Moonstruck (5 page)

Only one item remained—something small and wrapped in tissue paper. Fingers shaking, Hadley peeled the sheets away. Two tiny white shoes dropped into the palm of her hand. Tiny confections of utterly feminine satin and lace. Hadley held the fragile shoes cupped in her palm. They were too small to have fit anything but a newborn infant.

The admiral’s daughter.
Hadley gasped. It felt as if a hand had tightened around her throat. There had been a baby. Admiral Bandar’s baby. Why else would you keep a baby’s shoes if it wasn’t your baby? A niece, maybe, but Hadley doubted it. If it was the admiral’s infant, what had happened to it?

Hadley traced her finger over the engraving on the bracelet. Had it been a gift from the baby’s father? Admiral Bandar’s husband? What happened to them? Why hadn’t the admiral ever mentioned either one?

A wave of guilt washed over her. These were the admiral’s private things. Hadley never should have seen them.

Hurriedly, she put everything back in the white box, checking it twice before she closed the lid to make sure everything inside was arranged as she’d found it. She slid the box into place on the shelf, surrounding it with the holo-cubes that always circled it. Backing away, she fumbled for the entry door and her escape. She’d learned secrets she could not share with anyone else.

B
RIT’S HANDS GRIPPED
each other at the small of her back as she stormed off the lift toward the bridge. She was used to having Hadley in tow. Even Haldran, her former first officer, would lag behind her. Not Rorkken.

Damned Rorkken. He matched her stride for stride, and without evidence of exertion.

All Brit wanted to do was retreat to her quarters. She’d ordered Hadley to set up her shipboard suite right away. A mental image of Kin-Kan wine chilling came to her. She’d down the first glass as fast as she could; the rest she’d savor.

She turned the corner and walked onto the bridge of the galaxy’s newest warship. Her steps slowed as she took in the sweeping command center, the clean lines of the pilot and weapons stations. Outside the generous banks of viewports, the graceful arc of the Ring could be seen. She walked to the forward view window at the very bow of the ship, her heart singing despite her reluctance to take this position and all it demanded of her, and placed a hand against the cool, clear surface. She imagined a vista of stars. Ah, gorgeous.

Her hand closed into a fist. Damn Zaafran. He must have known how she’d react to this ship with the absurd name. It felt right here. Yes…She brushed fingertips along a polished railing. It was almost like coming home.

Rorkken stopped beside her, shattering the moment. The scent of his skin came to her, unwelcome, generated by the heat of his barely clad body. She’d ordered everyone to don their new Triad uniforms. Rorkken would, too, after their tour was complete. His transformation couldn’t come fast enough. It was bad enough being constantly reminded he was Horde that she didn’t need to keep being reminded he was a virile, well-built male, too.

She blocked the very thought.

“Gods, she’s magnificent,” Rorkken said. “The heavens have surely gifted us.”

“You’re a believer.”

“You sound surprised,” he said.

“You’re Horde.”

“Trillions of Drakken have been worshipping in secret under the warlords’ rule.”

“For all the good it did them,” she muttered.

She sensed his surprise in the tensing of his body. “You’re not a believer?”

She snorted softly, bitterly. “No.”

“I didn’t know there were those in the Coalition who weren’t.”

“Well, we’ve learned a little more about each other’s cultures today, haven’t we?”

“Aye…” His eyes, Seff’s eyes, found hers. To her dismay, they glowed with gentleness, and that look of curiosity, the desire to know more—more about her. When was the last time any male wanted to know
her?
To know Brit? Shivery bumps raised on her flesh. Damn him. Damn him to the dark reaches and back.
Murderers, all.
“There is little time to waste, waxing poetic about a ship. Let us continue with our tour.” She turned away from the viewport just as her PCD beeped.

“Incoming urgent message,” a dulcet artificial voice announced in her ear.

Rorkken brought his hand to his ear, as well. Apparently he’d been fitted with a PCD, too—and didn’t quite know what to make of the interruption, judging by his startled expression.
Welcome to the world of no privacy,
she thought, remembering her aborted shore leave.
Wherever you are, the Coalition Military will find you.

Or, rather, the Triad.

The comm screens burst to life. Each one framed an image of Prime-Admiral Zaafran’s face.
Secured transmission
scrolled underneath the image. “There you are,” he said, finding them. It was a visual only. His voice came over their PCDs. “There’s been a change in plans.”

Brit knew him well enough to discern the tension tightening his mouth, and the fear—the
fear
—in his eyes. The man didn’t scare easily. Neither did she, of course. Then again, when you had nothing left to lose, fear was rather futile.

Rorkken must have read Zaafran’s anxiety, too. He walked closer to one of the screens in his heavy boots. “Sir?”

“We’ve already received reaction to the galactic press release sent out a short time ago announcing this ship and its diplomatic mission. That reaction came in the form of a generalized terrorist threat against the
Unity.
We have to take it as legitimate.”

Brit sent a sidelong glare at the warleader.
Don’t you people ever stop?

“Intelligence is working on tracking the source of the threat. In the meantime, I don’t want us sitting here, vulnerable—the entire Ring vulnerable. The Ministry of Intelligence and the Reunification Assembly approved an accelerated launch schedule. I realize we’re shy of the mandated numbers of personnel. We’ll deal with that, but not now. As long as you have exceeded the minimum complement required by space regs for a ship this size, you’re good to go. And you do have those numbers. The
Unity
will depart as soon as all personnel are aboard.”

“We’re launching…” she confirmed with Zaafran.

“Now.”

“Gods,” Rorkken muttered.

Brit couldn’t have said it better herself.

E
VERYONE WAS ON BOARD
.
Launch was imminent. “I damn well want to know who you’ve brought aboard before we break dock with the Ring, Warleader,” Admiral Bandar ranted inside the luxurious new command office Finn would share with her during the voyage. It had direct access to the bridge. That door was now closed. Finn couldn’t help thinking this was Bandar’s best and last chance to kick him and his motley crew off the
Unity
.

The terrorist threat hanging over their heads gave her little time to peruse the
Pride
personnel list he’d loaded on a borrowed data-vis: names, planets of birth, ages, past and present assignments, anything he could get out of them with Zurykk’s help, but Bandar was taking time all the same.

She sat at her desk and scanned the data-vis with narrowed eyes. If the luck of the gods held, she wouldn’t decide to send one or several of them home once she saw who was on that list. Hells, she wanted to send all of them home, him for sure. That much was obvious.

Bandar slid her elegant finger down the list, saying nothing. Her dark brows drew together in a frown. “Hadley, leave the warleader and I to confer for a moment.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The lieutenant walked away and out of earshot.

Finn folded his arms over his chest and stood before her, facing her across the desk. “Sit, Warleader,” she said, tapping a light pen against her chin as she read.

“When the smart chairs on this ship stop being stupid, I’ll sit.”

She lifted those cool blue eyes. “Put in your preferences—hard or soft feel, a quick response, or slower and smoother. Everyone is different. What do you like?”

Hard and fast or slow and smooth?
He swallowed. Gods. In his mind, they were naked and she was breathing those questions in his ear. He caught his thoughts and stopped them, but not before he saw a flash of heat in her eyes chased by alarm and that damned vulnerability again. It got to him every time. And heavens knew what she saw when she looked in his eyes if that’s the reaction he conjured in her.

Her gaze was back on her gods-be-damned personnel list before he’d let out his breath. There was no denying the sexual pull between them. There was no denying they both found it damned inconvenient.

“I’ll stand for now,” he said hoarsely, avoiding the chair.

“As you wish, Warleader,” she responded with equal huskiness.

He cleared his throat and tried to pretend he wasn’t battling sexual fantasies starring Admiral Stone-Heart.

“There is an irregularity with a crew member named Bolivarr.”

His Imperial Wraith. Finn gritted back a sigh. He’d really wanted the man along. His gut told him his knowledge of Drakken and Coalition intelligence would be useful—once the wraith remembered it.

“Is there no given name?” she queried. “Or is it his surname that is missing?”

“Bolivarr is his only name, according to him. He was an Imperial Wraith.” It was best to jump right in with the truth. “I found him out cold in the street on Junnapekk Station, a mining world in the Haydes Belt. He’d been stripped naked and beaten. No ID, except for his wraith tattoos. No weapons. I believe he was left for dead. If it wasn’t for the nanomeds in his body, he would be. He’d lost a lot of blood.”

“You took him, not knowing who he was?”

“If I didn’t take him, no one else would have. He’d have died. We’d lost a few space-hands in the weeks prior. Outside the injuries, Bolivarr looked strong and in good shape. I figured, if he lived, I could use the extra man.”

“You list almost nothing between his years at the Imperial Military Academy and the time he came aboard your ship.”

“He remembers nothing of that time.”

She lowered the data-vis. “Or so he says. Wraiths are assassins, like our REEFs, only without the bio-engineered implants. Their activities were so covert, even your own military feared them. They are masters of deception, of survival.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Admiral, and gods know I thought the same, but I believe what he says. I’m a good reader of people. I can see a truth or a lie in a glance. It’s served me well.”

She’d gone pale with his admission that he read others well. He knew she was thinking about the look they’d shared, worrying what he’d figured out about her. He’d seen the pain, aye, but it didn’t mean he knew the source of it, he wanted to reassure her. He kept his silence. To reveal what he’d seen would be a mistake.

“Admiral, Bolivarr has a deep hatred of the dead warlord and the Drakken government, and doesn’t know why. He asked me for asylum, and I granted it. He’s been nothing but a model officer ever since, a source of calm in crisis.”

Again, she tapped the light pen against her chin as she pondered the information he had given her. He had the feeling she was contemplating him as much as she was the subject of Bolivarr. Finally, she said, “Your wraith might very well be of use to us, hunting strays in the Borderlands. More so if his memory returns.”

“Our wraith,” he reminded her.

“No. Yours, Warleader. I will hold you fully responsible for him and his actions on this ship.”

Yes, he thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Bolivarr was on.

“I want both of you to see the ship’s physician, Dr. Kell, for full exams after the launch. Have the medical reports sent to me.”

“Aye, Admiral. And thank you.”

At the gratitude in his tone, she frowned.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t have to thank you. I will all the same.”

She slipped the data-vis in her uniform pocket. “Call an all-hands meeting immediately. I want to speak to the entire crew before launch.”

He came to attention. “Aye, aye.”

T
HE SMALL SIZE OF THE CREW
was apparent when the number of bodies filled up only two-thirds of the main briefing room. Rather than speaking from a dais constructed for that purpose, the admiral paced the floor in her usual way: head held high, posture erect, her expression cold and observant. Finn was certain she’d already examined every man and woman’s face in the audience, and had drawn opinions based on what she saw in them.

He shared the floor with her, on her orders. It was an important sight for the crew to see—a statement. He was Bandar’s second, no question; he shared command of this ship. Coalition, Earthlings and his own crew would not miss the symbolism. As much as she seemed to despise him when they were alone, in public she acted almost civil, and certainly fair. She was a professional, that’s why, a professional who no doubt regretted revealing her emotions to him in Zaafran’s office earlier that day. Would she punish him for it all the rest of the voyage? Gods, that could be years. Or so he hoped. He was determined to make this gig last…. The luxurious quarters, the delicious food, the well-made uniforms, he thought, running a hand over his new Triad gear with its fancy commander epaulets.
Rorkken,
he thought with a sizzle of pride.
You’ve finally made something of yourself.

He’d never known his mother (or his father, for that matter), but if she were in the heavens looking down at him right now, she’d be proud.

Bandar finished briefing the crew on the relevance of the terrorist threat. “We will launch immediately following this briefing. The official word, however, is that we’ll be docked here for another week, awaiting personnel and supplies. We’ll be light-years away from the Ring before anyone can make good on their threat of blowing us into plasma dust.”

Noises of approval went around the room, evenly split amongst the various groups sitting separately by choice. It was less easy to discern the Coalition from the Earthlings, now that everyone was wearing Triad uniforms, but the Drakken still stood out with their jewelry, tattooing and hairstyles. Bandar would notice. At least they were bathed and clean. Aye, one step at a time.

“If you take one thing from this first meeting,” Bandar concluded, “I want it to be that we are in this together. Together as the new Triad Alliance.” Her conviction was evident in her voice if not her eyes. He alone knew what she really thought about the Drakken presence here:
“I’d rather cough up blood.”
The professional in her didn’t reveal her personal opinion to the crew. It was no secret why she’d gone so far in her career. One could be a great admiral but not a great leader. Brit Bandar was both.

“Those are our orders. And that is what Warleader Rorkken and I will enforce. If anyone on this ship has a problem serving with any of the groups aboard, speak now, and I will have you escorted off the ship. It will not reflect negatively on you in any way.”

No one moved so much as a finger.

“Well then. Do you have anything to add, Warleader?”

“No, Admiral, I do not.”

She nodded and turned back to the crew. “I’m sure you all are eager to take up your new duty stations and launch this impressive vessel.” Her gaze flicked in Finn’s direction. “The
Unity,
” she added, meeting his smile with a withering gaze. “Before you do, there is some business to take care of.”

She pulled the data-vis from her pocket. The Drakken crew list, he thought with a sinking feeling that increased when she called out, “Uroo Markar, Seljon Silubakk and Rakkelle Pehzwan, come forward.”

The three looked confused. Finn wasn’t. They were his three civilians. It was illegal to have civs on a military vessel performing military jobs. In the half-dismantled Drakken Fleet, it hadn’t mattered. It mattered here. It mattered now.

He’d thought when she perused the list and asked about Bolivarr that she’d made the decision for the civs to stay, as well. He’d failed them because of that assumption.

Wasn’t there a better way to dismiss the trio than in front of the entire ship? He ought to be the one to take care of it—in private—since it was his fault they were here. He tried to capture Bandar’s gaze, but she ignored him.

He heaved a sorry sigh, placed his hands behind his back, striking a relaxed pose for show, and asked the gods above for mercy on his crew.

Rakkelle swaggered to the floor, casting hot glances at anyone who’d look, and there were a lot of looks. Markar followed her nervously, Silubakk in trail, sullen.

When the three stood in front of her, Bandar walked around them, inspecting their new uniforms. Markar was sweating. Even Rakkelle fidgeted where she stood. Then Bandar stopped, facing them, as cool and composed as stone, her namesake. “The
Unity
is a warship. Civilians are not allowed to serve on a warship.”

Rakkelle visibly deflated. Finn could see the disappointment in her eyes. Like it was for all of them, this had been a big break for the pilot, an amazing stroke of luck. Rakkelle would not want to lose this chance any more than the rest of them would. The fact remained, however, that she’d never been in the military. She’d never even had any formal pilot training, learning through real experience with pirates willing to teach her to fly for gods-knew-what in return.

Finn sighed. He’d do all he could after the meeting and before they were evicted from the ship, but his options were limited if Bandar insisted on their dismissal. Aye, it looked as if he’d have to bid the trio farewell.

“Markar, Silubakk, step forward.”

Yes, Admiral,
Finn mouthed, coaching them as best he could from afar.

“Yes, Admiral,” they chorused to his relief.

“You men now hold the official Triad rank of space-hand apprentice.” She attached Triad rank to their shoulders. The men were stunned, but no more than Finn.

“Rakkelle Pehzwan.”

“Yes, ma’am!” With the prospect of staying on board now looking promising, she’d perked up. She practically jumped forward to stand in front of Bandar.

“Your situation is different, I’m afraid. You’re a pilot. In our military system, pilots are officers. I can’t make you an officer with no training.”

“Aye…” Rakkelle looked suddenly smaller, under-fed. Like a sad stray.

“I have another solution.”

Rakkelle’s eyes widened as Bandar fastened two small patches to her shoulders. “Cadet Space-class Pehzwan, your academic and military training will run concurrently with your service aboard this ship. Should you prove worthy, you’ll be commissioned with the Triad rank of ensign.”

Rakkelle whooped, pumping her fist.

Bandar’s nostrils flared in disapproval, and Rakkelle blushed. “Sorry, Admiral. Sorry! I’m just so…” Rakkelle met Finn’s furious glare and snapped to attention. Somehow, she managed a salute that wasn’t half-bad. “Thank you, ma’am. I will prove worthy of my promotion.”

Bandar returned the salute and dismissed the trio.

They returned to their seats where they were welcomed by a rowdy contingent of Drakken. Finn shook his head. Zurykk and Bolivarr quieted them, but not before they’d won dark looks from some on the Coalition crew. A treaty wasn’t going to erase centuries of bad blood overnight.

Especially where he, Bandar’s unwanted, Hordish second-in-command, was concerned. Why hadn’t she informed him of her decision to promote his crew members? She had to have known the solution would please him. Did she intend to leave him out of the loop the rest of the voyage?
I think not.

Bandar turned to him. “Have all hands prepare for launch.”

“All hands prepare for launch!” Finn repeated, shouting the order to the entire room. Then he placed his body between her and the audience. “Admiral.”

“Yes, Warleader?”

“I didn’t know you weren’t dismissing the three civs until you pinned rank on their shoulders. I didn’t like the surprise.”

She lifted that blasted brow. “You don’t agree with the decision?”

“It was your making it without my knowing that I don’t agree with.” He didn’t miss her surprise at voicing his disapproval before the chill returned to her expression. He was a fool to confront her before the launch and while there was still the opportunity to remove him for insubordination or any other reason she might choose. Yet, as hungry as he was for this job, he had no intention of being a figurehead while performing it. He had his pride—as an officer and as a man. “I do thank you for what you did, especially for Rakkelle. I am grateful, and so are they.”