Dangerous Lines of Thought

It was another pain-in-the-ass duo mission. I boarded the jumpship in the hangar, my only luggage the silver case containing my psysuit. Jericho was diligent (one of his few redeeming qualities), so he would have taken care of the rest of our provisions. The interior was spotless and sterile, all smooth metal and glass displays. But past the fading smell of cleaning solution, I could pick up the sandalwood which marked his presence.

I followed it through the narrow corridors to the cockpit. He was already strapped into the pilot's seat, looking out through the air seal into the expanse of void. Innumerable pinpoints of light shone in the distance, reflected in his dark eyes. He wasn't the type to strap in until it was time to go, and it irked me that he'd been able to guess so precisely when I'd be arriving. But as I placed my case in a nearby storage compartment, I knew it irked him that, let alone help with supplies, I hadn't even bothered to check the manifest.

He confirmed this with a rude comment delivered at my back: "Still a passenger princess to the bone, eh? Aren't worried we'll need to eat grayfood 'cause I forgot to pack rations?" I could sense he was annoyed, though that was his usual state of being when the two of us were in the same room.

I secured the compartment, then made my way to the copilot's seat beside him. I could have told him that I knew he'd never make a mistake like that. He never had. Instead I told him, "Material concerns are beneath me." I could sense his vexation deepen, and a slight smile crossed my features. I relished the unfair advantage my powers gave me in our verbal sparring.

I pulled the harness across my chest, discreetly maneuvering it around my prodigious assets to avoid emphasizing them too much. This was more out of habit than necessity. Another of Jericho's few redeeming qualities was that he didn't leer at me like the other soldiers.

He'd given me a sarcastic, "Sure," before checking the panels in front of him. This close, the smell of sandalwood was stronger, just short of pungent. It was a lovely, heady scent that I would have enjoyed if it wasn't attached to him. Instead it made my nose wrinkle as I appraised him. He was wearing the mission uniform of the company's soldiers: dark gray pants with a matching jacket worn under a flak vest. His bore the insignia of a Technical Sergeant. His collar was zipped down to the vest, revealing a plain white shirt and the corded muscles of his neck.

He flexed them to turn to me, interrupting my inspection. Many of the soldiers liked to make lewd comments when they caught me in my habit of examining them. 'Like what you see?' was a common one. But Jericho had a different reaction: "Everything down to my laces are according to regs, princess. Ready to go?"

I wanted to tell him that's not why I'd been looking at him--people were interesting. But correcting small misunderstandings wasn't going to change how he felt about me. Not that I cared anyway. I nodded and looked out into the black.

He turned to the controls, though he addressed them instead of operating them. "Andy, ready check. Mission E2JC554. You've got our destination." He spoke with cool confidence when addressing the construct. I could sense a feeling of familiarity, an indication that he was more comfortable speaking with a machine than with me.

[Acknowledged, Sergeant Hart. I have downloaded a partition into the jumpship. There is a backup partition in the air gapped storage. You are cleared for departure. Stay safe, and best of luck.]

Jericho thanked the construct, as he did every time, though the gesture never sat right with me. I, for one, was not comfortable speaking with the construct. It was a similar experience as speaking over a link. I felt lost in a conversation when I couldn't sense what the other party was feeling, and it didn't help that constructs were among the few entities that were smarter than me.

There was a gentle lurch as the jumpship's propulsion took it off the floor of the hanger. It hung before the air seal for a few moments, the landing gear retracting as the construct performed the last safety checks before our departure. Then we were out. We turned and rapidly gained speed once we were in vacuum, though now that the inertial dampeners were active, our acceleration was only apparent thanks to the movement of the battleship we'd departed from across the front window. And once we'd gone past it, there was nothing to see but distant specks of light.

It would be about fifteen minutes before we were far enough from this system's star to jump. It occurred to me that I had no idea how long it would take us to reach the destination system, so I looked to Jericho and asked, "Where are we going?"

He turned to me with a tired look. I could sense exasperation, though he was by no means surprised by the question. Nevertheless, he replied, "What is it with you? Sure, I'll get the gear, prep the ship, write the reports since you're too lazy. But you can't even read the briefing? They sent us that shit last week."

I was indignant at his accusation of laziness on my part, more because he was the one making it than because it wasn't true. Still, why draw the line at reading the report? I worried that asking him would only prolong his lecture, so I said, "You knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to a mission with me."

"Uh-huh. You've always been crystal clear about what you think is worth your time," he said. I could sense his abiding frustration with me. He was the only one who ever called me out like this. Even when the others were annoyed, they all let it slide because I was too valuable. Not Jericho. He continued, "Why the hell do I keep getting paired with you for these?"

[Sergeant Hart and Specialist Wynn experience a significant increase in operational efficiency when working together. 41% above average performance for Sergeant Hart, 57% for Specialist Wynn.]

"Shut the fuck up, Andy," Jericho replied to the construct. Despite the rudeness of his response, I could sense Jericho's amusement at the message. His lips curving into a smirk, he said to me, "Your 'increase' is a lot higher than mine. You got something to prove to me?"

His sudden bout of smugness rankled me, but I didn't have a reply. Why did our operational efficiency go up so much when we worked together? And why did mine go up more than his? I didn't want to think about it, and sensing a losing argument, I changed the subject: "Are you going to tell me where we're going or not?"

His smugness was diminished by the returning annoyance, and his smirk faded back into glowering. Even so, he relented. "Alright, princess. It's a bit shy of 85 lightyears away, so we've got about ten hours to kill. The site's an old Galvani research station. Nothing special for this one: we go in, secure it for salvage, head home."

Those were standard operational parameters. The company specialized in salvage, which consisted of three parts: discovering salvage sites, securing salvage sites, then salvaging the sites. Jericho and I were part of the team that handled the second task. Two-man teams were unusual, but Galvani ruins tended to have very little protection beyond psionic wards. I could easily guard myself and Jericho from them, but adding more people to the equation made it more likely one of them would be affected. With Jericho taking care of everything else that went into securing a site, a two-man team would be the most safe and efficient for this mission.

That left us with about thirteen minutes until jump. We were required to stay strapped in until we hit FTL, and the seats in the cockpit were comfortable enough that it wasn't unusual for me to nap. Sometimes so long that the construct would wake me up to tell me it was time to change. But I never did that with Jericho; the idea of him watching me sleep made me uncomfortable. So instead I stared out the window, making my own constellations out of the unfamiliar stars.

Jericho disappointed my expectations of a quiet thirteen minutes. His annoyance had faded into discomfort--he was one of those people who didn't like it if he wasn't having a conversation when he was alone in a room with someone. Even if he didn't like that someone. So it wasn't too surprising when he said, "You finally cut your hair."

I had. My golden hair, which had once reached down to my waist, now stopped at my shoulders. Jericho had not been the only one telling me to cut it, although he was the main reason I hadn't. But after what had happened on the last mission, I hadn't had much of a choice. Not that I was about to thank him for his unsolicited advice. I kept looking out the window, deigning to reply, "Yep."

Was he about to rub how right he'd been since we'd first met in my face? He got along well with the other soldiers, so they'd definitely told him what had happened. I imagined him laughing at the story, relishing the results of my stubbornness, stubbornness which caused him no end of grief. I clenched the armrest of the chair on the side he couldn't see, nails digging into the synthetic leather.

But I didn't sense a resurgence of smugness, nor any glee, nor even satisfaction at his advice finally being followed. Why the hell was he nervous? He was never nervous. After realizing a 'yep' was all he was getting out of me, he said, "It looks good."

That got my attention. I turned to look at him and was met with a neutral expression. I'd seen it often; he wore it when we were taking breaks from spitting venom at each other. Usually because we were discussing something mission-related. It was weird, and so was what he'd said. Jericho never commented on my appearance like that. All I could think to reply was, "I don't need you to tell me that. I know I look good. My hair looked good when it was long, too."

And now he was back to being annoyed. What had he expected me to say? He tilted his head to the side at that, his brows furrowing and eyes narrowing as his face got ready for battle with me. Once it was set in something like a scowl, he said, "Right. We both know you're the most good-looking empath in the galaxy."

That was how I was used to him complimenting me. Sarcastically. He'd gotten me worked up again. He was always asking me what my problem was, but what was his problem? I was perfectly happy to look out the window until I could leave him to his devices in the cockpit, so why was he bothering me and then getting mad about it? I replied, "What, are you disappointed you can't lecture me about cutting my hair anymore? I'm surprised you haven't said 'I told you so' yet."

"Do you want me to?" he demanded, turning up his hands. "Okay, sure. Having hair like that in our line of work was fucking stupid, and I'm amazed it took that long for an accident to happen. You're lucky Barnes has such great reflexes." He was openly glaring at this point, and I could sense the depths of his disdain. He wasn't even done. "Did you even thank him when he saved you from getting scalped? Or did you make him feel like an asshole for daring to cut your oh-so-gorgeous hair?"

I knew he was only asking because he already knew the answer, and I was incensed. I leaned towards him with my knuckles white on the armrest. I blurted out, "I would have been more grateful if he hadn't taken the opportunity to grope me."

His eyebrows shot up, the fierce expression unfurling into shock. It hadn't occurred to him that there was more to the story than Barnes (or whoever else who'd been there that told him) had said. He sank back into his chair, returning to his neutral look. He looked away, out his side of the window. Just when I thought he wasn't going to say anything else, he mumbled, "Sorry."

I didn't bother to reply. I looked away as well, going back to staring at space. I didn't want him to see my cheeks burning if he turned back around. I wished that I hadn't said that, even if it had turned out to be the easiest way to end the conversation. Getting felt up in that situation had been humiliating enough, and now Jericho of all people knew about it. More than anything, I wanted to go to the crew quarters. But the construct would literally stop the ship if I got out of my chair. So we sat there for the next ten minutes in silence.

Jericho was even more uncomfortable than he'd been in the first stretch of silence, but he didn't try to break it again. He was a roil of emotion. He was ashamed of what he'd said, disappointed in himself, angry at whoever had told him about what had happened. And there were infuriating splotches of pity that must have been directed at me.

I didn't need Jericho's pity, and I didn't need him wallowing in his sorrow at having upset me. He'd never cared about upsetting me before. What was so different about this? I retreated into my own mind so that I wouldn't have to sense him, though the silence somehow became more suffocating once I was no longer certain what Jericho was feeling. Eventually, it was interrupted.

[Jump imminent. Estimated time of arrival at destination system is ten hours, five minutes, thirty-three seconds from now. Be prepared to return to your assigned seats no fewer than five minutes before jump completion, or sooner in case of emergency.]

Humans were not capable of understanding the technology behind FTL travel, which had been invented by early constructs once they'd achieved singularity. In this line of work, jumps were a regular occurrence. Still, I always admired the beautiful effect of the stars streaking like raindrops running down a window as we accelerated. And then, they were replaced by a bright blue glow.

[Jump achieved. The Fafnir is now out of communications range. All systems are operating within accepted parameters, and jump stability is close to ideal. You may exit your assigned seats.]

I resisted the urge to bolt as soon as the message finished. With measured deliberation, I undid the harness. Then I stood and made for the door at a reasonable pace. I sped up when I heard it close behind me, my speed limited only by the confinements of the corridors.

The jumpship was a nicer model designed for two, with private rooms instead of the communal space common to jumpships. It was one of the perks of being seasoned enough to be assigned on a duo-mission. I went to the room farther from the cockpit.

It was relatively simple, barely big enough to fit the two pieces of furniture. Storage compartments lined the bottom of the bed and hung over the desk, and the only place with space to stand was the limited open floor space. A door led to a small bathroom with a walk-in shower. It was more than enough, especially for a ten-hour journey.

I reached around my back to unhook my bra, sighing in satisfaction as my constrained breasts 'whumped' out under my loose t-shirt. I didn't even take the shirt off, instead sliding the bra straps down my arms before pulling it out from the front. My sneakers were next to go. I used my limited telekinesis to pull the laces, stepping out of them once they were undone. I slid my sweatpants down and off as I flopped into the bed. Lastly, I brought my knees up to my chest one at a time to remove my socks.

Sufficiently undressed, I found my way under the sheets and blanket. They were soft cotton, another privilege of the duo jumpship. The construct had dimmed the lights by this point, so I closed my eyes and rested my head on the pillow. It had only been about a minute since I'd left the cockpit, so I was still on edge from whatever the hell that had been. But I didn't want to think about it, so I imposed a thought-pattern on myself that put me to sleep.

The lights came back on to rouse me some time later. I felt well-rested, if a bit groggy, and I sat up and saw that one of the walls was displaying a countdown to exiting the jump. I had about twenty-five minutes, so twenty before I needed to be back in my seat. I pulled back the blanket and put my feet down on the soft carpet of the floor. A sudden realization dispelled the last vestiges of drowsiness from me.

I'd forgotten my psysuit in the cockpit. I cursed, quickly grabbing my pants and slipping them back on. I considered going for my socks and shoes, but decided against it. I'd have to take them back off when I showered anyway, and it's not like I cared what Jericho thought about me wandering the ship barefoot. He already thought I was a lazy slob.

I also considered asking the construct where Jericho was, but it didn't matter. I had to get the psysuit whether Jericho was in the cockpit or not. I took a deep breath and opened the door, ready to march through the halls. I was already bracing for whatever snide comment he would make when he saw me.

I was taken-aback to see the silver case secured to the wall across from my room. I looked down the hall, but could only see the other doors and the bend in the corridor. As I retrieved it, my first thought was that the construct had brought it for me. But I dispelled that notion; the jumpship wasn't equipped with any appendages or forms it could use to interact with the environment. That left only one possibility for how it had gotten here.

As the door to my room shut, me safely inside with my psysuit, I was somehow angrier at Jericho than if I'd had to go and retrieve it while he watched, had to listen to his rude remarks. The act of leaving it for me to find felt like a taunt. 'Can't even keep track of the only thing you brought to the ship?' I could imagine him asking.

I practically tore off the rest of my clothing, hurling it onto the bed before heading into the bathroom. The shower sprung to life as I entered, the quickly-billowing steam indicating that it was already at my ideal temperature. I slammed the glass door behind me as I stepped inside, growling when the impact caused it to pop back open. I closed it more gently the second time. But before I could try to enjoy my hot shower--

[Specialist Wynn, I am detecting signs of extreme agitation in your behavior and vitals. Is everything alright?]

The construct knew I didn't like talking to it, so things must have been really bad if it addressed me despite that. I hated when it tried to treat me like this. It made me feel like a child being consoled by an adult. But I wasn't a child, and the construct wasn't even human. "Why don't you use that big brain of yours to figure it out?"

[You seem to have misunderstood Sergeant Hart's motivation for bringing your psysuit to your room.]

'Misunderstood'. Yeah, right. I misunderstood why the man who never missed a chance to mock me had gone out of his way to bring my most important possession, which I had forgotten with him, to my room. I knew the construct wasn't that stupid. It made me even more angry that it thought I was. "Oh? Then why don't you elucidate for me, oh so great and powerful construct? My human brain is too slow to keep up with your powers of deduction."

[You are aware that Sergeant Hart would prefer to ridicule you to your face. Thus, he would have waited in the cockpit for you to come retrieve the psysuit if that was his intention. As for why he brought it to your room at all: Sergeant Hart was contrite following his misunderstanding in your previous conversation. Bringing your suit to your room was an act of repentance and reconciliation.]

The double-blow of logic gave me pause. It was true that that asshole would rather mock me where he could see my reaction, and that had been exactly what I'd been expecting when I'd realized I'd forgotten the suit. It was also true that I had never seen Jericho feel bad about something he'd said to me. Then the construct finished with a haymaker:

[Your inability to see this was not a result of a lack of deductive ability on your part. It was a result of a lack of willingness to use it.]