Re-release, July 1999 Hard Shell Word Factory Romantic Science Fiction ISBN 1-58200-143-X (E-Book) ISBN 1-58200-247-9 (Rocket E-Book)

Chapter 1 Excerpt

The trading world Tellari

Morgan Fontinara glanced at his chronometer and bit back a sigh of frustration. Two blasted hours! How long was it supposed to take to convince thirty people that he could do what they wanted him to do? His rebellion plans were sound. If they'd only stop arguing with each other, and stop questioning his abilities, they'd see that. And, as if this weren't bad enough, his brother Galen still had not arrived. He should have been here hours ago.

"You are sure this will work?"

Aware of how quiet the windowless storeroom had become, Morgan glanced briefly at the closed door then turned to the thin, green-skinned Theledonian woman. "It'll work as long as we're able to keep the element of surprise. That's why I've kept my plans vague. You can't tell the Jotnar what you don't know."

An angry hiss drew his attention to the Sumarian representative glaring at him through narrowed reptilian eyes. "You s-sound as-s as though you believe we would willingly betray you. Perhaps-s you have already been betrayed."

"I'd be foolish not to consider that possibility, but I'm willing to take the risk." Not because most of the cargo ships the Jotnar destroyed were his, but because he took the loss of each crewmember personally. Their numbers were growing far too large. His people suffered only a fraction of what the rest of the galaxy suffered under Jotnar rule. They had to be stopped.

"He's here, isn't he?" a new voice said from the door.

Seeing the innkeeper lounged against the wall by the door, Morgan's stomach jumped. He hadn't been there a moment ago. That meant trouble, or that he'd had some word on Galen.

"Prince Morgan could have sent a representative from Bellariss, like your own worlds did, but he risked his own skin to prove that he's sincere in helping us overthrow the Jotnar."

A murmur of agreement traveled through the room as Morgan tensely awaited whatever news the innkeeper had to deliver. Thank the gods it was a short wait.

"That transmission you were expecting just came in."

Morgan excused himself and followed the innkeeper into the tavern. Business was pretty slow this early in the day. A few patrons of various species were scattered around the large taproom. The counters gleamed and the floor had been swept clean of the debris from the previous night's business. His boots shuffled and scratched over the floor's fresh coating of sand as he trailed behind the innkeeper. The closer he got to the innkeeper's office, the more anxious he became.

What was that blasted kid up to? Morgan paused long enough to nod a greeting to the furry, little white krill that chattered in his direction then stepped through the door the innkeeper held open for him.

"Take as long as you need. I'll see you're not disturbed."

Morgan nodded his thanks. Then, after the door had closed, he walked over to the desk and flipped on the viewscreen.

His brother's smiling face appeared.

"Where in the three phases of hell have you been?"

Galen sputtered, his face flushing. "We delivered all the missives, then picked up the trade goods we'd ordered. Morg, it was great! The broker got everything we requested. I managed to get two cases of Folian brandy for you and a water crib for Sabina and Boyan's baby, and-"

"Galen!"

He flinched. "We were so close to Pleasara, and Hastin said we had time to-"

"Hastin!" Morgan swore. "I should have known. Here I've been worried sick you were taken by the Jotnar, and you were rolling around in some whore's bed."

"Morgan-"

"I didn't send you out on a pleasure cruise, blast it. Don't you know how dangerous it is for us? You get in, do your business, and get out. There's no time for anything else."

"I know, but-"

Morgan turned his back on his brother, effectively cutting off Galen's excuses. "I shouldn't have let you go."

"Oh, come on, Morgan. Nothing happened."

Morgan whirled back to the screen. "Not another word!" He dragged his fingers through his long blond hair and forced himself to take a deep breath. The kid was just too young and irresponsible to send out on a mission like this. He should have followed his instincts and not bowed to Galen's pleadings. "Where are you right now?"

"We just entered Tellarin space. We should be touching down in half an hour."

"Good." Morgan rested his knuckles against the desk and leaned in toward the viewscreen. "Then you, Hastin, and I are going to have a long talk."

Galen paled, but didn't protest. Then the ship lurched violently, knocking him from his feet.

"Galen!"

"Morgan?" Galen's panicked face stared back at him, his voice barely audible over the loud wail of the warning sirens. A loud explosion lurched the ship again. "Stars," Galen whispered, his face stricken with horror. "We're being boarded."

"Galen, get out of there. Transport out, now!" Morgan gripped the desk, willing his brother to do as he said.

The door behind Galen blew in.

Morgan swore, feeling useless as he watched his dazed brother turn toward the armed Jotnar soldiers that swarmed into the room killing anyone that moved with blasts of laser-fire.

"Galen, transport out!"

Galen slowly raised his hands. A Jotnar pointed his laser rifle at him.

"Gods, no," Morgan whispered.

The soldier fired and the screen went static.

"No!" Morgan swore, his fingers flying across the controls as he tried to get the signal back. He tried three times and all three came back with the same results-the signal was gone.

He slammed his fist on the desk, clenching his eyes tightly shut against the burning of tears, and sank onto the desk chair. "Gods, Galen," he whispered, resting his forehead against his fisted hands. "I shouldn't have let you go."

"Prince Morgan? You all right?"

Morgan took a deep breath and looked up, seeing the innkeeper standing in the doorway. He nodded, wiping away the wetness from his cheek with his hand.

The innkeeper cleared his throat, aiming his gaze over Morgan's shoulder. "Your brother-in-law is getting anxious over you being gone so long."

Morgan nodded, standing up. "I have to return to the meeting." When he got to the door, the innkeeper gently grasped his shoulder.

"Bad news?"

Morgan's throat tightened so badly he couldn't swallow. He managed a nod.

"I'm sorry." The innkeeper gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, then left Morgan to find his own way back to the meeting.

He walked through the taproom in a daze, barely acknowledging the greetings he heard. As he neared the storeroom where their meeting was being held, angry shouts filtered through the door.

Determined to put an end to the bickering, he gritted his teeth and stormed into the room. They were so busy shouting into each other's faces, they didn't even notice his furious entrance.

"That is enough!"

The sudden silence was deafening as thirty-four pairs of eyes turned to him.

"You people came to me for help. I'm here, offering that help, and all you can do is bicker." He dragged shaking fingers through his hair. "You want to rebel against the Jotnar? Fine, I'll help you, but you're going to do it my way or it won't be done at all. Is that clear?"

"Yes-s, Your Highness-s." The Sumarian bowed, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

Morgan ground his teeth, refusing to look away from that reptilian smile, from the challenge, even as the others humbly agreed to follow his plans.

"Something has happened," the Theledonian woman whispered, drawing Morgan's gaze. She stared at him with her knowing, half-lidded gaze.

Boyan, Morgan's brother-in-law came to stand beside him. "Morgan, what is it?"

Morgan closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. He didn't want to do this now. Anger was so much easier to deal with than grief. "We lost another ship."

"Gods," Boyan whispered. "Galen?"

Morgan nodded and turned away, unable to say more. When a gentle hand touched the middle of his back, he stiffened.

"May the gods ease your pain," the Theledonian woman whispered, and Morgan felt some of the pain in his heart ease, if only temporarily.

"Thank you," Morgan whispered, unable to meet her gaze.

The mention of more senseless deaths at the hands of the Jotnar subdued the atmosphere of the meeting. One brave soul, a Novan, stood and cleared his throat. The sound, much like a feline clearing a fur-ball from its airway, caught everyone's attention.

"Your Highness, if something should happen to you-"

"The invasions will go on as planned whether I'm alive or dead." Morgan glanced at Boyan and received his affirmative nod. "Your people will see freedom. You have my word on it."

His answer pleased the room's occupants, setting some of their worries at ease. The meeting soon broke up, with promises to follow Morgan's plan and to be prepared to defend their worlds when the invasions began. When the last representative had gone, Morgan turned and headed out into the tavern.

"Morgan?"

"I need a drink."

Boyan nodded and followed him to the bar. Without being asked, the innkeeper poured two shots then quietly moved down to other patrons.

Morgan stared into the thick blue liquid. He didn't know what it was but hoped it would burn like garosh going down.

"Are you sure?" Boyan met his gaze through the large mirror behind the bar.

"I saw it happen."

"Gods."

"Galen, Hastin, all of them are gone." Morgan swore, and downed the shot. It burned a fiery path down his throat into his belly. He coughed, shaking his head to clear it, then tapped his finger on the bar, ordering another. He swallowed that one just as quickly then pushed the empty glass away.

"How am I going to tell my father that he not only just lost his son, he lost his best friend as well?" Not that Hastin was much of a loss. Morgan still believed that Hastin was responsible for Drake's banishment, that he could have done something to keep his son from being punished for a crime he didn't commit.

He wondered how Drake would feel about his father's death? Drake had spent his whole life trying to earn his father's love, and had always come up short. Morgan rubbed his hands over his face then sighed, letting them drop, and stared into the mirror. A familiar face stared back at him. "Drake!"

"Where?" Boyan turned to look.

Morgan swiveled on his barstool, but saw no sign of him. "Blast it, where'd he go?" For the first time in six years, he'd caught sight of his best friend, and he'd just vanished.

"Are you sure you-" Boyan stopped, gripping Morgan's arm. "We've got trouble."

Jotnar soldiers swarmed into the bar and headed for them.

"Out the back," the innkeeper whispered. "Hurry!"

Morgan and Boyan hopped the bar and ran for the door leading to the private hangar where their ship was hidden.

"You want to try and fly out?" Boyan asked, huffing for breath as he ran along side him.

Morgan shook his head. "No time." The soldiers' shouts and thumping boots were getting closer. "Back here!" He dodged behind a crate. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Yanking back their sleeves, they exposed their jewel encrusted wrist cuffs. On the colored jewels, they tapped in the transport sequence that would send them home.

"Ready," Boyan said.

"Go. I'm right behind you."

Boyan shimmered and began to fade, as Morgan went to press the final jewel on his cuff. A tearing pain ripped through his abdomen. He gasped, doubling over. "Gods, not now Sabina!" He swore at his twin, cursing her for expecting him to share every nuance of her pregnancy at the worst possible times.

"Morgan!" Boyan's voice was far away, too far to be of any help to him. Then, he was gone.

Gasping for breath, he forced himself to straighten and reached again for his cuff.

"No you don't!"

Morgan flinched, then found himself facing the barrels of several laser pistols. The Jotnar squadron had caught up to him.

"Grab that thing off his wrist. Don't let him touch it," the commander ordered.

When one of the barrels pressed into his cheek, it's quiet hum warning him it was ready to fire, Morgan stilled his struggle to keep the cuff. How did they know?

To the untrained eye, his cuff was just an expensive piece of jewelry-a gold bangle encrusted with purple gems. The commander's next words confirmed his growing fear.

"It's a pleasure to find you still here, Your Highness. We were afraid we'd missed you."

Betrayed! Morgan gritted his teeth and struggled as they yanked his arms behind him and shackled his wrists. It had to have been a Bellarissian. No one else knew of their transporter capabilities.

"How does this thing work?" The soldier turned the cuff over in his hands.

"Press the large stone twice, then the small stone on the bottom three times."

"No!" the commander shouted, but it was too late. The gullible soldier had already keyed in the sequence, and the cuff immediately grew red hot. The soldier yelped and dropped it. In seconds, it melted into a molten puddle of gold. Nothing remained, not even the stones.

"That was a mistake!" the commander growled. He raised the butt of his pistol and struck Morgan in the temple. A blinding pain exploded through his head then everything faded to black.

* * *

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