No Such Thing (6 page)

Why did they do it?
She remembered asking her mother and remembered the deep undercurrents of adult emotion in her mother’s dark eyes as she gently brushed
Ryelle’s hair away from her face. Those undercurrents had confused and unsettled her, but her mother’s touch could sooth away any fear or pain.
Because they could, Honey Butter,
her mother had said in a slow, thoughtful voice.
Because they thought it was right.
But those warped
faces and bodies had scared her worse than any bad dreams about the Institute, so her six-year-old mind knew they’d been wrong.

As she grew older, she came to understand just how wrong. The GenTecs might have been accepted back into their old society, for the sheer knowledge they
possessed if for nothing else, though they would have been ostracized as much or more than Ryelle. But they didn’t want to just come home. They
believed in what they’d done, believed it was for the best, believed they had improved on the human genome.

They believed they were superior.

They were stronger, faster, much less frail than their ancestors, capable of withstanding many different, harsh planetary conditions.
We are the next step in human evolution,
they said. They expected their ancestral society to follow in their footsteps.
Like children, weaker in mind and body, you must be guided to the right path.
They expected to lead, to take over, to remake human society.

This concept had been met with emphatic and revolted resistance, first verbal and then physical when the GenTecs attempted to conquer by force what they
couldn’t take by persuasion. From within the Institute, Ryelle had watched the telenetic role in society change from commercial to military with a
heavy heart and an unnamable fear in her bones. At first it had seemed as though victory would be swift, the enemy routed. The GenTecs had concentrated too
much of their scientific knowledge and intellect on transforming themselves. Their hardware was old and outdated, and military strategy wasn’t their
forte. But they had been the best and brightest—they learned fast.

So what had begun as skirmishes and terrorist actions had somewhere along the line turned into a full-fledged war. But Ryelle had still never considered
losing. Always before, they had outnumbered and overpowered their enemy. Ryelle bit her lower lip, wondering what would happen if the GenTecs became
powerful enough and numerous enough to take over.

"Mims Soliere?"

The captain’s voice intruded on her grim thoughts, and she lifted her head to see both officers staring at her. Smoothing her features into a bland
expression, she responded, "Yes?"

"You’ve been awfully quiet. Don’t you have any comments or questions?" Captain Gibbs was smiling faintly, her expression
encouraging and faintly patronizing, but her eyes were sharp.

Ah.
Another test. "I would have to understand to comment or question," Ryelle said without infliction.

The captain raised her eyebrows. "You don’t understand? But surely the Institute trained you for this position. You are so young—"

"Sasha," Commander Task interrupted, his eyes narrowing on his fellow officer as he leaned forward.

"Yes, I am very young," Ryelle responded, widening her eyes and softening her expression to emphasize her words. "Yes, I am
inexperienced. I’ve never seen battle. I’ve never worked aboard a military vessel before." As the captain’s expression began to
slide into a brand of veiled triumph, Ryelle hardened her features and gave the woman a cynical smile. "But I challenge anyone to decipher the
conversation the two of you just had. It was quite cryptic." She smoothed her face back into bland inquiry and rose to her feet. "Perhaps you
would rather be alone to speak freely?"

Commander Task chuckled, settling back in his seat and waving her to sit. "Sorry, Ryelle, you don’t get off that easy. And Sasha," he
added with a snort, "leave my telenetic alone."

The woman’s honey colored brows pulled together for a fraction of a second, before her face cleared into a wry smile. "Message received,"
she drawled, and sent Ryelle a quick grimace. "I didn’t realize we were excluding you, Mims Soliere. My apologies."

Ryelle wasn’t sure how she felt about this woman. Her mood and conversation seemed quicksilver, from casual warmth to crafty attack and back again.
Her strategy, for as a voidship captain she almost certainly had a strategy, was unfathomable. Ryelle looked from her to the commander and felt her
uncertainty ease away. He was her commanding officer, not the captain. And he, at least, seemed to have no underlying agenda in his dealings with her.
She…trusted him.

She frowned over this surprising thought and the commander chuckled again, his eyebrows rising. "And what sparked this grim expression, little
mims?" He glanced over at the captain and added, "Ryelle has no sense of humor. It’s her worst flaw."

Ryelle blinked at him. "I can perform my duties without it," she said mildly then stiffened when they both laughed.

"I see what you mean," Captain Gibbs said to the commander, flashing Ryelle a warm grin. "We’ll need to work on that."

"I was not told that having a sense of humor was a requirement," Ryelle stated, trying hard to keep the tightness out of her voice. Anxiety
spiraled within her. Were they testing her again? Or was this some new societal cruelty she hadn’t experienced yet?

Commander Task’s face eased into a gentle smile. "It’s becoming clear to me, little mims, that the Institute failed to tell you a lot of
things. In this instance, having a sense of humor, laughing, having fun, enjoying yourself—this makes the difference between simply existing and
living."

Her brows contracted in confusion and she glanced over at the captain to gauge her response. The older woman was watching the commander with a wry little
smile. Ryelle took a deep breath and very carefully asked, "There is a difference between existing and living?"

Their smiles faded and Ryelle felt her stomach clench in dismay. She’d said something wrong. If this was another test, she was failing.

The two officers exchanged a heavy glance. "The Institute has even more to answer for than I thought," the commander said softly. The
captain’s lips compressed, but Ryelle wasn’t sure if this meant she agreed or not.

Then, for some obscure reason, they began discussing food. Baffled, Ryelle stared from one to the other, trying to understand what just happened. But they
didn’t exclude her this time and soon she was too busy keeping up with their conversational gambits to puzzle out what she’d done wrong.

Chapter 4

Declan was nervous. Ryelle was on her way down to the engineering section, and he was almost as nervous about it as he’d been at his initial
interview with Commander Task. Being on this ship and working with her engines meant everything to him—it was the culmination of all his dreams. The
commander had approved his appointment, but not until after he’d grilled Declan into the ground.

Waiting for Ryelle, he felt the same kind of sick excitement in his stomach, the same urgent need to not screw up. It didn’t help matters that the
Chief, Bags, and Frankie were all waiting with him. As usual, the Chief was serenity itself, but Bags and Frankie were taking turns teasing him
unmercifully. He did his best to tune them out, fidgeting and shifting until the Chief said, "Settle," in a mild tone that nevertheless made
all three of them fall silent and still.

At that moment, Ryelle stepped into the corridor and moved toward them. She was wearing another long-sleeved dress, this time in a deep, rich maroon that
emphasized her coloring. It seemed to be the same cut as the other dress he’d seen her in and he wondered if this was some sort of telenetic uniform.
Not that he was any damned expert—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman in a dress. That kind of outfit was reserved for
the higher classes, not for the working class or the crew of a voidship. Which only made her seem that much more exotic and mysterious.

"Telenetic Soliere, thank you for gracing us with your delightful presence." The Chief gave her a warm smile and slight bow.

"You’re very kind," she said with a faint smile of her own. "I know I’m interfering with your work."

"Not at all. These engines practically run themselves. Now that you’re here, we’ll have an excuse to run about looking busy."

Bags snorted and Frankie’s muttered, "Run themselves? I’ll give you busy, you old—" was muffled by the Chief clearing his
throat loudly. Declan cringed.

"May I introduce you to some of my crew? From what I understand, you have already met young Declan. The sulking monstrosity to his left is my second,
Zepher Bagera. Don’t believe a word he says. And never play cards with him. He’s a terrible cheat. And this retiring angel is Francine Sho.
Don’t play cards with her either. She’s quite honest, but a violent loser."

Ryelle stared at the Chief for a moment without expression. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. "Chief Sheridan, have you been speaking to Commander
Task about me?"

Declan caught a suspicious twinkle in the Chief’s eyes before he widened them in an awful parody of innocence. "Never say it, Dove. Shall I
turn you over to Declan’s capable hands, then?"

She sighed, her expression faintly irritable. Declan felt his stomach tighten with anxiety. Had she changed her mind about wanting him to give the tour?

Facing the Chief’s crew, she surprised Declan by saying, "I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s a pleasure to meet the two
of you and to see you again." She met Declan’s gaze and drove the breath out of his chest. He’d forgotten the impact of those dark eyes.

Anxious to get her away from his crewmates before they said something to offend her, he waved her toward the door to the main engine rooms. "Would
you like to get started, Mem?"

Bags grumbled something about netter-hogging twits, but Frankie captured his arm and dragged him toward engineering. Over her shoulder, she said to Ryelle,
"Let me know if he gives you any trouble, sugar." With a lascivious wink and a flashing grin, they were gone.

Declan heaved a sigh of relief then reddened under Ryelle’s curious glance and the Chief’s wry stare. "’Scuse me," he
muttered. "Bags and Frankie just take some getting used to."

"That they do," The Chief responded with a benign smile and ushered them into the engineering section’s anteroom where most of their
hardware was stored. Turning to Ryelle, he said, "I do hope you enjoy our little kingdom. But before you begin, you need to know that energy produced
by the engines interferes with many communication devices. For example, that bauble on your head is most likely nonfunctional at present."

He paused, his expression serene as usual, but Ryelle’s eyes widened as she touched the sliver net around her hair. Studying her with a thoughtful
look, the Chief continued, "I would also like to extend an open invitation to our domain. You may visit here as often as you wish, whenever you
wish." Turning to Declan, the Chief gave him a bland smile. "Don’t forget to show her the blind spots."

Then he turned and strolled away. Declan stared after him for a moment, baffled.

"Blind spots?" Ryelle asked.

Jerking his head around, he met her gaze and lost his train of thought for a long, blank moment in those dark depths. "Um, blind spots…"
he mumbled then cleared his throat. "He means where our security doesn’t cover. There are spots on deck where nobody can see or hear you. Bags
loves ‘em—he sneaks naps."

A faint smile touched her lips as she turned to watch the Chief disappear around the corner. "He is a very nice man," she said softly.

"Yeah." Declan watched her, aware of his heart thumping along in his chest. Her lashes fascinated him. He wondered what they would feel like
against his fingertips, against his skin… A flash of heat caught him by surprise and he hurried to focus on something else. "What does it
do?"

She turned to him, a lingering curl to her lips. "What does what do?"

He pointed. "Your hair…thing," he mumbled, a flush climbing his neck.

Her face grew serious and she looked down, touching a hand to the silver net at her forehead. "It’s…for communication. The Institute can
see and hear everything I do. Except maybe here in engineering." Her head lifted suddenly, eyes spearing him with their intensity. "Can you
check it? Can you tell if it’s still working?"

"Sure," he said absently, frowning at the pretty thing. They could see and hear everything? Wasn’t that a violation of her privacy? How
could she stand it? Why would she allow it?

Ushering her over to a storage unit, he pulled out a scanner and stepped close to her. It was nearly his undoing. He didn’t touch her, but he felt
the warm pressure of her telenetic ability, caught her scent, and forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He tingled from head to toe in the aura of her
power. She smelled sweet and delicious, like some exotic dessert he should be savoring. He inhaled deeply, his eyelids drooping and mind fogging with the
intoxicating aroma and the sensations that rippled over his skin. The beep of the scanner saved him, tugging him out of his daze long enough to realize
that it had done its job without him.

Moving hastily away, he stared at the thing in his shaking hand while his mind slowly cleared.

"What does it say?" she asked after a long moment.

"Low energy output. No signal," he answered, not raising his head. He was appalled and embarrassed by his uncontrolled reaction to her.
"It’s not working in here."

"Good," she said with such bitter emphasis that he jerked his head up to look at her. She was touching her temples, her lips in a grim line. A
moment later, the net slithered into her hands.

"If you don’t like it…"

Her chin lifted and she stared at him with a mixture of defiance and despair. "I don’t have a choice."

"But…other telenetics don’t wear those. Why would—?"

"Declan," she interrupted with a pained expression, chin dropping as she glanced at the thing dangling from her fingers. After a brief
hesitation, she continued, "May I still call you Declan?"