Dremiks (23 page)

Dr. Fortunas had already decided he liked the young ensign after their previous encounters. As the lad tried to remain dignified and focused when confronted with two obviously distracted people, Ben’s opinion only increased. He slapped a large hand on Chi’s shoulder while sliding his other hand down Cassie Ruger’s spine. He splayed the fingers of both hands, pushing both of them to the door.

“Nonsense. Nowhere I’d rather be. Nothing more important than food safety. Lead on, please.” He noted, with narrowed eyes, Cassie’s slight shudder as he slipped his hand from her back. He did his best to keep his distance the rest of the afternoon.

***

“So it’s Ryan Hill causing all this grief?”

As a greeting, Tony’s comment made up for in surprise what it lacked in courtesy. Swede jumped and banged his knee on the door. He rubbed at the knee while glaring at his roommate.

“And a good damn afternoon to you too. Any chance I can get the short version of whatever the hell it is you’re talking about?”

Tony, stretched out on his bed, waved a hand in the air. “Had a chat with that twat Ryan Hill today, while you were busy wrestling with the commander.”

“That twat is the Vice Chancellor of the delegation and the captain’s brother. I wasn’t wrestling, we were sparring.”

“He’s still a twat. Given her mood lately, you should have taken her to the firing range.”

Swede shook his head, no longer able to keep up with the dichotomous nature of the conversation. “Ok he’s a twat.” He collapsed on his own bunk. “I repeat: what the hell?”

“Conversation, had one. During which it occurred to me that Ryan Hill is taking some sort of sadistic pleasure out of O’Connell’s anger at the captain—her totally unexplained and inordinately severe anger at the captain. You know why she’s pissed, and you’re going to confirm for me that Hill the Younger is behind it.”

Swede snorted at the new nickname for the captain’s younger brother. “I’m not telling you anything I haven’t already told you.”

Again Tony waved his hand in regal dismissal of his friend’s concerns. “Then you can simply confirm or deny. Hill—the younger—made some sort of power play involving the Admiral and directed at O’Connell. She did not, predictably, take it well. For whatever reason, she thinks the captain was behind it and she’s determined to show just how unmanageable she can be.”

Swede grunted. He rolled his head to the side. He stared unflinchingly back at Tony. Tony nodded. “Right then. Kindly explain why we all have to suffer over a simple miscommunication.”

“How do you know the captain
wasn’t
involved?”

“Don’t be an idiot. The captain’s possessed of enough intelligence to know that playing the daddy-card is the last thing likely to get O’Connell in line. She wasn’t being all that unreasonable and certainly nothing he couldn’t control. Now she’s a bitch.”

Swede growled. Tony pressed on, supremely unconcerned with the other man’s anger. “I think Ryan wanted something out of O’Connell and tried a bit of arm twisting. He’s clueless enough to try it.”

“Twat,” Swede muttered while staring at the ceiling.

“Precisely.”

“So…?”

“I don’t know, but if they don’t get over this in the next two days I’m going to lose my mind. I’m not going through another jump rotation with those two at each other’s throats.”

***

Lieutenant Price wasn’t the only crew member acutely tired of the tension between the captain and executive officer. Chief Turner watched and listened while O’Connell snapped out irritated replies to the captain’s terse questions. She was preparing for a course correction so that a new communications buoy could be placed. Captain Hill was asking for status updates which she should have filed immediately. The three other members of the bridge crew were watching the pair of them like tense spectators at a gladiatorial match. At any moment the lions were going to be released, and blood would be shed. Turner rubbed his temple and spared a few mental imprecations for the idiocy of the young.

“Sir,” he said, “I’ll be happy to relay the status updates to you. Engineering is quiet, and I have no other duties to distract me at present.”

“I’m perfectly capable of transmitting reports, Chief.” Irritation laced every word from Commander O’Connell.

“All evidence to the contrary, Commander.” The captain stood up from his chair and jerked on his sleeve. “Chief, see that I am kept informed and notify me when we are back on course.” He stalked off without a word to the commander. The simple discourtesy of leaving the bridge without acknowledging the officer-of-the-watch was, for the captain, an astounding display of emotion.

In her pilot’s chair, O’Connell jammed her hand down on the control panel, canceling all status transmissions from her station. She jerked the guidance system onto manual control and rolled the
Hudson
, rather more sharply than necessary, to port. “Let’s get this over with, Chief.”

He suppressed another sigh. “Yes ma’am.” Perhaps young doctor Ruger could shed some light on the commander’s black mood. The doctor was a gentle soul and possibly capable of untangling whatever was going on between the commander and captain. Turner smiled reassuringly at the third-class petty officer standing beside him and turned to his control panel.

***

While the younger officers traded the day’s gossip across the table, Captain Hill reviewed the latest department reports. He pensively studied Ensign Chi’s monthly update on food stores. There were, the ensign’s report noted, no further reports of purloined brownie mixes. The captain stared at the empty spot at the end of the table.

No, I don’t suppose she’s been in the mood for brownies.

If the captain or Ensign Robertson noticed Tony checking his tablet every few minutes, they did not comment. He’d spent several hours programming, and then an entire day testing, a program to track Commander O’Connell’s whereabouts. The knowledge that she would happily eviscerate him, with her bare hands, should she ever learn what he’d done, didn’t deter the lieutenant. She was still in the lift, slowly making progress toward the officers’ mess. Tony waited until she was much closer to the door before making his play.

“Sir, perhaps we should consult Admiral O’Connell?”

Captain Hill paused, confused. He thought about the lieutenant’s question for a minute and decided it still didn’t make sense. The three men were discussing the placement of additional communications buoys along the
Hudson
‘s route. It was not a subject that required a great deal of debate and certainly not something with which to trouble Admiral O’Connell.

Price watched the captain and the woman who stood frozen in the doorway behind him. The captain, distracted by the incongruous nature of the question, hadn’t heard the door open. O’Connell held her breath, not sure what was going on. None of the three saw Robertson look sharply at each officer in turn before giving Price a speculative glance.

“Why would we, Lieutenant? I don’t trouble the admiralty with trivial matters like com buoys. Also, I have no direct contacts with Admiral O’Connell. Why do you ask?”

Price kept an eagle eye on the commander’s expression. “My apologies, sir. I thought perhaps there would be diplomatic implications of the buoy placement, and Vice Chancellor Hill could be of assistance coordinating with the Admiral.”

Captain Hill’s eyes narrowed. “My brother and the colonial chancellery have no purview in this matter. Even if they did have, I would not be using my brother as a go-between. As I have not had reason to contact the admiralty about
anything
on this journey, I cannot see the point of asking about buoy placement. Now, if you could please focus, I would like to wrap this up before dinner.”

Commander O’Connell stared with an uncertain expression at the back of the captain’s head. She briefly met Price’s gaze, narrowed her eyes, then turned and walked out. The captain probably would note when she missed dinner, but she was willing to take the risk. She needed to be alone, and think.

***

Two days later, panting after her run, Maggie abruptly asked, “Did you mean what you said?”

Swede was busy remembering how to breathe. His brain wasn’t receiving enough oxygen to follow this sudden conversational tangent. He wasn’t entirely sure his brain was receiving enough oxygen to
speak
. He rolled his head to one side and tried to focus on her face. “Huh?”

“Before, when you said being my friend was emotionally exhausting?” She sat with her back to the bulkhead. His feet rested a few inches from her left hip.

“You want to have this conversation
now?
“ His lungs burned. He was certain his legs would dissolve into piles of goo if he tried to stand.

And she wants to have a serious emotional discussion. Typical.

He registered the hurt expression on her face. She turned her head away and shrugged at the same time. “Never mind,” she mumbled.

Swede sighed. “Oh no. Not that easy Mags.” As he intended, the use of her nickname had her turning back to face him. “I make it a policy to never deny an opportunity to help your emotional growth.”

“Like I’m a kid, or a dog, or something. Sorry I brought it up.”

“You’re proving my point, you know. It’s conversations like this that make you so exhausting. The 10k run around the ship didn’t help of course.”

That brought her trademark grin to the fore. “Wuss. You’re going soft on me.”

He nudged her hip with one foot before shifting position so he could sit beside her. “Everyone is soft compared to you.” They sat in silence for a few minutes. He worked on controlling his breathing and heart rate; she tried to be patient. “The thing is, you’re emotionally stunted.” He reached out to grip her forearm. With a bit of light pressure, he forced her to remain seated instead of stalking off. “It’s ok. Everyone who knows you understands. It would be damn near impossible to have a father like yours and not be damaged in some way.” He flexed his toes to keep his calf muscles from cramping. The cold floor of the storage bay was uncomfortable. It was quite literally a pain in his ass.

“But knowing that you don’t understand how to react emotionally to situations and people doesn’t make it any easier to be your friend. With most people, with all my other friends in fact, it is easy to predict their actions and feelings. You’re different. It’s a lot harder to predict, or protect, you. I have trouble figuring you out.”

Maggie pulled her legs up until they touched her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “Sorry. You don’t have to be—my friend I mean. You could just walk away.”

His sigh was a rush of exhaled breath in the colder environment of the bay. One large hand reached over to cover hers. “It’s precisely because being your friend is sometimes hard that I cannot stop being your friend.”

Her laughter threatened to interrupt her glib retort. “Of all the cryptic nonsense. You great softy—” She stopped talking and breathing all at once. Beside her Swede went absolutely still.

Across the bay, but on the same level as the one where they sat in the dimness, someone was shuffling around. Whoever it was hadn’t come in through the main entry point, or turned on the navigational lights. The shuffling was slow, but steady. The person who had entered so quietly didn’t seem to be aware of the presence of the pilot or the chief engineer. Approximately half-way across the cavernous room the sounds of movement stopped.

O’Connell unfolded herself from the floor with feline grace and corresponding silence. Swede was already standing. She motioned to him, pointing first at her eyes then at the corridor between the crates that stretched to her left. He nodded then made a gripping motion with both hands. She shook her head vigorously in response. He was to look, not engage. He nodded once in sharp agreement while pointing at her chest and glaring. He didn’t want her getting any wild ideas either.

Neither questioned why they automatically assumed the person or persons in the cargo bay were opponents with hostile intent. They both made the assumption easily, instinctively. Normal people acting normally did not skulk around in darkened storage areas. Their own presence was the exception rather than the rule. Maggie pointed to the walkway above them and the door where they had entered during their run. They would meet back there.

It took Swede over five minutes of careful movement before he was able to slide his head slowly around a corner and look toward where they had last heard movement. He had to fight back the gasp of shock that bubbled in his throat. Of all the people he could have imagined finding bent over a small open crate in the cargo bay, the form before him hadn’t entered his wildest imagination. It wasn’t a person at all: it was Dwax. While Guttmann could be sure that he was watching Dwax, he could not determine what it was Dwax was doing. He hoped O’Connell would have a better vantage point. With one last long look at the alien’s back, Swede slipped away into the shadows.

Climbing the catwalk stairs without making noise was extremely difficult. By the time he reached the commander, her tension was palpable. He could tell she wanted to hiss something at him, but the need for stealth prevented whatever sharp comment she intended. They slipped out the hatchway door and, still without speaking, took off down the corridor at a steady jog.

Two decks up, they finally paused. The officers’ quarters were quiet, with most of the staff either sleeping or on duty. Swede desperately wanted to be the type of guy who could make a quip about their friendship and ease the tension that had suddenly sprung up between them. He couldn’t though. He stood, shoulders stooping slightly from exhaustion and watched her catch her breath—literally and figuratively.

“Meet me in fifteen at the captain’s office.” She saw the emotions that slid across his expressive face. “Yes he needs to know, even if we cannot really believe Dwax is up to anything nefarious.”

She’s going to avoid the conversation, like it never happened. Maybe that’s for the best. I wish she’d saved us both the emotional wound, though.