“The best?” she asked. “I’d even agree to nonexistent. This is a freighter, not a military ship.”
He squeezed her hand. “My point. And we’ve just had an encounter with the ’Sko. And are still two hours from my border at Yanir. When we get back to the Razalka—”
“You sound so sure we’ll find her.”
He nodded. “Of that I am, yes.” He knew standard procedure would be followed in his absence. He knew—barring an all-out war—her most likely locations, who she’d be in contact with. Finding the Razalka was simply a matter of going down the list.
“An Imperial patrol isn’t going to try to shoot my ass off when we cross the border?” She pulled her hand from under his and cocked her fingers at him, mimicking a gun.
“No. Dezi, did you upload the program I created?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” Dezi’s metal fingers ran down a series of touchpads at his station. Data flashed on a small screen on his left. “We commence broadcasting an Imperial ID when we are forty minutes from the Yanir border.”
Lieutenant. For a moment he thought he’d misheard. Then he remembered. He hadn’t told Dezi, wanting to tell Trilby first. And he’d never gotten around to telling Trilby.
He turned back to her. His timing couldn’t be worse. He wondered where to start and found her staring at him, her eyes wide.
“You hacked into my system!” Her tone was accusatory, but she was grinning.
This wasn’t the topic he had intended to discuss. But something in her amazement fed that part of his ego that took pride in the wogs-and-weemlies he could create. And she, the queen of wogs-and-weemlies. “Well, yes. I mean, no. But, Trilby, I have—”
“What do you mean, no? You can’t change a ship’s ident code. It’s illegal. That’s a sealed program. How in the Seven Hells did you hack—”
“I do not hack.” He let a haughty tone return to his voice. “I professionally amend system codes to perform at an optimal level.”
She reached over, playfully punched him in the arm. “You promised me no wogs-and-weemlies!”
“They’re only wogs-and-weemlies if you don’t know they’re there. You know. And I will show you how it’s done. And undone. Fair?”
She nodded. “Fair.”
He looked forward to that. Working with her, challenging her, teaching her. Learning from her. There were a few fail-safes on the Razalka that needed attention. He’d throw the problem at her, see how creative she could get.
He glanced at their coordinates. It was “night” by their bodies’ biological clocks, but they still had a ways to go. Freighters weren’t known for speed; an old Circura II even less so. Dragging his air sprite back down to his cabin would be a nice way to pass the time, but it would be too easy to fall asleep afterward, and there were other things to attend to. Once they got back to the Razalka, things would start happening quickly. He wanted to be in a position to take action.
He swiveled the comp screen up from the armrest, motioned for her to do the same. “I think you should see what we’ve learned from the ’Sko. And I want to play this against that chart we created on the missing ships. Including Bella’s Dream.”
And there was something else, something he needed to discuss with her. But then the data he’d entered into her ship’s memory banks flashed on his screen and everything but the ’Sko left his mind.
Trilby listened to Rhis translate the ’Sko data, watched him overlay schedules and coordinates from the missing freighters. She was alert to coincidences, spotted one he missed. But he didn’t miss many.
He was, she decided, brilliant. And dedicated. He attacked the problem before them as if he were personally responsible for saving the universe from the ’Sko. Not just an officer who, when they got to the Razalka, would become part of the team again.
Lieutenant Rhis Vanur. She glanced at him, her heart doing a little flip-flop. She was suddenly glad he was a mere lieutenant. He knew what it was like to be on some CO’s shit list. Knew what it was like to have his life often controlled by powers other than his own.
Rhis was someone with whom she could share her frustrations. Jagan only bragged about all the lives he controlled. How people jumped when he snapped his fingers.
Like she had.
But Rhis was different. Oh, he had that Imperial arrogance, but she understood it. It was pride. Not unlimited power. He didn’t snap his fingers. Bark orders. Change people’s lives without consulting them.
He held her hand. Worked with her by his side. A tiny hope flared in her heart. She thought of Neadi and Leonid. Would Rhis give up a military career for the freighter business?
You’re getting ahead of yourself, she warned. But it was a tiny hope she didn’t want to let go.
The ’Sko symbols for Dark Sword blinked at her on her screen. Rhis was frowning at them. She tapped at the symbols. “You’re sure this has something to do with me?”
“I wish it were otherwise, but yes.”
“And that it’s tied in to Rinnaker, or GGA?”
He closed his eyes briefly, nodded. “Tell me again about Secretary Grantforth. How many times did you meet him?”
An image of Jagan’s lean-faced uncle flitted through her mind. The man’s reputation was impeccable. Rhis had to be wrong.
“Three times. Three different parties. One on Bagrond. That was the first time. The other two were on Quivera.”
She saw his eyebrow arch. Both worlds oozed money. “But Jagan was the reason I was there. Not Garold Grantforth.”
“Then perhaps we have to start with him. How did you meet Jagan?”
The thought that Jagan might be involved with the ’Sko made her feel equally unsettled. He might be a cad and a womanizer, but she thought he hated the ’Sko as much as she did. She couldn’t imagine anyone in the Conclave who didn’t.
“I had a three-month contract with Norvind to Crescent City on Bagrond. That was a bit over a year and a half ago. Grantforth has a depot in Crescent. One day Jagan just showed up at my loading dock.” She shrugged.
“And?”
“And we got to talking. Just little stuff. I don’t know. I think he came at me with some stupid line. What’s a nice girl like you …” She waved her hand. “You know.”
It really sounded stupid now. She wondered why it had seemed so cute then. Probably because it had been uttered by Jagan Grantforth. The Jagan Grantforth. She made a mental note to never again fall in love with any man who could have the plastered in front of his name.
“And he asked you, what? To dinner?”
“Lunch. At GGA’s executive club.”
“And he never said why he was interested in you?”
That sounded like an inane remark from someone who’d just spent two hours ravishing her body. She knew he was trying to uncover Jagan’s real motives, but the question still piqued her. She glared at him.
“Trilby-chenka.” He grabbed her hand again.
She’d ask him later what this chenka business was all about. First she wanted to see him wriggle his way out of this one.
She waited.
“Don’t deliberately misunderstand,” he said. “But I know much of Jagan Grantforth’s reputation. And yes, I want to know what a lovely woman like you was doing with something like him.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She patted his hand, then pulled hers away. “And yeah, I thought about things like that too. Or rather, I tried not to. I was just so flattered that the Jagan Grantforth was showing an interest in me. Saying nice things. Telling me he loved me.” She glanced at his face to see if he had any reaction to her words. He was scowling. Good.
“Which I later found out he didn’t. At least, that’s what I have to assume, since he married someone else.”
“Zalia Auberon.”
“How’d you know that?”
He gave a quick shrug. “I think someone mentioned it. We do keep tabs on what GGA does from time to time.”
“So okay, he married Zalia. But that doesn’t make him
a spy for the ’Sko.” Still, she thought about his transmits in her files. She had intended to delete them. But maybe there was something in them that might now make sense. Maybe his secretary, or one of his assistants at GGA, had access to her transmits to him. She wouldn’t discount that Jagan might leave one on-screen in his office, in a boastful fashion. She’d have to go over them, but privately. No use airing her dirty laundry any more than she had to.
“How often did he go with you to Neadi’s?”
“At least ten times with me, on the Venture. But then sometimes he’d use a GGA shuttle and meet me there.”
“He worked runs with you?”
Worked? No, Jagan didn’t work. “He’d do a trike, or a one-up from time to time, when …” And she let her voice trail off. She wasn’t completely comfortable discussing her past sexual exploits with the man she’d just spent two hours making love to. But there were larger issues here.
She looked away from him, toyed with the tail of her safety strap. “You have to understand, Jagan and I were pretty involved. I mean, okay, maybe it was stupid, but there was a point in the relationship when I really thought we had a future together. A real future.
“But our schedules were different.” Hell, their entire lifestyles were different. But she didn’t want to see that back then. “So sometimes he’d hang with me, for a trike, on board. But he never really got involved in the mechanics of my runs. He was here strictly for … my company.”
She glanced back at him.
“I can understand that,” he offered quietly.
“Yeah, well, I can and I can’t. He had … he has this attitude, you see. He’s better than everybody. Has all the answers. He’s way up there,” she said, raising one hand, “and I’m way down here. Eventually he made sure I knew that.”
Rhis started to reply but Trilby turned away. Her admissions to Rhis hit a raw spot she hadn’t realized was still so sensitive. “Hey, Dez. Can you check logs for me? How many times was Jagan on board recently?”
“Of course.” The ’droid accessed the data quickly. “Sixteen times in the past twenty-one months.”
“Send that to my terminal here, okay?” She turned back to Rhis. “Crazy thought. Jagan’s assistants and secretary always knew when he was with me. They had to. Maybe this contact you’re looking for is one of them.” That made more sense to her. “Let’s play those dates against shipping schedules out of Rumor. While you do that, I’ll try to pull up all the times he met me at Neadi’s as well.”
Rhis nodded. “That could bring up something interesting. But the ships haven’t been missing during your entire relationship. Only the last two months.”
“True, but if they also had access to my transmits to him, we might be able to see a pattern. I always gave him my run schedule ahead of time. And we sometimes talked market gossip.”
Rhis held her gaze for a moment. “Excellent suggestion.” He sounded slightly amazed.
She grinned. “I do come up with one on occasion.”
“It must be my influence.”
She groaned, then swiveled her comp screen and pulled up her files of Jagan’s transmits.
It was about two and a half hours later, just a little after midnight by Trilby’s biotime, that the Careless Venture confirmed contact with an Imperial outpost. She glanced at the time–date stamp on the top of her screen as the unfamiliar Zafharish words scrolled by. And realized she’d known Rhis Vanur for five days.
A full hand, in freighter lingo.
And in five days her whole life had been spun around.
Rhis’s fingers flew over the console in front of him. “Should be able to initiate voice contact … yes.” A series of lights in the center panel blinked from red to green.
She heard a male voice from the outpost identify himself and the name of his station, she assumed. She understood very little of the ensuing conversation between Rhis and the outpost, other than a few vads and navs, and common terms like dock and schedule. And Razalka. That name she caught, along with Tivahr, and Vanushavor. Those were mentioned frequently as well.
But as to putting it all together in a sensible fashion? She leaned back in her chair and waited.
Rhis seemed relieved, calmer, when he ended his communication. “This is good.” He was nodding, not at her but at nothing in particular in the dark viewport of the bridge. “Fortuitous. A tactical team has been on Degvar Station for the past trike. Lieutenant Gurdan is in command. I know him.”
“You’re not thinking of trying something against the ’Sko now? I thought you had to wait for the Razalka.”
“Of course. But Gurdan has much experience, and with the facilities at Degvar I can go deeper with this information.” His fingers drummed absently against his mustache.
Deep enough to save Carina? Reluctantly, Trilby held out little hope for that. More likely, the Imperial Fleet would be looking for links and patterns between this Dark Sword and the ’Sko—the loss of Carina didn’t really concern them, and she doubted they’d listen to a mere lieutenant if he suggested it should.
No, all they’d be looking for were answers to who and when and how.
She wanted to know that too. Then additional questions surfaced. More-personal ones. Like what would happen to Trilby Elliot and the Careless Venture once Rhis got back to the Razalka?
The war was over. She had no fear of being taken prisoner. So that meant only one thing: they would part company at Degvar. She’d be free to go back across the border.
But she knew a part of her would forever reside with the Empire and a certain mere lieutenant. So much for finders keepers. She’d found him, but there was no chance she could ever keep him.
9
Lieutenant Gurdan was a thin man, almost as tall as Rhis, but his hair was a sandy brown color and he was clean-shaven. Trilby halted in her conversation with a Degvar dockhand and watched the two men salute each other. She thought they would’ve clasped hands, exchanged a few hearty thumps on the back. Rhis had intimated they were friends or, at least, as she recalled his words, that he knew Gurdan. And seemed pleased Gurdan was here.
Oh, well. Military. Trilby shrugged it off, turned back to the problems of securing a Conclave ship—a nonmilitary one at that—to an Imperial docking system.
“I think we’re set now,” she told the dockhand. All rampside-panel lights finally flashed green.
“I am pleased I could be of help.” His round face creased with a smile. His accent was thicker than Rhis’s. He motioned to her ship, tethered to the docking rim of the station. The Venture was visible through the large, square viewports. “She is not common, no? Many years she has served, vad?”
You mean how do I keep this rust bucket in the space lanes? She remembered saying that to Rhis. It was a quip she was used to making. “She’s a good old gal. Not too fast, but reliable.”
“Not what he is used to.” The dockhand made a short motion with his chin to where Rhis stood talking to Gurdan. Trilby glanced at Rhis just as he turned in her direction. He nodded at her, held up his index finger. He wanted her to wait.
Well, it wasn’t like she knew anywhere else to go. She needed to send a message to Neadi, but every damned sign she’d seen so far was in Zafharish. She could easily end up in the commissary instead of communications.
She realized the dockhand had said something about Rhis and her ship. Oh, yeah. The man probably knew Rhis was assigned to the Razalka. “A little slumming is good for the soul.”
“Slumming? I am not familiar with this term.”
She grinned, waved off his comment. “It means … well, point is, we made it. He made it.”
“Well, yes. Of course he did!”
Imperial arrogance, Trilby thought as she logged out at the rampway pad. It must be a compound they put in their drinking water.
She heard Rhis shout something to Gurdan. He was headed her way. The dockhand finished his work and backed up abruptly, saluted.
Rhis returned the salute crisply but with n
oted disinterest. Trilby saw that the smaller man didn’t seem perturbed, though he scurried away quickly enough. Military!
“Everything’s okay?” he asked, with a quick glance at the ramp pad.
“Vad.” She grinned up at him. “And that’s all I can remember of your language right now, tired as I am.”
“I have a few hours ahead of me with Gurdan. Then I will be back. But you don’t have to stay up. Why don’t you—”
“I’d like to send Neadi that message. Can I use the comm system here, or is that restricted?”
“It’s restricted, but, yes, I’ll make sure you can use it.”
“Do you have time now?”
He shook his head. “I wish I did, Trilby-chenka. But there have been some additional moves on the part of the ’Sko in the past trike. Serious moves. The information I have is vital.”
She knew what it meant when the ’Sko went on the offensive. It wasn’t a thought she wanted to dwell on. “Go do what you have to with Lieutenant Gurdan. I’ll wait—”
“No. I’ll get someone to take you to communications. I know you understand the necessity to be not too detailed in what you send to Neadi? Our system is secure, but it is not foolproof.”
“She just needs to know I’m safe. Especially after Carina.”
Rhis hesitated, glanced over his shoulder to where Gurdan and two other officers stood. “Trilby-chenka, there is something … I need to talk to you. But I—” The sharp trill of a comm badge interrupted him.
Trilby was startled. She hadn’t noticed the metal disk on his jacket until now. Gurdan must have given it to him.
Rhis had already tapped at it, listened to a short spate of Zafharish words. He replied, tapped it off, and turned back to her. “I’m sorry. Something urgent. Go send your message to Neadi.”
Loud footsteps approached from behind him. Gurdan and the other officers.
“I will be back in two, three hours. Yes?” He started to reach for her but Gurdan said something. His hand came out toward the thin officer instead. He replied to Gurdan’s comment with several short commands.
He turned back to her. “Major Mitkanos will be here shortly to escort you to communications. I must go.”
Finders Keepers Page 12
