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“Captain? Ooooh, captain?”
Jace opened his eyes. Not started awake, not gasped awake, just opened his eyes and nothing more. He stared into the darkness of his quarters, his eyes already adjusted and mapping out the contours and edges of personal belongings: his desk, his touchscreen, case of music chips, case of movie chips, family photos in frames, friend photos taped to the wall, a poster of a werewolf on the left hand wall he bought because he thought it was cool, his electric guitar on the right in its stand by the closet (he took up learning guitar since it was easier than hauling around a set of drums) and a miniature model of an asp fighter hanging by string from the ceiling; because not all his memories concerning Asp missions were bad.
“Captain?”
Jace squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with the thumb and fingers of his right hand. So the call wasn't a dream. He had wanted it to be a dream, and not because that meant he would get a few extra minutes to sleep in. Well, yes, that included. The soul purpose was that he hadn't dreamed. No big deal; sometimes a person dreamed, sometimes he didn't. But he hadn't dreamed since they'd launched, even when he was past the point of needing a sleeping pill. Jace wasn't going to play head-shrink with himself and slap meaning to it. Mostly, it was just pissing him off. He liked his dreams. To sleep without dreams meant he wasn't sleeping how he was supposed to. More to the point, they were his, and he didn't like what was his being taken from him. Maybe it was a bit of a childish attitude, but since what happened to Alicia, he'd given in to having an overly possessive quirk.
Jace propped himself up with one hand and adjusted his long-sleeved knit shirt that had bunch all the way to his armpits. No dreams and a restless night – he was going to have to bum a hypo full of Aspirin from Morgan.
“Captain?” That was Al speaking.
Jace jumped, startled. He reached out to the wall by his bed and slapped the response switch on the com. “Yeah?”
“Sorry to wake you, sir, but we're receiving a hail from Dallas outpost.”
Jace rubbed the ache out of his face. “Already? I thought we were still a couple of hours out.”
“Three hours out, actually. They want confirmation that we are who we say we are.”
Normally an outpost got paranoid when a ship was two hours out. But considering where Dallas was positioned, he couldn't blame them, not entirely. Jace sighed and finally relented to hauling his body still begging for sleep from the nice, warm bed. He slipped his bare feet into his tennis shoes, then stood and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. Black sweatpants and a gray sweater weren't clothes to blush about being seen in. Neither was he going to be talking to anyone face to face over the viewscreen. Jace headed out of his room into the dimly lit corridor to the more lit bridge. Al was lounging back in her seat, hands clasped behind her head and one foot up on the console. A quick glance over her shoulder had her shifting into proper pilot sitting position.
“At ease,” Jace croaked. Lt. Blackfeather immediately slumped into her seat. Jace dropped into his chair, tapped in the codes to establish a secure feed, then followed it up with the I.D. code that would change the moment they touched down at Dallas OP. The response was immediate, and the code received translated into the go ahead for Black Dragon to proceed.
Jace stood and stretched until his vertebra popped. A glance at the digital clock on the chair's console told him that he only had about a half hour before he had to be up. No sense in going back to sleep since it usually took a half hour to nod off. Jace headed back to his room, slapping the panel to the lights. He shucked his clothes on the way to the shower with its stainless steel interior that was completely rust proof. He slapped the panel that started the water, the temperature at blue but slowly rising to luke-warm orange. Jace stepped in and brought the temperature back to blue, gasping when arctic water beat down on him. The shock slapped the last remnants of sleep from his brain, and he kept the cold hitting him until his skin prickled and he started shivering, then increased the temperature to warm.
He could already feel the start of a headache knotting at the back of his neck. He kept his head down to let the heated water focus on that area, warming the muscles for him to stretch and loosen. Then he washed up, and grabbed the towel off the bar before stepping out. He never left the bathroom until he was dry and remotely covered. Growing up with a sister had instilled a sense of cautionary modesty in him. No one wanted to accidentally see a sibling naked, plus Alicia had had quite a few immature friends.
Jace dressed in boxers, military cargo pants, and a black shirt, then threw on his black jacket and headed out to the kitchen. He jerked to a sudden stop on seeing Chris at the table dressed in red sweats, a T-shirt with Garfield the cat on it, and a dark blue robe. It wasn't so much the shock of witnessing her in pajamas, but the shock that he'd gotten up in time to see her in pajamas, eating a bowl of cereal. She looked up at him with a gaze that dared him to say something and promising unpleasantness if he did.
Jace didn't say anything. He went to the cupboards, grabbing a pan, then the fridge taking out two eggs and two slices of bacon. He let the pan heat up before cracking the eggs then adding the bacon.
“I'm not military,” Chris said. “If I want to pad around in my slippers in the early hours, you can't order me not to.”
Jace peered over his shoulder at Christina's feet clad in fuzzy purple slippers, one ankle crossed over the other. He returned his attention back to the pan to hide his smile. “I used to have bunny slippers.”
“Bull,” Chris spat.
“No, really. Bugs Bunny. In fact I still have them. Mostly for sentimental reasons. Kind of useless with that big hole they have in the bottom.” He grabbed a plate from another cupboard to dish up the eggs – white on the outside but a little runny on the inside just the way he liked them. He then added the bacon when it was crisp enough. He set the plate on the table across from Chris, then went back to the cupboards grabbing a bowl and a box of cereal. The milk was already out, along with the orange juice. He poured himself a glass of juice, then sat down with fork in hand to start digging in. He was halfway through the eggs when he felt Chris' gaze drilling holes in his head. He looked up at her bewildered expression.
His response to it was a sheepish shrug. “Didn't sleep good,” he said. “When I don't sleep good, I need high protein foods or I lag. And I really like cereal.” He quickly averted his gaze. Jace was of the breed of tall, skinny males that could pack away food without gaining an ounce. Women despised that breed. Jace had dated a woman who had broken up with him because she thought he'd been harboring some dietary secret. Jace thought she'd been kidding when she said he could probably make millions if he'd just spill that secret for the rest of the world to know. Jace hadn't been broken up about the break up. That woman had been weird from the get-go.
Jace gave a surreptitious glance up at Chris. She had apparently lost interest in his eating habits, and had her chin cupped in her upturned hand as she regarded some inane spot on the table. Obviously she didn't care, which was a relief.
Jace had no secret, just a high metabolism and the occasional loss of appetite when he was too busy or stressed to acknowledge hunger. He had once survived a week on nothing but vitamin bars, nearly repeating the process the next week until Morgan had dragged him to the nearest restaurant. He kept the days he went without eating to himself since Morgan would have killed him. The most had been five days, when his squad was under duress, sent out on mission after mission to provide cover for escaping transports. Five days with only water and the occasional vitamin drink to give him a little energy boost. Even when it was all said and done, he hadn't noticed his hunger until after day five, nearly bleeding into day six when he'd walked into the mess hall and passed out just from smelling the food. The psychiatrists had had a field day with that. They had wanted to label him as anorexic, even assigned him a food monitor, all after the fact when he'd inhaled every meal he could get his hands on as soon as he was released from the hospital.
It wasn't psychological. Jace knew how to ignore his hunger was all, to the point of forgetting it even existed. His resentment toward shrinks was sealed the day they put into writing that he had a 'potential eating disorder'. The accusation had nearly grounded him for good.
Jace scraped up the last of his eggs with his bacon, then moved onto the cereal, finally adding the milk. The silence felt impolite, but Jace wasn't sure how to instigate a conversation with the technician. Truth be told, she made him kind of nervous. She was giving off too many strong vibes as the kind of person who would severely misinterpret anything he had to say. She could also be misinterpreting the silence even now.
“Glad to see you taking more consideration for your health, Quince.”
Morgan took long, swift strides into the kitchen, dressed in a plain blue-gray T-shirt and a pair of beige cargo pants. He was wearing Nike flip-flops. The man never could stand to have his feet enclosed. He grabbed the carton of eggs from the fridge and a bowl from the cupboard. Eggs still in the shell were no longer a luxury thanks to a special coating applied before shipping that allowed them to be frozen without the shell cracking. Morgan cracked five eggs into the bowl and whipped them into frothy, yellow liquid with the wire whisk.
Jace glared at the Jamaican's back. “Morgan.”
Morgan peered over his shoulder. “What?”
Jace jerked his head in Chris' direction. “Silencio on the eating.”
Morgan rolled his eyes, then gave Jace a heavy lidded look. “I was talking about you going for orange juice rather than a soda.”
“You drink soda for breakfast?” Chris said in disgust.
Jace just shrugged noncommittally while idly scratching the side of his neck in forced indifference. “I've never developed a taste for coffee. I compensate with a Coke.”
Morgan chuckled, shaking his head, and returning his focus back to the eggs. Chris inhaled an exasperated breath and stood to take her bowl to the sink. Matt and Izzy walked in just as Morgan poured the mixed eggs into the pan.
“Morning sir,” Izzy said, heading straight to the stove. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, looking at Morgan's handy work. “Omelet?”
“Just scrambled.”
Izzy clapped the taller man on the shoulder. “My friend, you are missing out.” He rummaged in the cupboard until he found the larger pan. “Hey Matt, you up with splitting an omelet? Tex-Mex style.”
Matt shrugged, taking a seat adjacent to Jace. “Sure.”
Izzy grabbed cheese and bell peppers from the fridge, then a can of mushrooms from one of the bottom cupboards. The eggs were already out. He grabbed a knife next, and sliced the peppers into almost perfect cubes with the skill of someone who knew how to cook and enjoyed it. He cracked eggs, grated cheese, opened the mushrooms, and threw it all together into the bowl, whipping it up and pouring it into the pan. It smelled great.
Jace pointed his spoon at the young pilot. “Jimenez, you're cooking tonight.”
Izzy tossed a grin over his shoulder. “No problem, sir.”
It had been a mostly a cook-your-own-meal affair, with the crew eating whenever they wanted. But Jace was getting tired of sandwiches and beef ravioli.
Jace was finished by the time the omelet was done. “We'll be arriving at Dallas soon,” he announced, standing to deposit his dishes in the sink. According to the roster, it was Morgan's day to handle the breakfast dishes. “About two hours. So be ready.”
He left the kitchen, heading to the bridge. He dropped into his chair, relieving Al to go grab some breakfast of her own. There wasn't much to do except wait, and he waited swiveling back and forth in his chair with his head tilted back. He'd forgotten to make mention of that Aspirin to Morgan. Maybe it wasn't a bad thing. Morgan would know the headache was spawned from bad sleep. He would suggest to start Jace on the sleeping pills again, which Jace didn't want. The pills were harmless. He could take them for a month and not form an addiction. Except after a month they woould be less than useless, actually turning against him to leave him wired, taking three months of avoiding them for them to be useful again.
Jace preferred natural sleep anyways.
“Captain? Hey, Captain?”
Jace snapped his head up, blinking heavily. Izzy was in the pilot's seat, swiveled around, giving Jace an expectant look. Jace grimaced and rubbed his dry, heavy eyes. He'd dozed. That had been incredibly irresponsible and naughty of him – or would have been if they were in their quadrant. The journey between point A and B wasn't worth squat to berate himself over it, but he'd have to keep himself in check once they hit the Void.
“Yeah?” Jace finally thought to reply.
“Coming up on Dallas station.”
Now Jace was awake. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He hit the universal com on his console. “All hands, we're on final approach.”
All bridge crew, namely Al and Matt, entered at a fast walk to take up their stations.
It was automatic to shut down the D-drive on approach. The pin-point of light raised up to meet them, filling the bridge with a tempered white glow before spitting them out into star-littered space. Dallas outpost was located on a rock moon belonging to a violet gas giant that looked more the moon in perspective. The Black Dragon approached fast, and Izzy brought it down close toward the blue-gray surface. The outpost rose up like a small town made up of towers and domed buildings surrounded by a shield that rippled silver when a section opened up to allow the Black Dragon to pull in.
“Black Dragon, this is Dallas. Please proceed to hanger nine as indicated on your nav-screen.”
A holographic grid interposed over the view screen, guiding the Black Dragon to its destination via a flashing red dot. The ship swung around, skimming over the domes until reaching the one dome with an open bay glowing white-gold. The ship dove toward the hanger, slowing to a crawl, easing around then through the wide-bay doors to set down on the circular platform. The platform began immediately to descend before either pilot had begun shutting systems down. The bright blue tunnel lights flashed fast. Outposts didn't waste time about pulling ships into the safety of the underground.
The lights slowed on approach toward the end of the tunnel. There was a clunk, then a whine as the platform turned, then another clunk when the platform locked.
“Black Dragon, you are cleared to disembark.”
“You heard the man,” Jace said, pushing the console away then hopping out of his seat. “Everyone off.”
Morgan and Chris joined them as they headed into the hanger then out through the bay doors. It was a lot like the station at Calypso, only with more silver walls instead of beige. The ship had been turned to have the end facing the entrance into the subterranean door that slid open to a welcoming committee of one. The woman was tall, slender, probably around Jace's age, Jace assumed, with long hair so brown it looked almost black coming past her shoulders. She was dressed in standard issue green-gray pants, a gray shirt, and standard-issue jacket. She had a com in one ear, and was standing at parade rest. But when the crew approached she relaxed out of it and closed the distance, giving Jace a casual salute.
“Captain Kerry Gale,” she said. “You must be Captain Quincy.”
Jace winced, saluting back, then taking Kerry's hand in a quick shake when she offered it. “Yep, that's me.”
Kerry's smile was just as casual; not exactly a happy happy joy joy beam of delight, yet neither was it forced. “Cool.” She jerked her head over her shoulder. “Let's get this show on the road, then.”
