Chapter 8
Opportunities lost may not resurface, My Lady.
Gillie leaned back in the pilot's chair and ran her fingers over the half-crystal, half-metal amalgamation of the Serendipity's main console. One last progress check before she went to bed. "I did agree to have dinner with him again."
But you didn't let him kiss you good night.
"He didn't try."
You didn't signal he could.
"Simon." She glared at the screen across from her even though the data was encouraging. "Mack's a nice man. Intelligent. Capable. But he's just a friend."
And in possession of a large portion of Raheiran crystal.
"Kissing him is not how I intend to get access to it. From the damage reports I've read, I'm not sure if it's salvageable. Plus, I can't think of any ploy we could use without drawing attention to ourselves." And a lot of negative publicity to Mack in the process. She didn't want that.
Then why did you agree to see him again?
"I just told you. Because when we finally stopped arguing he turned out to be a nice man."
And?
Gods preserve her sanity. Her link to Simon was sometimes a bit inconvenient. Especially when he sensed things she wasn't yet ready to face. Such as why she thought Mack was a nice man.
Her increasingly positive opinion of him had nothing to do with his control of, or access to, the large portion of her ship's starboard side. Though that had been her initial reason for meeting Mack in the Fifth Quarter. Not to use him to get to the crystal under tight security on station. Using anyone was abhorrent to her. But she wanted to find out if there were any way she could do some immediate damage control. The appearance of the crystal section had sparked a renewed fervor over Lady Kiasidira. The lines at the runestone kiosks made her wince.
Only Rynan Makarian appeared somewhat unfazed by it. Like herself, he seemed to be looking for ways to minimize its impact, not glorify it, or make a profit from it.
They were unwittingly on the same side.
Then he'd shown her his parrots, entertained her with his theories and slipped his arm about her waist as she watched the creatures soar past in bursts of vivid color.
Something had soared through her as well. It felt very, very nice when he'd held her. So nice that she'd almost turned down his offer of dinner.
She wasn't staying on Cirrus. She wasn't even who he thought she was.
She couldn't. She shouldn't. She did. Agree to dinner. Because she needed to know more about the Khalar and Cirrus One before she left.
She wrapped that fiction tightly around her, finished the progress check, and went to bed.
Simon greeted her, as he always did, with the morning's news when she woke. Coffee's brewing, My Lady. Systems are up to sixty-two percent efficiency and mending nicely. I finished enhancing station long range scans to filter for Fav'lhir cloaking resonances; not Raheiran, of course. That would be inopportune should we need to depart quietly.
She sat up, stretched. "Filters activated?"
Holding off until I run a few more tests.
"Good idea. Mack's got enough problems without station techs bitching about some strange parameter in their scanner pack." She padded to the shower.
"Anything else?" she asked when the soni-dryer ceased its low hum. She fluffed her short hair.
Two fights reported at the kiosks on D3. Stationers coming to blows over possession of the runestones of peace and harmony. I gather supplies are running low.
Gillie's wry laugh was muffled by the shirt she pulled over her head.
And oh, yes, there is one other thing making the headlines this morning.
She sat on the edge of the bed, tugged on her sock. "Let me guess. Mack's got the parrots working shifts in Ops." He'd told her last night how they were understaffed, and of the problems of trying to assemble a workable HQ just one exit short of nowhere. She thought, in spite of the obvious hindrances, he'd done a damn good job to date.
This involves you more than Admiral Makarian.
She grabbed her other sock. "Me?"
You declared Cirrus One as your official Shrine of Communion.
"I what?" She dropped her sock. Neither shrines nor declarations had ever been her style.
Through your ever present link with Magefather Rigo, of course.
"Who in Tarkir's blazes is Magefather Rigo?"
Your Divine Consort. That also was part of your declaration. You chose him not only for his devotion, but because he's of Raheiran heritage. Through his grandmother's third cousin, I believe his bio states.
"This isn't funny, Simon."
I told you that you should have let Mack kiss you last night. He'd make a much preferable consort to Magefather Rigo.
She shoved on her sock, boots and jacket with a barely disguised fury.
No coffee? Simon asked as she strode down the corridor for the main hatch.
"This has got to stop. It's ludicrous. Blasphemous."
If they find out who you are, in the current state of frenzy on this station, it will get dangerous.
She stopped, her hand suspended over the palmpad.
Simon was right. It could get dangerous. Stationers were already pummeling each other over fraudulent runestones, for Gods' sake.
She leaned against the hatch door. "What do I do, Simon?"
Proceed with caution. There are a number of people who dislike this latest development as much as you do. Work through them, My Lady.
Not "them," Gillie knew as she retraced her steps to find a pot of coffee waiting for her in her ship's lounge. Him. Rynan Makarian. Whom she'd normally be sharing coffee with right now, but he'd told her last night he had an early meeting scheduled with the captain of the Vedritor. He seemed so disappointed she invented a thruster problem and told him she needed time to work on that.
Which was just as well. She really did need time to analyze what was going on. And determine what she could reasonably do about it without revealing who she was.
Could she convince Mack to question the authenticity of this magefather's pronouncement? Were station harmony and security more important to him than his own beliefs? She remembered the offended tone in his voice when he thought she'd belittled Lady Kiasidira's guidelines.
Damn Lady Kiasidira! Not for the first time, Gillie felt trapped by what she was. Which was bad enough when she was only what she was.
Now the Khalar had made her even more, into something she wasn't. And that something she wasn't was establishing a shrine and making proclamations through her consort, Magefather Rigo.
She remembered Petrina's friend in the Fifth Quarter mentioning some magefather. Repairs would have to wait, again. It was time she found out more about this Magefather Rigo.
* * *
She couldn't get near the temple. But news kiosks played the holovid of the magefather's announcement over and over again. Stationers stood, transfixed and four deep, around the first two glass-fronted cylindrical kiosks she passed. Finally on D3 she found a news kiosk near an open stairway. She leaned over the railing. Magefather Rigo's round face gazed serenely back at her.
"...blessing and joyful tidings from the Lady Kiasidira. I am her humble servant. Hear her words through me, all of Cirrus One."
Gillie felt her teeth clench. My words? Yeah, right.
"Hear her words through me, all her beloved people of the Khalaran Confederation. From this day forth, this island in space known as Cirrus One shall also be known as her Shrine of Communion. The only true voice of the Lady shall be heard here!"
Only if I start screaming right now.
The atrium's parrots must have heard her thoughts. They screeched in agreement as they soared past.
"The only true home for the Holy Crystal shall be here, as a reminder of her sacrifice. Her essence resides in the Holy Crystal. The Lady has promised to advise me in the proper use of its powers, for the benefit of all."
On the screen, Rigo raised his hand toward a large holo-painting behind him. The camera refocused and Gillie stared, surprised, at her own profile. Well, not totally hers. The woman draped in purple mage robes with long blonde hair trailing down her back appeared a taller, older version of the Lady Gillaine in that horrible official holo. Artistic license, she assumed. No one wanted to worship a short Goddess sometimes mistaken for a teenager.
Others had found her spot on the stairs, flanked her on the left and right. A curly-haired man in orange tech overalls next to her kept murmuring, "Praise the Lady. Praise the Lady."
Gillie sighed.
"Lady Kiasidira, in her unerring wisdom, has named me her Consort and Keeper of her Holy Shrine. I am humbled by this honor. I am her unworthy and devoted servant."
You are also a total liar.
"I shall relay the Lady's intentions for this station to the administrators of Cirrus One. We shall work together in peace, love and harmony. Praise the Lady!"
The image on the holoscreen switched to a well-groomed young man seated in front of the logo of Cirrus One News, his dusky face professionally serious. "That was the statement issued by Magefather Rigo this morning. Updates and reaction from Admiral Makarian and Commander Hebbs within the hour. The magefather's statement will be replayed in its entirety after a brief word from our sponsors..."
Gillie trotted up the stairs, disgusted. And more than a little concerned.
Rigo-the title of magefather annoyed her-was a blatant liar. Or delusional. Or both. But whether he had a purpose behind his pronouncement, or was just capitalizing on the unexpected appearance of the crystal section, she wouldn't be able to tell without meeting him. Without probing his thoughts. And she wouldn't even have to apologize to Ixari for doing so.
But she had to get access to him, first. Judging from the lines of impatient stationers at the runeseller kiosk near the stair landing at D2 that was going to be no easy task.
* * *
Mack had graduated in the top of his class at the academy. He was trained in warfare, to analyze tactical situations. To seek holes in the enemy's defenses and use them.
Therefore, he felt he should be able to maneuver one level down and across the atrium to where Gillie leaned against the atrium railing without being unduly accosted by any number of stationers, techies, or-Gods forbid!-newshounds, before he reached her.
He hadn't expected to see her this morning but then, warrior that he was, he wasn't going to let this opportunity pass by. He'd come to several realizations after leaving her at her ship's hatchway last night, not the least of which was that he wanted to spend more time with her.
A conversation he'd chanced to overhear this morning, rushing between meetings, told him he wasn't alone in that feeling. Two CQPA male staffers were talking about "the little blonde from the Ziami Quadrant" they'd met in the Fifth Quarter. A friend of someone named Petrina.
"If she needs some help with repairs," the slickly handsome one had said suggestively, "I'll be glad to show her my...tool."
Mack wanted to show the man the station's airlocks from the outside.
Chin thrust forward, shoulders back, Mack strode through the stationers bustling by on main. He responded to his title with a curt nod, a slight upraised hand. "Later, please."
She turned just as he came up behind her.
"Captain Davré. Right on time." He touched her arm as if to signal she should follow.
Her eyes widened, but only slightly. For a moment he feared she might not play along. Then an impish smile crossed her lips.
"Sorry," Mack said to a pair of merchants who clearly saw their chance to get an unofficial update from Admiral Makarian. Their shirts bore the colorful logo of Cirrus's largest clothier. "Official business."
"About the Lady?" the shorter of the two asked.
"No," Mack and Gillie replied simultaneously.
Only a few tables in the officers' mess on U4 were in use. Mack knew they'd be relatively safe there. It was late morning. Everyone was either in meetings or at their post. Or coming from a meeting and stopping for coffee on their way to the next one.
About half the buffet along the inner wall was still open. Fresh fruit from the station's hydroponics glistened. Mack could smell the spicy aroma of pepperlace omelets. After a late, almost interminable conversation with Magefather Rigo and Commander Hebbs, he'd almost overslept. His day had begun with an early conference with Adler. He hadn't had breakfast, only three and a half hours of meetings. The magefather's pronouncement was the cause of most of them.
The others were the usual meetings needed to keep repairs and alterations flowing on Cirrus as they neared Fleet's deadline. An additional one after that was with his personal staff: Tobias, Pryor, Brogan, Rand and Janek. Topics included security issues out in Runemist and the still unknown attacker, still officially labeled as friendly fire.
Gillie filled two cups with coffee and went to claim a table. Mack piled his tray with two omelets, sausages and some toast.
"I'm glad to see all the excitement hasn't dampened your appetite," she said as he sat. She'd chosen a table in the corner, alongside one of the large viewports.
"Aggravation always makes me hungry." He cut one of the sausages. "And so does non-aggravation. Sure you don't want something more than coffee?"
"After coffee, maybe."
"Thought you'd be busy this morning." He remembered something about a clogged thruster feed.
"Curiosity got the best of me." She grinned at him over the rim of her cup. "The newsvids have been rather relentless."
"It'll pass." He hoped. Gods, he hoped. He had at least ten projects to finish, and that damned deadline to meet. Fifth Fleet had to officially be in business within a month or he'd have a lot of explaining to do.
"Maybe Magefather Rigo will be transferred to Traakhalus. He's rather famous now because of all this."
"I don't see it happening right away. The temple has their procedures, not unlike Fleet. But that would be a blessing. Both the stationmaster and I have had to reschedule personnel because of this. Extra security, crowd control." He made a sweeping motion with his fork. "I've pulled the Vedri in on station and I really need her out there."
"Why is Fleet involved in this at all?"
"Cirrus doesn't have the science labs we do." And they didn't have Fitch Tobias. Nor was he about to let Hebbs know of Tobias's connections to the Kiasidiran temple. Or his ability to read Raheiran. "Plus, Fleet's always claimed jurisdiction in anything to do with Lady Kiasidira. We tend to think of her as one of ours."
"Because she helped set up your Fleet."
He nodded. "And gave us basic jump drive theory, designed our first defensive arrays. Essentially, gave us the ability to explore the Khalaran system."
"So for this, you make her a Goddess?"
They'd touched on this argument last night. He took a sip of coffee to wash down his omelet, and to center his thoughts. He couldn't blame her for being from Ziami. If only she could spend more time here, he knew she'd understand. "You're treading on sacred ground here, Gillie."
"How would you feel," she asked after a moment, "if they made you one? A God, that is."
She raised her hand when he started to reply. "Look what you're doing here. Taking a derelict station, bringing it up to standards. Introducing new technology. In the midst of all that, you've repelled some unknown attackers. Okay, rumors, Mack. But just follow me. You'll do, as Fifth Fleet grows, Ixari only knows how many more things that, given what Cirrus was, could be taken as miraculous."
He started to laugh. "I'm flattered, but-"
"Maybe not now. But let's say, five hundred years from now, when anyone who really remembers Rynan Makarian is dead. Only your memory, your legend will live. And it will grow, as legends tend to do. How would you feel if you found out they'd made you, Mack, who loves pepperlace omelets and Devil's Breath, neat-"
"Not at the same meal."
"-into a God?"
"I thought we already worshipped you," drawled a familiar, and unwanted, nasal voice behind him. He felt the pressure of a hand lightly on his shoulder. Then Johnna Hebbs slid into the seat next to his. He didn't miss her appraising, scrutinizing gaze on Gillie. Nor the slightly feral smile on her mouth.
He no longer wanted the rest of his omelet. Nor did he want Hebbs at this table, especially with Gillie here. "Problem in Ops?"
"Just finished a staff meeting down the corridor." She looked back at Gillie again. "I'm Johnna Hebbs, stationmaster on Cirrus."
"Gillaine Davré, of the Serendipity." She held her hand across the table.
"Ah. The disabled freighter we found in Runemist." Hebbs shook Gillie's hand, then released it and sat back against her chair. "Glad we could be of assistance."
Hebbs's demeanor, Mack felt, was far too friendly to a "competing" female, which was in his experience the only way the tall brunette viewed other women.
"If you need something for repairs that Mack can't get, feel free to chase me down," Hebbs was saying. "He may be our resident miracle worker, but I've been on Cirrus most of my life. I know who's got what, and where it's hidden."
Far, far too friendly. Hebbs had no doubt called him many names, but ever since he'd rebuffed her advances month one on Cirrus, resident miracle worker surely wasn't one of them. Nor was it like Hebbs to offer out her jealously guarded equipment and spare parts without receiving something back in trade. He'd learned that week one on Cirrus.
"I appreciate that, Miselle Hebbs."
"Johnni," Hebbs said.
"Gillie," Gillie replied.
Not good. This was not good. "More coffee?" he asked Gillie, deliberately turning his back on Hebbs.
"First time on Cirrus, right?" Hebbs asked as Gillie glanced down at her half-empty coffee cup. "You need to meet some people. I know a couple of guys who'd just...well, unless you're involved with someone back in...?"
"My ship's out of the Ziami Quadrant. And no." Gillie chuckled softly. "There's no one. Not in a long time."
Mack was very glad to learn that. He was also very unhappy it was Johnna Hebbs who'd elicited that information. And that Hebbs proposed to introduce Gillie to some of the station's available males. His mind flitted back to the one who wanted to "help" Gillie with repairs. "Captain Davré's busy with-"
"Have to take some time off," Hebbs cut in. "You know what the Lady says. 'Tired minds make mistakes.' You're berthed on what, D11? I'll get in touch with you later. We can go for a few beers. I'll introduce you to some guys who'd just love to meet you."
Not if he could help it. He'd call Gillie later, find out where she was meeting Hebbs. Probably Maguire's Pub, or the Rainbow Room. He could always just happen to stop by for a drink as well.
Hebbs rose, grinning broadly down at Mack. "I meant to tell you. Magefather Rigo's set up a news conference and special service at the temple tonight. He's going to need you there."
"Then you'll have to have those beers another time."
"It's a Fleet-only conference." Hebbs shrugged. "CQPA's not invited. I'll talk to you later, Gillie."
Mack pulverized his remaining omelet with his fork.
"Don't like meetings?"
He put his fork down and glanced at Gillie. He felt slightly foolish for being so obvious, even if it wasn't for the reason she thought. "I don't think all this publicity is advisable at this point."
"If it's any consolation, I agree with you."
It should have been, but it wasn't. Gillie was going pub-crawling with Johnna Hebbs tonight. And he couldn't be there to stop it. He'd never cared much about his personal life before, but now he did. Intensely, he realized. It was as if the Gods were taking a morbid delight in thwarting his efforts with Gillie, saddling him with an antiquated space station, an overactive magefather and now, an overly friendly Johnna Hebbs. His badge trilled. He almost dreaded tapping it. "Makarian."
"Tobias here, sir. There's something...Well, I need to speak with you as soon as possible."
Trust the Gods, there was always something.