Gabriel's Ghost (14 page)

“Grevarg.” Ren said the name softly, confirming the Taka’s identity for us through his rainbow image. Shortly, the guard would be called away to answer a message Sully had arranged from an untraceable source, and wouldn’t be there when we returned.

We walked past, by all appearances a trio of monks handing out blessings of the hour to the stationers traversing the corridor.

Six-Green-Five. Eight. Ten. Three gray suited maintenance techs trotted by. One spoke rapidly into the comm badge clipped to his shirt. “Interfaces are down again?”

I could see the small, slow, wicked smile on Sully’s lips.

“Praise the stars,” I told him.

Eleven. We stopped, looked toward the rampway. Another Taka, his back to us, stared out the viewport. The curved bow of a freighter was visible. An unfamiliar ship’s name glowed on the overhead. I couldn’t make out the company markings on the hull. But the blackness of the starfield beyond beckoned.

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We turned.

Eight. Sully drifted toward a row of seats in a small waiting area. I kept pace with Ren. Moments later, he caught up with us.

Seven. “Just a little fire,” Sully said modestly. “More smoke than damage.”

Five. A maintenance worker hurried by, tool-kit wagging behind on an anti-grav pallet. “Sorry, coming through. Sorry.”

“Blessings. May your work be fruitful.”

Three. The
Meritorious’
s hatchlock was open at the top of the ramp. Grevarg was nowhere in sight. A maintenance worker stood at the base of the ramp, leaning over the control podium, shouting. “Tell Ops the captain wants her moved. No, don’t need no tug. This is one of them Imperial boats. Fifteen still open?”

The answer was softer, but I clearly heard it. “Fifteen’s cleared. Request approved. Slotting them to Departure now.”

Sully stepped up to the worker. “Pardon, brother. We seek a Takan brother with urgent family news.”

The man barely glanced at Sully as he ran his hand through his thinning hair in an exasperated motion. Chatter still came from the podium speaker.

“What’s that? Hang on, I got some religious guy here needs to find a furry.”

Sully half-turned toward the hatchlock, as if looking for someone. He raised one hand to adjust his hood, shielding his face.

I walked toward him, hands curved over my mouth and nose, my breath catching in a squeak as if I were crying. Such urgent, sad family news.

“Shit, what now?” The worker waved us on. “Yeah, go ahead. He might be in there, trying to get the damn clamps unlocked. If not, check Berth Five.”

Ren hurried behind me, ducking his head through the
Meritorious’
hatchlock just as the fire alarms wailed far down the corridor.

Sully stepped quickly aside to let me lead. This was my ship. I knew every inch of her.

We were on main level, amidships, just aft of the bridge. I opened the seal-seam of my robe with a quick thrust of my hand, drew the Stinger from its holster. We needed somewhere to stay, unnoticed, for the five minutes it took the ship to undock. The ready room, across from us, was too risky. Sickbay was the most likely.

We soft-footed down the narrow access stairs in a blur of sand-gray robes. Sully had the Carver drawn and primed. Ren had the Norlack’s strap resting on one shoulder. The sublights already hummed noisily beneath my feet.

I knew all the sounds of my ship and it sounded empty, in spite of the noise of the engines. Intraship was quiet. But there had to be someone else on board, maybe two. Someone was on the bridge, handling the short ride to Berth Fifteen.

We’d take the bridge as soon as she was moving.

I stopped at the hatchway to deck two, threw back my hood, listened. My heart pounded. I could feel Sully’s breath on my hair.

“Okay,” I breathed. I stepped out, laser pistol in both hands and swept the corridor quickly left and right. “This way.”

The auto-door to sickbay, sensing my presence, opened. Sickbay was one large room, containing three small automated regen-beds. Behind a moveable panel was a hydrotherapy tub. All was quiet, empty. Patrol ships rarely carried a medical officer.

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A long half-wall shielded a workstation. “There.” In four steps I was behind it. Sully and Ren followed.

I sat and stared for a moment at the microscreen. It was active. I touched a databox, brought up ship’s status. Sully leaned over my shoulder, his hand lightly on my arm. Ren stood close behind him.

We spoke in whispers. “Docking clamps should unlatch… now.”

The ship jerked slightly, shimmied. Thrusters fired. More shimmies. Then a lurch as we dropped away.

Whoever was at helm had pie plates for hands.

I waited a few more seconds just to be sure. “We’ve got ten minutes, boys. Let’s do it in less.”

I peeled off my robe then started for the door. Sully and Ren followed, now all in black, like me. Ren held the rifle with an obvious familiarity and ease. It was not, I figured, a skill he’d learned at the monastery.

Back to the hatch at the stairs, up again. We faced only two possible scenarios. Two crew or officers on the bridge. Or crew and officers split, one on the bridge and one in engineering, on deck three. Given what was going on at Penley’s I figured the chance of finding three sober crew was rare. Therefore, we worked to take the bridge first. If anyone were in engineering, we’d deal with him or her, later.

I eased the hatchdoor to Deck One open, listened again. This time, I could hear voices on the bridge. One lower pitched, male. One higher, female. I wished for the hundredth time I knew more about Kingswell’s crew.

I nodded to Sully. My job was to take the captain’s sling. Sully’s was to secure engineering. Ren had to prevent anyone from accessing communications, or interfering with us.

It was that simple.

It was far from easy.

I nodded once more. “Now.”

We moved quickly, weapons raised, our backs skimming the bulkhead. Like hard shadows we flowed past the single door to the captain’s quarters, then the ready room, past a narrow maintenance panel, and across from that, the airlock to the emergency escape pod. Listening, watching. Ren reading thermals and rainbows.

The hatch to the bridge was open—sloppy, sloppy. Voices filtered out. A man’s drawl: “Yeah, well, what do you expect. Out here. Bunch of assholes with no brains.” His voice was slurred, drunk.

We stopped just short of the hatch. Ren hunkered down almost in the middle of the corridor, his face tilted up, sightless eyes reading thermals and rainbows fifteen, eighteen feet away. He moved back in a fluid movement. “Male in the center. Female on the right.”

Someone in the captain’s sling. Someone at engineering.

“Go,” I whispered.

Sully and I moved first. Ren was immediately behind. I focused on the man in my chair. Brown hair, slicked back, right arm outstretched, fingers grasping a lightpen, wiggling it. A nervous habit.

I recognized it just as I thrust the barrel of the Stinger against the base of his skull. A sick feeling rose in my throat.

Captain Lew Kingswell.

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I knew him. He knew me. I was going to have to kill him.

Chapter Ten

Meritorious

“Down, captain! Now! On your knees! On the floor!” I shouted the orders, knowing Kingswell might recognize my voice.

Praying he didn’t. Prayed that the man stumbling out of the chair, falling forward, wouldn’t turn around and see me. His identification would be absolute. Anyone else’s would always be just conjecture.

I kept my laser pistol in his back as he hunched over, watched his hands, making sure he

couldn’t yank my feet out from under me. “Face down! Hands behind your back!” He flattened himself with a grunt. Ren moved beside me, grabbing Kingswell’s hands,

locking them in a sonicuff. “What do you want?” Kingswell bellowed, his face against the decking. I ignored him and glanced at Sully. A young woman with short, curly blonde hair lay

trembling, and cuffed, at his feet. Her face was half-hidden by his boots. He caught my glance,

jerked his head toward the floor. Mouthed Kingswell’s name. I nodded. He mouthed another word. Shit. There were still a few brains left in the government. And they might eventually figure out

what Chaz Bergren knew.

He motioned to the woman, moved his feet slightly. I could see her a lot better than she could see me. She had a short nose, her blonde hair the color of honeylace. I shook my head. Didn’t know her. I’d caught of glimpse of her ID on her uniform when we barged in. Lieutenant.

And that was all we had time for. We were expected to re-dock in five minutes. Sully holstered the Carver, stepped quickly away from the woman, touched Ren’s arm. They lifted Kingswell away from me. My job, by agreement, was to fly the ship. I left Kingswell and the lieutenant to Sully and Ren, and took the sling, angling thrusters, pulling us away from the station. I could hear Kingswell struggling behind me as he was carried to the rear of the bridge. His anguished demands echoed. “Who are you, damn it! You can’t do this!” “
Meritorious
, this is Moabar Departure. You’re heading off course. Repeat, you’re heading off course. Acknowledge.”

I hit the red alert. Sirens wailed through the bridge. Sully grabbed a headset at the comm panel, keyed it open, well knowing how the game was to be played. “Having slight problems here. Will advise.”

He keyed if off. I killed the sirens.

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Kingswell’s boot hammered the bulkhead in front of him. “You Chalford’s people? This some kind of game, assholes?”

Don’t damage my ship, you bastard
.

Then there was a muffled cry of anguish, as if someone tried to shout through material. I looked back quickly, saw Sully, grinning, an open medical kit in one hand, a small roll of gauze in the other.

I pointed to engineering. He tossed the kit into the nearest chair and stepped over the woman on the floor. He slid into the seat, made a few adjustments to the board before him.

“Move her,” he said to Ren.

Ren was more gentle with her than they had been with Kingswell. But I caught the look of pure fear on her face when she saw the webbed hands on her arms. She was Fleet—had worked the same training vids I had. I knew what she was thinking.
Ragkiril
. A creature who could rip apart her mind.

Ren placed her along the base of the opposite wall, on the other side of the hatchway from Kingswell. She lay on her side, her head angled crookedly. Soft sobbing sounds filtered past the beeping chatter of the screens and scanners.

Moabar departure tried to contact us again. Did we have an emergency? Did we require assistance? So far, no one was in pursuit. That’s just the way I wanted it.

I hit the red alert again. Sully keyed the comm mike on the engineering console. “Got a fuel leak. Advise traffic to stay clear. Repeat. Hazardous fuel leak.”

Red alert fell silent. I knew that would keep them away from us for awhile.

At least, until we hit the lanes at full bore. Then, they might just suspect something else was going on.

But by then, it wouldn’t matter. As long as I stayed at max speeds, they wouldn’t catch me.

Once I got to the jumpgate, they’d never find me.

A series of three tones sounded on my right. Moabar’s outer beacon. I sent back an acknowledgment from the list on my screen. Nice of Kingswell to have the ship fully functioning, all systems open and online. I’d change his passwords later.

The beacon chimed back. We were clear. My fingers played over the keypads as if it’d been only six hours, not six months, since I’d sat in this chair.

My entry flashed on Sully’s board. “Full power, active now.”

The
Meritorious
shot away from Moabar at top speed, her sublights blazing like the brightest fires in Hell.

“Captain. May I get something from below?” Ren’s voice was soft as he stood next to my chair, rifle slung over his shoulder.

I took a quick glance at the boards. Everything was secure. No threat from Moabar, yet. I nodded.

I heard his footsteps recede, then, minutes later, return. I glanced over my shoulder. He had his robe over his arm. He lifted the young woman’s head. She tried to jerk from his touch. He tucked the robe underneath, eased her head against it. She stopped struggling and lay there motionless, except for the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders.

Ren went back to his seat, but his hands, I noticed, didn’t touch the comm controls. They were cold things, lifeless, though I knew he could see their outlines. Just no thermals or rainbows for him to read their different functions.

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Twenty-minutes out and we had no pursuit. Nothing to do but wait an hour to reach the jumpgate Sully wanted to take. He had a ship positioned on the border of Aldan and Baris. The
Diligent
would have taken us there, directly.

Now, we were forced to take the long way around, through no-man’s land. Running the rim in a stolen ship. While jukors were born, and Takas died, somewhere in the Marker shipyards.

Sully stood, no better at this waiting game than I was, I thought. He leaned his hands on the armrest of my chair and stared at me for a long hard moment. He still needed a shave, but the shadows were gone from his eyes.

The questions weren’t. I didn’t know quite what had happened between that passionate but unexpected kiss in the Temple hallway and his none-to-subtle message when I inspected the Carver laser pistol. But something had. He might have been slightly furred when he’d kissed me, but he’d known exactly what he was doing when he’d clasped my hand.

“Mine,” he’d said. “Trust me” seemed to be just a breath behind that.

And hours before that, something about taking risks.

Hell, why couldn’t we have met again in a nice little spaceport pub, like the last time? On liberty. It all would’ve been so much simpler. This wasn’t. This was a tangle of fears and desires and anger and faith. Lives hung precariously on our actions, including my own.