I nod, and we continue moving.
Now and then, various Atlantean personnel and Earth Cadets and Civilians hurry past us in the ship corridors.
Logan supports me around the waist and tells me in snatches what happened in the last few hours—how they’ve re-taken the CCO and the rest of the ship.
I listen and nod, lightheaded, nausea rising in my stomach.
It has to be the concussion, I think. A few moments more of this walking motion, and I am going to be violently sick.
Chapter Nineteen
The medical deck area is located in Residential Deck Four. There’s supposed to be one in each Quadrant, but this one’s closest to my residence, so Logan gets me there.
There’s a line in the front waiting section when we arrive. Teens with minor injuries wait while those who are seriously hurt get seen first—typical triage. I see a few with bloody scratches, and several scorch wounds from the laser guns, but most are simply badly traumatized. There are quite a few Atlantean crew members among the more seriously injured.
A young boy hyperventilates. A girl Cadet is wheezing with an asthma attack. Two young kids babble incoherently about being betrayed by Earth, and how there’s more secret terrorists coming for us, and how we’re all doomed to die before we even make it to Atlantis. . . . The doctors and med techs move rapidly, taking us through to the back where the examination rooms are, but it’s still at least half an hour until I get seen.
“A concussion,” the no-nonsense young Atlantean medic says, shining a light in my eye and making me follow his fingers. He’s another older teen, and I stare at his neatly trimmed short metallic hair and his angular chin, while he passes some kind of scan gadget over my forehead and then there’s a tingling heat sensation along my skin.
“I’ve taken care of the worst of it. Now, get some rest, and have someone wake you every two hours,” he tells me at last, turning off the machine.
“Oh?” I mutter. “I thought if you have a concussion you’re not allowed to sleep at all, or you fall into a coma or die, or something?”
The medic shakes his head. “A myth, for the most part. Your symptoms must be watched, but otherwise rest is good. Set a timer and have someone wake you to make sure your symptoms do not get worse. You are free to go.”
I figure, this med tech has a huge line of other more seriously injured people to deal with. So I vacate the room, and Logan’s waiting for me outside.
“I’ll watch you tonight,” he tells me, as we head back to my cabin on Command Deck Four.
I glance up at him, despite the heavy dull ache in my head that’s aggravated by every movement. “No, Logan, that’s crazy, you need your own rest,” I say. “You’ve been in battle!”
But his hazel eyes are warm and he smiles lightly. “You make it sound so awesome. But, no, I’ll stay with you tonight. That is, if you are comfortable with me being there, you know, alone with you in your cabin. Just you and me—” And he wiggles his eyebrows meaningfully, following it up with another slightly tired, slightly flirty smile.
“Oh, you—you, silly.” I blink weakly, attempting to smile also, and both of us stop at the doors of my cabin.
Inside, Logan turns his back while I threaten to hit him if he peeks, and hurriedly undress, wash up, then pull on my sleeping shirt and pajama bottoms. I lie down and he makes me comfortable on my bunk bed cot, covering me with the sheet and blanket, arranging it around me gently. Then he turns to the wall clock, which shows a little after midnight, and sets the alarm for two-hour intervals. I look at him as he sits there, watching me, soon almost nodding off in the narrow hard chair near the wall, just two feet away. Did I mention the cabin is a tiny closet?
“Logan,” I mutter softly, as the cabin lights fade due to our motionless inactivity.
“Huh?” In the twilight I see him barely open his eyes, as his head is lolling to the side.
“Logan, get your butt here. . . . There’s plenty of room for you to lie down.”
He blinks, the glitter of his eyes more alert than it was a second ago. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah.” I scoot back against the wall, making room for him. “If you lie next to me, then you’ll be able to tell if I die in my sleep from this concussion thing. Okay? I’m relying on you to not let me die, mister.”
And I giggle drunkenly, both from tiredness, and from the stupid effects of the concussion, and just possibly from something the medic did to my head.
The cabin lights come on stronger, because Logan is up and moving. Without taking his eyes off me he removes his stained uniform shirt, then his boots and pants, so he’s naked to the waist, only wearing his boxers.
Oh. My. God.
Yes, I’m injured and dead-tired. But still, I gulp and forget to breathe. . . .
In the next moment, I feel his solid muscular body next to mine. The bunk mattress makes a small creaking noise. There’s only a thin blanket between us.
Logan moves slowly, gently to lie beside me, and puts one hand around me, the other behind his head. He arranges the pillow so that my head does not bump the wall. I rest my cheek in the crook of his arm. If I weren’t so stupid-tired, I’d be melting now, melting at the wild, sensual, musky scent of him, all around me. . . . And if he weren’t so stupid-tired he might be trying to nuzzle my neck and feel under my shirt.
Instead, he sighs, and closes his eyes. And then he falls asleep before I can count to five.
Apparently I fall asleep very soon after, because the next thing I remember is the voice of the ship’s computer, pulling me out of a dreamless void.
“Now entering Uranus orbital perihelion. . . .”
“Oh, no! Uranus! I need to see Uranus! I mean, no, wait—” I mumble thickly, attempting to rise—causing the room motion sensors to increase light levels—and discovering that Logan’s face is hidden in my neck, and he is breathing into my hair deeply, like a baby. Immediately he stirs, takes in a deep shuddering breath, grunts lightly, rearranges his warm arms around me, and then his one eye comes open. “What about my anus?” he mumbles with a sleepy mischievous little boy smile.
I groan and poke him in the ribs with my elbow. (Such perfectly-defined, muscular abdomen and ribs!) But he only grabs my hand around the wrist and strokes my palm with his thumb, sending an immediate sensual pang up my arm. He’s smiling widely now, still partially muddled with sleep, and his jaw is slack in relaxation. I put my hand on it, and feel prickly new stubble. My, what a beautiful jaw line. . . . And yet again I think: What in heaven’s name is this perfect male specimen doing in my bed?
“Now leaving Uranus orbital aphelion,” the computer says.
“A-a-and, so much for that sphincter. . . . I must say, that was rather fast.” Logan raises one brow, watching me softly. “Did you notice how the intervals between those orbital passes are getting closer and closer together, despite the increasing unimaginable distances between planets?”
“Uh-huh. Hey, what happened to the alarm?” I say. “And yes, Sangre, I’m not dead, if you care to ask.”
He points to the wall. “Look, still six minutes to go. The ship computer woke us early. And yes, Ms. Gwenevere Lark, you appear to be fully alive and fully functional.”
But then he becomes serious, and gently turns my head to examine my bruised area. Each point where his strong fingers touch me rings with sensual awareness. “How does your head feel? Any different?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Still a dull ache. Not too bad, though. Better, I guess.”
“No nausea?”
“Nope. But I need to pee. . . .”
He smiles, and starts getting up to let me out of the bunk. “Great. I’m going to turn to the wall, while you use the luxury facilities.”
He does, and I do. It’s a little awkward, but oh well. Then I get back in bed, and he climbs after me. We cuddle, for all of three minutes.
“Now, go back to sleep.” And Logan leans in to brush his lips gently over mine.
I close my eyes, feel
ing the languid honey starting its flow, inundating me with pleasant warmth. I’m completely surrounded by Logan.
And I sleep.
In the morning, I wake up with the 7:00 AM “alarm” lights. I feel much better, no headache, but Logan is gone.
And then I remember. . . .
It goes like this:
At some point about two hours ago, he stirs lightly, barely rousing me with his movement, but not enough to fully regain consciousness—at least not at first. But in those first moments, as he moves restlessly in his sleep, I can feel something against the side of my leg. With only a thin blanket between us, I realize that his lower body is pressing against me, and oh wow, something is down there. Just as I come to the realization, he shudders and wakes up fully, saying, “Oh, God . . . sorry! Sorry!” And then he hastily pulls back from me and gets out of bed, turning around so that I cannot see the front of his boxers.
“Damn! My apologies, Gwen!”
I remember Logan’s face in those moments, vulnerable and flushed at the same time, as he mutters with sleepy embarrassment, beginning to put his uniform back on. “Okay, it’s almost time for your second alarm wake-up. And on that note—time for me to get out of here. . . .”
I remember staring at him, my own face starting to burn with a crazy red flush. And then I recall saying, “I think that was the wake-up alarm.” I can’t believe that came out of my mouth!
He laughs suddenly, and I put a hand over my face and laugh too, and the situation is diffused.
Before leaving, he dutifully checks me to make sure I can answer sleepy questions, and my head is not hurting any worse. Then he tucks the blanket around me, and leaves the room to return to his own Cadet barracks—even though it’s still curfew.
That was two hours ago.
And now I yawn, sit up, and put my hand over my mouth, stunned to think what almost happened. Well, actually, nothing much happened . . . at least I don’t think it did. I giggle to myself.
Poor Logan.
With the new day, the grim realities of last night come rushing in. On my way to breakfast at the Officers Meal Hall on Command Deck Two, I walk through ship corridors past other grave-faced people.
This morning, breakfast is served and eaten hurriedly, and the meal hall is nearly empty. Few Atlantean officers are present, because I’m guessing the ship-wide cleanup is still going on, and everyone has been deployed to deal with it.
Last night Logan had told me some of the details of what had happened, but I was too sick to pay proper attention. And now I finish up eating and hurry to the CCO, arriving fifteen minutes early for the 8:00 AM shift.
The wide corridor that runs between the VIP offices including the CCO and the inner hub of the Resonance Chamber is filled with Atlantean personnel, mostly officers. Looks like a meeting is going on and it’s spilled out into the hallway. There’s a new set of guards at the doors, and I realize with a stab of sorrow that those two young guys I’d gotten used to seeing, are now dead.
The Command Pilot himself is standing right outside the doors, talking to the group of officers in Atlantean. He looks exhausted and extraordinarily serious. Judging by the bleak expression in his heavy-lidded eyes, the messy unkempt fall of his golden hair, and the shadow of stubble on his lean cheeks and jaw, he hasn’t slept, washed, or even been to bed at all this night. At least he has a new uniform shirt on, without the grime and blood splatter. I suspect the main reason he bothered to replace it was to cover up that significant bloodstain from the seeping wound on his shoulder. . . .
I feel a gut-wrenching pang of worry. I hope he had a doctor look at it!
I stop and pause a few feet away from the crowd and suddenly notice Gennio’s familiar curly head, and Anu right next to him.
Thank goodness, both the boys survived! I mean, Anu is a jerk, but I’m happy he’s alive. And Gennio—oh, what a relief!
Gennio sees me and waves. “Gwen! There you are! You’re okay, good! We’re supposed to wait until the meeting is over then we can go back inside the office. We’re going to be checking the systems for harmful sabotage and other possible damage—”
I nod and stop right next to them. “So glad you guys are okay too! What’s going on?”
“They’re going to be dealing with the Earth Union prisoners,” Anu tells me.
I blink. For some reason the notion that there would be live prisoners after this event never occurred to me. Idiot me! Of course there’s going to be people alive from the EU side. “Oh, really?” I say. “Wow. What’s going to happen to them?”
Anu shrugs. “They will probably go on trial and be executed for treason.”
The way he says it, sends a cold chill of reality through me.
“Well, you don’t know that for a fact,” Gennio retorts. “They will definitely stand trial, but they were just soldiers following Earth Union orders, so not sure if execution will be warranted. It’s a really unfortunate, complicated situation.”
My mind is suddenly reeling. Execution. . . .
“How exactly did the CP contain the whole awful incident yesterday?” I ask, because suddenly now I need to know everything that happened.
And Gennio and Anu tell me.
“It was really intricate,” Anu says, leaning against the hallway wall and folding his arms. “Excellent, smart strategy, exactly the kind that our CP is famous for. First, the four Pilots in charge of the Four Quadrants did a ship-wide sweep with their security teams, starting with the outside perimeter and moving inward, deck-by-deck. Then they surrounded the pockets of hostility. There were several fire exchanges—”
“You mean, firefights?” I say.
“Yeah. But they were all over quickly. Many terrorists got shot, the rest captured and sitting in security cells right now. Pilot Xelio Vekahat’s Red team captured two of the Earth Union operatives, while the CP’s own teams together with Pilot Keruvat Ruo’s Blue teams got three more, plus a bunch of Terra Patria. The last one of the Earth Union ops was taken by Pilot Oalla Keigeri’s Yellow team. Oh, and Pilot Erita Qwas’s Green team got the remaining Terra Patria cells near Hydroponics and Storage.”
“How did they get the CCO back?”
Anu snorts. “They gassed it.”
“They what? Oh my God!” My mouth falls open.
“Oh, no, it’s okay—it was just sleeping gas, sent in directly through the air vents,” Gennio says mildly. “Actually that was the least violent part of the recapture. The Earth Union ops inside the office got knocked out, and then the CP’s team went in with masks and just took them.”
“Also the CP’s idea,” Anu adds thoughtfully. “Kind of funny, one kind of mask trumps another. Poetic too!” And he makes a whistling sound.
I stand, processing the information.
Meanwhile, I watch the Atlantean meeting in the corridor start to disperse. It occurs to me, all the Four Quadrant commanding officer Pilots are here. As more people leave, I finally notice Oalla and Keruvat, next to Xelio and Erita, talking at the doors of the CCO with Command Pilot Kassiopei and several other ranking officers I don’t know. Eventually they too head out, and the CP returns inside the office.
As they pass Gennio, Anu, and me in the corridor, Oalla nods at us.
Meanwhile raven-haired Xelio gives me a lingering glance and a brief smile that goes all the way to his very dark eyes. “Nefero eos, vati impero pharikone,” he says to us in passing, but looks at me as he says it.
I stare in his wake in minor confusion, then glance to Gennio. “What was that?”
But Anu interrupts. “Hah! Just in time for your Atlantean language class. You have it today, right?”
I frown, thinking. Wow, I didn’t even check my schedule for today, that’s how thrown off I am by all the awful recent events. “Yeah, I think so. . . .”
Anu raises one eyebrow and says in a superior tone, “You think so? You should know, Earth girl. It’s your class schedule, after all. By the way, want to know what Pilot Vekahat just told you? He said, ‘
good morning, Earth girl, you are like a putrid fish in a poo-poo bucket.’”
“No, he did not!” Gennio shakes his head, frowning. “He merely said, ‘good morning, imperial aides,’ to all of us.”
Anu makes a rude noise. “Yeah, same difference.”
“Anu,” I say tiredly. “You are disgusting.”
And then we get called in to enter the CCO.
Command Pilot Kassiopei stands next to his desk, adjusting the mech arms of various monitors and consoles that have been moved out of place while the CCO was occupied by the terrorists. His movements are tired, and as we enter, he turns around and nods to us to approach.
“Do a primary level deep sweep of the software and hardware in this office,” he says to Gennio. “I want you to disassemble everything to board and component level and check for anything missing or anything that does not belong. Then run full diagnostics.”
“Yes, Command Pilot!” Gennio immediately pushes his way through and starts climbing under the desk.
The CP turns to Anu. “I want you to do a line signal trace for all central net connections. Start with my office and cover all the primary ship systems. Watch for router anomalies, intrusions, and line diversions. Log everything you find.”
“At once, Command Pilot!” Anu nods energetically and then moves in next to Gennio, and begins pulling apart wall panels.
Aeson Kassiopei stands watching them for a few seconds. He then turns to me, looks at my forehead and injured side. “How’s your head, Lark?” I notice the tone of his voice is unusually bland, and his eyes are barely staying open.
“Oh, I’m fine, Command Pilot,” I say. And then I keep going. “But I think you need to get some rest! Look at you—you’re going to pass out! Did you get some medical attention for that wound? Please tell me you did! What happened here?” I point to his shoulder.
He watches me speak, and his lips part. He slowly raises one brow. Could it be actual amusement? For once I think he’s too tired to hide it. “Your attention is noted, Lark, thank you. And now, in fact, I’m going to get some sleep. For the next two hours, I’ll be in my quarters. I am not to be disturbed. The only exception is, if the Imperator calls here. . . . Or if there’s more trouble. Otherwise, do not wake me up before 10:00 AM. Clear on that?”