Grayson Sontang in Space

Grayson was laying naked, belly down on top of a tangle of sheets on her bed. When she heard the portal slide open, her eyes flew open, too. Shit, she'd forgotten to hit the manual lock after Bogart left last night. She rolled just enough to look over her shoulder and see Hendon leaning against to portal, scowling at her.

"You just couldn't keep your hands off him, could you?" he accused.

She flopped back down and closed her eyes. "You'll have to be more specific. I musta had, like, ten guys in here last night."

"You know who I mean. The kid."

She snorted. "He must be, what, twenty-three, twenty-four. Besides, if memory serves me, he had just as many hands involved as I did."

"Get up," he ordered.

"You see this ass?" Grayson asked, reaching behind and pointing, just in case he wasn't sure what part of her anatomy she was referring to. "This is a happy ass and it wants to stay in bed longer." He strode across the room and picked through the clothing on the floor till he found a wrap-around sarong like she had been wearing. He tossed it at her.

"Get up and get dressed."

She peeled it off her face and let it fall back onto the floor. "In dirty laundry? Really?"

He put his hands on his hips. "Do you have any clean laundry."

She shrugged where she lay. "The maid hasn't been in in weeks. What the hell is so all-fired important?"

"I got some sector reports I'd like to go over with you and they're having a problem with one of your circuit modules on the lower level. I thought you might like to look at it before they tear it apart and rebuild it."

She jumped up on the bed and threw a pillow at him. "There is nothing wrong with my circuit modules. You idiots keep your hands off them."

He gave her that wolffish smile that she dreaded. "You're right. They're fine. But I figured that would get you up. Now, do you think you can find something to wear in this mess."

She scowled at him. "Hal, coffee and plastic eggs in ten minutes on the bridge." She jumped down to the floor and yanked open a drawer, pulling out a cotton tee shirt and pants. Hendon watched her dress.

"Don't believe in underwear?"

"I might be in a hurry to rape your man-child again."

When she turned to head for the bridge, he stood right in front of her. "He's not a spacer like you. He's been an officer candidate practically since the day he was born."

"So he's clean and I'm dirty and I'm dragging him down into the slime pit. Am I getting that right?" When he only stared down at her, she exclaimed, "Get the fuck out of my way or this spacer whore is going to shove your balls up and out through your nose!"

"You have the power to ruin his career," he said quietly. "Right here, right now, there are people on this ship who could get him thrown out of the service on a whim. And yes, they think of you as a dirty spacer whore."

Grayson trembled with anger. She had never particularly felt like slapping anyone before. It definitely wasn't her style, but she felt her arm swing up and saw him flinch as she stared into his eyes. He must have been expecting it though, because his hand caught her wrist right before she could connect. "I do not think of you that way. My team does not think of you that way. They know the hard work, legal or otherwise, that goes into acquiring a ship and making it as a trader. But this is exactly why you don't carry people, right? Because the kind of people willing to pay to go on jaunts around in space, are the kind of people that would look at you, no matter how successful you were, and think spacer."

"And everybody knows all women spacers are whores," she concluded bitterly. "Let go of me." She looked away from him, her tone more defeated than defiant. He held her wrist for a moment longer.

"Some of us know better," he said quietly. "Just not the ones that matter right now."

She tugged and he released her wrist. As she walked past him, she shook herself and in two steps, her confident stride was back. He followed, admiring the ass that had wanted to stay in bed.

When Grayson strode onto the bridge she scowled at Evans, who quickly fled her command seat. "Hal, where's my breakfast?" she demanded.

"In the dumbwaiter," the computer replied patiently.

She went to the dumbwaiter, pulled out the plate of scrambled, synthetic eggs and made a face, shoving it back inside and settling for the cup of coffee. "Don't suppose that yacht had any chickens on it," she muttered as Hendon followed her onto the bridge.

He shrugged. "Maybe some liquid eggs. I'll find out. Why did you order that if you weren't going to eat it?"

"That's how I maintain my girlish figure," she explained. "Only ask for food I can't stand the thought of eating." She slid into the command seat that Evans had nicely warmed up for her. "Don't you ever sleep?" she asked him. "I thought they had regulations about that."

"Just waiting for you to take over," Evans replied.

"This isn't a Fed fighter, you know. Hal is perfectly capable of letting me know if something needs my attention and of taking my orders from anywhere on the ship."

"Confed," Hendon muttered in correction.

"Same difference," she snapped, shooting a glare at him. "You're both a pain in my ass."

"Really? Because rumor has it you aren't that choosy when it comes to your bed," Hendon replied calmly.

If looks could kill, she would have been up for the death penalty, but Hendon merely stared back. Evans hunched his shoulders and concentrated on a monitor in front of him. "So where are these sector reports that are so damned important."

Hendon reached over her shoulder and tapped a button. A report jumped up on her screen. Grayson scrolled through it. Then scrolled some more. Then more. "This is going to take hours to read," she complained.

"That's just the first one," he pointed out helpfully.

"Why can't you read it? That's your job."

"In the first place, I did read them. Last night. while I was waiting for Bogart to return to quarters," he added snidely. "In the second place, my job is catching smugglers, not navigating dangerous and politically ambiguous space. In the third place, you are the one who chose a different route than the one my captain was prepared to brief us on."

"Then make Evans read them."

"I did. Last night. But I navigate stars and planets and asteroids, not pirates and ambushes and rebels," he said, not turning around.

"Face it. I have. Much as I hate to admit it, you're our resident expert," Hendon pointed out.

"What about the pilot from the yacht?" she insisted.

"Yeah, he didn't do such a great job, now, did he? I've demoted him to swabbie. You like to read. So here you go, read."

"Gonna need more coffee, Hal," she muttered as she slumped in her chair.

"Take your down time, Evans," Hendon said, and the pilot seemed only too eager to leave the tension-filled bridge. Hendon slipped into the control seat he vacated and began calling up information on the monitors. Grayson ignored him, assuming Hal would inform her if there was a concern. She concentrated on speed-reading the sector reports and speed-drinking her coffee for the next couple of hours.

"Grayson?" Hal said, disrupting the quiet on the bridge.

She looked at the computer banks in surprise. The computer rarely called her by name to get her attention, since it's voice was distinctive. And to say her name, without following that with whatever information it wanted her to have was totally unheard of. One of the side monitors flashed and she glanced at it with a puzzled frown. On the lower level, in the ring of open space about her cargo holds, she saw a variety of her bots, racing at their top speeds and careening off the walls to either side. Grayson stared, wondering how so many bots could malfunction all at the same time. Then she saw a number of children racing after the bots, laughing.

"Those little shitheads!" she screamed, racing for the portal that Hal was already opening. Hendon stared after her in confusion for a moment, before following. Grayson reached the bridgework on the other side of the portal and leapt over the railing to the lower level, landing in a cushioning crouch then springing back to her feet and grabbing up the nearest child, who screamed shrilly in her ear.

"Hal, kill power to all the bots," she ordered, screaming herself to be heard over the boy who struggled vainly in her arms, despite the fact that he was only a bit smaller than she. She had the boy laid out on the floor, her bare foot on his throat and was explaining to him what would happen if he didn't shut up immediately when Hendon finally caught up with her. He had taken the more sedate access ladder to the lower level. He lifted Grayson off the kid the same way she had grabbed the kid only moments before.

"Let's everybody calm down," Hendon suggested, lifting the boy to his feet, but not letting go of his arm.

"These little shitheads are gonna..."

"Go back to the bridge," Hendon ordered.

Grayson glared at him. "I'm not one of your flunkies."

"Please go back to the bridge," he amended as people began to pour out of the cargo holds to witness the excitement. "I will handle this."

Grayson turned to the collection of children that had skidded to a stop just short of where she had intercepted the frontrunner of their pack. There were two girls and three boys, all somewhere between eight and twelve. "I want the ringleader and I want him now!" The frontrunner was maybe a year or two older, the tallest she noted, as Hendon let him join the others. "Give me the ringleader or I'll throw the lot of you out the airlock," she threatened. There was a nervous giggle or two, but they were immediately silenced when Hendon spoke.

"Grayson, that would be murder." She continued to glare at the children and they realized if he was taking her seriously, maybe they should too. One of girls pushed the smallest boy forward. He didn't protest or step back. Instead, he slowly and defiantly raised his eyes to Grayson.

"Shit," Hendon muttered, so softly Grayson suspected she was the only one that heard. She glanced at Hendon, then back at the boy. Then she threw on her best poker face, because the face staring back at her was an almost exact image of the face that stared back at her from mirrors when she was that age.

"That's the prince, isn't it?" she whispered.

"Yup," Hendon replied, also in a whisper.

Grayson could hear someone approaching from behind. She concentrated on the boy. "This was your idea? You thought it would be fun to smash my bots?"

"We were just racing them," he replied, unfazed.

"And how did you get control of them?" she demanded. When he just glared at her defiantly, she held out her hand. "Give it to me. Now!"

The boy jumped slightly at her tone of the last word and reached into his pocket, pulling out an obviously homemade device designed to short circuit, and thereby erase, the command center of the bot, allowing new commands to be entered. "I can assure you he will be dealt with appropriately," a voice from behind her said. Grayson did a doublecheck on her poker face, then turned to the newcomer.

"And you are?" she asked, though she knew perfectly well.

"I am Agent Goldstone. And this is Prince Cassias, son of the King of Sirius, Emperor of Sirius Sector."

"Alleged Emperor," Grayson pointed out.

He smiled coldly. "I have been charged with security for the prince. I apologize for his youthful antics."

Grayson's features hardened. "His youthful antics may have destroyed bots that I depend on to care for the ship's biosystems - and therefore my biosystem. Which is to say my life."

"I can assure you any damaged bots will be replaced. You can see that he is too young to understand the consequences of his actions."

"And how long do you think you can keep making that excuse for him?" she asked, even as Hendon was grabbing her arm and tugging her away.

"Thank you, Sir," Hendon nodded as formally as he could over his shoulder, pulling forcefully on Grayson. He took her around to the elevator for the smaller cargo holds, knowing she would create a major scene if he tried to pull her all the way up a ladder. It also got them out of sight and earshot of the milling yachters. Grayson was staring in dismay at one of the bots that appeared to be smashed beyond repair as they waited for the elevator. She had finally stopped resisting Hendon, realizing it was foolish to continue arguing with Goldstone and risk him recognizing her. It had been eight years, several cosmetic surgeries and many parsecs since he had seen her last, but then, recognizing enemies was his profession.

"They will make it good," Hendon told her. "You know that, I suspect. It serves no purpose to antagonize the royal family. Or Goldstone."

"Fine," she snapped, pulling free of his grip as the elevator arrived. "Just keep them the hell away from me."

When they were back on the bridge, Grayson slumped into her chair, staring at the main screen without really seeing it. Hendon took the liberty of ordering more coffee for her and delivering it to her console before he settled into the control chair and swiveled to look up at her. "You can't tell me you didn't pull pranks like that when you were a kid," he said.

She slowly collected herself and looked away from the screen. "I didn't get caught," she replied, taking a swig of coffee.

"I'm curious," he said. When he didn't continue, she finally looked at him. "Most people, someone shoves the littlest guy forward as the culprit, they would assume he was just being offered up as the scapegoat. You didn't. How come?"

She shrugged. "I guess it was his face. I need to go to my quarters for a few minutes."

"Okay," he agreed, but he watched her closely as she strode from the bridge.

When the portal of her bedroom closed behind her, Grayson said, "Hal. Camera off." She sat on the bed and pulled a bottle of Tantalean brandy from the cabinet beside the headboard. She took a deep breath and then a large swallow of the brandy. When the burn from that faded, she took another even deeper draught, then put the bottle back, rubbed her forehead wearily and headed back for the bridge. Without saying anything to Hendon, she settled back into her chair and began studying sector reports again.

Some hours later, they had reached speed for the next wormhole and Grayson was able to cut the hydrogen engines, adjust her drift to line up on the wormhole, and set up the coast for the next jump. She excused herself from the bridge, telling Hendon he could call Evans or not, if he felt someone actually needed to be on the bridge at all times. Then she went back to her quarters and dug out the bottle of brandy again. She only had one swig. The great thing about Tantalean brandy was that a little went a long way. When she ordered her steak from Hal, though, it was only to find out that the kitchen bot was supposedly still being repaired by Het and Sip. She couldn't help but wonder if that would make all her food smell like Siriuns as she made her way down to the kitchen to try to cook the steak herself. She was trying to make sense of what Hal was telling her about the broiler controls when Hendon entered. He watched for a moment as she argued with Hal about which appliance even contained the broiler and whether broiling was the best way to prepare the meat before he finally offered to do it for her.

She sat on one of the food prep surfaces and watched as the bulky Confed officer went all domestic. "How can you know how every part of your ship works except the kitchen?" he asked affably.

She shrugged. "Grew up poor. If all you can afford to eat is rice, that's all you need to know how to cook. There's more steaks in the refrige if you want one."

He shook his head. "Save them for yourself. If you're only going to eat once a day, I'd prefer it be something substantial. Need our pilot to be clearheaded, now, don't we?"

Grayson stared at his back, then realized he was watching her reflection in one of the appliances. When he realized that she had realized, he turned around, ending the game. "You might want to check that bottle of brandy in your cabinet. The level seems to be dropping. It might be leaking."

She slid off the countertop. "I'll go do that now."

He reached across to the edge of the counter, blocking her exit. "What's going on with you? This isn't about a few bots."

"Forget the steak. I've decided I'm not hungry."

He suddenly reached down and grabbed her waist with his large hands, lifting her back up onto the counter. "Look, you don't want to talk to me. Fine. But you are going to eat. And you're not going to drink when you're taking us through a wormhole. Agreed?"

She rolled her eyes. "And you're going to stay out of my cabinets? And not burn down my kitchen," she added as smoke began to puff out of the broiler unit.

"I can live with that," he agreed, spinning around to vent the smoke. Grayson watched as he puttered about the tiny kitchen, designed for a much more compact bot than your typical Confed. When he finally turned back with a plate in hand, it was heaped with food, not just the steak, and most of it microwaved, but still. She slid off the counter and took the plate. "Come on. You can eat in the mess."

"I have a mess?"

"Not everybody works, eats, and sleeps in the command chair," he admonished.

Grayson obligingly followed him to the next room over. Bogart and the pilot were in there, but had finished eating and they nodded politely and left before Grayson even made it to the small table. Hendon sat down opposite her. "You're not going to eat?" she asked conversationally, not really caring what the answer would be.

"In a little bit." He rested his elbows on the table and crossed his arms. "You still want to play poker tonight? I probably should tell you that Goldstone will be there."

Grayson paused in mid-bite and sighed. She'd already aroused Hendon's curiosity by losing her cool after seeing both the boy and Goldstone. She knew if she bowed out of the game, it would only make him even more curious. Maybe she could deflect his curiosity and make Goldstone's memories a little fuzzier. Two birds with one stone. "Can I bring some brandy?"

"Tantalean? It's illegal."

"Not in space."

"My men can't drink it."

"I'll bring something else for them."

"You want to get the Siriuns drunk," he accused. "Is that how you win at poker?"

"I take my advantages wherever I can find them."

He gave that grin again. "Okay."

"Good. Where are we playing?"

"In the rec room."

"I have a rec room?"

****

Grayson was on her third glass of brandy. The two human Siriuns - Goldstone and another security person named Hackner - had long since given up trying to keep pace with her. They'd had closer to one and a half and were definitely showing the effects, though they probably didn't realize it. The Confeds did though and were quietly nursing their beers as they collected chips. Evans, who probably was assigned to bridge duty for the night, had settled for water. Grayson felt sorry for him. Sip, the true Siriun was just finishing his second glass of brandy. Apparently, Alliance Officers didn't have the same restrictions that the Confeds had. However, Grayson had no idea if it was affecting him. For all she knew, he(?) could have been drinking water. Fortunately, he didn't seem able to read the humans any better than they could read him.

She was pleased to see that Bogart was attempting to employ her advice from last night, though he seemed to avoid any eye contact with her. For her part, she was letting the others think the brandy was beginning to affect her. Her 'tells' became more pronounced as the evening wore on and she saw Hendon raise an eyebrow at her a couple of times. Bogart was ignoring almost everything she did, though she caught him smiling to himself once when she scratched the back of her neck several times over, then collected a big pot on an even bigger bluff. As she had suspected, Hendon was a supreme bluffer. The only time she was relatively sure that he wasn't bluffing was when he grinned as he collected his pot. Like she'd told Bogart, if he was grinning, it was consciously, purposefully; not from pleasure or humor.