Finders Keepers (13 page)

It really sounded stupid now. She wondered why it had seemed so cute then. Probably because it had been uttered by Jagan Grantforth.
The
Jagan Grantforth. She made a mental note to never again fall in love with any man who could have
the
plastered in front of his name.

“And he asked you, what? To dinner?”

“Lunch. At GGA’s executive club.”

“And he never said why he was interested in you?”

That sounded like an inane remark from someone who’d just spent two hours ravishing her body. She knew he was trying to uncover Jagan’s real motives, but the question still piqued her. She glared at him.

“Trilby-
chenka
.” He grabbed her hand again.

She’d ask him later what this
chenka
business was all about. First she wanted to see him wriggle his way out of this one.

She waited.

“Don’t deliberately misunderstand,” he said. “But I know much of Jagan Grantforth’s reputation. And yes, I want to know what a lovely woman like you was doing with something like him.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She patted his hand, then pulled hers away. “And yeah, I thought about things like that too. Or rather, I tried not to. I was just so flattered that
the
Jagan Grantforth was showing an interest in me. Saying nice things. Telling me he loved me.” She glanced at his face to see if he had any reaction to her words. He was scowling. Good.

“Which I later found out he didn’t. At least, that’s what I have to assume, since he married someone else.”

“Zalia Auberon.”

“How’d you know that?”

He gave a quick shrug. “I think someone mentioned it. We do keep tabs on what GGA does from time to time.”

“So okay, he married Zalia. But that doesn’t make him a spy for the ’Sko.” Still, she thought about his transmits in her files. She had intended to delete them. But maybe there was something in them that might now make sense. Maybe his secretary, or one of his assistants at GGA, had access to her transmits to him. She wouldn’t discount that Jagan might leave one on-screen in his office, in a boastful fashion. She’d have to go over them, but privately. No use airing her dirty laundry any more than she had to.

“How often did he go with you to Neadi’s?”

“At least ten times with me, on the
Venture
. But then sometimes he’d use a GGA shuttle and meet me there.”

“He worked runs with you?”

Worked? No, Jagan didn’t work. “He’d do a trike, or a one-up from time to time, when . . .” And she let her voice trail off. She wasn’t completely comfortable discussing her past sexual exploits with the man she’d just spent two hours making love to. But there were larger issues here.

She looked away from him, toyed with the tail of her safety strap. “You have to understand, Jagan and I were pretty involved. I mean, okay, maybe it was stupid, but there was a point in the relationship when I really thought we had a future together. A real future.

“But our schedules were different.” Hell, their entire lifestyles were different. But she didn’t want to see that back then. “So sometimes he’d hang with me, for a trike, on board. But he never really got involved in the mechanics of my runs. He was here strictly for . . . my company.”

She glanced back at him.

“I can understand that,” he offered quietly.

“Yeah, well, I can and I can’t. He had . . . he has this attitude, you see. He’s better than everybody. Has all the answers. He’s way up there,” she said, raising one hand, “and I’m way down here. Eventually he made sure I knew that.”

Rhis started to reply but Trilby turned away. Her admissions to Rhis hit a raw spot she hadn’t realized was still so sensitive. “Hey, Dez. Can you check logs for me? How many times was Jagan on board recently?”

“Of course.” The ’droid accessed the data quickly. “Sixteen times in the past twenty-one months.”

“Send that to my terminal here, okay?” She turned back to Rhis. “Crazy thought. Jagan’s assistants and secretary always knew when he was with me. They had to. Maybe this contact you’re looking for is one of them.” That made more sense to her. “Let’s play those dates against shipping schedules out of Rumor. While you do that, I’ll try to pull up all the times he met me at Neadi’s as well.”

Rhis nodded. “That could bring up something interesting. But the ships haven’t been missing during your entire relationship. Only the last two months.”

“True, but if they also had access to my transmits to him, we might be able to see a pattern. I always gave him my run schedule ahead of time. And we sometimes talked market gossip.”

Rhis held her gaze for a moment. “Excellent suggestion.” He sounded slightly amazed.

She grinned. “I do come up with one on occasion.”

“It must be my influence.”

She groaned, then swiveled her comp screen and pulled up her files of Jagan’s transmits.

It was about two and a half hours later, just a little after midnight by Trilby’s biotime, that the
Careless Venture
confirmed contact with an Imperial outpost. She glanced at the time–date stamp on the top of her screen as the unfamiliar Zafharish words scrolled by. And realized she’d known Rhis Vanur for five days.

A full hand, in freighter lingo.

And in five days her whole life had been spun around.

Rhis’s fingers flew over the console in front of him. “Should be able to initiate voice contact . . . yes.” A series of lights in the center panel blinked from red to green.

She heard a male voice from the outpost identify himself and the name of his station, she assumed. She understood very little of the ensuing conversation between Rhis and the outpost, other than a few
vads
and
navs
, and common terms like
dock
and
schedule
. And
Razalka
. That name she caught, along with Tivahr, and Vanushavor. Those were mentioned frequently as well.

But as to putting it all together in a sensible fashion? She leaned back in her chair and waited.

Rhis seemed relieved, calmer, when he ended his communication. “This is good.” He was nodding, not at her but at nothing in particular in the dark viewport of the bridge. “Fortuitous. A tactical team has been on Degvar Station for the past trike. Lieutenant Gurdan is in command. I know him.”

“You’re not thinking of trying something against the ’Sko now? I thought you had to wait for the
Razalka
.”

“Of course. But Gurdan has much experience, and with the facilities at Degvar I can go deeper with this information.” His fingers drummed absently against his mustache.

Deep enough to save Carina? Reluctantly, Trilby held out little hope for that. More likely, the Imperial Fleet would be looking for links and patterns between this Dark Sword and the ’Sko—the loss of Carina didn’t really concern them, and she doubted they’d listen to a mere lieutenant if he suggested it should.

No, all they’d be looking for were answers to who and when and how.

She wanted to know that too. Then additional questions surfaced. More-personal ones. Like what would happen to Trilby Elliot and the
Careless Venture
once Rhis got back to the
Razalka
?

The war was over. She had no fear of being taken prisoner. So that meant only one thing: they would part company at Degvar. She’d be free to go back across the border.

But she knew a part of her would forever reside with the Empire and a certain mere lieutenant. So much for finders keepers. She’d found him, but there was no chance she could ever keep him.

9

Lieutenant Gurdan was a thin man, almost as tall as Rhis, but his hair was a sandy brown color and he was clean-shaven. Trilby halted in her conversation with a Degvar dockhand and watched the two men salute each other. She thought they would’ve clasped hands, exchanged a few hearty thumps on the back. Rhis had intimated they were friends or, at least, as she recalled his words, that he knew Gurdan. And seemed pleased Gurdan was here.

Oh, well. Military. Trilby shrugged it off, turned back to the problems of securing a Conclave ship—a nonmilitary one at that—to an Imperial docking system.

“I think we’re set now,” she told the dockhand. All rampside-panel lights finally flashed green.

“I am pleased I could be of help.” His round face creased with a smile. His accent was thicker than Rhis’s. He motioned to her ship, tethered to the docking rim of the station. The
Venture
was visible through the large, square viewports. “She is not common, no? Many years she has served,
vad?
”

You mean how do I keep this rust bucket in the space lanes?
She remembered saying that to Rhis. It was a quip she was used to making. “She’s a good old gal. Not too fast, but reliable.”

“Not what he is used to.” The dockhand made a short motion with his chin to where Rhis stood talking to Gurdan. Trilby glanced at Rhis just as he turned in her direction. He nodded at her, held up his index finger. He wanted her to wait.

Well, it wasn’t like she knew anywhere else to go. She needed to send a message to Neadi, but every damned sign she’d seen so far was in Zafharish. She could easily end up in the commissary instead of communications.

She realized the dockhand had said something about Rhis and her ship. Oh, yeah. The man probably knew Rhis was assigned to the
Razalka
. “A little slumming is good for the soul.”

“Slum-ming? I am not familiar with this term.”

She grinned, waved off his comment. “It means . . . well, point is, we made it. He made it.”

“Well, yes. Of course he did!”

Imperial arrogance,
Trilby thought as she logged out at the rampway pad. It must be a compound they put in their drinking water.

She heard Rhis shout something to Gurdan. He was headed her way. The dockhand finished his work and backed up abruptly, saluted.

Rhis returned the salute crisply but with noted disinterest. Trilby saw that the smaller man didn’t seem perturbed, though he scurried away quickly enough.
Military!

“Everything’s okay?” he asked, with a quick glance at the ramp pad.

“Vad.”
She grinned up at him. “And that’s all I can remember of your language right now, tired as I am.”

“I have a few hours ahead of me with Gurdan. Then I will be back. But you don’t have to stay up. Why don’t you—”

“I’d like to send Neadi that message. Can I use the comm system here, or is that restricted?”

“It’s restricted, but, yes, I’ll make sure you can use it.”

“Do you have time now?”

He shook his head. “I wish I did, Trilby-
chenka
. But there have been some additional moves on the part of the ’Sko in the past trike. Serious moves. The information I have is vital.”

She knew what it meant when the ’Sko went on the offensive. It wasn’t a thought she wanted to dwell on. “Go do what you have to with Lieutenant Gurdan. I’ll wait—”

“No. I’ll get someone to take you to communications. I know you understand the necessity to be not too detailed in what you send to Neadi? Our system is secure, but it is not foolproof.”

“She just needs to know I’m safe. Especially after Carina.”

Rhis hesitated, glanced over his shoulder to where Gurdan and two other officers stood. “Trilby-
chenka,
there is something . . . I need to talk to you. But I—” The sharp trill of a comm badge interrupted him.

Trilby was startled. She hadn’t noticed the metal disk on his jacket until now. Gurdan must have given it to him.

Rhis had already tapped at it, listened to a short spate of Zafharish words. He replied, tapped it off, and turned back to her. “I’m sorry. Something urgent. Go send your message to Neadi.”

Loud footsteps approached from behind him. Gurdan and the other officers.

“I will be back in two, three hours. Yes?” He started to reach for her but Gurdan said something. His hand came out toward the thin officer instead. He replied to Gurdan’s comment with several short commands.

He turned back to her. “Major Mitkanos will be here shortly to escort you to communications. I must go.”

She leaned against the docking-ramp console and watched him stride down the corridor, flanked by the tactical team officers.
Yav cheron,
she said silently.
In a few more hours, I’ll tell you in person, again.

Major Mitkanos was a muscular man in a gray uniform. His short-cropped black hair was sprinkled with silver, his jaw was ruggedly square, and his nose had a slight bend that told of more than a few fistfights. His appearance was gruff, until he smiled, his wide mouth softening the hard, chiseled edges of his face.

He shook Trilby’s hand with a firm grasp. “Be glad to help. I have heard something of your adventures. That he stole that Tark. Takes your ship. Then you find that you have the ’Sko in pursuit again.”

He didn’t quite take my ship,
Trilby wanted to say.
Was more like a cooperative agreement.
But then, she knew how stories changed as they filtered through the ranks.

“It’s been a bit harrowing,” she agreed, and followed him down the corridor. Except for the signs in Zafharish, Degvar looked similar to most other stations she’d seen, though more utilitarian. The constant blinking, flashing, chirping, and trilling adverts that floated through most Conclave stations’ commercial corridors were missing.

Degvar had nondescript gray bulkheads and gray decking. Door frames on the dock level were red; when they exited the lift three levels up, they were yellow. Entry palm pads were larger, with a series of touchpads on the left. And on this level, armed personnel were more conspicuous.

Most were in gray, like Mitkanos. Only a few wore the black that Rhis and Gurdan’s team did.

She was about to ask why when he halted in front of a set of double doors, yellow-ringed. He lay his hand on the pad, then tapped three touchpads with his thumb. The doors cycled open.

Two officers in gray uniforms, one male and one female, sat at the consoles. The woman turned, nodded to Mitkanos, and spoke in Zafharish. He grinned, tapped her playfully on the shoulder.

“Corporal Rimanava will help you,” he told Trilby. He motioned for her to sit next to a young woman whose long dark hair was pulled back into a thick braid. Mitkanos turned to the other officer, leaned on the back of his chair, and dropped into a low conversation.

“Corporal Rimanava.” Trilby offered a handshake before she took the chair. “I’m Trilby Elliot. Captain of the
Careless Venture
.”

“Farra Rimanava.” She accepted Trilby’s hand with a wide smile. “Sit, please. I understand you need to send message to Gensiira. In Conclave,
vad?
” She spoke haltingly, as if searching for the proper words in Standard.

Trilby relayed Neadi’s transit code. That Farra Rimanava, or rather the Empire, already had the codes for Gensiira and Port Rumor didn’t surprise her.

Farra showed Trilby how to activate the holocam in the console. It wasn’t so different from other comm systems she’d seen, except that everything was labeled in Zafharish.

“This ends message,” Farra said, pointing to a square touchpad. “If you wish, I will get cup of tea while you record. So you have privacy,
vad?
”

“That’s okay.” Trilby motioned with her hand. “It’s only a short message.”

“Then I will wait. This is okay? We will get tea with Yavo when you are finished. It is end of shift for me.”

Trilby activated the holocam and started her message. There was good news and bad news, she told Neadi. She’d run into a ’Sko nest. But she was safe, across the border in Yanir. “I’m going to have tea with two Imperial officers in a minute,” she said, with a smile to Farra, “so everything’s fine. Have Leonid’s cousin take my Bagrond run.” She gave the details and contact name.

“I don’t have an exact ETA on my return. They’re real interested in what happened to Carina. They think the nest I found might have something to do with that.” She didn’t want to reveal anything more.

“I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry. Tell Leonid and Chaser I’m okay. Dezi sends his love.”

She was tired, but the tea was excellent, pungent with a spicy aroma. It shook some of the cobwebs out of her head, fed some life back into her veins. There were still a few hours before Rhis would return. If he finished his urgent meeting early, she felt sure someone on station would know where to find her.

She sat with Farra and Yavo Mitkanos at a table in the far corner of the officers’ lounge, a long room that curved along on the outer frame of the station’s ring. The floor-to-ceiling viewport showed the immense blackness of space. The lights of a small maintenance craft winked out of view as she watched.

No one else was in the lounge. She counted eleven tables and six stools at a bar. A bank of food replicators was adjacent to it.

The tea tasted freshly brewed. She sipped it appreciatively as Mitkanos answered her question about the gray uniforms.

“Ground forces. Like your marines,” he said, plucking at the insignia of crossed swords on his chest, “but we call ourselves
Stegzarda
.
Stegzarda
means perhaps
strength command
in your language. We assist the Imperial Fleet when it comes to border outposts.”

Farra nodded. “Especially with recent
jhavedzga
—”

“Aggression.” Mitkanos corrected her.

“
Vad.
Aggression by the Ycsko. That is why Gurdan’s team is here. And now the
Razalka
comes.”

Mitkanos snorted.

“Uncle!” Farra slapped his arm playfully.

“Niece!” he replied, grinning. And Trilby saw the same wide mouth, the same lines in the jaw of Farra Rimanava and Yavo Mitkanos.

“He’s your uncle?” Trilby asked.

“
Vad.
Yes. And the reason I am here.” She blew him a kiss.

“What, you think I let my sister’s child join the Fleet? What the Fleet teach my Farra-
chenka,
eh? To think? No. To follow orders, from Tivahr the Terrible. Or maybe she spends her time running away from the admiral’s son, who cannot keep his hands from women.”

“There are hundreds more ships. The Fleet is large.” Farra was trying to sound serious, but a few chuckles slipped out. “My beloved Uncle Yavo. He has no love for the Fleet.”

“Arrogant rimstrutters!” Mitkanos made a dismissive wave with his hand, then pointed at Trilby. “Ask her. She knows. Probably complained about her ship from the moment he walked on board.”

“He didn’t walk. He was carried,” Trilby said, not without some mirth. Perhaps Rhis’s Imperial Arrogance did come from something the Fleet put in the drinking water, as she suspected. But she didn’t discount that Mitkanos had his share of arrogance as well. More likely she was listening to the usual rivalry between military branches. She’d known many a Norvind crew to trade verbal insults with crew from GGA.

“Carried?” Mitkanos’s eyes widened. “He permitted this?”

“He was out cold. Flat on his face in a jungle swamp. But, yeah, when he woke up, he made it pretty clear my ship was a lot less than what he was used to.” She grinned. All Rhis’s blustering, which had so infuriated her, now seemed almost endearing.

“It is easy to get spoiled on a ship like the
Razalka,
” Farra said in a conciliatory tone.

Mitkanos snorted again. “The
Razalka
is not a ship. It is a kingdom. Tivahr’s kingdom. He is emperor and, yes, sometimes executioner.”

Trilby heard the anger in his voice. What did he call the
Razalka
’s captain, “Tivahr the Terrible”? No wonder it had taken Rhis so long to loosen up, to smile. “But he’s just the captain,” she said.

“Senior captain,” Mitkanos interjected. “Most of the admirals fear him. For good reason.”

“Why do they tolerate it? If he’s such a tyrant—”

“They created him.” Mitkanos folded his hands on the table, leaned toward Trilby. Farra shook her head but said nothing.

“You know it is true,” he said to his niece. He looked at Trilby. “They created him. Forty . . . what, forty-two years ago? I know you have rumors of this in the Conclave. He is, what you call it, a crècheling? An experiment. Bred in a genetics lab like a recipe for
boulashka
.”

Trilby nodded. She vaguely remembered some whispers during the war. Tivahr was rumored to be some kind of superhuman. Stronger. Smarter. But genetic manipulation had long been illegal on both sides of the Zone. And, Leonid had pointed out, immoral in the Empire. Clan history and lineage were sacred. A crècheling, a test-tube-formed human of unknown genetics, had no definite lineage.

She’d forgotten that conversation until now.