“And again,” I said when we reached our new location.
“On it!” Sokolov had clearly relaxed into his role now and executed his orders with an eagerness I had until now not seen.
“Good work,” I said a few minutes later. “They’re chasing their tails. Distance to Corvus?”
“We’re ten klicks away now, sir.”
“Well done, Lieutenant,” I said, “It might be time…”
Alarms sprang to life across the console. Lights flashed. The gel wall pulsed red.
“Missile lock,” Corvus announced. Sounding more robotic than she had for days now.
“Evasive manoeuvres!” I ordered, but Sokolov was already entering new flight commands and bringing us onto a new heading. “Countermeasures away!” I announced as I released flotsam to distract the torpedo’s targeting system.
The sound of the electronic tracking of the torpedo got louder by degrees in the shuttle’s cockpit. Time seemed to pass in slow increments. I’m not sure either of us breathed. And then Sokolov spun us around a large asteroid, using its own small gravity to assist us, and the torpedo connected with a rock some distance away, losing its hold on our position.
The shockwave from the explosion hit us and made the shuttle tumble nose over tail for several rotations. And then Sokolov regained control with a surprising amount of equanimity and settled us into a relative plane again. Neither of us said a thing for a long moment, and then I checked our stealth settings and visually tried to pinpoint Aquila’s location.
The big ship hadn’t had the speed we had around the asteroid, being too large to be affected by the gravity pull we’d achieved. It was already five klicks behind us and stationary.
It had lost its lock on the shuttle. I could finally breathe.
“Slow and steady,” I said to the lieutenant; heart pounding, voice somehow still level. “Take us on a roundabout route back to Corvus.”
“Aye-aye, sir. Slow and steady it is.”
Nineteen
I Had Enough To Deal With
Sophia
The shuttle appeared through the containment field on Launch Bay Alpha and settled down in its assigned parking spot in the hangar. I stood to the side with Lieutenant Commander Kulik at my back, trying to ignore the itching I felt between my shoulder blades.
The stealth vessel hissed liquid oxygen, its running lights still in the dark. The black, angular ship looked evil and threatening, and yet it had just saved our arse.
The door opened up and the ramp extended, and then Lieutenant Sokolov walked out, followed by Lieutenant Commander Saitō.
I pushed off from my vigilant post and strode across the deck to confront them.
Saitō raised his eyes to my face, showing every single emotion he felt right then. Relief. Happiness. Pride. Longing. I almost lost my step on the last, but my reaction must have been enough for the Lieutenant Commander to remember to school his features.
He came to rest beside Sokolov and saluted when the younger officer did.
“Nice flying, Sokolov,” I said. “Report to the bridge.”
“Aye-aye, ma’am,” the lieutenant answered; peering at Saitō for a brief moment and then deciding his superior officer could handle his own battles right then. Smart kid.
I flicked a look at Kulik and said, “Secure the launch bay, Lieutenant Commander. And double check that shuttle for signature leakage.”
“Yes, Captain,” the security chief said stepping between Saitō and myself in order to reach the stealth vessel.
“There’s no leakage, Captain,” Saitō advised carefully. “I double checked the settings myself.”
I forced myself not to show any reaction and simply said, “A word, Lieutenant Commander. In my ready room. Now.”
Then spun on my heel and marched the hell out of there.
Saitō followed silently and dutifully at my back.
The itch between my shoulder blades as we traversed the corridors of the ship was decidedly different from when Kulik had been at my back. I shook my head clear of that thought as I stepped into my ready room.
Saitō came to attention in the middle of the room. I stood a few feet away, wanting strangely to reach out and touch him and make sure he was actually there.
“What were you thinking?” I said, my voice soft.
Saitō blinked, registering the danger expressed by my tone of voice.
“They were scanning within a kilometre of us, Captain,” he said. “Any power leakage would have been picked up sooner or later at that distance. I made a tactical decision to draw them away.”
There was absolutely nothing there for me to rail against. I knew it. And yet part of me wanted to scream at the man.
I nodded my head.
“Ma’am,” he said.
I held up my hand for him to remain silent. I needed to adjust my train of thought, or I’d make a fool of myself.
“Acceptable,” I finally said.
He let out a breath of air.
My eyes slowly rose to his face. He was still standing at attention. Still looking at a spot over my right shoulder and not at me. For a second, I simply enjoyed the view. His strong features. His smooth, tanned skin. His angular jawline. The curve of his neck.
I cleared my throat. “At ease, Lieutenant Commander.”
He adopted a parade rest stance. I let out a huff of air.
“I think I owe you an apology,” I murmured.
“Not at all, Captain.”
“Yes, I do. I…” How did I say this without admitting I felt more for the man than I should? “It’s been a very stressful few days, and I’m afraid the thought of losing anyone else right now was alarming.”
His eyes traced my face for a moment, searching for something. He must have found what he was looking for because he simply nodded his head; features softening.
“Perfectly understandable, ma’am.”
He kept looking at me. In a way that officers usually didn’t. As if he expected me to say something else. Something more. I let him. Because it was as close to an intimate connection as I could hope to have. Someone paying me that sort of attention and it had nothing to do with my command.
I should have said something. Pulled away from the edge. Brought us back to reality. But the air thickened, and it became difficult to suck in a full breath. Words were caught on my tongue, and I knew if I voiced them, they’d come out a jumbled mess. I’d just make thing worse.
So, I stood there and looked at him. And he simply stood there and looked back at me.
It was the most electrifying experience I’d ever had. Which was ridiculous. We weren’t doing anything.
Then he took a step toward me. And then another. Until he was right there. Right in my personal space. Breathing my air.
His hand slowly rose and reached up to my cheek. I thought he’d cup it. Or stroke it. But it just hovered there as he looked into my eyes, waiting.
I knew right down to my soul that I needed to stop this. But curiosity and some strange warping of space around me made it difficult to move, to think, to breathe.
His hand shifted, but not to cup my cheek. Instead, he reached behind me and pulled out the clip that held my hair in place. It tumbled down my back, over my shoulders. Saitō’s fingers brushed against the strands lightly. Almost not there, the touch was so soft.
And then his arm came down and his hand fisted at his thigh.
The man had barely touched me, and I felt so very alive.
“Why did you do that?” I asked. Embarrassed to note my voice sounded breathless.
“I have poor impulse control,” he said dryly.
My lips twitched. It was so out of character. Well, out of character to what Saitō usually showed the world. And so incredibly inappropriate. And all I could do was try not to laugh.
“You need to smile more,” he whispered.
“No one wants to see a happy captain right now,” I countered.
“Yes they do,” he argued. “Especially
now. You’re not taking care of yourself, Captain.”
The moment he called me captain, I snapped back into the real world.
Stepping back, away from him, I reached up and began to twist my hair into its former bun. The clip had disappeared, so I walked back around the desk rather than ask him for it and reached into a drawer, withdrawing another. In a matter of seconds, my hair was once again regulation. And Saitō was standing at attention again.
Even though he looked the picture of a perfect officer, something had changed. If I were honest with myself, everything had. Saitō was no longer simply the chief science officer.
And tragically, no longer an appropriate choice for first officer.
I took one last look at him. One last look at the man who could have been my second. And said, “Report to your station, Lieutenant Commander.”
He nodded his head, saluted, and spun on his heel. I watched him leave, feeling more alone than ever. And yet conversely knowing I no longer had to be.
I could have ignored what happened here. I could have reprimanded him. But I would do neither. The punishment for his transgression was the fact that I had felt something for him at all. That I’d wanted something more from him in the end.
I looked down at the gel floor and noted its soft blue glow, a contrast to the yellow alert we were still functioning under. Corvus was trying to soothe me.
If I were a better person, I would have pushed my feelings aside and pretended I didn’t have any. Most of my life I had managed to do just that. Until now. Until him. Until that stealth shuttle flight.
He chose to touch me. To cross that line.
And I chose to let him.
I sighed.
“Corvus,” I said, feeling sad and yet also excited. “Please call Lieutenant Commander Kulik to my ready room.”
“Yes, Captain,” the AI said, sounding sad and also excited.
I closed my eyes, shook my head, and then took my seat.
Some things were harder to acknowledge than others, and Corvus was in the too hard pile right now. I had enough to deal with.
I waited for the security chief to arrive, all the while thinking of the chief science officer.
Twenty
You Don’t Have To Say A Thing, Sir
Leo
Lieutenant Commander Kulik strode through the bridge with a scowl on his face and went directly to the captain’s ready room door. It chimed once and then opened. He’d been expected.
I turned away and looked down at my console, seeing nothing.
I’d stuffed up royally. But part of me didn’t regret it.
Sophia had let me touch her. Had looked as if she longed for it. It had been heady. Dangerous. Delightful. For a moment in time, I’d been more than an officer to her. She’d wanted it. Accepted it.
And then dismissed me.
Replaced me with Anton Kulik.
I shook my head and thumped my station, garnering the attention of the rest of the bridge crew.
We might not be flying anywhere right now, but we were keeping as close to a full watch on the bridge as we could. Now that we had limited power and functionality to the consoles, everyone was supposed to be looking after segments of the vessel which were currently under repair. Dozens of pay-for-passages had been brought in to assist with that, freeing up senior officers to maintain watch up here.
But right now, none of them was observing their sections of the ship. They were too busy watching me fall apart.
I schooled my features, just like I’d seen Sophia do. But inside I was a mess.
Kulik walked out of the ready room, a small smile playing on his thin lips. If there had been any doubt about what the conversation with the captain had been about, it was quashed in the instant light gleamed off his four pips.
Commander. First Officer. I clenched my fists.
Kulik’s eyes tracked across the bridge crew until they came to rest on me.
I’m not sure what I saw there, but it wasn’t sympathy.
Kulik crossed the space between us, and for a moment I thought he would address me, but he simply slipped into position before the console at my side. Sophia’s old console. The first officer’s bridge station.
For a long while, I simply listened to him tapping his viewscreen, entering commands, and checking on things, while I stared at my own station and did nothing.
A message popped up from engineering. A standard update on repairs that required little action other than to log it. I slipped it off my console, onto my datapad, and then turned to Kulik.
“Engineering needs me,” I said, unable to say his honorific just yet. “You have the bridge.”
He glared at me and then slowly nodded. His restraint was unusual and also unwanted, but exactly what was needed right then.
I spun on my heel and left the bridge, all the while aware that the flight deck crew watched me.
I almost ran to the hub, but just managed to stop myself. Inside the lift, I allowed a little of my anguish to show, slumping against the gel wall and sighing.
This was my own fault. I had no one else to blame. I’d fucked up. My hand flexed. My fingers tingled where they’d so briefly touched Sophia’s hair. I brought my fist to my lips and sucked in air.
“She is upset also,” Corvus suddenly said. “This is not what I think she had planned.”
I shook my head, breathing too quickly.
“Stand down, Corvus. This isn’t appropriate,” I snapped.
“You are in distress,” the AI said. “I do not like seeing it.”
Unbelievable. I barely had the wherewithal to acknowledge the AI’s escalating displays of emotion.
“Regardless,” I said. “Sophia is the captain of this ship and requires your loyalty at all times.”
“Does she have yours, Lieutenant Commander?”
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back onto the gel wall behind me. Corvus even managed to thwart that self-indulgent moment. The gel wall moulded to my head and provided a nice pillow to land against.
I sighed.
“Always,” I whispered. “She’ll always have my loyalty.”
“All is not lost, Lieutenant Commander,” Corvus said, but I didn’t have time to query that statement; the lift doors opened onto a group of midshipmen.
I straightened my spine and acknowledged their salutes, and then pushed through their number heading for engineering.
What exactly I’d say to the chief when I got there, I hadn’t yet decided. But datapad in hand, I kept walking in that direction. I had nowhere else to go.
Engineering was busy. There were no pay-for-passage workers here. This was a secured area and would always remain so. But Lieutenant Lebedev could do wonders with his team, and the main boost thrust looked almost completely in one piece.
“Lieutenant Commander,” he said as I walked up to him. “Did you not get my report?”
I nodded my head. “I did. I just wanted to see for myself.”
Lebedev studied me for a long moment but thankfully didn’t pass comment on my fibbing.
“Things are progressing well, sir,” he said.
“You’ve motivated the crew well,” I commented, not really focusing on the conversation.
“The fact that Aquila almost spotted us helped,” he said mildly. “And the wager we’ve got going.”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmured.
“Big bucks changing hands, sir,” he said. I said nothing. “One midshipman put up his pension. Of course, I turned him down.”
I nodded my head, staring at the blue glow from the containment field around the main boost thrust engine.
“I asked for his commission instead,” Lebedev offered.
“Good,” I muttered.
Silence for a bit. Then, “Sir? Is everything all right?”
“As right as it can be, Chief.”
I glanced briefly at him and stilled. His brow was furrowed, and he was scratching his chin. He looked at me with what could only be called deep conc
ern.
“I’m not due for a break for a couple of hours,” he said. “But I do have something that might help.”
“What are you talking about, Lebedev?” I’d missed something here.
“Not regulation, of course,” he said, heading toward his small office-come-storage room off to the side. “But we can all do with a bit of a pick-me-up now and then.”
I followed behind, slightly wary and slightly curious.
He sat down in his chair and indicated the crate to the side.
“Take a pew, sir.”
I did. This was getting stranger and stranger by the minute. Maybe he had something delicate to discuss about the main boost thrust repairs that hadn’t been in the report.
He brought out a bottle of vodka.
“Whoa,” I said, reeling.
“Now, now, sir. Only a drop. To make the old noggin work again, so to speak, eh?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Chief?”
“You, sir. You look like you’ve received a shock. And quite frankly, it’s alarming. You didn’t even comment on the supposed bet I’ve got going on.”
“What bet?” I was really confused now.
Lebedev sighed. Then tipped the rim of the bottle to a shot glass. He handed it to me and filled one for himself.
I’d automatically taken the offered drink without realising, and so just stared down into it when Lebedev’s too aware eyes came up to my face.
“You don’t have to say a thing, sir. Just drink it. And we’ll just let the taste of home fill the silence.”
I wasn’t sure what the hell had happened here, but the thought of drowning my sorrows appealed in a very inappropriate way. I wouldn’t. But I would take what Lebedev offered.
Even if I didn’t quite understand what the hell was going on right then.
I lifted the glass. The chief did the same. Neither of us made a toast. At least, not verbally. And then I downed the vodka and let it do its thing.
We sat in silence for a good ten minutes. Lebedev was true to his word and didn’t disturb me. Then when I thought I might just be able to face the world again, I stood to my feet. Nodded at the man, who nodded back. And left engineering.
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