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Imee pushed open the door to her stateroom, which was one of the few benefits of being an officer on a small corvette like the Hunting Cry. She still had to share, but the officers’ rooms afforded to pilots had considerably more space than what was allocated for enlisted troops like the rangers. Even better, she had her own bathroom and shower. Or at least one she shared with her roommate.
She tossed her bag onto the top bunk and pulled out her drawer. The few civilian clothes she had were tucked in the back corner, and she could practically carry them all in a pillowcase and still have room for the pillow. The thought made her glance at the rainbow-colored bed set that adorned her roommate’s bunk. Akomi Nikao used the most garish personal sheets she could find, rather than using the plain white ones provided by the fleet. According to her, it meant her sheets always came back from the laundry, and she never had to think about getting someone else’s by mistake.
The washroom door opened behind her. "You’re slamming stuff around. That's never a good sign." Akomi padded across the floor in bare feet, her hair pulled back into a short ponytail that jutted off the back of her skull. After casting a longing glance at her brightly colored bunk, she flopped down in the single desk chair and crossed her ankles. "Want to tell me what's going on?"
"Not especially." Imee tugged her flight suit out of the ditty bag, began yanking the patches off their hook and eye, and tossed them in the drawer. "You going to keep asking?"
"It's like you know me." Her roommate smiled and spread her arms wide. "You might as well tell me, because I'm just going to keep being annoying."
"Too late.” She grinned and shook her head. Akomi was one of the few people she’d consider a friend in the competitive world of pilots. After massaging her forehead, she said, “It's an undercover mission." At the end of the day, that summed up all her problems in as few words as possible. She folded her denuded flight suit back up and stuffed it in the ditty bag. Her civilian clothes went in on top.
Akomi rolled her eyes. "So, which offends you more? The ship they're making you fly? Or the crew you're having to fly it with?"
"Yes?" She looked back at the drawer, unsurprised that Akomi could get to the heart of the matter so easily. It was practically a superpower. What else did belt miners wear? What would sell the lie if someone boarded the ship? The only piece of jewelry she had was the necklace her parents had given her when she’d completed officer school, and she was hesitant to put it on. Besides, she needed to come off as desperate enough to head into a ring. "They stuck me with Grenville."
“Good-time Grenville? The cute Ranger whose life you saved?” Akomi knew the story well. “The one you’re always flirting with?"
Imee's cheeks burned, and she studiously remained facing away rather than risk Akomi jumping to conclusions. "We aren’t flirting. He tells lousy jokes, and I indulge him."
Akomi snorted. "Keep telling yourself that. Also, I note you didn’t debate his being cute.”
"His looks don’t figure into it. It’s a covert operation." Three weeks was a long time to be trapped in the presence of temptation. She’d made worse ideas in shorter times—like Arnulf. “Try and be professional for once.”
"You know what they say," Akomi said with a grin. "Two people go into deep space. One couple comes back."
"I'm trying not to think about it," she lied. If she were being honest with herself, Grenville was exactly the sort of man who ignited her afterburners. And that was the problem—he was the same as her former fiancé. Arnulf had the same joie de vivre, the same wiry build. The same desire to be the TriSystems’ equivalent of Casanova.
Imee gritted her teeth and shoved the rest of her civvies into the ditty bag. Thinking about Arnulf and his inability to be faithful for even a month made her want to hit something. The embarrassment, the helplessness of the feeling, twisted in her gut like a blade. Even barring a possible court-martial for fraternization, that memory was enough to keep Grenville decidedly off-limits.
Far safer to keep her mind on ships. A spaceship only broke your heart if you mistreated her first.
“He looks like he knows his way around, if you catch my meaning.” She could actually hear Akomi’s smile.
“I do, and that’s the problem. I’m not interested in being a tally on someone’s scorecard.” She grabbed her personal tool kit out of the corner and threw the strap over her shoulder before hefting her ditty bag.
"I'm just saying... In space no one can hear you cream.”
"Oh my God! You're horrible." Imee buried her face in her pillow to smother laughter and hide her eyes.
"I may be," Akomi said. "But when you get back, you have to share the details."
"It's a classified mission. I can't share them."
"You know what I mean. I don’t want what’s classified, just what you do under covers. Or on top of them. And don't think you can hide it from me, because you know that I will know."
That much was certainly true. And all the more reason why this mission was so dangerous. "There won't be any details to share.”
Perhaps if she said the words enough, they would act like a magic spell. Or a prayer against temptation. She’d accept either.