Diffraction

by Jess Anastasi

  “Let me out, and I won’t have to fight the restraints.” Hell, he sounded about as threatening as a ninety-year-old, with the way his voice scraped over his dry throat.

  “Water?” The doc arched a brow and stood, setting her commpad on a nearby hover trolley.

  Varean clenched his jaw but didn’t answer, watching as she poured water from a bottle into a clear plastic cup and then added a pink straw. As if he weren’t being humiliated enough.

  She brought the cup over, her movements wary but still efficient. Her green gaze sliced over him with brisk detachment as she poked the straw at his lips, her expression expectant. Part of him wanted to refuse, just because he was so pissed about her pulling that little stunt in knocking him out. And for apparently pandering to him like he was a dirt-licking imbecile. With that dosing gun in her possession—obviously missed when he’d done that quick frisk—she could have knocked him out any time after he’d grabbed her. Instead, she’d gone along and let him think he actually had half a chance of escaping. No wonder she hadn’t seemed afraid of him.

  Of course, refusing a drink of water when his throat had all the dryness of a desert in a heat wave would make him a total idiot. So he parted his lips far enough to accept the ridiculous pink cylinder sticking out of the cup.

  As soon as the cool liquid hit his tongue, a wave of relief and then longing rippled through his body. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until the water slid down the back of his throat. He greedily sucked down as much as he could through the thin straw and would have drained the cup if the doc hadn’t pulled it away from him.

  “Not too fast. You don’t want to make yourself sick.” She straightened and shifted back from him.

  He stretched out his fingers and managed to catch the edge of her shirt before she retreated very far. “I’m still thirsty.”

  She stopped trying to move away from him, her clothes pulled taut against her tantalizing curves he couldn’t help noticing, even when he was half dead. He tugged, trying to draw her closer.

  “Just give it a minute.”

  Frustration pulsed through him, temper made shorter by the uncharacteristic urge to lash out fed by the thirst nagging at him. Damn it, did he look like a toddler who needed to be coddled because he had a boo-boo? “Water. Now.”

  She sighed and turned to top off the half-empty contents. “Fine, have it your way.”

  A moment later, the straw met his lips again, and this time she didn’t take the cup away until he’d drained every last drop.

  He sighed as he relaxed back against the pillow behind him. The doctor put down the cup and moved to the head of the gurney, accessing controls to make the top half of the cot rise, until he was in an upright reclining position.

  Despite the slow movement, everything spun for a long moment, and he closed his eyes as the water in his stomach decided to pitch a revolt. He sucked in a long, slow breath, attempting to force the churning down, if only to save himself from an “I told you so” from the doc.

  “What happened to me?” Maybe if he got his mind onto something else, his stomach would settle.

  “You had a bad reaction to the sedative I gave you. Then you had a bad reaction to the adrenaline I administered to counteract the sedative. You nearly died.”

  Well, that would explain why he felt like fresh-churned shite in a bucket. And this conversation wasn’t helping his roiling guts one bit.

  “How long was I out?”

  “Over twenty-four hours.”

  “What?” He snapped his eyes open. Except hell, he shouldn’t have done that.

  The doc shoved a plastic container in front of his face as the water came up again, leaving his stomach aching and empty.

  Great. Now his head was pounding as well. He went to rub a hand over his face, but yep, he was cuffed to the bed. The newfound hostility within him stirred again, and he clenched his fists. He didn’t understand where the fury was coming from.

  He’d never considered himself an angry person prone to outbursts or unreasonable violence. His fellow AF commando buddies used to make jokes about him being a droid because, no matter what kind of shite had gone down, he’d always kept his cool. Ever since he’d first been hit by that damned stunner, it was like his much-prized self-restraint had up and left, to be replaced by an unpredictable cannon on a short fuse. Had the stunner affected him in some way, maybe because of the legacy within him that he’d spent the past decade hiding? It was the only answer he could come up with.

  “Better now?” A hand lightly touched his shoulder, the contact rippling through him in bright, yet calming, waves. Which was damned ridiculous.

  This was not him. He didn’t get worked up over women he’d met five minutes ago. He didn’t ever let anger or frustration take the helm and steer his actions.

  He would get himself locked down and in control no matter what else these people did to him. Make sure they didn’t find out the truth about him. He had to get free and disappear.

  He cleared his throat and this time, when he opened his eyes, it seemed his equilibrium had got its shite together, because everything stayed exactly where it should be.

  “You serious about the twenty-four-hour thing?”

  The doc reached up with a damp, cool cloth and pressed it against his clammy skin. It felt too damn good, and he got the sense it wasn’t only the administrations soothing him, but more the person doing the administering. Damned if he wasn’t starting to suffer from Stockholm syndrome.

  “Thirty and a half hours, if you want to be exact,” she finally answered, the cloth moving to wipe down his hairline, taking away some of the lingering sweat.

  Goddamn. Which meant they were light-years away from the Swift Brion. Even if he found a way back, there’d be no point to it. He got the feeling that if Sherron didn’t get the answers he wanted, the guy wouldn’t stop pursuing him until he did. Disappearing was the last card he had on the table at this point.

  Maybe he should have been more pissed that one anomalous shot from a weapon meant to reveal shape-shifting aliens had destroyed the life he’d worked hard to build within the military, because he sure as hell had nothing else beyond it. Growing up in the IPC foster system from a little over a year old after his mom had died, no knowledge of who he was or who his relatives were had left him with no family. The last ten years since joining the military, he’d been more interested in keeping a low profile and striving hard and fast through his career than making any kind of lasting personal relationships. Yeah, he had no life beyond his posting, this frecked-up turn of events making that fact more than obvious.

  “What’s going to happen to me?”

  The doc shrugged one shoulder, lowering the cloth to stare intently at him, close enough that his gaze was drawn to the pink Cupid’s bow of her upper lip.

  “Depends. If you cooperate, Rian will let you go, though don’t expect an apology. If you don’t…”

  She glanced away from him, her features tightening the slightest bit. But it was all the clue he needed. Sherron would get his answers one way or another.

  “Should have let me die,” he muttered, slouching down against the pillow.

  “Sorry, it’s not in my job description.” Warm, gentle fingers landed on his forehead then slipped down to press into the crook of his neck, her touch echoing through him, leaving him fighting a shiver. “At least your pulse has regulated. I know this situation is not ideal—”

  Varean let loose a cutting laugh and opened his eyes to glare at her. “Not ideal? That’s like flying within burning distance of a star and saying it’s kind of warm.”

  Some of that resignation within him caught fire, flaring into kindling vehemence. He yanked at both arms, and the frame of the cot whined. “Whatever Sherron thinks I know, it’s got nothing to do with him or any damned aliens. I just want to get back to the Swift Brion and be left the hell alone.”

  A little bit of deflection here and there—if he could get back to the Swift Brion, he’d be staying ab
oard only long enough to pack his crap and take the first shuttle out.

  The truth about him was closer to being outed than it had been in a long time. Frustrating as it was, he’d have to disappear and start again, because if the government found out about him, they’d make sure he disappeared the permanent way. These people could think he’d been messed with by the aliens, or whatever theory Sherron was stuck on, as long as they didn’t suspect the real answer.

  Her gaze dropped, avoiding him. “Actually, I doubt at this point whether you could make it back to the Swift Brion.”

  “Oh yeah? Did they fly into a black hole or something while I was out of it?”

  She returned her gaze to him, a definite flash of annoyance in her eyes. “Because Captain Admiral Graydon and the crew of the Swift Brion took the flagship and went AWOL.”

  Varean laughed, because how else would he respond to the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in his entire life. A whole flagship going AWOL? With Captain Admiral Graydon behind the decision—?

  Except the doc wasn’t laughing, and the steady stare she returned was too grave. His humor vanished as quickly as it had flared.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She pushed up from the stool, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe this is a conversation we should save for later, when you’re feeling better.”

  “Tell me!” He reared upright, yanking against the restraints, jerking the entire bed.

  When she looked at him this time, her eyes were wide, her expression wary, for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her. Regret jerked his pulse along for a few beats, because he hadn’t meant to scare her.

  “Captain Admiral Graydon became aware of the fact that the Reidar have infiltrated the IPC government and military. In order to protect himself and his crew, he’s taken the flagship somewhere in the galaxy where the IPC can’t reach. And that’s all I’m saying on the subject right now.”

  “It’s more than you should have said, Kira.”

  Varean glanced over to see one of Sherron’s men standing in the doorway, who seemed overly fond of adorning himself with more than a few lethal weapons, like a hooker wearing her sugar daddy’s bling.

  “Callan, I thought you were catching a few hours’ sleep.” The doc turned away from the bed, seeming to make herself busy at a nearby diag-cart.

  “Kind of hard to get any shut-eye with all the yelling going on down here.”

  Her shoulders were tense. “Command Donnelly is understandably concerned about his situation—”

  “Would you stop calling me that?” Varean gave another halfhearted yank at his restraints, wishing for a free arm if only to rub a hand over the tightening muscles in his neck. He sank back against the pillow. “Clearly I can’t be an AF commando anymore, not if it’s true about the aliens secretly taking over the military from the inside.”

  Callan gave a short laugh. “Then what are you, the Easter Bunny?”

  Varean shot a glare across the medbay as the doc turned back to him with a medical scanner in hand.

  “Callan, you know the rules of my medbay. Shut up or put up.”

  “I ain’t never helped patch up another person in my life, so I sure as hell ain’t going to start now.”

  “How altruistic of you,” she muttered, pulling the stool over to sit down closer to him.

  As she shifted nearer, a subtle whiff of a creamy vanilla caressed his senses, gone between one breath and another. But it left an echo of tightening through his body, a heating sentiment completely at odds with the anger he was fighting to control.

  “I was told to comm Rian as soon as you woke. He has questions he wants answered. But you can tell me, if it would be easier. Let me help you.”

  “Help me? If you want to help me, then let me the hell go.”

  “I liked him better when he was unconscious,” Callan mumbled. “Don’t you have some kind of truth serum? Get him to spill his guts faster than a rookie recruit on his first uncontrolled reentry.”

  The doc sighed and sent Callan an impatient glare. “Because I took an oath when I became a doctor, and that included not drugging people just to get them talking.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t some fancy central-systems hospital. Rian gave you a direct order. He’s already pissed about having to land. If you’re not going to comm him, I will.”

  “I’ll comm him in a second. Just give me one minute to make sure he’s stable, or I’ll be finding some laxatives for extra flavoring in your next meal.”

  “All right.” He held up one hand; the other stayed wrapped around the grip of a holstered gun. “I’ll shut up.”

  The doc turned back to him, a beseeching expression on her lovely features. Oh hell. No doubt she knew when she gave people that exact look, they went along with whatever spilled off her honey-poisoned tongue.

  “We landed?” he asked before she could say anything. If he could distract her long enough to work out how to get free of these cuffs and then off the ship, he could start with his disappearing plan.

  “Yesterday. We were being followed. Apparently they’re still searching for us, but Rian is planning on leaving within the hour either way.” No mention of who they were or why the ship had been followed. “Do you mind if I call you Varean?”

  He clenched his jaw, sending her a hard frown instead of answering.

  “Okay, despite the fact you’re glaring daggers at me, I’ll take that as a yes. I’m Kira.” She paused for a short breath, then slowly lowered her hand to cover his. And damn it, why did he have to get that buzz every time she touched him? It was making it harder and harder to remember why he had to resist her. “It might not seem like it, but I only want to help you. Rian has been distracted with keeping us off the IPC’s radar, but I can’t hold him off forever. Eventually, he’s going to want to question you. And if you don’t cooperate, he’ll find some way to force your hand.”

  “Rian can try, but he won’t find me all that accommodating.”

  Kira made a frustrated noise. “What is it with you military guys and your damned supersized egos?”

  Seemed the doc’s gentle bedside manner didn’t go very far. He grinned at her obvious irritation. “Sorry, but since I got forcibly removed from my post three days ago, I’m not feeling all that cooperative. Take me back to the brig, if you want. Hell, Callan over there can go tell Rian to vent me for all I care, but I don’t owe anyone a single fact about myself.”

  Callan pulled the Reidar stunner in a slow, steady movement. “The cap’tin wants answers, and Rian Sherron tends to get what Rian Sherron wants. Maybe another pulse or two from the stunner will help that fact sink in.”

  The doc crossed her arms. “Because threatening him with a weapon is really going to help this situation. Besides, I promised him that no one else would shoot him with one of those things.”

  “Playing nice-nurse obviously isn’t getting you anywhere.”

  Kira added a glare to her hostile stance. “Aside from the fact that I’m a doctor, not a nurse, screw you sideways, Callan.”

  A thread of cynical humor cut through Varean, and any other time he would have laughed at that charming comeback. Except not on the days he was cuffed to a gurney.

  Judging by his frown, Callan didn’t seem overly impressed by her retort. “Comm him now, Kira. That was his order. You know he’ll be more pissed if I have to do it because you wouldn’t.”

  She obviously didn’t move fast enough, because Callan took a step forward and brought up the stunner.

  Varean sent Callan a stay-the-hell-back-asshole glare. If that guy took one more step, they’d find out how this cot would stand up against a pissed-off AF commando. The temptation to let loose the wild, mutated fury within him was getting harder to deny. But he’d never lost control of himself in even the smallest way, and part of him feared what would happen if he did, that he might hurt someone who didn’t deserve to get hurt. Like the doc.

  “I’ll make things simple by stating once
and for all that no matter who asks the questions, I’m not telling you a damned thing.”

  Kira held up her hands in a calming kind of gesture. “Okay, how about we cool down a little. Varean only just woke up. Let’s give him a minute to process.”

  She could give him all the minutes in a year—he still wouldn’t change his mind. But instead of telling her that, he settled for glaring harder at Callan.

  “Fine.” Callan tugged a comm out of his pocket. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Kira got to her feet and hurried over to Callan. “I’ll comm him. But Rian also told me to make sure he was ready to talk. I can convince him. Probably quicker if you’d leave me to it.”

  Callan shook his head. “Sorry, Doc. Now he’s awake, and it’s a question of safety. If there’s even the slightest chance he’s Reidar, I’m not letting him out of my sight.”

  Varean straightened as far as the cuffs would allow, fatigue and ineffectual exasperation cutting his patience to a short end. “Yeah? Going to watch me take a piss in a few minutes? I’m sure that’ll be real entertaining for you.”

  “Get frecked, asshole.” Callan took another menacing step forward.

  “How about you strip off all those weapons and say that to my face when I’m not cuffed down?”

  The man sent him an easy, gloating grin, bringing up the Reidar stunner weapon again to aim at his chest. “Nighty-night, Donnelly. When you wake up in the brig, just holler if you still want that match.”

  Callan’s finger tensed on the trigger as Kira yelled out and started forward. But the explosive, uncontrolled aggression inside him had burst free, and Varean wrapped his hands around the railings of the bed and hooked his feet into the corner bars, then threw all his weight and strength sideways, tipping the whole gurney over.