She frowned over this surprising thought and the commander chuckled again, his eyebrows rising. "And what sparked this grim expression, little mims?" He glanced over at the captain and added, "Ryelle has no sense of humor. It’s her worst flaw."
Ryelle blinked at him. "I can perform my duties without it," she said mildly then stiffened when they both laughed.
"I see what you mean," Captain Gibbs said to the commander, flashing Ryelle a warm grin. "We’ll need to work on that."
"I was not told that having a sense of humor was a requirement," Ryelle stated, trying hard to keep the tightness out of her voice. Anxiety spiraled within her. Were they testing her again? Or was this some new societal cruelty she hadn’t experienced yet?
Commander Task’s face eased into a gentle smile. "It’s becoming clear to me, little mims, that the Institute failed to tell you a lot of things. In this instance, having a sense of humor, laughing, having fun, enjoying yourself—this makes the difference between simply existing and living."
Her brows contracted in confusion and she glanced over at the captain to gauge her response. The older woman was watching the commander with a wry little smile. Ryelle took a deep breath and very carefully asked, "There is a difference between existing and living?"
Their smiles faded and Ryelle felt her stomach clench in dismay. She’d said something wrong. If this was another test, she was failing.
The two officers exchanged a heavy glance. "The Institute has even more to answer for than I thought," the commander said softly. The captain’s lips compressed, but Ryelle wasn’t sure if this meant she agreed or not.
Then, for some obscure reason, they began discussing food. Baffled, Ryelle stared from one to the other, trying to understand what just happened. But they didn’t exclude her this time and soon she was too busy keeping up with their conversational gambits to puzzle out what she’d done wrong.
Chapter 4
Declan was nervous. Ryelle was on her way down to the engineering section, and he was almost as nervous about it as he’d been at his initial interview with Commander Task. Being on this ship and working with her engines meant everything to him—it was the culmination of all his dreams. The commander had approved his appointment, but not until after he’d grilled Declan into the ground.
Waiting for Ryelle, he felt the same kind of sick excitement in his stomach, the same urgent need to not screw up. It didn’t help matters that the Chief, Bags, and Frankie were all waiting with him. As usual, the Chief was serenity itself, but Bags and Frankie were taking turns teasing him unmercifully. He did his best to tune them out, fidgeting and shifting until the Chief said, "Settle," in a mild tone that nevertheless made all three of them fall silent and still.
At that moment, Ryelle stepped into the corridor and moved toward them. She was wearing another long-sleeved dress, this time in a deep, rich maroon that emphasized her coloring. It seemed to be the same cut as the other dress he’d seen her in and he wondered if this was some sort of telenetic uniform. Not that he was any damned expert—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman in a dress. That kind of outfit was reserved for the higher classes, not for the working class or the crew of a voidship. Which only made her seem that much more exotic and mysterious.
"Telenetic Soliere, thank you for gracing us with your delightful presence." The Chief gave her a warm smile and slight bow.
"You’re very kind," she said with a faint smile of her own. "I know I’m interfering with your work."
"Not at all. These engines practically run themselves. Now that you’re here, we’ll have an excuse to run about looking busy."
Bags snorted and Frankie’s muttered, "Run themselves? I’ll give you busy, you old—" was muffled by the Chief clearing his throat loudly. Declan cringed.
"May I introduce you to some of my crew? From what I understand, you have already met young Declan. The sulking monstrosity to his left is my second, Zepher Bagera. Don’t believe a word he says. And never play cards with him. He’s a terrible cheat. And this retiring angel is Francine Sho. Don’t play cards with her either. She’s quite honest, but a violent loser."
Ryelle stared at the Chief for a moment without expression. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. "Chief Sheridan, have you been speaking to Commander Task about me?"
Declan caught a suspicious twinkle in the Chief’s eyes before he widened them in an awful parody of innocence. "Never say it, Dove. Shall I turn you over to Declan’s capable hands, then?"
She sighed, her expression faintly irritable. Declan felt his stomach tighten with anxiety. Had she changed her mind about wanting him to give the tour?
Facing the Chief’s crew, she surprised Declan by saying, "I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s a pleasure to meet the two of you and to see you again." She met Declan’s gaze and drove the breath out of his chest. He’d forgotten the impact of those dark eyes.
Anxious to get her away from his crewmates before they said something to offend her, he waved her toward the door to the main engine rooms. "Would you like to get started, Mem?"
Bags grumbled something about netter-hogging twits, but Frankie captured his arm and dragged him toward engineering. Over her shoulder, she said to Ryelle, "Let me know if he gives you any trouble, sugar." With a lascivious wink and a flashing grin, they were gone.
Declan heaved a sigh of relief then reddened under Ryelle’s curious glance and the Chief’s wry stare. "’Scuse me," he muttered. "Bags and Frankie just take some getting used to."
"That they do," The Chief responded with a benign smile and ushered them into the engineering section’s anteroom where most of their hardware was stored. Turning to Ryelle, he said, "I do hope you enjoy our little kingdom. But before you begin, you need to know that energy produced by the engines interferes with many communication devices. For example, that bauble on your head is most likely nonfunctional at present."
He paused, his expression serene as usual, but Ryelle’s eyes widened as she touched the sliver net around her hair. Studying her with a thoughtful look, the Chief continued, "I would also like to extend an open invitation to our domain. You may visit here as often as you wish, whenever you wish." Turning to Declan, the Chief gave him a bland smile. "Don’t forget to show her the blind spots."
Then he turned and strolled away. Declan stared after him for a moment, baffled.
"Blind spots?" Ryelle asked.
Jerking his head around, he met her gaze and lost his train of thought for a long, blank moment in those dark depths. "Um, blind spots…" he mumbled then cleared his throat. "He means where our security doesn’t cover. There are spots on deck where nobody can see or hear you. Bags loves ‘em—he sneaks naps."
A faint smile touched her lips as she turned to watch the Chief disappear around the corner. "He is a very nice man," she said softly.
"Yeah." Declan watched her, aware of his heart thumping along in his chest. Her lashes fascinated him. He wondered what they would feel like against his fingertips, against his skin… A flash of heat caught him by surprise and he hurried to focus on something else. "What does it do?"
She turned to him, a lingering curl to her lips. "What does what do?"
He pointed. "Your hair…thing," he mumbled, a flush climbing his neck.
Her face grew serious and she looked down, touching a hand to the silver net at her forehead. "It’s…for communication. The Institute can see and hear everything I do. Except maybe here in engineering." Her head lifted suddenly, eyes spearing him with their intensity. "Can you check it? Can you tell if it’s still working?"
"Sure," he said absently, frowning at the pretty thing. They could see and hear everything? Wasn’t that a violation of her privacy? How could she stand it? Why would she allow it?
Ushering her over to a storage unit, he pulled out a scanner and stepped close to her. It was nearly his undoing. He didn’t touch her, but he felt the warm pressure of her telenetic ability, caught her scent, and forgot what he was supposed to
be doing. He tingled from head to toe in the aura of her power. She smelled sweet and delicious, like some exotic dessert he should be savoring. He inhaled deeply, his eyelids drooping and mind fogging with the intoxicating aroma and the sensations that rippled over his skin. The beep of the scanner saved him, tugging him out of his daze long enough to realize that it had done its job without him.
Moving hastily away, he stared at the thing in his shaking hand while his mind slowly cleared.
"What does it say?" she asked after a long moment.
"Low energy output. No signal," he answered, not raising his head. He was appalled and embarrassed by his uncontrolled reaction to her. "It’s not working in here."
"Good," she said with such bitter emphasis that he jerked his head up to look at her. She was touching her temples, her lips in a grim line. A moment later, the net slithered into her hands.
"If you don’t like it…"
Her chin lifted and she stared at him with a mixture of defiance and despair. "I don’t have a choice."
"But…other telenetics don’t wear those. Why would—?"
"Declan," she interrupted with a pained expression, chin dropping as she glanced at the thing dangling from her fingers. After a brief hesitation, she continued, "May I still call you Declan?"
"Yeah, sure," he said in a faint voice, studying her bent head. He was confused and dismayed by her situation and his own responses. She was so powerful, but she looked so fragile that it made him ache all over. That ache was just a little terrifying.
She peeked up at him through her lashes, a hesitant curl to her mouth. "Yes?"
That look nearly killed him. He swallowed hard to push his heart back down his throat and clutched the scanner in both hands until his knuckles turned white. "Yes, please," he responded carefully, keeping his voice steady with an effort.
Her mouth curled into a full-fledged smile that did stop his heart for just a second, before it thundered into life again. "And you’re still calling me Ryelle?"
"I am. Ryelle." Her name was sweet on his tongue and it warmed him enough to tug an answering smile from him.
Her smile faded, though, and she gave him a puzzled look as she pressed the hairnet to her chest. Then she glanced down swiftly as if surprised to find the thing in her hands. "Do you have somewhere I can put this?" she asked in an absent tone.
He moved to the storage unit, replacing the scanner and stepping well out of her way so she could place the net inside. A thought struck him as he watched her and he retrieved a pair of communicators when she moved back. Holding one out to her, he explained, "It’s really loud on deck. It’ll be easier to talk if we have these. Special made to work inside."
She nodded and reached for the little earpiece on his palm. Her fingers brushed his skin and he jumped at the shock of sensation that ran up his arm. She gave him an inquiring look as she placed the communicator in her ear, but he just rubbed his palm on his pants and turned toward the main engine room door.
"This way," he muttered and opened the door, barely aware of the familiar rush of sound. They stepped through together, but a moment later he realized that she was no longer at his side. Turning, he caught her rapt expression and grinned.
"Oh, it’s beautiful," she said, eyes fixed on the proton streams. Or he thought that’s what she said. Hastily, he tucked the communicator into his ear. "They never said it would be so beautiful."
He felt his chest puff out with what was probably stupid pride, but he couldn’t help it. These engines were the joy of his life and her reaction suited him right down to his toes. "Want a closer look?"
She flashed him that smile again, the one that made him forget his name, before she moved forward. He followed, watching her instead of the streams. The golden light rippled across her skin like a sun-kiss and touched her hair with deep echoes of red. He was so engrossed in the patterns of light moving across her that he forgot to warn her about the streams. She reached for a tube, only to jerk her hand back with a squeak of surprise.
"Oh, sorry, I meant to warn you. They give off a jolt, kind of like…" Declan fell silent, at a loss as to how to finish that sentence. Kind of like when you touch me or even come close to me. But saying so just didn’t seem polite. Or very bright.
"But it didn’t hurt. I was just startled. May I touch it again?"
He fought a smile, wondering what she’d do if he asked the same thing of her. "Sure, go ahead. It’s not dangerous."
She reached, a faint, anticipatory wince on her face until her fingers touched the clear tube. Then her expression grew rapt again as she moved her fingers slowly along the contour. "This is amazing. I can feel the tingle all the way up my arm and the light is extraordinary. How does it work?"
It was hard to keep his mind on the explanation while watching her. Those gently moving fingers and parted lips were particularly train-of-thought-destroying. But he did his best. It helped when she stopped caressing the tube and turned her attention to the vast cavern below them, as he described the function of the ship’s propulsion systems.
"Incredible," she murmured. "And you go down there?"
"All the time. Do you want to go?"
She flashed him a quick glance then stared down into the cavern with a thoughtful look. "Yes," she said. "I think I do."
With a smothered grin, he ushered her over to the grav-trolley. "We use this to cruise around inside the engine, reach tight places. It’s got anti-grav, but it’s a little bucky. And there’s a step down, be careful—" As he noticed that there was a drop from the deck to the trolley, he reached for her arm to help her down, then realized what he was doing and pulled away as if burned. "I’m sorry!"
She looked up at him with a faint smile, still moving toward the trolley. "It’s all right. You were just being courteous. That’s—oh!" At the step, she lost her balance.
With the speed of panic, he lunged forward and caught her arms. "Oh, shit! Are you okay? I can’t believe I almost let you do a header…" His voice trailed away as he realized that she was staring at his hands on her arms. Once he stopped talking, sensation broke through his adrenaline rush, spiraling up his arms and into his chest like a siren song. He let her go abruptly then jerked his hands back up, afraid that he’d let her go too fast. "Sorry! Sorry…"
"I’m fine," she murmured. "Guess I should have let you help me down." But she didn’t look fine. There was such a mournful expression on her face that Declan wanted to throw himself over the edge of the cavern for causing it.
"What is it?" he asked anxiously. "Did I hurt you?" She had felt as fragile as she looked, arms small, flesh soft, bones light under his grip.
"No." She met his gaze then gave him a pained smile. "I’m fine, really. Let’s go." Bracing a hand on the rail of the trolley, she lifted her skirt, took a careful step down, and moved out of his way.
He stepped down with the grace of long practice and moved to the controls, shooting her a troubled glance. Her delicate features were tight with some emotion that he couldn’t name. "I’m sorry," he said again.
She sighed as they began to drift, looking out over the engines with such a melancholy expression that his chest hurt. "It’s not you. I just haven’t been touched in a long time." Her tone was abrupt and nearly kept him from replying.
But the pain in his chest wouldn’t go away, so he ventured, "Why not?" He hesitated then asked the really stupid question, "Don’t telenetics touch each other?" He braced himself for a caustic reply, but she didn’t answer for several long moments.
"They don’t touch me."
There was such raw grief in those words that he lurched toward her almost without volition. "Ryelle," he whispered, fighting a desperate battle to not wrap his arms around her. "Why not?"
She took a shuddering breath, blinking fiercely. "Is…is there a blind spot close by? I don’t want—I need privacy," she said in a shaky voice.
Clenching his hands into fists, he moved stiffly to the controls and steered the trolley to the cavern’s bott
om. He ushered her to an alcove recessed in the wall that held tools, spare parts, and a long bench courtesy of Bags and his need to nap. "This is a blind spot," he said through his distress. "Nobody will see you here."
She gave him a jerky nod without looking at him and lowered herself gingerly onto the bench. Staring at her bent head for a moment, he swallowed hard and sat beside her, trapping his fists under his arms so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her. The temptation grew almost unbearable when he saw tears leaking out from under those fantastic lashes. He swore viciously under his breath and bolted to his feet, pacing in front of the bench.
"Ryelle," he said in a hoarse voice, "tell me what’s wrong. I can’t—I need to know. Did I do something? Maybe say something wrong?"
She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks with shaking fingers. "No," she whispered. "It’s not you." Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and gazed out at the mix of shadow and golden light under the engines with blind, liquid eyes. "The last person to touch me like that was my mother. That was five years ago. She’s in a coma."
"Oh, god," Declan groaned, dropping to the bench beside her again.
"She’s everything—she’s all I—" She bent her head again, raising a trembling hand to her forehead.
Declan tightened his arms down on his fists until he could feel bone grind against bone, knuckle against rib. He had a flash of his own mother, the last time he’d seen her, stern face creased with a wide smile, reflecting his own excitement. But her blue eyes had glistened with tears of pride and grief. He remembered her last hug, uncharacteristically tight and lingering, and felt a painful lump lodge in his throat. She was his only family, his best friend, and it was harder than he’d realized it would be, being away from her for so long. It was hard, even though he had regular contact with her and knew they’d see each other again. He couldn’t imagine what Ryelle was going through.
"What happened to her?" he whispered.
She was silent for a moment, hand hiding her features. Then she sighed, dropping her hand to stare out at the engines with the bleakest expression he’d ever seen. "They said…she had a reaction to a medication."
No Such Thing Page 5
