The Deltan's Job

[Joe Manning 0]

Redera was working on her third glass of Altair water ... slowly. She hadn't noticed until she was halfway through her second glass that the First Mate, Nickles, was pushing alcohol on all of the recruit candidates. The bartender was happy to oblige; he seemed to have a close personal relationship with both of Qob's commanders.

 

If Nickles were only trying to inebriate her, his intent would have been immediately clear; his eyes had been all over her throughout the evening. Deltans were not like Orion animals. They could wrap males around their fingers with ease, but they required a delicate touch to prove equally willing. How cute, she thought, that this fool thought alcohol could substitute for true effort. As if I'm only human.

 

The real intent was beginning to materialize. Nickles was trying to break down the recruits' barriers and fish out details of their pasts, no doubt at the Captain's instruction. Why else hold these interviews at a bar? Redera was not worried that mere alcohol would cause her to spill any of her secrets. But she was slightly concerned that too much of it would inhibit her performance. She had a job to do. And Nickles, it seemed, also had a job to do; getting him away from The Maze was going to prove more difficult.

 

The Deltan laughed at some stupid human joke told by one of the recruits. In what seemed an idle gesture, she allowed the fingers of her right hand to brush against Nickles' arm. She shared a glance with the First Mate and made it apparent that she was interested. She was on her third glass of Altair water, after all; how could she not be interested?

 

There was a timetable here, she reminded herself. She called up the chronometer in her neural implant. Less than an hour. She would have to play the predicted part of the disarmed Deltan damsel and get Nickles away from the crowd before the chaos started ...