He didn’t know. His mind frustratingly could come up with nothing.
Think, Devin. Analyze.
If they were up against just Kiler and Fuzz, the situation was bad but not impossible. Two against two was a fair fight. Two against four—or more—was not. And he would not go down without a fight.
Damn it. Of all the scenarios Philip had put him through, the ones he hated most were ones with hostages—and it looked as if that was where they were headed.
Their boot steps thumped hard on the rampway, then they were through the main airlock and into the familiar plush surroundings of the ship. Kiler moved quickly between Devin and Makaiden, the threat clear, but it was the only threat. The main cabin, with its three seating groupings forward and large dining table aft, was empty. No stripers. No Dock Five cohorts. Yet.
No crew. Was Kiler really the pilot or had he killed the GGS crew? Devin did a cursory examination of the cabin for signs of a struggle as they were herded toward the rear of the main room. Either they’d had time to clean up—he thought of Trip’s apartment and his family’s contention that ImpSec also acted as housekeepers—or there’d been no confrontation.
Unless they were locked belowdecks in one of the cabins. He expected that’s where Kiler was taking Makaiden and him—he hoped that’s where Kiler was taking them. He knew this ship. More than that, he knew her systems, her computers. And he still had his Rada.
“Sit,” Kiler ordered suddenly. “Behind the table. Seats against the bulkhead.”
Devin hesitated long enough for Kiler to bring his pistol—a powerful Stinger—up to Makaiden’s head. “Don’t be stupid.”
Devin slid into the bulkhead chair as directed, his back to the outer bulkhead. Makaiden sat catercorner to him, her back against an inner dividing wall. The galley was behind her. Devin understood Kiler’s setup: the large, heavy polished wood table—bolted to the decking, as were the chairs—served as an effective barrier to prevent Devin from lunging at either man.
But it also hid his hands. He folded his arms across his chest, rumpling his jacket front, and dropped the lower arm down to his lap. Keeping his gaze locked on Kiler, he brushed his fingers against Makaiden’s thigh. Her hand found his only long enough for a quick, reassuring clasp of fingers.
“What now, Kiler? This is crazy, you know that.” She raked her other hand through her hair. Good distraction. The eye—in this case, eyes, both Kiler’s and Fuzz’s—followed movement.
Devin released her fingers and found the Rada in its holder. He tapped a quick-start low-function button he’d customized a few months back, when participants in meetings were often distracted by the Rada’s holographic display or when he simply found it convenient not to let them know he had the microcomputer on. One tap and it would record and, at specific data-load intervals, automatically transmit to GGS archives via whatever signal it could grab. If the Prosperity’s comm system was active—and he suspected it was—it would also upload to ship’s logs.
Whatever happened, someone somewhere in GGS would find it.
“We wait,” Kiler said, in answer to Makaiden’s question. “We have Guthrie. Saves us a lot of time. Shortly we’ll have Trippy and the old bastard, Barthol.”
We. Then there were others. A chill raced up Devin’s spine. He shoved it away. He had to get ahead of Kiler’s thought processes here.
“If you’re looking for ransom,” Devin said, “my presence is more than sufficient. Aside from what GGS will pay, I have personal funds. Let Makaiden go. Leave Trip and Barty alone.”
Kiler snorted. “There’s no ransom where you’re going. As for Kaidee,” and he tilted his head as if a thought had occurred to him, “that’s up to her. Yeah, I like that. What do you say, Kaidee doll? We had some great years. I’m willing to forget the divorce if you are. It’s just a stupid legal document anyway.”
Stony silence was his only answer.
That silence was broken by the sound of hard boot steps. Someone—or several someones—coming up the ramp. Makaiden, beside him, stiffened. She knew as well as he that the odds were rapidly moving in a bad direction.
“Griggs, got your message.” A man’s voice boomed through the airlock. “I’ll contact Tage and tell—”
Devin sat upright and, for the second time in less than an hour, his mind reeled in disbelief. And not because of the mention of Darius Tage. But because it was his brother Ethan who said the name.
“Ethan!” Devin half-rose out of his seat, which made Fuzz step closer, laser pistol aimed at Devin’s face. But Devin remained half standing, fists planted on the tabletop, the shock of Ethan striding into the Prosperity’s main cabin almost freezing him in place. Pieces of facts—hard, ugly suppositions he desperately didn’t want to be true—began to assemble in his mind. If Ethan was talking about contacting Tage, then Ethan was not here to help. And he’d known Kiler Griggs was on board.
“D.J.?” Ethan’s widened eyes narrowed quickly. He slowed, then, with one fist clenched, spun on Kiler. “Why the fuck aren’t they locked in a cabin, Griggs? You damned well better tell me Trippy and the old man are below.”
Some of Kiler’s bravado wilted, his shoulders dipping under the blue uniform. Then he lifted his chin. “You said not to leave him alone, where he could get at ship’s systems.”
“Put Gerker—”
“Gerker and Vaughn haven’t come back from the cargo terminal yet.”
Devin dropped back into his chair as he listened to the exchange. He forced himself to shut down his emotions, to ignore the fact that—for some bizarre reason he couldn’t yet grasp—his brother Ethan was involved in all this. Kiler was taking orders from him.
No, not a bizarre reason. Ethan had revealed one very important clue when he said the name Tage. Tage wanted Philip, wanted revenge. Trip’s disappearance might well be the catalyst to bring Admiral Guthrie across the border, back into Imperial space.
But why would Ethan do that? Pain wrenched Devin’s heart. For God’s sake, they were brothers. Family.
“Do they have the kid?” Ethan asked Kiler.
“You have any idea how many freighters park at cargo?”
They were looking for the Void Rider. Devin’s rash action in not only buying the Rider but in using his own name, was not only the catalyst but the key. Ethan knew they’d been bumped from their reservations on Compass Spacelines but expected them to catch another flight. Somehow he found out—Orvis came to mind—that Devin had bought a ship. A freighter that would normally dock on the other side of the spaceport. He remembered Makaiden saying so.
A freighter that was now only a few hangars away on the far end of General Aviation.
“Ethan.” Devin put a hard but cold tone in his voice, pulling his brother’s attention away from his argument with Kiler Griggs. “What in hell’s going on here?”
His brother turned to him, a thin smile curving his lips. “You really don’t know, do you? So tell me, how does it feel to be the one left out of the plans? Don’t like it, do you?”
Devin stared at him, hearing the petulant undercurrent that surfaced every time Ethan thought he was slighted by J.M., just as it had in the library before Devin headed for Dock Five.
Just because I don’t have all the degrees you and Devin have doesn’t mean I’m stupid.
That was Ethan’s constant complaint, that he was never viewed as smart or as worthy as Jonathan, Philip, or Devin.
So because of some childish sibling rivalry, he tried to kidnap Trip? And why would Tage want any part of that?
“I don’t like having guns pointed at me,” Devin replied evenly. “But whatever problem you have with me, fine, we’ll work it out. Makaiden has nothing to do with that. Neither does Trip or Barty. Let her go. Send them”—he motioned to Kiler and Fuzz—“away, and we talk. We’ll solve this together,” he added, then winced internally at his unintended condescension. But this was Ethan, and that’s the way one talked to Ethan.
Which was evidently why he was sitting
here. To Jonathan, Philip, and Devin, it was childish sibling rivalry. To Ethan, it was his life. Some of Devin’s anger cooled. A good negotiator fully understood the opposition’s position.
“Let Makaiden go,” Devin repeated. “Put away the guns. You don’t need them.”
Emotions flashed over Ethan’s face, the tightness of his mouth relaxing. Abruptly, he turned away and stalked toward the dark-blue half-circle sofa that curved out of the port bulkhead.
He spun back. “No, not this time. Not anymore. You’re not talking me out of it, shoving some mindless business assignment at me, sending me to this office or that, just to keep me busy. Keep Ethan out of trouble.” His voice rose in a false and bitter mimicry. Then he sobered. “Big changes are coming to GGS, D.J. Power is shifting and, guess what? It’s shifting to me. Father’s been trying to get concessions out of Tage for years. He failed. Tage won’t even talk to Jonathan. But I did it. Me. Ethan Guthrie.” He jabbed his index finger at his chest.
“Ethan, you can’t—” Devin caught himself before he said, You can’t make deals for GGS with Tage or anyone. You’re a corporate officer only on paper. You have no authority.
Ethan knew all that. Too well.
“You can’t think we wouldn’t be proud of any important deal you made,” Devin amended. But it was too late.
Ethan laughed. “You’re such a fucking liar.” He looked at Kiler. “Where in hell’s Gerker? I need the kid here before the stripers show up.”
Kiler shook his head. “No, you don’t.” He pointed to Devin. “You have him. Let the stripers get the Rider’s location out of him. You just hand them proof he killed Halsey and funded Trip’s kidnapping. They’ll do the rest.”
“Proof I did what?” This time Devin shot to his feet, heart pounding, mouth suddenly dry.
“Sit down,” Ethan bellowed. Fuzz lunged forward, teeth bared.
Devin stood his ground, but inside he shook with rage. This was crazy. Ethan was crazy. Why would they want it to look as if he was the one who wanted to hurt Trip? Then he remembered the small news article Makaiden had unearthed, the one stating the police already had leads in the case. Leads Ethan provided them? “I had nothing to do with Halsey—”
“You paid for an assassin.” Ethan’s voice was oily. “I have copies of the financial records. Records you tried to destroy by ordering the bombing of your own offices while you went after Trip yourself.”
“There are no such records. There never were!”
“There are if you know the right codes to gain access and create them.”
Devin stared at the man who was his brother, no longer recognizing him. This was not the Ethan who challenged him to swimming races as a child or traded music vids with him as a teen. This was not the Ethan he’d shared breakfast and dinner with almost every day of the first twelve years of his life and almost weekly for a decade thereafter. This was not, could not, be his brother.
Makaiden leaned forward on the table, her hands clasped together. “You sabotaged the security and communications systems on your father’s estate,” she said quietly.
Ethan’s smile made Devin feel ill.
Just because I don’t have all the degrees you and Devin have doesn’t mean I’m stupid.
Ethan wasn’t stupid. Desperate, yes. Twisted, yes. But he wasn’t stupid. Devin thought of the other hacker he’d intercepted a few days ago poking around in Trip’s accounts, just as he was. Ethan.
Devin lowered himself into his chair. The last thing he wanted to do now was appear threatening, and, even though he was younger, he was taller than Ethan. He took a cue from Makaiden—pull back, speak softly. Analyze. Gather facts.
“Why, Ethan? Why me?”
“Father was going to give you the entire Baris division. Hell of a wedding present. You didn’t know that, did you?”
GGS–Baris? That was a multitrillion-credit enterprise. Being Garno CFO was one thing. But owning the entire Guthrie operation in Baris—the manufacturing facilities, the export centers, the raw-materials acquisition and distribution … Even to Devin, that was staggering.
And wrong. “Father would never split up GGS—”
“An inoperable brain tumor makes you do funny things. He didn’t know I overheard his conversations with his doctor and Chanoy from Legal. He’s got six months, maybe a year. He changed his will. Jonathan gets GGS–Aldan. You get GGS–Baris. Philip gets GGS–Marker, and Trippy—Trippy—gets GGS–Garno. He’s fucking nineteen years old.
“And do you know what I get? The Guthrie Commerce Development Center in Port Palmero. That’s it. A goddamned conference center with, what, a dozen hotels? Two dozen office complexes? J.M. makes me a goddamned landlord, unless … unless”—he leaned on the edge of the table, bringing his face down to Devin’s—“unless you die or are incapacitated. Then I get GGS–Baris. Okay, I have to share it with Marguerite and Hannah, but I can get around that. Tage is going to help me get around that.” He shoved himself back, his smile smug.
“You’re going to kill me.” Devin couldn’t believe he was saying those words.
“I don’t have to. You’re going to be tried and convicted of murder and attempted kidnapping. Probably arson too.” Ethan shrugged. “You’ll sit in maximum lockup for the rest of your life. And I get Baris.” His eyes narrowed. “I deserve Baris.”
“You’re going to kill Jonathan and Trippy? Marguerite too?”
Another shrug. “Tage has a timetable. I have plans for GGS. He has plans for the Empire. We work well together.”
“And does any of this involve delivering Philip to Tage?”
“Philip’s a traitor to the Empire. A blot on the Guthrie name. Father should have disowned him.”
Tage is the traitor, Devin wanted to say but didn’t. It wouldn’t do any good.
A pocket comm chimed softly. Kiler pulled the small comm off his belt and held it to his ear, his Stinger still in his right hand.
Ethan glanced at him. Kiler shook his head, then frowned.
“Vaughn,” Kiler said, holding the pocket comm in Ethan’s direction. “You’d better talk to him.”
The table in front of Devin jiggled slightly. He shot a glance at Makaiden and felt her foot tap his. She wanted his attention on something. Her chin was propped against her left hand, elbow on the table. Her right hand—
He realized she was leaning to one side, collapsing into herself as if she was afraid, tired.
He dropped his left hand to the chair’s edge, felt her fingers grab his and tug. He angled forward, wiping one hand over his face to cover the movement. Then his fingers found the metal centerpost and, with her guidance, the locking metal ring that secured the tabletop to the post.
A ring that could be unlocked—was unlocked—to remove the top for repair or maintenance, just like the deck-locked chairs and sofa.
The wooden top was heavy but unlocked. He and Makaiden could lift it. Shove it. Laser fire would penetrate it, but it would also give them the element of surprise. And maybe, just maybe, knock Kiler and Fuzz off their feet, pin them to the decking. He could handle Ethan.
He gave her hand a quick squeeze, then leaned back. She’d given him an option, a diversion. Their only recourse. But they’d have to do it before Gerker, Vaughn, and the stripers arrived.
Ethan turned his back on them and, pocket comm still to his ear, stalked toward the front of the ship. Kiler glanced once, then again, after Ethan’s retreating figure. Whatever Kiler heard on the pocket comm had him worried. And distracted.
They wouldn’t get another chance.
Devin crossed his legs, lifting the tabletop off the post with one knee. Makaiden was leaning on it, then her weight suddenly disappeared. She continued to feign distress, but her hand under the table helped to hold the top steady.
Kiler looked over his shoulder again.
“Now.” Devin breathed the word.
He shoved the wooden tabletop up and out, dropping back into a crouch the minute he felt it leave his fingers. It sl
id hard over the backs of the deck-locked dining chairs opposite him, then jettisoned forward.
He lunged. Makaiden lunged. The table slammed into Kiler’s back, knocking him to the decking, but it only clipped Fuzz.
And Ethan was shouting, running back toward them.
Kaidee had one goal and one goal only: get a pistol. Any weapon. Her arms and shoulders ached from lifting the tabletop, but she didn’t care. She wanted a weapon, and she was going to kill that slagging bastard Ethan. If Devin didn’t do it first.
She landed hard on her knees, then on one elbow, pain searing through her, but she pushed up in a tight crouch like a competitive runner. Kiler was sprawled, groaning, to her right. Devin was next to her but the next moment he was a blur, launching himself at Fuzz-face. She heard a crash, a thud, hard breaths, and low grunts.
She lunged for Kiler, seeing the glint of her L7 just under his shoulder. She put her knee in the middle of his shoulder blades and snatched the L7, flicking it from stun to kill. There wasn’t time to aim. She fired at the man barreling toward her.
Ethan dove to the right, ending up behind a couch. The laser’s energy flared past him, scarring a forward bulkhead.
She took aim again, approximating his position. A hand grabbed her ankle. Kiler. She kicked him, falling on her ass as he clawed his way up her leg. She jerked the L7 around.
His eyes went wide and it was as if time stopped, the grunts and thuds receding, her vision narrowing, and it was only Kaidee and Kiler.
“Kaidee. Please.” His voice was pained. The tabletop still covered the lower half of his body. But his GGS uniform—the one he had no right to wear, the one he’d forced her to lose—was clearly visible.
“You son of a bitch.” She flicked the L7 to stun and hit him with the full charge. He went limp, his hand falling from her ankle.
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