They missed me by the merest fleeting chance. I hadn’t gone to sleep after Hadrian left of course, how could I, rather I paced the apartments growing increasingly irritated. Despite Hadrian’s attempts to explain I felt I still didn’t completely understand what was going on. Jezebel’s apparent confidence with me made no sense other than those found in the trashiest of romance literature. Did I have a doppelganger out there? A twin sister who was known to this cult and whom it made sense to show up at this place and at this time? Vanishingly unlikely, and what of the words Jezebel had said? ‘A matter of the most pleasant fraternal confidence’? It seemed nonsense, so bland as to be absolutely meaningless, yet it worried at the back of my mind like the memory of a lost tooth. I was out on the balcony pondering it when I heard the doors burst open, followed by the shouts of Urien and Bolskar and the distinctive sound of shock battens arcing up. I had only a minute to act so I jumped up onto the balustrade and then heaved myself up behind the gargoyle that glowered over the portal, scratching and soiling my hands as I did so. I had just had time to conceal myself when two guards, these ones dressed in matte black carapace armor rather than the gaudy house dress up, burst out onto the balcony. Long cold stab light beams pierced out into the darkness, sweeping down over the balustrade.

“Not here,” one of them said into what I presumed was a comm.

“Yes sir, we will secure the room,” the soldier said and they both turned and went back inside, closing and locking the door as they went. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. What to do now. Urien and Bolskar were captured or dead. Hadrian was captured or dead. I was the only one left free and I had no idea what I should do or what I was supposed to do. It wasn’t as if Hadrian had given me the Inquisition’s vox code so I could call for help. Well if I couldn’t call for help id just have to go get it. I climbed down to the balcony and found the door locked. By the play of a stab light at least one guard was still inside. I knocked on the glass with my knuckle and then climbed up onto the railing and lowered myself down so I hung as though clinging on for dear life. The door flew open and the guard came out with his stun batton lowered. He saw me and hesitated. For a moment I was afraid Id misjudged and he was going to stun me and drop my body, but instead he cursed, sheathed the weapon and grabbed me by the forearms, hauling me up. I grabbed his head and pulled it to mine locking my lips with his. His eyes widened in shock as my psy bored into him. I was at my strongest when I was in physical contact and he was totally unprepared for it.

Serve. I projected. Obey. Protect. He jerked me up over the rail and caught me lowering me gently with his eyes puppy wide.

 

“Mistress…” he managed the desire to be given an order so strong it enabled him to speak.

“Take me to the hanger by the most secretive route you know,” I ordered.  It took us nearly twenty minutes to reach the hangar by back corridors and servant passages. Periodically my new servant, Calec was his name, reported in that he was guarding the suite and nothing was a miss. It wasn’t till we reached the hangar, a large ferrocrete bunker that held a number of air cars and some other luxury fliers that my plan hit its first snag. A half dozen guards stood around the opening cradling las carbines and ornate but functional looking auto guns.

“Mistress?” Calec asked. I knitted my brows in thought.

 

The guards whirled at the sound of one of the light aircraft powering up. As one they spun and lifted weapons, screaming orders to stop at the top of their lungs. The flier began to roll across the floor, its big turbo fans winding up to a scream. As one the guards opened fire, coherent light and slugs smashing across the nose cone and windshield of the sleek machine, crazing the plex. It continued to accelerate despite their best efforts, driving forward and scattering them like pins. The powerful turbo jets caught one man in the backwash lifting him up and smashing him against a wall so hard his carapace cracked. The others kept firing, several rounds peppered the engines and intakes and with a percussive whoosh the right engine flamed and caught. The machine staggered forward regardless, the roar so loud it hurt the ears. Thick smoke billowed back from the flier as it lifted drunkenly into the sky, wobbling free of the earth like a stunned bull. From the far edge of the property there was a great jet of flame and a ball of fire rose on a smoke trail to intersect the vehicle. The missile took off the functioning engine and most of the tail section in a cataclysmic blast and dropped the burning jet to the ground. It exploded in a spray of burning promethium and aviation lubricants, its speed turning the fireball over a half dozen times before the wreck smashed into the tree line with a final thunderous explosion.