Shades of Treason (25 page)

“He was on your ship.” It felt like he’d been locked in a pressure chamber. Someone was turning the dial up and up and up, squeezing his chest until it felt like it would implode.

“We searched for him,” Bayis said. “We’ve had dozens of shuttles dock and fly since the Sariceans’ attack. He could have been on any of them.”

Or Bayis could have put him on one of them.

Goddammit. He was growing paranoid. Bayis was doing everything within his authority to help him and Ash.

“That’s another one of the reasons I came dirtside,” Bayis said. “His sudden absence was unexpected. We’ll investigate it and your claims. If they are substantiated, everything will work out.”

If they weren’t substantiated…

There had better be clear evidence in the Sariceans’ files. It was the only way Bayis and I-Com would believe him.

He nodded his acceptance of Bayis’s words, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that he might have just betrayed the woman he loved.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE TIME ON Rykus’s comm-cuff blurred. He rubbed his eyes, forced himself to focus—1200 ship time. It had officially been three days since Ash had been sedated and thrown back in a cell. He hated not seeing her, not knowing if she was hurting, if she was trapped in nightmares.

Not knowing if she blamed him for all this.

He blamed himself. If he’d trusted his gut instinct before she escaped and had dug harder into the evidence, he might have discovered something significant. He might have been able to avoid the crash on Ephron, the assassination of Chancellor Hagan, and the fall down the DFC. He might have been able to avoid marching them into an ambush.

He fisted his hands on his desk. He should have known the trek to the outpost was too easy, but they’d been overconfident and desperate, and they’d relied on fabricated transmissions sent to them by, ironically, one of the cryptology officers assigned to Operation Star Dive. At least they’d been beaten by an anomaly, not by a rank-and-file crypty.

Rykus’s chair squeaked when he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His room felt smaller than usual, but this was the only place he could be alone. Everywhere else, he had an escort.

His official designation was “person of interest,” but all his authorizations had been revoked. He couldn’t access his correspondence, couldn’t send or receive any type of video or voice message without it being analyzed by security, and half the ship—the brig, the weapons locker, even the
Obsidian’s
gym—was marked No Entry to him. The Coalition wasn’t trusting him with something as minor as the mess hall’s menu; it certainly wasn’t letting him anywhere near the Sariceans’ files. He didn’t know why it was taking so damn long to find the evidence. Ash’s team lead had found it without a problem.

Rykus stood, checked the time again, then paced his quarters. His duffel bag, always kept packed in case he had to leave quickly on an op, hovered at the edge of his vision. He felt its pull, just like he had every minute he’d been in his quarters these past three days. This time though, he didn’t fight its lure. He turned toward it.

It was shoved onto the top shelf of his small closet. In addition to his combat gear, survival supplies, rations, and water, it contained an unregistered comm-cuff linked to an anonymous credit account. Possession of the unregistered cuff wasn’t exactly illegal, but using it outside an op was. That’s why he hadn’t touched it yet, but the voice in his head—a voice that had grown louder and more paranoid every time Bayis denied him permission to do anything—argued that this
was
an op, possibly the most important one of his life.

Someone executed Hagan. Someone could execute Ash, especially now when she was a defenseless target sedated and strapped down in the brig.

Turning away from the closet, he clenched his hands into fists. The reasons Bayis had restricted his clearances made sense. Rykus had violated numerous rules and procedures, but it didn’t feel right, and as much as he tried to push the feeling away, suspicion clung to him like dust to a hull.

What if Bayis was being influenced by a telepath?

His door chimed, cutting off his thoughts. When the automated voice said Dr. Katie Monick stood outside, Rykus turned. But before he could say “Enter,” the door opened without his permission.

The admiral had changed his damn privacy settings.

Katie stopped before she crossed the threshold. “Admiral Bayis sent me to check on you. I take it you’re not doing well?”

“Does he expect me to be doing well?”

“I don’t think he expected you to glare a hole through my head.”

He was scowling—had been scowling for the past three days—but none of this was Katie’s fault. Forcing his muscles to relax, he erased any hint of an expression from his face.

“How is the search and rescue going?” He wanted to ask about Ash again, but every time he did, Katie’s answer was the same—Ash was sleeping comfortably—so Rykus forced himself to clamp down on his concern while he pried for other information.

Katie finally stepped inside his room, her mouth tightening into a thin line. “Ephron’s orbit is a death trap. Only heavily armored, authorized transports are allowed through. I don’t know how bad it is on the surface, but SAR crews are bringing in body bags now. A few escape pod beacons are still sending out pings, but they’re hard to get to, and there’s not much hope for survivors.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a pinched smile. “From what I’ve heard, it’s not Ash’s fault.”

“Bayis told you…” He hesitated. Everything he believed about Ash was classified, and he didn’t want to give Bayis another justification for revoking his clearances. “He told you what’s wrong with Ash.”

“He told me your theory, yes,” Katie said. “He wanted my opinion.”

“And?”

She shrugged. “In the three millennium of recorded history among the Coalition worlds, telepathy has never been confirmed. There have been hacks and frauds, but every time a claim has been investigated, it’s been disproved. The most credible claims had implants, but the implants had both medical and operational consequences, and Ash has been scanned. There are no physical devices in her head.”

“Ash and Hagan communicated. They spoke to each other.”

“I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m saying it hasn’t been proved, and no one’s going to believe Ash’s story until there’s evidence.”

“It’s not her story, it’s Hagan’s.”

“Hagan’s dead, by your hand according to some.”

“I didn’t—”

“I know that,” Katie said. “But it looks bad, Rhys. I’m surprised Bayis hasn’t put you in the brig.”

“The Coalition isn’t ready to put its hero in chains.” Bitterness laced the words, and once they were said out loud, a fist twisted in his gut. He’d rather be in chains than stuck with that damn label. The Coalition loved it. After reports of the disaster at Gaeles Minor, enlistment in the Fleet and Fighting Corps tripled, and for an interplanetary organization starving for a way to enforce its laws and treaties, they celebrated the increase in recruits.

Katie silently sank into his desk chair. Too silently.

“What is it?”

She looked away, obviously not wanting to say something.

“Katie,” he growled out.

Her bright blue eyes met his. “Your name made the news.”

Great.

He stared at the stars outside his window. The view was fabricated of course. It was a re-creation of what he would see if only a pane of glass stood between him and space. If a window had stood between him and the citizens of the Coalition, the view wouldn’t be half as accurate. “What are they saying?”

“The media is asking questions. Coalition representatives are telling them you have knowledge about an ongoing investigation and that you’re staying aboard the
Obsidian
for security reasons. They’re only flashing your image across the news vids once or twice an hour.”

His face twitched into another frown. The Coalition wouldn’t release information about Ash, her mission to Chalos II, or the assault Rykus had been planning. He shouldn’t be a news story. “They’re twisting it, aren’t they?”

She shrugged.

“What the hell are they saying?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What are they saying, Katie?”

“The media is just speculating.”

He held her gaze the way he’d hold that of one of his soldiers if they’d screwed up.

She sighed. “They’re saying you’re the reason the Sariceans left the system.”

“What?” He bolted off the bed.

Katie rose too. “Like I said, they’re speculating. All they know is that the Sariceans attacked us, and that Rhys ‘Rest in Peace’ Rykus was involved in some way.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous.” He grabbed his comm-cuff off his nightstand, fastened it around his wrist. He’d survived Gaeles Minor by making a decision that killed thirteen good soldiers. He might have saved hundreds of lives, but no one should be lauded for sacrificing their men.

“Where are you going?”

“I won’t let that stand.” Back then, if he’d known which transport the enemy would target, he would have made sure he was on it. He’d guessed wrong and he’d lived.

“Rykus.”

He tucked in his uniform. He needed a target for his anger. The media would do just fine.

“Rhys.”

He started for the door.

“The tachyon capsule is here.”

He stopped and frowned over his shoulder. I-Com wanted him to go to Meryk for a debriefing, but he hadn’t expected them to request his presence this soon.

“Ash is scheduled to be transferred in two hours,” Katie said.

“They’re transferring her?” he asked the question carefully, a sick feeling circling through his stomach.

Katie nodded. “I wanted you to know I’ve asked to be assigned to her profile. I’ll watch out for…”

She must have noticed something in his expression. She pressed her lips together.

He moved toward her. “Where are they transferring her?”

“No one told you?” Katie grimaced. “I thought you knew. Shit.
Shit
.”

He grabbed her arm. “Where are they transferring her? Why? And whose decision was it?”

She pushed his hand away, then shook her head, muttering something under her breath before she met his eyes again. “They’ve analyzed every image and line of text in the Sariceans’ files, and there’s not one reference to telepathy or the corruption of Coalition officials. There’s nothing to clear her name. So she’s being sent to the institute.”

He shook his head, retreated a step, shook his head again.

“No.” He slammed his fist into the wall.

“They don’t have a choice,” Katie said. “And it’s the best place for her.”

“It’s her hell!”

“We might be able to undo the telepathy—”

“The telepathy you don’t believe exists.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe it.”

“You’re putting her in the institute,” he snarled.

Katie’s expression went blank, and when she spoke, her tone was cold. “I’m not putting her anywhere, Rykus, and I didn’t come up here to get yelled at. I came up here to tell you I’d be there for her.”

He unclenched his fists. He was taking his anger out on Katie. She didn’t deserve that, but Ash didn’t deserve what was being done to her either. He ran his hands over his face, trying to calm down, trying to think.

“I’ll make sure Ash is okay,” Katie continued, her voice softer again. “I’ll keep her off the drugs and away from the researcher’s tests as much as I can. I’ll work with her to try to prove the telepathy theory. Now that I know what might be wrong with her, I’ll be able to try some new tests. But the most important thing is that I’ll be there with her, and I’ll be on her side.”

He stared at the wall he’d slammed his fist into and nodded. Not agreeing with her. Not disagreeing. Just nodding.

“Bayis has authorized my request for the transfer,” Katie said. “He’s worried—we’re both worried—you’re going to do something stupid.”

It took him a long time to realize she was asking a question. He turned away from the wall. “A child has more authorizations to move about this ship than I do. How could I do something stupid?”

Katie eyed the duffel bag in his closet. He didn’t.

He kept his gaze on her and said, “I’m not looking for an official arrest.”

The pinch to her mouth told him she wasn’t quite convinced.

He flexed the hand he’d thrown into the wall, then sat on the edge of his bed. He needed to distract Katie. He needed to distract himself. “Do you know why she wouldn’t decrypt the files?”

“She didn’t want a telepath to gain access to them.”

He rested his arms on his knees and stared at the floor. “It’s more than that. She doesn’t want the senators to learn that telepaths exist. She thinks they’ll grow more suspicious of each other. They’ll start pointing fingers, throwing around accusations. Eventually, they’ll use it as an excuse to leave the Coalition.”

“The Coalition is stronger than that,” Katie said.

He looked up. “Is it?”

“I believe so,” she said. “Yes, it could create problems, but the chance of planets withdrawing is slim. We see the benefits of working together.”

“Ash believes she’s ‘preserving and protecting’ the Coalition.”

Recognition registered in Katie’s eyes. “You think it’s the loyalty training.”

“You know what she’s been through. She resisted my commands, tried to piss me off and send me away so I wouldn’t use compulsion to get those files. She was hurt and threatened and tortured. She didn’t have to be.”

“Yeah, but it’s very unlikely the Coalition would fall—”

“But there’s a chance. Ash didn’t sign up for the anomaly program for money or for glory. She signed up because she believes in the Coalition’s mission. She believes in what it stands for. Add the loyalty training to that, and it’s screwed with her judgment.”

Katie sat beside him. “Even if that’s the case, Rhys, you’ve done everything you can for her.”

No, he hadn’t. Not yet.

“I need to pack my bag,” Katie said. “I’ll let you know how she’s doing.”

He gave her another noncommittal nod, then stood and walked her the three steps to the door. Katie meant well. She wanted to help and Rykus trusted her, but he didn’t trust everyone else. When Ash had sat in the
Obsidian’s
brig before her escape, his gut had told him she was innocent. He hadn’t listened until Hagan gave him evidence. He would listen to it now, and now it was telling him Ash would never make it to the institute.