Morgan Selwood 3: A Victory Celebration Read online

  A VICTORY CELEBRATION

  By

  GRETA van der ROL

  What’s good for the gander has to be good for the goose … or so Morgan thinks. The fleet has won a major battle and Ravindra’s doing his celebratory thing with his officers. Morgan gets a rare invite for a girls’ night out. Dinner, a little dancing, a little jealous pining… And a whole lot of trouble when Ravindra discovers his lady is out ’n about... without protection. What started as an innocent night on the town turns into something very, very different.

  A Victory Celebration

  Copyright ©2012 by Greta van der Rol

  Second electronic edition by PubRight

  Cover by Greta van der Rol

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published in the United States of America with international distribution.

  DEDICATION

  To the people who wanted a bit more between Morgan and Ravindra…

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  DEDICATION

  A Victory Celebration

  Excerpt: MORGAN’S CHOICE

  About the Author

  Additional Titles from Greta van der Rol

  A VICTORY CELEBRATION

  "I'm not going," said Morgan.

  Ravindra’s holographic image, transmitted from the presidential palace on the planet the battle cruiser orbited, frowned. "I would like you to be there. Without your assistance this war would still be tearing the planet apart."

  "Look, I just tweaked a few gadgets, improved your technology. It's my job, what I was…"

  'Designed'.

  Damn, she hated that word. Even if it was true. "It's what I do. Your troops did the job."

  He still glowered at her. Not happy, not at all. "But you provided the answer. Without your 'gadgets', we'd still be looking for the rebels." He used his fingers to put the inverted commas around the word.

  "I just did my job." She shrugged. "Admiral, this is your job, not mine. You know me; I don’t like crowds and pompous presidential speeches. I’ll probably offend somebody."

  Quirking his lips he nodded. "All right."

  Yes. She’d won that round.

  His eyes narrowed and his chin lifted. "I shall expect you to attend the ball tomorrow night, though."

  "Fine." She'd cross that bridge when she reached it.

  "So you will stay on Vidhvansaka?" His eyes searched her face.

  "Of course. I thought I'd get back to working on the experimental shift drive."

  "Ah." His head jerked up. "The tests were successful?"

  I wish. "No. The model never arrived at its destination. My guess is whatever happened to Curlew also happened to it."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  She raised a shoulder. "Proven engine design. The model made the distance with a standard drive. This time it disappeared. I think I'll crawl all over the model one more time. I'm sure I can make this work."

  She met his gaze, those fierce amber eyes reflective as he tapped the tops of his fingers together. He wanted that shift drive, a design capable of slashing the time taken to travel from one system to another.

  He gazed at her for a moment longer, then blew out a breath. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

  "I’m looking forward to it. You enjoy yourself." She flicked him a kiss with her fingertips and turned off the transmission.

  Morgan dropped onto the couch. All of a sudden her state room on the battle cruiser seemed empty and lonely. She'd won too easily. Maybe he was getting tired of her? Sure, she and Ravindra shared her bed or his most nights when they were together, but they didn't advertise their relationship. An alien and a Fleet admiral? She knew, much as she loved him, that the day would come when he'd agree to one of these arranged marriages with some daughter of another Fleet admiral.

  As for tonight… she'd heard about these victory celebrations. The hosts provided ‘entertainment’ to all senior officers, take your pick of nubile wenches. She'd heard stories of Ravindra's prowess when they thought she couldn't hear. One girl wasn't always enough, it seemed. Mind you, that was before she and Ravindra had come to an understanding, but then again, she hadn't seen much of him the past few weeks. She had no illusions about men, especially senior officers. For the first time in an age she wished she was twenty-five again. She should have stuck to hot-shot pilots like Coreb, not fall in love.

  What the hell. She hadn't thought about Coreb in an age. He'd been fun, a good dancer, not bad in bed. But not like Ravindra.

  Oh, for pity's sake. She jumped off the sofa. The best thing she could do was go and work.

  The battle cruiser felt like a ghost ship. She rattled around corridors normally busy with people coming and going. Only once did she encounter a group of fleeters in dress uniform, laughing and joking as they made their way down to the hangar bays where the transports ferried the crew down to the surface. She glanced over her shoulder at them as they filled the lift she'd just left. They looked like a bunch of college kids. She grinned. It wasn't a bad analogy; the ship was like a college during the summer vacation.

  She strode on, her footfalls loud in the quiet. Down in the bowels of the ship, the door to the engineering section slid aside as she approached. Two bored techs sat at work stations, probably playing games judging by their quick movements to cover up whatever they were doing. The benches gleamed, devoid of tools and equipment, and empty chairs stood in front of blank screens.

  The duty officer looked up from his office in the corner, eyebrows arching in surprise. "Morgan. What brings you here?" He came out to meet her.

  "I thought I might go over the model again."

  "You've thought of something?"

  She smiled at the look of hope that spread over his face. He was one of the engineers who jostled for a chance to learn from her. "Not really. But if I take another look I might think of something."

  "Did you know we brought your ship out of quarantine?" He stepped back and gestured over his shoulder through the window overlooking the hangar where ships undergoing maintenance were kept.

  Curlew sat, squat and ugly, in a bay in the corner. Morgan's heart skipped a beat. She'd been here in Manesai space for a little over a year, by Manesai reckoning. A year since the experimental shift drive in that little freighter had malfunctioned, throwing her out of everything she had ever known into a distant place, another universe, another time? She swallowed the lump in her throat. Seeing it again brought back memories. Her last meeting with her boss, Admiral Makasa, as they ate dinner at a restaurant by the sea. She almost heard his dark chocolate voice telling her about the ship's experimental drive. "Put it through its paces, Morgan. If this works, we can go anywhere in the galaxy; anywhere at all." She'd put it through its paces, all right. The drive had been playing up before they'd reached Belsun Station, she didn't get a chance to finish fixing it there because of Jones and Tariq and their hare-brained smuggling scheme. And then they'd disappeared. But although the drive had malfunctioned, she was sure that the techs who had built the system were on the right track. If she could fix the drive, maybe she could even go
… home. A shiver shimmied down her spine. She hadn't thought about home in months. Not that she wanted to go back there forever, but it would be nice to see Torreno again, meet some of her few friends.

  Jarman's voice startled her. "I'd be happy to help. There's not much doing here." He looked like a puppy wanting to go for a walk. All he needed was the lead dangling out of his mouth.

  She rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment. "I'll be sure to involve you where I can, Jarman." Then she pulled out a chair at a workstation. The gas hissed as she sat, accentuating the silence. She'd come here for some company. Oh, well. A final check of the model, then she might crawl over Curlew again. Maybe Lieutenant Jarman would like that.

  She focused her attention on the data port, opening the connection with the processor in her brain. Part of her consciousness became a bright data highway, a procession of packets holding data. A thought brought up the schematic for the shift drive. For Jarman's benefit she directed the output to the visual projector in the lab where the device appeared in 3D detail. Hanging in midair, it looked so simple. But then, the best devices were simple, with few moving parts and elegant design. This one was no different, but somewhere, somehow, it was flawed. First things first. Check, yet again, that all the specs were right, the materials strong enough, the calculations correct.

  As the processor in her implant worked on the calculations, her mind drifted, reliving old times. The beach at Torreno, night clubs with her friend Ella, her wedding to Alby. Huh. That had been a mistake. She'd learnt to dance on Miranda during one leave and then practiced with Coreb. She wondered where he'd be now, if he even knew she had gone missing somewhere out beyond the nebula they called Calisto's Veil. And then she'd met Ravindra. The love of her life. She shivered at the memory of his fingers on her skin, his lips on hers, his touch. She squirmed, her breath shortening.

  Oh, bloody hell. I just can't concentrate.

  The model hung in mid air, motionless. Morgan broke the connection to the data port, leaned back in the chair and flung the nearest object to hand across the room. "Shit."

  "Morgan?" Leila Peris stared at her, a data cube in her raised hand.

  Oh, shit. That must've been what she'd thrown. "You caught that?"

  Leila nodded.

  "Sorry." Morgan lifted a hand. "Just letting out some frustration. What are you doing here? I thought you were on leave?"

  Leila stepped forward and put the data cube back on Morgan's desk, leaning forward so she could lower her voice. "I heard you were still on the ship. You won't be joining the admiral?"

  Morgan glanced at the two techs. They were bent over their screens. Not that it mattered. The whole ship had to be aware that she and Ravindra were a bit more than friends.

  "Not tonight. He'll be celebrating with his men."

  "Aren’t you jealous?" Leila asked, propping a hip on the desk. They'd become friends, after a fashion. Leila was a promising engineer who had been involved in building and testing the model ship. She wasn't afraid to ask questions and wasn't afraid of Morgan.

  Of course I'm not. "No. I’m not the only woman in his life; never was, never will be. That’s the way it is." Maybe a little bit jealous. But she was nothing if not pragmatic.

  "Why don’t you come with us? Girls' night out? We're going out for a really expensive dinner and then maybe to a club to do some dancing. All the local girls will be off trying to latch on to a fleeter so there are plenty of local guys to dance with. And don't worry if you can't dance. We can teach you."

  Female company, a good dinner, some dancing. Yes, better than working by herself, mooning about Ravindra. Dancing. Yes, she could dance. The memory made her smile. Would Ravindra mind? Then again, did she care if he did? A resounding ‘no’ to that one. He lived his life, she lived hers.

  "It sounds like fun, actually," she said at last. "Who else is going?"

  "Bella Chantriss. You know her."

  Morgan nodded. The doctor who'd treated her after her illness on Krystor.

  "And two friends of mine, one from logistics and one from catering. Don't worry, I'll tell them not to ask too many questions."

  Too many questions about her, or Ravindra. Leila had learnt that lesson in the past few weeks. She was a good sort. So a party of five, a girls' night out. "Okay. Let's do it."

  "Great." Beaming, Leila stood. "We're meeting at bay B-14. Wear something pretty you can dance in."

  "I'll be there."

  Morgan watched her leave. Dinner and dancing. That's what she needed; to get away from here, do something different, recharge. And right now she needed a shower and to pick an outfit.

  She waved her fingers at Jarman as she bounced out of Engineering.

  Back in her quarters she riffled through the dresses. All too staid and boring, designed for stuffy officers' messes, not for partying. She'd wear her flexi-dress, then she could adjust if she had to.

  She connected her implant to the dress's tiny processor and selected blue, the color of the sky at dusk. The reflectors in the fabric shifted as instructed. For good measure she faded the color from dark at the neckline to a few shades lighter at the hem. She added some silver sprinkles here and there about the bodice. Mid-calf seemed to be the prevailing fashion, fitted at the waist, scoop neckline. She spun around in front of the mirror, watching the skirt flare. Fantastic. She was going to enjoy this. Clutching a purse, she headed for the door. Her comunit lay on the table. She paused, chewing on her lower lip.

  Should she call him? And say what? I’m going out with a bunch of girls, will that be all right? Oh, get real, Morgan. He's probably picking out his fancy right now. Let him have his rut with the rest of the boys.

  In bay B-14 Leila stood next to the airlock, looking out for her. "Come on, quick. Everybody else is in."

  They closed the airlock hatch behind her before she’d even reached the ramp.

  ***

  President Assarta had finally stopped speaking. Ravindra stood up to make the acceptance speech on behalf of the fleet. He’d be brief. Nobody wanted to listen to him, either.

  "We are pleased to have been instrumental in ridding your planet of the threat you faced," he said. "And now I know my officers look forward to enjoying your hospitality."

  He sat down to thunderous applause.

  Ravindra glanced around the rectangle of tables at rows of men in white uniforms, talking and laughing, with many a look towards the main entrance to the room, where the dancers would enter. They were looking forward to it and they deserved it. Once the main rebel stronghold had been located, thanks to Morgan's stealth satellite technology, the campaign had been swift and brutal. A short war was a good war.

  He swirled his glass, watching the liquor cling to the sides. Strange. Not so long ago he would have enjoyed one of these functions as much as the next man. Now? Morgan was up there, messing with a shift drive. He was sure she'd solve the problem, would have earlier if he hadn't diverted her skills onto the stealth technology. He was beginning to wish he'd insisted she come with him. They hadn't spent all that much time together in the last few weeks, what with the campaign. He understood her reluctance; she would have been one of the few women here and yes, most of them were a bunch of boring, self-important toadies. And after dinner, of course, all the women had left. All, that is, except the entertainers. They pranced in now, scantily dressed young women carrying scarves, pirouetting to a soft musical accompaniment.

  He waved off the steward offering to refill his glass and watched dispassionately as they swayed and spun, weaving their scarves around their bodies, lithe and seductive. They didn’t leave much to the imagination. Could Morgan dance? He didn’t know, there had never been an opportunity.

  Captain Lomandra leaned towards him. "Which one do you fancy?"

  Ravindra turned to him, noting the glint in his eye, the way his thumb caressed the glass he held. The captain, at least, couldn't wait. "I hadn’t really thought about it."

  Lomandra’s eyebrows shot up. He lifted o
ne shoulder and turned away to watch the girls. They sprang in unison, backs arched, breasts straining against their gowns while their scarves floated behind them.

  He should have brought her with him. They could have been in a hotel room by now, or back on the flagship making their own fun. He pulled his comunit off his belt and selected her ID. One of the dancers tried to wind a scarf around his neck. He waved her away and she ran her fingers through Lomandra's hair instead, insinuating herself onto his lap as she did so.

  The call rang out.

  He gazed at the unit in his hand. Poor connection? He stood and strode towards the exit.

  ***

  Morgan gazed out of the taxi at tall towers ablaze with lights. Pedestrians jostled on the walkways and vehicles crawled along the streets. Quite a few uniforms were sprinkled amongst the crowd. The local businesses would be booming with a fleet this size in town. Everywhere advertising hoardings added their color. A vibrant city full of life and vigor. Here, at least, she saw no signs of the civil war that had wracked the planet for years. That would be out in the back blocks, where the poorer people lived. The taxi passed an advertisement showing a new skimmer with a scantily-dressed young woman draped over the seats. Some things never changed whichever planet you were on, whichever society you were in. She wondered what the dancing girls would be wearing at Ravindra’s boys own session. A damn sight less than the girl in the awning, she’d guess.

  Their taxi pulled up outside an elegant two-story building not far from the central business district. Morgan waited on the pavement with the others while Bella paid the driver. A group of girls, their hair curled and striped in colors to match their short, tight dresses, minced past them.

  "They'll be on their way to pick up a fleeter," said Madra, the lass from Catering.