The whole place was an organic patchwork quilt, whimsically engineered for visual interest as well as utility. Walking spanned several minutes, touring past commercial and faintly ethnic neighborhoods.
Finally, they reached the corner in a new quarter, and stood, feeling a pulsation of sound through the street. Jemi had to remind herself that it wasn’t actually a street that vibrated beneath them. Music reached out with a tentacled embrace, sending out a sensual, unidentified tone. Tim told them that the music was from a planet whose species who had many similarities to Earth’s cetacean inhabitants. They went inside; all that was immediately visible was a view of bodies moving in time to the thundering harmony.
“This is great!” Leif bellowed over the din, not entirely buying his own shtick. Out of habit, he carefully surveyed the female population of the club, already separating the regulars from the occasionals. It didn’t seem as frightening a meat-market as some places he’d been, but there were the obvious types to be seen. “On the prowl,” versus, “just there to get shitfaced,” were the two groups he usually separated the boys and girls into. They were the only two worth worrying about. Both were types he wished to avoid if possible.
The dance floor was packed, and there were few empty tables. Leif decided to establish a base of operations at one of the tables first, and then do a little recon. Tim was watching his every move, trying to sort out what it was that the big guy was doing. He was pretty sure that Leif was getting ready to find himself a dance partner, as it were. Everything Leif did seemed exacting, almost like a small unit attack was about to take place.
“Hey, man, what do you have, some sort of strategy worked out here?” He was only kidding, but the ginger head swiveled with a powerful force. Leif eyed Tim appraisingly. He wasn’t ready to jump into the, er, dating pool yet, in spite of anything Josh thought. On the other hand, it might be more fun to teach the kid something than to sit stewing in his own juices all night. He smiled roguishly and clapped a hand to Tim’s shoulder. Tim winced and tried not to fall to his knees under the force of the friendly gesture.
“Bet your ass I do. I can’t dance worth a shit, got an extreme lack o’ rhythm, y’see, but otherwise I know what I’m doing.” He poked a finger out into the distance. “See her over there? Yeah, I know you do. She’s a bad bet, know why?”
“Not really.”
“She keeps sitting there while five of her gal pals orbit around her. Warning signal number one. Next, while she’s pretty hot, every guy in this place is trying to keep the hell away from her. And she’s sitting next to the men’s room!” He was right. And Tim was suddenly very glad he was with Leif. His social life had been negligible to date.
“I see. You sure know your stuff...dude.” Leif cast him a funny look.
“Do you guys really still talk like that? I mean, come on, at least I have an excuse.” Tim was downcast. “Hey, look, I’m just giving you a hard time. Do you want to know how to figure out if a woman is going to be trouble, just from a casual conversation?” Jemi rolled her eyes.
“Great, the sex wars continue into the twenty-fourth century, thanks to an historical glitch.”
“Very well, if you’re going to take that attitude, me and the Timster here are going to get drinks, and you can all sod off...call me a glitch...silly females...only one worth it is...” His voice was lost as they trailed away. Jeshma was amused.
“Don’t you want to go find out who the only one of us worth anything is?” Haleh watched the guys as they angled a spot at the bar. Jemi giggled at the comment, a light sound that felt good to let out. At the bar, Leif was making crude gestures and strange faces at them.
“No, I’m pretty sure I don’t.” Jemi didn’t have to, anyway. She already knew. “We haven’t been out in a very long while. He, in particular, has been needing to blow off steam.” They sat together, taking lighthearted swipes at current fashions. The boys brought back drinks, joining in, and for Leif, that meant anything was fair game. Pretty soon, a competition evolved to see who could come up with the dirtiest joke.
A waitress adopted their table, and kept refreshments flowing, to ample tipping for her. Leif was nothing if not generous, especially with other people’s money. Tim didn’t care. He was learning at the knee of a master. He’d already gotten a few names and contact info, while his mentor glibly watched him harvest the fruits of the lessons. Leif was happy to sit on the sidelines and watch, knowing that his personal interests in the female species lay elsewhere.
“Let them come to you, grasshopper. Like reed down on a spring wind.” Jemi groaned listening to the two of them, but came to attention as a familiar song began to play. Her head began to move to the beat in spite of herself.
“How did they get this on their playlist?” Tim grinned, a veritable Cheshire cat.
“My fault. I love late, old…er, classic popular music. I got a whole collection and gave it to the owner. Everyone here seems to love it.” He was right. The whole floor bounced to the rhythm.
“Amazing. Time passes, and here we have, in eternal life, a singer whose greatest talent was reinventing herself every year or so.”
“Hey, she never let herself get stale. And man, what a body she had. I wonder what happened to her?” Leif looked at Tim, wanting an answer.
“I think she did the music thing until she got tired of it and then she went off and became a nun.”
“She didn’t either. You’re full of shit.” There would have been further argument, but Jemi put Leif’s arm in a death grip. “Ow! Let go, woman, or I kick your ass!”
“Hush. Look over at the dance floor and tell me what you see.” He complied, but really only because she pushed his chin in the direction she meant. Tim twisted around in his seat, and Haleh stood to see over their heads. Leif’s jaw fell off, and while he was trying to reattach it, his finger pointed accusatorily, stabbing the air violently.
“Who is that? He’s got her pinned against the wall!” Tim was speechless. Haleh was trying not to laugh.
“That’s our XO. His name is Dmitry Petrovich.” Haleh was on pretty good terms with him, as a matter of fact. They had the same MOS, for one thing. He was an excellent officer, for another. At least, when he was all put together, he was. She’d been under his command when he’d…well, that was neither here nor there.
He did have a certain reputation with women that she thought might not be a good thing to bring up right then. She wondered how it was that he’d ended up in this club with that particular woman. A question for another time. The primary concern was that the viking would probably make good on his threat.
His observation was true, however. Dmitry had Maeve up against a wall, not pinned exactly, just…surrounded. They were kissing. They all sat, frozen, watching the pair for some time. After a few moments, Haleh decided the best idea was to get out of the club before a fight broke out.
Leif was one of the ones who knew her better than most, having been in the same unit as she had. He had been as close to her as anyone could have been at that time. They’d had a blood bond of sorts, tied to the time they’d shared during deployment.
It was now reduced to a remembrance, consisting of smoke, blasted bodies, and the cries of the dying. He tremored a bit at its touch in his mind; a time he’d tried to let go of. Memory held its prey with the shackles that only the guilt-ridden can forge. But there was something else there in his mind as he watched her with another man.
“I don’t care if his name is Ulysses S. Grant. He doesn’t need to be doing that to her.” Before Leif could stand up and walk over, Jemi spoke fiercely to garner his attention.
“If you would bother to check, you’d see that she doesn’t really look to be fighting him off. Maeve is a grown woman. And it might be a good sign, if you stop and think about it for a minute.” She shared the last observation confidentially. No sense in letting on too much at the moment. Just then, last call was given, and the lights came up.
Leif had to be content to sit and watch as Dmitry and Ma
eve wove their way to a table, where Dmitry picked up what had to be her jacket, and led her to the door. They made haste to vanish in the departing flood of people. It was as if they knew they were being watched, despite that the two had not once looked anywhere but at each other. Jemi had a feeling that there would be noise made over this. She looked over at Leif, who wore a grim expression. Good grief, the man was overprotective, just as he always had been.
۞
Maeve was completely unaware of anything taking place outside her sphere of perception. She stood in the street outside the club and smiled a small smile, as Dmitry went off on some tangent that she could neither hear nor understand . There was no better time in her mind, in recent recollection, than the exact moment she was in. They chatted their way back to his apartment.
He currently resided in the bachelor officers’ housing. It was not optimal for privacy or separation from the masses of company grade personnel. He was planning on moving soon into the Odessa, where he’d be only down the way from Tark, instead of on a completely different level. He unlocked the front door, and tried to think of some ceremonious way to bring her into his world. Dmitry Onisim Petrovich, he said to himself, you are a piece of work. He came up with nothing, opting for a wave of his arm. She rolled her eyes, but strode in casually, examining every inch of surface area.
“I guess it’ll do.” He retorted with a withering sneer, and made his way through the low light to his somewhat cramped kitchen. Once there, he yanked out a bottle of whiskey, and shook it at her.
“Drink?” She shook her head with only a modicum of attention. She had decided to cut herself off, for once. Four healthy pours was enough, right? The aftereffects of those were only just beginning to make it past the adrenaline surge from being out and from being kissed…by a not unattractive man. Where might the evening go from here?
A warm swimmy floating feeling wrapped itself around her, and she felt the need to remind herself that she had no intentions of falling for him. It was just nice to feel slippery. He seemed more worn around the edges, as though this was just like every other night for him. It made her question why it was that vices were always the one thing to survive, cockroaching their way past every human disaster and triumph. Was Vice one of the four horsemen, she wondered? She couldn’t remember…ought to be.
They fell down on his couch, feeling tired and comfortable. She found he was easy to talk to, even if he was alternately arrogant, self-deprecating, throwing caution to the wind, fearing eternal damnation, insightful, and naïve. He was Russian-born, British-bred (she wondered what Britain, or the U.S., might resemble these days).
He deplored ceremony, yet he was part of an organization that thrived on it. She let him ramble on about himself for some time. It was a relief not to have to answer more questions about her own life for a change. She’d done more of that in the past several weeks than she cared for. It was rather difficult to give answers if she didn’t know them.
Dmitry resisted the reflex to try and direct her into the bedroom. It was a strange sensation. What was it? Circumspection? Maturity? He’d already had a long internal debate, resulting in the conclusion that she was both attractive and that he was attracted to her. His inner voice spoke up again, wondering what exactly was wrong with him. There was no answer to that. He just felt strangely at peace. He’d kissed her. He’d had inappropriate thoughts. The drive to chalk her up as a conquest wasn’t there. Some part of him protested. Of course it would. It had nothing better to do than offer helpful suggestions on how to self-destruct.
He