Finders Keepers (18 page)

Her eyes narrowed. He knew she didn’t trust him. “You brought the codes?”

He tapped one finger against his head.

“Oh, terrific.” She hesitated; she’d clearly been hoping he was simply going to hand her a coded disk. Clearly didn’t want him on board. For a moment, something ugly gripped his gut. What if she had that supply officer in her cabin?

He’d be obliged to kill the man. But he’d give her the codes first. “This won’t take long.”

Reluctantly, she stepped back and held out her hand toward the corridor behind her. “After you. Captain.”

He sat at the copilot’s station, brought up the initialization primaries. Her scent of powder and flowers surrounded him. The toy felinar dangled over his head. Behind him, Dezi’s joints squeaked.

He locked the moment in his memory. It would be the last one he’d have of her for a long time.

“You might want to record this,” he told her before he brought up his program. “You might need it sometime.”

Surprise flashed through her eyes, then she nodded at Dezi. He heard the ’droid’s metal fingers tap the touchpads at navigation.

It took him three minutes to undo his program, to reinsert her codes, align her commands in proper order. It would have taken him longer, but she’d already been working on it, he saw. Done pretty damned well. He saw the two minor errors that had stymied her, kept her from unraveling it further. Had she known about those, she would’ve been gone long before now.

He sat back, motioned to her controls. “Go ahead.”

“Not until you answer one question.”

This surprised him. He thought she’d toss his ass and get the hell away from Degvar at her first opportunity.

“If I can.”

“Are you schizophrenic?”

“What?”

“You’re a rude, arrogant son of a bitch. You’ve got an ego half the size of civilized space and a temper to match. You don’t give a damn about anyone or anything. Other than yourself. And then, every so often, you’re actually a nice person. Like now.” She reached over, tapped her finger on his armrest as if to get his attention. “You really ought to see a doctor. I’m serious.”

He pulled himself out of the chair. She was too close to him. He needed something between them, starting with the metal and padding of the copilot’s chair. And then, eventually, the vastness of space, of the Empire and the Conclave.

“I appreciate your advice. And ask now that you follow mine. It is important.” She swiveled around to follow his actions. He looked down at her.

“Two things, Trilby-
chenka
.” The affectionate term slipped out before he could stop it. He saw spots of color form on her cheeks. But her eyes flashed in anger.

He held up his index finger. “First, do not use the
Venture
’s ID until you reach Port Rumor. Use the Imperial code I created. The ’Sko kill order is keyed to your Conclave ID. Change the name of your ship, get a new code when you get home.”

He raised another finger. “Second, you have ten minutes to depart Degvar. After that, my real evil self will reappear and I will once again be that arrogant, loathsome bastard intent only on crushing everyone and everything in his path. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Her fingers flew to the controls. “Bringing sublight engines online.” Green lights flashed and he felt the familiar, out-of-synch trembling under his boots.

Her voice stopped him at the hatchway to the corridor.

“Tivahr.”

He looked back into the bridge, saw her turn around in her seat. “I never said you were loathsome. Now get the hell off my ship.”

He tapped his comm badge as her rampway sealed behind him. “Tivahr to ops. Emergency departure clearance for the
Careless Venture
. My authorization.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. No one on Degvar would dare question a command from
the
Senior Captain Tivahr.

14

Trilby held her breath when she contacted Degvar departure for clearance. It was entirely possible Rhis was up to something. She didn’t know what, but the fact that she was back in control of her ship made her feel a bit more confident. Whatever it was, she could handle it. Now.

Degvar departure cleared her, even withdrew the docking clamps. She didn’t have to use her own wog-and-weemly after all.

She powered the thrusters as the ship dropped away from the station. She would’ve loved to crank the engines to full power, blast a few holes in the Imperial outpost’s outer hull. But she didn’t wish all Imperials to hell. She thought kindly of Farra and Mitkanos. And Farra’s friends.

Only Rhis . . .
Khyrhis
Tivahr, she corrected herself. She’d reserve judgment on Tivahr until she was safely back in Port Rumor.

She banked the
Venture
and headed for the Degvar inner beacon. Twenty minutes later, she cleared the outer beacon and cranked her drives up to full power.

All lights showed green. All conditions were go.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she told Dezi, and retracted the vanes flat against the
Venture
’s hull. No one out here to complain about her energy wake. She had a clear path to the border.

Three hours. Three hours, thirty-one minutes, and seventeen seconds, according to Dezi. Three hours, thirty-one minutes, and sixteen seconds. She’d be back in Conclave space, could pick up the first jumpgate. She could forget all about
the
Captain Tivahr. It’d be a trike to Port Rumor from there. She could forget all about Rhis Vanur. She could—

—bring her weapons systems online. Alarms wailed through the small bridge. Her short-range scanners went into overload.

“What in hell we got, Dez?” she shouted over the din. She slapped at the alarm cutoff.

“A full squadron of attack fighters. ETA ten minutes.”

“’Sko? Out here?”

“Imperial.”

Imperial?
“We’re broadcasting that Imperial ID!”

“Affirmative.”

“Hail the bastards. Something’s wrong!”

“Hailing frequency open.”

“This is Captain Elliot. I’ve got clearance through your space from Degvar.”

“Maybe they’re an escort,” Dezi posited.

She glanced at the scanners. The fighters were armed and under full power. “Fat chance.”

“Captain Elliot, this is Imperial Squadron Leader.” She turned toward the speaker at the sound of the pilot’s voice. It was a stupid habit. She couldn’t see him. She’d have to break herself of it one of these days. Right after she broke herself of the habit of trusting Gods damned arrogant Imperials.

“Power down,” the pilot said. “Or we will be forced to take aggressive action.”

“Look, I’ve got clearance—”

“Power down, Captain. Or—”

She cut off his transmission, whirled toward Dezi. “I need a jumpgate. Any jumpgate.”

“Captain, this ship’s guidance system isn’t reliable in an Imperial—”

“Get me a Gods damned jumpgate!”

“Locating a jumpgate.”

She banked the
Venture
hard to starboard, away from the fighters. They followed, effortlessly. “Anything?”

Three coordinates flashed on her screen. “Shit.” They were far away and she didn’t even recognize the energy signature on the closest one. She changed course for it anyway.

The fighters pulled closer.

“Dezi, disconnect life support. Or we’re not going to make it.”

The ’droid ambled quickly off the bridge. She sealed it behind him. “Damn you, Tivahr,” she murmured. “Damn you, damn you.”

She knew now what he’d done. He’d set her free so he could arrange a convenient “accident.” No record of what happened on Avanar, or her unwise conversation with him on Degvar. No one to have to pay reward money to. Probably wouldn’t even be enough left, after the fighters were finished with her, to line a mizzet’s nest.

Her ship bucked as the drives surged with the increase in power. Life support was off-line. All power was cut off except for the bridge and the drive room.

She searched frantically for signs of the jumpgate. Imperial energy signatures were different. Her equipment was all Conclave issue. Incompatibilities were rampant. But they might not be fatal.

The fighters racing up behind her looked damned fatal, indeed.

Then the familiar three-tone chime pinged from her console. She had a lock on the jumpgate. Five minutes, they’d be in range.

Its outline coalesced on her screen, shimmering. She had to reach it before the fighters intercepted her. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t follow her in, but it was, she hazarded, a fifty–fifty chance. And as long as she stayed in the gate, they couldn’t fire their weapons.

She’d be going hell-bent for the-Gods-knew-where, but they couldn’t kill her. And it would give her time to send out an RFA. No. An SUA. Somebody, somewhere, would have to hear her.

“Four minutes,” she told Dezi. “Bringing hyperdrive engine online. Secure—”

She slammed against the bulkhead panel beside her chair. Her safety straps dug into her ribs. She screamed an angry, hoarse cry of fear. Sparks erupted behind her. The bridge plunged into darkness, and the horrifying sound of metal tearing and buckling was the last thing she remembered.

It was a flawless plan. Perfect. If what he suspected was true, it would bring Dark Sword out into the open. It would expose that agent’s dealings with the ’Sko. It would show how he threatened Rinnaker, unless they followed his orders. And it would destroy Jagan Grantforth and GGA.

Rhis sat back in his office chair, justifiably pleased with himself. It had taken him only two and a half hours to draft it. He’d throw it at Demarik and Jankova, let them tear it apart, and then put the final touches to it.

Then all that was needed was about six months to implement it. Six months and nothing in the Conclave would be the same again. Except places like Port Rumor. Things rarely changed there, no matter who was in power.

He’d wait another three months after that, give things time to settle down. Then he’d contact her. Through Neadi Danzanour, probably. He might be an arrogant bastard, but at least he wasn’t loathsome.

He swiveled his chair to one side, intent on a cup of hot tea, when his office door chimed. He looked at the overhead ID. Demarik and Jankova.

He shrugged. They probably were working on some ideas of their own. “Come.”

The doors slid open.

“More suggestions, Commanders?” He started to rise, started to motion them into the chairs across from his desk. But he stopped, half out of his seat, his right hand in midair.

Demarik and Jankova looked like death. No, they looked as if they brought news of death. They stood stiffly, hands clasped behind their backs, bleak expressions on their faces.

He waited until the doors slid closed, then braced both hands on the top of his desk. “Tell me.”

A quick glance between the two of them. Neither wanted to tell him the news. Kasmov, he thought. Someone had assassinated the emperor. There’d been rumors . . . But, no, news of that would come to him first. Through Vanushavor’s office—

Rafi. Rafi was—

Oh, Gods. No. Trilby.

“Tell me!” he ordered.

Jankova spoke first. “An Imperial fighter squadron intercepted the
Careless Venture
out by the Sachor jumpgate.”

“What was she—she had no reason to head there!” He looked from Jankova to Demarik. He found it hard to breathe. He forced himself to speak. “On whose orders?”

“Kospahr’s.” Demarik’s voice held an undisguised note of derision.

“Kospahr sent a squadron . . .” He felt as if something had just kicked him in the gut. “Status of the
Venture
!”

“She took a direct hit, sir.” Jankova stepped toward him, her arms loose at her sides. “I’m sorry.”

He’d never felt so cold and so raging hot at the same time. For a moment, his mind locked. He heard only Jankova’s last words:
S’viek noyet.
I’m sorry.

Unbearable anguish flooded through him. He lunged past his desk, intent only on finding Kospahr. And killing him.

Trilby was gone. Nothing mattered anymore.

He felt Jankova tackle his waist. Demarik grabbed his shoulders, tried to block his mad charge.

Fools! I could snap both their necks right now.
He ripped Demarik’s hands from his shoulders, turned to wrench Jankova off him, but the woman was repeating something, over and over again.

It finally sank in.

Trilby might still be alive.

He swung around, leaned one arm against the wall for support, and grabbed Jankova by the elbow. He yanked her against him. “She’s alive?”

“It’s possible, sir. But you can’t go after Kospahr now. You have to listen.” She lay one hand against his chest, stepped back. “Please. Listen to what Zak found out.”

She looked back at Demarik, who was gingerly lifting himself off the floor.

Rhis released her.

“Sit, Captain. Please.” Demarik motioned to one of the chairs. It was skewed from its deck lock, its covering torn but still in one piece.

“I’ll stand.” He was breathing hard, the pain in his chest coming in long waves, crashing against that open space where his heart used to be.

Jankova retreated to the battered chair. Demarik stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder.

“We know about Kospahr’s plans for Captain Elliot. We know you gave Captain Elliot the release codes,” Demarik began. “And that you authorized departure clearance. However, Kospahr doesn’t know you authorized it. He only knows, or rather he thinks, that Captain Elliot escaped.”

“But Degvar ops—”

“A Lieutenant Lucho Salnay has confessed to assisting her escape,” Jankova said. “You may not remember him, Captain. He’s a good friend of Corporal Rimanava’s, in station communications. They were seen talking to Captain Elliot in the station lounge earlier.”

He met Jankova’s level gaze. She knew he’d been there. And he knew Salnay’s confession was a sham. To save him, Tivahr the Terrible.

“If Kospahr knew the orders came from you,” Jankova continued, “you’d be facing a court-martial. At the very least, he’d order Zak to take over command of the
Razalka
. We’d have to do so, at least until an investigation was initiated.”

He nodded. The stupidity of the blatantness of his actions came home to him.

“You wouldn’t be able to help her from the brig. And if she is beyond help,” she added, her voice softer, “I don’t think she’d want you to throw your career away over someone like Durwin Kospahr.”

“If he killed her?” His voice was raw. He couldn’t believe he was saying those words.

“Then we’ll deal with that. Trust us, Captain. Zak and I will deal with that.”

“And this Salnay?”

Demarik gave him a ghost of a smile. “Major Mitkanos is handling Salnay. He’s Rimanava’s uncle, you know,” he added casually.

Mitkanos. And people accused him of having his own little kingdom on the
Razalka
!

“Who told Kospahr the
Venture
was gone?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Demarik said. “Possibly Pavor Gurdan.”

“Bastard! I’ll see him and Kospahr in hell.” He slammed his fist hard against the wall.

Jankova stood, stepped toward him, her face gentle with heartbreaking compassion.

He drew a deep breath. “Tell me everything you know about what happened. About Trilby. When will you know if she’s still alive?”

“The squadron was based on Degvar. Mitkanos—”

“Let me guess. Has a brother in the squad.”

“Sister-in-law, I believe,” Jankova said. “But she’s not squad leader. She’s managed to leak the information that it appears enviro’s still working on the bridge. But not the rest of the ship. They’ve got the
Venture
in tow now.”

Rhis stood rigidly still. Thoughts, images played through his mind. He clasped his hands, threading his fingers together, and brought them up to cover his mouth. Did he dare voice his small hope?

He dropped his hands, motioned toward Jankova. “She does that. Cuts off life support when she needs extra power for the engines. She’s got that ship rigged . . . well . . .” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe how she’s got that ship rigged.”

He thought of a small toy felinar dangling from a red ribbon. His throat tightened. He had to turn his face away from Jankova.

“How long before the squadron returns?” he asked after a moment.

“At tow speeds, an hour,” Demarik said. “But we could—”

“—meet her! Gods!” He barreled toward the door, shoving it aside when it didn’t slide open quickly enough. “Mister Demarik,” he called to the man hurrying down the corridor behind him. “I want us moving in five minutes. Plot an intercept course.”

“Aye, sir!”

He slapped his comm badge. “Tivahr to sick bay! Tell Doc Vanko to get his ass out of that poker game and get a full emergency med team assembled on Shuttle Deck Six in fifteen minutes.”

He slapped it off and was five feet from the doors to the upper bridge when Jankova grabbed his arm.

“Captain, remember. You knew nothing of this until we told you of her escape. You have to keep focused on that. You have to play it like—”