Gabriel's Ghost

by Linnea Sinclair

  I peeled off my jacket. Sully tabbed up the microscreen from the desk. He leaned over it, keying in programs while I adjusted the shoulder holster over my T-shirt. Ren sat on the prayer bench, the Norlack resting on his knees. I had a feeling he was a better shot than I would’ve given him credit for earlier.

  I peered around Sully’s shoulder. “You’ve something to keep them from tracing you?”

  His smile was warm and confident. “Don’t need it right now. The temple has legitimate access to a number of areas.” He touched the screen, opened a databox. “Because the Takas are tied so closely with the church, no one thinks twice when we look at work schedules. Or a particular individual’s current location. The church serves as a liaison to their homeworld. If Grandfather dies, it’s Clement’s job to find Grandson and tell him.”

  “So who’s on duty at Six-Green Three around 1100?”

  “Grevarg.” He turned toward Ren. “Know him?”

  “He’s saddened when Guardian Drogue returns dirtside. He doesn’t think Brother Clement can sing.”

  “Will he help us?” I asked.

  “I don’t think he will hinder us, or ask too many questions, if we appear to have a legitimate reason to be at Six-Green Three.”

  “We’ll have to accept that, for now.” Sully tabbed through a few more screens. “Let’s check ops again. See if Kingswell has anything new to report.”

  He touched his thumb to a databox on the lower part of the screen, brought up a filter I’d not seen before. He segued into ops smoothly. The Meritorious, on schedule, still set to berth at Six-Green Three.

  Getting into station schematics took him a little longer. Sully pulled down the attached desk chair, sat, and frowned. Ren excused himself, came back with a plate of fruitbread.

  I handed Sully half a thick slice in a napkin. “Pull up the old work order from when the Lucky Seven came in. See what the dock malfunctions were, pick up their axis and sequence. The system might let you in as a maintenance verification, or follow-up. Then—”

  “Got it, got it.” His fingers flew over the screen. Data tumbled, merged, dropped into a pattern. “Got it!”

  Two hours passed quickly. I went in search of a pitcher of ice water and saw Drogue in the common room. Morning meditations were finished.

  “Sister?” His round face bore signs of worry.

  “Things are coming together.” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

  “But in other ways they are falling apart.” He shook his head. “I was just on my way to Ren’s quarters to tell you.”

  My stomach tensed. As Sully had so well pointed out, the church was tied in to the Takas and, through them, the MOC. If there were questions about the Diligent or her supposedly illicit purpose, Drogue would hear of them eventually.

  “We’re in Sully’s quarters. You want to come back with me?”

  Drogue followed, his footsteps heavy.

  Sully was seated at the desk, Ren leaning over his shoulder. Both turned as we stepped inside. Drogue’s presence seemed to surprise Ren. But I knew now how he knew who was with me. Rainbows, not illegal and invasive telepathy. “Guardian. Blessings. Is there a problem?”

  “An unfortunate incident. I’ve just learned of it, and I apologize for not coming immediately. But I needed a moment to settle my thoughts.”

  Sully stood, dark brows slanting. He motioned to the prayer bench. “Sit, please.”

  Drogue’s shoulders slumped slightly under his pale robe. “One of our Takan brothers, Jalvert, has been taken into custody by station security.”

  Jalvert. The name sounded familiar. Then I remembered the narrowed eyes of the Taka who’d cleared my ID card yesterday.

  “Charges?” Ren asked.

  “Rape. And murder.”

  My mind flashed to a wooded clearing, a muddy twilight, and a large Takan guard who’d tracked me, silently, until he thought we were far enough from anyone that my screams wouldn’t be heard.

  Yet, even with my recent experience, I knew a Taka attacking a human was rare. I’d concluded my confrontation was not only unusual but due most likely to the mentality of the Taka recruited for dirtside service. Certainly the ones on station, and the ones who worked the spaceport, were cleaner, more professional.

  Jalvert had none of the stench, none of the slurred speech my attacker had.

  “Against one of their own?” I followed my thoughts to what I felt was a logical conclusion.

  “No. This is the concern. Jalvert is charged with the rape and murder of a human female. An MOC officer.”

  “Stars protect us,” Ren said softly. “May her soul find peace.”

  “Security has been tightened,” Drogue continued. “There’s talk of suspending Peyhar’s until more is known. I don’t know how much this will hamper you. But it is clear. You must get off station as soon as possible. You must act on what we know is happening at the shipyards. Or this incident may well herald the start of something far more serious, far more bloody.”

  I understood the security considerations. But I didn’t see what an isolated incident, though violent, had to do with the gen-labs or Marker. “Do you know who Jalvert’s charged with killing?”

  “Delia Tran. The officer who questioned your medical records when we made station.”

  “I thought Jalvert looked upset over that. Could that be why he attacked her? Was she an overbearing superior officer—”

  “She was human, Chaz.” Sully stepped toward me, rested his hand lightly on my shoulder. “He attacked her because she was human and she was female. He did to her what the Empire’s doing to his people.”

  “Yeah, they fucked me over too, but—”

  “This is about the gen-labs. The jukors. The Empire’s using Takan females as surrogates to breed stronger, viral-resistant jukors.” There was a hardness, an anger in the obsidian eyes. “The newborn jukor literally rips the Takan female apart as it’s born.”

  The horror of his words was almost beyond my comprehension.

  “This is what we have to stop.” His hand tightened on my shoulder. “Or the Empire will face an enemy, a war from within, far more dangerous, and bloody, than it can ever imagine. And the enemy will deserve to win.”

  9

  Takan females forced to breed against their will. Mutilated, murdered by the very creatures they gave life to. And all this under the auspices of the Imperial government.

  “Did Jalvert know about this?” I stared up at Sully, my voice sounding thin. Horror strangled my words. “How long has this been going on?”

  “The breeding project? A year, perhaps a little more.” His grip loosened, his thumb moving over my shoulder in a brief caress, a small apology, perhaps for his angry grasp a moment ago. “As for Jalvert, I don’t know. But I suspect he did. Word has spread in the Takan community.” He glanced back at Ren, standing by the desk.

  Ren. A Stolorth. Raised by a Takan woman he called his mother.

  Ren made a small, aimless motion with one hand. “We do not have all the facts. Only small pieces. Much may be conjecture.”

  I spun on Sully, anger welling up inside me. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” Like when he found me standing behind the dead Taka.

  He seemed to expect my reaction. “Because we’re still trying to put the information together. I—We were following rumors of the gen-labs. We kept hearing stories of Takan females taken by force. It didn’t seem related until a Taka showed us a holo of a female’s body, bloodied. And a bit of a jukor wing stuck in her chest.”

  His face turned toward Ren again, as if he were worried about the effect of his words. No emotion showed in Ren’s hazed, silvered eyes, but he must have seen the colors in Sully’s rainbow change. He nodded.

  Sully turned back to me. “That was about a month ago. When I started searching for you.”

  “You’ve been—how long were you on Moabar?” I added up days and tried to put everything in a time line.

  “Almost as long as you. Th
ree weeks.”

  “Trying to find me?”

  He nodded.

  “Because of this?”

  “That was one reason.”

  My ties to Marker, my Fleet training no doubt were others. That and my court-martial. It increased the probability I’d be a willing accomplice.

  Sully’s words spun through my mind. I tried to analyze the information as I’d been taught. Details. “You said a Taka showed you a holo. Genuine? Not altered?”

  “Best I could determine, genuine. I wasn’t the first to see it. It’s known in the Takan community.”

  “I heard rumors weeks before Sullivan approached me,” Drogue said. It was the first time I heard him call Sully anything but Brother Sudral. “I’ve never seen this holo, nor any documentation. But things are very tense with the Takas right now. Sullivan told me you were attacked on Moabar?”

  “I thought the guard was drunk, crazy. And he … well, he didn’t know I had a knife.”

  I glanced at Ren, saw his soft smile of acceptance. “You had to defend yourself. Killing human females at random will not solve this problem.”

  “And Jalvert?” I asked Drogue. “You think his attack on Tran was motivated by stories of Takan females being used to breed jukors?”

  “We know of three other similar attacks in the past six months,” Drogue said. Sully nodded. “Two in Dafir. One in Baris. The reports came to me through our missions. The Takas accused all carried a small disk carved with a slogan: the circle of life breeds death. Jalvert had one of these.”

  “So did the guard who attacked you on Moabar, Chaz.” Sully’s voice was soft. He dug in his pants pocket, pulled out a small disk. “I found this in his vest.”

  Drogue breathed a small, anguished sound.

  I remembered Sully hunkering down by the dead Taka, checking, I’d thought, for life signs. I plucked the disk from Sully’s open palm, stared at it, trying to see it as something evil. But it was just a round metal circle engraved with unfamiliar, angular symbols. The circle of life breeds death. The clock on Sully’s wall glowed 0900. The Meritorious was due to arrive at 1100. I would take her back, completing another circle.

  I opened my mouth to rail at Sully again for keeping this information from me, but he swiveled the chair around and faced Drogue. “What’s the mood on station now?”

  “The Takan community knows. Security has tried to keep the incident quiet, but not successfully.”

  “Perhaps you should check ops again.” Ren touched Sully’s arm. “Grevarg may not be scheduled at the ramp. Security might not want to risk an incident with a new stationmaster.”

  I made a mental note to lecture Sully later about the dangers of withholding information and focused on the immediate problem at hand. “We could still gain access,” I said. It would be a little more difficult, but it could be done through the same diversion we’d planned. It was as easy to draw away a human security guard as a Takan.

  “If not this ship, you must find another one.” Drogue’s expression was insistent, almost pleading. “The church will help in any way it can. Not openly yet. We’d be shut down. But anything else we can do, be assured we will.”

  I understood. At the moment, the Englarians were the only sane voice in this matter. Whoever was behind this breeding of jukors clearly was not.

  Sully confirmed Grevarg was still on the duty roster. The Meritorious was still slotted to Six-Green Three.

  I touched the dagger wrapped around my wrist for reassurance, like a talisman. “We have work to do. And not much time left to do it.”

  Drogue stood. “Tell me how I can help.”

  I thought of all I knew about ships on liberty. Ten years’ worth. More than that. I’d grown up on Marker-2. “Do you have a connection with any of the pubs on station?”

  “Tamlara’s Tavern. Mistress Kizzy is a friend.”

  “Human?”

  Drogue nodded.

  “We need some quiet, untraceable invitations issued to the officers and crew of the Meritorious. She’s due in around 1100, Six-Green Three. I need as many of her crew off-ship as possible. Shouldn’t be any more than fifteen. Captain is Lew Kingswell. I need them well-fed and well-furred.”

  “I will make sure word of Tamlara’s superior ale and hearty portions reaches the proper ears.”

  I had a newfound respect for the round-faced, gentle monk. “Thank you.”

  “Praise the stars.” He grasped Ren’s hand, held it, then let his other rest on Sully’s shoulder for a moment. “Blessings, blessings.” I reached out my own in a parting gesture. He clasped it tightly, then stepped for the door. His footsteps, muffled by the fabric of his robe, receded softly.

  As I’d told Sully, Kingswell had no love of the big wide darkness. The Meritorious arrived early. Her berth confirmation and clearance flashed on Sully’s deskscreen. I swiveled the chair around just as Ren dealt a new hand onto the middle of Sully’s bed.

  “Put the cards away, boys. It’s time.”

  There were two others in the lift when Sully, Ren, and I stepped through the parting doors. Both human, one in a brown MOC uniform. The other wore utilitarian gray coveralls with no ship’s patch. I figured the woman for a tech or dockworker. The MOC officer was male, portly, his belly straining the seams of his shirt. He glanced at us, his lip curling slightly as we offered blessings of the hour. We were just a bunch of crazy people who chanted to the stars and waved incense.

  The hooded robe covered our dark clothes, our weapons, and Ren’s blue hair as well. His hands he kept folded in the wide sleeves. It wasn’t a precaution he normally took on station. But it was a precaution we needed now. No one should remember anything particular about a trio of Englarians on this particular day.

  It was 1205. The Meritorious had been in for over an hour. Chaves had already been greeted by a small contingent of MOC officers at the ramp, bearing, no doubt, the latest news. A rape and murder on station. On Chaves’s first day.

  Welcome to Hell, Izak. Welcome to Hell.

  Level Six-Green. We left behind the officer and the techie heading to different destinations. Maybe even Tamlara’s. There was talk of a challenge having been issued. The crew of a Chalford lugger was betting meals for all at Tamlara’s that the crew of an Imperial patrol ship couldn’t drink as much ale as they could.

  Everyone knew that Tamlara’s had the best Imperial ale on station. Everyone knew that Tamlara’s had the best food. Real food, not from commissary panels.

  Six-Green Three. A lone Taka ambled between Berth Three’s ramp and Two’s. The laser pistol strapped to his hip was visible just below the edge of his brown vest.

  “Grevarg.” Ren said the name softly, confirming the Taka’s identity for us through his rainbow image. Shortly, the guard would be called away to answer a message Sully had arranged from an untraceable source, and wouldn’t be there when we returned.

  We walked past, by all appearances a trio of monks handing out blessings of the hour to the stationers traversing the corridor.

  Six-Green Five. Eight. Ten. Three gray-suited maintenance techs trotted by. One spoke rapidly into the comm badge clipped to his shirt. “Interfaces are down again?”

  I could see the small, slow, wicked smile on Sully’s lips.

  “Praise the stars,” I told him.

  Eleven. We stopped, looked toward the rampway. Another Taka, his back to us, stared out the viewport. The curved bow of a freighter was visible. An unfamiliar ship’s name glowed on the overhead. I couldn’t make out the company markings on the hull. But the blackness of the starfield beyond beckoned.

  We turned.

  Eight. Sully drifted toward a row of seats in a small waiting area. I kept pace with Ren. Moments later, he caught up with us.

  Seven. “Just a little fire,” Sully said modestly. “More smoke than damage.”

  Five. A maintenance worker hurried by, tool kit wagging behind on an antigrav pallet. “Sorry, coming through. Sorry.”

  “Blessings. May your work
be fruitful.”

  Three. The Meritorious’s hatch lock was open at the top of the ramp. Grevarg was nowhere in sight. A maintenance worker at the base of the ramp was leaning over the control podium, shouting, “Tell ops the captain wants her moved. No, don’t need no tug. This is one of them Imperial boats. Fifteen still open?”

  The answer was softer, but I clearly heard it. “Fifteen’s cleared. Request approved. Slotting them to departure now.”

  Sully stepped up to the worker. “Pardon, Brother. We seek a Takan brother with urgent family news.”

  The man barely glanced at Sully as he ran his hand through his thinning hair in an exasperated motion. Chatter still came from the podium speaker.

  “What’s that? Hang on, I got some religious guy here needs to find a furry.”

  Sully half-turned toward the hatch lock, as if looking for someone. He raised one hand to adjust his hood, shielding his face.

  I walked toward him, hands curved over my mouth and nose, my breath catching in a squeak as if I were crying. Such urgent, sad family news.

  “Shit, what now?” The worker waved us on. “Yeah, go ahead. He might be in there, trying to get the damn clamps unlocked. If not, check Berth Five.”

  Ren hurried behind me, ducking his head through the Meritorious’s hatch lock just as the fire alarms wailed far down the corridor.

  Sully stepped quickly aside to let me lead. This was my ship. I knew every inch of her.

  We were on main level, amidship, just aft of the bridge. I opened the seal seam of my robe with a quick thrust of my hand, drew the Stinger from its holster. We needed somewhere to stay, unnoticed, for the five minutes it took the ship to undock. The ready room, across from us, was too risky. Sick bay was the most likely.

  We soft-footed down the narrow access stairs in a blur of sand-gray robes. Sully had the Carver drawn and primed. Ren had the Norlack’s strap resting on one shoulder. The sublights already hummed noisily beneath my feet.

  I knew all the sounds of my ship and it sounded empty, in spite of the noise of the engines. Intraship was quiet. But there had to be someone else on board, maybe two. Someone was on the bridge, handling the short ride to Berth Fifteen.