by Lyn Gala
Da’shay looked over. “I said ‘cupcake’.” She tilted her head as if she was listening to something, but there wasn’t anyone talking.
“See?” Tom turned on Ramsay and pointed at her. “She’s nuts. And she knew there was a bomb there, and she ain’t exactly reliable. We should leave her behind next time.”
“Seems like you shouldn’t be taking shots at other people’s reliability, Tom.” Ramsay got quiet. “Actually, seems like I shouldn’t either, but that would be why I don’t do it.” Ramsay gave him a stern look and Tom could feel the danger. He knew the captain was mad at him, but this time, Tom was right. He wasn’t usually, but Da’shay was dangerous and the captain was ignoring that.
“I’m reliable enough. You never had cause to doubt that I had your back,” Tom pointed out. “And I figure that gives me a right to point out that I do have cause to worry about my back.”
Ramsay was visibly taken back and he seemed to think that over. “Another captain looking at your records might decide you were more of a danger to a ship than Da’shay over there, but I chose you, just like I chose Da’shay. My ship, my instincts, my rules.”
Tom frowned. “You chose her?” Tom could understand if the captain had been ordered to take Da’shay in, but picking her didn’t make much sense. Plenty of genta had jobs, skills—but Da’shay was so blessed weird she wasn’t the sort to hold a job. She didn’t do any duties on a regular basis. And Ramsay had picked her?
Ramsay spent a lot of time looking at Tom as if he was trying to figure something out. “I picked her, Tom. Same as I picked you when I saw your record. Hell, I had to talk her into joining us.”
“Crew is always crew,” Da’shay said solemnly. “Until they fuck up.”
Tom glared at her. “Not telling us about that bomb is fucking up.”
Ramsay sighed and ran a hand across his face. “You are stubborn as a rutting bull, aren’t you? Well let me make this real simple, Tom. She’s crew. You back off or I’m going to start thinking you don’t trust me enough to follow orders, and that’s one place you don’t want me to go.”
In the face of their sudden alliance, Tom felt a helpless rage well up. Six years he’d followed Ramsay, but the man wasn’t listening to anything he said. Da’shay turned away from Ramsay and studied Tom.
Ramsay turned toward Da’shay. “Hey, your hair is growing back in nice, Da’shay.” Ramsay walked over to the still-open door and shouted in. “Becca, you coming out? I don’t really want the ship open if you’re not at the hatch.”
Becca appeared at the opening. “Sorry about that. I grabbed the first shirt I found when Tom bellowed and it wasn’t exactly clean. I had to change. So, are we going somewhere?” She sat down in the hatch and dangled her legs out the door. Tom could feel his jaw getting sore from clenching it.
That was a perfect chance to offer to lift her down instead of waiting for the dock ramp to extend. Instead of Tom having that chance, Ramsay was standing right there, holding his arms out for Becca. His hands slid over her rounded waist and then he lifted her to the ground. She landed with a little bounce and smiled at Ramsay. As much as Tom respected Ramsay, he’d never hated him quite so much. And then there was Da’shay. If she hadn’t jumped out and startled him, he wouldn’t have made such a mess out of things.
He glanced over and Da’shay was still staring at him oddly. “Force the follicle through telogen phase into the anagen phase so that dermal papilla produce keratin,” Da’shay proclaimed grandly.
“What?” Ramsay asked. At least that saved Tom from asking the same damn question.
“Hair, Captain,” Becca said with a smile. She held her arm out and Da’shay slid closer until the two women could lock arms. “She’s talking about regrowing hair. Are you going to keep it curly like that? It looks really pretty.” Tom didn’t know genta could control shit like that—then again, he hadn’t ever cared.
“Disulfide bonds,” Da’shay offered. It sounded like gobbledygook to Tom, but Becca smiled wider.
“It looks nice,” she said firmly. “Doesn’t it look nice?” Becca looked from Ramsay to Tom and back.
“Looks fine,” Ramsay said a little helplessly. “I’ve got reports to write.”
“Oh, Captain! Tom was just saying that we should do things as crew, and Eli isn’t here and now you’re talking about leaving.” She looked up at him with this pleading expression that Tom figured he’d cut off a finger to get directed his way. Even worse, the look was working on Ramsay. He looked around as if he was searching for someone to save him, but he didn’t go walking off, which is what Tom wanted.
“Are we going to go to that junkyard you like?” Tom asked. Maybe if the captain knew Becca wanted some hard labor done, that would scare him off. Tom figured he could outshine Ramsay about any day of the week when it came to lifting something big and heavy. It was about the only area where he could outshine the captain other than shooting.
“Junkyard?” Ramsay looked at Becca, and now she was studying the ground, her face turning color. She was fair, about as fair as a person could get seeing as how she sat inside all day, and now Tom could see the pink rise to her cheeks. Only, Tom wasn’t sure why she was blushing.
“A shiny new spider to scamper across the skies,” Da’shay offered.
“Not to sound under-educated, but…what?” Ramsay asked again.
“I’m building a ship,” Becca said softly. “I mean, I’m not going to finish for years and years, and maybe never because a quantum string stabilizer is really expensive. I thought of maybe doing an atmosphere jumper, but I’m not really good at flying in air. It’s like walking in soup. Really thick soup. The whole thing is probably stupid.”
“Nothing you do is stupid,” Tom interrupted. The smile Becca gave him in return made him forget how frustrated he was. “You’re about the smartest person I know.”
“Thank you, Tom.” She practically preened like the roosters on the farm where Tom had grown up. “That means a lot. And if I ever finish my ship, you will be the first one to get a ride.”
Tom smiled. “Ain’t going to turn that down. Only maybe I should do the landing.” Tom watched as all Becca’s joy evaporated. He opened his mouth, desperate to take the words back, but he couldn’t. They were out there and nothing he did would erase them. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he hurried to add. “It’s just that I’m a bit nervous after—” Tom stopped when he caught sight of the glare Ramsay was giving him. He changed tactics again. “It wasn’t your fault that we all about got blown up when you were flying.” Becca lost the last of the color in her face and Tom could feel a quiet, desperate panic circling in his stomach. “That was Da’shay’s fault.”
“Tom!” Ramsay snapped. Instead of looking any happier, Becca was looking at Tom as if he were a bug on the bottom of her shoe, and only Da’shay was still smiling at him.
“That wasn’t Da’shay’s fault. Just because she was having trouble explaining what was in the crate doesn’t mean that she wasn’t trying to help. She was right there with the crate, so don’t you go talking about her like she set the bomb and then ran away.” Becca was a good foot shorter than Tom, but she moved in on him, poking her finger into his stomach with a fury that Tom hadn’t seen her show before.
“I never said she set the bomb. Captain, tell her I never said that,” Tom appealed to Ramsay.
“Becca,” Ramsay said with a sigh.
“Captain, he’s saying those things about Da’shay. She’s never done anything but try to be our friend, and sometimes she doesn’t explain things well, but she got blown up worse than any of us.”
Tom opened his mouth to tell them what else Da’shay had been up to, but the little man had wiped the display and Tom didn’t have any proof about what he saw. Before, maybe he would’ve taken a risk, but Ramsay wasn’t reacting the way Tom expected. He was taking Da’shay’s side, both him and Becca were.
Ramsay stepped forward, looking a little alarmed, but Tom wasn’t sure whether he wanted
to protect him or Becca. “Becca, maybe a crew day out isn’t the best idea. You and Da’shay should go somewhere nice, somewhere that you can get pampered a bit because you know our next assignment is going to come in quick.”
Tom watched the emotions slip across Becca’s face. She was mad at Tom and he wanted a chance to explain, but even if she gave him that chance, what was he supposed to say? Everything he said was true. It wasn’t his fault that the idea of Becca behind the ship’s controls made his skin crawl. The surgeons had to use stem cells to accelerate the growth of a new ball joint in his hip, so he figured he had a right to feel a little touchy on the subject. That wasn’t his fault any more than it was his fault that Da’shay had left them to get dead. But Becca clearly didn’t agree.
Feeling helpless, Tom watched as Becca’s anger slowly faded and she started smiling again. She was a cheerful woman, but now her smile was for Da’shay. “We could go to that hot springs…the one that people say makes women get pregnant.”
“Sperm gets women pregnant,” Da’shay answered, her gaze still focused on Tom.
“Yep, but we can pretend and talk about which man we would choose.”
Tom wondered if he looked as horrified as Ramsay did at that thought.
“I would pick Paulou Giocondo,” Da’shay said without even batting an eye. Then again, she was part genta, so Tom wasn’t all that surprised that she’d want an Olympic athlete. Genta had a preference for that sort. “Or Tom,” Da’shay added.
Tom was so shocked that he couldn’t even get the words out of his brain and into his mouth. It was as though they were stuck somewhere in the middle.
“Tom?” Ramsay’s eyes went wide and then laughter erupted from him. Curling his hands into fists, Tom looked from Ramsay to Becca, who looked about ready to choke, to Da’shay, who was watching him with the same calm expression. A tech on the second level looked around the edge of the blast wall to see what was so damn amusing and Tom could feel his insides turn to rough, jagged shards of ice.
“I’d cut off my prick before I’d let you touch it,” Tom growled.
Da’shay frowned. “Sperm is produced in testicles.”
“Yeah, Tom. You cut your prick off and she can still get what she wants.” Ramsay finally got himself under control enough that he was only chuckling. Walking over, he slapped Tom on the arm. “Oh cheer up. Lots of men would love to catch a genta’s eye. You notice she isn’t setting her sights on me.”
“Well I ain’t one of those fools that actually want some alien to take some sort of freaky interest in them.” Tom pointed a finger at Da’shay, his right hand on the butt of his gun. “You keep clear of me or I’ll put a bullet in your brain stem.”
“Tom!” All the laughter vanished from Ramsay’s voice as he stepped between them. Tom took a step back and looked at all three. He didn’t know how she’d done it, but Da’shay had twisted both of them around until they were willing to back her. Six years he’d been flying on the Kratos—and still they were siding with her. “That’s enough,” Ramsay said firmly.
Tom looked at Da’shay. She was still gazing calmly back at him, no sadistic glee at having gotten her way, just that same damn alien blankness. And Becca. Tom couldn’t hardly look at her. She was staring at him with this horror that made him want to puke, and the whole time she was clinging to the arm of a monster who had not only killed but cut up a whole smuggler crew. Those weren’t small crews what with all the need to care for the slaves so they weren’t dead before getting delivered. But she’d slaughtered every single one, and now she was standing there behind Ramsay with Becca hanging on her as if she were some school chum. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right and Tom didn’t know how to fix any of it.
“She’s a killer,” he blurted.
Ramsay crossed his arms. “I think we’d better check the thruster seals while we have the chance. We’re looking at a long-term assignment on a part of the map where we aren’t going to find convenient shipyards. Tom, I want a full report by tomorrow morning, oh-six-hundred.”
“But…” Clenching his jaw, Tom looked at the captain.
“You got that?” Ramsay demanded, making it perfectly clear that he was Tom’s captain, and he wasn’t going to listen to any more. If Tom had the pictures, maybe he could have reached Ramsay, but right now the captain was pissed as hell and not about to back down.
“Yes sir,” Tom agreed since he couldn’t do much else. Checking seals was back breaking work. He figured with the hip slowing him down, he’d be lucky to get two or three hours sleep if he wanted to meet Ramsay’s deadline.
Becca looked at him with wide eyes and Tom’s body sagged. Hell, maybe it was better. He sure didn’t know what he was doing with Becca and at least he couldn’t fuck anything up if he was working all night. “I’ll get right on it,” Tom said. He went over to the control panel and hit the button for the dock ramp. The floor planks started to rise up and Tom didn’t even wait until they locked in place before he headed for the open hatch. He needed to change and get equipment if he wanted to do the job right.
Footsteps followed him, but Tom ignored them. Crew quarters were small but private, and Tom punched in his personal code outside his assigned room.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” Ramsay was standing right behind him, but Tom shrugged and headed into his quarters. One thing he liked about the Kratos—everyone considered private quarters sacred. Inside, Tom sat on the edge of his bunk and stared at his wall. He had four sniper rifles and an old pulse gun hung there. His palms itched. If someone would ask him to do something he fucking understood, Tom would be happy as a pig in the mushrooms. But Ramsay wanted him to ignore the fact that Da’shay was dangerous and that little man wanted him to help spy on crew and Becca…well, he had no idea what she wanted. She’d been all smiles every time he showed up in the engine room, but today had not been a success.
Tom dropped his head into his hands. Who the hell knew what Becca expected? She was going to the hot springs with Da’shay to talk about getting pregnant. Tom never could have guessed that. Instead, he was offering to take her for a nice, romantic trip to the junkyard.
He really was a fuck up.
Well, like his ma always told him, spilled milk stayed spilled, but if you didn’t clean it up, it turned into sour spilled milk. Tom pulled off his shirt. It was his best one and he didn’t want to tear it on some loose panel in the thrusters. A corporal’s salary wasn’t so grand that he could afford to ruin his shit.
“You planning on coming out?” Ramsay called from the corridor.
“Soon as I change, yeah,” Tom answered. Moving faster, he pulled out work clothes and stowed his others away. When he pulled his pants off, he retrieved the silver disk, fingering the smooth edges. He’d sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to bring this on the Kratos, that he’d keep it in an electronic safe, but here he was. Technically the thing shouldn’t be able to transmit until it threw out threadlike legs that acted like transmitters, but Tom could imagine a way to jury-rig the thing, so he figured others could too. There was a chance that someone on the other end had heard the crew rip him a new asshole. Tom shoved the tiny disk into the pocket of his work pants.
Tom hit the panel and his door opened. Ramsay was still standing there, but Tom ignored him as he headed for the equipment locker. Ramsay was probably right. It took a shipyard to get the calibrations exactly right on thruster seals and most ships didn’t want them disassembled if they were in hostile territory.
“You plan to talk to me about this?” Ramsay asked, still following. “You’re not acting like yourself, Tom, and I’m finding it a little disconcerting. When you threaten to shoot people, you do have a bad habit of following through on that threat.”
Tom stopped outside the equipment locker. “I had my say. I don’t want Da’shay on the ship. I don’t trust her and I don’t want her thinking about me. But I won’t shoot her unless she tries doing something. And if she does try something…” Tom let his voice dr
ift off.
“I don’t think any of us get a choice about what someone else is thinking,” Ramsay said slowly. “But I told her that she couldn’t go collecting anything or taking what you weren’t offering.”
Tom closed his eyes as anger swept through him. “Cap, I don’t need you to fight my battles.”
“And I don’t need you trying to shoot a genta. In case you ain’t noticed, Tom, Da’shay is stronger than both of us put together. I’m not sure a bullet would stop her—not unless you managed to get a direct hit on the brain stem first shot.”
Leaning against the mesh of the equipment locker, Tom thought about those images of Da’shay standing in a bullet-riddled uniform, her whole body covered in blood. One picture perfectly captured a drop of blood sliding off the end of her black braid. If he was going to take a shot, he’d get the stem the first time.
“Six years, Tom,” Ramsay said slowly. “I figure after six years I know you about as well as anyone, and I know you don’t always use a whole lot of sense when you feel threatened. I’d rather you transfer out than have you do something terminally stupid, but there aren’t too many captains who would have you with your record.”
“None, you mean,” Tom said. Reaching in, he pulled out a scanner.
“Maybe not,” Ramsay agreed. “That means you’d lose your pension, your benefits and the protection being in the Corps has offered you. I suspect that if you weren’t on this side of the law, you would have been in prison long ago.”
After flipping the scanner on, Tom ran through the settings. Focusing on the task kept him from strangling the captain with his bare hands. “Most likely,” Tom finally answered. His stepfather had certainly told him that often enough, so it’d be ironic if Tom ended up making the old man’s prediction come true after so many years. “Permission to leave so I can get my work done, sir?”
Ramsay moved so that he was actually blocking Tom’s exit. “What has you convinced that Da’shay is so dangerous?”