No Such Thing (16 page)

Chapter 8

Lost in her contemplation of Declan, Ryelle wasn’t aware of the crew staring or where they were wandering until they stepped into the anteroom and
the door closed off the blast of sound behind them. He paused, losing a bit of his smile.

"Ryelle, did you need to pick up your hair net?"

She registered the reluctance in his tone, but most of her was too absorbed by horror to comment. She’d forgotten to put it back on again. Grieve was
going to lose his mind. "No, I left it in the commander’s office," she answered absently, fretting over what she’d tell her
handler. Then resentment surged again and she tightened her grip on Declan’s hand. "And that’s where it’s going to stay," she
said, lifting her chin with a challenging look.

A grin flashed across his face, but his tone was cautious. "You sure?"

"If they want to be crass enough to eavesdrop on my private conversations, they can go through the
Odyssey
to do it. And if I haven’t
lost control of my power by now, I’m certainly not going to, so they don’t need the inducer either."

His grin flowed away like fast moving water. "Inducer?"

She stared up at him with an internal wince. She’d forgotten that he didn’t know about that aspect of the snood. Only the commander had known
and the captain of the
Destiny.
She had a feeling Declan wasn’t going to appreciate the inner workings of the Institute mindset on this
subject. "Well…"

"Like pain inducer?" he asked, his voice sharper and louder with each word. "Those bastards put a sarkin’ pain inducer on you? What
the bloody hell for?"

She winced again but for a different reason. His grip had tightened quite a bit. "Could you stop grinding my hand into a different shape? I rather
like how it usually looks."

"Oh, honey, I’m sorry," he blurted, his expression contrite as he lifted their clasped hands and brushed a kiss on her knuckles.
"Did I hurt you?"

Her training was no match for such huge emotions. She felt a silly smile stretch her face and couldn’t do a thing about it. "Did you just call
me honey?"

His lips curled the faintest bit, but his eyes were wary. "Yeah, is that okay?"

She could not kill the smile. It just went on and on, and she was positive it made her look like an idiot. She was also on the fast road to not caring at
all. "I like it," she said in a voice that sounded full of bubbles. "What do I call you?"

"Anything you want. Why the pain inducer, Ryelle?"

Well, that killed it. She gave him a disgruntled look and pulled him toward the corridor. "It’s how I perfected my control over my ability. Any
misuse of my power could be catastrophic, as I believe I’ve already explained."

"They hurt you to make you not use your power? That’s sick."

"Whatever your objections to the method, you and the commander have to agree that it worked. I’m perfectly in control."

He scowled. "The commander knows about this and still lets you wear that blasted thing?"

"It’s my turn to change the subject. I’m not wearing it now, so let’s talk about something else."

He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t hear, but his tone was acid enough to burn. With his face set in pinched lines of disapproval
and anger, he growled, "Fine. Changing the subject."

Then he said nothing. Ryelle sighed, sifting through her diplomatic training to come up with a conversational gambit. "The Chief said that you needed
some new, delightful scenery. Have you visited the observation deck very often?"

He hadn’t, so she took him there. Showing zero signs of fear, which annoyed her not a little, he wandered out in holographic space with sparkling
eyes and open delight. While gratified by his enjoyment, she was disconcerted by her own reaction to seeing him in space. It was no use telling her foolish
brain that it was only a hologram and he was not going to go flying off into the void—with every step he took, a little spurt of furtive panic made
her heart jump. As soon as she could manage it without giving herself away, she hustled him right back off the observation deck.

He then took her to the hydroponics lab, a hanging garden of green delight. She was entranced by the deeply floral fragrance of the place and the moist
warmth of the air. It reminded her of the gardens at the Institute, one of the few places she’d ever felt any peace. She talked about it with him,
describing the gardens and how she’d felt visiting them. He told her he’d never seen a real garden, having never set foot on a planet before.
That led to a discussion of the differences between space living and planetary living, which led to a whole slew of other topics.

They wandered the corridors of the
Odyssey,
visiting the ship’s nooks and crannies, talking all the while about anything and everything.
Ryelle was completely absorbed by him, intrigued by how he saw things, what he knew, how he felt. She could have talked to him for hours, for days, the
rest of her life.

It astonished her to discover how much time had actually passed. Declan’s stomach announced the time with ferocious zeal, making them look at each
other in surprise. While she smothered a giggle behind one hand, he rolled his eyes with a hint of color in his cheekbones and pulled her to a com unit. He
swore when he saw the time and contacted the Chief.

"Sir, really sorry, lost track of time—"

"As far as I’m concerned, your timing couldn’t be better. We’re expecting you and Ryelle for dinner in roughly five minutes. Do
hurry. The commander has that feral gleam in his eye and I can’t guarantee the quantity of food if you’re late."

Declan gulped audibly. "Yes, sir." His eyes were wide when he turned to look down at Ryelle. "Dinner at the Sheridan’s with the
commander?" he asked in a tight voice.

She studied him for a moment with pursed lips. "He makes you nervous."

"Duh…" he said softly, tugging her along on a brisk pace down the corridor. "I was only face to face with him once, y’know.
He interviewed me for my job. Thought I was gonna throw up."

"I forget how many people are actually on the
Odyssey.
Are there crew he’s never met before?"

"I don’t know," he mumbled, face pale and tense.

"I’ll ask him later," she decided, watching him with furtive amusement. "He’s really not so bad. Has an atrocious sense of
humor, but you get used to it."

He shot her a horrified glance and she couldn’t contain a bubble of laughter.

Declan couldn’t see the humor in this god-awful situation but didn’t complain. He loved to hear her laugh. Loved everything about her. He was
so gone that he managed a quick foolish grin for her while on his way to his doom. Maybe the Chief was okay with him taking an afternoon off without
asking, but he expected the commander to have a different attitude about Declan stealing his telenetic away for hours. He’d shirked his duty and
hers, and he expected to hear about it at full volume.

Sweat broke out on his brow and his stomach clenched. He gripped her hand tighter and lengthened his stride. It would be even worse if they were late. They
arrived at the Sheridan’s door in just under five minutes, a little breathless, but mostly composed. Ryelle had a sparkle in her dark eyes that made
him want to smile back, but his face was too stiff.

Mina opened the door with a welcoming smile for them both. He muttered the appropriate response to her greetings and entered with Ryelle at his side, his
stomach rolling greasily as he met the commander’s icy gaze over the top of Mina’s head.

"Ryelle. Crewman McCrae." His tone was deeply menacing as he said the younger man’s name.

Declan felt all the blood drain from his face. Mina was trying to usher them to the dinning area, but Commander Task pointed him in a different direction.
"A moment of your time, Crewman."

Oh god, he was dead. He tried not to squeak as he said, "Yes, sir."

He tried to head where the commander had ordered, but Ryelle didn’t let go of his hand. He gave her a quick, anxious glance to find her frowning at
their commanding officer.

"You look as though you’re planning something unpleasant, sir," she said in a tone filled with sharp suspicion.

"Very astute," he responded without taking that piercing gaze from Declan.

"Shall we discuss the size of your nose again?" she said with a silky menace that finally grabbed the commander’s attention.

Declan stared at her, aghast. She was glaring at the commander as if he was a grunt who’d just spit on her shoes. If he didn’t know better,
he’d say she was just short of threatening the man.

The commander’s mouth twisted as though he was suppressing a smile. "It’s a custom, little mims. I’ll make it as painless as
possible."

She tilted her head with a puzzled crease to her brows, shoulders relaxing a bit. "A custom?"

"Samuel," Mina sighed, but the commander ignored her.

Declan didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he was relieved to see them less furious. Apparently he wasn’t off the hook,
though. The commander jerked his head at Declan in a silent order to hop to it. He hopped, pulling his hand free of Ryelle’s with a sharp sense of
loss.

"We’ll join you at dinner presently," the commander told the women in a smooth voice as he followed Declan into the living room. He might
not sound pissed any more, but the face he turned to Declan was pure steel, all sharp edges and hard threats. "Crewman, have a seat," he said,
the words pleasant enough, but the tone underlined them in violence.

Declan stood at full attention with terror in his heart. "Sir, I apologize for keeping Ryelle from her duties. I did not notice the time. I had no
idea it was getting so late. That’s not an excuse, there’s no excuse, sir, I take full responsibility, and I’ll accept any reprimand you
see fit, sir." He babbled this speech to the man’s chin, since he couldn’t meet that razor stare and still manage to speak.

"Very noble. Unnecessary, though. I’d given Ryelle leave to go, and from what I understand, the Chief had done the same to you. That’s
not why I called you in here."

"It isn’t?" Declan asked in a ragged voice, a wave of relief loosening his joints. But when he met the commander’s fierce gaze, the
terror came flooding back in a hurry. "Sir?"

"No, it isn’t," the man said in a considering tone, eyes narrowed as he looked Declan up and down. Turning away, he began to prowl the
room like a hunting cat circling its prey. "Are you aware of Ryelle’s upbringing?"

"Um, y-yes, sir," he stuttered, frantically trying to understand where this was going. What did Ryelle’s upbringing have to do with a
dressing down from his superior?

"They did a piss poor job, though she turned out a damned sight better than they could’ve hoped for. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much
experience dealing with people. Socializing." The commander stopped so close in front of Declan that they were almost nose to nose, forcing him to
meet his superior’s hard gaze. "She’s innocent. Are you understanding me?" His tone said that if Declan wasn’t understanding
he’d be happy to beat it into his head with a large, blunt object.

"Y-yes, sir, I know."

"Oh?" the commander said in a silky voice, eyes narrowing dangerously as he loomed closer. "How do you know?"

"F-from talking with her, sir," Declan managed, trying like hell not to go cross-eyed. "I-I wouldn’t—"

"You wouldn’t?" The commander returned to pacing, but this didn’t make Declan feel any better, since the man stalked around behind
him to do it. Not being able to see his superior seemed to double the danger. "She’s a beautiful girl. You’ve been holding hands with
her. You’ve been privately secluded with her. You’re telling me you wouldn’t take advantage of that? Of her naiveté and
innocence?"

A flash of hot anger steadied his voice. "No, I wouldn’t. I would never hurt her or take advantage of her. I love her." The words shocked
him, falling into the air naked and exposing his greatest vulnerability. But he couldn’t take them back. Didn’t want to. He’d really
fallen in love with her. Holy God.

"Those words are easy to say. I’ve heard them before, Crewman. Tell me why I should believe you."

That flash of anger returned, outrage that the commander could make such an incredible thing sound so tawdry, so used and meaningless. "Because
it’s true. Because I can’t get her out of my head. I think about her day and night—"

"Please," the commander sneered.

Declan spun around, clenching his fists and glaring into his superior’s ice-blue eyes. "Yes, I want her. But that’s not the only reason I
need to be with her. She’s amazing. Everything about her is amazing—what she says, what she does, the way she laughs. She knows more about just
everything than I could ever dream to know, but she still wants to hear what I think about it. She makes me want to know more, do more. She makes me think
it’s possible to do anything and I want to do it for her. Because—because she doesn’t treat me like some shit nerc from the backwater
Rings. She’s amazing, sir, inside and out, and I love her."

He was breathing hard, shaking and a little dizzy, ears ringing. Anger still pulsed through his blood, but anxiety and embarrassment twisted in his gut as
he replayed his words. They were true words, but very personal, and he’d just said them in a highly insubordinate tone to his commanding officer. He
had a terrible feeling that he’d just made his situation so much worse.

The commander had folded his arms across his chest during Declan’s speech, watching him with cool cynicism. When he was done, the commander lifted an
eyebrow. "Hmm." Then he began pacing again, leaving Declan to stew in mounting worry.

The silence grew and Declan snuck glances at his commanding officer, trying to interpret the man’s expression. He seemed thoughtful, but was he just
considering what Declan had said or was he trying to decide what form of bodily harm suited him best?

As he watched the commander, a thought struck with jealous force and went flying out of his mouth without censure. "Are you interested in her,
sir?"