Zealot (31 page)

It took a few moments for the crowd to disperse. Raylon and Kaden spoke a bit longer after the others had gone. Finally, they clasped arms and Kaden departed as well.

With the walkway empty again, Raylon approached the archway. His confident swagger had returned, not that it ever left. “May I come in?” he asked with a smile.

Chandar waved her hand in his direction. What remained of the energy barrier dissipated in a shower of sparks.

“That was interesting,” he muttered as he joined them in the courtyard.

“Are the officers being given preferential placement?” Indigo hadn’t really thought about it until this dustup rubbed her face in the possibility.

“In a way.” He ran his fingers through his hair before he explained, “Your Tandori blood complicated the situation. We need the support of Tandori Tribe and having you bond with one of the rebellion’s leaders could go a long way toward bringing them on board.”

“Why didn’t you explain that to them?”

“They weren’t really in the mood to listen to a long, drawn-out explanation. Besides, it isn’t my secret to tell.” His already serious expression turned downright grim. “I don’t think you’ve realized it yet, but your pedigree makes you a target.”

“The battle born aren’t the only ones who would benefit from the support of Tandori Tribe.” The hesitation in Chandar’s tone made it sound more like a question.

“Yes.” Raylon didn’t elaborate.

“Do you think this ends it? Will they stay away?” Indigo was almost afraid to ask.

“Most will. I don’t trust Dorret. This isn’t the first time I’ve found him in the middle of a disruption. I’ll assign guards to the archway, at least until Zilor returns.”

“Will we be allowed to bond when he does?” She softly added, “I heard what you said.”

“Garin has the final say, but I think it’s pointless to go through the motions when you’ve obviously made your choice.”

She grinned from ear to ear, in complete agreement with his conclusion.

“Ready?”

Zilor took a deep breath and nodded to Garin. They’d been scanned, subjected to facial recognition, and then patted down before Quinton’s head of security allowed them near the throne room. Any of Quinton’s ancestors would have had suspected traitors delivered to him in chains. But then if Quinton were more like his ancestors, Rodymia wouldn’t be on the brink of civil war.

The massive double doors were pulled open by uniformed guards, allowing the brothers into the opulent throne room. They walked steadily toward the throne and Zilor found himself looking around. It had been decades since he’d been presented at court and he hadn’t been back since. Everything was shiny. Every imaginable color was present in the marbled walls and polished floors, the thick pillars and highly arched ceilings. And the entire room seemed to shimmer with iridescent light.

The crown stirate’s massive throne made Quinton look even less impressive than his reputation. Eight muscular guards flanked the throne, four on each side. Their garish uniforms seemed at odds with their dour expressions. Quinton was rail-thin with a long, narrow face and extremely sharp features. So many had suspected that he was not a full-blooded Keire that the guiding council had demanded a DNA test before they approved his coronation. Quinton’s first act as crown stirate had been to execute every member of the guiding council. And they had not been replaced. It was these infrequent flashes of spirit that had Zilor worried now.

They knelt and bowed their heads as was expected of anyone summoned by the crown stirate.

The guards snapped to attention, suggesting that Quinton stood up. Zilor didn’t lift his head to confirm his conclusion. His job was to be invisible and protect Garin’s back when and if it came down to fighting.

“Stand up and look at me,” Quinton said, his voice a bit unsteady.

The Nox brothers climbed to their feet, then Garin stepped forward and locked his hands behind his back. His chin slowly lifted, but he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“You’ve insulted me without speaking a word.” Was that odd rattle in Quinton’s nasally tone supposed to be a growl? “Where is Bandar? I summoned all three of you.”

“His absence is unavoidable.” Garin didn’t apologize and Quinton’s gaze narrowed.

“Explain.”

“He contracted a virus common to Earth, but extremely dangerous to us. As a result, he’s in medical quarantine.”

“I will check that out,” Quinton warned.

“As you wish.” Omitting the customary sire was a subtle slur, but Quinton didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Quinton prompted.

Because you summoned us, asshole.
It was such a stupid question. It was all Zilor could do not to roll his eyes. Garin had drawn Quinton’s attention, but Zilor was spoiling for a fight. He was tired of sneaking around and all the endless planning. They all knew it would eventually come to war. The battle born were bred for action, and Zilor was more than ready for the action to begin.

“Apparently, one of your spies discovered my surprise.” To his credit, Garin delivered the line with an absolutely straight face.

“Your surprise?” Quinton echoed, clearly confused by the response. “What are you talking about?”

“Negotiations with Earth will require a strong position. That position cannot be achieved as long as we’re on the ground. The only choice, as I saw it, was to remain in orbit indefinitely or reopen Lunar 9.”

“So you took it upon yourself to… Wait a gods’ damn minute. What negotiations with Earth? I sanctioned no such negotiations.”

Menace crept into Garin’s expression and he released his hands. “You didn’t sanction them.
I
did.”

One of Quinton’s guards gasped so loud Zilor heard it. The errant guard’s stoic façade was quickly restored by a glare from the guard beside him.

“Only I have the authority to sanction interplanetary negotiations. Explain yourself.” Quinton paced back and forth, his anxiety growing with each pass.

Garin discarded his reserve like a cheap costume as hatred shaped his expression. “You have mismanaged this planet to the brink of ruin. I will not stand back and watch as you finish the job.”

“That’s treason!” Quinton still sounded more confused than infuriated.

Garin ignored the outburst and presented his next charge. “Your treatment of the battle born will be tolerated no longer. Every Rodyte born of a war bride is now under my protection.”

A muttered “yes” escaped one of the guards, but Zilor wasn’t sure which one. Tension mounted, crackling in the air just waiting for a spark to ignite the bonfire.

“You are unworthy of rule,” Garin’s voice grew in strength and volume as he advanced on the weaker man. “I am taking command of the RPDF. From this day forth, they will obey only me.”

“You’re a dead man,” Quinton snarled, but none of his guards moved. After speaking such slander against a crown stirate, Garin should be on his knees with pulse pistols targeting all of his major organs.

“Now,” Garin growled the word, setting Zilor and Danvier in motion.

With a precision acquired through hours of practice, flexblades materialized in Garin’s and Zilor’s hands. Zilor morphed his blade from dagger to long, lethal sword as he moved into position at his brother’s back. Garin’s blade smoothly extended into Zilor’s peripheral vision.

“Seize them, you fools!” Quinton screamed as he scurried off to one side.

Four guards responded while the other four remained where they were in silent support of Garin’s coup.

Zilor swung his flexblade at the nearest guard. The man jumped back with agile grace as his companion lunged. Zilor kicked the second guard in the stomach then slammed his elbow into his jaw as he doubled over. The first guard raised his pulse pistol, the movement slow, reluctant. Zilor lashed out with his left forearm, knocking the weapon from the guard’s hand without causing him any real damage. The guard still had a sword, but he just stood there, waiting for Zilor to knock him out. Happy to oblige, Zilor punched him squarely in the jaw, expelling some of his aggravation.

“All guards! To me, now!” Quinton’s panicked voice echoed off the domed ceiling.

The guards were following orders, as they’d been conditioned to do, but it was obvious with every punch, every sluggish advance that their hearts weren’t in it.

Garin quickly incapacitated one guard and engaged the other. Rather than blast Garin with his pulse pistol, the last guard drew his sword. Their blades clashed and clanked as they fought off each other’s attacks. This guard was putting up the only real fight and Garin was loving every minute of it.

The thunder of approaching boots drew Zilor’s attention to the entrance. “Garin, enough. We have to go.”

With obvious reluctance, Garin disabled the final guard and returned to Zilor’s side.

“Danvier,
now
.” Zilor shouted as reinforcements threw open the doors.

Danvier immediately streamed them to the
Phantom One
, leaving Zilor with the lingering image of Quinton cowering behind his throne.

* * * * *

Milanni paced the tiny office in the back corner of Club Norax, debating her next move. First and foremost, she needed to make sure her impulsive solution to the shitstorm surrounding Vinton Tandori had been successful. If any scrap of evidence remained to implicate her, she would need to disappear, buy a new identity and blend in with some backwater outpost perhaps for the rest of her life.

That wasn’t going to happen. She reinforced the thought with a firm mental shake. She’d covered her tracks completely. The cabin had been engulfed in flames by the time she flew away—and that helpless dog was locked inside.

A shiver tingled down her spine and she could barely swallow past the lump in her throat. She hadn’t set out to harm the creature. For that matter, she hadn’t meant to kill Vinton. But no one would care about her intentions. She’d done what had to be done and she refused to regret it now.

A door slammed in another part of the club and then angry voices rumbled through the outer room.

“I told you…”

“I don’t give a… Go find her!”

“That’s not possible. She…”

Both voices were deep and insistent. One belonged to Enjis, her head of security. She didn’t recognize the other.

Creeping toward the office door, she eased the barrier open just enough to reveal the outer room. Enjis stood near the main entrance, facing off with a tall, dark-haired man. At first glance the stranger looked enough like Vinton Tandori to get her heart pumping double time. But a familiar whine drew her gaze toward the floor and Milanni’s jaw dropped.

At the stranger’s feet sat a yellow dog identical to the one she’d sacrificed on the altar of escape. It couldn’t be the same dog, and yet it looked the same, even sounded the same.

What the hell was going on?

“Stop wasting my time,” the stranger sneered. “Go get your mistress.
Now
.”

Enjis drew a tiny pistol so quickly she wasn’t even sure where he’d had it stashed. “Get out.
Now
.” He perfectly mimicked the other man’s enraged tone. “Come back when you’ve learned some manners.”

The situation seemed to be resolved and Milanni was about to close the door when the “dog” smoothly shifted forms. Its lean yellow body stretched and curved until a petite humanoid female stood beside the stranger. Milanni couldn’t see the creature’s face, but Enjis’s awestruck reaction said it all. With shapely limbs and hip-length blonde hair, the shifter was even stunning from the back.

The shifter moved forward, long hair rippling around her like strands of sunlight. Her tiny hands slid up Enjis’s chest and she pushed to the balls of her feet, bringing her face closer to his.

“Don’t make this unpleasant.” The shifter’s melodious voice flowed over Milanni, relaxing her muscles and dulling her mind. Doubtlessly, Enjis was experiencing the same phenomenon. “I have no desire to hurt you. I have unfinished business with your mistress. Where is she?”

Fuck! In an instant Milanni’s peril became glaringly obvious. She hadn’t killed a helpless dog. She’d left a witness to her crimes alive and boiling with the need for retribution.

She moved to the center of her office and pushed the panic button embedded in the center of her palm. As her office blurred and reality dimmed, her mind filled with questions. Where should she go? Most of the inhabitants of Outpost LA were hiding from the law, but few were actually violent. Would anyone risk their own freedom to shelter a murderer?

She materialized on her ship and slipped onto the piolet’s chair. What now? She had nowhere to go, no one she could turn to for help.

An image popped into her mind and she cringed.

Akim Farmon would assist the devil if there was something in it for him. And she would be safe aboard his undetectable ship. She had information he would find valuable. Javin Aidentar was dead and the Integration Guild was going to great lengths to hide the fact. Surely, Akim could broker that tidbit into something worthwhile. But would it be enough? What else would he demand in exchange for his protection?

There was only one way to find out.

And the brutal truth was, she had no other option.

* * * * *

After a few minutes of celebration, Garin insisted that they get underway. They were protected by the
Phantom One’s
covert shields. Still, they refused to take unnecessary chances, so they jumped into hyperspace and settled into their seats for the six-hour trip back to Lunar 9.

Once they were safely away, Garin checked the recording Danvier had concealed with the
Phantom One’s
covert shields. To everyone’s relief, every minute of the showdown had been captured in living color and sound. “I expected more of a fight,” Garin muttered as he made several copies of the video file.

Zilor chuckled. “You sound disappointed.”

“No, just surprised. Most of Quinton’s guards aren’t even battle born. Why didn’t they protect him?”

“You don’t need to be battle born to understand that Quinton has to go,” Danvier added.

Garin shifted in his chair, folding his hands on his flat belly. Clearly, being a passenger was unfamiliar to him. “The challenge has been issued. There’s no taking it back. We’re officially outlaws.”

They all knew this day was coming, but the yawning significance of what they’d just done felt heavier than Zilor expected. “Where’d you send the
Undaunted
and what’s our next move?”

“Sedrik will continue on with our original mission as if he’s completely unaware of my actions. I can’t return to the
Undaunted
until after Quinton is replaced or I endanger my men. This way everyone has plausible deniability.”

“That makes sense, but the
Undaunted
would sure make a statement when we reveal our presence to Earth.”

Garin shot him an amused glance. “Any of our ships will make enough of a statement to light up their internet. We could call a press conference hinting that something important is about to happen then position the
Phantom
One
over the White House while she’s still shielded. We’d appear out of nowhere with cameras rolling. Would that be dramatic enough?”