by Roscoe James
“I have the queen.” Something with a soft glow appeared in her palm. He didn’t understand a word.
“Wait, who are you?” he demanded.
The young woman’s eyes moved from his to Madame Ambassador’s to his cock and then the floor before she stuttered in English, “I, I sorry, you highness, I be handmaiden to the princess.”
With the word princess he released the death grip he had on Madame Ambassador’s waist letting her slide down his body to the floor and demanded, “Where are my clothes?”
When no one spoke he stomped around the bed and found them folded over the arm of a chair. Picking up his black thermal space briefs, standard issue for the corps, he stepped into them and pulled them up quickly, “I don’t know what the hell you did to me last night. Actually,” he muttered as he grabbed his shirt and fisted his way into the sleeves, “I don’t think I want to know.”
The two women just stared as he grabbed his slacks, “All I want to do is get out of this loony bin and report to duty.”
Afraid to sit down, he shoved his first foot into his pants leg and nearly fell over when a very familiar looking foot came into view.
“If you’ll just let me explain,” she began, her voice gentle and soothing, and he almost stopped what he was doing. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after I tell you everything.”
Finally getting his other foot in his slacks he jerked them up, zipped them up, buttoned them up, and grabbed his jacket and saber. “Look, Madame Ambassador, I’m glad to be of service. And…” He smiled wickedly. “I hope you enjoyed it. But I could get in a lot of trouble, and frankly, I have no idea what you drugged me with yesterday, but I plan on finding out!”
He felt like shit when Madame Ambassador started crying and he almost relented. When he caught the defiant stare of the handmaiden, he ground his teeth and stomped out of the bedroom.
Before he could get to the outer door he felt something bump into his back and turned to find the handmaiden rubbing her fist, also on the verge of tears. Serves you right, he thought.
He just grunted and turned to leave.
“I told her! I knew it wasn’t right! You, you…” And she yelled the nastiest insult she could think of at his back, “Human!”
He didn’t understand a word of it. When is that girl going to learn English? Shaking his head he hit the release on the door and smiled when he saw Radd standing in the hallway.
“Boy, you aren’t going to believe this one, Lieutenant,” he said laughing.
As soon as he cleared the doorway and stepped off of sovereign Meline territory four men were on him, his saber and jacket disappeared, and in spite of his struggle, he was in cuffs.
“Neither are you,” said Radd, nodding at the posse that had trapped him.
* * * *
“I can’t believe this. I mean, I thought I wasn’t going to have this meeting! What the hell happened, Blake?”
Yeah, he couldn’t believe it either. He had no idea how Hillsborough and the princess left without him knowing, but it seemed they did. He knew it was bad when he wasn’t invited to sit.
Clearing his throat he addressed the chairman, “We don’t know, sir.”
“Well,” said the chairman, his finger coming up accusingly exposing the green tinge it had from dipping spice, “You had better find out, mister! And I mean now!”
“I’m working on it, sir,” Blake replied as he spun on his heel to leave.
“One other thing, Blake.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I understand Hillsborough wasn’t hurt, either.”
“Ah, yes, sir, we have him in custody right now. In fact, we’re setting him up for the fall.”
“Well, I knew his father, you know.”
Is it age or the spice? “Yes sir, I knew that.”
“Good man, his father.”
“Yes, sir, I believe you mentioned that.”
“I did?”
Blake cringed when the green tinged finger ran through the chairman’s ever-present spice tray and went to his mouth.
“Maybe not, sir. I could be wrong. But I’ve seen the man’s file and would agree with you.”
The chairman smacked his lips and slipped away for a beat.
Blake rocked on his heels and waited.
“Anyway, maybe the Hillsborough boy needs to attempt to escape or something. You know…we wouldn’t want him talking to the press or anything like that.”
“Right, sir. I’ll see to it.”
“I mean he doesn’t have to get very far. Just, well, you know…make a try.”
Yes, he knew exactly what the chairman was talking about.
* * * *
He tried to stop it. He caught himself panting again. That made three times. It didn’t matter what kind of trouble he was in, the only thing he could think about was her. He couldn’t get her out of his head.
He’d experienced an odd sense of calm in her suite, especially on her bed, and it had stayed with him for the first two hours of his lockup. He’d even smiled every time he’d breathed in her fragrance that still clung to him. The change had been gradual. From an unidentified discomfort and restlessness to a full-blown craving, it wasn’t about sex, although his cock had become uncomfortably swollen again. It was about being near her, touching her, knowing she was safe.
His hands were still cuffed behind his back, he sorely wanted to piss, and he needed some water.
He had a vague memory of finding peace last night and now his world was a mess. Looking out, he watched the guard’s D projection screen and the 3-D images were, as always, startling.
The ballroom was full of people, the dance floor was a sea of floating colors, while the band played a Meline waltz in honor of the Ambassador. Then the announcer’s voice cut in, “This is just seconds before the blast. We understand one man is in custody, and in fact is the ambassador’s own diplomatic security attaché. Yes, this is it. Just watch the scene behind the people on the dance floor where, only minutes before, the Meline ambassador had been chatting with diplomatic attaché, Blake Crenshaw.’
And he did. And just as had happened every other time it had run on UNS, there was a puff of gray smoke, a blinding light, and a small explosion followed by complete chaos.
Leaning into the bars he got the guard’s attention and said, “Hey, I need some water and I gotta piss. Take these fucking cuffs off!”
The guy didn’t even turn around. He just mumbled, “Orders, asshole. Now shut up so I can listen to this.”
We have little news other than the ambassador, who in fact is the Meline princess, daughter of Queen Fanston, is safe and still plans on attending a previously scheduled meeting with the UC Chairman later today.
Again, five people dead and two listed in critical condition…
He groaned, tuned it out, and pushed away from the bars. Where is she? This isn’t right. He knew it. What took place at the ballroom was still hazy, but he knew he couldn’t have left under his own power. She must have gone with him. She must have helped.
And why couldn’t he just forget about her and worry about himself? Her smell was driving him mad with concern.
“How you doin’, buddy?”
“Radd, damn, I’m glad you came back. What the hell is going on, man? This is nuts!”
Radd laughed in sympathy and held the key to the cuffs up. “I hear you need to piss.”
“Hell yes,” he replied as he backed into the bars.
Radd was fumbling and he groaned with impatience. Then he heard it. Barely a whisper.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on. They found a bunch of anti-Meline shit in your quarters. They’re saying you’re working for the Zandill. A spy or something. Now listen closely,” and the key dropped from Radd’s fingers and clanged on the bars.
A spy? Anti-Meline? He knew Radd was buying time and waited patiently while the key was retrieved.
The whispering continued, “They want you to try and escape so they can kill you. And if th
at doesn’t work, believe me buddy, they’ll find another way. So you have to escape before they get it all set up.”
With that the cuffs came loose and something was shoved into his palm.
Voice booming, Radd yelled, “You’re a fucking wimp, Hillsborough. A disgrace to the Corps. Now get your sorry ass over there and piss and…” Radd winked over his shoulder at the guard. “…stop whining, you sissy.”
It was heaven. He watched Radd stop at the guard’s desk and talk while he relieved himself. Looking down he saw a key in his palm.
“What about some water, Lieutenant?”
Radd looked over his shoulder and yelled, “You’re a pussy, Hillsborough!”
Then he addressed the guard. “Get this crybaby some water, private.”
He watched as Radd sauntered out before the private pushed up from his table.
As soon as the guard disappeared, he slipped the key in the lock, slipped out, and hid in a small closet beside the guards’ table.
* * * *
“But you must try to understand, Princess. Our hands are tied in this matter.”
Peenzan sat completely still with no show of emotion whatsoever, as was the Meline way. Then, after letting the chairman’s last statement settle like a foul stench she spoke, “Then you, Mr. Chairman, and the peoples of the United Corporation, must also understand that upon my return to my home planet, I will deliver your answer to the Queen, and given the Zandill’s continued aggressions and our overburdened manufacturing base, we will find it necessary to divert all our efforts toward defending our own people and will no longer be able to fulfill our contract to deliver helium 3…”
“But we have a contract!”
“Please, Mr. Chairman, if I may finish?”
She watched the chairman shift uncomfortably in his chair and wondered again if the man was ill. She must remember to report that to her mother.
“As I was saying, we will no longer be able to fulfill our contract to deliver helium 3 and all transports in space will be recalled immediately to help fight our war. We greatly regret this inconvenience, but I’m sure the United Corporation’s people will understand the urgency of our situation…” She paused for effect. “And in fact our need to survive, and will forgive us this most regrettable but unavoidable transgression.”
The chairman’s black eyes were shooting daggers as she smiled and went on, “And we want to assure the United Corporation and its peoples that as soon as the Zandill situation has been taken care of, we will be glad to sit down and negotiate a new contract.”
“This is outrageous! We already have a contract! What about it?”
“While most unfortunate for you, it is quite fortunate for us that the contract was signed on Meline soil, and as with all off planet contracts, becomes void the moment we deem it necessary to declare war on any off planet aggressor. I’m sure you understand our position.” She smiled blithely before her face became as unreadable as the Chairman’s desktop.
The chairman shot to his feet and leaned across the desk. “Then you can tell…”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chairman. I have one more item. It’s a quick one. I understand you have a Sergeant Hillsborough in custody in connection with that horrendous event last night at the Corporate dinner given in my honor.”
Caught off guard, the chairman looked at Blake who provided the answer. “Why yes, Princess, we do. You are most lucky. We’ve discovered he was a spy for the Zandill and had planted a small percussion grenade under your chair with intent to kill you.”
Turning from Blake back to the chairman, and in light of the chairman’s continued aggressive stance over his desk, she stood and placed her own hand inches from his on the polished desktop and spoke as if speaking to a child, “Sergeant Hillsborough is no more a Zandill spy than you are, Mr. Chairman.” She nearly lost her words when she read something on his face. “In fact, while not yet officially announced, Sergeant Hillsborough is my mate, and as such, under diplomatic law which…” she paused as she looked at everyone else in the chairman’s office. “…I believe still carries some weight in the galaxy and you have no right to detain him for any reason whatsoever. And furthermore, I demand that you take me to him at once.”
After an uncomfortable silence in which the chairman glanced over her shoulder at someone and Mr. Crenshaw cleared his throat twice, the chairman exploded, his finger marking his words with sonorous taps on his desktop. “You listen here, Princess. I want you to go back to that God forsaken planet of yours and tell your mother that she has much greater problems than the Zandill because the moment…”
When Crenshaw jumped to his feet and interrupted, she thought the Chairman would actually explode, or at the least, drop dead.
“I believe the Meline position is very clear, Princess Peenzan. Let me find Sergeant Hillsborough for you and please accept our apologies in this particular matter. We’ll have to dig deeper and see if we can find the person that planted those terrible things in his quarters.”
“Since you have him in custody, I would believe you know exactly where he is. Or…” She leaned across the desk digging a fingernail into the wood desktop. “Can the mighty United Corporation not even keep track of its prisoners, Mr. Chairman?”
She saw no need to continue the meeting, and dragging her fingernail across the desktop leaving a deep scratch, turned abruptly, strode to the door, and waited, her intentions obvious.
The chairman cleared his throat, scowled, and fell back into his chair nodding at Blake.
“You are quite right, Madame Ambassador, let me take you to him.”
Pran was waiting outside the chairman’s office, and Peenzan took her aside and whispered, “We must leave immediately. It is no longer safe here. Make ready and call the Queen while I find Sergeant Hillsborough.”
“But…”
She’d already made her decision and made it an order. “At once, Pran.”
* * * *
He listened as the guard returned and his boots stopped a few steps away in front of the cell.
Opening the door quietly he slipped out and in three long strides was behind the guard before the alarm could be raised. Wrapping his big arm around the guard’s neck he squeezed just long enough for the man to pass out and sag against his body.
Opening the cell he dragged him inside, pulled the door closed, and locked it. Sprinting down the corridor, he stopped and peered around the corner.
What a mess. Of all the things, and looking behind him up the short corridor, of all the places. He knew UC-1, the chairman’s flagship, as well as he knew the back of his hand, and while there were more than a million people on board to lose himself in, that also meant he had to find one person, one Meline, in that million.
“Damn-it-to-hell! What have you done to me?”
Another glance and he turned the corner tucking his shirt in, and ducked into the first service lift he came upon.
* * * *
As they went down in a lift in the central core, she thought she could smell it on him. On the whole lot of them. Her mother had told her to expect no less in the Zandill matter, but protocol dictated they should at least state their case. Their deceit was obvious, as much an affront as the position proposed.
“If you’d follow me, Madame Ambassador,” Crenshaw said as he stepped out of the lift and waited.
As they walked among the throngs of people in the service area of the huge ship, she said, “I must say, Mr. Crenshaw, we find it difficult to understand the UC’s affinity with such a bloodthirsty race as the Zandill. If I recall correctly, it was only four years ago that you sent your own forces in to bring order to a most disorderly situation that threatened to destroy your mining operation on their moon.”
“Ah, Princess, but that is the point, isn’t it? We did bring order to the situation on Zandill, and as fate would have it, their new parliament has taken the replenishment of their atmosphere as a first order of business.”
“And might I point out, Mr. Crenshaw,
that those very resources were ignorantly squandered by the very leaders of Zandill long before you brought order to the, ah, situation as you call it.”
“You are right. I must give you that. Actually, our hope was that, given the abundance of those resources on Meline, a contract could be reached between the two worlds that would benefit all.”
She was burning with anger and thought it best not to pursue the topic further. Instead she asked, “And where are you taking me, Mr. Crenshaw?”
“Only a little further, Princess. The brig is just down this corridor on the left. It’s a very small thing, a simple affair. Crime is almost unheard of on UC-1.”
She scowled. It would depend a lot on what you define as a crime, she thought. Turning to the matter at hand her steps quickened.
At last. I’m coming, my love. She tried her best to hide the soft purr that had started in her chest.
* * * *
He’d made it to the diplomatic level, but the going would be much tougher now. The hordes of people had thinned out and security D cameras and other sensors were everywhere.
Ducking into the main kitchen that sent meals out on carts to all the suites on this level, he smiled at a short round woman working at a food preparation table and kept on walking as if he owned the place.
Just as a chef’s hat appeared he ducked into a freezer, picked up a plastic crate of lettuce, and stepped back out. He hoped his black slacks and white shirt, no matter how crumpled, would keep him hidden until he could find the steward’s locker room.
* * * *
Standing in front of the detention cell watching a medic tend to the guard, her purr only intensified when she realized Sergeant Hillsborough must be in even more serious danger than she’d thought.
“I’m very sorry, Princess. It would seem your mate, well, and our traitor, has escaped.” A sliver of a smile appeared.
“My mate is no traitor! To anyone!” she declared, turning on him, her voice almost a guttural growl. “If he has escaped it is because he felt a need to. It is because he felt that his life was in danger.”