Indomitable by W. C. Bauers

Author:W. C. Bauers
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466847309
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Thirty-three

MAY 18TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1214 HOURS

SOMEWHERE IN THE OUTER GUINEVERE SYSTEM

EN MOUVEMENT PLEASURE CRUISER

“This is nice,” Sephora said as the door between their rooms slid open.

Promise nodded without looking up from her book.

Her accommodations probably rivaled the personal quarters of a captain of a Republican battlecruiser, and maybe even a battleship. The small kitchenette included a fully stocked minibar and pantry. The formal sitting area was on the lavish side, even by captain’s standards. Off it was a spacious bedroom with a sizable potted plant. Watering directions were mounted to the bulkhead.

“My name is Carlie. I like one deciliter in the

morning and classical music at night.”

A 3D relief of an ancient wet-Navy galleon sailed across the headboard. Her simulated viewport was spectacular and if she hadn’t known better she would have taken the view for the genuine article. The En Mouvement was up to one-tenth of C, far too slow for the visible stars to care.

Promise’s nose was buried in a book of military history. Third Diaspora Conflicts and the Rebirth of the Wet Navy, by Schweikart and Grossman. It was a bit on the dry side, even though it’d won the Miron-Lee Prize for narrative history the year before. Promise was tired and struggling to concentrate, and she’d read the same page twice already. And Sephora was standing in the threshold between their adjoining rooms, hugging herself and waiting for permission, again.

“We’ve been over this,” Promise said, slamming the book shut. She did her best to hide her opinion of the girl’s dress. I’ve seen more cotton in an aspirin bottle. Just make eye contact, P. She did and nearly cringed. Sephora wore a sleeveless top that hugged the body like a wet T-shirt. Her crumpled skirt kept riding up. The ring in her lip chained to the one in her left nostril. Apparently, Kies had made her take both out when she worked.

“Fine, please,” Promise said with all the patience of a lieutenant of Marines, “come in.” She patted the cushion beside her. The urge to nap almost won her over. Days of too much inactivity aboard the tourosphere and the En Mouvement had siphoned her energy. She didn’t want to think about what it was doing to her conditioning or run times. The ship’s gymnasium was out of the question. She wouldn’t leave Sephora for any length of time, not until she was satisfied the girl was emotionally stable and wouldn’t try something foolish like hurting herself. Considering what she’s been through, how could she be? She and Sephora needed to talk again, sooner than later, before they returned to the tourosphere and switched vessels for the return leg to Hold.

“Look,” Sephora said, running a hand through her hair. “You don’t have to do this.”

Which isn’t the same thing as telling me not to. “I don’t have to do anything,” Promise said. “Neither do you. You always have a choice. Come in. Sit down. Let’s talk it out. Please.”

Sephora did so reluctantly, but perched on the arm of the couch instead, knees toward Promise, skirt bunched up to her panty line.

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