Read Online Gabriel's Ghost by Megan Sybil Baker - Free Book Online Page A

over his short, dark hair. His mouth was a thin, angry line. But I didn’t know if he was angry at himself, or Milo, or the whole damned universe.
    “Waste of a damn good man.” He spat out the words.
    Angry at the universe, then. Milo must have been a friend. I waited, giving him time to compose himself, and took in the sparse room. An arch-and-stave hung on the far wall, over a long, narrow bed half shielded by a privacy curtain. Kitchen panels on the left. Fold-out desk on the right with a door beside it that was probably a water-closet and bath. Ren’s quarters had to have a bath. Stolorths could survive without water for max forty-eight hours before their gills dried permanently shut.
    In the middle of the room was a long, padded bench, not unlike the ones in the Temple. I pushed my hood back, eased down on one end. The stiffness in the set of Sully’s shoulders spoke volumes to me. And made me want to let him know he wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry.”
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    Sully slanted a glance at me then raised his arms and thrust both hands through his hair this time. “Damn it!”
    He plopped down next to me, the bench wobbling slightly under his weight. He leaned his elbows on his knees, rested his eyes against the heels of his hands. I knew he was concerned over the abrupt change of plans, at the new risks we now faced. But I also felt that Captain Milo’s death pained him on a very personal level. It was an unexpected glimpse at a side of him I didn’t know existed.
    This wasn’t Gabriel Ross Sullivan, the poet. Or Sully, the mercenary. This was almost someone else. Someone closer to the man who’d met me in that bar in Port Chalo, who’d seemed to intuitively know I was hurting that night. I had an urge to put an arm around him, hold him, say something comforting, and meaningless.
    But I wasn’t sure who I’d be comforting, or if it would even be welcomed. So I waited.
    He raised his face, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “Waste of a good man,” he said finally. “And no, Milo wouldn’t talk. He didn’t know who I went down to Moabar to retrieve. You learn not to ask questions in this business.”
    “His crew?”
    “Six. Ship was mostly automated. But she’d been running legit for two years now. He was doing me one last favor because I did him one, years ago. The M.O.C. should never have tagged him.” He turned to me. “I don’t make mistakes like this, Chaz. I can’t afford to.”
    I almost pointed out to him that my forged ID card wasn’t perfect, either. But now wasn’t the time. “Ren said someone tipped off the stripers.”
    He nodded, calmer. More thoughtful. “That’s of deep concern. If there’s a leak within my crew, I can’t risk bringing you on board. Anyone with half a brain, and a few of those still exist in the government, would eventually discern the value of your particular area of knowledge. Your family’s connections.”
    “My mother’s choice of footwear?” I gave him a half smile.
    He caught it, though the one he gave back was tinged with sadness. “She taught you well.”
    I had a feeling he knew far more about me than I was comfortable with him knowing. Especially as I had no idea of his source. If we lived long enough to get off Moabar Station, I just might ask him.
    Inherent in that ‘we’ was part of the danger. “Maybe Newlin should take me back dirtside. They might not think—”
    “No!” Strong fingers grasped my forearm. “You’re not going back there. We still have options. They’ll take a bit more time, but we have them.” His seemed conscious of his sudden intensity. His grip relaxed, his hand draped over my arm.
    “This is only a setback. It seems worse because of Milo. Well, it seems worse to me. You didn’t know him.” He talked more to himself than to me. “He knew the risks. And that death is one of them. One he would accept only because there was no other choice.”
    Was the breeding of jukors something a man