A crew member walked past and asked Calvin what he was doing. Calvin knew there was no point in hiding, and no way to truly disguise the fact that he was accessing the mainframe—and in attempting to do so he would only encourage further suspicion. So he pretended as if nothing was out of the ordinary whatsoever.
“Just sending a message,” said Calvin with complete nonchalance.
“You can do that from the bridge, mate,” said the crewman. Calvin didn’t even turn his head to see the other man, he just kept at the task at hand.
“Bridge is too crowded,” said Calvin. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Aye.”
“Then you’d better get to it and stop harassing me, or else Reginald will hear of it.”
This seemed to work and the crewman left. That was one of the benefits of being in the field surrounded by civilians, they didn’t have the security-mindedness and suspicion that was drilled into military professionals from the very beginning.
He combed through the last of the available logs and, while he did find an extensive shipping history and learned that Reginald had a strange obsession with cheese—with over forty communiques exchanged with cheese suppliers and distributers over the last two months—there was no indication that he was overtly or discretely in contact with anyone who might be interested in capturing Kalila.
Calvin would have liked to do a further, more thorough examination, but he was apprehensive about leaving Kalila alone and out of sight for too long. Especially in a foreign environment with only himself around to protect her. So he left the computer mainframe and returned to the bridge. Kalila was still there, in the captain’s chair, but now she was being chatted up by the young mercenary who’d apparently found his way back to the bridge. Calvin felt a growing wave of dislike and suspicion toward the man. Calvin interrupted them. “Honey,” he said.
“Yes, what is it, Dear?” she looked up.
“How is everything?” he asked, he shifted his eyes back and forth, as if using them to point to the mercenary.
“All is well,” said Kalila. She seemed to understand what he was truly asking. Did she feel threatened or unsafe around the strange mercenary? Apparently she didn’t. All the same, Calvin decided to stick close to Kalila for the rest of the journey. It wouldn’t be a comfortable couple of hours, but at least it would be over soon.
Chapter 11
“Shouldn’t we be coordinating with Second Lieutenant Vargas and arranging for resupply and repair?” asked Cassidy. She sat at the ops position with her chair slightly turned so she could face Summers at the command position
“Yes and we will,” said Summers. She knew Cassidy was only raising a valid concern and not directly challenging the orders she’d been given. “But not before we carry out our current orders.”
“Commander, if I may,” said Jay. “Do you really think it’s wise for us go into Polarian space like we are? No ammo to speak of, crippled armor, and most of our repair staff gone?”
“You raise a good point, Mister Cox, but so long as our stealth system is operating at capacity there won’t be a problem,” said Summers. She looked away from the helmsman and toward the defense officer. “Mister Brown, what is the status of our stealth system?” Seeing him, his giant round head and thick, stupid face, it was all she could do to suppress the involuntary gag reflex.
“Working well, Cap’n,” said Miles. He spun his chair to face her and beamed. Calvin’s final act before departing the ship had been to instate Miles as acting XO. Now that she was acting CO—at least for as long as Calvin was away—Summers originally had half a mind to demote Miles back down and raise someone else, someone more competent, to the position of acting XO. Unfortunately there were not many choices. Of those who outranked Miles, or else shared his same seniority, Lieutenant Iwate was incapacitated and in the infirmary, Lieutenant Winters was away and emotionally compromised to boot, and Second Lieutenant Vargas was off commanding the Arcane Storm. There was still Lieutenant Cowen—who Summers was truly a millimeter away from raising to the position of XO in Miles’ place—but Mister Cowen was also the ship’s chief engineer and so long as the ship was damaged and her repair crew understaffed, Summers knew Mister Cowen could not afford to be anywhere else but engineering. Which left Second Lieutenant Brown and a host of junior officers. If Summers had had her way, she would have chosen Midshipman Dupont for the position, but Cassidy was one of the lowest ranking people on the ship and instating her as acting XO violated far too many protocols for Summers to be comfortable with. So, as much as she hated it, she was stuck with that idiot Miles as her XO.
“Let me know the instant there is any sign of trouble with our stealth operations,” said Summers. “We are relying entirely on the stealth system for our safety on this mission, and so it is vital that it be kept in perfect working condition.” The Polarian border was open, and entering it wasn’t unsafe in the same sense that going into the DMZ was, but considering their destination, and what they hoped to see, Summers was sure there were powerful people out there who would gladly destroy the Nighthawk to keep their dark truths hidden. It was best for everyone if the ship remained effectively invisible throughout the mission.
“Yes, ma’am!” Miles saluted. Normally he was more antagonistic toward Summers but now that he’d been raised to Acting XO, the temporary promotion had put him into a state of jubilee and nothing seemed to bother him.
“Sir…” said Summers with a soft sigh.
“What?” asked Miles.
“In the military you address your superiors as sir, even if they are female. Always sir, never ma’am.” She didn’t know why she even bothered correcting Miles, he was certainly a lost cause.
“I’m pretty sure as the XO I can call you ma’am if I want.”
“That’s it,” Summers snapped. She shot to her feet and pointed an accusing finger at Miles, who looked surprised by her sudden movement. “You. In my office. Right now.” She spun on her heels and headed to the CO’s office, expecting Miles to follow.
Once she was inside and had taken her place at the CO’s desk, and the door had closed behind Miles, leaving the two of them alone, Summers cleared her throat. Before she could launch into what she had to say, Miles interrupted her.
“I know what this is about,” he said. “And... I’m not comfortable with it.”
“Of course you aren’t comfortable with it,” said Summers. “No officer should be comfortable with a dressing down from their commanding officer.”
“Dressing down?” he eyed her suggestively. “As in taking off clothes? I thought so. I see how you’ve been looking at me,” said Miles. “And… I can’t say I blame you,” he took a moment to pose, flexing his upper body for a moment. “But I think, now that we’re both the XO, any romance between us is probably not appropriate. So… this has to be shorter than two minutes.” He grabbed the front of his trousers, as if to unbutton them.
Summers’ eyes widened with confusion and rage. What he’d just said… she didn’t know where to begin! “No,” she said sharply, stopping him. “Don’t… ever, ever, ever, ever do that.”
“Your words say that,” said Miles. He stared at her chest for a moment then looked back at her face. “But your body says something totally different.”
“No,” she shook her head. Feeling more repulsed than she’d ever been.
“Okay so… I’m having trouble sorting through all these mixed signals you’re sending my way.”
“That,” Summers glanced at Miles’ hands which were still poised over the buttons of his trousers. “I don’t want that. No woman in the galaxy wants that. Not from you. Not ever. Is that clear?”
He looked at her with hurt puppy-dog eyes. She didn’t care. “And secondly,” she continued. “What do you mean now that we’re both the XO? We aren’t both the XO, you’re the XO.”
“Okay… so then what are you?” asked Miles.
“The CO!”
“Well…” Miles shrugged. “Not reall
y. I mean, Calvin’s the CO.”
“I am the Acting CO in his place!” You thick idiot!—she wanted to add. “And right now you are the Acting XO—because Calvin made you the acting XO—and, whether I like it or not, I’m stuck with you.”
“I guess we’re just a couple of people stuck with each other,” he gave her a dopey grin. “A couple of steamingly attractive... bored people, with nothing to do.”
Summers spoke over him. “While I am in charge I want you to understand one thing. I’m not going to tolerate any of your shit,” Summers almost couldn’t believe such an unseemly and unprofessional word had come out of her. Yet she stood by it. When dealing with Miles, professionalism and courtesy were as useless as medicine on the dead. “I need you fulfilling your duties in the XO role, as well as in the defense officer role, and I’m going to give you a chance—for Calvin’s sake—”
“Good man, that Calvin”
Shut up for two seconds! “But if you cross me, or give me even the slightest cause, I will toss your ass into the brig and leave it there to rot. Do you understand me?”
“Calvin won’t like that very much—”
“I said, do you understand me?” her eyes narrowed sharply. The intensity of her gaze seemed to disarm him and, for a moment, he looked terrified.
“Yes ma’am—err, sir. Yes, sir!”
“That’s more like it. Now shut up and get back to the defense post. Keep your eyes on that stealth system. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you unless it has to do with our stealth capability.”
***
The Ice Maiden dropped them off at Orbital Platform 203-B as agreed. When Kalila and Calvin cleared the jetway and entered the orbital station, Calvin glanced behind him to see Reginald re-sealing the airlock of his ship. He saluted Calvin once and Calvin nodded. He would have returned the salute but thought the gesture might draw attention to himself—and make him look less like a civilian. He’d given the old man his concealed pistol as thanks for the safe journey, since he couldn’t bring it through Customs, and the old man had seemed grateful.
“So far so good,” Calvin said to Kalila as the two of them entered the thick busy crowds of people. Calvin dragged the wheeled luggage bag with his right hand and took Kalila’s hand with his left, partially so she would stay close and to help sell their cover story to any curious onlooker, but he also did it because he wanted to. He liked the soft, warm feel of her seemingly tiny hand in his.
“The most dangerous part is yet to come,” she whispered back. Her words were nearly lost under the sea of ambient conversations, footsteps, and noise surrounding them.
Orbital Platform 203-B was one of seemingly countless orbital stations circling Capital World. Such stations managed and facilitated all travel to and from the planet’s surface. Since it was the most populous planet in the galaxy, the stations never slept, and the crowds never diminished. The faces changed, but there were always plenty of bodies hustling and bustling, hurriedly going about their business. Moving through Customs. Arranging travel. Many of them waited for deep space transports to ferry them to the far reaches of the Empire.
“This way,” said Calvin as he followed the signs. “Going through civilian procedures and arranging civilian transport were foreign to him, since nearly everywhere he went he did as an officer of the military and on official business, not pleasure. But, as foreign as things were to him, he was sure they were even more alien to Kalila. She’d been born an Akira, and as such had a ship at her private disposal since she was scarcely old enough to talk and say where she wanted to go.
For a couple of amateurs, though, they found their way into line and at the right end of the station easily enough.
As they waited in a host of people to be processed through Customs, Kalila freed her hand from his and wiped it once on her jeans—obviously she was unaccustomed to sweat.
For a pampered noblewoman, Kalila had surprisingly good tactical sense. She kept her head down and avoided looking people in the eyes directly, which was wise because—despite her altered appearance—she still had features that might be recognized if someone looked close enough.
“I appreciate what you’re doing,” she said quietly, as they shuffled a few paces forward in line. A voice over a loudspeaker along with station personnel in bright uniforms directed the queue of people.
“It’s my pleasure,” he said with a smile.
“You’re a good man, Calvin.”
To pass the time, and out of a desire to get to know her better, Calvin got a conversation going with Kalila. He talked to her about things she liked, and how it felt to be back, but he avoided any questions that might give away who she was, or challenge their cover story. He spoke to her like a man might his new bride, and she went right along. It made him wonder if her answers were her true thoughts and feelings, or if she were merely roleplaying the character of Ava Green.
“Gate Twenty-Three Open,” said the voice over the loudspeaker.
One of the staff members waved at them. “Next,” he motioned for them to hurry along.
Kalila took Calvin’s hand, probably to make it clear that they were together, and the two of them approached the vacant gate. A bar had been lowered to block access to the far side of the station, and a man in a security uniform with a badge on his lapel sat at a desk.
“Papers?” the security man asked.
Kalila took out their paperwork, which she’d kept in her satchel, and handed it over. The man glanced it over, checking for several things, and then put it into the computer scanner for analysis. He next instructed them on how to place their thumbs to the plate for identification, and how to stand for the retinal scanner to work. It was intuitive and obvious but Calvin supposed the staff were bound to explain it to everyone who passed through.
“State your business on Capital World,” said the man in a bored-sounding tone. Kalila placed her thumb to the plate and allowed the computer to scan her. Once she was finished, Calvin did the same.
“We live here,” said Calvin. “Home address is in the documents, and should be on file in the computer.”
It had taken some effort for them to add new information to the Imperial Network, especially without the help of the Intel Wing Archives. But, through persistence, expertise, and extreme caution, the Nighthawk’s quartermaster and Cassidy had been able to manage it. Or so they’d thought. If there was a problem, Calvin supposed he was about to find out.
The man’s eyes shifted from Calvin to Kalila, and then lingered on her for a moment. “You look sort of familiar,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
She blushed. “You might have seen us on our way out last week. We’re just getting back from our honeymoon.” She gave Calvin an adoring look, like a smitten teenager, then she reached her hands around his head and pulled him in, kissing him. The way a young, infatuated bride would kiss her brand new husband. He kissed her back, pulling her in tight. Feeling all sorts of emotions firing wildly inside him. Not the least of which was surprise.
“All right, enough of that,” barked the security man. With seeming reluctance, Kalila pulled away, leaving Calvin in a bit of a daze. Apparently embarrassed by the public display of affection, the security man avoided looking at them. Whatever spark of familiarity Kalila had struck in him seemed long extinguished, and now he just wanted to hurry them through. The computer beeped, approving of the couple’s paperwork, and the security man handed it back to them, barely making eye contact. “Up there, to the right, through the gate, and you can go to the kiosk and arrange transport from there,” he pointed. “Ask the staff in yellow if you have any questions.”
“Come on, Dear,” Kalila said, taking Calvin’s hand once more. They did as the man said and walked toward the gate, which he raised for them to pass through.
“Next,” they heard from behind.
Kalila continued holding Calvin’s hand and he pulled her close, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Not bad,” he said.
“I can think on my
feet when I need to,” she smiled up at him. He smiled back.
Booking passage was easy once they’d cleared Customs and, when the time came, they boarded a basic shuttle and took their seats. There was a constant stream of shuttles coming and going—for that matter this was probably their particular shuttle’s twentieth trip that very day, but despite all of that, there were still far more people trying to come and go than there were shuttles ready to take them. So it was quite crowded, every seat filled. Calvin let Kalila take the seat by the window and he sat next to her, separating her from the throng of other passengers—businessmen, families, all sorts of people of every age and description. They strapped in and, after a short wait, the shuttle sealed its airlock and broke free from the station.
Kalila rested her head on Calvin’s shoulder and the shuttle descended. Calvin watched the view out the tiny window as best he could. The view was mostly blue sky, white clouds, and dark ocean. But once the shuttle adjusted its course, the glittering mass of Capital World Proper came into view. It was like a shiny, massive anthill, home to billions of people. Massively tall skyscrapers that stretched into the heavens, covering seemingly every inch of the small continents. As for the oceans, they made up the lion’s share of the planet, and seemed to stretch on eternally.
They hit minor turbulence on the way down but, to her credit, the pilot kept their descent extraordinarily smooth. It took longer than Calvin would have liked; had he been at the stick he would have dived for the surface with a lot more enthusiasm. Really pointing the nose of the shuttle down and giving gravity some help with the thrust of the engines, only opening the flaps and cutting their descent when he had to. Of course that style of flying wouldn’t be suitable to most passengers here, who—based on a quick survey of them—would undoubtedly be puking their guts up.
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