Val kept herself from giving Gregor any kind of significant look. She doubted he was thinking about how easy it would be to pop over for a visit with nothing but a blanket wrapped around him. She wasn’t sure why it popped into her mind. “Works for me. I’m surprised I won’t have to share a room.” Surprised and relieved. She would happily sleep in a musty mining cave if it meant she didn’t have to put up with her randy roommate—and her bed partners.
The expression Zimmerman gave her was so dark that Val stepped back, trying to figure out what she had said that could be offensive. “There are many empty rooms here,” Zimmerman said. “And in the other bases.”
The unspoken meaning of the woman’s words sank in. They must have lost many people in this war over the years.
Val thought about apologizing, but didn’t know what she could say that wouldn’t make the situation more uncomfortable. She sighed, walked into her room, and sat on the edge of a bed slightly nicer than a cot. It lacked sheets, a big shaggy white fur blanket folded at the bottom the only covering offered. The fur looked real, and she wondered what animal it had come from. Something big. Something that wandered around on the glaciers. The walls didn’t have a thermostat, nor were there any vents that suggested the room could be heated. Given that her breath fogged the air when she breathed, she hoped that fur was as warm as it looked.
She yawned. She had no idea what time it was back on the Albatross, but it felt like she had been up for days. The idea of crawling under the fur sounded delightful, sheets or not.
“Yes, sir,” came Gregor’s voice drifting in from the hallway.
Val stood up and poked her head through the doorway, expecting the admiral to have found him. Who else would Gregor be sir-ing down here? But he was pacing, with his hands clasped behind his back, and responding to his comm patch.
“I have some limited engineering knowledge and will do my best to make a proper assessment, but Lieutenant Granger or one of the more skilled mechanics would be most welcome if you can get one of them down here. I’ve also been asked to help defend the base in one of their fighters while the admiral is here. The Orenkans are aware of his presence, yes.”
Gregor had been asked to help fly? By Zimmerman? Val thumped a fist softly against the cold stone doorjamb. Why hadn’t she been asked? Did they know she was a pilot? Wouldn’t Gregor have volunteered that information? Maybe he didn’t think her up to the task of flying one of the antiquated fighters. It would be outside of her realm of recent experience, but she had flown fighters in the academy; they hadn’t been the same model, but they should handle similarly. And, damn it, she needed her chance to prove that she could fly in combat situations.
With Gregor’s back to Val, she couldn’t hear the responses from the speaker on the other side, but she thought she recognized Captain Mandrake’s gruff voice.
“Yes, sir,” Gregor said again. “I understand that it’s not our war and that our task is done, but we’re in a tenuous position. If I don’t help defend the base, we may not survive long enough to get the shuttle fixed. The Orenkans know Summers is here, and they’re focusing more energy than usual on this facility.”
Even as he finished the sentence, a distant boom reverberated through the mountain, and the earth shuddered. Gregor turned to pace in the other direction. Feeling as if she had been eavesdropping, Val almost ducked back into her room, but they were talking about a fate she shared, not gossiping about lovers. She wanted to hear it.
“…send someone,” the captain was saying. “If it’s as bad as you say, they may need an escort to get in. Stay alive.”
“Yes, sir.” Gregor tapped his patch to end the transmission and looked up, meeting Val’s eyes.
“They’re sending help?” she asked.
“Yes, most likely when night falls on our half of the planet. The Albatross has taken damage, and the captain wanted to extricate the ship as soon as possible. Our employers have promised an added bonus of diamonds in addition to the electronic payment we’ve already received, if Mandrake Company remains another week, but it’s a quagmire of enemy activity out there currently. I think he’d prefer to leave while we can. He’s not optimistic that Summers alone will be able to turn this war around.”
From what little she had seen, Val wasn’t, either. “You’re sure they won’t leave us?” The thought of having to find some way to sneak off the planet on their own was a daunting one, especially if their shuttle couldn’t be repaired. Most of the craft in the hangar weren’t space worthy, so couldn’t get them to the moon base, nor would she want to entertain stealing a ship from people so desperately in need of what resources they had left.
“I am a valuable member of the ship’s crew,” Gregor said.
“Strange how that didn’t actually answer my question.”
“They will not leave us.”
“Because you’re invaluable.” Val didn’t mean to look and sound so dubious—or maybe that came out as sarcastic—but Gregor picked up on it.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Even if I weren’t, shuttles are expensive. Even with the mission’s earnings for the last couple of days, the company would have a net loss for the week if the craft were not recovered.”
“Oh, good.”
Gregor’s brows twitched.
“I mean, I’m glad there are so many solid reasons to believe that we won’t be abandoned here.”
“Yes.” Gregor looked past her. “Your room is adequate?”
“I think the nights are going to be cold, but I’m sure the situation could be worse.”
Another shudder coursed through the earth—someone was timing those bombings well. Or maybe it was just that there were so many of them now that they were guaranteed to punctuate most sentences.
“My bed has an extra blanket,” Gregor said. “You may visit me if you require further warmth.”
“From the blanket? Or from you?” Val sighed at herself. She had known what he was offering and should have simply given him a thank-you, but her devious tongue was always betraying her by responding to innuendos, even when they weren’t intended.
“Pardon?”
Should she explain or say never mind? The latter probably, but sometime in the last twenty-four hours, she had started finding that faintly puzzled expression of his endearing, and she wanted to explain, to make him understand people better, or maybe just to understand her quirky humor. Not that it should matter. Did commanding officers need to understand the humor of their subordinates? “I thought you might be suggesting we spend the night snuggling for warmth. So we won’t be in danger of freezing. Again.”
“Ah, I understand. I do not believe that will be required. The blankets are thick and the temperature is approximately seven degrees Celsius.”
“Good to know.”
With his brow still slightly crinkled, he gazed toward the bed, then toward her. Thoughtfully? Maybe he had figured out what she was suggesting.
However, when he spoke, all he said was, “Pilot Zimmerman has asked me to assist her in defending the compound. I will be leaving shortly to do so. These bombings are troublesome, as the defense grid can’t withstand them indefinitely, and the mountain itself will succumb if the shield generator goes down. I would like you to begin a preliminary assessment of the damage of the shuttle, in order to give it to the team that comes down from the Albatross.”
Val took a long breath, reining in her tongue before she could blurt—whine—that she wanted to help with the defenses too. “I can do that, sir.” She actually did have extensive experience with repairs—if not combat-related repairs—since she had flown alone so often and hadn’t had the luxury of calling a mechanic when a light on the control panel came on. “But I would appreciate it if you would let Zimmerman know that I could also be available to help with defenses if she has a fighter that needs a pilot.” There, a calm and reasonable statement. No whining.
“You wish to go up in combat on your own? I would be too busy fighting to observe you to see if you need assistance.�
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“I would like to show you that I don’t need assistance.” Val tamped down her pride and kept herself from arguing further on her own behalf. In truth… he was right. With her limited combat experience, it would be more responsible of her to go up in a controllable situation or in a craft that had an auxiliary helm so a more experienced pilot could take over. Getting herself killed out there wouldn’t help her get the job. She grimaced, waiting for him to point out the recklessness of her suggestion.
“I see. You wish to prove yourself in battle. Yes, I understand this desire well. I will tell Pilot Zimmerman.”
Val sank against the doorjamb, some of the tension ebbing from her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Please also look at the shuttle. Defending the base is important, but our priority must be regaining flight capability for the craft.”
“I know. I will.”
Gregor took a step, but paused to look into her eyes for a few seconds, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “Good.”
When he walked off, Val was somewhat bemused, wondering what that had been for. An attempt to share some sense of camaraderie with her? To let her know they were in this together and they would do their best to find a way out of the situation? With him, who could guess?
She gave her bed a wistful look, then headed off to hunt for diagnostic equipment. Or maybe, given the sophistication she had witnessed in this place so far, a monkey wrench.
9
Gregor walked into the hangar with a helmet under his arm and wearing a flight suit he had been told had belonged to a dead man. An inevitable part of war. He wondered if it was cosmically inconsiderate of him to begrudge that the previous owner had been narrow in the shoulders and small in the crotch. Fortunately, he wouldn’t be walking much in the suit, only sitting harnessed in a cockpit. A cockpit in a flyer that wouldn’t be pressurized and in which he would feel every g of force during the high-speed turns. It had been a while since he had flown such a craft, but he had undergone g-tolerance training in the last year and was confident in his ability to maneuver and fight up there for an extended period of time.
Several men and women in pilots’ uniforms were gathered around the fighters, and he headed over to join them. Admiral Summers must have finished his meeting, because he was standing nearby with a short slender man who was clutching a tablet and a couple of old-fashioned atlases. He was gesticulating as he spoke to the admiral, and he dropped the books twice in the minute it took Gregor to walk across the hangar.
Squadron Leader Zimmerman jogged out of a tunnel and headed for the group, as well. Admiral Summers stepped into her path, lifting a hand to stop her. She frowned but halted. “Sir?”
Gregor couldn’t hear the admiral’s words, but Zimmerman glanced in his direction. A feeling he didn’t experience often formed in the pit of his stomach. Dread. Was Summers saying something about him? Something derogatory? From another person, that notion wouldn’t have disturbed Gregor at all, but he wanted… he wasn’t sure. For some reason Summers’s opinion mattered.
Zimmerman seemed to be arguing now, her hand gestures abrupt as she pointed to the fighters and then to Gregor. The admiral shook his head and walked away, snapping his fingers for the small man with the books to follow.
Zimmerman scowled after him, then walked over to Gregor. “Thank you for suiting up and being ready to fly with us, but Admiral Summers doesn’t want you going up with my squadron.”
Gregor stared at the admiral’s back, more puzzled than angry. “Why not?”
It must have something to do with the flight down. Even though he had gotten the admiral here in one piece, it hadn’t been the smoothest ride. Early in the flight, Summers had complimented his flying acumen, but once they had reached the mountains, Gregor had nearly lost the shuttle and all of their lives when that cloaked ship had appeared out of nowhere. Was Summers deeming him unfit to help, based on that?
Zimmerman’s lips twisted. “You’re a mercenary.”
“Yes, but that has always been the case. My company was hired to work with you, and your people are clearly understaffed.”
“He said you were communicating with your ship a short while ago and that he found it unsettling that your captain wishes to pull out.”
Gregor didn’t know what to say to this disclosure that one of Summers’s people had been eavesdropping on his conversation. Gregor hadn’t said anything derogatory, but the captain had expressed his disbelief that Summers would be able to turn things around. Could that have gotten the admiral’s hackles up?
“This is true,” Gregor said, “because Mandrake Company has done what it was paid to do. However, my comrade and I are unable to leave until a team comes down to repair the shuttle. We can be of assistance in the meantime.” He pointed toward the ceiling overhead. Not many minutes had passed since the last bomb dropped. “It is in our interest to defend the base, which contains ourselves and our shuttle, until we may depart.” There. That was a logical argument, the only kind he liked to make. It would not make sense to object to it.
“Yes, I told him as much, but he’s justifying his decision by saying that, because you’re a mercenary, you could easily be bought by the enemy and cause trouble for us up there. With your skills, a lot of trouble.”
Gregor wished he were better at reading people’s expressions. Zimmerman appeared irked, but he was not certain whether it was at this new possibility the admiral had schemed up or at the admiral himself. “I have not spoken with your enemy.” If someone was monitoring his communications, that would be apparent. Unless the Malbakians had spies on the base, it was illogical to suppose he could have been hired in the hour that he had been here.
“I believe you, and I think—” Zimmerman glanced toward Summers, who had sat down at a desk against the wall and was going over those atlases, and lowered her voice. “I think it’s idiocy. I looked you up; I know who you are. I want you up there, trust me. And the base commander—everyone on the council—looked up Mandrake Company before choosing you. We know you’re not the type of people who accept one contract, then jump sides at the end or when things are looking bad.”
“That is correct.”
“Nonetheless, I have to defer to Admiral Summers in this.” Her mouth twisted again—an expression of displeasure, that much Gregor knew. “In all things. He’s our last hope here. We’re all holding our breath, hoping he’ll pull magic out of his ass.”
A rumble started overhead, great exhaust fans in the ceiling being powered up. The fighters would take off soon.
Zimmerman glanced up. “I’ll talk to the commander about this. Maybe you can come with us next time.” She patted Gregor on the arm, then jogged over to join her squadron.
As the men and women climbed into the cockpits and the ground crew finished checking the fighters, Gregor walked across the hangar to the Mandrake Company shuttle. There was little else he could do. He knew his face was wistful—and maybe a little hurt—as he gazed over his shoulder at the first fighter rolling toward the tunnel that led outside, but he couldn’t find the energy to muster a more stoic facade. As he had already acknowledged, the admiral’s lack of faith in him stung, more than it should have. He should simply accept it as a fact of life he had learned ago: few people operated logically and pragmatically. But he had expected more from a legend. And he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way that he could prove himself dependable.
No, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t his war. He would help Val with the shuttle assessment instead.
Gregor was surprised to find her standing at the top of the ramp, a tablet in hand and a toolbox at her feet, looking in his direction. Something about the concerned expression on her face made his gut knot up in a tangle of emotions: embarrassment that she had witnessed his forlorn gaze, pleasure that she cared enough to feel concern for him, and a hard-to-describe sense of longing that so often arose when she was nearby. It was more than lust; it was a desire that went beyond physical need—though he admitted that was
there too. The feeling had been particularly intense of late, since that kiss in the freezer. No, even before then. At some point during this mission together, Val had stopped looking at him like a mutant and had started looking at him like a human being. One who maybe even mattered to her. And it made him want her more.
“He’s an ass,” Val said by way of greeting.
Gregor paused at the base of the ramp, surprised by her bluntness. “Admiral Summers is a brilliant tactician and has saved many military units from certain doom.”
“So he’s a brilliant ass.” Val scowled across the hanger at the admiral. “It’s not as if you can’t be one without the other. Lots of smart people think they’re better than everyone else. Some are better at not showing it than others, because they don’t want to be ostracized, but maybe when you get into a position with that much power, you stop caring if the people around you figure out how you really feel.”
Warmth kindled behind Gregor’s cheeks. Logically, he knew she was talking about Summers, but might she not mean some of those words for him, as well? “Some smart people may not believe themselves better than their peers but simply struggle to understand them and fit into their world. A history of failed social encounters can numb a person to the possibility of anything other than a life of ostracized isolation.” Gregor realized he was quoting something one of the army counselors had said to him once and felt foolish. He wasn’t even trying to defend Admiral Summers at that point. He didn’t have any idea about the man’s past or history of social encounters. All he wanted was for Val to know that he didn’t think he was superior to anyone. Especially her. He willed her to understand that.
She was looking at him now, instead of at the admiral. She set her tablet down on the toolbox and stepped off the ramp in front of him. “You’re not an ass, Gregor.” She smiled up at him and laid a hand on his forearm. “I admit it took me a while to figure that out.”
Strange, but he seemed to feel the heat of her hand even through the heavy material of the flight suit. His imagination most likely, but that didn’t stop him from wishing she would touch more of him. Her words from the hallway flooded back into his mind, her suggestion that they could share a bed to stay warm. He had almost missed her meaning there, but then it had smacked him like water splashed on the face. He hadn’t been able to do anything but stare back and forth from Val to the bed, wondering over and over if he had understood her correctly, that she wanted to have intercourse with him. Images had flashed through his mind of himself pulling her into the bedroom, slamming the door shut, and carrying her to the bed so that they could experience a joyous and vigorous union together.
Mandrake Company- The Complete Series Page 40