Rebel's Quest (2 page)

Doc shook his head. “All I can do is advise you on what’s medically sound. Do what you need to do, but please, stay off that foot as much as possible. And no personal combat training.”

Roshan knew from the expression in Doc’s eyes not to push any further. Rising from the gurney she reached for her jacket. “Thanks,” she murmured, her thoughts already elsewhere. Time was a luxury she didn’t possess. She had too much to do. “I’ll do my best. I…” Roshan stopped in midstep and half smiled at him. “...owe you one.”

“How do you figure that, Paladin?” Doc shook his head. “You were the one who dragged half of the members in the Gedor cell back to safety.”

Roshan’s chest constricted with a quick, sharp stab of pain. “That doesn’t count. They were just inexperienced kids.”

“Yeah, not like us veterans, are they?”

“They’re nothing more than trainees who think they’re invincible. I hate using anyone younger than eighteen on these operations. Their inexperience and immaturity…it’s just wrong.”

Doc shook his head. “There isn’t much of a recruiting pool left to choose from. Let’s face it, everyone is either dead, captured, or off planet.”

“Maybe, but I don’t have to like it. Well, enough of this. Got to go. Thanks, Doc.” Roshan nodded briskly and was out the door before her face could give her away.

Roshan had been amazed to find herself still alive when she regained consciousness after that last major blast that had knocked her unconscious. The scene she had come across still haunted her. Five young resistance fighters, two boys and three girls, had all been badly wounded, and their remaining companions were dead because they’d strayed into the enemy’s kill zone.

From her vantage point Roshan had watched them try to take cover but without a clue where to go. Every move they made seemed to be a mistake. Logic told her to hold her position, but she couldn’t stand to watch the slaughter. She had transmitted her position to base camp and given a spot report to her team. Yanking off her pack and anything else that might weigh her down, she hid the equipment in the building she was about to abandon.

Roshan had dashed toward the wounded, taking cover wherever she could. Once on the ground she gathered the scattered resistance fighters and directed those who could still move to a bombed-out bridge north of their position. It had taken her three trips to drag the ones who couldn’t walk, one at a time. As she pulled the last one to safety, Roshan had lost her luck. An incoming barrage threw her several feet, nearly dislocating her hip and damaging her right ankle.

Roshan had still managed to crawl to the bridge, pulling one of the youths with her. There she rendered what assistance she could as they huddled together until the incoming fire ceased, allowing her team to find them.

Roshan rubbed her hip absentmindedly. She needed to forget the ordeal. Doc was right; their pool of recruits was limited. It was the price of this damn war.

“I
still
don’t have to like it,” she growled to herself as she settled behind the wheel of the hovercraft parked outside the aluminum-carbide cubicle that housed the small clinic. Her cell staged their operations from this site within a deep ravine, located among the Merealian Mountains. The mountains, which stretched from just north of Ganath toward the Davost peninsula, were well protected from the Onotharians’ sensors because of the mineral-rich bedrock. When not on a mission, most of the 120 men and women of all ages who were part of the group led unassuming lives in the shadow of the Onotharian occupation, except for herself.

Roshan punched in a few commands, and her two-seat hovercraft hummed to life and rose a meter above the ground. It was time to resume her role as Roshan O’Landha, wealthy business tycoon, and as much as it exasperated her to move among the rich and worriless, Roshan knew her double life was unavoidable, especially now, if she wanted to be able to contact the Gantharians’ new allies.

She jumped off the hovercraft without thinking and cursed under her breath when a searing pain shot through her right side.
Damn, I have to remember to be more careful.

Roshan pushed the door to her cubicle open and looked at the deep blue trousers and blue-black coat that hung there. “Very well,” she muttered, and began unbuttoning her coveralls. “Time to go.”

*

“Ms. M’Aldovar! Wait!” a young male voice called from behind her. Andreia M’Aldovar slowed to a stroll to let her assistant, Rix M’Isitor, catch up with her. The young man was the oldest son of Dixmon M’Isitor, the Onotharian leader on Gantharat. He was eager to please her and, she suspected, quite infatuated with the fact that he worked for the most famous person on Gantharat, even when you counted his parents.

“Yes, Rix?” Andreia stopped when she saw the data-filer in his hand. It was blinking blue, which indicated a critical data update.

“Ms. M’Aldovar, there’s a last-minute amendment to today’s agenda. We received the situation report on last week’s arrests.”

“Then bring me up to speed.” Andreia motioned with her free hand for Rix to continue.

“Three more shipments of rebels from the southern hemisphere have left for Kovos Asteroid Prison, ma’am.”

“ETA?”

“They should be on schedule, only an hour or so from now.” M’Isitor checked his chronometer. “Perhaps a slight delay since…er…they’re fully loaded.”

“Thanks for the update.”

“No problem, ma’am. I figured you needed it for the meeting.”

“That was very astute of you. Well, I must be off if I’m going to make it on time.” Andreia dismissed M’Isitor and headed for the vast hallways of the governmental administration building.

Located in the center of Ganath, the building was construc-ted mostly of alu-carbon and transparent aluminium, except for the spectacular portico that adorned the front entrance. The columns of the portico were made from the rare D’Tosorian silver-marble that the Onotharians had obtained illegally via the black market that operated in deep space between merchants and pirates. She found it telling that the Onotharians would take their smuggled goods and display them so blatantly, since D’Tosoria was located well within Supreme Constellations space and strongly endorsed the partial trading embargo the SC Council had levied against Onotharat. The tall columns supported an impressive transparent aluminum ceiling that gave the structure a dramatic, airy ambiance.

As Andreia tipped her head back and looked up at the blue sky that engulfed them in a bright light, she saw a familiar face on one of the many open ledges.
Mother. Wonderful.
Andreia entered the building and used the senior staff’s express lift to reach the third floor.

Her waist-long black hair in a perfect, intricate pile on the top of her head, Le’Tinia M’Aldovar walked toward her daughter with her arms outstretched. Her familiar scent, a delicate Ornamor flower perfume, engulfed Andreia as the stunning woman embraced her. Though petite, Le’Tinia was forceful. Her amber eyes under straight black eyebrows could easily pierce an adversary, leaving him devastated and crushed. She smiled, showing white, slightly pointed teeth. “
Henshes,
Andreia. It’s been too long.”

“Yes, it has.” Andreia kissed her mother’s cheeks repeatedly, the customary Onotharian greeting between children and parents.

“Hurry. We’re waiting for you, dearest.” Le’Tinia pulled discreetly at Andreia’s arm.

Andreia bet they were. The GCDL, the Gantharian Community Data Line system, didn’t issue statements of conduct regarding their politics without their favorite spokesperson. Andreia had quickly progressed from being a mere decorative representative to helping the Onotharian citizens woo their Gantharian subjects; she had also emerged years ago as a forceful liaison between the Onotharian homeworld, six light-years away, and the Onotharian interim government on Gantharat. Born on this planet to Onotharian parents, Andreia was the perfect choice, according to her mother. To drive the point home, the data line constantly referred to her as an Onotharian daughter of Gantharat. A blessed mix that, combined with her strong convictions, had placed her in the eye of the storm.

“As you say, it’s been a while. How was Onos, Mother?”

“Ah, too crowded and too polluted. We saw a few good perfor-mances in the ValaVala Concert Foyer, but living among the musically gifted Gantharians tends to spoil your taste forever.” Le’Tinia placed an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Then I get the news that you’ve been rock climbing. Isn’t that a sport for the young and newly rich? Hardly anything a future president of Gantharat can afford to do, is it?”

“I have to stay in shape, Mother.” Andreia was used to her mother’s tirades, and nothing she could say would stop Le’Tinia. It saved time to simply nod and pretend to agree, rather than argue every little detail.

“Yes, of course you do. But there are other ways,
henshes
.”

The Onotharian term of endearment hung between them as they approached the largest of the six offices occupied by the top men and women in the Onotharian interim government. Andreia knew that her mother probably considered herself the most loving of parents, but her parents’ actions and demands had too often proved the opposite, so she couldn’t buy into the bright smiles they graced her with in public.

“Ms. M’Aldovar. The chairman wants you to sit on her right, ma’am. This way, please.” A young Onotharian woman guided Andreia past the high-ranking members of the interim Gantharian government, which included her father, who sat on one side of an oval table. At the far end, a woman in her late nineties rose to greet Andreia, sending everyone else around the table to their feet. “Ms. M’Aldovar.”

“Chairman M’Ocresta. It is an honor.” Andreia was still trying to grasp the fact that Villia M’Ocresta, one of the fifteen members of the House of Creators, had arrived on Gantharat without anyone telling her. Andreia refrained from sending her mother an ironic glance, knowing full well that her mother expected it and would triumph later. “I hope you had a pleasant and uneventful journey from our beloved homeworld.” The words nearly choked her, but, accustomed to effortlessly delivering untruths, Andreia smiled proudly as she gestured toward the others present. “I’m sure you’ve received a warm welcome. If I’m not mistaken, this is your first visit to this part of the Empire, isn’t it?”

The deceptively fragile-looking woman, her hair still black as the night and her complexion nearly flawless despite her age, nodded regally. “Indeed it is. Recent events have made it safe enough for me to travel to Gantharat. I received intelligence regarding your military’s and the Onotharian Empire Clandestine Service’s successful countermeasures toward the rebels. Very impressive, Ms. M’Aldovar. I commend you for your work.”

“Thank you.” Andreia used every ounce of her professionalism and her well-trained voice to sound forceful and self-confident. “We are proud of the dutiful men and women who risk their lives for their homeworld.”

“We are, most assuredly.”

Chairman M’Ocresta sat down and motioned for the others to follow suit. “I don’t have to tell you that even as we continue to make progress and enjoy our victories over these worthless scoundrels here on Gantharat, they continue to make political mischief for us elsewhere. As I am sure you are aware, negotiations with the Supreme Constellations have ceased because of the O’Dal woman and that child.”

“Yes, Chairman, I am monitoring the situation and know of its possible ramifications.”

“Good. This unpleasantness is about to lead us to war with the Supreme Constellations—something I find undesirable at this time. It annoys me that this planet and its insignificant inhabitants have embarrassed us so publicly. My patience for such things is running out. This occupation has cost us dearly. Now it has drawn the Constellations’ attention. I am well aware of the incident that killed your son, Valax,” she said, glancing at Andreia’s father, who looked uncomfortable and shifted nervously in his chair. Twenty years older than his wife, he was still a handsome man. Tall and skinny, with sharp features and thin lips, he resembled a predatory bird with his bent nose and golden eyes.

“Madam Chairman, it was a tragic incident that we could not have anticipated,” Valax said. “As for the Gantharians, they are a proud, resourceful people, and we knew when we conquered this world it would take time.”

“Proud? Resourceful? Noble words for such criminals. Cunning, deceitful, and destructive would be more appropriate. As for it taking time, I would think twenty-five years was more than sufficient. Finally, I must say, Valax, failing to anticipate a move on the SC’s part was rather poor for a strategic thinker such as you. Once Ambassador M’Ekar behaved so recklessly in his clumsy attempt to commandeer that boy who pretends to be Gantharian royalty, what did you think they would do? Nothing?” Chairman M’Ocresta huffed. “They never sit idly by—and the cost of this folly? Your son, our ability to negotiate, and public humiliation.” She paused and emphasized, “I tell you, time is running out.”

“What are your orders, Madam Chairman?”

“Now that you’ve finally incarcerated most of their senior resistance leaders, Valax, I want them broken immediately so we can end this foolishness. I want this planet to submit to our will, our ways, once and for all,” the chairman repeated, and let her almost-yellow eyes settle on each face around the table before continuing. “No more second chances. If Gantharat had not been rich in valuable natural resources and an abundant labor force, I would have recommended to the Emperor that we destroy every living being on it. If this situation does not resolve itself quickly, I may still make that recommendation.”