On the far side of the yellow grain field, a lavender-gray mountain range towered above hills filled with green forests. Hoyt pulled the horse down to a trot as she rounded the last bend in the narrow track. Ahead, tall, broad-limbed trees sat on the wide bluff that overlooked the river. Sheltered between the trees was the rough-hewn cabin she had constructed six months back with the help of a few of the nearest neighbors.
A great leaping happiness surged through Hoyt as Anne stood up in the small garden by the back door, clutching a hoe in one hand and shading her eyes with the other.
In the depths of her pants pocket, the dragon stone glowed.
*
JS: What was my inspiration for this story? I have no earthly idea. I never do.
Diplomacy
By Catherine Lundoff
Captain Bridget O’Halloran smoothed her dress uniform and polished her medals with one sleeve before she pressed the glowing button that would allow her to enter Admiral Chen’s office. She managed not to run a hand through her short red hair before she pressed the button, but only just. The doors slid open and she inhaled deeply before stepping through them in a futile effort to relax.
The Admiral’s office was just as she remembered it: grey and spartan with only the comp unit’s glow casting any direct light. “Done,” the Admiral barked at it and the glow faded to a muted blue. “Lights!” The office flickered into a startling brightness. “O’Halloran!” The Admiral’s dark eyes took in her brisk salute and her medals with a “Humph! All right, Captain. At ease.”
She relaxed her spine slightly and stood awaiting his orders, a wary look on her face. What did the old coot want this time? Last time she’d been in here, it was because she’d volunteered to infiltrate the Lyrizi navy as an agent. She’d succeeded but the cost had been high. The burn scar that ran the length of her ribs throbbed a little at the memory.
Chen gave her a fierce glare. “All right, Captain. We’ve only got a few minutes. There’s trouble again in the Arment system about the selerinite clauses in the Treaty.” He paused as if he wanted to see if she was still paying attention.
Bridget stood up a little straighter, copper brows drawn together in a sharp frown. “Without the selerinite our ships will be grounded within two Earth months. This is what we went to war with the Lyrizi to prevent. So you’re sending us to Arment to deal with it?”
“Not you. Let me make myself clear, O’Halloran. The Confederation Council has appointed a new ambassador and a diplomatic team to resolve the matter. I can’t say I approve of their choice but then, they didn’t ask me. Just drop them off and give them any support they need. Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way. That clear?”
The door slid open behind Bridget with a nearly silent hiss. She forced herself not to look directly at the intruder until he stopped beside her. Not like she could see anything past the other’s hood anyway. She shifted her weight, wondering what kind of ambassador came with a warning label.
Chen got a lot more formal. “Captain O’Halloran, you have your orders. This is Hight Isandre, the Confederation’s new ambassador to Arment. Once you arrive at Arment, you will provide all necessary support for her and the rest of her team before returning to base. No nonregulation maneuvers this time.”
Bridget let the tiniest of smiles curl her lips and saluted with vigor. Hight, huh? And a woman, too. That was a surprise. From the gossipvids, she always figured that Highborn women spent all their time getting gene modifications and sampling every mind-altering substance in the galaxy. Admiral Chen scowled at her, breaking into her thoughts. “Yes sir!” He nodded his dismissal and she turned smartly and left, the ambassador at her heels.
Once the door shut behind them, she turned to get a good look at her passenger and almost yelled in surprise. Greenie her mind screamed and she very nearly reached for her blaster, hands shaking just a little. The other woman looked back at her from gorgeous amber eyes that nearly glowed under pale green eyebrows against a background of dark green skin. One of those eyebrows quirked upward as the Captain tried to recover her composure.
“Somehow I thought that the great war hero would be harder to scare.” The Hight’s voice purred through the air and did everything but chuck Bridget under her chin. It was almost enough to ignore the sting of her words. But not quite.
“We don’t get to see a lot of Gr—Lyrizi up close and personal, Hight,” she answered stiffly.
“Greenie, Captain? That is what you were about to call me, wasn’t it?” The other woman’s evergreen lips twisted in a smile that sent shivers down Bridget’s spine. “Surely after outwitting our finest military minds, you have nothing to fear from one little Lyrizi diplomat?” She looked Bridget over from head to toe with a slow, leisurely stare that sent a wave of heat uncoiling through the Captain’s belly.
Bridget managed not to flinch, but only just. What the hell was going on? It wasn’t like her to be this off balance, especially not with a hostile. Former hostile. Whatever she was. She took refuge in formality. “I’m sorry, Hight. I meant no offence. You are welcome aboard my ship but please understand that my crew was on the front lines and may find your appearance startling.” To say the least. What the hell was Chen thinking?
“Ah. Well, that can be fixed.” Isandre bent her head for a moment, hiding her face, and took in a deep breath. Then she exhaled with excruciating slowness and looked back up to meet Bridget’s startled eyes. Her green skin had faded to a Galactic standard tan and her eyebrows were black. She pushed her hood back to reveal long black hair that ran in a flood over her shoulders and down her back.
Nanotech, Bridget thought with a twinge of relief. But her eyes were still amber, the captain noted with what detachment she could muster. And she was still beautiful, gorgeous enough to send a wave of heat up the Captain’s thighs when she gave her a lazy smile.
“Better? Yes, I can see that it is.” She pursed her full lips up to kissable desirability and fluttered her lashes until Bridget spun on her heel and stalked off. So this bit of greenie fluff thought she could play the dumb hick of a starship captain, did she? She could hear chuckling behind her and suppressed a snarl.
Isandre trailed after her until they got to Bridget’s ship, hood drawn up once more. Bridget couldn’t help wondering if her skin was green again under the concealing fabric and felt a tiny tingle deep inside her at the thought. Whatever she was feeling, it wasn’t the pure anger she was trying to feel and that annoyed her.
At least the Eleanor looked good. The crew was doing her proud and Bridget’s full lips curled in a smile that any experienced captain would recognize. Her second, Rodríguez, was waiting at the foot of the ramp with a comp unit in his hand and a frown on his normally smooth brow. “Captain.” He saluted, giving the cloaked figure at the Captain’s side a passing, dismissive glance. “The rest of our passengers have already arrived, Captain. But Engineer Khadija says she’s still having trouble with the starboard engines so we’re not ready to leave yet.”
Bridget met her lieutenant’s expectant gaze and schooled her features not to broadcast what she was thinking. Better and better. First a Greenie diplomat, now a prima donna Engineer. “I have our orders, Lieutenant. I’ll speak to Khadija.” Her blue eyes narrowed in a glare that didn’t bode well for a pleasure cruise as she ordered one of the yeomen to show Isandre to her quarters. And may that be the last of her I see until Arment. The thought crossed her mind as she watched Isandre walk away, hips somehow visibly swaying under the bulk of the cloak.
Then she turned and headed down the corridor, choosing to forget for the moment that Hight Isandre would be dining at her table tonight as an honored guest. Instead she whirled into Engineering to find her engineer swearing as she banged her fingers on the metal case around the main starboard engine. The exchange that followed only made Bridget’s mood worse; her Chief Engineer was not one to be hurried.
The next few hours didn’t go any more smoothly and there were more than a few sighs of relief
when Captain O’Halloran’s rigid back was seen vanishing into her quarters. Once the doors closed behind her, Bridget yanked off her jacket and walked into the small bathroom to wash up.
Only two hours until dinner she thought, then remembered Hight Isandre and swore quietly. A wave of heat washed over her but she pushed it away with a shiver. She would never take a Greenie as a lover, not again. She forced herself not to touch her scar for reinforcement. Not that it mattered. She would always remember the moment when the Lyrizi commander realized that she’d been betrayed.
She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Surely she hadn’t always looked so bleak, her blue eyes so cold. Not before the Lyrizi War anyway. If only she hadn’t volunteered on that mission. Then the Lyrizi would have won. She knew this in every fiber of her being. She’d seen their forces, the advantage they held over the Confederation. Once she’d seen what they had, playing the part of a traitor had been easy. Us or them.
She surrendered to the impulse at last and let her fingers trace the scar under her shirt. It was her parting gift from Elshabet, the finest starship captain the Lyrizi had ever had. So good that she was selected as commander of the ship chosen to rain skyfire and certain destruction down on the Confederation fleet.
Bridget closed her eyes, remembering first the look of utter betrayal and pain on Elshabet’s face, then the ball of skyfire that her ship became as Bridget made her escape. She had kept the scar, refusing to have the tissue mends, choosing instead to let her skin pucker and heal on its own. “Keeps me honest,” she said when the medics asked about it.
All that was Earth years behind her now, of course. Seven of them, to be precise. Long enough that she should be able to look at one of the Confederation’s new Lyrizi allies across a dinner table and not flinch. She turned away from her reflection and barked a command to her orderly over the comm to invite her unwanted guests for dinner, then lay down and tried to sleep.
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t drive a certain pair of amber eyes from her head. When she did finally drift off, they stayed with her through some very vivid dreams. When the buzzer finally went off, it yanked her from the most recent one and she woke gasping.
She had been frozen, unable to move for some reason, while Isandre, green-skinned once more, slowly removed her uniform. Then the Hight ran her green hands down her naked body, following them with a pale green tongue that darted between dark green lips to trail down between her legs, sending flashes of heat through her with every stroke.
Bridget cursed her imagination. Why couldn’t she dream about a normal Spacer, someone she’d actually like being around? Still it was enough to send her fingers between her legs to complete what the dream had started. She rubbed her clit hard, as if it would drive away the vision of Isandre’s face between her legs, Isandre’s tongue on her flesh. She came then, but it was only a shadow of the pleasure she imagined and she struck her head back against the pillow with a frustrated groan.
The buzzer sounded again and she smacked it sharply before getting up. A few moments later, she had shrugged into her regular uniform. Be damned if I’ll wear dress whites for Hight Isandre. The thought made her grimace and she stretched, flexing every muscle in her back and shoulders in a futile effort at relaxing them.
She tried to make herself think about Arment instead. The planet had joined the Confederation planets about six Earth years back, after the Lyrizi lost the war. The Armentines had signed an agreement that gave the Confederation’s Interstellar Navy an airtight monopoly on selerinite. Since the mineral was essential for armoring starships, there had been one hell of a party in the Admiralty Offices the day the agreement was signed. After all, they’d only had to win an unwinnable war to do it.
But perhaps it hadn’t been cause for universal rejoicing on Arment. Still, why send in a Lyrizi to deal with the problem? Then she thought about the way Isandre was able to change her appearance and shivered. Spy or assassin or both, she decided. She wondered why a Lyrizi would choose to work for the Confederation, then glanced at the comm clock and shrugged. Maybe she’d just have to ask the Hight herself after dinner. Bridget gave her uniform one last tug and stepped out briskly, heading toward the dining hall.
Isandre, not a patch of green skin in sight, was already seated with the officers when she got there. She was telling them some tale that had even the somber Rodríguez hiding a smile. The rest of the diplomatic team was sitting at the adjacent table and Bridget went to welcome them aboard before squaring her shoulders and walking to her own seat.
The officers all noticed her at the same time, standing to attention in the blink of an eye. Hight Isandre remained seated, her narrow lips quirked upwards in a slightly mocking smile. “Should I stand too, Captain? I know so little of shipboard etiquette.”
“At ease!” Bridget growled. “I trust you find your quarters comfortable?” Since the words were accompanied by a fierce glare, they didn’t sound as welcoming as they should have and even the normally oblivious junior officers gave her startled looks. Damn, damn, damn. She forced herself to sound conciliatory. “And no, you needn’t stand when I come to the table. It’s part of naval discipline and civilians are exempted.”
“I do hope I’m not exempted from all the discipline that you impose on the crew, Captain. I wouldn’t want any…special privileges.” Her amber eyes burned into Bridget’s, sending a line of heat up her thighs that made her breath catch in her throat.
She gasped, too startled to even frown at the smothered giggles. Even Rodríguez had to ask her the same question twice before she noticed. After that, she forced herself to be all ship’s captain, all polite conversation and orders while she carefully avoided the Hight’s eyes. She didn’t look directly at the ambassador until the other officers had risen to return to their posts or their beds. Even then it was only to say, “So what will you be doing on Arment, Hight?”
“Call me Isandre, please. We will be establishing the new embassy of course. What did you think? You and your able crew will assist us in any way that we require, short of endangering Arment’s agreement with the Confederation. More than that, I am not at liberty to say, Captain.” She tilted up her mug to swallow the last of her drink before she met Bridget’s eyes.
“If I’m not to endanger anything, our skins included, I’ll need more to go on, Hight.” It was easier now to ignore the effect that Isandre had on her earlier. After all, how could she trust the promise in the amber eyes of a spy?
“There is such a thing as too much knowledge, Captain.” Isandre’s voice had a cooler quality to it now.
Elshabet had been able to do that too, run hot and cold until Bridget’s head swam with her. The Captain swallowed her memories and matched her tone with effort. “In my experience, Madam, more knowledge is always better than less. You don’t appear to be a standard Diplomatic Team so I’d like to know what role my crew and I will be playing in your mission. Just the general facts, Hight. None of the secrets.” For now. She sat back and waited, forcing her face not to display her thoughts.
Isandre curved her full lips in a smile that made Bridget’s stomach revolve like she was in freefall. “Maybe. You’ll need to convince me of your discretion first, Captain.” She raised one finger to run it around the low neckline of her silky gown, tugging it slowly down so that Bridget’s eyes followed it. Green skin gleamed in the hollow between her breasts and Bridget squirmed in her chair despite her efforts at self-control.
She dragged her gaze upward from those dangerous depths to find Isandre watching her with an expression of quiet amusement. It filled her with a burst of pure annoyance. “I believe my record speaks for itself, Ambassador. Now if you have nothing more to tell me, I have a ship to run.” She stood and seized the trays, determined now to be rid of her unwelcome companion as soon as possible.
Isandre curled a long-fingered hand around her wrist, moving at a speed that nearly made her drop the trays. “Well, perhaps I can tell you a bit more, Captain. But n
ot here.” Her gesture took in rest of the dining hall.
Bridget nodded and twisted her wrist free. “My quarters, then. Follow me, please.” She spun on her heel to dump the trays in the recyc shoot then left the dining hall without looking behind her. Her wrist still burned where Isandre had seized it but she was damned if she’d let that show. She’d been obvious enough at dinner. Groaning inwardly, she imagined the gossip spreading through the ship. And floggings are still banned. Pity. Her lips twisted in a small reluctant smile at the thought.
Isandre’s silken skirts rustled as she moved, rubbing Bridget’s nerves raw. At the same time the sound sent a wave of heat up her thighs. She imagined the feel of those skirts under her fingertips, imagined lifting them slowly higher up green-skinned thighs. Stop it, O’Halloran. She began to run through the ship startup drills, lists of minerals, anything to avoid thinking the thoughts that held her imagination captive.
Her quarters suddenly seemed too close to the dining hall. When the door closed behind Isandre, Bridget lunged inside to put her desk between her guest and herself. “Please be seated, Hight.” She gestured at the chair on the other side of the desk.
Isandre ignored the suggestion and walked gracefully over to lean against her side of the desk. Bridget retreated a little but stopped when she saw the smile light those amber eyes. Isandre leaned forward, dropping her hand onto the arms of the chair so that her face was inches from Bridget’s own. “I’ll give you what information I can, Captain, but first you’ll have to give me something in return.”
“And what’s that, Hight?” Bridget couldn’t breathe without inhaling her scent, couldn’t move without touching her. Beneath her uniform, she could feel a line of moisture trickle down between her thighs, feel her nipples harden under her jacket. She was breathing faster now, barely keeping her hands from either pulling Isandre still closer or shoving her aside and running from the room.
“Kiss me.” Isandre leaned forward to suit her actions to her words. Bridget flinched away and Isandre wrapped a wiry arm around her neck, holding her still. Her lips were warm and slightly moist against Bridget’s own as she tentatively kissed her back. Isandre pulled away, allowing her skin to flush green with the movement. “Like you mean it or I won’t tell you a thing.”
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