Sleeping With the Enemy

    Sybil reddened, struggling with discomfort over the compliment, but she was pleased to have a male opinion. “Thanks.”

    Fortunately, they were allowed to move on just then where they bottlenecked with the reception line. Music had already begun to waft from the conference center turned ballroom long before she reached the beginning of the receiving line and Sybil was in a fever of impatience to get inside, checking her time piece every five seconds for fear she’d turn into a damned pumpkin and miss the transport she’d paid for before she even got inside. A jolt went through her when she discovered that the receiving line was made up of the dignitaries attending and their spouses. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her, but then she’d never been invited to such an elite gala in her life.

    The next jolt came when she discovered that the second half of the receiving line was the Sumpturian dignitaries and included Anka. She almost tripped over her damned dress when she spotted him, which of course didn’t go unnoticed. Powell grasped her arm to steady her. Several women gasped and the President and Attorney General both surged forward to catch her.

    Argh! The humiliation of it! She was so embarrassed she thought for several moments that she was going to humiliate herself worse by bursting into tears. Anka’s touch steadied her, however. He took her hand when she reached him and looked her over with unconcealed pleasure. “Lieutenant Hunter, it’s a pleasure to meet you again… and under far better circumstances. I hope you’ll consider dancing with me later?”

    Dismayed as she was by the impersonal formality, she knew he was constrained by the circumstances and was heartened that he’d requested a dance. “Thank you. I’d enjoy that Commander l’Kartay.”

    Turning slightly, he introduced her to the man on his right as the Premier d’Zubi. She had no clue of what the tile represented, but she smiled politely, told him how pleased she was to meet him, and moved on. She was greeted by an usher once inside and escorted to the table where her seat was reserved.

    She hadn’t realized they would dine first or that she would be appointed a seat. She supposed she should have. That was the way it was done at formal military dinners, but she’d just thought that was because of military protocol to make certain those of superior rank were properly recognized. She supposed when she discovered that Holly and Reed were seated at her table that it was for the same reason-pearls before swine. Meachum was also shuttled to their table.

    Wine was served. She hated wine but she was well aware of the beneficial properties for relaxation and it took an effort to restraint herself from chugging it. Powell, seated directly beside her, uttered a snort he tried to disguise as a cough when she lifted her glass and took a huge gulp, then made a face at the bitterness and shuddered. He leaned closer. “It’s usually better to sip it slowly.”

    She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know that. I just needed something to calm my nerves a little.”

    “It is unnerving to find oneself in such exalted company,” he said wryly. “Too rare a treat to pass up, though.”

    “Mmmhmm,” Sybil agreed absently, having discovered the reception line had finally broken up and everyone was headed to their seats. Anka was easy to pick out among the humans, but not among his own people. All of them were tall, and a number of them a good bit taller than he was. She saw very quickly, though, that her own table was so far removed from his that she might as well have been on another planet. Disappointed, she tried to focus on the conversations of the others at her table.

    “What are your plans now?”

    Sybil turned to Reed, blinking at him. “I’m sorry! What?”

    “I heard it through the grapevine that you weren’t planning to re-up.”

    The damned grapevine sure was fast! “No, I’m not.”

    “So…?”

    She blinked at him again. “Oh! Actually, I don’t know yet. I’d originally planned to become a colonist. Now… well, I’d thought I would be on Mars when my contract ended and I could get a discharge there. I guess I’m heading back to Earth.”

    “This is still the jumping off spot,” he reminded her. “I’d been considering it myself. My ex-wife had no interest in it, but that isn’t an issue anymore.”

    Sybil frowned. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard you were divorced.”

    He grimaced but shrugged. “She wasn’t interested in being a civilian’s wife. She liked being an officer’s wife.”

    Dismay flickered through her. “Sounds like you’re well rid of her.”

    He chuckled. “I knew our marriage wasn’t working a long time ago. Betty and I never did seem to want the same things. I confess I wasn’t sure of it until I discovered she was a lot more upset by my discharge than she was by the indiscretion that caused it.”

    There was a thread of bitterness in his voice that made her wonder if he’d been ‘indiscrete’ because his wife hadn’t seemed to care or if it was other lapses that had created the riff before and the latest was just the last straw. Not that it was her business or it excused his behavior. If he’d thought his wife didn’t care about him, he should’ve dumped her and then pursued other women, not stayed with her and strayed.

    “Satisfied men don’t stray,” he muttered, almost as if he’d read her thoughts.

    “Maybe,” she countered, “satisfied wives don’t either, but there are a lot of people that never seem to be satisfied, no matter what their partner does.”

    “True. I thought I was satisfying her by focusing on my career, though.”

    Sybil shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the personal confessions of a man she still thought of as a superior officer, even if he had been stripped of his rank. She was relieved when the servers began to make the rounds, offering a distraction, but she discovered quickly enough that it wasn’t much of a distraction. Not that the food wasn’t good. It was actually exceptional. The problem was that it was paraded out in such a slow, pompous production that there was more than enough time between courses for conversation and Reed seemed determined to pursue one.

    She was seated next to him, but she was also aware that he focused most of his attention on her when everyone else at the table seemed to carry on a general conversation they could all take part in.

    The discomfiting suspicion began to grow in her that he was hitting on her. She tried to dismiss it, but it seemed the harder she tried to put distance between them, the more pointed he was.

    She was infinitely relieved when the end of the meal was signaled by the President’s ascent to the stage where a podium stood. It was the typical political bullshit, but fortunately brief. She was inclined to think everyone clapped so enthusiastically because it was brief… and not followed by a half a dozen more politicians hoping to get a plug in for themselves for the next election.

    The strains of dance music swelled within the room as the President descended to the dance floor. Sybil looked hopefully in the direction Anka had disappeared and managed to catch him leading some politician’s wife onto the dance floor.

    “Would you care to dance?”

    Meachum and Powell both asked her at almost the same time. The question in stereo confused her and it was a moment before she realized they were talking to her.

    Lovely choices! She disliked Meachum and she didn’t want to encourage Powell. She suspected Meachum had motives for asking that she wouldn’t like and that Powell was looking for encouragement.

    “Maybe I’ll just sit this one out,” she said with a vague, apologetic smile.

    “Come on,” Powell insisted, getting up. “You can dance the next one with Meachum.”

    She didn’t especially want to but she also didn’t want to make everyone else at the table uncomfortable. “I have two left feet,” she said warningly as she got up. “And both of them are wearing spike heels.”