Hope's Folly Read online

  Another shrug, but the woman was smiling now, thawing a bit. Which was what Rya wanted. Trust me. Talk to me. There hadn’d been any lift crashes, or she’d have heard. Problems with the lights, yes. Blast doors, yes. Maybe it was an error in the story, or maybe not. If something was supposed to have happened to the lifts, she wanted to know.

  “No problem,” the woman said in response to Rya’s appreciative words. “We’re all in this together, right? I’ll get the belt going.”

  Rya watched the belt extend up the ramp. Then the first gray duro-hard appeared, a good ten feet in length and half that in width.

  “So I guess I should avoid the lifts,” Rya said as she walked toward the driver. “This is my first shipboard assignment.” She put a nervous tone in her voice. “My boyfriend talked me into it.”

  “It was probably just jumpjockey talk.” The woman patted Rya’s arm. “The two guys I overheard talking about it, they didn’t seem real worried. They said your guy was just glad the supply depot had the parts he needed.”

  “A crew member from here?” Rya knew that was impossible. The ship was under security lockdown since the Kirro and shuttle incidents. No leaves had been authorized. All communications to the shipyard had been through Adney’s office. No one should be off ship getting supplies, and especially not without a security bodyguard.

  The woman shook her head. “Don’t know if your guy in the depot was officer or crew. The ones talking about him were yardworkers. Tugs, ‘cause one had the black and gold wings.” She touched the space above her right pocket where the doubleS of her Seth Shipyard insignia was. “You know those tuggies love to gossip. And not a one ever sets foot in a ship. I’ve been in more than they have!”

  “The red-haired tuggy with a beard that was here earlier?” Rya lied again.

  “Don’t know that one. This one’s pale, had dark hair pulled in a tail. He was tall. The other was shorter, pale too. But he had a cap on.”

  “Well, they haven’t come to cargo or I’d have seen them. So you’re probably right. Just talk.”

  The woman pointed her pad at the large duro-hard. “That’s the last one. You doing the verifications too?”

  “I am,” Rya said, suddenly wishing Martoni were here, suddenly wishing she wasn’t doing verifications. She wanted to find the tall tuggy with the dark hair pulled back, and his shorter friend, and find out just what they knew about what purportedly happened on the Folly. And who they talked to in the supply depot.

  She headed back up the ramp and with a start saw Mr. Nice Ass standing near the top, watching her, arms folded across his chest. Dillon, she reminded herself. She didn’t even know his rank or first name.

  He nodded as she approached. “This is for Sparks, yes?” His voice held that light accent.

  “Looks like it. Martoni send you?”

  “Sparks did.” He curved part of his mouth in a grin. A sexy grin. “Old man likes his toys, you know?”

  “I’m not releasing anything until I’ve done verifications.” That came out sharper than she intended, but something about Mr. Nice Ass rankled her. Because he was Mr. Nice Ass? Another good-looking hard-body, like Matt? Amazing how they could be so enjoyable and annoying at the same time.

  She broke the security seals on the first container, angled the datapad to read the embedded datapeg, then did a visual.

  “I can help,” Dillon offered.

  “This won’t take long.” The second read as clean as the first. The third container wasn’t as cooperative. Dozens of small parts.

  “Here.” Dillon pulled a portable reader from his tool belt.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “My job.” The grin widened, then he leaned over and whispered in her ear. “The old man isn’t the only one who likes his toys.”

  His tone was playful, suggestive. Definitely enjoyable and annoying. And not her problem at the moment.

  She synched the pad to his reader, verifying the data as he sent it to her. This was going faster than she expected. That might give her time to get up to Adney’s office, tell her what the driver said. Get permission to—

  “That’s it?”

  She looked up from the pad. Dillion looked at her, one dark eyebrow raised. She glanced at the pad again. “That’s it. Eight. Everything looks good.” She turned and trotted to the middle of the ramp. “I’ll sign off on the shipment,” she told the driver.

  “Your boyfriend’s not bad at all,” the driver said as Rya tapped in her code on the pad. “Understand why you followed him on the ship.”

  Boyfriend? She shot a glance over her shoulder, seeing only Dillon. He grinned. “He’s not—”

  But the driver was already trudging down the ramp toward the chugging loader.

  Rya shrugged it off and hurried back to the cargo bay. “Spare servopallets are there,” she told Dillon, pointing to a wide locker in the bulkhead as she walked past him. “Thanks for your help.” She keyed in the locking codes, closing the bay doors behind her. Damn it all! If only she had her own datapad or a comm link. She had to talk to Adney. Or Welford, if Adney wasn’t around. Philip trusted Con Welford.

  Dillon caught up with her. “Leaving?”

  “Things to do. Thanks,” she said again.

  He was still trotting next to her. “You play cards?”

  She slowed, his question catching her unaware. “Sure, but—”

  “When all this craziness dies down, a couple of us, we thought we’d get a game going. Get to know one another a little better. Yes?”

  “Look, Dillon—”

  “Alek.” He ducked his head shyly for a moment.

  Shyly? Well, fancy that. “Look, Alek, I have no idea when this craziness is going to stop. But sure, at some point, if you’ve got a card game going, I’m interested. Okay?”

  “That’s really good. Yes.”

  She nodded, suddenly feeling awkward with the way he was looking at her. She was rarely awkward around men, but Dillon was looking at her as if her answer really mattered. “I have to find Commander Adney.”

  His hand on her arm stopped her. “Lieutenant Bennton?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t … What’s your first name?”

  She was on a ship with no functional crew locator, insufficient datapads, and no name tags for their nonexistent uniforms. First names were definitely a problem. “Rya.”

  “Rya.” His voice dropped to a rumble. “I look forward to seeing you again, Rya.”

  Well, fancy that. She felt like she was back in the pubs on Calth 9 with Lyza, flirting with the hard-bodies. Why had she assumed shipboard would be any different?

  She found a functioning workstation about twenty feet from the cargo-hold exterior hatchlock and linked the datapad in, sending a ping to Commander Adney with the data: Cargo complete. I have some information that might be important. Would like to discuss. Lt. R. Bennton.

  She waited about thirty seconds with no answer, then decided she might as well start climbing. She was on the Folly’s lowest deck, Deck 6. At the very least Adney would be on Deck 3, the largest deck, encompassing most of the crew’s quarters as well as the general mess. More likely, Adney was in one of the divisional offices in Deck 2 Aft or on the bridge.

  Rya wasn’t about to chance the lifts.

  The stairwell between Deck 5 and Deck 4 amidships was the longest on board—more like three flights than one—and Rya was sucking wind by the time she pushed through the doors to the corridor. She found a workstation and patched in again.

  My office, Adney’s reply said.

  Only two more flights. Oh, joy.

  Commander Adney leaned back in her office chair, fingertips resting lightly on the edge of her dull-gray metal desk. “That’s very vague information, Bennton.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I agree. Any other circumstance, any other ship, I’d discount it. Or if the driver said the blast doors were stuck, then we’d know someone on the ship said something they shouldn’t. But this specifically was a l
ift-crash problem, something that hasn’t happened. Unless it has and I haven’t heard about.”

  “We had one that wouldn’t stop at Deck Four, but that was minor, and definitely not a crash.”

  Rya hesitated. “I recommend shutting down all lifts and making a thorough mechanical inspection.”

  “I understand your concern. But the fact is, we’re severely shorthanded. The admiral has made it very clear that our first priorities are systems that are essential to the operation of this ship and the crew. A rumor about a lift malfunction is hardly life-threatening. A mention of someone buying supplies for this ship is misleading. I am in touch with the yardmaster’s office and we are purchasing supplies through her. But that doesn’t mean Folly crew are on the docks.” She pinned Rya with a hard look. “I suggest you concentrate on doing what you’re asked to do.”

  Rya could think of a dozen scenarios where it would be life-threatening, especially if malfunctioning lifts kept security from reaching Philip if another attempt was made to kidnap him. And if there were Imperial or Justice Warden operatives on the dock waiting to receive his unconscious body. She opened her mouth, then closed it, biting back disappointment and frustration. But she couldn’t give up. “Requesting permission to track down the source of the information, Commander.”

  “The tuggies on the shipyards?” Adney shook her head slowly. “Request denied. No personnel are permitted to leave this ship, given what happened on Kirro. You should understand that better than anyone.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do. But I’m concerned—”

  Adney held up one hand, then pointed to her deskscreen. “See these files, Bennton? These are all my concerns. Dozens of them. If a malfunctioning lift was the worst thing on my list, I’d be a very happy woman.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Damn, damn.

  “Let me give you a word of advice, Bennton. I’ve reviewed your personnel file thoroughly. I’ve talked to your superiors, and others, on Calth Nine. It’s time you realized you’re not ImpSec anymore. I’m not going to authorize sending you out on the docks on some kind of mission. The civilians out there don’t need to see that kind of demonstration. We will solve this problem my way. By thinking, Bennton. Not with fear.”

  Rya was shocked by the vehemence in Adney’s tone, but she didn’t permit herself to show it. She might not be ImpSec anymore, but she couldn’t remove their training. Nor did she want to, and, somehow, she knew Adney suspected that. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If that’s all, then you’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  “That’s all. Thank you, ma’am.” Rya saluted, then turned and headed back to the corridor, mouth grim. She didn’t know who Adney had talked to on Calth 9 or why the commander’s opinion of her would be so negative. Her performance reports were always excellent. Sure, a few times she’d pushed beyond mission guidelines, but she’d succeeded. And maybe she could be a bit overzealous, but her instincts had never failed her.

  And her instincts said something bad was going to happen. Again.

  She found an empty—and working—deskscreen at the far end of divisionals. A lot of the stations were empty. She glanced at the time stamp, her stomach agreeing with the information. It was main shift dinnertime. Just as well. Less people around to ask what she was doing.

  She brought up the security logs she and Martoni were constructing, looking for any shipments brought in by tugs since Adney and her team had arrived. There was no way for her to check what happened before that—or was there? She made a mental note to hunt down Welford if she dead-ended here.

  There were long lists of supplies incoming. Some of the procurement codes were ones she’d become familiar with on Calth 9. Others she’d never seen. With a fully functional data system, she could have the whole list decoded in seconds.

  Now it could take hours and there would still be gaps.

  Forty-five minutes later she narrowed down two shipments that possibly had to do with lift mechanisms, antigrav pods, or guidance rails. But AG pods were also used to move cargo. Smaller ones even had medical uses.

  Hell, she was security, not an engineer. And this still didn’t tell her if someone had snuck off the ship.

  For a moment she considered tracking down Alek Dillon. He was one of Spark’s techies and knew much more than she did about things like this. But he’d start asking questions, and she wasn’t yet ready to answer them. Sparks, maybe, because Philip trusted him. But Dillon? No.

  It was her damned gut again.

  Plus, Adney had already said she’d handle it. By researching data, Rya was going against Adney’s orders, and she’d already landed on the commander’s bad side. Adney inhaled the regs and exhaled procedure and obviously hated ImpSec. Rya knew if she sought out Sparks or Welford and Adney found out, she’d really be in a world of shit.

  She put her head in her hands and scrubbed at her face in frustration.

  She had to chance talking to Welford and somehow convince him not to mention her name to Adney. Or she might find herself on a shuttle back to Calth.

  Philip’s change-of- command orders were short and, being similarly worded to ones he’d said before in the Imperial Fleet, not unfamiliar. Except this time they started with, “By the command of the Consul of the Alliance of Independent Republics, Mason Falkner, and under the authority of the Independent Admirals’ Council.” Words he hoped would be said several more times over the next few months as the fleet continued to grow.

  Of course, he had to get this bucket to Ferrin’s before most of that would happen.

  “Admiral Guthrie.” Commander Adney, standing next to him in the crowded mess on Deck 3 Aft, nodded. “You have the command.”

  “Commander Adney, I accept the responsibilities of command,” he answered perfunctorily and, as he returned Adney’s salute, saw Rya slip in through the doors at the back of the room, her holstered Stinger peeking out from the edge of her leather jacket. He’d been watching for her and had been a little disappointed she hadn’t shown up for dinner.

  Maybe more than a little, but he couldn’t think about that at the moment, because there was applause and then Adney shaking his hand, then Con, then Sparks, and he lost sight of her again as his crew—his crew—stood as one, glasses raised.

  He’d cooked one damned fine dinner.

  “You mean, I didn’t have to listen to anything you said up until now?” Con laughed, clasping him on the arm.

  There were more well-wishes and thanks to Dina Adney for running the show so well to this point.

  Sparks touched his arm. “Mather has a live link to Captain Bralford. Commander Adney’s office.”

  He made some quick excuses, then followed the shorter man out the doors, down the corridor to the lifts, then up one deck to the divisional offices, enduring his fair share of good-natured ribbing that his official insignia should bear a cook’s apron.

  “Chaz used to tell me of your prowess with a frying pan,” Sparks said as they exited the lift. “Now I believe her.”

  “Casseroles are easy.” Philip shrugged off the compliment, though he was, in truth, rather proud of what he’d been able to do on such short notice. In two shipweeks, when his funds arrived, he’d do even better. “If we’d had the time and resources for a pastry-crusted stuffed roast, we—”

  “Congratulations, sir.” Mather, waiting in the corridor, saluted.

  “You get to eat, Commo?”

  “Yes, sir. It was excellent.” He stepped aside to let Philip into the office, then he and Sparks followed.

  Philip lowered himself into Adney’s chair and nodded at the familiar face on the deskscreen. The image was decent but a bit grainy. “Captain Bralford. You missed dinner.”

  Jodey laughed. “Then you owe me one. Congratulations, Philip. Though from what Mather’s been telling me, it should be condolences as well.” His smile faded. “Damn, I had no idea she needed so much work. The reports Pavyer supplied us indicated no such problems.”

  “Plague of the ittle-doos,” Philip said. �
��It will slow us down a bit. But at least when she’s finally running, we can trust everything’s been done right.”

  Sparks turned and tapped Mather on the shoulder, motioning to the corridor. They ducked out of the office together—Sparks palming the door shut on his way out. Then it was just Philip with Jodey on the screen.

  Philip leaned back in the chair. “Bring me up to date.”

  “I’m sending the complete reports now,” Jodey said, “but the key points are we have reason to believe the Empire is moving to blockade the two primary jumpgates between Baris and Calth: B-C-Three and B-C-Seven.”

  Philip knew why immediately. “They want to secure Calth Prime and the Walker Colonies.”

  Jodey pursed his mouth, nodding. “They have a considerable investment in Port January and Rawton.”

  They did. Port January was a sprawling, prosperous city and the baronial seat on Calth Prime. Rawton, outside Port January, was the largest contained prison compound in the Empire, excluding the prison world of Moabar. The Empire wouldn’t want either in Alliance hands.

  “Is there someone in Rawton they have a particular interest in, or do you think it’s just resources overall?”

  “I’d never discount resources,” Jodey said, “but we’re checking into the ‘special prisoner’ angle. It’s not Blaine. He’s still on Moabar—something else they may try to secure because of him.”

  “I’m still surprised the Farosians haven’t tried to spring Blaine. We know they have a Star-Ripper, the Infiltrator, and probably a few other ships we haven’t found out about yet.”

  “You know what Moabar is like. Finding Blaine dirtside would entail a considerable operation—if they could even get access to the planet. Plus, Tage moved the Vidovik Lu and a squadron of P-75s out there. Kidnapping you is easier, I guess,” Jodey said.

  The Lu was a well-armed and deadly battleship. Add in the P-75s and, yes, the Farosians had nothing to match that.

  Philip turned his mind back to Tage and the Empire again. “The Walker Colonies also give Tage entry into Dafir.”