CHAPTER ELEVEN
JASMINE WAS SLOGGING her way through the nastiest swamp she’d ever seen in her life. It was the unit’s first combat training assignment, fighting insurgents on Lagana, in the Dibella system. She recalled vaguely that the Holconcom had fought an epic battle here with Rojoks during the reign of Mangus Lo.
“Dupont, keep up!” the officer in charge called to her.
“Yes, Dupont, keep up,” Rusmok chided as he passed her. “Or no Benaski Port R & R for you!”
“We’ll see about that!” she retorted, and doubled her efforts to wade through the mel-leaches that already covered her boots and trousers. She groaned and, avoiding detection by the officer in charge, pulled out a small stunning device from her medical wrist unit and stunned the creatures. They dropped off at once. She grinned to herself as she replaced the device.
“Five kuskons off your record, Dupont, for unlawful use of tech.” The instructor’s voice bit into her ear.
“Yes, sir.” She sighed. “Sorry, sir.”
“Reprobate,” Rusmok chided as she caught up to him. “You already have more kuskons than the rest of us combined.”
“I hate mel-leaches,” she muttered. “And our unit leader must have eyes in the back of his head!”
He leaned to her ear. “He’s a telepath,” he whispered with a laugh in his voice. “Nobody can keep anything from him.”
“Just my luck.” She shook her head, noticing that the mel-leaches were once again crawling up her legs. “Can’t we collect these things and stew them?” she asked facetiously.
“An admirable thought, Dupont. Proceed. We will expect you to cook it, as well, when we finish here,” the unit leader told her smugly.
Rusmok made a face. “They induce unconsciousness,” he told her.
“Not in small doses, Rusmok,” the leader replied. “In fact, they have a rather intoxicating effect. We will all learn from Dupont’s example. I love mel-leaches. In fact, I keep them as pets.”
She sighed. “Figures,” she muttered under her breath.
Fortunately for her, the leader pretended not to hear her.
“Come! Move faster! A true Rojok soldier is always eager to do battle, to prove his courage and commitment to the service! Swamps are wonderful! Mel-leaches are delightful! How fortunate for us that we are tested by such a beautiful environment!”
As he spoke, tangling vines reached out and tried to curl around Jasmine’s leg, and six mel-leaches reached her throat and tried to latch on to the soft flesh. With a sigh of resignation she brushed them off and removed the vines, which secreted a white toxic substance. It fell on one of the mel-leaches and it promptly dropped to the ground.
An idea was born. She tore two of the vines in half and applied them to the other mel-leaches with a huge smile.
“Now, that is proper curiosity turned to advantage,” the instructor said, halting the group. “Notice what Dupont has just done,” he told them. “She has discovered that the toxin in the attacking vines can be used to dislodge the mel-leaches. Use this new knowledge!”
The other recruits followed suit, raising a cheer to Jasmine under their collective breaths. She burst out laughing, not caring if she got more black marks for it.
“I owe you a synthale for that,” Rusmok told her. “A far better use for the foul creatures than a stew.”
She chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that.”
* * *
THEY WERE HALFWAY through the mission when a surprise attack by a party of insurgents, led by an Altairian, exploded around them. Firing insurgents burst out of the swamp.
Jasmine was shocked into immobility for a few seconds, before she regained her senses and rolled onto the swampy ground, pulling her chasat on the way down.
She shot at the first pair of boots she saw, recognizable as non-Rojok issue. A shout of pain was followed by a hard thud. Another recruit finished the insurgent off. Jasmine got to her feet, continuing low to the ground, and started looking around automatically for wounded.
Months of intensive training in the holo simulators, added to the constant reinforcement of her diagnostic and surgical skills, had hardened her to the gore of battle. Her only focus was on the patients, on relieving suffering and saving lives. She learned to overlook the horrible images, drawn from life in the simulators, that were imprinted on her subconscious as she progressed in her studies.
She treated two minor wounds and quickly moved on. There was one other Cularian specialist in the unit, a male, but he’d gone forward to treat a more serious wound. Jasmine fell behind as she searched for other wounded. She found a dead soldier from her unit and performed the simple, mandated ritual for the passing of a fellow recruit. She hadn’t known the Rojok well, but unit became family as they trained together. She was sorry for his loss.
It took a minute for her to realize that she hadn’t seen Rusmok since the attack began. He was probably up with the unit leader, who was calling out terse instructions as insurgents were captured. She peered through the thick vegetation, but she didn’t see her friend.
“Tollek,” she called to another friend, “have you seen Rusmok?”
He grimaced. “No, Dupont, I haven’t. I thought he was with our leader.”
“So did I, but he isn’t.”
Tollek sighed. “There were several casualties that we passed on the way here. We didn’t have time to look closely...”
“I’ll run back and check,” she said, turning.
She kept her chasat at her waist, her hand on it, as she searched through the insurgent bodies. There were five, all beyond saving. But no Rusmok. Perhaps he’d been somewhere near the leader, and she just hadn’t seen him, she rationalized. There was so much confusion that it would be easy to overlook someone.
He was the first friend she’d made on Enmehkmehk. He’d been first chiding, and then encouraging. They spent a lot of time together on liberty, going from gaming station to bar. They found many things in common. There was no romantic aspect to it. Rusmok was suffering from unrequited love for a female who’d thrown him over when he announced his intention to go into the military. He still mourned her. While Jasmine had never gotten over Mekashe and was uncertain that she ever would. She blamed him for turning his back on her. But the memories were pervasive. It was unfortunate.
Her heart dropped. Her thoughts scattered. She walked into a small clearing and there was Rusmok.
Her heart fell to her feet. He was lying on his back, gasping for breath. As she grew closer, she saw that two chasat holes were burned into his chest.
She ran to him and dropped to her knees at his side, fighting tears. “No! No, no, no!” she whispered as she pulled out her wrist scanner and started to diagnose his injuries. She reached over to put a diagnostic sensor in place.
But his big six-fingered hand covered hers where it rested on his heaving chest.
“Too late, Dupont,” he whispered with a wan smile. “I should have...ducked.”
Tears were boiling down her cheeks. “It’s not the new weapons,” she said, fighting the horror she felt. She caught her breath. “Not the ones that do catastrophic damage. These are just chasat burns. Your lungs are punctured...but...not...irreversibly...!”
While she was speaking, she was working. She initiated a repair on the first lung, sealed off the damage until she had time to finish reducing the wound. Her hands, steady and competent, went on to the second injury, the lesser of the two.
“Too late,” he said in a drained tone.
“It most certainly is not! Don’t you dare give up!” she raged. “Don’t you dare!”
He was trying not to laugh. He failed. Even through the pain, her indomitable spirit amused him, even as her fear for him touched him. He gave up trying to speak and let her work.
A few minutes later, he was breathing more easily. The pain was severe, and her pain medication was limited to what her wrist unit could carry. But he would live. She sat back on her heels, oblivious to the diminishing signs of conflict around them.
“I don’t believe this,” she muttered.
“What?” he asked in a strained tone.
“You’d let yourself be shot to get out of buying me that synthale you owe me?” she returned.
The unit leader, standing behind her, let out an involuntary laugh before he could stop himself. The other recruits slowly fell in around him, most of them grinning. She went back to work on Rusmok while the unit leader called in a medevac for Rusmok and the other wounded, and a prisoner transport for the insurgents they’d captured.
Jasmine didn’t realize then what she’d done. Much later, it was related to her by someone outside the military that her blatant concern for an alien not even of her species had convinced her superiors that she was everything Chacon hoped she would be. Her coolness under fire, her competence even as a novice medic, earned her high marks from both her military and medical instructors.
And Rusmok bought her that synthale. In fact, he bought her two.
* * *
RHEMUN’S LITTLE GIRL followed Mekashe around the villa, trying to match her small steps to his stride. He chuckled as he noticed her behind him.
“We will make a soldier of you yet,” he told her.
She grinned up at him. “Want to be a soldier,” she agreed.
“Not yet,” Rhemun said firmly. “First you learn to eat your skemache, then you join the military.”
She made a face at him, and then spoiled the mock anger by running into his arms to be picked up.
Rhemun nuzzled his cheek against hers. “Torment,” he chided.
“Where is Kipling?” she asked.
“Gone to school with Komak.”
“Want to go to school.”
“Not yet.”
She sighed. “I can eat my skemache now,” she said in such a resigned tone that both adults laughed.
While she played in the grassy yard, Rhemun and Mekashe sipped ale in the cool of the steps. Both of them were off duty for two days, a holiday of sorts. It was rare for both of them to be at leisure at the same time. Especially for Mekashe, whose duty as commander of the Holconcom took him to far distant parts of the galaxy from time to time.
“Edris will be sorry that she missed you,” Rhemun said. “She and Madeline went on a shopping trip to the moon bazaar.”
“She never seems to age,” Mekashe said. He stared into his tall stone glass, lost in reverie.
“You still dwell on the ambassador’s daughter,” Rhemun said quietly.
Mekashe sighed and let out a hollow laugh. “It has been five years,” he said. “One would think that the passing of time would diminish the attraction. That has not been the case.”
Rhemun studied his friend covertly. The other Cehn-Tahr had aged visibly. The hard-faced military man across from him no longer resembled his Kahn-Bo partner who was full of mischief and always kidding. Mekashe had become like Dtimun, who formerly led the Holconcom, battle-hardened and authoritative.
But even with that coldness, the Cehn-Tahr and humans aboard the Morcai still revered their new commander. Not one of them had asked to transfer to other duty since his appointment. Rhemun recalled wryly that every human aboard ship had tried to transfer back to the Terravegan military soon after Rhemun’s appointment. He’d made enemies of everyone aboard with his long-standing prejudices against humans. He’d finally overcome those and won the respect of his men. But Mekashe had never had to struggle with his command. The men welcomed him like a member of the family.
“You still have Tellas serving as Cularian medicine specialist aboard the Morcai,” Rhemun commented.
Mekashe shrugged. “It has been difficult to find a human female willing to serve with us,” he said simply. “We have petitioned the Terravegans, but to no avail.” He gave his friend a wry smile. “I think the medical authority on Trimerius holds us responsible for the revelation of their so-called three-strikes provision and the illegal black-ops medical experimentation that we reported to the three galaxies from Benaski Port.”
“That was my responsibility,” Rhemun recalled. “I would do it again in a second. Edris was in danger of becoming a laboratory experiment after I sent her running from the Morcai.” He sighed. “I was horrible to the humans in the Holconcom. They forgave me, but it was a black mark that I could never erase. At least you had no prejudices to stand between you and the crew when you took command.”
Mekashe smiled. “They were like family. They still are. I missed the Morcai when I was appointed captain of the Imperial Guard.”
“You were next in line for that task, as I was next in line for command of the Holconcom when Dtimun was revealed publicly to be the emperor’s son.”
“Clan is all,” his friend replied.
“As it ever was, and ever shall be,” Rhemun agreed. “I do regret the loss of a warwoman aboard the Morcai,” he added. “It was a mark of distinction for us. One which the Rojoks have now appropriated.”
“The Rojoks have a warwoman?” Mekashe asked, chuckling. “With their prejudices against females in the military? Not to mention,” he added, “their distaste for humans, from whom they must have taken the idea!”
“I hear that it was Chacon’s idea,” came the amused reply. “He is still quite fond of Madeline Ruszel.”
Mekashe shook his head. “Where did they ever find a Rojok female who was willing to undertake such a task? Is she a physician?”
“Yes. A Cularian specialist. We can discover nothing more about her. Not even the emperor has been able to learn who she is. A very well-kept secret.”
“Chacon surely knows.”
“He will not reveal anything, not even to his mate, the emperor’s daughter.” Rhemun chuckled. “But the best gossip in the fleet, gleaned from an outcast Rojok who has ties to the military on Enmehkmehk, is that she is human.”
“A human female, among Rojoks.” Mekashe made an odd sound. “She must be unique. I do not remember ever hearing of a human female setting foot on Enmehkmehk.”
“Nor I.”
“How sad, that the Rojoks are stealing our idea and making it their own.” Mekashe pursed his lips. “Perhaps we should ask the emperor to use his influence with the Tri-Galaxy Council to find us another human warwoman. Lawson would listen to him, even if the medical authority there ignores us.”
“I will make it a point to ask him,” Rhemun promised.
* * *
JASMINE AND RUSMOK were assigned duty aboard different vessels when they graduated from the military academy. It was a sad leave-taking, after all their time together.
“Don’t get shot,” she cautioned him. “I won’t be there to save you.”
He grinned. “If I do get shot, I will have them find you and bring you to treat me, wherever I am.”
“Deal.” She sighed. “Well, we’re real soldiers now.”
“With real weapons and real duties,” he agreed. “I hear that Chacon and his mate invited you to their home for a traditional Rojok banquet, with a guest of your choice.”
She nodded. She made a face. “I wish you were going to be here to go with me,” she confessed. “I’m a misfit. I don’t really have any other friends. Nobody here wants to put up with me,” she joked.
“Ask Tollek,” he advised with a smile. “He likes you.”
“I like him, too.” She shrugged. “But there’s only one Rusmok.” She laughed, but she was fighting tears.
“Do not do that,” he cautioned immediately.
“Excuse me?”
“Weep,” he said. “If you do, I will, and my reputation as a warrior will suffer irreparable damage. I assure you.”
She drew in a steadying breath and ground down hard on the pins in her throat. She forced a smile. “I’ll control my impulses,” she promised. “Hey. There’s always R & R. I’ll try to make sure I get it when you do. If we can find a mutual bar.”
“Benaski Port,” he said with a chuckle. “All our ships dock there for liberty.” He leaned forward. “Stop getting kuskons, so that you have the opportunity to get liberty.”
She sighed. “You won’t be around, so I’ll stay out of trouble, I guess.”
“A sound idea. Farewell, Jasmine Dupont,” he said softly. “I will miss you.”
She felt as if her throat was full of thorns, but she smiled. “I will miss you, too. Farewell.”
He picked up his kit and walked away. He didn’t look back. Neither did she. It would have embarrassed her to burst into tears and have the other soldiers see her do it.
* * *
CHACON’S HOUSE WAS elegant and spacious, like the villa Jasmine had visited in the holoroom with Mekashe. She wondered if Chacon’s mate, Lyceria, hadn’t helped with that design, since it was very reminiscent of Cehn-Tahr architecture.
Lyceria, heavy with pregnancy, met her at the door in a flowing blue garment with gold trim.
“Welcome,” she said gently.
“Thank you for inviting me. It truly is an honor. This is my friend Tollek,” she added, introducing the starstruck soldier beside her.
“Your Highness,” he said, and made her a sweeping bow.
Jasmine wondered if she should follow suit. Lyceria laughed softly. “You do not bow,” she told Jasmine. “Only on Memcache. Not here. We are not so formal. My mate is reprimanding some high official in his office. Fortunately, there is a sound panel between us so that the foul language will not travel this far,” she added wickedly. “He has an amazing vocabulary.”
“I know a few other soldiers who do, as well.” Jasmine laughed.
“Please, come in.” She led them into the living area, where sumptuous couches and cushioned chairs were scattered on a stone floor that radiated heat, because winter had arrived on Enmehkmehk and snow was falling softly outside.
She offered them seats and had a valet bring warm drinks.
“We were fortunate to have a passing vessel bring sea shrimps from the Vegan colonies,” Lyceria said. “So seafood is on the menu, along with native breads and fruits.”
“What a treat,” Jasmine exclaimed. “I’m fond of all the local meats, but seafood is rare in our mess hall.”
“Considering the embargo that existed until recently on Vegan products, I imagine the military budget would not stand it,” Lyceria said, smiling. “Are you happy here?”
“Happier than I’ve been in a long time,” came the soft reply. “I was surprised that your mate offered me the chance to train here. And more surprised that I was accepted so easily by the other soldiers. A human female among Rojok males. I expected it to be very difficult.”
“You won them over quite easily,” Lyceria said. “They admire courage and stubbornness more than most other traits. You never gave up on the hardest obstacle courses, although you’d never been exposed to such rough treatment. The men respected you for it.”
“I led a sheltered life,” Jasmine said quietly. “Too sheltered. After my mother died, my father was so afraid of losing me that he became overprotective.”
“It was that way with my father, after my younger brother was killed on Terramer, and I was captured and tortured by Mangus Lo at Ahkmau,” Lyceria said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Chacon saved me. I kept contact with him all through the war, despite my parents’ fears that I would be jailed for treason. He was the light of my life from my first sight of him.”
“He is an exceptional military leader,” Jasmine said. “The men speak of him in whispers. They respect no one more.”
“No one except my brother,” Lyceria said with a wicked smile. “When he led the Holconcom, his exploits were the stuff of legends. I think he misses command. But his mate is happier having him off the battlefield, especially with their sons so young.”
“His mate is human,” Jasmine recalled.
“Very,” Lyceria said. She laughed out loud. “If you could have seen them on Benaski Port together! Madeline was very pregnant, as I am now, and Dtimun had threatened to lock her in a room for being disrespectful. She said that she could climb out of windows, so let him try it.” She shook her head in a very human manner. “She and my brother were adversaries for three years, until they were forced to work together to save my mate. Chacon’s own security force was trying to kidnap him, so that Chan Ho could reopen Ahkmau and begin the reign of terror all over again. They saved him. It is why he and Dtimun and Madeline are so close.”
“I believe that he saved them first,” came a deep, amused voice from behind them.
Chacon moved into view, still in his military uniform, which he wore to most social functions. He touched his mate’s cheek gently. “Although I confess that saving you was my focus. Their liberation was a secondary benefit.”
She smiled back, catching his hand. “For which we all still give thanks. You know Jasmine Dupont,” she added, nodding toward her.
Jasmine stood and saluted him respectfully, as did Tollek.
“It is good to see you,” he said.
“This is my friend Tollek,” she added, indicating the soldier beside her. “We survived boot camp—excuse me, recruit passage—together.”
“Along with your friend Rusmok,” Chacon added surprisingly. “It was difficult not to interfere, when you were assigned to different ships,” he added as he dropped down beside his mate. “The two of you were inseparable. But the good of the military comes first.”
“Indeed it does, sir. Although Rusmok and I have high hopes of reuniting in the not-too-distant future at Benaski Port to wreck a few bars. In disguise. So that we aren’t connected with the Rojok military, of course...” She flushed red at her own boldness.
But Chacon wasn’t offended. He roared.
“I have it on good authority that Dr. Madeline Ruszel wrecked several bars while she was attached to the Holconcom,” he replied. “In fact, when Dtimun called her out for it, she said that an insult from a rival unit about him was responsible. Never have I seen two less likely mates for each other.”
“Nor I,” Lyceria added. “But it has been a grand affair.”
“Their children are unique. As ours is expected to be,” he added with a smile at his mate.
He turned back to Jasmine. “How do you like your new assignment?” he asked.
“It’s an honor, sir,” she replied. “The sole Cularian specialist on the flagship of the Rojok fleet. I never dreamed of such an appointment. Honestly, I expected to do duty on Enmehkmehk at the infirmary.”
“You did not,” he chided with a smile. “I recall telling you when I made the offer of training that your ultimate assignment would be such.”
“Yes, sir, but I expected that to be after I’d proven myself,” she began.
“You proved yourself in combat, when you refused to give up on a fatally wounded fellow recruit,” he replied. “The entire unit sent a petition to my office, asking for a commendation for you. Which I was inclined to give. However, I did not want to single you out for possible harassment at so early a stage of your training.” He leaned forward with a rueful smile. “You will learn that Rojoks are extremely competitive. Especially in the early stages of training. By singling you out, I would have exposed you to some rather brutal retaliation.”
“I’m very flattered that the men thought so highly of me,” Jasmine responded. She smiled. “There’s a saying among humans, that it’s the thought that really counts, as much as the action.”
“So I have heard.”
A tiny bell rang and Lyceria smiled as she got to her feet. “I believe that our meal is now ready. Come. Vegan seafood is a delicacy not to be missed!”
* * *
IT WAS A pleasant meal, far from the ordeal Jasmine had expected it to be. A visit to the home of the president of the Rojok government would intimidate most soldiers. But it was like being at home, long ago. An odd feeling, considering her resentment for Cehn-Tahr, after the agony her father’s dismissal had caused.
But then, Lyceria was hardly to blame for something the emperor did, she reminded herself. Mekashe, on the other hand, she would never stop blaming.
She noticed Lyceria’s sudden worried glance, but it was quickly erased and followed by a question about Jasmine’s medical scores, which had been impressive.
* * *
IT WASN’T UNTIL Jasmine was back in the barracks that she recalled something troubling. Lyceria was of the Royal Clan. And they were all telepaths. She hoped against hope that she hadn’t given offense to that kind, gracious soul. It would have wounded her, when Lyceria—and Chacon—had been so kind.
She rolled over in bed and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be her first day aboard the Kreskkom, the flagship of the Rojok fleet. She looked forward to it, even as she dreaded the new and overwhelming responsibility. Her training had been superb. Now it was time to repay it.
* * *
IN THE ABSENCE of Admiral Baklor, who was recuperating from surgery, the commanding officer was Captain Tregor, a veteran of many wars. He had as many campaign ribbons as Admiral Lawson of the Tri-Galaxy Fleet, and a temper about twice as bad.
He was railing out a subordinate for a sloppy drill when Jasmine walked onto the bridge and saluted.
He stopped his tirade and turned to her. He had long straight blond hair, not as long as Chacon’s—it came only to his shoulders. His slit eyes studied her quietly in a hard, dusky face. He lifted his chin. “You are Dr. Dupont.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, still standing at attention.
“You were selected for this assignment by Chacon himself.”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
He made a rough sound in his throat. “We have never had a female aboard any ship in the fleet, much less a flagship,” he scoffed. “Only Chacon would consider something so radical. Copying the Cehn-Tahr, with their famous warwomen!”
Jasmine, wisely, said nothing.
“Very well. If I must bend to innovation, I must,” he said curtly. “We have a veteran physician in sick bay. He will be in charge. You will follow his orders as if they were mine, and you will do nothing without his permission. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” she said formally.
He made another sound. He turned away. “Dismissed. Now, Lekkom, let us discuss how you may make amends for your inferior performance on the abandon-ship drill!” He spoke to the intimidated officer standing at rigid attention in front of him.
* * *
JASMINE PURSED HER lips and let out a faint breath after she left the bridge. She hadn’t expected it to be easy. The captain was an older Rojok. Change came hard to veteran officers. But if she kept her head down, she might survive.
She stowed her gear in the berth to which she was assigned and reported to Dr. Meklor in sick bay.
“Dr. Jasmine Dupont, reporting for duty, sir,” she said formally, and with a rigid salute.
Dr. Meklor glanced at her with twinkling eyes. “Our warwoman,” he said. “I gather that the captain had several bites of you to top off his breakfast?” he teased.
She was surprised by the question and not at all sure how to respond.
He waved a six-fingered hand. “I’m harmless,” he assured her. “Although the captain is not. He has six decorations for courage under fire and he has a reputation for eating recruits raw. You will adjust to him in time. Meanwhile, let me acquaint you with our glowing technology and superior java brewer. This infirmary runs on java, just as I’m told your Tri-Galaxy medical authority on Trimerius does, covertly, of course.”
She couldn’t repress a smile. He reminded her strongly of her unit leader in basic training, the one who’d teased her about mel-leaches.
To her surprise, the doctor turned and chuckled. “Ah, so you trained under my brother,” he said, nodding at her expression, revealing that he had the same telepathic capabilities as his brother. “He loves swamps and predators and insects. I had to survive basic training under him, just as you did. When I graduated, I put a bucket of mel-leaches in his bed and disabled the lights.”
She burst out laughing.
“Yes—” he nodded “—I do have a vindictive personality. It comes in handy aboard this vessel.” He gave her a wicked smile. “The captain can never be certain if his sheets are safe to sleep in.”
She was going to like it here, she decided. Despite the captain.
* * *
THEIR FIRST AWAY mission was the rescue of a party of Jebob archaeologists from an erupting volcano.
“Idiots,” the captain muttered at the briefing, which Jasmine attended with the doctor. “There were seismic patterns for weeks, indicating magma flow. They sat on their common sense and continued digging. Now you see the result. We must put a landing party down and risk the lives of our own people to save theirs!”
Nobody argued.
“Dupont, this is your hour,” he told her with a sarcastic smile. “Several of the Jebob have injuries. You will accompany the landing party and treat them.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
He looked for any sign of reluctance and found none.
“Very well,” he said. “Report every hour, unless the land beneath you becomes molten and swallows you,” he said, waving a hand. “In which case, there are many recruits awaiting assignment back at the academy,” he added nastily.
Jasmine bit her tongue. Dr. Meklor grinned at the captain. “In which case, you will be allowed to explain the demise of our warwoman to President Chacon,” he told the ruffled older Rojok. “I shall enjoy the spectacle,” he added with a blithe smile. “Permission to leave, sir?”
“Dismissed,” the captain snarled. His dusky red face was even redder with temper.
Jasmine put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as they made it into the corridor. She was almost bursting with humor.
“Pompous ass,” the doctor said haughtily. “His mate beats him nightly, I hear, and he takes it out on the crew. You be careful,” he said, waving a finger at her. “If you allow yourself to be killed, I will be on the rough side of Chacon’s temper along with the captain. I assure you, I will dig up your body and jump up and down on it if you subject me to such treatment.”
She couldn’t hold back the laughter. “Sir, you are...”
“Incorrigible? I am indeed. Three court-martials, two competency hearings and a legal review, and they still cannot find a way to get rid of me.” He grinned. “It is a reputation of which I am most proud!”
She shook her head. “Sir, I promise never to tick you off. Ever.”
“A wise decision!”