Telek’s eyes closed. “If not, it won’t be a bad life. We’ll get to help people like Rollins helped you. It would be a life with purpose.”
Al rested a hand on Telek’s arm. “It would be a good life, but that doesn’t mean I want to let you go.”
Telek smiled. “I would rather stay, but if I can’t, be happy that I’m going somewhere better than I’ve ever been outside of here.”
Before Al could respond to that, Rollins came in. The room hushed.
“Captain Bellomi, we’ve finished repairs to your ship. I’ve entertained your offer to help hunt down the Alaisaigae. We will allow it, but we all need reinforcements for that. We are, however, ready to transport the remaining chimerae to our ship. I’ve given them my word that after some retraining, they’ll become part of our military. Nothing bad or illegal will happen to them.”
Al didn’t think there was much he could do if it did. “I understand, Colonel. May I speak to you privately?”
She hesitated just long enough that Al thought she might say no. Rollins nodded. “Your office.”
Al jerked his head at Telek, and the chimera followed him, subdued. Al indicated for Rollins to sit, but she didn’t. “You know what this is about,” he said.
“You want to keep the chimerae.”
“No, I just want to keep Telek,” Al replied.
“He’s not keeping me. I want to stay,” Telek huffed. “The others are excited to go with you, Colonel.”
She looked between the two men, an air of understanding settling on her. “I have to bring them all back. Those are my orders. It’s too late to tell them he’s dead. They know better. I can’t leave him.”
“Can you promise me you’ll bring him back?” Al asked.
“I can’t promise anything, you know that.”
“Then I’m not letting you take him.”
Telek touched Al’s arm. “It’s all right. I don’t want you in trouble. I don’t want to go, but I won’t let you get in trouble over me.”
Rollins tapped her chin, then nodded toward the door. “Go on, get out. I need to make a call.”
“Huh?”
“To my superiors, Bellomi. Let me see what I can do.”
Al smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”
He and Telek went back out into the hall, letting Rollins use the comm-link in private. “You don’t have to go, Telek. No matter what her superiors say.”
“But I do. I meant it, Al. I’m not letting you get in trouble over me.”
“It’s my choice. I’m not going to regret it.”
“It’s not just your choice, and you will, or I will. I would not be happy knowing I got you into too much trouble.” Telek scowled. “You’ve already given me so much hope for the future. If that’s the last thing you ever give me, it’s more than enough. I’m happy.”
Al didn’t know what to say to that, so he slipped his arms around Telek, kissing him. The comm interrupted the long, sweet kiss.
“Bellomi, get back in here,” Rollins commanded.
Al complied, Telek going with him. “What did they say?”
“They said one less chimera is acceptable so long as he’s going to a privateer under our command. Just keep in mind if you ever leave service, they’ll be back for him. And they do want him to come with the others for the training service. It might take a month or more, depending on how well they respond to it. I don’t think it will be much of a problem. Is that acceptable?” Rollins asked.
“It’s fine by me. Telek?”
“It sounds good. When do we leave?”
“In a few hours. Be prepared to disembark at seventeen hundred hours,” she replied, moving past them and out of the office.
“Are you sure this is okay by you, Telek?”
“Yeah, it won’t be that long.” Telek grinned. “I have better ideas for spending these last few hours than worrying over how the next few months will go.”
Al took his hand, pulling Telek close. “I’m not so sure you’re ready for anything too athletic.”
“I’d settle for just curling up in bed with you. Has to be better than sickbay,” Telek reasoned.
“Can’t argue that.” Al kissed him. “It’ll give you a reason to hurry back.”
Telek slid his arms around Al. “I already have all the reason I need.”
JANA DENARDO’S career choices and wanderlust take her all over the United States and beyond. Much of her travels make their way into her stories. Fantasy, science fiction, and mystery have been her favorite genres since she started reading, and they often flavor her works. In her secret identity, she works with the science of life and gives college students nightmares. When she’s not chained to her computer writing, she functions as stray cat magnet. She’s also learning that the road to enlightenment is filled with boulders she keeps falling over and that the words gardening and Zen don’t go together no matter what anyone says.
Visit Jana’s blog at http://jana-denardo.livejournal.com/.
OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN PIRATE
E.S. DOUGLAS
THERE were few things in my life that gave me greater satisfaction than knowing I had managed to successfully capture a criminal. The fact that the criminal in question was the pirate captain Rheinallt Jones made the taste of success all the sweeter. Word of the blackguard and his misdeeds was spreading, and without someone to stop it, the man could likely have become the next Blackbeard, or perhaps another “gentleman pirate.” He was known to treat his men well, after all, and had very few horrific crimes, when compared to his contemporaries, that could be attributed to him. The same could not always be said for his crew.
Even when he had collided with me while I was making my regular rounds on the dock, he had apologized.
“I am terribly sorry,” he had said, his breath smelling strongly of rum. He had turned his gaze to the step he had missed coming out of the tavern, as though to understand how he had fallen.
His attention had then refocused on me, and his hand had patted my shoulder. Normally, I would have gone on my way and ignored being accosted during my regular patrols, but he had leaned in close to my ear. “Though I have had much worse luck in my stumblings.”
I had been a little appalled, but my interest in the man began then, even though I already knew who he was. There were enough of his wanted posters hanging around the barracks.
When he had seen me raise my weapon, he had chuckled. “Well, maybe my luck was not so good after all.” Though he had not looked terribly frightened of me or my weapon, he had lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. It was quite possibly the easiest arrest I had ever made.
My intentions at the time were not quite so innocent as merely seeing justice done. I knew that capturing Jones would benefit my military career considerably. Typically, I am not the sort to actively seek out accolades and commendations, but when they presented themselves to me, if a bit soaked in rum, I took them.
Regardless of my part in Jones’s capture, I now doubted that I would get any recognition for the arrest. My commander was the one delivering word of the capture to the governor, while I was the one standing guard.
At a time when I should have been celebrating, I sat and watched the pirate pace inside his small cell. I could find very little that was productive to do with my time aside from propping my feet upon a nearby chair and trying my best to ignore the stale dampness of the jail. Though I could never find fault in the building’s construction—it served its purpose well—it always felt a bit too dark, and water permeated the floor in odd places, which was mostly absorbed by a thin layer of straw; this only added an unfortunate depth to the mustiness rather than eliminating or at least reducing it. The atmosphere left very little to be desired for a victory celebration.
“I am disappointed in myself.” Jones finally spoke after nearly an hour passing in silence. “Caught by a prison guard.” He stuck his forearms through the gaps in the cell door and let the bar beneath them support some of his weight.
I m
ust admit that again I was struck by the inflection and tonality of his accent. Truthfully, it had been this that had brought him to my attention, more so than our collision. The way he talked had a natural lilt that seemed inclined to singing, so much so that even now I can picture Jones in my mind’s eye, leading a sea shanty on his schooner. Added to that cadence was the lyrical quality his accent gave even the most commonplace of words; something so unique for me was bound to make an impression.
Living in that part of the colonies for much of my life, I had not known many Welsh, and to be honest, there were none that I could distinctly remember. I had heard stories of the Welsh people from family members, and the tales I could recall had not been kind to them. I did not know if Jones’s reputation as a pirate known to steal from the British helped or hindered the reputation of the people of Wales. Either way, I supposed being captured by a British colonist was unlikely to win him any followers in their midst.
“I am not a prison guard.” I folded my arms over my chest and narrowed my gaze on the auburn-haired man. “I happen to be a lieutenant.”
“I thought that the clothes were a little….” He appeared to be searching for the right word, though why, I didn’t know. Prior to his arrest and the better part of an hour of silence from the man, he had been trying to charm everyone on the street outside the tavern. Even as I was putting him in shackles, he had tried a bit of charm on me. His silence only came when he thought he would get nowhere for his efforts. “A little… decorative.” He frowned. That did not seem to be the word he had been seeking.
Jones interlaced his fingers and leaned his forehead against one of the horizontal strips of metal to give me what I could only describe as a leer. “Does the lieutenant-cum-prison guard have a name?”
“He does, but he is unlikely to share it with a pirate.”
“Does he always talk about himself like that?” Jones asked with a smile, but I did not deign to answer. To my satisfaction, that seemed to annoy him greatly.
I had encountered my share of pirates while living in a harbor city, but he appeared to be worlds away from the men I had met before. Perhaps it was his culture—or that accent—but I could not say I had met someone quite like him in his—for lack of a more appropriate word—profession. He did not spit or swear at me for locking him away, nor did he beg for mercy or release. His boundless confidence did not seem to fail him even once to be replaced with either anger or fear. It was remarkable to witness.
Then there was his infamous charm. Every announcement asking for the man’s head had included some warning of his silver tongue. According to the most recent announcement distributed among those of us in the governor’s service, even those of “the most upstanding character” found themselves “unwitting parties to his escape or much worse.”
I had to wonder just what in Jones’s past had earned the dubious label of “much worse,” but I had enough of an imagination to guess at it. The man was not particularly difficult to look at for any period of time. He was surprisingly clean-shaven, or would have been if he had not been prevented from returning to his ship. Even now, he had only the slightest shadow of stubble save for a set of long sideburns that led to even longer auburn hair, all of which was his own, unlike the respectable white wig that was perched atop my own closely shorn brown hair.
The man’s eyes, which I had noted when we first met, brought to mind images of the ocean just before a storm. They were a sort of intense steely blue that would have faded by early adulthood in less of a man. Life on a ship had roughened features that had just the slightest touch of the delicate to them. With his callused hands and the trim cut of his body, he obviously had worked on his ship rather than just yelled orders, neither of which did any harm to his appearance, in my humble opinion.
Jones did not have the notoriety of Blackbeard, but there were images of him that circulated to the harbor towns and cities, especially among those of us in the governor’s service. It was little wonder I had recognized him from the moment he stumbled into me, the sketches provided were so accurate. Looking at him now as we shared opposite spots in the stinking jailhouse, I almost wondered if the man had posed for the engravings that would make up his wanted posters. It would not surprise me in the least if he had. Nor would I be shocked to learn that he had a portrait of himself in his cabin on his ship, paid for with plundered booty. His face, regardless of the weathering sun and saltwater had given it, was worthy of capturing with paint on canvas.
“Do I pass yer inspection?” he asked with a crooked grin that created the faintest of creases in his ruddy-hued cheeks.
“Inspection?”
Jones shifted his face enough that the cell door’s bars clearly framed his features. “Ye seem to be staring at me with some deep thought. I wondered if it was some form of inspection. Or perhaps a silent interrogation.” Again, I said nothing, and this time he shifted away from the door, allowing his hands to grab hold of the iron bars to support his weight as he leaned back. He arched almost obscenely and groaned in appreciation a moment later. I ignored what that sight and his noises did to me and maintained my own silence.
“If this were an interrogation,” he said, by way of explaining his earlier question, “it might make more sense to me why ye would be allowing him to take word of my capture to the governor and get all of the acknowledgement in the process.”
I tried to contain my surprise that he’d grasped the situation so quickly. My commander was begrudging at his best when it came to giving credit where it was due. He was particularly cruel to those of us who were no longer so young as to follow him naively but still young enough to best him physically. At twenty and seven years, I was still in my prime, while the man whose orders I had to obey was declining from his own. He knew this. I knew it.
“Why do you assume he will be the one credited with your arrest?”
Jones leaned closer to the bars once again and crooked a finger in my direction. I didn’t leave my chair, but I set my feet on the floor once again and leaned forward to show I was listening, against my better judgment. Jones lowered his voice, as though there were someone else in the otherwise deserted jailhouse that he did not want hearing his little secret. “I assume so because I know men like him, and perhaps because I am ‘men like him’.”
I wondered if he, like my commander, was waiting for someone to try to usurp him. That did not seem quite right, since Jones was nowhere near as bitter as the man I had to follow.
The mere fact that I had allowed myself to become Jones’s guard while the commander received the praise for my actions was a strong indicator that the usurper would not be me. I have always been reluctant to properly speak up for myself in situations like this. There was far too much that could also be brought to light and cause me trouble. If it were not for my natural luck, perhaps even God-given ability, to perform acts of heroism in very public arenas, I would wager to guess I would never have risen through the ranks at the rate I had.
I settled back into my rickety wooden chair. “I am sure my commander is well aware of the kind of man you are,” I said, once again resting my feet on the other seat. If the chair I was currently sitting on was rickety, the one that now supported my boots was a hazard. Just the addition of their weight made the wood creak. “I can offer you my assurances that he will be helping your victims detail the stories of your looting, raping, and plundering.”
Those words must have struck something in the other man because those odd blue eyes widened at first, then narrowed in obvious indignation. “Ye have two of those three correct, but I never take an unwilling lover.” I could not contain my snort of amusement, not that I made any real effort to do so. Here the man was, in jail, his boat and crew seemingly gone from our harbor, and he was arguing about his prowess as a lover.
“Never,” he repeated with a tone of finality and stepped away from the cell door to resume his pacing. Had I not stripped him of his dark blue coat before throwing him in the cell, I think it would have been flappin
g wildly about his breeches as he irritably walked the small square of his holding area.
I could not help but find his frustration immensely amusing, especially since he had seemed to get a great deal of pleasure from my own. Of course, this was only when he was not making attempts to charm me into… something. “Perhaps you should not misuse women, then. Do you promise them love? Marriage?” I folded my hands at my stomach and raised my voice to be heard over his kicking the far wall of his cell, which he began doing when the pacing could no longer quell his frustration. “Or do you convince them that you are rightfully marrying them in order to have your way with them?” This tactic was not unheard of among pirates who wanted women of a better caliber than those with a price. There were tales that Blackbeard had at least a dozen “wives.”
“I do not misuse women,” he said, eyeing me through the bars of his cell door again but not stepping so close nor touching it. “I’ve no use for them, let alone misuse.”
This piqued my curiosity—and if I were being honest with myself, my interest. “None at all?”
“None,” he said, inching closer to the door. “And the lovers, willing ones, that I take to me bed could never be so stupid as to think any church anywhere would condone such a marriage.”
“I could consider this the confession of a second crime,” I told him as I kicked my feet from the battered chair and stood for the first time since my commander had left me to watch over Jones. “Your sense of judgment is questionable for you to tell such a thing to a military officer.” I gave my uniform a tug as though to emphasize that fact, and though I would like to claim it was a show of authority on my part, in reality, I was merely straightening the coat that had been a hard-won trophy in my years of service.
Jones approached the cell door again. His hands wrapped around the bars once more, and he smiled at me, unafraid. “I think I made an excellent choice in me confidant.” The smile broadened as I found myself frowning in disapproval. “I can tell these things.”
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