Finders Keepers (30 page)

“Did he ever ask to see them or ask you about them?”

She shook her head. “Chaser hates to fly, hates space travel. He’s like Jagan. He’s got to take meds or he makes the whole trip with his head in the sani-fac.” She grimaced. “I don’t know if I’m more worried that he might have been poisoned or that he . . .” She let her voice trail off. She couldn’t say it.

“Or that he might be part of the plan,” Rhis finished quietly for her.

She nodded. Damnation! Not Chaser.

“Could he have done it, or helped?”

Trilby sighed, watched the data flow over her monitors for a moment. “He works in the pharmacy building. He probably has access codes, sure. Or knows someone’s codes. But he’s just a big, lovable, goofy guy. I can’t picture him ever wanting to harm someone.”

“The promise of power, and money, changes a lot of people.”

Or the threat of blackmail. “He had a problem a couple years ago. With recreational drugs.” She glanced at Rhis. He was nodding. “Spent six months in rehab. GGA could’ve let him go. But they didn’t. I mean, it was pretty amazing, because he’s just a med-tech and Garold—”

She stopped, hearing her own words.

“Go on,” Rhis said.

She swallowed. “Chaser said Garold Grantforth personally took an interest in his case. He was really flattered.” She closed her eyes, let her head fall back against the headrest. Chaser. Garold Grantforth. Jagan. The ’Sko.

They all had one thing in common.

Trilby Elliot.

“Secretary Grantforth, not Jagan, helped Chaser?” Rhis asked.

She opened her eyes, stared at the starfield dotting the forward viewport but saw nothing. “He wasn’t Secretary Grantforth then. Just a minor politician. Commissioner of something or other. But Chaser was still flattered, because Garold is synonymous with GGA.”

“Did he know Jagan before you became involved with him?”

“Chaser? Not that he ever said.”

Rhis picked up his lightpen, twisted it in his fingers again.

“Chaser wouldn’t hurt anyone,” she protested.

“If his addiction resurfaced, or it was made to resurface, he might do a lot of things.” He reached for her again, enfolded her hand in his. His touch was warm, reassuring. “And he also might not. There are, what, hundreds of people in GGA Med-Labs? How many hundreds more in GGA itself? But it’s good to play with these theories, Trilby-
chenka
. Because any one of them, or none of them, may be necessary when we get to Syar. It’s how we prevent unpleasant surprises.”

She squeezed his hand in answer.

It couldn’t be Chaser. Not Chaser.

The secondary beacon brought no answer to Jagan’s message. Trilby clicked off the incoming link, watched Rhis scroll through the usual news briefs and market downloads. “Think maybe I should talk to Jagan?”

The look on his face told her he didn’t like that idea. Or, rather, still didn’t like her with Jagan. “When the time comes, we both question him.”

Trilby let it go at that for the moment. She wasn’t really sure what she’d say, anyway. How do you ask someone if they’re a traitor or if one of their family’s a traitor? And knowing Jagan’s penchant for numbers and propensity to avoid politics, she wasn’t sure he’d see any kind of deal with the ’Sko as traitorous. Especially if it meant profit.

And they wouldn’t come to another beacon for three more hours. Close to the end of their shift. Less than a deuce away from the Colonies.

She felt Rhis’s fingers massage the back of her neck. She hadn’t realized she was so tense. She closed her eyes, heard him unhook his safety harness then hers.

She opened her eyes and he pulled her to her feet. “Come here.”

He sat back down in his chair, settling her in his lap. “I don’t know if you need this. But I do.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting his warmth sink into her. “I don’t imagine this is acceptable behavior on the bridge of the
Razalka
.”

“I may consider an amendment to regulations.”

“Hana would approve.”

He chuckled softly. “Well, yes, Jankova has never been reticent in pointing out my faults.”

“I didn’t know Imperial Arrogance was permitted faults.”

“It’s not.” He was silent for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns in the small of her back. “Trilby-
chenka
?”

“Ummm?” She could fall asleep so easily right now.

“You were very afraid of me.”

She remembered Imperial Arrogance striding through the dingy corridors of the
Careless Venture
. Standing stiffly at the base of her ship’s ramp on Degvar. “You did try to kill me.”

“No. Render you unconscious perhaps, because I didn’t know where I was, what was going on. But after that. You were so afraid of me. Why?”

Why? Why. She had a hundred answers. And she had none. How do you explain an inbred lack of self-worth to Imperial Arrogance? How do you explain a hard-learned distrust of authority to a senior captain? “Because I was named after a blanket.”

His fingers stopped. “What?”

“A blanket. Trilbyham Looms. When the Iffys picked me up, cataloged me, I didn’t have a name. But I was carrying this tattered blanket with a label that said
Trilbyham Looms.
So they tagged me in as Trilby.”

The massage resumed, slower this time.

“And you think that would matter to me?”

“You have
the
in front of your name.”

“The?”

“
The
Khyrhis Tivahr.”

He gave a short, harsh laugh. “I thought that was after it. Tivahr the Terrible.”

“That too.”

She felt him take a deep breath. “And our . . . friend. He’s not
the
Jagan Grantforth?”

“Of
the
Grantforths? Absolutely. I swore, you know, I’d never get involved with another guy with a
the
in his name.”

“And this made you afraid.”

“This made me angry. At you. But really at myself.”

“Because a woman named after a blanket does not . . . what—fall in love?” He gently pushed her back so that she was facing him. “Can I say that? That you love me?”

He didn’t know. She could tell by the trepidation in his eyes that he honestly didn’t know what she felt for him.

Well, she hadn’t been terribly straightforward. Or consistent. She gave him a lazy smile. “Yeah, you can say that.”

A grin spread slowly across his face. A corresponding warmth grew inside her. “So now you’re not afraid.”

“Of you? No.”

“Of us?”

She had concerns. Normal relationship concerns. But she didn’t feel anymore she’d be facing them alone. “No. I’m not afraid of us.”

His thumb traced her jaw. “You should never have been.”

“I had to figure that out for myself.” Which was true. She didn’t know that until she saw that the Rhis she hated was the same person as the Rhis she loved. She was the one who’d changed, placing labels on him, interpreting his actions because of a lack she thought was inside herself. A lack he didn’t know about, and didn’t care about.

“Of course, Hana and Doc Vanko did try a bit of persuasion on your behalf,” she added.

“I’ll be sure to add commendations to their files when we get back.” He drew her forward, kissed her lightly.

She let herself enjoy it for a moment, then put her hands against his shoulders. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Commendations?”

“No. Getting back. You don’t seem terribly concerned about what’s waiting for us in Syar.”

“Honestly, I’m not. Or I would never have permitted you on this mission. Surely you know that by now?”

“But this man you call Dark Sword—”

“Or woman. Or group of people. All of whom need you alive. And your nav banks intact. The only risk I see—and Demarik and I went over this rather thoroughly—would be resistance. Which is why I structured this as I have. Cooperation with GGA. I fully intend to hand them your nav banks—your altered nav banks—quite willingly. It would be the height of stupidity on Dark Sword’s part, or the ’Sko’s part, to harm us after that. It would raise too many questions.”

Rhis’s plan was almost reverse logic. Falling into their trap with a trap of his own.

“So when we get to Syar—”

“We accept whatever reasons GGA gives for acquiring this ship. Then we look for a tri-hauler called the
Cosmic Fortune,
which will just happen to be needing crew with our experience, and we go home. Tracing all the while, of course, the data we gave to GGA.” He gave her a satisfied grin.

He had the whole thing planned, right down to a ship waiting for them. “I should’ve known,” she said wryly.

“Yes. You should have.”

Imperial Arrogance. She kissed him quickly, then pulled out of his lap. “There’s one flaw in your great plan so far. We missed breakfast. And are about to miss lunch.”

“It was worth it.”

Her heart did a little flip-flop at the undeniably sexy tone in his voice. But her stomach was also rumbling. “I’ll bring something back to the bridge.” She ruffled his hair. “Don’t get us lost now, okay?”

“Last time I got lost, you found me. That turned out rather nicely,” he told her as she palmed open the bridge hatch lock.

Well, yes, it had. After a few twists and turns. “Finders keepers. Remember that.” She stepped into the corridor and the hatch cycled shut behind her.

She strode into the lounge just as the incoming alarms erupted through the ship. She pivoted, dashed back into the corridor, and pounded up the ladderway, her heart thumping wildly. Her throat was too dry to bark questions through her ship badge.

The hatchway was open and she could see Rhis in the captain’s chair. Red and yellow lights blinked in a familiar crazed staccato.

“What is it?” Her voice was raspy. She almost fell into the copilot’s chair as he banked the ship hard to port. She raked the straps across her chest.

“’Sko.” His voice was deathly flat. “Mother ship. Two squadrons.”

She slapped off the alarm, keyed the console mike to intraship. “’Sko incoming. One plus two. Red alert stations, now!”

She heard Dallon, Farra, and Mitkanos confirm through the comm board behind her. She keyed the mike again. “Elliot to Grantforth. You’re confined to quarters. But if you know anything,
anything
about this, mister, you tell me now!”

Jagan’s voice was a plaintive whine. “I swear, Trilby, they’re not supposed to—”

But the rest of his explanation was lost as an overhead panel exploded. And intruder alarms kicked back on, filling the ship with a deafening wail.

26

Strained voices shouted orders in a mixture of Standard and Zafharish. Rhis was in command, but Dallon translated whatever he seemed to believe Trilby needed to know.

That helped, but for the most part Trilby reacted on instinct. Keeping the ship in one piece, all systems operating, needed no translation.

“Torpedoes, incoming, portside.” Dallon barked out heading and speed. Rhis initiated evasive maneuvers. Trilby monitored shield status, still holding at one hundred percent despite several direct hits.

But the ’Sko hadn’t fired torpedoes at them before.

Farra, at communications, sent out repeated SUAs on both Conclave and Imperial channels. And monitored for any answer from the
Cosmic Fortune
. Which was, Trilby guessed, a bit more than an average tri-hauler. But she could also be as much as a deuce ahead of them.

The torpedoes veered away.

“Sloppy shooting,” Mitkanos grumbled in Zafharish.

“Don’t count on it.” Rhis didn’t take his concentration from the board. “That might just be a warning. Farra?”

“
Nav.
Nothing yet, sir.”

Trilby answered his question before he asked it. “Comm pack still online. We’re sending.”
But no one’s answering.

“Bloody hell.” Rhis’s curse was hushed, tense.

The ship shuddered slightly as Mitkanos fired their weapons. Not the ion cannons, not yet. That, Trilby knew, would be for the mother ship. If she got close enough.

“They’re pulling back, regrouping maybe,” Dallon advised.

Rhis shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the younger man. “Jumpgate?”

“None in range yet, sir. We’re in one of those dead areas.”

Trilby caught Rhis’s gaze, and his unspoken command. Her fingers flew to the nav link on her console. “Which one is the real file?” She was looking at the Herkoid data Rhis intended to give to GGA.

He reached over quickly, highlighted a minor file tagged for enviro. “Here. Bring it up. I’ll decode it.”

She scanned the old star charts as they filled her screen. Lissade. Syar. She grabbed all references to the Colonies, ran through them quickly.

The ship rocked again, lights flickering. She glanced to her left. “Shields holding at eighty percent.”

“Jumpgate?”

“Not yet.” She paged through another chart. Damn it! There had to be something. She didn’t care where it went, as long as it took them into hyperspace and gave them time to have someone meet them—and the ’Sko, if they followed—when they exited.

The long-range scanner in front of Rhis beeped. Trilby looked at the board. Maybe the
Cosmic Fortune
? Or a Conclave patrol?

But Rhis’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Second mother ship. ’Sko. Thirty-five minutes out.”

That meant two more squadrons of ’Tarks.

“Why?” Trilby asked, feeling it was a foolish question even as she voiced it.

“Jagan’s message is my guess.” But Rhis didn’t sound like he was guessing.

Mitkanos swore. “Damned bastard.”

Another sickening shimmy, another flickering of lights.

“Shields at eighty and holding. Generators online,” Trilby said, and opened the next star chart. Two squadrons of ’Tarks were big trouble. Four were certain death.

“Watch starboard flank,” Rhis called out to Mitkanos.

“On them. On them. In range.”

Trilby saw the cluster of ships part on the scanners. Rhis saw it too. “The newcomers are splitting up—damn it! Class-Five destroyer! They’re screening a Class-Five destroyer!”

He banked the ship, hard. Engine-overload signals flashed. Trilby was wrenched against her harness straps, then something slammed into the back of her seat with a harsh cry. She jerked forward.

“Bloody fucking . . .” Rhis switched to Standard. “Get the hell off the bridge, Grantforth!”

Trilby twisted around. Jagan’s hands were locked onto her headrest. He was half kneeling, half sprawling on the floor behind her. His face was pale, sweat-streaked.

“No! Wait,” he croaked.

Rhis jerked his thumb at Dallon. “Get him off here! And lock the bridge this time!”

Jagan clawed at Trilby’s arm. “Tell them I’m on board! They can’t . . . they won’t . . . they just want those map files.”

“Get below, Jagan!” Trilby told him tersely.

“Uncle Garold needs those map files to seal the agreement!”

“Those are Niyil ships, Grantforth.” Rhis turned in his seat, tried to push Jagan backward.

“Yes! We’re working with them too.”

Trilby caught Rhis’s quick look of disgust. Then Dallon grabbed Jagan under the armpits, yanked him upright.

“They’ve got ion cannons primed,” Mitkanos said in Zafharish.

“Bring full weapons online!” Rhis ordered. “Destroyer is primary target. Fire at will.”

Jagan wrenched against Dallon, reached for Trilby. “What’s he saying? What’s happening?”

She looked up. “We’re in trouble. Big trouble. Strap him in at second nav, Dallon.” There was no time to drag Jagan below to his cabin. She needed Dallon on the bridge.

And Rhis needed her attention. “Jumpgate?”

She turned back to the charts. “Working on it.” But there was nothing. Nothing. The ’Sko couldn’t have picked a better spot to ambush them if they’d known. . . .

She glanced at the code trailing down the side of the file. Shadow’s notations and a comment by Vitorio. This was one of the charts Carina had. Trilby felt as if her heart stopped. “Khyrhis.” She said his name softly.

Dark eyes turned to her. She didn’t try to disguise the fear in her voice. “This is the same chart
Bella’s Dream
had. There are no jumpgates here. They know that.”

He held her gaze for a very long moment, then turned away. His deep voice was emotionless, held the hard tone of undeniable authority. “Rimanava. Open a channel to Admiral Vanushavor, Code Delta Priority One. Copy to Captain Rafiello Vanushavor on the
Vendetta
, Commander Zakar Demarik on the
Razalka
. Transmit all logs.

“Append note to Demarik. On my orders, engage the First Fleet. Objective: Syar.”

Trilby understood. Rhis was authorizing an invasion of the Conclave.

But Jagan didn’t, though he evidently recognized some names. “Vanushavor?
Razalka?
What in hell are you doing, Vanur? I told you, they just want—”

“In range. Firing!” Mitkanos bellowed.

Rhis held the ship steady, then turned back to Jagan, his eyes narrowed. “Our nav banks? I already tried that. They declined. Answered with two squadrons of ’Tarks instead. They want you dead. All of us dead. Probably your beloved uncle as well. Only fools think they can make deals with the ’Sko.”

Jagan strained angrily against his harness. “Who do you think you are to call me—”

“Tivahr. Senior Captain Khyrhis Tivahr of the
Razalka
. That’s who I am, Grantforth. Now shut up or I will let you talk to the ’Sko. In person. Out the air lock.” Rhis swung around. His fingers flew across the command console with a vengeance.

And he missed the sight of Jagan’s mouth dropping wide open. But Trilby didn’t. Nor did she miss the flicker of fear in his blue eyes.

He finally noticed her scrutiny. “You knew this?” His voice rasped.

“Yes.” She went back to her star charts. But an unexpected pride surged through her.
The
Khyrhis Tivahr. It sounded very, very right.

“Mother Two, ten minutes,” Mitkanos intoned.

The ’Sko destroyer had pulled back, gathered its shield of ’Tarks around it again when Mitkanos returned fire with their ion cannons.

Shields were down to seventy-five percent, but comm pack was still online. That was critical. Someone had to hear them. Someone had to answer their distress call. They might outrun a mother ship, even two, but not the ’Tarks, which could refuel from the mother ships. Time was not on their side.

They needed a safe haven, but without a jumpgate Trilby couldn’t find them one. There was nothing out here in this section of the Syar Quadrant, not even an asteroid field. It was, as Dallon said, a dead zone. The description chilled her. No. It would not be her dead zone. She refused to accept that.

“Trilby.” Jagan’s voice hissed across the bridge, through the beeping of the monitors and curt commands in Zafharish. “Link me to the ’Sko. I can—we can trade his life,” he pointed at Rhis, “for ours. They’d love Tivahr the Terrible.”

Trilby flashed him a disarming smile. “Fuck you, Jagan.”

“Bitch!”

She shrugged, caught Rhis shaking his head at their exchange.

“Captain Tivahr.” Farra switched to Standard. “I am picking up a Norvind convoy, forty-six minutes out. They acknowledge our SUA.”

Hope blossomed in Trilby’s chest. Forty-six minutes. They could hang on that long, couldn’t they? A freighter convoy wouldn’t be heavily armed, but they might have an escort. It was better than nothing and might buy them time until the Fleet—either Fleet—could find them.

Rhis was already relaying instructions, altering course to intercept.

“Coming in range. Targeting.” Mitkanos’s commands brought her back to the closer problem. The ’Tarks. In a different formation.

There was something odd about it, but she couldn’t peg what exactly, and reasoned that she could well be misreading it due to stress and inexperience. She wasn’t military. She went back to her duties. “Shields down to seventy. Unless—” Hell. Jagan was on the bridge. Who needed enviro belowdecks if no one was there?

She looked quickly at Rhis. He nodded. “Cutting off life support to crew deck,” she announced. “Thirty seconds. Segueing power to shield generators.”

“In range. Firing!”

She glanced at the screens, saw two ’Tarks splinter apart. “Good shot, Yavo.”

Then something slammed into the ship. Trilby wrenched sideways, the chair’s armrest digging painfully into her ribs. She heard Mitkanos grunt over the screeching of alarms. A panel sizzled behind her, punctuating Rhis’s litany of curses in Zafharish and Standard.

“Bloody Gods damned ion cannon! Direct hit, starboard flank. Mitkanos!”

“Star . . . starboard torpedo tubes inoperational.”

Her screens were no more encouraging. “Shields down forty percent.”

“Recalibrating lasers,” Dallon said. “I need five minutes—”

“We don’t have five minutes. Brace! Incoming cannon fire!”

Trilby’s skin chilled as she tugged her harness secure with one hand. She raised the other arm over her face, locked her feet against the lower panel. Only at the last minute did she glance under her arm and catch Rhis’s dark and weary gaze as it flickered up briefly from the command console.

“Yav cheron,”
she told him.

His wistful smile was the last thing she saw as the bridge exploded.

She woke to a red-tinged darkness and a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth. She recognized both. Power was down. Enviro had kicked off, long enough for her to lose consciousness. Dezi must have gone down to engineering—

But Dezi wasn’t here. This wasn’t the
Careless Venture
. She struggled against something heavy, found it wasn’t her safety harness holding her into her seat but a thick braid of conduit, cascading through the ceiling.

She coughed, pushed it aside. The ship was eerily quiet, save for an ominous hissing noise from the corridor. Ruptured enviro conduit. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, caught shadowy forms, silent, around her.

“Rhis!” She unsnapped her harness, lunged for his seat. It was empty.

Oh, Gods! She dropped to her knees, felt along the floor, her fingers finding debris but nothing more.

“Rhis!” She heard a clunking noise, but it sounded distant. Way belowdecks.

She pulled herself to her feet, shuffled to her right toward two forms. They were warm. She heard a groan as she ran her hands over the smaller one. Farra. “Farra? Yavo?”

“
Vad, vad.
This is you, Trilby?” Mitkanos answered first.

“It’s me.”

Farra was coughing. Mitkanos worked on releasing her harness.

“Where’s Rhis?” Trilby asked.

“Here.” He was leaning in the hatchway. “Bloody Gods damned generators—”

She nearly sprang into his arms, tripping over cables and warped panels on the way. He caught her tightly against him. His face was wet and covered with something gritty, but she didn’t care. She kissed him until Mitkanos stumbled into them, bumping her sideways.

“S’viek noyet.”
The large man grabbed a skewed section of bulkhead, tried to twist it sideways.

Dallon. Gods, no.

Rhis moved, braced his arms against the tall panel, pushed with Mitkanos. Behind them, Farra worked on the command console.

The red-tinged emergency lights brightened. Two small overhead white lights flickered on. Trilby could see Dallon slumped in his harness. Mitkanos grabbed his arm, felt for a pulse.

Dallon stirred, raised his head groggily. “Bloody hell.”

“Don’t move yet,” Rhis ordered in Zafharish, and drew out a small medistat.

“
Vad yasch
. . . . I’m okay, Captain. Just blacked out. Enviro must have quit.”

“It did.” Rhis ran the unit down Dallon’s side. “You’re a tough one, Patruzius.”