Gabriel's Ghost (11 page)

“No, we need to take the ship here, on the rim, slip somewhere out-system for awhile. Keep them wondering.”

Sully’s lips curved in a teasing smile. “Is that what I used to do to you?”

I laughed. “I never wondered about you, Sully. You were consistent in your inconsistencies. I never had any trouble finding you in the midst of some wild escapade.”

He leaned his elbow on the bench. “Did it ever occur to you that’s because I wanted you to find me?”

I shot him a disbelieving look. “Did it ever occur to you that you have a difficult time admitting you’re not infallible?”

“Why,” he drawled, “would I admit to something that’s not true?”

I touched Ren’s arm. “No more wine for him. He’s delusional.”

A deep, soft laugh, like water tumbling over stones.

“Gentleman,” I said, “we still have a problem to solve. And less than four hours in which to do it.” Our presence would be required at the Temple ceremonies this evening. Drogue had insisted on that.

Sully poured another round of wine. “We could invite them to Peyhar’s. Get them all furry on honeylace.”

“Kingswell doesn’t get furry. He swaggers around, finds something he thinks is small and weak, beats on it and claims victory.”

“Delightful. Introduce us, will you?”

“You don’t fit the requirements.” He wasn’t remotely small or weak. He’d picked me up last night without a struggle. “Besides, he hates Takas.”

“Probably,” Ren posited, “because they don’t fit his requirements, either. Still, won’t his crew take some liberty here? There are several pubs popular with off-duty station security and M.O.C. personnel.”

And it was a long run from in-system. “Depends on their tour. More than likely they didn’t come from Aldan or Baris Prime, but ran an intercept to a cruiser that had Chaves on board.”

“Even if they intercepted at Dafir,” Sully said, “it’s still a good week at top speeds to Moabar.”

“True.” I sipped my wine, played with some scenarios. The Empire was gridded on an ancient linguistic-numeric character set. The inner quadrants were Aldan and Baris, Prime through Four. Further out were Calth and Dafir, Prime through Six, with Six being rim. Moabar was in No-Name Quadrant E-5. A good seven-day run for a P40 from Dafir-Six. My own trip from the Imperial prison on a starport in Baris-Three took three weeks and two jumpgates, just to get to Dafir-Six and the waiting M.O.C. transport ship.

So it was a week back to Dafir for Kingswell and his crew. Fleet rarely posted a patrol P40 out here. If someone wanted Moabar, they’d give it to them. “They just might take liberty.” Ren’s idea began to have some possibilities. “In shifts, of course.”

Ren splayed his six-fingered hand against the bench. “Working on the most negative scenario. Captain plus crew of fourteen. How would liberty be structured?”

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“On an unsecured port, small shifts, minimal exposure. But this is a secure port. Very little commercial traffic. Mostly military, government. No civilians.”

“Except us,” Ren said.

“You’re clergy. The government loves you because you keep the Takas happy.” That was true. We had standing no-interference orders on Englarians.

“So if they take liberty, or can be encouraged to take liberty,” Ren continued, “we will then have a much smaller onboard situation to deal with.”

Sully made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Then all we have to do is break docking clamps, drop into the lanes, and offer prayers, of course, that no one in Ops or departure control notices our slight transgression. Or the alarms blaring on their consoles.” He leaned toward me. “That’s the risk, Chaz, of pulling anything right here.”

He was opting for the stowaway scenario. But he was wrong. “We’re not going to have to blow the clamps. Ops will gladly withdraw them. And we’ll get clearance to undock, as well.”

Station might figure out something was wrong when we hit the lanes, but we’d have at least ten minutes on any pursuit ships at that point. And my little P40 could do a lot with ten minutes if she were up to speed.

Ren smiled. “I believe the captain has a plan.”

I smiled back, knowing he couldn’t see it, but hoping he could feel it. “Yes. I do.”

Sully arched a dark eyebrow.

“Tugs.” My gaze switched from Sully to Ren then back to Sully again. A second eyebrow slowly rose. “When we came in on Chalford’s ship, we were delayed because the tugs were busy moving a couple of luggers off dock due to interface malfunctions. What if we can duplicate those problems at Six-Green-Three? Kingswell’s not going to have his ship sit with no fresh water and only intermittent power. And no trans link. He’ll have to move to another berth, and won’t call back a full crew on liberty to do so. Engineer probably, and helm. Plus, he won’t need a tug. P40s are designed for close maneuvering.”

“And we’ll just happen to be on board,” Sully said. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

“Fancy that,” I told him.

Ren, beside me, let out a quiet sigh. “Praise the stars.”

“No. Praise Chaz. The best interfering bitch in the quadrant. Maybe,” Sully added, reaching for my hand, “even in the entire damn universe.”

He planted a soft kiss on my wrist, winking at me from over my own fingers.

Brazenly, with a newfound confidence, I winked back. It had begun to feel as if I had a chance at winning this game.

* * *

Showtime. Not the more dangerous one, taking the
Meritorious
. We were still a few hours from that.

But the beginning of Peyhar’s, with me in a silver gown and gauzy, hooded robe, standing on the raised platform of the Temple. Sully, in a deeper gray robe, stood next to me. We were both to the right of Drogue and Clement in the center, wearing bright gold robes trimmed with wide bands of silver.

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All eyes were on them. Yet I felt exposed, tried to keep my face shadowed. Which wasn’t easy with the lights shining on the large arch-and-stave behind me on the platform.

Clement struck the chimes, Drogue’s voice lilted into a song-like prayer. Ren, in dark gray like Sully, moved down the center aisle with two other acolytes, swinging incense lanterns left and right.

The Temple smelled smoky-sweet. A very mild mixture of glory-seeds and some harmless herbs, Drogue had told me shortly before the ceremony. Relaxing, but far from intoxicating.

The Takas, and a few humans, on the bench seats breathed deeply, almost as if one. I fought the urge to sneeze, focused instead on the mural on the back wall. Abbot Eng again, silver cape billowing, a shape-shifted winged soul-stealer kneeling before him. No, not kneeling— collapsing, the Abbot’s stave sticking out of its spine. Long black hair, matted with blood, fell almost to the ground, hiding the demon’s face. It was naked from the waist up, wings unfurling from a muscled back. Wonderful image to hold in your mind while you breathed glory-seed fumes.

Yet an oddly appropriate one. A few thousand years ago Eng had fought the soul-stealers. Now, his followers would be taking up the same fight, against jukors, the distorted lab-bred version of their mythical cousins. Fortunately, jukors lacked any shape-shifting abilities. I’d hate to be next to one and not know it.

The chimes tinkled again. Sully touched my arm, indicated we should step back to the wall.

My sole function, and Sully’s, at tonight’s ceremony was to hand Drogue and Clement the sacred objects from the low table behind us. Then replace, clean or refill them as necessary.

We also had to bow when Drogue bowed, kneel when Drogue kneeled, or sit, huddled, in contemplative silence when Clement recited the long meditative invocation.

All I could think about was taking back the
Meritorious
. The slow, languid movements of the ceremony felt like torture.

I caught a slight nod of Drogue’s head, the first signal. I turned to the table, as Sully did, reached for a metal flask. Sully’s warm hand covered mine for a moment. I looked at him in surprise.

“Relax.” His voice was just above a whisper. His small smile just the slightest curve of his mouth.

My heart pounded. Every time I thought of my ship, adrenaline raced through me. I gave him a short nod as I handed him the flask. “Okay,” I whispered back.

I picked up the metal plate with four squat goblets, held onto the plate with both hands.

“Breathe,” he told me as we walked to the center of the platform.

I didn’t want to breathe. The incense tickled my throat. I inhaled deeply anyway. Fleet had taught me long ago how to stay focused. This was far from my first mission.

Clement took the plate from me; Drogue took the flask. Sully and I waited while they poured a golden liquid into the goblets.

A short invocation, then Drogue and Clement drank the liquid in one swallow.

Honeylace, I realized belatedly. Good thing those goblets are small.

Drogue smiled at me, took the remaining two goblets from the plate, held them out to Sully and myself.

They expected me to drink this stuff? Tomorrow would be tough enough without a hangover.

Drogue must have caught my frown. “Sip and put it back,” he said softly.

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I tilted the goblet, let a drop fall on my tongue. Sweet, cloyingly sweet. I placed it, full, on the tray.

Sully’s went back empty.

Oh, great. I hoped he didn’t share Newlin’s predilection. I needed him sober and functioning tomorrow. It would be difficult enough taking the
Meritorious
with a blind Stolorth. A blind drunk would make it damn near impossible.

More singing, more chanting, more incense, more honeylace. Three more times we refilled the goblets. Three more times Sully finished not only his, but when we turned back to the table, mine.

“Sullivan!” I hissed when he put down my empty goblet.

“Relax.” Obsidian eyes, half-hooded, glinted.

Oh, great.

But he moved easily, without faltering. Maybe the stuff wasn’t as strong as the honeylace the Takas used. Logically, it shouldn’t be. Drogue and Clement wouldn’t be able to conduct a ceremony totally furred.

Ren and the other acolytes brought the incense lanterns to the platform, positioning them in the center. Gray smoke spiraled upward.

One of the acolytes drew a larger flask from a side alcove, while Ren retrieved a basket of small goblets. The Takas and humans filed out of the benches, lined up, hands open expectantly.

Clement filled goblets, Drogue bestowed them along with blessings of the stars, of the hour, for wisdom, for peace…

Sully was missing. I suddenly realized I stood alone by the small table. Then I spotted him at the end of the line, Ren beside him.

They took their goblets, drank. I noticed Sully held a third and was bringing it toward me.

The Temple emptied out. Sully strode up the short steps, his robe rippling over his body, outlining his wide shoulders, narrow hips. His gaze, shadowed by his hood, was directly on me; his mouth curved slightly in a smile, as if he wanted to grin but knew this wasn’t the time or the place for it.

“Chazzy-girl. Peace, wisdom and, most of all, love.” He offered me the goblet. “You did fine.”

Behind him stood Ren and Drogue, heads bowed, hands clasped, talking in hushed tones. I had a feeling they were saying good-bye.

I took the goblet, but only to put it on the table behind me. “I didn’t sneeze or trip over my robe. I consider that a rousing success.”

His gaze went over my shoulder to the table. “Sacrilege to waste that.”

“I can live with that sin.”

“You’re much too beautiful to be consigned to Hell.” He took the goblet back, drained it. “That makes twice now I’ve saved you from perdition.”

He put the empty goblet on the table, hooked his arm through mine as he moved back. “We’re not needed here any longer.”

Ren turned as we passed him. Sully put his free hand on Ren’s arm, held his sightless gaze. “All of life’s a risk, isn’t it?” His voice was wistful.

Drogue bowed slightly. “Our prayers and the guidance from the stars go with you. All of you.”

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It dawned on me that Sully and Ren were probably as nervous as I was about the
Meritorious
. About getting off station alive. About evading any pursuit the M.O.C. or the Imperial Fleet might send after us.

That was easy to forget around Sully because he seemed to show only two emotions: confidence, or anger and confidence. Yet he had to know the odds weren’t overwhelmingly in our favor. He’d been in the business, as he called it, a long time.

I let him lead me through the Temple’s back doors, past Abbot Eng and his winged demon, and forgave him his slight indulgence in honeylace.

His fingers slipped through mine as we stepped through the second doorway. The wall clock in the common room glowed 2115. But we didn’t stop there.

We came to the end of the hallway. He turned me away from Ren’s doorway, touched the palmpad for his own. He held my hand tightly and for the first time I saw something hesitant in his obsidian gaze, something in the way his lashes lowered quickly, then flicked up. Something in the way he started to speak, his mouth parting, then quickly closing.

Oh, God. The
Meritorious
wasn’t coming in
. It was the only thing I could think of that would make him appear so dismayed, so unsure. He knew what it meant to me. The infallible Sullivan hated failure.

“All of life’s a risk,” he said softly. “I’m about to take a big one.”

He pulled me against him, his arms locking around me. His mouth covered mine, taking in my gasp of surprise. He answered with a kiss I remembered well, a kiss of intense passion, his tongue stroking, probing. His hands splayed on my back, pushing me against the hard planes of his body.

Heat seared, flared through my senses as if I were absorbing it from his touch. For a moment I was lost, breathless, dizzy, as if I’d downed a bottle of honeylace…

Honeylace.

Fool.

I twisted my face away. “Sullivan. Stop it.” My voice rasped into the folds of his robe.