Fear God and Dread Naught by Christopher Nuttall Page A

allowed through the doors.
     
    “George,” a voice called.  She turned, just in time to see Peter Barton striding towards her, carrying a pair of fancy drinks.  The resort couldn't match the aristocratic parties she’d been forced to attend - some of her elder relatives preferred to get drunk as quickly as possible, just to make the time go swiftly - but at least it was trying.  “They’re trying to up the price again.”
     
    “I’m not surprised,” George said.  She looked him up and down, openly admiring his unclad body.  Peter Barton couldn't match an aristocratic fop for sheer handsomeness - they normally had a little plastic surgery when they turned eighteen - but there was a crudeness about his muscular body that she found attractive.  “You did tell them we had a deal?”
     
    “They’re probably regretting it now,” Barton said.  He passed her the drink, then sat down next to her.  “I’m sure they expected more from their heroes.”
     
    George shrugged.  She’d heard - through the grapevine - that she’d been marked down for a medal, along with several of the other officers and crew on Vanguard , but she hadn’t heard anything else before she’d joined Barton for a joint leave.  The Admiralty wasn't normally so slow about recognising bravery and awarding medals, according to her uncle.  She was tempted to write to him and ask what had happened, but she knew better.  Her uncle would not be pleased and her father would be furious.
     
    Either be the best officer you can be , she told herself as she sipped her drink, or resign yourself to a lifetime trapped in a gilded cage .
     
    “They probably thought we could be talked out of requesting privacy,” she said, finally.  “I’m not going to budge on that, Peter.”
     
    “Me neither,” Barton agreed.  “They’ll probably hit us with another bill as soon as we try to check out.”
     
    George shrugged.  She had an expense account - if she wished to use it - with a credit limit that would allow her to buy a new shuttlecraft, if she didn't mind her family looking over her shoulder.  Her naval account was separate, private; they wouldn't know what she chose to spend her wages on.  Or so she hoped.  Naval accounts were supposed to be secure, at least without a court order, but she doubted that an accountant would deny the First Space Lord a glimpse at his niece’s accounts, if he thought to ask.
     
    “We paid what they demanded in advance,” she reminded him, dryly.  “They don't have a right to anything else.”
     
    She glanced at him, watching as his gaze wandered over the ocean.  He wasn't what her family wanted for her, not when he was just a Gunnery Officer.  And as much as she’d enjoyed what they’d been doing together over the past few days, she knew better than to think they had anything permanent.  Their affair would be a minor scandal, on Mars, but on Vanguard it would be a gross breach of regulations.  She knew, all too well, just what her uncle would have to say about it, if they were caught in a privacy tube.  She’d be lucky if she was allowed to resign without a major fuss.
     
    The swimmers were making their way back to their encampment, followed by a pair of equally nude women.  George wondered, idly, if they were their lovers or merely resort staff, eager to make sure their guests were catered to in every way.  She hadn't been able to believe the number of options on the menu, even if they were all technically legal on Mars.  But then, given the amount of money visitors splashed around, she could understand why the staff went out of their way to please.  A single bad report could be disastrous.
     
    She watched as the young men scrambled out of the water, feeling oddly unconcerned about their nakedness - or hers.  Nudity was nothing special, she supposed, when everyone was nude.  Even the staff wore nothing but their birthday suits.  The two girls followed the men out of the water, their