“I could help with the trideo arrangements,” Meg said.
“I maintain my own account as a registered sentient,” Maeve reminded them. “I intend to pay my fair share.”
Jake was undeterred in his quest to get to the bottom of the situation. “But again, and with all due respect, why are we doing this in the first place?”
“Captain Fleming is a human being.”
“Well, yes that’s a given.” Jake sounded impatient. “And?”
“This crew is his family, in a sense, and the holiday is about family, as I understand the history.” Maeve fell silent. “I will explain further to Jake and Tyrelle alone.”
“All right.” Jake rose, taking charge. “The rest of you are dismissed. Please take your contributions to the kitchen stores, wherever Chef Stephanie wants them. The Purser will be in touch regarding reimbursement where necessary.”
“They’ll be invited to the dinner with the Captain,” Maeve said.
“Only if it isn’t going to be a career limiting event.” Jake’s voice was flat. “I’m not convinced yet.”
Stephanie stayed put. “I think since my name was used under false pretenses, I’m entitled to hear the explanation. And if I’m to cook a special meal for the captain, I need to know why. Cooking isn’t just a ‘follow the numbers, throw the ingredients in a pot’ process. Food is emotion, comes from the heart, at least when I’m preparing a special meal.”
“Stay then. I’m convinced.” Jake sat down and toyed with the personal AI, studying the recipes. The portal slid shut behind all the departing crew members and Tyrelle moved to sit next to Stephanie and him. “We’re waiting.”
“I will not breach the captain’s confidence nor tell his business,” Maeve said. “I am concerned about him, however. He recently received the news that his only remaining family member, a younger half-brother, was killed on active duty in Sector 112. The body was not recovered. There was no memorial service other than the ceremonial reading of the name at Special Forces Command. This has hit Captain Fleming very hard. You are aware, I believe, Tyrelle?”
Stephanie glanced at the officer, her curiosity aroused.
Tyrelle exchanged glances with Jake. “Based on the—based on certain indicators, yes, I have been aware. I believe the captain is stronger than you estimate, Maeve, but I’m supportive of this dinner idea. We can remind him he is cared for and in a family of sorts. The Zephyr has certainly become that for me as well, so I understand.”
Stephanie knew there were secrets about the Zephyr, things she wasn’t privy to. Truth be told, she really didn’t want to be. The kitchen was her empire and she was happy there. Obviously Jake and Tyrelle shared some of the darker knowledge.
“All right, then we’ll do it.” Jake flashed her a smile. “Assuming you’re willing to try cooking in accordance with those ancient recipes Maeve unearthed?”
“Yes, of course. Are we inviting anyone else to the dinner? How many am I cooking for?”
“I’ll give you a list,” Maeve said. “After Jake approves the names.”
He looked relieved at the AI’s compromise. “And we’ll tell no one else about the captain’s brother, not even the other dinner guests, nor will we indicate we know, right?”
“I keep no secrets from Owen,” Tyrelle said. “But he will keep this one to the death. He and I owe the captain everything.”
“And I’m guessing Emily already knows, as ship’s doctor, but of course she couldn’t tell me. I won’t need to discuss it with her. No problem.” Jake waved a hand. “Are we done here?”
“When does the dinner need to be held?” Stephanie asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Why am I not surprised? At least we’re in between gourmet groups so I have my special kitchen crew available for the task.”
Next day…
“The captain is on his way,” Maeve said. “I told him there’s a tense situation in this room.”
Stephanie nodded in the direction of the AI ganglion and surveyed the table with a critical eye. She thought her staff had outdone themselves, figuring out how to make the ancient recipes work with modern techniques and substituting current ingredients where there was no availability of what the formula called for. The platters and bowls of food all smelled mouthwatering, and the pies waiting on the side table were beautifully formed, the crusts just browned to the perfect point.
The portal slid open to allow the captain to step inside and Stephanie led the small crowd in a cheer of “Surprise!”
Fleming paused in midstep, frowning, his gaze going immediately to Jake and Owen as the senior officers present. Stephanie and Tyrelle walked forward to intercept him.
“We’ve taken the liberty of preparing what we believe to be a fairly good reproduction of the ancient Thanksgiving feast served on your home planet. At least according to Maeve,” Stephanie said. “As we understand it, this day is for gathering with friends and family and remembering the things we’re thankful for. We wanted to honor you.” When preparing her little speech, she’d decided the less said the better. Keep it simple.
She thought for a moment Fleming might retreat, his normal deep reserve threatened by this open display of caring from people on the crew who’d known him the longest, like Chief Takkei and Jake, and others who were newer to his command, like Tyrelle and herself.
Tyrelle extended one graceful hand. “Come, won’t you take your place at the head of the table, sir?”
He gave her a half bow and tucked her hand into his bent elbow. “I would be honored. Please, sit down everyone.”
Eyeing the dishes as he walked with Tyrelle, he said, “Is that turkey? And cranberry sauce?”
“A version of it, sir,” Stephanie answered. “Quint did his best to get real cranberries for us and Maeve found genetic descendants of Terran turkeys. Everyone pitched in on obtaining the necessary ingredients.”
He helped Tyrelle into her seat next to Owen and waited for Stephanie to sit on the other side before he took his own place. All eyes turned to him as he cleared his throat for a moment. No one had ever seen him at a loss for words. “I haven’t seen a meal like this since I was a boy. I don’t think anyone has. My family had a ritual; we’d go around the table and share what we were thankful for. I’ll start—I’m very grateful for this good ship and for the crew—and Maeve—who fly her with me. A man couldn’t ask for better comrades.” He nodded at Stephanie and she voiced her thanks for her staff.
So it went around the table and when Tyrelle had spoken her piece, thanking the crew of the Zephyr for saving her life and giving her a home, and it was Fleming’s turn again, he picked up the carving fork and knife and said, “Thank you to everyone who had a hand in putting this special meal together for us to share this evening. Now, the question is—white meat or dark?”
Thank you for reading the stories in this Sectors-based anthology of mine! I really hope you enjoyed the adventures (and of course I’d love a review if you have time and the inclination to write one – even a few sentences would be wonderful. Authors relish reader feedback).
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As promised, I’ll share a short excerpt from the beginning of Danger in the Stars, whose heroine is the sister of Tyrelle from Star Cruise: Stowaway.
DANGER IN THE STARS
By
Veronica Scott
The story:
Miriell, a powerful empathic priestess, has been kidnapped from her own primitive planet along with a number of her people, and sold to the evil Amarotu Combine, largest organized crime syndicate in the Sectors. When she and her handler are sent to use her power to commit an assassination, she must leave behind her own sister as hostage to ensure her compliance. Miriell cannot ask for aid without endangering herself and others.
Despite his best efforts, Combine enforcer Conor Stewart is entranced by Miriell, and helps her evade the worst of brutal treatment from the rest of th
e mob. But Conor must keep his distance, before the lovely empath learns that he has secrets of his own–secrets that could get them both killed.
The situation becomes dire when Conor and Miriell come to the attention of both the Combine overlords and the deadly Mawreg, aliens who threaten the Sectors. Can she save herself and the Mawreg’s next victims? And will Conor help her, or remain loyal to his evil bosses?
The excerpt:
The nausea was always the worst part of emerging from cryo sleep. Miriell fought her confused thoughts and the incipient headache, trying not to throw up. She curled into a ball on her side, hands fisted on her unhappy stomach and bit her lip to avoid moaning.
A rough hand on her shoulder shook her. “Come on, you know we don’t have time for this sick act of yours. Snap out of it. The client’s waiting to see what you can do.” Jareck’s voice became more congenial, placating almost as he shifted his focus to someone else. Clearly, he was no longer speaking to her. “These performers, as my boss calls them, don’t do well with cryo sleep, but she’ll be on her feet in a minute or two, I promise. Then we can be on our way.”
“Good. The boss is getting impatient, waiting in the limo. She doesn’t spend much time in cargo warehouses.”
The new voice was deep, and although the tone was rough and the words clipped, Miriell felt as if a warm blanket had been placed over her shoulders. Intrigued by her own reaction, she forced herself to sit up on the floor, bracing herself against the cargo container that had been her prison. Blinking to focus, she turned her head, searching for the owner of the new voice.
Jareck grabbed her elbow in a bruising grip and yanked her to her feet. He must have removed the shackles while she was still unconscious. Giving her a shake, he said, “I swear, every time we travel for a job, you act as if your sweet time asleep in the cryo unit was torture.”
Maybe because for me it is. Swaying, balance still off, she couldn’t resist Jareck as he tugged her close to him, the smell of his cheap cologne another assault on her overloaded senses. Her stomach heaved, and she had to make a conscious effort not to throw up all over him, slapping her free hand over her mouth.
“Do I have to carry you?” His voice was low, and she knew it was a threat. He’d make her pay later.
With painful effort, she straightened her spine and stepped away, brushing one hand down her plain gray tunic in a vain attempt to smooth out the wrinkles. “I can walk.”
“You don’t look like it.” As their new companion voiced his opinion, she realized he was no one she’d ever met before. Tall, with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles, he had black hair and gray eyes that were almost silver. She was mesmerized by his eyes. Miriell wished she dared to engage her gifts, get a sense of this person, maybe figure out why he made her feel safe, when clearly, she was anything but.
Jareck stopped to pick up his kit bag, never releasing his hold on her. “Conor’s right, we’ve got to be going. You’re ready to behave, right?”
Submissively, she nodded, bottling up her anger and hatred. Someday I’ll get my chance and you will die. The implacable secret vow was the only thing keeping her going. There would be revenge, not only for herself, but also for all the others. Hands at her sides, head bowed, she said, “As you wish, sir.”
“How do you ensure she won’t make a break for it when we walk outside, won’t scream for help?” Conor at least seemed skeptical of her meek compliance.
Jareck pulled a slim black AI case from his pocket and waved the device under her nose. Miriell fought not to flinch. He grabbed the necklace at her throat, a thick collar of gold set with a few random faux gems. “We taught them to behave right from the start. See this? It’s explosive.”
The other man moved so fast Miriell could only blink. He snatched the AI from Jareck’s hand and shoved the skinny man against the wall. “You’re planning to blow this woman up? And us with her?”
Pulling at Conor’s arm to no avail, Jareck choked. “No, it’s a directed charge, sophisticated, kills her and localizes the effects. A bit messy, but not like you’re thinking. I swear.”
Conor frowned at the device in his hand and then at Miriell, who struggled to remain calm, to push away the memories of when the Amarotu thugs who kept her and her people captive demonstrated the way the collar worked, selecting a man at random from their group and ruthlessly killing him as Jareck was describing.
Conor released Jareck, stepped away and tossed the AI back to him. “A bit overly dramatic and barbaric, don’t you think?”
“Nah, these people are savages. Didn’t even know they lived on a planet going around a sun when the Shemdylann slavers captured them. The Tulavarrans understand brute force, for all they’ve got a touch of psy power.” Coughing, Jareck came back to her. “And she knows damn well if she misbehaves, we’ll kill a few of her friends too. The deadly consequences in store keep them in line.”
Conor stared at her. She felt his gaze as if it was a physical force. “I’ll take your word for it. All I care about is you and your performer, as you call her, getting the job done for us the way the boss wants.” Brushing his hands as if to say he was done with them and their problems, he walked to the door.
Jareck rushed to grab her, towing her after the other man. “Oh, she’ll get the job done all right. These people are amazingly effective.”
The sunlight was blinding to Miriell. She took a deep breath of the fresh air and felt a flicker of energy from the planet’s living things. Much less than she usually picked up after emerging from the cryo pod, but the power was restorative, although she tried to hide the fact she was feeling better. The men led her toward a large, sleek groundcar, where a driver waited. The windows in the back were opaque. The driver opened the door for Conor, who climbed in without a second glance at his companions. Jareck shoved Miriell into the vehicle, and she fell awkwardly onto a plush seat, with no time to scoot over before her minder was pressing against her as he entered the car. He gave her a violent shove she knew would leave bruises where his hands connected with her body.
Biting her lip, she moved against the far door, which she could see was locked. Not that she could have done anything about it if the door was unlocked. The explosive collar cancelled any chance to escape. These people were too thorough.
“Sorry for the delay.” Jareck was all oily apology as he held out his hand to the woman seated across from them. “Jareck Treen, from the Devir 6 branch.”
The woman stared at his hand as if it were a dead fish and sipped her drink. “Conor, explain to this idiot that I don’t shake hands with the hired help. He’ll live longer if he understands the ground rules in my branch of the organization.”
“Lady Opherra most emphatically doesn’t interact with the rank and file,” the Combine soldier said, accepting a glass of feelgood from the woman. He drank the amber fluid in one gulp and poured himself a refill from the bar built into the compartment.
Miriell licked her chapped lips and tried not to think about how thirsty she was.
Jareck shrugged, smoothed his hair and tucked his hand inside his jacket pocket. “However you want to play it. You asked for me. I didn’t volunteer.”
“In point of fact, we did not ask for you or anyone from your branch,” the woman said. “You and your—what do you call her? Your performer?” She gave Miriell a scathing up-and-down glance. “Were forced upon us by my boss, who evidently had quite the sales pitch from your boss the last time they met.”
“Oh.” Even the normally garrulous Jareck was at a loss for what to say.
The groundcar’s smoothly humming engine filled the silence.
Over the past four years of horror and captivity, Miriell had perfected the art of studying her captors carefully, seeking to understand and anticipate where the most danger would come from. Head bowed, hands folded meekly in her lap, she reached for the planet’s living energies—the plants, the animals, the fish, the birds—and although the feedback was curiously minimal, she let a tiny portion of
her renewed power loose. The effort was unusually challenging. Taking a deep breath, she curbed her impatience and hoped her face remained expressionless. Cryo sleep affects me more each time I travel. At least, she hoped it was the effect of the technology the Combine forced her to submit to, and not her god leaching away power from one who was now so unworthy to hold it.
Jareck shifted beside her, but she was well acquainted with the slimy green and gray representing his soul in her amplified vision. She needed to know what this Opherra, the woman in charge, was like. Outwardly, the boss was a sleek beauty, generously endowed with all the attractions the human men seemed to prefer—long shiny black hair, pale skin accented by perfectly painted ruby red lips. Her clothing was well made, intricately detailed. Golden rings and earrings completed her presentation. A woman of riches and power. Her soul was as Miriell expected—dull sullen reds threaded with black, and layers of the same slimy green and gray that defined Jareck. Hints of tarnished gold. Corruptive power. Miriell withdrew, afraid that one possessing so many aspects of the Shadow, even if human, would sense her scrutiny. Already hostile, Opherra mustn’t also become suspicious. No one rose to high rank inside the Amarotu Combine without being ruthless and possessing a highly developed situational awareness.
She almost didn’t bother with the bodyguard, Conor. She’d met many like him, men and women, at the facility where she was imprisoned. Some smarter and more ambitious than others, but all dedicated to the crime syndicate they’d sworn their lives to uphold. Thugs at best, killers at worst. No help to be had there, only danger.
She decided she might as well know how deep his cruelty and corruption ran, if only to armor herself against the near-hypnotic effect his voice had on her.
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