Starship Eternal (War Eternal Book 1) (11 page)

"I'm not much for crowds," she said. "I just came up because I was invited, and I really wanted to meet you."

"I can't convince you to stay?"

"No. I'm sorry, Captain."

"Mitch."

"I'm sorry, Mitch. You seem like a great guy, and I don't know, I feel electrified being around you. I just... I have this thing about large groups."

"I don't like crowds much myself," Mitchell said. "Do you have a p-rat?"

"A what?"

She didn't know the slang.
 

"An ARR?" he asked.

"Oh. Yes."

"Why don't you knock me, so I can at least get your sig? Maybe we can get together some other time?"

"I'm going off-world tomorrow. I doubt our paths will cross again anytime soon." She looked up at him, considering. "You know, you already got your medal. Why don't you come down to the lobby with me? We can grab a drink."

Mitchell found Christine across the room, in the middle of a conversation with General Cornelius. He was speaking to her, which meant she couldn't pull her attention away at the moment.

"I want to. I really do. Do you see that woman over there?" he asked.

"The one in the black dress?"

"Yes. She's my bodyguard or something. If she sees me trying to leave, she's going to do her best to stop me."

"So don't let her see you," Holly said.

Mitchell kept watching Christine. She wasn't going to be happy if he disappeared. He imagined she would chew him out again, and find some way to punish him. At the same time... "Service elevator?" he asked. He turned his attention to the swinging door the servers were keeping busy. He doubted they brought all the food and booze up through the main, clear carbonate lifts.

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Good idea."

He took her hand and started moving through the crowd, keeping to the far side of the room, away from Major Arapo. A few of the guests stared at them as they wandered past, about to say something before thinking better of it. More than once, Mitchell stopped walking and turned away from Christine, leaning down to pretend to tie his shoe, or taking a bite from one of the trays. Holly mimicked his motions, her face bright the entire time, clearly enjoying the subterfuge.

They reached the kitchen unnoticed. Mitchell pulled Holly through the door, nearly crashing into a server with a full tray of champagne. He laughed and pulled Holly close to him, squeezing them around while the server stared at them in surprise.
 

"You aren't supposed to be back here, Captain," one of the chefs said, noticing them passing through.

"I'm looking for the service lift," he said.

The man looked from him to Holly, and back. "Right. Out that door, turn left, three doors down, turn right. You'll need clearance."

"What level?" Mitchell asked. Most military had override access to public security systems, depending on how locked down they were.

"Two."

"Won't be a problem. You didn't see me."

He laughed and waved as they exited the kitchen, following his directions to the service lift.

"Everybody seems to know you," Holly said.
 

"I've been plastered all over every stream for the last two months, and there are shots of me displayed everywhere around the city. It's crazy, really. There was even a girl who asked me to sign a photoshopped picture of me that she said she masturbates to."

"Really?"

"I'm not kidding."

They reached the lift. Mitchell scanned the id number on it, and then knocked from his p-rat. It recognized his credentials and opened up. They stepped inside, both laughing. Mitchell touched the screen to send it to the ground floor.

"Do you like it?" she asked. "Being famous?"

"I don't think of myself as famous. I'm popular now because of the battle, but give it a year or two and people will forget about me. But no, I don't like it. I'm a pilot who can't fly. A warrior who can't fight. There's going to be a push into Federation space, and I'll be sitting on the sidelines, watching people I convinced to join the Alliance military go out there and do what I should be doing. Not only that, but I have almost no control over what I do, or when I do it. It's only gotten worse since yesterday."

"That sounds awful."

"It's frustrating, but it isn't all bad. You wouldn't have come up to the party to see me if I were just some Joe Mechjock."

"Am I enough to make it worthwhile?" The mischievous look in her eye had returned.

"You might be."

She reached over and hit the 30 on the lift's touchpad. "I have a feeling your bodyguard or something is going to be looking for you. Let's skip the drinks. You have something else I want right now."

Then she was pressed against him, her head tilted back, her lips finding his. Her kiss was forceful, aggressive, and it took him a moment to recover from the attack and launch his counterstrike. He wrapped his hands around her, lifting her up and pushing her back against the side of the elevator. She giggled under the kissing, hands tightening around him.
 

"Are you always so straightforward?" he asked, pulling his head away for a second.

"When I see something I want, I go right for it. I call it smart." Her hand found the back of his head and pulled him in again.

She brought him to her hotel room on the thirtieth floor. It was nothing special, a standard suite with a king sized bed, a bathroom, and a dresser. A funky piece of artwork hung behind the bed, painted in color-changing ink that moved in whorls that changed color depending on the way the light was hitting it and the position of the viewer.

Mitchell noticed it almost subliminally as he sat on the bed with Holly in his lap, holding her close, kissing her neck and shoulders, pressing his naked body to hers. She rocked against him, purring and moaning, her hands scratching his back in her pleasure.

He had been with at least a dozen women in the last two months, and while they had all been great partners they had each held onto a certain demureness, as though their public status carried over into the bedroom. He didn't know what Holly's public status was. Maybe she didn't have one at all. Either way, she wasn't hindered by it. She wasn't hindered by anything. She was assertive, aggressive, fearless.
 

It was amazing. Mind-blowing. Even Ella, in all her confidence, had never quite merged with him so well.
 

It was perfect.

Too perfect.

He shouldn't have been so surprised when the door to the suite opened, and the lights flashed on.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Holly froze in his lap. He stopped kissing her and lifted his head, looking straight at the painting and feeling his already rapid heartbeat move to triple-time. He recognized that voice.
 

What the hell had he just done?

"Wait out here," he heard the Prime Minister say.
 

Holly shifted off him, breaking their connection, putting her back against the bed. Her face was flushed, her hair sweaty. She glanced at him, her eyes trying to transmit a nervous apology.

"Captain Williams?"

Mitchell turned slowly, putting his hand over his quickly deflating groin.
 

"Your Excellency," he croaked. "What are you doing here?"

The Prime Minister's face was rigid, every muscle clenched tight. Mitchell could feel the anger building behind it as the man did his best to maintain the composure of his status. He was the Prime Minister of Delta, he couldn't very well resort to throwing punches. Not that Mitchell would have any choice but to let them land.

"I should ask you the same thing," he said, in a low whisper that fought to not be a snarl. He looked over at Holly, and Mitchell saw the anger flash to sadness for an instant. "Did you know that the woman you were just screwing is my wife?"

It was worse than a punch to the gut. Mitchell looked back at Holly. She was thirty years the Prime Minister's junior, at least. She was staying in a plain, ordinary hotel room, not one of the VIP suites. She wasn't wearing a ring and had told him she didn't have a husband.
 

"Sir, I-"

"Get out."

He slid off the bed, reaching down and grabbing his pile of clothes off the floor. He held it in front of his midsection. "Sir-"

"I said get out," the Prime Minister screamed.
 

Mitchell bowed his head and took a wide angle around the man. The door to the room was closed, but he knew the Prime Minister's guards would be right outside of it.
 

"David?" he heard Holly say. "Uh... what? Captain Williams? What was... What were we just doing?"

Mitchell stopped and turned his head. Holly was looking back at him, her eyes suddenly fearful, as though their prior activity had been anything but consensual.
 

"Holly, what's the matter?" the Prime Minister said.
 

"I don't know," she replied. "I..." Tears started running from her eyes. She reached down and grabbed the sheets, pulling them up over her body, covering herself in front of him. "What did you do to me?" Her look was accusing and angry. What the hell was going on?

The Prime Minister spun around, his anger boiling over. "Guards," he shouted.
 

The door opened. Two men in dark suits entered, blocking Mitchell's exit.

"Sir, I didn't. I swear," Mitchell said. How could everything have gone so bad, so fast? His whole body felt cold.

The Prime Minister didn't look at him. His eyes were on his wife. When he spoke, Mitchell could hear the pain in his voice. "Bring him to a vacant room and keep him there. Call a doctor."

A strong hand fell on Mitchell's shoulder. He kept his eyes on Holly, who had buried her face in the sheets. How could she be doing this? He was going numb with disbelief. He didn't resist when the guards pulled him from the room.

"Are you out of your damn mind, Captain," one of them said. The other was silent, his eye twitching. Probably getting access to another room.

"I didn't do anything," Mitchell said. "Check the surveillance. She threw herself at me."

"We'll pull the surveillance as a matter of course. If you're telling the truth, it will be plain enough."

"Do you believe me?"
 

"If I didn't think something was up, you'd be out cold right now. I'm a former Marine myself. You can't possibly be dumb enough to throw away a rep like yours over a piece of ass."

"Forty-second floor," the other one said. "The whole thing is vacant for remodeling. Room 4218."

They ushered him back to the service elevator, giving him the courtesy of not parading him naked in front of the other guests.
 

"Why the hell is he staying in a random room in the middle of the hotel?" Mitchell asked, still trying to make sense of things.

"Standard operating procedure," the guard replied. "More attractive to the taxpayers, and harder for assassins to find him in a place this big."

"She told me she was single."

"Look, Captain, you need to just shut it for now, okay? We'll bring you to a room. Clean yourself up, get dressed, and wait. Security will get their hands on the feeds, and if you're telling the truth this whole mess will go away in a couple of hours. I can't say the same for the future of the Prime Minister's marriage."

Mitchell stayed quiet. He put his clothes on in the elevator on the way up and then marched to room 4128. The guards deposited him inside.
 

The door locked behind him.

Major Arapo showed up two hours later. Mitchell had cleaned himself up and managed to calm down by then, reasoning that the hotel surveillance was sure to clear him of any wrongdoing, even if Holly insisted that she had been coerced instead of accepting responsibility for her actions.

Still, her confusion had been awfully convincing. If he hadn't been there, and known better, he would have believed her himself.

He heard the door unlock right before it opened. She walked in, and he stood to meet her. Her face was as tight as he expected, her posture stiff. Furious.