Chaos Station 01 - Chaos Station

by Kelly Jensen

  “I’m just a soldier. An ex-soldier,” he corrected.

  “Yeah, you’re not ‘just’ anything.”

  Nessa’s arched brow invited him to argue, but he didn’t; there wasn’t much he could say. He’d demonstrated yesterday that, no, he wasn’t “just” a soldier, but admitting it aloud was something else.

  She was quiet for a bit until she had the avocados prepared and in the oven. Then she plopped down across from Zed with her coffee. The scent of it tickled his nose, reminding him how much he used to enjoy it.

  She pulled his bowl away, out of his reach, before he could play with another clump of abandoned oatmeal. “How often do you get those headaches?”

  So much for avoiding this conversation. “Not often.”

  “You know, you’re a pretty good liar. I’ll give you that. Eye contact and everything.” She sipped her coffee. “Okay, Loop, listen up. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Elias when he hired me and the same thing I’ve told every crew member to serve aboard this ship. I take my role as ship’s doctor seriously. Anything you tell me, stays with me.”

  “Understood, ma’am.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Jesus, I’m not that much older than you. My point is, while I might come across as a cranky bitch, I care about my people. For the time being, you are one of my people. I gave you some good meds last night, enough to put most people in a very happy place, and it barely touched the pain, didn’t it?” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”

  Zed held her gaze, pulled in two directions. He wanted to lean on the shoulder Nessa was offering; he was so goddamned tired of navigating this bullshit on his own. How amazing would it be to have someone supporting him again? Someone who knew the deal, someone who could help him figure out what the hell to do.

  How sad was it that he thought someone he’d met less than twenty-four hours ago could be that person.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I can’t help you if—”

  “Thanks for the avocado thing, but that oatmeal filled me up.” He pushed to his feet. “Think I’ll explore a bit, get a sense of the ship’s layout. Unless there’s an objection?”

  The doctor stared up at him for a moment, her lips twitching as though she was trying to hold a comment back. “No,” she said, finally. “No objections. Might want to check with Elias before you go on the bridge, though. Fixer’s in the engine room.”

  “Understood.” He stepped over the bench and headed for the door.

  “Loop?” Nessa’s voice caught him before he could leave. Instead of the challenge it held earlier, it was soft, almost sad. “Whatever it is, I can help. Whether it’s finding treatment or just managing the pain—”

  “I’m not sick,” he said, stepping out into the hall.

  Being sick would be easier.

  * * *

  “Move it or lose it, buddy.”

  Qek’s blue finger twitched to the left. Felix leaned into the sonic drill, even though he didn’t need to. The tool had the power to strip threads from a twenty millimeter bolt. He liked to feel engaged in the process, though, and he could tell from the smooth vibration that the screw had seated itself properly—which the tool could too, he supposed, but he was a fan of the human element.

  “When you apply the word buddy to me, is it in a friendly sense, or simply a way to finish your sentence?”

  “Huh?” Felix looked up from the panel and into Qek’s unblinking eyes. Ashushk had a clear membrane across their large eyes that, reportedly, could harden in a vacuum. It also meant they didn’t have to blink. “I call you buddy because you’re my friend.”

  The smile happened, blue skin wrinkling across her face. “I am pleased to hear that.”

  “You’ve been a part of the crew for nearly a year, you and Nessa both. You didn’t think I thought of you as a friend? Wait, do you think of me as a friend?”

  Qek’s face smoothed into an ashie expression of surprise. “Ashushk are a long-lived species. Therefore, we form friendships slowly. But, yes, Fixer, I think of you as a friend.”

  Felix was relieved that the pilot considered him worthy. Ashie social structure was completely alien—understandable, seeing as they were aliens. When it came to intragalactic relations, so were humans.

  “What brought this on?” he asked.

  “The fault in the auxiliary c-core pre-burn injector?” Qek smiled again. “Too many urgent maneuvers. We will need to replace the entire auxiliary, soon, or risk stalling in jump-space.”

  Felix winced. He and Qek had known the Chaos needed some major overhauls, but replacing an auxiliary unit spoke to problems between systems, and that just sounded expensive.

  “I was actually talking about the buddy conversation,” he said, making some notes on the journal display he had open. “After this job, we should have the credits to start replacing key systems. We need to figure out what comes first.”

  “I will prepare a list.”

  “Thanks, Qek.”

  “As to the buddy conversation, I was thinking about your friend.”

  Yeah, so was I. In fact, Felix had done little else but think about Zed. Hadn’t seen the guy all day, but he hadn’t gone looking for him, either, figuring that Zed needed or wanted some time. It was a small ship and they had three days of j-space to traverse before they got to Chloris. They’d run into each other sooner or later, or when Zed decided to show his face. Or when I decide to stop being a chickenshit and go looking for him.

  Felix cleared his throat. “And what were you thinking?”

  “You have not sought out his company today.”

  Had that guilt trip, bought the shirt.

  “Why not? Do human friendships end?”

  “Do ashushk friendships end?”

  “No, they do not and I get the sense you are avoiding my question. Would you rather not discuss Mr. Loop?”

  “His name isn’t Mr. Loop, you know.”

  Qek’s face wrinkled gently. “I know.”

  Felix knelt forward so he could begin gathering his tools. Casting a sideways glance at Qek, he said, “We were more than friends.” Could she see the color creeping up from his neck? And why, for the love of all that was holy, had he blushed?

  “What changed?”

  “I died.”

  “You look remarkably healthy for a dead man.”

  “Thanks, I think.” Felix stuffed the drill into its case and snapped the lid closed. “Do ashushk feel love?”

  Qek clicked thoughtfully before replying. “Not in the same sense humans do. However, we value our friendships and would place ourselves in the way of harm to keep them.”

  “You’ve been reading human lit again, haven’t you?”

  She wrinkled. “Yes. Did you love Mr. Loop?”

  Felix studied the drill case a moment before replying. “No, not him. The man he used to be.”

  “That makes no sense, Fixer. He is still a man, is he not?”

  Meaning, he had not spontaneously developed sex organs as the ashushk did when their species required another male or female. Qek was neuter; she’d chosen a gender because she liked the idea of being female, but she could as easily be referred to as male in her current form.

  “Yeah, he is.” And you told him you’d talk. “Okay, if the ship isn’t going to break down in the next hour, I might hit the shower and then look up an old friend.”

  “You probably have two hours before something else breaks.”

  “Awesome.”

  Felix fiddled in his quarters for long enough to nearly convince himself he’d lost track of time. He stowed his tools, he stretched out the kinks along his back, pulled off his glove and cleaned it. He’d just gotten out a micro-driver to loosen the thumb joint—his fall the day before had bent the frame—when he caught a whiff of burnt hair.

  “Goddamn it.”

  He stepped out of his boots, stripped to his shorts and grabbed a towel.

  The sound of running water didn’t det
er him from opening the door to the crew bathroom. A small ship often meant compromised privacy. The showers had a half wall separating them from the rest of the bathroom, and any visit to the commode that required sitting had to be taken forward to the captain’s head. No one wanted to bathe in someone else’s funk.

  They didn’t often have guests aboard.

  Felix stopped in the doorway, transfixed by the sight of Zed’s broad shoulders—bare shoulders, slicked with soap bubbles and water. He watched the shift of muscle beneath golden skin as Zed washed his hair, deltoids bunching up and down. The string of planets tattooed down his spine barely flickered. Repeated exposure to j-space had probably killed most of the animation in the ink. Following the line down Zed’s back, he damned the fact the half wall blocked the rest of the view. But he remembered well enough how Zed’s torso narrowed at his hips, the firm roundness of his ass, the way his glutes flexed when he moved. The ticklish spot behind his knees, how Zed’s powerful thighs felt against his own, or wrapped around his hips.

  Zed turned and pushed water from his face, opening his eyes. Still fixed in place, Felix met his gaze and wondered, idly, if the ship had swayed—which would be bad in j-space. Really bad. Swallowing, Felix fought to keep his eyes pointed forward. Zed’s pectorals teased the periphery of his vision. Sculpted, as firm as the rest of him, wet and still covered by dark hair which now curled in the steam of the shower.

  “Uh...”

  “You’re letting in a draft,” Zed said, one corner of his mouth quirking upward.

  “Sorry.” Felix took a step back. “I can come back later.”

  Zed’s expression shifted and the weight of years dropped between them, cooler than the breeze wafting through the open hatch. “You don’t have to go. I’m just about done.”

  “Okay.” The single word barely scraped the surface of the response Felix wanted to give.

  He stepped over the lip of the door and the hatch slid closed behind him. Steam billowed back, obscuring Zed’s face before it funneled up toward the exhaust. When the mist cleared, Zed had turned around again, one arm up as he pushed water through his hair. Felix averted his gaze, turned, then found himself peeking back over his shoulder. His need to look at Zed felt like a desperate thirst—edged with madness and a lack of prudence.

  Jerking his chin back around, Felix fiddled with his towel and tried to remember why he’d come to the bathroom. To have a shower. Then he planned to visit Zed. To talk.

  “I was going to come find you,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t earlier. We had an issue with the c-core.” Which hadn’t been urgent, but—

  Zed stepped out from behind the half wall with a towel tucked around his lean hips. God, he looked good. The moisture clinging to his skin highlighted the cut of his muscles, each so defined that he appeared carved rather than created in any natural way. A meter separated them, but Felix imagined he could feel the heat radiating from Zed’s flesh.

  “Um...”

  “I’ll let you—”

  “Don’t go.”

  “Do you really want me here?”

  In the bathroom? Yes, no, yes, goddamn it. “Ah...”

  Zed’s dark brows drew together and furrows marched across his forehead.

  “We need to talk,” Felix managed.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Why do you keep asking me what I want?”

  “Because this is your ship. Your crew.” Zed raised a hand, palm turned up. “You don’t need to get involved in my shit.”

  “I want to.”

  Zed’s brows rose out of the flat line they’d been trying to make.

  “Zed, Loop, whatever...whoever you are. Shit, this is so confusing.”

  Felix scrubbed a hand across his face and then a small detail peeked out of the hazy atmosphere surrounding them. A mark on Zed’s wrist, a new tattoo. Felix stepped forward, reaching out to catch that arm. Zed pulled back, the movement swift, but not too fast to follow. Then, with a grunt, he offered his hand to Felix, wrist turned up. The tattoo had the patina of age, but the lines were still sharp, the ink still animated. A gentle pulse traced the design in an endless loop. Felix recognized it instantly. A soliton, or a visual rendering of the mathematical formula.

  The pendant...

  He’d thought the symbol perfect when he’d first seen it, a self-reinforcing wave that maintained its shape at constant speed. In other words, Zed. He always had a plan, he always had a direction, and very little could dissuade him. At least, that was how it’d been before. Now curved, interlocking lines that flowed endlessly, seeming without beginning or end, marked Zed’s wrist in echo of the pendant Felix given had him, the only gift Felix had ever made to a lover.

  His pulse beating in his throat, Felix cradled the underside of Zed’s hand and stroked his thumb across the mark. “Is that...”

  Zed’s eyes had darkened again, but not to steel. The same depth of emotion that swirled through Felix’s frame seemed to be echoed there. “When you died I wanted to keep you close.”

  Felix swallowed over the weird flicker of his pulse. “I’m sorry.” Not for dying, or earning the distinction of being labeled KIA. For being a self-absorbed ass. “Zed...I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I want to help, okay? I might not need you—” had he really said that? “—but I think you need me. You and Emma. I’m here, I’m alive, I’m only missing one hand.” Ungloved, his left hand hung uselessly from his wrist, twisted and gnarled. He looked down at it, frowned at the ugly parody of a functioning appendage, and then angled his chin so he could peek at Zed without appearing to study him.

  A blur of motion stilled his chin. Zed’s other hand. Felix flinched. Then he swayed forward, leaning into the touch, needing it, despite any ill-conceived words to the contrary. Zed’s warm palm spread across his jaw. Felix’s grip tightened around Zed’s wrist. Zed had only to lean in another centimeter before Felix closed the distance between them. He had no plan, only the desire to be closer. Did Zed smell the same? Would he taste the same? Could the years they’d lost have erased everything between them?

  Zed’s lips caught his, gently, tentatively. Felix breathed out, his breath tickling his nose. A sound circled his throat, his heart squeezed painfully and then thought ceased as he pressed forward and fell into a kiss that would always be familiar. Timeless, breathless, needful.

  Chapter Six

  There were so many reasons this kiss was a bad idea, but the moment Zed’s lips touched Flick’s, he couldn’t remember them. What he did remember was the tang of Flick’s tongue, like he’d touched an open circuit. Or the smell of him, which was both familiar and different—singed hair notwithstanding. But mostly he remembered how good it had felt, how damned right, when they’d decided to be together all those years ago.

  It still felt like that. God, it shouldn’t.

  Zed stepped forward, pushing Flick back until he connected with the metal wall. Then he leaned against him, hands braced over Flick’s shoulders as their bare chests brushed together. He’d always been bigger than Flick—taller and with a tendency toward bulk rather than Flick’s lithe musculature—but the difference seemed even more magnified now. He moaned into the kiss, thoughts of fucking Flick against the wall making him hard enough to ache. He could lift him up easily, fasten his teeth to his shoulder, and just pound into him as though the past nine years had been nothing but a nightmare. One they’d both finally awoken from.

  He pressed forward, groaning as his cock rubbed against the bulge in Flick’s shorts. Flick’s hands flew to his hips and impatiently brushed aside the towel, encouraging it to fall. Then his fingers dug into Zed’s ass, yanking him forward so they could rub together more insistently.

  “Flick,” Zed whispered.

  He was already so close. Embarrassment wound through him at that, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He hadn’t been with anyone for...what, three years now? Longer? And it had never been as intense as it was with Flick. Because he’d never loved anyone
but the man in his arms. His hips rolled, finding a rhythm that made him groan, a rhythm Flick encouraged.

  “You’re gonna make me come,” he breathed against Flick’s mouth.

  “So come.” He lifted a hand to the back of Zed’s neck to pull him in for another kiss—and his fingers pressed into the scar tissue there.

  Zed gasped and jerked back.

  “Zed, what...”

  Flick wouldn’t know what the symmetrical rows of small, puckered scars on either side of his spine were—hell, he might not have even realized he’d touched them. But Zed did. A bucket of ice-cold water couldn’t have been more effective at dousing his desire. Those scars were the reason he was in this mess. No matter how good Flick felt or how much Zed wished things could just pick up where they’d left them before, it wasn’t going to happen.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. He bent down to retrieve his towel.

  With a strained chuckle, Flick thudded his head against the wall. “Shit. Did I hit the off switch?”

  “Something like that,” Zed muttered. He focused on securing the towel around his waist. His trembling hands didn’t help. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t.”

  The gentle touch of Flick’s palm against his bristled cheek made Zed just...stop. The years fell away. Being Flick’s friend had been so simple, even when it wasn’t. Zed had never doubted that Felix Ingesson would be there for him, whatever he needed. Even before they’d gotten involved between the sheets, if Zed had told him he’d murdered someone, Flick would’ve found a way to make sure the body was never discovered. No questions asked. Zed had loved Flick in some form or another for most of his life—and it hit him, again, that Flick was here. He was alive.

  Zed wasn’t alone anymore.

  “What happened to you, man?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, arms out, and folded himself around his best friend, his oldest friend, the one he’d thought he’d lost forever. His shoulders shook as he tried to fight the emotions those simple words had brought forth. What had happened to him was nine years of lonely, empty hell.