Finders Keepers

by Linnea Sinclair

  She chuckled, swiveled her datapad into position. “Okay, tough guy, have it your way. Full power active. Let’s run down the list. Life support.”

  “Power levels optimum. Filters online.”

  “Got it. Auxiliary generators?” It was odd hearing Rhis’s voice, not Dezi’s reply to her routine questions.

  “On standby.”

  They went back and forth for the next five minutes, making a small adjustment here, a slight change in levels there. Several times Trilby noted Rhis almost issuing the command before she did, as if he were about to take over the captain’s prerogative. She doubted that Senior Captain Tivahr would have tolerated that on the Razalka’s bridge.

  But evidently a lowly Zafharin lieutenant felt himself more qualified than an Indy freighter captain. Well, she’d show him a thing or two yet. “Do much heavy-air flying, Rhis?”

  “Enough.”

  “Keep in mind that this is a cargo freighter, not one of your sleek, high-performance Imperial toys, okay? Try to let me handle her ’til we clear dirtside gravity.” She tapped at his hand resting on the throttle and command pads. “I do know how to fly this ship.”

  He snatched his hand away.

  “That’s better. Now, let’s get this bucket of bolts in the air.”

  As the bulky ship strained upward, Rhis grudgingly admitted she’d been right about one thing. His heavy-air time had all been in high-performance and high-priced Imperial toys. Toys that had better gravity buffer systems than the Venture did. His side twinged again. He worked on his breathing, brought his mind out of his physical frame and focused on the instrument readouts before him.

  A half hour, twenty-nine minutes … his focus changed from the readouts to watching Trilby Elliot at the controls. She was breathing a little harder, her own body fighting the strain. But her hands moved flawlessly, correcting rotation and axis, fiddling with a thruster.

  “The starboard auxiliary is always fritzy,” she said when she saw him watching her. “That’s my safety valve. Some damned fool tries to steal my ship, hell, he’ll find her skittering out of control before he can begin congratulating himself on his prowess.” She gave a small chuckle. “If I thought the Zafharin had any interest in old junkers like mine, I wouldn’t be telling you this.”

  The Zafharin never had much use for small freighters. Warships, scoutships, large-cargo conveyors, yes. But an old Circura II wouldn’t be worthy of their attention. He, however, would never be able to see one without thinking of a certain pale-haired air sprite. But perhaps air sprite wasn’t the proper analogy for her. Her fragile appearance was all a sham, a trick of nature that had given her the face of a princess and, he was beginning to understand, a life of privation.

  A very wrong number on the console caught his attention. “Your ascent angle’s too steep.”

  Trilby raised her right hand over her head. The plush toy felinar bumped against it. “Nope. Just fine.”

  He looked at the long-tailed toy, at the red-tinged readout, then at Trilby. “Don’t tell me you’re serious.”

  She grinned.

  He understood. “Another theft-prevention device?”

  Dezi answered for her. “Captain Elliot has always stated that pirate factions intent on capture or sabotage would overlook the simplistic. Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, for of course the Zafharin’s high rate of success reveals that your people are more thorough than most. For example, the Razalka’s ambush of GGA’s sharvinite convoy five years past certainly showed tremendous—”

  “Thank you, Dezi,” two voices said simultaneously. But for different reasons.

  “Would you check incoming messages, Dez?” Trilby disengaged the heavy-air engines and primed her ship’s hyperdrives.

  Rhis realized his training had him anticipating her movements like a slightly fractured shadow. He folded his hands to keep them from wandering to the controls. “Waiting for confirmation on your Bagrond pickup?”

  “Got that already.” The ship had pulled free of Avanar’s gravity and leveled out easily. The forward viewport filled with the dark elegance of deep space.

  Rhis relaxed back into his seat.

  “Waiting,” she continued, “for some news from Neadi Danzanour.”

  “Danzanour?” It was a Zafharin surname.

  “Neadi’s husband, Leonid, had a Zafharin father. But he was raised here, in Gensiira, on Marbo. He and Neadi run a great little pub near the spaceport. Good people,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

  “You’ve known them long?” Other than stumbling over her personal letters from Jagan Grantforth, Rhis had no other source of information on Trilby. And working on her ship’s systems hadn’t provided for the time to ask such questions. But the next three days—a “trike,” as she termed it in her freighter lingo—had no demands on them. Other than to babysit the Venture on her journey.

  Trilby was nodding. “I met Neadi when I worked for Norvind Intergalactic.”

  “Norvind hired you out of the Merchant Academy?”

  She glanced at him, then at the scanner at her right. “I thought I saw something,” she began. “Probably just interference. Now, what? Oh, yeah, Norvind. You would’ve heard of them, I guess, wouldn’t you?” Referring, he knew, to the fact that Norvind had lost its share of cargo to the Zafharin during the war.

  “No academy. That, Rhis-my-boy, costs money. Worked in a tool shop in Rumor since I was, I don’t know, twelve or thirteen. Learned enough to sign on with Herkoid a few years later. But they folded, just before the war, you know. Rinnaker bought some of their ships. Norvind took over some of their routes, personnel. I was just part of the package.” She turned to Dezi. “Got any new messages?”

  “Transferring them to you now.” His metal fingers tapped at the keypad.

  The data light on her screen flashed. Trilby pulled up the first message.

  Rhis saw the face of an attractive woman fill the screen; her deep-golden skin and thick curly hair indicated her Bartravian heritage. She was probably in her late forties. The lines on her face were those of a woman who laughed often, and easily. But she wasn’t laughing now.

  “Good to hear you’re back online, Tril. And glad I reached you in time about Rinnaker. There’s been more bad news. I hope you get this before you make Rumor. Send me your ETA.” She hesitated, pursing her lips. “It’s about Carina. Carina’s missing.”

  Trilby tensed visibly.

  “I sent her the same warning I did you. But you know how her brother is, how her whole crew is. It’s profit first, all else be damned.

  “Looks like they were hijacked. They were hauling a shipment of Grade-Two sharvinite. Gensiira patrol found Bella’s Dream not far from the border at Q Eighty-four. Next thing after that’s Szed.”

  “’Sko.” Trilby breathed the word quietly.

  “Ship was ram-boarded, bridge trashed. Cargo was gone. Two crew, left for dead. Carina and Vitorio are missing.”

  He’d seen the carnage wrought by the ’Sko too many times not to recognize the description. But it was the location at the border that set off his internal alarms. This was not an average ’Sko strike. Not there. Not now. He listened more carefully.

  “Patrol’s trying to reconstruct the logs. As soon as we hear more, I’ll let you know. Be careful out there, little one.”

  The screen blanked out. Trilby covered her eyes with her hand, then pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Dezi’s joints squeaked as he stood. “I’m truly sorry to learn this news.” He patted her head in a clumsy yet strangely endearing fashion.

  Trilby nodded. “Thanks, Dez.” She drew a deep breath and raised her face, her eyes bright with unshed tears when she turned to Rhis.

  He felt as if something were tearing him in half. The information he’d just heard was vital. He had to investigate it, act on it. But he found all he could think about was the pain of the woman before him.

  He heard himself telling her he’d take the helm. “Pour yourself a drink, Elliot. And sen
d an answer to Dasja Neadi,” he said, using the Zafharin word for Lady. “She needs to hear you’re safe.”

  He expected her to protest, to bluff that she was all right. But she didn’t. The meekness with which she accepted his offer and the quiet way she left the bridge bothered him. Bothered the arrogant, insufferable, Imperial hard-ass who had never been bothered by such things before.

  “Captain Elliot and Carina have known each other since they were very young.”

  Rhis turned toward Dezi and found the ’droid looking at him. Envoy ’droids were supposed to be adept at interpreting human facial expressions, even the most minute ones. He wondered just what had played across his face and how much he had given away. Enough, evidently. He nodded for Dezi to continue.

  “They grew up in Port Rumor together. Captain Elliot has often told me of the games they played to circumvent capture by the Iffys—”

  “Iffys?”

  “Indigent Family and Youth Authorities, I believe. All unclaimed children were to be placed in orphanages. However, Captain Elliot—”

  “Trilby was an ‘unclaimed’ child?” To a Zafharin, the terminology was appalling. It was one of the first things he’d learned as a child. Lineage and clan history formed the essence of a person’s identity.

  “Yes.” Dezi’s optical sensors blinked. “As were Carina and her brother, Vitorio. That is why I believe this news is so upsetting to Captain Elliot.”

  “This is more than losing a friend, then. This is as if she lost someone in her family.”

  “I believe that would be a correct analysis, Lieutenant.”

  Rhis thought of Rafi. Not family, but the closest thing he had to it. How would he react to news of Rafi’s capture by the ’Sko? “Perhaps I should go check on her.”

  “I find that advisable. Be assured I can handle the helm. I’ve done so for many years now.”

  Rhis watched the message transit light on the comm panel. He knew she needed time to compose a message. And herself. The light blinked out. He unstrapped the restraints and stood.

  And again, for a moment, duty warred with a part of him he didn’t know existed. Duty decreed her personal concerns were not his problem. He was an officer in the Imperial Fleet. She was just a low-budget freighter operator. She—

  She was hurting. Of all the Godless, soulless creatures in civilized space, he should be the last one to offer her comfort. He wasn’t even sure he knew how.

  He only knew he had to try.

  5

  Trilby wrapped the faded purple quilt around her shoulders and leaned against the padded bulkhead. She could still feel the slight vibration of the interstellar drives, a reassuring, familiar feeling. She needed that right now. The one swallow of gin she’d managed to get down was little comfort. The tall glass on her bedside table had tiny droplets of water speckled on its exterior like clusters of elongated stars. The ice cubes shifted, tinkling, cracking.

  Her cabin door chimed. The overhead readout was blank. With only herself and Dezi on board there never had been a need for her to activate the ID system, even if it had worked. And when Jagan had been there, her cabin was his as well.

  Now there was her Zafharin lieutenant, though her visitor could just as easily be Dezi.

  Her Zafharin lieutenant. He was not, she admonished herself as she trundled to the door, her lieutenant. More than likely he was some Zafharin female’s lieutenant. One he was obviously anxious to get back to. He probably saw her mourning as a tactic to delay him.

  She tapped at the access pad on the wall. The door slid to the left. Light from the corridor spilled into the dim cabin and she looked up, blinking. Tall. Broad shoulders. Definitely the Zafharin lieutenant.

  At least she had the presence of mind not to call him hers again.

  She took a step backward, snagged her heel on the edge of the quilt, and stumbled, arms flailing. She was abruptly caught up in strong arms and drawn against a familiar black jacket and white shirt. Was she, she wondered as his arms wrapped around her, going to spend her life with her nose forever in this man’s chest?

  Women usually didn’t throw themselves into Rhis’s arms. Rafi would’ve no doubt approved of the way Rhis caught Trilby tightly against him, and taken it as a positive sign of things to come.

  But Rhis was a realist. It wasn’t his charm but a bulky purple quilt snaking around Trilby’s boots that had precipitated their current embrace.

  “Are you all right?”

  She pushed away from him and gathered the tangled quilt in her arms. “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re thinking. Clumsy. A bit …” She paused, then sighed loudly. “A bit off balance, in more ways than one. But no, not drunk.” She motioned to her glass as she plopped down on her bed. “One swallow made it down. Any more and I think it might decide to come back up.”

  “I’m not—it would be okay if you were drunk.” Rhis recognized the defensiveness in her tone. That dismayed him, though it rarely had before. People’s feelings were unimportant. But this wasn’t just people. This was Trilby Elliot. “It’s not easy to hear such news of someone you’ve known almost your whole life.” He glanced around for something to sit on. Next to her, on her bed, was an inviting option, and for that very reason he rejected it. He still had this urge to take that small, purple-swaddled form back into his arms.

  He sought an alternative. He’d never been in her cabin before. It was about the size of the one she’d assigned him, with a double bed along the back wall. Shelving, six drawers, and a closet were on the left. Her quarters lacked any semblance of luxury, just like the rest of her ship.

  Unless you counted the purple quilt as a luxury. The muted glow from a small bedside lamp and from her computer screen, which was swiveled toward her, showed it wrapped around her like a protecting cocoon. The square shaft of light from the corridor highlighted the threadbare spots in the thin gray carpeting. As his eyes finally adjusted, he saw a larger plush toy felinar that lay on its side on the bed next to her. And in the corner, a single metal-back chair clipped to a deck lock.

  He stepped on the release to unlatch it from the floor and dragged it over, straddling it as he faced her.

  “This won’t cause you any delays, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She drew her knees up under her chin. “I’m not in a position to go chasing after Carina. Or the ’Sko. We’ll make Rumor on time.”

  “That’s not why I came to talk to you. Tell me about Carina.”

  “Why? Do you think you know her or something?”

  He responded with a small shake of his head. “I think it might help for you to talk of her.”

  She was silent, and he could read the distrust in her eyes. No doubt she was wondering who had named Rhis Vanur chief psychiatrist.

  “I’ve known her for years. But you knew that, didn’t you?” Again a silence, but a thoughtful one this time. “Dezi,” she said knowingly.

  “I probably would have guessed anyway.”

  “Yeah, well, Carina is someone Dezi categorizes as one of my ‘wilder’ friends.”

  Rhis remembered how the ’droid had described the now-subdued woman before him: She’s a good girl, truly she is. A bit wild at times …

  “More wild than you?”

  “Yeah. Wilder than me. Couple of years younger than me too. She’s really a stunning girl. Woman,” she corrected herself, and rummaged through a drawer in her nightstand. “Here.” She handed him a thin holograph, then tabbed the light up a notch so he could see.

  Five people filled the picture taken in a bar. Neadi’s bar, he assumed, recognizing the golden face of the woman standing behind the counter. A taller dark-haired man was on her left. Potted plants quivered overhead from an unseen breeze, green fronds and a variety of brightly colored blossoms trailing down on the right side, almost touching the shoulder of a portly, red-bearded man with bright blue eyes. The man’s shirt had a GGA logo on the front. Next to him, perched on a stool, was Trilby, laughing, batting away the hand of an exotically beaut
iful woman on her right who was trying to pour a glass of clear liquid on Trilby’s head.

  The woman had to be Carina. Her glossy brown hair was long, curling about her shoulders and, as she moved, falling in more curls to her waist. Without her high cheekbones and full mouth, her face would appear almost too thin. But the combination, and her large, almond-shaped dark blue eyes, gave her instead a mysterious, almost regal look.

  He immediately pegged her as vain, though he recognized he had no valid reason to do so. But there was something in her face that reminded him of Malika. Something in the way she looked at the people around her, appraising them, categorizing them.

  She had a beauty not unlike Malika’s as well: dark and sultry. Trilby, next to her, was so different. Like a ray of light, or a bright moon in a dark sky.

  Trilby sparkled. When he’d first seen her, through a haze of pain in sick bay, he’d thought she was pretty. Sweet.

  Truth was, he admitted with some reluctance, she was more than that. She was enchanting. Enchantingly beautiful.

  He felt a heat rise in his body, brought his concentration back to the problem at hand. Carina.

  “Carina is the mischief-maker, yes?”

  “Carina is the mischief-maker, yes.” She mimicked his accent, lightly rolling the r, drawing out the i. “Vad,” she added.

  His surprise was genuine. “You speak—”

  “Only yes, no, and another beer, please. Plus an assortment of useful curses.” She grinned. “All the necessaries, courtesy of Leo.” She pointed to the dark-haired man next to Neadi.

  She was smiling now. The quilt had slipped from around her shoulders and she released the tense grip on her knees. Something warm stirred inside Rhis’s chest. He’d made her feel better. Odd how that also made him feel different too.

  “And what was Dasja Carina trying to do?” he asked, bringing her attention back to the holo.

  “Dasja is Miss?”

  “Lady. But as in a title, not as in a gender. It can be a title of heritage, or of graciousness.” He’d not had to explain his language in a long time. “Honored woman,” he said finally. “Dasjon is for a man. Lord. Honored man.”