Condor in Love

Another damned idiot mission to appease some twit with more rank than sense. Jason sighed, looked around the room from his post on the upper balcony of the Terran Embassy on Tzarkad'aya.

"Look on the bright side," Mark had said: "it isn't a battle or infiltration mission. I'm not fond of this type of detail, myself, but it beats trying to look in a million directions at once while fighting."

I can't stand a meet-and-greet. Not even when I'm on guard duty. He preferred the chance of action, especially against Spectra. Most guard duty was simply staying awake and paying attention.

He caught sight of Keyop, bored stiff, alongside Princess. The kid might be artificial, but he was still a boy. She would have her hands full in another thirty minutes.

Tiny was not at the buffet table. He had his eye on everyone and everything. A couple of young women were flirting with him, and he managed to keep alert while flirting back.

Mark had somehow done that trick of blending in, even though his blazing white uniform said 'Shoot me now.'

His eyes settled on Chief Anderson, who was working the attendees. Instead of his usual light-blue jacket and dark blue trousers, he wore a dark blue suit that enhanced his dignity. He could do crap like this all day, and never give any sign of annoyance or boredom. How does he put up with the blowhards and the idiots? There can't be that many interesting people here.

The cougar who was the Tinirian ambassador to Tzarkad'aya had spotted Anderson. Unlike some older women who never grew up, she didn't look as if she'd had any work done. From here, her approach seemed appropriately subtle. Perhaps, Jason thought, he was doing her an injustice. She could simply be an older woman who liked to play. It certainly looked like Anderson could handle himself.

Of course he could handle himself. He was the Chief.

Keep your mind on the job. Spectra could be anywhere.

After about fifteen minutes, the Tinirian ambassador smiled and took her leave. Jason grinned as she closed on another guest. At least someone was having fun.

Anderson kept his expression and tone polite as he made his way through the crowd. Receptions and ambassadorial balls were necessary evils, part of the dance that kept the Federation government going, and Federation Security from being no more than a shell (Spectra attacks or not). Some of the guests were truly entertaining, either because they could talk about more than a narrow slice of interests, or because they understood the game as well.

The Tinirian ambassador understood the game. She was a sharp woman, more than capable of holding her own against other ambassadors and negotiators. He'd seen her turn from flirtatious to businesslike in less time than an eye could blink, knocking people off-balance. It gave her a heck of an advantage in negotiations.

No Tiny at the buffet table? Well, that's where enemy agents would expect him to be. Not over by the bay window, apparently getting a few names and addresses. People never believed that Tiny was the G-Force player. Mark was too much of a Boy Scout, and Jason rarely dated. Keyop was - Keyop.

This night was taking forever. Jason trailed Anderson with his eyes, occasionally following him physically. Oh, G-Force might be here at the Terran ambassador's request, but their main job was protecting the Chief. He took this job seriously.

What was wrong with him tonight? He could usually keep his mind on task. Why was he focusing so much on Anderson, personally? Had he caught some unconscious hint of danger? It would not be the first time any member of the team had picked up on trouble based upon things not consciously perceived.

He looked over the crowd again. None of the others seemed concerned. Where was the trouble? In his imagination?

The evening wound down. Lesser dignitaries had already left, and others were heading for the exits.

This was a perfect time for enemy agents to strike. Guards are tired, or distracted, or just not paying attention. He could see his teammates increase their watchfulness.

Anderson signaled him. They could leave without being rude. Time for Jason to become a driver.

He glided to the parking lot and found the car provided by Federation Security. A decent one, with enough power for any necessary evasive maneuvers, and a bit of armoring. Well, after that mummy thing, people on this planet were taking Spectra seriously.

Not until Anderson got into the car did the rest of the team head for their vehicles: Princess and Keyop on her bike, Mark on his own motorcycle, Tiny in another motor-pool car. They made a short parade.

"Is everything all right?" Anderson asked. "You look tense."

"You know I hate this sort of duty, sir. I get jumpy. It's so perfect for trouble."

"I know." The Chief leaned back and loosened his tie.

He's tired. He works so hard. Did anyone appreciate that? They should.

Driving and keeping an eye out for trouble took all his attention.

After parking under the Federation Security complex, Jason turned. "We're here…," he trailed off.

Anderson was asleep. It was a shame to wake him. Jason opened the back door and hesitated a bit before gently shaking his passenger. "Sir, we're here." He almost brushed at a few strands of hair that had fallen across the man's face.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've been busy." Anderson got out. "Too many things to do and not enough hours in the day."

You could delegate a lot of that, I'm sure, sir. Delegate it or something.

The rest of G-Force waited for them at the entrance. Keyop looked ready to drop.

At the guest level, they took the rooms in their suite.

Anderson checked his messages. Routine, routine, routine…. A text from Dr. Mainwaring. He owed her a dinner date.

He owed a lot of women dinner dates. Lately, Spectra's attacks and the Federation's responses had put his social life in the ICU. The order to form G-Force had ended his engagement. Sharai could make many sacrifices and accept many things, but not turning children into warriors. That sort of thing belonged to the Middle Ages.

At least the warriors of the Middle Ages could count on marriage and children. G-Force was too much in the front lines. They had no personal lives, short of hanging out at Jill's or in their ready room at Center Neptune. All five expected to die, although they did their best to delay that day.

He had already laid out the basic plan for their lives after the war. They would need counseling, and training, to fit into civilian society. No details. Details changed.

Jason leaned his weight on one hand, arm extended, looking out the big window at the fish and other sea-creatures passing by.

Another's arms slid around him from behind, as lips nuzzled the side of his neck. He dropped his hand to his lover's hands and curled his other arm up to tangle his fingers in thick brown hair. As he bent his head back, he whispered a name. "Peter."

He sat straight up in bed, wide-awake. Hard as a rock.

No way. No. Fucking. Way.

I can't be gay. Can I?

Okay, so he hadn't found a woman who interested him. Plenty of dates that had been fun, but not necessarily romantic. A kiss good night, and not much more. No chemistry. That did not mean he was gay. Plenty of straight men did not try to bone their dates.

Okay, so what? So what if he was? The only difference now was that he knew he was gay. That didn't change the way he felt about his teammates. Mark, Tiny, and Keyop were like brothers to him, and Princess had always been a sister.

But now he knew why he'd spent the evening watching Anderson. Why he'd had his attention on the Chief for the past couple of weeks. He'd fallen in love. With his boss.

His hetero boss.

Shit.