I exhale a long-held breath. . . .
Okay, this is not going to be easy.
The other Aides and I head out also, to grab dinner.
And then I get back to my cabin where I kill some time, waiting for 8:00 PM.
At 8:00 PM sharp, I arrive back at the CCO. The guards allow me inside after a brief consult with the CP over their wrist devices—which usually means the Command Pilot is busy or on an important call.
Which proves to be the case.
I enter, pulse racing wildly, breathing evenly to compose myself. And I see a single display console turned around, its back facing me, and Aeson Kassiopei talking in soft Atlantean tones to someone. Immediately I recognize the feminine lilting voice of the speaker on the other end.
Oh, crap. . . . It’s that girl.
Lady Tiri whatshername. Tirinea Fuorai.
A blast of elemental anger strikes me in the gut. It is so sudden, so unexpected, that I am stunned enough to pause, before I advance any further inside the room. What am I feeling? What is it? I don’t think I understand the feeling.
It’s jealousy.
I’m absolutely freaking jealous of this Lady Tiri, and I am so damn angry—at her, at him, at myself. . . .
I stop to listen, while Aeson ignores me completely and continues speaking, and I see a faint smile on his lips, a smile that makes me melt, because I have never seen it before . . . I have never seen him smile, sensuously, like that . . . not for anyone.
Everything inside me is twisting—heart, lungs, my gut—they are seized with a cold unfamiliar emotion that’s made up of darkness.
And then, the worst part is, I listen to them speak Atlanteo, and because I’ve been studying the language, I am picking up a few words here and there. Not the real gist, but the individual terms and phrases. . . . Terms, such as “sweet” and “I can’t wait to see you.”
At least I haven’t heard the word “love” being used.
In Atlanteo, love is “amrevet.” And the word for “lover” is “amreve” while “beloved” is “amrevu.” Again, none of these forms are being used.
I listen, barely breathing, still standing near the door.
Then I decide to advance forward.
In that same moment, their conversation ends, and he disconnects the call.
As I approach him, his soft expression evaporates, and he is a blank mask of no emotion.
“Good evening,” he says, looking at me like an unblinking serpent. “Take a seat.”
Damn him. . . .
I sit down in my usual spot and rest my hands in my lap.
He looks at me, and I look at him. Steady, steady now. Don’t let him see you blink first.
“How are you?” I say.
I don’t think he expected that. So his one brow rises and he moves his head slightly. “Fine, thanks,” he says. “And you?”
Well, that was brilliant.
But then I take a deep breath and decide to go direct.
“Command Pilot Kassiopei, I hope what happened at the time of the Jump is not an issue between us. I am sorry—about whatever it was.”
His gaze upon me is intense suddenly, so intense that I find I’m drowning in it, in him. “It was nothing,” he says coldly. “Nothing happened. The Jump affects everyone in different unexpected ways. Unusual physical reactions and responses happen, but they are temporary and meaningless. It’s over. Think nothing of it and move on.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
“Now, if you yourself still find any lingering symptoms, it’s a good idea to see a doctor.” He watches me as he says this. “In your case, I hope you recovered quickly afterwards, and are not still upset about the uncomfortable circumstances.”
“I’m fine,” I say, keeping my voice steady, while a lump is starting to rise at the back of my throat. No, I’m not going to cry in front of him.
Never again.
Well, then, I think bitterly. He considers it meaningless.
Meanwhile he calmly looks away from me, reaches for the orichalcum sound damper box, to begin tonight’s voice lesson.
I guess that conversation is over.
The next day is mostly a repeat of the previous one. I work, attend classes, have voice training that evening, and things are cool and businesslike between us.
In fact, things have gotten chillier than ever. It seems that whatever brief connection I thought we had, has not only been lost, but has been stamped out and put down mercilessly.
Aeson Kassiopei has either decided to keep his distance from me for whatever reason, or he really does not care at all about me—at least not in that intimate way about which I still dare to dream.
I do not accept that.
What I don’t accept is the not knowing. I realize our situation is hopeless. There are worlds of rank, upbringing, cultural and ethnic difference and separation between us. He is a top-ranking Fleet officer and Imperial Prince of a semi-divine ancient dynasty, destined to marry into the highest aristocracy of Atlantis. As far as I know, according to their laws and traditions, I’m not even fit to wipe dust off his shoes—a nobody refugee from Earth, entirely at his mercy, and a fool to think otherwise. There can never be anything between us.
But if I could only know for one true moment that he cares or has feelings for me, I could live with that. Even if I never saw him again after I got to Atlantis—at which point he would deliver me into whatever branch of public service that my Logos voice condemns me to.
In one way or another, before our journey ends, before our regular personal contact is over, I resolve to find out.
And then, later that night, just before bed and Fleet barracks curfew, I talk to Laronda.
I call her up, because I’m soul sick. And I tell her everything.
And I mean, everything that happened during the Jump.
Laronda listens as I go into details, and her mouth falls open.
“What? Girl, no! No way! He did what?”
I blush furiously as I describe it.
Laronda puts her hand up to cover her mouth and starts to giggle. “Oh, wow! You mean he—in his pants?”
“Yeah.”
Laronda is holding her mouth with both hands now and her eyes are so round. She rocks back and forth and nearly hyperventilates. Finally she catches a breath and fans her face with her hands and shakes her head in disbelief.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” she mutters. “Seriously, I hope you know I mean no disrespect—the guy is totally amazing and imposing and yeah, he terrifies me. I’m just freaking out here, on your behalf. This is not me laughing—this is me going nuts!”
“I know. . . .”
Laronda continues fanning her face and saying, “Sweet lord almighty!”
“You—you won’t mention any of this to anyone, right?” I whisper.
“Oh, hell no! Are you kidding me? My lips are zipped and sealed and stored away in the back of a freezer!”
I nod, silently, shaking slightly.
“Okay, listen, girl . . .” she says at last, taking a deep breath. “You better watch out. At this rate he’s going to put a baby inside you, and then what are you gonna do?”
“But nothing happened!” I exclaim, my face flaming red.
“Not yet!”
“At this rate, nothing ever will. . . .” I bite my lips painfully and wrap my arms around me.
“Wait—” Laronda peers at me sideways, her face moving in to take up much of the video screen. “Do you want something to happen? Do you—want to be with him, with your prince? Well? Spill it!”
“I—he’s not my prince,” I mutter. “And, I don’t know. I—”
“You really like him, don’t you?” Laronda is no longer fidgeting around or haranguing me, but looking at me wisely.
I pause for a moment.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think I do.”
“More than Logan?”
“I don’t know . . . maybe . . . yes.”
“Wow.” Laronda sits back now,
drawing away from the screen close-up. “In that case, girlfriend, you’re pretty much screwed. Unless the Atlantean prince plans to take you as his mistress or concubine, or whatever ho-slut hookup girl thing they call it over there—”
“Oh, stop it,” I say. “The word for lover is ‘amreve.’”
And I begin to cry.
Chapter Thirty-Five
This very same week in the first month of Red, they announce the third Zero-G Dance—this one hosted by the Red Quadrant.
Since the instability of the Quantum Stream outside is still high, and the velocities are unsafe for ship-to-ship travel, with the usual exception of astra daimon hotshot Pilots, we are mostly confined to our own ships for this particular Dance.
Which means, I can’t invite Gracie. Or Laronda. Or anyone else located elsewhere in the Fleet.
At first I consider skipping it—like I skipped the Green Dance. After all, I’m a fragile emotional wreck right now, barely functional, even though I don’t show it and put on a brave front.
But then something happens that makes me change my mind in a big way.
That night after my workout at the gym, after our hard sparring practice together, Xelio Vekahat asks me to go as his Date.
Let me repeat that, and explain the capital letter “D” in Date. This is Pilot Xelio Vekahat, the commanding officer in charge of the whole Red Quadrant on ICS-2. And he asks me to accompany him to the Zero-G Dance hosted by his Quadrant, in the official capacity as his one and only formal guest and significant other.
So yeah, date is probably an understatement.
“So, Gwen what are your plans for the Red Dance?” he says, standing very near me as he holds up my arm to correct my Er-Du stance.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I don’t know if I’m going.”
One of Xelio’s brows goes up and he peers at me closely as though stunned. I find his proximity and his facial expression both sarcastic and incredibly hot. “Of course you are. I want you to come as my official date.”
“Oh . . .” I say, my body stilling in the stance, as my poor mind tries to register this unexpected and frankly mind-blowing notion.
“Well?” he says, the gaze of his black eyes caressing me. “Is it really that hard? Say yes.”
“I—okay,” I mutter. “I mean, yes. Wow, thank you. . . . Are you sure?”
“Why would I not be?” Now he’s smiling at me.
“But—” My lips part and I suppose I’m having a deer-in-the-headlights moment. “Don’t you have any other real girls to ask?”
“Real?” His other brow goes up and now he’s definitely amused. “Are you saying, you’re not real, Gwen? Or is there something about you I need to know? Not a girl? Not human, maybe? I know—maybe you’re that wooden boy puppet from the old Earth children’s story?”
I snort and start feeling warm all over. A flush is rising, and my cheeks, my face, all of me is lit up. That was a dumb thing to say.
“I mean,” I start to backtrack, “maybe you have someone better to ask out.”
“Better how?”
Oh God, please don’t make me say it. . . . I think he’s intentionally torturing me.
I take a big breath. “Someone less ridiculous and more good looking.”
“I like ridiculous,” he says, examining me closely, while the smile is still on his lips. “And I like what I see—Shoelace Girl.”
“Oh, lord, no!” I purse my lips and shake my head. But I’m smiling too. “You’re never going to let me off for that incident, are you?”
“Never.” He leans in and suddenly kisses my cheek.
I feel an immediate conflagration of flames rising.
Yeah, I’m going to the Red Dance.
Talking about flames—fire is the theme of the Red Zero-G Dance. In three days, the Resonance Chamber will be decorated in every shade of burning, incendiary, combustible, infernal shade of crimson, scarlet, ruby, red there is.
When I ask Xelio awkwardly what I need to do for the Dance, he simply tells me, “Be there, wear red.”
Okay, I think, I suppose I can do that. And then I think—Help! Someone! Anyone! I have no idea how to really dress up, and as Xelio’s formal date I will need to look stunning.
And then a really intense new fire lights up under me—here’s my opportunity to do something that will make Command Pilot Kassiopei take a second look at me.
What do I need? Definitely an outfit, hair, and makeup. And then something else, for the wow factor. But—what?
I spend most of the next morning at work semi-daydreaming. I space out so often that Anu and Gennio notice my absentminded idiocy.
“Hey, Earth girl! Wake up!” Anu tosses a small computer component at me, hitting me on the back of the head, as I stare at the same screen for the last five minutes without moving. Obviously Aeson Kassiopei is not in the office this morning, else Anu would at least pretend to be businesslike and curb the rowdy.
“Anything wrong, Gwen?” Gennio asks with a glance from his work console.
“No, sorry, I was just thinking about what to wear for the Zero-G Dance,” I admit honestly.
“Oh, you could ask Vazara Hotat for help with that,” Gennio says with a smile.
The Music Mage! I recall Vazara’s classy stylish looks and her definite talent in the area of fashion and makeup. Plus, didn’t she offer to help me, back during the Blue Dance?
“Great idea! Thanks Gennio!” I exclaim. “I’ll go talk to her after this.”
“No, you won’t.” Anu snorts. “Vaz is stuck on another Ark-Ship today, and she won’t get a ride back to ICS-2 until the day after tomorrow, right before the Dance.”
“Oh, drat.” I purse my lips.
“Why, what do you need exactly? Is it just the 3D printer pattern for your outfit?” Gennio tries helpfully. “Because I think I have a bunch of those things on file. Maybe you can scroll through them and find something you like.”
“Okay, thanks.” But I am still pretty much lost at sea, here.
What I need is my little sis Gracie. Okay, I’ll call her tonight. But what I also need is for Gracie to magically materialize in my cabin with her big pouch of makeup. And that’s not going to happen.
I freeze for another long helpless moment, trying to think where I can get my hands on that girly stuff. I don’t really know any girls on this ship, at least not well enough to ask them to borrow their personal cosmetics. Because, yeah, that would be a class act—not.
“Can the 3D printer print cosmetics?” I ask the guys pitifully after a few more useless moments.
“Sure, probably,” Gennio says. “If you like, I can lend you my own eyeliner Paint stick, but it’s the only item I have, and I don’t think that’s adequate for your needs.”
“Hey, if you need that stuff, you can always ask Consul Denu!” Anu makes another loud laughing sound.
I pause momentarily. “Hmm, that’s not a bad idea. Do you think he has the right kind of makeup that’s okay to wear at the Zero-G Dance?”
“Hah!” Anu exchanges a superior glance with Gennio. “The Consul has everything. He has the most expensive stuff you wear at Court.”
“Oh, good.” I nod. “Because I need to look really nice.”
“Oh, yeah? How come?” Anu giggles. “Have a big date or something? Is it your boyfriend Sangre?”
I sigh. “Logan is not my boyfriend—not anymore,” I say quietly. “And yes, actually I do have a big date. I’m going with the person in charge of the Red Dance—Pilot Xelio Vekahat.”
“Whoa!” Anu’s mouth falls open. I think, for the first time ever, I’ve managed to impress him. “No way, you have a date with Xelio?”
“Who has a date with Xelio?”
We all turn around and it’s Command Pilot Kassiopei. Apparently he’s entered the room quietly, and now stands behind us, listening.
Immediately my face betrays me as I start to feel the heat explode in my cheeks. Idiot Anu simply had to raise his voice in that second and yell
out on top of his lungs, didn’t he? Ugh. . . .
“She does!” Anu says, pointing at me. And then we all remember our place and scramble up to salute.
“What’s going on here?” Aeson ignores the salute and his cool eyes turn to me, focusing.
“Oh, nothing, Command Pilot,” I respond, looking at the level of his chin.
“She has a date with Pilot Vekahat!” Anu continues gaping at me.
“Is that so?” Aeson resumes walking toward his desk as though nothing is amiss.
“Yes, for the Zero-G Dance,” I mutter.
“You’re not going with Sangre?” Aeson sits down in his chair and once more looks directly at me.
“No,” I say. “I’m not.”
“He’s not her boyfriend anymore!” Anu says loudly.
“Enough, Anu.” Now the Command Pilot is looking at me very closely. There’s a very strange expression on his face.
I blink.
There’s a somewhat long pause.
And then Aeson Kassiopei says comfortably, “You’re in luck. Xel is a very skilled dancer. You’ll enjoy the Dance.” And with infuriating calm he nods to all of us, and starts up his consoles.
For the rest of the shift I hide my face in my own work.
After lunch I am more than happy to escape to Pilot Training Class. Anything to avoid Kassiopei and the CCO.
When I get to the classroom deck, I see Cadets wandering all over the room, talking loudly, and I remember that this is pretty much the time when we’re supposed to make arrangements for our new Pilot Partners. Everyone’s mingling, talking. . . .
I see Hugo Moreno laughing loudly and confidently with some guy, one of his buddies, and I’m guessing that’s his new Co-Pilot.
But the interesting thing is, quite a few people choose to remain with their original partners. I see Logan and Oliver sharing a double console desk as usual. So is Blayne and his partner Leon Madongo, a wiry, soft-spoken Kenyan teen.
I stand kind of awkwardly, looking around. And for a moment I get a painful flashback to high school and being picked last for P.E. team sports. . . . Seems like not much has changed in that department.
Compete Page 41
