Mission Mistletoe

By Jessica Payseur

Captain Archer Pfeil’s current assignment has been nothing but one long string of disasters. As if being dumped right before Christmas wasn’t enough, the mounting misfortunes indicate he’ll be out of a job by the end of his mission.

But it’s difficult to salvage the assignment with Ambassador Ilin a’dlen Jhex around, pushing all Archer’s buttons. He struggles to keep his distance from the out-of-bounds ambassador, but Jhex has other plans in mind….

C
APTAIN
A
RCHER
Pfeil was not sure who to be most pissed off at: the engineers who should have been watching everything better, the officials who decided now was the perfect time to use the new biofuel, or himself for accepting this assignment. It had wrecked enough of his life, and now it was looking like it would wreck his career too. If he couldn’t get Ambassador Ilin a’dlen Jhex where he needed to be on schedule, the repercussions would be far reaching.

He took the ladder from the engineering level to the passengers’ quarters rather than the lift, wanting to work off some of his anger before breaking the bad news to a’dlen Jhex. Thus far the Nler’sh’eh had taken the transport issues well, but a person never could tell with aliens. Archer had heard tales of woe about Klerpians who, upon losing their temper at a perceived slight, went on to eat a vessel’s entire store of printable food weeks before the next scheduled planetary landing. As their species could enter torpor, the problem was solely a human one.

Archer had never heard anything about Nler’sh’eh that indicated that level of rage, and a’dlen Jhex himself had been understanding and cooperative throughout. But the fact remained that the ambassador was here to make a report back to his people, and it wouldn’t be difficult for the Terrans to look completely incompetent, regardless of how a’dlen Jhex phrased it.

“Captain,” said one of his crew as he passed in the corridor. Archer scowled. The crew member scurried along, leaving Archer to hesitate at the ambassador’s door. He did not relish having to deliver the news about this next in a series of bad incidents. But the sooner he did this, the sooner he could get to blaming everyone else in his official report. Indirectly of course.

He raised his hand and tapped the buzzer, trying not to look too startled when the door slid open almost immediately.

“Captain! Do come in.”

Ilin a’dlen Jhex stood there, nearly a foot shorter than Archer, blackish eyes staring at him. He was dressed in the Nler’sh’eh formal wear for his position, gauzy folds of cloth hanging down from his shoulders to midcalf, not thick enough to conceal the tight-fitting garments underneath. Today it was shades of teal, the fabric showing off just how lean he was.

Archer always felt uncomfortable in his presence, drawn to him. He knew it was an inappropriate reaction, given a’dlen Jhex’s ambassador status, but it was a feeling he had given up fighting. The Nler’sh’eh vaguely resembled bats, tan skin covered in most places with grayish fuzz. A’dlen Jhex’s ears were prominent, but not as prominent as many of the other Nler’sh’eh Archer had seen. And the ambassador’s lips always seemed to have a lingering hint of a smile on them.

“If you don’t mind, Ambassador, I’ll speak here,” said Archer. It was rude, and he knew he shouldn’t be turning down an invitation from such an important person, but Archer just did not trust himself inside a’dlen Jhex’s quarters. His mind would be less on business with the knowledge that the ambassador’s bed was one room away, and his pants would become embarrassingly uncomfortable. They were already threatening to do just that, and he focused on recapturing his anger at the current situation.

“We could walk,” said a’dlen Jhex, a suggestion Archer knew he could not turn down after refusing to enter the room.

“Very well,” he said. “After you, Ambassador.”

A’dlen Jhex walked so closely by Archer that the gauzy fabric brushed against him. He was wearing a complex scent that Archer could not identify. It had to be Nler’sh’eh in origin. His mind flashed briefly the image of a’dlen Jhex tilting his head, dabbing it on himself, before he pulled his mind away from the thought.

Archer promised himself a break after this assignment. He was getting too wound up. He needed to relax.

“You’re very quiet now, Captain Pfeil,” said a’dlen Jhex. “Are the food printers still malfunctioning?”

“No,” said Archer, the word a bit of a snap. He cleared his throat. “All fixed.”

“Then you are not here to tell me that.” A’dlen Jhex glanced at him as they reached the lift, dark eyes examining Archer with an intensity that made him look away. He couldn’t afford to offend an ambassador on such an important assignment. A new colony depended upon it.

“No,” said Archer, waiting for a’dlen Jhex to select a desired level. The door closed on them. Immediately Archer wondered whether it had been a good idea to get in a lift alone with the ambassador, but the ride was short. “How do you feel about more bad news?”

“That depends on the bad news.”

A’dlen Jhex flashed a smile. Archer strode into the corridor.

“My engineers tell me we have to full stop,” he said. He was not sure how much to tell the ambassador or even what he wanted to know. “Something with the fuel.”

“It’s your new brand of biofuel, correct? I read a piece about that. I understand it’s debatable whether it’s more efficient, as it requires more cleaning and maintenance of your ship.”

“It’s not more efficient if I have to stop mid voyage, now is it?” said Archer before he could stop himself. He shook his head. “Sorry. I want to assure you our vessels do
not
break down or have issues as regularly as this. This is an anomaly.”

“I understand. You made that clear about the food printers as well.”

Archer side-eyed the ambassador, unable to tell whether he was making a joke or a criticism. Perhaps it was only a statement. A’dlen Jhex led them through a door to a small room that had been set up for artwork. There were several rooms along this corridor for pastimes, the hope being that crewmembers would take the opportunity to reduce stress on their own without the need for drugs. Still, many people spurned these outlets and went with the prescription anyway, Archer among them. He just did not have time to paint out his feelings.

“I wouldn’t be stopping us if it wasn’t completely necessary,” said Archer, watching as a’dlen Jhex’s long, delicate fingers tapped the code for clay into the art printer. He swallowed, both very much wanting to watch the ambassador sculpt and knowing he should not let himself linger to see it. He would get too many ideas.

“Will this be delaying our course?” asked a’dlen Jhex as he waited for his clay.

He did not seem concerned. Archer suddenly wanted very much to shout at him. A lot depended on what was reported back to the Nler’sh’eh. If a’dlen Jhex did not make up for the unanticipated events with his statement, Archer would be out a job. He didn’t particularly care to lose one more thing right now.

“Yes,” he said, the word short. When the ambassador looked up at him, he found it was easier to glare than anything. “This could play out one of two ways. We push our entire schedule back, or we cut out the visit to one or two destinations.”

“I’m afraid I am due back on Nleri’xh by a particular date,” said a’dlen Jhex, and Archer’s entire body tensed. No, he was
not
making this decision.

“I don’t like either option,” he said, hoping it was obvious he wanted the ambassador to decide. These things were always tricky. Ilin a’dlen Jhex had learned a common Terran language to communicate, though it was unclear just how well he knew it. Archer wished he would allow a translation device like most other aliens, but he was stubborn. The annoying bit about it was that Archer found his prideful insistence attractive.

“You must understand I’m here to observe how your people adapt to situations,” said a’dlen Jhex. He was pulling the lump of clay out of the printer, testing it with his fingers. He brought it to a table and sat, tilting his eyes up to look at Archer.

“You’re also here to see how we can work together,” said Archer before thinking better of it. Calling out an ambassador was not a good way to smooth relations. But a’dlen Jhex smiled.

“True,” he said. “But ‘working together’ is an interesting concept. It can mean many things, correct? Such as that your crew works together with you, Captain Pfeil, but you give the orders.”

“Are you saying you want me to tell you what to do, Ambassador a’dlen Jhex?” asked Archer. The ambassador was beginning to work the clay with his hands, and it was difficult not to fidget. He needed to end this conversation soon.

“Please. ‘A’dlen’ is too formal. Just Jhex.”

His hands caressed the lump of clay, and Archer swallowed.

“And I could be the one giving you orders. How does that strike you?”

That was striking Archer very well at the moment. Of course he could say nothing of the sort to an ambassador. He had not even bothered to look up whether the Nler’sh’eh had sex like humans did, or whether they even had sex at all.

He should not be thinking of such things. He focused on his irritation and on getting out of the room as quickly as possible.

“I think what our governments had in mind was more of a give and take arrangement,” he said.

Jhex smiled again.

“Give and take. I like that too. A satisfying way to handle issues.”

Archer did not want to linger in this conversation. It was too much like flirting, and he very much doubted that was the ambassador’s intention. He moved toward the door.

“Well, I’ll leave you to think about what you prefer. We’ll discuss this again later.”

He escaped into the corridor without giving Jhex a chance to reply.

H
E
WAS
always alone in the art room. Ilin could never understand it, not when the reports the Terrans sent boasted images of their architectural designs and statue-studded parks. This should mean creation played a substantial role in their lives, but his experience indicated it was more likely a status symbol or a portrayal of superiority.

He licked his lips as his hands worked the clay. He had created several artistic documentations of his moods on this voyage, but what he was feeling now he could not translate to the clay. It frustrated him, this draw he felt around Captain Pfeil. He was so short of temper, and yet Ilin stirred at him.

The ambassador wanted the captain. This was inappropriate behavior for his position. He had several other Nler’sh’eh back home he could call on whenever his bodily needs grew too strong, but a Terran…. He had little doubt his judgment would be questioned in that regard. Still, he knew he could make a good argument about testing to see just how well Nler’sh’eh and Terrans could get along.

He was staring helplessly at his blob of clay when the door to the room opened.

“You’re difficult to find, Ambassador.”

He looked up at the voice and smiled at Nadine, who entered carrying a tray of food. She was one of the ship’s chefs who printed the food or sometimes even cooked with it, and she and Ilin had struck up a kind of friendship during his time here. He had to eat at regular intervals to take his pills, an unfortunately necessary requirement since the Terrans kept the nitrogen levels so high in their air. His body needed the ability to more efficiently extract the oxygen.

“I lost track of the time,” he said as she brought the tray over and sat across from him. “Thanks.”

Nadine pushed the tray toward him as he set aside his failed sculpture and smiled his thanks at her. Her skin was a natural bronze, darker than Archer’s. He wondered what she thought of his smile. He had perfected it over the days, unused to how much the Terrans employed it. It was strange for a species that gave so little physical contact. It almost felt false, but he was not here to judge customs.

“Having problems?” she asked, indicating the lump of clay with a nod. Ilin stirred his soup and reached for the slice of bread.

“I can’t seem to put anything into it,” he said, shrugging. “How is everything down in the mess?”

Now she shrugged.

“About the same as usual. I have a feeling everyone will be putting in extra ration requests soon, though. What with the ship stopping. Did the captain tell you?”

“Yes,” said Ilin. “Your new biofuel has gummed up your engines. He’s stopping for maintenance. Couldn’t we continue? We don’t need propulsion.”

“But we need to be able to put the brakes on if something happens,” said Nadine. “Can’t do that if the engines are out. Don’t write home about that. I think whoever made the decision to use the new fuel wanted to impress you, not screw up your trip.”

“That could be why Captain Pfeil was so irritated when telling me about it.”

Nadine leaned back and rolled her eyes.

“He doesn’t handle things not going to plan well. He really hates political missions. They must be paying him a lot to do this one.”

Ilin nodded at that, ate his soup. He would listen to anything Nadine cared to tell him about the captain.