Degrees of Wrong

  against him, I wondered if the dock wouldn’t have been a softer landing.

  Everything hiding under his shirt was solid, hard, planed. I tried to convince

  myself that the heat ripping through me was just from embarrassment. But

  myself didn’t believe it.

  Gentler than I expected given the circumstances, he pried me from his chest

  and peered down at me, his deep brown eyes smoldering in what looked like

  disbelief. You’d think he’d be used to women throwing themselves into his arms. He cleared his throat. “What is your name, cadet?”

  That’s a great question. Pretty Princess leaned closer, now more curious than ever. The abused ranks behind us grew statuesque. Too bad concentration

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  couldn’t be corralled—I would have borrowed enough from our audience to at

  least remember my name. So far though, only four-letter words came to mind.

  Then I understood the problem—he never let go of me. His hands on my

  shoulders, holding me close enough to count his eyelashes, were robbing me of

  sense. That, and the way his intense gaze seemed to be questioning me, asking

  for more than my name.

  Taking my chances with the dock, I stepped away from him and reclaimed

  my shoulders, tucking my laptop behind me. Even the tropical breeze felt cool

  where he’d touched. He blinked, as if realizing where he was—and who he was.

  I wasn’t naïve enough to believe I’d had the same stupefying effect on him. He

  was probably perplexed that the UN would recruit someone clumsier than an ox

  on stilts.

  As the heat from his touch seeped away, my memory seeped back, like a

  magic potion was wearing off. “Elyse Morgan,” I said, as if I hadn’t been about to assault the lieutenant with a barrage of obscenities. As if I didn’t just leave part of my DNA on Captain’s uniform. As if I had known my name the whole time.

  Enlightenment softened Captain’s face as he cleared his throat again. I

  remembered that Ralph had said he was aware I’d be boarding. Finally, a reprieve from the lunacy. But my reprieve seemed to slither from my grasp as Captain frowned, all traces of disorientation vanishing like a doused fire.

  “Well, Cadet Morgan, I am Captain Nicoli Marek. I’m sure Lt. Frank Horan

  has already made his introductions.” He was polite, but nothing more. Well, he

  was irritated. “And you have interrupted the peace and unity of my vessel

  without even stepping foot on it.”

  I’m sure my mouth gaped open, but I couldn’t bring myself to close it once it

  came unhinged at the corners.

  “I cannot tolerate insubordination on my ship,” he continued.

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  The rage rekindled in my stomach and my eyes narrowed at the exquisite

  being that was Captain Marek. “Perhaps I should leave,” I offered, acid

  saturating my tone.

  His eyes narrowed too. “That will not be necessary. Lt. Horan is capable of

  administering appropriate discipline.”

  Lt. Horan smiled. I stifled a reflexive urge to choke him.

  “I was told to ask for Dr. Folsom as soon as I arrived,” I ground out.

  “Dr. Folsom has not yet boarded the ship. We’ll be picking her up soon.”

  “I was also told you knew I was coming.”

  “I am aware of all new cadets boarding the Bellator.”

  I was going to scalp Geoffrey, I decided. After I strangled the life from Lt.

  Horan. But I needed to check his blood pressure first, because medically, that

  was a concern.

  “Lieutenant, continue as you see fit,” Captain Marek ordered. He turned his

  gaze to me, and despite my intense dislike for this man, my heart fluttered a tiny bit when I glanced at his mouth on accident. “Cadet Morgan, you report to Lt.

  Horan. You are to obey him, unconditionally.”

  He turned and walked away amid a line of saluting cadets. I wished I had

  something to throw. I was almost mad enough for a hand gesture—maybe two.

  I whirled around, back to Lt. Horan’s unmistakably triumphant grin. He

  ripped the laptop from my grasp, handing it to Little-Man. “See you on board,

  twerp.” He winked at me. “I have a special treat for you.” Turning to the line of obedient cadets, he shouted, “Man the pods and move out.”

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  Chapter Three

  What I thought was the end of the line was actually the front.

  I peered over the edge of the dock at the transport pod. It was a small round

  vessel, painted black—of course—in stark contrast to the glistening emerald

  crests keeping it afloat. The open top revealed three rows of bench seats big

  enough for at least nine passengers.

  The lump in my throat grew exponentially as the conductor jumped in and

  held out his hand to lower me into the craft. Struggling to establish footing in the pod, I realized it wasn’t actually moving with the tumult of the sea. It must have some sort of complex technology keeping it immobile, even in the onslaught of

  morning tide. Then I wondered if it was advanced indeed, or just further

  evidence of my ignorance.

  The lump was now choking size.

  Ebony tossed me a charitable smile as I made quick work of strapping in,

  cinching the belt to a life-saving tight. These pods must have been for short-

  distance travel only. Any length of time spent on this hard rubber bench would

  numb my lower extremities into uselessness.

  Ebony waited until I could breathe again before she spoke. “Is this your first

  time in a pod?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “It’ll be okay.” She patted my hand.

  After our pod reached full capacity, the conductor took his seat in front of a

  buffet of buttons spanning a wide touch screen. He let his finger wander over the Anna Scarlett

  control panel as if it were a menu and he were choosing the best wine to

  accompany the meal. His selection started the craft, its loud thrumming

  overtaking the peaceful slosh of the waves.

  “The shield will come over us next,” Ebony said.

  As though her voice commanded it, the glass shield eased over our heads

  and hissed, locking into place in the front of the pod, enclosing us into a bubble.

  The vehicle’s hum grew high-pitched, and we began our descent into the ocean.

  I watched in terror as the water crept higher, and unreasonable panic played

  havoc with my breathing. As the pod submerged, the high-pitch thrumming all

  but disappeared, and we took in the view in silence. The glass made the water

  even clearer, revealing an established, thriving marine community. To the left

  and right, as far as the eye could see, the underwater coastline played host to its masses. Schools of fish darted around in an array of color, and crabs, large and

  tiny, skirmished around in pursuit of them. A small, lone shark regarded us with

  curiosity, pacing back and forth along the bottom, but keeping his distance. I

  wondered if we’d interrupted his morning hunt.

  The pod crept deeper and deeper into the vastness following the slant of the

  sea floor, and as the brilliance of the sun faded, the inside of the vessel grew

  darker. Fewer and larger fish dominated the scenery now, and the dim light

  shimmered silver on their bodies. The mud floor seemed bereft of life, with ther />
  exception of an occasional crab or bottom-feeding fish.

  In the distance, the outline of something large and unmoving sat on the

  bottom, and I wondered with a flush of excitement if it was an old shipwreck. I

  imagined where the mast would have been, and thought I saw the silhouette of

  centuries’-old cannons. Although it was my imagination running wild, this was a

  welcome diversion.

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  A soft light beneath our benches illuminated the cabin, and the conductor

  enlisted a spotlight to help him navigate the sea floor. The light wandered to and fro in careful vigilance in front of us.

  I glanced around the cabin, gauging each person’s expression against my

  own inner turmoil. There were five men and three women, and none of them

  appeared to be as mortified as me. Of course, none of them had sassed the

  captain of the ship—or head-butted him, for that matter. And probably none of

  them had Lt. Horan and his “special treat” waiting for them when they boarded.

  If I had to guess, I’d estimate a good hundred percent of them had breakfast too.

  Which explained why they all seemed content to be traveling toward a warship.

  Two men up front conversed too low for me to hear. Two women pointed

  out to sea, chattering to each other in a language I didn’t understand. I looked

  past them into the blackness but saw nothing of interest.

  Ebony stared ahead completely engrossed, so I studied her without fear of

  being noticed. Her straight, almost-white hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her bangs pointed down to her large blue eyes. The dark of the cabin accentuated her

  pale skin.

  Mid assessment, she turned in my direction, startling and embarrassing me.

  Eyeballing me like a watchful mother, she seemed to ascertain I’d calmed

  down—somewhat. “My name is Ebony,” she said.

  It seemed like a moot point to tell her I already knew her name, that it was

  partly the reason a certain cleft-chinned princess had my father’s laptop. But

  apparently not everyone present knew her name. The conversation up front

  stopped short as the tension of eavesdropping saturated the air.

  She shrugged in either oblivion or apathy—I couldn’t tell which. “My

  mother was mistaken as to the time of conception and had already signed the birth certificate before the cesarean section. She was as surprised as anyone.”

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  I heard a few hushed snickers but kept my eyes focused on hers—it was my

  duty not to laugh, since it was me she’d addressed. Then she laughed. “I thought for sure that’d get a rise out of you. But you’re all somber and serious, like

  you’ve been kidnapped.”

  I sighed with the irony.

  “Are—are you okay?” she asked. I realized I hadn’t spoken a solitary word

  since I’d left the dock. Judging by the amount of trouble I was already in, it

  seemed like a good game plan.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a new recruit?”

  “Yes.”

  Ebony had a gift for asking redundant questions. She’d witnessed my

  confrontation with Captain Marek firsthand—she could already see that protocol

  wasn’t my specialty.

  “Do you want me to stop asking you questions?”

  “No.” Yes.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Elyse.” No doubt she knew this already. No doubt all these eavesdroppers

  knew it. Scrambling for a subject other than me, I took a stab at redundant

  questions myself. “So, you weren’t kidding then? Ebony is your real name?”

  “Yes it really is.” She laughed. “And that’s the real story. It’s fun to make up

  different explanations, though. You’d be surprised what people will believe. The

  albino story is my favorite.”

  I liked Ebony Grace. Even if her first name defined irony, her last name

  defined her personality. Composed, hospitable, pleasant—qualities I wished

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  were contagious. Hopefully I’d have the opportunity to get to know her better

  once we boarded the Bellator. The Bellator. The lump returned to my throat when I thought of the name of my new home.

  Ebony was distracted again, struggling to sit straighter to see over the heads

  in front of us. “I think we’re almost there.”

  I tried to peer ahead as well, but I’d secured my seat belt a little more

  responsibly and couldn’t rise up at all. I leaned to the side, looking past the

  conductor to the illuminated, muddy bottom. The sea floor ahead disappeared,

  dropping off a cliff into a darker void. I fought back the unreasonable fear that we would plummet to our deaths.

  This is just a shelf on the ocean floor, I told myself as we approached the precipice. We’ll just keep moving through the water, that’s all. Still, I held my breath, letting it out in a gust when we left the shallow water. A small, ridiculous part of me felt the cliff was symbolic.

  As we descended farther, the pit of my stomach experienced the sensation of

  falling, real or imagined. And then I saw it. The massive Bellator illuminated the deep waters of the ocean, its tiny, lighted windows punctuating the multilevel

  vessel, creating an outline of this enormous submerged liner. It was shaped liked a giant fish without a tail, the front of it large and rounded, the body tapering down to the tailless tip. What I assumed was the control center glowed at the

  front, representing the open and well-lit eye of the fish. The physics of such a

  design were sound, a perfect imitation of nature. The Bellator displayed the same capability to remain immobile amid the ocean currents, its form so still it looked like a permanent resident here instead of an alien presence.

  “There it is,” Ebony breathed in awe, her expression echoing my own

  sentiments.

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  The immense size of the thing left me breathless, diminishing what little

  confidence I’d accumulated since parting with sunlight—and with Captain

  Marek. But I didn’t actually part with him, did I? After all, this was his ship, his territory. And it looked every bit as powerful, every bit as intimidating, as the man who directed it. Lucky for me, that meant the mighty Bellator was big enough that I’d probably never have to face him again, never have to look him in

  the eyes and know that I could recite all the bones in the human body, spout off

  the element chart, but I couldn’t remember my own name when I found myself

  in his capable arms. What if I started to forget my training too? I was supposed

  to be part of the medical staff on the ship. Could he be so distracting that I’d

  amputate the wrong leg or attempt a hysterectomy on a man? Worse than that, would my research suffer?

  I shook my head. Let it go, idiot. You didn’t get much sleep and even less breakfast.

  Who would function normally under those circumstances? I cringed at the answer: Any good doctor would. It was part of the job to focus no matter the

  circumstances, to shut out the rest of the world and concentrate on the task at

  hand.

  But this wasn’t about being a good physician. I reacted to Captain Marek as a

  woman, not as a doctor, which had never happe
ned before. For all his charm and

  effort, Blue Eyes couldn’t knock off my doctor hat, not even when he offered me

  his best deal-sealing smile and asked me on a date. But I was in my natural

  element—a medical emergency on my island. Captain Marek made me forget my

  name by catching me when I fell—at a time when I was emotional, vulnerable,

  kidnapped, for God’s sake. It didn’t mean he could undermine my ability as a doctor. Besides, I didn’t even like the man. He was about as compassionate as the flu. And like the flu, I’d get over him and his feverish touch. Right?

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  Doubt churned in my stomach as I remembered how I felt pressed against

  him. I was thankful the dark masked my blush as Ebony nudged me to look

  ahead of us.

  Grateful for a distraction, I complied. The flu, compassion and feverish

  touches lost my attention as we drew closer. I realized the windows I’d just

  deemed tiny were in fact as big as the transport pod propelling me toward

  them—we were like a minnow flanking a whale. We gravitated toward the belly

  of the huge fish where an illuminated line of pods formed at its center,

  presumably to drop off its precious, foolish cargo.

  We waited in line as pod after pod disappeared up into the belly, each

  reappearing after dispensing its passengers. We moved closer to the

  undercarriage of the Bellator, awaiting our turn to be devoured. Many times I glanced around our pod to see if any of my peers had come to their senses, but

  they all seemed eager for their fate. I knew I couldn’t escape to the crushing

  pressure of ocean around us, but maybe if one or more of them would help me

  overthrow the conductor…

  Too soon, the pod in front of ours moved next in line. I watched in terrified

  curiosity as a door above it opened, spilling white light into the surrounding

  darkness. All heads in the victim pod’s cabin looked up in expectation. Without

  warning, they were sucked up into the belly of the beast, light disappearing with them. More frantic now, I darted glances around the cabin, looking for a willing

  accomplice. And found none.

  After several torturous minutes, the pod re-entered the water without its

  passengers, as if the Bellator had eaten them and spit out the pod as bones. I tried to swallow and—good grief, had I grown an Adam’s apple? I clutched my neck