Supreme Constellations - Book Two

Rebel's Quest

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PROLOGUE

Sand blasted Roshan O’Landha’s face and crept into every
crevice, every wrinkle. Squeezing her eyes closed behind her

night-vision visor, she tried to soothe the stabbing pain the bright light

from an unexpected explosion caused. It reverberated throughout the

chain of mountains around her, booming until her ears rang.

“Get down and stay down!” Roshan yelled into her communicator

and prayed her team was all right. She pressed a different button with

her thumb, using her call sign. “Paladin to base camp. What’s your

status?”

Jubinor’s unmistakable voice, intermixed with loud coughing,

emerged through the static. “We’ve got fighters down and I’m missing

one, Paladin. Trying to get an update now.”

“I copy. Standing by.” Roshan tore off her visor and moved behind

a pile of debris as she squinted through the whirling sand. She wheezed,

then tried to clear her throat when she inhaled fine dust.

Suddenly she heard an all-too-familiar sound and rapidly flipped a

switch on her communicator. Her voice insistent, she manually overrode

any conversations going on at the moment. “All frequencies! We’ve got

incoming! Take cover!”

Roshan jerked her chin strap tighter and rolled to her right into

a shallow trench she knew should be there. She landed with a thud in

the apparently not-so-shallow ditch, and the air gushed from her lungs

on impact. Roshan was on her back and couldn’t take her eyes off the

missiles as they approached, deceptively looking like pretty falling

stars.

“Damn it!” she whispered as she watched the missiles rain on

their positions. She tore at her radio and switched to another channel.

“Paladin to base camp. We need ARA now! What the hell are you

people doing back there?”

 “This is base, Paladin. Counterfire has commenced.” The young

man responsible for the Automatic Response Artillery sounded urgent.

“They fi red missiles from Ganath, undetectable by sensors. We had no

way of knowing where to—”

“Well, they’re here now, so—” The ground shook and tossed the

communicator from Roshan’s hand. She clawed through the whirling

debris for it but couldn’t fi nd it. Trying to open her eyes, she quickly

closed them again when the sand battered them.

Explosions, on the ground and above her, hurt her eardrums.

Roshan rolled into a position that provided better protection and covered

her body as she let the shielding vest take most of the onslaught of

debris. As the trash and the continued explosions pounded at her, all

she could think about were the other members of her team. They were

trapped at coordinates due south of hers, which meant they were farther

away from this barrage of missiles and plasma-nodes now blasting into

the ground.

They have to be all right. There’s no other option. Roshan repeated

her mantra continuously. Debris hit her helmet with a nauseatingly

cracking sound, and she moved her neck carefully, relieved to fi nd that

the noise hadn’t come from any broken vertebrae.

As another missile hit nearby, the ground shook, and Roshan felt

the heat as a ball of fi re expanded from the plasma charge. “Damn

Onotharians! Damn them all!” The hatred in her voice didn’t scare her.

She had lived with this hate for so long, nourished it until it had become

second nature, as it had for so many of her generation. It was better

to fi ght back than to surrender. Giving them hell is what we live for.

Payback.

Finally Roshan managed to pull her visor down to cover part of

her face. She was tired. Twelve days in the fi eld on emergency rations

and recycled fl uids, combined with sporadic fi ghting, had taken their

toll. Roshan rose onto her knees and scanned the area. She couldn’t use

the infrared as long as explosions fi lled the sky, since it could blind her

permanently. Dragging herself forward she felt with her hands to make

sure she was following the trench. The luminescent compass strapped

to her left arm above her chronometer wasn’t working because of the

charges’ magnetism.

Roshan thought she heard something through the noise and

stopped crawling. Pulling out a scanner, she set it to monitor her closest

surroundings but found no sign of life. She paused and her blood ran

cold. No sign of life? As far as she could determine, two of her team

members should be within reach. At least her most junior team member,

whom she always made sure stayed close during missions.

Roshan huddled over the scanner cradled in her lap as she rebooted

it. When it went online again, it showed the same. No life signs. She

wanted to toss the offending piece of technology as far as she could, but

she forced herself to pocket it and resumed crawling due south.

A zinging sound from the night sky made her look up involuntarily

and spot a distinct light traveling at an unimaginable speed. Not sure

what kind of weapon this was, Roshan again threw herself headlong

into the ditch. “H’rea deasav’h!” She didn’t even have time to warn

anyone over the comm link.

Deep, resonant thunder permeated the ground and air and rumbled

toward her. Twelve days in hell. Twenty-fi ve years of my life. For this.

Roshan closed her eyes and grew more certain she might not survive. A

trap. A damn ambush instead of the breakthrough we expected. Roshan

braced herself for the impact of the detonation. What’s left, anyway?

I’ve lost so many. Parents, friends, comrades…and, all those years ago,

her. A short moment before the shock wave hit, everything went white

and erased the image of beautiful amber eyes. After that, all she knew

was complete darkness.

CHAPTER ONE

I’m not using that thing.” Roshan scoffed at the thin metal cane

in Doc’s hand. “Isn’t it enough that my unexplained three-week

absence will raise a bunch of questions? If my Onotharian contacts see

me with a cane, after their successful ambush against the resistance,

they’re bound to be suspicious.”

“But your ankle hasn’t quite healed,” Doc objected. “If you’re not

careful, you may walk with a permanent limp.”

Roshan gestured impatiently toward her friend and comrade-inarms.

“Doc, listen to me. I have to get back to the capital. I can’t limp,

and I certainly can’t use a cane. I have to appear as if I’ve just come

back to Ganath from the Desamea asteroid belt. The Onotharians know

I have my stockpile up there. My foreman created a disaster that needed

my personal attention before the mission…and for all he knows I may

have been captured, or worse.”

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 fi gure 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 fi nd 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 fi ghters, 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

fi ghters 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 fi re ceased, allowing her team to

fi nd 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-fi ler 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 fi gured 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 constructed 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 fl oor.

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 fl ower 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 performances

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 offi ces 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 fi fteen 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 fi rst 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 fl awless 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-confi dent. “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 ramifi cations.”

“Good. This unpleasantness is about to lead us to war with the

Supreme Constellations—something I fi nd undesirable at this time.

It annoys me that this planet and its insignifi cant 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-fi ve years was more than suffi cient. 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 fi nally 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.”

Andreia’s heart hammered. She could hardly believe her own ears.

Is she serious? After we’ve practically raped and plundered this planet,

using its people as our workforce, she wants to kill off the cheap labor?

Andreia dug her blunt nails into the data-fi ler in her hands. This surprise

meeting proved to be harder on her self-restraint than she’d anticipated.

She could see the keen intellect and callous assessment in M’Ocresta’s

eyes as she sat casually rolling the Garmawood pearls of her necklace

between her fi ngers.

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Madam Chairman,” Andreia

said, keeping her voice cool and unaffected. “As you yourself have

noted, we have captured a large majority of the traitors. The ones that

remain at large are inconsequential. They are less resourceful, more

like mindless children that we can mold to our will with the right types

of propaganda and incentives.”

 “I have noticed your recent successes, Andreia. They are the only

bright points I’ve seen in recent times,” M’Ocresta stated.” So you

think we can mend the rift between us and the Constellations?”

“I do. It was unfortunate that the SC spies obtained sensitive

materials from the O’Dals’ farm, but if we launch a successful

information campaign, we can discredit the fi nd as well as the boy’s

heredity. As for Kellen O’Dal’s claim about him and the occupation, we

must do the same. If we overreact, her story gains credence, which we

must avoid. I say let the SC pay us a visit. We have nothing to hide. All

they will fi nd are obedient children loyal to Onotharat,” Andreia heard

herself say, accompanied by sharp intake of breaths from the others

around the table. No one ever contradicted the chairman.

“An interesting take on the matter,” M’Ocresta agreed calmly, and

smiled. “I’ve always appreciated your candor, Andreia. You remind me

of myself in my youth,” she said, and patted her data-fi ler. “Words are

your weapons and you wield them well to keep the Gantharians at bay.

Doubtless this method of yours helped us capture the rebels. A useful

talent that I may apply with the SC. I will think about what you have

said.” Villia M’Ocresta gracefully rose from the chair. “In the meantime

would you care to join me in an early evening meal with representatives

of the Commercial Lobby and their president?”

“Certainly, Chairman M’Ocresta,” Andreia replied. “I’d be

delighted.”

“Very well. I’ll see you in…” M’Ocresta turned to her assistant,

who checked his chronometer. “Ninety minutes then. I believe we’re

meeting at the president’s residence. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, Madam Chairman.” The reply came out curt and almost

rude, but Andreia didn’t care. The invitation helped make this day one

of her worst so far.

“Until then.” M’Ocresta left the room, her entourage in tow. Most

of the others followed, leaving Andreia alone with her parents and the

provisional Prime Minister of Gantharat.

“What were you thinking?” Le’Tinia scolded. “Do you know

how close you came to irreversibly offending the most infl uential and

powerful woman on Onotharat?”

“This isn’t like you,” Valax added, his voice a fraction softer, but

with the same absent look in his eyes that he’d had ever since Andreia

was young.

 “I got invited to her dinner with the Commercial Lobby, didn’t I?”

Andreia said, tired of her parents’ criticism, their disdain for her when

they were alone. At least they weren’t glorifying her brother, yet.

“I never saw Trax almost drop the ball as you did this morning.”

Le’Tinia grabbed her briefcase so forcefully she nearly jerked the

handle off.

“Me? I did what I had to. Has it dawned on you that the chairman is

probably here because of what my illustrious brother did, or hadn’t that

thought crossed your mind? He was the fool that allowed the SC spies

to get away with sensitive documents and was killed in the process.”

Suddenly furious and sick of their attitude, she swiveled and

glared at them. “I’ve always done everything you’ve asked of me—

personally, politically, and patriotically. You can’t fault me for anything!

I succeeded in keeping the chairman, whom I didn’t know was going

to be here, by the way, from fi ring you and killing the inhabitants of

this world. Not a bad day’s work, I might add, and not only that, she’s

pleased enough to ask me to dinner.”

“You don’t need to bring up Trax’s unfortunate accident.”

“I didn’t, the chairman did.” Andreia stared incredulously at her

mother. “Really, Mother, only you would call the idiotic idea of going

toe-to-toe with a Protector of the Realm an accident.” She gestured

dismissively. “You forget, Mother, it was just another of his foolish

acts. He had only himself to blame, and you know it.”

“Don’t address your mother this way…” Her father seemed to

have awakened and now towered over Andreia, who was shorter than

most Onotharians. “Your brother made a heroic, if ill-advised, decision,

and his death broke your mother’s heart.”

“I don’t want to fi ght,” Andreia sighed, well acquainted with how

her parents could rant on and on if she didn’t back off. “I have things

to do before dinner.”

“Your old friend will be there, won’t she?”

Thank you, Mother. So nice of you to remind me. “Yes, I assume so.

She is the president of the Commercial Lobby, after all, and the dinner

is being held at her house.” It was hard not to sound contemptuous.

“I insist that you take your bodyguards.” Le’Tinia suddenly

became a concerned parent. “After all, some seventy-fi ve percent of

the members of the Lobby are Gantharians. You’re popular with most

of them, despite things, but after the latest raids against the resistance,

you just never know. The word’s out and it’s bound to affect the general

opinion of our cause. The guards must keep you safe.”

Andreia agreed with her mother for once. A brewing hatred had

fl ared again after the Onotharian military and their Clandestine Service

had so brutally attacked the rebels. “Yes, Mother. I will.”

As Andreia said good-by, she no longer thought about her own

physical safety, but focused on the unnerving fact that she was about to

be in the same room with her once again. She had successfully avoided

being on the same premises as Roshan O’Landha for the last few years,

but had known that sooner or later they were bound to meet face to

face.

Andreia just wished that it didn’t have to happen like this, on

Roshan’s turf. You’re right, Mother. She hates me, and I don’t feel safe

at all.

CHAPTER TWO

Roshan looked out the window of the living room, the one room

used only for entertaining, and saw the hovercraft arrive in

her courtyard. She watched with detachment as the three long, sleek

black vehicles settled down outside the front door. Her housing staff

would greet the guests and guide them to the impressive room where

she would be courteous, with just the right amount of formality expected

from a Gantharian when dealing with her homeworld’s occupiers.

She’d done this before, but never with such dignitaries. Chairman

M’Ocresta’s presence on Gantharat was the leading story in the

Onotharian-controlled media, and Roshan had contacted her superior

offi cers in the resistance cell to discuss how she should proceed.

They didn’t have enough time to alert Boyoda, the code name for the

enigmatic resistance leader who rarely made a personal appearance.

Roshan thought about the mysterious person who’d helped them

succeed in many dangerous missions by providing accurate and timely

intel. Boyoda’s information had saved Roshan’s life on more than one

occasion when there had seemed to be no way out. Whether providing

blueprints of offi cial structures or vessels, crew manifests, or top-secret

schedules for guards at military installations, Boyoda seemed to sit on

a treasure trove. Roshan knew her cell superiors praised and admired

their leader, though they’d never met the person behind the suggestive

code name. The boyoda was also the symbol of the royal family of

Gantharat, the O’Saral Royales.

However, Boyoda hadn’t warned them of the Onotharians’ recent

brutal attack that had resulted in the capture of Roshan’s commanding

officer, Berentar, a former commander in the broken Gantharian army.

He’d fought the Onotharians for more than two years, before the military

surrendered and became a token installation to give the Gantharians a

false impression of control. Berentar and Roshan had joined the same

resistance cell within weeks of each other and developed an easygoing

friendship and a mutual trust. As his second-in-command, Roshan knew

most of what went on within the resistance, but she was still not privy to

all the information, which suited her fi ne. She was a resistance fi ghter, a

soldier, and cold not be bothered with the political machinery. Seething

at the thought of the Onotharians’ disastrous offensive, Roshan was sure

the resistance had been compromised; there was no other explanation.

The thought of Berentar still missing from their last mission,

probably incarcerated, perhaps even dead, made Roshan swallow back

the taste of acidic anger. On her way back home to Ganath, she’d talked

on a secure line with Jubinor, her next in command, several times,

desperate for updates on her cell members, and when the casualties

rose every time he contacted her, her anger and determination climbed

with them.

So many of their senior offi cers, the seasoned and most experienced

ones, were missing. Reports came in that they had been captured and

rounded up at base camps all around the northern hemisphere. After

that, there was no word as yet as to what had happened to them, but

Roshan could guess. She envisioned the gruesome asteroid prisons and

curled her fi ngers into tight fi sts.

“The Onotharian Chairman M’Ocresta, ma’am.” The soothing

voice of Wellter, her butler, interrupted her dark thoughts.

“Chairman M’Ocresta, welcome,” Roshan greeted, and forced

detached friendliness into her tone. “This is such an honor. My fellow

board members will be here in just a few minutes. I wanted to welcome

you in private. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, President O’Landha.” Villia M’Ocresta seemed

just as forceful as her reputation suggested. She placed both hands on

Roshan’s upper arms in the customary Onotharian greeting. “It is a

most impressive and beautiful structure. A lovely home.”

“Thank you—”

“Ms. Andreia M’Aldovar, ma’am.”

What? Roshan’s head snapped up.

“I took the liberty of asking Ms. M’Aldovar to join us,” M’Ocresta

said with a sly smile. “Gantharat is her homeworld, after all, and I

thought I could use a guide.”

Roshan was certain that her racing heart drowned out every other

sound. She hadn’t seen Andreia for more than fi ve years, at least not

like this. She wore a deep red suit, with a long fl owing wool-lace jacket

interwoven with sparkling threads. The golden highlights made her

amber eyes glitter, and if it hadn’t been for their present company, or

the fact that Andreia was working for the enemy, Roshan would have

been able to admit how stunning her former friend was.

“Andreia. What a…surprise.” It was impossible to be more than

barely polite.

“Thank you, Roshan. I know this was last minute, but I couldn’t

pass up an opportunity to spend time with our esteemed chairman.”

“Naturally.” You’re drawn to everyone with power like a besabee

to a honey pot, aren’t you? To Roshan, it was little wonder that

Andreia now held the powerful position of envoy to the Gantharian

people. Presumably, they might consider trusting her, as she was born

on Gantharat, almost one of them. And I know just how much of a

traitor that makes you.

The shuffl ing sound of many feet in the hallway announced the

arrival of the rest of the Commercial Lobby members, and Roshan

glued a cordial smile on her face as she swept by both the chairman

and Andreia to greet her peers. As she reached the doorway she stopped

briefl y and glanced back over her shoulder. Andreia was watching her

with an odd, indescribable expression, and for a second, Roshan saw

not the mature woman holding Gantharat’s future in her hands, but the

young medical student from twenty-fi ve years ago that she had once

loved. Forty-fi ve was still fairly young, but the years had washed away

Roshan’s idealistic nature, and she wondered if this was the case for

Andreia as well.

I never told you how I felt then, and we have even more secrets

between us now. Roshan knew Andreia had other reasons for her

presence here than to merely bask in the chairman’s glory. She could

only guess whether Andreia was curious or perhaps suspicious, but she

would do everything in her power to fi nd out. The lives of her comrades

depended on it.