Rebels and Lovers (44 page)

“Our primary objective,” she continued, “is to get Trip to safety. That’s what spurred you to leave Port Palmero. That’s what prompted me to chase after him on Dock Five. Almost everything that’s happened somehow relates to him: from Halsey’s death to Fuzz-face Munton. Orvis even picked up the scent and tried to get in the game.

“If we have some Fleet ships waiting out there, I’m going to guess they’ve been told to stop us but not why. We’re going to have to employ diversionary tactics. Make them think this whole thing is over ident tampering. Get them to let you, Trip, and Barty go. Then, when you get home, if you want to throw a couple of high-priced barristers over to Starport Six or wherever they’re holding me to defend me, I won’t complain.” She gave him the same quirked smile he’d offered her earlier. Then she leaned back in her chair, reached for her casserole, and ignored him while she stirred the cheese and chunks of vegetables. It smelled delightfully spicy. Trip had evidently been playing chef again.

She took a bite, savoring it. It could well be her last meal in freedom.

By the time the soup and casserole were gone, she and Devin had debated the pros and cons of a few other scenarios. Trip showed up, took the seat at nav with one leg flung over the armrest, and added a few ideas. Finally all three of them agreed that no one scenario held all the answers. There was too much they didn’t know—mainly, were more Imperial ships waiting for them at the Talgarrath beacon?

They were getting close to finding out. Trip went back down to Deck 2 to finish reading another of Kaidee’s flight instruction manuals while he waited for Barty to regain consciousness.

“He’s growing up,” Devin commented after Trip left, a mixture of pride and wistfulness in his voice.

“The past week may subdue his adventurous streak for a while, but it’s also shown him what he’s capable of. Jonathan’s not getting back the same son.”

“That’s not a totally bad thing.”

A series of tones had Kaidee turning. “Traffic’s picking up.” She tapped long-range scan to see what data she could get on the newest blip on her screen. Five minutes ago there were three ships on a similar vector for Talgarrath. Now there were four. Normally that wouldn’t concern her. But things weren’t normal, so everything concerned her.

Devin left his chair to lean on the back of her seat. “Another freighter?”

“Don’t know yet.” The fact that the other three
were
freighters didn’t stop her from keeping tabs on them. They could still be trouble.

Some workable data came a few minutes later. “Commercial spaceliner,” she told him, pointing to the other ship’s ident. “Compass.”

“Could be the flight we were supposed to be on.”

“Having Ethan’s people waiting at the Compass terminal might even work in our favor. Especially if they’re in GGS uniform. Anyone watching for you or Trip would follow them.” Chimes sounded behind her. The readout on her armrest screen upped her pulse rate a notch. “Speaking of uniforms, grab your robe, Brother. Captain Anibal is requesting an audience.”

“Shit.” Devin’s comment was low, but she heard it. The rustle of fabric behind her and another low but
muffled epithet told her he was pulling the heavy blanket over his head. She angled the pilot’s chair so her comm screen wouldn’t show Devin’s image, then she opened the link.

“Makerra, captain of the
Veil of Relief.”

Anibal’s image smiled at her. From the lack of movement behind him, she guessed he was in his office. She offered him a bland smile in return, very aware that bared teeth could also bite.

“Blessings of the hour,” he said. “Is Brother Balatharis available?”

“I’ll be glad to check for you, Captain. A moment, please.” She froze the vid screen and muted the audio functions, then turned. “Ready?” she asked Devin, who was looking rumpled and grumpy at the comm console.

“What do you think he wants?”

“If we’re lucky, a personal blessing from the divinely inspired Brother Balatharis before he hands us off to Talgarrath.”

“I’m not going to let you take the blame for this, Makaiden.”

“I have faith that your devious mind and incomparable eloquence will have my ass out of the brig in no time.”

His lips thinned. She knew he wanted to argue. She also knew he knew this wasn’t the time to do so.

He closed his eyes and, even over the low thrumming of the sublights and the constant hum of the bridge consoles, she heard him draw in a long breath. His shoulders relaxed and, when he looked up at her again, the tension and grumpiness were absent from his face. He’d put on more than the robe. He’d put on Brother Balatharis.

“Good job,” she said softly.

“Don’t distract me, love.” He swiveled the chair toward the comm console and tapped the screen. “Praise the abbot’s holy name this fine hour, Captain Anibal. How may I be of assistance?”

Kaidee kept half her attention on Devin’s conversation with Thurman Anibal and half on her short-range-scanner screens. This close to Talgarrath, long range was of little use. Plus it was Anibal she was concerned about, not something five hours away. If he was going to make a move—if he knew the
Veil
was really the
Rider—
then it was going to come very soon and, she knew, happen very quickly. It could be anything from the
Nola Tran
lobbing some torpedoes her way to a phalanx of Imperial patrol cruisers suddenly on the
Rider’s
vector, with weapons ports hot.

It could also come with threats and ultimatums. That was the only thing they could, honestly, handle. And it would be up to Devin to do so.

At the moment, the conversation was about Guardian Whitte, head of the temple at Port Chalo. Kaidee couldn’t tell if Anibal was sincerely concerned with the temple or if this was a test, a trap to make Devin reveal his ignorance—and his true identity.

“The Port Chalo temple is one of many blessed locations in Baris that we have slated for improvements,” Devin said, his voice mild, betraying none of the nervousness Kaidee felt and was guessing he did also. “Without my notes in front of me—and unfortunately I have just stowed them away—I’m unable to go into specifics discussed and prayed over with Guardian Whitte. But I assure you, every issue is taken into prayer for guidance for the continued good of all.”

“So are you saying, Brother, you’re not aware there
was no Peyhar’s celebration this year due to an air-filtration breakdown?”

“Now that you mention it, the problem does sound familiar. But …” Devin reached up to rub the bridge of his nose under his glasses and, for a moment, Kaidee thought he was signaling for a comm cutoff. Her fingers hovered over her screen, but his glasses stayed on. He cleared his throat. “My apologies, Captain. I’m coming off a somewhat debilitating illness, and even with my healing time in meditation during this journey, my memory is not what it should be.”

“I see. Well, that would explain why you wouldn’t be that familiar with Guardian Whitte’s problems.”

Kaidee didn’t like the sound of that. But if Anibal knew who they were, or even suspected they weren’t an Englarian mission ship, why was he toying with them?

Short range flashed. Two more ships. She quickly tagged them, running their data through the
Rider’s
system, looking for idents. A friendly freighter out of Dock Five would be nice—except, no, it wouldn’t be. She wasn’t the
Rider
right now. They wouldn’t know her. They wouldn’t come to her aid.

Devin was still calmly and politely dancing around Anibal’s questions about Whitte and the temple, praising stars and noting blessings left and right.

This was going on far too long for her liking. She checked short range again. Null idents, both. Shit. That could mean Fleet. It could also mean pirate, but what kind of slag-headed pirate would approach knowing a Fleet ship was in short range?

Unless the Fleet ship wasn’t a Fleet ship. Or unless the pirates weren’t pirates but Fleet. Or unless—

“Brother Balatharis, please excuse me.” Anibal’s
voice suddenly took on a hard tone. “I have a pressing matter I must attend to.”

The comm link chimed again. Link broken, transmit ended.

Kaidee spun her chair around. “We got two good-size bogeys coming in short range on our starboard axis.”

Devin straightened. “Fleet?”

“Unknown.”

“What else could they be?”

“Pirates, mercenaries. Farosians. Hell, Stol could be invading Baris.”

“Is that Anibal’s ‘pressing matter’?”

“I’d say that’s a strong possibility. But I don’t know if it’s because they’re friends or enemies.”

Devin raised his chin, peering toward the screens on the pilot’s console. “How far are they from us?”

“Forty-three minutes, and, yes, if that’s Fleet, they can close that gap fast.” She swung back to her console. “I don’t want it to look like we’re trying to escape,” she said over her shoulder. “But I’m pushing the sublights to max. We can’t outrun them. But maybe, somehow, we can outthink them.”

She opened intraship. “Trip, we may have company coming. I’m going to take ship nonessential functions down to half power to give the sublights and shields more boost, but I won’t pull from sick bay. Make sure Barty’s secure. If he wakes, fill him in.”

“Yes, ma’am, Captain,” came the reply. “If you need me—”

“I’ll holler. Right now I want you with Barty in case he wakes. Captain out.” The sublights’ thrumming increased through the decking. Overheads dimmed.

“Can we make it to Lufty’s?” Devin asked.

She glanced at him. He had one arm pulled out of
the robe and was about to yank it over his head. “Keep that on. Anibal may contact us again, especially if those are mutual unfriendlies.”

He lowered his arm, tugging the robe back on.

“As for Lufty’s,” she continued after a quick check—so far so good—on ship’s status and location, “wish we could. We can’t. We’re closer to Port Chalo. Like it or not”—and she didn’t—“that’s where we’re going.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Sit comm. Anibal may contact us. When Talgarrath Traffic does, I’ll handle it. Keep in mind we’re an Englarian ship. I’ve never done Church work, but I have friends on Dock Five who have. Traffic may or may not want to talk to you too.”

“And if Anibal asks questions?”

“You tell him whatever works. We have a scheduled meeting with Guardian Whatshisname—”

“Whitte.”

“—and can’t be late. Or it’s been moved up. With those two out there, I don’t think he’ll be checking transmit trails to see if we’ve really heard from the temple.” Data flashed on the screen on her left. Her skin chilled. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Just got a positive on one of our new friends. Null ident, but she’s a P-75. That’s an Imperial patrol ship.”

“It could be routine patrol.”

“It could. I’m not going to hang around to find out.”

“What’s Anibal doing?”

She tapped her console, switching views, bringing up the newest data. “Looks like … yes. Changing course to meet them.”

“Away from us? This is good news?”

“Away from us, yes. Good news? Depends on what the other ships do. If
they
change course to intercept us or to cut us off, no. They could be trying to box us in. Remember, this is a freighter. Those are warships. They have speeds I don’t.” And weapons. Torpedoes were even faster. And deadly.

Chimes from the comm console had Kaidee reaching quickly for her armrest screens. “Traffic control,” she told him, then opened the link. At this range it was audio only. “Captain Makerra,
Veil of Relief
, in service to the Englarian Order of Devoted Missionaries. Inbound for Port Chalo Spaceport.”

“Veil of Relief
, this is Talgarrath Traffic Control,” a man’s voice replied, with what sounded like a drawling Dafirian accent. “We’re just downloading your docs. We see you’re a …” There was a pause. Makaiden’s heart thumped in her chest. Had Anibal been in contact with traffic control? Had the false ident skewed?

“You’re a Blackfire 225. Is that correct?”

“That’s affirmative.”

“Sending that data to Port Chalo Ground Control now. They’re going to want to know duration of stay for hangar assignment.”

Hangar assignment.
Hangar assignment
. Makaiden had never heard two more beautiful words in her life.
Hangar assignment
meant that docs and ident were cleared. “Two to three planetary days,” she answered. Actually, she’d depart as soon as Trip, Barty, and Devin were transferred to the
Prosperity
. She did not intend to stick around, in case ship’s docs unraveled. But a quick departure wouldn’t make sense in their guise as a missionary ship.

“Two to three,
Veil
. Got that. You’re cleared to our inner beacon. Stand by at that location for dirtside
permissions and hangar assignment. Talgarrath Traffic out.”

The comm link signaled with its disconnect chime. Makaiden took one quick check of Anibal’s ship and the two newcomers—they weren’t yet heading for her—before she pumped her fist in the air with a whoop.

“This is good?” Devin asked, rising as she angled around in her chair toward him.