Auora Awakening - Part 3

The next morning I was out of bed lightquick and on my way to the horticult wing before Fa even woke up. The hort chief kept early hours – she said it was a habit that never left her, even though she hadn’t been planetside in years – and I recked I could catch her in their gym before mess.

Sure enough, she was there, yoging, so I tried to sit tight as quietly as I could until she was done. Truthing, I ended up doing some work on the weight bench that had nothing to do with my regimen; it was just to blow off nerves.

The hort chief stopped twisting and stretching and lay down on her back real quiet for a few minutes, so I powered down. I recked I needed a few minutes to think what to say, anyhow.  I liked the hort chief. Beauchene was her name, and she was a good chief by all accounts, with way more shout-tos than I’d ever have. She was somewhere above 50 cycles, with dark hair streaked with iron gray, and eyes that told you she’d seen enough that maybe it was best to just shut your face bay and listen.

Like I said, she had dozens of shout-tos, but she always gave me my due as a chief, even though she knew that as long as I stayed on the Aurora, my total was going to stay stuck at one. She was smart like that – she thought long-term, like me, and knew it wasn’t any scrap off her bundle to treat me like an equal, and would probably net her more than a few favors down the road. Which it sure as thumping did.

When she opened her eyes, I went over to give her a hand up from the mat – just as a bit of respect, see. We both knew she didn’t need one. 

“You’re up early, Chief Yu,” she said, grabbing a towel and focusing those laser eyes on me a little more sharply than I was easy with. I dove in with the story I’d specced out, explaining how Fa and I had had to troubleshoot the steam coils for so long the day before, and that I recked the low-shout horts needed a little more back and brain in it when it came to blowing out the lines at the end of the next run.

Chief Beauchene is big on prop discipline, so she agreed right away and asked me to lay out in a doc where the problems had been so she could make sure the blowout would be done right the next time. I recked a few horts would be wondering if their ears had been singed off not too long after mess.

“But that’s not something that would need to get you up at this hour,” Beauchene said, and her eyes hopnear burned a ventilation shaft straight through my head.

So as we walked back to the lockcubes I told her I recked I had a little problem what with rooming with a direct shout-to and all, and I wondered if we could work a trade, and maybe she could reassign one of the horticults to bunk with me.

Which wouldn’t have been such an odd request if I’d made it when we first launched, but we’d been out for weeks now. She knew hopwell that something had to be up. Beauchene kept looking at me with those eyes that could bore through ten-inch steel and kept asking short, completely official questions and I knew she’d seen me and Fa together dozens of times and somehow I ended up flopping down on the bench by her and the whole thing just unspooled. All of it. I couldn’t even look at Beauchene after I was finished. Just sat there with my hand over my eyes wishing I could blam into a million pieces just for the distraction.

She was quiet for a minute, and then all that came of her was a murmur.

“Hellscratch, Yu.”

I felt her sit down next to me and I knew she was staring at me, even though I still couldn’t look up. She finally continued in a tone that was angrier and gentler at the same time.

“This isn’t like you.”

I sank even lower. At least clutching my head with both hands gave them each something to do. Beauchene kept talking.

“You’re too good a fixer for this. You’re just treating the symptom… You’re putting a sound buffer over a knock instead of opening the panel to see what’s making it.”

I wasn’t sure why, but that got my spikes out a little. I recked it was maybe that she was complimenting and shanking my fixing skills at the same time. Or maybe it was that she was right – deep down I knew I was quicktaping instead of fixing.

On the other hand, Beauchene didn’t have to spend every night three feet away from an angel who was blissing out on multiple orgasms. She clearly didn’t understand that this was serious rumble. I looked up at her to tell her that we can’t all be horticults and nurture everything in a hot room, but when I saw her face, it was so full of sad at me that I stumbled and didn’t end up with near the effect I wanted.

Anyway, I worked my fix. Beauchene said she recked I could switch out and she’d put a hort in with Fa – a nice one, she said before I even asked – but that we were fixed to make planet the next day and the horts would be busier than an outpost gambling bot for the next few weeks. She recked she could ask a hort to move in once we blasted and they had a little more off time again.

So it was good as fixed, only I didn’t feel as flush about it as I should have. Torment or no, I knew I’d miss Fa, truthing.

And I still had to go and tell her.

Fa was in our cabin and suited up, but she hadn’t gone to mess. I recked she was waiting to see if I came back and wanted to go together, which made me feel even worse. Fa raised her eyebrows in question at me, wondering where I’d been so early. I might have been leaving, but I hadn’t gone full coward yet.  I recked it was only fair to tell Fa straight off instead of springing it on her at the last minute.

I’d told her I’d been to see the hort chief about the steam coils, and then, maybe not being totally clear about whose idea it was, I told Fa what the new bunking situation would be once we’d blasted planet.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. I was proud of her for that. I found something else to look at so she could pull herself together and assigned Fa to calibrate the temperature control systems, which we both knew was hopeasy work, and told her I was skipping mess that morning. I recked Fa needed some time to herself, and I couldn’t find my appetite.

I assigned myself to reinforce the blast panels by the main engines. I needed something to slam.

I pushed hard through the morning, and then I skaffed a couple of gel packs instead of going up for lunch. OK, maybe a little cowardice had crept in there somewhere. But I recked it couldn’t hurt to put some clicks between me and Fa for a bit.

Which worked just great until my medchip alarm went off. Two days of working in heat and not enough stopping to guzzle. I should have known I’d get dinged for dehydration, but, like I said, I wasn’t planning ahead so great around Fa. According to regs, I had to drop work and head straight to the med center.

And, truthing, once I tried to stand up on the catwalk where I’d been working, I recked my chip hadn’t signaled any too soon. It must have had trouble calibrating with the med bay computer when I was that deep in the bowels of the ship.

I had a case of the spins, and wasn’t thinking as clearly as I should, Fa or no Fa. I half-fell down the ladder and then hit my beacon and had a scoot bot walk me in, just so I could lean on it. Jamila took one look at me and hopnear punched me in the face. Instead she shoved me into a bunk and jammed a drip into my arm, scolding me the whole time. She also gave me a bottle of electrolytes to sip. It tasted rancid, but you’d better credit I started drinking it as quick as I could stomach, what with Jamila about to redline her mad gauge and all.

The next thing the regs said Jamila had to do was, when I was ready for release, call a team member or my bunkmate to scort me back to my cabin. Big range of choices there. I flat-out begged her not to, and when I finally explained that Fa was upset because I’d told her I was switching out, Jamila looked like she would hit me again and then gave me that funny look from before.

Then she sat next to me on the bunk and gently pushed my head instead of cracking it.

“Scratch,” she said, real quiet, “I knew you had gears in your head, but I’ve never seen them go off on a tear like this before.”

I recked that didn’t require a response. Jamila took my hand by way of pretending to check my drip and said, even quieter, “You sure this is what you want?”

I told her it was the only thing that made sense, though I couldn’t quite look her in the eye when I did.

Jamila went off to ping Fa and I lay in my bunk, punishing myself by guzzing electrolytes and thinking about the fact that I couldn’t make tears at the moment. Not that I would have, just that I was thinking about it. But even if I could have, I recked I wouldn’t have.

I was 90% sure, anyway.

When Fa came in, it was clear she’d run from whenever she’d been when she’d gotten pinged. The look she gave me made my heart do a barrel roll. I was shamed on a couple of counts and turned my head away, but she charged over and pushed my bangs back and looked into my eyes.

“You OK, Chief?”

“Yeah, just stupid.”

Suddenly I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, right there on the bunk. Maybe with Fa still sitting next to me. That was what my body wanted.

But Jamila wasn’t having it. She agreed the dehydration would make me want to sleep all right, but she recked I could do that in my own bunk and leave hers open for someone with real problems. I shot her a look, but she was most likely right. And besides, a ship doc can give a shout to anyone, even the Captain.

Fa had been on light duty and still looked like she had first thing that morning – perfect, if I’m truthing. But I was covered in grime. I’d stopped sweating at some point in the afternoon, but that sure as thumping hadn’t been the case that morning. I didn’t want to go anywhere near Fa. I looked like I’d been pulled backward through the main gears and probably smelled like dried sweat and greasecake.

But I’d like to see any six forward battle units stand up to the combined force of Jamila and Fa when they set their minds to something. My plan was that I’d walk on my own, next to Fa, and if I fell down she’d either wait it out or call a scoot bot. Or leave me there to crawl back. Hellscratch, I deserved it.

Their plan, as you’ve likely inkled, was my arm around Fa’s shoulders and hers around my waist, with me leaning on her for support. Fa was stronger than she looked, truthing, but I hated the thought of her being disgusted with how rank I must have been as much as a part of me loved us being pressed together like that.

But I was bone tired and not thinking my best. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I was sinking fast. Eventually I just took the pleasure and necessity of leaning on her for what they were and half-sleepwalked my way back to the cabin with her. A dim little part of me tallied up the fact that Fa wasn’t chattering at me – not even trying – and that wasn’t normal. I didn’t know if I could stand it, truthing. So I talked.

“You can take this as disincentive training through negative instructor example,” I tried. Fa and I liked to make fun of the training manual lingo. Usually.

Fa gave one short laugh – more of a short exhale, really – and then stayed silent for the next few minutes.

Finally, as we got to our row, she spoke.

“That was really dumb, Chief,” she said softly, pulling me a little tighter to her.

“Affirmative,” I said, and drifted a little farther down into the sleepy feeling of my head being nuzzled against that flower-scented blonde hair.

Fa popped the door and I’d recked she’d dump me into my bunk, grime and all, and leave me to worry about wheedling an early set of fresh sheets out of the laundry crew later. Instead, I felt her propelling me into a turn as we cleared the door, and the next thing I knew I was being drenched in cool water. Fa had packed us both into the shower, fullsuits and all, and turned it on.

The jolt woke me up a little, and I felt the amazing sensation of laughing against her – me pressed into Fa, Fa pressed against the wall, and my forehead resting on the cool tile as she hugged me and we both laughed at the sensation of our boots sloshing with the water that trickled down through our suits.

Fa pushed my head back and I felt her slap a handful of shampoo into my hair and scrub it, moving my head around to get all the gunk out. I made a bleary attempt to look at her, and she said, “Cut that out. You’ll get it in your eyes.” So I closed them again and leaned back in. “I am not carrying you back to the med bay,” she teased as she knuckled a bit behind my year.

She popped the showerhead out to give me a rinse, then there was a little pause, and then I felt her gently tilt my head back again. Fa was carefully soaping my face and neck. “Eyes closed!” she scolded again, and I gave in. I couldn’t remember anyone ever taking care of me like that – not as an adult, anyway – and the feel of her gently smoothing her fingers over my skin made me go off plumb. My heart started pounding at the way she was touching me, but my brain just wanted to sink into it – to sink into her. To just let go trust her to take care of me and drift off to sleep.

Fa levered me back so I was leaning against the other wall and she had more freedom to move. She braced me with one arm and rinsed my face with the other, and then used her fingertips to smooth my hair out of my face.

My main seam was halfway down before I realized she was pulling off my fullsuit.

I lurched back so hard I cracked my head against the tile. When I stopped blinking, I looked down and saw that I had hold of both of Fa’s wrists and she was staring at me, eyes wide and as hurt as it’s possible for just one person to be.

I stared at her, mean, jumpy, and stupid. I know I had my mouth open, because the only thing that felt good about the situation was the water hitting my tongue.

“You were going to leave it on?” Fa asked, with less sarcasm than I deserved. “You’re a mess.”

“Sorry,” was all I could manage as I let go of her wrists. “I’m a little sparky.”

Well, once you’re crammed into a running shower with someone who’s seen you naked a dozen times, it does seem awfully tipnose to suddenly insist on privacy. And I’d already ruined the softness of Fa taking care of me. Ruined it hard. I couldn’t think of many things I hadn’t ruined lately. And now I’d just forced us to stand side by side and try to strip off and soap up like it was no big deal while we going out of our way not to look at each other.

Like I said, Fa wasn’t much the worse for her day’s work, so she gave herself a lightquick soap and rinse. And then finally she looked into my eyes again.

“You OK on your own?”

I nodded and she scooped up our boots and fullsuits, waving off my protest that I’d get them, and hopped out and left me to it. I scrubbed myself with a fury. I’d have beaten my head on the tiles if I hadn’t been afraid of landing myself back in the med bay.

When I finally got out, Fa had bribed someone to bring us trays from evening mess, complete with an extra water jug and some more of those hopfoul electrolytes from Jamila.

I thanked her too much and not enough, and she shrugged it off.

I drank and ate and drank some more while Fa studied a life support manual instead of chattering at me. I cleared the trays out and flagged a scootbot to take them back, then thanked Fa again and collapsed into my bunk, wishing I’d just stayed in the engine bay and shriveled into jerky.

Fa turned out the light, and for a minute or two, we were both quiet. And then she asked me.

“Don’t you like me, Bailey?

Not “Chief,” and not my last name, Yu.

Bailey. My first name.

It was on my ID patch and on my neck tag, but I didn’t think Fa had even noticed it. Almost no one called me Bailey, and Fa sure as thumping didn’t.

She wanted a plumb-straight answer from me, and I couldn’t give it.

I told her I liked her fine, which was way less than the truth, and said how we’d still work and go to mess and even rec together, but that it was just best that we split up for bunking according to regulations.

And then we both lay there thinking about the no fewer than thirteen different systems I’d already taught Fa to re-jigger so that they were more efficient but way off-regs. I’d given her bad scrap, and we both knew it.

Like most every night, I woke up later to the sound of Fa. Only this time she was sniffling, and her herky breathing was because she was trying to cry as quietly as possible.

Once on my first junk I spent three full shifts in a row belly-crawling through rat-infested air ducts to burn out a mold infestation.

I’d rather pull that duty all day every day for the rest of my life than hurt Fa like that again.