Games of Command

by Linnea Sinclair

  She ruffled the fidget’s head. “Tank go with,” she told him, tucking him in the crook of her arm. “But behave. And don’t steal anyone’s food.”

  Food? Food?

  Kel-Paten stroked the fidget’s nose with one black-clad finger. “We’ll see if Captain Kel-Tyra can find a dish of cream for you.”

  “You still hear him?” Sass asked as the lights on the airlock panel went green.

  “Not always. Loud and clear just now.”

  Cream. Sweet!

  Sass reached for the hatchway release, but Kel-Paten grabbed her hand. “One second.” He brushed his mouth over hers, then caught her lips in a deep kiss that warmed her all the way to her toes. “Now we’re ready.”

  Sass trotted down the short rampway a step behind Kel-Paten, through the shipside airlock, then down a flight of four stairs to a well-lit waiting room with a row of cushioned gray chairs and a small viewport that showed the Traveler’s hull. A man and a woman entered the room from a corridor door as she reached the last stair tread. Both were in Triad black, but the woman stayed by the door, hand on one hip. Security. The tall man kept walking toward them.

  Ralland Kel-Tyra. Drop-dead gorgeous, as Eden often noted. He’d unrolled his sleeves, straightened his captain’s insignia and uniform collar. He quickened his pace, and his smile, as he held one hand out toward Kel-Paten, was genuine.

  “Branden.” He clasped Kel-Paten’s hand in a firm grip.

  The resemblance between the two men, standing so close together, was immediate and unmistakable. Sass had thought she saw a similarity in the way Kel-Tyra quirked an eyebrow earlier. But that was on the vidscreen. It wasn’t the same as seeing him in person.

  Her instinct told her they were brothers. She wondered if Kel-Paten knew and, if he did, if he’d ever feel comfortable enough admitting that to her.

  Friend? Tank asked her.

  Friend, she told him. Friend of BrandenFriend. Safe here.

  Kel-Tyra turned to her. “Captain Sebastian. A pleasure. And this is…?” He noticed the fidget.

  “Tank,” she said, shifting the fidget’s bulk so she could accept Kel-Tyra’s hand. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  A quick glance from Kel-Tyra to Kel-Paten. One quirk of an eyebrow answered by an identical one.

  “Not at all,” Kel-Tyra answered. “Please.” He indicated the doorway with a sweep of his hand. “I know you have something important to tell us.”

  The security officer fell into step as they exited into the corridor. Sass let Tank trot along beside her, his plumy tail flicking left and right, his small voice making singsong comments in her mind.

  Big ship! Friends! Fun!

  Conversation in the corridor was innocuous. Yes, they were safe. No major injuries, though Serafino was confined to sick bay for a few more hours. The Vaxxar was updated on their status, as was Admiral Roderick Kel-Tyra.

  Sass picked up Tank when they entered the lift and was still holding him when they stepped into the ready room just aft of the Dalkerris’s bridge. A gray-haired man stood at the far end of the wide viewport, his back to them. It took a moment for her to register he was in civilian clothing. Kel-Paten didn’t appear to notice him but walked to the long table, his focus on his hushed conversation with Kel-Tyra. He stopped, hand on the back of one chair and motioned for her to come by his side. She heard the ready-room doors slide closed and the security lock click on.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Kel-Paten asked, looking down at her. Kel-Tyra held up one hand.

  “Admiral, Captain, excuse me. I know you asked for a closed meeting, but we have someone on board who can be a great help. Minister Kel-Sennarin, of course you know Admiral Kel-Paten. But have you met Captain Tasha Sebastian?”

  The man in the dark suit smiled easily as he strode to the table. His thick gray hair framed a long face with a slightly bulbous nose.

  “I don’t recall having the pleasure. Captain?”

  Defense Minister Kel-Sennarin. Kel-Paten’s former CO and now his superior at Triad Strategic Command. And, according to Serafino, an assassin for PsyServ.

  The door behind her was locked and—damn it!—she was unarmed. Sass wound her fingers into Tank’s fur. “Minister,” she said, her smile far less easy than his. Not a friend, Tank.

  Bad man?

  I think so. Tell BrandenFriend.

  O-kay.

  Beside her, Kel-Paten twitched ever so slightly. If Sass hadn’t watched for it, she never would have noticed. Tank was talking to him, she hoped. She couldn’t hear the conversation.

  “Have a seat, please,” Kel-Tyra was saying. “I’ll have an ensign bring coffee. How do you take yours, Captain Sebastian?”

  “Black,” she answered automatically, sitting gingerly. She shoved Tank down into her lap. Stay.

  O-kay. BrandenFriend question. Question. Not understand. Sorry. Try.

  She ruffled his ears, her whole body tense, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Kel-Sennarin here on the Dalkerris. He was the Defense Minister. He had a right to be here. But why now?

  She tried again. Tank tell Reilly. Reilly tell JaceFriend. Bad man. Kel-Sennarin. You understand?

  O-kay.

  Kel-Sennarin was talking while Ralland Kel-Tyra ordered coffee through a comm panel on the far wall. The Fleet was so concerned, Panperra in an uproar. The ships that had attacked the Galaxus had unfortunately been destroyed. No, he had no idea of their origin. Perhaps Admiral Kel-Paten knew more?

  Sass could see something warring inside Kel-Paten. It was the minutest of things, a slight tension around his eyes and mouth. But she knew him. He was struggling. Because of what she had Tank tell him? Or because—like the last time she brought up Kel-Sennarin’s name as part of the Faction—he refused to believe her?

  Could Jace be wrong?

  Damn it! They needed Eden or Serafino here. Someone to read Kel-Sennarin’s thoughts.

  Kel-Paten clasped his hands on the table. “We think an alien entity may have infiltrated PsyServ.”

  “The Illithians?” Kel-Tyra asked.

  “You have proof?” This from Kel-Sennarin.

  “What do you know about the Ved’eskhar?” Kel-Paten asked pointedly.

  Sass almost kicked him in the leg under the table. She wasn’t sure what side Kel-Sennarin was on. Admitting they knew about the Ved could well seal their death warrants. Or maybe only hers, Eden’s, and Jace’s. Kel-Paten had cost the Triad too much money. Him, they’d reprogram.

  Kel-Tyra looked puzzled, but the minister nodded. “I remember the name from a class in my university days. A Rebashee legend. No.” He made a small aimless motion with his fingers. “Nasyry. Yes, I believe that was it.”

  “They’re not legend,” Kel-Paten said. “They’re real.”

  “You have proof?” Kel-Sennarin asked again, but then coffee arrived, served graciously by a young ensign who brought a dish of cream for Tank. Sass put it on the chair next to her. She didn’t want Kel-Sennarin’s attention on the fidget. She didn’t know if he knew what furzels could do.

  Almost unconsciously, she slipped from being Tasha to Lady Sass, her outward demeanor relaxed but every nerve taut, ready, waiting. She sipped her coffee, watched, and listened.

  Watched Kel-Sennarin’s concern. Kel-Tyra’s surprise. Listened as Kel-Paten took them minute by minute through the blind jump, the crash landing of the Galaxus, the disappearance of Serafino and Dr. Fynn.

  But not the mining raft. Zanorian, Angel, and Drund were left unsaid. The Windblade was never mentioned. Neither were the furzels’ strange abilities or the name Bianca Kel-Rea. It was the Galaxus they’d managed to get airborne and crash as a diversion so they could use the Traveler’s transbeam to grab Fynn and Serafino.

  And it was the Ved, only the Ved, who were the enemy, controlling a few misguided PsyServ agents.

  Was he editing what happened because he didn’t trust Kel-Sennarin? Or because he was protecting her identity as Lady Sass, rim runner and mercenary? Student of G
und’jalar. Enemy of the Triad.

  Or was Kel-Paten’s loyalty to the Triad so strong that he honestly didn’t see that the Triad was part of the problem?

  Kel-Sennarin rubbed his hands over his face. “Branden, this is devastating news, if true.”

  “Unfortunately, Max, it’s fact.”

  “Captain Sebastian.” Kel-Sennarin turned to her. “The Triad is in debt to you, to the United Coalition. We will take immediate action on this.”

  “The United Coalition will offer every assistance,” she said perfunctorily as something registered in the back of her mind. Max. A common name, but Eden had said Serafino’s sister was waiting for someone named Max and—

  “And poor Captain Serafino, with that deadly device in his head. I’ll make sure our best neurologist, Dr. Kel-Novaco, personally takes his case at Sellarmaris Medical.”

  Kel-Novaco. Max and Kel-Novaco. Those were the names Eden told her Bianca had mentioned.

  Gods.

  For a moment she froze, then: “That won’t be necessary. Doctor Fynn already handled the matter.”

  She saw it. The slight tension in Kel-Sennarin’s eyes. The almost unnoticeable dip of his mouth. Kel-Sennarin and Kel-Novaco wanted that implant. They wanted Serafino dead because he was Nasyry. And they knew she knew that.

  “Sebastian.” Kel-Paten touched her arm lightly. “Dr. Fynn didn’t—”

  “While we were in jump.” She stiffened her spine, as she had on Lethant when lives depended on her answers. “That’s why he almost passed out on the bridge. He was just out of surgery.”

  “He obviously still needs medical care,” Kel-Sennarin said. “Captain Kel-Tyra, can you arrange for emergency medical transportation to Sellarmaris immediately?”

  “No.” The word was out of Sass’s mouth before she could stop it.

  “Excuse me?” the Minister asked.

  “Sebastian.” Kel-Paten’s voice was a low growl of warning.

  “Admiral Kel-Paten.” She gave him a hard look. Read between the lines, damn you! “Transporting Serafino and the implant is not advisable at this time.”

  “That’s not your decision to make,” he shot back, then turned to Kel-Sennarin. “Max, I apologize. Captain Sebastian has had—we’ve all had a very difficult time. But she’s U-Cee and doesn’t understand that PsyServ is not the Fleet. It’s not the Triad.”

  Kel-Sennarin smiled at her. A chill ran up her spine. “We’ll take very good care of Captain Serafino. I can even arrange for you to accompany him, if you like.”

  Like hell he would! This time she did kick Kel-Paten’s leg under the table. He had the presence of mind not to flinch. Or else she didn’t kick him hard enough.

  “Minister. Captain Kel-Tyra,” Kel-Paten said tightly. “May I speak to Captain Sebastian alone for ten minutes?”

  “Absolutely.” Kel-Sennarin rose. “Captain Kel-Tyra, if I may borrow your office, I’ll alert Sellarmaris Medical that Serafino will shortly be on his way.”

  Sass rose swiftly and spun on Kel-Paten the moment the doors closed behind the two men. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  He stared at her, his face a stony mask. Then he stood, towering over her. “Captain.”

  “He’s one of them. Eden heard Bianca say that Max—which has to be Max Kel-Sennarin—and a Dr. Kel-Novaco were waiting for Serafino’s implant. And Serafino has proof Kel-Sennarin’s a murderer. I told you this.”

  “Have you seen this proof?”

  “I wasn’t in the outpost. But Serafino—”

  “Has had a malfunctioning implant in his head for several years and has admitted there are errors in his memory. I strongly suggest you consider that before you accuse Max of treason.”

  Sass realized her breath was coming in short, hard gasps. She was suddenly afraid. “You’re PsyServ, aren’t you? Serafino said they programmed you—”

  “Gods, no.” He thrust one hand through his hair, and when he turned back to her, his face was pained. “Tasha, you’re not thinking straight. I should have let you sleep instead of—”

  “Making love to a U-Cee who doesn’t understand the difference between PsyServ and the Triadian Fleet? I know the difference, Branden. The question is, do you?”

  “I’ve known Max Kel-Sennarin for twenty years,” he replied forcefully, eyes narrowing again. “He is not a PsyServ agent.” He pointed to Tank, who crouched on all fours in the chair. “If there was a Ved on this ship, he would have warned you, wouldn’t he?”

  “The Ved don’t have to—”

  “Wouldn’t he?” Kel-Paten stepped closer, a vein pulsing in his jaw.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Exactly. You trust Tank. I trust Tank. Serafino is wrong. Fynn misheard the names. Kel-Sennarin is not the enemy. He’s as loyal to the Triad as I am and will help us stop the Ved. That means you will work with him and you will let him take Serafino to Sellarmaris. Do you understand?”

  She glanced behind her. “Door’s not locked. We can be in jumpspace before they know we’re gone. I can contact Ace—”

  “Sit down, Captain. That’s an order.”

  Sass stared at Kel-Paten for a long moment, then slowly folded down into her chair, drawing Tank into her lap. She bowed her head over his soft, furry body, her heart breaking. Tank, sweet baby.

  Mommy? Mommy sad.

  Very sad. Help Mommy. Tell Reilly and JaceFriend exactly what I say. Now listen.

  I listen.

  Tell JaceFriend. Flash out. Burn bulkhead. Thirty seconds. Repeat that.

  The fidget trembled under her fingers. He knew something was very wrong. I tell Reilly, JaceFriend. Flash. Out. Burn. Bulk. Head. Thirty. Seconds. Flash. Out.

  Good furzel. Tell him. Now, she added emphatically, praying Jace was well enough to function.

  O-kay.

  “Do you understand, Captain Sebastian?” Kel-Paten repeated.

  She raised her face. “I love you, Branden,” she said softly. “Never forget that.” She closed her eyes because she couldn’t bear to see his pain. But she couldn’t risk Serafino’s life, the lives of every empath and telepath in the Alliance, just because her heart was breaking.

  Tank. Take Mommy with. Go Blink back to JaceFriend. Now!

  Tank and Mommy! Go Blink!

  Silence.

  She fell on her ass in the corridor just aft of the Traveler’s bridge. The decking trembled under her, sublight drives roaring.

  “Flash out, ’Fino,” she screamed as Tank raced ahead of her through the hatchway.

  “Docking clamps—”

  “Shear ’em.” She raked the straps over her chest, locking herself into the copilot’s seat, and brought her console online. Eden was wide-eyed at navigation. “The minute we clear the ship, we jump. Can you do it?”

  Serafino fired the starboard laser cannons, the intense glow flaring white-hot across the Dalkerris’s hull plating. “Absolutely, Lady Sass.” He was grinning. “Destination?”

  “The hell of your choice,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes as the thrusters jettisoned them hard away from the Triad huntership. From Branden Kel-Paten. “I need a beer.”

  UNITED COALITION HUNTERSHIP REGALIA

  It was too quiet at the edge of the Zone. Captain Tasha Sebastian hated quiet. It left space for thoughts to intrude as she paced the curved apex of the Regalia’s bridge, hands shoved in her pockets, heart empty. Six months and counting since the Traveler had burned bulkheads in Tygaris. Five months since the Alliance fell apart. One month, three days, and fourteen hours since—

  She turned abruptly, paced back toward the command sling, her gaze taking in the various data cascading over the huntership’s screens: sublights at optimum, sensors on full sweep, scanners parsing the starfield in all directions.

  Last week there were three refugee ships to keep her and her crew busy, including an ore freighter filled not with sharvonite but people. Triad citizens, afraid, hungry, desperate; their leader—trained captains were scarce now—not sure if the U-C
ee huntership with its security skimmers circling him were real…or another Ved-induced nightmare.

  The man’s uncertainty had continued until he saw Tank by Sass’s side on the viewscreen and—twenty minutes later—another furzel at the heels of the armed security team that efficiently boarded his ship under Commander Cisco Garrick’s watchful eye. Word had spread. The Ved could emulate many things, but not a furzel.

  Furzels had been banned in the Triad. Telepaths were slaughtered. Kel-Sennarin had kept his word—PsyServ was disbanded. The Faction, the Ved, were now the Triad.

  That Alliance was no more, but a new one had emerged—the Rebashee and the Tsarii joining with the U-Cees to seal the Triad borders.

  The Illithians wisely kept their distance.

  “Captain.” Lieutenant Lucari, the communications officer, turned at her station. “Incoming message from Doctor Serafino.”

  Ah, Eden. “I’ll take it in my office.”

  She headed off the bridge, then palmed open the second door on the right. The comm screen slanting out of her desk showed the triangular U-Cee logo. She plucked Tank out of her chair, planted a kiss on his head, and tapped on the deep-space link. The furzel sprawled across a long printout with a sigh and closed his eyes. Love Mommy.

  Love you too, sweet baby.

  “Doctor.” Sass smiled as Eden’s face appeared on the screen, a white furzel draped over the back of her chair. Four others in various colors and sizes sauntered or stalked across the credenza behind her. “How goes the furzel farm?”

  “Five new litters this week, including these.” Eden tapped at her desk, bringing up an image that both she and Sass could see.

  Three tiny but plump black and white bundles curled in a soft blanket. A small sigh of pleasure escaped Sass’s lips.

  “Tank’s cloning was successful,” Eden said. “Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Copy me on the image?”

  “Sending. Jace is very excited.”

  Sass motioned to the sleeping fidget on her left. “Tank, as you can see, is beside himself with joy.”

  “When are you coming through Glitterkiln?”

  “Probably within ten days. We’re just about at the end of this tour. Ace said she might have us swap with Fourth Fleet and take the Staceyan Belt after that.”