Queen & Commander (Book One of the Hive Queen Saga)

Chapter Twenty-Two: Make Anybody Like You in 50 Easy Lessons

The other was young, much younger than the rest she’d seen. He called out “Mister Bristow!”

Gravel Man straightened. Bristow’s dry eyes sharpened and met hers. Neither of them looked away until the newcomers closed. Rhiannon wished she could figure out what he was thinking.

Her main jailer nodded to her. A worthy adversary, perhaps? Or the satisfaction of an interrogation well done?

“Gentlemen,” he said to his compatriots. “I leave these three in your capable hands.”

Guards. Great.

“Hey!” she yelled to his retreating back. “Where are the rest of my Hive?” He wouldn’t keep her in suspense. He knew the pain of separation intimately.

He didn’t turn around or pause. “They’re safe on this ship. Worry about yourself.”

Well, that was helpful. Ish.

“So,” she said to the new guards. “What are you guys up to today?”

They ignored her completely. Professionals to the hilt. She’d have to find some other way to crack this pair.

***

She didn’t think of another way to crack them before they traded shifts with a third man. Having guards put a damper on any conversations she might have held with Luciano and Alan.

Her Devoted made faces at each other and checked her for obvious injuries across the distance. But they formulated no escape plans, discussed no personal issues. She didn’t like Alan’s listless look, though he’d perked up a bit and watched her cell like a delicate experiment.

At the next shift change, the white-haired gent and the young man showed up to relieve the evening guard. A third relief guard also came on scene—his grey hair started at the back of his head and fell in a steely braid down to his shoulder blades. Braiding! I should do my hair like that, in case of weightlessness.

Luciano and Alan were still asleep. The youngest guard rolled his eyes at the three older ones. “Mister Bristow put me on morning duty,” he said. “And seriously. Do we need three people for this?” He jerked a thumb at the sleeping prisoners.

The steely braided guy frowned, his white moustache making the expression extra deep. “Mister Bristow put me on morning duty.”

The eldest gent pointed out, “The sleeping ones are dangerous.”

Dangerous? That was the first she’d heard of it. Across the hall, Luciano wasn’t sleeping anymore. He’d woken in time to hear that evaluation and was kicking Alan awake too.

“Dangerous?” The youngest echoed Rhiannon’s thoughts. “Them?”

Rhiannon supposed she should have felt offended on her Hive’s behalf. After all, Luciano was definitely the physically strongest with his solid workout routines and muscular chest. And Alan was perilously smart compared to most of the universe. Still, they looked as innocent and sleepy as lazing lambs.

Steely Braid narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “I’m on duty, and you can’t make me stop.” So resolved, he took up a stance in front of her bars. She admired his hair’s tight practicality even more from this perspective.

The evening guard hadn’t left yet, leaning with studied casualness against the wall next to her cell. Clearly the unfortunate ship needed better entertainment.

This was her chance to try and get some of the crew on her side. They had to be hurting for discipline and leadership if their Queen was missing. Plus, it sounded like Mr. Bristow was starting to lose his administrative prowess. Hadn’t she seen millions of films about Hives falling into disordered madness in the wake of a Queen’s death? Maybe she could endear herself by filling the void and arbitrating the dispute? On the one hand, it might make the guards more efficient. On the other hand, where was she going to go if she escaped? Especially if she couldn’t find the others.

She could solve their problem with just a little more information.

“Excuse me?” Their heads swiveled towards her, and she watched the braid mostly not move. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, her head submissively bowed for now. Get them used to me. “I couldn’t help overhearing, and maybe... that is... do you have anyone on duty for the afternoon?”

The vicious white-haired gent snorted. “Like we’d tell you our plans.”

She shrugged, keeping her posture deferential. “It’s just we haven’t had three guards before. Maybe this was a mistake and one or two of you are supposed to look after us later. You wouldn’t want any gaps, right?” She had to assume a very small crew for this to work. That seemed likely from what she’d seen outside her cell so far. Did they even have enough Devoted to watch over her split Hive effectively?

Steely Braid looked up and down the corridor. “I didn’t hear about anyone else taking afternoon.”

The night guard shrugged. “I’m back on tonight. You can figure this out on your own.” He left.

Good. She hadn’t mentioned asking Mr. Bristow for clarification. Neither had anyone else.

Steely Braid looked after his departing comrade and cocked his head. Coming to a decision, he punched the youngest one in the shoulder. “You’ve got this under control, kid.” He held out his hand and gestured, after you. “C’mon, Mac. Let’s grab some coffee.”

Then there was one. Of course they took her advice. They wanted a woman to make their lives easier. They were programmed for it.

Rhiannon offered to the remaining guard, “You probably don’t want to tell us when your shifts start and stop. You don’t want to be predictable to prisoners.”

The youngster—at least ten years older than she—grinned at her, pacified by her logic and willingness to be a good prisoner. “Thanks.” He turned his back, watching the hallway vigilantly.

She had a bit of his trust, but she hadn’t turned him to her cause yet. She needed to widen the crack of fellow-feeling she’d started in his heart. The right tactic here: friendship. She could do this. Small talk. She sat on the floor right in front of the bars. Making herself small, harmless, very casual. “My name’s Rhiannon. Or Commander Ceridwen, I guess.”

“Hey. I’m Jon,” he said. “Can I call you Kerry?”

Ugh, no. Shorter and sharper than the overlong Ceridwen, it felt too cutesy. Plus, she couldn’t tell how he was spelling it. Well, she’d let it go. She wanted him to see her as cute, childlike.

“Of course,” she said. “I like your boots, by the way.” They were standard black boots, calf-height with a small heel. But small talk was about making connections, giving compliments.

“Thanks,” he said.

Wow. This was painful. She supposed the next thing to say was Lovely weather we’re having, but did that work on a spaceship?

Jon saved her from making such a pathetic comment by offering it himself. “What’s the weather like back home? It’s been a long time, but I remember cherry blossom trees in summer.”

And so it went. She told him about the silver maple leaves at the park and about the Beltane “fires” at the spacedock. He told her about training to be a pilot. They commiserated over mice in the grain stores, not that she really knew anything about that, but she filed away the information for later. She encouraged him to call up his love interest from university, even though they both knew his own Queen Marla had to approve first. She asked him all about his utterly uninteresting dating history.

By the time Steely Braid came to relieve Jon for the afternoon, they were both sitting on the floor. Jon lumbered to his feet and mumbled a blushing “Bye, Kerry” in defiance of Steely Braid’s disapproval.