by Jaleta Clegg
Jefferes said something extremely rude and anatomically impossible involving the Council of Worlds and the Patrol and their payment schedule. Wexford's lips tightened. Tayvis silently cheered Jefferes. He had run into his share of disagreements with Patrol procedure when he was wearing the uniform. Then he was required to live with it, now he didn't have to. There were advantages to being a civilian.
"The other unlisted members of your crew will step forward," Wexford ordered.
There was a general shuffling of feet among the crew. None of them were happy about this new turn of events. Most of the crew of the Black Rose wanted to stay anonymous. That wasn't possible anymore, so they did the next best thing. They offered up the three unlisted crew in the vain hope that their own shortcomings would be overlooked. The end result of the foot shuffling was that Tayvis and two others were left standing at the front of the crew.
Wexford stared at Tayvis, his gaze fixed and steely. It made him resemble a constipated lizard. Tayvis wisely didn't say that out loud.
"What are you doing on a ship like this?" Wexford blurted out.
"Moving cargo," Tayvis answered.
Wexford eyed him up and down, slowly and carefully noting each detail from the shabby jumpsuit to the tattered gloves Tayvis wore. He snapped his fingers at one of his men.
"Take this one into custody aboard my ship," Wexford said. "Deal with the others as per your orders."
"Why?" Jefferes demanded, shoving his way between the Patrol grunt and Tayvis. "He's a passenger, working his way out—"
"I really doubt that, Captain. Not when he could buy your ship and half a dozen others just like it if he wanted."
Jefferes shot a suspicious look at Tayvis and stepped back.
"You've stooped to snooping through private records now, Rik?" Tayvis asked Wexford. "Because if that's what you're basing your comment on, you need to check your sources."
Commander Wexford bristled at the assumed familiarity. "Arrest him," he snapped at his men. "I'm sure there's something we can charge him with."
Tayvis shrugged and let the Patrol officer tug him away from the ship.
"You and you," one of Wexford's sergeants shouted, pointing at Lyvert and one of the engineers. "You are reassigned to duty on a Patrol cruiser. You three," he pointed at others, "are reassigned to planetside duty." His voice faded as Tayvis walked farther away.
The crew was going to resist, Tayvis knew. They weren't going to be happy about being arbitrarily assigned somewhere else. It was the Patrol method, but it wasn't going to work well on independent spacers. He understood the logic behind it, divide them up, put them in unfamiliar situations, and they usually gave up and did what you ordered. But with this group, they were going to rebel. The fireworks would be spectacular when the spacers got organized. Too bad Tayvis wasn't going to be there to see it. The officer escorting him away took him to a shuttle parked across the plascrete landing field. The Patrol emblem on the side blazed in the afternoon sunlight.
Tayvis didn't see any reason to fight. He even let them cuff him to a seat inside the shuttle. He sat and waited, biding his time. Rik Wexford was certain to make his appearance before too long. Tayvis could verbally rip him to shreds then.
Rik hadn't made his appearance when the shuttle lifted off several hours later. Tayvis woke from a doze as it rattled its way into space. There weren't any viewscreens where he was sitting. He shifted to a more comfortable position and went back to sleep.
They docked with a ship. The interior of the ship was very familiar, though he'd never been on this particular one. His guards took him to a tiny cabin. They took the cuffs off before shutting the door. He heard the lock engage as the door clicked shut.
He prowled the tiny cabin. What game was Rik playing? And why did he bother caring? Habit, mostly, he answered himself. He'd spent too many years playing Lowell's games. It was ingrained in him to watch and listen, to work out the advantages and angles in a situation.
Time crawled past. Hours of time with nothing happening. He finally gave up and slept on the bunk. With any luck, Rik would be so tied up trying to stop an incipient mutiny that he would forget Tayvis was here. Not that it was likely to happen. Rik had too many grudges against Tayvis.
He woke hungry and restless. No one had bothered to feed him. He paced in the tiny cabin. He'd been here too long. He stopped in front of the door panel.
This was a regular cabin, not a brig holding cell. The lock was designed more as a warning to stay put than a physical barrier. Tayvis wedged his fingers around the door plate and pulled. He couldn't get a solid grip on it. The panel was almost flush with the wall.
He opened the storage lockers and bins in the cabin, searching for anything useful. All of them were empty. He stopped, studying his boots. They were old, scuffed and worn. They were the one piece of his uniform he'd kept, mostly for sentimental reasons, but not the ones most people suspected.
He sat on the bunk and pulled off the left boot. There was a hidden compartment in the sole. He wriggled it open and slid out the slender piece of metal inside. It was one of Dace's lockpicks, he'd managed to hold onto it for over two years. This pair of boots, with the hidden lockpick, had been left in storage while he went on duty with Exploration and ended up on Trythia.
He twirled the bit of metal in his hand, remembering. She'd given her lockpicks to him when he arrested her. He knew she was innocent of treason, not of breaking several dozen other laws and regulations. He loved her all the more for doing what she was convinced was right, even if it meant shooting him. He'd forgotten he had the pick until he found his boots in the storage locker. He had planned on giving her back her lockpicks when he saw her again. He hadn't planned on it taking so long. He hadn't planned on Vance.
"How could you, Dace?" he whispered to himself. It didn't matter. She had. And it hurt.
He shoved his foot back into his boot. Running away hadn't worked. He'd have to find something else, some other place so deep he wouldn't hear her name ever again. And maybe, eventually, he'd forget her. It was wishful thinking. The stars would all go cold before he forgot her. Even now, after her betrayal, he couldn't help but remember her.
It made it easier to pick the lock on the cabin. He didn't care if he ended up in prison. He jammed the lockpick behind the door plate and pried it loose.
It only took a moment to cross the wires and short the lock. The door obediently slid open. He stepped into the hallway.
He was disappointed. No one was there. The ship felt almost deserted. He stopped, closing his eyes and listening. The pulse of the engine was faint, normal for holding orbit. They must still be at the planet.
He prowled silently down the corridor. He wasn't sure why he'd picked the lock. Mostly to prove he could. Partly in the hope that Rik would be that much angrier when he met him again. He wanted a fight, something he could hit with his fists. He wanted something he knew how to deal with.
The crew quarters were empty. He headed up a deck. The layout of the ship was much too familiar. All Patrol cruisers were built with the same plans.
He slipped into the engine control room. One engineer was on duty, currently adjusting some part deep in the complex mass of machinery that made the ship fly. Tayvis stood at the window of the control room, looking down at the engineer. The man never looked up, never noticed him.
Tayvis went back the other way, up through the ship to the command deck. He stopped outside the door to the bridge, listening to what sounded like a crisis in progress. The murmur of voices made a steady drone.
"Shuttle seven, you are cleared for docking," a crisp voice said, the only one he could clearly hear.
Tayvis stepped through the open door and leaned against the frame, waiting to be noticed. Rik was bent over a tactical display, the ship's captain and ranking officers gathered around him. The only officers not in the huddle were the com tech and a pilot. Both were intent on their own stations. No one noticed him.
Tayvis stayed where he was, listening and watching. Ri
k was dealing with the anticipated rebellion. Tayvis almost smiled.
"They're running, sir," one of the officers bent over the board said. She sounded stiff, too formal. She was probably low ranking and afraid of being in close proximity to a sector commander.
"Hold your fire," Rik said. He sounded tired, frustrated, but resigned. "We have four of the ships. Let the other two go." He turned towards the com tech. "Relay orders. All ships are to report at Besht within a week. Admiral Flanigan will have orders waiting."
"And the other ships?" the captain asked.
"Let them go," Rik answered. "I can't blame them for running. Make sure the food shipments get through to their original destinations."
"How?" the captain asked.
"By letting them run," Rik answered. "The shipments on the other four ships will have to be rerouted at Besht." He turned as he talked, finally noticing Tayvis lounging in the doorway. "Send the recall to all officers in port," he told the com tech. "How did you get out?" he asked Tayvis without a pause. There was no look of startlement on his face, it was almost as if he'd expected to find Tayvis out.
Tayvis merely smiled. He wasn't about to admit to having a highly illegal lockpick in his possession. It was safely back in his boot. Some habits were impossible to break.
"Captain," Rik said over his shoulder. His eyes never left Tayvis. "Inform me when we're underway."
"Yes, sir," the captain answered. The group around the tactical display dispersed to various positions on the bridge.
"My cabin," Rik informed Tayvis. His voice left no room for argument.
Tayvis debated about arguing it anyway. There was something different about Rik, though. Despite every effort to remain aloof and uncaring, his curiosity stirred. Something deeper was going on here. He walked beside Rik without comment.
Tayvis could easily have overpowered Rik, but where could he go? There was only one way off a Patrol ship in orbit, only one way that left the person still alive. And Tayvis didn't know how to fly a shuttle.
Rik led him into his personal quarters. They were cramped, but much larger than any others on the ship. Rik shut the door behind Tayvis and thumbed the lock for privacy.
"Have a seat," he invited. "Drink?"
Tayvis stayed standing in the middle of the room. Something was definitely off.
"Sorry about arresting you," Rik continued. "I couldn't think of another way to get you off the planet without raising suspicions." He had his back to Tayvis. He poured two glasses of thick liquid, slightly pink and definitely fruit juice. The Patrol had strict regulations against intoxicants on board, at least ones not in the medic's quarters. He offered a glass to Tayvis.
"What game are you playing?" Tayvis asked. He accepted the offered glass though he didn't drink.
"Who said I was playing games?" Rik's smile was wide and fake as gold leaf on an engine exhaust port. "I merely wanted a drink with an old friend. How's retirement treating you? I have to admit you chose a strange venue for your recreation."
Rik walked towards a control panel set in the wall. He punched in a series of codes. The panel flickered red before resuming its usual configuration of colors.
"You can talk freely now," Rik said, dropping the casual air.
"And I couldn't before?"
"Flanigan has spies planted on all the ships. He doesn't trust his own people."
"Flanigan was always a paranoid jerk."
"You can say that, you aren't Patrol anymore." There was a question behind that remark.
"What are you hinting at, Rik? You said we could talk freely."
"Yes, just a drink between old friends." Rik settled on a cushioned chair. Tayvis followed his lead and sat. "Tell me, do you still keep in touch with Lowell?"
"No," Tayvis said.
"Pity. I could really use his expertise about now. Although the last rumor I heard was that he was wanted for dereliction of duty among other things. Flanigan issued his arrest warrant the same day he relieved him of command of the Fleet. Everyone knows you worked for him."
"Not any more."
Rik shrugged. The minutes crawled by without comment. Tayvis leaned back, studying the other man. Rik had changed. The arrogant attitude was only for show.
"What do you really want from me?" Tayvis asked.
"The truth?" Rik leaned forward and set his mostly empty glass on the low table between them. He stared into it, as if the dregs of juice held answers. "I want your help, Tayvis." He looked up, his face intent and sincere. There were no more games here, only hard truths. "Flanigan is involved in treason up to his scrawny neck, but I can't prove it. Most of the Patrol command are ready to mutiny. He's already driven three full battle groups over to the Federation. Any complaints sent to the High Command about him result in accidents for the person complaining. I want help bringing Flanigan down."
"You always were ambitious," Tayvis said cynically. "What's in it for you? A post to High Command?"
"Perhaps." Rik hadn't changed that much.
"And what's in it for me?"
"You'll be cleared of all charges currently pending. And you'll be free to go your way. You don't really think I'd believe you were handling cargo unless Lowell planted you there."
"Maybe I was. I don't work for him anymore. I can't help you."
"You would really rather be sent to Prius? That can be arranged." Rik leaned back again, seemingly at ease. "You always enjoyed the intelligence games, Tayvis, admit it. You're itching to be back at it. I'm handing you a golden opportunity."
Tayvis shook his head. "Too many people know me."
"See? You're thinking of accepting. I don't care if you really work for Lowell or not. I'm appealing to your sense of duty, Tayvis. Help me save the Empire."
"I've done that, I didn't care for it much." Tayvis tasted the drink in his hand. Much as he wanted to pretend he didn't care, he did. And the situation was tweaking his interest.
"I can set you up on my crew. Any position you want. Within reason. You're supposed to be one of the voluntary recruits from the private sector." He twisted the words, as if they were sour. "No one is happy about that order, except perhaps Flanigan."
"Then for the sake of the private sector, I'll help," Tayvis said, reluctantly shoving aside his personal feelings. Captain Jefferes deserved better than he'd been given.
"Good. And I'll pretend that little incident at Kluger Outpost never happened." But his eyes promised he'd get even.
Tayvis had to laugh. Perhaps this was what he needed. It promised to keep him busy.
Chapter 20
I woke restless and edgy. I'd been an invalid for much too long. I'd neglected my exercises. I climbed out of the huge, soft bed. The lights in the room automatically brightened. I glanced at the clock display on the wall. It was early. I briefly wished for windows that showed an actual view, but there would have been little point. The mansion was surrounded by buildings much taller. The view wasn't that great.
I stretched, feeling the pulling of muscles stiff from disuse. I moved through the stretches and then did them again. My body protested at first, but as I warmed up, I moved more easily. The balancing moves were the hardest. I moved into each position, holding it for five long breaths. I breathed slowly, easing my arms and legs into each difficult posture.
The last was similar to the stance I'd found Iniuri in the first time I'd talked to him. I slowly raised one foot and settled it into the curve of my knee. I raised my hands, feeling my balance slip. I dropped my foot and started over. I eased my foot back into position. I lifted my hands pressing them together, eyes closed, breathing controlled. My balance shifted into the correct alignment. I held the pose.
"I wasn't aware you were a student of kyroshi," Hester said behind me. "What color have you attained?"
I held onto my concentration as long as I could. It wasn't more than a second. I dropped my foot and hands. "What?" I asked her as I opened my eyes.
"I've made it to blue," she said.
"I have no
idea what you're talking about."
She'd brought breakfast. The smells were delicious. I crossed the room and sniffed appreciatively.
"You were in the pose." It was her turn to look confused.
"Everyone at the Academy learned that exercise routine. Designed to keep body and mind centered and at peak fitness while confined to a small ship for any length of time." I picked up a roll and bit into it. It was still warm.
"Kyroshi," Hester said. It sounded like a sneeze. "The ancient martial art used to hone mind and body and restore inner balance. I wasn't aware the Patrol taught it at the Academies."
"Not as such." The roll was soft and melted in my mouth. "They did say it was based on an ancient dance. I think." I frowned as I tried to remember.
"You'll have to come to the studio with me sometime," Hester invited. "The Speaker is a master, though he doesn't have time to teach anymore."
"Is that where you met him?" I asked, innocently. I was prying for information. Always, at the back of my mind, was the real reason I was there.
She shook her head. "My mother introduced us, years ago. My father was his father's personal secretary."
"And you inherited the position, just like Olin."
"Not quite." She adjusted the napkin on the tray. "I still had to apply. I've been with him for over fifteen years now."
"You don't look old enough."
She laughed. "Save your flattery for those who expect it."
I made a face. "What's on my social calendar today?" The last two days had been sheer torture, hours of wearing fancy clothes and pretending I didn't hear the malicious comments whispered behind my back.
"The Duchess Isolde has invited you for luncheon," Hester said. "Siuri Nadomi is hosting a bridal shower for you over tea time, and tonight, Vance is your escort at the inauguration of the new president of Daylornis Sector."
I squashed the momentary rebellion. I made myself smile instead. "Sounds like an eventful day."
"Duchess Isolde sets a very elegant table. Siuri is nice. She isn't one of the gossips, mostly because she doesn't have the stomach for it."
