Diplomacy: Strands of Starfire Book Two

  Diplomacy

  Strands of Starfire Book Two

  May Sage

  Contents

  1. The Third Daughter

  2. Eyes of Fire

  3. Broken Trust

  4. The real monsters

  5. Fall from Grace

  6. The Twins

  7. Conquest

  8. Forging a New Path

  9. An Unexpected Encounter

  10. Not Quite a Cyborg

  11. Cold and Focused

  12. Unveiled

  13. Perspective

  14. A trap closing in

  15. Semantics

  16. Another kind of magic

  17. Partners

  18. In the Darkness

  19. Bonds

  20. Cutting Ties

  Epilogue

  More from May Sage

  May Sage © 2018

  Edited by Lisa Bing and Sue Currin

  ISBN: 978-1-912415-47-2

  One

  The Third Daughter

  Dara was used to that look. It started at the tip of her toes, roamed all the way to her chest, before pausing and making its way to her eyes. Then, there was a sigh.

  “What is this?”

  A few years back, she might have bothered to feel offended. Now she winked playfully.

  “Come on, Cap. I’m sure you’ve seen a girl before.”

  He had, and he’d probably also seen the very occasional, rare female in the royal forces of Zeru, but what he most certainly had never witnessed was a long-haired female wearing gold and red in the army.

  Every commoner was required to shave their head in the summer to avoid getting lice. People didn’t tend to own more than two or three sets of clothing, so with time, the color faded. Dara’s ruby shirt was visibly new. She didn’t actively try to shove her superiority in everyone’s face, but her older clothes disappeared from her extensive wardrobe once they were well worn.

  The last strike was her exosuit. If it wasn’t for the latest tech armor, embedded in her gold band at her wrist, she might have passed for a noble’s daughter. The device said otherwise.

  No one wore gold on Zeru, except for the members of the royal family.

  It might have been wiser to remove the device and wear one of the basic exosuits allocated to soldiers of her rank, but she couldn’t. Or, perhaps, wouldn’t.

  The exosuit was the first bequest of King Kraul Rexis that hadn’t been a pretty dress or a doll. Dara had grown up believing that there wouldn’t ever be a place for her at her father’s court. She was the third daughter, the daughter no one had wanted. King Kraul doted on his radiant firstborn, Feray. He admired his second child, Lany, the smartest female in the realm. By all accounts, his third born should have been a boy, an heir. Instead, he fathered Dara, the petulant, the belligerent, the unruly. Dara, who didn’t distinguish herself by her beauty or her brain, who had no skill to speak of, save for a certain gift for getting up to mischief. She liked climbing the sculpted silver walls of their home, running barefoot, and playing in the mud. In one word, she was unsuitable.

  By the grace of the Goddess Light, Kraul was given a boy eventually. He adored Feray, admired Lany, and needed Kaur to take his place one day. Dara was ignored when he was at leisure to pretend she didn’t exist and frowned upon when he was reminded of her inconvenient presence.

  When she became a woman, she was told that the one way she could make herself useful was to marry relatively well. She was encouraged to attend school in the understanding that she’d spend her time hunting for a suitable prize. And yes, she was given a list of suitable families.

  Dara had been a clueless freshman, desperately seeking a field where she might possibly be average. She never found that. She took a military technical class and astounded everyone—herself included—by excelling at it.

  “Strategy is in your blood, young lady,” a professor had said one day.

  A compliment. Perhaps the first one she’d ever heard.

  Little by little, Dara took courses that suited her natural talents, and before she knew it, she was the first female military analyst to ever graduate from the royal zeruvian academy.

  No one from home had paid attention to what she was doing at the royal university, simply glad to have her out of sight for a few years. Dara had hoped that she might be able to break free from her family, get a job, and lead her own life, but she was recalled to the palace the day after her graduation.

  She’d expected that it would cause an uproar. To be told that she’d yet again ruined their good name and any such nonsense. At age twenty-one, she’d been better equipped to handle it, at least.

  Instead, she’d walked into a party a year ago. A party for her. The entire Rexis family had been in attendance, along with every influential individual usually summoned to such gatherings. At the end, King Kraul waved at a servant who brought her the retractable exosuit she now wore, equipped with the very latest military intelligence and the very best safety features.

  Her father never said a word, but he had acknowledged her. Childish as it was, she wanted to hold on to that moment. The exosuit was staying.

  Part of her fantasy came true: she was allowed to do the job she wanted. The only downside was having to deal with males such as the one in front of her.

  She’d been sent to the Maerdo district because of a hostage situation that had lasted for over twenty-four hours now. The stats indicated that casualties could start at any point. It wouldn’t have been brought to her attention if the incident hadn’t taken place inside a factory that produced highly combustible substances. If things went sour, the entire city might wind up on fire.

  “We asked for backup because of a serious issue and we get a photo op for the crown?”

  She heard a variation of that on a daily basis. It had been a long time since she’d bothered to wince.

  “Look, sweetie, you don’t have to like it, but I’m here because you’re shit at your job. I’d let you wave your dick around if we had time, but we don’t. Move out of the way, or I’ll make you. You wouldn’t want your friends to see you taking a beating from a girl, now, would you?”

  Only two out of the six guards circling the captain of the squad managed to convincingly hide their chuckles.

  The cap was pissed, but he did step aside, probably because when it came down to it, she outranked him.

  Dara headed for the monitors displaying the videos and holograms they had functioning. She entered her codes and logged into the system mainframe.

  “Where have we lost visual?” she asked, all the while checking the production levels underground.

  “On the first floor and the second floor,” one of the soldiers replied; not the captain, of course. Dara had never received any help from his kind. It wasn’t how alpha males worked.

  Good, all cameras were still functioning where it mattered. She took in the scene and stiffened. There was nothing concerning as of yet, but the fusion gases were usually monitored around the clock. As no one had tended to the machines for the last twenty-four hours, the temperature and pressure underground had risen to a level she didn’t like.

  “Raff,” she called, after activating the communicator fitted around her jaw, “can you run some numbers for me?”

  “What, now?” her associate asked, his tone downright outraged.

  It was the middle of the night, close to the morning. But Dara could already hear his fingers tapping on the pads of his portable data processor.

  “Moan later; it’s an emergency. I’m sending you some figures. Run a diagnostic and give me a timeframe for a system failure.”

  Dara dumped the relevant files through their messaging system, be
fore switching her focus and calibrating their functional drones to scan for movement and heat signatures.

  There were less than two dozen hostages; in the grand scheme of things, they weren’t her priority. In fact, they had barely been mentioned in her electronic briefing. Saving the entire city from a toxic outage was a lot more important than worrying about a few low-class night janitors and technicians, as far as her superiors were concerned.

  Still, it would be nice to also save their skins if she could. Dara wasn’t one to settle for good when she could shoot for an excellent outcome.

  The heat signature recorded by her flying drones outside indicated that twenty-two individuals were on the first floor and seven on the second floor.

  She touched the gold exosuit fitted with a processor and asked to be reminded of the exact number of hostages. Twenty. If they were all still alive, it meant that there were nine hostiles.

  “Have they made contact?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” a soldier replied. “The building’s remote security system alerted us of the breach. At the owner of Intertech’s demand, we’ve made use of the building’s alert system to offer a deal, but they’ve made no reply.”

  “Which means that whatever they’re after is inside the building. I’m guessing that there are assets, or money, on the second floor.”

  Now, the captain talked. “That’s classified information. Intertech is a private company, and they refused to divulge details of their floor plan, as is their right. They develop cutting edge technology and if a competitor—”

  “Please do shut up, Cap. Silence is a great improvement over your rambling.”

  Sadly, he took it as a suggestion and did not, in fact, shut up. Dara ignored him, as her communicator activated.

  Raff had results and they weren’t good.

  “Alright, so you’re in a bit of a bind.” When Raff said that much, it meant that it was time to stock up for the apocalypse. “Basically, things don’t look that bad right now, and if everything goes well, I don’t predict a complete system failure for three days. But the cooling system, and the pressure regulator are old, and have been known to malfunction. If one gives out, the other will follow; that would change the timeline from three days to something like three minutes.”

  Shit. No wonder they’d called for her.

  Dara knew that she wasn’t the best at what she did on the planet; there were smarter, stronger analysts. Some had a lot more experience than her. She’d distinguished herself in a very short time for one simple reason: she could get things done faster than anyone else. It had very little to do with her actual skills, but where others had to worry about following procedure and reporting to their superiors, Dara was a Rexis. That meant that, at the end of the day, the worst thing that could happen when she messed up, was her getting a slap on the wrist. It annoyed her superiors to no end, but that didn’t stop them from using it when they needed someone to barge through the systems and procedures.

  Which was exactly what she did now. Dara got into the building’s audio-amplifier system.

  “Hey, guys,” she called out cheerfully. “I’m a royal system analyst, level one, rank, commander.” She let it sink in for a few seconds. “Yep, that means you’re in trouble, and likely to either be blown to tiny particles when I launch an attack, or, if you’re lucky, you’ll spend the rest of your miserable days in a black hole.”

  The former outcome was more likely.

  “Guys, you refused to be bribed, you haven’t killed hostages,” that she knew of, “and you’re not in the executive suite, where you could have access to the company’s funds. No, you’re on the development floor. That makes you one of three things: spies after their research, terrorists wanting to use it to blow something up, or idealists against the evil corporation. I’m inclined to believe you’re behind the third curtain. If that’s the case, reply, now. I’ll give you access to a broadcast channel. If you prove Intertech is out to screw people, you get to walk out of there through the front door, free. You have ten seconds. I will not repeat this offer.”

  Half an hour later, Dara drove her hovering speeder through the back gate of the royal tower, yawning. She had tons of paperwork waiting for her because she’d, yet again, ignored every single rule and regulation in the handbook. But Intertech was going down, the liberal fighters were on their way home, the hostages were free, and the techs were fixing the pressure regulator and cooler in the basement. All in all, she took it as a win.

  She would have preferred to head home, to her small downtown apartment, but she knew that she was going to be called by a committee to be yelled at, first thing in the morning. They generally did it here at the royal family’s residence, in her uncle’s office. Lonar Rexis was the general of the army; her direct superiors somehow believed that he had a degree of influence on her. During the meetings, he made sure to look suitably grumpy, frowning and narrowing his eyes. After they left, he ordered tea and pulled out his chessboard. She hadn’t lost to him since she’d been sixteen; he wasn’t yet tired of trying to win.

  Rather than having to wake up early for her summons, she opted to stay in her old rooms.

  Dara knew something was wrong as soon as she got out of her vehicle. She couldn’t tell how. Her skin felt cold, her hair stood up at the back of her neck.

  She walked the familiar sleek corridors, heading to the elevator, as her room was on the fifty-seventh floor, but after a few steps, her feet refused to move.

  The tower was silent. Too silent. Even at this time, she should have come across at least a few robots or a servant. The lights were off on this floor, except for a dim red line on the walls either side of her, to ensure people could find their way. It was normal, and yet, it wasn’t.

  Dara looked at the elevator ahead of her. A little voice at the back of her mind told her to take it. Get to her room, tuck herself in and take some well-deserved, much needed rest.

  After a second, she turned on her heels, heading toward the guard post.

  Dara Rexis was no coward.

  Two

  Eyes of Fire

  It wasn’t the first time Hart Alvar had encountered an idiot in a position of power, but each time, it had baffled him. Why would any nation stand to be ruled by an individual of below-average intellect, particularly one blessed with an overinflated ego?

  He had never understood monarchy. Handing power down to someone because of the identity of his parents, rather than doing it based on merit, was nothing short of madness.

  Hart had to repeat himself and explain the situation in a few different ways. He didn’t have high hopes, but eventually, surely, the message would actually sink in.

  “Sir, we have taken down every single one of your shields, your fleet is incapacitated. It took us under an hour.”

  “I’m no sir,” the buffoon protested. “It’s your grace, to you, filthy spell-brewing demon!”

  At this point, another negotiator might have shrugged and walked out of the overly theatrical, white high-ceilinged throne room. Thankfully for the zeruvian, Hart wasn’t one to take offense. He ignored the king’s outburst, continuing his report. “We can immediately take over your planet, by force, if we so wish. However, an open war would mean casualties; military loss, infrastructure damage, and, worse yet, civilians may get hurt in the crossfire. We would like to avoid this outcome. I have been sent to negotiate your surrender. Our terms will be fair.”

  This was where a smart leader would have been diplomatic about it. Talked to his advisors, demanded to know their terms, set up a meeting. Instead, the large regular Evris, yet again, launched into a series of insults, threats, all the while waving around the sword fitted to his exosuit.

  It was rather comical, come to think of it.

  Hart served Kai Lor, the leader of a rebellion that had been long overdue.

  For centuries, everywhere in the galaxy, children had been killed as soon as they displayed an ability for magic.

  When Hart had heard of Kai, he
hadn’t believed it at first. The thought of an actual mage uprising had been too mind-blowing, too much like a dream. In his teenage years, when Hart’s control over the energy surrounding him had been weaker, keeping it contained in front of the world had been so hard, nearly impossible. One wrong move, one mistake, and he would have died. Hart and his sister, Star, had been lucky to pass through the net, to survive despite the odds stacked against them. They had each other’s support; when he had needed a cover, Star had jumped in to help him, and vice versa. So, they’d survived. But every year, thousands upon thousands were executed. Hart had had no reason to believe that any other mage had made it to adulthood. And yet, the whispers in the shadows continued for months and years. First, they talked of a tall boy that wasn’t quite a man, appearing in the nick of time and pulling mage kids from their cells right before their execution. Then, a national radio station was hacked. It broadcasted an uncrackable recording. Just a voice; a dark, slow, low voice, that said dangerous words.

  “You hide in daylight. You smile at your enemies. You walk among the herd in a coat of sheep, but inside, you crave to roar. You know who you are. Once upon a time, I thought I was alone. Come to me. Tonight, we’re hundreds. Tomorrow, we’ll be thousands. We’re faceless, nameless. We’re many. We’re mages, and we will survive our enemies. Together. Come to us. You know how to find us.”

  Hart had been shoving paper at a naturalist ambassador’s office; an entry level job that would open a lot of doors. He’d hoped to eventually make it to senator, some-day, in the distant future. Make a difference there.