by Sharon Green
Another twenty minutes or so passed with Valdon shifting at the wall but doing no more than that, a pleasant silence surrounding us that let me go on with developing my campaign against Dameron. I was ready to pull my feet down if the terminal signaled for Valdon's attention, but the interruption never came and Valdon never turned.
I was finding it hard to believe that a grown man could be put to a wall and kept there with such a pack of nonsense, but that's the way it went until the door to the room slid noiselessly aside and Dameron stepped in. The commander stopped in the doorway to stare first at Valdon and then at me, and a look of confusion settled on his broad features.
"What are you two doing?" he asked, sounding and looking bewildered.
"We were waiting for you to get back," I answered, looking up at him without moving even though Valdon turned immediately away from the wall. "You certainly took long enough."
"There was more involved than I thought there - I still don't understand." Dameron's bewilderment was about to turn into annoyance. "Why is Valdon standing near the wall all the way over there, while you're - What the hell is going on?"
"Nothing's going on," I assured him, putting my feet down and standing up to face him. Valdon was staring at me without saying a word, but I had more pressing matters to think about. "Why don't you and I take a little walk and see to that chore we were discussing earlier? It won't take long, and then you can concentrate on Narella without any distractions. And there are a few other very pertinent advantages I'll be glad to point out on the way. You might say it'll be an offer you can't refuse."
I gave him a wolfish grin, but before he could answer me another precinct was heard from.
"I could be mistaken, but it sounds as if you're over your bout of shyness," Valdon observed, his deep voice having intensified. "Or is it just those of us who have really worked with 'uncivilized barbarians' who make you want to cry?"
"I'm very unprejudiced," I said, looking over my shoulder at Valdon's annoyance. "If the situation calls for it, I'm willing to shed a few tears for anyone. Are you feeling cheated because I didn't make good on the threat?"
"She threatened you?" Dameron demanded of Valdon, still trying to figure out what was going on. "What did you do to her?"
"I - 'overawed' her," Valdon answered dryly as he stared at me. "I made her so nervous by the ferocious way I looked at her and talked to her that she almost had hysterics. I had to promise not to look at her again or say a word, just to keep her from fainting or throwing a crying fit."
"Hysterics," Dameron repeated in a flat voice. "Fainting and crying. Are we talking about the same female?"
I turned my head to Dameron to see that although his unfriendly stare was aimed at me, his faint air of ridicule was directed at Valdon. The big man's handsome face had darkened in response to Dameron's scoffing, but he hadn't added anything.
"I had to find something amusing to pass the time," I told Dameron's accusing stare in a hurt tone designed to let him know how unjust his accusation was. "It wasn't my idea to be left here unoccupied and ignored while you went trotting off to have fun. And I don't know what you're complaining about. No one got hurt, did they?"
I made my question as pointed as possible without being deliberately offensive; Dameron showed he got the point by straightening where he stood and sobering. I hadn't strung Valdon along just for the fun of it, but if Dameron understood that the interlude could have been destructive rather than embarrassing, we didn't have to go into anything else.
I wanted Dameron to see how much better off his base would be with me gone from it, and if his expression was anything to judge by I wasn't far from getting what I wanted. Dameron opened his mouth, probably to agree to my suggestion of a walk, but the big hand suddenly wrapping around my right arm stopped any words from being said.
"So making me look like a fool was nothing more than an amusement for you," Valdon growled, tightening his grip to match the anger in his eyes. "You needed some entertainment to stave off boredom, and I was it. Did you find all the fun you were looking for? You weren't disappointed?"
"If you don't like being conned, try being less nosy," I told him, meeting his anger calmly. "Not everyone considers exchanging life histories the best of conversational topics. And don't feel too raw over being taken in. You aren't the first to fall for some line I happened to come up with, and you won't be the last. The best thing you can do right now is forget it - and let go of my arm."
"Or you'll cry?" he asked, still staring down at me. "Maybe a few tears would be the best thing that could happen to you after all, to see to it that I am the last one to fall for some line of yours. You had your fun; it would only be fair if I took my turn."
"Valdon," Dameron rumbled warningly from behind my left shoulder, but those deep black eyes gave no indication that the warning had been heard. Those eyes were locked to my face, watching for a reaction to the threat Valdon had made, waiting for the fainthearted regret he expected to see set in. It was too bad I wouldn't be leaving there without trouble after all, but that's the way things went sometimes.
"You're entitled to make a stab at taking your turn," I agreed, then shot my arm forward and sideways fast against his fingers, which broke his hold on my arm. "Only don't expect me to stand here like a statue while you do. I don't expect to lose, but if I do the turn is all yours."
I set myself without being obvious about it, curious as to how good he was. The way he moved said he wasn't likely to be clumsy or awkward, and his size, handled as easily as he handled it, was a definite asset for him. If he didn't have a weak middle or a glass jaw I would have my hands full, and shortly thereafter the rest of me would match, with bruises if nothing else.
Killing him was out, of course, for many reasons even beyond the one that said he had a right to try getting even. I usually followed the adage that counseled, "Never make enemies by accident, only on purpose," but this time I'd missed. If a few bruises were the price for reclaiming the slip, I'd pay the price and count myself lucky; there had been times when the price had been higher. I watched the man in front of me carefully, waiting for his first move, but for some reason it didn't come. He just stood and frowned down at me, finally shaking his head.
"If you're expecting me to start a fist fight with you, you can forget it," he said, his tone flat and final. "Despite your generous offer, I don't make a habit of fist-fighting with women, even when they deserve a good swatting at the very least. All you can expect from me is the swatting, but I'll choose my own time and place, thanks. I'm used to setting up my own schedules."
I watched him walk between Dameron and me and head for the door, and once it had closed behind him I couldn't help shaking my head the way he had.
"What in the name of the deep endless dark was he talking about?" I asked no one in particular, then looked at Dameron. "And what's a swatting?"
"He was trying to tell you that he doesn't beat up on women even when they're expecting him to," Dameron answered, leaning back against the wall by the door with folded arms. "How did all that happen to get started?"
"He came in and immediately began asking me all sorts of questions," I explained, still feeling the urge to shake my head. "I decided that it was enough for you and your second to know about me, and we didn't need baby to make three. I had the choice of telling him what to do with his questions and thereby starting a fight, or conning him and keeping it peaceful. Believe it or not, I decided to keep it peaceful."
"Do all of your people use the same definition of peaceful?" Dameron asked with a snort of amusement. "If they do, I can't wait until we're in full contact with them. And for your information, Valdon is my second in command. He wasn't there when I was questioning you - a small crisis had come up that needed seeing to - and he was probably trying to find out what he'd missed. Looks like he got more than he bargained for."
"He should have told me who he was," I said with a shrug, ready to dismiss the whole thing. "I usually use restraint when dealing with
an ally. And speaking about dealing, now that your urgent errand is seen to, let's take that walk and do a little dealing of our own. I think I can safely say you owe it to your people to get me out of here as soon as possible."
"You may be right about that." He nodded, still sticking to his piece of wall. "But when you talk about my urgent errand having been seen to, don't start assuming it was seen to successfully. Flantoril, the post 9 fighter who just came in, can't do the job I need her for. The only reason she's back here is to be treated for the wounds she took in a recent fight; if she hadn't been brought back, she would have died. Healing will keep her alive, but only if she doesn't have to go through a second session of Healing to change her into Bellna. Humanoids from her home sector don't react well to too much Healing. Did you really intend to try defending yourself against Valdon?"
"Why not?" I asked, surprised by the sudden, out-of-context question. "A small, harmless-looking man like him ought to be a cinch to take. What has that got to do with our visit to my course computer?"
"It has a lot to do with it," he said, finally coming away from the wall to stand himself in front of me. "When I saw you calmly accepting the possibility of a fight with a man most men would try to appease, it came to me to wonder how well you can handle a sword."
"No, you don't!" I said with an immediate headshake, holding one hand up toward him while the other turned into an automatic, unconscious fist. "As far as you're concerned, I don't even know what the word sword means. Your problems in Narella are none of my business, and I intend to keep it that way. If you'll just show me the blinking red sign reading 'Exit' I'll get out of your way and take care of my course computer myself."
"Without specific coordinate and quadrant data?" he asked very mildly, the dark eyes looking down at me faintly amused. "I'll bet you can handle a sword at least as well as one of my team girls."
"The couple of times I tried I nearly cut my own foot off," I said, feeling absolutely no guilt over the lie as I met his gaze. "And as far as coordinates and quadrant data go, I'll take my chances without them. The same luck that got me here just might get me home again."
"That would be more miracle than luck." He snorted, still looking at me with those piercing eyes. "And don't you think you owe us more than a brisk 'thanks!' and a farewell wave? If not for us you'd be a stiff, blue corpse, riding an airless hulk into eternity."
"Very poetic," I applauded with a nod. "Not to mention graphic. Now, out of pure, soul-deep gratitude, I'm supposed to put my neck on the chopping block with an eager smile? What's the difference between dying in space and dying on a planet I have no business going near?"
"The more I talk to you and think about you, the more convinced I become that if anyone can survive, you're the one," he said. "It may have taken me awhile to put the whole picture together, but now that I have, you can't deny it."
"How about if I deny your sanity?" I came back, putting my fingers on my hips. "I don't know what you're talking about, and I doubt very much if you do."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about," he said with a chuckle, suddenly moving past me to his blocky chair. He sat, tapped a few keys on his terminal, got half a dozen symbols in answer, then turned all the way back to me. "I don't know why I didn't think of the question sooner, but it finally came to me to ask why you were put in a crippled ship and headed into the deep black."
He beamed at me with a possessiveness I'd noticed earlier, looking as though he'd made his point and was just waiting for me to acknowledge it. I have often found myself with my head in a noose, but I can honestly say I never helped put it there.
"You see a big secret in what Radman did to me?" I came back immediately, throwing in a shrug for good measure. "All I see is the caution of a man who knows what's good for him. My people knew what I was doing and who I was involved with; if they decided to bring Radman in and put him to the Question, he'd have to be able to say that the last time he saw me I was alive and healthy, and I was still in that condition as far as he knew. That's why he made sure I had everything I needed to be comfortable."
"Very logical and neat," Dameron conceded, but his nod and smile showed nothing of concession. "The man did it to protect himself. But you did say he was a slaver, didn't you? Couldn't he just have added you to his inventory and been able to say the same thing? I can't imagine his having any trouble selling a woman with your - ah - obvious attributes, and I'm sure your Federation has too many planets for him to be afraid that your people might stumble across you. If he didn't arrange a set of chains and a private auction for you, there must have been a reason."
He paused again, still wearing that "gotcha" expression, clearly waiting for me to comment. Being compassionate, I saw no reason to disappoint him.
"Yes?" I prompted, looking faintly interested. "And the reason was…?"
"That he thought you had too good a chance to get yourself out of any arrangement like that," he growled, suddenly annoyed that I was ignoring the way he was pinning me to the wall. "If an enemy who knew you went to such lengths to be safely rid of you, then you have to be more than just average at what you do. Now go ahead and make your denials."
"I have no denials to make." I shrugged, turning away from his dark-eyed stare to go and reclaim my old lump-chair. I slid into the chair and made myself comfortable, then looked at him again. "I see no reason to either confirm or deny anything you say. Just let me know when you get to the end of your lecture series and the testing is about to start. That's when I'd like to leave."
"Damn it, you can't refuse to do this job for me!" he snapped, leaning forward toward me to emphasize his words. "You needed rescuing and I need a decoy; you got what you needed, and now it's my turn!"
"I only got half of what I needed," I pointed out, resting my elbow on my thigh and my chin in my palm. "When it came time to discuss C & Q data, you were much too busy. If the kind of help that buys you is what you're looking for, I'll be glad to supply it. If not, you've got a problem."
"How would you like to spend the rest of this crisis time in irons?" he asked, growling again. "I promised to reprogram your course computer as soon as I find the time, and I will. I saved your life, and I'll see to it that you don't have to go searching for where you came from. What more do you want?"
"What more do you have?" I muttered, playing smart to cover the tiny, tingling doubts I was beginning to feel. I'd pushed Dameron as hard as I'd been able, expecting to see the iron fist flash out of the velvet glove, ready to do some fisting myself on my way out of there, but it hadn't happened. Instead of threatening me Dameron was pleading, and not a word about holding back the information I needed! I leaned all the way back in the lump chair, silently cursing the roll of the dice. Coercion I can understand and cope with; frantic requests for help are harder to ignore.
"I think I can understand how you feel," I heard after a long minute, looking up to see softer, more compassionate eyes on me. "You're a long way from home and want to start back, without any twisting, dangerous side trips. In your place I'd feel the same, but Diana… I can't afford to put myself in your place. Too many lives are hanging in the balance, and I have no one else to turn to.
"I see you've finally remembered my name," I commented despite his sober expression. "What if I still say no?"
"You mean, what will I do to get even?" he asked, looking straight at me for another five seconds before raising his eyes to the blue ceiling and folding his hands behind his head. "I could always string you up by the thumbs, but I'd have to wait until an overhead hook became available. Putting in new hooks always loses us some air. Once you're strung up I could light a fire under your bare feet, but the automatic extinguishers don't like open fires. Skinning you alive might do the trick, but - "
"Okay, okay, enough," I interrupted, showing my palm to admit surrender before his list got to be 'phone book length. "If you were trying to tell me you're beyond that sort of thing, I got the point. The only thing I still don't know is what you're not beyond."<
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"I'm not beyond dickering, if that's what you meant," he answered, back to looking at me. "Motivation is important when it comes to survival, and saving your favorite neck isn't always enough. I've always found bonuses helpful."
"I don't expect to hang around long enough to spend a bonus." I snorted, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of my hand. "And survival has always been a good enough motivation for me on its own."
"Then you are experienced in handling dangerous situations," he said softly, a grin spreading across his face. I suppose something in my expression showed what I thought of his methods of data-gathering; he wiped the grin fast and leaned forward in his chair. "I wasn't digging for that, but I'm glad to have the reassurance since you're not admitting or denying anything. What I meant to say was, the bonuses I offer aren't in the form of legal tender. I try to offer things that would not normally be for sale at any price."
"Like what?" I asked, more curious than hooked. I still couldn't generate much enthusiasm for the idea of working for him. I had things at home waiting to be done, like a recently scheduled second meeting with Radman the slaver.
"Oh, items like certain souvenirs," Dameron drawled, his grin back again. "The Tildorani have turned carving into a high art, but they aren't in a position to do any exporting. Some of my people are collectors, and wouldn't be able to pick, choose, and carry off any of the better items without field team help. And then there are those who do more … personal collecting, for any of a variety of reasons. Even if the reason happens to be vanity, all they have to do is collect the necessary number of points."
I could feel the hook being dangled more enticingly in front of me, but I couldn't make out the nature of the bait. I could see I was supposed to ask what points and what they bought, allowing ignorance and innocence to draw me closer to the hidden barbs, but that wasn't my first time at dickering. I glanced around, as though unconsciously trying to check the time, a shadow of impatience to the movement, and Dameron suddenly lost his drawl.
