by C. Gockel
Sara felt the hard, cold knot in her stomach ease. They had her back. It was a good feeling—even if it totally sucked to be grounded. He stopped and looked at her.
“Don’t underestimate him, Captain.”
“I won’t, sir.” She sighed. “Thank you.”
She watched him stride away, and then headed to her quarters. Shower first, then the long delayed breakfast. Hopefully food would remove the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. No sign of Fyn. He was probably standing her alert with the rest of her squadron. She should have kicked Adin Xever’s ass while she had the chance. Even as the thought formed, Sara knew it wasn’t a lack of will, but an unwillingness to touch him or be touched by him. There was something there, in the brief contacts they’d had so far. It wasn’t nice, and it was nothing like what she felt when Fyn touched her. Whatever she felt around him, it wasn’t indifference. That would have been easy. Emotion, any strong emotion made an opening for the dark desire he wanted to ignite in her. It was a dangerous undertow that led not to love, but to captivity. All he had to offer was a life lived out of the sun. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.
Evie had warned her about men like him, told her that women who’d grown up like she did, often mistook his kind of passion for affection, sought closeness, and ended up with more emptiness. It wasn’t like that with Fyn. He expanded her world, broadened her horizon. What troubled her, it seemed that what she felt for Fyn made her more vulnerable to the physical pull, not less. Her body didn’t seem to differentiate between good and bad, it just felt. Adin could never touch her heart, but he didn’t seem to want to. If he could get a physical response from her, it would be enough. For her, it would be like drinking water that never quenched her thirst, a descent into hell.
The battle had to be fought in her head and she knew she could fight and win—but she still didn’t want to touch him.
She sat down in front of her laptop, turning it on without touching it. Had it been like this for Miri? Had she been caught between two impossible choices? Helen of Troy, if she existed at all, had her Spartan husband. She might have loved him or her Trojan lover. But what if she hadn’t loved either? Death was her only way out, but Miri seemed to have had options. Had Miri somehow made her way to Earth and some of her DNA found its way into Sara’s family? It didn’t seem as crazy as a random coincidence theory, not when she thought about the technology she’d caught a glimpse of there in the city. Or the things she could do, which seemed to have gotten more now that she was parked in Miri’s galaxy.
She felt a sharp longing for her own Milky Way. She even missed Area 51. It was as if the city felt it and…jerked her back.
What do you want from me?
She didn’t expect an answer, but her computer screen flickered, then symbols appeared, one at a time, until there were two groups.
I can’t read that.
The screen flickered once, then again. The symbols vanished, then reformed into two words.
The key.
Crap.
There was a general air of contentment all over the ship. The transmission from Earth had arrived, bringing news from home and even some email. Sara had been shocked to get an email from LaShaunda. It wasn’t real chatty, but it had contained a back-handed invitation to her wedding the end of the year.
“I’ve been deployed,” Sara wrote back, “but I’ll try to come.”
She knew Evie would want her to.
News had spread through the ship that the Patton was incoming with fresh supplies and was going to stick around for a while. The powers that be agreed that the Garradian outpost was worth fighting for, though only a handful of people on the ship knew about the outpost. Most assumed it was the Dusan threat that was keeping it around.
Sara’s first night, back at the club after the “ET incident,” was interesting. The guys seemed glad to see her when she arrived, so the Colonel must have left them off his “rip a new one” list over the ill-fated dinner party. Their eyes reflected the change in their perception of her. Not just a keyboard and a voice anymore. And then there was the whole table-walking thing. She had no idea how far the video had spread through the ship. The guys just looked at her, like they didn’t know how to ask.
“It’s complicated,” Sara said, with a wry shrug.
“Any time you want to do it again, you just let us know. We’re here for you, Donovan.” Foster gave her a wicked grin.
Sara had to grin. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”
After their warm-up, Foster kicked the night into a fast start with some shaking. About half way through, Sara saw Carey and Fyn arrive. They sat in their usual spot, just off the riser to Sara’s right. Now that Fyn was there, Sara quit watching the door. As bodies got thick on the floor, it was hard to see anyway. After they quit shakin’, they did a mix of songs. Sara did a slow solo, a song about New Orleans. She’d set the television monitors to play videos with some of the songs, for Fyn’s benefit, so he could see what she was singing about, though it made her feel almost homesick for Louisiana. They worked through the set, did some requests and then Briggs had a surprise for her. He’d cooked it up with Foster, because as Sara heard a fast, sassy beat start up, Briggs appeared in front of her, his hand out. Sara stepped down from the riser, trying to look annoyed—and not succeeding very well. He looked so pleased with himself.
A clear spot formed in the center of the floor as he did some fancy steps. He spun her, and then pulled her close, their steps matching perfectly. Sara wasn’t sure exactly what dance they were doing. Briggs had a way of throwing all the steps he liked into the music. She did a follow, heading toward him, her body rippling to the music, then they did some country steps, and even mixed some Latin moves in. Their Samba roll was dang near perfect. At least it felt like it was. The ballroom judges would probably have had a cow, but they were in another galaxy.
As Briggs bent her back, her head almost sweeping the floor, she thought she saw an upside down Colonel Halliwell. Briggs pulled her back up and she didn’t dare look around. Couldn’t afford to lose her concentration around his big feet as she worked her “money maker.” He danced her back toward the riser, spinning her free right as the song ended and it was time for the first break.
Foster handed her a bottle of water before she asked for it. She drank half of it down, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It was just a couple of steps to where Fyn and Carey were, and she took them, aware she was still packing some serious attitude, fueled by adrenaline from the dancing.
She put her hands on her hips, her chest still heaving from exertion, and fixed her gaze on Fyn.
“You’re flying my bird, aren’t you?”
He looked amused, with a bit of wary in there. So she looked at Carey.
Carey put his hands out. “Don’t bust my chops, Donovan. Wasn’t my idea to ground you.”
Sara let him sweat it for a minute, then shrugged. “I know.”
Carey looked like he was about to say something, when his eyes widened.
“We’re about to be boarded.”
Sara stiffened. “Who—”
She didn’t finish, she knew at least one of the party. Adin Xever. She could feel him looking at her. It was not a pleasant feeling.
“I think this would be a good time to go to make my pit stop.” She wasn’t sure how it happened, but her hand was in Fyn’s.
“I’ll walk you.”
Sara smiled up at him. “That would be nice.”
His brows arched. “Nice?”
“Yeah…nice.”
Sara didn’t know if she stepped toward him or he pulled her close. She was happy with the outcome. She could feel the warmth of his touch through her uniform. Her hands rested on his chest. The steady thump of his heart extended her shields. She looked at him. He looked at her. It was very nice. His eyes darkened and Sara felt color warm her cheeks.
Someone coughed. It might have been Carey. Or the Old Man.
She closed her eyes, found her center, and then slowly turned around. For just a minute Fyn’s hands spread possessively across her mid-section, before he let her go so she could straighten up for the Colonel. They weren’t touching, but he still had her back.
Colonel Halliwell looked at them, his expression unreadable.
“Captain.” Halliwell didn’t seem to know what to say next.
“Sir.” Sara didn’t know how to help him.
“The video was a nice touch,” he finally said.
“I thought our guests might not understand all the words. You know what they say about pictures.”
His lips twitched. “Well, you said a lot tonight.”
Kilburn looked like he’d swallowed his tongue—or something equally nasty.
Adin—a quick glance showed no outward sign of emotion. The controlled Supreme Leader was back. And yet Sara knew, to her core, that he’d gotten a message, just not sure it was the right one.
“I didn’t know you were here, sir.” Sara spoke to the Old Man.
“The Supreme Leader wanted to see this and hear you boom, and I was curious to see what you’d done with the place. Very interesting.”
“Helps our people burn off tension.” Carey slanted Sara an amused look. “And some frustration.”
“I know I’m feeling mellow.” She looked back at Fyn and smiled.
“So, that was something with you and Briggs.” The colonel sounded a bit amazed. “How long you two been doing that?”
“If I told you, you’d realize I should be better at it, sir. He’s really good. I just try to keep up.”
“I thought you did very well, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Kilburn cleared his throat. Sara ignored him, but the sound did give her a heads up.
The Old Man jumped into the breach. “Leader Xever has something he wants to say to you, Captain.”
“Really?” She looked coolly at Adin, bracing her insides as he stepped into the conversational circle.
His eyes hid everything he was thinking. “Our cultures are different. It was not my intention to cause you distress this morning. I hope you will accept my apology.”
“Of course, sir. Grudges are exhausting and tedious.” But she might make an exception for him.
Kilburn cleared his throat again. “I told Leader Xever that not all our music is so loud. We were wondering—”
Sara looked at Halliwell. “Sir, may I be excused? Have to take care of business before the break is over.” Like pee.
“Of course, Captain.”
With her hand securely in Fyn’s, Sara moved past them and headed for the door.
“What is her problem?” She heard Kilburn ask.
“Sorry, Kilburn, but you’re dead to her.” Carey sounded amused.
Sara grinned.
Outside in the hall, Fyn asked, “So where are we going?”
“We aren’t going. I’m going to the rear of the cave.” She looked up and grinned at him.
“You checked to make sure I didn’t follow you that first time, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
Sara made her visit to the “rear” and then rejoined Fyn.
If anyone had told her she’d be in another galaxy, falling for an alien with dreadlocks, who was actually taller than she was—or that he’d be looking at her like she was a hot girl—she’d have said they were crazy. He really was hot, but it was more than hot that drew her to him. He’d had a rough time, she could tell, but at his core, he was still good and decent. Look how he’d treated her down on the planet. None of that icky stuff. Just looking at him made her feel gooey. She’d seen other people gooey and wondered what their problem was. Now she knew. Gooey was actually pretty great.
“What?”
She smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” He bent and brushed his mouth across hers. “I wish you didn’t have to go back in there.”
“I know.” She sighed. It was going to be harder, knowing Adin was out there watching her. “Wait for me?”
He arched his brows, telling her she shouldn’t have asked.
Inside the door, Kilburn was waiting for her.
“Captain—” he began.
Sara didn’t look or stop. Obviously he didn’t know what it meant to be dead to someone.
“You ever look at me like that, you can forget the kinky alien sex,” Fyn muttered.
Sara choked on a laugh. At the riser, they split, him heading back to his seat and she to her keyboard. From the back of the room, she could feel Adin watching her. Without the buffer of Fyn’s presence, she felt the full intensity of it and trembled slightly. His still waters ran really deep. Was this how Miri had felt? Hounded by interest she didn’t want and didn’t ask for?
“Ready to sing something?” Foster said.
Sara shoved Adin out of her head. “Yes, sir.”
The rest of evening, Sara found it hard to relax. She channeled a lot of emotion into the music and it helped some, but when it was finally over, Sara was exhausted and more than ready to get vertical. A pity there was one more scene to play. She watched Halliwell and Adin approach. Kilburn, finally wise, stayed near the door.
Sara stood up for Halliwell. “Sir.”
“Our guest is interested in your keyboard, Donovan.”
Her keyboard. Okay.
“What would you like to know about my keyboard, sir?” She met his gaze calmly, but she could feel pissed trying to get a foothold. Couldn’t the guy give it a rest?
Adin stepped up on the riser next to her. “How does it work?”
Sara blinked once. “Not really sure. I touch these—” she turned it back on and ran her fingers along the keys, “and it makes sound. Press a bunch of them the right way and you have a tune.”
“Your fingers move so quickly. It is quite remarkable.” He pointed to the rows of buttons above the keys. “What are all these?”
Sara sighed silently. Supreme leaders were a pain in the ass.
“They let me produce different sounds or mimic other instruments, like an organ.” Sara sat down and did a few of them. Her fingertips were so numb she didn’t play many.
“It is an interesting device. May I try it?”
Sara got up. “Be my guest.”
He sat down on her stool and pressed a few keys. It wasn’t pretty.
“It is much more difficult than it looks.” He looked rueful and almost… harming. “You make it look easy.”
Sara hooked another stool with her foot and sat down next to him. Their shoulders brushed together, but she was too tired to care.
“Put your fingers here, like this.” She demonstrated higher up the keyboard. “Now hit those keys like this.”
She did the first part of chopsticks.
“Right, now move them to the next keys. Good…now move them again…now back down again….that’s called chopsticks.” She played it again, keeping the pace to one he could follow. “Now you’ve played a song.
To her surprise, Halliwell stepped up. “Let’s show him how it’s done, Donovan.”
Adin had to move from the seat and Halliwell took his place.
“Ready?”
Sara nodded, and they launched into a chopsticks duet. Then Halliwell did the Heart & Soul riff. He handed it off to Sara, and then they both went back to chopsticks, going faster and faster until a very messy ending.
Sara grinned at him. “I didn’t know you played, sir.”
“That’s all I play, Captain.”
“I would like to try again,” Adin said, a slight edge to his voice.
Sara jumped. “Please, take my place, sir. I can’t feel the tips of my fingers anymore.”
There was nothing for him to do, but sit down. Sara looked at Fyn, waiting very patiently by the edge of the riser. While the two men tried to get synchronized, Sara went over to him.
“You all right?” he asked softly.
She nodded, but had to cover a yawn. His shoul
der was conveniently close and perfectly positioned to catch her drooping head. His arms closed around her, keeping her on her feet.
“Wake me when they’re done…” Her weary lids were determined to go down. The next thing she heard was nothing. She straightened with a jerk and looked around, blinking sleepily. All of them were looking at her.
“Sorry, sir. It’s been a long day.”
“You’re dismissed, Captain. Thank you for the demonstration.”
“Thank you, sir.” She turned off the keyboard and looked at Adin. “Good-bye, sir.”
She hoped he got that message, too.
“Until we meet again, Captain.”
Apparently not.
With Fyn by her side, she walked out, still ignoring Kilburn.
“He’s interested in you,” Fyn said.
“Just my face.”
Fyn stopped and looked at her, his eyes serious. “Not just your face.”
“Maybe not, but it’s not me he wants. I don’t think he even sees me when he looks at me. He reminds me of someone I once knew. No one was real to him. We were all just things.” Sara hadn’t thought about him in a long time. Almost without thinking she rubbed her cheek.
“He hit you?”
He’d picked up on that pretty fast. Sara stared at him for a long count, then shrugged.
“Just once.” That wasn’t the worst he’d tried to do. The hit was because he couldn’t—a fair trade in her opinion.
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen. Social Services moved me out right after. Memo to jerks: don’t bruise the foster kid where it can be seen.” Even she hadn’t healed fast enough to hide it. The next couple was better. They were totally indifferent.
“Evie?”
“Evie came later.” Sara smiled. Thinking about Evie always made her smile. A yawn erased the smile. “Sorry.”
“Come on.” Fyn slid his arm around her waist and pointed them toward her quarters. When they got there, she turned to face him.
“We seem to play this scene a lot.”
Maybe one day it would have a different ending, she thought, as he kissed her good night and left.
