Degrees of Wrong (16 page)

“Hell, turns out
you
were just having some fun with
me,
huh?” He chuckled. “Never woulda thought— You pulled a helluva move on me, Doc, a helluva move.”

“I—I—”
I got nothing.

“Well listen, what are ya doing? Have you had lunch yet? I was just on my way to grab some. Can you imagine if we showed up together? Whaddaya say, Doc?” He elbowed me in the ribs. The man was so jolly I thought he might start whistling.

“I—I—”
Don’t think I’ll ever talk again. Ever.

When the elevator opened, Lt. Horan grabbed my hand and hauled me from it. Even if I’d been in the frame of mind to do so, there was nothing I could dig my heels into. The halls were a shiny, squeaky path, and my boots would only mar its perfection, not stop my abduction. Two men stopped their conversation upon seeing the spectacle of Horan dragging me toward the entrance of the mess hall. With eyes wide, they tried to discern if the situation warranted interference or not.

“What are you ladies looking at?” he bellowed. They scattered before I could even tell them
help me
with my expression. We stopped just short of the entrance, and he pulled me up next to him, releasing me.

He chuckled. “Are you ready?”

Because speaking was something I was never going to do again, I shook my head in response.

He thrust his fleshy thumb under my chin. “Chin up, shoulders squared.”

I complied out of sheer habit.

“Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”

With his hand on the small of my back, he propelled me into the mess hall. And then he stopped. For five countable seconds, the bustling activity of ingesting and imbibing halted. For those five seconds, the entire contents of the room regarded us as if we’d forgotten to dress. The cadets were hungry all right. Hungry for a new story to tell.

I glanced at him for his reaction. He stood there spewing confidence, staring down as many people as he could. For lack of a better plan, I did too. It seemed to work. Every new pair of eyes represented a battle. Emboldened by each small victory, my parry became my thrust as I forced each brazen stare, one after another, to withdraw, to divert away. It felt good. Satisfying.

This unspoken challenge worked for all test specimens except one. Liz returned my stare unabashed, smug even. I narrowed my eyes at her, willing her to look away. After several doubtful moments, she did so, rolling her eyes.

Lt. Horan moved first, stalking with steadfast assurance to the food line. I followed. He pulled out a tray for me, handed me some silverware.

“Let’s see what they come up with,” he whispered. Then he winked.

Honest to goodness, I giggled.

“There, see? Knew you had it in ya,” he whispered.

We moved through the line, shopping for lunch. At the end of it, I found the gumption to assemble a sentence. Two, even. “Where will we sit? All the tables are full.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Doc. You oughta know by now that I can clear a table.”

“Well, just pick someone who’s almost finished eating.”

He seemed disappointed with the stipulation. “Just this once,” he muttered.

He strode to a table and addressed the biggest man sitting there. “Is this seat taken?” he roared.

The man snatched up his tray and stood, yelling, “Yes, sir! It’s taken by you, sir!”

“Oh, well, you didn’t have to do that,” Lt. Horan told him, already seating himself.

“My pleasure, sir! Enjoy your lunch, sir!” He hustled to the trash to drop off his tray.

Horan beckoned me to him. He didn’t have to request another seat. The other five occupants finished their meals in choking-size bites and abandoned the table. I sat next to Horan and brushed away crumbs left behind during a hasty retreat.

He eyed my plate of chocolate. “For a doctor, you don’t really eat very healthy.”

I shrugged. “I’m good for it.”

“No doubt.”

He glanced around us, dispatching a silent ultimatum to anyone brave enough for eye contact—his whole expression seemed to say
or else
. Though the mess hall had picked up in noise since we first devastated its activity, it hadn’t by far and wide reached its normal decibels.

“What’s the worst story you’ve heard so far? About yesterday, I mean,” I said with morose curiosity.

He took a big bite of mashed potatoes and thought for a moment. “Let’s see… The worst one is the truth. Not very imaginative at all, really. Not that I’ll ever live it down.” He chuckled. “It at least makes me feel better that you’re an officer instead of a cadet. Hmmm… The
best
rendition I’ve heard so far is that you’re a mole, here to assassinate Captain Marek, and my challenge brought you and your skills out of hiding.”

I laughed. “Interesting. Any others?”

“Yep.” He scooped a wad of potatoes onto his dinner roll, then pointed his fork at me. “There’s the one about a group of cadets who graduated with hard feelings and paid you to enlist, in order to teach me a lesson.”

“That’s plausible.”

“Then there’s the one that you’re a ninja spy, collecting information for terrorist groups.”

I snorted. “I wish I was a ninja.”

He smiled.

“Are there any more?”

“Nope.” But I saw the hesitation in his eyes.

“Yes, there are. Tell me.”

“There’s nothing else,” he said, shrugging and chewing.

I leaned close. “Listen, Pretty Princess, I have a right to know—”

“Will you keep it down? You want me to start calling you Big Lips?” he whispered amid a mouthful of roll.

“What else?”

“You really don’t need to hear this.”

I continued to stare at him, unrelenting. He chucked his roll onto the plate. “Aw, hell. But I warned you, didn’t I? Acknowledge that I warned you.” He pointed an index finger at me.

“Acknowledged.”

“There was one where you and the captain were supposedly having an affair…and you became pregnant…and he ordered me to take care of it.”

The skin on my forehead was taut with the height my eyebrows had achieved. At least I didn’t gasp. Considered vomiting, though.

“Aww, see? I told you. You don’t want to know.”

“Who—?” I paused to clear my throat, collect a little calm, swallow a little bile. “Do you know who started this one?”

Again with the hesitation. “Nope.”

“Who?” I asked, voice iced over. Somewhere deep inside, I already knew who. I just needed confirmation, to hear her name.

“I dunno.”

“You’ve got to tell me. You just have to.”

“What are you gonna do if I tell ya?”

“You think I know?” I asked, incredulous.

“Then I can’t really be responsible for that, now can I?”

I grunted my frustration. “Look. I think I already know who it was. If I guess, can you tell me yes or no? It’s not your responsibility if I guess,” I reasoned.

“Yes, please do tell,” a familiar voice called from behind.

We both turned to see Nicoli standing there with a tray. Lt. Horan began to rise to salute, but Nicoli waved him off. He took the chair next to me.

I didn’t notice before, but the mess hall resembled a library again. The silence of eavesdropping. I glanced around. Everyone stared as if we had stripped down to our unmentionables. Which, for an irrational second, made me imagine Nicoli in
his
unmentionables. Shaking my head and clearing my throat earned me a raised eyebrow from him.

Did the man notice
everything
?

“Captain,” Lt. Horan began nervously. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think we should discuss this in such a public setting—”

“Really?” Nicoli’s jaw flexed, his eyes hard. “Because it seems to me, Lieutenant, that you were about to do exactly that.” He crossed those chiseled arms of his. I’d never seen him like this. When he wasn’t stupefying me with his grins, he was blocking me out with his favorite impassive expression—his captain face—but genuine anger had never surfaced. I grew afraid for the bewildered lieutenant now—and wondered if I was in trouble too.

“Uh, Captain Marek,” I said. “This is my fault. I was pressing him—”

Nicoli turned on me, shooting me a look indicating I should be quiet. Then he raised his brow, further signaling
You and I will discuss this later.
I clamped my mouth shut and tried not to gulp noticeably.

“Lt. Horan, I’m very interested to know why you’d even consider telling Dr. Morgan such garbage. In fact, try as I might, I can’t find a single benefit she can derive from knowing about it. I’m also very interested in its source. I’m sure you can find the time later this afternoon to discuss this with me?” He radiated authority, calm, control—and still, anger. His ability to dominate the situation impressed me against my will.

“Yes, sir.” Horan manfully sat straighter. “Of course.”

I stared at the untouched pie on my plate.
Nicoli strikes again.
He obliterated my chance to confirm it was Lt. Sheldon contaminating the ship with her spite. Horan would never tell me anything ever again, and Nicoli certainly wouldn’t be the one to have blood on his hands. With a violent thrust, I spiked the fork into the pie and pushed the plate from me.

Neither of them missed it. At the same time Nicoli said, “Are you well, Dr. Morgan?” Lt. Horan stuttered, “Sorry to ruin your appetite there, Doc.”

“No, I am not well. You didn’t ruin my appetite. I’m leaving.” That summed it up pretty well. Both Nicoli and Horan stood when I did, drawing further attention to us.

“
Must
we continue creating spectacles?” I hissed.

Horan fidgeted uncomfortably before taking his seat again, but Nicoli lingered, looking as if he might try to comfort me. I tried my skill at face indicators.
Don’t even think about it
, I frowned at him. He returned the frown. I didn’t yet have the ability to say,
I might have a coronary if you put your arms around me again,
with just facial expressions alone.

Instead, I picked up my tray and headed for the door—chin up, shoulders squared. I left the mess hall amid a whispered grapevine fertile enough to grow into a beanstalk.

“Ugh,” I groaned. I rubbed my neck and stretched my arms high, arching my back. I had been at this for hours—without reviewing a single lab test. Dr. Folsom smirked at me from her desk. Her last patient just left, and she was entering his diagnosis in her chart device.

“Be careful what you ask for,” she said.

“This is overwhelming,” I admitted. “They gave me failed lab tests, hospital records, census records, predictability charts. They even gave me diary entries from family physicians.”

“Family physicians keep diaries? Should I keep a diary?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I waved my hand at her. “Listen to this, for instance.” I scrolled down the page to one of the doctor’s journal entries. “Monday, September 15
^th
. Dear Diary.”

“It doesn’t say that!” Dr. Folsom accused.

I laughed. “No, it doesn’t. At least I don’t think it does. It’s written in French. I don’t speak French. You’d think they could have translated it for me. I’m never going to get through this stuff. It would take an entire staff of people years to pick through this adequately enough.”

Dr. Folsom thought for a moment. “Nicoli speaks French. He could translate it for you.”

“Of
course
he does,” I muttered. Still, I was curious about the entry. “I guess I could print it out and ask him about it the next time I see him.”

“Why don’t you take it to him now? I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Can you please stop that?”

“What?”

“You know what. You’re trying to make me like him.”

“Am I?”

I entered his door for the second time today, French diary in tow. I started for his desk but found it empty. I whirled around in place. No Nicoli. I shrugged, relieved and disappointed at the same time. As I turned to leave, a soft rumble sounded from the far wall, like a distant thunder. I held still, waiting for the sound. The thunder kept a rhythm. I wasn’t sure, but it sounded a lot like…like…
snoring
.

I crept closer to the couch and peered over the edge. Nicoli. Sleeping—snoring—on this too-small, uncomfortable couch. His big, booted feet dangled over the edge, his massive shoulders wider than the cushion by almost half. He rested his arm behind his head, the other hand marking the place of a book he’d been reading, which now splayed open on his chest. I angled my gaze and leaned closer, trying to discern the title—I’d take any opportunity to get into this man’s head.

I froze in place when it became clear—the pirate book I had just finished and returned to the admiral. My gasp startled the bear from hibernation.

His eyes flung open. “What were you about to do?”

The accusation in his tone made me laugh. He rolled his eyes and sat up.

“Guilty conscience, Captain? Do I have
reason
to do anything to you?”