Bruen's face sagged. "See that you do, Butla Ret. We're out of time. Totally and completely out of time." The screen went blank.
Chapter 21
Ily Takka sat in the captain's overstuffed chair in his cabin aboard the Regan battle cruiser. People had been displaced all over the ship to make room for her — but then, where else did you put the Minister of Internal Security except in the finest quarters aboard? At the moment, knowing she had the finest living space in the cruiser didn't alleviate any of Ily's current difficulties. Especially since she stared into the secure-line holo projector which was filled with a very upset emperor.
Tybalt the Imperial Seventh stalked back and forth before the comm pickup
on far off Rega, venting his fiery wrath. "The entire Second Division is butchered! Butchered, Uy! The remnants that are left are in the hands of Sinklar Fist! He's your man, Ily, remember?" Tybalt popped a fist into his palm. "Well, that's fine, Ily. Just damn fine!" He gasped a breath, arms spread. "And Staffa, you say, was rescued by the Companions? He's been in the employ of the Sassans all along?" Tybalt threw his arms up. "What the hell have you done!"
Fear shivered coldly in her gut as she looked into his angry eyes. From a pocket he pulled a metal object. To her trained eyes, it looked very much like a switch. Switch? For what?
Do something, Ily! Save yourself! Quickly, or he'll replace you! How do I handle him?
"Stop it, Tybalt!" Ily thundered as her mind cleared. Jumping to her feet, she flipped her long hair over her shoulder in disgust. She faced him, stimulating her own anger. "You're the Emperor, remember? Quit your damn sniveling and act like the man I used to know!"
Guts, Ily, show him those guts that got you to the top so uickly. Mae it real good, because the jaws of the Rotted Gods are snapping at your heels. If you fail, the Etarian
desert will be a picnic compared to what Tybalt will do to you — favorite bed snatch or not!
She allowed heat to rush into her face. "Emperors are measured by how they handle a crisis. Well, this is it, isn't rt?" She pointed a finger at his face. "We don't have time for pouting matches or casting blame. But for the record, who was it who uncovered the fact that Staffa and the Companions had contracted with Sassa? What if we'd let matters be, followed the Lord Commander's instructions? Don't rage at me, Tybalt! I found the betrayal long before any fawning sycophant could have."
Tybalt licked his lips, taking a deep breath. He ran anxious fingers through his crinkly black locks as he shook his head. "Maybe, Ily." He looked at her, eyes hard. "I have a lot at stake here. I can't afford any more disasters. You're on the thin edge. Don't bring me excuses!"
"So you lost the Second Assault Division on Targa?" She lifted a hand, palm out. "When we laid that plan, we didn't know a Divisional sacrifice wasn't going to bring the Companions running. In war—"
"It was the wrong damn Division!" he exploded. "Do you have any idea what it means to the military structure?" He swallowed and turned, hand on hip as he struggled to maintain his temper. "I'm faced with the entire might of Sassa. and the damn Companions!
"And your military is turned upside down by this Sinklar Fist?" She chewed on that, chin resting on her thumb and forefinger. "That might not. Wait! Tell me, how is this Fist doing… on a tactical level, I mean? Why is he still alive? How did he get out of the mountains in the first place?"
Tybalt slapped his sides with open palms. "I don't have the damnedest idea, but he took a Division of buffoons, louts, and with them, he stayed alive, took Vespa — and pac ifed it — and he's got what's left of the Second eatin out of his hand, too!"
Ily considered, mind still racing to save herself. "And the military situation on Targa now?";
"Desperate," Tybalt's lips quivered. He talked to her from his bedroom. How many times had she lain on that giant bed with him? "Orbital recon shows a massing of Rebel strength around Vespa. From the figures, from the field reports on Sinkar's tactics, Fist should be crushed in
another twenty-four hours. We could help; orbital bombardment would play
hell with the Rebel advance. In the end, though, Sinklar Fist is dog meat."
Ily's voice dropped as she wondered absently, "And if he's not?" A glimmering of hope began to grow. Could it be possible? In times of disaster, often a solution presented itself — if only one were bright enough to see beyond preconceptions and snatch the opportunity out from under blindness.
"Then he's another flaming Staffa kar Therma," Tybalt gritted, "because nobody else could pull his ass out of the fire about to break loose on Targa."
"Don't back him up from orbit. Leave him to the Targans."
"What?" he exploded as he lifted a clenched fist. "Ily, I warn you…"
She smiled. "Pear not, Imperial Seventh. I am on my way to Targa. I will see this Sinklar Fist — if he survives."
Tybalt gave her an uncertain look. "And in the meantime?"
"Your Divisional Firsts are nervous about upheavals caused by this upstart Fist?" Ily raised a shoulder. "So be it. Those who complain do so because they are unoccupied. Sassa has the Companions. Why wait for them to use that advantage? We have surprise. We had best not lose it."
Tybalt blinked. "You mean…"
"Of course. I think Staffa kar Therma's treachery speaks for itself. To wait any longer is to prove ourselves fools worthy of defeat."
He looked unhappy as he nodded. "Then you are off to Targa, and I am off to war. You had better be right this time, Ily. You won't get another chance." The holo went dead.
Could Sinklar Fist be 'another flaming Staffa kar Therma'? f it's true, if he really has that kind of talent, Sinklar Fist may be our salvation! Ily hoped fervently that she was right as she pulled her g suit from the locker and signaled the commander for acceleration to Targa.
"Well, beats bloody hell out of laying pipe in the desert," Staffa grunted, feeling the crate shiver as it was settled into place and secured by the hold grapples.
Kaylla looked up from the thermal unit Nyklos had provided. It would generate heat and light from superconducting micro-generators. Strange shadows stretched across her face from the low angle of the yellow illumination. Her expression hadn't changed. Her eyes remained guarded, the set of her mouth hard and unforgiving as she sat on an emergency supply pack. To one side a waste disposal canister had been glued to the floor.
He shook his head, rethinking the events that had propelled him from certain death in the desert to the inside of this small gray box. Skyla had come for him, and more, she'd done it on her own, without scrambling the fleet.
His heart had leapt when she walked around that crate with Nyklos. For that lingering moment, he'd looked into her eyes and his soul had thrilled. Then, just as quickly, she'd been gone. What would it have been like, encased in this gray syalon box with her? Could he have told her how he'd come to feel about her? About how she'd filled his thoughts in the desert?
Staffa picked up the satchel that lay in the corner and opened it. He gasped in wonder as he pulled his gray combat armor free and shook it out. "Where? How did Nyklos know? I can't believe he found it." He searched the interior of the case, finding his weapons and other personal items along with other supplies-Skyla's.
Not Nyklos but Skyla. He chuckled warmly to himself. She'd found Broddus. Staffa's smile went grim as he imagined that encounter. Another tiny bit of justice, Koree.
"Why didn't you tell me who you were?" Kaylla asked in a hollow monotone.
Staffa retreated from his reverie and spread his hands as he took a deep breath. "Because it wouldn't have served any purpose except to make you more miserable than you already were. "