Rahel now knew enough about Lhyn’s torture to understand why she wouldn’t go into the chases. She had been held in a windowless room to destroy her sense of time, leaving her with a desperate need to see. It explained why Deck Zero, with its open spaces and transparent ceiling, was her favorite place on the ship.
“I haven’t sensed that kind of discomfort in you,” Rahel said. “Except for . . .” She waved a hand, not wanting to finish.
“My panic attack? That hardly counted. If you’d ever seen any of my big ones, you’d know that was nothing. Besides, you didn’t let it go anywhere. I told Ekatya about the linguistic snack, by the way. She’s sorry she didn’t think of it first.”
Later that day, Captain Serrado called Rahel into her office and thanked her for that very thing. “You did more than protect her,” she said. “You made her feel safe. I won’t forget that.” Then she swore Rahel to secrecy about the true circumstances of the attack.
It felt eerily familiar. How many secrets had she kept for Shantu? Now here she was, in this new life that was supposed to be about truth and honesty and working as a team, and she was ordered to lie to her shipmates.
She might have been more upset if not for the fact that Serrado was incandescent about the whole affair. It was difficult to stay angry while being swamped with such fury on her behalf. She found herself wanting to calm the captain, telling her that it was all right, she hadn’t been hurt and she was glad Lhyn wasn’t a target. That was a tremendous understatement, in truth. She would never forget feeling Lhyn’s panic and the valiant way she fought it back. As a veteran of night terrors herself, Rahel could only honor Lhyn’s courage and vow to protect her from situations where she would need to employ it.
But if she ever met Director Sholokhov in person, he had better hope there was a solid wall of weapons-grade glass between them.
The days passed in a blur as Lhyn continued their tours and lessons. In the late afternoons, she would wave from the entrance of a chase as Rahel took a break from empathic noise. With Zeppy’s approval and Dr. Wells’s encouragement, Rahel was on her way to mapping out the full network. There was a second ship hiding within these passages, a ship few were aware of. Rahel made it her home and set about learning every corner of it.
She used the matter printer in her quarters to print up several soft mats and stored them behind the ladders in the brace shafts. Each shaft had its own sweet spot, a place where the noise cancelled itself out to create a bubble of relative quiet. These became her tiny, private centering rooms. She would roll out the mat, lie down with her hands on her pelvic ridges, and quickly drop into the mental space that repaired her frayed edges.
When she emerged—often on the other side of the ship from where she had entered—Lhyn would be waiting with an offer of “cultural immersion,” her term for relaxing in one of the three bars on the Phoenix. Among other things, Rahel was learning the astonishing variety of non-alcoholic drinks available on a Fleet warship. Her favorite so far was the Synobian Sparkler, which sent stinging spikes of fizz up her nose and made her smile with every sip.
It was during one of these cultural immersions that Warrant Officer Roris brought her weapons team to their table.
“This is the warrior I watched beat down Pearson and six of his toadies,” Roris said proudly. “I’m just sorry I didn’t see her crush that DOP slime. Sayana, meet the best shots on the Phoenix.”
“She’s not boasting,” Lhyn said. “They keep winning the drills. Ekatya says that one of these days, she’s going to have to pull them off the roster during a drill so the other teams have a chance.”
The four troopers glowed with pride while striving to appear casual. Roris began the introductions, getting as far as the second name before Rahel’s brain clicked.
“Great Mother, you’re that Roris!” she blurted. “You were all in the Battle of Alsea! You stopped the first invasion!”
If their pride was bright before, it positively glittered when she told them how famous they were on Alsea. Roris called over the bartender and ordered a congratulatory round, and Rahel spent a glorious afternoon listening to stories told by the people who had lived them—people she had never dreamed of meeting, much less drinking with.
Three rounds later, Lhyn left for her quarters and Rahel followed her new friends to their weapons room for an introduction to the destructive capabilities of the Phoenix.
“Lhyn hasn’t shown me this yet,” she said, gazing in awe at the massive launch tubes.
Roris chuckled. “If you’re waiting for Dr. Rivers to show you our firepower, you’ll be waiting until retirement.”
“Beakers don’t like to think about the ‘war’ part of warship,” Trooper Torado said. He was a big man, with hair the color of sand and a sunny emotional presence that put Rahel at ease.
“Beakers?” she asked, making a pouring motion.
That amused them. “Yeah, language chips aren’t so good at slang, are they?” Trooper Ennserhofen said. “It’s Fleet speak for academics.”
“They like to stay up in their labs and offices and forget we’re down here.” Trooper Blunt was half the size of Torado, with colorless eyes and white hair in a tail. “Didn’t Dr. Rivers program your language chip? She probably left that out on purpose.”
“Not to limit you,” Roris said, heading off Rahel’s defensive ire. “It’s just that she hates the word. Captain Serrado mentioned it once.”
They invited her to their favorite training room and insisted that she demonstrate Alsean hand-to-hand techniques. She sparred with each of them in turn, grinning at the sheer physical joy of it, and quickly learned that small, quiet Blunt was the one to watch out for on the mat. Torado was big but slow, and not at all embarrassed by his friends’ jibes when Rahel pinned him. Looking up at her from his prone position on the mat, he said, “Yeah, but I have the best view in the room.”
“Fill your eyes,” she retorted. “It’s as far as you’ll get.”
He laughed with everyone else, and she soaked up the camaraderie like a desert flower in the rain. Warriors were warriors, it seemed, even when separated by genetics and culture.
At the end of her demonstration, she was pronounced “good enough” and nearly flattened by their congratulatory back slaps. She went back to her quarters walking half a body length off the ground.
Within a few days, Roris and her team had introduced Rahel to what felt like half the crew. Roris held a unique social position, moving easily through both the lower ranks and the commissioned officers. She was accomplished, respected, and liked, even by Captain Serrado. Her approval was a ticket to general acceptance among the crew.
It was ironic, Rahel thought, that the mistake that had sent her to a week of awful punishments would turn out to be the means of integrating into her new life.
Most evenings, Dr. Wells came by for what she called treatment and Rahel called the highlight of her day. If all medicine felt this good, no one would ever want to leave the medbay.
She had answers now. Living in a shouting, clanging cacophony of empathic noise was causing her body to produce high levels of stress hormones. Physical touch suppressed the stress, allowing her hormone levels to normalize.
She tried massage first, with a prescription from Dr. Wells that gave her a medical priority. But massage from a Gaian was nothing like massage from an Alsean. The skin contact was too much, especially given the therapist’s distaste and borderline fear of touching her. Rahel left that session in worse condition than she had entered it.
A second therapist did not mind her alien body but was still nervous about her empathy. Though she appreciated his effort to work past his discomfort, it was impossible to relax while anxiety was literally rubbed into her skin.
When she reported the second failure, Dr. Wells looked like a thundercloud.
“They can’t help how they feel,” Rahel said, hoping to shield those therapists from the wrath of Fahla. Ever since the murder attempt, Dr. Wells had been even more prote
ctive.
“I can’t help how I feel either,” Dr. Wells snapped. “They have no business serving in Fleet if they can’t handle something different. Pampered little . . .”
The last word was in her native language. Rahel didn’t know what it meant, but she could make a good guess. “Yelling at them won’t help me,” she pointed out.
“No, but it would make me feel better.” Dr. Wells tilted her head back and blew out a breath. “Fine. If you want something done right, do it yourself. I’ll come by this evening after my shift.”
“Um. I don’t think it will be therapeutic if I’m the last chore you have to get done today,” Rahel said carefully. “I need someone who enjoys what they do.”
Dr. Wells looked stricken as her anger evaporated. “No, I didn’t—dammit. Rahel, you’re not a chore. I’m just disappointed in the quality of care I’ve been able to get for you.”
That was ludicrous. “You had to pick me up off the floor. I couldn’t have won a fight with a fairy fly, and you solved that in minutes. I haven’t had any real problems since I started being honest with you. You don’t think that’s quality care?”
“It’s not enough,” she insisted. “It’s all preventative. I still don’t have anything in place to reverse the buildup. I don’t have a treatment.”
“Yes, you do! You gave it to me that day! What you don’t have is a regular provider for it.” Why didn’t Fleet have comfort givers? It would solve so many problems.
“Which is why I’m coming by your quarters.” She held up a hand. “I promise not to be angry when I get there.”
Rahel couldn’t help herself. “You have a medication for that? You should take it more often.”
“Very funny.” But it worked; her emotions softened. “What I did when you were in your signaling loop—that was an old instinct. One I haven’t used in a long time.”
“Since Josue.”
She gave a sharp nod. “I wouldn’t consider it a chore to use those skills again.”
It was healer language and justification for something Sharro could have said in five words: It would give me pleasure. But Dr. Wells couldn’t say that. The lines these Gaians drew between what was acceptable and what wasn’t defied understanding. If Dr. Wells could benefit from the same treatment she was offering, where was the harm?
They did not use the positioning she was accustomed to with Sharro, which would have entailed lying down with her head in Dr. Wells’s lap. Rahel couldn’t imagine it, and Dr. Wells did not invite it. After trying several arrangements, they settled for having Dr. Wells sit on the couch while Rahel sat on the floor between her feet, facing away. It gave them the mental distance they needed to keep this from becoming uncomfortably intimate.
Yet it was impossible to feel the fingers combing through her hair, or sliding gently along the sides of her face, and not relax into something that wasn’t quite a doctor-patient relationship. Over time, they talked about everything from medicine to cultural differences to food to life in Fleet. Not even Lhyn’s lessons could cover the breadth of useful knowledge that a career Fleet officer could.
“I was hoping we could make the equivalent of an empathic white noise transmitter,” Dr. Wells said one evening. “Something that would reproduce what the chases do for you. But Zeppy told me today it can’t be done. The equipment wouldn’t be portable. The best we could do is install a system in your quarters, but you don’t need that here.”
“Thank Fahla. I thought you were going to say I’m being kicked down to my old quarters.”
“That would be cruel, wouldn’t it?”
Rahel glanced over her shoulder.
“Oh, don’t give me that look. I may be tough, but I’m not cruel. The problem is that you’re always going to need this. Not every day, but certainly on a regular basis. You might think about eventually finding someone else to help. I hear you’ve made quite an impression on Roris and her team.”
“In other words, you can’t be my only provider.”
Dr. Wells ran her hands down the sides of Rahel’s neck and rested them on her shoulders, the gesture that meant she was done for the evening. “As much as I enjoy this, you shouldn’t limit yourself to one person.”
Rahel smiled, wondering how long it would take her to realize what she had just said.
“My schedule isn’t always stable,” Dr. Wells continued, oblivious to her admission. “There will be times when I can’t be here, and I can’t accept the idea of you going into decline because I’m tied up in an emergency. But you need to be careful about who you accept. I’ve seen the crew members following you with their tongues hanging out. That’s not a qualifying factor.”
“Don’t worry. Tongue touches don’t normalize my stress hormones.”
Making Dr. Wells laugh had become one of Rahel’s favorite things. It always felt like an accomplishment.
“You’re starting to sound like a doctor,” Dr. Wells said approvingly. “Very academic.”
Academic. The word caught Rahel’s attention.
The next morning, she asked Lhyn if their daily tour could end with a treatment.
Lhyn was more than amenable; she was enthusiastic. “I used to do this with my youngest sister when we were kids,” she said, settling on the couch and patting her thighs. “Put your head here.”
What was impossible with Dr. Wells was easy with Lhyn. Rahel went down with what she thought must be a visible cloud of bliss over her head. The position was so familiar that her body sagged under its own weight.
“Why did you stop?” she asked as Lhyn began combing her hair back. “With your sister, I mean.”
“We grew up. Went different ways. I’m the only person in my family to set foot off-planet. They don’t even vacation anywhere else.”
Rahel could not fathom having easy access to galactic exploration and choosing not to use it. “It’s good you’re living on Alsea,” she said. “We appreciate you more.”
Lhyn chuckled. “Now that is the truth and a half.”
By the end of their time, Rahel was so relaxed that she had almost fallen asleep twice. Even better, she had no qualms about offering to return the favor.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Lhyn flipped her long body around and stretched out with a happy sigh. “Good thing you have the fancy quarters with the me-sized couch.”
Rahel looked down at her smooth face with its lack of ridges and marveled that an alien was in her lap. As she ran her fingertips across Lhyn’s forehead and down the side of her face, a chuckle escaped.
Lhyn’s brilliant green eyes opened. “What?”
“I’ve never felt an alien before.” She traced Lhyn’s cheekbone, fascinated by the presence of a vestigial ridge beneath the soft skin. “You’re like a child. Your ridges are here, but they never came to the surface.”
“You are so fortunate that I know what you mean. Otherwise I might take offense at being told I’m undeveloped.”
Rahel grinned, undeterred. “You’re like a child in your emotional broadcasts, too. Hoi, that could be the answer! Maybe Gaians are a branch of undeveloped Alseans.”
“There’s a research proposal that would never get off the ground. ‘Hello, I’m here to ask for funding to prove that Gaians are evolutionarily nonprogressive relative to Alseans.’ I’d be thrown out the door.”
“Take me with you. I guarantee that nobody will throw you out of any doors.”
Lhyn closed her eyes, her expression showing nothing but her emotions suffused with a warm sense of safety. “Thank you. Now stop talking about my retarded development and pet me.”
Laughing, Rahel complied with orders.
14
Proposition
Lhyn was the ideal partner for Rahel’s medical needs, but she was not a member of the crew. Even though she promised to come on more patrols, Rahel needed another candidate, one who would always be on board.
The answer came the next day, when she and Lhyn were taking a cultural immersion break in the Blue Rocket, t
heir favorite bar.
“Mind if I interrupt?” Commander Lokomorra stood at their table with a bright orange drink in his hand.
“Not at all, have a seat,” Lhyn said. “What is that?”
“Neutron star. Guaranteed to blow off your outer layers and strip you down to the core.” He pulled out a chair and settled in, directing a smile at Rahel that brought out deep dimples on both sides of his mouth. “First Guard Sayana, well met.”
From the moment of their introduction, Lokomorra had used the Alsean greeting. She liked him based on that alone, and her estimation had only grown since then.
Commander Lokomorra was the ship’s executive officer, second only to the captain, but he wore his authority with ease. Where Rahel found Captain Serrado intimidating, Lokomorra was friendly and approachable, emanating a calm emotional presence that was at odds with his fierce physical appearance. He was tall and well-muscled, with close-cropped black hair interrupted by what she had initially thought were two shaven bands running from his temples to the back of his head. In fact, those bands were made up of permanently destroyed hair follicles, a body alteration common to the megacity where he had grown up. Another common alteration was the set of tattooed black lines rimming his dark brown eyes.
But his most eye-popping feature was the thick, forked beard capped off with two beads at the end of each fork. Alseans did not have body hair. Male Gaians seemed to have an astonishing profusion of it, unless they removed it every day—a chore Rahel couldn’t imagine having to perform.
Lokomorra smoothed one hand over his beard, pulling the two halves together until the beads clicked against each other. “Can’t stop staring at this, can you?”
“No,” Rahel said honestly. “If you go with Captain Serrado on her next leave to Alsea, every person you pass will be staring at that.”
“But they’ll stare politely,” Lhyn interjected. “I speak from experience.”
“They stare at your beard, too?”
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