“Hm. Yes, with spyware or a piggyback virus.”
“Precisely. Could you design one in time?”
His face lit up with delight. “Child’s play, sweetheart. You’ll have no trouble breaking into the relevant comm stream?”
Her aura glowed gold. “As you say, MartinBlake. The play of a child.”
Several segments later, Ilia was pleased to receive confirmation that the spyware they had inserted into a routine notice from Paradon Spacedock to the Minertsan Consortium Ship Vadis had completed its task. She moved to the desk to read through the data and extract the access code.
MartinBlake joined her there. “It worked!”
“You are an exceptional—what is the word you use?—hack.”
“Hacker, honey. An old Earth term, but I like it. What’s next?” He positioned himself on the other side of the desk, where his own comp was set up.
Ilia wasn’t sure this was allowed. Rayna had given her the task of finding the information and surely the assignment was classified.
MartinBlake looked at her. “Honey, everyone in Rescue knows we’re an item. And my security clearance in the organization is higher than yours. Let me help. It’ll go faster.”
His argument made logical sense, even if she didn’t quite understand the use of “item” in this context; she supposed it could do no harm if she gave him only a rudimentary task. “Very well. Log the ship’s recent movements and current repair status. I will concentrate on where it may be going from here.”
She said nothing about her deeper investigations, about the secret society Rayna and the others suspected. She hoped to gain a hint of this in the Fleet deployment data the ship no doubt carried in its strategic files.
The pair worked in silence for a while, until MartinBlake grunted in surprise. “You remember that Gray attack on Saltiss? In the M514 system? Looks like the Vadis was there. Along with that other ship in the docks now. But the ship’s log is pretty thin on details.”
“Minertsan commanders seldom commit the full story to the official log,” Ilia answered. “The facts too often expose them to punishment.” But how could these ships have been commandeered to such a public mission as the taking of Saltiss? Either the secret organization was very deeply embedded in the highest levels of the Fleet, or they were ready to take over completely and weren’t afraid of exposure.
Or Rayna was wrong. There was no secret cabal, and the weapon had been developed by the Fleet itself. In which case, the Shadowhawk alone had no chance of destroying it.
Her search now had an air of urgency about it. Her aura darkened, its edges stained with angry red. Where had the Vadis’s orders come from? She found the admiral’s name, and his area of supervision (Director Prime, Special Operations), but she could discover very little else about him or his section. How many ships did he command? Or did his function cross all ships? And the admiral himself might well have been born in a swamp. There were no biographical or service details available about him in the record at all.
There was only one real piece of evidence that indicated the Director Prime, Special Operations, might be working outside official channels. His orders came on a “dark rider,” a photon carrier different from the one used by the rest of the Fleet. It was quite distinct.
Her aura now glowing bright blue-green with excitement, Ilia set out to follow the unique signature through the Fleet. Like a vast game of Jump-the-Hummocks, the dark rider would link the players on its route, revealing either a limited conspiracy or the entire weight and power of Minertsan military might.
At a tiny café off an alley near the fish market in Tazat, Gabriel Cruz sat and sipped at a glass of fiery red dulz. The liquor, distilled from a fermented mash of grasses grown near the sea, was only to be had on IzRa, and though it was an acquired taste, he never missed an opportunity to indulge. Savoring it was a way to pass the time, too, while he waited. In this out-of-the-way spot, there was no scenic view of the ocean, with its towering waves and dramatic coastline. And the lighting was too dim for Gabriel to be entertained by watching his fellow customers; discretion was the point of choosing the place, after all.
But Gabriel didn’t have to wait long. Trevyn Dar, captain of the Thrane ship Bloodstalker, strode into the café at precisely the time they had agreed and nodded when he spotted Gabriel at a corner table in the back.
He even smiled as Gabriel rose to greet him. “Brother! I am pleased to see you.”
Gabriel grasped forearms with his younger half-sibling. “Trevyn. You look well.” Gabriel had spent more than a year with Rescue and Lana since he’d last seen Trevyn—his enemy, now turned friend and ally—carried from a battlefield in Arizona. Trevyn stood tall and broad-shouldered once again, fair where Gabriel was dark, fully recovered from the injuries he’d suffered fighting their murderous older sibling to save Lana in that clash in the desert.
They sat, and Gabriel poured out a glass of dulz for his brother. They touched glasses and drank.
Trevyn grimaced. “Shalssit! That burns!”
“I should have warned you,” Gabriel said with a laugh.
“You still harbor ill feeling toward me, I think, Gabriel,” the Thrane said, coughing.
Gabriel sobered immediately. “No, Trevyn. Lana and I are grateful for your help. As is Rescue. I hear good things about you and your ship.”
Trevyn offered up a wry grin. “It took some time to ‘convince’ my crew of the benefits of switching allegiances. After we joined Rescue, many of them asked to be allowed to find another berth. Some of them even fought me for the captaincy. They died, of course.”
Gabriel considered the man on the other side of the table. Trevyn had spent years under his brother’s thumb; now he looked like he’d bend to no one.
“I encountered the most opposition over rechristening the ship,” Trevyn said, his grin growing wider. “Lost almost a third of the crew over that alone.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. The Bloodstalker had been their father’s ship before it had been his brothers’. Two generations had raped and pillaged under that flag.
“She’s the Blood’s Honor now,” his brother continued. “It will be my life’s work to restore our family name.”
“Then you will have done what I never could,” Gabriel said. His father had been a bloodthirsty terror, his older half-sibling a killer in his sire’s image. He and Trevyn working overtime could only hope to undo a fraction of the damage those two had done to the Dar family name.
Trevyn braved another swallow of the dulz and sidestepped the effect on his throat by changing to telepathic communication. You asked me here, brother. You could have simply communicated your message through the mindlink. Were you anxious to take my measure?
Gabriel shrugged. Perhaps you will need to judge my sanity face-to-face when you hear what I ask of you.
I believe I know you well enough by now to expect sanity from you at all times. Trevyn smiled. What is it you need?
--You’ve rechristened your ship, but you still travel under Thrane ID, correct?
--Yes. We’re registered as Thrane Independent Maritime with the authorities, which gives us access to all sectors: Gray, Confederated Systems and the rest. That’s why Rescue finds us valuable. Why?
--It’s the same for the Shadowhawk, but the Grays know Sam’s ship. Even before he signed on with Rescue, he’d made an enemy of the bastard slavers.
--Ha! Good for him. I have no love of them myself, but they don’t launch torpedoes as soon as I come in range.
--We may have need of some extra firepower for a mission into Gray space. You could provide cover for us, since you would be less likely to be challenged simply for violating the borders.
Trevyn studied him, a spark of interest in his amber eyes visible even in the dusky bar light. Would you care to share the goals of this mission?
--See for yourself. Gabriel opened his mind to his brother and let him in, directing him to the part of his mind that held the necessary information. He saw Trevyn’s expressi
on change as he absorbed the details of what they were up against in the Grays’ superweapon—and what they hoped to do to eliminate the threat.
--The machine appears to be sentient, Trevyn noted after a moment.
Gabriel nodded.
--But what would be the advantage of such a technological advancement? A frown drew Trevyn’s brows together. Surely that would only complicate the machine’s function?
--I tend to agree with you. Perhaps the machine’s complex purpose demands such a high level of sophistication that sentience was inevitable.
Trevyn appeared to consider this. Though Gabriel had opened a part of his mind to his brother, he had not taken the liberty of reading beyond the surface of his sibling’s mind in turn. Trevyn had earned his trust, and there was nothing he needed to know that his brother could not tell him if he asked.
--You still do not know how deep this conspiracy goes within the Minertsan Consortium.
--There may be no conspiracy at all, Gabriel answered. The entire Gray fleet may be protecting what hides on Tamira VII.
Trevyn shook his head. I doubt it. I have sources within the Consortium who were just as shocked by what happened on Saltiss as anyone else. They swore to me the oligarchy was not behind it.
--Their theory?
--What is left of the Third Rebellion was responsible. But the technology? That no one could explain. Trevyn met Gabriel’s gaze. What do you want me to do?
--Set course for the Tamira system. Get as close as you can, as quietly as you can. We should be no more than a ship’s cycle behind you. We will communicate only through our connection; the thread should be strong enough now. The two of them were connected by DNA, by blood, the telepathic channels alive in them in the womb and strengthened by training and recent practice. They needed neither photon streams nor touch to communicate mind-to-mind.
Trevyn rose. We are nearly finished provisioning the ship. I expect to leave orbit within four segments.
Gabriel stood and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. We’re grateful for your help. Again.
“No,” Trevyn said aloud, returning the gesture. “It’s my pleasure. The Honor is at your service, brother.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
By the time Charlie made it out to the kitchen after her shower, Rafe had breakfast well in hand. Happy was chasing squirrels, some of them totally imaginary, in the slush of the back yard. Del was sitting at the table with the gentle security giant, Javin Darto.
“’Morning, ma’am,” Javin said, his eyes shining. “Did you know Commander Gordon led one of the earliest successful Rescue raids on a Gray slave processing center? He was just telling me about it.”
Charlie turned to look at Del, doing her best to hide her shock. “No, Del’s never told me about that.” The old man had never told her about any of his exploits, of course, but not because of Rescue’s security rules. He hadn’t remembered any of his past before yesterday.
She exchanged a questioning glance with Rafe, who shook his head. No clue.
“Something you just remembered, Del?” she said.
He shook his head. “Funniest thing. Woke up thinking about the old days this morning. Big Boy here started asking questions, and, whaddaya know, I had some answers. Maybe that Thrane fella knocked something loose yesterday.”
Excitement flared in her chest. Could that really be possible? “Some parts of your memory were actively being blocked,” she said. “Could be that affected other areas. We can try some exercises after breakfast and see.”
Del didn’t seem to care one way or the other, but Rafe was ignoring the bacon frying on the stove to stare at her. A frown carved two lines between his brows.
She lifted a shoulder in reply. They couldn’t know if there had been any real improvement until they tested Del.
Happy barked at the back door, and Charlie went to let him in. She bent to dry his paws, then stood to breathe in the fresh, pine-and-ice scented air, grateful for the thin warmth of the winter sun. She saw no sign of the Thorson twins patrolling the woods, though. They were hidden from anyone’s sight.
Breakfast at the crowded little table was cheerful, homey. Javin was a companionable fellow; Del was in high spirits; even Rafe dropped his guard and smiled often. Charlie would have been happy to have the moment last forever.
Nothing ever does, of course.
Javin was the first to break the spell. “Gotta go relieve Nils. He’s been out there since midnight.”
“I’ll be there to give Anders a break in a minute,” Rafe said. He nodded at the stove. “There’s still plenty of food for them.”
“Ha!” Javin shot back on his way out the door. “You don’t know those guys.”
Charlie stood and went to the fridge. “Feeding those three is a major undertaking,” she said, surveying the devastation the men had already wrought on Rafe’s larder. “We need groceries again. I’ll go into town later this morning.”
“No,” Rafe said as he wheeled Del in front of the television. “It’s too dangerous. Zouk could already be in town, looking for us.”
“Well, I suppose you could go,” Charlie said. “I’m sure Del and I will be fine here with the security team. Unless you propose we starve?”
“Oh, for Portal’s sake,” Del said, ignoring the squeals of the gameshow-winning family on the television. “Let her go, Rafe. But tail her, and stay out of sight. That way if whatshisface is lurking you can get the drop on him. Have you forgotten everything I ever taught you?”
Rafe gawped at him.
“What the hell’re you looking at, boy?” Del grated. “Do I stutter?”
Charlie stifled a laugh. Rafe’s transformation from uber-confident James Bond to awkward teenage son had taken mere seconds—and the miraculous recovery of Del’s personality.
But Rafe quickly came back to himself. “Hearing you loud and clear, Old Man. Just wasn’t expecting the former Chief of Field Ops to show up this morning in full voice.” He shot a grin in Charlie’s direction.
“Huh.” Del shifted in his recliner, uncomfortable with the attention. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Yup. And thanks for the suggestion. Think we will do it your way.”
Del didn’t bother to look up. “Damn straight.”
Rafe took Charlie’s hand and pulled her with him to the front door. “I’ll be back in a few hours, then we can go into town. We’ll have to leave Happy behind, though. If Zouk is there—”
“Yeah, there’d be no way I could pretend not to see him—Hap would be barking his head off!”
Rafe glanced at Del. “You gonna test him?”
She nodded. “It’s not my imagination, is it.”
“No. He’s definitely sharper today.” Rafe gave up a laugh. “What you just saw is what I saw most days of my life growing up.”
“Tough.” She smiled, but she wasn’t kidding.
“You have no idea. But he had a hard-head for a son.” He leaned in and kissed her, his lips firm and warm on hers. “I have to go. I’m gonna try not to think about how we woke up this morning, ’cuz if I do that Zouk will get the jump on me for sure.”
She watched him go, a smile still warming her heart. Then she went in search of her laptop to devise a cognitive test for the new and improved Del Gordon.
Zouk had traveled to many planets in the inhabited galaxy, but he had experienced few as backward and oblivious as this Earth he was forced to endure on a cold winter afternoon, its northern hemisphere tilted away from a weak yellow sun. His research had told him Earth had many great cities, but this sleepy town in the middle of mountainous forest was not one of them. The place seemed barely able to sustain sentient life.
There was a tiny building with a title much too grand for its size: United States Post Office, Masey NC; another, more ornate brick edifice that was labeled a “bank;” a small eating establishment of some sort; a few shops of no great interest. At the end of town where the highway widened, a bigger store selling foodstuffs and medic
ations sat in the middle of a large, paved space. Nearby on that stretch of road were several small buildings with the pumps outside that dispensed fuel for the vehicles that clogged even the backcountry roads.
Zouk hated this place already. Hated the brisk wind and snow melting from every surface. Hated the eternally smiling humans, who greeted him everywhere he went, as if they knew him. Hated the hovering mountains surrounding the town like sentinels waiting to snatch him up.
It was impossible to be invisible here. And he needed to be invisible, not sitting openly in a vehicle on the main street of this horrid little town, waiting for Portal’s minions to show him a sign.
Zouk would normally have used the sensors and comps available on the Moro to find what he was looking for. But he knew too little to set up the search parameters. He had dematerialized directly into the compound his agents had said belonged to their local ally and found no one left to tell him anything. The shalssit Rescue team had either wiped and removed or killed his contacts. The farmhouse had been abandoned, leaving no clues behind. He’d taken cash, clothes and a vehicle and made his way into town.
If Gordon’s son and the Rescue team around him had any sense, they would be long gone by now, taking the old man with them. If Zouk had any sense, he would let them go.
But accepting defeat was not in Zouk’s nature. He had not suffered for days in that regen tank for nothing. Revenge burned hot in his heart for the ones who had led him on this chase, humiliating him, hurting him. He’d received no orders to break off the hunt, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He wouldn’t be satisfied now until Del Gordon and everyone around him was dead. And he could give a fuck whether the Grays paid him or not.
Zouk checked his wetware for local beverages and foods. It was past time for the midday meal, but the comp told him a snack—something sweet, perhaps, with “coffee” to drink—would be common practice at this time of day. He put on the long-billed cap and sunglasses he’d found at the farmhouse, left the vehicle and sauntered up the street to the café.
A little bell rang as he opened the door to the restaurant, annoying him and making the few customers in the place glance up to look him over. One or two nodded and smiled. He forced himself to smile back and left the smile in place as an older woman trundled up to greet him with a plastic-covered page in her hand.
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