by Imogene Nix
“Yeah, I know. But the last time I spoke to her, she was so bitter and angry.” He shook his head ruefully. “I just can’t help feeling that the chance was gone before I could do anything about it.” He stopped, looked at the coffee in his hands, and took a sip of the dark, rich brew. He looked back at Elara. “But by Eshra, if the chance shows, I will take it.”
The firm words were met with a smile. “That’s the way. Now tell me you have an idea for increasing the capacity and efficiency of the regen units.”
He sat back in his seat, pulling out a palm screen, and within minutes, they were deep in conversation.
* * * *
Raven stood in engineering running tests on the energy matrix when the first shudder hit, knocking him toward the console. “Barsha! What was that?”
Showers of sparks appeared near one of the mounts, raining down on the gray metal floor. His crew scurried to shut down whatever they could to minimize the possible damage, as per Admiralty guidelines, and he heard their comments as they communicated with each other, a sense of urgency invading the work area.
He quickly made his way toward the source of the sparks, hissing as he came too close and was caught by a stray spark.
“Basha!” He swore again as the heat forced him back. He reached for the extinguisher, pulling off the cap and starting to lay down the inhibiting foam, hoping once he’d created enough of a barrier he could get a look at what had happened.
Once he was sure there was no further chance of danger, he crouched down to inspect the damage. He noticed the shear’s pattern. “Likely caused by wear.” It was in a position no one would have noticed, he thought while he considered the jagged edges.
This was the first major issue in engineering since he had taken over upon the death of Corbin Jard, traitor to the Empire. While he thought none of his crew would have been able to create the damage’s pattern, he needed to be sure.
He touched a grimy hand to the commbadge. “Captain, we have a problem in engineering. There looks to be a shear on one of the matrix mounts.”
“What? I’m on my way.” The voice that answered sounded distracted, as it had been for the last few days since they had entered the Phobos real space.
Raven continued his assessment, the foam on the floor dissipating slowly, allowing him to clearly note the striations’ shape now. He grabbed his desk pad and made notations on it with quick, steady moves, and with his handheld computer system, he started to take measurements and test the depths of the damage.
Duvall McCord appeared in the engine room. “What happened?”
“It seems from the pattern of shear this weld was badly done, causing instability in the metal.” He pointed with a penlight in the direction of the damage and Duvall crouched, squinted, and gave a grunt. “We’ll need to go to a full stop to make sure it doesn’t stress the mount further. Then we need to do a running repair.” Before Duvall could speak, Raven shook his head. “We need to clean the mount first and make sure it’s cold. That’ll take us two to three days.”
Duvall frowned. “Two to three days?”
“Yeah. The actual repair will only take several hours, but we can’t ensure it’s going to hold unless we take the right precautions.” He sighed. “It’ll mean pulling out of the fleet long enough to get it fixed then catching up. I’d estimate anything up to seven days depending on how it goes once we’ve cleaned the structure.”
“Are you sure? No other way it can be fixed?” Duvall looked tense, rubbing his hands through his hair.
“No, not if we’re going to do it safely, and if the mounting breaks we’re effectively a dead ship in the middle of nowhere. Then our only option will be to catch a tow back to home base. Further damage will destabilize the rest of the mounts and possibly, worst case, a malfunction or total breakdown of the matrix.”
Duvall was clearly weighing the options.
“Yes, it needs to be repaired immediately, Duvall.” Raven looked at Duvall. He could feel the rivulets of sweat and grease trailing down his arms and face, plastering his hair against his face and neck.
“I’ll inform the Star. Take us to a full stop now.” Duvall walked away, and as Raven watched, it was clear the weight of the command was heavy as he rubbed his neck. With a tight voice, he gave commands through his commbadge.
Once Duvall had left engineering, Raven clambered up off the decking and headed for the engine’s controls. One by one, he started shutting them down while he alerted Grayson, Duvall’s second-in-command.
* * * *
Jemma had been in the cockpit for nearly three hours of her shift after resting on the Ishtar when the call came through the communications system. “Cardnew? We have a problem. The Elector has developed an engine issue and needs to come to a full stop. You’re required to stay with her as protection for the period of time it takes to get her safely back to the fleet. We can’t spare any further fighters, but the Elector is well-equipped in terms of weaponry, so it should be just a formality. This is a normally safe location anyway, with no known incursions or issues and a general fleet-shipping zone. Even so, remain on your guard and keep that bird flying.” The voice of Vors came through tinny then chuckled. “Good luck! Vors out.”
Jemma toggled the comm. “Acknowledged,” she said, then once she had turned it off, she muttered, “Un-freakin-believable. God? You seriously have so much to answer for.” Up until now, she’d been lucky, limiting her interactions with the crew to Duvall and Grayson for the last week since she arrived in the squadron.
“Elector here. Cardnew, bring your craft into the bay and I’ll brief you on the situation,” Grayson said.
Jemma winced. Damn, if she could just hold off a bit longer before docking, and anyway, if there was anyone monitoring the military channels, this would be the perfect time for them to have a sniff around and make an attempt at a strike.
“Commander, with all due respect, I think this is a perfect time for an incursion, given that the Phobos pirates are known to intercept transmissions on the military bands. With your permission, I’ll remain out here for a little while longer.”
“Permission denied. Get your arse in here!” Duvall’s voice came through the comm.
She closed her eyes briefly. If only he hadn’t been listening, but she was out of luck.
Jemma acknowledged his command with a brief “Yes, sir” and brought her craft around, running scans, looking for something, anything that would give her a reason to ignore the command. Fate is a funny thing though, and for all her scans, she could see nothing on the radar as she carefully pulled her fighter into the bay.
Once the engines wound down and she could see the bay doors close, Jemma opened the plas-glass screen and climbed out. The door at the end of the bay beyond the small shuttle craft they kept on board opened as she reached the plascrete, and Duvall came storming in.
“Damn you, Jemma! I don’t care how pissed off with me you are, don’t you ever disobey my orders. I’ll bust you down to a bloody sanitation officer if I have to. Is that clear?” He growled the words at her between clenched teeth, and she saw the nerves jumping in his cheeks. His anger washed over her like a hot tide. She knew she deserved the reprimand, but that didn’t change the fact that it still hurt to hear his words.
Jemma’s cheeks grew hot. “Yes, Captain. I apologize, Captain. It was inappropriate,” she muttered, standing rigidly to attention. Her eyes stung at the dressing down.
So few words, but they’d cut her like razor blades, sharp and stealing her breath.
Raven Fraser entered and took position behind Duvall, and she wanted a hole to open in the floor. His eyes settled on her, piercing and cold as their gaze raked over her. None of them had seen her in the flesh since her placement in the academy except him. She scowled. As God was her witness, she so didn’t want to be on the bloody Elector.
She was stuck there though, and she knew she would suck it up any way she had to until this torturous period was concluded. Whatever it took to get her
through this purgatory. She railed against fate that brought her full cycle back to the Elector, into contact with Duvall and Mellissa. With the added problem of her physical attraction to Raven, one she’d fought against from the moment she had first seen him.
It really felt very unfair. In a different time and place, she would have marked him as a potential partner—for however long the feeling pulled at her. Right now though, she didn’t need or want the problems of a physical, let alone emotional, entanglement that she sensed she could experience with this man.
“Barsha!” Duvall whirled away from her, muttering under his breath. “I don’t know why Mellissa worries about you. You don’t give a damn about her.” With that, the captain left the bay, striding through the doors, which shut behind him.
“Well, you certainly handled that well.” Raven’s voice poured over her.
“I don’t give a flying damn whether you think that or not. Where is this bloody briefing to be held and when?”
“Captain’s office. 1000 hours. You do remember where that is, don’t you?” he enquired in that silky voice that felt like pure sin.
She checked her wrist chrono. She had an hour. “I need a kit for the Raptor,” she said, indicating her craft.
His eyes quirked at the name, and he grinned at her. “Why? Something wrong with her?” He cast an eye over the craft critically. She could see him inspecting the panels sporting chipped paint.
“No, just general maintenance. As there’s no combat tech here, I’ll do it myself,” she said, hoping he would just find her what she needed and go. Preferably as quickly as possible. “I’ll also need details of the fuel stores you carry for her.” She turned away, her expression lightening as she looked at the now renamed Bitch, hoping he would get the message fast.
“I’ll get you what you need,” he said, and left her in the bay.
* * * *
Jemma was checking the last of her indicators when the comm system chimed. “Cardnew, you’re late to the captain’s office. Your immediate attention is required.”
She sat up with a hurry. Damn, she’d lost track of the time while running through her post-flight checks. It didn’t help that Raven had come back with details of the fuel stores and waited until she had completed her maintenance work.
She dumped her equipment to answer the hail. “Cardnew here. On my way.”
She closed the plas-glass, jumped down to the deck with a resounding thud, and headed to the door, palmed it, and moved at double-time toward the captain’s office. The clanking of her feet on the decking encouraged others to get out of her way. Just what she needed—more shit. She sighed.
Once she reached the office, she palmed the door and noted the streaking of oil and grime on her hands. Damn, he’d probably carpet her for that too. She was wiping some of the mess onto the rag she kept in her pocket as the door opened.
“Nice of you to join us, Cardnew. Grab a seat.”
“Ugh, if you don’t mind, I should probably stand, Captain. I have grease all over me from mech checks.” She hoped like hell this would be quick, because she really needed some downtime, and to be honest, she didn’t want to be there any more than he wanted her there.
Raven stood up, moving toward her. “This is going to take a while. We’ve found a structural fault in the energy matrix that needs immediate repair. All engines need to be taken offline in order for me to get into the area and make the necessary repairs. I believe it could take up to a week before we can rejoin the fleet.” His words were placid, but she remained rigidly at attention. In front of Grayson and Duvall, it was necessary, she told herself.
She glanced toward Duvall but remembered to be quiet, pushing against her instinctive reaction to argue. A week? Aboard the Elector? Oh, joy of joys. She seethed silently.
Duvall stood and looked at her. “As our designated combat pilot, you will of course be bunked down nearest the bay, and we’ve taken steps to ensure you have whatever you require during your time aboard the Elector. We have a backup generator set to ensure that your access through the bay will not be disrupted. I believe you’ve been running a five-hour watch cycle? Normally that would be acceptable, but as we will effectively be dead in the water for the next few days, we’ll limit your rotating watch to three hours to conserve your flight time, but you’ll be on call at all times. Any questions?”
“No, sir. I think that would work, although I’d rather take the bunk in the bay if I may. That way I can be immediately there should the need arise.”
“Fine, if that suits you best.”
“Sir.”
The scarred, red-haired lady—Elara, she remembered—spoke up. “You will need to attend the mess hall for meals too. During this time Mellissa and I will be hand cooking to conserve our stocks until we can rejoin the fleet. Meals will be at 0600, 1200, and 1800.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Damn, she’d need to join them. Perhaps she could figure out a way to miss that too. But one look at Duvall’s face told her that was unlikely to be acceptable to him.
The meeting continued, and she followed it absently, noting that Raven never once looked at her since his opening address. His hands illustrated points on the holo-construct of the matrix supports, showing the damage and what needed to be done.
His voice was mesmerizing, she decided, deep and smooth. His hair shined in the subdued lighting like spun gold, and his eyes were oh so blue, like a deep-water pond. For a moment she fancied she could almost drown in them. She mentally shook herself out of her fanciful notions. She didn’t need any kind of physical intimacy with a member of the Elector’s crew, she told herself sternly, but her body continued to heat, listening to the cadence of his voice.
She noticed that they had moved on and the discussions were desultory. She’d lost track, never a good sign. She sighed inwardly, wishing she could move. Her legs ached from standing.
“Meeting dismissed,” the captain finally said. Jemma turned toward the door, but he called out, “Cardnew, please stay behind.”
Jemma closed her eyes. Well, when things went bad, they really went bad with a thud, she reminded herself. She turned back toward Duvall. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, and for a moment, she felt a spurt of vertigo. She locked her knees, opened her eyes to focus on a point over Duvall’s shoulder, and hoped like hell she could keep it together for a little longer.
The rest of the crew filed past her.
Once the room was silent, she focused on Duvall. “Captain, how else may I help?” She kept her voice neutral.
“Jemma, while we’re stuck together, you’re going to have to deal with Mellissa.”
She closed her eyes, wishing for some kind of stay of execution.
“She’s worried about you, Jemma, and to be honest, after over a year, it would be helpful if you’d grow up a little and act like the person your wings say you can be.”
She opened her eyes, ready to give him a piece of her mind. She swallowed the words though. He’s a senior officer. If you open that mouth, you better be prepared to face the consequences. She took a deep breath and contained herself.
“With all due respect, sir, I am here as your combat pilot, not anything else. I will treat your wife—” She emphasized the word “—with all due respect according to both her situation and her role within the Empire and aboard the Elector.”
“Dammit! You’re not twelve, so stop acting like it!” he bit out.
“If that is all, Captain? I would like to retire.” She waited for the slap down, knowing her mouth had run off again. Her head pounded to the beat of the blood pumping in her veins and her body felt seared all over. Far too warm, she knew.
“Dismissed.” He bit the word out.
She inclined her head and retreated from the office. It was definitely going to be a long week.
* * * *
The first meal in the mess hall was difficult. Jemma sat at the end of the furthest table, ate quickly, and removed herself as fast as she could, avoiding all contact with the cr
ew. Mellissa wasn’t there at the time, and for that, Jemma was grateful. Her head now hurt significantly, her stomach roiled with nausea, and all she wanted to do was crawl into her bunk and sleep.
She quickly made her way back to the bay and entered. Raven Fraser stood waiting for her, and she wanted to scream at the unfairness.
“Sir, how can I help you?”
“Actually I think it is I who can help you.” He cocked his head to one side, and for a minute the sizzle of awareness thrummed through her body and a pulse of heat washed over her. She pushed it down brutally.
“Really? And how would that be?”
“I put together the kit you needed earlier,” he said, holding out a toolbox filled with an assortment of wrenches and spanners. Even a sonic knife had been included. She felt a spurt of disappointment that he hadn’t come just to see her.
She raised her aching head. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled, and that flash came back to hit her. “I’m just heading up to the mess—”
“I’ve already eaten. I need to get some shut-eye as I’m back on duty in less than six hours,” she said quickly, ensuring he got the message and waiting for him to leave her alone in the silence of the bay. Peace and quiet called, and she wanted to close eyes that were hurting and lay down her spinning head.
“Right then. I’ll leave you to it.” He nodded and turned away.
She sat down on the bunk, watching him leave with a feeling of self-disgust. Here he was—a seriously sexy man, and one she’d love to have as a lover. Some sixth sense told her he’d be amazing. But he was a friend of Duvall and Mellissa’s, and she was on his ship on her first deployment. Better to let him go than think about sex. But when she closed her eyes her mind played images of the most gorgeous and well-proportioned chest. Her blood quickened even as she fell into the well of exhaustion.
* * * *
Raven stood outside the bay for a minute, just breathing. She was a hard nut, but he thought perhaps there was something more to her than she let people see. He also remembered seeing the white lines around her mouth and the bruising under those haunting purple-blue eyes. Oh yes, she was gorgeous, but unless he missed his guess, she needed sleep. Even more, she needed a friend. He could be that. But it wasn’t enough and that drove him.
