Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Five

An Unexpected Invitation

General Malcolm Reed

My take on quite a few things has changed in the last few months, and one of the things that I've started to do – to the general consternation, at first, it must be admitted – is to eat with Liz in the Mess Hall now and again when my ship is at Jupiter Station.

I suppose it was hardly to be wondered at that conversation around us was muted the first few times. The very first time, it was slightly awkward trying to fork down my Yorkshire pudding and sausages with onion gravy while appearing completely oblivious of the fact that I was the focus of a sea of awed eyes. It felt rather as if I were the celebrant in some kind of mystic religious ceremony, except that I don't suppose the congregation in your average church were usually too frozen with fear to get up and leave.

(That's not an issue these days, anyway. About the same time as imposing the ban on religion, the Empire scooped up all the wealth and property that all religious organisations had spent centuries accruing. It definitely eased things at the financial end of operations, though a few foolhardy folk complained about 'culture' and that.)

However, use accustoms most of us to many things, and these days my arrival creates little stir. The courtesy rules in the Code of Military Conduct require people to stand out of respect to a very senior officer, of course, and I don't imagine that any of us would feel very comfortable if I were to give blanket permission to disregard that rule as Trip seems to have done (given my reputation and the fact that I lack his happy-go-lucky charm, they would always wonder if I meant it), but when I nod an acknowledgement, they sit down again quite quickly, and conversation resumes at more or less its usual level. Now and again Trip joins us, and once he brought T'Pol – now that did feel a bit odd, and probably caused some talk (with her being a slave), but they had some genuinely important stuff to discuss with me and in all honesty neither of us could really spare the time to discuss it anywhere else. So any eavesdropper soon found that even if it wasn't top-secret stuff it wasn't just idle chit-chat either, and if it happened again I don't suppose it would turn heads that much.

Things, as a certain Commodore Tucker would say, are indeed a-changin'.

So when I'm eating lunch today and suddenly all the chairs around me scrape back – including Liz's – I'm so surprised I nearly inhale a square of Stilton. I know officers from visiting ships don't usually use the general messes, so there's no-one else I could think of who would merit the assembled rising to their feet.

Unless it happens to be Her Serene Majesty the Empress Sato paying us an impromptu visit (not impossible, but rather unlikely), I outrank anyone else. So I leave my chair where it is, and look around in mild curiosity to see who has caused this surprising stir.

Surprising, indeed. Your average Admiral of the Fleet doesn't make a practice of feeding with the herd, and I can think of no other reason for Admiral Erika Hernandez to be wandering into the place. She's keenly aware of her rank, and I somehow doubt most heartily that she'd plonk herself down beside me for a chat with a slave in tow, whatever the rationale behind the decision.

So imagine my surprise when after a glance around to locate me (probably not particularly difficult, as I'm the only person still seated), Hernandez strolls in my direction and, after saluting, asks permission to join me.

Internally I'm mildly irked by her ignoring my companion as though Liz was wearing a cloak of invisibility, but then Liz is a mere lieutenant, and has no real say in whether an admiral can or cannot take a seat at any table she chooses to – or, indeed, make off with the whole table and all its chairs if the fit takes her, unless I happen to object of course, which as I'm sitting at it I probably would. Moreover, given my well-earned reputation, it's probably a bit beyond Hernandez's powers of imagination that I might regard my fuck-toy as worth the consideration of being included even nominally in the request.

"Please." I indicate a vacant chair. "I'll get the steward to bring you something."

"Actually, General, I've already eaten." She flashes me a smile. "But I was wondering if you'd care to join me for dinner this evening." Unexpectedly, she looks at Liz. "With a partner, if you care to bring one, of course."

I'm even more surprised, but the invitation to Liz disarms me. Ordinarily I'd ask if there was any particular reason – Starfleet officers don't usually socialize with me if there's any way they can humanly get out of it – but that would be discourteous to Hernandez in the current circumstances. If she's been polite (and brave) enough to ask me to dinner, presumably she has a reason and it may well be something quite unsuitable for airing in a general Mess Hall.

A swift glance says that Liz definitely is keen on the invitation – hardly surprising, as it's a definite indication of her status as my Significant Other.

"I've sent an invitation to Commodore Tucker too," Hernandez continues. "I'm hoping he'll fill us in on the upgrades to the Axeblade. Considering that Starfleet were saying last year that ship was just about ready to be scrapped, I hardly recognized her when we docked."

"He is acquiring a reputation as a miracle-worker." I pick up the bottle of chilled apple juice and offer to pour some into her glass, which she refuses with a polite smile, preferring water which Liz pours for her. "A deserved one, in my opinion."

"His work on the Defiant was a pivotal moment for the Empire," she agrees. "I hope he'll attend. I think it could be a really interesting evening."

I think so too, actually, and though she takes her leave very shortly after that – prompting another outburst of leaping to feet, except on my part of course – I finish my cheese and grapes in a surprisingly optimistic mood. Liz is being recognized and Trip's contribution to the Imperial success story acknowledged by one of the most powerful admirals in Starfleet. If she's genuine, this is a huge step forward. The threat she could pose to our plans can hardly be overestimated, but maybe this is a straw in the wind. What we all want is stability for the Empire, and if one of the most powerful players on the board has decided to make overtures of friendship in our direction, then personally I'm more than willing to encourage her.

Within reason, of course. And always, with due care.

=/\=

But unfortunately for the proposed tête-á-tête between the four of us, Trip turns obstinate and says he's too busy to attend. I press him as hard as friendship allows, but he can occasionally put a mule to shame and waxes a tad sarcastic on the topic of some guys having ships to repair and just not having the time to go 'poodle-fakin' with the admiralty' (I wonder where he got that expression from?). So in the event, Liz and I go on our own, and it has to be said that even though I already know Liz is a very lovely young woman, when I see her all dressed up in a flame-orange ultra-formal dress with her hair styled up and a knot of flowers on one shoulder I'm honestly taken aback.

"I feel underdressed," I complain. I've made an effort, but then I was never a contender for a beauty pageant at the best of times, and although I thought my dark grey uniform was smart enough when I put it on, she casts me positively into the shade.

"You look amazing." Woman-like, she finds something to adjust in the set of my collar.

"And you, Lieutenant Elizabeth Cutler, look beautiful." I kiss her. "Admiral Hernandez will be very jealous."

She makes big eyes at me. "Of me?"

"Of me, more likely."

We're in the turbo-lift by now, and she can give me a prod in the belly without causing a station-wide scandal. "She doesn't!" she giggles.

"Oh, I can assure you she does. Very wide-ranging tastes, has our Admiral Hernandez. And stamina to match, or so I've heard."

"Malcolm, you are the most terrible gossip. You should be ashamed."

"Gossip, my dear, is only another word for 'information'. And information is the stock of my trade. So I'm afraid you'll have to put up with my penchant for hanging over metaphorical garden fences for a little longer."

We're at the docking level now, and the doors open to reveal the honour guard that our kind hostess has courteously sent to accompany us; and so, composing my face to the appropriate gravity, I allow them to escort me into the Revenge, where Erika's chef has excelled himself to produce a meal that would pass muster at an Imperial reception.

Throughout the meal, we keep up an easy flow of conversation. Now this is something I'm not particularly good at as a rule, but Hernandez is so good at it that I find myself drawn along with her. And despite the fact that much of it is pretty technical and some of it is probably above Liz's security clearance, it never strays into subjects that would leave her abandoned for understanding. A subtle courtesy that I appreciate, and after we've finally taken our leave again, I find to my amusement that our hostess has made quite a conquest of my fair companion.

"Of course, she was doing all of it to get on your good side," Liz says saucily as we finally walk into my quarters. "She knew you'd be grumpy if I was excluded."

"No, I honestly don't think so." A tactical officer to the last, I've already made a note of where the fastening is on that very elegant dress, and I make a preliminary investigation on how co-operative its wearer is feeling to having it undone. Happily for me, she is very co-operative, and I slide down the zip to reveal a beckoning expanse of skin and the back of a very pretty-looking bra, which I'm looking forward to removing in due course.

"I think she was honestly impressed," I continue, kissing the back of her neck. "I mean, I know there's a lot more to you than a mere nurse – if there is any such thing as a 'mere' nurse, of course – but I don't think our dear admiral was expecting you to sustain your end of the conversation quite as ably as you did."

"I enjoyed it." She turns around and begins unfastening my uniform. "I want you to be proud of me. I want to help in what you and Trip are doing."

"Liz." I catch hold of her fingers gently. "I am proud of you. Tonight, I was proud of the way you conducted yourself with an admiral who once upon a time would have had you so shit-scared you wouldn't have dared open your mouth. Other times I'm proud of you when you're helping run one of the busiest medical centres in the Empire, taking some of the burden off Jeremy Lucas and the other doctors. But whatever you're doing, Liz, I am truly proud of you.

"Remember that. Whatever happens, always remember that."

And then I release her hands, and for a little while at least we forget that anyone else in the universe even exists.

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