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WHAT IS SHE WEARING? Ruhger blinked at the screen in front of him.
Chief slapped his wrench into his palm. “That bunch is trouble.”
Trouble didn’t begin to describe it. Ruhger stared at his crew, all dressed up for a night on the station. Or barely dressed might be a better description.
“Ruhger, go. I’ve got this,” Chief said, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder, toward the hatch. “Lightwave is perfectly safe, protected by Gov Human forces. I’m here. And I have no desire to listen to you complain and whine all night about how dumb your crew is to go out looking for trouble.”
Ruhger frowned at him. “Partying on the station is the last thing I want to do.”
“Somebody has to keep them out of trouble. That’s you. Go.” Chief stared implacably at him.
Ruhger closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. “Fine. Tyron said he and Katryn were partying, not playing nursemaid, so I guess I’m stuck.”
“There’s the spirit,” Chief said with a smirk. He brought up a message on his holo. “Oh, and Grant says he printed you an outfit, it’s in your closet.” He grunted. “This I gotta see.”
Ruhger kept himself from cursing, but it was a struggle. He opened his closet and pulled out a coverall. Mostly a dark blue, it wasn’t as awful as he thought it might be, but he still wasn’t happy. He pulled it on, struggling a bit with the shoulders. “Blasted Grant. Did he have to make the top so tight? My body scan is in the printer.”
Chief snort-chuckled.
Ruhger spun to the mirror. Ridiculous. He couldn’t go anywhere looking like this! The bottoms were loose, billowing around his legs, the dark blue material shimmering in the light. On top, it was shiny, slightly lighter blue, skin-tight, with narrow vertical stripes. Diamond-shape cutouts marched down the outsides of his arms and along his ribcage underneath his arms. He looked like a fool. “Where am I supposed to put a weapon?”
Chief chuckled. “Grant says the pants have pockets on the sides for a stunner. There’s a strap to hold the weapon to your thigh. And a slit in the pocket.”
Thanks all the stars for that. He slid a small stunner in each side and fastened the straps with a bit of effort and some contortions. If he’d known about the pockets before he pulled the top on...
A comms request from Grant appeared and he accepted. “Come on, Ruhger, we’re waiting. Chief shot me a pic, so I know you’re dressed and I know you hate it, and I know I don’t care! Let’s go!” His smirk disappeared from Ruhger’s holo, and the crew crowded into Beta shuttle.
“Go, Ruhger. Somebody’s got to look out for these idiots. I’ve got Lightwave.”
Ruhger looked to the overhead, wondering when his life got so out of control. He sighed and headed for the hatch. Actually, when had life ever been in his control?
“Ruhger! You made it!” Grant yelled down the corridor.
“You look fabulous, dahrling!” Loreli caroled.
He pushed to the front of the shuttle. If they were going, he was piloting. The Scholar was already in the co-pilot’s seat, with a course plotted. He brought it up, checked the math, and accepted it. “Strap in, people; we’re going,” he bellowed. Cloth swished and buckles snapped. “Chief, push us out, please.”
“Have fun, Ruhger, but not too much fun,” Chief said, guffawing. Beta shuttle released from Lightwave and the tractor beam pushed them out and into the correct orientation. “And you’re free. Thrust at will.”
He grimaced. “Thanks, Chief. See you later.”
Chief closed the comms. Ruhger busied himself with checking the thrust while the Scholar checked navigation. The crew chattered happily behind him, but a strained silence grew between the two of them. Finally, Ruhger let out a resigned huff. “I look ridiculous,” he muttered.
She muttered back, “How do you think I feel?”
Ruhger gave into the temptation plaguing him since he’d seen the crew gathered in front of Beta shuttle’s hatch. Her dress, if you could call it that, was a sparkling royal blue with brighter vertical stripes similar to his costume. Also like his, her top was skin-tight, with long sleeves encasing her graceful arms, the neckline plunging to her navel and the back split down to the curve of her shapely backside; fine, silver chains stretched tight to fasten the material together on both the front and back. Diamond-shaped cutouts marched down the sides of the bodice under her arms and along the outside of the long sleeves. There was more skin than material and her breasts pushed at what little was left. Ruhger struggled almost as hard as the material to look away, but he made himself continue scanning. The skirt, multiple layers of slightly stiff, almost transparent dark blue mesh, puffed out around her hips and barely covered the tops of her legs. Translucent blue stockings hugged her shapely legs, ending in ridiculously high-heeled shoes of the same color. Her platinum blonde hair was piled on top of her head, in wild twists and turns. Was it as silky and soft as it looked?
“At least your skin is mostly covered,” the Scholar said.
Ruhger, startled by her words, was finally able to look away. What did she say? Oh, his skin was covered. “Right.” He swallowed hard. There was something to be grateful for.
“I wonder why they decided to pair us up?” she murmured.
Ruhger looked at her, puzzled.
“Our costumes match.”
“Oh.” He glanced back and forth, careful not to let his gaze linger. “I guess they do. No idea.”
“I thought the idea was to gather information. That would probably be easier if we were operating solo.”
Ruhger scowled at her. “No. Never operate alone. Always pair up.”
“That’s not true, Ruhger, and you know it,” Grant said. “I go solo all the time.”
“Because I can’t stop you, Grant. Not from preference.”
“Well...” Grant shrugged. “To answer your question, Saree, all our outfits are coordinated. They all have similar color schemes and themes. Mine, for example, has the diamond cutouts and the vertical stripes, just in a lighter shade.”
Ruhger spun the seat around to face Grant. He should use Beta shuttle more often; the pilot’s seat turned smoothly and quietly. Grant’s outfit was skin-tight everywhere, the very bottom of the pants the same shade as Ruhger’s, fading into almost white on the top. Loreli was the opposite, her almost-a-dress dark blue at the top, fading to white at the hem, diamond cutouts sprinkled across the entire costume, straining to contain everything from her neck to mid-thigh. An odd little dark blue brimmed hat perched jauntily on her white hair; sapphires sparkled in her ears, around her neck and on her arms.
The Phazeers were obviously paired—tight dark blue pants with billowing, shimmering pale blue, almost-transparent tops, a dark blue corset under Katryn’s, a wide belt with pouches around Tyron’s waist. Katryn wore a hat, too. A tall pipe, with a small brim, it looked like some sort of Old Earth style.
“And why?”
“Dahrling, we had to make it clear we are a group, so no fool tries something stupid. You know how crazy things get when beings get intoxicated,” Loreli said. “But other than the Phazeers, we’re not matchy-matchy enough to look like couples, just a large group out to have fun! And we will have fun!”
“Just not too much fun,” Tyron said. “I’ve got a small supply of sober-ups. Ruhger, Katryn and I have stunners.”
“I have one too,” the Scholar said.
“Where?” Ruhger said incredulously.
She laughed and the sound sank into him, a warm blanket of comfort after a long, cold day, accompanied by a lance of lust piercing through, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
“I’ve got a stunner hidden in my hair.” She grinned. “Two, actually. They’re tiny, single-shot types.”
“Clever.”
“I have one in my hat,” Loreli said. “So does Katryn.”
“Two half-size, so they balance,” Katryn said.
Grant sobered. “So, the plan is to meet the pararescue team for dinner. Then we’ll find a nice bar. Someplace senior enlisted like Porter and Fisk hang out. From there, we’ll ditch the pararescue—unless you can pair off with one with them—” Grant winked “—and we’ll work our way down to mid-level enlisted or station workers. They’ll know just enough to be useful, but won’t be so careful. Especially if we get there a little later, when everyone’s loosened up a bit. We’ll work our way into bars in a group, then split into pairs. Lessens the suspicions—they’re taught to look for solo operatives. In a group or pairs, we look like we’re just out for fun.” He shrugged. “If we find a likely target, we can go solo at that point. Check back with Chief, first. He’ll be running checks on people.”
“Tyron and I will be as well, since we’re an obvious couple,” Katryn said.
“You might get some interesting propositions, you know.” Grant waggled his brows.
Tyron stared at Grant. Just looked, but if looks could kill...
Grant chuckled. “Yes, yes, I know. The Gentles Possessive aren’t going to be doing anything like that.”
“But you can still lead someone on,” Loreli said. “Buy a drink if you feel guilty about it.”
Katryn and Tyron’s expressions mirrored each other—exasperated impatience. “Yes, we know that, thank you. We’re so new at this game,” Tyron said. Katryn rolled her eyes.
“Children, let’s stay civil. This is a pre-mission brief. Going over the obvious is expected and good,” Ruhger said.
“To continue,” Grant said, “we’re looking for targets in Gov Human intelligence, net operations, communications, folder operations, and orbit control. We’re also looking for counter-intelligence and agents from other organizations, like Familia or PE. No solo excursions with counter-intel or the enemy. Too dangerous.” He snorted. “There’s more than one reason Antlia Five Station is nicknamed ‘Pump House.’”
“If you spot one, let Katryn or me know. We’ll try to tag them,” Tyron said.
Grant continued, “Since we’re going to be here for a few more days, don’t try to gather any intel right away; just make contact, build a relationship, have some fun.”
“Carefully,” Ruhger said.
“Later in the evening, Loreli and I will probably leave you.” Grant grinned. “There’s always more adventure to find if you know what to ask. And we’ve already made a few contacts.”
Katryn stood and pulled a flat box from one of the cabinets.
Tyron said, “Katryn’s handing out tags. Put one or two in fairly obvious places, hidden by clothing but not too hard to find. Then, put a couple in less obvious places. Outside of the ankle, high under the arm, hair, someplace not likely to be touched.”
“Which, if you’re with me, is nowhere,” Grant said, his tone low and suggestive.
Tyron ignored Grant. “They should blend in; they’re textured to feel like skin. If someone notices, tell them it’s an old burn scar you got as a kid. You were too poor for medico stations.”
“Another reason to leave the counter-intel alone. They’ll know what these are,” Katryn said.
Ruhger noticed the Scholar speaking quietly to the station. “Get those things applied and strap back in. We’re coming into the station.”
Katryn tossed him a packet and put another on the Scholar’s lap. Ruhger slapped them on his outer thighs, under the weapon straps; his upper arms, through the ridiculous cutouts; and one behind his right ear. He tried to not watch the Scholar put hers on, but lost that battle. Like him, she put one on each arm, through the cutouts, and then slid a hand down each boot to the outside of her ankles. The last one, she reached up and parted her hair, hiding it under the convoluted twists. What would all that hair feel like if he untwisted it, ran his hands through it, wrapped the tail around his hand and... Ruhger shuddered and looked away. No. He couldn’t go there.
He turned his attention back to his crew, but he couldn’t ignore her voice, talking to Antlia Five Station. Finally, they docked and unbuckled.
Katryn said, “Hands, everyone.” She sprayed a coating on everyone’s hands and arms. “It won’t last long, just a few hours. It’s anti-microbial, so don’t wash your hands, just rinse them and dry them gently. No high heat.”
Grant said, “Come on, let’s go have some fun! Don’t forget where we parked!”
Ruhger huffed at Grant’s antics and followed everyone out. Fun. Right. He secured the airlock hatches, brought up a rear vid on his e-torc, and followed the Scholar down the corridor. This wasn’t going to end well.
#
AS THEY WALKED—OR STAGGERED—ALONG the station passageway, Saree tried to hold back a yawn. When she couldn’t, she turned her head to hide it from the group. A man watched them, eyes narrowed. Was he watching their group, one of them, or was he just annoyed because they were loud and noisy? She tagged the man in her holo. She’d find out shortly.
A heavy arm came down across her shoulders, making her stumble a bit in the high heels. “Scholar, do you want to go back?” Captain Ruhger whispered in her ear. He weaved a little as they walked, pulling her along.
Despite his intoxicated act, the Captain’s words were clear, tinged with hopeful pleading. Saree held back a smile and tried to ignore his hot breath across her ear. He was enjoying this as much as she was, which was not at all. She watched her holo. “Hold on, got a possible.”
Fisk called, “Come on, you’ll love this one!”
They bore left, weaving around each other like a school of Dorado air fish, and entered another world. A tropical world. A profusion of green plants, tables on a floor in front of them, a big bar to their left, a dance floor filled with gyrating beings beyond. Steelpans and congas played Old Earth calypso music; sweet, fruity smells with an undertone of stale beer and salt filled the air. Saree’s hands itched for her recorders. She’d heard recordings and seen vids of this kind of music, but not performed live. But she wasn’t a Scholar anymore.
“What’s wrong?” Captain Ruhger asked quietly.
“Nothing.” She forced a smile and raised her left arm, waving it in time with the music.
Loreli let out a loud, happy trill as she shimmied her way to the dance floor. She turned back, beckoning with her fingers. “Come on, let’s dance!”
She laughed. Loreli was hard to resist at the worst of times and Saree was tired of being sad all the time. Saree followed Loreli, pulling Katryn along with her. Grant, Fisk, Los and Pits followed, while Tyron and Ruhger retreated to the bar.
“Chickens!” Grant yelled.
As they neared the floor, Saree scanned the dancers. Everyone did their own thing—some were partnered, some danced in groups, and some danced alone. The dancers twirled, swung their hips and waved their arms. Easy enough to blend in with. Saree raised her arms and followed Loreli into the mass of gyrating beings, using a stutter-step pattern in time with the hypnotic beat. Saree enjoyed the music, but stayed close to the crew and the pararescue team.
Beings circled around their group, dancing their way in, singling out one of them for attention. Saree stuck close to Katryn, so they wouldn’t lose her and to protect herself. Both of them attracted a lot of attention, some of it far too forward, none of them the man she tagged earlier. A pair of hands clamped on her hips a little too hard, followed up with heavy breathing in her ear, and Saree sighed. This new body was a pain. She waited a few seconds, to see if the being said anything useful, but the being just pulled her in closer and the breath got hotter. She spun, breaking the being’s hold, and pretended to stumble forward, stepping on the man’s foot.
“Ow!” he said, hopping back.
Saree grimaced. “Hands off.” She turned away and danced closer to Katryn. “Hey, I need a drink. Want to hit the bar?” She brought up the bar’s menu on her e-torc and ordered the house special, some sort of blended drink with lots of ice and sugar. And alcohol.
“Yes!” Katryn said. “Fending off drunks is getting old.”
“Follow me!” Saree headed toward the bar, Katryn putting her hands lightly on Saree’s hips. As she snaked through the dancing masses, she glanced back. The rest of the crew and rescue team formed a dancing line behind Katryn. Saree laughed and danced her way out. At the edge of the dance floor, she spotted Tryon and Ruhger sitting at a large table, so she just kept dancing to it. More and more beings joined the line, but the one behind Fisk, the last of their group, broke away from him and stayed on the dance floor, whooping loudly as she headed back into the swirling crowd.
Saree looked at the dance floor, giggling. Katryn crashed into her and she careened forward, grasping for something, anything to stay upright, but she caught nothing. Hands clamped around her waist and hauled her up against a hard body. She didn’t have to look; she’d know those muscles anywhere—Captain Ruhger saved her again. Heat bloomed in her face and spread down her chest, but not just from embarrassment. She forced herself to look up, meeting his espresso-brown eyes. “Thank you.” Saree tried to make the words strong and emphatic, but they came out in a breathy whisper. Her face burned hotter.
The Captain nodded, his normal glower firmly in place. “You’re welcome.” He set her upright. “Okay now?”
Saree forced a smile and stepped out of his hold. “Yes, thank you. Sorry about that.”
“No problem. You two were tripped by a drunk. But you should probably watch where you are going.” His glower deepened. “Especially in those ridiculous shoes.”
“Of course.” Saree broke his gaze and scanned the table. She took the remaining seat, right next to the Captain. A server bot hovered in front of her and Saree pulled her drink out of the compartment. Grant, Loreli and Doc remained standing.
Grant said, “Hey, we’re taking off. Got an invitation.” He winked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
The Captain huffed, “Right,” and rubbed a finger along the tabletop, smearing patterns in the condensation. “I wonder what that would be?”
“I don’t want to know,” Fisk said. “Those three are trouble.”
“True. And speaking of, Katryn and I are going to find some of our own trouble,” Tyron said.
“Alone?” Fisk asked.
Tyron smiled. “No, just someplace a little less...” he shrugged. “Dance party. A little less noisy. A little less expensive.”
Fisk smiled. “We have just the place.”