Page 57 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“Are you actually playing with that thing?” Suki’s voice carries across the room, warm with amusement. “Should I alert the medical bay? The First Blade is experiencing dangerous levels of whimsy.”
I set the snow globe down with perhaps more haste than dignity requires. “I was examining its structural integrity. The seal appears compromised.”
“Uh-huh.” She approaches, her steps light despite the heavy boots she insists on wearing with her modified Zaterran attire. “That’s why you were tilting it back and forth with that fascinated look on your face. Quality control.”
“There was no fascination,” I counter, though we both know it for the lie it is.
She reaches me, rising on her toes to press a kiss to my jaw. “Liar,” she whispers against my skin, the word an endearment rather than an accusation.
I allow my hand to settle at the small of her back, feeling the warmth of her even through the layers of clothing. Three years, and still this simple contact centers me like nothing else.
“The Venturian trade delegation has departed,” I inform her, returning to more comfortable territory.
“I know.” She moves to perch on the edge of the war table, disrupting the careful arrangement of documents. “I saw them off. Gave them those crystallized fruits they were so obsessed with as a parting gift. Pretty sure they’ll agree to the mining rights just to secure a steady supply.”
“You bribed interstellar diplomats with confectionery?”
Her grin is unrepentant. “I prefer ‘strategically deployed cultural exchange.’ Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”
It had. The Venturians had been notoriously difficult to negotiate with until Suki took over the discussions. What my advisors couldn’t accomplish in a full cycle of formal meetings,she managed over what she called a “casual dinner with some fancy candy for dessert.”
“Your methods remain... unorthodox,” I observe.
“You love my unorthodox methods,” she counters, reaching for the datapad I’ve been reviewing. “Is this the security update for the outer perimeter? Did they finally implement my bypass detection algorithm?”
I nod, watching as she scrolls through the technical specifications with the same focus she once applied to dismantling Rusty. Her expertise with our systems has grown exponentially, her human perspective revealing vulnerabilities my people had never considered.
“The security chief was... reluctant,” I admit. “But the simulation results were persuasive.”
“Reluctant?” She snorts. “Krev practically had a meltdown when I suggested the existing protocols had holes big enough to fly the Rust Bucket through. His eye ridge was twitching so hard I thought he might crack a crystal.”
“He has served as security chief for seven decades,” I remind her. “Change is difficult.”
“Yeah, well, being blown up because you’re too stubborn to update your security is also difficult.” She sets down the datapad, her expression softening. “But he came around. They all do, eventually.”
There is truth in her words. One by one, the most traditional members of my command structure have yielded to her logic, her persistence, and occasionally, her startling ability to circumvent their authority entirely when she deems it necessary.
“The fortress functions more efficiently under your influence,” I acknowledge, a significant understatement.
“You mean it’s less of a rigid, hierarchical nightmare where getting a requisition approved requires seventeen stamps and possibly a blood sacrifice?” She grins. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”
I move to the viewport, gazing out at the asteroid belt that has been my home for centuries. The familiar view has changed subtly over the years of Suki’s residence. The landing bays now accommodate a more diverse array of vessels. A small but thriving market has developed in what was once a secondary defensive position. Even the ion storms seem more vibrant, though I recognize this as an impossibility.
“What’s on your mind, big guy?” Suki asks, coming to stand beside me. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” I inquire, genuinely curious about how she reads me so easily when others find me inscrutable.
“That one where you’re thinking deep, existential thoughts but trying to look like you’re just contemplating tactical formations or something equally stoic and warlord-y.” She bumps her shoulder against my arm, the gesture casual yet intimate. “Spill it.”
I consider deflection, then discard the impulse. She would see through it regardless.
“I was reflecting on transformation,” I admit. “On the nature of change, both deliberate and unexpected.”
“Wow. That is deep.” She doesn’t mock, despite her light tone. “Any particular transformation, or just the concept in general?”
I turn to face her fully, studying the features that have become as familiar to me as my own reflection. The freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. The slight asymmetry of her smile. The hazel eyes that shift between green and gold depending on the light.
“When your ship crashed on my landing pad,” I begin, choosing my words with care, “I viewed it as a security breach. A potential threat to be contained and eliminated.”
