Linnea Sinclair - Gambit.pdf - Linnea Sinclair - margozap

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."

Linnea Sinclair - Gambit.pdf

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