Nothing wrong with admiring her, ah…assets, Finn decided as he walked in trail. What man wouldn’t? More than her beauty, he admired her grace. From the curve of her long, slender back to the sway of a very sexy bottom, every move was pure elegance. Street rat beginnings, a hardscrabble life, years in the military, he’d never been around a woman like her. A real lady.
At the table, Prime-Admiral Zaafran waited until Bandar had taken her seat at the table before he did the same. The officers’ chairs glided to the table, subtly adjusting height and angle.
Smart chairs, Finn thought with dismay. He’d experienced the likes of one once already at his shipboard in-briefing and orientation with Star-Major Joss. It was not something he cared to repeat.
Finn remained standing, both in deference to the other two officers’ higher rank and his not wanting to reveal his ignorance on advanced tech. Smart chairs were programmed to adjust to hundreds, maybe even thousands of individual seating and comfort preferences. Finn’s wasn’t one of them. Those occupied by the two admirals clearly were, but the one he’d occupied earlier had acted anything but smart.
He sized up his chair like he would an opponent in a fight. With as much of an air of cocky confidence as he could muster, he lowered his rump into the seat. The chair rocked, sliding sideways and almost colliding with Admiral Bandar’s before Finn caught the edge of the table to stop himself. “They’re not used to Hordish asses yet,” he said with a chuckle.
A sidelong glance at Bandar revealed her expression of disdain. She thought him a barbarian; that much was obvious. His unfamiliarity with advanced tech served only to shore up that opinion he’d already reinforced by the bathe-in-blood joke. By the gods, he’d damn well prove himself worthy to be here, to serve with her. Just as he’d fought all his life to hold on to what rare good things came his way, he’d fight to hold on to this.
I’m skilled with a few things I guarantee you’ll remember more than a chair, sweetheart, he thought, then jerked his wandering mind away from visions of sin with his new commander.
Zaafran waved off Finn’s clumsiness. “The smart chairs on the Unity will obey you, Warleader.”
“I damn well hope so, sir.” Or he’d consider dismantling them all and tossing the scrap out the airlocks.
Black-uniformed aides circled the table, pouring wine. They, too, were clean and well-fed. Finn tried not to stare in wonder. Everything he’d seen so far while in Coalition hands was shiny and clean. It was truly the Realm of the Goddesses. The contrast to his world was sharp. Your old world.
The amazing feast so tempted him that he fisted his hands in his lap to keep from grabbing a helping until served. If only Zurykk and the rest of the crew were here with him. The food displayed on the table was far more than three diners could consume. Maybe he’d take some back for the crew.
You’re not a street urchin anymore, living in a basement of a warehouse with a pack of other children. These are not stolen spoils brought into the den to be grabbed by ravenous hands.
Aye, he was a Triad Alliance officer now with certain behaviors expected of him. Triad soldiers did not stuff their pockets full of food. They didn’t need to, Finn realized as he breathed in the aromas. Every day he’d be able to eat like this, and soon his crew, as well, gods willing. Rumor had it that the Coalition had plenty more where this came from. Now he knew the legends were true. They fed their warriors well. Hot meals would no longer be a luxury. If anything, Finn would have to be on guard against overindulging and going soft.
“Moor-steak?” an aide asked politely.
“Thanks be,” Finn said, almost on a sigh, fists on his thighs to restrain himself as fragrant, grilled filets were added to his plate. It took all he had not to start eating before the meal was fully served.
He couldn’t wolf down
Learning to Kill: Stories