Poisoned Pawn
Authors: Jaleta Clegg
Copyright ©2013 by Jaleta Clegg
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISBN: 978-1-936564-81-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-936564-90-3 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012956363
Printed in the United States of America
JournalStone rev. date: April 19, 2013
Cover Design: Denise Daniel
Cover Art: Philip Renne
Edited By: Elizabeth Reuter
I always think up the most clever, wonderful things to say on these pages. Usually at 3 am. By the time I'm ready to write dedications and acknowledgements, I can't remember what I meant to say.
I'd be remiss if I didn't thank Joel Kirkpatrick for believing in my books even before I knew he was an acquisitions editor for JournalStone. He's entertaining, warm, and a great friend.
I also need to thank long-time friends Charlie and Steve for being there through the heartaches and triumphs and for rejoicing with me over my books.
Big thanks to Keri for her editing input, for seeing what I was too close to see and for being honest enough to tell me when it sucked.
And a giant thank you to those readers who loved the story enough to let me know. Sometimes I feel like I'm flinging my innermost thoughts into a giant black hole. Those notes lifted me and kept me going, let me know that someone loves my characters as much as I do.
Last but not least, thanks to those friends on Facebook and Twitter who helped me find a name for this book. If you don't know chess, look up 'poisoned pawn' as a strategy. It fits too perfectly.
Brett J. Talley
Anne C. Petty
JG Faherty
Patrick Freivald
Brian Knight
Anne C. Petty
Brian W. Matthews
Douglas Wynne
Available through your local and online bookseller or at
Poisoned Pawn refers to a chess strategy - play an unprotected pawn and lure your opponent into capturing it at a substantial loss in positioning on the board.
Lowell thumped his feet on the desk and leaned back in his chair. He held a handcomp in one hand, the screen set on the station data feed, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. He watched the busy Patrol docking bay through the wide window in one office wall. Several ships had docked in the last hour, three courier class and one large hunter class. He rubbed his upper lip as he considered his options.
An aide opened the office door. He frowned when he caught sight of Lowell. “You are going to have to leave. We have a visiting commander who requested this office. You shouldn’t be here when you’re off duty, anyway. The enlisted lounge is on deck seven.” The man planted himself in the middle of the office.
“I’m well aware of the location of the lounge, but my rank tends to make the enlisted men nervous.”
The aide’s gaze flicked over Lowell’s plain black uniform. “You aren’t wearing any insignia.”
“Would it make you feel better if I borrowed a set of Admiral’s pins?” Lowell’s handcomp beeped. He glanced at the new message. He raised one eyebrow as he shifted his feet from the desk. “That’s going to cause a few problems.”
“A Commander Lowell requested use of this office.” The aide wasn’t giving up.
“And you are bothering him.”
“Sir?”
“The ship that just docked, escort the pilot to this office. His name is Trevyn Clark.”
The aide shifted his feet, uncertain.
Lowell tapped his com, impatient with the man. “Paltronis, please escort Major Trevyn Clark to the office. He just arrived on the station. And please remove the man who doesn’t believe me when I tell him I’m the Commander who requested use of the office.”
“If you wore your rank pins, this wouldn’t happen, sir.” The woman on the com sounded amused.
“Worse would happen.” Lowell fixed the aide with a steady gaze that had unnerved fleet admirals.
“I’ll have Major Clark in the office in a few moments, sir.” Paltronis signed off.
The aide dripped nervous sweat. “Sorry, sir. It’s easy to mistake you in that uniform. Station Commander Morgan sent me to assist you with whatever you need, sir.”
Lowell turned his attention back to the handcomp. “Then fetch me a sandwich. And something to drink.”
The aide saluted, clicking his heels before he marched out of the office.
Lowell tapped the screen, calling up more information. Too many pieces in this game, too many possibilities. It was time to make an offensive move, time to bring the pieces into the same sector and into the same game.
Paltronis tapped on the door before she opened it. Lowell trusted her with his life. She was his bodyguard, by his own choice. She was short, stocky, blond, and very dangerous. She also knew seven ways to kill someone using just her pinky finger. So far, Lowell hadn’t needed that particular skill of hers. She waved in the man behind her, then excused herself from the office. She wouldn’t be far if Lowell needed her.
Lowell set the handcomp on the desk. He leaned back in the chair, turning his full attention on Major Clark.
Clark wore Patrol silver with pilot’s comets on his collar. “You sent for me, sir?”
Lowell studied the man’s open face and green eyes. Would he be able to keep a secret? More important, would he be able to keep Dace safe and steer her where Lowell needed her to go? Tayvis had failed in that mission. Maybe a stranger was a better choice.
“I have an assignment for you, Major. It’s completely voluntary. Have a seat.”
Clark sat like the chair was lined with razor blades. “If I say no?”
“No penalties. You finish your tour of duty at your current post, piloting a messenger ship. Have you ever considered working undercover?” The handcomp beeped. Lowell silenced it without looking.
Clark shook his head. “I’m just a pilot, sir.”
“With some interesting weapons ratings and computer skills. This isn’t dangerous, Major. It involves piloting a merchant ship; and pretending you aren’t, and never were, Patrol. That’s all.”
“I’ll have to pass, sir. Flying a merchant ship is not a problem, but why pretend I’m not Patrol? You say it isn’t dangerous, which immediately suggests it is.”
Lowell chuckled. Clark wasn’t stupid or Lowell would have never considered him for the job. He just needed convincing. Lowell pulled up a picture on his handcomp, then slid the device across the desk to Clark.
“Who is she?” Clark studied the woman’s face.
“Arramiya Daviessbrowun, daughter of a very wealthy, very reclusive businessman in Cygnus Sector.”
“What does she have to do with a merchant ship? Am I supposed to escort her somewhere, act as a bodyguard?” Clark set the handcomp back on the desk.
“She’s a target because of her father’s dealings, but she isn’t the one I’m interested in. No, that would be Dace.” Lowell switched the picture.
Clark glanced at the screen when Lowell slid it his way. “Same woman, different haircut and outfit.”
Lowell leaned forward. “Different woman. Dace is a merchant captain currently in desperate need of a pilot. I need her in Cygnus Sector. And I need her kept safe. Targon Syndicate posted a reward for her head last week. Fifty thousand credits.”
Clark whistled. “What did she do, assassinate one of the Five?”
“As far as I can figure, she provided information that dismantled one of their money laundering businesses, but we had most of that already. I’m not sure why Targon wants her so badly.”
“But you want her worse. Is she an agent?”
“Not yet. But that’s my job to persuade her to join up. I want you to keep her safe and get her to Cygnus Sector in one piece so I can. Targon’s influence doesn’t reach that far.”
“What does the businessman’s daughter have to do with her?”
Lowell tilted his head, silver eyes studying Clark. The Major was sharp, maybe too sharp. “I want Dace seen, maybe mistaken for Arramiya. Just enough to flush out the ones I’m looking for. Trust me, Major Clark. Your job will be to pilot the Phoenix Rising and keep an eye on Dace, that’s all. Leave the syndicates to me.”
Clark met his gaze, steady and even. “Why pretend I’m not Patrol?”
“Because Dace won’t hire you if she suspected you were Patrol. She’d sit here and rot before she’ll have anything to do with the Patrol. I’ve got a full cover story ready, if you accept the job.” Lowell retrieved a folder from the desk, sliding it towards Clark.
Clark tapped his fingers on the folder. “How long? My tour is up in three months.”
“A few weeks, maybe a month or two. Just long enough for me to convince Targon she isn’t worth their time. Like I said, I want her seen and mistaken for Miss Daviessbrowun. That’s all.”
“How do I get her to Cygnus Sector?” Clark opened the folder, glancing through the printouts inside.
“She has a cargo for Dru’Ott. It shouldn’t be hard to get her moving the right direction from there. Dru’Ott has very limited trading contacts.”
“What about the rest of the crew? Don’t merchant ships have cargomasters and others that have more influence than a pilot would?”
Very sharp, Lowell thought approvingly. “It’s a small ship, minimum crew of three. Dace is the other pilot. Jasyn is her navigator. With only three on the ship, you’ll have plenty of influence. If nothing else, let it slip that Targon is after her and Cygnus is beyond their reach. That should get her where I want her.”
Clark set the folder on the desk. He shook his head.
“Before you refuse, Major, the job pays twice your normal pay grade.”
“And it isn’t dangerous?”
Lowell sighed. “It shouldn’t be, but where Dace is concerned, I can’t promise anything.”
Clark grinned. “She was all over the news on Tebros a couple months ago. I’m not sure I want to be involved.”
Sharp enough to cut himself. Lowell pushed the folder into Clark’s hands. “Think it over and give me your answer tomorrow morning.”
“Double pay and hazard bonus if it does turn dangerous.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Unless I find something in the folder, yes, sir. You have an interesting reputation, Commander Lowell.”