GAMBIT

  Linnea Sinclair

  gam*bit–n.--a strategic move in an Olde Terran board game, in which a pawn or a piece is offered in exchange for a favorable position.

  — Intergalactic Heritage Dictionary, Ninth Edition

  -1-

  THE AIR in her cell was cool and fresh. The padded bench almost comfortable, even after a three-hour wait. Not much worse, Ty'mara Moran reassured herself, than most spaceport transit offices.

  Then the silver-haired man walked into her cell, and fear skittered up her spine like a spider on ice skates.

  She knew him, not that they'd ever met. But she knew him just the same. Knew the dark uniform of the Jhen. Knew the row of two gold stars over three denoting the rank of Senior Huntership Captain. Knew of eyes so ice-blue they were almost white, and legendary for their hardness. The eyes, the rank, and the legend belonged to only one man: Kirand Jhen-Aris.

  Now so did Ty'mara.

  She silently translated his curt command to the guard. "This is alpha priority. Leave us."

  The force field behind him snapped back to full power, blanking her cell's entryway, framing his tall form with an opaque whiteness. His clipped Jhenian accent highlighted the sardonic tone in his voice.

  "It appears you've stumbled into someplace you don't belong, Captain Moran."

  That statement, Ty noted, pretty well summed up her entire life. She shrugged.

  "Wasn't my choice to come here."

  "No? Then tell me. Who made this choice for you?"

  "You did."

  He frowned. "I fail to see how I'm responsible."

  "I sure as hell didn't tractor my ship into your docking bay. Or throw myself into this cell. You're the one who insisted--"

  "I insisted because you and your ship are somewhere you don't belong." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Why are you in this sector?"

  She drew one leg up on the bench, rested her arm on her knee as if this were nothing more than a casual conversation. Her heart hammered in her chest. "Just lucky, I guess."

  Too late she saw the flash of anger in his eyes. He grabbed her arm, pulling her forward on the bench. "I don't have time for your games. Why are you here?"

  She twisted abruptly away from him and he lost his hold on the soft, pliant material of her flightsuit. In four steps she was across the cell.

  "I had my reasons," she said when he made a move in her direction.

  "Which are...?"

  "None of your damned business!"

  She regretted her words immediately.

  He crossed the distance between them in two long strides, forcing her to back up the few remaining inches to the wall. His arms flanked her like barricades, trapping her.

  She refused to flinch. Refused to do what she suspected a hundred other captains and crew had done before when faced with the Jhen-Aris.

  She raised her chin a little higher. "This is T'Sri space, not Jhen. You can't tell me where I can or cannot go."

  She waited for an explosion, but saw only an illogical shift in his attitude, almost a softening. And then an unlikely hint of a smile.

  "Perhaps not. Yet, if the Abaris hadn't come along, you might've been picked up by the T'Sri. I take it that wasn't what you were after." His voice was patient, but no less commanding. Even with that disarming smile.

  Part of her regretted he was Jhen-Aris. In other circumstances, she would have found him attractive, in spite of the premature silvering of his hair. She'd heard there was a story behind that; one of the many circulated about the Jhen. They were rebels of long-standing; smugglers, pirates.

  But the T'Sri were worse. They were slavers, assassins. Cold-blooded murderers.

  "No one in their right mind wants to be picked up by the T'Sri." In a quick movement, she ducked under his arm and regained her original position on the bench.

  A low chuckle of laughter followed her. "So, what brings the Dreamweaver's lovely captain to this unfriendly location?"

  Flattery's not your style, she wanted to say, but bit back the retort. She knew what was. "What brings the Abaris here? Run out of tri-haulers to hijack?"

  Jhen-Aris's smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "No. But I'm running out of patience."

  She hesitated, listening to the muted sounds of the ship. A distant ping signaled the opening of the lift doors. She heard footsteps and a greeting called out to the guard who had accompanied Jhen-Aris to her cell.

  The slight trembling under her feet that told her the huge interstellar drives were operating at sub-light; hyperspace would be smoother.

  She could protest all she wanted, but the fact was, she was in a cell on the Jhen's premier huntership. And she was the captain's prize. For now.

  Perhaps it was time for certain things to be said. She drew a deep breath. "The T'Sri attacked a Lifarian freighter off Devor. Killed everyone on board."

  He shrugged in apparent indifference. "The T'Sri have been killing Lifarian witches for centuries."

  The Jhen were none too fond of them either, Ty knew. But they had been content to leave the Lifari alone.

  Not so with the T'Sri, who easily added the role of witch-hunter to their growing list of attributes. Now there were perhaps three thousand pure-blood Lifari left on freighters and generations ships. One hundred fourteen fewer after the attack on the Rachella.

  "So that justifies the deaths of innocent people? Because of the T'Sri's inability to handle their superstitions?"

  "The T'Sri aren't my concern at the moment. You are. What are you doing in T'Sri space?"

  "My job. I guess you could call me a mercenary with a conscience, Jhen-Aris." She used his name deliberately, as if they were equals. But there was no reaction, and that tinge of amusement she'd sensed before was gone.

  "The Lifari will not kill. You know that. Their precepts prohibit it. And they can't claim any protection under the laws of the Council. But nothing prevents them from hiring me." She stared past him, not meeting his gaze, hoping he wouldn't see the lies laced in with the truths.

  "So you thought you would take on the entire T'Sri empire yourself?"

  She bristled at the sarcasm in his words. "I'm not helpless. And I was only aiming for one person."

  "You weren't going very far with one engine down."

  "Think I don't know that? A major malfunction wasn't in my plans. But when I came out of hyperspace at the Nahil Border Gates, every blessed light on my starboard thruster board was screaming at me. Wasn't like I planned it this way."

  "When you're going after game as big as Gri Pajtok, you have to account for all eventualities."

  She wasn't surprised he'd guessed that the T'Sri Emperor-Elect was her target. "Easy for you to say. I'm five payments behind on my ship. A new thruster board would've put me back even further. That's why this job's so important."

  "How important, Captain Ty'mara Moran?"

  More than you know, she thought, but kept her response unemotional. "Enough."

  "Enough to work with the Jhen?"

  "Maybe," she conceded slowly, knowing one never worked with the Jhen, only for them or against them.

  He asked the question she'd been waiting three hours to hear. "You want Pajtok dead?"

  She remembered the pain of one hundred fourteen voices screaming in terror. "Yes."

  "So do I, Moran. So do I."

  She stood beside him on the Abaris's bridge and tried to keep her mouth from falling open. She'd never been on a huntership before. Of the larger starfreighters, she knew the competent-- but outdated--systems of the Grindley. That looked nothing like the tri-level structure before her now.

  It wasn’t just the fact that there was instrumentation and cross-instrumentation. It wasn't even the precision with which everything worked. It was simply that everything had been designed by one man. Jhen-Aris.

  "Does my bridge meet with your approval?"

  She realized he'd been watching her. She hadn't thought her reaction would matter.

  Yet his gaze on her was questioning, almost searching. Well, if he needed his ego stroked, so be it. She wouldn't have to lie. "More than approve. I'm envious."

  He arched an eyebrow. "I'm flattered."

  "I doubt it."

  His rumble of laughter did nothing to soothe her nerves. She was well aware of who he was, the power he wielded, and that his pleasantries were more than likely just a facade. Or a ploy. She ran her fingers lightly over the gleaming metal cap of the railing that encircled the third tier. She didn't doubt other captains had stood where she was standing. But she knew of none who'd lived to tell of it. "Why show me all this?"

  He leaned back against the railing and lowered his voice. "As I said, we may find each other useful. I wanted you to know what I had to offer."

  "You're serious, then?"

  "Absolutely."

  She let out a small sound of incomprehension.

  "You don't believe me?"

  "I don't trust you. I'm just a small-time short hauler-"

  "Who carries two illegal ion cannons and a fully loaded plasma torpedo rig? Not normal armaments for a Class III freighter."

  Evidently he'd done some nosing around while she sat in his brig. "Look. I've been working the Colonies for over five years now. That's close enough to your territory that I carry ion cannons, legal or not."

  " Pavir jhadna, Gent'Duren." A young lieutenant stood a few feet away, at attention, apologizing in formal Jhenian for his intrusion.

  Gent'Duren. Lord Captain, Ty translated.

  Jhen-Aris nodded at the lieutenant,

then, to Ty, "A moment, if you will." He left her alone with her thoughts.

  So he was Lord Captain now. Climbing the political ladder as well as the military one. And yet he wanted to bargain with a lowly freighter captain who was clearly someplace she didn't belong.

  But she was, Ty knew, exactly where she belonged. She'd discussed the plan with Fy'ella and Sagar over a pitcher of blue ale in Port Charleston. A single person stood a greater chance of gaining access to the T'Sri than a whole fleet coming in. Who would suspect a lone freighter, drifting off- course, stellar drives in disarray?

  Except it wasn't the T'Sri who’d found her.

  "I need some answers from you." Jhen-Aris returned to the bridge railing, suddenly all business.

  She shook her head. "You're wasting your time. I'm in no position to help you with Pajtok. Unless you intend to salvage my ship for scrap to fund the mission. Which I doubt. So the best thing you can do is let me go."

  He leaned both hands on the railing and tilted his face down to hers. "And let you drift about in T'Sri space unprotected? Now what kind of honorable captain would do that?" The mocking, teasing tone was back again.

  "Seems to me there've been a lot of freighter captains left to drift all over occupied space. After the Jhen have stripped ‘em bare."

  He was silent. Then: "Moran, you're not cooperating."

  She faced him squarely. "I have nothing to offer you."

  "I could dispute that."

  He said it so quietly she almost missed it.

  She looked at him, startled. Not so much by his words, but by a tone she had heard enough times before in spaceport pubs. A soft tone, suggestive. Intimate. Definitely not all business.

  "I hardly think...." But she had thought, and she let her sentence end right there. He was standing too close, watching her too intently. And for a moment it was as if there were no one else on the bridge but herself and Kirand Jhen-Aris. The few inches that separated them seemed to crackle with a primal energy. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

  Then mercifully, he looked towards something at a far point on the bridge. The hard edge returned to his voice. "You ask that I let you go?"

  "Yes."

  "Denied. I can't do that."

  "Why not?"

  "Don't be a fool."

  She inhaled sharply. "Who am I going to tell what I've seen? My drinking buddies in Port Charleston? Even if I did, I'm not qualified to interpret this." She motioned to his crew at their stations and was surprised to see how steady her hand was. Inside, her heart thudded against her ribs. "I'm just blue-line rated. No one in any of the big transglomerates would even wipe their feet on a blue-liner, let alone talk to me."

  He seemed not to hear her. "Perhaps you'll be in a more cooperative frame of mind when we get to Maros Prime."

  Maros Prime. Her heart sank. She knew their present coordinates, knew approximately how long it would take a ship like the Abaris to return to its home base. It was time she didn't have to spare.

  She had, at best, a little less than thirty-six hours. She’d received the information from one of the dying minds on the Rachella. Not a Lifarian mind. A T'Sri. The Lifarian ship's distress call had been blaring for over ten hours by the time the Dreamweaver was able to respond. Ty had wandered through the ship's dim corridors, dazed and sickened by the carnage, the mutilated bodies. But one body, a T'Sri officer obviously caught unawares by an explosion, had still been alive. Barely.

  She would never have touched the woman, voluntarily, but she'd stumbled over a tangle of conduit and shredded bulkhead. Her hand splayed against a broad ridged back, still warm. The mental contact had been painful, almost revolting. But what she discovered made it all worthwhile.

  Within three days Emperor Pajtok would pass through the Nahil quadrant in his Royal Convoy. Heavily guarded, it would no doubt detect and react to the presence of a Council or Jhen ship well in advance. But her own small freighter, with the drives showing cold, would arouse no such suspicion.

  "I'm...I'm a little tired, Captain." She let all the strain she'd been feeling come through her voice. "And there's nothing more we can discuss. So if you don't mind, I'd like to go back-"

  "Mister Jhen-Daray will escort you to a cabin. There's no need for you to remain in the brig."

  Guard me is more like it, she thought as the muscular officer accompanied her into the lift. But her escort was the least of her problems. Getting off the Abaris was her major one. And one that would take considerable effort.

  She hoped she was up to it. It'd been a while, and she knew she was out of practice.

  -2-

  It could be worse, she thought for the second time in a few hours. She surveyed the small cabin. There was a decent-sized bed, a private ‘fresher, a built-in work area and a small kitchenette. In truth, it was nicer than the cabins on the Grindley or the Double Deuce. And it was definitely preferable to the standard brig.

  "The captain hopes you find the guest quarters to your liking," Jhen-Daray said. He lacked Jhen-Aris’s commanding presence, almost innate elegance. Though he wasn’t bad looking. She judged him to be about her age, just over thirty.

  Obviously, he'd been judging her, too. But only in small glances. Not like his captain's bold stare.

  "If there's anything that you need..."

  A laser pistol or sonic rifle might do just fine, she thought, but shook her head. "Not right now, thanks."

  She waited until the door irised behind him before turning her attention to the computer. "Computer on," she said softly, wondering what security devices the room held and who, if anyone, watched her.

  "Ident code or retinal scan?" responded a tinny autovoice.

  "What the hell. Code." She settled into the chair at the console and tried several of her codes from the Dreamweaver. Stranger things....

  But not this time. The second and third round she tried a generic series that could get you into the better liquor stock in just about any government run spaceport pub system. No luck. She leaned back into the seat and chewed her lip thoughtfully. This was going to take some work. She figured she had about an hour before the Abaris powered up for jump. One hour to get out of her pleasant prison, find the Dreamweaver and get the hell out of here.

  It wasn't a lot of time.

  Accessing the computer might allow her to pinpoint alarms and fail-safes in the corridors. And if there were a hangar lock override in the bay where Jhen-Aris held her ship. If she couldn't get the bay doors open, her only alternative would be to use the ion cannons rather creatively. It was a dangerous option--she could incinerate herself as well--and one she hoped she wouldn't have to use.

  She wasted another fifteen minutes before giving up. She had to remember that Jhen-Aris designed the whole system. Like the man, this wasn't going to be easy.

  There were several potential exits in her cabin. The most obvious and unlikely was the door. She lay her hand against the wall and tried to remember all she'd been taught, tried to forget the failures that haunted her because she was a half-breed. She let her mind drift.

  It took her almost ten minutes, but she had her answer... one she didn't like. She

  ‘felt' two guards on the other side of her door. Overpowering them mentally was out of the question. She was still shaking from a simple scan.

  She sought other options. There was a fairly wide air-duct in the main room and one in the ‘fresher. She stacked the chair on the desktop, then balancing precariously, carefully slid back the hinged cover. If, by any chance, she could hoist herself up far enough to get inside, she'd be trapped eventually by the narrowing of the ducts themselves.

  It didn't look good.

  She had less than forty minutes.

  She looked over the room again. A narrow wall of adjustable shelves formed a partial privacy screen in front of the sleeping area. She grabbed some utensils from the cabin's small kitchenette and pried loose one of the thick plasteel support bars.

  She swung it in a small arc. It would have to do.

  She pulled the cushions from the sofa and threw them to the floor so they overlapped. Beneath them, she tucked the bar so it was undetectable. Then she took two deep breaths and let loose the most bloodcurdling scream she could muster.

  She fell to the cushions as the door irised open. The guards rushed in.

  Ty kept herself still and loose as they barked urgent commands in Jhenian. She felt the give of a cushion as the guards knelt beside her. One lightly grasped her wrist.

 

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