Gabriel's Ghost (29 page)

“Give me a chance to answer. Yes, this has to do with Marker. Either funding, or a concept group that—”

“Crossley Burke. You’re sure it’s Crossley?” He leaned his palms on the desk and stared at me.

“It’s not Crossley. They used to make vid games.”

“Show me the reference.”

I knew he didn’t mean the vid games. He followed me to the dining room table, a tension in his shoulders, his hands fisted. I pulled up the data and pointed to it.

He sat and stared at my small screen. “Hell’s ass. God damn son-of-a-bitch.”

“Sully—”

“Goddamned bastard. I should’ve known.”

“Sully.”

He ran a hand over his face. “Crossley Burke. Hayden Crossley Burke.”

That sounded like a person. “Who’s Hayden Crossley Burke?”

His eyes narrowed. “Someone I should’ve killed long ago, when I had the chance. Hayden Crossley Burke’s my cousin.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

I could see the resemblance. Hayden Crossley Burke, cousin of Gabriel Ross Sullivan, who was the son of Winthrop Burke Sullivan. They were men of similar height and build, and looked to be about the same age.

The news vidclip playing on the ready room’s hologrid, and on Marsh’s bridge screen, had been shot last year at a charity ball on Garno. Hayden moved easily through the crowd, everyone around him in formal attire, gems glittering. The vidcam wasn’t focused on him, but on the parade of last year’s vid stars silhouetted against the ever-familiar forms of old money and power, like Darius Tage, Lady Moira Chevlinska or one of the Bell-Javieros. We’d see Hayden in the background, shaking hands, chatting, then lose him. Another few minutes, the camera would swing around to highlight another long-legged beauty revealing an amazing amount of cleavage, and there was Hayden. Shaking hands, chatting. Smiling.

“He’s older,” Sully said. “Four, five years.”

Similar jaw line, straight nose, dark hair. But Cousin Hayden’s eyes were light. And while Sully’s smile was often playful, Hayden’s was polished. Professional.

“Looks like he shits money,” Gregor said.

For once, he and I were in total agreement.

Sully tabbed off the vid, perched on the edge of the round table and crossed his arms. His expression was one of a man contemplating something unpleasant. I didn’t know if it were Hayden himself or what Hayden funded. Or the very real fact that Hayden was in a position to do these things because Sully had refused to be a Sullivan. Hayden was the heir not only to the Crossley Burke fortune, but the Sullivan moneys as well.

Sully outlined the wealth Hayden had at his disposal, and the contacts that came with that wealth, with no mention that it could have been his. He confirmed my suspicion that Crossley Burke, the mega corporation, had grown from the small vid-game firm I remembered. Diversified. Acquired. But most often in the background, quietly. Hayden and his father, Morley Burke, had negotiated a number of lucrative government contracts over the years. Sully admitted he hadn’t paid much attention to them. Finding out what those contracts were was now a priority.

“You ever meet the guy?” Gregor was across from me, next to Aubry. He flicked the end of his lightpen at the blank hologrid as if Hayden’s image was still there. “At Marker,” he added. “Ever see him there?”

Gregor had avoided me since Sully’s talk with him. Though he no longer challenged me, directly. But that tone of dislike, of distrust, still hung under his words when he spoke.

I shook my head. “Not that I remember.” And I would have. Hayden was an attractive man.

“Not even talking to your brother?” Gregor persisted.

Ren exchanged glances, and I could only imagine what else, with Sully.

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“I don’t remember Thad ever mentioning his name, either. But we didn’t talk a lot, even before the trial. If we did, it was usually about Willym.” Argued about Willym. I’d almost convinced Suzette to take him out of the crèche. Then I'd been arrested.

“Willym?”

“My brother. Half-brother.”

Gregor’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s he work on Marker?”

“Nowhere. He’s nine years old.”

Gregor snorted. “You’re father must be—”

“You have a point with all this?” Sully’s voice was hard.

Gregor shrugged and toyed with his lightpen. “Sure would be more useful if she could say, yeah, I saw Burke at Marker. On this date or that date. Or yeah, my brother told me about this party he went to with Burke.”

“Thad’s not the party type. And they’re not even remotely in the same social circles.” But Philip was. Shame I couldn’t ask what he knew about Hayden. “The only reason he’d talk to Hayden Burke at all would be for shipyard business. And we don’t have any proof right now that Thad has.”

Ren leaned toward me, silencing any further comment from Gregor. “Verno and I were discussing the reasons your brother’s office might receive confirmation of incoming ships, privately. He asked that I mention it.” Verno was off-duty, sleeping at Sully’s orders after one too many long shifts. “It could be that he suspects someone is misusing the shipyards. He may not know about the labs we suspect are being created, but be as suspicious as we are.”

I’d thought of that. That would be very like Thad. Fleet first. Always by the book. Even more than me. His mother had worn army boots, too.

“If he is, he might help us.” Aubry had a high, thin voice for a man of his bulk. He spent his off-duty time working out in the ship’s small gym with Marsh.

“I wouldn’t trust him,” Sully said. “At this point.”

“I agree.” But I would, oddly, trust Philip. I just didn’t know how Sully would react to that if I suggested it.

* * *

We passed another beacon shortly after Verno came on duty, three hours later. The
Karn
efficiently and secretively grabbed the newsbanks, traffic, and in-system advisories.

The Farosians had staged a protest outside the government center on Aldan Prime. There'd been a major depot fire in Port January, losses in the millions. Two women, raped, brutally murdered in Crescent City in the Walker Colonies. Odd, engraved disks found at both crime scenes…

While jukors were born and Takas died.

And other Takas killed.

* * *

Sully sat behind me on the edge of our bed and brushed out my hair. I was wearing my worry-colors, he told me.

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“I should learn not to watch the news before bed.” I wished I could read his moods as he did mine. Wished I could tell when he was open, willing to talk. “What color is worry?”

His hands stilled, then lifted my hair. He ran the brush underneath. “Muddy colors. Like dirty water in a stream.”

“Anger?”

“Reddish.”

“Fear?”

“Yellow. The correlations are fairly common sense.”

“And silver, a silvery haze? When Ren was injured, on the bridge, you had this silvery—”

“That’s different.” This time the brush did stop. I heard it clatter against the nightstand. It was a sharp sound, like the tone in Sully’s voice. Then his arms wrapped around my waist, his face against my neck. Warmth fluttered, trickled.

“That’s different,” he repeated, softer this time. “But it’s nothing that would ever hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”

I covered his arms with my own. “I know. I know.” With a twinge of reluctance, I opened my mental cold storage, shoved that question back inside. I didn’t want to hurt him, either.

* * *

Sully and I’d discussed course changes before, but this was the first time he ever had me initiate one. That had usually been Gregor’s prerogative. I had no desire to step on toes in that regard.

“Dock Five. You’re sure?” I leaned on the armpad in the pilot’s chair. Marsh and Aubry were due to come on in an hour. It was just Sully, Ren and myself on the bridge. Just as it would be only Sully, Ren and myself going on to Marker.

He’d said that, too, just before he told me he wanted to head for Dock Five.

“We have to refuel, pick up supplies,” he said.

I could name ten other depots that would do that just as well and told him so.

“But the
Karn
didn’t stop at any of those before I left for Moabar. It was at Dock Five. We have to look around there, before we proceed further.” He motioned to Ren sitting at helm in front of me, his back to the console. “I told Ren about your theory. That another,” he glanced quickly at the closed bridge hatchway, “
Ragkiril
may be involved. That might explain how the information about Milo was obtained.”

“My only difficulty with that possibility,” Ren said, “is that I cannot see one of my people, or anyone with
Ragkiril
talents, encouraging the breeding of jukors.”

“I’ll name reasons why someone might.” I raised one hand, held up a finger with each item. “Greed, money, blackmail, power. Need more?”

Ren shook his head. “Of course, we’re not immune to that. But not with jukors as a goal.” He glanced at Sully. “You didn’t explain this to her?”

My explanations, I wanted to tell Ren, were still coming in very small doses.

Sully took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Not… completely.”

I didn’t like that tone. Part of me said, ‘What now?’ And part of me said, ‘Oh, shit.’ I didn’t know whether to laugh, or brace myself.

I must have braced myself because Sully and Ren spoke out almost simultaneously.

“No, it’s nothing—”

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“Not to worry—”

“Explain. Please.”

“To put it briefly,” Sully said, after a short staring contest with Ren, “jukors can’t be controlled, or affected, by mind talents. It becomes, then, strictly a physical battle. And few things are physically a match for a jukor.”

“A modified Norlack did pretty damn well,” I reminded him.

“The jukor’s only vulnerable area is that small spot of its throat. You have one coming at you, you might take it down. You have ten, you have no chance. One of them will get you.”

“So? Humans face the same type of threat from them. Why would that preclude a Stolorth, a
Ragkiril
, from working for a jukor-breeding project?”

“Because it takes away the advantage a
Ragkiril
has. That’s why jukors were bred after the Boundary Wars. Not for security purposes, as the government proclaimed. But to make sure Stolorths, or anyone with
Ragkiril
talents, wouldn’t challenge the Empire.”

“They were bred specifically as a threat to my people,” Ren’s voice held a note of sadness. “Unnecessary. We have no interest in acquiring more worlds, more systems, like the Empire. Our very passivity makes the Empire distrust us. That and, of course, the Empire’s experience with our
Ragkirils
when we did try to assist in the war. When our founders realized that, they thought it best if the Empire not understand the different levels and degrees of mind talents. That, it seems, was even a worse thing to do. Now we are all viewed as a latent threat.”

Ren was right. I’d grown up with everything he told me. The fears, the prejudice, the condemnation of telepaths. The Empire, greedy and bloated, categorizing all others in the same way, assigning others their own motives.

I also saw why a
Ragkiril
might not work on a project to breed jukors. But I didn’t discount it totally. “So we go back to Dock Five.”

Sully nodded. “Pick up the trail, if there is one. See who’s been watching us. And who’s paying them to watch us.”

“Crossley Burke.”

A wry smile. “That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? If Cousin Hayden does prove I’m still alive, he stands a good chance of losing his inheritance. All that Sullivan money.”

“I thought your father disowned you?”

“Oh, he did. But Hayden’s not legal heir. He’s assisting by right of next of kin, as I’m theoretically dead. But since my body was never recovered, you know the regs; it hasn't been seven years. If he proves I’m alive, then he’s also proved he has no right to the money.”

I looked at Ren. “I’d start keeping real good records of those card games if I were you.”

Ren smiled.

* * *

Sully didn’t come back to the cabin right away when our shift ended. Had some thoughts he wanted to play with on the holo-grid in the ready-room, he said.

I left him there. I had some thought of my own, circling, hovering, unwanted. No, not unwanted. Just unanswered. Tea, not coffee, sounded soothing. I was on my second cup when Sully came back to the cabin.

“Find anything more?” I’d kicked off my boots and was reclining on the couch.

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He shook his head. “Bits and pieces. A little here. A little there. I need to see more of the picture. It’s frustrating.” He spread his arms in a helpless gesture.

“I fully sympathize.” My bits and pieces had hovered through two cups of tea. I scooted my feet over on the cushions so he could sit.

He plopped down, covering his mouth with his hand for a moment. Then he splayed his fingers toward me. “I know. I also know my saying you have nothing to be afraid of sometimes isn’t sufficient.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Sully.” I’d been raised with the same prejudices against
Ragkirils
as most anyone else in the Empire. But it wasn’t fear I felt most often when confronted with what Sully could do. It was frustration over lack of facts to work with. “I’m only afraid of saying or doing something wrong. Because I don’t understand what it means to be a
Ragkiril
. What responsibilities this places on you. Why you were chosen, or if it’s something you chose—”

He flashed me an anguished look, his back stiffening. “Believe me, I’d never choose this.” His voice was bitter.

“So it chose you?”

“It?”

I couldn’t tell if he were angry or amused. “I don’t understand. You’re human, not Stolorth.” I knew every inch of him. He was definitely human. Not a gill slit. Not a web. “I thought, maybe, this was some kind of symbiotic relationship. Because of the way you talk about Gabriel as if he weren’t you.”

He leaned his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. Struggled. I could see it in the lines around his eyes, the tension in his mouth. I was about to tell him forget it, I don’t want to know, I can’t bear to see you suffer like this when he answered.