The dress felt as if it was layered straight onto her frame. If she sneezed it might explode, and then so would Arion. That brought a wicked grin to her face. “It’ll have to do, but I can’t go around the ship like this. Security will arrest me.”
Sidlee turned to her closet and dialed something into the keypad. “I have a jacket that goes with the dress. It’ll be perfect.” She finished at the keypad and turned back. “Give it a pulse. It has to come up from storage. Now let’s do something about your hair.”
Alieha felt her hair, exactly as it had been when she’d last worn the dress. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing, for a merchant’s ball. But I know something that will make Arion’s hearts melt.
PQ-452
It took all of Arion’s self-control to not just throw the emptied cast iron saucepan into the refresher when the door chimed. Instead, he placed the still steaming pan into the slot before grabbing the pair of plates and running them to the table. He set them down gingerly then straightened and adjusted his suit. The door chimed again and he approached. He wanted nothing more than to go full barbarian, bash the hatch down and ravage Alieha. Memories of their last cycle together still filled his dreams, waking and asleep.
He hurried across the common area - it was clean, for once. Priest and Hallet were great squadmates, but not the cleanest suitemates. It didn’t help that Hallet was going through a molt, shedding flakes of scaley skin everywhere. Then there was Priest’s various prayer nets and underwater candles. At least Bichard was clean, but the array of resin blades, from delicate scalpels to robust combat knives, that both Priest and Hallet would ask him to produce would be everywhere, especially the target on the wall. Arion had had to spend better than half a hect every cycle just cleaning and arranging the items so guests wouldn’t trip over them.
He gave his sleeves one last tug and keyed the door open. The sight before him paused his hearts and stole his breath. Dressed in a flowing burgundy gown covered in intricate gold and silver accoutrements that complimented every curve of her body, stood Alieha. He had never seen her, or Three, so done up. He shook himself out of his stupor and offered her his hand. Alieha took it graciously. She looked him up and down with an approving smile. “You look amazing,” he stammered.
“As do you,” she replied and leaned in close to peck his cheek. It was a chaste gesture, but it still invigorated him after so long.
“I’ve made dinner,” he said and motioned towards the table as the hatch whooshed close.
Alieha inhaled deeply and sighed. “It smells divine.”
Arion led her to the table, his hearts a-flutter. “Can I take your jacket?”
Alieha stood transfixed for a moment as she gazed down at the meal, her hand tense before she pulled away and began to remove the garment. Arion felt his face flush. Alieha was about to burst out of the dress. “I borrowed this from Sidlee. She’s quite a bit smaller than me.”
Arion accepted the jacket and swallowed hard, determined not to look. “I can see that. It’s lovely nonetheless,” he replied and laid the jacket down on a nearby stool.
“This looks amazing Arion. I hope it wasn’t trouble.”
“None at all,” he replied and pulled a chair out for her. “I like to cook for my loved ones.”
“Loved ones?” Alieha asked with a cocked eye, then scooted in close to the table.
Arion took his seat and then wrapped her lovely hands in his own gruff mitts. “Or Loved One, in this case.” He wanted nothing more than to lean in close and kiss her when a haunting melody broke the silence.
Alieha turned towards the open door to Bichard’s room. Arion just sat back and smiled as his Coretherian friend emerged. Natural resin fibers were strung between elbow and fingertips across which he ran a bow. Arion knew the tune by heart, one of Bichard’s love ballads. Three had helped him compose it. Alieha sat transfixed for a moment before she turned to Arion. “My God, it’s beautiful. Haunting but beautiful. Bichard could make a killing if he sold recordings.”
Ever the businesswoman. Arion nodded. “He asked to play for us. He and Three were close friends.” Alieha turned and met Arion’s eyes. There was a hint of tears there. “I hope you don’t mind.”
She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him across the table to kiss him. “Thank you. I love it.”
Arion gasped and sat back down, wanting nothing more than to scatter the dishes and take her right there. He didn’t care if Bichard watched. Instead, he motioned towards the bedroom.
Alieha picked up her knife and waggled it back and forth like a finger. “I’m a lady, Officer Scotts. You have to treat me to dinner and dancing first.”
Bichard smiled that horrid impersonation of a smile and continued to walk around and play through his catalog of songs as they ate. Arion felt as if it was all a dream, sharing this intimate moment with Alieha. He’d never seen her act as demure as she was right now, enjoying the Vacnit he’d made. It was nowhere near as spicy as Blazer’s grandmother would make it, but he could see the flavors dancing across Alieha’s taste buds. She relished every bite.
As the meal concluded, he led her into the common area to dance, at one point kicking a resin knife he’d missed under the couch. It wasn’t long before their lips met. He drank in the kiss, Alieha pulling him in close. They both gasped for air as they broke away. It was Alieha who took the lead towards the bedroom. As they neared the door, Bichard played a quick verse from a randy song, the type that accompanied raunchy love scenes in bad holovids. Arion turned back, furious before Alieha pushed past. “Just for that Bichard, I’m going to raise my commission when I get you a recording contract.”
UCSB Date: 1005.250
Public Commons, UCSBS-Wolfsbane, Drobile System
One of the more controversial areas of the Wolfsbane when it had been originally designed were the facilities for the embarked civilian crew. A century earlier, such amenities on any ship not intended for research or exploration, had been unheard of. The Wolfsbane had been purpose-built as a warship. Even with that in mind, the designers had realized that the war wouldn’t last forever. To that end they’d incorporated dedicated exploration and scientific facilities aboard. Realizing that dedicated specialities might be in short supply in the military wing of the Space Forces, the High Command had turned to civilian branches to recruit personnel. With that had come a need for unsecured areas in which these Confederates could gather and relax.
Gavit didn’t hate the public commons, but he had little need or opportunity to venture into the zone just aft of the Egg. It looked little different from the rest of the ship at first glance, with the same floors and conduit-strewn walls and ceilings. The presence of virtual billboards and bulletin boards along the walls reminded him of Cathedral Station. That is, if the major thoroughfares of that station had been reduced to a quarter of their original size, and with none of the aesthetic considerations.
When he’d landed from his patrol this cycle a message had been awaiting him. It requested that he come to the small promenade at the center of the commons. Most cycles he would have ignored the message as something sent by a vendor, but the promenade had no such businesses. Gavit entered the promenade and looked around. It was little more than a large intersection between two passageways. If Gavit had had to hazard a guess it might have originally been intended as a freight lift. Now it held, to his wide-eyed amazement, a trio of fruit trees surrounded by benches that left just enough room for two people to walk around shoulder to shoulder.
A single figure sat on one of the benches. Gavit was no spy or deep cover operative, but everything about the figure screamed about how they were trying, in vain, to remain unseen. In a crowded public square, it might have worked, if he were blind. The outfit was completely out of place aboard the ship. Even the civilian crew typically wore jumpsuits, and when they didn’t it was to dress down, into loose fitting, comfortable clothes. Latest fashions were never a concern, nor were the heavy ponchos this being wore t
hat served to hide all of its physical details.
Gavit rolled his eyes. This had to be his mysterious messenger, likely some lovestruck civvie or enlisted crewer. He approached and reached out a hand. “Excuse me?”
A snarling Corblick reared back. What Gavit had mistaken for a furred poncho was in fact the being’s massive mane. “IS THERE NO PLACE ONE CAN FIND PEACE!!!”
Gavit jumped back. “My mistake,” he stammered and pulled up the appropriate greeting for the race on his micomm. “My fur was entangled, and I thought you another who paged me.”
The Corblick looked him up and down. “Bring to your mane a comb and seek clarity. I sent no such hail. Now leave me in peace.”
Gavit backed away, his face flushed. When I find out who decided to prank me, I’ll tie them to my wing on my next patrol.
A familiar giggle pricked Gavit’s ears. He spun about and grabbed for the sound, latching onto Tris in shipboard coveralls of all things. He looked her over. She wore no makeup, and her coveralls were as non-descript as anyone else's. The only thing familiar about her was her scent. He would have walked right past her and not noticed. “Tris?!”
He kissed her, more out of excitement and custom than anything else. She returned the kiss, hugging him tight. He’d missed this true intimate contact. The simulation link she’d sent never provided anywhere near this true a sensation. Add to that, the complications he’d been having with it had made the experiences therein disconcerting.
He broke the kiss and looked into those lovely eyes, lines he’d never seen before evident. Tris seemed to notice and with a smile, they disappeared. “Sorry, adaptive makeup.” Her whole face changed before his eyes, her eyelids blued, her cheeks darkened and her lips reddened. This was the Tris he knew. He wouldn’t be surprised if her hair was perfect now too - cosmetic nano-implants were best purchased as a package after all. He hated them.
“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tris giggled again. “I wanted to surprise you silly. I’m between projects so I decided that I’d join one a goodwill tours visiting frontline ships. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Ecstatic!” Gavit proclaimed and kissed her again. He felt no such joy. He couldn’t tell her that, or that he planned to send back her gift the next time Alieha left the station.
The Corblick grunted loudly, drawing their attention. A great shaggy shape, he leapt to the ceiling. “No peace to be had near ground-walkers,” he exclaimed and bounded away, the tree dweller leaping from pipe to pipe.
Gavit grimaced. Their kiss was the height of rudeness. Then his micomm identified the being - he was the ship’s barber. “Guess I won’t be going to him for a haircut anytime soon.”
Tris giggled, and pulled his face back towards hers. “You’ve seemed so distracted the last few times we’ve linked together. I thought seeing you in person would help.”
Gavit smiled and nodded. “It will. I’m just so surprised. Have you seen much of the ship yet?”
Tris shook her head and stuck out her lower lip, pouting. “No.” She held up a badge attached to her jumpsuit. Gavit recognized the red placard. “I have to have a security escort outside of this area.”
Gavit took her arm. “Well then, it’s a good thing you have me here. I’ll happily serve as your tour guide.”
Tris shook with glee. “Goody. I’ve never been on a ship like this before, so you have to show me everything.”
Gavit looked at her badge. There were few places he could take her with a red badge, but he knew nothing would get her in the mood faster than visiting a flight deck. “Come with me, my dear. I have such sights to show you.”
Gavit led her from the area, but as they entered the passageway to the nearest lift tube he caught a glimpse of a small cadre of people entering the area. He hesitated just a step, their jumpsuits looking familiar, as did the company logo emblazoned on their arms. He shook it off however. Gray-red jumpsuits were commonplace and there was no way anyone from that company could be aboard. They were Chelot owned, with no military or Confederation contracts, or even the ability to bid on them. Must be another company.
Dropship Hangar
“Be careful with that, will you?” Chris yelled as the deck crew pushed the massive crate into the back of the dropship. “We need that slipstream bulb in one piece, and I don’t want to be here if it blows.”
The shipping container was enormous and cleared the maw of the drop’s door by only a few centimetra. The slipstream bulb within would be needed to get the stricken GFS Powell moving again. As large as this bulb was, it was still smaller than the one that the ship normally would have been equipped with. Another crated bulb waited in the other outrigger pod. The plan called for the engineers aboard the Powell to transfer the trapped hyperspace bubble within one of the bulbs into the Powell’s. Or, barring that, they were to hook both up to create a strong enough dark energy field to propel the craft to the next stage in their long-term plan to capture the Barker.
The hairs on the back of Chris’s neck went erect at the sound of a familiar, sickly sweet voice. She spun about in the zero-gravity deck as Gavit led Tris Falain of all people out of the lift tube onto her shelf. “See, I told you. We’re loading supplies to go out to one of our teams,” Gavit explained.
Chris flashed a signal to the loadmaster and leapt towards the pair. “What in Drig’s name do you think you’re doing Gavit?”
Gavit spun about to meet her, his face at first filled with defiance. It softened for just a moment as he laid eyes on her, the hint of a smile before it hardened again. “What’s the issue Chris? This hangar is cleared for escorted civilians.”
Chris twisted her feet forwards and let the maglocks pull her down. She faced off against the pair, Tris as self-confident as ever, as she pulled on Gavit’s arm, that smug smile screaming that she owned Gavit plastered across her face. “We’re loading classified materials on this shelf. You knew that,” she replied and motioned towards the dropship.
Gavit looked over her shoulder and grimaced. He shifted it towards gritted teeth and turned back to her. “The schedule said this dropship was being loaded for the regular resupply to the…” he stopped short. “Not special cargo.”
This was not what Chris wanted to deal with right now. “Priority shift. The freighter we were going to use had a reactor failure, so we’re doubling up the load.” She turned to Tris. “And what is she doing onboard anyway? This is a warship, not a vid studio.”
Tris stepped up, but the defiance in her eye melted under Chris’ gaze. “I’m here on a goodwill tour with the Galaxy Stage Ensemble.”
“What are you going to do? Dazzle us with your ‘acting talents?’ Or just give out random handies to ship’s crew?”
Gavit stepped between the two women. “Stand down Chris! That was uncalled for. Just because you don’t have someone who loves you enough to risk their life to see you doesn’t mean you have to come at Tris like that?”
The words stung Chris. She almost stepped back at their vehemence, but instead she let it fuel her. She stepped up. “Some cycle you’ll learn what it really means to risk everything for love. You’re nothing but a trophy to her, My, God, Gavit, someone she can show off to the cameras. As soon as you’ve lost your shine, she’ll cast you aside. But don’t expect me to drag you out of that when it happens.” Chris turned to Tris. “And you. You don’t deserve him. Maybe the face he puts on for the public eye, but not the real him.”
“Now wait a pulse Chris,” Gavit began before she turned away.
She flagged towards the security forces Lodran near the hatch. “Deck chief, this woman isn’t cleared to be here. Please remove her and instruct her escort on proper visitation protocols.”
Gavit moved to protest before the security guard stepped up and motioned towards the hatch. “Sir, please. Let’s not make this an official incident,” the Lodran commented, baring his mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.
Gavit nodded and led Tris away.
Chris just waited there fuming, and did her best not to look back as tears welled in her eyes. I’ve never wished more that I was Boerkien and could suck these back in. She waited as long as she could, the tears blurring her vision, and then wiped them away. She flung them away and looked back at the hatch, Gavit was still there, staring at her. She turned away again. Damn, damn, damn. Don’t look back. She jumped back towards the dropship, the cargo handlers securing the massive crate inside the outrigger pod. “Looking good. Now let’s get the food and medical supplies loaded.” She made sure that she didn’t look back at the hatch again until she was done directing the cargo loading effort.
UCSB Date: 1005.255
Officer’s Wardroom, UCSBS-Wolfsbane, Drobile System
There’s a quote from Drig about five dasks in Sheol. I’m sure of it, Gavit thought as he and Tris glided into the Officer’s Wardroom. There was a time, not long ago, when the idea of spending five cycles with a beautiful starlet would have filled Gavit with unbounded glee. But there was no scenario for that where they’d spend that time aboard a warship, and he couldn’t be granted emergency leave. He had duties every cycle and, truth be told, he preferred them to his time with Tris. Not that the sex wasn’t good, it was great, but it was also so… mechanical. His hearts weren’t in it anymore. He couldn’t quite figure out why.
“I swear this place needs some better restaurants,” Tris exclaimed as she strode ahead of Gavit towards one of the few unoccupied tables. She wasn’t dressed down like she’d been when she’d first surprised him, instead every light in the space glinted off the dress she was wearing for her performance. Gavit almost felt embarrassed to be there as she attracted the attention of nearly every sentient in the room.
“Tris, it’s a warship. Nice restaurants were hardly on the agenda when they were building her.”
Hell's Razer Page 28
