Finders Keepers (25 page)

“Independent Freighter Captains’ Association,” Patruzius told Rhis.

“I’m aware of that,” he snapped, fingers drumming lightly on the table. He’d just recently paid Trilby’s outstanding dues, amending her license to Vanur Transport.

“As a member,” Trilby continued, “I have a right to that data. For marketing purposes, of course.”

“What’s the downtime?” Rhis knew that if ships’ movements across the border were collected only once a month, it might not be useful at this point. At least, not for this current “coincidence.”

“A cycle,” she said. “Twenty-four to twenty-six hours, depending on how you define your day. The FTU harvests the lists every shift change, then it’s massaged and sent to their offices at all the ports and depots. At the worst, we’d be a deuce behind realtime if someone’s late in posting it.”

“Posting it?” The Zafharin military was an integral part of the Imperial government. Rhis wasn’t used to the idea that what he considered government data might be hanging out there for all to see.

“Posting it,” she told him. “FTU has a link in their grid. But I can get IFCA’s link easier, hit their archives, backdate my autograb command. I should be able to get the past four to six months in a couple hours.”

“Do it,” he ordered, but she was already saying another word. A word that he didn’t like.

“If . . .” She hesitated.

Bloody hell. What now?
“If?”

“If the
Venture
’s comm pack still has my authorization codes. If they were lost in my little encounter,” she smiled thinly, “then I’ve got to pick up a link from someone else through their code.”

“Patruzius, get what you can from Rimanava and Mitkanos.” Rhis stood. “Captain Elliot and I have to go perform some last-minute surgery.”

Trilby recognized the tangled mass of data on her office screen as something that used to be her main comm-pack structure. Programs filled with direct links and passwords that facilitated the flow of information every time she made port or accessed a major beacon in transit. And that uploaded to her, simultaneously, everything she needed to know to get to her next run: changes in transit schedules, alerts on ion storms, new tax structures for certain classes of freight. Everything IFCA and the government thought she should know.

All, at the moment, totally unreadable.

She pointed her lightpen at the screen. “How’d you grab this?” She thought she knew but wanted to hear Tivahr’s explanation. Wanted to keep him focused on the problem at hand and not that they were alone again in her office.

He leaned against the edge of her desk, one hand on the back of her chair. “Remember that invasive filter we discussed?”

So. Imperial technology wasn’t flawless. She suppressed a grin of satisfaction and nodded. “That’s what I thought you did. Tried it through an internal link, right?”

“Obviously it skewed a few things.”

“Obviously you forget that competition for contracts is tough in my neighborhood. That same captain that’s buying you beers is also pumping you for information on your runs, your agent’s setup. And probably has some jumpjockey trying to tap into your ship’s logs at that very moment. Which is why he’s got you off ship and buying you beers in the first place.” She shot a narrow-eyed glance up at him. “You’re military. You’re supposed to be used to espionage.”

“You had a trap set?”

“We all have traps set. And we change trap keys at random. You never know who some dockhand’s sister-in-law might work for.” She tapped at the keypad, segued in a line of alphanumerics. The data on the screen shifted but was still muddled.

“But I had your primaries—” Tivahr began.

“Which I changed after I left Degvar. Of course.” She scanned for a familiar line in the data, saw it, froze it with a tap of her lightpen. She entered the final sequence and this time permitted herself a wide grin at his hushed “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“We can pick up that FTU data now.”

Or rather, Trilby knew as she entered the request into the ship’s systems, she could reactivate her link to the grid. Hopefully they’d have something to work with in ten to twelve hours.

For now it was back to a waiting game. And Tivahr seemed intent to spend it by her side. She didn’t want him there, didn’t want to be with him any more than she absolutely had to. “Why don’t you check and see if Dallon’s got something more?”

“Patruzius knows where to find us if he needs us.”

He wasn’t taking the hint. “I’ve got work to do, now that I know you rescued my old files.”

“I can help.”

“No. Leave me alone, Tivahr.” She jerked her chair around, tried to unsuccessfully to dislodge his hand.

“What are you so afraid of?” There was a quiet note in his voice that didn’t match the tension in his body, the rigidness of his arm that kept her facing him.

You!
She wanted to throw that at him.
I’m afraid of you.
But that wasn’t quite the truth. More so, she knew that admission would open a flood of other questions, requests for clarification on her part.

She didn’t want to say out loud why she was afraid of him. It was hard enough dealing with that in the relentless litany in her mind. And in her heart.

Something about Khyrhis Tivahr reached her, touched her deeply. She thought maybe it was because she still saw flashes of Rhis Vanur in him from time to time. But over the past few days she discovered it was more than that.

It wasn’t the Rhis she saw in Khyrhis, but the Khyrhis in Rhis.

He’d always been there. Remote, aloof, in control. That was the unwavering dedication she’d seen in Rhis from the beginning, the competence. That rock-solid something that said to her,
Lean on me. I’ll never fail you. I’ll always be there.

No jumpjockey gossip ever tagged Senior Captain Tivahr as unreliable. Or a quitter. Or a coward. If anything, it was acknowledged that Tivahr the Terrible didn’t give up.
Impossible
wasn’t in his vocabulary.

It was Khyrhis—not Rhis—who’d sidelined his physical pain to get the
Careless Venture
up and running. It was Khyrhis—not Rhis—who had flawlessly, expertly avoided the attacking ’Sko fighters.

And it was Khyrhis—not Rhis—who’d admitted to her that no one would believe he’d taken Trilby, a beautiful air sprite, to bed. Or rather, that such an air sprite had gone, willingly.

Mitkanos thought the
Razalka
’s captain had forced her into his bed. Dallon, Lucho, and Leesa assumed he took her ship by force as well. That fit with the image of
the
Captain Tivahr. He entered a briefing room or officers’ lounge and chatter died, shoulders straightened, faces became serious.

The competent, dedicated, tireless Tivahr the Terrible. He wore those traits like impenetrable armor.

But Trilby’s gotten through, and that’s what scared her. She’d gotten through, and when she did, it was Rhis who had taught her to say
yav cheron
.

She avoided looking at him. “I’m not afraid. I’m busy. Now go away.” She reached for the screen, tabbed down a line of data.

She heard his deep growl of frustration, like a rumbling sigh, then her chair shook slightly. He pushed himself to his feet.

She stared blankly at the screen after her office door slid closed behind him. A deuce to go to Saldika. Another trike at least after that. And then who knew how many more runs until they uncovered what GGA was doing with the ’Sko?

The last thing she needed was all that time with Tivahr. The last thing she needed was to fall in love again.

21

Saldika Terminal was noisy, crowded. So she didn’t know he was there until he grabbed her, clamping his mouth, hot and wet, on hers, his tongue thrusting like some kind of convulsing snake. She heard Tivahr’s harsh growl come up behind her, a string of untranslatable Zafharish words that questioned everything from Jagan Grantforth’s lack of legitimate parentage to the location and inadequate size of his reproductive organs.

Only much more graphically.

She pushed him away and fought the urge to wipe her mouth on her sleeve. “Jagan. What a . . . surprise.”

The sandy-haired man grinned lopsidedly down at her. “I’ve always loved surprising you, little darling.”

Little darling. She’d forgotten he called her that. It used to bring a thrill to her senses. Now it only chilled her, colder than the snowy landscape outside the terminal’s wide-spaced windows.

It had just started snowing when she brought
Shadow’s Quest
in on approach, not quite an hour ago. Cargo Hangar 47-L was covered and heated, a necessity on a frigid world like Chevienko.

Customs inspectors, thanks to Mitkanos’s connections, were almost as warm as the large hangar. Ten minutes later they’d hopped a pod to the main terminal, intent on finding out what Grantforth Galactic Amalgamated was up to.

But it looked as if Grantforth had found them. A trike earlier than anticipated too.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Trilby said. But maybe she should have. Admiral Vanushavor’s message detailed an unexpected move by Secretary Grantforth and the ’Sko. Yet she still had a hard time believing Jagan was in on any kind of conspiracy. Flirtations were more his style than political machinations.

Jagan’s gaze traveled past her shoulder, then up and down. Tivahr was behind her. That would be the up. Mitkanos was next to him. A slight down in height. Off to her right, she heard Farra’s lilting laugh over the chatter of freighter crew and dock techs moving hurriedly through the terminal corridor. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Farra and Dallon standing in line at a nearby newsstand that displayed local newsdisks the Imperial grid often didn’t carry.

“I couldn’t wait to see you.” Jagan reached for her hand but Trilby turned away, hastily made introductions as Tivahr and Mitkanos flanked her.

“Yavo Mitkanos, Rhis Vanur. This is Jagan Grantforth, of GGA.”

“Vanur, eh? You speak Standard?” Jagan had evidently caught, but didn’t understand, Tivahr’s opening diatribe moments before.

“The basics, yes,” Tivahr said.

“Vad,”
Mitkanos replied.

Both men spoke more than the basics, Trilby knew, but they wanted Jagan to think otherwise.

Jagan stepped closer to Trilby, held his hand out to Tivahr. “So you’re the one funding your own little shipping company. Well, I for one am glad to see it. Risk-takers, that’s who make a name in this universe.” His smile was picture-perfect.

Trilby had forgotten how Jagan could do that, sound friendly and open while at the same time delivering small cuts and barbs.
Little shipping company.
A cut buried under the hearty professional patter of an entrepreneur.

If Tivahr picked up on it, she couldn’t tell. It was Mitkanos who responded first, his accent even more pronounced than usual. “True. Very true. There are big, how you say, profits to be made now between Empire and Conclave. Little companies, as you put it, can open doors for you.”

Jagan laughed, clasped Mitkanos on the arm. “And we want those doors open, don’t we? Profit’s profit. Credits glitter as bright in a palace as they do in a whorehouse.” He winked at Tivahr.

“I bow to your knowledge of that.” Tivahr’s tone was clipped. She felt his hand rest on her shoulder in a move that was clearly proprietary. Maybe he was seeing the same Jagan she was, beneath the veneer.

Something dark flashed briefly through Jagan’s eyes, but then Dallon and Farra stepped out of the crowd. Trilby shrugged off Tivahr’s hand and introduced them.

“Market news,” Dallon held up a thin disk for Jagan to see, then handed it to Mitkanos.

“Right on top of things,” Jagan said. “That’s good to see. That’s what GGA needs now. Someone who knows trade on this side of the zone.”

He sounded so sincere. Trilby could almost believe this was a genuine business meeting and not something with a deeper, hidden agenda. And one that possibly involved the ’Sko.

She studied the man standing next to her. He was still handsome, in his expensively tailored dark suit. Though now she clearly saw signs of stress and dissipation. His blue eyes were puffy and his usually well-maintained tan faded.

He seemed to notice her scrutiny, shoved his hands in his pockets, and tilted his head down toward her. His expression was sheepish.

“I really need to speak with you, Tril.” There was a notable hesitancy in his voice. “I’ve made some mistakes. I’d like to change that.”

“Jagan, I—” Next to her, Tivahr shifted slightly. She glanced at him, saw his eyes narrow. He’d heard, or heard enough. Best to keep the talk to business. They had to find out what was going on with Grantforth, and she didn’t need the
Razalka
’s captain bringing his male ego online. “Your transmits said you were interested in a shipping contract.”

“I am. But—” His glance went up again. Tivahr.

“
Dasjon
Vanur makes the decisions in that regard. I just fly the ship.” She motioned toward one end of the corridor. “Should we find a bar and sit and discuss things? Or do you want to see
Shadow’s Quest
first?”

He seemed to finally understand that he had only two options right now: business or business. The only choice she gave him was location.

“A bar sounds good. Better. I, uh, I could use a drink. You up for a beer or two?” Jagan gave a short nod to Dallon, Farra, and Mitkanos. He was trying, Trilby noticed, not to look at Tivahr.

She wondered briefly if Jagan recognized the
Razalka
’s senior captain. No, he would’ve said something, she was sure of that. She heard Dallon’s enthusiastic response and a grunt from Tivahr.

“I know pub of decent quality, not far,” Mitkanos offered.

“Lead the way, my friend. And, of course, I’m buying.” Jagan held up one hand. “Won’t hear any arguments about it.”

Trilby had a feeling that if Tivahr had his way there’d be plenty of arguments, the least of which concerning who was paying for the beer.

The bar’s name was also its location: Seventeen Blue. Saldika Terminal’s corridors were color-tagged with a wide stripe on the floor and another on a wall, designating Blue and Yellow for commercial-freighter access, Red and Gray for passenger-ship travelers. The pod deposited them in Yellow, where Jagan had found them, not far from the intersection of Blue. Mitkanos was right in that it was only a short walk. But flanked on one side by Jagan and the other by Tivahr, Trilby felt as if she were on a forced march rather than a leisurely stroll in search of a beer.

The pub was T-shaped, the entrance narrow, but it opened to clusters of tables on the left and right. Farra spotted an empty, round table on the left, and there was a moment of jockeying for position when both Jagan and Tivahr made sure they sat next to Trilby. Mitkanos reached for the center of the table, tabbed up the menu on a cylindrical holoscreen. Flyboy’s didn’t have such high-tech luxuries, nor did it have liquid-image walls that rippled colors and shapes matching the cadence of the music. The soft but upbeat tune filtered down through a ceiling covered intermittently with large panels of blue fabric.

Trilby looked around. Definitely not a freighter bar. At least not a freighter-crew bar. Those patrons in uniform looked like officers. Those out of uniform looked well paid and well fed. She leaned back in her chair, encountered Tivahr’s fingers on her shoulder.

She glanced at him. He raised one eyebrow slightly. She sighed.

A ’droid server wheeled up, announced that the Iceberg was the drink of the day. Trilby understood but let Mitkanos translate the Zafharish for Jagan’s sake, then glanced around the table. “Perhaps just beer for now?”

“Chevienko brews a good red ale,” Dallon said, pointing to the cylindrical menu.

Mitkanos glanced at Jagan, who nodded. “Sounds fine by me. Two pitchers to start?” He handed the ’droid his credit chip while Mitkanos relayed the order.

“Got our banking interests already started in the Empire,” he commented when the ’droid returned the chip to him. “GGA’s always been aggressive in new territories, you know. Not as aggressive, of course, as your Imperial Fleet.” He chuckled. “But then, you didn’t win the war.”

“No, peace was declared by a mutual treaty,” Dallon put in.

Jagan tilted his head, seemed to look at Dallon as if for the first time. “You speak Standard very well— Patruzy, is it?”

“Patruzius. Dallon Patruzius. I’ve spent a good amount of time in the shipping lanes. Been to Marbo, Port Rumor when I worked with Fennick IE.”

“And now you’re with Vanur, eh? Good move.” Jagan turned toward Tivahr. “Got yourself a real fine captain in Trilby here. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“She knows Gensiira like no one else.”

“I value Trilby more than you know,
Dasjon
Grantforth.”

“Jagan. Just Jagan. After all, we’re going to be partners.”

Tivahr’s smile was tight. “That is what we are here to discuss.”

“Business first. Then later,” Jagan reached over, patted Trilby’s hand, “time for some pleasure. Tril and I go back a long way. That’s why this is so important to me.”

Tivahr leaned forward as Trilby pulled her hands away from Jagan into her lap. “What can Vanur Transport do for GGA?”

Jagan sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. “Heard some good things about you, you know. Reliable. Honest. Even here, GGA has a way of checking reputations. And that’s important to us. We have our own reputation to consider, especially in something as new as this.”

Trilby listened to the words flow from Jagan’s mouth as if they were coated with oil. What an unbelievable liar he was! No. A very believable liar. He had the right tone, the right demeanor, the right smile. His only problem was the facts. Vanur Transport was totally fictitious and didn’t even exist two septis ago, except for the falsified history created by Tivahr and Mitkanos. She knew damned well he hadn’t checked out anything more than the fact that the
Venture
’s nav banks were now in the
Quest
’s.

“But we’re not the only ones who know this,” Jagan was saying. “That’s why two things are important at this point: one, that we be the first. And two, that we be the fastest. GGA was built on efficiency and prompt delivery times. Once we bring a long-hauler into a depot, we need those goods out and on their way.”

“Not always that easy,” Dallon said, “when the workable routes between the Empire and the Conclave are so few.”

“Right. My point exactly.” Jagan nodded. “Now, Tril here—”

But the ’droid server rolled up with a tray and two pitchers, and for the next few minutes conversation stilled as beer was poured and frosty mugs were passed around the table.

Jagan took a large mouthful, then continued. “You know our problem. As my friend Dallon over there said, because of past political incompatibilities, trade routes are few. There’s already complaints about delays at the major jumpgates in Gensiira. And more problems with faulty guidance beacons. Seems your technology just doesn’t like ours sometimes.” He laughed.

Trilby glanced at Tivahr. His face had a feral smile she’d seen before.

“But my little darling here,” Jagan motioned to Trilby, “well, I know she’s got some tricks up her sleeve. I worked some runs with her, you know. She can get from Point A to Point B quicker than anyone I know, when she wants to. Even with her old ship. Not the fastest thing in the lanes.”

“
Shadow’s Quest
is an Endurance C-two that I have personally modified,” Tivahr said.

“You an engineer, then?” Jagan asked.

“I have considerable experience in that area, yes.”

“You ever see her old ship?” Jagan’s question would’ve sounded offhand, if Trilby hadn’t known exactly what he was searching for. Her “map files.” She held back a snicker.

“Yes.” Tivahr paused. “I know her intimately.” He stressed the last word.

Jagan shifted in his chair. Clearly, he was catching an undercurrent and wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“
Dasjon
Vanur,” Trilby said, making sure she stressed the formality of the Zafharish title, “worked with me on some last-minute upgrades to the
Venture
just before she was destroyed.” She wished Tivahr would remember their primary objective: find out what was going on with GGA. Whatever relationship she did—or did not—have with him was not an issue here.

“She loved that ship,” Jagan told Tivahr. “Put everything she had into her. Five years, wasn’t it, darling?” He smiled at Trilby. “We had such good times, so many memories—”

“She took serious structural damage, but we were able to recover most of her databanks.”
Let’s get to the point here,
Trilby pleaded. Jagan’s false sentimentality was starting to turn her stomach. “
Dasjon
Vanur and I amended all her data to the
Quest
. What the old
Venture
could do, the new ship can do even better.”