Rebels and Lovers

by Linnea Sinclair

  “No, sir. We’ve been on course to Talgarrath the entire time. We did, however, have a power failure in the starboard generator and went cold for about twenty minutes so we could do repairs.”

  “I see.”

  Devin wondered if he did. He had no idea of the merits of Makaiden’s excuse, no idea if a generator failure would require taking the entire ship offline. He trusted she was pulling the story from an actual experience. Something else that happened when she flew for GGS that he’d never heard about?

  “We appreciate Fleet’s concern for our safety,” Makaiden said, “but we don’t anticipate any further problems.”

  “I see,” Anibal said again.

  Devin had the feeling Anibal was only half listening, perhaps reviewing ship’s docs or getting information from one of his officers. He didn’t know if that signaled disinterest or a need for further probing on the Fleet captain’s part.

  “You have a Church liaison on board?”

  Further probing. Damn.

  “Brother Balatharis. That should be in our docs.”

  “You’re not Englarian, Captain Makerra?”

  “Contract pilot, sir. But my services are a donation through CFTC Outreach.”

  That made Devin raise his eyebrows. He had no idea if that was true or not and hoped Makaiden wasn’t trapping herself in a string of lies.

  “Outreach usually assigns Takan pilots.”

  True, then.

  “Yes, sir. I swapped assignments with the pilot because his wife’s due to give birth to their first child.”

  “I see.”

  Devin saw the man’s repetitive comment as a space filler—a way to keep the conversation going without really participating. He had to be receiving information from another of his officers. They’d found some error, some incongruity in the ID Devin had constructed for the Rider. Or the upload had skewed something. The fact that he wasn’t even aware that the new ID had taken hold surfaced again in his mind. Was there some kind of hidden secondary program, something that would grab any altered program and, instead of destroying it, save it and send it—tagged as a hacking attempt—to the first Fleet ship it found?

  It was exactly the kind of security program he would have designed. He’d scanned for something like that, but he might not have been as thorough as he should have been. Damned time constraints—

  “Put Brother Balatharis on the comm,” Anibal said suddenly.

  Devin’s gut tightened. Here we go.

  “If you’ll hold for a minute, sir, I’ll transfer you to him.”

  There was a soft double chime, which Devin knew meant voice and vid functions were paused.

  Makaiden half-turned in her seat. “Something’s up. I don’t like it.”

  Devin nodded. “Too many I sees. He’s either running a verification program or I screwed up somehow.”

  “Can you handle it?”

  “Promise me you’ll let me take you to dinner tonight, fanciest and most romantic location Lufty’s or Port Chalo has.” The Prosperity could wait. In fact, he’d even toyed with the idea of not going back on the ship, of sending Trip and Barty to Sylvadae without him. That would give him time with Makaiden, time to convince her that she belonged with him on Garno.

  A short exasperated sigh. “Devin—”

  “Promise.”

  She studied him, emotions flickering through her eyes, which had turned dark, serious. “I promise.”

  “Then I can handle it.”

  She swung around, reaching for the armrest’s console. “Captain? I have Brother Balatharis for you now.”

  Devin straightened his shoulders, then relaxed them slightly. That wouldn’t do. That was Devin, not Brother Balatharis. He tapped open the comm link and tried his best to look benign, dreamy, and a little befuddled. He wasn’t sure how to play monk, but he could definitely play absent-minded professor. He’d had more than a few in his college and postgraduate days. “Blessings of the hour to you and yours. How may I be of assistance?” He saw Anibal clearly for the first time: a leathery-faced man with close-cropped curly hair and eyes narrowed in suspicion. Figures, out of focus, moved behind him, but Devin could see that those figures wore Imperial uniforms.

  “Blessings of the hour to you, Brother.”

  To Devin’s surprise, Anibal inclined his head in a gesture of reverence and respect, and his voice was minus some of its gravelly undercurrents.

  Oh, shit. A frightening realization hit Devin, more frightening than the fact that the Imperial destroyer could blow them out of the space lanes. Captain Anibal was Englarian.

  Devin wasn’t.

  His mind stuttered. He plastered on a weak smile he remembered Professor Creel’s face often wearing and grasped for the dialogue from the Comparative Religions’ class vid. “Praise the stars that we are both safe and well. I apologize for not greeting you immediately. I have been deep in meditations. I find my time out here so peaceful.” He made an aimless gesture with his left hand to denote out here, then lowered it quickly. He didn’t think Englarian monks wore expensive wristwatches, and he’d almost flashed his.

  “The abbot be praised your ship wasn’t hampered by the power failure.”

  How much would Brother Balatharis know about the ship’s systems? When in doubt, obfuscate. “We’re blessed with an excellent captain and crew. Surely Abbot Eng watches over those who do his work.”

  Anibal glanced down, then back up. “Port Chalo, I see. I hope … Please don’t take this as a criticism, Brother, but the temple there has not received the attention it should.”

  If Devin had any doubt that Anibal was Englarian, that dissolved it. The man had been to the temple on Port Chalo. Devin hadn’t. He’d never even been inside an Englarian temple. He splayed his hands in what he hoped was an understanding gesture, careful not to reveal his wristwatch. Or his ignorance. “So many projects, so little time.”

  “Then your reason to be in Port Chalo isn’t to restore the temple?”

  Was it so bad that it was in need of restoration? And did Anibal mean the physical structure or some problem with staff? The name of the temple guardian came into Devin’s mind. “We’re always aware of Guardian Whitte’s needs and hold him and the temple in prayer daily. My reasons for traveling to Port Chalo, though, are many. And, of course, due to privacy issues, I’m not at liberty to discuss them here.”

  As he said the last few words, he stiffened. Too much corporate Devin. Too little beneficent Balatharis. Plus, to make matters worse, his damned blanket robe itched.

  “Brother Balatharis.” Anibal dipped his face again … but with a little less reverence this time? Devin couldn’t be sure. “If you’ll grant me a minute, I’d like to move this conversation to my office.”

  Devin did his best to look humble and unperturbed. “As you wish, Captain.”

  The screen blanked in pause mode. Devin swung to his right to find Makaiden watching him. Good. It saved him the trouble of bellowing her name in abject panic.

  “I—”

  Her raised hand silenced him. She glanced down at the armrest console she’d pulled against her side, tapped something, then nodded. “Safe. Go ahead.”

  “I fucked up. Big time. I’m sorry.”

  “We don’t know that—”

  “I do. I went into corporate mode. Damn it!” He slammed one hand on his chair’s armrest, thoroughly annoyed at his own stupidity.

  “We don’t,” she repeated, spacing her words, “know that. The guy’s a believer. Factor that in. To him, you’re part of the woo-woo hierarchy. He’s not.”

  “I don’t know a crigblarg’s ass about his religion!”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just keep assuring him you’ll pray for him. Praise whatever he says. Tell him he’s divinely inspired. In short, lover, kiss ass.”

  Lover. She called him lover. That brought heat to his face and a tightening to his groin. Bad timing. Monks were celibate.

  The comm link chimed.

  “He’s back on,�
� Makaiden said. “You feel you need out, take off your glasses. I can manufacture a fritzed comm signal. That could buy us a few minutes to regroup.”

  Dear God, woman, how have I lived without you for all these years? The words he wanted to say caught in his throat. There was no time. He held her gaze for one long moment, then turned to the comm console and keyed the link live.

  “Captain Anibal, blessings.”

  “Brother Balatharis. Pardon the disruption. But we need to continue this conversation in secure surroundings.”

  Secure evidently meant the captain’s office, judging from the little Devin could see behind Anibal. He wondered whether secure also meant the short downtime was enough to upload some kind of probe through the comm link. Or upload confirmation that there was no Brother Balatharis.

  Devin tossed his fears and insecurities out the airlock. Makaiden had faith in him. She’d said so. “All our intentions are known by our beloved abbot. The only security we need is that of his divine care. What is it that troubles you, my friend?”

  Anibal went silent, but his gaze didn’t waver.

  I’ve overplayed it. Ethan was always the one with the talent for the stage. Not me.

  “A great number of things about our meeting trouble me,” Anibal said finally. “Your being here, heading for Port Chalo. Your ship malfunctioning just long enough for us to find you. I’ve been in the lanes too long to be a believer in coincidence.”

  Devin was aware of Makaiden shifting in her seat—the slight rustle of fabric against plastic and metal. He was also aware of his fingers clenching, wanting to reach for his glasses. But a two-minute communications glitch wasn’t going to save them if Anibal had penetrated their farce.

  There was nothing for him to say. He waited, fingers knotted.

  “I have my duties as a Fleet officer,” Anibal continued. “It’s not often they coincide with my personal beliefs. But here, they have. Brother Balatharis, this area of Baris is known for pirate traffic. You’ve already experienced mechanical failure. I’d be remiss in my duties, not only as an officer but as a believer, if I didn’t see you and your ship safely to Port Chalo. If you’ll have your captain contact my exec, we’ll set up a course so we can escort you to safe harbor. We’ll keep your ship constantly on our screens. The slightest whisper of trouble, and we will act swiftly.”

  Devin sat, stunned. And not totally convinced. It could all be an elaborate ruse. Anibal could be the consummate actor. Having a Fleet ship tail them to Lufty’s …

  No. Shit. Shit! A Fleet ship tailing them meant there was no way they could go to Lufty’s. He had to dissuade Anibal. Now.

  “Your words are a true blessing to my ears, Captain. But greater duties await you, I’m sure. The blessed abbot watches over all of us, and while I agree this meeting was not by chance but by divine inspiration, I also know … more than that, I feel in my heart you’re meant for much greater missions than to escort this lowly and humble ship.”

  Anibal lowered his mouth to his fisted hands, then looked up. “Brother, at the risk of sounding too bold, I have to disagree. This is why I needed to speak to you privately. My officers know this is a dangerous area. They’ll accept my decision to escort you. But truth is, I have been … remiss. I’ve fallen from the blessed and beloved path this past year, and I must do this. I believe our meeting is a sign. A sign to bring me home again. As you said, our meeting was not by chance. This was divine inspiration and divine intervention.” He straightened. “I’ll give my exec the order to coordinate with your captain. Then I feel a great need to retire to prayer.”

  Devin bowed his head. Hell’s unholy fat ass. Makaiden was going to kill him. If Captain Anibal didn’t do so first.

  There was no way they could go to Lufty’s.

  Captain Anibal wasn’t protecting them. He was delivering them to the enemy. Devin had no doubt either Tage’s agents or Orvis’s operatives were waiting for the Void Rider in Port Chalo.

  And it didn’t escape him that Anibal might know exactly that.

  “Maybe the Farosians will attack Starport Six and they’ll be called away.” Makaiden had pulled her right leg up underneath her in the pilot’s chair. Now and then her left boot heel thumped softly against the chair’s base. “Barring that, I’d say we’re stuck with them until we’re picked up by Talgarrath Traffic Control.”

  “Makaiden, I’m sorry.” Elbows on his knees, Devin sat hunched over at the comm console, his monk’s robe an untidy lump on the decking by his boots. The heavy fabric no longer tortured him. His handling of Anibal continued to. “Anibal blindsided me with that escort offer. I’m a better negotiator than that. But I’ve never had to pretend to be someone else in negotiations. I lost focus and dragged us into further problems.”

  “Not necessarily. We do legitimately read as the Veil of Relief. Tage’s people, if they’re there, will be looking for the Rider or a ship with Guthrie ownership docs. Same for Orvis or whoever else has pulled ship’s records from Dock Five by now. We’ll be coming in as an Englarian mission ship with a Fleet escort. A bit more fanfare than I’d like, but at least nothing about us screams owned by a Guthrie.”

  He’d considered that. But there was a downside. “Unless Anibal knows exactly who we are and this is just a ploy to deliver us to Tage without raising any alarms.”

  “Fleet’s too regimented to run that kind of stunt.”

  “The Fleet that my brother Philip knew, yes. But things have changed. I don’t even remember Philip mentioning a Thurman Anibal. For all we know, he’s an ImpSec operative.” Devin wished Barty was conscious. Barty would know, if not who Anibal was, at least if this was the kind of game Tage’s people would play.

  “And you’re a Guthrie. Whatever Tage’s motives are behind tracking your nephew and maybe even engineering a fake kidnapping, he still has to deal with that fact.”

  “It didn’t stop him from trying to kill Philip.”

  Makaiden went silent, elbow on her armrest, mouth leaned against her fist. Then: “We have three hours before we hit the beacon and are picked up by Talgarrath Traffic Control. Assuming we’re not being led into an ambush, that give us three hours to work out some options. Including the shortest, quickest, and safest way to get you, Trip, and Barty transferred to the Prosperity once we get there.”

  He considered waiting to tell her, springing it on her at the last moment, and probably would have done so if Barty hadn’t been ill. But Barty was, and that bespoke additional—and likely somewhat complex—planning. His selfish desire to give her as little time as possible to say no collapsed under the weight of the responsibility of the lives of Barty and Trip. “I’m not going back to Sylvadae on the Prosperity.”

  She frowned, then slowly arched that one asymmetrical eyebrow. “You think J.M.’s going to have you shot on sight?”

  She’d heard his and Barty’s recounting of the confrontation in his father’s library. He gave her a wistful smile. “He’ll have a few choice words.” Though maybe not before breakfast. “But I think you and I should go to Tal Verdis.”

  The frown was back. She shrugged. “You own this ship. But unless Tage has changed his restrictions, I don’t have clearance to cross the A–B. I could file for it, sure, but that could take weeks.”

  He mimicked her shrug. “I’ll wait.”

  “And your family? Your projects?”

  “Talgarrath’s serviced by TransNet and Zipcomm. GGS has accounts with both. Once the security issues are cleared at the estate, talking to my family from Port Chalo wouldn’t be all that different from talking to them from Garno. And my office has dealt with me being off-planet many times.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s not like you to dodge your responsibilities.”

  “I’m not dodging my responsibilities. I’m trying to keep you in my life.”

  “Devin—”

  “We have something, Makaiden.” He had to make her understand this, now. He feared there wouldn’t be time later. “Something that’s been bui
lding for years. Something I’ve wanted for a long time. I’ve spent too much of my life doing what others expected of me, rationalizing that it was my job to handle those responsibilities that Jonathan was too busy to do, that Philip wasn’t around to do, and that Ethan didn’t want to do. So I did them, and to a great extent I’ll probably always do them. Just like I will make sure Trip and Barty are safely on their way home.

  “But this chance to have you in my life, it’s my one great rebellion. It’s my making a choice because you are what I want. I don’t walk away from my responsibilities. But I’m tired of walking away from my dreams.”

  Her lips parted as if to say something, but then she closed them and, with a small shake of her head, looked away.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  She turned back, her expression softening. “No, idiot that I am, I do. It’s just that …” And she stopped.

  He heard a slight quavering in her voice. It was all he needed to shove himself out of his chair and cross the short distance to where she sat at the front of the bridge, arms now crossed defensively over her chest.

  He touched her shoulder, then cupped her face with his hand before she could pull back. “You’re not an idiot. I could never fall in love with an idiot.”

  Something flashed in her eyes, then she sighed. Confusion? Frustration? Capitulation? He couldn’t tell.

  “I can’t … deal with this right now, Devin. I have an Imperial destroyer an hour behind me and closing, Talgarrath two and a half hours in front of me, and no idea what’s waiting for us when we get dirtside. If we get dirtside.”

  He leaned down and brushed her mouth with a kiss—a kiss he was encouraged to note she responded to without hesitation. Then the kiss deepened and—praise the stars!—it was her choice to do so. She leaned up into him, one arm curling around his neck. A rush of heat shot through him. He grasped her shoulders tightly, then ran his fingers up her neck and into the silk of her hair. He wanted nothing more than to drag her into his arms and down the corridor into her quarters. He wanted her naked in bed, the feel of her heated skin on his, the scent of her in his nose, the sweet taste of her in his mouth.