Morgan Selwood 3: A Victory Celebration

A
VICTORY CELEBRATION

By

GRETA
van der ROL

What’s good for the gander has to be good for the goose … or so
Morgan thinks. The fleet has won a major battle and Ravindra’s doing his
celebratory thing with his officers. Morgan gets a rare invite for a girls’
night out. Dinner, a little dancing, a little jealous pining… And a whole
lot of trouble when Ravindra discovers his lady is out ’n about... without
protection. What started as an innocent night on the town turns into something
very, very different.

A Victory Celebration

Copyright ©2012 by Greta van der Rol

Second electronic edition by PubRight

Cover by Greta van der Rol

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’
imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely
coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of
this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the
copyright owner  except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles and reviews.

Published in the United States
of America with international distribution.

DEDICATION

To
the people who wanted a bit more between Morgan and Ravindra…

A VICTORY CELEBRATION

"I'm not going," said Morgan.

Ravindra’s holographic image, transmitted from
the presidential palace on the planet the battle cruiser orbited, frowned. "I
would like you to be there. Without your assistance this war would still be
tearing the planet apart."

"Look, I just tweaked a few gadgets,
improved your technology. It's my job, what I was…"

'Designed'
.

Damn, she hated that word. Even if it was
true. "It's what I do. Your troops did the job."

He still glowered at her. Not happy, not at
all. "But you provided the answer. Without your 'gadgets', we'd still be
looking for the rebels." He used his fingers to put the inverted commas
around the word.

"I just did my job." She shrugged.
"Admiral, this is your job, not mine. You know me; I don’t like crowds and
pompous presidential speeches. I’ll probably offend somebody."

Quirking his lips he nodded. "All right."

Yes
. She’d won that round.

His eyes narrowed and his chin lifted. "I
shall expect you to attend the ball tomorrow night, though."

"Fine." She'd cross that bridge
when she reached it.

"So you will stay on
Vidhvansaka
?"
His eyes searched her face.

"Of course. I thought I'd get back to
working on the experimental shift drive."

"Ah." His head jerked up. "The
tests were successful?"

I wish
. "No. The model never
arrived at its destination. My guess is whatever happened to
Curlew
also
happened to it."

"What makes you so sure?"

She raised a shoulder. "Proven engine
design. The model made the distance with a standard drive. This time it disappeared.
I think I'll crawl all over the model one more time. I'm sure I can make this
work."

She met his gaze, those fierce amber eyes
reflective as he tapped the tops of his fingers together. He wanted that shift
drive, a design capable of slashing the time taken to travel from one system to
another.

He gazed at her for a moment longer, then
blew out a breath. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

"I’m looking forward to it. You enjoy
yourself." She flicked him a kiss with her fingertips and turned off the
transmission.

Morgan dropped onto the couch. All of a
sudden her state room on the battle cruiser seemed empty and lonely. She'd won
too easily. Maybe he was getting tired of her? Sure, she and Ravindra shared
her bed or his most nights when they were together, but they didn't advertise
their relationship. An alien and a Fleet admiral? She knew, much as she loved
him, that the day would come when he'd agree to one of these arranged marriages
with some daughter of another Fleet admiral.

As for tonight… she'd heard about these
victory celebrations. The hosts provided ‘entertainment’ to all senior
officers, take your pick of nubile wenches. She'd heard stories of Ravindra's
prowess when they thought she couldn't hear. One girl wasn't always enough, it
seemed. Mind you, that was before she and Ravindra had come to an understanding,
but then again, she hadn't seen much of him the past few weeks. She had no
illusions about men, especially senior officers. For the first time in an age
she wished she was twenty-five again. She should have stuck to hot-shot pilots
like Coreb, not fall in love.

What the hell. She hadn't thought about
Coreb in an age. He'd been fun, a good dancer, not bad in bed. But not like
Ravindra.

Oh, for pity's sake
. She jumped off
the sofa. The best thing she could do was go and work.

The battle cruiser felt like a ghost ship.
She rattled around corridors normally busy with people coming and going. Only
once did she encounter a group of fleeters in dress uniform, laughing and
joking as they made their way down to the hangar bays where the transports
ferried the crew down to the surface. She glanced over her shoulder at them as
they filled the lift she'd just left. They looked like a bunch of college kids.
She grinned. It wasn't a bad analogy; the ship was like a college during the
summer vacation.

She strode on, her footfalls loud in the
quiet. Down in the bowels of the ship, the door to the engineering section slid
aside as she approached. Two bored techs sat at work stations, probably playing
games judging by their quick movements to cover up whatever they were doing.
The benches gleamed, devoid of tools and equipment, and empty chairs stood in
front of blank screens.

The duty officer looked up from his office
in the corner, eyebrows arching in surprise. "Morgan. What brings you
here?" He came out to meet her.

"I thought I might go over the model
again."

"You've thought of something?"

She smiled at the look of hope that spread
over his face. He was one of the engineers who jostled for a chance to learn
from her. "Not really. But if I take another look I might think of
something."

"Did you know we brought your ship out
of quarantine?" He stepped back and gestured over his shoulder through the
window overlooking the hangar where ships undergoing maintenance were kept.

Curlew
sat, squat and ugly, in a bay
in the corner. Morgan's heart skipped a beat. She'd been here in Manesai space
for a little over a year, by Manesai reckoning. A year since the experimental
shift drive in that little freighter had malfunctioned, throwing her out of
everything she had ever known into a distant place, another universe, another
time? She swallowed the lump in her throat. Seeing it again brought back
memories. Her last meeting with her boss, Admiral Makasa, as they ate dinner at
a restaurant by the sea. She almost heard his dark chocolate voice telling her
about the ship's experimental drive. "
Put it through its paces, Morgan.
If this works, we can go anywhere in the galaxy; anywhere at all
."
She'd put it through its paces, all right. The drive had been playing up before
they'd reached Belsun Station, she didn't get a chance to finish fixing it
there because of Jones and Tariq and their hare-brained smuggling scheme. And
then they'd disappeared. But although the drive had malfunctioned, she was sure
that the techs who had built the system were on the right track. If she could
fix the drive, maybe she could even go… home. A shiver shimmied down her spine.
She hadn't thought about home in months. Not that she wanted to go back there
forever, but it would be nice to see Torreno again, meet some of her few
friends.

Jarman's voice startled her. "I'd be
happy to help. There's not much doing here." He looked like a puppy
wanting to go for a walk. All he needed was the lead dangling out of his mouth.

She rested her hand on his shoulder for a
moment. "I'll be sure to involve you where I can, Jarman." Then she
pulled out a chair at a workstation. The gas hissed as she sat, accentuating
the silence. She'd come here for some company. Oh, well. A final check of the
model, then she might crawl over
Curlew
again. Maybe Lieutenant Jarman
would like that.

She focused her attention on the data port,
opening the connection with the processor in her brain. Part of her
consciousness became a bright data highway, a procession of packets holding
data. A thought brought up the schematic for the shift drive. For Jarman's
benefit she directed the output to the visual projector in the lab where the
device appeared in 3D detail. Hanging in midair, it looked so simple. But then,
the best devices were simple, with few moving parts and elegant design. This
one was no different, but somewhere, somehow, it was flawed. First things
first. Check, yet again, that all the specs were right, the materials strong
enough, the calculations correct.

As the processor in her implant worked on
the calculations, her mind drifted, reliving old times. The beach at Torreno,
night clubs with her friend Ella, her wedding to Alby. Huh. That had been a
mistake. She'd learnt to dance on Miranda during one leave and then practiced
with Coreb. She wondered where he'd be now, if he even knew she had gone
missing somewhere out beyond the nebula they called Calisto's Veil. And then
she'd met Ravindra. The love of her life. She shivered at the memory of his
fingers on her skin, his lips on hers, his touch. She squirmed, her breath
shortening.

Oh, bloody
hell. I just can't concentrate.

The model hung in mid air, motionless. Morgan
broke the connection to the data port, leaned back in the chair and flung the
nearest object to hand across the room. "Shit."

"Morgan?" Leila Peris stared at
her, a data cube in her raised hand.

Oh, shit. That must've been what she'd
thrown. "You caught that?"

Leila nodded.

"Sorry." Morgan lifted a hand. "Just
letting out some frustration. What are you doing here? I thought you were on
leave?"

Leila stepped forward and put the data cube
back on Morgan's desk, leaning forward so she could lower her voice. "I
heard you were still on the ship. You won't be joining the admiral?"

Morgan glanced at the two techs. They were
bent over their screens. Not that it mattered. The whole ship had to be aware
that she and Ravindra were a bit more than friends.

"Not tonight. He'll be celebrating
with his men."

"Aren’t you jealous?" Leila
asked, propping a hip on the desk. They'd become friends, after a fashion.
Leila was a promising engineer who had been involved in building and testing
the model ship. She wasn't afraid to ask questions and wasn't afraid of Morgan.

Of course I'm not
. "No. I’m not
the only woman in his life; never was, never will be. That’s the way it is."
Maybe a little bit jealous. But she was nothing if not pragmatic.

"Why don’t you come with us? Girls'
night out? We're going out for a really expensive dinner and then maybe to a
club to do some dancing. All the local girls will be off trying to latch on to
a fleeter so there are plenty of local guys to dance with. And don't worry if
you can't dance. We can teach you."

Female company, a good dinner, some
dancing. Yes, better than working by herself, mooning about Ravindra. Dancing.
Yes, she could dance. The memory made her smile. Would Ravindra mind? Then
again, did she care if he did? A resounding ‘no’ to that one. He lived his
life, she lived hers.

"It sounds like fun, actually,"
she said at last. "Who else is going?"

"Bella Chantriss. You know her."

Morgan nodded. The doctor who'd treated her
after her illness on Krystor.

"And two friends of mine, one from
logistics and one from catering. Don't worry, I'll tell them not to ask too
many questions."

Too many questions about her, or Ravindra. Leila
had learnt that lesson in the past few weeks. She was a good sort. So a party
of five, a girls' night out. "Okay. Let's do it."

 "Great." Beaming, Leila stood. "We're
meeting at bay B-14. Wear something pretty you can dance in."

"I'll be there."

Morgan watched her leave. Dinner and dancing.
That's what she needed; to get away from here, do something different,
recharge. And right now she needed a shower and to pick an outfit.

She waved her fingers at Jarman as she
bounced out of Engineering.

Back in her quarters she riffled through
the dresses. All too staid and boring, designed for stuffy officers' messes,
not for partying. She'd wear her flexi-dress, then she could adjust if she had
to.

She connected her implant to the dress's
tiny processor and selected blue, the color of the sky at dusk. The reflectors
in the fabric shifted as instructed. For good measure she faded the color from
dark at the neckline to a few shades lighter at the hem. She added some silver
sprinkles here and there about the bodice. Mid-calf seemed to be the prevailing
fashion, fitted at the waist, scoop neckline. She spun around in front of the
mirror, watching the skirt flare. Fantastic. She was going to enjoy this.
Clutching a purse, she headed for the door. Her comunit lay on the table. She
paused, chewing on her lower lip.

Should she call him? And say what? I’m
going out with a bunch of girls, will that be all right?
Oh, get real,
Morgan. He's probably picking out his fancy right now. Let him have his rut
with the rest of the boys.

In bay B-14 Leila stood next to the airlock,
looking out for her. "Come on, quick. Everybody else is in."

They closed the airlock hatch behind her
before she’d even reached the ramp.

***

President Assarta had finally stopped speaking.
Ravindra stood up to make the acceptance speech on behalf of the fleet. He’d be
brief. Nobody wanted to listen to him, either.

"We are pleased to have been
instrumental in ridding your planet of the threat you faced," he said. "And
now I know my officers look forward to enjoying your hospitality."

He sat down to thunderous applause.

Ravindra glanced around the rectangle of
tables at rows of men in white uniforms, talking and laughing, with many a look
towards the main entrance to the room, where the dancers would enter. They were
looking forward to it and they deserved it. Once the main rebel stronghold had
been located, thanks to Morgan's stealth satellite technology, the campaign had
been swift and brutal. A short war was a good war.

He swirled his glass, watching the liquor
cling to the sides. Strange. Not so long ago he would have enjoyed one of these
functions as much as the next man. Now? Morgan was up there, messing with a
shift drive. He was sure she'd solve the problem, would have earlier if he
hadn't diverted her skills onto the stealth technology. He was beginning to
wish he'd insisted she come with him. They hadn't spent all that much time
together in the last few weeks, what with the campaign. He understood her
reluctance; she would have been one of the few women here and yes, most of them
were a bunch of boring, self-important toadies. And after dinner, of course,
all the women had left. All, that is, except the entertainers. They pranced in
now, scantily dressed young women carrying scarves, pirouetting to a soft
musical accompaniment.