Hierarchy she was likely just another weird Psyclid, doubly damned by  being guilty of distracting S'sorrokan from his primary purpose.         

     



 

With Lt. Stagg and Sgt. Quint trailing behind, the majordomo opened the  heavy wooden door into the Round Tower and led the way up a rather fine  circular staircase, distinguished by a gilded bannister. Not a prison,  actually, but a private apartment for guests with eccentricities or odd  sexual habits the king and queen did not care to have displayed before  the delicate sensibilities of their children. Kass smiled. Maybe not  such a bad place after all, though the isolation reminded her all too  clearly of her prison at the Archives.