Periphery (20 page)

“We will have freedom, and a place to build our happiness,” she muttered to herself. “Jian will be the reward of the worthy.”

She nodded to herself, knowing that once the renegades found her dragon stones on Hoyt and young Hutchinson, the women would be treated as two of Madame Hong’s chosen. They would be taken to Jian, fitted out and turned loose. Hoyt and Hutchinson would soon be making their own way in the rough and ready pioneer culture already thriving around the three seaports and four farming collectives. Big, watchful Hoyt would be in her element. Hutchinson, who had been kept contained in one safe zone after another since her beauty had begun to show, would at last be free to wander where she wanted, free to learn as much as she could absorb.

It amused Hong to remember the fervent thoughts she had read in the minds that had come to her that afternoon five weeks ago. She turned the wisps and tendrils over and over, considering the glimpses of insight, remembering what each woman had wished for as they held the dragon stones. Pursing her lips, Madame Hong recalled Hoyt’s agonizing sadness as she wished for one chance to make love to the flower beside her on Hong’s hard wooden bench. Poor Hoyt had wanted so much and had not dared to reach for it. But Hutchinson, who appeared so much more fragile than her large, muscled friend, Hutchinson had closed her eyes and wished for a life with Hoyt. Hutchinson wanted forever. Madame Hong chuckled. The girl had been in love with Hoyt since they had met in the ore tunnels years ago.

No matter. They are together now. The girl’s capacity for love will open the miner to what is possible. Feeling inordinately pleased, Madame Hong caressed her leather bag of five dragon bones. “They will do well,” Hong murmured.

With a satisfied sigh, she gazed out across the square, surveying the faces in the crowd that ebbed and flowed around her booth. Tendrils of phrases and feelings wove around her from busy minds rushing by, their thoughts like the colorful streamers on a dancer’s wand. She heard a lonely mind longing to feel wind against her face. Madame Hong focused on the healthy-looking specimen striding slowly by, not too far away. She tried to appear harmless as she waved her hand, summoning her next recruit.

*

Two years later, under the unusual teal-green sky that marked Jian’s distinctive atmosphere, Hoyt rode her bay horse along the perimeter of her wheat field. A small cloud of dust was rising in her wake, sending notice to anyone who was watching that a rider was approaching. Rocking with the horse’s easy canter, she couldn’t help gazing around her as she pushed her mare to get home a little faster. The packhorse behind felt the pull on its lead and hurried to keep up, the sacks of necessities lurching against their bindings, and making some of the contents clank and rattle.

On the far side of the yellow grain field, a lavender-gray mountain range towered above hills filled with green forests. Hoyt pulled the horse down to a trot as she rounded the last bend in the narrow track. Ahead, tall, broad-limbed trees sat on the wide bluff that overlooked the river. Sheltered between the trees was the rough-hewn cabin she had constructed six months back with the help of a few of the nearest neighbors.

A great leaping happiness surged through Hoyt as Anne stood up in the small garden by the back door, clutching a hoe in one hand and shading her eyes with the other.

In the depths of her pants pocket, the dragon stone glowed.

*

JS:
What was my inspiration for this story? I have no earthly idea. I never do.

Captain Bridget O’Halloran smoothed her dress uniform and polished her medals with one sleeve before she pressed the glowing button that would allow her to enter Admiral Chen’s office. She managed not to run a hand through her short red hair before she pressed the button, but only just. The doors slid open and she inhaled deeply before stepping through them in a futile effort to relax.

The Admiral’s office was just as she remembered it: grey and spartan with only the comp unit’s glow casting any direct light. “Done,” the Admiral barked at it and the glow faded to a muted blue. “Lights!” The office flickered into a startling brightness. “O’Halloran!” The Admiral’s dark eyes took in her brisk salute and her medals with a “Humph! All right, Captain. At ease.”

She relaxed her spine slightly and stood awaiting his orders, a wary look on her face. What did the old coot want this time? Last time she’d been in here, it was because she’d volunteered to infiltrate the Lyrizi navy as an agent. She’d succeeded but the cost had been high. The burn scar that ran the length of her ribs throbbed a little at the memory.

Chen gave her a fierce glare. “All right, Captain. We’ve only got a few minutes. There’s trouble again in the Arment system about the selerinite clauses in the Treaty.” He paused as if he wanted to see if she was still paying attention.

Bridget stood up a little straighter, copper brows drawn together in a sharp frown. “Without the selerinite our ships will be grounded within two Earth months. This is what we went to war with the Lyrizi to prevent. So you’re sending us to Arment to deal with it?”

“Not you. Let me make myself clear, O’Halloran. The Confederation Council has appointed a new ambassador and a diplomatic team to resolve the matter. I can’t say I approve of their choice but then, they didn’t ask me. Just drop them off and give them any support they need. Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way. That clear?”

The door slid open behind Bridget with a nearly silent hiss. She forced herself not to look directly at the intruder until he stopped beside her. Not like she could see anything past the other’s hood anyway. She shifted her weight, wondering what kind of ambassador came with a warning label.

Chen got a lot more formal. “Captain O’Halloran, you have your orders. This is Hight Isandre, the Confederation’s new ambassador to Arment. Once you arrive at Arment, you will provide all necessary support for her and the rest of her team before returning to base. No nonregulation maneuvers this time.”

Bridget let the tiniest of smiles curl her lips and saluted with vigor. Hight, huh? And a woman, too. That was a surprise. From the gossipvids, she always figured that Highborn women spent all their time getting gene modifications and sampling every mind-altering substance in the galaxy. Admiral Chen scowled at her, breaking into her thoughts. “Yes sir!” He nodded his dismissal and she turned smartly and left, the ambassador at her heels.

Once the door shut behind them, she turned to get a good look at her passenger and almost yelled in surprise. Greenie her mind screamed and she very nearly reached for her blaster, hands shaking just a little. The other woman looked back at her from gorgeous amber eyes that nearly glowed under pale green eyebrows against a background of dark green skin. One of those eyebrows quirked upward as the Captain tried to recover her composure.

“Somehow I thought that the great war hero would be harder to scare.” The Hight’s voice purred through the air and did everything but chuck Bridget under her chin. It was almost enough to ignore the sting of her words. But not quite.

“We don’t get to see a lot of Gr—Lyrizi up close and personal, Hight,” she answered stiffly.

“Greenie, Captain? That is what you were about to call me, wasn’t it?” The other woman’s evergreen lips twisted in a smile that sent shivers down Bridget’s spine. “Surely after outwitting our finest military minds, you have nothing to fear from one little Lyrizi diplomat?” She looked Bridget over from head to toe with a slow, leisurely stare that sent a wave of heat uncoiling through the Captain’s belly.

Bridget managed not to flinch, but only just. What the hell was going on? It wasn’t like her to be this off balance, especially not with a hostile. Former hostile. Whatever she was. She took refuge in formality. “I’m sorry, Hight. I meant no offence. You are welcome aboard my ship but please understand that my crew was on the front lines and may find your appearance startling.” To say the least. What the hell was Chen thinking?

“Ah. Well, that can be fixed.” Isandre bent her head for a moment, hiding her face, and took in a deep breath. Then she exhaled with excruciating slowness and looked back up to meet Bridget’s startled eyes. Her green skin had faded to a Galactic standard tan and her eyebrows were black. She pushed her hood back to reveal long black hair that ran in a flood over her shoulders and down her back.

Nanotech, Bridget thought with a twinge of relief. But her eyes were still amber, the captain noted with what detachment she could muster. And she was still beautiful, gorgeous enough to send a wave of heat up the Captain’s thighs when she gave her a lazy smile.

“Better? Yes, I can see that it is.” She pursed her full lips up to kissable desirability and fluttered her lashes until Bridget spun on her heel and stalked off. So this bit of greenie fluff thought she could play the dumb hick of a starship captain, did she? She could hear chuckling behind her and suppressed a snarl.

Isandre trailed after her until they got to Bridget’s ship, hood drawn up once more. Bridget couldn’t help wondering if her skin was green again under the concealing fabric and felt a tiny tingle deep inside her at the thought. Whatever she was feeling, it wasn’t the pure anger she was trying to feel and that annoyed her.

At least the Eleanor looked good. The crew was doing her proud and Bridget’s full lips curled in a smile that any experienced captain would recognize. Her second, Rodríguez, was waiting at the foot of the ramp with a comp unit in his hand and a frown on his normally smooth brow. “Captain.” He saluted, giving the cloaked figure at the Captain’s side a passing, dismissive glance. “The rest of our passengers have already arrived, Captain. But Engineer Khadija says she’s still having trouble with the starboard engines so we’re not ready to leave yet.”

Bridget met her lieutenant’s expectant gaze and schooled her features not to broadcast what she was thinking. Better and better. First a Greenie diplomat, now a prima donna Engineer. “I have our orders, Lieutenant. I’ll speak to Khadija.” Her blue eyes narrowed in a glare that didn’t bode well for a pleasure cruise as she ordered one of the yeomen to show Isandre to her quarters. And may that be the last of her I see until Arment. The thought crossed her mind as she watched Isandre walk away, hips somehow visibly swaying under the bulk of the cloak.

Then she turned and headed down the corridor, choosing to forget for the moment that Hight Isandre would be dining at her table tonight as an honored guest. Instead she whirled into Engineering to find her engineer swearing as she banged her fingers on the metal case around the main starboard engine. The exchange that followed only made Bridget’s mood worse; her Chief Engineer was not one to be hurried.

The next few hours didn’t go any more smoothly and there were more than a few sighs of relief when Captain O’Halloran’s rigid back was seen vanishing into her quarters. Once the doors closed behind her, Bridget yanked off her jacket and walked into the small bathroom to wash up.

Only two hours until dinner she thought, then remembered Hight Isandre and swore quietly. A wave of heat washed over her but she pushed it away with a shiver. She would never take a Greenie as a lover, not again. She forced herself not to touch her scar for reinforcement. Not that it mattered. She would always remember the moment when the Lyrizi commander realized that she’d been betrayed.

She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Surely she hadn’t always looked so bleak, her blue eyes so cold. Not before the Lyrizi War anyway. If only she hadn’t volunteered on that mission. Then the Lyrizi would have won. She knew this in every fiber of her being. She’d seen their forces, the advantage they held over the Confederation. Once she’d seen what they had, playing the part of a traitor had been easy. Us or them.

She surrendered to the impulse at last and let her fingers trace the scar under her shirt. It was her parting gift from Elshabet, the finest starship captain the Lyrizi had ever had. So good that she was selected as commander of the ship chosen to rain skyfire and certain destruction down on the Confederation fleet.

Bridget closed her eyes, remembering first the look of utter betrayal and pain on Elshabet’s face, then the ball of skyfire that her ship became as Bridget made her escape. She had kept the scar, refusing to have the tissue mends, choosing instead to let her skin pucker and heal on its own. “Keeps me honest,” she said when the medics asked about it.

All that was Earth years behind her now, of course. Seven of them, to be precise. Long enough that she should be able to look at one of the Confederation’s new Lyrizi allies across a dinner table and not flinch. She turned away from her reflection and barked a command to her orderly over the comm to invite her unwanted guests for dinner, then lay down and tried to sleep.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t drive a certain pair of amber eyes from her head. When she did finally drift off, they stayed with her through some very vivid dreams. When the buzzer finally went off, it yanked her from the most recent one and she woke gasping.

She had been frozen, unable to move for some reason, while Isandre, green-skinned once more, slowly removed her uniform. Then the Hight ran her green hands down her naked body, following them with a pale green tongue that darted between dark green lips to trail down between her legs, sending flashes of heat through her with every stroke.

Bridget cursed her imagination. Why couldn’t she dream about a normal Spacer, someone she’d actually like being around? Still it was enough to send her fingers between her legs to complete what the dream had started. She rubbed her clit hard, as if it would drive away the vision of Isandre’s face between her legs, Isandre’s tongue on her flesh. She came then, but it was only a shadow of the pleasure she imagined and she struck her head back against the pillow with a frustrated groan.

The buzzer sounded again and she smacked it sharply before getting up. A few moments later, she had shrugged into her regular uniform. Be damned if I’ll wear dress whites for Hight Isandre. The thought made her grimace and she stretched, flexing every muscle in her back and shoulders in a futile effort at relaxing them.