Chapter 7
"It's unconfirmed rumor at this point." Mack laced his fingers together on his desktop, feigned a look of unconcern. Which was a sharp contrast to Senator Carlo Halbert's red-faced fury.
"Then how in Tarkir's blazes did it get across the Gods-damned Confederation so fast?" Halbert's fist was clenched. He pounded it on his desktop in Drin, three quadrants away. Or had already pounded it by the time Mack saw the image. There was a slightly longer than normal delay in transmission due to storm interference from a nearby-in galactic distancesnebula.
"How soon will you have confirmation if this is actually part of Her ship?" Halbert's round face wavered as the commlink fought to keep contact. "High Priests from here to Traakhalus are inundating my office with calls. You're Gods-damned lucky that Gods-damned storm's skewed the civilian commlink and they can't reach you."
Sympathy from the Gods, that one. He was grateful for the divine intervention, or whatever was preventing most of the Confederation from confirming rumors of a piece of Lady Kiasidira's crystalship sitting under guard in a bay on Cirrus One.
He had enough to deal with on a station that was still far from optimal working condition, in spite of his best efforts. And a personal life that had suddenly taken a turn for the worse probably because of his less than stellar efforts. He wasn't quite sure what had happened in Gillaine's cabin, only that things had gone from delightfully warm to decidedly frosty. Professionally impersonal.
And that was what he'd wanted, wasn't it?
He wasn't so sure anymore.
Cirrus, for the moment, was easier to deal with. Plus, his deadline for the Rim Gate Project, and an upcoming admiralty inspection, loomed like storm clouds on his professional horizon. He felt that pressure daily-knew his staff did, too.
"The science teams and the temple here are working diligently on the find," he told Halbert. Both teams had been ever since the Vedri had made dock early this morning. Unfortunately, someone-and he had a feeling he knew exactly who-leaked the information before his ship, before Captain Adler's ship, came in.
She was the only one who'd have unquestioned access to the comm logs between his office, his temporary office, and the Vedritor. For all he knew, Johnna Hebbs had been listening to every conversation he'd had in his office since day one on Cirrus.
That would explain more than a few unsavory coincidences. He couldn't prove it, so he didn't mention it. But he didn't forget it, either.
He leaned back in his chair. "I'll get you the results as soon as I know, Senator."
The image wavered again. "Damn storm!" Halbert thrust a finger at his vidcam, and therefore at Mack. "You get me those results. If the commlink's down, you get them to me anyway. Even if you've got to paste feathers to the Gods-damned report and fly it here!"
At last. A practical use for those parrots.
Mack rubbed his hands over his face as the link faded to black and the Cirrus One logo reappeared. The station was in a state of unheard of excitement. Last he'd looked, they were five deep at the runestone seller kiosks.
The temple, when he'd passed by earlier, was packed. It had taken the portly magefather twenty minutes to travel seven levels up to Fleet's executive docking bays. Mack had left the man with the science team hours ago. He glanced at the time stamp on his screen.
It had been hours. That had been at 1020. It was now 1945.
Nothing yet from the Vedri's people. Nothing yet from Tobias, also ensconced with the team. Nothing he could do anything about at all. Except for one thing.
Gillaine.
In the midst of all the turmoil and titillation, it became increasingly important to him to make right-because he was "Make it Right" Makarian-something that had gone very wrong with the Serendipity's captain.
He had a reputation in Fleet for perfection, for attention to detail. For perseverance in the face of a problem.
But not one for being a bastard.
He never berated his staff, his crew. Worked them hard, yes. Demanded one hundred percent from them, yes. It was nothing more than he demanded of himself.
If he had a personal flaw, it was that he had little tolerance for the spuriousness of politics. And an equal lack of enthusiasm for excuses. So he'd mowed down a few brass-kissers earlier in his career.
But he'd done so openly and, he wanted to believe, honorably. That was the way he'd conducted his career. The career that had been the primary focus of his whole life.
Then he'd met Gillaine Davré.
Her eyes, her smile, the curve of her mouth intrigued him. So did this sense of irreverence he'd sensed in her. Not a brashness, not bravado. He never cared for people who were cocky, overblown. She seemed to have the ability to hold her own in any situation. And not take that same situation, or herself, too seriously.
He admired inner strength. He'd spent too many years as a Fleet officer, and too many years as the son, grandson and great-grandson of Fleet officers, not to recognize how rare a quality that was.
He wanted to tell her that. He'd hoped their morning coffee meetings might give him the opportunity to do so. They almost had. Then for some reason they'd argued again.
At least he could be sure of one thing with her. She wasn't a follower of the Lady Goddess. She wouldn't badger him for a peek at the crystal section.
"Makarian to Serendipity." He took a deep breath, waited. He didn't have a vidlink with her ship, only audio.
"Serendipity. Davré." She sounded hurried, as if he'd interrupted something.
Maybe that Simon was there?
"Gil-Captain Davré. I need to speak with you." He winced at the tone of his voice. Damn it, it sounded like an official command. "If you're not busy," he added.
"Is there a problem with my repair report?"
"Your report is the only thing on my desk that makes any sense right now. I just need to-"
Her laughter bubbled over the intercom. Gods, he was right. She had a marvelous laugh! It was sexy and innocent at the same time. Real, honest. Even if she were laughing at him. No. She was laughing at everything going on, which she'd had to have heard about.
Cirrus One, he'd learned, had very few secrets.
"Sounds to me like you need a drink," she said. "You know the Fifth Quarter?"
Very well. "Ten minutes?"
"Ten minutes."
He made it in five, grabbed a table in the far corner, frowned his infamous frown at anyone who tried to come near and ask about the wonderful news. The Lady Goddess's ship. The omen. The blessing. The-
He caught a glint of moonlight and starlight as she snaked her way through the patrons of the bar. A nod here, a smile there. She hadn't even been on station a week and evidently knew quite a few people. He fully understood why they liked her. There was something genuine, warm about her. Already she occupied a very large part of his thoughts. And in spite of his best defenses, was making inroads into his heart.
He unlocked a chair, held it out for her. "What are you drinking?" he asked as she sat.
She hesitated only a moment. "Devil's Breath, neat, with a twist."
"Good." His approval wasn't feigned. That was his drink. He tapped in an order for two from the menu grid in the center of the table.
"I was going to call you and apologize," she said before he could start the conversation.
"There's no reason-"
"I'm grateful for your concern yesterday. My comments to you weren't indicative of that." She smiled and warmth surged through him. "I understand you've got a job to do. But you're also doing me a tremendous favor. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it."
"We've both been working too hard." He sent another glare at a stationer bearing down on him. The woman halted, turned, fled.
"You certainly have your reasons. The Fav'lhir. And now this."
"The Fav'lhir?" Had Hebbs decided to leak that, too?
Gillie made an aimless motion with one hand. "Rumors. You warned me about them, remember?"
He had. "It's nothing for you to worry about."
"That's good to know."
"I also shouldn't have taken out my worries on you. The Confed has always extended aid to a ship in distress. If I've appeared less than cooperative, or responsive, then I'm not doing my job."
He found he was oddly disappointed she accepted his apology without further comment. He didn't know what else he wanted to say, but there was something. Something perhaps about how his heart had almost stopped beating when he'd seen her small form crumpled on the decking.
And something about how he understood her passion to repair her ship, to get back out in the lanes. He could do with a year's trip to the Ziami Quadrant just about now, with Gillaine by his side. The thought appealed to him far more than he was comfortable admitting.
A Keto droid brought their drinks and accepted his credit chit.
"You picked an exciting week to visit Cirrus," he said as she took a sip. "You'll have a few good stories when you get home." Another uncomfortable thought. She'd leave when her ship was repaired. A curious emptiness settled inside him.
She gave him a wry smile. "Simon-Some of my friends would say my life's just a series of unusual stories."
Simon. He heard the Simon. Decided it was time to know, for clarification, if nothing else. "The one who gave you the sweatshirt."
"Hmm?"
"Simon." He tried to keep the emotion he felt at saying the name from surfacing. Jealousy? Ridiculous. This was simply a pleasant conversation with a lovely young woman. His attraction to her notwithstanding, there was no basis for jealousy.
But jealous he was. Or at least, cautious.
She turned her glass around in her hands, finally gave a low chuckle. "Dear, sweet Simon." She met his gaze. "A very old friend. Who doesn't always approve of what I do."
"Maybe he cares about you."
Her small nod was almost more to herself than to him. "As I care about him. He's basically looked after me since I was four years old."
He didn't have to do the math. Simon was older. An uncle, or grandfather figure. Relief tumbled through him. "Twenty years ago?" he quipped.
"More like thirty. Though right now Simon would probably tell you it feels more like three hundred." She laughed, her eyes sparkling.
"I can sympathize."
"I thought you might. I hear you're Fleet's problem solver."
It was his turn to have a wry grin play across his lips. "Cirrus is turning out to be a bigger problem than I anticipated."
"What did you anticipate?"
He shrugged. "An outdated physical plant. The usual technological incompatibilities of integrating military hardware to commercial civilian equipment. Some disinterest, or even mild resistance, from stationers who don't like Fleet disrupting their lives."
"But you got more than that."
He nodded. "Parrots."
"Parrots?"
"You haven't spent much time on the atrium levels."
"Not when I've got a ship to repair."
"When you finish your drink, we'll take a walk."
* * *
For the first time in over four months, Mack liked the parrots. His avian invaders. Gillaine's eyes had sparkled at the term and she'd leaned so far over the edge of the atrium railing that he had no choice but to put his arm around her. To make sure she didn't fall, of course.
"They're beautiful!" Blue and gold flashed uplevel in front of her. Red and green fluttered down.
Shift change.
He explained his theory on that. He never considered himself to be particularly witty and found her amusement delighted him. The crystal section, the phantom attack, his missing supplies all slid quietly into the background for the moment. He was too busy talking-well, he had to be honest. Flirting. He was too busy flirting with Gillaine Davré.
"Gillaine-"
"Just Gillie," she corrected him.
"Had dinner yet?"
"No."
"Join me at the officers' club?"
She hesitated. His heart teetered. Too much, too fast, Mack. You're out of practice.
"Right now?" she asked.
His heart toppled, sank. Definitely too much, too fast. She was looking for an excuse to say no. To show him his timing was wrong in more ways than one.
He should have suggested the officers' mess, not the club. Friends had dinner with friends, with coworkers, at the mess. The officers' club, even one as homely as Cirrus's, was for more serious discussions. More serious relationships.
However, he hadn't made the rank of admiral by retreating. He'd give her a choice of locales, but not activities. Or time. "Unless you'd rather go somewhere else."
The parrots screeched again. A small green one zigzagged across the atrium. Gillie watched it, but whether it truly interested her, or she was just looking to buy time to phrase her rejection, he didn't know.
The parrot disappeared from sight.
She turned back to him. "Officers' club's fine. Actually, I'm getting tired of my own cooking."
With considerable effort, he prevented an idiotically foolish grin from spreading across his face. He took it as an additional good omen that the lifts were working. And that not once during dinner did his badge ping with this-that-or-the-other minor crisis in progress.
And that Gillie agreed, when he decided to push his luck a bit further and ask, that dinner, again, would be a nice idea. She needed a break from her repairs. He needed a break from... well, he just needed a break.
Tomorrow? No, tomorrow would be pushing it, he decided, and amended his suggestion. Day after, perhaps.
He was grinning when he entered the lift at D11, hit the touchpad for U5. Grinned all the way down the gray-walled corridor to his quarters.
Was still grinning when he touched the flashing inbox icon on the small deskscreen in his living room. Lost his grin when Magefather Rigo's pudgy wide-eyed face appeared on the screen.
"Contact me as soon as you get this. I have received a message from Lady Kiasidira herself. Commander Hebbs and I agree this is something the entire Confederation must know about immediately!"