Victorious Star (3 page)

“I see.” Ravnos sheathed his weapon then reached for a small bottle and a cloth set on the table by his chair. He poured some of the contents of the bottle onto the cloth. “You may rise.”

Victoria rose to her feet and assumed a full attention stance, chin up, heels together, hands at her side.

Ravnos approached her with the damp cloth in hand. His fingers brushed her throat as he tugged her suit’s collar further open. “A name,” he whispered. He unfastened the suit buckles, nearly to her heart. “I’ll keep the Victoria, but the Stark?” He daubed the wet cloth on her naked throat.

Whatever was on the cloth smelled strongly of antiseptic, and burned like a son-of-a-bitch. Victoria clenched her fists but held perfectly still.

“Victoria Stark, ah, yes.” The Commander sighed dramatically then turned to gaze at Victoria with open amusement. “Captain, do you realize who you’ve grabbed?”

Ravnos tugged at her collar, examining her throat. “The nav-pilot of the
Adamant.”

“Oh no, you’ve done much better than that.” Seht strode with predatory poise to Ravnos’s side. “This is the famous
Victorious Star,
notorious for sacrificing her captains for their ships.”

Victoria clenched her jaw. Where the hell had he heard that? Technically, she had lost the occasional captain while saving the ship, but still…

“She’s never lost a ship she’s flown.” Seht’s voice dropped to a sensual whisper. “And never serviced a captain she’s had.”

Ravnos’s brows shot up. “Never?”

The
skeldhi
focused on Victoria and his eyes narrowed to a hungry blue gleam. “Our new nav-pilot is in possession of an unsullied, never been fucked, virgin ass.”

“Really?” Ravnos turned to study Victoria with a calculating expression. “How interesting.” His cold eyes flared with sudden heat.

Victoria shot the commander a glare that promised bitter revenge.

The
skeldhi
smiled broadly, showing the over-long points of his incisors. “Oh, we are going to have so much fun disciplining this one.”

Ravnos’s mouth curved into a blood-curdling smile. “We’ll call her Chaste, Victoria Chaste.”

“Chaste?” Seht nodded. “I like it. Very pretty, pristine and sweet.”

Victoria’s mouth fell open. “Chaste?” Of all the insulting epithets…

Ravnos’s expression turned frigid. “Are you questioning me?”

She flinched as though struck. “No, sir.”

“Good. You are dismissed, Senior Nav-Pilot Chaste. A yeoman is waiting outside the door to take you to your quarters.”

Victoria turned smartly on her heel and marched toward the door. A glance to her right showed that she had been right. His desk had been behind her the whole time. It was huge, ornate, and archaic. She had a sudden and disturbing image of being pressed facedown on that broad shining surface.

Victoria jerked her eyes back to the exit, and nearly pulled the handle from the door in her haste to get out of that office.

“Senior Nav-Pilot?”

Victoria nearly jumped out of her skin. Jerking her chin up a fraction, she pulled herself smartly together and turned sharply to her left.

A grizzled older man in a very plain black uniform stood in the hall not two feet away. He watched her with a cool, dead-calm gaze.

She scanned the petty officer chevrons on his sleeve. “Yes?”

“I’m Crewman Munin, your yeoman. I’m here to show you to your quarters.”

Victoria nodded. “Thank you, Crewman Munin. Lead the way.”

He nodded and took off down the narrow hall at a smart clip.

Victoria followed, back straight and jaw set. She spared only a fleeting glance at Ravnos’s door.
This was not over yet.

“Your personal belongings are already in the closets, Nav-Pilot,” Munin rasped dryly.

Victoria started. Her personal belongings? She strode for the closet and opened the door. Hanging inside were her few civilian clothes, but not one Imperial uniform. Her dress boots were tucked next to her two cases. How the hell had they gotten hold of her personal cases?

She frowned. How the hell had they gotten her off of that space station and onto this tub in the first place?
The fleet should have…
She scowled.
That’s right, those fools stopped at the first space station they found. They didn’t even bother to get us into Imperial space.
The closest Imperial station was at least two whole jumps away. Even if they had tried to stop Ravnos from walking off with her, the
Adamant
was outnumbered -- one Imperial ship to Fate knows how many mercenaries docked there, including the ship that nearly blew them to begin with: the
Hellsbreath.

That was, if they noticed that someone had walked off with her. She closed her eyes. Then again, they might have seen everything, and not cared. They had intended to leave her there anyway.

She slammed the closet door closed.

Victoria took a breath for calm. One thing at a time. “Crewman Munin, where are my uniforms?”

“Pardon me, ma’am, but the captain said to put your…” He coughed. “Your other uniforms in safe storage.”

Victoria nodded. She didn’t need the cleaning crew to see her Imperial togs anyway. “Where are my new uniforms?”

“I have one set ready, ma’am. It’s on the bunk and freshly pressed. The rest will be delivered later. I’ll have them put away for you by the time you return to quarters.”

Victoria turned toward the bed. A velvet waistcoat in stark black trimmed with silver braid lay by a long-sleeved shirt made of very fine midnight silk. The shirt and the matching cravat were both trimmed with black lace.
Lace?
She didn’t have the rank to wear lace.

She let out a soft sigh.
This is a mercenary unit, not an Imperial unit. If the captain wants me to wear lace, I wear lace. At least the uniform is a practical color.
Fate only knew what else was different.
Better find out.

“Yeoman, I’m going to need a copy of the regulations for my personal upload as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She frowned. Some of her new uniform was missing. “Do I have a coat? And where are the trews?”

Munin shifted just a hair. “There’s a skirt under the vest, ma’am. The coat is not ready yet.”

Victoria stiffened. A skirt? She moved the waistcoat aside and picked up a very small amount of black velvet. A pair of sheer stockings and some kind of satin contraption to hold them up was folded beneath the skirt. Then she saw the rest of her underwear.

More lace and more satin. This did not look promising at all.

Victoria took a very deep breath and pulled off her long coat. “Are you telling me that all of this is regulation?” She tossed the coat on the bed.

Munin cleared his throat and stared at her skin-tight flight-suit. “The captain was very specific, ma’am.”

Victoria sat down on her desk chair and unbuckled her boots. Did her new captain think he could prove his dominance by having her dress like a female? She smiled grimly. A costume change would not change anything. Once she integrated with the ship’s systems, life would be very different indeed. She stood up and started jerking at her suit buckles.

The yeoman headed for the door.

She speared him with a venomous glare. “Crewman, I did not give you permission to leave this cabin!”

He spluttered. “But you’re undressing!”

“Then you will keep your back turned like a gentleman until I tell you otherwise. I am going to need assistance to get into this… getup. Stay right where you are.”

Munin did a hasty about-face and stared hard at the wall. “Yes, ma’am.”

She skimmed out of her bodysuit. “Towels?” She practically ripped her hair out getting it loose from her braids. The deep red waves fell to her waist in a thick cloak.

“In the facility.”

“Thank you.” Stark naked, she strode toward the facility to take a shower.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Victoria faced her new uniform with grim determination. The underwear would irritate her. She could tell as soon as she picked it up. The stockings were a total nightmare. Thank Fate one of her subordinates from the
Adamant
had showed her how to use the belt-thing that held them up.

Grumbling at the sub-hearing level, she dragged on the silk shirt and buttoned in haste. Then came the skirt.

It wouldn’t go over her butt.

She checked the size. “Yeoman, this skirt is two sizes too small.”

Munin stiffened, but remained steadfastly staring at the wall. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Go and get me another from housekeeping.”

The yeoman’s hands clenched at his sides. “I can’t, ma’am.”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

“I’m under orders from the captain to tell you,” he swallowed audibly, “that you are to wear what is provided, or do without.”

Victoria knew a set-up when she saw one.
That son of a bitch!
She nearly ripped the skirt in half. She eyed the yeoman. He looked about the same height. “Very well then. What size trousers do you wear?”

“Ma’am?”

The bridge was enormous and long rather than broad. The command chair sat high in the back, with the piloting pit and her chair one level down directly before it. The lower deck level was crammed with crewmen headset-linked to their stations.

She eyed the headsets with distaste. The last nav-pilot had been poor quality indeed. Every one of those crewmen should have been using an interactive holographic display. Clearly far more than merely half of the ship’s functions were offline. How the hell had he flown her at all?

“Senior Nav-Pilot Chaste reporting for duty, sir,” she called out.

Ravnos stood slowly, eyed her trousers and exchanged a significant look with his clearly amused Commander. “Take your place, Nav-Pilot Chaste.”

Victoria mounted the stairs to the pit. “Greetings, pilots.”

The four young pilots, two on the left and two on the right with a narrow walkway between them, each interlinked into their swivel chairs, turned to look at her.

“Greetings, Nav-Pilot Chaste,” they chorused.

“Welcome to the
Hellsbreath,”
one offered.

Victoria smiled. “I look forward to flying with you.” She stepped onto the walkway, then sat back into the heavily augmented chair. She felt the grab at the back of her skull that marked the ship’s direct entry into her mind.

Data streamed in with a tentative inquiry.

In that instant, Victoria knew that the ship was not happy.

She opened her functions and offered her codes by way of introduction.

The ship digested her information and presented about a third of the systems’ accesses.

Victoria frowned. The ship was reluctant to fully connect. Gently, she invited a closer link. She was not the other nav-pilot, and she would await the ship’s further investigation of her functions.

The ship remained disinclined to connect any deeper.

Victoria expressed patience. The ship was a very sensitive and sophisticated entity that deserved extreme respect from her pilots. To demand would be rude. It was up to the ship to take advantage of her functions, not the other way around.

The ship tentatively investigated the respectful interconnections and accesses offered.

Lights went on in dark berths and seals opened to formerly locked areas. Engineering gained access to previously blind functions.

Victoria relaxed into the ship’s embrace, allowing deeper investigation and interneural linkage.

Accesses opened and systems came online with a satisfied hum.

Victoria sank deep into the comforting virtual reality of the
Fortitude.
The Fortitude?
Confusion skittered across Victoria’s data system.

The ship understood with a trace of electronic embarrassment that it was operating under a different name, the
Hellsbreath,
and updated its databases.

Victoria offered a deeper access to her personal data by way of apology.

The ship was pleased to find the nav-pilot so accessible and forthcoming. Information confidently streamed into Victoria’s piloting array.

Victoria sighed.
Much better…
She could perform her proper functions as the cerebellum for the ship’s entire computerized system. Every jot and dot of information the ship possessed, from external sensors to power levels in engineering and the weapons array down to the temperature setting in every berth, streamed through her piloting array. In addition, every order from the ship’s captain, from course changes to weapon firing, would go through her to be translated to the rest of the ship.

She processed the information and channeled it to the pilots who were her nerve center.

The four pilots’ accesses suddenly streamed with data. Excited and pleased sub-vocal chatter erupted among them as they disseminated previously inaccessible information to crewmen throughout the rest of the ship.

More functions came online. More data streamed.

Once upon a time, when ships sailed oceans of water rather than stars, her rank would have been Master Chief Petty Officer, with her position known as Chief of the Boat. Interneural space flight combined the traditional posts of pilot, navigator, and master chief petty officer into one position: navigational-pilot.

She scowled.
I might have had fewer problems with senior officers if my position had remained non-commissioned.

The pilot chatter abruptly stopped and they looked up at their senior nav-pilot in concerned alarm.

The ship noticed the junior pilots’ uncomfortable silence and expressed that the senior pilot should restore harmonious intercommunication between the pilots.

“It’s all right to talk among yourselves, pilots,” Victoria said with warmth. “Private speech will not affect the ship’s functions.”

One of the young pilots bit her lip. “But the last pilot didn’t like it.”

“I am not the last nav-pilot.” Victoria felt the smile curve her lips from a great distance. “Pilot communications are necessary for proper flight functions.” Her smile broadened. “Even silly chit-chat is essential for continued morale.”

One of the pilots turned to another. “I like her.”

All four pilots went to work with a will and enthusiasm that transformed them into the perfect systems nerve center they were supposed to be.

The ship investigated, assessed, recalibrated, and corrected long-standing malfunctions. Hacked systems rerouted back to their proper courses, and more data streamed.

Victoria’s thoughts stretched and expanded throughout the ship. Navigational grids appeared within her mind, charting the levels of gravitational fields around the nearby planets and measuring distances between stars.

“Stand by for holographic display. Please remove all headsets,” Victoria announced over the intercom system throughout the entire ship.

Everywhere on the ship, headsets were yanked from terminals and holographic displays appeared. The crewmen reached for their displays and began recalibrations.

More systems came online.

Victoria’s array streamed data on all channels. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She opened her eyes and vaguely noticed the glow from her holographic halo, marking her full integration with the ship. “All systems fully functional, Captain.” Her voice echoed through the loudspeaker system. “We proceed at your command.”

The commander whispered to his captain. “Now that is a nav-pilot.”

Victoria smiled. They had no idea that a nav-pilot of her skill level was so deeply integrated with the ship that even the tiniest whisper in the farthest corner of the ship was hers to hear. How would they know? They were mercenaries, after all.

The captain gave her his orders and Victoria set the requested course coordinates.

“Take us away,” Ravnos said in his cool voice.

The ship disengaged smoothly from the dock, turned, and dove into the rippling tides of space.

At the appropriate point, Victoria engaged the fusion reactors in preparation for quantum-space manifestation. She double-checked her coordinates and frowned. The series of planned jumps were awfully small for the distance Ravnos wanted to cover. “Captain?”

“Yes, Nav-Pilot?”

“We are set for a course six jump. We have capability for a course eight. Do you wish to adjust coordinates?”

Ravnos leaned forward in his chair. “Course eight?”

Seht frowned. “Has this ship ever done a course eight?”

“Not under my command.” He turned to face the pilot’s pit. “Are you sure the ship has the power to make an eight?”

“We are capable of course ten in an emergency, but it would be inadvisable as power would be routed from necessary systems. A course eight is well within acceptable range.”

He nodded. “Very well, then, adjust for course eight.”

“We’re going to be early,” Seht said softly. “Very early.”

Ravnos’s expression frosted. “Good.”

Victoria reviewed her calculations at the speed of thought and the ship reset systems for the longer jump. “Adjustment complete. Ready on your mark, Captain.”

“Begin.”

Victoria opened herself to quantum consciousness. “Activating Phalrium hull grid and opening quantum teleological space-time manifold at factor eight.” She could feel, through the ship’s sensors, the fabric of reality shifting into a spiral of crushed star-space, a shimmering field that enclosed the ship. “Jumpspace gateway open and stable, Captain.”

Ravnos stood. “Advance drive, speed four. Proceed into jumpspace.”

“Proceeding into jump.” Victoria took a deep breath and the ship stabbed through quantum-folded space as a needle thrusts through tight folds of cloth. She smiled, secure in the symphony of information and eternity.