Читать книгу The Morcai Battalion: The Rescue - Diana Palmer - Страница 11
ОглавлениеEDRIS CONTINUED TO use the hormone suppressant that Hahnson had prescribed for her, but ironically, it seemed to increase the hunger she felt when she saw her commanding officer. It was much worse after her experience on Ondar, saving the Rojok commander. It had irritated Rhemun that she knew so much about his culture’s intimate behaviors. Which didn’t help his attitude toward her; it grew more acrimonious by the day.
His temper was unpredictable, and it escalated. He infuriated the human crew members by assigning them to off-duty education programs, reducing the already-small recreational time they were permitted by over half.
Stern, on behalf of the rest of the crew, protested.
“If you find the tasks aboard a Cehn-Tahr vessel too arduous, Captain,” Rhemun said with faint contempt, “perhaps you would be more content to return to a Terravegan brigade.”
Stern stared at his superior officer with cold eyes. “As I’m certain you already know, Commander,” he said with quiet pride, “I would be used for spare parts, in such case.”
“No military body would tolerate such abuse of its personnel,” Rhemun discounted it. “You exaggerate.”
“I assure you, it is no exaggeration of the facts,” Stern replied. “Perhaps you might ask Commander Dtimun to acquaint you with Terravegan military protocols.”
Rhemun lifted his chin. “I command the Holconcom. Not Dtimun.”
“I know. Sir.” The words conveyed enormous disdain.
“The adjunct educational requirements will be met. Or else. Dismissed!”
Stern saluted and went back to his friends, who were waiting for him in one of the storage areas.
Hahnson activated his white ball. “What did he say? Do we still have to do it?”
Stern nodded. “He’s just looking for ways to provoke us. It’s obvious we don’t need retraining in our respective professions. There’s not even that much new tech to learn, besides that nightmare of an updated astrogation program he dragged me through. Even that isn’t much of an improvement over the software we’re already using, as far as I can see.” He huffed. “Listen, the guy’s a ground pounder,” he said shortly. “He led the emperor’s bodyguard. Great job, he was good at it, but this is the space marines! If anybody needs retraining in his damned profession, it’s him!”
“No argument there,” Hahnson said. “He’s grinding poor Mallory into the ground, for sure. He goes out of his way to stand on her.”
“I noticed that,” Stern replied. “He’s baiting all of us, hoping to start a fight so he can kick us out of the Holconcom.”
“It does seem that way,” engineering exec Higgins said.
“Certainly does,” Chief Communications Officer Jennings seconded. “He’s ticked off most of the comm department with his new requirements and duty stations. Like he knows how to run a starship!”
“How the hell did he end up with Dtimun’s command, anyway?” Stern wanted to know.
“Each military position has a Clan requirement,” Hahnson said. “That’s all I know, so don’t start asking more questions. He was obviously next in line for this post so he got it. End of story.”
“Suppose we pretend we don’t know Dtimun is the emperor’s son.” Stern grinned. “Would they give him back to us?”
“Fat chance. He’s got a son now.” Hahnson chuckled. “He’s not going off into space combat, not if Maddie Ruszel has anything to say about it.”
“Well, back to the subject at hand. Just how long do you think we can hang on here?” Higgins asked Stern. “I mean, he’s going out of his way to push us. He wants us off the ship!”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but he’s right,” Jennings seconded. “He couldn’t make it much plainer.”
“It’s still early days,” Strick Hahnson commented. “He’s not used to a combined command, and he has deep prejudices against humans. He was thrown in headfirst when Dtimun’s real identity as the emperor’s son was divulged. He’d commanded the kehmatemer, the emperor’s bodyguard, for decades. He can’t be much happier than we are.”
“The difference is that he’s in command and we’ve got targets painted on our chests,” Jennings pointed out. “The commander, even when he was furious, never treated us humans any different than the Cehn-Tahr crew members.”
“We went through hell with the commander,” Stern pointed out quietly. “Nobody who lived through Ahkmau could ever tolerate racial prejudice again.”
“That’s true,” Hahnson had to concede.
“The commander saved us all,” Higgins agreed. “What a hell of a rescue it was, too.” He chuckled. “Do you remember how he came walking aboard the Morcai with Mangus Lo over his shoulder?”
“Yeah—” Jennings grinned “—and the way he walked all over Admiral Lawson to get us transferred to the Holconcom, and then led us out of the admiral’s office while he was still in midtirade?”
“Nobody else in the three galaxies like the commander,” Higgins said with pure nostalgia. “What a hell of a commanding officer!”
Stern sighed. “Good days.”
“Never to be lived again,” Jennings lamented.
There was a long silence.
“So, what do we do?” Higgins asked Stern.
Holt Stern’s black eyes were sad. “We hold on for a little while longer, to see if things get any better.”
“And then?” Higgins prompted.
Stern looked at him evenly. “You guys can go back to the Terravegan military without a single black mark on your records. The emperor would go to bat for you.”
“Yeah, but you can’t,” Jennings said. “I’m not going without you, sir.”
“Nor I,” Higgins added.
Hahnson held up his hand and grinned. “Matched set. Can’t break it up, Holt.”
Holt swallowed, hard. “Well, we’ll see how things go.”
They all nodded.
* * *
SO THE OFFICERS and crew, the human ones, went back to school, in a sense, during their off-duty hours. They grumbled, and nobody saw the sense in it. Rhemun ignored them. He’d never hated a posting so much. He even queried the emperor about returning him to the bodyguard unit, but without success.
He was angry, and he took it out on the humans. In all his life, he’d never been forced into a situation he hated as much—well, possibly once. That disgusting, ambitious female and her covert knowledge of herbs that provoked the mating cycle...
He turned his thoughts away from that pride-wrecking memory and the painful ones that followed it. He felt like a trapped animal, hating his surroundings and those he shared them with. But there was no recourse. He would have to cope, somehow.
* * *
MALLORY WAS SLOWLY regaining her self-respect, and the memory of the man she killed was fading into a still-painful but less haunting one. Meanwhile, she was developing a whole new set of problems.
Her interest in her commanding officer was growing. It had nothing to feed on. He hated her and made no secret of it. But her heart jumped whenever she looked at him. The hormone suppressants were working, after a fashion. But even if he couldn’t smell the pheromones, he could certainly detect her racing pulse and shallow breathing when she was close to him.
It didn’t make her life easier. He found new ways to annoy her, picking out flaws in her inventory system, dwelling on past mistakes. His newest requirement entailed noting every single injury ever suffered by Cehn-Tahr aboard the Morcai into a file.
* * *
IT HAD TAKEN two days, but she managed it. She was on her way to present it to him when Btnu stopped by, complaining of a headache that refused to go away.
She was very fond of the Morcai’s executive officer—Rhemun had replaced Stern with Btnu in that position—but she couldn’t do invasive tests without permission from her commanding officer, Rhemun.
“It will take a little time to arrange,” she said gently, and smiled. “I’ll just speak to the commander about it.”
“Thank you, Dr. Mallory.” He hesitated. “I was also distraught when I killed for the first time. He was a Rojok, and we were at war, but my conscience was damaged,” he said slowly. “I understand the difficulty. We are taught in our culture never to take life, but when we are in the military we are expected to do what is necessary.” He smiled. “It is never easy.”
“No. It never is. Thank you for sharing that,” she said. “It’s nice to know that some of you don’t hate us because we’re human,” she couldn’t help adding with some bitterness.
Btnu looked concerned. “You do not know, about him, about his past,” he said softly. “There is a reason.”
“We didn’t do anything,” she pointed out.
He sighed. “I know, Dr. Mallory. But you do not know. I wish that I could tell you. It is not my secret to tell.”
“You’re a nice man.”
He made a sound like human laughter. “Not a man.”
“You’re a nice Cehn-Tahr,” she corrected, and grinned.
He chuckled. “The commander is working out with the Kahn-Bo. He and Mekashe are in the gymnasium.” He leaned down. “Mekashe is better, but only a little.” He rose back up. “Do not tell him that I said so.”
“Not to worry. I’m usually listening, not talking.” Which was true. She rarely got a word in edgewise these days.
She closed the cubicle and went looking for the commander.
* * *
RHEMUN AND MEKASHE were locked in a heated struggle with the Kahn-Bo sticks. Rhemun was laughing as he applied all his strength to block the other alien’s attack.
Mallory, her eyes on the padd, came into the cubicle and stopped dead when she noticed the intensity of the mock combat. She was shocked at the feelings the sight of her commander stripped to the waist engendered in her. She felt her heartbeat rocket as she watched the play of muscle in his massive chest and arms as he struggled with the other alien. His skin was pale gold, flawless. There was a thick wedge of curling black hair that ran down his broad chest to his abdomen. His spine displayed a thin band of fur that ran its length, barely visible above his waist where the flowing black curls of his hair draped in violent contrast to the golden skin.
He was laughing. He enjoyed a fight. The feline features of his face eclipsed into something almost human as his white teeth were displayed.
* * *
HE WAS, SHE THOUGHT, the most beautiful, magnificent creature she’d ever seen in her life.
As her mind worked, he suddenly stopped laughing and turned. His demeanor changed instantly. He lifted his chin. “Yes, Doctor Mallory?” he asked curtly.
She swallowed down the helpless awe and approached him with her eyes lowered. “Btnu requires an invasive scan,” she explained in a subdued tone. “I can’t do the procedure without your authorization.”
“An invasive scan for what, exactly?” he snapped.
She held out the virtual comp. Her hands were shaking. He took it from her with something bordering on contempt and studied it.
“What did he do, swallow down a cerat whole?” Mekashe asked on a chuckle, referring to the small furry mammals that the Cehn-Tahr sometimes consumed for a protein jolt.
“He’s complaining of violent headaches,” she said, and managed a smile for him. “Nothing major, we just want to avoid problems down the line.”
Mekashe cocked his head and studied her. The little human female was enticing, in many ways.
Rhemun became aware of his interest. It should not have disturbed him. He hated humans. He glanced at his friend. “We shall have to postpone the match.”
“You are hoping that I will lose my edge over time,” Mekache teased. “I will not.”
“We will see,” Rhemun replied.
“I will return to my duties. Sir. Dr. Mallory,” he added in a soft, almost-purring tone, which earned him a cold glare from his commander.
He left the chamber, chuckling to himself.
Rhemun signed the virtual order and handed it back to Mallory. His nostrils processed the strong scent of pheromones that was issuing from her body. His jaw tautened.
“I find your interest offensive,” he said coldly.
She had forgotten his olfactory superiority. She grimaced. “Sir...”
“You are human,” he said, making almost an insult of the words. “Near the end of the Great Galaxy War, I had my young son moved to a military school in a system outlying the Megorian Sector.” He waited for that impact on the small human. It seemed to stun her. “A female human pilot was playing some virtual vid with two companions on the nexus when she was ordered to use her strategic weapons on a Rojok emplacement. She mistook the target and dropped the entire cargo on the military academy. My son was incinerated in a flash.”
Mallory’s lips fell open. Her mind was on overdrive. He had lost a son. He was bonded to a female. She had been watching him, hoping for some sign of his interest, and all the time, he was in a relationship. He had a child who had died. She was ashamed of her behavior and her feelings for him. She had thought he was, like most of the Cehn-Tahr in the Holconcom, a solitary male.
* * *
HE SAW HER emotions clearly. He felt them. He lifted his chin. His eyes were dark with anger. “The human female was small, with blond hair and blue eyes. Like you.”
She felt those words all the way to the soles of her feet. She looked at him with helpless comprehension. “I’m so sorry,” she said huskily. “So very sorry, for you, and your mate.”
He ignored the comment. “She was tried, court-martialed. But she was not punished. My government protested. It did no good. She killed my son and never paid for it!”
That was unusual. The Terravegan military was overly sensitive to such issues. But it had been long ago. Perhaps the law had been different then.
“Since I first saw you, when the emperor arrived aboard to help save Ruszel’s life, I have felt nothing but revulsion,” Rhemun emphasized, the injustice of the past making his tone harsh and cold. “Your continued presence aboard the Morcai is a constant reminder of the tragedy. I look at you and see the murderer of my son!”
Mallory had only basic psych training from the Tri-Fleet Medical Academy, but she understood what was happening. Rhemun had been unable to avenge the death of his child. The murderer was out of reach. But Mallory, who resembled her, wasn’t. Much became clear in her mind. His continued antagonism, his constant criticism of her slowness, her ineptitude—now it made sense. It wasn’t her skill or lack of it that prompted his distaste. It was a personal tragedy. Mallory was being made to pay for a crime she had never committed. She had no defense. Her soft blue eyes searched his angry ones and she saw secret dreams fall to dust there.
“I don’t want your interest,” he gritted. “The scent of pheromones that exudes from you is an insult! It disgusts me!”
She swallowed hard and pulled herself to a rigid stance. “I beg the commander’s pardon,” she said unsteadily. “It isn’t...intentional.”
“See Hahnson,” he said curtly. “There must be some chemical means of disrupting the pheromones. I want no repeat of this.”
She didn’t dare mention that she’d already been taking the maximum dose possible. There was nothing stronger, and she was already showing symptoms of allergic reaction to the substance Hahnson had prescribed. But she lied. “I’ll speak to him at once, sir.”
He searched her blue eyes with contempt. “See that you do.”
“I am very sorry,” she added, avoiding his gaze. “So very sorry. But you’re still young, sir. You and your mate can have other children...”
“My personal life is not your concern!”
She stood straighter. “It is not,” she agreed. “Sorry.”
“And stop saying that you’re sorry!”
She fished around for another word, couldn’t find it in her disturbed state and said nothing. She was all but shaking.
He saw that. He knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that he was being unreasonable, but the floodgates had been opened. He had never spoken of his loss to any other Cehn-Tahr. The emperor knew, of course, but it was a secret that the two of them had kept. He was sharing his grief with Mallory, an outworlder, a human who looked like the killer. It was incomprehensible to him. Such subjects were taboo except between family members or close friends, and Mallory was neither. His own behavior sickened him.
“Dismissed!” he snapped. “And you will never speak of this conversation!”
“Of course not, sir,” she said, in a shaky voice. “Doctors make a vow never to discuss private revelations, you know.”
He hadn’t known. He didn’t care. He saw again the ashes that had once been his child and felt again the rage and pain and...
He turned on his heel and stalked off.
* * *
MALLORY DIDN’T GO to see Hahnson. She went to her quarters blindly and began methodically packing her few possessions. The military didn’t allow much. She had her uniforms and some personal bits of clothing that she wore off duty. She had a brush and a virtual Nagaashe that kept her company in her privacy.
When she was packed, she sent a flash to Tri-Galaxy Fleet HQ and resigned her commission. That done, she booked a seat aboard a passenger ship that would cross the path of the Morcai only scant minutes later. She would have to run to the airlock to make connections, and there was no time to explain what she was doing. Protocol demanded that she tell Rhemun of her decision and give him time to send for a replacement Cularian specialist. But she couldn’t wait. She couldn’t bear to see the contempt and hatred in his eyes. Stop the pheromone production? There was only one way known to contemporary science to accomplish that. Yes, she could use a drug, in fact she was already using one, but it clearly didn’t work. She was aware that she wasn’t thinking clearly. Rhemun’s undisguised hatred confused her, panicked her. She had to get off the Morcai, get away from Rhemun, before she humiliated herself even more. The fact that he knew how she felt only made it worse.
No, drugs wouldn’t suffice. The only way was to remove herself from his presence. And this was dangerous. By resigning her commission she was admitting to her third failure as a soldier. It would put her under the three strikes law and leave her vulnerable to Reboot. In fact, it was quite likely that Tri-Fleet HQ would send a team to arrest her and bring her back for a formal hearing. After which... She didn’t dare think about afterward. There were rumors that one victim of Reboot had been kept in a lab for almost four decades, taken apart cell by cell for experimentation.
She ignored the possibility. Where she was going, they’d have a job trying to find her. She had a former colleague on Benaski Port who was the center of illegal activity there. She flashed him on scramble and asked permission to work in the Underway, as the underbelly of Benaski was known, as a medic. Permission was given at once, with an amused smile and a welcome. She had been kind to him at medical school, as many others had not, when he left because of his refusal to produce clones for medical experimentation. That practice had been ended by a Tri-Galaxy Council investigation. So now, the live human specimens collected legally under the guise of Reboot were even more precious.
She ran down the corridor, into the airlock and onward to the skimmer she’d reserved, pleading a medical emergency on the passenger ship.
The tech, a Cehn-Tahr with a kind face, smiled at her. “You will return shortly?”
“Of course,” she lied, smiling back as she entered the skimmer. “But I’m sending the skimmer right back, temporarily. Don’t know how long this may take, and the patient is a high-ranking Jebob diplomat.”
“Very well, Doctor. Have a safe trip.”
“Thanks.”
She closed the skimmer, punched the ignition switch and hovered through the first lock to the second. It opened. She flew out into open space, toward a bright dot that was moving on her astrogation screen.
She’d thrown away her career, left her few friends, made a refugee of herself, all because her commanding officer found her very presence distasteful. It was shocking that she hadn’t realized, until he spoke to her, how involved with him she truly was. Their arguments and disagreements had been only a symptom of her growing feelings for him, which she could not contain or remove. And he was bonded. He had had a child... The grief and shame she felt overwhelmed her. Her only option was to leave.
