Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

I’d better keep an eye on him, Thad decided. Maybe he’s about to go squirrelly in a whole different way.

Thad stared silently in the direction of the steering wheel, but did not see it.

I remember when he used to be the sane one around here . . .

#

Devereux leaned back from the screen and fought the urge to rub at her eyes. The exceptionally early start to her day was catching up with her. She glanced at the clock display and was disappointed to see how much time still remained until this shift was over. Her thoughts headed in the direction of getting herself another cappuccino to tide her over, but her stomach pricked at her. It was warning her that she had apparently consumed enough that day. She was tempted to ignore it, but knew she would probably pay dearly for such an indulgence later.

The truth was that she was bored—bored and weary from reviewing long-winded analyses of the various engagements with both the Orion and Argolian forces over the past several months. The dissection of those skirmishes were intended to yield useful tactical information that could be applied to future encounters, but they mostly came off as dry academic dissertations that held her interest for just slightly longer than a detailed cargo manifest.

She stretched in her chair, feeling her joints loosen somewhat. The muscles attached to them complained mildly at first and then welcomed the activity.

That settles that, Devereux decided.

She looked at the clock again. Only a few minutes had passed since she had peeked at it last.

Heck with that, she told herself with increased conviction, rising from her chair. Captain’s prerogative.

“Lieutenant,” she called to Hawkes. “You have the bridge.”

The Tactical Officer straightened and nodded smartly. “Yes, Captain.”

Devereux allowed herself a bemused smile and stepped down from the command deck. She passed behind the helm station and paused for a moment, studying the rather static star field visible on the main bridge displays.

“Try not to run into anything until I get back in the morning,” she told him, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

Pyrafox chuckled softly—a noise that sounded more like a growl than laughter. “I’ll try, Captain.”

Devereux smiled and patted his shoulder before turning and leaving the bridge.

In her quarters, she removed her uniform tunic and peered at her body’s profile in the mirror. Although she was still tired, she was determined to do something more constructive with the extra time than to just grab a nap. She knew where that would lead: she would sleep past dinner, decide not to eat anything of substance, and then wake up later in the night ravenous. This would then begin a similar cycle to the one that had started her day that morning.

Grumbling half-hearted under her breath, she stripped down and then slipped into her exercise leotard. Since her body started developing its feminine curves during her adolescence, she had felt self-conscious wearing one, but she found that it was most comfortable and flexible attire for most of her routines.

There was only one other person in the exercise area when she arrived: a young crewman from one of the ship’s science teams. His body was extremely thin, lacking even the sinewy texture of muscle that Hawkes carried. He moved through his repetitions with a fluid grace that surprised Devereux, making her guess that he might have once had training as a dancer. His motions were wrong for someone skilled in gymnastics. She would know, for she had dated one for a few weeks while at University. He had been a competent lover, but it had ended when she discovered that he really did prefer other boys over her.

Devereux stretched, watching her form in the mirror from the edge of her vision. As the blood flowed into long-sedentary muscles, she could feel her vitality returning.

I really do need to get down here more often, she thought. How many times have I told myself that? she added with a silent chuckle.

She pressed for her desired program, stepped in between the hand grips of the machine and began her routine, allowing her mind to wander. It kept her from focusing on how many more repetitions she needed to complete, or how much time was remaining, depending on the routine.

For no particular reason she could think of, her mind traveled back to a similar setting in secondary school. Although rugby was generally a year-round activity, formal practice had been cancelled on that day—she could not remember why.