The Phoenix Darkness by Richard L. Sanders Page A

had
been sleep deprived and overworked, like the rest of the crew, but
that was no excuse, and she reprimanded herself inwardly for
allowing her mind to wander.
    “Thank you, Lt. Winters,” said Summers. “Mr.
Iwate, how much longer until we can get a positive ID? And have we
got anything new?”
    “At least five more minutes before we can
begin scanning and identifying ships with maximum accuracy at
present depth. Probably more like seven minutes, considering Ms.
Winters will have to decrease our jump depth before we finalize
approach into the system.”
    Ms. Winters ? Summers had never heard
Shen refer to Sarah as Ms. Winters before, or in any formal
way. Perhaps Summers command style, the correct one, was finally
taking root onboard the formerly hopeless IWS Nighthawk .
    Captain Nimoux finished his walk around the
Bridge and returned to his seat beside the command chair.
“Commander, if I may?” he hesitated.
    “What is it?” Summers asked, perhaps a bit
too curiously.
    “I know this is not the best time, we
discussed a great deal of this during my debriefing before I put on
this uniform.” He glanced down at the black-and-silver that seemed
so damned appropriate on his tall frame. “But, when you have a
moment, I still have a great deal of questions, ones which have
been bothering me since I arrived.”
    “You’re right, this is not the time,” said
Summers, as she concurrently got a report from Cassidy they were
only minutes away from the system. “However,” she looked into his
eyes, trying to appear stern and not melt before them, a task she
believed she did successfully. “I will gladly answer all of your
questions at the earliest possible time.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    Him calling her, “Sir,” nearly
made her blush. But, somehow, she kept her composure and looked
away from him, chiding herself internally for her foolish feelings.
“All hands, Condition One. Sound general quarters. Mr. Roy, keep
our shields and energy weapon powered down until I say
otherwise.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    With that, the Bridge came to life as did the
lower decks, now subjected to the Nighthawk’s klaxon.

Chapter 3

    “The repairs you ordered, Captain ,”
she said the word with a sneer, “are completed.” Jasmine looked at
Zander with squinty eyes of disapproval and suspicion. And somehow
her insult seemed to come across all the more disrespectful because
of her accent. But because she hadn’t broken any of the codes he’d
created for those serving with him on the Duchess , he knew
he could not punish her, not openly.
    “Thank you,” he said, as if pretending not to
have heard the derision in her voice. He walked past her, trying to
resist the urge to brush up against her, entirely by accident of
course, and feel just a whisper of her sensual heat. For that was
what made Jasmine so dangerous, what allowed her to challenge him
more openly and more often than any other sailor, trader, or pirate
he’d ever brought aboard. Somehow, in something about her thick
ebony lips and radiating out of her raw, womanly dark curves, which
she made no effort to hide in what she chose what to wear, she had
power. And despite all the alarm bells inside Zander’s head and all
the promises he’d made, that he’d be rid of her tomorrow, that he’d
have her made an example of, that he’d maroon her or jettison her
or otherwise deal with her , they never became concrete
plans.
    And now again, as he faced an unhappy,
borderline mutinous crew, all of whom had done his bidding and none
of whom had yet been paid for it, Zander knew he should've gotten
rid of Jasmine long, long ago. Better yet, he should have had his
way with her and been off, never to see her again. Though even that
fantasy had its own element of fear deep inside his heart; for all
his pride, he honestly wasn’t even sure he could take her. He half
expected her to rip his scrotum from his body, declare herself the
new captain, and have him fed to dogs…
    “What