Chapter 2
Jon paced across the space of his room for the hundredth time. He knew the steps exactly – ten solid footsteps and then a turn. It was his duty to wait for the captain to call for him and to return to the event at his side. Protocol dictated it. And yet a complete hour had passed. The party was in full swing, and Nicole was down there. He could feel the draw to her as a palpable force, tugging at his soul.
His communicator pin chirped into life as it synced with the ship’s computer, and almost immediately he heard Captain Smythe’s voice. “Jon, are you free? Come by my room as soon as you can.”
Jon held in his sigh of relief. “Right away, sir,” he responded in a steady tone. It was only moments before he was making his way down the hall toward the captain’s suite.
Marcus ushered Jon into the living area and offered him a seat at the small, ripple-textured ebony couch. A bank of windows looked out over the swirling crimson planet below.
Marcus’s eyes gleamed with intrigue. “You will find it was worth the wait,” he stated without preamble. He reached forward and picked up a black, shiny plastic card about three inches by four inches from the glass coffee table. “Do you know what this is?”
Jon’s eyes widened as he turned the rectangle over in his hands. “Is this really a Spider Invite?”
The captain took the card back without a word and pressed his thumb into its center. Immediately, red words appeared on the card. They gave a set of coordinates and a counting-down clock. The countdown had just under an hour remaining.
“I can only take one guest. I know you love poker, but if you would rather not go, I am sure I can find someone else to accompany me. It is after all one of the greatest floating gambling games in modern times.”
“You’re not kidding,” responded Jon eagerly. He had no doubt that Nicole would be there, and to attend would be the highlight of the decade. “Spider’s game is the stuff of legends. Maybe Spider himself will be there to play. Is there a dress code?”
Keeping his thumb on the card, Marcus turned it over to reveal the other side. In red, block letters, the card stated,
One guest only.
Discussing this event with anyone forfeits attendance rights.
Attire – formal red and black.
“Best get ready,” indicated Marcus with a smile. “We’re running out of time. Meet me in the transporter room in forty-five minutes, and we’ll see what this is all about.” His brow creased. “Remember – not a word to anybody. I’ve heard that even a casual mention has caused people to get banned at the door. It’s better not to tempt fate.”
Jon headed back to his room at a jog. He showered quickly, acquired an elegant, formal black tuxedo from the replicator, and was back in the transporter room at the appointed time. The captain arrived only moments after he did.
Marcus had memorized the coordinates and recited them out to the transporter chief. The crewman programmed the coordinates into the computer, then looked up in surprise at the pair. “That’s in the middle of the desert,” he said in confusion. “There’s nothing for hundreds of miles in any direction. Are you sure those coordinates are correct?”
“They are quite fine,” replied the captain. “Beam us down.”
The crewman shook his head and engaged the transporter system.
The dark desert shimmered into existence around them – and suddenly the black card in the captain’s hand gave a bright red flash. Their surroundings slid out of focus, and then they appeared in a quite different environment. They were now in a small ten-foot by ten-foot room. The wall paneling was elegant black maple, and light came from a single overhead frosted-crystal ivory globe. The carpet beneath them was finest cashmere. A single carved-maple door on one wall, in a lighter shade of black, had a rectangular indention in it about chest-high.
Raising an eyebrow to Jon, Marcus walked forward to the door and pressed his card into the spot. The card flashed red and then vanished. The door silently slid open, and the two stood facing a large lounge. A polished ebony-wood bar ran along the right side and a row of black velvet hangings covered the back wall. Red couches and plush chairs were scattered in groupings around black marble oblong tables. Admirals and Ambassadors in outfits of red and black mingled, chatting and drinking.
A deep voice hailed Jon from the right. “Hey there, we could use a hand!” shouted Stephen from behind the bar. Indeed, a group three-deep were pressed up against the wood, calling out drink orders. Jon nodded to Marcus and headed over, easily vaulting the bar and joining the other men behind it. Almost immediately the orders rained to him, and he fell into the rhythm of serving out drinks and chatting with the patrons as he poured.
“How did you guys get pressed into bar duty?” he called to Stephen as he placed a lavender concoction into a thin, robotic arm. The arm was attached to a four-foot-tall transparent cylinder holding an iridescent liquid and, floating within it, an amoeba-like shape. The arm retracted and carefully poured the drink into an opening at the top of the tube. The diplomat within shimmered in ecstasy as the contents merged with his environment.
Stephen’s eyes brightened as he watched the drinker. “Sometimes I think we humans have it all wrong,” he commented to Jon. “Many other races go for a far more direct route in their enjoyment of substances.” He gave himself a shake as he reached for another bottle. “In any case, as for why we’re pouring drinks, we volunteer,” he explained. “It helps us get a lay of the land in one enthusiastic dose. And in addition –”
A sultry Jarusian leant over the bar at Stephen, her outfit leaving very little to the imagination. “I’m here with the Admiral,” she cooed while she watched him mix up a triple martini, “but I can always find a way to slide out early.” Her dark eyes glowed. “I hear you have wild times up on that ship of yours.”
Stephen put down the glass and drew close to her as if she held the secrets of the universe. “Wild parties, every night,” he hoarsely confirmed, his gaze seemingly lost in her eyes. A long minute passed, and his hand half-reached for hers. At last he dropped his eyes. Without looking up he resolutely shook his head, his black curls framing his face. “I can’t. Not during negotiations. Strict orders, for security reasons.” He looked up again, his dark eyes swirling with emotion. “I’m sure you understand. If it were any other weekend …”
The Jarusian hesitated, as if calculating her chances of pushing Stephen over the edge. She gazed into his eyes … then sighed. She lifted her drink with an elegant motion and sauntered off in the direction of her date.
Jon looked over at Stephen, eyebrows raised.
Stephen’s emotional angst shimmered away as if it had never been, and he grinned. “Gambling houses are betting millions on the outcome of the treaty,” he explained. “It brings out some of the best grifters in the universe. If they were an annoying cloud of mosquitoes earlier, tonight they’ll be like leeches in a murky pond – doggedly determined. They’ll be at us all night, trying to draw even a tiny detail.”
He shrugged. “We try to head them off early, but they are paid to be tenacious. So it becomes something of a game.” He glanced at the other men behind the bar. “I think I enjoy it a bit more than my fellow victims do.”
There was a motion in the crowd, and he looked over. His eyes danced. “Ah, I bet this one is for Ian. I’m afraid Ian isn’t quite as fond of this part of our jobs as I am.”
Jon turned. A slim blonde with her hair delicately braided down her face, in an elegant dress of crimson tapestry, moved up to the bar. She shyly brushed a stray curl of hair from her cheek before fluttering her lashes up to Ian. “All this noise is getting to me,” she murmured. “Do you know of anywhere secluded I might go to rest for a few moments?”
Ian glanced over to Stephen, his expression one of quiet exasperation. Then turned back to the young woman. “I’m so sorry to hear that, miss. I believe the women’s restroom has a noise-dampened lounge with a sofa.” A waitress walked by, and he flagged her down. “T
his waitress will escort you there.”
The blonde’s face fell in disappointment, but she nodded, allowing herself to be led away.
Another flurry of drinks, and then a pink-eyed Qatarian, her spiky hair dyed to match, was fluttering extravagantly long eyelashes at Jon. Her tight black dress compressed her body into an unnatural, lumpy shape. “Maybe you could fulfill a life-long dream of mine,” she murmured in a husky voice. “I have always wanted to see the scout ship for myself. Will you be returning there tonight with your new friends?”
Jon’s eyes flickered over to Stephen’s; he was unsuccessfully holding back a wide smile. Jon returned his gaze to the woman leaning over the bar toward him. He pitched his voice low.
“You are the most beautiful woman here,” he confided to her. “How did you know that pink hair drives me wild?”
Her eyes lit up an eager anticipation, and the seams on her dress strained.
He let his mouth fall. “But I am afraid that I have sworn a vow of chastity for the year,” he sighed. “There are two months left on that promise. I shall be returning to my room on the Zeta Nine, alone, immediately after this event.”
Her eyes lost some of their glow, but she rallied, pressing forward, laying her hand on his. “Are you sure I could not convince you to end that early? For me?”
He shook his head regretfully. “If I spent too much time even talking with you, I would be morally bound to kill myself.”
Her mouth went wide in an O of shock, and she took the glass from him, backing away into the crowd.
Stephen shook his head with a smile. “That’s a new one,” he teased. “We’ll see how long it works.”
Jon grinned. “At least, if it doesn’t, they’ll start sending a flood of pink-haired girls at me. Should be easy enough to pick them out of the crowd.”
Stephen raised a glass in toast to him. “That it shall!”
Soon the first wave of drinks was complete. Jon rolled his shoulders, breathing in the perfumes, colognes, and citrus aroma of fresh polish which wafted from the bar. The room was full now, and a merry buzz of conversation swirled around him.
Stephen stepped over to Jon with a blood-red drink in a tall glass etched with lilies. “I believe there’s a lady in red over by the far wall who would appreciate having this brought to her,” he suggested with a knowing smile.
Jon glanced over. Nicole was standing by the bank of curtained windows. She was wearing a long, richly embroidered crimson dress with a plunging back. She was deep in conversation with an older man who looked familiar. Jon took the drink, his eyes never leaving her, and eased his way through the dense crowd.
Nicole looked up at his approach and smiled. “Jon, I’m pleased to see you,” she greeted. “This is commander-in-chief Xerxes. You might remember him from the Academy days, when he headed up the training there. Xerxes, this is Jon Paxton, second-in-command of the Zeta Nine.”
Xerxes put out his hand, and the two men shook. Xerxes’s grip was still strong, belying his wrinkled face. Xerxes looked over Jon for a long moment, then gave a slight bow. “I’ll leave you two alone then.” He turned and headed back into the room.
Jon offered Nicole the drink, which she gratefully took. She sipped the concoction and closed her eyes, letting out a contented sigh. “Ah, perfect. Let me guess. Stephen?”
Jon nodded. “You know your men well.”
“I should, by now,” she agreed in a low murmur.
She looked up, giving a soft smile. Jon followed her gaze. Her team had left the bar and was coming toward them. He felt that same darting heat through his soul, a branding, but this time it came with a twining warmth. He was the one here with Nicole. The team was coming to join him. They all wore outfits nearly identical to his – formal black tuxedoes, crisp white shirts. When they came to a stop in a semi-circle before Jon and Nicole, a sense of completeness settled into his core.
It was right.
Stephen carried a pair of drinks in his hands, amber liquid in low, rounded glasses. He handed one over to Jon. “Aged Hun brandy,” he explained. “I thought you might enjoy it.”
Jon took a sip and held in a groan of pleasure. Stephen wasn’t kidding. Jon had tried a number of liquors during his years of service, but nothing had ever approached the smooth, rich flavor in the glass in his hand.
Stephen’s eyes gleamed in delight. “So it meets with your approval?”
Jon chuckled. “I would guess this isn’t being stocked at the bar.”
Richard’s mouth quirked. “Our private stash. Probably not too many bottles of this left around.” He raised his glass to Jon. “Glad to see you appreciate it.”
Jon smiled. “I do indeed.”
There was a bright bubble of laughter from the far side of the room. Richard glanced toward it before bringing his gaze back to Nicole. His voice became serious. “Has she arrived yet?”
Nicole’s smile faltered at the edges, and she shook her head no. “Not yet. I imagine she will grace us with her presence at any moment now.” She took a long swallow of her cocktail. “Undoubtedly she’ll wait until the last possible moment to get through the teleporter redirect. Then she’ll stall in the entry area to make sure she’s the last person in.” Her eyes flicked toward the main door. “She wants to make her grand entrance.”
Jon raised an eyebrow at Nicole, curious.
Nicole’s voice was terse. “Captain Theresa Molloy.”
A ripple of tension ran down Jon’s spine at the name.
He should have guessed that.
Captain Molloy was infamously involved in the events surrounding Christopher’s death. According to official reports, her ship was simply in the area, and she was not directly entwined in the actual incident. Xerxes had refused to release the full details of the situation, and many in the Collective felt he was covering up for improper actions on Molloy’s part. Nicole and her men had never, to Jon’s knowledge, spoken publicly about the incident.
Jon wondered for the hundredth time just what had happened in that remote corner of the galaxy.
A hush fell across the room, and Jon instinctively turned to look toward the main entrance. Beside him, he heard Nicole gasp in outrage, and Richard growled under his breath. Jon had no doubt who the woman was who had just entered the room.
Captain Molloy was a beautiful woman – there was no denying that. Her blonde hair fell straight to her waist, and her full breasts and wide hips were complemented by a narrow waist and well-defined legs. Her choice for tonight’s outfit was to paint a delicately thin line of cherry-red latex paint in spirals around her body, barely covering the tips of her breasts and swooping downwards to touch the near-transparent red G-string she wore. Her only real clothing was a pair of stiletto-heeled red shoes.
Equally shocking was the man at her side. He was a swarthy man with ebony skin, wearing only a black loincloth. A thick iron chain was attached to a collar at his neck
Molloy tugged him along with her as if he were her pet Rottweiler.
Molloy’s gaze swept around the room and landed with laser focus on Nicole. The blonde yanked at the chain. The crowd parted in muttering waves in front of her as she made her way across the room toward them.
Nicole’s voice was low and firm. “Easy,” she warned her crewmates. “Hold to your roles. Don’t let her draw you in.”
Jon didn’t have time to ask what that might mean, for Molloy had reached them and was preening for the group with sharp pleasure. Up close, it was even more obvious how transparent her outfit – if one could call it that – was against her pale skin.
The woman offered a hand traced in spirals of red. “Neeecohhlll,” she drawled. “It is so good to see you and your harem of beautiful boys tonight. And what a charming little outfit you have on. So vintage. Did you pick that up on your last trip to Vercador Sept, that stunningly aromatic mud-pit you call home? How’s the family?”
Nicole took the proffered hand and shook it with a friendliness which surprised Jon. His con
fusion grew when Nicole spoke. Her normally rich, alto voice was suddenly light and playful
“Oh, Molly, what an absolute delight,” smiled Nicole. “And just look at that jumpsuit you have on! Your fashion sense is amazing. Stellar. Look at how the red spirals interweave with the pale pink background. Isn’t that just right, Steve?”
Stephen responded in a voice reeking of effeminate languor. “Oh, Nikki, darling, it is the cat’s eye. It is simply most luscious. I shall have to find one for myself.” He turned his gaze on the blonde. “Do tell, Molly-o, where did you acquire such a spectacular piece of fabric?”
Captain Molloy’s face sagged at this interaction, but she regrouped, drawing a smile onto her face. “It is red latex paint, decorated on my skin,” she insisted, turning to model the effect.
Sean stepped forward to peer closely at Molloy’s stomach. “Mmmmmmm, oh my, yes,” he intoned with a droll, scholarly tone. “I do see the stretch marks here. And this constellation of liver spots almost creates a parallelogram. It does in fact seem to be your own skin, cherry angiomas and all. Utterly fascinating.”
Molloy flushed crimson, creating an incongruous match with the delicate red etchings on her face. She turned roundly on Jon, her eyes sharpening.
“Here’s a new face in your menagerie,” she hissed in a sharper tone of voice. “Let me guess - the newest boy toy for Nicole?” Her gaze fixed on his, and her voice became snide. “Let me guess. One look at her, and you could want no other. You craved being by her side.” She snorted. “Let me warn you, boy, that in three days she’ll be gone. She’ll discard you like she’s abandoned all the others in the past. You’ll be the trash left behind - worn out, used, and forgotten.”
The dart carved into his heart, and he held his face neutral, understanding now why the others deflected her. She could be insidiously keen with her attacks.
His eyes brightened. Two could play that game. His years of poker playing had taught him to size up an opponent, to sense where they were weak.
He put an arm out to Nicole, and she slid up against him as if she had been made to fit at his side. He smiled fondly down at her before looking up at Molloy with contented relaxation. “Haven’t you heard? Nicole has been heralded as the greatest asset the Collective possesses. I heard Xerxes himself say so.” He ran his eyes dismissively over Molloy’s curves. “I am finding that even a day with Nicole is worth years in the presence of a lesser woman.”
He glanced down at the collared man at Molloy’s side. “I see you have a different technique for holding men to remain loyal. Fascinating.”
Molloy’s gaze narrowed, and she growled. She turned on her heel and strode toward the bar, her man-servant in tow. Jon found himself exhaling deeply as she left the area, and saw that the others had much of the same reaction. “So that’s her, in the flesh,” he said wryly to Nicole, taking a sip of his drink.
“In the flesh is right,” agreed Nicole under her breath, a twinkle returning to her eyes. She looked up at Jon. “Thank you for playing along. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you the value of perceptions on one’s opponents.”
Jon toasted his drink to hers and smiled. “I understand completely.”
A loud chiming sounded from further down the hall, and they turned to see what was going on. The blond delegate who had introduced Nicole earlier was now standing by the bank of velvet curtains, delicately striking a small metal rod against a square chime. When he saw he had the attention of the room, he put the instrument on a nearby table and expansively spread his arms.
“Welcome to the first ever event held in Glandy’s core station!” he proclaimed with enthusiasm. “This state-of-the-art research station will allow scientists from all over the galaxy to examine the actual workings of a planet’s core, safely within a shielded system. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Then, take a look!”
All of the curtains on the outer wall pulled aside simultaneously, and the crowd gasped in collective amazement. The room was suspended over an enormous, roiling cavern of lava, with spouts of hot liquid shooting up from the magma base. Some of the squeamish in the group moved back toward the relative safety of the rear walls, but Nicole, Jon and their friends immediately moved forward to the glass to get a better look.
Sean practically had his nose against the glass. “The magma is fascinating!” he gasped, looking over every new movement with a sparkling eye.
Jon felt Nicole press up alongside him and he automatically wrapped his hand closer along her slender waist, soaking in her heat as they both stared out at the landscape. It was an awe-inspiring combination of liquid rolling, gaseous bubbling, and outcroppings of black rock.
The delegate broke into their musings with an announcement. “The main poker tournament is about to begin,” he called to the room. “The players have been chosen based on the known standings of those present, with one sponsored seat. You will find the selected names at each seat. Will the players please take their places at the central table.”
The crowd swirled and eddied as hopefuls scanned the place-cards and spectators found locations to observe the play. Jon turned to talk with Nicole, but to her surprise she was gone – heading off into a corner with Xerxes. He felt the loss as a tangible sensation.
A friendly hand jostled him on the shoulder. “Do not get too distracted now,” teased Stephen in a low voice. “I see you have earned yourself a spot. If your mind wanders, Richard and I will have to clean you out early.”
“Just try,” returned Jon, drawing a smile back on his face. Nicole had important business to attend to, no doubt. And for him, the game was on.