Layers of Force (Star Kingdom Book 8) Read online

  Layers of Force

  Star Kingdom, Book 8

  Lindsay Buroker

  Copyright © 2020 by Lindsay Buroker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Foreword

  Thank you for picking up Layers of Force, the final installment in my Star Kingdom series. I admit that I fell in love with these characters over the course of writing these eight books, and I may return to this universe to tell more stories about them one day, but this wraps up the arc that started way back in Shockwave.

  I appreciate you following along with the series, and I hope you have a lot of fun with the last book. It nudged out Book 6 (Planet Killer) to take its place as the longest Star Kingdom novel. Hey, there were a lot of happily ever afters to get worked out!

  I would also like to thank my beta readers (Rue Silver, Cindy Wilkinson, and Sarah Engelke) for sticking with me throughout the series, as well as my editor, Shelley Holloway, who barely even grimaces when I thunk down a 150,000-word novel onto her desk (we’re all digital these days, so there’s not much actual thunking). Also, thank you to Jeff Brown for the fabulous spaceship cover art for this series. Lastly, thanks to Fred Berman and Podium Publishing for all the work on the Star Kingdom audiobooks.

  1

  The lights came on brightly and abruptly.

  Casmir flinched, banging his head on the wall of his cell. At five-foot-seven, he was far from a big man, but the hard shelf that his guards optimistically called a bunk had clearly been designed to hold potted plants, not a person. Small potted plants.

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor beyond the translucent forcefield of the cell. Casmir sat up, sneezed, and his left eye blinked twice.

  The air of the warship didn’t smell like it was full of pollen, dust, or other allergens, but his eyes had been watering for the entire week he’d been cooped up in here, leaving him miserable for more reasons than his possibly impending death. Longing and nostalgia filled him for the cozy guest cabin he’d had on Bonita’s Stellar Dragon, where the freighter’s vacuums also kept everything spotless, even in the ventilation ducts.

  He sneezed again.

  Perhaps this was a stress response. Or a response to his complete lack of human—or crusher—companionship. The guards rarely spoke to him, and he couldn’t access a network to reach out to his friends or family. His tools had been taken, so he couldn’t even work on any projects.

  He shook his head and decided he would never make it long-term in solitary confinement. Maybe it didn’t matter. If King Jager truly believed that Casmir had killed his son, his odds of surviving long-term—or short-term—beyond the interrogation were slim.

  The interrogation that was, judging by the two soldiers and the doctor with a medical kit who walked into view, about to happen.

  King Jager strode in behind them. Casmir resisted the urge to groan. He debated on flinging himself to his knees and dropping his head, as he had at their first meeting, which had also involved Casmir in a cell and Jager on the other side looking in. He’d gotten out of that predicament. Was there any chance he could do so again?

  Jager stopped and faced Casmir through the forcefield, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a black Fleet galaxy suit and, in lieu of any rank, a purple silver-fur-trimmed cloak. Casmir imagined the gravity going out and the man’s head being hopelessly tangled up in the flowing fabric.

  Jager’s flinty gray-blue eyes narrowed as if he could read these irreverent thoughts.

  Casmir pushed himself to his feet and bowed deeply, though he doubted there was any point in trying to ingratiate himself now. He used the gesture to surreptitiously wipe his watering eyes. The last thing he wanted was for the king to believe he was in here weeping. Jager wouldn’t be sympathetic to weakness. Instead, Casmir would project competence, confidence, and maybe even gravitas.

  “Greetings, Your Majesty. Noble guards. Doctor Interrogator.” Unfortunately, his nose rebelled against gravitas, and he sneezed three times and was forced to wipe his eyes again. “There seem to be allergens floating out of the vents here. If you want to let me out for an exercise period, and return my tools, I could take a look at your environmental control unit and give you a tune-up.”

  The king’s cold, craggy expression didn’t change.

  “That’s what you call exercise?” the doctor asked.

  “Keeps my hands in shape.” Casmir held up his fingers, realized he’d gnawed off his nails during his incarceration, and lowered them. “And I like to be useful.”

  “Useful.” Jager grunted. “Is that what you were doing when you helped that traitor kill my son?”

  Helped? Did Jager no longer believe Casmir had done it? That had been his accusation at the beginning of the week.

  It might not matter either way. Judging by his icy tone, Jager didn’t feel Casmir was any less responsible.

  “Which traitor would that be?” he asked, figuring he shouldn’t volunteer information.

  Jager waved for the guards to leave the area. Maybe this chat was about to become top secret.

  They hesitated, but all it took was another narrowing of Jager’s eyes, and they scurried out of sight.

  “Tenebris Rache,” a familiar voice said from off to the side. Lieutenant Meister of Military Intelligence stepped into view with a tablet in hand. “Also known as David Lichtenberg. Also known as your clone brother.”

  “Ah, that traitor. Nice to see you here, Lieutenant. But is Captain Ishii no longer in need of your services on the Osprey?”

  “You’re my new special project,” Meister said.

  “How delightful for me. And I’m sure it’s delighting you as well.”

  “I want you to ask him everything about Rache and how much they’ve been working together,” Jager told Meister. “And see if he knows where Rache is now.”

  Casmir would rather have answered questions about himself. He couldn’t betray any of his friends—like Kim—if he only spoke about himself. “Does this mean you’ve realized that I wasn’t responsible for Prince Jorg’s death and did indeed try to arrive in time to stop it?”

  “You’re responsible for a great many crimes,” Jager said, “including giving that computer virus to Rache so he could render my son’s ship defenseless.”

  Casmir stared bleakly at him. How was it that he had some of the details right but not all of them? Such as that the virus had been used on Dubashi’s ships, not Jorg’s?

  “That’s not what happened, Your Majesty.”
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  “We’ll see,” Jager said. “Though I care little at this point. You’ve been a thorn in my side—in the entire Kingdom’s side—for months. You will hang for your crimes.”

  “I guess that means your offer of Princess Oku’s hand in marriage is off the table.” Casmir dearly wished he’d had an opportunity to say more to her, to at least send a goodbye.

  “It has occurred to me that it would be a simple matter to execute you now.” Jager eyed his doctor’s medical kit.

  Meister’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t look like he would object.

  Casmir scrambled for something he could say to save himself. Ask for one more chance? To—his mind gagged on the word as surely as his throat would—prove himself?

  “But it’s also occurred to me that he might try to rescue you if the word were put out that there will be a public execution.” Jager’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  Casmir didn’t have to ask who he was. “We’re not that close.”

  “The fact that you keep showing up in his orbit, and vice versa, suggests otherwise.”

  Casmir wouldn’t point out that Kim was the only reason Rache kept showing up next to him. Meister ought to know that—he’d figured out something back on the Osprey—but if he hadn’t drawn attention to Kim’s possible relationship with Rache to the king… Casmir would do his best to keep it that way. Besides, if Jager wanted a public execution, that would give Casmir more time to possibly come up with something.

  “If we did it on the planet,” Jager mused, gripping his chin, “he wouldn’t be able to skulk in with his camouflaged ship to attack. Not when he knows he could be trapped down there, because his ship would need the launch loop—my launch loop—to once again leave Odin’s gravity. If we set it up right, Rache would have to come on foot with only the weapons he could carry. On our home turf, our people would have no trouble outmaneuvering him, even if he brought along his entire crew of scruffy mercenaries.”

  “You could kill Dabrowski today, Sire,” Meister said, “not tell anyone, and claim there will be a public execution later.”

  Casmir gave him a puzzled look, wondering what he’d done to irk the lieutenant so. Was it because of his association with Rache? Or the fact that he’d used his crushers to keep Meister from questioning Kim? Admittedly, during their last encounter, Casmir and his crushers had fought a bunch of Kingdom troops and forced their way off the Osprey.

  Meister shrugged, as if apologetic. His eyes didn’t gleam with malicious intent. Maybe this efficiency was his way of sucking up to the king, and he was willing to toss Casmir under the rocket thrusters to do it.

  “True. There’s time yet to contemplate it. Our escort, speed, and slydar detector should continue to ensure that if Rache is following us, he won’t risk bothering us while we’re in space. Rache or any of Dabrowski’s other friends.” Jager pinned Casmir with his glare. “It didn’t escape my notice that their dilapidated freighter, not to mention that entire fleet of ships that other governments sent, were very reluctant to leave our system. Numerous captains commed us personally to ask where you’d gone, Dabrowski. Were you gathering a fleet for some ambitious personal purpose?”

  “Just to help the Kingdom with the blockade.” Casmir doubted Jager would believe him.

  “An act that shouldn’t have required suborning two of my knights. Per Baron Farley’s suggestion, and my hearty approval, Sirs William and Bjarke Asger have been removed from the knighthood and exiled from the Kingdom.”

  “They were only trying to help the Kingdom, Your Majesty.” Even though Casmir saw there was no point in arguing on his behalf, he hated that he was taking his friends down with him. “And they were crucial in defeating Dubashi and capturing those Drucker ships for the Kingdom’s use.”

  “For your use, you mean.”

  “I wasn’t even there for that operation.” Casmir kept himself from asking where Asger and Bjarke were now or what had happened to Bonita, Kim, Tristan, Qin, and all of Qin’s sisters. And all of his crushers. Had they all been forced to leave the system?

  Casmir feared there was nobody around to rescue him from this proposed public execution. Maybe it was for the best. If not for him, then for all of them.

  Jager flicked two fingers toward the doctor. “Proceed with the interrogation. I want his version of everything. As I said, I especially want to know what his relationship is with Rache—and if there’s a way to use that to get him too.”

  Casmir closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, hoping he could outsmart the drug enough to keep from babbling about Kim’s involvement with Rache. His own story would likely doom him, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of taking her down with him.

  “I’m ready.” The doctor held up an injector, a dubious orange liquid visible inside the capsule.

  “I trust that’s a drug I’m not allergic to?” If Casmir went into anaphylactic shock, he wouldn’t be able to spill everything he knew about Rache, but since they weren’t in sickbay, he would prefer that not happen. And since Jager seemed on the fence about delaying his execution, he would rather not make the decision easy for him.

  “It’s the one we successfully used on you the last time we interrogated you,” Jager said, as if to remind Casmir of his past miscreant ways.

  The forcefield dropped, and Meister and the doctor walked in. There was nowhere for Casmir to run, no way to avoid his fate.

  The injector pressed against his neck, bit briefly into his skin, and Casmir slowly lost his will to hide the truth.

  The greenhouse looked more like a tornado-swept office than a place for nurturing plants. It wasn’t because of the bombing earlier in the month—despite the damage to the rest of the city, neither the castle nor its grounds had been struck—but due to Princess Oku’s current obsession.

  Her usual seedlings and various botany projects were around, but stacks of already-perused papers competed for space on the workbenches with graphs, spreadsheets, and reports she hadn’t yet finished reading.

  A woof came from the doorway, where Chasca lay sprawled in a morning sunbeam that stretched across the packed earth floor. Her head lifted, and she perked her gray ears as she looked outside.

  “Who’s coming?” Oku considered trying to hide the reports, since numerous headers of TOP SECRET were in clear view, but she doubted she had time. “Friend or foe?”

  After his collusion with the underground party that had kidnapped—dog-napped—Chasca, Finn had been shipped up to one of the orbital bases to help the Fleet, so Oku wasn’t worried about it being her brother, but there could be other people in the castle who wished her ill.

  Chasca woofed again, but it was a mild noncommittal woof. Had something as nefarious as a squirrel or groundhog been spying on the greenhouse, she would have bayed like the hound she was.

  “There’s something blocking the doorway,” a woman said from outside, a shadow falling across the dog.

  Oku recognized the voice. She wouldn’t consider Chief Van Dijk of Royal Intelligence a staunch supporter or faithful ally, but they had reached an understanding and were sharing information now.

  “That’s my backup bodyguard,” Oku said, suspecting Maddie was still outside.

  Van Dijk bent and patted Chasca’s side. The dog promptly rolled onto her back, all four legs crooked in the air, her gray furry belly available for petting.

  “She’s very fierce,” Van Dijk said.

  “Her main method of defending me is by acting as an impediment to foot traffic.”

  “Somewhat effective.” After a few more pats, Van Dijk stepped around the dog and joined Oku at the workbench.

  After making a protesting noise, Chasca flopped back over on her side.

  Van Dijk opened her mouth to speak but stopped when she noticed the papers. “You printed them out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those are highly confidential. Only three people in my office have access to them. There are more than four hundred people living and working in the castle.”
Van Dijk waved toward the sprawling stone structure looming to the south of the lawn and greenhouse.

  “But only one in here.” Oku pointed to her chest.

  “There’s not a lock on the door. Anyone with access to the grounds could come in anytime.”

  “Did you forget my traffic impediment?” Oku extended a hand toward Chasca.

  Van Dijk, a lean fifty-something woman who’d scraped and clawed her way up the ranks and into her position, did stern and forbidding with effortless ease.

  Oku lowered her hand. “I’m a tactile person. I retain things best when I can hold them and highlight and make notes.” She waved to Princess Tambora’s report. Those three pages had been read more than anything else, as evinced by the dirt smudges all over the corners and margins.

  “I trust you’ll sufficiently shred or preferably incinerate the papers when you’re done fondling them.”

  “Even better.” Oku pointed to her compost tumbler in the corner. “By this time next month, they’ll have joined forces with the kitchen scraps to encourage my seedlings to get off to a robust start in life.”

  “If your father names you as heir, I may have to retire.”

  “He won’t, but I am saddened by your statement. Would you have willingly worked for Jorg?” Oku knew she shouldn’t malign her dead brother, especially when they hadn’t even had his funeral yet, but Van Dijk’s statement had put her on the defensive. She hadn’t the training or the interest to rule the Kingdom, but the idea that she was worse than Jorg made her bristle.