Compete (57 page)

“Fine as usual,” Anu says. “You didn’t miss much. The two old guys survived, so did five of the eight Earth kids. Three of them—not so lucky. Frozen dead like your Earth ice cream pops.”

“What?” I part my mouth in horror.

“Oh, stop it, Anu!” Gennio shakes his head. “Never mind him, Gwen, no one died, he is just joking as usual.”

“Okay, then,” I say. “Anu, one of these days. . . .”

But he just snorts and turns back to his console.

T
he rest of the day is uneventful, except that while I’m at the office, I keep expecting the Command Pilot to walk in at any moment, and he does
not
.

“More systems inspections,” Gennio says. “All the post-Jump protocol stuff that the CP has to supervise. He’ll be out all day.”

And then I check my email and I see a message from Kassiopei.

Immediately my heart jolts painfully, and I open the email with trepidation. It’s short and to the point:
“Voice training will be cancelled for tonight. —A. K.”

Yeah, why am I not surprised?

As far as classes, I attend Pilot Training, where Instructor Mithrat Okoi seems to be fine and perfectly healthy after his cold storage capsule experience yesterday. He lectures us in the usual hard voice, pacing before the classroom.

“Flight simulator training will continue indoors for one more month,” he says. “The first month after the Jump is considered equally unstable as the previous one, and none of you are allowed to fly outside. Yes, we are now
decelerating
, but the process is gradual, and it will take us another six months to reach velocities that will allow us to slow down and stop, just as we arrive on Atlantis.”

And then Instructor Okoi reminds us: “Your Final Pilot Test will be the second Quantum Stream Race, and your skills and abilities will reveal the kind of Pilots you are to become, including your roles in the Fleet. There will be one major notable change for the Second QS Race—you will no longer be constrained to your current flight partners and will be able to choose anyone as your Pilot Pair.”

That gets everyone in the room excited, myself included.
I no longer have to fly with Hugo!
I think gleefully.

Meanwhile I see Hugo give me an evaluating stare, then come to some kind of conclusion and start looking around the room. Oh yeah, the boy is going to switch partners! So long, Hugo!

“Enough! Make your Pilot Pair arrangements
after
class!” the Instructor raises his voice, and the Cadets immediately settle down. However, everyone continues glancing around the room discreetly, for the rest of the class period.

I look around also, and see Logan, as usual not too far away. He does not look at me and appears absorbed with his flight console—but I know he’s been watching me.

Then I notice Blayne a few seats away also. He looks occupied with his partner too.

There’s plenty of time to find a new flight partner, I decide. Anyone’s got to be better than Hugo.

T
he following day at the CCO, the Command Pilot is still noticeably absent.

I am almost frustrated by the fact, because, to be honest, I’d like to get it over with. Just see him, face him, deal with that hard initial moment. . . .

And then for a brief time I wonder,
is he actively avoiding me?

No, that cannot be.

And indeed, my theory is discredited, because Aeson Kassiopei comes in around 2:00 PM in the afternoon, just as all three of us Aides are working.

We all get up and salute as usual. My heart starts pounding with stress. I take short shallow breaths and try not to let my rising flush overwhelm my face completely.

Breathe, Gwen, breathe
. . . .

Aeson’s expression is cold and determined, and he looks particularly sharp today, well put together. He nods at all of us curtly, and does not even make eye contact with me. . . . He gets behind his desk and calls up multiple workstation consoles. I count mech arm monitors, and there are at least five today, obscuring his desk.

Wow
. . . . Is he literally hiding behind them from me? I cast the idiotic thought aside, and try to concentrate on my work file.

The next few hours crawl at an excruciating pace, and finally it’s almost dinnertime. I have no idea what kind of work I’ve been doing, but all I know is, I survived being in the same office space with him without combusting. Of course, the worst is still to come—tonight’s voice training session, one-on-one.

At some point the CP turns off his tech equipment, gets up swiftly and walks out past us without looking, on his way to the gym before dinner. I glance up just barely in time to see his proud, stiffly-held back and the fall of his long gold hair as the door shuts on him.

I exhale a long-held breath. . . .

Okay, this is not going to be easy.

The other Aides and I head out also, to grab dinner.

And then I get back to my cabin where I kill some time, waiting for 8:00 PM.

A
t 8:00 PM sharp, I arrive back at the CCO. The guards allow me inside after a brief consult with the CP over their wrist devices—which usually means the Command Pilot is busy or on an important call.

Which proves to be the case.

I enter, pulse racing wildly, breathing evenly to compose myself. And I see a single display console turned around, its back facing me, and Aeson Kassiopei talking in soft Atlantean tones to someone. Immediately I recognize the feminine lilting voice of the speaker on the other end.

Oh, crap
. . . .
It’s that girl.

Lady Tiri whatshername. Tirinea Fuorai.

A blast of elemental anger strikes me in the gut. It is so sudden, so unexpected, that I am stunned enough to pause, before I advance any further inside the room. What am I feeling?
What is it?
I don’t think I understand the feeling.

It’s jealousy.

I’m absolutely freaking jealous of this Lady Tiri, and I am so damn angry—at her, at him, at
myself
. . . .

I stop to listen, while Aeson ignores me completely and continues speaking, and I see a faint smile on his lips, a smile that makes me melt, because I have never seen it before . . . I have never seen him smile,
sensuously
, like that . . . not for anyone.

Everything inside me is twisting—heart, lungs, my gut—they are seized with a cold unfamiliar emotion that’s made up of darkness.

And then, the worst part is, I listen to them speak
Atlanteo
, and because I’ve been studying the language, I am picking up a few words here and there. Not the real gist, but the individual terms and phrases. . . . Terms, such as “sweet” and “I can’t wait to see you.”

At least I haven’t heard the word “love” being used.

In
Atlanteo
, love is
“amrevet.”
And the word for “lover” is
“amreve”
while “beloved” is
“amrevu.”
Again, none of these forms are being used.

I listen, barely breathing, still standing near the door.

Then I decide to advance forward.

In that same moment, their conversation ends, and he disconnects the call.

As I approach him, his soft expression evaporates, and he is a blank mask of no emotion.

“Good evening,” he says, looking at me like an unblinking serpent. “Take a seat.”

Damn him
. . . .

I sit down in my usual spot and rest my hands in my lap.

He looks at me, and I look at him.
Steady, steady now. Don’t let him see you blink first.

“How are you?” I say.

I don’t think he expected that. So his one brow rises and he moves his head slightly. “Fine, thanks,” he says. “And you?”

Well, that was brilliant
.

But then I take a deep breath and decide to go direct.

“Command Pilot Kassiopei, I hope what happened at the time of the Jump is not an issue between us. I am sorry—about whatever it was.”

His gaze upon me is intense suddenly, so intense that I find I’m drowning in it, in
him
. “It was nothing,” he says coldly. “Nothing happened. The Jump affects everyone in different unexpected ways. Unusual physical reactions and responses happen, but they are temporary and
meaningless
. It’s over. Think nothing of it and move on.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

“Now, if you yourself still find any lingering symptoms, it’s a good idea to see a doctor.” He watches me as he says this. “In your case, I hope you recovered quickly afterwards, and are not still upset about the uncomfortable circumstances.”

“I’m fine,” I say, keeping my voice steady, while a lump is starting to rise at the back of my throat.
No, I’m not going to cry in front of him.

Never again.

Well, then
, I think bitterly.
He considers it meaningless.

Meanwhile he calmly looks away from me, reaches for the orichalcum sound damper box, to begin tonight’s voice lesson.

I guess
that
conversation is over.

T
he next day is mostly a repeat of the previous one. I work, attend classes, have voice training that evening, and things are cool and businesslike between us.

In fact, things have gotten chillier than ever. It seems that whatever brief
connection
I thought we had, has not only been lost, but has been stamped out and put down mercilessly.

Aeson Kassiopei has either decided to keep his distance from me for whatever reason, or he really does not care at all about me—at least not in that intimate way about which I still dare to dream.

I do not accept that
.

What I don’t accept is the
not knowing
. I realize our situation is hopeless. There are worlds of rank, upbringing, cultural and ethnic difference and separation between us. He is a top-ranking Fleet officer and Imperial Prince of a semi-divine ancient dynasty, destined to marry into the highest aristocracy of Atlantis. As far as I know, according to their laws and traditions, I’m not even fit to wipe dust off his shoes—a nobody refugee from Earth, entirely at his mercy, and a fool to think otherwise. There can never be anything between us.

But if I could only
know
for one true moment that he cares or has
feelings
for me, I could live with that. Even if I never saw him again after I got to Atlantis—at which point he would deliver me into whatever branch of public service that my Logos voice condemns me to.

In one way or another, before our journey ends, before our regular personal contact is over, I resolve to find out.

A
nd then, later that night, just before bed and Fleet barracks curfew, I talk to Laronda.

I call her up, because I’m soul sick. And I tell her everything.

And I mean,
everything
that happened during the Jump.

Laronda listens as I go into details, and her mouth falls open.

“What? Girl,
no!
No way! He did
what?
”

I blush furiously as I describe it.

Laronda puts her hand up to cover her mouth and starts to giggle. “Oh, wow! You mean he—in his
pants?
”

“Yeah.”

Laronda is holding her mouth with both hands now and her eyes are so round. She rocks back and forth and nearly hyperventilates. Finally she catches a breath and fans her face with her hands and shakes her head in disbelief.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she mutters. “Seriously, I hope you know I mean no disrespect—the guy is totally amazing and imposing and yeah, he terrifies me. I’m just freaking out here, on your behalf. This is not me laughing—this is me going
nuts!
”

“I know. . . .”

Laronda continues fanning her face and saying, “Sweet lord almighty!”

“You—you won’t mention any of this to anyone, right?” I whisper.

“Oh, hell no! Are you kidding me? My lips are zipped and sealed and stored away in the back of a freezer!”

I nod, silently, shaking slightly.

“Okay, listen, girl . . .” she says at last, taking a deep breath. “You better watch out. At this rate he’s going to put a baby inside you, and then what are you gonna do?”

“But nothing happened!” I exclaim, my face flaming red.

“Not
yet!
”

“At this rate, nothing ever will. . . .” I bite my lips painfully and wrap my arms around me.

“Wait—” Laronda peers at me sideways, her face moving in to take up much of the video screen. “Do you
want
something to happen? Do you—want to be with him, with your prince? Well? Spill it!”