She didn't change her attire after leaving the Cantina. She was still a bit taken aback buy Ortog's sudden and very strong offer of dinner on his ship. She remained in her slacks, light blue blouse and kept on a white shawl type sweater. All she did was make sure that her hair was right. Tonight, it needed little attention.
Leaving the bottle of wine in her quarters, she accepted an escort to bay #5 where the Larklight was moored. She wasn't sure what to expect. He came on strong to her and she hadn't expected it. She mentally prepared herself for another such encounter. She also had to wonder, was she that desirable? It had been a long time since she had a relationship and being out of the game for so long wasn't a help.
"Here you are, Miss," said the escort, "Bay 5." With a nod, he left her by the door. With a sigh, she made a final check of herself and pressed the door buzzer.
The Larklight had been home for him for a long time now. He recalled buying it on a surplus auction from a bankrupt liner company. No money was saved in the rebuilding, refurbishing and remodeling of the old Bretonian Liner in what it was today: a very versatile electronic surveillance and scouting ship equipped with the best electronic gizmos, gadgets and extras available.
He was quite sure the good Doctor would be impressed with the luxury of the living facilities, crew quarters and passengers. It was, after all, vital that the most important cargo could be delivered fast and unharmed. In this case the refugees from Leeds. The Larklight was equipped with dual docking bays, so that it carried some of his fighters and bombers. With a frown, Ortog forced himself to the matter at hand.
Why was it so important to have her approval, why and when she become a priority?
Maybe it had to do with redemption, to make some sense of his life, to be able to say he had made a difference, even a marginal one. Now even more important as he was changing his focus from Bretonia. The bitter taste of frustration still stung at him.
He had done it all, and even if he didn't seek recognition it would have been fulfilling to had some. Her Majesty's officers ignored all his efforts in the war. He fought dozens of battles, eliminated a few Valors, evacuated hundreds of refugees under the gallic navy nose, he supplied the resistance with countless tons of much needed goods, and nothing, not even a "well done". Instead, as usual, the navy of his beloved bretonia and her Majesty's officers disturbed his men constantly with meaningless minutia and red tape. He had enough and asked for a position in Kusari, one last chance to build something.
But even now, he wasn't so sure anymore.
He was in his last thirties, and there was a lounging to be filled. His mortality was becoming apparent.
The Doctor puzzled him. She was very different from all the women he had met before, she had a purpose, she was meaningful, and even more so due to the fact that she was the one taking care of his wounded and sick.
Bretonia recognition didn't matter anymore. Discovering what made her unique was what seemed important. He was intrigued and quite hoping for a good development. At the very least he would know the person that would have the life of so many soldiers of the Leeds resistance in her hands.
With one last brushing of his suit he was trying to choose a tie when he decided against it, she didn't seem to care much for formal outfits. A simple suit and shirt would do.
The door opened to reveal her kindly smiling. She wasn't sure exactly how to approach him. It was a date, yes, but they were more on a friendship level for the time. Considering this, she just brightened up her smile and said, "Hi" as she extended her right hand.
They took a few steps in and she began looking around her at the ship she was in. It was a beautiful ship. Her knowledge of engineering was quite limited in the way of ship design but she like what she saw. "You'll have to forgive me," she stated, "my knowledge of ship design is quite limited. After all, my personal ship is a small Sunburst freighter with basic armament."
She took in the view. There was plenty of space in it and it had some obvious improvements even the engineering handicapped would notice to make life in space a bit more comfortable.
She was also pleased with her date. He was professionally dressed and well mannered, something that seemed to be forgotten in these times. Still, his strong approach in the Cantina had her slightly but unnoticingly puzzled. For now though, all was good and she just enjoyed the moment.
Ortog played the tour guide for a while and showed Doreen the main features of the Larklight, carefully avoiding some of the more sensible areas, but still pointing out the state of the art electronic surveillance and data collecting array, the docking bays...the cloak.
He proceeded to introduce her to relevant members of his staff, with particular relevance towards his right hand, Parker, which he made a point to state that Doreen should not hesitate to ask for anything she needed.
Parker was a bulky towering man, built as an ox, but with a disconcertingly friendly face. He acknowledged Ortog’s orders and took his leave with a short head bow.
It was obvious that this ship was his home and if any doubts remained they would be dispelled by the dining room.
It was classical bretonian style: tapestried, carved wood panels, complete with a table capable of seating ten, a fireplace and a mantle piece displaying the Ashford coat of arms.
He helped her with the chair and served Coalition vodka with some caviar and toast.
-I do owe you an apology for forcing myself on you like this. But, unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of taking time I don’t have to indulge in social niceties, regardless of how needed they are.
He looked almost embarassed for a moment. He toped up the glasses again and admited:
-I was just assigned the directorship of Kusari for the Congress. It is an extremely dangerous place for a junker, even a junker like me. I am an old fashioned smuggler, luxury items mostly, no drugs or slavery, I disapprove the first and detest the last. But regardless, its the most dangerous place, even for a competent fighter pilot like me.
He looked absent for a moment then looked intently in her eyes.
-I need somebody to take care of the refugees my fleet evacuates from Leeds, somebody I trust, I need you for that Doreen, but...
He paused and refilled the glasses.
-If I die, and that is certainly a possibility, then my life would have been for naught, as nothing will remain from my labours.
There was a knock in the door and a trolley was pushed inside. Plates had their covers removed to reveal salmon in a bed of vegetables and a white gallic wine bottle was showed, approved and served.
He observed her while she tasted the wine.
-So, basically. I need a beacon...something that makes me want to return, something to steer myself to.
She was most impressed by what she was seeing even if she wasn't technologically gifted. She walked with her hands behind her back, bringing them to the front to point and ask questions. The stories she had heard of Junker Liners were one's of slavery, a means to transport innocents to their doom, quite often at the hands of the Outcasts.
She was a bit concerned at the admittance of him being a smuggler. Smugglers often met bad ends if they didn't get caught and incarcerated first. She did, however, feel a bit better about it when he admitted that he detested slavery.
"Its a good thing that you detest slavery," she responded with a straight face and her almost non-existent Rheinland accent, now sitting in her chair with some Vodka, "because if you didn't, this visit would be over. The same goes for drugs. I've never dealt with those addicted to cardamine but I've heard the horror stories. That drug enslaves and those who try to break from it often die. What's worse is how some use it as a measure of loyalty."
She stopped talking about it abruptly, taking a sip of her Vodka as she felt herself getting upset about the mention of slavery and cardamine.
"Parker," she continued, "he's quite the man. Big, loyal yet friendly."
She listened as he continued talking about Kusari. It was indeed a dangerous place for a Junker even if she never understood why Kusari thought so ill of them. There were people within Sirius and Gallia that made even smugglers look like saints.
"That is a concerning though, Ortog," she commented, "I mean, I know how profitable and rewarding a job in hostile territory can be but I wonder how some put themselves at such risk for it." She motioned to the ship around her, "You have a lovely home, why risk it but then, who am I to tell you what to do."
She smiled at the dinner. It had been some time since she had salmon.
"I haven't had this since I was a young girl on Hamburg," she commented placing her napkin in her lap. Then she smiled as he poured her some more Gallic white wine. With a snicker, she wondered, "I'm still curious as to how you know that I like this stuff so much."
As she savored it on her palate, she listened as he spoke , -So, basically. I need a beacon...something that makes me want to return, something to steer myself to.
"I'm not sure I follow," she stated, "I already take care of a lot of those Bretonian refugees right here so I don't know what else I could offer you that you don't already have."
She again sipped the wine before taking a bite of her salmon. She closed her eyes as she chewed it, raising her head a bit. After she swallowed it, she just softly smiled, "Oh this is so good."