The Kassa Gambit (8 page)

But she probably had a plan for that eventuality, too, and it might require his being dead. Better to play along for now.

Like he always did.

“Okay, Captain. We’ll do it your way.”

FIVE

Records

He was so passive it was scary. At every turn he let her suggest the solution, and went along with it. How could anybody have predicted her actions so well?

It was almost like he wasn’t following a master plan, but just winging it.

Watching him with Jorgun, she wanted to believe that. His gentleness was born out of respect, not pity. She could not reconcile his behavior with the armband he wore and its rhetoric of perfection. Kyle Daspar was a cargo bay of contradictions, and it bothered her.

But she didn’t dare stir the pot. These people played for keeps, and they already had their claws into her ship. She had to keep her head down, play stupid, and hope they forgot about her.

What she had done out there, at the wreck, had been foolish. He might have seen. But she couldn’t walk away from the most fantastic artifact in human history empty-handed, not when she expected bureaucratic security clearances to bury it more effectively than any mere blizzard could.

One quick flip of her nanosharp blade, and a sliver of glass with a smudge of the strange blue blood was in her hand. They wouldn’t miss it. Nobody would put the shattered cockpit glass back together to find the missing puzzle piece. Even if they did, they would just assume it had been lost in the snow.

Let them put on their stage show. She would play whatever part they wanted, and wait until they shooed her off for the main act. She had her own breadcrumb now. She could pick up the trail after they stopped watching her.

Cycling through the air lock, she took off her helmet and breathed the warm, familiar air of her own ship.

“How long before we’re airborne?” Kyle was in a hurry.

She was, too. “Thirty seconds after the air lock door opens.” The sooner they got to the end of this charade, the sooner she could get him off her ship.

And out of her life. She didn’t like his contradictions. She didn’t like the way part of her kept wanting to trust him, to turn to him for support. She didn’t like the way his unflappable confidence laid over constant tension, like a tiger perpetually ready to pounce even while it purred. She didn’t like the way it made her feel.

Not because it made her nervous. But because it made her lonely.

Unzipping the suit, she encountered a problem. How to empty the suit pocket without his noticing? And she couldn’t leave it here—he could come back and search the suit locker while she was on the bridge.

The instant she paused, he turned away. Like he was giving her privacy to undress. It was silly. It was just a space suit, and in any case, spacers hardly expected privacy even for showers. Ships were just too small for such formalities.

It was silly, but it was also touching. Again it sparked uncomfortable feelings. She wasn’t used to being treated like a woman. She was used to being treated like a captain.

It was easy to pocket the sliver of glass while his back was turned. So easy she almost felt guilty.

“Liftoff in thirty. Be ready,” she snapped at her crew. Running down the passageway, retreating to her citadel of power, where she could mask her feelings in the necessity of command. Where she could be in control again.

“Melvin, get a reading on that arctic station.” Barking over the intercom while she powered up the gravitics. The ship felt heavy under her fingers, the weight of snow tangible.

“It’s not working. Fuck, something’s wrong. Somebody sabotaged the radar!” Melvin slipped back into panic. Maybe he’d never left.

“Calm down, Melvin. It’s probably just ice clogging the detector vanes. We’ll go orbital and let it cook off.” The boiling point of water in a vacuum was zero. Latent heat from the vanes would melt the ice, and space would do the rest. They could go straight up without losing their position, and then come back down to find the arctic station. A few minutes above the atmosphere and the
Ulysses
would shake off the touch of the planet.

But space had its own touch. As soon as they were clear of the sheltering blanket of air, the comm beeped insistently.

“
Ulysses,
confirm. This is the
Phoenix,
hailing the vessel
Ulysses
.”

The
Phoenix
didn’t have to identify itself. The comm station did that, signaling in large red letters that it was an Altair Fleet cruiser.

“Fleet’s finally here,” Prudence muttered, and put her hand on the comm switch.

“Wait.” Kyle’s voice leapt across the bridge to stop her.

Turning in her chair to face him, she waited.

“Don’t tell them about seeing the alien ship.”

What kind of game was this? Why show her the evidence, and then tell her to keep quiet? Surely her role in their plot was to validate the alien attack. She would play the straight man, the hardened spacer veteran on the evening news talking with wide-eyed excitement about the aliens. An independent witness, interested only in the truth. A seed of rumor, spreading fear and panic.

And now Kyle warned her to silence?

“They’ll interrogate you. This whole thing’s a cluster fuck, Prudence. There’s dead people everywhere, and an impossible alien warship. Nobody knows what to do. So they’ll do everything. They’ll impound your ship, strip search it for clues, and lock your crew in a holding cell for a month. I don’t think you want that.”

It wasn’t about what she wanted. It was about what she feared. Jorgun would be putty in their hands, manipulated to whatever ends they needed, broken and discarded when they were done. And none of her crew were citizens of Altair. Fleet wouldn’t be particularly concerned about their legal rights.

If they started asking questions about the
Ulysses,
what would she tell them? That a dying old man had given a young girl a starship, charmed by nothing more than the romance of her quest to seek out her mother’s world?

She had survived this long by going unnoticed. She was certain her future depended on it. But why would Kyle know that? Why would he care?

“Let me get this straight. You want me to lie to Altair Fleet?”

“Not lie, exactly. Just don’t tell them everything. There’s nothing in it for you, Prudence. Direct them to the signal. Let them find it themselves.”

She stared at him. He was as close to unnerved as she could imagine him being.

Flicking on the comm, she answered Fleet’s call. “This is the
Ulysses,
responding to the
Phoenix
. How can we help you?”

There was a pause, as if that simple response had confused them.

A different voice on the speaker. More nasal, and laden with the expectation of obedience. “You can start by explaining what’s going on down there.” Not a spacer’s voice. Apparently, commandeering ships was in season.

Prudence flicked a glance at Kyle and was startled to see his anger. He obviously recognized that voice, and he didn’t like it.

“There’s been some kind of attack,
Phoenix
. A week ago. We’ve been in-system for about thirty-six hours, and running relief operations for most of that. Any assistance you can render would be greatly appreciated.” She shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have baited the unknown authority on the other end of the line with her dry sarcasm. But the look on Kyle’s face paid for it. He almost smiled.

Subconsciously, she’d known he would. That’s why she’d done it. In the sixteen hours they had spent together, he had been scrupulous about not flirting with her. She’d never been around a man, single, married, or homosexual, that hadn’t risked at least one bantering comment for her approval. And now she was performing for his.

Deeply annoyed at herself, she returned to business.

“You didn’t get a message from the
Launceston
?” But of course not. The timing was wrong. They would have passed in node-space, silenced by the inflexible laws of relativity.

The voice changed direction, avoiding the question. “
Ulysses,
put your captain on the line.”

Prudence had dealt with this a thousand times, but it never got any easier.

“This
is
Captain Prudence Falling, owner and operator of the
Ulysses.
” Straining to keep the annoyance out of her voice, all she achieved was to drive the irony deeper.

But the voice didn’t care. It was immune to subtleties. “Captain, we are on an important diplomatic mission to Bierze, and we can’t be diverted. Give us some GPS coordinates to rendezvous and we’ll transfer our medical supplies and staff.”

She answered without thinking. “
Phoenix,
this planet is in shambles. There’s nothing left standing but hungry, scared people. Whatever stuffed-suit meeting you’re rushing to can wait.”

Too tired. Making mistakes, losing control of her feelings. Kyle was part of the problem. She wanted to hate him as much as she hated his armband, but he wouldn’t let her.

Now he stepped up to save her. The voice had just begun squawking, working itself up to a fine outrage, when he walked over to her console and put his finger on the transmit button.

“This is Police Lieutenant Kyle Daspar, command leader of the League. I have the honor of addressing District Leader Rassinger, do I not?”

Miraculous silence from the comm. Then curiosity, although it tried to hide under polished indifference. “Daspar? How are—what are you doing out here?”

“We’re not on a secure line, Leader, so with your permission I’ll spare you the details. I came out here on some League business, but that’s obviously been superseded by what’s happened.”

Prudence blinked her eyes, jolted by yet another facet of the enigmatic Kyle Daspar. She would never have imagined such diplomacy from that jutting jaw. She could not reconcile those proud eyes with this bureaucratic subservience.

“What are you doing right now, Command Leader? What is your current status?”

“I’ve commandeered the
Ulysses,
and we are on a polar flight to rescue some research station personnel. However, there is a matter that I feel might exceed my competence, and I would appreciate your advice, Leader.”

Prudence stared at him. He looked like he meant it. The act was perfect, his sincerity unquestionable. If she had not seen him at the alien wreck—if she had not seen his confusion, anger, and gentleness—she would have been convinced.

But she had. And now she could not guess what this role-playing was costing him. How could his spirit survive, buried under that? Under the weight of the League.

Carefully, she pulled herself back from the edge. She had seen many strange things in her short life. She had learned that appearances can be deceiving, on every level. Kyle Daspar might be exactly what he seemed: a true believer. A person whose soul was given over to a higher power, allowing him to be a man at one moment and a slave at the next, without even noticing the change.

In this case the higher power would be more odious than most, but in her experience, it never really mattered what you sold your soul to. In the end the result was always the same.

“What is this situation, Daspar? Are you sure it’s that important?” Rassinger’s voice wrestled with itself. In the space of a single vowel, she could tell the man was annoyed at Kyle’s urbane competence, but unable to find a reason to complain.

“We have located an anomalous signal, Leader. It’s deep in the arctic circle, and the research staff assures us they have no teams or equipment in that sector. It’s possible that it could be an artifact of the enemy. If so, that would constitute a level-one military goal, which would supersede my current mission. Should I divert from the rescue mission to investigate this signal?”

The answer was quick—too quick.

“No, Daspar, do not divert. If it really is a level-one priority, then it supersedes our own mission. I’ll take the
Phoenix
and investigate. Can you give us a coordinate for that signal?”

Kyle paused, looked at Prudence. So he was going to let her help. If she played her cards right, uber-leader Rats-ass would not remember her earlier slip, only her useful assistance afterward.

She leaned over the microphone. “I’m afraid not, sir. Without GPS satellites, we’re operating off of dead reckoning. But I can transmit a solar vector. Your nav officer should be able to get close with that, and we can tell you what frequency to look for once you’re in the area.”

The pause was brief, but long enough to confirm that Rassinger was no spacer. He was waiting for someone to verify her words.

“That will be acceptable, Captain. How close to this signal did you get?”

No pretense, no lure, just a straight-up trap. It was like a hangman tying a noose and casually asking how much you weighed.

“We’re really pressed for time and resources, sir, and my crew is pulling its fourth straight shift. We just want to bail this research crew out and get some sleep.”

Only after the weaseling misdirection had left her mouth did she realize how much like Kyle she sounded.

Rassinger was satisfied. “Understood, Captain. We’ll take care of it.”

And that was that. The biggest find of human existence, the greatest discovery since fire and the wheel, was out of her hands. Scooped up by a politician who would use it to boost his repulsive career. And she had Kyle Daspar to thank for it.

So why did she feel so relieved?

They finished the run in silence. Even Melvin was quiet, speaking only enough to guide her into the research station. It wasn’t entirely due to the subtle menace of the
Phoenix
and its tyrannical commander. While his authority was frightening, it was also a relief. Let him deal with the alien problem.

The
Ulysses
’s mission had been reduced to rescuing the research personnel, and the crew was tired enough to be glad of it.

“Attention, arctic station, we are coming in for landing,” Prudence announced over the radio. “Please look up and let us know if we’re about to squash anything important.”