by Michael Orr
s’Not like I’m nobody. This’z MY club. On the ASHERAH!
She forced a smile at a cluster of nearby faces and, naked as her stage required, threaded her way into the mix. There could be no better tonic to nurse her back from the abyss of insignificance.
EFS ARCTICA – ALLIANCE SPACE – APR 30, 2371
“Surprising, how many Alliance reps make their way aboard.” Jerrett was molding himself to a chair in Arctica’s executive lounge, letting one hand rest half-cocked on the table, drink at the ready.
“You’d think they’d wanna meet on a starbase,” Walls agreed.
“They just wanna keep tabs on the kinda firepower we’ve got.”
Jerrett and Walls looked over at Major Cannis with all the dismissiveness two snifters each could provide.
“Why the hell would they care about our tech?” Walls challenged.
Cannis shrugged. “Jus’ checkin’ up.”
“Y’know...” Jerrett exhaled the fumes of his latest mouthful, “they could be plantin’ surveillance. We’ve always wondered if their gear goes undetected.”
Walls smiled into his glass. “Says the spook.”
“And what’s your take?” Cannis’s tilted glass called the senior section head out.
“Now I’m thinkin’ about it,” Walls resettled himself into exactly the same posture as before, “maybe the Admiralty likes the way we represent. Arctica gives good face. You name a starbase that puts as good a spin on the fleet as we do.”
Cannis only raised his unibrow, making a tactical retreat to the refuge of another gulp (majors didn’t sip).
How different this is from Intel, Jerrett reflected. And even from my earlier ships.
What was it? Did making a ship the fleet’s flagship cause some kind of shift in its culture? He leaned in to wave his brandy over the table’s open flame and came to a conclusion:
Captain Yusuf was a man who wore his confidence with a certain grace that filtered down through the ranks, giving the whole ship an air of high-functioning ease. It occurred to Jerrett, perhaps for the first time in his career, that a leader truly set the tone for his organization. Someone with Yusuf’s faith in himself allowed everyone beneath him to cultivate the same sense of unassuming competence. It made for a lead ship that represented Earth in the most flattering way.
He shot Walls with a finger-gun. “Think ya nailed it.”
“Not invizi-tech?” Walls mocked happily.
“And that.” Jerrett raised his glass and even Cannis joined in.
“Der Teufel’s Brigada.” LCOL Harriman angled over to their table in the conspicuous absence of a drink, obviously fresh from elsewhere.
“You’re outta uniform, sir.” Cannis held out his own glass for reference, but a properly-equipped steward was already on his way. Harriman donned the smile of a gamester.
“Only three cards?”
“Just we three jacks.” Walls raised a stillborn toast and the others reluctantly rolled into the new mood.
“Then I’m obliged to trump.” Harriman nodded at the hovering steward, who brought over another chair.
“Got news from Mister Leyne.” The colonel took his seat and aimed the comment at Jerrett, who sat up at the mention. “Turns out, there’s more than one Hwarak’mogk.”
Eyes met each other around the table as Harriman went on.
“Your alma mater put some major effort into capturing hull markings, and they’ve identified at least three different profiles so far.”
“That changes things,” Jerrett said, figuring Harriman’s mention of ‘major’ meant his buddy Rev had done the heavy lifting.
“We goin’ ta readiness, sir?” asked Cannis, getting a head shrug from his boss.
“Not as yet, but it can’t be far off. My guess is, they’re keepin’ this on a low boil so’z not ta tip our hand.”
“Where the hell’d these things come from, anyway?” Walls interjected. “Any word on that, Colonel?”
“Not so far.” Harriman settled deeper into his chair. “But it’s only two months since our Mister Nash found out who they were in the first place.”
Jerrett was careful to hide his pleasure at the credit. Everyone knew he’d only been doing his job at Alliance Central, but this mention was soaring recognition from the fleet’s most senior lieutenant colonel.
20
* * *
ESS ASHERAH – SAIPH SYSTEM – MAY 1, 2371
Her shift passed quickly, and now Trish was stepping unaccompanied through Asherah’s passenger zones in the wee hours. Steering clear of the movers, she made her way on foot through the first sublevel beneath the public streets, relying on nav panels to guide her.
She’d never been here before and regretted her decision to cover up in a wrap like she’d gone to a pool. It might’ve been convincing were it not for the suicide heels and the fact that this wasn’t how passengers traveled. She looked very out of place, but it was all background noise against the prospect of meeting Sir Arik.
“Easy, chica. Mellllooooowwww.” She tried to keep her rampaging pulse in check. “Act like you’ve been there before.”
The sublevel lobby to Sir Arik’s tower was just ahead, and she strolled in trying to seem at home — all for nothing, considering it was unstaffed. Fortunately, his suite occupied a tower with public venues. Had he been in a residential-only tower, her staff bioscan would’ve denied her access.
She stepped into a waiting lift and was shocked. It was pure aristocracy, with a floor of high-gloss black marble and gold-mirrored walls framed by ornate metalwork. The lift began its ascent, and with each passing floor images of classical artworks came and went like ghosts in the golden mirrors.
Two-thirds of the way up, the doors opened onto a sumptuous foyer done in alabaster with tasteful touches of gold-veined black marble trim.
“Gawd, just this entry alone is bigger than my whole cabin.” She stood marveling at how the one percent lived. Then, goaded on by her passions, she unwrapped herself and left the discarded gauze hanging on the decorative drying rack. Swimsuits and towels were no longer made of fabrics that required drying out, but traditions died hard.
Adorned in nothing now but heels and a sheer pink frill that started at her sex and coiled up her body to bare one breast, she reached for the gong and recoiled slightly when the door hissed open instead.
She peeked in. “Milord Bergeron?”
The suite sprawled out before her in ancient Etruscan style, with archways leading to who-knew-where. The walls were rough-hewn from stone, with coarse brickwork on the borders and edges. Intricate strings of beads dangled in front of tantalizingly shadowed passageways, and the expansive main salon took on the feel of a relaxed flat furnished with comforting things in sleek and tactile textures.
“Entrez, mademoiselle,” hailed a sultry tenor voice from the balcony. Trish cautiously made her way inside, feeling desperately bare amidst the traces of his cologne.
“Annnd attired for the occasion.” Sir Arik crossed the distance casually, indulging his open interest.
“It’s not too much?” She toyed with the upper reaches of her lace. “I can lose something...”
“Not at all. A hint of mystery becomes a woman,” he teased, enjoying his own entendres. Sir Arik was a touch older than his holo suggested, which suited Trish nicely. Dressed in fine Tudor fashion, he managed to give the dark wine breeches and plum poet shirt dignity despite dripping from his lithe form like decorative frosting.
Long dark hair draped down his back, and trendy asymmetrical bangs framed his genteel oval face, matched in relief by a machiavellian goatee and tapering chin strap.
The ensemble imbued his dark eyes with an impious intensity that caused Trish to drown in her appetites.
“Besides,” he continued, aware of his effect on the gazing girl, “we’re on approach ta Saiph Four an’ I thought we might watch planetfall.”
Trish melted into his hand. “That’d be lovely.”
Far forward on As
herah, a chirpy young ensign looked up from the Security desk to find herself under the scrutiny of a vision.
“Um...hi,” her voice dripped. “Can I help you?”
“Hi. Yeah...I think one of your employees is in danger.”
“Danger?” She almost scoffed. “What kinda–”
“I have reason t’believe there’s gonna be an attempt to kidnap Trisha Thierry sometime tonight.”
“Mmmister...Alaan?” The ensign consulted her screem, not sure how to respond. Teague recognized the reaction. Switched on his lens just because. This chick rated high.
“I don’t have any credentials, but this’z sump’m you really need ta follow up on. I’m not here as a prank. I’ll talk to whoever I hafto.”
On Asherah’s bridge, her three co-captains readied themselves for the complexities of settling into the assigned station above Virris. Saiph’s only habitable planet was a staging point for Alliance traffic and made for an intricate orbit best left to the NEVA AI.
“Virris Control is redirecting us to orbit station eighty-one-C,” NEVA announced. “Employing minimal G-drive along with thrusters to better avoid local obstacles.”
“Alright NEVA, but keep it sharp,” acknowledged Asherah’s Inuit junior captain. “Less is more in these cramped quarters.”
Her more senior counterparts’ silence meant tacit agreement.
“Understood,” the AI acknowledged.
The captains monitored NEVA’s actions closely, ready to intervene as needed even though that hadn’t been necessary since Asherah’s early space trials. On screen, the scope revealed Asherah as an immense geometrical solid dwarfing the surrounding contacts by an order of magnitude. No lone person would have been able to keep track of them all, which was why the scope was divided up. Each captain was responsible for one third, and they sat side-by-side monitoring their individual holoscreens up above the fray of junior officers, who tended to ship’s systems under the watchful eyes of executive staff.
It was a unique arrangement adopted as the most effective way to make decisions that would impact a quarter-million people. Asherah’s designers realized the old model of forcing captains to manage a ship through indirect chains of command would expose the Asherah to risks for which there was too much at stake.
This innovative arrangement meant the captains led the way with the most immediate information, and their staff followed along as support rather than the other way around. The experimental pump-priming approach to command was proving superior to the traditional trickle-down philosophy. And as with all things ‘Asherah’, it was practiced in luxury.
Inside the forward-facing dome of the main bridge at Asherah’s bow, the command crew worked in surroundings that had more in common with a living room than a command center. Bulkheads paneled with calming wood were trimmed with brushed pewter, and lush oblong planters fed by quietly burbling fountains provided greenery to divide work areas, all of it resting on floors dressed in Goddess-blue carpet.
Since voyages of a month or more were routine, every effort was made to bring Earth along for the ride and keep everyone aboard feeling as comfortable and at home as possible, including employees. The bridge, in particular, was so nicely appointed that it was dubbed ‘the salon’.
Outside in Virris’s orbital space, alien crews on nearby vessels stopped and watched as the giant newcomer threaded through the haystack of Alliance traffic and fitted itself into place among them. The many races comprising the Orion Alliance were no strangers to massive ships, but the Asherah was gigantic even for them. And the fact that it belonged to the upstart Terrans made it even more the spectacle. Looking on always carried with it the sense of keeping score, as if with each planefall the humans were likely to overreach themselves and blunder into catastrophe.
“Assigned station achieved,” NEVA reported. “One-hundred-three objects avoided and sixty-five proximity alerts registered, with no collisions. File incident reports with Virris Control?”
“Only if requested,” the Inuit captain instructed. “Nicely done.”
“Maintain S.O.P.,” her Nordic male counterpart called out, signaling ‘all clear’ to the relieved bridge.
Beside him, the senior captain, a petite Baltic woman in her upper fifties, took up the ship-to-shore according to tradition:
“Virris Control, Asherah is on station and available for commerce. Thanks for finding room.”
#Confirmed, Asherah,# came the alien reply. #Welcome back, and enjoy your stay.#
The planet was now officially open to Asherah’s tourists.
I shouldn’t be here. Trish stood at the sliding door of Sir Arik’s impressive balcony, with the purple glow from overhead Virris illuminating her pale skin. I am so not gonna escape this one. But look at him! This ain’t just any ol’ Tudor. He’s a Tudor god!
And, I even get t’see planetfall from a royal suite.
The view was stunning. Not just the sight of Virris eclipsing the sky, but the view of Mumbai district as well. Towers spread out before her like a forest so thick she couldn’t see to the front of the ship.
Mumbai’s lofty spires were designed to mirror the space around them, becoming nearly invisible like a phantom city revealed only by its edges in partial silhouette. This was a noble’s cruising experience.
“Ever had a sauterne?” her host called from inside the suite.
She didn’t look away from the view. “What’s that?”
“Mmmmm...” A low purr reached Trish’s ears as Sir Arik considered his response. “Something you’ll like.”
The sound of pouring, then an arm wrapped around her waist bearing a silver chalice pooled with golden liquid. Trish turned to face him, holding the cup with both hands.
He searched her eyes. “Ever been ta Saiph Four?”
“Mm-hmmm.” She took a sip. “But don’t let them hear ya call it that. They insist on ‘Virris’.”
There was a moment. A shared breath. Then it passed.
“So, what should I call you, milord?”
“How ’bout ‘Arik’?” He toyed with one strand of her bangs. Not much later, he was seated on the couch with Trish’s full glory before him.
“Front or back, Milord Arik?” she teased, feeling the wine.
Arik lost himself in Trish’s side-to-side sway, like a cobra dancing to a charmer’s flute. “Hmmm...?”
“Want me ta dance facing you, or facing away?”
Her voice was cloaked in giggles and Arik leaned back into the cushions.
“I hafta choose?”
“’Course not, milord.” She grinned. “Youuu can have it all...”
“Just what I always wanted.”
21
* * *
ESS ASHERAH – SAIPH SYSTEM – MAY 1, 2371
“Oh, you’re exactly what’s on order,” Arik decided, watching Trish dance a slow seduction. “I wanna show you something.” He got up and led her across the suite, handing her onto a spiral staircase.
“I didn’t realize there was another floor,” Trish slurred. The wine was having more of an effect than she expected.
“All royal suites are lofts,” he said with satisfaction.
She took the steps carefully, glancing back every so often to assure herself of his proper interest. At the top, she stepped into what could’ve been a natural cave, with a flickering glow from the candles at the far end. Arik’s arrival behind her nudged her deeper in until she discovered a large wheel erected against the shadowy far wall. It wasn’t hard to grasp the situation.
“Seriously?” She eyed her host, who took on a whole new level of delicious in the flickering candlelight.
“You strike me as the adventurous type.” He met her wariness with aristocratic confidence. “I’m not wrong.”
“Well...” She bit her lip, not quite sure why she wasn’t more troubled. “Who’m I ta say ‘no’ to a lord?”
She unwrapped the pink frill and made for the wheel, making sure her movements were up to the sultry moment.
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“Before you do that...” Arik aimed his gaze at her shoes.
“Everything off?” she guessed, perching on a handy outcropping to slip off her heels. Then, as bare as the day she was born and bewildered by her own brazenness, she stationed herself facing him from within the wheel and waited while the self-adjusting restraints clapped into place around her outstretched limbs.
Sir Arik came close, plumbing her eyes. Studying.
Trish was all trembles, overwhelmed by the situation. It was one thing presenting herself for a dance, but being shackled into place was way beyond ‘act like you’ve been there before’. And yet, what should have been fear wasn’t. Something was keeping it from taking over.
“It must be perplexing, even to you.” Arik’s voice was soft and low. “A girl of your calibre — charms enough t’bring your race to their knees, but you so eagerly surrender yourself to this...” He gestured at himself as if to bow. “Is it because you call him ‘lord’? Or that you find him more beautiful than yourself?”
He bent forward, touching his forehead to hers and she strained toward him like a flower reaching for the sun.
“It’s subtler than that,” he answered himself. “More about you than about him.”
“Arrrrrik...” she exhaled as he pulled away.
“You’d give him anything. Your flesh and free will. Any sexual act he could invent. Allow him...” He reconsidered. “No, not ‘allow’...crave him to impregnate you. You’d stay like this for a lifetime if he would dote on you and you alone.”
“Forrreverrr...” she slurred.
He stepped farther back with his hand lingering on her cheek. “Alas, hopeful girl, he’s but a phantom of your own desires. The reality is something simpler...”
The beautiful face and form of her dream melted away into the bony aquatic features of a shapeshifting Kuxxin.
Trish went cold. Would’ve tumbled to the floor on watery knees but for the restraints.
“It’s alright to scream,” he assured her, reaching an elongated limb over to a tray waiting in shadow. “Royal suites’re soundproofed.”