No Such Thing (2 page)

Bags, who was only ten years Declan’s senior and considered himself a dedicated love machine, gave the younger man a hostile look over his shoulder.
"Go bugger y’self."

Declan snickered, but refused to be sidetracked from his curiosity. "Why did the Institute send out a trainee?"

Bags’ hands became surprisingly fluid as he ran them over a control panel, making minute adjustments to the engine’s specifications.
"Beats me. Figured the Commander’d be steamed to get a greenie, but he didn’t look it. Wouldn’t wanna be in his shoes, though,
handlin’ that little ice nebula."

"But the
Odyssey
is the flagship of the fleet."

Bags gave him a disgusted look. "Thanks for the update, kid."

"I mean…Commander Task would want the best the Institute could send, right? This is no ship for a trainee. We need a telenetic who won’t
drop the ball and get us all killed."

Bags shrugged. "No sense worryin’ about somethin’ you can’t change. How’d the reroute go?"

"Crappy as ever," Declan muttered, still mulling over the new arrival. "Maybe she’s just filling in until we get somebody more
experienced. I heard they’re getting spread pretty thin these days."

Bags snorted. "Don’t need no netters struttin’ our decks like they own her. We got on just fine last couple months without any a’
those snooty bastards."

"That’s just because we haven’t been in the heat of it. But we’re headed for Mirabella where fighting’s thickest." He
paused, watching the fluid, golden light of the proton stream ripple out over the cavernous room below. The thought of going into real battle was as
intriguing as it was terrifying. He wondered what would be asked of him. He wondered if he would fail. He was the youngest person to ever be accepted on
the crew of the
Odyssey,
the majestic supership of the fleet. His aptitude for all things mechanical had been his ticket onto the ship, but what
did he know about war? And if he’d never seen real battle, how could a telenetic who was even younger be experienced enough to protect and defend
them?

Trying to distract himself from his increasing anxiety, he asked, "So what does she look like?"

"Like they all look, pampered and primpy and nose so high in the air she was knockin’ holes in the ceiling." Bags turned to lean against
the wall, a brooding look on his rough features as he stared into the proton streams. "Weird thing, though. She was wearin’ this hair net that
was more’n just a frilly."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it was sparkly enough, but I’m a sarkin’ engineer—I know hardware when I see it. No band with a focus crystal like they
wear, neither."

"What kind of hardware?"

Bags rubbed his cheek thoughtfully, his blunt fingers making a rasping sound as they passed over stubbled skin. "Dunno. Hafta get a closer
eyeball."

Declan made a frustrated sound in his throat. "What kind of telenetic goes out in the field without a focus band?"

Bags shrugged, turning to watch the displays with a critical eye. "That reroute good enough to go on line?"

Sighing, Declan hefted his tool case and headed back for the shaft. "Let me just clean it up. I’ll holler when it’s clear."

Bags grunted in reply, and with a grim clench of his jaw, Declan shoved his case ahead of him into the service shaft. If only he could trust the autobots
with this kind of job, but Bags and he were alike in that respect—never trust a bot to do what could be done with his own hand. That way he knew it
was done right. Shimmying into the shaft, he elbow-crawled toward the offending service panel, thoughts still fixed on the arriving telenetic.

Bags hadn’t really answered his question and curiosity was eating at him. He’d never seen a telenetic in person. Did they really look like
they did on the newsblips—remote, mysterious, and beautiful? He knew their beauty was due more to their rarity than physical loveliness, but a plain
face didn’t lessen their impact. They all seemed to move with a suggestion of power, an aura of energy and confidence that was magnetic.

Fumbling with the panel cover, Declan focused on the one piece of information that he’d purposefully ignored while he was with Bags.
A girl.
They wouldn’t have sent a child, so she had to be close to his age. His heart did a queer little sidestep in his chest at the thought. Being accepted
on board as crew of the
Odyssey
might be an amazing boost for his career, but all the women on board treated him like their long-lost kid brother.
He’d been working half-heartedly on a crush for one of the gunners, but the idea of a female telenetic his age made him dry-mouthed with adolescent
anticipation.

Stupid,
he thought savagely as he wrestled the panel out of his way and stared at the tangle of connecting filaments. As if a telenetic would look twice at a grunt
like him.
Only if she was scrapping me off her shoe,
he thought with an inner snort, remembering what Bags had said about her being an ice nebula.
Well, he could fantasize all he liked, but he wasn’t likely to even catch a glimpse of her, let alone meet her on a ship this size.

With a sigh, he reached into the case for his splicer. Time to get back to reality.

*******

Ryelle watched her new commander pace and wondered if he was working off excess energy or if he was nervous. It wouldn’t be the first time
she’d made someone nervous, but this man had a reputation for steel nerve and stone resolve. The Fleet would put no less a person in command of their
best ship.

She wouldn’t ask the reason for his restlessness, though. Or his silence. It wasn’t polite and she was too tired, weary to the bone. The trip,
plus facing the crew, had been utterly draining. They’d stared at her with that peculiar combination of awe and revulsion that telenetics seemed to
produce in normals. It had been a long time since she’d had to endure so many curious eyes. Perhaps never—she was used to peaceful solitude at
the Institute and the crew unsettled her to her soul.

So while her new boss paced, she eased back in her chair and tried to rest. He didn’t make it easy. His restless movements and his aura of powerful
command kept snagging her attention. He had a wiry, rangy form with long, spare features, his receding sandy hair cut short while still managing to rebel
in a cowlick at the back of his head. His entire long form seemed to vibrate with energy, but every move he made was deliberate and measured, as though
experience had taught him caution or control.

Without warning, his stride turned into a slow stroll to the seat across from her. He settled into the cushions, his light blue eyes spearing her with keen
regard. "Please forgive my rudeness," he said in an unexpectedly melodious voice. "The Institute explained that you were young and
inexperienced, but they insisted that you were the right choice for the
Odyssey.
Seeing you, though, I’m afraid I have doubts."

Jaded weariness pressed on her like a collapsing mountain, but she gave no sign of her despair. She was too well trained to show any weakness. "I
understand, Commander. At seventeen, I must seem a child to your eyes. But the Institute would not send me to you if they were not completely confident of
my telenetic ability."

"Yes," the commander said, studying her with a curious, seemingly fearless gaze. "They did mention you were something of a wonder. They
used lots of technical terms, but I’m just a soldier. Could you explain why your abilities are so special?"

An interview,
she thought with a fretful sort of distress. They had warned her to expect skepticism, but she had hoped for a little solitude and time to recover her
equilibrium before she had to explain herself. Before she had to prove herself worthy.

Schooling her expression and voice to serenity, she said, "Certainly, Commander. You know that telenetics are able to affect their physical
surroundings with just the power of their minds. This ability varies in strength, though the discovery of the enhancing properties of crystalline matrices
has greatly helped to focus and strengthen a telenetic’s talent. On the Rosch Scale, a level one telenetic could become a two or even a three with
the proper crystal focus."

The commander nodded with grave encouragement, his attention riveted unwaveringly upon her even though what she’d said was common knowledge. She
liked him for that, for his patience and courtesy.

"I can’t use crystals," she said. "I burn them out."

A frown tightened his brow before his expression smoothed again. "You burn them?" he prompted in a neutral tone.

"The Rosch Scale goes from one to five, five being the most powerful telenetic. We only have three of those currently working for the Institute.
I’m off the scale. They haven’t been able to rate my abilities, but if you were to put me on a scale, I’m guessing I’d be somewhere
in the neighborhood of fifty."

His eyes widened, and he blinked at her several times before he coughed lightly into his fist. "I see."

"You don’t believe me," she said, unable to control the flat weariness of her tone.

"They said you were very powerful. They didn’t go into detail."

She very much doubted the truth of that statement but contained her cynicism carefully. Looking past his shoulder at the blank wall, she said, "A
telenetic’s ability is nurtured and honed to the pinnacle of their talent. They are accepted into the Institute as children and most of their
lifelong training is based on increasing and strengthening their talent. That’s not my problem. All of my life, I’ve worked to contain my
ability. This," she reached up and touched the intricate snood confining her dark hair, "is not to help me focus and expand my talent.
It’s my leash."

The muscles in his cheeks twitched at the bitterness in her voice, but his eyes remained steady. "What does it do?"

She pressed her lips together, angry with herself for letting so much of her emotions slip out. Being tired was no excuse. But she’d already
begun—no sense lying to him now. The Institute had told her to obey him as she would them, so she would answer. With fierce control, she said in an
even voice, "It’s a pain inducer. It’s activated by any use of my abilities. It also records everything I do and say. My handlers like to
keep a close watch on me. I’m…something new."
Something to be feared.
But she didn’t say that part aloud.

A solid line appeared between his brows. "They cause you pain if you use your talent?"

There was outrage in his tone, but she answered him as she would have a member of the Institute. "Only unauthorized use of my abilities. When I have
proper authorization, I may remove the net and perform my duties."

His lips appeared pinched and a white line formed from his nostrils to his mouth. Ryelle studied him curiously, wondering what emotion caused such a change
in his demeanor. Maybe he wasn’t pleased that the Institute recorded everything, since that would mean they would have an unprecedented knowledge of
his actions.

"I assume," he said with a bite in his tone, "that I can authorize removal of that thing."

"Of course," she said with some surprise. "You are my commander. As long as I am on this ship, I report directly to you and follow all
your orders unless they contradict Institute law regarding telenetics."

"Take it off, then," he said with such revulsion that she blinked, taken aback.

Eyeing him warily, she reached up and touched the release pads at each temple. When she felt the loosening of the net, she slid it from her head and draped
it over the arm of her chair.

"Is it possible for you to leave it off?" he asked, surprising her again.

"My handlers would not approve," she said softly, weaving her fingers together in her lap. "If you are concerned for your privacy,
I’m sure they will allow me to remove it whenever I am in your presence."

"Privacy," he spat, as if she’d said a dirty word.

Tension spiraled up her spine. How had she offended him?

Rising, he began to pace again, his hands fisted in the small of his back. This time, his movements held the controlled power of a hunting animal. As he
paced, he addressed her formally without looking at her, "Mims Soliere, I have had many dealings with the Institute. Never before have I had cause to
consider them barbaric or sadistic. Putting a pain inducer on a child is not something I can accept."

Ryelle opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to think of a thing to say. He was concerned for her. She had just told him how dangerous she was
and instead of reacting with fear or revulsion, he’d shown concern for her well being. It was so astonishing that she felt a wave of dizziness wash
over her. She pressed her feet against the floor, pushing her back into the chair to steady herself. It had been so long since anyone had treated her like
this. So long…

She closed her eyes against the well of grief that surged through her. "Sir," she started to say then had to clear the unsettling rasp from her
throat. "Sir, if it’s any consolation, I haven’t experienced pain in quite some time. I have very good control."

He was suddenly in front of her, his light blue gaze pinning her in place. "Then why haven’t they stopped putting it on you?"

She swallowed, taking a slow, steady breath before answering, "Because they need to be sure that I can control myself in the field, too."

He made a harsh noise in his throat, his head lifting and nostrils flaring like an animal scenting prey. But he took a deliberate step back and settled
into his seat again, his expression turning wry. "That scared of you, are they?"

She didn’t want to say it. This was the first person to show her real human kindness since her mother. She didn’t want to alienate him, but he
needed to know what he was up against. "You should be scared of me, too, Commander Task. If I lost control or if I went rogue, no one could stop
me."

Instead of looking wary or nervous, he raised a mild eyebrow. "Having any destructive thoughts about my ship?"

A frown creased her brow. "No, of course not."