massaging his temples. How could he concentrate on anything? How could he work calmly through the day when every minute meant endless possibilities of torture for an exquisite, helpless woman? And for a brother she clearly was devoted to. When he thought of all the things they could do to her between that moment and the undefined moment when he would finally reach her side, he was blinded by rage and a sensation of angst that he had never known in all his life.
Why had he spent precious time manhandling her? Kissing her and slaking his lust on her when he could have been advising her on ways to avoid torture? On ways to counteract it? Tricks and methods of foiling a torturer‟s intents could always be learned and used. He should have been telling her those things! He should have held on to her and comforted her.
Why did he always push her away by excusing his behavior and feelings as only part of a dream? Chasing her away. Chasing himself away. He was himself in those dreams, yet somehow better than himself. Or was it the woman? By all that was cursed and holy, Bronse wanted the answers! What was worse, he could not turn to a single one of his crewmates to help him sort out this tangle of emotions, actions, and reactions. Lasher was already looking at him like he‟d gone crazy, and Bronse suspected that Masin was hunting for a reason to relieve him of his command.
Justice was a woman and would make for a potentially good perspective; however, Justice had the tact of a rhinoceros and couldn‟t keep a confidence for her life. Ender. Well, Ender was Ender. He‟d sooner blow something to bits than talk about it. He wasn‟t going near the hyperspray-happy medic. He wished Trick was there, oddly enough. The kid was trustworthy with secrets and definitely knew about the nuances of women.
Lasher sauntered into the mess hall and threw himself into a chair with his own brand of laid-back authority. He slid a large CompuVid onto the table, along with a holographic imager and enough handheld VidPads for everyone to use during the briefing. Then he slowly, purposely, turned to look Bronse Chapel dead in his periwinkle eyes. “So what happened?
Someone been pissing in your rations for the past twenty-four hours, or what?”
“Leave it go, Lasher,” Chapel warned, pressing hard against his temples.
“No can do, sir. Not unless I want a mutiny before we hit planetside. You‟re alienating the very people you need in order to stay alive, Bronse. The very people who also need you in order to survive.”
“Masin …” Bronse sighed.
“The meeting doesn‟t start for another ten minutes, Bronse. Go see Jet. Get rid of the headache at least. You‟ve had it for over twelve hours already.”
“I‟m just a little—”
“Tense. And I‟m this close …”—he held up a frighteningly tiny representation between his two fingers—“to ordering you to take a relaxant for five hours and a soma-induced nap in Medbay. And please don‟t tell me I wouldn‟t dare when you know damn well I would. Everyone is wired tight and on the very edge of their last nerves with this mission. It‟s a bad fucking time for you to be shredding everyone‟s confidence and stability. Now, I hope that your stress and that headache are all that‟s wrong with you, Commander, because I‟m not letting one soldier in this unit trot out on a death mission when their C.O. has his head up his ass. You copy?”
Bronse let only a single heartbeat pass. “I copy. And you‟re right. I‟ll be back after Medbay. Be best to review plans without a headache in the way. And I think I‟ll do the soma-induced nap as well after the briefing.” He exhaled a long, slow breath. “I‟m sorry. I can‟t explain everything to you. I wish I could. I just think it wouldn‟t do you any more good than it‟s been doing me. We‟ll be seeing the plot unfold soon enough, right?”
“That‟s the plan,” Lasher agreed, his tone grave but accepting.
Why had he spent precious time manhandling her? Kissing her and slaking his lust on her when he could have been advising her on ways to avoid torture? On ways to counteract it? Tricks and methods of foiling a torturer‟s intents could always be learned and used. He should have been telling her those things! He should have held on to her and comforted her.
Why did he always push her away by excusing his behavior and feelings as only part of a dream? Chasing her away. Chasing himself away. He was himself in those dreams, yet somehow better than himself. Or was it the woman? By all that was cursed and holy, Bronse wanted the answers! What was worse, he could not turn to a single one of his crewmates to help him sort out this tangle of emotions, actions, and reactions. Lasher was already looking at him like he‟d gone crazy, and Bronse suspected that Masin was hunting for a reason to relieve him of his command.
Justice was a woman and would make for a potentially good perspective; however, Justice had the tact of a rhinoceros and couldn‟t keep a confidence for her life. Ender. Well, Ender was Ender. He‟d sooner blow something to bits than talk about it. He wasn‟t going near the hyperspray-happy medic. He wished Trick was there, oddly enough. The kid was trustworthy with secrets and definitely knew about the nuances of women.
Lasher sauntered into the mess hall and threw himself into a chair with his own brand of laid-back authority. He slid a large CompuVid onto the table, along with a holographic imager and enough handheld VidPads for everyone to use during the briefing. Then he slowly, purposely, turned to look Bronse Chapel dead in his periwinkle eyes. “So what happened?
Someone been pissing in your rations for the past twenty-four hours, or what?”
“Leave it go, Lasher,” Chapel warned, pressing hard against his temples.
“No can do, sir. Not unless I want a mutiny before we hit planetside. You‟re alienating the very people you need in order to stay alive, Bronse. The very people who also need you in order to survive.”
“Masin …” Bronse sighed.
“The meeting doesn‟t start for another ten minutes, Bronse. Go see Jet. Get rid of the headache at least. You‟ve had it for over twelve hours already.”
“I‟m just a little—”
“Tense. And I‟m this close …”—he held up a frighteningly tiny representation between his two fingers—“to ordering you to take a relaxant for five hours and a soma-induced nap in Medbay. And please don‟t tell me I wouldn‟t dare when you know damn well I would. Everyone is wired tight and on the very edge of their last nerves with this mission. It‟s a bad fucking time for you to be shredding everyone‟s confidence and stability. Now, I hope that your stress and that headache are all that‟s wrong with you, Commander, because I‟m not letting one soldier in this unit trot out on a death mission when their C.O. has his head up his ass. You copy?”
Bronse let only a single heartbeat pass. “I copy. And you‟re right. I‟ll be back after Medbay. Be best to review plans without a headache in the way. And I think I‟ll do the soma-induced nap as well after the briefing.” He exhaled a long, slow breath. “I‟m sorry. I can‟t explain everything to you. I wish I could. I just think it wouldn‟t do you any more good than it‟s been doing me. We‟ll be seeing the plot unfold soon enough, right?”
“That‟s the plan,” Lasher agreed, his tone grave but accepting.
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