by Natalie Grey
As far as he could tell, it hadn’t been stolen in an illegal way. Instead, someone she trusted, a man named Lawrence Hardy, had taken it from her. It had all been legal.
But from the look in Aliana’s eyes when she mentioned it, and from the hurt he had just seen, Zinqued knew it hadn’t been right. Although he hadn’t known her very long, she was part of his crew, and he did not want her to be upset.
He was going to help her get her ship back.
He knew this was, in some ways, a very ironic plan from a ship thief, but he comforted himself with the fact that he was, after all, using his skills in larceny to help her get the ship back, and that his actions would technically be illegal. His reputation should remain secure.
He tried whistling as he walked to his cabin. He liked the sound of it when humans did it, but he hadn’t mastered the technique yet. He was still cheerfully trying and failing as he sat down to work and pulled out his documents on the Melisande.
Somehow, some way, they would get the ship back.
* * *
“Lawrence,” Ria began timidly. Small and delicate, she was absolutely swimming in her dark blue coveralls. She turned a wrench over and over in her fingers as she waited for him to look over.
At the desk, Lawrence paused to look at the ceiling in an exaggerated way that meant he was fighting for patience.
Ria realized her mistake. “Captain Hardy, I mean. I’m very sorry.”
He turned to look at her at last, and she gave a little shiver. Lawrence was one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen, with wavy brown hair, a sharp jawline, and blue-gray eyes set over high cheekbones. It was the sort of face that made you ignore every instinct that whispered that this man could not be trusted.
“Ria.” His voice was grave. It was just as lovely as the rest of him, smooth and slightly burning. “You do good work as a mechanic, but you need to be careful to respect your captain.”
“Yes, Captain Hardy.” She swallowed.
Yes, Ria knew exactly why Aliana had fallen for Lawrence.
She bit her lip. “We need—the ship needs—some repairs.”
“Make them.” He looked annoyed.
“I need parts,” Ria explained. “The engine is leaking coolant, and a new cap on the—”
“Make it work,” he said, his voice dangerous now.
“I’ve made it work as long as I can, sir.” She stood her ground. She knew her business when it came to engines. She’d recognized this problem months ago, and Aliana had set aside money to deal with it.
Money that Lawrence now had.
“Then do better. I don’t want you coming to me every time you want a shiny new part.”
“I don’t.” Her voice was angry. “I came to you because we need it, not because I want it.” His look chilled her, but she didn’t waver. “This is a valuable ship because it was kept in good repair,” she said finally. She was trying to sound as icy as he looked, but she knew she wasn’t doing a good job. Recklessly, she pushed onwards: “Aliana knew—”
He was across the room in an instant and she flinched away from him, seeing the flash of pleasure in his eyes. In that instant, she realized he wasn’t going to hit her—he had just wanted her to understand that he could.
“Aliana is not in charge of this ship anymore, is she?” Lawrence asked. “Is she, Ria?”
“No.” She kept her face turned away from him and said the word she knew he wanted her to say. “Sir.”
He held the silence for a long moment.
“Make it work,” he repeated, then went back to his desk.
Ria left, her boots ringing on the metal floors and her eyes narrowed. The Melisande was a good ship, and it hadn’t been right, what had happened to Aliana. At the time Ria hadn’t done anything about it, of course. When you played with fire, you got burned. Aliana should have known better than to marry Lawrence and put everything in both their names.
But if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she hadn’t spoken up both out of cowardice...and because she had wanted Lawrence for herself.
She knew better now. He wasn’t any prize.
A plan was beginning to take shape in her head to get back at him. She just needed to find out where Aliana was.
Chapter Four
“Excellency.” Senator Qarwit, one of the senior members of the Committee, directed his biosuit to bow low as Grisor came into the room. “I wondered if I might have a moment of your time before you speak to Captain Jeltor?”
Grisor was surprised but nodded his head graciously. “Certainly, Senator.” To the other two senators with him, he said, “Excuse me, please.”
His guards opened the door to a nearby room, checked it, and stood back to allow Grisor and Qarwit inside. Qarwit stood by the door and waited while the door was closed. He was unusually worried, his tentacles rippling.
“What is the matter?” Grisor asked him. He liked Qarwit. Always respectful, Qarwit did not behave as if the others were mere steps on his rise to power. It was rare to see him question any of Grisor’s decisions; what questions he asked were phrased respectfully, and never seemed designed to show off his intellect.
Unlike some Grisor could name.
“Excellency, I have concerns,” Qarwit said finally. He kept his voice neutral. “I have not mentioned this before because I know it is not in your nature to be careless.” He paused. “I am torn, you see, between my trust in your capabilities and what I see in Captain Jeltor.”
Grisor considered this but said nothing.
“I worry that the captain’s conversion is not complete,” Qarwit continued. He was vibrating with tension now, unsure whether Grisor’s silence was a good sign or a bad one. “He acted nobly and without hesitation to save you when the human attacked. I reviewed the holo logs. I hope that was not forbidden. I did clear it with—”
“I knew you had requested to see them.” Grisor had been curious, but with so many things to oversee, he had not worried about such a request from a trusted member of the Committee. “You did so to seek evidence for your suspicions?”
“To see if my worries were well-founded,” Qarwit said. “Jeltor’s actions favored you. At the beginning of the fight, he had no doubts at all about his loyalty. The scientists did a commendable job.”
Grisor felt a surge of annoyance. The scientists were long dead, and one of his personal guards had overseen Jeltor’s conversion. He had not shared news of the infiltrated laboratory with the rest of the Committee, however, fearing that it would make him look weak.
So he only nodded, pushing away a stab of worry. These ideas had been conceived decades ago, and years of work were now threatened because the Committee had become known earlier than expected. Huword’s death and the interference in Jeltor’s conversion were complications that could doom Grisor’s plans.
He could only hope now that they were not the first in a cascade of complications.
The Committee had to find a way to get the Jotun fleet to Kordinev before other species knew what was going on, and Jeltor was integral to that plan. They could not afford to be unable to use him.
No, Grisor reminded himself, what they could not afford would be to pin their plan on Jeltor and have him fail them. He should listen to Qarwit’s concerns and adjust accordingly.
“It is simply that he has seemed less than devoted in recent days,” Qarwit said. “When I reviewed the video and saw the human appealing to his past loyalties. I fear that those words have taken root in Jeltor’s mind, so we should be very cautious before trusting him with any more of our plan.”
Grisor nodded quietly and sighed. Qarwit was right to be worried, and he had chosen a private venue to air his worries rather than sowing seeds of doubt in the others. It had been well done; he could hardly fault Qarwit.
But to be so close, to have so little time to implement the plan, only to be held up by such a concern—
“Nothing ever stays done,” he stated bitterly. In dawning horror, he added, “W
hat if all of those who have been converted are vulnerable?”
“They may be,” Qarwit replied after a moment.
Grisor gave him an annoyed look.
“It will change our plan,” Qarwit assured him, “but surely it will not stop us. We will simply need those who are converted to be subtle and stealthy. We will need to make sure they are regularly brought in to have their conversion strengthened, and we will need to expand as quickly as we can on any occupied planets.”
“Is that all?” Grisor asked bitterly.
“Better these problems,” Qarwit replied, “than the ones that come from whole species failing to acknowledge our place as their rightful leaders.”
Grisor had to admit that he had a point. “In most cases,” he said drily, “sentience was a mistake.”
“A test, perhaps,” Qarwit countered with a gleam of a smile. “For us, I mean. For the rest...we will simply guide them. Help them.”
Both of the Jotun males stared at one another for a moment, then Grisor laughed.
“You don’t care in the slightest about helping them.”
“Not at all,” Qarwit agreed. “But it makes it more palatable to the rest of our people, doesn’t it?”
Grisor sighed and nodded. “It does. It does. I wish they had more resolve.”
“The world is often not as we wish it to be,” Qarwit observed. “From the cold seas of Jotuna, we built our society. Perhaps from these trials, too, something greater will emerge.”
Grisor fluttered with pleasure. “You speak truly. Now, let us go speak with Jeltor. Together, you and I can determine if he is to be trusted with this new part of our plan.”
“Yes, Excellency.” Qarwit followed him out of the room and past the other two senators, who murmured vaguely in annoyance when Grisor left them behind.
Grisor did not care. They had demanded to see the new phases of the Committee’s plan but had not been helping with implementation. Qarwit, however, had been running many departments of their makeshift headquarters, and he was doing so with quiet efficiency.
He deserved to be here.
In the rooms beyond, they found Jeltor. He had been housed in what appeared to be a very light, airy set of chambers. There were multiple pools for him to sleep and relax in, and there was a great deal of light filtering through the windows.
The place was highly secure for all its comfort. Grisor had taken precautions, even though he had been sure of Jeltor’s conversion. The glass could not be broken except by extreme, repeated applications of force. Jeltor could not break out without the guards having ample time to get to him, nor could anyone break in easily.
“Jeltor,” he called heartily. “How are you today?”
“Stir-crazy,” Jeltor answered without preamble. “I want to be doing something, not...” He looked around. “Not being told to relax.”
“Ah, I do beg your pardon,” Grisor said. “Given the injuries the human inflicted, the doctors thought it best that you not be put under strain.”
Jeltor gave a little snort to show what he thought of this. “My suit repaired me quickly, and I did not need very much recovery time.”
“In truth,” Grisor admitted, “I felt guilty. I had not intended for you to be involved. Seeing such an ugly side to your friend—”
“He is not my friend,” Jeltor stated flatly. “He wishes to destroy the Committee. He would see us removed from our rightful place in the universe. He believes in petty freedoms above stability and order.”
Grisor nodded. He did not look at Qarwit as he went to sit, but he left a silence and hoped that Qarwit would know it was an opportunity.
Qarwit took the opening without hesitation. “It must have been a shock. He had previously been a good friend to you. You thought you could trust him.”
Jeltor laughed bitterly. “One can never trust Barnabas. He cares only for himself.”
“Not his petty freedoms?” Qarwit probed.
“Fighting for those petty freedoms makes him a hero,” Jeltor stated dismissively. “He likes being a hero. He wants everyone to worship him. He cannot understand fighting for one’s species.” He paced to the window. “It is because of him,” he said finally, “that I am here. Not because I needed to rest.” He swung around to look at them. “That’s it, isn’t it? You worry that because we once worked together, you cannot trust me.”
Grisor said nothing.
“How can I argue?” Jeltor asked quietly. “I attacked Biset. I fought against you all. I have no right to ask for your trust.”
“Do you want our trust?” Qarwit asked.
Jeltor had gone still, and his voice alone betrayed the depth of his feeling as he said, “I want to serve your purpose. For that, I need your trust, and yet I know it is a risk. Perhaps it will always be too much of a risk. If so, I will abide by that.”
Qarwit stared at him for a long moment, then looked at Grisor. He gave a faint nod. He trusted Jeltor.
“Actually,” Grisor interjected, “we have a task for you.”
“A real task?”
“A real task. As you say, you were once Barnabas’ ally. We would be fools not to verify your new allegiance—but now we have. And you saved my life, Jeltor.” Grisor kept his voice level. It was true that Jeltor had saved him, and he did not like that memory. He had come closer to death than he’d bargained for.
Jeltor nodded. “I did what I had to, Excellency. Only what any of us would do to save you and your work.”
“I thank you, Jeltor. What I need now is for you to help us make new allies. I need you to get in contact with someone for me; someone who can help us achieve everything we have worked so hard for.”
Jeltor considered this. “Who?” he asked finally.
“Admiral Jeqwar,” Grisor told him. “She suspects that you are loyal to us, and winning her over will not be easy, but— What is it?”
Jeltor shook his head. “It is nothing. Go on.”
“Why don’t you come with us,” Qarwit suggested. “We will show you the plans.”
* * *
“You did what?” Barnabas gave an incredulous laugh. “You said the bots had all been destroyed!”
“I thought they had been,” Shinigami replied. “But I had programmed one of them to go to sleep directly after getting into the suit. The suit didn’t detect it, so it didn’t get zapped.”
“Until just now.”
“Well, yes. It powered up in stages, and when its location tracking turned on, the suit detected it and fried it.”
“What came online before that?”
“Audio.” Shinigami leaned against the wall carelessly, ankles crossed. For a moment, she looked almost evasive. “Then video, which was nothing because it was in the inside a freaking biosuit. Then basic diagnostics, and then a location ping. Honestly, I’m surprised we got as far as we did.”
“Did Jeltor notice?” Barnabas asked urgently.
“I would think so,” Shinigami said. “But I don’t think they would realize that we got the signal. The suit zapped it very quickly. If the bot hadn’t been made by us, it wouldn’t have managed to ping anyone quickly enough.”
“Are they still on Jotuna D?”
“Yes, but in another complex. Grisor must own more than one. I can lay in a course and get us there soon. We should be able to get in without the satellites knowing. I embedded a protocol in one of them to tell me when they were updated. They made some changes, all right, but nothing I can’t get around.”
“Shinigami, you’re a genius.” Barnabas gave her a grin. “Oh, and…did you hear anything interesting?”
Shinigami might be an AI, but she couldn’t lie worth a damn. She was so concerned about keeping her face blank that she forgot how guilty someone looked when they had no expression at all.
“Nope.” Her voice was clipped and strange.
Barnabas gave her a look. “Shinigami?”
She sighed. “Look. Jeltor is brainwashed right now, okay? I didn’t get any details on what they
’re planning. Let’s just move past this, all right?”
“Shinigami.”
She gave him a worried look, but she must have realized he wasn’t going to bend because she gave another sigh and cued something up on the audio system.
“I did not need very much recovery time,” said Jeltor’s voice.
“In truth, I felt guilty.” Barnabas recognized Grisor’s snide tones. “I had not intended for you to be involved. Seeing such an ugly side to your friend—”
“He is not my friend,” Jeltor said flatly. “He wishes to destroy the Committee. He would see us removed from our rightful place in the universe. He believes in petty freedoms above stability and order.”
After a pause, a new voice said: “It must have been a shock. He had previously been a good friend to you. You thought you could trust him.”
“One can never trust Barnabas,” Jeltor replied. “He cares only for himself.”
“Not his petty freedoms?” the new voice asked.
“Fighting for those petty freedoms makes him a hero,” Jeltor said dismissively. “He likes being a hero. He wants everyone to worship him. He cannot understand fighting for one’s species.”
“That’s enough,” Barnabas said quietly. He swallowed as the audio was turned off. They were all looking at him—Gar, Tafa, Gilwar, Shinigami. They were looking at him with pity.
He knew the words weren’t real. They were a product of the brainwashing Jeltor had endured. Still, they cut to the heart of what he was. “He likes being a hero.”
“You said you’d laid in a course?” he asked Shinigami.
“Yes.” She made a small sound as if clearing her throat.
“Good. I’ll...” He saw the uselessness of making any excuse. They knew why he was going. He gave a brief nod, not meeting their eyes, and left.
“One can never trust Barnabas. He cares only for himself.” He could not escape the words now that they were in his head. Barnabas pressed his lips together, took a deep breath, and went to finish his preparations.
