“Thank you, X.O.”

The woman was the Executive Officer of the zeppelin, then, come to honor Sheridan personally. An Octunggen X.O. Somehow Sheridan had snuck a whole crew of the enemy right up among the Ghenisan ships. Avery was floored.

The X.O.’s gaze took in Avery. “And this?”

“This is Doctor Francis Avery.”

The X.O.’s strange eyes widened slightly. “The doctor ... well. That is quite a victory. I’m assuming ...”

“He’s a guest,” Sheridan said.

“Good. Good! Excellent. I will give you rooms, baths, clothes. You are just in time. The officers meet for dinner in one hour. I will arrange seats for you both.”

There was some more talking after that, but it was in Octunggen, and Avery was too tired to process it. His knees sagged, and it was all he could do not to simply curl up on the floor. He was spent. Utterly. What have I done?

When Sheridan was done with the others, she led Avery to a gilded stairwell and up two flights, then down a richly carpeted hallway.

“You act like you’ve been here before,” he said.

She glanced sideways at him, just briefly, the first time she had looked at him since leaving the Starfish. “I have arranged for us to have ... adjoining rooms. Is that suitable?”

He straightened, though he knew he must look a mess. “It is.”

“Good.”

She arrived at a cabin door, unlocked it and pushed it open, handing him the key. “This will be yours,” she said, stepping in and indicating the richly appointed cabin. A door to the left presumably led to her cabin.

Cautiously, he stepped inside—

Sheridan spun to him, slamming him up against the door—closing it in the process—and shoving her face in his. Her eyes were livid, her lips drawn back.

“What are you up to, Doctor?”

“I—I—”

She slammed him against the door again. “I know you didn’t come here just to be with me. How stupid do you think I am? What’s the real reason?”

“I assure you, I—”

She growled and released him. Rubbing his throat, he watched her as she stalked back and forth before him, a tiger winding itself up to strike. At last she wheeled to face him.

“Well?” she demanded.

There was nothing for it. It was either tell her or be thrown out the nearest hatch, parachute optional.

“What do you think?” he said, quietly.

She studied him for a moment, then smiled, just briefly. “Good. I hoped you hadn’t gone soft on me.”

He smiled, just as briefly. “Never.”

“You knew the only way you could find out what I was up to and stop me was to join me, so you and your ...”

“Layanna,” he supplied.

“You and your alien whore decided to trick me into thinking you would willingly betray them and go with me.”

“Really, Jessryl, if you already knew, why did you ask?”

With that, her eyes blazed, but not with fury. She threw herself at him, finding his lips waiting, and they tore at each other’s clothes. And, despite the fact that they were both utterly exhausted, they launched themselves on the luxurious bed and did not stop until they were done.

*   *   *

Someone knocked on Sheridan’s cabin door—Avery heard it through the bulkhead—waited a tactful moment, then knocked on Avery’s door.

“Yes?” said Sheridan, raising her head from his chest.

“The Captain, ma’am,” came a voice. “He wants a word before dinner.”

“Very well. We’re coming.”

The footsteps moved on.

Avery and Sheridan dressed quickly, she using a new uniform from her cabin, he using some quickly gathered civilian clothes that had been tossed into his, likely moments before his arrival, and together they made their way through the halls to a doorway flanked by two guards. After checking with someone within, the guards admitted them, and Sheridan and Avery stepped through into a dark conference room facing a bank of windows.

A man stood there, silhouetted against the windows, staring out at the gathering darkness. Clouds rushed past him, ghostly bulks in the twilight.

He didn’t turn, and Sheridan and Avery were obliged to move toward him. Avery could see that, like every other soldier aboard the zeppelin, save Sheridan, the Captain had accepted the Sacrament, and though he was a handsome if stern man in his middle to late fifties, there was something gray about his face, something just slightly fishy, and one of his hands was webbed.

Wearing a troubled expression, he turned to them, nodding at Sheridan, then Avery.

“Doctor, meet Captain Marculin,” Sheridan said. “Captain, Doctor.”

“Thank you for coming, both of you,” the Captain said, in a rich, gravelly voice. He spoke Ghenisan, which Avery appreciated. To Avery, he said, “So, you are the Doctor of Doom, eh? I have heard so much about you.”

“I am hardly a doctor of—”

“You have halted our attempt at world conquest, forced our gods to retaliate by killing tens of millions. You are the greatest butcher of our time.”

Avery blinked. “I did not force them. They chose—”

“Gods do not submit, Doctor. They do not surrender. No, you forced them to act, and so they have, and now it is up to us to stop them.”

“You ... want to stop them? The R’loth? But I thought ...”