Morgan Selwood 3: A Victory Celebration (2 page)

He waved off the steward offering to refill
his glass and watched dispassionately as they swayed and spun, weaving their scarves
around their bodies, lithe and seductive. They didn’t leave much to the
imagination. Could Morgan dance? He didn’t know, there had never been an
opportunity.

Captain Lomandra leaned towards him. "Which
one do you fancy?"

Ravindra turned to him, noting the glint in
his eye, the way his thumb caressed the glass he held. The captain, at least,
couldn't wait. "I hadn’t really thought about it."

Lomandra’s eyebrows shot up. He lifted one
shoulder and turned away to watch the girls. They sprang in unison, backs
arched, breasts straining against their gowns while their scarves floated
behind them.

He should have brought her with him. They
could have been in a hotel room by now, or back on the flagship making their
own fun. He pulled his comunit off his belt and selected her ID. One of the
dancers tried to wind a scarf around his neck. He waved her away and she ran
her fingers through Lomandra's hair instead, insinuating herself onto his lap
as she did so.

The call rang out.

He gazed at the unit in his hand. Poor
connection? He stood and strode towards the exit.

***

Morgan gazed out of the taxi at tall towers
ablaze with lights. Pedestrians jostled on the walkways and vehicles crawled
along the streets. Quite a few uniforms were sprinkled amongst the crowd. The
local businesses would be booming with a fleet this size in town. Everywhere
advertising hoardings added their color. A vibrant city full of life and vigor.
Here, at least, she saw no signs of the civil war that had wracked the planet
for years. That would be out in the back blocks, where the poorer people lived.
The taxi passed an advertisement showing a new skimmer with a scantily-dressed young
woman draped over the seats. Some things never changed whichever planet you
were on, whichever society you were in. She wondered what the dancing girls
would be wearing at Ravindra’s boys own session. A damn sight less than the
girl in the awning, she’d guess.

Their taxi pulled up outside an elegant two-story
building not far from the central business district. Morgan waited on the
pavement with the others while Bella paid the driver. A group of girls, their
hair curled and striped in colors to match their short, tight dresses, minced
past them.

"They'll be on their way to pick up a fleeter,"
said Madra, the lass from Catering.

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 there 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."