“And what can you say to him?”

“I will make him realize what he is doing to his own people! If he is still Rusa’h, at least in part, then he must see the horror of what he has let loose. Who is truly in control — him, or the faeros? Maybe an Ildiran heart still beats within him.”

O’nh let out a sigh, though he clearly longed to do something himself. “You are being foolish. I forbid it.”

The young man raised his voice. “I am the Designate. You follow my commands, not the other way around. Need I remind you of your own teachings? Followers follow, but leaders must lead. I have the blood of the Mage-Imperator in me. You told me that if I could think of something that might save us, then I am morally obligated todo it.”

The veteran allowed a small smile to cross his face. “So, you were listening to me after all.”

“Yes, to every word. There I will stand, Hyrillka Designate to Hyrillka Designate. This is a time for desperate acts. The Mage-Imperator is no longer with us, and so we must make these decisions for ourselves.” He found himself breathing heavily.

Tal O’nh remained seated, still staring at the suns. “Desperate acts. Perhaps we should all consider them. I see no other way to save the Empire.”

61

Mage-Imperator Jora’h

Now that the Chairman had become busy with his new cooperative scheme with the black robots, his interest in the Mage-Imperator waned. Young King Rory and the Archfather of Unison had announced the retooling of existing groundside compy factories while the black robots diligently repaired and reassembled EDF vessels in orbit.

Though Jora’h was no expert in the nuances of human emotions, even he could see that the Archfather looked nauseated by the words he was forced to speak. The bearded Unison spokesman seemed offended by the very idea of suggesting, on religious grounds, that the black robots were tantamount to saviors.

If only the Archfather had been so obviously offended by the idea of kidnapping the leader of the Ildiran Empire.

Frustrated, and dismissive, now that the Mage-Imperator had failed to yield, the Hansa Chairman abruptly removed Jora’h and Nira from their quarters in the Whisper Palace and sent them back to the Moon, accompanied by Captain McCammon and a group of royal guards. Holding their heads high, Jora’h and the green priest boarded the shuttle and prepared to depart. No newsnet imagers were allowed to attend the event.

Though he would be closer to his fellow hostages, being returned to the lunar base brought Jora’h neither joy nor satisfaction. He needed to be back onIldira. He needed to be fighting the faeros.

As the EDF transport ship made the passage to the Moon, Jora’h sat quietly with Nira on the cold metal seats. She clutched his hand, and he loved her nearness; yet he needed more than that.

Captain McCammon watched them, saying nothing. The guard captain was hard to read, possibly sympathetic, definitely reticent.

After the shuttle docked inside one of the enclosed lunar craters, Jora’h took Nira by the arm and emerged from the shuttle into the dusty landing zone, looking cool and imperial. McCammon and his royal guards followed closely.

The Ildiran guard kithmen, stripped of their weapons, stood against the back wall to watch the Mage-Imperator’s arrival. The bestial-looking guard kithmen swelled their armored chests, simmering with the desire to do something. Many prisoners from the captured warliner had been allowed into the chamber to witness the reception. Jora’h guessed that his people had been unruly and agitated in his absence. He did not try to hide his grim smile.

An EDF squad led by Commandant Tilton stepped forward to receive them formally. “I didn’t expect to say this, but I am glad to have you back here, Mage-Imperator. I hope that now I can expect a return to order on my base.” He had never wanted to host these hostages in the first place.

Jora’h faced the embarrassed-looking lunar commandant. “The Chairman has sent us to rot here while my planet burns and my people die by the thousands each day.”

Though they were heavily outnumbered, the growling Ildiran guards flexed their enlarged muscles and claws. If Yazra’h had been here, she would have thrown herself upon the enemy without a second thought.

Commandant Tilton paled, and his men seemed uneasy, holding their weapons ready. Another squad of EDF soldiers marched into the landing bay, guarding the doors, as if to remind the Mage-Imperator that it would be foolish to try anything.

Through thethism, Jora’h could feel the barely contained fury of the guards. They were ready to explode, desperate to do something, with no concern for their own well-being. He knew that every Ildiran here was willing to sacrifice himself so the Mage-Imperator could get away.

The wave of emotion pushed against him like a strong wind. Jora’h knew that further talk wouldn’t help, and that bowing to the Chairman’s foolish demands wouldn’t work. There would be no opportunity to carefully plan an escape. The guard kithmen waited for any hint of instructions from him, seething for their chance.

He knew that each of his soldiers could easily take down several humans. They were not as outnumbered as they appeared to be. And his own warliner was right here at the lunar base.

Jora’h made his decision. Desperation demanded desperate moves. With the tiniest of motions, connected to all of his guards through thethism, the Mage-Imperator gave his implicit permission for them to act.Go.

The response was blindingly swift. Moving in a wild, coordinated flash, the unarmed guard kithmen threw themselves upon the EDF soldiers crowded in the docking bay. With whipcord muscles and long fangs, they killed several men in the first few seconds, breaking necks, tearing out throats. They ripped handguns and jazer rifles from dead hands. Within another five seconds they had armed themselves and begun to open fire, cutting down the EDF soldiers that came yelling into the chamber.

Commandant Tilton screamed orders, unable to believe what was happening. The Ildiran guard kithmen attacked like whirlwinds and made their way toward the Mage-Imperator. The EDF soldiers fought back, cutting down three, then five Ildiran guards. A dozen more soldiers ran into the chamber and opened fire. Jora’h could barely count the casualties as they happened.

“Mage-Imperator!” a voice roared. “Order your guards to stand down —or she dies.”

Jora’h whirled and saw that Captain McCammon had seized Nira. Though she struggled and fought, the captain’s arm was locked around her waist and his ceremonial dagger was against her smooth green throat. His voice was hard and determined. “If you do not tell your guards to surrender right now, I will kill her.”

Jora’h saw the fear on Nira’s face change to a flicker of defiance. But he would not allow her to die in what was already a futile attempt. He would not let Nira be harmed.