Hearts Akilter (8 page)

“What’s he being treated for?”

“A rare cancer that’s eating up his insides.”

“How long does he have to live?”

“A decade or more if he gets treatments. He has his heart set on spending the rest of his life on his home world, in his hometown, with his mother doting on him.”

“Which means, JJ has a tiny window of opportunity to kill him. That is, if she is planning to kill him.”

“Don’t shield her, Deacon. Tell me where you found the bomb.”

“You don’t have to worry about the bomb. I took care of it. It won’t go off, but it’s rigged to let me know when it’s activated.”

“Still playing Big Brother Hero?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m serving you notice. In case JJ stops by to kill you or Quaine, I’m assigning Guardians to sickbay, starting tomorrow morning.”

“She won’t risk coming here. If she visits me, maybe I can talk some sense into her. As to Quaine, she won’t tip her hand and see him because all she has to do is set the bomb off remotely.”

“I disagree. I think she’ll want the satisfaction of telling the bastard he’s going to die a violent death so he’ll squirm not knowing when his end will come.” Nick stepped out of the shadows and closer to Deacon’s bed. “You know I have to stop the bomber, don’t you?”

Deacon nodded. “Yes.”

“Promise me you won’t interfere.”

He lied. “How can I interfere? I’m confined to this room.”

Nick backed into the shadows. “Be sure you stay put. Let me and mine handle this.”

“Sure,” Deacon replied. “No problem.”

Nick soundlessly exited up into the air vent.

****

Marlee glanced at the clock on the wall of her repair bay. It took her twenty minutes to fix the PicPak, setting a new record to replace a multi-system micro pulley unit. But best of all, it was the last job for the day. She was free to head home, maybe treat herself to a relaxing sauna.

Marlee’s sleeve comband pinged. RUMMY flashed on the screen, then the call ended.

“Rummy” was the contingent code she’d given Henry if he was trapped in sickbay and his situation was more dire than dire.

She grabbed and pocketed two hand-sized welders. Then she took a wand welder, a ten-five, and slapped it against the hook-and-loop patches of her coveralls, which held it snugly in place. She jogged to the nearest maintenance lift and rode it to sickbay. When the lift doors opened, she found herself at the deck’s center hub, a few steps from the entrance to sickbay.

No one was in sight, and the admission and nurses’ kiosk weren’t manned.

Henry, or someone, was always on duty, every hour of every day. So where was everyone?

She listened for voices.

None.

She tugged her earlobe to amplify sounds. All she heard was the shush and whup-whup of medical machinery and the wheezy sounds of other devices, all coming from the far side’s treatment center. She warily entered sickbay, glanced at the blank screens of the kiosk, and headed for the treatment rooms.

When she passed the CMO’s office, with its door open, she looked inside. On the floor, two bodies lay on their sides, facing each other. Both wore medical uniforms.

Were they dead?

Tamping down her rising fears, she dashed into the office, halted between the bodies, and dropped to one knee. Checking for vital signs, she was relieved both men, one the CMO and the other a male nurse, were breathing quietly, their pulses steady.

She upped her vision to look for a reason why they were unconscious. Spotting a dot of blood near the top of the male nurse’s blue pants, Marlee used her optics to magnify the area. The serrated edges of the ring impressed on the cloth around that dot of blood could have come from only one thing—Henry’s Gatling-gun hyposprayer. A quick scan of the CMO revealed a ring-spot on his buttocks. Both men had been tranquilized.

She returned her sight to normal and left. Fearing the unknown, and with her pulse quickening with each step she took, she proceeded to the other side of the hall to the row of treatment rooms. She peeked in the first. No one. She went to the next room. No one.

In room five, she discovered three Guardians laying on their backs, out cold. The three looked like they’d been dragged into the room after being rendered unconscious.

Woodridge didn’t strike her as big enough or strong enough to handle these men. Did Woodridge have an accomplice?

Skom, what if she did?

A noose of anxiety tightened about Marlee’s throat. She willed herself not to panic.
Think, woman, think!

But no thoughts came, no ideas. Then above the noise of the machinery in the next room came the murmur of a woman’s voice, the tone one of emphatic defiance…and, was that a man’s voice replying?

She reached up to activate her hearing implant and stopped. With so much machinery noise, if she enhanced the sounds, she might damage her auditory canal.

Another fragment of speech—a man’s voice—the words even and entreating. Definitely not Henry’s voice.

Skom, where was Henry?

Heart pounding with sledgehammer ferocity and every sense heightened, she tiptoed to room six. Once beside the door, she squatted, took a fortifying breath, and peered around the doorjamb.

The first thing she saw was Henry, his Gatling-style hyposprayer aimed at Deacon’s left thigh.

Deacon, wearing hospital pajamas, had his hands raised to show he was unarmed. He faced Woodridge who held a snubbed-nosed rodgun aimed at Deacon’s chest. The tiny light on the top of the barrel indicated the gun was set to kill.

Woodridge, her face livid with rage, momentarily pointed the index finger of her other hand at the treatment table.

On the table lay a dark-haired man tethered down by wrist straps so as not to disturb the many tubes attached to his arms, legs, and chest. Above the rim of his oxygen mask, terror made his eyes appear three times their size. His gaze held, transfixed, on Woodridge and Deacon.

On the floor, beside the treatment table’s pedestal, was a black cylinder—the little welder she’d put in the gamepad for Deacon.

“Enough!” Woodridge yelled above the machinery’s noise. “Henry, protocol override six, six, nine, six. Execute, one, two, three!”

Henry’s treads engaged. He headed toward Deacon. The light on the hyposprayer frame changed from yellow to green, ready to inject.

Marlee’s mind shifted into hyper-awareness, seconds seemingly halved.

Henry was about to tranquilize Deacon.

No, wait. Woodridge couldn’t afford a witness. The dose was likely a killing one. Deacon would be dead.

No, no, no! She liked the man.
Really
liked him.

The shock of that thought shook her to the core.

She couldn’t let Deacon die.

Her mind raced at light speed.

She rose to her feet, grabbed the hilt of the wand welder, and turned it on. With adrenaline-fueled muscles, she pulled the welder free of her coveralls, raced into the room, and extended the tool in front of her like a sword.

Flicking her ocular implants, she magnified her target, and aimed the welder’s glowing tip.

As she sprinted between Henry and Deacon, she elbowed Deacon, shoving him aside with all her might.

He slammed shoulder first against the fiberboard wall.

As time passed in slow motion, Marlee focused on the flash of the energy pellet exiting the rodgun and met the pellet with the welder’s tip.

A flare of brilliant white energy blinded her.

She felt the impact and sting of Henry’s hyposprayer on her thigh, stumbled, and fell forward.

Darkness and silence enveloped her.

****

Deacon stood at the vending kiosk, hands in the pockets of the hospital-issue robe covering his pajamas, trying to decide between getting a soda or a cup of coffee. About to make his choice, he heard Henry approach and glanced over his shoulder at the robot.

Henry stopped and said, “Monitors confirm Marlee is coming around.”

Joy entwined with relief. “It’s about time.”

“Affirmative. Yes. Deacon, please remember to calm her so she does not panic.”

“Does she usually panic when she comes to?”

“Negative. No. She usually panics because she recalls other accidents and is concerned she may have hurt herself irrevocably. Do not delay if you wish to be with her when she opens her eyes.”

“How’s JJ—I mean Lieutenant Commander Woodridge?”

“Coping. I must check the cooling unit on her jaw and see if she needs additional pain killers for the burns.” He swerved and headed away.

Deacon said to Henry’s back, “Don’t you want to see Marlee?”

“I will later. Duty first.”

Right. Duty first. His first duty was thanking Marlee-the-heroine. His practical, no holds barred, gutsy little heroine had saved his life. She’d also stopped JJ from becoming a murderer. It amazed him, delighted him, and, yes, even frightened him that, in so short a time, he had such strong feelings and cared so deeply for Marlee.

Once at Marlee’s bedside, he gazed down at her closed eyelids, and at the lump on the right side of her forehead, now the size of a goose’s egg. The swelling extended down, over the brow, to the top of her eyelid.

Memories vividly came into focus. He’d felt her shove him aside, and watched her aim her welding rod. Then he squeezed his eyes closed against the inevitable blast. When he’d opened his eyes and found Marlee inert on the floor, his heart almost stopped beating. It was JJ’s hysterical screams from the pain of her burnt hand that sent his heart racing anew. JJ had looked at him and, with enough presence of mind, pulled out another rodgun. Still screaming, more in rage than pain, she aimed the weapon at Marlee’s back.

Deacon had lunged at JJ and sent a roundhouse blow, which dislocated her jaw and knocked her out.

He’d gone to Marlee, praying she wasn’t dead, and realized in that moment how much he cared. He almost chuckled. He was unquestionably a little in love with the woman—Marlee, so quirky and capable—but could brave, honest Marlee learn to love him back? Did the woman even like him?

She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a soft whoosh.

When she didn’t open her eyes, Deacon said in a low voice, “Marlee—
Wakey, wakey
.”

Her eyelids opened, shut, then opened. The lovely black lenses spun wide, not quite in sync with each other until two blinks later.

The swollen right eyelid didn’t open fully, but he was sure she recognized him.

She softly moaned.

Okay, so no smile. What did he expect?

He smiled at her, unashamed to let his feelings for her show. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

Ah, the grumpy heroine. Considering what she’d been through, it was to be expected. He flashed her a bright grin. “I beg to differ, but we’ll talk about that another time.”

She growled low in her throat and turned her head, wincing from the movement. Her gaze took in the surroundings. “Skom, I’m in sickbay. My head is pounding. How badly am I crippled this time?”

“Not crippled. No concussion—just a bump to the forehead when it collided with the corner of the treatment table. You’ll have quite the shiner, but no cut, no stitches, no damage to the ocular implants.”

By the paling and flushing of her face, she had to be recalling why she fell.

He took her cool hand in his and marveled at how soft her skin was. “Thank you for taking the hypo meant for me.”

She again growled in her throat, but she didn’t pull her hand free. “You’re officially unwelcome.”

He chuckled.

“So, what about the tranquilizer. My body doesn’t feel like lead at a hundred-thousand g’s.”

“Henry gave you an antidote.”

“What about Woodridge? Did I stop her?”

“Yes. She has some ugly burns on her hand and wrist from the explosion of the rodgun pellet, but she’ll recover the use of the hand.”

“What about the guy in the bed? I take it he was the target?”

“Yes, and I’ll tell you about him when you’re feeling better.”

“Why not now?”

“Because you need to rest and recover.”

Her scowl at him was short-lived. “How’s Henry?”

“He’s fine. Better than fine. Nick, that is, Commander Asuka, called in the techs, who rebooted Henry to insure no commands remain from JJ’s tampering with him.”

In a whisper she said, “And the bomb, the explosive?”

“It’s out of him. JJ never got a chance to detonate it.”

Marlee closed her eyes. “So all’s right with the world?” She smiled.

Such a beautiful smile…

This was the woman for him, but how to convince her? Ah, yes…

“Marlee,
sweetheart
, don’t panic.”

Her eyes remained closed. “Why would I panic?”

He released her hand, bent forward, and placed his hands on either side of her. Putting his feelings for her into his sexiest, deepest voice, he quietly warned her, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Before she could blink or utter a protest, he lowered himself, putting his lips to hers. As he deepened the kiss, her surprise abated, and she relaxed. Her lips softened beneath his.

He felt the tightness in his groin, then the quick rise of arousal.

He was vaguely aware Marlee reached for his shoulder, took a handful of his robe, and pulled him toward her.

Chest met chest.

A profound and ecstatic joy raced through him.

Behind him came the loud squelch of treads. Henry’s voice boomed, “Marlee, Marlee, help. HELP! I have hiccups!”

Epilogue

Three weeks later

Marlee engaged the wrench, sending the bolt whirring into the base of Henry’s pincer-hand. She glanced at the wall clock above her workshop’s station. Fifteen minutes after her shift ended and no Deacon. Okay, so he said he might be a little late. She was hungry, going on ravenous.

Maybe a little ravenous for his company?

Well, that too. She liked being with him, but did he like being with her? He said he did, but why did he find excuses not to stay the night and have sex with her?

“Marlee!”