No Such Thing (12 page)

He shook his head, pushing away the spear of panic before it could sink in. She’d said she would. And outside her door, she’d held out her hand
to him and smiled up at him, her eyes soft and welcoming like dark velvet. He’d wanted to hold her so badly. To kiss her. Would she ever let him do
that?

He shivered with longing, his heart breaking into a sprint. He nearly fell down the auto-ladder shaft before fumbling the energy disc into existence.
Remembering the feel of her silky skin under his fingers, he heaved a deep sigh. He should just be content with that for now. She wasn’t used to
people touching her, he reminded himself. He needed to go slow, not scare or upset her. Then he remembered the curious look she’d shot him when the
Chief had kissed his wife’s hand and a delighted smile tugged at his mouth. Well, maybe not too slow.

He arrived at engineering in one piece, though he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He went through the motions of preparing for a day
of work without much attention and headed into the Chief’s office with a sense of anticipation. The Chief was watching several views of the cavern
with his usual serenity, hands tucked in the small of his back.

"Sir," Declan greeted him.

"Good morning again, Declan," the Chief said and seemed about to add something else as he turned to look at his young crew member. But he
started chuckling instead.

"Sir?" Declan felt an easy, answering grin stretch his face, not sure what was so funny, but perfectly willing to go with it.

"Son, if you glow any brighter, we’ll be able to plug you into the
Odyssey
and give those engines a rest."

Declan felt his face flush but kept grinning. "Whatever works, sir."

"Ah, young love," the Chief chuckled a bit more before lifting his eyebrows. "Did you have something you needed to discuss?"

"Um…" He shuffled his feet, feeling his face grow even warmer. "I just wondered if I might, ah, be there when she—Ryelle, I
mean—moves the rest of the ‘roids."

The Chief turned to him, face sobering, and Declan’s heart plunged. "Now, young Declan, I understand your desire to see her again, but this is
not a pleasure cruise. As a member of her crew, you’re expected to work the
Odyssey
in your chosen capacity, not dance attendance on her
telenetic."

Declan dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded, body shifting into stiff, military attention. "Yes, sir," he said mournfully to the
man’s shoes.

"On the other hand," the Chief added with a hint of mischief in his tone, "I seem to recall a requisition for a refit of an auxiliary
panel on the command deck. Let’s see here…" He touched one of the screens in front of him, scrolling through data while Declan’s
heart rebounded and he rediscovered his grin. "Ah, yes. Analyzing station four has had trouble with the auxiliary systems and has requested work on
it. That seems within your range of expertise, wouldn’t you say?"

"Yes, sir!" Declan responded with renewed energy.

The Chief chuckled again. "That’s settled, then. I’ll contact the commander and discover what time would be…advantageous for your
arrival. Hmm?"

"Thanks, Chief," Declan said, grin widening as he worked to keep from dancing.

"Well, our telenetic is certainly a wonder."

"Amazing in every way, sir."

"So you said," the Chief commented with a twinkle in his eyes. "Blaze—was that the word?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fascinating. Off you go, then."

Declan danced out the door, feeling like his blood had been replaced with bubbles, and went to find Bags. He still couldn’t feel his feet. He still
didn’t care.

The afternoon found Declan on the command deck, pretending to work while watching the entrance for Ryelle’s arrival. The auxiliary panel had only
needed a few simple tweaks. He was already done but planned to use his pass onto the deck to its fullest. Commander Task had nodded to him when he first
arrived, giving him a flush of pride and pleasure at the recognition, but he’d noticed a slight curl to the man’s lips that was a little
disconcerting. What had the Chief said to him?

There was no extra crew on deck besides the normal shift, so no one else had been invited to watch this next demonstration of Ryelle’s telenetic
ability. Declan felt a little self-conscious about being there and bent over the panel to fiddle with it industriously. No one seemed to be paying him any
attention.

A moment later, she was there. Declan dropped his pretense of industry and just watched her, safe enough since everyone else was doing the same. She was in
the same somber blue dress that she’d been wearing that morning and moved with that same mysterious grace that so baffled him, but his stomach
clenched to see the silver net back in place over her dark hair. Her eyes made a quick pass over the crew and when she met his gaze, her cool calm warmed
into a small smile, before she continued on to the commander.

He took a deep breath, a soul-deep quiver running through him. Oh, yeah, falling hard and fast. He didn’t hear their low conversation, but he watched
the commander point out their location, which was in the middle of the scatter field almost at the end of the tunnel she’d created.

Then the commander turned to another officer and asked, "Scans?"

"Inconclusive, sir. The scatter field’s too disruptive. They could be anywhere."

Oh
. He wanted her to scan for more GenTecs. Declan frowned, wondering if the commander really expected to find more. Maybe the other ships had signaled a
distress before they were destroyed, or maybe he thought the other GenTecs might get curious if they couldn’t reach the two that had been in the
field.

"Not to worry," Ryelle said as she stepped forward and removed her hair net, sending the commander a little challenging glance that gave Declan
a pang. "I can scan everywhere."

Then she closed her eyes and Declan felt the full force of her power.

He hadn’t before—he’d been standing behind her when she’d scanned through the field and moved rock. This time he understood what
he’d sensed just out of range, the enormous ability that had been aimed away from him. It nearly brought him to his knees.

He gasped and braced his hands on the console, but he wasn’t aware of his actions. All he could do was
feel
. Her power rushed through him
like a hurricane, touching him everywhere, stroking him everywhere, inside and out, every particle of him filled with her, this beautiful, powerful
extension of her. It was more than tingles on his skin; it was a pleasure so intense and deep that he shook like a leaf in a gale, blinded and weak, aware
of nothing but the sensation of her filling every corner in an excruciating flood.

The pleasure built inside him with reckless speed, coiling tighter and pushing him relentlessly toward explosion. He didn’t even attempt to fight it,
too far gone to remember that he was on the command deck in the middle of a bunch of crew. Then suddenly, her touch was gone, leaving him with a wrench
that made him groan out loud.

Panting, he lifted his head and saw Ryelle staring at him, wide-eyed and pale. She turned her face away quickly, saying something low and rapid to the
commander.

"Hey, crewman, you okay?" the officer at the next station asked and Declan remembered with an agony of embarrassment how not alone he was. Only
the closest officer was looking at him, though.

Slipping to his knees, he pressed his hot face against the console and muttered, "Yeah, just feeling a little sick. Something I ate." His hands
shook so badly he almost couldn’t manage it, but he worked at the panel cover in front of him until he pried it off, trying to look busy. Trying to
distract himself. Oh god, his body still ached with the remnants of pleasure. He couldn’t believe he’d almost lit off in front of the whole
crew. His only saving grace was that everyone had been so engrossed in Ryelle that no one had noticed his little sideshow. Almost no one.

"Should probably clear out," the officer said with waning concern. "You don’t look so good."

"I’ll be okay, sir," he answered without looking, afraid the guy would suddenly realize it was lust and not illness that put the flush on
his face. He did need to leave, he knew that, but he didn’t think his legs would hold him just yet. "Almost done here."

The officer grunted but made no further protest, and Declan snuck a look over the edge of the console. Ryelle was still in conversation with the commander,
her face a bland, serene mask while he frowned at her with arms folded. Something wasn’t quite right, but he was so flustered that he couldn’t
think what it could be. Her shocked look had said she knew what had happened to him and that caused another wave of embarrassment to pass over him.
Especially since just looking at her now still made his breath come quicker and heart thump hard in his chest.

She moved away from the commander, taking a couple of measured steps to one side as her face turned toward Declan. The impact of her dark gaze made him
stop breathing all together, but he wasn’t too far gone to notice her eyes flickering from him to the exit and back again. She wanted him to leave.

Humiliation joined embarrassment and he scrambled to put the panels back together. At least she hadn’t said it out loud in front of the crew. Was she
disgusted? Repulsed by his reaction?

"You’re stalling, Ryelle," the commander said in a less than patient tone.

"I’m pacing myself," she responded with amazing serenity as she turned back to him.

"And making excuses."

"A good telenetic does not overwork her ability."

Declan scrambled faster as he realized what she was doing. She didn’t want to start using her power again until he was out of range. And she
hadn’t told the commander why she was waiting. Was she protecting him or did she just not want to explain it? He couldn’t blame her for feeling
squeamish—his face was still hot as hell over the whole event. Worse, part of the heat was still lust.

A moment later, he headed out the door without a backward glance, struggling to keep a decent pace and not look as weak-limbed as he felt. He didn’t
know how long she’d give him before continuing her work and he had ugly visions of writhing on the corridor floor for the entertainment of anyone
passing by. He felt no return of her impossible touch, though, and made it all the way back to engineering before he realized that his quarters would have
been a better destination if he was going to get hit by another dose of Ryelle.

Warily, he stepped into the anteroom, but it was empty. Letting out a harsh, relieved breath, he stepped over the storage units and replaced the tools
he’d used for the auxiliary panel job. Then he edged over to a control array, sat, and put his head in his hands. What in the name of the stars had
happened? He was positive that he’d been the only one to feel anything of her power. His faith and confidence in Commander Task was unshakable, but
even his famous control would have cracked in the face of such unimaginable sensations.

He shuddered, feeling his body respond again at just the memory of her touch. Inside and out. He wasn’t even sure it was possible, that he could feel
her everywhere inside him, but that’s how he’d perceived it. God, he would give almost anything to feel it again. No one could have hidden
their response to that. So why was he the only one? From Ryelle’s shocked look, he was also positive that she hadn’t done it on purpose, that
it wasn’t some special part of her talent that she’d exercised on him alone. And she hadn’t wanted to do it again—he gathered that
much from her actions afterwards.

He scrubbed rough hands over his face, trying to dispel the return of humiliated heat to his skin. How was he ever going to look her in the eye again?
Would she even want to? She didn’t look disgusted when she’d silently urged him to leave, but he was coming to understand that she had as much
control as their commander. She could have been hiding any number of emotions under that cool serenity. Including revolted horror over his response. Hell,
she’d never even held hands with a guy before him—he’d probably made her sick or scared her off.

He lurched to his feet, taking a fretful pace around the room before he realized that enough time had passed. She had to be done with her work by now, and
he wasn’t going to feel a return of that insane pleasure. Relief and disappointment fought for center stage, twisting his gut uncomfortably.

With a grimace, he hurried into the main engine room and went looking for Bags, desperate for the distraction of work. He threw himself into it with such
vigor that he annoyed his fellow crewman to no end, but he was determined not to think. The harder he worked and the more he focused on the details of the
tasks at hand, the less time he had to remember what had happened and wonder what she would do.

It didn’t really work. Time passed with agonizing slowness. He finished his shift, finished his dinner, listened to his roommate ramble about the
excitement of the day—Carny worked maintenance on the flight deck and had seen the fighters take off and return as well as Ryelle’s broadcast
performance—and then Declan watched while his roommate slept. He was tired, but there was no room in him for sleep. He watched and worried, wondered
and waited. He wasn’t sure what he waited for until a soft buzz announced a visitor.

His heart leapt and bolted into an all out sprint. They’d never had a visitor before. Carny went to his women when he was in the mood, not the other
way around, and Declan had never had a visitor for himself either, especially so late at night. He told himself it couldn’t be her, as he rushed to
the door. It wouldn’t be…

But it was. He stared dumbfounded at Ryelle across the threshold. He felt like his jaw had come unhinged and he couldn’t think of a thing to say. His
mind was a blank white space, a wordless expanse of startlement.

She still wore the blue dress, but her hair, merciful god, her hair was no longer in its usual intricate design about her head, falling in a wavy river
down her back and over one shoulder. He would have fantasized, but she didn’t give him time.