Morgan's Choice by Greta van Der Rol Page B

alien
machine.
    She stiffened, instantly alert. She’d have to
get into the computer system somehow. She’d bet a year’s pay that
thing was still functioning. Set to poll at some strange interval,
maybe?
    Ravindra crossed the distance between them in
two strides. “What happened?”
    “What?”
    “You reacted to something. Just then.
What?”
    “Nothing I recognized. But something. A
pulse… something. The ship would certainly be functional. It will
take time, but I’ll do my best.”
    He almost smiled behind the helmet’s
visor. “Excellent. But make no mistake, Suri . You have no doubt noticed that the sensors in
this chamber have been turned off. So. I trust you only so far.” He
held his forefinger and thumb a hairsbreadth apart. I want your
help but if it is not forthcoming, if you try to delay, if you do
anything I find dubious…”
    He placed his fingertips on her forehead.
“Perhaps we will have to remove these things you have in your skull
and see what we can find. Do I make myself clear?”
     
     
     
     

Chapter
Nine
     
     
     
    Morgan stared up into slit pupils as
indifferent and implacable as a black hole. “Perfectly clear.”
    He took his hand away from her forehead and
flicked her cheek hard enough to jerk her head. “Mind your
manners.”
    She bowed her neck. Bastard. Arrogant
bastard. “Admiral.”
    He turned on his heel and walked away, Morgan
trailing after him, back to the change room where they shed the
orange suits.
    “In future you will work here with SenComm
Hanestran. For the moment, you will come with me.”
    She followed him into a transit car and cast
a surreptitious glance at the man beside her. He certainly had a
presence. He exuded maleness; tall, wide-shouldered with a nice
butt and the arrogance of a despot. She’d bet he’d be popular with
the women at the planetary stops. There’d be fighting in the queue.
She’d seen that sort of thing often enough, too.
    The car stopped at level six. Same as the
bridge, a few conference rooms, accommodation for a few of the very
senior staff. She’d mapped it all out days ago. Guards snapped to
attention when Ravindra left the transit. No-one got past the foyer
without approval or an appointment, it seemed.
    He strode down a corridor. The first door on
the left had his name on it, but he walked past. Morgan glanced at
the plaque; his office. He opened the next door with a press of his
palm on the wall panel and entered. She followed him. The guards
did not.
    She could have been in a top-class hotel.
Wood-paneled walls, dark blue carpet. Two soft couches faced each
other. Four matching backless poufs were grouped around a low
table. An HV unit, capable of displaying holograms or flats, stood
in a corner. A row of paintings hung on the walls and two
beautifully detailed model space craft had pride of place on a wide
cabinet.
    “Sit.” Ravindra indicated one of the couches
and sat on the other, back straight, legs crossed. A steward
appeared from a doorway Morgan hadn’t noticed.
    He bowed to what must have been forty-five
degrees. “ Srimana ?”
    “ Charb , Tullamarran.”
    The man bowed and withdrew.
    “These are my private quarters,” he said.
“You will be installed into the quarters opposite. It is a state
room reserved for important visitors. I expect it will be more
comfortable than a detention cell.”
    “ Can I have my own clothes back? The ones
on the ship I arrived on?” Manners, Morgan . “Please, Srimana ?”
    He shrugged. “Why not?”
    The manservant returned bearing an
intricately carved pot and two mugs on a tray. The sharp aroma
of charb filled the
room as he poured.
    Morgan picked up her mug and turned it in
her hands. Nice. Fine, almost fragile-looking white material with
the Fleet galaxy symbol on the side in gold. Charb . Horrible, bitter stuff. It seemed to be the
equivalent of home’s barist. Only nowhere near as nice. She’d try
not to gag.
    She sipped. Complex flavors assailed her
taste buds.