Chapter 27

A dozen strategies raced through Mack's mind, followed by another dozen counterstrategies. Yet in spite of all that activity, the loudest sound was Gillie's footsteps, hurrying to catch up to him. He'd told her to stay in Rand's office. Clearly, she hadn't obeyed.

"I have to go with you, Mack."

The corridors of Cirrus One had returned to their usual early evening crush after being eerily vacant during the opening of the shrine. People bustled about their business, totally unaware that Fav'lhir ships were within attack range. Totally unaware that a Fav'lhir agent and Grel Tel'ard sorcerer were on station.

Mack wasn't quite sure what the latter portended but he knew he was about to find out. "No, you don't," he answered without glancing at her. He didn't need to see the determination written on her face. It was clear in her tone. "Rand and I will handle this. It's routine."

"Then why," she persisted, as they sidestepped a worker guiding a small anti-grav cart, "are you going back to your office to get your laser pistol?"

This time he did slant her a glance. The ease with which she'd taken his destination and purpose from his mind startled him. Raheiran. Mageline. He still wasn't quite used to that. "Because."

"Same reason I have to go with you. Because."

"Gillaine." He hesitated at his office door, then palmed it open, motioning her inside. The lights, sensing a presence, flickered on.

"I don't have time to argue." He tapped in a code on his deskcomp, unlocking a lower drawer. "This is official business. You may be RSF, but you said it yourself-you're not official."

"And I was, back there with Faydra Trace?"

"Trace was already in custody." And had been searched for weapons. She was harmless. "What happens in Rand's offices stays there. I don't have to file an official report to explain your unofficial presence."

"I can take care of myself." Gillie planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. She wasn't listening to his words, he knew, but reading his emotions. And bucking against his desire to protect her.

He pulled a small laser pistol and holster from the drawer, then stripped off his jacket. He was still in his formal dress uniform, with a white shirt underneath. No time to change to something more utilitarian. No time to argue with Gillie. He checked the pistol, then shoved it back in the holster.

"You're not going to stop him with that," Gillie said as he clipped the holster to his belt.

He reached for his jacket. "Blass isn't stupid. He'll play innocent, deny our accusations, just like Trace did. He's not going to start doing magic tricks in front of the PH."

"Magic tricks." She let out a harsh breath. "Grel Tel'ard sorcerers don't do magic tricks. You threaten them and they start killing people."

"I don't intend to put him in that position until he's securely in Rand's lockup." He sealed the front of his jacket.

"It doesn't matter what you intend." Gillie didn't hide the frustration in her voice. "He'll know exactly why you're there."

Mack shoved the desk drawer closed. It clicked loudly as the lock cycled.

"He's mageline, Mack. Telepathic. Faydra Trace is missing. You walk in with Rand and Tobias, he's going to scan you immediately. He'll know what you intend to do, where you've placed security. You can't stop him."

"He won't have to pull my intentions from my mind. He'll be looking at Rand's best security team all around him. Eight laser pistols on full power can be quite convincing."

"You're not listening. He'll kill you."

"It's been tried before. That's part of my job description."

"And stopping a Grel Tel'ard is mine."

"Gillaine." Gods, he didn't want to argue with her. He traced the line of her jaw with one finger. The stubborn line of her jaw. The lavender in her eyes darkened, the color not dissimilar to the mist that had swirled over her skin from the crystal shard. She was Raheiran. Blass was a sorcerer. This was something out of his range of expertise and squarely part of hers, yet there were still the political games to consider. Blass's connections to the chancellor. Honora Trelmont's presence. If things went wrong, he'd not only have to explain an RSF's captain unofficial participation, but why HQ hadn't been informed RSF was involved. He felt torn between what had to be done, and the way he knew Fleet would demand things be handled.

He sighed. "Have you ever faced a Grel Tel'ard before?"

A corner of her mouth quirked slightly. "Few weeks ago. I destroyed one of their ships in Riftspace. That's how I ended up here."

She'd mentioned that. He'd assumed her appearance had been an accident. But then, he'd made a lot of assumptions about Gillaine Davré, most of them wrong. Something hovered on the edges of his mind-facts that fit, yet didn't. One of these days he'd ask her for answers, personal and political. The latter was the only thing he had time for now. "Does Blass know about this?" It could well explain the timing of the sorcerer's appearance, the Rim Gate Project notwithstanding.

"He has no idea I'm here, if that's what you're asking. Actually, the Fav don't know I made it through the Rift alive."

"You're sure?"

Something hard, cold flickered her eyes. "If the Fav thought I was here, they'd have sent more than just Blass."

Mageline. He remembered her admission of her skills to his team. He made a decision. He'd battle it out later with HQ, if he had to. "The shrine is a public place. While I can't officially have you accompany Rand and myself neither can I stop you from being there."

"The shrine's still open?"

"I don't like it either." Mack knew her concern was over hostages or innocents being injured. "We're trying to keep most people away. But I can't order the shrine closed without tipping our hand."

"Who else goes in with us?"

"Five of Rand's people. They know Blass will have no regard for innocents. He's labeled Violent-Hostile. It's part of the package." His commbadge trilled and he tapped it. "Makarian."

"Rand, sir. Three minutes."

"On our way."

* * *

The shrine was almost empty. But "almost" was enough to add an extra layer of concerns to the ones Mack already had. As the wide double doors slid closed behind his team, he automatically noted a family with two children sitting quietly in one of the upper rows, far to his left. He saw an elderly man, alone, below them, three rows from the podium, his head bowed. There was also a man in CQPA orange who stood below the suspended holograph of the Lady, seeming to study it. Across the way, two women were trotting up the aisle steps.

The old man stood shakily, ambled for the exit. One less to worry about. One less, plus Gillie. He hadn't seen her yet, but he knew she was in here, somewhere.

Rigo's office was along the back wall, a small door marked with the lightning and crescent moon symbol. The door was closed. But Rigo's office had the usual vidcams. Mack was sure the magefather was aware of their approach.

Mack loosened the seal on his jacket. Rand's and Tobias's laser pistols were in plain sight on their hips. The rest of Rand's team lingered behind, waiting for Mack's signal to approach.

Rigo's office door slid open when he and Rand reached the edge of the raised circular podium. The portly magefather thrust one arm into the air in greeting, then hurried toward them, meeting up with them as they stepped down the other side. "Admiral. Commander Rand. Lieutenant. How can I help you?"

"I need to speak to the Prime Hostess and Senator Halbert." Mack recited the agreedupon ploy to remove the PH and the senator safely, and without incident, from the scene. A coded transmit was waiting for them in Ops. Halbert's own security plus ones under Rand's command would escort them to a secure office instead.

"Oh?" Suspicion radiated from Rigo. "All this trouble. You could've sent a message."

"Standard security procedure," Mack answered blandly. "The Prime Hostess requires special handling."

Rigo blinked, seemed to accept that. "Of course." The office door slid open again. Blass emerged and headed in their direction with a confident stride.

"Problems, my friend?" Blass called out as he approached. He laid his hand on Rigo's shoulder.

"We need the Prime Hostess and the senator in Ops," Mack said before Rigo could reply. "Code-locked incoming transmit. We have an escort waiting." He looked at Rigo. "We'll return them to you here later, Magefather, if you like."

"That would be-"

Mack saw Blass's hand tighten on Rigo's shoulder.

"I'll escort them myself," Blass said.

"I'm sorry, Mister Blass. That's not possible."

"Of course it is."

Mack met Blass's gaze, intensity for intensity. "It's not."

"I'll get the Prime Hostess." Rand brushed past Rigo and Blass before they could stop her.

Blass's mouth thinned but he said nothing. Mack knew he'd judged the man correctly. As he'd told Gillie, Blass would stay in his role of a magnate in the Khalaran financial world and a playmate of politicians. Revealing himself as a Grel Tel'ard sorcerer would only get him killed. No, Mack knew Blass wouldn't reveal that aspect of himself until he'd taken control of Cirrus. Something Mack had no intention of letting him do.

Honora Trelmont followed Rand down the short aisle, looking slightly flustered. Halbert was a few feet behind them, his jacket over his arm. A flash of moonlight and starlight caught Mack's eye. Gillie, striding aimlessly past the first row of seats on the other side of the podium. Part of him was relieved to see her, but part of him wanted her far away from here, far away from Blass.

"I don't understand." The Prime Hostess frowned. "But if you say I need to."

"We have an escort waiting," Rand said.

"Or we can use my security." Halbert motioned to his officers standing along the far wall.

The Prime Hostess ignored the senator. "Rick? You're coming with us?"

Blass shot a hard look at Mack. "My presence is requested."

"Sorry." Mack's answer was quick, final. And far from contrite.

Honora Trelmont straightened. "Admiral Makarian. If I want Carrick Blass to accompany me, he will. Your permission is not required."

"With all due respect, Prime Hostess, it is. You're in a Fleet military facility. Mister Blass is a civilian and not permitted in my Ops." Not now. Not ever.

"We'll catch up with him later, Honora." Halbert touched her arm. "This might be the transmit from Derron we're waiting for."

"He needs to be there. He must be there."

Blass's mouth curved into a small smile.

But Halbert seemed slightly taken aback by the insistent, petulant tone. "Honora"

"Prime Hostess! I am the Prime Hostess and my orders will not be disobeyed. Not by you, Carlo, and not," she added, glaring at Mack, "by you. I can have you stripped of your rank."

"Then strip me of my rank, Prime Hostess," Mack replied calmly. "That will take weeks, months. And you'll have missed this transmit, possibly from the chancellor. Possibly granting sanctuary status to Cirrus One. That was, if I remember, your purpose in coming here?"

Honora Trelmont opened her mouth as if to speak, then stopped.

"Go listen to the message, my dear," Blass said. "I'm sure Admiral Makarian will have no objection to my meeting you in the corridor later."

"You...you will be there, Rick? When I come out?" The hard tone was gone from the Prime Hostess's voice.

"I'll be there."

"Prime Hostess?" Rand motioned for the exit.

Honora Trelmont stepped in front of Rand, Halbert by her side. She glanced back one more time at Blass. He nodded.

Mack listened as their footsteps faded to be replaced by louder ones. Rand's team, coming up behind him.

Blass's eyes narrowed. "If you'll excuse me, I have some business back at my ship." He moved as if to follow the Prime Hostess.

Mack thrust out one arm, barring his way. "Not yet."

Tobias stood in front, blocking him.

Blass glanced at Tobias then frowned at Mack. "Really, Admiral. I actually do have to check my messages. A colleague of mine seems to have forgotten an appointment. It's not as if I'm going to launch an assault on your operations center."

Mack didn't miss Blass's choice of words. Or the fact that he'd admitted Faydra Trace's absence. "We have a message from that colleague of yours. You'll come with us, now."

"Which colleague would that be?" Blass asked slowly. Deliberately. He stared at Mack.

"We'll discuss that in Commander Rand's office." Mack glanced over his shoulder as Rand's returning bootsteps sounded on the hard floor of the podium.

Blass shot a narrow-eyed glance at Rand. "Chief of security, isn't she? Are you thinking of charging me with some crime?"

Rigo suddenly sputtered to life. "You can't be serious, Admiral! Carrick Blass is, well, he's known the chancellor for years. He knows senators, the minister of trade. He's very influential." He waved his hand as if to shoo Mack away. "This is nonsense."

"Then perhaps the situation regarding this colleague of his is in error," Mack said smoothly. "But until he comes with us to the security office, we won't know for sure."

Rigo switched a glance from Mack to Blass then back to Mack again. "You're making a mistake."

Mack ignored him. "Mister Blass?"

"I've no time for your games," Blass answered. "Leave me alone or suffer the consequences."

"Is that a threat?" Rand asked tightly.

"That's a promise. Get out."

"You must leave," Rigo echoed. "This is a holy place."

Mack gave a small nod to Rand. She tapped her commbadge. "Khal-One. Clear the shrine."

Two Fleet security officers stepped out of the shadows, moved swiftly toward the few people scattered in the seats. Their voices echoed in the tense silence. "Security emergency. Go to the exit now."

"You've no right to do this!" Rigo's face reddened.

"What kind of security emergency?" A woman's hard nasal voice cut short Rigo's harangue.

Johnna Hebbs, out of uniform, strode across the podium toward them, the stocky form of Officer Leyden hurrying behind. With a sinking feeling, Mack recognized Hebbs as one of the women who'd been climbing to a higher row of seats earlier. She was the last person he needed or wanted to see right now. "What's going on, Mack? Why wasn't I informed?"

"This is Fleet business. Go with the Leyden, now." Mack's voice was harsh.

"Stationmaster Hebbs." Blass's voice was cool. "You seem upset. In fact, you don't look well at all."

Hebbs gasped for breath, her eyes wide. Her hand clasped her throat. She stumbled forward, blood trailing from the side of her mouth. Leyden lunged for her just as she collapsed onto the podium floor.

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