by Kathryn Hoff
Amateurs. Since when were pirates happy with just talking?
I brought a ration pack to Kojo in the wheelhouse. “Nice sailing. Even if anyone thought to look in here, they’d never find us.” Facing forward, we seemed to be at rest next to the behemoth, no more noticeable than a minnow next to a whale.
The scanner and out-facing screens told a different story—our speed was far greater than would be advisable in any other region of space. Kojo watched the controls tautly for any tiny turbulence that would have us hitting the carrier or straying too far from her side.
“We don’t dare stay here long,” Kojo said. He pulled up the charts. “This lane is taking us away from the Terran sectors again. If we pull out up ahead, and decel to a safe speed, we can hit the jump gate near Chuchan. It’ll take at least five jumps to get to Oakdale. It’s roundabout, but it still avoids the checkpoint.”
“Five more jumps? We’ll need to buy more jump cells.” I mentally toted up the expense of cells bought in a high-markup outlying colony like Oakdale rather than a major trade hub. “This job isn’t turning out to be as profitable as I had hoped. I’d like to get my hands on whoever was chasing us.”
Kojo grinned wolfishly. “Whoever it was, our transponder must have transmitted enough of that oddball config that the Cartel will identify them. It may take days for a sublight message to reach a beacon, but I hope the Selkids give him hell.”
Tinker jumped to my lap and used her tongue to smooth out her ruffled fur.
I chucked her under the chin, thinking. “That was no random freebooter, Kojo. They called us by name.”
“Yeah.” Kojo ran a hand through his black curls, making them stand on end. “Maybe somebody on Ordalo’s end let something slip. We might need to get to Kriti a little quicker than we planned.”
“I dreamed of Papa the other night. He said someone was lying.”
“You and your dreams. We already knew that. No need for Dad to come visit from wherever he is.”
“Mmm.” I stroked the cat.
Kojo narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s on your mind? You don’t think that freebooter had anything to do with the passengers, do you?”
“True. But that stone tablet was really interesting.”
The com sounded. “Pardon me for disturbing you,” Miranda said, “but I would like to speak to the captain as soon as possible. We have to change course.”
Kojo rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“The captain’s busy,” I answered. “I’ll join you in a moment.”
Miranda paced the salon. “I can’t help but feel unsafe.” The blank side of the ore carriage filled the viewscreen, giving the illusion of standing safely still.
Grim shrugged. “Honey, be reasonable. Patch here says it wasn’t a Cartel ship. Probably just some brigand taking his chances. Once we get to Oakdale, we’ll sit tight until Galactic can come get us.”
“Galactic?” I asked.
Miranda shot a look at Grimbold before answering me. “Galactic Conglomerate sponsored the dig. I’ve decided to ask them for help to ensure the artifact gets to safety. But, Grim, if whoever was chasing us followed us from Santerro, might they not realize we’re heading to Oakdale? I’m certain it would be safer to change to another destination.”
With a slight rumble, Sparrow left the carrier’s minuscule slipstream. I held my breath. Slowly, smoothly, the carrier drifted farther away. The passengers didn’t even notice. As soon as we passed out of the shipping lane, the engines rumbled on, firing retros to slow us down to a safer speed.
I pulled up the charts, rubbed my chin Kojo-style and said, as if reluctant, “We’re still in the heart of Selkid mining sectors. Most of the gateways lead to corridors that go deeper into Selkid territory, or to Gavoran sectors.”
“No!” Miranda said sharply. “We must find a Terran colony.”
“All right, that narrows the possibilities. The nearest gate is in the Chuchan system. From there we can jump to the checkpoint at the entrance to the Terran sectors.” I knew how to negotiate—present least acceptable choices first, so the client thinks it’s her choice to take the way you want to go.
“Not the checkpoint.” Miranda smiled apologetically. “There must be another way.”
I traced the route Kojo had plotted. “There’s a more roundabout way. It will take more jumps, but we could get you to the Avon system without hitting the checkpoint. You’d be as safe there as on Oakdale.” That would take only four jumps instead of five, and the price for jump cells in a trading center like Avon would be far better than Oakdale.
Grim scowled, but Miranda smiled. “Excellent.”
“The captain won’t like it,” I lied. “And there will be an extra expense.” I eyed the wallet attached to her belt.
“Of course.” Miranda reached into the wallet and took out a five-thousand-sovereign ingot.
I made no move to take it.
With a sigh, she took out another.
Grim muttered, “Highway robbery.”
I took the ten thousand sovereigns. That would compensate us nicely. “I’ll talk to the captain.”
The rest of that night and following day were tough on both passengers and crew. Our hours in the shipping lanes had carried us far from the friendly current we’d been riding. After leaving the ore carrier’s side, Kojo navigated at sublight through the swirls of ether, latching onto stray currents and skirting gravity wells to cross the system. When he tired, Hiram took over, grinding us through the turbid ether toward the Chuchan jump gate. Sparrow shook and rattled with every eddy and course change.
I cheered the passengers as best I could with entertainment suggestions and light meals they had no appetite for. Grim and Miranda snapped at one another in the close confines of the salon. Just as well they weren’t eloping lovers—the honeymoon would have ended already.
I took refuge in the engine room to give Archer a break. Traveling sublight wasn’t like the smooth jump corridors, the engineer had to constantly adjust power loads and maneuvering rockets. Even so, Archer was right—compared to dealing with bored, turbulence-sick passengers, the engine room was quiet.
While Archer snoozed in the bunk, I balanced power loads and babied the rockets. Fandar sat at the console with the engine specs pulled up in front of him, but he stared at nothing, lost in thought or memory.
Fandar was a well-built man, showing that he’d had a better childhood than most slaves. He was even attractive, for a Gavoran.
My success rate with Terran men was spotty—some were spooked by advances from a large, strange-looking woman. But Gav men preferred to be seduced. Since I’d been smuggled out of Gavoran territory at the age of seven, I’d had very little to do with Gavs. I’d certainly never invited one to my bed. But here was a lonely runaway from my own clan, one who might welcome a friend—even a cross-blood.
I knew how to make the right signals: a long, smoldering gaze into the man’s eyes. A gentle touch, sidle closer, a slow stroke of the pelt on the arm or thigh.
I opened my mouth to say something encouraging, but then I noticed his lips moving in some silent prayer and remembered the scar on his wrist. Fandar was too troubled. Once we got to Avon, it would be best if he sought out his own kind. I hoped he wouldn’t become one of the aimless refugees that haunted the Terran frontier towns.
Even so, when I got to my bunk that night, I let myself dwell on the possibilities of a Gavoran lover. I dreamily imagined snuggling against the warm fur of his chest, feeling his brawny arms around me. His fingers would entwine my curls. His hands would stroke my cheek. His breath would warm my neck. His sinewy thighs would rub mine.
I was surrounded by swirling dark shapes.
Home. Take me to my home. Peace and joy await.
I wakened with a start, almost sure someone was speaking to me.
But I was in my narrow bunk in my cabin, with only darkness for company.
On the morning of the fifth day after leaving Santerro, we reached the relative calm of the Chuc
han gate. We joined the ships waiting to jump as a convoy of colonists took priority. Ship after ship of colonists arrived through the gate, then milled around to organize themselves before leaving again, one after another.
The chatter from the merchant ships waiting in the queue crackled with complaints: burzing colonists, burzing Settlement Authority restrictions on new colonies, burzing Gavoran control of terraforming technology, and the burzing Corridor Patrol being a burzing nuisance.
In my little cabin, I went through the messages we’d picked up at the beacon: invoices and offers for cut-rate supplies.
I hadn’t been sleeping well. Maybe it was just the turbulence of sublight travel, but the ancient tablet had invaded my dreams again. Bring me to my home. Peace and joy. In my dreams, the tablet’s shifting colors became confused with swirling whorls of ether. Under my caress, its smooth surface felt warm and pulsing with life.
Even when I was awake and working, the tablet niggled in the back of my mind. I would have loved to see it more closely, to watch the colors swirling over its surface and to touch those strange markings.
Why not? Miranda was watching a program in the salon. I could slip into her stateroom, open the locker, lever open the case…
Kojo sidled into my cabin, brow creased. “We picked up some gossip from the pilots in the queue. The Patrol has stepped up the search, expanded it to Terran sectors.”
“I thought somebody turned the loot in to the Cartel?”
“That was a dud. Some low-life tried to con the Cartel out of the reward money.” Kojo stroked his chin. “You looked at that stone dingus pretty close. How sure are you it’s not Gav?”
“Very sure.”
The jump gate gantry filled the viewscreen as Sparrow entered the gate for its turn to jump. The lights flared red, and the screen blurred as we entered the dead calm of the star corridor.
Kojo nodded. “I think you’re right. The best thing to do is keep lying low, stay away from the Patrol.” He flashed his cocky grin. “I’m sure everything will be fine by the time we get to Avon.”
It was then the shouting started.
CHAPTER 7
Liars and thieves
Fandar, wielding a steel lever, had Grimbold backed into the corner of Miranda’s stateroom. Grimbold yelled, “Help! Somebody help!”
Some bodyguard.
I shouldered my way in. “What’s going on? Fandar, what are you doing here?”
Grim pointed. “He was forcing the locker! I caught him in the act.” One of the luggage lockers—the locker—gaped open.
Damn! Fandar must be mad.
I blocked the door. “Fandar, don’t be a fool. There’s no place to go.”
Miranda peeked over my shoulder. “What’s happening?”
“Get back.” I kept my bulk between her and the madman.
Fandar directed his hate-filled glare, not at me or Grim, but at Miranda. He pointed with the tip of the lever. “She! She is a thief and a liar.” He repeated his charge in Gavoran, using terms that were brutally insulting.
That made me pause. No slave would dare speak that way, not even about a Terran.
There was movement behind me.
In a voice as cold as space, Kojo said, “Out of the way, Patch.” He pointed a stun pistol at Fandar. “Drop it, or I’ll stun you and shove your body down the recycling chute.”
“Wait.” I spoke quietly to Fandar. “On this ship, the captain is law. If you threaten me or any of the passengers, he will kill you. No one will ever know your end. But if you have something to say, we’ll listen.” I held out my hand.
He hesitated, his gaze darting between the damaged locker and the stunner. “You will listen?”
“I swear.”
After a tense moment, he handed me the lever.
“Oh, dear god,” Miranda cried, still crowding the passageway. “Balan? Is it you? Kojo, he’s a madman!”
“And you!” Fandar cried, pointing at Miranda. “You have lied again and again. Her name is Jamila Patil, and she has stolen the relic!”
Patil? Balan? “Wait. You’re the ones the Patrol is looking for? You stole objects from a Sage temple?” Ancestors!
“Damn!” Grim peered at Fandar. He turned to me. “He must have followed us. He’s working with the antiquities thieves!”
“No!” Fandar cried. “I am no thief. She is the thief!”
Kojo shouted, “Quiet! Everyone into the salon. Now!”
“Be careful,” Miranda said. “The man is mentally ill. He could be dangerous.”
As they herded everyone into the salon, Kojo muttered, “You should have let me shoot him.”
I shook my head. “That won’t keep the Patrol off our trail. We need to find out what’s going on.”
In the salon, Kojo ordered the three of them to sit at the table, hands visible. “What’s your real name?” he snapped at Miranda.
She sighed. “Professor Jamila Patil. I am from Evergreen University, as I told you. I adopted an alternate name solely for security purposes.”
“How’d you get through the checkpoint?” I asked.
“Grim provided an implant override.”
Grim winced. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Thanks, honey.” Implant modification could earn them both three years in a penal colony.
Kojo pointed at Fandar. “And you?”
Fandar thumped his chest with his fist—a Gav male’s expression of strength. “My name is Balan, of Wind Clan.”
He whipped the dirty bandage from his arm to reveal pristine brown fur. Clearly, he’d never borne a slave’s brand.
Ancestors! Wind Clan was among the highest-ranked aristo clans.
I held my gaze steady, but inside, I was shaken. As a slave’s child, my mother had schooled me never to confront an aristo, never to speak unless spoken to. Eyes down, always subservient, never threatening—forgetting would earn me a slap from the chief house slave or a beating from whatever master I’d offended. For a week, I’d been ordering Fandar—Balan—around. If he knew my true heritage…
I’m no slave. Not anymore.
Balan sat proudly, head high, dark eyes glinting from under his brow ridge. “I am a scholar from the College of Religion on Gavora. I was one of two Gavorans on the research team at the Cazar archeological site.”
An archeologist—which explained why an aristo would have calloused hands. I turned to Miranda—Jamila. “Is that right?”
She nodded.
Balan stiffened. “I assure you I am telling the truth. Duty has demanded I board this ship under false pretenses, but I will not have my word doubted by a”—he looked me up and down—“an ugly fuzzhead cross-breed!”
“Watch your language,” Kojo snarled.
So much for my fantasies about a Gav lover. He must have been bursting the past week, forced to act like a slave.
I grinned at Balan. “You’ve already admitted to lying, and this particular ugly cross-breed is the one deciding what will happen to you. Why would Gavorans join a Terran dig?”
“The site is a ruined city built by the Cazar, allies of the blessed Sages during the Corridor Wars.”
Kojo’s head jerked up. “Wars in the corridors?”
“Five thousand years ago,” Jamila said. “The Gavoran myths talk about ancient wars among the advanced races to control the star corridors. The myths equate the Sages with the benign deity and their enemies with forces of evil, rather like Terran tales of angels and devils.”
“They are not myths,” Balan said. “They are our sacred histories.” Although still dressed in a torn work tunic, he’d reverted to the bearing and attitude of an aristo.
Jamila waved a hand. “Certainly, there is a factual basis. The purpose of the dig was to find out more about the Cazar culture.”
Balan leaned forward intently. “I was mapping the temple ruin with my clan sister Deprata. Something strange happened—we both had dreams, Deprata and I, that we were being called to a particular place in the ruins.”
&
nbsp; Strange dreams? I didn’t like the sound of that.
“It was Deprata who first found the crypt. The relic was there, in the place to which our dreams led us.” Balan paused, breathing heavily, his eyes staring at nothing. “It called to us,” he said quietly. “The relic houses a living soul. It called to us.”
Jamila shook her head sadly. “I told you. He’s delusional.”
Grim snorted. “Why are you listening to this crap?”
“We could not help ourselves,” Balan said. “The relic demanded to be fed.”
“Fed? Fed with what?” Kojo asked.
“With blood.”
“Blood?” I felt a sudden chill. Could there really be an evil spirit in the tablet? Could spirits even be evil?
Home! Peace and joy await.
I’d been having some strange dreams, but nothing like Balan described. Maybe Jamila was right about him being delusional.
Balan spread his hands palm upward, as if in prayer. “On the surface of the relic, there are channels containing small openings. Deprata and I felt driven to allow some of our blood to enter the channels, as if the being inside were starving and only we could help it.” He stroked the healing scar on his wrist.
Kojo rolled his eyes at me. “Why’s it got to be complicated?”
Jamila said, “We found Balan and Deprata at the bottom of a crypt, bleeding all over the relic. It was madness. They had both torn open veins in their arms. Balan was unconscious, Deprata was nearly dead. We thought they must have made a suicide pact. We brought them up to the camp and treated them as best we could. After a day, they were both recovering, but Balan kept raving about the spirit in the relic needing to be fed, and about going to Nakana, the mythological home of the Sages.”
“We spoke the truth,” Balan said.
Jamila shook her head. “They were recovering. But the next day, Deprata wasn’t in her bed. We found her in the crypt. She had opened her vein again and this time, she’d bled to death.”
It made no sense. Spirits didn’t harm us. Everything I’d been taught as a child affirmed that spirits were loving and friendly, lending us wisdom and strength and courage.