Authors: Greta van Der Rol
Morgan's Return (13 page)
"You've met him?" Ravindra asked.
"Not in the flesh, in virtual conference, over a multi-dim connection. He has one in his home."
The lift pinged gently, and the door opened. Morgan strode out, but Ravindra lingered. The woman had been more useful than she could ever imagine. They had a lead at last. He took the curator's hand. "Thank you for everything, Miss Simmons, it has been a pleasure to meet you." He lifted her hand, and brushed her fingers with his lips.
Simmons flushed.
Ravindra strode to where Morgan waited for him in the center of the hall, her head tilted back, staring up at the ceiling beyond the escalator.
Morgan hooked her hand through his arm. "Would you like me to disappear for the evening? Looks like you've won a heart. Again."
He patted her hand, as they descended the steps onto the gravel path. "Winning a heart can be a useful approach. You might bear it in mind, occasionally. This woman has given us our first real lead."
"Uh-huh. Now we have to find some nutty archaeologist, with a bunch of crack-pot ideas."
"You know where this planet is?"
"Yes. Ushas. It's part of the Coalition, twenty-seven-point-three light years. It's old, too."
"Meaning?"
"It's been inhabited for a long time. Doesn't look like it was ravaged in the Conflagration. But she already told us that."
Ravindra's feet crunched on the gravel. "Time to move on."
"Yep. Ushas here we come."
Chapter 10
W
ith Tom purring on her lap, Ellen delved into Torreno's arrivals system and entered the specifications for
Curlew
. As soon as the ship arrived, she'd know. A heartbeat after she'd sent the data, the system replied. Her whole body jolted. Tom yowled a complaint from the floor where he'd been dumped and jumped back onto the sofa.
"Sorry." She soothed him with a few strokes.
The ship was called
Vulsaur,
but it was the same vessel that had pulled out of Iniciara. Ellen's heart thundered. It was impossible. That ship couldn't possibly have arrived at Torreno before her military transport, and this ship had been here for… let's see… a week? She leaned back against the headrest. A different ship? Had she made a mistake? Ellen checked the specs again, comparing them with the image in her implant. Just the ship's name had changed. The passengers' names were the same. Ravindra, Prasad, Sefton, Davaskar, Jirra, Tullamarran. They were staying in a city hotel, just like any other well-heeled tourists.
Ellen rubbed her hand over lips. She had come directly from Iniciara back to Torreno on a military ship, piloted by her. Even with Selwood in control,
Vulsaur
was restricted by physics. The shift drive could only access certain dimensional coordinates.
"Oh." She said the word aloud, clutching at her chest. Unless Selwood had found a way to improve the shift engine? Back then, when Ellen had worked on the experimental drive, she had thought she'd found a way of increasing the vibrations to take the shift drive to another level, but the mechanism had proved to be unstable. Selwood had been the unwitting test bunny, when the drive was fitted to
Curlew
.
Tom began to knead, digging his claws into her thigh, reminding her she was neglecting him again. Ellen stroked him, the movement automatic. Damn it, if Selwood had figured out how to build a better shift drive, that fact alone would make
Vulsaur
invaluable. Just as well her attack on the ship at Iniciara had failed. Perhaps she should take the chance to get on board
Vulsaur,
while they were all planetside, see if she could work out the design. What a coup that would be, to tell Makasa she had finally created a better shift drive. Ellen would be given the credit and promoted to captain in a micro-second. That drive was another good reason—if she needed any—to get rid of Selwood.
Tom purred, pushing his back against her hand. Ellen buried her fingers into his glossy black coat. The cat yowled his annoyance when she placed him on the couch. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I won't be long."
Dressed in loose-fitting grey pants and an over-large sweatshirt, Ellen called a skycab, and flew down to the space port. Nobody paid any attention to her as she joined the gaggle of people waiting for the next shuttle, and shuffled on board with the rest. A couple of children squealed with excitement as the ship rose above the atmosphere, their faces pressed to the window, but Ellen had seen it all before. A pity their mother couldn't keep her brats under control.
The children were the first onto the station itself, wriggling with excitement. Ignoring their frazzled mother, they ran off down a corridor. Ellen shook her head. All that parenting business was beyond her. Just as well it wasn't an option for Supertechs.
Ellen stopped at the reception counter, and checked in, as was required of all visitors to the station. Now to find
Vulsaur
. She connected her mind to the data port while standing at a window, apparently admiring dresses.
No. Oh, no. Rats. Damn and blast
. Anger twisted in her stomach. They had a launch slot, scheduled for five minutes. She punched the window hard enough to hurt.
Hold on. Stupid
. She could delay their departure, keep them here.
"Is everything all right, madam?"
A woman stood in the shop doorway, her expression a mix of disapproval and angst.
Ellen rubbed the knuckles of her hand. "Um. Yes. Sorry. Just got some bad news. Sorry." The window was unharmed, even if her hand throbbed. "No harm done. Sorry."
She walked away. Damn it, the last thing she needed was to make a spectacle of herself. There was still time to stop
Vulsaur
, but then what? She could hardly turn up at the dock and ask to see the shift drive. No, best to follow wherever they were going next. A chance would come. A quick check of travel plans showed their destination as Ushas. Not a place she'd ever heard of. Should she book passage on a liner?
No. Too slow and there wasn't a flight for two days, anyway. She decided to contact her Black Cat associates, and obtain a state-of-the-art ship. Judging by
Vulsaur's
travel time from Iniciara, they'd arrive long before she did, anyway.
***
M
akasa received the call from Chang at his office, the agent's virtual figure appearing in the corner, a life-size representation of the man.
"Well?" Makasa interlaced his fingers.
"She's been to the space station. It was a strange visit. She didn't do anything, was only there for a few minutes. Ten at most."
"Why? Why was she there?"
"I don't know. She checked in, looked at some dresses in a window display. She became angry, and punched the glass. The shop owner came out and spoke to her, and she left."
"Nothing from the shop owner?"
"No. I recorded the conversation."
Makasa listened. But the thing with a Supertech was, you didn't know what she'd done in the station's systems, what she'd looked at.
"Keep following her."
Chapter 11
V
ulsaur
finished the docking procedure at Ushas's only space station, with the barest jolt. "I must say, they're efficient here." Davaskar watched the lines snake into place, locking onto the ship's hull.
"Of course," Morgan said. "It's all run by women."
Ravindra coughed. The way she'd said that. So smug. "Is that so?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "The planet has a matriarchal system. Who your father was is of far less consequence than who your mother was."
Ravindra's shoulder harness retracted into the seat and he stood, stretching his arms over his head. There was a general rustle as the others followed his example.
Davaskar broke an uncomfortable silence. "That controller we spoke to was a man."
"Well, yes." Morgan grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "The women are happy to have the men working for them. They have men in the military and the police, anywhere where brawn is required, but the women call the shots."
Jirra sniggered. Davaskar glowered at her, and the first officer straightened her face.
Ravindra eyed Morgan. She was enjoying herself, well aware of stirring Davaskar. "I doubt it will affect how we conduct ourselves. We're just visiting."
Morgan met his gaze and chuckled again, just as the IS flashed the signal that the airlocks had equalized. "Let's go and meet the locals."
Ravindra followed her to the external hatch, down the short tunnel connecting the ship with the dock, and stepped out into the corridor.
The station's layout wasn't much different from the other space stations he'd seen in the Coalition. This one was newer than most, with no sign of the shabbiness he'd noticed at Iniciara, and the walls and floors were meticulously clean. Displays along the walls promised the beauties of the planet, dioramas of sparkling beaches and forests, pristine wilderness. And, of course, advertisements for hotels and resorts.
They passed through the immigration barrier without challenge. All the formalities had taken place before
Vulsaur
had been given permission to dock. Even so, Morgan told him that sensors checked them as they walked down the corridor. Much smarter than the bottleneck at Iniciara. Morgan had booked them into a hotel near the sea at his request. Besides, it would only be a short hop from there to where Partridge the archaeologist lived, in a mansion on the cliffs. Always assuming he'd see them, of course.
The shuttle to the ground arrived dead on time, and left dead on time. This place was well-organized, efficient. Ravindra liked that.
"I think we'd be best off hiring a skimmer, rather than mess about with public transport," Morgan said, after the ship had launched from the station toward the atmosphere.
Ravindra shrugged. "If you think so."
On the ground, Morgan pointed at a desk offering a rental service. "I'll arrange a skimmer."
"We'll wait for you outside." Ravindra headed for wide doors that led to the road, edged by an expanse of parkland. He found a bench under a tree and sat, stretching out his legs, sucking real air into his lungs. Unlike the recycled spaceship air, every planet's air had a tang, a taste all its own. This one felt good, clean. Earthy, with perhaps a hint of ozone from the nearby sea. A leaf fell, spiraling gently down to the ground, a bright red patch in an expanse of bluish-green. This planet's sun was a little brighter than that of his home world. Even now, after all his years in space, he could still discern the difference in the colors, the reds more vibrant, the greens washed out.
Two people, a man and a woman, dressed in cream trousers and shirts, their belts bulky with attachments, ambled toward him. No doubt the local police. He noted each carried a nerve whip, and a sidearm in a holster. The two slowed down, glancing at Jirra and Prasad, who sat together on a low wall.
The female police officer stared at him as she approached, looking him up and down as though he were a piece of meat. She licked her lips, a glint in her eye, her gaze sliding down to his groin, undressing him with her eyes.
The last time a woman had had the temerity to look at him like that, he'd been a callow youth fresh out of the Academy, a target for older women looking for some action while their husbands were away. He glared at her.
She stopped in front of him and turned, standing with legs apart, hands on hips, a hint of a lascivious smile lurking around her lips.
"On your feet," she drawled.
Ravindra's hackles rose. Still, this was another planet, different rules. He stood, taking his time, and folded his arms, gazing down at her. "Is there a problem?"
"You're foreign?" she asked, the grin still there.
"Yes."
The officer held out her hand. "Give me your identification." Up close, the woman was past first youth, her eyes old and hard.
Oh, he'd like to slap her down, wipe that insolent smirk off her face. Behind her, the male officer stood with one hand on the butt of his sidearm, enjoying the show.
She snapped her fingers. "I said ID. Now."
Anger raged up his backbone.
Before he could say anything, fingers grasped his arm. "Something the matter, officer?" Morgan asked, her grip tightening. "Don't be a fool," she muttered in Manesai.
"He's yours, is he?" the woman said, lowering her arm.
Yours
. He stiffened.
"It's okay, Ashkar," Morgan said in Manesai. "Give me your data stick."
Ravindra knew Morgan was right. He glanced over at Jirra, who was watching, round-eyed, making sure she knew that if she so much as quirked her lips… but the lieutenant had the sense to jerk her head in a tiny bow and avert her gaze.
Morgan took the ID stick from his fingers, and handed it to the officer, who inserted it onto an oblong unit on her belt. "Is he military?" the officer asked.
"Not anymore," Morgan said. "A retired admiral."
