“Talgarrath is another story, especially Port Chalo,” she added. “It can be dangerous.” She glanced at Trip, then back at Barty and Devin. Port Chalo probably meant nothing to them, but to her it was always the place where Kiler’s luck ran out—though this wasn’t the time to tell them that. “A lot of … stuff runs through Port Chalo. And, unlike Calfedar’s, the Port Chalo spaceport is someplace I don’t enjoy going. It’s expensive, overpriced. And the portmaster there isn’t shy about inventing fees to up your costs.”
“You have a major client on Talgarrath,” Devin said.
His knowledge startled Kaidee. Then she remembered feeling—more than once—that he didn’t trust her. He did more than not trust her. He’d done significant research on the Rider.
Of course he did, you idiot. He bought it. What do you think he was doing before you showed up at the CFTC offices—sipping tea? CFTC kept financial and client files on all member ships.
“That was Kiler’s deal, Kiler’s contacts,” she explained. “I don’t do business with them anymore.” Actually, she never did. Kiler wouldn’t let her meet with anyone from Nahteg. Considering he usually came back from meetings with them drunk and bragging obnoxiously—and obviously untruthfully—about the untold wealth Nahteg would bring them, she had no interest in doing so.
She watched Devin glance back at his microcomp, frowning. He was tapping the screen, scrolling with a quick stroke, then tapping again. Research mode, probably. Comparing Talgarrath to Calfedar. She didn’t have time for that. Cruising out here at Dock Five’s beacon made her feel like one big target. She glanced at her scanners—again—even though she had them set to max sensitivity. Nothing barreling toward her—not an ion torpedo from an Imperial ship, not an ore tanker linked to Orvis, not a security scout ship full of stripers. But that didn’t mean there couldn’t be in another minute or three.
“Gentlemen, I need a decision.”
Devin looked up. “Calfedar appears the better choice. Unless Barty has an objection?”
“We could more easily get major transport back to Aldan via Port Chalo,” Barty said. “But, all things considered, the risks are less on Calfedar. The Englarian Church has a fair amount of influence there, which is bolstered by the Empire’s long-standing ‘hands off’ policy in regards to the Church. It could give us a chance to catch our breath, make wiser decisions that aren’t fueled by various nefarious types looking to do us harm.”
Though his tone was light, Kaidee didn’t miss his mention of “catching our breath.” Barty was feeling his age and limitations. She also didn’t miss his comment about “wiser decisions.” She wondered what he thought of Devin’s decision to pay off the lien on the Rider. It sounded as if that might be a point of contention.
But then Barty, like herself, was a Guthrie employee. Devin made his own decisions.
“Calfedar,” Devin said.
She swiveled around, tapped her nav screen, and brought up the preprogrammed flight plan. “Filing that now. One hour twenty to the jumpgate, once we get clearance to leave. Until then, there’s a passenger cabin with private lav starboard side, one deck down,” she continued, aiming her voice over her shoulder but watching her scanners closely now. Her notice of departure would signal the last chance someone would have to take a couple of shots at them. “And crew bunks with a shared lav portside. You three can fight out who sleeps where. There’s also the galley—at some point we need to think about dinner. And behind that, a small sick bay. Barty, you might want to familiarize yourself with it in case you need to work on Mr. Devin’s shoulder again.”
There was the squeak of chairs and soft thump of boots on decking behind her.
“Excellent, Captain Griggs,” Barty said. “I’ll do that.”
“I’ll give you all a half-hour warning to jumpgate transit.” She automatically checked fuel and enviro levels as she spoke, tapping in adjustments as needed. “I want everything stowed and secure, and I’ll need all three of you strapped in—either up here, in your bunks, or in one of the mess-hall chairs—at that time.”
“Captain Griggs?” That was Trip. “Can I be on the bridge for jump transit? It’s been a while, and that would be full apex. …”
She glanced at him. Trip had stopped by Devin’s chair at the comm console. He fingered his backpack strap nervously.
Behind him, Devin gave his head a slight affirmative nod. Uncle approved.
Kaidee smiled at Trip. “If you want to help take her through jump, you’d better get moving. Stow your pack, get something to eat. I’ll call you on intraship just before we hit the first beacon.”
“Apex!” Trip turned to leave. Devin’s hand shot out, thumping his nephew at the hip. Trip glanced down at his uncle and received a raised eyebrow. “Oh, uh, thank you, Captain Griggs,” Trip added. Chastised.
“Help Barty with our duffels.” Devin used the toe of his boot to nudge the larger one in Trip’s direction.
“Sure.” Trip hefted it easily, as Barty grabbed the straps of the smaller one.
A soft ping followed by two low beeps had Kaidee turning back to her console. Approval of her flight plan, transit codes, and the ubiquitous dockmaster’s bill flashed down her screen. She studied the data and, as footsteps receded, powered the sublights to full. The nav comp, now on auto, directed the Rider toward the primary space lane and the gate.
Kaidee tapped open intraship. “We’re cleared.” And no one had shot at them or rammed them yet. Amazing.
“It’s a slagging miracle,” she murmured softly, then caught herself. Alone on the ship for the past several months, she’d fallen into the bad habit of talking to herself. She’d have to stop that before Trip, Barty, or, God forbid, Devin—
“That the flight plan was cleared? Or that we’ve made it this far?”
Yes, God forbid, Devin. Who was still on the bridge. She felt her face heat in embarrassment.
He has a right to be on the bridge. He owns the ship, ran through her mind as she swiveled her chair halfway. He was still at the comm console, his microcomp in hand. But he wasn’t looking at it. His gaze was fixed on her.
The intensity startled her. And made her cheeks flame even more.
She looked away, then rubbed her face lightly with her hands, hoping he’d think that was why her cheeks were red. “Sorry. It’s been a stressful day. And I tend to make inane comments when I’m tired.”
“You’re worried about Barty.” Devin’s voice was deep and quiet. “The reason you told him to inspect your sick bay wasn’t just because of my shoulder.”
She let her hands drift to her lap. “No.”
“He was running out of energy,” Devin said. “But as you noted, it’s been a stressful day. More than he’s had to deal with in over a decade, I’d guess.”
She’d wondered if he knew Barty was on medication. Evidently not. “He has a small bottle of medicine in his shirt pocket. He doesn’t know I saw it. It was right after you almost got chopped in half by that blast panel. When we were in the dark I think he took something, but because we were in the dark he didn’t realize he hadn’t pushed the bottle all the way back down. Then you used your microcomp screen for light, and I could see the bottle with what looked like a pharmacy label on it.”
Devin nodded slowly. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Thank you.” He gave her a wistful smile.
Suddenly he was the Devin Guthrie she remembered: the soft-spoken man with the cultured accent, the gentle smile, the quizzical gaze behind silver-rimmed glasses.
Then his gaze went from quizzical to something else again. Something intense. Heated. Almost as if …
Her console pinged. She turned, grateful for the distraction. They’d cleared the last Dock Five beacon without incident, nav comp automatically segueing over from Dock Five Traffic to the signal from Baris Central Traffic. The Imperial warship images on her scanners were now much smaller. And boot steps behind her told her Devin Guthrie had finally left her bridge.
No, his bridge.
&n
bsp; She turned around to be sure she was really alone, then let herself sag back into her chair. The intensity of his gaze replayed in her mind. It could mean anything or it could mean nothing. Or it could mean that Devin Jonathan Guthrie had realized that he not only owned this ship, he owned her. Not legally, of course, but he certainly had bailed her out of a serious situation.
And might just be expecting repayment for all the trouble she caused him.
Devin stepped out of the Rider’s large lift—obviously meant more for cargo than passengers—and followed the sound of Barty’s voice through the galley, then toward what Makaiden had said were the crew cabins on the ship’s port side. Like the little he’d seen of the upper deck, this lower one had dark-gray decking and lighter-gray bulkheading, without the benefit of the carpeting or decorative wall panels found on the Triumph or other GGS ships. Rivets, beams, pipes, and conduit were in evidence. The galley held two square metal tables—also gray—ringed by bench seats, all welded to the decking.
There was nothing remotely attractive about the Rider.
Her captain, on the other hand … Devin gave himself a mental shake. Makaiden had caught him staring at her. Again. He had to stop that before she labeled him as some kind of lunatic, but he couldn’t help it. He’d fantasized about her for too many years: all the usual stuck-on-a-ship with her, deep in some uncharted area of the Empire, and all the ways he’d make her forget about her husband—except she no longer had a husband.
His life had just taken an extraordinarily interesting turn, and all because his nephew had decided to embark on a fiasco of an adventure. An adventure that, from the sounds of it, was earning him a long-overdue lecture from the inimitable Barthol, who was sounding much better, his voice stronger. He’d ask Barty about his health later, when they had some privacy. Right now Trip was the focus.
“You will, of course, have to face the consequences,” Barty was saying, “as set out by both your father and grandfather.”
And so will I. Trip wasn’t the only one who had broken the Guthrie rules. The fact that Devin had found Trip notwithstanding, he would have to face not only J.M. but, he realized with a start, Tavia Emberson.
Tavia. He knew his mother had asked Tavia for an engagement-party guest list, as well as her help in wording an official announcement for the society pages. Those plans would have to be canceled. He’d also found Makaiden. He’d have to face J.M. over that too.
He followed the path that wound to the left between the galley tables and spied a wide doorway, open, as Barty’s voice continued: “And as we still don’t know who killed Ben Halsey or why …”
Devin rapped his knuckles on the doorway’s edge, then stepped into the sparsely furnished cabin. Barty was sitting on the corner of the bunk closest to the door; Trip sat in the middle of the one parallel to that. A third bunk, on the right side of the room, was empty. All had identical dark-blue blankets on them, and each had a small pillow with a light-blue cover. Devin leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest. “You’ve heard nothing from your contacts?”
Barty shook his head. His voice might sound stronger, but there were shadows under the older man’s eyes. Illness, as Makaiden suggested? Worry? There was still plenty to worry about. It was more difficult to avoid your enemies when you were not really sure who they were. Or what they wanted, other than your nephew. Over and above the usual the Guthrie family has money, he couldn’t even begin to address the why. Because the Guthrie family has money would have required neither the killing of Ben Halsey, nor the kind of maneuvers against them he’d witnessed on Dock Five.
“I’ve not heard back from Petra Frederick either,” Devin told Barty. “Or J.M. Given where we are, that’s not completely unexpected. I’m hoping for some kind of response before we make the jumpgate. I’d hate to be on the way to Calfedar only to find out GGS is sending a ship to Dock Five.” Which was where the family would think they were, at least until they received his brief update that they’d found transport—though he didn’t mention Makaiden or the Rider—sent just after the Rider received clearance to depart for Calfedar.
“Your father might not respond, fearing your message is a hoax,” Barty offered, and Devin agreed. That was one of the reasons he’d been vague in his message. He didn’t want the details falling into the wrong hands.
Barty leaned forward on the bunk, forearms on his thighs. He definitely looked tired. “But Frederick has the ability and the equipment to authenticate … to authenticate …” Barty gasped, his arms suddenly going limp.
As Barty crumpled toward the decking, Devin lunged, managing to catch Barty’s shoulders in an attempt to break his fall.
“Barty!” Trip was down on one knee at Barty’s side, his voice holding the panic Devin felt all too well. But Barty didn’t answer.
Devin rolled the unconscious man carefully onto his back, making sure his throat was unobstructed and that he was breathing. He felt for a pulse in his neck, found it. It was weak, fluttering. Devin had seen players collapse on the handball courts over the years. He knew basic procedures, but there his medical expertise ended. “Trip, there has to be a diagnostic unit, portable, in sick bay. I don’t want to move him until—”
“Captain Griggs will know where.”
And be able to relay its location in less time than it would take him or Trip to find it. Devin shot to his feet. “Stay with him in case he has a seizure.” Damn it all, he felt so helpless. He spied the intraship panel by the door and, fueled by a rising fear, punched the comm button with more force than was necessary. “Makaiden, Barty collapsed. Where’s the—”
“Portable medalyzer’s on the starboard wall of sick bay.” Her words overrode his, and she spoke rapidly. “Left of the door. Silver and green cover. I’m on my way down.”
“Understood.” He slapped off the comm as he left the room, not knowing if she heard his affirmative. He darted around the galley tables, suddenly aware of the clatter of boot steps behind him, coming closer. A stairwell. Of course the Rider had to have one. If he ever got a minute’s rest from emergencies, he’d use it to study this ship’s layout. Right now he had an emergency.
He hit the main corridor, then skittered to a stop at the third doorway as Makaiden called out, “In there!”
A quick appraisal showed two diag beds with a display screen in between and the medalyzer right where she’d said. He unlatched the rectangular unit from its wall case, then moved back into the corridor, catching a glimpse of Makaiden heading toward the galley. It seemed as if an hour passed, but he knew it was only minutes before he had the unit in Makaiden’s hands and she was taking readings on Barty’s still unconscious form.
“It’s safe to move him,” she said, looking up from the screen.
“You have an antigrav stretcher?”
“Manual. Had to sell the AG one.” She pushed herself to her feet with a glance at his nephew. “Trip? Give me a hand getting the stretcher.” She held the medalyzer out toward Devin. “He’s stable,” she said as he took it, glancing at the pulsing lines on the green-tinged screen. “We shouldn’t be a minute. See if you can’t find that medicine vial. If we know what he’s taking, it can save a lot of time. And his life.”
“I ran his biostats and medication through your sickbay computer.” Devin took the chair in front of the comm console, then swiveled it toward Makaiden as she turned the pilot’s chair to face him. Behind her, endless blackness broken by only a few points of light filled the forward viewports. The bridge console screens flanked her right and left, pulsing and beeping in a low, erratic syncopation. That reminded him of the medalyzer he’d just spent the last ten minutes with. Not the best unit; nothing like the ones on GGS ships. But it told him what he needed to know. “It’s Gamdrel’s Disease. There’s a more formal medical term, but Gamdrel’s is what most people call it.”
“And veterans of the Boundary Wars are most often afflicted. He was ImpSec and at some point exposed to the toxins.” She paused, studying him. “
I’m guessing your family didn’t know?”
“My father might have.” But would he then have fired Barty—a longtime employee, a trusted member of the household staff—the way he did, simply because he’d challenged J.M.’s decision? It seemed heartless, but then, J.M., instead of softening in his later years, seemed to have toughened.
“Is he conscious yet?”
“According to the medalyzer, he’s let his medication levels get too low. The recommendation was to keep him unconscious for at least another hour so his body will assimilate the drugs more quickly.”
“He’ll sleep through jump. I probably don’t need to ask this, but—”
“Is he strapped in, secured?” Devin gave her a half smile. “Yes, Captain.”
“We’re forty-three out from the gate. Just passing a data beacon, if you want to use my comm to check for messages.”
He tapped the microcomp at his side. “Already running a sweep—”
As if on cue, the unit trilled softly. Despite the fact that he was used to the noise, it startled Devin. For a moment he thought he’d activated something by mistake when he tapped it, but the icons flashing on the small screen when he pulled the Rada from its holder showed incoming messages.
“Ethan,” he said, relieved and yet puzzled. He’d sent his messages to GGS Security and his father’s private comm—including the latest, which his father wouldn’t have received yet. This must be a response to an earlier one—maybe one Barty sent. He double-checked security on the incoming message. It was genuine and originated from his family’s home but through Ethan’s private link, text only.
Rebels and Lovers Page 17
