Gregor was a mistake, he continued when I couldn’t stop the image from rising to my mind. That is what happens when you have an untrained Kyi doing things. You have no idea how much I regret that. That part of me you have every right to reject. I was foolish, stupid, wasteful of my energy. But that’s not what I am anymore, because of Del’s training. Can you at least show him some respect for that?
I sucked in a deep breath. I may not like his words but there was sense in them. “Yes, I can do that.” I could. I spent half my life in Fleet showing respect for people I couldn’t stand personally. I’d dealt with worse than His Royal Highness Prince Regarth.
Sully sighed too, then rubbed both hands over his face. I’m not angry with you, ky’sara.
The link between us was fully open now. I let his words, his regret, and his concern wash over me. Growing pains. That’s all this was. Things were happening quickly. We were understandably slower in making adjustments.
“I know. Me too.” I stood on tiptoe and brushed his mouth with a kiss. He leaned into me as I pulled away, holding the kiss a little longer, warm spirals enfolding me.
I stepped back, knowing what I had to do. Lead by example. Fleet tried-and-true method. Even for ky’saras and ky’sals.
“I’m late. Tell Del I’ll be there as soon as I can find my boots.” Clean socks were in the bedside drawer. Sully trailed behind me into the bedroom. “And then I think he should finish training you on those Kyi gates. We might need them.” I spied my boots, fished them out from under the edge of the bed, very aware of the words coming out of my mouth, words I didn’t want to say. Very aware of the fears rattling the locks on my emotional duro-hards. I could not let them out. “Just tell me when you’re going to be working with him, so I won’t bother you.”
“We’ll start when he goes off shift.”
I stepped into my boots and forced some life into my response. “Great.”
I hoped it was.
For the next three shipdays we streaked through a remote section of Calth toward the B-C, heading for the Kyi gate that would bring us to Dock Five on the edge of Baris. There were no Imperial GA-7 data drones out here. And we kept silent passing those few ships that also hugged the rim, where normally we might have swapped some news. We were a ghost ship on a mission. There was safety in silence.
I saw very little of Del. That was good. I also saw equally as little of Sully. That was something I had to live with. It was temporary, I assured myself. Means to an end became my litany.
Whenever I couldn’t stand it, I sat with Ren.
“You’re going through Sully withdrawal,” he said finally, a tender note in his voice. Placid waters buoying a cluster of maiisar blossoms.
God, I was.
“He will be better, stronger for it,” Ren assured me. “He’ll face much resentment on Dock Five and elsewhere now. He needs to be centered within himself to deal with that.”
I thought of the man standing in our cabin, Kyi energy sparkling in his hand, tears streaming down his face. Resentment from his longtime friends on Dock Five would have crushed him.
Not so the Gabriel Sullivan I glimpsed striding the corridors of the Karn now, only slightly shorter than the towering Stolorth beside him. There was a strength in his stance, a calmness and poise in his posture. He had grown up literally overnight. Even his presence in my mind felt different.
His lovemaking grew more passionate, more fierce. That was really the only time I had with him. In the mornings—my relative ship-morning—I’d wake and he’d be there, watching me through hooded but infinite eyes. Without even a touch he’d have me gasping, trembling, my body arching. When he did touch me, pleasure exploded beyond words. But being Gabriel, the poet, he also had words—whispered confessions of desire, sweet words of passion. Angel of heart-stars cards appeared everywhere in my path, sending frissons of delight when I held them in my hand.
But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t Sully. I missed him.
I was worried about him.
But I shut that down, shoved yet another thing into my mental duro-hards and soldered the damned lids closed. I was on the bridge, thirty minutes from gate entrance, and Del and Sully were due up here in ten. I didn’t want them reading my insecurities.
I leaned back and crossed my legs. And then suddenly, without warning, a shockwave slammed full bore into the Karn, almost knocking me out of my seat.
My vision hazed, pain shooting through my side where my safety straps cut into my skin. Air was forced from my lungs as if a boulder had dropped on my chest. I tasted blood and bile, and by the time I found my voice, the ship’s alarms were screaming, almost deafening me.
I clawed my screen console around. “Verno! Marsh!” Both were on the floor, but Verno was already rising. Then he twisted, slowly. My ass left my seat. Artificial gravity controls died.
“Shit!” I threw the ship on manual, slapped open intraship. “Five seconds to reset. Handholds, now! Three, two, one—”
I thumped down, hard. Verno stumbled, wide furred hands clutching the back of his seat. Marsh rolled over, groaning, blood streaming from his nose. Then he coughed and angled upon one elbow. “Captain Bergren?”
“We hit something, or something hit us.”
“That’s fucking impossible,” he rasped, climbing into his seat.
We had scanners, we had sensors, we had shields. We were in the middle of the big wide darkness, far off the usual lanes. Beyond that, this was Sully’s ship. So yeah, it was fucking impossible.
Then the main viewscreen flickered on. My heart lodged in my throat.
A Fleet pinnace tumbled away from us. Four Fleet fighters waited off its port side, moving sloppily into formation, one trailing far back, damage visible on its flank. I glanced quickly at the data on my screen, recognizing a fading energy surge, then back up at the viewport.
“We got tagged by an aborted jump transit. I need status check, damage assessment, and goddamn you, Sullivan! Where the hell are you?”
“Here.”
I jerked around. Sully and Del looking slightly frazzled, ducking through the hatchway onto the bridge.
“Aborted jump transit,” I repeated. “Take a station. Get us working, moving. Get me answers.” I looked over the bridge once more. “Marsh, do you need to go to sick bay?”
“I can handle it, Captain.”
“Don’t play hero.”
“I ain’t pretty but I’m fine.”
I’ll monitor him, Sully told me.
Thank you. I sent a quick rainbow, opened intraship again. “Dorsie, Ren, talk to me.”
“No pie for dinner,” Dorsie said. “Soup, maybe.”
“I’m fine, Chasidah,” Ren answered. “Do you need me?”
“Sit tight for now.” Until I figured out what four Fleet ships were doing out here in the ass end of the B-C, slamming out of jumpspace and almost into us without so much as a by-your-leave.
Which should have come by now. Oh, sorry. Had some jumpdrive issues. Had to abort. Sorry your sensors didn’t pick up our warning signal.
There was no warning signal. I double-checked. I knew what that looked like. It—
A pinnace and four fighters?
Logic. High-profile escort. Someone of importance, wanting to travel discreetly but safely. An admiral’s pinnace.
I raised my gaze back to the viewport again as Sully and Marsh hammered out the Karn’s damage and status around me. The pinnace stopped tumbling, one thruster kicking on with a dim glow.
I stared at it, at the insignia emblazoned down its flank, at the ship’s ident I could clearly read because the goddamned thing had almost landed on my bridge. My heart pounded.
Morgan Loviti.
Oh. God. Philip.
A fighter fired. The pinnace jerked, taking a grazing hit on the port wing.
This was no escort.
I ripped off my straps, bolted out of my chair, and lunged for communications.
Chaz? Sully, concerned.
“
The pinnace is from the Loviti.” I keyed in commands and codes I knew by heart. Not the general Fleet transmit codes but the private one. One only Philip or one of his top officers would know and answer to. If the pinnace was stolen, there’d be no answer.
The link went hot immediately, but video was out. Only audio worked.
“Sully, watch those fighters!” I flipped up the comm-set’s mike. “Loviti pinnace, this is Captain Bergren of the Boru Karn. Do you need assistance?”
“Chaz? Sweet God, Chaz?” Philip’s voice, strained, flowed through the Karn’s speakers.
My throat tightened. “Talk to me, Philip.”
“Tage is disbanding the Admirals’ Council, trying to take control of Fleet. That’s what the meeting at Raft Thirty was for. It was a sham, a trap. Bennton is dead. So is Junot. They’re slaughtering my captains.” A pause, a cough. “I got a warning out to Jodey and O’Neil, then they trapped me.”
Marsh swore. The Karn shuddered as Sully fired on Philip’s attackers. The pinnace veered off but her engines were failing. I could see that. So could the fighters, closing now.
“Philip! Change course. I’m opening shuttle bay doors, starboard side. Bring her in. We’ll cover you until I can lock a tow on you.”
“The shuttle’s in there, Chasidah.” Sully’s voice was tense. “Tow or not, he’ll wreck out.”
I muted the mike. My hand shook. “He’ll die either way. We don’t have a choice.” I tapped it on again. “Philip, there’s not much room in the bay. You’ll have to come in hot, even with the tow. Can you handle it?”
A harsh laugh. “Who taught you to fly, nugget?”
Nugget. Fleet’s term for new pilots, trainees. But between me and Philip—
“He could damage the Karn if he misses, if the tow can’t lock on,” Sully warned.
“Then you better keep those fighters off his ass so he doesn’t.” Jaw clenched tightly, I looked back at the viewport. The pinnace was swinging around, fighters closing, firing. But their aim was wild as they avoided the Karn’s counterattack. “Verno, we’re going to have to synchronize with Philip. We don’t have time for a nav integration.” The Karn wasn’t a Fleet ship. Integration would take hours to work out. “You’re going to have to handfly her. I’ll handle the tow field when he’s in range. Can you do it?”
“I’ll try, Captain Chasidah.”
“I’ve done it before.” Del rose from his seat at nav. “Chasidah…?” Trust me. I can help.
I stared at him, emotions I had no time for warring within me, then nodded quickly to Verno. No choice. “Give Captain Regarth the helm. Take communications for me.” I needed to be back in the pilot’s seat. This was Philip’s life we were talking about.
I opened the comm-link at my seat as Sully swore out loud with glee. I took a quick check to see one of the fighters shatter apart. “Philip, I’m passing you over to Captain Regarth.”
“I go by Del,” Del said, through the link at helm. “I’ve done this before, Admiral Guthrie. Mr. Sullivan will keep your nasty little friends off your ass. Captain Bergren and I will get you home.”
“It’s Philip,” my ex-husband and former commanding officer said, as the pinnace straightened. “And I’m not going to have time for a test-pass. So we get it right the first time, Del. Oh, and Sullivan, quit cursing me. I’m not going to damage your beloved ship. If I know I can’t make it, I’ve got one finger on the self-destruct. Just keep your shields sweet, got it?”
Oh, God. “Philip—”
“Don’t, nugget. It’s not going to help either one of us right now.”
I swallowed, hard. “Give ’em hell, Guthrie.” Then I focused on the Karn, keeping her systems working, her shields where they should be to allow Philip entry but protect us if he missed the tow’s narrow beam. Or detonated.
Sully cleared a path for the pinnace. But then one fighter veered wildly, suddenly coming at us. “Tell Guthrie to watch for fallout!” Ion cannons slammed into action, the distinctive low growl vibrating through the ship. Then, “Got ’em!”
I shot a quick glance at Sully. He was grinning.
“Damn, you’re good,” I told him, almost breathless.
“Remember that, angel, remember that.”
“Minute thirty,” Del announced. “Philip, you’re looking good, my friend.”
“Acknowledged,” came the answer. “I’m losing thruster two. But don’t give up on me yet.”
“Compensating,” Del told him.
“Tow’s at full power,” I added, watching the guidance computers try to synch with Philip’s seesawing ship while we too were moving. Tow fields were for stationery objects at close range. Not damaged pinnaces coming wildly at you, even with half their thrusters dead. It would be like trying to catch the wind in a net.
“Ganton, I need thruster burst on the A-7 and the A-9,” Del said, six-fingered hands playing rapidly over the console. “Three percent exactly, on my mark. Hold…hold…now!”
Marsh powered the thrusters, nudging the Karn on her axis.
Mouth dry, heart hammering, I watched on my console screens as the pinnace skittered toward us, my tow data overlaying the image. Too fast, too fast. Tow beam guidance couldn’t lock, couldn’t—
I threw it to manual, played the coordinates like the old sim-fighter games I was glued to at the arcade on Marker as a teen. The Karn shuddered. I felt the tow grab, lock, but the pinnace was skewed, coming in at crab angle. She’d never make it. She was too wide.
I quickly altered the tow-field strength, trying to turn her. I could tell Philip was angling his few remaining thrusters, but it didn’t help. “Del!”
“On it! Marsh, A-7, minus-four, now! Philip, kill thrusters, dump your drive core, and brace. Now!”
“Fire foam deployed,” Sully said. “Eight seconds to hard landing, seven…six…five…Hold her steady, Del. Chaz has him.”
I wasn’t breathing. I was playing numbers, working field strength that was so concentrated at the hull of the ship, I could hear field generators screaming at the backwash.
Then a loud thud shook the Karn, setting alarms wailing, lights flashing. Shuttle bay cameras showed white foam flying as a long, pockmarked pinnace, hull scored and blackened, skidded to a stop, nose to ass with our shuttle. There was damage. I knew there was damage. But she was in one piece. Sweet stars above, she was in one piece.
Sully fired the cannons again. Marsh kicked the sublights hot and Del veered us away. There was one fighter left and she was pulling off.
“Philip?” I called in to the comm link. “Philip!”
“Damn, Chaz,” came back the reply. “That was almost fun.”
I released my straps and swiveled my chair around. “I’m on my way down. With Sully,” I added, seeing him rise from his seat at weapons. “Stay—”
Long-range scan emitted a shrill blast. “Shit! What?” I swung back into my chair and saw the familiar signatures of two Maven-class destroyers directly in our path, on a dead-eye heading for us.
“Forty minutes out,” Sully confirmed. “At current speeds.”
“We’re thirty from gate,” Del said.
Sully glanced at me. “Go get Guthrie. Stash him in sick bay or bring him up here. I don’t care. But I need your ass back in that chair in five minutes. We’re going to make a run for that gate. And we’re going to have to blast through two Imperial cruisers to do it.”
I ran down the corridor, took the aft stairs to the shuttle bay two at a time, heart pounding. I knew Philip was alive because I had talked to him. But I didn’t know if he needed medical attention. On top of that, his short report of what happened the past three days while we were cut off from Imperial politics scared the hell out of me: Admirals’ Council disbanded, captains dead. All on Tage’s orders.
What would be waiting for us at Dock Five?
I slapped at the palm pad for the shuttle bay doors and for once they opened without my having to engage the override. The sickeningly sweet scent of the fire foam assaulte
d me immediately, along with the oily charred odor of burning plastics and metals.
Sprinklers had already kicked on and off, clearing away much of the foam. Coughing, I sprinted through puddles toward the hulking wreckage of the Loviti’s pinnace.
The hatch door slid sideways when I was halfway there. Admiral Philip Guthrie leaned against the edge of the square opening, a tall man with prematurely slate-gray hair and sharp blue eyes. He was almost incongruous standing there in his formal Imperial dress-grays, surrounded by the wreckage, but his uniform was far from spotless. One jacket sleeve was ripped and as I came closer, I could see darkened areas on his left temple and on his white shirtfront. Blood.
His jacket was open. A dual holster wrapped around his hips. He held a rifle, strap dangling, in his left hand.
“Philip!”
“Ramp’s jammed. Catch.” He tossed me the rifle then hunkered down and hung his legs over the edge. He pushed off, dropping the eight or so feet to the deck still glistening with water and foam.
I grabbed him when he wavered. That told me he was injured beyond the gashes on his face. His body was solid muscle. A drop like that normally wouldn’t faze him.
“Sick bay’s this way.”
“Wait.” He had one arm over my shoulder, his gaze searching my face. “Just let me…” His voice was raspy. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
My heart constricted. I did not need to be reminded that things between me and Philip had never completely ended. There was something there. There always would be. I cared deeply about Philip. But I loved Sully. I was his ky’sara.
“I have two Maven-class cruisers looking to dead-eye me. I don’t have time. Sick bay or bridge. I need an answer now.”
He straightened, nodding. He was Fleet, like me. Shut off the emotions, get the job done. Collapse or cry later.
“Bridge,” he said, moving forward, his arm sliding off my shoulder. “And it’s not you they want. It’s me.”
I handed him the rifle. He looped the strap over his shoulder.
“Bring me up to date. We’ve been comm-dead in jump, then out here for three days with no news feeds.” We exited into the corridor. I hit the palm pad to close the doors as we went by. “This is radical, even for Tage. What happened?”
Shades of Dark Page 22
