Rapidly he ran through his options. He needed to stay here. Taking control of the Palace from K’hedduk was his first responsibility. Khadui was the obvious choice to send with Zhalmo, but he was injured … and he didn’t want to deplete the numbers he had here.

  “Get that elevator back down,” he said, making up his mind. “Zhalmo and J’korrash, you go after him. I can’t leave here yet. How many levels can he exit to?”

  “Three,” said J’korrash. “The Throne Room, Audience Hall, and the Emperor’s private chambers.”

  “Dammit! He’s gone after his mother!” he snarled as realization hit him. “Get suited up again. Start at the top and work down, Zhalmo, unless you can track him by scent or your psi abilities. Any trouble, send to me. Don’t take risks, but get him back here even if you have to stun and carry him!”

  “Understood, Captain,” said Zhalmo. “I apologize for not …”

  “Don’t waste time blaming yourself. Just bring him back safely,” Kusac interrupted, turning away from her to return to the Control Room.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  His mind focused only on the overwhelming fear he knew came from his mother, Zsurtul hit the button to take him up to the Imperial private apartments—his, now. They were there, her and that … animal … who had killed his father. Rage filled him, dimming his vision until everything seemed washed with red.

  Part of him sat back wondering at the lack of fear he felt as he clenched his teeth together and pulled his pistol free from his belt. All the lessons he’d learned at the Sholan Warriors’ Guild came back to him now, and taking up a stance in the corner farthest from the door, as it opened, he was ready for anyone on the other side.

  The concealing curtain was pulled back, giving him a clear view of the opposite wall. He listened, straining every nerve for any sound before cautiously stepping out into the bathroom. Remembering those below, he reached back inside to lock the elevator on this floor—he couldn’t afford to be stranded here.

  Cautiously easing himself along the side of the wall, he risked a quick look around the corner into the rest of the room to make sure it was indeed empty. A few steps took him to the door into the main suite. He stopped and pressed his ear to the door; he waited, listening, but the pounding of his own heart threatened to drown out any noise there might be in the room beyond. Opening the door carefully, he peered through the gap. Yards away, a massive leather-clad Prime, lurid tattoos decorating the top of his head, was bending over a cringing female.

  The guard looked up, eyes instantly locking with his. Panic washed through Zsurtul, turning his limbs to lead as the male uttered a hiss of rage and reached for his gun while stepping toward him. At his feet, the female turned to look, uttered a sharp cry of recognition, and flung herself around the legs of the guard, attempting to stop him.

  “Run, Majesty! Run!”

  Before he could move, the guard shot at him while reaching down for the female; he grasped her by the shoulder, wrenched her off himself, and flung her aside.

  The wood exploding just to the right of his ear released him from his fears. Flinging the door wide, he crouched down behind the frame, his finger tightening on the trigger of his gun. Three bolts of energy lanced toward the guard. His roar of pain abruptly cut short, he went flying backward to land on top of one of the fragile low antique tables.

  Shouts from his mother’s room off to his left had Zsurtul diving out of the doorway for the cover of an armchair as two more guards, normal Primes, not gene-enhanced thugs, came rushing out.

  Zsurtul swept a spray of continuous fire across them, sending them crashing, dead, to the ground. Reaction kept his finger clamped tight on the trigger as the beam of energy continued, cutting a swathe of destruction across the room until he realized it was over and there were no more guards. Forcing himself to relax his grip, he released the trigger and got carefully to his feet. Smoke from splintered and burned furnishings drifted in the air, mixing with the stench of burned flesh, and the metallic scent of blood.

  “M’ikkule!” he called. “M’ikkule!”

  A small moan answered him, and on shaking legs, he rose to his feet and ran toward the sound.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, helping her to sit up. Blood from a cut on the side of her head was running down her face, and more oozed from the four deep puncture wounds in her shoulder.

  “Leave me, Majesty,” she said, trying weakly to push his hand aside. “Save your mother. He was wearing a ship suit when he came for her.”

  Zsurtul hesitated only a moment. “Our allies are attacking,” he said. “Help will be here soon. Hide until then.”

  “I will, Majesty. Now go! Save your mother.”

  Leaving his former mistress, he ran back to the elevator. If K’hedduk was wearing a space suit, then he must have a ship nearby. There was only one other way out of the City—through the tunnel leading to the northern exit. Did the M’zullian really believe he could make his way from there to the landing area to steal the Royal ship from the warehouse?

  “Elevator’s finally coming down,” Zhalmo said into her helmet mic as a small indicator on the wall access plate lit up.

  “This system is antiquated beyond reason,” snarled Kusac, putting a hand up to his ear to adjust the fit of his external pickup. “It needs to be updated immediately!”

  “I’d say it was serving its original function admirably,” said M’kou, looking up at him. “We are being delayed in pursuing our Emperor, while he is free to go where he chooses.”

  Kusac shot a look of pure anger at the young Lieutenant before turning his attention back to the console.

  “Have you located the N’zishok, yet?” he demanded of the AI.

  “Yes, Captain,” the bland electronic voice replied. “I am negotiating protocols with it now. Communications should be established shortly.”

  “Captain,” said Zhalmo. “It’s stopped again. I believe the Prince has descended to the Throne Room level.”

  “You’ll have to deal with it now, Zhalmo,” he said. “I’m about to be patched through to General Kezule.”

  “Aye, Captain. It’s moving again, this time responding to us. We should be in pursuit of him any time now.”

  Update me when you have news, he sent to her, then cut that mental connection to begin searching not for the young Emperor but for the minds of the Empress and K’hedduk.

  Zsurtul’s headlong rush down the narrow tunnel concealed in the ancient wall of the Throne Room was brought to an abrupt halt as his mind was suddenly filled with the sound of Zhalmo’s voice.

  Majesty, stop! We’ll go after your mother, but you must return to the safety of the Command Room!

  With an effort, he began running again. Follow if you must, but I will not leave her with K’hedduk any longer! He has a ship hidden somewhere!

  Where? she demanded.

  “How should I know?” he muttered aloud and mentally. “I’m only following their scents right now!”

  “Kezule, we have a situation here,” Kusac said. “I need one of the fighters to take out any outbuildings to the north of the Palace that are large enough to conceal a ship the size of a Royal barge.”

  “The fighters are out of fuel and munitions, Kusac. They’re returning to the N’zishok now. K’hedduk?”

  “With the Empress,” Kusac confirmed. “What about the Touibans? Can they do anything?”

  “Too far out to reach you in time, as are we all.”

  Kusac heard a few soft swear words before the Valtegan General continued. “All we have are the ground forces. Kaid’s Packs are the nearest. I’ll move the N’zishok closer to intercept in case he manages to launch.”

  “What about the Kz’adul?”

  “We have our own situation here—the Shazzu decided to attack the Zasho when it changed sides. We’ve sent the Kz’adul to help.”

  “I’ll talk to Kaid,” he said, taking off the headset and handing it to Khadui. “Take over here.”

  The older Sholan nodded, taking it from him and sitting on the edge of the countertop.

  Kusac leaned back in his seat, sighing, then rubbed at his tired eyes with one hand.

  “Captain, your food and water rations,” said Noolgoi, holding out a tray bearing a sealed pack of food and a bowl-shaped cup of water.

  Absently Kusac took them from him, nodding his thanks. The sachet of food he set down on the console; the water he began to sip as once again he cast his mind out, this time to contact Kaid.

  Carrie heard the message at the same moment Kaid did, then heard him curse softly.

  We’re pinned down here, Kusac. I’ll have to send one of the teams in the power stations. And Zurtul’s gone after them?

  Yes. Zhalmo and J’korrash are following closely behind. I can’t leave yet … Dammit, I have to! If anything happens to him …

  A sudden loud pop drew Kusac’s attention back to the world around him. He blinked, trying to orient himself, then looked at the now empty clenched hand where his cup had been. Those around him were still exclaiming and looking up in shock.

  Go, sent Kaid. Leave Khadui in command there. I’m dispatching Jurrel’s Fire Pack now. Good hunting, swordbrother.

  And to you, he replied automatically, withdrawing.

  “What was that, Captain?” asked Valden, a concerned look on his face.

  “Just me popping one of those food packs,” he said, sweeping up the one on the countertop. “I’m going after Zhalmo and the Prince, Khadui. Take charge here.”

  Pushing himself up from his seat, he strode over to where his gloves and helmet sat. “Jurrel’s Fire Pack has been dispatched to intercept them.”

  Once in the elevator, he opened his hand slowly. In the center of his palm nestled a small pile of white powder. He tilted his hand and let the clay drift down to the ground. Shaking himself mentally, he rubbed his hand against his thigh before settling his helmet over his head and sealing it. What had he done to the cup, he wondered as he drew on his gloves. Vaporized it—drawn out all the water? There had been a faint wisp of … something … around his hand when he’d first looked at it. This was the second time today that he’d physically altered an object with no idea of how it had happened.

  Captain, we’ve met up with Prince Zsurtul and are proceeding along the hidden passageway to the exit, sent Zhalmo.

  I told you to bring him back here!

  He refuses, Captain, and he is my Emperor-elect. I must obey him.

  I’m on my way to join you. Where is the entrance?

  You won’t find it unaided, Captain. I’ll send J’korrash back.

  Very well, but do not engage K’hedduk under any circumstance. Do I make myself clear?

  Aye, Captain. I’ll make sure we wait for you.

  Like the faint beating of butterfly wings, Kusac felt the alien touch at the outermost edges of his mental shielding. Instantly he stopped trying to track Zhalmo and Zsurtul, closing down even the tenuous Link he’d left open to Kaid and Carrie. Instead he put the energy into strengthening his shields and reflecting back anything sent to him. Almost, it was enough, but still it came, probing gently at his defenses, trying to insinuate itself into his thoughts, to make him turn back, leave the young Prince to his appointed fate.

  “Dammit!” he muttered, almost coming to a stop as he shook his head in an effort to deny the siren song.

  “Excuse me, Captain?” asked J’korrash, her voice suddenly loud inside the helmet. It broke the spell.

  “Nothing,” he replied, speeding up again, hands automatically tightening on his rifle as he followed close behind her. “Khadui, I want an update on the current state of all Fire Packs now.”

  “Aye, Captain. Collecting the data.”

  Anything to keep his mind occupied and the subversive thoughts at bay! For a moment, a sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him; then he remembered where it was he had felt this exact sensation before—on Kij’ik, just before going to confront Kezule! This was the same alien presence, and once again it was trying to control him …

  “Now, Khadui!” he snapped. “I need it now!”

  “Aye, sir! Pack One has retrieved the packages and is now escorting them to the designated safe zone …”

  “Captain!” Zhalmo’s voice cut across Khadui’s. “There’s a hangar here—the ruin isn’t, it’s a hangar for a small interplanetary craft! There’re ancillary vehicles here, too—towing ones, and fuel …”

  “Do not enter the hangar, Zhalmo! You must keep the Prince out, even if K’hedduk escapes!”

  “I’ll do my best, Captain,” she said as a single shot rang out. “Majesty, no! Zsurtul, come back!”

  As one, he and J’korrash began to race down the last stretch of tunnel. It seemed to extend forever as they both listened helplessly to the sound of weapon fire interspersed with angry voices. There was a muffled exclamation from Zhalmo, then silence.

  On his HUD, her telltale, and Zsurtul’s, changed to orange and began to blink.

  “Zhalmo, come in,” said Kusac. “Report in! Dammit, J’korrash, call for a medic evac, top priority! Give them our location.”

  J’korrash was already doing it as he finished speaking.

  A faint glow ahead heralded the end of the tunnel, and as they raced toward it, Kusac felt the faint presence suddenly withdraw. The evac team wouldn’t arrive in time, he realized with frightening clarity, and he had a key role to play in the outcome.

  “J’korrash, drop!” he ordered, grasping her arm and pulling her to a halt.

  “Captain?” she asked, obviously confused.

  “Drop to the ground, dammit! I need to get past you!”

  As she dropped prone, he slung his rifle over his shoulder, quickly latching it in place before dropping down himself onto all fours.

  It took only a fraction of a second for the suit to recognize his altered stance and accommodate it. Servomotors kicked in to help him spring forward over J’korrash and land some ten feet farther down the passageway.

  “Follow!” he ordered, increasing his pace until he was running flat out. He knew the suit could only maintain this speed for a limited time, but right now that wasn’t an issue.

  Sounds of her helmet being unlatched came loud and clear over Zhalmo’s channel as Kusac tried to put on yet another spurt of speed. The exit was so damned close now!

  Male laughter rang out briefly. “So, I have one of your daughters, Kezule! You’ve just given me the best claim I could have to the Throne of Light! A wife of Royal blood—blood undiluted by these damned Primes, and the heir to the throne lies dying—if he isn’t already dead. We’ll meet again soon, Kezule, but next time, I’ll come in force.”

  Moments later, Kusac slewed to a stop at the hangar entrance. His teeth began to ache as the whine of motors cut through the air, rising in pitch. Already the craft was hovering in midair, turning slowly, positioning itself to align with the gap in the roof above.

  The cold rage that he’d controlled until now was flooding through him—K’hedduk was responsible for breeding the hybrid cubs like his son Shaidan, he had put him in the hands of the Prime who’d illegally implanted him with a control device that had destroyed his natural psi abilities—and he was escaping.

  “We won’t wait for you, K’hedduk! Guard your doors well, because we will bring the war you crave to you!” he snarled.

  Dropping to his haunches, he pulled his rifle free, automatically ratcheting it around to the grenades. Raising it, against all logic, he began to bombard the craft until he was out of shells. It was futile, and he knew it, but …

  The grenades exploded harmlessly against the ship’s force field, sending waves of energy spilling down to the ground below to kick up the loose soil and debris lying there.

  “Khadui, tell Kezule that …”

  “I heard, Captain. Relaying the message now.”

  “Captain!” J’korrash grabbed him by the arm, pulling him around as K’hedduk’s craft rose abruptly into the lightening sky. “He didn’t take Prince Zsurtul!”

  Flinging his rifle at her, he rose fluidly to his feet and ran over to where the limp body of the Prince lay in the lee of a battle-scarred towing vehicle.

  Zsurtul lay sprawled on his back, his usually sandy skin a deathly greenish white. On the right side of his suit, from a single blast hole, white wound sealant foam bubbled and oozed sluggishly across his armor in partly solidifying rivulets.

  Ripping his gloves off, Kusac placed his fingers against the main artery in Zsurtul’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He could sense the youth’s life ebbing away and had almost given up hope when he felt a faint fluttering. Without thinking, he reached for Zsurtul’s mind, catching and holding it the same way his son had done for him not so long ago.

  “Dammit, Zsurtul, stay with me! We need you!” he muttered. Looking up at J’korrash, he said, “Get him out of that suit!” Sitting back, he reached up to remove his helmet. “I’ll do what I can, but it may not be much. When you’re done with the suit, I’ll need whatever meds you have on you.”

  He couldn’t call on Carrie for help this time—she and Kaid needed all their wits about them in their current situation, still pinned down as they were by enemy fire. He’d also be wide open to any attack from the alien source. How could he be sure it wouldn’t try to subvert him, make him kill Zsurtul rather than heal him? On the other hand, if he couldn’t make a difference, why try to prevent him from getting there?

  Slinging his helmet aside, he leaned forward and began to help J’korrash peel the ruined chest piece away from the injured youth.

  The fog that seemed to surround Kusac was slowly beginning to clear. Broken beams crisscrossed the bright blue of the sky above him. A single shaft of sunlight pierced the dim interior of … Briefly, he felt his eye ridges meet in a frown. Everything was still hazy, thinking made his mind hurt. A sense of well-being began to fill him—he was warm, relaxed, there was nothing for him to be concerned about. He concentrated on watching the motes of dust dance in the light, feeling his eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

  “The Captain’s down!”

  Again his forehead creased. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t down, he was just … tired, deathly tired. His eyes flickered and closed.

 

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