SILENT RUN

  by Linnea Sinclair

  Set in the same universe as my novel, Finders Keepers, this short story introduces Captain Shandy McAllister, who is about to become embroiled in a mixture of political intrigue, personal challenges... and learn a little about love in the process...

  I

  “Rinnaker shuttlecraft, you’re cleared for final approach to Bay Six-Fiver Beta.

  Acknowledge.”

  “Deneb Approach, this is Rinnaker shuttle Lancer-One. Acknowledged.

  Thanks. Switching helm over to Deneb Auto Guidance.”

  “Computer confirms. You’re on the mark, Lancer-One.

  Cut power to one-third.”

  “Acknowledged. One--"

  “Lancer-One, this is Deneb Approach. Increase power. There’s a Tryll off your stern, mark one-eight-zero-point-three. Repeat. Increase power.”

  “Power up.”

  “Nanjir Tryll, Nanjir Tryll, this is Deneb Approach. Decrease power. Change course to nine-zero-point-five. Repeat. Decrease power! Change course to nine-zero-point-five!”

  “Den... Nanj... Unable to...”

  “Nanjir Tryll, change course now! This is Deneb Approach. You’re in the path of an incoming Rinnaker shuttle. Repeat. Take nine-zero-point-five immediately!

  “Lancer-One, this is Deneb. Abort! Abort!”

  “Negative, Deneb. We’re too tight. We’ll try to outrun thebastard. Clear the--"

  “This is Deneb Approach. All craft hold position. We have an emergency in Bay Six-Fiver Beta!”

  II

  “We’re not lovers!” Shandy McAllister winced as the line of faces down the Port Tyber bar turned abruptly in her direction.

  The man on her right leered at her. “Jump-jockey gossip says different. Says you’re right cozy with Captain Talvarrin. So how’s ‘bout using some of that horizontal influence for me?” His hand shook noticeably as he slid his journeyman’s data-tab towards her. His breath reeked of the sour odor of a rafthkra junkie. “I can work drive tech, cargo tech, anything Rinnaker needs.”

  “I don’t have any connections with Rinnaker, Hillard.” Nor would she give him a recommendation if she did. The once respected tech had degenerated into one of the lowest forms of dock slime she’d ever met. And growing up in the Syar Colonies, she’d just about met them all.

  Shandy slid off the stool. Hillard’s hand clamped on her arm, halting her.

  “There’s peoples who know ‘bout you and him.” His tone was distinctly threatening.

  She shook him off, headed for the door. The Lucy had a schedule to keep.

  “You look like you’re ready to fire ion cannons at someone. If you had any, that is.” Donata Caro’s lilting voice drifted over Shandy’s shoulder as headed for the podway to the spaceport.

  Shandy gave her friend a tight smile. “Hillard thinks I have some pull with Rinnaker. You know he’s always trying to cadge a favor.” But it was the first time he’d ever gotten nasty. She didn’t know if that should worry her or not.

  The amber skinned woman raised on eyebrow. “Guess he’s heard the talk about you and tall, dark and Talvarrin.”

  “Donni!”

  “Oh, that’s right. You and Captain Talvarrin aren’t lovers. He’s just a friend.

  Who alters schedules of one of the most powerful merchanter families in the Conclave so that he can have a few beers, now and then, with an obscure short-hauler.”

  “The Lucy handled a cargo transfer--”

  “Once. Eight months ago. And the Valiance has been following the Lucent Echo ever since.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” Shandy said. Donni was a hopeless romantic. The plain fact was that the Syar Colonies were a popular transfer point. Which made it not unlikely that she and Captain Cameron Talvarrin might run into each other, share a few beers. And maybe hash over the usual opinions on the latest improvements in jumpgate technology, or the rumors of new markets opening in the Deneb sector. Or discuss the hazards in the space lanes out by the rim colony of Braskar, courtesy of the Nanjir faction now looking to grab some of the colonies’ wealth.

  Punctuated inevitably by Cam Talvarrin’s pronouncements of how one Captain Shandy Alexis McAllister should conduct her business, and her life.

  The pod arrived with the usual hiss and rattle.

  “If he’s not in love with you,” Donni asked as they threaded their way through exiting passengers, “then why’s he following you around?”

  Shandy glanced out the grimy windows as the pod rumbled forward. “Maybe because the Lucy and I provide a good transport service at a fair price. He appreciates that.”

  “More likely he appreciates a gorgeous little brunette.”

  “You’re prejudiced. And hallucinating. I haven’t heard from him in a couple septis. And I doubt if I will.” Especially as she’d told him it would be a cold day in hell before she’d give up a shot at the newly opened Braskar route because one Cameron Talvarrin deemed it a waste of her time. “Trust me. I’m really not his type.”

  “That’s why he kissed you.”

  “Because we’d both had a few more beers than we should have that night. So forget about it, okay? I have.”

  Liar, a little voice said. She hadn’t forgotten about it. But at least now when Shandy thought about those mind-numbing kisses it was with the stern reminder never to get in that situation again. She’d been around spaceport pubs, and spacers, for almost all of her thirty-two years. She knew what too little sleep, too much Syarian ale, and one undeniably sexy male with the most incredible blue eyes-- and enormous ego-- could do: break her heart.

  She wasn’t interested.

  The pod shimmied. “Green Terminal,” a tinny autovoice announced.

  “That’s me.” Donni squeezed Shandy’s hand. “Catch you here in two months?”

  “We’ll swap transmits before then. Stay out of trouble.”

  “That should be your motto, not mine. And tell Cameron,” Donni said, stressing the name as she headed for the exit door, “I send my warmest regards.”

  III

  Shandy tabbed on the console lights on the Lucy’s small bridge. Her inbox icon flashed on her screen.

  Two solicits from export agents, one on Q'uivera Station and one in Port Rumor, recommending she register her ship with them. For a small advance fee, of course.

  She cleared the words from the screen.

  Next was a note from Nolan. Cargo Chief Nolan Ennis of the Jero Hagan, the title officially read. He’d heard she was scheduled for a pickup at Q'uivera, the Hagan’s home base. If she had time, the note continued, dinner would be nice.

  “Long as I’m not dessert,” she commented absently, then corrected herself.

  “Don’t transmit that, Lucy!”

  “Acknowledged,” came the reply.

  Then came the message she didn’t understand, its Transmitting Terminal Designation skewed and incomplete. Shandy frowned at the cryptic words on her screen.

  IMPER..., it read. DALGRA FI... T... ES... S.R... CAM-T/V.

  The easiest part was DALGRA FI. That could only be Dalgra Five, the mining colony two jumps out from Port Tyber. Recent jump-jockey gossip stated the reclusive Dalgrans were looking to offer lucrative transport contracts for their mining production. Shandy knew, even before her conversation with Cam Talvarrin, that several Conclave merchanter conglomerates were vying to meet on Deneb with colony representatives.

  There were no such things as trade secrets in Syar.

  She took a stab at the remainder of the message. IMPER. Imperfect?

  Impertinent? The latter she’d been called often enough. By the man whose initials ended the message: CAM-T/V. Cameron Talvarrin of the Valiance.

  That was one more reason why she felt sure those kisses had been prompted by alcohol rather than affection.

  But what troubled her more than their spirited discussions were two other initials in the transmit: S.R.. It was an old smuggler’s term, demanding stealth and speed in an urgent matter. S.R.. Silent Run.

  IMPER could well mean imperative. Urgent.

  She put it all together; hoped she was wrong. It made no sense and only lodged a tense, sick feeling in her stomach. A blind, muddied request, no; a plea for help.

  From a man whose name alone could fund an entire rescue fleet.

  For that very reason she knew it meant something more serious than she dared consider. And S.R. meant she couldn’t contact him to ask what it was all about.

  She leaned back in the pilot’s chair, plopped her scuffed boots on the edge of the console. She owed him nothing. He was an arrogant scoundrel who was quite capable, she was sure, of taking care of himself.

  But he’d challenged her mind with his wit, his intellect. And teased her mouth with his kisses. And had a habit of calling her “little girl” in such a way that she knew she was neither little, nor merely a girl, in his eyes. Which were the palest blue she’d ever seen.

  So if he needed her help, she and Lucy would head for Dalgra, quickly and quietly. Silent Run.

  IV

  She cleared Port Tyber’s outer beacon two hours later, but still had no plan to gain access to the Dalgra Sector, or Deneb Station. Deneb was a Conclave station; however, entry into the Dalgran sector was restricted to ambassadorial and approved science vessels. Her small L7-Class freighter qualified as neither.

  But there were ways to get around just about anything labeled ‘restricted’.

  Trouble was, Nolan was often her source for that information. He’d ask why, and he wouldn�

��t like that her reason was Cam Talvarrin.

  “He’s not for the likes of you,” Nolan had told her.

  Funny. Cam had said the same thing about Nolan.

  Lie, a little voice advised her. Something told her Cam’s life might depend on it.

  She keyed up her commpack, composed a message about an imaginary shipment of critical med supplies, knowing it could be hours before Nolan answered.

  She kept Lucy on a direct heading for the first jumpgate to Dalgra.

  Nolan’s answer came when she was an hour from jump. NO CAN DO.

  SORRY. SOMETHING BIG WENT DOWN ON DENEB LAST SEPTI. TWO

  SHIPS UNDER IMPOUND: MHISHARAN AND RINNAKER. NO ONE’S

  TALKING. NO ONE’S MOVING IN OR OUT EXCEPT CONCLAVE BRASS.

  MEET ME AT Q’UIVERA. I’LL KEEP YOU BUSY 'TIL ROUTES CLEAR

  AGAIN.

  Damn. A Rinnaker ship under impound and no idea which one. There’d been nothing on the newsvids. Nothing even in jump-jockey gossip. Nothing. Except a plea for a silent run.

  She had to be crazy. No. She had to be crazy not to see that Nolan had given her an answer, even as he denied any ability to help. Shandy locked onto the coordinates of the jumpgate’s outer beacon while her mind worked. A Mhisharan ship under impound. The only Mhisharan ships in the Conclave were research vessels. Cargo bays converted to science labs. Geophysicists and mineralogists elbow to elbow. It made sense. The Dalgran sector was a miner’s dream. And a geologist’s one as well.

  She took the Lucy through jump, her mind moving almost as quickly as her ship.

  When she came out of the second jump, she had her cover story well formulated. Not flawless, but at least in place.

  She relayed it with feigned boredom to the Conclave officer staring suspiciously at her over her ship’s vidlink. “I’ve been way the hell over in Gensiira for the past two months. Didn't know you have my client’s ship on impound. What am I supposed to do with this shipment?”

  “I suggest you find a depot--”

  “It’s time-dated! Didn’t you read the manifest?” Shandy hoped he hadn’t read it too closely. She tapped her lightpen on her compscreen, highlighting the same section on his copy. That was all she wanted him to see. The commodity transport code and time-date designation. And the fact that her client was a Mhishar science lab.

  Not the smudging of the pick-up date: last year. It had taken her twenty-five minutes to scan and reformat the manifest file to blur the date.

  The officer pursed his lips. “Just a minute.”

  Her vidscreen blanked, showing only the Conclave emblem topping the logo of Deneb Station. She edged the Lucy closer to the security beacons, drummed her fingers on her arm pad. Her heart pounded in a similar rhythm in her chest.

  Her screen blinked on again. She almost jumped.

  “One of our patrol ships will escort you to Dalgra Five. The research labs use the Owens Spaceport.”

  Dalgra Five? Shit, no! She didn’t want to be dirtside. She needed access to Deneb Station, to whatever Rinnaker ship was out on impound orbit. She--

  --nodded. Smiled. Had no choice. Get past security, first. Go to Dalgra, if you have to. They might be less concerned with you on the way out. “Acknowledged.

  I’ll wait for your escort.”

  Shit. What in hell was she going to unload when she got to Owens? The Lucy’s cargo holds were empty.

  V

  It didn’t matter. Six armed Owens security cops met her at the base of the Lucy’s ramp. Someone must have examined her forged manifest more closely.

  “Don’t try to run,” the tallest one said and shoved her forward, his laser rifle in her back. She held her hands away from her sides as another yanked her pistol from her utility belt holster.

  Twilight darkness eradicated the shadows. She marched across the tarmac towards the cargo hangar office. The evening breeze was dry, dust-filled. That’s probably what made her throat feel so parched, her chest so tight.

  Shandy hated being dirtside. She hated being surrounded by sec-cops, with the Lucy under impound. And a request for a silent run that meant she could trust no one except the sender of the request, Cameron Talvarrin.

  She knew the threats even before the tall security sergeant made them.

  Revocation of her captain’s license. Loss of her ship. A definite jail sentence. A hefty fine.

  “We want answers, McAllister.”

  “Hell’s patrons want ice water, sergeant.”

  “You want hell? I’d be glad to arrange--”

  “You’ll arrange nothing,” a deep voice said with undeniable authority.

  Shandy swiveled in her chair, as best she could with her hand sonic-cuffed to the armrest. A small flutter of anticipation trembled around her heart. For a brief moment she thought she recognized the voice.

  But when she saw the broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway, she knew she didn’t.

  She also knew why she thought she did.

  He wore a dark blue Rinnaker officer’s uniform. But from the jacket gleamed not the three stars designating the rank of captain, but five. The rank of commodore of Rinnaker’s fleet.

  Thick silver hair topped a face that was still handsome, though lined by age.

  More lines flanked a pair of blue eyes; startlingly pale blue. Like Cam’s eyes.

  But this wasn’t Cam, glowering at the sec-cop behind the desk.

  This had to be Gareth Talvarrin, head of Rinnaker Port Transit for over thirty years. Undisputed patriarch of the Talvarrin family. Cameron’s uncle.

  His icy gaze swept over her. She felt suddenly chilled.

  “I’ll handle Captain McAllister.”

  “But, Commodore, I can’t release--”

  “You can. You will.” He made a curt motion with his hand. “Unlock the cuffs.”

  For three heartbeats no one moved. Then the sergeant gave a brief nod. The sec-cop closest to Shandy tapped in the code.

  She shook out her wrist as she walked towards him, her mind whirling. But his expression, as he glared down at her, halted any questions.

  And made her consider that perhaps this wasn’t a rescue after all, but rather a one way ticket to hell. Which, gathering from the Commodore Talvarrin’s frosty demeanor, was shortly about to freeze over.

  VI

  Gareth Talvarrin made no comments as he guided the hovercar through the spaceport gates then turned right, heading for a distant glow on the horizon.

  Shandy wondered why an aide hadn’t driven him, thought better than to ask.

  The glow brightened. A row of entry lights illuminated the emblem of the Conclave Trade Embassy on the gates, which opened as the car approached.

  They were expected in spite of the late hour.

  She followed the silver-haired man down a long, empty corridor to a set of double-doors. An office he’d been assigned, or permitted to use, Shandy guessed.

  No, appropriated. Gareth Talvarrin was a man who took what he wanted, and accepted nothing less. Like someone else she knew. Someone who was constantly telling her how she should run her business, her life.

  He unlocked the doors then strode into the dark office, flicking on a small lamp on the corner of his desk with obvious irritation.

  “Sit.” He pointed to a chair. “Please.”

  She detected a clear note of exasperation in his last word. “Thank you,” she said. And she didn’t mean for the chair.

  He stood behind his high-backed chair, arms folded across his chest. Studying her. Struggling with something.

  She didn’t know what, unless it was her unexpected appearance. Gareth Talvarrin didn’t look like a man who enjoyed the unexpected.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice held the tight note of someone at the end of his patience.

  She knew her answer wasn’t going to help. “I can’t tell you.”

  His eyes widened, briefly, in shock. Shandy guessed not many people refused to answer Commodore Talvarrin’s questions.

  “Shandy Alexis.” He paused. “McAllister.”

  But for the addition of her last name, that was the way Cam would refer to her when he was angry. You’re not listening to me, Shandy Alexis.

  She had a feeling Gareth Talvarrin had been forewarned. She couldn’t imagine what Cam had told his uncle about her. No. She could. “Yes, that’s me. And no, I can’t tell you.”

  “You damn well better tell me. You just don’t show up in the middle of a war zone--”

  “War zone?” There’d been no reports of a declaration of war. No reports of even a skirmish let alone military action.

 

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