Mainline (50 page)

You sympathize with her, a traitor's voice spoke in his head.

His silence had drawn out too long for the spacer's comfort. "Dammit, Kastlin," the man barked. "If you don't want to come with us, just say so and be done with it."

A hand touched his arm, and he looked into Reva's eyes as she leaned toward him, her serious intensity burning right through him. "Don't you leave me, too, Fixer," she said softly, so only he could hear.

He knew what it must cost her to say that much. He looked away first.

"I'm with you," he said, and swallowed his misgivings.

He'd leave a message with Systems Control, and deal with Obray later. After he'd seen this through.

The
Fortune
lifted
from drydock in the early morning light, and settled easily into a parking berth in the shipyard's landing field.

Supply pods and a handful of Skiffjammers waited at the pad. Captain Levay had been eager to hire her space-skilled muscle to Devin. Suddenly bereft of employer, they needed the work, and the fact that it had something to with punishing the Holdout's killers made it doubly appealing. For Devin's part, he couldn't find crew he was satisfied with on such short notice. 'Jammers had at least shipped on the
Fortune
once before; they'd proven themselves reliable enough, and had other skills that might come in handy dirtside. He was happy to have a contingent aboard, led by Sergeant Eklun.

FlashMan had discovered their destination was Bekavra, a week and a half away by established shipping routes. Devin would stick to those patrolled routes, not risk ship and lives in the trackless void between space lanes. They would play this one by the book, like the Shirani preferred: with flight plan on file, so their departure would raise no eyebrows among Customs.

Because he knew it paid to plan ahead, he also took on board miscellaneous spares, some specialized Skiffjammer equipment, and an item from Lish's stockpiled wares: a ship's transponder, squawking a different ID code than the
Fortune's
own, and identification files to match. That last was insurance, in case Security wanted to detain and question him about Lish. In that case, he didn't plan for his ship to be easily traceable.

The insurance was quickly stowed in the smuggler's cubby. Then, with crew and extra 'Jammers in place, and Reva and Vask secured in the lounge, Devin settled into the Captain's chair.
He
requested clearance to orbit.

Traffic Control spoke the go-ahead, and the spacer released the breath he had been holding. Internal Security had not put a want out on him. He and his vessel were free to leave.

When their lift window arrived a quarter-hour later, the freighter rose on bright-glowing repulsors, and arrowed skyward.

Yavobo manned the navigator's position aboard the
Faroukhan,
keeping a watchful eye on the pasty-faced man by his side. Destin Troi was the owner and erstwhile pilot of the pleasure yacht, a man now reduced to trembling obedience to the warrior's every order.

Troi's family lay bound on the floor of their plush suite in a security high-rise in Avelar, unmoving lest they detonate the vibration-sensitive bomb in their midst. When the warrior thought of the spy-eye that posed as a bomb, he almost barked with laughter. Ignorant thin-skins, and cowardly, to allow themselves to be so coerced. Had they been Aztrakhani, they would have kicked the so-called bomb to set it off and taken their captor with them. But fearing for his life and for his family, the yacht owner did Yavobo's bidding with clammy hands and wire-taut nerves. A thin-skin trait the bounty hunter had counted on.

The
Fortune's,
flight plan said her destination was Bekavra. "File a flight plan to Lyndir," Yavobo ordered the sweating man by his side.

It was quickly done. Then the warrior keyed in their real destination, the same as the freighter's, and set the navcomp calculating warp routes to their goal.

While the computer worked, the Aztrakhani wondered if Shiran's flight plan, like his own, was obfuscation for possible pursuit. Surely, with all possible destinations, the choice of this one was not chance. They must realize that Adahn Harric was there.

Yavobo bared his teeth. Reva must be after the man who had ordered the Holdout's death. Harric would not recognize the
Fortune's
name, would not be suspicious even if she landed in broad daylight, as Shiran Devin apparently meant to do.

It made a devious sort of sense. This kind of head-on approach would be most unlooked for. He nodded approval at the tactic.

When the freighter appeared on the list of ships assigned a lift window, he ordered his unwilling pilot to request departure clearance as well. A moment later, their yacht was added to the outbound traffic list, two ships after the
Fortune.

Minutes after the freighter lifted, it was their turn to depart-but repulsors stayed on idle. Destin's hands were locked white-knuckled on the controls. Yavobo liberated them with a prod in the ribs from his hunting knife. His Blood Oath knife, usable because this action helped him come closer to his enemy.

The
Fortune
was a blip on the yacht's monitors, already leaving orbit.

Another prod from Yavobo, and the
Faroukhan
hurtled after.

The
Fortune
left the transit lanes monitored by Traffic Control— then, instead of heading for a run-to-warp coordinate, she dropped beneath the plane of the elliptic and angled sunward. The primary of the Selmun system filled the forward screens, its coronal glare damped down to a viewable level by compensation circuits.

"What are you doing, Devin?"

Reva's voice on the intercom. Cool. Brittle.

"Taking care of personal business," the Captain answered.

A pause, then a sharper tone. "We need to get on to Bekavra."

A muscle clenched in the spacer's jaw, and he let irritation creep into his voice. "We can spare the time to say good-bye to Lish."

Silence on the com. To that, Reva could have no objection.

The
Fortune
held station halfway between Selmun I, a barren ball of magma flows and toxic vapors, and the brilliant yellow-green star that gave this system life. Reva looked nearly contrite as the crew gathered in the Number One cargo hold, the one that held their foodstuffs and supplies.

'Jammers pulled one cargo crate out from the others, swiftly broke it down to reveal the casket within. The funeral pod was the type used on spacecraft, streamlined, sealed, a fitting resting place for the Shiran Trader who had met her death far from the spaceborn culture that had shaped her existence.

Only Devin could ensure that her passing was memorialized as befitted a Shirani, with a bright-burning star as her grave beacon. His real prayers were kept in the privacy of his heart, not to be shared with these strangers to his clan, but as Captain it fell to him to say the words of farewell to one no longer with them. The others gathered around and he placed a hand on the cool plas casing of the smuggler's casket.

"You had left space in these last years, Lish. Now you come home at last, welcomed into the warm heart of a star, to be your memorial for all time. I'll tell your kinfolk that all who pass this way know one of us rests here, and think of Shiran Gabrieya Lish whenever they see this star. May Ashani watch over you."

He nodded to Eklun, and 'Jammers fitted the casket to a simple drone probe, set to home on the Selmun star. Ported through the cargo airlock, the probe fired its limited propellant, a brilliant spark pulling swiftly ahead of the stationary freighter. By time the rocket fires were exhausted, its burden had moved far within the star's gravity well. Those aboard the
Fortune
watched the monitor tracking Lish's remains. Long before the casket entered the envelope of gases about the star, it superheated and ignited, vaporizing in a flash of combustible gases.

The solemn gathering broke up, people returning to their stations. Reva walked beside Devin back to the crew lounge.

"When you said there'd be a funeral later, I thought you meant..." Her voice trailed off, and the Captain looked at her. Her eyes were bright. "That's not what I expected."

"It's our way."

"Lish would have liked it."

Devin quirked a smile. "Lish insisted on it."

Reva looked at him sharply. "Insisted—?"

"If she died. It seemed the wisest way."

The assassin was puzzled. "How so?"

"Her smuggling contacts didn't die with her." The spacer raised a hand, tapped one finger to his temple. "Neural computer. It could be recovered if she was buried, and ordinary cremation might not destroy the whole implant."

Reva halted, her mouth opened in surprise. "Her contacts were all—"

"In her head, yes." Devin shrugged. "It's just as well. Her secrets are all gone with her, now. A fitting farewell, don't you think?"

He left her in the hatchway of the lounge. Minutes later, the
Fortune
was under way.

Yavobo cursed his luck and had his captive pilot nudge the
Faroukhan
into the sensor shadow of barren Selmun I. A ship following or mirroring the freighter's movements too closely would surely be noticed, especially in this little-traveled part of the system. The bounty hunter waited and watched, the yacht's short-range sensors his eyes, hoping that Shiran had no reason to closely examine the space behind him.

A quick scan of the probe and cargo pod was reassuring. Inert organics, in a human-sized container. He could guess what this waystop was about, and he relaxed a little more.

When the freighter resumed her heading for a run to warp, the
Faroukhan
waited and then trailed behind, blurring into other-space at the same coordinate as the
Fortune.
She was ahead of them in warp space; Yavobo let his quarry draw farther away, out to the edge of long-range sensor contact. Unless the freighter swept space diligently behind her, and carefully tracked ships there, the pursuing yacht was not likely to be detected in these busy lanes.

Yavobo placed the yacht on autopilot and turned to his unwilling companion. His pudgy captive blanched under his scrutiny. "What are you going to do with me?" the man asked.

A long-toothed smile was his only answer.

A short time later Yavobo dumped the man's body into the airlock, and cycled the outer door open. Atmosphere puffed out into the curling energies of warp space, carrying the ship's owner with it.

The warrior had the security codes for the yacht now, and didn't need the thin-skin anymore. He had to sleep sometime, and did not wish to be burdened with a useless captive.

The more one takes thin-skins hostage, he reflected, the easier it becomes.

That matter disposed of, he settled into the Captain's chair.
He
kept one eye on sensors, and turned his thoughts to a final issue that concerned him.

Adahn Harric was ignorant of the danger that approached.

I'm not honor-bound to help him, Yavobo considered, or even to warn him. But if I do, he will be indebted to me for both the warning and the assassin's death...

A short time later he called Harric.

Reva watched Qual
slide closer on the monitors, an oily, twisting sheen of distorted energy fields marking the star system's position in normal space. It was capital of the subsector, last waypoint before their destination. She had read about it in the ship's library.

Something niggling in the back of her mind as she scanned the planet's profile data.

The freighter stayed true to its course. As they began to move past the distortion, the sense of unease that had been just beneath the surface for days surged strong enough to propel Reva to her feet.

She didn't wait to analyze her feeling but went forward, intruding into the dimly lit haven of the flight deck.

"You've got to stop at Qual," she announced.

Devin didn't spare her a glance. "We don't need to go there."

"I think we do."

The spacer swiveled about, dragging his attention from rigged controls and focusing on her with an effort. "Do you know something I don't?"

The tall woman paused, suddenly awkward. How to explain this feeling? It was the same prompting that urged her to move between Lines sometimes, before she actually saw a hazard—an intuitive response that helped her to avoid danger. She had learned to obey it without second-guessing her instincts.

"I have a feeling it's time to hide our trail," she finally said. "We could use the asteroid belt at Qual as a place to stop and change transponders. It's beyond system traffic lanes and not patrolled."

"Swap-out's a lot of trouble, if we don't really need it."

The assassin didn't like to explain herself. "It's not smart to go straight in," was all she offered. "Don't do it. We can't risk being identified before we move on Harric."

Shiran began to shake his head.

Reva's voice hardened. "I know what I'm asking you. Play it safe, Devin."

The pilot took in her stiff-necked stance, the serious expression on her face. He slowly nodded concession. "Asteroids, you say?"