Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon - Freedom Flight

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Freedom Flight by Mercedes

Lackey & Ellen Guon

CHAPTER ONE

The interrogator's lip curled in a contemptuous snarl. "The traitor is

silent. He cannot even speak in his own defense! This is not a highborn

lord of Kilrah; this is a carrion-eater!"

Standing before the interrogator, Lord Ralgha nar Hhallas stared

bleakly at his enemy. A green haze fogged Ralgha's eyes, the mist of rage.

He fought to contain it, forcing his fur to lie flat, his ears to remain erect,

his eyes to remain wide open and without visible guile. He won the battle

with his instincts and emotions, as he had won the eight eights of similar

battles during the past few hours. His vision came clear again, and the

urge to tear out the throats of his enemies—any enemies—subsided. He

knew from the posture of the burly guards watching him that he had not

betrayed himself by so much as a tail-twitch.

He could not falter, could not show fear, even for an instant. In this test

of loyalties, any sign of weakness would be instant proof of treason… a true

Kilrathi would be upheld and strengthened by his Honor, impervious to

pain or fear. No torture would break him, no threats would touch his

spirit. If Ralgha showed no fear, if he remained calm and steadfast

throughout this ordeal, then he could not be a traitor.

So does age and experience deceive youth and vigor.

Had he been in charge of this interrogation, he would have had his

captive wired and monitored. Perhaps he should be glad that someone like

him was not in charge. But blood would tell, and breeding; that was a

truism. Breeding would carry him through this. He had to believe that.

A whisper of sound from the shadow-shrouded figure seated at the end

of the room. "Can he be trusted, Kalrahr?"

Ralgha nar Hhallas stiffened to attention, the hair of his ruff and spine

rising despite his efforts to make it lie flat, uncertain whether he was

going to survive the next few moments. He had seen this shadowy room

before, and had walked through the carved stone corridors of Imperial

Intelligence Headquarters on Ghorah Khar many times, but always as

Lord Ralgha nar Hhallas, commanding officer of the Ras Nik'hra, a

Fralthi-class cruiser that had fought in many battles for the glory of the

Emperor of Kilrah.

Now, for the first time, he saw these walls through other eyes… as a

prisoner. An interesting experience—if he lived through it.

Ralgha had stood in the center of this room for over five hours now,

answering every question placed to him, patiently managing to keep his

temper despite the taunts of the interrogators. That was their job, after

all; to make him lose his temper, to prove that he was a traitor by angry

word or action. They dared not lay paw to him; he was too high of rank

for lerkrath, interrogation by drugs, or halkrath, interrogation by torture.

Only the Emperor himself could decree questioning a Thrak'hra lord by

needle or knife. But they could deliberately try to provoke him, to invoke

the killing-rage that lay close to the surface of every Kilrathi's mind—and

if he lost control even for an instant, if he neglected to remain in the

military-submissive posture, if he forgot that he was, temporarily, the

lowest-ranked Kilrathi in the room, he would prove that he was a traitor.

Even now, the two burly Imperial guards watched him carefully, in case he

should try to make any kind of movement—either to escape or harm

Jahkai, the Kalrahr of Imperial Security, or to make an attempt on the life

of the other, even more important Kilrathi in this room, the one seated in

the shadows.

Jahkai was watching him with eyes narrowed to slits with his

concentration. As well he might. There was more to this than the

questioning of a possible traitor; more than a conflict between two male

Kilrathi. Ralgha had hated Jahkai since they had first met years ago.

The lowborn brute had pretended to noble airs at a troop review,

bringing shame on the highborn present, that he had dared to imitate his

betters. And there was no hiding the fact that Jahkai was lowborn; one

merely had to look at him, and see the mottled, mingled colors of his

coarse fur marking him as Kilra'hra, a commoner. So very unlike Ralgha's

own sleek pelt, bright with the colors and sharply distinct patterns of one

of the highest-born families in the Empire. Even the blunt shape of

Jahkai's muzzle, the flatness of his head, and the blunted teeth of one who

was not a hunter showed his lowborn breeding.

Ralgha had repaid that shame by shaming Jahkai in his turn, making a

mockery of him, then laughing in his face, not realizing then that Jahkai

was Kalrahr of Imperial Security for the entire planetary system of Ghorah

Khar…

Now the situation was very different. A word from Jahkai could

condemn Ralgha to death, lowborn or not. If the other Kilrathi in this

room decided that the word was justified. It had all come down to this;

the word of an enemy, the record of his achievements, and the judgment

of a superior.

This was the most dangerous moment of his life. Nothing else had ever

put him into such peril, not even during the battle against the humans for

the Vega Sector.

He remembered that conflict with a small warmth of pride, pride he

cherished against the anger that sought to consume him. He con-

centrated on his memories of the hours of maneuvering against the

Terran ship, waves of fighter assaults, culminating in the glorious

explosion of the Waterloo-class ship, the blossoming fireball and drifting

debris. The ship had been named the Leningrad, he had learned later, and

over five hundred humans had died when it had been destroyed. Five

hundred enemies. Five hundred gifts to Sivar, the War God.

He remembered one moment of fear in that battle, seeing a tiny Terran

fighter diving toward his ship, knowing that half of their forward cannons

were disabled and there was nothing he or his crew could do to stop it…

… then the wing of Imperial Jalthi fighters had banked in sharply and

destroyed the human ship with a well-aimed volley.

Now Ralgha felt that same paralyzing fear, watching his fete being

decided before him, and knowing that there was nothing he could do

about it at all.

Again, the purring whisper. "I am waiting for your answer, Jahkai."

Kalrahr Jahkai turned and spoke to the shadowed figure seated in the

corner of the room. "My lord, I cannot say. In five hours, we have neither

seen nor heard a single hint of treason from Lord Ralgha. But…"

Ralgha stood silently, muscles locked in the rigidity of submissive fear,

and wished with all his heart that he was back in the battle for the Vega

Sector, commanding the crew of the Ras Nik'hra against the Terran fleet.

At least then, he had an obvious opponent to fight. Not this shadow-war of

loyalties and treason, where a single gesture could result in his immediate

death. They would not even grant him the honor of death in combat… he

could die in this room, shot like a coward or a prisoner of war, and no one

would ever know…

"Enough." The tall Kilrathi rose from his chair in the corner of the

room, striding forward to face Ralgha. Prince Thrakhath, Heir to the

Throne of Kilrah, stared into his eyes, thoughtful and calculating. Gold

rings glistened in Thrakhath's ears, bright against his red-brown fur and

his red cloak. The spicy musk of one who dallied often with females wafted

to Ralgha's nostrils, but Ralgha refused to be distracted by it. "Tell me,

Ralgha… who do you serve?"

"The glory of the Emperor and the Empire of Kilrah," Ralgha said,

stiffly. "I am yours to command, my Prince."

"Yes." The Prince spoke quietly, his voice low and resonant in the small

room. "I believe you are, Ralgha. You will do well." The Prince turned to

the intelligence officer. "Enough of this farce, Jahkai. I had suspected a

personal animosity when you brought me your suspicions; now I am

certain of it. We are finished here. I will return to K'Tithrak Mang

tonight. You will give up this grudge of yours. And to ensure that there will

be no repetition of this—scene—I require that you bring me concrete proof

of deceit before you make any further accusations."

Jahkai flattened his ears and lowered his muzzle submissively; his tail

dragged on the ground, completely limp. Though his eyes were still full of

hate when he looked at Ralgha, the Thrak'hra lord was certain that he

would not dare disobey the Prince's orders. He held his rank on sufferance

alone, and many hated him. They would be glad to see him fall.

The Prince glared down at Jahkai. "The Lord Ralgha may return to his

usual duties." The Prince glanced at Ralgha. "What are your standing

orders, Lord Ralgha?"

Ralgha brought his head up, at full attention. "My ship leaves for the

N'Tanya System tonight, my lord," Ralgha said. "We are to join the strike

force departing for the Terran frontier."

The Prince nodded. "You will bring honor to your hrai, I am certain of

it. Fight well, Ralgha."

"My lord." Ralgha bowed his head, his tail curled down in a gesture of

respect and submission; careful not to spoil his show of appropriate

behavior by displaying the shock the Prince's last statement had given

him. He cannot know, Ralgha thought. All of my hrai, down to my littlest

sibling… dead now, these last five years. I have no family now, no way to

share the honors I have won in combat. No one, nothing worth living

for…

My only joy has been fighting the humans. Killing as many of them as

I can, for the glory of the Empire. Taunting them in battle, ignoring

them as they call us "kitten" or "cat"… I wonder what a cat is?… and

then rejoicing in my victory, hearing their death-screams. Winning

honor for my hrai,for my family name.

Now that is meaningless. Without my hrai...

Prince Thrakhath nodded once to Jahkai, and left the room. Ralgha

began to follow him, but was stopped by a guard's claws on shoulder.

"You may not leave yet, Ralgha," Jahkai hissed in a low voice.

Had the lowborn learned nothing? If Ralgha had been younger, more

given to impulse, Jahkai would have been dead at that moment. The

chemicals of anger and fear still sang in his blood, and made his ears ring.

"I am not one of your hirelings, Jahkai, or a human slave. Do not presume

to give me orders. I am a lord of the Empire. Hinder me, and…" Ralgha

smiled, showing teeth. "And I will rip out your throat, Kilra'hra scum."

"Fine words from a suspected traitor," Jahkai spat.

"Dangerous words from a low-born Kilrathi. Now that the Prince has

cleared me of suspicion, you might wish to remember that I outrank you,

fool." He narrowed his eyes, and allowed his neck-ruff to rise. "You are too

unworthy to challenge. Would you like to spend some time in your own

stockade? It is not very comfortable, as I have learned in these last days."

Jahkai gestured sharply, and the guards stepped back. Ralgha smiled

again, the full smile of the victor, all fangs exposed, and walked into the

hallway. A few moments later, he was out in the street, breathing deeply of

the clean air. He had been locked in a dark, damp cell for ten days, and in

that time had not seen the warm sunlight on the leaves of the birha trees.

They were blossoming now, large red flowers filling the air with a sweet

scent. This street was lined with the trees, a sharp contrast to the stone

buildings and grey-paved streets, the white-capped mountains overlooking

the Old City. It reminded him of home, of his native planet of Hhallas,

where he had lived his childhood, before spending his years in officer's

training on Kilrah. Many Kilrathi said they admired the metallic splendor

of Kilrah, the silver walls and tall towers of the Imperial planet. Not

Ralgha… even after all these years he still yearned for the wild mountains

and untamed wilderness of his home planet.

The sun was setting behind the icy peaks, bright against the snow.

Ralgha began to walk quickly. There was not much time left, before he had

to board his ship and order his crew for their departure.

He walked through the winding streets, stepping over an unconscious

Kilra'hra that was thoroughly intoxicated on arakh leaves, walking past a

group of slaves laboring in the street. At the next street, he turned into the

open market, smelling the rich scents of fresh meat and fish displayed on

carts and tables. The market was not too crowded at this hour, as the

shopkeepers and carters had already sold most of their wares.

A young female human, with very short dark head-fur and dressed in a

plain brown shift decorated with the sigil of Sivar, looked up at Ralgha for

a long moment as he strode past. A slave of the Priestesses of the

Warrior-God, he guessed. He glanced back at the next corner, to see her

only a few feet behind him. Following him, yes. He walked down the street,

pausing in a doorway to let the female catch up with him. "What do you

want, girl?" he asked gruffly.

"Eight eights of pardons, my lord," the girl said in heavily-accented

Kilrathi. "Lady Hassa would speak with you, my lord. If you would please

to follow me, I will take you to her now."

He nodded and followed her down the shadowed street. She moved with

surprising grace, for a human. Ralgha had not had much experience with

humans, except for a few slaves and, of course, captured enemy pilots, and

those only for a few moments before they were taken away by Imperial

Intelligence. He had heard many strange things about humans. The oddest

was that the Terrans actually chose their leaders, like one would choose a

fine cut of meat in the market. Just the thought of a leader chosen by his

followers made Ralgha's tail twitch. Though what he did now, that was

perilously close to what the humans did… selecting a leader.

As he had expected, the girl was leading him to the local Temple of

Sivar, an amphitheater set into the side of the mountain. He followed her

down the stone steps, to where a tall Kilrathi woman, wearing the

ceremonial cloak of a Priestess of Sivar, awaited him.

"Ralgha." Hassa moved toward him. In a gesture that he remembered

from their childhood on Hhallas, she ran her claws through his mane,

smoothing down the thick fur. "You are well?"

He twitched his shoulders, deprecatingly. "As well as can be expected.

They questioned me for days, Hassa."

Hassa nodded and turned to the slavegirl. "Esther, go fetch drink and

arakh leaves for Lord Ralgha. Go now, quickly."

The human girl bowed and ran up the steps.

"You may speak freely now, my lord." Hassa sat on a stone bench.

"What happened in there?"

Ralgha sat beside her, looking down at the plain grey stone. Too like the

plain gray stone of his cell. "It was difficult, but not as bad as I thought it

might be. Questions, day and night. They often would not allow me to

sleep, but otherwise did not harm me."

"I was very worried, when I heard that you had been arrested." Hassa's

eyes were dark and unreadable, all pupil. "We were afraid that you would

reveal what you know of the rebellion."

He bristled at the implication of weakness. "Never! Even if they had

tortured me, I would have revealed nothing!"

"So they set you free." Hassa's claws extended and retracted nervously.

"They set you free… why?"

In a way, that puzzled him too. "I assume, because they could not find

anything, nor trick me into giving them information. Because they believe

that I am loyal to the Emperor. Because I am Thrak'hra, and a decorated

ship's captain. Prince Thrakhath himself attended my final interrogation,

and ordered them to release me."

"I see." Hassa was silent for a long moment, and then spoke. "The

Council met last night, Ralgha, while we were still uncertain as to your

fate. They decided that if you survived the interrogation, they would have

a task for you."

He flushed with the heat of excitement; his fur itched. After all this

time—they had something they wanted him to do.

"We must gain help for this rebellion against the Emperor, if it is to

succeed," she continued. "You will be our envoy, our ambassador… you

will go to the humans and demand their assistance for us. We will be their

allies, but they must send us troops, weapons, starships. You will

surrender your ship, the Ras Nik'hra, to them as a gesture of good faith."

"Surrender… my ship?" Ralgha stared at her, so stunned with shock, he

felt like a tiny merdha must, when the teeth of the hunter met in its neck.

"Give it to the humans? My ship? How can you ask this of me?"

Hassa's face was fiercely adamant; he knew there would be no moving

her. Though she cared for him as an old friend and beloved, the rebellion

was something like an offspring to her. As a mother would abandon mate

to fight for the life of a cub, she would give all to her cause. "You must! If

you do not, Ralgha nar Hhallas, you are an oathbreaker. You swore an

oath to the Council that you would aid us in overthrowing the Emperor…

can you be forsworn now?"

He shook his head. "But the humans would destroy us on sight—"

She cut him off with a gesture. "We have communicated with the

Terrans… there will be a ship waiting for you in the Firekka System, the

Tiger's

Claw. You will give the Ras Nik'hra to them, and tell them of our

rebellion."

Silence hung between them for a long time, as Ralgha fought his

emotions again, and considered what she had said in as dispassionate a

light as he could manage under the circumstances. "I will do this," Ralgha

said slowly. "I must. I will not be forsworn. But I know what it means… I

will never be able to return. I will never see you, or my home of Hhallas

again." He looked up at the mountain above them, the first stars

beginning to appear in the night sky. "Sometimes I wonder if we should

ever have left our planet, Hassa. We were so happy there as children, we

could have stayed there… perhaps I should have claimed you as my mate

and bearer of my children when I had the chance. Years ago, before

politics and soldiering claimed my life, and the Lord Sivar claimed yours."

Hassa touched his face hesitantly. "Do you think we would have been

happy, Ralgha? Living out our lives in the mountains of Hhallas? A life

without honor, without a future? I think not. Better to burn brightly, if

only for a short time, than never to have truly lived at all. I have no

regrets." She glanced up at the entrance of the amphitheater. "Where is

that human child? She only had to cross the street to the house, not run

across the entire city!"

Hassa climbed the steps, looking out into the street. She turned back to

Ralgha, too slowly to be casual, and walked down to where he waited.

"There are Imperial soldiers outside my house," she said quietly.

"Ralgha, you must go. They will doubtless search here next, when they

realize I am not in my home. Something must have gone wrong."

Fear for her, and anger, made his voice into a growl; his claws

extended, and his neck-ruff rose. "But what of you, Hassa?"

She raised head and tail proudly. "I am a priestess of Sivar, sworn to

his glory. I will not run away or hide, there is no honor or courage in that."

She touched the ritual knife sheathed at her belt. "If they come for me, I

will be ready."

He could say nothing; his instinct urged him to stay and fight at her

side; his duty told him to go.

She gave him a long, searching look, as if trying to memorize his face.

"Go now, and quickly. Deliver our message and your ship to the humans,

Ralgha." She pointed to the other exit of the amphitheater, a small

doorway that led into the twisting warren of the streets of the Old City. A

moment more, as conflicting urges warred within him, then duty won. He

turned to go.

The door opened on silent hinges, and Ralgha slipped through. Beyond

the vine-covered alcove, the street was deserted. Ralgha strode away from

the amphitheater as a squad of soldiers, dressed in uniforms with the

black sigil of Imperial Security, marched past him toward the main

entrance to the Temple of Sivar.

Ralgha walked quickly through the darkened streets, never once looking

back.

On the bridge of the Ras Nik'hra, Kirha checked the weapons list one

more time. "More heat-seeking missiles," he said, tapping his claw on the

offending item. "At least twice as many heat-seeking missiles. Do you want

our pilots to run out of missiles when they're flying against the humans?"

Did you think I was so young and inexperienced that I would overlook

that mistake? Kirha thought with contempt. No, I have studied with the

finest officer in the Emperor's service, and Lord Ralgha nar Hhallas

would never let his pilots go into combat with less than the ordnance

they require. "Attend to this immediately," Kirha said aloud.

The Ordnance Officer bowed to him, walking away. "And do it quickly,

we are supposed to depart within the hour!" Kirha called after him,

putting an edge of anger into his voice. The officer doubled his pace as he

hurried off the bridge.

Kirha subvocalized a growl, and prowled the bridge. "Has anyone seen

Lord Ralgha?" Kirha asked the under-officers taking their places and

making their pre-flight checks. "He should have been here by now."

The Pilot Officer bared his teeth as Kirha moved past him. "Perhaps

they haven't let him out of prison yet," he said, a hint of something Kirha

could not read in his voice.

Kirha spun, his claws at the Pilot Officer's throat before the other

officer could react. He could feel the other's pulse beneath his pad-tips,

beating very quickly. "Do not speak so of Lord Ralgha, if you expect to

survive this expedition," Kirha hissed. "He has been mistakenly accused;

he will be acquitted of this false stain upon his honor. He will be here in

time. I know he will." He released the officer's throat, leaving several

welling points of bright red blood on the other Kilrathi's brown fur.

"Attend to your duties, officer."

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