An Indecent Proposal

by Jaleta Clegg

  He had nothing that he could use as leverage, but he couldn't do nothing. He had to talk to Dace.

  Tayvis entered the number in the com. It was still early, the sun low on the horizon. Tayvis didn't care about disturbing Vance's sleep.

  The line was finally connected. A sleepy looking Vance blinked from the screen. He looked surprised.

  "Malcolm," he said and yawned. "What an honor to hear from you. Is there something I can do for you?" The words had a snide undertone that was all too familiar. Vance yawned again.

  "Where's Dace?" Tayvis demanded bluntly.

  Vance slowly smiled, a devious and very satisfied smile. "She doesn't want to talk to you, Malcolm." Vance pronounced the name with malice. He knew how much Tayvis hated his first name.

  "I don't believe you."

  "You never have, but it doesn't matter. Dace doesn't want anything to do with you. In fact, she told me last night that she was glad I'd finally gotten rid of you for her. She felt awkward about things, but." Vance shrugged. "She's made up her mind, and you lost."

  "I'll believe that when she tells me," Tayvis answered. He ignored the coldness growing inside. "I want to talk to her."

  "She's still asleep," Vance said and smiled smugly. "She won't be happy if I wake her."

  Tayvis caught the insinuation behind Vance's smug smile. He snapped the com off before he did something he would regret.

  Dace was there with Vance. What other proof of betrayal did he need?

  His hands shook. He felt sick. He couldn't stay here.

  He ran from the room, away from the com, away from the certainty that Dace really had betrayed him. He slammed open the closet in the spare bedroom where he'd been staying. He didn't own much. He found his duffel stuffed in the bottom of the closet. He shoved clothes into it blindly.

  He had to leave. He had to find someplace where he wouldn't have to watch the news vids. He could find work somewhere far away. He couldn't stay here and face the pain. He jerked the duffel closed and swung it over his shoulder.

  His mother stirred and woke as he crossed the front room. "Malcolm?"

  He stopped in front of the door. He owed her some kind of explanation. He couldn't speak, his throat closed up. His eyes burned. His mother touched his arm, her gentle hand reminding him of the times he'd scraped himself and she'd soothed the hurt. She couldn't help this time.

  "That woman, the admiral, she was the one you talked about?" She didn't wait for his answer. It was plain to read on his face. "I'm so sorry, Tayvis."

  "I can't stay here," he said, his voice breaking.

  "Don't forget to write," she said.

  He nodded as he pulled the door open. He knew she watched as he walked down the hall away from her. He also knew she would be waiting whenever he decided to return. He didn't look back as he took the elevator down.

  The port offices were busy. He was only one more faceless person in the crowd as he glanced over the job board. Not that he qualified for anything listed. No one outside of the Patrol needed a weapons expert. Or an undercover agent. Or any of the other things he'd become for Lowell.

  He had money, he could buy a ticket and ride as a passenger, except the ships weren't going where he wanted to go. There were flashing warnings against traveling anywhere outside of the Inner Worlds. He knew more about the Federation than anyone else, except maybe Lowell. He knew why there were warnings posted. All of the frontier worlds, and most of the Outer Worlds, were now part of the Federation. Last he'd heard it wasn't a shooting war, but it was a war. And the Empire was losing.

  None of that mattered to him anymore. He was out of the Patrol. He didn't work for Lowell.

  "You looking for a berth?" The voice was tired and rough, it matched the man who spoke. He wore a battered gray jumpsuit with grease stains on the frayed cuffs. "The ship ain't much, but it flies."

  "What position do you have open?" Tayvis asked.

  "What skills you got?"

  Tayvis shrugged.

  "I could use muscle to move cargo," the man said. "The rest we can figure as we go."

  "Where are you headed?"

  "You got someplace particular in mind?"

  Tayvis shook his head. "Just out, away from here."

  "You running?" the man asked suspiciously.

  "Not really."

  "It was a woman, wasn't it?" The man grinned knowingly. "Ain't got none on my ship. Won't have them aboard. Nothing but trouble."

  Tayvis found himself agreeing.

  "You ship with me, leave when you like," the man offered. "Work hard and I won't charge you passenger fees. We're headed out where no one asks questions. That good for you?"

  "Perfect," Tayvis answered.

  "Station seventeen, berth five twenty eight on the back side," the man told him. "Name's Jefferes, Captain Ky Jefferes. Welcome aboard the Black Rose. You got four hours to be there or I'll leave without you."

  "Fair enough," Tayvis answered. He shook the proffered hand.

  Captain Jefferes walked off in one direction. Tayvis headed the opposite, towards the ticket window for the shuttles. He had what he wanted, a way out with no questions asked. Then why couldn't he shake the feeling he was abandoning Dace? She'd betrayed him. He might still love her, but he would never forgive her.

  Chapter 10

  Deena Grace, Tayvis' mother, sat alone at her table. Afternoon light left streaks of red-gold across the polished surface. She felt her son's pain. She also knew there was nothing she could do but let him go. He had to work his own way through it.

  He really had loved the woman. Dace, what a strange name. She wondered what the story was and if Tayvis would ever tell her. Probably not, her son was a very private person. She sighed. It had been nice to have him with her for the last few months. She saw too little of him. And now she probably wouldn't see him again for years.

  A sharp knock at her door snapped her out of her reflections. She stood gracefully and answered her door.

  The messenger handed her a square of paper, folded into an envelope. He left immediately, not even waiting for a tip.

  Deena fingered the paper curiously as she shut the door. There was only a single name on the front. Malcolm. It was written in a feminine hand that looped and scrawled its way over the paper. Deena frowned. Her son hated his first name. She used it mostly to tease him and because, as his mother, she could.

  She slid her finger under the seal and pried it up. The paper was thick, stiff, expensive. It was also lightly perfumed. Her frown deepened. From what she'd heard and seen and knew of her son, the perfume didn't fit her mental picture of the woman Dace.

  The note was short, written in the same looping scrawl.

  It's over, let it go. Vance will make me happy.

  "Poor boy," she murmured. It was a good thing her son had never seen the note. It would have killed him.

  She pretended not to, but she knew exactly how he felt about Vance. She knew what had happened between them. She knew a lot more about him than he would have ever guessed.

  Something felt wrong about the note. She frowned as she stared at the harsh words. She turned the note over. His name felt wrong.

  She headed for the spare bedroom. Tayvis had left most of his belongings behind. Why would he take reminders of his pain with him when he was running away from it?

  The notes were tucked away, a carefully wrapped stack in the back of the bottom drawer. She had to smile as she pulled them out. He really had cared for Dace. The stack was pitifully short, six notes in all. She unwrapped them slowly. She was invading Tayvis' ferociously guarded privacy. It was for his own good.

  She spread the notes over the desk top. She placed the latest note beside the others.

  The difference was immediately apparent. All of the other notes had been addressed to Tayvis, some with his rank and ship written in a different hand. She opened the notes, one by one. The handwriting was clumsy, almost childish. It had the sprawling loops of the newest note, but there were subtle difference
s.

  She couldn't resist reading the other notes. They were mostly about other people, very little of Dace showed in the notes. But even the omission of Dace's thoughts revealed much about her. She was as private, if not more so, than Tayvis. And yet there was something touching about what was written. Dace had cared for the people she wrote about, it showed in her choice of words and stories.

  She had also cared for Tayvis. It was never written, but Deena could feel it between the words on the paper.

  What had changed so drastically? There was a gap of almost two years between the note delivered today and the last one in his carefully preserved stack. Had Dace really changed her mind?

  Deena leaned closer over the notes, studying them in the soft glow that came on automatically as the sun set.

  She couldn't have explained it, but she was convinced the latest note was not written by the same person. It would take an expert to validate her intuition, though. Tayvis had been deceived. Someone was deliberately trying to hurt him.

  She fluttered through her apartment to the computer. She called up the news vids of the party. There was the footage of Vance making his announcement. She played it slowly, focused on the woman standing next to Vance.

  The woman was short, her hair a mousy brown. She looked pale, her face pinched tight. From a distance, she looked as if she were any woman in love. She leaned on Vance, his arm around her waist. Deena enlarged the picture.

  There were lines of pain carved into her face. Her eyes showed surprise and anger as Vance announced their engagement to the Empire. It changed to hurt as she looked out beyond the camera range. And then defeat.

  The vids showed her and Vance turning away, talking to someone off to one side. She fast forwarded through the shots of people crowding around to offer congratulations. The Speaker finally waved them away. He and Vance spoke briefly. And then Dace left with the Speaker. The shot cut to Vance outside somewhere. He explained that Dace was tired, but that it was normal for someone in her condition. Nothing to worry about.

  She sat back in shock at the implied meaning in his words. Dace was expecting a child. His child. No wonder Tayvis had been so hurt and angry. But there was something that didn't fit his explanation. Dace had looked in pain, even before his announcement. And the look in her eyes hadn't fit.

  Deena went back to the vids of the party. She saw it in a long shot of the gathered crowd. Tayvis' dark head was there, close to the camera on one side. And in the distance, on the dais, Vance was announcing his engagement. Dace searched the crowd. Tayvis turned, stalking away from the party, his face a stone mask that hid pain and anger.

  Yes, that was the moment that Dace's look turned to one of hurt. Deena was sure of it.

  Then why hadn't Dace contacted Tayvis? What was preventing her? Deena was convinced that Dace still loved Tayvis, the look on her face couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

  It was too late to stop her son from leaving. She had no idea where he would go.

  She slumped back in her chair. "Oh, Tayvis," she murmured. She sat, helpless to stop the tragedy unfolding in front of her.

  Chapter 11

  I rolled over in the soft bed, only half awake. I stopped myself. Shouldn't I be in pain from moving? The pain was only a minor discomfort, a twinge in the muscles of my left side. My eyes snapped open. How long had I been sleeping?

  I lay on my back, frowning at the ornate ceiling high overhead. The bedroom was huge. I knew where I was, I remembered arriving. I remembered too much. I wanted to forget it all, especially the look on Tayvis' face when Vance dragged me up in front of everyone and ruined my life.

  But Tayvis was alive. That thought squeezed my heart painfully in my chest. He was alive. I had to reach him. I had to explain to him. I sat up, throwing back the covers.

  A wave of dizziness washed over me. I swallowed nausea and waited for the room to quit spinning. I was weak, pathetically so, my legs shook as I tried to stand. I had to hang onto the bed. I wanted to scream with frustration. At least my side hadn't given me any pain, nothing more than a few pulling twinges. That by itself told me I'd been asleep for a lot longer than one night. What had that medic done to me?

  He'd kept me from killing myself. I sat back on the edge of the bed. I should have stayed in the hospital on Besht. I'd ripped something loose in my side when Vance dragged me up to the stand. I wondered if he realized what he'd done to me, physically as well as emotionally. And then I wondered if he really cared. Vance was playing a game, a very dangerous one, and he'd picked me to play it with him.

  I swore, but quietly. The language I used would have made an engineer blush. It didn't seem right to scream obscenities in this room. It was too refined, too cultured, and much too expensive for that kind of coarseness.

  What was I doing here anyway? I didn't belong in this mansion. I had met the Emperor and the Speaker to the Council, the two most powerful people in the Empire. I was the guest of the Speaker. Never in my wildest imaginings had I foreseen this.

  I made myself stand again. I would leave, as soon as I could. I would find Tayvis and the Phoenix. And then I would go back to the life I craved, one far removed from intrigue and power. I didn't belong here.

  I made it three steps to a chair before I had to rest again. I sat and stared around the room. I had no idea where my clothes were, or even if I had any. I wore a nightgown, a pale cream with delicate lace around the neck. Everything about it spoke of money, lots of money.

  The door to the room opened. An elegant woman entered. She wore a suit of deep brown that accented her slenderness. Her hair was the same chestnut shade, pulled into a smooth coil at the back of her head. She wore a single piece of jewelry, a smooth round stone set in a delicate wreath of gold. The stone was an opal, a rich brown and gold and red. That color combination was very rare. A piece that size, even unfinished, would cost as much as an engine replacement for my ship. Whoever this woman was, she belonged here. I didn't.

  She smiled, a genuine look of welcome. Her eyes, an unusual amber color, were warm as well.

  "I see you are feeling better," she commented.

  "A bit," I agreed stiffly. Who was she and why was she here?

  "Is there something you require?" she asked politely.

  I want to leave, I thought to myself. I wasn't in any shape to leave, not yet. "My clothes?"

  She smiled again, amused. "You arrived with no luggage. Do you really want your uniform back? It has been cleaned and pressed."

  I didn't know what to say. The woman had me on edge, she was so polished and perfect. I felt like a lump of mud, ratty and unkempt.

  "If you wish," she suggested, "you can access several clothing retailers from the comscreen."

  That was an awkward suggestion. They were certain to be expensive. I didn't know if I had any money, or even access to an account here. We kept most of our accounts on my ship. When I wasn't there, Lowell had funded everything or I'd been running too fast to bother.

  "Do you wish to access your accounts first?" She put it delicately, trying to spare me embarrassment.

  She fetched a hand comp from a table in the corner. She handed it to me. It was small, sleek, and more expensive than any I'd ever used. It was fully capable of accessing the planetary datanet. I tuned it in to the financial net.

  "Access account for Dace," I said, sticking my thumb on the scanning pad.

  The comp beeped to itself. "One account located," it said in a silky smooth voice. "Admiral Dace, Patrol military account. Identity confirmed. Balance calculated."

  The number displayed on the screen left me staring in shock. There were an awful lot of digits.

  "This has to be a mistake," I muttered.

  "Is something wrong?"

  A tiny blinking icon at the bottom of the screen told me a message was attached to the account. I tapped it with one fingernail. Text scrolled onto the screen. It was a listing of deposits into the account. Each entry also was tagged with a short explanation. Hazard pay, danger
bonus, admiral's salary, the list continued with variations of those three entries. The total amount of credits in the account was staggering.

  The whole account was Lowell's way of trying to soothe his guilty conscience for getting me involved.

  The woman waited, polite and patient. I had more than enough money to buy clothes, at least one outfit to get me out of here.

  "How long have I been here?" I asked.

  "Six days. Dr. Himus warned us that the pain med might make you a bit sleepy. It seems to have helped. He also warned us to keep you from pushing yourself again. Two more weeks and you should be fully recovered."

  She didn't ask how I'd injured myself. She didn't ask about any of the scars I wore.

  "You don't remember me, do you?" she said. I must have looked guilty. She laughed, a gentle sound. "You were not very awake when we met. I am Hester Logachi, Iniuri's personal assistant." She took the comp from me. "If you give me authorization, I can order clothing for you while you bathe. I assume you would prefer to bathe by yourself." Her elegant eyebrows arched in a question.

  I nodded agreement. I didn't care if she spent the money in that account. It was blood money, my blood and Lowell's guilt.

  "Can you search for someone?" I would have preferred to do it myself, but I wasn't in any shape to do it. And I was too afraid of what Tayvis might say when I did find him.

  "Certainly," she answered. "What information do you wish?"

  "I need to find him, to talk to him." Desperation must have shown in my voice.

  "Vance has been by several times, asking about you." She jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  I shook my head and regretted it as the room swayed around me. If I saw Vance, I'd kick him in places that would hurt very badly. "I need to find Malcolm Tayvis."

  "I'll see what I can do," she answered. "Name only searches rarely find much of any use."