Solfleet: The Call of Duty (72 page)

Dylan
laughed and pulled up his shorts, then put his arm around her and walked her
back into the bedroom.

The Next Night

Friday, 3 December 2190

Dylan’s mind
had been wandering for most of the evening—he couldn’t stop thinking about that
time-travel mission he’d turned down—but the sudden applause roused him from
his reverie. Still standing behind the wedge-shaped transluminum podium at
center stage, the pudgy Tor’Kana ambassador—Dylan couldn’t even begin to remember
his name—had just finished delivering his long-winded speech and was rapidly
clicking his scythe-like mandibles together in front of his mouth in the Tor’Kana
equivalent of a gracious smile and waving all four of his four-fingered hands
in thanks to the appreciative crowd. Though there were a number of physical differences,
not the least of which was the obvious disparity in size, the Tor’Kana had
always reminded Dylan of big red-brown ants.

He didn’t
have a clue what the ambassador’s speech had consisted of, but considering the
grim future that the few Tor’Kana...people, for lack of a more accurate word...who
remained were facing, he couldn’t understand how their long-time representative
on Earth had found it within himself to say anything positive enough to evoke
such an enthusiastic response from his audience. Then again, he was Tor’Kana,
and the Tor’Kana as a people were well known not only for their military
strength, but also for their unwavering optimism. Maybe he’d laid out some
unrealistic plan assuring the crowd that continued cooperation between Earth
and the rest of the Coalition would somehow lead to the salvation of his species.

On second
thought, he couldn’t have done that even if he’d wanted to. The true extent of
the Tor’Kana situation—the fact that they were on the verge of extinction—was still
classified, most likely to prevent wild speculation and panic from spreading
through the general populous, so the ambassador wouldn’t have said anything about
it.

But he’d
obviously said
something
that pleased the crowd.

Truth was,
Dylan didn’t really care what the ambassador had spoken about. It wouldn’t have
had anything to do with him and he had much more important things on his mind,
like figuring out how to talk his way out of having to let Beth’s Cirran
telepath friend take a casual stroll through his mind.

“All right,
Lieutenant,” Admiral Hansen said from across the blue, green, and tan
cloth-covered table as the ambassador returned to his seat and the classical
portion of the music program began. “That ends the formalities. You’re free to
steal your lovely fiancée away from us and enjoy the rest of your evening in
peace if you’d like.”

“Thank you,
sir.” Eager to escape the brass-heavy gathering, he turned to Beth—God, she was
even more beautiful with her hair up than she was with it down—and asked, “Ready
to go?”

“Go?” she
asked, gazing at him as though the very idea of leaving such an event before it
was over were a completely foreign concept to her. “No, I’m not ready to go. It’s
still early and I paid good money for this gown. I’m ready to dance.”

“You want to
dance?” he asked with trepidation. He wasn’t a dancer. Not by any stretch of
the imagination.

“Yes, I want
to dance.”

“Why don’t
you ask your young lady to dance, Lieutenant,” the admiral suggested,
not
grinning
just enough to make it obvious that he was thoroughly enjoying Dylan’s sudden
discomfort.

Dylan threw
Hansen his best ‘thanks for nothing’ look, to which the admiral responded with
just the slightest of mischievous grins. At least the admiral wasn’t still
upset with him—not that he was showing, at least. Then he stood up, tugged
downward on his formal gray uniform jacket, and offered Beth his hand. Like a
true gentleman—if he was going to do it, he was going to do it right—he bowed
formally and asked her, “May I have this dance?”

“You may
indeed, sir,” Beth answered, smiling beautifully as she slipped her
black-gloved hand into his. She stood up—Admiral Hansen stood as well—and bowed
slightly to her fiancé’s superiors. “Admiral, Commander, it was nice meeting
both of you.”

“Miss
DeGaetano,” the officers responded together, the admiral bowing in return. And
though he couldn’t be sure, Dylan thought he glimpsed Commander Royer checking
Beth out in something less than a professional manner.

Beth turned
to the commander’s wife. “Karen, it was a pleasure to meet you as well and I
look forward to seeing you again at the spouses’ group. Thank you for inviting
me.”

“You’re very
welcome, Beth,” Karen answered. “I’ll see you there.”

Dylan and
Beth pushed in their chairs and took their leave, and as they started toward
the dance floor Beth quietly whispered into Dylan’s ear, “Not only may you have
this dance, but you may have anything else you like as well.”

Dylan smiled
at her appreciatively and asked, “Do you always make that offer when a
gentleman asks you to dance?”

“That
depends on the gentleman.”

“Oh, really?
And what is it about a gentleman exactly that makes you decide to tease him
like that?”

“
Tease
him?”
she gasped, pretending to be shocked by the accusation. Then, emplying an
artificial but very convincing southern bell accent she said, “My deuh suh! I
find the vera idea that you could possibly think me capable of indulgin’ in
such unladylike behaviuh to be quite insultin’.”

Dylan
smiled. “Of course you do,” he said, playing along. “Please forgive me.”

“I assure
you,” she continued, “I would nevuh tease a gentleman in such a way! I only
offuh myself to a gentleman when I am genuinely prepahyed to give mahself to
him.”

“But you’ve
already given yourself to me,” he happily reminded her. “Numerous times, I
might add.”

They reached
a spot near the center of the crowded dance floor, well out of sight and
earshot of the admiral and the commander. Beth wrapped her arms around the back
of Dylan’s neck and gazed into his eyes. “And I intend to give myself to you
again,” she assured him, dropping the accent. “And again, and again, and again,
for the rest of our lives.”

Dylan took
her by the waist and drew her close and kissed her, then said, “I’m going to
hold you to that.”

“As long as
you’re holding me.”

He kissed
her again, then took her hand into his and wrapped his other arm around her
bare waist. Then, in perfect time to the ancient music, he started leading her
in what was, if he did say so himself, a fairly reasonable facsimile of a
waltz. Once he was sure he’d managed to match their rhythm to that of the
music, he said, “I don’t know about all this.”

“About all
what?”

“All this.
Ceremonies, formal balls, social events. I’ve never really been much of a
social animal, but now that I’ve been commissioned I’ll be expected to attend
functions like this all the time. The high price of being in the officer corps.”

“Now you
know why officers get paid the big money,” she quipped.

He grinned.
Then, peering down inside her very fashionable and equally expensive new gown’s
plunging neckline, he said, “Speaking of big money, that really is a beautiful
gown you’re almost wearing.”

“Hey, boy,”
she playfully scolded, “you’d better watch yourself. This gown just happens to
be an original Francis Black two-piece.”

“I can see
that it’s a black two-piece, but...”

“No, no, no,”
she smiled, shaking her head. “I didn’t say it’s a black two-piece,” she
informed him. “I said it’s an original
Francis Black Two-Piece
.”

“Oh!” he
said, pretending to be overly impressed. “So who’s Francis Black?”

“Are you
kidding me?” she asked. “Francis Black just happens to be the top women’s
formal fashion designer in the world right now. Two-Piece is the name of his
line. These designs are very popular right now. Knockoffs are popping up all
over the place.”

“Oh, well,
in that case, please forgive me once again, I beg you.”

She smiled. “I’ll
think about it.”

For the next
few minutes they just danced cheek-to-cheek and enjoyed the orchestra’s flawless
performance almost as much as they were enjoying each other. But then, as they
turned for the umpteenth time and Dylan faced the back of the ballroom, he
caught sight of something that he simply had to share with her.

He stopped
dancing and let go of her hand. “Look there,” he said, pointing it out to her.

“What am I
looking for?” she asked as she looked back over her shoulder.

“The Tor’Kana
ambassador. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a Tor’Kana trying to waltz.”

When Beth
finally spotted the barely five foot tall alien ambassador through the crowd,
she immediately saw what Dylan was referring to. There weren’t any Tor’Kana
females in attendance—come to think of it, she’d never seen one of their
females anywhere before—but that wasn’t stopping the ambassador from at least
trying to have a good time. He’d found a no doubt reluctant but willing partner
in the person of some politician’s or officer’s wife and was cutting a rug with
the best of them. His upper thorax tended to bounce a little bit with each
step, making him nearly as tall as his partner on the up-beats, and his timing
wasn’t quite right. But other than that, he wasn’t doing too badly.

His turns were
what made his dancing so funny to watch. With each one his upper thorax not
only bounced but also rotated ahead of the rest of his body as though being
unscrewed. Then, when he stepped back to realign himself, his leg over-shot and
his pelvis twisted underneath him, briefly protruding beyond his lower thorax.
Fortunately, the Tor’Kana wore loose robe-like clothing instead of something
more formfitting. Otherwise, his performance would likely have been more
disturbing than comical.

Beth smiled
and turned back to him. “You’re so bad,” she said as she took hold of his hand
again.

“Am I wrong?”
he asked as they resumed their dance.

“Behave
yourself.”

Okay. So she
was too kind a person to enjoy a laugh at someone else’s expense. That was one
of the many things he loved most about her. ‘Behave yourself,’ she’d said. He
stepped back and glanced at her cleavage, then down at her flat, bare midriff
and her smooth, shapely legs. “Behave myself?” he asked. “That’s not going to
be easy.”

“And why is
that?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Why do you
think?”

“My charming
personality?” she quipped.

“Well, yeah,
that too. But that gown. I must say, if this Francis Black guy is at the top of
the women’s fashion industry, I’ll bet it’s the men of the world who put him
there.”

“You think
so?”

“Absolutely.”
He drew her close again and spoke more quietly, so that only she would hear. “With
all that cleavage showing, and if the bottom half sat any lower on your hips,
or if those leg slits were any higher, everyone here would know what color
underwear you have on.”

“That is a
gross exaggeration, Dylan, and you know it,” she responded. “Besides,” she
continued, grinning mischievously as she brought her lips close to his ear. “what
makes you think I’m wearing any?”

He backed
slightly away and looked her in the eye again, but before he could decide
whether or not he thought she was serious, she said, “Stop trying to avoid the
inevitable.”

He pulled
her back to him again and asked, “What do you mean?”

“You know
exactly what I mean,” she told him confidently. “Have you given any thought to
my suggestion?”

“The one
about this Professor Min’para character of yours?”

“He’s not a
character of mine, but yes.”

“Yes, I
have.”

“And?”

Dylan
sighed. “I don’t know, Beth.”

The
orchestra brought the music to its bold, climactic end. Everyone on the floor
stopped dancing, turned toward the musicians, and applauded.

“Come on,
Dylan,” Beth continued as she applauded as well. “He’s right over there.” She
pointed briefly toward the refreshment tables, then gently took hold of Dylan’s
arm.

“What makes
you think he’ll be willing to help me anyway?” he asked her. “We’ve never met,
so he doesn’t have a clue who I am. Nor does he have any reason to care. He’ll
probably take one look at me and...”

“I don’t
know if he’ll be willing to help you,” she admitted. “But if we don’t ask him,
then we’ll never know, will we?”

“I can live
with that.”

“Well I can’t,”
she countered. “Not while I know you’re suffering those nightmares.” She waited
a moment, then added, “Please?”

There were those
big, doe-like eyes again. Dylan sighed with resignation. “All right.”

She smiled. “Thank
you.” She took his hands in hers and leaned in close and whispered, “I’ll make
it worth your while later tonight.” Then she turned and started leading him
toward the professor. “Come on.”

“He probably
won’t do it,” Dylan said hopefully.

“We’ll see.”
She towed him by the hand to within a few feet of the elderly Cirran’s side,
then coaxed him along slightly ahead of her. “Excuse me,” she said to get the
Cirran’s attention. “Professor Min’para?”

The very
distinguished looking professor’s penetrating violet-eyed gaze shifted to her and
brightened with recognition as he responded, “Miss DeGaetano,” annunciating her
name without a trace of accent. “How are you this evening?”

“Fine, thank
you, Professor. And you?”

“I am well.
Thank you.”

She gestured
to Dylan. “Professor, may I present my fiancé, Lieutenant Dylan Graves. He’s
the one I was telling you about.”

Dylan looked
at her and knew right away that he shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d already
spoken to him. She’d planned the whole thing, even before he’d agreed to it.
There were certain patterns of behavior that women everywhere seemed to have in
common, and that was one of the big ones.