She closed her eyes in defense against that sensual promise. "Now who's killing who?" she groaned and gritted her teeth to hear him chuckle. "Fine, I'll leave. If you'll tell me what's wrong."
"What's wrong with what?"
She opened her eyes to glare at him, knowing he was being deliberately obtuse. "When I came in here, the tension was so thick I could practically see it. What's going on?"
The amusement disappeared from his handsome face and he shook his head. "I'm not telling you."
"Why not?" she asked indignantly.
His expression hardened and she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. "Because that's what the captain wants me to do. She won't ask you, but she's got ways of making sure she gets what she wants anyway."
"Jason—" she started, but he gave his head a decisive shake and leaned forward to grasp her hips with firm hands, turning her towards the door.
"No. Now get out. I'll see you tonight."
"What does she want?" she asked, pausing at the end of his desk.
He glowered at her. "Don't play her game, Anya. What she wants isn't necessary anyway. We can do this without you getting involved again."
"Do what?"
"Out," he growled at her before pulling a viewer close and bending his attention to it.
With a silent curse on his dark head, she went. But she wasn't defeated yet. She smiled when she saw Frank in the corridor. "Frank, can I talk to you for a second?"
He broke away from the group he'd been conversing with and approached her with a smile. "What can I do for you, Ani?"
"I've gathered that there's something wrong, but Jason wouldn't tell me what that something is. What is it, Frank?"
His faded blue eyes became wary and he shifted in obvious discomfort. "If Jace doesn't want you to know, I don't think—"
"I think what Jason does or doesn't want is immaterial," she retorted, folding her arms and eyeing him narrowly. "I have every right to know what's going on. I think I've earned it, don't you? So what is it?"
He ran a hand around the back of his neck and glanced down the corridor to Jason's office, a rather hunted expression on his face. "There isn't anything you can do about it anyway," he muttered. "Don't know what the fuss is about telling you. The destroyer's the problem. We don't have enough personnel to crew it, and the station's defenses at the same time, is all. And if we don't crew it, they'll take it back and use it against us. Only other choice is blow it up."
"What about the original crew?"
"Can't rely on 'em. They're a good bunch, but they're scared and they don't know who to trust. Captain's talked to 'em, told 'em what's gonna happen, but mutiny's a little hard to swallow." He shrugged, giving her a helpless look. "It's hard for 'em to see the big picture when they're stuck in a cargo hold."
With a thoughtful frown, she patted him on the arm. "Thanks, Frank. Don't tell Jason you told me."
"Ain't that stupid," he muttered, and she snickered, giving him a little wave as she walked away.
So the captain expects me to recruit for her now, she thought, as she moved down the corridor with a measured stride. Hell if she'd do that. The captain was not going to pull her strings and dance her around at her least little whim like some kind of puppet, a tool to be used…
Her steps slowed until she came to a stop, jaw clenched in stubborn resistance until she let out an explosive breath. "Aw crap!" she snarled and headed for the nearest info terminal. She was responsible for the crew's predicament. They deserved an apology from her at the very least. "But I'll be damned if I'll talk them into going to war for you, Captain," she muttered under her breath as she found the location of the cargo hold that was doubling as a prison. The station didn't identify it as such, but there was a trespass warning on it and a security lockout of any information pertaining to that hold. It was as good as a sign that read, "Prisoners here."
Anya made her way there, her progress slowed by well wishers and her own weakening limbs. Her head was starting to throb, and she thought of her bed with wistful longing. She was going to need a very long nap after this.
The cargo hold was guarded, of course, but Anya smiled and approached without hesitation. One of the guards was a familiar face from her trials with the telepath, and she greeted him warmly. He seemed happy to see her, but didn't forget his duty. "Ma'am, you're not allowed in this area."
"The captain sent me to talk to these people," she answered with a certain amount of grim satisfaction. It was nice to do a little using of her own for a change.
"She did?" he asked, a puzzled frown on his face as he looked behind her. He was probably wondering why she'd come unescorted.
"Contact her if you need to. I can wait." She met his eyes with direct calm, unconcerned that he might follow through with her suggestion. She was certain that the captain would agree—wasn't this what she'd wanted after all?
"I don't have to do that, Miss Anya, but…I just don't think it's a good idea to send you in there without a squad."
"Have they been violent, then?"
"No, ma'am, but…well, begging your pardon, but you're the reason they're there. They know what happened now, and I don't feel comfortable sending you in there without protection."
She laughed softly. "Steve, that's the last worry you should have. I can take care of myself." Then she tilted her head to one side, eyeing him quizzically. "Remember?"
He flushed, and Anya felt a little dirty for using her newfound fame like that. But that was far better than using her talent on him, she rationalized.
"I'll go in with you, at least," he mumbled.
"Thank you, Steve. I will feel better having you with me."
His flush deepened, but he gave a short nod of acknowledgement and led the way inside the cargo hold. The quarters inside were cramped, but not inhumane. The hold had been sectioned off into different living areas, mess hall, lavatories, and sleeping. The people milling about didn't look desperate, only bored and restless. She supposed that for a military crew, this wasn't much different from their daily lives.
Still, Anya felt a sudden clench of nervousness as she saw their eyes begin to find her. They had been hapless victims in a ruthless game that she'd participated in. Guilt made her clutch her elbows defensively and watch in silence as the first few crewmembers approached them.
"Hey, Steve," a brawny youth said with casual familiarity, but his eyes were on Anya. "Who'd you bring us?"
"You know who she is," Steve answered, his voice tight. He seemed nervous, but Anya felt no aggression from the crew member.
The dark-skinned young man ran a hand through his tight curled hair as he snorted. "Where're your manners, man? It's nice to get introduced."
Anya smiled hesitantly and stepped forward, holding her hand out. "I'm Anya Vaedrin. And you are?"
"Hale. Pleasure, ma'am," he said, as he swallowed her hand inside his huge one and shook it with surprising gentleness.
A curious ring of spectators were gathering around them, but no one else seemed inclined to introduce themselves. Either they'd decided that Hale was their representative or no one wanted to get that close to her.
"Nice to meet you, Hale. I suppose…I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."
A faint smile touched his mouth and brightened his eyes. "Had crossed my mind."
"Did the captain tell you…what I did?"
"She said you put us all to sleep somehow. Kinda hard to believe," he murmured, his eyes flicking down her slim figure in speculation.
The ring of people around them was growing, and Anya could see the same speculation in all of their eyes.
Her mouth was suddenly dry and her knees wobbly. "It was a last resort. I felt that it was my only choice. I hope no one was hurt," she said, watching Hale anxiously.
He shrugged his big shoulders. "Naw, some bruises, scrapes, and banged heads when people dropped, but nothing major. You really did that? Put us to sleep, I mean?"
"Yes," Anya answered and heard a rustling of the crowd, a mur
mur that was more concern than threat. "Not something I want to repeat, mind you," she added wryly, sending a depreciating glance around the ring. "I just got out of Medical today."
Hale grimaced. "Put you down for the count, huh?"
"Something fierce. But once I got out, I wanted to come and apologize."
"Why?"
She hadn't been expecting that question. She stared into his curious face for a moment in surprise. "Well, because what I did wasn't really fair to you, to all of you. You hadn't made the decision to be there, but you suffered for it anyway."
"That's our job, ma'am," he said, giving another careless shrug of his shoulders. "That's the glory of bein' part of the Fleet." He flashed a grin at her, his teeth very white against his dark skin, and smattering of laughter greeted his dry comment.
"Well, I don't like that I did that to you. So, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," she said in a slightly louder voice and looking around at the crowd as she spoke.
Hale eyed her for a moment before his mouth curled in a faint smile. "Good enough. You wanna come in for a minute? Have a sit down, maybe get something to drink? You're lookin' a little peaked."
"Thanks," Anya said with an answering smile and a rueful crinkle of her nose. "I'd like that."
She supposed Jason would have a fit if he could see her, striding through a crowd of people who had every reason to want to do her harm, but she felt no real malice in the faces surrounding her. Besides, she felt a certain desire to show them that she wasn't something they needed to fear.
Steve came with her, his face a bit pale but composed. She smiled at him, grateful for his presence. He didn't smile back, but his eyes lightened and his shoulders relaxed a bit.
Playing the host, Hale got them seated in the mess area and had someone bring them a couple of bottles of water. Anya thanked him and sipped hers with self-conscious care. The entire mess had filled with people, many of whom were standing on chairs and tables to see their little group. She'd been in front of crowds a hundred times larger than this, but she'd been singing at the time. This kind of attention was a smidge disconcerting.
"Better?" Hale asked, a smile playing around his mouth as he sat on the table, big feet propped on the seat.
"Yes, thank you."
"I don't suppose you feel like talking."
"How 'bout a song!" someone yelled from out in the crowd, and another trickle of laughter wound through the large group.
Anya smiled. "My voice isn't up to singing, but I can talk just fine. What did you want to talk about?"
She expected him to ask about their situation, to question her on the captain's motives or to ask for news from Central. They were prisoners, after all, and must be chomping at the bit to know what was happening. But Hale surprised her again.
"What's your story? How'd you get here?"
"What, you mean here on the station?" she asked, giving him a quizzical frown.
"Yeah. We know who you are. It just ain't normal for somebody like you to be out this far. What made you come out here?"
"You really want to know?"
"Yeah."
She looked around at the faces circling her. Every one was expectant, curious. Hale wasn't the only one who wanted to know. So with a shrug, she told them. She left out details of course, like her relationship with Jason and her revelations about the Hive, but she sketched the rest of her entire stay on the station for them. And when she was done, because they asked it of her, she did sing for them a little.
Eventually, it was Hale that called a halt to her visit. Thanking her with a boyish charm that made her smile, he escorted her back to the door despite protests from some of his fellow crew members. "Can't you see she's worn out?" he said to them in calm rebuke, and the protests died away. "I hope we see you again soon, Anya."
"Thanks, Hale. Me, too. I hope they don't keep you in here much longer."
He gave her his casual shrug and grinned, white teeth flashing. "Ain't no time like military time."
She had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but she smiled back and stepped out of the hold after Steve. The other guard greeted them with vast relief—they were out safe and no one had discovered that they were in the hold. Anya thanked them both and headed with grim determination towards her quarters.
Hale hadn't been kidding—she was worn out all right. Her legs felt like they each weighed a solid ton and her eyeballs were throbbing steadily. She managed to be polite to the few people who greeted her on her way through the station, but she was using the wall for support by the time she made it to her quarters. Stumbling inside, she weaved her way across the living room and into her bedroom, stripping and then groaning with relief as she collapsed on the bed. She decided, in the moments before oblivion snatched her out of rational thought, that she was going to stay in that bed for at least three days.
Chapter 29
She wasn't there nearly that long. An incessant, annoyingly loud chime brought her out of sleep. With an incoherent curse, she lifted her head and stared blearily around her bedroom. What the hell was that, anyway? Catching a glimpse of the chronometer, she realized that it was in the middle of the night. And by the way, she was alone. The sudden stab of disappointment that Jason hadn't come to her brought her fully awake, and she recognized that someone was trying to contact her over the vid screen.
"Coming," she grumbled, wrestling herself out of the bed and staggering over to the screen. Touching it, she wiped at the sleep in her eyes as she muttered, "Yes?"
"Anya dear, I hate to wake you, but I think you'll probably want to be here for this." The captain's voice was level, but there was an underlying jubilance in her tone that caught Anya's interest.
She dropped her hand and stared at the bright sparkle in the captain's eyes with growing suspicion. "What are you talking about? Here where?"
"The station has some visitors," the captain said with careful indifference. "Would you be a dear and come up to Control, please?"
"Oh god," Anya whispered, bracing herself against the wall. It was happening. Central had arrived.
"Hurry. I wouldn't want you to miss anything." Marta actually winked before she cut the connection.
Anya couldn't remember ever dressing so fast, her frantic movements spurred by the panicked drumming of her heart. Without bothering to comb her hair, she pinned it up with shaking hands in a careless mass at the back of her head and headed for the door. She didn't walk through the station—she ran. When she reached Command Control, she was out of breath and couldn't speak. But the guards at the door seemed to be expecting her, because they let her in without hesitation. She waved a grateful hand at them, pressing the other to the stitch in her side as she walked into the Command Center. Just inside, she stopped and tried to catch her breath, looking around curiously.
People in Fleet uniforms bustled everywhere amidst monitoring stations, looking very professional and serious. Anya could see the captain standing on the other side of the room with several nonuniformed people. Marta seemed in rare form, her shoulders squared with her hands in the middle of her back. There was an air of confidence and anticipation about her as she stood with her dark head lifted to the viewscreen in front of her.
What that screen showed made Anya gasp and shudder. The image was filled with Fleet ships and there were at least three destroyers amongst the array. The firepower looming in front of the station was enough to obliterate not just the structure, but the whole moon at least three times over.
"Go right over, ma'am," a young woman said as she passed Anya. "She's expecting you."
With heavy feet, Anya began to work her way across the room, eyes scanning the uniformed figures with increasing anxiety. When the captain turned to smile at her, Anya asked abruptly, "Where's Jason?"
Marta's smile altered, twisting with faint humor. "And good morning to you, also. Do you see the big ship in front there? The one that's pointing away from us? Jason's commanding it for me."
"What?"
The d
estroyer the captain pointed to was between the station and the rest of the large vessels, its bulk surrounded by small wings of fighters. On its own, it had looked formidable, but now, facing a dozen large ships, the lone destroyer looked like a whistle in the dark, ineffectual and foolhardy. And Jason was on it.
Anya swallowed past a lump of panic in her throat and said hoarsely, "But I thought there wasn't enough crew…" She faltered as the captain grinned with obvious delight.
"As to that, I must thank you for a job well done. The original crew made a very convincing argument as to why they should be trusted to take up their old positions after they talked with you."
Anya stared at her aghast. "But—but I didn't…all I did was tell them what happened to me. I never tried to…"
The captain patted her on the arm. "I know. That's why it worked. But there's no need to concern yourself about that now."
Anya opened her mouth to protest further, but the screen flickered and Jason's face appeared to one side. There was a smile playing about his mouth, and his eyes snapped with life. She could feel her entire being yearning towards him, and she wrapped her arms around herself to contain it, shivering with fear and longing. How could he look so relaxed and confident? Didn't he see what he was up against?
"Captain," he said in an offhand tone, "I think they're tired of talking to me. Do you wanna take a crack at 'em?"
"Have they been polite?"
"Not particularly. But their flagship is carrying an admiral. I think he's feeling a little insulted by our reception."
"A rude admiral? How novel," she drawled, and he chuckled. "Put him through, Commander."
Jason's face disappeared, to be replaced by an older man who scowled down at them ferociously, his face flushed.
"I'm Captain Marta Jamison, Admiral. I regret the circum—"
"Jamison, what is the meaning of this?" the man interrupted in a loud, rasping voice. "How dare you threaten Fleet ships? I will see you court-martialed at the very least—"
Angels and Ministers of Grace Page 30
