Morgan's Return (6 page)

Ravindra’s eyes narrowed. Suppressing the urge to grin, she put her hands on her hips. "But while we're at it, I didn't much like being carted around like a naughty girl. Okay?"

Ravindra snaked an arm around her waist, dragging her against his body while his fingers slid through her hair, sending tingles down her spine. His face was inches from hers, his eyes hot. "Oh, you try my patience." He murmured the words before his mouth descended on hers, parting her lips with his tongue, demanding. Morgan molded to him, her arms around his neck, inhaling his clean, spicy smell. The heat of anger morphed into the heat of desire.

He tugged her shirt out of her trousers, then slid his hand up over her warm, bare skin. An ache of longing erupted in her groin, her nipples tightened.

"I just had a shower," she managed to choke out.

She felt his lips curve. "You can have another one. Later."

***

G
lass of water in hand, Ellen resumed her place on the sofa. Some basic detective work should solve this mystery. If the woman wasn't Selwood, who was she? Her cyber consciousness found the security system, and police headquarters, where she had just been. The police had bio-images of everyone legitimately on Iniciara, but that was seven billion images. She could filter by location, age, sex or anything else, but even so, the process would take time. Judging by the couple's clothes, they weren't locals. Maybe they were new arrivals to the planet. Ellen hoped so, she could makes matches with a few thousand images in a minute. Let's see, now. New arrivals. The images zoomed through her implant, a blur of data.

Yes. Ellen punched the air. Marion Sefton. She rotated the image a few times, comparing with the grainy footage of the woman in the riot. No doubt about it. Marion Sefton, just arrived from Coromandel. She sighed with relief. Not Selwood. She'd had trouble two years ago, containing her glee when the news came that Selwood's ship had disappeared after leaving Belsun Space Station.

What about the man, though? According to the notes, the man she was with was a retired Coromandel admiral. He looked like a dancer, wide shoulders, narrow hips, sculpted muscle. She wished some of the Star Fleet admirals looked like that. Not that it mattered; they weren't interested in her, anyway; not in that way. Ellen had never been able to understand why Selwood had to beat off senior officers with a stick. Oh, Selwood was good-looking enough, but she was a surly bitch. They all said so. Huh. Maybe they enjoyed a challenge.

Ellen went over to the dresser, and poured a glass of wine, then lay down on the couch, and let the stirring opening bars of the overture to Hrabek's opera 'Armageddon' wash over her. Magnificent. Her spirits soared with the music. With Selwood back, she would have been relegated to the back room again. Admiral Makasa was a smart man, but he seemed to be totally blinkered when it came to Selwood. He thought the sun shone out of her— Ellen giggled. She didn't approve of language like that. Not like Selwood, who was foul-mouthed enough to make a trooper blush. Of course, technically, Selwood wasn't in the Star Fleet anymore. She'd resigned her commission years ago, only operated as a consultant. Even so, Ellen had heard that Makasa had hinted that he would have liked to see Selwood take over from him when he retired. Well, that wasn't going to happen, and she, Ellen Cruickshank, was going to be promoted to admiral very, very quickly.

Wait a minute
.

She put her glass down and found the record for Sefton and her admiral friend. The name of the ship they'd arrived in was
Curlew
. Her heart beat a crescendo to rival the crashing bars of the music. Selwood and
Curlew
. The music changed, moving into the gripping build-up of the forces gathering to defend against the demon armies. The bass beat matched the rhythm of her heart. But this ship wasn't the grubby freighter Selwood had been piloting, it was an armed, luxury yacht. A coincidence?

Connecting to the room's data port again, she found the arrivals record for their ship.
Curlew
, out of Tel Sanna, a planet outside the Coalition. Oh, Lord. Ellen gripped her head with her hands. The identity of this ship matched that of the
Curlew
that had disappeared. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed, forcing the acrid taste down. It couldn't be a coincidence.

Think, Ellen, think
.

She mopped her brow with a trembling hand.
Curlew's
shift drive had failed, or so everyone thought. The records from Belsun said the ship had left without paying dues, pursued by a patrol ship, but had disappeared into shift space, on a bearing for Calisto's Veil. Could Selwood have found the fault and repaired it before she left Belsun? It was possible; Selwood was good but… that good? Was it possible the drive hadn't failed? Ellen dismissed that notion with a shake of her head. Not a chance. A shiver of dread slid down her spine. What if Selwood had worked out the drive had been deliberately set up to fail? What if Selwood went back to Makasa and told him so? It wouldn't take them long to figure out who had sabotaged the system. In that case, those admiral's stars Ellen coveted would be out of the question. She'd be lucky if she only lost her commission.

Damn Selwood. Damn her to all the hells in all the universe. Ellen picked up her glass, and threw it at the wall. Red wine ran down the cream plaster like tears of blood. Selwood wasn't going to ruin her plans.

Chapter 4
 

S
elwood was still here on Iniciara.
Curlew
was not scheduled to leave for another day. Ellen disconnected from the space station's computer. Why were they here? What were they doing? Could she even be certain that this really was Selwood? Sure, it was her ship, but maybe she had gone somewhere, and someone else had taken the ship. That was possible, wasn't it? Unlikely, sure, but possible. Such a pity they didn't collect DNA at the space port, she could have run a match.

There was only one thing for it; she would have to find them, to confirm Selwood's identity for herself. A visit to the space station wouldn't be wise. Ellen didn't want to advertize her interest in this ship. So what had they been doing? She knew they'd gone down to the city and caught a taxi to the jewelers' district.

They'd deposited money into an account—rather a lot, from the sale of gems to a dealer. And then they'd gone… where? The taxis recorded pick-ups and destinations. Ellen connected with the computer again and followed the data trail to the taxi records. A cab had picked them up in the jewelers' district and dropped them off outside the university. Then what?

Ellen checked Ravindra's financial records again. They'd bought a data stick at the Conflagration museum. From there, they next appeared on the surveillance records, walking through the seedy part of town, before they became involved in the brawl. She swiveled her chair and stood.

"I'm off for a while," she said to the two techs working on the last of the Firebrands. "You should be fine by yourselves."

An autocab dropped her outside the Conflagration museum. Yes, the guard at the gate told her, two tall men with a woman. They went to the museum. Would she like him to call the curator for her? Yes, she would.

A young man, who introduced himself as Yamoto, met her at the door to the museum. "Two sets of visitors in two days," he said, as he ushered her inside. "Maybe interest is surging."

"Perhaps. But your visitors are of interest to us."

His gaze flicked over her, taking in the black Star Fleet uniform and her commander's bars. "Oh?"

"You will have heard about illegal entries from Solvaria."

She could almost see the cogs meshing in his head. He'd make up his own reasons. "Terrorists? But why would they come here?"

She smiled. "I'm sure you appreciate it's not something I can discuss. What did they want here? What did they look at?"

"Uh." Yamoto shook his head. "Just asked about history." He took her to see the photo. "I sold them the translations we have of a number of books dating back to the post–Conflagration years." He chuckled. "The men didn't have implants. Beats me how they get on, always having to mess about with sticks for id's and money. Not to mention remembering everything. I suppose, in a way, it's a relic from the Conflagration. Some societies remain fearful of technology that they think might take them over. A bit like those poor saps on Solvaria."

Ellen wondered what the young man would say if he knew he was talking to a Supertech. "Was there anything in particular they asked about?"

"Yes. They were particularly interested in Rosmenyo. He was a shadowy, historical figure, dating back to the Conflagration. Asked if anyone at the cathedral would know any more." His eyes widened. "The way they were talking, I think they were going there. You don't think the Cathedral could be a target?"

"For what?"

Yamoto frowned at her, his expression wary. "A terrorist attack."

Oh, yes. She'd forgotten her cover story. "A cathedral?"

"Yes. It's just a monument now, with some wonderful paintings dating back to the early years. Oh, if that was destroyed it would be awful. A piece of our past blown away."

Ellen placed a hand on his arm. "We can't be certain. But you've been incredibly helpful. Just keep my visit to yourself, won't you? You never know who might be involved in plots."

Yamoto looked around, as though searching the corners for shadowy figures, then he leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "Yes, of course."

Ellen decided against buying her own copy of the books Selwood and her companions had bought; she'd download them later, when she returned to the base.

***

"A
re you sure we have to go down there again?" Morgan said. "The visuals for the cathedral are all on the data stick."

"It's not the same." Prasad shoveled another spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

"It's better. We can stop the motion, zoom in." The idea of another trip into this putrid city didn't sit well with her at all.

"We can talk to people, maybe see some corners you don't get on the visuals. You never know. It's a different perspective. Some people think they know everything, some people don't know they know something valuable."

Ravindra put his bowl on the table. "We're here. And Prasad is right. Besides, replenishment won't be finished until late this afternoon. And I don't fancy wasting a day wandering around the space station."

She sighed. "All right." Like the others, Ravindra had taken his contact lenses out. On this human world, his amber eyes with their slit pupils looked dangerously alien. Or they would to anyone else but her. Interesting how easily she'd slipped back into the human fold.

Standing, she said, "You might consider hiding your
coti
. It seems to upset people."

"Yes. I wondered about that."

She tried to hide the smile behind her hand.

Ravindra fixed her with a stare. "Morgan." His tone held a hint of warning. Explain or else.

"I asked around to find out what 'naff' meant. It's their word for a homosexual. I told you about them."

Prasad spluttered with laughter as Ravindra's lips curled in affronted disgust. "Sorry, Admiral, you're not my type," he said.

Ravindra grinned, shaking his head. "I'm most pleased to hear that."

"I know you won't want to cut your
coti
off, but tuck your hair into your collar or something." Morgan handed Tullamarran her bowl. "And don't forget your contact lenses."

An hour later, an autocab deposited them in front of a gate between crumbling stone walls, incongruous in the centre of the city. Office blocks rose into the murk on all sides, dwarfing the building behind the walls. Ravindra ran a hand over the wall's surface, then shook off the dust. "I expect it's this foul atmosphere eating into the stone."

The gates had been painted black, but the blistered paint and rust stains told a tale of decay. Beyond the gates, the cathedral almost glowed, smooth, white stone fashioned into curved shards that opened out like the petals of a flower. A stone path, flanked on each side by trickling water flowing along ducts, led straight from the gates to the cathedral's entrance. The ground staff must face a losing battle to keep the water clean, the once-white stone was stained brown. Even so, the gardens extending from the path to the Cathedral walls were a green oasis in this wasteland of a city.

A guard stood at the entrance beside a force barrier, his weapon prominent. "You have to pay," Morgan said, pointing at the reader. "Seems nothing's free here."

Ravindra shrugged, and presented his data stick. The dispenser spat out two sets of goggles. Taking one, he raised his eyebrows at Morgan.

"It knows I don't need goggles," she said. "You put them on, and you hear a commentary as you walk through the cathedral."

The admiral handed the second pair to Prasad, who hooked the earpieces over his ears. "Seems being without an implant is a distinct disadvantage in this society," he remarked.

Walking toward the doorway labeled 'start tour here', Morgan said, "Not everywhere."

She stepped through into a dimly-lit hall containing a variety of audio-visual displays illustrating the cathedral's history. Over there, the first Patriarch of the Church of Nikat explained what he wanted of his church, a representation of man opening up to the rays of the sun, surrendering to the requirements of nature. Further along, architect Livio Quanrass explained his vision. Prasad and Ravindra strolled through, the goggles perched on their noses.