Gabriel's Ghost (37 page)

I took a deep breath.

Berri became cheerful again, blessing everyone left and right as she headed for a stack of boxes and duffle-cases. The small electronic sign underneath read GLNT EXPLR.

Verno grabbed a pallet, activated it, and began to load the boxes stenciled with the arch-and-stave on all sides. Obviously, just supplies for the new temple. Sully loaded a second pallet, smaller, with our duffels, arch-and-stave tags dangling.

A Takan guard glanced at our IDs again, waved us through.

Praise the stars.

* * *

A shuttle would take us to M-2, Berri and Verno to M-3. There’d be no further security checks. We were cleared, as safe as if we’d been through Berri’s purity process. She and Verno stepped into line for the M-3 shuttle. I realized maybe I didn’t dislike her as much as I thought. She was, if nothing else, true to what she believed. Even Sully said he sensed no duplicity in her. She was deeply fervent—perhaps misguidedly so in my opinion—and committed to her work with the Takas. Maybe someday she’d revise her opinions on Stolorths and
Ragkirils
. She and the rest of the Empire.

I extended my hand to her. “Blessings of the hour, Sister Berri. And thank you.” I meant it.

Her smile was angel-soft. “I see the holy sword of the Abbot behind you as you proceed.” She nodded to Sully.

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Verno hugged Ren, one of the odder sights I’d ever seen. A eight foot tall Taka embracing a six and a half foot tall Stolorth.

Praise the stars.

* * *

We passed a newsbank holovid on our way to the M-2 shuttle. The ’caster’s bronzed-skinned face turned, as if following us, as we walked by. “And in sports news, zero-g racquetball competitions heated up in Port January yesterday when...”

“I’ll take the pallet to the cargo ramp,” Sully said as the gate came into view. “You stay with Ren. Watch for unfriendlies.”

That meant anything from other Stolorths to Marker stripers to Lazlo. I requested three tickets from the droid attendant. Next shuttle was due in fifteen minutes, a second five minutes after that. M-2 was a popular destination. If we didn’t make the first shuttle, we’d be first in line for the next.

Sully came back and we retreated into a quiet corner not far from the gate, blessing anyone who looked our way but not deliberately making eye contact. Most didn’t. This was Marker. Everyone was in too much of a hurry, with projects and duty schedules on their minds.

I leaned back against the wall. Eleven minutes. Sully snugged his hand against the small of my back. His fingers made small circles, sent warmth. He and Ren talked zero-g racquetball. Port January had a good team, but there was no way they could beat out Garno’s.

“Would you be willing to place a wager on that?” Ren asked softly.

I fought an urge to roll my eyes and focused instead on two young men and a woman in Fleet dress uniforms taking shuttle tickets from the droid attendant. They were laughing, relaxed. Just back from liberty, I guessed. The man ruffled the woman’s curls and she turned around.

My heart stopped, my breath caught in my throat. I recognized her.

Tessa. Looking straight at me. Twenty, maybe twenty-five feet separated us. I could see her clearly and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could see me. Her laughter faded to be replaced by a soft, knowing smile.

Shit.

Chasidah. Nothing to fear
.

Nothing to fear? She and one of the men walked toward us, toward me. I fought the urge to run, knowing that would only make things worse.

Sully pulled his hand away from me and bowed slightly as she approached. “How may we assist you?”

“I don’t mean to trouble you, Brothers. Sister.” She nodded to me and didn’t appear to be the least bit disturbed by my heart hammering loudly in my chest. “But Dylan and I just got married. Would you mind blessing our rings?”

She and her husband held out their hands, their matching rings glistening in the bright overhead lights.

Sully took their hands in his. “Guardian of love, Guardian of wisdom and mercy, hear now my plea...”

I bowed my head, trembling, listened to the deep, soothing tones of his voice. The absolute sincerity in his voice. He meant every word. He asked for blessings upon the love, and peace,

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Tessa had found. And because she had, so, finally, could Gabriel Ross Sullivan. Poet, monk, mercenary,
Ragkiril
.

I prayed a prayer of my own, one that had no words. And realized that maybe, sometimes, miracles do happen.

“… for the love that resides now in your hearts, forever. Praise the stars.”

“Praise the stars,” Tessa repeated softly. Sully raised his head, smiled.

“Blessings, thank you,” Dylan said as he hooked his arm through Tessa’s. He led her back to their friend waiting near the gate.

Sully met my gaze, still smiling.

“Thank you,” I whispered. The words caught in my throat. Tears prickled gently at the back of my eyes.

Chasidah. My angel. Nothing to fear
.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Marker Two

It was a half-hour to M-2 on a crowded shuttle, though Tessa and her new husband weren’t with us. We exited quickly upon docking and retrieved our pallet five minutes later. I walked purposefully, knowing exactly where I was going.

This was Marker Two. I’d lived here with my mother for fifteen years, until she’d died. Then stayed three years after that, until I’d entered the academy.

I knew exactly where I was going.

M-2, like M-1, was a cylinder, but more squat, with three wide access rings splitting it irregularly, and two series of smaller gate rings on Level 2 and Level 8. Access rings and gate rings served as landing pads for small shuttles and cargo tenders.

Fleet offices filled Levels 1 through 11. We’d docked on 13, in the middle of the commercial levels. Shops, pubs, private offices flanked both sides of the curved corridor.

I found the bank of lifts I wanted, crowded the three of us and the pallet into the narrow lift. No room for anyone else. We headed down.

Below the commercial levels was residential, both Fleet and private, through private was kept separate in a small section of Level 17.

We descended past that, heading for Level 27. Storage, auxiliary offices, maintenance. And, if we were correct, one level from a fully operating gen-lab.

But we couldn’t head there, yet. Not dressed as Englarians, in full view of everyone scurrying through M-2’s corridors. No one must be able to connect the destruction of the genlabs with the church. Not simply out of any concerns for Englarians, but because we still needed our identities in order to get back to the
Karn
, unquestioned and alive.

Our request, under a fictitious company name, for rental of storage space on M-2 had provided us with knowledge of bays and offices that were empty. We chose one down a side corridor that on the schematics would be out of the way of most pedestrian traffic. I remembered it being so, as well.

There hadn’t been much else to do when you’re sixteen, an orphan—unless you count the father you never see—and the only respite you get from the overbearing guardian the court appointed to watch over you is a game of hide and seek. I’d easily slip the lock on my mother’s apartment after Proctor Fernanda would leave. Dinner and, as far as she was concerned, her duties for the day were concluded. Then I’d just as easily slip into the throngs of stationers going somewhere, going anywhere, for the night.

There were others like me, but not many. Six of us the year I turned seventeen. We’d steal bottles of ale from unsuspecting droid waiters’ carts and head downlevel, savoring our freedom as we sipped our ale. Sooner or later someone would break out a deck of cards. We’d drink, laugh and gamble. Sometimes, there was even a little kiss and grope.

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And sometimes there was a flask of honeylace, a pipe of
rafthkra
. Not for me. Amaris was dead but she wasn’t gone. She’d made me promise her—always have fun in life. But never, ever be stupid. Only fools have no fears or refuse to see the danger in front of them.

I had a friend die from an overdose of
rafthkra
. And I’d heard stories of people who drank too much honeylace and thought they’d grown wings, like soul-stealing shape-shifters, and tried to fly.

I had fears, well-grounded fears. I was no fool.

I walked down Level 27’s corridor with Sully, Ren and all these memories by my side. Knowing exactly when the groups of stationers would thin, as they did. Knowing exactly when more offices were closed, or vacant, which they were. I saw the signs of decay, of neglect. And now and then, an empty ale bottle, tucked between the hand railing and the corridor’s inner wall.

If the neck pointed up, tonight’s party was on. Down, party was off.

“Really?” Sully seemed impressed when I pointed it out. Ren laughed softly, a bubbling stream, as frothy as ale.

Green 8. A short corridor, dead-ending at station core. A core that was a large maintenance shaft, holding lifts and pipes and clusters of cables. Crisscrossed with scaffolding, thin metal ladders. Emergency exits. Narrow tool bays.

I knew all that, too. Another world, when you’re seventeen. Behind the scenes, behind the walls and bulkheadings. Private, dark, mysterious, dangerous.

I knew the moment I stepped into it, two words would sound in my mind: welcome home.

* * *

Ren and I stood together in a meditative stance, heads bowed, our bodies shielding Sully as he played with the lockpad by the door. Our pallet was skewed, one end resting on the decking, the other wobbling in midair. To anyone passing by, we were two luckless monks, praying while waiting for a repair tech.

Three people did. We nodded, smiled, blessed them. Yes, unfortunate how no one made a reliable pallet anymore. Blessings of the hour.

“Got it!” A hushed, gleeful exclamation sounded behind us.

We stepped quickly into the dark, windowless room. The door slid closed, relocking with a muted click. The next click was the lights. One overhead. The others were burned out.

“They wanted three-hundred twenty five credits a month for this dump?” Sully put his hands on his hips, surveyed the room.

“Sinful,” Ren agreed.

“Bathroom works. Shower, no tub,” I announced.

Ren nodded. “That’s sufficient, if we’re delayed.”

I hoped we wouldn’t be. We had eight hours until our first meet-point with the
Karn
, arriving as the
Lambent Beacon
, back at Marker Terminal. If we weren’t there, Gregor had instructions to return at the twelve-hour mark, under another ship name. Our third and final meet-point at the Terminal was at twenty-four from when we disembarked.

There was no fourth meet-point. After that, we’d be on our own. Or dead.

We pulled off the robes and folded them. Opened the duffels, pulled out weapons and explosives. I sat on the floor and began assembling the small charges laced with poison gases.

Megan Sybil Baker - 186

“Let that wait.” Sully knelt next to me, a dark and powerful figure in black fatigue pants and black high-necked thermal shirt. Black holster straps hugged his shoulders; the Carver snugged against his left side. “Our first priority’s to confirm location.”

He found the small datapad, flipped it on and brought up M-2’s schematics. We were in Green 8, Level 27. The gen-labs were on Level 28, M-2’s lowest level, with a small access ring running around its perimeter. The labs were either in a converted storage area on Level 28-Blue, directly across from Green. Or Level 28-Yellow, between Green and Blue.

Sully snatched his jacket from where he’d dropped it on the floor. “I want to find that lab. I want to make that first meet-point and get the hell out of here.”

I put down the casing and arched an eyebrow. “Late for a hot date?”

“No. A wedding.” He winked then pulled me to my feet. “What’s your guess, Ren? Level 28 Blue or Yellow?”

“Blue,” Ren said, without hesitation.

“Fine. I’ll take Yellow. Double or nothing?”

“Agreed. Double or nothing.”

“You’re witness to this, Chaz.”

“I’m witness to this, Sully.”

I looked at Ren. “How much does he… No. Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

Sully slapped me affectionately on my rump. He handed me my dark green jacket. “Let’s go.”

He unlocked the door to the corridor. We stepped through, listening but heard nothing. There was an access panel a few feet away at the corridor’s end. I had it unlatched, sliding sideways in a matter of seconds, feeling sixteen years old again. Slightly giddy. And more than a bit frightened.

I squatted down, squeezed through with Sully immediately behind me, sliding the panel closed.

Abrupt darkness closed around me. I crouched, unmoving, aware of the open grating under my boots, aware of the low railing at my back. Aware of the open core behind that, a drop of hundreds of feet to the bottom filled with the hard, jutting forms of generators and recycs and other machinery that kept M-2 alive.

Aware of Sully next to me, our shoulders and thighs touching. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the red-tinged dimness.

Shadows sharpened and became less muddy. Everything was painted in shades of gray and black and dark red. A constant clanking of lift mechanisms far to our right and left echoed hollowly. Thin stripes of light showed the location of lift corridor doors. And there were other noises. Water rushing through pipes, the occasional squeal of metal stressing.

I turned, still hunkered down, put my back against the wall and took a deep breath of the cold, sharp air. Sully moved as I did. We did nothing, said nothing for a moment. Just so I could hear it clearly.

Welcome home.

I felt, more than saw, his wicked Sully-grin. “Downlevel?” he whispered.

“Downlevel.”

We soft-footed, carefully, quickly. It was always possible to run into a maintenance tech or worse, a crew. But, as I’d told Sully and Ren while we were on the
Karn
, they were typically loud, noisy. They had a right to be in the core. Stealth was unnecessary for them.