Jenna Starborn (19 page)

“Miss Starborn! Come quickly!” Mr. Taff called, waving me over. “We are ready to begin.”

“Been ready for a long time,” Mr. Fulsome observed. My captain said nothing, just gave me one quick sulky glance. It occurred to me that my team consisted of all the least colorful, least dramatic individuals of the octet; Bianca overmatched her sister in both impact and intelligence, while Miss Ayerson was far more brilliant than I this evening. And there was no question that both Everett Ravenbeck and Joseph Luxton had much more personality than either Mr. Taff or Mr. Fulsome. I did not see much hope for my team to overwhelm the other.

Nonetheless, I hurried over and seated myself just to the right of Mr. Taff. I was amused to learn that I must buckle myself into my chair, as if to prevent myself from being dashed to the ground by a stray blast of laser fire. A quick review of the command board revealed that its functions were obvious even for a novice—this button called up the protective shield, this button retracted it, this button loosed the weaponry. I assumed I could not fire through the shield, and a quick whispered question to Mr. Taff confirmed this.

“And don't worry about navigation—Melanie will handle that part as captain,” he added. In fact, I had not given navigation a thought, but I supposed this meant she would be responsible for trying to weave us through the hazardous channels of imaginary space. I did not expect she would do a very good job of it.

“Are we all ready?” Mr. Ravenbeck demanded. Ameletta, seated on his lap, bounced with impatience. Bianca Ingersoll, next to him, gave him one long, languid look before returning her attention to her screen. Mr. Ravenbeck continued, “Miss Ayerson, you are strapped in? Miss Starborn, you are acquainted with your equipment? Very well! Mrs. Ingersoll, will you give the order to commence?”

Mrs. Ingersoll, ensconced in a chair with a book open before her, seemed taken by surprise. “Oh! Me? Oh, very well. Let your silly game begin!”

It all began to unfold very quickly after that. Within minutes, the air was filled with the sounds of battle—or at least, the sounds that one might expect to hear aboard a ship which had just been fired upon. A siren blast nearly split my ears, and the clatter of doors slamming and footsteps running and voices shouting out cries of warning nearly made me leap from my chair and run for the door to see who was outside raising the alarm. I realized I must focus more completely than that. I concentrated on the story being enacted on the large screen—an armed spaceship, heading our way—then checked that against the individual grid laid out on my console. Ah, now I understood. The three-dimensional grid highlighted areas of the enemy ship that were vulnerable to the firepower in my particular weapons. The numerical displays flashing on my monitors must be estimates of time needed to elapse before my missiles could be expected to hit home, and the percentage chance I had of making the shot. As the oncoming ship shifted and altered course on the photorealistic screen, my numbers fluctuated in response. Our own position in space, as determined by Melanie's unsteady hands, must also be affecting my ratios.

Well, this seemed clear enough. Janet had warned me not to waste firepower, so I should wait till my numbers made my position look advantageous, and then attempt to destroy my enemy.

Consequently, I resisted any—very faint—impulse to fire while I listened to the energetic banter of the players around me. My team members seemed to be dropping shields and firing at a reckless pace, though I could not see that they had achieved any damage, and they cried out encouragement to one another with every shot fired. Mr. Ravenbeck and Mr. Luxton also seemed to be busily engaged in attempting to attack us, for Ameletta was frantically pushing buttons at Mr. Ravenbeck's behest, and Mr. Luxton was calling advice to Bianca Ingersoll in a very excited tone of voice. Bianca herself was tightly gripping her steering mechanisms, and her eyes were so focused on the image on the screen that she seemed to have no attention for anyone in the room. She was busy maneuvering her craft into a position that would allow her guns to annihilate us.

“Miss Starborn! You haven't fired a single weapon!” Mr. Taff's voice sounded with some agitation over the renewed looping of the siren. “Don't you understand the equipment?”

“I have not gotten a clear shot,” I explained.

“No! And you will not! You can only hope to do a little damage and wear them down! Really, you must do your part or the game will be over in fifteen minutes.”

“Well, I'm doing my best,” I said, and to placate him, I loosed a bolt that clearly had no hope of achieving any damage. It hit its mark, however, and caused the oncoming ship to hesitate a moment, and Mr. Taff gave me a wide smile.

“You see?” he cried. “Very good!”

I shrugged and settled back into my chair, my eyes flicking between my readouts and the large screen. Once or twice in the next twenty minutes, I thought I saw an opening and I hazarded some of my firepower, always with at least a little effect. I did not fire as frequently or as enthusiastically as my teammates, however, or as often as my adversaries, who seemed prepared to empty their whole guns on us in one frenetic maneuver. Stifling a yawn, I wondered to myself how long this particular engagement should be expected to endure, and what would be the next entertainment when it was over.

So distracted, I was unprepared for the sudden loud
boom!
that came seconds later, a noise so great that it literally rocked us in our chairs and caused several of the ladies to scream. The initial bewilderment was followed by a series of shrieks from Melanie as she tried to right our ship, which had been blown disastrously off course by a well-aimed missile. Around me, my fellow gunnars were throwing their shields back up and shouting encouragement to our captain. Across from me, howls of victory and congratulations were being tossed about by Mr. Luxton, Mr. Ravenbeck, Bianca Ingersoll, and Janet. Mr. Ravenbeck even leaned over Ameletta to slap Mr. Luxton vigorously on the back.

My teammates were frantically calling out status reports—“Shields very low, only fifteen percent.” “Guns almost exhausted, two rounds left.”—without bothering to ask me what my capabilities still were. Meanwhile, our disabled ship drifted in a wide arc toward the opponent, which, on my screen, showed a whole unprotected grid that was vulnerable to my attack. Shrugging again, I dialed my power up to maximum and fired.

The noise was astonishing. I have never, indoors, heard anything so loud and so frightening. Glasses rattled on the table and books tumbled from their shelves. The lights flickered—or perhaps my eyes dimmed from the terrific pressure exerted against my skull. I would not have been surprised to learn the forcefield was briefly compromised, or destroyed altogether.

A profound silence followed in its wake, broken only by the small whimpering sounds of somebody crying. As if recovering from a dreadful tragedy, the people in the room straightened in their chairs, looked dazedly around them, and began to ask one another quietly if they were all right.

“Lord of all the suns and planets,” Mr. Taff swore, recovering his company voice sooner than any of the rest of us. “What in the seven hells was
that?”

A sudden babble of voices rose as everyone talked, asked, and explained at once—till the slow, infectious sound of Mr. Ravenbeck's laughter broke through the talk. He was pointing across the room at Melanie's screen, where the burning hulk of Bianca's ship could be seen cartwheeling into a starry distance.

“I believe we have been outgunned, my friends!” he cried. “Taken unawares when victory was in our grasp, and blasted from the sky. My congratulations to the enemy! Who on your team was patient enough to save nearly every ounce of firepower for this surprise final attack?”

I preserved a discreet silence, but Mr. Taff instantly bent an accusing glance my way, and soon everyone in the room was staring at me. I folded my hands in my lap.

“Did I do something wrong?” I inquired.

Mr. Ravenbeck laughed again, though everyone else on his team was scowling. My cohorts, however, were beginning to chuckle and grin, as it became clear to them that we had actually won the encounter.

“Not at all! Very good strategy!” Mr. Fulsome approved. “Wait till the very last. Won't know what hit them.”

“I thought you had never played this game before,” Bianca said coldly.

“I haven't. I was merely trying to make sense of it.”

“And a splendid job you did!” Mr. Taff said. “Let's play again, Everett, and keep the same teams.”

Bianca stood up so quickly her chair spun. “I think not,” she said, still in that frigid voice. “The—excessive—enthusiasm of Miss Starborn's attack has given me a headache. I don't believe I could bear such a great noise one more time in the same evening.”

“Well, we'll play teams of three, then,” Mr. Taff suggested. “Melanie, you'd like to sit out a round, wouldn't you?”

Melanie gave him a look every bit as frosty as one her sister might muster. “I will play as long as anyone else does,” she said.

Mr. Ravenbeck was on his feet too, gently setting Ameletta on hers. “No, no, I quite agree with Bianca. That was plenty of excitement for one evening. Besides, I don't think we could ever best that level of playing. Let's turn to simpler entertainments.”

Whatever these were to be, they required the company to redispose itself around the room. The Ingersoll sisters found seats near their mother, while Mr. Ravenbeck and Mr. Fulsome leaned against the wall near the women. A few stalwarts stayed seated at their consoles, fiddling with the dials or playing back the readouts to see where they had gone wrong. At least, that appeared to be Mr. Taff's activity. Mr. Luxton and Janet Ayerson stayed seated, carrying on a quiet, if what appeared to be somewhat stilted, conversation. I had risen to my feet but now stood indecisively, not sure where to position myself. Unobtrusively, picking up fallen books and knickknacks, I moved away from the group and closer to the door.

“What shall it be?” Mr. Ravenbeck was asking. “We can play Continents and Capitals for those who think they know their current history. Or there's a very good trivia game I subscribed to the other day—we can access it here on the library monitor.”

“Or we could take turns traipsing down to the PhysiChamber for comforting massages,” Bianca retorted. “I think I need something to soothe my nerves.”

“Will a glass of wine aid you there?” Mr. Ravenbeck asked. “Or something more unusual? I was on Corbramb last month, you know, and I picked up a case of sweet redbark.”

That caused Mr. Taff to look up from his calculations. “Redbark? Really? I've been wanting to try some for ages, but I couldn't find anyone who would handle the shipping.”

The others in the room added their approval to this plan. I edged closer to the door. Even less than playing pointless aggressive military games was I interested in sampling the dangerous, potent liquors of one of the most decadent planets in the star system. Two more steps, another book retrieved from the floor and replaced on its shelf, three more steps, a glance around—and I melted through the door.

Reprieved from near damnation!

I had not gone half a dozen steps down the hall, however, when I heard quick footsteps behind and whirled around to see who approached. It was Mr. Ravenbeck, headed toward the cellar for his liquor, but making a quick detour to confront me in the corridor.

“Miss Starborn! But where are you going? The evening is not half over yet, with many treats still in store.”

He came so close so rapidly that I felt a moment's panic, like a small furry animal cornered by a bird of prey. It had been five days since I had seen him, and our last solitary encounter had been strange, wonderful, charged with tension . . . and a half-cit's foolish imaginings. I had not known what I would say when I would see him again—but I had not known I would see him as a member of a frivolous, socially superior party, where I had no right to be, and no interest either.

“I find myself in agreement with Miss Bianca Ingersoll,” I said steadily, over the stupidly rapid beating of my heart. “The noise of the game has given me a headache, and I cannot think sweet redbark wine will have anything but an adverse effect on me.”

“You are merely tired of the company,” he said, unimpressed. “You find them shallow and exhausting, and you do not want to waste any of your valuable time trying to sort them out.”

I forced a smile, though I was surprised to hear him so exactly put my thoughts into words. “Even if I felt that way, I would not say so, and neither should you,” I said. “They are your guests—you should treat them with respect even when they cannot overhear you.”

“That's my Jenna,” he said admiringly. “Never missing an opportunity to correct me or put me in the wrong! But if I must respect them, so must you! Come back and do them honor with your presence.”

“They are not my guests,” I pointed out. “I would not have invited them. If I were looking for congenial company, I would have limited myself to-” I snapped my mouth shut on the words.

“To whom?” he demanded, pouncing on my unfinished sentence.

“To—Mrs. Farraday and Janet Ayerson? Or perhaps you would include Mr. Taff? He seemed to speak to you agreeably enough during your recent battle. Or even Joseph Luxton? He has a face all the women adore, or so I've been told. Do you agree? Is he a handsome man?”

“I don't think anyone could dispute that, sir,” I said frankly.

My answer clearly surprised him. He seemed to have expected a negative or, at the least, an equivocation. “Hunh,” he grunted, eying me with a touch of disfavor. “And how would you describe me? As a very unhandsome man? A dark, glowering sort with irregular features that are not in the exact exquisite proportions?”