Rebels and Lovers (42 page)

Devin handed the bookpad to Trip as he passed by, then looked at Makaiden. “Should I be here?”

“Up to you. Like I said, they don’t know shiptime. You could logically be up here, compiling reports to send to Calfedar. Or you can wait in my quarters and I could call you on intraship.”

And walk down the corridor only to trip on his makeshift robe and fall flat on his face? Sitting seemed safer. “I’m compiling reports to send to Calfedar.” He lifted his chin slightly. “Answer them.”

“Remember I’m Captain Makerra.”

“Captain of the
Veil of Relief.”

She flashed him a tense smile, then tapped the upraised screen on her armrest. “I’ll angle this so they can’t see you when I talk to them. Same thing. They won’t see me in the background of your camera. But shut down the Rada’s display. I don’t think they’re going to believe someone donated that.”

He was already doing so. Then there was a lower-pitched chime as Makaiden opened the comm link from her console. “Makerra of the
Veil of Relief
, in service to the Englarian Order of Devoted Missionaries.”

An image flashed on the screen in front of Makaiden. Devin could barely make it out from where he sat—only that it was a gruff-looking human with short hair. Male, he thought, but couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.

“Thurman Anibal, captain of the
Nola Tran
, Imperial Fleet, Baris.” A man, then, with an equally gruff voice that sounded as if he enjoyed chewing rocks. “I have your ship’s docs here, as I’m sure you know, Captain Makerra. Out of Calfedar?”

“We are. Is there a problem, Captain Anibal?”

“I was going to ask you that. We thought we picked you up on long range a few hours ago. Then you disappeared.”

“No, sir. We’ve been on course to Talgarrath the entire time. We did, however, have a power failure in the starboard generator and went cold for about twenty minutes so we could do repairs.”

“I see.”

Devin wondered if he did. He had no idea of the merits of Makaiden’s excuse, no idea if a generator failure would require taking the entire ship offline. He trusted she was pulling the story from an actual experience. Something else that happened when she flew for GGS that he’d never heard about?

“We appreciate Fleet’s concern for our safety,” Makaiden said, “but we don’t anticipate any further problems.”

“I see,” Anibal said again.

Devin had the feeling Anibal was only half listening, perhaps reviewing ship’s docs or getting information from one of his officers. He didn’t know if that signaled disinterest or a need for further probing on the Fleet captain’s part.

“You have a Church liaison on board?”

Further probing. Damn.

“Brother Balatharis. That should be in our docs.”

“You’re not Englarian, Captain Makerra?”

“Contract pilot, sir. But my services are a donation through CFTC Outreach.”

That made Devin raise his eyebrows. He had no idea if that was true or not and hoped Makaiden wasn’t trapping herself in a string of lies.

“Outreach usually assigns Takan pilots.”

True, then.

“Yes, sir. I swapped assignments with the pilot because his wife’s due to give birth to their first child.”

“I see.”

Devin saw the man’s repetitive comment as a space filler—a way to keep the conversation going without really participating. He had to be receiving information from another of his officers. They’d found some error, some incongruity in the ID Devin had constructed for the
Rider
. Or the upload had skewed something. The fact that he wasn’t even aware that the new ID had taken hold surfaced again in his mind. Was there some kind of hidden secondary program, something that would grab any altered program and, instead of destroying it, save it and send it—tagged as a hacking attempt—to the first Fleet ship it found?

It was exactly the kind of security program he would have designed. He’d scanned for something like that, but he might not have been as thorough as he should have been. Damned time constraints—

“Put Brother Balatharis on the comm,” Anibal said suddenly.

Devin’s gut tightened.
Here we go
.

“If you’ll hold for a minute, sir, I’ll transfer you to him.”

There was a soft double chime, which Devin knew meant voice and vid functions were paused.

Makaiden half-turned in her seat. “Something’s up. I don’t like it.”

Devin nodded. “Too many
I sees
. He’s either running a verification program or I screwed up somehow.”

“Can you handle it?”

“Promise me you’ll let me take you to dinner tonight, fanciest and most romantic location Lufty’s or Port Chalo has.” The
Prosperity
could wait. In fact, he’d even toyed with the idea of not going back on the ship, of sending Trip and Barty to Sylvadae without him. That would give him time with Makaiden, time to convince her that she belonged with him on Garno.

A short exasperated sigh. “Devin—”

“Promise.”

She studied him, emotions flickering through her eyes, which had turned dark, serious. “I promise.”

“Then I can handle it.”

She swung around, reaching for the armrest’s console. “Captain? I have Brother Balatharis for you now.”

Devin straightened his shoulders, then relaxed them slightly. That wouldn’t do. That was Devin, not Brother Balatharis. He tapped open the comm link and tried his best to look benign, dreamy, and a little befuddled. He wasn’t sure how to play monk, but he could definitely play absent-minded professor. He’d had more than a few in his college and postgraduate days. “Blessings of the hour to you and yours. How may I be of assistance?” He saw Anibal clearly for the first time: a leathery-faced man with close-cropped curly hair and eyes narrowed in suspicion. Figures, out of focus, moved behind him, but Devin could see that those figures wore Imperial uniforms.

“Blessings of the hour to you, Brother.”

To Devin’s surprise, Anibal inclined his head in a gesture of reverence and respect, and his voice was minus some of its gravelly undercurrents.

Oh, shit
. A frightening realization hit Devin, more frightening than the fact that the Imperial destroyer
could blow them out of the space lanes. Captain Anibal was Englarian.

Devin wasn’t.

His mind stuttered. He plastered on a weak smile he remembered Professor Creel’s face often wearing and grasped for the dialogue from the Comparative Religions’ class vid. “Praise the stars that we are both safe and well. I apologize for not greeting you immediately. I have been deep in meditations. I find my time out here so peaceful.” He made an aimless gesture with his left hand to denote
out here
, then lowered it quickly. He didn’t think Englarian monks wore expensive wristwatches, and he’d almost flashed his.

“The abbot be praised your ship wasn’t hampered by the power failure.”

How much would Brother Balatharis know about the ship’s systems? When in doubt, obfuscate. “We’re blessed with an excellent captain and crew. Surely Abbot Eng watches over those who do his work.”

Anibal glanced down, then back up. “Port Chalo, I see. I hope … Please don’t take this as a criticism, Brother, but the temple there has not received the attention it should.”

If Devin had any doubt that Anibal was Englarian, that dissolved it. The man had been to the temple on Port Chalo. Devin hadn’t. He’d never even been inside an Englarian temple. He splayed his hands in what he hoped was an understanding gesture, careful not to reveal his wristwatch. Or his ignorance. “So many projects, so little time.”

“Then your reason to be in Port Chalo isn’t to restore the temple?”

Was it so bad that it was in need of restoration? And did Anibal mean the physical structure or some problem with staff? The name of the temple guardian
came into Devin’s mind. “We’re always aware of Guardian Whitte’s needs and hold him and the temple in prayer daily. My reasons for traveling to Port Chalo, though, are many. And, of course, due to privacy issues, I’m not at liberty to discuss them here.”

As he said the last few words, he stiffened. Too much corporate Devin. Too little beneficent Balatharis. Plus, to make matters worse, his damned blanket robe itched.

“Brother Balatharis.” Anibal dipped his face again … but with a little less reverence this time? Devin couldn’t be sure. “If you’ll grant me a minute, I’d like to move this conversation to my office.”

Devin did his best to look humble and unperturbed. “As you wish, Captain.”

The screen blanked in pause mode. Devin swung to his right to find Makaiden watching him. Good. It saved him the trouble of bellowing her name in abject panic.

“I—”

Her raised hand silenced him. She glanced down at the armrest console she’d pulled against her side, tapped something, then nodded. “Safe. Go ahead.”

“I fucked up. Big time. I’m sorry.”

“We don’t know that—”

“I do. I went into corporate mode. Damn it!” He slammed one hand on his chair’s armrest, thoroughly annoyed at his own stupidity.

“We don’t,” she repeated, spacing her words, “know that. The guy’s a believer. Factor that in. To him, you’re part of the woo-woo hierarchy. He’s not.”

“I don’t know a
crigblarg’s
ass about his religion!”

“It doesn’t matter. Just keep assuring him you’ll pray for him. Praise whatever he says. Tell him he’s divinely inspired. In short, lover, kiss ass.”

Lover
. She called him lover. That brought heat to his face and a tightening to his groin. Bad timing. Monks were celibate.

The comm link chimed.

“He’s back on,” Makaiden said. “You feel you need out, take off your glasses. I can manufacture a fritzed comm signal. That could buy us a few minutes to regroup.”

Dear God, woman, how have I lived without you for all these years?
The words he wanted to say caught in his throat. There was no time. He held her gaze for one long moment, then turned to the comm console and keyed the link live.

“Captain Anibal, blessings.”

“Brother Balatharis. Pardon the disruption. But we need to continue this conversation in secure surroundings.”

Secure
evidently meant the captain’s office, judging from the little Devin could see behind Anibal. He wondered whether
secure
also meant the short downtime was enough to upload some kind of probe through the comm link. Or upload confirmation that there was no Brother Balatharis.

Devin tossed his fears and insecurities out the airlock. Makaiden had faith in him. She’d said so. “All our intentions are known by our beloved abbot. The only security we need is that of his divine care. What is it that troubles you, my friend?”

Anibal went silent, but his gaze didn’t waver.

I’ve overplayed it. Ethan was always the one with the talent for the stage. Not me
.

“A great number of things about our meeting trouble me,” Anibal said finally. “Your being here, heading for Port Chalo. Your ship malfunctioning just long
enough for us to find you. I’ve been in the lanes too long to be a believer in coincidence.”

Devin was aware of Makaiden shifting in her seat—the slight rustle of fabric against plastic and metal. He was also aware of his fingers clenching, wanting to reach for his glasses. But a two-minute communications glitch wasn’t going to save them if Anibal had penetrated their farce.

There was nothing for him to say. He waited, fingers knotted.

“I have my duties as a Fleet officer,” Anibal continued. “It’s not often they coincide with my personal beliefs. But here, they have. Brother Balatharis, this area of Baris is known for pirate traffic. You’ve already experienced mechanical failure. I’d be remiss in my duties, not only as an officer but as a believer, if I didn’t see you and your ship safely to Port Chalo. If you’ll have your captain contact my exec, we’ll set up a course so we can escort you to safe harbor. We’ll keep your ship constantly on our screens. The slightest whisper of trouble, and we will act swiftly.”

Devin sat, stunned. And not totally convinced. It could all be an elaborate ruse. Anibal could be the consummate actor. Having a Fleet ship tail them to Lufty’s …

No. Shit.
Shit!
A Fleet ship tailing them meant there was no way they could go to Lufty’s. He had to dissuade Anibal. Now.

“Your words are a true blessing to my ears, Captain. But greater duties await you, I’m sure. The blessed abbot watches over all of us, and while I agree this meeting was not by chance but by divine inspiration, I also know … more than that, I
feel
in my heart you’re meant for much greater missions than to escort this lowly and humble ship.”

Anibal lowered his mouth to his fisted hands, then looked up. “Brother, at the risk of sounding too bold, I have to disagree. This is why I needed to speak to you privately. My officers know this is a dangerous area. They’ll accept my decision to escort you. But truth is, I have been … remiss. I’ve fallen from the blessed and beloved path this past year, and I
must
do this. I believe our meeting is a sign. A sign to bring me home again. As you said, our meeting was not by chance. This was divine inspiration and divine intervention.” He straightened. “I’ll give my exec the order to coordinate with your captain. Then I feel a great need to retire to prayer.”

Devin bowed his head. Hell’s unholy fat ass. Makaiden was going to kill him. If Captain Anibal didn’t do so first.

There was no way they could go to Lufty’s.

Captain Anibal wasn’t protecting them. He was delivering them to the enemy. Devin had no doubt either Tage’s agents or Orvis’s operatives were waiting for the
Void Rider
in Port Chalo.

And it didn’t escape him that Anibal might know exactly that.