Degrees of Wrong (11 page)

When we reached the lab, the line waiting for us extended down the hall. As we made our way to the door, I noted the diversity in the nosy faces I passed. The United Nations was now the true melting pot of the world—the crew of the
Bellator
was proof of it. Virtually every ethnic group was represented here. It only now occurred to me the vast military force that entailed.

Then something else occurred to me. I pulled Dr. Folsom by the sleeve, stopping her just short of the door.

“I need to speak with Captain Marek,” I whispered, feeling the glances intruding on the conversation.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered back, peeking at the long line of hypochondriacs. “You know you don’t have to help me anymore.”

“It’s not that. He said if I needed anything—” I stopped, not wanting to say too much in front of our audience. “Well, I need something.”

I knew she still didn’t understand, but she said, “I’m sure you’ll find him in his office.”

I headed back to the elevator. A collection of disgruntled moans chased after me. “Show’s over,” I muttered.

I reached Captain Marek’s office and announced myself to the alarm. To my surprise, it allowed entry.

It was just as luxurious as the admiral’s, almost identical in fact. Captain Marek sat behind his large desk and tiny computer, typing something with full concentration. Belatedly, it occurred to me that I should’ve stopped by my quarters to freshen up.

Instead, I cleared my throat.

He looked up in surprise. “Dr. Morgan. What can I do for you?”

He stood, motioning for me to sit in one of the oversized gray chairs in front of his desk. I obeyed, making myself comfortable as he reclaimed his seat, regarding me expectantly. I probably interrupted his train of thought—something I detested when done to me. I resolved to make this short and sweet.

“You told me yesterday that if I needed anything, I should let you know. Well, I do. Need something, I mean.” Making direct eye contact with him was unsettling.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Morgan?” he repeated, his voice nothing more than polite. He was the essence of equilibrium, a quality I supposed was invaluable to a captain.

I took in a breath.
Here goes.
“Well, it occurred to me that I’m not the only one.”

“The only one?”

“The only one trying to find a cure. This is the United Nations, right? They have limitless people at their disposal. In their military force alone, they must have a thousand mad-scientist types working on this. Someone must be close.”

“Yes?” he said, still missing my point.

“I want access to their research.”

He folded his hands on the desk. “Dr. Morgan, you have a valid point, but you’re right and wrong. On the one hand, we do have scientists working ’round the clock on this, with virtually unlimited resources.” He paused, studying me. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

He continued, “On the other hand, every one of them has failed, obviously. It’s a rare thing for the UN to bring in an outside source, and even more inconceivable for them to do it forcibly.”

“Yet, here I am.” And I doubted anything was inconceivable for the United Nations.

“Yes, here you are. Which leads me to the conclusion that not one of those scientists is as close to finding the cure as you are right now.” I didn’t miss the disbelief in his tone. “However, if you still feel you need to review the works of incompetents, I’ll make arrangements for you to meet with someone. I can’t imagine, however, that you’ll be granted access to it. I’m sure it’s classified information.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Will I be permitted to speak to someone, or will you be speaking on my behalf?” Since he didn’t really believe I needed the access, he’d be bland and unassuming in his polite request for it. I, on the other hand, would cross-examine any unfortunate lightweight they sent until I gained unrestricted access to every comma, period or question mark in the database.

He studied me with that impassive expression of his. “If you feel you can behave, you’ll be able to plead your own case.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I snapped. I knew exactly what he meant. If this was a test to see if he could spark my temper, I didn’t need to fail it. Besides, his habit of treating me like a child had aged beyond toleration—I was perfectly capable of conducting myself with the mannerisms of an adult.

“I’m going to be direct with you, Dr. Morgan. I won’t allow you to insult, or verbally abuse in any other way, your superiors. If you can promise that, then I’ll let you speak to them.”

Oh, now that’s rich.
My gut churned in repressed outrage as I choked back my initial response. When composed, I kept my tone as neutral and cordial as possible. “Allow me to speak directly, Captain Marek.” I didn’t wait for his permission to proceed. “First and foremost, I am not in the military, a fact which you often seem to forget. Therefore, I do not
have
superiors. Secondly, if you’re so inclined to believe I’m the UN’s last hope for success, then you can agree it would be idiotic for them to go to all that trouble in my kidnapping, only to withhold information vital to my research, and all but inhibit my progress with
their
endeavor.” Captain Marek sat back and crossed his arms. “And finally, I do not insult or verbally abuse anyone, except for Pretty—Lt. Horan,” I amended. “That man could provoke a nun.”

“Did you—?
What
did you just call Lt. Horan?” Amusement colored his tone.

Did he not hear the logic behind my chastisement? “Well, I was going to call him Pretty Princess. But I did correct myself.”

“And why were you going to call him that?”

I shrugged. “He thought of it himself. My first day here, he told us that his name was Pretty Princess if Ebony’s name was really Ebony. I accidentally laughed, and that’s when our…
disagreement
ensued. You know the rest.”

“And you continue to call him this?”

“Only when we’re alone. I wouldn’t disrespect him in front of his real cadets.” A pity, to be sure.

At that, his face broke into the most breathtaking smile I ever had the misfortune to see.
Elyse Morgan. My name is Elyse Morgan…
“How often are you alone together?” he asked.

“Every day.”
Elyse.
Morgan.

“Every day?” he said, incredulous. “Why?”

“Because every single day he makes me do pushups after roll call. He stays to enforce it. Why? And did you not hear anything else I just said?” And, captain that he was, why didn’t he know this already? Agitation snapped me out of my trance. That, and I focused on his chair instead of his dimples.

He leaned over the desk again and folded his hands together. I could see he was struggling to check his amusement, so I opted to give him a moment to gain composure—the last thing I needed was for him to
keep
smiling.

“Well?” I said finally.

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to let me talk to
your
superiors?”

He smirked. “Yes, I believe I will. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. You should be able to speak to someone within a few days.”

I stood to leave. “Thank you.”

He stood too. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Dr. Morgan?”

Again with the loaded questions. “No. Unless you’d consider having Lt. Horan executed?”

He grinned again, and I could’ve kicked myself. “I’m afraid not.”

“Then have a good day, Captain.” I waved him off when I saw he’d walk me to the door. My knees almost buckled when I felt his hand press against the small of my back. Startled at the heat bleeding through my shirt, I stopped. Against my better judgment, I raised the back of my hand to his forehead, ignoring the shock jolting through me from the contact.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. In fact, he seemed to lean closer. I moved my hand from forehead to cheek, biting my lip at the absence of fever. “Huh.” Not my most intelligent response, but it was something.

“Care to expound on that, Dr. Morgan?” He covered my hand with his own, keeping it pressed to his cheek.

Realizing he didn’t let go—just like on the docks—I fumbled for a good reason why I’d be touching an engaged man’s face in the first place. Then I remembered I was a doctor. A medical one, even. “I thought you might have a fever. Your hand felt hot.”

“Did it?” He sandwiched my hand and forearm between both of his, pulling me closer with the act. “What about now?”

I nodded, making a bionic effort not to shiver against the heat coming off his entire body. The feel of his flesh against mine sent tingles in all the wrong directions. “But your forehead is cool, so I’m satisfied.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you satisfied, Dr. Morgan?”

Proud of myself for not gasping, I tugged my hand from his grip and stepped back, not attempting to rub the goose bumps on my…well, on my
everything
. “Uh, yes, thank you, Captain Marek. For your assistance with my research, I mean.” Even though he couldn’t have known what I
thought
he was asking, I felt a blush scalding my cheeks. Not breaking into a run to get to the door was almost impossible. “I should be going. No, please don’t trouble yourself. I can show myself out.” As I said this, I noticed the door wouldn’t open.

“Please allow me.” The door slid open immediately in his presence.

“Thanks,” I grumbled, and hurried to the elevator. Before the doors closed, I saw him leaning against the entrance to his office, grinning like a fool—a very attractive fool.

He was considerably more cheerful than I imagined. How many more of his stupefying smiles could I endure? As for his touches…I could probably count on one finger how many more of
those
I could stand.

I combed through my notes, thankful for once that I had nothing to add. I didn’t feel justified in asking my arms to complete thirty-five pushups
and
try to type in the same day. I knew the brunt of the aches and pains would come tomorrow, and in a moment of weakness, I regretted provoking Lt. Horan.

The moment was a short one.

I anticipated the arrival of the fresh research. Although Captain Marek didn’t understand the need to peruse failed lab experiments—child prodigy as he was—I hoped it would spike the punch of my own testing. Reviewing and eliminating every approached angle from the get-go would preserve invaluable time—time I could spend contriving unconsidered perspectives to create a new square one.

I was also curious to see if I recognized anyone’s name, and if any had been a colleague of mine at The University. If I found someone familiar, I knew I’d wonder if they’d also been kidnapped. And I’d wonder if they’d been the one to suggest my name to the United Nations, sealing my fate.

Still, my gut pointed to Dr. Folsom. And I couldn’t be angry about it. I conceded—if only to myself—that I enjoyed engaging in the activities of the
Bellator
. After the first few days, I stopped feeling like a prisoner here and more like a reluctant patron. My life would be forever enriched from the experience, regardless of the commencement, regardless of the outcome.

My life on the island was routine, monotonous, lonely—a life without living. My father would have hated my grow-old-and-die mentality, would have denounced it as a shameful squandering of time, energy and vitality of youth. I’d have to argue that point. It took very little energy to breathe in and out, to eat and drink, to shower, to sleep—an energy-efficient schedule, indeed. I could see the sting of disappointment in my mother’s frown as if she were right in front of me. Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the island, to leave their final resting place.

Good thing I’d been forced.

I braved another glance at the clock and was surprised to find it was lunchtime. I grabbed the book, my symbol of anti-society, and headed for the mess hall. A certain Cadet Stanley was scheduled for confrontation this afternoon.

I didn’t bother to get in line for lunch—my arms couldn’t carry the tray. Silverware would be dangerous in my unstable phalanges.

I took my place at our usual table and waited for my prey. I threw my arms up at my chest and managed to cross them before Ebony entered the hall. She saw me and smiled, gliding to the table in her usual confident manner.

“Do I need to feed you again today?” She grinned down at me.

“If you don’t mind.”

She inclined her head to me. “What’s with the face?”

“I didn’t wake up on time this morning. I went to bed late and—”

“No. The mad face you’re making right now. Liz?”

“Stanley, actually.”

“Oh, that’s right. We owe him one.” She winked at me and went to the line.

I smiled after her, thankful for a comrade. She was still in line when Stanley entered the hall. He bounded toward me with the biggest smirk manageable by his Scottish features.

“Is this seat taken?” He began to pull out the same seat he’d burdened yesterday.

“Yes, it is,” I told him.

His grin faltered. “By who?”

“By someone other than yourself.”

He delivered himself into the chair, moving his rear around in it to get comfortable—not unlike a dog marking his territory. “You’re sore with me about this morning.”