Finders Keepers

by Linnea Sinclair

  “In any military operation, there is certain information that is restricted,” he answered her. “However, if you agree to cooperate, I guarantee you will be apprised of all that we feel is pertinent at the time.”

  “Need-to-know, Tivahr?”

  He nodded slowly, watched her mouth spread into a wry grin. Felt the corresponding warmth spread through him at the same time. The last time she’d thrown that phrase at him they were on the Venture. They were almost friends, about to be lovers. He wanted desperately to pick things up from that point.

  He turned to Kospahr. “She will cooperate.”

  “Wise decision, my dear.” Kospahr patted the edge of her bed. “I’m sure you’ll find life on this side of the zone a bit better. Especially someone as attractive as you are.” He leaned closer. “Not all men are fools, like Grantforth.”

  “No, Lord Minister,” she said quietly as Kospahr turned away. “Some are worse.”

  Rhis followed them compliantly through sick bay but stopped just as the doors closed behind them. They took several steps down the corridor before Jankova turned, slanted him a glance.

  “Commander, you’ll accompany the lord minister back to his quarters. I need to speak with the doctor.”

  “You ill, Tivahr?”

  “Obviously not, Lord Minister. But I must sign off on Captain Elliot’s medical reports and make sure they properly reflect all we’ve done for her. Just in case, of course, the Conclave should ever request them.”

  “Ah! Yes. You must make sure they properly reflect that we did all we could to prevent her being injured.” He waved his hand over his head as he turned. “Carry on, Captain.”

  Jankova hesitated, then fell into step with Kospahr. He waited until they disappeared around the corner before spinning on his heels and striding back through sick bay’s doors.

  “Jankova approved this?” Doc intercepted him in the middle of sick bay.

  “No. But she didn’t disapprove it either.” He put his hand on the shorter man’s shoulder, nudged him out of the way. “Go hide in your office. I’m supposed to be in conference with you. Over Trilby’s medical records.”

  He hit the palm pad, stepped through. She was still sitting propped against the pillows, a light blanket over her. But she’d pulled her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms on top of the tent made by the blanket. She looked startled to see him standing there.

  The door closed. He thumbed the lock on. Fear flickered in her eyes, and in his chest, a corresponding pain at the sight of it.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked softly. He slid his hands in his pockets. Better there than reaching toward her when that wasn’t what she wanted.

  “You came back to ask me that? Go ask Doc. He’s the one with the medical degree.”

  “You are angry with me.”

  “No. I’m overjoyed to lose my ship and my best friend. To have damned near died. This has been great fun. We really ought to do it again sometime.”

  “Trilby-chenka—”

  “Jettison that, Tivahr. Jankova told me you’re on the shit list if Kospahr finds out you gave me the release codes. I told her I’d cooperate. You don’t have to be nice to me anymore.”

  He pulled his hands out of his pockets, wiped them over his face. “Jankova’s concerns are not mine.” And he realized as he said it that it was the truth. He didn’t give a damn about his career. Not if keeping it meant losing Trilby.

  She glared at him. He sought the chair, sat in it, rested his elbows on his knees. This might take a while. “I did not send the fighters after you.”

  “She said that. I gather that was Kospahr’s idea.”

  “He wants to use you to trap Grantforth.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both.”

  “I hate to disappoint Chubby Boy there, but I don’t think either’s interested.”

  “Jagan is. He’s sent you a transmit.”

  “Jagan sent—you read my mail? Again?” She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable. You have no respect for anyone. I’d like to be there the day someone finally says no to you. It ought to be a sight.”

  “Someone in GGA is closely involved with the ’Sko. I decoded the transmit because it could help us take action against them.”

  “And my transmit to Neadi? You read that too.”

  The efficient Corporal Rimanava. He wondered what she’d told Trilby. “That was wrong of me, yes. But you were so angry with me. I was looking for anything that might tell me how to get you to talk to me again.”

  “Locking me out of my ship’s primaries was a big step in that direction.”

  “I put that program in place when I was afraid you would go searching for Carina.”

  “Oh, yeah. The friend I don’t care about. I remember now.”

  “Trilby—”

  “Look. Captain. I’m not as stupid as your friend Kospahr thinks I am.”

  “He’s not my friend.”

  She waved his comment away. “I know something pretty dirty is going on with the ’Sko and GGA. Maybe even Secretary Grantforth. And that you and your team think Jagan used me and the Venture to set all that up. I don’t like it. I’m not even sure I buy it. I think it stinks. But I told Jankova, and I’m telling you again. I will cooperate. Which means,” she said, holding up her hand as he leaned forward, intent on putting forth his own explanation, “that you have no right, outside of those parameters, to be involved in my life. You may be emperor on this ship, but I’m not one of your little peasants. Is that clear?”

  He clasped his hands together. “You are very angry with me.”

  She fell back against the pillows, murmured something to the ceiling that sounded a bit like, “Why me?”

  He could tell her, but he didn’t think she wanted to hear it right now.

  Trilby hated the look on his face as he left her room in sick bay. Disappointment under an “it’s okay” mask. He was either a very good actor or her rejections really pained him.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Because as far as she was concerned, there were only two ways to look at Khyrhis Tivahr: as a liar, who felt that his continued attentions would guarantee her continued cooperation, or as a lover, one so far above her station and social circle—like she really had one of those!—that they stood no chance of success in a relationship. Someone was bound to get hurt, and that someone, she had recently learned from Jagan Grantforth, was Trilby Elliot.

  But she’d work with him. In spite of what she’d told him just now, she wasn’t totally sure GGA was innocent. Neadi’s rumors still bothered her.

  Plus, she owed it to Carina to find out the truth. And Mitkanos. And Farra. And the rest of them, in gray uniforms and black, right down to the crew of the Razalka. Because if the ’Sko got a foothold in the Conclave, life in civilized space would become a living hell.

  Only a greedy fool like Jagan Grantforth would think otherwise.

  Only a crazy fool like Trilby Elliot could stop him.

  17

  A middle-aged female med-tech brought Trilby’s lunch on a tray. Doc trailed in behind, leaned against the open doorjamb after she left.

  “I’m a really good cook,” Trilby told him, between mouthfuls. “If you had a galley, I’d prove it. This is replicator, right?”

  “One hundred percent balanced nutrition.”

  She flipped a few clumps of brown mush with her fork. “Tastes like rice that was ashamed of its identity.”

  He laughed. “It’s our replicator’s version of a Yaniran rice dish, yes. It is quite wholesome.”

  “Give me the original recipe. I’ll make it delicious.”

  “There are a few personal galleys on board. But I would have to clear the matter with the captain.”

  She pointed the fork at him. “Ask him about my cooking. I never saw a man eat so much food in my life.”

  “You cooked for him, yes?”

  “I cooked for us. My ship doesn’t have replicators. And as most of my runs are
trikes, I stock up on fresh from station hydroponics when I need to.” She thought for a moment. “You got a hydroponics on board?”

  “A small one. Again, I would—”

  “Have to ask the captain, I know.” She took another mouthful. This stuff was pitiful. She might have to pull a favor. “Well, when I get out of here … By the way, Doc, when am I getting out of here?”

  “Another day perhaps. You’re healing nicely.”

  “And then?” She didn’t know if Doc was in the information chain as far as her deal with Tivahr and Kospahr. For all she knew, he might believe she was going from here to the brig. Or to Degvar. She was sure he knew she had no workable ship to go back to.

  “I believe Commander Jankova is in charge of arrangements after I release you.”

  That wasn’t totally bad news. She liked Hana Jankova. Then she thought of someone she didn’t like. Whose presence didn’t quite mesh. “What do you know about this Kospahr who was here this morning?”

  “Second Lord Minister of Defense. Cousin of Emperor Kasmov.”

  “So he informed me. But what do you know about him?”

  “I take it you are not asking about his blood type?”

  She grinned. Doc was okay. “No, but I thought you might know more about his species. Been a long time since I’ve seen a free-floating asshole with legs.”

  Doc had a deep, rumbling chuckle. It filled the small room. “Then you must not know too many politicians.”

  “One other comes to mind, and you’re right: there are distinct similarities. So what’s he doing on the Razalka? I’m surprised Tivahr tolerates him.” From everything she’d heard about the senior captain, he wouldn’t.

  “The captain was absent when Kospahr came on board. There was a point, and this is strictly off the record, when we did not know if Captain Tivahr was returning. Jankova came back with the news the ’Sko had captured him.”

  “Jankova was on the raid?” This surprised her. The woman was smart, and tough, Trilby admitted. But she didn’t look that tough. Must be something the Imperials put in the water.

  Doc nodded. “She heads special operations. I thought you knew this.”

  “Probably, but it didn’t sink in until now.”

  “So the captain told you about the raid?”

  “He told me a couple of versions. The only consistent thing was that he got left behind in Szedcafar. I thought it was pretty shitty they abandoned him.”

  Doc frowned. “They didn’t abandon him. He voluntarily stayed behind to facilitate their escape. He, out of all of them, is the best suited to survive unfavorable conditions.”

  “Avanar at noon is unfavorable conditions. Capture by the ’Sko is generally fatal.”

  “For most people, perhaps. But the captain …” And Doc hesitated. Trilby wondered if he thought he had said too much.

  “Is not most people,” she finished for him. She hoped he might volunteer more, confirm some of the rumors Mitkanos had talked about. But he only took her tray from her, laying her napkin across the top.

  “I shall see about finding you someplace to cook, Captain Elliot. I think I might be able to justify it for the improved health of my patients.”

  He left her with orders “to rest,” as if she could do anything else dressed in a soft silvery shift that hung past her knees. And no socks or boots. And not a laser rifle in sight.

  But her body took Doc’s command seriously, even though her mind labeled it only a ten-minute nap. When she woke, her door was closed and the lights in her room were dimmed. She glanced at the time panel on the far wall, saw it was 1830. Time for dinner and she’d just finished lunch.

  Then she saw something else. Tivahr, in the chair.

  She blinked, rolled over on her side. “Don’t tell me. Studying my sleeping habits will help you defeat the ’Sko.”

  “No. Though it is a tempting suggestion.” There was a smile in his voice. But whatever expression his mouth held was invisible under his dark mustache and the dim light.

  She didn’t want to discuss tempting suggestions lying down. She didn’t want to discuss tempting suggestions at all. She pulled herself upright, plumped the pillow behind her, and leaned back. “What are you doing here?”

  “Do you know that we have known each other for only eleven days?”

  She did, but didn’t want to admit she’d thought about it. About how on day four she’d thrown herself at him, torn his clothes off while he’d removed hers with equal enthusiasm. It had been an incredibly stupid move on her part, considering what happened on days five and six, and every one after that.

  Back then, on day four, she’d seen him as a kindred spirit. A tweaker of wogs-and-weemlies, like herself. And, when she found out he’d survived capture by the ’Sko, a hero. Unlike herself. Those two things fed the attraction she’d felt for him since she first saw him lying on her sick-bay regen bed. Magnificently naked.

  He’d made it increasingly clear that he wanted her, and it seemed so very okay. Because he was just a lowly lieutenant. And she, a lowly freighter captain.

  But he wasn’t a lowly lieutenant. And she was just a lowly freighter captain. She had to remember that. Had to forget day number four of those eleven days.

  “In freighter lingo,” she told him, pulling the sheet up around her and tucking it under her arms, “we call eleven days a ‘single dex.’ A deuce dex, what you’d call twelve, is a ‘stinker.’ ”

  “Why?”

  “Because unless you got a real good enviro system, and most short-haulers don’t, that’s what your ship’s going to smell like after twelve days in the lanes.”

  He laughed. Of course he would. He’d never experienced a ship on a twelve-day run with a failing enviro. Or no fresh water. Or no money for docking fees.

  He didn’t know what it was like to patch all your equipment, your clothes. His uniform was spotless, almost elegant with its fitted black jacket, tailored pants, polished boots.

  And he’d gotten his hair cut. Probably had his own personal stylist.

  “Doc says he might release me tomorrow,” she said, as his laughter died away. “What then?”

  “Then we take a look at what we know about the ’Sko and Grantforth. And we decide how you will answer the transmit from Jagan.”

  “He probably doesn’t expect me to answer. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

  “I know.”

  It took a moment for his comment to sink in. Irritation flared in her. “All my personal transmits. Everything. You read them all, didn’t you?”

  “It was necessary.”

  Oh, Gods! They were so … intimate. The earlier ones. And the last few, the things Jagan called her … She was beyond mortification.

  She grabbed the pillow from behind her back and flung it at him with all her might. It hit him square in the face. He let out a satisfying “oomph.”

  “You have no morals! No morals at all!” Damn, that hurt. She rotated her injured shoulder. “And damn you, stop laughing!”

  He was laughing at her. Standing, clutching the pillow in his arms, and laughing.

  She held out her hand. “Give that back. I’m sick and injured. I need it.”

  He sat down on the bed, facing her, and reached around her to tuck the pillow behind her back.

  Wrong request, Trilby-girl. This was not where she wanted him to be. Not this close, with his breath in her hair, his arms brushing against hers. His mouth, hot against her skin, his mustache rasping against her cheek. He dusted her face with kisses of exquisite tenderness.

  She was lost, and she couldn’t afford to be. She squirmed away from him, brought her hands up to his shoulders, pushed him back.

  “Don’t, damn you. Stop it!” Her voice cracked. She hoped he thought it was anger.

  “Trilby-chenka—”

  A knock on the door. Three quick raps.

  He pushed himself off the bed, ran his hand through his hair. He faced the door as it slid open. Doc’s solid form blocked the incom
ing light.

  “Time, Captain. I told you no more than thirty minutes. It’s now forty.”

  “Yes. Of course.” He stood by the edge of her bed. Trilby examined the hem of her blanket, knew he was looking at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doc step closer.

  “We do not want to tire our favorite patient.”

  “No.”

  “Time to leave, Captain Tivahr.”

  “You are releasing her tomorrow?”

  “I will let you know in the morning.”

  He stepped away. Trilby raised her eyes, saw him hesitate in the door.

  “Vanko,” he said to Doc. Then a long sentence in Zafharish. Her name. Some other words she thought she recognized, but she couldn’t be sure. She’d have to get hold of a language program. There was too much at risk here.

  Like being left alone in a small room with Khyrhis Tivahr. Risky, very risky.

  Doc answered him, a few more sentences back and forth, and then he was gone.

  She smoothed out the blanket and drew her knees up again. Wondered if Doc could see the flush of anger and shame on her face.

  “Lutsa,” he said. The lights brightened. “You have a good nap?”

  “Delightful.”

  “And your visitor?” Doc flipped open his medistat, ran it down her arms as he talked. “No, let me guess. A royal pain in the ass, no?”

  “A royal pain in the ass, yes,” she told him. “He doesn’t seem to understand the word no.”

  “You’ll have to teach him.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already got a job.”

  He closed the sensor. “Two more hours in the regen. Then tomorrow I will issue your release. You may have some soreness in your shoulder for a few days. And, of course, do not enter any marathons for a least a week. But other than that, you’ll be fine.”

  He patted her arm. “Ilsa will bring your dinner in a little while. Rest, for now.”

  Rest. She hugged her knees against her chest, stared at the closing door. She wasn’t tired, didn’t want to sleep. She was afraid she’d have nightmares. And Tivahr would be in every one of them.

  Her breakfast arrived at 0800, along with clothing and a pair of boots. She picked up the familiar drab-green flight pants only to find the material unfamiliar. And unpatched. She examined the T-shirt and service jacket. All the same. And her ship’s ID was gone from the jacket sleeves.