by A. Payne
The good news was that they sent a boarding party over on a shuttle and gained control of the mercenary ship to liberate the pirates’ human cargo. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Crane’s flag ship and the Jemison’s engineers needed time to repair their systems before they could return to Athena. They estimated 30 hours.
The ground crew needed to securely hold the colony for one more night.
***
Weariness weighted Zoe’s limbs when her shift finally ended. A low throb in her feet encouraged her to find a place to stretch out and rest, but she had a last job to complete. Rubbing her tender side, she picked her way through the debris-strewn dormitory halls toward the manager’s flat.
Zoe knocked and lingered hesitantly in the hallway. “Knock, knock, it’s Raines,” she announced. Nudged by her metal knuckles, the creaking door swung inward to reveal the motionless shape sprawled on the low, sleigh-style bed. Enough blankets draped over it to cushion a crashing shuttle. “Doc?” Poor Victor. According to Daniels, he’d been dead on his feet and made no arguments about taking a break from command this time.
“C’mon in,” he answered drowsily.
It felt like stepping into another world. Opulent decor drew her gaze from one item to the next. A large oval window offered a view to the moon’s violet tinged surface. On the horizon, the planet Apollo hung like a multicolored marble. As beautiful as the view was, it barely held her glance. Between the jewel-toned carpets scattered across the floor, the framed paintings on the walls, and the man in the bed she was hard pressed to pick the better sight and decide which to ogle.
Victor cleared his throat, making the choice for her. Zoe’s attention snapped to him and heat rushed to her cheeks. His alert grey eyes made him appear less tired than she’d originally thought at first glance. In fact, the bed-mussed hair was a sexy look for him. He wore his tactical suit without the helmet and armor plates, revealing a dull grey military issue t-shirt instead. Victor’s scattergun lay on the bed beside him with the safety set to fire.
“Sorry. Did I wake you? Daniels sent me to make sure you were okay.”
“Nah. I was drifting in and out of sleep. I think that I slept anyway. Had a movie going for some background noise. I can’t tolerate absolute silence.”
“Sorta figured. You always have music or a show on.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled softly and ran a hand through his hair. “So what is it this time? Is Daniels lost without me?”
“Commander Daniels asked me to pass on that all is clear and secure for the night in the infirmary. He didn’t want you to come up earlier than needed.”
“Sounds good. Let him know that–” He glanced briefly toward her and abruptly ended his polite dismissal, his gaze focused on the bulky pad of gauze outlined beneath her black tank. Zoe groaned on the inside. “I thought I cleaned up all of the injuries from that last scuffle. What’s that?”
Zoe made a poor attempt to conceal it, her hand raising reflexively to rest over the padded area. “This? Just a graze, Doc, nothing to worry about. Scrubbed it clean and bandaged it the way we’re taught.” A graze that hurt like all sorts of hell, but she hadn’t wanted to bother him while there were so many other serious injuries requiring his immediate attention. Victims of battery and rape. Punching bags used to amuse sadistic captors. Newborn babies. They’d deserved his expertise more.
“I thought that we established my name isn’t Doc. We’re both off-duty. Sorta.” Victor paused his movie and set the tablet device aside. “C’mere and let me have a look.”
“Habit,” she mumbled, pushing the door shut behind her once she reluctantly stepped all the way through. “Really, it barely bled or anything.” Liar, she chastised herself. “Considering you had a lost limb and stuff to deal with, I was pretty low on the totem pole.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. There’s no rule of battlefield triage at the moment so lay down. Shirt up. You know the drill, Zoe.”
“I should be insulted you’re disparaging my field skills, Victor.” She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t disregard the order. The familiarity of their relationship didn’t extend to insubordination. Zoe sat gingerly on the edge of the low bed then laid back, enveloped in the warmth his body had left behind against the covers. She didn’t have to tug the fabric up far to reveal the bandage to the right of her navel. “Bored or do you just delight in torturing me in particular?”
“My movie was a little more entertaining than you. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Victor crouched beside the sleigh bed and rifled through his supplies. The contents of his medical case had been dramatically reduced since their arrival only three days before. Earlier, she’d overheard both commanders discussing whether they had enough ammo charges and medical equipment to hold out if another shuttle of pirates arrived with a desire to retake their new home. They needed the HMS Jemison, and they needed her now.
“And here I thought this was our thing.” Zoe sighed and focused her eyes upwards. “Seriously though, it’s not so bad.” Please don’t be bad.
“Why are you so stubborn? What do I tell you whenever you make a visit to the medical department?” he asked, peeling away the medical tape.
“Come see you if my shoulder hurts again,” she replied cheekily.
He didn’t reply immediately, but his jaw tightened when he lifted away the surgical tape and bandage. The doctor exposed a shallow groove with red, tender edges. The subtle traces of warmth had bothered her, but she hadn’t wanted to take his attention from dying individuals. “It’s infected,” he told her bluntly.
“Stupid black market bullets.”
“That is why I am the doctor and you are the gunsmith. When my rifle is jammed, I will give it to you. When you are fucking hurt, you come and tell me whatever is wrong.”
“Your accent comes out when you’re angry.” A sexy accent at that. It ran chills up her spine and reminded her of the olive-skinned people hailing from Paradiso. She’d never traveled to the planet where the Spanish and Mediterranean people of Old Earth had taken residence. Until now, Victor had sounded like any other native of Albion: very, very British.
“Sometimes.” Victor fell silent for a moment, his professional touch applying a cold compress over the affected area. “I’m low on the good stuff. One of the moms had a wicked infection,” he muttered. He flicked out a prepared syringe from the bag and took the cap off with his teeth. “Hip please. I promise it won’t be as bad as the pb shot. Just a pinch.”
Servicemen who visited the infirmary with infections hated the concoction of penicillin, antibiotics, and germ-eating microbes used to treat their illnesses. The shot was as thick as peanut butter and it burned going in.
Zoe’s smile wobbled and fell, ending with a sigh. Like most people, she had no love of shots, but she also didn’t want to further upset an already frustrated man. She obediently rolled to one side and nudged the waistline of her pants down.
The cleansing agent was cool against her skin, but Victor’s fingers against the designated area left heat in their wake. She barely noticed the puncture of the needle. “At the time you had a gut wound to treat, a roasted limb, and babies to deliver. Fairchild gave me a field pack on the shuttle so I used it.”
“You don’t seem to understand how deadly an infection can become on an unknown planet. The CO wanted us to put boots to the ground too early to test the soil and air, otherwise I might have inoculated us all by now…” He trailed off, surrendering to the confused expression that surfaced over her features. “Never mind.”
Zoe didn’t know the first thing about medical protocol. She only knew that whenever she entered a new planet, someone administered a vaccine or an inhalant to the squad before they departed the ship via the airlock. “No, no. Explain it to me,” she told him quickly, deciding she disliked the frustrated expression on his handsome face. Even officers needed to vent to someone. She reached for his hand and gave his fingers an encouraging squeeze. “Please?”
“Basically, it’s not poss
ible to vaccinate against every disease and germ in the whole wide galaxy. That’s why we take soil and air samples via probe before a landing. Lilibeth and I synthesize the right combination of drugs, antivenins, and immuno-boosters. We inject you all, and then we go down. That way, no one returns to the ship with Emerald Itch or some other nasty disease.”
“Except, this time, all we received was the basic broad spectrum inhalant.”
“Yes, and it’s not good enough. I hate cutting corners, but these people needed us,” Victor grumbled. “It’s a fair trade off, but we’re no good if we fall ill and can’t protect them before the Jemison returns.” He shot Zoe a cross look and swept one hand through his dark hair.
“You’re right; I’m sorry,” she said meekly. Disappointing Victor left a sick feeling in her stomach. “I found a couple of mercs hiding out and one of them got a lucky shot. You were so swamped, and I didn’t think it would get this bad since I used the field kit.”
For the first time, she noticed the hints of grey sneaking in around his temples and peppering his stubbled face. Stress and a couple of hard days had taken a toll on his personality. Not that it was his fault. No more than it was the fault of the colonists that they’d been overrun by slavers and raiders. “Sorry for losing my temper with you.”
“It’s sorta sweet.” The words slipped out and she didn’t mind them. A lovely flood of comfort spread from her head to her toes. “I feel like I’m floating.”
“Yes. I may have mixed in something for the pain, so that means the medicine is working. Now relax and watch a movie. Doctor’s orders.”
He reached over her to retrieve the tablet and set it on the floor to the left of his hip. With his back to the mattress the holo’s display was at the perfect level. His considerate choice of seating granted her the benefit of admiring his profile.
“You’ll probably sleep through the beginning of your watch. Better to have you in top condition than passing out in the middle of a fight.”
The movie display flared to life, expanding in three dimensions. He adjusted it from his smaller personal view setting to another resolution designed for couples to comfortably share in the experience.
“So… I was wondering…. Why do you always keep to yourself?”
Victor tore his eyes away from the movie. Something about his perplexed expression amused her and she cracked another faint smile. “You’re referring to why I don’t prefer spending my shore leave at the bar each night, and why I don’t participate in the get-togethers?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“It’s a bit private.”
“So… mind my own business.” She scrunched her nose at him. “C’mon. You’ve gotten me to partially strip for you three times now.” She held up three fingers to emphasize her point. “I’m not asking anything too much, am I?”
Victor sighed. “Look. None of it’s interesting.” He continued after a hesitant pause. “I… I cocked up a lot of things in my life just before coming here to the Jemison. I made a big mistake and almost lost my commission altogether. They stationed me at a little shit base on Paradiso, instead, until Bishop rescued me and arranged my transfer to the Jemison. That’s it in a nutshell, Zoe.”
“Oh, a fresh start. I can respect that, but…” Zoe drifted off, her brow furrowed slightly. Nothing about Victor’s situation sounded as cut and dried as he tried to make it seem. “So, you don’t ever go out and have fun?”
“Didn’t we have this talk back in the lounge? I think my medicine is working its magic,” he teased.
Zoe didn’t recognize the chosen movie on the holograph, but it failed to lull her into a peaceful rest. Instead, it warred against the medicine, winding up her curiosity each time her eyelids began to drift shut. It was a simple tale, mostly meant for quick laughs. It just didn’t hold a candle to the enigma half-clothed in battle gear beside her.
“Oh… You’re right. God, this is some good shit. So… what’s going on in the flick so far?”
“You didn’t miss much of it. She’s pregnant from their one night stand,” he summarized. “And they’re getting married. I Troogle’d that once. I guess back in the 1900s, ministers used to impersonate an obese singer named Elvis.”
“That’s silly.”
“It was the thing to do back then. I heard some of his music once, too. It wasn’t so bad compared to the rubbish on the air these days.”
“So… people would have a person who looked like a singer marry them? How does that make any sort of sense?”
“It doesn’t, but when you’re drunk or you’ve run away to elope, I don’t think you’re in the state of mind to exercise good judgment.” He glanced back over a shoulder to flash her a grin, one which she readily returned despite her foggy senses.
“Remind me never to get drunk with you, Doc. Victor.” Wow that sounded lame. Zoe had a thought to ask what drugs he pumped her with, because they were making her dumb.
“Gladly. I’m not the kind of guy you want to elope with.”
“I wasn’t proposing,” she quickly blurted out. The young woman regretted her defensive tone as much as she regretted her earlier, poorly chosen words.
“Yeah. Anyway. How are you feeling now? Are you ready to surrender to the medicine?”
“I feel good. I have a comfy bed and a movie. No wonder you claimed this room, it’s like lying on a cloud. All we need is popcorn.”
“Daniels didn’t have a hard time talking me into it,” he admitted. “By the time he brought it up, I’d been between the legs of too many women to argue about sleeping arrangements… Bloody hell, that sounded bad.”
“It really did.” Zoe laughed and nudged him in the shoulder lightly.
“I mean, I was ready to pass out. I haven’t delivered a kid since med school, and I don’t really look forward to doing it again.” His dramatic, over-exaggerated shudder belonged in a theater production.
“I’m sort of sorry I missed it.” Bringing new life into the world was something worth witnessing.
“So… What accent do you think I have? I’m curious now. I didn’t think I had one anymore.”
“Fishin’ for compliments, Victor?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s just that your accent sometimes reminds me of Lieutenant Salvador in communications. So that means you’re actually from Paradiso, right? You weren’t just stationed there for the hell of it?”
“My surname didn’t tip you off?”
Smart ass. “Lieutenant Salvador lived in Paradiso his entire life, but Lopez is from Easthampton on Albion. Having a Spanish last name only means you have Spaniard blood somewhere,” she pointed out.
“Touché. I used to speak the language, too, but I can barely put together a sentence in Spanish now. It’s a dead language outside of Paradiso, like many others from Earth. No need for it. I think Italian is the only one really flourishing these days.”
The movie ended with a happy conclusion, wrapped up with an embracing couple giving heartfelt admissions under an evening sky. Victor dimmed the device down and set the tablet upon his medical supply kit before he turned to look down at her, as if expecting to find her sleeping. She gazed into his misty grey eyes instead.
Zoe drank in the sight of them and yielded the fight against her impulses. So did Victor. He closed the distance and their lips came together in an electrifying tingle that had nothing to do with cybernetics.
It was crazy, thrilling, and almost forbidden, yet she had absolutely no desire to stop when he matched her with undeniable hunger. His parted lips urged her to mirror his movement with increasing heat and passion, a certain kind of desperate need apparent in the way he leaned closer. Their tongues tangled in a wild dance that curled Zoe’s toes. His hands explored between her tank and fatigue bottoms, each touch sending currents through her body. She yearned for the gradual upward sweep that brought the hem over her ribs.
Desiring the same touch and tactile sensation beneath her fingers, Zoe tugged at his shirt to slip
her hands beneath it. In her memories, the teasing and playful glimpse of his rock hard abs tantalized her mind. Muscular definition and a chiseled marine’s physique tensed beneath her fingers, even better than she’d imagined. It was surreal and almost like a dream, worsened by the drugs clouding her thoughts. It couldn’t be real; sooner or later she’d wake cold and alone on her cot.
Her renewed tug on his shirt brought the fabric up the rest of the way and over his head. Victor freed his arms, tossed the garment aside, and joined her on the blankets. The bed dipped beneath their combined weight.
As far as Zoe was concerned, Victor had a mouth made for kissing and a set of abs worthy of worship. Her fingers crept over each plane and dip, learning his shape as her mouth committed his taste to memory. She loathed her close fitting sports bra and wished for something prettier. Something with a clasp for easy removal.
She shoved him back against the mattress and swung her leg over his hip. As she became desperate to experience more before her pleasant fantasy could end, her fingers slid upward over his chiseled body until they curled within his dark hair. Straddling Victor placed her body just above his hard bulge and the proof of his shared desire.
Victor abruptly froze beneath her and ended the kiss. His fingers closed over her wrists and smoothed over her fingers, his larger palms dwarfing her hands. He loosened Zoe’s hold from his hair and deposited her beside him on the bed with a smooth roll.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You’re not in any condition to make this kind of decision. Sorry.”
The distance between them became wider than ever once Victor abandoned the bed and pulled on his shirt. He crouched by his medical bag and pretended to sort through the remaining supplies, as if he needed to occupy his hands and create any excuse to avoid making eye contact with her.
Zoe pushed up to a seated position. “Victor…?” Nothing could quell the hammering of her heart.