Free Voices of Chaos by A. C. Crispin, Ru Emerson Page B

to himself.
    No need for his father to know that he himself flew the shuttle under the former actor's guidance more than Bhelan
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    flew it himself. Or need for his father or anyone else to know that the two males had become firm allies: Bhelan's many-times-father had fought the Civil War among other impoverished Arekkhi tenant-farmers and their Asha coworkers; Bhelan was proud of the martyr's memory--and willing to aid Khyriz now.
    I have coached him well, Khyriz reminded himself, he knows what emotion to show, what answers to give. Magdalena may well wonder, but that is as it should be....
    Khyriz left the breakfast room and turned left, heading for his old rooms; his mother, the Empress Neoha, had the tiny bedroom kept ready for him always, though he'd maintained a small suite of apartments on the top floor of the Old Palace for his rare visits here. From that squat, ancient building he could come and go as he chose.
    His whiskers curved slightly as he stepped onto the moving walk that would take him most of the way to the family's wing. Amazing, how naive he'd been before StarBridge: unaware of the secret layers of government and astonished to learn how many of the ancient rumors were true. He'd been almost trembling in his new hide boots the day he walked onto the Heeyoon ship that would take him to the Academy: How could he dare obey the inner Council--but what if he didn't? And if he dared tell the StarBridge authorities what his people demanded of him? Nightmares had plagued him the entire journey: visions of the advisers at StarBridge deciding he was mad and sending him straight home. Or believing him, but then isolating the Arekkhi and informing them why, only then sending their unwanted Prince home ...
    You did the best you could, under the circumstances, he assured himself.
    The Council hadn't been overly pleased with his silence, his dearth of
    "secret" information, but they'd let him have nearly two years away. In that time he'd found friends and allies, something he'd never considered possible. How could I have known there'd be a Rob Gable, a Mahree Burroughs?
    How could anyone have imagined Magdalena Perez? She knew about peoples like his. Her planet's history was rife with
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    times when government was all-controlling, when lying was an art form, where manipulation was so much a part of daily life....
    At least Arekkhi weren't as violent as much of human history. Not always ...
    Khyriz discovered that Bhelan was not in the Prince's old bedroom. The Prince waited for some time, then decided to head toward his personal flitter, in case they'd missed one another: In a building that sprawled the way this one did, such things often happened.
    The pilot, Bhelan, had in fact been on his way to meet Khyriz, when without warning a heavy hand gripped his forearm and another covered his mouth.
    Before he could react, he was jerked back against a muscular body, pulled off the moving walk, and hustled into a small, dark storage room. The door slammed, then locked behind him.
    Bhelan cried out as his assailant shoved him against the wal and held him there. As the light sensor adjusted, the pilot could make out baskets piled high with pillows and shelves of body cloths, and then the short, squatty form of Ulfar, Duke Zhenu's favorite bodyguard. The solidly built male gazed up at him, eyes all pupil, incisors bared in a mirthless grimace--a killing face, doubly terrifying in this scarred male. "A message for you, pilot," he murmured softly.
    "Message" Bhelan repeated unsteadily. A steel fighting talon tapped casually against his face; he closed his mouth at once. The deadly bits of metal were formed to fit over blunted claws, held in place with adhesive; they had been outlawed for centuries, almost as long as real claws had been named illegal weaponry. Bhelan tried to force his eyes away from it; Ulfar's whiskers flicked forward as he pulled his hand back, letting the room's dim light flicker on the shining, deadly