by David Bruns
Franklin tried to place her face and failed, so he flashed her his million-credit smile and held out his hand. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Miss . . .”
“Call me Angel.” Her grip was firm and she held onto his hand much longer than was necessary. Interesting . . .
“Angel? I must say, the name fits.”
She laughed, a rich chuckle that intrigued Franklin even more. “I’m a longtime admirer, Senator.”
The waiter showed up with a fresh drink. Franklin could tell from the color that it was not the Reserve. “What is this?” he said, aware that the woman was watching him. “I ordered the Kentucky Reserve.”
The young man flushed. “I’m sorry, sir, the president has closed that bottle for the evening.”
Angel laid her hand on Franklin’s arm. His skin tingled with the contact. “Allow me, Senator.” She slipped her arm around the waiter’s waist and walked him back to the bar. As Franklin watched, she engaged the bartender in a conversation, then slipped a packet of cash into his hand. When she returned to his table, she was carrying a half-full bottle of Wild Turkey Kentucky Reserve and a single glass.
“My dear, I am impressed” was all Franklin could say.
Angel poured two fingers’ worth and handed him the glass. “Like I said, Senator, I’m an admirer.”
Franklin took a sip. The drink really was heavenly, and the presence of this remarkable woman made it even better. She was standing just inside his personal space, almost inviting him to bump into her.
She plucked the glass from his hand and took a sip. “I don’t know anything about bourbon, Franklin. Tell me what I’m supposed to be feeling.” She nudged him in the thigh with her hip.
“Bourbon is an acquired taste, Angel,” Franklin said, very aware of how close she was to him. Her perfume was understated, like a hint of sweet musk, and it somehow matched the whiskey notes. Probably laced with pheromones. He’d read about that somewhere.
“I see.” She took another sip and he watched her lips slide off the rim of the glass. “Perhaps you could . . . teach me, Franklin?” She handed him the glass back.
The senator surveyed the room. The party was definitely ending. If he was going to make a move, the time was now. He leaned toward Angel. “I’m an excellent teacher, Angel, but my methods take time . . .”
Angel pulled the glass out of his hand and swallowed the remainder of the bourbon. She picked up the bottle. “Then I guess school’s in session, Senator.” She walked away slowly, as if knowing his eyes were tracking her backside.
At the curb, Franklin signaled his limo and they ducked inside. Angel rubbed against him in the backseat, her fingers caressing the surgical implants in his pectoral muscles.
Washington, DC, at night flashed by outside the tinted window, a blur of colors that matched the rush of emotions in his head—and the rest of his body. As a confirmed bachelor and public figure, he was never without a date, but this woman was different. She poured another two fingers of Reserve into a glass and they shared it between deep kisses.
The limo drew to halt in front of his Georgetown address. Christ, he hadn’t been this drunk in forever, and the presence of this beautiful creature made it seem like an exotic dream. Somehow they made it up the steps together and into the front room.
Angel took over, flipping the coffee table out of the way as if it were made of cardboard. Then she slowly drew her dress over her head and tossed it onto the couch. Wearing only a thong, she sashayed to the sideboard, found a crystal tumbler, and splashed a healthy measure of the Reserve into the glass. Franklin found himself staring at the tattoo between her shoulder blades, a dragon that shimmered in the bit of streetlight filtering in between the drapes.
“You’d better be undressed by the time I turn around,” she said over her shoulder. Franklin was shaking with anticipation as he ripped off his shirt and stepped out of his trousers. In moments like this, the endless rounds of cosmetic surgery were worth every penny.
Angel turned around, her breasts swaying slightly. Franklin’s mouth went dry. She was magnificent. Angel dipped her index finger in the bourbon and then slid it into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing under the suction. “I’m ready for my first lesson, Senator.”
She came at him slowly, advancing until her nipples poked against his torso. His skin quivered with anticipation. She held the glass so he could take a sip. “Drink,” she said but held onto the tumbler.
The bourbon was like warm sugar on his tongue, exploding his senses open.
“Lie down,” she commanded.
The rug had been a gift from a Bedouin sheik many years ago. As Franklin’s shoulders sank into the plush of the carpet, he wondered what the prince would think of what was about to happen on his gift.
Angel stood over him, her face in shadows. She wormed her foot between his legs, making Franklin catch his breath. Angel sipped the bourbon, then knelt down next to him. She leaned over him, allowing her breasts to graze his chest.
“Are you ready, Senator?” she whispered.
Franklin nodded, unable to trust his voice.
She gazed down at his crotch and chuckled richly. “Yes, I can see you are.” She straddled him in one motion. He gasped when he felt the heat of her groin on his midsection. “But before we begin, I have a question for you.”
“Anything,” Franklin panted.
“How do you plan to vote tomorrow?”
Franklin fought through the fog of the alcohol. “Excuse me?”
Angel laughed again, but it had lost some of its playfulness. “Your vote,” she said. “Are you voting to turn on GILD tomorrow?”
She had her hands on either side of his head, leaning over, her voice still husky with promise.
“That’s confidential,” he said. “How do you know about that?”
Angel shook her head. “No secrets between us, Franklin. I’m about to give you the best night of your life.” She rocked her body so that her breasts bumped against his chin. “C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Fine. I’m voting for GILD deployment.”
Angel kissed him then, a long, deep kiss that let him know he’d made the right choice. She broke off to let him catch his breath, nibbling on his ear. “I’m sorry, Senator, but that’s the wrong answer.”
Franklin felt a prick on his neck. He tried to buck her off but she had wrapped her arms around his head. His heart raced, his pulse hammered uncontrollably in his ears, and his breath went shallow and fast.
As the darkness began to close in, she relaxed her grip. Angel sat up and kissed him on the forehead like he was a child.
“The Kremlin sends its regards, Senator.”
Chapter 9
SS Renegade – Bridge
Russian–Chinese DMZ
Laz entered the bridge, determined to keep calm in front of his crew. Showtime, he thought.
“Alright, Mimi, let’s see who our customer is.”
Mimi made a face. “You’re not gonna like it, Captain.” She tapped her console and the image of an enormous Chinese warship filled the screen. “Meet the CSS Yangtze, the latest in destructive beauty, commanded by none other than the Chinese premier’s nephew.”
Laz grunted in reply. At least now they knew this whole thing had a political dimension, not that it mattered. He heard the heavy tread of Topper and Little Dick’s boots on the deck plates and their sharp intake of breath when they saw the warship on the screen.
He knew how they felt. The Chinese went to great lengths to make their ships look deadly, with stylized curves and flashy details that had an emotional impact on the viewer.
“Nothing to see here, gentlemen,” Laz said without turning around. “Meet me outside Airlock One. I’ll handle the financial details.” He put a hand on Mimi’s shoulder. She trembled under his touch. “Let’s do this. Uncloak and hail the Yangtze.”
A man with a bald, bullet-shaped head replaced the warship on the screen. Young, Laz thought. Really young for command of a cruiser
.
“Yangtze, this is Captain Lazarus Scollard of the SS Renegade.”
Bullet Head nodded. “Captain Scollard.” He made Laz’s rank sound like a question. “I am Captain Sun. I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
“You pay for it, you can have it,” Laz shot back. Cheeky bastard.
“You will transfer the package to me, Renegade.”
Laz sighed. “Captain Sun, I believe maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I will be very happy to arrange a transfer after I receive my money.”
“Stand by, Scollard.” The lack of respect was starting to make Laz really dislike this guy. “You should see half the agreed-on amount in your numbered account,” Captain Sun said.
Mimi was already hammering away on the comms panel. She looked up, her eyes bright, mouthing, “Two point five million.”
“Thank you, Sun,” Laz said, returning the favor of disrespect. “We’re ready to receive your shuttle.”
Captain Sun’s blank forehead creased into a frown. “You will bring the package to me, Scollard!”
“No can do, sir. We’ll leave the airlock open for you.” He signaled to Mimi to cut the transmission.
She was staring at him with something like respect. “Is it wise to bait him like that?” she said. “Two point five mill is worthless if we’re dead.”
Laz stared at the blank screen. “As long as we have the package we’re fine. My worry is what happens after we turn it over. Your only concern right now is to get us out of here the second I tell you. No hesitation.”
***
Airlock One was outfitted with a universal docking ring, but the entrance was only wide enough for personnel. The last thing Laz wanted to see was a Chinese military craft on his shuttle bay, probably filled with Chinese commandos.
As they heard the shuttle from the Yangtze start the docking process, he arranged Topper and Little Dick so they had an unimpeded field of fire on the airlock door. When the light on the panel turned green, Laz opened the door.
A single Chinese officer stood in the doorway. He made a stiff bow. “I am Lieutenant Commander Wei of the Chinese—”
“Yeah, I’m not interested, Commander. Let’s get the rest of the money sent and this is all yours.” He held up the silver case.
“Very well, Captain Scollard.” Wei signaled to someone behind him in the shuttle. “The balance of your payment is in transit now.”
Laz raised his voice. “Mimi, tell me the minute you see the money show up.”
The seconds felt like hours. The Chinese officer stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting patiently. The case seemed to weigh more by the minute. Laz felt it dragging his arm toward the floor. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Mimi,” he said, his voice sounding louder than he’d intended. “Status.”
She answered with a half-giggle. “The money’s there, Laz. Five mill!” Topper and Little Dick hooted at each other. Laz smiled and started to hand the case over when Mimi screeched over the intercom: “Holy shit, Laz! We’ve got Russians inbound!”
The eyes of the Chinese officer went round with fear. “Give me the case, Captain Scollard. You have your money. Give it to me!”
Laz hesitated. There was obviously a double-cross going down somewhere in this deal and he held the trump card. Giving it away might not be the best move. Still, they’d paid the price; his job was done.
He tossed the case to the Chinese officer. “Good luck, sir. I think you’re going to need it.”
The man said nothing, just disappeared into the airlock hatch. Laz listened to the Chinese shuttle undock, then called out to Mimi. “He’s clear, Mimi. Drop the cloak and get us the hell out of here.”
The ship shuddered, knocking Laz off his feet. Someone was firing at them?
“Mimi, are we hit? Status!”
Her voice was unnaturally calm. “Yeah, we’re hit. Port side nacelle, not fatal. But you need to get up here. This is getting weird.”
***
When Laz was at Fleet Academy, a large portion of the advanced officer training was battle tactics. Instructors ran endless simulations of how the Chinese and Russian fleets fought, all the while pointing out their strengths and weaknesses.
But those were simulations; this was real.
The RSS Leningrad had as much style as a brick shithouse. Blunt-nosed and bristling with firepower, it made the Yangtze look delicate by comparison. The Russian swept across the bow of the Chinese ship, raking it with laser fire, leaving a furrow of melted steel across the smooth surface. The Yangtze was backing down, trying desperately to recover its shuttle and the precious package.
“The Russian clipped us with a single rail gun round,” Mimi said. “We can cloak, but we’re bleeding plasma. They’ll find us in a heartbeat.”
Laz punched the intercom and ordered Gizmo to get on a repair of the damaged nacelle.
The Yangtze had finally recovered her shuttle and the delicate ship spun on a dime, releasing a devastating barrage of bright red laser fire at the Russian ship. There was a puff of vapor and debris as the Russian’s hull was breached. Russian rail gun slugs rained down on the Chinese vessel, raising a field of tiny geysers as atmosphere vented into space.
Laz had seen enough. “Bring us about and let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.
Mimi shook her head. “You haven’t seen the best part.” She pointed at the screen. “Here comes the cavalry.”
A Constitution-class starship blazed across the screen, dwarfing both the Russian and Chinese ships. “Oh my God,” he heard Little Dick say behind him. “It’s huge.”
“The Invincible,” Laz said.
The Yangtze was in bad shape, Laz could see. She was trailing a long stream of vapor and plasma, and her lasers seemed to be offline. The Leningrad pressed her advantage, crisscrossing the enemy hull with laser fire. A ripple of explosions started at the rear of the Yangtze, then progressed forward. Escape pods popped off the hull.
The Invincible unleashed a continuous broadside of rail gun fire on the Russian, who was also damaged. “The Leningrad is sending out a mayday call,” Mimi said, wonder in her voice. Still, the Invincible did not let up, pouring laser fire into the damaged areas. Suddenly, the Russian ship exploded in a burst of atmosphere.
“Mimi, we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Laz said. “Drop the cloak and—”
Too late.
“Unidentified merchant ship, this is ISS Invincible. Stand down. Prepare to be taken on board. Acknowledge.”
Mimi looked up at him. Laz felt the ship—his ship—shudder as the Invincible’s tractor beam locked onto them.
Laz tapped the comms console.
“Invincible, this is merchant ship Renegade. Acknowledged.”
Chapter 10
Research Station
Alpha Centauri
Stacy Vallens never expected to be an astrophysicist. It just sort of happened. She retargeted the array on the dying star they were recording. Her mother had been horrified when Stacy told her about the job on Alpha Centauri. The poor woman saw the possibility of grandchildren disappearing over the horizon.
But lately, Stacy was starting to wonder if Mom had been right. A year ago, this kind of research had kept her up late at night parsing data and building models, but now . . .
She’d just turned thirty-nine, and suddenly everything seemed different. Stacy found herself looking at the social media streams of her friends from college and crying over pictures of their children. Crying! What the hell was wrong with her?
One thing she knew was that this unmet need was not going to be fulfilled on the AC, as they liked to call Alpha Centauri. Of the twelve scientists on the station, there was no one in this lot who she had even the slightest interest in.
The array beeped at her. What the hell was wrong with this stupid thing today? This was the third time she’d adjusted it this shift.
Data Interference, the readout said.
She cursed to herself a
nd pulled up the array screen details.
“What the heck is going on?” she muttered. The meta-space band readings were fluctuating wildly. She pushed across the room on her wheeled chair to the sensors station. They used it rarely, mostly when supply ships were inbound. She powered it on, waiting for the sensors to do an initial sweep.
Stacy thought about calling Dr. Strauss but decided against it. Better to wait until she actually had something to tell him.
The sensor panel blinked, indicating the sweep was done. “Okay, boys and girls, let’s see what’s out there.” She opened the data screen.
Stacy could scarcely believe her eyes. Five ships were closing in on the station. Five. Of unknown origin. Her hand shook as she keyed the all-station intercom.
“Everyone, this is Stacy. We have ships inbound. Um . . . I think maybe they’re aliens.” She closed her eyes. Someday a historian was going to write about this moment and her words “Um . . . I think maybe they’re aliens” would immortalize this moment.
The room filled rapidly with the station scientists in various stages of undress and bedhead. There were protocols for this sort of thing, of course. Dr. Strauss, as the ranking scientist, took charge.
“Send out the universal greeting,” he said, his voice still rusty with sleep.
The universal greeting was a package of language, math symbols, artwork, anything that might trigger a friendly response in a First Contact situation. “Broadcasting universal greeting on all channels, Doctor,” said Lenny, his husband. They’d been married for twenty years, but Lenny was always scrupulous about calling his spouse “Doctor” whenever they were on duty together.
“We’re getting a response, Dr. Strauss,” Stacy called out.
“Put it on speaker, Dr. Vallens.”
Stacy punched the button and a low droning sound filled the room. Everyone went quiet, listening.
“Run it through the translator program, Lenny,” Dr. Strauss said.
Minutes ticked by. The sound grew louder, more intense.