Rebels and Lovers (22 page)

Traffic control cleared the
Rider’s
departure in twenty.

Trip and Devin locked down the fuel port and showed up on her bridge with thirteen minutes to spare. She and Barty had already searched both decks of her ship for intruders—or any devices they might have left behind—but her trip alarms were undisturbed, biothermal scans were negative, and, as far as it appeared, it was just another shipday hauling cargo. Or, in this case, passengers.

Except Orvis had to be frothing at the mouth, and more than several someones wanted Trip Guthrie in their clutches—or sights. Yet no one was pounding down her airlock’s door.

Nervous
didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Maybe Fuzz-face and friends shot Frinks, and the stripers hauled ’em all to prison,” Trip offered, no
small amount of glee in his voice as he settled into a chair in front of the navigation console.

Kaidee glanced at Barty sitting at communications—he assured her he could operate the console—and at Devin next to him.

“From your lips to God’s ears,” she replied, powering up the docking thrusters. “Ship shows secure. Sending signal to open bay doors. If you’re not already strapped in, do it now. We’re going to leave this bay at max allowable speed the moment I get the go sign from traffic control.”

She intended to shadow anything larger and longer than the
Rider
the minute she cleared the bay. She didn’t believe for one moment that trouble had given up on finding her. She feared it had just changed location and now waited with weapons primed somewhere between here and the jumpgate to Aldan.

Kaidee held the
Rider’s
position just short of Dock Five’s inner beacon and listened to the monotone words of the departure-control ’droid. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—and in relief or in anger. Or both, for both reasons. “Acknowledged,” she said when the ’droid asked for her response. “I’ll have an amended flight plan filed with you in”—she checked the data on her screens—“five minutes. Maintaining course and heading as directed.”

The Imperial ships babysitting Dock Five were tiny blips on her long-range scans, but she knew they could pinpoint her easily.
Don’t shoot at me; don’t shoot at me
.

She half-swiveled in her chair and faced Barty and Devin. The older man still looked a bit pale. She’d have to deal with that once she figured out where they were going. Because they were not going back to Sylvadae. Or even Garno. Their bad luck had returned.

“Baris Central Traffic refuses to grant us clearance to cross the border into Aldan,” she said without any preamble. Barty sat up straighter. Devin had been poking at his microcomp. He raised his face now, frowning, eyes narrowed behind glasses sitting crookedly on his nose.

If she wasn’t so slagging annoyed at him—and if he wasn’t a damned Guthrie and her damned boss to boot—she’d have found him endearingly attractive right then. But she was annoyed, and he was all of the above.

Trip was the first one to speak out. “Why?”

“Tightened security procedures, coupled with the fact that we have a shiny new passenger-transport certificate, which places us on some kind of temporary watch list,” she said, with a nod to Trip. “We’ve not been cleared through the central databanks at Starport Six yet. All that usually means is the ship has to file more-detailed docs until clearance comes through. Usually.”

“But now they’re restricting where we can go,” Barty said.

Kaidee nodded. “Now they are. Baris Sector only.”

“For how long?” Devin asked.

“Forty-two to seventy-two hours was the usual delay. But I was just informed the delay is now one shipweek, minimum.”

“A shipweek?” Devin clearly wasn’t happy.

“We’ve been given clearances for Calfedar and Talgarrath.” Oddly, both were close to the Calth border. It was almost as if someone wanted to see if they’d make a run for it, into Alliance territory. “Or we can return to Dock Five. That’s it.” Devin started to speak, but Kaidee held up one hand. “Hear me out, because traffic control is keeping me in a holding pattern out here until we file a destination, and that doesn’t make me happy.”

Devin sat back and nodded. Kaidee continued: “Calfedar is out of the way, quiet. It doesn’t have a major commercial spaceport like Garno, just three minor ones, and one of those is controlled by the Englarian Church. But they have a spacedock—a small station—and we’d have the option of tethering out there on an external bay if it’s available. It’s about a quarter of the size of Dock Five, pretty basic, but it’s
clean and, I think, safe. If we have to hole up somewhere, it’s a good place to do so. An external bay means we can leave quickly. But if someone’s looking for a Blackfire 225, we’re spotted pretty easily. Pros and cons.” She splayed her hands.

“Talgarrath is another story, especially Port Chalo,” she added. “It can be dangerous.” She glanced at Trip, then back at Barty and Devin. Port Chalo probably meant nothing to them, but to her it was always the place where Kiler’s luck ran out—though this wasn’t the time to tell them that. “A lot of … stuff runs through Port Chalo. And, unlike Calfedar’s, the Port Chalo spaceport is someplace I don’t enjoy going. It’s expensive, overpriced. And the portmaster there isn’t shy about inventing fees to up your costs.”

“You have a major client on Talgarrath,” Devin said.

His knowledge startled Kaidee. Then she remembered feeling—more than once—that he didn’t trust her. He did more than not trust her. He’d done significant research on the
Rider
.

Of course he did, you idiot. He bought it. What do you think he was doing before you showed up at the CFTC offices—sipping tea?
CFTC kept financial and client files on all member ships.

“That was Kiler’s deal, Kiler’s contacts,” she explained. “I don’t do business with them anymore.” Actually, she never did. Kiler wouldn’t let her meet with anyone from Nahteg. Considering he usually came back from meetings with them drunk and bragging obnoxiously—and obviously untruthfully—about the untold wealth Nahteg would bring them, she had no interest in doing so.

She watched Devin glance back at his microcomp, frowning. He was tapping the screen, scrolling with a
quick stroke, then tapping again. Research mode, probably. Comparing Talgarrath to Calfedar. She didn’t have time for that. Cruising out here at Dock Five’s beacon made her feel like one big target. She glanced at her scanners—again—even though she had them set to max sensitivity. Nothing barreling toward her—not an ion torpedo from an Imperial ship, not an ore tanker linked to Orvis, not a security scout ship full of stripers. But that didn’t mean there couldn’t be in another minute or three.

“Gentlemen, I need a decision.”

Devin looked up. “Calfedar appears the better choice. Unless Barty has an objection?”

“We could more easily get major transport back to Aldan via Port Chalo,” Barty said. “But, all things considered, the risks are less on Calfedar. The Englarian Church has a fair amount of influence there, which is bolstered by the Empire’s long-standing ‘hands off’ policy in regards to the Church. It could give us a chance to catch our breath, make wiser decisions that aren’t fueled by various nefarious types looking to do us harm.”

Though his tone was light, Kaidee didn’t miss his mention of “catching our breath.” Barty was feeling his age and limitations. She also didn’t miss his comment about “wiser decisions.” She wondered what he thought of Devin’s decision to pay off the lien on the
Rider
. It sounded as if that might be a point of contention.

But then Barty, like herself, was a Guthrie employee. Devin made his own decisions.

“Calfedar,” Devin said.

She swiveled around, tapped her nav screen, and brought up the preprogrammed flight plan. “Filing that now. One hour twenty to the jumpgate, once we
get clearance to leave. Until then, there’s a passenger cabin with private lav starboard side, one deck down,” she continued, aiming her voice over her shoulder but watching her scanners closely now. Her notice of departure would signal the last chance someone would have to take a couple of shots at them. “And crew bunks with a shared lav portside. You three can fight out who sleeps where. There’s also the galley—at some point we need to think about dinner. And behind that, a small sick bay. Barty, you might want to familiarize yourself with it in case you need to work on Mr. Devin’s shoulder again.”

There was the squeak of chairs and soft thump of boots on decking behind her.

“Excellent, Captain Griggs,” Barty said. “I’ll do that.”

“I’ll give you all a half-hour warning to jumpgate transit.” She automatically checked fuel and enviro levels as she spoke, tapping in adjustments as needed. “I want everything stowed and secure, and I’ll need all three of you strapped in—either up here, in your bunks, or in one of the mess-hall chairs—at that time.”

“Captain Griggs?” That was Trip. “Can I be on the bridge for jump transit? It’s been a while, and that would be full apex. …”

She glanced at him. Trip had stopped by Devin’s chair at the comm console. He fingered his backpack strap nervously.

Behind him, Devin gave his head a slight affirmative nod. Uncle approved.

Kaidee smiled at Trip. “If you want to help take her through jump, you’d better get moving. Stow your pack, get something to eat. I’ll call you on intraship just before we hit the first beacon.”

“Apex!” Trip turned to leave. Devin’s hand shot out, thumping his nephew at the hip. Trip glanced down at his uncle and received a raised eyebrow. “Oh, uh, thank you, Captain Griggs,” Trip added. Chastised.

“Help Barty with our duffels.” Devin used the toe of his boot to nudge the larger one in Trip’s direction.

“Sure.” Trip hefted it easily, as Barty grabbed the straps of the smaller one.

A soft ping followed by two low beeps had Kaidee turning back to her console. Approval of her flight plan, transit codes, and the ubiquitous dockmaster’s bill flashed down her screen. She studied the data and, as footsteps receded, powered the sublights to full. The nav comp, now on auto, directed the
Rider
toward the primary space lane and the gate.

Kaidee tapped open intraship. “We’re cleared.” And no one had shot at them or rammed them yet. Amazing.

“It’s a slagging miracle,” she murmured softly, then caught herself. Alone on the ship for the past several months, she’d fallen into the bad habit of talking to herself. She’d have to stop that before Trip, Barty, or, God forbid, Devin—

“That the flight plan was cleared? Or that we’ve made it this far?”

Yes, God forbid, Devin. Who was still on the bridge. She felt her face heat in embarrassment.

He has a right to be on the bridge. He owns the ship
, ran through her mind as she swiveled her chair halfway. He was still at the comm console, his microcomp in hand. But he wasn’t looking at it. His gaze was fixed on her.

The intensity startled her. And made her cheeks flame even more.

She looked away, then rubbed her face lightly with her hands, hoping he’d think that was why her cheeks were red. “Sorry. It’s been a stressful day. And I tend to make inane comments when I’m tired.”

“You’re worried about Barty.” Devin’s voice was deep and quiet. “The reason you told him to inspect your sick bay wasn’t just because of my shoulder.”

She let her hands drift to her lap. “No.”

“He was running out of energy,” Devin said. “But as you noted, it’s been a stressful day. More than he’s had to deal with in over a decade, I’d guess.”

She’d wondered if he knew Barty was on medication. Evidently not. “He has a small bottle of medicine in his shirt pocket. He doesn’t know I saw it. It was right after you almost got chopped in half by that blast panel. When we were in the dark I think he took something, but because we were in the dark he didn’t realize he hadn’t pushed the bottle all the way back down. Then you used your microcomp screen for light, and I could see the bottle with what looked like a pharmacy label on it.”

Devin nodded slowly. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Thank you.” He gave her a wistful smile.

Suddenly he was the Devin Guthrie she remembered: the soft-spoken man with the cultured accent, the gentle smile, the quizzical gaze behind silver-rimmed glasses.

Then his gaze went from quizzical to something else again. Something intense. Heated. Almost as if …

Her console pinged. She turned, grateful for the distraction. They’d cleared the last Dock Five beacon without incident, nav comp automatically segueing over from Dock Five Traffic to the signal from Baris Central Traffic. The Imperial warship images on her scanners were now much smaller. And boot steps
behind her told her Devin Guthrie had finally left her bridge.

No,
his
bridge.

She turned around to be sure she was really alone, then let herself sag back into her chair. The intensity of his gaze replayed in her mind. It could mean anything or it could mean nothing. Or it could mean that Devin Jonathan Guthrie had realized that he not only owned this ship, he owned her. Not legally, of course, but he certainly had bailed her out of a serious situation.