Starlaw (14 page)

“Well … I'll leave you to get acquainted with your surroundings, Laurel. Again, if there's anything you need, just use the communication panel on the wall. You remember how to—”

“I remember how to call,” Laurel quietly insisted as she tamped down irritation at being treated like a child. It wasn't Gemma's fault she was so ignorant about the technology. “Just one quick question?”

“Yes?”

“Your and Barst's surnames. If I need to contact you and you aren't on duty or near some kind of communication device, what
exactly
do I say to anyone else?”

“Simply access the bridge controls, ask the com officer for Med-Tech Gemma Tocurus. Since Barst is second-in command he'd be addressed as Bridge Officer K'rad. But everyone knows us, Laurel. You can use our given names. You aren't bound by any uniform codes or etiquette. Just be yourself. No one expects you to comfortably accept all this. It'll take time. We understand. Just come to us if you're feeling depressed or angry. Don't try to bottle things up the way you have been.”

“Sure. Fine,” she awkwardly responded. The fifteen days she'd already been aboard seemed like an eternity. And how much worse would it get when she eventually got to Goll?

What she had planned for the savage incarcerated aboard meant there was no reason to get to know the occupants of the ship. Not when she'd surely be punished. Still, she had to act the part of a compliant passenger but only up to a point.

“I'll see you for chow. Barst and I will pick you up—”

“No. I'll get the ship's schematics from the computer and find my own way. I need to learn how,” Laurel murmured.

“Very well. Six bells then. You'll hear the signal throughout the ship.”

“Thanks, Gemma.”

Gemma unexpectedly offered a vigorous hug then quickly left.

As the hatch automatically closed behind her new friend, Laurel stuffed down an overwhelming desire to cry. She blinked hard and tried, but tears still came.

In her entire life, she'd never felt so alone, so utterly helpless. But she didn't have to stay that way.

She rubbed the tears away with the backs of both hands, shook her hair back over her shoulders, and went from one bulkhead panel to the next. Slowly and painstakingly, she began to familiarize herself with every single button in her quarters. It didn't matter if it was turning on a reading light, or getting a glass of water, she meant to conquer at least this part of what was now her world.

The only person who could make a fool of her was herself. After joining the PD, she'd learned to fire assorted weapons, go over a seven-foot wall, complete twenty pull-ups in a single session, and run mile after mile right alongside the men in her academy class. She'd learned to fight hand-to-hand and had got pretty good at it. All that had been scary, especially for a young debutante who hadn't ever had to do her own laundry prior to joining a police department. But she'd done it.

This was one more challenge. It was new, bizarre, and overwhelming. But it could be done. Even as her brain told her she had no choice, pride wouldn't let her just sit down, give in to tears and give up. This wasn't about what she had to do, but what she
could
do if she tried hard enough. Those dead men on her shift wouldn't have wanted to see her surrender to emotion. She owed them her best effort and she owed it to herself. More importantly, she meant to show that damned giant who was running things that she wasn't excess baggage he could treat as he pleased. She wasn't inferior.

Eventually giving in to the desire for a long warm shower, Laurel played with the buttons in her bathing cubicle and discovered there were actually laser treatments for the removal of unwanted body hair, and treatments to highlight or dramatically change the color of the hair she wanted to keep. It was little consolation, but such a small discovery boosted her confidence. If she didn't have to ask for little things like a razor or shampoo from now on, it'd go a long way toward proving her independence. She was even able to ask the computer questions concerning how to use the infrared system to dry off.

So far so good.

After figuring out how to freshen the clothing she had on using a cleanser unit very much like a personal dry cleaning system, she redressed and sat down at a console where she had access to the main computer system, as Gemma instructed. Her very first entries into her personal computer had to do with the ship's schematics. Though she had the prison section in mind, it'd look as though she was trying to memorize how to get to the onboard gym, the rec center, music room and other places no naval vessel back home would ever accommodate.

She kept her butt parked there until the bell signals throughout the ship indicated she was to join Barst and Gemma in the galley. Again, as small matters went, finding her way to the dining area aboard a ship carrying over one thousand men, women, and creatures of assorted sizes and shapes was a big deal to her if it meant nothing to anyone else. The idea was to
not
make it look like she gave a damn. She had to tamp down surprise and any expression of sudden shock as she passed beings in the passageways that were odder and differently colored than anything in any science fiction movie. She repeated one phrase over and over.

I'm the alien here. Not them.

When she entered the galley area she found it very like a large restaurant. As with everything else aboard, it was constructed of metal with a high sheen. Cloths covered the round tables as they would have in dining places back home.

Unfortunately, this wasn't home and there was no way to forget it. She kept her gaze up, and not on the varied appendages of assorted creatures too numerous to count. Until she could put races to body types, it might not do to stare at someone and cause some kind of interstellar incident. Being on the commander's bad side was dangerous enough.

It was with great relief that Gemma's and Barst's familiar, smiling faces were soon located among the sea of so many others. She was aware of being stared at, again reminding her of being the only Earth person these people had ever seen. In many cases, her peripheral vision indicated she wasn't so very unlike a lot of the crew. A few others besides the commander looked positively human but who knew what really lay beneath the exterior? What looked normal could be egg-laying, face eating parasitic worms for all she knew.

She slowly approached Gemma and Barst, smiled unsteadily and sat when Barst was kind enough to pull out a chair. The table accoutrement looked familiar enough. There were plates, spoons, forks, napkins and glasses. But the food was another story. The protein squares available in the med bay—used by Gemma to make sure she could tolerate certain food substances from alien worlds like those on Chamron—were now a thing of the past.

She simply waited until general hubbub around them was loud enough to ask questions.

“Would you like some jerva fruit?” Barst asked as he picked up a bowl of bright green, huge plum-looking items.

“It's very good,” Gemma insisted. “I promise it won't upset your system. Since everything seems to have stayed down after your meal on Chamron, regular galley food will make a nice change from the med bay ingestion tests.” She winked. “Just watch what I eat if you don't think any protein is for you. We get a lot of variety. The commander insists his crew has a lot of choice. But what some of the meat eaters dine on might not be up to your taste. And … ”

“And?” Laurel prompted.

“Um … don't look at what Barst eats. He's strictly a meat kind of guy.” Gemma winced when Barst broke into a loud laugh and wagged his brows in appreciation of the food.

When he grinned and picked up a plate full of very odious looking, sausage-like red meats from a passing hover tray, Laurel quickly lowered her gaze to her own plate and the greenery Gemma was serving her. She didn't want to know what their male companion consumed.

“I can't stand meat myself, but what can I say? He eats it, I ignore it,” Gemma muttered as she shook her head in obvious distaste.

Laurel sipped water from her goblet and more-or-less pushed her food around her plate. There was something that smelled very citrusy. Eating some of the so-called amber fruit was satisfying so she left most of what else was offered alone.

As the meal and the polite conversation progressed, she tried her luck at covertly glancing around the room. At the far end,
Herr
Commander
was dining with a lot of very officious types in beribboned uniforms. Apparently, when one dined with him, one must look appropriate.

When she caught him lifting a glass of what looked like wine and actually staring in her direction, she quickly lowered her gaze and started a conversation with her companions.

“Um … I-I was reading what appeared to be shipboard communication via some kind of newsletter. There was some information in it I had questions about.”

“Of course,” Barst acknowledged with a bright smile. “And good for you! Uh, not to imply you couldn't learn to access it,” he quickly offered, “but it's good to know you're interested. So ask anything you like.”

He was trying to be kind. There was no need to take offense at his almost-slip concerning any implied ignorance of the technology. If she took umbrage to every single thing anyone said, she'd soon be by herself. And that would get her nowhere. On the other hand, it'd do her no good to get too close to these beings since her plans included murdering what she now referred to as the Butcher of Balboa Park. If the commander believed Gemma or Barst had helped her get to Goll, they'd likely be judged as harshly as she would. She'd simply ask her questions and hope no one caught on to her plan.

“I … well … information I came across in the bulletin had to do with some group calling themselves …
Warlords
. Did that communication thing Gemma put in my head translate correctly? Are we in their area of space? Is that why the information was warning all hands to be on their toes? And did I get it straight that Goll is a member of this faction?”

“Indeed!” Gemma readily responded in apparent appreciation of her comprehensive abilities. “We've taken a course that's less traveled, but Goll's people will attack if they locate us. You see, the Warlords don't want Goll to talk. He
allegedly
killed a peace negotiator on a planet called Minion. The League is certain the Warlords, as a group, were behind the assassination.”

“But their
official
position is that the negotiator's death was a conspiracy cooked up by the Constellation League …
us
,” Barst added. “They keep lies stirred up like this so planets outside League jurisdiction have doubts about the League's peaceful intent.”

Gemma leaned toward her with an expression of urgency pasted on her face. “Warlords will stop at nothing to disrupt all peaceful negotiations, and certain planets tend to side with them. In those instances where planets abstain from any opinion one way or the other, there's no unified law enforcement to keep pirates from smuggling, raiding, or doing anything else they want. Using raiders and killers like Goll to do their dirty work is nothing new for the Warlords. Then, if their henchmen get caught, they disavow any knowledge of the behavior and say that the League superiors make it all up.”

“We have countries on Earth that seem to operate like these Warlords,” Laurel grudgingly admitted. “Seems like that's something we have in common.” Then she edged into the next part of her query. “So … if there's a general alarm, does that mean we've come under attack?”

“Just stay in your quarters or head to them as quickly as possible,” Barst advised. “I don't say this out of disrespect for you or your abilities as an enforcer, Laurel. But each person aboard is assigned a duty station if trouble breaks out. The general alarm mentioned in the news feeds will be obvious when all the red lights in the passageways come on. If you ever hear it or see such an event, you'll know exactly what's happening.”

She nodded. “I'm sure I will. And don't worry. I certainly won't get in anyone's way. I just wanted to ask what I was supposed to do.”

“You might see armed guards roaming throughout the passageways but don't be alarmed,” Gemma said. “A League vessel has never been boarded. It's standard operating procedure.”

Laurel slowly munched a little more fruit, drank her water, and stored all this information. She didn't dare ask more, but let the conversation segue into politics and a general description of the planet Luster. She pretended to have an interest in what Gemma and Barst told her, but everything being discussed was accessible from the general computer. They were being polite. She might even be interfering with an ongoing romance she perceived the two shared, just by being in their presence.

That, more than anything, prompted her to deny too many social engagements with the couple. She needed their friendship, but sometimes three was a crowd. She'd overstay her welcome if she insisted on eating with them every single night when, as the computer relayed, she could have her meals in her quarters.

Glancing back at the commander's table, his insistence on staring at her from across a crowded galley made her believe that dining in her own space would be a better idea. It was the stoic man's continued surly and uncalled for scrutiny that plucked her nerve, and made her consider an idea she might not have otherwise condoned—the one concerning the death of a vampire prisoner.

Her brief contact with the ship's computer in the med bay prompted what she'd initially considered a make-believe scenario. Later, the plan didn't seem so farfetched, especially if it'd wipe that nasty gaze off the big, tanned man's face. What also made the mock scenario so easy to entertain
now
was the overall opinion that she simply wasn't advanced enough to implement it. Her ignorance was basically implied in everything Gemma and Barst said. That situation was being rammed home with every passing moment though she was certain her dinner companions didn't mean for it to be so obvious. Still, the idea of pulling off something so daring just wouldn't go away. As moments passed, all intents to play it cool, calm, and collected melted away. Her stubbornness took over one more time.