Demosthenes, Alkeides System
The bridge on Demosthenes was three times larger than the stark white ovoid on the Alyard and just as sterile, hard and functional. As no one used the bridge, no one had bothered to change anything there. Generally, the big room was empty.
Sang also knew there were no printers or assemblers in there, which seemed to be an odd oversight in a race who liked their creature comforts, their food and drink as much as Karassians did.
For that reason and because he had not seen Khalil anywhere on Demos for more than two days, Sang selected a favorite meal from Khalil’s request logs, printed it and took it to the bridge, along with a carafe of coffee, a cushion and a blanket in a bag.
Khalil was still there. Sang was relieved when he spotted the dark-haired man behind the navigation console and was startled by the relief.
Khalil looked as tired as Sang had expected him to be. There were dark marks under his eyes, his hair was ruffled, his tunic rumpled and his movements slow with exhaustion.
There was only one chair behind the console, which Khalil was slumped in. Sang stood on the other side and put the food on the console, over the top of the screen, hiding the data. He dropped the carafe next to it, then pulled the coffee mug out of the bag that held the blanket and cushion.
Khalil smiled. It was a weak expression. “I’m that pathetic, am I?”
“Driven,” Sang corrected. He nudged the bowl of steaming stew closer. “Eat. Tell me how far you’ve got.”
“How is she?” Khalil asked.
“As driven as you.”
“Is the prototype made, yet?”
“They’re designing the physical dimensions now. The internals are all finalized.” Sang tapped the bowl.
Khalil picked it up and winced as the heat burned his fingers. He let it drop again, picked up the spoon instead and bent over it to eat a mouthful. The taste triggered him into scooping another three mouthfuls in quick succession. He chewed and swallowed, then sat back with a sigh.
“Don’t stop,” Sang told him, pouring the coffee.
“I have to breath, sometime,” Khalil pointed out. He picked up the mug. “I hadn’t realized how…” He drank, not finishing the sentence.
Sang waited, feeling no impatience. He glanced at the screen, reading it upside down. Then, when the little he could see under the bowl and plate caught his attention, he plugged directly into the AI’s interface and read the screen in his mind.
“Who is Ferid?” he asked, scanning back through Khalil’s progress.
“A Karassian.” Khalil took another mouthful of stew. “Biocomp enhanced. Maybe military. I don’t know that yet. His ship—the one he was using then—was parked on Pushyan, two years ago.”
“Suggestive, but not conclusive.”
“He was on Antini, a few months later.”
“Lots of people go there.”
“Including Reynard and Gaubert Cardenas, at the exact same time this Ferid was there.”
Sang stood up from his bend over the navigation console. “That is one coincidence too many. Are there any others?”
“I back tracked from Antini. He was on Xindar and Angyl—both free states.” Khalil met Sang’s gaze. “Both locations where people connected to Ben Arany disappeared.”
Sang laid it out in his mind. “First, Pushyan, where the girl was. She was naked when she died. She killed herself in a way that suggests she was using whatever was to hand. Torture?”
“To make her tell him where Ben was based, most likely,” Khalil said.
“She killed herself to avoid telling him anything.” Sang drew in a heavy breath. “For a fifteen-year-old, that’s remarkable.”
“Ben knew how to find the best people.”
“Clearly. This Ferid moved on to two more people connected to your brother, who might be able to tell him where Benjamin was located, where he came to land and could be pinned down. The last was the successful interrogation.”
“He was on Angyl around the time Marcel Kopitar and his wife disappeared. Marcel was Ben’s medic.” Khalil’s mouth turned down.
“The medic’s wife,” Sang said slowly. “Leverage?”
“It’s a good bet. I knew Marcel. He was an asshole. On the other hand, he was completely loyal. He was also besotted with his wife.” Khalil sighed. “That’s not all.”
Sang raised his brow.
“While Ferid was on Antini, so was another Karassian we know. Woodrow.”
“From Ledan,” Sang finished, remembering the little man’s taunting of Bellona, his attempt to coax her to come back and work as Xenia for him. “A prominent Karassian, a biocomp assassin, plus Bellona’s father and uncle, all in the same place. Reynard swore he had nothing to do with Shavistran.”
“Gaubert said he did it,” Khalil said. “On behalf of the clans and the family. For peace, he said.” Khalil grimaced again. “If he was on Antini with Woodrow, that’s what Woodrow would have told him—where to find Ben Arany and his people. The Republic blamed Ben for the destruction of the Jovian…and maybe even for Max Cardenas’ murder. Woodrow pointed Bellona’s family at Ben and stepped back to watch them do the dirty work for Karassia.”
Sang nodded. “Bellona has always held Karassia accountable for Shavistran, because it was their city killer the Republic used. No one knew there was a deeper and more direct connection than that.”
“Now we do know,” Khalil said. “I’m trying to find Ferid, now. He is the most mobile of the two, which makes him the most vulnerable. We can’t go at Woodrow, not while he’s hiding inside Ledan. We don’t have the firepower to break down the shields over Kachmar and we can’t bluff our way in there a second time.”
“What do you intend to do with Ferid when you do find him?” Sang asked curiously.
“He is indirectly responsible for Shavistran.”
“So are others, including Bellona and your brother, if you stretch that definition a little further.”
Khalil dropped the spoon back into the empty bowl with a clatter. “I don’t know, Sang! I just want to find the creep, all right? I want to put him in front of Bellona and tell her what he did, then let her do what she wants with him.”
“Do what with who?” came the question from the bridge gate.
Sang knew it was Hero before he looked over his shoulder to check. She strolled onto the deck with a casual prowl. The neck of her shirt had dropped off one shoulder, revealing creamy brown flesh. The skirt she wore displayed shapely thigh.
It was automatic to hide his impatience. Sang suppressed the sigh that wanted to emerge.
Khalil looked at him, then at Hero. “No one you need worry about for just now,” he told her.
“So, not someone I can fuck, one way or another?” she asked, sidling up beside Sang. She looked up at him, a small smile on her full lips.
“This is a project outside Bellona’s directives,” Sang told her.
“A private scam?” she asked, her attention riveted. “Oooh, maybe I can help!” She bumped her hip against Sang’s thigh.
“Private means not open to discussion,” Khalil said, his tone polite.
Hero didn’t look at him. Her gaze stayed on Sang. “You can tell me,” she assured him.
“It isn’t my project to share,” Sang replied.
“And Sang is being way too nice,” Khalil said shortly. “You’re in the way, Hero. This is important. Leave us alone.”
For the first time, Hero looked at Khalil directly. “No. I’m having fun.” She returned her gaze to Sang. “Tell me who you’re hunting for Bellona. Pleeease.”
Before Sang could answer, Khalil slapped the top of the console, with a loud smacking sound. “Enough!” he roared. “Hero, get out! I won’t say it again.”
Hero straightened to her full height, which was far shorter than Sang’s. She looked at Khalil, her chin up. “Fuck you, crepunda.”
Khalil’s face turned a deep red.
Startled, Sang accessed his archives, looking for the word she had just used. He found it in antiquarian language documents.
Plaything.
Khalil stood frozen for a fraction of a second, absorbing the shock. Pale lines of fury formed on either side of his mouth. His eyes narrowed. His jaw rippled.
Hero didn’t flinch. She kept her chin up and her eyes locked on Khalil, almost daring him to respond. In the back of his mind, Sang found the capacity to admire her courage, despite the foolhardiness of her challenge.
Khalil moved. He didn’t go around the console. He leapt over it, in an astonishingly fast movement. Hero was nearly as quick. She backed up a step and raised her hands defensively. Even now, she didn’t turn and run as some might.
Khalil ducked under her hands and grabbed her throat, his elbows out to hold her nails away from him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t break your neck?” he growled.
Hero tapped her fingertips on his wrist. The long forefinger nail scraped over the sleeve. “I could tear through this with little effort,” she whispered. Every word sounded painful to speak through the grip he had on her neck.
“I’d still kill you before I died.”
“You’d deprive Bellona of a good general?”
“You?” His tone was dry.
“At least she trusts me, weed.”
Khalil breathed hard.
Sang put his hand on Hero’s shoulder. “I have no doubt that you can kill him, Hero. If you do, it would destroy Bellona. Think of that.”
Hero scowled at Khalil. All her prettiness had fled. “True,” she said, her voice husky. She dropped her hand from his sleeve and just stood there. “Kill me, though, and she’ll trust you even less.”
Khalil growled and shoved her from him.
Hero staggered back and regained her balance, smiling. She brushed down her skirt and resettled her shirt on her shoulder. “Keep your secrets,” she told Khalil. “If you can.” She flounced from the deck, her own fury matching Khalil’s in intensity.
Khalil whirled and bent over, his hands propping him up against the navigation console. He breathed heavily, shuddering.
Sang edged away. Time to leave, to let him recover in private.
“I can’t help her this way,” Khalil said, his voice low and shaking.
Sang paused. “You help just by being you.”
“I’m not effective. Hero is right. I’m nothing but a distraction and useless for anything else. They all know it.” He hung his head.
Sang hesitated. He was at a loss to know what to say. He had never been faced with something like this before. He could speak the truth, only the truth would hurt.
Khalil pushed himself upright with a decisive movement. He squared his shoulders, then turned to look at Sang. “I’ll take Connie. That leaves everyone with the Alyard.”
“Take? Where are you going?” Sang asked, alarmed.
“I’m going to find Ferid. I’ve got a range of possibilities. I’ll hunt them all down.” Khalil’s mouth turned down. “Then I will be at least useful in one way.” He turned away.
“You can’t leave!”
“I can, actually.” Khalil looked back. “Help Bellona while I’m gone, okay?”
Sang scrambled to arrange his thoughts coherently. “Is that an order?” he asked.
“I can’t give orders around here. You witnessed that for yourself.”
Sang shook his head. “That’s just one misguided, mean woman—”
Khalil put his hand on Sang’s shoulder, silencing him. His gaze was steady. “I’m asking, Sang. That’s all. Even if I could give an order they’d listen to, I would never do that to you.” His grip tightened and fell away. Then he left the bridge, moving fast.
* * * * *
Southern Continent, Fourth District, Cardenas (Findlay IV), Findlay System, Eriuman Republic
Markjohn Cardenas grounded the skiff at the south end of the private landing field, as close to the sprawling house as possible. Here on the southern continent, among the low hills and long grasses at the bottom of the peninsula, there were few people to note his arrival.
It was cold down here. He shivered and reached into the skiff to pull out the heavy coat he’d thrown into the cab while his wife fussed and complained about the frequent and unexpected assembly meetings since Reynard had died.
Sliding his arms into the coat, Markjohn strode through the thigh-high grasses toward the house, his heart running ahead of his feet. Anticipation was making his body thrum.
She opened the door as he climbed the broad steps onto the porch and held out her arms.
Markjohn pulled Iulia up against him and kissed her thoroughly and deeply.
“How long?” she whispered against his lips.
“Eight hours, no longer,” he breathed, reaching for the fastening on her robe.
Iulia pulled him inside and shut the door on the rest of the world.