Morgan's Return (9 page)

Morgan snorted. "I'm not sure it's worth the pain." Memories of her childhood flooded back. Parents who didn't know what to do with her, schools that couldn't cope with her abilities. Growing up with a modified brain hadn't been easy.

Ravindra leaned toward her. "Are we safe, Morgan?"

"Huh? You mean can the intruder follow? Probability, two percent. But I suppose it depends on why they attacked us."

"Yes. Why?"

"There's a whole list of possible reasons." Prasad sat at the table, resting one elbow on the surface. "The easiest is an opportunistic pirate who saw us leave."

"Sure. That's what I would have thought." Morgan accepted a glass of water and a cup of fresh brewed kaff from Tullamarran. The man was an absolute jewel, always seeming to know what was needed. She thanked him and he responded with that rare, shy smile before he stepped away.

"But would a pirate follow us after you micro-jumped? And would a pirate have the skill?" Ravindra was in what Morgan called 'admiral' mode. He sat back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together.

Morgan shrugged. "A lot of pirates are Fleet trained. They get out of the service, miss the excitement. A few are solo, but to do that you have to get hold of a ship and to do that you need money. Most pirates are employees of crime syndicates, which have the credits to buy the best ships and modify them."

"Just like us," murmured Prasad. "So some might have the skill, but would they have the motivation?"

"Have you any idea what sort of ship attacked us?" Ravindra asked.

Morgan shook her head. "The ship was shielded." She stared at the tabletop. Steam rose from the cup of kaff Tullamarran had set in front of her. "Judging by its speed, energy emission signature, maneuverability, I'd expect a fighter. A state of the art one." That thought sent a tingle down her spine.

Ravindra's lips curved in the slightest of smiles. "That would be my guess, also. So who would have such a fighter? Crime syndicates, of course."

"Let's look at who had a motive." Prasad ticked off points on his fingers. "Forbes could have worked out we had more gold and jewels and decided to take it. That could have been a solo operator, or a syndicate. The reports from the riots show several people died. We might have been blamed for a death and attracted a vendetta. Or someone in the local Star Fleet saw an opportunity for an extra-curricular raid. Anything else?"

"Sounds pretty comprehensive," Morgan said.

"Is there any chance there was a Supertech flying that fighter?" Ravindra spoke softly, gazing at her with extra intensity.

Morgan's heart skipped. "Why do you say that?"

"The ship was shielded. You couldn't read anything from it and the piloting was incredible." She was aware of Ravindra's gaze, almost like a laser beam on her skin.

The notion hadn't entered her head. Another Supertech. No, it wasn't likely. "Sure, the pilot was good, very good. But then again, the craft could have had a capability I haven't encountered. Chasing us after the micro-jump wasn't special, just that maneuver to destroy the missile, and a really skilled pilot could manage that." The longer she talked the more comfortable she felt. "Besides, it doesn't make sense. Another Supertech would be one of those tame ones who do as they're told, and they work for Makasa. They wouldn't try to destroy this ship unless they were ordered…" Her stomach lurched.

Nodding, Ravindra echoed, "Unless they were ordered."

"Is there any chance this has anything to do with you, Morgan?" Ravindra said.

She'd thought about that before they'd left and she'd covered her tracks. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered. She checked again, re-running the risk profile. Probability was very low. "I don't think it could have anything to do with me. They think I'm dead. If it was Makasa or someone connected with him, or if they'd recognized the identifiers on the ship, they would have stopped us, not tried to destroy the ship." She snorted. "Supertechs are an expensive commodity. He'd want me back, not dead."

"So. You are comfortable?" Ravindra regarded her steadily.

Resting her chin on her fist, she said, "The probability that this was anything but an opportunistic pirate attack is in the order of seven percent."

"But not zero."

Morgan shrugged. "Nothing's ever zero. Or one hundred percent."

"That about covers it, then." Ravindra picked up his cup and sipped. "I think we can safely put this behind us." He waved a hand at Morgan. "And the ship? Can the damage be repaired?"

"Yes. Jirra and I will work on that. When we've finished our kaff."

Prasad drained his kaff and set his cup back on the table. "What about our friend, Doctor Rosmenyo?"

Morgan rolled her eyes. "There's only one of me. Ship first, okay?"

"I'll start looking at the books," he replied.

Chapter 7
 

E
llen braced herself. This wasn't going to be nice. She stepped through the door into Makasa's office suite and smiled at his clerk. "Commander Cruickshank. Admiral Makasa wanted to see me."

"Yes, ma'am." The clerk pressed a button to open the door to the inner sanctum. "You're to go through."

Calm. In control. Ellen strode inside, performed an immaculate right face, and saluted. "You wanted to see me, Sir?"

He made her wait. She had known he would. Deliberately, he put down the light pen and pressed the control to hide his screen, which sank into the desk cavity. He placed his forearms against the desk's edge, and lacing the fingers of both beringed hands together, he stared at her from black eyes in an ebony face. The thick lips were curved downward.

"You know why you're here." His chins wobbled as he spoke.

"Yes, Sir." He hadn't told her to stand at ease.

"I've had a complaint from Captain Glebe. Would you care to explain to me what in hell you thought you were doing?"

Ellen glanced down at her shoes. "I… I'm sorry, Sir. I overestimated my capability."

He scowled. "You underestimated your enemy."

"Yes, Sir." At least that was the truth.

"You had no authority to engage a hostile in combat. You should have contacted Captain Glebe and let him deal."

"I felt the intruders would have escaped, Sir."

Makasa's nostrils flared. "The intruders did escape, Sir. And you sustained damage to a state-of-the-art fighter."

She winced. She'd never seen him so angry.

He rose to his feet and paced around the desk to stand over her, a vast bulk in a dark blue uniform. She could smell his cologne, hear his breath hissing softly, as she examined the details of the Fleet insignia on the buttons of his jacket.

"Never forget, Cruickshank, you are a Supertech. You do not fly fighter missions without very, very good cause. What if your ship had been destroyed? Hmmm? Not just a ship, but a ship with a Supertech flying it. The fighter is worth a fortune but your skills are worth much, much more."

"Yes, Sir."

Makasa wheeled, surprisingly light on his feet for such a large man, and paced back around to his side of the desk. The hover chair hissed as he lowered his weight into it. "Do I need to remind you that not quite two years ago we lost Morgan Selwood? The Coalition cannot afford that sort of thing."

"No, Sir." Selwood. Bloody Selwood. And he called her by her first name. Ellen was always Cruickshank, never Ellen.
I hate you, Selwood. You're going to die. But first I'll tell you how much I hate you
.

"This is most uncharacteristic of you. Never a blemish on your record before. Was there any reason for this?" The anger had dissipated.

"Over-exuberance, Sir. The Firebrand is a lovely ship." Ellen gazed at the floor, then looked up at him. "I'll admit I took the chance for a quick spin, to test its paces. And Captain Glebe had mentioned that Iniciara feels threatened by infiltrators from Solvaria. It seemed a wonderful opportunity."

Makasa had leaned back, his piggy eyes fixed on her face. Now the brows lowered. "And yet you were beaten."

"No, Sir. The ships escaped into shift space." Ellen met his gaze, forcing down the urge to lick her lips. Makasa was no fool.

"These pilots were good enough to damage a Supertech's ship?"

"The first ship was a Valyrie, and very well flown. The second ship appeared out of nowhere. I felt I did well to prevent the Firebrand being destroyed altogether." Glebe had accepted her explanation. How could he not?

The room was silent. The ever-present whisper of the climate conditioner sounded like a wind storm, underscored by the pounding of Ellen's heart.

"One of those ships was a Comet." Makasa had interlaced his fingers, his gold rings glinting.

"Yes, old technology, Sir. But some have been modified to out-perform the Kraits. Remember at Syermon?" She certainly did. It had been the source of her idea.

Makasa was tapping his fingertips together. Good. She'd just about convinced him.

"Sir, I confess the incident threw me." She glanced at his face and looked away. "Some time off might be in order. I've not taken leave in two years."

He heaved in a huge breath. "Leave. Yes. Yes, that may be wise. Go and relax somewhere. All right, Commander. I'll have the paperwork seen to. Dismissed."

Ellen saluted, turned on her heel and marched out, past the admiral's clerk and into the corridor, where she stopped and blew out a long breath. Time to go home to Tom. And prepare a suitable reception for Selwood.

***

M
akasa waited until the door had closed on Cruickshank, then allowed his body to sag into the chair while he accessed the image of his favorite Supertech on his implant. Gods he missed Selwood. She was a woman he could spar with, someone who could match his moods, could infuriate him and surprise him. To think the idiots at the Academy had tried to persuade him to terminate her. All in the past, of course. Wishing couldn't bring her back but colorless non-entities like Cruickshank simply underlined the loss.

If Selwood had pulled a stunt like this – and he knew she probably would have – she would have won, even against two intruders.

Still. Cruickshank worried him. There was something about her, always had been. Bolyanov had talked him out of his misgivings, showing him her psychological profiles, her test scores. Those had all measured up, so they had proceeded and the girl had done well. A good, malleable Supertech. No men in her life, or women, either. She'd always done as she was told, rarely made any sort of error. She'd been promoted quickly through the technical ranks. She'd never be a man-manager, of course, but it didn't really matter for a Supertech. Why did she bother him so? Leaning back in his chair he called in his clerk to arrange the leave documents for Cruickshank.

After he'd finished the orders, the clerk left his office, the door closing gently behind the man.

Makasa stared at the closed door. Damn it. His gut instinct was screaming at him, and he'd learned many years ago not to ignore his instincts. He turned on the special jammers which prevented any chance of eavesdropping and sent a request to Andrew Chang.

Chang appeared in moments, nondescript, colorless, a man you'd miss in a moment. "Admiral." His gaze was fixed on something behind Makasa's left shoulder.

"I have a job for you."

The man waited.

"This woman. Ellen Cruickshank." Makasa raised her image on his desk. "I want you to follow her. She's a Supertech, so any technological tracking equipment will be pointless."

Chang's eyebrows lifted for a microsecond. "That will make it difficult. What am I looking for?"

"I feel she's up to something. But I don't know what. Look for anything unusual, follow wherever she goes."

A slight nod. "Where is she now?"

"For now, she has gone home. She has asked for leave, which I have granted."

Makasa tried to hold the agent's gaze, but the man's eyes swiveled away. "You'll report every day."

"Understood."

"Dismissed."

Chang eased out of the chair and left the room.

***

C
arrying her bag, Ellen almost ran up the path to her ground floor apartment. The door slid aside at her approach. And there was Tom. She dropped her bag onto the ground and he leapt into her arms, rubbing his sleek black fur against her cheek, while he yowled piteously.

"Yes, I missed you, too, baby," she cooed, fondling his ears and running a hand over his back.

"Did they feed you properly?" She carried him out to the kitchen, put him down and found a bowl while he circled around her legs, his tail trailing over her pants. She'd had one of the clerks come in to feed him and see to his health while she was away but Tom would pretend he hadn't had anything to eat for weeks. Biscuits rattled in the bowl as Ellen poured them in, and the cat set to with a will. That would at least give her time to unpack.

By the time Ellen returned to the living room Tom had finished, licking his paws as he waited for her on the sofa. He turned reproachful yellow eyes on her and she could almost hear words in her head. 'I've been badly mistreated and I hope you'll be staying here to look after me properly for a while.'