Gabriel's Ghost

by Linnea Sinclair

  “I can and I will. I offered you a choice. You rejected it.”

  “The court would never have believed—”

  “They would have. Because I said so.” His mouth thinned. “It was your choice. You’d rather have Moabar than me. Or our child.”

  “That wasn’t the problem—”

  “No, you married me readily enough.”

  “Because I loved you! You knew I was career Fleet. We’d agreed children were not in our plans. Five years later, when I’m up for a captaincy, suddenly you want to be a father. You weren’t willing to take leave or a desk job and share the responsibility. So that means everything I’ve worked for stops. It would have been knock up Chaz, leave her on a starport, and see you once a year, my darling!”

  I was shaking, shouting at him. God, I thought I’d gotten over this.

  From behind me on my right was silence. Total silence. Verbal and mental.

  “I told you the child could be raised in a crèche. Then your career—”

  “No child of mine would be raised in a damned crèche! With droid nannies, med-techs. And a mother and father who are total strangers.” Not like Willym, poor thing.

  “You’re being archaic. You’re just like your mother.”

  “Goddamned right I am.” I glared at him. Amaris Bergren didn’t raise a fool for a daughter. I knew my fears. I grew up with them: crèche kids, holos of Lieutenant Daddy and Commander Mommy on expensively furnished dormitory walls. That was the acceptable option in Fleet. Breed and abandon. Check in once a year, pat it on the head, ship out.

  “What would your mother say about her virtuous daughter’s record now?” Philip’s voice softened, but carried a bitter edge. “Convicted criminal. Murderer. Whore.”

  My hand clasped my Grizni bracelet, felt it tingle, ready, waiting. But Philip was just an image on the screen. I couldn’t hurt him. He couldn’t hurt me.

  Then why did I feel such a pain in my heart?

  Philip ran his hand over his face, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said just now.” He sucked in a short breath. “This just throws a wrench in my—I’ve been working on a way to get you transferred. Something … safer than Moabar. I didn’t abandon you, Chaz. You may want to think so. But I didn’t.”

  A ploy to gain my sympathy, cooperation? Philip had never been a game player, but I couldn’t discount that the recapture of the Meritorious would be a bright spot on his already shining record. Or he could genuinely still care. I couldn’t discount that either. But that wasn’t what mattered at this point. I took a deep breath. “Do you have an order for the seizure of this vessel, Captain Guthrie?”

  “Chaz—”

  “Do you?” I demanded. I had to push now. I had to force a resolution. Junot had to be wondering what was going on.

  “I loved you. I still love you. It’s why I married you.”

  “Do you have an order for the seizure of an NMC transport vessel!”

  A heartbeat. Two. Three. I was presenting him with a legitimate out.

  “No.”

  One down. One to go.

  “Philip, listen to me. You offered to lie for me seven months ago. I turned you down. With each lie, we become less and less a person. I am innocent of the charges against me, but I loved you too much to ask you to lie, even knowing that. You’re an exemplary officer. A fine man.”

  “Chaz, we can—”

  I held up my hand. “Listen, damn you! I wouldn’t have you lie for me then. I’m not asking you to lie for me now. You have no seizure order on this ship. Therefore, by law, you can no longer detain her. You must let her go. The only issue, then, is me.” I clasped my hands behind my back, stood in perfect military posture. “If you request that I be removed from the Far Rider, I will comply. Because of the nature of my … agreement with NMC, my papers won’t stand up to detailed inspection. But you cannot hold this ship. You must let her and this NMC officer here go.”

  “If I take you into custody,” he said quietly, “you know I’m not in a position—right now—to stop them from returning you to Moabar.”

  “Yes.”

  Philip shoved his hands in his pockets, stared down at his boots. Then back at me. “Other than your … agreement, NMC is treating you well?”

  “I’m at a stellar helm. You know that’s the only thing I’ve ever loved.”

  He rocked back on his heels. “More than me. Obviously.”

  I waited. There was no answer to that. And nothing more to say. He had all the facts. He was a Fleet officer, like me. He’d make a decision, based on facts.

  His shoulders sagged slightly. Then a small nod. He clasped his hands behind his back, straightened his stance. “You’re absolutely correct, Captain. I have no seizure order on an NMC P40. Please accept my apologies for detaining you and your crew. You may resume your previous course and heading. I will put out an advisory that you not be delayed again.” He saluted me, crisply.

  I returned his salute, my heart pounding, my knees suddenly weak. “Thank you, Captain.” My damned voice cracked.

  He reached for the end-transmit tab but hesitated, his blue-eyed gaze searching. But there was nothing left to be said. It had all been over, years ago.

  The screen hazed, blanked. The starfield reappeared. I stepped back, shaking, and collapsed into the chair behind me. I jammed my finger at the arm pad, opening intraship. “Ren! Get your ass on the bridge!”

  I tabbed it off as I swung to face Sully. His hands were fisted on his knees, his obsidian eyes unreadable, fathomless. “Get us out of here, now,” I barked at him. “And while you’re at it, stay out of my goddamned mind!”

  I turned abruptly away from him, raked my straps over my chest, then grabbed my arm-pad controls. I felt the shimmy of the sublights as they drew power, heard Ren step onto the bridge, and heard the sharp clicks as he fastened his strap. The starfield moved off to my right as we pulled smoothly away from the Morgan Loviti.

  I was angry, frightened, and couldn’t stop shaking as I stared at the viewscreen, then back down to my controls. Five minutes. Ten minutes. No one followed. Not Junot. Not Philip. Ren’s voice in the background, talking softly into his headset, was the only noise on the bridge.

  Fifteen minutes. My screen showed us at plus twenty. Specs be damned, we were moving.

  I still shook. I couldn’t stop. But it was only me causing my pain.

  Figures danced on my screen, showing coordinates to the meetpoint. Two days yet. Then we’d wait for Sully’s ship.

  Sully. I crossed my arms at my waist. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Sully. What I’d felt. What I’d said. Stay out of my goddamned mind. I’d meant it. Stars forgive me, but I’d meant it. And he knew that. When he’d invaded my mind I’d been shocked. It was like everything I’d read; it was like rape. A forced intrusion on my self, my soul.

  This wasn’t the gentle sensation of a touch empath. This was something else.

  Mind-fuckers. We’d always called Stolorth Ragkirils mind-fuckers. Now I knew there were human mind-fuckers too.

  I heard Philip’s voice again. Kingswell … Lieutenant Paxton … Their minds viciously raped, all but destroyed.

  Then another voice: Liar!

  I had to get off the bridge. Everything I thought, everything I felt, I was sending. He was reading and, for all I knew, hearing. I pushed the arm pad to my right, unlatched my straps. Stood. “Captain’s off the bridge,” I announced. Stepped forward, turned left, toward Ren, not Sully. Looked at neither. Kept walking. Legs kept moving. Eyes focused on the corridor.

  Stepped over the tread, didn’t fall on my face. Found my cabin door, hit the palm pad. Five more steps. Saw the bed. Didn’t turn around. Didn’t look at Sully’s jacket hanging on the hook. Just lowered myself onto the wide softness. Grabbed my pillow, clutched it to my chest, and sat, hugging it.

  Breathed. One in. One out. One in. One out.

  Thought about faith. Betrayal. Philip. Sully.

  Sully was a tel
epath. Even though I’d never known one before, I knew that’s what I’d felt in my mind. A Ragkiril. Who’d sensed my fear, my trepidation when I saw the Loviti and had to know why. Who’d raked my thoughts, found my private images of Philip and myself. Images he had no right to see. Images that I knew pained and angered him.

  And taught him that sometimes you don’t always like the answers to your questions.

  I knew the feeling.

  But did I know Sully? Did I even know what Sully was?

  Time passed. I knew it did because the clock told me, in little red numbers. I no longer felt totally shattered. Only mediumly wretched. Still confused. Still angry. A little less frightened.

  That was an improvement, and in less than two hours. Stars be praised.

  I sat up and dropped the pillow behind me. I wiped my hands over my face. What happened, happened. It’s over. There are larger issues here. Marker. The Takas. The—

  My cabin door shooshed open.

  My heart froze for a beat. When it restarted, I rested my elbows on my knees, my chin against my clasped hands, and prayed that whoever came through the door was Ren. I was still sorting my thoughts, still examining my anger. I couldn’t face someone other than Ren. I couldn’t even think his name.

  Footsteps came toward the bed. They hesitated, then continued. An arm’s length away, maybe two, and the footsteps stopped.

  There was the silence of two people breathing. Then, “Chaz.” The voice was rasped, raw, but I recognized it.

  Not Ren.

  I responded quickly. “I’m sorry.” I was. I shouldn’t have spoken out as I had. Nothing had been gained by hurting him. I should’ve waited until I was calmer, and not angry at Philip, at myself. At him.

  “No. You don’t, you shouldn’t be …” He took a deep breath. “Chaz. I’m sorry. It was wrong. What I did, I …”

  His voice seemed to lose its energy. Silence resumed.

  I stared at my knees, at the tips of my boots, at the Fleet-issue low-pile carpeting on the floor. I could hear his breathing, harsh and ragged.

  I opened my hands as if they might hold answers. But they were empty. I closed them, grasping nothing.

  “I was very wrong,” he repeated softly.

  I brought my gaze up. The pain in his voice was reflected in his face, in his stance. The shadows were back under his eyes. His mouth was tight. One arm was crossed over his chest, his hand cupping his elbow as if part of him was holding back, part of him reaching. “I would never hurt you.”

  I nodded, listening now. His promise. He would never hurt me. Scare the hell out of me, yes, but never hurt me.

  But how would he know what hurt me? When he stopped me from asking questions, he also stopped finding answers for himself. There’s a reason to ask questions, to gather data, to look at facts. He could avoid that, if he wanted to. But I couldn’t. Not for myself. Not for the Takas.

  “We have a lot of work to do yet,” I told him. “Ren has data on ships inbound to Marker. I want to go over it.”

  “You don’t have to. You’re free to go.” He turned his hand, as if he wanted to reach for me but changed his mind. “I mean that. Once we intercept with the Karn, you’re free. This ship, ID, whatever you need. I won’t force you to work with me.”

  “And jukors are born and Takas die, but it’s not Chaz’s problem anymore? Didn’t you hear anything I said on the bridge?”

  He leaned against the wall as if the force of my words had pushed him back.

  “I’m not saying I know what those Takan females are going through. That’s an abomination. But I do know what it’s like to be told you’re going to bear a child or else. I could have had a very nice, comfortable life. With a well-respected, intelligent husband who loved me. Providing I was willing to give up everything that I was, everything I’d worked to become. And then raise a child in the same manner as I would a … a painting I’d loan out to a museum! There’d be my name, on a little thank-you plaque, and I could visit it for free whenever I liked.”

  I stood abruptly, swept one hand out. “The fact that my child might have needs, the fact that I might have needs, was not to be considered. Others’ feelings be damned: Philip Guthrie would have what he wanted or he’d see me in divorce court. Well, guess what? He saw me in divorce court. And the wisdom I learned from that is: be careful when someone says they care about you, only if. Only if you do what they want. Only if you ask no questions.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, shook his head. His lips parted as he started to speak.

  I shook my head too, and spoke before he could. “Did you think at all, Gabriel Sullivan, before you ripped into my mind, just what my feelings might be? Did you stop to consider that?” I thrust my finger at him. “Or was your anger, your … I don’t know, petulant jealousy, your ego’s temper tantrum more important than anything else? More important than Ren’s life, your life? Drogue’s, Clement’s, and all we think is going on at Marker? And if that’s just a little too altruistic for you, was it more important than those promises you made, never to hurt me?”

  I shoved my way past him. At the bedroom door I turned, threw my hands out in exasperation. “How in hell would you know what hurts me? You never even bothered to ask.”

  17

  I sent Ren for a soak and a nap. He left the bridge, sensing, no doubt, I was in no mood for a discussion. I sat in my chair and played with the data on the ships flowing into Marker the past few weeks. It kept my mind off Sully’s pained expression when I’d stormed out of my cabin.

  Our cabin.

  We had two days yet to the meetpoint. I had mental duro-hards filled with things I didn’t want to think about, and almost all were tagged with Sully’s name. Better to busy myself playing with data.

  Marker was busy too. Marker was always busy, but ships came and went in the usual illogical patterns of repairs. You can’t schedule for when something breaks down. New-ship production was different. That had a definite schedule. But I wasn’t looking at outgoing. I was looking at incoming.

  I made a grid and stuck my data in. Then integrated the data Drogue had shown us on Chalford’s Lucky Seven on our way up from Moabar. It took some time, but that was okay, because it kept my mind on a narrow track, kept it away from things I didn’t want to think about. Finally, it all came out to a nice fit.

  The Meritorious’s databanks were crammed with Imperial data. Not as much on Marker as I’d like, but some. I cross-referenced that with the news banks every ship grabbed from the beacons. Months, years of it had been stored in my ship and archived. A captain never knew whom she’d run across on patrol. Never knew what she might need to know about them.

  It was standard operating procedure when I’d held command. Kingswell had been more lax. But enough was there. I was sure the Boru Karn held more.

  I’d need that. One name, sometimes as a source of funding, sometimes as an advisory concept group, kept drifting through my data. It was always an offhand mention, an annotation. Crossley Burke. I couldn’t place it, but I kept seeing it. I might not even have noticed it except, years ago, Crossley had been a company that produced virtual vid games, the kinds that every station brat hoarded credits to play in the arcade. They lost the market when holo-hybrid sims came out. I couldn’t tie in that Crossley with big-money underwriting or with corporate idea farms.

  I needed more data. I tapped a note to myself to that effect, tagged it to the file.

  Then I went back to Ren’s most recent list of incoming. There was a sequence I’d missed earlier. Not surprising. And not just because it was near end of shift for me.

  Sometimes those overfilled mental duro-hards make it tough to keep things straight.

  The sequence contained division numericals coded to requisitions. Who, besides the receiving division, would need a list of incomings? It might relate to requisitions and authorizations, if these were shipments and not repair. But it also might be another office in Marker that needed, for some mystical reason of its own, to know who
was coming in, and when.

  Five of the first eight tandem codes were the same. I dropped them out of the sequence and was entering them into my note-to-myself when I realized I knew them. And knew them well.

  God, I was mediumly wretched not to recognize them.

  Reports of these incoming were all sent in tandem to the office of Commander Thaddeus Lars Bergren. My beloved older brother.

  “You’re off duty. I’ll take over.”

  “Hmm?” A nervous quiver fluttered in my chest as I recognized his voice.

  Sully waited on my right, hands clasped behind his back. I’d been preoccupied with the data on my screen and didn’t hear him come onto the bridge. Didn’t hear him come up to my chair.

  His eyes were still shadowed. “I said I’ll take over. Ren will relieve me.”

  “Right.” I knew that. I also knew that I always stayed an extra hour or two, shared tea or a meal with him. I didn’t mention that now. Neither did he.

  I unlatched the harness and swung the arm pad back. Then stopped while my hand was still on it. The fact that I was sorting out my feelings about him didn’t negate that he needed to know what I’d found in other matters. “I’ve been reexamining the data Ren pulled. I found something that doesn’t make sense.”

  Or maybe I didn’t want it to make sense. I pushed out of the chair. “Five of the ships that came in for repairs sent a duplicate notice of their arrival to an office that shouldn’t be concerned with such things. Thad’s office.”

  He thought for a moment. “He’s in the hierarchy. There could be a number of reasons why a confirmation would be sent there.”

  “Absolutely. But they’re not coded for his office. They’re coded for his private trans file.”

  “You have any idea why?”

  “Not in the slightest. But I will find out.”

  “I know,” he said softly. “That’s why I chose you. You’re the best interfering bitch around.”

  “No, in the universe, Sullivan. Remember that.” I headed for the corridor. “The best interfering bitch in the universe.”

  Sleep didn’t come right away. I stared at Sully’s jacket hanging on the wall. I didn’t realize until I’d flopped down on the bed that part of my mind wondered if it would still be there. Or if he’d moved his clothes out, taken another cabin. Gotten out of more than just my mind.