Trial and Temptation (Mandrake Company)

by Ruby Lionsdrake

  The bomber fell shortly after, and the two remaining Orenkan fighters punched their accelerators and fled for the horizon.

  A ragged cheer went up over the comm. Even if it wasn’t her war, Val was relieved, both for the outnumbered defenders and because, after the endless day she’d been on, she was ready for a meal and twelve hours in her rack.

  “Well done, all,” Zimmerman said. “Return to base.”

  Another whoop went up.

  “They may outman us and outgun us, but we’re guerrillas through and through,” someone said.

  More explosions arose, fiery orange blazes against the snow, as the wreck slid down a slope and crashed into its final resting place at the bottom of a canyon.

  “That’ll avenge Parker,” someone growled. The group sobered after that.

  Val hadn’t known any of the other pilots, but the knowledge that one had died always made her pause, reminding her how easily one could be killed in space or in the air, when a thin hull was all that stood between a person and death.

  With those somber thoughts in mind, she followed Gregor and the Mandrake shuttle back into the tunnels of the base. Fortunately, the sky was quiet and still, empty of enemies for the moment. Val wouldn’t confess it to any of the others—mercenaries and combat pilots weren’t supposed to be cowardly; she was fairly certain that was in the contract somewhere—but she hoped they could get their craft repaired before the Malbakians had to go up in the air again. This wasn’t her war, and she didn’t want to die in it. She tried not to think too hard about the fact that she was applying to be a mercenary and that the job was all about fighting in wars that were not one’s own. She didn’t want to admit that she might have made a mistake. No, that wasn’t it exactly. She didn’t want to admit she didn’t have it in her to do what was needed to come up with the money to bail out Yarrow. What if she couldn’t handle this lifestyle for long enough to come up with his money? Yarrow probably wouldn’t blame her. But what about Mom and Dad? Just because they were gone didn’t mean she could stop worrying about what they would think.

  She pushed the faceplate of her helmet back so she could rub at her eyes. “Shower and bed,” she whispered, this time making sure the comm was off and that nobody would overhear her mutters. Everything would feel better after a good night’s sleep. She hoped.

  * * *

  Thanks to the successful flight and the appearance of the Mandrake Company shuttle, Gregor was elated by the time he climbed out of his fighter in the hangar. A member of the ground crew jogged over to his borrowed craft, already getting ready to fuel it up for the next run. Yes, they couldn’t assume that their small victory would be a lasting one; the enemy might attack again at any time.

  This knowledge failed to dull his good humor. He strode over to Val’s fighter as soon as it stopped, eager to see her. He would have to sublimate his urge to greet her with a hug. Even if Admiral Summers, who had departed early in the fight to escort one of the slow mining ships away from the base, hadn’t returned, the Mandrake Company personnel would trot out of the shuttle before long, and he didn’t need them witnessing his affection for someone who was supposed to be his trainee. He would assess that situation more thoroughly later—in particular, he was worried he might be foolish if he didn’t consider the admiral’s words, the notion that Val might be feigning an interest in him because she wanted the piloting job—but for now, he could give her a hearty shoulder clap and let her know he was pleased with her flying during the skirmish. She was rusty in a fighter, but that was understandable. She might not have flown one since her academy days, and these models had been antiquated even then. But she definitely had potential that could be developed with more training. He much preferred her calm precision to Frog’s wild and reckless style. Half the time, the gun-happy pilot blew up things he wasn’t supposed to; it was amazing that he hadn’t gotten himself blown up yet.

  “Greetings,” Gregor said when Val’s canopy lifted. None of the crew had brought one of the float lifts over yet, so he grabbed one of the old-fashioned rolling ladders from a spot near the wall and pushed it over so she could climb down.

  “Sir,” she responded to his greeting, her voice tired. Or was that a sign of detachment? She didn’t look at him as she climbed down. She wasn’t avoiding his eyes, was she? And if so, why? Did she feel her performance hadn’t been adequate up there? Or… was it possible that the admiral’s words had affected her? That she felt she had been discovered, as it were, when the admiral had spoken of something Gregor hadn’t considered? Or at least hadn’t considered with seriousness?

  He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. He should refrain from making a judgment. His history of reading people’s emotions and guessing their thoughts and motivations was poor at best. Still, he had a hard time releasing the idea that she might have simply have warmed to him because she wanted something. If that was true, it would crush him. With any other woman, he didn’t think it would have mattered much. He was used to their dismissals by now and probably would have been prepared for the idea of being used. But with the woman he had dreamed of all those years ago? His heart was too vulnerable with her. What should he do? Nothing? Wait and see? He didn’t understand why she would feel the need to play games in an attempt to gain the job anyway. Oh, he understood that she had some sort of financial difficulty, but she was proving to be every bit the hard worker she had been as a student, and he would have thought favorably of her even if she hadn’t softened toward him. Even if she hadn’t kissed him. Twice.

  The first one had been quite nice, but the memory of the last one blasted him with the power of a laser cannon. As much as he respected Admiral Summers, Gregor would have suffered the wrath of him and a thousand other senior officers for a chance at another kiss like that. A kiss and more. Val had been so enthusiastic, practically clawing at him, as if she wanted to tear off his flight suit and engage in intercourse right there, with nothing but the wall to support their heaving bodies. The memory heated him like burning jet fuel, and he found himself noticing for the third time that day how small the crotch area was in his borrowed flight suit. He needed to escape from it, to find something more freeing.

  “Sir?” Val asked. She wore a perplexed expression as she scrutinized him. Had she prompted him more than once? And he, standing there, aroused and practically panting, hadn’t heard?

  “Yes?” Gregor asked, struggling for his customary tone.

  “Did you see Zimmerman wave? I think she wants you to join her debriefing.”

  Yes, Zimmerman and the rest of her pilots were standing around that desk at the end of the hangar. She gave him a nod when he made eye contact. If he hadn’t been distracted by Val—by thinking of her entwined with him, both of them sans flight suits and everything else—he would have felt pleased that he was now being invited to join the squadron meetings.

  “Yes,” Gregor said. “Come, you should be there too.”

  Val nodded and headed toward the group.

  Gregor thought about all the things he had meant to say to her, the hearty shoulder clap he had wanted to offer. Was it too late now? If he hadn’t been so busy thinking about the admiral’s words and then thinking about her…

  “I wish to inform you that you performed satisfactorily up there,” Gregor said. He definitely needed to let her know that. If she understood how competent he gauged her performance thus far, on the ground as well as in the air, she shouldn’t feel the need to express feelings for him if none were truly present. Of course, a selfish part of him wanted her to go right on expressing feelings for him, whether they were genuine or not, but that wouldn’t be right. It would only lead to disappointment in the end. A far greater disappointment than if they had simply worked together as colleagues from the beginning.

  “Satisfactorily, huh? Good, I strive to be satisfactory.”

  For once, Gregor recognized the sarcasm for what it was immediately. But he failed to understand what had prompted it. He had said the wrong thing, but what had it be
en?

  “Thank you for your assistance out there, Commander Thatcher,” Zimmerman said. They had reached the group, and Gregor struggled to put his concerns out of his mind for the moment. “And to you, as well,” she added to Val. “Calendula, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Val said. “You’re welcome.”

  “If you two would keep your flight suits close at hand, I would appreciate it. If I have anything to say about it, you’ll be welcome to fly with us anytime. Both of you. Even if the admiral naysays me…” Zimmerman glowered at the cracked cement floor. “I’d like to think we scared off the enemy with our, ah, cunning guerrilla tactics, but that hasn’t been enough to scare them yet. They know how badly they outnumber us. And in volunteering to house Admiral Summers, we’ve made ourselves a target. We need all of the help we can get.”

  Her bluntness in front of her squadron was surprising, but perhaps they all knew their situation already, and Zimmerman felt no need to soften reality.

  “That’s all I wanted to say to you, Commander,” she said. “I see one of your men needs you, but please know that we were glad to have you up there with us.”

  The pilots all nodded. Someone even gave Val the hearty clap on the shoulder that Gregor had meant to try. He sighed inwardly, wishing he didn’t have this new confusion in his mind.

  He turned his back on the group and spotted Lieutenant Sparks, one of the ship’s engineers, waving a tablet, ready to report in. A few clanks came from the direction of the damaged shuttle; his people must already be working on the craft. Good.

  “Sir?” Val asked as he started toward the lieutenant.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sure the engineers can do a lot more in the shuttle than I could and that I’d mostly be in the way.” She hesitated, meeting his eyes warily. “I’m really tired—it’s been a long day. Mind if I get something to eat and hit my rack?”

  Had she been worried that he would judge her poorly for asking? Gregor wasn’t tired yet—though he probably would be once the adrenaline from the battle faded from his veins—but he should have remembered earlier that they hadn’t taken meal or rest breaks in a long time. As a commander, his job was to watch out for those under him. “Yes, you’re dismissed. Report back at 0900 hours.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Val said around a stifled yawn, then nodded and left. Perhaps her weariness accounted for the subdued attitude, and it had nothing to do with the admiral’s accusation. Still, something about the slump of her shoulders seemed defeated, not simply tired.

  Later. He would worry about it further later.

  Lieutenant Sparks was a man of thirty who had a variety of ear and nose piercings and wore his blond hair in short spikes—Gregor’s first thought, when he had met the man, had been that he had recently electrocuted himself. The look had persisted for the last five years, though, so that hypothesis seemed increasingly unlikely. He was gazing in the direction Val was walking, and Gregor glanced in that direction, too, wondering what arrested the lieutenant’s attention.

  “Flight suits usually aren’t all that flattering,” Sparks said, “but she’s clearly got a nice ass.”

  The blunt statement shouldn’t have surprised Gregor, who had heard all manner of coarse language from the mercenaries, but it did. Not because he disagreed—all of Val’s physical attributes were nice—but because it hadn’t occurred to him that others might be interested in her. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him, other than that they had been isolated since leaving for this mission, and he hadn’t had to witness anyone lusting after her.

  “You seen her in anything less… less?” Sparks grinned. It wasn’t until Val disappeared into a tunnel that he pulled his attention back to Gregor.

  Gregor thought of Val’s blouse, the one that hugged her breasts, emphasizing their alluring curvature. “No.”

  Sparks gave him an odd look. Could he know that had been a lie? Even if he did, he shouldn’t question a superior officer. He shouldn’t even be discussing this with a superior officer. Captain Mandrake was too lenient with what he allowed with these mercenaries.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t have noticed if you had,” Sparks said, his grin returning. “Sorry, sir. I forget you’re practically a cyborg when it comes to women. And other things.”

  “I have engaged in sexual relationships with women in the years you’ve known me,” Gregor said stiffly.

  “Yeah? Did they know?”

  Gregor didn’t quite grasp the question—judging by the lieutenant’s smirk, this was some form of sarcasm or humor. He had a feeling a scathing response should be given, but he wasn’t certain he could come up with something appropriate, so he pointed at the tablet. “Do you have a report for me yet?”

  “A report? On the shuttle? We just got here.”

  “Then should you not be performing a preliminary assessment?”

  “We’ve got it underway. I just figured I should report in to you.”

  “Consider it done,” Gregor said.

  Sparks lifted his hands. “All right, all right. You’re huffier than usual, especially considering we just dodged enemy fire to come down here and save your asses.” Grumbling under his breath—Gregor caught a rude comment about his mother—Sparks headed to the shuttle.

  There were times when Gregor truly missed the discipline and enforced respect of the fleet. Sparks usually sir-ed Captain Mandrake, but he never bothered with his direct superior or with any of the other higher-ranking officers on the ship. Sometimes, that was grating. Especially at a time when Gregor had just had the epiphany that, if he didn’t establish a relationship with Val, another mercenary might step forward as soon as she was hired—or even before—and pursue her. That would have irked him even before they had grown closer. Before she had kissed him. Now it would be intolerable. If only he knew how she truly felt, he could say something. If he weren’t the one in charge of deciding whether to hire her or not. Damn, he normally enjoyed solving complicated problems, but not in this situation. Unlike with mathematics, he was ill-equipped to solve this one.

  Gregor looked into the back of the damaged shuttle and found Sparks, Sergeant Masterjohn, and the young woman Jamie Flipkens, arguing over an open panel. Numerous panels had been removed on the interior, and Gregor trusted this was a sign that important work was already in progress. He backed away to let them continue.

  Lieutenant Frog hopped off the ramp of the undamaged shuttle, wearing his usual patchwork jacket and green bandana, the latter restraining a mass of black braids that fell halfway to his waist. He gave Gregor something between a military salute and a swooning damsel throwing her hand up to her forehead. “You miss us, sir? We’ve got instructions to get you off this icy rock as soon as possible, and those brains in there are supposed to make it happen. Are we supposed to find lodgings here, or sleep on the shuttle? I’m fine with the last thing. I like keeping my weapons close at hand, you know.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s the new girl?” Frog asked, and Gregor tensed, wondering if asses would come up again. He regretted that he hadn’t reprimanded Sparks for speaking crudely of Val. “She working out? I thought I saw her flying up there with you.”

  Gregor relaxed an iota. Not a question laced with sexual interest, but one of professional interest. That was much more preferable. “So far, she has performed satisfactorily as a pilot and in all aspects of what became an unexpectedly complicated mission.”

  Frog’s eyebrows rose almost as high as his bandana. “Satisfactorily? Did you just rate her as satisfactory? You’ve never given Lieutenant Sequoia such high praise.”

  “Lieutenant Sequoia does not apply himself as diligently as he could.”

  Frog scratched his jaw. “Come to think of it, you’ve never rated me as satisfactory, either.”

  “Perhaps if you didn’t blow up so many ships that the captain ordered disabled.”

  “He says disable them, I disable them. Into lots of pieces.” Frog grinned. “How is that a problem?”


  “When prisoners are desired.”

  Frog waved away this bit of logic. Gregor could have let the conversation end there, since he had now checked in with the senior officers on the mission, and they seemed able to go forward with no further input from him. He was also, as he had predicted, growing tired now that the danger of the battle had subsided. But he found himself wondering if one of his colleagues might have a solution for his… problem of the heart. It wasn’t his nature to ask for advice from people, not when the galactic network had vast encyclopedias of information on any topic, but he didn’t feel adequately capable of dealing with these emotional issues. Nor did he believe an encyclopedia entry would hold the answer. Frog was perhaps not the most capable person for discussing emotional concerns, either, but he was a better option than Sparks. Gregor doubted he would be made to regret the choice, either; he had worked with the man often, and Frog’s teasing rarely grew rancorous. Also, he had inquired after Val’s progress, so he might genuinely have an interest in having her join the crew. They had been short a pilot for three months, meaning everyone pulled longer shifts during times of combat.

  “In the case of Cadet Calendula’s satisfactory rating,” Gregor said, “it’s possible I may not be able to assess her in a wholly unbiased manner.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s…” Gregor flexed his fingers in the air. He so rarely discussed emotional issues that he hadn’t anticipated the odd reluctance he had to voice them, not to mention an inability to be succinct.

  “Hot?” Frog suggested.

  “Pardon?” Gregor understood what hot probably referred to in this context, but the suggestion had caught him off guard. He was searching for more poetic words to describe his feelings. He did not wish to imply that an attractive woman in general would cause him to become biased.