of those tame ones who do as they're told, and they work for Makasa. They wouldn't try to destroy this ship unless they were ordered…" Her stomach lurched.
Nodding, Ravindra echoed, "Unless they were ordered."
"Is there any chance this has anything to do with you, Morgan?" Ravindra said.
She'd thought about that before they'd left and she'd covered her tracks. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered. She checked again, re-running the risk profile. Probability was very low. "I don't think it could have anything to do with me. They think I'm dead. If it was Makasa or someone connected with him, or if they'd recognized the identifiers on the ship, they would have stopped us, not tried to destroy the ship." She snorted. "Supertechs are an expensive commodity. He'd want me back, not dead."
"So. You are comfortable?" Ravindra regarded her steadily.
Resting her chin on her fist, she said, "The probability that this was anything but an opportunistic pirate attack is in the order of seven percent."
"But not zero."
Morgan shrugged. "Nothing's ever zero. Or one hundred percent."
"That about covers it, then." Ravindra picked up his cup and sipped. "I think we can safely put this behind us." He waved a hand at Morgan. "And the ship? Can the damage be repaired?"
"Yes. Jirra and I will work on that. When we've finished our kaff."
Prasad drained his kaff and set his cup back on the table. "What about our friend, Doctor Rosmenyo?"
Morgan rolled her eyes. "There's only one of me. Ship first, okay?"
"I'll start looking at the books," he replied.
Chapter 7
E llen braced herself. This wasn't going to be nice. She stepped through the door into Makasa's office suite and smiled at his clerk. "Commander Cruickshank. Admiral Makasa wanted to see me."
"Yes, ma'am." The clerk pressed a button to open the door to the inner sanctum. "You're to go through."
Calm. In control. Ellen strode inside, performed an immaculate right face, and saluted. "You wanted to see me, Sir?"
He made her wait. She had known he would. Deliberately, he put down the light pen and pressed the control to hide his screen, which sank into the desk cavity. He placed his forearms against the desk's edge, and lacing the fingers of both beringed hands together, he stared at her from black eyes in an ebony face. The thick lips were curved downward.
"You know why you're here." His chins wobbled as he spoke.
"Yes, Sir." He hadn't told her to stand at ease.
"I've had a complaint from Captain Glebe. Would you care to explain to me what in hell you thought you were doing?"
Ellen glanced down at her shoes. "I… I'm sorry, Sir. I overestimated my capability."
He scowled. "You underestimated your enemy."
"Yes, Sir." At least that was the truth.
"You had no authority to engage a hostile in combat. You should have contacted Captain Glebe and let him deal."
"I felt the intruders would have escaped, Sir."
Makasa's nostrils flared. "The intruders did escape, Sir. And you sustained damage to a state-of-the-art fighter."
She winced. She'd never seen him so angry.
He rose to his feet and paced around the desk to stand over her, a vast bulk in a dark blue uniform. She could smell his cologne, hear his breath hissing softly, as she examined the details of the Fleet insignia on the buttons of his jacket.
"Never forget, Cruickshank, you are a Supertech. You do not fly fighter missions without very, very good cause. What if your ship had been destroyed? Hmmm? Not just a ship, but a ship with a Supertech flying it. The fighter is worth a fortune but your skills are worth much, much more."
"Yes, Sir."
Makasa wheeled, surprisingly light on his feet for such a large man, and paced back around to his side of the desk. The hover chair hissed as he lowered his weight into it. "Do I need to remind you that not quite two years ago we lost Morgan Selwood? The Coalition cannot afford that sort of thing."
"No, Sir." Selwood. Bloody Selwood. And he called her by her first name.