Eclipsed (Heartstone Book 3)

by Frances Pauli

  “What?” Corah’s sniff echoed down into the pits of Banshee.

  “Dern said to keep you close to this one.” Boon’s thumb waggled at Mofitan. If he understood just how infuriating this sort of lodging would be to a woman accustomed to life as Gervis Dern’s right arm, he didn’t show it outwardly. Maybe this was the best he had, and maybe Boon was a better actor than he’d let on. He blinked at the woman and waited.

  “Of course.” In the end, Mofitan suspected Corah had been more shaken up by the entire Banshee scenario than he had. She’d expected to remain with her master. She’d expected to be treated worlds differently than the fate she faced now. To her credit, she didn’t let it show anywhere except the subtle twitching of her fingers. “This will do.”

  Weapons fire cut off anything else she might have had to say. The burst flared near the pit, a streak of white-hot light and the whine of a mag-rifle. Mofitan moved without thought, his instincts carrying him forward. He’d positioned himself in front of her before his mind caught up, thrown one arm out and pressed her backward toward the shelter of her shed. The other hand reached for his waist where no weapon of his own waited. The knife would do him little good against a rifle. Still, he felt its pressure and considered.

  “Woah, woah!” Boon’s face washed back and forth across his vision. The little man jumped three times before he caught Mofitan’s attention. “It’s nothing. Just. Um.”

  He shuffled away just as quickly, stumbling this time over his own feet.

  “What was that? Excuse me.” A tug on his arm. Corah’s voice sounding less than pleased with his chivalry. “What the hell was that, Boon?”

  She dodged around Mofitan and rounded on the mining director.

  “Only vermin patrol.” The stout man bounced in place again. “Only cleaning out the little buggers.”

  “And how often should we expect that?” Corah might have resented his protective gesture, but the gunfire had rattled her. Her hands twitched, but this time the rest of her matched. Her composure didn’t hold up so well under heavy fire.

  “They usually stay deep,” Boon offered. “But I’m sure you’d rather we got rid of them before they reached the surface?”

  That stopped her. She readjusted, tugged her collar up, and swallowed hard. “Of course. I’m sure it will just take some getting used to. If you’ll excuse me?”

  Without waiting for his answer, Dern’s right arm spun on her heel, tossed Mofitan a cool glare, and marched past him again to vanish inside her personal shed. He watched her go, watched her fingers dancing. Poor thing. Her departure, however awkward, left him a moment alone with the mining director. A moment he could use if he was quick about it.

  “What are your orders, sir?” Mofitan snapped to attention, and though the little man flinched, he felt certain he’d made the right decision. Boon’s expression wavered from shocked to glowing in a breath’s span.

  “Orders? Right. Orders.”

  Mofitan doubted someone of Boon’s stature and position was used to getting any measure of respect. He played that card, and saw his first success in days reflected in the man’s reaction. The mining director stood taller, if that was possible for one shaped like a barrel.

  “Of course. Of course.” The wide throat cleared with a sound like distant thunder. Very distant. “Too late to do much today. Crews are already down the shafts. Better settle in. In the morning, report to personnel. Red shack, opposite side of the main pit here.”

  “Yes, sir!” The salute might have been too much. Boon jerked away again, but he smiled enough, just enough, to let Mofitan know he’d enjoyed the encounter a little. Best not to push it any further, however. He dropped his arm, spun in a decent imitation of Corah’s maneuver, and marched into his new home with one smallish victory under his belt.

  For now, one would have to do.

  Chapter Ten

  They’d put her in a hovel. Punishment. No way to see it as anything less. Gervis was unhappy with her, or worse, onto her. He’d gotten suspicious, and now he’d sent her to hell to test her loyalty. Maybe the time had come to move their operation forward. Fast. She only needed to convince Niels they’d run out of time for gathering intel.

  Damn him for reining her in in the first place. Corah snorted and paced the ramshackle room. She now had a single bunk with a thin, potentially infested mattress and one slim storage locker whose lock looked like it had been pried open more than once. She kicked at that, stuffed her fidgety hands behind her back, and stormed toward the bed again.

  She’d had plenty of opportunity to kill Gervis Dern. Plenty. They stuck in her craw, the missed chances. Niels had been too cautious, and now? Now she’d likely never get close enough to strike him down. Not if he suspected her at all.

  Then again, he hadn’t killed her outright. That said just as much as her banishment here did. If Gervis really believed she opposed him, Corah had no doubt she wouldn’t still be breathing. This Mofitan was the key, but she needed to know how to deal with him. She needed to get her thoughts in order, needed advice.

  Time to call Niels for certain. Corah couldn’t think of a better moment or place to risk it. Someone orchestrated sabotage in Banshee. If their rebellion had an operation working here, her predicament might be useful after all. Definitely time to call.

  She’d thrown her bags on the bed, hadn’t missed the clouds of filth that impact had spawned. Corah unzipped the smaller bag now. She fished inside, ran her fingers along the lining until they caught on a stray thread. Her damn fingers. That Mofitan had noticed her nerves. He’d been watching her hands the entire time. He’d thrown her behind him when the shooting started too. Damn. She needed to know what his angle was.

  Her fingers unlaced the thread, one careful stitch at a time. When the gap grew wide enough, she slipped them inside the bag lining and withdrew a slender device. The same size as the pen Gervis used, she noted. The same general shape. Corah held it for a moment and breathed, one eye on the door she’d already discovered did not lock.

  Nothing moved outside her shed. She’d heard Boon say the crews were in the shafts. Maybe during the day he was alone up here. It would certainly help. He’d wandered back to his office after the giant Shrouded doofus had vanished into the shed next door. That one was too close for comfort. She didn’t think he’d be able to hear her, but still carried the device across the room, leaned up against the farthest wall from Mofitan’s shack before curling over her communicator and thumbing the tiny projection on one end.

  A rod sprang from each of the tube’s six sides. Lights flared at the tips of these, and a sound that seemed decibels louder than it could possibly be hummed from the tiny speaker. Corah eyed the door again, breathed out, and listened for any noises aside from the constant hissing of Banshee’s waste gases. When she heard nothing else, she curled closer to the device, made a shield of her body, and whispered a code word into the mic. Overthrow. Niels’s name for this final stage of his rebellion.

  The rod flickered. The mini lights blinked out and then glowed blue. A shimmer lifted in a wave from the tips of the rods, melding together into a holographic display. Niels’s face rippled across that before settling into his customary terse expression.

  “What’s wrong?” Niels got right to the point, as usual. In Corah’s mind, the shaggy hair made Niels resemble a desert dog, one of the skinny scavengers that slunk between the rocks on Eclipsis. His behavior had only cemented the likeness. “Report.”

  “I’m in Banshee.” She watched the lines around his eyes tighten. That look meant he was processing, rearranging his plans. She’d seen it first the night he’d caught her sneaking into Gervis Dern’s estate. That night he’d convinced her killing Gervis should serve a larger purpose than one girl’s sense of vengeance. “Gervis has a new man, Shrouded, twin to the one in Wraith.”

  “How?”

  “He showed up in a slave shipment.”

  “A plant.”

  “Possibly. Gervis wants me to find out, but…�
�

  “We could use him, instead.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” One of Niels’s eyebrows arched higher. His hologram squinted, as if it could read her at a distance. His psychic ability had probably found her that night. He’d certainly had enough skill to stop her, to show Corah what she could be if she’d only focus her anger and see the bigger picture. “What’s his agenda?”

  “I don’t know.” Admitting it stuck in her throat. She’d been his star pupil and outmatched him eventually. He’d expect her to use her skills to know everything the purple bastard had locked inside him as much as Gervis would. “I can’t read him clearly.”

  “Interesting.” Niels frowned, rolled his eyes to one side and up. Corah imagined him howling at the moons. “Does Dern know?”

  “No. I bluffed my way through, but I’m afraid he suspects—”

  “Not a chance.”

  “He’s sent me to Banshee, Niels.”

  “Because he trusts you above the others.” Niels chewed on a thought, lips twisting, twisting. She hadn’t meant to let her panic leak through, but her voice had sounded ragged, even to her own ears. If Gervis suspected her, she’d need out, fast. “I think his sending you tells us something else, Corah. I think it tells us how important he believes this man is.”

  “Possibly. It could also mean I’ve blown it.”

  “Relax, Corah.” The hologram of Niels’s face rippled as he shifted too quickly, rubbed at his forehead to clear away the fall of soft tawny hair. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. The bastard trusts you. He’s given you way too much information, let you in too far not to. I think we can count on that.”

  “If you’re certain.” If Niels still had faith in her, Corah could cling to that. He’d never steered her wrong, had kept her from doing anything rash or stupid for years now.

  “I’m certain. But…”

  “Corah?”

  “What if we took out Gervis now?” She fed too much hope into that question. Niels knew how personal her desire to kill Gervis was, and his decisions always favored the greater good.

  “Not the right time.”

  “It never is, Niels. I’m not sure I believe there will be a better time. What if he shuts me out?”

  “He won’t. Corah, you have to relax. There’s something coming. I can feel it.”

  “What is it?”

  “This guy from Shroud is important. If Dern wants him that badly, we need to get him in our corner first.”

  “I thought of that, but he’s gone dark, Niels. I got some surface impressions at the start, but he shut me out somehow.”

  “Interesting. We still need to know what side he’s on, or at least if we can sway him to ours.”

  “Agreed.” Corah breathed out a long sigh. Her fingers tightened, but didn’t twitch. If Niels believed she was still safe, that meant something. She couldn’t exactly relax, but she could breathe again. “What are your orders?”

  “Do what has to be done. Get this guy in your pocket, Corah, and keep me posted as much as you can.”

  “That should be easier from out here. Less chance of signal interception, but…” If Niels had a unit here working against the mine’s production, there might be a safer way to get messages to him. “The mining director mentioned a saboteur.”

  “And?” Niels put a warning in that, and even though she knew the drill, knew that questions about other operatives had no answers, Corah had to ask. If he had someone in Banshee already she might have some help closer at hand.

  “If there’s anything we can do for each other—”

  “Need to know,” Niels said. “And you don’t.”

  “Understood.” She knew better than to push that boundary. Keeping operatives ignorant of one another ensured everyone’s safety. Still, Corah couldn’t help but think having more eyes down in the mine would be an asset. Having allies in Banshee would have at least made her feel like she’d have someplace to run if things went sour.

  “You don’t need them, Corah.” Niels read her mind. Impossible to do through a holographic comm, but still. “Dern can’t take a shit without asking you if it’s safe first. We made sure of it.”

  “Then what am I doing way out here?”

  “He values this man. And if the guy is that vital to Gervis we need him. I don’t have to tell you how badly, do I?”

  “No. I understand, Niels.”

  “Keep your head down.”

  “Affirmative.” Corah spoke the response he expected and thumbed the switch that would end their transmission.

  The device sent a static disruption with a holographic rider that was nearly impossible to detect unless you had the exact frequency. According to Niels the only one with the capability to intercept them was Galactic Summit’s military, and they had about as much chance of showing up on a planet as they did of suddenly passing laws against the lucrative, galaxy-wide slave trade.

  Niels had sunk the majority of a year’s funding into acquiring the handful of devices in their possession, but it was worth it if it kept them moving toward the goal, moving toward a free Eclipsis.

  Corah let the tool fold back into itself. She turned and leaned against the tinny wall, listening for her neighbor, for any sound of movement or hints that he might have been overheard. That was where the danger lay, and calling Niels had been a risk, even if he didn’t think she was in any danger.

  Corah knew better. At least, her heart told her she had something to fear. She did her best to ignore it, to believe in Niels. He’d been the one to steer her right, to get her off the streets and into the cause. Niels had shown her how special her skills were, how much she stood above the other psychics, and how useful she could be to the rebellion.

  Still, he might have trained her, might have taught her how to worm into Gervis Dern’s private circle, but he didn’t know how to read Gervis like Corah did. She shivered and scooted across the dirty floor to tuck her spyware back into its hiding spot. She’d slipped up somewhere. No matter how important the purple Mofitan was to Gervis, he wouldn’t have sent Corah away unless he meant to test her loyalty.

  And if she didn’t pass with flying colors, Corah’s life wouldn’t be worth the cost of disposing of her traitorous body. She might be Gervis’s right arm, but Corah had no doubt he’d cut her away in an instant if he knew her true agenda. If he suspected her already, then her time was borrowed.

  And her only hope of coming out of Banshee in one piece lay with the giant, growly stranger in the hovel next door.

  “They’ve given an order to land.” Jarn slammed a fist against the controls and sent a shower of sparks flying that couldn’t be good for the equipment. “If they’re Summit forces, we’re dead men.”

  “Can we outrun them?” Dielel knew the answer. He’d seen it in the way Jarn’s brow glistened, in the way he cursed and dragged on the ship’s controls every time their hull took another knock. He still had to ask.

  “No.”

  “And no ship’s identification?”

  “They aren’t flying a flag, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Which is against all Summit regulations.” Dielel gave Jadyek’s hand a squeeze. He hoped it was reassuring, hoped his own terror didn’t transfer through the gesture. He did his best to sound confident, to remember how he’d felt when they’d escaped, like the universe was on his side. “It’s probably pirates or smugglers.”

  “Or a Summit enforcer sent to bring us down,” Jarn said. “We should definitely hope for pirates.”

  “Why?” Jadyek’s fear couldn’t be hidden. His poor voice trembled with it. Dielel gave him another squeeze. Willed him to understand.

  “Pirates we can deal with,” Jarn said. “We got a hull full of whatever the Shevran had been trading in before he met his destiny. We can try to buy our way out if it’s pirates.”

  “Then we’ll just pray it is.” Dielel forced confidence into that. He nodded, as if that could seal the surety. “Land and negotiate. Right?
”

  “You pray.” Jarn snarled and thumped the controls again. “I do the talking.”

  “Of course.” Dielel gave Jadyek a less optimistic look. “Should we check the cargo now? It might help to know what we have to barter with before we begin.”

  “Go ahead.” Jarn shrugged and focused on the controls. “If it’s not the Galactic Summit, that might help. If we’re not shot down or shot the minute we disembark, it might help. But if there’s nothing in those crates but moldy rations, let me know before we’re planetside.”

  “Right. We’ll do that.” Dielel didn’t want to imagine what their odds were if it came to that.

  He smiled for Jadyek’s sake, and they left Jarn cursing at the controls. An access corridor led from the front compartment, the bridge, and single cabin back to the cargo bay and lav. The Shevran’s vessel had nothing much else to it except engines that no one on board knew how to maintain. Even if they survived this particular encounter, the way Dielel saw it, this ship was a death trap. They needed off it as badly as they needed away from their slippery cohort.

  He reached for Jadyek’s hand once they’d escaped their partner’s line of sight and managed to edge halfway toward the cargo bay. They needed something of their own to barter with, something they could leverage to their own ends. Dielel felt it around his heartmate’s finger, but he hesitated to bring it up. The only thing of value in their possession, the only thing that might be traded for their freedom, or for a weapon.

  Jarn had insisted the rifles they’d stolen on Shroud were locked into a storage compartment on the bridge. He’d neglected to share the combination to that, and Dielel didn’t bother asking him for it. He knew exactly what the answer would be. They had no defense, and that was exactly how Jarn wanted things.

  “What do you think we’ll find in the crates?” Jadyek crept closer, leaned into him when they reached the end of the passage and could breathe again.

  “Let’s hope it’s valuable, whatever it is.”

  “Jarn would trade us if he got a chance.”