Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Pleasure's Foehn (4 page)

“Don’t mess with her, Doc,” Cinnabar said. “She’s the cap’n’s woman and—”

“I don’t give a Saurian rat’s prick what she is to your captain. While I am in charge of the medical unit, she will respect my position on this ship.”

“You won’t be here long enough to have a position, bitch,” Amethyst snapped and turned on her heel.

“Don’t you go waking him up, Amethyst!” Cinnabar called out. “He’ll be in a helluva foul mood if you do!”

Watching the shapely woman stomping away, Davan missed the departure of Ja’Klyn’s shuttlecraft and looked at the empty docking bay with longing.

“This isn’t going to be good,” Cinnabar stated. “She may be my sister but that woman can be meaner than a space junkie hopped up on aureolin. You just made a bad enemy, Doc.”

“Just keep her out of my way,” Davan growled, tossing her head. “I don’t go looking for trouble but when it comes my way, I won’t back away from it.”

Cinnabar rolled her eyes. “Another berserker, eh?” she remarked. “Just what the hell we need.”

“You were taking me to my quarters,” Davan reminded the woman.

“Yes, Your Ladyship, that I was,” Cinnabar said with a grunt. 18

Pleasure’s Foehn

Chapter Two

Cair Ghrian came wide awake with a start as something sharp and painful raked down his chest. He sat up, batting aside the hand of the virago who had—once more and without provocation—physically attacked him. He looked down at the five bloody scratches welling with blood.

“What the hell’s the matter with you now?” he shouted and wished he hadn’t for the hangover that had him firmly in its tight squeeze threatened to crush his head.

“I want that slut off this ship!”

The shrill voice that answered him was enough to send the captain of the
Foehn
reeling. He slapped his hands over his ears and groaned loud enough to wake the dead.

“Do you hear me, Cair? I want that bitch off my ship!” Amethyst yelled, reaching out to punch Ghrian’s shoulder.

Struggling not to lash out at the termagant intent on provoking him, the man known at the Aneas Fleet Academy as the most lethal man to ever win his wings, scowled at the woman who shared his bed on occasion. “Don’t do that again,” he warned.

“Then get her off this ship!”

“Who?” Ghrian pressed. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

“That slutty female doctor who took Rabishu’s place. Don’t you ever listen to me?”

“Female doctor?” Ghrian repeated. “They sent me a female doctor?”

“I want her out of here. Today!”

Spinning on her heel, Amethyst stormed from the captain’s quarters, leaving in her wake the destruction of a very mad Zephyrus Sector woman.

“The gods damn it!” Ghrian swore, throwing the covers from his legs. His head spun for a moment and he groaned again, feeling hot sweat and the acrid taste of bile assaulting him. He barely made it to the bathing chamber before he relieved himself of what little dinner he had eaten the night before. Straining to rid his system of the poisons from the potent Ghaothian brandy, he was bent over the toilet when the VidCom clicked on.

“Captain?”

Ignoring the hail, Ghrian slid down the wall beside the toilet and with head in hands braced his elbows on his knees and commenced to shivering.

“I gotta stop this shit,” he said aloud.

“Captain? My apologies, Sir, if you are in the relieving room but we have a situation.”

19

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

It was Dorrick who was intruding and although he liked the boy well enough—hell, even loved him like a kid brother—at the moment all Cair Ghrian wanted to do was run a scytheblade through his innards and pull.

“Captain? Captain?”

Ghrian slowly lifted his head and stared at the Vid-Com screen. The boyish face of Freemohn Dorrick filled the expanse with a worried look and a lock of hair that persisted in falling down over his forehead.

“I’m going to cut off that fucking lock of hair and stuff it up your ass,” the captain growled.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“Right as rain,” Ghrian said through clenched teeth. “What the hell do you want?”

“Sir, we have a new physician on board to take Dr. Rabishu’s place and we’ve already had five complaints from the staff. I’m not sure how you want to handle this but—”

“Get rid of her.”

There was a moment of silence. “Sir, her shuttle has already departed and is out of the Quadrant on its way back to the
Andraste
in Eurus Sector.”

“Then find another shuttle, Dorrick!”

“I’ve tried, Sir, but none are available. There is that big offensive in—”

“Where is she?”

“Dr. Shanahan? She’s in her quarters.”

Ghrian leaned his head against the wall behind him, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Have her in my office in thirty minutes and escort her there yourself.”

“Aye, Sir!”

* * * * *

Davan stood in the center of the living area of her new quarters and shook her head. She hadn’t thought things could get any worse but she’d been wrong. The furnishings—if she could call them that—were minimal with a single hard, plastic settee not even long enough for her to stretch out on, one straight-backed wooden chair that looked even more uncomfortable than the settee, a low cocktail table bare of any decoration and a small end table, also bare. The room smelled awful, the stench so overpowering Davan almost gagged.

“What is that smell?” she asked.

“Doc was a Frezican. That is their natural odor,” Cinnabar said. “I’ll have them turn on the air scrubbers. That should help.”

“He must have spent a lot of time in here for it to have such an odor.”

20

Pleasure’s Foehn

“Doc only used the quarters to sleep,” Cinnabar commented. “The girls kept him too busy to do much else.”

“Please tell me the bed is at least comfortable,” Davan pleaded.

“Now, that I can promise you!” Cinnabar asserted. “I’ve spent the night there a few times over the years.”

Wincing, Davan walked over to the galley and poked her head in. The stainless steel counters were bare and she suspected the few wall cabinets were, too.

“Doc didn’t cook or eat in here,” Cinnabar confirmed. “If you want me to, I can have supply bring in all the necessary stuff but I doubt you’ll have time to use any of it.”

“I’ll make time,” Davan snapped. “I am a very private person and cooking soothes me.”

“You won’t have much time for relaxation, Lt. Shanahan. You—”

“Doctor Shanahan,” Davan corrected.

Pursing her lips, Cinnabar nodded. “Understood.”

The sleeping chamber contained nothing more than a full-sized platform covered with a single pale blue blanket. Upon sitting down on the platform, Davan was pleasantly surprised to find the tempered polyfoam very comfortable. She remarked on its comfort.

“The bed has to be because once the docs flop down on it, they want nothing to keep them awake.” Cinnabar cocked her head toward the platform. “It’s MemFoam, by the way. It will mold to your personal body dimensions and the impression of whoever shares the bed with you.”

Davan narrowed her eyes. “There won’t be
anyone
to share that bed with me,” she growled.

Cinnabar shrugged. “That’s up to you, Doctor.”

Her shoulders sagging, Davan pushed up from the bed. “You can call me Doc if you like.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cinnabar said. “Whatever you prefer.”

Sensing the other woman’s desire to leave, Davan thanked her for showing her to her quarters and asked when office hours began.

Cinnabar laughed as she walked to the door. “Ma’am, you are on call twentyfour/seven. When you’re needed, you come.”

Davan sat back down on the bed and groaned. There was no bright light at the end of the tunnel that she could see but at least she knew she’d be kept busy, the time passing as quickly as possible.

“Dr. Shanahan?”

21

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Jumping at the sound of the male voice, Davan shot to her feet. She stared at the boyish-looking warrior standing in the sleeping chamber entryway. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded. “And how did you get in here?”

Freemohn Dorrick smiled and leaned against the doorframe. “Ma’am, I’m Captain Ghrian’s XO. I have access to all the quarters and—”

“You will announce yourself when you come to mine from now on,” Davan stated.

“These quarters are off-limits. Is that understood, mister?”

The smile slipped from Dorrick’s young face. “Aye, ma’am. Understood.”

“Who are you anyway?”

Dorrick straightened. “I am Lt. Freemohn Dorrick, ma’am.”

“Was there something you wanted, Dorrick, or do you just drop in from time to time to infringe on other people’s privacy?”

A strange look passed quickly over Dorrick’s face. “The captain has ordered you to his quarters. I was sent to escort you there.”

Davan sensed hostility slipping into the second-in-command and knew she’d best nip that resentment in the bud if there was to be any peace between them while she was there. She made a mental note to work on her people skills a bit more.

“Is he sober then?” she asked, attempting a smile.

Dorrick’s eyes narrowed. “If he wasn’t, I’m sure he wouldn’t want to be dealing with you,” the XO snapped. He added a
ma’am
seemingly as an afterthought. Davan made another mental note not to refer to the captain’s drinking problem—

especially not to his XO.

“All right, Mr. Dorrick,” she said. “After you.”

Turning his back, Dorrick didn’t wait for her to follow him. He exited her quarters with military tautness squaring his slender shoulders and marched stiffly down the corridor to the elevator. He called out the deck number to the control panel but said nothing else until the lift arrived.

“You should do something about your hair,” he grated.

“I would if I could,” Davan snapped in reply and ground her teeth. Without a side-glance Davan’s way, Dorrick entered the cage, spun around and remained silent on the short ride to the captain’s quarters. Feeling the animosity rolling off the young man in waves, Davan wished she could find something to say to smooth over the tension between them but she didn’t know what they would be.

“Is there a hair salon onboard?” she asked as the cage settled and the doors shushed open.

“Of course. Level three,” Davan replied and preceded her from the lift. He snapped a glance her way. “You certainly need Demeter’s services.”

“All right, already!” Davan snapped. “Stop belaboring the point!”

22

Pleasure’s Foehn

A snort was the only comment Dorrick made as he walked up to the captain’s door and called out his name.

The sour stench of vomit wafted out of the captain’s quarters as soon as the door slid back to admit them. They had to step aside as a cybot carrying cleaning supplies rolled toward them.

“Pardon me,” the ‘bot apologized. It bobbed its oversized metal head then trundled out into the corridor.

“You don’t have synthetics onboard the
Foehn
?” Davan asked.

“Only pleasure ‘bots for those soldiers with STDs,” Dorrick replied. “The rest of the maintenance ‘bots are the traditional kind.”

“I don’t suppose you—” Davan began but the XO had already departed behind the

‘bot and the door was shushing closed.

“By the Goddess, couldn’t you even be bothered to comb that frizzy mess before reporting to me, woman?”

Davan clenched her fists and turned around to confront the sneering voice that had insulted her. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open when she got her first look at Cair Ghrian.

He was standing in the doorway to what must be his sleeping chamber. With uniformed legs braced apart, arms tucked over a broad, thickly pelted bare chest rippling with muscles and a look of disdain marring what would otherwise have been an astonishingly beautiful male face, he was the most menacing male Davan had ever seen. She found herself speechless for the first time in her life.

“Well?” he snapped, his eyes boring into her like titanium drill bits. It wasn’t just the thickly muscled arms and chiseled pecs that Davan found so disquieting. Nor was it the imposing height that towered well over her five-foot fiveinch stature or the fact he was standing there before her half-naked. It was the inhospitable set of his mouth, the iciness in his glare, which regarded her with contempt that sent shivers of unease down her spine and made it impossible for her to find her voice.

“Oh, for the love of Morrigunia,” he spat. “Don’t tell me they sent a sniveling coward to treat my women! That’s all the fuck I don’t need!”

Davan snapped her mouth shut with an audible click. Her nails were digging into the palms of her hand and it was the pain scoring half-moons into her flesh that elevated both her temper and her normally even-modulated voice.

“I am no more a coward than you are, Sir,” she spat. “And believe me I don’t want to be on this sorry excuse for a ship any more than you want me here!”

Cair blinked, stunned at the venom striking out of the woman’s words, as well as amazed she would dare speak to her commanding officer in such a tone. Her glower was raking him from stem to stern and from the look on her face, she found him wanting.

23

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

From the look on
his
face, it was decidedly a first for a prince of Amhantar.

“Do you know who you are talking to, wench?” he challenged. One of Davan’s pet peeves was the derogatory terms soldiers used for females and the one she detested most was “wench”—and especially so under the present circumstances for the word
wench
meant to refer to prostitutes.

“It is Dr. Shanahan,” she bit out, eyes flashing. “I earned that title just as you earned the rank of captain and I won’t allow you to denigrate me or my profession by using a—”

“Denigrate?” he repeated in a low voice.

Davan lifted her chin. “It means to belittle or minimize one’s position.”

A red flush spread over the captain’s dark complexion. “I know damned well what it means,” he stated.

“Then please refrain from using that term, Sir, else I will be obliged to file a formal complaint.”