Chapter 16
Gillie tabbed off ship's comm and closed her eyes. She let the warmth in Mack's voice wash over her and indulged herself in the remembered sensations of his kisses, the gentle yet insistent touch of his hands. Her body heated at the memory, tingled.
It'd been a long time since a man she cared about had made love to her. It felt almost as long as those three hundred and forty-two years she'd traversed, yet really not lived. There'd been Thaniel, an older, more serious student when she was at the university. And Kiril-charming, sexy Kiril. They'd hated basic training. Loved each other. For a little while.
And then there'd been Ethan. Captain Ethan Tarrant, Khalaran Tracer Pilot. They'd been friends, close friends. If she hadn't had been the Kiasidira, she'd always felt they might have been more.
But neither Than nor Kir nor even Ethan could make her heart race the way Mack did. None occupied her thoughts the way Mack did. And none, she knew and had always known, had really loved her, just Gillie. She was a Kiasidira; even to her own people, mageline, she was an exotic enticement.
It was one of the reasons she'd never regretted leaving Raheiran space and why she'd been committed to staying with the Khalar. It was the only chance she'd ever have to be just Gillie. She'd come very close to accomplishing that with her friendship with Ethan.
It feels like you've decided to stay on Cirrus.
Her euphoric expression faded into a frown. "There are still so many unanswered questions. Issues. And not just Rigo and the Fav'lhir."
Your legendary ancestor, Rylan, once told Lady Khamsin, "Trust your heart. It's wiser than you think."
"Maybe hers wasn't in danger of being broken."
You think Mack would do that to you?
"I think he might to the Kiasidira." It had taken her six years, but she'd almost managed to be just Gillie to the Khalar. Then a Fav'lhir crystal ship had exploded and everything she'd worked so hard for had unraveled. The Kiasidira hadn't been just Gillie for three hundred and forty years. She was someone else, someone Tobias prayed to, someone Mack worshipped. Someone whose guidelines he'd memorized, quoted.
If Mack were to ever find out who she was...She didn't know what frightened her more: that he'd hate her for lying to him, or that he would revere her, worship her and never touch her again.
Her chair squeaked softly as she swiveled away from the comm console and went back to the emotionally safer topic of her research.
Magefather Rigo had opened the Kiasidiran temple on Cirrus six months before Mack and his people arrived. But Fleet's intention to utilize part of the station as Fifth's HQ had been announced a few months before that. It could be coincidence. Or it could be a piece of very nice planning on Rigo's, and possibly the Fav'lhir's, part.
Gillie could find no substantive proof that Rigo was involved with the Fav, not that she expected to. It wasn't the sort of thing someone would include on their resume.
But she could see why Rigo, and Cirrus Station, would be important to the Fav'lhir.
The Cirrus Quadrant was the last to be developed. Long ignored by the Confederation, its strongest attribute now was that it wasn't overly populated. It was the perfect and logical site for the next step the Confederation was planning in its continual efforts to improve its territory. The construction of a major jumpgate directly to Traakhalus Prime, and all the worlds, colonies, stations and industrial rafts in that sector.
Fifth Fleet was to be the guardian of that gate linking the center of Khalaran space with the rim sectors. Rim sectors that held tremendous potential for trade, mining and manufacturing.
That was why Mack had been so insistent in the design and set up of Ops. The gate would be controlled through Fleet's facility on Cirrus. What had arrived on that supply ship, Gillie learned from studying the manifests, were components and a technology the Fav would probably love to have and control.
Technology and components they could have, through surreptitious access to Cirrus via the Shrine of Communion's docking bays. Those bays would offer access just at the time Ops should be fully functioning, all those sensitive systems coming on line.
And a handful of high-placed people who would make excellent hostages would be on station.
Gillie absentmindedly drummed her fingers against her mouth. The only thing in her favor was time. Three weeks yet. She remembered Simon's wise warning when she'd first realized she'd been dragged three hundred and forty years into the future: Impatience invariably leads to sloppy work.
She'd almost made a few serious mistakes. She couldn't afford mistakes now, if she were facing the Fav'lhir. Again.
Plus, she knew this was still conjecture. Rigo's push for the shrine, his puffed up pronouncements about being the Lady's consort could be nothing more than an annoying ego, out of control.
Yet it was all too coincidental. She hated coincidence. If that wasn't already one of her Holy Guidelines, she'd have to remember to make it one.
She shoved herself out of her chair. It was time to work on her Holy Rumors.
The Fifth Quarter was a busy place for lunch. She and Petrina were lucky to find two stools at the bar. Soup smelled wonderful as it went by on a droid server's tray. Gillie ordered a bowl, half-listened to Petrina's chatter about work. One of the station's larger grids had collapsed, causing a lot of shouting and scurrying around the station. But it hadn't been an environmental grid, which was Petrina's assignment, so she shrugged off Gillie's concerned questions.
"You still breathing? So am I. That's all we need to know."
Gillie turned her attention to the chatter around her. She wasn't going to have to start those rumors after all. They were already up and running on rather substantial legs.
"Lissy's upset, doesn't believe it, but I'm not sure," Petrina said when the conversation turned to the rumor. "The magefather says it's another positive sign from the Lady."
"Seems to me a positive sign would be her enhancing the Sacred Symbols, not destroying them." Gillie tried to add a note of bored disinterest in her voice.
"That's what other people are saying. Nothing like this has happened before. We'll see what goes on at the healing service this afternoon."
"Healing service?" Gillie knew she should probably pay more attention to the news-vids.
"To prove he's still the Lady's consort. A free service. Only fifteen minutes, of course, but free. Should be quite a crowd, even at that time of the day."
Gillie climbed the stairs up to the first atrium level after her lunch with Petrina. She leaned on the railing and looked up. Fourteen levels between here and the top, though not the top of the station. Just the top of the atrium. The location of the officers' club, where Mack had told her he loved her.
And the location of the Observation Area, where Rigo was to hold his short, free-of-charge healing service in two hours.
She understood his thinking completely. It would be midshift, most people would be at work. Therefore any healing he did-if he could actually do any-wouldn't be strained by a crowd of hundreds who might not let him leave when the allotted fifteen minutes expired. Because the service was, after all, free. And as Gillie had learned, here on Cirrus, mages charged for healing.
Blasphemy. Sheer unadulterated blasphemy. A Raheiran never charged.
So now Rigo was trying to act more Raheiran. More generous. At a time when the least amount of people could show up. In a location as far away from the bulk of Cirrus's population as he could get. Just so he could prove he still held Lady Kiasidira's favor.
Unfortunately for him, the Kiasidira had other plans.
About thirty-five people were already in line when Gillie exited the lifts on Upper 9. A few, from their dress, were merchants or administrators. But the rest clearly belonged downlevel, in the Zone.
Most were people she hadn't seen before. She wished she had.
Two were in anti-grav chairs, their bodies frail, their limbs twisted. Another, an elderly woman with short-cropped white hair, knelt on the floor, her hands trembling noticeably as she prayed. Her jacket was threadbare; the orange jumpsuit underneath stained and faded. Gillie doubted she worked for CQPA. The jumpsuit was probably some tech's castoff.
They were the people that were beyond hope of even the Khalaran medical system. Or more likely, beyond being able to pay for what that system could provide.
A small thin young boy leaned against his father's leg. His eyes were shadowed, sunken. She could feel pain lancing through him, but he never grimaced, never whimpered.
Her heart ached. She squatted down beside him. "Hey, chavo." She used the Raheiran slang term for beloved boy.
"Blessing, Miselle." His voice was weak.
She glanced up at his father. He had on the plain gray jumpsuit of a freighter maintenance tech, but no ship's patch on the sleeve or pocket. He was probably out of work and, judging from the tiredness apparent in his gaze and his stance, he had been for some time. He had the same deep russet colored hair as the boy, but his was thick and curly. The child's was sparse.
He stroked his son's head. "This gives us hope. We couldn't afford a life blessing before."
Couldn't afford a life blessing for a child in intense pain. Anger churned inside Gillie. For once she hoped Rigo did have some power. Even a Melandan could heal.
But the child needed more than a life blessing. She studied his essence, saw the rapid disintegration. Yet other signs told her it wasn't his time to pass on.
You wanted to prove the magefather a sham, Simon reminded her.
Sometimes what I want has to be put aside for what needs to be done.
She straightened, briefly touched the child's cheek. "He'll be better soon. Have faith."
She went to the back of the line.
Others came. She gave up her space, let them step in front of her. "Waiting for a friend," she explained. "Your need is greater."
It was. The small area cordoned off by station security had swelled to capacity by the time Rigo and his attendants arrived, followed by a young man and a young woman, both in brown robes. Rigo wore the deep gold symbolizing a Raheiran mage of the Primary Order. A Ki'sidron. Or a Kiasidira.
Blasphemy!
Rigo nodded to his assistants. The young woman, her long hair in deep honey-colored braids, held open the small box. Rigo took out the wardstones. Vedri. Ladri. Nevri. Placed them a three points. The Khal. The stone of the powerful God Tarkir. Placed that at the high point. He stepped into the diamond shaped area.
Gillie touched the wardstones lightly with her mind. Very low grade crystal, their energy a thin trill. There were some spellforms on them, enough so that the supplicant kneeling before Rigo would feel a slight amout of relief. But that would fade.
And he or she would seek out Rigo again. Pay a fee this time.
The two assistants raised their voices in soft prayer. Gillie didn't bother listening. The words were meaningless, unimportant. She focused on the people coming, one after another, into the diamond shape made by the stones.
Some had no real need to be there. She lay a light blessing on them, sought the next. The more needy.
One woman in the AG chair was weeks from her passing. As Kiasidira, it was rarely her duty to interfere with that. We are all here for a time, for a purpose, and then we move on. Every Tridivinian knew that, believed that. Gillie lived that.
But the Kiasidira could make the passing a joyful one. To make the transit as pain free as possible, if there were to be pain. To gentle the essence, guide it to its next level.
That she could do. That she did.
Rigo, she sensed immediately, couldn't. But he would, if she weren't careful, sense her. A few times he almost did. She had to pull back, release her fingers from around the small runestones she always carried. She touched the Vedri, the Nevri as needed. Drew protection from the small chip of the Khal.
She worked quietly, cautiously and slipped out of the observation area when there were still a few supplicants left. She didn't want to chance Rigo remembering their encounter in Mack's office.
The lifts had malfunctioned again. People trudged down the stairs, grumbling. The russet-haired man had his son in his arms, waiting for the crowd to thin.
"He's feeling better, but I don't want to strain him." The man smiled when he saw her. "Praise the Lady!"
She closed her fingers around the boy's brittle wrist. Touched his essence. She needed time with this one. But couldn't do a healing here without drawing attention to herself. And questions.
"You in school, chavo?"
"Sometimes," the boy said.
"What's your favorite subject?"
A small light sparked in his eyes. "Music!"
"He loves the flute," his father said. "On his better days, he can use the one in class."
She knew that. Simon, I'm going to need a flute.
I'll have one finished when you return.
She smiled at the boy. "You know, I have this flute someone gave me years ago. I just can't seem to learn how to play it. If I can remember where I put it on my ship, would you like it?"
"Miselle." The father was suddenly embarrassed. "There's no need for you to do this."
She raised her gaze to his. "Of course there is. A perfectly good flute should never go to waste. I'm abysmal with it."
The father swallowed hard.
"I'll bring it by later," she said, before he could object further. "Where do you live, chavo?"
"D-down Ten." The boy stuttered out his level then, after a nod from his father, his apartment number in his uncontained excitement.
"An hour or so?"
The father's smile was tremulous. "That would be wonderful, Miselle. Thank you."
She patted the boy's hand, had taken a few steps away when the boy's high-pitched voice called out after her. "Miselle, may I ask your name?"
"Gillie," she said with a wink. "Just Gillie."
"Many thanks and blessings, just Gillie!"
She chuckled, turned again, bumped into Fitch Tobias.
"Sorry, My Lady! Captain Gillie Davré," he added quickly, his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
"If you came for the healing service, it's ended."
"I was concerned for Izaak." He pointed behind her.
Gillie glanced back. The young boy waved shyly at her from over his father's shoulders as they made their way slowly down the stairs. "Blessing to you, too, Mister Toby!"
Mister Toby? Fitch must know the child, Izaak. Or Izaak's parents.
"Will he be all right?" Tobias asked when she turned back to him.
She nodded. "He and I are going to have a little talk about music later. He plays the flute. I have one, and a few lifestones, to share with him. He'll be fine."
"My Lady, your blessings know no bounds." Tobias suddenly grabbed her hand, kissed her fingers.
She backed away. "Don't, please!" Her voice was soft but firm.
Footsteps stopped behind her. She saw Tobias's eyes widen in alarm, and knew immediately who was there.
"You seem to have an interesting effect on my officers, Gillaine."
She spun around. "Mack-"
"Admiral, sir! I was just on my way up to maintenance."
"Then carry on, Lieutenant."
Tobias looked stricken. He managed a tense nod before stiffly hurrying away.
"Mack," Gillie said again, but something in his eyes stopped her words. Something in the way he stood, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders on a downward slant.
"We've had some datagrid problems. I've been running all over the station the past few hours. Things just calmed down."
Petrina's word echoed in her mind. And Tobias had said he was on his way to maintenance. "Tough day?"
"I thought you might be here. I hoped you were keeping your promise to me to stay out of trouble." A note of dismay was apparent even under the calm, controlled tone of his voice. Too controlled. Gillie's chest tightened. "This just wasn't the kind of trouble I was expecting to find."