That Way Lies Camelot by Janny Wurts

Such was the influence of fame and politics, no board of officers dared to grant promotion without performance of outstanding merit. One by one, Jensen had seen his peers advance ahead of him. Balked pride and rebellion had landed him here, trussed and sealed like flotsam in a cargo capsule. Too late, and in bitterness, he questioned why the promise of money had failed to motivate MacKenzie James.
    The air in the capsule quickly became stale. Jensen's thoughts spiralled downward into a tide of black dizziness.
    His limbs cramped, then grew numb; the transmitter in the Freer sash dug relentlessly into his neck, but he was powerless to ease even this smallest discomfort. Presently, none of that mattered. Resigned, Jensen directed his last awareness to cursing MacKenzie James; as consciousness began to dim, sometimes the name of his father slipped in ...
    * * *
    Something banged the cargo capsule. Jostled against the side panels, Jensen heard the whine of grappling hooks. Fear roused him from lethargy as they clamped and secured his prison. Suffocation seemed a kindness next to threat of Khalian cruelty; but the young officer lacked strength to do more than shut his eyes as whatever being had salvaged him popped the capsule's release catches. Clean air rushed in around the seals, and light fell blindingly across Jensen's face.
    ' I'm surprised he left you alive,' said an acerbic voice he recognized.
    Jensen started, drew a shuddering breath, and ducked sharply to hide cheeks still wet from crying. 'My god, how did you know where to find me?'
    Perfectly groomed, and correct to the last insignia on her uniform, Ensign Shields regarded him with that whetted edge of antagonism she had affected since the morning he had compelled her collaboration in his scheme to capture MacKenzie James.' Marity's instruments weren't shielded,' she said at last. 'You're living lucky for that.'
    Jensen tried to scrub his damp cheeks against his shoulder, and awkwardly found he couldn't, not with his hands still bound. His embarrassment changed poisonously to resentment. He faulted himself bitterly for lacking the presence of mind to note the implications of Marity's opened instrument panels. Evans had programmed the autopilot for the FTL jump with the keyboard circuitry wide open to surveillance; if the scout ship assigned to Shields was not one of the fancy, new brain models, she still carried a full complement of electronics. 'You read our destination coordinates from our tempest signal,' Jensen murmured, shamed by memory of Mac James's amusement as he allowed the transmitter to remain twisted into the Freer sash. The captain had known then that his victim would be rescued. He must have considered Jensen a fool, harmless or incompetent enough to be no risk if he were set free.
    'Maybe not so lucky after all.' Shields shoved the cargo capsule over, interrupting Jensen's thoughts and spilling him ignominiously onto the courier ship's lock platform. 'You'll wish you'd died in deepspace when our dispatches come in late. Serve you right if the old man himself calls you onto the carpet.'
    Stung by more than humility, Jensen twisted until he gained a view of his shipmate's eyes. 'Play things right, and we'll get a commendation.'
    Shields stepped back. Rare anger pinched her face; Jensen had never thought her pretty, but she had slenderness, and a certain grace of movement that had half the guys back at base off their feed. 'You're obsessed, Jensen. Commendation for what? You've been an overambitious jackass and now, finally, the brass in Fleet command will know it too.'
    Jensen made a vicious effort to sit up; but the nooses cut into his wrists, and he gave up with a curse at the pain. 'You'll go down with me,' he threatened. 'As my senior officer, piloting a Fleet dispatch courier off course calls for court-martial, not a dressing down.'
    He heard Shields's sharp intake of breath, and could not look at her. Once he might have veiled his threats in gentler