Compete (45 page)

“Did you see that?” I say to him, pointing. “That was the most impressive—”

But Logan interrupts me, speaking in a flat voice devoid of emotion. “I can’t do this anymore.”

I blink. “What?” Something about Logan’s tone sobers me immediately, and the emotional euphoria flees.

“This,” he says. “All of
this
.” And he motions with his head to me and then looks up in the direction of the weightless dancers, and Aeson Kassiopei.

“Huh?” I say. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

I frown, as the cool strangeness starts rising inside me. “No, actually I don’t.”

Logan shakes his head slightly, and continues looking at me, and his expression is now hard and remote. “It’s you,” he says. “You and
him
.”

“What?”

“Wow, amazing. You really don’t want to admit it, even now. Not even to
yourself
.”

I am suddenly very cold. “Admit what?” I say, and my voice is unsteady.

“Oh, come on!” Logan is frowning and speaks quickly, breathlessly. “Look at you—you’ve been watching him—your Command Pilot Kassiopei—for the entire duration of the time you and I’ve been dancing. All these hours, every few minutes you turn around and you look as though you’ve lost something—you look for
him
. What do you think that is?”

“I—I don’t—I am not—” I stutter, beginning to hyperventilate.

But Logan is relentless. “Listen, I care about you. I
need
you. I really do. I—I think I am in love with you. . . . This is
killing
me. But—” He pauses, as though gathering himself for something superhuman, and his eyes are raw, wounded. “But I can’t be the one you
settle
for. I need to be the one you choose. The one you
want to be with
above all others—really, truly. Not an afterthought. Not because you can’t have
someone else.
”

“Oh my God, what? What are you talking about?” My voice is rising in anger, while a lump is forming in the back of my throat. “Are you saying you think I am
interested
in the Command Pilot? Like
that?
”

“Will you for once cut the crap, Gwen?” Logan puts his hands painfully around my shoulders, and speaks fiercely, leaning close in my face, so that I actually have to take a step back from him and almost float upward, because of general weightlessness. “You’re not ‘interested,’ you are damn
obsessed!
Remember, I know how you operate! The same way you used to look at me in school, when you thought I didn’t know—”

“Operate? How I
operate?
” I exclaim. “That’s just the meanest, most despicable thing to say! You’re the one here who’s the
operative!
”

“Yes, operate!” He continues as though not hearing me, and gives my shoulders a hard shake. “And now, this thing that you’re feeling for him—it’s the same damn crush, but times a thousand! You watch him, you look at him—even during Qualification, back on Earth, all that time you spent training with him—tell me, do you really pretend even now that you’re not attracted, that you’re indifferent, that you’re not
in love
with him?”

“I—I am—” I stand or possibly float, mouth open, breath snagging, and feel the tears brimming in my eyes, while the blue-lit dance floor all around us starts to fade and blur in my field of vision. Another moment and my tears will form into tiny droplets of liquid and float away. . . .

What is he saying? What is happening?

“Stop it!” I say to Logan. “Just—
stop it!
” And I push him back so that he releases his hold on me and just stands, semi-floating, breathing fast, staring wildly, desperately into my eyes. I have never seen Logan like this—
crazed
, for lack of a better word.

And I—I have never felt like this. What is happening to me?

I am crazed too
.

“
Gravity changing now!”

Apparently the zero gravity dance is over, and gravity starts returning, and neither one of us cares or notices.

The things he just said—awful, biting, cruel things.

They are—they are possibly
true
.

“Okay, tell me,” he says persistently. “Tell me you are completely
indifferent
toward him and I will apologize and beat myself up and forget this conversation ever took place. Well? Am I totally full of crap? Are you indifferent toward Kassiopei? Can you tell me that much at least? Can you, please—”

“I—” I open my mouth, and my breath catches suddenly. “I—
cannot.
”

In that moment as I say it, Logan’s eyes become tragic.

He lets out a shuddering breath, and his head hangs down powerlessly. Then he passes his hand roughly against the back of his hair. And he looks up at me, this time radiating cold.

“I knew it,” he says in a soft, dead voice.

“I am . . . sorry.” I stare at him, breathing fast, while the tears that had been brimming in my eyes now run endlessly down my cheeks.

“It’s all right,” he says, looking away, past me. “I think we’re done here.”

And with those words, Logan Sangre turns around and leaves me standing. He walks away in rapid strides, and I see his hand reach for the blue pin on his uniform, rip it off violently, and toss it on the floor behind him.

The pin lands, rolls and stops some distance away from my feet, and starts blinking to indicate the loss of proximity.

So does its mate, the corresponding pin on my chest.

I
stand completely alone in the sphere chamber filled with people, blue light, and pulsing music, feeling that someone has slammed me over my head.

With my peripheral vision I see that Chiyoko Sato has returned to her seat, and she looks different somehow, bright and
alive
. She is even holding a drink in her hand. Her dance partner, Aeson Kassiopei is long gone.

I turn around, pass the back of my hand over my face in haste to rub away the tears, and then see my sister Gracie and Blayne, both headed in my direction.

Crap. . . . Can’t let Gracie see me like this.

I sniffle to clear my sinuses, then make a happy face before they get here.

“Great dancing, guys!” I say brightly.

“Oh, yeah, I never thought I’d say this, ever,” Blayne says thoughtfully. “But I’m pooped from dancing.”

Gracie tugs him on the arm and says she’ll be back to get them drinks.

“I can get my own, you know,” Blayne protests.

“No, I’ll get them! You go over there and
sit!
”

“Oh, jeez. . . . All right.”

When Gracie leaves, I nod to Blayne. “Hope she’s not driving you too crazy,” I say with a struggle at a smile.

“She’s fine.” He snorts lightly.

“Good.” I nod, then point to the nearest empty seats. “Why don’t you do what my sis says, and get some rest for your leg muscles. I’ll be back too—need to replace my own drink.”

While Blayne remains behind, I hurry over to the drinks station, while my mind is roiling in a strange, complicated party-mix of emotional states—unrest, upset, despair, confusion, anger (no—fury), worry, fear (no—terror), euphoria,
insight
.

Gracie is carrying two glasses, and I stop her momentarily. “Gee Four,” I say, touching her arm. “What are you doing with Blayne? What do you think this is? He’s a wonderful human being and he does not deserve to get hurt. Are you messing with him?”

“Huh?” Gracie pauses and stares at me with a frown. “Why would you say something awful like that? I’m hanging out with Blayne because he is awesome! Why would I ever hurt him?”

“Okay, fine,” I say and tap her on the arm again. “But let me just say this once and I won’t say it again. If you
hurt
that boy in any way, I will kill you. Got that?”

Gracie’s mouth drops. “What is wrong with you?” she says. “Why are you being such a witch all of a sudden?”

“I’m not,” I say in a hard voice. “I’m simply giving a public service announcement or a heads up. Now, go on and party, sis. Make sure Blayne has a good time.”

“O-okay. . . .” Gracie gives me another look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” I mutter. “Actually I think I’m going to be heading back to my room. I know it’s not midnight yet, but to quote our buddy Blayne, ‘I’m pooped,’ and I’m sure you can get back to the shuttle bay safely on your own. Just don’t stay too late. The ship-to-ship shuttles are all waiting and scheduled to ferry people after the dance, but only for about half an hour.”

“Gee Two. . . . Did something happen? Where’s Logan?”

Damn this girl, but my baby sister is astute.

I bite my lip and smile.

“He left,” I say.

Now Gracie gives me her full attention. “Why? What happened?”

I take a deep shuddering breath. “I think, sis, Logan and I just broke up.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“W
hat?” Gracie stares at me, and her lips part. She is completely deadly serious. “Gwen, what happened?”

I stand very still, trying to control my breathing, and just shake my head at her. There is only so much control I can maintain, after all this time—all the pent up things over these days and months, culminating in this one
thing
—before it takes me.

I must not fall apart.

Not now, not before Gracie.

“Well,” I say, carefully choosing words. “He and I said some things, and for the most part, it was actually—”

“
What?”

How do I even begin to explain? How can I tell my sister what I myself have trouble parsing right now?

Logan told me I had
feelings
for Aeson Kassiopei.

He accused me and he judged me. And he put it out there in the open, in hard terms that were cold and undeniable, laying it all out in its white-hot scalding
truth
before my stupid unconscious mind.

Logan was right—
is
right.

I am not indifferent.

I try to reason with myself. Reasoning is good. It provides focus and clarity.

So, what exactly do I think/know/feel, when it comes to Command Pilot Aeson Kassiopei, Phoebos,
astra daimon
, Imperial Crown Prince, son of the Imperator of
Atlantida
, and my commanding officer?

He’s the guy who dances with the wallflower.

The guy who eats alone at his desk instead of the meal hall, so as not to make his subordinates feel uncomfortable, and works around the clock.

Who goes in like a madman, guns blazing, and saves lives—including my own life—after I save his.

Who trains me and gives me orders, and looks at me sharply.

He’s the guy with intelligent blue eyes, who wears the black armband of a hero because he once gave his life and
died
for Atlantis—a mystery I still don’t understand.

He’s the guy who’s so far out of my league that it can be measured by galaxies, literally.

Who’s going to marry a beautiful princess of the Imperial Court as soon as we arrive on Atlantis.

Who’s going to be Imperator, and whose family is worshiped like gods.

Who possibly holds the fate of my family and my parents, not to mention Earth, in his hands.

The guy who, I was once told, cares about me in some way.

. . . You matter to him, Lark. . . .

And the guy who, when confronted, laughs in my face, and tells me he
does not
.

I take another deep breath to steady myself.

“Gracie,” I say. “It’s a complicated mess. Some of it is my fault. Mostly, it is not anyone’s fault.”

But Gracie continues looking at me with concern, still holding the two glasses in her now shaking hands. “What did Logan do? What did the jerk do?”

“Nothing. He told me some hard things about myself that are true. And I have to admit, I’ve been unfair to him.”

Gracie frowns. “How so?”

I make a stupid little laugh noise and point at myself and at my plain uniform. “For one thing, I didn’t dress up. There you have it. I’m kind of a crappy girlfriend.”

“No! No way! That’s just junk! You mean you had a fight over your outfit? What a horrid jerk to make something out of it—”

“Nah. That’s just a minor symptom of the problem,” I say softly. “The problem is, I care about Logan, but—I also have these stupid feelings for someone else. And—they are—nothing is ever going to come of it.”

“Oh . . . wow.” Gracie’s mouth opens again. “You like—I think I know who it is—”

“Gracie, don’t. . . .” I interrupt.

But she bites her lip and whispers. “It’s Kassiopei, isn’t it?”