Rebels and Lovers (18 page)

At least there was nothing about problems at The Celestian Hotel. That omission didn’t surprise her. Even murders didn’t always make headlines. A lot of residents on Dock Five preferred anonymity or, as in that striper’s case, wouldn’t want such a lucrative scam exposed.

She still had options, she reminded herself as she grabbed her empty tea mug, needing a second cup. Pops might find a buyer for her Welcran data-booster system. Or the Gartol regulator. She had other feelers out as well, but then, so did a lot of other haulers. The list of stuff she could buy—cheap—was bordering on astounding. But even cheap was too much money.

She refilled her tea mug at the slurp-and-snack, then, breaking her own promise not to leave her ship, headed for the
Rider’s
main airlock just forward of the Deck 1 cargo hold. The freighter bay that housed the
Rider
, the bay that Kiler had so thoughtfully paid advance rent on, had to have emergency overrides to open the external bay doors.

Now all she had to do was find them, figure out how to operate them while firing up the
Rider’s
engines at the same time, and do so without setting off any alarms. Such a move would probably land her on the dockmaster’s shit list for a long time—and make her liable for any damages.

As for the warships, she’d figure something out. Later.

It took her fifteen minutes to find the emergency panel inside a dark maintenance tunnel at the back of the bay. Of course. That made sense. In an emergency,
crews couldn’t count on getting directly into the bay through the main airlock. But the maintenance tunnels—like the one she’d used to go from Trouble’s Brewing to The Celestian—created a maze of access points all over Dock Five. This tunnel led to the bay next to hers and to ones above and below hers. All would have code-locked doors. The codes she knew might work, but that wasn’t her problem. She didn’t want to go to another bay. She wanted access to the manual controls for the external doors. She played her handbeam over the interior bulkheads. The controls should be somewhere near these for the enviro—

“Having a problem, Captain Griggs?”

Shit!
She spun, heart pounding, her right hand flying to where her L7 should be. And wasn’t. She stared at Frinks and, hulking behind him, his Takan muscle, clad in stained coveralls with all sorts of metal objects hanging from his utility belt. And damned herself for leaving her ship unarmed with only her tool belt.

Where in hell was her mind?

She knew where it was: on a certain smoky-eyed business magnate, heading back to Sylvadae with nineteen-year-old Trip Guthrie in tow.

She considered stabbing Frinks with her screwdriver or hitting him on the head with her handbeam. But by the time she did that, the Taka would have her in a stranglehold.

“Routine maintenance,” she answered Frinks blandly as she stepped out of the tunnel entrance, flicking the handbeam off. But she didn’t slip it back into its strap on her utility belt.

“As in the exterior-door manual release?” Frinks made a
tsk
ing sound with his tongue. “Don’t you worry your pretty head over that, Captain. We’ve already taken care of that for you. We wouldn’t want
them to accidentally open and you to accidentally leave before you had a chance to pay Orvis what you owe him.”

What Kiler owed him. “I’ll have a nice payment for you within a shipweek of the embargo being lifted. You know that. If you’ll tell Orvis—”

“I did tell Orvis.” Frinks stepped closer, and she could smell something sour and oily coming from his skin and his cheap flashy suit. Her stomach tightened. “And being the sincere gentleman he is, he said to tell you he fully understands your predicament. You being a widow and all alone.”

Here it comes. You can work off your debt on your back or on your knees. You don’t mind a little rough play, do you, Captain Griggs?

“That’s why Orvis, being a gentleman and all,” Frinks continued, “wants you to know there is one thing you could do for him, one special favor, and he’d wipe that debt clean. You’d be free and clear. He’ll even pay to fill your ship’s tanks with water and fuel.”

The whole debt? And fill her tanks? Hell, Kiler never complained about her bedroom skills, but she wasn’t
that
good. And there were certainly far prettier women around. Warning bells sounded in her mind, but she knew Frinks expected her to ask. So she did.

“What does Orvis want me to do?”

Frinks made a sharp move with his left hand. The Taka stepped forward, and she suddenly noticed a small vidcam in his large hand. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she closed her fingers around her handbeam. She knew there were certain types of slime who paid for vids both sexual and brutally violent. And that the women in those vids generally ended up dead. Then the
Rider
would be—according to Orvis’s promise—a well-stocked ship but with a dead captain.

But the Taka tapped the vidcam’s screen and an image flashed to life. Her breath caught. The image was of her, Devin, and Trip, right before they ducked into the maintenance tunnel at Trouble’s Brewing. The cleaning ’droids could have recorded it.

“There were two very important people here on Dock Five yesterday,” Frinks was saying. “People Orvis wants to … meet. Sadly, they’re no longer at The Celestian. Orvis thinks you know where they are.”

“I have no—”

“You and Kiler were GGS pilots. The Guthries know you, trust you.”

“They’re not on my ship. You can look.”

“We already scanned.”

“Then you know as much as I do.”

“I think you know more. A great deal more.”

Why do you want them?
She almost asked that out loud but stopped herself. To show concern, to show emotion, was to be trapped. One thing Kaidee knew for certain: Orvis was not here to help the Guthries.

“Okay, so I ran into them briefly at Trouble’s Brewing.” She pointed to the vidcam. “You can see that yourself. There was a bar fight and I showed them a back way out. End of story. So as much as I’d like to help Orvis”—
in a
crigblarg’s
eyes—
“that’s all I know.”

“Where are they hiding?”

“I don’t know.”

“Captain Griggs—”

“Frinks, I don’t know. I’m an ex-employee. Ex. I don’t run in their social circles and they don’t confide in me.”

Frinks’s disbelief was clear in the narrowing of his eyes and the slight quirk of his fleshy lips. “Then maybe it’s time you renewed your acquaintance. Just
for old times’ sake. Orvis, in his generosity, is giving you six hours to do so. Six hours. Bring them here, to us, and all your debts will be forgiven. Got that, Captain Griggs?”

He nodded sharply, the Taka clipped the vidcam back on his utility belt, and the two walked side by side toward the corridor airlock without waiting to hear her answer.

Which was, yes, she got it. But, no, she wouldn’t cooperate. Not even to wipe out all of Kiler’s debts. Not even for full tanks of water and fuel.

But for a moment she could almost hear Kiler’s voice:
Guthrie’s armed. And that Barthol, he’s had training. Hell, they might even be able to kill Orvis. That would be great, wouldn’t it? All you have to do is put them together. If Orvis dies, you’re free. If he doesn’t … you’re still free. It’s a win–win
.

No, it wasn’t, and whether Devin and Barty could kill Orvis wasn’t the point. The debt was
her
problem, not theirs. She wasn’t going to walk to her freedom across their backs.

They were probably long gone off dock anyway. The Guthries had money, and money could buy a seat on any passenger transport out of here. So they were on their way home. She’d never see them again. Never see Devin …

She sent a prayer in his direction.
Please be safe
.

She trudged back to her ship in search of her L7. Her options were dwindling. She was going to need it.

Devin took a slow sip of his tea, because with his mouth full he couldn’t unleash the stream of expletives he wanted to say. But it really did seem like this goddamned fucking place in the middle of goddamned
fucking nowhere conspired against them. He swallowed and instead thought of an answer to the problem. A typical Guthrie answer. “Offer them twice the price.”

“Already did,” Barthol replied, putting his DRECU down on the bed, then reaching for the plate of breakfast pastries. He took one, then passed the plate down to Devin, who, like Trip, was seated on blankets folded on the floor, back against the wall. It was, if not more comfortable, at least roomier than the small bed. “Compass’s position is they’re overbooked on all passenger transports. Our reservations are canceled. And they don’t have three seats available on the same flight for another four days.”

“Try for two seats.” Devin bit off a piece of sugared bread and chewed thoughtfully. “You and Trip. You can protect him as well as I could if anything goes wrong.” Probably even better. His shoulder still throbbed, limiting his range of motion. And in spite of getting several hours’ sleep, he was tired. Bone-deep tired. And worried about Makaiden. But if Barty escorted Trip home, Makaiden was a worry Devin could do something about.

“They don’t even have one seat. Not at any price.”

Devin handed the plate to Trip, who’d become increasingly quiet, almost glum. Devin guessed that Halsey’s death and all the subsequent problems were finally registering. Including the fact that, because of Trip, they were stuck on Dock Five. And had to be out of this hotel room in another hour.

It was dangerous out in the corridors, and they all knew that. Fuzz-face’s thugs were out there, and Barty’s contacts had yet to come back with any answers or identification. The enemy was an unknown. Not a pleasant position.

“We’ll simply have to deal with this delay,” Barty said. “Yes, it will mean changing hotel rooms again. I’ll start working on that right away. But it also gives GGS more time to respond to our messages. They might even be able to get the
Prosperity
out here. Or the
Triumph.”

The
Triumph
. It had to be the
Triumph
, because in those four days—if they were forced to spend them here—he would find Makaiden and get her back on her ship again. The
Triumph
had always been
her
ship.

“In the meantime, we have another room waiting for us on Green. Pack it up, boys.” Barty pushed himself off the bed. “We need to be on the way out of Pisstown in forty-five minutes.”

“My ass hurts,” Trip grumbled, shoving himself to his feet. “Can I shower first?”

“Five minutes,” Barty said, and then there was a discussion about clean clothes and who wanted the last of the sugar bread, but Devin only half-listened. The crazy idea he’d played with all night surfaced again.

Maybe it wasn’t so crazy. He snatched his Rada from the floor. Maybe his mind was clearer this morning, or maybe he’d just gotten used to the pain. But it all came together with the cancelation of their flight and the image of Makaiden at the controls of the
Triumph
.

She was down on Deck 2—the
Rider’s
largest deck, comprised almost fully of cargo holds—when the ship’s comm link chimed. Not the usual news-and-trade-report download chime but the personal chime, a triple bell-like sound that meant someone who knew her ship’s personal comm codes—

God and stars. It had to be Rae from the
Solarian Wolf
, or maybe Mikey. The embargo was lifted. She was free.

She ignored the lift and ran up the cramped stairway behind it, shouting, “I’m coming, I’m coming!” as if the comm panel could hear her. She should have had it segued into the panels in the main galley—also on 2—but it had been weeks since she’d been down there. She’d even shut off lights and enviro, to save power.

So she had to run to answer the comm, then threw herself over the black swivel seat and slapped at the flashing icon.
“Void Rider
. This is Griggs.” Her voice was breathless.

“Captain Griggs. This is Dabberly from CalRis Free-Trader Collective,” said a familiar voice. Okay, not Rae. Not Mikey. But CFTC would know if the embargo was lifted, wouldn’t they?

“Dabberly. Sorry. I was belowdecks.”

“Understand, Captain. Apologies if this is a bad time, but your presence is required at our offices as soon as possible.”

Her presence? “This is, uh, about the embargo?”

“Sadly, no. Apologies again. But we need your authorization to finalize the ownership transfer of your ship and your membership in our collective.”

Ownership transfer?
Frinks. That goddamned slag-assed Horatio Frinks. She still had two days, more or less. But even at less, she still had time. That’s what she’d been doing down on Deck 2: taking inventory of everything and anything she could sell. She intended to hand out flyers all over Dock Five, take first offer on anything. She doubted she’d get thirteen thousand, but she’d get something.

And now Frinks, so smug, so sure, had called in the
lien on her ship and claimed it under default of payment.

Goddamned slag-assed bastard.

“Could you be here in the next half hour?” Dabberly asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said with teeth gritted. “I’m on my way right now.” Spitting fire, kicking ass, and taking names.

She’d use her inventory list as collateral and force CFTC to give her a loan. It was an option she’d considered before but always dismissed because their rates were exorbitant—almost as bad as Orvis’s. And because CFTC required detailed record-keeping, triple-checking of manifests, strict adherence to hauling regulations—all things no normal freighter captain wanted to do. In essence, it was almost impossible to comply with their restrictions.

But she had to comply with them for only a week, just until the embargo lifted. And it was a week during which she wasn’t hauling cargo anyway. Oh, they’d inspect the
Rider
. They’d present her with a list of violations and demand correction.

It would be annoying. No, it would be a major pain in the ass. But it would buy her time with Orvis. And it would get Frinks’s name off her ship’s ownership papers.

That’s all Kaidee wanted. That and a fully charged Norlack laser rifle.