letting her suffer alone either. He walked to a Comm panel and called Dmitry. The respondent was still on the defensive, until he’d been briefed. Then Tark could only fill the gap between them with an olive branch.
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said to you, man. I felt like I had to look out for her, alright? And now, I’m still doing that. I need you to go find her and see if she’s okay.”
“I can do that. And...nothing happened. Just so you know.” A hum indicated that he had gone off the line. Tark cocked his head back over a shoulder, surveying the scene. Personnel were milling about in a sea of inaction. He could predict being stuck there for a while, during the cleanup and concurrent investigation. It would have been one thing if Hawke had only had the good manners to see to her affairs in private. As he chided himself for the callous thought, he had to admit he really was pissed off. In his neck, muscles began to tighten into tiny fists, which were bound to start hammering away by nightfall.
This would most certainly suck. Maybe tonight would be the one that he took Sa’andy out to dinner, seeing how their breakfast had gone out the window. And later maybe, she might give him a backrub, while they sat in the whirlpool or something. He started playing that scenario in the back of his mind to keep himself motivated. This nightmare had to be the worst the day could get. It had to go up from here. After all, hadn’t Dmitry just said, nothing happened? That had to be the uptick point for the day. The man was finally growing up.
A few hundred feet away, just around the curve of the hallway, a mob was being held back by a trio of lance corporals. The throng had disembarked from a ship, which had a layover on the Nimitz, just in time for the side show. None of them, save one person, had any idea who the woman was that had just thrown herself into the arms of the gods. They conjectured to each other, making wagers and speculations, while the personnel controlling them grimaced at the macabre sense of humor with which the currency changed hands. Some aspects of humanity never changed. They all pretended to be horrified and shocked, while their little hearts thrilled.
۞
One man stood in the periphery, trying to go unnoticed. He was handsome in a symmetrically unremarkable way. He was the kind of man that several of the single women in the crowd would have slept with and forgotten about by the next month. Some of them had, during the voyage between Earth and the Nimitz. He’d merely provided a diversion, the same kind of momentary thrill they felt from the flashy drama of the doctor’s death. It was guaranteed that his presence in their lives was already washed away by it. As it luck would have it.
He felt pleased by the organic evolution that had come of this journey so far. One of his objectives had been taken care for him, and he’d managed to see to his own needs. And now, with this, he wouldn’t have to deal with any of them in a permanent sense. He couldn’t have planned it any better. He waited for people to start dispersing, noting how the women ignored him, some of them clasping onto their spouses’ arms, others with family and friends. And he rode the wake of their exit, whistling a quiet hymn in memory of the passing of the doctor.
۞
Maeve wandered in and out of shops, feeling aimless, but hunted. There were blips of visual memory gathering like dark clouds around the edges of her consciousness. She had a sense of déjà vu, and saw herself sitting on the roof of a building somewhere, while a thunderstorm flashed and rumbled around. Her feet had dangled over the edge, she remembered. And the urge to tip over that edge…had been so strong. Just fall, just fall, go to sleep, fall asleep.
All around her in the fine gravel of the roof, little pink ovals lay scattered, and a mostly empty glass bottle lay on its side. She couldn’t remember anymore. She didn’t want to. There were far too many people around; she couldn’t sink down to her knees and weep. It was too much. A voice from a faraway place began to ask, why, why did you do it?
Someone touched her and asked if she was feeling unwell. She smiled thinly and said she was fine, while cold sweat trickled down her back. Another someone asked if there was yet another someone to be called, and Maeve broke free from the small crowd. She moved quickly away, at not quite a dead run, still not knowing where she was or what to do.
Eventually she just roamed, finally coming to a stop outside a door. With no small amount of surprise, she saw that it was Dmitry’s quarters. Taking a chance, she knocked. No answer. His doorway was inside a vestibule, which shielded from view of the rest of the corridor. It was dark and deep enough to hide in. She curled into a ball in the darkest corner, and fell into a strange sleep.
Reinforcing troops had been too late. Time was ticking back and forth; inconstant betrayer. No one wanted to say the word; there was still hope. Radio silence. And what was it that her company commander had always said? “The enemy is not evil; they’re just wearing the wrong uniform.” Except they were wearing the right one this time. And evil was evil. Blood in the water drew sharks, everyone knew that. She kept hearing the phrase, ‘coordinated attacks’. By whom? Against whom? They were in the stronghold, the acropolis…it was supposed to be safe. She felt the phantom of pain in her belly, looked down, and watched her life slipping away. Screaming away.
“Maeve. Hey...wake up.” A warm hand was on her neck. She pushed it away, as the anxiety of her dreamscape lingered. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, but then again you scared the shit out me.”
“I didn’t really know what else to do with myself.”
“Right. Sleeping on my doorstep seems like a good last ditch option after despair.”
“Who said despair? I never said that.” She looked up at him as though she could get a line of sight into his brain. “Tarkington called you, I suppose.”
“I cannot comment on what he may or may not have done. You’re at my door, remember?” He pulled her to her feet.
“I was bored.”
“Lucky you; I know how to fix such things.” He held fast to her hand and opened his door. She hesitated. “I’m just going to change into civvies.”
“Okay.” She wandered in after him, seeing his living space anew. “I was hoping that last night wasn’t going to be….” Dmitry walked out into the living area, shirtless, and she fell silent.
“What, awkward?” He chuckled. “More for me than you, I think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Relax.” He fished a bottle of wine from a cupboard and spent several moments rattling through a drawer in search of a corkscrew. “It’s just that, ow! Found the pointy end first. Sorry. Well, I have a, um, how should I put this…reputation? Around here, people usually see me out with…ladies…on a regular basis.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you’re a ‘player’?”
“A what?”
“Someone who plays the scene.”
“I guess. Ahem. Well, the thing is, I have my own reasons. And I’m not to be taken seriously. So don’t.” He avoided her stare.
“You’re getting ready to ‘entertain’ me, while telling me I, what, ought to go away?”
“No, not really. It’s mostly that Tark will murder me in my sleep if I….” He fiddled with the cork, prying it out with some difficulty. “I hope this hasn’t gone to vinegar. Smells alright. Anyhow, let’s just say that I fouled up really badly a while back. Tark fought on my behalf, and got me out here on this duty posting. While he overlooks my socializing, he seems to be particularly attached to you and your friends. I would truly like not to infuriate my only real friend.”
“So, he did send you after me.”
“Only after he shouted at me earlier this morning.”
“And said, or shouted, what? Hands off?”
“One might draw that conclusion.” She came around the counter to where he stood, sullen fury knitting her brows.
“And what if I have other feelings on the matter?” Maeve took a step closer, he stepped back.
“And I should say what, that a vulnerable woman threw herself at me, while I in my…infinite whatever…had no power to resist
?”
“No, I’m asking what you want.” Dmitry was backed into a corner. It was an odd sensation, as she stood just watching him with that empty look in her eyes. He did the only thing he could think of. He took her into his arms and held her. She was tall enough that she could rest her head on his shoulder. It was a bit like cradling a wild animal. Every moment brought a new struggle, as her instinct to run fought for control, in spite of what she’d said. Finally, she looked up at him, hoping to see that he’d changed his mind. More than anything, she wanted to feel something. Anything.
His eyes seemed more blue than grey right then, like a stirred-up stream that is finally settling its sediment back down. How could she tell him that she was more like him than the fragile innocent that she’d been made out to be? Colonel Tarkington had transformed her into a younger sister. That much was obvious. She wanted to be different than that. Dmitry, in return, saw what was in her eyes and resisted with what remained of his dwindling willpower. He looked off into another corner of the room before speaking.
“That is just not fair.”
“What?”
“Well, times have changed, and I like to think humanity has evolved a bit, but certain things are still controlled by biology.” He gritted his teeth as she stood to her full height and drew in closer, as near eye to eye as she could muster. “Don’t.”
“You don’t. I’m not a child.” She was as near to both their limits as he could stand. He gently backed away from her, holding her hands, to keep her from leaving.
“He will…kill…me.” This was probably only partly true. Dmitry was having a hard time trying to sort out what his true reluctance was.
“It’s not his life. It’s mine.” She hated the desperation that crept into her voice.
“We both owe him.” He was earnest, for once in his life; completely and utterly serious. Maeve’s protest died unspoken; all her indignation dissipated. She fell back against the counter in his kitchen, as the morning finally caught up to her.
“So what now, then?” She allowed him to put his arms around her once more, to press his forehead to hers, to lose herself in that small comfort. It was all she would receive, apparently.
Dmitry was still trying to reengage his resolve. Thinking carefully for some few moments, he searched for another moment in his life such as this. He had turned down a woman. She’d been willing to go as far as he’d wanted, and probably still was. He’d resisted, not because he didn’t want her, but for some other reason.
That reason sat grinning at him from a corner of his consciousness, but he wouldn’t look at it. Not yet. Instead, he held onto her, as her breathing slowed, and she finally relaxed. Only then did he allow himself to kiss her gently, differently than the night before. That earlier kiss had come over them both in the heat of a moment, aided by spirits of many sorts. This was…better. Real. They both lingered in it, each with their own thoughts, neither wanting it to end.
“I’m exhausted.” Indeed, she did look completely drained, though no longer so unhappy as she had. He ran his hand through her hair.
“You can hide out here, if you want.” He let his hand stay resting comfortably on the back of her neck again. She smiled faintly, while his mind raced down a thousand roads. “I have to get back. At least I can tell Tark that you’re ok.”
She curled up on his sofa, and drifted off to sleep, away from whatever it was that haunted her. Lost under layers of slumber, she seemed safely within a dreamless expanse finally. That security might have come from being in his environment. In fact, she’d cocooned herself in a blanket and fallen completely silent.
It seemed to Dmitry, as he made certain she was asleep, that