Face twitching and contorting, he stared at the stars, hunched and trembling, mumbling, “... a time of peace. Why do ships have to travel armed? Why are people dying? Ships dying?”
Carefully, she called, “Captain Carrasco?”
He turned, obviously surprised that she could have come so close. The panic and pain in his face unnerved her. A quiver tugged at the corner of his mouth, his skin sallow around fear-fevered eyes.
“Constance, isn’t it?”
“It is.” She appraised him as he pulled himself together—a paste work of resolve. “Are . . . you all right?”
He stiffened the sag in his spine. “Yes, fine. Just lost in thought. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to the peace of the stars. I was just on my way to—”
“Captain? I ...” And we’ve bet everything on him? Kraal himself recommended against Carrasco. Only Father’s obstinate insistence brought him here. Damn it,
he’s a mess! A psychological basket case! Kraal, you were right. If only I’d known, perhaps I could have done something, diluted Father’s resolve. Connie bit her lip. If worse came to worst, the command would devolve on her shoulders: Kraal’s bargain for trust. Best learn the terrain now, test the waters before she was swimming for her life—and everything else.
“Wait. If you have a moment to spare.” She raised an eyebrow, the gesture almost challenging.
He stopped short, off balance. “Yes?”
“I just thought perhaps we should talk, considering the circumstances.” Damn it, one wrong word and he could crater on me, fall into a whimpering pile. Christ, I’ve seen wounded kittens with more spirit. And he’s the hero of Arpeggio? The savior of Moriah, Sword, and Gage? This is the man Happy Anderson dotes on?
“Very well.” For a moment, their eyes met. The depth, the vulnerability communicated in that one moment left her undone, wavering in her resolve.
“It’s ... I guess you’d say, an unusual situation.”
Carrasco nodded, a warmth in his hesitant smile. “Would you like to speak in private or here?”
She considered. “Private might be better. No telling who might wander by.” Like Lietov ... or Jordan.
“My cabin?”
“That would be fine.”
She followed silently, sneaking glances at his features as they walked through the corridors, past a security hatch. He stopped before an inset hatch. “Here’s home. Don’t expect too much.”
He might have been a different man. He wore an expression of wry humor. Where his eyes had seemed pained and vulnerable, now they calculated and studied. A strength, well-grounded in the security of command, radiated from him. He palmed the lock plate and waved her into a neat room, half office with comm monitors displaying ship’s stats. Report files lay in stacks on the desk, a monitor displaying a series of figures in green.
Neat, orderly, just what you’d expect of a competent captain’s room. And he had changed during that walk from the blister. Here, he looked at ease, scrutinizing her, a thousand questions prickling under his controlled expression.
Uneasily, Connie stared at him. Who are you, Carrasco? The broken man I saw back there? Is this just a false front? My God, he isn’t schizophrenic, is he?
He nodded at the holos, explaining, “I can keep an eye on everything from here. The first monitor is the reactor. The figures you see on the screen—”
“—indicate the stability of the stasis around the antimatter and the rate at which it’s being fed into the magno-gravitic bottle where the annihilation is turned into reaction mass for thrust.”
He laughed softly. “I guess I deserved that.”
“IVe captained my own vessels, Captain Carrasco. I don’t always advertise that fact. It tends to intimidate men. How about you?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “As Archon’s daughter, I suppose you’ve spent a great deal of time around ships. Please, sit down.” He settled in a conforming chair, leaning back and pulling up one knee. Head cocked, he watched her as she took a seat.
“Tell me, that day off Arpeggio, were you shooting at me, too?”
“I was there. You reacted before I could close and hole your comm center.” She stared back, meeting the hostility in his eyes, expression guarded. “It makes matters easier now that you know.”
“Why?” He leaned forward, a hard man demanding answers. Passion burned, frightening in its intensity. Unconsciously, Connie tensed, ready to strike.
“My mother was held hostage on the planet. The orders came from Alhar that we were to take your ship. Alhar is an old House on Arpeggio. They would rather have captured your ship themselves—only their fleet was en route from Sirius at the time. We’d been hired as a backup cadre. House livery, if you will, while their strength was employed elsewhere as political leverage.” She hesitated. “We had no choice in the matter. As it was ... my ...” She stared blankly at the wall, unable to finish. Unable to do anything else, she sipped the last of her scotch.
He leaned back, eyes closed, and sighed. “And now? You mean to take this ship from me, too?”
She opened her mouth to speak, and stopped, trying to put it all in perspective. “Star shine, I didn’t know it would be this difficult.”
“You want to explain that? And while you’re at it, what’s this mission about? Ferrying diplomats to Star’s Rest? Uh-huh, and if I believe that, you’ve got a great deal on toron by the ton, huh?”
She bit her lip. “I think, Captain, that I’ll leave the explanations to my father. No, don’t point your finger at me like that. For now, I’ll simply tell you that I don’t have any designs on your ship.” She chuckled softly, enjoying the moment, tapping her empty glass with a fingernail. “And if we live long enough, Captain, you’ll see why.”
The skeptical frown pleased her despite the confusion he’d caused her. This steely inquisitor couldn’t be the same human wreckage she’d seen in the observation blister—only she knew better. Time to push.
“Captain Carrasco,”—she steepled her fingers—“ in the event I could grant you the wish of ultimate power, what would you do with it?”
A handsome man, she decided as those hard brown eyes tried to bore their way into her very brain.
“Ultimate power? I’d bring back Gage, and Sword, and Moriah, and Mbazi, and Gwen Hanson, and Fil Cerratanos, and Maybry Andaki and all the rest of them.”
She nodded. “And if it cost your soul?”
His eyes narrowed slightly and he fingered his chin. “So be it. My soul for Mbazi’s or Cerratanos‘? I’d pay that.”
She stopped short, mulling that over. “All right, let’s say the power isn’t so ultimate you can raise the dead, but you can do anything—and I mean anything—with the universe as it is today. You can pay back anyone who hurt you, rearrange planets, win wars at your whim, see the guts of an atom, or an overview of the universe. Literally, the power of life and death, the power to change anything that exists . . . it’s all at your fingertips—and no one can take it from you. In essence, you take the place of God. What do you do?”
“Why the game?”
“What if it isn’t a game?”
His gentle laughter surprised her. “Can I conjure gold out of nothing? That’s about as magical as any fairy tale.”
“If you want.” She stretched her legs out before her, setting the glass to one side and lacing her fingers across her belly as she waited.
Carrasco grunted, eyes losing focus. “To be honest, I can’t answer your question right now. Given ultimate power, I’d restore those I lost as a result of injustice, or my own poor decisions. Otherwise, I’d have to consider all the ramifications. Learn the boundaries of this power that’s ultimate but can’t raise the dead.”
“But you’d take it?”
He shrugged, hands spread. “Nothing comes free. What’s this cost me?”
“Your soul. Humanity. Everything . . . nothing. You tell me.”
“It’s your game.”
She smiled. “Is it?”
r /> Carrasco’s frown deepened. “Are we getting anywhere with this?”
“Farther than you know, Captain.”
A light flashed on the comm.
“Go ahead, ship.” Carrasco’s eyes never left hers.
“You are scheduled to eat with the diplomats in five minutes, Captain,” Boaz intoned.
“Thank you, ship.” He paused, studying Connie through narrowed eyes, expression stoic. “I’ll consider your game. In the remaining minutes, what can you tell me about this trip? Your father hints that a saboteur might be aboard. Do you have any thoughts concerning that?”
Clever, he’d changed the subject, thrown the ball into her court. “No, I do not. In fact, I believe I’d better run. I have to meet my father for dinner.” She smiled. “If I’m not mistaken, we’re even eating at your table.”
“Won’t talk, I take it?” Carrasco stood. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I escorted you?”
“Not at all.” She picked up her glass and walked out while he terminated some of the comm programs. In the corridor, she said, “Tell me. When I first saw you in the observation blister, you looked terrible.”
He stiffened, leading the way down the corridor. “We all have our own devils to deal with, Deputy Speaker. I suppose if I pried deeply enough, I’d find yours, too.”
She walked the rest of the way in silence, puzzling over the two faces of Solomon Carrasco she’d seen, worried about the first one, broken and reeling, muttering to himself of dying ships—terrified of the second who wouldn’t play her game. A cool whisper of premonition drifted in the back of her mind.
CHAPTER IX
A sea of noise washed from the dining room at the end of the lounge. Men and women in gay colors stood in knots, gesturing and laughing as they talked animatedly with each other, reaching for drinks while heads bobbed earnestly.
Sol stopped, scanning the faces, trying to fix them in his mind.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Connie’s voice brought instant quiet. “May I present Solomon Carrasco, Captain of the Brotherhood ship Boat, and our kind host for this journey!”
A sudden wave of applause greeted Sol as Constance led him into the room. He smiled and shook hands and was told a whole series of names and planets and titles, familiar from the list he’d seen earlier but still somewhat overwhelming.
Archon broke off his discussions with Wan Yang Dow. Chouhoutien’s Representative, a thin waspish man, bowed politely. Sol met the Speaker’s eyes, so familiar now. This man had killed his Sword . . . and so many of his crew ... his friends. Revulsion mixed with curiosity.
The Speaker directed him to the head of the center table, resplendent with white linen cloths. Silver candelabras with inefficient wax candles and bejeweled eating utensils graced the tables in an almost barbaric display. Two of Gaitano’s hands waited to serve, amused grins on their faces though they stood stiffly at attention. The diners took their places at the tables and turned their eyes to Sol. All conversation ceased.
Constance had taken the seat to his left while Archon had gone to his right. How in hell was he supposed to make small talk with the man who gutted Sword?
An ornate silver bell and striker sat beside Sol’s plate, tools of formality he’d never had occasion to use. He lifted the bell and tinkled it with a resultant crystal ringing. Men and women promptly seated themselves amidst renewed chatter while Gaitano’s “waiters” rushed forward in an organized advance worthy of Patrol marines.
“Speaker Archon? Several things have come up which need to be discussed. I suggest you and I have a talk as soon as the meal—”
“Oh, Captain?” A sickly sweet voice called from down the table. Irritated, Sol looked up, meeting the eyes of an attractive blonde. Athletic looking, she leaned forward anxiously. Her skin glowed with the flush of vigorous good health. He placed her in her late twenties— though a man couldn’t know anymore unless he looked at a birth certificate. She wore the featureless gray pullover common to Mormon women. A hint of cunning power hid behind those blue eyes.
“Elvina Young, isn’t it?” Sol matched her face with a name. According to the stats he’d reviewed, she’d recently married Joseph, the Mormon representative from Zion. Her husband sat next to her, slightly abashed, a washed-out looking fellow, tall, whip-thin with that apparent lack of personality common to religious fanatics of any persuasion. At the moment, he was tugging at an earlobe while he expounded on something to Stokovski, his other bony fist rapping the tabletop.
“Yes,” she beamed at him. “How long will it take us in space? You see, I really must be in touch with the Temple. Oh, you have no idea how horrible it is not to be caught up on the news. Why Bishops and Deacons are constantly coming and going. You know—”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sol told her, fighting to paste the appropriate grin on his face. “You know, we have communications equipment aboard. So long as time dilation doesn’t—”
“So I can call? Oh, Captain, I’m so relieved, why, to be cut off out here away from all civilized—”
“We’ll do our best.” Sol gave her a smile like ice. Wait until they neared light speed. He hoped her Zionist friends had more patience than Elvina, relativity being what it was.
“I believe communications will be essential.” Medea—the Vice Consul of Earth—sat across from the Youngs. Her petite body belied her power in the Terran government. Lustrous black hair accented an olive complexion and large, doelike eyes. She ate with practiced ease, hardly moving her mouth as she chewed, not a hair out of place. Beside her, her husband Texahi sat, bluff and affable, obviously enjoying himself, eyes straying surreptitiously to Connie’s full breasts.
“Given the extraordinary nature of this expedition, communications with our governments will be imperative.” Medea’s lips bent in an ironic smile. “You have no idea how much that fact puts my mind at rest.”
Boaz extends her services to you, Madam Vice Consul.“ She seemed so ... vulnerable. Could she really be as terrible as everyone said?
George Stokovski represented the actual body of the Confederacy and, along with several others, would report to the whole assembly at the conclusion of the meetings—or so Sol guessed. He and his wife, Ashara, were tall thin people and Sol could see the trouble they had with gravity despite the local distortion Boaz projected around them. Stations rarely maintained more than 0.5
gravities, with most dropping down to 0.2—just enough to keep the plants, stock animals, and dirt on the plating. The phenotype such environments produced barely managed the strain of being off their artificial worlds.
The long-limbed, sun-tanned brunette at the end of the table Sol remembered as Dee, the delegate from Range. Her husband, Arness owned a large ranch there. His numerous contracts for prime meat had led him to a fortune—marketing lean meats over the fat marbled kind grown in zero g pens on stations, or cloned in commercial vats. Literal fortunes were paid for gourmet meats off real animals. Arness had reaped the rewards. Since his retirement, he followed wherever Dee’s duties took her. They wore conservative styles and earthy colors and their speech had that easy flowing sound so common to herders on the huge open world of grass and moss.
Across from Dee and Arness, sat Paul and Mary Ben Geller who held a diplomatic post from New Israel. The Israeli sun had burned them brown, leaving their features dark under kinky black hair, Mary looked around with flashing eyes and a quick smile. Paul showed signs of age, some gray creeping in along the temples. His movements, however, carried the fluid grace of a man in shape; his bearing marked him as having been military at some time. As they ate, Sol noticed that Ben Geller never stopped scanning—but he slowed significantly every time he spotted Norik Ngoro’s tall form on the other side of the room.
“Captain? Oh, Captain?” Elvina’s whiny voice broke Sol’s concentration. “This is a new ship, I hear. Is ... is it safe? You know how new things are. What if it breaks down out here?”
Sol bit his lip, attempting to be gracious. Joseph You
ng seemed to ignore her, continuing his diatribe with Stokovski.
“I assure you, Boat will do just fine. She’s the latest of our designs. Every improvement you could imagine has been incorporated.”
“Well. . . could you tell me more? Like these shields? What if they go while we’re jumping lights?”
“We’d pop back into normal space, ma’am. The shields build what’s called a stasis around the ship, bend space-time. Without them, we’re subject to the physical regulations of light speed.”
“But doesn’t that take a lot of power, Captain? Just how much do your shields put out?”
Sol paused, considering, aware that Archon and Connie hung on each word. “I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s security information. Suffice it to say, the ship will get us to our destination and back. Without fail. I promise.”
Her eyes held his for a brief instant of cerulean challenge before they went blank again. “But it could break-so what if it does?”
“It won’t!” Suddenly everyone at the table was looking at Sol.
Elvina Young settled back in her seat. “Why, if you use that tone with it, it won’t dare, will it?” Her eyes flashed defiantly, angrily, before dropping. Perhaps no one had ever chastised her that way? Sol turned to his soup, guts roiling, the weighty presence of Archon eating at his concentration.
As small talk picked up, Texahi’s preoccupation with Constance provided no little amusement. Sol found his own interest piqued. Only she’d surprised him in the observation blister. No wonder that reserve awoke in her each time she looked at him. What in hell could she think?
And he had no proof she wasn’t an enemy, despite her story about the Arpeggian incident. If only she didn’t keep intruding on his thoughts. Thinking about it, he couldn’t shake the memory of the way she walked, the sway of her hips, the cool poise of her body, the way her high breasts pressed at the fabric. He hadn’t reacted to a woman in years. Now, he couldn’t keep her serious blue eyes, or the light glinting fire in her hair out of his mind.
Texahi, on the point of drooling, finally drew Medea’s attention. The deep poollike eyes flicked between Texahi and Constance, the Vice Consul’s face stiffening. Texahi jumped, as if from a hidden kick. The man swallowed, face turning ashen despite his dark features. For a single brief instant, Medea’s expression hardened, then the evil promise vanished.