“They might get suspicious before that,” Philip put in. “You’re assuming Mather wasn’t expendable. My gut feeling is he was. Yes, the Empire wants to put me on trial for treason. But Tage is not going to shed a tear if my execution—and the execution of everyone else on board this ship—comes first. You’re dealing with someone who’s already authorized civilian casualties. None of you is a civilian to him.”
“If we only knew where these ships will be positioned.” Sparks folded his hands on the tabletop, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Ten minutes out is different than an hour out. Are we talking a visual ident on the Folly or a long-range sensor sweep? There are ways,” and he looked around the table, one bushy eyebrow arched, “to falsify a ship’s ident. Ways that even an Imperial cruiser won’t be able to break.”
“Sullivan does it all the time,” Philip murmured.
“We could appear to be an Englarian hospital ship or missionary ship.” Rya sounded excited. Hopeful. “The Empire wouldn’t dare touch us.”
An Englarian mercy ship would be an excellent cover. The Empire had a hands-off policy on its religious factions, which included the Englarians. It still worked in Tage’s favor to do so. Most of the Takans— who formed the bulk of the Imperial physical labor and security work forces—were Englarians. “Unless they’re in visual range,” Philip said. “Then they’re looking for a Stryker-class heavy cruiser, and that’s what we are. Then they’d know it was a ploy, that Mather was in custody or dead. But,” he continued, as expressions darkened, “I think it’s an option we have to implement. One of the options.” And it could work, if the Imperial ships were far enough away. He returned Sparks’s arched-eyebrow glance. “I won’t ask how you came upon that knowledge, Commander Sparkington.”
“You’d be surprised what you can learn on Dock Five, Skipper,” Sparks said. “Or maybe not.”
“One thing we can’t forget: we have no ability to successfully attack whatever ships are waiting for us,” Con said. “All we can do is use whatever deceptions we can and then hit one of the old traders’ gates that Captain Chaz Bergren’s contacts supplied us. That will delay our arrival in Ferrin’s by two to as much as five days. But as far as we know, the Empire doesn’t have these gates and won’t know, once we hit jumpspace, where we’ve gone or where we’ll come out. Unless they blockade Ferrin’s, we should make it.”
“I have one more option—the only option we have if Imperial ships are within visual range when we clear the gate,” Philip said. “In visual range, muddying our ident will have no effect. And if they’re in visual range, making a run for it will get us shot to hell and back. I cannot—will not—sentence everyone on board this ship to death.”
He raised his hand to stop Con from speaking, because Con was leaning forward, brows down, very probably knowing exactly what Philip was about to say and not liking it one bit. “Constantine has been with me a long time. He knows my feelings on that matter. I will not sacrifice ship and crew when there are options. And, as I said, there is one more option.”
He glanced around the ready-room table and tried not to let the fear he saw in Rya’s eyes affect him. “This ship no longer has a shuttle, but it has escape pods on Decks Two, Three, and Five. Using the idea that Commander Martoni and Lieutenant Bennton worked on, if Imperial ships are in visual range, we send a message from Mather to the ships. We tell them he’s in control of the Folly and has placed Admiral Philip Guthrie’s unconscious body in an escape pod and is sending Guthrie to them. This will likely delay attempts to board this ship and take control of it. At least for a time. And time is something you’ll need.”
“We could send an empty pod,” Rya put in quickly.
“No, we can’t. This is Imperial ship to Imperial ship. Not like with the Farosian Star-Ripper, which couldn’t be positive if its scans of an Imperial ship were accurate. And the shuttle we used in that ploy had shields. Pods don’t. Those Imperials will scan a pod and if they don’t read out a living breathing human— so, no, Subbie, we cannot use Mather’s body—they’ll know it’s a ploy. The Imperials want me, badly. Badly enough, I believe, to focus on me in a pod and less on the Folly. That could let the Folly get far enough out of their range to be able to make a run for a gate we know is there and they don’t. And when they bring me on board, I can cause enough problems—and, believe me, I can—to give this ship, all of you, more time.” He expected the stunned silence that followed. He didn’t expect Rya bolting half out of her seat, hands fisted against the tabletop.
“Philip, send me.”
Philip stared at her. He knew she’d be upset, but it never occurred to him she’d counter his plans. Or use his first name in front of Con, Sparks, and Martoni. That made his mind stutter just long enough that she kept talking.
“Put me in that pod. I’m expendable. You’re not. The Alliance needs you, needs what you know, needs what you can do—”
The emotion in her voice ripped through his heart. “You have no idea what these people would do—”
“I know exactly what they’d do. I’m an ImpSec assassin. Ask your XO. He’s made inquiries. He knows what I am. And what I am is what I’ll be facing on board whatever ships they send. The same ships they probably sent to Corsau. Who better to fight an assassin than another assassin?”
“No.” He didn’t shout out the word, but the emphasis was there. Nor did he look at Con. They’d already had their discussion on Rya’s former career. “The matter is closed.”
“She’s right,” Con said.
This time he did look at Con, and it was through narrowed eyes. “I said—”
“They might not kill me right away,” Rya continued as if neither he nor Con had spoken. “I can convince them I know things, things they want. I can convince them to take me to Tage.” Determination lit up her face. Determination and something primal, feral. Like a predator scenting blood. “I could—”
“No!” This time he shouted, one hand slamming flat against the tabletop. Con jerked back in his seat.
Philip couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost his temper in front of Con. But Con knew how Philip felt about Rya. He could almost hear the accusations forming in his XO’s mind. “Don’t start on me, Constantine,” Philip warned.
But it was Sparks who spoke up. “I don’t like the idea, Skipper, but the two of you would have a much better chance than just one.”
“And how do we explain their sensors reading two life forms in the pod?” Philip asked Sparks tersely.
“I’m Mather,” Rya said. “But the point is, you shouldn’t be going at all. You’re the admiral. And you’re injured.”
“My Carver’s not.”
“You can’t run.”
“I can when I have to. Or have you forgotten Kirro? Plus, I can have Dugan build a brace for my leg. It’s something Doc Galan and I toyed with. I opted for the cane because it’s less cumbersome and wouldn’t constantly require readjustments. But with a brace I can function decently for about two hours. That’s all we should need. It’s all duck and shoot on a ship, anyway. Running won’t keep you alive.”
“Dillon or Tramer,” Rya persisted. “Hell, send Corvang with me. Not you.”
“The matter, Lieutenant Bennton, is closed.” He shoved himself to his feet, cane already in hand. “Sparks, set up some alternate idents. An Englarian ship is a good one. We also have the old docs showing us as a cargo hauler. Martoni, work with Welford on the Imperial codes Mather used. Bennton, you say one more word and you’re in the brig.” He glared at her, anger fusing with desperation.
She lifted her chin but kept her mouth shut.
His jaw hurt from clenching it, he had a headache starting right between his eyes, and his hip throbbed in painful surges. How convenient. “I’ll be in sick bay getting a brace constructed. We’ll meet back here for an update at 1530 hours.”
He headed for the corridor, very aware that Rya’s mouth being shut in no way stopped her brain from working. That made him halt at the door before he
hit the palm pad. “Bennton.”
She rose from her seat, chin still tilted in defiance. “Sir?”
“The Norlack.” He motioned to the weapon slung across her back, then held his hand out, palm up. “Now.” He’d need it when the Imperials opened his pod.
For a long second, she didn’t move. For a long second, her eyes widened, her lips parted infinitesimally. She paled, then color flared on her cheeks and those widened eyes narrowed.
Slowly, she lifted the strap over her head, careful of her dark-blue beret. Her grip on the gun was tight— her knuckles whitening—as she passed it to him.
The look in her eyes was almost as lethal as the weapon. And far more dangerous.
He may have to lock her in the brig yet.
Dugan had Doc Galan’s files on the makeshift brace on sick bay’s deskscreen. “I’ll need ten, fifteen minutes to review her notes, sir.”
Philip peered over the meddie’s shoulder. Damned thing looked like the schematics for a bizarre, torpedolike ship. He could use one of those, especially if it had weapons. “Do we have the parts?”
“One of the things I’ll need to find out, sir. If you want to check back—”
“Is Dina Adney up to receiving visitors?” Philip had spoken briefly with her yesterday, but she’d still been sedated. He knew Jodey would be worried about her; he was worried about her. There had been no indication that she couldn’t handle stress, other than, yes, she was known to be a stickler for rules. But rules were yet another thing a rebel fleet had in short supply.
“She did two hours of cogno-therapy on the med unit earlier. If she seems tired, I suggest keeping the visit short. Stressing her right now could set us back a bit.”
“Understood. She’s still in Three?”
“Yes, sir.”
Philip angled around, careful of his hip and its persistent twinges, and headed for the small room that was now Dina Adney’s existence. A glass panel showed she was sitting in the reclining chair next to the narrow bed, the screen of a reader glowing dimly on the armrest. He knocked twice. She looked up quickly, seeing his face through the panel.
She nodded, then moved as if to rise when he entered. He waved her down. Her eyes were clearer, livelier than yesterday. But her fingers still trembled. She tucked them under her thighs as he leaned against the end of her bed.
“Dugan says you’re feeling better,” Philip said.
“I am feeling very ashamed, sir. I should never have accepted this posting. I realize that now. I regret that my actions endangered people.”
“This hasn’t been an easy time for anyone, Dina.”
“And I made it worse. I don’t think … I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think I belong in a combat situation. I have excellent organizational skills. I know I can be useful. But this … ” And she looked away from him and toward the viewport, artificially darkened now in jumpspace, her voice trailing off.
“We’ll talk again when we get to Ferrin’s,” he told her.
She turned back to him. “You will get us to Ferrin’s, won’t you?”
“I’ll do everything in my power to get this ship to Ferrin’s. That’s a promise.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then returned her attention to the reader, humming softly.
Only as he stepped into sick bay’s corridor did he recognize the tune—a hymn from his childhood. The stars protect those who have faith and hope was the only line he could remember.
Hope he had. But he doubted any of the verses also mentioned a subbie called Rebel and a cat named Folly.
Philip fully expected to find Rya waiting for him when he came out of sick bay, almost two hours later.
But the short wide corridor was empty, and none of the faces he saw at the various working—working!— consoles in divisionals was topped by a dark-blue beret or glared daggers at him.
Although, with Rya, plasma stars might be more appropriate. He touched the small of his back. Still there, a hand’s width from the Norlack.
With any other woman, he’d interpret her absence as sulking. But this was Rya Bennton. She wasn’t sulking. She was scheming. He knew it. He could feel it.
He was just going to have to outscheme her.
He stopped in the XO’s office on his way out of divisionals and leaned against the doorjamb. The office was small, utilitarian, with its gray bulkheads and a gray metal desk that looked as if it’d had an unhappy encounter with a freightloader at some point, with a large dent in the left side panel and a few smaller ones in front.
Not unlike its occupant, whose bent nose and scars were his trademark. Con looked up, his fingers still curled around a mug of coffee. Philip sniffed. Not coffee. Tea.
“Anything new from Mather’s data?”
“He was a lot smarter than we gave him credit for.”
“Not that smart. He’s dead.”
“He had more technical abilities than we realized.”
“I assumed that. He handled disty-boom like a pro.”
“But he was linear. Sabotaging the Folly was his job. When the Farosians came into play with their Star-Ripper, he was at a loss.” Con tapped one finger on his screen. “He had to help save the very ship he was ordered to hinder. It put him in an uncomfortable position. He was betting the fire on board would make us return to Seth. Then you gave the order to continue on for the C-Six—”
“I guess he never served under a lunatic skipper before.”
“—which forced him to try to take control through the aux bridge. When that failed, it appears he alerted the Empire to pick us up on the other side, with the assurance he’d have this ship in his control by then.”
“Cocky bastard.”
“What if he has a time-delay bomb in this ship somewhere? Something keyed to the jumpdrives? He had time to plant one, once we hit jump. It detonates upon arrival into realspace, and all the Empire has to do is lock tows on us and drag our smoking carcass to Tage.”
“An intelligent, cocky bastard, then, with a very devious mind. Good thing you’re just as devious.”
“It’s not my mind that works that way, Admiral. It’s Bennton’s, word for word. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize her phrasing. She and Dillon are looking for that bomb now.”
That explained the lack of her presence. It still didn’t mean she wasn’t scheming something. Only now she could enlist Dillon’s help.
“You can’t turn yourself over to the Imperials, if it comes to that,” Con said.
Sounded like she had Con’s help too.
Philip grunted. “Think they’ll find out something from me they didn’t already learn from Mather? He was on the Nowicki.”
“It’s more than that.”
“I’m tired of running, Constantine. Maybe it’s time Tage and I had a face to face.” He’d thought about that, long and hard. That’s when his trigger finger itched the worse.
“That’s Falkner’s job. You’re a soldier, not a diplomat. Besides, the only face to face you’ll get is with one of his assassins.”
“Better me than my family. Or those I care about.” Philip’s voice rose harshly. “He killed Thad Bergren to get at Chaz. Do you think for one minute he won’t come after my brothers, their wives, their children? My seventy-six- year-old mother? They’re in Aldan, right in the heart of the Empire. Right within Tage’s grasp. They have better-than- average security at the estate, at their offices, but even better-than- average isn’t going to stop Tage.”
“He’ll come after them anyway,” Rya’s voice said softly behind him.
He spun around. He hadn’t heard her approach, but then he realized he rarely did unless she wanted him to.
“It’s what we do, how we operate,” she continued. “Get the main target, create a confession that incriminates a wider base, then go after them. He’ll take your family’s funds, property, everything. Until there’s nothing left.” She shrugged. “He took my parents’ apartment. Locked down their accounts. Voided my father’s will. I never even got
a chance to go back there, get my things. It’s all evidence, you know.”
Her words struck him. But her dispassionate tone struck him more. “Rya, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“If you let the Imperials get you, Guthrie, you’re just making it easy for him. As long as you’re out there, he’ll be focused more on you and less on them. Which is why I’ll be in that pod, not you. My parents are dead. Our property’s gone. I’m all that’s left of the Benntons. I have nothing to lose. He can’t hurt us anymore.”
She angled around him and nodded at Con. “Ship swept clean, sir. I’m going to meet Dillon back on the bridge. We’re going to try to get that security console operational.”
She disappeared down the stairwell as quietly as she’d appeared.
He felt the urge to go after her, but Con was watching. He turned back to his XO.
“I don’t agree with her reasoning,” Con said, “but she’s right. We need you alive and kicking. Not being paraded around by Tage as a warning.”
“I don’t see we have a lot of choices. It’s either they get me or they get this entire ship, crew and me.”
“You’re assuming they’ll be waiting at the gate.”
“I’ve spent my adult life with the Imperial Fleet, so, yes, they will be. They have nothing to fear from a decommissioned Stryker with close-range lasers as her only defense. Reverse the situation, Constantine. We’re in the Loviti with orders to pick up or take down, if need be, a freighter. Where would I put us? Right outside the reach of the freighter’s lasers but well within the zone of attack for our cannons, our torpedoes. One shot, maybe two if the freighter’s shields are strong. Take out her sublights, lock a tow on her, and, yes, drag her smoking carcass to Tage.”
“They still have to get us off the ship. We could fight—”
“They’ll cut enviro. You know how we handle that. Or flood the ship with gas, because Fleet doesn’t have a real Admirals’ Council to act as its conscience anymore.”
“And ImpSec’s not kind to traitors from its own ranks,” Con added, his voice low now. “That’s also what’s behind this, isn’t it?”
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