Dawnhammer

Chapter 6: Andrew John

"The Dawnhammer." He whispered in what Valeri considered a reverent tone. "The salvage operator has resurrected a Guardian ship."

-----

Valeri leaned back against the wall. Jessica produced a cigarette and ignition device from somewhere in her clothing, lit it and took a long draw. Despite what they had all just learned, Valeri took the time to be surprised at the head officer's blatant use of illegal drugs. While they were not in Terran space or aboard an OnyxCorps vessel, it was shocking to see. Valeri coughed as some of the smoke drifted into her vicinity. Vile things, cigarettes. Jessica didn't notice and took another drag. Valeri noted that her fingers were trembling.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

Jessica turned her head, the cigarette burning between two fingers. She nibbled at the thumbnail on the same hand. "What?"

"You look upset."

"You aren't?" She lowered her hand and turned to face Valeri, leaning her right shoulder into the wall. "What did you make of the presentation, Captain?"

"We have an unknown quantity. A salvage operator in possession of a very dangerous ship." Valeri thought of the young pilot on the Lazarus, teasing her right before he blacked out her ship. Whatever the pilot was, he was also charming, reckless, and resourceful. She held back a grin. The boy would have made an excellent apprentice for John. "What did you make of it?"

The CEO took a final puff and threw the cigarette onto the thin carpeting, grinding out the red ember with the toe of her dress shoe.

"The end of civilization, Captain." And with that, she turned and walked off without another word.

----

The Last Glass was a detailed bistro aboard Pandora. The space station was massive and contained hundreds of decks. One entire deck was designated for recreation and it was segmented into what the locals referred to as "quarters". Originally ,there were four, hence the name, but over the course of centuries, with expansions and remodels, there were at least three dozen quarters now, all referred to by their chief staple. The Vintage Dining quarter held restraunts that mimicked old Earth establishments. Most were decorated with period art and architecture. The Last Glass even had wax paper menus available.

John was adamant about pulling her chair out for her and standing behind as she adjusted in her seat. After she was situated, he rounded the table and sat opposite. He wore a vintage suit of soft material and a strange ornament that extended from the neck. The suit accented his body and showed off massive chest and shoulders, tapered to a small waist. Likewise, the trousers accented his muscular legs and when he removed the coat, she felt a flash of warmth upon noticing other parts that were highlighted by the wardrobe.

"It's called a three-piece," he explained. "Formal clothing that Terrans wore in places such as this to celebrate." Despite the oddity of the costume, Valeri was enchanted. John seemed perfectly comfortable, as if he wore such clothing regularly.

She felt almost naked in the gown she had chosen. It was dark blue and hung to the knee, exposing more chest than she was comfortable with. The form fitting OnyxCorps uniform was designed for utility and unrestricted movement but didn't leave much to the imagination in the area of shape. It did, however cover every inch of skin from neck to toe. Her boots were replaced by conservative open heeled dress shoes.

"You look magnificent, Valeri. May I call you that?" She felt decidedly uncomfortable with the informality. "Apologies, beautiful lady. Captain, it shall be." If she were not mistaken, the pirate's cheekbones colored ever-so-slightly.

Instinctively, she reached for his hand on the table. He smiled and cocked his head, slightly. "John, it's alright. I'm just accustomed to being called by title. I feel silly with my hair loose and this dress makes me feel... indecent. I fear I have been an officer too long and too often." Her words almost ran together in nervousness. She was about to draw her hand back when he flipped his and grasped it with a suddenness and gentleness that surprised her. She looked up into his deep blue eyes and realized the gown she had chosen matched them.

"My name isn't John. It's Andrew." He stated point-blank, a twinkle in his eye. "My father named me after a character in his favorite book. A boy who would change the world." The pirates voice was wistful. He seemed regretful when he let her hand go. "We rogues still use last names, a tradition you Terrans have gotten away from. John is my last name and the one I am known by." Valeri understood the need for surnames when the entire populace of her race was crammed together on a single planet. Colonization of space gave everyone smaller communities and spheres of influence. The practice of having multiple names ended centuries ago. She was touched that he would share such a personal bit of information. Her intrigue with the pirate faction had always been great, and this minor admission fascinated her.

"I was an orphan." She said quietly. "Raised in Octet Six, assigned a trade, and chose my own name. When I was six, we future pilots studied pioneers of space. Admiral Valeri was a hero of mine, so I chose that as my name. My classmates called me Val." She giggled. "I haven't been called that in years."

"Well! Tonight, I will be Andrew. You will be Val. Let us be people and not defined by occupation. Agreed?"

She smiled openly, charmed by this bear of a man. "Agreed. Andrew."

A waiter approached their table with a bottle and two long stemmed glasses.

"Val, have you had much experience with Earth cuisine?"

"Nothing vintage, I'm afraid. I've led a pretty focused life."

The waiter poured a small measure of the bottle's content into one glass and stepped back. Andrew offered it to her. "Wine. Fermented grape extract. The real thing, Val. Only a taste. Let it roll over your tongue."

She was unprepared for the explosive sensation on her pallette. It was sharp, sweet, bitter, and sour all at once. She sat there, lost in the taste, the electric feel of it. Goose flesh tracked her arms and her eyes lost focus. Her breathing deepened and warmth filled her stomach.

She swallowed and felt the warmth travel down her throat. When she refocused on the pirate, his hands were clamped onto the edge of the table firmly enough that his knuckles were white, his jaw hung slack and his eyes were wide. With that appearance, she wouldn't have been surprised to see him drooling.

Andrew never looked away as he adressed the waiter.

"Leave the bottle, son."