Mila's Shift

by Danielle Forrest

  What had May gotten her into? And it had to be May, right?

  Once in her room, she went to bed but didn’t sleep. She continued to shake, her mind running over all the fates that could befall her.

  Who was he? What did he want? He couldn’t have found out she was a shifter. She’d been careful, hadn’t she? But May was a good girl. What could she have done to make someone want to kill her?

  Hours later someone stumbled in, but she still hadn’t fallen asleep. Mila didn’t make a noise. She didn’t look. Fear and her personal demons turned the intruder into her mysterious attacker. Don’t be stupid. It’s just Santos. Nobody else can get in here.

  Could they?

  Mila woke with a start. She felt like crap. Avoiding Santos, she grabbed her stuff and slipped out to the communal showers, heart in her throat. Oh, God. What if he attacks me in the shower? Her pulse ratcheted up another notch. Her mind shifted the images to him attacking her, water beating down on her, slipping on the wet tiles, cracking her head. The hallway took on sinister qualities, every person, every shadow signaling her premature demise.

  But she opened the door to steam and laughter. Get over it, Mila. It still weirded her out showering next to guys, or anyone really. The military had long stopped caring about separating men and women. After all, it wasn’t possible to separate people who might enjoy the eyeful.

  Mila dropped the towel and walked to a stall. Her ridiculous shower was quick and her eyes didn’t leave the shower head if she could help it.

  She’d discovered something new…

  She hated zero gravity showers. How was a person supposed to feel clean when the water just floated and beaded up rather than flowing over you? She finished, dried off, struggling over the magnetic bands that kept her paired to the floor. Wrapping the towel back around her, she dashed out, avoiding the wall of mirrors.

  Even trying not to pay attention, she registered a few odd looks in the bathroom, in the hall. She slipped into her room, grateful for the privacy. Santos had already left. She sighed.

  Alone.

  Good.

  She got dressed, removed the magnetic bands she didn’t need with clothes on, and exited feeling worn around the edges. Her face ached and swelled in places, the skin tight and uncomfortable. Great. I look hideous. Way to stay off the radar.

  Mila returned to the bridge with her head down. She didn’t want anyone to notice her face. She didn’t know how bad it was and regretted not looking in the bathroom.

  But then she remembered what she would see and stiffened. Bruises, she could handle, but she’d again forgotten she wouldn’t see her own features. How could she keep forgetting? Her eyes misted, but she viciously shoved down the emotion threatening to choke her. She didn’t need this. She had enough on her plate.

  “Jeez, what the hell happened to your face?!” Luke screeched as she sat down.

  She sighed. “Not now, Luke. And could you please shut up? I’m already freakish. I don’t need any extra attention.”

  “Sorry. That must hurt.”

  “A bit. It’ll heal.”

  For once, Luke stayed quiet. She turned to him, concern etching his face. He quickly looked away. She twisted her head to the other side, taking in the captain out of her peripheral vision. He seemed… on edge. That couldn’t be good.

  Luke tried not to stare, but her gaze flitted to May every few seconds. What happened to her? May looked like she’d gone a couple rounds with Ali. She chewed her lip, biting down on it every time she had the urge to speak up.

  She told me not to. I’ll ask again when we’re alone.

  But what if she’s in danger? Luke’s body stiffened at the idea. She cared about May, had from day one. When she first saw May, she saw someone with a secret, someone different. Not different like she was different, but a kindred spirit none-the-less. And kindred spirits needed to stick together.

  Tristan barely noticed as the shift change happened around him. His corpse never returned for duty, which either meant his medical officer had been wrong about the time of death, or the killer had been tipped off.

  There was another body on his ship.

  Damn it.

  He ground his jaw, all his muscles tense as he tried to keep his outer veneer calm and professional.

  Another one of his men dead, and he could have stopped it. Should have. This was his fault.

  He took a deep breath and looked up, inspecting the bridge. The pilot, Trace, jerked her head to face forward when she saw him look up. Guess I didn’t do such a good job at hiding my thoughts.

  The guy next to her kept looking at her at rapid intervals. Tristan watched the concern on the man’s face and wondered why. What happened? Was there another incident?

  “Trace,” he called out, making her turn. He sucked in a breath. Bruises and swelling covered one side of her face. He stood and walked to her station, leaning against the console when he arrived. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, sir,” she said, keeping her eyes on her work.

  “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “You can believe what you want, sir. I can’t stop you.”

  Tristan bristled, but let it slide. He figured she had reason enough to be irritable. “I believe someone assaulted you. Can you identify the attacker?”

  She looked at Tristan, fear in her eyes.

  “You can identify him, can’t you? You should have gone to the security officers.”

  She returned to her work. “It’s nothing, sir.”

  “Maybe it was nothing to you, but one of your fellow crew mates was killed. It could be the same person. You might be the only one who’s seen him.”

  She looked back, shocked, fear surging through her frame even harder than before.

  “I want to help you,” he said, touching her arm gently, but she winced anyway. Clearly, more than her face had taken a beating. “Report to med bay after your shift. That’s an order, Trace.”

  She swiveled back to her console. “Yes, sir.”

  “I can’t believe we’ve got a shifter on board. Lousy, psycho freaks.” The security officer adjusted his gun belt as they checked yet another closet. The ship had about a million of them. And that didn’t even include the unoccupied bunks. “We’ll never find this damn body. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Well, not with that attitude.”

  “Hey!” He slammed the door. “I didn’t sign up for this duty to rummage through spare storage.”

  “Actually, you kind of did. Secure and investigate. That’s the job.”

  “Oh, shut up. What’s next on the schedule?”

  “Cabinet 15-E.”

  “Come on,” he said, his voice echoing his discontent. “The faster we get this done, the faster we can do something useful.”

  “This is useful.”

  “Whatever.”

  Mila spent the next few hours grinding her teeth over the impending trip to the medical unit. Whoever examined her wounds would probably look on her with pity. Then security would grill her trying to figure out who attacked her. She couldn’t decide which she looked forward to more.

  “Ships approaching! Fast!”

  “Where?” Mila shouted back.

  “Man the guns!” the captain barked.

  People scrambled behind Mila, but she was in her element. The tension of her attack, of losing May, of living a lie, it all fell away, leaving just her. She monitored her screens, her brain processing the officer shouting out coordinates and trajectories at lightning speed, mapping them in 3D space in her head.

  Move.

  Move.

  Move.

  She grinned, loving every second as the big monster responded as well as it could to her skillful commands. She did her best to outmaneuver ships a hundred times smaller than this POS and outnumbering them God only knew how many to one. It didn’t matter though. As the swirling colors of sub-space made dizzying paintings in the display, she kept moving, kept avoiding.

  Her arms flew o
ver the controls. “Fire,” repeated in the background, but she ignored it, her hearing focused on a single voice tracking the enemies.

  Move.

  Move.

  Move.

  She watched as fighter ships flew out in front of her, felt the shimmy of the ship from a detonation. Close, but no impact. She continued avoiding the tiny ships and their attacks at the same time she tried to avoid planets and moons in sub-space. Not the best time to battle these bozos.

  She contemplated dropping out of sub-space but nixed it. They had the maneuverability advantage whether in sub-space or real space. If she dropped out, they would only follow her, and she couldn’t use her better skill against them.

  She was a queen in sub-space. Mila had only done training programs, simulations, but no one ever tested higher. No one could beat her reflexes, her spatial awareness.

  Move.

  Move.

  Move.

  As they destroyed the last of the ships, Tristan stared at the back of Trace’s head. She was good, damn good. She was, most likely, the best pilot he’d ever seen.

  “Damage report.”

  He continued to ponder as he listened to the various departments reporting back the results of the attack. He vaguely registered there was no serious damage. Between the gunners and her piloting, they’d avoided every major hit.

  It didn’t make sense. According to her files, May Trace was a mediocre pilot. Barely good enough to receive sub-space travel qualifications. She shouldn’t have been able to show off half the moves she just used.

  She couldn’t be May Trace, not with those skills. Did that mean the real May Trace was dead? His heart sank at the thought.

  But that didn’t stop him from doing his job. More lay in the balance than a pretty girl with attitude. He motioned to one of the security officers.

  “Sir?”

  “I want someone watching that pilot at all times.”

  “You suspect she might be the assassin, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Seven

  “That was frickin’ awesome, May! You’re the bomb!”

  Mila rolled her eyes at Luke. “I was just doing my job.”

  “Yeah and you nailed it. I heard the only damage we incurred was a few low caliber bullet holes.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Yeah, that was some impressive flying,” Santos said as if it physically hurt her.

  Mila turned to thank her and noticed two men following them. Following her. “Thanks,” she said and spun back forward. Shit. She continued on, but felt their gazes on her the entire time. They had security written all over them.

  What had she done to attract their ire?

  As they entered the room, her shadows backed off, but kept within sight. Mila got her meal and sat with her friends, but remained hyper-vigilant.

  I’m dead. I’m so dead.

  Her eyes scanned the room as she shoveled food into her mouth, pretending to pay attention to the surrounding conversation.

  Her gaze stopped on a man giving her the stink eye. She didn’t recognize him, but she knew he’d attacked her yesterday.

  A hand tapped her shoulder and she shrieked, spinning to meet the new threat.

  “May Trace?” the innocuous man said.

  “Yes?”

  “The captain ordered you to go to the med bay after your shift.” He glared at her.

  “Busted,” Luke said behind her, a grin on his face.

  She gave him a glare in response.

  “Come with me.”

  She looked back to the man across the hall who continued to give her the stink eye. She stood and her escorts rose with her. At least she wouldn’t be alone.

  The examination ended, but she still sat on the bed, the medical officer on a stool in front of her. “Do you have any idea why the man attacked you?”

  Maybe. “No.”

  “We believe the man you described has been dead for several days. A shifter took his identity, an assassin.”

  “Oh God. Why would he attack me?”

  “For new identification, I suspect.”

  Not likely. “But I thought shifters didn’t shift outside their own gender.”

  “I bed your pardon?”

  Shit, information I wasn’t supposed to know. She scratched her head, wincing. “I read it. In an article? I mean, it’s kind of logic, really. Could you imagine all your junk being different? Gone? Or having extra parts you’re not used to? That would give me the willies.” She shivered for good effect.

  All that was the truth. Shifters didn’t like to shift outside their own gender. If you were a woman, you picked female genders, regardless of species. You could shift into a male, but it was very unnerving. Mila imagined every shifter had tried it once in their lives, but it wasn’t an experience anyone would repeat.

  “Hm. Then why did he target you?”

  “I don’t know. I was mugged about a day before we launched. Do you think that could be related?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Well, I can’t think of anything else. I’m not a bad person and I try to be nice. I can’t imagine someone wanting to hurt me.”

  He nodded. “Well, be careful. And massage those bruises. It’ll help them heal.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Alright. Get out of here.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She walked out into the hall and addressed the security officers. “So, you guys gonna be following me from here on out? Because I’m kind of afraid to be alone.”

  “Any ideas on who the assassin is now? I was thinking May Trace. Her record lists her as a mediocre pilot, but the skills she’s shown are among the best I’ve ever seen.” And she’s suspicious as hell. Tristan fidgeted in place. He didn’t like his crew in danger. With any luck, the other man didn’t notice. He needed to act, but what could he do?

  “No,” his head of security said. “She’s been acting weird from day one. Whatever is going on with her, it started long before we found the officer dead in the freezer.”

  “Then who?” And how the hell would they stop him?

  Chapter Eight

  Days after the attack, Mila couldn’t get back to normal. And her minders both helped and made it worse. She appreciated their presence. Being alone terrified her, but being watched made her want to hide in a hole all over again. Stuck on a ship with hundreds of people, the claustrophobia sometimes got so bad she had trouble breathing. She wanted to escape, run, hide.

  But she didn’t. Even when her hands shook, even when she couldn’t say a word, she continued, trying to appear as if everything was fine.

  Certain times were easier. On shift, she could focus on flying. It soothed her, and for a spell, she forgot her paranoia, the attention she didn’t want or need.

  Same in her room. With only her and Santos, the small space served as a sanctuary. She didn’t feel like her heart would pound out of her chest. The darkness helped as well. In the dark, she could imagine there wasn’t a wall for hundreds of yards, miles even. It was the perfect illusion, even if she struggled to maintain it. She’d never been good at deluding herself.

  Of course, her room had its own perils. She had nightmares, cried herself to sleep, and the darkness could be as bad as the claustrophobia. And every time she woke up from a nightmare, Santos would snap at her to be quiet. She’d never met a bigger bitch in her life…

  “May! May Trace!”

  “Huh?”

  Luke caught up to Mila, puffing and shaking his head. “Jeez, your head’s in a cloud lately. What gives? You’re stressed, quiet. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  “May, I called you about a half dozen times. How many times did you hear me, huh? And what about your hands? They’re shaking half the time.”

  Mila shook her head. “They’re not shaking half the time. Really, Luke.”

  “They are now.”

  Mila looked down. The slightest tr
emble vibrated through them. She clenched her fists, minimizing the shakes. “I’m fine.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Luke.”

  “Don’t even start, May. It may only be the beginning of this tour, but I’ve got a good bead on you and this is not you. So, what gives?”

  Mila chewed her lip, contemplating what to tell him. What did she know herself? Not much. “Fine,” she said, dragging him into a nearby closet and slamming the door shut.

  “Really?” he laughed, the smirk no doubt plastered across his face lost to the darkness of the unlit room.

  “Shut up, Luke.”

  “Well, if I knew this was all it took to get you in a closet, I’d have done it ages ago.”

  Mila punched him on the arm.

  “Ouch.”

  “Didn’t I say shut up?”

  “Okay, shutting. I’m shutting up.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know what’s happening. What I do know is someone attacked me.”

  “The day your face looked like an eggplant?”

  “Yeah, that,” she said, glaring at him, “but earlier too. The day before we departed. I thought it was just a mugging. Now, I’m not so sure. I don’t know what it’s about, but the captain said there’s a murderer on board. And I don’t like the scrutiny he and his lieutenant have been giving me. A few days ago, these guys—security, I think—started following me. Constantly. They’ve done everything short of watch me in the shower.”

  “Really? Jeez, May.”

  “Yeah, really.” Mila paused, preparing to voice something she’d been resisting herself. “What if they think I’m the killer?”

  “Oh, May. They couldn’t possibly think you’re the killer.”