Shades of Dark (4 page)

Of course, much of what had transpired in my life in the past few months confirmed that a good portion of Fleet intelligence was wrong.

Blaine was imprisoned on Moabar when I was, but the chances that the Farosians knew that and further knew I was on Sully’s ship…That thought set me back for a moment. But I could tell them nothing useful. I never saw Blaine.

That they might have an old grudge against Sully was a more likely possibility—one that Marsh’s grumbling comment told me he knew as well.

I studied what little the
Karn
’s data sweeps were bringing us then checked on our status. The only good news was that the Infiltrator’s weapons’ ports read cold. Even so, Marsh was already coordinating with Aubry belowdecks, committing additional power to the sublight engines. Sully worked on tagging the closest jumpgates. The bridge was quiet except for the occasional human or Takan grunt of frustration, because we still had no definitive ship ID on our visitor. No one spoke until we had options and exits all clearly defined. The
Karn
could defend herself, but she wasn’t a warship. We needed a way to get out of here quickly, if those ports turned hot and our visitor turned nasty.

Farosian terrorists had never been lauded for their manners. And Sully had been rude to them on several occasions.

“Closest gate and second best, if they get aggressive.” Sully sent a flurry of data to my screens and everyone else’s. “For now, let’s play dumb until we know if they intend to talk to us or shoot at us.”

Running from an Infiltrator in anything smaller than a Maven-class cruiser was a good way to get shot at.

“They’re holding at eighteen minutes out,” Verno intoned.

“No comm signals from them,” Ren added, one hand cupped over the comm set ringing his right ear.

And no ident data that either I or Sully could find. Not even a false one, like ours.

What do they want?
I sent the question to Sully along with a deliberate glance, because I still wasn’t sure how to tell when he was mentally listening to me.

Depends if their scans picked us up as the
Karn
or ID’ed us as a supply freighter.

We had nicely counterfeited registry docs that broadcast us as the
Darvo Tureka,
under contract to Border One Export. But the Infiltrator had slipped past our long-range scan’s warning sensors. It might have punched holes in our identity as well.

I’d prefer to think not, but if they have, then it’s likely old business. Since they no longer believe I’m dead.

Tage made sure the newshounds disseminated that information three months ago.

But Hayden’s kept me too busy lately to have time to bother with Blaine’s Justice Wardens,
Sully continued, and through our mental link I could feel the sneer in his tone at the label the Farosians used for themselves.
And yes, they probably know you were on Moabar, but I doubt that’s why they’re here.

I broadened the parameters on my scanning string, swept the Infiltrator again. Nothing. Damn.
Do they know I’m on this ship?

Your faith in my mind-reading skills thrills me, my angel, but the fact is I can’t tell at this distance. Seriously,
he added, as I bristled at his teasing response.
They should not have any reason to know you’re on my ship. If they do, then we have a crew problem again. And I’m going to have to do some poking around, and that will cause us even more problems. But let’s deal with that after we deal with them.

Sully’s “crew problem” would require using a telepathic probe on his crew with Ren as decoy. Last time he had to do that, we almost had a mutiny on our hands. But it was a mutiny because Gregor and Marsh believed Ren was a
Ragkiril
. Having to use Ren in that manner and then feeling the vicious backlash directed—wrongly—at Ren had troubled Sully deeply. I didn’t want to see Ren go through that again. I didn’t want to see Sully go through that again.

I hoped the Farosians just happened to be on a similar course to the
Darvo Tureka
.

“You want a little more distance between us and them, Sully?” Gregor asked.

This was Sully’s normal method—keep pulling away, grabbing up speed, working magic with his sublights that still amazed me, and then punching it, hell-bent for a gate.

Sully glanced over his shoulder. “Keep us at the eighteen-minute range until we can pick up the gate’s outer beacon. I don’t want them pushing in to close the gap, thinking we have something worth chasing, when all we might have here is an aborted jump transit. Let’s play nice, stupid freighter minding its own business. The reason they’re out there may have nothing to do with us.”

An aborted transit that landed you just inside another ship’s short-range grid usually was cause for immediate comm contact and an apology. Even a request for aid, because aborted transits played hell with ship’s systems. But Sheldon Blaine’s terrorists never requested anything. They took.

Though I’d have preferred Gregor’s suggestion for a bit more room—just because I disliked the man didn’t mean I invalidated his expertise—that eighteen-minute separation was enough to keep them from easily taking data from us. At the same time it gave us a workable distance from which to gather data on them.

“Incoming comm transmit,” Ren announced suddenly. “Audio only.”

Sully leaned back in his chair then swiveled toward Ren. “Let’s hear what Emperor Sheldon’s Justice Wardens have to say.”

Ren spoke softly into his headset, giving the command to open the transmission link. There was the usual short double-chime, then: “Mr. Sullivan. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

So much for our nicely counterfeited registry docs. The voice emitting through the speakers was female, with a noticeable drawl common to most of the worlds and stations in Dafir’s Quadrant 3. She had a thicker accent than Guardian Drogue but I’d not heard enough of her voice to place her age. My mind ran through the Empire’s list of known female terrorist leaders, but Sully’s response pinpointed her identity for me.

“Nayla Dalby. Should I be thanking you for the flowers sent to my funeral? Regrettably, I was unable to attend.”

“Flowers?” She barked out a harsh laugh. “If I sent anything, it’d be a plasma torpedo.”

“Such a high-priced offering. I’m flattered.” Sully swiveled back toward me and winked.

Clearly, he wasn’t worried. I was. Commander Nayla Dalby was a ruthless assassin the Empire had yet to apprehend. She was two years my senior. I knew her age because, like me, she’d been part of Fleet. She went AWOL and joined the Farosians about five years ago, taking with her a considerable amount of top-secret data. Data that was never to have left HQ on Aldan Prime. I had no idea what that data was—my clearance wasn’t high enough. Philip’s was, but I never asked him. I just had a standing order to kill her if she came within my ship’s sights.

“Don’t be flattered,” Dalby said. “If I had my way, you’d be eating that torpedo now. But we’ve decided you might be useful.”

“To Blaine? Sorry. Can’t support Sheldon’s bid for the throne. His politics and his proclivity for torture annoy me.”

“More than you’re annoyed by Darius Tage and your dear cousin Hayden?”

Sully’s eyes narrowed slightly then he shrugged, his expression blanking. “What’s your point, Dalby?”

“Don’t you know? The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Limited thinking. Reality has shown that the enemy of my enemy is one more enemy I have to account for.”

“But this enemy doesn’t care that you pulled an Imperial officer off of Moabar. Or that you firebombed one of Burke’s little experiments on Marker.”

Sully sat up straighter. A sudden emptiness told me he’d cut his mental link with me. I swiveled toward him, but I don’t know what worried me more: his mental silence or that Dalby knew about the jukor labs. That meant the Farosians had someone in Tage’s office, Burke’s organization, or—and I shuddered at the thought—on Philip’s ship, the
Morgan Loviti
.

The Farosians infiltrating Fleet had been a longstanding concern. Blaine’s supporters worked with limited resources. What ships they did have were like the Infiltrator, small and fast, but nothing that could seriously threaten a starport or station. But if they were to ever get a heavy battle cruiser, like the
Krista Nowicki,
or a destroyer, like the
Loviti,
the situation would get that much more dire. They could go from being hit-and-run terrorists to a workable force to be contended with.

That was one of the reasons Fleet wanted Dalby dead. She knew too much about those kinds of resources.

“In fact,” Dalby was saying, “we’re damned pleased.”

“Your point?” Sully repeated, his tone controlled. The energy I could feel vibrating from him—even without the link—was not. I glanced at my console. The Farosian ship still had weapons ports showing cold.

“We can help you take down Tage. Stop Burke’s jukor labs.”

“And why would you help me?”

“Because you can persuade the Imperial Fleet to side with us.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it quickly before my voice betrayed my presence. The Farosians would never settle for allying with Fleet. They wanted Fleet’s power, Fleet’s ships.

Sully laughed harshly. “Fleet hates me, Dalby. Maybe as much as they hate you.”

“But they don’t hate Chasidah Bergren. Or should I say Chasidah Bergren Guthrie? Wife of esteemed Admiral Philip Guthrie. I have my sources, Sullivan. Her arrest created serious schisms in the ranks. Oh, yeah, it was hushed up. But you weren’t the only one who made plans to spring her from lockup on Baris Starport.”

Sully was very still. I shot a glance at Ren. He leaned forward, shoulders stiff, silvery eyes narrowed as he listened intently.

“And you weren’t the only one trying to get her off Moabar,” Dalby was saying. “You just got there first.”

Thad had told me he’d been trying to get me transferred off Moabar. Then Philip admitted the same thing. Is that what Dalby referred to, or were there others? Sparks, my engineer, had opted for early retirement shortly before my court-martial. I remembered the pained, angry transmit he’d sent me, damning Fleet’s actions. It wouldn’t have been beyond him to rally some of my crew. But enough to create the schisms Dalby mentioned? It didn’t seem possible. I was a good officer, but I didn’t have the kind of adulation that was part and parcel of the Guthrie name.

“Far-fetched,” Sully said, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingertips together. “Even if I could convince Captain Bergren to plead Blaine’s cause to her former comrades—and I doubt she would—there’s no guarantee that would persuade the entire fleet to mutiny against Prew.”

“If the Admirals’ Council ordered it, it might.”

“She’s not married to Philip Guthrie anymore.”

“Oh, but he’d listen.”

If Dalby thought bringing up Philip’s name would sway Sully to her side, she was very wrong.

“No,” he said firmly. “It you want to stop the jukor labs because it’s the decent thing to do, because your own people on Tos Faros will suffer if you don’t, or because Tage is likely to let a few loose on Moabar to tear Blaine to shreds, then fine. But I’m not going to help you put Sheldon Blaine on the throne. Trading one lunatic despot for another is not an improvement.”

“Even if the trade involved Thaddeus Bergren?”

This time I went very still and cold. Stop Tage and Burke, destroy the jukors, save Thad. It was all such an incredibly attractive package, there had to be a catch—a big fat ugly one. But even if there wasn’t, putting Sheldon Blaine on the throne and his Justice Wardens in charge of the Empire was not something I could live with.

Sully was looking at me, brow creasing. I waved away his concern. It was time to make my presence known.

“You overplayed your hand, Commander Dalby,” I told her. “I have no reason to believe you’d deliver on your promises. I do have every reason to believe, though, that you’d use my brother as your hostage. I’m not going to have my family or the Empire held prisoner.”

“Captain Bergren.” Dalby’s voice held a slight note of surprise, but whether it was because I was on this ship or simply at the bridge at this time I didn’t know. “We will have this conversation again, soon. And your answer will be very different. Trust me on that.”

Two chimes sounded.

“She cut the link,” Ren announced.

“The Infiltrator is changing course, Sully-sir. They’re moving away from us,” Verno added.

Sully stared at the main screen, eyes narrowed.

“Sure would like to know how they picked up our trail,” Gregor said finally, breaking the silence. He angled back in his seat, glancing toward Sully.

Sully nodded slowly but said nothing. Ren turned back to the communications console. Data flickering over my screen told me Marsh was shutting down the sublight emergency overrides.

“Might be something we should look into,” Gregor continued.

The tension on the bridge was palpable, most of it coming from Sully. If Gregor hadn’t been so intent on pinning the Infiltrator’s appearance on me—which I was sure was the reason behind his comments—he’d have noticed that. And shut his mouth.

Gregor drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Sensor logs might show something. I could look into that, boss.”

“Sure.” Sully shoved himself to his feet. “I need to get back to that Narfial data. Chaz?”

Our mental link was still quiet. I had no idea what Sully wanted or where we were going other than I was very sure it had nothing to do with Narfial. I secured my station and followed him off the bridge.

He hit the palm pad for the ready room and, as we passed under the room’s brighter lights, he seemed oddly drained. His coloring was pale, the lines at the edges of his eyes more pronounced. He slid into a chair at the round table and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes as I sat.

I wondered if Dalby’s appearance bothered him for more than the usual reasons. Then he spoke.

“He didn’t question the remark about your brother.”

It took me a moment to follow his train of thought. Then I realized what I’d missed and what worried Sully. Gregor, my perpetual nemesis—who grabbed every chance to resurrect my connection with the Imperial Fleet—had left Dalby’s comment about Thad unquestioned. “How come some Farosian terrorist knows your brother?” should have been the first thing Gregor asked.