No Such Thing

by Michelle O'Leary

  "Commander," she said breathlessly as she reached his side.

  "Your work?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the chaotic scene on the viewer.

  She winced a little. "My apologies. I didn’t pay attention to the composition of the gases when I—"

  "Works for me. They’re running instead of fighting."

  "Ah…so are we, sir," she pointed out, watching the viewer as the four GenTec ships led them on a frantic path away from the nebula’s violent reaction and toward the edge of the star nursery.

  "Nobody likes fire up their ass. Difference is the Odyssey could take it. When we’re in the open, I want you to act like a level five unless I say otherwise."

  "Yes, sir," she said, clasping her hands at her waist and trying her best to be calm. They’d discussed this strategy before, her pretending she was a normal telenetic instead of the freak show she really was. Until he knew the situation, where the battle and all the ships stood, he wanted to keep her in reserve. Ace in the hole, he’d called her, whatever that meant.

  When they burst into free space, the communication system crackled to life, spitting with sounds of battle. Ryelle gasped and she wasn’t the only one. They’d had the bad luck to exit the nebula into the middle of a skirmish, which was probably why they’d run into the four GenTec ships. They’d been trying to escape the Fleet vessels, which had trapped a number of GenTecs against the nebula’s ominous façade.

  The commander didn’t seem surprised in the least, nor did he hesitate. Ryelle watched in admiration while he began barking orders, turning the Odyssey without slowing her to glide along the nebula in a predatory arc, firing at the GenTecs and sending them scattering back toward the Fleet. Then the Odyssey took position at the edge of the nebula and released a flood of fighters.

  Ryelle’s heart jumped into her throat as she watched the formations of smaller ships dart after the fleeing GenTecs. They looked so tiny and defenseless, though she knew they were agile and well armed. With grim determination, she extended her talent with them, knowing she shouldn’t but unable to stop. She understood tactics and strategy, but if even one fighter died because she was pretending to be powerless, she’d never forgive herself. Hopefully in the confusion of battle, neither the GenTecs nor her commander would see her occasional assistance.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have the chance. The GenTec ships flared out just beyond the range of the larger Fleet vessels, their pattern looking like a mushroom top as they arced back toward the nebula and around the fighter formations. The GenTecs came together again between the Odyssey and her fighters, swirling in a deranged cloud at maximum speed straight at the Odyssey. Their erratic movements were meant to make targeting difficult, but not all would escape the larger ship’s firepower.

  "Suicide?" she asked the commander softly.

  "For some. The rest hope to escape around us into the nebula."

  "But their ships aren’t made to withstand the nebula," she said with a frown as she watched the Odyssey cut through their numbers. They were firing back, but their wild flight paths played havoc with their aim.

  "Some will."

  "Do you want me to stop them?"

  "Not this time, little mims."

  "But—"

  "Believe me, there’ll be other opportunities. Just remember what I said and keep the Odyssey whole."

  "Yes, sir," she responded, facing the oncoming horde and folding her talent around the Odyssey in a protective bubble with a lift of her chin. This ship and crew had become so much more than just her duty. As she watched the swirl of hostility and violent energy bearing down on them, it was suddenly hard for her to hold back, to restrain her response to merely passive absorption of their blasts. She wanted to force them away, to keep them at a distance. She watched them thunder toward the Odyssey and clenched her jaw so hard that her temples throbbed.

  She got an opportunity for more direct action when one GenTec ship received a disabling shot and spun out of control, heading directly for the Odyssey on a crash course. She reacted the instant it happened, the force of her repulsion breaking the ship apart. It was over in seconds, the rest of the GenTec ships whirling around them and diving into the nebula.

  Ryelle took a shaky breath, looking at the drifting pieces of her handiwork. "Sorry, sir," she whispered. "I overreacted."

  "Excellent work, Telenetic Soliere," he answered in a voice raised for the entire deck to hear. "Please watch aft for any returning GenTec."

  "Yes, sir," she said, though she was already tracking the hostile ships deep into the nebula. They didn’t appear to want to make another run at the Odyssey. But she focused on their retreating shapes with single-minded intensity, doing her duty and keeping her thoughts from straying to the deaths she’d caused.

  As she followed the path of the GenTec, the commander ordered the fighters back to the Odyssey and contacted the Fleet for an initial update on the status of the conflict. She heard the Fleet captains check in with their commander and recognized Captain Gibbs’ voice announcing the Destiny’s location and status with terse professionalism.

  Apparently there was a similar skirmish happening further along the nebula, an extension of the battle they’d just crashed which had moved away as the GenTec worked to escape. The GenTec had been chased here from a planetary system they’d been pillaging for whatever goods they could scavenge. It was on the edge of the Mirabella star cluster where the GenTec were making their most serious forays into Fleet territory.

  The commander sent a few Fleet vessels to join the fray, before giving Ryelle an appraising glance. She spoke before he could say anything. "They lost twenty percent of their forces and the rest have joined the others. Should we follow and engage?"

  "That eager to go into battle, little mims?" he asked quietly, piercing blue gaze dissecting her every thought.

  "That eager to protect our people, sir," she answered just as quietly, meeting his gaze straight on.

  He shook his head. "They can handle it. You can’t be everywhere at once and the Odyssey needs to be in Mirabella. How are you holding up?"

  "I’m still here," she said grimly, tightening her linked fingers together until they hurt. Later she would think about what she’d done. Later she’d consider the blood on her hands. Not now. Now the Odyssey needed her.

  "You don’t need to be. You have my leave to go to my office. Keep an ear to the com so you can follow our progress, but we shouldn’t need you until Mirabella."

  She heard the dismissal and was frankly dismayed, but gave him a stiff nod of acknowledgement and turned away. She would have preferred to delay her reckoning, to stand at his side and concentrate on the workings of the ship, but she knew he was right. At some point, when she’d stood still long enough without actively participating, the truth would crash in on her and it was better for that to happen out of sight of the rest of the crew.

  She hurried down the short corridor to his office and settled gingerly into her usual cushioned chair. Then she folded her hands in her lap and allowed herself to remember. The ship had burst apart with a flare of light and a spray of debris. She hadn’t seen bodies with her eyes, but she’d felt them with her talent, felt them scatter and die.

  The blood drained from her face and she couldn’t seem to get any air into her lungs. She gasped, leaning forward for a moment, before jumping to her feet and dashing for the restroom, where she was violently sick. She’d felt them die. She’d murdered human beings. There’d been no malice in her actions, no anger—only swift alarm and a desire to protect. Still, she had killed. She hadn’t had the guts to count how many.

  When she was finished emptying her stomach, she washed her face with trembling fingers. Lifting her head, she caught sight of the deep blackness of her eyes, contrasting sharply with her white skin, and turned away with a whimper of horror. She needed Declan. Needed his arms to support her, his touch to sooth her, his words to bring sense to this lunacy. She was heading for the com unit to contact engineering when it announced
an incoming transmission.

  From the Institute.

  Ryelle nearly threw up again. She’d forgotten that once they were clear of the nebula, the Institute would be back in contact with her. For most telenetics, this would probably be a relief. A chance to reconnect with their peers, receive direction and support. For her, the Institute was oppression, judgment, and criticism.

  She wiped a hand across her mouth, reaching deep for the discipline to face them. Smoothing her hair and concentrating on her breathing until it was even, she sat before the com viewer and activated the transmission.

  Her main handler, Grieve, stared at her, his doughy face as expressionless as stone. "Ryelle. Why are you not wearing your headdress?"

  Of course he would pick that issue to begin. "We’ve been in battle," she said, trying to keep the edge of resentment and anger out of her tone. "I performed acceptably for Commander Task. I did destroy one enemy ship, which wasn’t to the letter of his order, but he is still satisfied."

  She’d succeeded in distracting him. His deep-set eyes narrowed the faintest bit. "What was his order?"

  "That I perform as a level five telenetic, keeping the extent of my talent hidden for now. However, the ship was on an intercept with the Odyssey. I reacted with slightly too much force to deflect it and it broke apart."

  "We will need your full report and data on the action for a thorough review. Commander Task’s alleged satisfaction not withstanding, you have been trained to have better discipline, Telenetic Soliere."

  His mouth had thinned and his pudgy cheeks took on a bit of color. For Grieve, this was an extravagant show of emotion. His displeasure would have sent her into a panic a few days ago, but now she merely stared at him and wished the conversation to be over. She still needed Declan desperately.

  "We have tried to access your headdress and retrieve data from the communications blackout, but there is no data stored on it. Why is that?" His tone held a silky, taunting edge.

  Resentment surged in her. He knew very well why—unless the snood had been damaged, there was only one other explanation. It was just like him to play this kind of power game. She supposed he expected her to stammer and beg forgiveness. Instead, she gave him a direct stare and said, "I haven’t worn it, Handler. There is no further need for it."

  His eyes flared with emotion, but of what kind she couldn’t tell. "We decide when there is no further need for the headdress, Ryelle Soliere," he said tightly. "You obviously still require careful watch. We’ve accessed the Odyssey’s logs for the past several days, and from what we’ve seen, your behavior has been a disgrace to the Institute. We expect our telenetics to conduct themselves with dignity and professionalism. Instead, you have been cavorting throughout the flagship of the Fleet with all the dignity of a crass, hormonal, low-class nerc. And with a low ranking, backwater crewman, no less. Your actions reflect poorly on the Institute, Ryelle—"

  "My actions with Crewman McCrae are private, Handler Grieve," she said in a tone very close to a snarl. "My personal life is none of your business—"

  "On the contrary, Telenetic," he retorted, sitting forward to glare at her. "Everything you do is our business. You are the Institute’s representative on that ship and we will not have our image tarnished in this way. You will resume wearing the headdress, and you will end this tawdry little relationship with that boy at once."

  "No," Ryelle said on a rising tide of fury. "You won’t invade my privacy any further. Nor will you threaten me with that inducer ever again. And there is nothing wrong with Declan. He is a better man than all of you people put together, so no. I won’t wear it and I won’t stop seeing him."

  Grieve actually bared his teeth at her. She’d never seen him so overtly furious, but she had also never been so overtly rebellious. His skin had turned a ruddy shade from his neck all the way into his hairline. "You will on both counts or we will recall you. You are ours to control, Telenetic, and you will obey our orders."

  "Oh, really? You plan to stop the war just so I can return to the Institute?"

  The red of his skin took on a dangerous, purple tint and his muddy eyes glinted wildly. "If you care for that boy of yours, you’ll do as I say, girl. We’re transferring you off the Odyssey as of right now. Don’t you—"

  "What do you mean, if I care for him?" Ryelle overrode him with a lurch of sick dread in her belly.

  He sneered. "The people you love always seem to get hurt, don’t they, Ryelle?"

  She stared at him in dawning horror. "Are you threatening him?" she whispered as a red haze consumed her vision.

  He blinked, his face going blank for a second. Then he continued in a flat tone, "You are a danger to everyone around you. We only allowed you out of the Institute because of the dire need on the frontlines. If you care for the people on that ship, you will obey orders and remove yourself from their vicinity before you do them harm. Is that understood?"

  For a moment she feared his prediction would come true. The rage flowing like hot sunfire through her veins required some form of release, destroying her control to the point that the unsecured objects in the room began to jitter and lift from their resting places. The implication of what he’d said was inescapable, never mind his attempt to cover it at the last.

  They had caused her mother’s coma.

  She’d read it in his face, in his sneer, in the gloating in his voice when he’d said the people she loved got hurt. Whether they’d meant to kill her mother or if the coma had been their aim all along, they had managed to remove the only obstacle to controlling Ryelle utterly. The snood had taught her discipline over her talent and fear of them. The grief of losing her mother had taught her submission. Somewhere deep down, she had known, had suspected what they’d done, but she’d been so broken, emotionally and physically, that she’d lost her will to them. She’d found it again, bit by bit, on the Odyssey.

  And now, they were threatening to do it again. To destroy her again by destroying someone she loved. The rage burned and howled in her, tearing her apart and melting her into a new shape, a new creature. The objects in the room began to whirl around her as if she’d become a tornado, the violent center of a storm. She dug her fingers so hard into the console that she broke nails, but wouldn’t feel it or see the blood until later.

  She watched Grieve’s eyes widen with discernable fear and felt only hunger to see more. With a flick of her talent, she pulled open the receptacle where her snood had rested for so many days. Then she brought it arrowing through the room until it spun to a halt in Grieve’s line of vision. Without a word, eyes locked on his, she shredded it, the pieces flying apart in a little tinkling burst of metal.

  "I will be returning to the Institute, Grieve, but God help you when I do, because I won’t be under your control any longer."

  "You can’t threaten me," he wheezed, eyes bulging in his fat head. "The other telenetics will—"

  It was her turn to sneer. "Please. They couldn’t touch me. And I don’t need to threaten you. You’re beneath me. I’m transferring off the Odyssey. These people have been good to me and I know what an insufferable prick you can be when you don’t get your way. But let’s not ruin the Institute’s image by antagonizing the next ship’s crew, hmm? And about the boy…" She paused and the objects whirled faster, the speed of their passage making a low, ominous humming sound. "If I hear that he’s been harmed in any way, even a rumor of ill health, I’m coming for you, Grieve."

  Then she ended the transmission, threw back her head, and screamed.

  Chapter 10

  Ryelle managed not to destroy the commander’s office. She found strength she never knew she had and slowed the whirl of debris in the air, letting it all settle on the floor and furniture. Breathing fast and rough, she pried her fingers off the console and contacted the commander, verbal only.

  "Ryelle?"

  "Commander, I need to see you in your office immediately." Her voice was ragged from screaming and from the effort to contain her fury. Everything felt r
agged and bleeding.

  "On my way," he responded. She could tell by his clipped tone that he knew something was very wrong.

  Rising on trembling limbs, she picked her way across the cluttered floor to her usual seat and perched on the edge. She tried not to think, but her mind spun and twisted, her thoughts as sharp and cutting as broken glass.

  "Good God! Ryelle, what happened?" The commander strode to her side, staring around at the ransacked office.

  "Sit down, please, and listen," she said without looking at him, listening to the thin wail of despair deep inside.

  He sat slowly, his intent pale eyes coming into her line of vision. "Is this about that GenTec ship?"

  For a second she didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered that she was a killer and began to laugh, little barks of hysterical humor that made him blanch. For his sake, she clapped a hand across her mouth to stifle the sound, swallowing hard and dragging in a deep breath. When she felt capable, she lowered her hand and said, "No. Not the ship. The Institute has been in contact. I have to transfer off the Odyssey. I’d like to transfer to the Destiny, if possible. But before I do, I have to know he’ll be safe."

  "Ryelle, what the hell are you talking about? You’re not transferring anywh—"

  "I can win this war for you. In exchange, I want you to promise me, on your life, that you’ll keep Declan safe."

  "Ryelle." He leaned forward and clasped her hands in a grip hard enough to hurt. "You are scaring the hell out of me, little mims. Start from when you left the deck looking normal and explain why you now look like a bloody goddamned wraith."

  She gave him a word-for-word account of her conversation with Grieve in a toneless voice. Then she explained what hadn’t been said.

  "He was too furious to watch his words. The people I love—he was referring to my mother. She’s in a coma, Commander. Has been for years. I suspected, had my suspicions, but I never really believed it until now. They put her in that coma, because she kept them from controlling me. And they’ll do the same or worse to Declan if they get the chance. They’ll do anything to keep control and they think Declan’s the reason I’m suddenly resistant."