Rhiannon raised her hand.
“Through there.” The receptionist pointed through the doorway the majestic Queen had already taken.
Oh, thank goodness. Interview time arrived. She could go in, be judged as too inexperienced, told thank-you, and allowed to go home. With or without the haircut. The important part was to vacate this terrible coffin-room. To get out of here.
Walking across the lobby, she felt wet, cool pools at her armpits. She clamped her arms closer to her body to hide the evidence of her nerves.
She stopped in the doorway to look back at the others. The receptionist was bending over a pad and pointing out something to the other two applicants, who didn’t appear to notice that they were being herded towards the exit. Had they actually been dismissed?
Rhiannon strode through the doorway now, more ready than ever to get this over with. Who cared how hot her core temperature got? Proving her unfitness for space exploration wouldn’t matter. Her Hive wasn’t going to get the ship anyway.
The oldest Queen was sitting behind a sheet metal desk, bare except for a few pads overlapping each other in a messy pile. The dark, deep lines around her mouth turned into caverns when she smiled. Her perfect, pearly teeth were flat and herbivore smooth. She consulted a pad perched atop the rickety pile. “Rhiannon, eh? A good strong name for a Queen.”
What’s in a name? She stifled a giggle at the thought. Not the time, Rhiannon.
The beautiful, scary woman picked up the pad and pressed her thumb to a page. She hit a few buttons, pressed her thumb again, and tossed the pad Rhiannon’s way. Should I pick it up? “Congratulations, Captain Ceridwen. I’ve made my decision. You are now the Queen-tenant of Ceridwen’s Cauldron.”
Rhiannon plucked the rubber-frictioned pad from the desk. It trembled in her hands, but didn’t fall. She stared at the words, at the box waiting for her thumbprint.
“You didn’t even read my essays, or check that I had enough people.”
The Queen laughed like a river in a book about Earth topography, constantly refreshing and stronger than it looked. “I didn’t have to. Weren’t you in that waiting room with me? You were the only Queen who said we. You considered your Hive first, not yourself. That’s the mark of a true Queen.”
Rhiannon shook her head, still looking at the empty printbox. She’d seal her future with print and DNA. Sweaty rivulets curled the hair under her ears. “It’s Commander, actually.” Perhaps being the administrative, some said overbearing, Commander type would disqualify her. Perhaps only the gentle, attention-seeking Queens were allowed to tenant the Cauldron.
“You’ll be fine,” the woman said.
Bumpy, moist warmth grabbed Rhiannon’s hand. The older Queen lifted her thumb for her and pressed it to the box.
“Done!” She smiled her deep, cavern smile again. “Congratulations, Commander Ceridwen. May your run be as good as mine.”
This was the former Captain Ceridwen? Maybe that meant she’d seen something in Rhiannon, seen something that made her seem a qualified Commander. Seen something that meant Rhiannon wasn’t a fraud. Seen something that proved she had the right characteristics. “And you get to decide this? Not some administrator or government official?”
The venerable lady river-laughed again. “The old captain always gets to pick the new one. It’s tradition. So long as the ship’s spaceworthy and not slated for a particular purpose. These old darlings aren’t good for much more than training a Hive crew, you know.” She leaned across the desk again, conspiratorial. Rhiannon clenched her hands defensively. “The Seneedd hopes your experience will inspire you with the vastness of possibility. When you outgrow the Cauldron, you might choose to join a battlefleet or become exobiologists.”
“When?” Rhiannon was pretty sure she was asking when the former Captain Ceridwen had become Captain and what things were like back in those first days, but she couldn’t find the right words.
“I’ll have my crew out tomorrow, so you can take possession immediately. We’ve been packing all week.” The former Captain Ceridwen must have seen the dismay on her face. She rushed to reassure her replacement. “I’ll arrange your first run, and the government will help you organize any others. But a young thing like you probably doesn’t want to do all mail and diplomatic couriers, eh?” She patted Rhiannon on the shoulder and guided her to the exit with a strong hand. “You’ll be fine or my name isn’t Olivia Jones.”
But the woman’s name wasn’t Olivia Jones. It was Captain Ceridwen! Or, it had been until a moment ago. Until Rhiannon had signed the paperwork. Now the old woman was Olivia Jones again.
And now Rhiannon was Commander Ceridwen. With a Hive to inform. So much for homework and haircuts.
Chapter Seven: Hand It Over
The group walked on a carpeted trail from the spaceport’s main concourse out to the Cauldron. Victor held Gwyn’s hand in his, tangling their fingers together. They’d never dared do that in public before. But here in Dyfed’s orbiting spaceport, no one knew them. No one knew Victor was Devoted. Or that Gwyn wasn’t his Queen. Here, they could be a happy couple like any other.
Ahead of them, Rhiannon tucked a hand into Gavin’s voluminous sleeves, ostensibly resting it on an elbow.
Victor tilted his head down an inch to Gwyn’s ear. “They’re getting along well, don’t you think?”
Gwyn hummed vaguely. Victor stopped contemplating his new Queen to see what had grabbed his girlfriend’s attention. The walls around them alternately proclaimed safety messages—Fire Exit Keep Clear / Allanfa Dan Cadwch Yn Glir—with chances to be involved in the station’s upcoming Beltane Revelry. Sign Up Here to Jump the Flames / Gofrestru i Neidio y Fflamau.
“Do you want to go?” he asked her, pointing to one of the latter signs.
She shrugged and swung their hands like a pleased child. “They probably won’t have real fires,” she said. “Not on the orbital.”
He gestured to another poster of a red-hot bonfire in an oak grove. Cleanse yourself for Beltane. “They clearly have something.” He raised her bony knuckles to his lips and pressed a whispery kiss to them. “Let’s do it. To start this new adventure right.”
She’d stolen the air from his lungs and hidden it between her teeth. “Okay.” The smile she gave him filled his whole world.
He stared, transfixed by her sparkling teeth, breathless before her hair, paler than snow. She was a creature of legend. Bloddeud come to make his life complete, and nevermind how badly that story turned out for all concerned. How could he ever have imagined a life without Gwyn? What horrible fate would have seized his fragile heart in its claws if Rhiannon hadn’t been ready to help?
Their steps’ rhythm lulled Victor into a comfortable mental stillness. Gwyn always calmed him. She gave him darkness and the space for thought. He nearly tripped over his own feet when she came to a stop. “What?” he asked.
Once again, Victor followed her gaze. Ah, we’ve arrived. Outside the airlock for the docking spoke to the Cauldron, an old woman waited. Victor could see her shockingly white hair past Gavin and Rhiannon’s shoulders. It wasn’t white with pale beauty like Gwyn’s, but with age. She wore her years like a majestic cloak, but he didn’t want to talk with her if he could avoid it. She might guess too much.
The woman spoke. Her voice creaked like a chair about to fall apart. “Commander Ceridwen.”
Rhiannon raised her chin in regal acknowledgement, but her voice sounded comparatively high and unsure. “Queen Olivia.”
Fuck! A Queen! Victor dropped Gwyn’s hand and hoped the official woman hadn’t noticed his lapse. He slid in front of his girlfriend, hoping he might be tall enough to shield her from the stranger’s view. Gwyn’s cool hand touched his back, pouring calm into his soul.
He bared his teeth in a smile and prayed to his patron god that it could pass for normal. I’ll leave an offering in your name, Lleu Llaw Gyffes. Just please. Please let us pull this off. Don’t let this person notice Gwyn and call her out as a disruptive
influence to a new Hive.
His prayers appeared answered. The croaking Queen didn’t so much as look at Rhiannon’s entourage. She said, “We’ve cleared the ship out, down to the plates and the Kevlar. We left you some oxygen-bearing plants and the mattresses. What would we do with those? It’s a clean slate.” Her eyes twitched to indicate the millions of boxes on a palette at her side. Victor twitched with her, unsure where to move to stay between Gwyn and discovery.
A blossoming heat radiated from his sternum and pulled his awareness away from the danger. Back to his own body. Matching Gwyn’s still, cool hand on his back, Rhiannon’s rested like a fiery blanket across his chest. His Queen had this under control. He could simply focus on the prodigious load of boxes and wonder how the old crew had fit all their stuff on that ship.
Their ship now.
Victor leaned into the pressure on his solar plexus, breathing deeply to feel the push against his Queen’s skin. She was the warmth of spring. He exhaled, expanding his chest into her palm and reveling in the cozy Hive dynamic. But that also pushed his hind ribs against his girlfriend’s icy hand.
He flashed cold, and bumps rose on his skin under his tunic. He caught himself before he shrunk away from both women, but only just. If the old Queen noticed his sudden change in behavior, she might also notice the girl he obscured. Gwyn! Do I betray you when I let another woman touch me? But Rhiannon wasn’t another woman. No, she was a Queen. Victor’s Queen at that.
He was supposed to touch her, supposed to take comfort in her presence. If he didn’t let affection for her eclipse all else, how was he supposed to build a new family in this strange Hive? Then again, they were a very strange Hive.
Gods. She wasn’t even really his Queen. He hadn’t Devoted yet.
His eyes slid to the boxes behind the stranger. They towered over her in squares and cylinders. Would he amass that much stuff someday?
Rhiannon’s hand left his chest when she walked closer to the old woman. Victor’s lungs expanded on the side where her touch had been. They were still tight where Gwyn rested behind him. I’m destined to be a terrible Devoted, a terrible boyfriend. Just like my father.
Rhiannon and the other Queen stood apart from Victor and Gwyn and Gavin, embroiled in some pleasantries he couldn’t hear. Those culminated in small bows to each other, neither deeper than her mirror’s.
Wishing them “Pob lwc,” the crone went on her way. Good luck. Victor was going to need it.
The path cleared. Gwyn bounded ahead, no doubt remembering the Queen’s comment about leaving oxygen-bearing plants. Gwyn loved plants. And Victor loved Gwyn. At least, he thought he did. He’d done everything for her, for their love. But, in that case, how could he respond to Rhiannon’s touch?
His pad vibrated. A message from Gwyn. Already? She’d just left him seconds ago. So much green down here! And MOLD. He laughed, and if the sound was shaky, that was no one else’s business.
Soon Gavin was laughing with him, for his own reasons. Their peals rang through the hub’s spoke. The sound of freedom and love and a whole life ahead of them. Gavin wrapped his arm around Victor’s shoulders. The pair of them staggered after Gwyn into their new home.
Chapter Eight: It’s In the Manual
Luciano had passed through Dyfed’s orbiting spaceport before, when he’d first arrived from Nuova. Then he’d been impressed by its dust-free cleanliness and brightly-lit schedule boards. Now he paid its corridors scant attention, eager to board his new ship-home for the first time.
Unchallenged by any security officials, he entered the Cauldron via her docking spoke. Her small, bare corridors gave no clues to the ship’s size or layout. He was grateful the old crew had painted blue arrows on grey bulkheads to help the newcomers explore.
His boots banged a steady rhythm against the steel-and-Kevlar floors. Those floors matched equally uncovered walls—blank except for metal panels that kept the ship’s innards from spilling onto unforgiving ground. After he met with Rhiannon, he’d see if Medical was just as gutted and unfinished. Hopefully all the necessities would be stocked.
She’d set the location for their one-on-one as the pilot house, so he climbed the metal rungs to it. A room only meant for one person, maybe two if they squeezed, already warm. After the bare corridors with their frigid hostility, Rhiannon’s presence and body heat lent a coziness to the space. Every available surface was coated and crammed with instrumentation. No one had skimped on equipment in this room, for all that the pilot’s chair had no cushioning.
His perfect Queen leaned over the console in front of the pilot’s chair and looked up to greet him with sparkling eyes. Her face was flushed, and her hand came up to push an errant hair behind her ear. Her usually meticulous eyeliner was smudged from the heat and the work.
“Hi, Luciano,” she said.
Pinkened, disheveled, streaked. She’d never looked more beautiful.
“Hi.” He looked forward to years upon years of her energy and vision, God willing.
He climbed the last rung and found himself nearly pressed against her. He could smell the maple that lingered in her clothes and the inoffensive chemical she used in her hair.
“I’m glad you made it.” Her bright smile lanced through his chest like the Spear of Longinus.
He’d do anything to keep her happy. He’d bring her his best accomplishments. He’d discover a new species with attendant antibiotics. He’d make her happy forever, his Queen.
“I’ll always come when you call,” he said. It was part of his oath, after all. “I can’t tell you what we need in Medical yet, sorry. I’ve only just arrived. But I’ll get on that as soon as we’ve finished here.”
He’d show her how good he was at his job, even though they’d had to leave school at sixteen. He knew his stuff so far. Plus he’d learn more from books and exploration and local practitioners they met along the way.
“Ah, about that.” She looked away from him. Her right hand twisted in her silky, near-black strands, while the other rooted around beneath the main console and pulled out a very thick, very physical book. It was so heavy that her fingers shook and the tendons in her hand stood out, outlining musculature and veins.
He plucked the book from her grip with his stronger hands. Although the cover looked old, the pages had never been opened. Outdated fonts proclaimed it Manual Pilot Manual: Best of the Century!!!. The tome rested in his hands like a new Bible, a single block full of important information that had yet to be cracked and explored. Strange that it’s not on a pad. Maybe if a pilot needs to use it, that means the power’s gone out?
He wished she’d look directly at him again, the way she had when he’d come in. Maybe he could tease her into paying attention to him. God, he was never as real on his own as he was when she included him in her world.
“Taking up manual stimulation?” he asked slyly.
God in Heaven, Luciano! He couldn’t believe he’d said that out loud. The joke, weak enough on its own double-entendre’d feet, wasn’t something one should say to a lady, much less to a Queen. He closed his eyes against whatever condemnation she might muster. He stood blind for a moment, breathing in muggy disapproval and twitching towards her for comfort. He pulled himself away when their skin touched.
Her hands closed around his on the book’s covers, imparting forgiveness and a bit of sweat. She squeezed. His shoulders relaxed even as his fingers contracted around the Manual Pilot Manual.
“I need you to do me a favor.” Her voice was lower-pitched now, not the happy chirp of greeting from moments before. Nor was it the deadly deep anger he’d once heard her unleash on a vicious schoolgirl Queenlet who wouldn’t let a freshman buy a drink from the vending machines until he’d abased himself before her.
Luciano opened his eyes to sink into her obsidian pupils. Was this how the prophets felt when confronted with Jesus, when they realized who he was and submersed themselves in His wisdom and love? “Anything,” he agreed, not needing to hear what the favor might be. �
��You know that.” He tried to put his conviction and devotion into his voice and his gaze.
She tapped the book in his hands. Her fingernail clicked against the shiny, thick cover. “I need you to read up on this and become our pilot.”
If he played pilot for a bit, for his Queen’s sake, who would be taking over in Medical? What if someone got hurt?
“I need you, Luciano.” She leaned forward earnestly, tilting her head more aggressively when the space between them became too small for her to keep his gaze otherwise. “Gods know this isn’t fair to you, but you’re the only one I can trust. We’ve been project partners often enough that I know you can get through the theoretical and into the practical better than anyone else on board.”
Except for herself, of course. He’d seen her fly through physics books and come up with the lab ideas that had been invented by geniuses a hundred years after the last thing she’d read about. He knew she could do the same for history, literature, and—doubtless—piloting too.
She continued, “It’s only temporary. Someone needs to be first, after all, and we leave the spaceport right after Beltane to ferry our first passenger. Once you get things running and then teach me, we can spell each other on piloting while you take over Medical as you were meant to. I’ll teach the next replacement myself.”
He spared a moment’s jealousy for the next student who would get to spend hours crammed into the pilot house with his sweet, glowing Queen. But Luciano would get to do it first and be seen as her ship-wide expert. Still...
“Of course I’ll help you.” He rested his own hand over hers, now atop the book, promising his strength in body as well as in mind. “But if someone needs me in Medical, what will we do?”
She pulled her hand away and tugged on her tunic’s sapphire hem. It scraped his trousers where their legs stood near enough for the fabrics to touch. “Well, you haven’t had the chance to meet our sixth crew member yet. But number six is really good with animals and even spent time volunteering with vets last summer.”
Queen & Commander (Hive Queen Saga, #1) Page 5
