Games of Command

by Linnea Sinclair

  Which they did by making a mad dash across the room and throwing their small bodies against the manual lock override to the right of every ship’s cabin door.

  It often took several tries.

  Thumpety-thumpety-thumpety-thumpety THWACK! Thud.

  A furzel ran, hit the override panel on the wall, and fell to the ground.

  Thumpety-thumpety-thumpety-thumpety THWACK! Thud.

  In between the thumpetys and the thuds, Sass made her way back to her quarters and out her own door. She monitored their progress on the small comm link on Tank’s collar and prayed no one would see her or hear the bizarre noises coming from the admiral’s cabin.

  Thumpety-thumpety-thumpety-thumpety THWACK! THUMP!

  She should speak to Eden about Reilly’s weight problem. That last one almost sounded as if he might crash through the bulkhead.

  Thumpety-thumpety-thumpety-thumpety THWACK! Thud.

  Swoosh.

  The cabin door opened. The furzels raced out. The captain stepped in.

  SICK BAY

  Eden turned off the bed’s diag systems as soon as Tasha left, fluffed the pillow, and leaned against it with a quiet sigh. A short furzel nap would do her good. She’d dozed for about five minutes when she heard the door lock cycle. She opened one eye.

  Cal stuck his head in and quietly slipped inside.

  “He’s looking through the report on the virus,” Cal told her.

  “Lucky him.” Eden stifled a yawn.

  “He looks miserable.”

  “So was I when I read it in med school. Lousiest bit of research I’ve ever seen,” she said.

  Cal leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean the admiral looks extremely upset over Captain Sebastian’s supposed condition.”

  “The admiral,” Eden noted, “has several good reasons to be upset, not the least of which is the captain’s supposed condition. I just wish I could get a clear reading on whether it’s a good upset or a bad upset.”

  Cal caught her slight frown. “I take it you’re having problems placing him in an empathic category. Being ’cybe, he might not react in ways we understand.”

  “Tell me about it!” She stretched her arms over her head. “His being programmed by PsyServ makes it that much more difficult. You’ve seen his med-files, Cal, and I’m sure you saw the same gaps I did.”

  “So much for their unequivocal trust of the U-Cees.”

  “Tasha said the same thing. Looks like we all have a lot to learn.”

  Cal went back out to keep an eye on Kel-Paten; Eden relaxed into the pillow again.

  A little early for bedtime, or are we napping?

  The gray mists cleared. Jace had one leg propped up against the stone bench, leaning one hand on his knee. She came and sat down next to him.

  Napping. I may have to pull a late-nighter on your account, Captain Serafino.

  Jace, he reminded her patiently. You’ve used my name before. No need to be so formal now. He was smiling, and because the telepathic contact was so clear, she saw his smile as well as felt its warmth.

  I have a problem, she told him gently, with such familiarity with a patient.

  We’re friends.

  I’m not disputing that. She was genuinely fond of the playful, telepathic Jace Serafino. But even friendship takes time. And the Jace I know here, she motioned to the gray mists, is not the Jace Serafino I’ve been encountering out there.

  Been misbehaving, have I? He sat down next to her, his hands clasped between his legs, and gave her his most innocent look.

  She laughed. That’s putting it mildly. You did have a rather nasty run-in with Kel-Paten.

  Ah, the Tin Soldier. He and I never got along, especially after the Traveler and I got the best of him at Fendantun.

  Jace, how much are you aware of what your physical self is doing?

  Do I remember my conversation with Kel-Paten in the ready room last night? Some. Like speaking now with you, I can’t be involved for more than my time limit. So I try to fade in and out, keep myself out of trouble. You can tell, can’t you?

  Eden nodded. She’d noticed a slight difference in Captain Serafino’s reactions from time to time and suspected the internal Jace had a hand in that.

  Can you read Kel-Paten? she asked.

  He shrugged. Sometimes better than others. There’s a strong cybernetic overlay that PsyServ designed to prevent just that.

  Gods, she’d suspected as much. A scrambler?

  He nodded. Any telepath worth his salt prevents himself from being read by other telepaths. But since Kel-Paten’s not telepathic, he can’t do that. Hence the filter or scrambling system, as you put it.

  When I remove the implant, I may ask you to read Kel-Paten.

  I don’t mean to rush you—I really don’t want to make you a widow before I can make you my bride—but do you have a time frame here?

  Eden ignored the little fluttermoth that made a brief appearance in her stomach at his words. She had neither the time nor the interest in anything romantic right now. Within the next twenty-four hours. I know that seems sudden—

  I think it’s a necessary risk, he said, a grim tone to his voice. I’m forgetting important information, more and more. I don’t know if I have enough time to explain to you all that needs to be said.

  You mean like what you told me earlier about Kel-Sennarin?

  You got that, then? He seemed relieved when she nodded. I just wish I could tell you more about this damned thing in my head.

  You may not have to. Tasha believes Kel-Paten may have documentation on it in his files. She’s chasing down the information right now.

  Kel-Paten’s permitting this? he asked.

  She shook her head and flashed him the mental image of the admiral in sick bay with Tasha in his arms and her subsequent recovery and escape through the ductwork.

  Jace raised his eyes in mock horror. I should have known! Lady Sass was always game for some wild escapade. He touched her chin, tilting her face up to his. Well, my Eden, if I’m to die, then let it be in your arms.

  Your optimism overwhelms me.

  Eden. He gently stroked her face, his touch causing a trail of heat across her skin. I don’t doubt your medical expertise. I’m just too familiar with PsyServ’s deviousness.

  I will not risk your life. Unless Tasha brings me exactly what I need to remove the implant, you’ll remain a split personality for a while longer. I will not endanger you in any way, she repeated.

  You endanger me every day, every hour. His thumb traced the outline of her lower lip, then softly his mouth followed where his thumb was.

  For a brief moment, Eden ignored all her mental warnings about men like Jace and let herself sink into his gentle, wonderful kiss. But when she felt the warmth of his tongue probing her mouth, she turned her face away and grasped his hands, which were getting far too familiar.

  Jace, please don’t—

  Why? Don’t you know what you do to me?

  This is a wonderful fantasy, but Novalis is not real life. And you’re not the same out there.

  A sad smile crossed his face and he brought her hands to his lips, grazing her knuckles with a kiss. I’m a rotten son of a bitch out there.

  And you question why I’m saying no? she asked somewhat wistfully.

  And you question why I’m trying? Eden, a woman like you would never love the Jace Serafino out there.

  What happens when I remove the implant? Which Jace Serafino will become the real one?

  I don’t know, he replied honestly. I was pretty much the same son of a bitch before the implant. What the implant did is force me to look at myself. And it’s allowed me to become, with you, someone I might have been if my life was different. But that doesn’t mean I know who you’re going to get when you’ve put me back together. I just hope we can still be friends.

  She smiled and started to reply, when he continued, Because I have this real fear, you know, of rectal
thermometers.

  Regretfully, Eden let their link fade. She lay quietly, still feeling his touch on her hand, on her face.

  Eden had a fear as well. Tasha might be in trouble, deep trouble. Jace had confirmed her suspicions about Kel-Paten’s personal psychic shield. It was very possible the affection she sensed in him when Tasha was around was a deception.

  It was very possible, should he find out what she and Tasha were up to, that he’d kill them both.

  BRANDEN KEL-PATEN’S CABIN

  Sass straddled the swivel chair in front of Kel-Paten’s desk and typed a maintenance access code into the small keypad. The recessed comp screen emerged from the desktop, its electronic eye winking on for retinal verification. Quickly, she ran one finger over her mouth and smeared a light film of lip gloss across the small portal.

  “Retinal confirmation temporarily off-line,” the tinny computer voice intoned softly, after a few moments of frantic beeping through an ineffective—thanks to a few other tweaks Sass had employed—repair program. “Please respond with verbal verification procedures.”

  She took the wad of chewy candy from her mouth and stuck it directly over the microphone input, then brought up the security program and tapped the checkbox to suspend retinal and verbal verifications. The system reversed course and brought up a new series of commands. She ignored those and went through three more screens until she found what she needed: Inoperative Systems Simulations. She chose Sim 374.

  It was the Triad-approved version of the program she ran on the Regalia to train computers and crew what to do in event of a partial or—gods forbid!—total systems failure. She ran two such sims from her office here on the Vax in the first few months she was on board. Just like the manual override on each cabin door, there had to be an alternate way of getting out. Or getting in.

  Right now she needed in.

  Dutifully, the system responded. She implemented some basic tests just to get further into the program before trying to bamboozle it into letting her into Kel-Paten’s coded files.

  His cabin lights winked on and off; his cabin temperature raised and lowered. His small galley even produced a nice, hot cup of Mahrian blend, black, which she sipped gratefully while moving the program through its paces. She glanced at her watch—she had a little more than three and a half hours left. A lot of time, yet not. She had no idea what, or how much, she’d find once she got in.

  She tabbed down the current page and found the Emergency Data Transfer Simulation Program.

  “Please verify through retinal scan,” the computer replied audibly. She hadn’t dampered its voice, only her own.

  She searched parameters and tapped retinal scan off-line. Then she rekeyed in her request: Initiate Emergency Data Transfer Simulation Program.

  “Authorization code required to initiate. Respond with code,” the computer said.

  She knew that was the next level of security; hell, she’d designed the Reg’s programs to respond in a similar manner. But what the Vax had that the Regalia didn’t was Kel-Paten—a biocybe who physically spiked in to the computer systems. She withdrew a small coiled cable and an even smaller—and highly illegal—code-pattern emulator from one of her pockets and quickly disconnected the auxiliary keyboard, inserting a coupler and reconnecting the keyboard through that. She patched the other end of the coupler into the emulator and shoved that into the small port set into the arm of Kel-Paten’s custom-made chair.

  She waited a few tense seconds for the units to synchronize, then directed the program to derive the last known code from its terminal location.

  There was a moment of tense silence. Had she tried this from any other terminal, including her own office, Sass knew she wouldn’t be able to gain access. But she was banking on the fact that Kel-Paten felt his personal quarters were totally secure. And she was banking on her knowledge that he usually spiked in—a “spike” she hoped the emulator would simulate, as far as the computer was concerned.

  “Access granted,” the computer intoned softly, and Sass let out a corresponding sigh.

  It was all relatively easy pickings from there.

  True to form, Kel-Paten’s files were disgustingly well organized. She popped a portable datadrive into the download port and initiated copy-file commands. It would have been easier and quicker to tag files and have them sent to her datafiles, but that would have left a trail. Her datadrive was carefully created to leave no input ID.

  One of the more interesting things she’d learned to do on Lethant.

  There was a lot of data referencing PsyServ, an almost equally large amount on Serafino. She copied both directories and, over the next hour, transferred more.

  Med-Files–BKP and BKP–Personal were snatched. She’d just discovered an encrypted file titled Tasha when her badge trilled.

  “Sass! Eden here. We lost him!”

  “Bloody damn!” She flicked off the comp screen. It slid back into the desktop, but the green light on her drive still flashed, the unit working, pulling data. She heard the smart click of the cabin door lock recycling. Heart pounding, she dove under the desk, fitting her small form into the kneehole and shoving her comm link down the front of her shirt. If it trilled now, she was dead.

  Cabin lights flicked on. Heavy footsteps moved across the carpeted floor as the door swooshed closed.

  Damn! Shit! Trock! Sass ran through every swear word she knew in five languages as she listened to the sound of liquid being poured. Thank the gods she’d finished her coffee and disposed of the cup in the recyc. She heard a cabinet door thwump closed, a short spate of footsteps, and then the fwoosh of couch cushions as a body sat.

  Just my luck. The Tin Soldier’s poured himself a drink and is now going to sit and watch a season’s worth of Zero-G Hockey reruns or something.

  He couldn’t stay in his quarters. Granted, he had the right to be here. But she was dying in sick bay. Didn’t he care about that?

  If nothing else, it was a bitch to find command-staff replacements—especially a huntership-qualified captain—on short notice. Surely he had to appreciate that?

  Scrunched into the kneehole of the desk, small beads of sweat trickling down her chest, Sass cautiously eyed the small drive. It was still pulling data, and for the life of her she couldn’t remember if it beeped when it finished. Or not.

  The or not would be a relief. Any other option would take a lot of explaining. If she lived long enough.

  The tiny green light on its cover panel blinked on–off, on–off. At each “on,” she breathed in. At each “off,” she held her breath. Why couldn’t Kel-Paten listen to music or turn on a vidshow? Anything that made noise! But, no, he sat in a silence far too loud for her liking.

  A comm link trilled. For a moment her heart stopped and she clasped her hands over her shirt pocket to muffle any further noise. But it wasn’t her link that had activated.

  “Kel-Paten here.”

  “Admiral, this is Dr. Fynn.”

  Sass squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Eden! Get me the hell of out here!

  “I would appreciate it if you’d return to sick bay. I think we may have some good news in a half hour or so.”

  A half hour or so. That was Eden’s way of telling her to get the hell out and do it now!

  “On my way, Doctor,” Kel-Paten replied. Sass heard the clink of a glass against the tabletop.

  Thank you, Eden! Sass waited a few seconds after the cabin doors closed before extricating herself from under the desk. The kink in her back complained painfully.

  Beep-ta-beep! said her datadrive.

  Sass almost jumped out of her skin. “Up yours and the equinnard you rode in on!” She snatched the drive from the port. She tapped at the desk and the vidscreen popped up. She grabbed at the pink candy and quickly wiped her sleeve over the lip gloss smear, then popped the screen back down again.

  Sass had replaced the duct grating when she first came in, but she checked it again just be to sure and then did a quick visual to see if there were
any other traces of her visit. There were none—it was as if she was never there.

  She was out the door and back in her cabin just in time to find Reilly and Tank doing a reprise of “run around the table.”

  “How did you—?” But, of course, the furzels couldn’t answer how they got back in her cabin. Usually they made their way down to hydroponics, where either she or Eden would eventually retrieve them, as they always did on the Regalia. “You guys know more secrets than I do,” she told them. Then, stuffing the datadrive in her shirt, she climbed into the larger access ducting that opened into her bedroom closet and made her way down the maintenance ladders to the lower deck that housed sick bay.

  Caleb Monterro waited for her. “Quick!” He tossed her the silver hospital gown. She stripped off her clothes. He stuffed them and the drive into a small hamper next to the bed as she slid beneath the covers. Just at that moment, Eden stuck her head in the door.

  She nodded at Sass. Sass nodded back.

  Then Eden turned. “Admiral,” she said, “you can see Captain Sebastian for a few moments.”

  Kel-Paten strode past Eden without so much as a “by your command.”

  “Tasha.” His voice had a noticeable rough edge to it. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like hell,” she replied, her voice equally breathy. After all, she’d just finished scaling twelve flights of maintenance ladders. Thank the gods it was down!

  He cleared his throat. “Doctor.” Eden looked at him. “I need to speak to Captain Sebastian. Alone.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the captain requires medical monitoring at this time. If my presence disturbs you, then you will have to tolerate Dr. Monterro’s.”

  They needed him to tolerate somebody’s as protection until she could find out what Kel-Paten had in his files.

  He glanced one more time at Sass. “What time are you releasing her?”

  “First shift, most likely, depending upon how she fares during the night.”

  “I’ll be here at oh-nine-hundred to escort her.”