Girl Gone Nova

by Pauline Baird Jones

  She loathed déjà vu.

  Her brain felt like it had been in a blender, but they were quiet. Blender was better than them. So why did it make her gut kick in fear? Where was she? When was she? Why was she thinking when?

  She sat up. No one shot her. That was good. She felt fine, better than fine physically. Mentally was another story. Why was she in the infirmary? Inside her head it felt like a two-year-old was trying to build a space ship with the little bitty Legos. She swung her legs off the side and had no trouble getting upright or staying there. The cubby for her clothes held ABUs. Why did that feel wrong?

  “Ma’am?”

  Doc turned and found Lieutenant Simmons in the doorway. Her look of patient resignation was familiar but something was different between them. Doc felt it, even as she felt uncertainty about how it should be between them.

  “Lieutenant.” Doc never asked questions she could get other people to ask. If someone knew what you didn’t know, they could lie to you. People lied to her a lot.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed, ma’am.” She bustled in and began ripping the bedding off, in direct contrast to her statement. “How do you feel?”

  With my hands. She’d had that thought before. When had she started doing lame stand-up routines, in or out of her head? “I feel fine.”

  Almost absently she rubbed her ma’rasile spot, drawing Simmons attention to it.

  “That’s a cool tat. Didn’t notice it when they brought you in.”

  “It reacts to my mood,” Doc improvised. “Only shows when I’m happy.”

  She got a skeptical look from Simmons and tried to look happier. Simmons turned back to the bedding.

  “I’ll get Captain Evans. He wanted to know when you woke up.”

  Doc felt her gut jolt. Captain Evans? She’d seen him die when he tried to push the suicide bomber out of the Gadi reception hall, hadn’t she? If that hadn’t happened, what else hadn’t happened? And why did she remember stuff that hadn’t happened? The time freaks said she wouldn’t.

  She shouldn’t remember them either.

  Through the spinning, shifting blocks in her head, she reached out and found the peeps. They’d had their bells rung, too—if they had bells. They’d protected her from whatever the freaks had tried to do, she realized, kept her in the same time slipstream the freaks used to move through time without affecting it. They lied. It was so not a shock. What else had they lied about?

  She looked at her ma’rasile mark again. And why did it itch like crazy? Why was it still there? Did you protect him, too? Where is he? Does he remember me?

  Answers flowed into her head as her link with the peeps was reestablished. They couldn’t reach Hel, couldn’t connect with him, but he must have moved physically closer. They’d been separated. That’s why she’d been unconscious. The peeps had managed to extend the ma’rasile link so they didn’t die, but they hadn’t been able to keep her conscious. Hel had probably lost consciousness, too. Inside her head, she saw the approach, not of nine Gadi ships, but the bulk of their fleet, twenty–five ships, including Hel’s flag ship. Was he in charge or was Glarmere? Was Glarmere a problem in this timeline?

  Time is persistent. That would be comforting if she knew in what direction time wanted to be persistent.

  The Doolittle was on high alert, though Doc couldn’t tell from the data stream if they expected to be attacked or were just being careful. The kind of data she needed was inside the General’s head, not in the computers or on the HUDs. And she had no idea what her relationship with him was like in this altered timeline.

  “Doctor Clementyne?”

  Doc switched her view from internal to external. It was Captain Evans, and he was alive and well. Did that mean there’d been no reception on the Gadi home world or just no bomb? Had she changed things or had the time freaks?

  “Captain.” Doc stayed in neutral. It was the only place she knew to be. Because the peeps had protected her, she hadn’t lived this Doc’s life for the last two years. She wasn’t complaining at what she hadn’t lost, but it did leave her with a huge information deficit. If the bombing hadn’t happened, then she hadn’t helped out here and didn’t know these people. She’d never met Hel. If he didn’t remember her, that could be interesting.

  “How do you feel?” He projected calm competence as he pulled off his stethoscope and listened to her heart.

  “I’m fine.” What was she supposed to feel?

  He eased back, studying her with a look she’d used herself. There was a pause, possibly for question or questions from her, but she didn’t know what to ask.

  “You’re a medical doctor, so I won’t bravo sierra you. I have no clue why you collapsed or why you woke up. Do you remember what happened?”

  “No.” It was a form of the truth. What she didn’t know could fill a novel. What she did know was the stuff of fiction now. She was married to a man she’d never met. Okay, she didn’t know they’d never met. The reception could have happened, but there was no record of the trip or transport in the ship’s logs. “How long have I been…here?” She’d planned to say “unconscious” but what if she hadn’t been out the whole time?

  “Five days.”

  She was into the ship’s systems, so she knew the date. In the other timeline, she’d been Conan’s prisoner right now. So that hadn’t happened either.

  “Oh.”

  “I understand you transported down to the outpost to do some research and collapsed.” His gaze turned keen. “You don’t remember any of it?”

  “I remember transporting to the outpost.” This was the truth.

  He sighed. “We could run some more tests, but they’ve all been negative. Have no reason to think that’s going to change.”

  “You’re releasing me?” Doc let a little hope creep into her voice. Normal people were always happy to get out of the infirmary.

  “If you promise to let me know if you feel faint again.”

  “I promise.” If Hel kept heading toward her, she should be fine—unless they went to war with the Gadi and the Doolittle left the galaxy. That would kill them both. If he still had his mark. He had to, didn’t he, if she did? She needed to know how bad things were, and she wasn’t sure she had the access to find out. Her peeps were on all of her questions, they were tapping into the General’s quarters, ready room and communications, but she’d rather go through the data when she was alone. If things were as messed up as she feared they were, she needed privacy to cuss.

  “I’ve informed the General you’re conscious. He’d like to see you, if you feel up to it.”

  That was oddly polite. Just who or what did the General think she was? And what mission objective had brought her to this galaxy?

  Doc trotted out her bravo sierra smile. She’d like to know more before she met him, but he was the General. No matter how politely couched, the request was still an order. “I’d like to shower first.”

  “I don’t think he’ll mind.” He smiled. It was a nice smile.

  When he left the room, Doc took a cautious sniff of one arm pit. No, the General wouldn’t mind the time for a shower.

  Doc didn’t rush her ablutions, even if she only got two minutes of water from the head. It was disconcerting to find her hair long again. Morticia’s return. It was a time anomaly her peeps couldn’t explain. Someone had left clean drawers with her ABUs. She wondered if she’d been armed with her usual stuff when they found her and what they’d done with it if she had. It was hard not to feel naked, despite the clothes. She was still lethal, with or without weapons, but Doc preferred to be over armed whenever possible.

  While she dressed, her mind and her peeps went over priorities and plans. First up, she needed to talk to Hel. He should be on his ship. She’d been returned to her ship so he probably had, too. Strong probability Glarmere had used his collapse to take control of the fleet. Based on scan data, the fleet had started heading toward Kikk five days ago.

  So how did she get to Hel?

  S
he could steal a ship with a phase cloak and board the flagship.

  That left her with a pissed-off General at her back. And a huge black mark on her record. She wasn’t sure which bothered her more. In the other timeline, she’d forged an uneasy something with the General. She didn’t want to lose that, but she’d die if she got yanked out of the galaxy. That would end the uneasy something, too. Best case would be to get him on board with her talking to Hel. Sara had told him all her secrets, and she’d had some seriously freaky secrets. He’d kept her secrets and then some. He was an honorable man. He knew when to talk and when to keep quiet. It went against her grain to talk, to ask for help, to need help, but her time in the other timeline—this line of thought made her eye twitch—had knocked her pride around a bit. She’d needed a lot of help and both Hel and the General had delivered it.

  There was risk. The General she’d known had been shaped by the two years that had been erased. This one had lived a different two years, but both of them had known Sara Donovan. That hadn’t been wiped out by the reset.

  The law of unintended consequences? Or time having a laugh at her expense?

  It was possible that her leaving those people behind had impacted this future in unexpected ways, just as she’d warned the General. Was it possible that concern for his lost people had made the General and their diplomats more conciliatory toward the Gadi in the previous time line? That by changing the stakes, she’d changed the dynamic of their interaction with them now?

  There was no sign of any back door manipulation and scheming on the Doolittle. Neil Caldwell, the man who’d been implicated in the bombing of the Gadi reception, wasn’t even on the ship. Based on the peeps delving into the diplomatic data, the relationship with the Gadi had been pretty much static since the end of the battle: locked in a state of mutual distrust and steadily escalating posturing. What intelligence info she could tap into indicated increasing pressure for the Gadi to kick them off the Kikk outpost and out of the galaxy. Why they hadn’t done it sooner could only be conjectured. No need to wonder why the expedition didn’t want to go. Even with most of the tech locked, there was still some cool stuff to study on Kikk.

  In this time line, was Hel still waiting to see if the Key would return on the Doolittle? If he believed the Key would never return, or that the expedition was close to figuring out the tech, he’d act. He had no reason not to and lots of reasons to go for it. Hel didn’t, couldn’t know he was a Garradian Key, though without talking to him, she didn’t know how to use that information. Or how much to share with the General. His first reaction would be to keep Hel as far away from the outpost as possible. Or get the foxtrot out of the galaxy.

  The other question she had, could she access the outpost and unlock it, since her DNA had been altered? Her peeps knew the reset had reset the locks down there. They didn’t know what she could or couldn’t do, just that the Key DNA string was still there.

  If she could unlock the rest of the tech and the wrong people found it out, she’d be as at risk of exploitation as the original Key had been. And even if this Hel didn’t know her, it still felt like a betrayal. She’d promised him he’d have a stake in the outpost. And she wasn’t sure the tech would be enough to stop a war with the Gadi or be enough protection against twenty-five ships.

  And then there was the risk of dying if she and Hel got too far apart or his enemies managed to kill him. Or if her people thought she was crazy and sent her home. Death was always on the table during her ops, but this one had a lot of death running through it. Felt like the Grim Reaper was coming at her from every direction.

  The irony was, she didn’t want to live without Hel in her life, but she didn’t want him to stop living when she did. He had two sons who needed their father. Two sons who didn’t remember her.

  They like you.

  She’d been a mom, step-mom, for a few hours. She’d been desired by a man who’d seen past her scary surface, who’d found a person inside her she didn’t know was there. Doc liked that person, wanted to be that person.

  She loved him.

  She might not get him.

  Her chin lifted. She did what she had to. She could do it again. And when she was done, she’d figure out how to go on living.

  Despite her worries and wrapped in all-she-didn’t-know concerns, Doc was glad to head out of the infirmary. She passed by an open door. Stopped. And backtracked.

  This room was a larger treatment room with several exam tables lined up in rows. Several people sat or lay on the tables, but only one caught her attention.

  Conan.

  Time is persistent.

  What was he doing on the Doolittle?

  His gaze followed one female, switched to another, his look assessing.

  He was girl hunting in this reality, too? Or maybe it was just the persistence of Conan and not time? Was he tagging women on this ship?

  The peeps brought back a resounding yes. He’d managed to touch about five women, including Simmons. It shouldn’t have been a shock to realize Doc was still tagged. How did he plan to get them off the ship? Could he transport them through their shields? The peeps had no answer for that question.

  As if he felt her gaze, he turned and pinged on her. His gaze flicked up and down before returning to her face. Doc didn’t let recognition show, but it didn’t matter. She saw it in his face, in his eyes. If something had to be the same between the two timelines, this wouldn’t have been the one she’d have chosen.

  While Doc added him to her list of concerns, he got up, cradling one hand against his chest, and strode toward her. That was way too familiar. She had to look up when he stopped in front of her, but it didn’t intimidate her. She could kick his ass in this timeline, too, if she had to. Her chin lifted, her expression locked in calm and bland.

  “I am Vidor Shan.” He held out his hand.

  Cringing inside, Doc let him take hers, knew the moment the new round of compound hit her system. It went against the grain to offer even a version of her name to him.

  “Doctor Clementyne.”

  A tagged nurse hove into view on his six. “He’s waiting to see one of the doctors, ma’am. A laceration on his hand.”

  Doc made the mental shift to physician. “I’m a physician, Lieutenant. I can take a look, if everyone else is busy.”

  The nurse looked doubtful. Doc handed the girl her ID tag.

  “You can scan my ID and verify my credentials.” She knew Conan hadn’t stopped looking at her during her exchange with the nurse. She made herself look at him. “If you’ll go back to your station I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  He didn’t move. What a shock.

  “I wish you to care for my injury.”

  A familiar headache started behind her eyes. A ton of responses trooped through her mind, but all of them reflected her previous knowledge of him, their previous interaction.

  “If you don’t go back to your station, I’m going to leave.” She was keeping the General waiting and pissing him off even more. Of the two, the General had more power to make her life miserable. The steely determination in her voice must have got through his Cro-mag skull. He did as she asked, though he kept her in his sights the whole way. She went to the nurse’s station, where the gal was scanning her ID.

  “What’s Con—his story?”

  The nurse looked a bit startled, but at least she didn’t trot out any privacy crap.

  “Just a trader who cut his hand. Asked for medical assistance.” She snuck a peek over her shoulder at him. “He’s pretty hot, isn’t he?”

  Doc managed a bland smile. “Yeah.” She’d known he’d do well around Earth women. Nice to be right about something.

  The girl looked a bit surprised when Doc’s credentials popped up on her screen.

  “It’s nice of you to help out, ma’am.” Questions cart wheeled through her eyes, but didn’t come out her mouth. Maybe she was too happy for the help to risk ruining it.

  Doc headed for Conan, the nurse on her
six. She pulled on gloves while her assistant exposed the injury. Self-inflicted just like last time. She was so tempted to order some invasive tests, but her peeps were bringing her disturbing news about the changes in his ships technology—though the numbers were the same, same in ships and guys. No girl brides this time though. Probably not a good idea to rattle his cage when he had the power to blow them out of the sky. So the automation factor hadn’t changed. But their targets had. They weren’t after the outposts this time. All sixteen ships were strategically ringing Kikk. Reminded her of when they had her ringed on Feldstar. Doc had a sense of them hanging back, perhaps waiting until the expedition had duked it out with the Gadi? It’s what she’d do, and had in similar—though on smaller scale—situations.

  The Gadi would win, that was a given, but they’d be weakened for when the stronger ships moved in. Conan had the fire power, but the Gadi had more ships.

  And she had a bargaining chip to use with the General and Hel.

  Just for that, she’d forgo ordering Conan those tests.

  She realized Conan and the nurse were chatting. Small talk. The tension in Conan’s arm and hand eased, though Doc felt his pulse sputter when she asked a question he didn’t like. Wow, she’d always thought small talk was a necessary evil, something to get over with, but this was enlightening. It was an interrogation without drugs, the big light or the water board.

  When they finished, Doc thanked the nurse and let her remove the debris and leave before she looked at Conan, this time looking for differences. There weren’t many. Some small things in his clothing and less seething frustration in his manner. When Doc was sure the nurse was out of earshot, she said, “She was flirting with you, you know.”

  His brows arched. “Flirting?”

  “Indicating interest in you as a man. She liked you.”

  His gaze tracked her way for several seconds, then returned to Doc.

  “This flirting is how your people show attraction?”

  Doc half-nodded, half-shrugged.

  “Is this how you indicate interest?”

  “No.” It was the truth. She had no clue how to flirt. She took a fake look at her watch. “And I’m late for an appointment.”