Compete (24 page)

It is Imperial Command Ship One.

I
remember to breathe, as Anu switches back over to Red, and sings a turnabout sequence while swiping his fingers in a circular motion along the middle of the console. At the same time Gennio on his Blue grid continues to fine-tune our position relative to the linear vertical guide.

As the shuttle approaches ICS-1, the great hull of the ship grows to fill the entirety of the view. Next, we plummet toward a violet plasma-cloaked opening, pass the shield energy barrier and enter the long tube of the shuttle bay.

A few seconds of violent motion while the tunnel blurs with speed around us—and this time I note how Anu switches rapid-fire from Red to Green in order to engage Thrust then Brake—and then we coast over to a platform.

We have arrived.

I release a long-held breath and sit back in the chair. No, really I collapse. I think there’s a sheen of sweat on my forehead. . . .

“Hey, not done yet!” Anu glances at me and points to the console, which remains lit.

“Now,” Gennio says, “we need to disengage the shuttle drive and park it, turn the power off, then un-key ourselves individually from the console. Like this—”

He presses the ignition key with the four-color circling lights, and sings the same three-note major sequence that originally turned the shuttle on. Immediately the living sound of the ship ceases around us. The hull goes silent and the golden lights stop racing along the hair-fine etchings. At the same time, the shuttle makes a small lurch, like an elevator pausing, and stops in place, motionless.

“And now the power off.” Gennio sweeps his fingers along the
underside
of the panel. His console goes dark.

Finally, Gennio sings a sequence to levitate the panel back over to the wall and un-key it.

Anu performs similar steps with his own console, except that, being primary, it remains hovering before his seat. And then he looks at me.

I do what Gennio did, and watch my console return to the wall.

“
Now
we’re done.”

A
s soon as we emerge from the shuttle and into the ICS-1 shuttle bay, we are met by guards wearing prominent Imperial insignias on their uniforms, and holstered weapons at their belts. Similar insignias decorate the walls.

Before we take any more steps inside the ship, they scan us
again
. I realize it’s likely normal routine, and security is probably extra-tight on the Commander’s own ship.

While Gennio and Anu talk to the guards in Atlantean, I just stand there, looking around.

Okay, now that my unexpected Piloting ordeal is over, time to get my brain back in gear—
Logan
. I wonder how to find him, and start making plans to slip away from the guys temporarily.

But they’re done talking. Gennio turns back to me. “We are clear to proceed. Come along, Gwen, we need to find Consul Denu’s chambers, on Command Deck Three. The guards called ahead to let him know we’re coming, so he will be waiting for us.”

“Just follow the scent of too much perfume, essential oils, slaughtered flowers, musk . . .” Anu says. “Directly to his door.”

“Okay . . .” I say, not knowing what to think.

Gennio winces, then wrinkles his forehead. “Yeah. The Consul is a little . . . extravagant.”

Anu makes a tremendous snort of sarcasm. “A little.”

We start walking.

Ten minutes later, after moving through the usual network of corridors, from deck to deck, we reach the Green Quadrant Command Deck in the interior hub.

The hallways here seem to be filled with more people, more Atlantean guards, more protocol in general. Apparently it’s not too far from the Commander’s own private chambers, since he embraces the Green Quadrant as his base of command.

The greater corridor that runs between the flagship Central Command Office and the Resonance Chamber is decorated with Imperial insignias every few feet. At the doors of the CCO itself, not two but four guards stand on duty.

We pass this VIP area carefully, staring at the impassive guards with a variety of holstered guns and blade weapons at their belts, who pay no attention to us. And then we turn into a lesser corridor and into the Command Deck hallway filled with officers’ cabins, a section similar to my own cabin hallway.

“What’s his number again?” Anu asks.

In reply Gennio pauses before a door. “Here, I think. Number eleven.”

“Okay. . . . Ready?” Anu slaps his hands against his sides, which I am beginning to recognize as his nervous tic. And then he steps up to the door and passes his hand over the square button on the wall. It must also function as a kind of doorbell, or maybe an intercom.

“Consul Suval Denu, may we come in?” he says loudly.

After a moment the door opens.

When Anu mentioned perfume and flowers, he was not too far off. . . . I’ve long since stopped noticing the clean but slightly sterile nature of the air inside the Atlantean ships, but now a blast of aromatic perfume greets us, like walking into a cosmetics store in a mall back on Earth—but much
worse
.

The cabin quarters are large, similar to the CCO office space back on our own ship, but the décor is frilly splendor, in delicate shades of lavender, mauve, rich plum and burgundy, interspersed with underlying earth tones of cinnamon brown, coral, and carnelian. Everywhere I see fabrics cascading from the walls, gold embellishments, and vanity mirrors on side tables. In the center of the room is a large bed covered in pillows of all shapes and strewn with layers of sheets and embroidered coverlets.

A slim, slight, middle-aged Atlantean man in a grand gold wig and a long sage-yellow robe stands haughtily near the doors, next to a packed trunk, also covered with gold embellishments and upholstered with rich deep red fabric.

I admit my jaw must have dropped, and I am staring at him, unblinking. Good lord, the
wig!
It is a strange Ancient Egyptian-looking or Mesopotamian hybrid—something that maybe King Hammurabi wore, or an Egyptian pharaoh—but made of pure golden hair, tightly braided and coiled and woven in rows of micro-pleats.

His skin is warm suntan, similar to Aeson Kassiopei’s coloration. His face is oval, lean, elegant, and his dark brown eyes are outlined in kohl, while his brows bear the sheen of lapis lazuli, all artfully precise, perfect. He is even wearing some kind of softly glittering dark henna gloss on his austere lips.

Around his neck is a wide Egyptian-style collar, lying heavy like an aegis over his chest, and made of gold and precious inlay. The rich sage robe is delicately embroidered, with a golden hem that falls to his ankles, where I can see sandal-like woven boots, also trimmed with gold and precious stones.

It’s as if a being of ancient royalty has come to life and stepped forth from a pyramid or temple wall painting.
He is unreal!

I continue to stare, while both Anu and Gennio quickly incline their heads and do the formal salute with their left hand touching lips and forehead.

And then comes his voice—a musical delicate tenor, cultured and refined and absolutely regal.

“Anu Vei and Gennio Rukkat. You are late,” Consul Suval Denu says in perfect English, enunciating every word. “Come and take my travel wardrobe and we will proceed.” And then he motions with one manicured hand to the large trunk.

“Our apologies for the delay.” Anu and Gennio both step inside and take the trunk, picking it up by the handle on each side. Apparently it’s heavy, because both boys make an effort to lift.

Consul Denu barely glances behind him. “Kem will carry my Scents and Personal Art boxes, so you will not touch them.”

Only now do I see, in the corner of the room, a young dark-haired boy, barely older than Gracie, quietly perched on a low footstool. He too wears a tunic robe, but much shorter and simpler, rich brown, over dark blue pants. Immediately the boy scrambles up and goes to the side table to pick up four large ornate boxes that he carefully stacks on top of each other until his face is no longer visible. I have no idea how the boy can see past them and still walk. The contents of the boxes make clanking and clinking noises.

It occurs to me that these are the first true
civilian
Atlanteans I’ve seen who are not wearing the Fleet uniforms. Furthermore, the Consul himself has to be a
citizen
.

In that moment Consul Denu notices me. His gaze stops upon me, cool and serpentine.

“Who is this?” he inquires.

“Hi, I am Gwen Lark,” I say as politely as possible. “I am also an Aide to the CCO.”

For a moment the Atlantean says nothing, only examines me, looking me up and down with critical disapproval.

And then he says, “Ah, yes. You must be the new student. Very well, girl, you may approach and carry one of my boxes. Kem, give her something to carry. Something least consequential.”

Before I can say anything, the boy Kem—apparently some kind of assistant of the Consul—comes up to me and gently hands me off the topmost box, so that at least now the pile of boxes precariously balanced in his arms only goes up to his chin. I receive the box with a kind of minor dread.

“Do be careful, all of you,” Consul Denu remarks in a bland voice. “Now, let us go, we must not keep the Imperial Lord waiting. Lead me to your transport ship.”

And Consul Suval Denu motions for us to go before him.

M
inutes later, walking as quickly as we can with our various clanking burdens, we make it back to the same shuttle bay.

Consul Denu moves gracefully behind us, his posture upright, and his light pace that of a swan—a very annoying pompous swan in a golden wig. Periodically he makes snide yet perfectly dignified observations about the ship, the tedious corridors, the sad lack of decorum in the members of the crew passing around us. And, oh yes, he constantly reminds us to be careful with his things.

“Kem, keep the Scents upright. Always upright! Gwen Lark, both hands must be in firm contact with the lid and the box for proper closure and balance. And as for balance, Anu Vei, do not walk ahead of Gennio Rukkat, or the delicate handles of the wardrobe will be warped. Walk side by side—the corridor is rather narrow but still sufficient to accommodate you both. . . .”

Another minute of this and I have a feeling either Anu or Gennio will turn around and strangle this man. Their faces are drawn, lips held tight, and they are both huffing with the exertion of carrying the heavy trunk. Meanwhile Kem is patiently walking next to me, as we carry the boxes filled with unknown bottles, cosmetics or other trinkets. What in heaven’s name is Personal Art?

As we enter the shuttle bay, the two Aides increase speed, so that they are almost running with the trunk. We stride quickly after them, past Atlantean crew and guards and their tedious scanners.

Just as we reach our shuttle, I hear a familiar voice call out my name.

“Gwen! Gwen Lark!”

I turn around, and it’s Logan.

Chapter Fourteen

L
ogan Sangre strides quickly in our direction from the end of the platform where apparently he’s been waiting for us.

At the sight of Logan’s striking tall figure, and his familiar handsome features, my pulse starts to race with excitement, while pleasant warmth floods my cheeks. Logan looks so damn good in the Fleet uniform!

“Thanks for coming, Gwen,” he says, with a casual light smile, but a very intense look in his eyes. And then he bends close to plant a kiss on the side of my mouth, grazing my cheek and trailing up, and simultaneously whispers in my ear, “
Perfect
timing.”

“Hey, of course,” I say, somewhat flustered, and then I glance back at the others in my party, expecting all kinds of things.

But no one is looking at me. Anu and Gennio have set the trunk down temporarily, and now they stand at the staircase leading to the open hatch of the shuttle, ceremoniously allowing Consul Denu to climb up the stairs ahead of them, followed by Kem.

Without looking around, the Consul disappears into the shuttle, followed by his attendant.

That’s when I open my mouth and say, “Guys, this is Logan, he is coming with us.”

The two Aides turn around. Anu blinks, glances from me to Logan and frowns. “What?” he says. “He’s what?”

Gennio just looks on with a slightly nervous expression.

I take a step forward assertively, and pull Logan by the hand after me.

“Hey,” Logan says to them with an easy smile. “I am Cadet Logan Sangre. I will be coming with you to ICS-2.”

“You what?” Anu frowns and turns his head sideways, examining Logan.

“Who exactly is this, Gwen?” Gennio says.

And then Anu looks down and notices my hand holding Logan’s. “Oh,” he says while his brows rise. “Oh, hell no! This is your boyfriend, Earth girl! So
that’s
why you wanted to come along with us to the flagship? So you could see him? No way are we taking your boyfriend for a ride! And you, get lost, Cadet! Don’t you have some classes you should be in right now? I am reporting you to your commanding officer—”