Rogue Warrior

by Elin Wyn

  Perhaps I should resign, leave, go back home to face. . .

  “Kout!” I spat as I punched the wall. No one was around, but I heard some footsteps rapidly recede. It didn’t matter. Who cared if I was a fool? Who cared if I was an absolute idiot? Who cared…you know what? I didn’t care anymore. I had made a mistake. I could work through this, and I would.

  I headed to the firing range we had on board. It wasn’t a real firing range, but it was enough.

  I had programmed the ‘laser’ guns to be within point-zero-zero-zero-two percent of actual guns. The range was half the size of the cargo bay, set down in the bowels of the ship where Orrin hadn’t already monopolized space. It was a good way to practice, and to blow off my incredible amount of Lynna-liking stupidity.

  Honestly, to think that she, the beautiful goddess she was, could ever develop feelings other than hatred, disgust, and annoyance towards me.

  I stepped into the range and headed over to where the gear was. I grabbed a set of ear plugs, two handguns, a short rifle, a long rifle, and an automatic rifle before heading over to the computer and bringing up the program. The holographic cubes placed all over the walls and the ceiling came to life, giving me a long-range arena in which to shoot. I set the targets into motion, made sure they were placed on random, and then proceeded to double check the weapons.

  I started with the handguns. I had made them, and programmed them, to work like real weapons, so I took them apart, put them back together, and set them aside. I kept part of my attention on the holographic field to my right, familiarizing myself with the layout, where my targets could hide, where they could move for an advantage, where they could move in order to try to trick me. I took each of the rifles apart, taking my time, making sure I did it right.

  Once each of the weapons had been field checked, I walked to the back wall and took down a vest that was meant to simulate getting shot. The program I had opened up would simulate a battle. I set the vest to full, set the weapons in different places around the room, and grabbed the handguns.

  I started with level one.

  As I made my movements through the simulated arena, I kept my eyes and my senses as active as possible. A target to my left, then another just above the first. I dove, fired, and moved on. I had hit each target center mass. I moved on, knowing it was only a simulation, but letting my senses think it wasn’t.

  I had done this simulation dozens of times, and even on random, I could anticipate the locations the computer would choose. I spent the next hour cycling through the first three levels. I had worked up a good sweat and hadn’t been hit once. I was still only using the handguns, a new best for me.

  As level four started, the program switched to a cityscape filled with innocent people.

  One almost looked like Lynna.

  As I followed her with my eyes, I missed the target right in front of me. The hologram shot me. The vest simulated the gun shot with extreme realism. I hit the floor, gasping for breath, my chest on fire as the vest pressed against me where the gunshot would have hit.

  A shot to the lower left lung, a shot that would have killed me. I would have bled out within minutes if it had been real.

  “Simulation, level four, failed,” the computer announced.

  “Restart simulation,” I ordered. Kouting thing had used a likeness of Lynna and it had cost me. I hadn’t lost on level four since I first installed the program. As soon as it restarted, putting me in a different place within the city, I got to work. I methodically maneuvered through the level, shooting most of my targets in the head.

  My handguns ran out of programmed ammunition, so I was forced to switch to my short rifle. I switched it to short-burst mode, finished level four, and blitzed my way through level five.

  My chest still hurt, my shoulders were sore from the recoil of the weapons, and I had been ‘shot’ in the leg. The vest sent a pulse through my original ‘chest wound’ that made me feel pain in my leg. The simulation got harder, giving me a level six that I had never faced before. My first run-through ended with me getting shot in the back four times, one in direct contact with my spine.

  I’d let out a shout of pain as the ‘bullet’ struck, and another escaped as the other three hit me right after. I hadn’t thought to look behind me as the program was starting. It had never done that before.

  As I restarted the level, I immediately dove to the side, brought my weapon to bear, and looked around. It was empty. There was nothing around me. As a matter of fact, the simulation ended.

  “Computer?”

  “How can I assist you, Major Valtic?” the computer asked.

  “Why has the simulation ended?”

  “Vital signs show elevated adrenaline levels, elevated pulse, and a bruised lung. Health restrictions have been enacted.”

  Umbba. “Reset the system, adjust health restrictions, and restart simulation,” I ordered.

  “Unable to comply. Health protocols dictate that you seek medical attention immediately. Would you like me to contact Doctor Lynna Forgrave?”

  “No,” I shouted. Then, more calmly, “No. I’m fine. Cancel simulation, post results to my personal tablet.”

  “Affirmative, Major.” With that, my time on the range was over. Scro! Why did the simulation have to stop? Why did the computer have to use Lynna as a likeness? Why was I still affected by that woman?

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to break things. In order to control my breathing and to try to calm my adrenaline, I decided to field check the weapons once again. I did it through muscle memory, barely paying attention to what was going on.

  As I got to the short rifle, I was so distracted by my feelings that I slipped. My hand missed as I shoved the barrel back into place, cutting it deeply.

  I stuck the heel of my hand in my mouth, sucked down the blood, and cursed myself.

  I was acting like a child. I did this every time I cut a finger, or my hand. I was an adult, a grown male, yet I still did this.

  How could Lynna like that?

  Really? I was still thinking about her and what she would like? My hand was still bleeding, and the only thing at the range was a mediocre med kit that would merely bandage my hand. I grabbed the kit, threw it onto a nearby shelf, opened it, and dropped my head.

  It figured that it would be empty. Later, when I wasn’t dripping blood everywhere, I’d go through the logs and see who had last used it, and tear into them.

  But that would have to wait.

  For now, I ripped a small piece off my sleeve, wrapped my hand, and replaced the weapons. I would not leave a messy shooting range, even if I was the only one using it, at least correctly.

  As I placed the last rifle in its place, blood trickled up my hand and down my wrist. I was going to need medical attention, the cut was too deep. I didn’t want to go to the med bay.

  That would mean a confrontation with Lynna.

  It would upset her.

  Perhaps I would be lucky and she wouldn’t be in there, and Zayn could stitch me up.

  Or, better yet, I could stitch my own hand without anyone being any the wiser.

  Knowing I was wrong, knowing I was going to see her no matter how much I hesitated, I made my way to the med bay.

  Lynna

  I decided to avoid Valtic for a while. I wasn’t sure for how long or even if it was possible. The Rogue Star had a finite amount of space. Realistically, I couldn’t avoid Valtic for long. Sooner or later, I’d see him on my way to the showers or in the dining hall. Though, now that I thought about it, I couldn’t remember ever seeing him in the dining hall before.

  He must go to the dining hall, mustn’t he? Unless he had a secret stash of food in his office. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him. He was a large individual. I didn’t know much about the digestive system and nutritional needs of the Shein, but I understood how lifeforms worked in general. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that he required a lot of food to keep his physique in its current condition.

  I shut m
y eyes tight. I didn’t want to think about his physique right now. I brought my mind back to a safer topic. Food. Valtic must eat in the dining hall. I could potentially run into him there. I tried to picture him eating something, anything. Yet my mind couldn’t produce an image. I had no idea what kind of food he liked. Was it something Sars served often? Did he even have a favorite food?

  Stop it, I scolded myself. I didn’t need to know those intimate details about him. I didn’t want to know them. Knowing them would serve me no purpose. Little, intimate facts about Valtic only took up space in my brain. I needed that space.

  I forced myself to focus on the perfectly straight little slips of paper in three neat stacks on my desk. With every ounce of my concentration, I picked up the best pen I could find and slowly, carefully, wrote the names of everything in letters that I recognized.

  “This is fun,” I said to myself. My voice sounded squeaky and unnatural to my ears. This wasn’t fun, it was ridiculous. I’d gone to medical school for eight years in the Terran System. My mother was a doctor. My father could’ve been one, too. He had the smarts. That’s why he was in such high demand in the breeding facilities.

  With two such smart parents and the memories of a successful career, I couldn’t believe I was sitting here cutting up paper strips and thinking too hard about a male.

  I had half a mind to steal every bottle of skin dye and disappear into Katzul. I bet the wealthy citizens loved altering their appearances for increasingly arbitrary reasons. I could make a fortune doing that and no one would ever know I was human.

  Of course, that meant I’d have to leave Kalyn and all the other women. I could never do that, no matter how much I missed having steady work. I remembered the days when my hospital was filled to the brim at all hours. There was always someone to fix.

  “Oh, no,” I muttered. Maris was right. I did like to fix broken people.

  A knock at the door brought me out of my inner ramblings.

  “The doctor is in!” I called cheerfully.

  “Good.”

  My stomach dropped. I knew that voice. Valtic pushed through the door, holding his blood-covered hand against his chest.

  “What happened?” I gasped. Paper strips were forgotten once again as I stood up and rushed to him.

  “Weapon mishap,” he grunted.

  “Have a seat on the bed there.” I pointed to the first medical cot.

  Valtic gave me a look. “I just need a bandage,” he said dismissively.

  “You need more than a bandage. Sit down before I make you.” I winced. I didn’t mean for that last part to slip out.

  Valtic didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked amused.

  “You’re the doctor.” He stalked over to the medical cot and took a seat. I prepped disinfectant and got some medical sealant spray. I grabbed a painkiller, too, though I was sure he’d reject it if I offered. On the other hand, I’d already been surprised once today.

  “Take this.” I held out my hand, the white pill cupped in my palm.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Painkiller.”

  He scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t need it.”

  “The sealant spray is going to sting. Take the pill,” I ordered.

  “I’ve used sealant spray on many occasions,” Valtic replied coolly. “I can handle it.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I rolled my supply tray over and sat on the stool next to his cot. I soaked a cloth in disinfectant and gently cleaned the wound on his hand.

  I wasn’t enjoying the excuse to touch him. That wouldn’t be professional.

  Not at all.

  “Most people wince at this part,” I said.

  “Most people have a lower pain tolerance than I do,” Valtic replied.

  I threw the cloth away and picked up the needle. Valtic watched me in silence as I stitched the wound bit by bit.

  “You know, you shouldn’t have stormed off the way you did.” I didn’t plan on saying anything about what had happened earlier, but I wasn’t sure when I’d get another chance to talk to him alone. He couldn’t run while I was attached to him via a needle.

  True to form, he didn’t say anything, so I kept going.

  “I would’ve told you that I hated fake-flirting with that dockmaster. He was disgusting and smelled of rotting fish. I don’t even know how he managed that. There’s no fish here! Every moment within five feet of him was torture,” I explained. “Pretending I was flirting with you made it much easier to do without gagging.”

  Valtic’s head jerked up. The quick, violent movement reverberated through his body, causing a minuscule movement in the hand I was working on.

  The needle wiggled. Valtic winced.

  “So much for that pain tolerance,” I smirked.

  “You shouldn’t say things like that,” Valtic warned me.

  I frowned. “Things like what? I was only teasing you about your pain tolerance.”

  “Not that,” he said curtly. “You said you were imagining me when you distracted the dockmaster.”

  “I was,” I repeated.

  “I don’t find that joke humorous,” Valtic said.

  “It’s not a joke, Valtic. Don’t you get it? I like you.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Impossible,” he scoffed.

  I resisted the urge to prick him with the needle.

  I was well past staying professional, but surely I could avoid crossing the line to assault, right?

  “Why is that impossible? You said you cared about me. Did I misunderstand you?”

  A cold flash of fear hit me like a bolt.

  If I did misunderstand him, I’d die of embarrassment on the spot.

  “You didn’t,” Valtic replied.

  I let out a short sigh of relief.

  “Then why is it impossible for me to care about you?” I didn’t look at him. I didn’t want him to see the hurt in my eyes. I’d finished closing his wound, so I stood up to throw away the suture clippings and clean up my supplies.

  “You don’t know me,” Valtic said darkly.

  “You’re right. I don’t know you. But I’m trying to. Why won’t you let me?” I turned back to him.

  “You won’t like me when you know me.” The look on his face was so certain, so bleak, I wanted to shake him. Or at least try to.

  “How can you be so sure?” I placed my hand on my hip.

  “I’m not a good person. I don’t do good things.”

  “That’s not true. You saved my life. You risked your life to get that folder of papers from the office. You found The Terror the first time it attacked the Rogue Star. Those are three very good things you’ve done.” I crossed the room to stand near him.

  “A few good deeds don’t cross out a lifetime of bad ones,” Valtic muttered bitterly. “You shouldn’t waste your time.”

  “I’m not wasting my time!” I exclaimed. “I’m trying to show you that I care about you!”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  I wanted to scream.

  What could’ve happened to him to make him believe he didn’t deserve kindness or compassion?

  And, if I was being honest with myself, maybe even something more?

  “If I had any control over it, maybe I wouldn’t,” I said. “It’s not fun thinking about you no matter what I’m doing. It’s not fun lying awake at night wondering if you’re still hunched in front of your monitors in the dark. No matter how much fun I’m not having, I can’t change the fact that I care about you.”

  Valtic didn’t say anything. He just shook his head and looked away. He still didn’t believe me. I pursed my lips, wracking my brain for anything else to say that could convince him.

  Then it occurred to me.

  Talking wouldn’t cut it.

  I leaned closer to him and reached up to take his chin in my hand. I forced him to face me. Before he could speak, I pressed my lips to his. At first, he just sat there. Embarrassment rose up inside me once again. This was a terrible
idea. I’d made a fool of myself yet again.

  I started to pull away, but he put his hand to my cheek and held me in place. His mouth moved against mine, instantly igniting heat in my belly. I let the hand that grasped his chin slip down to his shoulder, then around to his back.

  His other hand pressed into my lower back, pulling me closer to him. I wrapped my other arm around him. We were chest to chest, but I wanted to be closer. I smiled against his mouth. When I felt him smile back, I quickly pulled away.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, his worried eyes scanning my face.

  “I felt you smile,” I grinned. “I wanted to see it for myself.” Slowly, his smile returned to his face. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look handsomer, yet I was wrong.

  “I like you. Do you believe me now?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Valtic nodded. “But I might need you to convince me again later.”

  Valtic

  It was the day The Terror was supposed to arrive. Captain Dejar had called a meeting of all relevant personnel to the conference room.

  To my confusion, Lynna was there, as well.

  “Alright,” Dejar said as he gestured all of us to sit while he remained standing. “We have an opportunity to do something that we have never been able to do since this entire…adventure… started.”

  He indicated Itair with an open hand. “Our guest—and pseudo-benefactor—has provided us with information in regard to the dark ship that we have come to know as The Terror.

  “It is scheduled to dock on the other side of the city tonight, shortly after dark. This provides us the opportunity to find out whether or not the ship, and Enclave, are under Dominion control or not. If they are, then this becomes a situation much larger than we’d hoped. However, if they are not under Dominion control, then we may be able to get the Dominion involved to help shut this down, so we need to take the chance.”

  He nodded to Aavat, who stood up from his seat next to Dejar. “So, if Itair’s information is correct, we need to figure out a way to get on board the ship, potentially map it out, but most importantly, find evidence of their involvement or non-involvement with the Dominion. Normally, this would be a mission where we’d call for volunteers and then we’d rush in like a bunch of bandits, relying on dumb luck to pull us through.”