On a few of the smaller displays, particularly those that people carried with them, she could still see replayed scenes from the catastrophe on Mars. She tried not to stare, looking away when she thought someone else might have caught her looking. Walking slowly through the large reception area, she found herself hesitating as she neared the wide stairway that led up to her room.
She did not want to be alone just then, and yet she was. Surrounded by fellow officers and non-commissioned personnel, she still felt as though as though there was no one she could go to. It was the first time since being on leave that she had profoundly missed being aboard the ship. She could have visited the Chief down on the Engineering Deck, even if on a pretense. (She suspected that he was rarely fooled by those errands.) Captain Devereux would have been there, calm and confident. Even Lieutenant Hawkes would have been a solid, comforting figure. Hell, she would have found Hope’s presence reassuring under these circumstances.
Standing alone near the polished railing, she felt a renewed wave of anger toward Jackson. He had just disappeared on her, without even a word. And she had let him sleep with her. That it had been mutually consensual was beside the point—he could have shown little more chivalry toward her. This was why, she decided firmly, most officers avoided personal relationships.
She stared up the wide expanse of stairs. Her room was up there, empty. It probably still smelled of Jackson . . . of both of them. For the first time that night since the crisis began, Elizabeth wanted to cry. She felt the tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. Rushing against the growing haze in her vision, she moved quickly toward her room.
Her thoughts wandered through the scenes she had seen earlier and the words she had just heard. As far as she could remember, she knew of no one who had been serving on or visiting Mars. The Chief? No, he rarely left the planet that he was on without a really good reason. Elizabeth could not think of one good enough to drive him to the life support domes on the red planet.
There was a sudden decrease in the amount of ambient noise. Elizabeth quickly looked down toward the dais. Several uniformed senior officers strode onto the stage. Most of them seated themselves on the hastily arranged chairs; one of them approached the podium.
No one gave her much attention as she walked along with the crowd. She certainly looked no less disheveled than most of the others, she decided. They had been roused from their rooms in the middle of the night, after all. She took some pride that she was at least dressed in her Academy sweatshirt and pants, sporting some indication that she belonged there.
There was an abrupt blast of noise from the overhead speakers. It was not exactly a klaxon, but it got everyone’s attention. The loud exclamations of conversation faded to dull murmurs. The sound was repeated and the crowd grew nearly silent.
After donning a t-shirt with an Academy emblem, she waited with undisguised impatience while Jackson dressed himself more thoroughly. While he had fewer items of clothing to choose from—having available only those he had been wearing that night—it seemed to Elizabeth that it took him five times as long to dress as she had. Several times, she considered leaving him behind and venture out herself to find out what all the activity was about.
Elizabeth awoke some time later. The room was dark and she guessed, without checking the clock, that it was very late—or quite early, depending on your perspective, she thought with sleepy humor. Beside her, Jackson lay on his side, breathing slowly and regularly in sleep. He snored ever so softly. For some reason, Elizabeth also found this amusing.
Jackson’s throat move as he swallowed, hesitating a moment before he touched his lips against hers. Elizabeth returned the kiss with deep conviction as she pulled him against her. She slowly ran her hands down along his back, feeling the contours of his muscles there.
Elizabeth did not remember much about their walk back across the base quad. Her next clear memory was of closing the door behind them as Jackson followed her inside. She kissed him again quickly and moved over to the bed and sat down, facing him. She reached down to unfasten her boots, aware that Jackson’s eyes were intent upon her.
Elizabeth looked up to find Jackson still watching her, as if waiting for something from her. Had he said something? She played back the past few moments in her mind, but could not recall hearing him speak beyond that faintly whispered statement. Was he waiting for her to make the next move?
She found herself growing increasingly desperate to find a way to convince Jackson to follow her back to her room. Silently, she rehearsed several possible invitations, but they all sounded awkward, cliché, or desperate. She sensed (or hoped?) that it was the inevitable end to the evening, but she at a loss at how to get from here to there at that moment.
Elizabeth looked back at him, feeling slightly envious. The Majestic was one of the newer, and larger, ships of the Fleet. It was not the size of some of the large battle cruisers, but was definitely larger than the Emerald Flight. It was specifically designated as a warship, but was equipped with more armaments and ordnance that was usually outfitted to a vessel of its class.
After surveying the contents of the assorted trays, she selected mostly a variety of vegetable and fruit pieces, along with a few small chunks of cheese, and some thin slices of what she believed to have been at one time a portion of some kind of poultry animal. After several moments of deliberation, she also added one—and only one—helping of some unidentifiable cake.
Elizabeth looked at the glasses of wine and then at Jackson. She seemed to have finally dismissed the effects of her earlier margarita, so was a little leery about starting in on drinking again so soon. Jackson seemed to be studying her. His gaze unnerved her, but he was not staring at her in any particularly provocative way. His eyes expressed interest in her, for certain, but it felt genuine, not intended solely to assess his chances of sharing a bed with her.
They left the main club together. Elizabeth’s arm remained tucked within Jackson’s as they walked the length of the base. They talked of nothing—at least nothing that Elizabeth could later remember—while she simply enjoyed the security of being with him and the protective touch of his arm against her own.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered. His voice was slightly hoarse with effort.
“On leave?”
Elizabeth took another cautious sip of her drink, eyeing him carefully over the rim of her glass. She was grateful that her drink had been served in a goblet, instead of the traditional stemmed glass. It made it less obvious just what she was drinking, just in case he might have disapproved of her selection. She swallowed, managing to get it down without choking this time.
Thinking back, she tried to remember if she had seen the date that day. While she was on leave, she tended to forget what day it was, except for when specific appointments or events forced her to acknowledge the calendar. She recalled something her mother had said earlier in the morning, making some reference to “as it’s Thursday . . .”. Elizabeth could recall what her mother had been discussing, and it really was not all that important.
Elizabeth forced herself to ignore the vague tingle coming from the region below her stomach.
As she made her way across the base, she disregarded any attention that she might be receiving from those she passed. She was hardly dressed in the most provocative of current civilian fashions, but still she was certain that more than the occasional glance made its way in her direction. The older officers who disapproved of her attire would pointedly ignore her presence. Those who did not would take great pains to maintain an outward show of propriety—regardless of what their thoughts might be.
Elizabeth sat at the edge of the bed, staring down at the boots.
She picked up her uniform and held it out at arm’s length. There were slight wrinkles in it, but she knew that those would hang out quickly. Studying it, she considered changing into it. Doing so might help her feel a bit less out of place here, even though she technically belonged there. She could also stop having to show her badge at nearly every entrance. 
There was a wide, open stairway that led to the upper levels of the housing complex. A few other officers and cadets passed her, but did not spare her more than a momentary glance. Two of the officers were older men, dressed in heavily decorated uniforms, engaged in serious conversation on some topic that Elizabeth did not catch. A few of the cadets moved aside to give her addition room and, despite herself, Elizabeth tried to hide a faint smile.
It was nearly dark, and the last of the nighttime lighting was just beginning to become visible, as Elizabeth made her way toward the barracks. She hoped that visiting officer’s quarters might be available, but she was willing to spend a night—or two or three—sharing a room with new recruits if the alternative meant returning to her parents’ house.
Elizabeth felt somewhat better as she walked back onto the base grounds. She flashed her badge at the two security guards at the entrance, both of whom examined it before giving her approval to enter, and felt herself relax immediately after she was once more among its familiar structures.
“I see,” 
Without much surprise, Hawkes found that he was allowed to immediately proceed past the reception area. He entered the office indicated and waited, standing next to one of the two guest chairs, for its occupant to make an appearance.
He considered the message again. With Captain Devereux no longer in command of the Emerald Flight, and its reactivation status uncertain, he could now be re-assigned to another posting somewhere else in the Fleet. In all likelihood, he would be. There were plenty of assignments and rarely enough experienced officers to fill them all.
Hawkes was asleep in his quarters when the incoming message signal chimed. He came awake instantly. There were only a very small number of conditions that would cause an audible signal to sound once he had gone to bed. Almost none of them tended to be harbingers of good news.
For a moment, Elizabeth thought he might actually try to block her way. Bryant was more than an inch taller, and several kilos heavier—little of it due to muscle. She knew her basic training from the Academy, along with the additional training that she had received from both Rusty and Lieutenant Hawkes, would allow her to easily overcome her brother.