Kira suppressed a grimace that all commanding officers could sense no matter how minor. It was in their skill set, and thus Kira’s face was a marvel of neutrality. Not only was she going to lose the duty-free shift she’d bargained for, but now she was going to be stuck babysitting some civvy for who knew how long. A hint of her displeasure must have leaked into her expression, because Densmore gave her a narrow-eyed look.
“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”
“No—” Kira began, then stopped, because there were moments, rare but important, where being wholly honest with a superior officer was the best course of action.
“Actually, ma’am, there is. I’ve been aboard this ship for almost three years now, and you’ve consistently rated me above grade that entire time. I’ve never been late for duty. More often than not, I’ve stayed on duty past the end of my shift to help with some damned thing or another. I—”
“Am getting burned out,” Densmore said. “Is that where this is going, Lieutenant?”
Kira gave a slow nod of grudging admission, realizing who she was speaking to. “Actually, ma’am, I think that is part of it.” She shook her head. “No, that’s actually all of it, really. I just need some time to recharge. I’m roasted, and not in a good way. My judgement is—it’s not bad, but it’s not what it should be, and you deserve my best.”
“And you want to try to meet up with Lieutenant Stellers?”
This time, Kira avoided a scowl. It really wasn’t any of Densmore’s—or anyone else’s—business, what she got up to during her personal time off. But her relationship with Thorn was no secret to Densmore; in fact, she probably knew as much about their relationship as anyone. So Kira finally shrugged.
“If I can track him down, yes. I haven’t seen him in—” She paused, thinking. It had to be at least six months, a brief cross-over of their paths at Code Catapult, an ON’s FOB—forward operating base. The Hecate and the Stiletto had both docked there for resupply, giving them almost two full days together. There’d been no time together since.
“About six months,” Densmore said, offering Kira a thin smile. “You met him at Code Catapult.”
Kira smiled back. “You certainly know your crew, ma’am.”
“I know everything, Wixcombe,” Densmore said, her smile taking on a more predatory edge. But she immediately relented into something more like actual good humor. “Which means I also knew you’d finagled this duty shift as time off.”
Kira blinked. “Wait. You knew that, and you assigned me duty anyway, debriefing this civilian—”
“When you’re aboard this ship, your time is my time, Lieutenant Wixcombe.”
“Yes, of course, ma’am, but—” Kira let the complaint die of natural causes. She really didn’t want to get into this.
But Densmore let herself grin, if only just. It was a look of understanding, forged over years of dealing with the machinations of junior officers and their complex lives. “You wanted the time to try and contact Stellers, because you’ve been trying ever since the Vision of Nebo, but he hasn’t been reachable.”
“You know, ma’am, I appreciate that you’re the Captain and all, but I think your crew—and especially your officers—are entitled to some privacy.”
Densmore held up a hand. “No, I haven’t been eavesdropping or spying.”
This time, Kira forced herself to maintain her composure, while quietly reinforcing the shield she’d erected around her thoughts. Her captivity by the Nyctus had shown her that, when it came to locking down her own mind, there was almost no one who could enter that space without her permission. Thorn was the only exception. She’d done so ever since, partly out of sheer reflex, born of the trauma of that awful ordeal as a captive of the squids.
But a big part of it was Densmore herself. Kira and Thorn had come to suspect that Densmore might be in league with the Nyctus, which would be a massive problem for the ON. They’d shared their concerns with Captain Tanner of the Hecate, who’d offered to keep her aboard his ship, when Fleet began talking about assigning her to work for Densmore.
After some thought, she and Thorn had decided that putting her in close proximity to Densmore might be for the best. They didn’t have enough evidence to actually level any sort of accusation against her, so the best they could do was have her accept the posting to the Stiletto—with Tanner’s help—to keep an eye on the enigmatic woman.
And here she was. Three years had passed, and she’d found absolutely no evidence Densmore had any connection to the Nyctus at all. Kira had concluded they were wrong, Densmore wasn’t compromised—but she still kept her thoughts guarded. The woman finding out that Kira had been spying on her, to see if she was a spy, would at least lead to a tense, awkward conversation.
But Densmore had just made an explicit reference to spying. Did she know, or at least suspect something, after all?
All of this flashed through Kira’s mind in a moment, firmly behind her formidable mental shields. Densmore didn’t seem to notice, though, as she just kept on speaking.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of Stellers myself,” she said to Kira. “I have no doubt you have too, and I assume you’ve had no success either.”
“Yes, ma’am. Right after the Vision, I tried to contact him. I’ve tried several times since, but gotten nothing,” Kira said.
The Vision. That’s what the Starcasters had come to call the gut-wrenching event, when they’d all witnessed, firsthand, the destruction of Nebo by a Nyctus KEW bombardment in real-time, and from the perspective of a remarkable little girl. Kira still hadn’t begun to really process the implications of it, which hit her harder and more deeply than most. In fact, she’d been avoiding it, just keeping the horror of it in a part of her memory she could ignore.
For now. But not forever.
She needed to talk to Thorn.
The certainty of it, the absolute necessity to contact Thorn, made up her mind for her. “Ma’am, I’ve taken no leave in three years. Most of that time, I’ve been aboard this ship, doing what I think is some pretty damned good work for you.” Her body language was rigid with decisiveness. At a cool look from Densmore, she settled back, hands held still with an effort. “I want to take some leave now. I’ve earned it, and I’m entitled to it.”
Densmore gave that slightly predatory smile again. “The exigencies of service, Wixcombe. We’re at war, so, yes, you might have earned it, might be entitled to it, but I don’t have to approve it at all.”
“Ma’am—”
“But I will,” Densmore went on, her smile fading. “The fact is, you have done damned good work, and if I refuse this request for leave, I know what will happen—you’ll start doing your job, and nothing more.” She shook her head. “In the type of work we do, doing your job isn’t enough. I need you at the tip of the spear, not somewhere back along the shaft, just helping to push the tip along.” She glanced at the docking port; the panel beside it showed that the approaching shuttle had been captured by the auto-docking system and would be connected in just over a minute.