Moonstruck by Susan Grant Page A

course, there was the terror menace waiting if they returned. For once he was grateful for a death threat. It would likely keep him and his crew on this luxury vessel of a ship—for a little longer, anyway.
    Or would it? He looked in Bandar’s direction again, and not only because he liked looking at her. He worried about her. Anger had definitely replaced the signs of exhaustion he’d spied earlier, however. Aye, something she’d read had made her very unhappy.
    A few hours’ sleep would fix her right up, he decided. She needed to go on break. He’d told her twice already in as many hours, to her withering looks, naturally. It was clear she didn’t like him addressing the issue of her crew rest. She probably wasn’t used to it. She’d existed for so many years in an isolated world where she took care of others and few returned the favor. He’d say none did, but he sensed a good deal of affection for the admiral in Lieutenant Keyren. Still, it was clear that Bandar didn’t like anyone looking out for her, especially him.
    Too blasted bad.
    Finn strode across the bridge and stopped in the doorway to the office. Arms folded, he leaned a shoulder against the door frame. “Once again I’ve come to ask you to go on break, Admiral. This time I’m going to have to insist. You need your rest.” The observation came out gentler, more protective than he’d intended.
    She glanced up, her eyes blazing with fury—anger that morphed into a startled softness before settling into something with which he was more familiar: aloof poise edged with intense dislike. “Worry about your duties, Warleader, not me.”
    Perhaps she considered his protective tendencies sexist. That wasn’t it at all. He’d grown up with women, fought side by side with them. He knew well a female’s strengths, and her weaknesses, but this woman, Brit Bandar, did something to him. She brought out a desire to look out for her, and more. That is your problem, not hers.
    She returned her glare to the report she was reading.
    Funny girl, thinking he’d be so easily dismissed. “What’s there that’s got you so concerned?” he asked. “Whose records are in question? Bolivarr? Gekken? Meer?”
    Or perhaps it would be better not to volunteer information.
    “Yours,” she blurted.
    He reared back. “Mine? But you know what my records contain.”
    “Not this.” She shoved the data-vis toward him. He squinted at the contents. It was a medical report of some kind, filled with figures and readings. A flicker of dread went through him. “What did the good doctor find? A deadly disease that nanomeds can’t cure?” He tried to joke. “How long do I have, Admiral? Weeks? Days?”
    “As much as I’d like it, you’re not going to die. The report shows evidence of childhood hunger in your bones and teeth.”
    The doctor had left no stone unturned, he thought. Or orifice unchecked. Finn ran his tongue along his teeth. Straight and white they were, although it was likely more from healthy genes than anything else. “I’m sure Dr. Kell can fix me if I go toothless.” He flexed his arms. “And the bones seem to be holding up, when I don’t go doing something stupid that breaks them.”
    “Blast it, Rorkken. Broken bones are one thing, but no child should go hungry. Dr. Kell thinks you went for long periods without adequate nutrition as a baby. Is it true?”
    Finn hesitated until he’d shoved aside his personal distaste at revealing his beginnings, lest it generate pity, which he despised. “Aye. It is.”
    “Damn it. What’s wrong with the Horde that they couldn’t look after their own people? They poured money into their warships, yet you starved as a baby. That is unconscionable.” Then compassion blunted her usual harsh tone. “You lost your parents. How?”
    “I was orphaned as an infant in a Coalition attack. From what I learned, and it isn’t fact, I was rescued from the site of the attack and brought off-planet.”
    “And