Rebels and Lovers (23 page)

And might just be expecting repayment for all the trouble she caused him.

Devin stepped out of the
Rider’s
large lift—obviously meant more for cargo than passengers—and followed the sound of Barty’s voice through the galley, then toward what Makaiden had said were the crew cabins on the ship’s port side. Like the little he’d seen of the upper deck, this lower one had dark-gray decking and lighter-gray bulkheading, without the benefit of the carpeting or decorative wall panels found on the
Triumph
or other GGS ships. Rivets, beams, pipes, and conduit were in evidence. The galley held two square metal tables—also gray—ringed by bench seats, all welded to the decking.

There was nothing remotely attractive about the
Rider
.

Her captain, on the other hand … Devin gave himself a mental shake. Makaiden had caught him staring at her. Again. He had to stop that before she labeled him as some kind of lunatic, but he couldn’t help it. He’d fantasized about her for too many years: all the usual stuck-on-a-ship with her, deep in some uncharted area of the Empire, and all the ways he’d make
her forget about her husband—except she no longer had a husband.

His life had just taken an extraordinarily interesting turn, and all because his nephew had decided to embark on a fiasco of an adventure. An adventure that, from the sounds of it, was earning him a long-overdue lecture from the inimitable Barthol, who was sounding much better, his voice stronger. He’d ask Barty about his health later, when they had some privacy. Right now Trip was the focus.

“You will, of course, have to face the consequences,” Barty was saying, “as set out by both your father and grandfather.”

And so will I
. Trip wasn’t the only one who had broken the Guthrie rules. The fact that Devin had found Trip notwithstanding, he would have to face not only J.M. but, he realized with a start, Tavia Emberson.

Tavia. He knew his mother had asked Tavia for an engagement-party guest list, as well as her help in wording an official announcement for the society pages. Those plans would have to be canceled. He’d also found Makaiden. He’d have to face J.M. over that too.

He followed the path that wound to the left between the galley tables and spied a wide doorway, open, as Barty’s voice continued: “And as we still don’t know who killed Ben Halsey or why …”

Devin rapped his knuckles on the doorway’s edge, then stepped into the sparsely furnished cabin. Barty was sitting on the corner of the bunk closest to the door; Trip sat in the middle of the one parallel to that. A third bunk, on the right side of the room, was empty. All had identical dark-blue blankets on them, and each had a small pillow with a light-blue cover.
Devin leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest. “You’ve heard nothing from your contacts?”

Barty shook his head. His voice might sound stronger, but there were shadows under the older man’s eyes. Illness, as Makaiden suggested? Worry? There was still plenty to worry about. It was more difficult to avoid your enemies when you were not really sure who they were. Or what they wanted, other than your nephew. Over and above the usual
the Guthrie family has money
, he couldn’t even begin to address the why. Because
the Guthrie family has money
would have required neither the killing of Ben Halsey, nor the kind of maneuvers against them he’d witnessed on Dock Five.

“I’ve not heard back from Petra Frederick either,” Devin told Barty. “Or J.M. Given where we are, that’s not completely unexpected. I’m hoping for some kind of response before we make the jumpgate. I’d hate to be on the way to Calfedar only to find out GGS is sending a ship to Dock Five.” Which was where the family would think they were, at least until they received his brief update that they’d found transport—though he didn’t mention Makaiden or the
Rider
—sent just after the
Rider
received clearance to depart for Calfedar.

“Your father might not respond, fearing your message is a hoax,” Barty offered, and Devin agreed. That was one of the reasons he’d been vague in his message. He didn’t want the details falling into the wrong hands.

Barty leaned forward on the bunk, forearms on his thighs. He definitely looked tired. “But Frederick has the ability and the equipment to authenticate … to authenticate …” Barty gasped, his arms suddenly going limp.

As Barty crumpled toward the decking, Devin lunged, managing to catch Barty’s shoulders in an attempt to break his fall.

“Barty!” Trip was down on one knee at Barty’s side, his voice holding the panic Devin felt all too well. But Barty didn’t answer.

Devin rolled the unconscious man carefully onto his back, making sure his throat was unobstructed and that he was breathing. He felt for a pulse in his neck, found it. It was weak, fluttering. Devin had seen players collapse on the handball courts over the years. He knew basic procedures, but there his medical expertise ended. “Trip, there has to be a diagnostic unit, portable, in sick bay. I don’t want to move him until—”

“Captain Griggs will know where.”

And be able to relay its location in less time than it would take him or Trip to find it. Devin shot to his feet. “Stay with him in case he has a seizure.” Damn it all, he felt so helpless. He spied the intraship panel by the door and, fueled by a rising fear, punched the comm button with more force than was necessary. “Makaiden, Barty collapsed. Where’s the—”

“Portable medalyzer’s on the starboard wall of sick bay.” Her words overrode his, and she spoke rapidly. “Left of the door. Silver and green cover. I’m on my way down.”

“Understood.” He slapped off the comm as he left the room, not knowing if she heard his affirmative. He darted around the galley tables, suddenly aware of the clatter of boot steps behind him, coming closer. A stairwell. Of course the
Rider
had to have one. If he ever got a minute’s rest from emergencies, he’d use it to study this ship’s layout. Right now he had an emergency.

He hit the main corridor, then skittered to a stop at the third doorway as Makaiden called out, “In there!”

A quick appraisal showed two diag beds with a display screen in between and the medalyzer right where she’d said. He unlatched the rectangular unit from its wall case, then moved back into the corridor, catching a glimpse of Makaiden heading toward the galley. It seemed as if an hour passed, but he knew it was only minutes before he had the unit in Makaiden’s hands and she was taking readings on Barty’s still unconscious form.

“It’s safe to move him,” she said, looking up from the screen.

“You have an antigrav stretcher?”

“Manual. Had to sell the AG one.” She pushed herself to her feet with a glance at his nephew. “Trip? Give me a hand getting the stretcher.” She held the medalyzer out toward Devin. “He’s stable,” she said as he took it, glancing at the pulsing lines on the green-tinged screen. “We shouldn’t be a minute. See if you can’t find that medicine vial. If we know what he’s taking, it can save a lot of time. And his life.”

“I ran his biostats and medication through your sickbay computer.” Devin took the chair in front of the comm console, then swiveled it toward Makaiden as she turned the pilot’s chair to face him. Behind her, endless blackness broken by only a few points of light filled the forward viewports. The bridge console screens flanked her right and left, pulsing and beeping in a low, erratic syncopation. That reminded him of the medalyzer he’d just spent the last ten minutes with. Not the best unit; nothing like the ones on GGS ships.
But it told him what he needed to know. “It’s Gamdrel’s Disease. There’s a more formal medical term, but Gamdrel’s is what most people call it.”

“And veterans of the Boundary Wars are most often afflicted. He was ImpSec and at some point exposed to the toxins.” She paused, studying him. “I’m guessing your family didn’t know?”

“My father might have.” But would he then have fired Barty—a longtime employee, a trusted member of the household staff—the way he did, simply because he’d challenged J.M.’s decision? It seemed heartless, but then, J.M., instead of softening in his later years, seemed to have toughened.

“Is he conscious yet?”

“According to the medalyzer, he’s let his medication levels get too low. The recommendation was to keep him unconscious for at least another hour so his body will assimilate the drugs more quickly.”

“He’ll sleep through jump. I probably don’t need to ask this, but—”

“Is he strapped in, secured?” Devin gave her a half smile. “Yes, Captain.”

“We’re forty-three out from the gate. Just passing a data beacon, if you want to use my comm to check for messages.”

He tapped the microcomp at his side. “Already running a sweep—”

As if on cue, the unit trilled softly. Despite the fact that he was used to the noise, it startled Devin. For a moment he thought he’d activated something by mistake when he tapped it, but the icons flashing on the small screen when he pulled the Rada from its holder showed incoming messages.

“Ethan,” he said, relieved and yet puzzled. He’d sent his messages to GGS Security and his father’s
private comm—including the latest, which his father wouldn’t have received yet. This must be a response to an earlier one—maybe one Barty sent. He double-checked security on the incoming message. It was genuine and originated from his family’s home but through Ethan’s private link, text only.

Great that you found Trippy, D.J
. Devin could almost hear Ethan’s bored drawl. Some of his concerns abated. J.M. evidently told the family the news and appointed Ethan to send a message.
You missed all the panic here. Mother’s in the hospital. Father and Jonathan are handling your division’s contracts. The
Prosperity
will head to Port Chalo for you, Trippy, and Barthol. Change your reservations on Compass. ETA at Port Chalo is four days from date of this note. Reply back to me only. The main house link has been compromised. I’ll explain when I see you
.

Devin’s head swam. Now he knew why Ethan was the sender. His mother in the hospital. His father handling Devin’s financial deals. The Guthrie estate’s communications compromised. Port Chalo … and no ability to ask questions and get answers in real time.

He looked up from the unit’s screen to find Makaiden regarding him quizzically. It took a moment to reorient himself.

“Port Chalo,” he said, because that was the only thing he completely understood. “The
Prosperity
will be there in four, no, three days.” Three because the date of Ethan’s missive was yesterday. “We need to change course.” Suddenly he wanted to bypass Port Chalo altogether and head straight back for Sylvadae. He couldn’t—or, rather, Makaiden couldn’t. He knew that. But something about Ethan’s message was … wrong. It was nothing he could immediately define,
only that there were problems, big problems. He needed to be there and couldn’t be.

“You’re sure?”

Devin glanced down at the words on his screen as if they might somehow miraculously hold more answers. “My mother’s in the hospital. My father’s handling the financial division—my division—and Ethan warns there’s something wrong with the security at the house.” He realized he was rambling. But this time, saying the words, he saw the first big problem. J.M. wouldn’t become involved in GGS Financial. J.M., for all his brilliance, had no head for numbers. Jonathan was only slightly better, but Jonathan had his own division to handle. It had to be that Ethan misspoke—that J.M. and Jonathan had Devin’s assistants, Nathanson and Torry, overseeing his projects.

But that’s not what Ethan said, and that troubled Devin as much as what Ethan did say. Maybe J.M. hadn’t given Ethan the full story. Given Ethan’s lack of involvement with GGS—J.M. learned early on that his second-youngest son had no talent for business—that wouldn’t be unusual.

“Changing course,” Makaiden said, turning away from him. “Filing amendment of flight plans to Talgarrath.” She was quiet for a moment—concentrating on something on the screens before her, he guessed. “That gate’s about another hour from here. If Baris Central decides they don’t want us going to Talgarrath, they have plenty of time to respond. But since we were initially cleared for either destination, I think we should be fine.” She angled around toward him. “I’m sorry about your mother. Do you know what’s wrong?”

“I’m guessing stress but, at her age, it could be anything. The thing with Philip hit her hard. And now this with Trip. She keeps too much inside, has to always
appear in control.” And he wondered where he learned it from. J.M. was more explosive. Never before breakfast, true, but he had a temper. Much like Ethan. “But Ethan’s note didn’t say what was wrong.”

“At least she knows now that your nephew is safe,” she said, turning back to her console, tapping one finger against a blinking white square icon. It vanished after her touch.

Devin nodded to the back of her head, his mind still turning over Ethan’s words. Since Ethan received his messages, the family would know Trip was safe, yes. So his mother should be recovering—if that was her problem. But Valerie Lang Guthrie was not only in control of her emotions, she could be secretive. Definitely a need-to-know person, like Barthol. Devin scrubbed at his face with his hands. Like Barthol, his mother could have any number of medical issues she chose not to let “her boys” know about.

Why in hell didn’t Ethan say what was wrong?

Devin tamped down the mixture of fear and anger that welled up unbidden. Just as his mother would do. He huffed out a hard sigh of frustration. He knew he had to meet the
Prosperity
. It was right, logical. But …

He couldn’t define the
but
. Only that it loomed there, perplexing and fraught with problems. But there were no other options. If nothing else, the
Prosperity’s
communications equipment would provide him a direct means of contacting his family and, if need be, Petra Frederick.

“Mr. Devin?”

He raised his face and found concern written all over Makaiden’s, in the downturn of her brows, the softness of her mouth.

“It’s just Devin,” he said quietly. With all the things suddenly going wrong, he didn’t want that wall of
formality between Makaiden and himself. He knew she still had issues with the way he’d acquired her ship. All the more reason he had to narrow that distance he felt she’d constructed between them. Something was very wrong with GGS, with his mother. He couldn’t—
wouldn’t—
add losing Makaiden to that list.