Gemar [Sunsinger Chronicles Book 9]

by Michelle Levigne

  Bain nodded. Why not? He reached for the handle of the door, to go inside. Arin moved faster and opened the door. He stood back and waited for everyone to go in, and glanced in every direction, visually inspecting the too-quiet street before going in.

  “Bain?” Branda came hurrying out of the kitchen. A cloud of savory, peppery, sweet aromas followed her. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him and the girls, all three streaked with dust and mud, pale, Herin spattered with her mother's blood. “Sit. Now.” She jerked her thumb at the empty table, and bustled back into the kitchen.

  “Better do like she says,” Bain managed to say, and grinned.

  The six were barely seated before Branda swooped out of the kitchen carrying a huge tray filled with a steaming pot of tea and cups, cream and honey. They barely picked up the first cup before she returned with a tray of meat pastries, fruit tarts, a bowl of fruity pudding, slices of cheese and a huge bowl of grapes. She also had a shirt slung over one arm, which she tossed to Bain. He dropped the rags of his ruined shirt and jacket and put it on, ignoring the stares of the cousins. Branda went around the table with the speed of a whirlwind and the finesse of a dancer, filling plates and cups. Bain just sat still and watched her, glad to let her take charge.

  “All right now.” Branda took the one empty seat next to Bain and settled back with her arms crossed. “Now, tell me the important parts."

  “The important parts.” Bain took a deep breath. He looked at Rhiann and then Herin. The older girl bit her lip and nodded, giving silent permission to tell what happened that afternoon. “Captain Lorian is dead. There could be a lot of trouble, one way or another, when people find out a Leaper captain was killed in that attack. Plus, Ganfer tentatively identified the attacking ship as the Nova Corona. That's a Spacer ship,” he added, for Rhiann and Herin's benefit.

  “Why would a Spacer attack the spaceport administration building?” Rhiann asked. “That doesn't make sense."

  “No, it doesn't.” Branda gestured for the younger girl to drink, and Rhiann obediently lifted her cup of tea to her lips and took a mouthful. “It's full of herbs for your nerves and energy and clear-headed thinking,” she said when the girl winced at the taste.

  “The first step is to prove it was or wasn't the Nova Corona,” Arin said. “Who's the captain?"

  “Ganfer,” Bain said, touching his collar link. “Who's the captain of the Nova Corona?"

  “Marlin Feris. He has a reputation as a loner,” the ship-brain went on, before Bain could ask. “I am accessing the other ship-brains currently on Gemar, and none of them have records of contact with him earlier than fifteen years ago."

  “That's odd,” Trinia said. “How many ship-brains are here?"

  Bain passed on the question. Answer: four, out of twelve Spacer vessels currently at the spaceport on Gemar.

  “I'll bet nobody is asking about that ship right now,” Bain said, thinking quickly as he spoke. “They're all worried about identifying the—the injured, and assessing damage. Once the authorities start asking questions, people will start getting angry and defensive. You know how dirtsider officials are.” He cracked a tight grin at his fellow Spacers. They nodded. “Our people won't be angry if Spacers are asking the questions, though. Especially if you tell them Captain Lorian was a friend of Lin's. Can you two take care of that?"

  “It's done,” Arin said. He picked up his cup and downed the contents in two swallows. “The Piller brothers are here, and Lissy Bolan. Bring them in?"

  “They said they wanted to be Scouts. Now's their chance to prove themselves.” Bain nodded, pleased at how well this first command function was falling together.

  Then a chill ran through him. His first command, his first crisis as leader of the Scouts.

  If they could really be called Scouts at this point in the organization. Gorgi Cole was busy researching legalities and procedures. His cousin, Dr. Frurin promised scientific research and support when they finally came before the Commonwealth Council for sanction and funding. Ambassador Lirander had promised his support as well. For manpower, Bain had a total of thirty-eight Spacers of his own generation, who shared his dream and promised their cooperation and participation.

  Arin snagged a handful of fruit tarts and tucked them into his jacket pocket before he saluted Bain and headed for the door. Trinia slowly stood to follow her cousin. She studied Rhiann and Herin, who sat very still, staring down into their cups with unseeing eyes. After a moment, she stepped around the table and rested her hand on Herin's shoulder.

  “I'm very sorry,” the Spacer girl whispered. After a moment, Herin raised her head and the two made eye contact. Trinia squeezed her shoulder, then released her and hurried after Arin.

  “So your dream of the Scouts is finally real,” Branda murmured. “I have this feeling we are going to be very glad of them before this is over."

  “What are the Scouts?” Rhiann demanded.

  Bain told her, haltingly, interrupted frequently by Branda and Jennan scolding them all to eat. Branda refilled their cups twice, and Jennan physically put her hands around Herin's and forced the older girl to raise her cup and drink. Bain finished his explanation, naming all his co-conspirators and their progress in establishing the Scouts. The plate of food was completely empty by the time Lin, Dr. Haral and Geran arrived at the house.

  Branda brought out more food, insisting everyone sit down and eat. She scolded Bain and Rhiann and Herin until they took turns in the washroom and removed the grime of the explosion. Branda's spare clothes hung like sacks on the slim Leaper girls, but they looked less like battle casualties by the time she was satisfied with them.

  Bain came out of the washroom last. He moved gingerly, afraid to re-awaken the pain of his skinned back. Everyone sat around the table when he returned, quietly drinking their tea and nibbling at the sandwiches Branda had thrown together. Dr. Haral watched Herin, and she had returned to staring down into her cup of tea.

  “Captain.” Dr. Haral's voice startled everyone. They all looked up, drawn out of their own thoughts. Everyone but Herin. “Captain Herin K'veer."

  When Herin still didn't look at him, Dr. Haral stood and stepped around the table. He reached into his pocket and drew out a thin band of silver with pale blue, gem-like studs at both ends. Jennan muffled a sob when she saw it. Dr. Haral held it out to his daughter, putting it into her line of sight.

  Herin frowned and moved back a little, focusing on the band. Her eyes widened and she abruptly jerked, pushing the chair back from the table.

  “No, Papa!” She tried to stand up, but Dr. Haral grabbed her shoulder and pushed her down into her chair again, so hard she thudded.

  “Herin, you are the captain now.” His eyes glistened with tears, but his voice was harder than granite and colder than ice.

  “I can't!"

  “What is it?” Bain whispered, leaning close to Rhiann, who sat next to him.

  “Mother's link band,” she whispered back. “She can—a Leap captain uses it to mentally talk to the ship's brain. When Herin puts it on, she's officially in command of our ship."

  Herin held still, tears making her eyes shimmer, slowly cascading down her cheeks. Her father held perfectly still, holding the band before her face, his hand gripping her shoulder. Tears filled and reddened his eyes too, but his hand didn't waver and he held her in her seat.

  Finally, Herin sighed and closed her eyes. She sobbed once, gulped, and lifted one hand to wipe her eyes. With her fingers wet from her tears, she reached out and took the band and slid it under her hair, around the back of her head. Bain heard two soft clicks as the gemstone studs settled into place in the sockets inserted into the bones behind her ears.

  “I am Captain Herin K'veer of the Leap-ship Estal'es'cai,” Herin said. “May—” Her voice cracked. “May Fi'in help me in my command, and may all my actions honor my mother's memory."

  Bain looked to Lin. She watched, pale-faced, her eyes red from suppressed tears. He realized from the formal intonati
on of Herin's words, this was a ceremony.

  “Witnessed,” Dr. Haral murmured.

  “Witnessed,” Geran and Jennan and Rhiann echoed in turn. They stood and saluted her.

  * * * *

  The Estal'es'cai contacted them with the news that all sorts of people—Gemar's news and entertainment networks, governmental authorities, the Commonwealth Council's representative, and several officials of the Conclave—all wanted to speak with the Leaper captain about that afternoon's explosion. Rumors were flying faster than a firestorm about what had happened, and who had been injured or killed in the explosions.

  Bain had good reason to be glad now that Lin had brought everyone to Branda's house. Herin was having a hard enough time adjusting to her mother's death and her sudden responsibility for the Estal'es'cai and crew, without having to deal with the curious and rude. Lin had been right. No one expected either the Leapers or anyone else involved with the attack to be hiding in the little rented house at the edge of the spaceport.

  Sooner or later, someone would think to check records for where all the Spacers in port were staying, and someone would eventually come to see Branda and find out if she knew anything. Until then, Dr. Haral and his daughters had a quiet place to rest and gather their thoughts.

  Branda herded father and daughters into her sleeping rooms, supplied them with cots or cushions to stretch out on and ordered all three to get some sleep or she would dose their tea with something that tasted nasty. Her threat actually earned a half-hearted little smile from Rhiann.

  “Now for you,” Branda said, coming back out into the room where Bain and Lin still sat at the table.

  Geran and Jennan had gone back to the ship to pass on news to the rest of the crew. They had left more sealer spray, antibiotics and pain medications for Bain with Lin, trusting her to have more common sense about his treatment than he did.

  “What?” Bain didn't like that determined, thin-lipped look Branda gave him.

  “Turn around.” She made a spinning motion with her finger when he didn't obey immediately. She tugged the spare shirt off his back and lightly touched the foam seal bandage on his back. Bain barely felt the pressure thanks to the painkillers still in effect.

  He held still, fighting twitches and an urge to run and hide under the couch like a little boy, as Lin and Branda discussed his wounded back as if he wasn't even in the room.

  “Well,” Branda said with a sigh. She handed him his shirt, which Bain took as permission to turn around and face the table again. “I can think of more pleasant ways to spend your nineteenth birthday, but being a hero isn't bad at all."

  “I don't feel like a hero,” he grumbled.

  “No, you probably won't, either, when your back torments you as you heal.” She caressed a few dirty strands of hair out of his eyes. “Bain, you were there when those poor girls needed you. In the crisis, you had a clear head. That's more important, more valuable than diving into a battle with your guns blasting any day."

  “Why would anyone attack the administration building?” he asked. “Why would a Spacer ship? We don't carry weapons—where did those bombs come from?"

  “Good question,” Lin said. She frowned thoughtfully as she reached for the teapot and refilled her cup. “Ganfer, have you found out anything?"

  “Engine signature and radiotronics frequencies match those of the Nova Corona, as of the last recorded contact,” the ship-brain responded after a few seconds.

  “What is Marlin Feris doing?” she muttered.

  “It might not be him,” Branda said. “It's been years since anyone we know of has had contact with him. Repairs to his engines and changes in his ship's structure could cause enough alterations to frequencies and warps, his ship could be unrecognizable."

  “The ship hull design matches the Nova Corona,” Ganfer said.

  “I refuse to believe any Spacer would lower himself to carry weapons, much less use them. Much less use them against people,” the woman said, shaking her head so her long white hair swung from side to side.

  “When the others come back from asking questions, we'll know something, maybe enough to have answers,” Bain said.

  “What others?” Lin wanted to know.

  When Bain explained that the Cain cousins had come by and to all intents and purposes put themselves under his command, she smiled grimly.

  “Have you ever heard the warning to be careful what you wish for?” she asked. Bain nodded. “Well, you've been wishing for something to get your Scouts activated and prove they're needed and reliable. This may just make or break your dream."

  “May Fi'in watch over us,” Branda murmured.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  The spaceport authorities called a meeting the next day, for all ship captains and owners who were in port, either orbiting or down on the landing field when the ‘rogue ship’ attacked. Lin attended, and Bain asked to come along since the Cain cousins hadn't reported in yet. She hesitated because of his injury. Bain assured her that with the medicine left by the Estal'es'cai's medics and a padded jacket, he would be fine.

  The first thing Bain noticed when they came into the domed amphitheater was that the Spacers all sat together on the left side near the front and a whole block of Commonwealth military uniforms sat in the middle section of seats. There were two other groups. One sat on the right near the front, and the other spread out along the back few rows of seats. Bain recognized a few faces in the right-hand group, all Commonwealth captains who were friends of Lin's, or who they had worked with in the past. He assumed the group spread across the back were Conclave people. They had to be Conclave, because nearly one-third of the ships at the spaceport were Conclave-affiliated.

  At the museum the day before, Bain had learned an interesting bit of history, and he wondered now if it had anything to do with the way the different groups clumped together in the amphitheater. Gemar was a lost First Civ colony, abandoned during the Downfall. The Conclave had contacted them first, when that loosely aligned group of planets began reaching out into space, just because Gemar's solar system was close enough for contact. It sat on the first established Conclave border. There was no formal alliance with the Conclave, but Gemar abided by Conclave laws and profited from the space traffic. Then, when the Commonwealth grew strong enough to reach into space and made contact, Gemar aligned quickly and eagerly with the Commonwealth. The Conclave had been trying for nearly a century to get Gemar to leave the Commonwealth and rejoin them.

  “Lin.” Bain touched her sleeve and beckoned for her to lean closer when he had her attention. He told her what he had learned the day before. “Do you think that might have anything to do with the attack yesterday?"

  “The Conclave is too profit-oriented to cause damage on that large a scale,” Lin said after thinking a few moments. “Good idea, though. We'll have to keep it in mind. What you have to remember when dealing with the Conclave, Bain, is that they never do anything to damage profits or raise their costs. They'll send an assassin after a tribal chief, even if it costs ten times as much as a full-scale assault on a planet, because fixing the damages after the battle would be more expensive."

  “It was just an idea,” he muttered.

  “A good idea. Always listen to your instincts.” She winked and turned to glance at the stage of the amphitheater again. “Ah, here comes Portmaster Srolli."

  A short, hefty woman in a red robe stumped out onto the stage and gestured for the private discussions in the audience to end. The quiet grew in ripples and chunks. The Spacers were the first to sit down and wait, watching the powerful woman on the stage. Then the military quieted. Then the group in the back rows. The Commonwealth independent and merchant fleet captains were the last. Bain didn't catch any individual words, but from the worried expressions and the glances cast in the direction of the Free Traders, he knew something was going on. Had anyone else tentatively identified the attacking ship as the Nova Corona?

  “Portmaster,” a man called from the
back of the amphitheater. He stepped out into an aisle and raised his hands, getting the attention of everyone around him.

  “We will be answering questions in a short while, Captain Draik,” Portmaster Srolli said.

  “This is not a question, but a demand, Portmaster,” the Conclave captain said, raising his voice. He stepped further down the aisle, a tall, lean figure all in scarlet and black, with a rusty-gray beard. “For the safety of all our ships, I demand to know what you are doing to find and destroy the Free Trader ship that bombed the administration building yesterday."

  “Well, that answers a few questions,” Lin muttered.

  All around her and Bain, the other Spacers began murmuring. The Cain cousins, the Piller brothers and Lissy Bolan hadn't appeared with their elders, so Bain had no idea what sort of progress they had made. He wished he could be out there, asking questions and tracking down leads. Lin and Branda wouldn't let him out of their sight until they were sure his flayed back wouldn't break open and start bleeding again. Besides, he didn't like leaving Rhiann and Herin alone for very long, either.

  Portmaster Srolli's first request for order was by-and-large ignored as the Conclave and Commonwealth captains alike called out from the audience. No one waited for someone else to finish before adding their opinions or demands. Bain listened, trying to differentiate the various demands for information, the demands for retribution, the very few refusals to believe that a Free Trader would be involved in such a thing, and shouts that confirmed a Spacer had indeed attacked the administration building.

  “Somebody has to do something,” Lin muttered. She looked at Bain, studying him for five long seconds. “Trust me on this one.” She jumped up from her seat and ran to each Free Trader captain in turn, bending down over their seats and talking quietly. Most of the time, she received nods, and went to the next person quickly. When the first response was a shake of the head, a frown or scowl, she talked until she received a nod.

  In five minutes, the shouting hadn't died down. Bain couldn't tell who believed the accusations against the unknown Free Trader, and who wanted more information. The noise level gave him a headache and vibrated in the tender, raw flesh of his back in a way that no painkiller could handle. He began to wish he hadn't come to this meeting.