Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

He glanced up at the countdown timer again: It had been reset and was now measuring time until their next event.

More than eight hours. Plenty of time.

Rusty fought back a yawn.

“Chou,” he called out, unable to find just a simple clock display amid all of the other status displays. “What time is it?”

“Fifteen thirty-eight, Chief.”

Rusty blinked and rubbed at the back his neck. That explained it. His scheduled shift was nearly over.

I can survive another twenty-two minutes.

The next planned course change would take place while he was scheduled to be off-shift.

Like hell.

Niguchi was definitely competent enough to handle things on the night shift under normal conditions, Rusty thought. But the Chief Engineer was taking no chances while they were bouncing around through mostly uncharted space. He would have plenty of time to grab a meal, and maybe a short nap, but he would be back before that next jump happened.

Nineteen minutes.

Not really enough time to do anything, Rusty thought. A quick walking inspection, and then I’ll call it a day. Maybe I’ll finally figure out where Carlene has that still stowed.

There were rumors that the assistant engineering technician had managed to both construct a still and hide it so well that even Hawkes’ eagle-eyed troops had been unable to locate it. Rusty was not completely certain that the rumors were true, but Carlene had not completely denied its existence, but neither had she confirmed it.

Rusty suspected that she might also just be toying with him, entertained by the search for something that existed only in the reality of the scuttlebutt around the ship. It would match her personality, Rusty admitted. It was hardly against regulations, for how could she either positively confirm or deny the existence of something that did not exist. Yet, someone on board was producing the stuff; he had seen and smelled it. Unless some had been snuck on board (the old “engine lubricant” or “medical supplies” listing on the manifest), someone was producing it here.

He would most likely not turn in whoever it was, but he was damned curious to see it. One thing that he had learned over the years was that some of the best and most inventive engineers possessed “hobbies” of that sort. In his opinion, the ones who were not complete nut jobs deserved promotions, not time in the brig.

As he strolled around the Engineering Deck, he casually examined the various status displays and the progress of the maintenance work being done. He could tell without check the roster which members of the crew on duty were new and who had served on the ship before. The first group clearly betrayed their nervousness as he approached, with those in the other group smiled and greeted him in some fashion. Those in the first group who did not react in the same manner as their colleagues were ones he would keep his eyes on. They would be either talent to be watched and encouraged—or else potential troublemakers. The latter type he had ways of dealing with as well.

As he expected, he found nothing particularly amiss during his inspection. One of the status displays near the secondary environmental control was flickering; he had told a nearby team to replace it before it shorted out. They had already started the job before he had completed his circuit and ended up back at his office.

Two minutes left, he noted. To hell with that.

He logged out of the main console in his office and shut off the display. By the time he made it to the main hatch, he would be right on schedule. If someone wanted to split seconds with him about the time spent on his duty shift—and he suspected that it was mostly unlikely that Elizabeth would do so—then let them.

“’night, Kahuna,” he called to the relief Engineer. “Keep her in one piece until I get back.”

“See ya, Chief,” the firmly-muscled, Hawaiian-born lieutenant grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth. “I’ll make sure we count all the screws.”

Rusty smiled, shaking head with amusement.

One of our better finds.

The lieutenant had joined them right before they had left dock. Rusty had been impressed with the man’s service file, and wondered just a bit why he would want to sign on board a ship like the Emerald Flight. He was qualified to serve on classes of vessels almost up to the largest ones. Even then, with the right connections, he probably could have been posted to one of those. Instead, he had requested—and been granted—a change in orders and become the second-shift lead engineer.

It could be him, Rusty mused, thinking back to the origin and mysterious location of the rumored still.

He did not seem the type, Rusty considered, but he could be very good at hiding it.

Interesting idea, Rusty thought. For later. Food first. Then booze.

He headed toward the galley, consciously unaware of how his priorities had changed.

#

Dressed in only a robe after her shower, Elizabeth checked her tablet for messages.

None. But then I’ve only been gone for fifteen minutes. But why hadn’t Deidre answered her yet? Where they meeting down at the mall or not?

There was a rapid double tap at her door. She grimaced in response.

What is it now?

“Yeah?” she responded, forcing any hint of irritation from her voice. Without knowing who it was, she did not dare take any chances on provoking someone, intentionally or otherwise.

Her father entered without explanation, closing the door behind him. Elizabeth could tell from the bright glare of his eyes and tightness of his jaw that he was furious about something. Something in the way he stood told her that he had been drinking too. Either of those alone was bad enough. Together, they never boded well for anyone in the household.

She had done her best to avoid her father during the brief school break. That action alone was usually not enough to garner such a response, so it was something else that drove him now. Elizabeth struggled to think of what she might have done that might warrant such behavior. She had, to her knowledge, completed all of her chores. She had not left a mess into either the bathroom or kitchen. She had not stayed out past curfew. In fact, she had not gone out at all at night in fear of even accidentally being late. There was absolutely nothing that she could think of that she might need to offer an excuse—not that any such explanations usually helped at all.

It was then that she saw the dark blue envelope in his hand. He gripped it tightly in his fist; his thick fingers formed creases in the thick material.

Aw, shit.

His eyes, dark with fury, fixed on her face. With a savage thrust, he tossed the packet at it her. It was not heavy, but her attempt to dodge it threw her off balance and she landed on her bed.

“What the hell is this?” he asked.

His voice was deep and almost hoarse. The words were slurred slightly, confirming her earlier suspicion.

“Dad . . .” she said, trying to rise from the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he told her.

His tone was almost a snarl. His eyes never left hers. They shone darkly, almost transfixing her with their intensity. His hands went to his waist and worked to unfasten his belt.

He’s going to whip me with his belt? Elizabeth wondered with a kind of detached dread. He hasn’t done that since we were kids.

It was a moment later, when he yanked down his pants, revealing his erection, that she realized what he intended. She tried to rise again, to roll away, but darkness suddenly flooded her head. It throbbed and she could no longer focus nor move. Her head pounded and she felt cool air as her robe was torn open, exposing her bare skin.

God, no!

She tried to strike out, to push him away, but her limbs refused to obey. Her vision began to clear, with light and color winning out over the darkness. The ache in her head began ease, but he was bigger than she was. His heavy arm pressed down on her, across her throat, and she struggled to draw enough breath. Not to scream, for she knew that no one would come to help her, but just to breathe . . . to convince him to stop.

She tried to kick out, to connect with anything that might cause him to loosen his grip, to make him stop, to make him go away. But she could not gain enough leverage and her legs were splayed out at odd angles. He lowered himself into her and the sour scent of his breath washed over her. She turned her face away, but that did not prevent him from entering her. She wanted to cry out, to scream, but instead nearly choked as his forearm locked her head against the pillow.

When it was over, he shambled away, pulling up his pants and refastening his belt. As he departed, he mumbled a constant litany of what seemed to be veiled threats, but Elizabeth could not hear them clearly. There was one that she was certain of, and would always remember later.

“You’re not going anywhere, you stupid little whore.”

Elizabeth lay almost motionless, not daring to move or breathe until he had closed the door behind him. She wanted to retch, but instead gagged on her own breath. She managed to recover, finally able to draw several deep breaths. Upon feeling the warm, sticky fluid between her legs, she clutched her soiled robe against her and began to cry, as quietly as she could.

#

She had continued with the admissions process, but had said nothing to anyone who might accidentally leak it back to her family. That left the news contained within a very small group of people. That saddened her, for she knew what an accomplishment it was, but it was safer this way. It was a little over a month later, when she had gone to renew her medical records for submission to the Academy, when matters got more complicated.

Elizabeth sat on the examination table, dressed in a thin robe, and looked on while Dr. Howe looked over the results of the standard tests. Normally, Elizabeth would have felt nervous and vulnerable, but she had known Dr. Ayn Howe since she was born—earlier than that, actually, as Dr. Howe had delivered both her and her sister. Elizabeth watched and waited, trying not to shiver in the air that always seemed to be just a few degrees too cool for bare skin, noting with concern patches of gray that now appeared in the doctor’s dark hair.

“I see that you’re sexually active,” Dr. Howe said. Her tone was solely one of acceptance, without any trace of accusation or disapproval.

Elizabeth nodded slowly, feeling her cheeks grow slightly warm.

Stop it, she scolded herself. She’s your doctor. She can’t tell anyone.

Dr. Howe looked up at Elizabeth when she did not hear a response.

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered quietly, trying to swallow away the word.

Dr. Howe merely nodded and turned her attention back down to the test results, frowning slightly.

Oh shit, Elizabeth thought. Did I pick up something from someone? She thought a moment. I couldn’t have.

Before she could consider it further, Dr. Howe interrupted her thoughts.

“Elizabeth,” Dr. Howe said softly, meeting her eyes gently. “We might have a problem here.”

Elizabeth felt herself grow suddenly cold. A sudden lump formed in her stomach.

Dr. Howe seemed to sense her mounting panic and took her hand, gripping it gently.

“First,” she said. Her voice was calm and soothing. “All of your results look fine. There’re no problems there.”

Elizabeth felt herself relax, her earlier distress now replaced by confusion. She stared back at the doctor, letting her gaze ask her questions for her. It took a moment for Dr. Howe to prepare her response.

“You seem to be pregnant, Elizabeth.”