“But what?”
Quietly he said, “I am the target of an assassin.”
“I just told you that. You were poisoned.”
He shook his head.
“Are you saying there’ve been other attempts on your life?”
“Yes. One was the demonstration that fried my arm. That was no accident.”
“You sound sure of that.”
“I’m the bomb expert. I know the unit was tampered with, and forensics will back me up.”
“What if they don’t and it’s labeled an accident?”
“There was another incident.”
She felt the tremor of his succinct statement chill her more than the room. “When?”
“Four days after I arrived on Kifel. I was heading back to my quarters, taking a shortcut. The main power cut out and only a few emergency lights came on. A couple meters from the back entrance to my quarters, a katachin scurried down the corridor and tripped a beam. The rat was zapped with enough volts to fry it, and I mean fry it.”
“Housekeeping sets lots of katachin traps.”
“In people corridors?”
“Usually not, but if they do, they leave warning signs all over the place.”
“No warning signs. Not a one.”
That did seem strange. “So, who wants you dead?”
“I don’t know. Everyone I can think of is either dead or incarcerated.”
“Well, for the time being, you’re safe here.”
“Where’s the head? You do have an operational one, right?”
She pointed. “Crawl around the corner. I’m going back to bed. I need my sleep, so do not disturb.”
“Got it. Sweet dreams.”
****
The incessant pounding of someone beating on her closet door roused Marlee out of sleep. She blinked and focused. The clock glowed with 16:20:45. She shouted above the pounding. “Okay, already, I’m up!”
The pounding stopped.
As she triggered the lights on and the door to open, she vowed to murder Deacon for waking her like this.
When the closet door moved aside, she beheld Henry, and blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
He replied in a low voice, “Emergency protocol Zebra.”
Zebra was the code she’d given him for tripping a noisemaker in his wheelbase so he could leave sickbay and come to her. So, what had happened now? With uncertainty and foreboding overriding her anger at being rudely awakened, she managed a normal-sounding, “Don’t panic, Henry. Calmly tell me what happened, what triggered Zebra?”
“Deacon has been tranquilized and admitted to the psychiatric ward.”
“He what! When?”
“One hour thirteen minutes ago. I have come to warn you.”
“Warn me about what?”
“Deacon’s friend betrayed him.”
“Woodridge betrayed him?”
“No, Asuka did.”
Her voice squealed with alarm. “Asuka, as in Guardian Commander Asuka?”
“Affirmative. Yes. There is more to tell, Marlee.”
She fought to rein in her panic. “Okay, give. What else?”
“Asuka summoned Woodridge to sickbay. She had to wait in the CMO’s office. While she was there, I saw her examine your hoodie. She removed something from the inside pocket.”
“What was my hoodie doing in the CMO’s office?”
“Deacon borrowed it. A disguise in order to move about the station unnoticed. Like servobots, seldom does anyone pay attention to maintenance personnel going about their duties.”
“Yeah, yeah, everyone knows that.” A thought struck her. “Did Deacon install the fake detonator in you before he left?”
“Affirmative. Yes. I am pleased I will not explode. However, I am not pleased the explosive clay remains inside me.”
She offered Henry a reassuring smile. “Things will work out.”
“I truly hope so.”
“Now, back to Deacon. You said he borrowed my hoodie. Do you know what he was up to?”
“He said he was going to see a very good friend, one he trusted and who would help him. He did not reveal that person’s name. However, when he and Asuka came to sickbay, I learned Deacon and Asuka have been friends since they attended university.”
“You spoke to Deacon?”
“I tranquilized him, per the CMO’s orders, and remained with Deacon until he was no longer furious.”
“Furious? About what?”
“Asuka.”
“What did Asuka do?”
“He betrayed Deacon.”
“You said that before. Explain.”
“Under the pretense of getting replacement vials for Deacon’s burns, Asuka lured Deacon into the CMO’s office, summoned the CMO, and under the pretense of confidentiality, secured the doors. Asuka then ordered the CMO to evaluate Deacon for a nervous breakdown and schizophrenia.”
“What?”
“Deacon was enraged. There was an argument. Deacon punched Asuka, and tried to escape the office.”
“And that’s when you were ordered to tranquilize Deacon?”
“Negative. No. I was not in the office. I was manning the nurse’s station. It took Asuka and the CMO to pin Deacon down. The CMO summoned me. He gave the order. I tranquilized Deacon.”
Marlee wiped her cold hands over her face, momentarily closing her eyes. Skom, Deacon was in deep shit. Tranquilized. Put in the psych ward. All because of—She opened her eyes. “Henry, what about Woodridge. You said she was in the CMO’s office.”
“She arrived after Deacon was settled in his room. She was told to wait. Ten minutes later, the CMO and Asuka returned. I was sent to my station.”
“But you listened in on what they said, right?”
“Affirmative. Yes. As you advised, I listened to determine what course of action might be required.”
“And what did you determine?”
The door chimed sounded, followed by a click and the caller’s voice coming over the room’s comm unit. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Woodridge. I’d like a word with you, Mech-tech Evans.”
Skom!
All kinds of pings and hums came from Henry.
Marlee whispered, “Don’t panic! And stop making noise.”
The noises silenced.
Marlee unzipped her sleepsack and dropped silently to the decking. Eyeing where Deacon had been, she found the area empty. Even the skiff was gone. She commanded softly, “Henry, whisper mode. Where’s my skiff?”
Henry whispered, “Deacon put it back so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Great.” She pointed to the corner of the closet. “In. Now. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Kill all motors. Be silent.”
He obeyed and as soon as he was inside the closet, she triggered the closet door to close and lock.
The door chimed again, but before Woodridge could speak, Marlee said, in as groggy a voice as she could muster, “Ma’am, I’m not dressed…Give me a couple minutes to put something on.”
“Understood, Evans.”
Marlee jogged to the other end of the closet, where the last of four narrow doors was always open. She pulled out the first pair of coveralls in view, shed her sleepsuit, and donned the coveralls. From the bottom rack of the closet, she grabbed her work books and slipped one foot into a boot. With the other boot in hand, she headed for the door, tamping down on her ever-mounting anxiety.
Nearing the door, she said, “Computer, allow entry.”
The door shushed open.
Marlee stopped. “Good morning, ma’am.”
Woodridge glanced at Marlee’s one boot on, one boot off. She softly chuckled. “It’s late afternoon, Evans.”
“Oh, sorry, ma’am. I was asleep.”
“So I gathered. May I come in?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Marlee stepped aside.
As the door closed behind Woodridge, Marlee hobbled behind the commander to the kitchenette. Somehow the knit of the woman’s pristine jumpsu
it not only accentuated Woodridge’s narrow waist but also her heart-shaped buttocks, and the elegant way the woman walked. Then there was Woodridge’s wheat-blond hair. Not a strand dared to slip free of the French twist.
An image flashed into Marlee’s mind of herself in her crumpled coveralls, and her own sleep-tousled hair. She ran her free hand over her mop of hair, finger-combing it as quickly as she could. Idiot. Why am I messing with my hair?
Instead of going to the counter, Woodridge went to the food unit and tapped in an order.
“I hope you don’t mind, Evans,” Woodridge said, “I could use a cup of java. What’s your poison?”
Poison?
Marlee’s stomach lurched, and she swallowed down the fear that clawed up her windpipe.
Not to panic. Not to panic. Likely poison was just a figure of speech. Right, a figure of speech, nothing more.
Her panic jerked to the end of its chain.
“So, Evans, what would you like?”
“Saguenay,” Marlee replied, pleased her voice didn’t betray her fear. “Four.”
“Ah, large cup, semi-sweet, two creams?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Marlee took a seat at the counter. By the time she had her other boot on, Woodridge brought the coffee, placing one mug on the countertop in front of Marlee, and then seated herself.
Over the rim of her cup, Woodridge briefly smiled. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.” She carefully sipped her coffee, then set the mug down.
Marlee eyed her mug and the steam wafting off the top. Way too hot to drink. She focused on Woodridge. “Yes, ma’am, I’m a bit curious.”
Woodridge reached into a sleeve pocket, grabbed something very small, and pulled her hand out. With the item clutched in her palm, she extended her hand, knuckles skimming the counter top, paused, opened her hand, and let what she was holding drop to the counter. The item barely made any noise when it hit the countertop.
“I believe,” Woodridge said, “that this is yours.” She removed her hand.
Marlee eyed the object—one of her ID pips.
Where had she lost the pip? Was it while she struggled to get Deacon on the skiff last night?
For an instant, Marlee’s senses reeled, and she couldn’t breathe. Don’t panic! roared through her mind. In the next second, logic asserted itself along with the calm of self-control. She met Woodridge’s gaze. “Where did you find that?”
“Inside a hoodie worn by Major Deacon Black.”
Marlee added indignation for emphasis. “The rat-fink swiped my ID?”
Woodridge nodded. “So, how long have you known Deacon?”
The question was said matter-of-factly, but Woodridge’s intent gaze said she was looking for signs of a lie.
Stupid woman. My eyes are lenses. Look all you like, they won’t reveal unconscious clues to my emotional state. With a steady voice, Marlee replied, “I just met him last night.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where did you two meet?”
Why was Woodridge probing for more details? What did she dare reveal to the woman? Marlee eyed her mug, her thoughts racing, then she schooled her voice. “I had insomnia. When that happens, I usually go to the Lamplighter for a DeLupian Whiskey, straight up.” Which was truth. And lies went down better if truth greased them.
“Considering where your quarters are, that’s a long way to go for a drink.”
Marlee shrugged. “They don’t water down their liquor. Sure it costs more, but by the time I get back to my quarters, I’m mellowed out and easily fall sleep.”
“I take it you met Deacon at the bar?”
“No. Actually I was heading back to my quarters and had the misfortune of stepping into the lift he was in. He was drunk.”
“How drunk?”
“Enough to play with the lift controls and almost kill us. Then he passed out. I barely got the lift stopped before it went into critical fall.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“What happened to Deacon?”
“He came to. Complained his arm hurt—the one he said had been burned in some accident. I looked at his arm, found the canister leaking. When I smelled a rancid odor coming out of the canister, and knowing burns had to be kept in as sterile an environment as possible, I got him to a safety-wash station and flushed his wounds.” She put heartfelt emphasis in her next words. “Let me tell you, he is one quiet, uncooperative drunk!”
Woodridge nodded and softly chuckled. “So true.”
“So, ma’am, why the twenty questions. What’s the major done, other than swipe my ID?”
“He’s been hospitalized.”
“What happened?”
Woodridge heaved a sigh.
Whether her sigh was for effect or sincere, Marlee couldn’t be sure.
Woodridge folded her hands on her lap. “Marlene, may I call you Marlene?”
“Sure.”
“You may call me JJ.”
Marlee nodded. Nothing like making nice with a suspected bomber. “So, what happened to the major?”
“He’s had a relapse.”
“He’s an alcoholic?”
“No. He suffers PTSD. You do know what he does for a living, don’t you?”
“Not exactly. Like I said, he was an uncooperative drunk and being uncooperative, he didn’t say much.”
“He is among the best, the elite, when it comes to disarming bombs.”
Marlee spun her eye lenses open before dialing them back to normal to punctuate her, “Really?”
Woodridge nodded.
“I would never have guessed.”
“Marlene?”
“Ma’am?”
“Deacon said he slept off the liquor here, in your quarters.” She looked about the unfurnished room.
If Deacon had revealed that to Woodridge, he still trusted her. Yet, every instinct she had screamed not to trust Woodridge.
Marlee cleared her throat. “Yeah, I hauled him here and let him snore away on the deck.”
“You also exchanged one of your med vials for his.”
“Oh, that. Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“I was feeling groggy because of the liquor I had consumed, and fatigue was settling in. Sickbay was way too far away to go, and his condition, at least to me, didn’t seem like an emergency-emergency. Besides, the man wasn’t cooperating. I had no idea where he lived. If I had, I would have hauled his ass to his place and dumped him there.” She shrugged. “It just seemed prudent to go home and worry about things come the morrow. Which is today.”
“And you’ve slept the day through?”
“Don’t I wish.” Now why had she said that?
The look on Woodridge’s face and the tilt of her head said she was eager to know what lay behind the comment.
“Ma’am, Deacon woke around 0600 and made a racket. He had to piss and didn’t know where the head was. Then he wanted to know where he was and how he got here. I filled him in, even told him about his arm and how I gave him one of my partly-used vials, which he needed to replace in a day or so.”
“When did he leave?”
“I have no idea. I went back to sleep. I didn’t hear him leave.”
“By any chance did he mention a bomb?”
Marlee flashed her lenses to mimic shock and concern. “No. Why?”
“It’s likely nothing, but in his current state, he imagines he’s found a bomb.”
Marlee schooled her voice. “Really?”
Woodridge nodded. “Commander Asuka, who is Deacon’s best friend, thinks Deacon may have made a bomb and planted it somewhere on the station so he could disarm it, but actually he would trigger it and kill himself.”
Marlee fought a wave of shock and took pains to school her voice. “Why would Deacon do that?”
“Because stress has addled his thinking. Look, Marlene, eighteen months ago he fell victim to a sadistic bomber named Yokovnin. T
hat terrorist took perverse pleasure in sending Deacon bombs. Inside the bombs were clues to where Yokovnin would strike next. The stress and pressure took its toll.” More softly, she said, “Deacon has been reassigned, demoted to an instructor…”
Marlee picked up her mug, took a few swallows of her tepid coffee, which only settled her nerves a fraction, then set the mug down. All the while, she was aware of Woodridge studying her.
“Marlene?”
“Ma’am?”
Woodridge’s voice softened. “I was once in love with Deacon. It was a long time ago. We are friends. I hate seeing him like this.” She got to her feet. “To protect him from more scrutiny, I came here to return your ID pip. No one but you and I know about it. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The pip was in an inside pocket, not on the outside, of the hoodie Deacon wore, and which, I presumed from its size, he stole from you. Commander Asuka hasn’t realized the hoodie doesn’t belong to Deacon. I’m sure you don’t want to come under one of Asuka’s inquisitions, do you?”
“Certainly not!”
“Knowing Deacon as I do, well, I figured he kept the pip hidden to protect his paramour.”
“Hey, I hardly know the man!”
“I realize that. You’re a fine tech, with an enviable record. An asset to Kifel.”
Why was there an undercurrent of a warning in those words?
Politely, Marlee said, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“If anyone questions you about your pip, would you let me know?”
Fear slashed at Marlee’s gut. “Is that likely?”
“No telling. Asuka’s got every available Guardian and security unit tracking down Deacon’s activities since he arrived on Kifel. Teams are covertly scouring the station for a bomb.”
“Such a calamity.”
Woodridge nodded. “Shall I keep you posted on Deacon’s condition?”
Skom, did Woodridge want confirmation there was more going on between her and Deacon? Well, the woman was in for a letdown. “No, ma’am. Don’t bother. I seem ill-fated to cross paths with way too many weirdoes. So, the less I know, the better off I am.”
Woodridge almost grinned, and with, “Enjoy the rest of your day off,” she left.
After the door snicked shut, Marlee trembled with relief. By the time she deposited her mug and the one Woodridge had used, her hands stopped shaking.
Hearts Akilter Page 5