Gabriel's Ghost (22 page)

Philip gestured sharply toward his comm officer. “Transfer this to my office.”

The screen blanked. When it came back on, Philip was still standing. But the background was different. A wide viewport, a high backed chair. And no one else to overhear what might be said.

“Chaz.” Philip repeated my name as if he needed verification of my identity. “There’s a report of your—a ship being taken by force. At Moabar.” He was recovering from the shock of seeing me. He frowned, looking stern. The venerable Fleet captain, quantifying the facts. “This doesn’t bode well for you.”

“I’m aware the
Meritorious
was taken. But not by me.”

“No. The Farosians. With a Stolorth
Ragkiril
. We know that. How you would get involved with them, how you would get involved with
that
I cannot understand.”

‘That’ meant a Stolorth. A Fleet-issue sentiment of disgust.

“Kingswell, Lieutenant Paxton were near death when Fleet recovered them,” he continued. “Their minds viciously raped, all but destroyed.”

Liar
! The word speared my mind, blazing with anger. It was as clear as if he’d shouted it in my ear.

I pushed it off; let horror, loathing flicker across my face. The emotions were only partially feigned. “Are you blaming me for this?”

“Are you going to tell me this isn’t the
Meritorious
?”

“I am. It’s not.”

Another moment of shocked silence. Good. I liked when Philip didn’t have a ready answer.

“She’s a Ninacska Mining Cooperative transport ship, the
Far Rider
. You’ve been scanning me for five minutes. You know my ID.”

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“Yes, but—”

“Be logical. Let’s assume this was the
Meritorious
. Let’s assume I’d taken her from Moabar with your Farosian terrorists and some Stolorth mind-fucker. Do you really think I’d be sitting here with minimum shields and weapons cold? Would I have changed course to meet you?” I shook my head sadly. “By all I hold holy, Philip. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“You’re supposed to be incarcerated on Moabar. Am I supposed to believe you didn’t steal this ship?”

I leaned to my left, recrossed my legs, propped my chin in my other hand, shrugged. “You never asked me if I stole this ship. I just said she’s not the one you’re looking for.”

“Then this ship is stolen.”

“Not exactly. Let’s say I negotiated a trade.”

I could tell Philip was having a difficult time putting my facts—my deliberately widely divergent facts—together. He was Fleet, like me. He liked his databoxes all stacked neatly in a row.

I plucked out the first box, opened it for him. “N.M.C. services Dafir and the rim, including Moabar.”

“I’m aware of that,” Philip snapped.

I opened the next one. It contained a small bomb. “I service the boys at N.M.C.. In exchange, I get work-release duty. It’s almost freedom.”

This time it was Philip’s face that showed disgust. “By all I hold holy, I never thought I’d see the day where Chaz Bergren would whore—”

“You have no idea what Moabar is like!” I shot to my feet, fists clenched. “Damn you, Philip. How dare you judge me.”

“I can and I will. I offered you a choice. You rejected it.”

“The court would never have believed—”

“They would have. Because I said so.” His mouth thinned. “It was your choice. You’d rather have Moabar than me. Or our child.”

“That wasn’t the problem—”

“No, you married me readily enough.”

“Because I loved you! You knew I was career Fleet. We’d agreed children were not in our plans. Five years later, when I’m up for a captaincy, suddenly you want to be a father. You weren’t willing to take leave, or a desk job and share the responsibility. So that means everything I’ve worked for stops. It would have been knock up Chaz, leave her on a starport and see you once a year, my darling!”

I was shaking, shouting at him. God, I thought I’d gotten over this.

From behind me on my right, was silence. Total silence. Verbally and mentally.

“I told you the child could be raised in a crèche. Then your career—”

“No child of mine would be raised in a damned crèche! With droid nannies, med-techs. And a mother and father who are total strangers.” Not like Willym, poor thing.

“You’re being archaic. You’re just like your mother.”

“God damn right I am.” I glared at him. Amaris Bergren didn’t raise a fool for a daughter. I knew my fears. I grew up with them: crèche-kids, holos of lieutenant daddy and commander mommy on expensively furnished dormitory walls. That was the acceptable option in Fleet. Breed and abandon. Check in once a year, pat it on the head, ship out.

Megan Sybil Baker - 108

“What would your mother say about her virtuous daughter’s record now?” Philip’s voice softened, but carried a bitter edge. “Convicted criminal. Murderer. Whore.”

My hand clasped my Grizni bracelet, felt it tingle, ready, waiting. But Philip was just an image on the screen. I couldn’t hurt him. He couldn’t hurt me.

Then why did I feel such a pain in my heart?

Philip ran his hand over his face, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said just now.”

I took a deep breath. “Do you have an order for the seizure of this vessel, Captain Guthrie?”

“Chaz—”

“Do you?” I demanded. I had to push now. I had to force a resolution. Junot had to be wondering what was going on.

“I loved you. I still love you. It’s why I married you.”

“Do you have an order for the seizure of an N.M.C. transport vessel!”

A heartbeat. Two. Three. I was presenting him with a legitimate out.

“No.”

One down. One to go.

“Philip, listen to me. You offered to lie for me, seven months ago. I turned you down. Yes, it was partly because I’m not cut out to be a mother. And if I were, I would never abandon a child to a crèche. But the other reason is that, with each lie, we become less and less a person. I am innocent of the charges against me. But I loved you too much to ask you to lie, even knowing that. You’re an exemplary officer. A fine man.”

“Chaz, we can—”

I held up my hand. “Listen, damn you! I wouldn’t have you lie for me then. I’m not asking you to lie for me, now. You have no seizure order on this ship. Therefore, by law, you can no longer detain her. You must let her go. The only issue then, is me.” I clasped my hands behind my back, stood in perfect military posture. “If you request that I be removed from the
Far Rider
, I will comply. Because of the nature of my… agreement with N.M.C., my papers won’t stand up to detailed inspection. But you cannot hold this ship. You must let her and this N.M.C. officer here go.”

“If I take you into custody,” he said quietly, “you know you could be returned to Moabar.”

“Yes.”

Philip shoved his hands in his pockets, stared down at his boots. Then back at me. “Other than your… agreement, N.M.C. is treating you well?”

“I’m at a stellar helm. You know that’s the only thing I’ve ever loved.”

He rocked back on his heels. “More than me. Obviously.”

I waited. There was no answer to that. And nothing more to say. He had all the facts. He was a Fleet officer, like me. He’d make a decision, based on facts.

His shoulders sagged slightly. Then a small nod. He clasped his hands behind his back, straightened his stance. “You’re absolutely correct, captain. I have no seizure order on an N.M.C. P40. Please accept my apologies for detaining you and your crew. You may resume your previous course and heading. I will put out an advisory that you not be delayed again.” He saluted me, crisply.

I returned his salute, my heart pounding, my knees suddenly weak. “Thank you, captain.” My damn voice cracked.

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He reached for the end-transmit tab but hesitated, his blue-eyed gaze searching. But there was nothing left to be said. It had all been over, five years ago.

The screen hazed, blanked. The starfield reappeared. I stepped back, shaking, and collapsed into the chair behind me. I jammed my finger at the armpad, opening intraship. “Ren! Get your ass on the bridge!”

I tabbed it off as I swung to face Sully. His hands were fisted on his knees, his obsidian eyes unreadable, fathomless. “Get us out of here, now!” I barked at him. “And while you’re at it, stay out of my goddamned mind!”

I turned abruptly away from him, raked my straps over my chest, then grabbed my armpad controls. I felt the shimmy of the sublights as they drew power, heard Ren step onto the bridge and heard the sharp clicks as he fastened his strap. The starfield moved off to my right as we pulled smoothly away from the
Morgan Loviti
.

I was angry, frightened and couldn’t stop shaking as I stared at the viewscreen then back down to my controls. Five minutes. Ten minutes. No one followed. Not Junot. Not Philip.

Ren’s voice in the background, talking softly into his headset, was the only noise on the bridge.

Fifteen minutes. My screen showed us at plus twenty. Specs be damned, we were moving.

I still shook. I couldn’t stop. But it was only me causing my pain.

Figures danced on my screen showing coordinates to the meet-point. Two days yet. Then we wait for Sully’s ship.

Sully. I crossed my arms at my waist. I couldn’t stop shaking.

Sully. What I’d felt. What I’d said. Stay out of my goddamned mind.

I’d meant it. Stars forgive me, but I’d meant it. And he knew that. When he’d invaded my mind I’d been shocked. It was like everything I’d read; it was like rape. A forced intrusion on my self, my soul.

This wasn’t the gentle sensations of a touch-empath. This was something else.

Mind-fuckers. We’d always called Stolorth
Ragkirils
mind-fuckers. Now I knew there were human mind-fuckers, too.

I heard Philip’s voice again. Kingswell, Lieutenant Paxton… Their minds viciously raped, all but destroyed.

Then another voice: Liar!

I had to get off the bridge. Everything I thought, everything I felt, I was sending. He was reading and, for all I knew, hearing. I pushed the armpad to my right, unlatched my straps. Stood. “Captain’s off the bridge,” I announced. Stepped forward, turned left, toward Ren, not Sully. Looked at neither. Kept walking. Legs kept moving. Eyes focused on the corridor.

Stepped over the tread, didn’t fall on my face. Found my cabin door, hit the palm pad. Five more steps. Saw the bed. Didn’t turn around. Didn’t look at Sully’s jacket, hanging on the hook.

Just lowered myself onto the wide softness. Grabbed my pillow, clutched it to my chest and sat, hugging it.

Breathed. One in. One out. One in. One out.

Thought about faith. Betrayal. Philip. Sully.

Sully. A telepath. Even though I’d never known one before, I knew that’s what I’d felt in my mind. A
Ragkiril
. Who’d sensed my fear, my trepidation when I saw the
Loviti
and had to know why. Who’d raked my thoughts, found my private images of Philip and myself. Images he had no right to see. Images that I knew pained him and angered him.

Megan Sybil Baker - 110

And taught him that sometimes you don’t always like the answers to your questions.

I knew the feeling.

A
Ragkiril
. I was well acquainted with all of the Empire’s official prejudices. They’d been easy to accept because a Stolorth’s appearance was just different enough from humans. Us yet not us. A reason to hate. A reason to fear.

But I knew Ren, and those prejudices had dissolved.

Did I know Sully? Did I even know what Sully
was
?

Time passed. I knew it did because the clock told me, in little red numbers. I no longer felt totally shattered. Only mediumly wretched. Still confused. Still angry. A little less frightened. And only mediumly wretched.

That was an improvement, and in less than two hours. Stars be praised.

I sat up and dropped the pillow behind me. I wiped my hands over my face. What happened, happened. It’s over. There are larger issues here. Marker. The Takas. The—

My cabin door shooshed open.

My heart froze for a beat. When it restarted, I rested my elbows on my knees, my chin against my clasped hands and prayed that whoever came through the door was Ren. I was still sorting my thoughts, still examining my anger. I couldn’t face someone other than Ren. I couldn’t even think his name.

Footsteps came toward the bed. They hesitated, then continued. An arm’s length away, maybe two, and the footsteps stopped.

There was the silence of two people breathing. Then, “Chaz.” The voice was rasped, raw, but I recognized it.

Not Ren.

I responded quickly. “I’m sorry.” I was. I shouldn’t have spoken out as I had. Nothing had been gained by hurting him. I should’ve waited until I was calmer, and not angry at Philip, at myself. At him.

“No. You don’t, you shouldn’t be....” He took a deep breath. “Chaz. I’m sorry. It was wrong. What I did, I....”

His voice seemed to lose its energy. Silence resumed.

I stared at my knees, at the tips of my boots, at the Fleet-issue low pile carpeting on the floor. I could hear his breathing, harsh and ragged.

I ached all over. But the pain was all my own.

I opened my hands as if they might hold answers. But they were empty. I closed them, grasping nothing.

“I was very wrong,” he repeated softly.

I brought my gaze up. The pain in his voice was reflected in his face, in his stance. The shadows were back under his eyes. His mouth was tight. One arm was crossed over his chest, his hand cupping his elbow as if part of him were holding back, part of him reaching. “I would never hurt you.”

I nodded, listening now. Gabriel’s promise. He would never hurt me. Scare the hell out of me, yes. But never hurt me.

But how would he know what hurt me? When he stopped me from asking questions, he also stopped finding answers for himself. There’s a reason to ask questions, to gather data, to look at facts.

He could avoid that, if he wanted to. But I couldn’t. Not for myself. Not for the Takas.