The Siren, the General's Daughter Book One (5 page)

Eager to please the young officer, the corporal nodded. Michael took a deep breath. “I know how much the crew loves my sister. Could you please quietly spread the word that we need to keep a closer eye on her? She is too reckless and it’s scaring the crap out of my father.”

“Of course, Mike. Honestly, we’ve noticed what she’s been up to lately but no one has had the balls to say anything to her. She’d kick the shit out of any of us!”

“Just report it to me.  I have an open door policy when it comes to her.”

“With all due respect, it seems to me that there is no purpose of having a door at all when it comes to her. She could get herself into a daily load of trouble if given the opportunity,” the young man smiled back warmly.

“Oh, if only you knew.  Thanks.”

Chapter Three

Michael stopped by his sister’s cabin to collect her for their dinner with their father. She was curled up on her couch with a computer, notebook and the neuroband. In one swoop, he took all three from her. “You are grounded, little girl. Through the weekend. Dad said no diversions.  You are allowed out only to eat. We are expecting to see you for all meals. Uncle Scott is also coming back tomorrow morning,” he announced, watching her bite her lip.

She loved her uncle but was fearful of his strictness for good reason. He never allowed the freedom her father did and his return to the ship meant she would be dead meat thanks to her family’s new enforcement policy. “Ok,” she said in a small voice. “I miss Uncle Scott. He’s been away much too long.”

Michael held out his hand which she accepted with a little hesitance. He drew her into a hug, knowing she needed reassurance. “I know. I miss him, too. Dad’s having dinner in his cabin tonight and ask for us to join him. No arguments.”

“But, Mike, I’m not—”

“Would you like to come with me crying? I can arrange that,” came the firm response. Sighing, she followed him out.

Dr. Quimby noticed his daughter’s silence—and fidgeting—during their meal. It wasn’t like her to pout or hold a grudge. He asked her about her attitude and she shrugged.

“I just don’t have anything to say, Daddy.”

“Are you certain? I can tell you are uncomfortable. Out with it.”

“Well, “she hesitated, looking down, “I don’t think it’s fair that Mike is allowed to be so hard on me. It’s enough with you and Uncle Scott. I mean, it will be like having three fathers and I’d rather have him be my brother. I also have a lot of work to do, and not letting me access to my computer and notes is cruel and unfair.”

“What she is saying, Dad,” Michael intervened, amused, “is that she didn’t like the fact that I blistered that little bottom worse than you did, plus put her on restriction, which you added to.”

“I know I said something about complaining, didn’t I?” Dr. Quimby forced a frown, seeing her squirm.

“But, Daddy, you asked me directly! I didn’t come to you with it,” she looked panicked.

Good.

“True enough. Calm down, I’m messing with you. Nothing is going to change, my dear, especially with Scott coming back from assignment. Nope, I anticipate many more evenings of fidgeting and whining until you get the message. I love you, but there will be no more leniencies. I would advise you not walk on the straight and narrow for now on,” he said to her scowling face. “How’s your bottom feel?”

“You’re so mean. He bruised me something awful.”

“I would say you deserved it, plus more for the game you played. I would also speculate that, from a physician’s point of view, you’ll live. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Answer correctly, young lady.”

“No, nothing else,” came the stubborn reply. Dr. Quimby raised an eyebrow, reaching for his belt buckle. He heard a quick ‘Sir’ escape her lips. Nodding with satisfaction, he conversed with his son about the ichthyic-band and the resultant discovery.

Sam fumed silently, arms crossed and glaring at her nails. What she would give for a real mani-pedi….

“… adjustment to the frequency. I’d like to run a corresponding ECG,” Dr. Quimby was stating, jotting some notes on a pad.

Michael took the paper, studying the wavelength calculations, and making a correction. “I think this might do it. Of course,” he angled his head towards his sister, “we have to allow for variables. Like a bad ‘tude.”

“Fuck y—”

“What did you say?” Dr. Quimby questioned loudly, partially rising from his chair. Swearing was not negotiable, especially from his children.

“Nothing, Daddy.”

“I already took care of the colorful vocabulary I heard from her mouth today. I’m surprised it’s popping up so soon,” Michael commented, watching her sink in her chair.

Dr. Quimby shook his head, standing. “Why do you keep pushing? Stand up, now. I will not, under any circumstance, tolerate rudeness or swearing from you. Over the back of the couch!” he growled, unbuckling the leather belt from his slacks.

Michael closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “Sammi, why do you do this? Listen to him or it’s going to be worse for you,” he said, seeing his sister frozen in place. Tears were in her eyes, mixed with true fear.

“Please Daddy, don’t! I’m sorry! I promise, I won’t say it again. I’m already so sore!” she begged, hugging a nearby pillow to her chest.

“I gave you an order.
Now
!”

Tears fell freely as she pressed her stomach across the back of his couch. She cried into her hands as she heard the belt being removed from the loops, the jingling of the buckle in his hand. Without hesitation, the man tugged her loose sweats and panties down to her knees. He was momentarily surprised by the number of small dark bruises noticeable at the lower portion of the small globes.

“I will not,” he said, sending the thick belt loudly across the bruised flesh, hearing her cry out, “put up with swearing—” WHACK, “rudeness—” WHACK, “or blatant disobedience.”  WHACK WHACK WHACK.  “You will remember what I said this time, won’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, Daddy,” his daughter sobbed as the strap landed across the tops of her thighs as she struggled to avoid the blows.

“Now spell it out.”

Screeching, she spelled out FUCK YOU, receiving a strapping for every letter. When completed, she wilted across the back of the couch, pants on the floor and crying heavily. Dr. Quimby replaced his belt, buckling it in place.

“Go stand in the corner. Keep them down,” he commanded, adding to her humiliation. She still cried as she hobbled over to the only free corner in the room. Michael watched her sadly, and then looked at his father.

“Now, back to these calculations,” Dr. Quimby said, putting the papers back onto the table.

Michael forced his attention to the work, trying to ignore the ache in his heart. If it was this hard for him, he could only imagine how his father felt. “You realize that several people may have heard, right?” he whispered into his father’s ear.

“I hope several people heard what just happened,” he said loudly. “They will then know that I don’t tolerate that behavior and will not hesitate to lay down the law. I’ve made it very clear to my command regarding my feelings about profanity. Maybe some of them will start to watch their language in front of her now, since this is where she seems to be getting the majority of her education.”

Michael shrugged, suspecting that ears outside the cabin would repeat the event to the rest of the crew, including the caution to try to protect their favorite officer by watching their own conduct. He knew how the men gossiped. Thirty minutes later, the girl was released from the corner to rejoin her family at the table. She carefully adjusted her sweats over her burning backside, not daring to say anything out of fear and embarrassment. Michael squeezed her hand until the table, wondering when his father would close the gap with her.

“Do you have any suggestions regarding the adjustments?” Dr. Quimby asked his daughter.

She shook her head. “No Sir, not at this time,” she whispered, trying not to show her extreme discomfort as she sat on the hard chair.

“Please speak up if you see anything.”

“Sammi, do you have anything to say? Come on, it’s ok,” Michael urged, feeling the need to get something moving between them.

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry Daddy. To you too, Mike. I shouldn’t talk that way. I know how you feel about it. I hate making you that angry.”

“Come here,” Dr. Quimby ordered as he held his arms out for her. She joined him in a warm and forgiving hold and was lost in his muscular embrace as she inhaled his warm scent which always reminded her of home. They clung to each other tightly. She felt her beloved father’s tears against her neck, making her cry once again. She apologized again for hurting him.

She recalled the last time she felt this way. She was 10 years old when her brother left her to go to a special training camp without her. She had thrown a tantrum the day he left, gotten spanked for it, and then was able to finally tell Daddy how alone and scared she felt without her constant companion. Daddy made everything better and promised her that if she talked with him instead of throwing fits, it would be easier.

Of course, an hour later, she disobeyed and left to find her brother. She called a base cab to take her to the unit ‘to meet her father’ and was dropped off at the guard shack for the on-duty marine to call HQ for her. While he had his back turned, she snuck off and made her way to the training ground. When she was found, the lesson was much harder. She managed to remember that second lesson for a long time. That had been the last time he had spanked her. She realized she missed his involvement in her life. Spankings hurt, but it also made her feel like she was safe and protected. She needed that reassurance again.

“I know you think you’re all grown up sometimes, but you will always be my little girl. You will never be too big for my lap. On or over it,” Dr. Quimby added with a chuckle. He carried her to the couch and repositioned her with her legs over the side of his, snuggling her against his chest. He patted the space next to him for his son to join them. The man wrapped his free arm around Michael’s shoulders, pulling him close as he ruffled his son’s short hair.

“How dare you two grow up so quickly? I never gave you permission to do that. You do know how proud I am of you, right?”

“Yes, Dad, we do. Sorry about the growing up thing, you should have planned better,” Michael chuckled. “I’m just seeing how tough this must be for you. I’ll try my best to make things easier.” Michael reached for his sister’s hand.

“Just say it, Mike,” she said softly. “I give both of you a run for your money. You’re the good son, I’m the brat. According to Uncle Scott, that will never change. He said it will keep you in good shape while turning all of you prematurely gray.”

“Right he is,” Dr. Quimby chuckled, “I can’t wait for him to get here. I’ve missed having him around.”

“Me, too. It will be nice to get him back in the department. Of course, someone won’t be as happy.” Michael teased, poking his sister’s leg.

“He is just so strict. He actually makes me wear full uniforms when I’m working. And he is always constantly in our business. I love him, Daddy, but can’t we talk about some adjustments?”

“Sorry, kiddo, but he is right in what he does. He is also my superior officer, so I will certainly support his decisions. You can always talk with him, you know. He isn’t completely unapproachable. I think he tends to be easier to sway in work related issues than I am.”

“I know, but he always says ‘no’ to me. Mike is his favorite, so he gets away with everything.”

“Not true. I just don’t give him constant headaches, nor do I request anything unreasonable. I will talk with him regarding lab uniforms, ok? And your hair- there is no reason why it can’t hang in a braid or ponytail.” Michael promised, tugging the long, thick ringlet. With that, Dr. Quimby said his good-nights and sent his children to their rooms for bed. He looked forward to his friend’s return and a weekend without drama. With his daughter confined to quarters, there shouldn’t be anything she could get into. Hopefully.

***

“Welcome home, Old Man! We have missed you,” Dr. Quimby grinned happily with a salute before hugging the tall, lean gray-haired man. Scott Jenkins’ handsome face returned the smile, bright blue eyes twinkling.

“I have missed you too. Where are my kids?”

”The big one is on his way, the little one is grounded.”

“Again? What did she do this time?” Scott chuckled, handing his duffle bag to an attending crew member. Dr. Quimby briefly filled him in as they secured the helo and headed towards the officer quarters. Michael met them half-way, unconcerned with onlookers as he gleefully hugged his uncle and received a big kiss on the cheek.

“My boy, how are you doing? I hear you’ve had your hands full.”

“Yes, Sir, you have no idea. We really missed you. It’s been way too long.”

“Two months. I have good news, though,” Scott added, arms around his nephew and brother-in-law, “We are dry docking in one more month!”

“Really? At the facility?” Michael asked excitedly. It had been nearly eight months since they had been home.

“Yep, and no more long cruises. We will be joining with Scripps and the naval center on Shelter Island for research. Sea World is interested as well. We are heading home.”

“I’m glad. It’s been getting more difficult being out this long with our little darling,” Dr. Quimby said. Scott hugged him again.

“Well, I’m back and can help out. Let’s all have dinner in my cabin tonight, ok? I want to get cleaned up, go check in on Sam, then see what has happened with my lab since I’ve been gone.”

“Why don’t you stop by to see her first? She won’t care if you’re rumpled,” Dr. Quimby suggested.

With a nod, Scott turned to head towards his niece’s cabin as the other two went to the top deck to relax. He gently knocked on the door, waiting for Sam to open it. She shrieked and threw herself high into his arms. He was as tall as her father, not as broad chested, but tough as nails. He swung her high and covered her with kisses, ignoring the laughter of passing crewmen before going into her room.