Leila sighed, gazing after them. "I wish we could dye our hair in the Fleet."
Bella snorted. "It would cost you a fortune, especially if you went for yellow. Let's go eat." She led the way up the stairs, talking as she walked. "I looked up a few reviews of this place. It’s won all sorts of prizes for food and wine and the service is meant to be the best."
An attractive young man wearing a dark red suit led them up the stairs to a private balcony on the first floor. A slight breeze stirred the potted plants, bringing with it the smells of food, perfume, foliage. So different from scrubbed, space ship air.
"Why don’t we do the tasting menu?" Bella said. "I haven’t eaten this world’s food before. Has anybody else?" She looked around the table.
"That sounds like a great idea," Leila said. "Little bits of everything with matching wines."
Bella glanced through the wine list. "Everybody okay with white to start with?" She beckoned the hovering waiter. "We’ll have one of those," she said, pointing at one of the entries.
"Here’s to us, ladies," said Nali, raising her glass when the wine had been poured. Morgan remembered she was from logistics. Everybody raised their glass and drank. The wine was pleasant, fruity and fragrant.
"Is there wine where you come from?" asked Nali.
"Oh, yes," said Morgan. "Our cultures are similar in many respects. I’m looking forward to trying the food." Many, many respects. She rested her chin on her fist, remembering dinners shared with Makasa, and her good friend Carissa. She wondered where they were, what they were doing? Had Makasa found someone to replace her? Had Carissa made captain yet? She deserved to.
Morgan sat back and listened to the women talk about boyfriends and clothes and home worlds, so normal, so human. The sound of the city murmured a muted accompaniment, now and then highlighted by the whine of a vehicle passing by. All the while, the food came, small servings, exquisitely presented, with a different small glass of wine. Each time a new morsel came it generated discussion amongst the group, comparing and rating the food, deciding how it was prepared. Morgan drank moderately, conscious of the fact that they were going dancing later, and drank lots of water. The others did the same.
They split the bill between them, each of them transferring their share to Bella’s card so she could pay. It had been a marvelous meal and, as the reviews had said, the service had been wonderful, attentive without being obtrusive. Bella asked the house master to organize a taxi for them, thanked him and left a generous tip.
"We're going to Trimpathi's," Leila said to the driver when the women had settled in the taxi. The fellow nodded, then entered the location into the skimmer's control. "It's a top dance club," Leila explained, "and uniforms are not allowed."
Morgan grinned. "Sounds good to me."
The taxi stopped outside an ornate pavilion, a spectacular concoction of curves and arches all glowing with color that rippled like water. The name Trimpathi's flashed and danced, letter by letter, across the arch. Very large men wearing beautifully cut suits stood discreetly near the doorway. Morgan was about to step forward when Bella caught her arm. "Hang on. Let's not get involved in that."
One of the doormen placed a massive hand on the shoulder of a uniformed fleeter approaching the entrance. "No uniforms. Sorry."
"What, d'you mean we can't go in?" The sergeant had had more than enough to drink, slurring his words.
"See the sign? No uniforms."
"Get your hands off me." The drunk squirmed, trying to shrug off the doorman's grip, his face contorted with effort. Without the big man seeming to do more than flick his hand, the fleeter sprawled backwards onto the pavement. "You bastard." He struggled up, his face red, his hands clenched into fists.
This was starting to look ugly. "Maybe we should do something," Morgan said.
Bella held her back, shaking her head.
The second fleeter had more sense and grabbed his companion's arm. "Let's go. There's plenty of other places that'll take our money."
Bella smiled, watching them weave their way down the street. "They'll have a headache tomorrow." She stepped forward. "Come on. Time for some dancing."
The bouncers stared at Morgan, eyes flicking over her golden-brown skin and silver eyes. Yes, different; unusual. She'd bet these two fellows were ex-troopers. They reminded her of Chief Abu Prakesh and his platoon on Krystor. She smiled up at both of them as she walked past them into the club.
Infectious dance music assailed her ears, accompanied by lights that changed with the beat, sweeping colored beams over the handful of couples gyrating on the dance floor at the bottom of a wide staircase. At this relatively early hour, the place was busy without being crowded, so the women were able to find an unoccupied booth on the top level, not too far from the stairs.
"Let’s dance," said Leila, taking Morgan's hand.
Morgan tripped down the stairs with the others and took some impromptu lessons from Leila. Dancing was dancing, after all. She’d been a very good dancer back home. These were just new steps. She let the rhythm flow through her body, move her legs, her feet, her arms.
Leila leaned toward her, eyes sparkling. "Gee, you're good."
Morgan grinned as the joy of the dance rippled through her being. She pranced, then spun, tight and fast. The music paused and she stopped, panting, waiting for the next tune.
"Care to dance, Suri?"
Morgan looked up at a good-looking young man with green eyes. Why not? That was why she’d come, after all. This was fun.
***
In the foyer Ravindra tried again. The call connected but she didn’t answer. What the hell was she doing? Pacing the floor, he switched the call to his security guard on Vidhvansaka.
"Check her room."
The reply came back in minutes. "She’s not there, Srimana, but we found her comunit on the table."
This wasn’t right. If anything had happened to her… But how could it? She worked on the ship surrounded by people she knew.
"Go and find her. Now."
He should have made her come with him. Perhaps something had happened. There were always Bunyada sympathizers on ships. What if they'd waylaid her, drugged her, smuggled her off the ship?
A call from the ship interrupted his thoughts.
"Well?" His heart beat faster.
"She’s left the ship, Srimana, with a group of officers. They went planetside about three hours ago."
Three hours? Three blasted hours? After telling him she was going to work on the shift drive. Oh, she’d be sorry. But then again… Sick apprehension replaced anger. Last time she’d gone down to a planet without permission she’d been abducted.
"Which officers?"
"There’s a list on your comunit, Srimana."
Ravindra’s eyes flicked over the list as it appeared. All female. The most senior was Bella Chantriss, a commander in the medical centre.
"Have you tried calling them?"
"Yes, Srimana, I have. No reply from Commander Chantriss. I thought it best not to try too many of them."
No. If anything has happened to her, he’d rather the abductors didn’t know that people were searching. Oh, Morgan, you foolish, foolish idiot.
"Find out where they are."
"We’re on that already, Srimana. If you’ll hold, we’re analyzing the coordinates now."
He waited, his mind filled with images. Morgan drugged, carted off who knew where. Asbarthi might be dead but his movement lived on. Worse, the knowledge about the Krystor Temple had leaked. One of the leaders of the uprising here had been adamant. Proof that the Vesha were the equals of the Mirka, somewhere on Krystor. They didn't have the details but the knowledge couldn't be kept quiet forever. That 'Orionar Queen' tag hadn't gone away, either. He'd been asked about it several times at the civic reception.
"Commander Chantriss’s comunit is in a dance club in Vestro’s entertainment district. It’s called Trimpathi’s."
"Have it checked. Use the locals. Find out if Suri Selwood is th
ere and what might be happening."
When he got his hands on her, he’d he’d… If she was all right. If she wasn’t, he’d find somebody to kill.
He caught the eye of the lieutenant in charge of his personal guard unit. "Get me a skimmer and ten troopers, Lieutenant. Immediately. And put a gunship on alert." Ravindra started towards the door. "We’re heading for a place called Trimpathi’s."
"The dance club, Srimana?"
"We’re not going dancing."
***
Ravindra ordered the skimmer stopped in a street close to the club. He sat in the back seat, drumming his fingers irritably on the arm rest. Local, plain clothes agents had moved immediately to enter the premises.
His comunit chirped.
"Yes?"
"They’re all here, Admiral. It appears to be above board. She’s on the floor, dancing."
He let out a breath, relief flooding through him. Safe. Safe and well. Thank the spirit. But dancing. With somebody? With another man?
"Dancing? Who with?"
"A local. Do you want us to detain him?"
"No. I’ll deal with it myself."
He closed the comunit with a snap and ordered the skimmer to the club, his body hot and tense. She lied to him, saw him off with a story and skulked off with a bunch of women to party. The car had hardly stopped moving when he was out, striding toward the entrance to the club.
"Sorry friend, no uniforms." The bouncer peeled himself away from the wall, one massive arm outstretched.
Ravindra skewered the fellow with a glare. "Get out of my way."
The man blinked, hesitated, his arm still outstretched to block. Ravindra slapped his arm away and kept walking. He heard the click of an assault rifle being readied and one of his guards said, "I’m sure the admiral won’t be long."
Music assaulted Ravindra's ears, pulsing into his brain. How they could stand this noise for any time was beyond him. Standing at the top of the stairs for a moment to get used to the strobing lights, he scanned the crowd below.
She was dancing with some fellow, holding his hand, his arm around her waist. Smiling, having fun. And where was that to have ended? Well, it was going to end now.
He stalked down the steps onto the dance floor, and shoved through the crowd to Morgan. The blue dress swirled about her as she laughed with the young man who held her hand. He scooped her up with one arm around her waist. She resisted for a moment but even before she’d looked up at him, startled, she’d relaxed in his grip, recognizing who was holding her.
"Hey, she’s with me," said the boy she’d been dancing with.
"Is that so?" He flicked a glance at one of the troopers who’d followed him.
The trooper pointed his weapon at the lad. "Upstairs."
"Oh, don’t," Morgan said. "He’s just a kid I was dancing with."
"You can explain on the way back to Vidhvansaka." He grasped her wrist in a none-too-gentle grip and towed her towards the stairs.
Outside the club the young man who had been dancing with Morgan waited next to the skimmer, tense and nervous. Spectators had gathered, surrounding the vehicle at a respectful distance. Curious club-goers who had followed them up the stairs swelled the ranks.
Ravindra released his grip on Morgan and, arms folded, stared down at the youth. He wasn't much more than a kid, round-eyed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, lips parted, his eyes shifting from time to time to the assault rifle in the guard's hands. She could prefer this stripling to him?
"So. She’s with you is she?"
"Look, I just danced with her. I only just met her. I don’t even know her name." He babbled the words.
"Oh, for pity’s sake. He’s not involved in this." Morgan's fingers gripped his arm. "I was just dancing with him. Let him go. Please."
"Dancing… and then what? A victory party?" The very thought bubbled in his gut, bitter as bile. Morgan with this. With anybody.
"Oh, you don’t think…" She gasped. "You do. You think I’d…" Her brows lowered, her back straightened and the ice fire blazed in her silver eyes.
She leaned towards him, her voice lowered. "You think I’d, I’d… have it off with this… this kid." She was as furious as he was now. "This is between you and me. It’s got nothing to do with him."
She jabbed her finger at the young man. "Let him go and deal with me!" She pointed her finger back at herself.
"Oh, I’ll deal with you."
She was right. He was venting his fury on a victim of circumstance.
"Get in the skimmer," he snapped at Morgan.
Her nostrils flared, her lips a straight line. She didn’t move, her eyes fixed on his, a picture of insolence.
"Now."
Still scowling, she slipped into the back seat.
Now for this young pup, shaking in his boots. "You have his details?" he asked the lieutenant, jerking his head at the young man.
"Srimana."
"Release him."
The lad scurried off, walking as fast as he could and almost running around the nearest corner.
"Lieutenant, we return to Vidhvansaka." Ravindra followed Morgan into the back of the vehicle.
She sat stony faced, arms folded.
Ravindra made sure the privacy screen was turned on. "Well?"
"Well what? Can’t I go out and have dinner with the girls?"
"Not without telling me. Not after you’d told me you were staying on the ship and certainly not without taking your comunit with you."
She just glared at him, her jaw set.
"And it wasn’t just dinner with the girls. How was this dancing party meant to end? Hmm?"
"I can’t believe you’d seriously think that I’d have a casual fuck with that… kid. I’m hardly desperate."
"How should I know? We haven't had much time together lately, have we?" It was low. He could hardly believe he'd said the words.
Her nostrils flared. "And whose fault is that?"
"There was a war on. Don't change the subject. You sell me a story about not liking crowds and there you are in the middle of a crowd denser than the market place at Hrkensa on a fair day."
"I was dancing. That's all. After a lovely dinner with a bunch of your female officers. I do not see your problem." She rasped the words out between gritted teeth.
Recalcitrant, contrary, obstinate, unreasonable bitch.
"Do you have any notion what I’ve been through in the last hour? Do you remember what happened at Electra when you took a little unscheduled visit to a planet without permission? Do you? I sure as hell do. It was months before I got you back. Months. Do you think that because Asbarthi is dead that Bunyada is finished? I’ve been sick with worry and you come out with some half-assed rubbish about a night with the girls."
"But it's all right for you to enjoy yourself with a couple of grateful virgins young enough to be your daughter?" She sneered. "I've heard about these things."
He leaned back. "I asked you to come with me. I wanted you to come with me."
She tossed her head. "Oh, sure. I knew better than to get in your way."
"What do you mean get in my way?"
"You know. The male bonding thing. The victory celebration. Boys being boys. Allowing the ladies to show their gratitude."
She stared straight ahead, her lips a straight line.
So that was it. The anger drained away, just a little. "If you weren’t here, I probably would have joined in with the rest, yes."
"There you are. That’s what I mean. I have no hold over you. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t. And there’s no reason why I shouldn’t have a night out with the girls." She looked away, the fingers of her right hand clenching and unclenching on her left arm. He took a deep breath. Anger wasn’t going to work, not with her.
"Yes, you can have a night with the girls. But tell me, Morgan. Or better still, next time come with me. We could have been having our own dance party in a hotel room by now. You think I’d rather screw some nameless whore than make love
with you?"
The skimmer drifted to a halt outside the entrance to the space port and the doors slid apart with a soft sigh. The waiting guards slammed to attention.
She hesitated, pulling at her lip with her teeth. "You didn't? You didn't even want to?"
He sighed. "I love you. Why do you find that so hard to understand? I know I don't always tell you. I'm a man. But believe me, it's true."
She nodded, a half smile curving her lips. "Looks like I owe you an apology." She slid out of the car.
Ravindra alighted from his side and joined her, putting a possessive arm around her waist. This was sounding a little better.
"Be assured, my dear," he said, leaning close over her, "you’ll be apologizing more than once."
***
"Give me ten minutes?" Morgan asked when they arrived at the door of his quarters.
"What for?"
"I just want to freshen up, change."
"Why?"
"Well, I thought maybe, since you were interrupted while the girls were dancing, you might like me to dance for you." A hint of a smile lurked around her lips, a glint lit her silver eyes.
"You can dance? Like that?"
She nodded. "I learnt how. Just for fun. Some of my, er… boyfriends enjoyed the show. You might, too."
Oh, my word. He could imagine her doing something like that. She certainly had the body, lithe and athletic. But to dance like the girls at the Presidential Palace, light and fluttery? Somehow he didn’t think so. A sensual shiver slithered down into his groin. This could be interesting.
"Ten minutes. I’ll be counting."
He watched her until the door closed behind her before he entered his own quarters. Ten minutes. He kicked off his boots, hung up his jacket and poured himself a brandy, stiff with anticipation. Glass in hand, he settled on the couch in his shirt sleeves. He was looking forward to this.
She stepped inside two minutes late.
She wore a robe over the dress and when she took it off he could see why. It was translucent and clung to her body, sculpting it and softening the outlines although she was quite obviously naked beneath it. He squirmed in his seat. Right now all he wanted was sex.
Morgan Selwood 3: A Victory Celebration Page 2