Gabriel's Ghost (7 page)

Tran stared at Sully for a moment. Then obviously taken in, as most women were, by that slow, sexy smile of his, she shrugged and tabbed at the screen. She slid the three cards through again. Sighed. “Someone logged them with the wrong parameters. They’re fine. Jalvert?”

The Taka stepped over. I caught a brief flash of irritation in the small eyes. Didn’t like an M.O.C. officer correcting his mistakes, most likely.

“She’s clear. Just a skewed entry.”

Drogue bowed. “Our apologies. We often have our young novices do the clerical work. I appreciate your diligence, Officer Tran.”

The woman nodded, waved us on. “Praise the stars.”

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“Praise the stars,” I called back to her. For the first time, I meant it.
No one said a word until the four of us were alone in the lift.
“I though we cleared up that glitch in the program.” Sully glanced over at Ren.
“I believed we had as well.”
How could Ren see to program if he were blind?
Sully flashed me a wry smile. “Sorry, my angel. I guess I’m not perfect after all.”
My first inclination was to reply with some biting comment in agreement. But two could

play at this flirtation game. I went with my second. “Pity. Wedding’s off, then.” I was rewarded with a moment of surprised silence than a deep chuckle. “Perhaps two weeks on the
Diligent
with me will convince you to change your mind.” I wasn’t even thinking about the next two weeks. I still needed to get through the next two hours.

The lift doors opened on Corridor Level Seven-Blue. Brown M.O.C. uniforms wove past freighter blues, greens and grays, and past security’s darker gray with the telltale white stripe up the pant legs. The hulking, furred presence of the Takas towered over all.

I was just shaking off the chill of fear from Tran’s questions. I wanted to run, board the ship, seal the airlock. We walked instead at a leisurely pace. “We’ll part company at your ship,” Drogue said. “We’ll meet again, praise the stars, under

more pleasant circumstances.” “I hope so.” Pleasant circumstances sounded wonderful. “I appreciate your help.” “No, sister. We appreciate yours.” Drogue held my gaze for a moment. Clearly, Sully’s

mission was personal to him. I had two weeks with Sully and Ren to find out why. Not that it

mattered, overall. If the Empire were breeding jukors again, that was sufficient reason for me. “What berth are we looking for?” “Seven-Blue-Nineteen, I believe.” Drogue glanced back at Sully, who nodded. We were at Berth Twelve. Then Fourteen. At Sixteen I fought to keep from quickening my

pace, played my little time game in my mind. Ten minutes to board. Half-hour, maybe forty-five minutes to get clearance to undock.

At Eighteen I stopped dead in my tracks. A thin chill raced up my spine. Bright yellow security ’bots ringed the next airlock, lights flashing. Sully’s hand splayed against my back. His voice growled in my ear. “Stay here.”

I had no intention of getting anywhere near the security ’bots, or the half dozen M.O.C. guards and Security stripers standing in a tight knot under the illuminated “19” on the overhead. Illuminated in orange: ship under security seal or quarantine.

“Face me,” Sully ordered.
I did, turning away from the scene that sent my heart into my throat. Drogue and Ren kept

moving. Their credentials, I surmised, weren’t forged like mine. Or Sully’s. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know. And I don’t like it when I don’t know.” “They’re under a Code Orange.” “Obviously. But I can’t imagine Milo doing anything to elicit that. He excels at being

cautious.” “An accident? A fire?” A supposed engine malfunction that had become real? “Crew problem?” “Milo’d never let anything on-ship get to the docks. He knows better.” Sully frowned, his gaze over my shoulder.

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“You’re sure it’s the
Diligent
?” Ships switched berths for any number of legitimate reasons.
He answered my question with a squinting of obsidian eyes, then, “Still reads so.”
Shit. Easy was disappearing fast. “Options?”
“Let’s cross that—Ren. Talk to us.”
The Stolorth stepped next to me, bowed to Sully, fingers steepled. “Brother Sudral. Sister

Berri. I feel a need to meditate. I suggest we return to the Temple, and pray.” Oh, shit! Easy hit a jumpgate and was gone. I bowed my head as Ren and Sully flanked me.

“Where’s Drogue?” I asked quietly. Berth Seventeen. Sixteen. “He will meet us at the Temple,” Ren said. Fourteen. Twelve. “The M.O.C. received information a certain ship was to assist in a prison

break.” Ren’s voice was as calm as if he were commenting on the color of the decking below our

boots. My heart pounded. Berth Ten. “That information pointed to a ship called the
Diligent Keeper
,” Ren continued. Sully was silent. A cluster of blue-uniformed freighter crew strolled by, laughing. As we passed Berth Nine, Ren added, “An attempt was made to take the ship, two hours

past. The
Diligent
broke dock. However, I regret that her captain, Nathaniel Milo, is dead.” “Bastards.” Sully’s voice was harsh, bitter. My downcast gaze saw his fists clench. Moabar Station suddenly felt very small. Seven. I noticed Ren’s cane now tucked through his sash, as if it were no longer needed.

“Authorities believe a ship, with the escapees, is due in at seventeen-hundred, station time. Manned by supporters of Sheldon Blaine and possibly with Blaine himself on board.”

That was four hours from now. I wasn’t Blaine—I had no royal blood in my family—and I was already here. That was no guarantee they wouldn’t look at all ships making station within a much larger time window, triple check all IDs. Especially if they were watching for Farosians; a small but pervasive band of terrorists based on Tos Faros, who upheld Blaine’s claim to the throne.

We passed Berth Five. “There will be much security activity until they determine whether or

not Captain Milo warned the other ship in time to abort the escape.” Or whether it had come in earlier than anticipated. The Temple was two levels up. We stepped into the lift with an M.O.C. officer on my right,

two Takas behind us.

“Praise the stars. Blessings of the hour.” I tried not to listen as my voice shook. Fear and anger, again. Just like the shuttle trip dirtside. Fear at being discovered, interrogated, tortured. Being sent back to Moabar was the least of my worries.

Anger. To come so close. To be stopped, not just in my attempt at freedom. But to be stopped from unmasking the gen-labs, the jukors. Somewhere during that trip on the
Lucky Seven
my reasons to leave Moabar had shifted. The picture had become larger, encompassing more than just Chasidah Bergren’s personal survival. It brought in Drogue’s and Ren’s and Sully’s as well.

Sullivan. I had no idea what the Empire would do when they found out he was still alive. No, I knew what they’d do. And that’s what really frightened me. There wouldn’t be enough left of him to ship down to Moabar. He should’ve listened to his advisors.

Chapter Five

The doors to the Temple of Abbot Eng the Merciful, Moabar Guardianship, looked like all other commercial establishment doors on station. Auto double-wides in green, the color designating this level. They were flanked on the left by a wide window. But these doors were stenciled with the arch-and-stave. Through the large window, rows of benches facing a long raised platform were visible. The wall behind it was backlit. An outline of the Englarian symbol filled most of it. No one sat on the benches at this hour but as we walked by, I caught a glimpse of a robed figure moving past the platform.

Entrance to Temple offices was through a single green auto-door a few feet farther down the corridor. It slid open as Ren approached. That meant Temple doors weren’t locked. Locked right now would be preferable. It wouldn’t stop the M.O.C. or the stripers. But it might slow them down.

We entered a short gray walled corridor with bright overheads and three doors. The one to my left I assumed went into the rear of the Temple. Then there was one directly ahead, and the last just to the right of that.

I thought we were going to the one straight ahead but Ren stopped and held out one hand in Sully’s direction, halting him. Perhaps they were having second thoughts about coming here?

“My quarters, for now,” Ren said. “I’ll wait in the office, in case anyone else comes in.”

Anyone else, I knew, meant stripers. Ren’s presence here was official. Ours wasn’t.

I followed Sully through the doorway on the right. Another hallway, longer, with five doors this time. Three left, two right. The first on the left was open. I glimpsed a round table and a commissary panel. Ren’s quarters were the last door on the right.

I let out the breath I was holding when the doors cycled behind me. “How much did Milo know?” I was in damage control mode now. Don’t accept that you’re boxed in. Gather the facts. Look for loopholes, options. There had to be options.

Sully pulled back his hood, ran his hand over his short, dark hair. His mouth was a thin, angry line. But I didn’t know if he was angry at himself, or Milo, or the whole damned universe.

“Waste of a damn good man.” He spat out the words.

Angry at the universe, then. Milo must have been a friend. I waited, giving him time to compose himself, and took in the sparse room. An arch-and-stave hung on the far wall, over a long, narrow bed half shielded by a privacy curtain. Kitchen panels on the left. Fold-out desk on the right with a door beside it that was probably a water-closet and bath. Ren’s quarters had to have a bath. Stolorths could survive without water for max forty-eight hours before their gills dried permanently shut.

In the middle of the room was a long, padded bench, not unlike the ones in the Temple. I pushed my hood back, eased down on one end. The stiffness in the set of Sully’s shoulders spoke volumes to me. And made me want to let him know he wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry.”

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Sully slanted a glance at me then raised his arms and thrust both hands through his hair this time. “Damn it!”

He plopped down next to me, the bench wobbling slightly under his weight. He leaned his elbows on his knees, rested his eyes against the heels of his hands. I knew he was concerned over the abrupt change of plans, at the new risks we now faced. But I also felt that Captain Milo’s death pained him on a very personal level. It was an unexpected glimpse at a side of him I didn’t know existed.

This wasn’t Gabriel Ross Sullivan, the poet. Or Sully, the mercenary. This was almost someone else. Someone closer to the man who’d met me in that bar in Port Chalo, who’d seemed to intuitively know I was hurting that night. I had an urge to put an arm around him, hold him, say something comforting, and meaningless.

But I wasn’t sure who I’d be comforting, or if it would even be welcomed. So I waited.

He raised his face, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “Waste of a good man,” he said finally. “And no, Milo wouldn’t talk. He didn’t know who I went down to Moabar to retrieve. You learn not to ask questions in this business.”

“His crew?”

“Six. Ship was mostly automated. But she’d been running legit for two years now. He was doing me one last favor because I did him one, years ago. The M.O.C. should never have tagged him.” He turned to me. “I don’t make mistakes like this, Chaz. I can’t afford to.”

I almost pointed out to him that my forged ID card wasn’t perfect, either. But now wasn’t the time. “Ren said someone tipped off the stripers.”

He nodded, calmer. More thoughtful. “That’s of deep concern. If there’s a leak within my crew, I can’t risk bringing you on board. Anyone with half a brain, and a few of those still exist in the government, would eventually discern the value of your particular area of knowledge. Your family’s connections.”

“My mother’s choice of footwear?” I gave him a half smile.

He caught it, though the one he gave back was tinged with sadness. “She taught you well.”

I had a feeling he knew far more about me than I was comfortable with him knowing. Especially as I had no idea of his source. If we lived long enough to get off Moabar Station, I just might ask him.

Inherent in that ‘we’ was part of the danger. “Maybe Newlin should take me back dirtside. They might not think—”

“No!” Strong fingers grasped my forearm. “You’re not going back there. We still have options. They’ll take a bit more time, but we have them.” His seemed conscious of his sudden intensity. His grip relaxed, his hand draped over my arm.

“This is only a setback. It seems worse because of Milo. Well, it seems worse to me. You didn’t know him.” He talked more to himself than to me. “He knew the risks. And that death is one of them. One he would accept only because there was no other choice.”

Was the breeding of jukors something a man would give his life to stop? Evidently Captain Milo believed so. And it was enough for Drogue, a gentle monk. And for Ren, who was everything I’d been taught Stolorths couldn’t be, to take a similar risk. If caught, Drogue would most likely face Moabar, as I had. But Ren could well be turned over to his own people. His death, the Empire could honestly say, wouldn’t be on their soul’s slate.

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Sully was, purportedly, already dead. The Empire was large. Add to that the few outlying systems that lived peacefully nearby and there were hundreds of worlds on which Sully could’ve taken a new identity. A new life.

Yet, after a two-year absence, he was back, moving again through dark and dangerous shadows. I couldn’t understand why. But then Sully had always been an enigma to me. An intriguing enigma.

I almost voiced that, almost put my question into words. But his hand had slipped down my forearm and now encircled my wrist. My pulse fluttered under his fingers. His dark gaze held my own, then flicked down to my mouth. I felt a very real heat start in the pit of my stomach, flare up through my chest, singe my cheeks.

Chasidah
. I heard my name whispered so softly that for a moment I thought I’d heard it in my mind. But it was Sully’s voice I’d heard and it was Sully’s face now so very close to mine.