Grayson Sontang in Space Ch. 05

"I don't suppose you'd want to lend me your jacket? You know, so you're not distracted while trying to bay this beast."

Grayson grinned salaciously, but shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it to him. He arranged it over his lap then fastened the seat's safety belts, squirming to get comfortable. A puzzled frown crossed his face and he reached into the pocket of her jacket, pulling out the miniblaster.

Her chin jutted and she held out her hand for the small but heavy device. "We're not in Confed space anymore," she stated. After a pause, he laid it in her palm and she returned it to her boot. She glanced at him again. "Do you remember anything; did you see anybody?"

He shook his head. "Last thing I remember was trying to figure the best way to load canisters and crates on that lumbering bot of yours."

Grayson rolled her eyes. "That bot may be lumbering, but it's perfectly capable of figuring optimum loading configurations. I programed it myself."

"That's what I was afraid of," he pointed out.

"Oh, shit!" Grayson yelped.

"What?" he asked in alarm.

She swung a monitor toward him. "Company. That's a Fed shuttle, waiting to scoot into our bay the minute the door opens."

"Why didn't Hal warn you?" he asked.

"I sort of turned him off."

"What? Why?" Hendon was becoming more confused by the moment. Her answer didn't help.

"Plausible deniability."

"Come again?"

She sighed. "Hal was trying to tell me I had an appointment with the Feds at six this morning. I didn't want to hear that, so I turned him off. I guess when I took off from the port, they decided to move the meeting to my ship. It's all your fault," she accused.

"And how do you figure that?"

"You were laying in a naked heap on the floor. It was either drag you back and strap you in with the cargo or keep the ride slow and smooth."

"I thought you said the Fed here were planet-based."

"Well, they consider orbit part of the planet. They just don't usually go there if they can find you on the ground."

"So you left the ground and insured they would come to the ship."

"I was kind of hoping they wouldn't look for me until I missed the meeting, and by then we'd be out of orbit."

"Any other bright ideas?"

"Um, wake Evans up and have him leave orbit?"

"Is that Fed shuttle armed?"

She shrugged. "Probably."

"Then no."

"They're not going to shoot at the prince, no matter how pissy they are. I don't think," she added.

He grimaced. "No, they'll shatter your hydrogen exhausts. Then, even if you talk fast enough to stay out of lockup, you still won't be going anywhere."

She straightened in her seat. "Well then, we'll just have to convince them these aren't the Siriuns they're looking for."

"Excuse me?"

"Jedi mind trick." She glanced at him then rolled her eyes when he simply stared back in confusion. "Movies? Star Wars? Crap, Hendon, what the hell did you do when you were on freighters?"

"Investigated smugglers. As opposed to the education you were obviously receiving." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Grayson shook her head in disgust as she hit the ship's comm switch. Instead of speaking, though, she hit an encrypt key and began furiously typing instructions to Hal. His voice filled the freight shuttle, informing them that a Fed shuttle was requesting entry. "Sorry Hal, you're still breaking up. Shuttle's antenna must be broken," she said as she continued typing.

Hendon tried to read the monitor over her shoulder. "It would be nice if you could have Bogart bring me some clothes," he suggested.

Grayson stopped typing and turned to look at him. "And cover up that fine ass?" she smirked.

"I figured once you'd had some of this fine ass, you wouldn't want to share."

She considered a moment. "Okay," she conceded. "But I still get to make up the stories about why you needed a change of clothes."

"I can't believe you," he said, shaking his head. "You're about to try to face down Feds and you're making up stories?"

"They're much more pliable when they're laughing their asses off," she muttered, finishing her instructions to Hal.

She waited until she received his encrypted reply back. All it said was, "Are you sure?"

"Fucking Artificial Intelligence picks now to kick in," she swore, sending her own colorful reply. She sat back and took hold of the controls built into the arms of her chair. "Settle in, sailor," she told Hendon. "This is going to be the longest, most tedious bay approach you've experienced since piloting school." She proceeded to waste every conceivable minute of time she could stretch out, overshooting every glide, over-rotating on every turn, even making abortive attempts to give Hal commands through the 'broken' antenna. She provided the Fed shuttle with the same disrupted communications when they signaled her directly.

When she received the encrypted "all clear" message from the computer, she finally 'managed' to send a garbled command to open the bay door. The Fed shuttle shot inside with - if such could be said of an inanimate object - exasperation. Grayson smiled gleefully to herself as she pulled her own freight shuttle in on the other side of her runabout. She turned her good humor toward Hendon, but he only scowled. "If you can't have a little fun at the Fed's expense, then life's hardly worth living," she chortled. She sighed when he failed to get her humor and turned to run through her system shutdowns as the bay door closed and air cycled back into the bay.

When Hal gave the okay, she climbed out of the shuttle and turned expectantly toward Hendon. He gestured toward a neat pile of clothes that had been left on the floor of the bay next to the runabout. "Would you mind terribly bringing me those clothes?" he asked.

Grayson grinned maliciously, but went to fetch the clothes for him, tossing them into the shuttle. "Stay out of sight," she warned. The Feds were already out of their shuttle and milling around near the portal to the interior. Grayson donned her patient face, wondering how long she was going to be able to maintain it and strode toward them.

"Gentlemen," she said in greeting. "I apologize for my comm problems, but we're all here now. How can I help you?"

"You have Siriuns on your ship," the highest ranking officer said.

"I believe we established that matter yesterday. Have Siriuns suddenly become contraband in the last week or two? In which case, I certainly hope my..." She bit her tongue before she could call them cargo. "Passengers would fall under a grandfathering clause."

"You have a Trader's license."

"You have a knack for stating the obvious," she pointed out, smiling over the sarcasm.

"You do not have a Transport license on file."

Grayson scratched her ass. "I received special dispensation from the Siriun government. It covers native and naturalized residents of the sector. If you were on speaking terms with them, you could check and find that out for yourself."

"You are not in Sirius Sector," a junior officer pointed out.

Grayson smiled at him, but it came off more as a predatory teeth baring. "Transport licenses are issued by the planet or sector where most of the transporting originates. Being as you're stationed on this backwater planet, undoubtedly with reason, you might not realize that there are any number of transport ships and probably even more yachts licensed by Sirius to carry Siriuns to other parts of the galaxy and doing so on a daily basis."

She turned her focus back on the ranking officer. "Perhaps, if you gentlemen tell me exactly why you are here, we can clear up whatever misunderstanding has occurred and all be about our jobs once more."

"May we see your ship?" he asked, obviously making as much of an effort at politeness as she was.

Grayson frowned. I'm not in the habit of allowing unfettered access to my ship. It sets a bad precedent."

"And yet you are carrying Siriuns."

"An act of charity. Their yacht was attacked by pirates. And I'm quite sure they would tell you that their access is definitely fettered."

He spread his hands. "We can get a warrant, but I'm afraid that can be a time-consuming effort on this 'backwater' planet. I would hate to delay your journey by days when we are here now and could conclude our business with a very minor disruption."

Grayson's frown became a scowl. "I trust your report will prominently mention my displeasure at this intrusion."

"I am happy to guarantee that," he agreed, gesturing toward the portal.

Grayson strode to the portal and slapped the control. The six Feds followed her out onto the bridgework surrounding her cargo silo. She wondered if Feds always traveled in a six-pack. Or maybe her file suggested a minimum of six because she was so dangerous. She smiled to herself as she gestured vaguely toward the lower floor where children had turned the ring featuring her grudge match with Hendon into some sort of a game that involved way more tape on the floor and something that looked suspiciously like paint. She couldn't help but notice their undue interest in the children, looking for the prince, no doubt. She strode across the ironwork bridge and into the mid-level cargo hold. Cots and people were scattered about, and Het and Sip were working on equipment that always seemed to be on the verge of breaking down. The native Siriuns looked at the Feds with distrust. At least, she thought it was distrust. It was hard to tell with the hairy xenos. The Feds' noses wrinkled at the smell she had finally gotten used to.

"So. Siriuns," she said, waving her arms. "Am I under arrest?"

An older gentleman was walking toward them, nodding at the Feds. Grayson suspected he was part of the royal family, but then, so were hundreds of others, including a number on her ship. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hendon slip into the cargo hold behind the Feds. "Gentlemen," the Siriun said, bowing slightly. "I am Atimus, second uncle twice removed from the Emperor of Sirius. May I be of assistance to you?"

"You're the..." the Fed officer searched for the term he wanted. "The highest ranking here?"

Atimus smiled warmly, in a manner Grayson could never hope to emulate. "I am the eldest here of the royal family. Honorary spokesman, if you will." He gestured behind them. "If it is rank you need to confer with, Officer Hendon, here, is highest ranked of the naturalized citizens of Sirius Sector and Alliance Officer Het is highest ranked of native citizens. But if, like me, you honor beauty and intelligence and spirit above all." He gestured with both hands toward Grayson, "Then I would recommend you to our most gracious host, Grayson Sontang."

The Fed threw Grayson a sour look. "I'm looking for the son of your king," he said, deliberately avoiding the title Emperor.

Atimus' smile turned apologetic, and Grayson wondered if he could teach her how to come across with such sincerity. Probably not, she concluded. "The prince is not among us, as you can see."

"We have it on good authority that he is on this ship."

Atimus looked genuinely puzzled. "And what authority would that be? Have you been in communication with the Royal Family? It was my impression that the Federation cut communications with Sirius Sector."

"I am not at liberty to divulge my sources," the Fed said stiffly. "Do you deny that the prince was on the yacht when you were attacked?"

The Siriun shook his head sadly. "Such a tragedy. Lives were lost. Did you know that? Some say that it was because the Federation withdrew its protections of the wormholes, but I try to explain the complexities of the political situation, the challenges to various loyalties. Still, when one has to tell a wife or husband that their loved one was lost in space..." He trailed off.

The Fed looked grim. "Nevertheless..." he started.

"Ah, yes, the Prince," Atimus reminded himself, shaking his remorse off with some difficulty. "There were grave concerns that the attack happened because the prince was rumored to be aboard the yacht. Great care has been taken to keep his movements secret. I am sure in a meritocracy such as the Federation, it is hard to understand the value our culture places on lineage, right or wrong. Still, you can understand how reluctant we as a people would be to move the prince, the heir to the throne, about so openly and on an unprotected trader ship, no less. No offense," he said quickly to Grayson, who simply cocked an eyebrow.

"So you're saying he isn't on this ship?"

Atimus spread his hands. "Do you see him? Do you see any signs of the security that would surround a prince of state? Truly, can you picture one of such royal blood sleeping on a cot?"

"Then you won't mind if we search?"

"Not at all," Atimus replied.

"Uh," Grayson said as the Fed turned to her with a grin. She threw her hands in the air. "Fine, what the hell. Hendon, show him all the places your men have already searched. I'm going to the bridge." She stomped away.

When Grayson slammed onto the bridge, Evans jumped, took one look at her and decided it was not a good time for questions. He slumped down in his seat. "Hal, there had better be some damn coffee in that dumbwaiter or you're fired!" she stormed. Fortunately for Hal, there was coffee waiting for her, though perhaps not quite as hot as she might have preferred. She slid into her chair. "I can't believe I have a ship full of Feds and Confeds," she muttered to no one in particular. Evans sank even lower in his seat.

Grayson glumly watched the progress of the search on her monitors. None of this was how she had pictured life aboard the Breathless Dragon. And she was beginning to wonder if 'this' was ever going to end. Her irritation only grew when a couple of the Feds reached her quarters and snickered over the clothes scattered on her floor. Little did they know that Hendon had been keeping it relatively cleaned up, despite her protestations. The caffeine, though, was beginning to adjust her attitude, albeit minutely. She ordered more coffee, then began to instruct Hal on doing a very, VERY complete bug sweep on the shuttle and its cargo, as well as on Hendon, as soon as the Feds cleared out. As a very reluctant afterthought, she even included herself.

As annoying as the local Feds were, she was much more concerned about the incoming system Feds. She was constantly asking Hal for updates on their approach, even as the local Feds were becoming more frustrated with their fruitless search. She debated telling them she'd thrown the brat out the airlock, but eventually decided that probably wouldn't improve her situation. They'd left the bridge until the last, and when the officer came onto the bridge, followed by one of his flunkies and Hendon, Grayson didn't even turn in her chair. "Toilet there, dumbwaiter there and computer banks there," she said, vaguely pointing in general directions over the top of her chair. "Knock yourself out."

"Thank you," he replied stiffly, gesturing to his flunky. Grayson was looking at one of her monitors, but what she was actually watching was a faint reflection of Hendon. He seemed nervous, at least when the Fed wasn't looking at him, and she finally decided that maybe he was worried she was going to blow sky high. She was too tired to even entertain that possibility at this point, though. She wanted the Feds off her ship and to be blasting out of the system, but that wasn't going to happen until the new disc was in place for the hydrogen exhaust and that wasn't going to happen until she got some rest and maybe even got the grav field fixed back there so she could work without throwing up. At this point, she couldn't even figure out how to prioritize things. The only bright spot was that the Fed seemed really irritated that he'd searched the whole ship and found no hint of an eight-year-old brat. His vague warrant for persona-non-grata was going nowhere. Grayson couldn't help it. She smiled when he finally admitted defeat and headed back to his shuttle, with Hendon on his heels.

"The minute that shuttle is clear, get us the hell out of here," Grayson told Evans, who had been hoping she might have forgotten his presence.

"Aye," he agreed, still slumped low in his chair.

Hendon came back to the bridge the minute the Feds were floating out of the shuttle bay. He went straight to the dumbwaiter and pulled out a food tray, setting it before Grayson on her console. "What's this," she asked, her brow furrowed.

"People call it food. They eat it."

"I don't have time. I have to..."

Hendon pushed her back down in her seat and tapped some buttons on the console. The camera in the engine room was displaying the disassembled secret cargo hold and the prince, gleefully floating about in the area where the grav field wasn't working. His security team, including the severely injured Goldstone, was trying to corral him. Hendon pushed another button and the view changed to the shuttle bay where a bot, looking for all the world like one of her biosphere bots, was doing a thorough 'mechanical bug' sweep instead of looking for aphids.

"We're already out of orbit, right Evans?" Hendon asked.

"Yup. Uh, yes, sir."

Hendon switched back to the view of the engine room where the prince was being led from the room even as Het and Sip were entering with tools and the new disk to install.

"Oh, lordy," Grayson moaned. "Is there anyone alive who doesn't know all my secrets?"

"I can think of a few Feds who just left to report nothing untoward on this ship," Hendon replied.

"Untoward? Really?" She giggled.

"Eat," Hendon ordered, though he was smiling at the thought of the fiery spacer giggling. Grayson glanced up at him and caught the smile.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Fed!"

"Confed," he corrected, yet again, though the smile was still there. "At least drink some more coffee. You need to sober up."

"I wasn't the one mickeyed," she pointed out. "I haven't even had a decent glass of brandy in days. Okay, okay, okay. Here's one for you. If you can use untoward in a sentence this won't be a challenge at all. Succor, s-u-c-c-o-r."

"What?" he exclaimed, though he was finding her fatigue-driven silliness catching.

"Use it in a sentence. Come on. You've had, what? Twenty years of education? Piece of cake."

"All right." He leaned closer. "Eat this food and I will succor your clit."

"Oh, fuck me," she whispered.

"Well, that's the long range plan," he conceded.

She looked at the tray for all of a minute, then began gobbling the food down, though it was lukewarm by then. She didn't care. The coffee, at least, was still hot. And lower regions of her body were much, much warmer. The moment she shoved the tray aside, she was up and grabbing Hendon by the collar, which was more than a bit of a reach for her, and dragging him from the bridge, albeit necessarily with his compliance. When she reached her quarters, she yanked him inside, slapped the manual lock and spun around, leaping to wrap her arms about his neck and her legs about his waist. He staggered back under the onslaught until he could position his hands under her ass and regain his balance.

Grayson teased him, keeping her lips a centimeter from his. "Fess up, big boy," she demanded.

"What?" he asked innocently, settling for kissing her neck. Grayson let her head fall back.

"The last time you finally gave in and fucked me, it was right after telling me that the Feds were looking for us. I strongly suspect you were intent on keeping me from - how did you put it - going nova? So, I'm wondering if there is some other bad news you're about to slap me upside the head with." She lifted her head and met him eye to eye. He bravely didn't look away.

"What do you mean, gave in?"

"Don't change the subject. What did the Feds tell you?" she demanded, slowly caressing her lips with her tongue and squirming to rub her torso against his.