“She asks you to come in,” said a half-remembered voice in English, and Peters looked up to see Dreelig escort one of the Hornet drivers into the room. The “ambassador” was wearing khakis and looked disgruntled.
The woman with him scanned the apartment with short suspicious glances. She was also in khakis, with a sparkle of gold at her collar point; she had brown hair cut just below the ear, brown eyes, and a face that would have been generously pretty if not for her truculent expression. Lieutenant Commander Travers, XO of VF-97. Her eye lit on Dee; after a moment the Grallt girl smiled, an expression so brightly artificial it might have been stainless steel, and the visitor quirked a corner of her mouth and looked away. “Well, PO Peters, looks like you fell in the honey pot,” was her opening comment. “Where’s the other girl? You dumped her already?”
“Come on in, Ms. Travers,” Peters invited, the last syllable coinciding with the click as Dreelig closed the door behind him. “Have a seat. Sorry about the jumble, we ain’t fully set up yet.” She scowled and made no move to sit, and he laced his fingers together over the clipboard and looked up at her. “What can we do for you?” he asked mildly.
“For one thing, you can stand up and offer me the respect due an officer,” she spat.
Peters didn’t move. “Well, ma’am, these here’s private quarters, and in my own home I wouldn’t pop to for CNO,” he said, keeping his voice level with effort.
“Who is this annoying person?” Ander Korwits asked. She had adopted her stone face, motionless as a statue’s and showing less emotion.
“This is Lieutenant Commander Travers,” Dee told her brightly, sword-edged smile wavering not a hair. “She is an operator of the ships called Hornet.”
“’She’? This is a female?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“Bullshit.” She surveyed their visitor. “She has less breast tissue than John does. Alper’s breasts are enormous by comparison, and I am positively gross.”
Peters smiled. “There is no portion of your anatomy that can be considered ‘gross’ in any respect. As for Ms. Travers, if I am not mistaken her breasts were removed when she began operating fighting-ships. The accelerations involved in operating ships without zifthkakik make large breasts very uncomfortable, or so I am told.”
“Several of the female ship operators have undergone the alteration,” Dee confirmed.
“She must have wanted to become a fighting-ship operator very badly to accept such mutilation.”
Peters nodded. “It takes a strong desire to become a fighting-ship operator in any case; the training regime is rigorous. But her acceptance of the ‘mutilation’ was probably affected by the fact that it isn’t permanent. Her breasts were preserved by a special procedure, and can be restored when she wishes.”
Ander performed a flick of her forefinger, the tiny motion betraying her agitation. “John, you will have to tell me a great deal more about your society. I have heard and seen some amazing things, but this—”
Dreelig had been translating in a low tone as the others spoke. Travers had grown more and more choleric, and now she burst out, “God damn it, Peters, I didn’t come here to discuss my tits or lack thereof, and stop talking past me like I wasn’t here!”
“She isn’t very gracious,” Ander observed.
“No. She feels that I should be obsequious, and she doesn’t consider her anatomy a fit subject for discussion, but I think something else is disturbing her as well.”
“Yes. She seemed agitated when she first came in.” She eyed Travers, preserving her complete neutrality of expression. “Why does she feel you should be obsequious?”
“She is an officer. You heard about our precedence structure when I explained it to Elisin Troy. By her estimation I am of no consequence.”
“By her estimation no one is of any consequence unless she grants it,” Dee put in.
“Hmph.” The grunt was no less contemptuous for being devoid of inflection. “Her estimation is in error.”
“Your estimation doesn’t affect hers, I’m afraid,” Peters told her, and she acknowledged that with a nod of perhaps a millimeter. “Ms. Travers, I ain’t meanin’ to talk past you, but I was tryin’ to get Ander up to speed. She asked about your surgery, except the word she used would translate best as ‘mutilation’, and I told her what I know about it. I reckon you heard from Dreelig how much that is.” He leaned back slightly. “If this is a social call, or if you’ve got questions, now’d be a real good time for you to take a chair and speak your piece.”
“Social call,” Travers hissed. “God damn it, Peters, I came to take these girls out of your clutches and into an environment where they can get some proper support! The only reason I’m even talking to you is to give you a chance to be cooperative.”
Peters stared into her face for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “The ladies are free to go wherever and whenever they want,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even, “and as for support, I’m providin’ that as best I can.”
“Yeah,” Travers sneered, “using them as sex slaves is real fine support! Dreelig, tell the girl to get her friend and come with us. Peters, Commander Bolton and Mr. Everett are waiting out in the hall in case you give me trouble.”
Dreelig said reluctantly, “Please go and get the other girl. You must come with us; Peters is an unsuitable person to have you in custody.”
“No.”
“She refuses,” Dreelig explained.
“I heard her.” Travers turned to face Ander. “You need to get out of this asshole’s clutches and over into the women’s quarters,” she said, making a visible effort to keep her voice level. “You may be refugees, but you don’t have to put up with being used to get this jerk’s rocks off.” Ander didn’t respond with so much as a twitch, and Travers added: “Tell her, Dreelig.”
“Ms. Travers has arranged for you to have living quarters with the other human women,” Dreelig explained. “You are distressed persons, but help is available; you need not submit to the sexual appetites of unsuitable persons.”
“She is deranged, to make such arrangements without consulting me,” Ander noted. “Alper can speak for herself, but I am where I wish to be.”
“She still refuses,” Dreelig reported. “She says you don’t understand—”
Dee giggled. “Actually, what she said is that you’re crazy, Spike. It’s as good an explanation as any.”
“You stay out of this, you stupid little bint! Just because you like whoring for two hundred sailors doesn’t mean anybody else has to put up with it.”
Dee looked up, teeth bared in what might be mistaken for a smile. “I’ll keep your comments in mind, Spike. Too bad I don’t have a recorder.”
Travers colored. After a moment she said to Peters, “Tell the girls to come with me, sailor. Otherwise you’re going to be in deep trouble.”
“Well, now, I reckon you ain’t thought that out real well,” Peters remarked. He was gripping the arms of the chair, trying to keep the shakes from showing. “If I give ‘em that order, and they do it, it proves you’re right, don’t it? And if they don’t, you’ll just try somethin’ else. So I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”
“Get the Commander,” Travers said to Dreelig, then looked back at Peters. “You are up shit’s creek, sailor,” she said with venom. “I’ll see to it you get life in Statesville if I can’t get you hung.”
“All right, what’s going on?” Bolton asked as he shouldered through the door. Everett towered over him as he followed.
“Ms. Travers has barged into private quarters, insulted everyone present, and made threats,” Dee summarized brightly. “She now calls on you to aid and abet kidnapping.”