Morgan's Return (33 page)

***

M
organ didn't open her eyes. Not yet. The room smelled of antiseptic. A hospital, then. The sick bay on
Vulsaur
? Had they escaped? No. They couldn't have. She opened her eyes. They felt odd. Oh. No contacts. She found a sensor so she could look down on herself, lying on a raised bed with a sheet covering her lower body. Yep, no contacts. And some bandaging on the arm. She flexed the muscles. They felt a bit new, and tender, but in a good way. Still healing.

A pretty young woman wearing medical fatigues, emblazoned with lieutenant's stripes, bustled in, carrying a tray. "You're awake. Sit up, I brought you food."

Morgan wriggled upright, trying to adjust the shapeless tent thing she wore. "Best medical fashion, I see."

The girl laughed. "One size fits all."

"Huh. I reckon this would fit Makasa."

No response to that. But then, you weren't supposed to make snide remarks about admirals.

The girl flicked way the cloth on the tray, revealing steaming kaff, warm bread and spread. Yum. Morgan's stomach rumbled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten.

"So what's my report card?" she asked, slathering the bread.

"We were told rest was the best thing for the… the Supertech thing." The nurse pointed at Morgan's arm. "Your arm was cut. The suit sealed over the puncture, but you were bleeding quite a lot."

Morgan swallowed. Cruickshank. What a bitch. Maybe that had been the idea. Let her bleed to death. But then again, the woman had come gunning for her, anyway.
Yeah, probably thought I'd get away.

"What about the others?"

The nurse shook her head. "I don't know about any others."

When she'd gone, Morgan connected with the sensors in the corner, and went searching. Cell block, one for each. Feeling a bit like a peeping tom, she checked on each of them. Partridge and Eastly seemed the most nervous. Davaskar was doing some floor exercises, Jirra lay with her arm across her face, Prasad and Tullamarran just sat. Ravindra was not in his cell. Interrogation time. She searched, riding the data packets to find the room they'd taken him to. Guards stood outside. Inside, two Intel people played 'good cop, bad cop'. Wasting their time. They'd made him stand, his arms shackled behind his back, while they sat in chairs at a small table.

The door to her hospital room opened. Morgan kept a mind's eye on the interrogation, while Makasa came in, all dark blue uniform, glistening skin and glinting jewelry.

"Hi. Nice to see you. I guess," she said.

He stood beside the bed, gazing down at her. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

"Did you expect I would?" She lifted up the plate with the remaining piece of bread. "Something to eat?"

Grimacing, he sat down in the chair, which creaked. "Where have you been, and why didn't you come to me yourself?"

"You know where I've been. They've told you."

He tutted. "Yes, but where? These people could be our enemies, Morgan."

"I pretty obviously don't think so. And I don't see why you think so. We haven't come here with an attack force. Those funny, blue ships, now. That's a different thing altogether."

He flicked a hand. "I have staff looking into them. Someone will be along to ask you what you know. Don't change the subject. What about your friends?"

"All they wanted to know was where they came from. Is that so bad?"

"And to collect intelligence?" He leaned forward. "The man is an admiral."

"Uh-huh. He out-ranks you, you know. One down from their grand admiral."

Makasa's fingers drummed on his knee, the golden rings flashing in the light. "He has no rank here."

"Besides, if they were wanting to collect intelligence with a view to a raid, they could have sent a group to infiltrate Torreno, not mess about on Ushas."

"With your help."

She would not squirm. She had done nothing wrong, and the Manesai were not a threat to the Coalition. They had enough trouble fighting amongst themselves. "Yes, well. I was designed to help, wasn't I?"

His brows lowered. "To help
us
."

"Oh, you mean like Ellen Cruickshank? She was designed to help you, too. Did you know she sabotaged me? She was on the
Curlew
shift drive project, just a minor role, but enough for her to make sure the drive would fail."

His lips sagged open. "What?"

"Yep. Nice girl, your Cruickshank."

"How do you know?"

"She told me. She set up a trap to get me alone, waited for me on
Vulsaur
. She told me she was going to kill me because you favored me. And she fancied my… um… boyfriend."

"How did she know you were back?"

"I'm not sure."

Fingering his lip Makasa sat back in the chair, which creaked again. "Hmm. I wonder if she followed you from Iniciara? She would have recognized the
Curlew
designators, and she was there at the same time as you."

"Ah. Makes sense. We were attacked by a fighter when we left. A state of the art warcraft, amazingly well flown. Ashkar actually suggested it might have been another Supertech. I poo-pooed the idea. Seems I was wrong." All the way from Iniciara. The woman was obsessed. Or at least, used to be.

Makasa grunted, swallowing a smile, as if she'd told him something that fitted. She leaned over, and put the tray on the floor. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Your friends? Take them back to Torreno."

"The two humans as well?"

"They belong here."

"They're not welcome here. Besides, we promised them."

He laughed, sending his stomach wobbling. "That's what your admiral said." He waved a finger. "I, on the other hand, have promised them nothing."

"Oh, come on, Makasa. It's no skin off your hide. Are we still in Ushas orbit?"

"We are. Your escape from their prison has caused outrage."

She made a rude noise. "I'll bet. They don't want that getting out. All the more argument for taking Eastly and Partridge with you. Everybody quietly vanishes, the fuss blows over, and so much for that. The priestesses at the Temple will be eternally grateful."

He crossed one leg over the other, oblivious to the chair's protests. "And if I do what you ask? What will I get in return?" A faint smile played around his lips.

A dark cloud of dread crept over her. "What do you want?"

"Tell me where your Manesai are. Give me a location in space."

Morgan disappeared into her other state, gazing down at Ravindra from the sensor in the interrogation room. He was calm, upright, as impassive as stone.

Bad cop, sitting behind the table, slammed his fist down. "Look, I'm getting tired of this. Do you want your crew to suffer? Want to say which one first? Maybe the nice-looking lady? I expect you don't give a damn about your man servant."

No answer. Ravindra did care about Tullamarran, she knew. But he wouldn't show it.

Back in the hospital room, Morgan skewered Makasa with a glare. "Don't you dare torture anybody. Do that, and you've lost me forever."

He smiled that cat smile she hated. "It's all part of the game, my dear."

"No it fucking isn't. You want anything from me? I want to talk with him. With Ravindra." She jabbed a finger at the sensor.

Makasa would know she would find Ravindra. The smile widened. "You really care for him, don’t you?"

Admit to Makasa she was in love with an admiral? Let him mess with her emotions on that one? "What gives you that idea? He's a fucking admiral. I work for him."

Leaning forward, he pointed a finger at his chest, his eyes glittering. "You work for me." He sat back. "He has no trouble professing his love for you."

She shrugged. "He's just saying that." But a warm glow crept through her body.

Makasa heaved his bulk out of the chair and stared down at her. "I don't think so. Here is the deal." He tapped off the points on his fingers. "I'll take your humans to Torreno and release them, provided they keep their mouths shut."

"No mind wipes. This is too important to Partridge."

Makasa's lips stretched again in that cat's smile. She didn't trust him for a moment. "And I will let your admiral and all his crew go. With their ship."

Yes, and while she unlocked the navigation data, they'd be trying to grab it. Well, fat chance. So why wasn't she ecstatic? "Okay. And in return?"

"In return, you will stay here."

***

M
akasa let the door close quietly behind him, a wide smile cracking his face. Oh, the poor child's face. A joy to behold. He waddled down the corridor to the lift, and selected the detention level. She really should know better than to play silly games with him. This admiral of hers was an impressive man. The interrogators had failed to shift him. Makasa supposed he could have given permission for some of the less attractive approaches, and perhaps he would. But not yet. One more thing. He called security on the ship, and had them seal Morgan's cubicle in the medical section, as much as that was possible.

"Have prisoner Ravindra brought to the interrogation room, if you please." The man should be there when he arrived. Damn these endless corridors. He was so glad he'd never taken the field-command route in his training.

The two guards standing outside the room snapped to attention. Makasa returned the salute, and waited for the door to open. Ravindra stood inside, his hands shackled, his face, with those damned cat's eyes, unreadable. Medical said these Manesai could see more spectra than a human. And the man hardly blinked, just an enigmatic, amber stare.

"Remove the shackles," Makasa said. "And give Admiral Ravindra a chair."

Makasa sank into the hover chair on his side of the table while the shackles snapped open, and a chair, one with legs, was placed opposite.

"Thank you. You may go."

The guard went out, the door sliding into place behind him.

Ravindra sat, his hands on the table in front of him, while Makasa studied him. Strong hands, a big, strong man. Not young, although these days age was so hard to determine. He showed no sign of discomfort, his features relaxed. Makasa had viewed all the interrogations. This was not a man to fill a silence, not a man to be intimidated, not a man to be bribed. But every man could be bribed. It just needed the right bait.

"Why won't you tell me where you come from?" Makasa asked.

"You know the answer." Ravindra's voice was deep, and slightly accented, his delivery clipped.

"Tell me."

"You are a potential enemy."

"Then you know why I won't let you go."

Ravindra smiled without humor, a mere stretching of his lips. "Then we have nothing to talk about. But of course, we do. We are cousins. Our visit to Ushas has established that fact."

Leaning his elbows on the table, Makasa steepled his fingers. "You don't find it a little… contradictory that Morgan was prepared to bring you here, so you know where we are, but you will not return the favor? Cousin?"

"I know my own motives. I do not know yours."

Cool. And all very true. He could work with this man. "If I were to let you go, what would you do?"

"Go home. And from there, in due course, establish proper diplomatic relations with your government."

It sounded so plausible, so sensible. And yet if Makasa were to suggest such a thing, that he should release these people to go home with technology far exceeding anything they had here, the minister for defense would tear him apart. Of course, they had the technology, too, now. Or would have, when he could have a Supertech examine
Vulsaur's
hardware and systems back in Torreno. Losing the battleship's Supertech, as well as Cruickshank, had been a blow. Still, the techs had been all over the ship from the moment it was released to them. Very clever, that shift drive. He must ask her where that incredible movement came from. And how the systems which operated it worked.

"Is Morgan recovered?" Ravindra asked.

"Hmmm? No. Not yet. She is being cared for."

Ravindra's expression didn't change.

"You care for her."

"You know that." The slightest grin quirked Ravindra's lips. "And so do you."

Too smart by half. Makasa had the chair tip forward so he could stand. "I've enjoyed our little chat, Admiral. And I'm delighted you didn't bother trying to pretend you're retired."

"I told your people—and it is true—that I am not here in an official capacity. I am on extended leave."

"Of course. And therefore an innocent civilian." Makasa didn't wait for an answer. "Return him to his cell."

Back in the privacy of his own quarters, Makasa loosened the collar of his jacket. This was such a bad design for a man of his proportions. The Fleet doctors kept trying to make him lose weight, but on his home world, that would mean a loss of status. And status was all-important. The fellow in the cell would know that, too.