Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Pleasure's Foehn (8 page)

Unable to keep the guffaw from erupting, Davan tossed aside the bandages she’d just removed from a soldier’s arm. “Sweetie, if you think I’m interested in that hunk of steroid-injected meat you’re screwing, you are the one badly mistaken. You are welcome to him. I have a boyfriend on
the
Andraste
or didn’t you notice him when he brought me to this slop pit?”

Amethyst shook her mane of red hair. “Cinnabar told me about him but he’s nothing compared to Cair. Cair is—”

“An oversized chunk of chemically enhanced muscle,” Davan said, rolling her eyes.

“He doesn’t use drugs!” Amethyst shouted. “He works out and—”

“Save it, wench,” Davan interrupted, deliberately using the word she found so offensive for it certainly fit the captain’s whore. “I’m not interested in anything about that man other than his ability to get me reassigned.”

For a moment, Amethyst stood there as though she was contemplating Davan’s words. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and she was nibbling on it, giving her the look of a petulant child. When at last she spoke, her words were filled with menace.

“Cair Ghrian belongs to me and I intend to be his queen when he takes the throne.”

Davan cocked an eyebrow at her unwanted visitor. “The last I heard,” she said,

“Prince Bennick is next in line.”

Amethyst’s eyes narrowed hatefully. “Things have a way of changing,” she said then spun around and stalked off, the high heels of her boots ringing on the metal floor. Exhaling heavily, Davan pursed her lips. The last thing she wanted was to get involved in court intrigue and it sounded to her as though that sort of thing was in the making. She wanted more than ever to get off the
Foehn
and as far away from its arrogant captain as the galaxy would allow.

42

Pleasure’s Foehn

“That’s it for this evening,” Cinnabar announced as she poked her head in the door.

“Things are relatively quiet although there’s a party starting in Nine Forward. Hopefully things won’t get out of hand but forewarned is forearmed.”

“Is the mess still open?” Davan asked, glancing down at her watch.

“For another thirty minutes. Thought you were going to cook your own meals, Doctor.”

“I will,” Davan stated. “But until I get a few staple goods and some groceries, that isn’t happening.”

Cinnabar shrugged. “Give me a list and I’ll see to it.”

Davan didn’t trust the flame-haired beauty any more than she trusted Cinnabar’s sister. “I’ll get around to it tomorrow. I’ll just pick up something I can take back to my quarters tonight.”

“I hear you had a bit of a mess in front of your door this morning,” Cinnabar observed. There was a smile twitching at her lips. “I also heard you handled it in just the right manner so it’s not likely to happen again.”

Davan nodded. “I know who did it and if he does it again, I just might repay him with a sneaky visit of my own.”

“You know,” Cinnabar said, coming into the room, “Seamus taught the captain everything he knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seamus was the Master-at-Arms of Caisleán na Goaithe for nearly thirty years before he retired. He was the captain’s trainer, teaching him the art of battle. When the border wars started up again, Cair enlisted before his mother could stop him. She was unable to get him decommissioned so she sent Seamus to watch over him at the frontier. They are as close as father and son and as thick as thieves.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Seamus doesn’t wipe his ass unless Cair gives him leave to do so, dearie,”

Cinnabar answered.

Davan’s forehead crinkled. “Are you telling me the captain had Seamus lay those eggs in front of my door?”

“‘
If you want to walk on eggs around him, that’s fine, but I have no intention of doing so
!’”

Cinnabar quoted. “Sound familiar?”

Her lips slowly parting as her eyes blazed green fire, Davan glanced once more at her watch. “If I’m going to eat tonight, I’d best get to the mess.” She walked past Cinnabar without another word.

The woman who was more madam than quartermaster walked to the Vid-Com and touched the pad that chimed in the mess hall.

“Whatcha need, Cin?” a friendly voice answered as Cinnabar’s image shown on his screen.

43

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“The new healer is on her way down to get something to eat. Think you can close a bit early tonight, Ralf?”

“I’m already closed,” the man said with a wink.

“Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”

“You want me to shut down the re-gen kiosk as well?”

Cinnabar thought about it for a moment. “No, we don’t want the poor uppity thing to starve. Just limit her choices to whatever doesn’t sell all that well.”

“Will do.”

Closing the connection Cinnabar whistled to herself as she left sickbay.

* * * * *

Annoyed that the mess was locked up by the time she arrived—twenty minutes before it should have closed—Davan found a few snacks in the re-gen kiosk and loaded up on them. That they were things she normally would not have purchased didn’t matter. As hungry as she was, all of it sounded good.

She barely glanced at the area around her door as she entered her quarters, prepared for something else childish to be amiss in the room, but though she checked all four areas, found nothing out of order.

Stripping off her white uniform and pulling on a loose nightgown, she sat crossed leg on the bed and began eating her eclectic supper as she thumbed the channels on the Vid-Com for something interesting to watch on the ship’s entertainment circuit. She had just finished a cup of very unpalatable soup when the Vid-Com chimed.

“Yes?” she said with a sigh.

“We have a couple of combatants on their way to sickbay,” Lt. Dorrick announced as soon as his image appeared on screen. “One is hurt pretty badly.”

“On my way,” Davan said. She looked wistfully at the rest of the food she’d stacked on the bedside table then got up to put on her uniform.

She heard the shouting long before she entered sickbay. The sound of men cursing one another with voices raised in drunken slurs was nothing new. She’d heard it often enough on the
Andraste
. What she hadn’t been prepared for was to see two nude men standing in the center of the room. One combatant was brandishing a dagger the size of a small pitchfork, keeping the security officers at bay while the other naked man clutched a forearm spurting dark red blood.

“Give me the damned knife, Polson,” one of the security guards snarled and lunged for the weapon. He came up short when the man wielding it slashed at his midsection.

“That’s arterial blood,” Davan said to no one in particular as she headed for the wounded man.

44

Pleasure’s Foehn

“Keep the fuck away from that two-timing prick!” the knife wielder shouted. “Let the bastard bleed to death.” He threw the dagger from hand to hand, swirling it in a tight circle.

“I’ll do no such thing,” Davan said. She turned her back on the knife and went to the wounded man, pushing him back and out of the way of harm. Almost as soon as he sat on the chair, he passed out, tilting precariously to the side.

“You bitch!” the knife wielder screamed. “I told you to leave him alone!”

Davan heard the low growl that followed the angry man’s demand but she paid no attention to it. She barely glanced around as a piercing shriek pealed across the room. Her full attention was on trying to stop the massive bleeding pouring from the other man’s arm. She could tell there was nerve damage that would require extensive surgery if he was to ever use his hand again but at the moment, all she cared about was staunching the flow of blood that had already soaked the leg of her uniform. She knew the captain had entered the room and from the complete silence after the loud shriek, knew he had things well under control. The shuffling of feet, a whimper, a groan and then heavy breathing behind her told her she was not alone.

“Make yourself useful and hold his flesh together while I get what I need to temporarily close this wound,” she instructed.

A hand reached out to take hold of the wounded man’s arm and Davan hurried to the supply cabinet.

“Where are your corpsmen?”

Davan stiffened when she recognized the captain’s harsh voice and was surprised he was the one helping her. “You tell me. Someone is supposed to be on duty in here twenty-four/seven.” When she turned around, she saw a deep frown on Cair Ghrian’s face. “I imagine this is part of the lesson they are teaching me.”

“You’ve caused that much animosity already?” he demanded.

“Well, you know how it is when you’re not careful on whose eggshells you trod,”

she snapped, hooking a low stool with her foot and sliding it over in front of the unconscious patient.

“Didn’t look to me as though you were careful with them at all,” he responded dryly.

“You should see me when I’m angry, Captain,” she told him. Cair watched her efficiently deal with the wounded man’s arm. “That’s a fairly deep gash.”

“He’s going to need micro-surgery and the sooner the better if he’s to ever have mobility in that hand and arm. When I get him on the table, I’ll call for the med team.”

“You’re going to operate tonight?”

“The longer we wait, the less chance he has,” she replied. She scooted the stool back and walked to the Vid-Com. “Will you put him on the table?”

45

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Surprised he was being asked, Cair grunted to himself and stood up. The healer was calling in her surgical team so he pulled the unconscious man up, squatted to get beneath the man and then hefted the dead-weight burden onto his shoulder. Carrying him to the gurney the healer pointed to as she yelled at one of the corpsmen.

“I don’t give an Ollannach buzzard’s wattle what you’re doing, mister. Get your ass in here now or I’ll have you on the next shuttle to
an tSualainn
!”

Cair glanced around as he lowered the patient to the gurney. Only an Amhantarean woman would dare speak to a man in that tone of voice and hope to get away with it.

“You sure you’re not from Amhantar?” he asked when she came over to the gurney.

“Amhantareans don’t have a monopoly on spite, Captain Ghrian,” she pointed out.

“I was taught to stand up for myself and if it meant getting knocked down, get the hell back up and at least let the other guy know you’d been there.”

“Tough as nails, eh?”

“Tougher than eggshells at any rate,” she replied. When she glanced at him, she was surprised to see him smiling.

The surgical team came in at that moment and Cair moved out of the way. He stood back observing and saw mulish looks turn blank then respectful as the healer gave orders in a crisp, no-nonsense tone filled with nothing but professionalism. He watched as her talented fingers used instruments whose purpose he couldn’t begin to imagine while utilizing no wasted movements and never once hesitating with indecision. He could see the admiration on one corpsman’s face and the begrudging approval on the lined face of the lone nurse. By the time the surgery was concluded and the wounded man’s arm bandaged, it was nearly two in the morning.

“Give him fifty milligrams of Pledax every four hours and if he has any pain when he wakes, you can give him seventy-five of tenerse every four to six,” Davan said as she stifled a yawn. She signed the order, took one last look at her patient and started out of the operatory.

“Your stomach is growling,” Cair said as he fell into step beside her.

“Might be because I haven’t had a full meal in two days.”

“Want something to eat or are you too tired?”

Davan looked up at him. “I’m famished but the mess is closed and—”

“The mess is never closed for me,” he said.

She laughed. “I suppose not, but I have enough people angry at me already. I don’t think I want to add the cooks to the list.”

“Trust me,” he said. “After tonight, you won’t be having any more trouble with the crew of the
Foehn
.”

She cocked her head. “Or her captain?”

“Especially not her captain.”

46

Pleasure’s Foehn

“No more eggshells?”

He stopped, put out hand. “We got off on the wrong foot, Doc. Yesterday wasn’t one of my better days.”

She looked down at his hand then grasped it firmly in hers. “Mine, either, Captain.”

“Now,” he said. “What would you like to eat?”

“A hot bowl of soup and half a sandwich would be dreamy,” she replied with a sigh.

“Done.”

* * * * *

Cair leaned back, his chair cocked on its back legs. He was comfortable with his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed and arms folded as he listened to the healer talking in between spoonfuls of the hot and sour soup she was eating in between nibbles of a corned beef and
an tSualainn
cheese sandwich.

“I haven’t heard from either of them in a long time,” Davan said.

“Would you like me to use my connections and check on your brother and sister?”

he asked quietly.

Davan looked up with her spoon in mid-ladle. “You would do that?”

“I have a friend who is on the penal inspection team with the United Court of Justice. He’s
an tSualainn
so he’s neutral in the war. By the way, the chances are good the cheese on your sandwich came from his family’s factory.”

“I’m sure they are all right but it would make me feel better to know for sure,” she said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I like causing trouble,” he said with a grin.

Davan glanced at the sleepy cook who was nodding a few tables away. “I gathered that, Captain.”

“Cair,” he corrected. When she didn’t respond, he cocked an eyebrow.

“Cair,” she said.

He liked the sound of his name on her tongue. Her Breasalean accent was soft and more refined than he was accustomed to in the women with whom he had daily contact. He glanced at the clock on the wall and winced.

“I’m going to be worthless tomorrow unless I get some sleep.” He lowered his chair and started to get up.