Captain Vorpatril's alliance

“Ah,” said Ivan Xav, faintly. “Well. It’s been a long day, perhaps I’d better hit the lav‑uh, unless you’d like first crack?”

“Or we could share the shower…” Her fingers twirled some more.

He shook his head in regret. “Not this one. It’s only a sonic, and two people wouldn’t fit.” He brightened. “But when we get back to my place in Vorbarr Sultana, I know that, um…another time?”

They should have taken advantage of the amenities back in his Solstice flat, but how were they to have known? Timing. The best chances of life all ran afoul of timing.

He kissed her again, then peeled himself away, lips last.

When they rendezvoused again in the bed, most of the unwrapping was already done, to Tej’s mild regret, but perhaps there would be other occasions. She slid between the sheets he had warmed. Clean sheets, she noticed in appreciation, a thoughtful touch from the busy batman, at a guess. Ivan Xav rolled over, and up on one elbow, his hand hovering uncertainly over her, as if he didn’t know where to begin.

She smiled up at him. “Are you shy, Ivan Xav?”

“No!” he denied indignantly. “It’s just…I’ve never made love to a wife, before. I mean, to my wife. A wife of my own. Not having had one. I don’t know how a few words in a groat circle can make what should be familiar feel very strange all of a sudden. Power of suggestion or something.”

She rolled up on her own elbow, to free a hand to reach his face, trace the bones beneath the skin. Good bones. Her body shifted with the motion, and then he wasn’t looking deep into her eyes anymore, but he was looking, pupils wide and black. Noticing gifts with due reverence needn’t always take the form of speech, she was reminded.

“I always kept it light, y’know?” he gasped.

“I can do light,” she said, leaning in. “My name means light.”

He leaned to meet her. “So…so illuminate me,” he breathed, and then there was much less talking.

The admiral’s batman brought breakfast on a trolley‑not intending it to be indolently consumed in bed, Ivan suspected, but rather to make sure Ivan was out of his in a timely fashion. The military servant knocked politely on both bedroom doors and set up the meal in the sitting room, effacing himself promptly as soon, Ivan also suspected, as he’d ascertained who had slept with whom last night, the better to report that intelligence back to their mutual boss. Desplains had very obviously left it up to Ivan and his guests to sort themselves out, but he had to be curious as to the results.

Ivan felt…chipper, he decided, was a good word. Remarkably chipper. He put himself together in immaculate military order, waved to Rish, who was blearily sucking tea, kissed his wife goodbye‑make that, his beautiful bed‑rumpled exquisitely edible wife, who, to cap his enchantment, did not appear to be chatty in the mornings‑and chippered off to work, approximately twelve steps down the corridor to Desplains’s on‑board office, adjoining the ship’s compact tactics room.

Desplains was there before him, not unexpectedly‑the admiral found the constraints of jump travel minus combat boring, and, unless Madame Desplains was along, worked longer shifts to fill the time. Since this often resulted in his generating yet more things for his subordinates to do, it was one of Ivan’s duties not mentioned in the manual to make sure he didn’t extend those hours indefinitely. But this shift, Ivan felt ready to wrestle a thousand snakes. He greeted the admiral with a snappy salute and a “Good morning, sir!” and fell to.

Desplains merely raised a brow; they slid at once into the practiced routine, Ivan triaging the messages coming in semi‑continuously over secured tightbeam, shooting notes back and forth, the occasional spoken query or order, returning memos, messages, and orders in a steady stream back to Komarr Operations or ahead to Ops HQ in Vorbarr Sultana, still five flight‑days away. As Ivan had anticipated, the uncovering of the theft and smuggling ring had generated a load of new traffic, though not yet the interesting explosions that would no doubt ensue when word had finally made it all the way to Commodore Jole’s Sergyar Command and back.

“Ivan?” said Desplains, about an hour into this.

“Sir?”

“Stop whistling. You sound like an air leak.”

“Sorry, sir. Didn’t realize I was doing that.”

“So I eventually concluded.”