Morgan's Choice

by Greta van Der Rol

  She kept moving, twice around the isolation room, a turn past Curlew.

  Well, maybe she could get something out of this. Maybe she could get him to let her wear her own dress rather than those appalling, itchy, uncomfortable sacks to dinner. She’d have to take the neckline higher, loosen it around the body. Surely that would be okay. As long as he didn’t see it as a come-on. No. Why would he? He’d never made a pass at her yet. You couldn’t count the discussion about being bound. She’d had her concerns but the incident had passed into history as though it had never happened. Besides, if he did make a pass, she’d set him straight.

  He stood beside the alien ship with Hanestran, looking at some of the footage they’d collected. She joined them, facing them both.

  “May I ask a favor, Admiral?”

  Ravindra glanced at Hanestran, who walked away.

  “I’ll get back into the cockpit for you but I would like your permission to wear my own dress for dinner tonight.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “I’ll make sure it is suitable. The garments I’ve been given are uncomfortable. My skin isn’t as tough as yours. To me, the material is rough and it itches. I’ll wear them to the mess if I must, but I thought if it’s just you and me, you may be kind enough to offer me some leeway.”

  “How can you make it suitable?”

  “I can change the color and the style. The dress has a little processor.”

  His lips jerked in that faint smile. “You have my permission. If only to see this wonderful device.”

  “Thank you, Srimana.” She climbed back onto the wing, squashed herself into the cockpit and applied herself to understanding the alien code.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Morgan checked the dress out in the mirror. Dark red, high neckline, let out so it didn’t hug her figure anywhere. Okay, it looked much better than the hated shapeless sack and the material felt smooth and soft but not even the bigoted right-wingers back home could see this as a come-on.

  “What do you think, Commander?” she asked Roy.

  The woman’s gaze swept over her. She shrugged. “He has given permission. Who am I to say? It covers you.”

  It covers you but? “What’s the issue? Women don’t wear shapeless tubes on the vids. They don’t on the news broadcasts I’ve seen, either. So why here?”

  “It is a warship. There is no place for sexual titillation here.” The woman radiated contempt. “Can you imagine what the Vesha women might wear to a mess?”

  Morgan refrained from rolling her eyes. What did they think would happen? An outbreak of rutting? Too late now, she wasn’t going back. She crossed the few steps to Ravindra’s apartment and pressed the door panel. Tullamarran bowed her inside.

  Ravindra sat in his usual place. His eyes lingered, following the cut of the dress over her body.

  “Suitable?” Her heart thudded. A sexy tremor slipped down her spine.

  “You have altered the neckline and it does not fit quite so… er… snugly.”

  He sure had noticed last time. “Correct.”

  “And how is this done?”

  “There’s a processor at the back of the neck. The material is made of a special fabric with smart cells that can be reconfigured. For instance, I can change the color.” She lightened the red to crimson, then darkened it again.

  He fingered his chin. “Fascinating. So this dress can only be worn by Supertechs?”

  “No. It comes with a little control that interacts with the dress. Ordinary women dial up the settings and the control does the work. I have the advantage of being able to manipulate the settings without the control.”

  He seemed impressed, interested. “Where is this processor?”

  She put her hand around to the back of her neck and pulled out the tag. Ravindra stood behind her to see. She inhaled his scent, a spicy, musky tang mixed with fresh-laundered uniform. His fingers brushed her skin as he bent over her neck, examining the tag. Her body tingled at his touch, all the way down to her groin.

  “Which part is the processor?”

  “The tiny silver dot.”

  He grunted and stepped away. She breathed out again. The way this man made her feel was entirely too sensual.

  “I think your success today deserves a small celebration.” He waved a hand and Tullamarran materialized from wherever he’d been, bearing a tray holding two beautiful, half-filled glasses.

  She hesitated. She didn’t know what this was, what effect it would have on her. If she refused he wouldn’t be happy. Besides, she didn’t have to drink it all. She took a glass, long-stemmed, clear and delicate, and held it up to the light. Tiny bubbles skittered through the palest of green liquid. She sniffed. The smell reminded her of grass on a summer’s day. She sipped. Lovely. Cool, dry and the bubbles tingled in her mouth.

  “Delicious.”

  “Congratulations on your success today, Suri.” Ravindra raised his glass in a kind of salute and drank. Morgan followed suit. This stuff was certainly easy to drink.

  “Come. Dinner.” He led her to the table.

  Sitting down was so much easier. The dress flowed over her knees and around the pouf. Ah, bliss. They sat opposite each other, as usual, while Tullamarran served soup from a pot into small bowls.

  “Your work with the Yogina ship?” he said.

  “I’ve made a start. I think I understand the code structure. But I can’t read anything on the brain ball yet, only follow the responses from the signals.”

  “Is this because the ball is no longer in the creature’s brain?”

  “Could be. Actually that makes sense. The signal drives the creature but there’s no creature to drive.”

  “But if you had a living Yogin, you would be able to control it?”

  “Maybe.” She almost picked her spoon up first but caught herself just in time and took a mouthful of wine instead. Tullamarran had refilled the glass. “It’s early days. I need more time.”

  He seemed happy enough with that. “Yes. Ah, well, you will have all the time you need.”

  Ravindra picked up his bowl in one hand, the spoon in the other, and started to eat. Morgan followed suit. Fishy, spicy, stacked with strange vegetables and short noodles. When she’d finished most of the contents, she put the bowl down, the spoon inside.

  “We make planetary orbit soon. You will have three nights alone while I talk to the worthies of Kerala.” Irritation colored his normally even tone.

  A pirate attack, she’d heard. Thousands killed or homeless, widespread damage to cities. But the perpetrators were long gone.

  “What will you do?” Morgan said.

  “The only thing I can do. I will send troops and equipment to assist the locals where possible.” He drank another mouthful of wine. “Be that as it may, this will be the first planetary leave for quite a number on this ship for months. Although the terrorist attack will dampen the enjoyment.”

  “And you?”

  “It will be three days of meetings with the planetary leaders, assurances to the wealthy and powerful, public functions, news conferences. Boring.” His eyes twinkled with humor. “The ordinary rank and file not involved with the rescue effort will have much more fun fraternizing with the locals and swelling the coffers of the restaurants and the whore-houses. I doubt it would be different in your fleet.”

  True enough. She nodded. “Food and sex.” Not necessarily in that order, which just went to prove that while the virtual sex programs filled a need, it seemed there was nothing like the real thing. She really needed to stop thinking about sex.

  Tullamarran served the main course, something that resembled tubers stuffed with meat, spicy of course. She’d long since given up trying to understand what everything was, simply swallowed what they gave her. Time was she wouldn’t have been able to eat more than a few spoonsful without having to drink a jug of water. Now, she could even pick different subtle flavors in the spice. The wine complemented the food, reducing its heat and she drained the glass.


  Dinner over, Morgan sat in the sitting room, another glass of wine at her elbow, and listened to a haunting melody played mainly with stringed instruments. It reminded her of moonlight on the ocean, all those years ago on Sal Moneo. The wine had made her mellow, or maybe even a little bit melancholy.

  “It’s a little different from your usual music,” she said when the last notes ended. He had a wide taste that varied from the strident and sometimes discordant popular music to orchestral pieces and chamber music. But this piece had a haunting quality she’d not heard before.

  “It’s one of my favorite pieces.” He seemed distracted, as if he had something on his mind. “A beautiful piece for a beautiful woman.”

  The tremor she felt at his words positively frightened her. She should leave. He’d probably have things to organize for all those meetings tomorrow. She rose, feeling a little unsteady. Too much wine. Her hands smoothed down the dress, the material soft and smooth to her touch. “I’ll wish you good night, Admiral.” She added the bow.

  “Must you go?”

  He was a step away from her before she realized he’d moved, gazing down at her with those disturbing amber eyes.

  Her heart beat a little faster. “I expect you’ll have things to prepare.”

  “Nothing that can’t wait.”

  His fingers traced a line down her cheek, brushed against her hair. “Do you kiss?” He bent his head to brush her lips with his.

  She should say no. She should stop. “I…”

  Before she could say any more he’d lifted her against him, locking an arm under her buttocks, his other hand in her hair while his mouth covered hers. Her lips parted and she responded before she had time to think, his tongue in her mouth, the hot scent of him stimulating her every nerve. His cock, ramrod stiff inside his pants, pushed against her groin, turning her insides to water, her nipples hard. Too long without a man. No, I shouldn’t do this.

  Hands on his shoulders, she tried to push away from him “I never have sex with men I work for.”

  So close to her, his eyes positively smoldered. His scent filled her head, seductive and familiar.

  “You wish me to believe that I am alone in this?” he whispered. “I can smell you, woman, almost taste you on my tongue. You want this as much as I do.”

  Smell her? Good grief, was this another small difference between the species? Did she smell like a bitch in heat? His mouth pressed against hers, insistent, demanding, his tongue probing between her lips, seeking entry. Oh, what the hell; no strings attached. Her arms tightened around his neck as her tongue met his.

  He scooped her up, an arm under her knees and carried her to his bedroom. His fingers fumbled with the dress. “How does it unfasten?”

  Light-headed, she adjusted the material and it slithered down her hips onto the floor. His hands slid over her skin, a light touch that sent shivers of desire pulsing through her.

  He struggled out of his jacket between kisses, pulled off his undershirt while she shed her panties. Oh, God he was gorgeous. Muscular arms accentuated by the tattoo that covered his right shoulder, rippling abs. They collapsed onto the bed together. He flicked her already straining nipples with the tip of his tongue while he pushed his fingers into her, stroked her clit.

  She squirmed, rubbing herself against him, kneading his shoulders. “Please, now, do it now.”

  He unfastened his trousers and slid his cock into her, easy as a piston into a cylinder. God, what a cock. Rock hard and thick enough to fill her. Moaning, she arched her back, wrapped her legs around him. “Oh, this is so good.”

  He took his time, no thirty-second sky rocket, this man. He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him and sucked her nipples while she rode him and then when she was sure he’d finish he lifted her off him and took her from behind.

  Ripples of ecstasy raced through her like a tsunami, making her arch and buck. “Oh yes, oh yes.”

  He hammered into her, pressing deep as he came and slumped, panting, onto her body, his lips near her ear.

  “Wonderful,” he murmured. “You screw like a tart.”

  She frowned, face against the pillow. “What?”

  “It is a compliment, Suri. Every man wants a tart in his bed.”

  He withdrew and pulled off the rest of his clothes. She rolled over and raised herself on her elbows, ready to go but he pushed her down gently, brushed his lips against hers and lay on his stomach with an arm over her body. “I will want more of this.”

  Soon enough he went to sleep, whiffling softly.

  Morgan stared at the ceiling. Great. Now he thought she was a tart. Bloody stupid foolish bitch in heat. Idiot. Too much wine. She wriggled out from under his arm, careful not to wake him, and slipped on her dress and panties. Her shoes in her hand she tiptoed toward the door.

  Back in her quarters she sidled past Roy’s room and into her own. She shed her clothes and went into the shower, letting hot water course over her skin. Her lips stung, bruised from kisses and her nipples were a little bit sore. This isn’t going to last. You’re just a diversion for him. An exotic diversion. There’ll be women down there falling over themselves to entertain the senior officers. Whatever else she might be, she wasn’t light entertainment for anybody.

  Life just got an awful lot more complicated.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ravindra climbed into the shuttle, his adjutant a step behind him. The harness deployed around him, holding him fast in the seat. What a woman. It had been better than he could even have imagined, better than his fantasies. Just thinking about her was enough to bring on an erection. She’d left him. Why was beyond him. He’d woken, wanting more and she was gone. He would have liked one last fond farewell before breakfast. At least one.

  Its engines revving, the shuttle lifted and drifted toward an airlock.

  He’d be busy for three days. They would organize women for the evenings but the only one he wanted was here, on his flagship. As well that a journey on a shuttle only took half an hour.

  The ship dived into the atmosphere, cutting through a thick cloud band stained brown from smoke, shuddering and jolting as the stabilizers whined. The assault ships carrying the troops and equipment wouldn’t be far behind. They were in for a rough trip.

  Beneath the clouds the island-studded ocean rolled, a crinkled grey carpet streaked with white. Kerala’s capital emerged from the murk, a rapidly enlarging mass set around a wide bay. Electra had been beautiful, a glittering city of tall buildings, wide avenues and broad plazas. Now, dirty brown clouds hung like shrouds around still-standing towers, their bases surrounded by shattered remains. The shuttle slowed and dropped, angling toward an island in the bay. He looked down on a green park of formal gardens, designed to be seen from the air, around a huge house. Broken trees still smoldered in a forest well away from the building. Workers and vehicles, ant-like, labored at a clean-up. Gupta’s mansion; requisitioned for this meeting since the Governor’s palace had been destroyed.

  The shuttle dropped gently down on a paved courtyard in front of the house, the carved pillars of its façade bright with color. Governor Fohrai and his security guard waited to one side, out of the way of the blast of displaced air as the ship settled. Ravindra’s escort alighted first, weapons ready, forming a corridor. When they were deployed, Ravindra, Lindar at his heels, strode between the ranks to where Fohrai waited.

  The Governor bowed, a short motion of the head as befitted an exchange of equals. “Welcome, Admiral. I’m pleased to see you again. Even if the circumstances…” Fohrai waved a tired hand. He looked weary, eyes reddened, skin sagging. “Come in. I’m sure Gupta’s kitchen can afford some decent charb.” He gestured toward the mansion’s arched front doors. Ravindra strode beside him.

  “I’ve read the reports. Is Gupta behind this?” Ravindra said.

  Fohrai glanced at him. “We have no proof. But it bears his signature. Word’s already out on the street. ‘The Mirka can’t protect us. We need our own planetary militia.’” />
  “And what does it matter if a few expendable people die on the way?” They didn’t seem to care that they killed their own people. All for a stupid power game. He pushed down the anger. It would not serve here.

  The doors opened at their approach. Fohrai led the military officers to what would normally be a dining room. A massive rojawood table with matching chairs stood on a carpet intricately woven in a myriad of colors, a work of art in its own right. Gilt-framed pictures lined the walls, the ceiling glittered with decoration, the side-cabinets displayed vases and statuary. An opulent, over-blown, garish display of too much money. Ravindra sat down on a chair upholstered in blue and gold brocade. Lindar, on his right, handed him a data panel that showed the seating plan.

  Governor Fohrai sat at the end of the table with his cabinet colleagues around him. A number of other politicians and prominent civic leaders were also gathered; the deputy mayor of Electra, replacing the mayor who had been killed when the tower that housed his office was destroyed and the mayors of some of the other larger cities, the heads of the police and fire authority and the health service. Gupta, big, belligerent and flamboyant, sat opposite Ravindra. Lace frothed at the cuffs and throat of a red jacket, matching the streaks of red amid the glossy black hair that hung around his shoulders. It seemed to be the height of fashion but the man looked ridiculous. All the senior Vesha sported lace and bright colors, in sharp contrast to the military officers and, indeed, the Mirka civilian authorities.

  “Welcome to my home, Admiral.” Gupta’s bow was too shallow. “You are a little late, it seems. Even when your fleet is within our system, you still can’t stop an attack on our cities.”

  Ravindra stared at him. Was that smile a little too gleeful? A little too triumphant? Certainly the contempt rang loud and clear. “Space is a very large place, Sur Gupta. The attacking ships were gone before we received a signal from this planet telling us of the assault.”