“Captain, incoming message from the UFW cargo ship, CT-254. Looks like they’re pulling out of orbit…”
“Escorts too, eh?”
“Aye, sir. Looks like they are heading to the Irujen gate.”
“Very well, on screen,” motioned Walt.
The Captain of CT-254 appeared on the large view screen as an inset square, his bridge and crew partially in the frame, “Captain Edgars,” he nodded toward the screen, “looks like I’ll have to look you up on our next visit for that beer…”
“I do apologize, my friend, I just couldn’t break away…”
“Oh, I can see you’ve had your hands full,” gestured the freighter Captain, “Looks like quite a celebration. Shame we’ll miss it.”
Walt smiled politely, “I’ll have my Comm Officer send over a live-link, you can enjoy it at your leisure.”
“Splendid, I thank you - we appreciate that. See you in a few weeks, CT-254, out.” The square disappeared.
“Hmm, tight schedule to keep…” Walt Edgars leaned back in his command chair, making himself comfortable, “The Queen needs to collect on all those ships the UFW agreed upon before that Alexandria mine runs dry…”
“Think they’d renege on the deal, Skipper?” asked his First Officer, leaning closer.
“Hmph,” grunted Walt, his mouth twisted sideways, not intending to say it loud enough to be heard. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he replied in a low tone. “I’m betting we’ll see another bloody freighter within forty-eight hours. They’re sucking at that teat pretty hard - it worries me.”
■ ■ ■
The orchestra had begun playing when the fireworks started, tirelessly keeping tempo and rhythm throughout the entire display. Making a wonderful transition from the fireworks to a garden dinner party as the display ended, the gentle music continued, allowing people to eat, mingle and dance.
Drink in hand, dressed in a deep purple ankle-length gown, so dark it almost looked black, Cheriska Skye found her way up next to the Queen, “Look, I found you!” she whispered loudly, the Breedlove's Dragon wrapped around her shoulder leaning out to sniff a wavy lock of the Queen’s hair.
“I wasn’t lost,” Alité whispered back with an elegant chuckle. “And you look very nice tonight, cousin.” She reached out and stroked the dragon under his chin, “And you look very handsome as well, little man.”
“Thank you,” Cheriska smiled with a dramatic little flourish of her hand, “but I can’t take full credit for it, my cousin bought it for me. She has wonderful taste, don’t you think...?”
Alité cracked a crooked smile, “You’re welcome…”
“I just wish I could wear my boots,” complained Cheriska.
“Don’t you dare,” scolded Alité playfully, wagging an accusatory finger.
“But my feet are killing me in these little heels,” she pulled up the hem of her dress to look down at her feet. “How do you walk around in these things all day?”
Alité drew her hair back over one ear, “You get used to it. I actually prefer heels most of the time…” She glanced around, scanning the crowd and the garden grounds, “Have you seen Colton lately? I really hope he’s behaving…”
Cheriska motioned back toward the palace, “I saw him running with Jax and one of his friends - a little redheaded girl. Lady Phyllis was looking after them…”
“I was a little worried for her for a while, she was terrified of Jax.”
“She seems to have warmed up to him now though…”
Alité delicately sipped her drink, “She has, thank the Gods. She is wonderful with Colton, I didn’t want to lose her. And he was so attached to that pup…”
“Excuse me, your Majesty, I am sorry to interrupt…” Alité turned to the voice, a ruggedly-handsome, well-dressed man with a royal security pin on his lapel, her eyebrows raised in a question.
“There is a comm waiting for you, Your Grace…”
Alité immediately snatched her sleeve up, reminding her she had decided to go without her TESS for the night. “I felt like I was missing something all night…”
His fingertips touched her shoulder, his free hand guiding her up the walkway and steps to the palace terrace, “I have taken the liberty to set the call to your study,” he leaned closer, whispering, “I believe it is the King.”
Her heart skipping a beat, she smiled warmly at the son of Nitram and Willamena Marconis, “Thank you, Yanno.”
■ ■ ■
Pausing outside the doorway to her study, Alité tried to slow her hammering heart, primping the semi-transparent, layered ruffles around the plunging neckline of her ivory gown, adjusting the pearls that hung nearly to her barely-visible cleavage. She strolled gracefully into the room in full view of the holo-screen on her desk which was rotated to face the entrance. She stood, drink in hand, momentarily pausing, locking eyes with him. “Hello my King,” she cooed, forcing external calm despite her internal jitters. She sidestepped, sitting on an elegant velvet armchair facing him. Bringing her legs close, crossed at the ankle, sitting on an angle, the slit of her dress fell open. Perched on the edge of the seat, her back straight, one arm resting on the armrest, she sipped her drink as seductively as possible. “I have missed you my King… the warmth of your smile, your touch, your embrace…”
Jack Steele smiled back at her, “Me too, baby. Me too.”
Alité looked past him, at his surroundings - they looked different somehow. “Jack, where are you?”
“Michel lost the Captain of the Palladium - the cargo ship he was escorting. The guy was rushed up to the hospital on DexCore Station, while we were on Dexmar, offloading. He was very sick. So, I’m doing Michel a favor, I’m running the Palladium… but we’re on our way home, so don’t you worry, I’m coming.”
Alité attempted again, to turn on her seductive charm - she tossed her hair back over one shoulder, “I can't wait to see you, it's been so long...” she let the last word hang in the air before continuing, “I have missed your lips...”
“I know, baby, I miss you too. And I can't wait to get my feet on solid ground and breathe something besides recycled, filtered air that tastes like metal.” He rubbed his forehead before continuing, “So, you look nice,” he gestured, “what's the occasion?”
His indifference was annoying, surely he must be teasing her. Well, two could play that game... “I always need to look my best - I never know when a handsome gentleman might call or visit the palace...”
“Oh.”
Oh? Did he just say OH? Her eyes narrowed, watching him closely, “Because a Queen has her needs and I will not be denied satisfaction...” she whispered intensely. “I demand performance out of my courtesans...”
Steele raised a dubious eyebrow, “Is that even a thing? Male concubines I mean...”
He HAD to be playing a game... But he didn't even flinch, there wasn't even a hint of an emotional response. Was it her imagination? Was she overthinking this? Maybe they had been apart too long... Alité began to doubt herself. Jaw set, she gathered her confidence back up, “We had a celebration marking Veloria's Resurrection tonight, we are entering our Renaissance...”
“That's wonderful,” he clapped. “So the economy is recovering then...” It wasn't so much a question as an open-ended statement waiting for confirmation.
Alité frowned, “Yes, it is. Among many other things.” It bothered her that he showed more emotion for Veloria's economy then her. Was she jealous? She couldn't decide if he was being dismissive or if this was a simple business communication.
“Outstanding,” he nodded. “Then it's a good thing I've agreed to a contract with Antwerp Shipworks...”
So, it was all about business today. “What have you done, my husband?” she asked scornfully, disappointed it was nothing more personal. She straightened her posture, sitting more like a leader and less like a wife.
“I have committed us to an order of ten...
“Us?!”
“Veloria. I have commit
ted Veloria, to an order of ten of the Marauder Class vessels like the Black Widow, with a license to produce more on Veloria after the initial ten are delivered...”
Alité ‘s eyes went from purple to black, “Without discussing it with me?!”
Jack shrugged, “Look, it will make us money in the long run...”
“That doesn't matter!” she snapped, rising to her feet. “That is not your decision to make without consulting me.”
“If we had twenty of these things, we...”
“Twenty?!”
Jack waved at her with both hands, “Hold on, hold on, hear me out. We don't need twenty, but, if we had twenty, we could sell twelve and the first eight would be completely paid for; with all options, armament and payloads included. Getting ten and the license to manufacture was cheaper than ordering twenty, and not only can we manufacture and sell but we can offer parts and servi...”
“And,” she interrupted, “just where do you think we are going to get a functioning facility, enough skilled labor to man it, and the raw materials?”
“Our mines are...”
“Dear Lords,” she exclaimed, “that is mined material ore, not raw materials for ship construction! We would either have to send it out to be processed first, or, build another facility for refinement! Where are all these facilities supposed to come from?!”
Steele raised his eyebrows, “We build them,” he said simply.
Alité was nearly apoplectic, “Buil… Wh... I... er... I can't even,” she snapped, throwing up her hands in aggravation. “No!” she pointed at him. “Just no!”
“Mother?”
Alité spun on her heel, her demeanor instantly softening, Colton standing in the open doorway of the study, “Come in darling, say hello to your father...”
Padded footfalls and girlish squeals of delight echoed in the hallway, the face of a redheaded, freckled girl appearing from behind the young boy, peeking around him, the nose of a growing Volken puppy visible over their shoulders. Jax playfully nosed her, pushing the girl into Colton, jostling them both, making them both giggle as he bounded away, down the hallway, the children sprinting off after him. “That's not my father!” Colton called back as he retreated from sight, their chatter and giggling fading down the corridor.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
THE DRAKE, SULERIAN SYSTEM : DISCOVERY
Jack Steele rose from his command chair and attempted to stretch his right shoulder, gritting his teeth. “Damn,” he grumbled, “stiff. I need a break.” He ran his fingers through his hair and cracked his neck as he headed for the bridge exit, “Sam, you have the bridge.”
“Aye Cap.” Sam Daxe switched stations, sliding into the Captain’s command chair. “Maintain speed and course?”
“Affirmative,” replied Steele, pausing at the bridge door. Sam had cleared his throat but didn’t speak and Jack could feel something left unsaid hanging in the air. He looked back over his shoulder, “Something on your mind, Sam?”
“Not… really…”
“Steele smirked, “So yes then. Spit it out Sam.”
“I was just thinking, we’re pushing this bucket pretty hard, Cap.”
“I know, Sam…”
“I just mean - I know you’re eager to get home and all, but if we break her…”
Steele nodded in agreement, “I get it. But I think the Chief can hold her together a little while longer… Speaking of which, have you seen the Chief?”
Sam shook his head, “I haven’t. I’d imagine he’s probably down below trying to keep one something from becoming two somethings.”
■ ■ ■
“Captain… Captain?”
Steele blinked hard, looking up from the bowl of soup he’d been staring into, his hand and the spoon he’d been stirring with, motionless, the soup long grown cold. “Huh?”
Andrea slid into the seat across from the table from him, setting her tray down, “Are you unwell, Captain?”
He refocused, almost requiring effort to put his brain back into gear, “Uh, no, I’m fine. Just thinking… I guess my mind wandered off a bit.”
“How long have you been sitting here?”
“I don’t know…” Steele raised his spoon and sipped the cold soup, making a face of distaste, “Eh. Too long, I guess.”
“You are pushing yourself too hard, Captain. The crew and the ship as well…”
Steele rolled his eyes, “Yeah, somebody else mentioned that.”
Elbows on the table, Andrea steepled her fingertips above her tray, “And what was your response?”
Steele pushed away from the table and stood up, “I'm not having this conversation right now...” Andrea tilted her head in an unspoken question. “We are not discussing this any further,” he clarified, manipulating the kink in his shoulder.
“You are in pain, Captain,” she observed, matter-of-factly.
“It's nothing,” he winced, “just a little stiff.”
Andrea pushed back and rose from the table, took him by a hand and drew him along as she headed toward the galley exit, “Follow me.”
“Where...”
“You need an adjustment...”
■ ■ ■
Andrea's quarters were draped in silks, wrapped in soft light and filled with aromatic, relaxing scents. Lying face down on the massage table, under a sheet, stripped of his clothes, Steele felt a little self-conscious - in need of some innocuous chatter. “I love what you've done with the place...”
Andrea shushed him, “This will be much more effective if you relax and just be quiet. If you drift off and fall asleep, so much the better,” she whispered. Manipulating his arms to extension so she could reach the muscles under the left and right scapula, she began to knead the knots away. Rolling one as tight as a guitar string elicited a yelp, but she continued without pause. Slowly but surely, she could feel him relax, his breathing slowing, tension melting under the sensors embedded in her fingertips.
She enjoyed her work, and while what she felt for the man on the table couldn't exactly be described as love, she did have an emotional affinity for him. It wasn't that she was incapable of love, she was, she just didn't know him well enough for it to fully develop yet - and she was worried if it did, it might interfere with their professional working relationship. Knowing he was married played no part in her reluctance, many space-faring men and women had relationships outside of their marriages, the morals and mores of that particular segment of human society, adjusting to cope with the long and dis-associative work and travel they experienced - though she didn't expect that this was the case with the Captain. However, that didn't reduce her curiosity, her desire, or her drive to assure he was happy, healthy and content. If she let her mind drift, she could easily imagine the two of them together, wondering what that would be like. She did her best to resist that particular daydream, but sometimes it crept in when she least expected it.
Sliding the sheet down to work on his lower back and the connective tissues into his buttocks and legs, Andrea’s administrations were comprised of some of the finest techniques of the masters. From time-to-time he would give a grunt or a moan as she eased away the tension and the pain. Considering his level of pliability, she estimated he was deeply asleep, barely aware of her work. That was fine, it allowed her to go longer and deeper than she would ordinarily have the opportunity to, allowing her to enjoy working on a well-maintained physique - a selfish little pleasure of her own.
■ ■ ■
There was no up, there was no down, there was just a sensation of being centered. Steele’s mind worked on things that had been nagging at him lately - mostly about himself. Things he couldn’t explain, things that didn’t make sense. At least not in his world of knowledge, which were, granted, limited by his experience. But he had to admit, something had changed, something at his core, though he could not explain what or why… or even how. The when seemed to keep going back to before he was picked up by his friend Michel on the Black Widow…
Amanpoor.
What the hell happened on Amanpoor? When he searched backwards there always seemed to be a block of some kind. Something was keeping him from remembering… Nothing more than random fragments - like unmatched puzzle pieces… There had to be a key… stone… Keystone… Keystone...? An image of a large, red, stone building flashed through his mind, familiar symbols chiseled into the masonry, a pronounced keystone prominent over the entry.
“Hello old friend…”
That voice… That voice… Deep and mellow, it carried a measure of age and wisdom. Almost infinite wisdom… It was familiar, something he remembered clearly but seemed eons since he’d heard it. It felt like someone he’d once called friend. His mind fought to identify it. Only one name seemed to fit… “Voorlak?” he whispered. In response he could feel the smile, the warmth.
“Indeed. So you remember, then?”
“A little.” Steele could so completely smell the aroma of the Diterian Brandy the old man never seemed to be without, he could even taste it, the warm liqueur coating his mouth and warming his throat. “What’s happening?” he asked, searching the impenetrable darkness surrounding him - not really seeing Voorlak, only hearing him. “Where are we? Where are you?”
“Slowly my friend,” coaxed Voorlak, the room around them, Andrea’s room, coming into focus; the silks draped as he remembered them, the room washed in soft light, filled with aromatic, relaxing scents. Lying face up on the massage table, a sheet across his waist, Andrea worked on his muscles, oblivious to anything but her task.
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