An insistent bleeping interrupted Val’s dream. She groaned and growled, “Snooze,” at her tablet, which had brightened to simulate dawn sometime before starting its backup alarm. Apparently, she had been too engaged in her sleep to notice.
She tugged the fur blanket over her head, hoping she might recapture the dream, but it had already faded, replaced by disappointment, by the memory of Admiral Summers’s words, by the knowledge that Gregor, even if he might desire a relationship with her, wouldn’t act on it. Not when he believed she might be feigning her attraction to him to get a job.
She should have been able to deal with it, to put thoughts of sex—and a sweaty, bare-chested Gregor—out of her mind until things settled down. Later, after she got the job—
if
she got the job—she could approach him as a peer. He would know then that if she kissed him it wasn’t because she wanted something; it was only because she wanted him.
The fact that she wanted him so badly in the first place was still a surprise, but there was no denying the vividness of that dream, or the damp heat between her thighs as she shifted her legs beneath the fur. The sweetness with which he had returned her kiss in the freezer had warmed her heart, but it had been the kiss in the shuttle, the one where she’d practically pawed that uniform off him, that had changed everything. It—and the revelation that he had been watching out for her far longer than she knew—had left her yearning to feel his body, not buried under clothing but naked, hot, and hard against her. And she wanted him to touch
her
bare body as well, to have him kiss her, to slide his hand between her legs, fingers moving with the same deft skill that he used on the control panel, knowing all the right buttons to press.
It was her own hand that found that spot, rubbing gently as she imagined Gregor pulling her up the ramp to the shuttle, closing the hatch this time so they were assured privacy. He kissed her hungrily, one hand slipping past her belt, the other pushing open her blouse, buttons flying everywhere in his eagerness to touch her. She slid her free hand under her nightshirt, fingernails sweeping past her stomach as they glided upward, cupping her own breast. She rasped her thumb across her nipple, wishing it were Gregor’s tongue stroking her tight sensitive skin.
She rubbed herself harder, wanting to feel something moving deep inside her, wanting
Gregor
moving deep inside her, his muscular chest rising and falling above her, his eyes full of adoration as he gazed down at her. She pushed against her hand, but her fingers lacked what she truly needed. She ground until she was slick, sweat bathed her belly, and her body throbbed. With a final quick push, a semblance of relief came, but it wasn’t the explosive release she longed for. It wasn’t Gregor.
The alarm bleeped again, and Val huffed, shoving the fur aside, irritated with the primitive bedding, irritated that she hadn’t thought to pack anything more useful than her hand for relieving tension, and even more irritated with that stupid admiral who had ruined what might have been… much.
She grabbed her wash kit and a towel. As frustrating as the situation was, she would have to get control over her libido and accept that she and Gregor weren’t going to explore shuttles together any time soon. She needed to focus on finishing her mission, getting off this ice ball, and getting hired. That was it, damn it.
* * *
Val was back to feeling superfluous again. True, she had flown again that morning, working alongside Gregor, Frog, and the Malbakians to drive off more attackers. But this evening, she was reduced to holding tools for Jamie, who stood on a ladder, working on a vertical stabilizer accessible from a panel on the outside of the shuttle. The other two engineers labored inside the craft, clunks and clangs echoing from within as they finessed—as they had called it—a new coolant monitor into place.
“You look bored,” Jamie said, glancing at Val. “We’re hoping to have the repairs done by tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s good. And I’m not bored. Pilots just get restless when they’re not in the air.”
“Ah, you were staring off into space. I thought that might be a sign of boredom. I’m glad to know it’s only a sign of restlessness.” Jamie smiled.
“I was just thinking of something.” Some
one
, rather. Aside from the combat mission—and her overnight dreaming—she hadn’t seen much of Gregor that day. She had donned one of the blouses he objected to—even though his gaze often drifted down to her chest when she wore it—in the hope that he might come by to ogle her. Even if they had made a good flight team, both that morning and the day before, he hadn’t been quite the same around her since the admiral’s accusation. She could only assume that he had believed it. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what to say to him to prove it wasn’t true.
“Hand me the scanner, please,” Jamie said.
Val fished in the toolbox. While she was digging around, she noticed a knot of people gathering in the center of the hangar. Commander Anstrider was there, as was Zimmerman. Val was tempted to run over and see what was going on, but Admiral Summers strode out of a tunnel and headed for the group. Maybe it was cowardly, but Val didn’t want to chance receiving any more snide comments from him. Besides, she had a toolbox to hold. She plopped the scanner into Jamie’s hand.
“What’s going on over there?” Jamie pointed the tool toward the gathering.
What had started as quiet voices were growing louder, some even rising to excited whoops. Smiling people gesticulated, many waving toward the admiral. A couple of cocksure souls even touched his shoulder or sleeve. He stood there with a smug expression on his face, basking in their attention. Adulation? It wasn’t quite that extreme, but even the base commander was smiling at him.
“I’m guessing someone’s tectonic bomb worked,” Val grumbled. She shouldn’t grumble. She should be happy for the people, even if the idea had come from someone who considered her about as ethical as a mass murderer.
“They made an earthquake?” Jamie asked.
Val looked up at her.
She’d
had to have Gregor explain a tectonic bomb to her. Jamie didn’t look old enough to have graduated from college, but she was proving to be bright. Val hoped her boss or business co-owner, whatever the relationship was, realized that and would encourage the young woman to do more than run around after a pack of mercenaries. Not that some of those mercenaries weren’t intelligent, too; but someone with a galaxy of options spread before her might choose a different career for herself.
“That was the plan, I hear,” Val said.
A spiky-haired head peeked around the corner of the shuttle. “New person gets dinner for everyone, right?”
“I’m busy,” Jamie said.
The man—Lieutenant Sparks—smirked up at her. “I was talking about our trainee pilot.”
Val sighed at the same time as Jamie brightened.
“Oh,” Jamie said. “Yes, I like that rule much more now.”
Val set down the toolbox. “I’ll get you people food, but only because I know where the kitchen is and you don’t.”
“Whatever brings the ribs and potato hash,” Sparks said.
“You’re delusional if you think you’re getting anything that fancy. These people live in tunnels and have been at war for decades.”
“Oh? What do they have to eat then?”
“Yesterday, I enjoyed a mushroom burger. With a condiment made from mushrooms. The bun also had a vaguely mushroom flavor. I understand their wheat flour is cut with a dried fungal powder.”
Sparks’s upper lip curled and his nostrils flared. “Maybe some rations from the other shuttle would be fine.”
“I’ll see what I can find.” Val walked toward the other Mandrake Company craft. She had left her jacket in it earlier, anyway, and even if she had somewhat acclimated to the subterranean chill, it was still cold. Earlier, she had been carrying heavy things from one shuttle to another for the engineers, but now she was noticing the temperature again.
“…have a lot of work left to do,” Admiral Summers was saying as she walked past the back of the crowd. It was a long walk since Frog had parked the other shuttle near the fighters. It would likely go out with them again if the pilots were called to defend the base. “I know you’re all weary of this war, but I hope I can continue to bring a perspective the Orenkans aren’t expecting, and that their defeat is near.”
Another round of cheers went up. From annoying interloper to hero in less than twenty-four hours…
No, that wasn’t true. They had wanted him all along. They just hadn’t been impressed by his attitude. That had changed now, clearly. Well, they could keep him and their war. Even if this mission had afforded her an opportunity to practice flight skills that she hadn’t used in years, Val couldn’t wait to escape the planet. She would happily fetch food for the engineers if it would get them out of there sooner.
When she swung up onto the ramp, she happened to glance toward the gathering again. Her step faltered when she spotted Anstrider pointing in her direction as she spoke to Summers. What was that about? She hadn’t done anything that should cause her to be singled out. Not for anything bad, anyway. She had helped them defend their base twice now.
Val continued up the ramp. Maybe they were talking about the shuttlecraft or the mercenary team in general.
She opened one of the storage bins in the wall and poked through the shelf-stable food options, a variety of wrapped bars with such appetizing names as “meatloaf log” and “bison log.” Sadly, they were tastier than the food the poor locals were eating. Though she supposed in time—a great deal of time—one might develop a taste for the various mushroom-based entrees.
Heavy boot steps sounded on the ramp, and Val turned, expecting Jamie or one of the others, figuring they might have decided to select their logs personally. But it wasn’t any of them.
Admiral Summers stopped at the top of the ramp. Val peered past him, looking for Anstrider or maybe Zimmerman, but he was alone. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Not exactly blocking the exit, but it occurred to her that she would have a tough time running past him if she needed to escape.
Then she snorted at herself, not sure why the ridiculous thought had come to mind. He was a sixty-year-old respected admiral, not some homicidal murderer.
“Are you looking for Commander Thatcher?” Val asked.
“No.”
“Because I’m sure he’d appreciate it if you had something nice to say about his piloting skills. He’s done everything the mercenaries were hired to do and more, yet you treat him like he’s a criminal. Sir.” That tacked-on sir didn’t manage to make the rest of her words sound more respectful. Why was she lecturing him? Aside from the fact that he irritated her and she wasn’t technically under his command, so she felt she could? Or maybe it was more that she was on the defensive around him and figured she might as well be abrasive from the start, so she wouldn’t appear… vulnerable if he said something snide again. It was easier to deflect blows when one was ready for a fight.
“He shouldn’t have left the military if he wanted my respect,” Summers said.
“I see. Respect is only for soldiers. Nobody else in the galaxy is worthy of it.”
“Not many.” He smirked at her. “You’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?”
Feisty thing? Alarm bells sounded in her head. The only time men ever said things like that to her was when they were going to proposition her in a condescending manner. He couldn’t possibly have that in mind, but she doubted she would like whatever he came up with next.
“I’ve been on my own for ten years,” Val said. “I’m not used to having to kiss anyone’s ass.”
“No? You seem to be doing a good job of it with your mercenary commander.”
Val’s teeth clenched, and it was a moment before she could pry them apart to say, “That’s not what I was doing.”
The admiral’s grunt didn’t convey a lot of belief. “The base commander says you’re actually competent out there.” He waved toward the ceiling.
She stared at him. He couldn’t have come over here to compliment her. Could he have? Why would he bother? Unless she had somehow redeemed herself with her flying. But then why the continuing snideness about her kiss with Gregor?
“I’m still alive,” she said. “Any mission you come back from is a good one, right?”
“Why are you applying to join a bloodthirsty pack of mercenaries?”
Val barely knew the people of Mandrake Company, but she bristled at them being described as bloodthirsty. Some of them might be, but so far, she had only meant regular people who were out there doing what work they could do to pay the bills and get by. “Why does anyone become a mercenary? I need the money.”
His brows twitched. Yeah, there were less dangerous ways to earn a living. She had been doing fine as a freighter pilot until this need for quick cash had come up.
“Look, I have a brother who got himself in trouble, and he’s all I have left in the galaxy. I took out a loan to put a down payment on the debt he owes, but I need to be able to come up with the monthly payments, and I wasn’t going to be able to make that happen with my old job. Mercs get combat bonuses, and pilots get even more than ground troops.”
“Why didn’t you stay in the fleet? You might have been a commander or even a captain by now, and officers get paid well and get combat bonuses, as well.”
“I’m from Grenavine,” Val said.
Summers waved his hand, as if this were some tiny insignificant thing. “The planet’s long gone. You survived. Why destroy your career over something that’s in the past? It’s not as if GalCon is going to be destroying more worlds. This system is big, but it isn’t
that
big. As the population continues to grow, we’ll need room to expand. They know that.”
Somehow Val doubted those in charge cared about the needs of the populace as a whole. They had their private islands—or moons or planets or space stations, as was the case with some of those finance lords—and needn’t be concerned about the future of the system.
“You could come back to the fleet,” Summers said. “You’re not too old to enlist, and since you made it through the academy and received your commission, you could come in as an officer again.”