Free The View from the Imperium by Jody Lynn Nye Page B

don’t believe that I . . .”
    “Why not?” asked Ten.
    “No!” Thirteen burst out.
    The insectoid peered at the old man. “Why not? Twenty-Nine makes a good point. We should have a single speaker. She is well-spoken. Zembke is very loud, and loud does not necessarily carry a point.”
    “I might agree with you, hive-brother,” Thirteen said, his wintry face creasing into a smile. “But we cannot nominate or choose Councillor DeKarn for another reason.”
    “What?”
    “We are not yet the full council.” Marden waved a wrinkled hand toward the five empty seats at the end of the black table. “Until the contingent from Yolk gets here, we are all flapping our gums or, in your case, mandibles for no reason. Nothing can be done.”
    The Cocomon tilted his head. “Ahhhh. I see. That is true.”
    Zembke flopped back in his chair with a deep sigh. “Marden is right, dammit.”
    “Language!” DeKarn rapped out. “But he is right.” She was disappointed. The leadership was still in her lap.
    She pulled up a chart showing the space lanes that surrounded the Boske system and frowned at it worriedly. Among all the colored lights flitting through the darkness, there should have been a blip on it that indicated the ship carrying the missing envoys. A system search showed nothing with the diplomatic indicator.
    “Where is the party from Yolk?”
    At that moment, the building’s foundations began to shake beneath their feet.

Chapter 3
    “. . . And this is your console,” Lieutenant Michele Wotun concluded. She waved me toward a gray keyboard and scope in the darkest corner of the dimly lit chamber. Lt. Wotun was a husky, dark-skinned woman of middle years, with silver tinting her close-cropped curly hair. The rest of the room was gray, too: gray walls, gray chairs, gray dividers, gray backgrounds on every screen. Her voice had deep, musical overtones that I allowed to distract myself from the dire woe of my situation. I was glad to have something to do at last. When the Admiral had sent me to her station, he did not specify that she was on duty there as yet. I spent a miserable hour standing at attention staring at the wall in the corridor outside. Movement was a relief. “Any questions?”
    “How long will I be assigned down here?” I asked, hoping the desperation I felt did not come across in my voice. “Not that I shirk my responsibility, Lieutenant!”
    “Yes,” Wotun chuckled richly. “I’m sure you won’t from now on. I saw you come into the dining room an hour ago. Ten minutes late! You were lucky the old man didn’t lock you up. Probably letting you slide because you’re the new boy on the ship. Sometimes he lets newbies have a gimme, but it won’t happen again, I promise. You’ll be assigned to me until the admiral believes that his lesson has taken firm hold on you.”
    “Believe me,” I said meekly, “it has taken. I won’t be late again. Or,” I added, with a tender mental probe at the bruises on my dignity from the very thorough dressing-down, “any of the other points to which he drew my attention.”
    “He doesn’t believe in deathbed conversions, and neither do I,” Wotun crisped out. “I’ve explained your duties. Now, do them.”
    “Aye-aye, ma’am,” I said. I saluted, then waited until she turned away to see to one of the other thirty stations in the low-ceilinged chamber before lowering my arm.
    I felt eyes upon me. I turned my head and caught the young female lieutenant nearest me glancing my way. She had that rare, porcelain-white skin that combined with her deep, midnight blue hair absolutely invited appreciation. I winked at her. Her eyes widened, then hastily returned to her screen, and she began to type furiously on her keyboard.
    The charm offensive was failing on all fronts, I thought disconsolately, then turned to my own station. A touch on the screen brought up my identification slate, with eight dashes below my serial number.
    “This is a master-key console