Into Tolari Space (Tales of Tolari Space) (3 page)

Of course it was. Unseating the Sural was worth any amount of trouble.

The Monral turned his thoughts back to the tasks at hand. He needed to get a working tablet so he could finish reading the provincial reports, if there was a working tablet to be had. Were the console interfaces were damaged as well? If so, there went all the morning reports. He grunted. The consoles were the first order of business. The tablets came second.

He reached for his tablet on reflex, intending to transmit an order to his engineering section, then scowl
ed at the static on the display. What irritating guests these humans had proven to be. He called a servant to send for his senior engineers.

Shaking his head, he left his sitting room and checked the console in the desk of his private study. He gusted a sigh when it came to life, unaffected by the interference that had damaged the
more lightly shielded tablets. That lack would have to be remedied. A great deal of work needed to be done.

* * *

It took most of two days to get shielded tablets distributed to those who needed them most. Some of the tablets damaged by the human phase technology could be repaired. The rest were replaced.

The Monral’s tablet had proven reparable. He stood leaning against the windows in his study while he read
a summary of the morning status reports. The city grain stores were low, but the spring harvest was starting and would soon remedy that. A child of extraordinary sensitivity had been identified at the common school outside the stronghold walls. Excellent. Perhaps she could be trained as a political advisor. A laborer with cora reaction had been brought to the stronghold apothecaries during the night. That must have been the tall man he’d seen at the morning meal, sitting with the laborers engaged in repairing the roof. There was something familiar about him, but perhaps he’d seen him working the fields. A man of his height was hard to miss.

He blinked. Cora reaction? Were the farmers spraying cora seed oil to combat spring blight? He made a note to look into it. The blight had defied all efforts to exterminate it for thousands of years. If it proved to be a bad year for the blight, the farmers would need larger stores of the oil.

The Monral turned his mind to more immediate concerns. He wanted his engineers to work on shielding the quarters set aside for the humans. He transmitted orders to get them started.

The shielding was in place by morning of the following day. The roof was not only repaired, but reinforced, and the reinforcement had been made to look primitive. He went up to the roof to inspect the work himself. It was clever. The difference between the repaired area and the rest of the roof could only be detected during daylight if one knew to look for it. At night, it would be invisible. He made a note to reward the laborers.

It was time to contact the human ship.

* * *

The same pilot, the same rough ride, the same profuse apologies.

“There’s just nothing I can do about this angle of descent,” the pilot said through gritted teeth as he fought the controls.
“If they had a phase platform this wouldn’t be necessary.”

Adeline tried to make light of it. The man took obvious pride in his skill and seemed mortified at the degree to which she and Smitty were being bounced and jolted.

“I’m grateful it’s you at the helm, Commander,” she said. “A lesser pilot would have us in a spin.”

“You should listen to Addie,” Smitty added. God bless him. “She knows what she’s talking about.”

She flashed a smile at her husband. The tightness at the corners of the Commander’s mouth loosened a little. Yes, she did know what she was talking about. Her father was a pilot, though Smitty didn’t know that. She’d made sure he didn’t know just how humble her origins were.

The ride smoothed. They were over Monralar and leveling out. The shuttle descended to a gentle landing on the stronghold roof. Adeline heaved a sigh of relief and grabbed her bag as the craft settled.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” the commander told her as he released the hatch.

She giggled as she followed Smitty between the two marines in the back of the shuttle.

Marines. Her husband hadn’t been able to talk the Admiral out of it this time. 
Armed
marines, carrying assault rifles. What in the name of all that was holy was John thinking? Was he
trying
to insult the Tolari? She’d been present when Smitty called and tried to explain. The Monral took offense at first, though he didn’t seem to hold it against Smitty. She had studied the Tolari ruler’s face as her husband cajoled him into accepting the presence of the marines. All she saw was slow acceptance. She’d shaken her head. The man was brilliant.

The fresh air was warm and fragrant as she stepped onto the roof, and she took a deep breath. After spending so much time breathing canned air on ships and stations, this planet smelled
good
. With any luck, so did they. The ship’s laundry had deodorized their clothes – she hoped.  The Tolari’s sense of smell had to be exquisitely sensitive for them to be so affected by the faint traces of cleaner on their clothing.

The young Tolari prince appeared from the stairwell and greeted them. Adeline smiled and bowed when her husband did, but she
understood little. Instead, she studied Farric as he led them down the stairs and toward the audience room. It wasn’t just any man who could pull off wearing pale lavender, but both he and his father wore it well. Manly men, she thought with a silent giggle. Farric glanced at her and smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking. She shot him a friendly grin.

When they reached the audience room, Smitty was gruff with the marines. “Stay just inside the door,” he grumbled. “And don’t even
think about using
those
.” He gestured at the rifles they carried.

“Yes sir,” they both replied, and then Farric was motioning them all into the room.

To her surprise, Farric remained in the corridor. She glanced back at him, but then Smitty pulled her along. They stopped at the dais and lowered themselves to the matting. Smitty had trouble again sitting on his heels. He’d practiced it on the ship, but he just wasn’t flexible enough. He fell onto one hip again. Well, there were worse poses.

The Monral made them wait, staring at them with a face made of stone, while Smitty
started making occasional small movements indicating he was growing physically uncomfortable. She was pretty sure the Tolari ruler could see it too. Finally, the Monral uttered a word she didn’t understand.

So, no English this time.

She focused on the Monral as Smitty spoke. There was something about the set of his shoulders that gave her the impression he was amused. God, the man was a bastard, making Smitty wait again. A tiny twitch of a cheek muscle caught her eye. Yes, he was amused. After a pause so long she began to wonder if he would just stare at them the rest of the evening, the Monral spoke, and she couldn’t have been prouder of Smitty for keeping the discomfort out of his voice when he replied.

The Monral took a breath, assumed an air of superiority, and continued.

A giant of a man, wearing a pale blue robe covered from collar to hem with white embroidery, burst into view out of thin air, standing in front and to one side of the dais. She nearly jumped out of her skin, falling backward with an involuntary cry, her concept of reality turning on its head. Smitty gave a violent start, and the Monral too jerked in surprise. She didn’t have time to process that improbable event when lavender-clad Tolari began popping out of nowhere along the walls of the room, all of them staring at the blue-robed intruder, ready to attack. The unmistakable click of assault rifle safeties being disengaged sounded behind her. She’d almost forgotten about the marines.

The Monral scowled and made a gesture, and the Tolari along the walls –
disappeared
. Her mouth fell open.

“Stand down!” Smitty barked at the marines.
             

They lowered their rifles with obvious reluctance. Adeline breathed a sigh of relief and craned her neck to look up at the man who’d so impossibly burst out of thin air. Then she forgot to breathe. The man was stunning. Good God, she thought.
Michelangelo would weep to sculpt this man. The heavens should part before him. She tore her eyes away from him and glanced at the Monral. The expression on his face could have killed. She shuddered. The Monral looked like he hated the gorgeous giant with every fiber of his being.

The newcomer smiled. She blinked. He was almost beaming with affability, and she could swear he was enjoying himself. The Monral sputtered, then seemed to
catch himself and stood to bow – low. Adeline got to her feet, her heart still pounding, and helped Smitty up as the Monral spoke again, mentioning their names.

The impossible man favored them with a slight bow and said something that sounded like a greeting.
When Smitty turned to the Monral and asked a question, a malicious smile curved the Monral’s lips. He looked as if he was about to say something, but then the giant
silenced
him with a sharp gesture. She narrowed her eyes. The Monral was the subordinate of the two. Now that was interesting. Very interesting.

Smitty glanced from one to the other of the two Tolari with a look of comprehension spreading across his blunt features. He said something and bowed. 

“Watch your thoughts around him,” the Monral muttered in English.

What did
that
mean?

The tall man pierced the Monral with a dangerous look, all affability gone. The Monral was supposed to be silent, Adeline thought. While his superior takes charge?

Smitty filled the awkward pause with something conciliatory, in a tone of voice she recognized as the one he employed when he was trying to smooth over hostilities. The tall Tolari made a mollified comment.

“
He
is cold as the glaciers of his province,” the Monral said, using English again, as if he were daring the other man to deal with him.

The newcomer seemed to have
had enough. He snapped a gesture and shot off a rapid-fire burst of words. Dripping with hatred, the Monral nodded, bowed, and stalked out of the room. His advisors followed him, each of them bowing as they passed the blue-robed giant.

Who outranked the Monral. That much was obvious.

She watched them leave with a sigh of relief and turned back to study the newcomer. His face had relaxed, and he was regarding them with genuine friendliness in his dark eyes. She suppressed a shiver. Those eyes. Molten pools of mahogany. And those long fingers... She pulled her mind out of distraction and got back to business, joining Smitty and tucking a hand under his arm.

“The Monral
hates
him,” she murmured.

The tall Tolari said something to Smitty. She sighed to herself and studied his body language until Smitty gave the little tug that meant it was time for her to drape herself on his arm and leave. She followed his lead and bowed before they headed out of the room.

The Monral was in the corridor, simmering and pacing. She could almost see anger dripping from his pores. Smitty stopped and bowed to him, but he waved them away. To one side, Farric beckoned.

“Come on, Addie,” Smitty said in a low voice. “He’s escorting us back to the shuttle.”

* * *

The Monral bottled his fury and paced.
How
did the Sural find out? He was caught, humiliated, at the Sural’s mercy. He had no doubt what would happen now. Word of what he’d attempted would leak, bit by bit, first to the Sural’s allies, then to his enemies. The ruling caste would never again consider him a serious candidate to lead them. Even more humiliating, the Sural was here, in
his
stronghold, giving orders to the servants, showing no concern for the guards. He ground his teeth, admitting the truth to himself. The Sural had no need to fear his guards. They couldn’t touch him if they tried, even in numbers. The only way to kill the Sural was to use a distance weapon.

The Monral shuddered. There was dishonor even in the thought of such a thing. Only hand-to-hand combat preserved honor, since the attacker’s life was at risk as much as the defender’s. Distance weapons were despised and forbidden, and the sight of the weapons the human guards carried had made his stomach heave. He shuddered again. To kill by piercing or damaging the body with projectiles or implements was an appalling concept.

He froze. Piercing. Projectiles. His nostrils flared. Proficiency with the bow was a harmless diversion practiced by most rulers, but an arrow
could
be used as a projectile weapon if aimed at a living being. His body tried to shudder again in reaction. He suppressed it and resumed his pacing, allowing himself to entertain the shocking thought.

The Sural was unkillable in honorable combat.
But what about dishonorable?
The bow could be a
weapon
. Perhaps the idea could be planted in one of the less intelligent members of the ruling caste. That might prove fruitful, if it could be done in a way that didn’t lead back to him.

The Sural appeared in the doorway of the audience room. The Monral glared at him, and the Sural’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t probing, the Monral thought. He wouldn’t dare.