Authors: Susan Grant
Rom’s voice rose, just as they’d practiced. “I ask that you declare war against the Family of the New Day, to defend the galaxy whatever the cost, never to surrender, even if battles are to be fought on the very home planets that protect our children. I ask that you carry on the struggle, for as long as it takes, until the Great Mother deems us worthy to liberate the galaxy from this utter, merciless evil.” Rom regarded them for endless heartbeats, then bowed and backed up several steps. “Crush the darkness!” Fists clenched, he walked off the stage.
Applause erupted with the suddenness of a downpour. “B’kah, B’kah,” some began to chant. “Unity is victory!”
Pride and apprehension tumbled through her, and goose bumps pebbled her arms. She clapped her hands until her palms stung. Quietly, she remarked to Gann, “He’s reclaimed his role as leader.”
He whispered in her ear. “Whether he wanted to or not.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it.
The applause abated only after the assembly members stood. Jas, Gann, and Muffin filed out a side entrance. She glimpsed Rom near the far wall of the anteroom, on the other side of a throng of eager admirers. He was glancing around, as if looking for her. She tried to push her way through the crowd, but it was slow going, particularly with everyone gaping at her—and her hair. She should have worn a cloak with a hood.
When she next checked the place Rom had stood moments before, it was empty. “Do you see him?” she asked Muffin, who towered over the crowd.
The big man craned his neck. “He took the center corridor. Lord B’kah was with him. And the other seven.”
They jogged to the spot where Muffin had seen the men disappear. By the time they got there, formidable-looking security guards had blocked the hallway. Their laser pistols glinted ominously. “I need to see Romli-jhian B’kah,” she said breathlessly.
Muffin’s shadow fell over them. The soldiers braced themselves.
“I’m Rom B’kah’s
a’nah
,” she explained. “He’s expecting me.”
The men glanced at each other. The shortest of the trio spoke, his demeanor polite but firm. “They are in council. No one is permitted inside. No wives.” He lifted his uneasy gaze to Muffin. “No one.”
She released a worried breath. Gann placed his hand on her shoulder. “Come. I’ll buy us all a drink. We have no choice but to wait.”
Loud voices echoed from across a vast plaza, where Jas huddled at a tiny al fresco bar with Muffin and Gann, a bowl of shimmer crackers between them. Real grass grew along brick sidewalks lit by laser-lanterns. A dome above let in the glow of trillions of stars. Several glasses of mogmelon wine warmed her belly, muting her nervousness, but at the sight of Rom marching her way, trailed by
Vash
starfighter pilots and intelligence officials, her pulse jumped all over again.
She pushed away from the table and stood, smoothing the long silken sleeves of her gown. Rom’s face was shadowed. He wore his mask of indifference, hiding his true emotions, though the glint in his eyes told her that something significant had transpired in the meeting.
He didn’t slow as he swept past. Grabbing her by the elbow, he propelled her away from the table. She glanced over her shoulder at the veritable army pursuing them. “Who are they?”
Rom whirled on his entourage. “Go.” When the men hesitated, he beseeched them, “I ask for privacy now. I will be at the appointed place at the appointed time.”
The men halted by Gann and Muffin, and Rom resumed his punishing pace. Jas followed. They were practically jogging across the plaza. A warren of dark, narrow streets loomed ahead, lined with stores and what appeared to be private residences. He chose the second alleyway, as if he knew exactly where he was headed. “Where are we going?” she finally managed, gasping for air in the Wheel’s thin atmosphere.
“Down below,” he said. Metallic cobblestones clicked under their boots. The structures were built so close together that they blotted out the stars above. The air
reeked of overworked computer equipment, cooking meat, and something sour, like standing water. The cobblestones turned into stairs that descended into the bowels of the ancient space station.
Rom steered her off the main path, urging her along until they were wedged between a wall and a trash receptacle of discarded machinery and rotting food. She peered around nervously, and her mouth quirked. “Nice part of town. Mind telling me what’s going on?”
He pressed his lips to the sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “I must leave you.”
She went rigid and pushed away. “When?”
“Now. Tonight.” He swallowed. “They await me at the docks.”
“Who? What’s happened?”
“There was another attack,” he said grimly. “On the Lesok homeworld. The Family of the New Day’s forces have returned to Balkanor to rearm. Then they will strike again. Only this time we will not allow it.”
“
We?
You’ve convinced the
Vash Nadah
to fight back?”
“Yes.” Rom saw triumph spark in her eyes. “And they chose me to lead the attack.”
The blood drained from her face. “I thought…I thought you were throwing them the gauntlet. If you did, they tossed it right back.”
“I have the best chance of sneaking into the New Day headquarters undetected. I’ve seen their ways—and I’ve been to the planet. Their weapons lab and storage are deep under the planet’s surface. Only I know the landmarks to find the entrance, the system of underground tunnels to get there.” He thought of the dank cells where
Sharron had tortured his prisoners. “I’ll be able to get my men in before anyone knows we’re there.”
Like a true warrior, she bravely absorbed what he had said. But her voice was huskier now, betraying her fear. “How long will you be gone?”
“I’m not coming back, angel.”
She gasped, lifting a trembling hand to her mouth.
“Jas, I can get my team in, but I will not be able to get us out.”
“You don’t know that!” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
He felt such pain that he could not describe it, would not share it with her. “The security measures in place at the cult headquarters are extraordinary. Even if we are successful, there is no way we can escape.” An image flashed in his mind of the group of men who comprised the Wheel’s elite guard, the best-trained warriors of the
Vash Nadah.
When he’d put forth the plan, no one brought up their nonexistent chances of success. Without hesitation, they were ready to follow him into a battle they couldn’t possibly survive. “Jasmine, I
have
to do this. I have to finish what I started.”
Weeping quietly, she wrapped her arms around him. He held her tight to his chest, each one of their heartbeats marching closer to the moment he’d never see her again.
“I am going to ask you to do something I fully expect you to decline,” he said. “I will not blame you if you do.”
She tilted her face up. “Anything,” she said shakily. “You know that.”
“When we flew patrol, I asked you to be my wife.
You were interrupted before you gave me your answer.” They leaned into each other. He murmured his words against her hair. “I need to know what you intended to say.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It was yes.”
Joy and remorse rocketed through him with the awareness that this was both the best and worst moment of his life. “Then marry me tonight. Consent to be my wife. It is for selfish reasons only that I ask, a dying man’s wish—”
“Stop it! You’re coming back. You know it, too, or you wouldn’t bother marrying me.”
He sighed. “That is not the reason. In my religion, a man and woman must be legally wed in order to live together in the ever after. By all that is holy, Jasmine, we deserve eternity since we cannot have now.” He gripped her upper arms and moved her backward. “All I can offer is my family name, but it is something I value more than the rarest of jewels.”
Jas bit her lip until it stung. Rom was heir to an an empire that defied imagination. A king did not choose his life’s path. His obligations came before personal wishes. Deep down, she’d already acknowledged that; only now had she finally accepted it.
“Rom, my love, if I could give you one thing in this universe, it would be happiness.” She wiped the back of her hand across her face, wiping away her tears. “Let’s find someone who can marry us.”
She saw the answering moistness in his eyes when he caught her hand and tugged her away from the wall. Her boots skidded over the cobblestones, which had become slick from condensation dripping from high above. Rom answered her unspoken question. “The people who live
here are descendants of those who built the Wheel long ago. Not all are
Vash,
and the customs they practice are often ancient—and unapproved. But because of the sacrifices their ancestors made in building this space-city, we look the other way.” He slowed his pace, turned right, then followed the path to a dead end. Chimes tinkled as he pushed open a door leading down a dark and narrow flight of stairs. The air was muggy, warmer, and scented thickly with incense.
“Who told you about this place?”
“I asked one of the guards. He told me where to come.”
They entered a cramped sitting area. A single laserlantern hung from a wire tied to a metal beam in the ceiling. It spun in crooked circles, casting dizzying slashes of amber light across the walls and floor. “This counts as a legal ceremony?” she ventured doubtfully.
“Among the
Vash Nadah,
no. But it will be recognized among the merchants and in all the known worlds, including the frontier. And in my religion.”
“Ah, ah!” An incredibly short, plump woman scurried into the room. The top of her head barely reached Jas’s hips. “He told me you come.” She propped her hands on her waistless form and leaned back, gazing in admiration at Rom, then at Jas. She gave a quick satisfied grunt, her pale eyes sparkling in her seamed face. “I will do for you. Ah, yes, I will do.”
Despite the grief choking her, Jas exchanged smirks with Rom. The little woman reminded her of a chirpy little sparrow. But Jas’s brief amusement faded as soon as she saw the altar. Weddings were supposed to be times of joy—not of sorrow. She ground her teeth together. The bird-woman flitted around them, indicating
that they kneel before a table littered with smoldering candles—real candles—and pots of fragrant bubbling oil. Rom hunkered down at her side. His warrior’s body pressed against hers, lending her his warm strength. The woman performed a curious, slow little dance, her face scrunched closed in prayer, while she raised two candles above her head, one in each pudgy hand. Then she offered a candle to Jas. When she took it, the woman gave another to Rom.
“Today the blood of the B’kah and the Hamilton are joined,” she recited in a singsong voice. “Two are stronger than one.” She waved her fingers, indicating that they were to touch the candles together. Jas’s hand shook. She gazed into Rom’s shadowed face. Quivering candlelight imbued his bronzed skin with an amber glow. She held her breath as they brought the wicks together. They sparked, then surged into one tall flame, and the reflection danced in Rom’s eyes.
While they held the candles together, the woman leaned closer, inspecting the flame. Then she cupped her gnarled hands over the candles. Her eyes took on that faraway, wisdom-of-the-ages look, reminding Jas of Tina, the elderly New Ager who’d once read her palm. “Very fortunate,” the little sparrow whispered. “Yes, good future…long life…many descendants. Your progeny will travel to many worlds.”
Jas averted her eyes. Apparently psychic abilities were not this ancient’s strength.
“All done,” the woman called out cheerily.
“One moment,” Rom said. “I want her to have this.” He twisted off his treasured signet ring and pushed the chunky band onto Jas’s left index finger. “Take my ring.”
Touched profoundly, Jas clenched her hand until the ring pinched her flesh. Then she crushed her fist protectively to her breasts. Solemn and silent, Rom leaned forward and kissed her, his mouth sweet and warm and tender. “I love you,” they whispered to each other.
The woman plucked a handheld computer from the folds of her dress and punched several keys. Entering the event in a galactic database? Then she spread a comfortably normal-looking piece of paper and two pens on the table. Unable to make out the runes, Jas let Rom guide her hand to the proper place to sign. Then they were back out in the filtered and thin night air.
Jas tried not to dwell on why Rom was in such a hurry, striding through the underground village and uphill to the docks. It was more crowded in the main part of the station. People who passed them made their support of Rom known: “Unity is victory!” “Without victory there is no survival!” The words had become the new battle cry to defeat Sharron’s uprising.
Ahead were the docks. Outside an enormous battle cruiser waited, its gleaming hull glowing in the Wheel’s reflected light. Soldiers lined both sides of the corridor leading to the hatch. They watched her with tender understanding, having already bidden good-bye to their own wives. Joren, Gann, and Muffin stood off to the side—with Rom’s father, stoic in his resigned despair, his face drawn. He pointedly sought eye contact with her and nodded, giving her his silent respect, but making no move to steal what little time she had left with his son. With sudden clarity—and surprising empathy—she realized how much pain he must feel at losing the same child twice.
Ten feet away from the onlookers, Rom stopped and
drew her close. Jas felt sluggish, numb, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. Tomorrow Rom wouldn’t be with her, but now he was. She hugged him with all her might, laying her head against his shoulder as she closed her eyes.
“Be happy,” he whispered.
She pushed away, trembling, and dragged her fingertips down his cheek. “Come back to me.”
He swallowed hard. Haltingly, he began to speak in English. “Jasmine Boswell Hamilton B’kah. I…love…you.” Then he kissed her, drawing away slowly.
When she opened her eyes he was striding up the gangway into the ship. The soldiers followed; then the hatch snapped shut. Somehow she managed to keep her composure through the rumbling of thrusters. As the ship streaked away, she felt suddenly faint. Joren and Lord B’kah blurred. She wobbled and Gann steadied her, escorting her away quickly, protecting her from questions and condolences with his large frame. He brought her to a room. His quarters? Hers? She didn’t know…or care. She began to shake. Gann caught her before she crumpled to the floor. He propped his back against the wall and supported her crosswise across his lap, holding her to his chest. Shoulders heaving, she cried until it hurt. Sometime later, how much later she didn’t know, she heard deep voices. Muffin. Gann. “Have news…Balkanor is destroyed…No survivors…”