Even her underclothes were new.
Someone—she had a suspicion as to who—had replicated her uniform, matching her size but improving the quality of the fabric. Far beyond anything she could ever afford.
She dressed, ran her hand down her jacket sleeve. Nice. Wow.
Nice. Wow. She turned around slowly, took in the appointments of her cabin, and only half-listened to Hana Jankova’s apologies.
“This is not ‘basic.’ This is”—compared to what I’m used to—“very nice.” A small seating area with a couch opened to a private galley on the left. On the right, a separate bedroom. With a door. A real bedroom. Access to the sani-fac from both the bedroom and the seating area.
Carpet. Wall insulation. Padded stools with armrests at the galley counter. Two viewports behind the couch. Big ones, not the small round ports that graced the Venture’s hull.
And not an inch of duct tape in sight.
The couch was soft. She sat, leaned back, patted the cushions. “Nice.”
“I’m glad it pleases you. Most of our visitors complain.”
“Kospahr, you mean?”
Jankova grinned wryly. “He’s the latest in a long list.”
“He should try living for five years in a sixty-five-year-old short-hauler. Or better yet, crew quarters on a Herkoid tanker. Herkoid would’ve crammed twenty people into here and expected a big thank-you.”
“Do you feel up to meeting with my team in an hour?”
The message from Jagan. Jankova had given her an overview, but she’d yet to see it. “I’ll meet with them now.”
Jankova shook her head. “Take time to get settled. Have a cup of tea. Captain Tivahr wants to be at the meeting as well, and he’s tied up with Lord Minister Kospahr at the moment.”
“They deserve each other.” She pushed herself up off the couch.
“He’s not as bad as he used to be.”
“Who, Kospahr?” Trilby deliberately misunderstood. She didn’t want to hear nice things about Khyrhis Tivahr but knew she’d opened herself up to the subject with her remark.
“The captain. He’s not the same man who stayed behind on Szed.”
“A short vacation at Club ’Sko will do that.” She wandered over to the small galley. Hot coffee and tea on demand. Top-notch replicator. But also a cooktop. Even better.
Jankova leaned on the counter. “He’s very … concerned about you.”
“I’m fine.” As fine as anyone could be who just lost her ship, her livelihood, and was struggling with her self-respect. “So where do I meet you in an hour?”
“The Tactical Briefing Room on Deck Seven. But don’t worry about finding your way. I’ll send someone to escort you.”
“Not Tivahr.” The words escaped her mouth before her brain had a chance to edit them. Damn! She liked Hana Jankova but wasn’t willing to let the woman into her own personal nightmares. She murmured a weak explanation. “I just … he’s busy. I don’t want you to bother him.”
“I’ll probably send Lieutenant Osmar, from my team. He needs to practice his Standard. It will give you a chance to get to know him. We’ll be spending a lot of time together in the next few days.”
“Sounds good.”
Jankova left. Trilby saw a series of letters flash on the overhead ID panel as the door slid closed. HNJNKV. Ident scanners on military ships evidently recorded both entrances and exits. She’d have to remember that, start memorizing the codes.
She didn’t want any surprises on the other side of her door.
ADZSMR.
Okay, she thought. Doesn’t look remotely like Tivahr, if Jankova’s ID was anything to go by.
“Come,” she said. Someone had evidently coded the cabin to respond to Standard. The door opened.
“Captain Elliot? Lieutenant Andrez Osmar.” He saluted, stepped inside.
Andrez Osmar was about her own age, with curly black hair cropped close to his head, a wide nose, and a golden skin color that hinted at the possibility that someone in his past had spent some time on Bartravia.
“Come on in, Lieutenant. Let me just grab my jacket.” She pulled it off the back of the stool in the galley and placed her empty coffee cup in the sani-rack.
She followed him down the corridor to the lift, looked up at him while they waited. He was tall, probably as tall as his captain. Good set of shoulders. Neadi would approve.
She made small talk with him in the lift. He’d been on the Razalka for two years. Before that, he was under Captain Rafiello Vanushavor’s command. No, he’d never been to the Conclave. At least, not socially. Three years ago they’d been at war. Then he’d only seen the Conclave’s Fleet. Not the worlds, or stations. But he’d heard stories.
“Port Rumor? Vad! Much interesting place. Much trouble. Good fun!”
“If you ever get the chance, there’s a bar called Flyboy’s. My friend Neadi and her husband, Leonid, run it. Leonid Danzanour.”
“Zafharish name. Is good.”
“Is great. Maybe I’ll see you there sometime.”
The tactical division on the Razalka spanned both sides of the corridor. Trilby followed Osmar through the double doors into the briefing room, where she met the other two members of Jankova’s team: Grigor Cosaros and Cadrik Bervanik. Cosaros was about Osmar’s age, but Bervanik was older. Late forties, possibly early fifties. He reminded her of Doc, squat and balding. Cosaros was wiry, more intense.
Tivahr stood at the head of the long table at the far end of the room, arms folded across his chest. A three-dimensional holochart hovered in front of him. He turned when she entered but said nothing while Osmar performed the introductions.
Then Jankova came in, followed by a man who was introduced to her as Commander Demarik. Gray haired, but prematurely gray, Trilby guessed. He had a likable face and gorgeous dark eyes. The Razalka’s executive officer, Jankova told her. She heard the pride in the woman’s voice, noticed the slight brush of her fingertips across Demarik’s arm as he turned.
More than pride.
She was glad for Jankova. They seemed right together somehow.
Jankova handed Tivahr a thin datatab. He pushed it into the slot in the table.
“Captain Elliot?” Tivahr motioned to the seat next to his at the table.
Reluctantly, she walked over and sat. The holochart disappeared, to be replaced by a wafer-thin screen.
Tivahr took his seat, leaned slightly toward her. “This is the message from Jagan Grantforth that we intercepted.”
Pilfered, you mean. She noticed Jankova’s team members were suddenly busy at their own consoles. At least they were willing to grant her privacy.
The message was longer than she’d expected. Jagan looked tired, harassed. And as if he’d been drinking too much. Marriage to Zalia was not bringing him happiness. He realized now that money wasn’t everything. He needed to see her. He apologized for all his rude words. But he felt so strongly for her. It made him so afraid.
His life was falling apart. He was desperate. Could she at least contact him, assure him she was okay? He was worried. She hadn’t been to Flyboy’s in a while. If they could just be friends, he’d be happy. Maybe he could even offer her some work through GGA, to make up for the pain he’d caused her. They could be business associates. He knew he didn’t deserve more than that.
“You’ll always be the only woman I’ll ever love.” He ended his message with a weak smile.
She leaned back in her chair as the GGA logo winked off. She thought she was going to throw up.
18
“It’s absolutely out of the question.” Rhis knotted his hands together, rested them on the tabletop. He wanted to knot them around Kospahr’s neck. “Captain Elliot isn’t trained for a mission of this complexity.”
“She doesn’t need training,” Kospahr replied smoothly. He lounged at the opposite end of the long conference table in the Tactical Briefing Room. Osmar, Jankova, and Trilby were on the lord minister’s left, Bervanik, Cosaros, and Demarik on his r
ight. “She’s a freighter captain. All she has to do is fly the runs we tell her. The rest is up to the ’Sko.”
Bait, Rhis knew. Kospahr wanted to use his air sprite as bait. They’d had this discussion before, and it’d almost killed Trilby. Now, at least, Kospahr was willing to admit the Razalka had to be involved. The minister’s first plan had been to have the Careless Venture lure the ’Sko, then have the Razalka’s fighter squadrons move in. But Rhis’s ship would have to be a considerable distance away from the Careless Venture in order to avoid detection. An unsafe distance, in his estimation. In his expert opinion. And it would put Trilby and whoever else was on board in great physical danger.
The ’Sko were not particularly careful about whom they killed.
But Grantforth’s pleading missive to Trilby hinted at a possible shipping contract with GGA. Rhis believed Jagan wanted access to her ship again. He toyed with several possible reasons. The trouble was, there wasn’t much of the Careless Venture left to show him. And rebuilding her would take time.
He made that clear to Kospahr, who dismissed the objection with a wave of his hand.
“So scrap the idea of repairing that derelict ship of hers. I agree, it would take too long and frankly isn’t worth the Empire’s time or money. You can rig one of our new freighters, dangle that in front of the ’Sko and GGA. Add whatever weapons array you want.”
Rhis saw Trilby’s head jerk at this latest proclamation. Jankova evidently wasn’t editing her whispered translations to Trilby. Which was just as well. He wanted to make sure Trilby understood Kospahr’s priorities. And opinions.
Lieutenant Osmar looked up from his datapad, voiced his own concern. “The Conclave and the ’Sko might pick up on an unusual weapons array as well, Lord Minister.”
“I can design around that somewhat,” Rhis conceded. In fact he already had. “But it still doesn’t lessen the risk. Nor does luring the ’Sko give us the connection to Garold Grantforth. I say we wait and see what develops with Jagan Grantforth. When he contacts her again—”
Kospahr slapped the table with the flat of his hand. “The entire Empire could be at risk if we permit the ’Sko to gain entry into the Conclave!”
“I don’t think the situation has escalated quite that far,” Rhis replied levelly. He picked up his lightpen from the table, balanced it in his fingers. “And dangling Captain Elliot before them without thoroughly preparing for all eventualities, and thoroughly protecting her safety, could precipitate even more complications. As I said, she’s not trained—”
“Then train her. Or send a trained team with her,” Kospahr said.
Rhis felt Jankova’s gaze on him, saw Osmar look up again from his datapad. Cosaros and Bervanik said nothing, but he knew if he asked for volunteers, they’d all stand up in unison.
But that would be almost as foolish as sending Trilby out alone.
“Jankova’s team just returned from an assignment. I’m not going to send them back out again. Cosaros and Osmar haven’t recovered from their injuries. This was their third mission in six months.”
And Jankova’s absence hadn’t done Demarik any good either. For the first time, Rhis sympathized with his executive officer.
“Then don’t send Jankova’s team. Lieutenant Gurdan’s people are available. I’ve already spoken to him.”
“But I haven’t.” Nor did he intend to. “And you don’t have final say here, Lord Minister. I do.”
“We don’t have the time to waste while your people lick their wounds.”
Rhis’s eyes narrowed. The man was not only insulting, he was an idiot. “Sending injured personnel on a mission is the height of stupidity. The only possible answer is to delay a month while Commander Jankova’s team recovers and Captain Elliot’s ship is repaired.”
“A month? We don’t have a month. That young Grantforth’s hot for her again. We can’t afford to—”
The mention of Jagan sent anger sizzling through Rhis’s words. “My answer, Kospahr, is no!”
“Cordag merash!” Trilby’s voice cut between them, ordering him, ordering them all, to listen to her. In perfect Zafharish.
He glanced at her, caught Jankova’s slight smile of surprise. Trilby was learning quickly. Too quickly, for Kospahr’s liking. The lord minister started to rise.
“Viek,” Trilby added. Please.
Rhis noted her smile to Kospahr was as forced as the courtesy she added. He banked his irritation, let her continue.
“I think I understand pretty well, from Commander Jankova’s translations, what you want to accomplish. And Lord Minister Kospahr is correct: I do know freighter operations. And for that reason, Captain Tivahr’s plan won’t work.”
Kospahr, clearly pleased by her pronouncement, leaned back, eyes narrowed, fleshy lips curling into a half smile of self-satisfaction. But Rhis knew Trilby had more to say. He didn’t think in the long run she’d be siding with the lord minister.
Trilby gestured to Cosaros and Bervanik, then nodded to Jankova on her right. “No offense to any of you. But on the freighter docks I’ve worked, you’d all stand out like a well-fed felinar in a mizzet colony. You say you want to create a fictitious freighter company, a Zafharin–Indy joint venture, with me as hired captain. And have this company agree to do business with GGA. Well, if you’re going to do that, you’re going to have to let me, as captain, choose my crew. And it wouldn’t be any of you, because you’re all too … respectable.
“And Gurdan’s people,” she told Kospahr, “all walk around like they have rods up their asses.”
“You have a unique way with words,” Kospahr said dryly.
“It’s part of my charm,” she shot back at him.
Rhis rapped his lightpen on the table. Trilby’s comments were valid but only pointed out the problems. She didn’t offer any solutions. They still had work to do. Before he could remind them of that fact, Osmar leaned forward, put his thoughts out in accented Standard.
“Captain Elliot is right. We do not have merchanter training. Not that we could not learn lingo, or methods. But it would take time. If we could delay this project, as Captain Tivahr says, work with Captain Elliot on some runs, then we are in better position to fit in at places like Port Rumor. We could be,” and he grinned at Trilby, “less respectable.”
And physically sound. Cosaros had taken two laser hits to the leg during their escape. Osmar had broken his left arm, suffered a concussion. Doc still had them on injured reserve.
Trilby was far from healed as well. Her injuries were more recent. Rhis saw the shadows under her eyes, saw her wince when she moved too suddenly.
But Kospahr wasn’t interested in reasons for a delay. He started to object, but Jankova snapped her fingers.
“We might not have to delay. Mitkanos,” she said. Rhis saw Demarik look toward her, nod in agreement. “I didn’t think of it until Andrez mentioned merchanter training. Mitkanos’s family runs a depot in Port Balara. We could talk to him about filling in on our team.”
“He’s Stegzarda,” Cosaros said. He didn’t have to add “not Fleet.”
That could be a problem, and not just because of the rivalry between the two branches. Rhis intended to be part of Trilby’s “crew,” whether she liked it or not. And whether Mitkanos agreed with it or not. He had a feeling Mitkanos wouldn’t.
The major had already done Rhis one favor by deleting all records of his authorization for the Careless Venture’s departure. And had made it clear he did so only because Demarik asked. They had a tie from long ago. Rhis never asked what it was. Only that it was this history with Demarik and, his exec admitted, Mitkanos’s fondness for Captain Elliot that engineered the ruse of Lieutenant Lucho Salnay’s “assistance” and Trilby’s “escape.” Not because Mitkanos had any interest in protecting Captain Tivahr.
He admittedly owed Mitkanos for that. That didn’t make the prospect of working a mission with the Stegzarda chief any more pleasant.
Yavo Mitkanos accepted Rhis’s offer of a chair with
controlled courtesy, listened to his brief preliminaries with a professional attentiveness. But Rhis clearly saw the expected: the man didn’t like him. It was in the control, in the veneer of professionalism, in the way the burly man looked levelly across the wide desktop between them.
Rhis was used to people being, if not intimidated by his presence, at least deferential. But Mitkanos had been casually unconcerned when Rhis stood at his table in the officers’ mess on Degvar. And was only marginally more cooperative now.
The only thing that seemed to motivate the man was Trilby’s safety.
“She’s willing to work with you?” Mitkanos asked.
“Yes.”
“This surprises me. I’ll overstep my bounds here and say you’ve treated her most unfairly.”
Rhis sat back in his chair. “You’re right. You’re overstepping your bounds, Major. But I didn’t send those fighters after her.”
“I’m well aware of that. But I’m speaking of things that happened before that incident.”
A wave of anger, then shame, washed over Rhis. He knew he’d hurt Trilby by not telling her who he was. He wouldn’t have thought she’d cry on the shoulders of someone like Mitkanos. “I’m not interested in your opinions on my interaction with Captain Elliot. I asked you here solely because Commander Demarik believes you can assist us in an operation to force Grantforth and the ’Sko into the open.”
“Zak Demarik is correct. I grew up on my family’s merchanter docks. Spent six years working the freighter trade before joining the Stegzarda. That’s what you wanted to know, correct?”
“How long ago was that?”
“Twenty-three years. But my family still runs the depot. I follow their business.”
“I’m looking to create a believable, workable freighter crew of five. Myself and Captain Elliot are already part of that roster. I need three more. If Captain Elliot agrees, can you provide us with personnel with military training and freighter experience that fit those parameters?”
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