For Stardance

[maderr]

I started this story ages and ages ago, then got stuck. Sorry it took so long, Star ^^;; Hopefully it pleases. Much love to you, my dear.

Many thanks to Tygs, who put up with my ranting and fixed my hideous mistakes.

No Matter What

Combat class star ship #13512550, the Melee

"Tell Kavalerov he can suck my left nut."

A deep chuckle filled the bridge, emanating from the main speakers.

Cornelius dragged a hand down his face and glared at his communications officer. "I distinctly remember ordering you not to put him on speaker, Gypsy."

"Oops?" Gypsy said with a shameless grin.

"Gypsy, you can suck my right nut. Go ahead and put the good Chancellor on screen, let's make this a real party." He bared his teeth as the face of the High Chancellor appeared on the main screen. "My answer is no."

"Strange," Kavalerov said, feigning confusion. "I don't recall asking you about it, Captain Lady."

Wincing at the sound of his hated surname, Cornelius resisted the urge to tell the High Chancellor precisely what he could do with the cup of water he was sipping. "Not doing it. This is a combat ship, High Chancellor, and a highly specialized one at that. We need an engineer who can handle that, not some flounce-through-the-trees Kreskan. How the blazes did a Kreskan wind up in the IG ranks?"

"You can ask him when you pick him up in Bangkok," Kavalerov replied.

"You dumped a Kreskan in Bangkok," Cornelius said incredulously. "What are you trying to do to the poor guy? Kill him before he gets on my damn ship?" He paused. "Actually, that sounds like a good idea. Then I won't have to deal with him at all."

Kavalerov lifted a brow. "You have your orders, Captain. You're to retrieve Master Engineer Forith Demane at dock 5, 00:30 Zero time. Am I understood?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Cornelius groused, waving one claw-tipped hand in a shooing motion. "When this kid freaks out and kills himself or something, it's entirely on your head."

"Understood," Kavalerov said. Then he smirked. "But I think I'll just save us a later conversation and say 'I told you so' now."

"Gypsy," Cornelius acted as though Kavalerov were not still onscreen. "Tell the High Chancellor that he can suck my left nut and my dick."

"What about your right nut, sir?" Gypsy asked seriously.

"That's still yours."

"Oh, good," Gypsy replied with mock relief. "I was starting to feel jealous."

Cornelius rolled his eyes as the crew and Kavalerov laughed. "Maybe I should just replace the whole damn crew. You losers shouldn't be too hard to sell, especially on Bangkok."



Planet 2147151 (Bangkok), Blue Dragon Pavilion

Stars, Bangkok made him insane. The planet of glitter and shine was so very much like a combat zone and yet not. It made him twitchy with no good way to calm down unless he wanted to part with more points than he was willing.

“So where’s this engineer of Kavalerov’s? I wonder if the poor guy is an enlisted pet like the rest of us.”

Gypsy snorted. “Would the good High Chancellor trust anything or anyone else to us?”

Cornelius rolled his eyes. “I still want to know how a Kreskan wound up a Master Engineer in the IG, and Internal Affairs at that.”

“I thought the fact that the High Chancellor was part of the topic answered that question.”

“Good point. Where is this guy? Why didn’t that bastard Kavalerov give us a picture?” Cornelius squinted in the artificial lights that were so bright and numerous it may as well be day.

“Cornelius?”

The voice cut through Cornelius like a knife, tearing open wounds he’d thought long healed and faded. It happened so hard and fast he struggled to breathe for a moment. When he could finally draw a breath, Cornelius forced his limbs into movement and slowly turned around. Stared. No…no no no.

He did not want to be seeing what he was seeing. Formane. The name of the engineer they were retrieving flashed through his mind. Forsith Demane. Formane. Someone was going to die. Someone being the High Chancellor.

Formane had only grown more handsome with time, which only figured Cornelius thought bitterly. So tall, light brown hair and pale green eyes. His skin was lightly tanned, odd for a Master Engineer, which meant he’d probably been on vacation recently. He wore only a tight black tank top and authority-issue dark gray pants. They hung loose on his hips, the ends tucked into heavy work boots. He’d always had a rough, stern look to him but was deadly handsome for all that. Head to foot, Formane was even more stunning and edible than he’d been all those years ago.

Cornelius wanted badly to growl, lash his tail, but it was bad enough his ears were lying flat on his head. He balled his hands into fists. “Formane.”

The cautious smile of greeting faded from Formane’s face. “Cornelius…”

“I have something for you,” Cornelius said, all but growling the words. Then he moved in a burst of energy, faster than anyone would ever expect of such a slender, willowy frame. His fist connected with Formane’s jaw, and Cornelius relished it, putting every bit of his pain and humiliation behind the hit. Formane slammed into the wall behind him, eyes dark when he was finally able to focus.

He glared for a few seconds, then turned sharply on his heel and threw himself into the crowd, all but running from the Pavilion and back to his ship. Reaching the Melee, he bolted for his office and locked himself inside. No no no. There was no way he was letting that worthless bastard on his ship.

Briefly he contemplated sending Kavalerov a nasty missive. Then he considered getting drunk. In the end he sent the nasty missive and then changed all the access codes to his chamber so no one could bother him. There. Now Formane couldn’t get to him.

Never again would Formane get to him.

When the pounding on his door started, Cornelius ignored it.

“I know you’re in there,” Gypsy said from the other side. His communications officer was the only one dumb enough to try talking to him right now.

Cornelius glared at the door. “I’m sorry, the Captain is currently dead.”

“Dead or pouting?”

“Shut up.”

For several minutes Cornelius heard nothing but highly creative swearing – then the door suddenly slid open.

“Get out.”

Gypsy rolled his eyes. “The High Chancellor says to stop acting like a baby. The crew agrees.”

“The High Chancellor and the crew can go fuck themselves. Is that bastard on my ship?”

Another roll of the eyes. “Yes, Princess. Master Engineer Demane is currently stowing his belongings and acquainting himself with the ship.”

“Tell him to get off my ship. Tell the High Chancellor to get him off my ship.”

Gypsy quirked a brow. “What’s got your tail all puffed up?”

“Shut up!” Cornelius snarled, standing and slamming his fists down on his desk. “Get out. I’ll return to the bridge when I feel like it and not a moment sooner.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Gypsy backed away, a look of concern on his face. He saluted, obviously wanting to say something but holding it back, then turned and walked from the room.

Cornelius slumped down in his seat and buried his face in his hands.

Formane. Here. Why? He’d buried his past, why was it coming back to haunt him nearly a decade later? Ha. Who was he fooling? It had been exactly eight years, four months and eleven days since the bastard had…well, if he wanted to sound like a girl, since Formane had broken his heart.

Strange that he’d never known Formane was Kreskan. The way the bastard had acted, he’d always figured him for a 2nd Quad human. Not that it mattered.

Morosely Cornelius stood and crossed to the bathroom, the light activating on command. He stared into the mirror.

Courtesy, the word used loosely, of his father he had the smooth, fair skin of any 2nd Quad human. If his hair where he had it was softer and slightly different in texture than a human’s should be, no one seemed to notice or mind – until a second later when they saw the feline ears on top of his head, the tail sticking out of his pants. A tawny reddish-brown, his short hair the same. Unfortunately, his human blood meant his claws weren’t retractable and looked more like he’d done something weird to his fingernails. His feline eyes were bright blue, and perhaps the only thing his father had been good for was passing on the ability to see in color.

He was half-Mars, half-Danueb. Half human, half hellcat. No magics, but he had plenty of hellcat venom in his sharp claws and sharper teeth.

Unfortunately, Danueb wasn’t known for its friendliness. Half-breeds…well, he’d been stupid enough back then to actually believe one of the most popular students in the private school they’d attended had been serious about asking him out.

Ha.

Well, he wasn’t a stupid, bumbling, awkward half breed now was he? No, he was strong, competent, successful and Captain of the Melee. So Formane could die a slow and painful death.

Damn it. How long did it take to finally get over someone? Cornelius had been certain he was over his stupid school crush. He glared at his reflection and reminded himself how far he’d come since that awful day. Nothing remained of the shy, stupid, gullible, weak, and pathetic geek he’d been. Now he was Captain of the Melee, handpicked by the High Chancellor himself.

The Melee was the end result of years of research and more deaths than anyone liked to think about – and probably more than anyone knew, as once the research was declared inhumane and illegal it went to ground. Even Kavalerov had been astonished when his pet gremlin had managed to work out the flaws in what remained of the discarded data.

Finding a crew for it had been tricky, but Kavalerov had declared him ideal for it and Cornelius had vowed to prove the words true. He had proved them true. Stupid half breed he might be, but he was the only one who had the mental strength to Captain the Melee.

None of the assurances were helping.

The message alert went off in his in-lens and Cornelius snarled as he accepted it. “What?”

Gypsy’s droll voice sounded in his ear chip. “Needed on the bridge, Captain. Merchant class vessel at 2.73.93.41 and closing faster than it should. Refusing communications and serial number comes up as belonging to something that should be hauling Vrill fruit.”

“On my way,” Cornelius replied. Great, just what he needed. Pirates. And his stupid, worthless, lying, gorgeous – no. Damn it all. Swearing up a storm, Cornelius stomped his way to the bridge. “Status report.”

“Ship has slowed and is making nice,” Gypsy said. “Comm codes match the serial number.”

Cornelius rolled his eyes. “Meaning that they’re trying hard to make us believe they’re innocent, harmless merchants. Not very good pirates.” Which wasn’t true. Most of the ships in this area wouldn’t think twice about the serial or codes, if they even knew them. Cornelius patched himself into Gypsy’s communications and rolled his eyes. “What’s their game? To all eyes this is a private combat class ship. At the very least, they should think we’re mercs. Pirates and mercs don’t get along even when they’ve hired each other.” He snickered briefly. “Oh, please say they’re trying to hire us.” He closed the connection and left it to Gypsy.

Who snorted a minute later. “I don’t think they recognize the ship class, Captain. It sounds like they’re definitely planning to go in for the kill once they’ve got us in their grip.”

“Well, they should have studied a bit harder before venturing into IG territory,” Cornelius said contemptuously. “Where the hell is our new engineer? Make certain he stays out of the firefight.”

A blue-skinned man on the far side of the ship rolled his eyes. “He’s been advised, Captain. You do remember you’re the only one permitted to train crew on the interfacing?”

“Yes, Rion, I remember.” Cornelius snapped. “If you’re done being rude to your Captain, prepare to interface.”

Rion snickered and obeyed. Beside him, a red-skinned female went through the same motions. The consoles in front of them bore little resemblance to the others on the bridge – rather than the usual array of equipment and screens, theirs were more suited to a medic room – intended to monitor life signs. The only anomaly was a spot in the center, an identification pad to which both figures pressed their hands. The system chirped faintly as it read their palms, their blood, and the special chem-keys coded into their DNA. If the readings were off by even the slightest bit, the system would shut down and inflict crippling pain upon the trespassers.

The Melee took matters very seriously. Only those cleared for it were permitted access to what made the ship so unique and deadly – the Perfect Combat Interface System, designed long ago by the best specialists in the IG and later perfected and improved upon by one of the last few gremlins.

Effective, illegal, deadly. The biggest flaw with interface systems was that too much damage to the machinery often resulted it the death of the interfacers. Fatalities also resulted if the strain proved to be too great. It took rigorous mental strength to keep up with the interface system. Candidates were drilled for two whole terms before Kavalerov passed them on to Cornelius. Only in the past two terms had they finally acquired permanent combatants. Two primary combatants – Rion Kelli, the blue-skinned Gespi, and Kolta Bask, the red-skinned human, and currently three secondary combatants.

Not including Cornelius, who was the only one cleared to interface with the Melee herself. That made a total of six combatants when necessary, though seven would be ideal. There were some potentials currently training in Zero, in another Term one of them might pan out.

If only he had a better Master Engineer. Cornelius shoved the problem of Formane aside with a low growl.

“They’re refusing to leave us in peace, Captain,” Gypsy said, sounding tense.

Cornelius shrugged. “Fine. Combatants, interface.” He turned to his right, where his second in command stood calmly watching the bridge, dispersing quiet orders to the crew as necessary, his dark eyes flashing as his in-lens worked. A pale-skinned human, Tormandi was a deadly efficient second. “Tor, take the bridge. I’m meshing with our lady to scope things out myself. Keep an eye on our systems, watch for hacking. If they get anywhere close to the PCIS…”

Tormandi nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

“Excellent. Boys and girls, let’s get rid of these stupid pirates.”

Affirmatives filled the bridge, but Cornelius barely heard them as he pressed his hand to the identification pad on his right-most console, feeling the machinery thrum as it scanned him. A second later it chirped approval, followed by a brief sting as the system activated the interface triggers in his brain.

His eyes flashed, then all Cornelius knew was the ship, the vast space beyond, the looming threat of the pirate ship. Through Melee, he knew all that the ship did. It’s systems, its readings of the enemy ship.

Then everything exploded as the Kraken opened fire and the Melee responded faster than a normal ship ever could because its combat systems were being run by human thought, by human skill honed by years spent in war zones and intensive training. Machines could obey…but humans could anticipate, outsmart.

In seconds the fight was over and Cornelius guided the primary cannon to obliterate the enemy ship. The Melee did not officially exist, so it answered to no one but the head of Internal Affairs, who had given them permission to handle pirates with impunity.

When the Kraken was gone, he gave the code to disconnect and with a hard jolt and pounding headache returned to being just Cornelius. Nearby, Rion and Kolta muttered in pain. Even a brilliant gremlin could not nullify the headaches and exhaustion that came from interfacing. That’s what meds were for.

Or alcohol.

“Tor, take over. I’m going to make my reports…and then deal with our new Master Engineer.”

“I’ll notify the med bay to stay on full alert,” Gypsy said.

Cornelius glared at him but otherwise did not rise to the bait. Alcohol. Report. Then he’d deal with Formane.




His in-lens flashed as Cornelius commed down to the engineer deck. “Mr. Demane, report to me in training room three immediately.”

There was a pause, then a slow, clearly startled reply. “Yes, Captain.”

It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t seen or heard the bastard in more than eight years. Why did that voice still want to make him shiver? Not fair! Cornelius took a deep breath as he keyed in the code to training room three. Inside, the room was nothing but empty dark gray. He would use holograms as necessary to begin introducing Formane to Melee’s PCIS.

Formane appeared a moment later and Cornelius hated the way his breath caught. Still dressed simply in the clothes of an Engineer, who were trained in everything from delicate software to hard guts, Formane looked good enough to drag back to his rooms and subject to eight years, four months, and eleven days of misery.

“Cornelius…”

“I don’t believe, Master Engineer, that I gave you leave to address me so informally. I am Captain of this ship and you will remember that,” Cornelius said coolly.

Formane nodded, and Cornelius ignored the brief sadness that flickered for a moment across his handsome face. His imagination. “Yes, Captain.”

Nodding, Cornelius crossed his arms over his chest and regarded his new Master Engineer. Most Combat ships had a staff of five engineers. The Melee couldn’t risk that many people knowing about the PCIS. So in place of five Engineers, they got one Master Engineer.

Unfortunately, like the combatants, too many of them did not have the mental strength. Like the Captain and combatants, the Master Engineer was sometimes required to interface with the ship. It was the only way to completely understand all the problems that could crop up and fix them fast enough in the heat of battle.

Two had suffered mental breakdowns, one had died. Cornelius shoved away the memory and focused on the present. They all knew the risks and took them willingly. “So, Mr. Demane. How did you fall under the High Chancellor’s gaze?”

“I had recently finished duty on the Whisper…”

Cornelius barely kept his expression impassive. The Whisper was an IG custom class ship fitted for scout work. One of the fastest ships on record. No small feat to be Master Engineer on that ship. He nodded and Formane continued.

“Took my leave on Zero, got into a fight with a gremlin…we were arguing over the benefits of a Mars TSK versus a Kelar VBX when applied to speed alterations in war class ships, accounting for various handicaps and situations.”

That was a common enough game between Engineers, similar to pilots and their games of ‘if you were flying this under these conditions what would you do?’ “So?”

“I won,” Formane replied. “Nu Scorpii – that’s the gremlin – is probably plotting my demise as we speak. The High Chancellor heard about the argument and called me to his office. He drilled me for five hours on all manner of things. At the end of the interview, he gave me a brief on three ships and said I was suited for all of them and so could have my pick.” He locked eyes with Cornelius. “I chose this one.”

Cornelius savagely bit back the urge to ask why. He didn’t care. Reluctantly he conceded on one point. “If Kavalerov said you were fit for this ship, then you must at least have a chance at being fit. No one is a sure thing until they survive the interfacing for at least six months.”

“Six months?”

“If someone can survive it that long, they can handle the stress. All those who broke down – or died – broke either right at the start or just short of the six month mark.”

Formane nodded. “Understood. Will I be told the precise nature of the PCIS?”

“Not much choice,” Cornelius said, ear twitching. “Besides myself and the combatants, you’re the only other person that has to interface, and beyond myself the only one who does so in noncombat situations. The stress outside of combat is less, but still rigorous. You are not to interface without my explicit orders until I give leave for you to make your own calls. That will not be for at least a term, assuming you last the six months.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Then we will begin your preliminary training,” Cornelius said. His eyes flashed as his in-lens worked, relaying access codes to the main system to bring up the PCIS training matrix. Between him and Formane – and he made certain to keep well away – appeared a set of three dimensional diagrams, an array of stats, modules, and complex looking equations.

It almost made him smile, to see the way Formane’s eyes lit up as he took in the masses of technical information. Formane had always been at his cutest and most endearing when he was lost to the nuts, bolts, equations, and software he loved so much. The first time he’d seen Formane, he’d been tangled in wire and covered in grease, laughing his head off in sheer delight at having some bug in the system of the Zip he’d been tinkering with.

Cursing silently, Cornelius shoved the thoughts away. Forcing himself to keep a cool, detached tone, he began the long, intricate explanation of the ship, the PCIS, its bloody history, all they’d learned since running active.

Formane listened intently, absorbing all of it, peppering the lecture with dozens upon dozens of questions. Bit by bit, Cornelius found himself relaxing slightly, becoming less terse, slipping dangerously close to the easiness they had once shared all those nights of tutoring. Only the shift change chimes in his ear spared him from humiliation. He wrapped the lecture up and deactivated the holograms. “We will resume here at the same time tomorrow, Mr. Demane.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Nodding stiffly, Cornelius strode past him – only for strong fingers to wrap firmly around his wrist. He halted, surprised and outraged. “Unhand me at once, Mr. Demane.”

Formane immediately obeyed, his fingers sliding slowly away. His voice was soft and steady as he spoke. “Are we ever going to talk about us, Cornelius?”

“Address me so casually again, Master Engineer, and I will put you on report.” Cornelius turned to stare into green eyes, hating how beautiful he still found them. “There is no us, and as I recall you made it quite clear you did not want an ‘us’. Therefore, we have nothing to discuss.”

“Won’t you at least hear me out?”

Cornelius turned away, furiously forcing himself to stand straight, shoulders back, ears up and tail still. “I waited all night for you, Formane. All night. Until it closed. The only thing more humiliating was the walk home.”

Formane said something, but Cornelius didn’t stay long enough to hear what, stalking from the training room and then all but running for his cabins. Once safely in his cabin, he poured a glass of potent Vrill wine, deep violet and lightly spiced.

It failed utterly to soothe him.

Sighing heavily, Cornelius collapsed into his desk chair and laid his head back, staring at the ceiling but seeing only the term that had been the happiest of his life…and had ended in the worst night of his life.

The Baten Kaitos University was the best in the IG, and getting into it had been no easy feat for a small, insignificant Danueb half breed. Still, he’d gotten accepted. Even then, he’d been obsessed with ships, dazzled by the idea of having his own some day. He’d also known no one would ever accept a tiny little half-human feline as an IG soldier, never mind as a candidate for Captaincy someday. It hadn’t stopped him; neither had the laughing and jeering, the mockery and exclusion.

It had all come close…then the young man he’d been watching from afar sought him out for tutoring in government and history, on a referral from Cornelius’s history professor. Cornelius had thought he was dreaming or dying.

Especially when, against every doubt, they had started to form a friendship of sorts. Oh, nothing grand, but they’d met at cafés and lounges to study and practice, had talked in class and when they passed in the halls…

Then…even now Cornelius could not forget how happy he’d been that last night. Nearly to bursting. Formane, the star engineering student, had asked if they could go on a date – no tutoring, not as friends, but a real date. He’d named a time, a place, and left with a quick, teasing kiss to Cornelius’s cheek.

Cornelius had shown up to the restaurant early and waited impatiently at the bar.

He’d waited. And waited. And waited. He’d tried calling, messaging, everything he could think of, refusing to leave until the proprietors kicked him out.

Only to walk past a bar and see Formane inside, laughing himself silly with another engineering student on his arm. Then Formane had caught sight of him…still Cornelius remembered the guilty look – not horror, or dismay, but guilt. Shame at being caught.

Formane had stood him up. Worse, he’d never contacted Cornelius afterwards. Not even a simple message to say he was sorry. Even now Cornelius wondered if it hadn’t been some horrid prank played on the stupid, ugly Danueb half breed. It wouldn’t have been the first time, though it had been the last successful attempt.

He did have Formane to thank for that much – he wasn’t stupid, gullible, shy, and awkward now. No, after that day he’d started on the path to what he was now. Formane had been good for something, in the end, though it hadn’t been the ending Cornelius wanted.

Cornelius leaned forward to slump over his desk, stirring himself only when there came a familiar knock at the door. He glared at Gypsy. “My second is supposed be giving the reports, not my communications officer. Go. Away.”

“Oh, shut up,” Gypsy said. “Your second is busy hitting on your combatants.”

“Combatants? As in plural?” He held up a hand as Gypsy opened his mouth. “I don’t want to know. Report.”

Quickly and efficiently Gypsy reported on the evening, detailing everything from the pirate attack onward, ending with the ship status at shift change.

Cornelius nodded as he finished.

“Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

“When have you ever bothered asking for permission?” Cornelius asked. He poured more wine. “Whatever you’re about to say must have you worrying about your health.”

Gypsy snorted. “Captain, if I worried about my health I wouldn’t be on this ship.”

“True enough. Then stop asking for permission; it makes me nervous.”

“Yes, Captain. What’s up with you and the Kreskan?”

Cornelius glared. “None of your damn business.”

“If it has our Captain hiding away in his cabin like a scared kitten, yeah it’s our business.” Gypsy matched the nasty glare Cornelius shot him. “Captain, fess up. You can’t be this unstable. Should we just drop him? Kavalerov can find us another.”

“Not this one, he can’t,” Cornelius said reluctantly, eyes flashing as he activated a data screen and called up Formane’s complete file. Gypsy whistled after several minutes of reading. “As much as I hate the bastard, he’s the best Master Engineer we’ve ever had, and he stands a good chance of mastering the PCIS.”

Gypsy moved to sit on the edge of Cornelius’s desk. Though Cornelius should be stricter about maintaining rank and distance…he and Gypsy had been the only ones of the original crew to last. All the rest of the present crew had come in later. “You can’t keep acting like this, Captain.”

“Things will simmer down, never fear. It was just a nasty shock to see my past return.” He shook his head before Gypsy could voice another question. “We knew each other in school. I was very stupid. That’s the end of the matter, Gypsy. Get back to the bridge and tell my second not to wear out my combatants.”

Rolling his eyes, Gypsy obediently stood and made for the door. “Sulking won’t fix anything. Captain.”

Cornelius made a face as the door closed behind him, and nursed his wine.

*~*~*~*

Chiming woke him, and Cornelius glared at the flashing blue light on his nightstand that said the bridge wanted him. Snatching up his in-lens and ear piece, he snarled as soon as the devices activated. “Go away.”

“Captain, we’re approaching Parthon.”

Cornelius growled low. “Very well, I’ll be there shortly. Ready the landing protocols and tell the crew they may have one day’s leave upon arrival.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Parthon. Finally. Two months of agony would finally have a few hours relief.

Life was hell. On some level he’d firmly believed that after a few days everything would settle; his old anger would fade and Formane would just be another member of the crew.

Instead the bastard was nearly perfect. He got along with everyone – even Gypsy – did his job without fault, and seemed to be taking to his training more splendidly than Cornelius had seen since his primary combatants.

The Captain in him was thrilled…the rest of him was thoroughly depressed. He didn’t care about the bastard anymore…so why did it seem like he still cared a great deal? Groaning, wanting badly to just kill himself or something equally effective at halting his thoughts, Cornelius dragged himself into the shower and through the motions of getting dressed and ready.

If there was one feeble benefit to being in the IA, it was that they couldn’t wear the uniforms. There had to be no way to mark them as being IA officers. So he got to wear comfortable clothes instead of a monkey suit. Brown pants and jacket, a dark, rust-red shirt, and his heavy space boots. Stunner, master keys, in-lens, comm link, and he was more or less ready to face the day.

“Report,” he said as he reached the bridge, sliding into his seat as his second left it.

“All clear, Captain,” his second replied, his in-specs flashing as he supervised communication with the Parthon space docks. “Parthon Control is demanding the landing protocols. A particular set?”

Cornelius drummed his fingers in thought. “Send the C-113 protocols. No need to be flashy, and it will explain why our weapon packs need such extensive refueling.” It would register them as a licensed bounty hunter’s ship, which always were caught in some sort of fire fight. They had dozen of protocols and codes for any situation, though it was damned hard to keep a combat ship like the Melee disguised.

Silence fell as his orders were carried out, no one bothering to break it until Gypsy finally relayed that all was well and they could disembark at will.

“Dismiss the crew, Tor,” Cornelius told his second. “They’re to be back aboard by 13:00 Zero time tomorrow.”

“Yes, Captain,” Tormandi replied, his in-specs flashing as he communicated with the crew, relaying the orders, dealing with any minor problems that might have cropped up.

“I’ll be disembarking, though I should be back by evening or will notify if my plans change. Take the bridge. Make certain they fully recharge the weapon packs, and it should be time to rotate the emergency packs.”

Tormandi nodded. “Yes, Captain. I’ll see to it. Feel better…”

“Not likely,” Cornelius muttered as he stood and stalked from the bridge – and crashed into something that felt like a wall. A wall that caught him up, steadied him, and did not let go. He glared up at Formane. “Unhand me. Get out of my way.”

Formane let him go. “Apologies, Captain. Are you going out?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Of course,” Formane replied.

Stars above he hated the politeness, the stiffness. He hated more that the awkwardness bothered him. Gritting his teeth, Cornelius backed away and forced himself to look up at Formane. “Have you ever been to Parthon, Mr. Demane?”

“No, Captain. I’ve heard it’s quite beautiful.”

“Yes, quite. The old silk factories would probably be of particular interest; they are one of the only IG planets to still use the old fashioned ways.”

A smile stole across Formane’s face. “You remember an awful lot about me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cornelius said, turning away, feeling his cheeks warm. Like it was hard to remember Formane liked old tools and machinery. Most engineers did, didn’t they? He stalked away down the hall to where most of the crew was spilling out the entryway. They parted to let him pass, and in minutes Cornelius was through the crush of people on the docks and headed toward the city proper.

The bastard was still behind him. “What do you want, Mr. Demane?”

“Oh, stop it,” Formane replied. “We’re not on the ship and everyone else calls me Formane now. Are you going to keep acting this way?”

Cornelius ignored him.

“Won’t you at least give me a chance to explain?”

Cornelius halted and spun around. “Eight years is a little late, don’t you think? I waited all night! You chose to go spend our evening with a pretty little engineer. Still I waited, knowing I was an idiot, for you to call me and explain. You never did. I gave up. Now you want a chance? Why should I?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but turned away and resumed walking. “Go away, Formane. You’re my Master Engineer. That’s it.”

He wove his way through the crowded street, moving helter-skelter, trying in vain to lose himself in it. This time off ship was supposed to relax him, not tangle him up more than ever.

Abruptly he was snatched up and shoved back, seeing stars as his head connected with stone. He dug his claws into Formane’s bare arms, stopping just short of drawing blood. “Let me go.”

“Your venom won’t get very far,” Formane said with a grin. “The Whisper spent a term on Danueb; Kavalerov made certain his pets were inoculated.”

Cornelius lifted a brow at that. “You were one of his toys before now?”

“Yes. How else do you think I got into an argument with a Gremlin? I’d just finished my work with the Whisper and was awaiting my reassignment when plans changed and I came here.”

“I see,” Cornelius replied. “Let me go.”

“Not until you listen to me.”

Cornelius glared. “Why should I believe a word you say, Formane?”

“I’m sorry. I know that’s not enough, but it’s a start. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you. Never did I ever want to hurt you, Lius.”

“Don’t call me that!” Cornelius snarled, beginning to struggle in earnest, throwing all his Danueb strength into it, raking Formane’s arms and finally breaking free. “It’s Captain to you, Formane. You lost all right to call me anything else.”

Formane frowned at him, and Cornelius hated that the bastard looked as miserable as he felt. “I’ve been looking for you. For years. After you left school, you vanished.”

“It didn’t take Kavalerov long to recruit me,” Cornelius replied. Which meant it was damned hard to prove he existed most days. “If you wanted to talk to me, you could have just called. I waited.”

Misery filled Formane’s face, and Cornelius tried to remain immune to it. “I screwed up, Lius. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Ignoring me was definitely the right solution!” Cornelius growled and raked his hands through his hair, giving up. If the bastard wanted to fight it out now, fine. Get it over with or something. “Why, Formane? I thought—I guess I really was stupid, huh? I really thought I wasn’t the only one who cared.” He laughed bitterly. “Stupid, stupid me.”

“No,” Formane said, eyes blazing. He moved forward, forcing Cornelius to back pedal, moving them further into the small alleyway. “You weren’t stupid and you weren’t wrong. I was stupid, I was wrong. My friends…look, I turned tail. I let my friends talk me into going out with them, let them convince me I should. I tried to call you, but I knew I was being a coward. So I kept being one. My family didn’t like it when I told them I was interested in you, and neither did my so-called friends. I was stupid enough to listen to them. Instead of fixing things…I just kept being stupid. By the time I finally found my spine, it was too late.”

Cornelius glared, ears flat on his head. “You expect me to believe that the star of the Engineering students was too cowed by his family and friends to date me?”

“…Yes.”

“Why am I so awful? And why should I believe something so stupid? What would you have to fear?”

Formane sighed. “I’m Kreskan, Lius. What do you think?”

Despite himself, Formane winced. Kreskans were notoriously pacifistic. They’d joined the IG merely because it had been the safest, most peaceful option. The only planet that probably hated seeing one of their own actually join the IG more was Fornar.

“They haven’t spoken to me since I told them I was joining the IG.”

“You always planned to work on an inter-galactic shuttle. Why did you join the IG?”

Formane smiled faintly. “A certain half-breed Danueb said I was too smart for civilian work. After I screwed up my chance with him, I figured the least I could do was listen to him.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked away. “I managed to pass all the military entrance tests thanks to you, and was assigned to a Rehab in quad three. Managed to fix a loop in their 7.3 security, impressed my superiors enough I was transferred from regular army to Authorities. They put me aboard the Zentarinor.

“The one that started to malfunction right as it hit a light gate.”

“Yeah, and the Master Engineer wasn’t at his post. I fixed the problem before the ship broke down mid-jump. Lower Chancellor Kavalerov was on board and learned of the whole thing. He had me transferred to the Whisper. It was there I started doing things for him, here and there. He told me about a term later that I was part of IA.”

Cornelius laughed despite himself. “Sounds like Kavalerov. I don’t think any of us ever actually applied for the IA position. Not that any of the magics capable could apply. So why did you leave the Whisper?”

“Finished my tour of duty, wanted a change,” Formane said with a shrug.

An awkward silence fell. Cornelius struggled for something to say. What was there to say? ‘I still love you and wish you’d give me good reason to forgive you?’ Ha. Not if someone threatened to cut off his tail.

“Does it count for anything, Lius, that I’ve been looking for you all these years? That I’d give anything to do that night over? I was the dumbest man in the universe, I know that. All I want is a chance to prove I’m not that stupid anymore. Please.”

Cornelius stared, emotions tangled, his mind at war. “Formane…”

Suddenly every bit of that edible, muscled body was pressed up against him, his back against the rough wall, Formane’s mouth crashing down on his. Cornelius growled in protest and sank his claws into those wonderful arms that were holding so deliciously tight—damn it. Formane kissed better than any fantasy Cornelius had ever had about the man, and those were more numerous than he liked to think about. Hot and hard, the bitter taste of star tea lingering. His growling softened into something that displeased him thoroughly.

“I always liked it when you purred, Lius,” Formane said.

Growling, Cornelius bit Formane’s bottom lip and glared. “I don’t purr.”

“Of course not,” Formane said with a smirk. “You never purred on those nights you dozed off either.” He covered Cornelius’s mouth with his own, not breaking the kiss until they were both gasping. “I used to pet you when you did that, you know.” He smiled sheepishly. “It’s why I always had our study sessions run so late. You always dozed off, and I could pet you and make you purr.”

Cornelius could feel his cheeks burn. “You did not!” He began to struggle. “Let me go! This instant!”

Formane shook his head. “No. I finally found you, I’m not letting you get away from me.” He brushed their noses together. “I was hop—“ light flashed across his right eye as his in-lens activated. Formane swore loud and long. “Not now!” Still swearing, he let go of Cornelius and stepped away. “It figures. Look, I’ve got to go.”

“Go?” Cornelius blinked. “What do you mean you have to go?”

“I’ll be back. I know it’s not worth anything, but I promise I’ll be back. There’s…something I have to do. Meet me at the Talla Inn on Drath Avenue in…five hours. That should be enough time.” Formane surged forward again, kissing him until Cornelius felt dizzy. “Whatever happens, Cornelius, I do love you. I always did.” Then he was gone.

“What just happened here?” Cornelius asked the alleyway. He shook his head slowly back and forth, irritably scratching his ears. The Talla Inn on Drath…why there? Drath wasn’t quite upscale, but it was close. Well away from the traveler spots…

Formane had said he’d never been to Parthon before. How had he rattled off the Inn and street so easily?

Cornelius frowned, a familiar agony clawing at him. Ruthlessly he shoved it aside, focusing only on the fact that Formane had said he loved him. That had to count for something, right? Formane had never said that before.

Oh, he really was the dumbest half-cat in the universe.





Definitely the dumbest, most gullible fool in the stars. No stupider person or thing existed.

Cornelius wanted to cry. No. He wanted to kill something. That sounded more masculine.

Eight hours. No Formane. Cornelius laughed bitterly, causing more than a few people to stare oddly at him.

Cornelius swiped his point card at the table reader, then drained his beer and stalked from the Inn. With a thought he opened communications with the Melee. “Tormandi—”

“Captain! We were just about to contact you.”

“What?”

Tormandi sounded…far less calm than his second usually sounded, and Tormandi could give battle orders as though he were discussing star charts. “The High Chancellor just contacted us, and you’re needed on the bridge immediately, Captain.”

“On my way. Get the crew back on ship.” Including the good for nothing Master Engineer who was going to be ditched the moment they settled this crisis. Fighting back the wrenching pain he’d been dumb enough to let in again, Cornelius bolted for the ship.

Back on the Melee, he immediately linked in to the ship, opening the private communication channels as he made his way to the bridge. “What’s going on?” On the bridge, he noticed the active screen immediately. “High Chancellor.”

Kavalerov looked even more grim than usual. “Cornelius, we’ve got a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re short a Master Engineer, and for a very bad reason.”

Ignoring the pain that lanced through him, Cornelius forced a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t particularly care whether he’s here or not. Why is my being shorthanded yet again a cause for concern?”

“His mission for me has gone awry. He was due to report four hours ago.”

Shock rippled through Cornelius. He moved stiffly to his seat and then glared at the screen. “High Chancellor, why was I not informed he had ulterior motives on my ship? We’re all IA here.”

“The mission was highly sensitive,” Kavalerov said calmly. “His work is highly sensitive. To the point it was wearing him down. After this last mission, he was going to be downgraded to second grade IA.”

Cornelius swore. “How the hell did he become first grade?”

Kavalerov suddenly looked every last bit of his forty-odd years. “Several years ago he was assigned to the Zentarinor…”

“He told me. He saved it from malfunctioning mid jump.”

“That ship had been sabotaged,” Kavalerov said flatly. “We covered it up for various reasons, but the Master Engineer had been killed – by the other engineers, who were plants. Demane ‘fixed the malfunction’ by killing them and repairing the damage they’d done to the jump system. After that, he found and killed the ring leader aboard to ensure the ship made it home safe. I learned all these details before we’d landed, and transferred him the Whisper. From there, he has been doing a great deal of work for me.”

Cornelius shook his head slowly back and forth. “I never…a Kreskan?” Formane? Formane was an engineer. He tinkered with wires and bolts, acted like a kid around spark wrenches and zelt splicers, turned giddy over the prospect of rewriting systems programs. He wasn’t an assassin. There was no way. “Impossible. Formane isn’t assassin material, even if it is for the IG.”

“It was what he chose to do,” Kavalerov replied. “Though this was his last mission for me in that capacity. I would have already removed him from first class duties except he is the only one who knows what the bastard looks like. We’ve tracked his movements as far as Parthon, and knew you were headed this way on your regular routes, which meant you could get him there safely, quickly, and provide backup should it come to that. Which it has.”

“Where is he?”

“Last coordinates I got were at the location I’m transmitting now.”

“Gypsy!”

“Transmitting them to you now, Captain.”

His in-lens flared as the coordinates were transmitted. “The second moon. Gypsy, send our exit protocols. Tor, get all my combatants on the bridge and tell the crew to prepare for a level two. Kavalerov – you’re nothing but trouble.”

“Only as problematic as the stars I try to keep under control,” the High Chancellor said tiredly. “I hope you get him back. He really wanted out of first grade…and he was excited to be joining the Melee.” He gave Cornelius a piercing, knowing look. “Get him back, Captain Lady. By whatever means necessary.”

If he was still alive. Cornelius’s gut clenched. He refused to think even think about that. He was the only one allowed to kill the stupid bastard. An IA assassin. Cornelius closed his eyes against the thought. Things really could change a lot in eight years, six months, and nine days. “Tormandi, get me reports on activity in this area. Gypsy, see what transmissions you can pick up.” He frowned at the information Kavalerov transmitted directly to the Captains’ seat. “Blast it, Kavalerov! You had him going alone after a soul dealer?”

“Not just a soul dealer. This bastard owns the mines, and he’s using money from the soul trade to fund a rebellion in 3.2.11. We’ve never been able to pin him; Demane got close while still connected with the Whisper. Unfortunately, the cartel marked all that ship’s serials and style. It’ll be some time before the Whisper can go back to assisting with espionage work.”

“Right. We’ll get him, and send regular reports.”

“That’s fine.” Kavalerov disconnected.

“Tell me what we’ve got, Tor.”

“Readings are of a simple complex at these coordinates,” he said as he transmitted them, along with a string of others, rattling off all the components of the compound. “Defensive weapons primarily, from the look of it. That hangar…I would hazard their offense is primarily combat or custom classes.”

Cornelius grunted. “Subtly would be a waste of time at this point. Our best bet is to get rid of things fast. If he’s alive, they obviously want him alive. If he’s dead…then our MO doesn’t really matter.” He reached out and activated his interface panel. “All combatants, prepare to engage. Primary, focus on the defensive weapons. Secondary, take out the hangar and all other potential threats at will. Leave living quarters unharmed, we don’t know where he’ll be. Tor, take a team and get down there once we’ve eliminated the long range weaponry. Take no quarter, but waste no time. Get him, get out. Gypsy, leave comm to your relief and take Tor’s place here.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Then let’s rescue our Master Engineer if the idiot is still alive.” Cornelius touched his hand to the pad and interfaced with his ship.




“Captain—“

“Out. Everyone out!” He glared as the medic again tried to protest. “That includes you. Go away. He’s fine. You said so yourself. Let him rest.”

Gypsy rolled his eyes and grabbed the medic before he could really get started, hauling the man out by the scruff of his shirt. “Now, now, doc. All is well. Come look at the rest of the crew, how ‘bout?”

The medic’s colorful reply was lost as they vanished and the door closed behind them.

Letting out a long sigh, Cornelius dropped down on a low stool beside his bed – currently taken over by Formane. Alive, severely beaten, but otherwise well. The medic had stripped him completely to get at all his wounds, and Cornelius had been horrified to see the scars on his body. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a grade one and still on a mission?”

Formane snorted. “Lius, you punched me. Would barely speak to me, and then only in an official capacity—“

“And in that official capacity you should have told me what you were doing!” Cornelius raged.

“I’m sorry. Again.” Ignoring the scowls and threats, Formane slowly sat up and leaned against the headboard. “I was certain I’d finish up in five hours.” He smiled sadly. “Left you waiting again. I always screw up where you’re concerned.”

Cornelius made a face. “You suck at dating, that’s for sure.”

Formane tried to laugh, but it turned into a grimace. “I’ll try to be out of your quarters soon. I’d go now, but I don’t trust my legs quite yet.”

“I’d be more concerned about what drugs the doc might have slipped you,” Cornelius said dryly. “He likes to heavily medicate potentially troublesome patients.”

“I took a beating,” Formane replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s not nearly as bad as some I’ve taken.”

Whatever levity he’d dredged up faded. “How did you get into the assassin business, Formane?”

“I…didn’t do so well after that night. I screwed up. Made some hard choices. Like I said, I took your advice and joined the IG military. People back home didn’t take it well; they don’t talk to me anymore. The few ‘friends’ I had at school went separate ways. By the time I made it through basic, I had very little in common with the dumb ass who left you hanging…except apparently I’m still stupid.” He shrugged, then winced at the pain that resulted. “When everything went to shit on the Zentarinor, it wasn’t hard to see what needed to be done to save it. I was in the best position, so I did it. There were a lot of high ranking officials on that ship besides Kavalerov. My duty, even if I was only the Engineer, was to see they reached their destination safely. It seems I have a talent for ugly and nasty.” He looked at his hands.

Silence fell for a few minutes, but just as Cornelius started to speak Formane resumed. “I’ve known for awhile where I could find you. I’ve been privy to confidential information, as a lot of it helped me do my jobs. More than once I started to contact you…but I figured that on top of screwing up so badly back then…well, I’m an assassin. That’s…different than the rest of you guys.”

Cornelius rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because I didn’t just annihilate a compound of a few hundred men – albeit criminals.”

“You don’t sneak through windows and kill men in their sleep. You’ve never had to snipe, or kill a man in public with no one the wiser.”

“Why did you? It doesn’t suit you.”

Formane smiled tiredly. “Because after my own cowardice cost me the only thing I cared about I stopped caring about anything. It made me good for the work. At least for a while. Kavalerov and I both agree it’s starting to get to me; most first grade IA don’t last much longer than this. I’m due to retire. Maybe that’s why I finally caved and came here.” He gave another pained shrug and closed his eyes. “Which I’ve already screwed up. You’re the only thing I’ve ever screwed up so bad.”

Cornelius looked at him, his eyes tracing every line and muscle, every bruise and cut. Sighing softly, he reached out and gently stroked Formane’s cheek. “Like I said, you suck for dating. You were always on time for training, though. If I made it Captain’s orders, do you think that would get you to show up for a dinner or three?”

“What?” Formane’s eyes snapped open wide as they stared at him. “Lius, I completely screwed up—“

“Well, nearly getting killed doing something for Kavalerov lets you off the hook this time,” Cornelius replied. He attempted a smile, but it crumpled and his gaze skittered away. “If you meant what you said, that is.”

A calloused hand curled around his. “I meant it. No matter how stupid I am, or whatever happens, I do love you, Lius.”

“You’re the only one who ever called me that,” Cornelius said, slowly turning to look at him again.

Formane grinned. “Well, Cornelius took too long, Lady wouldn’t do, and ‘Corn’ was as bad as Lady. I considered ‘kitty’ but decided even a quiet geek would kill me for that.”

“Yes, I would have.” Cornelius glared, but in the end a grin to match Formane’s won out. “Even love will only get you so many chances.”

Real hope lit Formane’s eyes, shoved back the weariness clinging to his face. “Yeah? How many do I have left?”

“At least one,” Cornelius said softly. He shifted from the stool to sit on the edge of the bed, moving as Formane leaned forward to kiss him.