Authors: Pauline Baird Jones
She didn’t expect Carey to recognize her, so she wasn’t surprised when he looked at her like he felt he should, but didn’t. She could’ve told him he did, but what was the point? Anything she told him now would be a version of not-her-real-name.
“Ma’am?”
“Colonel.” She waited while his gaze did a thorough, very guy-like once over. Maybe she looked a little while he looked. He wasn’t hard on the eyes.
The Colonel had a deceptively boyish look that hid an inner toughness. Dark hair tumbled onto a strong forehead. He had a mild blue gaze and nice mouth. His hotness factor was high—something she hadn’t considered in her assessments of men until she started working around the military. There was just something about tough men in uniform that required the use of the word “hotness,” even if getting heated had eluded her until recently.
Why didn’t she want to kiss
him
? It would be less complicated. And he was probably as good as Hel. He looked like someone who got lots of practice kissing. He probably didn’t even have to work at it. Ship life was like a never-ending reality show. All of them. Except maybe
Top Chef,
not with MREs a constant on the menu
.
Normally male/female interaction would be officially forbidden, but with civilians on board, and everybody single because of the long-term nature of the expedition, nature could take its course without fear of charges being filed as long as it didn’t interfere with good order and discipline.
She pulled on her flight suit, running preflight procedures in her head, and trying not to think about kissing Hel. Not a good plan to get hot and bothered while pulling on speed jeans.
* * * * *
Hel was the leader of half the galaxy, technically in control of most of it. He was feared by his enemies and revered by his people. High born women on every inhabited planet in the galaxy sought to become his mate and his staff lived to serve him. He was a highly trained, skilled warrior, and able to navigate the shifting loyalties of Gadi politics. He’d fooled the Earth expedition and the Ojemba organization about who and what he was. With a single word, even a lift of his brow, he could start a war with the expedition and send them packing to their own galaxy.
So why, he wondered with an inward sigh, did one look from his mother leave him feeling like a child again? She was ageless in that she looked the same now as she had when he was young. She’d never been young and would never be old. Hel suspected his father had died to annoy her. Hel annoyed her by surviving. It was a double benefit that it also irritated his enemies.
Her cool, level gaze stripped away all the trappings of a leader, inducing in him a need to tug at the collar of his shirt. He resisted this urge. He couldn’t escape how she made him feel, but he could refuse to let her see it. The sooner he moved her and his sons to a safe location, the better, though it was tempting to consider just moving his sons. Anyone who knew her would know she was not a leverage factor in Hel’s life. Still, his sons were fond of her and she appeared to be fond of them.
“You look well, Helfron.” The censure in her tone was not a surprise. Her swift scrutiny was most likely to ensure the transport had not left him missing key body parts. Her faint air of disappointment came from being proved wrong about the safety of the method.
“I am well, Mother.” He bent and kissed the cheek presented with a haughty tilt of her head, catching a fleeting look of sympathy on Naman’s face. His personal aide knew his mother better than most. He was the first assistant to last more than a few seasons as his primary gatekeeper. He did enigmatic almost as well as Hel.
His mother didn’t gush and his near death experience was no exception. Having asserted her rights as mother of the Leader, she made her exit, the soft swish of her mourning clothes the only sound until she’d passed from sight. The mourning wasn’t for his father. She’d worn it prior to his death. Audible sighs of relief were almost unanimously released upon her departure. She did have a rare gift for temporarily emasculating any males within sight or sound. Prolonged exposure was not advised.
Carig, leader of the opposition party, waited to greet Hel. Carig produced a welcome that almost sounded sincere—if one had an over developed imagination. He was eldest son of family Osteone. Until Carig’s rise to power, this ruling class family had not managed to seat a member on the Council for many seasons. Gadi society placed great value on both brains and visual appeal. Carig had no visual appeal. It wasn’t his height or his dark skin. There’d been short, dark Leaders in their past. He was ugly, both inside and out. And he was stupid, the worse crime in Hel’s opinion. An ugly man might be able to convince people he was handsome, but a stupid man could only persuade himself he was smart. It bothered Carig to be short, and he believed Hel looked down on him because he could.
There were people both in and out of government who were taller than Hel. His ego did not require height, though he wasn’t above letting people think it did. Hel always preferred to let others think they knew what he thought. It kept them from knowing what he actually thought.
Carig was cunning, but not teachable. Hel had provided much evidence that Carig lacked insight into his Leader’s thoughts and still Carig thought he understood Hel.
After the required exchange of civilities, Carig said, “Leader, we need to speak privately.”
Hel made an assenting gesture, allowing the man to fall into step beside him. Their route through the building had been cleared, an unprecedented event in Gadi history. Hel didn’t trust anyone in the ruling class, since they were always after his job, but there’d never been trouble from the serving classes until the bombing. Hel had reviewed reports on new security measures implemented while he was still on the
Doolittle.
How wrong it felt to create security measures at the end of a successful war, measures not needed during that long war.
The combination of soothing and pleasing vistas and accoutrements was a relief after the stark functionality of the
Doolittle.
To his entourage Hel indicated a need for distance, giving Carig his opportunity to speak.
Carig looked around, before lowering his voice to say, “I have information about the Kikk outpost, Leader.”
Despite the heavy use of lotions, Carig had a faint, but distasteful base body odor. Someone, somewhere in his family’s past had cross-pollinated, Hel thought cynically, and not in a good direction. He arched a brow in inquiry. One needed to be careful with words in this man’s presence.
“The
Doolittle
carries
a scientist who they believe will be able to unlock the technology. We must act now, before this person succeeds.” He paused, perhaps hoping for Hel to comment. “I haven’t told the Council…yet.”
Hel expected the threat. Carig could be counted on to not disappoint. Predictability was his only good quality.
“Does this scientist have a name?” Hel kept his tone indifferent.
“Only a code name, Leader.
Chameleon
.” He stopped, as if only now noticing his Leader’s lack of surprise. “You knew. And still you choose not to act. One wonders whose side you are on.”
Carig didn’t wonder. He thought he knew. Hel stopped, turning to look down at Carig with a hauteur learned from his mother.
“I am, as always, on the side of my people.” Hel paused, holding Carig’s gaze until he shifted uneasily. Finally he sighed. “Oh, Carig, Carig. You are too easy to play.”
Carig, as expected, puffed up like an angry
panthric
.
“My contact—”
“It is not enough to receive information. One must also understand the subtext behind the information.” Hel waited, watching Carig try—and fail—to understand Hel’s meaning. “If this Chameleon were the key to unlocking the outpost, do you not think he would have been brought to the galaxy sooner, rather than later?”
Hel used the male designation deliberately. For himself, as soon as Carig mentioned the scientist, this chameleon, he knew it was Delilah. He’d seen her in action. Now he needed to know how much Carig knew. The man used blunt force for every problem. Hel didn’t want that hammer directed at Delilah. This uncharacteristic urge to protect was easy to explain. She had saved his life. He owed her this. That was all.
“My contact was quite sure—”
“Contacts are always sure of the information they pass on until they are no longer sure.” He turned, resuming walking. “Tell me about your contact.”
“I have promised confidentiality.”
“Of course you have. I’m not asking for a name. I want to know why you trust someone so willing to betray his own people. What is his motivation? His end objective? One would expect your contact to want his people to succeed. He appears to want them to fail. This does not trouble you?”
Now it did. He noted that Carig didn’t correct Hel’s assumption that his contact was male. His contact would have been attached to the diplomatic group. Someone would have noticed Carig talking to a member of the security detail or a female.
“If this chameleon succeeds, we will never be allowed onto the outpost.”
Hel paused again, this time signaling his entourage close.
“How interesting that you believe the Earth expedition will never allow us onto the Kikk outpost, Carig.” He paused, to make sure all were within hearing. “You seem to be misinformed.” He didn’t add
again
. He didn’t need to. “While I was on the
Doolittle
General Halliwell asked me to assemble a team of scientists to work with his people on the Kikk outpost. I have recalled my flagship for transport. I intend to travel with them and tour the outpost.”
Carig stared at him, his confusion and anger apparent to all. “Why do you let them
allow
us to visit when we should control the outpost?”
Hel leaned in, concealing his distaste at the proximity. “I allow them to think they control the outpost until it suits me to intervene. Surely even you can see the tactical advantage in studying the layout and capabilities of the outpost prior to any military action?”
“You plan to betray them?” Carig’s voice was thick with disbelief.
Interesting how people heard what they wanted to hear, not what was said.
“I plan to do what is best for our people, as always.”
“Why wasn’t I informed our people had been invited to the outpost?”
“I informed all Council members. Have you read my briefing for today?” Hel knew he hadn’t. He’d made sure to send it just prior to his transport dirt side, after Carig had already left his quarters.
“I…no, Leader.” Dull red suffused his face. It was not his color.
Hel looked at his time piece. “I should hurry, Carig, so you can be prepared for the emergency council meeting. It will have to be short, so we can all be at the death ceremony for our fallen.”
Naman stepped forward now. “We have a few items to discuss before the meeting, Leader. If Council member Carig is finished?”
The wording was unfortunate, but to the point, at least for the moment. Without further word, Carig spun on his heels and stalked off.
“A clumsy man, Naman,” Hel murmured, for his aide’s ears only.
“Indeed, Leader.”
“I need to know how he’s getting his information from his contact. Is it through diplomatic contact or by covert means?” If Carig had to wait for diplomatic meetings, his information wouldn’t be current.
“And if his contact is covert?”
“Find a way to listen in, Naman.” He paused at the doors to his quarters, as his security team moved in to do a sweep. “This is more than political maneuvering, my friend. The bombing wasn’t planted to get our attention.”
“No, Leader. I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will, Naman. You always do.” With a brief, charming smile, Hel swept into his quarters. It was good to be home.
* * * * *
General Halliwell was on the flight deck to see her off. Doc wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or touched, since she didn’t “do” either. Not that she’d had a lot of opportunity. Her mum had taken the British stiff upper lip to ridiculous lengths and then there was the Major. The only way he’d see her off was with a boot to the butt and that was during his warm, fuzzy moments.
They were using a secondary flight deck and they were the only ones there, though she was careful to keep her back to the security cameras. She didn’t need anything pointing a big arrow at her with a possible conspiracy on board. The General was a big arrow, though he didn’t appear to realize it.
“Be careful out there.” Halliwell had returned to his grim expression. Grim was probably his mother ship.
Doc considered his request. She was never deliberately careless, though that wasn’t quite the same thing as being careful. She met his gaze and gave him a fighter pilot nod. Something odd happened when her gaze connected with his. He looked the same. So did Briggs, but she felt something unfamiliar seep into her, or possibly out of her? She wasn’t sure. Her brain flipped through the memory files, but she had to go way back to find anything similar.
Roots?
Surely not?
She twitched her toes, wanted to lift her feet from the decking, just to prove her brain wrong. You couldn’t put down roots in a space ship. She couldn’t put down roots anywhere. She hadn’t put down roots on the
Nimitz
and she’d been aboard it longer than the
Doolittle.
Was she in denial? Her thoughts were pretty defensive. It was possible she might be deluding herself. She relaxed her brain and felt tendrils that might have been roots reaching down through the soles of her feet and going, not just into the ship, but reaching out to these men.
She didn’t panic. She didn’t
do
panic, but it was a good thing she was going.
She made herself come to attention and saluted again. “Permission to—”
This was a ship, but an Air Force ship, so what was the correct Air Force term for “can I get the hell out of here?”
“—kick the tires and light the fires?” Did the slang work when there were no tires?
Briggs gave a grunt that could have been disgust or approval. He had a one-note grunt and made no apologies for it.