“Roxana?” he exclaimed in surprise.
She smiled and turned to her comrades to excuse herself. Xenophon motioned for Glaucon to follow, and they moved to where she waited. Xenophon was entranced by her, not helped by the more roguish-looking clothing that she wore, a dark brown bodice with what looked like a Laconian bandolier across her shoulder. She had black leather boots that ran almost to her knee and tan coloured combat trousers. It was a far cry from her conservative uniform when they served together in the Alliance Navy.
Wow! he thought, and his pulse quickened at the sight of her.
She looked at him, waiting patiently for him to respond in some way, any way. He glanced over to Glaucon who seemed more amused than surprised. He coughed politely to get his attention. Xenophon glanced at him and turned back to Roxana.
“You’ve met Glaucon, haven’t you?” he asked, remembering his manners.
She smiled. “Of course, who could live on Attica and not spend at least some time at one of his parties?”
Glaucon smiled and bowed slightly.
“What are you doing here, and with Imperial and Laconian warriors?” asked Xenophon.
Roxana raised an eyebrow at his question.
“Well, since the occupation, I’ve been working out here in the private sector. Not all of us have done so well since the installation of the Thirty. Working with them has proven, well, very interesting and very profitable.”
“You’ve not heard?” asked Xenophon.
“About what? The restoration or the contract?” she asked, feigning surprise.
Xenophon looked confused, even surprised at her words. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, and Roxana could see the problem.
“Yes, information gets here fast. You might think Tartarus is a backwater, but it is one of the most vibrant and explosive places I’ve visited in years. I assume you are confused about what is happening back home? Democracy was re-instated nearly two weeks ago. I keep getting messages from the military high command, requesting I return home for debriefing. It seems the public want to avenge the defeat to Laconia,” she said quickly.
Xenophon started to speak, but she interrupted him immediately.
“Wait a second, you both left before the restoration. Are you on the run?”
She tilted her head slightly and looked at them.
“Xenophon, are you in trouble?” she asked coyly.
Glaucon looked to Xenophon, not wanting to say anything incriminating. It was clear from his body language that he was hiding something. Xenophon, on the other hand, wanted desperately to tell her what was happening but was never going to discuss their situation in a public place such as this. He glanced about and spotted a number of men, all wearing Laconian uniforms that were speaking to a military advisor.
“What’s going on here? Is it me, or are there a lot of military types signing up for work?” he asked.
“You noticed, huh?” asked Roxana.
Xenophon looked back at her and moved in closer.
“Can we go somewhere more private?” asked Xenophon.
She looked at him and gave him a look that told him in no uncertain way was she interested in spending private time with him.
“No, you misunderstand me.”
“Do I?” she asked.
“Yes, I need to talk to you about Attica, the Alliance, and us,” he said, pointing his hand at himself and Glaucon.
She waited for a few seconds and turned to her Laconian friends who were busy arguing about something. As she spoke, one of them looked around and sniggered at the two men. It wasn’t clear what he was being so dismissive about, but Xenophon had a few ideas. With a nod, she wandered back and spoke quietly.
“Come on, I’ll buy you both a drink in the bar upstairs, and you can tell me all about it.”
Glaucon looked to Xenophon and smiled. Xenophon just studied the large number of people and tried to count the different nationalities, occupations and even species. If he wasn’t mistaken, there seemed to be representatives from every world he had ever heard of here.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tartarus Trading Post, Neutral Space
The bar was unlike any place Xenophon had ever visited before. Creatures from every corner of the known Galaxy stood and drank, chatted, argued or flirted in the subdued lighting. Xenophon, Roxana and Glaucon sat in a quiet corner of the bar and huddled over their drinks. Their glasses were filled with a pungent green liquid that gave off an odd scent. From the top of the glass, an even stranger low-lying mist dripped down the sides and moved about the table. The effect was much like dry ice, but the smell and movement was very different.
“You recommend this stuff?” asked Glaucon.
“It’s their specialty, apparently,” Roxana answered. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
Xenophon leaned in closer to her.
“We were in the capital when Crixus and the rest left. They just announced it, and then they were gone. It took less than an hour for every single Laconian civilian and soldier to leave the city.”
“Okay, that doesn’t tell me what you are both doing here though, does it?”
She turned to Glaucon who was already distracted by a number of dancers at the far end of the bar.
“Glaucon, what were you doing there? I thought you were the ardent democrat?”
He smiled back at her, and perhaps a little surprised she remembered anything about him, especially his political views.
“Well, until a few weeks ago, I was the most ardent democratic supporter of all. Hell, Xenophon and I met over a barricade. You know he was the Inner Ward Prefect in the city, right?”
“Prefect? Yes, I heard rumours that the son of Gryllus was working with the occupying government.”
“What was I supposed to do? They wanted to leave, but not if it meant leaving behind a pro war party in their place.”
“You believe that?” she replied sarcastically.
“Well, now that they’ve gone, what has happened on Attica? I will tell you what. The mob has forced a return to democracy, and the first thing they want already is revenge. I promise you, they will happily go to war over this perceived slight even if it means turning the planet to glass.”
Roxana placed her glass back onto the table. She appeared somewhat surprised at this loud and continuous outburst by her old friend.
“I’d forgotten how passionate you can get about certain subjects.”
“Glass?” asked Glaucon, genuinely confused.
“It’s Xenophon, just trying to be cryptic. Centuries ago, back when we were threatening each other with thermonuclear weapons, it was a common phrase. By using powerful hydrogen bombs, the thermal energy would literally boil people, objects and buildings.”
“Turning them to glass?” added Glaucon.
“Exactly. I think you’ll find it’s just Xenophon trying to be clever.”
Xenophon shook his head, evidently unimpressed by her comments.
“What about you then, Roxana? What are you doing in a place like this? And with such, well, colourful company?”
She leaned back and took a long draught from her glass. The alcohol was potent, and with each breath she was becoming less stern and a little merrier. With a clunk, she brought the glass down and glanced about the room. It truly was the most bohemian of locations, but nobody seemed to be particularly interested in the three Terrans.
“Okay, here it is. I met a group of Alliance officers who would be offered some security work on one of the colony freighters off-world. This was right after the surrender, and if you remember, at that point many Alliance military were being locked up. I joined a crew, and we spent the next three months guarding the convoys. Pretty easy work and the pay was good, really good.”
“You, a private security contractor?” asked Glaucon.
Roxana glanced at him and turned to Xenophon.
“Anyway, when we got back from the last job, I met this Imperial Army guy.”
“The one that was downstairs earlier?”