Under His Command

UNDER HIS COMMAND

The Starlight Chronicles 3

Annabel Wolfe

MENAGE AMOUR

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

Copyright © 2009 by Annabel Wolfe

E-book ISBN: 1-60601-259-2

First E-book Publication: February 2009

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UNDER HIS COMMAND

The Starlight Chronicles

ANNABEL WOLFE

Copyright © 2009

Chapter 1

The tall man standing in front of her had his back turned, hands

clasped behind him, his gaze focused on the navigation panel.

Peyton Valmont squared her shoulders. “You wanted to see me,

sir?”

For a moment there was no response. Then he said without

inflection, “Are you surprised, Lieutenant?”

No, she had to admit she wasn’t. Staying quiet seemed the best

course because if she voiced that out loud it meant she
knew
she was

going to get in trouble and that of itself was an admission of guilt.

At her silence, he swung around and pinned her with his infamous

ice cold gaze. There was a granite set to his lean jaw. Commander

Gallico said in clipped tones, “You disobeyed a direct order.”

Tread carefully
.

She cleared her throat. “Actually, sir, I didn’t. I wasn’t present at

the briefing.”

“Are you trying to split hairs with me on this, Valmont?” His eyes

were pure steel gray and about as warm as the interior of a frozen

planet. “Everyone on this ship knew my decision about the stranded

personnel on Epsilon. Sending in a transport was too risky. The

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Annabel Wolfe

surface was unstable, the storm too severe to chance more lives, but I

don’t have to tell you that, do I? You witnessed it all firsthand.”

He was right. The conditions had been horrible. She’d never seen

worse and even without the storm blast the constant quakes and

collapsing landscape made finding the small band left alive almost

impossible. “It wasn’t the most pleasant mission, sir,” she conceded,

doing her best to not sound flippant or worse, cocky.

Because despite not the best odds, she had managed to somehow

spot their beacon, land the transport on the shaking little strip, and

when the survivors scrambled aboard, she’d also taken back off, no

small feat. Getting in had been a miracle—getting out had been a

living nightmare. It had tested every skill she had as a pilot, but she’d

done it.

To the grateful soldiers and colonists, she was a hero.

Unfortunately, to Commander Gallico, she was insubordinate.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t known there would be repercussions, she

reminded herself, standing stiffly at attention.

“It wasn’t a mission, Lieutenant. It was a hijacking. Taking a

military craft—even if it is the craft you are assigned to pilot—is

against regulations. You know it and I
know
you know it. You risked

an expensive piece of machinery, you risked the lives of your crew,

and since you just proved how damn good you are at your job, you

risked one of our best pilots.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he

snapped, “Don’t you dare point out those people are still alive. I’m

more grateful for that than you can imagine, but it doesn’t change my

position on this.”

Of course not. As far as she could tell, Kelton Gallico was so by

the book he could probably spout regulations in his sleep. He was

young to be in his position and good at it too, but hardnosed in a lot of

ways. Basically the crew of the ship liked him for his unswerving

fairness and clear head if there was trouble, but they did follow the

rules to the letter under his command. She always had too, until now.

Under His Command

7

Very carefully, she said, “I wasn’t going to point that out, sir. I

was going to tell you my sister was down there.”

Silence. Nothing but the blip of the surveillance screens in the

background.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “On Epsilon? What was she doing

on a failing planet?”

“Planet physicist, sir. Hired by the Minoan government to try to

analyze why the structure of the planet was beginning to disintegrate.

She was the one who advised them to send the distress signal but it

got worse even faster than she thought.”

Commander Gallico’s expression didn’t change. “I see. I hate to

even ask this, but was she with the recovered party?”

“Yes,” Peyton answered, remembering the feeling of pure joy in

the midst of chaos and urgency when Tara had clambered into the

cockpit, her face streaked with soot, her eyes red from the virulent gas

releases from the explosions, but beautifully alive.

“For your sake, I’m glad.” He turned then so he was in profile,

and sighed audibly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve put me in

one hell of a situation.”

“Sorry, sir.” She was…but she’d do the same thing again.

Whatever happened now—even if she got demoted or lost her

commission—was worth it.

She covertly tried to gauge his expression. He was strikingly

handsome as most S-species males were, so the line of his nose was

perfectly straight, his mouth chiseled and at the moment set grimly,

and his ebony hair gleamed under the lights of the command center

which was his domain, just brushing the collar of his uniform tunic.

S-species—or Super-humans—had evolved as a result of genetic

engineering when Earth decided to form colonies on different planets,

and the result was they were taller, more dominant, better-looking,

healthier—everything enhanced. Earth was now but a sub-colony,

completely under the dominance of S-species rule. Being half-human,

half-S-species put Peyton at a disadvantage sometimes and she felt it

8

Annabel Wolfe

now. He was pissed—in many ways he had a right to be angry—and

being in the same room with a very much larger, very ticked off,

regulation-crazy commander wasn’t her idea of a good time. Weighed

against the duress of the mission itself, she could feel the strain in the

tension in her shoulders and the dryness of her mouth.

He glanced over finally. “Let me first say I understand your

motivations and can’t put forth with any sort of honesty I might not

do the same thing.”

Relief washed over her but it was short-lived.

He went on in that same matter-of-fact tone. “But I have to

reprimand you, Lieutenant. I literally do not have a choice. Should I

allow you to get away with this, I’d be setting a precedent for anyone

who takes it into their head to become some sort of hero by breaking

the rules and risking their foolhardy necks and government property.

This time it worked out. The next it might not. My job is to maintain

order and discipline. It doesn’t matter that I sympathize with your

dilemma. Do you understand?”

Well, fuck, there went her career. Measured against her sister’s

life it was a small price to pay, but she loved her job. Peyton’s throat

felt tight but she nodded. “Yes, sir, of course I understand. You have

your duty.”

“Yes, I do.” One ebony brow arched upward. “It isn’t always

pleasant, either.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fair, sir.”

“I’m going to try to be. Considering the high level nature of the

offense, I could have you demoted down to an assistant navigator, or

even released from service, if I wished. I hope you realize that.”

Peyton felt a little sick.

“But instead I think I’ll allow you to choose. I’m going to ignore

the appropriation of craft without permission, which considerably

lessens the breach of conduct.” Gallico stared at her, his face set. “I’m

just going to address the direct breaking of an order. Your choice,

Under His Command

9

Lieutenant. Any of the standard punishments offered in statute

nineteen.”

He was being more than generous but since she wasn’t a walkingtalking military rules expert, she asked haltingly, “Off the top of my

head, sir, I don’t know them.”

There was actually a flicker of some actual emotion in his eyes or

it seemed that way. “I don’t suppose you ever thought they would

apply to you. Your record so far is spotless. It’s part of the reason I’m

being lenient.”

“And I appreciate it,” she murmured, desperately trying to

remember that part of her training. They’d had to read the damned

rule book from beginning to end, but he was right, she hadn’t

concentrated on the part where it listed consequences for failure of

duty. She ventured, “Six months off the controls without pay,

correct?”

“That’s one possibility, yes.” He inclined his head. “Or a loss of

rank.”

The first sounded awful, but the second was out of the question.

She’d worked hard to get to where she was, and at twenty-four, was

one of the youngest females to hold her own with a very maledominated force of military pilots. She swallowed the lump in her

throat. “Sir, I’m both a lieutenant and a level 4 pilot. One of only a

handful of females who have risen so quickly. I’d hoped to be a major

in the next five years.”

“I’m well-aware of your accomplishments. It makes this even

more difficult.” He hesitated and then added without any expression,

“There’s a third option. If you wish, you can trade into a month of

sexual service. It’s up to you. It would be standard. The slave

uniform, confinement to quarters for that month, full subservience.”

To her dismay, she felt her face flush. She’d forgotten about that.

On long journeys like this one the males got restless without sexual

activity. To keep order with such a large crew, there were human

females brought on board to service them, but the numbers were

10

Annabel Wolfe