by M. R. Forbes
"I did knock. You didn't answer. I thought you Marines were supposed to always be alert." She glanced down towards his midsection. "I see one part of you is."
Mitchell refused to be embarrassed. "That isn't because of you," he said, sliding off the bed right next to her and making her back out of the way to avoid him. "I guess all of this excitement is wearing me out. Or maybe being a statue is making me soft. Hand me my underwear?"
She kept backing up. "Making you soft?" she teased. "Get your own diaper. I'll be waiting outside. You have ten minutes." She turned on her heel and left.
Mitchell grabbed the clothes and carried them into the bathroom. He cleaned himself off and got dressed, and then met the Major in the hallway. The MPs had already been dismissed.
"I'm sure you have special instructions for me," he said as they started walking.
"You've done all the training. I shouldn't need to tell you how to smile and wave."
"No words of wisdom on talking to the Prime Minister?"
She thought about it. "Ask him about his dogs."
"That's your advice?"
"Yes. Ask him about his dogs. He has two golden labs, Butter and Margarine."
"Butter and Margarine?" Mitchell rolled his eyes.
"Ask him without doing that, or laughing. He thinks the names are clever."
"Right. How many times have you been one-on-one with the Prime Minister?"
"Three."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why were you meeting with him?"
"It's classified."
Mitchell stared ahead of them, deciding if he should try to needle her a little. He doubted she would tell him much of anything.
"Which department of Special Ops are you in, Major? Intelligence? Security? Infiltration?"
The look she threw him made him flinch.
"That's none of your business, Captain."
"Were you ever in the Army? Or have you always been Spec Op?"
"I didn't say I was Spec Op."
"You didn't deny it either."
She surprised him by smiling. "You're a real pain in the ass, Captain."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm still not going to tell you what department I'm in, but yes, I swear I was in the Army. I was on the field during the New Terran's invasion of Antares. Your company didn't leave us with much to do."
"I didn't make the drop on Antares. It was my first tour with Greylock, and I hadn't finished the Zombie training. That was ten years ago, and I'd put you around forty-three? That would make you old for Spec Op."
They left the barracks. A transport was waiting outside, and they climbed in.
"You think I look forty-three?"
"Give or take."
"I'm thirty-seven," she said. "And yes, I am too old for Special Operations. Maybe now you'll drop it?"
"Yes, ma'am." He could feel the heat in his face, regretting his comment on her age. He forced a smile and leaned back in the seat. He caught Christine glancing over at him, a wry smile at the corner of her mouth, before she turned her head away and moved her attention to her p-rat.
Mitchell closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.
"By the way, Captain," Christine said, interrupting him a minute later. "You can look up the report on Antares if you don't believe me."
He opened his eyes and looked over at her. "Do you care if I believe you?"
"There's a lot I'm not at liberty to say, but I think our relationship will work better if you trust me."
"Okay. I trust you."
"Liar."
"I don't need to know anything about you to jump when you say jump. You obviously haven't led a team before."
She glowered at him again. She was offering him an olive branch, and he had returned fire.
"I'm sorry, Major," he said. "Enemy fire is one thing. Rubbing elbows with the rich and famous? I've done basic, but I'm still pretty green."
"Apology accepted."
The gala was being held at the top of the Millennium Towers, the most luxurious hotel in downtown York. It was a four-kilometer-tall wonder of architecture, a twisted sculpture of metal and carbonate that glittered when the planet's sun hit it just so. It rose near the south end of the city, offering visitors to the grand ballroom an unbeatable view of the surrounding landscape, from the majority of York to the north, the Caspian Sea to the east, and the faint rise of the Lincoln mountains to the west. Rumors had it that the hotel and the area around it had escaped the Federation bombardment only because they considered the building too beautiful and too valuable to risk damaging.
"How are you feeling, Captain?" Christine asked.
They were riding alone together in the lift to the ballroom at the top of the tower. Mitchell watched the ground shrink beneath the carbonate floor.
"I'll survive," he said. He was pleased to find the breathing exercises were as effective for parties as they were for combat. "You look beautiful, by the way."
She seemed surprised by the compliment. "I... Thank you." She paused as if considering whether or not to return the compliment. "You clean up well."
It wasn't much in the way of praise, but he would take what he could get. "Thanks. If you thought I was messy before tonight, you should have seen me after a mission. Mechs get insanely hot once you start firing lasers or launching ordinance."
"I can imagine."
"Butter and Margarine, right?" he asked.
"What?"
Mitchell stared at her. She still seemed a little shaken by the fact that he had noticed the way she looked. Or was she nervous about something else?
"The Prime Minister's dogs?"
"Oh, yes. That's it."
"Are you okay, Christine?"
"I'm fine." She pointed at her eye. "Multitasking. I'm on the comm channel with the security team for the event."
They reached the ballroom. The lift slowed to a stop and the hatch slid to the left, revealing the inner party.
It was everything Mitchell had been expecting. A huge room laid out with a bunch of round tables, a dance floor, an old-fashioned brass band playing really old songs. Women in heavy gowns, men in military dress uniforms and tuxedos, servers dashing around with trays of food and drink. The open view of the world from this height was mesmerizing and sad. The Federation bombardment had left whole chunks of the city in scarred ruin, dotting the landscape with patches of dark browns and blacks.
He stowed the thought and put out his arm. It was showtime. "Major?"
She wrapped her hand around it, allowing him to escort her in. They only made it a few feet when the band stopped playing, the room quieted, and all attention was on them.
A single clap broke the silence. Then another, and then another. Within seconds, the entire room was cheering for him. Mitchell smiled and waved at them, looking at the floor in practiced humility. He stood up to the barrage for a few minutes, and then it died down and the band resumed playing. Christine led him into the throng, and he paused to shake hands and accept the accolades of the men and women who offered them.
"I don't know who most of these people are," he whispered to Christine.
"Rich, famous, and powerful within the Alliance. That's all you need to know."
Their table was near the front. Two men and a woman were already seated there. Mitchell recognized the man in uniform immediately, having seen him in person on a number of occasions, and through streams many times over.
"General Cornelius, sir," he said, coming to attention.
The General turned his head away from his conversation. He was an older man with a white flattop and a strong jaw, his body fit despite his years. He was the kind of man who could pull off the rare feat of being both grandfatherly and hard at the same time, a gift that made him beloved among his soldiers.
"Captain Williams," he said, getting to his feet, a growing smile washing across his face. "At ease."
Mitchell relaxed and took the General's hand when it was offered.
"It
's an honor to sit at a table with you, sir," he said.
"Nonsense," Cornelius replied. "The honor is mine. Mitchell, let me introduce you to my wife, Sarah."
The woman stood and held out her hand. She was around Christine's age, a couple of decades younger than the General, with a thin frame and a surgically enhanced face. Mitchell took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Ma'am."
"Captain Williams." The other man stood. He wore a long black jacket with a high collar, a gold pin resting near the tip. He had longer white hair and a tired look around his eyes. "I'm David Avalon, Prime Minister of the Delta Quadrant."
Mitchell shifted to face the Prime Minister. The man didn't offer his hand, instead waiting while Mitchell bowed to him.
The Prime Minister returned the bow, and then smiled warmly. "I'm happy to see you up and well, after the incident the other day. Your courage is already a thing of legend."
Corporal Kwon and the civilians that died might have disagreed. He forced himself to stay in character. "It was what any good Marine would have done, Your Excellency."
"Perhaps, but you were the one who was there. I'm looking forward to presenting you with the Medal of Courage. You certainly deserve it. I can only imagine where the Federation would be right now if you hadn't destroyed that dreadnought."
Mitchell glanced at General Cornelius. He had to be careful with his words, so as not to upset either one of these men. "I'm confident the Alliance forces would have found some way to stop it."
"Of course."
"Ah, David," Cornelius said, "where is that wife of yours this evening?"
"Not feeling well, I'm afraid. She said she might come down a little later. She really wants to meet you, Captain. I think she has a bit of an understandable crush on you."
Mitchell could feel his composure cracking at the statement. He wasn't sure how to answer that.
"Major Arapo tells me you have a pair of golden retrievers, Your Excellency," he said. The words felt awkward spilling from his mouth.
The Prime Minister's smile was practiced and perfect. "Labradors," he corrected. "Yes, I do. Butter and Margarine. I would have brought them with me, but the hotel has a thing about dogs in their ballroom."
Mitchell was silent again. A few seconds passed before Christine saved him.
"I believe it's almost time to begin the proceedings, Your Excellency."
His eye twitched while he checked the time. "You're right. Thank you, Major. General, Captain, shall we?"
12
Mitchell survived the first few hours. He made it through the ceremonies, offering smiles and handshakes, and giving a short speech on humility, courage, and the value of enlistment in, and support of, the Alliance military. He made small talk with dignitaries from half the planets in the Delta Quadrant, and found himself on the dance floor more often than not, putting his training to the test to please the rich and powerful.
He noticed that Christine kept an eye on him no matter where he went. She managed to cut him off from the bar twice and shook her head sternly whenever he reached for a glass as a server went by. She followed him to the bathroom, and she found her way to his side whenever he got involved in a conversation with anyone who wasn't working the gala. At first, he found it somewhat humorous that the secretive special operations officer was assigned to almost literally babysitting him.
After a while, he just found it annoying. He wasn't about to confront her and risk making a fool of himself, so he tried to ignore her, focusing on his dance partners and doing his best to charm them. He had varying degrees of success depending on where the Major chose to position herself, but even when she was out of his sight, she wasn't out of his mind.
He was returning from a trip to the bathroom when a woman in a sparkling silver dress approached him. She was younger than anyone else in the room, a beautifully constructed work of art with blonde hair that fell in ringlets around her face, soft, full lips, and big, brown eyes. She was easily the most attractive woman at the gala, a fact that she seemed to recognize by the way she was carrying herself.
"Captain Mitchell Williams?" she asked, putting herself directly in his path.
He came to a stop. "Yes?"
Her smile was perfection. "My name is Holly. Holly Sering. I never thought I would actually get a chance to meet you."
"It's a pleasure," Mitchell said. He kissed her hand, as he had so many others.
"Do you want to dance?" she asked.
She was blunt, assertive. He hadn't even noticed the band was playing. "Sure."
She led him to the corner of the dance floor, away from the tables. He followed the music for a few beats, and then wrapped one hand around her waist and took her other hand in his. She followed his steps effortlessly, flowing into him and submitting to his lead.
"I don't remember seeing you earlier," Mitchell said. "I would have noticed you in the crowd." He was certain she hadn't been at any of the tables when he'd accepted the medal.
"I was late to the party," she said. He twirled her around, causing her to smile. "You're a wonderful dancer for a pilot."
"They made me take lessons," he said, "so I could charm rich women. My Commanding Officers think that it will help them get more spending bills approved."
"You're joking."
"I'm not. Is it working?"
She laughed. "Yes."
"Did you come here with someone?"
"No. I came alone."
"What about your husband?"
She pulled her hand away, showing him she wasn't wearing a ring before returning it to him in time for a few more steps. "No husband."
"All the better for me, then."
She laughed again. "Getting ahead of yourself, Captain?"
It was his turn to smile. He had no idea who she was, but in two minutes this woman had turned his night from torture to pleasure. He didn't know what it was about her, but he liked it. "Am I?"
"We'll see."
They continued dancing, chatting as they did. Even though the floor was crowded around them, Mitchell could always find Christine near the edge, talking to someone or another or nursing a drink, but constantly keeping one eye on him.
"So, you know what I do," Mitchell said. "What about you? Government? Industry?"
"I'm a musician," she said.
"Famous?"
"You would probably have recognized my name if I were."
"Not really. The military keeps me on a pretty short leash. They're worried the Federation will try to kill me."
"From what I gather, they did try to kill you, and a lot of other people."
"It was nothing I couldn't handle. I'm just sorry innocent people died."
The song wound down, and the band paused for a breather. He stood facing Holly, his heart pulsing from the exercise, and from the sight of her. He was about to ask her to join him at his table when she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
"Well, it was fun, Captain," she said. "Thank you for the dance." She started walking away.
"Huh? Wait. Where are you going?" He followed after her. She was the only thing that had brought any life to this party.
"I'm not much for crowds," she said. "I just came up because I was invited, and I really wanted to meet you."
"I can't convince you to stay?"
"No. I'm sorry, Captain."
"Mitch."
"I'm sorry, Mitch. You seem like a great guy, and I don't know, I feel electrified being around you. I just... I have this thing about large groups."
"I don't like crowds much myself," Mitchell said. "Do you have a p-rat?"
"A what?"
She didn't know the slang.
"An ARR?" he asked.
"Oh. Yes."
"Why don't you knock me, so I can at least get your sig? Maybe we can get together some other time?"
"I'm going off-world tomorrow. I doubt our paths will cross again anytime soon." She looked up at him, considering. "You know, you already got your medal. Why don't you come down to the lobb
y with me? We can grab a drink."
Mitchell found Christine across the room, in the middle of a conversation with General Cornelius. He was speaking to her, which meant she couldn't pull her attention away at the moment.
"I want to. I really do. Do you see that woman over there?" he asked.
"The one in the black dress?"
"Yes. She's my bodyguard or something. If she sees me trying to leave, she's going to do her best to stop me."
"So don't let her see you," Holly said.
Mitchell kept watching Christine. She wasn't going to be happy if he disappeared. He imagined she would chew him out again, and find some way to punish him. At the same time... "Service elevator?" he asked. He turned his attention to the swinging door the servers were keeping busy. He doubted they brought all the food and booze up through the main, clear carbonate lifts.
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Good idea."
He took her hand and started moving through the crowd, keeping to the far side of the room, away from Major Arapo. A few of the guests stared at them as they wandered past, about to say something before thinking better of it. More than once, Mitchell stopped walking and turned away from Christine, leaning down to pretend to tie his shoe, or taking a bite from one of the trays. Holly mimicked his motions, her face bright the entire time, clearly enjoying the subterfuge.
They reached the kitchen unnoticed. Mitchell pulled Holly through the door, nearly crashing into a server with a full tray of champagne. He laughed and pulled Holly close to him, squeezing them around while the server stared at them in surprise.
"You aren't supposed to be back here, Captain," one of the chefs said, noticing them passing through.
"I'm looking for the service lift," he said.
The man looked from him to Holly, and back. "Right. Out that door, turn left, three doors down, turn right. You'll need clearance."
"What level?" Mitchell asked. Most military had override access to public security systems, depending on how locked down they were.
"Two."
"Won't be a problem. You didn't see me."
He laughed and waved as they exited the kitchen, following his directions to the service lift.
