Chapter 30

Adler might be the captain but Mack was clearly in command. Gillie saw that in the respect written on the faces of the Vedritor's senior officers, felt the trust emanate from them as they gathered in the ship's ready room, just aft of the bridge.

Mack introduced her as Captain Davré. He continued to refer to her in that way and made no mention, that she knew of, that she was Lady Kiasidira. She refused to let herself think it meant anything more than his acknowledging they were now in a military situation. And it was her title.

Still, when they were finally left alone, Adler and his officers having gone back to the bridge, Gillie felt she had to say something. She turned from the viewport that was filled with the retreating image of Cirrus One. "Thank you."

Mack looked up from the data on the screen slotted into the tabletop. "You're welcome. For what?"

"For not calling me Lady Kiasidira in front of Adler or his people."

He hesitated, pursing his lips slightly. "They don't know. Rand and I decided it was best that way. The fewer who know who you are, the better."

Then his use of her name was political, not personal. That small hope withered though she was grateful for the anonymity, whatever his reason. She'd thought her identity had been blared throughout the station. But then, Izaak's father, while respectful, hadn't viewed her with fear or adoration. Though Izaak had known who she was because of the incident in the lift shaft. "Who does know?"

"Only my team, those who were in the shrine when Blass attacked Hebbs. Rand's team was debriefed, sworn to secrecy. Rigo's in lockup. Janek didn't know until I told him. None of his med techs know who you are."

"They know I'm Raheiran." She'd worn the uniform openly.

"The official position of Cirrus One is that an RSF officer and her ship are assisting. That's all Adler knows as well."

Because to reveal that Lady Kiasidira is not a goddess but a fraud might cause almost as much damage to the Khalar as the incoming invasion of Fav'lhir. In a way, Gillie almost wished she'd died in Riftspace. Then the Day of Sacred Sacrifice might be real. "Then thank you for doing the damage control. I know I've created a lot of unnecessary work, a lot of problems. Simon told me, weeks ago, to trust you, tell you who I was. He was right. I should have."

Something flickered through Mack's eyes but she refused to allow herself to sense his emotions. He nodded slowly. "Yes."

But would you have kissed me if I had? She wanted to ask that but knew she never could. She really didn't want to know the answer. What was, was. The screen in front of Mack beeped and he'd swiveled back. He had far more important things to think about.

So did she. She chose a seat in the middle of the table and tabbed up a datascreen.

Mack raised his face at her movements. "You'll need an access code. Here." He touched his screen.

Numbers flashed on hers. She keyed it in and, using Simon's templates, began recalibrating the ship's sensors. Adler's voice on intraship requested Mack's presence on the bridge. She glanced at the time stamp on her screen. Not quite an hour had passed since they'd left Cirrus.

Mack hesitated in the doorway. "If you need anything, comm me."

"Thanks." She went back to work. From there she took on the scanners. They were a little more difficult. She had to link with Simon twice. The Serendipity was positioned off the Vedritor's portside, the distance greater than the depth of Cirrus One but not enough to affect a Raheiran link.

She coded in Simon's suggestion and smiled as, finally, the right patterns appeared on her screen. The ready room door slid open. The pleasant aroma of coffee assailed her.

Mack placed a mug on her right but didn't take his seat. He wandered over to the viewport at the far end of the room and leaned against the wall. He watched her. She could feel his gaze and, when she glanced at him, saw again something flicker in his dark eyes.

She swiveled her chair a quarter turn and took a chance. "Ask."

"Do I need to if you're reading my thoughts?"

"I'm not."

His only response was silence. It implied disbelief to her.

"A telepathic link without permission violates every Raheiran precept. I've told you this before. I don't routinely read your thoughts. I respect you, Mack. I wouldn't do that. Not to you. Not to anyone." At least, not without sufficient reason and many apologies to Ixari for the intrusion. She amended her comment. "Except for emergencies."

"Is that your explanation for being in my mind in the shrine?"

Gods, she'd been thinking of how she'd peeked into Petrina's mind for information on a Ziami trader. Her link with Mack in the shrine had been so automatic it was almost instinctual. As well as necessary for both their survival. "You can't shield your thoughts. You faced a Grel Tel'ard sorcerer who could've sifted through your knowledge in minutes if I hadn't. I couldn't risk him finding what you knew about me. I had to... monitor you."

"I didn't know who you were then."

"You knew my name."

"So?"

She shook her head. She'd been so comfortable with Mack it was easy to forget there was much he didn't know. Too much. "My magename. I'd given you my magename. If he found that, he could've used that to kill me."

He straightened, frowning. "Mage name?"

"I had his-Carrickal Grel Tel'ard Blass. That's what I took from the magecabinet on his ship. That's one of the advantages I had. I had his magename. He didn't have mine."

"You never-"

"I did." Her memories of the moment were both intensely sweet and now, poignantly painful. She glanced at the closed door of the ready room, silently uttered a small warding spell. The same one she'd said in Mack's quarters. "Gillaine Ciran Rothalla Davré. Besides Simon, you're the only one who knows that."

"You've told lots of people you're Gillaine."

"It's the combination, not just one name. I know that concept's foreign to you. Just accept that a sorcerer's magename is inextricably tied to his essence. You have that, you have the power of life and death over him."

Mack's features went slack.

"I don't even know Simon's," she added softly.

He was silent, a frown again creasing his forehead. Then he shook his head, as if arguing with himself. "Simon could... you're saying Simon could kill you."

"It's his responsibility to do so should I violate Kiasidiran precepts."

"That's unconscionable!"

"Doesn't Fleet operate on the same principles? You give orders to your staff, your crew. They carry out what you tell them." She watched his face for a sign he understood. "It's a safeguard, Mack," she continued. "A necessary one. To make sure no one like Blass could ever be a Ki'sidron."

He turned abruptly away from her and splayed his hand against the viewport. The starfield shimmered around him. She could see a muscle pulse in his jaw. She'd also clearly seen the disgust on his face.

She'd lost him even more, if that were possible. Who she was, what she was represented something too foreign for him to accept. She swiveled her chair back around, feeling drained, her entire body aching.

So much for honesty. She'd just found the answer to her earlier unasked question: If she'd told him who she was, would he still have kissed her?

No.

Intraship chimed again. "Adler to Admiral Makarian. Can you meet me in my office?"

"Makarian." His voice was rough. "Acknowledged. On my way."

Two hours passed. Gillie finished recalibrating the scanners and linking them with the Serendipity and Cirrus One. Reports from the quadrant's outer beacons flowed down the left side of her screen. The Fav'lhir ships still advanced, believing they were unseen.

But the Vedritor saw them very well, though data was sparse. There was a lag time for the ship to interpret the data from the beacons, thirty hours away.

If they'd had the time, if she'd known... so many ifs. What was, was. Deal with what is. She couldn't remember if that was one of Lady Kiasidira's Guidelines or not. She didn't care.

She swiveled the chair around and headed for the bridge. Adler's chair was empty but there was plenty of activity in the semi-circular room. Two communications officers were on duty, talking to the Gallant, the Worthy and other ships in Makarian's Fifth Fleet as well as relaying information to Fourth, still twenty hours out.

Weapons was running a series of last minute tests. Science and Navigation were gleeful over her enhancements. She leaned around a few shoulders, made suggestions, played Captain Davré with every fiber of her body because she knew the minute she let Gillie surface, the ache would start again.

The six-hour mark heralded a shift change. It was near midnight on her body's clock. She hadn't seen Mack again during her subsequent forays to the bridge. Nor had he come back to the ready room. At least, not while she was there. She clicked off the datascreen and tabbed it back down into the table. The coffee brought to her by a well-meaning ensign an hour before was cold-her dinner, barely touched.

Captain Adler had shown her to a small cabin one deck below the bridge when she'd first come on board. She headed there, stripping off her uniform jacket as the cabin's door closed behind her. Her duffle was on the floor by the bed. She could unpack. Later. She tugged off her boots then sprawled on the bed, her arm over her eyes.

Her chest ached. She should take off the rest of her uniform. Later.

Gillaine?

Night, Simon.

Things will work out.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it wouldn't go away. Thanks.

A pinging noise woke her. She opened her eyes, the glowing red numbers by her bedside informing her she'd slept for a little over five hours. She didn't remember setting an alarm and fumbled in the darkness for the clockpad. Then realized the clock wasn't pinging.

Her cabin door was.

She jerked upright then chastised herself. No corridor alarms wailed, no emergency lights flashed. This wasn't a Red Alert. This was someone, probably that pair of Adler's bridge officers, a married couple, who'd tried unsuccessfully to get her to share dinner with them last night. When she'd begged off they'd said something about breakfast.

Well, unless they'd brought a cargo hold full of coffee, she didn't want to see them.

She fell back on the bed, squeezed her eyes shut.

The door pinged again.

Oh, hell. Oh, damn. She shoved herself to her feet and padded to the door. Good thing she hadn't stripped out of her uniform. She slapped at the lock then raked her hand through her hair. She knew she looked a mess. Maybe they'd take pity on her and go away.

The door slid open. She blinked. The bright light cascading in from the corridor outlined a tall broad-shouldered form.

"Mack?" Her voice squeaked. Her heart, traitor that it was, skipped a beat.

"May I come in?" His face was shadowed, his voice equally as unreadable.

"Of course." She stepped aside, remembering when their greeting was "hi" and "hi, yourself," followed by a kiss. "Is there a problem?"

The door closed behind him. He took three steps into her cabin then stopped, his hands shoved in his pockets. He turned and she realized he'd changed out of his dress uniform into Khalaran Fleet black fatigues, though his admiral's insignia blazed clearly on his chest. He looked impeccably neat, freshly showered. A sinewy pantrelon of a man.

In contrast, she knew she looked like something that had crawled out of a corner of a long-forgotten cargo hold.

Then she saw the dark shadows under his eyes. Something was wrong. She sought her link with Simon. That was strong. It was something else. "What's wrong?"

"Everything."

Everything? Her mind raced. Something had happened to the Prime Hostess. There was another Melandan mage on Cirrus One. No, Tynder's. No. Maybe one of the inhabited worlds, a major city. Bexhalla. Maybe-

"We need to talk. There may not be time, once we make meetpoint with Fourth at the beacons."

Not Bexhalla. Not the Prime Hostess. She motioned to the couch along the back wall. "You want to sit?"

"I'll stand."

Oh, hell. Oh, damn. She didn't like the sound of this at all. "I'm going to sit." She padded past him and plopped down.

He studied her for three, four heartbeats. Five. Seven. "I think you know the way I am. I don't play games."

But she had. She could still hear the derision in his voice when he'd recounted the deceptions Hebbs had try to employ. He'd referred to the stationmaster as a master games player. She wondered if she now shared that title as well. "I didn't want to. Believe me, I-"

He held up one hand. "I was nicknamed 'Make It Right' years ago because honesty and fairness is something I value highly. If there's an error, I want to correct it." He hesitated. "I've made errors in judgment here."

"No, you haven't. It's all my fault. Everything's my fault. I should've left Cirrus the next day, as soon as my ship's sublights were on line."

"Then who would've stopped Blass?"

This time Gillie stared at him for three, four heartbeats.

"His plans were already in place," Mack continued. "He would've had the Prime Hostess convince the chancellor to grant full open access to the station. The Fav'lhir would probably already be in control of it."

And Mack and all his people would be dead. He didn't say that, but Gillie knew it was true.

"We haven't stopped them yet," she said softly, not yet ready to let go of the guilt she'd wrapped around herself.

"But we have a chance. A damn good one. Because of you."

"Your people would willingly follow you into the jaws of hell, Rynan Makarian. It's not just me."

"A compromise, then. It's us." He pushed his hands back into his pockets, rocked back on his heels. "Have you ever considered that your being on Cirrus wasn't happenstance? That there may be a very real reason why you're at this very place and point in time?"

She recognized her own words, albeit in Mack's voice. And there had been only one person around when she'd said them. "You've been talking to Simon, haven't you?" She didn't bother to hide her suspicious tone.

He shrugged. "We had a chat."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Hope soared then just as quickly crashed. Simon knew how she felt about Mack. But she didn't want Mack to be here out of duty, or guilt. Or because Simon threatened to shove him out the Serendipity's exhaust vents for breaking her heart. "I take it the chat was about me."

"Considering I'm facing an invasion by Fav'lhir forces, I have the Prime Hostess under guard on my station, the Fourth Fleet is still hours behind us and my own Fifth Fleet is barebones at best... Considering all that, it does sound somewhat surprising that all I've been able to think about is one Captain Gillaine Davré. But yes, that's what our chat was about."

"Simon had no right-"

"Simon didn't initiate the conversation. I did. I couldn't sleep."

"Because of me?"

He nodded. "You're a very complicated woman."

"Not really." Her voice shook as she said the words that could save her, or damn her. "Feed me, love me. Not necessarily in that order."

"I thought," he said slowly, "that Simon was already doing that job."

"Simon?" Her voice squeaked as she rose to her feet. "Simon? You thought Simon and I-"

"You have this telepathic link with him. He's Raheiran."

"Yes, but-"

"A lifelong friend, you told me. You led me to believe, well, I'd pictured an elderly man. He's not elderly."

"Two thousand or so years isn't young!"

"Then you explained about magenames. How Simon controls you."

Gillie barked out a harsh laugh. "He might dispute that."

"Everything you told me led me to conclude you'd slept with me on Simon's instructions. Because you needed access to information, to people on Cirrus One. Granted, the end result was to stop Blass. But the methodology, I thought Simon encouraged you to be my lover to gain access to security, to the workings of my team."

Anger surged through Gillie as Mack's words sunk in. Anger, white hot yet icy cold. Mack thought she'd slept with him because Simon had ordered her to. Because they'd known Blass was coming and they needed to find out what the Khalar planned to do. Belatedly, she realized he'd hinted at that before, when he'd found out she was RSF. But that had been only a hint, a mention of her not breaking cover on a mission.

This was a blatant accusation, and one that said she was no better, in his estimation, than Johnna Hebbs.

She was furious, humiliated. Her chest was painfully tight, her stomach a hard knot. It took every bit of her control not to lash out and smack him across the jaw. "Whoring is not one of a Kiasidira's duties." She shook off his attempt to grab her arm as she strode past him. She stopped at the door, slapped at the palmpad with a shaking hand, then spun to face him. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, Makarian."

"Gillie..."

"I mean it."

"Hear me out. Please. Then I'll leave."

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

"Gillie, I-"

The blare of an alarm filled her cabin, echoing in from the corridor. Mack's commbadge pinged. Another pinging came from the couch where she'd left her uniform jacket.

"Damn it!" Mack slapped at his badge. "Status!"

"Six Fav'lhir ships, sir. Off our starboard side and closing."

"On my way." Mack flashed her a brief, anguished look before he bolted into the corridor.

Gillie hesitated only long enough to grab her jacket. Then she tore down the corridor after him, her heart pounding as loudly as her boots.

The Fav'lhir had found her, again.

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