Rebel Princess(23)

A whoosh of pent-up breath seemed to deflate the colorful Regulon to  nearly Psyclid size. She offered a whispered "thank you" and thrust out  her hand for a shake so hearty Kass almost winced.

In a soft swish of fabric so bright it glowed in the dark, Dace Pliska  disappeared into the shadows. Dear goddess. Either they had three new  recruits, or they'd just walked into a well-laid trap.





Chapter 14


Kass sipped her ripka, while casually searching the room one small  section at a time, following Tal's progress. Foolish to hide her growing  irritation. She suspected a smuggler's woman wouldn't follow the creed  of don't-make-a-scene that Kass had adhered to since her last temper  tantrum at age three. (Well, except for the krall.) And yet calling  attention to themselves in a place like this could be remarkably unwise.  Tal had disappeared into a small alcove off the main taverna, where she  suspected he was talking with some of the best-known and wide-ranging  freighter captains currently on Tatarus, gathering intel. Good. That's  what they were here for. That's what was important.

But if she couldn't see Tal, he couldn't see her, which put her all  alone in a bar full of dominant-type males and a very few women who  seemed to come in four categories-servers, tough space jockeys in their  own right, space groupies, or women for hire. And at the moment not one  of them was alone. Only Kass Kiolani. Pok! This, then, was her role in  the rebellion. S'sorrokan's abandoned moll. And cover story.

Men at several different tables, not to mention the ones standing at the  bar, kept turning their heads her way. Only the Nyx seemed indifferent,  but then she probably looked as ugly to him as he did to her. Kass  stifled a wince as the cacophony of sound around her beat against her  ears. Regulon, well spiced with colorful words form the entire Nebulon  Sector, was the common form of communication. But at Jingar's the  squeaks, growls, and grunts of truly alien species mixed with the  contrasting cadences of Tat, Reg, Nyx, and Herc in almost stunning  intensity. After so many years of silence, it was fast becoming more  than she could bear. If Tal didn't come back soon . . .

Kass tensed as a large Pybbite headed purposefully toward her table, his  round body inside a sleeveless red tunic barely fitting between the  close-packed chairs. The calf-length robe matched his eyes, Kass  thought. Combined with pink skin and long white hair, he shone through  the haze with the strength of a strobe light. Hard to tell his age when  he was the first Pybbite she'd seen up close, but she guessed he wasn't  young. And she felt no menace from him. Curiosity, perhaps?

"Dama." He bobbed a bow. "I am . . ."

He said his name but all Kass heard was a musical trill, totally unreproducible in any language she knew.

"You may call me Ryll," the Pybbite added, clearly accustomed to  confusion over his name. "I travel the whole sector, and you are the  first female Psyclid I have ever seen. I mean no disrespect, but may I  sit for a moment?"

Addressing her as dama indicated at least a cursory knowledge of her  culture, and besides, sitting with almost anyone was preferable to  sitting alone. Kass waved a hand toward Tal's empty chair.

"May I replenish your ripka?" Ryll asked, nodding toward her empty mug.

"Yes, please." Oh, no! The red eyes blinked at her soft, polite  response, the Pybbite obviously revising his estimate of Captain Kane's  woman. Would she never learn how to dissemble, how to be a rebel in a  strange land instead of always reacting as an impeccably trained  princess?

Kass leaned back in her chair, trying to look as if she talked to aliens  every day. She smiled. "You must be a very good trader if you have  traveled so far. Is it permitted to ask what goods you sell?"

The Pybbite's O of a mouth opened, showing sharp teeth, in what Kass  guessed was a grin. "Unlike your Captain Kane, I sell only household  goods and machinery, dama. I am just a wandering merchant, with no  secrets."

Kass felt a ripple of disquiet. Maybe it was the sharp teeth, or maybe  it was the likelihood that no one on Tatarus was what they seemed.

"Have you been long with Captain Kane?"

"I have known him for some years," Kass responded carefully, "but we have traveled together only recently."         

     



 

"Ah!" Another flash of teeth. "Just so. I believe there was a woman of his own kind with him the last time our paths crossed."

Only years of strict training kept Kass from showing her reaction. For a  moment she hid her face behind her mug, gulping down several swallows  of the spicy ale. Subject change. Now.

"You say I'm the first Psyclid female you've met," Kass offered. "Does  that mean you've met some Psyclid men? It's rare for any of our people  to venture off planet, and I don't recall any Pybbites coming to visit  Psyclid, so may I ask where you met them?"

"Now, let me see . . ." Ryll closed his eyes, pressed his sausage-like  fingers together in front of his round, pink face, and seemed to be  sorting through a myriad planets in his mind. Yet Kass was almost  certain he knew exactly where he had encountered Psyclids in his  travels. "Ah, yes," he finally said, "I do believe it was on Bender's  Folly, or perhaps you know it as Hell Nine? We make occasional stops  there."

Kass had. Bender's Folly was a bleak planet so uninviting and so far off  the regular shipping lanes that it was often referred to as the ninth  (and blackest) hell of Obsidias. A very odd place to find beauty-loving  Psyclids.

"That's a long way from Psyclid," Kass said. "Do you by any chance remember their names?"

"Alas, dama, no. But it was whispered that one of them was a sorcerer, the other two his companions."

Ah, goddess! This time it was impossible to hide her reaction. Kass  closed her eyes, swayed in her chair, gripped the edge of the table to  steady herself. "Can you describe him?" Kass forced the question past  lips so frozen they barely moved.

"Now, let me see . . ."

The Pybbite was playing games. If he'd met a Psyclid sorcerer, the image would be forever imprinted on his mind.

"Young," Ryll said, "taller than his two Psyclid companions. Long black  hair, a nose best described as regal. Eyes like a black hole, deep and  turbulent. He quite gave me the shivers, I assure you." The Pybbite  lifted a beefy arm and wiped sweat from his forehead. "One of his  companions, with perhaps more xaax under his belt than was wise,  confided that their leader was a great sorcerer, and I had no reason to  doubt him."

Jagan. It had to be Jagan. Kass had thought him dead, along with the old  Sorcerer Prime, whose death during interrogation had been widely  reported on the news vids. Either Jagan, like herself, had managed to  escape . . . or this round ball of a Pybbite was a remarkable liar.

Or was this what he'd come to her table to tell her? That Jagan Sitric  Cormac Mondragon, Sorcerer Prime of Psyclid, was alive and well on Hell  Nine.

"Hey, babe, you ready to go?" Captain Kane nodded to the Pybbite, while laying a possessive hand on Kass's shoulder.

He did it so well-the smuggler captain-while she . . .

Pok! They couldn't go yet. She had to know more.

Ryll heaved himself to his feet the moment Tal appeared and with a jerky  bow to Captain Kane, headed back to his own table. Kass raised her  voice so she could be easily overheard. "I am most definitely not ready  to go. I've sat here alone for hours, simply hours. I'm entitled to  enjoy myself a bit before you go dragging me back to the ship."

Heads turned, smirks, chuckles, even a few guffaws as Jingar's patrons  enjoyed Kass's show of temper. With a broad gesture, she swung her mug  to her lips and chugged down a full inch, trying not to make a face. She  wiped her mouth on her sleeve, as she'd seen other patrons do, and  glared at Tal, her anger far from fake. She leaned in so it would look  as if she was lashing him with a few more choice words, and told him  about Dace Pliska and her friends.

Jagan Mondragon she would keep to herself.

Tal kept one hand close to his Steg-9, the other hovering over his  dagger as he and Kass lingered in the shadowed alley that ran between  Jingar's and the building next door. Trap? Hard to tell. It was entirely  possible Pliska and her friends had been sent to worm their way into  the rebellion, to spy on rebel movements. Or perhaps their assigned goal  was the death or capture of S'sorrokan . . .

It was the chance he had to take every time the rebellion accepted new  recruits. Whether Fleet or some disaffected trader looking for  adventure, any of them could be hiding behind a false façade, ready to  betray the rebels to the Empire.

Three silhouettes emerged from the shadows at the rear of taverna. "Steg  ready?" Tal hissed. Kass's assent was taut. Probably never been in a  face-to-face fight outside her Academy training in her life. "Stay  behind me, he ordered, before moving toward the advancing shadows. When  he was close enough to see their faces in the dim light over a side  door, he planted his feet and waited for the hopeful recruits to make  the first move. He never took his eyes off them, but he could feel Kass  hovering at his side, just far enough away not to impede any sudden  gesture he might make. And once again, not obeying orders.