by Neal Jones
"What do you mean?" Marc asked, wary.
"Just open it." She was smiling coyly.
He laid the sword back in its case, and then lifted the lid of the box. A cream and brown loaf of fur with six legs, four eyes and two tails looked up at him. It opened its mouth, revealing two rows of semi-sharp teeth, and made a sound that was somewhere between a meow and a croak. It's large, blue, forked tongue lapped at Gabriel's hand, and he jumped back.
"What the hell is that?"
"A Murdohn tree cat. The Gha'at breed, I think. My boss said I could have her since no one else wanted her. This one is only a couple years old, I think, and Larz did say she's been spayed."
"Wait, what? Your boss? Where do you work?"
"Oh, that's right. I forgot to tell you the other day. I got hired at Larz's Animal Emporium. You know the one on the promenade next to the French restaurant we went to last week?"
"What made you put in an app there?"
"I didn't. I went in looking to buy some goldfish, and I saw a sign behind the counter advertising for a clerk position. It doesn't pay much, but I really like taking care of the animals."
"Have you told your mother yet?"
Jeanette grinned. "No. I figured I'd surprise her on her first visit back." She reached over to assist the cat as it scrambled up and over the edge of the box. "What're you naming her?"
"I'm not keeping that thing." Marc closed the lid of his sword case. "I don't need a pet."
"Too late. Larz has a pretty strict no-refund policy. Unless it's diseased or dying, he won't take it back." The tree cat leaped up onto Jeanette's shoulder and licked her cheek. She crossed her arms and looked at her dad.
Marc shook his head and sighed. "What the hell does it eat?"
"She's a 'she', not an 'it'. And she eats leafy vegetables, vines, bamboo, stuff like that. I have a bag of feed outside that has all that stuff in it, and I also bought a collar and a pair of clippers."
"Clippers?" Marc started for the kitchen and his daughter followed.
"Oh yeah, you don't want a tree cat's nails to get very long if they're not out in the wild. I'll show you how to properly clip the toenails. And she'll need a bath about once a month."
The cat scampered down from Jeanette's shoulders and paused long enough to make a puddle on the carpet.
"Oh, and she's not housebroken. Sorry."
The cat sat on his haunches and grinned up at his new owner.
"Don't just stand there," Marc ordered. "Clean it up!"
"Well, okay, but after I'm gone that'll be your responsibility."
Marc didn't reply but started making a sandwich, and the tree cat strolled into the kitchen behind him and parked herself at his feet. He looked down at her, and she blinked her upper set of eyes as if to say, Aren't you going to offer me anything?
"You really are ugly, you know that?"
The cat flicked her tongue across her lips, and this time all four eyes lazily blinked.
Jeanette appeared in the doorway with the feed and a sack containing the clippers and collar. "I should have brought you a food dish too."
"So you've decided to stay on Exxar-One?"
"Yeah. I really like it here."
Marc nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Good. I'm glad."
"Well, I guess I'll see you later. I need to go buy some work clothes." Jeanette knelt to scratch the cat behind its large ears. "You better name her soon, cause I want to know what to call her when I come visit."
"You like her so much, you name her," Marc replied.
After his daughter left, he finished his sandwich and then tossed the last scrap of bread and meat to the cat. She caught the morsel in mid-air and swallowed it in one gulp. She licked her lips and rubbed against Marc's legs, purring loudly.
The commodore sighed, shaking his head, and then rummaged in the cupboard for a spare dish to put her food in.
( 3 )
First Holy Father R'Jaad Samok rose and walked to his pulpit, smoothing the front of his formal robes as he went. Seated behind him was High Cleric Lortait, and R'Jaad exchanged a glance with him as he neared the pulpit. The holy father was pleased that Lortait did not seem as anxious and fearful as he had been three weeks ago when they had discussed the plans of Aliira's assassination. R'Jaad had written this morning's sermon as much for Lortait as for the congregation of the Church of Onng Le'Roh.
"Fellow believers, let us rise and pray." Nearly every seat in the sanctuary was filled, and Samok waited until all had stood before closing his eyes and stretching out his hands. "Sacred father, Guardian of our Souls, the Great Watcher, we come before you with humbled hearts and broken spirits. We are afraid. We have seen the fulfillment of yet another prophecy of your servant, Seraudu, and we face uncertain times. Be with us now, guide us, nurture us, and may we always abide our spirits within yours. Let us be reminded that You are the maker of all things, the Creator of heaven and earth, and that Your hand guides all of us – believer and unbeliever alike. Let us remember that nothing happens except that You will it, and may we always look to Your Gospel and Your words for comfort in these troubling times. Be with us now as we sing your praises, and give me the words that You want me to speak to your people. In thy most holy name, Ok'Thra."
Samok motioned for everyone to be seated, and the choir behind him launched into a hymn of praise.
Much later, when the service was over, when the last of the congregation had departed the sanctuary, R'Jaad retreated to his private office to remove his robes. He washed his hands in the basin of holy water near the window behind his desk, and then he knelt to pray. When he was done he stood and reached for his plain tunic and coat. His stomach rumbled, and his mouth watered at the thought of the syn roast that his housekeeper told him she would prepare for today's midday meal.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He wasn't surprised to see Lortait on the other side. "Inaird! Would you join me for lunch?"
The high cleric appeared startled, but nodded. "I'm sorry, R'Jaad, I didn't want to disturb you so soon after the service."
"Nonsense. Walk with me."
The two men left the church by its rear doors which opened into the gardens where they had discussed Aliira's assassination three weeks earlier. The sun was warm and inviting despite the chill in the air that signaled the eminent arrival of winter in this region of homeworld. In another few days the snows would begin to fall. This was R'Jaad's favorite time of year, and he paused beneath the staas tree to pluck a few of its leaves.
"Are you troubled that Aliira is still alive?"
"No." Lortait glanced furtively about the garden. It was a day of worship and rest, so the caretaker's staff was indoors. The two men were alone in the vast garden, yet the high cleric activated the ASD in his inner pocket nonetheless. "I am troubled, however, by the scrutiny that incident has placed upon us."
Samok nodded, motioning to a nearby bench. He brought the bouquet of leaves to his face, inhaling their spicy aroma. "That was to be expected. You were very thorough, however. The two people you chose for this assignment could in no way be traced directly to us. You told me the other night that one of them didn't even make it to homeworld. As far as the authorities have determined, Namid acted alone."
"Yes, that's correct. But the fact that they know Namid was a follower of Onng Le'Roh makes me...anxious." He paused, exhaling. "What happens now, R'Jaad? Now that we know Aliira is the Cerusk'om of Darkness about whom Seraudu prophesied, what do we do now?"
R'Jaad smiled reassuringly and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "We wait and we pray, Inaird. We meditate upon His gospel, and we wait for the second sign." He rose, casting the leaves into the nearby flowerbed. "Come! You must be as hungry as I am. After dinner we shall talk some more of Seraudu's prophecies. I have been studying his second one, and I think I know the approximate time it shall come to pass."
Inaird nodded, walking quickly to keep up with R'Jaad, as a cold breeze stirred the leaves that the high cleric had plu
cked, whisking them along the garden path as it filled the air with their spicy scent.
( 4 )
Lieutenant Navarr smiled as she waited for the PTL door to slide open. "I've heard that joke before, and you suck at telling jokes, by the way. You totally ruined the punch line."
"I know, I know," Doctor Eppler replied, taking her hand as they walked the length of the corridor to her quarters. "I'll get better, I promise. It's a good thing you're not dating me for my sense of humor."
Christine stopped walking and turned to Sam. "Is that what we're doing? Are we officially dating?"
He laughed, but then realized that she was serious. "Well, what would you call it?"
"No, sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just..." She hesitated, frowning, and then shook her head. "Nothing. Yes, we're dating. Just forget I said anything." She started walking again, but Sam pulled her back to him.
"Chris."
"Sam."
"Tonight was our fourth date? Fifth?"
"Fifth, if you count that spontaneous lunch we had a couple weeks ago."
"All right, let's call it our fifth. And I had a really nice time tonight."
"So did I."
"In fact, I've been having such a great time with you that I don't want this evening to end. Would you like to come back to my place tonight?"
"Oh. Uh, well..."
Sam grimaced and nodded. "That's what I thought. You obviously haven't been having as great a time as I have. Is it something I said? Something I did?"
"No," Navarr interrupted. "It's not you. It's..." She sighed and shook her head. "Godsdamn Dana," she muttered.
"Lieutenant Scarvo? What does she have to do with this?"
"Nothing. Come with me." Chris seized Sam's hand and led him the rest of the way to her quarters. Once inside, there was no more talking for the rest of the night.
( 5 )
Lieutenant Ritano dumped his bags inside the entrance to his quarters and stripped on his way to the bedroom. He used up his entire shower ration time of twenty minutes, and then walked naked through the living room into the kitchen while drying his hair. He spent ten minutes trying to decide what he wanted for dinner from the dispenser menu, but then gave up and trudged back to the living room. He stared at the bags, wondering if he should unpack first or go get something to eat first, and then the door chime interrupted his deliberation.
Without thinking, he said, "Come in."
The door slid aside, and Sergeant Frakes stopped in mid-stride as soon as he saw Ritano. His face turned crimson, and he whirled around. "Sorry, lieutenant, I...uh..."
"No," Jeff said quickly, securing the towel around his waist. "My fault. Come in. Please. Just give me a minute to get changed. I'll be right back."
Frakes sidestepped the pile of luggage just inside the door and took the opportunity to survey Jeff's quarters. He wasn't surprised to find that the walls were relatively bare, and even the bookshelf behind the desk had only a few knick-knacks on it. Beside the computer terminal was an old fashioned framed photograph of an older couple. Mike picked it up for a closer look.
"My parents," Jeff said, zipping up his shirt as he entered the room. "Sorry about earlier, I usually don't get dressed right away after a shower."
"You're not one of those people who likes to walk around naked in their quarters, are you?"
Jeff laughed and shook his head. "No. But what if I was? Would that be a deal breaker for you?"
"Yeah, kind of."
"That's good to know. So...did you drop by just for the hell of it, or did you have something specific in mind?"
"Oh, right! Sorry. I have two tickets to As'aw Vorlt for next Friday night. It's that new Balanite play. I was…wondering if you'd be interested in going with me?"
"Are you asking me on a date, staff sergeant?"
"Yes, I guess I am."
"So does this mean you've changed your mind about that no-dating-officers rule?"
Mike smiled, sheepish. "Let's just say that you've convinced me to give you a second chance."
"Oh really? So even though my reputation precedes me, you're willing to give me a second chance."
Mike's smile faltered. "Are you...look...I'm sorry if I offended..."
"Relax, Mike. I'm just fucking with you. You really don't have a sense of humor do you? Never mind. We'll work on that. Yes, I'll go with you to the play, but what are you doing right now? I'm starving, and I don't feel like eating something from the processor."
"Well, I don't really have any plans, but I still need to shower and unpack. We have a mission review with Brantar Varis first thing in the morning, so –"
Jeff turned and started for the bedroom. "I'll meet you at Garperi's in forty-five minutes. We can decide during dinner if we want to see a movie or not." He had already removed his shirt.
Mike stared at Jeff's bare back before the bedroom door cut off the view, and suddenly all he could think about was the light dusting of hair on the lieutenant's sculpted chest, as well as the trail that led from his belly button to his cock. By the time he joined Jeff in the bedroom he had shucked his uniform jack and undershirt.
Jeff was startled by the intrusion, but he welcomed Mike's spontaneous decision and helped the sergeant remove his boots and pants. "Or we could fuck and then eat."
Mike just laughed and pulled Jeff onto the bed beside him. "I've wanted to do this ever since you first said 'Jyos Fe Reashess'."
"Mmmmm," Jeff murmured, kissing him. "I love a guy who finds classical literature a turn-on."
"Shut up and fuck me," Mike murmured back.
So Jeff did.
( 6 )
Marc paused at the entrance to the gym, checking the roster on the com panel to see if the mat room was in use. It wasn't. He stowed his sword case and a change of clothes in the locker room, and then headed for the mat room, his mask tucked under one arm. He had replaced the leather hilt on his sword the day before and bought a new outfit as well. It had been so long since he'd put on the silver uniform that he was feeling a little self conscious, and he was grateful that none of his senior staff was here to witness his awkward return to the high school sport.
He had thought about doing his workout in the Hiver where he could program the computer to give him a holographic sparring partner. Fencing, after all, was a sport best played with an opponent, but Gabriel had decided he wasn't ready just yet for a partner. Plus, he'd used up plenty of Hiver time with the holo-simulation of his family-that-might-have-been, and he thought it better to spend all of his time in the real world for the next few weeks, at least.
As he stepped into the mat room, he stopped short, startled by the sight of Lieutenant Sikandra wielding a sword that looked rather large and heavy. Her back was to him, and she moved lightly and expertly on the balls of her bare feet, thrusting and parrying with smooth, well-practiced motion, and the blade made barley a whisper as it sliced the air. She spun, thrusting, and then she, too, stopped short, startled by the presence of her commanding officer.
"Commodore."
"Sorry, lieutenant, I didn't mean to interrupt. The panel said that this room wasn't occupied."
"My fault. I'm probably over my rental time." She reached for a towel to mop her glistening forehead and arms. "What kind of a sword is that?"
"What? Oh, it's called an épée. It's a fencing weapon."
"Fencing?"
Marc smiled, sheepish. "It's a type of swordplay. I haven't practiced it for about thirty years, and...uh...well..."
"Oh, I see. Don't worry, I understand. You mind?" She held out her hand, and he gave her the sword. "Not very heavy." She ran her thumb along the blade. "Not very sharp, either. And why is there a cap on the tip?"
"Fencing is more of a sport than actual combat training. An épée isn't designed to kill."
"Ah." Sikandra stood back and took a few swings. "Not too bad for a defenseless weapon." She handed it back to him. "Would you like a partner?"
"Um...not right now."
"
Are you sure? I know you're feeling self-conscious and awkward, but you'll learn a lot more with a partner. I'm an excellent Kali'Fhan teacher."
"Kali'Fhan?"
"A true warrior's combat training. Every Chrisarii soldier learns Kali'Fhan in their first year at the War Academy. Feel this." She handed him her sword.
Marc was surprised at its weight, and he said so.
"Go ahead," Sikandra encouraged him. "Do a simple parry and thrust."
Marc took several steps back to give himself extra room, and then did as she instructed. When he stepped forward to do the thrust he nearly fell over.
Sikandra suppressed a smile. "You put too much of your weight forward. You need to practice your balance."
Marc nodded, chagrined. "I know. Like I said, it's been thirty years."
"It's all right. It takes awhile to get used to the weight of this type of sword."
"Thanks for your help, lieutenant, but I think I'm good for now." He gave her back her sword and reached for his épée.
"Okay. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
After she left, Gabriel tried several moves that he remembered from high school, but Sikandra was right. He was out of shape and his balance was way off. He laid the sword aside, disgusted, and plopped onto the bench. He thought for a minute or two, trying to recall what his coach had told him all those years ago about balance. But thirty years was a long time, and the best that Marc could remember was something about ballet.
And then he remembered why he had quit fencing after his sophomore year when his buddies on the football team found out how he practiced and maintained his balance in fencing.
The commodore mulled over his options for another minute or so, and then he gathered up his sword and gloves. He tapped his commlink as he walked out of the room.
"Gabriel to Lieutenant Sikandra."
There was a brief pause. "This is Sikandra."
"How's tomorrow at nineteen hundred for you?"
He could hear the smile in her voice. "That'll be fine, sir. I'll see you then."
