Willi still was not sure why she had brought it. She certainly had not been planning on singing in a night club in it. “Sure does fit the bill for it, though,” she said to herself, refastening the old fashioned bow holding her hair gathered at the base of her neck, the length flowing down her back almost to her waist.
One last deep breath, which she held for a moment, and then released, Wilhelmina ‘Willi’ ‘Marilyn Monroe’ McKindrick went out to sing her first song.
Fully aware that the sound system really could make almost anyone sound, at the very least, decent, Willi was amazed at the response she got to her first song. And it continued with each successive song in the first half hour set. She had had no intention of mingling, as Smokey had put it, with the patrons, but she found herself out among them, responding graciously to each person who praised her performance.
Even more surprising, was the lack of offense when she declined the many drink offers, citing her need to keep her voice protected. Finally, after traversing the room, she took a stool at the bar, at the far end. “Whew!” she said and took the tall glass of ice water Cherokee handed her.
The big man of American Indian ancestry was grinning. “And here I had the impression you really had not done this before.”
“That sound system really does all the work,” Willi quickly said.
“Yeah. Right. Take it easy till your next set if you want. Just give me a high sign if anyone bothers you. Of course, you can wait in the dressing room if you want.”
“I think I’ll just wait here for now,” Willi said, her eyes surveying the small crowd. There were no problems as a person came up to her occasionally. None did more than talk to her for a minute or two. She found it was actually easier to study the people in the place, without seeming to, with the people coming up to her and leaving, as it allowed her eyes to roam at will.
She was able to talk to several Naval service personnel, including a handful of pilots. Willi quickly realized she was not going to get much information from them in these conversations.
Willi was hearing more just by listening to nearby conversations. Mostly talk of the pirates between Spaceman One Stripe, Two Stripe, and Three Stripe ratings, with no Petty Officer grades and up referring to Pirates or Ecronians at all. At least that she could hear.
There was one mention of Ecronians, and some grumbling about the Governor and her administration of the sector. Again, between two Spaceman ratings.
At the end of her third set, her eyes were drawn to the man sitting at the far end of the bar. He was by himself, she noted, and sat with his back to the room, nursing the drink. Cherokee would stop and have a word with him from time to time.
A pleased grin split the bronze face as Cherokee moved toward her. He stopped, stooped, and brought out a small bottle from a reefer unit under the counter, and then continued toward her. “Compliments of the gentleman at the far end, Marilyn.” He poured the pale bubbly liquid into a tall narrow stemmed glass, and then recapped the bottle.
Willi recognized the bottle; but was so surprised she did not say anything until Cherokee was already handing her the glass. “But this is Bubbles!” she finally managed to say.
“Absolutely,” Cherokee said. “One of the really good ones that Smokey brings in.”
Willi’s eyes cut down the bar again and she frowned. The man was gone. “Who was that?” she asked.
Cherokee turned. “Damn. Gone already.” He turned back to Willi and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, a confused look crossing his face. “Actually… he’s been coming in here for a couple of weeks. I don’t actually know his name, I just realized. I’ve always thought of him as The Guy.
“Seems to have plenty of money and is always pleasant. And tips good. All of us. I… uh… well… he said to give you the bottle with his compliments.”
“Oh. Well, I wish you had not opened that bottle, Cherokee. I know how expensive that stuff… this stuff is. Lordy, but I would not want it to go to waste.” Willi took a small sip of the precious liquid. Light and airy, it tickled the tongue, then slid down the throat most pleasantly.
“Wow!” she said. “No wonder it is so expensive.” Willi had transported bottles of Bubbles before; but had never tasted it. She did not really drink much alcohol or similar liquid refreshment, but had experienced a few really good drinks. Bubbles outshone them all.
Another couple of sips and she looked at Cherokee. “But how are you going to sell the rest? I doubt one in a hundred could afford to buy a drink of this, and I know it doesn’t keep very long.”
It pleased Cherokee no end when he was able to tell Willi, “He gave you the bottle, Marilyn, not just a single glass.”
Willi wasted just a bit of the drink when she nearly choked. She cleared her throat, and then suddenly flushed, looking over at Cherokee. “You just cork that back up and give it to him the next time he comes in. Even if it was not Smokey’s policy, there is no way he’s getting anything from me, just because of that bottle!”
“Good to hear that,” came the voice behind her.
Willi spun around on the stool. “Smokey! Look. I did not ask him to…”
“I know, Precious. That guy has been buying expensive drinks for two weeks. Never stays more than a few minutes when the dancers start; but leaves twenty credits apiece for them for Cherokee to distribute. Don’t worry about it.
“I would have been tempted to give you a bottle myself. You have this crowd totally enamored. I surprise even myself when I say that I’m giving you twenty percent more than I said, doll. Keep it up, and you could go far in this business.” He walked away.
“But…”
“Don’t argue with the man,” Cherokee said. “I’ve never seen him do that before. I actually think he might have at least opened a bottle… but give you one… uh… probably not. Gotta go. Customers.”
Willi savored the glass of Bubbles, and when Cherokee stopped nearby again she let him refill the glass. “Cherokee… have a glass. Please. You’ve made my first night here much easier than it might have been.”
“You sure?”
Willi nodded eagerly.
“Just a small one,” Cherokee said, almost reverently.
Willi decided then to share the rest with the other servers that were working the room, at the end of the shift. She told Cherokee what she planned. He did not really try to talk her out of it; but did tell her it really was not necessary.
She was glad she had done so, however, when all five of the women and the one male server thanked her profusely and indicated she had not needed to do it.
Apparently, there had been at least three small groups that had left, then returned with numerous friends to hear and see Willi sing. And their enjoyment led to big tips.
Despite offers from her co-workers to go and do something after hours, Willi declined, leaving shortly after her last set. It had been a full day and she was tired, though exhilarated. Despite, or perhaps because of it all, she was asleep shortly after her head hit her pillow.
After a week, Willi decided that perhaps she had been wrong about coming to the sector. Rumors abounded about everything. Pirates. Ecronians. Governmental corruption. Even Johnny Oneshot’s name was mentioned on a fairly regular basis. But only as common knowledge rumors, like the ones Sydney and Clyde had once mentioned.
Despite all she had heard, there had been nothing solid about him or the Dominator he was flying when he left the shuttle that day. Willi also decided that The Guy, as Cherokee still referred to him, was as elusive as Johnny Oneshot. She had seen him a couple of times in the bar, but he disappeared every time before she could work her way over to him.
Though willing, Cherokee had not been able to elicit any information from him, other than a response to her thank you.
It had been an adventure, Willi decided, but she was a pilot and a trader at heart. Time to get back to Trinity Home and get on with her life. Thinking she could track down someone like Johnny Oneshot on her own was silly. Esp
ecially considering he was involved in something to do with Confederation business and pirates and Ecronians and…
Willi shook her head. She was letting the rumors influence her. They were all unrelated rumors. No reason to think Johnny Oneshot was connected to any of them, much less all of them.
“But what about those Dominators?” she whispered to herself. Another shake of her head and she decided she had better let Smokey know that her last night would be the night before the next passenger liner was due to depart, in just under a week.
Checking her dress one last time in the mirror in the dressing room, Willi made sure the locator button was in place. Still convinced that it was only the sound and light system that made her performances so entertaining, she wanted to make sure the system would work.
As the second set that evening began, the already huge crowd was increased by five. Willi did not let the sight of Captain Janet Echart and her four companions in naval uniform distract her, though she did acknowledge Janet’s presence with a tiny head motion.
Upon seeing, and then recognizing, Marilyn, Janet hesitated, but followed the others as the server directed them to a table that was being cleared. She had to smile when Lieutenant Charlie Chambers looked at her and asked, “You know her?”
“We met on the ship on the way out here.”
Charlie’s look was rather censorious. “And you did not tell us she was singing here? And what she looked like?”
“I did not know she was singing here,” Janet said. “She was just someone I met aboard the liner. She never really said what she was doing out here.”
“Uh… you think you could wangle me an introduction?”
“That goes for me, too,” said Lieutenant Halpern, his eyes having left Willi only enough to avoid running over something or someone as they had made their way to the table.
Having heard the two men’s request; and seen the affect Willi had on men the past few days, the server grinned and said, “Marilyn usually comes out into the crowd once or twice a night. I’m sure you’ll get a chance to meet her.”
Captain Butler chuckled. “Easy, Gentlemen. From what I’m hearing, this one is different from the last few Smokey has brought in here.”
“And besides,” said the other woman in the group, Lieutenant Rebecca Sorenson, “I thought you three brought us two for a nice night away from the base.”
“So right, Lieutenant,” replied Captain Butler. He grinned at his two male companions, both now looking a bit chagrinned. They had both been after him to talk the two female officers into accompanying them since Captain Echart had arrived with the Triple Sevens and Lieutenant Sorenson had rotated in to replace a nurse ending her enlistment.
Suddenly he was glad he had come planetside, Bill Butler decided. He had not come down since the last time, after Gunderson had been killed. And that had been a big disappointment. The other entertainer had been ugly, a terrible singer, and after Naval Personnel money any way she could get it.
Even Charlie had been disappointed and had gone back to the base not long after Captain Butler. But there was something about Smokey’s this night that was different. The only thing he could see different was Marilyn.
“And she really never mentioned she was going to sing here?” Bill asked, leaning forward so Janet could hear him.
Janet shook her head. She had been reluctant to come, despite the way the Captain had been treating her. He had never in any way implied that the damage to the Triple Sevens had been her responsibility.
He had worked diligently with her to try to determine where and how the mice had been inserted into the containers carrying the combat craft. They had run into one dead end after another.
Despite it, Captain Butler had never wavered in his support of her actions when the base commander had more than implied the sabotage had been her fault, perhaps even her doing.
And, like her, knowing the Triple Seven, though a more capable craft than the F-321 Combat Craft now deployed, was far from the ideal choice for the type of activity being conducted by the squadrons, he was still helping her in any way he could.
Even having been able, with difficulty, of reassembling one intact craft from the original two, the training was still not going to be accomplished. Another craft had been requested and turned down immediately.
The F-321 had master-slave network capability for training, but the system was not compatible with the similar F-777 system. The intention of having Janet fly master in one of the Triple Sevens and one of the squadron pilots fly second in the other, for training, was simply not possible now.
Even simulators had been denied. Putting even a good F-321 pilot in the F-777 and having them learn hands on, while doable, would take, as Captain Butler had put it, forever and a day. It would have been counterproductive. What training that was accomplished was the expert use of the operable Triple Seven by Janet during sorties with the squadrons.
Bill watched Janet unobtrusively for a few moments as she watched the entertainer. “At least,” he said silently to himself, “The others are learning something. Just watching her in action they are picking up information that can be used if we ever do get more of the Triple Sevens. Not to mention just good solid combat techniques.”
Janet turned her head and saw Bill’s eyes shift from her to the singer. She smiled at him and he smiled back. Slightly. Janet looked back at Marilyn and her thoughts turned to Captain Butler.
He was everything she had heard. The more she learned of the situation in the sector the more her admiration and respect for him grew. It was not just that he had stood by her and supported her when Commander Calhoun had essentially accused her of the sabotage, but his untiring efforts to control the situation in the sector, as well.
She really had not believed that any of the activity had been anything but pirates. Certainly not Ecronians, as some of the rumors said. Butler had been careful to follow the official word, but Janet had seen what he did and how he did it.
It was obvious he thought the Ecronians were behind what was going on. Janet was beginning to believe he might be right. At least partially.
He was a remarkable man. The type of man that… Janet quickly put that line of thought out of her head. The song that Marilyn was singing was the cause. It was a romantic ballad.
She looked around the room. The dance floor was packed, and many of the obvious couples in the rest of the audience were holding hands. More than a few were kissing, rather passionately in some cases.
Janet did not realize she had sighed. Bill noticed the slight sigh and studied Janet unobtrusively for a moment. She was very perceptive, with tremendous combat skills. He knew she would sense his gaze if he looked at her for long. Her senses were extraordinary. Her look was different from the woman singing. Just as beautiful, he thought, just in a more mature way.
When he had learned who it was that was to train his people in the Triple Sevens, he had done a bit of research. Her record was impressive.
After seeing her resolve, still unsatisfied, to find the perpetrators of the sabotage, and then her untiring diligence to assemble one useable craft from the remains of the two, he was convinced that her record was just the tip of the iceberg of what constituted an exceptional Naval Officer and person.
“Whom,” he said softly to himself, “is every bit a desirable woman.” He sighed ever so slightly himself without realizing it.
Very observing, and clever, eyes picked up on both Janet’s and Bill’s sighs, as well as the way they had looked at one another when the other had not been looking.
It had taken the last few weeks to determine to his satisfaction that Captain William “Bill” “Telstar” Butler was just exactly what he seemed. A dedicated career Naval Officer, with an exemplary record.
The only exception was his not quite controlled expression of his opinions of what was happening in this sector. What Johnny had learned about Captain Janet Echart was similar.
Both were loyal to the Confederation, willing, and abl
e to deal with whatever was actually going on in this sector. Which was pretty much exactly what Bill Butler suspected and feared was going on, only more so, Johnny was sure.
Johnny smiled when he looked over at Willi. She was just finishing the last song of the set and already people were clamoring for her attention. He eased back just a bit more. She was as perceptive as Captains Butler and Echart. Had the same sensory awareness. That was part of what made all three of them such good pilots.
It was difficult for even him to observe them without being observed himself, despite having inherited from one of his ancestors from the 21st Century, her amazing abilities of perception.
It was a rather pleasant distraction he allowed himself for a few moments, watching Willi move among the crowd, on her way to the table where the five Naval officers sat. Fully aware that Captain Butler had excused himself as the song was ending he gave the man credit for easing up to him as clandestinely as he did.
Johnny felt the sidearm touch his back for just a moment, then pull back as the quiet, strong voice said softly into his ear, “You’ve been watching me and my shipmates. This isn’t the first time. Either come with me out to the Shore Patrol officers quietly, or resist. Your choice. I don’t really care either way. I don’t like being watched.”
“Certainly, Captain Butler. But there is no need to involve the Shore Patrol, or anyone else that might not understand the seriousness of what is going on.”
Johnny had not moved. He was still watching Willi out of the corners of his eyes, as he always did now, so as not to draw her gaze toward him.
“I’ve been waiting for the chance to talk to you without undue notice. If you’ll join me at the far end of the bar, while the young lady works the crowd, I’ll explain.”
“I don’t think you…” Bill could not stop the surprise from registering on his face when the man he was holding under the gun was suddenly facing him, Bill’s sidearm now in the man’s hand, pointed not quite at Bill.
Mission to Sector ZZ1219 Page 5