No Such Thing (11 page)

"I’m all right," she told them, relieved to hear the even timber of her voice. She breathed deeply and let out a sigh. "I’m
fine, really. I just…don’t like what I did. I don’t believe I like war."

The Chief gave her an understanding smile and patted her on the arm, startling her, though he didn’t seem to notice. "I would be worried if you
did like it, dear. You did just fine."

His touch wasn’t on her skin, but she still thought she could feel the warmth of it through her sleeve. If not physical warmth, than the warmth of
his kindness. She returned his smile and held out her hand to him impulsively. "Declan tells me I shouldn’t hold hands with people I
don’t like."

"He is a wise young man," the Chief said solemnly, though his hazel eyes twinkled at her and a dimple appeared at the edge of his smile. He
clasped her hand in his and Ryelle was surprised to find that his touch was different. His hand was warm like Declan’s and she could feel a similar
strength in his gentle hold, but his touch did not make her tingle or remind her of her basic femininity. His hold offered comfort and that same warm
kindness she’d felt when he’d patted her arm. Fascinating.

With a glance of amazed discovery up at the Chief, she pulled away and reached across the table to Mem Sheridan, eager to learn more. With sparkling eyes
and muffled laughter, the older woman took her hand.

"Child, you act as though you’ve never touched anyone before."

"I haven’t," she responded absently, absorbed in the contact. The other woman’s fingers were just as delicate as Ryelle’s and
cool, but no less kind than her husband’s. It reminded her of her mother’s touch and her eyes stung a little.

The silence caught her attention, and she looked up to find both Sheridans gazing at her with thinly veiled horror. Realizing what she’d said, Ryelle
quickly pulled back and tucked her hand in her lap, though she left her other hand in Declan’s secure clasp. He tightened his hold and gave her a
smile when she glanced at him, but his eyes flicked to the couple warily.

"No one…touches you?" Mem Sheridan asked in a faint voice.

"I don’t have—family and the Institute has different, um, customs…" Ryelle said, trying to explain her upbringing in a way
that sounded somewhere close to normal. She could tell by their aghast expressions that she was failing.

"They’re afraid of her," Declan said in a harsh tone, staring at their hosts with a grim set to his mouth. "The bastards have been
treating her like she was some kind of monster all her life. Sorry for the language, Mem," he added to the Chief’s wife, though she
didn’t seem to notice.

Ryelle looked down at her lap miserably. She couldn’t understand the anger in his tone. She was a monster—the Institute understood that. It was
only these people that didn’t seem to be catching on.

"No child deserves to be raised without love and especially not without simple decency," Mem Sheridan whispered and Ryelle looked up to see
tears trembling on her lashes. "They are the monsters." The Chief reached for his wife and she took his hand without looking away from Ryelle.
"You have been sorely mistreated, my dear. Believe me when I say they will hear of it from us." Her voice had gained strength as she spoke,
ending on a note of diamond sharp anger that matched the hardening of her features. The Chief nodded, looking at his wife with a little smile and a light
in his eyes.

Before Ryelle could marshal a response, the older woman shook her head briskly, wiping her wet lashes with swift fingers. "But not without
fortification. Our breakfast is getting cold and though holding hands is quite nice," she said with a wink at her husband, "it does complicate
eating."

The Chief raised her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles before letting her go. Ryelle sent a quick glance at Declan, but though his mouth curved
in a small smile, he didn’t copy the Chief’s action, giving a squeeze before letting go. She was startled by how cold and bereft her hand felt
without his around it.

The meal was odd, for Ryelle at least. The food itself was as delicious as she’d come to expect from the officer’s head chef, but she’d
never experienced such relaxed conversation. They spoke of trivial, domestic matters, but there was a flow and rhythm to it that washed around her like a
river of music. The Chief told his wife about his crew’s latest antics, which Declan modified and embellished with enthusiasm. Mem Sheridan spoke of
her own acquaintances. There was speculation about a lover’s triangle among crew members that Ryelle didn’t know and Declan made her smile with
stories of his roommate’s obnoxious sleeping habits.

So normal. So…wonderful. Ryelle didn’t ever want to leave. But eventually the Chief sighed and sent her an apologetic grimace.

"I’m afraid I have a confession, my dear. Your Institute tried to contact you earlier." Ryelle felt her stomach dive, but he wasn’t
finished. "I referred them to the commander, who informed them of my aversion to their presence in my home and my refusal to allow them entrance.
They wanted you to wear your pretty headdress again, you see. But I rather loath the thing."

Ryelle’s hands flew to her temples and she was shocked to feel nothing but her silky hair. She had completely forgotten to return to her quarters and
put the snood back on. "Oh, no," she breathed, feeling a spurt of panic at what Grieve would have to say.

"Yes, well, the commander has graciously extended his order that you not wear it in his presence to include my wife and I, and our quarters. I
can’t imagine that it will be long before the commander decides that you can’t wear it on his ship at all."

"They won’t allow it," she contradicted, though the idea was almost as appealing as holding hands with Declan. To be free of their
constant surveillance, their constant distrust and disapproval. She shivered with longing.

"We shall see. Commander Task is somewhat stubborn. In the mean time, the Institute has accepted his order, so you are welcome to stay as long as you
like."

The temptation to do exactly that was enormous. But she was afraid of what the Institute would do if she slipped their control with such deliberation.
Perhaps the commander had some power to protect her on his ship, but he couldn’t keep them from recalling her, and once she was back at the
Institute, there would be hell to pay.

"I—can’t. I really need to report to them. Thank you so much for your offer and for the wonderful breakfast." She glanced over at
Mem Sheridan as she finished with a strained smile. Both Sheridans returned her smile, but they had the exact same shadow of concern in their eyes.
"I need to return to my quarters now." She rose to her feet.

"I’ll walk you there," Declan said in a subdued voice. He had his eyes downcast as he stood, but there was a twitch in his jaw as if he
was clenching his teeth.

The Sheridans accompanied them to the door, both of them taking her hand again with murmurs of kindness that made tears sting her eyes. Filled with warm
gratitude, she gave them a more natural smile and accepted their invitation to dinner in the officer’s mess that evening.

Since she hadn’t paid attention to how they’d arrived at the Sheridan’s quarters, she was grateful that Declan was with her. He was quiet
as he led her through the section of the ship that housed the higher ranking crew members. He also didn’t try to take her arm or hold her hand again.
Ryelle couldn’t believe how much she missed his touch and mourned its loss. The trained part of her appreciated his discretion, since all the
corridors of the ship had security systems and so they weren’t ever truly alone. She didn’t mind the rest of the crew seeing them together, but
she knew the Institute wasn’t above monitoring her through the
Odyssey’s
eyes. Intuitively she understood how much they would
disapprove of her being with Declan. They had already made veiled reference to her time spent in engineering, fishing for information with the persistence
of suspicion.

"Will they punish you?" Declan finally spoke as they reached her door.

"No," she answered, as her mind briefly flitted to the snood with an inner shudder of loathing. But they’d never used the pain inducer
for any other purpose than controlling unauthorized uses of telenetic talent. "I’ve done nothing to warrant punishment."

Some of the tension went out of him, but his expression was still worried when he met her gaze. "But they won’t like what the Chief did.
What’ll they do?"

She gave him a grimace, trying for nonchalance. "I’ll get a talking to, most likely. Not for what the Chief did, but for forgetting to put the
snood back on. They only let me out without it this morning because I asked if they wanted the whole crew to puzzle out what it did." She gave him a
conspiratorial little smile and was rewarded with a lightening of his expression.

"They’ll just chew you out some, then?" he asked, eyes still full of dark blue shadows.

She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "I’ll get the big speech on protocol and safety measures. It won’t be the first time. But I
should get in there and get it over with." She hesitated then reached out to him, immensely relieved when he closed his warm fingers around hers
without pause. "Thank you," she said simply, unable to express the full extent of her gratitude for everything he’d done for her today.

She was rewarded with his sunshine smile and his warm honey voice, as he said, "My pleasure." Mother of god, the boy was just simply beautiful,
murderously gorgeous. At least, she felt like she might be in danger of dying, the way her heart was staggering around in her chest. Somehow, basking in
the warmth of his smile and his touch, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d just die happy.

She had no idea how long she stood there on the verge of a happy death, gazing into the warm sky of his eyes with a wobbly smile and equally wobbly knees,
but eventually her brain started functioning again. Taking a deep breath, she let go of his hand and stepped back. "Will I see you—?"

"Yes," he answered before she could finish, a twinkle in his eyes. "Anytime, anywhere. You call, I come running."

She couldn’t suppress a surprised giggle at the image. "Um, don’t you have to work?"

"You’re the telenetic, second in rank only to the commander. If you want me for your own personal slave, nobody’ll have a thing to say.
I’d like to volunteer, actually," he added with a grin, putting a splayed hand on his chest and inclining toward her in a little bow.

She laughed again, breathless for some reason and completely unable to stop smiling. "I’ll keep it in mind," she managed to say as she
opened her door. "See you later, then?"

He nodded, still gazing at her with a warm light in his eyes and a teasing smile on his lips. With reluctant feet, she backed through the doorway, lifting
a hand in response to his little salute as the door closed between them. Then she sighed with dwindling euphoria, watching the color drain from her world
as she turned to do her duty.

Chapter 6

Declan couldn’t feel his feet and didn’t care. He was so filled with Ryelle that there was little room for anything else as he floated through
the ship. She had smiled and laughed, and he didn’t think there was a sound he’d ever loved more. Already he was plotting new ways to make a
fool of himself just so he could hear her laugh again. He was also working on excuses to see her again.

Would the Chief let him attend her next rock clearing session? That had been so spacin’ blaze—he still could hardly believe what he’d
seen, the ‘roids whirling in a dance that was as precise as it was beautiful, and then lining up as neat as you please, forming a tunnel big enough
for two
Odysseys
. Even more amazing—she hadn’t seemed the least bit tired. The full body tingling that he’d felt during her use
of power only added to his pleasure in the experience.

That was a little puzzling, though. Every time he touched her, he received a jolt of sensation, a tingling that whispered over his skin like electric
kisses. He was starting to get used to it, at least enough so that he could still function, so that he could mostly hide his delighted responses. But the
Chief and Mina hadn’t seemed affected at all when they held her hand. And when she’d worked her telenetic magic, none of the rest of the crew
seemed to feel anything, while he could barely keep from humming in pleasure and begging for more.

He shivered, remembering the whisper of sensation over every millimeter of his skin and the feel of something else, a pressure just out of range that
promised so much more. He shifted restlessly in his clothes, wondering why no one else had acted like they were desperate to get closer to her, to press
against her until there was not a molecule of space left between them. The commander had stood right next to her and hadn’t even twitched. Was he the
only one who could feel it? Why?

The mystery couldn’t hold his attention for very long, though. He didn’t really want to question something that felt so good, and other
memories of being with her took precedence. Her smile, the way she would lean toward him when he held her hand and watch him with those midnight eyes as
they spoke. She had such a sophisticated way of talking that he felt like a moron in contrast, but she seemed interested in what he had to say. He knew
that her childhood hadn’t been normal and that the Institute had trained her to be as much a diplomat as a weapon, but she still amazed him with her
points of view. He marveled over the way she saw things, the way her mind worked, the way that some complicated things seemed so simple to her and the
everyday things seemed so mysterious.

He marveled over her. No doubt about it, he was falling hard and fast, and couldn’t seem to care. He should care, he supposed. He was so far beneath
her in rank that he practically disappeared. He’d never felt this…delirious about another human being in his life and she could hurt him so
badly in so many ways. Just removing her hand from his had felt like an amputation. What if she decided not to see him again?