“Ah, you were staring off into space. I thought that might be a sign of boredom. I’m glad to know it’s only a sign of restlessness.” Jamie smiled.
“I was just thinking of something.” Someone, rather. Aside from the combat mission—and her overnight dreaming—she hadn’t seen much of Gregor that day. She had donned one of the blouses he objected to—even though his gaze often drifted down to her chest when she wore it—in the hope that he might come by to ogle her. Even if they had made a good flight team, both that morning and the day before, he hadn’t been quite the same around her since the admiral’s accusation. She could only assume that he had believed it. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what to say to him to prove it wasn’t true.
“Hand me the scanner, please,” Jamie said.
Val fished in the toolbox. While she was digging around, she noticed a knot of people gathering in the center of the hangar. Commander Anstrider was there, as was Zimmerman. Val was tempted to run over and see what was going on, but Admiral Summers strode out of a tunnel and headed for the group. Maybe it was cowardly, but Val didn’t want to chance receiving any more snide comments from him. Besides, she had a toolbox to hold. She plopped the scanner into Jamie’s hand.
“What’s going on over there?” Jamie pointed the tool toward the gathering.
What had started as quiet voices were growing louder, some even rising to excited whoops. Smiling people gesticulated, many waving toward the admiral. A couple of cocksure souls even touched his shoulder or sleeve. He stood there with a smug expression on his face, basking in their attention. Adulation? It wasn’t quite that extreme, but even the base commander was smiling at him.
“I’m guessing someone’s tectonic bomb worked,” Val grumbled. She shouldn’t grumble. She should be happy for the people, even if the idea had come from someone who considered her about as ethical as a mass murderer.
“They made an earthquake?” Jamie asked.
Val looked up at her. She’d had to have Gregor explain a tectonic bomb to her. Jamie didn’t look old enough to have graduated from college, but she was proving to be bright. Val hoped her boss or business co-owner, whatever the relationship was, realized that and would encourage the young woman to do more than run around after a pack of mercenaries. Not that some of those mercenaries weren’t intelligent, too; but someone with a galaxy of options spread before her might choose a different career for herself.
“That was the plan, I hear,” Val said.
A spiky-haired head peeked around the corner of the shuttle. “New person gets dinner for everyone, right?”
“I’m busy,” Jamie said.
The man—Lieutenant Sparks—smirked up at her. “I was talking about our trainee pilot.”
Val sighed at the same time as Jamie brightened.
“Oh,” Jamie said. “Yes, I like that rule much more now.”
Val set down the toolbox. “I’ll get you people food, but only because I know where the kitchen is and you don’t.”
“Whatever brings the ribs and potato hash,” Sparks said.
“You’re delusional if you think you’re getting anything that fancy. These people live in tunnels and have been at war for decades.”
“Oh? What do they have to eat then?”
“Yesterday, I enjoyed a mushroom burger. With a condiment made from mushrooms. The bun also had a vaguely mushroom flavor. I understand their wheat flour is cut with a dried fungal powder.”
Sparks’s upper lip curled and his nostrils flared. “Maybe some rations from the other shuttle would be fine.”
“I’ll see what I can find.” Val walked toward the other Mandrake Company craft. She had left her jacket in it earlier, anyway, and even if she had somewhat acclimated to the subterranean chill, it was still cold. Earlier, she had been carrying heavy things from one shuttle to another for the engineers, but now she was noticing the temperature again.
“…have a lot of work left to do,” Admiral Summers was saying as she walked past the back of the crowd. It was a long walk since Frog had parked the other shuttle near the fighters. It would likely go out with them again if the pilots were called to defend the base. “I know you’re all weary of this war, but I hope I can continue to bring a perspective the Orenkans aren’t expecting, and that their defeat is near.”
Another round of cheers went up. From annoying interloper to hero in less than twenty-four hours…
No, that wasn’t true. They had wanted him all along. They just hadn’t been impressed by his attitude. That had changed now, clearly. Well, they could keep him and their war. Even if this mission had afforded her an opportunity to practice flight skills that she hadn’t used in years, Val couldn’t wait to escape the planet. She would happily fetch food for the engineers if it would get them out of there sooner.
When she swung up onto the ramp, she happened to glance toward the gathering again. Her step faltered when she spotted Anstrider pointing in her direction as she spoke to Summers. What was that about? She hadn’t done anything that should cause her to be singled out. Not for anything bad, anyway. She had helped them defend their base twice now.
Val continued up the ramp. Maybe they were talking about the shuttlecraft or the mercenary team in general.
She opened one of the storage bins in the wall and poked through the shelf-stable food options, a variety of wrapped bars with such appetizing names as “meatloaf log” and “bison log.” Sadly, they were tastier than the food the poor locals were eating. Though she supposed in time—a great deal of time—one might develop a taste for the various mushroom-based entrees.
Heavy boot steps sounded on the ramp, and Val turned, expecting Jamie or one of the others, figuring they might have decided to select their logs personally. But it wasn’t any of them.
Admiral Summers stopped at the top of the ramp. Val peered past him, looking for Anstrider or maybe Zimmerman, but he was alone. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Not exactly blocking the exit, but it occurred to her that she would have a tough time running past him if she needed to escape.
Then she snorted at herself, not sure why the ridiculous thought had come to mind. He was a sixty-year-old respected admiral, not some homicidal murderer.
“Are you looking for Commander Thatcher?” Val asked.
“No.”
“Because I’m sure he’d appreciate it if you had something nice to say about his piloting skills. He’s done everything the mercenaries were hired to do and more, yet you treat him like he’s a criminal. Sir.” That tacked-on sir didn’t manage to make the rest of her words sound more respectful. Why was she lecturing him? Aside from the fact that he irritated her and she wasn’t technically under his command, so she felt she could? Or maybe it was more that she was on the defensive around him and figured she might as well be abrasive from the start, so she wouldn’t appear… vulnerable if he said something snide again. It was easier to deflect blows when one was ready for a fight.
“He shouldn’t have left the military if he wanted my respect,” Summers said.
“I see. Respect is only for soldiers. Nobody else in the galaxy is worthy of it.”
“Not many.” He smirked at her. “You’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?”
Feisty thing? Alarm bells sounded in her head. The only time men ever said things like that to her was when they were going to proposition her in a condescending manner. He couldn’t possibly have that in mind, but she doubted she would like whatever he came up with next.
“I’ve been on my own for ten years,” Val said. “I’m not used to having to kiss anyone’s ass.”
“No? You seem to be doing a good job of it with your mercenary commander.”
Val’s teeth clenched, and it was a moment before she could pry them apart to say, “That’s not what I was doing.”
The admiral’s grunt didn’t convey a lot of belief. “The base commander says you’re actually competent out there.” He waved toward the ceiling.
She stared at him. He couldn’t have come over here to compliment her. Could he have? Why would he bother? Unless she had somehow redeemed herself with her flying. But then why the continuing snideness about her kiss with Gregor?
“I’m still alive,” she said. “Any mission you come back from is a good one, right?”
“Why are you applying to join a bloodthirsty pack of mercenaries?”
Val barely knew the people of Mandrake Company, but she bristled at them being described as bloodthirsty. Some of them might be, but so far, she had only meant regular people who were out there doing what work they could do to pay the bills and get by. “Why does anyone become a mercenary? I need the money.”
His brows twitched. Yeah, there were less dangerous ways to earn a living. She had been doing fine as a freighter pilot until this need for quick cash had come up.
“Look, I have a brother who got himself in trouble, and he’s all I have left in the galaxy. I took out a loan to put a down payment on the debt he owes, but I need to be able to come up with the monthly payments, and I wasn’t going to be able to make that happen with my old job. Mercs get combat bonuses, and pilots get even more than ground troops.”
“Why didn’t you stay in the fleet? You might have been a commander or even a captain by now, and officers get paid well and get combat bonuses, as well.”
“I’m from Grenavine,” Val said.
Summers waved his hand, as if this were some tiny insignificant thing. “The planet’s long gone. You survived. Why destroy your career over something that’s in the past? It’s not as if GalCon is going to be destroying more worlds. This system is big, but it isn’t that big. As the population continues to grow, we’ll need room to expand. They know that.”
Somehow Val doubted those in charge cared about the needs of the populace as a whole. They had their private islands—or moons or planets or space stations, as was the case with some of those finance lords—and needn’t be concerned about the future of the system.
“You could come back to the fleet,” Summers said. “You’re not too old to enlist, and since you made it through the academy and received your commission, you could come in as an officer again.”
Even if Val had been interested in working for GalCon again—she shuddered at the idea—it wasn’t feasible. “I’ll earn the money faster this way. I’m sure I’d have to apply all over again, wait to hear back, go through some training… it’d be a while before I was earning that full officer’s pay.” The edge had faded from Val’s voice, and she had lost some of her tension, some of her wariness toward Summers, but she didn’t know if that was good or not. Was this truly what he had come up here to discuss? Why would he care about her career? Why would he care about her at all? Especially when he was so quick to snub Gregor, who was a far better pilot than she. If he was looking for new pilot officers, why wasn’t Summers off trying to recruit Gregor?
“I could move things along for you.” Summers glanced over his shoulder—from Val’s position, she couldn’t see anything besides the stone wall of the hangar behind him—then took a couple of steps deeper into the shuttle. He leaned against the side of a seat in the aisle, still casual his pose said, but a sharpness in his eyes made her uneasy. That and the fact that she was feeling trapped again. She wasn’t that far from the pilots’ seats, so there wasn’t much space for retreat. “Maybe get you a nice signing bonus, if you’re willing to commit to eight or ten years.”
“I see.” If this offer were coming from someone she respected, someone who hadn’t been grating on her nerves since he first roused from unconsciousness, she might have considered it. As hard as it would be to deal with the GalCon propaganda and the fleet’s rigidity again, she might consider it for Yarrow’s sake. “And this offer, it’s coming out of the goodness of your heart? Forgive my skepticism, but my flying isn’t that good. All I’ve done down here is my job.”
Summers chuckled. “You’re no dummy, either. See? Officer material.”
“Uh huh. Why don’t you tell me what you want, Admiral? I’ve got some hungry engineers to feed.”
His eyelids drooped low, something that didn’t quite hide that his gaze dipped to her chest. Val abruptly regretted her choice to wear a blouse, especially since she hadn’t yet donned her jacket. Maybe she would put it on now. Except it was hanging on the back of a seat on the other side of the admiral.
“The same deal as you have with Thatcher,” he said.
Those alarm bells started clanging again. “And what deal would that be?” she asked, though she would be shocked if she didn’t already know his answer.
Summers took a couple of steps closer. She swallowed. He wouldn’t attack her, would he? Why would he have to? There was a crowd out there, some of them female, who would probably jump into his bed at the crook of a finger now that he had delivered such a harsh blow to the enemy. Maybe he didn’t want his own people to know what an ass he was, and he figured he could do anything he wanted to her and nobody would care.
“You suck my dick, and I’ll pull some strings for you,” he said, his voice husky now. He lowered a hand to his belt, brushing his fingers against a bulge in his crotch.
Damn, her clothed chest wasn’t that exciting. What, had the adulation of all of his people given him an itch? And he’d decided he could stroll right over here and get it scratched, as easy as that?
“As, ah, magnanimous as that offer is,” Val said, “I’m going to pass.” The words “fuck off” had come to mind, too, but she chose the political answer because she wanted to buy herself a couple more minutes to figure out what she was going to do if he decided to force the issue.
He stood in the center, blocking the only aisle, and she would have to climb on seats to get past him and out the door. Once she was out in the hangar, she ought to be all right, but it was too confined in here, and nobody could see in unless they walked around to the back and climbed the ramp. She didn’t like the way it had gotten quiet out there, like that crowd had dispersed. Her own people should still be at the other shuttle, but would they hear her if she yelled? Unfortunately, she wasn’t wearing a weapon. He might have gray hair, but she remembered how heavy he had been when they had been dragging him through the moon station. There was more muscle than fat beneath that uniform.
“You might want to rethink that,” Summers said, taking another step toward her. He was less than two paces away now. She wished she had something heavier than ration bars in her hands to throw at him. She tensed, ready to spring past him. “It’s a good offer,” he added. “We fuck a little here, then you come by my office whenever your ship takes you past Alta Prime. I’ll make sure you have a good career, make enough to get your brother out of hock. It’s a better deal than you’ll get from those scuzzy mercenaries.”
Another step. Too close. A surge of panic rose in her chest. If she’d had a weapon, she would have used it. Instead, she said, “Screw you, Admiral,” and walked forward. She darted to his side to pass him, readying herself in case he tried to grab her.
He did. As soon as he reached for her, she ducked and threw her elbow at his crotch. He twisted, and she connected with his hipbone instead. That probably hurt her more than it hurt him, but she didn’t pause to think about it. She lunged for the aisle and the ramp, but jerked to a stop. A man had just charged up the ramp. Her first terrified thought was that Summers had brought a guard to make sure he wasn’t interrupted—or that she wouldn’t get away—but it wasn’t one of the locals. It was Gregor. And he was barreling toward Summers with murder in his eyes.
Startled, both by his appearance and the rage she had never seen on him before, she stumbled to the side, almost tripping over the last seat.
“What are you—” Summers’s demand broke off, drowned by the smack of flesh against flesh.
Val recovered her balance and turned in time to see Gregor ram an uppercut into the admiral’s gut. Summers staggered, the backs of his knees hitting a seat, but he recovered, roared, and flung himself at h
is opponent. He was a more skilled fighter than the bar thugs, and Val winced at the flurry of blows the two men exchanged, both taking bruising punches.
Gregor blocked a grab and slammed a fist into the admiral’s face. That stunned the older man, giving Gregor the advantage. More blows followed, the anger in his eyes scary. At first, Val felt vindicated as she watched Gregor pummel her would-be assailant, but when the admiral stopped fighting back and dropped to his knees, covering his face, she ran forward, knowing she had to stop Gregor before he killed Summers. Otherwise there would be consequences. No, there would be consequences anyway.
“Gregor,” she shouted, waving her arms, trying to get his attention. She was afraid to grab him while he was in the middle of pummeling the admiral, but she would if he didn’t stop.
He halted at her first call of his name, his fist hanging in the air, drawn back for another punch. Blood smeared his knuckles. She didn’t think it was his; Summers had taken far more damage than he.
The admiral groaned.
“Get out,” Gregor growled and grabbed him by the uniform jacket. He hefted Summers to his feet, manhandling him toward the ramp.
Val stepped out of the way. Gregor shoved Summers and he stumbled, almost toppling to his hands and knees on the ramp. Blood splashed the gray metal around his feet. His nose was bleeding like a waterfall. He recovered enough to stagger down the ramp, and the glare he shot back at Gregor was murderous. Oh, yeah. There would be consequences. As much as Val appreciated Gregor’s willingness to defend her—how long had he been there listening anyway?—she wished she had dealt with that herself. Granted, her way of dealing with it hadn’t been any classier than Gregor’s, but she doubted Summers would have admitted to anyone that a girl had struck him. This… this was going to get around, and in a way that left the truth behind, she had no doubt of that.
Val rubbed her face. Gregor’s fury seemed to have abated; he stood at the top of the ramp, his shoulders slumping, his chin to his chest. He, too, knew there was going to be trouble over this.
Mandrake Company- The Complete Series Page 44