Chapter 13
It took three days before Mack gave in to Magefather Rigo's demand for an uncontrolled docking bay for the shrine. Gillie was actually surprised he'd lasted that long. There was almost unrelenting pressure, not only from Prime Temple priests and priestesses on Trakhaalus, not only from Hebbs and CQPA, not only from the tens of thousands of devout in the Confederation and the hundreds of their kindred on station. But there was pressure from within Fleet itself. And the Fleet, Gillie knew, was where Mack's heart resided.
He could say what he wanted to the others, and did. But he couldn't defy a direct order from Fleet Command.
It was midafternoon, middle of main shift, when he showed up in her bay. He'd done that more and more over the past few days when something troubled him. It warmed her that he trusted her, needed her. This was the biggest thing troubling him yet.
"I actually considered resigning." He sat next to her on the top step of the Serendipity's ramp, elbows on his knees. His fingers were knotted together, like a prayerful fist. Or a fistful of prayers.
Either way, he was angry. And mostly with himself.
"That would've accomplished nothing," she said, referring to his offer of resignation. "They'd just throw some spineless ninny in command who'd basically hand the whole station over to Rigo. You have to stay right where you are, Mack, and watch. Watch everything. Work in as many safeguards as you can."
She'd had Simon start on those two days ago. More NIFTYs, more carefully inserted this time. Nothing to bring Lieutenant Tobias sniffing around her ship.
"I'm probably overreacting. I heard that from HQ more than once."
"You're not. Trust me on this." Even though there'd been no reappearance of the Fav'lhir ships, Gillie was still on edge. Rigo was here and Rigo was up to something. But without revealing her presence, she couldn't find out exactly what that something was. All she could do was work with, and through, Mack.
He faced her. "They've not been back. Hebbs might have been right. Just a couple of rim-traders with bad aim and bad timing."
It took Gillie a minute to follow. He referred to the mysterious Fav'lhir ships, the ones she'd just been puzzling over. Not for the first time, she wondered if he didn't carry a low level of telepathy.
She wasn't about to reveal, however, what she knew. "You mean those rumors? The ones you told me to ignore?"
"Did you?"
"You don't survive in the lanes by ignoring rumors."
"Well put, my lady."
He'd taken to calling her that. She no longer jumped when she heard the honorific. "So you're saying Ops confirmed it was the Fav'lhir."
"Ops is myopic. Tobias confirmed it. He's an unbelievable talent at times. Fleet had him buried in a procurement depot. I stumbled over him about five years ago, on a routine matter. Sometimes I think he can outthink even the computers. He has a phenomenal memory for detail."
Like a certain green sweater in an old party holovid. She hadn't worn it since then. Didn't want to take the chance.
"That's another reason I don't want you trying to head back to Ziami," he continued. "I don't know what's out there. And I don't-"
"Like it when you don't know what's out there. Yes, I know." She smiled wryly.
"You've been studying the Lady's Guidelines again."
Shit. Was that another one? These were just things she'd always said. It was damn difficult to be herself. "The Serendipity's in no condition to go anywhere. And even if we were, I'm not about to leave you all alone with this mess."
"Is that the only reason you're staying?" He studied her through hooded eyes.
"No."
"Then tell me, Gillaine Davré. Why are you staying on this Gods forsaken station? I really need to hear some good news right now."
"Because I like the way you kiss."
"Do you?"
"Umm."
He lowered his face. "I like the way you kiss, too." He brushed his mouth over hers, then those fingers that had been so tensely intertwined traced the line of her jaw.
She nipped his thumb as it touched her lips, opened her mouth when his own covered hers. Let herself get lost, for a moment, in his heat, his desire. In the way everything just seemed so very right when he touched her.
His kiss deepened, his hands threaded into her hair. And his commbadge trilled.
She bit back a groan of disappointment as he pulled away then rested his forehead against hers.
"Damn it." His voice was a harsh whisper. He straightened, slapped at the badge. "Makarian."
"Pryor here. We've just received confirmation. That Fleet supply ship we've been waiting for has cleared our outer beacons."
Mack barked out a sharp laugh. "It's about time. The Lady be praised. Have Brogan and Janek meet me in my office, five minutes. Mack out."
He kissed her nose. "So much for my trying to escape my office for ten minutes. Dinner might be later than usual. Depends when that ship docks."
"I'll be here."
He held her gaze for one more long minute before shoving himself to his feet and heading for the corridor.
Gillie sat on the top step, still tasting his kiss. Still feeling his dejection over losing the battle to Rigo. At least the supply ship was good news.
It's not the first battle that counts, but the last.
Which number Sacred Guideline is that? And did I say it, or did you, Simon?
Neither of us, actually. I read it in a Khalaran military text.
I wonder if the Fav'lhir know that.
The old text? I wouldn't doubt it. They've had their spies around long before Rigo appeared. Long before you did, as well.
Not the text, Simon! The last battle. I wonder if that's what the Fav'lhir are thinking. That wasn't their final attempt, three hundred and forty-two years ago, out by Traakhalus Prime. This will be, at Cirrus One. As soon as Rigo's private docking bay gives them access to the station.
Hardly an auspicious prize. No offense to Admiral Mack, of course.
Gillie thought on that a moment. Maybe it's not only the station, or even Fifth Fleet, they want. Do some more checking for me. Not archives, but upcoming schedules. Mack mentioned something about a deadline for an admiralty inspection. He said he wanted me to be at the dedication ceremonies.
Your gold gown would be perfect for that.
Simon. Find me a guest list, both for the inspection and the dedication. It'll probably be security tagged, so be careful when you look at it.
A rude razzing noise sounded in her mind.
Simon.
I will be the epitome of meticulosity, My Lady. I will be the very definition of stealth. I will be-
"Stuff a sock in it, Simon." Gillie pushed herself to her feet and went back to her repairs. She almost hit her head on the console's edge again when her ship's comm trilled.
"Davré's Serendipity." She flicked off the splicer, tucked it in her utility belt.
"Lieutenant Tobias." The comm was still voice-only. Deliberately voice-only. She needed the bridge to stay in crystal state in order to effect her repairs.
"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
"You can, that is... My Lady Captain, requesting an audience, please."
An audience? She almost asked him if he were writing a play but didn't think the devout officer would appreciate her humor. Or lack of piety. "You'd like to speak to me privately, is that it?"
"If it's not too much trouble."
"It's not. When are you off duty?"
"Rarely. I'd like to come by now, if I may."
"I'll be on my ramp." She didn't want him on her ship. And not just because, as Mack had noted, Tobias had an unerring eye for detail.
She'd felt Mack's despair when he'd encountered her accidentally clinging to Tobias that day. It had been a totally erroneous assumption on his part, but that hadn't made it hurt him any less. And she never wanted to be the source of pain for Rynan Makarian.
She was, however, a source of wisdom. At least, that's what Tobias said, standing in stiff military attention before her. It was his way of kneeling without kneeling, she guessed.
"So you must see my dilemma. How can I be praying to you and receiving your answers through meditations, when you're not there," and he gestured upward with his chin. "But here."
"You received answers from me?" This Goddess stuff unnerved her.
"I... I thought I had. I assume prior to your physical arrival on station, I had."
Not unless Tobias was a lot older than he looked. Prior to her arrival on station, she'd been on Traakhalus Prime. Three hundred and forty some odd years ago.
"But mostly, that's the function of Magefather Rigo, during services," he continued. "He hears the prayer requests of the devout and answers as you instruct him to."
"I'd like to instruct him to stuff it where-" She caught herself, stopped. Anger and indignation had surged through her at Tobias's words. She pursed her lips, looked away for a moment. Took a deep breath.
"I've spoken to Magefather Rigo only once in my entire life. That was a few days ago. He was coming out of the admiral's office. I was going in. We bumped into each other. I think the entire content of our conversation was along the lines of 'I'm sorry' and 'That's okay.'"
"I had begun to suspect that, My Lady." Tobias seemed relieved, though not happy.
She thought she knew why. He liked Rigo's circumventing station security as little as Mack did. Tobias was the one who'd identified the Fav'lhir ship's energy signature. He understood exactly what was at stake.
She tried to understand what the devout lieutenant must be feeling. A lifelong belief, a faith, a trust, withering. This wasn't the role she wanted to perform. It was becoming harder and harder to live among the lies. And she'd be damned, literally, she thought wryly, if she'd support them.
Especially as those lies had put a Fav'lhir in a position of power on Cirrus.
"Are you here to unmask the magefather as a fraud?" Tobias asked.
Could she? She'd been so intent on Mack's problem with the uncontrolled docking bay she hadn't considered that angle. She nodded slowly, her mind working. Could she somehow set Rigo up to appear the fool? Disgrace himself? Would that be enough to keep the Fav'lhir from trying something large scale? Rigo she felt sure she could handle. A squadron or two of Fav warships were another matter. "It's something I'm considering."
"Please know that you can call on me for assistance."
His faith in her touched her heart. But pained it also. How would Fitch Tobias view her once she, herself, was revealed as a fraud? Goddesses didn't play billiards or drink beers with starfreighter crew. Everything in Tobias's deferential tone when he spoke to her underscored that. Everything in Mack's staunch defense of Lady Kiasidira, and his devout recounting of the Lady's Guidelines, told her that.
How would Mack and Tobias feel if they found out she was just Gillie?
How could she face their anger at her deception, her betrayal? How could she face losing them? Especially, losing Mack. She knew how highly he valued honesty.
You're not a fraud, Simon chastised her after Tobias had left, and Gillie sat in the captain's chair on the bridge, one leg draped casually over the armrest. You are a true Raheiran, and the Kiasidira.
"But I suck at answering prayer requests."
That only proves you're wiser than you think. If people actually received all that they foolishly asked for, the universe would be vastly more confused and unhappy than it already is.
"What do you think Rigo prays for?"
Probably to live past the completion of his mission, if he indeed has one. Melandans are not known for their loyalty to Impure operatives once their role is done.
"Are we so sure he's working for the Fav'lhir? I can tell you only that he has Melandan magicks in his essence. That might be the result of a parental indiscretion, not indicative of his political leanings." Which was true. She had no proof that Rigo was up to anything more heinous than his own aggrandizement.
I think it's a possibility we must strongly consider.
"Then why did those Fav'lhir ships fire on this station?"
A moment of thoughtful silence from Simon. A message? A warning? Or even, an error?
An error on the Fav's part would be welcome. Gillie still had no answers and only one fact: she wasn't capable of stopping the Fav'lhir alone, and she couldn't enlist the Khalaran's help without revealing who she was.
"Do you have those guest lists yet?" She frowned, her mind trying to sort all these problems and theories then place them in order.
They are security locked, and require a delicate touch. I should have something within the hour.
And a few hours, yet, before she'd see Mack. She swung her leg around, stood. "I'm going to go do a little poking around. Stay out of trouble, Simon."
Gillaine. There was a clear note of warning in his voice.
She ran her hands through her short hair, straightened her flight suit. "I want to take a look at Rigo's temple."
It's not his. It's yours.
She grinned. "Yeah. And maybe it's about time I put in an appearance."
Gillaine. Simon's voice stopped her at the rampway. Stay out of trouble.
* * *
Two hours before end of main shift meant Cirrus's corridors were populated by civilian stationers, not Fleet or CQPA personnel. Gillie threaded her way around clusters of plaid-skirted adolescent males ogling other clusters of adolescent females, whose long braids nearly covered their faces. She wondered how the boys knew who they were looking at, and how the girls saw where they were going.
Last she remembered, the trend with teenagers on Traakhalus involved bill-fronted caps, worn sideways, as if protecting one ear. And they'd all clomped around in boots laced with strange, curling shoelaces in the most fluorescent of colors.
What had she done at their age? Stowed away on a few freighters, visited a few spaceports where the only safe drink was beer in a bottle, and only if you opened the bottle yourself.
Simon probably would've preferred if she'd indulged in funny shoelaces or braiding her hair or collecting fringed scarves to wear tied around her waist. So would the priests and priestesses at Tarkir's Temple, who were forever piling penance on her when she returned from one of her jaunts.
Maybe that's why she felt a little uneasy about entering the temple now. She still remembered what it was like to sit on that cold stone floor for hours, repeating the Supplications, the Minor Incantations, the Major Blessings until her mind felt as numb as her ass.
The wide double entrance doors to the temple-her temple-were locked. She shoved her hands in her pockets and sauntered past the large window. The temple's interior was dimly lit. Rows of high-backed benches curved in a half-circle. Shadows clung to the paintings on the wall. She recognized the one of herself that had been behind Rigo in those repeated announcements. A small raised platform was at the far end, abutting the bulkhead and a large square panel attached to it.
The panel served as a frame for what looked like a crystal carving. A lightning bolt symbol slashing a crescent moon. But if it were crystal, real crystal, she would have felt it, even out here in the corridor.
She kept walking, found a side corridor. There had to be other entrances, or exits, for the temple. She'd worked on enough station designs to know that.
A single door marked "Emergency Only" was about three quarters of the way down the narrow corridor. She gauged it would open behind the large panel. She stopped, listened, sensed. People passed in the main corridor, parrots screeched. Through the bulkheading in front of her, all was quiet.
She lay her hands against the door, felt for the locking mechanism. Tripped it skillfully, slipped inside as the door opened.
She halted it midway, told it to close. The thin shaft of light blinked out. Muddy gray darkness enveloped her. Through the gloom she could make out the edges of the large panel rising like a wall in front of her, less than a foot from where she stood.
The cloying aroma of incense hit her immediately. She stifled a sneeze. She hated incense. It would be more appropriate if her temple held the pungent tang of beer.
She slipped around the panel, stood quietly as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. A lectern was in the middle of the raised platform, its compscreen dark. A small control panel to the right of the screen was dotted with three pinpoints of red.
Over her shoulder was the lightning and moon symbol. Plastiglass, not crystal. But something called to her. Something she hadn't felt before. Its song was thin and weak but familiar.
She opened her senses, probed cautiously. Whatever it was, it wasn't here. A back room. She felt the door before she saw it.
She padded quickly past the front row of benches, touched the door. It was locked. She tripped its mechanism as she had the other.
A storeroom. She was plunged into a thicker darkness when behind her, the door shut quickly. The scent of incense was stronger in here. Her eyes shifted to her Raheiran vision as the silent song grew louder. The outlines of a case appeared on the bottom shelf of a two-tiered-table. It was larger than the case Tobias had dropped when she'd startled him in Mack's office.
Whatever was inside was much, much more powerful than the remnants of her ship's shattered side.
She reached for the case when heavy footsteps thudded in the temple behind her. She dropped to her knees, probed.
Shit. Rigo. The footsteps came closer. Her heart pounded in double-time with them. There was only one door for this small storeroom, with only the table against the far wall and boxes of incense stacked all around. Nothing else. Nothing to conceal her. Nothing she could hide behind. If Rigo entered the storeroom and turned on the light, he'd see her.
Footsteps again. A loud cough. He was on the other side of the door.
She flattened herself against the wall under the palmpad. When the door opened, he'd look straight in. Not down. That might buy her a few seconds, though what she'd do with them, she had no idea.
She held her breath.
The door slid sideways. An idea surfaced. Risky. Rigo was partly Melandan. He'd sense her Raheiran essence the minute she unleashed it.
Maybe it was about time.
She grabbed the temple's lightning and crescent moon symbol with her mind, wrenched it from the panel. It crashed against the podium floor just as Rigo's fingers found the touchpad.
The storeroom filled with light. And all shadows, and safety, disappeared.