Moonstruck (6 page)

“Again, your gratitude is misplaced. This is a military ship. No civilians allowed.”

“You could have kicked them off.”

“We’re short-handed.”

She refused to accept thanks for her kind acts. Her hatred of his kind was well-documented; perhaps she didn’t want to be caught showing mercy to the Horde. Yet her demand that he and Bolivarr see the ship’s physician and her giving three Drakken civilians what amounted to battlefield promotions fell under the definition of
compassion,
whether she was ready to admit it or not.

Her hands were behind her, clasped tightly and pressed to the small of her back, a sign of tension she might not think was obvious, but he did. Street rat turned pirate turned battleship captain Finn Rorkken missed little when it came to body language. He never would have survived this long if that hadn’t been the case.

“Thank you for sharing your concerns, Warleader.” Her voice was calm but definitely strained. She turned and walked toward the private lift they’d ride up to the bridge.

As they waited for the door to open, he pressed his point. “I’m your first officer, the second-in-command on this ship. Drakken I may be, but I intend to be more than a square-filler on some politician’s postwar, we’re-one-big-happy-family checklist. When we work together as one, the crew wins. If neither of us knows what the other is doing, the crew loses, and the running of this ship will be nothing less than chaos.”

“Chaos…” She waved a hand at the room that was noisily emptying—noise that came from mostly his people. “You’ll feel right at home, then, yes?”

Finn winced, his irritation now directed at the Drakken. “Aye.”

“There’s something that will require our working together—ship’s discipline.”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Beyond threatening to kill or maim errant crew members?”

He sensed a shift in the mood. Was it her way of letting him know she’d deemed valid his concerns about joint decision making?

“Don’t look so surprised, Warleader, former
Scourge of the Borderlands
. I well know pirate methods. Years back, I captured quite a few of them, trying to get to you.”

He flattened his hand over his chest. “And now you got me without even trying.”

“I’m still analyzing the irony,” she said dryly.

“So, what will it be for me, Admiral? Brig or bridge?”

With a wry, sidelong glance, she warned, “Don’t tempt me, Warleader.”

Gods be. He’d actually gotten Stone-Heart to respond to his teasing. Perhaps there was hope yet.

They boarded the lift. A charged silence filled the small compartment. It was that way every time they were close, and alone. He knew it had to do with what had happened between them in Zaafran’s office earlier. Again he wished he could take back that moment.

No, you don’t, Rorkken.
It haunted him. Maybe he’d get her a little drunk one night, and she’d tell him more. It was the way of the Drakken, that. Drink and tell. Drink and…

Gods, she’s your commander. You can’t bed her.

A man could dream, couldn’t he?

Bandar burst out the door as soon as it opened. Personnel assigned to the bridge quietly prepared for the launch. The group consisted solely of experienced Coalition from large ships such as the
Vengeance
. The unexpected departure had left no room for anyone else to be trained for their new positions. Over time the new people—Earthling, Horde—would be sharing these jobs. In that, the terrorists had scored a small victory, Finn thought: the galaxy’s newest ship had the greenest crew.

Bandar remained at the view window until the very moment of departure. “The crew’s ready,” Finn announced when it was time.

Without turning, she issued her command. “To the Borderlands.”

“To the Borderlands!” Finn repeated to the crew.

A thundering vibrated beneath his boots as the great ship broke dock with the Ring. The
Unity
turned, slowly, gracefully, until it faced the stars. With a surge of awe-inspiring acceleration, it was off.

To the Borderlands,
Finn thought.
Here we go.
Although he very well might live to regret it, he was glad to be going along for the ride.

B
RIT TOOK SHELTER
in the command office in the hours following the launch, busying herself with administrative details that didn’t need to be addressed as of yet but that she did anyway. Any distractions from the dizzying events of this single, interminable day were welcome, no matter what form they took. From her desk in the luxuriously appointed room, she heard the various goings-on outside on the bridge but her relative isolation was assured.

She’d divided the crew duty day into thirds as it was done on all Coalition naval ships—one shift on, two off. Brit was technically off duty and Rorkken was on. Star-Major Vinnson Yarew, an intelligence officer, was third. She didn’t know him, but his background was in the Ministry of Intelligence located in the palace on the planet Sakka. Since she steered clear of the palace and Yarew preferred ground to a deck beneath his boots, it was no surprise that they hadn’t crossed paths. He seemed pleasant enough, a loyalist with a stable if dull career, and was a sensible addition to the crew. Unlike Rorkken.

Once more, she peered through the glass wall that offered a view of the bridge. Arms folded over his chest, Rorkken observed one of her senior pilots from the
Vengeance
instructing the Earthling, Major Barrientes, and the Drakken girl Cadet Pehzwan at the controls. He then walked over to a nav holo-vis, leaning his hands on a table as he studied the star routing. She supposed when confronted with a source of clean, running water and orders to use it, Drakken weren’t so grubby after all. His hair was neatly combed, secured in its ponytail. He’d shaved. The glittering earrings were still of notice, but the tattoos were mostly out of view. She’d hoped the Triad uniform would diminish his good looks and blend him into the background along with the other males serving on the ship in the same way every male she’d served with over the years had done. Alas, it had not. He was as handsome in his Triad tri-colors as he’d been in his leathers. Although she had to say she missed the peeks of golden flesh.

Brit…
She admonished herself, forcing her attention back to the personnel lists she was studying. It seemed a cruel game of the gods to make the first man she’d reacted to in all these years a Drakken. Little wonder she didn’t believe!

It’s only because he resembles Seff, she reminded herself.

Less and less,
common sense argued.

But enough, her conscience shouted back,
needing
that reason, needing an explanation, any explanation, to desire this man. After that horrible day on Arrayar, she’d never again looked at another man, never responded to flirtations or sexual invitations. Rumors that she preferred women to men never lasted; she made it too plain that she wasn’t interested in either gender. Human contact, the physical closeness she craved, had to be satisfied while on shore leave on distant planets with men who wouldn’t demand that she give more than a few nights of sex. She couldn’t give more.

And yet, she couldn’t change who she really was, either. She was a sensual, sexual being and had always been that way—much to her devout parents’ dismay—leading to her early marriage. But after Arrayar, her focus changed.
She’d
changed it, redirecting her passion to war. It had worked out quite well. She was the highest-ranking military female in the Coalition forces.
The Triad Alliance,
she corrected, watching that damned pirate Finnar Rorkken patrol the bridge of a ship that should have been transporting him to a prison planet rather than providing him with a uniform and a paycheck.

And purpose. Purpose, yes. He didn’t want to be a square-filler, a figurehead, he said. He, a Drakken, wanted to be her second in the truest sense of the word.

And what had she gone and done? She gave it to him! She hadn’t refused his request to share in command decision making. What was she going to surrender to him next?

“Admiral.”

Brit jumped at the sound of Hadley’s voice in her PCD. “What is it?”

“I have the medical report you requested.”

“Bring it here.”

Brit swung her chair around to face the clear wall as Hadley crossed the expanse of the bridge, headed toward the office. The lieutenant’s pace accelerated past the training pilots. The Earthling Barrientes swiveled in his seat to follow Hadley with narrowed, interested eyes. Hadley kept her chin in the air, but pink cheeks revealed she was as aware of the handsome officer as he was of her. She hurried through the open door. “Here are the reports, Admiral,” she said breathlessly. “Dr. Kell says you are to call him if you have any questions.”

Brit hid a small smile. “What do you think of the new Earthling pilot?”

“Ma’am?” More blushing. The lieutenant was going to have to learn to keep her face free of emotions if she was ever going to rise through the ranks. She had the smarts to do it. Perhaps not the hardness required, nor the experience. Brit made a mental note to wean Hadley off some of the administrative duties that ate up her time and assign the girl more demanding tasks as opportunities arose.

“The Earthling,” Brit clarified. “He seems to be paying some attention to you. What do you think of him?”

“I think he’s an ass.” Hadley’s blush deepened.

Ah. So, her lieutenant had indeed developed a soft spot for the pilot. Brit opened the data-vis that held the doctor’s report. “I don’t believe he sees you in quite the same light.”

“Really?” The girl started to look over her shoulder and stopped. Then she frowned. “Do you require anything else, ma’am?”

“No, Hadley. You are dismissed.”

So, the Earthling was an ass, was he? Unsuitable men did have that certain allure, Brit reasoned, her eyes returning to Warleader Rorkken. The Drakken scratched a hand over his chest, laughing at something his little imp of a pilot told him. He was far more than simply unsuitable. He was wrong on every level. He was Horde.

Frowning, she opened the report the ship’s physician had sent to her and used her light pen to follow along. As ordered, Rorkken had visited the medical ward and submitted to tests. The findings were listed in several columns. Dr. Kell’s text provided translation of the figures:

Irritated, Brit scanned the data. She wanted answers, not more questions. Unknown, unknown, unknown! What, did he arise from the seas? Appear spontaneously in a birthing basket? It would seem that way. If Rorkken was to be believed, he’d had no formal schooling or medical care until he was twenty-seven, which corresponded to the approximate year he enlisted in the Drakken Imperial Navy. Preposterous! How could so many years be a blank?

She read on.

So, he’d survived a fever
and
without consequences. Twice lucky, she thought. The man had the luck and lives of a kir-cat.

He’d consented to nanomeds because she’d asked him to. That pleased her. She couldn’t have him running around with no way to self-repair.

Exceptional, eh? She scowled. A smart Drakken was a dangerous Drakken.

Nutritional deficiency in infancy? Brit blinked. Rorkken had starved as a baby?

In a miasma of shock and concern and disbelief, she read the text a second time to make sure she’d comprehended it. The words remained the same. Rorkken, the strapping warleader, had been a hungry orphan.

She threw down the report. Damn him! Damn him to the dark reaches. She made fists on the desk, her head throbbing. Of all the things she hadn’t wanted the Drakken to become, human topped the list.

W
ELL INTO HIS FIRST SHIFT
on the bridge, Finn went about his duties, cross-checking the route and star charts even though the shipboard computers did so much more than those he was used to on Imperial Navy vessels.

What about the computers in his body? Would they be as efficient? He turned over his hand and scrutinized the plump veins in his forearm. Already a few small scratches he’d gotten from unpacking his few possessions had shrunk. More changes were taking place throughout his body; he could feel them. All his life, he’d lived with a faint humming noise in his left ear. It had gone away. As much as the thought of foreign bodies in his bloodstream made his skin crawl, he realized the accelerated healing would come in useful in a battle situation.

If not, there was Dr. Kell. The man had poked and prodded, assuming Finn would give him a free pass into any orifice he chose. The doc soon found out otherwise.
“Don’t bend over,”
Finn told Bolivarr, who’d been on his way in as Finn was leaving. His warning had left the former wraith looking uncharacteristically worried.

“That’s it—you got it. Bring her in, yes, like that.” One of the more experienced Coalition pilots was giving the Earthling Tango and Rakkelle the first of their official training on the flying of the
Unity.
Finn walked over to watch.

“This is cake,” Tango told the instructor, completing a simulation of a docking and receiving with, from what Finn could tell, perfect scores. “Give me something hard.”

“I know a few men on my crew who wouldn’t mind helping you out,” Rakkelle said saucily.

Tango snorted. “I don’t blow that way, girl.”

“That’s what you say.” Rakkelle took the controls for the identical docking simulation. “I’d have to see for myself before I’d know if you were telling the truth.”

“Is that a dare?”

Rakkelle’s eyes had that saucy spark Finn was well used to seeing. “In my world, men know the difference between a dare and an invitation.” She winked and turned back to the flying simulation.

Tango’s smile was one of self-congratulatory speculation. Rakkelle was flirting, and the pilot was eating it up. Aye, but the woman flirted with everyone, Finn included. He decided not to enlighten the Earthling. Let him figure it out for himself.

Rakkelle completed the docking maneuver with praise and a few pointers from the instructor. Tango stood, leaning over to tell her, “Looks like you might be better off concentrating on your flying for a while, Cadet. Hooking up with me would be too distracting. For the sake of our mission, and your chances at becoming an officer someday, I wouldn’t want to interfere with your instruction. And you’ll need it if you’re ever gonna be as good as me, Rocky.”

Rocky? Finn choked on a laugh. Rakkelle looked shocked and amused, and maybe a touch annoyed. If he’d thought Rakkelle was cocky, she didn’t come close to Tango. The Earthling was full of himself, as a soldier and as a male.

The pilot swaggered off, no doubt in the direction of the bar, which, at last report, was in full swing. Zurykk was keeping an eye on things, making sure no fights started that weren’t Drakken-on-Drakken. If trouble erupted between factions, Finn didn’t want anyone from the
Pride
listed as instigators. Although now that they were under way, if Bandar wanted to evict him or his crew, there would have to be some discussion involved.

Or so you hope, Rorkken.

Across the bridge in the office, Bandar sat at her desk, her hands in fists as she glared at data. Gods knew why. It wasn’t her shift, it was his, yet she was still up. Combing the crew manifest for more civilians or wraiths? Judging by her expression, she might have found some. Gods, he hoped not.

They weren’t that far from the Ring that she couldn’t turn the ship around. Of course, there was the terror menace waiting if they returned. For once he was grateful for a death threat. It would likely keep him and his crew on this luxury vessel of a ship—for a little longer, anyway.

Or would it? He looked in Bandar’s direction again, and not only because he liked looking at her. He worried about her. Anger had definitely replaced the signs of exhaustion he’d spied earlier, however. Aye, something she’d read had made her very unhappy.

A few hours’ sleep would fix her right up, he decided. She needed to go on break. He’d told her twice already in as many hours, to her withering looks, naturally. It was clear she didn’t like him addressing the issue of her crew rest. She probably wasn’t used to it. She’d existed for so many years in an isolated world where she took care of others and few returned the favor. He’d say none did, but he sensed a good deal of affection for the admiral in Lieutenant Keyren. Still, it was clear that Bandar didn’t like anyone looking out for her, especially him.

Too blasted bad.

Finn strode across the bridge and stopped in the doorway to the office. Arms folded, he leaned a shoulder against the door frame. “Once again I’ve come to ask you to go on break, Admiral. This time I’m going to have to insist. You need your rest.” The observation came out gentler, more protective than he’d intended.

She glanced up, her eyes blazing with fury—anger that morphed into a startled softness before settling into something with which he was more familiar: aloof poise edged with intense dislike. “Worry about your duties, Warleader, not me.”

Perhaps she considered his protective tendencies sexist. That wasn’t it at all. He’d grown up with women, fought side by side with them. He knew well a female’s strengths, and her weaknesses, but this woman, Brit Bandar, did something to him. She brought out a desire to look out for her, and more.
That is your problem, not hers.

She returned her glare to the report she was reading.

Funny girl, thinking he’d be so easily dismissed. “What’s there that’s got you so concerned?” he asked. “Whose records are in question? Bolivarr? Gekken? Meer?”

Or perhaps it would be better not to volunteer information.

“Yours,” she blurted.

He reared back. “Mine? But you know what my records contain.”

“Not this.” She shoved the data-vis toward him. He squinted at the contents. It was a medical report of some kind, filled with figures and readings. A flicker of dread went through him. “What did the good doctor find? A deadly disease that nanomeds can’t cure?” He tried to joke. “How long do I have, Admiral? Weeks? Days?”

“As much as I’d like it, you’re not going to die. The report shows evidence of childhood hunger in your bones and teeth.”

The doctor had left no stone unturned, he thought. Or orifice unchecked. Finn ran his tongue along his teeth. Straight and white they were, although it was likely more from healthy genes than anything else. “I’m sure Dr. Kell can fix me if I go toothless.” He flexed his arms. “And the bones seem to be holding up, when I don’t go doing something stupid that breaks them.”

“Blast it, Rorkken. Broken bones are one thing, but no child should go hungry. Dr. Kell thinks you went for long periods without adequate nutrition as a baby. Is it true?”

Finn hesitated until he’d shoved aside his personal distaste at revealing his beginnings, lest it generate pity, which he despised. “Aye. It is.”

“Damn it. What’s wrong with the Horde that they couldn’t look after their own people? They poured money into their warships, yet you starved as a baby. That is unconscionable.” Then compassion blunted her usual harsh tone. “You lost your parents. How?”

“I was orphaned as an infant in a Coalition attack. From what I learned, and it isn’t fact, I was rescued from the site of the attack and brought off-planet.”

“And what—abandoned there?” she demanded.

“Probably offered up for adoption, but few could care for their own kids let alone someone else’s.”

She turned her chair to face the blackness of space that filled the view window on the opposite wall. “You were left to die.”

“Aye. Luckily, I was found and taken in by other children. My earliest memories are of the girls who raised me. We belonged to a pack of orphans and runaways, or throwaways, taking shelter in an abandoned building behind a refinery. It was easier to survive in numbers in some ways, harder in others.” Like when there wasn’t enough food to go around, or blankets or sweaters. “I grew, and I survived. And here I am.” Enough talk of the past. It was the future that interested him. He aimed his attention at the reflection of Brit Bandar’s face in the window. “And here you are, when you’re supposed to be off duty.”

She turned around. “I have more reports to go over.”

“They can wait. Your shift is long over.”

“I will remain here, Warleader.”

In two strides he was at the desk. He bent forward and flattened his hands on the glossy surface. “I pledged to run a safe ship, even if that means making sure command of the bridge isn’t handed over to her captain if she be exhausted. That’s right. With all due respect, Admiral, if you come on duty in less-than-optimum condition thinking you’ll be alert for an eight-hour shift, I’ll make sure Star-Major Yarew sends you back to bed. I’ll carry you there myself if I have to, and we both know how entirely inappropriate
that
will be.”

The hunger always simmering between them boiled over, instantly doused as each pulled back from the attraction they weren’t supposed to feel. Finn regretted the joke. The image of her in his arms as he lowered her into bed was slow to fade.

“Inappropriate indeed, Warleader.” It wasn’t his imagination that her voice sounded huskier, or that she pondered him with the same speculative consideration that Tango had given Rakkelle.

Finn aimed for a neutral, professional tone. “So what will it be?”

Her attention shifted to the bridge behind him. It was humming with efficiency. She wasn’t needed. Her routine reports could wait. Yet, she seemed reluctant to leave.

Of course. He was Drakken. He was the Scourge of the Borderlands. How could one of the Coalition’s greatest commanders leave him in charge of
her
ship, unattended? Oh, she’d vowed as much to her superiors, aye, but putting it into practice was not as easy as it sounded.

She didn’t trust him.

“Permission to speak freely,” he said.

“Not asking permission hasn’t stopped you so far, Warleader, so why ask now?”

“To be able to speak freer.”

She huffed. “I would expect any second of mine to speak freely and, more important, to think freely.”

“Here it comes, then.” He folded his hands so that he supported his weight with his knuckles. “You don’t like the idea of leaving a Drakken in command on the bridge.”

When her lips compressed, just slightly, he knew he’d guessed right. “I know the same stories you do, Admiral. I know Horde often killed civilians on purpose. Blame it more on a lack of discipline and guidance from the higher levels and a lack of good example than any government orders. I’m no innocent, but I never killed for sport, Admiral. Nothing about killing ever appealed to me.”

“But you stole, you hijacked ships, you bribed and kidnapped.” She rattled off the charges against him, and even where many of the crimes occurred.

His mouth tipped in a crooked smile. “Is your memory that good, or did I alone of the Borderland pirates remain in your thoughts all these years?” As the memory of her had remained in his.

“So cocky, aren’t you, Warleader? Well, it’s not about you. I have a memory like a steel trap. I don’t forget.” Pain flickered in her eyes before she cast them downward.

She’d lost friends in battle. So had they all. Finn understood the pain of losing comrades. Aye, he’d spent one too many days trying to forget that pain—namely by drinking too much sweef. “In this business,” he said quietly, “a good memory can be a curse.”

“A curse indeed.”

“And a bartender’s blessing.”

She let out a sound that might have been a laugh if it had contained any mirth at all. Then she jerked upright. It was as if she’d caught herself identifying with him and the idea repulsed her. She was cool and composed when she spoke again, but her hands were twisted together. “Is that all, Warleader?”

He sighed. He wasn’t any closer to reassuring her of his presence on the bridge. He owed it to his crew, to the Drakken people who weren’t murderers, who didn’t slaughter for entertainment, to convince her to have some faith in him. “The war is over, Admiral. I intend to do my part to keep it that way. I want peace to work. You know my story now. I’m sure you have stories of your own. This war long ago ceased being good for either side. Horde and Coalition, we’ve all suffered.”

Her hands were clamped together so tightly that her fingers were turning red and white. She sat there, perfectly still, as if she were carved of ice. Finn knew the woman was anything but.
Fire, not ice.
“You can sleep easy knowing this Drakken is on the bridge, Admiral,” he assured her. “You can trust me.”

She lifted her gaze then and studied him for the longest time, all while he watched her battle with her reservations—comparing what he’d said to what her experience told her. In the end the officer in Brit Bandar won out. Logically, she saw she couldn’t stay on duty all hours of the day. Nor could Yarew. At some point, she had to let him take command.

She nodded, rose, stepped around the desk. Then, with her new Triad colors hugging her curves, she walked out of the office.

No good-night, no comment. She simply left.

Into that, he’d have to read the best: she trusted him, if for this night only.

I
T WAS LATE
,
and Brit was alone. Surrounded by holo-cubes of her infrequent travels, she sipped Kin-Kan wine and stared out at the stars distorted by faster-than-light travel. For so many years, these solitary dinners had been her routine. Her solace. They reminded her of her mission, what she’d pledged to do three standard weeks shy of her nineteenth birthday. Hunt the murderers. Hunt the Horde.

Finnar Rorkken,
she thought with a scowl, the Scourge of the Borderlands at the helm of
her
ship. He wanted her to trust him, because he wanted peace to succeed. She wanted peace to fail. That put them at permanent cross-purposes, didn’t it?