“Who was?”
“Your father, obviously. Frederick handpicked the technical staff, and I cleared them as well: Chelle and Hu. But neither worked on the final interface, and you’d need knowledge of that in order to break it.”
Devin’s mind churned. He leaned one hip against the side of Barty’s diag bed, then crossed his arms over his chest. “When you came to my suite after Trip disappeared, you said my father fired you because you’d disagreed with him. Why would he do that, when you’re not only an integral part of our household but you’re also involved in Guthrie security?”
Barty let out a long sigh. “This isn’t the first time he and I have had words or been on opposite ends. I thought last week that he’d simply had enough of this pushy old man. And, honestly, I knew you were right, and I was too worried about Master Trip to consider it much more than an opportunity to get to Trip before someone else did. But now,” and he shook his head slowly, “it’s like … someone wanted me out of the way. I just can’t fathom why your father would want to sabotage his own company, his own family.”
“Unless he’s not well?” Devin’s voice was soft.
“Senility?”
“Or a brain disorder. Or other medical problem that would put him so on edge, make him so paranoid, irrational.”
“Then you’ve noticed that too?”
Devin uncrossed his arms and ran one hand through the short spikes of his hair. “He wanted me out of my office, out of GGS Financial altogether for the next six months. To spend time with my new bride, take her to parties and get her pregnant.”
“That was something else your father and I disagreed on.”
Devin shot him a quizzical glance. “Parties or pregnancy?”
“Miss Tavia. A lovely young woman. Pardon my bluntness, but not for you.”
Was there anything his father hadn’t discussed with Barty? “Because she’s much more sociable, you mean?” His father and mother had mentioned several times how they hoped Tavia’s outgoing personality might rub off on him.
“Because you’re not in love with her, and she’s not with you. That’s no way to spend the rest of your life.”
Devin straightened abruptly. “I didn’t know it was that obvious.”
Barty arched one eyebrow. “I’ve spent more than two decades with Guthrie men who excel at failing to acknowledge their feelings.”
Failing to acknowledge. Concise, factual, and a point Devin was not going to argue. His recent mishaps with Makaiden made the case for him. Amazing that he could be so clumsy with something so important. Then again, maybe not. “Given all that’s going on, I think Father will understand my canceling wedding plans with Tavia.”
“Given all that’s going on,” Barty countered, “that’s the very reason your father may push for them. The political instability right now—plus Admiral Guthrie’s, shall we say, notoriety—weighs heavily on your father. He knows he can’t trust Tage, but he can’t afford to alienate the man either. At the same time, Tage has to tread carefully around Guthrie Global. Your family’s been influential for a long time. Other captains of industry look to GGS for leadership, for trends.”
Devin shrugged, though Barty’s comment worried him. “I told Father last month that we could pull out of Aldan, operate out of Calth and Baris, and do fine. Most of the raw materials for our manufacturing come out of places like Umoran and the Walker Colonies. Trade and export can operate anywhere.”
“Mark my words, Tage knows that. The man may be despotic, but he’s not stupid. He knows that if GGS pulls out of Aldan, others will follow. I think Tage is scared that Admiral Guthrie took his military knowledge to the Alliance, but I think he’s more frightened that Philip Guthrie took the Guthrie name to the Alliance, thereby giving it credibility. That’s why his people are working so hard to depict your brother as some kind of half-crazed traitor.”
“When in reality, Tage is the crazy one,” Devin said, his voice low and bitter.
“Ah, but he’s the crazy one in power, calling himself the prime commander now, and with a watered-down Admirals’ Council as the only check and balance, there’s no way to stop him.”
“Which is all very worrisome but doesn’t explain Ethan’s message.”
“It might if your father somehow got Tage involved in Master Trip’s little fiasco. You know he was fixated on his belief that Tage’s people had Trip. If he acted on that or confronted Tage’s people, it could have had repercussions—personally and corporately. Tage is well known for pushing for more government control over private industries like GGS. Philip was the first defection. Trip’s could be seen as the second, and you, out here, could be named a third. That might be all Tage’s people need as a reason to take over control of Guthrie Global via an Imperial mandate. For security reasons, of course.” The smirk in Barty’s voice was clear.
Devin slumped against the edge of the diag bed.
“If you weren’t so busy worrying about Trip, Captain Makaiden, and me, you would have figured this out for yourself,” Barty said softly. “I could also be totally wrong.”
He could be, but Devin had a sinking feeling he wasn’t. And there was no way to confirm or deny those suspicions as long as they were in jumpspace—for another three days.
Devin retrieved his Rada from Barty’s outstretched hand. “It’s past dinner. Are you hungry?”
“Tired, mostly,” he said with a sigh. “Send Trip with soup and tea in two hours or so. These”—he tapped one of the med-broches peeking out from the edge of his T-shirt collar—“are programmed to supply a fair amount of nutrition. I need a nap more right now.”
Devin felt suddenly guilty. The Rider’s sickbay systems had yet to give Barty clearance. The older man needed rest and here Devin was, peppering him with problems and suppositions. With a nod, he headed out into the corridor, needing a cup of hot tea and the presence of one Makaiden Griggs. And not necessarily in that order.
He found Makaiden in the galley with an empty tray in one hand, waiting before the rectangular white panel that served as the ship’s food dispenser—a basic-model chefmaster with three square delivery chutes. She was already looking over her shoulder in his direction as he came around the corner.
“Trip just finished his dinner,” she said, glancing at the blinking cooking-time readout over the middle chute, then back to him again. “How’s Barty feeling?”
“Tired, and more than a little ashamed at misjudging his own medication schedule.” He stepped toward her, disturbed that when he did so she took her gaze from his. Around him, she vacillated between anger and annoyance. He wasn’t sure which this was right now. But then, as Barty so wisely noted, feelings weren’t a Guthrie male’s strongpoint.
“Just getting a casserole,” she said quickly. “I’ll be out of here in a minute.”
“Stay.” He leaned one shoulder against the dispenser wall, because at least he could see her face, even if she wouldn’t look at him. “Have dinner with me. Or whatever meal we’re at right now.” He ended his words with a small smile, trying to ease the source of her discomfort. He didn’t know what it was—though he could make a few wildly accurate guesses having to do with the past forty-eight hours—but he sensed it clearly and wanted it gone.
The dispenser pinged twice. The delivery chute’s translucent cover slid sideways. The aroma of melted cheese wafted past his nose.
Makaiden slid the casserole onto her tray. “Thanks, but I have some things I need to do on the bridge. Plus, shouldn’t you be with Barty?”
“He’s napping. He asked that Trip bring him some tea and soup in a couple hours. I think Barty wants to finish his ‘this is what’s going to happen when you get home’ remonstrative chat.” Devin studied the list of dinner items illuminated in blue on the screen in the corner of the dispenser. “So, what’s good? What do you suggest?”
He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted her here, talking to him, keeping him from going crazy over thoughts of GGS, Tage, his mother, and inexplicabl
e security breaches. There was something about Makaiden’s presence he’d always found reassuring. And even more so now.
“There’s not a lot to choose from. I’m sorry. I stock what I like, and I like—”
“Cheese.” Cheese and vegetable casserole, cheese soup, and egg and cheese pie were a few of the items on the list.
“It’s dairy, protein, and the nutritional components are reasonably priced,” she said with a shrug. She put the tray on the counter, then slid back the silver metal cover of the cooler unit.
“That’s okay. I like cheese too. Actually haven’t had a good egg and cheese pie since I was in college.” He tapped in his order as she pulled out a bottle by its top. Juice? Water? Water, he noted, seeing the label.
“Want some?” she asked, holding the bottle in the air.
“I’ll have hot tea.”
She pointed toward a smaller silver-fronted dispenser to her right. “There should be some tea bags in the drawer underneath.”
“Thanks. I’ll …” But she’d turned away, heading for the galley’s small dining area, and he was speaking to her back. “… get one.”
He hesitated only a moment, then, mouth grim, followed her, hoping she was setting her meal at one of the two tables in the dining area. She wasn’t. She was slipping around the corner into the corridor when he stopped at the closest table. He stood there, hands jammed in pockets, until the dispenser behind him chimed.
He snagged a tray, retrieved his dinner, and decided he’d give it another try.
She turned, eyes slightly widened in surprise, as he stepped onto the bridge, tray in hand.
“Tell me this is off limits and I’ll leave.” He offered her an excuse he didn’t want her to use but would accept if she did. Because he was a Guthrie.
She seemed to study him for a few seconds, during which time he wondered if he could take back his offer to depart. “Both nav and comm have pull-out tray tables to the right of the chairs, like this.” She tapped the one that held her tray. “I take it you have something you want to discuss?”
He took that for an invitation to stay. “Thousands of things, with all that’s gone on,” he said, dropping into the seat at nav as it was closer to her. He found the edge of the recessed tray and swung it toward him. “But actually I’d like to hear what you’ve been doing the past two years.”
“Working, hauling cargo,” she said, her gaze on the spoon stirring her casserole. Her tone sounded carefully neutral. Maybe not the best choice of topics. One of the things that happened in the past two years was the death of her husband.
He sought something positive. “You have some good clients.”
“Tage’s embargos have made that tougher lately.”
Devin nodded. “For everyone. But now you’re passenger-certified.”
Makaiden sighed. “The Rider is not going to be a moneymaking venture for you, Mr. Devin.”
“Devin,” he corrected her.
She hesitated, then: “No, sir. You’re my employer.”
“I’d prefer to be your friend,” he said softly.
“With all that’s gone on,” she said, echoing his statement of moments ago, “I don’t think that’s wise.” She lifted her chin slightly. “Your dinner’s getting cold. Sir.” Something beeped on her console. She grabbed a spoonful of casserole as she turned away from him.
He took a few forkfuls of his egg pie and watched her work, spoon in her right hand, left hand tapping or nudging at various things blinking before her.
“With all that’s gone on,” he repeated, “I think knowing who my friends are is essential.” If that’s where they had to start, so be it. He wondered, though, what part Kiler played in her aversion. Did she still love her husband? Did she see Devin’s acquisition of the Rider as somehow infringing on that?
There was a flash of pain in her eyes as she glanced at him. “Your family has always had not only my loyalty but my respect.”
What about me personally? He almost asked that but for the soft whooshing sound of the lift doors followed by the hard, loping boot steps that could only be his long-legged nephew.
Makaiden’s expression shifted, her brows relaxing. Obviously, she liked Trip and didn’t have any problems with considering his nephew her friend. If only—
But her brows dipped again, and Devin shifted his gaze from Makaiden’s face to Trip’s and found matching frowns.
“Uncle Devin?” Trip held his pocket comm in his outstretched hand as he strode onto the bridge. “Something’s wrong.”
“You can’t get messages in jumpspace,” Makaiden said before Devin could respond. He knew Trip knew jumpspace was a communications null, so that wasn’t the problem.
Trip nodded. “I wasn’t trying to. I just turned it on to compose my apologies, like Barthol told me to. That’s when I found this message in my unsent outbox. But I swear I didn’t create it.” He paused, darting a worried glance at Devin, then to Makaiden, then back to Devin again. “Why would I send my father a message demanding fifteen million credits for my safe return?”
Kaidee wasn’t overly happy with having Devin in her quarters. The two small rooms and private lav were sacrosanct, her personal retreat, and watching his tall form stride in made her feel as if her last defensive shield had been breached. But since her quarters were originally the ship’s ready room and data lab and contained direct access to the Rider’s commdat analytics program, there was no way she could keep him out.
Besides, she wanted answers as badly as he did.
Devin had his Rada out on her dining table—damn, that was one impressive unit—and had it synched to the smaller pocket comm and to the commdat panel on the bulkhead wall behind him. A green-tinged holographic display hovered in front of him, data flickering rapidly across its surface. But his investigation was proceeding slowly.
Too slowly for Trip, who was obviously nervous, jiggling one leg as he sat on Devin’s right. “Anything yet?”
“Someone with the capability to break Guthrie security has the capability to thwart, even attack, incoming probes.” Devin squinted through his glasses, mouth pursed, his attention never wavering from the display. “Right now I’m erring on the side of caution.”
“Sorry,” Trip said, his voice a low, tired rumble in his chest.
Kaidee, on Devin’s left, changed her gaze from the Rada’s display to Trip across the table. “At least the message was never sent, and you found it when it could do no harm.”
“Seems like the only thing I’ve done so far that’s done no harm.” Trip scrubbed at his face with one hand. “I’m sorry. This is such a mess—”
“Can you get us some tea from the galley?” Kaidee interrupted him. “The unit in here doesn’t work well.”
That wasn’t all that far from the truth—her quarters held only a basic slurp-and-snack—but Kaidee also felt that Trip needed to be doing something more than sitting glumly, listening to his uncle swear softly under his breath.
“See if Barty’s awake and wants anything,” she added as, with a nod, Trip headed for the corridor.
“Mind reader.” Devin’s low comment as the door closed behind Trip’s retreating figure brought her attention back to the table and the man seated inches from her.
“Pardon?” His words confused her.
He glanced at her briefly, then back at the holographic screen. “Trip really has no idea what’s going on, other than that whatever he does seems to cause trouble. Keeping him busy right now is a good move.”
“I can’t believe he’d leave his pocket comm around where anyone could access it.”
“He wouldn’t. At least, I’ve never known him to do so.” Devin poked at a line of code, dragging it to the right. “But it wouldn’t matter if he did. It’s a secure unit. No one can use it unless they know his personal passwords.”
Suddenly she understood the reason behind Devin’s low epithets. “This isn’t some outside operation. This is someone in GGS.”
“Or in my parents’
direct employ.” The look he shot her was bleak.
He didn’t have to say it; she could guess at the rest of his thoughts: someone who might be in the Guthrie home, even now. “Former employee?” For a chilling moment, she thought of Kiler. He often amused himself by creating password-encryption programs. Had another employee copied his codes, or had Kiler taught someone his methods before he died?
“If so, then someone in the last twenty-three days.” Devin touched a square databox and pushed it next to the line of code. Numbers and symbols moved rapidly in and out of it. “We change passwords frequently for that very reason.”
Kiler had been dead for a lot longer than twenty-three days. And if someone had filched one of his programs, why would they wait until now to use it? “So as much as twenty-three days ago, someone intended to kidnap Trip and send this message through his pocket comm. But if they had Trip, or even just had his pocket comm, why preprogram the message? They have the password. They could create a message and send it anytime they wanted to.”
“I can only assume that the person who knew the password wasn’t going to be the person or people holding Trip hostage. They might have even intended to leave his pocket comm somewhere else. That would be logical, since law enforcement would be tracking the comm’s location.”
“It is possible to determine the send date?” That should tell them something. Was it keyed to send the day Halsey was killed? Or was Halsey’s death unrelated?
“More than possible. Almost there.”
Kaidee glanced at the hovering display again. Her experience with datacodes was confined to what she needed to know to run her ship and what she’d watched Kiler and, when she was younger, her uncle or her father create. She wasn’t remotely in Devin’s league but knew enough to recognize his skill. And that not all of it was university-issue.
Then something flickered.
“Damn!” He swiped quickly at a pair of databoxes, positioning them around a wavering line of symbols. “Okay.” He let out a long breath. “Let’s try that again.”
Rebels and Lovers Page 19
