Rebels and Lovers (45 page)

“They’re granting us permission to land. They’re assigning us a hangar. Devin, my darlin’, this is not only good, this is
damned
good.” Relief poured through her. They were going to make it. “You’re a slaggin’ genius. You ever want to ditch GGS and turn pirate, my friend Pops can find a half dozen ships that’d love to pay you very well for your skills. You found a back door in an Imperial security program that got by both an Imperial ship and traffic control. You have no idea how much that’s worth on the black market.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her chair and up against him so quickly that she almost stumbled, but then his arms came around her, steadying her, enveloping her, leaving her no room for escape. His mouth came down hard on hers, and she didn’t want escape. She wanted his kisses, his body, his passion. She wanted his clothes—especially the god-awful blanket robe—off.

For the second time in the past hour, she pushed from her mind the fact that he was a Guthrie, that he owned her ship, and that he had some high-class woman named Tavia waiting for him. She pushed away every reason why Devin Guthrie was so very wrong for her. She would think of those things later, tomorrow, when he was safe on board the
Prosperity
and she was on her way to Lufty’s—with or without the
Rider
.

Right now she lost herself in his kiss, in his lips on hers, in the feel of the hard muscles of his body under her fingers.

A short, quick double ping. Then another.

Shit.
Shit!
She jerked back. “Short-range scanner.” She lunged to the console, not bothering with the pilot’s chair. She wanted the big screens. She wanted to know what was suddenly going wrong.

Devin’s hand rested on her shoulder. “That’s the P-75?”

“Changing course along with its friend. Still a null ident, but I’ve got a configuration on it now. Heavy cruiser, eight-hundred-fifty ton. That’s Imperial warship tonnage.”

Another chime. Comm link. She shoved herself back in her chair, swung the armrest screen around, and checked the readout. They were five minutes out from the inner beacon. “Port Chalo Ground Control,” she told Devin. “Let me see if I can’t get us bumped up for immediate clearance before those Imperial ships decide to use us for target practice.” She opened the link. “Captain”—she hesitated, almost saying,
Griggs
—“Makerra,
Veil of Relief
. If you have a slot open, we need it. Having a little problem with enviro here.”

“Veil of Relief
, Port Chalo Ground Control,” a woman’s voice said. “Acknowledging your situation. Give me a few minutes. Stand by.”

“Standing by.” She ran one hand through her hair in frustration.

Devin grabbed her wrist and planted a soft kiss. “I’m not the only genius here. We’ll make it.”

She pulled her hand free and went back to her screens. “If we’re not cleared, I’m going to head full
out for those freighters. Hopefully, Anibal’s friends won’t start shooting before I get there. Hopefully, if we get there, Anibal’s friends will think twice about shooting. Damn it, I hate this,” she added. She did. Heading for the freighters could save their lives, but it was putting others—innocent others—at risk.

“Do you know them?” He pointed to the freighters’ icons on her screen.

“Not personally. They’re showing CFTC affiliation, though. Keep in mind that we aren’t right now. But I’m not going to ask them for help or use them for cover. This isn’t their problem. I just want to make Anibal hesitate long enough that we can get … I don’t know. We’re two hours out from Lufty’s beacon from here. I don’t know if we have that much time. Quickest way to dump off Anibal’s screens would be to go dirtside blind, but I’ve never done that. Sometimes you get lucky, you find an isolated bit of terrain that’s not on planetary security grids. Sometimes you’re not lucky, and planetary security puts a missile up your ass when you hit heavy air.” She was being brutally honest. She had to be.

“You’ve decided surrender’s not an option? I know I can talk—”

“They’re not here to talk.” She jabbed one finger at the Imperial ship icons. “You don’t bring in a P-75 and an eight-hundred-fifty-ton heavy to talk. You bring them in to punch holes in a ship’s hull.”

Devin straightened. “You have charts for Talgarrath?”

“At nav.”

“You keep an eye on those ships.” The nav chair squeaked as he dropped into it. “I’ll find us that isolated hidey-hole in their security grid.”

“Don’t put us down in water, Dev. This ship won’t float and I can’t swim.”

“Not to fret, love. We’re going dancing tonight. It might be under the stars on a desert island, but this I promise you. We’re going dancing.”

“I’m going to move us onto the beacon’s far side, closer to those freighters.” She fired thrusters. “If we get clearance, we’re still within range of the port.”

“What’s Fleet doing?”

“Anibal’s still heading for his friends. His friends are still heading for us. Find me that hidey-hole.”

“Got two possibilities. But I need to double-check Talgarrath’s security-grid specs.” He pushed himself out of the chair and headed for the Rada at the comm console.

Kaidee watched as he brought up the holo display. “You have Talgarrath’s grid specs?”

He shot her a smile that was both devious and sexy as hell. “Garno has the same system.”

“How would you—”

“GGS manufactures some of the components, designed a key bit of software, and provides upgrade support,” he said, moving databoxes around quickly. “Have to have schematics for the whole in order to make the parts.”

It crossed her mind then that Devin—the Guthries—had access to a lot of Imperial information that the Farosians or, hell, even Stol might want to obtain. She doubted Devin could make the planetary security defensive scanners go down, but apparently he could find holes. Or make them. That might be why Tage—

The comm chimed again. “It’s Port Chalo. We’re either going dirtside legally or the next few hours are going to test my piloting skills and your devious brain.”

“Yes, ma’am, Captain Makerra.”

She hesitated for only a second then flashed him a tense smile as a thank-you for the reminder of who she was. “Makerra.
Veil of Relief.”

“Port Chalo, Captain Makerra. We have you cleared for descent. Transmitting landing coordinates and hangar assignment now.”

Kaidee muted the comm quickly, huffed out a whoosh of air, then turned it back on. “Makerra here. Thank you, Port Chalo. Data is in. Thank you.”

“We’ll pick you up when you hit heavy air, Captain. Enviro malfunctions are serious problems. We’re here to help. Port Chalo clear for now.”

Kaidee tabbed the link off and snorted. “Serious problems, my ass. They’re putting together huge estimates for repairs right now. Port Chalo is the one place you do not want to use to fix your ship.” She opened intraship. “Trip, we’re cleared for descent. If Barty’s awake—”

“I am, thank you,” sounded in the background.

“Glad to have you back, Mr. Barthol.” She was. Hearing his voice gave her an unexpected emotional boost. “Gentlemen, strap in, please. To quote every jumpjockey I’ve ever known, descent is hell. It’ll be sweaty for a while. This is a freighter, not a passenger liner. Captain out.”

“Where are Anibal and friends?” Devin asked as she prepped the ship to go dirtside. He was standing, stripping off the heavy blanket. Good idea.

“Far enough away that we’ll be off their screens before they can reach for the firing button. Strap in, lover. I’m trading off pretty for time this trip.”

——————

Descent through planetary atmosphere was not pretty. It never was. At best, it made you feel like you were trapped in a can of rocks strapped to a
crigblarg’s
back in the middle of a mating frenzy under a really hot sun. Kaidee had flown Devin to dirtside spaceports on Garno and Sylvadae many times, but the
Rider
wasn’t a GGS luxury yacht. The required S-curves to bleed off speed were steeper, and there were no buffers to ease the body, human or otherwise. Gravity toyed with the ship’s mass, and Kaidee had to make repeated adjustments to the
Rider’s
extended flaps, stabilizers, elevator, and ailerons. It was never a painless transition as the ship morphed from a deep-space craft to a heavy-air one.

She was more worried about Barty, but he’d refused her offer of sedation, preferring to review on his DRECU the events he’d missed while unconscious.

No one shot at them on descent. No one fired surface-to-air missiles as she brought the
Rider
in on final approach. She didn’t know if it was luck or they’d simply arrived before their enemies could react. She didn’t care. She’d never been through a more harrowing, exhausting, stressful day, ship or dirtside. She taxied her ship to their assigned hangar off Runway 27R, on the spaceport’s perimeter, went through all the required post-flight checklists, and, when still no one had launched a missile at them, threatened them, or challenged their docs—or commed them and asked for a blessing from Brother Balatharis—she let her head drop back onto her seat’s headrest and closed her eyes.

“I need a drink.”

Devin’s strong hands massaged her shoulders. “I’ve heard that Port Chalo is the city that never sleeps. I’m sure there are plenty of bars open.”

“There are.” Damn, that felt good. She leaned her head forward, letting his fingers work the knots on the back of her neck. They were the size of asteroids, she was sure. “We need to find the
Prosperity
. The Empire never sleeps either.”

The sound of the lift doors opening and closing came from the corridor. That was followed by boot steps. She let out a long sigh and pulled away from Devin’s talented hands.

Trip crossed through the hatchlock, followed by Barty. A pale, slower-moving Barty. Kaidee had no idea where the GGS ship was. Even if it was in the next hangar, she didn’t know if the man could make it without an AG chair.

He raised one hand as he sank into the chair at the comm console. “I’m better than I look.”

“We’re not running anywhere in the next ten minutes, so relax,” she told him. “We don’t know where the
Prosperity
is. Or who’s watching her. We need to find that out first.”

“Anibal’s not ImpSec,” Barty said. “I know you were worried about that. I don’t know him personally, though he’s been a Fleet officer for more than twenty-five years. Bit of an oddball. If he’s captain now, it’s only because the ranks have thinned.”

“He may still be coordinating with a team dirtside,” Kaidee pointed out. “Plus I told Port Chalo we have an enviro malfunction—”

“I listened to the logs. Well done.”

“—so someone may show up with a repair estimate.” She would also eventually have landing, refueling, and other fees to deal with. But she knew that wouldn’t happen until the morning, dirtside time. Another advantage of coming in when they did. “I need
this ship dark to discourage the curious and money-hungry, but I also need her secure. Barty, no offense, but you’re a better shot than a scout right now.”

“I agree. No one will get past me.”

“Trip, you’re young and strong, but you’re also the one people keep trying to kidnap. I can’t watch you and watch my back. I need you here, with Barty. This ship is a valuable asset. I’m not even going to ask your uncle’s permission to tell you this. I’m telling you this. If you’re threatened, you shoot to kill. Do you understand? Can you handle that?”

“He does and he can,” Devin said before Trip could answer. “Philip trained him, just as he trained me. But Makaiden’s right. Out there, you’re bait. We don’t want bait at this point. We want to know where the
Prosperity
is and make sure she’s not under a threat.”

“I can handle it, Captain Makaiden.” Trip’s voice was strong, with a hint of Devin’s calmness. And not even a “totally apex” at being given permission to kill. He
had
grown up.

“Good. Now, in most other spaceports, I could request a listing of ships in port. But this is Port Chalo. It’s a sanctuary zone, something the Empire has been chipping away at, but some rules are still enforced. That means I have to register to get that list and sign all kinds of waivers and disclaimers, and that’s something I can’t and don’t want to do.” Barty was nodding as she spoke. She knew he was well familiar with this, but Devin and Trip weren’t. “So Devin and I need to take a walk.”

She turned to him. “Dark clothing. Armed. Bring the Rada. Any ID or credit chips, put them deep. Port Chalo is also a pickpocket zone.”

He grabbed the Rada from the comm console. “Meet back on the bridge?”

“No, at the main airlock.” She pointed toward the corridor. “Five minutes. Barty, keep the DRECU running. Devin synched the Rada to it. That’s probably our most secure means of communication as long as we’re in range. I know where the luxury yachts are usually parked.”

“Concourse A,” Barty said.

She nodded. “Overflow at C, but only the last three hangars. We’re in D, so we’ll check C first. Once we find the
Prosperity
, we’ll make sure we can get safe access.” She motioned to Trip, then Barty. “Get your gear packed, be ready to move on short notice.”

She followed Devin out into the corridor, but where he headed right for the lift and stairs, she went straight to her quarters. Only as she stepped into the main room did her brain suddenly replay what had just transpired on the bridge: Makaiden Malloy Griggs, giving orders like a seasoned drill sergeant.

Where had
that
come from? Then she knew: her father. Nathaniel Milo was a large, affable man, but when it came to ship and crew safety, he cut no corners. She’d been through evacuation drills, boarding drills, fire drills, hull-breach drills … She hadn’t realized how much had stuck with her.

She also hadn’t realized how frightened she was. She’d told Trip Guthrie to kill anyone who threatened him. And she meant it.

She stripped off her gray shipsuit, then tossed it on the bed, trading it for a pair of dark-gray pants and a black thermal shirt. She should feel safer. They were dirtside. The
Prosperity
had to be in one of the nearby hangars. They had the advantage of night. And no one had any way of knowing the
Veil of Relief
was the
Void Rider
.