The Lost Stars: Tarnished Knight

None of it had done that CEO much good when the revolution started. As a matter of fact, the corruption this place implied had probably helped trigger the three-way fight that had sent the CEO fleeing.

Drakon strolled over to the fireplace, peered at the controller almost invisibly set into the marble, then activated it. A decent blaze erupted from the logs, filling the room with flickering light. Laughing self-mockingly at the indulgence, Drakon walked to the bar and examined the contents. Rum from Hispan! Amazing. Filling a tall glass, Drakon sprawled into a plush chair and gazed at the fire.

He had forgotten the problem with fires. When the flames danced, you could see things in them. After having risen to the rank of CEO, after having fought far too many battles, the things Drakon saw in the fire were not born of pleasant memories. Crowding to the forefront was that city. Where had it been? Some Alliance planet. Burning. Square kilometers in flames, no one to put them out, all automated firefighting systems destroyed, soldiers in armor moving among the holocaust, adding to the destruction as they struggled for control of the city ablaze around them. He had never seen so many things burning. Towering buildings, long stretches of low-slung housing, trees . . .

He remembered being told as he stood with his surviving soldiers amid the smoking ruins that the Syndicate ground forces had triumphed and controlled what had once been a city. A week later, with Alliance reinforcements storming into the star system, Drakon and the others still alive had been evacuated as the badly outnumbered remnants of the Syndicate mobile forces withdrew.

In official reports, it had been described as a Syndicate victory.

The first drink didn’t douse the fires in his memories. He went back to the bar for a second. That was better. But recollections of old battles and dead friends still kept crowding in to destroy the tranquillity he sought, and that undefined sense of discontent with events at Taroa still troubled him, so Drakon got a third. He rarely did this, rarely drank so much, but that night he understood Gaiene better than usual. Even thinking about that new battleship, which might be a year away from being completed and operational, didn’t help. If he couldn’t find temporary tranquillity tonight, temporary oblivion would have to do.

He was well into the third large drink when the door alarm sounded. Nobody could have gotten to that door without passing a lot of sentry posts, so Drakon called out “open” and watched the locks release and the portal swing wide.

Morgan walked in like a panther fresh from a kill. The light from the fire glimmered on her black skin suit as the door swung shut again. Instead of being absorbed by the dull fabric, the firelight seemed to pick out every curve visible under the tight garment. “Hey, boss.” She looked around with a comically puzzled expression. “I expected to see lots of ravaged women lying around here.”

Drakon made a face. “That’s not my style, Morgan.”

“General, I know you like women.”

“I do. But I don’t force women. Never have. Never will. That’s for weaklings and cowards.” He finished the third drink in a single swallow while the little monkey in the back of his male mind made excited noises as it watched Morgan move a few steps closer with lethal grace.

“You could hire a woman. Or two or three,” Morgan suggested with a sly smile. “Malin could get them for you. That man is a born pimp if I ever saw one.”

“I don’t need to hire women,” Drakon said with some heat.

“Of course you don’t. You can have any woman you want. They’d come to you willingly. Because you’re a winner, General.” Morgan had stopped a few feet from him, smiling down at Drakon where he sat. “And if you listen to those who want you to win, you can do anything.”

Drakon tried to silence the jabbering alcohol-fueled monkey that was bouncing around so wildly in his head that he couldn’t focus on the warnings his common sense seemed to be trying to get across. “Sure. Look. I’m tired and stressed. Why don’t you—”

“I know you’re stressed. How long has it been, General? I know men. I know how you get. A man needs certain things, and the bigger the man, the more he needs.” Her smile had widened and taken on a quality that the monkey really, really liked. “You need a strong woman. A woman as strong as you are.”

“Morgan—” Drakon began, then the thought of whatever he was going to say vanished from his mind as Morgan reached up and started unsealing her skin suit.

She ran the seal open from shoulder to thigh with one long, languorous motion, then slowly peeled off the suit. The firelight shimmered on her body, Morgan’s eyes glinting with a muted red glow in the reflected light of the flames. “Let’s celebrate your victory,” she said.