by CJ Birch
Chapter Thirteen
The first thing I see is Vasa and two security guards standing over me.
At last, he says, “What the hell happened?”
“Someone locked me in and decompressed the room.”
“Why didn’t you recompress it?” Vasa walks over to the panel and tries to open it. “Oh,” he says when he can’t.
I can tell from his face when the scene in front of him begins to make sense. He turns to the guards and tells them to get the captain.
I don’t want her to see me like this, like a cat who shit itself because it got trapped in a box. “I’m fine. Don’t bring her into this.”
He kneels down in front of me and helps me sit up. “Ash, you’re covered in blood. One or maybe several of the crew just tried to kill you. She’s gonna want to know. You didn’t think the tracker was just for the crew’s protection, did you?” Vasa’s dirty-sock stench fills my nostrils, but I don’t even mind. Anything familiar is comforting right now.
It doesn’t take long for the captain to get there. She must have run most of the way because the guards are a few minutes behind her. She stops dead at the door, slightly out of breath, a few strands of inky hair out of place, and takes in the room. When our eyes lock, her shoulders relax.
“Jesus, Ash. They told me there was an accident.”
Vasa helps me to stand. “It wasn’t an accident,” he says. “I’m going to let Ash tell you what happened. We’re waiting on a message from the Posterus, and if I’m not there to intercept it, we’ll have to wait a full twelve hours before they can resend.” He gives me a pointed look before withdrawing with the guards.
I should be thankful. If the captain hadn’t insisted on the tracker and ordered Vasa to keep an eye on me, I’d be dead. But I’m not. I’m furious, and I’m not sure if it’s at her or myself for needing the help in the first place.
She lifts my chin, inspecting my neck and face. Her eyes shift to the pried paneling and then widen. Seeing it from her perspective, I feel even more embarrassed.
She grabs for one of my hands. Turning it over, she lifts it to examine the damage. The cuts on my palms have clotted. It looks worse than it really is. It doesn’t even hurt that much. I close my eyes, fighting a mixture of emotions. I feel the panic rising again, but I’d rather the anger instead.
“What happened?”
I shrug and open my eyes. She’s staring straight into them, and my breath catches at the closeness and intensity.
“I got locked in, and the room began decompressing.”
She does the same thing Vasa did, she checks the panel next to the door, and when it doesn’t open, she leans in close to inspect it.
“It’s welded,” she says in shock.
I nod.
Her brain is working through the sequence, seeing the filters and tools spread around the room. She looks back at me and just stares. After a moment, just when I think she’s going to turn and leave, she smacks the wall with her palm.
“What the hell were you doing working in here alone? Haven’t you been paying attention?” She kicks a filter sensor across the room, and it splinters against the far wall. “Of course not, because you just do what you want to do, Ash, without thinking of anyone but yourself. You’re goddamned reckless.” It’s a flash of anger so surprising and unexpected from the usually calm captain that my heart constricts.
Her anger is gone in an instant, replaced by her regular mask.
She’s right. I have been reckless. I thought because Hartley had forgiven me, the rest of the crew would as well. But the hate and prejudice are too much for some to get over. Chloe’s fears have worked their way through the ship and taken hold. “I’m relieving you of duty, Ash. Effective immediately.”
I clamp my eyes shut to stop the tears. It would be a second death to cry in front of a commanding officer, the first of course being dumb enough to sleep with one. “Why? It’s not my fault. This isn’t my fault. Why are you punishing me?” I hate the pleading in my voice. “Please don’t relieve me of duty. You’re just letting them win if you do that. They’ll think you’re siding with them.”
“Good!” She grips my arm. Her fingernails dig into my skin. Her eyes glare into mine as if she’s trying desperately to make me understand. “I want them to think that. I have a crew that’s mutinied.” She nods at my shocked expression. “Yes, that’s what you call it when a crew turns against its superior officers. And I have to squash it as fast as possible. I can’t let them win, or I’ll lose all credibility as a captain. I need to remove you from the situation.” She drops my arm. “I need you safe,” she says as she turns and walks out of the room.
I wait only thirty seconds before rushing after her. I’m not some mindless bot being controlled by the enemy. I can fight against it. I know I can.
I find her at the ladder about to climb up to the next deck and grab her arm. I spin her to face me. “Would you relieve any other member of the crew if they were in this situation and not me?” I have no idea what’s possessed me to do this. I’ve never questioned a commanding officer before.
She pulls me out into the corridor and waves her hand to close the door, afraid the sound of our argument will travel up the chute. “Of course I would.” Her nostrils flare with each breath she takes. She’s still mad as hell.
I don’t believe her. She’s afraid of me, afraid I’ll come under control of my mind knot, just like the rest of the crew. How do I make her believe that I won’t lose control? “Bullshit!” I shout. “Hartley was back on duty the next day. You haven’t treated him like a pariah.” This is almost like being back on Europa, experiencing my memories and not being able to control myself. I have the rationale to see the trouble ahead, but no power to stop it from happening.
Her cheeks are flushed, two round blooms of pink, on either side of her otherwise pale face. Her breathing has slowed, but only just. She’s trying to remain calm, but everything tells me she’s barely holding herself in check. Her grip on my arm gets tighter. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Yes! I’m not going to go ballistic on the crew. I can control this. I’m not some child. I can take care of myself.” The more I say it, the more I can believe it’s true. If I dwell on what-ifs, I’ll go insane. I jerk my arm free and stomp back to the compartment, aware as I do that I’m now acting like the child I claimed I wasn’t.
“Oh, Jesus, Ash. It’s precisely that kind of attitude that’s going to get you killed. I don’t expect anyone on my ship to have to be able to ‘take care of themselves.’ I want everyone to work together or not at all.” By the time she finishes, she’s at the door watching me clean the room.
I’m not even paying attention to what I’m doing, throwing tools into a pile, collecting sensors and dumping them into my tool case. I just need to do something, anything, to get my mind off this argument and calm down. The panic is there, lurking behind every action.
“I can’t do it,” I say. “I can’t sit and do nothing.” I turn to look at her, still standing at the threshold, gripping the doorjamb. “Captain, I’m afraid I’ll go mad if I’m not working.”
Her gaze shifts to look past me at the star field through the porthole. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
“Fine. One shift, and you can run your teams from the bridge.” The bridge, where there’ll be at least five babysitters if anything goes wrong.
“The bridge?” I’m about to protest more, but stop. I can see the rebuttal on her lips. I should be grateful she’s given me this much. “Thank you, Captain.”
She steps into the room and pulls me to my feet. “Ash, I want you to be careful. Don’t trust anyone, including Hartley.” She brushes my hair back off my shoulder, unaware she’s doing it before it’s done. Her arm slips away, and she backs up as if she doesn’t want to be this close to me, and I notice the flush is back.
“Hartley?” She thinks Hartley could be behind this? “Are we talking about the same person? I don’t believe that he could
keep a secret if he tried.”
“Maybe not, but remember, you did try to kill him.”
I’m almost sure Hartley didn’t do this, but the way she’s carrying on, it’s as if everyone’s out to get me. “I didn’t try to kill him. This thing in my head did.”
“You’re still not getting it, Ash. No one sees you anymore, all they see is the mind knot. As far as they’re concerned, you’re under the control of the Burrs. And at any moment, ‘this thing,’” she taps the side of my temple, “could have you trying to kill one of them.”
“Is that how you see me?”
“Of course not.”
I want to ask how she sees me. Does she see me as a monster like the rest of the crew? Instead, I take a step toward her. I need to see her reaction. Is she afraid of me? She doesn’t move. Her eyes search every inch of my face.
“Are you afraid I’m going to turn against the crew?” I ask.
Her eyes widen as I say this. “No, Ash,” she whispers, “that’s not what I’m afraid of,” and takes the last step separating us. With only centimeters between us, every heat receptor in my body ignites. Is she proving she’s not afraid?
This close, I’m rewarded with a hint of apricots. She runs a hand gently down my arm, and even though it’s the lightest touch, it seeps through my uniform and into my skin. And I’m suddenly not worried about duty shifts or mind knots. But before I can react, she’s gone.
Chapter Fourteen
It’s late. I should be sleeping, as I had promised the doctor and the captain, but I can’t get my mind to shut off. Someone wants me dead. Probably a bunch of someones. It’s so surreal I can’t wrap my head around the idea. It feels more like an apocryphal story Edward would tell us as kids.
So here I am, at zero three hundred hours, on the track, running my mind blank. It’s the only thing that will make it settle. Sweat pooling and heart racing. Running is the only thing that tethers the demons.
I round the next bend, and before I can pull back, I crash into the captain, knocking us both to the ground.
I sit up too quick, and my head spins. The captain stares at me from the ground. I catch a trace of apricots. It’s even more powerful than usual. For several moments neither of us move. We just stare, my heart drumming irregular beats.
“I’m sorry, Captain.” I reach out a hand and help us stand. Her long fingers wrap around mine. They’re comforting and strong, and it’s with reluctance I let go. At this moment, I wish we could be on Alpha, and she was just someone I had met in a pub.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her sweater has fallen off her shoulder, revealing skin so pale I can see a hint of blue veins beneath. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail.
Before I know what I’m doing, I reach up and tuck a stray tendril behind her ear. As my thumb brushes over her ear, her eyes close and breath catches, and I pull back aware, at that moment, of the consequences. Mortified, I take off sprinting. My legs and arms pump, moving around the track at an impossible speed. Running out my fears, my wants, my frustrations. She’s gone by the time I finish my first lap.
After thirty minutes, my lungs are burning. My muscles are screaming, but I keep going. I can’t stop, not until my mind does. I’ve never been so drawn to anyone. And I’ve never been so certain it’s a want I can’t have. Fraternizing with commanding officers is a short road to a court martial. It’s always been a rule I’ve found easy to follow. But then my commanding officers have never been gorgeous young women.
After forty-five minutes, my legs give out, and I drop to the ground, gasping. My skin is slick with sweat, and my shirt is soaked. I push my forehead into the surface of the Tartan Track, bowing in supplication to some unknown force. My whole body is heaving. The stippled texture cuts into my forehead. I sit up before all my blood rushes to my head. The last thing I need is to faint and to be found passed out on the running track. I want to cry. I want to scream. I need some sort of release, and right now I don’t care which. I use the railing to help me stand and trudge up one deck to wash it all away.
In the showers, I close my eyes. The steam forms droplets on my skin. The heat eases my burning muscles. Then suddenly, I’m turned and slammed against the tile wall. Through the blur of water, I see Jordan’s dark hair slink down her back as the hot spray washes over her. Her mouth is on mine. Her naked body is pressed against mine, digging my shoulder blades into the cold tile. My mouth opens, and her tongue invades it. She reaches around my neck and pulls me closer.
I’m on fire.
My whole body has interrupted any conscious control and just reacts to everything all at once. I feel her hand slide down to my breast. She cups it and kneads my nipple. The sensation races toward my groin. I moan. It starts deep in my throat and spreads throughout my whole body. My mind is everywhere at once trying to make sense of what’s happening. I want to pull back, to catch my breath, but my hands betray me, and instead of pushing her back, they wrap themselves around her head and pull her closer.
I can feel her mouth curl in triumph. She takes my bottom lip between her teeth and bites, pulling it with her as she leans back. She lets go, and we stare at each other, panting, bodies touching. We stand like that until we’ve caught our breath. Tentatively she leans in and kisses my neck, running her fingers along my collarbone and down to my breasts. Her kisses follow. She takes a nipple into her mouth and sucks hard. My head falls back against the wall as she nips at it. She moves to the other. As she plays her tongue over it, her hands rove farther south, running along my hip bones and upper thighs.
I have never wanted anyone so much.
She pulls back, and her blue eyes dance in amusement as she lightly trails her tongue down my stomach, past my navel. Her hands run up my inner thighs, and as her tongue gently glides over my clit, I cry out. Her hands splay my legs as her tongue licks in rhythm with my heartbeat.
Everything I am at this moment is focused on that one spot. I want to slow it down and savor every moment of her raspy tongue. But I’m so close already. And then I feel her finger slip inside me. It curls in a come-hither movement, and I’m undone. I come loudly. My legs quiver as her tongue and finger continue around my moaning.
I slink to the floor beside her, breathing hard. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel the panic. I’m not thinking about anything, just her.
She sweeps her wet hair back. As she does, her breasts lift, and I’m reminded of a Greek sculpture that I once saw in a picture book, every muscle, and curve carved with care. The artist had loved the woman, but I wonder if he was in love with her or the ideal? Did he fall in love with what he’d created, or could he see the original within the ideal? I’m worried I’m making the same mistake. There’s still so much I don’t know about her. But it’s too heavy a thought for this moment.
I reach out and brush my fingertips along her shoulder. They travel down past her full teardrop breasts, down her slender waist, down her muscular legs. Every inch of her is taut. She closes her eyes. Steam particles settle and pool on her body, forming rivulets that run between her breasts. They collect in her hair and on her lashes. I skim the backs of my fingers up her inner thighs, and they part for me.
Still, on the shower room floor, I lean in and graze my lips against hers. As I run my fingers lightly through her folds, my tongue and finger slip in at the same time. Her moan, when it reaches me through the haze, is throaty and deep. It makes me wet, and ready again in an instant.
I nudge her back to lean against the shower wall. Her legs fall open, welcoming me farther. Her heat envelops me and spreads through my body as if the connection fuses us together as one. Cupping the back of her head, I bring her closer, crushing our lips together. In this moment, I’m not thinking about my memory loss, about the Burrs or mind knots. For the first time in months, I’m focused on one thing, one goal. I need to hear and feel Jordan come around my fingers.
“Jordan,” I breath against her lips.
She lets out a startled cry, and her eyes s
nap open. Pushing through the arousal is fear. She searches my face, as if I have all the answers, as if the curves and lines of my face can tell her how she ended up here. How she ended up naked on the floor of the communal shower in this compromising position.
She pushes me back and unfolds herself from the floor. “Alison, I…”
Jordan’s never called me by my first name before. She says it stiffly and it has the effect of dumping a bucket of cold water over my head. I start to shiver.
I reach up and turn off the water, and wish I hadn’t. There’s nothing left to fill the void. I pull myself up and back against the wall, pressing my palms to the cold tile. Instead of finding solid support, which should calm me, it just makes me colder, and I tremble even more.
“Ali…” She steps back and in that movement, I see everything she’s thinking. Everything she means to say is plain on her face: regret. I’m a regret. Her eyes squeeze shut, and all my attention is on her. Her full breasts rise and fall with her breath, her jaw tightens, and her frown lines deepen. Even though she hasn’t said a word, her body has said it all for her. This was a mistake.
But I want to hear her say it out loud. This silent rejection is worse than anything I have ever had to endure.
“What?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and it melts on my lips and threatens to become a sob. What was I expecting? A declaration of love? I suck in a shaky breath and walk out of the shower.
Three weeks ago, I would never have imagined this moment in my life, and even now, as I’m in it, living it, surviving it, I still don’t believe it. What was I thinking?
I pull on pants and throw a shirt over my head. When I pull it down, Jordan is standing across from me, still not speaking, even though I can see she’s trying. Her face crumples in what can only be shame. She looks almost as if she finally got that gift she always dreamed of, but in less than five minutes of owning it, she discovers it wasn’t what she wanted.
