Moonstruck by Susan Grant Page A

eyes met. Control, Bandar. You didn’t become an admiral because you are soft. Yes, she had to rise above her emotions. They had no place in this job. “My crew—my former crew—have been told to upload their gear to the Unity, ” he continued. Everyone would stay on board tonight, even though no launch date had been set.
    “Admiral Bandar.”
    Brit’s heart leaped in relief at the reassuringly familiar voice as Lieutenant Keyren walked up to them. The girl had the misfortune of an open, honest face that couldn’t conceal anything. Hadley glanced from her to Rorkken with clear concern and amazement. The only other times she’d seen Brit this close to a Drakken was during prisoner-of-war transfers.
    Brit went through the formalities of introduction. “Warleader Rorkken, this is my executive officer, Lt. Hadley Keyren.”
    They exchanged greetings. “Nice to meet you, sir,” Hadley said.
    Her executive officer, calling a Hordish pirate “sir.” The galaxy had changed overnight.
    The next sight underscored that thought. The area around the gangway was crowded. Dozens of Drakken bustled about uploading supplies and equipment. Hairstyles of all descriptions, jewels and tattoos, outfits of leather and frayed fabric that could be considered uniforms only in the broadest sense: the sight of them hit her senses at the same time as their stench.
    She halted, Hadley bumping up against her. “Sorry, Admiral.”
    The Drakken in the corridor turned to stare. “Stick your eyes on your work,” Rorkken growled.
    They went back to loading the ship, but dozens stole glances at her and Lieutenant Keyren. Hadley watched the scene as if it were a badly edited horror holo-feature. Perhaps in their new Triad uniforms the Drakken would look less like Horde, and more like…braided, beringed, tattooed Horde wearing Triad uniforms. Brit swallowed a groan. “I’ll hold you responsible for any contraband brought aboard the vessel.”
    “Onto the Unity? ” His eyes crinkled with a hint of amusement as they did each time she refused to call her ship by such a wimpy name. She despised that she amused this man. Did he have to be so damn attractive?
    “Yes, the…” The name was too pitiful to utter. “No stolen goods. No stowaways. No hallucinogenic substances.”
    “As long as sweef doesn’t fall under the category of hallucinogen, I can vouch for the contents of what they’re bringing aboard.” He wore that half smile again, as if teasing her.
    She pretended not to notice. Sweef was distilled from the berries of a type of conifer and mixed with an additive used in robot hydraulics fluid. Homemade stills abounded on military ships. It was cheap, easy to make. Abuse rotted the teeth not to mention various internal organs without widespread use of nanomeds to reverse the damage. “I don’t know how you Drakken tolerate the stuff. It’s poison.”
    “Aye. But sometimes, a little poison is better than the alternative.”
    “And what is that?”
    “Thinking. Thinking too hard.”
    Something in the Drakken’s voice grabbed at her. She knew all about thinking too hard. She’d plunged herself into her career to avoid doing just that. She avoided thinking…thinking about the past. Must never fall into that trap. She swallowed, squaring her shoulders. “I want you to report to the ship’s physician ASAP. Arrange for a full exam.”
    “I assure you, Admiral, I’m no alcoholic.”
    “I assure you, Warleader, had I suspected that you were, you wouldn’t have set foot on…my vessel.” The Unity, his glance insisted. “You have a cut on your right middle finger, on the knuckle.”
    “Ah. So I do. I think I’ll survive without a doctor’s visit,” he added dryly.
    “I should hope so. The fact that you have a healing cut at all indicates the low level of nanomeds in your system.”
    “More like no nanomeds.”
    Brit had never before spent time contemplating how the Drakken warlord had treated his own citizens. In the