Rebels and Lovers (37 page)

“You called him Fuzz-face.”

Her narrowed eyes went slightly wider. “You knew him?”

“Knew of his brother, Danniel. Wild man—too wild for ImpSec. Pulled one too many stunts, washed out of training. He operated as a mercenary for a
while.” Barty looked down at his datapad. “So did his brother, Munton. Both have also done strong-arm guard work on Garno.”

The images of the holes blown into the GGS offices flashed through Devin’s mind. “So one chased down Trip on Dock Five and the other stayed behind to set off explosives in my office?”

Barty shook his head, still reading. “Evidently Danniel’s dead. Ritualistic murder about a year ago. Sounds like he got on the wrong side of one of the Stolorth clans and they sent a death angel after him.”

“What’s a death angel?” Makaiden asked, swiveling her chair around.

“Ragkiril,”
Barty said, as Devin said:
“Kyi-Ragkiril.”

Barty dipped his head slightly. “I bow to your expertise.”

“Not mine, my aunt’s. She’s done extensive studies of the Stolorth culture. Jonathan’s been talking about expanding into Stol for about a year, so I was given some required reading.” But permits and permissions to trade with the Stol Empire had become increasingly elusive—not so mysteriously—after Philip’s abrupt departure from the Imperial Fleet. Devin knew that was one of the reasons J.M. had been trying so hard to curry Tage’s favor lately.

“I know what
Ragkirils are,”
Makaiden said. “I just never heard the term
death angels
. Mind-rippers, mind-fuckers, sure. And there’s an Englarian temple on Dock Five with some horrible paintings of one.”

“In Danniel’s case, mind-ripper was almost literal.” Barty tapped the screen of his microcomp. “The only thing they ever found of his body was his head.”

“Get a big discount on a burial casket that way,” Makaiden intoned.

Barty snorted.

Devin held back a grin. Some of Makaiden’s spunk was returning. He hoped that was a good sign. “So the brother …?”

“Munton,” Barty supplied.

“Munton. Thank you. This Munton takes over the business and comes after Trip. Who’s paying him?”

“I don’t know. Yet.” Barty tapped the datapad again. “I have about a dozen more pages to sift through. This was pulled from three different sources.”

Makaiden leaned one elbow on the arm of her chair. “Tage has entire squads of assassins on call. Why would he or his people hire someone from outside?”

“We have no concrete proof it was Tage. But if it was, or if it was on his orders, then it might be so that it wouldn’t be traced to him or Imperial Security,” Barty said. “But they’d usually hire someone a lot better skilled than this. The only thing I could say for this Munton was he was persistent.”

“Trip said the guy tried to put a tagger on him,” Makaiden continued. She frowned slightly. “But you,” and she raised her chin at Devin, “said there’s a tracer program in his pocket comm, and that’s something we’re very sure came from Tage or ImpSec. Duplication of effort, or are we looking at a new player here?”

“Redundancy is good,” Barty said before Devin could answer. “But, as I said, this Munton falls short of the usual standard for an outside hire.”

“And Munton called him Jonathan, not Trip,” Devin put in, remembering the story he’d had Trip relate at least three times.

“Someone at GGS, then?” Makaiden offered.

“Or at the university.” Though Devin had a hard time finding logic in either. Trip had been called Trip
for so long, there were people in GGS who had no idea Jonathan’s son’s real name was Jonathan Macy Guthrie III.

“May I keep reading?”

In answer to Barty’s question, Makaiden swiveled her chair around. Devin went back to decoding the messages onto his Rada. Makaiden, he guessed with fair accuracy, was checking news feeds.

There was nothing from Ethan, nothing from Jonathan. Devin didn’t know if that was good or bad news. With the security problems Ethan had reported at the Guthrie estate, Devin thought the chances of hearing from Jonathan were slim. Still, he thought his oldest brother would have tried … something. After all, it was his son who went missing.

Ethan’s silence was also troubling.

And it all could be simply a security glitch. He could easily see Petra Frederick shutting down communications. And Ethan had already told him where and when to expect the
Prosperity
. Duplicate messages increased the chance of interception. Devin didn’t like it, but he recognized that silence right now was probably a wiser course.

“Well, here’s something. I think,” Makaiden said. “Alternate news source—a university student gossip network. There’s a report of a murder at a student apartment complex at an unnamed major university in Aldan. Victim is unidentified except for his occupation: bodyguard to a student—and I quote—
who is from a wealthy, well-known, and well-connected Imperial family. Reports state the student is missing and that law enforcement has received significant information on the suspect in both the murder and possible kidnapping
.”

That was too close to the facts not to be a reference
to Trip. But why were the regular news outlets avoiding the story? And why did even the student report shy from names? If anything, the student sources were more likely to take detailed rumor and innuendo and run with it—loudly. Devin raised his index finger as soon as Makaiden looked up from her screen, catching her attention. “Send that to my Rada. I might be able to work further with it.”

“Sending. But as for working it further, we’re out of range of the beacon, and I’m not looking for another one.”

“When we get to Lufty’s,” he added.

“You can—”

An alarm wailed suddenly, and whatever Makaiden was going to say was lost in its shrill sound and her terse “Shit!”

Devin’s heart rate spiked. “What is it?” He didn’t expect an answer—at least, not immediately. Her intense focus and the way her fingers flew over her console told him this was trouble. He just didn’t know how big or if it was in here or out there.

He glanced at Barty, who was leaning forward, frowning. A thudding sound behind him told him Trip would be on the bridge in seconds.

“Long range?” Trip slid into the seat at navigation as Devin angled around toward him. Out there, then. His nephew had been studying the manuals.

“Four to five hours out,” Makaiden confirmed, and though to Devin that sounded like a very safe distance, he knew military ships could move at speeds a common freighter could not. That four to five hours could shrink quickly. “I’m still pulling data. Looks like the bastard’s running a scrambler net forward. It’s playing hell with my scanners.”

Trip’s console and screens lit up. “Yeah, I see that.”

Devin swung his chair forward again. “Do they see us yet?” he asked the back of Makaiden’s head.

“Maybe, maybe not,” was her answer. “I’ve been deliberately running in that beacon’s shadow, though our thermal signature’s larger and more distinct.” She hadn’t turned around but continued to work her console. “But their initial sweep could pick us up as only a stutter—unless they have really, really good equipment, or they’re Fleet and can pick up a range boost from any Imperial data beacon, in which case they probably know that my mug of coffee here needs more sugar.”

“Let me look.” Barty pushed himself out of his chair and headed to where Trip sat. “Do you have a database of ship signatures we can compare this to?”

“If it was a freighter in the CFTC database, scans would have already squawked out the ID. Same with any known commercial spaceliner.” Her voice was tense. “That means they’re military or mercenary. Or pirate.”

A series of yellow lights blinked over the console to her left. “Looks like we’re not a stutter anymore. They’re probing us. Damn it.” She tapped at her screens.

“But they’re still five hours behind us,” Devin said.

“Four hours forty-one minutes. And, yes, before you ask, I’ve got a damper on our energy discharge. With luck we’ll look like we’re an old clunker and not worth bothering with.”

That sounded like something that would work against pirates but not the Imperial Fleet. Their objectives would be different.

“Why would Fleet come looking for us here?” Devin remembered her objections to using the regular Talgarrath gate: to avoid Fleet.

“They don’t have to come looking. Fleet has ships everywhere in Baris. Or have you forgotten we border the Alliance?”

“No, but—”

“Okay, yes. I told you using the smugglers’ gate would decrease the chance of running into a Fleet cruiser. I didn’t say it was foolproof. If ImpSec got notice of your buying this ship, then Fleet knows. I felt fairly sure we’d have a day or two more before they found out. Evidently, I was wrong.” She shot a glance over her shoulder in his direction, then went back to her screens. “Put it this way—Orvis knows. As lien holder, he was notified. I can see him selling that info to ImpSec if it served some purpose.”

“He’s cut deals in the past,” Barty put in.

No good deed goes unpunished
. All Devin had wanted to do was solve Makaiden’s problems, fix her life, make it better. It never dawned on him that by so doing, he might actually make it worse. And risk their lives as well.

He’d always considered the Guthrie name as protection. Now it made them a target.

“Four hours ten minutes,” Trip announced. “They’re picking up speed.”

“And changing course to match ours,” Makaiden said, annoyance and frustration clear in the tightness of her voice. “They need to confirm whether we’re the ship they were sent to find.”

Devin grasped for something positive. “In four hours we should be at Lufty’s beacon. If we get clearance—”

“If whoever this is manages to close the gap, if they get an hour or two behind us, Lufty’s will know. And if this is Fleet, Lufty’s will not be happy and will not answer my pings. We need them to go away.”

“If this is Fleet,” Barty said from where he leaned over the back of Trip’s chair, “they’ll try to disable us and board us long before that.”

Fleet could also destroy the
Rider
, Devin knew. If Tage wanted revenge on Philip, this would work nicely. “Couldn’t they just be another ship going to Lufty’s like we are?”

“Sure, but why run a hot probe on us? If you’re out here minding your own business, then you don’t go minding anyone else’s either.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “That’s one of Captain Milo’s rules.” She turned back, but not before he saw the shadows under her eyes.

“So this could be a pirate, looking for cargo?” Devin asked.

“That’s always an option.”

“And if they realize you’re not carrying any?”

“Depends who they are, how big their ship is, how many weapons they have, and how many crew.” She reached to her left, tapping at databoxes on one screen, then made three quick taps to another. A grid on the screen enlarged, showing, he guessed, the other ship’s position or configuration. “There are only four of us on board. This ship itself could be a prize. And if they board us and realize who you and Trip are, we could have a real kidnapping and ransom demand on our hands.”

It would almost be better, then, to pray the ship behind them was Fleet. But, no, it wouldn’t. Between Philip’s notoriety and Tage’s insanity, Fleet posed as large a danger as pirates. That stealth program in Trip’s pocket comm was an Imperial device. Pirates would likely just want money. Tage wanted their lives.

Devin turned his Rada over in his hands as his mind ran in circles. Then he stopped, suddenly realizing
what his microcomp contained. “Would they board an Englarian mission ship?”

That got Makaiden looking at him again. Barty and Trip too.

“How would you—”

Devin held up his Rada, halting Makaiden’s question. “One of the suppliers involved in a big business deal GGS has in Baris is an Englarian agri co-op. I downloaded specs of three of their ships right before I left for Port Palmero. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. GGS has to have their ships’ idents in order to coordinate them with our depots.”

“Fleet has standing orders not to interfere with the Englarians,” Barty said. “At least they did when the Admirals’ Council had more power. But I suspect there’s still something of a look-but-don’t-touch rule on the books. It could work.”

Makaiden switched her gaze from Barty to Devin. “Do you know how difficult it is to change a ship’s sealed ident?”

“Haven’t a clue in a bucket, but it looks as if I’m going to find out. If you think it’s an option worth pursuing.”

She arched one eyebrow—the crooked one—then sighed. “Pirates, for the most part, leave the Englarians alone. Too many have Takan crew who are devoted to Abbot Eng.” She flicked one finger in the direction of the corridor. “Use my quarters. Door’s unlocked. You’ll need to isolate the ID packet, make a backup—”

“And copy the primaries to an impenetrable location. Yes, love. I know.” He returned her arched eyebrow with one of his own.

She dropped her gaze and turned away from him, but not before he caught the rise of color on her
cheeks. His use of the endearment was deliberate. It was a common enough expression—Audra, his parents’ cook, called everyone “love.”

But he didn’t, and he guessed with fair accuracy that Makaiden knew that.

He felt he’d given her enough time to get over the shock of his so-called engagement. Time to return to the negotiating table.

But first he had an extremely critical program to unravel. And, judging from the increasing intensity of the beeping and blinking on Makaiden’s console, not a hell of a lot of time to do it in.

“At their current speed, we’ve got forty-five minutes before whoever that is might be able to tag us with an ident sweep. If we’re supremely lucky, an hour. They’re still several hours behind us, but they’re hauling ass,” Makaiden told him, leaning on the back of one of her dining-table chairs. She hadn’t followed him into her cabin when he left the bridge but appeared ten minutes later. He’d been about to contact the bridge and ask her how much time he had to reset the
Rider’s
ID when she knocked on the open doorway jamb.