Mission Mistletoe (2 page)

“And it sounds like life hasn’t been treating him well. I heard today that he and his long-time boyfriend broke up just before he left. It sounds like someone wasn’t happy he was leaving yet again, and over Christmas. It was a bad breakup. His boyfriend was going to propose and everything. I guess he had second thoughts.” She paused, shot Ilin a half grin. “Don’t tell him you heard any of this from me.”

“What is Christmas?” he asked, not wanting to let on how secretly glad he was to hear that the captain was not attached to anyone. Unlike Nler’sh’eh, Terrans were very protective of their mates, Ilin had noticed. He looked up when Nadine laughed.

“Really, Jhex? You became ambassador, learned our language, and don’t know anything about Christmas?” When he shook his head, she sighed. “It’s a holiday. Look it up. About a third of us currently on this ship celebrate it in one form or another. I am
not
looking forward to printing so many cookies.”

Seeing he was finished eating, she stood and grabbed his tray. He suspected she needed to return to the mess.

“Well, good luck with whatever that is,” she said, nodding toward his lump of clay. “And don’t let the captain get you down.”

As she left, Ilin ran all the innuendos he knew through his mind, trying to determine if what she had ended on was one. It certainly sounded like it. Terrans, he had discovered through research, were not that dissimilar to Nler’sh’eh when it came to certain acts. He stood, wondering how visible his excitement was through his clothes. No one seemed to look there, though. No one but the captain. Ilin had caught him glancing more than once, and it only made him desire him more.

He sighed. He was an ambassador. He was supposed to be professional, blend in with the Terrans as much as possible. He moved to dispose of his clay and make his way back to his quarters for his pills, thinking.

After popping the dosage, he sat at the computer console in his room, dimming the lights. Terrans kept their lights stronger than he liked, and regardless of how he changed the settings in his own quarters, they seemed to reset after he had turned them off. He smiled to himself. If he brought it to the captain’s attention, no doubt he would see that scowl again.

He knew he should be researching Terran colony practices. He was, after all, here to report back about their behavior as precisely as possible. Since the Terrans wanted to establish a colony in an area of space with indistinct borders, and since that area was indistinctly also Nler’sh’eh, they had been working together to figure out whether that might work. Ilin was only one of many ambassadors sent out to retrieve information, the thought being that a variety of opinions, viewpoints, and experiences would yield a more complete understanding of how Terran colonies functioned. If all went well, there was the option of establishing a Nler’sh’eh presence there also.

But there was so much information to go through: data entries, statistics, personal accounts. And Ilin could not seem to focus. He wondered when the captain would return for his opinion and whether he could persuade him to enter his quarters. There was every indication from what he knew about Terrans that, should the captain be interested, events would progress more readily away from other gazes.

“Search keywords?” asked the computer as he sat there.

“Christmas,” he said, not bothering to think the better of it. He had time to do more research. “Text documents preferred.” The system’s default was to relate the information aloud, but Ilin was still perfecting his reading skills. He reached forward to one of his sculptures that he kept on his table and closed his eyes as he ran his fingers over it. The shape evoked anticipation in his mind, the excited kind, not the nervous sort.

“Search complete,” indicated the computer. “Additional keywords?”

“Not now, thanks,” said Ilin, opening his eyes and leaning forward to peer at the results.

“N
O
,
DAMN
—delete that too,” said Archer, glaring nowhere in particular as he got to his feet and paced behind his desk.

“Deletion complete.” The computer’s voice was too soft in tone, too like Jhex’s. Archer rubbed his forehead. He should change it.

“When does Severs need that report?”

“Six hours, eighteen minutes.”

Archer swore. With the delay in message travel, that meant he had about two hours to get his updated report completed. And try as he might, he just could not find a polite enough way to put events. Well, whatever he came up with, Severs would just have to deal with. She could handle it. It was not as though he had never sent back a heated report before. It was more the fact that his statements would be made available to the Nler’sh’eh that was inconveniencing him.

“Transmission from engineering,” stated the computer.

“Connect,” said Archer. “Give me good news, Foster.”

“That’s not my department, sir,” she said, voice light and joking, and Archer leaned on his desk, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What is it?” he asked. “Don’t tell me that fuel shit ruined irreplaceable parts down there.”

“Nothing as bad as that.” Her tone had sobered. “But we’re not going to be able to get underway again until later than I thought.”

“And?” he asked when she paused. This couldn’t be all. At this point he would be surprised if anything went even halfway smoothly.

“And remember how they hadn’t completely finished testing?” she said, and he groaned. “You busy right now, Captain?”

“No,” he snapped. Her accusation just made him more irritated. He wished he did have someone in his office with him, preferably someone able to help him forget about both his ex and Jhex. He really needed a vacation.

“Turns out they were mostly just hoping that we could run a systems clean each time we were in port. In theory, it’s supposed to be something that we should only have to deal with while already stopped. No slowing down our schedule, just taking advantage of time.”

“In practice?”

“I’m not sure I can take care of it all at our destinations, sir,” said Foster. “Granted, some of that is we’re not supposed to be taking lengthy stops on this mission—”

“What does that mean?” asked Archer.

“We’ll probably have to either stay longer at each port or drop off course and do this again in the middle of our longer routes.”

Archer swore. Of course. He very much doubted there was any way to get Jhex to all of his destinations in time now. Well, neither of them would have to make that particular decision, then. But he was
not
picking Jhex’s preferred stops for him.

“And the new delay?” he asked.

“I’m having a little trouble with the computer system allowing me access in—it doesn’t like the unplanned stop for maintenance. It doesn’t think there’s anything wrong. Guess they did a shoddy job updating the program. I’ve got some people from tech on it now, but add a few extra hours to the entire process. Conservatively, about five?”

Archer glared around his office, sleek and clean, and decided he hated it here. Maybe he should switch careers. Would that still be considered a midlife crisis if you weren’t yet forty? He almost laughed at himself.

“Captain?”

“I heard you, Foster. Get on with it, then. Keep me updated.”

He had the computer break the connection and sat down, sighing. He really couldn’t see it as good luck that he could compile all the information he had into a single update for Severs, not when the information was so terrible. And he had less than two hours to do it.

“Why haven’t we invented time travel yet?” he grumbled. The last several weeks had been a series of disasters that he would absolutely avoid if he could. He and Derrick would be together now, in a cabin somewhere in Canada, drinking mulled wine while Derrick’s dogs lay at their feet and the snow fell outside. How far away all that was now. He could have been planning a wedding; instead he had all his things in storage.

The worst part was he understood it. He prioritized work, and Derrick couldn’t handle it. And maybe he was right. Maybe he hadn’t cared enough about Derrick. If he could go back, he would fix that too. And it figured Archer had picked the worst assignment possible to waste his life on while screwing up everything else. He’d undo this mission in a heartbeat, even if it didn’t bring Derrick back.

“While there is debate still over whether time travel is ultimately impossible for humans—”

“Shut up,” snapped Archer, and the computer stopped. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Would you like to schedule an appointment with the ship’s therapist? Accessing schedule information now.”

“Oh, did I trigger one of your safety programs? No, I don’t want a therapist. I want things to go right, like they’re supposed to.”

The computer fell silent at that. Archer rubbed his temples. He really needed to get on that report, and now he only had a little over an hour left. Severs would already be waiting. He took a few deep breaths and leaned back in his chair.

“U
NABLE
TO
comply with request. Restricted information.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ilin, frowning at the wall where the computer had been loading images. “I can access my floorplan. The layout of the ship.”

“Captain’s quarters and other officers’ rooms are restricted,” responded the computer.

Ilin sighed. His idea had seemed like a good one when he hit on it. If the captain was grumpy about the lack of Christmas, give it to him. Ilin had learned of surprise events, had researched Christmas celebrations, and determined doing up the captain’s quarters and putting together a little something for him would lift his mood. Not to mention hopefully endear Ilin to him.

But perhaps he was going to have to scale back on that. Captain Pfeil’s rooms’ layout was probably not revealed as a safety measure, and although Ilin did have inclinations to ambush him, he had no intention to assassinate or in any other way harm him.

“What can you do with this wall here?” he asked, thinking it would be easier, after all, to set up his own quarters anyway. The problem would be persuading the captain to actually enter them.

“List of options: Wall screen. Displays real-time footage of travel outside. Projects star charts, diagrams, and scrolling text for reading purposes. Mirror function. Randomized pattern option with color and theme selection. Displays footage from a selection of over five hundred thousand planets and scenery scapes.”

“Stop,” said Ilin. “Do you have any Christmas images on file?”

He had the computer show him a variety of moving footage, from the insides of buildings to snowy hills, tagging those he liked best. When he grew bored with it, he yawned and had his preparation list replayed back to him.

“Decorations,” read the computer. “Tree, garlands, stockings, mistletoe.”

Ilin grinned at that. It was the mistletoe he had stumbled across that had initially gotten his mind turned to this scheme.

“Presents. More than one, wrapped. Food. Roast, potatoes, rolls, cookies—”

“Stop,” said Ilin again. He very much wanted to be moving, to be doing something. If he was focused enough on this, he wouldn’t have time to dwell on the fact he had duties to perform. But the captain compelled him, and he had been away from home for a long time. He liked this diversion.

He left his rooms and made his way to the mess, few people around at this hour. He spotted Nadine easily, though, cleaning tables in the middle of the room. He approached her.

“Hi, Jhex,” she said. “Hungry again already?”

“No,” he said as she kept rubbing the table with a cloth. “I’m here to put in an order for cookies.”

Nadine straightened, rolling her eyes.

“Not you too. Let me guess—you looked up Christmas.”

Ilin nodded.

“I like the sound of it.”

“Look, Jhex,” said Nadine, moving on to the next table.

Ilin followed her, making sure to stay out of reach of the spray bottle. He was not particularly fond of the sloppy way Terrans cleaned.

“
Everyone
wants cookies. It’s not just a pain. Whoever stocked our food apparently didn’t count on it. I have limited supplies.”

“I wouldn’t ask for many,” said Ilin. “Six, maybe?”

Nadine looked up at him like she was about to laugh.

“Six?” She shook her head, smiling. “I always think you’re going to be more of a bother than you are.”

“I understand you’re supposed to give me whatever I want,” said Ilin. For Nadine, his demands during a cookie shortage would mean she might actually have to deny other people who had spoken before him. Ilin did not care to cause issues. “As the ambassador. I do not wish to make that difficult.”

“But you still want the cookies,” said Nadine, but her smile told him she was pointing that out lightheartedly. “I think I can manage six or so. Maybe more. Depends on the flavor. What do you want? Gingerbread? Sugar? Candy cane chocolate chunk? Snickerdoodle?”

Ilin stared at her as she began listing off more flavors than he thought were possible. He shook his head, overwhelmed.

“They’re not just for me,” he said, and he watched as one of her eyebrows rose. He decided he might as well tell her. She could keep a secret, and he would have to come back to get her help on the rest of the meal anyway. “They’re for Captain Pfeil too. Really, what he would enjoy is what I would prefer.”

“The captain.”

“Correct,” said Ilin, nodding. Nadine took a seat, setting aside the spray bottle and cloth. She tapped a finger on the table, looking like she couldn’t quite believe him, if he was reading her expression correctly.

“You’re saying you and the captain are going to share six Christmas cookies.”

“If all goes to plan, yes.”

“Wait,” said Nadine, an awkward smile on her face. She chuckled a little but mostly held back. “You’re saying he doesn’t know about this?”

“You’ve heard of surprise parties?” asked Ilin. He was beginning to feel like he did not understand Terrans as well as he thought he did. Nadine nodded. “I was thinking about what you said about him earlier and thought he could use one.”