“Oh, right. Pull rank. I’m not leavin’ my friends in that bastard’s hands any more than you are. Now come on.”
When they got to Command Deck, they saw Oblo, Arkady, and Esteban sauntering down the passage from the bridge at a pace that could only be considered glacial.
“Now what?” Oblo muttered. “Do we tackle him, or—”
“You get out,” Petris said. “I’ll go in alone.”
“Heris will love that,” Oblo said.
“You,” Petris said, “go to the bridge and start trouble. We need to be sure that this ship does not fire on any other and doesn’t jump. While you’re causing trouble, Arkady will take down the weapons. If they aren’t lit, Heris is less likely to blow us all away.”
“If we can do that, why do you want us to evacuate the ship?” Meharry asked.
“The captain’s thumb,” Petris said, who had thought of it only on that last dash up the ladder. For a moment they all stared blankly.
Then, “He wouldn’t,” Meharry said.
“He would if he’s feeling trapped enough. Now get out—any minute he’ll be out in the passage looking for us.”
When they were out of sight, Petris marched smartly up to the hatch of the admiral’s command section and announced himself.
Not at all to his surprise, Admiral Livadhi held a very lethal weapon and nothing in his demeanor suggested any reluctance to use it. Moreover, the protective cover of his command console was open, and the large red button of the ship’s self-destruct was clearly visible. Around him, the duplicates of the bridge displays gave him access to the same information as bridge crew.
“If you hadn’t meddled,” Livadhi said, in a conversational tone, “you would have been all right. They’d have repatriated you; they promised me.”
“And you believed them.” Petris felt no fear for himself; as if a storytape were running in his head, he could see the tiny figures racing through the corridors, then stopping to argue . . . filling the shuttles in the shuttle bay . . . stuffing them . . . and would that even work?
“They’ve always kept their word to me,” Livadhi said. “I wouldn’t have done anything that would hurt you—you most of all, Heris’s old crew. You’re good people—”
“So let us go. Let the crew go.”
“I can’t do that—I can’t fly this ship alone.”
“She won’t let you take the ship,” Petris said. “She’ll blow it.”
“I hope not,” Livadhi said. “I trust not. I’m sure, though, you told the others not to come—”
“Right.”
“I could have security bring them in, assuming you haven’t suborned ship security, too. I suspect you’ve done something to interfere with my attacking Serrano and Suiza.”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Such a waste,” Livadhi said. “You realize I can kill everyone—”
Tell him that the crew were even now boarding shuttles to leave? No. Petris waited, as Livadhi—still holding the weapon on him—leaned back in his chair. “You don’t want to kill everyone, Admiral,” Petris said, trying to believe it.
“No—but I may have no choice.” He made a slight gesture with his free hand. “Sit down.”
Petris hesitated—sitting down took away any chance of a swift lunge—but every second he could keep Livadhi occupied might save another life. He sat gingerly on the edge of one of the chairs.
Livadhi smiled. “Tell me,” Livadhi said, “what was she like?”
“Excuse me?”
“Heris Serrano. You slept with her, I know. What was she like?”
Shock held Petris speechless a moment. “I’m not going to talk about that—”
“Why not? We both loved her; you perhaps love her still. She never favored me with the delights of her body, but you—you she raised from enlisted to a commission just for her pleasure—”
“Not just that,” Petris said, through clenched teeth.
“Oh, I think so.” Livadhi’s airy tone, in these circumstances, was obscene. “You’re not really command material, you know. Nothing like her. Or me, for that matter.”
“I never turned traitor,” Petris said. The doubts that so often assailed him when he thought of himself and Heris as a pair—that had interfered, though he tried not to see it, with their love—now rose again to confront him. She was command material, and he—he loved her, but he wasn’t her match.
“No, you didn’t turn traitor. That’s not the point and you know it.” Livadhi took a sip from his flask. “You’re a good loyal man, Petris Kenvinnard. Competent at your job—but not a commander. If you had been, I wouldn’t be here with control of this ship. Heris would have taken me out somehow; in your place, I’d have taken out a traitor admiral. But you dithered. You waited. You missed one opportunity after another.”
“I—” He had, he knew, done exactly that. He had waited for Heris to come, for her to make the decisions. But how had Livadhi known? He felt paralyzed by shame.
“And now, because of you, your beloved Heris is going to have to decide between blowing us all away, or letting me escape. You aren’t worthy of her, Petris. I was, but she wouldn’t have me. She chose you—I suppose she felt sorry for you.”
“That’s not true!” But was it? He thought back over the course of their love—their acknowledged love—from Sirialis to the present. Surely the depth of his love mattered more than whether he had her gift for command. Their passion—he squeezed his eyes shut a moment, remembering her touch, the feel of her, the scent—
“It is true,” Livadhi went on. “But I suppose she wouldn’t tell you. I’m sure she did her best not to notice . . .”
Rage blurred his vision. She had not—she had loved him, she’d proven it. If he was less than she in this one way, she had not cared. “You’re trying to make me angry,” he said in a hoarse voice he hardly recognized as his own. “You want me to do something stupid.”
“No,” Livadhi said. “I know you’re not stupid. But you must realize how it feels to me—how being refused in favor of you feels. How long were you hiding your relationship before she ran out on you?”
So much was wrong with that, so many false assumptions, that Petris could not answer them. “We had no relationship before she—before it was proper,” he said.
“I’m sure,” Livadhi said, amusement sharpening his voice. “Well, perhaps not. But she had her eye on you, I’m sure, from the first. And you, I suppose, worshipped the deck she walked on—” He made it sound disgusting; Petris struggled to control his anger.
“I admired her,” he said very precisely, “because she was an outstanding officer.”
“I would have said excellent, not outstanding, but a little exaggeration can be expected . . . from lovers . . .” Livadhi cocked his head to one side. “Yes. Definitely a case of hero worship masquerading as sexual passion.”
“It is possible to admire the one you love, Admiral, though I don’t suppose you’ve had that experience.”
“Oh, certainly. Had she returned my affections, I would have both loved and admired her. But she didn’t, you see. We got as far as the hair-rumpling and kissing stage, but then she declined any more of it. Which is why I asked you . . . did she strip as good as I’ve always thought she would? Was she as good in bed?”
“Better,” Petris said. He shouldn’t do it, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Something older than military protocol and honor was acting now, and while he might be at this man’s mercy, he had one thing Livadhi would never have. “She was mine, and you cannot even imagine how good it was—”
Livadhi’s smile widened. “Excellent. Then I think you are indeed the best leverage I could have. She can let me go, or she can watch you die.” His free hand came up with another weapon, this one, Petris recognized, loaded with tranquilizer darts.
“What is going on over there?” Heris asked.