Compete by Norilana Books Page B

“Because your voice can be used as a political weapon. It can be used as leverage. And so can you . As of now, you are under my protection, until we get home to Atlantis, at which point—but we will discuss it when the time comes. For now, all you need to know is that we will work on your voice, but discreetly .”
    “All right.” At this point, I’m frowning. He must read all kinds of turmoil on my newly troubled face.
    “That’s about it,” he says with a sudden change of tone, almost flippant. “For the rest of today you may settle in and take it easy.” He looks away then again glances into my eyes momentarily. There’s a steady intimate expression that I see lurking in his blue eyes which is almost warm —but the next moment it is gone, and I am no longer certain it was ever there in the first place.
    He sits back, moves the computer out of the way and taps the surface of his desk lightly with one hand. “And now, I believe, it’s lunchtime. I’m hungry, so I am heading to the Officers Meal Hall. Come along and I’ll show you where it is, since you’ll be eating there often from now on.”
    “Oh . . .” I say. “Am I actually allowed in the Officers Meal Hall?”
    Aeson’s lips curve into the faintest smile. “As my CCO Aide, you are allowed everywhere.”
    He gets up.
    I quickly follow.
     
     
    O utside the office doors, the two stationed guards step aside and salute the Command Pilot. He acknowledges them with a brief nod as he walks past them, with me trailing. The guards pay no attention to me whatsoever.
    Aeson walks in his typical long stride, so I have to rush to keep up. We arrive at the Officers Meal Hall after taking a few turns along various corridors on Command Deck Two, Blue Quadrant.
    The meal hall is a chamber similar to the ones I’ve eaten in, back on the residential decks of the other ark-ship, except it is considerably smaller in size, with fewer tables, and comfortable dim lighting. The food bar lines one of the walls, and there is an identical selection of food items. No privilege here, nothing to show that officers eat better than the rest of the crew or the Earth refugees.
    Somehow it pleases me to see this.
    The room is half-full. A tantalizing aroma of warm spices and unfamiliar but appetizing food fills the air. I note that here too all the long bench tables are anchored to the floor, which makes sense onboard a starship. Atlantean officers and other upper-rank personnel sit at the tables, eating from dishes set on trays, and there is the ringing of utensils, and the easy sound of subdued but friendly conversation in the lilting tones of Atlantean, and sometimes English speech, interspersed with occasional laughter.
    The moment Aeson Kassiopei enters, the entire meal hall falls silent. All the officers and crew stop eating, rise from their seats and salute the CP.
    Aeson acknowledges the room in general with an informal command: “Carry on.”
    Immediately everyone resumes their meal and conversation. A few people continue looking in his direction, and now I feel eyes on me.
    “Grab a tray, get your food,” Aeson tells me casually, and proceeds to the lunch bar. I follow him somewhat awkwardly, and watch his tall powerful back and the fall of his golden hair as he interacts with the server who produces a covered tray and what looks like a ready packed bag from around the counter. “Savory lidairi and ero grains stir fry. Your favorite, Command Pilot,” he says.
    “Smells great as always. Thank you.” Aeson takes the tray and bag, with a nod and a faint smile to the crewman server, and then turns around.
    “What are you waiting for?” he tells me, as he finds me staring, holding on to an empty tray.
    “I—I was not sure,” I say.
    Aeson glances around the room, which I now realize is for my sake. “Feel free to approach anyone you might know here. Or take a seat anywhere you like.”
    “Oh . . .” I mutter. “You’re not going to eat here?”
    He