No Such Thing

by Michelle O'Leary

  "Sir, what’s going on? I didn’t hear an alert."

  The Chief’s smile brightened into amusement. "I’m not surprised. You didn’t look like you’d notice the ship vaporizing around you, much less a little alert."

  "Sir?"

  "Don’t worry, son," the Chief said, patting him on the shoulder. "We’re just in a hurry to get somewhere. The commander wants to rendezvous with the Destiny. We’re short on blast packs and she’s got a surplus."

  "Oh. Good."

  "So tell me, what put that smile on your face? Did you finally meet up with that charming young gunner you’ve been mooning over?"

  Someone made a rude noise behind them. Declan glanced over his shoulder to catch Frankie’s lazy grin, a white flash in her dark, dark face. "No chance," the woman said in her resounding voice. "Harpe thinks he’s puppy chow."

  Declan grinned back. "Women love puppies."

  "Not that one, big boy," she said with a snort but took the sting out of her words with a companionable clap on his shoulder.

  "What about you, Frankie?" he asked with a cheerful leer.

  She bellowed a laugh and ruffled his hair. "Sugar, you’d die happy, but you’d still up and die. You can’t handle this much woman."

  Privately, Declan agreed with her. She was a large woman, nearly as tall as he was and positively looming over the short Chief. Her rear was almost as enormous as her breasts, and she moved both areas with devastating effect. But it was more her aggression that made Declan believe he’d be in way over his head with her. If she ever decided to take their teasing banter seriously, she’d chew him up and spit him out before he knew what hit him.

  "Yes, you’re the terror of the Odyssey, Francine," the Chief said with a smirk. "Could you check the calibration of the port side runner? The color’s off."

  She made a face at her boss. "You’re just lucky I like your wife or I’d terrorize you, old man." With a toss of her head, she sauntered away, working an extra jiggle into her swing.

  The Chief watched her go with a fond little smile before turning his narrow face up to Declan, eyebrows lifted. "So what brought you in here looking as though you’d just gotten your heart’s desire?"

  Heart’s desire. Declan stared at him and swallowed hard, a strange sense of foreboding itching across his skin. He twitched, trying to shake the sensation, and cleared his throat. "Um, I met the uh, the telenetic. Mims Soliere asked to see the engineering section. Is that okay?"

  "Of course," the Chief said with his usual serene smile, but his closely spaced, hazel eyes twinkled. "Our telenetic is allowed anywhere on the ship, provided she doesn’t interfere with its operations. I should have thought of this myself. How rude of me not to suggest a tour to our newest crewmember."

  Declan felt his stomach drop. He hadn’t thought the Chief would want to show her around himself. But it made sense—this was the Chief’s territory and the telenetic was an important, high ranking person. Of course it would be the Chief who gave the tour. Declan sighed, consoling himself with the thought that he’d still get to see her again, maybe even speak with her again.

  "Why so glum? I’m sure you’ll do us justice. She’ll enjoy seeing the engines through your eyes."

  "M-me, sir?"

  "Yes, you. Unless she specified a different tour guide?"

  "No, she asked me to show her. But—but sir, you’re the Chief. You know more about engines than—"

  "Son, she doesn’t want a lecture. I’m sure she got more than enough of that at the Institute. Or did you think they would drop her on a ship without telling her anything about it? Believe me, the girl has gotten a thorough education on the functions of this vessel. But book learning and experience are two very different animals." The Chief studied him for a moment, something like amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "What she could learn from you is vastly more important."

  Declan felt a flush crawl up his neck and wasn’t really sure why. "Yes, sir. I’ll do my best. I asked her to call down when she’s ready."

  "Excellent. Find that shiftless second of mine, will you? And send him to my office."

  "Yes, sir."

  The Chief patted him on the shoulder and strolled away, hands resting in the small of his narrow back and a little smile pulling at his lips as he gazed out over the engines. He looked as though he had nothing more pressing to do than take a scenic walk and perhaps track down a good read later. He’d amazed and baffled Declan ever since the younger man had come on board the ship. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle the Chief’s feathers, not any degree of stress or crisis or excitement. Considering the fact that he was responsible for the most basic functions of the best ship in the galaxy during a time of war, Declan thought his attitude was nothing short of miraculous.

  With a shake of his head, he went looking for Bags.

  Chapter 3

  Ryelle watched the small conveyer touch down gently on the docking pad and tried to think diplomatic thoughts. Commander Task had told her that he didn’t expect her to actively participate in any dealings with the captain of the Destiny, but that didn’t matter. The captain was bringing her telenetic. That meant this was another test. Whether it was the commander’s, the captain’s, or the Institute’s test was irrelevant.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the pair approached, thinking she’d rather be anywhere but here. Correction—she’d rather be in the engineering section with Declan McCrae. But the commander had required her to attend this meeting.

  "Don’t look so grim," the commander murmured, a thread of amusement in his voice. "Sasha’s not as scary as she looks."

  He was trying to make her laugh again. The tall blond woman walking toward them might have a hard edge to her features, but she was in no way fearsome. Her telenetic drifted along in her wake, an unprepossessing man in dark gray with receding brown hair, bland features, and slight build. The band across his forehead was the only striking thing about him. Looking more like obsidian than metal, it gleamed a silent warning as it came to three sharp points across his brow, a pale crystal glittering in the center. A level three on the Rosch Scale. His brown eyes were coolly assessing as he stared at her.

  She recognized him. That wasn’t hard to do—with less than a hundred telenetics in the galaxy, it would have been harder not to know one of them on sight.

  The captain saluted the commander and then clasped his outstretched arm like an old friend. Commander Task greeted her warmly and accepted the telenetic’s greeting with grave respect before turning to Ryelle.

  "Sasha, Mer Hoti, this is my new telenetic, Ryelle Soliere. Ryelle, this is Captain Sasha Gibbs, and am I correct in assuming you already know Telenetic Eban Hoti?"

  "We have never formally met. It is a pleasure to meet you both," Ryelle said with a courteous smile and nod to each.

  "Likewise, Mims Soliere," the captain said with a flashing smile and a sideways glance at her telenetic. Eban Hoti inclined his head without a word.

  Great. A rude one, Ryelle thought with an inner snort. She wondered what was causing his attitude. Territorial over his captain? The two leaders did seem friendlier than usual, but the telenetic’s eyes were fixed on Ryelle. Was it her ability or age that rubbed him wrong? With Ryelle’s luck, it was both.

  The commander escorted his guests to his office, dividing his attention between the two as Ryelle trailed behind them. When they were all seated in the room’s lounge area, Eban Hoti turned to her without warning. "Where is your headgear?"

  The captain’s regal face became a thundercloud in an instant. "Eban, what’s wrong with you?"

  "This is an Institute matter, Captain," he answered smoothly without looking away from Ryelle. "Telenetic Soliere is under orders to wear her headgear at all times."

  "Except when she’s authorized to remove it," Commander Task responded with a hard edge to his voice. "I’ve so authorized it. Are you speaking for the Institute? Are you formally objecting to my orders?"

  Ryelle blinked, startled by her
commander’s aggression. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one—Captain Gibbs’ eyebrows went up and her expression smoothed into blandness.

  Hoti send a wary glance toward the commander before returning his stare to Ryelle. "You are aware of how dangerous she is," he said in a flat, chilly tone.

  Ryelle sensed the commander tensing and lifted a hand. If this was her test, she would pass it without his help. Keeping her expression and movements serene and contained, she met Hoti’s stare. "Commander Task is well aware of the range of my abilities, Telenetic Hoti. And I am in constant contact with the Institute. If they disapprove of any of my actions or take issue with any of the commander’s orders, I’m sure they will let us know."

  "You may be certain they will let us all know," Hoti said softly, his brown eyes cold.

  It was an old threat, one she’d heard numerous times. If they gathered enough telenetics, they might be able to stop, contain, or damage her. Ryelle looked over his shoulder into nothing and smiled blandly. "Good communication is the hallmark of civility."

  "Then the Institute must be damned civilized," Captain Gibbs said with a sardonic glance at her telenetic. "What’s this headgear you’re talking about?"

  "It’s a—" the commander began.

  "Institute business," Hoti snapped, glaring at the commander.

  Commander Task leaned forward, his long face carved into stone and his pale eyes as cold as chips of ice. "The Institute made it my business when they sent a child on board my ship wearing a pain inducer."

  "A what?" The captain stared at the commander for a moment before turning a stunned look on her telenetic.

  Hoti’s expression turned grim, his eyes flicking between the captain and the commander, but he didn’t weaken his stance. "This child destroyed more than any battle in this war by the time she was five. Some form of control was necessary."

  Ryelle felt her face turn hot, but she managed to hold onto her serene expression. Turning her head, she met the commander’s gaze. "Perhaps I should leave. I appear to be a distraction."

  Instead of answering her, Commander Task looked at Captain Gibbs with hard authority. Her chin lifted but she didn’t hesitate. Without looking away from the commander, she said with a hint of ice, "Eban, you’re excused. I’ll see you back at the ship."

  Hoti flashed his captain a scorching glance and lurched to his feet. His eyes black with condemnation, he stared down at Ryelle for a heavy moment before stalking out of the room.

  "Mims Soliere, I apologize for his rude behavior. Calling it Institute business is no excuse for treating you with such disrespect."

  Ryelle blinked at Captain Gibbs. "Thank you, Captain, but there’s no need to apologize. I understand Mer Hoti’s reservations."

  "I’m sure I don’t," she said with a bite to her tone, but after giving Ryelle an assessing glance, she sighed and settled into her seat. "But I appreciate your graciousness. If you’re willing to let it go, I’d like to get on with things." She sent the commander a veiled look.

  "We’ll shelve it for now," he said shortly, his expression not softening. "What word from Starling?"

  The captain gave the commander a similar assessing once over, but she didn’t challenge him. "Same. Mirabella is still under siege. The GenTecs are attacking on several fronts, mostly guerilla tactics, light on the frontal assaults. We have them outnumbered, but not for long."

  "How many?"

  "Not clear, but at least a dozen midsized."

  "The Sheridan?"

  "You know Stevie," the captain drawled with a sardonic curl of her lips.

  The commander snorted. "Like a cockroach."

  Ryelle looked down at her clasped hands and let her mind drift away. Their cryptic conversation was beyond her, the short-hand exchange revealing more about the two officers’ relationship than about the situation. They were obviously used to working together, their body language easy and tone comfortable. She still wasn’t certain if they had a romantic relationship, but the way they seemed to know what the other was thinking spoke of a long, close association. It made her uncomfortable, as if she was intruding on personal space.

  What disturbed her even more, though, was the captain’s comment about not outnumbering the GenTecs for long. Her assumption that the GenTecs were just a small rebellious group, an annoyingly fanatical terrorist faction, was so basic she hadn’t even considered the possibility that they might gain the upper hand. She had never once thought her side wouldn’t win this war. The captain’s concern about their numbers was alarming, especially considering the ferocity exhibited by the GenTecs so far.

  The GenTecs hadn’t always been the enemy. The had, in fact, been the pride of the scientific community, the best and brightest sent to the far reaches of civilized space for exploration and study of new colonizable regions. Ryelle remembered her history lessons speaking very highly of them, of their research and the advancements they made in many fields, including medicine, cybernetics, and terraforming. And genetics. Years before she was born, disturbing reports had filtered back to the centralized planets of research and experiments to alter human form. The decision was made to recall this renegade group of specialists, but when a retrieval team went after them, they disappeared.

  When they returned, Ryelle had been too young to appreciate the full horror of what they had done to themselves. Through genetic manipulation and rapid cloning, they had produced a generation of creatures that were almost unrecognizable as human. Ryelle remembered feeling a mournful sense of kinship for these outcasts, these descendents that only wanted to return home. As freakish on the outside as she was on the inside, their plight had struck an empathetic cord within her.

  Why did they do it? She remembered asking her mother and remembered the deep undercurrents of adult emotion in her mother’s dark eyes as she gently brushed Ryelle’s hair away from her face. Those undercurrents had confused and unsettled her, but her mother’s touch could sooth away any fear or pain. Because they could, Honey Butter, her mother had said in a slow, thoughtful voice. Because they thought it was right. But those warped faces and bodies had scared her worse than any bad dreams about the Institute, so her six-year-old mind knew they’d been wrong.

  As she grew older, she came to understand just how wrong. The GenTecs might have been accepted back into their old society, for the sheer knowledge they possessed if for nothing else, though they would have been ostracized as much or more than Ryelle. But they didn’t want to just come home. They believed in what they’d done, believed it was for the best, believed they had improved on the human genome.

  They believed they were superior.

  They were stronger, faster, much less frail than their ancestors, capable of withstanding many different, harsh planetary conditions. We are the next step in human evolution, they said. They expected their ancestral society to follow in their footsteps. Like children, weaker in mind and body, you must be guided to the right path. They expected to lead, to take over, to remake human society.

  This concept had been met with emphatic and revolted resistance, first verbal and then physical when the GenTecs attempted to conquer by force what they couldn’t take by persuasion. From within the Institute, Ryelle had watched the telenetic role in society change from commercial to military with a heavy heart and an unnamable fear in her bones. At first it had seemed as though victory would be swift, the enemy routed. The GenTecs had concentrated too much of their scientific knowledge and intellect on transforming themselves. Their hardware was old and outdated, and military strategy wasn’t their forte. But they had been the best and brightest—they learned fast.

  So what had begun as skirmishes and terrorist actions had somewhere along the line turned into a full-fledged war. But Ryelle had still never considered losing. Always before, they had outnumbered and overpowered their enemy. Ryelle bit her lower lip, wondering what would happen if the GenTecs became powerful enough and numerous enough to take over.

  "Mims Soliere?"

  The captain’
s voice intruded on her grim thoughts, and she lifted her head to see both officers staring at her. Smoothing her features into a bland expression, she responded, "Yes?"

  "You’ve been awfully quiet. Don’t you have any comments or questions?" Captain Gibbs was smiling faintly, her expression encouraging and faintly patronizing, but her eyes were sharp.

  Ah. Another test. "I would have to understand to comment or question," Ryelle said without infliction.

  The captain raised her eyebrows. "You don’t understand? But surely the Institute trained you for this position. You are so young—"

  "Sasha," Commander Task interrupted, his eyes narrowing on his fellow officer as he leaned forward.

  "Yes, I am very young," Ryelle responded, widening her eyes and softening her expression to emphasize her words. "Yes, I am inexperienced. I’ve never seen battle. I’ve never worked aboard a military vessel before." As the captain’s expression began to slide into a brand of veiled triumph, Ryelle hardened her features and gave the woman a cynical smile. "But I challenge anyone to decipher the conversation the two of you just had. It was quite cryptic." She smoothed her face back into bland inquiry and rose to her feet. "Perhaps you would rather be alone to speak freely?"

  Commander Task chuckled, settling back in his seat and waving her to sit. "Sorry, Ryelle, you don’t get off that easy. And Sasha," he added with a snort, "leave my telenetic alone."

  The woman’s honey colored brows pulled together for a fraction of a second, before her face cleared into a wry smile. "Message received," she drawled, and sent Ryelle a quick grimace. "I didn’t realize we were excluding you, Mims Soliere. My apologies."

  Ryelle wasn’t sure how she felt about this woman. Her mood and conversation seemed quicksilver, from casual warmth to crafty attack and back again. Her strategy, for as a voidship captain she almost certainly had a strategy, was unfathomable. Ryelle looked from her to the commander and felt her uncertainty ease away. He was her commanding officer, not the captain. And he, at least, seemed to have no underlying agenda in his dealings with her. She…trusted him.