Sentinel

by Natalie Grey

  Gar looked at him. “Sarcasm?”

  “Not at all. We learned how many of them there might be, which is considerably more than I thought there were. That is unfortunate, certainly. But we were able to get the interior layout of the base and a scan of security measures they have in place, and that crawler should find their main communications hub soon so we can tap into it.”

  Barnabas headed toward his rooms as he spoke. He paused at the door of the suite and turned to give Gar a smile. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “You don’t want to debrief now?” Usually, Barnabas put business before relaxation.

  “I want to wash this hair dye out immediately,” Barnabas explained. “I do not like it at all. Not a word,” he added in the direction of the nearest speaker and disappeared into his rooms.

  Gar headed back into the main seating area and paced around the outside of it. No matter how much Barnabas and Shinigami tried to ignore it, the fact remained that Gar really had nothing to offer them except the fact that he was Luvendi. He was able to approach people who might not speak to a human.

  A crew member should offer more than that. Of course, Gar knew the real reason he was here, but in the long run, it was going to be awkward for everyone if he could not bring anything at all to the table.

  What did he have as a Luvendi?

  He stopped. He actually did have something useful.

  “Shinigami, would you bring up the files we extracted from Lan’s computers?”

  There was a pause and Gar assumed Shinigami was asking Barnabas what he thought of the request, but a moment later one of the screens obligingly populated.

  Gar sat down, tablet in hand, and began searching and making notes. He did not know very much about fighting, it was true. However, being Luvendi meant he had long ago learned to solve problems without fighting. A Luvendi out and about in the galaxy had to learn to defuse tense situations and achieve goals without physical violence.

  Until recently, Gar had taken a lot of pride in his ability to do just that. Nonetheless, since joining Barnabas aboard the Shinigami he had become frustrated with how roundabout his own methods were. Barnabas tended to solve problems very directly, while Gar simply could not.

  Now his roundabout methods might be able to help.

  Gar was still deep in his research when Barnabas came back into the room. His hair was not precisely its former color, although it was close, and his eyes were back to blue. Gar wondered how he had changed the eye color but decided not to ask. Though most species seemed to have only a single pupil in their eyes, Gar had never gotten used to the appearance of it. He tried to avoid thinking about other species’ eyes, in fact. He shuddered slightly.

  “What are you looking at?” Barnabas asked curiously.

  “Lists of the Luvendi I know who are part of the company your Empress bought. Luvendan itself is large, but Luvendi who are out in the wider universe tend to know one another. There aren’t very many of us. I knew some, and Lan knew some others.”

  Barnabas looked at the screen, then raised an eyebrow to ask for clarification.

  “Luvendi tend to manage things,” Gar explained. “We handle the details of other people’s businesses because we can’t do manual labor. The ones who have found jobs off Luvendan are very good at it. Lan ran quite a profitable mine, for instance. Before I worked for him, I managed an information broker’s staff.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that the Luvendi could be a good asset to you. Getting the cooperation of a Luvendi in any of the businesses you’re looking at would mean we would get the inside information about their cash flow, their associates, and their locations—everything. That’s the first thing.”

  “And the second thing?” Barnabas took a seat and propped his elbows on his knees. To Gar’s relief, he seemed interested instead of dismissive.

  “From word of mouth and, well…knowing Lan, I can tell which of these people might be involved in shady things. Things your Empress—”

  “She’s not the empress anymore,” Barnabas murmured.

  Gar scowled in annoyance. “It’s not the Empire anymore, and you’re not a Ranger. You all say things like that, but you haven’t given me any other terms to work with.”

  “Well, the Federation—”

  “He has a point,” Shinigami interrupted. “I’ve taken to calling you ‘Vigilante One.’” Barnabas frowned. “You knew what he meant anyway,” Shinigami stated flatly. “Ignore him, Gar. Tell us more about your shady friends.”

  “They’re not my friends.”

  “They’re people you would have associated with before meeting me,” Barnabas reminded him.

  “Yes.” Gar held his tongue rather than justify his earlier actions. “There is a difference between a business associate and a friend, however. These people were my rivals. They would think they still are if I were to contact them. We were all competing for the most lucrative jobs.”

  “Whilst ignoring the effects those jobs had on others.”

  Again Gar held his tongue, answering with a simple, “Yes.”

  Barnabas thought Stephen would be impressed. When Barnabas had first met Gar and the Luvendi had run from him Barnabas had held him in complete contempt, but even in the first meeting he had seen something unusual in Gar.

  He was willing to face his past mistakes. He did not protest or make excuses.

  It was one of the reasons Barnabas believed Gar could atone for his past wrongs.

  “Have you heard of Stephen?” he asked Gar.

  “I…have not, no.”

  “He is another like me, from Earth. Those with our abilities had a familial structure. We would pass those abilities to ‘children’ who were not of our lineage, but chosen due to their characters. We were responsible for their actions, so we tried to select carefully. Stephen made some mistakes when he chose, and his first meeting with Bethany Anne was…unpleasant. Now he is one of the first among her friends.” Barnabas smiled slightly. “Gar, a person can move beyond their mistakes and become something greater, but they must reflect on those mistakes, not simply admit to them. They must understand why they made them and what they will change to avoid them in the future.”

  Gar frowned. He was not entirely sure where this was going.

  “You are so eager to figure out what you want to do that you are ignoring what you were,” Barnabas told him. “You want to prove yourself, so you are trying to mold yourself into anything and everything you think might be…” He paused and smiled wryly. “Sufficient to save your life, if I’m guessing correctly.”

  “Yes,” Gar admitted. He swallowed nervously.

  “Stephen let his children run roughshod because they were his weakness,” Barnabas explained. “He loved each of them and that love led him to look the other way rather than fight them. Even when he knew they were wrong, he did not do what he should have to stop them. Though he is now a very different person in some ways, that care for his family still remains. Do you see?”

  “I…don’t think I do.”

  “Even I don’t,” Shinigami concurred.

  Barnabas looked annoyed at her interjection, but when he looked at Gar again, it was with practiced good humor.

  “You have good qualities,” he told Gar bluntly. “Both good qualities and bad can lead to mistakes. If you want to rebuild yourself into a different kind of person, into the kind of person who could be an ally of mine, then you must capitalize on your good qualities to keep the bad in check. It is a choice you will make every day; every time there is the chance to do the wrong or easier thing.”

  Gar hesitated, then nodded.

  “You have shown creativity,” Barnabas explained. “Today, for instance, you drew on your knowledge of other Luvendi to get information from these files that neither Shinigami nor I could have extracted. You have shown an ability to read the people you talk to and elicit information from them. In the past, your cowardice led you to use these skills to get ahead, no matter what
the cost.”

  “I thought that everyone was just out for themselves,” Gar admitted quietly. “That everyone would screw one another over given the opportunity. I thought I should just play the game as well as I could, and that the people I took advantage of would not be upset because I was doing the same thing they would in my place. I valued my physical safety above all else.”

  “And now?” Barnabas asked.

  “Now I think I have made some terrible mistakes.” Gar hung his head in shame. “When I let Lan shoot me, I did so because it was more important to me to confront him than it was to be safe. In retrospect, that seems terribly foolish.”

  “Confronting injustice is never foolish,” Barnabas told him gravely. Then, seeing Gar’s solemn face, he winked. “Though I would invest in a bulletproof vest if you intend to do that often.”

  Gar chuckled. “They showed me there was another way.” His spine straightened again. “On High Tortuga. The mine workers took risks for one another. It was the complete opposite of anything I had ever experienced. It made so little sense to me that I did not even perceive it as something which could happen. I would like to fight for something like they fought for their freedom, but I don’t know what I want to fight for.”

  “It’s a good start.” Barnabas nodded. “A very good start. You say these people aren’t friends? Lan wasn’t your friend. You’ve kept yourself apart from everything for a long time, Gar. I think if you stop doing that, you’ll find something you want to fight for.”

  He smiled and left Gar to his thoughts and his research.

  Don’t you want to debrief?

  We can do it later. Barnabas made his way to the bridge. Between Shinigami’s piloting capabilities and the fact that they had yet to engage in a ship-to-ship conflict together, Barnabas was rarely in that location.

  He was not sure what had brought him here now. He wandered around the room, hands in his pockets, inspecting the computer terminals and the captain’s chair.

  Could I make an observation? Shinigami asked.

  It depends on whether you intend to be snarky.

  It’s not snark. She waited a moment. I don’t think that speech back there was all for Gar. I think some of it was what you needed to hear.

  I like to think I already have a very well-tuned moral compass, thank you. And a good grasp of my strengths and weaknesses.

  No, you don’t. All right, the morals I’ll give you. But when was the last time you let someone in?

  Tabitha. Barnabas settled into the captain’s chair. A bizarre choice.

  You know that’s not true. And yes, you did let her in. And Bethany Anne, and some of the rest. But they were all part of…something more. You didn’t have to let your guard down in the same way. You could be a part of the group. When it’s not like that, you hold yourself apart just as much as Gar does.

  I do not. What about Carter? Aebura?

  People you left behind on the planet with a smile and a wave. You should set up a weekly game night with Carter. See? When I said that you looked really uncomfortable.

  Barnabas stood up again and glared at nothing in particular. It was annoying to argue with Shinigami. He never knew where to direct his expressions.

  And what about Sarah? Shinigami asked finally.

  Barnabas went still. He swallowed. He wasn’t even sure how Shinigami knew about Sarah. Who had mentioned her?

  What about her?

  You know exactly what I mean, Shinigami told him. I don’t know a ton about humans, but I know what you looked like when you came in here, and that’s lonely. You miss Tabitha and the rest of them.

  I had to come out here on my own. It was what I needed to do.

  Shinigami hesitated for a long moment before she spoke again. You need other people too, or you’ll lose sight of what you’re fighting for.

  11

  Tagurn was sweating nervously.

  He knew Fedden was furious with him, and he hoped that whatever happened he’d be able to explain what was going on. Tagurn hadn’t meant to be disloyal. He didn’t like Crallus very much, and he definitely didn’t like the new second-in-command.

  Or whatever that Torcellan was. Tagurn could just see the pale hands. The being made sure his face was well shadowed and he sat in a chair at the corner of the room, as self-possessed as if he were the one running everything.

  Maybe he was. Tagurn could see Crallus working not to look over his shoulder. Was he nervous? Was he waiting for the Torcellan’s approval of his plans?

  It didn’t matter very much. All that mattered was getting Fedden out of this alive. Tagurn had known as soon as the shot went wild that Fedden’s only chance of survival was to have someone speaking on his behalf. If they both launched themselves into the fight, it would turn into a brawl and people were likely to die, Fedden and Tagurn included.

  However, if it was just one fighter, people might hang back.

  So Tagurn had gone to speak to Crallus, and he’d heard the boss’s assessment: challenges weren’t personal, they were just part of the business, but Fedden had shown he wasn’t to be trusted with the lives of the ships’ captains. He would have to pay.

  And now they’d called Tagurn here.

  He linked his hands behind his back and forced himself to meet Crallus’ eyes. He would get nowhere by being deferential. Deference was a weakness. Tagurn needed to argue his point.

  But what was his point?

  “Tell us about the human and the Luvendi,” the Torcellan prompted.

  “We met the Luvendi on Virtue Station. He told us he’d had his mine shut down on Devon.” Tagurn looked only at Crallus as he answered. Are you really in charge here?

  Perhaps in answer, Crallus looked back at the Torcellan. He winced as he did so. The wound had been stabilized, but no technology the syndicate had on Zahal could heal a bullet hole so quickly.

  “What were their names?” the Torcellan pressed. “What was their ship?”

  “We were not told the human’s name. I assumed it was not important since he was treated as a very junior associate.” It was difficult to know if his words were being well received with the Torcellan’s face hidden in shadow. The alien had leaned back, finally. Though he was looking toward Tagurn, there was no way to know his expression.

  For all Tagurn knew he was digging himself into a massive hole.

  The Torcellan’s reply was carefully neutral. “You assumed it was not important.”

  Tagurn’s heart sank. This was not a good sign. “Yes.”

  “You were sent to find information about what happened on Devon, an event that is tied directly to a human presence there, and you did not ask for more information about a human you knew had been on the planet?”

  “We didn’t know if he… He might have been hired…” Tagurn stuttered to a stop and let his head drop. There were too many failures for him to rectify. He had come in here intending to talk about Fedden challenging Crallus and instead they were talking about the information from Devon.

  He wasn’t sure why it was so damned important. Mercenaries died all the time. Mercenaries who died because they underestimated their opponents weren’t worth avenging; they were a dead weight that had been cut off.

  You were better off without someone like that on your team.

  “Perhaps you think this issue is not worthy of your attention?” the Torcellan asked. He was eerily perceptive.

  Tagurn fought the urge to flee.

  “You would be wrong,” Crallus told him. After his silence so far the low growl of his voice surprised Tagurn. “What happened on Devon is part of a much larger event. It threatens…wider interests.”

  The Torcellan made a faint hissing noise and Crallus stopped talking. So he wasn’t a second-in-command at all, Tagurn realized. He was in charge, somehow. This just kept getting worse.

  Tagurn gathered all his courage and looked at Crallus, then at the Torcellan. “What can we do to make this right?”

  There was a pause. “‘We?’” the
Torcellan echoed.

  “Fedden. Me.” Tagurn’s hands clenched.

  “You’re sticking with him, then?” Crallus’ face was unreadable.

  Tagurn should run. He knew that. He should ask to join another crew, beg for another chance after having tainted his reputation by even being associated with Fedden. To his surprise, though, he found he wasn’t willing to do that.

  “He is my captain and my friend,” Tagurn told them. Then, because he realized that if they were going to kill him the decision was already made, he added, “You’re angry that he killed another captain, but that captain was trying to kill him. I know how it started, but you said yourself that challenges are part of this life.”

  To his surprise, Crallus smiled. It was not a nice smile, but it didn’t promise death and retribution, either. “I did say that,” the syndicate leader agreed. “That’s how I took over. He did it in public. He didn’t try to sneak around. I can respect that.”

  The Torcellan made a faint disgusted noise. “We do not have time for this. Shrillexian, you asked what you could do to make this right.”

  Crallus and Tagurn exchanged a look and Tagurn’s curiosity deepened. This Torcellan seemed to know nothing and care for nothing about their life, but Crallus was listening to him. Crallus didn’t seem to care much about the humans on Devon. He had never been one to bow and scrape to other people. Hell, he told even their richest clients to fuck off if they got annoying.

  Why the hell was he listening now? Why was he sending his captains to collect information, and why had he mentioned “wider interests?”

  Crallus said nothing now, and Tagurn realized that even he did not know what the Torcellan was going to say. What the hell was going on here?

  “We have a name,” the Torcellan informed them. “The ship that took down ours was almost certainly the Shinigami. It’s a human ship associated with…whatever the humans call themselves now. A Federation, apparently.” He waved a hand dismissively. “We have heard whispers that a Ranger was involved—not Ranger Two, the one many people know about, but Ranger One. This is unconfirmed, but if it happens to be true… Well, let us simply say that many people would be happy to have such a menace removed.”