That night, Jirel stopped outside Emergency Ops’ door. It emanated the stench of fornication, like rotten eggs.
“About time you got here.”
Jirel turned to face Zorba.
She blew cigarette smoke in his face. “At your rate, I’d figured we’d have him in Hell before you figured out. Some guardian angel you are.”
“That’s not in my job description and you know it. What did you do?”
“Oh, Ol’ Mandy doesn’t need much help from me. All I had to do was convince her he’s Native American.” Zorba laughed. “She’s been tellin’ Anny he’s an Apache warrior.”
She said in falsetto, “Poor little boy just looking for love.”
“I’m going to stop you.”
“Too late. My work is done here. Just sticking around to bask in my victory. Mandy will destroy him, and there’s nothing you can do to stop her.”
“What about human free will?”
Jirel growled and walked away. He was wasting his time here. There were other ways.
“And what do you expect me to do about it, Sergeant?”
Jirel stared at Lieutenant Colonel Paul Dread. “I expect you to arrest her for violation of the Uniform Code of Imperial Justice, Section 3.7.2-8a, Sexual Misconduct with a Subordinate.”
The stench of spite flew off Dread. “There’s only one way I’d prosecute. If Snyder pressed charges, alleging he was intimidated and forced into a sexual relationship.”
Dread rubbed hands together, bearing his teeth. “Well, Sergeant?”
Jirel saluted. “Thank you for your time, Colonel.”
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