by Jessica Gunn
Given that most of his senior Bridge staff was present here, I understood that.
“Chelsea,” Captain Marks said, nodding to her.
Chelsea took center stage. A nervous energy surrounded her, escaping in waves as she taped her fingers on the top of the chair in front of her as if it was a drum. “Look, no one here is pretending war isn’t coming. We’ve spent the last few months getting this station ready to thwart what will probably be multiple attempts to take it. We now know that SeaSatellite5 is a Link Piece, and given the lengths at which the Atlanteans went to take the station two years ago, we can assume both they and the Lemurians know where it goes and that it’s important. That said, neither Sophia nor I have been able to figure out exactly what that importance is.” She frowned. “We can’t see it on the Waterstar map.”
“But,” Captain Marks said, prompting Chelsea to go on. She was being too hard on herself.
Chelsea stood straighter. “Now that we know, we can prepare. Trevor and his team have done a fantastic job getting the Humming Bird shielding back up and running, and the security teams have beefed things up a lot. But I don’t think it’ll be sufficient.”
I shouldn’t have taken it as an insult, but it felt like a jab to the gut. Humming Bird would be enough to keep unwanted teleportations at bay. Before, back when Chelsea had first appeared here two years ago, I barely knew anything about powers. Things were different now.
Chelsea’s eyes found mine. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I really hated that we heard each other’s thoughts. “I know. Keep going.”
Chelsea continued, “It’s not people teleporting on board that I’m worried about, it’s people boarding by other means. I don’t want us getting hijacked again. I don’t want anyone to be able to dock beside us or somehow get on by blowing a hole through the hull, even if Humming Bird compensates and saves our asses again.”
Thing was, we could only prepare so much. We had already prepared a ton.
“What are you thinking?” Christa Jackson, the Lieutenant Commander and Communications Officer, asked.
Chelsea straightened her shoulders. “I want to make a panic room. One only we know about. If everyone knows, then anyone who takes the station will be able to find us before we can get word out to Sophia, TAO, or the Admiral. I’m proposing the creation of a room on the last Engineering deck, hidden, with a cooling system so biologics can’t trace anyone inside. It’ll be armed and we can hook up untraceable communications systems that aren’t connected to anything but the communications buoy. First person in locks the door, calls for help, and waits to make a move—but when they do, they’ll have weapons and intel.”
I cocked an eyebrow. Chelsea’s run-in with General Allen must have freaked her out pretty bad. Even still, this was a bit much. I doubted anyone would get on board and cause that much trouble that we’d need this panic room. Ever. Besides, with Chelsea here, as long as Humming Bird worked, she’d be able to take people out or at least get off the station to get back-up.
I voiced as much. “I don’t know, Chelsea.”
“You think it’s over-reacting?” she asked, clearly regarding the General Allen issue more than anything else.
“Fortunately,” Captain Marks cut in, “I happen to agree with Chelsea. Over-reacting or not, I’d rather be over-prepared than out of luck.” He stepped forward. “I want you to work on this in the evening, get the room built and set up. We’ll move your morning shifts around to accommodate the late nights. If anyone asks you why things have changed, tell them to talk to me.”
For the senior staff, it meant no Bridge duty at 7 a.m. for the next few weeks—which was great, except we each had other duties, too. So did Chelsea. She had two new archaeologists to bring up to speed, and the two of us were still liaisons to TAO. What Chelsea had proposed would take at least a hundred man hours, if not more, on top of an already long work week.
I risked a glance at the Captain. His jaw was set—and so was his mind. Whatever Chelsea had said during their meeting had convinced him this measure was worth it. But I guess he was right. Better safe than sorry.
“When do we start?” Christa asked. “And how?”
Chelsea placed her tablet face up in the center so everyone could see. “We’ll need to create a room between the back-up Engineering generator room and the nearby supply closet.”
Which also happened to be the same supply closet where Chelsea and I had shared our first kiss. Heat lapped at my neck and face when the realization hit. If I hadn’t fallen for her before that day, I had in that moment. Head over heels. Completely.
If Chelsea heard my reminiscing, she didn’t acknowledge it.
“That’ll take a few nights,” Christa said in such a way that implied it’d take a lot longer than that. “But we can start right away. Olivarez, are you free?” she asked Freddy.
He shrugged. “I am now. I’m going to enjoy sleeping in, that’s for sure.”
Chelsea grinned. “All right then. Let’s get to work.”
5
Chelsea
Call me paranoid, but everything with this panic room, from inception to construction over the past month, had gone too damn smoothly. Every night, I expected something to go wrong—for someone to get hurt, for someone to walk in on us and figure out what we were doing.
Nothing went this smoothly when I was involved. It was like a law of the freaking universe. So, of course, that’s when the long days halted my progress and created sleep-deprived bad moods. I’d swung between SeaSat5 and Boston almost every night. My band had begun receiving pressure to put out a full album, which meant my days were long and my nights were thinner than I’d started becoming. But anything that kept SeaSat5 safe and the band happy and successful was something I’d get through balancing.
Besides, throwing myself headlong into music was its own sort of therapy, one that spoke directly to my soul and healed it that much more every time. I knew it was a false sense of healing, though. I didn’t need music. I needed to talk to people. But with Trevor out of the immediate picture and everyone else being super busy, I didn’t want to burden anyone. I didn’t have anyone to talk to anymore. But as I looked over at Freddy, his tanned, thirty-something body twisted around paneling as he wired two panic room specific systems together, I knew I still had people.
“I get I’m good looking, but I don’t think I’m your type,” Freddy said, his voice muffled by metal and plastic. We were the only ones in here.
I sighed theatrically and snapped my fingers. “Dammit. I really did enjoy that one sleepover.” Freddy had taken care of me when I’d mixed painkillers and alcohol after the hijacking years ago. Without him, I wasn’t sure I’d have made it through the night let alone returned to a normal state of mind.
Freddy lifted himself from the floor and looked at me, deadpan, with his dark brown eyes and hardened face. “That’s not funny.”
My lips quirked into a smile. “I mean, it kind of is.” Silence. “Okay fine. I was trying to lighten the mood.”
He gave me a small smile and relaxed against a panel door. “Still have a lot going on?”
I knew he didn’t mean the situation at large, because that’d be a stupid question. He meant me personally. In my head. The same way he had asked me when I’d woken up in his quarters hungover two years ago.
“Yeah.” I strung a wire around my fingers just to keep them busy. “A bit. Sometimes. I don’t know.”
“Captain Marks told me to keep an eye on you,” Freddy admitted.
I looked up at him. “Did he?”
“Something about General Asshole paying you a visit. Trevor also mentioned some stuff went down between you and the General, and if the Captain’s worried, then I know it’s bad. You know you can talk to me, right?”
“I know.”
How much had Trevor told him? I glanced at the door. Trevor and Christa had broken for a fourth meal snack and the others had turned in for the night.
“Honestly, I w
ant to know why they did it, that’s all. I want to know if they’re safe or if they’re being held under duress. If General Allen threatened them. After Truman…” I winced, his death screams echoing through my head. “I don’t underestimate him anymore, and I never will again.” It had cost me way too much the first time.
Freddy didn’t speak right away, like he was processing my words and weighing his options before responding.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know I’m probably looking for excuses where there are none. Josh and Weyland didn’t know about the war. They didn’t know they were puppets, or that General Allen wants me because I’m a super soldier and hunting them is his new pastime. But now they do, and they still left me behind.”
Freddy frowned. He and Weyland had been good friends. His betrayal of me could be equated to betraying SeaSat5, to betraying him, too.
“Weyland left me behind, Freddy. Josh I could see, you know? We’d only known each other for a few weeks.” I blushed. Talking about guys with Freddy was not something I’d ever wanted to do. “But it’s Weyland we’re talking about here.”
Freddy shrugged slowly, taking it all in. “I agree it’s weird that Weyland would go along with it, so yes, it’s plausible they’re being coerced.” A heavy but hung in the air. I urged him on with a lift of my brow. “A lot can change in two years, Chelsea. You and Trevor are proof enough of that.”
I cringed. Fantastic. Looks like talking about boys was exactly what we’d be doing.
“I don’t mean your relationship,” Freddy clarified. “He’s a totally different person, and so are you.”
“Gee thanks,” I said wryly. I had my rough spots, but all in all, I’d like to think I’d changed for the better.
He leveled me with a hard look and a set jaw. “All I’m trying to say is that you don’t really know them outside of Weyland, and even then, how well did any of us know him? SeaSat5 was only at sail for a year or so when you showed up. That’s not a lot of time.”
“You think it was a set up? That the whole thing was nothing more than a ploy by the White City to find out what we were up to, how far along the puzzle we’ve gotten, and to lure me into General Allen’s clutches?”
“Overdramatic, Chelsea, but yes. I think so.”
I scratched my head and slid down the wall to the floor. “Seems like I’m good at getting played.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Freddy said.
I stared at my fingers, remembering all that they’d done. Powers and archaeology, self-defense and murder. Josh had understood it all.
My chest constricted and my eyes stung. Don’t cry in front of him, Danning. Do not. But as soon as I thought it one tear escaped, then another, streaming down my cheeks in a straight line.
“Chelsea?” Freddy asked.
“I miss him, okay?” I sniffed. God, I missed Josh. He’d been the only one to keep up with me, to challenge me. “The guy comes out of literally nowhere, I fall hard, then I end up fucking up both our lives and getting his buddy killed—and for what?” I swiped my hand roughly across my face. “Everyone here thinks it’s ridiculous I’m still upset. They don’t say it to my face, but I can see it in their eyes. Thing is, Freddy, I haven’t felt at home, at peace, since everything blew up at TruGates.”
Freddy scooted across the floor to me, but didn’t offer an embrace. I wouldn’t have taken it anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Before SeaSat5, I felt out of sorts. Restless. I was constantly searching for something more or for a balance between what I wanted to do and what was expected of me. Then I found SeaSat5 and everything slid into place.”
I held both my hands, palm up, in front of me, and lifted each higher with my words. “I could practice archaeology and learn about my powers, and I had a job and could leave to play with the band. There was balance there. Then the Atlanteans came around and stole the station, and for two years I floated through life. When I found Weyland and TruGates, everything slid back into place again. I was fighting Lemurians, but not in some crazy way. My skills were put to use, I was playing Juxe shows with Phoenix and Lobster, and life was—generally—good. Then”—I made an explosion sound from the back of my throat—“hell, pure hell. That I cared for Josh and that Josh was part of that hell makes it that much worse. Now I’m here. That’s my life now: missed chances, traitors, and war. Looks like I inherited my ancestors’ fate after all.”
Considering it was the Lemurians who’d swayed the Athenians to attack Atlantis—and given that Trevor was Lemurian and I was Atlantean—it sure felt that way. Like we were constantly on two separate sides of the war without trying, despite our obvious alliance to fight together alongside the Navy and the Army.
Freddy’s large, warm hand closed over mine, his tanned skin stark against my pale fingers. “I’m sorry, Chelsea. Either way, you do have a home here. If anything, we’re more of a family now.”
I nodded, sniffing back more tears before they fell. “Okay. Thank you, Freddy.”
He put a hand on my shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “Anytime.”
“Anytime what?” Trevor asked as he strolled through the door, Christa right behind him. His gaze found me and Freddy on the floor, one of my hands in his and his other hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Always,” I said.
“You sure?” he asked.
Freddy slapped his thighs and stood. “I’m about done over there. I’m going to retreat to the Bridge and make sure you still can’t trace any of this from there, then hit the sack.” He directed a pointed look my way. “You should think about going to bed soon, too. You’ve been here the most.”
“This is my project,” I said. He didn’t care about that. I knew he wanted me to get away from all of this for a while.
All of what? Trevor asked in his thoughts.
Nothing, I told him.
Are you sure you’re okay? Why were you crying?
What’s with the fifth degree, Trevor? I’m fine.
Freddy gathered his things while Trevor and I continued our mental conversation. I managed to focus enough to wave goodnight. As soon as Freddy was gone, I turned back to my work. I’d picked up enough electrical engineering stuff from Josh and our SeaSat5 rescue mission to work on things in the panic room. Most of the stuff Christa had assigned to me was more of that color-by-number type work anyway. Simple, easy, repetitive.
Christa settled in on the far wall to work on getting the cooling system functioning correctly. Trevor stepped in to help her, and I tried my best to ignore them. I clamped down on my thoughts and got to work. A little more for the night and then I’d earn my sleep.
Seriously, are you okay? I understand you’re mad at me or something, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care anymore, Trevor thought.
Stop using this as a way to talk without others knowing.
Trevor stiffened next to Christa. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked aloud.
Guess I’d spoken too soon.
Christa turned to Trevor, then to me. “Were you two doing that telepathy thing again?”
“Didn’t want to,” I said.
Christa frowned. “I can leave if you need to talk or something. I’m just about done here anyway.”
“No, it’s cool,” I said.
We’d been cramped together in this room for the past two weeks, with plenty more time to go before this project was complete. The longer the hours went on, the more tired and, subsequently, more impatient, everyone became. Everybody was usually able to keep themselves in check, including myself. Why the change now? Because I’d chosen to finally let Freddy in?
“Can you hand me the flathead, please?” I asked.
I probably didn’t need the screwdriver for this—yay super strength—but the screws were easier to grip and twist with screwdrivers. Unfortunately for me, Trevor was the one closest to the toolbox, and frustration rippled off of him.
“Please?” Don’t be weird, I thought at him. That was legitimately all he had to
do. After I finished this one last task, I’d leave and go to bed. That was it.
When Trevor didn’t move, I held out my hand, my last attempt at civility. I’d wrench this screw in with my fingertips if he didn’t comply.
Christa moved to get it for me and I felt stupid and embarrassed, not only for me, but for Trevor too.
Just hand it to me! I thought and then—
The screwdriver flew up out of the toolbox at blinding speed and slammed tip-first into my hand. Pain sliced through my palm on impact, leaving behind a warm throbbing that radiated shock. Blood dripped from the wound and onto the floor, falling between the metal grating. If I’d missed that catch, the screwdriver might have speared straight into my chest.
I looked down at the blood pooling beneath my palm, then up at Trevor and Christa.
“Chelsea?” Christa asked. “Are you okay?” Her gaze was glued to the screwdriver I still held and the blood dripping from the slice it left behind.
“Did that screwdriver fly into my palm?” I asked, dumbfounded.
Christa nodded and stepped toward me. “Yes, I think so.” She looked between Trevor and me. “How…”
“Your telekinesis,” Trevor said, his eyes widening. “Chelsea, you’re bleeding.”
“I know.”
“No, like really bleeding.” He rushed to my side and held up my hand, the screwdriver rolling to the floor. The second my hand touched his, it felt like electricity zipped between us, a lightning rod bringing me back to life. The hairs on my neck stood and heat warmed my cheeks. How he could still elicit this reaction from my body, I didn’t know. But I’d be a lying fool if I said I didn’t like it.
“Shit,” I hissed, pulling my hand from his and standing up. “I better go get this looked that. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Christa said as she opened the door for me. “Want me to come with you?”
I looked down at my palm. Skin parted down at least a centimeter toward bone. This would need stitches, even if they’d fall out by tomorrow afternoon thanks to my accelerated healing. “No. A few stitches and I’ll be good.”
