by Zen DiPietro
They’d chosen to eat out on the food court, where they could watch people walking by or sitting and visiting. The food court was the popular choice for the younger residents of Dragonfire, as it provided the greatest opportunity to socialize. Visitors also appreciated it for the liveliness. The food court allowed a person to take in all the motley activity of the boardwalk while having a meal.
Fallon did notice that the table she shared with Jerin and Brak at the far end of the court was surrounded by empty tables, even though a few couples loitered at the edges, waiting for a place to sit. Non-Briveen simply didn’t seem capable of appreciating mandren. Few stations stocked the meat, given the odor and the relatively few Briveen who visited. For whatever reason, Dragonfire did, and it made Brak one happy woman.
“So where is the Onari headed next?” Fallon asked, genuinely curious about the ship and its crew.
Jerin blotted her lips on a napkin. Maybe it was her nature as a surgeon, but she had the most graceful hand movements. They always drew Fallon’s eye. As did the occasional glint of her ruby nose stud. Fallon always saw others noticing Jerin, too. With her dark, shiny hair and her green eyes that tilted up at the corners, she had a certain eye-catching appeal. Beautiful, in a way, but a unique, maternal sort of beauty.
“Not far,” Jerin answered. “First, Sarkan. We have a week’s worth of cosmetic procedures scheduled. Afterward, we head to the Zerellian system.”
Sarkan was a few hours from the station in a ship like the Onari. It would reach Zerellus in three days or so, at a typical energy-efficient speed.
“A whole week of cosmetics?” Fallon had thought the Onari spent most of its time dispensing need-based care.
A sly look crossed Jerin’s face. “Yes, lucky for us. Commander Belinsky earned himself some extra shore leave by putting in all the work to make that happen.”
Fallon had met Demitri Belinsky only in passing, but Jerin’s ops commander seemed efficient and reliable.
“Why is that lucky?” she asked.
“Along with the research funding we get through doctors like Brak—” Jerin nodded to Brak, who made eye contact, but kept eating, “—elective work is how we keep our fuel cells charged. Hospi-ships aren’t permitted to run at a loss. We must at least break even to stay in operation. Cosmetic procedures allow us to do that.”
“By ‘cosmetic procedures’ you mean…” Fallon trailed off, inviting one of them to fill in the blank.
Brak finally pushed her plate aside, having scraped it clean of anything but a few dark, wet smears. At least Briveen ate their mandren well cooked. “Anything not required for health or normal quality of life purposes. Such as replacement of viable limbs with cybernetics for enhanced function. Vanity adjustments. That sort of thing.”
Fallon nodded. “Well, you’ll certainly be missed on Dragonfire when you go.”
Jerin smiled. “That’s lovely to hear. I always worry we’ll wear out our welcome. Dragonfire and Blackthorn are probably our two favorite ports, and between you and me, our engines always seem peppier when we get our maintenance here.”
“Our mechanics are the best,” Fallon agreed, refusing to get mentally sidetracked by thoughts of a particular mechanical miracle worker. “And you never have to worry about wearing out your welcome. Truth is, things can get a little stale living on a station. A visit like this is a breath of fresh air for everyone.” She didn’t have a long memory of her time on Dragonfire, but she’d noticed how much excitement the Onari boarding had brought. Spirits remained just as high as the day the crew had arrived.
“Makes sense,” Brak reflected. “We like shore leave because it gives us a change of scenery and a change of pace. A break from the routine. Life on board a ship has a lot in common with life on a station.”
Jerin said with a laugh, “Well, other than we can dock somewhere and get off the ship.”
“Exactly. Which is why interesting visitors create such a stir.” Fallon noted a rough-looking group of people coming away from a docking bay. She didn’t look directly at them, but she studied their progression past the food court. She’d check on that group after dinner. There was something about them that snagged her attention.
“Of course, our ship is much smaller than a station,” Jerin noted. “We’d have a very hard time staying on board for months on end without docking somewhere. I imagine our cabin fever comes on faster and more frequently, compared to yours.”
“True. Ships and stations have their unique advantages and disadvantages,” Fallon conceded.
Brak drummed her fingers on the table in a slow, contemplative rhythm. The sound was much heavier and deeper than flesh-and-blood fingers could have caused. “Either one is still better than living planetside.”
Fallon supposed that, for Brak, anything was better than living her life on her home planet.
They chatted for another half hour, even though their plates were empty. The tables near theirs gradually filled in as the scent of mandren faded. Fallon simply enjoyed Brak and Jerin’s company. She appreciated their intelligence, dedication to their work, and their senses of humor, different though the two were from one another. Jerin was warm and nurturing with an easy laugh while Brak was more stoic, but no less caring or amusing.
When Jerin excused herself, Brak did the same, saying she wanted to do some reading before she slept. The three of them stood and went their separate directions, leaving Fallon with nothing but space between her and her quarters, which might or might not be empty.
Instead of heading home, she strolled down the boardwalk, keeping an eye out for the group she’d seen earlier. When she didn’t spot them, she visited the security office on Deck One.
She checked in with the officer on duty, Janson, and found that the group was just a private trade consortium. Which might or might not mean smuggling. It could be hard to tell sometimes. She reviewed the records on file but found nothing amiss.
“Keep a close eye on them,” she ordered her officer. “There’s something about them that got my attention.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man agreed, probably eager to have a potentially interesting assignment. The truth was, working security could get dreadfully dull on a station that had few incidents. Which was fine with Fallon, but the young ones, well, they usually hoped for a little more excitement.
On the way out of the office, she ran into Arin. Instead of his uniform, he wore casual clothes. Nice clothes, actually. Perhaps the kind a guy would wear for a date.
“Hey, Chief,” he greeted her with a grin. “Working late?”
“Not really. Just checking in on a recent docking. Janson will fill you in. Though you’re not scheduled to be on duty either,” she pointed out.
“Just wanted to check the voicecom before I went to dinner. I’d rather not end up getting interrupted if I can avoid it.” He and she took turns being on call.
Fallon considered. Why not let the guy have the night free and clear for whatever he had planned? “Janson, the legate is taking the night off. I’ll be on call tonight.”
Arin’s look of surprise made her smile.
“Thanks, Chief,” he said, sounding heartfelt.
“Have fun.” She grinned at him, and instead of acting embarrassed, he grinned right back.
Her smile faded as she walked to the lift. There was nothing left to do but go home. She had a bad feeling about it, like whatever she found would be the final answer to the question of her relationship with Wren. She didn’t expect it to be a good one.
Fallon paused a moment before activating the door to her quarters. As soon as they whooshed open, she had her answer. The quarters were different. Things had been removed from their places. Two large travel cases sat to one side of the door. Wren perched on the edge of the couch, her back straight and her hands folded primly in her lap.
Fallon stepped in and the doors closed behind her. “I see.”
Wren’s chin angled upward, though her eyes remained on her hands. “You can’t be surpris
ed.”
“No. Just disappointed.”
Wren’s gaze flicked to Fallon’s face, then skittered away. As if looking at her hurt.
Fallon quickly swept the room for monitoring devices, then returned, standing with her back to the kitchenette. “You were willing to stick with me even though I lost my memory. Why jump ship now?”
Wren rubbed her thumbs together. “I don’t even know your name. Your real name.”
“Neither do I.”
Wren’s shoulders tightened. “All the more reason you’re not fit to be married to anyone.”
“You want an annulment, then?”
Finally, Wren’s eyes met hers. Bored into hers, really, with a pale glare of anger. “Annulment of what? There’s nothing legal between us. Only between me and some fictitious person.”
Fallon exhaled a soft sigh. She couldn’t argue with that. Couldn’t argue with anything Wren had to say. And she shouldn’t, either. She should just let Wren go, for her own safety.
“What really bothers me,” Wren added, “what keeps me up at night, is wondering why you married me in the first place. Did you actually care about me? For all I know, it was just some tactic, and the only reason you care anything for me now is that you got bashed in the head and assumed you should.”
Fallon took several slow steps, moving through the space between being married and being alone. She sat in the chair angled toward the couch.
She wanted to argue. To soothe the hurt she saw so plainly on Wren’s face and in the droop of her shoulders. Her instinct was to protect Wren, but keeping her close wouldn’t do that. She squared her shoulders.
“You’re right. All I know about who I really am tells me that my life can’t be safe for you to be a part of. That’s why you should go. Not because I don’t care about you.” She started to say more, but stopped herself. She wasn’t trying to convince Wren to stay.
Wren looked conflicted. “Will you be all right? I feel like I’m abandoning you. Even though I know that’s stupid. You probably know how to kill a person twelve different ways with a toothbrush, so it’s not like you need me.”
Fallon skipped the oh-so-obvious “but I do need you” melodramatics. That rubbish wouldn’t serve either of them.
“Somewhere along the way, I chose this life. Apparently, I became one of the best at it. I’ll be okay.” Fallon hoped so, anyway.
Wren nodded. “I keep thinking I can stop it. Just stay here and see it through with you. But my mind goes around and around in the same pattern and I always end up at the same place I started. As crushed as I am right now, I know that I can survive it. But if I stuck with you and it turned out that you didn’t marry me simply because you wanted to be married to me, it would break me. I can’t choose you, only to find out you were using me.” She took a shuddering breath.
“And you aren’t going to spend each day wondering, waiting for the worst to happen.” Fallon could respect that, objectively. But then, she wouldn’t have married some weepy doormat. Nope, it all made very logical, very sad sense.
Wren looked miserable. Fallon wanted to touch her, but fought the urge. Then she told her better judgment to go to hell. She rounded the table, sat next to Wren, and wrapped her arms around her. Wren sank right in to her. She wasn’t a loud crier. The only sounds she made were occasional gasps for breath.
Fallon ran her fingers through pale pink hair, probably for the last time. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
After several minutes, Wren sat up and smeared her hands over her cheeks. “I almost left before you could arrive, planning to send you a message. I knew it would be hard to go through with this if I talked to you. But I couldn’t just disappear.”
“Yeah.” Fallon understood that, too.
“I’ll be in my own quarters on the other side of the station,” Wren said. “Smaller than these, but it’s what was available on short notice.”
“I’ll be sure my staff knows to keep an eye on it.”
Wren laughed, a wet, high-pitched yip of sound. “Right. Well. I guess there’s that. I can expect good security.”
“Do you need help getting your things there?” Fallon gestured toward the travel cases.
“No. Thank you. That would be too awkward. Endra’s going to be here in a couple minutes.”
“Right.” Fallon didn’t know what else to say.
Apparently neither did Wren. She stood, fussily smoothing invisible wrinkles out of her clothes. “I’ll just put those out in the corridor.”
Knowing Wren wanted to do it herself as an outlet for her nervous energy, Fallon stayed seated, until Wren hesitantly stepped back through the door, her eyes wide with uncertainty. Fallon met her halfway across the room.
“I do love you,” Wren said. “I’m not even sure what that means, when you’re not at all who I thought you were. If I really love you or just an idea of something you’re not. But I know I want you to stay safe. So be careful.”
“I will,” Fallon promised. As careful as a person like her, in her choice of profession, ever was, anyway.
“If—I mean, when you figure it all out…” Wren stepped forward, putting her hands lightly on Fallon’s shoulders. “Tell me. I’m not promising anything, and we both need to just live our lives from here, but…tell me. To my face. Okay?”
Fallon didn’t need any more invitation. She slipped her arms around Wren and poured herself into what she assumed was the most meaningful, fervent kiss of her life. At least, if she’d ever felt anything more conflicting, she hoped she’d never remember it.
They let go and stared at each other for a long moment before the door chime sounded.
“Perfect timing,” Wren whispered.
Fallon didn’t trust herself to speak. She merely nodded.
And just like that, the best thing that she’d had in this fraction of a life slipped away.
Her quarters were too quiet without Wren’s vibrance. She tried watching a holo-vid to distract herself, but it didn’t work. She tried an extra-long shower. No luck there. Finally she lay down in bed, hoping for sleep to take her. It didn’t.
Lying on her back, staring into the darkness, something felt off. Like a picture frame hanging half a degree crooked. She sat up and slapped the light panel at her bedside.
At the voicecom display she keyed into her security settings and went through her routine of checks and protocols, looking for anything out of place. Ah. There. “Talar Prinn” had just boarded the station. Raptor.
An idea occurred to her and she smiled. She threw on a uniform and rushed out of her quarters. Given his entry time and location, she projected his most likely route and calculated the best point of interception.
No one seemed surprised to see the chief bolting down a corridor. She was security, after all. Sometimes she needed to get somewhere fast.
She arrived with ten seconds to spare. She’d selected a junction away from usual traffic. Exactly where Raptor would want to be. She pressed herself into her vantage point.
Fifteen seconds ticked by and she wondered if she’d miscalculated. But then she saw him. His footfalls made no sound, even to her acute senses. She waited until the last instant and let go, falling from the ceiling to stand right in front of him.
His hands immediately came up to fight, but he recognized her in the same instant and grinned. “Nice job. How did you know?”
“I had a feeling.” She fell into step beside him. By unspoken agreement they headed to the nearest place they could ensure privacy—the quarters she’d assigned him.
“Is it smart to be seen out here with me?” he asked.
“Minimal risk. Should I appear on any video feeds, and I shouldn’t, I can scrub them before they’re seen.”
“Worth the risk to score a point, is that it?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Same old Fallon, whether you know it or not.”
She knocked into him with her shoulder. “I owed you one for showing up in my quarters and punching me in the head.”
He
sighed theatrically. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“No time soon,” she agreed.
As they entered the quarters and ensured their privacy, she felt buoyant. There was something about being with someone who truly knew her that gave her energy. And hope. There might just be someplace in the universe that she really belonged, as her true self. If she could only figure out what the scrap was going on.
As far as guest quarters went, the ones she’d assigned to Raptor were the low-rent variety. They were clean and well maintained, furnished with both a voicecom display and a narrow washroom that was nothing more than a commode and a sink. Space was tight. Laid out studio style, the room converted from living space to sleeping area with some clever multitasking furniture.
At the moment, it was set up as living space. A futon currently served as a couch, and a low table could be either a desk or dining space, although there was no kitchenette for food preparation. It was a takeout-only sort of room. The only personal item of Raptor’s that Fallon could see was a medium-sized brown backpack that looked like someone had beaten it with a bat.
Fallon didn’t mind his proximity as they sat shoulder to shoulder on the futon, with the voicecom display arranged on the table before them.
“Before we get started, tell me exactly where you’ve been.” She was done with only having a partial picture of events.
“Aw, c’mon. You know it’s better to share as little as possible. We’ve always worked on the basis of trust,” he protested.
“And we will again. But for now, with the limited amount of knowledge I have, I need all the details to bring things into focus.” If he expected her to parse data into something actionable, she needed context.
He sat back, sinking a little into the futon cushion, which doubled as a mattress. “All right, but if someone tortures my techniques out of you, I’ll be really mad.”
“If someone tortures me for information, I doubt your pique will be my biggest concern.”
