Degrees of Wrong (14 page)

“He promoted me,” I crowed.

She unfolded her arms, eyes wide. “He did?”

“He didn’t want Lt. Sheldon to arrest me, so he promoted me instead.” In summary, anyway.

“Lt. Sheldon tried to arrest you? For
what
?”

“Well, apparently she was misinformed about what had happened.” I tried to extract the acid from my tone.

“Oh, that’s a bunch of malarkey. She found a way to get you out of the picture and she went for it.” She wagged her finger at me.

This unsettled me. I’d assumed Lt. Sheldon just disliked everyone in general. I didn’t realize she had a specific focus to her malice, and that somehow I’d come to be that target. “What picture?” I asked, taking a seat at her desk.

Dr. Folsom made a repugnant face, complete with wrinkling her nose. She sat on her desk, folded her hands in her lap and eyeballed me. “If she feels threatened in any way, she’ll take action to protect herself and her assets.” She sounded like a politician trying to answer an uncomfortable question as vaguely as possible.

“I really hope you didn’t intend for me to get anything out of what you just said.”

She huffed again. “Oh, good grief. Fine. She’s been after Nicoli since she stepped foot on this ship. She must see you as a threat to her mission.” She said this with a little grin, which made the conversation that much more irrational.

“But he’s engaged,” I hissed, feeling the echo of a certain mess hall conversation. I remembered the way Lt. Sheldon had frowned at me when she left with Captain Marek that day. He’d nodded in my general direction. Could the polite gesture have set her off? I couldn’t imagine that Lt. Sheldon, in all her loveliness, could be that insecure.

Dr. Folsom nodded. “A fact which has not deterred her since day one.”

“So, since she doesn’t care about that at all, she assumes that no one else does, either? That no one has morals?”
That
I
didn’t have morals?

Dr. Folsom shrugged. “Nicoli is quite a catch.”

I couldn’t disagree with that any longer, but I wasn’t willing to agree with it out loud. “How can she see me as a threat? Look at her. I can’t believe he’s managed to hold on as long as he has. She’s breathtaking.” The admission tasted sour in my mouth.

“Nicoli has never paid her any more attention than any of his other lieutenants. By the way, what are you? A lieutenant as well?”

I nodded.

“Good. Anyway, he’s impartial to her, despite her efforts. She really has endurance, that one.”

“I can’t imagine what kind of beautiful his fiancée must be, if he’s not tempted by Lt. Sheldon,” I said, awestruck.

“Of course she’s beautiful. But you can’t think Nicoli so shallow as to want a trophy wife.”

That wasn’t what I’d said at all—or at least I didn’t
think
I did. At this point, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions, exhausted as I was. Besides, it didn’t matter what I thought about Nicoli and his fiancée, trophy or not. I would leave the worrying about such things to Lt. Sheldon.

“Well, I think in time, she’ll come to realize I’m not a threat. The only time he speaks to me at all is when I’m in trouble.” I grimaced. “Eventually, she’ll see that for herself.”

“Yes,” she agreed, grinning. “She’ll see.”

I yawned. “Well, I’ve been granted permission to go take a nap, so…” I stood up to leave. “See you at dinner?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

I didn’t see Dr. Folsom at dinner. I slept through it.

When I finally awoke—from the sleep I couldn’t in good conscience call a nap—the “sun” had already set in my room, the clock illuminating a bright eleven.

I decided at once to go to the gym. It was the only way I could exhaust myself enough to sleep a little while longer until morning. Although I wouldn’t be reporting for roll call anymore, I didn’t want my days and nights reversed either.

So, I headed toward the torture room. I passed one man in the halls who inclined his head toward me and said, “Lieutenant Morgan.” Since I didn’t know the proper way to return the greeting—or his name or rank, for that matter—I nodded.

Obviously, the good news of my promotion had spread. I wondered how large a part Lt. Sheldon played in the distribution of it, and how many versions of the story circulated. I wondered about Lt. Horan’s take on it, and if they had to sedate Stanley in order to get him to stop laughing.

I entered the gym and chose my usual machine, selecting Stadium Track course, which seemed self-explanatory. The program included sprint intervals, and I looked forward to the punishment as I began my warm-up.

As the warm-up gave way to the actual run, I focused on the mirror wall ahead of me and concentrated on my form, keeping head up and stomach in. Eager for the beating, I increased the speed. The sweat dewed, then trickled, then gushed, the soft humming of the belt beneath me drowning out the quiet echo of the room and hypnotizing me into a concentrated trance.

My peripheral caught movement. Startled, I flashed a glance to my right to find Captain Marek starting the machine next to mine. He nodded once in greeting, then smiled. I glowered at him. Also, I tried not to trip.

The clock displayed half past eleven. I looked at Nicoli. The clock. Nicoli again. He didn’t get it. I labored with each breath already, too much to inform him with any dignity that he was in breach of contract—and
I
certainly wasn’t leaving.

The stadium zoomed by—sprint mode. I changed my pace to match, talking now an impossibility. Still, I managed to throw furious glares in his general direction until the sprint tapered down to a run.

He wouldn’t look at me.

Then I noticed a small detail about my machine, one I didn’t see before. Though the stadium hologram encompassed me, I could see the tiny version of the track in the lower left corner of the input screen. It displayed your progress as you circled the stadium, to show where exactly you were in your lap. A green dot represented my location.

A red dot represented Nicoli’s.

My head snapped toward him, and I confirmed with my own eyes that he too had selected the Stadium Track setting. He was in the middle of his first sprint, making it look effortless, his speed set slightly higher than mine. I glared at the red dot on my screen as it gained on the green dot.

Nicoli was racing me.

I couldn’t tell whether it was anger or adrenaline or both, but the next sprint came with great ease as I put more distance between myself and the devil red dot. I increased the speed on my virtual jogger and glanced over at him. He grinned at me.

He increased the speed by one for the next sprint, and I think I actually growled out loud. I increased my speed by two, felt my legs protest with the strain. I cursed them in their weakness—Nicoli’s shirtless torso was only now budding sweat.

My chest burned with the fire of inhale, exhale. My legs, tormented into submission, grew numb in their obeisance. Still, they trekked on.

And the red dot continued to close the distance.

We began the last lap, my impending defeat obvious. We held neck and neck for a moment, his breathing steady and rhythmic, mine unreliable at best. He overcame me half a lap before the finish line. I never caught up.

As his machine slowed him to a cool-down phase, I sprinted toward the finish line. There was no pleasure in completing the run, no sense of accomplishment in second place. Second place was last place.

My jogger slowed as well, and my legs seemed to be confused with their new commission. They felt big and heavy and stiff as they started the cool-down lap. I put hands on hips and tried to gain control of my lung function. I couldn’t speak yet, which meant I couldn’t curse yet either—but it was coming.

Nicoli’s jogger stopped. He grabbed his towel to wipe the sweat from his chiseled body. I glowered at him and, although he wouldn’t look at me, I knew he could sense my irritation. He continued to smile for no particular reason.

My jogger stopped, and I tried to organize my breathing into a pattern that could be life-sustaining. I grabbed my towel too, but it was too small and inadequate to absorb the puddle collecting on my body.

“Well, good evening, Dr. Morgan,” he said, startling me. Before I could answer, he hurried to the door. I glared after him, wishing my legs would volunteer to pursue.

Instead, they walked to the nearest weight bench and seated me on it. I had wanted to exhaust myself tonight, not encounter a near-death experience.

My first thought was that Nicoli had not only infringed on our verbal custody agreement, but he had intentionally provoked me in the process. Because this conclusion contradicted his behavior this afternoon—when he rescued me—I forced myself to consider alternatives.

The prudent thing would be to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he’d mistaken the time. And maybe he was already going to choose the Stadium Track, and hadn’t even noticed that I’d chosen it also. And it could just be that he always ran at that speed. After all, no one could deny the impeccable shape he was in. Maybe he left so quickly because he had a pressing matter to which he needed to attend. At midnight.

Still, I was a doctor—I didn’t rely too heavily on coincidences.

Our truce didn’t resemble peace so much as it did war. The olive branch I thought he had offered me now appeared to be a thistle.

On the way back to my quarters, I contemplated all the ways in which I could wreak havoc on the handsome captain.

I found I could be quite imaginative.

Chapter Eight

I slept with a corpse-like peace, well into the late-morning hours. I awoke to the sound of an alarmed Dr. Folsom trying to gain access to my room.

Without moving from the bed, I bid my security mechanism to allow her entry, surprised it could understand the words through my yawn.

When she entered, I could see her surprise at my still being asleep. “Elyse? Are you not feeling well?”

I could’ve answered that in so many ways. “Fine. Sleepy.” I yawned for emphasis.

“Oh. Umm, Nicoli’s been asking for you. I told him you were probably sleeping late since you didn’t have to wake up for roll call. But when you didn’t show up for lunch…” She shrugged.

I yawned again—a real lung-bursting one this time—and sat up. I could feel the cowlicks in my hair from sleeping with wet-head, and surmised by Dr. Folsom’s expression it wasn’t a small amount of volume I’d have to deal with. I yanked the covers off and planted my feet on the floor. I’d lost a sock sometime in the night.

I shuffled through the blankets looking for it. “Your little golden child, Nicoli, is the reason I stayed up so late.” Immediately I realized how that sounded and wished I would’ve said something else,
anything
else of a less scandalous nature.

She walked to the bed, retrieved the sock from the floor and handed it to me with a smirk. “Is that so?”

“Er, well, more or less. He’s taken up irritating me as a pastime. And between you and me, he’s a natural at it. No doubt that’s why he’s looking for me this morning. Must’ve found a new way to be a pest.”

I collected the makings of a clean, black outfit and headed for the bathroom. Dr. Folsom followed, turning her back when I ran the shower.

“Actually, he said it’s about some research you requested.”

“Oh.” I was almost disappointed. That hadn’t taken long at all. Apparently, I’d have to be civil to him long enough to get what I needed.

I ripped open the shower curtain and stepped in, shutting it with like enthusiasm.

“What exactly did he do?” she asked.

“Nope, not telling. Absolutely not.” I needed no further opinion on it, especially from someone as biased about Nicoli as Dr. Folsom clearly was.

“I’ll just ask him, then.”

“Good luck with that,” I told her, calling her bluff.

She sighed in defeat. Or at least that’s what I thought, until she changed her tactics. “You know, everyone’s waiting to offer their congratulations on your promotion. When you didn’t show this morning—well, let’s just say there were some very curious whispers exchanged at breakfast.”

“Oh?” I said, taking a stab at nonchalant. “What’s the latest story? Anything resembling Lt. Sheldon’s accusations?” I told myself it didn’t matter, but deep down I knew my skin just wasn’t that thick. It mattered. A lot.

“I really wouldn’t know. At least, I don’t
think
I would know.”

I eased back the shower curtain, shampoo threatening the rims of my eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, now, that depends on you, doesn’t it, my dear?”

I closed the curtain again with deliberate control. “I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see, then.” I wasn’t falling for her shameless trickery.

I heard what I could only guess was Dr. Folsom stomping her foot, and then, “Oh, come on. Why won’t you tell me how he’s been irritating you?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t care to hear all the reasons why you don’t think he would intentionally annoy me. He can, after all, do no wrong in your eyes.”

She chuckled. “Are you so sure he’s doing it on purpose?”