Compete (56 page)

In that moment his chest expands, rises, takes a deep breath and he shifts under me. His eyelids flutter and he comes awake—he opens his eyes and his lips part on an exhalation.

In that moment I push against his chest with both my arms and elbows, while my pulse goes into overdrive, and I moan and gasp for air.

“It’s okay . . .” he says in a thick voice, letting me struggle. “Lie still. Try to lie still. Breathe slowly now—”

In response I struggle again, my hands pushing wildly against him, and I try to get up, bumping my head painfully against the bulkhead overheard. The pain only serves to agitate me further.

My hands grasp at his shoulders, pull his golden hair—oh how soft it is, how long I’ve wanted to touch his hair like this, feel the delicate texture of this natural gold—and at my touch his eyelids flutter suddenly and he stiffens.

I sit up and pant, and my fingers grasp at his hair, digging deeply into his scalp, and he
lets
me.

It’s strange, but as I regain my breath, and part of my mind, it occurs to me—
I am pulling his hair and somehow it’s okay?

“It’s okay, Gwen,” he says again, as though he’s reading my mind. He is breathing evenly, but his lips have now come together in a tight line—a sign of his exerted control.

And then panic hits me again, and I am flailing and fighting for breath, and now I try to climb out of the bunk. My hands rip at him, at his hair, at the harness restraints all around us. And he only holds me lightly, letting me strike at him, and repeats in a soft suddenly breathless voice, “It’s okay, just breathe.”

I moan in frustration, while my face, my neck, every inch of the surface of my skin is now burning up.

Heat rises throughout my flesh and I don’t know what to do with it, I need to
rip it out
of me. I tear at it, at my own skin, my own hair, pull at the harness, the blanket underneath us, my fingers digging into his shirt.

“Hold on just a few minutes longer,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

I rip at his shirt, grasp at my own tank top, pulling at it, as I begin to climb over him, and I hit my head against the bulkhead again, moan in pain, but don’t even care—I have to get out, get away from my own burning skin. . . .

My tank top snags against something, and then I feel the clasp of my bra snap in the back and loosen suddenly.

I pause momentarily, while reality washes over me in strange slow motion.

And then the impossible happens.
I pop out from underneath my bra.

Immediately I sag a little. Okay—I’m not huge in the chest but I
am
on the large side, and the last time my Mom took me to get fitted for a bra they told me I was growing out of a C cup and will have to go to a D soon. So yeah, it’s normal to sag a bit when you’re pushing past C, without wearing some kind of support. However what’s really bad is to be wearing a short tank top that pulls up really easily.

And it happens. . . . The tank top rolls up from the bottom, and oh my God,
I fall out completely
.

I am topless naked in front of my commanding officer, Command Pilot Aeson Kassiopei.

I freeze.

And he freezes also.

The moment elongates—it’s another Jump, another universe is being created around us—and I watch his face as he looks at me . . . at my naked chest hanging in his face.

His expression—I don’t think I have words for it. His eyes, they go
dark
and they are all pupils, no blue. . . .

I am burning up with embarrassment. Waves of shame travel through me, while warm heat is rising.

And then, just as suddenly, I no longer care. Embarrassment fades back and in its place fierce energy floods me. Something wordless, powerful, rises up, giving me a surge of strength. . . . I
know
I really should pull down that top. Instead I feel
wanton
and shameless, almost
gleeful
that he sees me like this, is looking at me, at my
body
.

Seeing me
. . . .

I make a small sound, a whimper.

And he continues watching me, petrified. There is no sound, only his breathing . . . it is elevated and loud, but he never parts his lips, keeping a straight line.

Perfect control.

And then slowly he moves his hands up, strong fingers splayed wide open, sliding against the curve of my waist, my sides, and he holds me, suspended over him. Where he touches my bare skin, I am scalded with fire. . . .

Just as I think the moment cannot end, he moves again. His one hand reaches up and unexpectedly he cups my breast, lingering. And then he squeezes,
hard
.

My lips part at his touch, and an electric shock surges through me. . . . I moan and move against him involuntarily, because this is insane,
this is not happening
.

In response, his other hand takes my other breast, and he presses them together, and his thumbs brush against the tips.

My God, I move again at the strange stab of pleasure . . . I am above him, and my one hand again digs into his hair, while my other hand slides down, trembling, along his warm throat, his shoulder, then sweeps against the hard lines of his muscular torso. All the while as I
touch him
, he remains silent, breathing forcefully, and he continues to scoop my breasts up with his warm long fingers, then flattens them back down hard against my ribs. . . .

“That’s enough now,” he says suddenly, in a rough voice, letting go of me, just like that.

I pant, breathlessly, feeling shock at the sudden loss of his touch. And as I glance down at his uniform pants, I notice the
condition
of his crotch. All this time I’ve been moving against him unconsciously, and now—now I am mesmerized. . . .

Something wild, primal prompts me to move my hand down. And then I do the unthinkable. I cup my hand against
him
. It’s only fair, since
he
held me first.

“No . . .” he says immediately, sucking his breath in sharply. “Don’t do that. . . .”

I linger only for a moment and let go.

“No, don’t . . .” he says again, so that now I’m unsure of his meaning. Only his eyes are in agony.

But it’s too late. His breath hitches sharply. . . . His lips part. . . . And the next instant I see the beginnings of a dark stain on his uniform fabric.

His face flames wildly, and he pulls away from me, putting his hands over his crotch, cussing in Atlantean. “No, damn it, this
cannot
be happening!” he exclaims roughly, and then starts to laugh. Which makes it terrifying.

And as I pause, completely stunned, he exclaims suddenly, “Out! Get
out!
”

I am shaking now.
My God,
w
hat is happening?

“Go! Just—just get out of here, Lark!” he continues saying ruthlessly, chuckling bitterly at himself as he turns his face from me. Next he fumbles with one hand to find the harness button and releases the restraint, while I start climbing over him to get out of his bed.

“Please, cover yourself . . .” he says, averting his eyes, with dark sarcasm, as soon as I’m off him and on the outside of the bed. “And put your damn bra back on. . . .”

But then he shakes his head as though clearing his head of a fog.

“No, wait!” he says suddenly, raises one hand to point at the nearby chair and table. “Don’t go! You cannot leave yet. No. . . . Over there—go sit—sit down and put your head down on the table. . . . Just ten more minutes, and it will be safe.”

I finally find my voice. “I’m sorry . . .” I say with emotion, while a tidal wave rises, choking me. “I am so sorry!”

“Not your fault,” he says. “It’s all mine.” But he continues looking away and is now turned to the wall entirely.

I stagger upright, dizzy with a head rush, and then barely take a step before I land in the seat. Hastily I pull down my dratted tank top over my chest and try to fit myself back inside the bra cups—the bra is useless, I think there’s something wrong with the clasp. And then, resting my elbows on the tabletop next to his needle-guns and gadgets, I put my head down, and tremble, and just breathe. . . .

Breathe, Gwen, breathe
. . . .

A few minutes later, I look up, while my mind is now very
clear
, at the same time as I am absolutely embarrassed, humiliated, and mortified with pure unadulterated
horror
.

Or maybe
he
is.

I don’t know. I can no longer tell.

“You may go now,” he says suddenly, still lying down and facing the wall.

“Are you—are you okay?” I mutter.

“It’s only Jump sickness, Lark,” he says in a hard voice without looking at me.

“That was Jump sickness?” I open my mouth.

“Yes . . .” he says after only the slightest pause. “Now, go! I am going to get
cleaned up
now, and you—you are going to
go
.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

And I flee his quarters.

I
don’t really know how I manage to make it back to my own cabin, as I rush through the corridors of the ship, holding my hands crossed over my chest to keep the awful little tank top in place—after all, it’s just underwear—and in addition I am also stupidly barefoot.

Since it’s been twenty minutes after the Jump, there are people in the hallways now, some of them looking dazed, others recovered completely as if nothing happened.

Once in my own room, I close the door and collapse on my own bed, folding myself up in a fetal position. I lie on my side, trembling, rocking, and shuddering in delayed reaction shock.

And then the tears come. . . .

They are tears of humiliation, pain, confusion—just an absolute emotional overload.

Maybe it’s still Jump sickness?

To hell with Jump sickness!
No,
I think,
this is something far more complicated
.

What had just happened between me and Kassiopei? What was it?

How am I ever going to
face him
again, after today?

And then it occurs to me,
how is he ever going to face me?

Because, yeah, he definitely underwent an experience that affected him just as much if not more, and I think it meant something. I think there is
something
there—something between us.

But what is it?

I lie in bed for over an hour, examining everything with as much clinical detachment as possible, coming to grips with my own emotions. And then I change clothing, put my full uniform back on, and venture outside my cabin.

I don’t bother to go looking for Gennio and Anu, or returning to assist at the cold storage chamber on Deck 5. In fact, I don’t even pretend I’m capable of doing anything useful right now. If anyone asks, I can blame it all on Jump sickness. Let them handle the revival of the people in stasis. I am taking the rest of this damn day off.

Time to get a solid meal—possibly in a very remote meal hall where I am not likely to meet anyone I know. And once I get back, I will call Gracie and Gordie to make sure they’re okay after the Jump.

As I head to dinner, something else occurs to me suddenly:
right now, the Fleet, all of us, we’re in a very different part of the universe.

Wow
. . . . We’ve made it halfway across the uncharted cosmic divide. We are now in the galactic neighborhood of Atlantis.

And my home, Earth? The solar system? The Milky Way Galaxy?

They are all now so infinitely far away.

Chapter Thirty-Four

N
ow that we’ve Jumped, we’ve officially entered the first month of Red season, the Atlantean equivalent of summer.

The next morning after the Jump, the first official day of summer on the Atlantean calendar, I go in to the CCO, having steeled myself emotionally. I decide that the best course of action is to simply face Command Pilot Aeson Kassiopei directly and not flinch, and be polite and businesslike.

Act as if nothing happened, Gwen
, I tell myself.

But when I get there, he’s not in.

Gennio and Anu tell me the CP is off at some kind of series of meetings, and he is going to be gone for most of the day.

“So, how did you enjoy your first Jump?” Anu asks with a raised brow. “Barf much?”

“No problem,” I tell him, thinking,
lord, if they only knew
.

“Did you get sick?” Gennio looks up at me mildly. “I did not see you back here afterwards, so not sure if you were okay, or too sick.”

“No, not too badly.” I shrug, putting on a calm face. “Got a little dizzy, stayed in bed longer. Everything’s fine. Sorry I didn’t think to let you know I’d be out. How did everything go with the cold storage revival?”