by Jaleta Clegg
Querran sighed heavily. The trip had not been comfortable. Three days in a cramped little ship with a bunk too narrow and hard for her old bones had been too much on top of everything else. With bad news at the end of the trip.
"What of the cruisers?"
"The Avenger reported in yesterday. It’s tracking the Phoenix." Marshay sympathized with Querran, the whole situation stunk.
"Let me know if there’s anything new," Querran said. "When are we due to land?"
"Another hour, sir," the pilot answered.
"Good." Querran went back into the tiny captain’s cabin they’d hastily cleared for her.
She didn’t want to be here. She sat on the bunk and pulled out the folder she carried. The edges were starting to show signs of wear. She spread the pages on the bunk, the only flat space in the cabin big enough. The tiny excuse for a desk was barely large enough for a reader.
The photos caught her eye. After the kidnapping and mess on Burundia, Querran had been keeping half an eye out for news about Dace. Querran picked up the closeup of Dace and studied the thin face with wide eyes from the ransom demand. The next photo was of Dace, surprised into a smile with Clark at her shoulder. She looked more alive, but older. That was the news conference held after Dace had disappeared into the Kumadai Run. And then reappeared with ships missing for decades, along with crew members long thought dead. There were several more photos of Dace from the news frenzy over that story. Other than those, there was little or nothing about Dace. Anywhere.
A search of public files pulled up her ship registry and Guild membership and nothing more, not even a home planet listing. Searching Patrol files ran into a dead end. Beyond her name and a few arrest records was a big blank. Lowell had her records sealed and classified. Dace may as well be one of Lowell’s agents. She was under more cover and harder to track than any of the people Lowell employed.
Dace was an enigma. Querran thought back to her one and only meeting. Dace was young, very young to have gotten into that much trouble. She was short, slender, and tougher than most of the Patrol Enforcers put together. Querran would take odds on Dace, even against the entire Targon Syndicate, what was left of it after Dace’s last encounter anyway.
But what game was Dace playing? Why smuggle drugs and guns so openly? And what game was she playing with the ports? Thumbing her nose at everyone, not paying docking fees. That wasn’t like Dace. From what Querran could tell, Dace was meticulous in paying what she owed. Her Guild membership had been withdrawn. Querran knew from the little contact she’d had with Dace and her crew that membership in the Guild of Independent Traders was one of Dace’s most prized possessions. Something was not right in the whole setup.
Setup, the word echoed in her mind. She almost laughed. The whole thing was just that, a setup. Dace was being framed, thoroughly and completely. It had to be. The trick now would be to find out who was framing her and why. No, that was simple enough. Pick one of a dozen groups who had a grudge against her. It didn’t matter who had done it. The real trick was going to be getting Dace and her crew out of this mess in one piece.
Her reputation with the Guild was going to suffer. Querran could do nothing about that. The Guild protected their autonomy from the Patrol with a ferociousness that bordered on paranoia. Dace would have to fight her own battle there.
How did Lowell fit into this? She’d watched him use Dace before. This whole setup felt like something Lowell would try to pull. She could almost hate Lowell for it. When had he gotten so callous? He’d been a much different person back at the Academy. Many long years ago, she thought as she rubbed a kink in her neck.
The ship shuddered in a crosswind as it plowed down through the atmosphere. Querran tucked her papers away. She had nothing that hadn’t been there five days ago. It would be nice if a sheet of paper magically appeared telling her what to do to solve this mess. So she could go home.
"Face it," she whispered to herself, "you’re ready to be put out to pasture. You’re too old for this, Suella Querran." She should have retired six years ago when she’d been offered the chance. But with Larkin gone, she’d been lonely. The Patrol was what she knew, so she’d stayed. Her children lived far away. The visit last week, from all three married children plus their spouses and children, had been wonderful, but tiring. Seven grandchildren were loud even when they were trying to be quiet.
She enjoyed her post, she really did. Except for times like these. There were parts of her job she downright hated. Ordering ships to chase and fire on someone she knew was hard. It had to be done. She promised herself that when she saw Lowell again, she’d chew him out but good. He’d forced her into this corner. She had no proof, but she knew the way Lowell worked. It would be a wonder if he even knew what he was planning sometimes, he was that devious and paranoid about security.
The ship was down. There was a polite knock at the door. Querran pulled her uniform smooth, making sure her insignia was straight and gleaming on her collar. She picked up the folder and opened the door.
Marshay waited for her. Her own uniform was as neat and unwrinkled as if she’d just pulled it on. Querran didn’t know how Marshay did it, she was just glad she had a second as good as Marshay.
"They’re waiting for you, ma’am," Marshay said. "The base commander wants answers. And there are three other ships here, not from this sector."
"Thank you," Querran said, acknowledging the warning Marshay had just passed her. Someone else was here, a bigshot from another sector. Querran could guess who one of them would be.
They stepped out of the ship into a cloudy day. Rain spattered across the landing field. A ground transport waited for them, black with the silver Patrol shield blazoned on the side. The aide standing in the rain opened the door for her and snapped her a salute. She returned it as she and Marshay ducked into the car. The wind whipped cold rain across the field.
The car rumbled towards the port buildings. She and Marshay were alone in the car, except for the driver. Querran looked out the window, watching the rain.
They crawled into an enclosed garage where another aide opened the door for her. She and Marshay were escorted through the building to a conference room with soft chairs and an enormous table. A group of people chatted around a table at the far end. The room smelled of chocolate and cinnamon.
The base commander hurried across the room to her, his feet soundless on the thick carpet. "Sector Chief Querran," he greeted her, saluting. "We weren’t expecting you for another two days."
"I made a lucky guess, Commander Flyn. Who are they?" She gestured to the group at the far table.
As if on cue the group turned to look at her. They held steaming cups and what looked like sticky buns.
"Sector Chief Drummond," Commander Flyn introduced the first one, "Fleet Commander Jenoshi, and their staff."
Querran nodded to them. "What brings you out here?" she asked politely. In my territory, was the unspoken challenge behind her words.
"You have a problem, Chief Querran," Fleet Commander Jenoshi answered. "Chief Drummond is here at my invitation. His sector was the main base for the Targon Syndicate. I believe you are familiar with them?" Jenoshi raised one well plucked and manicured eyebrow. His uniform, silver with black piping, had creases that could cut steel.
Querran decided she disliked him. "I am familiar with them, yes. But I had heard they were broken some two years ago."
"Sixteen months," Chief Drummond put in. He was short, stout, probably from a high grav world. None of his extra weight was fat. Querran caught the faint swirling of tan on tan across his cheek. Not human, Venkiorian, she classified him. He would be much stronger than he looked. And more dangerous. She was glad he was on her side. No, she amended her assessment, they were both Patrol. That didn’t mean they were on the same side.
"The majority of the organization are behind bars," Jenoshi said. "But the top five members have never been found. They were too well shielded. They vanished."
"Until now," Chief Dru
mmond added. "We picked up a trace on one, Darien Harris. He was seen on Kimmel a week ago."
"Nine days," Querran corrected him. "He’s currently on a ship, the Phoenix Rising. He’s holding the crew hostage."
Jenoshi and Chief Drummond both gave her carefully blank stares that said they thought she was an idiot.
"Very good, Querran." The group parted to let Lowell through. He looked as out of place as ever. No, she changed that. He just looked out of place in this group of creased and polished officers. His uniform, silver this time, was rumpled. There was no insignia on it.
"A small time merchant turned pirate isn’t our concern, sir," Jenoshi said.
"That particular merchant is always my business," Lowell said.
"I figured as much," Querran said. "Can’t you leave her alone, Lowell? Hasn’t she done enough for you?"
Jenoshi and Chief Drummond both looked confused, although Jenoshi managed to hide it better.
"Targon has a price on her head of half a million credits." Lowell took a bite of a roll and chewed. "Think about it," he said when he’d swallowed. "At that price, she would have been dead within a month."
"What did you do, Lowell?" Querran demanded.
"Sit down, Suella," Lowell invited. "This is going to take some time to explain."
They moved like a well-behaved herd to the table and took seats. Lowell stayed standing. He finished his roll and took his time wiping the stickiness from his hands. "Compliments to your baker, Commander Flyn. Those were excellent."
"Get on with it, Lowell," Querran said irritably. She was tired and her shoulder ached from the cold outside.
"I have an agent on the Phoenix," Lowell said. "Darien Harris is on the ship. I’m hoping he’ll lead us to the rest of Targon." He held up a hand. "Before you start in on me, Suella, let me finish. We can track the ship almost anywhere. The ships on patrol in those sectors have been put on alert. I would have let you know but it would have changed your reaction. Which was appropriate." Lowell smiled.
"You used me, again," she said.
Lowell ignored her comment. He went on with his explanation. "Darien Harris is not going to kill Dace or her crew. Yet. He likes to drag out his revenge for as long as possible. I am concerned for her safety," he added to Querran.
"Who’s Dace?" Jenoshi asked.
Querran tuned out Lowell’s explanation. She turned over what he’d already told them.
"And what happens," she interrupted, "when one of my ships shoots at her?"
"You assigned the Avenger to chase the Phoenix down, correct? The gunnery crews are commanded by a Major Darus Venn. His top marksman is Ensign Malcolm Tayvis. No one is going to shoot Dace down."
Querran frowned in confusion.
"Darus Venn is Dace’s father," Lowell said. "And I think you know about Tayvis."
She sat back, wondering how she’d missed such vital information.
Lowell continued his explanation, answering questions patiently. Querran was aware of the amount of information Lowell was not sharing. He gave the others enough to make them think he was giving them a full explanation. She waited, mulling through what she knew that the others didn’t.
Lowell finished and the others filed out, discussing things in low tones. Lowell had convinced them that Targon was on its way back to power. Querran sat at the table while the others left.
"Keep an eye on them," she said to Marshay in a low voice.
Marshay nodded and gathered her notes. She followed the others out.
Lowell waited until the door shut behind the last of them. He stood in front of the table, looking as if he had just finished a sales pitch for something he knew they’d buy.
"You may have fooled them," Querran said, "but you don’t fool me. What’s the real story?"
Lowell studied her with his unreadable silver eyes. He pulled out a chair and sat. He interlocked his fingers, resting his hands on the table. "I messed up. I missed Darien Harris."
"This wasn’t planned?" Querran would believe that only when the Emperor danced naked in a strip club on the bad side of the port. "You’re trying to convince me you had nothing to do with this whole mess."
"Not quite." Lowell leaned back in the chair, swiveling it side to side while he chose his words. "Targon was after Dace’s blood. What’s left of them, anyway. I put a plan in motion that should have convinced them to leave her alone."
"And it backfired. I still don’t understand your connection to Dace."
"You shouldn’t have noticed anything other than a police action on Cygnus. Unfortunately, Darien Harris had his own plot that I heard about too late to do anything to change it. The fact that he’s still alive tipped me off that Targon wasn’t as dead as I thought. Most of the shadow figures at the top escaped unharmed. They’ve set up shop again. Last I could find out, they’ve joined with the Blackthorne Conglomerate."
Querran sucked in a breath. The Blackthorne Conglomerate was the most ruthless, heartless criminal organization in the Empire. They specialized in drugs, mostly, although the rumors had it that Blackthorne also ran a very profitable slave trade outside the Empire. People disappeared without a trace when they crossed Blackthorne.
"And you deliberately sold Dace into that?"
"I didn’t intend to," Lowell admitted. "Do you think we’re getting too old for this?"
She laughed, without humor. "I’ve been thinking that for the past week."
"I’m slipping, Suella. What else have I missed?"
"You’re asking me?"
"Help me get Dace out, please."
"You keep Blackthorne out of my sector."
"Perhaps Dace will blow them wide open, like she did Targon."
"You don’t fool me, Grant. You’re worried sick about Dace. And her crew."
"So, help me. You’re worried about her, too."
"I’m more worried about what is going to happen to my ships and my sector."
"You don’t fool me, either."
"What do you want from me?" The easiest way to get Lowell out of her sector would be to cooperate with him, as long as it didn’t cost her too much.
"Your support, and whatever help you can give."
"You have a Fleet Commander and another Sector Chief. Why do you need me?"
"Because I trust you."
"I’m flattered." Querran’s voice was flat.
"You should be. There are very few people that I will say that to and mean it."
Querran gave in with a reluctant sigh.
"Go find some decent quarters," Lowell said. "I’ll call you as soon as we hear from the Avenger."
"What if you’re wrong, Grant? What if they fire first?"
"That’s a risk that has to be taken."
"Did Dace agree to it?" Her voice was sharper than she intended.
Lowell shook his head. "She didn’t know."
"Do you know they say you don’t have a heart?" Querran said as she stood. "I used to think they just didn’t know you very well."
"And now?" he asked as she reached the door.
She turned back. Lowell sat at the table, bent over his clasped hands, his head bowed. He looked old, like a penitent seeking forgiveness.
"You have a heart," she said. "You just never listen to it."
She left him alone in the big room. She felt vaguely guilty for her comment. But blast him anyway. This was his mess. He should deal with it. She didn’t want to be even remotely responsible for what she was sure would happen.
Whether Darus Venn was Dace’s father or not, he was Patrol. His orders were to shoot that ship. And Tayvis, for all that he used to work for Lowell, was the same. They were both very competent or they wouldn’t be on a hunter ship. Dace was as good as dead. And it was her orders that would kill Dace.
It didn’t matter that Lowell had set it up. Querran couldn’t shake her guilt.
Chapter 23
They fed me drugs for the first few days. The clink of chains kept setting me off, sending me into hysterics. The ni
ghtmares I’d fought for years all came back. I woke them with my screaming more than once. It didn’t matter how often Harris slapped me, I was lost in hallucinations. He finally gave up and removed the chains.
I woke up wearing force cuffs instead. That I could deal with. I huddled on the bench, exhausted, my throat raw from screaming.
Harris’ mouth was set in a mean line as he studied me. "You take even one step without my express permission, and I will kill one of your crew. Slowly and painfully, while you watch." He loomed over me, waiting for my reaction.
I didn’t give him one. I twisted my hands in the force cuffs.
"Do you understand?" He grabbed my chin and forced my head up.
"I understand," I croaked. "Just don’t chain me up again."
He let go of my face. They ignored me after that. I was allowed to use the bathroom as long as Tom stood in the open door. I was allowed to drink water. I was fed emergency ration cubes. The others were kept in the one cabin, the door shut most of the time. They were fed regularly. I watched the thugs take trays in and bring empty ones out.
I pulled my feet up on the bench and wished I were somewhere else. Maybe I should have argued Harris into letting the others stay on whatever planet we’d been on last. Maybe I should try to bargain with him. I watched his back as he walked past me. No, I had nothing to bargain with. He held all of the cards. I balanced the force cuffs on my knees and studied the lock. I had my lockpicks hidden in the sole of one boot. But force cuffs required a very specialized tool to lock and unlock. I didn’t have anything close. It wouldn’t have done me any good. I’d still be stuck on my ship with half a dozen thugs, Harris, and Jerimon.
We traveled through hyperspace for only a few more hours before dropping back into normal space. Not that it mattered. We slowed to a crawl, using the sublight engines. That went on for several hours.
Harris left his planning and stalked past me into the cockpit. He made several calls, talking in a cryptic code. He knew I was listening. He didn’t want me to figure out his plans.
