by Eva Delaney
It was unsettling how often he wore that look. I wondered if he could read me that easily or if he was faking it to cause trouble.
Part of me hoped for the former.
Orion stomped into the lounge and dropped a toolkit onto the floor. “Am I allowed to rough him up for answers about why the ship broke?” he said as though he begrudged having to ask permission.
Antares watched me, still tracing his finger along the cards.
I turned back to Orion. “If he wanted us in Castor’s grip, he would have betrayed us on Vinera. So, no to roughing him up. Besides, that rarely gives you answers. Get back to searching the ship.”
“Trust does and friendship gains truth,” Hamal said. He flashed that gentle smile. His perfect cheekbones and square jaw might look harsh on someone else, but his gentle copper eyes and sweet smile gave him a tender, soft look. He made me feel like I could lean against him and be safe.
I had to look away before his handsomeness made me blush like an idiot. He had been doing that to me since I met him a couple of weeks ago.
“You’re too nice for a gunner,” Orion said with a grin.
“War makes us different than we would be otherwise,” Hamal said. “The important thing is to hang onto your light and the people you love with both hands.”
A deep well of sorrow echoed behind his words like a lonely funeral bell ringing out in the dark of night, just once.
I shivered. What or who had Hamal lost? Who would I be if not for the war? If my parents had not left, if my sister had not vanished, if I had not spent years in training and fighting…. I couldn’t even imagine it.
In the thoughtful silence, the only sounds were Polaris’s tinkering and Rux’s cooing at the guns.
“No use wondering about what-ifs,” Hamal said though he had started it. “That’s the path to madness. I only meant that we have to hold onto the good.” His voice turned small and sad.
I took a step toward him, but Orion’s hand grabbed mine and anchored me to the spot.
“That’s some fancy bullshit masquerading as smarts,” Antares said.
Hamal kept his head down and didn’t bother to answer. He looked defeated.
“You wouldn’t know wisdom if it fucked you in the ass,” Orion said to Antares.
“Put a bow tie on shit and it’s still shit.”
“Enough,” I said. “We can’t lose sight of our mission and risk any other problems with the ship. Orion, inspect the engine room for anything suspicious. Hamal, start on the bedroom.”
Thankfully, they followed my orders. I didn’t fully trust Antares, so I searched the lounge with him to keep a close eye on him.
As I worked, my mind wandered back to his words.
He was right that Polaris was in love with me, but it was fleeting. Po would realize that a sweet, shy girl was better for him, rather than someone like me. I was full of jagged edges that would cut him.
But what if he could be happy with me?
Last week that idea would have been laughable. No men wanted me, that was clear by Orion leaving me. But now that I knew Orion had always loved me, it wasn’t so strange to think that Polaris’s feelings were genuine.
“Pew, pew, pew,” Rux shouted from the gun bank below.
I sighed. “Hamal, go get Rux up here before he starts blowing shit up. Better yet, tell him to search the gun banks. He’ll like that.”
“Rux is right,” Antares said. “Blowing shit up is fun.” I remembered our conversation about the fun of fucking shit up when we had stolen the Firebrand. I hated that we had that in common.
“It’s too bad he’s an ass about it,” Antares added.
“When you’re a piece of shit, everything looks like an ass,” Orion snapped as he stepped into the lounge.
“No,” Antares corrected. “When you’re a dick,” he gestured to himself, “everything looks like an ass or a pus—”
“Shut up and get back to work,” I snapped. “Orion, is the engine room clear?”
“I need some tools to check it properly,” he said, crouching for the box.
“Be quick about it. What if there’s a bomb?”
As Polaris tinkered and banged in the cockpit’s dashboard, we tore apart the ship’s main level. Rux took apart and reassembled the guns, and he cooed and hummed as he did so. Orion found a scanner for seeing through walls and engine casings to locate damage, so we used that to check behind the bulkheads for signs of tampering.
The ship was clean. We only had to deal with the engine lock that Po was disconnecting. But I couldn’t shake the feeling crawling along my spine that Castor had set another trap for us.
Orion rounded on Antares. “Did you know about that lock? You still haven’t answered.”
Antares yawned. Mr. Pancake sitting at his feet did the same, his little tongue curling.
“Well?” Orion demanded.
“Castor is after me too. I would have told you if I knew about the lock.”
Orion stalked toward him. “I don’t believe you—"
“Challenge time,” Hamal cut in, as usual trying to smooth things over.
“What?” I said.
“I propose a game to help pass the time,” he said. “If Commander Calpurnia, our fearless leader, agrees.”
He had a point. Searching the ship had helped keep Orion and Antares from fighting. Maybe a new goal would distract them while Polaris got the ship running.
“Po,” I called. “Do you need more time?”
“Sorry, Commander…it’s, ah, been a while since I did this.”
Fuck, I hoped he managed to fix it soon. We were already a week behind on finding Winters. The Supremacy could have captured her by now and we’d never gain the intel needed to destroy their rule.
“Go ahead, Hamal,” I said. “We have a bit of time to kill.”
“Each crew member will take turns setting up a challenge for the team. We’ll compete, friendly, of course,” he added, shooting a quick look to Antares and then Orion. “The winner gets bragging rights.”
“That’s no fun,” Antares said. “You need to win or lose something.”
“Yeah, I already have bragging rights over everyone,” Orion said. “Except you,” he added, meeting my eyes with a warm smile.
“You win or lose pride,” I said. “You all have more than enough to spare.” I accidentally met Hamal’s eyes. As usual, they were warm and smiling though his mouth wasn’t. As usual, his handsomeness made my skin hot.
I looked away. “It was your idea, so you pick the first challenge.”
Chapter 3
“What fresh nonsense is this?” Rux demanded as he strolled into the lounge.
“Something to distract you from getting us killed if another ship shows up,” I said.
“I thought you were a good pilot,” he sneered. “Can’t you dodge fire from an enemy ship?”
“Can you dodge rain when there’s no cover?” I said, and he glared. “A few ships, yes, I can outfly them. But if a fleet shows up, there is no dodging fire that covers the entire sky. You can’t open fire on just anyone and expect to live.”
He pouted and said nothing.
“Hamal, you pick the first challenge,” I ordered.
The larger man smiled and stood up straighter. It was good to see him looking a bit cheerful again.
“A cooking contest to determine who can make the most delicious meal from whatever is in the kitchen.”
Everyone groaned before he even finished talking. I wanted to as well, but I had to play along to help keep the crew distracted and occupied. When they got bored, they argued—it had already started. We might be stuck here for a while with our mission falling apart. I couldn’t risk them turning on each other now.
“I left the Prince Punisher for this?” Rux grumbled.
“Why do you name every gun?” Orion said.
“Why do you name every ship?”
“I’m the Prince Punisher,” I said, cutting in before they devolved to a full argu
ment. “And I don’t want to spend any time with you.”
Rux stared at me with his mouth slack. Shit, it felt good to get one over on him. Orion grinned at me ear-to-ear.
“Head to the kitchen, you guys,” I said.
“You’re all chefs, you just don’t know it yet,” Hamal said.
“Chef of your doom,” Rux muttered.
“Doctor Hamal, a word,” I said.
As they went ahead, I fell back a few steps toward the cockpit where Polaris was still working.
“You can call me Hamal, cupcake,” he said, lowering his voice.
“You can call me Commander or Calpurnia,” I said, looking away from his face and his strong, broad shoulders. I dropped my voice to a whisper so the others wouldn’t hear. “Is it smart to waste food on a contest when we don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here?”
“It’s not wasted. We’ll eat everything we make,” he said, his voice warm and amused.
I snorted. “Some of it will be terrible.”
“We’re in the military. We’re used to terrible food.”
He was right, but that wasn’t the real reason I worried. “How long will the food last? Have you checked?”
Hamal dropped his voice to a whisper as well. “I took inventory soon after take-off. We have enough for a week.”
My heart clenched. “If we go on one-quarter rations?”
“We might last a month at the most,” Hamal said, “but our strength will be failing at that point.”
Shit. Even if Polaris could fix the Invictus—and I was certain he could—we didn’t have a jump drive, and we weren’t near a jumpgate. It could be weeks, months, even years before we reached a habitable planet at sub-light speeds. I did some quick mental math. We’d run out of food long before the air recycler’s energy was used up.
“Then why a cooking contest when we should be conserving every bite?” I stared into the kitchen where Orion and Antares were arguing about something again.
“What are those men are going to do to each other when they find out the food won’t last?” Hamal said.
“They’ll try to jettison Antares to save supplies,” I said, and I wasn’t certain if I was joking or not.
“Exactly,” Hamal said. “With this challenge, they won’t notice there’s a problem. If you think it’s a careless idea, I apologize and will change the challenge to something else. I’ll say I didn’t want to taste-test their failures.”
I snorted. “Lay out ingredients for the contest and make sure it’s enough for a single day’s worth of food. We’ll eat all of it no matter how terrible. And…is there dog food here?”
“Sorry, Commander.”
I sighed. “Poor Mr. Pancake.” The tiny wrinkly dog was hopping around the kitchen as though begging for treats.
“I’m sure Antares will go without food before he lets Mr. Pancake go hungry,” Hamal said.
“Yeah,” I said, distracted as I watched the grim, mysterious man ignore Orion’s jabs to scoop up the tiny dog. His expression didn’t even change as Mr. Pancake licked his chin.
“So would I,” Hamal said. “I’ll make sure to cook plain meat and rice for the little man.”
“You like looking after people, don’t you?” I said, remembering his sad words about war from earlier. “What made you become a gunner, then?” He was one of the best in The Uprising—one of the best at shooting people and one of the best at healing them.
“I had many people to protect.”
I noticed the “had,” the past tense. “And now?” I said.
Hamal was silent for a moment. “Commander?” he said, his voice gentle but tentative. “Why don’t you look at me when we speak?”
My heart leaped into my throat, and I tried to swallow it back down. I knew he was changing the subject, but I would let him because I understood not wanting to share trauma. Plus, he had called me out on something, and I could never back down from a challenge. I met his eyes. Warm brown in warm brown skin, in a face so handsome that it made my tongue trip over itself.
“I…ah…ahhhhhh….”
“Do you need your throat checked?” Hamal said kindly.
I shook my head clear. “Thank you, Doctor Hamal. You can go.”
“Have I done something to offend you?” he asked, his voice taking on the sorrowful note that made me want to hug him.
Or better yet, have those strong shoulders and arms wrap around me. Hamal always looked like safety. Strong, wide, and kind.
“You’ve been wonderful,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze again—after I had finished talking. I couldn’t tell him the truth, of course, that he was too handsome to look at and talk to at the same time.
I nodded toward the kitchen to tell him, without words, to go.
He saluted, and my stomach flipped over like I was flying a ship upside down. As the doctor took long strides down the corridor, I watched his fine ass in pants that were a little too tight for him.
From the cockpit, something clattered onto the floor. I sighed. Po. He was working hard alone while we were having fun—or trying to. I doubted cooking was much fun for anyone here except Hamal, but still, he would be alone.
I considered dropping out of the challenge to keep Polaris company. But that was a terrible idea. I would lead him on again, only to break his heart when I could only be with Orion. My cocky flyboy had gone to prison for me; I couldn’t betray him with another man.
Besides, I doubted I could handle two boyfriends. Orion was the love of my life, but my heart had failed him before. If I couldn’t love one man fully, how could I ever trust myself to care for two?
It was best to keep things distant between us, at least until Polaris found the right person for him.
Assuming we even survived that long.
“Cal?” Polaris said softly.
My heart skipped a beat at his soft, sweet voice. I turned to the cockpit. He sat on the floor before the open dashboard, a smear of grease on his left cheek.
Shit. I always liked a man who knew how to work a ship, whether as a pilot like Orion or as an engineer like Po.
“Did you hear me speaking with Hamal?”
He nodded. “I won’t say anything about the food.”
Polaris knew how to keep a secret from anyone who wasn’t me. “Thanks.”
“Remember, cooking is like an engine,” he said. “You put the right parts together in the right order. I’ve seen you fix ships. You’re good at that.”
“Not as good as you.”
“That is the one thing I understand. Machines. Code.” He looked sad for a moment, then smiled. “Have fun.”
Those dimples. I couldn’t help but smile back.
That was why I had to avoid him.
Chapter 4
The kitchen on the Invictus was too small for five people.
“It’s part of the challenge,” Hamal quipped.
How this would increase morale rather than make us want to kill each other, I didn’t know. But I guess if the men were fighting about cooking, then they weren’t fighting about the stranded ship, that our mission was on the edge of failure, or anything else important.
“You can use any of the specially chosen ingredients laid out on the table or counter,” Hamal explained.
“Who gets what?” Rux grumbled.
“Whoever grabs it first,” Hamal said.
Yeah, this was a bad idea.
I hadn’t even finished that thought before Rux and Orion grabbed all the packets and bowls they could carry. They were like a pack of bear-lions fighting over a downed alliacore.
Hamal hummed, as he always did while cooking, as he turned on the stove and slowly picked from among the ingredients left after Rux and Orion’s rampage.
That left Antares, Mr. Pancake, and I standing empty-handed and empty-pawed.
“This is a distraction, isn’t it?” he whispered, crossing his arms and frowning.
“It’s a contest you’re going to lose,” I said. “And that I’
ll lose as well. There’s nothing left. Animals!” I snapped at Orion and Rux.
Mr. Pancake whined. “Not you, fuzz butt,” I said.
“An animal in bed, you mean.” Orion winked at me over his shoulder. I rolled my eyes, but he only grinned. No amount of annoyance ever convinced him that his lines weren’t working.
Of course, if I could convince him his lines didn’t work, he would have given up on me and we wouldn’t be back together.
“Watch this,” Antares said. He strolled through the kitchen, picking up packets of freeze-dried food. As he did, one arm shot out toward the counter between Rux and Orion. He pulled back with a small bowl of yellow curry spices.
Neither Rux nor Orion turned or yelled at him. Somehow, they hadn’t noticed.
My eyebrows shot up before I could hide that I was impressed. Antares pressed a finger to his lips. He placed his ingredients on the table before whirling to elbow Rux and push his way to the counter.
“Out of the way, dog boy,” Rux snapped.
“Are your guns compensating for something?” Antares said.
“Not compensating. I like my guns to match the rest of me.”
“Should we get the measuring tape again?” Antares asked me over his shoulder.
“Yes.” I crossed my arms. “And I expect a detailed bar graph this time.”
“Why do you need a bar graph? You got the best and biggest already,” Orion said.
“I wouldn’t fit on a bar graph,” Rux added in his gravelly voice.
Antares laughed and stepped back from the counter, lifting a bowl of chopped vegetables from inside his long black sleeve.
I snorted as he raised an eyebrow at me and returned to his table of ingredients. Of course Antares was a fucking pickpocket too. Did he have any skills that weren’t dishonest or illegal?
Hamal hummed to himself as he stirred something on the stove, and the smell of sizzling vegetables filled the air. I breathed deeply of it.
I had rarely been on a ship filled with the smell of fresh food. Even when I had a ton of time on long journeys, I never bothered with cooking. It was homely in a way foreign and strange to me.
