Chapter 9
Mack had every intention of returning to the officers' club-tomorrow night for dinner with Gillie. Not now, shortly before noon, with Tobias. But he no longer trusted the security of the Ops conference room. He no longer trusted the security of his office. He'd get a tech team from the Vedri to do a sensor sweep of both, unobtrusively, soon.
But Tobias's voice on his badge sounded as if he couldn't wait for that.
Mack planted his elbows on the table, cupped his hands around the mug of coffee in front of him. "Tell me."
"I have reason to believe someone's tapped into both our long and short range scanner arrays," Tobias said.
"Sabotage." The word hissed out between Mack's teeth.
"In the reverse sense of the word."
"Reverse?"
"The system has been unequivocally upgraded."
Tobias definitely had been working too many double shifts. Had Mack not valued the muscular man's expertise so much, had he not seen him perform flawlessly time and again over the past four years on the Vedri, he would've made it clear this entire meeting was a waste of time.
So he said what he had to, as calmly as he could. "Of course it's been upgraded. That's why we're here, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir, I know that. That's not what I meant. It's not been upgraded by anyone in Fleet, or CQPA."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because we don't have that kind of technology. Or expertise."
Mack straightened, let his palms rest on the tabletop. "Tell me everything you know. Why you believe it's not Fleet. Or Port Authority."
"There's a theoretical data linkage, called NIFTY. Neural Integrator Filament Transmission Yoke. I know you've heard of it."
Mack had. Anyone who'd gone through the academy knew about NIFTY theory. Self-repairing, self-replicating units of data filament that could, for lack of a better word, think. The Khalar had never been able to achieve that technology.
But there were rumors the Raheiran had.
Mack splayed one hand toward Tobias. "The section of the crystal ship."
"I considered that it could be affecting our arrays. Ran some preliminary tests, both on Cirrus and the Vedritor. The Vedritor shows no sign of NIFTY trails. We do. And only in our scanners."
Mack knew if the crystal was the cause, the Vedri should show trails in her systems. "Selective. Could the crystal be selective in its adaptations?"
"I can't get any tests to show the section of the crystal ship is in any way responsible for the trails. In fact, I've found two that predate the section's arrival, sir."
"Then what's affecting the arrays? And yes," Mack added quickly, knowing how Tobias was likely to respond in a literal fashion to questions, "I know you said we're looking at NIFTYs. But from where?"
"I'd need more time to answer that."
He didn't have much choice. "Who else knows about this?"
"I discovered it on a team-two assignment. Only Pryor."
Pryor was Tobias's unofficial teammate, on unofficial teams that Mack had created once he realized that CQPA might be less than cooperative regarding Fleet on Cirrus. They ran their own diagnostics, kept separate logs, worked on sections of projects, and sometimes even entire projects, CQPA knew nothing about.
"It stays that way," he told Tobias. "You, me, Pryor. Until we know for sure. I can't risk Hebbs, hell. I can't risk the magefather grabbing this."
"My feelings exactly, sir."
"I want an update in twenty-six hours, Tobias. I'm going to pull some of the Vedri's crew on station for the next week to give our people some downtime. That's all I'm going to tell Adler. We need downtime. That way no one will comment that you and Pryor aren't at your posts in Ops."
"I'll tell Pryor. And I'll have an update in your files in twenty-six."
"No. Here. Verbally. Or bring your datapad and I'll transfer what you find to mine. But not through the main computers on station."
"Things that bad, sir?"
Mack shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure. And when I'm not sure, I don't take any chances."
"Well put, sir. But I think Lady Kiasidira said it first."
* * *
It took Gillie a good fifteen minutes perusing the current fashion offerings on the station's vidlink, and another five rummaging in her closet, to find something appropriate to wear while pub-hopping with Johnna Hebbs. While meeting people the stationmaster wanted her to meet. While listening to those same people, hearing what was said about Magefather Rigo and Lady Kiasidira. And hopefully making sense of it all.
Her usual nondescript flight suit wouldn't do. She didn't want anyone questioning what transport company she worked for, or with. Or what depots and spaceports she'd been to; what other captains and crew she knew. She was running out of lies. Even though she'd reviewed much of what the station had in its files, it was impossible to remember it all and keep it straight.
Simon could help, of course. He could search for answers while she pretended to think, sip her drink. But not everything was in Cirrus's files. And not everything in Cirrus's files was accurate.
Besides, she was getting damn tired of lying. It wasn't an activity she was used to.
She pulled on narrow leggings the locals termed "slinkies" and a soft sharris-wool oversize sweater, both in similar shades of pale purple. Then she slipped on black boots with a midsize heel that wouldn't bring her close in height to the willowy Johnna Hebbs. But at least she wouldn't look foolish standing next to her.
Your friend's entering the bay.
Gillie heard the insincere note in Simon's voice. Friend. He picked up on the same thing she had in the mess earlier. Johnna Hebbs wasn't here because of friendship.
"I'll meet her at the airlock." No ship's tour for Hebbs. Simon was getting tired of lying, too.
Hebbs had clearly given thought to her own choice of clothing. Tight black pants had laces that crisscrossed from ankle to hip, revealing a considerable amount of skin in between. Her black jacket was open. She wore a red bustier top underneath. Dark hair fell in glossy waves to her hips.
An amazing package, Gillie thought, until you heard her voice. It had a light, but annoying whiny tone. As if everything Hebbs said was through clenched teeth.
"What a sweet outfit." Hebbs lightly touched Gillie's sleeve.
Tell her you didn't bring your hunting attire.
Shut up, Simon. She smiled at Hebbs. "Thanks. You look terrific."
She looks like she needs a keeper. With a whip. Come to think of it, she looks like she has a closet full of whips.
"We'll start at Fargo's, two levels up, since we're close," Hebbs said as Gillie palm-locked the Serendipity. It was for show. Simon's security was unbreachable when he wanted it to be.
"Haven't been to Fargo's. Went to the Fifth Quarter a few times."
"Fargo's is better. We'll meet Gifford there."
She met Gifford, who told her to call him Giff as he leered down at her. She also met Blaike and Jesse and Nikolay. And figured out what Hebbs's real intentions were.
Keep Gillie away from Rynan Makarian.
It was in nothing Hebbs said, directly, as ale was poured and glasses were raised and music blared discordantly from quadraphonic sound mirrors around them. In Fargo's. Then in The Underground. And finally in the aptly named Rainbow Room on the main atrium level.
It was in the possessive way Hebbs talked about Mack. They'd worked together very closely for the past four months. The admiral was so appreciative of her help, her experience with Cirrus. Her experience. Period.
I don't care! Gillie wanted to scream at her. But the truth was, she did. Not that Mack had given her any reason to believe there was anything but a professional relationship between himself and Johnna Hebbs. If anything, she clearly heard the disdain in his voice when he spoke of the stationmaster. Given Mack's penchant for honesty, and Hebbs's penchant for trading sexual services for commodities, she fully understood why Mack might not like Hebbs. But that didn't mean he might not find Hebbs physically attractive. After all, every other male in each pub they walked into openly ogled the willowy stationmaster. Why wouldn't Mack?
Because he doesn't like whips.
You're supposed to be napping. You need your rest.
A snoring sound filtered softly through her mind.
She sipped her drink-it was only her third, or was it her fifth?-to keep from chuckling out loud.
"Dance?" Nikolay laid his hand on her arm. He had a ruggedly handsome face and thick brown hair with streaks of gold. He was also only a few inches taller than she was. And significantly shorter than Hebbs.
Gillie couldn't see Hebbs being interested in him for that reason. Which was also why, she suspected, Hebbs was glad Nikolay was clearly interested in Gillie.
"Love to." It had been years since she'd danced. Three hundred and forty some odd if she wanted to be absolutely accurate, and she didn't.
She just wanted to dance. Even if it was with Nikolay.
It was one of those neither fast nor slow songs that kept dancers together but not intimately so. She rested her arms over Nikolay's shoulders and leaned her face toward his to catch his words. He was an antiques appraiser for an export-import company. He'd probably salivate over what she had in the storage lockers on her ship.
He was also almost salivating over her. Maybe dancing wasn't such a good idea. She hoped the song ended soon.
Nikolay edged closer. She smiled, stepped back. He gave her shoulder a little squeeze, tried to draw her into his arms. She deliberately bumped into the couple next to her.
"Oh, sorry!" She turned, stepped back from him again. "Getting a little crowded out here."
"I'll protect you." He pulled her toward him.
Hands on her shoulders pulled her away.
She half-swiveled, glanced behind her and felt his emotions cascade through her mind before she completely saw him. Possessiveness. A twinge of jealousy. He must have come directly from the conference. He was still in his formal dress uniform and looked unequivocally, undeniably handsome.
"Mack?"
"Sorry I'm late." But he wasn't looking at her. He was glaring at Nikolay. Glaring down at Nikolay.
Another twinge, this time of amusement flowed from him. Frustration, tiredness and a little apprehension mixed in as well.
Apprehension?
He doesn't know if you want to be with Shorty.
Does he want to be with me?
Gillaine. For a Goddess you can be damnably dense at times.
"Mack." She put a smile and a definite tone of welcome relief in her voice. "I'm glad you're here."
He smiled back, a slow, lazy, very sexy smile.
Suddenly it was as if there was no one else on the dance floor, no one else in the lounge. No one else, quite possibly, on the entire station. But this tall gorgeous Khalaran admiral and herself.
She let him turn her around and draw her into his arms. The music started again a slow, lazy, rather sexy song. She realized Nikolay mumbled something, but she ignored it. She also realized she'd probably had a bit more to drink than she should have, but ignored that, too.
Instead, she rested her hands on Mack's shoulders, her cheek on his chest, and let the warmth of his body seep into hers as they danced a slow, lazy dance across the floor.
His arms tightened around her as he leaned to whisper in her ear. "Your friend's not happy."
She caught a glimpse of a sullen Nikolay leaning on the bar. And a scowling Johnna Hebbs behind him. "He's Johnni's friend. They're all Johnni's friends."
"You were dancing with him."
She shrugged lightly as she looked up at him. "Doesn't mean anything."
His half-hooded eyes seemed to twinkle slightly. "Does dancing with me?"
"I don't know... yet."
Heat sparked between them, surged, sizzled. She sucked in a breath as quickly and quietly as she could but couldn't stop her heart from pounding. Mack's desire fractured her empathic barriers as easily as if they were made of the thinnest crystal.
"Gillaine." His voice was thick with emotion. "I want to talk to you about 'yet.'"
She had to lick her lips before she could answer. "I'm listening."
"Not here."
Gods, why not here? It felt so wonderful, so warm in his arms, his body moving against hers. Then she caught sight of Hebbs again. She'd seen ion storms that looked less threatening.
"Because of Johnni?" she asked.
Mack's brows slanted. Then one arched. He put his mouth against her ear, his breath warm on her skin. "You think Hebbs and I-"
"I don't know." She turned her face, almost bumped noses with him. "She said, well, I mean. She's beautiful, she-"
He kissed her. Mack's mouth covered hers with a definite possessiveness and demanded she kiss him back. Gillie complied, willingly, enthusiastically. He pulled her against him, drawing her up on her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his heat rushed down her body, as the taste of him intoxicated her mind, as the music pounded but not half as hard as her heart.
Couples moved around them, brushed against them as they stood in the middle of the floor. She and Mack were the only ones not dancing but Gillie didn't care. Kissing Mack was much more important.
She forgave him for pulling his mouth from hers only because he said her name. "Gillaine."
"Umm?"
"Come with me?"
"Okay."
He took her hand, led her out of the Rainbow Room toward the nearest bank of lifts. Folded her into his arms when the lift's only other occupants exited at U5. Held her until the auto-voice announced, "Level Upper 9. Officers' club. Observa-"
He guided her out quickly, his arm snug around her shoulders. The club was almost empty. Droid-servers, standing motionless by the bar, whirred into activity when she and Mack walked toward a curved couch in front of a large viewport. The darkness of space beyond was like limitless black velvet.
"Two Devil's Breath, neat, twists," Mack said. The droid whirred away across the carpeting.
Gillie sat on the soft couch, only peripherally aware of the twinkling hull lights on a freighter drifting by the viewport. Mack took her hands in his, brought them to his lips.
Heat sparkled down her arms, danced around her heart, caused a near riot considerably lower.
"I want to start all over with you. From the beginning."
She didn't think where they were right now was all that terrible. "Why?"
"Because I need to ask you something. What I wanted to ask you, when we first met, except it seemed so unbelievable..."
Gods. A chill shot through her. He knew who she was. Or he suspected. He didn't really care about her. With her empathic and telepathic fields dampened, and a few too many drinks muddling what was still functioning in her brain, she'd misread him. He was just being kind, before he became angry. Before he accused her of lying. Of deceiving him and the whole station. Hell, the whole damned Khalaran Confederation.
She was a fraud, and he'd found out. She wasn't a rim-trader captain. She wasn't even a very good goddess.
She drew a deep breath, steeled herself. So be it. She was tired of lying. When he asked her, she'd tell him the truth. Even if it meant he'd never talk to her again. "What do you need to know?"
His hands tightened over hers. "Gillaine Davré. Will you marry me?"