Games of Command

by Linnea Sinclair

  Bright blue eyes suddenly opened. And looked a bit dazed. There was, she knew, some residual from the telepathy.

  She plucked the thermometer from his mouth, glanced at it, and pretended to make a note on the nearby medicorder. When she looked up, he was still watching her.

  “You know, Doc, I keep thinking that I know you from somewhere.” His voice had momentarily lost its usual arrogance and was closer to the man she knew as Jace. “I keep thinking,” and he licked his lips as he thought for a moment, “that we were more than just friends.”

  She shook out the thermometer and placed it back in her pocket. “In your dreams, Serafino. In your dreams.”

  She retrieved the medicorder and headed for the door, palming the security lock back on as the door closed behind her. But Jace Serafino was far from safe—not from the damned implant in his head and not from Admiral Kel-Paten’s probing. She could no longer deny the admiral the right to do the latter, and she had only vague ideas what to do about the former.

  With a sigh, she sent a note to Kel-Paten upgrading Serafino’s condition. Providing she was present, she would permit him to be interviewed at the admiral’s convenience.

  A message waited for her when she returned to her office. The admiral requested her presence at an interview in the ready room at 1845 hours. Dinnertime, to be exact.

  And it looked as if Jace Serafino was going to be the main course.

  READY ROOM

  It was a repeat performance. Only this time the players weren’t in sick bay but in the ready room—the small but efficient conference room just aft of the bridge. A more fitting place than sick bay to interview the former captain of the Novalis, at least in Kel-Paten’s mind. Here the admiral felt comfortable, surrounded by the dark oblong table, the repetition of cushioned chairs, the comp screens set at regular intervals into the tabletop. Familiar and functional without the annoying clicking and beeping of sick-bay diagnostics, too reminiscent of a place and time he’d just as soon forget.

  No, the Vax’s ready room was a place in which he felt in total command, and he didn’t want to be anything less when confronting Jace Serafino.

  And confront he did. Especially after Serafino responded to questions about his undercover assignment with accusations of corruption in the Triad. The Alliance was a sham; the Triad Houses of Government and Fleet were under the control of a secret, high-powered, and dangerous group. This Faction used murder—not the voting booth—to implement their policies.

  The man’s lies sickened him.

  “You have a reputation for many things in this sector, Captain.” Kel-Paten all but spat out the title in disgust. “Veracity is not one of them.”

  Jace Serafino looked over the tips of his boots, which were propped in a comfortably disrespectful fashion on the edge of the table. “Perhaps,” he replied in a tone equally terse, “that’s because the quality of truth in this sector depends upon the quantity of money willing to purchase it. Admiral.” Serafino smiled, the effect at once disarming yet cunning. “If you’d ever chance to venture out of this sterile little world you’ve created for yourself, you’d know everything I’ve told you is true.”

  He jerked his chin toward the wide viewport where Tasha had leaned for the last half hour. “If you took the time to listen to her, she’d tell you. Unless she doesn’t trust you either.”

  Kel-Paten refused to see what might be an acknowledgment in Tasha’s eyes. “I have an excellent rapport with all my officers and crew,” he replied firmly.

  “Your crew,” Serafino put in smoothly, “is terrified of you. Most of your officers are Triad born and bred, and brainless. If you have a chance in hell to survive,” he continued, raising his voice over Kel-Paten’s angry growl, “you’re going to have to listen to me.”

  Kel-Paten leaned his fists against the tabletop and glared at Serafino. It didn’t surprise him that Serafino would shift the focus—and blame—away from his own failure to perform his part of the agreement and instead place the Triad in a negative light. The damned pirate’s delusions of grandeur simply wouldn’t permit things any other way. And in spite of the fact that he knew Serafino was simply trying to change the course of this interrogation with his allegations, he couldn’t let them pass unanswered. Not when Serafino sullied the Triad’s reputation with his lies.

  “If the U-Cees had proof this so-called Faction exists, don’t you think they would have brought out that fact at the peace talks or in council?”

  “The U-Cees are as blind as you are, Tin Soldier. Though they have improved after the disastrous scandal Admiral Wembley dumped on their doorstep ten or so years ago. Point is, however, you now have certain people on this ship,” Serafino mused out loud, with an appraising glance at Tasha, “who have significant experience in the real universe. Not your A-level military docks on station or your C-and D-level private-money docks, or even your respectable freighter bays on E. But let’s go below G, Kel-Paten. Let’s take a walk down to where the methane-breathers flirt with the oxys, where trefla is as common as fleas on a furzel. Work the rim worlds like the Doc here has. She knows; they both know.”

  Serafino turned casually to Tasha. “You’ve come a long way since Sookie’s.”

  “Up or down, Serafino?” Tasha replied lightly. “Coming from you, that comment could mean anything.”

  Serafino laughed heartily. Kel-Paten tamped down his annoyance and used the moment to glance quickly at a series of discreet hand signals from Fynn—the same ones she’d used earlier with TeKrain. Yes. Serafino believed what he said was the truth. Not only the ridiculous accusations about the Triad but about Tasha’s knowledge and undercover experience.

  “Captain Sebastian,” Kel-Paten said, disliking the easy laughter that had flowed between Tasha and Serafino, “is not the one who took two hundred fifty thousand credits. And ran.”

  Serafino shrugged noncommittally. “That was my insurance policy. Your people wanted to send me on a one-way trip to hell. I had no intention of accommodating them.”

  “You didn’t have to accept the mission,” Kel-Paten shot back.

  “Death threats have a way of convincing even me.”

  Kel-Paten regarded him coolly. “The Triad can always use one less traitor.” That would leave only Gund’jalar and Dag Zanorian—another damned pirate who enjoyed adding “Captain” in front of his name—to blight the galaxy. A considerable improvement, in Kel-Paten’s estimation. Gund’jalar’s mercenary operation had lessened since the death of one of his key agents, Lady Sass, seven years ago. And Zanorian had never been half as troublesome as the man before him.

  A theatrical sigh escaped Serafino’s lips. He leaned back in his chair and glanced over his left shoulder at Eden Fynn. “See what abuse I have to put up with, Doc? Can’t you feed him some be-nice pills or something? Or—I know!” And he snapped his fingers and turned back to Kel-Paten. “We’ll just reverse the polarity on your batteries! You know, kind of a biocybe attitude-adjustment hour.”

  Kel-Paten shouldn’t let Serafino’s taunt get to him, but PsyServ’s programming made it so easy to get angry. He slammed the chair against the table with such force that both Tasha and Fynn jumped. Serafino only readjusted his outstretched legs slightly and appeared unconcerned as Kel-Paten rounded the corner of the table and stopped, black-gloved hand pointing threateningly in Serafino’s direction.

  “I have had,” he said, each of his words punctuated with bitter anger, “enough of your insubordinate shit, Serafino.” In three long strides he was at Serafino’s side and about to grab a handful of rumpled white shirt when a smaller hand clasped on to his wrist. He froze, not by any force of strength leveled against him but because of a look of disapproval in a pair of green eyes.

  “Branden,” Tasha said softly, “he’s playing you. He’s no use to us dead. Yet.”

  She’d stepped between them but still firmly held his wrist, even though she had to see the luminous haze in his eyes. He’d switched over to full cybernetic function right aft
er he slammed the chair into the table.

  With the slightest of movements he could toss her across the room. Or sear her with a touch and she’d be dead before she hit the floor.

  Yet here she was standing between him and the object of his wrath while holding on to his wrist—with no more concern in her demeanor than if she were about to follow him onto the dance floor.

  People didn’t like to touch him. Never knew when those power implants in his hands might activate and their last thought would be one of intense searing pain. Yet he could have told them that that could happen only if his cybernetics were powered on—something anyone could tell by the change of hue in his eyes.

  Tasha knew that. As an Alliance officer she had access to all the intelligence the U-Cees had on him. So she knew—and yet here she was ignoring the telltale glow. It was as if what he’d wanted to happen for so long was now happening: she was seeing him not as a ’cybe but just as Branden Kel-Paten.

  It would have almost been an optimistic thought were it not for the intense disapproval evident in her eyes.

  Kel-Paten didn’t know if she viewed him as human or ’cybe, but whichever it was, she was extremely disappointed. And more than a tad pissed.

  That cut him like no ion lance ever could.

  He drew his hand away from hers—not sharply, not in any way to cause alarm—and then, without glancing at either Serafino or Eden, strode quickly for the ready-room doors. He couldn’t afford to give the empathic doctor another chance at reading emotions he wasn’t supposed to have. He could not—would not—face a Section 46. He’d willingly strand himself in McClellan’s Void first. At least there he could lose himself in its hallucinations and he’d never know he’d lost Tasha. The doors clicked closed behind him.

  Eden Fynn let out a slow, soft sigh of relief. The sound was not lost on Serafino.

  “Is he usually this testy or is it that time of the month?” he drawled.

  Tasha Sebastian perched on the edge of the table not far from his boots and crossed her arms over her chest. “You owe me one, Serafino. You are very lucky to be alive right now.”

  He gave her a confident smile. In spite of her bland black and tan Alliance uniform, her very professional demeanor, and the noticeable lack of glitter he remembered gracing her then much-shorter spiky hair, he could still see the mercenary agent called Lady Sass. It was something in the tilt of her chin or the deceptively loose way she held her body. Ready to move decisively at any moment, this one. He’d seen her in action. Impressive. “You know the Tin Soldier and I go back a long time. He’s threatened me before.”

  “Then you should know better than to push him,” Tasha said. “If what you’ve been telling us is true, then you should be looking to us—to him—for help. Alienating him will get you nowhere.”

  Serafino considered her words for a moment. Then, with a glance back at Eden, “Ahh, so it’s good cop–bad cop here, eh? And what’s your role in this little play, Doctor? I hope you’re the one they assign to rehabilitate me.”

  “You know, Captain Serafino,” Eden said, stuffing her hands into her lab-coat pockets, “you would have made a great used-starfreighter salesman.”

  He laughed. “Or politician?”

  “Or double agent,” Tasha intoned lightly.

  He looked back at her, not for a moment fooled by the casualness of her words. She’d been burned, badly, by people she trusted. He remembered hearing whispers of Lady Sass’s ignoble death on Lethant. The smile faded from his face. “I’m no saint, Sebastian, but then, neither are you. You’ve moved in the same circles I have; you know how to check on what I’ve told you. Your Tin Soldier there, the Triad bought him and built him and owns him. He can’t even think in those directions until all that Triadian propaganda is shaken loose.

  “But you’re right,” he continued. “I need his cooperation. Hell, I need this damned ship, if you want to know the truth.” A wave of tiredness washed over him. He shook it off. “The Faction suspects I’m on to them. I’m not the only one they’re looking to terminate. He’s on the list—or will be. Little by little, they will take out anyone who stands in their way, just like they did to Senator Kel-Harrow. The Tin Soldier’s too powerful for the likes of them—tell him that.”

  “And I suppose,” Tasha asked, “you’re going to tell me I’m on that list too?”

  “Why the hell do you think they put you on the Vax in the first place?” Serafino replied. “They figured he’d do the job for them. Which is very reassuring, because it proves that they’re not infallible; they can make mistakes.”

  “Serafino, I don’t know who this ‘they’ is that you’re talking about.”

  “The Faction is—” A headache blinded him suddenly. He winced, rubbing his temples for a moment. “Powerful. Deadly.” He forced the words out. A hand rested gently on his shoulder—his lovely doctor’s. Some of the pain abated. He took a breath and continued. “But in this case, they’ve misjudged this whole situation, haven’t they? With the Tin Soldier. And you.”

  “I think,” Eden said, “it’s time for Captain Serafino to return to sick bay.” There was a quiet insistence in her voice.

  He wanted to laugh at her concern for him—it was just a little headache; he had them all the time.

  But Tasha was nodding in agreement. She unfolded her arms and pulled herself away from the table. “Let me wrap this up by saying I don’t know what situation you’re talking about, unless it’s the fact that the admiral and I were adversaries at one point. Keep in mind we’re both professionals, career officers. We have our duties and perform them to the best of our abilities. If that means cooperating with someone we once viewed as an enemy, we can do that. And that’s something—if you want Kel-Paten’s help—I strongly suggest you learn.”

  She tapped at the comm panel near the door. “Security Team One to the ready room.” She looked at Eden. “Cisco will escort Captain Serafino back to sick bay. I’ll see you in forty-five minutes in the officers’ mess,” she added.

  Serafino looked at Eden as the doors closed again.

  She was frowning. “Captain? How are you feeling?”

  “Never been better.” He pulled his feet off the table. “Sass has no idea, does she?” he asked as he stepped next to her. “But you do.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—”

  “Kel-Paten,” he cut in. “You could file a Section Forty-Six on him. ’Cybes aren’t supposed to have those kinds of emotions.”

  “I didn’t feel that his anger at you was out of place,” she said mildly, but something that looked like surprise flickered briefly across her face. A face he’d like to explore with his fingers. His mouth.

  He forced himself to remember they were talking about the Tin Soldier. “Anger?” he asked. “Oh, there was heat there, but it wasn’t from anger. And it wasn’t directed at me.”

  The doors opened, and a muscular man with short brown hair and a laser pistol strapped to each thigh stepped in. “Doctor?” Cisco Garrick nodded to Eden as two burly security officers moved to flank Serafino on either side.

  “Ah, yes, table for five, please,” Serafino quipped as they headed into the corridor.

  He grinned when Eden shook her head in exasperation.

  They were in the lift, heading down to sick bay, when he felt something struggle within himself. For a moment he felt like two people, and one of them—how strange!—could reach Eden’s mind. With a confused urgency, he mentally interrupted her conversation with a security officer who’d showed considerable interest in the CMO since they’d stepped into the lift.

  He only wants in your pants, darling, Jace purred, his telepathic intrusion startling her.

  She managed to keep from tripping over her own tongue in answering the officer’s question before replying silently. And you don’t? she shot back with no little irritation.

  He chuckled. Most definitely, but at least I’m enough of a gentleman to let you know first what an unacceptable scoundrel I
am.

  Jace—are you telling the truth?

  About wanting you? Absolutely. I—

  No, damn you! About this Faction killing that senator—

  I’m surprised you have to ask that question, Eden. But since you have… He flashed a series of images to her, not the least of which was one of Defense Minister Kel-Sennarin standing over the lifeless body of Senator Maura Kel-Harrow.

  The contact was abruptly broken by the lift doors opening and Garrick grabbing Serafino’s arm to guide him down the corridor to sick bay. He leaned into the officer, feeling light-headed from the effort. And still very much like two people.

  It was a risk to attempt the contact, he heard his own voice say in his mind. I can feel the implant, little by little, destroying everything I’ve uncovered about the Faction. Soon, very soon, everything the Nasyry part of himself knew would be gone, and there’d be no one to stop them. Therefore, he hoped—desperately hoped—Eden had caught it all.

  They were all dead if she hadn’t.

  DECK 1 CORRIDOR

  Serafino’s interrogation had not gone well.

  Aggravation, annoyance, and confusion coursed through Sass as the ready-room doors closed behind her. Aggravation at Kel-Paten’s mishandling of the last half hour of the interview. Annoyance at Serafino’s taunts—and a small bit of fear when he’d mentioned Sookie’s. And confusion—Serafino’s allegations of corruption in the Triad sometimes matched but at other times were at odds with what Eden learned from him in their sessions. Hopefully Eden would be able to contact Serafino’s Nasyry half once they were safely back in sick bay and find out just what in hell the whole story was.

  In the meantime, Sass had her own bit of trouble to deal with: Kel-Paten. Something more than emo-programmed anger seethed through the ready room just now. And whatever it was almost jeopardized the interrogation. As his captain, she had to find out what and why that was.

  And as his friend—

  The thought momentarily startled her. Did she honestly consider herself to be the Tin Soldier’s friend? Could a biocybe have one? With a small shake of her head, she realized that it mattered little what a ’cybe was capable of. The extension of friendship was equally her responsibility.