Chapter 12

Lunch didn't sit well in Mack's stomach the rest of main shift. It disturbed him almost as much as his own thoughts, his doubts. His...well, yes, when he was finally ready to be honest about it, his jealousy.

Fitch Tobias was thirty-two years old. Gillie was, by her own admission, the same age. Though every time Mack looked at her he felt she was no more than twenty-five. And therein was part of the problem.

When he looked in his own mirror, he clearly saw a man who was forty-three. Ten years old than Gillie and Tobias.

Fitch. He'd heard Gillie call Tobias by his first name as he'd come up behind them in their embrace. There was no other description for it. It was an embrace, even if Gillie's explanation had been reasonable and believable: they'd both bent to retrieve a crystal splicer she'd dropped, and they'd collided.

It had just looked like something else when he'd walked in.

Just like it looked like something when he'd found them together in his office yesterday.

He leaned back in his office chair and closed his eyes. He was wrong, of course. He had to be wrong. Tobias was his second-in-command on Cirrus. Gillie wasn't another Johnna Hebbs who used and manipulated people for her own selfish purposes. Gillie was the woman he loved, the woman he hoped to marry. Who'd been sent to him, he truly believed, by Lady Kiasidira.

And the Lady, he also believed, would never do him harm. Though when Magefather Rigo appeared in his office doorway, he remembered that the Lady also said that for every truth, there was invariably an exception.

His exception clasped his hands at his ample middle in a pious gesture and nodded. "Gracious blessings of the Gracious Lady upon you. I feel her presence stronger every hour that I work as her consort."

"What can I do for you?" Mack motioned toward the chair, as the magefather was already headed that way.

"I wanted to update you on my plans for the Shrine of Communion. Stationmaster Hebbs and I have some new ideas. I know you'll find them as exciting as we do."

Mack listened to the man for half an hour without interrupting. Looked, when asked, at the layout on the magefather's small datapad. Didn't like what he heard. Liked less what he saw.

"You must know I can't assign the temple an uncontrolled docking bay." He leaned across his desk, tried to assemble a patient expression on his face. What the man wanted would create an unbelievable breach in security, not only for Cirrus, but for the Fifth Fleet and the Rim Gate Project. "Ops has to know the identity of all craft from our outer beacons on in. This is a CQPA regulation as well as Fleet."

"I, of course, understand that. And your concerns. But this is not my lowly impure self making this request. This is from the Lady Herself." Rigo's gaze briefly shot upward, though the station, being in space, had no true up or down in relation to the mystical heavens.

"And the Lady, in her brief time in physical form among us, was a stickler for security." If there was one thing Mack could quote in chapter and verse, it was Lady Kiasidira's military strategies.

"That was a long time ago. Things have changed. We have progressed according to her Blessed Plan and she now feels we must leave behind our childish paranoia. Be willing to embrace the universe itself!" Rigo's voice shook with this last pronouncement.

Mack sincerely hoped the man wasn't about to burst into tears of devotion. "I'm sure we can find a way to do that without violating regulations. Perhaps if you pray on it a bit longer, you'll come up with another option."

"But it is not I who speaks! This comes from Lady Kiasidira. She who sacrificed for us. She has asked we create this Shrine of Communion. She has sent us a portion of her Blessed Ship as proof of her intentions. I have verified the crystal myself; you saw that. How can you deny this minor request?"

"I'm not denying anything, Magefather. Only modifying it."

"The Shrine of Communion must be just that: communion. Flawless, uninterrupted communication with those who seek Her guidance. If the troubled, the weary, the hopeless must announce and register their identities in order to do so, they will not come. We have defeated and defiled the purpose of the shrine."

"Then do what I told you before." Mack smiled. He was losing patience, but at least was still trying to appear pleasant. "Put the shrine dirtside. The Cavellian government indicated they'd be willing to house it in any of their provinces. There are seven spaceports in the Ladri Kemmons alone. Another three in Bexhalla. The volume of travelers utilizing those dirtside spaceports would guarantee anyone's anonymity."

"That's not the Lady's wish. Johnna Hebbs said CQPA will agree if you will, Admiral. Do you want to be remembered in history as the man who defied Lady Kiasidira?"

Mack sat back in his chair, counted silently to ten. Everything he knew, everything he was told him that an unrestricted access docking bay on a station that housed a Fleet HQ was a disaster waiting to happen. An uncontrolled bay on any station was wrong. Simply, unequivocally wrong.

And violated, he truly believed, everything the Lady Goddess had taught the Khalar.

But Magefather Rigo had touched the crystal section. And it had glowed, albeit ever so faintly. Not a pin point glow, like the sham runesellers with their miniature lightpens tucked up their sleeves. But an overall misting haze, like a faint lavender fog.

There was no denying who and what Rigo was.

Therefore, Mack could not deny his request. Not unless he wanted to be logged into the annals of history as the man who ignored a direct request from the consort of Lady Kiasidira.

That would hardly qualify me as a God, he thought wryly, remembering Gillie's comment at lunch. But more of a devil. One of the damned, like a hideous mogra, a creature spawned from the sludge of the Black Swamp.

"Let me think on it a little longer," he told Rigo. And hoped Make It Right Makarian wasn't about to make one of the biggest mistakes in his life.

"I will pray for the Lady to guide you," Rigo said as he stepped to the door. It slid sideways. "In fact, even now, I can hear her sweet voice in my mind, saying-"

"Oh, shit." Gillie stood in the doorway, one hand hovering over the palmpad on the right.

Rigo looked down. Gillie looked up. Mack, standing behind his desk, couldn't see the magefather's expression, but Gillie's was one of surprise. Then her eyes narrowed and he heard her unexpected soft chuckle.

"A thousand pardons. Magefather."

"Yes. Yes, child. Blessings."

Mack waited for Gillie to step back or for Rigo to squeeze by her. But neither moved for a few seconds. Then the rotund man backed up abruptly.

"Sorry. Did I startle you?" Gillie swept one hand toward the corridor. "Please."

Rigo seemed to shake himself, then, head held high, he strode through the doorway.

Gillie folded her arms across her chest and watched him go.

"I need a drink," Mack said, trying to draw her attention back to him. Something about Magefather Rigo clearly bothered her. No, angered her. He'd seen a brief flash in her eyes when she'd faced him.

It didn't make sense. She might not follow the Lady but she was Tridivinian. She was also, he knew, remembering their earlier conversations, no more pleased with the publicity surrounding recent events than he was.

At least Gillie's understanding of regulations and security segued in perfectly with his.

"Devil's Breath, neat, with a twist." Her face relaxed into a smile. "Main shift ended forty minutes ago."

Had it? He glanced at the time stamp on his screen. Damn. And he'd told her to meet him in the atrium. She must have been waiting across from his office that whole time.

He tabbed off his deskcomp. "Magefather Rigo didn't tell me he was coming by. I'm really sorry."

"That's okay. The parrots and I had a wonderful conversation." She took his offered hand.

He asked about repairs as they headed down the corridor. He wanted to take her to Maguire's. Besides the officers' club, it was his favorite. Comfortable, unpretentious and well, a tad tacky, it boasted an unusual collection of antique buttons in various framed shadowboxes on its walls. It was one of the station's original bars and so had a enviable outerwall location. Like the club, it had large viewports, but only three. Unlike the club, it had well-worn Cavellian soft-tile floors in an off-hued light brown, a tarnished ceiling with a few notable laser pistol scorches and not one unblemished table in its large semicircular interior.

The bushy-haired bartender's name was Murphy. Mack caught his friendly nod as he ushered Gillie to a table. He keyed in their order on the tabletop menu and leaned back in his chair. And asked the question he still hadn't forgotten, even with the magefather's unexpected visit. "Seen any more of Tobias?"

Gillie gave him a quizzical half smile. "No. Are you going to send him to check up on me again?"

"Is that what you thought?"

"You tell me why I found him poking around in my bay. Then you come in, not a few minutes later on his tail. I wasn't born yesterday, Mack."

"Honest, I didn't. I have no idea why he was there." He didn't, but since lunch he'd wrestled with the suspicion she and Tobias were guilty of something. And since lunch, she'd been thinking that he had Tobias spying on her. "He's been working on some system glitches..." Because of that mysterious Fav'lhir attack, he almost admitted, but caught himself. "And a couple of other projects for me."

"Am I one of the projects?" She laughed. "He was very nervous yesterday when I found him in your office. What was he doing there, by the way?"

"He has access. All my top officers do, especially as we don't have Ops fully integrated. If he seemed nervous, it's because of the crystal."

"That didn't seem to bother him half as much as when I introduced myself. Somewhere I seemed to have gained the title of Admiral Mack's girlfriend." She was trying to sound stern, but she was grinning.

He closed his hand around her fingers. "Objections?"

"None."

Drinks arrived. He tasted his, thought of what she'd just told him. Realized he'd totally misread Tobias's reactions. Yes, the lieutenant was nervous around Gillie. But it was over Mack's relationship to Gillie. And, knowing Tobias as he did, how that should be handled.

Admittedly, it'd never been an issue before. He had never had a relationship with any of his female crew on the Vedri. But he knew of other officers on other ships who had. And knew that saying the wrong thing to the captain's lover could be an easy route to mess hall duty.

Or parrot duty. Even Pryor had belatedly seen that.

Not that Mack would ever operate that way. But it was something his people might be unsure about until he made that fact, and his involvement with Gillaine Davré, clear.

He sent Tobias and Gillie a mental apology. He'd misjudged them both. He should have remembered what he'd told Doc Janek. Gillie was exactly what she seemed to be. A warm, sincere, honest and intelligent young woman.

"So what blessings did the magefather bring you?" she asked.

He hesitated only a second before telling her, giving her his honest opinion. His outlined his fears for security if the request was granted. But more than that, his fears for his soul if it wasn't.

She threaded her fingers through his. "Listen to me, Rynan Makarian. Or better than that, listen to yourself. Go drag up all those Holy Edicts you've committed to memory and pull out every single one relating to the design and operations of the Fleet. I promise you that no where did the Kiasidira ever state that a Fleet facility should compromise security."

"I know, but-"

"Further, nowhere did she ever state she would speak to the Khalar, or to anyone, through any kind of consort. Go back in your historical archives and read. The Kiasidira was sent as a technical advisor because of the threat posed by the Melandan mages and the Fav'lhir. Not a spiritual advisor. And not as a candidate for Goddess-hood."

"The day of Her Sacred Sacrifice changed her purpose."

"And what exactly was this sacrifice?"

When he started to reply she held up her other hand. "What you've labeled a sacrifice was a battle maneuver. Something you've been trained to conduct. The Fav'lhir were on the edge of defeat, made one last push with their prime ship. A move the Khalar, and the Kiasidira, should've anticipated except it was so illogical, so improbable, they didn't.

"It's unthinkable to sacrifice a crystal ship in that manner," she continued. "They had their entire mageline on board. Ten Melandan sorcerers and sorceresses. Fifteen wizards. The fact that the Fav'lhir did sacrifice their ship showed their desperation. It led to their failure, ultimate defeat and the destruction of their Melandan lineage."

"And the destruction of Lady Kiasidira as well," he added quietly.

She shook her head. "You're not listening. It was a stupid, foolish move. It violated every known precept in tactical warfare. With their mageline gone, it left them open to be conquered by the Khalar. Except that we-except that the Kiasidira and your Council had agreed years before that was not the route the Khalar should ever take. Defend your borders, yes. Protect yourselves, yes. But never to become what the Fav'lhir were: wanton murderers.

"Protect and defend." She closed her other hand on top of his. "Thousands of years ago, this was the promise from the Sorcerer, Rothal-kiar, and the Kiasidira, Lady Khamsin, to the Khalar. Protection from foes. Instruction when necessary. Retaliation and vindication from wrongs. Don't pull away from those precepts. You, not the Kiasidira, have been entrusted to maintain them. It's in Fleet's creed, it's in the vows you took as an officer. Your sworn duty is to protect the Khalaran people. Not to build temples or shrines."

"Even if the shrine honors Lady Kiasidira?"

"When the spaceport was built outside Port Armin, someone suggested that. A shrine, or at least a monument." She hesitated, shook her head slightly. "Abject foolishness. A cold and unresponsive memorial constructed from cold and unresponsive material."

"That sound like a great line for a speech, Gillie. But I don't think Magefather Rigo is going to agree with you."

Gillie focused on him. Mack had the oddest feeling that, for a moment, she didn't know who he was. But before he could say something that distant expression passed from her face, and she laughed softly. "Sorry. Sometimes my opinions get the best of me."

"For someone who's not a follower of the Lady, you certainly know Khalaran history for that period." As he said that, he realized that was true. Gillie knew far more than he would've thought she would.

"Not a whole lot else to do on freighter runs but read. You can only play so many games of starfield doubles against the ship's computer, you know."

That, he also knew, was true. It was a long run from Ziami to here. Quite possibly this same Simon who'd given her the Khalaran Fleet sweatshirt had also plied her with Khalaran history texts.

"Remind me never to challenge you at cards," he quipped. If she were half as good at starfield as she was with her history recollections, they'd be more than evenly matched. He might even find himself facing a rare loss.

"Billiards." She laughed. "The one thing you never, ever want to challenge me at is billiards."

"Maguire's doesn't have any tables."

She patted his hand and a playful light danced in her eyes. "Lucky for you."

* * *

Gillie leaned against the cool metal of her ship's interior bulkhead and drew in several long, deep-and she hoped-calming breaths.

She didn't know where Mack learned to kiss, but by Ixari's eyes, he was superb. Better each time. Only Simon's relentless, off-key rendition of the wedding song kept her focused on who and what and where she was.

Gillaine, Kiasidira, Ciran Rothalla Davré. On Cirrus One, some three hundred and forty-two years from her last conscious moment.

And facing a big problem.

"I met Rigo." She pushed herself away from the bulkhead and moved quickly toward the bridge. The metal walls around her phased to crystal as she walked.

Was I correct in my findings? Simon had been as thorough in his research on the magefather as Cirrus's databanks permitted. But only a face-to-face meeting would hold the final truth.

"Fav'lhir." She spat out the word, plopped down into the captain's chair. The warmth from Mack's kisses had faded and was replaced by a hard cold fury. "Son of a motherless bitch is Fav'lhir. With a Melandan line in his essence. Weak, but it's there. You know what that means."

The Melandan mage lineage is not dead.

"Not yet." She ran her hands over her console, felt the crystal respond. Spellforms laced her skin. She spoke to each one, sent them back, reassured, pulsing with power. "But obviously, they think I am. And they're counting on that fact."

She hesitated, cocked her head to one side. "Simon. Answer me this. Are you starting to get the feeling that our current location is not total happenstance? That there may be a very real reason why Tarkir chose to send us to this very place and point in time?"

Besides the fact that his granddaughter-in-lineage was long overdue to fall in love? Yes, My Lady. I'm beginning to believe that this is where you were supposed to be, all along.

"I do, too. So now, answer me this as well. How in Merkara's depths are you and I supposed to take on the entire Gods-damned Fav'lhir Fleet by ourselves?"

I'm sure you'll think of something, Gillaine.

"It's not only me. I need you, Simon. And I need a fully functioning Raptor-class starcruiser. If the Fav'lhir have managed to rebuild their mageline I don't know if even all I have, all I am, can stop them."