See Part 0 for the Disclaimer and related information
Prologue, year 3213
Except from data cube D00039482-931
Recent intelligence reports on the Drules have indicated that their political factions are decreasing in number as they reconcile their differences and unite. It is possible that, in the near future, the Drules may even cease to fight amongst each other. These developments may be cause for concern, since it is the considered opinion of Professor Aljorian Dreakem, cultural adjunct to the diplomatic corps, that the Drule race has a psychological need for warfare (see attached report). As the Alliance is the largest organization near Drule space that has a significant military presence, it is probable that, should the internal tensions of the Drules cease to be a factor, they will fulfill their need for war by initiating conflict with the Alliance worlds.
At a minimum, intelligence-gathering efforts on the Drules should be given a higher priority by the Alliance. Furthermore, increasing perimeter defenses, military recruitment, warship construction, and military research & development are all strongly recommended by the Office of Non-Alliance Affairs as a precaution.
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Year 3220
Control
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Staring at the officer in full dress uniform, Sven can feel himself turning to stone.
“I regret to inform you --”
Desperately, he tries to block out the words, all the excitement of making one more step toward the Academy draining away.
“ -- the Drule attack -- “
Even distracting himself by trying to find out everything he can about the officer from observation isn’t enough to drown out the words.
“ -- no survivors --”
Something shatters inside him, and Sven gratefully dives deep into the newness opening before him, barely aware that his body is falling softly to the ground.
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Waking up in cool dimness, Sven looks around in puzzlement. *Where am I? This isn’t my room...* Eyes shutting, he can’t quite keep from keening. *My family... Father won’t be there to look on with pride, hiding his tears when I graduate; Mother won’t be there to give me a fierce hug in encouragement... I’ll never see Maya scheme again...*
“Sven?”
At the sound of his name, Sven’s keening shuts off. “Sir?” Sven snaps upright automatically, pushing the memories down.
A hand gently squeezes his shoulder, trying to give comfort. Sven just barely manages to keep himself from cringing away.
“I’m not a ‘sir’. You don’t have to use those sort of salutes anymore. You’re claimed for the Temple.”
“What?” *Not go to the Academy?*
“What do you see?”
Snarling to himself, Sven raises his eyes to meet the brown ones before him. Eyes widening, Sven falls back on the bed as images and feelings from a life he’s never led swarm through him.
“You see? You have a very strong Gift of Sight. You Saw even through my shields.”
Shaking his head, Sven glares up at the Priest. “I don’t care. I want to go to the Academy. I want revenge.” *I want my family back!*
“Sven --”
“You will let me go.” Even though he’s appalled at the way he’s talking back, there’s surety in his voice -- after all, he’d just seen to the heart of the Priest.
Mouth crimping, the Priest concedes. “Fine.” Steel laces his tone. “You will stay to learn control.”
Sven nods, agreeable now that his main goal is achieved. *My family...* This time, he’s careful to keep the keening and despair inside.
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Year 3221
Magnets
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Bright-eyed, Megan Shimada tries to take in everything as she walks into the Academy. *I made it! One of only four females in my class.* Beaming, she loftily ignores the covert stares and the whispers. *Hah. I bet I’m better than most of them...* Blinking for a moment, her eyes widen in delight. *Wow. Now _that’s_ a lovely looking guy.* Watching for a moment, a fond smile flits across her face. *He reminds me of Keithie somehow, alone as he is in all of this...* Absent-mindedly, she drifts closer.
Stiffening, she whips around, ready to belt the foolish person who grabbed her elbow. She aborts the move just in time, at the sight of her grinning brother’s face. “Jun’ya! I didn’t think you’d be here, since it’s your last year...”
“And let my little sister get shown around by someone else? I don’t think so.” His face grows serious. “Meg -- stay away from that guy.”
Eyes narrowing, she glares at him. “What do you mean?” *It better not be what it sounds like...*
“Stay away from that guy you were just staring at.”
Opening her mouth to protest, Megan’s mouth snaps shut at Jun’ya’s Look.
“That guy over there -- his name’s Sven. He reminds you of Keith, right?”
Megan nods, still glaring.
“There’s a good reason for that. He’s even more freaky.”
Megan snorts. *Keithie’s not freaky...*
Jun’ya increases his glare. “I mean it. _Nobody_ talks to him. He seems to know everything about everybody. And when he looks at you, it feels like he’s judging and dismissing you.”
Sniffing, Megan tosses her head and slits a coy look at Sven. Only to be frozen in place by the ice-cold gaze. *Kami...*
For a moment, she can do nothing, feeling somehow that with one look this Sven managed to find out everything about her. Then, Sven deliberately looks away.
Shivering, Megan meets Jun’ya’s knowing eyes. “Fine.”
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Year 3221
Grief
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“Eiichi Kodama is, for all practical purposes, dead. Pidge is all that’s left.”
“You must be --”
The psychiatrist glares the Priest down. “Pushing Pidge to become Eiichi again will not work. It’s best just to leave him be. His name reminds him of all that he lost, and he can’t accept that knowledge right now. Sometime in the future, maybe, he’ll be able to.”
“But he insists on a course that leads to the _Academy_!”
The almost-wail of the Priest has the psychiatrist’s lips twitching in sardonic humor. “Yes. I suggest that you let him go his own way.”
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Year 3221
Separation Anxiety
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Huddled together, the Forrester twins spend their last night together refusing to sleep.
*I wish we could go to the same place.*
*Me too. Our Gifts are too different, though.*
*Matt... There’s a school, near yours I could go to...*
Snort. *No. You know you’re most at home with aircraft. That school is for learning about industrial machines.*
Sighing. *Fine. But you better arrange it so you get a posting near me...*
*Jared... How’s that going to happen? I’m a Healer. Healers go where they’re needed...*
*And they’re needed on the war front, right? I’ll work on fighters.*
*... Really?*
*Of course!*
*You know -- distance isn’t going to matter. This* and the link between them pulses with love *will always hold us together.*
*You don’t know that! It could --*
*I know.*
*But--*
*Trust me. I _know_.*
Sighing again. *Okay, okay. But I still like being _close_.*
*yeah...*
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Year 3224
Best Served Cold
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"I'm sorry."
Allura slowly turns to face General Hawkins. "You did everything you could. You have nothing to be sorry for." Her voice, soft spoken, still sounds dead.
Wincing, the general scrambles for something to say. The still form before him does not invite the comfort of touch. "Is there something I can do? Some place you'd like to go...?"
Her eyes meet his, stopping him mid-babble. "I'd like to get my people back. I'd like to have my planet back. Barring those, I'd like revenge."
Staring at her, feeling the coldness wrap around his bones, General Hawkins speaks slowly, as if the words are pulled out of him. "I can help with that.."
The burning in her eyes rises higher.
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Impassive, unimpressed, Allura, former Princess of Arus, stands before the Alliance High Council. "All I ask for is a chance. Waive the requirements and let me try. If I fail, I will accept that and follow your suggestions. But only if you give me this chance now."
"Your Highness --"
"Do not address me so. My people and my planet are no more. I am no longer royalty of anything that matters." Spoken completely emotionlessly, her voice feeds the sliver of fear in her listeners.
Clearing his throat, the council member tries again. "You're obviously overwrought. You've just been through a traumatic experience. You should take some time to adjust..."
Harsh blue eyes pin him, stopping his tongue. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I know exactly how little training I've had for fighting in this way. My life is finally my own -- though now, I wish it wasn't. If I chose to spend it in this fashion, it's my choice to make. Not any of yours." Her eyes flicker rapidly from council member to council member. "The only choice you have, concerning me, is if you chose to get in my way or not."
Faces hardening, the council members trade looks, and concede. "Very well. We'll let you into the Academy. But if you don't keep up..."
"I will do whatever it is you think my life would be better spent doing. So long as it hurts the Drules."
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Sven's eyes widen slightly. In this one slender, delicate seeming female he sees more fire and Warrior's Gift than even Matsuda has. And Takeo Matsuda is so proud of his Gift...
Shaking his head slightly, dazzled by the images, he manages to continue with his lunch. *She would be a commander worth obeying...* Thoughtfully, the dazzle in his Sight fading as he adjusts, he considers what he Sees. *All she is now is a burning desire for revenge. But almost all of her Warrior's Gift is locked down, chained and hidden for some reason...* Frowning, focusing in more, Sven Looks closer at those chains. *Weakened greatly now. All she needs, really, is a small bit of help...* Nodding to himself, he finishes his lunch and moves swiftly to the library, knowing that this will be the best place to waylay her.
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Hurrying into the library, Allura is so focused she almost bangs into the tall form that suddenly materializes in front of her. Backing away defensively, she raises one imperious eyebrow. "Well?"
The tall man bows slightly, obvious respect in his every motion. "You might want to consider reading these texts first."
Startled, she looks suspiciously at him. "Why are you helping me?"
His eyes glittering, he smiles icily in response. "I hate the Drules as well. And I think if you get the small bit of help you need to get yourself through the Academy, you'll become a great threat to them."
Looking at him, Allura feels the truth in every word he speaks. She also feels that behind the spoken words, there are layers that he isn't telling her about. *If he wants me to know, he'll tell me. * "Might I know your name?" Her request is spoken in manner more polite than she has bothered to use since the destruction of her planet.
Smile turning warm for an instant, approval in his eyes, still, he shakes his head. "Maybe the next time we meet. If you live long enough for that to happen." Still smiling, he bows and disappears as silently as he came.
Staring at the stack of discs he left behind, Allura shakes her head in bemusement. *If that's how he wants it..* Settling herself in, she begins to read. *These _are_ good...*
=========================
Year 3224:
A Fork in the Road
=========================
Romelle stares in horror. “Father, you can’t be serious!”
Glaring back at her, he growls. “I am entirely serious. The Seers tell me this is the best way to ensure our planet’s survival...”
“They’re wrong!”
“Romelle...”
“You have to listen to me! I have more of the Sight than any of them..”
The Seeress watching this with knowing eyes smirks at Romelle. “Child -- you are no Seer. You chose to deny your Sight, to refuse training. How can you possibly See further than us?” Sure in her knowledge, the Seer looks on Romelle with distant sadness and pity.
King Cova of Pollux, Romelle’s sire, nods his head ponderously in agreement.
Bandor grins cheekily up at his sister. “Aw, c’mon, sis. How bad can it be? The Drule Lord said he’d take real good care of you...” *You can be a drain on his resources rather than ours...*
Completely enraged, Romelle manages to keep from betraying her thoughts to these... people. *Not my family now, if ever they were... Trading me to a Drule lordling as a bribe...* Growling inside, she manages to be all simpering, weak acceptance. Making her escape, her eyes narrow in disgust. *They bought it. I can’t believe that. I may not have been sensible, before, but I sure as _hell_ wasn’t compliant.*
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Eyes glittering, Romelle, for the first time in four years, opens her Sense up completely. *Choices, choices... I am _never_ going to make an uninformed choice again. The thrill of not knowing what’s going to happen is not worth the pain when it doesn’t happen the way it ought to.* Blinking, she Sees a future that feels right, and focuses on it. *Ah...* A truly wicked smirk lights her face. *So. They Saw that what they did was the way to appease the Drules? I think I’ll show them just how wrong they can be...* Shaking her head, Romelle manages to focus again on the present, smiling as she can still see ghosts of future events imposed on her present. *So useful. I can’t believe I denied this...*
Calmly, confidently, she makes her way to the Drule ship.
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Turning over restlessly in bed, the Royal Seeress frowns in her sleep.
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Romelle thoughtfully regards the unconscious lordling at her feet. *That was easy enough.* Quickly, she moves to the ship’s computer, and proceeds to encourage it to spill everything it knows about Drules into the discs she has. *There. Now I have a bargaining chip for when I get to Alliance space.*
Mussing her appearance just the right amount, Romelle quickly exits the ship, apparently to all observers, returning from a heated tryst.
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*I wonder how long it will take them to realize I’m gone? Taking Avok’s fighter ought to help speed matters...* A feral smile slashes across her face. *I hope the Seers choke on _this_ result.*
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“Father! Where did you put my fighter?”
With a weary, put-upon sigh, King Cova greets his first-born. “Hello, Avok. So nice to see you.”
“Father!”
Snorting, Cova leans back in his chair. “Your fighter should be in Bay 12, as always.”
“It’s not.”
“Well, then --”
Abruptly, the doors to the chamber slam open, and an extremely irate Drule Lord strides in. He doesn’t even bother with any pretense of civility or servility. “Cova! I will have an apology from your daughter.”
“Oh?” King Cova manages to act as if Drule lordlings barging in are a common occurrence.
Dark blue in outrage, the Drule’s eyes narrow dangerously. “She insulted me. Our arrangements are off. _If_ she produces an abject enough apology, you _might_ not have me for an enemy. And don’t assume that because I’m young that I’m powerless.” With that, he turns on his heel, and stalks out.
Turning red, King Cova bellows. “Find Romelle!” Servants and guards scatter at the sound.
Avok snorts in disgust. “Just like Romy. Not a thought in her head for the family, or our planet, just her own personal ease.”
Bandor looks at Avok with concealed contempt. “I don’t know. The timing bothers me. I mean, your fighter is gone the day after Romelle picks a fight with the Drule lordling... She was pretty upset yesterday.” *It would serve you right if she took your fighter...*
Avok shakes his head, an insufferably superior look on his face. “Bandor, there’s no way the two could be connected. Why, Romy has no knowledge about flying fighters, let alone _mine_. And, she’s far too flighty and scatter-brained to even think up a plan that would include all of that, let alone execute it.” Shaking his head while still managing to look down his nose at his annoyed little brother, Avok continues. “No, no. It’s far more likely that she insulted the Drule lord and is hiding somewhere, hoping to delay the moment of reckoning. My fighter must have been moved to another bay by accident.”
Bandor opens his mouth, a mutinous expression on his face, but he’s interrupted by the panting arrival of a guard.
“Your majesty. Princess Romelle is nowhere to be found. And...” The guard looks acutely uncomfortable and ashamed. “In the last security vid she’s found on, she’s seen heading toward Bay 12. Twenty minutes later, our records show that Prince Avok took his fighter out for a test flight...”
Avok’s eyes bulge.
Bandor just barely refrains from saying, ‘I told you so.’ Though his smirk more than makes up for the lack of verbal comment. *Didn’t know Romelle had it in her...*
King Cova starts yelling in outrage, and all the servants and guards disappear, hoping to avoid the fallout.
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Romelle stands in front of the Alliance High Council, face a mask of controlled rage. “You dare tell me that I don’t have the qualifications?”
Every last one of the council members flinch.
“I come of my own will -- and I _destroyed_ that Drule base on my way here. How dare you say I don’t have the skills to excel in the Academy?”
One of the council members, feeling a strong sense of deja vu, manages to meet and hold her glare. “It takes more that battle-skill to make it in the Fleet. You might make it through the Academy through sheer ability -- but once in the Fleet, you _must_ be able to work as part of a team.”
Romelle’s glare intensifies. “I was a Princess. You think I know nothing of diplomacy?”
The council member’s mouth thins. *If you know anything about it, you’re sure not using that knowledge.* “You’re from Pollux. You’re from one of the worlds that has given allegiance to the Drules. How many people in the military do you really think will be willing to give you a chance, no matter how good you are?”
Her face set, her voice drops as she glares at the whole council. “Allow me to worry about that.”
The council members, shaken, but still stubborn, start to shake their heads in denial.
Romelle’s eyes narrow. “All I ask is for a chance. One chance, and if I fail, I will do as you wish me to do, until this war is done.”
Defiantly, she looks at them.
The council members share looks, one thought running through their minds. *Allura*.
Their spokesman sighs. “Very well. You have your chance.”
Romelle beams at them.
Any comments or suggestions for JoAnn should be sent through me with either the story title or JoAnn in the subject line. I'll forward them without peeking. Really I will.
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