Jordan (29 page)

“How do we know that when we come out of hyperspace, their fleet won’t be waiting for us?” Lyle asked.

“We don’t know,” Vivianne admitted.

“And how will we set foot on their world without being shot, never mind find the Grail?” he pressed.

“Jordan is working on a clever scheme,” she lied. “In the meantime, I need to modify our sensors. Perhaps we can infiltrate
their computer systems. Sean, bring up our sensor specs on my screen, plus all the data we’ve collected on Pentar. If anyone
else has any ideas how to adapt our equipment—”

“There’s no time for modifications,” Jordan interrupted. He strode onto the bridge, his face a study in contrasts. While light
caught his cheekbones, the skin under his eyes was dark. “People, we’re flying in on nothing more than an ancient rumor and
a promise of a legend, but the stakes have never been higher. If we fail, Earth doesn’t stand a chance. Luckily for us, Pentar’s
the commercial hub of the Tribal grid. The system’s overcrowded and overtaxed, so if we get lucky, we fly in without raising
any suspicion.”

“Is that likely?” Vivianne asked.

Jordan smiled, his eyes cold. “In the last thousand years, no enemy of the Tribes has dared to fly into the heart of Tribe
territory. They won’t be expecting us, and that should allow us the element of surprise.”

As the
Draco
jumped into hyperspace, she hoped Jordan was right. She longed to step beside Jordan and lock her fingers through his. But
she denied herself his strength. She might want to spend as much time with him as she could, but she refused to give up her
independence, and as a captain, she needed to stay strong for her crew as much as for herself.

It seemed to take mere seconds, as well as an eternity, to slow from hyperspace. But at sub–light speeds they could see hundreds,
maybe thousands of Tribe ships.

Sean leaned over his nav screen. “The traffic pattern’s insane.”

Sirens blared. “Warning. We’re on a collision course. Collision course.”

At the command console, Gray fought with the helm. “Translators are working. Traffic control’s ordering us to veer seventy
degrees to point zero eight five niner.”

“Do it,” Jordan ordered.

Gray corrected their flight path, and the engine warnings died. Vivianne slowly let out her breath and stared at the viewscreen.
Ships of every size and description swarmed in and out of Pentar’s space. Some space barges looked to be a kilometer long;
others, small craft with sleek lines, darted between the heavy cruisers. Military ships, transport vessels, and ferries all
intermixed into the grid.

The chaos reminded her of driving in Tokyo at rush hour—only in three dimensions. But out here, just a fender bender meant
instant death.

Sean put an incoming communication from traffic command over the bridge speakers. “Vessel on path zero point eight five niner,
authorized entry is denied.”

“Why?” Jordan asked.

“Your registration signal is nonresponsive.”

Apparently every ship possessed some kind of signal to identify it to the traffic cops. Since the
Draco
didn’t have a responder, they were attracting official attention.

Jordan didn’t miss a beat. “Traffic control, this is ship on path zero point eight five niner. Six days ago, we lost power
and shielding after a meteor shower hit us. Our transponder was knocked out, but Trendonis will vouch for us.”

“Trendonis?” The traffic controller whistled.

Jordan’s pretense that they were on a mission for the enemy leader could easily backfire. Vivianne held her breath. Would
the traffic controller attempt to verify their story? Or would the name of their powerful leader alone put enough fear into
him to let them continue?

Jordan sounded unconcerned, almost bored. “Trendonis isn’t happy when his ships are delayed, but do what you must.”

“I’m clearing. Alpha, priority two. Have a good landing.”

Jordan shut off the communication. “That was too easy.”

Vivianne’s eyes narrowed. “You think they’re still suspicious?”

“We can’t trust anyone. When we dock, they might arrest us or shoot us.” He turned to Sean. “Break out every hand weapon onboard.
Issue the crew sidearms.”

“You think we can fight our way out?” Vivianne’s stomach churned.

Jordan fisted his hands on his hips. “We can’t let them delay us.”

Fighting didn’t seem the way to go. Not this deep in Tribal territory. Not when they were so outnumbered. Vivianne scratched
the back of her neck. “Chances are, low-level bureaucrats will come aboard first. Instead of shooting them, why don’t we try
a bribe?”

Jordan nodded. “It might be better to offer to trade power. The Staff can feed into most power grids.”

They now had a surplus of food. But unless absolutely necessary, she hated to give up any of the high-end products that Devid
had placed about the
Draco;
nuts, coffee, beans, and synth meat. They even had brandy, bourbon, and vodka. Without knowing when they could restock, it
was better to hold on to their supplies if possible.

Vivianne accepted a laser sidearm and slid it into the waistband of her slacks, the cool, hard metal a constant reminder of
the danger. When she glanced out the viewscreen again, she could see they’d be docking at a space station in orbit over the
planet.

With giant arms extending out from the core, the space station was a marvel of engineering ingenuity. Ships arrived, docked,
unloaded, reloaded, and departed with a smooth efficiency that reminded her of a busy hive.

A hive that wouldn’t hesitate to sting them with multiple threats if they discovered dragonshapers among them.

They had no official documents. No identity papers. No transponder.

Below the space station, the terrain was mountainous and covered by glaciers and huge polar icecaps. The frozen snowball didn’t
look the least inviting.

Compared to Earth, Pentar was barren. Vivianne saw no oceans, no rain forests or jungles. In fact, nothing green lived on
Pentar. The weather sensors told her the surface wasn’t just frigid but devoid of all animal and plant life.

No wonder the Tribes had left Pentar to expand to other worlds. Anything would be an improvement. But she shouldn’t fool herself.
The Tribes didn’t colonize—they dominated, they enslaved, they stole a world’s resources and moved on like locusts, leaving
decimation and death behind.

Be glad of hyperspace, because it gives you the chance to love and to laugh and to work and to play and to travel through
the stars.

—A
NONYMOUS GALACTIC EXPLORER

J
ordan’s motto was to hope for peace but to accept the necessity of war. So he was not pleased that Vivianne wanted to greet
the Tribes’ authorities herself. But he knew better than to suggest she back down. Instead, he’d stay close and stay well
armed—if out of sight.

While he and Sean covered the doorway with their weapons, Vivianne greeted the Tribal officials at the main hatch. “Welcome,
gentlemen.” She gestured to a tray filled with assorted beverages next to tempting finger foods Knox had placed in easy reach.
“Would you care for refreshment?” Vivianne asked breezily.

“Hand over your ship’s papers.” The gray-haired taller man in a stained uniform spoke in a gruff tone, his beady eyes staring
at Vivianne’s lithe figure as if she stood unclothed on the slave block.

Jordan bristled. Vivianne pretended not to notice. Instead she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and put on a bemused
expression. “I’m afraid we lost our papers when the space debris hit us.” She opened her eyes wide. “We were lucky to survive.”

“You really don’t expect us to believe that,” the younger man sneered.

She poured the men drinks. “Actually, I was afraid no one would believe me and was hoping you gentlemen could tell me what
to do. I’m really not very good when it comes to paperwork.”
Ha,
Jordan thought. This from a woman who ran one of the largest megacompanies on Earth? She really could be disingenuous when
she tried. “Is there some report I’m supposed to file?”

Vivianne didn’t exactly flirt, but she appealed to their protective male egos. At first Jordan didn’t think they had a sympathetic
cell in their bodies, but Vivianne kept up the chatter.

“It was so scary,” Vivianne said in a slightly breathless voice that was beginning to captivate the men. Their frowns weren’t
as severe, and as they snacked and drank, the tension abated. “We had to fix our engines in a strange port,” she continued.
“I’m fairly certain the mechanics took advantage… but we had to get home, so we had no choice but to over pay for repairs.”

“New paperwork can be expensive…” The older official left the insinuation dangling.

“Oh, I’d be so happy if you could take care of it for me.” Vivianne smiled, placed her hand on the man’s forearm, and leaned
closer. “Trendonis is always so grateful and generous to those who help smooth over any difficulties.”

Damn, she was good.

“Fifteen hundred credits.” The Tribesman named his price.

Vivianne didn’t blink. No one would ever guess she didn’t have so much as one Tribe credit, and Jordan reminded himself not
to play poker with her. “Credits can be traced, but”—she winked—“no one could object to an appropriate gift.”

“What kind of gift?”

“Trendonis is a most generous man. In my experience, it’s best to leave the gift up to him.” Vivianne spoke and acted as if
she expected the two men to agree with her. Before they could think too hard or too long, she moved on. “We also require repairs.
I’d be most grateful if you could recommend someone to install a new cosmic power converter.”

As they discussed prices, models, and how long those repairs would take, Jordan couldn’t help but grin. Vivianne was going
to get the enemy to fix the
Draco.
He only prayed that when the repairmen boarded, they didn’t note anything suspicious. Still, he couldn’t blame her for wanting
to replace the Staff as a power source. Every time he exited the ship with the Staff, he left the
Draco
vulnerable. If they succeeded, the Staff would cease to exist. So for the
Draco
to fly home, the repairs would be vital.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been so amazed. Vivianne’s negotiating skills were extraordinary, and he couldn’t have been
more pleased when she also talked the officials into giving them temporary IDs. By the time Vivianne finished with the two
men, they were acting like her best friends.

She insisted they each leave with a bottle of scotch and some of Knox’s homemade cookies. But he didn’t totally relax his
grip on the blaster until the officials departed and the hatch closed behind them.

That’s when he realized he’d broken into a sweat, worried that the men might harm her before he could stop them. But he forced
a smile onto his lips, knowing instinctively that she would not appreciate his concern. Vivianne wanted to believe that he
thought she could take care of herself. And he did—but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry.

“Good job.” He strode over and had to force himself not to hug her in a tight embrace. Taking a fake ID, he slipped the bracelet
over his wrist. “You ready to go?”

She kneeled, and George scampered over. “Just let me say goodbye.” She petted his head. “Be a good boy.” She stood and turned
to Sean. “Don’t feed him too many Ping-Pong balls.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sean.” Jordan lowered his voice. “No one else is to leave this ship. Schedule the repairs during Lyle’s downtime.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll be extra careful with strangers aboard.”

“One more thing,” Jordan warned him. “Once the repairs are finished, keep the engines hot. We might have to leave… fast.”

“I’ll let Gray know.” Sean lifted George into his arms to prevent the dog from following them. “Safe trip, and good luck.”

“See you soon.” Jordan stepped through the hatch and led Vivianne down the loading dock. “You ready to fly down to Pentar?”

“Of course. I’m always ready for adventure.”

His chest swelled with pride. Vivianne was walking into Tribe territory with no credit, no allies, no friends. Yet he saw
no fear in her eyes, just anticipation and the knowledge she would do what must be done.

She’d never looked more beautiful. Without makeup, her hair falling loosely about her shoulders, she walked beside him, her
head high, her shoulders squared, ready to face whatever came at them next.

Jordan hoped he could keep it together. He didn’t want to let her down. He didn’t want to let Earth down.

The first test came as they entered the transfer station. People bought tickets and lined up for the ride to Pentar.

Vivianne whispered into his ear. “We don’t have credits to buy our tickets.”

He squeezed her hand. “Trust me.” He walked up to the ticket counter. Jordan pressed their identity cards in a slot. Then
one quick mind swipe and Jordan changed the clerk’s vision, so that instead of the blank piece of paper Jordan handed him,
the clerk saw a hundred-credit note. It was surprisingly easy. Without hesitation, the clerk placed the paper in his cash
drawer and handed them two tickets and a handful of change.