No Such Thing (10 page)

She looked up into the commander’s faintly frowning face and realized that the note of anxiety in his voice was for her. He was concerned for her
again. A wave of relieved gratitude almost swept her feet out from under her. "Thank you," she whispered, because she couldn’t get her
voice any louder and because she was so deeply in debt to this man. He kept surprising her, kept treating her like a human being instead of the horrible
creature she expected him to see.

He nodded, not looking any less concerned. "Chief, would you mind escorting Telenetic Soliere?"

"Not at all," the Chief said as he appeared by her side again. "Would you walk with me, my dear? I confess I’m becoming addicted to
your delightful company. My wife has threatened to poison me if I say your name one more time without having invited you to our quarters. She plans on
feeding you until you burst. I wonder if you would do me the kindness of joining us for breakfast?"

His sedate speech carried them away from the commander and off the deck before he’d finished, and Ryelle had to fight tears when she realized he was
watching her with the same concern as the commander had shown.

"Thank you, I’m—" she began, but had to stop and clear the thick tears from her voice. "Yes, please," she finished,
because she could barely speak and because she couldn’t say no to him. What she wanted most in the universe was to be alone right now, but how could
she tell him that when he was being so kind? How could she even think it, when he wasn’t treating her like a pariah or a dangerous beast that would
ravage him at any moment?

"Ryelle!" a familiar voice called and she stiffened. Oh, no, she couldn’t. She could not face Declan, not after having held his hand and
not shown him the whole truth. He knew what she was now and she was so certain he’d be horrified. Repulsed. Sickened by what she was and what
she’d done to those people. She closed her eyes and shuddered to a halt.

"Ryelle, Chief," Declan’s voice came closer until she could feel him standing next to her. "Can I join you?" he asked,
slightly breathless.

"Of course, Dec," the Chief answered in his complacent tone. "Unless Ryelle has an objection?"

She couldn’t move, couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to come, unless it was to rail at her for lying to him by
omission.

"Ryelle?" he said softly, his honey voice driving a wedge of pain through her. "Are you okay?"

She felt something brush her sleeve and her eyes popped open. Was that…? Yes, she hadn’t imagined it. Declan had touched her again.
Voluntarily. She looked up into his face with reluctant hope. He didn’t look horrified or repulsed. He looked anxious, and there was a strange light
in his eyes as he watched her.

"You look a little peaky. Does your stomach hurt?" he asked, glancing down to where she had both hands pressed against her abdomen. There were
low voices and sounds of movement behind them, and Declan jerked his head up to look over her shoulder. "We better get you somewhere you can sit
down," he said in a low voice, touching her elbow and urging her forward.

Her feet moved of their own volition, while she stared up at him in mute astonishment. Once she began to move, he dropped his hand from her elbow, walking
close by her side. He glanced behind them and then ahead again, looking as though he was gauging their escape margin from the crowd she heard at their
backs. After a moment he caught her eye and smiled down at her, not his full sunshine smile, but close. "You were amazing!" he whispered
fervently, flashing a quick glance at the Chief. "I’ve never seen anything so
blaze
in my life. Aren’t you tired?"

Her knees went weak with relief and she stumbled. Declan caught her elbow again and didn’t let go. His smile disappeared, but she was just as
grateful for the worry in his eyes. He didn’t hate her. He thought she was amazing. She could feel the gentle strength of his fingers around her
elbow and she wished with all her heart that he would never let go.

"Come, my dear, it’s not very far," the Chief said in his soothing voice.

Without looking away from Declan, she started moving again, allowing him to lead her to an auto-ladder, where the energy disc dropped them past two floors
worth of ladder rungs. She barely noticed. She focused very hard on Declan’s gentle clasp and his anxious features, looking for any signs of disgust
or fear. She was continually amazed to find none.

Suddenly she found herself in a suite of rooms, confronted by a small, energetic woman without any idea how she’d gotten there.

"Ryelle, may I present my wife, Mina Sheridan, the best chef and most exquisite woman in this or any galaxy."

Mem Sheridan sent the Chief a wink and a dimpled smile, before turning that smile on Ryelle. "I’m so pleased to finally meet you, dear.
Won’t you come in?"

"Thank you," Ryelle managed in a carefully polite voice, tightening her grip on Declan. "It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I
have very much enjoyed all of your dishes."

The woman’s smile brightened a notch, warm brown eyes flickering to their clasped hands. "You’re sweet. Good morning, Declan. Are you
behaving yourself?" Stepping close to him, she leaned up on tip-toe.

Declan bent down to her level, allowing her to give him a peck on the cheek. "Morning, Mem. Behaving no more than I have to."

Her laugh was like bird song as she urged them into the lounging area. "I’ll bring us some tea and nibblies. Settle in and make yourselves at
home."

She swept out of the room, her light brown hair flaring out behind her like wings. Declan pulled Ryelle to a cushiony piece of furniture and she sank down
into its softness without further urging. She hadn’t let go of him, so Declan didn’t have much choice but to join her, but there was no
hesitation in his movements as he sat close beside her.

"You sure you’re okay?" he asked, a crease between his glorious eyes. "Did that rock move wipe you out?"

"No, I’m not tired. I’m—" She paused, glancing from Declan to the Chief and swallowing hard. "Will we get word? On how
the fighters are doing?"

The Chief nodded gravely. "Would you like me to check?"

"Yes, please," she answered, trying to keep the anxious quiver out of her voice.

He gave her a gentle smile and left the room.

Ryelle returned her attention to Declan to find him watching her with solemn concern. She was amazed all over again by his tolerance. The question slipped
out before she could stop it. "Why aren’t you afraid of me?"

A ghost of a bemused smile passed over his face. "Should I be?"

"Yes!" she answered in a low, agonized tone. "Look what I did today! I terrified the rest of the crew and the worst part is—"
She took a deep breath, determined not to hold out on him anymore, to hide anything. "The worst part is it was easy and I’m going to do things
in battle that will make what I just did look like a parlor trick. I-I gave away the location of those GenTecs and some of our crew are fighting with them
right now. The best I can hope for is that our fighters all return whole, but that still means I’m responsible for human death. They’re our
enemy, I know, but I just—"

"Ryelle," he rasped in a low voice, his blue eyes intense as he placed his other hand atop their clasped limbs and enclosed her cold hand in
warmth. "It was the commander’s call to send out fighters. Even when we’re in an all out fight, whatever you do, it’ll be on his
orders. So it’s his responsibility, not yours."

She shook her head. "That’s too easy. And there will be times when I’ll have to act without his orders, to protect this ship. When I will
have to k-kill. I knew I would, talked about it with my handler Grieve, but I don’t think the idea really sank in until now." She swallowed
hard. "Declan, I feel sick. And I didn’t even kill those GenTecs myself. What if some of the fighters don’t make it back?"

"They will," he responded with immediate confidence. "This is the best fighting crew in the fleet. But even if they didn’t, that
wouldn’t be on you. They chose to be here, to do this. And killing…" He paused, chewing the inside of his lip as he looked down for a
moment. "That’s hard for everybody. I guess…what would you do if they boarded the
Odyssey,
started killing the crew?"

Ryelle frowned. "I would stop them."

"Okay, so it’s pretty much the same thing, only on a bigger scale. The muties keep trying to come in our space and hurt people. We’re
stopping them. If that comes down to killing, than I guess we do what we have to do."

"You’re saying I just need motivation," she said, studying him.

He gave a little awkward shrug, his expression wavering between distress and determination. "I hear anybody can kill if they’ve got reason
enough. I think I could do it if somebody tried to hurt anybody on this ship. Especially you," he finished on a mumble, gaze dropping to their
clasped hands as his cheekbones reddened.

Ryelle stared at his bent head with a puzzled frown. That made no sense. She was the least vulnerable person on the
Odyssey.
Why would he want to
protect her more than the rest of the crew? She was distracted from this mystery when he began gently stroking the back of her hand, long fingers moving
with slow absorption, as if he was fascinated by the contours he found there. She twitched at the sensation, feeling a return of those strange tingles and
spreading warmth from the last time he’d caressed her hand.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a covert indigo flash that made her stomach quiver. His fingers paused as he asked, "Should I stop
doing that?"

"Not ever," she blurted then felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. But it was only the truth, even if it did make her sound like a creature
every bit as abnormal as the GenTecs. She was greedy for human contact, absolutely craving it now that he’d shown her how good it felt. She wanted to
touch everyone, Declan most of all. She thought she could swiftly become addicted to those stroking fingers, even if they did make her feel sort
of…watery.

He didn’t look at her strangely or act as though her comment was out of the ordinary. His lips curved in a smile that looked pleased, eyes remaining
on her hand as his fingers continued their slow and gentle exploration, though they now had a faint tremor. "I wish I could do this forever,"
he said softly.

The sensations grew stronger, reminding her of that peculiar weakness she’d experienced in the cavern. She frowned, not wanting to ruin this moment
by getting sick. She was enjoying his touch with such a blanket of contentment that it felt as though the hazards of the rest of the world had melted
completely away. Yet her heart started to increase its pace, warmth began to bloom in the oddest places, and her muscles quivered with a peculiar,
lethargic weakness. If this wasn’t sickness, than what was it?

She tried to find a distraction, tried to remember what they’d been talking about. But her mind refused to focus on anything but him.
"Declan," she murmured, remembering her conversation with Commander Task, "are you my friend?"

His head jerked up as though she’d startled him and she was disappointed when his fingers stopped moving, settling once again to confine her hand in
warmth. The blue of his eyes was darker, his eyelids heavier, and his cheekbones had more color. He looked a bit feverish, but his smile was easy. "I
hope so. You don’t hold hands with people you don’t like, do you?"

She thought he might be teasing, but she answered him honestly. "No. Do you have many friends?"

"Sure."

"What’s it like? To have friends?"

He stared at her for a moment, his smile fading. "What do you mean? Don’t you have friends?"

She shook her head. "Not until you. Well, and I guess the commander. Do you suppose the Chief and Mem Sheridan would mind being my friends?"
she asked in a wistful tone, looking down at their clasped hands so he wouldn’t see how much the answer meant to her.

"Dear, we already are."

Ryelle jumped a little and felt Declan do the same, as they both turned toward the entrance. Mem Sheridan was peeking around the doorway with a lovely
smile and a shine to her eyes.

"I’m so sorry to interrupt," she added with a little grimace. "Take all the time you need, but I wanted to let you know that
breakfast is ready when you are."

At her words, Declan’s stomach rumbled so loudly that Ryelle jumped again. Mem Sheridan let out a trill of laughter as Declan turned a dull shade of
red and grinned sheepishly.

The Chief appeared behind his wife and gave Declan a wry look. "Young men are bottomless pits, my love. Of course he’s ready to eat. Shall
we?"

"I think we’d better," Ryelle said as seriously as she could, sending a pointed, wary look at Declan’s middle.

The Chief chuckled along with his wife and Declan groaned, laughing a little as he tugged her to her feet. "Stop picking on me."

Their hosts led them down a short hall to a round little eating area, brightly lit and full of delicious aromas. As they seated themselves around a small
table, the Chief sobered and leaned toward Ryelle.

"I’ve had word of the skirmish. Our fighters are returning victorious, no injuries or damage."

"Thank you," Ryelle said automatically, but her stomach clenched and did a slow, sickening roll. The food smells no longer seemed appetizing,
and she had to swallow hard to keep from gagging. She was now responsible for the deaths of eighty sentient beings. The room seemed to grow dim at the
edges.

"Ryelle? Are you all right?"

"Perhaps you should put your head down," the Chief said in worried tones, touching her lightly on the shoulder.

But it was Declan’s warm, tight grip that helped to right her world. She took a deep breath, willing light back into the edges of her vision.
Swallowing hard again with determination, she told herself sternly,
that’s enough. You did not start this war. You did your job and protected this ship and these people. Your friends. And you’ll do it again
if you have to.
Looking around at their concerned faces, she realized she’d do anything to keep them safe. Anything.