Becca

by Mima

  When they got on board a sleek, expensive personal cruiser, there was a flurry of activity. The soldiers dove in all directions shouting orders. The frame was sealed, but they kept their weapons ready. Silas was hustled by two of them into a private berth. She scurried along behind. There was lovely red carpeting, thick and warmed, with a big orange bed and one whole wall of cabinets painted with a gorgeous jungle scene.

  Silas strode to the cabinets and pulled out velvet pants and a short, fitted jacket, both black, with a dark purple shirt. “Please use the shower first. I’ll find you something to wear.”

  Shifting her feet, Becca asked, “Are we safe?” Her heart still boomed in her chest.

  He nodded. “Entirely. Barring a heat-missile strike, which is always a possibility when I’m in space.”

  She drew back her head. “It is?”

  The door chimed and he said, “Come.”

  She pivoted to see an older man stride through the door. He stumbled to a halt one pace in, his face stricken. Then Silas lunged for him and they cried out as they hugged tightly. Becca decided to give them privacy and eased into the bathroom.

  She took a very quick shower, but when she dried off, there was an orange dress hanging by the sink. It was floor-length, a simple, classic cut, and when she put it on, it made her chest and hips look fantastic.

  She exited still combing her hair but stopped dead. There were—she had to take a moment to count them all—eight people in the room. They were all talking at once, and a few were crying. Most of them seemed to want to touch Silas, mobbing around him. The only woman in the crowd sat on the bed clinging to his hand.

  Silas nodded to her when she stood there. “Come here, Becca.”

  She moved over to him slowly.

  “This is Becca Sharpin, an engineer intern who happened to discover me and, for no other reason than the dictates of her conscience, freed and hid me at great personal risk. I declare her a national heroine.” He looked at her kindly, but she missed the lover she’d known. “James.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” A quivering young man stepped forward, plax-page poised.

  “I want the best systems engineer in the galaxies to be arranged as her certification master.” Silas beamed a big smile at her, but his eyes were hollow.

  Everyone considered her.

  She whispered, “Your . . . Highness?”

  He nodded. “I am Prince Silastran, and you have done the House of Dhram a deeply personal service that will always be remembered. Our family is your ally, forever.”

  She jumped when most of the people around her burst into applause, patting her on the back. The woman leaped up, wailing, and clasped Becca to her great pillowy bosom. She didn’t seem to mind Becca’s wet hair.

  Becca still stared at Silas, stunned.

  “If you’ll take care of Becca, I would appreciate it. Treat her as you would me.” He clapped one man on the shoulder. “Only nicer.”

  Everyone laughed except Becca.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m in need of the facilities.”

  Becca’s arms were politely taken as she was guided out of the room on a tide of giddy, babbling people. They put her in another room with thick, heated red carpeting. This bed was smaller and blue, and there were no lovely painted cabinets. They sat with her, asking for her story, exclaiming over the details she shared, and offering to contact her family and provide a security check.

  For the next three days, they cruised in space, and Becca never saw Silas, now Silastran, once. Her bed was incredibly comfortable and incredibly cold. She grew tired of the polite rebuffs offered every time she asked to see him, so she stopped asking. They docked at the capital of Dhram, Frestuvi, and from her hotel room, she watched Silas’s triumphant return to society on her plax-page.

  He wore an incredible orange velvet longcoat that made him look exotically handsome, with his shoulder-length, thick black hair and bright green eyes. A delicate crown of scrolled gold sat like a headband on his forehead. There was a crowd and a sea of reporters. His father greeted him with clear emotion, and his older brother, the crown prince, gave a speech about how prosecution for Silas’s treatment would begin immediately.

  There was a vid of Becca from the engineering picnic last summer. She hated that vid. She’d been talking, unaware her friend was filming it, through most of the clip, and her ponytail was crooked. Then there was a vid of her brother, the dashing junior admiral, in dress uniform, and Becca ground her teeth.

  The next day, as she sat in her quiet, luxurious room glancing through the introductory letter of her new mentor engineer, Professor Emeritus Harold Whittaker, the door chimed. Since she had a Dhram security guard standing out there, she merely called out, “Come in.”

  When Silas walked in, she stood, her face flushing. She wanted to run to him, to hug him, kiss him. She stepped forward, then stopped. Too much had happened. “How are you?”

  He nodded. “I’m well. And yourself?”

  “Thank you for arranging the internship. It’s—an incredible opportunity. Unbelievable.”

  He wandered into the room. She’d kept the cheap sparkly pink plax-page as a souvenir. He touched it with one finger. “Your heroism was unbelievable. It is a simple token of thanks.”

  She sucked in a breath. He looked so . . . tall. Vibrant and controlled. “I’ve missed you.”

  He nodded. “I’ll always remember you.”

  Her head actually jerked with the force of the emotional slap. She took a moment to breathe. “So that’s it. Because I wouldn’t marry you at that moment, any love we had is gone.”

  He folded his arms. “It’s not gone, of course. But it certainly will diminish. There’s no way I can be with you, Becca.”

  Her hands were on her hips before she knew it. “Yet you were trying to get me to marry you!”

  “If you’d been willing to commit yourself to me before you knew who I was, everything would be different.”

  Her face flushed. “Oh! That’s so unfair!”

  He nodded. “I know. Welcome to the life of a prince.” He turned and headed toward the door. “We won’t see each other again.”

  In the years of distinguished research in ship systems later, Becca often thought of Silas’s green eyes. She never had another lover like him.

  (((GENTLE HUG))) You have found the ending called Carpe Diem. Click on this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!

  “I can’t do it, sir.” Becca wasn’t able to change gears before she even got a whiff of the path she’d planned on for so long. She shook her head firmly enough to feel her silky ponytail swing across her neck. “It means risking the berth I’ve planned on and worked toward. I’m ready to put in some major hours with the senior chief.”

  The captain sighed. He stood, tapped at his plax-page and sent her a look she couldn’t identify from beneath his shaggy hair. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  Her plax-page kronged and she fished it out of her pocket. Her assignments were now listed. “Sir. Thank you for understanding.” She tried her very best to be neutral. This man could retaliate and end her career before it even began, but she wouldn’t beg.

  “Sure. It was a delight meeting you. I’ll be fascinated to know how you do with the senior chief engineer. Why don’t you go ahead and send me a report on your first impressions when we hit port next week?”

  “Absolutely, sir. I’ll do that.” She knew it was odd for a junior systems engineer to send the captain a report, but she focused on presenting confidence.

  “Dismissed, Sharpin.” He turned to the mess on the table and bent low to study some vid-prints.

  With relief and one lightning-quick admiring glance at his ass, she turned and left.

  By that “night,” as set by the ship’s clock, she’d claimed her bunk, one of six in that pod, and learned the nuances of t
he bathroom. A thrill had gone through her as she felt the artificial enviro strain to compensate as they left the planet. Her head pulsed, her heart kicked, and, with a slight sway of her body, she was in space.

  Now she stood in the mess hall with her podmate Bixy, a doughy, withered woman who had cheerfully announced Becca was the fourth junior SE Walters had burned through in the last six months. She’d looked Becca up and down and pronounced she wouldn’t last past the first port. After that outrageous statement, she’d laughed until she’d choked, slapped Becca on the back, and taken her under her wrinkled wing.

  Bixy pointed to the food line in the small, noisy mess hall. “The rumpies run the kitchen’s back end and run it well. If you don’t want to find bones in your soup, keep your eyes on their faces. They hate it when you stare at their extras.” She waved at the tables. “We’re early, so last shift is still here. Don’t matter. Get here early or your portions are smaller. You can always stand and eat if you have to. It’s better than being able to sit over a meager bit.” She cackled again, then her attention was caught by someone in the crowd. She roared, “Jackson, you S.O.B., you owe me a dessert!” She stomped into the warren of tables bolted to the floor.

  Just then Becca’s plax-page kronged. She took it out, surprised to see a message from Senior Chief Walters. Dinner my suite ten minutes no flight suit. Eyebrows lifted, Becca turned on her heel and went back to her pod. It was empty except for the huge snoring lump who had been snoring the entire afternoon as she and Bixy had gone in and out. She unpacked one of the three civilian outfits she’d brought, a casual grass-green dress that could be fancied up or toned down. She dressed it down, leaving her hair in a ponytail, her legs bare, and her feet in her plain, sturdy ship-shoes. The dress was a drapey, modest knee-length, with sleeves to the elbow and a subtle V-neckline. With a fitted waist, it showed off her toned core and ass to perfection while being perfectly professional.

  Finding Walters’s suite took the other three minutes. She chimed his doorframe. The door zipped up immediately, making her jump.

  “You’re late.” He lounged across the room at a corner table with a built-in sweeping booth bench.

  “I’m exactly on time,” she retorted. She smiled as she stepped into the surprisingly elegant large room. “It’s an honor to meet you, Senior Chief Engineer Walters.” She tried to keep her face open and pleasant as she took in the riot of colors and fabrics everywhere. The floor was carpeted, an absolute luxury.

  He grunted. “Pipsqueak. Take your shoes off.”

  And just like that, Becca was charmed. She knew it was illogical, but she was. The nickname, the colors, the way he barked at her, all exuded vitality. He was like some ancient pasha, topless and gesturing with his leaded crystal glass full of amber liquid. His feet were bare too, stretched out beneath the table and crossed at the ankle.

  She bent and took off her shoes, her toes reveling in the plush blue carpeting. When she stood, she studied him as he brooded at her. She bet he knew draping one arm over the purple padded backrest set off his chest to advantage. The food chiller next to the table chimed.

  “Get dinner, will ya?” He knocked back the half-full glass with one toss of his head. His throat was corded with muscle, and his chest and arms were just as sexy. “Nice dress.”

  “Thank you.” She moved toward the chiller and lifted out the covered platter.

  Setting it on the table, she was just raising the lid when he added, “Does great things for your thighs.”

  The lid clanged on the dish softly, and condensation from the steam splattered. “How nice of you to notice,” she fired back wryly. But she still blushed.

  He refilled his own glass with . . . yes, now that she could smell it, surely it was whiskey. Then he pulled another beautifully sparkling tumbler forward and poured three fingers in that one, too. “Sit.” He pushed the glass toward her.

  The way he was draped, there was only one side to sit on, and when she did, his outstretched hand on the backrest just happened to be a breath away from her shoulder. She unsealed the plates from the bottom of the server and dished herself some food. “Shall I serve you?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He stared at her with a twinkle in his eye. “I think you will.”

  She gave him a quelling look. “We’re discussing the food, correct?” But then she ruined it by smiling.

  If the captain had been more handsome than his file, the chief was an entirely different person. The grim being in the file picture matched this chief only in the downward-sloping, sleepy gray eyes. And the scowl, but it seemed sexier in person. Obviously, he’d either spent a few years since on-planet or he’d been working out hard.

  “I don’t want anything but the meat.” He held her stare, daring her to say something.

  She one-upped him. “I’m very fond of meat myself.” She sent him a look from under her lashes. “I’ll make sure you get a generous helping.”

  He took a swig out of his glass, but she was almost sure it was to cover a small smile. They ate in comfortable silence for several moments. Surely she’d passed the teasing test.

  He finished and adjusted his sprawl so that he faced her more directly. She continued to eat the excellent meal sedately, but her throat was thick and it was tough to swallow. This was not how she’d ever envisioned her first meeting with her mentor going.

  “I think you should take your hair down.”

  She paused with a forkful of carrots halfway to her mouth, then finished the motion and chewed. Afterward, she set her fork down. “I think I need more information.”

  “You’re smart, you’re young, you’re healthy. There’s no reason we can’t enjoy all the time we’re going to spend together.” His gaze, a lovely silver with a slightly scary flat aspect, slid down over her face and settled on her breasts.

  Then her nipples beaded. This time he didn’t bother to hide his smirk before he took a hit of whiskey. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. He idly traced one fingertip up and down his smooth, hairless breastbone. She bit her lip.

  He licked his. “You do enjoy quality meat, I can tell.”

  Standing in a rush, she paced across the room to the micro-plush red couch, then spun and came back to the purple booth. “I’m flattered, but I’m here for your experience.” She put one hand to her flushed face. “I mean, your systems experience.”

  “All my systems are very experienced,” he growled at her. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those whiny women worried about ethics and appearances and crap. You’re hot, I’m hot, we’ll have fun, and I’ll still respect you in the morning when I make your fiberline hum just as hard.”

  “So you think we can meet, flirt, and be lovers, and the captain won’t care?”

  “Why the fuck would he care about an intern’s after-hours? Why don’t you come sit down here next to me.” He tipped his glass at the booth bench but never spilled a drop. “We’ll talk, I suppose.”

  “But I’m your intern. You have to evaluate me.”

  “Pipsqueak, I took you to be accomplished right from the get-go. I liked your feisty entrance.”

  She turned her back and stalked to the couch. The captain’s words echoed in her mind.

  I’m ready to spend long hours with Chief Walters.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  He knew! Bixy’s choking laughter rang in her ears. She knew, too. Apparently, this was how the Cider Pot did business. At least its engineering. Under a retired Syndicate captain. She shivered and turned back to the table. She stared at the powerful older man across the room. He toasted her and took another gulp of whiskey. This time, he savored the mouthful. He probably thought it was sexy, the way he lifted his head and rolled his jaw. He probably thought it was sensual, the way his finger trailed over his nipple when he swallowed slowly.

  Damn him, he was right. Her libido had been humming since last night, when she’
d lain in her childhood bed, unable to sleep. So here was an opportunity for a lover. But he was her mentor! He said it wouldn’t affect her eval, but she needed him to get a strong level-two placement. She shouldn’t do this—it was too risky and could endanger their teaching relationship. The thought flashed through her mind that this would instead be a way to ensure a good placement. Whore, her conscience whispered.

  “And if I don’t think this is wise?” She crossed her arms. Her fingers were like icicles as they burrowed into her armpits.

  He grunted again and finished his whiskey. Setting the glass carefully on the table, he licked his lips. His hand disappeared under the metal surface and his shoulder shifted. Her face flooded with heat when she understood he stroked himself. “Come over here, Pipsqueak. I like your attitude. I like your body. Don’t doubt I won’t feed you well, in every way.” His head rested against the back of the booth, the one arm still outstretched, his muscles sleek and stark as he blatantly enjoyed himself in front of her.

  His eyes flashed open and froze her. “The name Leo Walters means something in engineering circles, and it isn’t scandal. You’re all worried this isn’t two adults taking a break.” He heaved a big sigh, then hummed, picking up the pace. “No obligation, Junior Systems Engineer. If I sleep alone, you can just head on down to the kitchen tomorrow at dawn.”

  She blinked at him. Food-service systems? She’d finished learning about those in junior high. But to rewire a kitchen while a ship was underway and the staff needed to seat meals nearly by the hour would create chaos. “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “Absolutely not. Either you’re the kind of woman who needs to follow basic rules or you’re the kind who takes risks. If you need to follow the rules, you’ll end up in the kitchen with the rumpies and I’ll get to see how you pull off a simple dio-adjust. That’s how rules go, step by step. Risk takers don’t need baby steps.”

  She’d wandered closer while he spoke. Now she was only a meter from the table. His eyes gleamed at her, mere slits as he enjoyed himself. His biceps flexed as he pumped his hand along what seemed a considerable length.