Shades of Dark

by Linnea Sinclair

  His eyes fluttered open. They were fully dark again, fathomless. He nodded, then closed them. I stood and, with Ren’s help, shifted him so his legs were on the couch and his head against the armrest. I tucked a pillow under his head then brushed his lips with a soft kiss.

  A small heat danced over my skin. Then a silvery glow flowed over his.

  I followed Ren into the corridor, heat fading and worries flanking me like a contingent of the emperor’s most formidable bodyguards.

  We were twelve hours from Narfial. Twelve hours from another data beacon. Twelve hours from either our best hope to date or our worst nightmare in a man we knew only as Del.

  And the price of our mission was growing steeper by the hour.

  “How is he?” Dorsie was waiting for us outside the door to the ready room. She had a red apron dotted with various stains over the long dark tunic shirt she usually wore, and a recognizable bulge on her right hip. She’d taken to wearing a weapon again. “If I was in the galley like you, Chaz, I might’ve heard the fight. I could’ve done something, maybe. Worthless sons of bitches.”

  Visions of Dorsie charging into the shuttle bay, frying pan in one hand, fruit peeler in another, brought a small smile to my lips. I draped an arm over her shoulder and hugged her. “He’s better. He’ll probably be up and around in a few hours. Not that he should be. But you know Sully.”

  Dorsie did. She’d been with him for several years.

  “I can’t believe Gregor shot him.”

  “Missed, mostly.” We’d had to downplay Sully’s injuries or there’d be no way to explain his rapid healing. Just as we’d lied about how I’d found Sully.

  “Worthless son of a bitch,” she said again, then glanced up at Ren. “If those two slag-heads think I’m sending them anything good to eat, they can kiss my ass. Scraps and peelings are all they’re getting. Now, Sully!” And she brushed at the stains on her apron. “I have all his favorites whenever he’s hungry enough. Good food makes you stronger.” She switched her gaze to me. “We going to dump those assholes in a lockup on Narfial?”

  “We’ll discuss that with Sully when he wakes up,” I told her.

  “You’re not going to just let them go?”

  “They know quite a bit about our mission, about Sully,” Ren said. “We have to be careful.”

  “You can be careful. I’ll poison the bastards.” Dorsie gave me a brief hug, started to pat Ren on the backside, then caught herself and clasped his arm. She winked at me—there was no way Ren could see her aborted gesture—then headed down the corridor for the stairway.

  I followed Ren into the ready room and waited for the door to close before I spoke. “A zral. Sully could wipe their minds of everything that’s happened since they signed on with him. Then it wouldn’t be a problem if we leave them on Narfial.”

  “That’s an option,” Ren agreed, taking his usual place on the right side of the round table. “But there are people who know that Gregor worked for Sully for years. They might find sudden amnesia a cause for questions.”

  “If Tage releases Thad’s information, they’ll have their answers.” I took Sully’s seat at the table’s midpoint—even though it was round. But it was midpoint to the room, back almost to the wall, with a clear view of the room’s two entrances. Never sit with your back to the door. I pulled up the deskscreen.

  “You still think your brother will tell Tage about Sully?”

  “My brother’s a smart man. He’ll bargain with the information that’s the most useful.” I could think of nothing more useful than finding out the mercenary you hunted—who in many ways had become a hero in the rim worlds and whose livelihood to a great extent depended on his acceptance there—was in fact a hated human Ragkiril. “I hope he’s smart enough to realize that no matter what he tells them, Burke will probably have him killed anyway. Thad knows about Sully. But he also knows about Burke’s involvement with Tage.”

  “They may just subject him to a mind-wipe,” Ren said after a moment. “Then he’d no longer be a liability.”

  I hoped that’s all they would do. Thad might even forget all the trouble I’d caused him. At some point, if he still remembered I was his sister, we could be friends. But that seemed a very long way off. We had more immediate problems in Gregor and Aubry.

  When Sully had confronted Gregor in the shuttle bay, the man at first acquiesced, offering Sully a nervous, rambling explanation of what he was doing there. Honeylace notwithstanding, Sully’s empathic senses had picked up the lies immediately. His logic told him that shutting down ship communications had made Gregor skittish about his relationship with the Farosians. He’d ordered Gregor to dump out the contents of a duffel he’d been holding. Among other things, there were several portable data archivers, each about the size of two of Ren’s fingers. Small things, pocket-sized. But he had five of them. And he needed his pocket for his gun.

  I had those archivers now and, one by one, I carefully loaded their contents into a protected section of the Karn’s computer. I had to assume there were traps. I had to assume they were coded in such a way that only Gregor could retrieve the information.

  I assumed wrongly. For once, something was not going to be a mind-grinding challenge. Praise the stars. I shunted two of the archives over to Ren. He had his deskscreen on voice commands and slipped on a headset. I set my screen alarm for forty-five minutes. I’d check on Sully at that point, try to convince him to sleep a little longer. I didn’t anticipate that being an easy task.

  Gregor had been gathering data for a while. One section I saw went back at least two years but there were older lists: ship names Sully had used, ports he’d docked at, contacts he had there. I saw Nathaniel Milo’s name, captain of the Diligent Keeper.

  This older section was also the only one marked with colored tags: red, blue, yellow. I didn’t see any apparent pattern. That would take some work.

  But I did see that a lot of the information in that archive and the second hadn’t been classified. Gregor’s position as pilot allowed him access to ship names, docks, and contacts. But other information seemed to be notes hastily made on overheard conversations.

  Son of a bitch was an eavesdropper, or else had bugs planted. I made a note to check on that, sending a copy to Ren, which he listened to through his deskscreen’s transcriber and headset. I watched one eyebrow arch and then he shook his head sadly.

  “It’s not like Sully to underestimate someone,” he said, pulling off his headset and holding it between his hands.

  “At least we understand why Gregor reacted so vehemently when you and Sully did that mind-scan after the ship’s systems failure. He did have something to hide. It just wasn’t what we were looking for at the time.” Gregor had also threatened to leave then, obviously because he believed he’d no longer be able to keep his spying activities safe from Ren’s abilities.

  But it hadn’t been Ren with the abilities.

  Ren was nodding. “If Sully had performed a true mind-probe, he might have found out what Gregor was doing. I couldn’t convince him to do that, not even with me as a shield. Sully’s very uncomfortable with that part of himself, and was even more so then.”

  “Because I didn’t know what he was,” I said softly. “We have that problem again, you know.”

  “Sadly, Chasidah, it may be worse.” Ren put the headset down next to the deskscreen and leaned back in his chair. “Sully accepted his basic Ragkiril talents. He only feared your reaction. Now, he truly has little understanding or acceptance of what’s happening to him. He not only fears losing you, but he fears himself.” Ren huffed out a short sigh. “And I’ve been unable to be much help to him. Other than getting him drunk, and almost getting him killed.” His deep voice dropped lower.

  “It’s not your fault—”

  “Fully, no, but I am complicit. It…I…feel helpless.” Ren suddenly shoved himself out of the chair with a forcefulness and fluidity that reminded me that there was another side to Ren Ackravaro beside the gentle-vo
iced monk. Ren’s ancestors were predators, lithe and speedy underwater, and equally as commanding as hunters on land. Their clans’ histories were full of wars and conquering. I didn’t know anything personally about the Ackravaros—Ren’s clan-of-region—but if there was royalty in his blood, it wouldn’t surprise me. He often reminded me of a young warrior-prince, elegant and yet strong. He was anything but helpless.

  As he strode to the far bulkhead, I wondered how powerful a Ragkiril he might have been had he not lost his sight as a child.

  “I often feel helpless around Sully,” I told him. “He doesn’t like to listen.”

  Ren’s broad shoulders slumped slightly and some of the stiffness left his spine. “There is that,” he agreed, turning. He leaned against the bulkhead then folded his arms across his chest. “My apologies, Chasidah. I’m not usually prone to tantrums.”

  “You’re overdue.” I smiled and tried to send warm rainbows. “Don’t discount that whatever Sully’s going through is unsettling you. You link to him. You’re sensing his mood swings, just like I am. I’m not sleeping well either.”

  “There are scholars on Stol who might help. They won’t speak to me, of course.”

  Ren’s blindness was a condition considered a heinous sin, punishable by death on his home world.

  “I’m his ky’sara. Would they answer a query from me?”

  “Possibly. But they’d want to see Sully, test him. And I don’t see that happening in the near future.”

  Traffic between the Empire and Stol was tightly regulated, all transit documents subjected to the highest level of scrutiny. Even if Sully’s forgeries could get him through the first two levels, the bioscans at the third would have him in lockup.

  “Then we just have to do what we can with what we have,” I said as Ren took his seat. I turned back to Gregor’s files and a thought struck me. Gregor’s personal transmits contained the information he’d gleaned on Ragkirils. “Have you ever heard of the Harmony-One Project?”

  Ren tilted his head thoughtfully. “No. Should I?”

  “It was a study of Ragkirils done by the Xenocultural Department at West Baris University, in conjunction with Philip’s family. When I checked Gregor’s personal transmits, I found some articles he’d requested from there. Would you look at them later, tell me if there’s anything workable?”

  “Absolutely.” Some warmth returned to Ren’s voice. He was being useful again.

  My screen pinged. “I’m going to check on Sully,” I said, rising. “If he’s awake, I’ll tell him what we have so far. And try to convince him to go back to sleep, at least for another few hours.”

  “You have my sympathies on the last one.” A light spatter of rain on bright blossoms was once again in Ren’s voice.

  I slipped out into the corridor. It was empty but I could hear Verno’s voice coming from the bridge. Then Dorsie’s. Marsh was off duty, shift schedules shorter now with a limited crew.

  Eleven hours to Narfial.

  Sully was sitting at his desk, screen up, when our cabin door closed behind me. I bit back a sigh of frustration. He was wearing his favorite threadbare green-striped bathrobe, open to the waist so I could see the fading bruises mottling that finely sculpted chest, and an equally ratty pair of black pants. The robe’s sash was coiled, forgotten, at his bare feet.

  “Hello, angel-mine,” he said. His voice was raspy and pain etched tight lines around his eyes.

  “Shall I spout chapter and verse stating you shouldn’t be up? You should be resting, healing.” I crossed the short distance to the desk.

  He tapped at the screen, blanking it, but not before I caught the word Ragkiril several times in the text.

  “It’s the healing part that drains me, honest. I’m better than I look.”

  I grasped his chin and tilted his face up. He must have showered because the matted blood was gone from his face and hair, though the stubble of his day-old beard prickled against my fingers. But at least he was no longer chilled. In fact, heat danced down my arm, over my shoulders…caressed my breasts with such expertise that my breath caught.

  He winked. “Told you.”

  I released his face. “I don’t know how in hell you managed to be celibate for all those years.” I’d seen him in his sand-gray monk’s garb, the same kind Ren and Drogue often wore. Even as Brother Sudral he managed to look sexy.

  “Waiting for you. Making up for it now.”

  I hiked myself up on the edge of his desk and sat. “How are you? Really?”

  He looked up at me, eyes black, and without glancing down splayed open his hand. A small ball of light exploded over his palm. He closed his fingers, extinguishing it. “Doing better.”

  I tapped the screen. “Finding answers?”

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Gregor and Aubry are my more immediate concerns. What did you and Ren find?”

  I told him what I had so far. He agreed about the possibility of some kind of listening device, punctuating his comments with several choice epithets that questioned Gregor’s parentage and size of—or lack of—manhood. “I have a hand-held that will neutralize any snooping devices.” He started to rise. I put one hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

  “I’ll get it. Tell me where.”

  “Waiting on me, hand and foot now? I could get used to this.”

  I slipped off the desktop then patted the gun at my side. “Don’t push your luck, Sullivan.”

  “We can discuss exactly what I want to push and where later, if you like. But for now, what you’re looking for is in the back of my closet, bottom right drawer. Access code is your birth date.”

  “Recently recoded?” I called out over my shoulder as I headed into the bedroom.

  “Since before Port Chalo.”

  I was squatting down in front of his open closet. I leaned back on my heels and looked at him. He responded by arching one dark eyebrow.

  Port Chalo had been more than three years ago, right when Philip and I had divorced and I’d run in to Sully in a dark little bar where no one ever asked about rank or allegiances or outstanding arrest warrants. I’d seen him there before—mostly alone, though once or twice with Marsh. But that night had been just Sully. It was also the first time he’d kissed me.

  My addiction to Fleet protocols had made me dismiss the entire encounter as something that happens when Chaz gets drunk. But that wasn’t what had been going on at all.

  I tapped the keypad and opened the drawer. An interior light blinked on. Wow. The glint of at least a dozen high-tech devices caught my eye, neatly nestled between padded separators. I recognized some as Fleet special issue. Very special issue. Others were unfamiliar.

  Top row, third from the left. An image came into my mind. I matched it to a small unit.

  You know, I told him as I palmed the device that clearly wasn’t Fleet issue, I can’t tell anymore when you open and close your link with me. I used to be able to. Now, you’re just there, or not.

  Silence.

  Sully?

  Umm, yes. Sorry. That’s part of the ky’saran link we have. It’s just natural, effortless after a while. Does it bother you?

  I closed the drawer, heard the lock cycle on. Only when I need you to be listening and I’m not sure you are.

  Husbands never listen to their wives. That’s part of our job.

  I exited the bedroom, not about to raise the issue—again—that a ky’saran link is not a marriage. At least not in the edicts of any church I knew. He watched me approach, eyes hooded.

  “I need to know when you’re listening,” I repeated out loud. “It could come in handy the next time someone tries to beat you senseless in a shuttle bay.”

  “I don’t intend to let that happen again.”

  “That’s not the point.” I handed him the unit.

  He took it. How it operated and the functions of the various icons on its screen appeared in my mind as he flicked the power button. I knew what he knew, just as I had in the slippe
ry space of the jump.

  See, there are positives.

  I heard the defensive tone in his voice. It was small but it was there. Or maybe I felt it. It was becoming hard to tell. “I’m not complaining. I’m trying to get better at this link between us. You know so much more about it than I do.”

  He snorted. “Don’t count on that.” He angled the unit out and moved it in a wide, slow arc. Colors danced over the small screen. Delightfully simple yet accurate. Green areas are clear. Red dots are snoopers. Yellow dots are deactivated snoopers, or ones set to time-delay signals.

  Our quarters read clear but I took the unit and marched around with it, including into the lavatory, until I was fully satisfied.

  I turned the power off. “Nice to know Gregor wasn’t listening in on our bedroom antics,” I said as I pocketed it. I’d sweep the whole ship shortly.

  “Shame he wasn’t. He might have had more respect for me.” He folded his hands over his bare stomach and crossed his feet at the ankles.

  I leaned one hip against the desk. I thought about sitting but I needed to get back to Ren and the rest of Gregor’s data. “What are we going to do about his and Aubry’s lack of respect?”

  “His doesn’t surprise me. Aubry’s…” and he hesitated, shaking his head. “God, that’s a huge disappointment. I don’t know if he’s that good or I’m that stupid, but I had no idea.”

  “You’re not alone. I considered it and dismissed it too, if you remember.”

  “Yes, but now I’m starting to question my policy of never fully checking my crew’s minds. There’ve been times in the past when I could see a problem coming up, usually after a long stay at dock and they’d been out drinking, bedding prostis, that kind of thing. Someone comes home with their feelings hurt. Maybe a black eye or two. So I’d poke around, lightly, see what the grudge was about because I knew damned well no one was going to tell me. Or there’ve been times when I knew Marsh was upset. You know his family’s had some bad setbacks.” He glanced at me briefly. I nodded.

  “He won’t tell me those kinds of things easily.” His attention was back on the wall again. The wall and a galaxy a couple of million light-years away. “So I’d peek and find out there was a money shortage. Or a medical problem. And I’d give him a bonus. Hell, I’d make up some reason why. Marsh is very proud. If he knew I was being charitable, he’d probably punch me in the mouth. But I won’t scan my crew for their loyalty. I don’t…like being in people’s minds that much—or that deeply.”