Conflict Of Honors by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Tags: Science-Fiction
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is no trouble," Lina assured her. "Only let me get my book."
They turned left from the door of the lounge rather than right, as the map directed, and pursued several short zigzagging corridors before regaining the main hail. They followed this past several closed doors, one marked GYM and another POOL, before turning into a slimmer, dimmer way.
Lina left her with a smile and a slight bow at the third door on the right. "Sleep well, Priscilla Mendoza. I will look for you tomorrow."
"Sleep you well also, Lina Faaldom," Priscilla answered softly in Liaden. "Thank you for your care."
The room was a blur to her overtired mind. She located the cleanbot and pushed her clothes into the slot, hoping that the black smear on one yellow cuff would come out in the cycle.
There was a clock on the shelf over the bed; she keyed in a request for Sixth Hour and curled into the luxuriously soft cushions with a sigh as she belatedly waved a hand at the lightplate.
She was asleep before the room was dark.
Shipyear 65
Tripday 131
Second Shift
6.55 Hours
"Priscilla Mendoza?"
She started, almost spilling what was left of her coffee, and blinked at the small person who had appeared suddenly before her. The woman was a Liaden of middle years, with golden skin showing deep lines about eyes and mouth, and yellow hair going gray.
Priscilla smiled. "I am sorry. I was daydreaming. How may I serve you?"
The handsome face did not relax its austere lines. "The captain's compliments, Ms. Mendoza. He requests that you come to him, if you have broken your fast." She hesitated before inclining her head ever so slightly. "I am Kayzin Ne'Zame." The first mate.
Priscilla smiled again, despite the stiffness of her face, and pushed back her chair. "I've just finished this minute. I'll go to the captain as soon as I've cleaned up my tray." She was fairly confident of the route, having studied her map throughout breakfast.
"I shall escort you," Kayzin Ne'Zame said uncompromisingly.
Fear returned. Priscilla would be sent from the ship—or she would be required to remain—it was impossible to know which was the worse possibility. Breakfast was a handful of cold rock in her stomach; she abruptly remembered the woman she had met last night and wished they had had a chance to speak further.
Priscilla laid her tray gently on the conveyer belt and turned back to the first mate. "Thank you, Kayzin Ne'Zame. I am ready now."
* * *
The captain was behind the desk, fingers busy on the keypad. A glass of wine sat to hand, and the previous day's stacks of paper had given birth to two others like themselves.
"Captain," the first mate said formally. "Here is Priscilla Mendoza, come to speak with you."
He glanced up absently. "Ms. Mendoza. Good morning. I'll be with you in just a moment. Kayzin, old friend, will you come to me in an hour?"
"Certainly, Captain." She executed a disapproving bow, but he had already returned his attention to the screen, and Priscilla did not think he saw. Frowning, the mate turned on her heel; the automatic door did its best to bang shut behind her.
Priscilla stood, fighting cold nausea. Biting her lip, she studied the man behind the desk, combating fear with observation.
It was a puzzle, she decided. He was so tall, his skin warm brown rather than golden. Like all Liaden men she had seen, his face was as fine-grained as a child's, without a hint of beard. The white hair and brows made a vivid contrast; the lean cheeks and mobile mouth were not displeasing.
Really, she thought, if you don't expect him to look Liaden, he's not ugly at all.
Certainly he was not an ill-made person. Beneath the wide-sleeved shirt his shoulders were level and broad, his back straight without being rigid. The big hands moved with graceful economy on the keypad, and Priscilla did not think they would be babysoft like Rusty Morgenstern's.
Abruptly he nodded, leaned back, and extended a long arm for his glass. The slanting brows
They turned left from the door of the lounge rather than right, as the map directed, and pursued several short zigzagging corridors before regaining the main hail. They followed this past several closed doors, one marked GYM and another POOL, before turning into a slimmer, dimmer way.
Lina left her with a smile and a slight bow at the third door on the right. "Sleep well, Priscilla Mendoza. I will look for you tomorrow."
"Sleep you well also, Lina Faaldom," Priscilla answered softly in Liaden. "Thank you for your care."
The room was a blur to her overtired mind. She located the cleanbot and pushed her clothes into the slot, hoping that the black smear on one yellow cuff would come out in the cycle.
There was a clock on the shelf over the bed; she keyed in a request for Sixth Hour and curled into the luxuriously soft cushions with a sigh as she belatedly waved a hand at the lightplate.
She was asleep before the room was dark.
Shipyear 65
Tripday 131
Second Shift
6.55 Hours
"Priscilla Mendoza?"
She started, almost spilling what was left of her coffee, and blinked at the small person who had appeared suddenly before her. The woman was a Liaden of middle years, with golden skin showing deep lines about eyes and mouth, and yellow hair going gray.
Priscilla smiled. "I am sorry. I was daydreaming. How may I serve you?"
The handsome face did not relax its austere lines. "The captain's compliments, Ms. Mendoza. He requests that you come to him, if you have broken your fast." She hesitated before inclining her head ever so slightly. "I am Kayzin Ne'Zame." The first mate.
Priscilla smiled again, despite the stiffness of her face, and pushed back her chair. "I've just finished this minute. I'll go to the captain as soon as I've cleaned up my tray." She was fairly confident of the route, having studied her map throughout breakfast.
"I shall escort you," Kayzin Ne'Zame said uncompromisingly.
Fear returned. Priscilla would be sent from the ship—or she would be required to remain—it was impossible to know which was the worse possibility. Breakfast was a handful of cold rock in her stomach; she abruptly remembered the woman she had met last night and wished they had had a chance to speak further.
Priscilla laid her tray gently on the conveyer belt and turned back to the first mate. "Thank you, Kayzin Ne'Zame. I am ready now."
* * *
The captain was behind the desk, fingers busy on the keypad. A glass of wine sat to hand, and the previous day's stacks of paper had given birth to two others like themselves.
"Captain," the first mate said formally. "Here is Priscilla Mendoza, come to speak with you."
He glanced up absently. "Ms. Mendoza. Good morning. I'll be with you in just a moment. Kayzin, old friend, will you come to me in an hour?"
"Certainly, Captain." She executed a disapproving bow, but he had already returned his attention to the screen, and Priscilla did not think he saw. Frowning, the mate turned on her heel; the automatic door did its best to bang shut behind her.
Priscilla stood, fighting cold nausea. Biting her lip, she studied the man behind the desk, combating fear with observation.
It was a puzzle, she decided. He was so tall, his skin warm brown rather than golden. Like all Liaden men she had seen, his face was as fine-grained as a child's, without a hint of beard. The white hair and brows made a vivid contrast; the lean cheeks and mobile mouth were not displeasing.
Really, she thought, if you don't expect him to look Liaden, he's not ugly at all.
Certainly he was not an ill-made person. Beneath the wide-sleeved shirt his shoulders were level and broad, his back straight without being rigid. The big hands moved with graceful economy on the keypad, and Priscilla did not think they would be babysoft like Rusty Morgenstern's.
Abruptly he nodded, leaned back, and extended a long arm for his glass. The slanting brows
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