Just as suddenly, the tone changed. “There! I finally have you where I want you. Son of a bitch, you got it out of your system. You had your chance to do what you really wanted to deep in your subconscious. Now, get up.” The tone was conversational and a gloved hand reached down to help him.
Art couldn’t have made it down the weaving, winding corridors to the Captain’s cabin if he hadn’t had Carrasco’s support. He almost toppled into the chair as Carrasco handed him a towel to wipe the blood and vomit from his face. Then Carrasco dug out an oversized bottle and poured into two zero g cups.
“Drink up,” Carrasco nodded.
Mollified, Art did, realizing it was good stuff. His tortured belly threatened, but held the line.
“Now, let’s talk,” Carrasco said amiably, making his way gracefully as gravity tried to pull his feet in one direction while his chest and head went in another.
“All right,” Art gasped, still out of breath, “what’s changed?”
“Our relationship,” Sol told him. “Right now, we’re talking like two human beings.” He waved the cup out at space. “My ways aren’t in the book, Art. They don’t work for everybody—but they work for me. You’re all concerned over that damn regulation book. Well, I might have charged you with that dustup in cargo. I could have really nailed Bryana for altering the record.” His eyes twinkled. “And you’d have both been demerited on your first deep hop. As much as I wanted to take you both down a peg, it wasn’t worth it. Bryana’s turning into a fine officer. You need a little work yet.”
“But there are reasons for discipline!” Art protested, confused.
“Of course. I just gave you some. If you’d only been a deckhand, I wouldn’t have taken the time. Believe me, I have my hands full. That bogey was a blessing since it tied me to the bridge and those cussed diplomats couldn’t dig up any trouble. So I took the opportunity to catch a little sleep. Why? Because that bogey would either find us ... or he wouldn’t. It was out of my hands, and if you stare at the white dot on the screen, you get real nervous—just like you and Bryana did.” His smile was humorless, “I caught all the remarks by the way. That trick of sleeping awake comes with practice.”
“Yeah, well, I guess we shouldn’t have done that.” Art felt miserable. “Look, what do you want us to do? I mean, we’re lost in this mess youVe created!”
Carrasco smiled weakly. He snorted. “What I know about this mess is just enough to be completely muddled. But don’t pin it on me. I didn’t make it ... and I didn’t want it, but I’m committed to seeing it through even if it is out of my hands.”
Art looked his disbelief, feeling his aching joints, knowing how bad the next morning would feel. Damn it, Carrasco had handled him like a bowl of jelly! Resentment festered.
Carrasco read his expression, face going tight. “All right, you wanted responsibility, let’s see if you can handle it? Norik Ngoro was assassinated. Texahi’s problem is the result of attempted assassination. Archon—whom Kraal put in charge of all of us—says, don’t alienate the passengers from each other. He takes responsibility against my better judgment because the diplomats have to handle the interstellar impact of whatever object we’re supposed to recover on Star’s Rest. The Confederacy is on the brink of warfare over it. I’ve heard of—or been involved in—no less than six violent deaths as a result of this mess. Comm was sabotaged while sending a secret message to an unknown ship paralleling our course. An important ambassador could receive the death penalty for attempted rape. And I can’t trust my two First Officers. All that and we’re not even there yet. Suggestions, Art?”
He sat stunned. “That’s why we’ve had all the drills? There’s really going to be trouble?”
“Yes, First Officer, there really is.” Carrasco sounded tired, his expression pained. “My reputation is that I’ve always brought my ships home and kept some of my crew alive. Archon tells me that we’re all expendable—every man jack of us. And, whatever this thing is, it’ll unhinge the Confederacy. He’s scared to death of it. So’s Constance. Welcome to the real world, Art. I told you once, you don’t have to like me, but we’ve got to work together.” He raised an eyebrow. “So what’s it going to be?”
“Why us—I mean Bryana and me?” Art asked suddenly. “Why not someone more experienced?”
Sol looked at him honestly. “Not enough time, Art. I’m here because Archon and I shot each other up off Arpeggio and he liked the way I pulled it off. Boaz is here because she’s the best thing we’ve got. You’re here because they couldn’t get veteran replacements aboard in time without upsetting the watchdogs—and you were the best bet from comm’s point of view. Sorry, but that’s the way it shakes out.”
Art nodded, feeling empty inside. “I guess the book doesn’t cover any of this, does it? Why did you keep us? Why didn’t you put Happy on the bridge, or Fujiki, or someone else? I don’t know that I’d take the risk on green officers—especially after that first simulation.” He remembered his ashen face and the high squeak to his voice.
Carrasco smiled wistfully. “Because I sincerely believe if I can get through your thick skulls—if I can get you to think—you’ll both turn out to be fine officers. You and Bryana complement each other. You’re pragmatic while she’s wildly innovative and intuitive. I think you’re both worth the risk—if you’ll worry more about what’s out there,” he waved the cup forward, “and how to keep us alive.”
Art realized he was nodding and shivered, cowed for the first time. Carrasco had laid it on the line. Jesus, was he really up to it?
CHAPTER XXIII
Bryana couldn’t help but notice the fire in Constance’s eyes as Fan Jordan was led into the room. He was dressed foppishly in a satiny suit of cobalt blue. He gave Constance a leering smile that grated clear down to Bryana’s bones. A slow burning anger shone on Archon’s hard features. Both Stokovski and Dee Arness looked worried.
Bryana cleared her throat, conscious she sat at the middle of a maelstrom. “I called you all together to see if we couldn’t find a rational solution to the problem.” Jordan gave her a triumphant grin and her skin prickled.
Mustering an official voice, Bryana pronounced. “Fan Jordan, you are found guilty of assault, attempted murder, attempted rape, assaulting a ship’s officer, disorderly conduct, and resisting arrest under the ship’s articles, of which I have a copy, signed by your hand.”
Jordan smiled, chin up, eyes gleaming. “And, pray tell, what does the Brotherhood propose to do? I’m a diplomat, remember? I am also a Royal personage. My uncle is the one true king of mankind. Slap my wrist and you slap New Maine.” He laughed. “Please let’s cut this kangaroo court short and get about our business!”
Bryana’s heart skipped a beat. Voice hoarse, she added, “The penalty, according to law, is death by decompression.” She looked to where Happy Anderson and Cal Fukiki stood waiting at the back of the room and nodded.
On cue they walked up on either side of Fan Jordan.
“What?” Jordan’s face suddenly grew skeptical. “You wouldn’t space me? You’d start a war! My uncle is king!” His eyes darted to each of the men. “You don’t mean portside hatch while Jordan wriggled in their grasp and cried out.
Stokovski added. “That is the penalty according to ship’s law, Fan. We all signed the articles and agreed to abide by them.”
Jordan’s voice, almost a keen, cut the air. “But she was in there without any clothes on! You know what that means!”
“No, Fan, what does that mean?” Archon asked, eyes glittering as he pushed himself half out of the chair.
“That she’s a ...” He swallowed the rest as the meaning of Archon’s berserk stare sank home.
Bryana, trying desperately to defuse the situation, added, “Jordan, ships were originally small, cramped vessels where privacy was limited. Spacers, therefore, created a privacy of the mind. Just like men and women go to beaches on your own provincial world, they go naked in our gyms and showers and no one notices. To do so is t
o be ill-mannered, and boorish to the core. Further, women have traditional equality in space. No man molests them—not even the prostitutes in your own world’s vessels.
“We realize that rape by nobility is accepted and encouraged on your world. Here it is not—as you know from the ship’s articles. Death is the penalty.”
Jordan almost whimpered, fighting against the tight grip of his captors, body whole, now that Boaz had knit the broken bones together. Bryana raised a hand on cue as Jordan began to tremble, eyes frantically going to the lock door that opened suggestively.
“Wait!” she ordered. “Jordan, would you be amenable to an alternate arrangement?”
Sudden hope leapt in hazel eyes and he nodded vigorously, struggling between the two big men.
“Let the record show the guilty party agrees.” Bryana felt a great weight lift from her chest. “The aggrieved party—in view of the extraordinary circumstances of the present voyage—has urged that the investigative committee consider a plea on behalf of the guilty party. The Speaker of Star's Rest has requested an appeal of vir geld be considered by the committee. This appeal, Ambassador Jordan, does not absolve you of guilt, but allows you to make rmuneration to the damaged party by a payment mutually acceptable to you and the Speaker. Will you accept such judgment?“
Jordan swallowed, gaze darting between the hatch and the implacable eyes of the Speaker.
“Yes! Yes, I agree!”
“Very well,” Archon’s deep voice filled the room. “Star’s Rest will accept a payment often thousand credits and the restriction of the New Maine ambassador to quarters until he can be suitably removed from our presence on board this ship. Is that acceptable to the board of investigation?”
Bryana nodded. “It is. Ambassador Jordan?”
“Yes, yes, of course!”
Bryana fought her sigh of relief. “The guilty party will be confined to his quarters. The sergeants at arms will see to it. Speaker Archon, as soon as payment is received, you will notify the chairman, and the matter will be considered resolved. The guilty party has two days to arrange payment. If not, the original sentence will be carried out by the sergeants at arms. Dismissed!” She slapped the table and leaned back, feeling her heartbeat return to normal.
Jordan, almost in tears, stumbled away, leaning heavily on Fujiki’s and Anderson’s arms.
Archon’s black rage subsided as he winked at Bryana, “Well done, First Officer.”
“The responsibility of judge, jury, and executioner isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she sighed with relief.
“No, it isn’t,” Archon nodded, fingering his chin. “At least, it never is to the one responsible.”
* * *
“Have I offended you somehow, Captain?”
“I beg your pardon?” Sol stopped on his way across the lounge. Elvina Young rose from the chair where she’d been reading. A frown incised her forehead. “You seem to avoid me like the plague. I only wanted a chance to speak to you. I mean, I’ve never met a real Captain before. This is my first time away from Desseret. So many new things—so exciting! And I never knew they existed outside of my father’s house! Only . . . well, you won’t even talk to me.”
Sol winced. “To be honest, I’ve been pretty busy with ship’s business. The responsibilities—”
“Just for a moment, Captain?”
I’ll feel like a complete zero! What the hell, it’ll only be a minute or two. “Sure, I have to be on duty on the bridge in a bit, but I could spare a minute. What would you like to know?”
“Could I see your bridge? The engine room? Maybe see where you do your Captaining?”
He chuckled. “That’s a restricted part of the ship.”
She’d taken his arm, leading him over toward the dispenser. “But I’d love to see. I mean, ships are all so exciting! And I don’t even have to cook here!”
The faint scent of her hair lingered in his nose, delightful, appealing. The feeling of her tightening her hold on his arm sent a tingle through his body.
She looked up, eyes dancing. “Tell me, Captain, do you think I’m attractive?”
Sol smiled, aware of the firm feel of her body against his. “Quite attractive—and therein lies the problem. Mrs. Young, you’re also married.”
A challenge sparkled in the winter blue of her eyes. “Oh, I couldn’t leave Joseph. Marriages are made in the name of the Church. But, Captain, do come and share a drink with me. I, of course, must have tea, but could I at least get you a brandy—and hear your remarkable stories of combat? A man who’s faced death must know a lot about passion, and life, and strength.” Her fingers traced the back of his hand, stroking an electric afterimage on his skin.
“I must turn you down, ma’am. I’m on duty in a half hour.” It cost him to admit that. But then, Bryana would cover if ...
She seemed to hang on his every word. He noted pinking in her cheeks that reeked of sexual flush. His flesh warmed where her muscular leg pressed intimately against his. Beneath the baggy Mormon dress, he could feel a supple tigress’ body tensing against his.
Despite her cropped hair, the features of her face beckoned with youth and health. Her lips parted slightly to expose the pink secret of tongue as she stared into his eyes.
“You’re a most handsome man, Captain. A powerful man.” She ran casual fingers down his arm, the muscles of her leg tightening as she twined around him.
“Mrs. Young, I think I’d—”
“I’m Elvina, Solomon. Just Elvina.”
Sol’s heart began to pound, a curious desire stirring in his loins as his breathing increased. This is insanity! I don’t even like her! Only the tiger strength of her body lured him, beckoning with promise. I. . . don’t even . . . like her . . .
Her eyes bored into his, inviting, powerful. “Would you come to my cabin for a moment? I have some things to show you.”
“I have to be on duty,” Sol reminded, trying to still the racing of his heart. She melted up against him, full breasts pressing against his painfully aware skin. He could feel the pressure of her demanding pubis against his thigh. A fire burned hotly in his loins, his breathing labored. Her knowing fingers dropped to trace the outline of his erection through the fabric of his uniform.
“Just for a moment, Captain?” she whispered in a husky voice. “And later, maybe we could go to your cabin?” She exhaled a sigh, moving against him, leading him as his resistance crumbled into driving desire.
I . . . don’t even . . . like her. Blood pounded in his veins, body hot to her touch. “I . . .”
“Captain?” his belt comm called mechanically. “Your presence is required on the bridge immediately.”
Sol pulled away reluctantly, “If you’ll . . . excuse me, Mrs. Young, duty calls.”
Frantically, he slipped into the corridor, passing the security hatch. He stopped, braced against the bulkhead, catching his breath, stilling his racing pulse.
“What the HELL is wrong with me?”
“I thought you needed rescuing,” Boaz called from the nearest speaker.
“You thought right. I don’t understand. I was just trying to be polite and the next thing ... I’m panting for her like a crazed maniac!”
“I believe it’s a commercially available pheromone, Captain.”
“What’s she doing, keeping score? She’s a damn nymphomaniac! ”
“Her behavior follows unusual curves in that regard.”
“That’s not a religious norm, is it? I thought Mormons were a more circumspect group.”
“They are. I would suggest that she is an anomaly.”
“Well, people react differently when they’re suddenly exposed to new stimuli.” Sol took a deep breath. “But thank you for the warning. Knowing it’s a trick makes it easier to avoid.”
* * *
Sol was sitting in his command chair, idly playing Find the Ship with Boaz, seeking valiantly to understand Art’s infatuation with the game, when Boaz interrupted: “Message, Captain. I have loca
ted the source as being inside the ship. While I could not jam, I did manage to record it. I am now jamming any further transmissions on that frequency. The message is in code and I am initiating cryptographic logs. I have pinpointed the source to Fan Jordan’s quarters.”
“What? Jordan? How’d he get a comm?” Sol asked, feeling baffled.
“Scanning shows a small, highly efficient transduction unit contained within his personal effects. And he has weapons, Captain. Evidently, they were contained in his baggage.”
“Damn that diplomatic seal! What else have we let aboard?”
“Gas him,” Sol ordered. “Have Happy search his compartment and clean out any other surprises.”
“Acknowledged,” Boaz told him. “I have broken the code; message playing now, Captain.”
Jordan’s face formed on the screen.
“To his Majesty, Lord Protector of New Maine:
I am being held prisoner on board the Brotherhood ship, Boaz. My life has been threatened by these peasants and I am in mortal danger. Request that you send assistance; we are headed for Star’s Rest system. I have reason to believe His Majesty’s realm is in grave political danger from the subversive actions of our enemies—the Brotherhood and the Speaker of Star’s Rest. Action must be taken against both groups immediately. Your Majesty’s life is in danger! I cannot underrate the crucial implications for our government and all mankind! I remain the Crown’s humble servant, Fan Jordan, Earl of Baspa, 779345.“
Boaz resumed, “End of transmission. However, I have received a reply. Code is much more sophisticated. This may take time, Captain.”
“I understand. Was Jordan’s signal directional?” Sol asked, feeling his gut begin to churn.
“No, Captain.”
“Then it’s all over the galaxy. In the ancient usage, ‘Oh Lord, my God, pity the Widow’s Son!’ ”
“Message, Captain,” Boaz informed.
“Run it,” Sol said, voice wooden as he stuck his coffee cup into the dispenser.