Conflict Of Honors Read Online Free Page B
Pleased to be of help," he muttered, cheeks going pink. "Liam here will show you to the comm room." He made a show of turning back to the unit beside his desk, and Priscilla stood.
Liam looked as if he would have liked to grab her arm again, but satisfied himself with walking close behind her down the short hall to the communication room. He showed her the local screen and, after a moment's hesitation, punched up Mr. Saunderson's code. Priscilla smiled at him, and he flushed dull red.
Mr. Saunderson was old, his face a translucent network of wrinkles from which a pair of obsidian eyes glittered. He listened to her name and the statement that she had been employed until recently on Daxflan and heard her say that she was interested in employment on the orbiting ship.
"It is my understanding, Ms. Mendoza, that Dutiful Passage is fully staffed. However, if you would care to hold on for a few moments, I will ascertain whether this understanding is correct."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your trouble."
"Not at all. One moment, please." The elderly face was replaced with an image of an unlikely landscape, portrayed in various shades of tangerine and aqua. The picture had not been calculated to soothe raging headaches, and Priscilla closed her eyes against it.
"Ms. Mendoza?"
Priscilla snapped her eyes open, cheeks flaming.
Mr. Saunderson smiled at her. "The captain professes himself interested in an interview, Ms. Mendoza, and wonders if you would honor him by a visit." He cleared his throat with the utmost gentility. "He does indicate that Dutiful Passage employs a very able cargo master. He does not wish you to visit under a misapprehension, or if you cannot accept any position except that of cargo master."
Priscilla hesitated, wondering what positions the captain had in mind. But she was determined to get to Arsdred.
She looked at Mr. Saunderson, who was patiently waiting in the screen, and tried to visualize him whetting the captain's supposed appetite with a glowing description of her, bruised face and all. The vision brought forth a grin.
"You're very kind," she told the old gentleman carefully. "I am willing to accept any crewing work that might be available on Dutiful Passage. When and where may I visit the captain?"
"I shall send 'round Ms. Dyson, our pilot. Is twenty minutes convenient? Good. She will convey you to Dutiful Passage. I will inform Captain yos'Galan of your coming."
"You're very kind," she said again.
"Not at all." Mr. Saunderson smiled. "Good luck, Ms. Mendoza." He cut the connection.
Priscilla sighed and leaned back in her chair. She had twenty minutes until Pilot Dyson came to collect her. She looked at Liam. "Is there someplace where I can wash my face and hands?"
He snorted and jerked his head. "Down the hall, first door on the left. Nothin' fancy, it isn't."
"As long as it's functional." She levered herself up and went past him into the hall. He followed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching as she opened the door and entered the 'fresher.
There was no shower, which was a shame. She had rather hoped for a hot deluge to ease some of the crankiness from her bruises. There was a sink, water, and soap. She would make do.
Automatically, she reached up to remove her earrings, then froze in disbelief when her fingers encountered only naked earlobes. Slowly, she went over to the tiny square of mirror on the far wall.
Reflected back at her was a creamy oval face surmounted by a tangled cloud of ebony curls, black eyes very wide under slim brows, and nostrils distended with anger. The fragile ridge of the right cheek was already purpling. There was a small hole in each perfect earlobe; the left one showed a thin line of blood, as if it was torn just a little.
How dare she? she thought furiously. My earrings, given to me on my Womanday, that were my grandmother's! How dare— Rage, sudden and shocking, drove out pain and fears. Priscilla was
Liam looked as if he would have liked to grab her arm again, but satisfied himself with walking close behind her down the short hall to the communication room. He showed her the local screen and, after a moment's hesitation, punched up Mr. Saunderson's code. Priscilla smiled at him, and he flushed dull red.
Mr. Saunderson was old, his face a translucent network of wrinkles from which a pair of obsidian eyes glittered. He listened to her name and the statement that she had been employed until recently on Daxflan and heard her say that she was interested in employment on the orbiting ship.
"It is my understanding, Ms. Mendoza, that Dutiful Passage is fully staffed. However, if you would care to hold on for a few moments, I will ascertain whether this understanding is correct."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your trouble."
"Not at all. One moment, please." The elderly face was replaced with an image of an unlikely landscape, portrayed in various shades of tangerine and aqua. The picture had not been calculated to soothe raging headaches, and Priscilla closed her eyes against it.
"Ms. Mendoza?"
Priscilla snapped her eyes open, cheeks flaming.
Mr. Saunderson smiled at her. "The captain professes himself interested in an interview, Ms. Mendoza, and wonders if you would honor him by a visit." He cleared his throat with the utmost gentility. "He does indicate that Dutiful Passage employs a very able cargo master. He does not wish you to visit under a misapprehension, or if you cannot accept any position except that of cargo master."
Priscilla hesitated, wondering what positions the captain had in mind. But she was determined to get to Arsdred.
She looked at Mr. Saunderson, who was patiently waiting in the screen, and tried to visualize him whetting the captain's supposed appetite with a glowing description of her, bruised face and all. The vision brought forth a grin.
"You're very kind," she told the old gentleman carefully. "I am willing to accept any crewing work that might be available on Dutiful Passage. When and where may I visit the captain?"
"I shall send 'round Ms. Dyson, our pilot. Is twenty minutes convenient? Good. She will convey you to Dutiful Passage. I will inform Captain yos'Galan of your coming."
"You're very kind," she said again.
"Not at all." Mr. Saunderson smiled. "Good luck, Ms. Mendoza." He cut the connection.
Priscilla sighed and leaned back in her chair. She had twenty minutes until Pilot Dyson came to collect her. She looked at Liam. "Is there someplace where I can wash my face and hands?"
He snorted and jerked his head. "Down the hall, first door on the left. Nothin' fancy, it isn't."
"As long as it's functional." She levered herself up and went past him into the hall. He followed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching as she opened the door and entered the 'fresher.
There was no shower, which was a shame. She had rather hoped for a hot deluge to ease some of the crankiness from her bruises. There was a sink, water, and soap. She would make do.
Automatically, she reached up to remove her earrings, then froze in disbelief when her fingers encountered only naked earlobes. Slowly, she went over to the tiny square of mirror on the far wall.
Reflected back at her was a creamy oval face surmounted by a tangled cloud of ebony curls, black eyes very wide under slim brows, and nostrils distended with anger. The fragile ridge of the right cheek was already purpling. There was a small hole in each perfect earlobe; the left one showed a thin line of blood, as if it was torn just a little.
How dare she? she thought furiously. My earrings, given to me on my Womanday, that were my grandmother's! How dare— Rage, sudden and shocking, drove out pain and fears. Priscilla was
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