She wriggled her bottom against him, felt his throbbing response against her skin. And his soft chuckle in her ear.
They ended up bringing coffee to the bridge. Breakfast wasn’t an option they had time for. Mitkanos vacated the captain’s chair when Trilby stepped through the hatchway, with Rhis right behind her.
Mitkanos moved to the communications station. But Dallon was in the copilot’s chair, finishing a systems check. Trilby knew he should’ve been off duty long ago. He shrugged when she mentioned it. “I don’t need that much sleep. Plus I was hoping a response from Grantforth might come in.”
Rhis slid into the copilot’s seat as Dallon stood, moving to an empty one at navigation. “Anything?”
Dallon shook his head. “Nothing. But it’s been six hours. We should hear something soon, I think.”
“Unless he’s too tied up with the trade negotiations.”
“Or,” Mitkanos said, “someone else intercepted the message.”
Trilby studied the command console, checking her ship’s status as the discussion continued around her.
“How’s our patient?” Rhis asked.
“Back in his own cabin.” Dallon gestured toward the CLS board behind Mitkanos. “Recovering nicely.”
Oh, Gods. Trilby caught Dallon’s movement, realized that both her and Rhis’s ship badges would have given away their location—in her cabin—during the past six hours. She felt the heat rise to her face and looked hurriedly back at her console.
Rhis brought up his supposition that Jagan was supposed to die on board so that Dark Sword, and whoever was working with him, would have access to the ship’s nav banks.
“Devious,” Dallon said. But Mitkanos disagreed. Too risky. They could have just as easily—if Jagan had died—changed their flight plan to the nearest port as an emergency measure.
Dallon leaned back in his chair, toyed with his half-hooked harness straps. “Perhaps that’s what we were supposed to have done?”
Rhis voiced more theory. Mitkanos dissented. Dallon added questions. Trilby stayed silent, listening to it all. Even if she hadn’t known the voices, she could’ve picked out “Fleet” from “Stegzarda.” Rhis’s questions, and answers, were broader in scope. He wasn’t satisfied until he had examined every possibility, played out every scenario.
Mitkanos was more linear. His answer was the ’Sko were a violent people. Subtlety and subterfuge weren’t their style.
“Ah, but the Dakrahl,” Dallon said. He was the middleman, in Trilby’s opinion. But his responses still heavily bespoke Fleet.
The subject changed a few minutes later. “The sublights are handling well since you resynchronized them.” Rhis nodded at Mitkanos.
The burly man shrugged slightly. “Factory specs are usually overcautious.” The fact that the Razalka’s captain paid him a compliment didn’t appear to interest him much. But it told Trilby something about Khyrhis Tivahr. As Hana had said, he’s not the same man who’d gone on the mission with her team.
Trilby checked the drive readouts. Fuel optimization was improved. She glanced again at the scanners, enviro, weapons. Online but showing cold. Mitkanos again.
And no response yet from Garold Grantforth. Or GGA.
“Okay, boys.” She motioned with one hand to Mitkanos, then Dallon. “Back to your cabins. We’ll take it from here. And, yes, as soon as we know …”
She left her voice trail off. They were all anxious to hear about the altered prescriptions. And if there was anything left of GGA personnel at HQ on Bagrond.
Her thoughts flew to Chaser standing next to her and Carina in the holo from Flyboy’s. It was inconceivable that he’d be involved. It was equally chilling that he might’ve seen something and been killed. She hadn’t heard from him since before Avanar.
But she had heard from Neadi. If anything were wrong, her friend would’ve said.
“Vad. Vad. I need dinner. Then sleep.” Mitkanos patted the back of Trilby’s chair, then ambled through the bridge hatchway.
“Dasjon. Captain.” Dallon gave them a respectful nod, followed the Stegzarda major into the corridor.
The hatch door clanked shut. Trilby keyed the lock. Rhis grabbed her hand, squeezed it.
She gave him a wry smile. “They knew. The whole time. They knew you were in my cabin.” She jerked her chin toward the now-empty comm station, with its CLS panel to her left.
“That was unavoidable.”
“I don’t think Uncle Yavo was very happy about it.”
He sighed. “Uncle Yavo is Stegzarda, through and through. But that’s not my concern.” His thumb stroked her fingers. “Are you okay?”
Actually, yes, she realized with mild surprise. Better than she thought she’d be. There’d been those regrets born of uncertainty the first time. Then, when she found out who he was, sheer panic, fueled by anger.
Now …
She squeezed his hand in answer. “Very okay.”
He let out what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Good. Now all I have to do is save the universe from the evil ’Sko and life will be perfect.”
She laughed. “It all rests on you?”
“But of course!” He raised on eyebrow. “I am—”
“Zafharin. I know, I know. You’re Zafharin.”
“And an arrogant rimstrutter. Don’t forget that.”
“And the embodiment of perfection,” she added.
“Actually,” he said, his voice dropping to a sexy growl, “I much prefer your body.”
“Do you? If you’re nice to me, I may let you play with it from time to time.”
“Tell me how to be nice to you, Dasjankira.” My lady love.
She pulled her hand out from under his, reached for his console. She keyed in the nav link. “Course change coming up. Be nice to me and handle it.”
“No task is too great …”
She groaned and turned back to her monitors.
They’d crossed Gensiira’s border into Lissade while she and Rhis had slept in each other’s arms. With Jagan’s authorization codes they were bypassing the customs checkpoint on Marbo, heading directly to the Colonies. She pulled up her charts. They were about thirty-five minutes from a secondary beacon. If a message waited, they might find it there.
She also toyed with the idea of sending one to Chaser. Or Neadi. Or both.
Rhis had his lightpen out, flipping it between his fingers. Should she add to his worries? She had to be wrong. Chaser had no motives, no reason to work with the ’Sko.
But he had known about Shadow’s files. He knew about her and Jagan. He was often at Flyboy’s.
She took a deep breath. “Jagan’s not the only one at GGA who knew about the old star charts.”
Rhis caught the pen in midair, regarded her levelly.
“It didn’t … I didn’t even think of him until you found the poison in the prescription. Chaser works for GGA Med-Labs.”
“Chaser.” He frowned slightly, then his eyebrows lifted. “The red-haired man in the holo with you.”
“With me and Carina.”
“How long—”
“My whole life. Our whole lives. We grew up together in Port Rumor: Carina and Vitorio, Shadow, Chaser, and me.”
“Chaser ever work for Herkoid?”
He was the only one who hadn’t. She shook her head. “He went into med-tech training with the Port Authority, worked as a paramedic for a couple years before he signed up with GGA.” She could see him processing the information. “But he knew about the charts Shadow took. And the ones Carina had.”
“Did he ever ask to see them or ask you about them?”
She shook her head. “Chaser hates to fly, hates space travel. He’s like Jagan. He’s got to take meds or he makes the whole trip with his head in the sani-fac.” She grimaced. “I don’t know if I’m more worried that he might have been poisoned or that he …” She let her voice trail off. She couldn’t say it.
“Or that he might be part of the plan,” Rhis finished quietly f
or her.
She nodded. Damnation! Not Chaser.
“Could he have done it, or helped?”
Trilby sighed, watched the data flow over her monitors for a moment. “He works in the pharmacy building. He probably has access codes, sure. Or knows someone’s codes. But he’s just a big, lovable, goofy guy. I can’t picture him ever wanting to harm someone.”
“The promise of power, and money, changes a lot of people.”
Or the threat of blackmail. “He had a problem a couple years ago. With recreational drugs.” She glanced at Rhis. He was nodding. “Spent six months in rehab. GGA could’ve let him go. But they didn’t. I mean, it was pretty amazing, because he’s just a med-tech and Garold—”
She stopped, hearing her own words.
“Go on,” Rhis said.
She swallowed. “Chaser said Garold Grantforth personally took an interest in his case. He was really flattered.” She closed her eyes, let her head fall back against the headrest. Chaser. Garold Grantforth. Jagan. The ’Sko.
They all had one thing in common.
Trilby Elliot.
“Secretary Grantforth, not Jagan, helped Chaser?” Rhis asked.
She opened her eyes, stared at the starfield dotting the forward viewport but saw nothing. “He wasn’t Secretary Grantforth then. Just a minor politician. Commissioner of something or other. But Chaser was still flattered, because Garold is synonymous with GGA.”
“Did he know Jagan before you became involved with him?”
“Chaser? Not that he ever said.”
Rhis picked up his lightpen, twisted it in his fingers again.
“Chaser wouldn’t hurt anyone,” she protested.
“If his addiction resurfaced, or it was made to resurface, he might do a lot of things.” He reached for her again, enfolded her hand in his. His touch was warm, reassuring. “And he also might not. There are, what, hundreds of people in GGA Med-Labs? How many hundreds more in GGA itself? But it’s good to play with these theories, Trilby-chenka. Because any one of them, or none of them, may be necessary when we get to Syar. It’s how we prevent unpleasant surprises.”
She squeezed his hand in answer.
It couldn’t be Chaser. Not Chaser.
The secondary beacon brought no answer to Jagan’s message. Trilby clicked off the incoming link, watched Rhis scroll through the usual news briefs and market downloads. “Think maybe I should talk to Jagan?”
The look on his face told her he didn’t like that idea. Or, rather, still didn’t like her with Jagan. “When the time comes, we both question him.”
Trilby let it go at that for the moment. She wasn’t really sure what she’d say, anyway. How do you ask someone if they’re a traitor or if one of their family’s a traitor? And knowing Jagan’s penchant for numbers and propensity to avoid politics, she wasn’t sure he’d see any kind of deal with the ’Sko as traitorous. Especially if it meant profit.
And they wouldn’t come to another beacon for three more hours. Close to the end of their shift. Less than a deuce away from the Colonies.
She felt Rhis’s fingers massage the back of her neck. She hadn’t realized she was so tense. She closed her eyes, heard him unhook his safety harness then hers.
She opened her eyes and he pulled her to her feet. “Come here.”
He sat back down in his chair, settling her in his lap. “I don’t know if you need this. But I do.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting his warmth sink into her. “I don’t imagine this is acceptable behavior on the bridge of the Razalka.”
“I may consider an amendment to regulations.”
“Hana would approve.”
He chuckled softly. “Well, yes, Jankova has never been reticent in pointing out my faults.”
“I didn’t know Imperial Arrogance was permitted faults.”
“It’s not.” He was silent for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns in the small of her back. “Trilby-chenka?”
“Ummm?” She could fall asleep so easily right now.
“You were very afraid of me.”
She remembered Imperial Arrogance striding through the dingy corridors of the Careless Venture. Standing stiffly at the base of her ship’s ramp on Degvar. “You did try to kill me.”
“No. Render you unconscious perhaps, because I didn’t know where I was, what was going on. But after that. You were so afraid of me. Why?”
Why? Why. She had a hundred answers. And she had none. How do you explain an inbred lack of self-worth to Imperial Arrogance? How do you explain a hard-learned distrust of authority to a senior captain? “Because I was named after a blanket.”
His fingers stopped. “What?”
“A blanket. Trilbyham Looms. When the Iffys picked me up, cataloged me, I didn’t have a name. But I was carrying this tattered blanket with a label that said Trilbyham Looms. So they tagged me in as Trilby.”
The massage resumed, slower this time.
“And you think that would matter to me?”
“You have the in front of your name.”
“The?”
“The Khyrhis Tivahr.”
He gave a short, harsh laugh. “I thought that was after it. Tivahr the Terrible.”
“That too.”
She felt him take a deep breath. “And our … friend. He’s not the Jagan Grantforth?”
“Of the Grantforths? Absolutely. I swore, you know, I’d never get involved with another guy with a the in his name.”
“And this made you afraid.”
“This made me angry. At you. But really at myself.”
“Because a woman named after a blanket does not … what—fall in love?” He gently pushed her back so that she was facing him. “Can I say that? That you love me?”
He didn’t know. She could tell by the trepidation in his eyes that he honestly didn’t know what she felt for him.
Well, she hadn’t been terribly straightforward. Or consistent. She gave him a lazy smile. “Yeah, you can say that.”
A grin spread slowly across his face. A corresponding warmth grew inside her. “So now you’re not afraid.”
“Of you? No.”
“Of us?”
She had concerns. Normal relationship concerns. But she didn’t feel anymore she’d be facing them alone. “No. I’m not afraid of us.”
His thumb traced her jaw. “You should never have been.”
“I had to figure that out for myself.” Which was true. She didn’t know that until she saw that the Rhis she hated was the same person as the Rhis she loved. She was the one who’d changed, placing labels on him, interpreting his actions because of a lack she thought was inside herself. A lack he didn’t know about, and didn’t care about.
“Of course, Hana and Doc Vanko did try a bit of persuasion on your behalf,” she added.
“I’ll be sure to add commendations to their files when we get back.” He drew her forward, kissed her lightly.
She let herself enjoy it for a moment, then put her hands against his shoulders. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Commendations?”
“No. Getting back. You don’t seem terribly concerned about what’s waiting for us in Syar.”
“Honestly, I’m not. Or I would never have permitted you on this mission. Surely you know that by now?”
“But this man you call Dark Sword—”
“Or woman. Or group of people. All of whom need you alive. And your nav banks intact. The only risk I see—and Demarik and I went over this rather thoroughly—would be resistance. Which is why I structured this as I have. Cooperation with GGA. I fully intend to hand them your nav banks—your altered nav banks—quite willingly. It would be the height of stupidity on Dark Sword’s part, or the ’Sko’s part, to harm us after that. It would raise too many questions.”
Rhis’s plan was almost reverse logic. Falling into their trap with a trap of his own.
“So when we get to Syar—”
“We accept whatever reasons
GGA gives for acquiring this ship. Then we look for a tri-hauler called the Cosmic Fortune, which will just happen to be needing crew with our experience, and we go home. Tracing all the while, of course, the data we gave to GGA.” He gave her a satisfied grin.
He had the whole thing planned, right down to a ship waiting for them. “I should’ve known,” she said wryly.
“Yes. You should have.”
Imperial Arrogance. She kissed him quickly, then pulled out of his lap. “There’s one flaw in your great plan so far. We missed breakfast. And are about to miss lunch.”
“It was worth it.”
Her heart did a little flip-flop at the undeniably sexy tone in his voice. But her stomach was also rumbling. “I’ll bring something back to the bridge.” She ruffled his hair. “Don’t get us lost now, okay?”
“Last time I got lost, you found me. That turned out rather nicely,” he told her as she palmed open the bridge hatch lock.
Well, yes, it had. After a few twists and turns. “Finders keepers. Remember that.” She stepped into the corridor and the hatch cycled shut behind her.
She strode into the lounge just as the incoming alarms erupted through the ship. She pivoted, dashed back into the corridor, and pounded up the ladderway, her heart thumping wildly. Her throat was too dry to bark questions through her ship badge.
The hatchway was open and she could see Rhis in the captain’s chair. Red and yellow lights blinked in a familiar crazed staccato.
“What is it?” Her voice was raspy. She almost fell into the copilot’s chair as he banked the ship hard to port. She raked the straps across her chest.
“’Sko.” His voice was deathly flat. “Mother ship. Two squadrons.”
She slapped off the alarm, keyed the console mike to intraship. “’Sko incoming. One plus two. Red alert stations, now!”
She heard Dallon, Farra, and Mitkanos confirm through the comm board behind her. She keyed the mike again. “Elliot to Grantforth. You’re confined to quarters. But if you know anything, anything about this, mister, you tell me now!”
Jagan’s voice was a plaintive whine. “I swear, Trilby, they’re not supposed to—”
But the rest of his explanation was lost as an overhead panel exploded. And intruder alarms kicked back on, filling the ship with a deafening wail.
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